Time Voyager

By Christopher J. Holcroft

Connor McBride works as a deckhand on the Manly ferries in Sydney, NSW. But he is also a Time Voyager, and he must take a journey to the past to solve his recurring nightmares.

Connor discovers that he was a Royal Australian Navy sailor on a fatal voyage—he was on board when the aircraft carrier HMAS Melbourne sliced the destroyer HMAS Voyager in half, killing more than 80 sailors.

Connor must solve a mystery from the past by traveling back in time using past life regression to change a series of events and heal old wounds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DoctorZed Publishing
• Release date: Aug 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9780645652994

Christopher J. Holcroft

Christopher J. Holcroft is the author of six books. His background is in communications, media training, complex public information planning and implementation, and journalism. He was a member of the Australian Army Reserve for more than 43 years. His overseas deployments have included Bougainville (1999), East Timor (2001), and Iraq (2006). For more than 36 years, Christopher has been involved in scouting, including Venturer Scout Units in both Victoria and NSW. Christopher was presented the Silver Wattle Award by Scouts Australia in August 2008 for his outstanding service to Scouting. He was later awarded the Silver Koala in 2016 for his distinguished service. Christopher holds a Masters degree in Organisational Communication from Charles Sturt University and a Bachelor of Arts degree from the University of Technology, Sydney, where he majored in Journalism and Communications Technology. He is also a Justice of the Peace.

Book preview

Prologue

10 February 1964

Conversations throughout the various Messes were in full swing. The post-refit sea trials for Australia’s HMAS Voyager were on schedule. It had been a busy day and the various officers and sailors aboard had worked hard and now it was time to let off some steam before retiring for the night. The crew was keen to see their new Daring class destroyer pass all the tests Navy headquarters could throw at them and they really put their all into the trials. Tombola, also known as ‘bingo’, was played in the Messes as the cups of coffee and tea slowly slid along the various tables backwards and forwards as the ship hit the swells and waves and rolled and lurched with the sea movement. Laughter and the playing of recorded music could be heard throughout the Messes.

Andrew West was standing on the port side of the ship just in front of the twin 40-mm Bofors guns on the ‘B’ gun deck having a cigarette. His gaze took him to the bow of the ship where he watched the white capped waves hit the Voyager, creating a fluorescent frothy glow with each heave of the ship through the swells. He loved the way the water changed colour as the ship lifted up and down through the waves and splashed onto the side of the ship – it was virtually mesmerising. This was the first time both the aircraft carrier HMAS Melbourne and Voyager had been involved in close-quarters manoeuvring for almost six months since both vessels had their refits. West enjoyed the calmness of the moment as he took in the view of the dancing colourful waves and dragged aimlessly on his cigarette. Each puff of his cigarette lit his face with a soft red glow for a few seconds before the darkness fell back on him as an invisible curtain being closed with just the pencil-thick red tip of the fag, the only point aglow. Small puffs of smoke issued slowly from West’s mouth after each draw on his gasper and quickly dissipated with the sea breeze flowing around the youth’s face. This was West’s time to relax and take in the sea view.

Melbourne was aft and on the port side of Voyager when the order was given to ‘fishtail’ the destroyer in a move designed to allow her to lose speed and swing behind the aircraft carrier and be at her port aft. Both the destroyer and carrier were ‘darkened’ with only navigational operational lighting in use making it extremely hard to see either ship in the open waters of Jervis Bay in the south of New South Wales. To make things worse, the roar of the boilers and engines of the Voyager made it impossible for West to hear anything other than his own ship while standing on the outside deck. He should have been acting as one of the ship’s lookouts from the ship’s stern to bow to ensure full safety. West’s cigarette was too relaxing, and the gentle heaving of the ship was almost hypnotic as he kept his gaze forward to the ship’s bow (front) until he flicked his butt to the ocean below and turned to walk towards the Bofors. His karma came to a crashing end and his eyes widened in disbelief as he saw the giant silhouette of the Melbourne bearing down on the Voyager at speed. The deft teenager took a deep breath and ran into the nearby ship’s operations room annexe to tell Petty Officer Peter Craig of the impending crash.

"PO, PO … ahh, I mean Petty Officer, the Melbourne – it’s going to ram us!"

West, what the hell are you on about? Craig asked as he saw the panic on the young sailor’s face.

"Petty Officer you have to tell the Captain to change direction – otherwise, we’ll all be dead. The Melbourne will be right on us in a few minutes," West blurted out hurriedly.

