by Patrick Ford
She cried for most of the way to Honolulu.
Goondiwindi, Queensland, Australia—1964
Dear Mrs. Riordan
I am sorry to have to send this letter, but I must set things straight. I will never agree to Susan marrying Jack. After due consideration, I feel that she would be foolish to marry an Australian. She would be too far away from her family. Susan will be returning to the United States very soon. She has accepted this, and has promised me that she will abide by my wishes. She does not want to see Jack again.
Marci Baker
Helen looked up from the letter in her hand, tears blurring her vision. How could this be? She loved Susan as a mother loves a daughter. Jack and Susan were so happy! She must hear this from Susan’s own mouth. She hurried to the telephone. The Baker’s telephone did not answer. Lil’s telephone did not answer. What could she do? Jack would be home soon. He would sort this stupid situation out.
Meanwhile, on the tenth day of November, Australia announced that the 1st Battalion, the Royal Australian Regiment, would be sent to combat duty in the Republic of South Vietnam. This decision and subsequent ones would cost billions of dollars and more than five hundred young Australian lives.
Wallgrove Camp, New South Wales, Australia—1964
Jack was worried. He had tried to phone Susan a dozen times from the pay phone in the mess hall. All he could get was the ‘number disconnected’ signal. He begged the orderly room clerk for permission to use the company phone. He got the same result. He phoned Bernadette, but Aunt Lil and her family had gone to Sydney for an extended holiday and no one answered. He phoned his mother, but storms had brought trees down on the phone line and he could not get through. He had written several letters to Susan. There were no replies.
The recruit course went on. Every morning, they paraded, and then men and their huts were subjected to thorough inspection. Petty offences became capital crimes. Every afternoon, men marched off to Defaulters’ Parade. In the second week, the firearms lessons and the shooting ranges were of much more interest to Jack. They fired their rifles in a full range shoot at man-sized targets. Mostly, they missed. In order to be accurate, its owner must zero a rifle and none of these rifles was, since they were not on permanent issue as a personal weapon. Jack was disappointed at his result. The range officer said, “Private Riordan, have you even hit the bloody thing?” There was a mess of torn target in the bottom right. The range officer threw it away in disgust. Jack said, “Hold on a minute sir, let me have a look.”
There in the corner were six holes, so close together it looked as if it was a single large hole punched through the target. Jack took it to the range officer. “Look, sir, I hit it with every shot, the rifle is off. It’s shooting low and to the right.” The officer looked at the target then at Jack and repeated his father’s words of long ago. “Bugger me, how did you do that?” he said. “You’ve shot a perfect group!”
Training continued. They learned how to break down and reassemble a GPMG M60. When they could do it in the regulation time, they wore blindfolds and learned to do it in the dark. They did the same with their rifles. They were introduced to the Browning 9mm pistol, and the Owen Machine Carbine. They learned the different grenades, M26, Smoke, and White Phosphorus, a fearful weapon, nicknamed ‘Willie Pete’ and they learned how to use them. All the time, the drilling and marching went on. They went everywhere at the double, they force-marched twenty miles, and then did a cross-country night march to test their map reading and navigation. They learned about the use of field radios and voice procedure. They learned basic first-aid.
Every afternoon, the defaulters marched off at the double. However, there were fewer of them every day now. When the change started it was barely noticeable, but within a day or two, the members of C Company, 2nd Recruit Battalion, had become soldiers. They presented immaculately, their drill was perfect, and they passed their weapons assessments and were fiercely proud of their status as Australian soldiers, entitled to wear the distinctive slouch hat.
Before leaving Wallgrove, Jack received a summons from the orderly room. Major McIntosh wanted to see him. He entered the orderly room and saluted the officer of the day; “wait,” said the officer. Soon the company clerk told him to go to the major’s office. Jack entered and saluted.
“At ease private,” said the major. “I have been reading the individual efficiency reports from your course. Your instructors report that you performed more than creditably. I have promoted you to corporal, effective immediately. You will attend the senior NCOs course in May next year and report back here for the next recruits’ course in December, where you will be the senior firearms instructor. Well done!”
Bugger me, thought Jack. Corporal Brennan was not such a bad bloke after all! He left the orderly room filled with pride. His main concern now was to get back to Armidale to find Susan. Where in hell was she? They had never been out of touch for so long. He hurried to his hut to pack up. However, he still had to complete the Q-store Parade. One of the great mysteries of army life was the Quartermaster’s Store. Hell, they even had a ribald marching song about it. When returning items to the store, all of them had to be folded correctly, packed in the approved manner, complete in every respect, and clean. However, when items were drawn from the store they were usually unfolded, half-packed, incomplete, and dirty. Consequently, returning took longer than drawing. Jack waited impatiently for his turn. The soldier in front of him in the line had lost an entrenching tool and was completing what seemed at least a dozen forms. Finally, he got his turn, and in addition, drew an issue of the insignia of his new rank, and then he almost ran to the transport pool, just catching a lift to the railway station. He wished he had been able to bring his ute to the camp. Now, he faced a long convoluted train ride to Armidale.
