And Fire Falls (13 page)

Allison took the handkerchief and dabbed at the tears, attempting to put on a brave face before leaving the rest room for the foyer, where a bell was warning patrons that the main feature was about to show. The lights were already dimming when they entered and Paul did not see the sadness in Allison’s face.

The movie was about a successful New York magazine editor meeting a beautiful ski instructor, and the four young people were transfixed by the glamorous world of American wealth. Afterwards, the four made their way into the crowded foyer.

‘Well, I thoroughly enjoyed the show,’ Paul said, taking Allison’s hand, ‘but we must say goodnight and leave you two to your own company.’

When Allison and Paul had departed, Charles turned to Sarah. ‘I know a place not far from here where we can get a meal and a drink,’ he suggested.

‘I think that would be jolly good,’ Sarah said, and Charles led the way down the darkened street to a building with just a heavy door at the front. He knocked and a slit opened to reveal a pair of eyes looking at them.

‘Charles Huntley,’ Charles said, and the door immediately opened.

Sarah was intrigued and realised that this was a place where alcohol was served after hours. A sly-grog shop, her friends called them. It was crowded, with a mix of civilians and military. The place did not have expensive decor but was comfortable. Cigarette smoke filled the large room, and Sarah could smell cooked food. They were ushered to a table in a corner by a tough-looking man.

‘Is he a gangster?’ Sarah asked, sitting opposite Charles.

Charles grinned. ‘Possibly.’

Sarah gazed around at the eclectic mix of patrons. The girls were pretty and well dressed. Like the movie theatre, this place had the ability to transport them from the war to a place where there were no cares. The fact that her date was able to gain entry here impressed her. He was not the simple civil servant she had first thought. He ordered gin and tonics and Sarah raised her glass in a toast.

‘Your brother is certainly an enterprising fellow,’ Charles said. ‘He was able to have the Yanks sign up for our produce when they arrived. He even mentioned something about cornering the asparagus market.’

For a second it did not sink in that he was teasing her, but then she remembered and broke into a shy smile.

‘Oh, you heard about that,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it’s a silly idea.’

‘No, no,’ Charles said. ‘I think it’s a grand idea. I was not meaning to infer anything else. You are not only a beautiful young woman, but you’re also very smart. If Donald is not careful it will be you running the family businesses and he will be looking for another job.’

‘You must be aware that the directors resent me,’ Sarah said. ‘They don’t believe a woman is capable of taking the helm of such a large enterprise.’

‘Ah, but they are fools,’ he said, leaning forward, and Sarah was aware that he was very appealing with his flattery and good looks. ‘Any man who should find favour with you would be the luckiest man alive.’

‘Do you know, Charles,’ she said, ‘I find the smoke here a little overpowering. Might not your flat be a little less smoky?’

Her obvious approach caught the suave public servant off guard, and he looked as if he might fall off his chair. Sarah was looking directly into his eyes, and finally Charles found his voice.

‘I’m sure we could retire to my place for a nightcap,’ he said, rising from the table and taking Sarah’s hand.

They pushed their way through the crowd of happy drinkers, and Sarah could feel a rush of both fear and excitement. Her body had craved the touch of a man, and she tried to stifle her fear and allow the feelings of desire welling up in her body to take over.

Within the hour Sarah experienced the pain of losing her virginity and the overpowering delight of carnal pleasure. She had been taught that a lady kept herself for her husband, but times were different now. Life was too short to deny oneself. Deep down she knew this was not love but lust, and she found herself strangely at home with the idea. She had moved into a male-dominated world and now she was discovering that sexual desire was not a man’s prerogative alone.

11

J
essica Duffy walked away from the imposing sandstone building with mixed emotions. She had travelled to Sydney to renounce her vows and had been granted an audience with the bishop. It had taken all her reserves of strength to face the imposing man and argue her case to seek a place in the secular world in the war against the Japanese. But she had won through, although the bishop had warned that her eternal soul was in jeopardy because of her decision.

