And Fire Falls (3 page)

Jessica sat in stunned surprise. She had always felt that Sister Michael disapproved of her, as Jessica had been outspoken on more than one occasion and had been forced to repent through long hours of solitary prayers, kneeling in the chapel before the big wooden cross mounted behind the altar.

The responsibility of being in charge, should anything happen to Sister Michael, fell heavily on Jessica’s shoulders, and the news that the Japanese soldiers were slaughtering captured Australian soldiers was terrifying. How could God allow such a thing?

She could see through the open windows of the office to the blue skies outside. They were filled with a swarm of colourful butterflies, and she could hear the laughter of children making their way towards her classroom. The mission was peaceful now, but evil was on its way.

‘You should go to your children, Sister Camillus,’ the mother superior said gently. ‘It will be up to you to protect them against what may be coming. All we can do now is pray that God will watch over us.’

*

Outgunned and outnumbered, Sergeant Bruce King of the New Guinea Volunteer Rifles had fought on the beaches around Rabaul alongside the Australian infantry battalion against an overwhelming force of Japanese naval and army invaders. It had been hopeless from the beginning as Japanese fighter planes made strafing raids against the pitiful number of defenders. They had resisted valiantly, knowing that they were alone without hope of help. Now the few survivors fell back into the jungle-clad mountains, determined to fight on against the pursuing Japanese soldiers.

Bruce King was a tough, solidly built man in his late forties with a pleasant suntanned face and curly greying hair. He had served on the Western Front in the last war and had earned a Distinguished Conduct Medal for bravery. To all criteria set down for enlistment in the army he was too old for this war, but the New Guinea Volunteer Rifles was a self-formed militia unit, composed of local men who were really civilians with weapons. Most had military experience in the Great War and had only weeks earlier been plantation owners and managers, gold miners and civil servants. Bruce King had managed a plantation in New Guinea belonging to a wonderful German woman, Karolina Schumann, and her grandson, David Macintosh. The last war had lived in his nightmares for years and he had just come to a kind of peace when he once again found himself carrying a .303 Lee Enfield rifle. Now he was fighting in a world of dark, humid forests where the sun hardly broke through the tall canopy.

Bruce found it hard to focus on the muddy trail ahead of him as the malaria racked his body. He hardly thought about the fact that he was hungry and could not remember the last time he had eaten.

‘We make a defence here,’ the only surviving officer said, and most of his men, around twenty of them, collapsed gratefully onto the bracken-covered ground.

Bruce King gripped his rifle and gazed around. The officer had not seen combat until the day the Japanese landed on the beaches, and Bruce was concerned this location was ideal for an ambush. He knew that they were north of the Kalai mission station and near the Tol plantation from his scrutiny of maps before the savage fighting on the beach of the Gazelle Peninsula. A place of high mountains and steep slopes with a sandy beach the region was already overrun
by the Japanese. He could hear the voices of Japanese
soldiers not far from the forlorn position they now occupied. Most of the men were suffering dysentery or malaria, and some were suffering both. Exhausted, Bruce listened to the officer argue for surrender and for once he thought the young officer had made the right decision. They were all at the limits of their endurance.

The weary and sick Australian soldiers made their way down to the nearby beach. There they were met with bayonet-tipped rifles and looks of distain. The young officer stepped forward to meet his counterpart and received a withering tirade in Japanese. Bruce had spent time in Japan after the Great War, and from what he could gather, the Japanese officer was speaking of their disgrace in surrendering without fighting to the last man. When Bruce glanced around at the Japanese soldiers guarding them, he noticed their expressions of contempt and he began to feel uneasy.

‘What you think the Nips will do to us, sarge?’ a young soldier asked Bruce nervously.

‘Put us in a prisoner of war camp and give us a good meal of rice and fish,’ Bruce replied reassuringly.

Some of the guards stepped forward with heavy fishing line and began to secure the wrists of the unresisting Australian soldiers. They were directed to march off the beach to labour quarters on what Bruce knew was the Tol plantation, and there they spent the night surrounded by armed guards. No one was fed and the sick suffered. Bruce spent the night alternating between cold and hot fever bouts, but in the morning felt a little better.

The Japanese roused them early and directed them to the plantation house that had become their HQ. The Australians’ army numbers and names were taken and recorded in a book. Next they were ordered to pile their personal possessions and pay books on a table. Afterwards they once again had their hands tied behind their backs and were lined up in groups of ten. Overnight other prisoners had been brought in and Bruce guessed that there were around a hundred men in all. After a period of waiting they were given the order to march into the scrub surrounding the plantation house.

