To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5

by Peter Watt

  But Alex did not laugh at his cousin’s morbid sense of humour.

  ‘We are facing a probable invasion of our territories by the English,’ Major Pfieffer said to Dieter Hirsch as they stood in the shade of a large mango tree in the street in front of the major’s office. ‘I doubt that we have time to set up a trial for the two prisoners.’

  ‘Then we put them on the first available ship back to Germany as prisoners of war,’ Hirsch concluded, only to have his superior stare at him as if he were a child.

  ‘No, you organise to have them both shot,’ he said. ‘We have better things to do than worry about the fate of two spies.’

  Hirsch was shocked at his senior’s response to the lives of the prisoners. ‘That would be murder,’ he blurted. ‘I cannot condone the execution of two prisoners who have not been given a trial.’

  ‘You don’t think it is inevitable that they would be found guilty and executed anyway?’ Pfieffer asked. ‘Organising a trial is a waste of valuable time and resources. Make sure that they are both dead before the sun rises tomorrow. I don’t care how it is done but I want to hear they have been disposed of.’

  ‘Yes, sir, I will organise for their disposal,’ he replied, saluting his superior officer.

  Pfieffer stared hard at the German militia captain. ‘You failed to kill Captain Macintosh on his first visit to Rabaul some months ago,’ he said icily. ‘The Fatherland is not so forgiving of a second failure.’

  Pfieffer returned the salute and left Hirsch considering the punishment for disobeying orders – legal or not. Germany was at war and he knew that any concepts of justice came a poor second to the national aims of winning. He had only hours to think of some way of saving the two men currently in the police cells, men who were now declared enemies of his country.

  The heat shimmered across the plains of the tough, stunted scrub of Queensland’s central west. Shadows baked and the kangaroo rose from the hot earth where it had been dozing. It was alert to something alien stalking it and its large ears twitched, attempting to locate where the threat was coming from.

  Wallarie knew that his eyesight was poor, but the desire to return to the hunt brought him out from the cave with one of his old hunting spears. He could see the big marsupial stirring and realised that it might be long gone before he was within range to hurl his weapon and impale his prey.

  Beyond the resting kangaroo Wallarie could see the swirling shape of a column of wind twisting skyward, dancing between the stunted scrub, picking up red earth and desiccated grass. He lowered his spear and gazed at the dust column and, as if in a trance, crouched and began chanting a song almost forgotten by his long-lost clan. The fabric of the universe was changing in places he did not know, but the ancestor spirits had been there to tell him. Before the old warrior swarmed the faces of long dead friends and family. Wallarie was frightened. He could see the face of Matthew Duffy among those of the dead. The pastor at the mission station on Glen View would have told him he was seeing evil, heathen things better confessed about for the sake of his eternal soul. Wallarie had been told he must recognise Jesus Christ before he could be granted eternal salvation otherwise he would forever burn in the fires of the whitefellas’ hell.

  The kangaroo would be safe this day. Wallarie continued to squat in the dust of the brigalow plains, chanting his song for the dead.

  Evening had come to the German town of Rabaul and the two prisoners in their cell had been fed. Neither spoke much but sat with their fears for what might be their fate.

  Before midnight, Matthew and Alex attempted to sleep on the concrete floor; no beds were provided, nor any mattress. In the background they could hear the sounds of the town celebrating the proclamation of war against the English, French and Russians, but Alex thought the cheering sounded rather subdued now as the citizens realised just how vulnerable they were on the fringes of the German Empire to the larger forces of the British in the Pacific. Their only real chance was their navy operating out of China and many privately prayed that the Imperial navy would suddenly materialise in the harbour to protect them.

  Hauptmann Dieter Hirsch did not pray for the appearance of the big battle cruisers. He knew that they took time to arrive and would no doubt be assigned to other tasks. He had spent the daylight hours pondering the steps he must take to ensure two defenceless men were not taken from their cells and executed with a bullet in the back of the head. He realised that what he was doing amounted to treason, plotting to give assistance to an enemy combatant and his assistant civilian spy. But Dieter Hirsch was also part civilian and believed that even in war one could not simply execute a man for the fact he was on the other side – even if he was a spy. To do so would simply condone the same thing happening to his comrades in other places, should they also be captured. No, even war had rules to keep some semblance of humanity in hellish times.

