by Peter Watt
Then it was all over and Sean glared at the man more dangerous than any German soldier he had ever encountered on the battlefield.
Sarah scooped up a handful of earth and scattered it on her mother’s coffin before turning away to leave with Charles Huntley, still not expressing any remorse for her loss. Sean repressed his anger with the pain of his grief.
‘God has punished her for her sinful ways,’ Sir George said so that Sean could hear him.
It was Donald who answered. ‘How could you say that at a time like this?’ he snapped.
‘Because of the man standing beside you,’ Sir George answered. ‘If she had not chosen him over me, and had instead remained in my house, she would not be in this grave today.’
Sean’s grief swung to rage. ‘You bastard!’ He began to hobble around the grave to attack Sir George, but he felt Donald’s restraining hand on his shoulder.
‘I have come to learn a lot about you, Father,’ Donald said. ‘We are taught in scripture that he who is without sin should cast the first stone.’
Sir George shook his head and walked away, taking Sarah and Charles with him.
‘I wish I had been with Mother at the end,’ Donald said bitterly. ‘But my father had the meeting drag on as if he knew I wanted to go to the hospital. He is the devil himself. Sarah is blind to his evil, and it seems to me that I have no family left.’
‘You have David,’ Sean said quietly. ‘I know that before the war you two were very close – more like brothers than cousins. He is still family to you.’
Donald stared down at the ground while the gravediggers hovered in the background eager to fill in the grave before midday and their lunch hour. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I have always envied David. He fears nothing and has little interest in accumulating riches. I wish I had been able to enlist with him at the outbreak of the war, but both my mother and father insisted that I remain with the companies. Originally I thought that I could do something for the defence of the country by working as I had been doing, but now I can see that all I am doing is staying safe and making money on the back of war, while David puts his life on the line every day.’
‘It is you who will have to ensure that the family businesses are managed through these difficult times. Despite my loathing for your father, I know that the Macintosh enterprises keep roofs over the heads of a lot of employees, and food on the table for them and their families. You need to ensure that continues.’
Donald did not look as though he was taking consolation from these words.
‘Come on, son,’ Sean said, placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘I think it’s time you and I met up with Harry at the pub and raised a glass to your mother, wonderful woman that she was.’
Donald nodded and the two of them walked away as the gravediggers moved in with their shovels.
*
David’s battalion moved through a world of perpetual twilight, suffering through the quagmire of mud, sweating profusely during the day and at nights shivering as rain pelted down and the temperature dropped in this rainforest six thousand feet above sea level. The rain would ease off in the early hours of morning before dawn, and an eerie mist would descend. It was a world very few of the men had experienced before and did not wish to experience again.
David marvelled at the fortitude of two wounded soldiers they had passed on the track. One had had his hand shot off, and the other had three Japanese machine gun bullets in his chest. They were attempting to reach medical help further back down the track. The sight of them reminded the men of David’s company what lay ahead.
David gripped the roots of a large tree to haul himself up the muddy slope as they struggled to reach the top of a ridge.
‘Captain Macintosh, sir,’ the company sergeant major called to him from below. ‘The OC has just had a bad fall and the CO has sent a message that you are to take command of the company until the OC is well enough to rejoin us.’
‘Thanks, sarn’t major,’ David answered. As much as he regretted the company commander’s misfortune, he was secretly pleased to have an active command.
Within the hour they were on top of the heavily rainforested ridge and the commanding officer called a briefing for his company commanders. They were going on the attack, to aid a sister battalion with supporting fire. The attack was scheduled for 1100 hours the following day, and when the briefing was over David sent for his platoon commanders to issue them their orders. They in turn would brief the section commanders with specific tasks.
David carried out his assignment of visiting each platoon to oversee the positioning of their sections in defence on the narrow ridge. Satisfied that each machine gun was properly sited, he pulled back to his company headquarters to join with a signaller and the company sergeant major.
‘Got a pleasant surprise,’ the CSM said, opening a small canvas bag and spilling the contents in front of them. ‘Some of the mail was picked up from an airdrop back down the track, and there are a few letters for the lads.’
David was pleased to see that some mail had got through as he knew how valuable news from loved ones at home was to the morale of his men.
‘Try and get the mail out to the boys before last light,’ David said.
‘Even got one here for you, boss,’ the CSM said, holding up a letter.
David took the letter and on first examination was puzzled by the handwriting. It was neat and a little flowery, and it was unfamiliar to him. He opened the envelope and in the fading light could see that it was from Allison Jenkins. He was surprised but he hadn’t forgotten the beautiful woman he had met at the Macintosh residence when Sarah had hosted a party for him.
My dear David,
I remembered how kind you were towards me those months past, and thought that such kindness should be returned.
My husband was shot down at Milne Bay and listed as missing in action, but I fear that means only that they cannot find his body. I thought about you when I attended Sarah’s wedding to Charles and I remember how Paul used to say that a letter is worth a thousand rounds of ammunition when it comes to morale. So here I am, doing my bit for the war effort. I was going to enlist in the services but have found employment as a legal clerk with a firm of solicitors in Sydney. If I write to you I feel that I am doing something good and I hope that you do not mind me doing so. I will await your response.
