by Peter Watt
‘What do you think, Miss Macintosh?’
The question caught Sarah off guard. ‘About what, Mr Anderson?’ she asked, snapping out of her daydream.
‘About getting our beef production up,’ the manager said. ‘The Yanks love their big steaks, and we are in a position to satisfy their demand.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Sarah responded quickly. ‘I trust that you will be able to produce a plan to do that.’
‘Yes, Miss Macintosh,’ Anderson said, rising from his chair. ‘I should have something in concrete before the next meeting.’
‘Good,’ Sarah said and watched him leave the room. Already her thoughts had returned to her planned assault on Allison, and she smiled for the first time that day. By the time Sarah had finished with Allison, David was sure never to want to see his girlfriend again.
*
This scene had been repeated ever since the invention of the first troop trains almost a hundred years earlier when women had first stood on railway stations bidding their men goodbye in the knowledge that this embrace might be the last they would ever share, when the powerful locomotives steamed and huffed their way from the sidings, to deliver their fragile cargoes to faraway battlefields.
In the gloom of the winter’s night, Major David Macintosh held Allison in his arms, gently reassuring her that he would return. Sean leaned on his walking cane nearby, with young Patrick beside him watching with a certain amount of understanding of the sadness and urgency that was all around him. It had been a steam train that had taken him from his mother the year before in Malaya, leaving only a fading image of a woman’s face streaked with tears. Now this big man that Patrick had come to accept as an uncle was going away too, and Patrick wondered if he was going to the place where his mother was far across the sea.
‘I will be back before you know it, old girl,’ David said. Steam hissed from the locomotive nearby, and already coal smoke was rising from the stack as the engine readied to pull its load of khaki-coloured passengers north. ‘And I promise to write every chance I get.’
‘Be careful and come home to me,’ Allison whispered between her tears. ‘I love you very much.’
‘I made it this far and I don’t have any intentions of going away when I next return,’ David said, disengaging himself from the embrace to turn to Sean.
‘Well, Uncle Sean, I guess this is goodbye again,’ he said, extending his hand, then he felt Sean’s arms around him in a rough embrace.
‘Be bloody careful, David,’ Sean hissed. ‘I made a promise to your mother many years ago that I would look after you. I made that promise on my life.’
David stepped back with a sad smile. ‘You have been the only father I have ever known, Uncle Sean,’ he said and looked away to Patrick lest Sean see the tears forming in his eyes. ‘I want you to look after Uncle Sean, young Patrick,’ he said, crouching down to the boy.
‘I will, Uncle David,’ Patrick replied.
‘Good man,’ David said, standing up and patting Patrick on the head. ‘Time to get aboard.’ He squared his shoulders and walked towards the carriage door. He felt as though he was walking to his execution. He could not tell those he loved most that he had a bad feeling about what lay ahead. He stepped up into the train and was immediately assailed by cigarette smoke and the heavy scent of men in uniform: brasso, boot polish and nervous sweat. David made his way to the first-class sleeper section reserved for officers, and for a moment stood by the window of the railway carriage door, gazing at the only three faces he wanted to see. They were covered in tears – except for young Patrick who waved gravely to him. A whistle blew, the train lurched, and suddenly the three faces disappeared as if the platform had raced away.
As the troop train pulled away from Sydney’s Central Station and David made his way to his cabin, he realised that his hands had begun to tremble again. There was no going back now. The jungles of the north awaited him; he could hear them whispering that he was on his way and that they were preparing to cover his dead body.
*
Twenty-four hours later Allison received a telephone call from Sarah. Sarah explained that she had acted rather rudely towards her and was very sorry. As a matter of fact she had planned a party at her home on the harbour for the following Saturday night and she would be very disappointed if Allison did not come. Allison hesitated but Sarah’s sweet tone seemed genuine. Maybe they could put aside their differences over David and resume their old friendship. Allison said she would attend.
Sarah put down the phone and smirked. It had been so easy.
*
She towered over the wharf and the many men moving around her. In the early morning Captain James Duffy stood in the chilling mist that came down from the rugged mountains and swirled around the naval base. He stared up at her with mixed feelings. The Big E – the aircraft carrier Enterprise – sat in the Puget Sound naval dockyards undergoing an outfit before her return to the Pacific war. Sparks flew from welders, and the hammering of rivets punctured the peace of the morning.
A naval officer of equivalent rank to James appeared from the mist and walked over to him.
‘Are you part of the Big E?’ he asked.
James turned to him and could see from his insignia that he was a weapons officer. ‘I was with her up until Guadalcanal,’ James said. ‘I was transferred to the Cactus air force on the island – but she and I are back together again. Just got shipped out from California.’
‘You will miss the sunshine and girls,’ the naval officer grinned. ‘The name’s Kent Kowalski. I’m with her also.’
‘James Duffy,’ the marine pilot said, extending his hand.
‘I heard that we were getting a pretty boy from Hollywood,’ Kowalski grinned. ‘I’ll take you aboard and we can see if there are any other flyboys around for you to meet. They will no doubt want to ask a million questions about which actresses you got to bed.’