  ‘Are you awake?’ Hirsch asked softly through the cell door. Matthew and Alex scrambled to their feet.

  ‘What is happening?’ Alex asked, gripping the bars of the cell door.

  Hirsch glanced around him to ensure that they could not be overheard. The gaoler was a fat German police officer who was more used to locking up local Tolai and a few drunken civilians for the night – not dangerous English spies. He stood at the end of the short corridor, dangling a set of keys from his leather belt, idly watching the German militia captain talking softly to his prisoners and annoyed to hear him speaking in English, which he did not understand.

  ‘I am going to get you out of here. You must make a break for the hills to Father Umberto’s mission station,’ Hirsch said. ‘Captain Macintosh, I know that you will remember the trail,’ he continued. ‘I am sure that the Italian priest will give you sanctuary.’

  ‘You know about Father Umberto?’ Alex asked.

  ‘We have for some time,’ Hirsch answered. ‘You have to get away from here as fast as possible. I have orders to shoot you before the sun rises.’

  ‘You do realise what you are doing?’ Alex asked. ‘You could be arrested and even executed for helping us escape.’

  ‘It will not look as if I was helping you,’ Dieter Hirsch replied with a crooked grin. ‘I have decided that your execution should be carried out by me alone, so as not to involve any other member of the Imperial Army in this disgrace. So listen carefully and I will tell you how it will be done but, unfortunately, I have been forced to bring two of my men with me for the task. I suspect that Major Pfieffer has ordered me to do so in order to have witnesses to your deaths.’

  Matthew and Alex listened to the German officer outlay his plan. It was dangerous but it was their only hope if they were to survive.

  Hirsch walked back to the gaoler at the end of the corridor and the two Australians watched as he engaged him in conversation, noticing the shocked expression on the policeman’s face. He waddled towards their cell and, stony-faced, opened the door, gesturing to Matthew to come out. He then locked the door behind him, leaving Alex alone.

  ‘The chains will not be necessary,’ Hirsch said when the gaoler held them up. ‘I have an escort outside.’ The gaoler shrugged and returned to his desk in his office at the end of the cell corridor.

  Hirsch fell into place behind Matthew, his pistol covering him as they exited the police station. Matthew saw two uniformed soldiers with rifles waiting for them.

  ‘Now,’ Hirsch said softly.

  Matthew looked quickly to the two German soldiers standing to one side before falling into their positions as escorts. Their rifles were slung on their shoulders as commanded by their officer. He had stood them at ease outside the gaol before entering to fetch his prisoners. The Australian swung around and snatched the pistol from the German officer’s hand. Had Hirsch been uncooperative, Matthew was fully aware that his rash act would have proved fatal to himself. The startled escorting soldiers saw what had happened and immediately reached for their rifles, unslinging them from their shoulders. But before they could level them on Matthew, Hirsch ha
d called on them to refrain from shooting. Matthew had the pistol pointed at Hirsch’s head and hoped that it did not discharge accidentally.

  ‘Put down your guns,’ Hirsch commanded his men. ‘Or the prisoner will shoot me.’

  With some reluctance, the two men lowered their rifles to the ground. ‘Step away from them,’ Hirsch continued. ‘Go into the gaol.’

  Obediently, the two soldiers walked into the gaol to be met by a confused gaoler who then saw Matthew with the gun at Hirsch’s head. ‘Release the other prisoner,’ Hirsch said. The gaoler picked up the key set on his desk, went to the cell and unlocked the door. Alex stepped out.

  ‘All of you,’ he said in German. ‘Get into the cell.’

  The gaoler, two soldiers and Hirsch entered the tiny cell which Alex locked. ‘No noise or we will shoot you,’ Alex said, tossing the keys to the end of the building, knowing that he had no intention of carrying out his threat. He glanced at Hirsch but did not betray his thoughts of gratitude for what the officer had risked to save their lives.

