The Valley

by Di Morrissey

  They were almost back in the cover of the jungle canopy when a machine gun opened fire on them and men instinctively flung themselves to the ground, rolling into the cover of the trees and undergrowth.

  They retaliated and Clem heard a grunt, a shout, and a crash of scrub behind him. Glancing round he saw at once that Thommo had been hit. The firing continued in bursts before an Australian grenade found its mark, knocking out the enemy machine gun, and the men scrambled forward. Each man was on his own, every man for himself, seeking an enemy in a tree or behind a clump of bamboo before he picked you off.

  As suddenly as it began, the clash was over. The surviving enemy disappeared, the Australians consolidated as support came forward.

  Clem, however, slipped back. He moved carefully, fearful that a sniper may have stayed behind and would get him as he headed back to where he last saw Thommo. Hearing a low groan, he cautiously inched down into the gully at the side of the track where Thommo had rolled. Spotting his mate, Clem ran in zig zags to a cover of low jungle growth where Thommo lay.

  He’d copped a bullet in the shoulder close to his neck, there was a lot of blood and a heavy graze to the side of his head. Clem lifted Thommo’s head, his eyes opened and he gasped, trying to speak. Clem put a water bottle to his mate’s lips and, as Thommo swallowed, put a finger to his lips to shush him.

  But Thommo, eyes wide with fear, dragged at Clem’s arm, pulling his face close to his, to hoarsely whisper in his ear. ‘Don’t leave me here, mate. Shoot me. I don’t want them to get me.’

  It was the greatest unspoken fear among the men, being captured. The rumours of what the Japs did if they found an Australian, dead or alive, haunted every man. They took no prisoners here and the Australians had heard tell of horrible rituals inflicted by the enemy on dead soldiers.

  ‘We promised we’d look after each other, cobber. I’ll get you out,’ whispered Clem, though he wondered how. It all looked impossible, and time was running out. Another attack was certain and what passed as a front line was forever fluid. It suddenly could be behind you.

  He tied up Thommo’s shoulder with a sleeve torn from his shirt, sat him up, leaned him against a tree and waited. The spasmodic firing had stopped and he wondered how far ahead the main section of the patrol had gone and in what direction. Where was the medico or the fuzzy wuzzy angels when you needed them, he thought grimly. One look at Thommo, who was watching with desperate eyes, convinced Clem he couldn’t leave him here.

  ‘Righto, matey. Seems quiet. You game to chance it? Don’t reckon they’ll be coming back looking for us.’ They both wondered about other small Jap patrols but didn’t say anything.

  ‘Bloody hell, I’m not hanging round here. Let’s go.’ Thommo struggled to get to his feet.

  ‘Easy does it.’ Clem slipped an arm around him but as Thommo took the weight on his feet a leg buckled.

  ‘Flaming hell.’ He gazed down at his leg. ‘Get me boot off, something’s wrong with me foot.’

  Clem pulled off Thommo’s sodden boot to find it full of blood. Pulling up a trouser leg he found a bullet wound that had shattered the shin bone. ‘Crikey, another hole. You collecting lead for souvenirs or something? Hang about.’ Trying to sound chirpy Clem stuffed his handkerchief into the wound, tying it with another strip of shirt.

  ‘I can hop a bit.’ Thommo leaned on Clem who shouldered both their small battle rucksacks, each slinging a rifle across his back.

  ‘Wait, you need a stick.’ He took his bayonet and cut a length of stout bamboo. ‘Hook your leg around that, let it take the weight.’

  ‘It makes me look like a bloody cripple,’ muttered Thommo, but he found the pole gave him extra support and they were able to slowly scramble along until they reached a slope that fell away sharply.

  ‘On my back, hang on round my neck. Piggy back,’ instructed Clem.

  Thommo was too weak to argue. Clem laboriously pulled them both to where they’d been when the Japanese had struck. At least Clem had a route to follow for a while at least, but the going was slow. They edged downhill to a rushing stream.

  ‘Gotta stop, mate. Rest up, let’s wash that leg.’

  Thommo sprawled on the ground. ‘Leave it. Might bleed more. If I got any blood left.’ He put his head on his arm and closed his eyes.

