And Fire Falls (29 page)

Sarah stood from her chair. ‘Times are changing, Father,’ she said. ‘I believe that you will eventually see the sense in having me appointed the manager of our business interests. I will bid you a good evening.’

Sir George watched his daughter leave the room. He was still trying to fathom the heritage of his future grandchild, and Sarah’s openly declared ambition to be the sole leader of the family. Times were changing, but he doubted that a woman could ever take control of such a vast financial empire. But had he not said himself that he thought his daughter could be the reincarnation of Lady Enid Macintosh? To complicate matters, the appearance of the British aristocrat, Lord Ulverstone in his life was drawing them to an abyss. His intimate knowledge of Sir George’s contacts in the Nazi party and German industry was as explosive as the bombs that fell on England.

28

W
here Captain James Barrington had sought out the devil on the ridge at Guadalcanal, he now found angels in the Auckland hospital. Infection had set in to his wound, and en route to New Zealand in a flying boat, he had overheard the medics say that there was a good chance he would not survive.

However, on arrival at the Auckland hospital the doctors had told him that he would be injected with a new drug. It was derived from mould and they called it penicillin. For days James had fought fever and slipped in and out of consciousness, but eventually his wound began to heal and after four weeks he was able to get out of bed and enjoy the spring warmth of the southern hemisphere.

The food, rest and medical care brought the young man back to good physical condition, but the resident American army psychiatrist, Dr Bernard Goldstein, noticed the marine pilot had troubles beyond those that could be diagnosed at a physical level. James protested that he was not insane, and Dr Goldstein patiently explained that he also did not consider James insane but that his mind had experienced an overload of horror and it needed treating as much as his body. James walked out of the first session, but the threat that if he did not attend his consultations he would be grounded from flying was enough to bring him back to Goldstein’s office.

James was waiting to see the ‘trick cyclist’ – as he’d had heard the Kiwi service people call the doctors who treated broken minds – when he picked up a copy of
Stars and Stripes
. He flipped through it and found an account of the Battle for Edison’s Ridge, as the coral hill was now being called. In the description of the desperate fight James found an account of Corporal Pedro Hernandez’s lone stand against the Japanese. The article went on to say he had been awarded the Bronze Star for his courage, and James flung the magazine on the floor in a fit of anger. The Mexican had deserved a much higher decoration, but clearly his nationality had been enough to downgrade the award.

‘Come in, Captain Duffy,’ Dr Goldstein called from his office. He was a man in his fifties and had practised in New York before joining the army medical services for deployment overseas.

‘Doctor,’ James said, rising from his seat as the Jewish doctor eyed the magazine lying open of the floor.

‘Come in,’ the doctor said again and James followed the tall man into his office.

James sat down on a comfortable leather chair in front of the doctor’s desk.

‘I have some news that I think you will welcome,’ the doctor said. ‘I have sought permission from the Marine Corps to send you on medical leave to Sydney for six weeks.’

James was stunned. It was a lot more medical leave than someone in his condition might normally expect.

‘It appears that your grandfather has some influence with Mr Roosevelt. Besides, the USMC does not want one of its Navy Cross winners to be back on duty unless he is cleared as ready for combat. I am not prepared to do that until you have had a good long rest.’

James could see the doctor was smiling. He was still taking in the news that for the next few weeks he would be able to see his sister in the country of his father’s birth, and live life away from the constant fear of active service. At the same time, however, he was racked with guilt knowing that his comrades were still living the hell of the Pacific war.

‘You fly out tomorrow, and I will see you back here at the end of your leave,’ Dr Goldstein continued. ‘I hope for your sake – and mine – that I will be able to pass you for duty as a marine pilot again. Do you have any questions?’

For a moment James hesitated and shook his head. ‘Thanks, doc,’ he said.

‘Well, you are free to go. I have arranged for your clearances and hope that you have a good time in Australia. Good luck, Captain Duffy.’

James left the office as if he was floating on air. In a flurry of activity he soon arranged to leave. He was going to visit the land of his father.

*

Sergeant Tom Duffy had found peace. He was astride a horse under the northern Queensland sun in the Gulf Country, riding with the Nackaroos. Standing beside him was an Aboriginal member of the unit, examining the ground for tracks.

‘Bin gone this way, Sarn’t Tom,’ he said. ‘By an by one fella day.’

Tom glanced back at the three men mounted on horseback. Many of the men were experienced bushmen around his own age. They had been recruited because they were able to ride a horse, shoot and live for weeks under the harshest of conditions in the isolated regions of the Gulf Country. They were tough in body and mind.

‘He go this way,’ the Aboriginal guide said, pointing to the north.

The crashed American fighter pilot was still alive, and Tom knew that the aviator’s life depended on the skills – thousands of years old – of a man whose people had for many many generations lived and died in this harsh land of scrub-covered plains, crocodiles and coastal mangrove swamps.

‘Okay, boys, time to ride,’ Tom said, and the five men headed north as their trusted tracker had indicated.

