Michael felt the Elite had fit in well with the 2/6th. They were their kind of soldier – brash, daring and a bit unpredictable. They’d already found more than one larrikin among them in Port and Cliffy had been enjoying swapping his fair share of banter.
‘Bets on, boys,’ said one as he approached. Kieran ‘Bevvy’ Bolster was one of Cliffy’s new mates and had a penchant for booze and betting.
‘What’s the gig?’ Jake asked him, smoking a cigarette and watching the last of the paratroopers file past.
‘The generals started it. Seems they’ve bet each other twenty cases of scotch their division will get to Lae first.’
‘Who?’
‘Wooten from the 9th and Vasey from the 7th.’
The 7th Division would land in the morning and the 9th had apparently landed on the coast last night so Michael figured either had a chance at it. The Australians would converge at Lae in a pincer movement so the timing would be close anyway. Depending on the weather.
‘Windeyer is a brigadier in the 9th,’ Mayflower reminded them.
Cliffy turned to him in exasperation. ‘What is it with your family and that bloody professor?’
‘Lenny says –’
‘I think old Len might be a few sandwiches short of the picnic,’ Cliffy said, tapping his head for emphasis.
They’d all met Mayflower’s big cousin Lenny in Port. Now in his third year of service with the 20th Battalion, the man had talked incessantly about his commander, Windeyer, resulting in a colourful variety of comments, from Cliffy in particular.
‘Hey, that’s my cousin you’re talking about.’
‘Runs in the family obviously,’ Cliffy said with a wicked grin. ‘If brains were dynamite he wouldn’t have enough to blow his nose.’
‘Don’t think you’d be saying that to his face,’ Jake said.
‘Yeah, that bloke’s built –’
‘Like a brick shithouse,’ Liquorice and Allsorts agreed.
‘Actually, I did say it to his noggin but I don’t think he got it,’ Cliffy replied, ducking as Mayflower threw a stick at him.
‘He might be dim but that professor sure ain’t,’ Bevvy said. ‘Don’t underestimate him.’
‘Even professors can’t control the rain,’ Michael said, flicking his map. ‘That’s a lot of men to get across from the beaches. I’m betting the 7th make it first.’
‘Nah, y’got rocks in y’head. Think about the ungodly shit the 7th have to get through to make it to Lae,’ Jake said.
‘Same direction we’re going,’ Mayflower reminded him. ‘Lucky bastards that we are.’
‘Imagine trying to get an army up those bloody ridges. They look even worse than Bordubi,’ Jake said, nodding at Michael’s map. ‘I’m backing the 9th.’
‘Well, I’m not backing that flippin’ professor,’ Cliffy said. ‘Bloody Len will brag about it till he’s ninety! My money’s on the 7th.’
Various opinions continued to flow and Bevvy looked pleased with the long list of bets he’d made in his book.
Then they heard the whirr of engines and stood back to watch the show as hundreds of aircraft began to roll forwards and take off. Whatever the outcome, Michael had to admit the Americans knew how to impress. Painted stars shone on steel in the morning sun and they went forth in perfect parade, loaded with men, ammunition and supplies. A heavenly sight to the Allies and sure to be a hellish one to the enemy. He could only imagine how the Japanese would feel when they saw them arrive, covering the sky like a plague of locusts.
‘Glad I’m not a Jap on the ground about to see that,’ he shouted to Jake.
‘Yeah, well they can suffer in their jocks,’ Jake returned.
One by one they took to the skies, then they were gone and the Elite wandered back to base.
‘Who’s up for a drink?’ asked Nugget.
‘Nah, think I’ll stay home with a nice cup of tea,’ Michael said, laughing as Cliffy began to sing loudly in response to that suggestion.
‘Bollocks! was all the band could play.’
‘Bollocks! they played it night and day,’ Jake joined in as the others followed suit.
‘Bollocks! yes, it was Bollocks! It was Bollocks! Bollocks! You could hear it two hundred miles away.’
Michael found himself singing too, thinking the Elite may have lost their battle innocence but they hadn’t lost their sense of humour. Or each other. His father’s training had kept them all alive in the jungle, and in his eyes that meant only one thing: so far, they were winning.