West, are you sure? I don’t want to ring the old man on a ‘maybe’ otherwise, he’ll rip a new arse for each of us.

Petty Officer, if you don’t get him on the pipes now, it won’t matter soon – we’ll all be dead anyway.

Craig oversaw the ship’s operations room annexe which had a series of communication pipes and internal telephone links to the main areas of the ship including the open Captain’s bridge on the deck above. He was nervous about the new Captain who seemed to become erratic under pressure and would yell at subordinates quite readily if he thought they weren’t doing their jobs properly.

Quickly, go to the sailor’s galley and tell them to brace for a collision while I sort this out.

West ran out of the red-lit cubby hole room, past where he had his cigarette in front of the Bofors and ducked inside another door, down a few sets of stairs and into the galley. Craig sat in the Captain’s chair in his operational red light lit space and hurriedly thought out what West had said. He weighed up what to say to the Captain. He wasn’t allowed to leave his post and he was the only one in the annexe. Also, Craig was sure other lookouts on the ship would have reported any close sightings of the Melbourne by now.

The clock struck 8.56 pm and the Melbourne and Voyager were 32 km south-east of Jervis Bay. Within two minutes of West talking with Craig, the Melbourne struck Voyager at the aft end of her bridge, heeling her over to an angle of about 50 degrees. The high pitch screeching noise of metal tearing and shearing under pressure could be heard throughout the Voyager. A screeching never before heard of by the ship’s company echoed throughout the ship as the force of the Melbourne kept ripping and pushing the Voyager in a continuous semi-sideways movement. The metallic sounds were the beginning of the death throes of the Voyager as it yielded to the high propulsion force exerted by the heavier Melbourne and metal plate after metal plate on the smaller ship broke and ripped apart. The force of the impact and the constant shearing of the Voyager’s metal plates sent sailors flying in the air against the metal walls of the ship and decks as men began to scream in agony. Water began rushing into the Voyager’s compartments causing panic and the first deaths.

The crew on a plane flying nearby as part of the naval exercise saw a giant flash erupt from Voyager’s ‘A’ Boiler – a few decks below the operations room annexe. The destroyer emitted high-pressure steam and black smoke and sailors on the Melbourne later found debris, including the revolution table used to work out ship speeds from Voyager’s bridge, and a pair of binoculars.

The Melbourne displaced 22 000 short tons and pushed the smaller Voyager which only displaced 3 600 tons, bodily through the water for a few seconds before slicing through the various decks and cutting the destroyer in two. Her forward section passed down Melbourne’s port side and the stern section down the starboard (right) side.

Within moments of the collision, sailors in the forward section of the Voyager were lifted onto their backs and pushed out of an escape hatch by the ship’s leading sailor, the Coxswain. The sailors groped their way in the dark and reached out of the round glass portal on the wall to the handle welded above the outside of the escape hatch on the side of the ship. The Coxswain was a large-framed and broad man and realised he couldn’t fit through the small escape hatch as he was physically too big. He realised his fate and helped as many men as he could to make their exit. He ran out of time to save those trapped below in the darkness who were yelling out as water gushed in at a tremendous rate and filled every available area of the bow. After he pushed the last able-bodied sailor through the hatch the Coxswain stopped and listened to the men trapped below and began to lead them in prayer as the bow took its final plunge and headed to the sea floor around eight minutes after the Melbourne struck.

For Christ’s sake West, get your fat arse over here, Petty Officer Michael Cooke yelled at the young sailor who was frozen with fear and shock and crouched against a wall crying inconsolably as water flooded into the compartment all around them in the stern section. You have to pull yourself together mate. You did the right thing by trying to warn us, but it just came too late. Come on, pull yourself together, you can do it.

Cooke saw his words were having no effect on his young charge and walked and half swam his way across to the boy. West was still a teenager. His dark wavy hair was dripping with water and blood. West had hit his head hard on the bracket of a wall light, ripping open a large gash in his forehead. While West regained his focus, Cooke caught the boy by his collar and pulled him up some steps. A sailor’s shirt was caught on a hose fitting and Cooke grabbed it and ripped it in two. He quickly bandaged West’s head before the pair made their way out towards the deck. The colour in West’s small face faded as his eyes began to take on the look of a boobook owl. The horrific jolt that threw him across the room and split his forehead had scared the hell out of him. The scene of mangled bodies and seeping blood in the cascading water filled the youth with a terror he had never known. It made his body begin to shut down as shock started to take effect while he crouched against a wall, staring obliviously into the nothingness that could soon become his grave. Cooke recognised what West was going through and put his arm around him and lifted the boy sailor. He splashed some water into West’s face and the youngster’s stare changed as he once again became more focused.

