“I’ve been drinking rum ever since I got here this afternoon.”
He was amazed to hear that. “But you seem perfectly sober,” he said.
She slid closer and buried her tongue in his ear. “Looks can be very deceiving, Captain,” she whispered. She gave her half-filled glass a long, hard look, and then added, “Maybe I should stop, though. I do want to remember this…”
They fell asleep as soon as the lovemaking was finished. It had been fast—they were so eager, so hungry, and so tired—but the act had at last been consummated. When Jock stirred just before midnight, he found Jillian wide awake next to him, propped up on an elbow, smiling down at his drowsy face.
“I just realized…I never gave you a chance to tell how the debriefing went,” she said.
“Forget that,” he replied. “Tell me how it was for you…the pain, I mean.”
She threw her head back against the pillow, splaying the dark curls of her hair across it and stretched her entire body like some contented cat. “Let’s just say it was a very, very good start,” she replied. Her hand slid beneath the sheet covering his lower body. “I was wondering if perhaps you’d like to test the waters again, Captain? We’ve got lots and lots of condoms…”
The second coupling put them to sleep until dawn. When the first rays of sunrise fell across their bed, Jock was already slipping into his uniform. Jillian wiped the sleep from her eyes and said, “I just remembered…I don’t have any coffee for you. You Yanks and your coffee…”
“That’s okay, honey. I’ll manage.”
She liked the sound of honey. She liked it very much.
She pulled a man’s tee shirt over her head, turning it into a short dress, and shuffled to the kitchen. “How about some juice instead?” she called back to him.
“I’d love some, thanks.”
She carried him a full glass. “Before you go, Jock,” she said, “you’ve still got to tell me about the debriefing.”
Shrugging, he replied, “Not much to tell. It was pretty much a waste of time…just like I figured. They’ve already anointed their heroes. All the credit is going to the flyboys. I guess since it was Jap airpower that took us out of this war, they need to show it’s our airpower putting us right back in it.”
“You don’t seem very upset, Jock. Weren’t you the man all worried about redemption?”
Jock smiled and took her in his arms. “There isn’t any redemption, Jillian. Not in this business.”
She looked up at him, wanting to believe, desperate to gauge the sincerity of his words and the change in him they signaled. “You really don’t care what those stupid old wankers think anymore?”
His reply convinced her beyond all doubt. Looking her straight in the eyes, he said, “Nope. To hell with them.”
She responded with a deep and powerful kiss, expressing her relief, approval, and joy in a way words never could. Jock took the silent discourse a step further—he swept her off her feet and carried her back to the bedroom.
Chapter Sixty-Three
First Sergeant Patchett appeared in the doorway to Jock’s office and said, “Doc Green’s on the horn for you, sir.”
The telephone line’s distortion could not dilute the breathless excitement in Doc’s voice. “The newspaper story comes out later today, the evening edition,” he said. “It’s got the front page headline!”
Jock was beaming as he hung up the phone. “Good news, sir?” Patchett asked.
“Yep. The article comes out this evening.”
“Perfect timing,” Patchett said, “with the after-action report due today and all.”
Jock picked up the manila envelope holding the report. “It’s time we hit them with both barrels, Top.”
“Amen to that, sir.”
Master Sergeant Johnny Jarvis eyed the manila envelope his secretary had placed in General Cash’s “in” box. He knew what the envelope contained—the after-action report from Task Force Miles.
They beat the deadline with minutes to spare, Jarvis thought as he slid the report from the envelope. Let’s have ourselves a little look-see at what this thing has to say. His eyes widened with surprise as he flipped through its pages; his mouth twisted into a grimace. He was sure of one thing:
This report ain’t gonna go over real big upstairs, that’s for damn sure. It could sure use a healthy dose of sugarcoating, especially the parts about the inaccurate bombing, the Nackeroo screw-ups…and fuck me up the ass and call me Sally, but this part with the gun-toting woman and her abos saving their asses? Didn’t old Patch teach that young captain of his how to play the game with the brass hats?