  Clem filled his helmet with the clear water and poured it over his head. It felt good. They were in a gully and he had no idea where to go from here. Although the sun was high, it was shady by the stream where tall trees thrust through the rainforest towards light. The trapped air was fetid, steamy. He was about to wade across the stream for a recce when he saw, through a gap in the trees on the other side, up on the edge of the ravine, some figures moving through the jungle. They made no noise but there was no mistaking they were Nips. Clem hit the ground and lay by the stream hoping Thommo remained quiet.

  The Japanese disappeared and Clem realised he’d have to strike out on the side opposite the Japanese patrol and hope for the best. But Thommo had curled on his side and was rambling incoherently about taking a little kip.

  Clem shook him and hauled him to his feet enough to take his weight and drag him forward. ‘Keep moving, Thommo, you can’t sleep here. C’mon, matey.’

  They made slow progress and Clem was tiring. Thommo seemed barely conscious though he kept shoving his good foot forward, limping badly on the other. The wound on his shoulder was bleeding again. Clem lost track of time or distance. He knew he couldn’t continue too much further and had no idea where he was going, conscious only of steadily staggering downhill, away from the jungle in which they had been fighting. He began praying.

  He knew he wasn’t as alert or paying attention to his surroundings as he should be, not that he could reach his rifle quickly, hampered as he was by Thommo. Then to his astonishment they burst out of the jungle on to a track, admittedly not much more than a blur of crushed undergrowth, but slashed branches beside it clearly indicated a native trail.

  ‘Prayer answered, Thommo,’ he whispered.

  His mate just groaned and slumped to the ground.

  Clem sat beside him and drank from his water bottle. What now? And as if in answer to the unspoken question, he heard voices, a sing-song language, and through the bushes he could see some natives coming along the track. ‘Angels,’ said Clem almost in disbelief. The struggle was over.

  Six natives took the two men to their village only a short distance further along the track, carrying Thommo and the two packs. News of their arrival was spread by one of the men who ran ahead, and the whole village turned out to chant a welcome to the two soldiers. In pidgin English their chief indicated that an army medical unit had just set up camp in a whitefella plantation nearby.

  Two days later Thommo awoke in a rough bed, merely a canvas stretcher mounted on some empty ammunition boxes. As he slowly opened his eyes and figured out it was a mosquito net that gave a misty look to the world around him, he saw Clem dozing in a camp chair beside the bed. He then noticed that his wounds were neatly dressed, leg in splints, and that there was little pain. Anaesthetic or something like that, he figured.

  ‘Hey Clem,’ he called, and when his mate stirred added, ‘Pub’s open. I’ve ordered you a schooner.’

  Clem got under the net and took Thommo’s hand. ‘Bewdy fella, well done. Good to have you back with the living. Been touch and go, I can tell you.’

  ‘Sorry if I still sound a little confused,’ confessed Thommo, ‘but I’m having trouble getting the world in focus. What’s been happening. Where are we?’

  ‘Still on the plantation in the field hospital. But now that you’re getting with it, that schooner may be closer than you think. While you’ve been sleeping word has come through that some of our mob have won a leave break back home. So I reckon we might just get home together. That’ll be worth a beer.’

  ‘Or two,’ added Thommo with a big grin. ‘Thanks for saving me. You’re a hero and deserve a medal.’

  ‘Come off it. You’d ha
ve done the same for me. We’re mates, not heroes.’

  ‘Okay, buddy,’ chirped Thommo in a comic American accent but Clem had suddenly gone serious, his face creased with lines of agony. ‘What’s up?’ asked Thommo.

  Clem stood and stretched, took some deep breaths and sat down again. ‘Wish to hell I knew. The doc reckons I’m suffering from malaria. Been feeling a bit funny while I was waiting for you to come around. But bugger that, let’s celebrate. I’ll see if I can rustle up a mug of tea.’ He winked at Thommo and strode out of the tent, not wanting Thommo to see how he felt. The fever was coming back, and sweat was streaming from his body that ached like every joint had been hit with a sledge hammer. He hoped to hell leave came through quickly for both of them.