Come on mate, we’re all scared. We’ll get out of here if you follow the drills we’ve all done. That’s it, start climbing the stairs as there are too many trying to go through the escape hatches. We’re getting out of here.

West regained a semblance of lucidity, checked himself and thanked Cooke. The pair started to quickly make their way up the stairs to the next deck and was hit by a pulsating wave of water pushing at them from behind. A hand entangled between West’s legs as he tried to keep up with Cooke. West instinctively grabbed the hand and pulled the body it was attached to out of the water. Slowly, the sailor’s hand tried to close around West’s clothes. The young sailor looked directly at West. In his hand was a folded piece of paper and the teenager began to talk haltingly.

Andrew, Andrew, post my letter for me, please …

The floating sailor gave out a gasp, rolled his head into the water and let go of West and his piece of paper. A large pool of red water followed the dead sailor. West instinctively picked up the paper and put it into his shirt pocket. He then stood gaping at the sailor who had just died in front of him, wondering what to do.

Andrew, leave him, Hugo is dead, Cooke yelled as he saw his young charge trying to lift the body of the dead sailor out of the water. Keep going forward to the next set of stairs and we can get out of here. Come on mate, not far to go now.

West let go of Hugo’s hand and the dead sailor drifted further along the passageway with the water’s current. The eerie sounds of men screaming and crying punctuated the darkness. Cooke grabbed the boy once more and pushed him through the surging water until they found the next and final set of stairs that led to the outer deck. The pair stood on the deck for a few seconds and took in the sight. Men were swimming in and out of thick, grimy oil patches trying to get away from the sinking stern section of the ship to save being sucked under when the ship made a move to dive to the bottom of the sea. Debris filled the ocean and all the while men’s muffled cries could be heard. Instinctively, West pulled his friend’s letter out of his shirt and started reading it.

What are you doing? You can read it later Andrew. We have to get off this ship, Cooked said hurriedly.

West looked him square in the eye. This is Hugo’s last letter. I have to read it before we jump into the sea and the ink dissolves, West blurted out with a measured and stern tone.

Cooke calmed, took some deep breaths, and watched as West read and then re-read the letter as they leaned against the railing separating them from the broken ship and the calm ocean below.

West straightened his head and began to cry. Tears rolled quickly down his face, and he began to sob as he folded Hugo’s letter up and replaced it in his pocket. He crouched on the deck with his hands over his head crying in muffled tones.

Cooke put a reassuring arm around the youth and then stood him up. He helped him climb over the wire railing before pushing him into the heaving ocean below. The senior sailor quickly followed, found West struggling to swim and kept yelling words of encouragement to him.

West swallowed a large amount of oil and salt water as he tried to swim hard away from the stern of the ship. He vomited many times in the heaving swells as he tried to breathe hard, swim and focus on survival. Together Cooke and West swam and floated towards a group of other sailors hanging onto ship debris. The group seemed to be floating in the gentle swell for ages. The moon gave an eerie glow and lit the scene with a soft ghostly shimmer as clouds slowly scudded past casting a low-intensity light onto the water making the crest of the small waves hitting the sailors seem to dance and roll. West remembered Hugo’s piece of paper and patted it as he recalled what his friend had written to his parents and then cried again.

Dear Mum and Dad,

I have tried writing this letter a hundred times to tell you how much I love you but each time I wanted to add so much more.

I’m sorry I moved out after our argument. It was silly and I should never have left on such bad terms – I’m so sorry.

Joining the Navy has taught me a lot. I know you would be proud of me. My training was hard but I topped my class. Every step of the way your words of love and encouragement kept ringing in my ears as I pushed myself harder and harder. I miss you both very much.

I hope to visit you both again after this current posting so you can see me in uniform and meet my wife Kate who is pregnant with our first child.

This is the life for me. I’ve made some really great mates like Andrew West, who is my ‘partner in crime’ onboard and am learning new things all the time. I want you to meet Andrew and my other Navy friends – I’m pretty sure you’ll agree they are a great bunch.