The naval officer led James to a boarding plank and he stepped inside the huge aircraft carrier filled with workmen. For a moment his thoughts of Julianna were overwhelmed by the feeling he had just come home.
*
It was September and Lieutenant Colonel Albert Ulverstone had finally been able to obtain the security clearance that would enable him to access the most sensitive military and political information within the South West Pacific theatre. His wound had healed, leaving him physically fit for duty. However, as he stood in his office, hands behind his back, he was pondering the problem of being exposed as a traitor.
The dynamic of the war in the Pacific had shifted, with the Imperial Japanese armed forces now fighting desperately to hang on to the territory they had seized in their initial thrust south and east. But the Japanese were far from beaten and were still a formidable force to be reckoned with. Intelligence reports from Europe indicated that the Italians were on the verge of collapsing and coming over to the Allied side, and the situation for Germany was growing increasingly desperate, with the advancement of the Red Army.
Ulverstone glanced at the dossier on his desk, knowing it held vital intelligence that could assist his Japanese masters. The existence of the annoying Sydney solicitor worried him. From what Sir George was relaying to him the man was continually digging into the events surrounding the death of the man who had attempted to kill him.
The British officer walked over to his desk and read through the report, closed it and sat down at his desk. To relay the intelligence report to the Japanese required him to use a sympathetic radio operator posing as an American missionary in Brisbane. But Ulverstone knew that all radio transmissions were being monitored by a list of obscure Allied interceptors. It was time to make a decision, and the British aristocrat knew what came first – his own life and reputation.
He closed the folder, knowing that it would not be transmitted to the Japanese. It was far too dangerous to act now while Major Sean Duffy was covertly inves
tigating him. Duffy had to be eliminated and he knew that his friend and ally, Sir George, had many reasons to see the solicitor killed. What worried Ulverstone even more than Duffy was the question of who had been behind the attempt on his life. Whoever it was must have some evidence as to his treachery. Whether they would do anything with this evidence was another matter.
*
Even as Lord Ulverstone contemplated Sean Duffy’s death, Sean was reaching for his telephone. He did so with reluctance but it was time to call an old friend for a very big favour.
‘Harry Griffiths speaking,’ came a voice when the telephone call was answered. In the background Sean could hear the sound of boxing gloves striking leather punching bags.
‘Harry, it’s Sean Duffy,’ he said.
‘Boss! Good to hear your voice,’ Harry answered. ‘It’s been a while since we had a beer together. I’ve heard a couple of disturbing whispers on the grapevine about you.’
‘Cobber, that is why I am calling you. I need a bit of help.’
‘You know you can rely on me,’ the former soldier and Sydney policeman replied. ‘About time we met at our usual watering hole.’
‘How about this afternoon – around three?’ Sean suggested.
‘You can shout the first round,’ Harry said, and hung up.
*
Sarah Macintosh was very pleased indeed. The grainy black and white photographs were exactly what she had ordered. The party that she had lured Allison to after David’s transfer north had proved a great success. The spiked drink served to Allison had done the job and her private investigator and his accomplice had earned their pay.
Sarah looked down on the picture of Allison lying on her back, naked from the waist down on the double bed. The next photo showed the accomplice bending over her as if having sex. Sarah knew that he had not, but the series of photos looked explicit.
The following morning Allison had awoken with a terrible hangover, unaware of what had happened the night before. Sarah had soothed her with reassurances that she had passed out from too much alcohol and had been taken to one of the bedrooms in the Macintosh house to sleep it off.
‘Oh, Alli,’ Sarah crooned. ‘What will David say when he finds out what a naughty girl you have been the moment he leaves town?’
PART TWO
Springtime in the Southern Hemisphere
1943
Eighteen
The train journey north for Major David Macintosh took several days of gazing out at fields of sugarcane, where little locomotives tugged carriages spilling with the cut cane to the sugar refineries. The northbound train would occasionally stop at railway stations where the local ladies served up porridge and tasty sausages to the troops, accompanied by pots of coffee and urns of tea. There were occasional glimpses of the azure ocean between groves of tall palm trees. Approaching Cairns the vista changed as the engine pulled its carriages full of troops over tall wooden bridges with mountain streams rushing below. The vegetation had changed to great forests of tropical giants, and finally the troops were delivered to Cairns, where trucks met them to travel up onto the tablelands running parallel with the coast.
David found his transport vehicle, and after a few hours of climbing the narrow, tortuous road, the truck came to a stop at his old battalion’s bivouac area. It was with a mix of excitement and happiness that he recognised the guard manning the gate to the camp. When he had last seen the man he had been a corporal, but now he sported the three chevrons of a sergeant.
‘Sergeant Peene,’ David said, stepping from the cabin of the truck and taking the salute. ‘How the devil are you?’
The tough-looking NCO blinked and suddenly recognised David. ‘Boss . . . er, I mean, sir, bloody good to have you back with the boys.’
‘Bloody good to be back, Matt,’ David said, slinging his kitbag over his shoulder. ‘Where do I find BHQ?’
