Worth Fighting For

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  Michael’s heart was thumping hard in his chest and he silently urged the ferry to get to the quay faster. The dark waters looked ominous now with the idea of an enemy submarine lurking beneath them, armed to kill. His imagination raced. Was this it? Would planes arrive now? Would the invasion of Sydney be tonight? He stared across at Mosman, praying for Junie. God keep her safe. Just give me that much. Then his thoughts went to his family over at Hurstville and he wished he could get word to them to get in that damn bomb shelter his father had insisted they build. Filled with redbacks and water no doubt, but at least it would protect them if this really was a raid.

  Hurry man, hurry, he mentally implored the captain as the ferry continued its slow progress, stopping repeatedly, searchlights sweeping across them. Michael would have worried they were a sitting duck if he didn’t figure they were likely to be low on the priority list for the Japanese.

  The ferry finally arrived with a dull clunk and they jumped off, walking swiftly away from the wharf.

  ‘What should we do?’ Cliffy asked Michael.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’re the bloody officer!’ Jake reminded him.

  ‘Right,’ Michael said, gathering his wits. ‘How sure are you really?’

  Jake rubbed his face. ‘I’m pretty sure –’

  He was cut off by the sound of explosions.

  ‘What the hell was that?’

  The noise seemed to be coming from Rose Bay and lights flashed in that section of the harbour. Then the enormous bridge was illuminated in an eerie orange light and Michael felt a rush of protectiveness for his country consume him.

  ‘Come on!’ he yelled, running towards the Botanic Gardens.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Cliffy shouted behind him.

  ‘Looking for a gun!’ he said. They all ran then, searching for defensive posts, but then the explosions stopped and they stood on the street, confused, as the air raid sirens began to wail. Searchlights now scanned the sky and people were running in every direction.

  They were lost in the chaos, not sure which way to go until they saw a group of soldiers pass with two machine guns on the back of a truck. Michael gave the signal to follow them and, as they rounded the corner, the harbour came into full view. For the first time in history it was alive with war. Gunfire pounded from all sides as the lights criss-crossed the water, momentarily blinding them, and it was frightening and deafening in equal parts.

  ‘Come on!’ Michael yelled.

  They reached the truck at a sprint and helped the men haul sandbags around the guns and set up ammo. Cliffy took the honours on one – he was getting to be an expert at handling a machine gun – and the other soldiers didn’t argue as they watched him in action. No-one knew exactly what they were shooting at but if Pearl Harbor was anything to go by, they couldn’t pour enough firepower into the water where the searchlights landed.

  It seemed to last forever, like an endless, terrible cracker night, then an almighty explosion took out one of the converted ferries as it sat near Garden Island. Michael watched in horror as sure death hit the air, knowing the men within had almost certainly been killed. Great flames leapt into the sky and Michael closed his eyes against the image, but it remained, burning against the grey inside his lids.

  The fireworks continued into the night until the battle finally petered out and someone turned the sirens back on to tell the city it was over for now.

  Then Michael, Jake and Cliffy walked slowly back to the quay, shaken by their first experience of real combat and solemn in the knowledge that the battles were no longer in someone else’s backyard.

  They weren’t playing war games any more.

  They would wake in the morning to discover three subs had entered the harbour that night, one tight on the heels of a Manly ferry, and that twenty-one men had died in their beds near Garden Island, aboard the HMAS Kuttabul.

  Over the next few weeks, Sydney would be shelled again, as would Newcastle, and by July, sixty-two crewmen would be dead and seven ships destroyed off the New South Wales coast at the hands of the Japanese.

  With the coming of the cold winds the great lady mourned, restless now as the weaponry of May littered her harbour depths. The dark war had visited her gentle parlour and she carried the lives of the dead with her now, forever the mark of their watery grave.

  But her people worshipped her still. They mourned with her and looked to her for comfort as she continued to guard their home, crowned by the great bridge like a queen.

