And Fire Falls (11 page)

Tom politely declined an offer to partake of a meal with Frank’s family, whose Italian heritage would ensure Tom the warmest of welcomes and the biggest of meals. But Frank had a daughter around the same age as Jessica, and Tom felt that this would make him even more melancholy at the separation from, and unknown fate of, his beautiful daughter.

So Tom returned to the hotel and chose to spend his leave sitting at the bar and drinking.

*

Jessica stepped from the rowboat that had conveyed her across the mangrove flats to the Cairns foreshore. She thanked Jack Kelly and he asked her what she planned to do now.

‘Look up an old friend of the family and go to the bank to take out money to buy some clothes,’ Jessica answered. ‘Then I’ll purchase a train ticket to Townsville and find my father. We have a lot of catching-up to do.’

‘I’m heading for the nearest pub to wrap my hand around the coldest beer I can find,’ Jack said with a happy smile. ‘It’s been a long time since I was able to do that. See you around, Jessie.’

They parted and Jessica, still wearing her shabby trousers, dirty shirt and floppy broad-brimmed hat, walked into the town to seek out Frank Fumarra.

When Jessica stepped into his shop she was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling of being in an alien place. For so many weeks she had lived at the edge of existence – sometimes starving, always exhausted, always at risk – as she and Sergeant Bruce King evaded the enemy. Standing in the shop with its aroma of fresh fruit and vegetables and its shelves stocked with food, Jessica felt disoriented. She seemed to be suspended between a traumatic past and an uncertain future.

‘Can I help you, miss?’ a male voice asked, and Jessica turned to face Frank, who frowned as if confused. ‘Sister Camillus . . . little Jessie!’ he exclaimed. ‘Is that really you?’

Jessica broke into a smile. ‘It’s just Jessie now,’ she said. ‘I’m no longer Sister Camillus.’

Frank stepped around his counter and embraced the young woman. ‘I cannot believe that you are in my shop . . . Wait until I tell the family you’re here . . . You must stay with us. Your dad was here only the day before yesterday. What a joy it will be for him to know that you are safe and well.’

‘Dad was here?’ Jessica gasped. ‘I thought he’d be in Townsville or out on one of the stations.’

Frank’s beaming smile turned to a frown. ‘He said that he hadn’t heard from you for many weeks. He has returned to the army and is being sent to New Guinea. I told him he was too old to go back to war, but you know your dad, he’s a born fighter.’

‘Do you know where my father is now, Uncle Frank?’ Jessica asked.

Frank gave Jessica the name of the hotel, and she thanked him and promised to return as soon as she had located her father.

At the hotel, she was told by the receptionist that Tom Duffy had checked out some hours ago.

‘Do you know where he might have gone?’ Jessica asked in desperation.

‘Dunno, love,’ the woman answered. ‘I guess he’ll be joining the other blokes shipping out this morning. If you head over to the river, I think their ship is anchored there.’

Jessica hurried to the riverbank to find a small trading ship in the channel making its way out to sea. She could see a row of uniformed soldiers leaning on the rails, smoking and watching the shore. She scanned the faces as best she could at this distance and discerned a taller, darker-skinned man standing at the railings on the top deck. She waved frantically and called, ‘Dad! Dad!’

Tom Duffy was a little hungover from the previous evening of drowning his sorrows, but he noticed what appeared to be a young man waving to the converted troopship. The thump of the engines drowned all sound, but now the young man was jumping up and down and waving frantically.

A young soldier beside him turned to him and said, ‘Not a bad-looking sheila, cobber. I reckon she’s waving at me. She’d look better in a dress, though.’

Tom realised that the young soldier must have keener eyesight than his own. ‘Can you hear what she’s saying?’ he asked him.

‘I think I heard the word “Dad”,’ he said. ‘But it’s hard to hear over the engine.’ The soldier flipped a cigarette he was smoking into the muddy waters of the river. ‘Be a while before we see any white sheilas where we’re going.’

Tom turned his attention back to the figure now growing smaller as the ship picked up speed. She was still waving and, he could see now, calling. She reminded him of his daughter, and of his despair, so he turned away.

*

March 1942 was coming to an end and Diane was working in the new kitchens of the women’s block. The physically heavy work was carried out by the men but a guard always ensured there was no conversation between the two groups. Diane was grateful to be assigned to the cooking; it was certainly better than being allocated the daily duty of ensuring the drains were kept clear of rubbish to help prevent an outbreak of disease. However, she went about her duties in a daze. All she could think about was Patrick. No mail had been allowed into camp from the Red Cross, so she had no way of knowing whether her son was alive or dead.

One morning she was bending over a large pot to cook the rice when she heard a familiar voice.

