by Peter Watt
‘It’s hard for me to ask you to help us, considering our friendship in the past,’ Donald said. ‘All we wish is for you to inform us if what the Yanks tell us is the same as they know. After all, who do you really represent – us – or the Yanks?’
‘You are asking me to spy on the Americans, who are our valued allies against the Japanese,’ Jessica said. ‘Why were you singled out to approach me?’
‘The PM’s Department felt that as a civilian I am less likely to be connected to the government,’ Donald said. ‘Charles was supposed to act as your contact, but for some obscure reason he has enlisted in the RAAF. I accepted it as my patriotic duty, and of course it doesn’t do any harm to keep in the good favours of the PM. Never in a million years did I imagine I would be working with you. Seeing you last night was shock enough, but to find out today that you are the contact in MacArthur’s headquarters is almost unbelievable. How long are you in Sydney for?’
‘I leave tomorrow morning to return to Brisbane,’ Jessica answered.
‘I was hoping that we could get together, and I might have a better chance to explain the situation to you.’
‘The man you saw me with last night is my military escort,’ Jessica replied. ‘I cannot go anywhere without him. Was the lady on your arm last night your military escort?’ Jessica said with just a touch of sarcasm.
‘She is an American Red Cross nurse I have been seeing,’ Donald answered. ‘She’s a family friend. Her brother is a fighter pilot in the Pacific.’
‘So she is in need of comfort then,’ Jessica said with a wry smile. ‘I understand now.’
‘It was you who broke a promise to me years ago, remember,’ Donald flared and before they could exchange further recriminations, the aide called the members of the committees to take their places at the table. Donald and Jessica broke away and Jessica found a nameplate with her name and rank on it.
The meeting was not as exciting as Jessica had imagined. She hardly needed to take notes and was only interested when Donald stood to deliver his report on the state of rationing in Australia. She wondered whether she might be able to get away from Tony this evening and meet with Donald. But she was not sure if her motives were completely in line with his request for her to spy for the prime minister on General MacArthur’s intelligence system.
The meeting broke up for lunch and when Jessica manoeuvred herself to speak with Donald she was startled to see Tony standing in the doorway.
‘A message from the office,’ Tony said with a grim smile. ‘We are to go to Victoria Barracks for another meeting. We leave now.’
Jessica followed the American officer from the meeting room. She looked back to see Donald staring after her with an expression she could not decipher.
*
Captain David Macintosh marvelled at the world his company had entered this high up. Beautiful tropical flowers and orchids grew amongst thick, twisting vines. Watercourses roared towards waterfalls, and under the canopy of trees they were in perpetual twilight and dripping water. Underfoot was a carpet of soft leaf mould, and from the top of the hills they could occasionally glimpse panoramic views over the hills and valleys nearby.
But this beautiful place was also a place of menace and death. The Japanese were retreating, using the tactics employed by the Australians when they were retreating. In the thick undergrowth the enemy left ambush parties to strike when the forward elements of the infantry were only feet away. Such a tactic forced the advancing forces to stop and deploy, giving the main body of the Japanese more time to reach the north coast of New Guinea from whence they had originally landed.
Even when they were not in contact with the Japanese, another enemy took its toll on the troops. Malaria, scrub typhus and dysentery brought down fighting men as often as bullets and bombs.
David’s battalion was moving forward to occupy the position of another battalion on the heights above Eora Creek. The location lay amongst huge trees with splayed, twisting roots in a dank world of almost perpetual rain. At night they experienced the bitter chill and swirling mists. It was a place easily imagined as from another world – a green hell. In the night David’s company could hear the sound of gunfire just ahead, and he knew the war had come down to an individual basis of each man’s self-discipline and stamina to keep going.
In the morning David received orders to take his company in an outflanking sweep around Eora Creek village to advance on Alola village. The intention was to disrupt any planned ambush by the Japanese at Eora Creek.
They moved out midmorning and made their way along a ridge until they came to a clearing and saw the village around three hundred feet below. The order was given to go down to the creek and ascend the steep ridge on the other side. As David sent his men forward they could hear rifle and mortar fire and David guessed that their sister battalion was taking hits from the Japanese.
The task was daunting as the climb was a steep, almost four thousand foot mountain to ascend, but the battalion commander calculated that the main body of the enemy would be encountered, and David’s company would contact them. The CO had calculated from the enemy fire that they would be up against a company of Japanese. It was not a good chance but the thick jungle and terrain evened the odds.
David could hear fire falling on the battalion gathered at the end of the bare spur. Added to the small arms fire was that of a mountain gun and mortars shelling the unit.
David was worried by how difficult it was to keep communication with his platoons. At least in the deserts of North Africa he had watched the large formations of the enemy armour, and infantry advancing to the attack, but here it was a war of man on man.
He received a radio comms transmission that his forward platoon had reached the village and were pinned down by fierce Japanese fire. David gave them the order to pull back and wondered how the battalion was faring under the gunfire on the spur. It was obvious that the enemy had a clear field of observation to do so.
