Beneath a Rising Sun

by Peter Watt

  Tom’s left arm throbbed with pain. He held the forestock of the .303 balanced on the artificial hand and gently squeezed the trigger. The rifle bit into his shoulder as it had a thousand times before in his military life. The crack of the shot echoed around the rolling hills and at three hundred yards he saw the tin can bounce as the bullet ripped through it into the soft soil of the slight embankment at the back. Tom sighed with satisfaction. Minus an arm he could still take out a bullseye.

  Still on his stomach he felt the vibration of the horse’s hooves on the soft grassy ground.

  ‘That was a good shot,’ Jessica said from astride her mount.

  Tom rose to his feet, ejecting the spent cartridge but not reloading the chamber. ‘I was not sure if I could still do it,’ he said, facing his daughter. ‘Looks like I can.’ He took a look at Jessica’s horse. ‘I might need your nag to ride into town this afternoon.’

  ‘What are you up to, Dad?’ she asked. ‘I hope you don’t have any silly ideas about shooting anyone.’

  Tom had trouble looking his daughter in the eye and instead turned to gaze out over the hills already showing a blaze of colour from the many spring flowers on this beautiful sunny afternoon. The temperature was still crisp but the weather was improving. ‘I just need to know I am not altogether useless.’

  ‘How long are you staying?’ Jessica asked.

  ‘I will be leaving tomorrow,’ Tom answered. ‘I have to get back to Sydney for some business appointments.’

  Jessica dismounted, and her horse put his head down and began munching on the lush pasture. ‘I will come with you,’ she said.

  ‘That is not necessary,’ Tom countered. ‘Besides, you have your work here on the farm.’

  ‘As you are the owner of the farm, you can excuse me from my duties,’ Jessica said firmly. ‘I will be travelling with you.’

  Tom sighed. He knew his daughter too well, and if she did not travel with him, she would be on the first train after him. ‘Very well,’ he conceded. ‘I will organise two tickets and inform the manager you need compassionate leave to travel to Sydney.’

  Jessica broke into a broad smile. ‘Thank you,’ she said and threw her arms around her father’s neck. ‘Now I can make sure that you do not do anything silly with that rifle.’

  Tom was sure his daughter knew what he was planning, and he wondered how he was going to keep her out of the firing line when they reached Sydney. It would not be easy.

  That evening Tom rode into Bathurst to find a telephone box. He called Sean Duffy at his home.

  ‘I am returning tomorrow,’ Tom said when Sean answered. ‘Is the job right to go?’

  ‘I have a timetable,’ Sean answered. ‘I will see you soon.’

  The call was short, but the mission had begun.

  *

  In a dark narrow alleyway beside a hotel frequented by wharf labourers two men stood head to head. One was a police detective sergeant, the other a well-known criminal who had joined the wharf labourer’s union to ensure his exemption from military service.

  ‘You do this job and I will make sure you are kept away from being conscripted for the army,’ Preston growled.

  ‘Yer askin’ me to murder some coot,’ the wharfie said. ‘I just do a bit of pilferin’, that’s all, Mr Preston.’

  ‘There is money in it,’ Preston said, retrieving a wad of banknotes from his pocket and pushing them under the man’s nose. ‘If you ever say anything about our talk here tonight I will make sure you do not live to tell the tale.’

  ‘I never saw you before, Mr Preston,’ the wharfie said, eyeing the notes. ‘I do you this favour an’ you look after me in the future.’

  ‘You make good money and I will be very grateful for your service,’ Preston said. ‘The man you have to do away with is a Sydney lawyer, Major Sean Duffy.’

  ‘Duffy is pretty popular with the boys around ’ere,’ the wharfie said. ‘’E’s got a few orf in court.’

  ‘That is why you will never tell anyone about our deal,’ Preston said. ‘Otherwise you might have a fatal accident of your own. I am sure that your commie mates are capable of dishing out a bit of natural justice to avenge a man they respect.’