  14

  Dani

  DANI GAZED AT THE length of sand. Turquoise waves followed each other in lazy undulating rolls, foaming onto the near-deserted beach. A few early risers were on their surfboards or walking their dogs towards the point. Wrapped in a towelling bathrobe, sipping her first morning cup of tea, she began to think about her plans for the day. Dinner and a sexy night with Roddy had been very pleasant, but already her mind was beginning to turn to her own life.

  ‘Pretty special view, huh?’ Roddy, in a matching robe, sat on a deck chair beside her holding his coffee and his mobile phone.

  ‘It is. I feel like I’m on holiday.’ Dani didn’t add that the block of swish apartments where Roddy was renting the penthouse seemed like a resort even down to the matching robes. She actually missed her morning view of the valley and the river with mist rising over the hills and dew shining on the grass. ‘So what are your plans for the day?’

  ‘Waiting to hear back from NZ about Russell’s latest draft of the script. He’s put in a lot more locations. Could alter the budget breakdown.’

  ‘Outside the valley? Like where? Sydney?’

  ‘No, up north. Isabella’s arrival in Australia. She’s shipwrecked and is saved by natives, rescued by a wealthy sea captain –’

  ‘Roddy! It’s the Isabella Kelly story, not Eliza Fraser!’ Dani wanted to laugh but it was too ludicrous. ‘She came out here by choice with money and valuable possessions.’

  ‘So where’d she get it? She was an Irish orphan,’ he retorted.

  ‘Who was adopted by a wealthy guardian in London. It’s true, no one knows where her money came from, Garth assumes William Crowder gave her an inheritance when she left England.’

  ‘Well, if the investors like Russell’s idea, let them put in their money and we’ll change the script back later,’ he said easily. ‘And it’s attracting interest from Hollywood names. Couple of agents for American actresses have been in touch.’

  ‘Ones who can do an English accent, I assume,’ said Dani.

  Roddy missed her facetious tone. ‘We’ve set a shooting schedule so we could pin the locals down and they block out the time. Food people, accommodation, transport guys. Going to bring a lot of business to town. Not to mention the flow on after the film comes out.’

  Dani didn’t probe further. Roddy always had an upbeat answer or skimmed over questions about nitty-gritty details. ‘So what will you be doing when filming starts?’

  ‘I’ll be on the road. Stitching up sales hopefully.’

  ‘Before people see the finished film?’ asked Dani.

  ‘Well, when we have a rough cut. I want to strike when the iron is hot and get on to the next project.’

  ‘Oh, another film? So you’re staying in the movie business? Have you got any ideas?’ Dani’s instinct was that Roddy flitted from one thing to another.

  ‘Could have. I’m putting out feelers now I’ve got this one up and running. Might dabble in something else. This development thing is interesting.’

  Dani put her cup down with a thud. ‘You mean what Jason is doing?’

  ‘Nah, that’s too finicky, too hung up on eco stuff. But this tree change, sea change thing is big. I hadn’t realised it till I came here and saw the drift from the city turning into a bit of a flood.’

  ‘And it’s not such a backwater either,’ said Dani defensively, surprising herself. ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘Round here there are a few spots I’ve checked out on the way down to Sydney. On the coast. You could clear big areas of patchy scrubland behind the dunes and whack up holiday homes or retirement properties. Nothing too expensive, no fancy architecture. Then they’ll need shopping centres, amenities. I can see a lot of money to be made.’

  ‘Once you get the land,’ said Dani tightly. ‘It’s mostly state owned that hasn’t been released, isn’t it?’

  ‘Ah, there are ways around that. Money speaks. And I know the voices.’ He stretched. ‘So what’re your plans?’

  Dani stood up, tightening the belt on her robe. ‘If you mean today, I’m meeting Mum and Tim with friends as it’s the first day of the Cedartown Show. If you mean the future, as in past next week, I’m unsure except I don’t want to see this little valley or the countryside and coast around here exploited. I’m thinking I could live here. Settle for a bit.’

  Words were coming out of her mouth that Dani hadn’t thought about before. Roddy had struck a painful nerve, just as Jason had when she first heard about his Birimbal project. But after listening to Jason, she could see that Birimbal was going in a direction that could be the way of the future, while Roddy was talking eighties and nineties quick-buck development. Her mother’s memories, and the knowledge she had roots here, as Max had brought home to her as well, had made Dani protective of the valley. Selfishly so perhaps, but she’d hate to see Roddy and his ‘investors’ rip into the valley and the coast just to make money with no benefit to the people or the place.

