And Fire Falls (15 page)

James could sense his bubbly sister’s personality in the letter, and sighed for their separation. In normal times, he would have been home ensuring that only suitable beaus knocked on the door. Such was the bond between twins. But here he was, thousands of miles from anywhere and helpless to keep an eye on her. The letter continued with Olivia comparing the more dour Aussie fashions to those of home in New Hampshire and New York. She also said that kangaroos did not pervade the city of Sydney, and the only ones she had seen to date had been in a zoo when Donald took her out for the day.

Finished reading his sister’s letter, James opened the one from his grandfather and was not surprised to read that he felt James Jnr might have a great career in politics with the credentials he had already gained flying for the USMC. James frowned; he could not see himself in a suit kissing babies. But then James wondered if he would even see the war end or join so many of the pilots he had once lived and laughed with; dead or missing in action.

A fellow pilot whose name James couldn’t remember ambled into the mess and picked up a cup of coffee. Seeing James on his own, he sat down beside him at the table.

‘Hope it’s good news,’ he said, observing the letter in James’s hand.

‘Just my grandfather mapping out my life for me when all this is over,’ James said, folding the letter and putting it back in the envelope.

‘I heard some scuttlebutt that we are sailing for the Solomon Islands soon,’ his fellow pilot said. ‘That’s near Australia, isn’t it?’ he asked.

‘Not too far away, why?’ James countered.

‘Just that I heard the Aussie girls are pretty easy, and we might get leave there.’

‘You just might have some big Aussie digger punch your lights out,’ James said with a smile. ‘I got a letter from my sister saying that the Aussies are a bit pissed off at us taking their women. You have to remember those Aussie guys have been in the Middle East and Africa fighting the Nazis for the last couple of years, whereas we have yet to prove ourselves.’

‘Why are you sticking up for the Aussies?’ the pilot asked, affronted. ‘I know you wear an old Aussie flying jacket.’

‘Yes. It belonged to my father,’ James said, rising from the table and walking away. He had not thought much about it but he was a child of two continents – Australia and North America. And now he was fighting on an ocean that bordered both. Maybe it was about time he visited the land that had been the home of the man he had come to love and respect.

14

A
lthough the moon was full, an eerie mist dulled its glow. Sergeant Tom Duffy scanned the open plateau before him at Kokoda village. The young soldier had found himself a spot very close by, and both men waited together in silence. The young soldier was only seventeen and came from a big family in one of Sydney’s inner-city suburbs. He had enlisted, using a forged birth certificate, to help support his impoverished family. His father was violent, and often out of work, which left his family with hardly enough to get by. Although Tom knew he could not favour any particular soldier in his platoon, he did try to ensure he was near the young man whenever the fighting started.

Lieutenant Colonel Owen had correctly anticipated the points of attack on his position and had laid out defences to counter their encircling tactics. Tom and his platoon found themselves facing the edge of steep slopes dropping to the Mambare River below. Trenches had been dug to protect the rear, and the men had made their first contact at last light when a force of around four hundred elite Japanese soldiers had attacked up the slopes from the river valley. They had been met with a withering fusillade of small arms fire and grenades from the defending Australian militia. The enemy had fallen back, leaving many of their comrades dead and wounded on the slopes.

Tom could feel himself shivering, putting it down to the chill of the night rather than his stretched nerves. So many times he had cursed himself for enlisting when he had every excuse to be home on one of his cattle properties instead of looking after a bunch of kids with rifles.

‘How many Nips do you reckon are out there?’ the young soldier whispered, staring wide-eyed towards the edge of the escarpment, where they expected the next attack to come from.

‘I don’t know,’ Tom replied. ‘But there’ll be a few less after we shot them up this afternoon.’

The young soldier fell silent. Tom edged his way to a team of Bren gunners on his left, privates Snowy Parr and Rusty Hollow. ‘You blokes all right?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, sarge,’ they replied, and Tom moved down the trench line to ensure all his platoon were alert. He expected the Japanese to make use of the full moon and attack tonight. When he had finished his inspection he returned to his post.

Late in the evening a crump in the distance signalled the beginning of the attack as a Japanese mortar was dropped down a tube and discharged. Within seconds the explosions had reached the Australian defensive lines, showering the trenches with dirt and shrapnel. The mortar bombardment from across the river continued, and the heavy Japanese Juki machine guns joined in to sweep the defenders. Then the Japanese emerged over the lip of the steep slopes up from the river, and in the light of the moon the slaughter began.

The Japanese attackers faltered under heavy fire from the militiamen, but with fanatical courage resumed their attack in earnest as reinforcements rushed in to fill the gaps of the dead and wounded. The scattered fire now became a continuous deafening roar.

