And Fire Falls (5 page)

The carrier rolled gently beneath James’s feet and the wind whipped up by the carriage of the great ship slapped against his face. It was not a cold wind but would become so when the sun set.

‘Where do you think we’re heading, skipper?’ Angelo asked, joining his pilot on the flight deck to take in the last rays of the day. The nuggety Italian was a good head shorter than James and spoke with a distinctive New York twang.

‘Not sure, Sergeant Silvestro,’ James replied. ‘But on this heading we could end up either in New Zealand or Australia.’

‘Australia would be good,’ Angelo replied. ‘I have relatives from the old country who went to some place called Queensland to cut sugar cane.’

‘My father was Australian,’ James said.

‘Do the Aussies talk like Americans?’ Angelo asked.

‘They talk more like Limeys,’ James answered with a half-smile. ‘But I think you’ll be able to understand them.’

The two men stood side by side watching the western horizon. Darkness came suddenly to the ship, intensified by the fact that all external lighting was extinguished so the carrier and its escorts could not be seen by Japanese aircraft and shipping, particularly submarines.

James went down to the officers’ wardroom. The long dining table was covered with a white tablecloth and all around him the decor was basically white. Pipes ran overhead and support pillars broke up the wardroom. An intercom was mounted in the ceiling so that officers could be called to battle stations in the event of any action.

As James waited for his meal to be served by one of the civilian stewards, he thought about the possibility of docking in Sydney. His friend Donald was there, and so was Donald’s younger sister, Sarah. James still remembered the shy but very pretty girl from their visit to Germany in 1936 for the Berlin Olympics. That had been almost six years ago and much had happened since. James found himself wondering how Sarah had grown into womanhood and the thought stirred him. He had felt an attraction for her in Berlin but had dismissed her as being little more than a girl. If she was as beautiful now as he thought she must be, she would surely have a man in her life. Still, James found himself fascinated by the thought of meeting Sarah again.

But an ocean filled with the enemy forces stood between him and the young woman in Australia and James knew it would not be long before he found himself facing the ultimate test – survival.

4

T
he doctor’s stethoscope was cold against Tom Duffy’s chest.

‘Sound heartbeat,’ the doctor grunted, scribbling down his findings on the army medical form. He glanced up at Tom, who was replacing his shirt, and saw a tall, well-built man with a serious face and greying hair.

‘You sure you’re only thirty-nine?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Yep,’ Tom lied. ‘My birth certificate proves that.’

‘So how do you explain all those scars,’ the doctor said. ‘The last time I saw that kind of scarring was when I was a medical officer in the last war.’

‘I work as a stockman,’ Tom replied. ‘I’ve had a few bad accidents.’

Tom could see that the doctor was not convinced. He had spent a good amount of money to falsify a birth certificate, and yet he knew that he was fit enough to enlist. He’d put his Queensland cattle properties under the management of his trusted accountant in Townsville and had travelled to Brisbane to sign up. He was desperately worried by the lack of news from his daughter’s missionary station in New Britain. The Japanese had invaded and he knew they had a reputation for killing the innocent. Tom was beside himself with worry and frustration, and enlisting to fight was the only course of action he felt he had.

‘Mr Duffy,’ the doctor said, ‘we have had many men from the last war attempt to enlist, but regulations say that the cut-off age is thirty-nine. I am going to recommend that your case be investigated a little more thoroughly. I admire your patriotism, but we do have rules and regulations.’

‘Would you yourself consider me medically fit?’ Tom asked.

The doctor looked up, pencil poised to question the applicant’s age on the recruitment form. ‘You’re certainly fitter than many of the younger men I have examined and passed,’ the doctor replied. ‘But it’s obvious that you’re over thirty-nine, Mr Duffy. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.’

Desperate, Tom took a step towards the doctor. ‘My daughter is missing in New Britain, doctor, and she is the only child I have. I have nothing else in this world and if I could enlist at least I would have the chance to fight back. It’s not fair that we send our young men away to die when old men like me are fit enough to return to active service.’

‘I’m sorry but I have to do my duty,’ the doctor persisted. ‘Who were you with in the last lot?’

Tom mentioned his battalion and the fact that he had been a platoon sergeant.

‘Sergeant Tom Duffy,’ the doctor mused. ‘Not the Tom Duffy the Huns called the Butcher?’

Tom was startled that the medical officer would know the name bestowed on him by the enemy for his prowess as a sniper on the Western Front. ‘That would be me,’ he said quietly.

‘You were a legend,’ the doctor said with a tone of respect in his voice. ‘From what I heard, you saved a lot of men from going west. I would have thought you could retire on your service and stay out of this one.’

‘I can’t just sit around while the Japs are threatening our shores,’ said Tom. ‘If they get here, Queensland will be right in the firing line. Besides, we both know my military experience would be invaluable.’

