Beneath a Rising Sun

by Peter Watt

  ‘Jessie, Jessie,’ Sean said, shaking his head. ‘This is madness. There has to be another way.’

  ‘I hate to admit it,’ Donald said, ‘but I think Jessie could be right. There is no other way to remove Ulverstone. What Jessie and I must do is plan this out to the very smallest detail. I have always felt guilty that I allowed my father to keep me out of uniform, but if I help get rid of Ulverstone I will be playing my part in the war.’

  Sean’s shoulders sagged as he realised that the young woman almost as dear as a daughter had made up her mind. She was very much like her father, Tom Duffy: stubborn and proud. He did not know whether to applaud her bravery or chastise her recklessness.

  Fifteen

  Flying officer Charles Huntley checked his control panel as the powerful engine of the Spitfire growled into life. The heat of the north shimmered on the airstrip, and around him other Spitfires came to life. The RAAF radio stations located along the coast were tracking the Japanese aircraft flying towards Darwin, and reports relayed indicated a force of around twenty bombers escorted by the same number of Zero fighters. Charles wondered if he would be up against the earlier version, the single-seater monoplane Zeke, or the improved version, the Hap, with its squared-off wing tips. Experienced fighter pilots from the European theatre, such as Group Captain Caldwell, had warned new Spitfire pilots that the nimble Zero fighter could run rings around the Spitties at low altitudes and that the war in the skies over Darwin required different tactics to those in the skies over Britain and France.

  The Japanese air raids had been constant since 13 June but this would be Charles’s first time taking them on from the cockpit of a Spitfire. He knew that the sweat rolling down his face was not simply from the heat of the tropical north. The waiting was the worst. Charles could hear his fellow pilots over his headset; everyone was jumpy, he could hear it in their voices. The locals had informed him that there had been around fifty to sixty raids on Darwin since February 1942. The Japanese usually attacked in the daylight hours for a clear view of their targets, but a consolation to Charles was that reinforced batteries of 3.7 inch AA guns were forcing the Japanese pilots to fly higher, and above 20,000 feet the Spitfire came into its own against the infamous Zero fighter.

  Finally the command came to become airborne; they needed to reach their preferred height before the enemy aircraft appeared over Darwin. Charles throttled up and his fighter plane rolled onto the airstrip. Then it was time to fully open up and take off. The Spitfire was designed to be part of the pilot, and Charles experienced the exhilarating force push him back in his seat as the aircraft danced into the air, levelling off at around 27,000 feet to test the guns with a short squirt of valuable ammunition. Even as he did so the glint of the sun on metal aircraft skins indicated the moment had come and Charles watched as the enemy aircraft slid under him. The order was given to engage.

  Charles was wingman to a more experienced fighter pilot and followed him down to attack a twin-engine bomber. He could see tracer fire arcing up at them both from a gunner on the bomber, but already bullets were spewing from the Spitfires’ eight .303 calibre wing-mounted guns, and Charles could see the bomber shudder under the impact. Smoke began to pour from one of the engines, indicating that it would soon be crippled. While his commander concentrated on bringing the bomber down, Charles swept the skies for any threat, and he found it. A Japanese Hap fighter had locked onto the commander’s plane and was manoeuvring to get on his tail. Charles called out his warning to the pilot following the stricken bomber down to finish it off.

  Charles knew he must somehow get behind the Japanese pilot, and he pulled hard on the controls to lift the nose of his aircraft for a vertical climb. He was fortunate that the enemy pilot was fixated on wreaking revenge on the Spitfire commander, and Charles was able to roll over and dive down to level off a thousand yards behind the enemy Hap. He was still too far out to engage, so he put on as much power as he could to close the distance. The Japanese pilot realised the new threat on his tail and rolled sideways to avoid it. Charles followed his lead and suddenly realised that his foe was not an amateur as he was taking Charles to a lower height where the Hap could out-turn him and get on his tail. All Charles could think of was to roll over as he climbed, so that he could position himself to get a straight shot at the diving Japanese fighter plane. His tactic worked, but he found himself further away when he straightened up in the dive to pursue the enemy to a lower altitude. Charles put on all the power he had and felt the g-forces press against his body with crushing weight. He was suddenly oblivious to all the voices in his headset and felt for the trigger on his guns.

