Beneath a Rising Sun

by Peter Watt

  The sun was high overhead now and Tom called his patrol to a halt to find shade and partake of a midday meal. The heat shimmered across the flat landscape of stunted trees and red earth. Billy, the local guide, wandered off to ensure they were well away from the feared saltwater crocodiles inhabiting the mangroves. They had had an incident weeks earlier, when one of the great crocodiles had made its way into a tent pitched too close to the rising tide, and the men in the tent had been forced to kill it. It had made a good meal, but Tom was keen to avoid another such hair-raising encounter.

  ‘Have you got the radio set up yet?’ he asked Private Paull.

  ‘Yeah, boss,’ Andrew replied, having taken the cumbersome set off the pack mule they travelled with. ‘Just going to send a locstat.’

  ‘Good man,’ Tom said, patting the lad on the shoulder as he squatted over the vital instrument of communication with the unit’s HQ in Katherine. The unit only numbered around five hundred men all up, with around sixty local Aboriginals attached.

  Tom was about to speak with the rest of the patrol when he saw Billy running back from the mangroves, his eyes wide with surprise.

  ‘Bin find tracks,’ Billy said, coming to a halt. ‘Not tracks of people here.’

  The patrols had reconnoitred the Top End for a long time without any sign of the enemy, but Tom could see from the expression on Billy’s face that this was different. The rest of the patrol had overheard the exchange and quickly picked up their rifles.

  ‘Let’s go and have a bit of a look,’ Tom said. ‘You stay with the radio,’ he instructed Andrew.

  The patrol followed Billy on foot to the edge of the great mangrove swamp, and Billy stopped to point to the faint imprint of a shoe.

  ‘Sandshoe,’ Tom said, looking carefully. ‘Jap sailors wear sandshoes. How long?’ he asked Billy.

  ‘Maybe one fella day,’ he said, staring back into the mangroves. ‘Not any more.’

  The hair rose on the back of Tom’s neck. Were they in the vicinity of a Japanese military unit? He guessed it would be the trace of a Japanese submarine crew member, as any surface ship would have been spotted by coastwatchers.

  ‘Okay, boys,’ Tom said quietly. ‘We get this report straight back and go looking for any other tracks.’

  Andrew was given the message but was frustrated to find that his radio was not working. He could not send the signal to Katherine, so for the first time since he’d joined the Nackeroos he might be facing some action at last. He swapped his radio for a rifle and joined his patrol to track down the possible enemy Japanese on Australian soil.

  Eight

  James visited the Hollywood Canteen whenever he had a night off from his PR duties. He would stand back and observe the sea of uniformed soldiers, sailors and airmen who came to listen to the music provided by some of the best known bands in the USA. He would watch starry-eyed kids in uniform gaping at actors and actresses they had only been able to worship on the silver screen in the small rural towns they had grown up in. At the Canteen they might even be lucky enough to catch a personal word from a big star, or even a dance with one of Hollywood’s most glamorous actresses. It would be a memory they could take across the Atlantic to Europe – or into the battlefields of the Pacific. On the wall were photographs of stars such as Jimmy Stewart and Clark Gable who were serving in combat overseas.

  James was only really interested in one face amongst the crowd, the face of a young woman serving free food to the mass of military men. He did not know quite why he was so attracted to Julianna Dupont, but occasionally he caught her glancing at him across the crowded room and he felt his heart lift with the thrill of it.

  One night as the place was winding down and James was swallowing down the last of his drink, Julianna crossed the floor to join him.

  ‘You have been here every night but you do not come to my counter for food, why is that?’ she asked with the hint of a smile.

  ‘I get well fed back at the hotel,’ James said. ‘I come here for the music and entertainment.’

  ‘I do not see you dancing with any of the girls,’ Julianna observed. ‘You do not like girls?’

  James felt his face flush, and then realised that she was teasing him. ‘Maybe just one here,’ he replied, recovering his composure.

  ‘And which one would that be?’ Julianna asked, glancing around at the pretty girls dressed in grass skirts who were just finishing a hula dance.

  ‘The one I would like to ask to have a coffee with me now,’ James said. ‘Have you finished for the evening?’

  ‘Thank you, Captain Duffy,’ she said. ‘But I must go home as I have an early shoot tomorrow at the studio.’

  ‘It does not take long to drink a cup of coffee,’ James pleaded. ‘I can then make sure you get home safely.’

  ‘Thank you again,’ Julianna repeated. ‘But I have my reasons for not joining you.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ James apologised. ‘I did not realise that you had a man in your life.’

  ‘I have no one in my life, Captain Duffy,’ she said. ‘But it is a personal choice not to go out with men who could be shipped out to the war and never return. I know that sounds selfish but I have already lost a brother to this war, and I do not want to lose anyone else I might come to care about. Guy tells me that you have seen a lot of combat and could do so again in the future.’

  ‘That is not likely,’ he said, half believing his own words. ‘I will probably see out the war here in Hollywood, and in that case you and I will be bumping into each other all the time.’ He watched her face and could see a flicker of indecision.

  ‘One coffee,’ she relented. ‘And then I must go home – alone.’

