And Fire Falls (26 page)

Your cousin, Sarah has been ill with her pregnancy . . .

David was startled by the news that Sarah was pregnant. He'd never for a moment given credence to Sean's insinuations about Sarah's marriage to Charles Huntley but maybe he should have.

. . . Sarah and I have been meeting regularly, and she seems to have changed a lot. I fear her desire to be the boss of the Macintosh businesses is more important to her than motherhood. But it is not up to me to judge my friend’s life.

Will you be given leave? I hope so as I would love to see you again. I hope that I hear from you soon.

Yours sincerely

Allison.

The letter was brief and rather brusque, David thought as he folded it and slipped it into a small wallet he kept for her letters. Something had happened back in Sydney, and all David could do was puzzle.

‘Boss, the skipper is on the blower to you,’ his signaller called.

David closed the folder and walked over to the radio. The war was to go on, and there was nothing he could do so far from home and safety. He knew the name of every man in his company and they were his family. War was his occupation.

25

S
arah could not believe what she was hearing. The members of the board sat around the big table smiling as her brother revealed the new government contract for supplying beef to the American armed forces. Charles sat away from Sarah and was silent, but when she caught his eye he looked away evasively.

The meeting ended and the board members retired for tea and scones. Sarah glared at Charles sipping a cup of tea in the boardroom, while her brother accepted the backslapping with obvious relish. Sarah made her way to Charles and guided him to a corner of the room.

‘How did my brother know about the government
contract?’ she hissed.

‘One of my contacts told me about it, and I thought in your present condition that you would rather Donald handle it.’

‘My present condition!’ Sarah exclaimed. ‘I’m pregnant – not ill. You promised that we would work together. Look at my brother, the board are all over him. That should have been my announcement, not his.’

‘Sarah, you have a prominent position in your family’s business,’ Charles said. ‘Does it really matter who makes the profits?’

Sarah swung on her husband. ‘It does,’ she said with some force. ‘The companies are best left in my hands. I remember when all Donald wanted was to be manager of a cattle station, and now he thinks he can be head of an organisation as profitable as this one. I’m the one best suited to run the family’s affairs, not Donald.’

‘But you will be raising our baby,’ Charles reasoned.

‘Haven’t you heard of hired help?’ Sarah dismissed. ‘Our family has a long tradition of nannies and governesses. When the baby arrives I will be in a position to return to the boardroom.’

‘How does your father feel about your ambitions?’ Charles asked.

‘He is fully behind me,’ she replied. ‘He has come to accept that Donald is not the right person for the top job.’

‘The beef deal might change his mind,’ Charles said calmly.

For a moment Sarah felt a pang of fear. What if her father changed his mind about Donald’s competence?

‘I will speak to him,’ she said. ‘I will tell him that you went behind my back. Treachery is not something my father appreciates – nor do I.’

‘Speaking of treachery,’ Charles said in an icy tone, ‘I have been told that you have been seen in night spots cavorting with men. It might explain why you only appear at dawn at our house.’

‘It’s not your house,’ Sarah retorted. ‘The house will one day be mine.’

‘And our marriage?’ Charles asked, glaring at Sarah. ‘What of that?’

‘I don’t really care, Charles,’ she said. ‘Divorce is not an option at this stage with the baby due but if you wish to move out I am sure we can find a reasonable excuse for you to be closer to the office. It worked for my mother.’

Charles paled. He stared at Sarah as if seeing her for the first time. Who was this stranger he had married? ‘I will consider that option,’ he said and realised that his hands were trembling.

Sarah turned her back and walked away.

‘Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’ Donald said when Sarah approached him, but she brushed past him with a scowl.

Donald shrugged and returned to speaking with the manager of their cattle property portfolio.

‘Women,’ he said with a smirk. ‘They get a bit testy when they’re pregnant.’

*

Jessica had little time for anything but her job. The only time she had contact with Tony was when he acted as chauffeur and picked up the women who worked at the HQ, and the times he appeared in the office to carry out a task for the colonel. At least when he was around the office he would find an excuse to share a meal with her at a small cafe not far from the HQ. Over the months she’d known him, all she’d been able to learn was that, besides once being a New York policeman, he actually held the rank of lieutenant in the military police. He had been attached to General MacArthur’s staff in the Philippines and had escaped to Australia. His role in the top-secret section of the HQ was to vet those who worked there and to carry out certain tasks of escorting sensitive files. Jessica suspected that he did more but knew she could not ask. Their brief moments together were the closest thing to a social life Jessica had. At nights she was too tired to do more than eat, shower and get a good night’s sleep. As important as her work was, it came with sacrifices.