  And, as winter arrived to add chill to the wind and the rain, they prepared for battle along with their allies, gathering their collective armies to leave her safe waters. To fight for their freedom in the jungles to the north and again on her wide blue skirts.

  This time they sent their own boats armed with black dots towards Hawaii, to a place known as Midway, to meet the enemy in swarms and surprise them with new forms of attack and defence. Developments that could turn the fate of the war.

  Weapons of intelligence.

  Twenty-two

  June 1942

  Darwin, Northern Territory, Australia

  Marlon watched in awe as she pulled the snake from the reeds and snapped its neck.

  ‘Dinner!’ Marri said happily, holding it up for him to admire.

  ‘I think I’ll pass,’ he said and she grinned at him.

  ‘Chicken.’

  ‘Yes, that would be better.’

  Marri laughed and brought her prize over. ‘Him’s good tucker,’ she said. ‘This a real big one.’

  That he was and Marlon recoiled as she shoved it in his face. ‘Finished now?’ he asked, trying not to show his fear.

  ‘Never finished,’ she reminded him. Marri was always hunting, or not. Gathering food was part of her everyday life, necessary but more a casual eventuality than a conscious activity. Unless she was fishing. That gained her full attention.

  They strolled along and he felt that easy feeling that always came over him whenever she was around. Maybe this was the day he would finally kiss her, he considered, observing her brown legs where her wet skirt clung. Then he looked at the slimy snake dangling from her hand and figured maybe not. They chatted pretty much every afternoon, going for twilight walks and learning about each other. Marlon hadn’t shared the native side of his life with anyone before. He told Marri stories about Liwa and she shared some of her family history in turn, including a little background about that uncle of hers. Seems he went walkabout once for ten whole years. Marlon was still hoping for an introduction so he could hear some of that tale.

  They paused at the turn of the bay and she pointed across the water.

  ‘Dungalaba,’ she said casually.

  Marlon felt slightly sick as a massive crocodile made its slow way across the sand. ‘Should we, uh, get out of here?’

  ‘Nah, he not bothered with us today.’

  Marlon hoped she was right, noting the ancient reptile’s massive jaws. Flocks of wading birds lined the waterway and he tried to remember the Larrakia words for each but failed. He was at the point of recognising some animal names but not recalling them easily, especially birds, of which there were endless varieties. Marri tended to rattle off their identities very fast. To his eyes they were long-legged adventurers, sand-hugging families, flocks in great patterns against the sky, solo gliders on the wind. Like the garngarn, he thought, pleased to remember that one name at least.

  Darwin may be slowly rebuilding itself but its wildlife seemed to be ignoring the war completely, damaged in parts of course, but still resilient and thriving. He was starting to feel the rhythm of it, recognising something he’d only ever found back home: the patterns of nature, the blend of her relationships. He had tapped into the calls of the birds, the movement of the tides, the tiny details that made up this rich environment, teeming with life. This tip of Northern Australia was lush and green, still carrying the bounty leftover from ‘the big wet’, although Marri said it would turn ‘brown like the madla’
by September, when the land waited for those monsoonal rains to return. The hail of bombs could not halt the ancient patterns, they remained timeless and unbroken and Marri was the essence of it all, as much a part of it as the water that gave it all life. Abundant, free, joyful.

  Woman.

  She was the perfect foil against the job of war he performed each day, the balance that kept him clear-headed and calm as they prepared the base and withstood repeated air attacks, smaller now, but consistent. By day he was a white warrior, but at twilight he was Saltwater People, with her.

  Marri chased the birds in a sudden rush of laughter and her face turned back to his, open, trusting and filled with a timeless beauty, and Marlon knew he was hers now, if she wanted him. She was in his native soul.

  ‘Defeated?’

  Marlon was the one who spoke but it was the word they were all clinging to.

  ‘Seems they had no idea we were on to them. Intelligence did its job – broke the codes so we knew what they were up to, and of course radar gave us an advantage,’ Major Hamlin said. ‘Basically, it was a reverse ambush. It’s a big victory, gentlemen – we’ve knocked out a huge chunk of their navy now.’