  ‘Hot dog!’ James said. ‘I know a place down the street that has good coffee.’ He offered his arm and Julianna accepted his gesture with only the slightest reluctance.

  The coffee lasted for two hours as they found themselves caught up in each other’s company and conversation. Julianna was late getting home – but she did so alone.

  *

  Sarah Macintosh was stunned to see her estranged husband standing in the doorway of her office.

  ‘Hello, Sarah,’ Charles said, stepping into the plush office and closing the door behind him.

  ‘How are you, Charles?’ Sarah finally asked, feeling uneasy in his presence.

  ‘Still alive,’ Charles smiled. ‘Despite what you might wish for my future.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ she asked in a frosty tone.

  ‘I thought it was only right I should visit my wife – and the mother of my son,’ he said, taking a seat. ‘Speaking of my son, I was informed he is still in Goulburn in the care of a nanny. Don’t you think he is a bit young to be separated from his mother?’

  ‘I have a company to run,’ Sarah retorted. ‘The baby is in good hands.’

  ‘You mean our son, Michael,’ Charles said in a cold voice. ‘He does have a name.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Michael,’ Sarah dismissed. She took in his air force officer’s uniform with an approving eye. ‘You are looking well.’

  ‘Flying suits me,’ Charles said. ‘You did me a favour when you arranged for me to go to war.’

  ‘You have no real skill in private enterprise, Charles,’ Sarah said. ‘Your expertise was in public service.’

  ‘That may be so,’ Charles answered. ‘But you are the coldest person – man or woman – I have ever had the misfortune to meet. Maybe we should arrange a divorce.’

  ‘You know that would not suit either of us at this stage,’ Sarah said.

  ‘More convenient that I get shot down and leave you the grieving widow of a war hero,’ Charles stated. ‘I intend to survive this war and come back to take my son from you.’

  For a moment Sarah was tempted to shatter her husband’s smugness by informing him the baby was in fact David Macintosh’s, but she refrained and
glared at him instead. She could not feel anything for this man; he was a stranger in her life.

  ‘He is my son,’ Sarah said. ‘He belongs to me, and I will ensure you never have him.’

  Charles rose from his chair. ‘I am going to Goulburn to see Michael,’ he said. ‘I just came here to tell you that.’ He was about to leave Sarah’s office when Donald appeared.

  ‘Charles, old chap, I did not know you were back in Australia!’ Donald exclaimed. He held out his hand, and Charles accepted the gesture with a firm shake.

  ‘Good to see you, too, Donald,’ Charles said. ‘I will not be staying in Sydney for long. I have been transferred to Spitties destined for Darwin. But I thought this visit would give me the opportunity to see my son for the first time.’

  Donald glanced at his sister; he could see the frown on her face. He guessed the meeting had not been very cordial. ‘I am having a beer with David Macintosh this afternoon after work. Then we are heading to Haydens in Pitt Street. You are welcome to join us,’ Donald said. ‘That is, if you have no other plans.’

  ‘Sounds like a bonzer idea,’ Charles replied.

  ‘Good chap,’ Donald said, and the two men walked out of the office feeling Sarah’s glare boring into their backs.

  *

  As arranged, the three men met at Haydens nightclub. Charles wore his uniform and the wings on his chest attracted admiring glances from several young ladies. Haydens was known for its dancing and music, and was a venue where young women were able to meet servicemen who were in the mood to spend money on them. The Americans attracted most of the attention because they had more money than the Australians, had better manners and were generous with gifts of nylons and chocolates.

  David and Donald wore elegant civilian suits and the trio made a handsome and striking picture.

  ‘I heard you were up at Milne Bay,’ David said to Charles when their drinks arrived.

  ‘I heard that you were on the track,’ Charles said, and in their identification of the theatres of their service the two men forged a bond common to men who have known combat.

  Donald felt a little left out of the conversation that followed as the two servicemen exchanged stories of good and bad commanders, the political strategy of the ongoing war in the Pacific, and how they thought the war could be won.

  ‘I should raise a toast to the splendid job our army and air force are doing in the Pacific,’ Donald said, to include himself in the conversation.

  ‘Better not forget the navy,’ David said, and the three men silently raised their glasses.

  ‘Donald told me that you are off to Goulburn tomorrow, Charles,’ David said. ‘Your temporary transfer has given you a wonderful opportunity to see your son.’

  ‘Yes,’ Charles replied. ‘My wife called him Michael – which is not a name I would have chosen.’

  ‘Why not?’ David asked.

  ‘I suspect she named him as a tribute to the man she is obsessed with, although he has been dead for almost half a century.’

  ‘Michael Duffy,’ David said quietly. He felt a touch of guilt for betraying Charles, whom he had genuinely come to like. He and Sarah had had a night of passion before Sarah had married Charles. Even then Sarah had talked about the mysterious Michael Duffy, whose life she had been able to piece together through the diary of her ancestor, Lady Enid Macintosh. Photos found of Michael Duffy had an uncanny resemblance to David – down to the broken nose.

  ‘If I had had my choice I would have named my son Andrew or perhaps Edward,’ Charles said. ‘Good Anglo-Saxon names.’

