And Fire Falls (24 page)

Tom found himself in a makeshift litter of groundsheets and freshly cut saplings. With as much care as they could, the men of the platoon carried him back, clambering over huge exposed tree roots and rocks that could twist or snap an ankle. The rain that continued to hammer the retreating platoon helped conceal their movement from the Japanese they knew would be in pursuit. Tom felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness as his blood drained away to mix with the rain and mud. He knew that this time he would not be returning to the platoon. His war was over – if he survived his injuries.

Towards evening Lieutenant Hall’s men stumbled into the forward positions of Captain David Macintosh’s company. Tom was still alive, but he needed medical attention urgently. His evacuation was organised by David’s company sergeant major, and Tom was laid out to await native porters who would come forward for the arduous transport further down the track towards Port Moresby.

Lieutenant Hall shook hands with David and accepted a mug of hot sweet, black tea. The two men huddled in a shallow trench with a camouflaged groundsheet as a roof. A few feet away a signaller squatted by a radio in a similar style trench.

‘So you made contact here?’ David said, pointing to a grid reference on his map.

‘That’s right, sir,’ Lieutenant Hall confirmed. ‘One Jap LMG which we think we put out of action – at least killed or wounded the crew.’

‘You said that you lost one KIA and one WIA,’ David said, scribbling down the facts so his battalion intelligence officer could include the information in his report to brigade HQ.

‘Yes, my WIA is my platoon sergeant,’ Lieutenant Hall said, sipping his steaming mug of tea. ‘The old coot should have been home with his grandchildren on his knee. He fought in the last war and was decorated. He’s also a bloody wealthy Queensland landowner and had no real reason to sign up.’

‘There are blokes like him,’ David smiled grimly. ‘Warriors,
we call them. They see peacetime as merely the absence of war.’

‘Warrior is probably a good way to describe him. He’s actually a blackfella from around Townsville way. Tom Duffy’s his name.’

‘Tom Duffy,’ David said quietly, as if pondering something. ‘I think I might go over and see how he’s going.’

David made his way in the rapidly growing dark to the position set aside for the wounded. He found a medic who pointed David to where Tom was being held in a clump of forest giants.

‘Sergeant Tom Duffy,’ David said, kneeling beside him. ‘I’m Captain David Macintosh. Do you know the Macintosh name?’

Tom had his eyes closed but slowly opened them and tried to focus.

‘Glen View,’ he said in a hoarse whisper.

‘God almighty!’ David exclaimed. ‘You’re kin to Wallarie.’

Tom nodded and fought to muster what strength he had left. ‘I remember you. You were at Glen View before I came back from the war. Your mother is buried near the homestead on the land of my ancestors.’

‘And here we both are in this Godforsaken place,’ David said. ‘What bloody forces are in play that we should meet in this fashion?’

‘I heard before the war that you refused to sell Glen View to me,’ Tom said weakly.

‘That land is also in my blood,’ David said. ‘But if we survive this damned war we can talk about a possible sale, Sergeant Duffy.’

‘Old Wallarie’s behind the two of us meeting here,’ Tom said with an attempt at a smile. ‘He’s always interfering in our two families.’

‘I know about Wallarie,’ David said and realised that he had gently placed his hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘The old bastard was a fraud who had everyone – black and white – from Cape York to the NSW border terrified of his magical powers.’

Tom tried to chuckle but gasped as another wave of pain overwhelmed him. ‘I have a daughter, Jessica,’ he said. ‘If I don’t make it out of this I would like you to promise that you will consider selling Glen View to her.’

‘I will be negotiating with you, Sergeant Duffy,’ David said gently, although deep down he wondered if this would be the first and last time he would speak to this man who had links to his own blood.

Tom nodded and closed his eyes. He was in a world of dryness and warmth, standing on a hill beside a young Aboriginal warrior marked by the scars of tribal initiation and the white man’s bullets. He was a world away from the dripping jungles of an island to Australia’s north, where a war was being lost against an utterly ruthless enemy.