‘I have something I think you may be able to assist me with.’ Diane looked up and saw Dr Cicely Williams.

‘I was informed of your appointment to our block, and it is good to see you again, Cicely,’ Diane said with a weary smile. ‘But I think my days of working in the medical business are over.’

The Englishwoman nodded. ‘I saw the way you looked after the babies and youngsters when we were up north, and I have a small problem that I think you can help me with.’

‘You know I’ll help you if I can,’ Diane said.

‘An orphaned boy has been brought to me,’ Cicely said. ‘His father was an Australian engineer and his mother a Chinese woman. The boy is four years old – around the age of your own son – so I thought you’d have the experience to look after a child of that age. His name is Sam and I have found the European women here reluctant to take in a Eurasian boy. I’m hoping that you could look after him. From my observations he is a highly intelligent little boy.’

Diane was taken aback by her friend’s request. Was she able to look after another little boy? ‘Does he have any living relatives?’ Diane asked.

‘Not that we know of,’ Cicely replied. ‘He was brought in with his father as his mother had been killed in the bombing, but his father died and the Nips handed him over to me. You were the first person I thought of.’

‘I don’t know if I can be responsible for him,’ Diane said. ‘I can barely look after myself, let alone a little boy.’

‘You can do it,’ Cicely said gently. ‘The boy has no one left.’

‘All right,’ Diane sighed. ‘I’ll look after him while we’re here. But I can’t promise to do so if . . . when we are eventually freed.’

Cicely smiled. ‘I know you’re the right choice,’ she said. ‘I’ll introduce you to him later this afternoon.’

The doctor departed, leaving Diane to go about her work. Although she had doubts about taking on a foster son, she also found herself thinking that her life would have meaning within the walls of this prison if she had another life to care for.

That afternoon Cicely arrived holding the hand of a sad little boy with large dark eyes. He was slightly smaller than Patrick, but when he looked at Diane she knew she could love this innocent creature who had also lost all those he loved.

9

T
he Allies were not winning the war in the Pacific. Naval skirmishing had inflicted some losses on the Japanese, but on all other fronts the war was going badly for American forces. Australia was still under a real threat of invasion, and people prepared for the worst, building air-raid shelters in backyards, and enduring food rationing and shortages of other supplies such as fuel and clothing.

In the Coral Sea, Lieutenant James Duffy had earlier that day watched with envy as the fighter pilots in their Wildcats had taken off from the decks of the
Yorktown
on a mission to intercept Japanese Zeros over the vast expanse of ocean. A naval battle was ongoing with an enemy force sent south to capture Port Moresby in an attempt to cut off Australia from further American assistance. The naval battle was a joint effort between the two forces of Australia and America. The RAN had supplied the cruisers,
Hobart
and
Australia
, but the task force, Task Force 17, was contributed by the Americans.

James sat in the cockpit of his Dauntless dive-bomber with his gunner manning twin .30 calibre machine guns behind him. His unit of eight dive-bombers had the task of intercepting any Japanese torpedo bombers, ensuring they did not get near the carriers to drop their deadly cargoes. James thought the mission foolish as the dive-bombers were not designed for aerial combat. The solid, metal-skinned monoplanes were slow, less manoeuvrable and outgunned by most Japanese aircraft – especially the sleek, fast and better armed Japanese Zeros – haunting the skies over the Coral Sea.

However, his squadron was given the green light to become airborne, and James was the first to lift off the deck of the carrier into serene blue skies. He circled overhead until all eight dive-bombers were aloft, and then they struck out to search for Japanese torpedo bombers. It should have been the Wildcat fighters doing this job, but they were stretched in the ongoing battle over the horizon with the Japanese fleet.

The mission was uneventful until James saw a swarm of Zero fighters suddenly appear in the clear skies above and behind his wing of dive-bombers. He felt sick to his stomach as not only did the enemy have the jump on them but they were flying the dreaded deadly fighters.

In seconds the Japanese aircraft swooped and passed through the formation of dive-bombers, firing their cannon. After they had passed, most of the American dive-bombers were already streaming smoke and falling into the sea below.

James hardly had time to reflect on the massacre when a Zero appeared directly in front of him, firing its machine guns and cannon. Tracer smoke zipped past his cockpit and James knew he had little hope of surviving the attacking aircraft whose cannon gave them the advantage of greater range. The twin .50 calibre machine guns in the nose of the Dauntless were only effective if the Japanese were close enough to engage at short range. The only real weakness of the enemy fighters was that they had very little armour covering, unlike the rugged dive-bombers.

James knew that he had to put off the head-on attack. He slewed his solid plane to one side, and the enemy pilot hurtled past, his guns missing James’s aircraft. The one thing James knew was that at no time could he allow the enemy to get on his tail. He had to keep the Japanese in front of him.