‘Over there, sir,’ Sergeant Peene said, pointing to a timber building. ‘I know the CO will be glad to have you aboard again.’
‘Congratulations on your promotion,’ David said, this time extending his hand. ‘Well overdue, in my opinion. You should have got your stripes back in New Guinea.’
‘Thanks, sir,’ the sergeant said, accepting the firm handshake. ‘Hope you get the old company job as OC.’
‘So do I, Sergeant Peene,’ David replied before he marched off to report to the battalion HQ, where he was welcomed warmly by the respected and liked commanding officer, who told him his wish to have his company back had been granted.
‘I do have some bad news, though,’ the CO said. ‘We were given notice that we were to be shipped out in a month’s time. The reports that I have seen indicate that the boys up in New Guinea are up against stiff opposition, but the bloody powers that be have decided we are to stand down and continue with our training. I made the announcement yesterday, so morale is a bit low as the lads have been itching to have another crack at the Nips.’
After a briefing from the adjutant in the orderly room, David was allocated his quarters, and barely took time to throw his kitbag on the cot in his room before he marched over to his company HQ to meet his staff. The orderly room clerk stood quickly to attention when David entered the company HQ.
‘Stand easy,’ David said, looking around the sparse office. Clipboards with routine orders, signals and a portrait of the King adorned the walls. Only two men were on duty in the office, and David noticed a young corporal standing to attention by his bulky radio set.
‘I am Major Macintosh, your new OC,’ David said. ‘Good to see the orderly room is manned.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the corporal by the radio said.
‘I like to get to know the soldiers I work with,’ David said. ‘Who are you, corporal?’ he asked the man now standing at ease.
‘Corporal Andrew Paull,’ the young man said. ‘I’m your signaller, sir.’
‘I have not seen you before, corp,’ David said.
‘I was transferred in with the last lot of reinforcements, sir,’ Andrew said.
‘Where did you get transferred in from?’ David asked with genuine interest.
‘I was with the Nackeroos before getting my transfer, sir,’ Andrew answered.
‘The Nackeroos. By any chance did you know Sergeant Tom Duffy?’
Andrew’s face registered both surprise and consternation. ‘Sir, it was Tom . . . sorry, Sergeant Duffy, who got me this transfer.’ Andrew paused. ‘After I cut off his arm.’
For a moment both men stared at each other, and then David burst into a loud laugh. ‘Bloody extreme way to get your senior NCO to give you a transfer,’ he said. ‘Hope it’s not my head if you want a promotion.’
‘Sir, I . . .’ Andrew tried to explain.
‘You don’t have to explain how you saved Sergeant Duffy’s life,’ David said. ‘I happen to know him, and I have already heard how your actions saved him from dying of a taipan bite. It is a small world indeed, and I can say that your quick thinking has proven you a bloody good soldier. Welcome to my team.’
Andrew realised that the major had extended his hand to him, and he was caught off guard by the gesture. There was something charismatic about the new company commander, and it was then that Corporal Andrew Paull knew he would follow Major Macintosh into hell if asked.
David then spoke with the orderly room clerk, and soon the word was out to the old hands that their former, well liked and respected acting company commander was back. The newer members wondered what all the fuss was about, until they heard that the legendary officer who had led his men from Africa to New Guinea was the best bloody boss they could have.
Before the day closed David tracked down his officers and senior NCOs to introduce himself, and after a few hours in the officers’ mess he retired to his cot. The sweet and haunting sound of the bugles playing the Last Post drifted to him on the still air and was t
he last sound he heard before slipping into a dreamless sleep.
*
The newly fitted prosthetic lower limb hurt the stump of Tom Duffy’s arm.
‘You will get used to it,’ Sean said, observing his friend’s grimace of pain. ‘Took me a while with my stumps, but it will get better.’
The two men sat in Sean’s office, cups of tea between them.
‘Just wonder how it will affect my shooting,’ Tom said, holding up the arm and staring at the artificial hand.
Sean raised his eyebrows.
‘I have some feral animals on my property up in Queensland,’ he said, but his answer did not ease Sean’s concerns. He had hoped that with time Tom might have lost interest in pursuing Jessica’s desire to see Lord Ulverstone dead.
Tom had been able to convince his daughter to travel out to Bathurst to a small sheep farm he had in his portfolio of properties. She was still living under an assumed name, and Tom had been able to have her signed up in the Women’s Land Army to work on the farm. The Land Army worked long, low-paid hours keeping food up to the nation. Even now beef was in very short supply to the civilian population, as it was needed for the armed forces of Australia and her allies. Tom had noted that his profits were going up with the shortage, as his Queensland stations supplied the much needed beef.
‘I had a beer with Harry yesterday and he told me that the crooked copper, Preston, is snooping around asking questions about you, Sean,’ Tom said, resting his artificial arm on the table.
‘I would expect that,’ Sean said, taking a sip of his tea. ‘He is, after all, Sir George’s man.’
‘Watch your back, cobber,’ Tom warned. ‘If Macintosh is involved, you can bet Ulverstone also has an interest in you.’