The water was red before the last body stopped moving. Not from the tide, not from the sand. From 22 women who walked into the surf with their hands at their sides wearing nurses uniforms with Red Cross armbands and were shot from behind with a machine gun. February 16th, 1942. Raji Beach, Banker Island, Indonesia.

21 of them never came back out. One did. Sister Vivien Bullwinkle was 26 years old. A bullet passed clean through her left side, missing every organ. She lay face down in the water and did not move. Japanese soldiers waded through the bodies around her, bayonetting the wounded.

 She felt the water move as they passed. She did not breathe. She did not make a sound. She floated among her dead colleagues for over an hour. Then she crawled onto the beach alone. But here is what nobody told you. Here is what the Australian government made sure nobody would ever know. Before the machine gun, before the water, before the dying, something else happened on that beach.

Something the sole survivor tried to report at the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal in 1947, something she was ordered by her own government to never speak of again. She carried that secret for 58 years. She carried it until the day she died. And the world would not learn the truth until 2019, 77 years after Raji Beach.

February 12th, 1942. Singapore is falling. The Japanese Imperial Army has pushed through the Malay Peninsula in 70 days. One of the fastest military campaigns in the history of modern warfare. British commanders have surrendered. The city is burning. 130,000 Allied soldiers are about to become prisoners of war in the largest capitulation in British military history.

 On the docks, 65 Australian Army nurses from the 213th Australian General Hospital are ordered to evacuate. They board the SS Viner Brookke, a small passenger vessel already overloaded with wounded soldiers, civilians, women, and children. Among them is Sister Vivien Bullwinkle. Born December 18th, 1915 in Capanda, South Australia.

 Trained as a nurse in Broken Hill. Volunteered for the army in 1941, 26 years old. The ship leaves Singapore on February 12th. 2 days later, Japanese bombers find it in the Bangar Strait. The viner brook takes multiple direct hits and sinks in minutes. Two nurses die in the attack. The rest are thrown into the open ocean. For hours, survivors cling to wreckage, to each other, to anything that floats.

Groups wash up on different parts of Bangar Island through the night. Vivien Bullwinkle reaches Raji Beach with 21 other nurses, a group of wounded Australian and British soldiers and a handful of civilians. They are exhausted. They are injured. They have no food, no water, no weapons. They make the only decision that seems reasonable.

They will surrender to the Japanese. They are nurses, non-combatants, protected under the Geneva Convention. The Red Cross emblems are still on their sleeves. On February 16th, a Japanese patrol arrives at the beach. What happens next follows a pattern that Japanese forces had already established in Hong Kong weeks earlier.

 A pattern Allied commanders knew about and chose not to act on when they decided to delay the evacuation of nurses from Singapore. The Japanese soldiers separate the men from the women. The wounded soldiers, men on stretchers who cannot walk, are taken around a rocky headland. The nurses hear a machine gun. Then silence. Then the soldiers come back.

 They sit down in front of the women. They clean their bayonets. They clean their rifles. What happened next was confirmed by Vivian Bullwinkle herself in a private interview with broadcaster Tess Lawrence conducted before Bullwinkle’s death in 2000. It was confirmed by historian Lynette Silver through physical forensic evidence.

 The bullet holes in Bullwinkle’s recovered uniform showed the bodice was open at the waist and down the front when she was shot. It was confirmed by a Japanese soldier’s account given to an Australian investigating officer in which the soldier stated he had heard screams on the beach and was told the platoon was pleasuring themselves and it would be his turn next.

 It was confirmed, it was documented, and then it was buried. After the assault, a Japanese officer gave the order. The 22 nurses and one civilian woman were told to walk into the surf. They walked in a line in their uniforms into the sea. When the water reached their waists, the machine gun opened fire from behind. Vivien Bulvinkle was hit.

 The bullet passed through her body. She fell forward into the water and did not move. Around her, the sea turned red. She lay still for over an hour. Then she crawled out. She found a wounded British soldier named Private Cecile Kingsley hiding in the jungle. She treated his wounds with no supplies for 12 days.

 When he became too sick to survive without help, they surrendered to the Japanese together. Kingsley died shortly after. Bulvinklel spent the next three and a half years as a prisoner of war in a jungle camp on Somatra, keeping her survival secret from her Japanese captives. Because if they had known she witnessed the massacre, she would have been killed immediately.

She told no one had fully on that beach. Her fellow nurses in the prison camp helped protect her. They agreed together those who survived would remember everything and tell the world when the war was over. In 1947, Vivian Bulvinkle stood before the International Military Tribunal for the Far East in Tokyo and gave her testimony. She described the massacre.

She described the machine gun. She described watching her colleagues die in the surf. She did not mention what happened before the machine gun. She had been ordered not to. She was ordered when she was still in the army not to include these details in her depositions to the war crimes tribunal.

 Historian Lynette Silva stated in 2019. She was following orders. The Australian government’s reasoning, Silva believes, was a combination of factors. the stigma surrounding sexual violence in the 1940s, concern for families who would have to learn what their daughters and sisters had endured, and guilt because senior Allied officers had known for weeks before the evacuation that Japanese troops had raped and murdered British nurses when they took Hong Kong in December 1941.

They knew they delayed the evacuation of the Australian nurses from Singapore. Anyway, the perpetrators of the Banker Island massacre were never identified, never charged, never tried. The Australian government’s official position to this day, the perpetrators, escaped any punishment for their crime. Vivian Bullwinkle spent the rest of her life in nursing.

 She became director of nursing at the Fairfield Hospital in Melbourne. She sat on the council of the Australian War Memorial. She raised funds for a nurse’s memorial. She returned to Banker Island in 1992 to unveil a shrine. She accepted every honor on behalf of her dead colleagues. She never accepted it for herself. Before she died in 2000, she told broadcaster Tess Lawrence what had happened before the machine gun.

 She asked Lawrence to make sure the truth came out. It more than irked her. Lawrence said she wanted to put this in her statement before the war crimes tribunal, but was ordered not to by the Australian government. She was tortured by the secret. In 2019, historian Lynette Silva published her book Angels of Mercy, bringing together all the evidence for the first time.

 Physical forensic evidence, witness accounts. The 10-page report from the wife of an army investigator, several pages of which had been removed by someone determined that no one would ever read them. It’s taken a long while for enough bits of evidence to come together, Silva said to enable us to say now, yes, they were raped.

This actually did happen. 77 years after Raji Beach, 23 years after Vivian Bulvinkle died, still carrying the secret she had been ordered to keep. The 21 nurses who walked into that surf on February 16th, 1942 were not statistics. They were real women with real names. Matron Irene Drummond, Sister Elaine Balffor Ogulvie, Sister Mickey Farmer, Sister Pat Gumper, Sister Blanch Hempstead.

Sisters who had survived the bombing of their ship, who had helped each other through the night, who had walked into the water in formation, in their uniforms, with their Red Cross armbands still on their sleeves. They walked in as nurses. They died as witnesses to a war crime their own government chose to erase.

Vivien Bulvinkle was the only one who made it out of that water. She spent 58 years being told her truth was not safe to tell. She told it anyway, and the least we can do is