Yours Sincerely
Allison Jenkins
David read the letter again before the light faded altogether and darkness crept in over the ridge. He carefully folded it and placed it in his top pocket. That evening he lay back on his groundsheet and tried to remember everything he could about Allison from their brief meeting. There was something comforting about receiving a letter from a beautiful woman, and it helped take his thoughts off the forthcoming clash with the enemy. He knew that all around him his men were deep in their own thoughts and fears as the rain pelted down and they shivered, wet and cold in the mountains of New Guinea. Most had survived the deserts of North Africa and the craggy hills of Greece and Syria. Now they were up against a fanatical enemy that did not believe in surrender. This was a fight with no quarter asked and none given: a fight to the death. Many of his men would be fearing that they might let their cobbers down when the shooting started. David realised that he was now responsible for a lot more men than he had ever commanded before.
When the sun finally rose and the mists swirling in the valleys began to dissipate under the hot tropical sun, the company gathered their kit and moved out into their positions to support their sister battalion as it moved forward and encountered the defending Japanese. At 1100 hours, as scheduled, the first firing began. The enemy was only around forty yards away but invisible in the dense forest. David ordered their mortars to drop bombs into the suspected positions, as well as raking them with the Bren guns. Above him on a hillside he could see the other battalion manoeuvrin
g, and David’s supporting fire brought down a barrage of Japanese mountain gun shells exploding in the company positions.
David could feel the shock wave blast between the trees, and heard the cry of his men hit by flying shrapnel. His war against the new enemy had commenced and his battalion had experienced their first battle casualties.
Over the radio David could hear that the other battalion putting in the attack had inflicted many dead on the defending Japanese. But they were forced to go to ground before the sun set, and David bitterly regretted that his company could not send a body count of the enemy he suspected died under the mortar bombs, and machine gun fire of his own company’s fire support. But this was the nature of a war where a mere forty yards away not one enemy soldier was seen in the thick undergrowth and forest giants of the mountains.
*
Sergeant Tom Duffy sat in the mud carefully reloading the spare magazine for his rifle. Around him his platoon lay in a defensive ring silently watching the dense jungle along the track. When Tom was finished he gazed around at the men who were left. They were gaunt, and their once young eyes were now old with what they had seen in the long, bloody retreat towards Port Moresby. Tom knew they were not winning, as the enemy continued to push them south. But he also knew the outnumbered Australian forces were inflicting grievous casualties on the Japanese for every mile of the track they conceded.
*
Lieutenant Mike Hall had aged. He had watched his command dwindle as wounds, disease and death stripped the ranks. He was now down to a mere ten men – hardly a section – when his platoon normally numbered three sections. He had been ordered to carry out a forward recon mission to ascertain enemy positions, and now in the ominous silence of the forest he felt that old gut instinct that the Japanese were close. Using hand signals he directed his forward scout to move cautiously ahead. He glanced over at his sergeant, Tom Duffy, who was now down on his stomach, his rifle pointing forward.
Tom nodded, acknowledging what his commander had in mind, and the rest of the platoon watched the back of the forward scout crouching as he took one step after another.
The silence was shattered by a burst of machine gun fire, and the scout crumpled, pitching forward into the mud.
As usual, no one had seen the enemy who had fired from up the track, and Tom leapt to his feet and rushed to retrieve the young soldier, who he could see was still alive. He was hardly aware that Lieutenant Hall was yelling for him to take cover, but Tom continued forward at a crouch until he reached the soldier lying face down in the mud. Tom snatched at the man’s webbing and began to drag him back as the rapid beat of machine gun bullets ripped through the air around him. They did not all miss him, and Tom felt the impact of a bullet hitting him. He fell and could hear the return fire from his platoon’s single Bren gun. Whether through good luck or uncanny accuracy, the Bren’s .303 rounds found their target, and a yelp of pain from a position a mere twenty feet away indicated a hit.
For what seemed an eternity Tom lay in the mud as the rain burst through the jungle canopy and drenched the men of the Australian patrol. It also acted as a screen against observation by any other Japanese further forward of the machine gun that had been put out of action.
‘Are you still with us, lad?’ Tom gasped to the wounded soldier beside him, but he did not receive an answer. In agony, Tom rolled over onto his back and reached for the soldier. He hefted himself into a sitting position and could see that the second burst of enemy fire had ripped under the chin of the soldier, blowing away the back of his head. The rain was washing away the blood from his death-dealing wound.
Hands gripped Tom and began dragging him back towards the defensive position. He gripped his rifle, dragging it through the mud. ‘Someone’s got to retrieve the Owen,’ he said, still a sergeant concerned for the loss of valuable equipment. The Owen submachine gun had more than proved its worth in the harsh conditions of the New Guinea jungle and it could mean the difference between being wiped out and winning.
‘We’re on to that, sarge,’ a corporal said. ‘Mack is going for it now.’
Satisfied that he had done his job, Tom allowed himself to be laid out and examined by Lieutenant Hall.