Bruce noticed that the three Japanese guards assigned to his group carried spades and had bayonets fixed on their rifles. He suddenly felt sick with fear. The undergrowth they were moving through was tall and dense and the other groups were breaking away and being taken off out of sight. Bruce knew he had to act now; he would rather be shot trying to escape than go passively to his execution. When they came to a bend in the track and the overconfident guards lost sight of their line of prisoners, Bruce ducked down and rolled into the bush.

When he came to a halt he lay still and barely breathing until he could hear the party move on, and then slithered, his hands behind his back, through the undergrowth. When the shouting and screaming began, he thanked God that he was not witnessing his comrades’ final moments. The massacre at the Tol plantation had begun.

2

T
he local people informed the nuns at the mission station that the Japanese soldiers were very close.

Jessica joined the other nuns kneeling in the chapel where Sister Michael led them all in prayer. Rosary beads slid between nervous fingers as the beads counted off the Hail Marys and Our Fathers. The distant crackle of small arms fire intruded on their prayers, and the women held their breath in terrified anticipation.

‘I think we have prayed enough for now,’ the mother superior said calmly. ‘It is time that we resumed our daily duties so that we do not show fear to the Japanese when they arrive. We are a religious order, and no threat to armed men, so go in God’s grace.’

Each nun rose unsteadily from the narrow wooden kneeling rails and reluctantly left the sanctuary of the chapel. When Jessica stepped outside into the midday sun she saw the young man, Rabasumbi, who had hailed her the day before. His skin was glistening and she could see that he was very frightened. It was obvious that he wanted to talk to her and Jessica walked over to him.

‘Sister Camillus,’ he said in a whisper. ‘I have something to tell you – but not here.’

Jessica was puzzled by his secretive manner but followed him a short distance from the nuns, now filing away to their daily duties. They stopped by a hedge of frangipani trees blooming their vivid flowers.

‘A soldier man is in the bush,’ Rabasumbi said in his local dialect, flicking his eyes around as if the Japanese soldiers had already arrived. ‘He is hurt and has his hands bound. He needs help.’

‘Why can’t you help him?’ Jessica asked, and the young man looked away nervously.

‘I am afraid,’ he said. ‘The man is hurt, and you are a medicine person.’

Jessica would hardly describe herself as a medical person but she had developed a good knowledge of treating the many wounds the local people suffered in the course of their arduous physical work.

‘Can you take me to him?’ Jessica asked.

Rabasumbi nodded. ‘But I cannot stay,’ he said. ‘The Japanese soldiers are everywhere and will be here at the mission before the midday meal.’

‘I will go to our dispensary and get some basic medical supplies. You wait here and we will go to the soldier together,’ Jessica said.

The man said he would wait but Jessica should be quick.

She hurried away quickly and made her way to the dispensary. Sister Clement was in charge of the small room with its glass-paned cabinets holding supplies of antiseptics and ointments. Jessica greeted her and the older nun rose from behind her desk.

‘Can I help you, Sister Camillus?’ she asked when Jessica opened the cabinet where the antiseptics were kept.

‘Could you please give me a roll of bandages?’ Jessica asked, and the older nun frowned.

‘It is not time to dispense medicines. Why do you need bandages?’

Jessica knew where the bandages were kept and opened a draw in the tall wooden cabinet against the wall. She found them neatly rolled on a shelf and took two of the largest rolls.

‘Sister Camillus, you cannot take them without authorisation from Mother Superior,’ Sister Clement protested. ‘What is your emergency?’

‘It is better that you don’t know,’ Jessica replied, bundling her medical stores together in a billum that had been handcrafted by one of the local women. It was a work of art and could stretch to hold a baby if needed for that purpose. Without another word Jessica left the dispensary, leaving a speechless Sister Clement in her wake. But not so speechless to prevent her reporting the unusual and unauthorised taking of the medical supplies to the mother superior as soon as Jessica had left.

Jessica found Rabasumbi waiting for her at the edge of the thick rainforest, and without speaking the two of them disappeared into the jungle. They walked along a narrow, well-beaten trail until they were about a mile from the missionary station, and here Rabasumbi broke away from the track and clambered into the thick undergrowth. Jessica cursed her cumbersome dress as she navigated the clinging foliage, but they did not have to go far before they came upon the soldier, lying on his stomach with his hands tied behind his back.

At first Jessica thought the man was probably dead as he did not move when she knelt down beside him. She always carried a small pocket knife with her and retrieved it from under her skirts and used it to cut the thick fishing line. It was only when she cut the binding that the man uttered a low moan.