General MacArthur sat down to supper in his private dining room. His orderly had placed the evening edition of the Brisbane Telegraph beside his napkin, folded neatly, as always. Ordinarily, the general would begin eating before even glancing at the paper, but tonight something in the visible fragment of the bold, oversized headline caught his eye. He began to unfold the paper. If the headline said what he thought it might, he would surely lose his appetite.
When it was unfolded, he was correct—was MacArthur ever wrong? The headline screamed:
AUSSIE WOMAN BAILS OUT YANKS
The subheadline, right below the picture of a smiling young woman, was no less unsettling:
SHE MADE CAPE YORK CAMPAIGN A SUCCESS
When he had read the whole article, he called for his orderly. “Generals Sutherland and Cash are to report to me immediately,” MacArthur commanded.
The orderly scurried from the room. MacArthur ran his finger down the article, pausing over the Aussie woman’s name as he asked himself, Forbes…Forbes…Where have I heard that name before?
His chief of staff, General Sutherland, arrived first. “Richard,” MacArthur said as he held up the headline for Sutherland to see, “how did we lose control of this story so thoroughly? And why does this Forbes woman’s name ring a bell?”
Sutherland had a quick reply; he had just finished reading the article when he was summoned. “I believe, sir, this Jillian Forbes was the woman Governor Owens wished to neutralize. He claimed she was organizing the blacks to side with the Japanese, or something like that. Briley was instructed to deal with the matter.”
MacArthur furrowed his brow. “I don’t recall any such conversation, Richard. Neither do you.”
“Yes, sir. I understand completely.”
General Cash knocked on the open door, hoping no one would notice his knees trembling. “Reporting as ordered, sir,” Cash said.
Sutherland stepped aside and let the full weight of MacArthur’s wrath fall on Horace Cash.
Again putting the newspaper headline on display, MacArthur said, “General Cash, have you read this article?”
“Yes, sir…a few minutes ago.”
MacArthur asked, “Does it reflect what is written in the after-action report of Task Force Miles?”
“Almost word for word, General.”
“And who is this Australian Army doctor…this Major Dunbar Green…the man listed as the source for this article?”
“He was the medic with Task Force Miles, sir,” Cash replied.
MacArthur’s face was reddening as he said, “That’s just dandy. How in God’s name did an Australian doctor become the medic for an American patrol?”
Cash replied, “I have no idea, sir. That all happened on General Briley’s watch.”
Sutherland had an idea. “Perhaps, sir, we can tout Green’s presence as an outstanding example of cooperation between allies?”
A withering glance from MacArthur convinced Sutherland to say no more.
MacArthur had one last question. “This aide of Briley’s…this Captain Brewster…do you have any idea what he was doing in the Weipa area when he was killed?”
Cash shrugged and said, “Again, sir…I have no idea. That was on General Briley’s watch, not mine.”
Those were the words MacArthur wanted to hear. He relaxed into his chair.
“Cash,” MacArthur
said, “I’ll expect you to correct the many inaccuracies in that after-action report. Remember, this was my victory…an American victory…not the work of some Aussie woman and her band of pickaninnies playing soldier. Have the revised report on my desk by fifteen hundred tomorrow. That is all.”
Cash snapped to attention, about-faced, and headed for the door as fast as he could without breaking into a trot. Sutherland remained, standing at ease, knowing not to speak until spoken to.
The orderly appeared once again. “There’s a secretary in your office, General. She says there’s an urgent telephone call for you.”
With a wave of his hand, MacArthur dispatched his chief of staff to deal with the caller. Finally, the Supreme Commander thought, I can enjoy my supper.
Sutherland returned in a few moments, though. “It’s Governor Owens on the line, sir,” Sutherland said. “He sounds very upset.”
“He should be,” MacArthur replied.