I miss you and love you both,

Your son,

Hugo

West had committed the letter to memory and became an emotional train wreck. He had read a letter from one of his best mates in the Navy to his parents who would never see their boy again. The letter was from a dead man who would never see his wife and his first child alive. It was riveting reading and sent more shivers up and down his spine. Tears flowed freely and mingled with the water lapping his body as he tried to keep afloat. He lasted a short time with the other sailors before the epic events of the naval accident enveloped him. Slowly, shock gave away to the death tremors and the young sailor’s body started to shake, his eyes closed, his breathing became shallow and his body began to shut down permanently. The teenager’s eyes glazed over, his breathing stopped and his grip on the flotsam was released as his body sank below the choppy seas and became one with the ocean. On the horizon, the faint lights of HMAS Melbourne could be seen as the aircraft carrier slowed and started its long turn to port to help pick up survivors.

Davy Jones received more than 80 souls this night and an Australian warship that never fired a shot in anger was lost to the murky depths of the Pacific Ocean somewhere off the New South Wales coast near Jervis Bay – home of the Navy’s training for new officers. Within eight minutes of the Melbourne ramming the bow of the Voyager, the smaller ship’s forward section had filled with water and headed out of sight on a downward spiral – never to see the sun rise on it again. The rear section of the ship floated for around two hours before it too succumbed to the sea and into the soft sands of the ocean floor below.

Crews from Melbourne scoured the accident area for some time and picked up lots of flotsam. Nowhere among the debris was a young man’s letter to his family. It disappeared into history along with his best mate carrying it.

There were 232 survivors and three bodies recovered from the naval disaster which were the Voyager’s Captain, a Lieutenant and a young sailor called Hugo Biteles.

Chapter One

Present day:

The iridescent green figure slowly rode his orange motorcycle on the grass verge, stopping off now and then to place letters and small parcels in mailboxes at the front of houses. The wait for Connor McBride almost became nail-biting as he stood on his front verandah hoping the postman would round the corner into his street. The teenager kept drumming his fingers on the brickwork. The low-level noise of the motorcycle became clearer and then finally what looked like a giant green wasp on an orange machine rounded the corner and headed to Connor’s mailbox. With the speed of a young lion, Connor jumped the railing on his verandah and vaulted to meet the postman.

Here you are mate, the postman said as he handed the teenager a couple of letters.

Thank you, Connor said as he quickly read the addressees.

A frown started to develop on the boy’s face as the postman made ready to move on. The teenager’s shoulders slumped and he turned ready to walk into the house when the postman called him back.

Ahh, nearly forgot this one. I think it’s for you, the postman said as he gave Connor a windowed envelope with his name on it.

Thanks – it’s what I’ve been waiting for, the teen said. His frown disappeared and his face lit up into a giant smile.

The postman waved and gave the thumbs-up sign before changing gear and riding off to the next house. Connor quickly ripped the envelope open and saw the crest of the State Government’s ferry corporation at the centre top. A smile enveloped the boy’s face again as his eyes lit up and he yelled out Yes, yes. I’ve got it. Connor ran into the house to show his parents the letter and tried to contain his enthusiasm.

Mum, dad, I’ve been accepted, the teen yelled as he went from room to room trying to find his parents. Eventually, he found them on the rear verandah sharing a pot of tea.

When do you start? Connor’s mother Ruth asked.

Next week. I have to bring my medical and school documents and they’ll organise the rest.

So, my son is about to start a seafaring career eh, the boy’s father Blain said. Well done son, we’re both very proud of you. Who knows, you could be the Master of any Sydney Ferry within a few years if you play your cards right.

Thanks, dad. Here, have a look. This is gold. I’ve only been out of school a month and already I have a job and career.

Well, you deserve it, Ruth chortled as she read the letter. You were always the best swimmer and most knowledgeable about watercraft in scouts …"

I think this will be a lot more different to scouts and paddling around Port Botany or down some of those fast-flowing rivers I went on for the badge work. Wow, this is great. I’ll have to tell Darren – he’ll be surprised.

Now, don’t go and skite about the job yet. After all, you have to prove yourself yet as a deckhand and be able to look after those ferries in all kinds of weather, Ruth said as she poured herself another cup of tea. Her smile was just as hard to extinguish as Connor’s – she was so proud of her only child and the joy he showed at times when he achieved something.

Connor went into the kitchen and picked up the telephone handset and rang his best mate Darren. The pair had been through high school together and were great friends. Darren had chosen to enter the Police Force and was waiting for approval of his application.

Hi, guess what? Connor virtually screamed down the phone.

You’re in, I take it, Darren replied.

Yep, I start next week. Yay!

"Whoa,