‘Help me roll him over,’ Jessica commanded.

Rabasumbi knelt, and they both rolled the soldier over. Jessica could see from his tattered uniform that he was a sergeant, and that he looked old for a soldier. He was probably about her father’s age and for a second the young nun had a pang of intense pity for the unshaven and gaunt-faced man. It was as if her own father had decided to go back to war, and the thought terrified her.

They could not see any critical wounds but the soldier had many small lacerations, probably from the sharp thorns of rainforest flora.

‘Who are you?’ Jessica asked the man.

‘Sergeant Bruce King of the NGVR,’ he said hoarsely and Jessica beckoned to Rabasumbi to pass the water bottle he carried. Jessica held it to the sergeant’s mouth and he took many sips before he continued talking. ‘The bloody Nips executed my mates back at the Tol plantation,’ he said. ‘You should get away from here.’

‘I’m sure the Japanese will leave us alone,’ Jessica replied, but without much conviction.

‘I don’t think those yellow little bastards will spare nuns,’ Bruce said bitterly. ‘Helping me could be a death sentence for you, sister.’

Jessica nodded in acknowledgement and helped the
Australian sergeant to sit up and prop himself against a tree. He was getting a little colour back into his grey cheeks but she could see that he was still shocked by his experience of escaping what sounded like a cold-blooded slaughter. ‘What are you going to do now?’ she asked.

‘We were told that as a contingency we should fall back to the north coast for evacuation,’ Bruce said. ‘If I get there I might have a hope of getting off this bloody island and back to Australia.’

‘I will return to my mission station and get you some food, Sergeant King,’ Jessica said. ‘Then you will be in God’s hands after that.’

Bruce reached out and gripped Jessica’s hand. ‘Thank you, sister, you are a true angel,’ he said. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

‘I am Sister Camillus,’ she replied. ‘Stay here and Rabasumbi will return with some supplies.’

Jessica stood up and informed the young New Britain man of her plan. He nodded hesitantly and they turned back up the track, leaving the Australian NCO propped against the tree. When Jessica and Rabasumbi reached the edge of the forest bordering the mission station they froze. The Japanese soldiers had arrived and all the nuns and local workers were gathered in a clearing beside the mission buildings. A Japanese truck was pulled up and Jessica could see a manned machine gun in the back, covering the little cluster of terrified people.

‘They are going to kill everyone,’ Rabasumbi gasped. ‘We must run away from here.’

Jessica could just hear the loud voice of a Japanese soldier, speaking relatively good English, berating the nuns. From what she could discern they were being told that they were now prisoners of the Emperor of Japan and must obey all orders.

‘I don’t think they’re going to kill us,’ Jessica said quietly. ‘We must make our way to the buildings without being noticed.’

Jessica stepped out from the forest and walked with Rabasumbi towards the mission station. They were almost there when a Japanese soldier began screaming at them and hurrying over with his pistol drawn. Jessica froze where she stood, and Rabasumbi did the same. The soldier, who appeared to be an officer, was a squat man with broad features. When he was about five paces away he raised the pistol and fired. Jessica heard Rabasumbi grunt and fall to the ground beside her. She turned to see the young man staring with unseeing eyes at the beautiful blue sky with its spatter of fluffy clouds. He had a black mark on his forehead, but otherwise looked uninjured. Jessica couldn’t take it in, it seemed unreal, impossible.

The shot brought a tumble of other Japanese soldiers to the officer’s side.

‘Who are you?’ a taller, bespectacled officer asked in English.

‘I am Sister Camillus,’ Jessica replied in a whisper.

‘Why were you not with the others when we arrived?’ the interpreter demanded.

Still shocked by Rabasumbi’s death, Jessica was at a loss for words. Her mind reeled and she hoped that she would not collapse.

‘Sister Camillus was sent to the jungle to look for healing herbs,’ called Sister Michael, hurrying over. ‘I sent the young man you have just killed to accompany Sister Camillus so that she would not become lost.’

The interpreter turned to the mother superior with a frown. ‘Wouldn’t it be the custom to have another nun accompany Sister Camillus, not a man?’

Sister Michael looked taken aback by the Japanese soldier’s knowledge of the sisterhood’s rules.

‘These are not normal times,’ Sister Michael answered quickly, holding the interpreter’s gaze. A flicker of acceptance crossed the soldier’s face and he turned to explain to the officer holding the pistol. The man slipped his pistol back into the holster and stomped away. The other soldiers followed him and began searching the mission station; only the interpreter remained.

‘Do we have permission to bury this young man?’ the mother superior asked him.