The recruiting doctor laid down his pencil and stared at Tom. ‘Sergeant Duffy,’ he said, using Tom’s old rank, ‘if it is good enough for senior army officers above the age of thirty-nine to serve in combat, I suppose it’s good enough for someone of your knowledge and experience. I’m going to pass you and hope you have a pleasant fortieth birthday sometime in the future.’

Tom extended his hand to thank the doctor and no more was said as Tom exited the room, past the waiting lines of anxious, half-dressed young men waiting to complete their medical inspections.

He stepped out onto the Brisbane street and into the hot sunlight of the Queensland summer. He needed a cold beer and walked towards the corner public bar where his good friend and former army comrade, Keith Ward, awaited him. Inside, behind the well-worn bar, a busty young woman was pouring beers. Tom saw Keith standing at the far end of the bar, nursing a glass of frothy beer.

‘So, how did you go?’ Keith asked after Tom had ordered.

‘I got through,’ Tom replied, placing the money on the bar. ‘No worries.’

‘You’re a bloody fool, mate,’ Keith said. ‘Trenches, barbed wire and our cobbers being blasted into atoms from the arty. You’ve done your bit, you’ve seen enough blood.’

Tom took a sip from his glass and gazed around the bar. The place was quiet, and most drinkers sat by themselves. He could sense the despair in the place and guessed everyone was pondering the possibility of a Japanese invasion.

‘Jessie is somewhere in a place the Japs have invaded, and I just can’t sit by and do nothing,’ Tom answered. ‘I’ve contacted her order here in Brisbane and they told me they haven’t heard from Jessie’s mission station. The last they heard was that the Japs were only a few miles away and were expected to capture the mission station by sunset . . . That was two weeks ago. Since then – nothing.’

Keith placed his hand on his old comrade’s shoulder. ‘The Nips will respect the good sisters’ position, Tom, I am sure of that.’

‘Wish I could be so sure,’ Tom replied. ‘From what I have read about their behaviour in China, I don’t hold up much hope. I’m not religious like Jessie, but lately I’ve been praying to Wallarie to look over her like he did for me in the last lot.’

‘Wallarie?’ Keith exclaimed. ‘Who in the hell is Wallarie?’

‘Not someone you ever met,’ Tom said. ‘But he looks after us.’

The two men stayed at the pub for lunch, discussing the Japanese advance south and how underprepared the nation was to resist any attack on home shores.

‘You bloody blackfella fool,’ Keith said as they left the pub. ‘You kept so many cobbers alive in the last war – just make sure you do the same for yourself in this one.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Tom said, and they shook hands firmly.

That night Tom packed a small bag of personal belongings, most precious of which was his photograph of Jessie wearing the habit of a newly ordained nun. The two of them were standing side by side in the manicured lawns of the convent in Brisbane on the day of her ordination. She was smiling – but her father was not.

*

They were out of the mountains and had arrived in the state of Pahang but Cyril made the statement that they had broken the back of the journey to Singapore and hopefully a flight out with Ty McKee to safety in Australia. The small party found a campsite used by a previous group who had left notes pinned on trees saying that they were getting on satisfactorily.

The grass-covered plain broke out on the edge of a fast-flowing river and Cyril pointed out that it would take them south. Diane noticed the fresh tiger prints in the sand of a small beach on the edge of the river and warned Patrick to remain close to her. There was only one rifle in the party and right now the biggest threat was not the advancing Japanese army but the Malayan tigers lurking in the undergrowth.

While they stood in the open on the sandy beach they saw a group of European men travelling down the river in powered motor boats. Cyril waved them down and they came ashore.

Soon Diane and Patrick found themselves seated in a canoe with an outboard engine. It was a great relief to be off their feet and to be travelling so quickly. When the boats came to rapids the men would leap out and guide the canoes through the rough waters, leaving Diane and the other women to remain in the boat.

During the afternoon the boats passed a village of
open-sided huts. Diane had heard of the indigenous people
of Malaya known as the Sakai. They were a primitive
people with little contact with the rest of the Malay populace. The sight of the natives reminded Diane how alien the trek had been to her experience but Patrick was still bright and alert to anything new and interesting.

That night they pulled ashore and slept in what Diane thought had been a village courthouse with an earthen floor. By late afternoon the next day the small flotilla reached its destination, the town of Tembeling. On the journey the threat had been from tigers and snakes, but Tembeling had a large population of Chinese, Malay, Tamil and European refugees, all desperate to get to safety. Tembeling had a railhead and from here the small party hoped they could travel south to Singapore.

Cyril found them a place to stay in an abandoned hospital. Diane shared a room with Po, her baby daughter and Patrick. The bed was a luxury after the journey across the mountains and down the river to the town.

That evening, over a shared meal of rice and dried fish, Diane discussed the next step of their evacuation, and Cyril pointed out that if Tyrone was unable to fly them out of Singapore, they still had the option of finding a refugee ship.

