by Peter Watt
*
‘You look like you could do with a drink,’ the voice said to Jessica as she dozed beneath the big tree’s shade. At first she thought that she was dreaming but when she opened her eyes a bearded face met her gaze and a broad smile reassured her.
‘Thank you,’ Jessica said, accepting the offered water canteen which she almost emptied in her thirst.
‘I’m Kevin Jones,’ the coastwatcher said, retrieving the metal canteen. ‘I got a message about you, Sergeant Duffy, and Warrant Officer Porath being tasked with getting the Yank colonel off the island.’
Jessica looked behind the coastwatcher to see an emaciated man wearing the rags of an American flyer. ‘Is that him?’ she asked and the coastwatcher nodded.
‘He has malaria and God knows what else,’ he replied. ‘We have organised for you to RV with one of our subs tonight in the cove that you were dropped off at. You and Porath will escort him with one of my boys guiding you to the RV. I believe the sub will surface around twenty-three hundred hours tonight. It’s pretty straight forward. Do you have any questions?’
Jessica shook her head and the young native man who had guided them through the night stepped forward with cooked plantain and grilled fish in a banana leaf. Jessica ate everything and was almost tempted to eat the leaf as well. Refreshed she joined Roland.
‘Looks like we will be out of here by this time tomorrow,’ he said, wiping his fingers on his trousers. ‘I was given the briefing by Captain Jones as soon as he arrived. He saw you sleeping. He’s a good bloke. He was telling me that the navy made him a captain in case he was ever captured by the Nips. He said he hoped the navy were paying him for his rank as before they commissioned him he was a civvie managing a copra plantation, and in the last lot, a corporal in engineers.’
‘I remember monitoring the coastwatchers when I was in Brisbane, and they should make them all admirals for the danger they face,’ Jessica said.
‘Time to go,’ Captain Jones said quietly. ‘You need to be in position before last light. Good luck, God’s speed and have a beer for me back in Australia.’
They shook hands with the bearded coastwatcher who passed them water canteens, some rice wrapped in banana leaf and a hand torch for signalling. They were then introduced to the American colonel who hardly reacted and it was obvious that he was badly in need of medical attention but was able to walk. They gently guided the tall and skinny American officer with them as they struck off into the dense jungle, following the guide who they had learned was once a native policeman. He carried the only weapon, a .303 bolt-action rifle.
They trekked cautiously all day, following the coastline, and just before sunset they came in view of the cove. Resting on a hill top they could make out the inlet through the trees.
‘All going well our supplies are still hidden down there near the beach,’ Roland whispered. ‘I think that we should retrieve them.’
Jessica agreed and told the guide what they were going to do. He was apprehensive as night had not yet fallen but eventually agreed to accompany them with the American colonel closer to the small beach.
The sun was just about on the horizon when they arrived at an outcrop of rocks. Roland quickly dug with his hands in the sand, retrieving the weapons wrapped in cloth. He handed Jessica a Thompson sub machine gun which she quickly inspected, working the bolt to ensure it had not rusted. The copious quantities of covering grease had helped protect it. She retrieved spare loaded magazines, a couple of primed grenades, and a commando dagger. Similarly armed, she and Roland felt a little more secure. Retreating back off the beach they joined the guide and the American colonel.
*
The Japanese officer lowered his field glasses. The two figures on the beach had retreated to the jungle and it had been very hard to resist having his detachment fire on them. His commanding officer had given strict instructions not to engage the enemy until a possible submarine came for them. He outnumbered the enemy by four to one and knew his next step was to order his detachment to move from their present location to a position that would block any retreat deeper into the jungle. Night was almost upon them and it was time to set the trap.
He turned to his second-in-command and issued the order to move out. He had surprise on his side, and the enemy were as good as dead.
*
Roland and Jessica had taken turns to strip their weapons, ensure that they were in good working order and sit back to eat the remaining fish and rice mix from the banana leaves. They fed the American colonel who still remained listless and Jessica guessed he was recovering from either malaria or scrub typhus.
It was now very dark and the eerie noise of the jungle’s nocturnal inhabitants came to provide a symphony of sound. Jessica gripped her Thompson, her nerves on edge with the waiting, whilst Roland stared out to the water of the bay. He also gripped the torch, ready to signal. He knew it would be very difficult to see a submarine surface on the placid dark shrouded waters so the signal from the sub had to be seen when it came.
Suddenly, the guide grabbed Roland by the shoulder and hissed, ‘Jap man out there.’
Roland had not seen or heard anything but trusted the guide’s instincts. He knew they had a sense for the subtle changes in the jungle night. He raised his weapon, scanning the darkness. Jessica had overheard the guide’s warning and was also alert. At the same time when Roland turned his head he saw the flicker of a light from the bay. The sub had arrived on time and now they were possibly trapped between the two. At the same time he heard the distinctive sound of a small mortar being fired from close by and the distant hiss of a parachute flare that clearly outlined the surfaced sub. Roland could see the outline of sailors on the deck and see a couple quickly preparing their deck gun.
The second mortar bomb was not a flare but a high explosive projectile and it fell short in the bay, throwing up a small spout of water.