  They all stared at him, hardly daring to believe it. The arm wrestle in the Coral Sea had given them hope but to actually defeat the Japanese for the first time seemed too good to be true. Midway was about to become everyone’s favourite word, except for those who had lost someone in the battle.

  They had been enjoying some success with intelligence themselves, especially radar, and Marlon was back at home in the skies now that the airfield was once again operational. Sections of the 49th Fighter Group were under his tutelage and he’d had the mixed experience of shooting down three Japanese attackers. It felt satisfying to prevent a bomb from landing on Marri’s home, but it was still a sobering sight to send lives screaming into the ocean, to perish in fire or water. Which way he would never know. But there were many more lives missing than these in the Pacific now.

  ‘They lost four aircraft carriers?’ repeated Johnno, echoing the major’s earlier summation.

  ‘That’s right, four out of the six that were responsible for Pearl and the first attack here.’

  ‘Bloody ripper!’ said Macca, slapping his thigh.

  ‘And a heavy cruiser. We lost the Yorktown and one destroyer.’

  ‘Casualties?’ asked Marlon.

  The major picked up his hastily scrawled notes. ‘Estimates have it at about three hundred to us and – who knows? Maybe ten times that to them?’

  Marlon shuddered to think how well the sharks near Hawaii would feed today. The gods had certainly left man to his own fate this time.

  ‘So what now?’ Macca asked.

  ‘They’ll rebuild, or try to. We seem to have a big advantage over them on the home front. Quite frankly, I think they’ll put all their efforts back this way, probably PNG, but they won’t be able to attack by sea for a while. They’ll remain in the air and on the ground.’ He lit a cigar, offering them around, and sipped at his cold coffee. ‘They’ll still be hitting us, no doubt there.’

  ‘Bring the buggers on,’ Johnno said, grinning widely.

  Marlon lit his cigar. Yes, bring it on and bring it to an end, and take this goddam war far away from this land and her Saltwater People. White man was already trying to erase them from the earth, they didn’t need the Japanese to keep trying to do the same.

  He was almost too tired to go but the pull of her was strong, so Marlon dragged his battle-weary body to the little cliff where they often met and sat, a bottle of whisky in his hand. It had been a tough couple of days with the Japanese flinging their fury at Darwin once more, this time with over two dozen bombers and at least twenty fighters. Radar was doing its job but they had suffered some casualties and it weighed on him.

  A few buildings were still burning and he watched the smoke as he drank. It all still felt like distorted children’s games to him, like some mad version of tag, only being caught meant an instant grave.

  ‘Dinner.’

  He turned to see Marri holding a good-sized barramundi.

  ‘Now this I will eat,’ Marlon said.

  She sat next to him, noticing the bottle. ‘You drinking?’ she asked in surprise as he took a swig.

  ‘Yeah, I am tonight. Tough day at the office,’ he said, pointing at the sky.

  She peered up, a large flock of birds moving across above them. ‘Better to fly like birds. They don’t have to worry ’bout them Japs.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Want some?’ She looked doubtful but tried it anyway.

  ‘Ugh,’ she gasped. ‘No good.’ Her face contorted as she coughed a little.

  ‘Try again,’ he dared. She did, not coughing this time but still pulling a face.

  ‘Better than snake, surely?’

  ‘You don’t know. You chicken.’

  Marlon laughed and she smiled back. The wind was blowing her hair away from her face and he could see her big brown eyes clearly, filled with that radiant spirit of hers, and suddenly he couldn’t wait.

  He leant forwards and kissed her.

  She pulled back a bit, taken by surprise, then let him gently try again. There was nothing practised about her, no artful, flirtatious games, but there was a raw feminine sexuality and Marlon felt the power of it seduce him. This was more than desire. It was primal.

  ‘I never done this before,’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ve never felt like this before,’ he admitted in turn.

  Her eyes watched him as he leant down again and she met his lips with a shy eagerness. His blood was pumping hard then as he kissed her throat.