One day Tony purchased sandwiches and suggested that they go down to the Botanic Gardens to eat them in the shade of the magnificent fig trees. They settled down on the lawn and gazed across the river.

Jessica noticed that Tony had a wide smile on his face.

‘Well, what is it?’ she asked. ‘I can see that you’re bursting to tell me something.’

‘You are a smart gal,’ Tony said, taking a bite from his sandwich. ‘I think you’ll be pleased to hear my news.’

‘Well, tell me then,’ Jessica said, punching him lightly on the bicep.

‘You and I are being sent down to Sydney for a conference with your prime minister and his cabinet. We leave the day after tomorrow.’

‘How did that happen?’ Jessica asked in surprise.

‘I was asked by the colonel who he should send from the department and I suggested you,’ Tony said. ‘He agreed, and so here we are.’

‘But why would he accept your recommendation of me?’ Jessica asked. She knew there were more senior personnel who should have been selected instead of her.

‘Maybe the colonel knows I have some things on him he might not want Washington to know about,’ Tony answered. ‘We have an understanding.’

‘I don’t think I want to know,’ Jessica said with a smile. ‘But it will be a wonderful break from the four walls of the department.’

‘Could we consider the trip away our first date?’ Tony said. ‘We’ll be staying in the same hotel so I can keep an eye on you. It’s standard operating procedure.’

‘No!’ Jessica said. ‘You have to wine and dine me before I consider it a date.’

‘Maybe that could be arranged in Sydney,’ Tony winked. ‘I have a certain amount of power to do that.’

They finished their lunch in the park and returned to the HQ. Jessica didn’t know which excited her more – the opportunity to be involved in a high-level conference, or going away with Tony.

*

The dogfights over Henderson Field were now a daily event for Captain James Duffy. Early warning from Australian coastwatchers on islands to the north gave the pilots a chance to scramble and meet Japanese flights coming in from their airstrips in Rabaul.

Twisting, turning and feeling the shudder of his machine guns streaming death into the enemy fighters and bombers was all James had come to know by day, and by night he lay in his foxhole, sweating out the heavy naval bombardments crashing shells down on them from out at sea, as the Tokyo Express made its nightly run down ‘the slot’.

The battle for the strategic island of Guadalcanal went on relentlessly, with death raining down from the air, out of the sea, and on the land. James lay in the slit trench and felt the ground rise and fall as the huge naval shells blasted down the few remaining palm trees around the airstrip and destroyed the aircraft on the ground. Sharing his trench was a young USMC infantry officer, Lieutenant Guy Callum, who had tumbled in on his way back to his platoon to shelter from the exploding naval artillery rounds.

James could feel his whole body tremble and his mind was screaming for him to be somewhere else, but the nightmare was real, and he could not wake up from it. Finally the shelling ceased, leaving fires burning, men screaming in pain and the crackle of burning aircraft and supplies.

‘Goddamned sons of bitches,’ Callum swore. ‘When are they going to learn that it only pisses Uncle Sam off when they do that?’

James sat up and peered into the scene of devastation. It was like this every day and night. He groaned, he could see that his aircraft was ablaze and that meant swapping to an undamaged aircraft for the next day. He was superstitious and did not like the idea of being allocated a new fighter plane. His old one had kept him alive, and he knew every nuance of her performance.

Both men scrambled out of the trench and brushed themselves off. James was just wearing his shorts, T-shirt and steel helmet. Callum was dressed in his combat fatigues and carried one of the new Garand semiautomatic .30 calibre rifles.

‘Thanks for sharing your foxhole,’ Callum said. ‘You’re that hotshot flyer, aren’t you?’

‘I don’t know about that,’ James said. ‘I might be grounded come first light. That’s my plane over there.’

James pointed to the burning fighter plane lighting up the area around it.

‘At least you’ll get the day off.’

James thought about that and was secretly glad. He might even be able to grab some sack time as he could not remember the last time he had had uninterrupted sleep.

‘We’re heading up to a ridge with Colonel Edison today,’ the young marine officer continued. ‘We had an intel briefing that indicates we might get hit by the Japs from that direction pretty soon. Well, got to get back to the boys.’

