To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5

by Peter Watt

  They struggled along the trail, ever climbing up and clambering down the slopes, with Matthew taking a turn at one end of the litter to relieve the Tolai men. Only Joshua did not assist in carrying the litter; his task was to guide and look out for any ambush along the way.

  It took two days of hard struggle along the bush trails to reach the mission. When they arrived late in the evening it was the Irish nun, Sister Bridget, who met them, holding up a lantern to provide light for the Tolai men to take Alex to the infirmary.

  ‘And you would be returning to us, Captain Macintosh,’ she said, lowering the lamp to identify the patient. ‘You have learned nothing of being out of your own country. And who would you be?’ she asked, glancing up at Matthew’s gaunt, unshaven face.

  ‘I am Matthew Duffy,’ he answered. ‘And my grandfather was the big man himself, Patrick Duffy, who once roamed the north-east coast of the old country, son of Kate Duffy, sister to Tom and Michael Duffy.’

  The Irish nun looked closely at Matthew with some interest, holding up the lantern to get a better look at the sunken eyes burning with a fierce challenge. ‘I have heard of Patrick Duffy, a true son of Ireland who it was said was murdered by the savages of Queensland.’

  Matthew was too tired to explain that it had been a treacherous police officer who had killed his grandfather. At least she had heard of his legendary grandfather and from the tone of her voice was suitably impressed by his pedigree. If she was the traitor in Father Umberto’s tropical parish then she just might not betray a fellow Irishman who had such an impressive record fighting the British. ‘We need your help,’ he said. ‘My cousin looks as if his fever is malarial. Do you have quinine?’

  ‘We do,’ Sister Bridget replied. ‘I am surprised to hear that Captain Macintosh is related to you as I have heard he is a Protestant and not of Irish blood.’

  ‘You are wrong on that point, Sister,’ Matthew said with a weak smile. ‘His grandfather was also Patrick Duffy. Captain Macintosh’s father is named in honour of the big man himself, but I am afraid Captain Macintosh’s side of the family dropped the rosary beads.’

  ‘Heaven protect us,’ the nun said, crossing herself as if she were in the presence of the son of Satan. ‘Despite the fact that Captain Macintosh is not of the True Faith, I will ensure that he receives the best treatment we can give him, as he carries in his veins the blood of a true Irish patriot.’

  Matthew rubbed his forehead with the back of his grimy hand, satisfied that he might just have gained them forgiveness for being supporters of the British Empire. He knew that Alex was beyond any hope of moving for some time but he would not leave his cousin’s side until he was well enough to return to the jungle to avoid the German patrol. He prayed that Wallarie was still watching over them both.

  The burly German reservist warrant officer saluted his superior. Major Paul Pfieffer stood by the machine-gun post in a trench reinforced with heavy palm tree logs and manned by the warrant officer’s crew of young German reservist soldiers.

  ‘I telephoned what I heard from a native boy we had come to our post yesterday, sir,’ the warrant officer said.

  ‘Yes, Sergeant Major,’ Pfieffer answered, sweat trickling down his face from under his slouch hat. ‘You said that the native informed you that they had suffered casualties last week when they attempted to ambush the two escaped prisoners. Did he say where?’

  ‘We still have him here for further questioning,’ the senior NCO replied. ‘Thought he might also be of value as a guide.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ Pfieffer said. ‘Hang on to him until I say otherwise.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Pfieffer had finished his tour of the armed posts that had been established to defend the Rabaul region against the inevitable invasion ahead. He would return to his headquarters in the town and consider what was to be done about the two Australian escapees roaming about somewhere in the mountains east of the township. All non-German expatriates had been arrested on the declaration of war against England, France and Russia but then given their freedom for the moment. The intelligence officer knew from the news trickling through their communications centre that savage fighting was occurring on the other side of the world. He had a brother who was commanding a regiment at a place called Mons where the British were offering stiff resistance, and an uncle serving with the High Command at Tannenberg, fighting the Russian Tsar’s vast army. And here he was with a pitifully small force expected to resist overwhelming numbers when the time came. He suspected that names like Mons and Tannenberg would be remembered in the future, when German soldiers sat around beer halls clashing pewters together like the old Saxon warriors of the past to celebrate their victories. None would raise a toast to the pitifully small garrison courageously standing its ground in a far-off place most in Germany had never heard of.