  ‘I want you.’

  ‘I want you too Marlon.’

  Her gaze was trusting and he felt like he was moving into the wilderness within her, deep into those eyes that reflected the colour of the water. Marlon guided her down onto the sandy grass gently, running his hand along her brown leg and finding her stomach, which was warm and soft on her thin frame.

  She pulled at her dress and he helped her remove it, uncovering her like a beautiful gift; the most precious this land could offer. She pulled at his clothes too and then they were naked together, the breeze caressing their skin as they ran their hands along each other’s flesh and tasted one another, a slight blend of whisky mixing with the lust in their blood.

  ‘Do you want to?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  He moved into her and the land seemed to welcome them as a fierce passion took over, sudden and burning. There, on the shores of the saltwater, their entwined bodies found a mutual rhythm. The wild birds called in an eclectic chorus and the life-giving water mirrored the orange skies above as that passion took flight and they shared an ultimate, intense surrender.

  Lying in each other’s arms afterwards, they watched the sunset fade to red and indigo, neither wanting to let this moment go.

  Until the insects came.

  ‘Them buggers know how to wreck a good time,’ Marri said, slapping at them.

  ‘Only good?’ He laughed, pulling her dress closer and finding his shirt.

  She dipped her head shyly as she drew the cotton fabric over it. ‘No.’

  ‘Perfect?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, white smile flashing.

  He reached up and held her chin, entranced by her dark, beautiful gaze once more. ‘I’m yours if you’ll have me.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, tracing the tattoo of the fish on his bare wrist, ‘and I’m yours, Marlon.’

  He let the sound of her saying his name settle like the night over the land, deep into his being, then reached over to seal their vow with a kiss.

  The garngarn sailed above them, carrying the spirit of her ancestors, and Marlon knew then it truly was a sign. It was just how it made him feel.

  It was brilliantly sunny, like most days in the dry season here, and Marlon made his way across the base feeling as if the whole world was rolling over, almost ready to wake up from the terrors o
f war at last. Hopefully the Japanese wouldn’t come today.

  They couldn’t surely, not after last night, when everything had come full circle and life finally made perfect sense. Surely the gods could feel it too.

  ‘Marlon.’

  He turned towards the sound, his heart leaping as he spied Marri near the sheds, wearing her best yellow dress. She never usually came near the airstrip, saying once she was afraid if she watched him leave she would never see him come down again.

  He ran to her and lifted her up, pressing her body against his as he kissed her, seeing his own happiness reflected back in her expression.

  ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hunting for snakes?’

  ‘Don’t hunt snakes, just find ’em,’ she said. ‘Have to watch out, though – case they bite.’

  ‘I won’t bite,’ he said, kissing her again. ‘Promise.’

  ‘You need to go fly.’

  ‘Why are you watching today?’

  ‘’Cos I’m goin’ with you,’ she said, placing her hand on his chest shyly. ‘Here.’

  ‘Is that where you’ll be?’ he said, nuzzling her neck and loving the saltwater smell on her skin.

  ‘Always now,’ she said, holding his head and stroking his hair.

  The others were calling him and sending a few strange looks his way, and he put her down reluctantly.

  ‘I can’t wait until the sun sets,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll wait at them railroads,’ she promised. ‘Where you first ask my name.’

  ‘And you didn’t want to know mine,’ he reminded her.

  She smiled, walking backwards. ‘If I knew your name then I had a word for you.’

  ‘What’d be so wrong about that?’

  ‘Then you real.’

  And, in her usual flash of brown legs, she was gone and Marlon was left to wonder the same about her as he made his way over to the plane.

  ‘Getting to know the locals?’ asked Johnno.

  Marlon put on his headgear, ignoring the question. ‘Ready to fly, monkeys?’ he called. Better to make light of things and defuse any rumours. Let them think Marri was a distraction, just a bit of fun. It worked for now and the others got ready for takeoff without any further comments, although there was plenty of smirking.