“He demands to speak to you, sir,” Sutherland said.
MacArthur flung his fork down on the table. “Demands? Demands, does he? Tell the Governor if he needs to speak with me so desperately, he can get his royally appointed ass over here. Now leave me in peace to finish my supper, Richard.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Governor Sir Malcolm Owens was wearing a track in General MacArthur’s office carpet. He couldn’t stop himself from nervously pacing the floor. The general, on the other hand, puffed contentedly on his pipe while seated behind the desk and couldn’t have seemed calmer.
“She’s still alive,” Owens said, “and she’s here, in Brisbane. I’m sure of it.”
MacArthur shook his head and asked, “How could that be, Governor?”
“My wife saw her yesterday, General, while attending a tea at the home of Margaret Forbes-Masters, Jillian Forbes’s aunt. Miss Forbes wasn’t introduced…in fact, she stayed out of sight. But my wife caught a fleeting glimpse as she passed through a hallway. She’s seen the girl many times before…it was unmistakably her. She’s still alive!”
MacArthur glanced at the evening paper headline. “I’d say that’s a very fortunate turn of events, Governor.”
“No, General, it’s not. By morning, Canberra will know all about the article…and how we’ve failed to thwart a very dangerous threat to this nation. A white woman, leading the blacks in consort with the Japanese—”
“We now know that to be nonsense, Governor,” MacArthur said, “at least as far as northern Queensland goes. My own troops serve as witness.”
“I notified the police commissioner,” Owens said, sounding more desperate by the moment, “but he just laughed. He refuses to take any action against the Forbes-Masters family. Not without formal arrest papers, signed by a magistrate.”
“And I suppose, Governor, you can’t find a magistrate willing to do that, either?”
Owens shook his head. MacArthur supposed he had never seen a man looking so forlorn.
“Good for them,” MacArthur said. “At least there are still some officials in this country who know how to act judiciously.”
The Governor was begging now. “General, we must find and eliminate her before it’s too late.”
MacArthur’s roar of laughter made Owens tremble. “On the contrary, Governor. I’m going to find her…and decorate her. I need this to blow over quickly, and that’s the best way to end this unfortunate sideshow.”
Owens was terrified. Almost in tears, he said, “But General…Canberra—”
“Canberra can kiss MacArthur’s ass,” the general interrupted. “In fact, when I do honor this Forbes woman, not only will you be there, but I think I’ll invite Prime Minister Curtin as well.”
Once MacArthur dismissed the governor, he called General Sutherland into the office. There were a few more details of the Jillian Forbes affair to work out.
“Richard,” MacArthur said, “find this Forbes woman. I plan to make a big show of acknowledging her accomplishments. I’ve met her aunt, this Margaret Forbes-Masters…some function at Government House last month, I believe. She’s a formidable woman, but get her cooperation somehow to produce her niece.”
“Yes, General,” Sutherland replied.
MacArthur moved on to his next order of business. “Now, what do we know about this Captain Maynard Miles, Richard?”
Sutherland had the information on the tip of his tongue. “I had Cash’s people pull his records. He’s a West Point man, class of thirty-five. He was a real comer once…an aide to Short at Pearl…but he fell from grace like a stone. Short crucified him, probably one of the last things he did before getting the ax himself.”
MacArthur thought that over for a minute before saying, “Find a slot for him on our staff somewhere…make up a job if you have to, like Special Liaison for Northern Queensland, or some bullshit like that. We need to keep a close eye on our young captain for a while…”
But then MacArthur changed his mind. “No, never mind, Richard,” he said. “His company will be on its way to the Solomons very soon. Let him rot in hell.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
The note from Aunt Margaret had sent Jillian into a panic. Never one to beat around the bush, her aunt’s words were simple and direct:
Dearest Jillian,
Two of MacArthur’s officers visited me today. They said the general wishes to honor you in a public ceremony. They suspect you are in Brisbane. I did not confirm their suspicion.