  Outside the gaol, Matthew scooped up the rifles and passed one to Alex. ‘Stick close with me,’ he said. ‘I think I know a way out of town to the track up into the hills.’

  They had the cloak of night to conceal their flight and only the barking of town dogs might have betrayed their presence to the occupants of the houses they slipped past in the night. Very soon, Alex found the path and their trek began. They struggled in the dark through rainforest gullies and climbed steep ground. The more distance they put between them and the township before first light the better. Many times they slipped in the dark, knocking skin off exposed flesh. Desperation kept them immune from both the pain they were suffering and the stench of rotting vegetation. Exhaustion dogged them. By dawn they had put a respectable distance between themselves and Rabaul and they collapsed into the leaf-carpeted floor of the thick forest surrounding them.

  ‘How much further is the mission station?’ Matthew gasped, fighting the need to drift into sleep, despite his terrible thirst.

  ‘A fair distance yet,’ Alex replied, also suffering dehydration. ‘Coming back down the trail with Jock I remember that somewhere along here was a spring. I think we need to find water before we go mad with thirst.’

  Forcing himself to his feet, Matthew followed Alex who had already set off in search of the spring. They stumbled forward, sometimes on their knees and hands, clawing up steep, overgrown slopes of tropical vines that tore at their exposed limbs. From time to time they were stung by insects. Matthew wondered if they would make the mission alive. It was Alex who set the example to keep going. Plodding on, he stopped at the base of a small incline. ‘It’s here!’ he exclaimed.

  Matthew watched as Alex broke off the track to plunge into the forest. ‘Over here,’ he whooped.

  When Matthew joined his cousin he saw him gulping from a clear trickle of water running down a small crevice in the rocks. Matthew staggered forward to drink as much as he could. Refreshed, he fell back against the warm, rainforest floor. ‘Good on you, Alex,’ he said with a sigh. ‘You’re a bloody marvel.’

  ‘I don’t think we can stay here very long,’ Alex said, leaning against the trunk of a forest giant. ‘No doubt the Germans will be following close behind. They seem to know about Father Umberto’s collaboration with us. Maybe we have had a chance to make a good gap between us and Rabaul but I figure they would have headed after us as soon as the sun rose.’

  ‘What do you think we should do?’ Matthew asked, staring with bleary eyes at the thick canopy blocking the sun.

  ‘I think our best bet is to continue deeper into the forest, get off the track, covering any evidence of our path as we go, and then rest up for the day. With any luck the German patrol that’s likely to come after us will stick to the track and pass us by.’

  Matthew glanced around. He could see how someone could easily hide in the forest. ‘Not a bad idea,’ he agreed. ‘But we are going to need more water before too long or we will be too weak to continue.’

  ‘We could get that at the mission station,’ Alex replied. ‘It’s not that far off and I don’t think we will die of hunger before then.’

  Moving cautiously at a right angle from the track, the two men found a place to hold up for the day and rest. They were in luck. There was a source of water only a short distance from their location and now it was a matter of evading the enemy until they could receive help from the Italian priest. Secured in their hide, both men quickly fell into a deep sleep, unaware that an armed patrol of Tolai police were already searching for them along the mission station track.

  Hauptmann Dieter Hirsch stood at attention before Major Paul Pfieffer. Hirsch could feel the cold sweat of fear trickling down his spine as the senior officer scanned the reports he had compiled from the two soldiers who had been released from the gaol along with Dieter. He sighed and looked up at the young militia officer.

  ‘It does not look good for you, Hauptmann Hirsch,’ he started. ‘From what the two men accompanying you last night have told me in their reports, I am having trouble accepting that the prisoners escaped by their own devices. We are at war, and to aid the enemy is an act of treason punishable by death.’

