Worth Fighting For

by Mary-Anne O'Connor

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Michael responded. ‘Some kind.’

  ‘Well, you’ve walked into hell here, son, I don’t mind telling you,’ Sherlock said, checking one writhing man’s injuries.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Michael tried not to stare at the wounded man but it was difficult. Half his insides were spilling out.

  ‘Least he’s alive. Japs don’t take prisoners no more,’ said a soldier nearby and Michael turned to look at him in shock.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Couldn’t feed us anyway,’ the man shrugged, kicking at an enemy corpse as he moved on. Michael took in the dead man’s skeletal frame. Maybe it was true.

  ‘Send this,’ Sherlock ordered the private standing nearby, handing him a hastily scrawled message then crouching low as machine gun fire exploded to the left.

  ‘Some of the 9th are trapped over there sir,’ a nearby soldier yelled.

  Sherlock swore then checked his ammo, calling out to his men. ‘On my signal.’

  Michael watched as he shouldered his gun. ‘Cover me,’ he said, and Michael nodded, signalling to the others.

  ‘Hold on mates,’ he heard one man say. ‘We’re coming.’

  ‘“Cut off as of 1455 hours”,’ Bates read the message from Command, the radio on the blink again. ‘Hold on, here’s another one. Sherlock says any help sent may be too late. “9 Platoon overrun and countering now”. That was half an hour ago.’

  Marlon stared at the jungle outside where a wall of cloud still frustrated any effort to land troops, and found himself praying to the gods – not his own – to the gods of the Saltwater People in Darwin, for whatever help they would be willing to give the white men of their country this day. But up here the water ran in the mountains and the clouds, not the seas, and Marlon wondered if those faraway gods could find them.

  ‘Pull them out! Pull them out!’

  Michael obeyed, grabbing whatever bodies he could as the Elite and the newly arrived 2/5th worked desperately to pull survivors away from enemy fire. 9 Platoon had fallen in terrible numbers and the forest floor was littered with bodies. There was blood and noise and maiming and death and an endless supply of Japanese soldiers. They poured like insects over the rise, seemingly in their hundreds.

  ‘Grab him!’ the captain yelled, pointing, then ran to do so himself as one man struggled to claw his way back.

  ‘Good God,’ Michael muttered as the man’s leg hung in gruesome tatters.

  And still the Japs came.

  ‘Get whoever else you have left down there!’ The voice came through the radio clearly this time.

  ‘I’ve sent the Elite…’

  ‘We need more than a dozen men for God’s sake…’

  ‘Yes sir. Any news on Duffy?’

  ‘Yes – the 2/5th should be there by now but…’ the rare radio clarity struggled against static once more and Marlon strained to hear.

  ‘What was that sir?’

  His mind raced as he waited. Duffy’s 2/5th Battalion might have got there in time to save some. And then the weather might clear and troops could be landed. Perhaps all wasn’t lost.

  ‘…only forty…still standing.’

  Marlon stared at the radio, the crackling deafening in its finality. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said after a pause. ‘Yes, I understand.’

  It was a ragged, exhausted lot that retreated back to Wau; a slow-moving trek hampered by the amount of wounded. They were crossing a log bridge, boots slipping and muscles straining, and the thick air of the jungle was in their lungs. Michael wondered if there was any place less suitable for warfare in the world, having to agree with Kanga Force’s unofficial name for it: Bloody Ridges. They were bloody, all right. He could only guess how many lives had been lost in this battle, having seen plenty of it today. His first sight of death.

  He looked around as he reached the other side of the stream, thinking it wasn’t the forest’s fault – it would be beautiful here without man. Then there was a flutter of colour and he paused.

  Maybe it would have been different if he hadn’t noticed that bird of paradise land nearby at that precise moment, perhaps the most beautiful animal he had ever seen, glowing in crimson plumage – exactly the same colour as a feathered crown he’d once seen framing a woman’s face. Maybe if he hadn’t been looking at that wondrous creature he would have noticed the enemy nearby. He may have seen the movement that gave the Japanese away as they repositioned their machine gun. And he may have moved his own gun in time to stop them.