  Roddy was staring at her, recognising the tension in her body language that signalled he’d upset her. ‘I don’t like the word settle. And if you think I’m going to exploit this place, look around, there’s a queue forming.’ He smiled, trying to soften his words. ‘Look to the future, think of what’s best for the people living here, the opportunities for their kids.’ When Dani didn’t look convinced he added, ‘Once the movie is out you won’t be able to stop it. Get real, Dani, get on the bandwagon or be left behind.’

  She sighed, letting go of the anger she was feeling.

  ‘We really are coming from different places, aren’t we?’ She studied the good-looking, happy-go-lucky entrepreneur beside her. ‘We really don’t know each other very well at all, do we?’

  ‘Hey, does it matter? We’re here for a good time, not a long time. You enjoyed last night. You made it clear you didn’t want any kind of commitment, just a bit of fun. And I certainly don’t want to be tied down.’ He almost shuddered.

  ‘Nor do I, Roddy. And we have had fun but there’s got to be more to a relationship,’ began Dani but Roddy held up his coffee mug, shielding his face.

  ‘Ah, c’mon, Dani, don’t start on that song and dance. I know every word. Listen let’s put the cards on the table. I’m not interested in a meaningful, full-on partnership. I like my freedom. I thought what we had going was perfect. When I’m here we have fun, no strings attached. You’re interested in the movie I’m doing –’

  ‘I told you about Isabella if you recall.’

  ‘Yeah, but who’s taken it to the next level? You and Jason don’t own Isabella. Seems to me since you got here you’ve got too involved with this little community and your family stuff. Maybe if we were in Sydney it’d be different. We both have lots of other things going on there, friends, deals, happenings, you know.’

  ‘Yep, I do know,’ said Dani, thinking back to her life in Sydney.

  She knew the world he described. Launches, events with the smart youthful set being photographed for the social papers and magazines. Where men like Jason – genuinely wealthy – and men like Roddy – wannabe entrepreneurs who talk the talk and look good – mingled with pretty girls shipped in for decoration. Some, like Ginny, were real models, most described themselves as models. The way Dani s
aw it men like Jason and Roddy only ever met those sorts of women. Dani felt she was quite different – independent, divorced with a child, and a definite ambition. And she no longer cared about the latest fashions, accessories, or going to the hip new places to be seen.

  Dani gave Roddy a frank look. ‘And you know what, Roddy? I don’t care about that kind of lifestyle anymore.’

  ‘You’ve been in the bush too long, Dani. Seems you and I are moving in different directions, babe.’ He paused as they stared at each other, reading more than they wished in the other’s eyes. Roddy was first to drop his gaze. ‘I’d better get dressed.’

  ‘Right. I’ll grab some breakfast down the road,’ said Dani, knowing there was never food in Roddy’s apartment.

  After she’d dressed she found Roddy on his mobile phone so she leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek as he talked.

  ‘Hang on, George, one tick. See ya, Dani, sorry, this is LA. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Sure, Roddy, don’t let me interrupt. See you. And thanks for dinner.’

  He gave a smile, a wave and resumed talking to LA and didn’t watch as Dani quietly left the apartment, knowing she wouldn’t return.

  Each time Dani passed the Cedartown showground she admired the heavy old log fence and row of rusting corrugated-iron horse stalls under the shade of the big gum trees, thinking it would make a nice painting even though it always looked rather forlorn and unused. But today it was thronged with people, animals and vehicles.

  ‘My God, look at the crowd. Horse floats and caravans from Queensland and Victoria, people have come from everywhere,’ exclaimed Dani. ‘This show must be a popular event.’

  ‘Lots of them have tents and campervans, they must be staying here with their animals, I guess,’ said Lara. ‘Just look at the people. I hope Tim doesn’t get nervous.’

  ‘I can’t believe he’s going in a competition,’ said Dani. ‘I hope he doesn’t get upset if he doesn’t win anything.’