Tom was at home in a land that was also of the blood of the man walking beside the horses. Within hours they found the American pilot, who was near death from heatstroke and dehydration. Tom knelt by the young man and when he looked into his face he was reminded of the young soldier he had lost on the Kokoda Track. At least Tom knew he had a chance of saving this young man and returning him to his family across the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean.

*

Lieutenant Tony Caccamo sat in the colonel’s office taking in the cigar smoke along with the information he had read in the file marked
Top Secret
.

‘The goddamned Limey Ulverstone is a traitor,’ the colonel growled. ‘Any questions?’

Tony had a thousand. ‘Why don’t the Brits handle the situation?’

‘Because the son of a bitch is a lord or earl or some damn thing,’ the colonel spat. ‘The Limeys are touchy about their royalty. We have all the proof we need from communications intercepts from Bletchley Park, and the Japs’ own codes. He was transmitting to the Japs before Singapore fell. You would have thought that the Goddamned Brits would have woken up to him a long time ago, what with his connections to that Nazi, Sir Oswald Mosley, and his British Union of Fascists before the war. But the English gentry don’t like to think that one of their own gentlemen could be a traitor. He has to be eliminated before he can do anything else to harm us.’

Tony took a deep breath. ‘Sir, where do I stand in this matter?’

‘Your job is to eliminate him, lieutenant,’ he said, leaning forward and looking the military police officer in the eyes. ‘You were selected because you used to be a homicide cop back in New York, and we figured that with your knowledge of murders you would know how to go about arranging for the target to be got rid of with not much fuss. Last report is that he is down in Sydney. The sooner he is disposed of, the better it will be for our security. Just remember, we are at war, and what you will be doing is executing a traitor.’

‘Why don’t we get the Aussie police to arrest him?’ Tony asked.

‘Because Churchill might step in and have him released,’ the colonel answered. ‘Just remember that Pearl Harbor came about because of Jap traitors in Hawaii. You are free to carry out your assignment in whichever way you think best.’

‘I’ve got it, sir,’ Tony said, wondering how he could go from hunting down killers in his past to becoming one. Only a war could change a man so dramatically.

Tony left the office to step into the area where Jessica worked. Since returning from Sydney they had had little opportunity to see each other as Tony had been sent to Townsville on a mission to question radio operators there concerning the situation of Allied intercepts in the Pacific.

She had her head down and was scribbling notes when he approached her desk. There had been a name in the report he had read concerning acquaintances of the British officer.

‘Hello, Tony,’ Jessica said with a warm smile when she caught sight of him. ‘I heard that you were back yesterday.’

‘I’m sorry that I didn’t have a chance to tell you myself,’ he said, standing beside her desk.

‘Well, it’s good to have you back,’ Jessica said. ‘I’ve missed you not being around.’

‘It looks like I might have to disappear for a while again,’ Tony said with a grimace. ‘I still plan to go on a real date with you, you know.’

Jessica knew better than to ask him where he was going. ‘I sometimes wish I wasn’t working in this office. Compared to us, the girls downstairs have a normal life.’

‘We have to win the war before we can be normal again,’ Tony said. ‘You know that Macintosh fellow you saw in Sydney, are he and his father tied up with your family in any way.’

‘Sir George?’ Jessica said. ‘Not really. He’s a man who owns a property in Queensland that my father has wanted to buy for many years. I met Donald through his family’s involvement with that property. There is no other connection between us.’

Tony was relieved. Sir George Macintosh’s name was in the report as being a contact of the British officer, Ulverstone.

‘Why do you ask?’ Jessica said with a frown.

‘Nothing important,’ Tony shrugged. ‘I have to go but will pick you up after your shift to take you home. We might get the chance for a coffee.’

Tony walked away, leaving Jessica to ponder why the American would ask her about Sir George Macintosh. She shook her head and returned to writing a report for the RAAF on some intelligence they required from the enemy intercepts. A simple question would change everything with Jessica and Tony in the future.

Epilogue

Christmas 1942

I
t was rare for Sir George to have his family gather in one place; Christmas was a truce in the ongoing struggle for supremacy between his son and his daughter.

Sir George sat at the head of the table with Sarah on one side next to Captain James Duffy, the grandson of James Barrington Snr, and Donald on the other, Olivia Barrington, James’s sister, beside him.

Dinner was the traditional goose served with roast vegetables, to be followed by plum pudding. It was perfectly appropriate for the northern hemisphere, but here in Sydney it was a baking hot summer’s day, and the smell of bushfires blanketed the city.

Sir George raised his glass in a toast. ‘To family, and the continuing growth of Macintosh profits in the next year.’

James did not raise his glass, but when the others had said ‘Hear, hear’ added, ‘To all our boys fighting in the Pacific. May they live to see another Christmas.’

He noticed that Sir George and his daughter were less enthusiastic in their response this time.

The goose was brought out by one of the servants and placed in the centre of the table. Sir George glanced around. ‘I think we should break with tradition in these difficult times,’ he said. ‘I think the honour should go to Sarah to carve the goose.’