  Pfieffer accepted the salute of a young soldier and pulled down on the pommel of his saddle to hoist himself onto his mount. He had a difficult decision to make about the young captain relieved of duty and currently languishing at the barracks. What was he to do? Under the martial situation on the island he could either execute Hauptmann Hirsch or give him back command of troops. He would decide what to do when he received the latest intelligence reports at his headquarters.

  28

  How could it have happened? Arthur Thorncroft fumed, reading the telegram received from the Pearl Harbour offices of the Macintosh companies. It seemed Randolph Gates was currently incarcerated in an Hawaiian prison. No wonder he had not had any contact with him.

  More importantly, why had George not pursued the American’s whereabouts? After all, Patrick had assigned the task of monitoring developments to his eldest son while Patrick was tied up with his military duties. Arthur reached for the telephone and rang through to George Macintosh’s office.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ George asked when he was put through.

  ‘I have just received a telegram from your offices in Pearl Harbour,’ Arthur said. ‘According to what your agency there has told me, Mr Gates is currently serving six months in prison on an assault charge. Why did you not telegraph your office in Hawaii to see if they knew of Randolph’s whereabouts?’

  In his office, George shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He suddenly remembered how he had quashed the information weeks earlier and pretended that he knew nothing of the American’s sudden and mysterious disappearance from the scene. ‘I am sorry, Arthur,’ he replied. ‘I knew nothing of Mr Gates’ arrest. However, I will look into it.’

  ‘Will you be telling your father what I have learned?’ Arthur persisted.

  ‘I don’t think that it would be wise to upset my father at this moment. He has enough on his plate. It would be better that I take care of the matter but I would need your word that you will inform no one else of what you have learned of Mr Gates’ fate. Do I have your word?’

  Arthur took a deep breath. ‘You do, so long as you promise to do everything in your power to help free Randolph. He is a good man and there must be something the Macintosh name can do for him – even in American territory.’

  ‘As I said,’ George reiterated, ‘I promise to use all means at our disposal to chase up Mr Gates’ unfortunate situation. If that is all, Arthur, I must return to my work.’

  ‘Just one other thing,’ Arthur added. ‘Congratulations on the announcement of your engagement to Miss Gyles. I read about it in the social pages.’

  A silence followed as Arthur knew it would. That he had not received an invitation to the afternoon tea party came as no surprise. He and George did not like each other and, deep down, George would not have wanted to have a man attend who was known to be a queer.

  Arthur placed the telephone on the hook and sat back to stare at the poster for his latest film hanging on the wall of his office. It was just too bad the film would never be released.

  Major Paul Pfieffer felt himself being shaken awake.

  ‘Sir, sir,’ the voice said with a note of urgency. ‘The in
vasion has commenced.’

  Pfieffer sat up in his bed and blinked at the dim light from the lantern being held by the German soldier whom he had left on duty at the military headquarters in town.

  The German officer shifted his weight to place his feet on the floor. ‘What time is it, Private?’ he asked, rubbing his eyes.

  ‘It is just after three o’clock, sir,’ the soldier answered as Pfieffer stumbled across the room to retrieve his field uniform hanging beside his sword on a wooden hook. He dressed quickly while the soldier waited to escort him.

  ‘What has happened?’ Pfieffer asked when he was dressed and ready to depart in the early morning dark along the silent streets of Rabaul.

  ‘Our lookouts spotted the shape of two enemy destroyers in the harbour, but they left,’ the soldier answered. ‘We thought it was important enough to disturb you.’