I believe they are sincere. The choice is yours.
Love always,
Aunt Margaret
When Jock arrived to spend the night at Hope Island, Jillian was still in turmoil.
“They want to honor me?” she asked. “How? With a firing squad?”
Jock reached out for her, but she spun away from his grasp. “Jill, calm down,” he said. “This is exactly what we hoped for. Better, even.”
Not convinced at all, she asked, “It is?”
“Sure,” he replied. “Top’s got a little birdie at Headquarters that tells him everything. MacArthur just wants this whole affair to go away—”
“You’re sure he doesn’t just want me to go away quickly, Jock? To my grave, perhaps?”
“No, honey…nothing like that. He’ll give you a brief moment in the spotlight, then he can have the spotlight back, all to himself, just how he likes it. That’s all there is to it.”
He could tell she was coming around to his way of thinking, but very slowly.
“Besides,” Jock said, “Aunt Margaret thinks it’s on the level. You told me she can figure out a person in a glance…and we know how good she is at that. After all, she likes me, doesn’t she?”
Jillian couldn’t help but smile. “Yes…you, of all people, she likes. The scoundrel who’s defiling her beloved niece.”
Now Jock was smiling, too, as he took her in his arms. This time, she didn’t resist. “Speaking of defiling,” he said, “would you care to step into the bedchamber?”
“Scoundrel,” she said over her shoulder as she led the way.
Jock awoke to find himself alone in the bed. Moonlight washed the room in its dim glow, outlining Jillian’s silhouette as she stood by the window, gazing into the night sky.
“Jill, come back to bed,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.
“I can’t. Too much on my mind.”
He moved to the window, enveloping her in his arms, his chest against her back. “Like what?” he asked.
“I have to go back, you know,” she said, wrapping her arms tight around his. “I don’t belong here, Jock. I’m not needed here.”
He knew her words were true—but he hadn’t wanted to hear them.
“You don’t think I need you?”
“That’s different,” she said, “and you’re not going to be here very long, either.”
He knew those words were true, too.
“You know, Jill…Weipa’s going to be a very different place if you go back. One of the other regiments is shipping out tomorrow to
secure those abandoned Jap airfields. Our planes will be flying out of them before you know it. There’ll be Yanks all over the place.”
“Good,” she said, gazing dreamily at the heavens. “Then the trading boats can start back up…and I’ll be back in business. I sold tons of fish to the Japanese…I can sell them to you Yanks, too.”
She rested the back of her head against his shoulder and said, “And maybe, when this is all over…”
She stopped in mid-sentence to kiss him. When the kiss ended, he asked, “Okay, so when this is all over…what?”
“Nevermind,” she replied. “Let’s go back to bed.”
They were awake before the dawn. This time, there was coffee percolating on the stove. As Jock pulled on his khakis, he said, “You know, Jill, we need pictures of each other.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” she replied, her voice tinted with dread.
“Afraid? Why?”
She poured him a cup and placed it on the nightstand and then slumped into an armchair. Reluctantly, she began her explanation.
“Do you remember when I tried to stop poor J.T. Guess from photographing the blacks?”
“Yeah…right before Brewster—”
“Correct,” she interrupted, not wanting to plunge any deeper into the memory of the shooting. “The blacks are superstitious about photographs. They believe that once people are dead, there mustn’t be any images of them. You can’t even speak their names.”
“But what does that have to do with us, Jill?”
Her response was nothing but a look that sent a chill down his spine. It was sadness. It was an apology. It was resignation to the inevitable. But beneath it all was a yearning—a fervent hope—that the sorrow and pain would never come to pass.
He was about to tell her, But I’m not going to die, Jill—but he knew he couldn’t promise that. He was stuck in the business of war—the business of dying—and he would be for the duration. But surely she didn’t think they could hide from cameras forever?
Long Walk To The Sun (Jock Miles WW2 Adventure Series Book 1) Page 39