  The enemy pilot suddenly began to level off and make a tight right turn, endeavouring to outmanoeuvre the Spitfire. Charles knew he was in real trouble now. He could see the calm green and azure sea below him and around him a brilliant blue sky with just a dusting of fluffy white clouds. In desperation he pulled on his controls to engage in the tightest turn he could. The g-forces had almost brought him to the point of blacking out, but through his tunnel vision brought on by the massive strain on his body he noticed in a split second that the enemy aircraft was below him and Charles had been able to get his nose up. In desperation he fired ahead of the Hap, praying that the enemy would fly into the stream of .303 rounds. He was hardly aware that his bullets had riddled the enemy fighter until it suddenly burst into flames and exploded violently. The Japanese fighter planes had sacrificed life-saving heavy armour protection in favour of manoeuvrability and range.

  Charles hurtled past the fireball spiralling towards the water and knew that he must level off before he joined his opponent in the Arafura Sea. When he did he could see that he was just above the water and his training immediately kicked in. Charles glanced around and off to his left he could see the tiny dots, smoke trails of downed aircraft and swirling fighters of both sides. Now he was aware that his commander was calling him and in as calm a voice as possible Charles declared that he had downed one of the enemy.

  Within minutes he was flying back into the melee, but it was already breaking up as the surviving Japanese aircraft turned for home. One or two stragglers were pursued for further kills, but eventually the squadron returned to the airstrip in Darwin, where Charles brought his Spitfire in to land. He taxied to a designated position and watched, physically and mentally exhausted, as his ground crew came running towards him. It was time to leave the cockpit, and Charles reached for a very precious talisman – a photograph of his baby son pinned to the side of the cockpit.

  Charles slid open the cockpit canopy and felt the rush of warm air hit his face.

  ‘The Nips have lost nine bombers and five fighters,’ his armourer yelled up at him. ‘A bloody good tally for the day, skipper.’

  Charles nodded his head, acknowledging the enthusiasm of his ground crew now joining the armourer beside the Spitfire. He gripped the photo of his son, then realised that he hardly had the strength to leave the cockpit.

  *

  Major David Macintosh appreciated that his training role kept him in Sydney near to the people dear to him, but he found himself yearning for command of a company engaged in fighting the war against the Japanese. He had been an acting company commander up in the jungles during the desperate struggle along the Kokoda Track, and he dreamed of returning to that role.

  He was sitting in his office making his way through training reports when his orderly room clerk poked his head around the corner.

  ‘Sir, you have a telephone call from Brigadier Johnson.’

  ‘Thanks, corp,’ David said, remembering with fondness his old battalion commander who had now been promoted to the rank of brigadier.

  David lifted the receiver. ‘Major Macintosh speaking, sir,’ he said.

  ‘David, how the devil are you?’ the brigadier said. ‘Enjoying your stint with training command, I hope.’

  ‘Well, boss,’ David said, ‘I would rather be back with
the boys in the battalion.’

  ‘I was hoping you would say that,’ the brigadier said. ‘The battalion is short a company commander and I immediately thought of you.’

  David felt like standing up and saluting, such was his joy at the news. ‘Sir, just name your favourite whisky and I will have a case delivered.’

  The chuckle at the other end of the line brought back memories for both men when they had sat together in the rotting undergrowth of the New Guinea forests, discussing life back home – colonel and captain. ‘No need for rewards, Major Macintosh,’ the brigadier chuckled. ‘Just do a bloody good job of keeping the boys in your company alive, and bring them back home in one piece. Your replacement is already on his way to take over your training command. You have forty-eight hours to get him up to speed, and then you will have a week’s leave before you head off to join the battalion up north. Your orders will arrive tomorrow, so good luck. Your battalion will be part of my brigade.’