‘I am sure that you can do that,’ the interpreter answered. ‘It is the Christian thing to do.’

‘Are you a Christian?’ Sister Michael asked.

‘It is not wise to be a Christian in the Imperial Japanese Army,’ the young soldier answered quietly. ‘But there are a few that I know of.’

‘You did not answer my question,’ Sister Michael persisted.

The Japanese soldier looked away towards his comrades entering and exiting the buildings. ‘But I wish I was not involved in the capture of nuns. However, we are at war and my duty is to the emperor. I will leave you to arrange the burial.’

The Japanese soldier strode away, leaving the two nuns alone with Rabasumbi’s body. Sister Michael turned to Jessica with fury in her face.

‘Where did you go without my permission?’ she asked angrily. ‘I was informed that you took medical supplies with you.’

‘Rabasumbi told me that he had discovered a wounded Aussie soldier in the jungle not far from here,’ she replied, red-faced. ‘I went to render assistance.’

Her answer appeared to take some of the fury from her superior’s expression. ‘By doing that you have put us all at risk,’ Sister Michael said. ‘The Japanese do not appear to need much encouragement to massacre us all. You saw what happened to this unfortunate soul at our feet.’

‘I am sorry, Mother Superior, but I thought it was God’s will that we should help all those who need us,’ Jessica explained.

‘You did God’s work,’ Sister Michael conceded, ‘but I do not like lying on your behalf. Make sure you do not tell anyone else of your actions and that you do not leave the mission again, for any reason whatsoever.’

The two nuns walked away from Rabasumbi’s body, suspecting it would not be the last they would see under Japanese occupation. Sister Michael headed off to find someone to dig a grave, but Jessica needed to go somewhere quiet away to compose herself. Her mind was still reeling and yet she knew that an Australian soldier was out in the jungle relying on her to help him stay alive. She faced a terrible dilemma: should she obey Sister Michael and perhaps put the soldier’s life at risk, or disobey her to help the man make his escape and so put the lives of her fellow nuns at risk? It was an impossible choice to make.

*

Later, around sunset, Jessica was making her way to the school hut when she noticed the mother superior, her long skirt hitched up, hurrying towards her. When she reached her, Jessica could see the absolute fear in her face.

‘You have been betrayed,’ Sister Michael gulped. ‘You must flee from here or the Japanese will execute you.’

Shocked, Jessica stood staring at Sister Michael. ‘Who has betrayed me?’

‘One of our natives knew that you went with Rabasumbi to give aid to that soldier in the bush, and I was informed by the interpreter. At this stage he is the only one who knows, but has given us the courtesy of warning me first before he is duty-bound to tell his superiors.’

‘Why would he tell you first?’ Jessica asked. ‘He is the enemy.’

Sister Michael glanced behind her at the cluster of missionary buildings. ‘He is a Catholic, and it happens that he was educated by our order in the USA before the war. I think he is a good man at heart. I have had one of the trusted native women leave a parcel for you at the edge of the forest. In it is everything you will need when you find the soldier. God willing, you will be able to escape with him. So, go now while the Japanese are preoccupied eating dinner.’

‘Thank you, Mother Superior,’ Jessica said. ‘I’m afraid there will be repercussions for you and the others if I escape.’

‘That is my concern,’ the nun replied. ‘We all place our trust in our Saviour, Jesus Christ. He will protect us.’

‘I should surrender myself,’ Jessica said. ‘I can explain that I have acted alone.’

‘It would do no good,’ Sister Michael said gently.
‘Besides, I think you have doubts about your calling. You are a wilful and intelligent young lady and you may do more good outside our vows of poverty, chastity and obedience.’

Jessica was stunned to hear the wise nun’s perception of her. Yes, she had many doubts, and it must have been obvious to this woman who seemed to know her so well. Tears welled in her eyes as Jessica reflected on what this moment meant. Sister Michael even in her stern approach to managing the mission station had been in a sense the only mother she had ever known, and now she was seeing her through different eyes. Impulsively she hugged the nun, who stiffened at the embrace.

‘Go, child,’ Sister Michael said quietly. ‘May God guide you in the difficult times ahead.’

Jessica released the embrace and wiped her eyes. Sister Michael turned her back and walked slowly down the hill. Jessica watched her for a moment, then moved to the edge of the forest. Within minutes she found the canvas bag the native woman had left for her. When she undid the string she found it contained a pair of men’s khaki trousers, a floppy hat and a cotton shirt, along with a few tins of bully beef and a small sack of rice. Two water bottles and a metal cooking pot were also enclosed, with a can opener and two sets of knives and spoons.