Worth Fighting For

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ she said, then realised how rude she sounded. ‘I, uh, thank you for your assistance but I think I should perhaps find my fiancé.’ She frowned. How would that work? Michael was sure to still approach her.

  Marlon observed her procrastination and rolled his eyes. ‘How about I stall for you? I’ll keep your fiancé occupied while you have a quick chat and get rid of lover boy.’

  Junie thought about that. It seemed the best idea. ‘What will you talk about?’

  ‘What’s he interested in?’

  ‘Himself.’

  Marlon smiled at that answer. ‘Then it should be easy.’

  Junie began to move away then turned. ‘Why are you helping me?’

  ‘Never enjoyed watching hunting – can’t stand cruelty to animals myself.’

  She looked at him in surprise, almost returning his smile before resigning herself to being prey.

  ‘Corporal Farthington, isn’t it?’

  Ernest paused in his search to find Junie, who’d disappeared in the sea of uniforms, to respond to the tall American captain who had materialised in front of him. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said, saluting.

  ‘No formalities needed here, Farthington, relax,’ the man assured him, waving his salute away. ‘You’re the general’s main man, I hear. Captain Marlon Stone, but you can call me Marlon.’

  ‘Ernest,’ he said, shaking the man’s hand. ‘Marlon Stone. Aren’t you attached to Major Hamlin’s lot?’

  ‘Yes, I’m one of the team there, although I’m off to Darwin in a week for, uh – certain reasons. Bit hush-hush, to be honest, but I don’t suppose there’s too many secrets kept from the general.’ Marlon looked at his empty drink, appearing disappointed.

  Ernest was intrigued. There were plenty of cards being played close to the Americans’ chests and a bit of insider information never went astray. ‘No, not much gets past him. You know who else they’re sending up, I suppose?’

  ‘Well, it’s not so much who but what, of course…’ the captain said, looking at the bar.

  ‘That’s true,’ Ernest bluffed. ‘Here,’ he said, handing him Junie’s drink. ‘Allow me.’

  The American seemed pleased and clinked their glasses together.

  ‘To Darwin!’ he said.

  ‘Yes, to Darwin,’ Ernest agreed.

  ‘And to the major’s plan,’ the captain added, swaying slightly.

  Let Junie jitterbug with whomever she liked, Ernest decided. He had his own dance underway.

  The look on his face when he saw her outside was one of relief.

  ‘Oh God, you had me worried. I thought that Yank had kidnapped you,’ Michael said, pulling her into his arms and holding her tight. ‘Where is he, cheeky bastard? Didn’t even ask you to dance, by the looks of things.’

  ‘No, he, uh…he was a bit fresh,’ Junie mumbled against his chest, breathing him in, trying to find the strength to pull away and say what needed to be said. But oh, the familiar feel of him. The safety of this place, next to his heart.

  ‘I saw Ernest, by the way. We might need to hightail it outta here. Could get pretty uncomfortable.’

  The words were muffled against her ear, like they came from inside the drum of his chest, and she had a mad moment of wishing she could crawl in there.

  ‘Michael,’ she began, forcing herself to look at his face. ‘We have to talk.’

  He looked back at her cautiously. ‘All right.’

  They moved down the street and around the corner to stand beneath the shadowed stone walls of Town Hall.

  ‘What’s wrong, my love?’ he asked, pushing her hair back from her face. ‘Are you worried about Singapore? Don’t listen to gossip. I’m sure they’ll hold.’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I am worried about it. I’m worried about you and the boys.’ She felt heartsick at the thought of her brothers. ‘And the Japs coming here…’

  ‘We’ve got the Americans – thousands coming and more planes and boats every day,’ he reassured her. ‘And I’m here for a while yet. Why don’t we just elope and get married right now?’ He kissed her neck. ‘Forget planning a wedding and all that rot. Anything to be with you sooner.’ He kissed her on the mouth then, longingly, and she felt great tears well at the cruelty of resistance.

  ‘I – I am planning a wedding…it’s all done.’

  He looked confused. ‘Weren’t you going to discuss things with the groom?’