  ‘You acted correctly,’ Pfieffer answered. ‘I want you to go to the officers’ quarters at the barracks and wake Hauptmann Hirsch. Tell him to report to headquarters immediately.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the soldier answered and broke away to head for the barracks where the men were already awake because of the call to arms. Pfieffer continued his walk. At least now he knew what he must do about Dieter Hirsch.

  Offshore the Australian navy conveying a battalion of infantry supported by armed reservist sailors cruised the tropical night. Two of the heavier ships, the HMAS Australia and HMAS Sydney, were escorted by Australian destroyers ready to launch their forces against the Germans in Rabaul. Their task was to capture the radio station just outside of town and force a surrender of all enemy forces. A sweep of the harbour for sea mines and enemy shipping had been carried out and the result was that there did not appear to be an immediate threat to the invasion force currently at sea.

  Dieter Hirsch stood to attention before the intelligence officer at military headquarters.

  ‘You are off the hook, for the moment, Herr Hauptmann,’ Pfieffer said. ‘From what I can put together we are now facing a full-scale invasion and we need every officer and soldier we have. I am assigning you the command of a contingent of our native police, and you will join with our other forces to defend the radio station at Bitapaka. Should you acquit yourself well I will dismiss any reports concerning your behaviour resulting in the escape of the two prisoners. Are we clear on my instructions?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Dieter replied. ‘I promise to carry out my duties as expected of an officer of the Fatherland.’

  ‘Good,’ Pfieffer said, sensing that the young officer had answered with conviction. ‘Now, go and draw arms and report to Warrant Officer Abanego. He will assist you in organising your men for the defence.’

  Pfieffer rose from behind his desk and stretched out his hand to the young officer. ‘I wish you all the best, Hauptmann Hirsch,’ he said, shaking Dieter’s hand firmly. ‘As we both well know, it may be that we will never meet again in this world. Good luck.’

  Dieter Hirsch accepted the gesture from his superior officer. They both knew that the defence of the island was hopeless in the light of what they suspected lay out at sea waiting to steam into the harbour. Dieter Hirsch may have only been a reservist officer but his courage was equal to that of any professional soldier. He stepped back and saluted the major, turned on his heel and hurried away in the dark to find his command of armed Tolai police. He did so knowing that once the Australians came in force he may not see the sun go down that day in his paradise.

  Hours later, bleary-eyed, Major Pfieffer received news at his headquarters that an Australian destroyer identified in the morning light as the HMAS Yarra had cruised into the harbour to disembark a small party of troops near the jetty. He was also informed that the Australian troops had broken into a warehouse and looted it. As no opposition was offered by the defenders no shots had been fired. A surreal situation prevailed in Rabaul as the Germans watched the manoeuvrings of the Australian soldiers, sailors and ships in their territory. Pfieffer was kept up to date with intelligence reports, attempting to identify the intentions of the Australian task force off his shores. He was disturbed to see that telephone lines were being cut to Rabaul from outer settlements and concluded that the enemy task force was landing raiding parties to disrupt communications.

  All day the German troops who came and went at his headquarters appeared demoralised. Maybe it was the fact that nothing appeared to be certain anymore in their lives, Pfieffer thought, watching a young German reservist staring wide-eyed at the harbour as if expecting to see the apocalyptic horseman of death ride directly toward him.

  At around sunset an unconfirmed report came to Pfieffer that a small cruiser and submarine had been spotted in the harbour. All nerves were on edge as the sun set that night. Searchlights lit the harbour and Pfieffer retired to his private bungalow on the edge of town. The German officer sat at the edge of his bed and stared at his sword hanging from a wooden peg on the wall. If nothing else he could hand it over in any surrender ceremony as it was fairly useless against the big guns of the Australian cruisers out at sea that seemed at the ready to bombard the town into a pile of rubble. There were many civilians cowering in their homes, most likely praying that the military did not attempt to resist the overwhelming force arrayed against them. Damn the Kaiser’s men who had ignored the defences in the Pacific, Pfieffer thought. He lay down on his bed. It had been an exceptionally hot day but Pfieffer suspected that hell would be even hotter if the naval guns opened up on the town.