To cross the creek before them David’s company would have to attack one of the bridges while their sister battalion went after the other of the two crossings.
They bivouacked for the night and the next morning David was informed that their sister battalion had not been able to take the bridge they had been assigned and had lost many men in their futile attempt to cross. The Japanese were mustered in a strong holding force, and now it was the turn of David’s company to take on the defenders of the second bridge, knowing that the enemy would inflict many casualties in their attempt.
The company moved out and David found himself looking at the faces of the soldiers he passed. How many would be cracking a smile when the sun went down tonight, and how many would lie dead as darkness fell?
David pored over a map and came up with the best plan he could. He would send a platoon up a ridge downstream to make their way into the rear of the Japanese defenders, providing covering fire as the rest of the company fought their way across the bridge. He called in his friend and platoon commander, John Dulley, and briefed him on the task.
‘It’s the best we can do,’ David said. ‘I know the going will be tough.’
‘No worries, cobber,’ John said. ‘You do know that I am down to seventeen men.’
‘I know,’ David said. ‘But it’s suicide to take the Japs head on.’
John Dulley hefted himself from the ground where he had been squatting over the map. David watched him walk back to his platoon in the thick scrub, and remembered all those times they had been on leave together in Cairo. That felt like a lifetime ago, and David wondered whether he would ever see the end of his fighting days. If he went back to being a civilian, the only real skill he had was leading men in a crusade to kill others. He had a fleeting thought about two women; Allison and Sarah. For either one of them to feature in his future, he first had to survive the present. This deadly operation to take the bridge was just one of so many he had fough
t in the past – and would in the future.
*
Sir George Macintosh was not happy.
It was not up to a married woman to ask her husband to leave the house. He had actually liked Charles Huntley, who had a good pedigree and was more importantly the father of his future grandson.
Sir George sat in his library, waiting for Sarah to return that evening, and heard her speaking with the cook downstairs. He waited until he heard her footsteps on the steps to the top floor, and called to her through his open doorway.
Sarah stepped into the library.
‘You wish to speak with me?’ she asked with her hand on the doorframe.
‘Sit down,’ Sir George said. ‘I think it is time that we spoke about a few matters in the family.’
Sarah reluctantly took a chair next to the wide window overlooking the drive way from the library. ‘You appear to look a little annoyed,’ she said. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘I spoke with your husband,’ Sir George said. ‘He was departing on a train to Victoria for aircrew training in the RAAF.’
‘You knew he chose to enlist,’ Sarah said. ‘I think he is being very noble.’
‘A man such as your husband does not choose to commit suicide unless driven to it,’ Sir George said. ‘He seemed to be a man with nothing to lose, not someone motivated by patriotic duty. What has happened between you two?’
Sarah glanced out the window at the warm shadows of the early evening. ‘We just simply grew apart.’
‘But you have not been married for even a couple of months,’ George responded. ‘He should be anticipating his imminent fatherhood, not running away to fly aeroplanes.’
‘It really does not matter. It is not his child,’ Sarah said. ‘It is David’s child.’
Sir George thought that he had heard wrong. ‘Do you mean your cousin, David?’ he asked in his shock.
‘Yes,’ Sarah replied with a defiant stare at her father.
‘But he is a Jew,’ Sir George gasped. ‘How could you have a Jew baby to that man?’
‘If I remember correctly,’ Sarah said, ‘the baby has to have a Jewish mother before it is truly a Jew, so you don’t have to be concerned, Father.’
‘Does Charles know?’ Sir George asked, still attempting to try and come to grips with this act of forbidden love.
‘No,’ Sarah said calmly in a detached way that almost frightened her father. ‘If he should fall in the service of his country, then he will die with the consolation that he has left a child behind to honour his sacrifice.’
Sir George shook his head slowly. What had he spawned? ‘It is if you were the reincarnation of Lady Enid,’ he said softly.
‘I wish I had known her,’ Sarah said. ‘From all that I have read about her she was a remarkable woman. That brings me to the point of asking you directly which of us will eventually take control of the management of the companies. My brother or me?’
‘Neither, while I am still alive,’ Sir George answered coldly. ‘I admire your assertiveness, but I also have to consider that the leadership of the family should be in the hands of a man – not a woman.’
‘You constantly forget that my cousin, David, is also a major shareholder,’ Sarah said. ‘What will happen if he returns from the war?’
‘I doubt the Jew will want to return to the world of commerce,’ Sir George said. ‘He is too much like his father, Alexander – no head for business.’
Sarah said nothing for a moment then replied ‘You said our family was cursed. Do you believe that?’ Sarah asked.
‘How could we be cursed when we are amongst the richest people in this country,’ Sir George said, but knew he was bluffing when he still awoke in the dark of the night to see the shadow of Wallarie in the corner of the room. Lately he was accompanied by other menacing shadows of the past. It was as if they were patiently waiting for him to pull aside the veil and join them on the other side.
Sarah stood from her chair. ‘Times are changing, Father,’ she said. ‘I believe that you will eventually see the sense in having me appointed the manager of our business interests. I will bid you a good evening.’