  Michael missed that much, but he didn’t miss the deafening crack of sudden fire, nor the sight of a man jerking in response and falling off a log. He didn’t miss watching Captain Sherlock run to kill the machine gunner and protect his countrymen.

  And he didn’t miss seeing that brave 34-year-old Australian captain meet gunfire and die, right in front of his men, there among the Bloody Ridges.

  No, he didn’t miss seeing that, and the shock would cause that bridge to haunt his dreams for the rest of his days. The birth of a memory that Michael Riley would never fully block out.

  The Elite would later learn that during the 36-hour battle on that ridge at Wadumi Captain Bill Sherlock and just over one hundred men had held position against an estimated two thousand starving Japanese soldiers. Because of their stand there was enough time for the skies to finally clear so fresh troops could land at last, saving the town of Wau and turning this corner of the war back in the Allies’ favour. But it was not without cost.

  Over one and a half thousand Japanese soldiers died and one hundred Australians also gave their lives for the small town of Wau.

  An aerodrome set on the side of a woolly hill in the remote New Guinean mountains, often lost in seas of moving clouds. Home now to the souls of lost soldiers.

  Visible only to the gods.

  Twenty-eight

  February 1943

  Sydney, New South Wales, Australia

  The elephant dipped his trunk then sprayed water over his enormous form and Junie gazed at him in admiration.

  ‘Gah!’ said Francesca, seemingly impressed too.

  Junie smiled at her daughter, although she had to admit coming to Taronga Zoo on a regular basis was as much for her own pleasure as it was an outing for Francesca. Watching the bull elephant, she had to admit something else: despite the beauty of the animals, the panoramic view of the harbour and the great privilege of seeing nature’s vast species on display, the whole place left her feeling slightly outraged. This incredible animal shouldn’t be standing on concrete in front of a man-made pool, he should be in the wild, on the foreshores of some mighty river, king of the jungle. Not an exhibit. The feeling had been intensifying recently, feeding an idea that was growing each day, something she had decided she would be voicing as soon as Ernest came home tomorrow. She wasn’t worried he wouldn’t agree – quite the contrary. She was worried about what he would want in return.

  ‘Junie!’ Eliza called, waving as she arrived. She was impeccable as usual, clad in a white and navy dress with a polka dot scarf casually trailing from her handbag, as chic as a fashion model, rounded stomach notwithstanding. ‘My goodness, back to Africa today,’ she observed, taking in the soft jungle print on Junie’s dress.

  ‘It seemed fitting,’ Junie replied, smiling. ‘How’s the morning sickness?’

  ‘Gone mostly, although I still have to stomach Miles each day. New boyfriend?’ Eliza asked, nodding at the elephant.

  ‘I think I’m in love.’

  They laughed as the elephant bowed at them and Eliza blew him a kiss. ‘There, you cheeky fella, now I’m stealing her for lunch. Come on.’

  They meandered towards the ferry in easy conversation and Junie realised just how lonely she’d been while Eliza had been visiting family in Brisbane. With the Riley girls busy at work and Katie back in Braidwood for now, spending all day, every day with only a baby for company was a very quiet existence. And it gave her rabbit way too much time to tunnel.

  ‘I met MacArthur’s
wife at luncheon. Scandalously young!’

  ‘Pretty?’

  ‘I suppose. He’s completely devoted to her, possibly even more so than he is to himself!’

  Junie giggled. ‘Don’t they have a son too?’

  ‘Yes. Are you ready for this?’ she said dramatically, pausing on the pathway for effect. ‘Arthur MacArthur!’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Junie said, giggling more.

  ‘I know. Honestly, if you are going to be that limited in your imagination you shouldn’t be allowed to name your children.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s some kind of family name?’

  ‘You are too bloody nice for your own good, Junie Farthington. Oh, did I mention I saw Ernest and your mother-in-law?’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’ Junie was surprised. She’d thought Constance was in Braidwood with the family.

  ‘Apparently she felt the need to go and check on Ernest’s health in person, although it was perfectly obvious she was there to add to the names she can now drop. Even “Arthur MacArthur” might impress that woman.’