Armidale, New South Wales, Australia—1964
The journey home was interminable. Jack couldn’t sleep. At eight in the morning, he arrived in Armidale, found his ute in the station car park, and hurried to Susan’s house. There was no VW in the driveway, no lights showing. He hammered on the door. There was no answer. He went around to the back of the house and got the same result. He pounded on the door, calling her name repeatedly. The next-door neighbour leaned over the fence, watching curiously. “Hey, Digger,” he called. “Them Yanks is gone, mate. Left a coupla weeks ago.”
“Where did they go? Did they say anything?”
“Dunno, mate, they never said nothin’ to me.”
Reluctantly, he returned to his car. Then he noticed for the first time a sign that said, ‘For Lease. Contact Highlands Real Estate’. Highlands Real Estate had an office on Main Street. It was closed. Jack went to a café for coffee and breakfast. He crossed the street again. The office was still closed, but there were lights on and he could see a woman inside. He knocked loudly. She ignored him. He pounded on the door. With a look of annoyance, the woman came and opened the door. She was middle-aged, heavily made up, and looked as if she regarded customers as annoying pests, ever ready to spoil her day. “We’re closed,” she snapped. “What do you want?”
Jack pushed his way past her into the office, despite her protests. “Where have the Bakers gone, tell me!”
“If you continue on in that vein, I’ll get the police to throw you out. I can’t tell you confidential things about our clients anyway.”
Jack took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry…” He looked at her name badge. “Mrs. Franz, I’m in a bind. My fiancé lived in that house. I must know where she is, I must.”
He was such a good-looking boy, she thought, and he looked all-in with worry, close to tears. “I don’t know,” she said, feeling sorry for him. “They left the house a couple of weeks ago. Mrs. Baker said there was no need to leave a forwarding address.”
Jack stumbled from the office in a daze. What had happened? Where were they? Who would know?” Bernadette...She would know. He sped off for Aunt Lil’s house. There was nobody home. He drove out to the university. In the reg
istrar’s office, he asked about Susan’s enrolment for next year. They told him they could not disclose students’ confidential information. It was a dead end. What else could he do? He racked his brains, who...who...who would know? Then he remembered Professor McKenzie. He hurried to the zoology department and asked reception if he could see him.
“Professor McKenzie is in a meeting. If you come back after lunch, say around two this afternoon, he may be able to see you.” Two seemed like days away. When he returned, the receptionist offered him an appointment in thirty minutes. The young woman on duty looked at him. She saw a handsome young soldier. He looked strained, exhausted, at a breaking point. Her heart moved. “Can I get you a cup of coffee while you wait?” she said.
He looked pathetically grateful. “Thank you; that would be nice.”
* * * *
Professor McKenzie remembered him at once, and greeted him with congratulations. “Well done, young Riordan, you scored well in zoology.” Jack vaguely remembered his examinations. They seemed part of another, distant, life. He mumbled a reply.
“Now,” Mackenzie said, “What can I do for you?”
“I can’t find the Bakers. Do you know where they are?”
A furtive look came into McKenzie’s eyes. “I’m afraid I really can’t say.”
“But you know, don’t you? Why don’t you tell me?”
McKenzie would not meet his gaze. “I can’t,” he said. “I made a promise.”
Jack pleaded. “Professor, you must tell me what you know. Susan and I intended to marry. She is going to have my baby, for Christ’s sake!”
This time there was genuine surprise on his face. He looked at the boy. He had been a good student, and he liked him. God, he thought, how terrible for him, how terrible! Mackenzie was a kind man. He remembered meeting Jack at dinner. He remembered his wife remarking on his relationship with Susan Baker. “I wish Ellie could find a boy like that,” she had said. Now, he was going to deceive this young man. No, damn it, he thought, I cannot send him away with nothing. He looked straight at Jack. “They have gone back to the United States. They left here two weeks ago. I can tell you no more than that. This conversation is over. Goodbye, Mr. Riordan. Good luck to you.”
* * * *
John Starr, he thought. What happened between John and Sarah? What did he know? He did not know where John lived, so he went to the restaurant and found Tony Starr in his kitchen. “Aren’t you the young bloke that used to go out with Susan Baker?”
“Yes,” said Jack. “I’ve just been told the family left town. Is that right?”
“So John says.”
“Can I speak with him, please?”
“He’s at home at the moment. He’s having a bad time of it.” He thought for a minute, looking at Jack. “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. He needs to talk to someone. I’ll give him a ring and tell him you’re coming.”
The Starrs lived on the other side of town. Jack knocked on the door; John’s mother opened it. “Come in,” she said. “He’s in his room; I’ll take you there.”
John Starr looked frightened. “I can’t tell you anything. If I do, I will never see Sarah again. She made me promise to say nothing to you.”
“Do you know where they have gone?”
…Silence.
“Why won’t you tell me? Tell me damn you, tell me! My whole life depends on it!”
…Silence.
Jack walked over to John, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to his feet. “Tell me you little prick, or I’ll beat it out of you!”
…Silence.