James dragged on the stick and pulled a tight half-circle. The gravitational forces pressed down on his body and caused his heart to pump harder. It was exhausting and he fought to remain conscious.

He had at least forced his foe to come head-on again, denying the Japanese pilot the opportunity to get on his tail. James repeated the slewing action again, and once again the enemy fire missed him. He passed and both pilots went into an action standing their respective aeroplanes on their wingtips. James expected to see the Japanese come in for another nose-on attack, but when he glanced over his shoulder he could see the Zero flying away. Had he used all his ammo? James wondered.

The answer came immediately when James looked up to see a second Zero join the fight. The odds had not been good in the first instance, but now they were impossible. It was coming head-on, guns blazing, and James pulled on the stick to slide sideways, forcing an overshoot by the second enemy fighter. The constant harsh manoeuvring was draining him mentally and physically, and the young American pilot wondered how long he could keep evading the enemy’s combined cannon and machine gun fire spewing at him. At least the solid frame of his dive-bomber was taking it, and if the Zero attempted the same tight g force turns they ran the risk of having their wings ripped off. It was obvious that they were attempting to get on his tail, but his skilful flying had prevented this. From the corner of his eye, James spotted a third Zero joining his comrades. This Zero was at 3 o’clock high, and it rolled over and dived on James. His gunner was helpless as he was thrown around in his harness and James thought they were done for now.

The second Zero made an almost vertical pass over James and then continued climbing. Bullets were striking the Dauntless but she was taking the hits without failing. Instinctively James pulled the stick into his stomach and followed his enemy upwards. The Japanese aircraft was in front of James and close. But James was aware his engine was going into stall mode and it was then that he had a good sight picture. He pushed the button to fire his twin .50 calibres and saw his heavy bullets rip into the thinly armoured Japanese fighter. A trail of smoke billowed from the stricken fighter plane as the enemy dropped from the sky.

James had no time to congratulate himself. The second Zero came head-on in a blur of movement. Again, James skidded his plane left, and the overshooting Zero passed to make a turn in an attempt to get on James’s tail. James also turned as tight as he could and wanted to whoop with joy when he saw that his adversary had been sloppy. James was getting on his tail and could see the Zero still turning and would pass in front of him. Immediately the young American pilot calculated the lead, firing in front of the Japanese aircraft as it continued to turn. It flew into the trail of heavy bullets spitting from the nose of the dive-bomber and immediately erupted in flames. Two down but the third was determined to take James out by any means.

James saw the third enemy fighter coming straight at him on a path that would result in a collision. It was obvious that the enemy pilot was prepared to sacrifice his life in order to bring down the American dive-bomber. With the instincts of a born fighter pilot, James rolled over and felt the shudder as the Zero swept past. The tough tip of James’s dive-bomber had connected with the more fragile wing of the Zero, and when James was able to swing around to get on the tail of the Zero he could see that it was trailing smoke, dropping out of the sky. He had downed three enemy fighters and was only two kills off becoming an ace.

James levelled off and set a course back to the carrier. The news of his three kills went ahead of him, and when he landed he was met by shouts of congratulations from the flight deck-crew as he stepped painfully from his cockpit. At times his body had weighed almost a thousand pounds, and at other times it had been as light as a feather. Both James and his gunner were summoned to the ship’s bridge, where they were met by the captain of the carrier.

‘Congratulations, Lieutenant Duffy,’ he said, shaking James’s hand. ‘I am writing you up for the Navy Cross for your courageous fight with the Japs. I will be reviewing your request to transfer to Wildcats, and I happen to know of a posting aboard the
Enterprise
. We will be sad to see you leave, but in light of what you did today I would suggest that you go below and start packing your kit. The captain of the
Enterprise
will be getting one of the best fighter pilots in the Pacific. I am also recommending that you be promoted to captain.’

James thanked the
Yorktown
skipper, but when he left the bridge all he knew was that he wanted to go to his bunk and be alone. Men slapped him on the back as he made his way through the narrow corridors of the ship. The Navy Cross, one of the highest decorations in the military forces of America, promotion to captain and a transfer to fighters . . . All in just one day.

Sitting on his bunk James held his father’s old flying jacket in his hands, staring at the worn but well-kept leather. ‘I wish you’d seen it,’ he said softly. ‘I think you would have been proud of me.’

Before he was transferred, the
Yorktown
was attacked by enemy aircraft and heavily damaged. The crew suffered casualties but James remained unscathed.