  ‘I’m sure it would.’ It was cool near the water while they waited for the ferry and she tucked the blanket around the now sleeping Francesca.

  ‘How’s everything been in Sydney?’ Eliza asked, studying her.

  ‘Bit boring to be honest,’ Junie admitted. ‘I think I got too used to having company after two weeks in Palm Beach with you.’

  ‘Thank God you came. I think I would have gone mad if Eugenie had been the only other woman there. Honestly, who reads the weather report out loud over breakfast every single day? Who?’

  ‘Poor girl. She is a bit unfortunate.’

  ‘Unfortunate?’

  ‘My mother taught me that’s the only polite way to describe someone who is…well, lacking in some way.’ Junie sipped at a bottle of lemonade.

  ‘Lord, I think I’d rather be called homely or boring or…or something. Unfortunate? As if to say, “This woman has been born without any good fortune. Whatsoever. Unfortunate. She who fortune has forsaken.” It’s actually the worst insult of all time.’

  Junie refrained from replying, mostly because she’d choked on her drink from laughter.

  ‘It’s tragic because it’s true. The girl has hair like a coconut husk.’

  ‘Stop it,’ Junie gasped, wiping her eyes. ‘You’re too wicked.’

  ‘I know. It’s most unfortunate. Now, tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Junie asked, taking out her handkerchief to pat her cheeks dry.

  ‘You’re cooking something up. I can tell.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, I just said I was bored, not plotting.’

  ‘Most plotting stems from boredom, or so my father says. Come on, spill it. You looked positively wistful when I arrived.’

  ‘I did not,’ Junie protested.

  ‘Yes, you did. Almost makes me wonder if you’ve got a lover hidden away, even though you’d never admit it.’

  Junie fussed with her bag to hide her blush. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. One man’s enough.’

  ‘Depends on the man,’ Eliza said, so dryly Junie had to smile.

  ‘It’s nothing like that. I just – I had an idea, but I’m not sure what Ernest will say.’

  ‘Since when do you care what Ernest says?’

  ‘It costs money.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Extending the house?’

  ‘No,’ Junie said, rising to meet the ferry. They boarded as Eliza made an assortment of amusing suggestions as to what Junie’s idea could be.

  ‘You want to go shopping in Paris?’

  ‘War might get in the way there.’

  ‘True, true. I know, you want to be a racing car driver?’

  ‘I can’t drive.’

  ‘Yet,’ Eliza reminded her.

  ‘Yet.’

  ‘Hmm, a bit of a dampener on things there. I know! You want to buy that elephant.’

  ‘Yes,’ Junie admitted. ‘But that isn’t really it.’

  ‘What do you mean, really?’ Eliza said with a laugh. ‘Come on, now – tell me or I’ll just get worse.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ Junie said, collapsing on the bench inside the ferry, sunshine on the water reflecting across the walls. ‘I suppose it does come down to boredom, really, but it’s more than that. Truth is, I do want to save elephants – I want to fight any injustice.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘I want to study law.’

  Eliza’s jaw dropped and Junie felt she may have been less shocked if she had said she was becoming a racing car driver. ‘For animals?’

  ‘Well, that’s one of many possible areas I could work in…’

  ‘You want to be an animal lawyer?’ Eliza clarified, lips twitching.

  ‘No, no, not necessarily. I just think it would really be something if I could address suffering…in all its forms. There’s nothing worse than having no say in what happens to you.’

  ‘Like a caged elephant,’ Eliza said, and a look passed between them.

  ‘Yes.’

  Eliza shook her head in wonder. ‘Well, I must say, few people in this world surprise me but you sure are one of them. Studying law – what next?’

  ‘Well, you could teach me to drive.’

  ‘I don’t know…are you going to fill my car with outraged clients? I’m not having baboon hair on my upholstery. Actually, what am I talking about? I drive Miles around in it all the time.’

  Junie laughed again, in fact she found herself laughing most of the day, partly because Eliza’s amusement at her ambition made for a constant stream of witticisms and partly because saying her idea out loud to someone else made it plausible. Why not make her life mean more than a loveless marriage and a child to another man? She wasn’t yet twenty years old – she had her whole life ahead of her. Let the true Junie rise, the bookish girl; let the rabbit loose and see what it could find in the halls of Sydney University. After all, she’d been Junie Wallace long before she was ever made to be Junie Farthington.