  ‘Sir, that is bonzer news,’ David said, still reeling from his stroke of good luck.

  He replaced the telephone on the cradle and stared at the wall of his office. Outside the building senior non-commissioned officers bawled orders at potential young officers, treating them as if they should have stayed home with their mothers instead. In the distance David could hear the crackle of rifle fire as the trainee officers practised marksmanship with their .303 rifles. A magpie warbled a song from the tall gum tree just outside David’s Nissan hut. It all sounded so peaceful and such a contrast to what he had experienced on the battlefields of North Africa, Greece, Crete and Syria. The New Guinea campaign was a hell all of its own, it required so much physical and mental strength just to stay alive.

  As elated as he was, David was sobered by the fact that he would have to inform Sean and Allison that he was once again being transferred to the war zone of the South West Pacific. He wondered who he would break the news to first, and decided that it would be Allison.

  That evening around six-thirty David arrived in uniform at Allison’s apartment. She was surprised to see that he had not changed into his civilian suit, as was his habit when they went out. He was also carrying a bouquet of flowers, which she took from him and placed in a vase.

  ‘They are beautiful,’ she said, arranging the stems. ‘You don’t have to keep buying me flowers, my love,’ she added, looking up, and for an instant a chill ran through her body. She could see in David’s eyes that something was different.

  ‘You are going back to the war!’ she gasped. ‘When were you going to tell me?’

  ‘I was going to tell you at dinner tonight,’ David said sheepishly. ‘I am being posted back to the battalion up north, but it is still in training, so I will not be going directly on to active service.’

  ‘But you will be sent back to fight eventually,’ Allison said as tears welled up in her eyes. She sat down and placed her head in her hands. ‘I have lost one man from my life and I don’t think I can lose another.’

  David moved awkwardly to her side and placed his hand on her shoulder. ‘You know I am a soldier and have to do my duty,’ he said gently.

  ‘If I know you well enough, David Macintosh, you would have jumped at any opportunity to get back with your battalion. What is wrong with men like you?’ she said, looking up from her hands. ‘Sean told me that your training command could have been a posting until the end of the war.’

  ‘The battalion needs experienced company commanders,’ David said lamely. ‘Men depend on me to keep them alive.’

  ‘And who will keep you alive, David?’ Allison countered.

  ‘The thought that I have you to return to,’ David said.

  Allison threw her arms around his neck. She was sobbing, ‘David, David, I cannot bear to think you might not come back to me.’

  David held her gently until the sobbing subsided. He felt guilty because he knew he could have declined the brigadier’s request.

  ‘When do you go?’ Allison said, wiping away the tears from her face with the back of her hand.

  ‘I have a week’s leave before I head north,’ David said. ‘I thought you might ask Uncle Sean to grant you a week’s leave too and then we can have a holiday up in the Blue Mountains.’

  ‘I do not want to go out tonight,’ Allison said. ‘I would rather spend every hour I can in your arms.’

  David felt the same way and he wondered why he was driven to put his life on the line when he could stay at home with the woman he loved. It was a question every soldier had asked himself since man first took up the profession of soldiering, and there was no answer to it.

  *

  Thousands of miles across the Pacific Ocean a similar story was being played out. James Duffy sat in the studio canteen surrounded by people dressed in a variety of costumes as they came off the sets to have lunch. Julianna sat very still opposite him, staring into her coffee.

  ‘I don’t know where or when I will be shipped out,’ James said quietly.

  ‘I suppose you expect me to wait for you to return,’ Julianna said bitterly. ‘Just as I waited vainly for my brother to return.’

  James reached out across the table to take her hand, but she withdrew it. ‘Jules,’ he said, using her pet name. ‘It was not my choice to return to the war.’ He was lying, and it seemed to him that the woman he loved could see that.

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that you are jumping out of your skin to return to flying,’ she said. ‘It is written all over your face.’

  ‘Other men have to leave wives and children behind,’ James pleaded. ‘I can’t stand on the sidelines while they risk their lives.’