  She hated herself and the words that followed. ‘I have been.’

  Michael stared at her for a long minute, comprehension descending like a terrible bomb. ‘You – you’re still going to marry Ernest?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The final word ripped and the explosion ignited, shattering in his eyes.

  ‘But I love you. And you love me. I know you do.’

  ‘I love my parents too. And my brothers. I can’t be selfish –’

  ‘Yes, you can!’ he said with anguish and she started to cry.

  ‘No, I can’t! Dad is sick and Mum is – isn’t herself. You know this, Michael. You know…’

  ‘But you said yes to me,’ he said, incredulous. ‘How could you do that?’

  She slumped against him, grasping at his shirt. ‘How could I not?’

  He held her close, his cheek against her hair. ‘Be selfish for me, Junie. I’ll be going to war…I – I’ll need you.’

  ‘We can still be together…we don’t know what the future holds.’

  ‘I don’t want you as my mistress. I want you as my wife.’

  ‘Then that’s the difference between you and me, because I would take you any way I could get you.’ She reached up to cup his face but he shook her hand away.

  ‘But we couldn’t live together, we couldn’t raise a family – you’d be with him. In his bed.’

  ‘I’ll never really be married to Ernest. I’ll be married to you in my heart. Always.’ She was choking on her tears now, clinging to him.

  ‘Then that’s the difference between you and me,’ he replied brokenly, taking her hands in his, ‘because I could never ask you to settle for that.’

  He dropped them and walked away, his shoulders hunched against the night, and Junie collapsed against the wall, closing her eyes. The rabbit had run and the battle had been lost.

  And she was left to marry the enemy, more alone against that unforgiving stone than she’d ever felt in her life.

  Far away to the north other battles were being waged as the great fortress of Singapore began to fall, taking many thousands of lives with it. The Allies surrendered the territory two days later and Japan proved to be a merciless victor, slaughtering men in their hospital beds, nurses doing their rounds, civilians in their escape boats. The much feared invaders took almost fifteen thousand Australians prisoner with little compassion for those who ‘shamed themselves’ with defeat, and began to march them towards death.

  Then, on a clear Thursday morning, Australia’s greatest fear came to pass when the Northern Territory town of Darwin was bombed. Another harbour, another surprise attack, another devastating blow.

  Australia was on her knees and America knelt with her as February faded, taking summer away at last. The long hot autumn to the north was met by those who now walked and worked, starving and bleeding their way through Asian hells of man’s making. Limbs would soon wither to bones, beaten and tortured until many prisoners of war would eventually fall, half dead, only to meet their maker soon after. Most would be left without burial, without ceremony or pause, only the tears of their mates to bless them as they passed.

  Wasted lives granted no mercy, despite the love that would pour each day from the land to the south.

  And one Sunday early in March, a bride took her slow walk too, down the aisle to her own enemy in her white wedding shroud. A vial of blood hidden beneath, to fool the fool who had cheated her of love.

  Something had died in Junie that summer, but something had been born too.

  She held her stomach as she looked in the mi
rror on her wedding night, delaying the inevitable task of lying with her new husband. Then she allowed herself a small smile, for she had her victory too. Because whatever blood had been – and would be – shed, some small amount was now blending inside her womb, and she would fight a war of her own to protect it.

  No, Ernest would never fully take her Michael away. Not when his child would fill her days.

  Part Three

  Nineteen

  4th March 1942

  Darwin, Northern Territory, Australia

  Marlon read the newspaper with disgust, tossing it away and finishing his coffee. Another air raid, this time in Broome in Western Australia. More lives lost, although with censorship heavily at play it was hard to guess how many. He blocked the memories that tapped on his mind, far worse since he’d arrived here in the aftermath of another Japanese victory. Scorched earth, obliterated planes, sunken boats, chaos. Death. The memories wanted to replay his own nightmare at Pearl Harbor, something he kept refusing to allow them to do during the day, but at night he had no control and they won. They burnt him in his sheets, the tropical air taking him back to the fire and flames, and the image of a single slicing bullet beneath the black, roiling clouds made him cry out as he woke, soaked in sweat and shaking.