The following day Diane learned that there were many orphans in Tembeling. The bombing of the town by the Japanese air force had been particularly devastating on the shanty huts of the Chinese, and many children had been left without parents or extended family. Diane felt that while they waited for a train she might be able to help in some way, so she left Patrick with Cyril and Po and went out to see what she could do.

Amongst the ruins she saw bodies of young and old, their limbs blasted off. Bodies lay rotting in the rubble, prey to the town’s mangy dogs seeking out food. The odour of decomposing flesh filled the tropical air and Diane had to force herself not to vomit.

She went from one wrecked home to another, and eventually she found a toddler clinging to the body of his mother trapped beneath a timber rafter. The little boy was around three years old and was covered in blood. Diane pulled aside the timber and extracted the little boy. She could see he had a festering shrapnel wound in his leg. Gently she lifted him into her arms and carried him down the street. She had been told that the Young Women’s Christian Association had a centre at the nearby Nam Wah Girls School to care for sick and wounded children. She carried the toddler to the school and found around two hundred children there in various states of injury. The sight tore at Diane’s heart and she thanked God that Patrick was not one of those children lying on makeshift beds awaiting medical treatment.

There were female European doctors tending to the sick and wounded children and one approached Diane as she laid the little boy on a camp stretcher.

‘Margaret Smallwood,’ the doctor said.

‘Diane Duffy,’ Diane replied. ‘I found him about an hour ago clinging to a dead woman I presume was his mother.’

The doctor knelt down and examined the festering wound in the little boy’s leg. She frowned and called to the Chinese nurse. ‘Get him a typhus shot, and bring hot water, bandages and antiseptic.’ Diane could see that the doctor was exhausted; patients clearly came before sleep. ‘I think gangrene has already set in,’ the Dr Smallwood said. ‘I’ll need to fetch Dr Elliot to look at this case and see if she can save him by amputating the leg.’

‘I guess I am best employed by continuing my search for children,’ Diane said. Dr Smallwood nodded her agreement and Diane set out to scour the town’s ruins.

She brought in two more before sunset and then returned to her temporary accommodation at the hospital, where she hugged Patrick to her tightly.

‘It’s terrible,’ Diane said to Cyril over their meal of tinned meat and rice supplemented with slices of pawpaw. ‘So many helpless children out there who have lost everything. All I lost was a couple of aircraft and I thought that was the end of the world.’ She turned to gaze at Patrick. He was curled up in Po’s lap and beside them was a crib Cyril had scrounged for their baby daughter.

‘We can’t help them all,’ Cyril cautioned. ‘Our priority now is to get to Singapore.’

‘I met the doctors today,’ Diane said wearily. ‘They desperately need help, and I think that I could give a few more days before I head to Singapore. It’s the least I can do.’

‘The Japs are almost on our doorstep!’ Cyril flared. ‘The train leaves tomorrow and it might be our last chance to escape. You do not have a few more hours – let alone days – to give.’

‘Look, I can’t explain it, Cyril, but I have to stay here to help. I know you’ll look after Patrick until I join you in Singapore. I just need a couple of days.’

A dark expression crossed Cyril’s face. ‘It’s madness to stay a moment longer than you need to, Diane. You have to reconsider this. You have to catch that train with us tomorrow morning.’

Diane could still see the image of the toddler clinging to his dead mother’s body, and she thought that it could have easily been her own son clinging to her dead body. If that were the case, wouldn’t she want someone to protect him as best as they could?

‘I promise I’ll remain only three days, and then I’ll join you at Ty’s place in Singapore. I think that we have that much of a margin before the Japanese reach here. Just promise to protect Patrick and get him out of here. I have information about relatives in Australia who you can contact when you get there. They’ll help, I’m sure.’

Cyril stared at Diane. After his many years of working as her chief engineer he could read her well enough to know she had made up her mind. He could see the strain in her face and realised that she would not be able to live with herself if she walked away now. ‘Three days,’ he said. ‘Then you promise to head south and join us?’

‘I promise,’ Diane smiled weakly.

Cyril sighed and reached out to hug her. ‘I can see why the captain married you,’ he said, a tear rolling down his cheek. ‘You’re an extraordinary woman, Diane Duffy. Just keep your promise.’

The following morning the train steamed into the
station and a swarm of desperate people crowded aboard. As Europeans, Cyril’s party received preference, and a seat had been set aside for them, enforced by the handful of British and Indian soldiers in the town.

Diane hugged Patrick. ‘Be a good boy for Uncle Cyril,’ she said, crouching and holding her child desperately to her as tears streamed down her face.

‘Where are you going, Mummy?’ Patrick asked in confusion as he clutched his little school bag filled with paper and crayons.

‘Mummy is going to stay here a little longer. I’ll come to you when you get to Singapore, then we’ll go to Australia together and meet your cousins.’