by Peter Watt
Putting the machine gun back together, Jack slipped it on the single standing pipe modified as a swivel for anti-aircraft defence. The Papuan crew lazed about the deck as the schooner made good progress, its sails billowing with a tailwind. Jack noticed that the change of course had taken them further south than the Vitu Islands group. He was wondering why when the skipper approached him.
‘I got a signal from Moresby that the Japs have a destroyer patrolling north of us,’ he said, squatting beside Jack. ‘We’ll change course to head north and approach the islands on the eastern side. The Japs will expect us to make any landing on the western side.’
‘Good idea,’ Jack replied. ‘So far so good. No sign of any Nips.’
‘If anything,’ the skipper said, ‘we will need to keep a keen eye out for subs and aircraft today.’
*
Crossing the United States of America by rail had been an eye-opener for Donald Macintosh. He had arrived on the West Coast after securing a seat on a military aircraft as an economic representative for the Australian government. The flight had taken him well south out of range of enemy aircraft, via New Zealand and Hawaii, reaching San Francisco where he then took a berth on the rail to the East Coast.
The Americans he met along the way were friendly and courteous. Donald marvelled at how wealthy the country appeared, with its industries already well into war production. He also noticed that, despite declaring war on the Axis powers, the people did not seem to consider they were at direct risk from either the Germans or the Japanese. Months had passed since the infamous Pearl Harbor attack and the country had settled down to consider in a rational light that the Japanese had extended as far as they could for the moment. There was no doubt in the minds of any of the Americans he met that the Japanese would be defeated. This optimism was a stark contrast to the national feeling he’d left behind in Australia, which was still under direct threat of invasion.
At least Aussies and Yanks were now bound by common enemies and together they would prevail. Donald would meet with American officials in Washington to discuss the setting-up of logistics systems in Australia in preparation for the arrival of American forces. The vast resources of the Macintosh enterprises would be brought to bear in assisting to feed, clothe and house the many American soldiers, sailors and airman expected to use Australia as a base to strike back at the Japanese Empire.
Accommodation in Washington had been at a premium, but his credentials helped Donald secure a place to stay. His wealth ensured that he was able to stay at the best hotel amongst the towering skyscrapers and busy streets that were not blacked out at night as they were in Sydney.
When his round of planning conferences was complete, Donald took a detour before his return to the West Coast to meet with James Barrington Snr. As his taxi drove him up the tree-lined avenue to the mansion, Donald was impressed by the Barrington wealth. The first signs of spring were evident in the green buds appearing on the trees that had weathered the bitterly cold winter. Rugged up, Donald stepped from the taxi and was met by Olivia. He had not seen her since the Berlin Olympics of 1936 and the intervening years had turned her from a pretty girl into a beautiful young woman.
‘Donald, it is so good to see you,’ she said, embracing him with a warm hug. ‘It’s been so long and you’ve changed,’ she said, holding him at arm’s length to look at him. ‘You’ve put on weight.’
‘Are you saying I’ve grown fat?’ Donald laughed.
‘No, no,’ Olivia protested. ‘You’ve grown muscles.’
‘Well, I can thank my cousin David for that,’ Donald replied as Olivia took his arm and walked him into the Barrington house while the taxi driver followed behind with his suitcase. ‘He had me placed in the care of an old friend of his, Harry Griffiths, and the old coot made me work out mercilessly at his boxing gym in Sydney. I learned to box, and Harry said he might even make me into a pro fighter with a bit more training.’
‘You are not seriously entertaining that idea!’ Olivia exclaimed and Donald grinned.
‘Not really, I don’t like the pain. I think Cousin David can have that.’
Olivia knew from her correspondence with Sarah that it had been David Macintosh who had saved them from Brown Shirt thugs years earlier in Berlin. ‘You must come in to the fire and thaw out,’ she said, ushering him into the living room, decorated with Edwardian furniture imported from England, and expensive paintings reflecting American pioneer culture. ‘This must be exceptionally cold for an Australian.’
‘It is a bit,’ Donald said. ‘But seeing you all grown up into a beautiful woman makes me forget about the cold.’
‘You have a line as broad as the Mississippi,’ Olivia chuckled. ‘But I like it. Oh, here is Grandfather.’
‘Donald,’ said James Barrington Snr, extending his hand, ‘it is a pleasure to see you again after such a long time. How are your good father and sister?’
‘My father is well,’ Donald lied. ‘My sister has proved to be a great asset to the management of the companies. How are you, sir?’
‘Well enough,’ he replied. ‘I am sure that through your visit we will develop fruitful prospects for us both. Sadly, it has come down to a war to realise certain opportunities; however, we will still be serving our respective nations in doing so. Olivia,’ he said, turning to his granddaughter, ‘could you please tell the cook that we will dine at six. I am sure you will be able to look after Donald while I attend to an urgent matter this afternoon. If you’ll excuse me, I will leave you until then.’
Alone with Olivia in front of the warming open fire, Donald was struck again by how beautiful she was. He wondered if he might fall in love with her. He’d only been in love once, with Jessica Duffy, but his feelings had faded after Jessica had committed herself to becoming a nun. He hoped that his admiration for Olivia was not obvious. ‘What is James doing with himself?’ he asked.