Jack dropped him in disgust. This boy was terrified of something, but it was not Jack Riordan. He wondered what Marci had said to him.
* * * *
He drove back to Robb College, despondent, broken hearted. He stuffed some things into his car and headed for Goondiwindi. It was late at night when he arrived at Ballinrobe. His mother came to the door, surprised to see him. She looked at him; she saw the fatigue, the sadness, the shock. “Jack, whatever is the matter? You look awful!”
He fell into her arms. “Mum,” he said, “Mum, it’s Susan. She is gone. I cannot find her. Oh God, I can’t find her.”
Chapter 6
Coping
Armidale, New South Wales, Australia—1965
Jack had promised his mother he would complete his studies and he intended to do so. Early March saw him back at work. There was plenty to do. His course was comprehensive with most of his weekly timetable taken up with lectures and laboratory work.
Life in Robb College was good. Each block had a common room where the residents could meet, to discuss serious topics, to host parties, or conduct post mortems on functions they had just attended. There were many social events, dinner dances and formal balls, or just informal drinking parties. Jack attended most of these with his group of friends from his block. On these occasions, he felt obliged to take a partner. Sometimes his libido warred with him for there were plenty of pretty and willing girls from whom to choose. He managed to resist. The functions held by the women’s colleges were the worst. In a reversal of common practice, the girls invited their partners. He was always popular. There were two classes of girls from his point of view. Some chose him because they knew their virtue would not be jeopardised. Others looked on him as a challenge. A pretty partner who made it obvious she wanted to have sex with him occasionally propositioned him when he delivered her to her home. At these times, he was sorely tempted, but he could not. He knew he would be with Susan no matter who was in his arms.
Some of these girls felt spurned and reacted badly, suggesting there might be doubt about his sexual preferences. Most understood him and some became good friends, non-threatening escorts when he needed one. Overall, he enjoyed these social outings, even though he tended to drink too much.
Wallgrove Camp, New South Wales, Australia—1965
Corporal Jack Riordan sat at a table in the lecture hall and listened to the young second lieutenant who was attempting to deliver a lecture on company tactics. He did not know much about his topic. This officer was typical of many who came to the regiment from the suburbs. They knew the theory, but lacked practical knowledge, particularly in man management and field craft. It was something he would complain about all his army life. Some officers like this young fellow were fast-tracked for promotion and spent almost no time in the ranks. Others, like Jack, would make their way up through the ranks, commanding a section, graduating to platoon sergeant and living with the men at the same time, man management skills acquired along the way, sometimes hard earned.
The final week of the senior NCOs course was at D Range at Holdsworthy Military Reserve. This complex houses the School of Military Engineering, the Military Police HQ, the RAEME and the RASC. There are extensive workshops and Quartermasters Stores. There are four areas of bush land used for practical exercises. D Range includes a stretch of the George’s River, towering sandstone cliffs, thick vegetation and few roads.
This year, the candidates took turns at being platoon sergeants with their platoon commanders feigning indecision, lack of control over their men and general lack of knowledge and indecisiveness. The aim was to place the candidates in situations where they had to use their initiative to take control and make decisions. An enemy firing live rounds was part of the exercises. Jack assumed command of his platoon and commenced his exercise. The officer who wrote the scenarios for these exercises had a sense of humour; some of his characters included Private Parts, Corporal Punishment and Major Disappointment. Jack’s task was to navigate to a point about ten miles from the base camp. The platoon was to complete a complex course involving a deep river crossing, a stiff climb to a high point known as that bastard of a hill, followed by a forced march to their final objective. Along the way, they were in enemy territory, subject to harassing fire and ambushes.
From the start, his officer was feigning illness and after a mile or so, declared that he could not continue. He told Jack to carry on wi
thout him. He gave Jack his compass that he had marked with the three waypoints. He gave Jack a map that was intentionally out of date. All went well along the first stage. A few stray rounds went fizzing over their heads. Then there was an ambush. A forward scout called contact right and the lead section went into the standard drill. For some reason, Jack had a bad feeling about this. He had a gut feeling the enemy had deliberately exposed themselves on the right when they really intended to attack from the left.
There was a rattle of blank rounds from ahead as the lead section attacked the ambush point. Swiftly, Jack sprinted to his rear section and took them into the scrub wide to their left. A hundred yards in, he pivoted right on his axis of advance and moved ahead. He had guessed correctly, taking the enemy section from behind. The patrol carried on to the river crossing. The crossing point was wide and deep, but not running fast. They had to float their equipment across on rafts fashioned from their bedrolls. Jack was not a strong swimmer. He sent most of the men across first, following behind, clinging to the large raft carrying the bedrolls. He only just made it, dragged exhausted from the water by a mate.
The steep hill was a problem. The cover thinned out towards the summit and exposed all approaches to defenders on the top. Jack took a good look at the map but was unable to see anything he could identify within his field of view. He called his section commanders in for a conference. Finally, he took a good look at the map legend. It said ‘Ordnance Survey 1938’. Shit, he thought, this bloody thing is way out of date. One of the section leaders said, “If there’s anyone up there, they will see us half way up the hill. What do we do now?”