His announcement met with an icy glare from Donald. Nothing had changed in the family on Christmas Day.

*

Captain David Macintosh had been relegated to company second-in-command with the return of the company commander from sick leave. In a sense David welcomed the second-in-command role as he did not have to give the direct orders that led to the death of men he knew.

It was Christmas Day and the battalion had reached the north coast of New Guinea to take up positions ringing the village of Buna, where the retreating Japanese had built substantial log bunkers to fight to the bitter end.

The area was flat at least, but scrub typhus was taking a terrible toll on the company. David sat with his back against his large pack, a rifle between his knees. He felt ill and wondered if the tiny mites that caused the dreaded disease had bitten him. Perhaps he was already in the first stages of the illness that had a high fatality rate.

‘Happy Christmas, sir,’ said a passing soldier.

Happy Christmas to you too, David thought sadly. His old friend, Lieutenant John Dulley was dead, killed in action a couple of weeks earlier when David commanded the company. He had written to John’s wife and told her that her husband had died instantly and had not suffered; for once this was true, and David thought perhaps the only thing worth having in this damn jungle war was a quick death.

The battalion was preparing for an assault on the dug-in Japanese and every man knew there would be heavy casualties. Maybe Santa Claus would bring them tanks and heavy artillery. That would be the best present of all, short of being home with loved ones and friends, celebrating the day of goodwill to all men.

For the Australian soldiers it was just another day of waiting to kill or be killed.

*

Diane Duffy had heard the men singing Christmas carols the night before as she’d lain fighting a bout of malaria in the Changi prison hospital. She had been vaguely aware that young Sam had been holding her hand and had sat with her through the night, before falling asleep on the floor next to her bed.

This morning she felt a lot better and was able to sit up. When Sam woke up and saw her, he fell on her with hugs of happiness.

‘So you decided to join us,’ the voice of Anne Bambury boomed across the aisle. ‘You just can’t lie about doing nothing, you know.’

Diane smiled at her friend. The last few days had been a blur of fevered dreams. ‘Hello, Anne,’ she said. ‘Is it Christmas Day?’

‘Must be,’ Anne said, leaning over and kissing Diane on her gaunt cheek. ‘The bloody Nips are letting the menfolk join us for a couple of hours between ten and midday. I have a present for you.’ Anne passed Diane a sweat-stained letter. ‘This came a few days ago when you were put here,’ she said. ‘Happy Christmas.’

Diane took the envelope and pulled out the letter. She strained to read the childish handwriting and burst into tears.

‘I thought it was good news,’ Anne said in a worried voice.

Diane continued to cry. ‘I have just received the best Christmas present any mother could have,’ she said between sobs.

‘What is it, Mother?’ Sam asked, leaning over to see the letter.

‘Patrick, my son . . . your brother,’ she said turning to Sam, ‘is alive and well in Australia.’ Joy beamed from her tear-streaked face. ‘Cyril kept his promise.’

In the distance Diane was aware that, despite the harsh conditions of internment under the Japanese, she could hear children cry out in joy as Santa handed out simple toys made from scraps in the prison workshops. For just a brief moment that day, even the Japanese captors recognised the meaning of Christmas. But still the war went on.

*

Fiery sparks rose in the still air when Tom Duffy stood up and stoked the campfire. The other four men who sat around the blaze on the plains of the northern Gulf Country were silently staring into the flames. It was Christmas night and they were all a long way from home; their thoughts drifted south to their loved ones. But even as they sat around the fire their loaded rifles were only an arm’s length away, reminding them that they were on active service.

Tom picked up his rifle and walked away from his grizzled comrades into the night. The low scrub did not obscure the vast starlit sky and Tom found a place to sit and gaze at the majestic twinkling myriad stars. In the distance he could hear a dingo howl its mournful cry, falling silent to listen for a response from another of its kind.

Tom took out his old battered pipe and filled the bowl with a plug of tobacco. When that was done he lit the pipe and puffed on it. He was lost in thoughts stretching back to his youth; so many memories of good times and bad. Always in his thoughts was his beloved daughter, Jessie. He had lived half a century and had witnessed many changes, but what remained unchanged were these vast inland plains and their spirits.

A falling star blazed across the sky and for a moment Tom smiled. Was it the soul of Wallarie returning briefly to his lands further south? Tom stared at the horizon and gasped. It was Wallarie! A young Aboriginal warrior stood mere yards away holding a long spear above his head. Tom blinked and was disappointed to see he was staring at a gnarled scrub tree with an outstretched branch. But that did not matter as the old soldier knew that his kinsman would always be around to remind him that one day he was to reclaim the traditional lands of the Nerambura people.

*

I am not gone from the land. I am a spirit man who lives in the night sky, and my name is Wallarie. I saw beyond the horizon war clouds gather. Now, fire falls upon the earth. I see the Macintosh and Duffy families will suffer even more tragedy in the years ahead. Their story is not over as all families continue with the birth of future generations.

I miss my baccy.