Drowning in Her Eyes

by Patrick Ford

  Jack said, “We can’t see what’s on the other side of the hill, and the bloody map is useless. Bill, take your section on a tour right round the hill for a look. We will remain here. If there is anyone on the hill, he won’t see you if you keep well inside the scrub line.” It took an hour for his patrol to return. Bill reported that the scrub was much thicker and reached further up the hill on the rear side. Moreover, there was a deep cleft in the rocks providing cover almost to the summit. Jack smiled. This might be just the opening they wanted. Jack had his platoon form a perimeter. “We’ll wait here until dark,” he said. “No talking, and no smoking. When we move out, I will go with three section in the lead. one section second, two section in the rear.

  As darkness fell, they moved out. It took an hour to move stealthily through the scrub. The forward scout came back, excited. “The gully is just up ahead, Jack. I think there may be someone up there. I’m pretty sure I saw the glow of a cigarette.” They crept up the gully, hugging the ground and moving at snail’s pace. Jack took the lead. Ten yards from the top, he paused. There was no sound, no lights, and no fire. Then he saw the smoker. His face glowed, briefly illuminated as he cupped his cigarette in his hand and took a draw. Jack slid back down to the man behind him. “I am going to see if I can sneak up on that piquet. When I grab him, the rest of you swarm up to the top as quick as you can. Just hope there aren’t more than a section of them!”

  With infinite patience, Jack slithered towards the sentry. It took him ten minutes to come up behind him. Jack drew his bayonet, took him by the throat, and whispered, “No noise, mate. If I was fair dinkum, you’d be dead.”

  The others quickly occupied the hill. There were four more of the enemy in their bedrolls. They looked rueful. “Good work, son,” said the sergeant referee who was with them. “You got the jump on us, all right.” One of Jack’s men produced a pot of camouflage paint and emblazoner a ‘P’ on each of their captive’s foreheads. They left for their base camp. They were designated prisoners now and were out of the game.

  Jack took the compass and set it to the bearing of their final objective. Then he hesitated. I think I should check this, he thought. He checked the bearing with map and his protractor. Well, bugger me, he thought. They’ve marked the wrong bearing on this compass, the cunning bastards!

  They put out sentries and camped for the night. They stood to at daylight, ate some rations and looked out at the terrain they had to cross. It was not a pretty sight. Away into the distance, they saw serried ranks of sandstone cliffs, traversed by gullies that, in some cases, cut deep into the terrain. It would be an impossible task to march in a straight line to their final destination. Jack and his men looked at the map. Although the map was old, nothing had changed in the landform. The whorls and re-entrants of the contour lines remained unchanged. “Those gullies are perfect for the opposition to set ambushes,” Jack said. “We have to stick to the high ground wherever possible.”

  One of the others said, “If we do that, it’s going to take forever to get there.”

  “It will certainly take longer. Let’s have a close look at the map to see how we can do it.”

  They gathered around the map, passing it from hand to hand, looking at slopes, hills, other features. Finally, they agreed on a route. It would almost double the distance they had to travel, but it kept them to the higher ground for most of the way. There were two places where they were vulnerable. They could not avoid these two saddles. The one they could see was heavily timbered, and should be okay, but the other was not in sight; they would have to face that hurdle later.

  They moved out, in line ahead, interchanging lead sections at regular intervals. It grew very hot as the sun rose in the sky. Soon they were sweating heavily, but Jack set a cracking pace; the time they had left to gain their objective was dwindling away. They stopped for ten minutes every hour. Jack enforced a change of socks after three hours to keep feet dry. A couple of the men were beginning to show signs of fatigue, but the worst was to come. One of them fell out of the line. Jack called a halt. “Drink,” he said, “but not much.” He squatted alongside his flagging companion. “How are you doing, Smithy?”

  “Shit, Jack, I’m buggered. I’m out of water.” This man had failed to keep his water discipline, but it would serve no purpose to upbraid him now. Without a word, Jack poured some of his water into the man’s water bottle.

  “Righto,” he said, “Let’s take twenty minutes now, and then move off.”

  They reached the first saddle. It was about a hundred yards wide, thickly timbered. It’s just the place for an ambush, thought Jack. He called a halt and checked on his ailing comrade; he was managing so far. “Ok,” Jack said, “our little friends might have a nasty surprise for us here. We’ll split into two groups and pass up each side of the scrub, keeping to the extreme edges, but out of sight. I reckon anybody waiting for us will be in the middle where the cover is thickest.”

  This they did. There was no obstacle to their passing. They had no sign there was an ambush waiting for them, and once they regained the high ground, there was nothing to stop them. They picked up the pace again and within an hour, they were in sight of their objective.

  Jack looked across the last saddle to the huge red flag on the high ground beyond. This was their target. The rules of the game said they had to be there before dark, so there was no way they could wait for the cover of the night to assist them. One of his section leaders was all for charging across the hundred yards of bare ground to the cover of the scrub beyond. “I bet they were thinking we’d think this would be the place where they’d set their ambush, so they set it up back there to fool us. I reckon the coast is clear now.”

  Jack said, “I think you may be right, but we can’t take the risk. I’m going to set up a diversion. Frank and I will go down the gully there on the right. When you hear us firing, wait to see if anyone shows himself. Then, if there’s no sign of them, go like the clappers for the flagpole. We’ll see you over there.”

  They waited. Fifteen minutes later, there came the flat barking of blank rounds. There was no sign of any enemy. They sprinted for the other side… fifty yards…twenty yards…they were home!

  The clatter of rifle fire carried up from the gully for several minutes, then ceased. Minutes later, Jack and Frank emerged from the gully. They were herding four of the enemy in front of them. “Caught ‘em with their pants down!” called Frank.

  They’d triumphed!

  * * * *

  Major McIntosh called Jack in at the end of the course. “Corporal, you have shown superior leadership and military skills during this course. Normally, you would be promoted to sergeant now, but I’m not recommending that. I’m sending your file to the colonel and recommending your promotion to warrant officer second class. You will still attend the December recruit course, but you will be CSM of the training company. Early next year you’ll complete your First Appointment Assessment. I expect your commission by May next year. Well done!”

  Jack felt no elation. He had expected nothing less. He had made the army his passion, a replacement for Susan’s soft arms

  He was going to be the best bloody soldier in the army!

  Armidale, New South Wales, Australia—1965

  In the winter, he played rugby, fiercely, recklessly, taking out his frustrations on his opponents who soon learned to look out for his ferocious tackling and rucking. He worked hard on his fitness, so necessary now to his military ambition.

  His best friends were still Bob and Mike, but they detected a hardness in him now, a refusal to compromise. The men he commanded in the regiment felt the lash of his tongue on more than one occasion. He was fair, but he would suffer no fools. He was a stern disciplinarian. This was his job; as the senior NCO, he bore responsibility for them all. He put them on defaulters and drilled them mercilessly. He was almost paranoid about their fitness, for he knew how important it would be if ever they were required to do some real fighting.

  However, he
also acted as a big brother and mentor. He looked after their welfare. He would share a drink with them, and on more than one occasion extracted them from bar fights. When in Sydney on duty, they found that regular soldiers treated them with contempt as ‘weekend warriors’, or as ‘little boys playing soldiers’. Jack had to correct this perception a number of times. He never relied on his rank in these situations. If it became necessary to act, he always removed his shirt or jacket. When his men heard him say, “I don’t have my crowns on now, try me out.” They would rally to his aid. He didn’t fight clean; he used all the dirty tricks his instructors had instilled in him during unarmed combat training. After a while, the regs learned to give him a wide berth.

  He drank with his friends on Saturday nights, sometimes to excess. His friends soon learned to leave him alone when he became morose. Bob, Mike, or their girls made sure he got home safely. Sometimes, Bernadette consoled him. He had confided in her and sworn her to secrecy. She was a refuge for him when things got bad, for she had loved Susan, too.

  He went home to help when he could. Paddy’s weather forecaster was right. The 1965 drought was the worst in living memory. Thousands of sheep and cattle died. The wheat crop failed. How fortunate they were to have sold most of their livestock and had cash in the bank. The men had stuffed the sheds with hay, and they were able to sell it for four times what they paid for it. With the drought, there was little to do that Ollie and Mike couldn’t handle. He spent more and more time on his study and the Regiment.

  He didn’t tell his mother about the baby. She didn’t ask about Susan, for she knew how wounded he was. Sometimes, late at night, she would hear him quietly sobbing in his room. There were times when a particular song would cause him to pause in his work and wipe a tear from his eye. She knew he had had his heart torn apart. His grieving would take a long time.

  The year dragged on. In Vietnam, 1RAR had fought its first major engagement and everywhere the war escalated. The Viet Cong and their North Vietnamese allies stepped up their attacks. They took heavy casualties for the US had deployed massive air and ground forces. Even so, before the war would end, there would be more than fifty thousand American dead.

  In December, Jack went back to Wallgrove to be Staff CSM at the recruits’ course. Those who attended remembered their CSM for many years afterwards, for he drove them as no other had done. Remembered as the best-trained, fittest group of recruits to pass through the course, more of these men would gain commissions than from any other course.

  * * * *

  Rain started to fall just before Christmas. The fearsome drought was waning, although its effects would be felt for a long time into the New Year. At Ballinrobe, the year ended with some good news. Denni bought home a beau and announced she would be married in the New Year. Duncan McGregor was a young doctor, headed for fame as a pediatrician, but no one knew that yet. Helen and Jack approved. The wedding was scheduled for Easter in the garden at Ballinrobe. Well, thought Jack, there would be plenty to keep Helen busy for a while, anyway.

  Jack often drove his old Land Rover and Sam to the thinking place. Here he revived his spirits, although saddened by thoughts of Susan and their baby, and how he might never see them again. Sam sensed his sadness; often she would whimper when he spoke aloud of Susan. He asked his mother and Ollie to keep the Land Rover always well maintained, and never to sell it. He had discovered a scarf Susan had left in his room and he often handled it, imagined her scent was still there. Maybe it was.

  He still had not been with a woman since she had gone. No one could compare. There were many opportunities on offer but he declined them all. It was hard for a man with his strong libido, but he knew whomever he was with, he would see Susan’s sweet face. She often came to him in his dreams, soft brown eyes, depthless and inviting. The dreams always had the same ending. He would wake and reach for her, but she’d be gone. Soon the other women learned to leave him alone.

  Worcester, Massachusetts, USA—1965

  It was gloomy and snowing when they arrived in Worcester. Susan empathised with the weather. Her world had turned to ashes. Marci was triumphant, in control. Susan’s baby grew, now showing a bulge and kicking from time to time. For several months Susan had existed in a kind of dim suffused fog, hearing little, feeling nothing; only her baby sustained her. The tears were always there, waiting to erupt, cunningly picking up familiar songs, or the memories of his voice.

  Marci would not let her out of the house, for fear of the shame it would bring upon her. She censored all of her mail. Any letter to Jack, she took to post, but dropped it into the incinerator as she went by. Jack did not write; he did not know where to write. Susan had little or no money so there was nothing she could do. Her baby was the only thing she had left of him. Marci had destroyed all of her photographs, all his old letters, all her mementos. Eventually, she regained some composure, realising she had to live for her baby, to nurture her, to take her back to her country where she was conceived, where her spirit belonged. This was now the focus of her life.

  Marci constantly reminded Susan of her fallen woman status. She would never find a husband. Her baby would be born into poverty, for she had no money, no career. Her relatives would not want to acknowledge her. She had sinned. She must suffer the consequences. Jack had not contacted her. He had not answered her letters. He had abandoned her, just as Marci had predicted. Susan kept her own counsel. She still believed Jack loved her and would come for her. She would wait forever. They had pledged their love forever more.