  And Junie Wallace was, supposedly, a smart girl.

  Ernest was considering it, she could see that much. Considering what he could get out of it too, no doubt.

  ‘I can’t see when you’ll use it. As a man, it made sense for me to do law, but as a woman…’

  ‘I just want to study, not necessarily to practise.’

  ‘But surely, when more children arrive…’

  ‘Then I will take time off to look after them. Honestly, I don’t care if this takes ten years to complete, I just love learning. You know that about me, Ernest.’

  ‘Yes, I know, I know. I suppose I shouldn’t really disallow it. Especially if it makes you happy.’

  Junie was surprised at those words. ‘I didn’t think –’

  ‘That I care if you’re happy or not? Come now, Junie, I’m not the monster you make me out to be. Of course I care. A happy wife means a happy life.’

  Miles and Cecil often said the same words and they grated on her. These men had their own interpretation on the theme. To them it meant ‘just shut them up and you can get away with anything you want’.

  ‘And if you’re happy, then maybe more children will come,’ Ernest finished meaningfully.

  So that was it, she realised. The inevitable price. Keep giving him what he wanted in their cold, loveless bedroom and he didn’t really care what she did. But she was still surprised he would pay for a woman’s education.

  ‘You’re sure you don’t mind the money?’

  ‘It can come out of your parents’ estate – that seems only fair. Of course you’ll have to get them to agree to it.’

  Ah, yet another twist – selfish to the last. He probably thought she’d give up now and her parents would be to blame. Well, Ernest Farthington had made a habit of underestimating her. Let’s just see whose cards would win this time around.

  ‘Bit less on the pedal, darling! Baby in the back remember. And in front,’ Eliza said, patting her stomach. ‘Saints a
live, you could have been a racing car driver!’

  Junie grinned widely. ‘Anything’s possible!’

  ‘Oh, that’s how it is now. She owns the world.’

  ‘Who knows what I can do?’ Junie said happily, and she meant it. The green fields flew by in a blur and the sun was shining in a perfect sky, as though God was making a deal with her. It was one of those magical days, a rare memory in the making, because today there was hope once more. Change had arrived, her old unpredictable friend, and maybe now she could make life count again; to be one step closer to grasping on to that happiness that always seemed to elude her.

  ‘Good Lord, what have we done?’ Eliza said, putting on sunglasses against the glare.

  ‘The impossible!’ Junie shouted, holding the memory of when her father said yes in her mind, loving her mother with her entire being for her part in the final decision.

  ‘Without Junie’s support I doubt we’d have anything left to give her,’ Lily had said to Henry.

  ‘Ernest was the one –’

  ‘Yes, but who did he do it for?’

  The only thing better than them funding her degree was the fact her mother was slowly coming back to reality, enough to even recognise that Junie’s ‘support’ had saved the farm. In truth it was more ‘sacrifice’, but Junie was happy for her mother not to have that much knowledge. In fact she hoped she never would.

  ‘“There’s a track, winding back, to that old-fashioned shack”,’ sang Junie as they passed the turn-off to Gundagai, her heart lighter than it had felt in years.

  Digger barked, Francesca cooed and Eliza laughed, joining in. ‘“Along the road to Gundagai!”’

  The silver Mercedes flew along the highway, carrying with it two young women, a dog and a baby celebrating a victory in their own little corner of the world. Not a battle in mortar and guns but a battle just the same, because Junie’s war of words had just been declared.

  Twenty-nine

  February 1943

  Wau, New Guinea

  ‘Our Father, who art in heaven…’

  Michael was paying lip service to Father Patrick Kilkelly’s Mass, but in truth he was more interested in watching the two native carriers Ovuru and Semu as they sat nearby, listening. Ovuru had holes in his ears and both had tattoos on their faces that Michael found himself staring at, wondering at their meaning. The two men seemed like they were from another planet, so different did they appear to the Australians, and Michael felt himself very much a gawking country boy – but he couldn’t help it. They intrigued him.