‘Bloody hell!’ Roland cursed. They had been so close and yet the chances of being picked up had dropped to almost zero. The sub would be forced to dive and leave them behind lest it fall victim to the Japanese.
‘We have to get down to the beach now!’ Jessica said, tugging at Roland’s sleeve. ‘We either get the Yank off now, or we leave him behind dead.’
‘You take the colonel down and hope that the navy hang around long enough to pick you up while we try to find that bloody Nip mortar and put it out of action.’
Jessica felt a chill. She knew that if Roland went off into the jungle he would not be coming out alive. She did not argue because she had been trained in the deadly consequences of Z Special Unit missions. What words could she say leaving him to fight a rear guard action? Jessica struggled for words and finally said weakly, ‘Good luck, Roland.’
‘Just leave me your spare mags,’ he replied. ‘And maybe a grenade.’
Jessica passed Roland some of her .45 magazines and one grenade. She kept a spare grenade and the loaded magazine on her own weapon. She grabbed the American by the arm and commanded him to stick with her as they made their way towards the cove.
As she almost reached the beach she heard the distinctive sound of the Tommy gun and crack of the .303 and knew that Roland and the guide were engaging the enemy behind them. But the mortar continued to rain bombs down on the bay as they walked towards the surfaced submarine.
To add to the botched rescue the thump-thump of a small naval craft engine appeared from nowhere. Its searchlight masking the Japanese patrol boat as it appeared from behind the headland. Already its heavy machine gun was in action and the big bullets easily penetrate the sub’s hull.
Jessica was now down to the water’s edge and waded into the placid surf up to her knees, dragging the unresisting colonel with her. She had a torch from their supplies and flicked off the signal to those on the sub now desperately engaged in a fight from two sides. Behind her, Jessica could still hear the chatter of small arms fir
e and the occasional crump of an exploding grenade. Roland was still fighting, she was standing in the surf with a torch and the sailors occupied with their own survival. The deck gun now turned its attention to the patrol boat, and with more luck than accuracy, were able to land a shell directly on target. The patrol boat exploded with a great roar of its depth charges exploding.
Jessica wanted to cheer but became acutely aware that the sound of Roland’s sub machine gun had been silenced. She was aware of the foreign chatter of Japanese soldiers advancing through the jungle to her position in the surf.
The submarine’s deck crew were scrambling to go below and it was obvious that they were not hanging around. Standing in the water to her knees and feeling its gentle swirl around her Jessica knew it was only a matter of time before the enemy reached her and the American officer.
She also knew that she could not be taken alive and remembered the terrible order in Cairns – kill the American if there was a chance of him being captured.
Jessica raised her weapon, lining it up with the unsuspecting colonel’s head. She would use the grenade to end her own life and found herself quietly praying . . . Hail Mary, full of Grace . . .
Something bumped her leg in the dark and she realised that it was a log of driftwood. The submarine was almost gone from the surface and Jessica made a wild decision. She threw away her sub machine gun, tucked the knife and grenade into her trousers, and leaned down to push the log deep into the bay’s still waters.
‘C’mon, sir,’ she said to the officer beside her. ‘Give me a hand.’
The American realised what she was doing and pushed with all his strength until they were up to their necks in the surf. Then Jessica began paddling, using the log as a support. The inky blackness of the night was only lit a distance away by the burning wreck of the Japanese patrol boat but Jessica knew they were safely in the shadows of the night. Her plan was crazy but something in her mind told her this is what she should do. None of it made sense because the best outcome would be when the sun rose they would be drifting in the open ocean. She already had a dread of sharks from a previous experience escaping New Britain but death in their jaws might be preferable to death from exposure and thirst.
Both paddled with their legs until a current caught them and caused the log to ride it along the coast in the dark. If what she was doing failed then she still had a grenade and her knife to kill the colonel and herself.
Exhausted by dawn after pushing the log away from the shore, Jessie draped herself over it and found that she was drifting into the world between life and death, where dreams were also reality.
She was a little girl and her beloved father had purchased her first horse. He was now standing with her at the foot of that strange and eerie hill on Glen View. It was warm and dry and she felt at peace.
But an old Aboriginal man appeared from the entrance of the cave on top of the hill and was disturbing her blissful memories of better times before this death came to her. She knew it was Wallarie and mumbled that he should go away and that she would see him in the spirit world.
He was annoyed and told her to wake up or she would drift away from the hill.
Jessica shook her head and suddenly felt as if she was choking. Saltwater flooded her mouth and nose.
A hand gripped her shoulder and Jessica opened her eyes. It was the American colonel and he was trying to point at something. Using the water-saturated log, Jessica pulled herself partially out of the water to see the outline of a submarine only a hundred yards away.
Fear gripped her. These waters were the hunting ground of Japanese boats and this left only one choice. She felt for the grenade and its pin. They would die a lonely death in a lonely sea.
Then she noticed the sub’s many scars from bullets and hesitated pulling the pin.
‘It’s one of your Aussie subs,’ the colonel beside her croaked through saltwater-soaked lips.