  The wharfie could see that he was trapped by the offer of money and retribution. ‘When do I go after Duffy?’ he asked as Preston peeled off a couple of banknotes and shoved them into the wharfie’s grubby shirt pocket.

  ‘You get the job done as soon as you can,’ Preston said. ‘It don’t matter if it looks like murder, but just don’t get caught. Make it look like a robbery gone wrong.’

  As Preston briefed his hired killer, laughter from nearby prostitutes seeking out American servicemen drifted to them in the dark. Time was running out for Lord Ulverstone and Sean Duffy – although neither man realised how valuable time was becoming to them.

  Twenty

  Captain James Duffy stood at ease in the small cabin allocated to his commanding officer aboard the USS Enterprise.

  ‘Your record at Guadalcanal last year is impressive,’ the naval officer said, perusing James’s record of service. ‘I see you have already accounted for nine Jap aircraft. One more will make you a double ace.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ James responded.

  ‘I have called you in to say that the marines need replacement pilots for their Corsairs in the Solomon Islands. I know you have not had time on the bent-wing birds, but I am sure with your record you could soon qualify with your old squadron in the Solomons – should you choose to accept the transfer.’

  ‘When would I ship out?’ James asked, excited that this would put him back in the air, hunting Japanese aircraft.

  ‘We would put you on a transport plane in three days’ time,’ the commanding officer replied. ‘I will give you until midday tomorrow to make your mind up about the transfer. I know it is not easy to leave the Big E once you have served on her.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ James said. ‘I appreciate your consideration.’

  ‘Personally, I would rather have you stay with us for when we ship out, but I know you jarheads like to stick together, and the Corsair is an excellent fighter bomber. Do you have any other questions?’

  ‘No, sir, I will give you my decision tomorrow before noon.’

  ‘If there is nothing else, Captain Duffy, you are dismissed.’

  ‘Aye, aye, sir,’ James said, snapping a smart salute and leaving the cabin to make his way back to his sleeping quarters.

  When he did he found a note on his bunk. Lieutenant Guy Praine was in town and would like to see him that evening at a local bar frequented by sailors. James had the evening off and so telephoned Guy’s hotel to confirm the meeting.

  The bar was crowded with uniformed men and through the cloud of cigarette smoke James saw Guy sitting in an alcove in the corner. As he walked over, Guy rose to meet him and they shook hands.

  ‘What the devil are you doing in this neck of the woods?’ James asked.

  ‘I was sent up from LA to do a story on the Big E,’ Guy said. ‘Can I buy a flyboy a drink?’ he asked.

  The drinks were ordered and both men settled down to chat. ‘How is Julianna doing?’ James asked, taking a sip of bourbon.

  ‘Funny you should ask that,’ Guy said with his characteristic lopsided smile. ‘Not so good. She misses you, although she will not admit it.’

  ‘All I ever asked was for her to wait for me,’ James said. ‘But she knows that all I have to do is say the word and I would be back in the world of civilians. Guy, I am a fighter pilot, and to return to being a civilian when we are fighting this war would destroy me.’

  ‘I understand completely, but I am not a woman desperately in love with you. That’s a totally different ball game, old chap.’

  ‘I love her, but I have a duty to my fellow marines, and only a fighting man can truly understand that,’ James said with a
note of frustration in his voice.

  ‘I have been able to wrangle you a week back in LA on a PR project,’ Guy said with a broad smile. ‘Maybe that would give you more of an opportunity to sit down and talk to Julianna. I know she would welcome it. It might even be enough time before the Enterprise puts out to sea. The scuttlebutt has that she should be ready by November, and there will be opportunities for you two lovebirds to get together. LA is not so far from here.’

  James grimaced. The Corsair offer echoed in his thoughts. With more time he might be able to convince Julianna they had a future together. He realised he was facing a critical decision. He could turn down the offer to go back into combat, or request to remain with the Enterprise and have time to patch up matters with Julianna. He told Guy about the offer he had received earlier that day.

  ‘Goddamned hard choice,’ Guy said. ‘But I think I know what your decision will be.’