23

L
ife had changed dramatically for Sergeant Jessica Duffy. She had been moved out of her accommodation overlooking the Brisbane River and relocated to a house closer to the city which she now shared with a handful of American servicewomen. Jessica knew that she was always under scrutiny, and that this was necessary.

At work she transmitted intelligence to all three
Australian services and the Australian government. From what she could glean, the most closely guarded information was transmitted from a place in England called Bletchley Park. It had been a slip by one of the higher placed Americans on the floor that Jessica learned the name. But it was rare to receive intelligence from the English source when she was given the task of encoding the intelligence passed to her for any Australian department – political or military. One aspect that she found was relatively common from Bletchley Park was the location of German U-boats operating in the Indian Ocean and off the Australian coast. Other than that, there was very little the Americans seemed to share with their Australian ally.

The young man she had met on her first day was, she’d learned, called Tony Caccamo. He was from New York, of Italian-Irish heritage, and before the Pacific war he’d worked as a police officer. She liked his company and sense of humour, but was mystified as to his role in the department. She had witnessed him sometimes with a briefcase handcuffed to his hand coming and going from the office, always with his shoulder-holstered pistol and often accompanied by two burly American military policemen.

Jessica was sitting in her corner of the office at her desk one morning when the enigmatic young man appeared with an envelope.

‘I had this picked up from your old address,’ he said, flashing a broad smile of perfectly white teeth.

Jessica accepted the letter and immediately recognised her father’s handwriting. She also noticed that the letter had been opened. Jessica glanced up at Tony with a frown.

‘Sorry, Jessie,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s departmental regulation that all mail must be cleared now. I would like to offer my sincere apologies, and say how sorry I was to read that your Dad was wounded.’

Jessica unfolded the letter which had been written while her father was recovering in a hospital in Port Moresby. He wrote that he had taken two Japanese bullets but that the doctors had saved his life. He suspected the army was planning to send him home after he was discharged, which he bitterly regretted as he would be leaving the battalion. Jessica was overjoyed to read that her father might be home soon, and as she read she found that tears were running down her cheeks.

‘Are you okay?’ Tony asked.

‘Yes, my father might be coming home soon,’ she replied, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a handkerchief. ‘He’s too old to be fighting another war.’

‘Your father is a remarkable man,’ Tony said. ‘As part of my job I read up on his background. From what I could glean, you are the heir to a sizeable fortune.’

‘Money has never figured much in my life – nor that of my father. His dream is to one day purchase a special property up north-west of Brisbane past Rockhampton. A cattle station called Glen View.’

‘From what I have discovered in my research your father owns many cattle properties and other business interests. Why is this Glen View so important then?’

‘It is a long story, and part of my heritage,’ Jessica said quietly.

‘Your Aboriginal blood,’ Tony said and Jessica looked at him sharply.

‘You know about that?’ she asked.

‘I kept it out of my report,’ he said quietly so that no one else could hear. ‘We have some in the department who would not approve of darkie blood so I wrote you up as having Indian blood. I saw that your father enlisted as an Indian in the last war.’

‘Thank you,’ Jessica said stiffly, realising that it was not only Australians who judged her Aboriginal blood, but also Americans.

‘You could thank me by sharing a coffee with me in town after your shift,’ Tony said.

‘I thought that we were supposed to go straight home and not socialise,’ Jessica said.

‘It’s okay if you’re with me,’ Tony replied. ‘I can be trusted to ensure that you do not get drunk and be indiscreet about your work here. All I have to do is inform the colonel and check in on the hour.’

‘I think I’d like that,’ Jessica said. ‘I suppose that you also know that I used to be a nun?’

‘Of course,’ Tony said with a grin. ‘So I’ll be safe in your company. You’re not likely to try and seduce a good Catholic boy.’

Jessica broke into a small laugh. He was cheeky and she liked that about him. In fact, she found him very attractive.

*

Charles Huntley was not entirely comfortable in his new role in private enterprise. He had always worked in the public service, and adjusting to a world where competency was measured in profit margins was new to him. At least the intrigues in the business world were not much different to those he had encountered in Canberra.