‘James is somewhere in the Pacific on a carrier, flying dive-bombers,’ Olivia said. ‘He writes when he can, and I gather he’d rather be flying fighter planes. I worry about him. I guess that is something between twins.’
‘I worry about David,’ Donald said. ‘I guess that is something between cousins, although when you really consider it, he’s more like a brother to me.’
‘Touché,’ Olivia said. ‘We can only hope that the war will not last long, and all those we love return safe and sound.’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘But so much for dreary war talk. How long do you plan to stay with us?’
‘I am scheduled to stay overnight, and then I return to Washington and from there commence my journey back to Australia,’ Donald answered. ‘I wish I had more time to remain in the States. You are so fortunate here.’
‘Well, maybe it is my turn to visit you and Sarah,’ Olivia beamed. ‘I’m signing up for the Red Cross, and Grandfather has reluctantly pulled a few strings for me to be shipped out to Australia. He would prefer that I remain at home but he knows that I’ll sign up anyway.’ She grinned at him. ‘You will be able to show me a real-life koala bear when I get there.’
‘That’s wonderful news,’ Donald said. ‘I’m sure that Sarah and I will be able to show you more than just a koala bear. We do have some night life in Sydney – should you be posted there.’
‘I think my grandfather will ensure that happens. He has substantial influence in Washington, as I’m sure you know,’ Olivia said. ‘I just can’t sit around at home when so many of our boys are going off to war.’
The afternoon passed pleasantly in front of the great open fire. Then, before Donald knew it, James Barrington Snr had returned, interrupting the easy flow of conversation between the Australian man and American woman.
That evening the three sat down to dine on venison, accompanied by a good red wine. There was little chitchat during the meal, and afterwards Barrington got straight down to business. Olivia excused herself. Her stern grandfather did not believe
in women being present during such discussions.
‘I am able to ensure that certain American contractors deal with Macintosh companies for the supply of goods during the Pacific campaign,’ Barrington said, wiping his mouth with a linen serviette.
‘At what price?’ Donald asked bluntly, raising the goblet of delicious red wine to his lips.
‘A flat ten per cent of your profits,’ Barrington answered.
‘That’s pretty high,’ Donald countered. ‘I was thinking five per cent.’
‘I would agree with you, but there are people in Washington I have to pay to pass the contracts,’ Barrington explained. ‘There are others in your country we can do business with.’
‘There are,’ Donald agreed. ‘But this business agreement should be kept within the family circle, don’t you think?’ Donald knew their blood links were distant, but they still existed.
Barrington raised his own glass and stared at the red wine for a moment as if reflecting on it being the colour of blood. ‘I will concede two per cent, but nothing less,’ he said quietly.
‘Eight per cent it is,’ Donald said, realising for the first time that his stomach had been in knots negotiating this deal. So much was at stake; the potential profits from supplying American forces in Australia and the Pacific region were enormous.
‘Good,’ Barrington said. ‘I will ensure that the paperwork is processed for the contract. The other matter will be dealt with through different avenues.’
Donald knew what this meant. It was what he had heard called under-the-table negotiations, and as enforceable as any on the table. Paperwork would disguise the kickbacks, and the Macintosh companies would be viewed as patriotic enterprises helping to fight the war against the Japanese in the Pacific. War was good for business. Had not Donald’s own father espoused that point many times?
‘Tell me, Mr Barrington,’ Donald said with a quiet smile, ‘do Americans like asparagus?’
Barrington looked at the Australian with an expression of surprise. ‘Yes, we do,’ he answered. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Just a private joke with my sister,’ he answered with a smile.
The following morning Donald was driven to the railway station by Barrington’s chauffeur. Olivia insisted on accompanying him and they stood side by side on the siding as the call came to board.
‘It was nice seeing you after all these years,’ Donald said. ‘I guess I can say two very good things have come out of my visit.’
‘Oh, and what are those two good things?’ Olivia asked, her expression mischievous.
‘Seeing you and knowing that I have a good chance of seeing you again soon,’ Donald said with sincerity and Olivia leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.
‘We will meet again,’ she said with a twinkle in her eyes.
As the train pulled out, Donald thought about his deal with Barrington. Maybe he was better at dealing in the world of high finance than he thought. It would make his father proud. If he was to take sole control of the family’s enterprises he knew that his main competitor was not his cousin, David, but his sister. Sarah had once been a timid young girl, but she was growing into a forthright and determined young woman. She would be a formidable opponent.
*
The second day of the canoe trip to the Vitu Islands seemed as if it would be as uneventful as the first. Jessica and Bruce were being paddled at a steady rate by two Tolai villagers, and the seas were calm. Both Jessica and Bruce had daubed themselves with charcoal to make themselves appear as natives. The Tolai policemen who had escorted them to the village had excused themselves to return to Frank Holland’s unit.
In the canoe they carried a supply of cooked sweet potato and pork for the journey, and the skies above were broken only by patches of fluffy white clouds. Jessica dozed, careful not to topple from the canoe, which was the largest the village had. Then she heard it and came wide awake. It was obvious that Bruce had already detected the ominous sound that had broken the serenity of the late afternoon.