  ‘Well, Michael is kind of a family name,’ Donald said, defending his sister’s choice. ‘Albeit, he was a Papist ancestor.’ He hesitated to say more as he remembered that David was of Jewish descent through his mother, although David did not act like any Jewish person Donald knew. ‘Let’s drink and not mention my sister,’ Donald said. ‘I am at war with her at present. The election for vice-president of the board is due soon and I know she aspires to the position.’

  ‘I doubt the board would choose a woman over a man,’ Charles said. ‘I am sure you will retain the seat.’

  ‘Thanks, old chap,’ Donald answered. ‘I realise that things are a bit strained between you and Sarah. After the war you can be assured there will be a place for you on the board.’

  Charles smiled grimly. ‘Not if my wife has a say in it. Besides, you will no doubt be taking up your role as equal partner in the Macintosh enterprises, won’t you, David?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ David said, staring at his glass of beer. ‘I might apply to stay on in the army and collect my generous allowance to stay out of management.’

  Both men looked at him.

  ‘I can see boom times after the war,’ Donald said. ‘There will be houses to be built for returning servicemen, and products they will need to fill those houses. We have already made inroads into any industries we see as potentially profitable postwar. You would be mad not to have a piece of the action.’

  ‘We haven’t won the war yet,’ David said. ‘Both Charles and I still have to face the Japs in the Pacific, and they are far from beaten. We may not even live to return home, which is a reality that every serviceman has to face.’

  Charles nodded uncomfortably and for a long moment a silence fell between the three men.

  They eventually parted company late in the evening. David returned to Sean Duffy’s flat, quietly opening the front door lest he disturb Sean or young Patrick. He was surprised to see Sean sitting fully dressed at the kitchen table, poring over thick law books, a tumbler of Scotch on hand.

  ‘Hello, David,’ he said, looking up. ‘Help yourself to a drink.’

  David poured himself a Scotch and sat down opposite Sean. ‘Bit late to still be working on a case,’ he said, taking a sip of the excellent whisky.

  ‘I have a very difficult case of attempted murder,’ Sean said. ‘The committal hearing has already established a case to answer in the court. My only hope at this stage is a diminished responsibility plea. The interesting thing about this case is that it has a link to Sir George Macintosh.’

  The mention of the loathed person of George Macintosh pricked David’s interest. ‘In what way?’ David asked.

  Sean leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. ‘The man my client attempted to kill is a close associate of Sir George.’

  ‘I read something about an English lord shot outside the Imperial Service Club. It sounded like the shooting was random. So, the Pommy aristocrat is a friend of Sir George?’

  ‘It was not random,’ Sean said. ‘But I cannot say any more than that.’

  ‘Uncle Sean, I can’t sleep,’ came a small voice. Both men turned around to see Patrick in the doorway; he was in his pyjamas and had clearly just woken up.

  ‘What is it?’ Sean asked.

  ‘I miss Mummy,’ Patrick answered. ‘Why can’t we get Mummy to come and live here?’

  Sean glanced quickly at David, who shook his head sadly.

  ‘Hey, young fella,’ David said. ‘How about I put you back to bed so that you can get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow Allison and I will take you to the flicks, and we will eat ice-cream.’

  Patrick walked over and put his arms around David who lifted him easily and took him back to bed.

  That night David lay staring at the ceiling. He was having trouble sleeping as fragments of his brief time with Sarah Macintosh swirled around his head. Was it possible that Michael was his son? David did not think so or surely Sarah would have told him. Besides, the timing was not quite right. He tried to dismiss the idea that the baby was his, but for some reason he could not dislodge it from his mind.

  *

  The tracks ended at a small beach lapped by blue-green tropical seas. Tom Duffy gazed at the horizon but could see nothing unusual.

  Beside him Billy said, ‘Jap man gone.’


  ‘Yeah, it looks like it,’ Tom replied. He turned to look at his patrol and he could see the disappointment on their faces. ‘Well, boys, about all we can do is report what we have observed here, and let the navy know they might have a Jap sub in the waters of the Gulf. I think it is time we returned to camp and put on a brew.’

  The men slung their rifles and trudged back through the mangrove swamp, wary to the presence of the giant saltwater crocodiles as they went. Back in camp Private Andrew Paull was still unable to get the radio operational and so the report was not passed on.

  That evening the patrol sat under the seemingly endless parade of stars as orange embers rose into the moonless sky. Andrew brooded that he had come so close to seeing a bit of action, but it had fizzled out as quickly as it had started. He knew that his friends in the Signals Corps in the Pacific campaign were seeing a lot of action, and here he was wandering around mangrove swamps while the important stuff went on elsewhere. He felt that he was wasting his time here. Andrew lay back against an abandoned termite nest and listened to the men laughing and chatting in the dark. They talked about cattle stations they had worked before the war, pubs that had banned them from service because of their riotous behaviour, and realised that he had little in common with these former stockmen.

  Tom noticed the young signaller sitting away from the rest of his patrol and he walked over and sat down beside him. ‘Anything up, Andy?’ he asked.