  The major was dressed and already at military headquarters the next day when the news came through mid morning that the Australian naval task force had entered the harbour. The news was not correct; only a couple of ships sat offshore. But after midday the full force were seen to steam into the harbour. By the time the sun set that day a battalion of infantry soldiers had landed and the German major knew it was all over. At least the Australian ships had not shelled the town and no one was killed.

  He was only partly correct in his summation. South of Rabaul Australian forces and German-led reservists and police were engaged in a fierce battle to the death. Hauptmann Dieter Hirsch was learning what it meant to be an officer leading troops into a wall of gunfire and bayonets.

  Although it had been expected, Karolina Schumann and her daughter were still in shock. The uniformed police had come in the early hours of the morning and knocked heavily on their hotel door, demanding entry.

  Karolina had dressed quickly before opening the door to a burly police sergeant backed by two young constables. He had spoken gruffly and when he was satisfied he had established her identity and that of Giselle ordered them to put together only the amount of personal property they could carry. He had made it plain that they were now officially under arrest and were to be transported to a place southwest of the city called Holsworthy, to be interned for the duration of hostilities as enemy aliens. Karolina had been half-expecting the day to come and had ensured that she had her parcel of valuables set aside.

  They were escorted from the hotel where a few early risers reading newspapers in the foyer glanced at them with hostile eyes as they passed. Karolina met their stares with a cool demeanour, belying the terrible fear she felt for the safety of her daughter and herself. Karolina had heard of British concentration camps established in South Africa by Kitchener during the Anglo–Boer war at the turn of the century and knew that thousands of innocent women and children had died behind the barbed wire from malnutrition and disease. Dear God, she prayed silently, do not let this be so.

  In the rear of the truck that carried them west out of Sydney they clutched their meagre possessions in their laps as the truck bumped and rattled along the poorly constructed roads, passing paddocks and lonely farmhouses.

  By mid morning the truck arrived outside the high barbed wire fence enclosing a small settlement of white tents set out on a dreary plain of grass and a few gum trees while armed guards manned towers and patrolled the perimeter. Karolina could see that in one of the wooden towers
a machine gun was positioned, its squat barrel pointed inward at the tents.

  ‘All out,’ a soldier ordered in a loud voice and the frightened civilian men and women clambered down from the rear of the truck. None had spoken to each other on the trip by order of the armed soldier who sat in the back with them. They had cast each other terrified looks, but had obeyed the order to remain silent.

  ‘Right, you lot, line up and you will be marched to the administration office for processing,’ the soldier barked.

  Karolina recognised the two stripes on his arm as marking him as a corporal in the Australian army. She fell in beside Giselle whose shocked expression was also that of disbelief. ‘I have a British passport,’ Giselle protested to the corporal.

  ‘That don’t count for much around here, lady,’ he replied. ‘Half the people going into here were born in this country, but a German is a German despite all that. Tell your story to the government officials.’

  Karolina took her daughter’s hand in her own. ‘We will be safe, my little one,’ she said with a weak, reassuring smile and never before had Giselle loved her mother more than now, when their world had been turned upside down.

  Satisfied that his charges were under control, the corporal gave the order to march. The small party of German internees – men, women and children – stumbled through the gates to be processed. Giselle was too stunned to cry. The tears of despair would come when they were assigned their tent quarters.

  Sweating, reloading, yelling orders and feeling the thump of the rifle in his shoulder, Dieter Hirsch fell back with his contingent of Tolai policemen, against the steady Australian advance along the track to Bitapaka. Around him in the scrubby jungle, he guessed, were others experiencing the same fear that he felt. He had seen enemy soldiers fall from their bullets and knew that he had left many of his own men lying back along the track either dead, wounded or simply too terrified to react to the assault on them.