Marlon flew in the giant aerial armada, trying to take in its scope: three hundred and two aircraft from eight different airfields; MacArthur himself on one of the B-17s. It was an ambitious plan, and sure to be a spectacular one for the film crew on board.
He watched in fascination as A-20 attack bombers began to peel off and lay down a smoke screen. It spread in a thick blanket, as if to cushion the paratroopers’ fall. Then the men spilt out, seventeen hundred white parachutes automatically billowing into domes over the abandoned aerodrome. The sky filled with them, reminding Marlon of a massive bloom of jellyfish he’d seen in Hawaii one day as he flew over Pearl Harbor. Back before any of this mattered.
It was an incredible sight from the air and Marlon had to hand it to MacArthur and his staff: the footage would be invaluable to morale and make Z-Day an event to remember.
But he couldn’t help but consider just what would happen once the white domes disappeared below those smokey blankets; wondering just what this war had in store for them on the ground.
‘Just put it on,’ Michael coaxed.
‘Expecting us to jump out of a plane. It isn’t natural,’ Jake muttered, his hands shaking. Liquorice and Allsorts were looking slightly green too and Mayflower had already thrown up this morning. Cliffy had put a bet on it happening. For a so-called elite band of soldiers they weren’t looking too flash today, Michael observed.
‘What if it doesn’t open?’ Liquorice asked, eyes round.
‘You impersonate jam,’ Cliffy said cheerfully.
‘Stop enjoying this,’ Michael muttered, hiding a grin as he finally got the parachute onto Jake’s shoulders.
Jake looked over at the plane, still protesting. ‘That thing has definitely seen better days.’
‘At least the radio works,’ said an American voice and they turned to see a certain captain at the shed door. ‘You look familiar for some reason.’
‘Must be the uniform,’ Michael suggested and he and Marlon clasped hands with a laugh. ‘Good to see you, sir.’
‘Likewise, Riley. Ready to fly, monkeys?’ he called out to them all.
‘They can’t wait, sir,’ Michael lied.
‘Well, we’ve had some good news. The 7th and the 9th have taken Lae.’
‘Who got there first?’ asked Cliffy and Jake in unison.
‘The 7th.’
‘You beauty!’ crowed Cliffy, dancing about while Jake muttered something about this not being his bloody day.
‘Anyone would think some illegal betting has been going on,’ Marlon observed dryly.
‘Course not, sir. Just feeling very patriotic today,’ Cliffy assured him.
‘I’m sure. Now, what’s all this doubt about the safety of my plane? I’ve even let young Harris here give her a makeover,’ Marlon said, leading them outside and pointing at the painting of a sea princess that wrapped around the word Liwa.
‘Could have given her a few more assets, sir,’ Cliffy suggested, and Michael noticed that the woman’s body was indeed obscured by the word.
‘That’s my grandmother you’re talking about. Come on, get on board. I haven’t got all day to discuss women’s bodies with Australians – I’m pretty sure you’ve got about a hundred sayings that will scar me for life. Mind Harris there. He’s going to give you a few pointers. You travelling all right there, Loadsman?’
‘No, sir. Not fond of heights, sir,’ Jake admitted.
‘Just think about your wife back home,’ Cli
ffy suggested. ‘Name’s Katie, Captain. Good sort, unlike his last girlfriend. Now she had legs on her like a pool table…’
By the time Marty Harris had given the instructions several times over, Michael felt pretty sick himself. It was cold with the doorway open and the idea of willingly jumping out of it seemed completely ridiculous.
‘What if the ’chute doesn’t open?’ Allsorts asked, echoing his brother.
‘You impersonate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,’ Harris responded and Cliffy clapped him on the back.
‘You know, I’m beginning to rather like you.’
Marlon turned from the cockpit and yelled over the engine, ‘Just heard from HQ. The 2/6th are all landed now and waiting for you. Up you get.’
‘Don’t see why they got out of jumping,’ Mayflower complained, standing.