Sir George watched his daughter leave the room. He was still trying to fathom the heritage of his future grandchild, and Sarah’s openly declared ambition to be the sole leader of the family. Times were changing, but he doubted that a woman could ever take control of such a vast financial empire. But had he not said himself that he thought his daughter could be the reincarnation of Lady Enid Macintosh? To complicate matters, the appearance of the British aristocrat, Lord Ulverstone in his life was drawing them to an abyss. His intimate knowledge of Sir George’s contacts in the Nazi party and German industry was as explosive as the bombs that fell on England.
28
Where Captain James Barrington had sought out the devil on the ridge at Guadalcanal, he now found angels in the Auckland hospital. Infection had set in to his wound, and en route to New Zealand in a flying boat, he had overheard the medics say that there was a good chance he would not survive.
However, on arrival at the Auckland hospital the doctors had told him that he would be injected with a new drug. It was derived from mould and they called it penicillin. For days James had fought fever and slipped in and out of consciousness, but eventually his wound began to heal and after four weeks he was able to get out of bed and enjoy the spring warmth of the southern hemisphere.
The food, rest and medical care brought the young man back to good physical condition, but the resident American army psychiatrist, Dr Bernard Goldstein, noticed the marine pilot had troubles beyond those that could be diagnosed at a physical level. James protested that he was not insane, and Dr Goldstein patiently explained that he also did not consider James insane but that his mind had experienced an overload of horror and it needed treating as much as his body. James walked out of the first session, but the threat that if he did not attend his consultations he would be grounded from flying was enough to bring him back to Goldstein’s office.
James was waiting to see the ‘trick cyclist’ – as he’d had heard the Kiwi service people call the doctors who treated broken minds – when he picked up a copy of Stars and Stripes. He flipped through it and found an account of the Battle for Edison’s Ridge, as the coral hill was now being called. In the description of the desperate fight James found an account of Corporal Pedro Hernandez’s lone stand against the Japanese. The article went on to say he had been awarded the Bronze Star for his courage, and James flung the magazine on the floor in a fit of anger. The Mexican had deserved a much higher decoration, but clearly his nationality had been enough to downgrade the award.
‘Come in, Captain Duffy,’ Dr Goldstein called from his office. He was a man in his fifties and had practised in New York before joining the army medical services for deployment overseas.
‘Doctor,’ James said, rising from his seat as the Jewish doctor eyed the magazine lying open of the floor.
‘Come in,’ the doctor said again and James followed the tall man into his office.
James sat down on a comfortable leather chair in front of the doctor’s desk.
‘I have some news that I think you will welcome,’ the doctor said. ‘I have sought permission from the Marine Corps to send you on medical leave to Sydney for six weeks.’
James was stunned. It was a lot more medical leave than someone in his condition might normally expect.
‘It appears that your grandfather has some influence with Mr Roosevelt. Besides, the USMC does not want one of its Navy Cross winners to be back on duty unless he is cleared as ready for combat. I am not prepared to do that until you have had a good long rest.’
James could see the doctor was smiling. He was still taking in the news that for the next few weeks he would be able to see his sister in the country of his father’s birth, and live life away from the constant fear of active
service. At the same time, however, he was racked with guilt knowing that his comrades were still living the hell of the Pacific war.
‘You fly out tomorrow, and I will see you back here at the end of your leave,’ Dr Goldstein continued. ‘I hope for your sake – and mine – that I will be able to pass you for duty as a marine pilot again. Do you have any questions?’
For a moment James hesitated and shook his head. ‘Thanks, doc,’ he said.
‘Well, you are free to go. I have arranged for your clearances and hope that you have a good time in Australia. Good luck, Captain Duffy.’
James left the office as if he was floating on air. In a flurry of activity he soon arranged to leave. He was going to visit the land of his father.
*
Sergeant Tom Duffy had found peace. He was astride a horse under the northern Queensland sun in the Gulf Country, riding with the Nackaroos. Standing beside him was an Aboriginal member of the unit, examining the ground for tracks.
‘Bin gone this way, Sarn’t Tom,’ he said. ‘By an by one fella day.’
Tom glanced back at the three men mounted on horseback. Many of the men were experienced bushmen around his own age. They had been recruited because they were able to ride a horse, shoot and live for weeks under the harshest of conditions in the isolated regions of the Gulf Country. They were tough in body and mind.
‘He go this way,’ the Aboriginal guide said, pointing to the north.
The crashed American fighter pilot was still alive, and Tom knew that the aviator’s life depended on the skills – thousands of years old – of a man whose people had for many many generations lived and died in this harsh land of scrub-covered plains, crocodiles and coastal mangrove swamps.
‘Okay, boys, time to ride,’ Tom said, and the five men headed north as their trusted tracker had indicated.
Tom was at home in a land that was also of the blood of the man walking beside the horses. Within hours they found the American pilot, who was near death from heatstroke and dehydration. Tom knelt by the young man and when he looked into his face he was reminded of the young soldier he had lost on the Kokoda Track. At least Tom knew he had a chance of saving this young man and returning him to his family across the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean.