by Peter Watt
Michael eased himself from the bed and quickly dressed in the dark. He joined his father in the kitchen where Charles was frying bacon and eggs in a wrought-iron pan. He glanced at Michael. ‘You look like you’ve had very little sleep,’ he said. ‘Did the ghosts of this old place keep you awake?’ he added with a broad smile.
Michael did not answer as he sat down at the table. He knew he could not explain that he had once again seen the spirit of the old man Aunt Jess had told him was Wallarie. But why would he appear so far from the sacred hill? And why would Michael suddenly think he had been conceived here? They were not questions he wished to discuss with anyone.
When Michael and his father returned from a weekend of fishing at the Manly cottage, Michael sat down at the breakfast table with his father.
‘Dad, do we still have shares in that shipping company?’ Michael asked.
‘We do,’ Charles replied, poking at his scrambled eggs with a fork. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘It’s just that I liked working on the ship that brought me home, and I was offered a job aboard as a cook.’
‘That ship was one of ours,’ Charles said. ‘But to be a registered seaman you need special papers.’
‘I’m sure that you could arrange that for me, seeing as it’s one of our ships,’ Michael said.
‘Your mother would not approve,’ Charles said.
‘All the better,’ Michael said.
Charles put down his fork and looked at his son. Michael was big and strong for his age. He was good-looking and had a confidence beyond his years. He had confided to Charles the real story behind his expulsion from the elite school in England, and Charles had understood – even agreed with his actions.
‘What have we got to lose?’ Charles finally answered, and Michael broke into a smile.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ he said, and Charles felt the love in those two words. As the years had passed and Michael had grown up, Charles had realised his son held little resemblance to him. When he looked at Michael, he was reminded very much of David Macintosh. It didn’t matter to Charles. He had reared the boy and that made Michael his son.
‘I will commence proceedings today to get you the relevant papers. All going well, you will be at sea within a fortnight. I hope you get whatever is troubling you out of your system and return home to settle down. I missed you whilst you were in England, and here you are going away again.’
‘It’s something I just feel I have to do now,’ Michael said. ‘I promise to keep in contact and come home to you one day, Dad.’
Two weeks later Charles drove Michael to a commercial wharf on Sydney Harbour where the same cargo ship that had taken him across the Indian Ocean was ready to steam the Pacific for South America. The old Scottish captain greeted Michael warmly, and a few of the original crew welcomed him aboard.
Michael hugged Charles, thanking him for all that he had done to help him secure a passage to see the world from the deck of a Macintosh ship. As his father turned away, Michael saw tears in his eyes.
As the ship departed, Michael waved down at the solitary figure watching from the shore. Although he was sorry to say goodbye to his father, he felt excitement, and a little fear, for his unknown future. He had no idea where his travels would take him, but he hoped that one day the ship would dock in England and he would find Jane White once again.
That evening Charles announced to his wife over the dinner table that he had put Michael aboard a ship steaming for South America, via the Pacific Islands.
For a moment Sarah hardly comprehended what she had been told. But when it sank in she exploded in a fury at her estranged husband, accusing him of being a bad father and putting her only child in harm’s way.
Charles weathered the tirade and calmly said, ‘I love Michael with all my heart and soul – despite the fact he is David’s son. Oh, yes, Miss Keevers told me about your affair with David during the war before she passed away. My only question is, does David know?’
Sarah slumped into a dining room chair and stared at Charles. ‘He does, but showed no interest in acknowledging Michael’s existence. He even said that you would make a good father to Michael.’
Charles was pleased at David’s response; he was an honourable man.
‘Then if Michael has some of the natural characteristics of David, he will be able to take care of himself in whatever dangers he may confront.’
*
Rifles had been cleaned, inspected and returned to the armoury. It was time for the platoon to take some leave in Penang after a month of constant patrolling in the jungles of Malaya in search of the elusive Communist terrorists. After showering, changing into clean civilian clothes and being issued leave passes, they jumped onto the truck that would take them to the ferry.
Patrick half-heartedly joined his comrades and sat down next to Terituba. At least with the constant patrolling he had been able to focus on his job as a soldier, but the memories of Sally haunted him in those quiet times. Laughter, ribald jokes and bragging about what would happen when they reached the bright lights of Penang dominated the rowdy conversations, but Patrick remained disengaged from the banter.
‘Hey, Pat, what’s eating you?’ Terituba asked. ‘We goin’ to get drunk and chase some sheilas, or do we chase the sheilas first and then get drunk?’
‘Maybe just get drunk,’ Patrick replied.
Terituba did not push the issue. He could see that his friend was hurting and he suspected that it was because of a woman.
They reached the island and the ferry discharged its passengers. Patrick disembarked with Terituba and the throng of Malays, Indians and Chinese going ashore.
‘Hey, Pat, you know that good-lookin’ sheila over there? She is waving at you,’ Terituba said.
Patrick turned his attention to the street opposite the ferry terminal and felt his heart stop. It was Sally and she was standing beside her fancy sports car, smiling at him. ‘Sorry, Tracker, but you might have to join the other boys for this leave.’
‘Yeah, desert your cobbers for a sheila,’ Terituba said with a laugh.
Patrick pushed his way through the crowded ferry terminal to Sally, whose smile was like a wonderful light to him.
‘Hello, soldier,’ Sally said, flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him on the lips.
‘How did you know I would be here?’ Patrick asked, dizzy from the kiss.
‘I have sources everywhere,’ Sally grinned.
‘I thought you didn’t want to see me again.’ Patrick was still stunned by this unexpected turn of events.
‘No, you were the one who walked away. And besides, you are a hard man to forget. I missed you.’
That was all Patrick needed to know and he felt as if he was walking on air.
‘Hop in,’ Sally said. ‘This time I am taking you home for a wonderful meal.’
Some of Patrick’s platoon comrades who had witnessed the meeting hooted their appreciation for their mate’s good luck. Sally cheerfully waved back to them and drove away.
They did not go far before she pulled into the driveway of an elegant colonial mansion with manicured gardens.
‘So, this is home,’ Patrick said when she stopped at the entrance to the sprawling house.
‘For the moment,’ Sally said. ‘My father has homes in many countries. He is in KL at the moment, so we have the house to ourselves. Do you have any idea how we can fill in your time while you are on leave?’
Patrick grinned, taking Sally’s hand and walking with her into the spacious foyer where overhead fans cooled the air and marble floors reflected the tropical light. It was a place of elegance and good taste.
Sally led Patrick up a broad marble staircase to a bedroom. Very few words were needed between them, and when they finally lay back against the silk sheets, Patrick asked one question.
‘Why did you change your m
ind about me?’
Sally rolled over and put her head on his chest. ‘A girl can change her mind, can’t she? But you are different, and my warning still stands that I am not good for you. Very soon I will be leaving for Hong Kong. I will not be able to see you again for God knows how long. If ever.’
‘When we finish our tour we will be sent back to the barracks in Sydney,’ Patrick said. ‘I could get leave and go to Hong Kong to see you.’
‘Let’s not think about the future now. Let’s just live for the moment,’ Sally said, placing her fingers on his lips.
They remained together for the rest of Patrick’s forty-eight hour leave pass.
Sally drove him back to the ferry. This time he did not walk away, but he could see a deep sadness in her eyes. He knew that she would probably be out of the country by the time his platoon was granted leave again. It was a real bastard being a soldier when you were not free to be with the woman of your dreams.
THIRTEEN
They were coming across the wire and David Macintosh could not stop them. The enemy wore many uniforms, and the dying soldier beside him had the face of Craig Glanville. Shells rained down and the shrapnel was shredding the bodies of the men he commanded. David moaned, tossed and turned in the bed, alone with his recurring nightmares, when an alien sound cut across the blasts of artillery shells exploding.
David awoke in a lather of sweat and reached for the telephone beside the bed in his Canberra apartment. The cold, dark night was still upon the city, and the luminous face of his watch told him it was 2.30 am. A dread gripped David as he lifted the handpiece. No one called at this godforsaken time unless it was bad news.
‘Hello,’ David said, shaking off the broken sleep.
‘David, this is John Glanville. I am sorry to call you this time of the morning but I have some very bad news . . . Craig is dead. He was in a car accident on the highway in the hills a few hours ago and died in hospital.’ John’s voice broke and David could hear his quiet sobbing over the phone as the normally calm man attempted to regain his composure. ‘I thought that you should know as Craig loved you like his own father.’
David remembered the dream and felt the tears run down his cheeks.
‘I will come home as fast as I can,’ he said, and John thanked him before putting down the phone.
Two days later David stood beside the grave of the young man he considered a son. It was a balmy winter’s day in northern New South Wales and the cemetery overlooking the ocean was the best piece of real estate in the district. Craig would have been pleased with the spot, David thought, remembering all their times sitting on the headland watching the ocean. Standing opposite him was John Glanville with his arm around Gail’s shoulder. Gail held a handkerchief, crying softly for the loss of her only child. There was a large congregation of local people as Craig had been a star in the rugby club and well liked in the district.
When the service was over, David made his way to Gail. He was at a loss for words. What did one say to a grieving mother? David had written many letters to mothers of men killed in his command, but this was different. In times of peace children were supposed to outlive their parents.
‘Gail, I will miss him,’ he said simply.
Gail looked into David’s eyes. ‘I know you will,’ she said.
The crowd was dispersing, departing for the local community hall where the wake was to be held. David and Gail stood alone beside the open grave.
‘Maybe we should go on to the hall now,’ David said gently. ‘They will be expecting you.’
Gail nodded and, without thinking, David took her hand. She did not resist and the pair walked side by side, under a warm winter sun.
By late afternoon the wake was over and everyone had returned to their homes or workplaces. Gail and David waved goodbye to John and Nancy, both of whom were devastated by the loss of their grandson, and then they were alone again.
They sat at a table at the back of the hall with tepid cups of tea. Gail had wept on and off all day, but for now the tears had ceased streaming down her cheeks. They talked about Craig growing up, and Gail even laughed when David reminded her of the funny things he had done as a teenager.
‘You know, Craig came to see me at the farm a few weeks ago and chided me for not proposing to you,’ David said.
‘Why don’t you?’ Gail said, and David blinked in surprise.
‘I have always loved you and always will,’ he said, ‘but I am afraid that if I let myself admit how much I love you, something bad will happen to you.’
‘Nothing worse can happen than losing my son,’ Gail said. ‘Or losing you.’
‘What about Hamilton?’ David asked.
‘It’s over,’ Gail replied. ‘He was my attempt to forget you, but it did not work.’
David reached across the table and took both her hands in his own. ‘Then I can tell you that I want you in my life until the day I die. As my wife.’
Gail gave a short, harsh laugh. ‘A funeral and a marriage proposal on the same day.’
David withdrew his hands. ‘I am sorry, my timing is dreadful, but I could not get Craig’s words out of my mind. I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ Gail said, taking his hands in her own. ‘If that was the wish of my wonderful son, then let it be so.’
For a moment David wondered whether he had heard her words correctly. Then he broke into a warm smile.
*
Major Karl Mann left the Malay police outpost and drove to the Australian infantry battalion. A Sten submachine gun lay on the passenger seat, loaded and ready to use in the event of an ambush along the road.
He reached the battalion and parked his car. When he stepped into the battalion HQ he was met by a clerk who recognised him from previous visits.
‘Sir, I’ve just had a signal come through for you,’ he said, thrusting out a sheet of paper. ‘It’s graded urgent.’
Karl accepted the sheet and read the message signed simply ‘F’.
‘Is the CO around?’ he asked the clerk.
‘Er, the CO is in a meeting with the adjutant,’ the clerk answered.
‘Tell the CO that Major Mann would like to speak with him immediately.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the clerk replied, jumping to his feet and hurrying down a corridor to the CO’s office. Karl did not wait but followed the clerk to stand behind him when he knocked.
He ducked his head around the corner. ‘Sir, Major Mann is here, and would like to speak to you on an urgent matter.’
‘Send him in,’ the CO said and Karl walked through, saluted the lieutenant colonel and stood before his desk in a relaxed attention stance. The battalion adjutant, a captain, sat across from Karl in a chair, one leg folded over the other.
‘What is it, Major Mann?’ the CO asked curtly, annoyed at this officer who seemed to have powerful – but unidentified friends at brigade HQ – and who had been given an authority beyond his rank. The CO suspected that Karl Mann belonged to the shadowy world of British and Australian counterterrorism.
‘Sir, I apologise for the intrusion, but a vital message was waiting for me at your HQ when I arrived. It appears that intelligence has pinned Sam Po down to a rendezvous at an identified location not far from here within the next twenty-four hours.’ Karl walked over to a map covering the wall of the CO’s office, scanning the grids until he found the reference to the hut. ‘The location is here – near a kampong – and I require your support immediately.’
Both the CO and adjutant noted the position of the target.
‘Adj, what is the current status of our companies?’ the CO asked, turning to his adjutant.
‘All rifle companies and support companies have been sent on a sweep through the AO. We have one company that has just returned. They are currently in barracks preparing to stand down.’
‘Fetch their company commander to me i
mmediately and tell him – with my apologies – that I will require his company to return to active service.’
‘Sir,’ said Karl, ‘if I may suggest, it will not be necessary to stop the stand-down. This kind of mission will only require the use of a section-sized formation. Anything larger may be observed in the location by CT sympathisers. According to our intelligence, we will only be up against two CTs at the most, so a section will be adequate for the job. But I need them immediately.’
‘Mr Gauden has one of the best sections in the company,’ the adjutant offered. ‘I can get him to report to BHQ immediately with Corporal Higgins’s section.’
‘Good,’ said the CO, and the captain departed for the orderly room to instruct the battalion clerk to seek out Lieutenant Gauden and the nominated section.
‘What’s your plan?’ the CO asked Karl.
‘It’s a little unorthodox,’ Karl replied. ‘I will require the section to be dressed in native clothing. We will approach the hut as if we were farmers passing on the track nearby. We will only carry pistols and Stens that we can conceal. I will deploy two men in the section to a post not far from the hut with a radio to keep contact with BHQ. The rest of Mr Gauden’s platoon can be on standby as a ready reaction force.’