  ‘You could have done so much back here for the war effort,’ Julianna said. ‘Not every man has to risk his life to win the war.’

  ‘Maybe I’m not every man,’ James said in his defence. ‘My father flew in the last war and I want to do my bit in this war.’

  ‘From what I know of your family history, your father survived the war,’ Julianna retorted. ‘That is not a guarantee you will do the same.’

  ‘We have the Japs on the back foot now,’ James said. ‘And I am a goddamned good pilot.’

  For a moment a silence fell between them, then suddenly Julianna stood up. ‘I will think of you, Captain Duffy,’ she said. ‘But don’t expect me to be here when you return.’

  Stunned, James watched her walk away and out of the canteen door, leaving him alone with the many oddly dressed figures taking their break from their movie sets. He spotted a table of men dressed in marine pilot uniforms, and one of them came over to him. ‘We haven’t met,’ the young actor said. ‘Are you a stand-in?’

  James looked up at the man pretending to be a fighter pilot. ‘I wish I was,’ he said and swallowed the last of his coffee. ‘But I’m the real thing.’

  The actor blinked when James stood up, and walked towards the entrance.

  Sixteen

  It was Miss Abigail Frost, the new governess of Tom’s cattle station located north of Glen View, who saw the blue-uniformed rider approaching the homestead. She stood on the verandah of the sprawling mudbrick building, shading her eyes against the late afternoon haze.

  ‘Tom,’ she called back into the house. ‘I think there is a policeman approaching.’

  Tom joined Abigail and watched the rider enter the yard bordered by fenced-in vegetable gardens. ‘I know him,’ he said and stepped off the timber verandah to greet the mounted policeman. ‘Sergeant Clements, what brings you so far out these ways?’

  ‘Mr Duffy,’ the police sergeant said, dismounting stiffly from his horse. ‘It’s a bloody long way all right.’

  ‘I hope you are not here on business,’ Tom said, reaching out with his right arm to shake the man’s hand.

  ‘Sorry about yer losing yer arm,’ he said, feeling Tom’s firm handshake. ‘Heard yer tangled with a snake up in the Gulf.’

>   ‘Yeah,’ Tom said. ‘And the bloody snake got to live.’

  ‘I have an awkward question for yer, Mr Duffy,’ the sergeant said. ‘Yer wouldn’t have seen young Jessie lately, would yer?’

  ‘No,’ Tom frowned. ‘As a matter of fact she has not written to me for a while. I am a little concerned about her.’

  ‘Sorry to be the one to tell you, Mr Duffy, but Jessie has been posted as AWOL from her unit. Seems she has been gone for around a month or more. The military contacted us, and I was sent out to see if Jessie was here.’

  ‘I can assure you, Sergeant Clements, that I have not seen my daughter for a long time. Not even when I came back from New Guinea,’ Tom said, frowning. ‘Are you sure you got it right about her being AWOL?’

  ‘Sad to say, the matter of her shooting through is true,’ he replied. ‘They even posted a photo up to us, and you know that I have known Jessie since she was a barefooted kid running around here.’

  Tom nodded. He was stunned by the news that his beloved daughter, who had always proved to be so responsible and diligent, had deserted her post. It just did not make sense. ‘Do you need a place to stay over tonight?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Thanks, Mr Duffy, but I have to push on to Glen View. One of the boys working there has a few questions to answer about some missing property in town. The manager there will be expecting me.’

  ‘You will be well looked after at Glen View,’ Tom said as the police officer swung back into the saddle. ‘I know the Macintosh manager, he’s a fair-dinkum bloke.’

  ‘If you happen to see Jessie,’ Sergeant Clements said, ‘tell her to come and see me in town before those bloody military police get to her.’

  ‘I will do that,’ Tom said and the police sergeant rode away.

  ‘I heard your conversation,’ Abigail said when Tom returned to the verandah. ‘From what you have told me about your daughter, it seems very much out of character that she should desert her post.’