With that, Callum wandered off into the night, leaving James alone. He just hoped that his tent had survived the night’s bombardment, and was pleased to see that it had. He lay down on his bunk and stared at a hole in the canvas torn by shrapnel. He could see the stars and wondered at how peaceful they were. He could also feel his body trembling uncontrollably and as he drifted off to sleep he wondered if he would be better in the morning. But when he was shaken awake by one of the ground crew, he was still trembling badly.

‘You okay, captain?’ the mechanic asked as James slowly sat up and placed his feet on the ground. The man passed him an enamel mug with steaming, strong, black coffee. ‘I have bad news. Looks like we can’t get a replacement plane for you today.’

‘That’s bad luck,’ James said but secretly he was pleased. He did not want to admit to himself that he was reaching the end of his tether and at any moment his nerves would snap. He sat for a long time on the edge of his field cot staring across the airfield where ground crew worked amongst the debris of the bombing, retrieving what they could and clearing the area of wreckage. Smoke rose in the blistering heat of the day, and beyond the airfield James could see the files of USMC infantry moving towards the far forest-covered ridge.

He picked up his .45 pistol and held it in his hands. How easy it would be to end this life of never-ending gut-gripping fear. The devil was the enemy, taunting him from day to day with the promise of violent, painful death.

James raised the pistol to his head and smiled grimly. Just a matter of pulling the trigger and it would all end.

He lowered the gun, and continued to watch the marines heading into the hills to take up defensive positions on the ridge. Should the ridge fall, then the enemy would be able to overwhelm the airfield.

James dressed in his combat fatigues, holstered his pistol and walked towards the distant hills. He did not know why but it was as if the ridge was calling to him and the devil was on his way. He would not take his own life but face him on the ridge.

*

‘With all due respect, captain,’ Lieutenant Guy Callum said to James. ‘You shouldn’t be up here with us.’

The two men stood in the kunai grass atop the low coral ridge while the men around them dug in with entrenching tools. Below them lay the treetops of a dense tropical forest that provided cover and concealment for any approaching enemy.

‘I don’t have a plane, so I figured I might be of some use up here,’ James said.

Lieutenant Callum shook his head. ‘Goddamn! I could get into trouble if I let you stay.’

‘You might note that I am not wearing any rank, and if you have a spare rifle I can join your platoon,’ James said.

Callum shrugged. ‘I don’t have a spare rifle, but you can join one of my machine gun teams. I’ll take you over to my left section.’

James smiled and Callum thought that the senior officer was acting strangely. He knew that the marine pilot was the recipient of the Navy Cross, and figured that heroes are a bit eccentric. He found one of his machine gun teams setting up their belt-fed machine gun behind a pile of fresh earth.

‘I’ve got a spare man to work in your crew,’ Callum said. He turned to James with a questioning look.

‘PFC James Jones,’ James said, dropping into the trench beside the two men with the machine gun.

The chief gunner was a scrawny-looking kid barely out of his teens, and his assistant a nuggety, dark-skinned man in his mid-twenties of Mexican heritage. They did not introduce themselves. Everyone knew it did not pay to get close to a new member when they could be dead by daylight the next day.

The scrawny kid looked James up and down. ‘You ain’t got a rifle,’ he drawled, and James figured he was from the deep south. ‘That peashooter on your hip ain’t goin’ to be much use.’

‘I’ll keep the ammo up to you,’ James said. ‘Need both hands free for that.’

The southern kid shrugged and returned to bedding in the tripod on which the air-cooled machine gun rested.

James asked where the .30 calibre ammunition was being stored, and also asked questions as to the layout of the platoon defence.

His questions were answered.

‘Where you from?’ the older man asked when they were satisfied they had finished their preparations. He hardly had an accent and James guessed that he had been born and raised in the USA.

‘New Hampshire,’ James answered. ‘How about you?’

‘Texas. My gringo buddy is from Tennessee, and we call him the Tennessee Kid. He don’t like us Mexicans.’

‘Goddamned straight,’ the scrawny marine said, biting off a chunk of chewing tobacco. ‘All them wetbacks should swim back over the Rio Grande and go home.’

James had had little contact with men from working-class backgrounds like these two, and was taken aback that such racial animosities existed in the southern states of his country. But he was also confused because he could perceive a strong bond of friendship and respect between the two.

As if reading James’s confusion, the kid from Tennessee spat a brown stream of tobacco juice over the front of the trench. ‘Pedro here is a marine. That makes him a brother. He don’t have to swim back to Mexico.’