Outside the gates Jessica was relieved that she had stood up to the powerful representative of the Catholic Church and was now alone to decide her future. Her hair had grown to a respectable length, and all who saw the young lady standing on the leafy avenue of trees wearing a drab dress would not have thought her a former nun. Now she was simply Jessica Duffy and what she did with her future was up to her. The first thing she was going to do was see Donald Macintosh. She waved down a taxi and asked the driver to take her into the city. She was both nervous and excited about seeing Donald. He’d been infatuated with her before the war, and she had promised him that he would be the first to know should she changed her mind about being a nun. At the time that had not seemed a possibility, but Jessica had changed, and she no longer felt bound by the strict tenets of her religion.

The taxi arrived at Donald’s office block and Jessica wondered if she should not have purchased a more appealing dress than the drab one she had worn to the meeting with the bishop. She convinced herself that it would not matter to Donald, and if it did, he was not the man she remembered.

Jessica entered the building and walked over to the receptionist, a middle-aged man dressed in a civilian uniform, sporting ribbands from the last war.

‘I would like to see Mr Donald Macintosh,’ she said.

He looked up at her. ‘Do you have an appointment with Mr Macintosh?’

‘No, but we are old friends. My name is Miss Jessica Duffy.’

The receptionist glanced at an appointments book in front of him. ‘I will inquire whether he can see you.’ He lifted a phone and called upstairs.

As Jessica waited she realised that her hands were trembling. Maybe it was not such a good idea to see Donald so soon after her renunciation. Maybe she was being impulsive.

The receptionist hung up the phone. ‘He will come down to meet you, Miss Duffy,’ he said.

‘Sorry. I’ve just remembered that I have an urgent appointment,’ Jessica lied. ‘Could you please make my apologies to Mr Macintosh and tell him I will arrange to meet him at a later date.’

The man raised his eyebrows. ‘Certainly, Miss Duffy, if that is what you want.’

Jessica turned and walked quickly out onto the street. The day was cold and clouds threatened a downfall of rain. A stiff wind whipped between the tall buildings and Jessica clenched her fists. Why had she suddenly changed her mind? She did not know, except it all felt too quick.

Donald stepped from the lift into the foyer. ‘Where is Miss Duffy?’ he asked, glancing around the empty entrance.

‘She said that she had an urgent appointment and told me to convey her apologies to you, Mr Macintosh,’ the receptionist answered. ‘But she also said that she would contact you at a later date.’

‘Did she leave an address or telephone number?’

‘Sorry, Mr Macintosh, she did not.’

Donald let out a sigh and entered the lift. The lift attendant stopped at his floor and Donald stepped out to walk to his office.

‘That was a quick meeting,’ Olivia Barrington said when he opened the door. She was smartly dressed in the uniform of an American Red Cross nurse. ‘Was it a business meeting?’

Donald walked over to the window beside Olivia’s chair. ‘The lady had to go, so I don’t know what she wanted,’ he answered evasively.

Olivia had been in the country two weeks, and in that time their relationship had blossomed, with dinners at the best places and nights out on the town. They had even kissed and expressed terms of endearment. Yet Jessica’s sudden and very unexpected reappearance in his life after so many years made Donald realise his feelings for her were not completely dead. If nothing else, he had to see her to decide whether those feelings would disrupt his romance with Olivia.

‘Are we going out tonight?’ Olivia asked.

‘Sorry, what did you say?’ Donald said, distracted.

‘I asked if we were going out tonight.’

‘Yes,’ Donald replied, walking away from the window where he had hoped to catch a glimpse of Jessica on the street below. ‘I will pick you up as soon as I finish work . . . probably around six.’

Olivia rose from her seat and kissed Donald on the cheek. ‘I will be waiting.’

When Olivia left, Donald sat at his desk and stared at the wall. Just when he’d thought he had his life sorted out, Jessica had emerged from the past. How he would react to seeing her again, he simply did not know.