The white mist lying all around the plateau muffled the cries of the injured and dying and the yells of encouragement to press forward. Tom swung the barrel of his rifle to cover any movement he saw, firing a shot, reloading and, from the corner of his eye, watching the nearby men of his platoon to ensure they were fighting back.

‘Too bloody many!’ he heard the young soldier yell in a high-pitched, panicked voice. Tom silently agreed with him and somewhere a soldier yelled, ‘The boss has been shot!’

Tom groaned in despair: Lieutenant Colonel Owen had been an ongoing inspiration to all the soldiers, young and old. Suddenly Tom was aware that through the mist he could see a long band of enemy soldiers spread out in a skirmish line. He could see the glint of moonlight on their long bayonets. His platoon was badly outnumbered and if they remained here they would die.

From out of the mist Lieutenant Mike Hall appeared and tapped Tom on the shoulder. ‘We’re getting out of here,’ he said. ‘Make sure the order gets to all platoon members. We will fall back through the rubber plantation behind us.’

Tom acknowledged the order and moved along the line, informing his men of the strategy as they continued to pour fire into the oncoming Japanese. On a follow-up order the men moved along communication trenches. The retreat proved successful and before long Tom and his men found themselves in the rows of rubber trees shrouded by trails of white mist as ghostly as the wraiths of death curling with searching fingers to claim men’s lives.

Tom counted and checked the members of the platoon as they passed by him in single file. He felt a sick feeling in his stomach when he could not account for his Bren gun team, Snowy and Rusty. Somehow they must have become separated and been left behind. Gunfire was still coming from the deserted trenches, but the thick mist was helping the last soldiers escape and at the same time slowing down the pursuing enemy.

They kept moving on, placing distance between themselves and the Japanese. By dawn they had reached the foothills of the great mountain range that ran down the spine of the island and had made contact with a rearguard section posted to cover their retreat. By late sunrise they had arrived at the prearranged assembly point at Deniki, where the men collapsed in exhaustion.

In the light of the day Tom searched about for Rusty and Snowy, eventually finding them sprawled out on the ground, some distance from the platoon.

‘What were you two up to?’ he asked.

They grinned at him. ‘We got cut off and came across about twenty Nips celebrating outside a hut at the village,’ Rusty said. ‘We were about sixty or fifty yards away, so Snowy pulled the trigger on the Bren until there were about twenty Japs laid out on the lawn. He didn’t bother to fire in bursts – just mowed them down.’

Tom nodded his head, satisfied that the men he served with might only be considered amateur soldiers by their brothers in the AIF but were quickly becoming professionals in the art of war. However, Tom also knew they were far from winning. A force falling back along the track was in retreat and retreat did not win wars. They had taken casualties and men were missing. At this rate all the enemy had to do was wage a war of attrition and they would most certainly win.

With the coolness of the mist gone Tom could feel the sweat of the oppressive tropical day, and not for the first time wondered how much more he could take. The boss, Lt Col Owen, had been killed when rising to toss a grenade at the advancing Japanese during the heaviest of the fighting. A bullet had hit him above the eye and he had fallen back into the trench, mortally wounded. Medical attention had been futile for such a wound and Tom knew that he would not be the last fine officer or soldier to be killed in the days ahead.

*

The Macintosh offices were virtually empty at this hour of the evening. Sarah Macintosh sat at her desk and listened to the silence. She closed one of the huge ledgers sitting on her desk. Although she was not an accountant, she had an uncanny ability with figures, and a talent for tracing the route of money. It was obvious that there was a steady income coming in from a non-specified source, which was then being distributed to the same few recipients. Furthermore, she also realised that the skim-off was illegal. Sarah had worked out three of the recipients: her father, brother and Charles Huntley. The concealed income was tied to contracts originating in the USA and linked to the Barrington family.

The frown on her face turned to a scowl, and she rose from her desk to storm to her brother’s more elegant office down the corridor. She knew that he was working late too and it was time to confront him.

She walked into his office without knocking, the ledger under her arm. He glanced up and she slammed the ledger down on his desk.

‘I gather you’re annoyed about something,’ Donald said, leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head.

‘Do you think that I am some scatter-brained female?’ Sarah asked, eyeing Donald scathingly. ‘I know you’re skimming money off the companies.’

‘That has been standard practice as long as the companies have existed,’ Donald replied calmly. ‘Does that somehow offend your moral standards?’

‘Not at all,’ Sarah said. ‘What offends me is that I am not receiving any of the income myself.’

Surprised, Donald leaned forward in his chair, unclasping his hands from behind his head. ‘So that is all that makes you annoyed,’ he said. ‘For one moment I thought that you were going to tell me that we were involved in some nefarious scheme.’