‘You copped one in the shoulder and another in the lower back,’ he said, applying a field dressing to Tom’s shoulder. ‘I’m going to organise medical evacuation for you.’
‘What about Bluey?’ Tom asked, referring to the body of the forward scout.
‘We’ll have to bury him here off the track,’ said Lieutenant Hall. Both men knew that getting a wounded man back to safety was hard enough to organise; the dead had to wait for future evacuation. ‘That was a bloody brave and stupid thing you did, Tom. Haven’t you got enough gongs from the last war?’
‘Didn’t think about it much, only thought about getting young Bluey out of the line of fire,’ Tom replied, gritting his teeth as the pain swamped him. ‘I think we should all get out of here. If the Japs had a light machine gun up front they must have at least a platoon supporting it with a Juki heavy machine gun.’
‘I agree,’ the lieutenant said. ‘We’ve identified their position, so I’ll send back a signal with our location and we’ll get out of here.’
Lieutenant Hall organised a careful withdrawal, always covering their rear and flanks as they moved. When making contact, the Japanese would send out units to the flanks and cut off any retreat in a pincer movement, even if that meant leaving the track and plunging down into deep valleys and climbing back up again.
Tom found himself in a makeshift litter of groundsheets and freshly cut saplings. With as much care as they could, the men of the platoon carried him back, clambering over huge exposed tree roots and rocks that could twist or snap an ankle. The rain that continued to hammer the retreating platoon helped conceal their movement from the Japanese they knew would be in pursuit. Tom felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness as his blood drained away to mix with the rain and mud. He knew that this time he would not be returning to the platoon. His war was over – if he survived his injuries.
Towards evening Lieutenant Hall’s men stumbled into the forward positions of Captain David Macintosh’s company. Tom was still alive, but he needed medical attention urgently. His evacuation was organised by David’s company sergeant major, and Tom was laid out to await native porters who would come forward for the arduous transport further down the track towards Port Moresby.
Lieutenant Hall shook hands with David and accepted a mug of hot sweet, black tea. The two men huddled in a shallow trench with a camouflaged groundsheet as a roof. A few feet away a signaller squatted by a radio in a similar style trench.
‘So you made contact here?’ David said, pointing to a grid reference on his map.
‘That’s right, sir,’ Lieutenant Hall confirmed. ‘One Jap LMG which we think we put out of action – at least killed or wounded the crew.’
‘You said that you lost one KIA and one WIA,’ David said, scribbling down the facts so his battalion intelligence officer could include the information in his report to brigade HQ.
‘Yes, my WIA is my platoon sergeant,’ Lieutenant Hall said, sipping his steaming mug of tea. ‘The old coot should have been home with his grandchildren on his knee. He fought in the last war and was decorated. He’s also a bloody wealthy Queensland landowner and had no real reason to sign up.’
‘There are blokes like him,’ David smiled grimly. ‘Warriors, we call them. They see peacetime as merely the absence of war.’
‘Warrior is probably a good way to describe him. He’s actually a blackfella from around Townsville way. Tom Duffy’s his name.’
‘Tom Duffy,’ David said quietly, as if pondering something. ‘I think I might go over and see how he’s going.’
David made his way in the rapidly growing dark to the position set aside for the wounded. He found a medic who pointed David to where Tom was being held in
a clump of forest giants.
‘Sergeant Tom Duffy,’ David said, kneeling beside him. ‘I’m Captain David Macintosh. Do you know the Macintosh name?’
Tom had his eyes closed but slowly opened them and tried to focus.
‘Glen View,’ he said in a hoarse whisper.
‘God almighty!’ David exclaimed. ‘You’re kin to Wallarie.’
Tom nodded and fought to muster what strength he had left. ‘I remember you. You were at Glen View before I came back from the war. Your mother is buried near the homestead on the land of my ancestors.’
‘And here we both are in this Godforsaken place,’ David said. ‘What bloody forces are in play that we should meet in this fashion?’
‘I heard before the war that you refused to sell Glen View to me,’ Tom said weakly.
‘That land is also in my blood,’ David said. ‘But if we survive this damned war we can talk about a possible sale, Sergeant Duffy.’
‘Old Wallarie’s behind the two of us meeting here,’ Tom said with an attempt at a smile. ‘He’s always interfering in our two families.’
‘I know about Wallarie,’ David said and realised that he had gently placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘The old bastard was a fraud who had everyone – black and white – from Cape York to the NSW border terrified of his magical powers.’
Tom tried to chuckle but gasped as another wave of pain overwhelmed him. ‘I have a daughter, Jessica,’ he said. ‘If I don’t make it out of this I would like you to promise that you will consider selling Glen View to her.’
‘I will be negotiating with you, Sergeant Duffy,’ David said gently, although deep down he wondered if this would be the first and last time he would speak to this man who had links to his own blood.
Tom nodded and closed his eyes. He was in a world of dryness and warmth, standing on a hill beside a young Aboriginal warrior marked by the scars of tribal initiation and the white man’s bullets. He was a world away from the dripping jungles of an island to Australia’s north, where a war was being lost against an utterly ruthless enemy.