‘It’s a Nip fighter,’ he said, gazing at the horizon where the aircraft appeared at a high altitude but flying their way. ‘If he sees us he should just take us for a native crew out fishing.’
Jessica found herself fixated by the ever-growing shape of the fast and sleek enemy aircraft. The two men paddling the canoe also looked up, and the expression of terror on their dark faces did nothing to reassure Jessica.
Suddenly the single-engine monoplane dived towards them, and Jessica wondered why she could see twinkling along the wings and nose. The sea around them erupted in small spouts as the machine gun rounds and cannon shells slammed into the water a few feet from the canoe.
‘God almighty!’ Bruce swore. ‘The yellow bastard is trying to kill us.’
Frozen with fear, Jessica tried to think of a prayer, but all she could think was that they were completely vulnerable in the dugout canoe.
The aircraft circled around to line them up again.
‘He’s just using us as target practice,’ Bruce said through gritted teeth.
He had hardly uttered the words when the canoe seemed to explode into wood and flesh. Bruce screamed, and before she was thrown in the sea Jessica realised that he had been struck by the deadly bullets. As she hit the water, Jessica wondered why she felt no pain.
She emerged from beneath the salty water, coughing, and grasped at what remained of the shattered canoe. The water appeared to have turned red, and she could hear someone groan. She clutched onto the slowly sinking dugout and looked around. There was no sign of the two Tolai men, but she could see Bruce’s head bobbing in the sea a few feet away. His eyes were closed and he began to sink. Jessica had always been a strong swimmer and she pushed away from the canoe to prevent Bruce from falling beneath the ocean. Reaching out, she grasped the Australian sergeant’s hair and pulled up his head so that he could breathe. Bruce opened his eyes and made an attempt to tread water.
‘Let me go,’ he groaned. ‘I’m done for.’
To Jessica’s horror she could see Bruce’s entrails drifting from his body just below the surface. He must have been hit by one of the 20 mm exploding cannon shells.
‘Just hang on to me,’ Jessica said, but secretly she knew Bruce was right. He was already a dead man. It was then that Jessica found herself praying for his soul. She did not have the power to deliver the last rites, and as far as she knew Bruce was not a Catholic, but she prayed anyway, tears pouring down her cheeks as she gripped Bruce with one hand and held on to the wrecked canoe with the other. Jessica had hardly finished her prayer when she noticed that Bruce was staring at her with dead eyes. Reluctantly she let go of his body and it drifted away.
Now it was time to pray for herself, but Jessica wondered if God actually listened to the desperate pleas of one who had chosen to leave her vocation. Reality was that she was the sole survivor, adrift in shark-infested waters. It was only a matter of time before a shark took her or she drowned. Jessica knew that help was a forlorn hope in this enemy-dominated sea.
But Jessica held on, the will to live stronger than the desire for a quick death. The afternoon passed and she watched the sun disappear below a calm sea. When the night arrived so also did the biting chill of the water and the fear of the unseen lurking all around her. Jessica had stopped praying and commenced thinking about her life. So many thoughts went through her head: the gentle love of her father, what might have been if she had allowed herself to fall in love with Donald Macintosh. She closed her eyes and thought about the sacred hill on Glen View Station. She imagined seeing Wallarie there, an old man whose blood also ran in her veins. She tried to fix on an image of him as an old man, but often he would shift shape and become a young ochre-adorned warrior. He was suddenly smiling at her and raising his spear to point towards where the sun had set. While she imagined Wallarie, Jessica did not feel the cold, or fear the possibility of a shark a
ttack. Eventually, though, he and the sacred hill faded from her mind, and the biting cold returned.
She felt her strength diminishing and she closed her eyes and prepared for death. She would simply go to sleep and drown. Something brushed past her legs; it felt like sandpaper. Jessica startled awake and screamed. She continued screaming until her throat was sore and her strength entirely gone. She did not see the shape approaching through the darkness of a moonless night.
7
For Private Tom Duffy, the sounds, smells and sights of an army encampment brought back memories of his previous war. But this time he was the old man; around him were men not even born when he had served in the trenches of the Western Front.
The recruit-training unit outside Brisbane had done its job and Tom had graduated with the youngsters. He had proved to them that he could keep up and he hoped that he would be posted to fight in the Pacific.
Tom was cleaning his rifle in the barracks when one of the instructional staff strode up to him. The man was a corporal, as old as Tom.
‘Private Duffy, you are to report to the orderly room now,’ he said.
‘What for, corp?’ Tom asked.
‘Dunno, Tom,’ the corporal replied. ‘I think it’s got something to do with the postings. I’ll secure your rifle while you head over there.’
Tom handed his Lee Enfield .303 to the corporal, placed his slouch hat on his head and marched smartly to the unit’s orderly room. It was a hot day, but some of his sweat was not due to the heat. Was it terrible news about Jessica rather than information about a posting?
Tom walked into the orderly room where a clerk sat behind his desk, shuffling papers. ‘Reporting as ordered,’ Tom said.