‘Well, you are,’ Sarah said. ‘But you have done it very well, and all I am saying is that you remember who else is running the family business. I may be a mere female in your world of old men but my ideas to buy up waterfront properties from residents fearful of the Japanese invading Sydney, and putting their real estate in the front line, has paid off. You watch what will happen when the panic is over, and they return to buy back their houses. We will make massive profits. Remember, I am the driving force in that project.’

Donald grudgingly knew that his younger sister was right, and as he gazed at her standing in the centre of his office he could almost see his father’s spirit glowing around her like a halo. ‘Okay, your initials will appear in the ledgers, and you will get a cut of the profits on the war contracts,’ he said and Sarah looked surprised at how easy it had been to assert herself. She quickly recovered.

‘I do not like my poky little office, and insist that I be given a better one.’

‘That can be done,’ Donald said with a shrug. ‘You tell me which office you want, and I will arrange for renovations to your satisfaction. Anything else?’

For a moment Sarah was tempted to say that she wanted Donald’s office as her own, but she decided to keep that to herself. One day she would take it without asking. She was not deceived by her brother’s generosity; she knew he would have her removed from the management of the companies at the first possible opportunity.

Sarah left her brother’s office, returning to her own. Her nimble mind re-examined the columns of figures and within minutes she had worked out a percentage of the undeclared profit. The war had introduced a whole raft of taxes. There was now something called a payroll tax that the federal government said would be dropped after the war ended, and the Macintosh companies felt the bite with the large number of personnel in their employment. The war was producing profits, but it was also taking a heavy tax on the Macintosh financial empire. Sarah was astute enough to know that whatever her brother had done to realise an unaccounted income to the government in the way he had was to ensure they retained their luxurious lifestyle in a time of rationing and want.

There was something else that worried Sarah. She was already aware that her brother had opposed her entry into the management of the companies, especially since the appearance of Olivia in Australia, and the closer Olivia got to her brother, the greater the interference in Sarah’s role in the family businesses. Sarah had never liked the American woman who she knew looked down on her. It might have been Sarah’s instinct but she fumed at the thought that Olivia was in some kind of conspiracy with her brother to cut her out of the business. Sarah knew she had no real evidence of this but she trusted her instincts. After all, if she were in Olivia’s shoes, she would naturally side with her brother. At least her father was on her side and while he was alive she knew she could call on his assistance to stem her brother’s influence on the board of directors. At the end of the day there would only be one man left standing, and that would be a woman.

*

It was just a big fire burning in the cold mountain rainforest, but to Sergeant Tom Duffy the warmth it threw off was better than anything his entire fortune back in Australia could ever buy. He and the young soldier had been ordered back to an area known as Isurava; here a permanent log fire was burning to help warm cold wet flesh and dry out ragged steaming uniforms. A kitchen had been set up and rations of taro, sweet potato, pawpaw and rice were served to hungry and exhausted soldiers when they arrived. If they were lucky, a rare tin of bully beef was produced, along with the remnants of army biscuits long crumbled in transit.

Tom sought out the commanding officer of the rest area and passed on a message from the forward section of the battalion. In return he would take back a situation report, but before doing so he and the young soldier ate a meal doled out by the cheerful and hardworking catering sergeant. They retired a short distance from the roaring fire, their backs against the buttress roots of a giant rainforest fig. As they ate, a group of reinforcements staggered into the camp from the south. Tom recognised the men as part of his battalion. Many of them were carrying Thompson submachine guns.

‘That’ll make a difference,’ he said.

‘What, sarge?’ the young soldier asked, finishing the sweet potato in his mess tin and reaching for an enamel mug of hot black tea.

‘The Tommy guns,’ Tom said. ‘This kind of warfare needs a weapon that can spit out a lot of bullets at close range. We don’t need rifles with long-range ability in thick country like this. I have a feeling those guns are going to make a difference.’

The young soldier glanced up at the new arrivals. ‘Those blokes haven’t seen any action yet,’ he said with the experience of a combat hardened veteran, and Tom smiled at the arrogance of youth. Here was the same young man who had initially frozen in his first action, and was now speaking as if he had seen a thousand battles. Tom reflected for a moment on the two of them; he was considered too old to fight and the young soldier beside him, too young.

‘What do you think the Japs are doing right now, sarge?’ the young soldier asked.

‘If I were the Jap CO I would be consolidating Kokoda
village and getting supplies up from the coast, before
continu
ing my advance on Moresby,’ Tom replied. ‘I expect we’ll
bump into their forward scout parties before they make their move.’

The young soldier stared at the flickering flames of the great fire. ‘Do you think we can beat them?’