He had been allocated a fine office, a staff of two and tucked away in the Macintosh building where he had little interaction with the management team. Charles was astute enough to realise that he had become his wife’s proxy in meetings as Sarah spent many days away from work as she grappled with her difficult pregnancy. She was just beginning to show and a few of the older board members tut-tutted at her remaining at work at all.

A knock at the door shook Charles from his introspection.

‘Come in,’ he called and Donald stepped through the door, found a chair and sat down.

‘Time to have a chat, old boy?’ Donald said grimly as by way of greeting.

Charles suspected what was coming. ‘Certainly,’ he said.

‘I could interpret your desertion of me as an act of love for my sister,’ Donald said. ‘Or perhaps you secretly think that being married to Sarah will one day put you in a position to control the Macintosh industries. I suspect the latter, as I have noticed how my sister treats you with a certain amount of disregard.’

Donald’s words stung but Charles had to admit that they were perceptive. Sarah had grown more distant towards him. He had put it down to her pregnancy, but he had also noticed that she treated those around her, particularly those she worked with, with coldness and a lack of care. He sometimes wondered whether she lacked empathy; perhaps she had learned her behaviour from Sir George, who was notorious for using other people solely for his own purposes.

‘I will admit that Sarah has been a little distant,’ he replied. ‘But that is simply a symptom of her pregnancy.’

‘No, my sister has always been a cold fish,’ Donald said. ‘As a child she was shy, but as she got older she became more manipulative. Once she realised she had beauty and brains on her side, her true nature surfaced. She is a user, and I am sorry to say she is using you.’

Charles wanted to protest but deep down he knew his brother-in-law’s words rang true. ‘What are you getting at?’

‘I think you should reconsider to whom you owe your loyalty,’ Donald said. ‘We had a good relationship when you were working for the Prime Minister’s Department, and I think it would be in both our best interests if we continued that. I know you have a lot of contacts in the government, and I am the person best employed to exploit our partnership in these matters. I have heard a rumour that you have inside knowledge of a tender for beef supply to the Yanks.’

‘I may have knowledge of such a contract,’ Charles said defensively. ‘We are not the only ones with friends in government, and the contracts are not being advertised.’

‘How about you and I secure the contract together?’ Donald said.

‘In other words, I am not to tell Sarah about our deal,’ Charles said.

‘I will let you work that out,’ Donald said, rising from his chair. ‘Don’t take too long to make up your mind.’ Donald left the office, leaving Charles to ponder the offer from his brother-in-law.

He had not made up his mind by the end of the day, but when he returned home to find Sarah sitting at her dresser applying make-up he was angry enough to think that she was making the decision for him.

It was obvious that his wife was going out for the evening. She wore an expensive dress that accentuated her curves, and he remembered how she would dress in such a manner before they were married. The slight bulge of her stomach was barely visible.

‘Oh, good evening, Charles,’ she said into the mirror, applying a bright red lipstick. ‘The cook has prepared your meal as I am going to be out for dinner.’

‘Do you have a social appointment I wasn’t informed of?’ Charles asked.

‘No, I just need to get out of the house,’ Sarah said, blotting the excess lipstick with a crimson handkerchief. ‘It is not necessary for you to be at my side at all times.’

‘The way you’re dressed you look like a gangster’s moll,’ Charles said. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I don’t think that is your business, Charles,’ Sarah answered, turning to her husband.

‘I am your husband,’ Charles reminded her as his wife pushed back her dresser stool and stood up to face him.

‘I have been confined to the house with this wretched sickness, and this afternoon I finally felt well enough to go out,’ she said. ‘I thought you would be working late again, so I called Allison to see if she would also like to take the evening off.’

‘What do you think people will say when you are seen in public without me?’ Charles demanded.

‘I don’t care what people say,’ Sarah said. ‘There is a war on, and I think that most of our friends are more worried about those in uniform than Sarah Macintosh having a night on the town.’