‘Just add this to y’list of daring tales to impress the sheilas,’ Cliffy suggested.
‘They said it was a rough landing, if that makes you feel any better. Markham Valley airstrip’s got more craters than the moon,’ Marlon shouted.
‘No, sir, that doesn’t make me feel any better,’ Mayflower said. ‘We still have to get back out eventually.’
‘One adventure at a time, buddy. Right, fellas, time to go. My shout when you get back.’
‘See you on the other side, Captain,’ Michael said, sending Marlon a salute and as much of a smile as he could muster.
‘Nothing to it,’ Marlon called back, grinning. ‘Just click your heels and think about home.’
They lined up. Michael had volunteered to go first and looking at the empty miles of air, he was regretting his gallantry. Then Harris lifted his arm.
‘Go!’
It took some doing for Michael to force his suddenly weak and heavy legs out the door and into nothingness but he did it, wanting to reassure the men. Then there was a moment of pure shock as he hurtled down before the parachute opened automatically and jerked him to safety. Breathing a very deep sigh of relief, he looked up to watch as each man’s parachute also opened successfully, relaxing as he counted eleven white domes. Then he looked around him and felt a wave of exhilaration, the tension evaporating.
It was so beautiful. They were sailing with the clouds, like eagles. Far above people and conflict and war. Up here there was only silence, the world below just an artist’s palette, a blur of colours; inviting, soft. More like heaven than earth. No-one could get to him here, order him to do things, make him order others. Force him to shoot, climb, outwit the enemy, save lives. Take lives. Leave his country, go to war. Watch the love of his life sell herself to an undeserving man. It was a stolen slice of unexpected reprieve, what Father Patrick would term a conversation with God. What Michael just considered peaceful.
Maybe this was what death was like, before you landed in the afterlife, he mused, wishing he could hold onto the feeling.
But earth was drawing close once more, and humanity with it. Shells sounded in the distance and men crawled across that beautiful palette like ants – killer ants about to invade the enemy’s nests. It seemed mankind was intent on painting hell down here instead.
That stolen peace drifted away as his feet hit the ground maybe to find him again one day. But as he watched a truck filled with ammo thunder by, he couldn’t help but feel that day was a very long way off.
Thirty-five
September 1943
Sydney, New South Wales, Australia
The azaleas were so thick their pink petals obscured the bush’s leaves but Junie barely noticed them as she hurriedly gathered Francesca out of her new car and ran into the Rileys’ house. She was late from studying too long at the library and hoped the girls wouldn’t be disappointed with her, especially as they had gone to so much trouble for her daughter’s first birthday party.
Junie knocked on the door and it was thrown open almost immediately by a very excited Katie.
‘She’s here!’ she exclaimed happily to the room, grabbing Francesca and placing her on her hip before Junie had even walked in.
‘Oh, isn’t she looking lovely! Hello, Junie, how are you dear?’ said Mrs Riley, kissing her cheek and smiling at Francesca. The baby smiled back and Junie thought the resemblance to Michael was so obvious she almost wanted to take her and head back home. How she hated this part of the ruse – denying her baby’s grandparents the right to know this was their beloved son’s child.
At least Beryl and Dorn knew Francesca was their niece and they held her chubby hands and cooed over her with the others, taking turns to be in raptures over her little outfit and fine golden curls.
‘Come on, you lot, stop smothering her and give me a proper look,’ ordered Rory as he sat down in his chair and patted his knee. The baby was duly handed over and he studied her closely. ‘Her hair is so fair,’ he remarked, patting it awkwardly with his large hand. ‘Maybe she takes after your mother.’
‘As long as she doesn’t take after Ernest’s mother, that’s the main thing,’ Katie said.
‘Katie!’ Mavis scolded, but she was hiding a chuckle.
Francesca kicked her dimpled legs and laughed her adorable baby laugh, grabbing Rory’s nose.
‘She’s a beaut,’ he declared with a grin, reclaiming his nose before handing her to Katie. ‘Better give her back before she cries.’