The Battle of the Coral Sea was fought over four days and neither side caught sight of the other. This was a new kind of war at sea, and James had played his part in dive-bombing missions over Tulagi Island, sinking a Japanese minesweeper, and his victory against the three Japanese fighters. Both sides eventually broke contact and the Japanese invasion fleet abandoned its plans to capture Port Moresby. Although it could not be called a decisive victory as damage and casualties to both sides were about equal, it was a victory for Australia, as it had denied the Japanese the strategic port in Papua and New Guinea.

*

On the first day of the Battle of the Coral Sea, Private Tom Duffy felt certain that his unit would soon see action. Word had reached the strategic town on the southern side of the island that a very large Japanese naval force had been spotted by a Royal Australian Air Force Hudson bomber on a reconnaissance mission, sailing south past the eastern tip of New Guinea. Orders were now issued that the soldiers who had put training aside in favour of labouring on defence projects were to be deployed for defensive operations in expectation of a Japanese landing.

Tom dropped the shovel he had over his shoulder and picked up his rifle.

‘We’re finally going to see some action,’ a young soldier said to Tom as they climbed aboard lorries sent to pick them up for the journey back to the township.

‘I hope not,’ Tom said. ‘From what I’ve seen we’re not ready. We don’t have the training, equipment or even the NCOs to stop the Japs taking Moresby.’

‘Private Duffy knows what he’s talkin’ about,’ said the young corporal beside Tom. ‘He fought in the last lot, and from what I hear did a bloody good job. Got a few gongs, too, I heard.’

Tom stared down at the floor of the lorry as it bumped along the heavily rutted road, raising a cloud of dust. The countryside reminded Tom of parts of inland Queensland, with its stunted bush and sparse copses of trees. ‘Yeah, a couple,’ Tom answered quietly.

‘So what’s an old codger like you doing in uniform when you didn’t have to sign up?’ the young soldier asked, taking off his floppy slouch hat and rubbing the sweat from his forehead.

‘I like the army food,’ Tom said, and the corporal and young soldier burst into laughter. Tom knew that many of the eighteen- and nineteen-year-old soldiers around him had been conscripted and were not happy about military service. Others had volunteered with promises that the posting to Port Moresby was as good as a paid tropical holiday, with tennis matches and days lazing on the beaches. Their morale was low and discipline had been a problem for the battalion. A steady parade of men charged for various offences lined up in front of the regimental sergeant major each day. It had been the RSM who had leaked Tom’s illustrious record to the younger members of the battalion in the hope that they would copy his example of good soldiering.

The truck arrived at the tents of the battalion lines not far from the airstrip. The men dismounted and perked up when they saw the RSM approaching with his swagger stick under his arm. They knew enough to look lively when he was around.

‘Private Duffy, over here, man!’ he bawled, and Tom jumped to attention. ‘Your company OC wants to see you,’ he said when Tom approached. ‘He’s got some news for you.’

Tom hurried over to the company HQ tent where he waited until an orderly clerk ushered him inside. Tom marched in and snapped a salute to the young major sitting behind a desk.

‘Stand at ease, Private Duffy,’ the major said without looking up. Tom waited patiently and eventually the OC looked up at him. ‘I’ve spoken with the RSM and other officers of the company,’ he said. ‘We know about your sterling record in the last lot, and right now we are badly in need of good men to become NCOs. Normally you would have to go through the ranks to be appointed as a sergeant, but I am offering you your stripes and allocating you to a platoon. I think you have earned the chevrons.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Tom answered, relieved – he had been expecting bad news. ‘I hope I don’t let the lads down.’

The major smiled and leaned back in his camp stool. ‘I think it is time that you also put up your hard-earned and well-deserved ribbands next time we go on parade.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Tom responded.

‘I am sending you to Mr Hall’s platoon,’ the major said. ‘He has not seen action, and I am sure that if the Nips land at Moresby you will be invaluable in guiding him and keeping the platoon steady. Between us, I doubt that we will be able to hold the little yellow bastards on the beaches and we will have to fall back to around the line we have drawn near the Laloki River, beneath the escarpment of Hombrum Bluff. However, if we can hold them off for at least twelve hours, we might be in a position to counterattack. You will hear all this after an O group is held for the platoon commanders today.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Tom answered.

‘Well, if you do not have any questions, your promotion is effective as of 0600 hours tomorrow morning. Hop over to the regimental tailor and get your stripes sewn onto your uniform now.’

Tom saluted smartly and left the tent.

‘Hey, Tom . . . Sergeant Duffy,’ called the orderly clerk after him. ‘Your job to take the mail to the platoon.’

Tom turned around to see the clerk hurrying towards him holding a bundle of letters and small parcels. He took the letters and glanced down at them. The letter on top was addressed to him and for a moment Tom tried to recollect whose handwriting it was.