  ‘Sir,’ Dieter attempted to explain, ‘I was over-powered by Herr Duffy and disarmed. I decided that the most appropriate action to take to avoid one of my men being killed in an exchange of gunfire with a desperate man was to fully comply with his demands. I knew that the prisoners could not go very far without help and as they are visitors to the island I felt that they would not receive assistance from the local populace.’

  Pfieffer rose from behind his desk and walked across to a window that had a view of a large mango tree shading the backyard. He turned to the officer, still standing rigidly at attention. ‘You and I both know that Captain Macintosh has been in contact with that Italian priest and I have no doubts that he and Herr Duffy are making their way to his mission station. I have already despatched a patrol of our native police to capture them. I may be unable to prove that you abetted the prisoners in their escape,’ he said. ‘But I do have the power to place you on close arrest for negligence in your duties, Herr Hauptmann. As of this moment you are confined to your quarters at the barracks. I will convene an official inquiry into your actions last night in due course. That is all.’

  Hirsch saluted, turned and marched out of the office. His fate was now in the hands of his fellow officers. Apart from a charge of negligence in his duties he knew full well that he could be found guilty of treason.

  24

  In the mid-morning sun of late winter, Colonel Patrick Duffy completed his inspection of his regiment. The proclamation of war by the Prime Minister, Mr Fisher, had inspired many to enlist, eager to join the battles being fought in Europe.

  Saluting the regimental second in command, Patrick left the parade ground to go to the reviewing dais for the march past. His men gave the traditional eyes right salute under the command of their sub unit commanders as they swung past the platform where the senior military guests sat.

  Patrick returned their salutes until the last unit passed and then went to join John Hughes among the spectators, proudly watching the sons of the Empire dismissed to their barracks. It was a scene repeated across the Empire from Canada to New Zealand, from India to South Africa. Fresh-faced young men could see an opportunity to travel and find glory under the British standard, proudly displaying their own brand of nationalism to the Mother Country, Britain.

  ‘They will require more training,’ Patrick said to John Hughes. ‘But they are keen and I am sure will display the same soldierly character we did in South Africa.’

  ‘I am certain they will,’ Hughes agreed. ‘I have orders on my desk. The government intends to raise what is to be called the Australian Imperial Force, and that means you and I will be tied up with our recruiting people for the next few weeks.’

  ‘What about the German navy’s operational order?’ Patrick asked. ‘You and I kn
ow that if they are able to carry it out, we won’t have any recruiting halls still standing along the east coast – let alone military depots. We both know the terrible power of the German cruiser guns.’

  Hughes took Patrick by the elbow and guided him away from the throng of civilian and military spectators attending the parade. ‘I have it from good sources that we are raising a combined army and navy expeditionary force to deal with the problem,’ he said quietly. ‘Its task will be to take out the German radio stations and cut off all communications in the Pacific for the German navy on their China station.’

  ‘Have we heard anything in the radio intercepts concerning my son and Matthew?’ Patrick asked.

  Hughes shook his head. ‘Sorry, old chap,’ he replied. ‘Nothing since we heard they were being taken to Rabaul.’

  ‘My son is now officially a prisoner of war,’ Patrick reflected. ‘They would have to treat him under the terms of the Hague Convention.’

  ‘I am sure they will,’ Hughes reassured. ‘As Matthew is a civilian the worst that could occur is for him to be detained as an enemy alien and simply confined. The Germans are a civilised race, despite our differences with them. They cannot afford to mistreat our people when they know so many Germans live in this land. Tit for tat, one could say.’

  ‘They were not so civilised when they invaded neutral Belgium,’ Patrick countered.

  The invasion of Belgium had forced Britain’s hand as they held an old but valid treaty with that country in the event of invasion. Somewhat reluctantly, England had been forced to declare war against Germany and her allies when German troops had crossed the Belgian border in a sweeping movement aimed at the heart of the French nation. Paris was in the German sights and crossing neutral territory a necessity to achieve that aim.

  ‘Would not you and I have used the same strategy if we were on the German planning staff?’ Hughes asked. ‘Military men are guided by wanting decisive victories on the battlefield – not political ends to satisfy the men sheltered in their party rooms.’