  ‘I could not live the rest of my life with Julianna if I chose not to transfer to a marine fighter squadron,’ James said. ‘I know that is not something I can explain to her.’

  ‘Damned right,’ Guy said. ‘She loves you and will do anything to keep you out of danger. You can’t blame her for that.’

  ‘I know,’ James said with a pained expression. He glanced around at the sailors in their uniforms. They were so young, and in a matter of weeks would be in the firing line back in the Pacific. But he was young too, although combat had made him feel old. ‘What would you do?’ he asked in his desperation.

  Guy finished his drink. ‘It is up to you, James, not me,’ he said. ‘But I am fairly sure you have already decided to ship out for the Solomons.’

  ‘I have to,’ James replied. ‘My marine buddies are out there, and I can do a lot more to keep them alive by flying than by staying here till the Enterprise is ready to sail.’

  ‘I guess that when I see Julianna I will just have to lie and tell her that you had no choice about being posted to the Pacific,’ Guy said with a sad sigh. ‘Just make sure you don’t do anything stupid, and come back in one piece.’

  James toyed with his glass of bourbon, staring at the alcohol-stained table. He knew Julianna was the woman he wanted to grow old with, but at the same time he had a duty to his fellow marines. He was also aware that every hour in the air lessened his odds of coming home alive. ‘Just tell her that I love her and hope that she will write to me,’ he said.

  ‘I will,’ Guy answered, rising from the table. ‘I have to leave you, I have an appointment with the XO of the Enterprise to plan out a story about her presidential citation.’ He thrust out his hand. ‘Until we meet again,’ he said, and left James to his half-finished drink.

  James remained for another ten minutes before returning to the carrier. He needed the time to pack and prepare for his transfer back into the war.

  *

  Night was descending on Sydney and the only two people remaining in the law offices of Levi and Duffy were Allison and Sean. It had been a court day and the two of them had stayed back to finish paperwork. Sean knew that young Patrick would have already arrived home from school and was most probably curled up in front of the radio, listening to his favourite programs.

  Allison entered Sean’s office with a folder of papers. ‘That’s it,’ she said, placing the folder on the desk. ‘You should leave all this until tomorrow morning.’

  Sean glanced up at her. ‘Thank you for staying back,’ he said. ‘Have you heard from David recently?’ he asked, recalling that Allison had asked him if he had heard from David in North Queensland – which he had.

  Allison sat down on a chair. ‘I have written almost every day, but I have not had a single letter from him in return,’ she said. ‘I cannot fathom why.’

  ‘Company commanders have their work cut out for them,’ Sean said lamely, although he knew that David could have written at least one letter to her. ‘I am sure he will write soon.’

  ‘I just wonder what is going on,’ Allison said sadly. ‘David knows I love him.’

  ‘Well, I think it is time to get a good night’s sleep, and keep our worries for another day,’ Sean said, rising stiffly from his chair. ‘How about you head home and put your feet up whilst you can – we will need to prepare the brief for the Jackson case tomorrow and it may be another long day.’

  ‘Yes, Major,’ Allison said with a weak smile.

  Sean watched her leave the office, then walked over to the clothes rack to retrieve his hat and umbrella. It was cold outside and he pulled on an overcoat. He walked down the stairs and out onto the street where he locked the front door. The city was coming alive as best it could to entertain the many American servicemen in town. Sean could feel a drizzle of rain and flipped open his umbrella to walk across Hyde Park to catch a train to his city flat. He used his walking stick to ease his pain, and inside the darkened park he walked carefully so as not to slip on the wet footpath.

  From the corner of his eye he noticed a man rapidly approaching, but he took little notice as he had passed one or two other people using the park to get to the underground railway station. The shadowy figure fell into step behind him, and suddenly the hair on the back of Sean’s neck stood up. He turned around with the umbrella above his head.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Sean swore when the man closed the ten feet between them with a short rush. It was obvious that the fellow meant to do him harm because he had a long-bladed knife in his hand. Instinctively Sean thrust the umbrella between his would-be attacker and himself, as the blade came forward, catching the folds in the umbrella.