  He turned the paper over, not wanting to invite any more comparisons, and lit a cigarette. It was unbearably hot of course. It may be fall, or autumn as the Aussies liked to call it, but no-one seemed to have told the Northern Territory, which was still as humid as hell. Looking at his watch, he noted that he had a good fifteen minutes to wait for Major Hamlin’s flight from Brisbane to arrive and he tapped his fingers, wondering how to pass the time. People-watching, he supposed.

  He studied those around him, noting the few women were all Aboriginal. Most of the white civilians had been evacuated long before the bombings, but no-one had bothered enforcing the evacuation of the coloured women and children. Apparently it was all right to give a black man a gun and a uniform now, but not protection for his family. It seemed racism ran deep on both sides of the Pacific.

  Everyone looked wary, the horror fresh on their faces, and it was quiet, save for the murmur of muted conversation. Their home had been annihilated, then looting and crime had poisoned the city before order was somehow restored, and now the locals mostly seemed to wander rather than actually achieve anything. But it would be hard to know where to begin – something he well knew.

  Marlon recognised one young woman who had worked near him these past few days. They’d been down at the railroads mostly, sorting through debris and salvaging supplies for the base. Many personnel had been temporarily relocated but they had left Marlon to supervise some of the clean-up and he’d been impressed with how hard the girl worked. He had tried talking to her a few times but she was a bit of an enigma. Quiet and shy, she let her black hair fall over her eyes rather than meet his and spoke softly when asked a question. But she could surprise him too. When he asked her which direction the planes had come from, she’d simply said, ‘Hell.’ And when he asked her for her name she’d told him he would have to guess, so they had a little game every now and then.

  ‘Kate?’

  ‘Keep guessing.’

  ‘Edith?’

  ‘Keep guessing.’

  Once he’d added, ‘Don’t you want to know my name?’ to which she had responded, ‘No.’

  Today she was wearing a bright yellow dress and looked very nervous as she peered at the sky then at the clock on the wall. He waved at her and she lowered her eyes, raising one palm quickly before hiding it in her skirt.

  Marlon chuckled. She was completely refreshing, especially compared to the women he’d had in his life lately.

  Samantha, who just wanted to cheat on the decent man who was her husband, Major Hamlin.

  Eliza, who’d made out with him the night before he’d left only to tell him she’d just agreed to marry that pompous idiot Miles Harrington come spring, but would he like to continue this new arrangement anyway?

  And then there was Junie, the most disappointing of all. A girl he could really have fallen for if she hadn’t been engaged to someone else – and busy with a lover on the side.

  He gave a short laugh as he tallied it up, realising just how shallow they all sounded. He’d really been interested in the wrong kind of women since he left home – but war was like that: you didn’t have much time to think, just act.

  The girl walked outside and Marlon followed her, stopping nearby to smoke, waiting for her to say something. She didn’t. She just looked at the sky, waiting.

  ‘Do you have someone coming?’ he asked, rather needlessly.

  She nodded, fiddling with the yellow skirt of her dress. She had shoes on today, black ones that looked uncomfortable. He wanted to tease her and ask if it was her sweetheart arriving but figured she’d never speak to him again if he did.

  ‘Daisy?’ he asked instead.

  She smiled, her teeth white against her skin. ‘Keep guessing.’

  The drone of an approaching plane began and everyone looked up nervously; no-one trusted the skies any more. Marlon watched the clumsy landing on the only narrow bit of airstrip that was still operational and waited for the passengers to alight, curious to see who it was the girl waited for. Two soldiers and a medico came down the stairs, followed by the familiar sight of Major Hamlin carrying his coffee cup. Cold or not, that black water was always his companion. The girl waited and looked worried as the plane emptied, then, at the very last, a tall, elderly, black man in a loud Hawaiian shirt appeared. The girl ran across the runway to greet him, throwing herself into his arms and weeping. Marlon smiled. After so much grief it was good to see a reunion here.

  ‘Friend of yours?’ Major Hamlin asked as he approached.

  ‘Nah, she won’t even tell me her name.’