*

All complacency was lost across Australia when, in late July, the Japanese were reported to have landed on the northern coast of New Guinea in force. A hasty letter from her father reached Jessica in Townsville to say that the situation had changed somewhat over the last couple of months. He and his ill-equipped battalion were being sent up a narrow track the locals said could take them from the south to the north of the island. It could also be used to bring the Japanese south to capture Port Moresby, and if that happened Australia would be in dire peril. Her father said that they were heading for a native village called Kokoda, and they had been tasked with pushing back the Japanese.

Jessica’s hands were trembling as she sat on the verandah of their Townsville house. Her father was no longer safe, and for a fleeting moment Jessica had the insane thought that God was punishing her for leaving the sisterhood. But her acceptance into the Women’s Royal Australian Air Force had been processed, and in no time she would be in uniform.

*

The Japanese landed on the north coast of New Guinea at Buna and quickly advanced inland without opposition. Very few Europeans had time to flee, and the opening act of the Japanese campaign was to round up missionaries, hospital and plantation workers. Those attempting to flee were betrayed by the local people and were hauled back to Buna. They were all beheaded outside the Japanese HQ. A six-year-old boy was left until last and he watched the others being killed. This act set the ferocity of the coming war in the mountains and jungles of New Guinea.

*

The trek from Port Moresby to their current position around a thousand yards east of the village of Awala had been beyond exhausting, not only for Tom Duffy, but also for the young men of his platoon. They had climbed jungle-covered mountain after jungle-covered mountain, where by day they sweltered in the heat and high humidity, and by night shivered through the bitter chill of the dark. They had crossed narrow and fast-flowing streams and they looked forward to reaching the mangrove plains on the other side of the mountain range where there were no more muddy tracks sliding down steep slopes, and which were just as bad going up, requiring them to crawl on hands and knees. At least, Tom consoled himself, that he was not the oldest man out in the jungle. Captain Templeton had also been a veteran of the Great War, but he would carry the rifles of the younger members when they were on the point of collapse, and his example shamed a few of the formerly boastful young lads.

Tom was concerned for the men in his platoon as they had never seen action and had been denied rigorous training back in Moresby in preference for labouring jobs to bolster the port’s defences. When it came to weapons, all they had between them were rifles, revolvers, grenades and a couple of submachine guns – all with limited ammunition.

Yesterday they had advanced from the village of Kokoda to make contact with the well-armed and highly trained Japanese vanguard advancing south. They had just shed their packs after an all-night march to take up prepared defensive positions in a relatively flat, cleared piece of terrain flanked by scrub. Looking around wearily, Sergeant Tom Duffy saw his first Japanese soldier emerge from the scrub. He guessed from his military experience that he was a forward scout. Without hesitating, he raised his rifle, shouted a warning to the rest of his platoon, and fired on the startled soldier, who fell to the ground, dead.

Tom knew that they had Papua Infantry Battalion soldiers on a flank and he prayed that they would hold as he could see the Japanese were attempting to outflank them. He glanced around at the positioning of his men and noticed that the platoon commander, the young lieutenant, was holding firm. The novice soldiers had not run and were firing back at any enemy who foolishly exposed himself.

Then came the crump of Japanese mortar shells exploding around Tom’s position, and he knew that they had no answer to the enemy’s artillery.

Tom fell back to the platoon commander’s position. ‘Boss, we have to pull ourselves out of here before the Japs cut us off,’ he shouted.

‘I know, Tom,’ said the platoon commander, Lieutenant Michael Hall. He gripped his revolver and cast around to see where his men were, and where the enemy might be. ‘Get up to the chaps closest to the enemy and tell them to fall back. I’ll organise covering fire from the other two sections.’

Tom nodded and crawled through the low scrub to the forward section. His men were hugging the ground but he could see that they were loading and firing their rifles, although he noticed one young soldier with his head down and his rifle beside him. Tom crawled over to the soldier and discovered that he was not wounded. He could hear the boy whimpering for his mother and he thrust the rifle back into his hands.

‘You won’t get to see your mother ever again if you don’t kill those bastards out there,’ he snarled into the ear of the terrified young soldier. An enemy bullet cracked nearby.