  Sarah was more satisfied. She could correspond with John, and she still had the hope he would come for her and marry her.

  * * * *

  Jacqui Susan came into the world on May 15, 1965. Marci refused to let Susan name Jack as the father on her birth certificate. Jacqui was a name Marci could not bring herself to say. By now, she had convinced herself of the rectitude of her actions. She played the role of martyr perfectly. She would realise, much too late, how terribly wrong she was.

  Marci told all that Susan had married, but that her husband had abandoned her, leaving Marci to support them both. Marci rarely paid attention to Jacqui; she did not hold her and displayed no affection towards her. Susan put her sadness to the back of her mind. She had discovered a stronger emotion—hatred.

  The months crept by. Susan was sustained by her love for Jacqui, her hatred for her mother, and her smoldering desire for Jack. She spent long hours crooning to her daughter; she told her of Ballinrobe, of the night she came into being, of the love of her father and the spirit of the land that would always be there, and how she would one day take her home forever. Sometimes Jacqui’s eyes would sparkle as she said Jack’s name, and she seemed to concentrate hard and then smile at any mention of the thinking place.

  Marci gradually allowed Susan some freedom. Jack was no longer a factor. She let her mother think she had accepted his betrayal and stopped writing letters. She would bide her time. Susan started living something akin to a normal life, visiting her relatives and some childhood friends. She never spoke of Jack; she could not bear to share him. At night, she dreamt of him, of his hard body, of his green eyes, of all the nights of passion, of the love that would never diminish. When that tingling feeling rose in her stomach and her nipples began to react, she took pleasure by herself, and was temporally satisfied.

  Sarah was ecstatic because John had convinced his parents to give their permission for him to marry her. He was coming in August. Marci was furious in private, for she never thought John would come all that way. She had been looking forward to telling Sarah that she had been right about him, too. Although she had given her word, and now must follow through, she resolved to make John sorry he had come to take her daughter away from her. Jimbo was now a strapping lad of sixteen. Marci still worried about the war in Vietnam, but surely, it would not last another two years; surely, it would end before the draft took him.

  Soon John Starr arrived to claim his prize. The wedding was a small affair in the sam
e Episcopalian Church where Marci had buried her mother. John found Sarah just as passionate as before and two months later, she was pregnant. Susan was happy for her. John had started study as an accountant. Now that he was married to Sarah, he could work and study in America. He enrolled in college and began working part-time for a local firm of CPAs. Susan repeatedly asked if he had any news of Jack. He continued to assert he’d seen or heard nothing of him. A few times, before he answered, he cast furtive looks at Sarah or Marci. Jacqui had her first Christmas. It was a sad time for Susan and her mother.

  Goondiwindi, Queensland, Australia—1966

  January began with some lovely rain. For days, it drifted down. Tanks overflowed. Water courses ran, then spread across fields. Soon, they could stop feeding stock. Ballinrobe had come out of the drought well. She had carried no sheep, so the pasture grasses had not been grazed to extinction. They had made a small fortune out of the hay, so providentially purchased. Jack and Helen took stock. Unlike their neighbours, they had cash reserves, so they purchased fifty more high quality breeding cows. Both decided to hold off on purchasing more sheep. The wool market was weak. Synthetic fibres and the universal application of cheaper forms of heating in Europe and America had reduced demand in an already depressed market.

  Jack set off for Armidale in late February. He felt very fit and strong. Necessary maintenance filled the time he had spent at home. New fences, upgraded stockyards, additions to the buildings took most of his time. He had worked hard labour on these projects. Hard work helped dull the ache a little. The new buildings included quarters for casual labour. Jack had decided that Ollie and Mick needed some more help. They had plans for an expanded wheat crop and they needed some casual labour for busy times.