  ‘Smart gal,’ the major said, as they walked towards to the waiting jeep.

  Marlon gave one last glance back and saw the young woman take off her shoes and stuff them in her bag before gently escorting the old man away. He figured then that the major was probably right.

  ‘How many injured, really?’ Major Hamlin asked as he stared out at the pouring rain from their meeting room. ‘Curtin said there were only thirty-five on the wireless but of course…’

  ‘I heard the chief officer on the Manunda say he had two hundred casualties on board when they berthed at Fremantle,’ said an Australian corporal called McCauley, or ‘Macca’ by most. ‘Tom Minto’s his name. He’d know.’

  His pilot mate, Corporal ‘Johnno’ Johnson, added his estimate. ‘We reckon at least a thousand. People tend to forget the blackfellas.’

  The major had paled at the figure but defended the Australian Prime Minister. ‘Curtin has to keep the public calm.’

  ‘He also said the raid wouldn’t give any satisfaction to the enemy,’ Marlon remarked dryly.

  ‘Yeah, we heard that too,’ Macca said. ‘Tom said they must be hard to please.’

  Marlon gave them a grim kind of smile, stubbing out his cigarette. ‘Twenty aircraft, eight ships at anchor, airfield a mess and most of the town gone. I don’t think the Japs are sitting around crying.’

  ‘And neither are we,’ Johnno said pointedly. ‘I know you lot have heard there’s been some desertions, and there have been a few, but that was mostly confusion. People thought it was a full scale invasion. The men are itching to rebuild and give it back to ’em. Trust me.’

  The phone rang and Major Hamlin took the call. ‘No casualties? I see. Thank you, Corporal.’

  They waited as he hung up. ‘Flying boat attacked the PK-AFV again. No damage or casualties, thankfully.’ Major Hamlin looked around at the other three faces and sighed. ‘Looks like this isn’t a one-off raid, invasion or not. Gentlemen, we need to get this town operational again. How long will it take?’

  Macca shrugged. ‘Depends how much you want to rebuild. Runway’s got more holes in it than a machine-gunned crumpet.’

  The m
ajor appeared momentarily amused before his face fell to seriousness once more. ‘The 49th Fighter Group are on their way, so we need to repair it.’

  ‘If they make it. Mate said if you want to follow the Brereton Line to Darwin just look for the crashed Kittyhawks. No offence.’

  Marlon sent Johnno a look, not offended but worried at the truth of his words. The loss of life in simply getting the US airmen to this remote part of the world was a serious concern. But they had to come. As predicted, this was going to be a war of the skies.

  ‘I’d look to putting them in Batchelor for now,’ Macca said.

  Batchelor airfield was fifty miles south but Marlon had to agree with Macca. ‘I don’t think we have any other choice.’

  ‘Right, let’s move on it then. Who’s started a list of basic needs?’

  ‘I’ve got one,’ Johnno said, scribbling something down then holding up a piece of paper that said, The rest of our bloody army.

  The major looked at the page with a wry smile. ‘I think Curtin’s taking that little issue up with Churchill as we speak.’

  ‘Yeah, well, bugger the delays, I say,’ Johnno said, screwing up the paper. ‘Don’t get me wrong, Major. I’ve got British mates too. Hell, I’ve got a stack of cousins in Yorkshire. But we need our blokes home to protect their own bloody country.’

  ‘Couldn’t agree more, fellas, but let’s just get on with the job of having a country for them to protect first, eh? Stone,’ the major said firmly, pointing at a pad and pen, ‘start a list.’

  Marlon took up the pen, half tempted to write the same thing at the top as Johnno’s, and for some reason Junie’s comments about her brothers went through his mind. The Motherland would just have to take care of itself for now. Australia needed her sons.

  Marlon was tired but he craved the comfort of the ocean more than sleep and so he headed off to find a quiet spot along the water to lean against a tree and ponder. If you discounted the presence of war and the destruction of the raid, the harbour itself was very beautiful, he observed as he walked along. He perched himself on a sandy cliff that looked straight out over the mirror-like water and relaxed, drawing the air into his lungs in a deep draught.