She made to walk away, and Charles reached out to grab her arm. ‘You are my wife and I expect you to share everything.’

‘Sharing doesn’t mean you own me, Charles.’

‘I never wanted to own you. I want to love you.’

Sarah froze, feeling the bite of his grip. ‘Love comes after duty in this family, Charles,’ she said in a cold tone. ‘Take your hand away.’

‘Do you love me at all?’ Charles asked, letting go of her arm. ‘What am I to you?’

‘Do you want me to be honest?’ Sarah said calmly. ‘You are my husband, and father to our child, but love has little to do with how this family functions. I can promise you that, whatever I do, I will not bring disrepute on our marriage.’

Sarah walked past her husband and out of the door of their bedroom, leaving him with her last words echoing in his ears. She had virtually implied that she felt she was free to seek out lovers. Donald was right; Sarah was a cold fish, without normal feelings for those who loved her. Seething with rage, he recalled his conversation with Donald and realised that the best way to hurt Sarah was through the company. He would side with Donald on the lucrative contract on offer and cut Sarah out of the deal. But something niggled in the back of his mind. How would she react when she found out that he had switched his allegiances? He felt a pang of fear; his wife was ruthless, and he wasn’t sure that being her husband would protect him from her fury.

*

Sarah met Allison in a nightclub frequented by American servicemen, Sydney’s underworld figures and a smattering of uniformed Australian soldiers. It was noisy, smoky and dimly lit, but the music was good and the dancing wild. Already the dance floor was packed with couples engaged in the latest craze of the jitterbug.

Like Sarah, Allison was dressed very smartly and the two women stood out as the most beautiful in the club, which immediately brought forth a line of men vying for their attention.

They turned aside offers to dance and ordered drinks, then sat down close enough that they could carry on a conversation amidst the din.

‘What’s going on, Sarah?’ asked Allison. ‘I know from what you said on the telephone that you need to talk away from Charles.’

‘I should never have married him,’ Sarah blurted. ‘I don’t love Charles, but the baby forced my hand.’

‘You’re fortunate,’ Allison said. ‘You have a good man in your husband, and a wonderful life ahead of you. Just accept that.’

‘It doesn’t seem to be enough,’ Sarah said. ‘I don’t think I will make a very good mother.’

‘I lost my chance to find that out,’ Allison said.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Sarah said, placing her hand over Allison’s. ‘I didn’t mean to sound so callous.’

‘I live with two lots of grief every day,’ Allison said quietly.

‘I understand,’ Sarah said vacantly, staring into the
cigarette-filled gloom of the room packed with military uniforms.

‘You’re lucky,’ Allison said. ‘Your husband has a protected job, and you do not have to worry about him being killed or lost in action. Count your blessings.’

‘David is in action,’ Sarah said, taking Allison off guard.

‘Do you still have feelings for him?’ Allison asked, aware that she also had feelings for the man she was writing to. ‘Is that why you’re so unsettled in your marriage? I thought you said you’d put him behind you.’

Sarah turned to Allison and stared into her face as if looking for something in the question. ‘He’s my cousin – and that’s all. Naturally I care for his welfare.’

‘That’s all?’ Allison asked.

‘Of course,’ Sarah said, returning her attention to the dance floor where couples clung together as the band struck up a slow tune.

‘Well you won’t mind that I am writing to David, then,’ Allison said. ‘I felt it was something I could do that was useful in this damned war.’

Sarah turned sharply and glared at her. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘Because he is on his own, and Paul told me how important it was to a soldier’s morale to get letters from home. That’s all.’

For a moment Sarah stared at her best friend in silence. ‘Does he respond to your letters?’ she asked eventually.

‘Occasionally,’ Allison answered. ‘He’s an acting company commander and doesn’t get much chance to write. His letters are mostly about his life in New Guinea. He does not write about the war itself. You did say that he is only a cousin to you.’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Sarah said, turning her attention to a young American soldier approaching the table. He reminded both women of Clark Gable in his handsome looks and was even sober.