‘I don’t want to die,’ the boy howled.

‘Neither do I,’ Tom snapped. ‘So get your arse into gear and pick your targets.’

The boy fumbled with his rifle, ejecting an unfired round. Then he loaded another and pulled the trigger. Tom suspected he had not selected a target, but at least he had fired a shot and seemed to be pulling himself together.

‘We’re pulling back, so crawl behind me,’ Tom said. The boy wriggled around and followed his sergeant. Despite small arms fire cracking overhead and plucking at the ground around them, they succeeded in joining the bulk of the platoon in the thick scrub.

Satisfied that all his sections were accounted for, Lieutenant Hall ordered a retreat into the cover of the jungle. Tom was pleased to see that each section moved in a leapfrogging movement: while one leg was moving, the other was covering the withdrawal. They were behaving like trained soldiers.

‘I have been informed that the Papuans have fallen back,’ Lieutenant Hall said to Tom when he joined the platoon HQ group. A shell exploded around fifty feet away, and both men realised that the Japanese had brought up a light artillery gun to harass their retreat.

The platoon continued its withdrawal, arriving at the relatively broad Kumusi River. It had a free-hanging wire suspension bridge for pedestrian passage, which had to be cut to deny the advancing Japanese. Two men moved forward to cut the bridge but it resisted their efforts. Instead, they broke up the footplates and loosened the nuts to which the supporting spans were connected. The bridge tumbled into the river below, which meant that the pursuing enemy would be forced to ford the river, slowing them down.

Over the river, Captain Templeton ordered that a platoon
from the company remain behind to cover the river crossing, while the rest of the company continued to Gorari Creek, a deep, swiftly flowing stream about twenty yards wide, which was also spanned by a suspension bridge.

‘We will leave this bridge hanging,’ Templeton instructed, and he placed two Lewis guns either side to cover anyone attempting to cross. It was an ambush, the intact bridge bait to the Japanese.

Tom was pleased at the decision because they were fighting back, despite the fact that they were outnumbered and outgunned. An even better sign for the experienced soldier was the appearance of the battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Owen. They even had a name for their small force. It was called Maroubra Force after a popular Sydney beach. Now it was only a matter of waiting. The first shots in the campaign had been exchanged and Tom felt that they would put up a good fight. His inexperienced, young citizen-soldiers were not unlike those young men he had fought beside on the Western Front, over twenty years earlier.

Lieutenant Hall joined Tom, who was with one of the teams covering the approaches to the bridge over a deep ravine, with a fast-flowing river at the bottom. The jungle on the opposite side appeared peaceful under a baking tropical sun. ‘Was it like this in the last lot?’ he asked.

‘Different, but just as dangerous,’ Tom replied, clutching his rifle and scanning the steep river bank opposite. ‘The lads acquitted themselves well today,’ he added.

‘I was scared,’ the platoon commander confessed. ‘I was frightened that I might fail, but I was also reassured that the men had you to replace me if things went wrong.’

Tom turned to the young officer. ‘You did well, boss,’ he said. ‘Just so long as the boys see you remaining calm and collected, they’ll do their job.’

‘Thank you,’ Lieutenant Hall said, placing his hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘That means a lot to me.’ With that, he moved away to ensure the machine guns were properly sighted for the advancing enemy.

Night came and with it the chill, but still the enemy had not appeared. In the distance the men waiting in the ambush could hear the sound of exploding mortar bombs and the chatter of machine guns. A forward unit was making the Japanese crossing of the river a difficult task and the enemy was surely learning that the forces opposing them were tough and determined.

In the dark, Tom had time to reflect. It was only right that he was on this little piece of ground defending his homeland against invasion by a ruthless and savage enemy. Here it did not matter that he was a blackfella. They all wore khaki skin. And it did not matter that his wealth was more than the whole company earned in a year. All that mattered was that Sergeant Tom Duffy knew what he was doing, and the young soldiers of the platoon knew they could rely on him, no matter what they faced in the coming hours and days.