But she didn’t cry. Francesca spent the afternoon charming everyone with her sunny nature and Junie couldn’t help but feel very proud of her daughter as she watched her interact with these much-loved people from home. Her true family.
She wished she had organised her parents to have attended this rather than the Farthingtons’ official party, although there was sure to be plenty of entertainment on offer there too. Constance was coordinating what appeared to be some kind of baby debutante ball, knowing full well Eliza would be there with her baby girl, Marigold. Eliza was predicting their daughters would be ‘frothed up like meringues’ by the time Constance and Jane were done, calling it ‘the society Nana duel of the season’.
‘Here,’ whispered Katie, tipping a little brandy in Junie’s teacup and they giggled as they went into the garden and sipped the warm concoction.
‘What are we drinking to now?’
‘Tea?’ Katie suggested.
Junie laughed. ‘How about babies?’
Katie’s smile fell away and Junie mentally berated herself.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, no, don’t be. Happens all the time, doesn’t it? Anyway, we can enjoy trying again.’
Junie nodded, wishing Katie’s pregnancy hadn’t come to such a sad, abrupt ending just before Easter.
‘Any news about the boys?’ She braced herself for any details about Michael as Katie shared the latest from Jake’s letters.
‘So it doesn’t look as if they’ll be out of New Guinea any time soon,’ Katie finished. ‘I thought he might get some leave when they went to Port Moresby, but no such luck.’
‘Maybe he’ll be home by Christmas,’ Junie said.
‘Here’s hoping,’ Katie said thoughtfully. They relaxed into silence as each sipped on their tea, thoughts of war hanging between them. The sweet scent of jasmine reached them from the fence and Junie tried to imagine the scenery where the men were now. This serene suburban garden seemed a universe away from the wild terrain the boys would likely be struggling through.
‘I wish I could walk into a magic wardrobe, you know, like that one you used to read to me about. With the lion,’ Katie said.
‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. I loved that book,’ Junie said, smiling.
‘That’s it – with the secret passage to that other world.’
‘Narnia.’
‘Only when I go through it’s always to where Jake is, you know? So I can talk to him whenever I want.’
‘And what would you say?’
Katie considered for a moment. ‘“Stop buggerising about playing war and get yourself home to the cheese and kisses. Wifey needs a baby.”’
; ‘And you need someone to appreciate your lovely turns of phrase.’
‘Exactly! “So get in that wardrobe, Jakey, and don’t let the door hit you on the arse on the way out!”’
Junie laughed, spilling her tea. ‘Oh, you really are too funny!’
‘I’m here all week,’ Katie said with a bow and a grin.
‘Thank God for that. I think I’ve become a horrible bore with all this study. I’ve missed your corruption.’
‘Some may say corrupt, others delightfully diverting,’ Katie said in a posh voice.
‘I just wish you would come to the Farthington party.’
‘Oh, you’ll have Eliza. You won’t need the likes of me.’
Something in Katie’s continued posh tone made Junie change the subject. ‘She’s been very spoilt today. It’s lovely of the Rileys to do this.’
‘Imagine if they knew the truth,’ Katie said and Junie looked at the ground, suddenly quiet. The breeze was picking up and Katie turned to her, pushing her hair back as it whipped at her face. ‘I know you can’t say anything to them, of course, but I’ve been thinking…well, sooner or later someone is going to let it slip to Michael that you have a baby. Jake’s the only one that knows over there and he won’t say anything, and the girls and his parents are keeping it from him too – I know that much. But he will find out at some point Junie, you know that. Imagine how he’s going to feel.’
‘Might be worse if he knows the whole truth,’ Junie whispered, shrugging.
‘Maybe, but I think you should tell him. I know, I know,’ she said, raising her hand. ‘I’ve no right to say it. But you’re my best friend, so I’m saying it anyway. Every day we hear more and more of our fellas are dying up there. This isn’t something he should go to his grave never having known. God forbid.’
‘God forbid,’ Junie echoed automatically.
‘It’s a basic human right, surely? To know you’re a parent.’ She turned away, tears in her eyes. ‘I just think he has that right too.’
Worth Fighting For Page 24