Jessica allowed the deadly grenade to slip from her fingers. Her mission was almost over and she would go home.
Epilogue
December 1943
Sarah Macintosh had it all; her father’s house and now she alone oversighted the management of the Macintosh financial empire. But there was just something Sarah could not control. It was the nightmares she often experienced. They were not of the murder of her father, but stupid and irrational dreams of an old Aboriginal warrior.
It was Christmas Day and Sarah sat alone in the spacious dining room.
The only sound Sarah could hear in the empty house was that of the old grandfather clock upstairs, ticking off the seconds of time and life.
*
The summer sun of central Queensland blazed with its shimmering heat on the vast, inland sea of semi-arid lands, providing thermals for the great wedge-tailed eagle, soaring aloft of the plains in search of prey.
Tom Duffy stood at the apex of the sacred hill on Glen View, gazing across the plains at the endless horizon. The letter had arrived from Sean Duffy, that the offer of purchase had been accepted and that everything had gone ahead to place the title in Tom’s hands.
So he now stood alone on the hill – but soon he would be joined by his beloved daughter as she received special leave from whatever mysterious mission she had completed. They would sit down to Christmas dinner at Glen View; he, Abigail, young Patrick and Jessica, and remember those who could not be with them.
As Tom surveyed the great lands of Glen View there was no real sight of the war ending soon. Only Wallarie knew what lay ahead – and he was silent.
*
I see Tom Duffy on the sacred hill as I soar in the sky above. I am a spirit man and I can see all upon the earth. Whitefellas say they don’t believe in ghosts, but say they believe in an afterlife, where you either go to heaven – or go to hell. Me, I never see heaven or hell, but the stars in the sky where my people live. The old people tell me my job is to keep an eye on that Duffy people, and the Macintosh mob.
It has been a long time since I was a feared warrior and magic man, walking the lands below. While they live in the world of the sun and moon, I live in the world of spirits. One day, the whitefellas will say I am the spirit of the land, and heart of Australia. But that is a long way off yet, and I really miss my baccy.
I suppose that this is not the end of the story, because families do not end. They just die and get born again.
Author Notes
Despite the setbacks the Japanese suffered in 1942, the war in the Pacific was far from a victory for the Allies. The great Australian Prime Minister still considered Australia under threat from the Japanese as they had been able to demonstrate they were still capable of attacking the mainland. Darwin alone was bombed more than sixty times as well as other northern Australian places such as Broome. My father served as an anti-aircraft gunner at both Darwin and Broome before transferring to the RAAF where he was a mid-upper gunner on a B24 Liberator bomber in the Pacific campaign. I was fortunate to be able to talk to him about his experiences in both locations. Sadly, he has passed since.
In Britain, the Special Operations Executive used many women to work behind enemy lines in Europe but my role for Sergeant Jessica Duffy in the Pacific is a work of fiction.
I remember when I was training for my captain’s exams reading of a British officer executed by his own troops for being in treasonous contact with the advancing Japanese just before the fall of Singapore. He became the inspiration for Lord Ulverstone as it is recorded there were a significant number of British aristocrats sympathetic to the Fascist cause, who were never brought before a court on charges of treason.
I have loosely followed the battalion history of the 2/1 Battalion and had the honour of sharing time with the legendary Paul Cullen, AC, CBE, DSO & Bar, ED in the 1/19 RNSWR Army Reserve officers’ mess back in the 1980s. He had eventually became the Commanding Officer of the 2/1 Battalion in the Pacific campaign, and was trul
y loved and respected by all who served with him. After the war he founded Austcare and continued service with the Army Reserve. The interesting thing is Cullen was not his real name. He was born Cohen, but because of Hitler’s directive to execute any soldiers of Jewish blood in North Africa he changed his name. As it was, the German general Rommel ignored Hitler’s directive. I was also fortunate to meet Charles Anderson VC, MC in the same officers’ mess around the same time. The 1/19 RNSWR was the postwar combining of the 2/1 battalion and the 2/19 battalion colours and both commanding officers would dine with us. Both men are true Aussie legends.
I could continue with historical notes but my stories are written to entertain, and simply remind this generation of those who came before us, of the suffering, and sacrifice endured by our parents, grandparents and great-grandparents both on the battlefield and at home. There are just too many research books to list and this is not meant to be a history lesson – just a reminder.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to my publisher Haylee Nash and the hard-working team at Pan Macmillan, Publishing Director Cate Paterson, editor Libby Turner, and publicist Lara Wallace. Thanks also to Alex Lloyd for his great assistance, and to Alana Kelley and the other support staff of Tracey Cheetham, Publicity Director, and Roxarne Burns, who organises my royalties. And not to forget Maria Fassoulas, Natika Palka and all the hard-working team from sales.
I would also like to acknowledge my Aussie agent and friend, Geoffrey Radford, and my American agent, Alan Nevins. On the Frontier TV project, Rod Hardy, Paul Currie, Brett Hardy and Brett’s wonderful family.
A thanks to Angela Clarke at the Maclean Library, and all the staff there for their help in my research. Thank you also to Paul Shanley and Jan Martin for their kind assistance with the family tree.