  Flinging the umbrella aside, Sean stepped back and withdrew the long blade from his walking stick. The attacker threw off the umbrella and then hesitated when he saw the long deadly blade in Sean’s hand. Sean desperately attempted to keep his balance on his two artificial legs and prayed that he would not fall over. The attacker came forward slowly and the two men faced each other in the drizzling rain in the dark park.

  ‘C’mon, you bastard,’ Sean snarled. ‘Do your worst before I gut you.’

  The attacker stepped forward warily. Sean could make out his face now and he could see the fear there. How many times had he seen the same fear on the faces of German soldiers when he and his men had poured into their trenches with bayonets fixed?

  Sean knew that if he lunged at the man he might topple over, and so he had to wait for the man to come to him. ‘Who the bloody hell are you?’ he snarled. ‘Did Sir George send you to kill me?’

  The attacker did not answer but started to circle behind Sean as if knowing the man he was about to kill was hampered by his disability. Sean tried to turn to face him and in the attempt felt his legs go from under him on the slippery footpath. He toppled to the wet concrete of the pathway but did not let go of his sword stick.

  Before Sean could roll over he felt a searing pain in his lower back from the assailant’s knife. He cried out in pain but still managed to roll over enough to see his assailant bending over him, knife raised. Sean did not know how he did it but he was able to swing the point of the sword blade around to pierce his assailant in the shoulder. The man screamed in pain and fell back. Sean was aware he could hear voices and running footsteps. The attacker stumbled away, leaving Sean alone, bleeding profusely.

  ‘You all right, buddy?’ an American voice asked and Sean focused on the outline of a uniformed American soldier leaning over him. Beside him stood a young woman.

  ‘Thanks, cobber,’ Sean said, attempting to get to his feet. ‘I think I might have to get to a hospital.’

  The American soldier hefted Sean to his feet, and when he took away his hand he realised that it was sticky with blood. ‘Did you have an accident?’ he asked, startled.

  ‘Something like that,’ Sean replied, standing uncertainly and looking around for the sword stick sheath. The young woman bent over and retrieved it.

  ‘Is this yours?’ she asked, ha
nding it to Sean, who quickly placed the blade back inside so that it once again became a functional walking stick, which he used to prop himself up.

  ‘We need to get you help now,’ the American said, realising that Sean was losing a lot of blood. ‘I’ll get a taxi.’ With that, he rushed away, leaving the girl with Sean.

  ‘What happened?’ she asked, and Sean could see that she was young and pretty.

  ‘I must have fallen over on something sharp,’ Sean replied.

  ‘We heard someone scream,’ the girl said with a worried expression. ‘As though they were being attacked.’

  ‘It must have been me when I fell,’ Sean answered.

  ‘But we heard two screams,’ the girl persisted. ‘Did you get stabbed by someone trying to rob you?’

  ‘I must thank you for your help,’ Sean said, ‘but all I need is to get to a hospital.’

  The American soldier came hurrying back then. ‘I got us a cab,’ he said, helping Sean hobble down to the roadway where a taxi was waiting. ‘We will get you to a hospital, buddy.’

  Sean could feel the searing pain tear through his body with each step and he prayed that the blade had missed his kidneys as such a strike usually proved fatal.

  The two young people accompanied Sean to the nearest hospital where a nursing sister helped him remove his overcoat and immediately called for a doctor when she saw the extent of his wound. Sean found himself whisked away on a trolley before he had time to thank the young couple waiting in the reception area.

  As Sean lay on the trolley he turned to the nursing sister in her starched headwear and uniform. She had already questioned him to his identity and residential address.

  ‘I am looking after a young fella,’ he said through the pain. ‘I need you to call a number and speak with a Miss Allison Lowe. Ask her to go to my place and look after my young fella, Patrick.’

  The nursing sister took down the telephone number and left Sean to the doctor.

  ‘You have a stab wound, Mr Duffy,’ he said. ‘But given who you are, I doubt that you provoked the assault. I have seen you in the papers.’