Women and War

by Janet Tanner

  ‘You’ll never guess who is here in Queensland, Tara. Alys Peterson. She has joined the AWAS now. Do you remember when we met her in Melbourne she said she was going to? Well, she has done it. She is a driver, and she has been sent here as a chauffeur to the CO. She asked after you and wanted me to send you her love.’

  Tara sat staring at the page, now shaking slightly in her unsteady hand. Alys in Queensland. Alys, at whom Richard looked with such admiration in his eyes. Alys who came from his world while she, Tara, did not. She could hardly believe it, yet somehow it was as if she had always known that she had not seen the last of the girl whose life she and Richard had saved.

  ‘Bloody, bloody hell! said Tara.

  But vehement as they were, the words did nothing dispel the foreboding in her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Alys swung the staff car smoothly out of the camp entrance and onto the road. It was a cold night in early July with no moon; though the lights of the car cut a swathe through the darkness they only illuminated the road – the rich pastoral land which stretched from its perimeters was hidden from view by the blackness of the night.

  ‘Step on it, honey. Let’s burn some gas and get back to Base so that I can have a good stiff drink before bed.’ The voice from the rear, seat of the staff car was weary but vibrant – and unmistakably American.

  ‘Yes, sir!’ Alys’ response was sharp but humorous, a parody of the parade ground obedience of a new recruit for a sergeant-major, and her lips curved in a smile as she put her foot down hard on the accelerator and concentrated her gaze into the sharp white path of the headlights.

  She was enjoying her new role. What heaven it was to be able to drive a powerful motor car and not have to worry about petrol rationing! What bliss to have her freedom at last and to be able to use it doing what she loved best! After the restrictions of caring for Frances and the sense of guilt which had plagued her every second when she was away from her, the rigours of army life seemed like a holiday. The long hours, divided enjoyably between driving and tinkering under the bonnet of her car, slipped by so fast that there was never a moment for boredom or regrets from the time she rose, before dawn, splashing cold water onto her sleepy face, to the time when she could fall exhausted into bed at night, feeling sleep rushing in to claim her even before she had settled herself comfortably in her hard campo bed and closed her eyes. It was exhilarating, this life, as working for the Red Cross in Darwin had been, providing just enough of a sense of purpose to keep her from feeling guilty that in a world where there was so much hardship and suffering she should be so ridiculously, chronically happy! She flicked her eyes up to the interior mirror in the staff car, checking the road behind her for following lights, and caught a glimpse of her rear-seat passenger – US Army General’s cap covering a thatch of dark, grey-flecked hair, thin face clean-shaven and lined with a tiredness which was never allowed to impinge on his forceful manner.

  Greg Burton had command of the Allied forces in Queensland and every facet of his appearance and personality endorsed the responsibility of his position. Ruthless and decisive, endowed with unflagging energy and an unexpected sense of humour, he was the very epitome of a man who could change the course of history with a bold stroke, order accessary withdrawal without any apparent loss of confidence, and bounce back to take the initiative the moment the opportunity presented itself. His reputation as a commander was flawless – he was hero-worshipped by the men who were proud to boast they served under him. The stories of his conquests of women, too, were legion – but Alys happened to know that his wallet contained snapshots not only of his wife, but also his grandchildren. He had shown them to her over a quiet drink at HQ after one of their long and exhausting schedules, and their relationship had taken on a new and unexpected intimacy.

  ‘Well, how do you like driving the old man?’ he had asked, lighting one of the small cigars he indulged in during his rare moments of relaxation, and she had smiled, musing briefly that he was a little like a brasher, more forceful version of John.

  ‘Like it – though I must confess I had a few doubts to begin with.’

  ‘Why?’ He asked direct questions as John did, not bothering to wrap them up in niceties.

  ‘I’m English by birth, Australian by upbringing. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be seconded to a Yank.’

  He laughed, amused by her responding frankness.

  ‘You resent us.’

  ‘A little. I thought you would want to come in and take us over. And I’d heard that you didn’t like the girls to interfere with things like the maintenance of a vehicle. We are trained to look after them ourselves – we don’t like it when mere males are brought in to do our mechanical jobs for us.’

  ‘I guess that’s because we like to see our girls looking fresh and sweet, not covered with engine oil and grease.’

  ‘No, it’s not – it’s because you think we’re not capable.’

  He had drawn on his cigar, blowing a thin stream of pungent smoke into the already hazy atmosphere.

  ‘Knowing you, Alys, I am quite sure you are capable of rectifying any fault an awkward engine can throw at you. In any case, I don’t see how you can accuse us Yanks of sex discrimination when your own authorities refuse to allow your girls to serve overseas.’

  ‘True.’

  It was a decision which rankled with the girls – to be denied the chance to serve outside Australia. The British forces and the Americans were backing up everywhere with girls, but the Australian authorities remained adamant – they were to remain within the home shores.

  Alys had wondered if the newfound rapport would disappear once more with the resumption of daily duty. It had not. She liked, the General, liked his forthrightness and lack of cant – provided things were done as he wanted them he did not stand on ceremony. She liked the feeling of controlled energy he radiated, liked the fact that whatever his private doubts they were never allowed to diminish his publicly exhibited confidence. They were qualities which in a way mirrored her own so that she had soon become more than simply his chauffeuse, rather a small part of a highly charged team.

  Now, driving the staff car on the deserted stretch of road heading back to HQ Base she was aware once more of the sense of satisfaction which pervaded her days. She was tired, yes, but tired physically, not weighed down by the mental exhaustion which had plagued her during the months of caring for Frances. This was a tiredness she could cope with – even if it did mean that sometimes she wished for a couple of matchsticks to keep her eyes open!

  Once again she glanced up at the mirror and registered twin pinpricks of brightness far behind her on the road. She gave her head a small shake. Funny how some sixth sense could tell her when there was another vehicle coming even before it was close enough to be seen. She did not understand it, yet that gut feeling was almost infallible.

  Greg Burton fumbled for his cigars and lit one; the pungent smoke wafted past Alys’ nose. He said nothing and Alys respected his desire for a few moments’ quiet thought. But glancing in the mirror again, mostly to check on how tired he was looking, she noticed that the lights of the following vehicle were much closer.

  Good grief, what sort of speed was it notching up? She checked her own needle and saw that it stood at a steady seventy. Given the rate at which the following car was catching her it must be doing close on a hundred.

  The small warning bells which belonged to the same sixth sense system jangled against her nerve endings. It was going too fast – clear though the road may be it was not wise to drive at that speed in the dark. This was no race track for heaven’s sake …

  Race track. The phrase hit her like a double-take and momentarily she was back on the road side at Bathurst, waiting to see the Nippy pass by again and fighting the dawning realization that it was not going to. Nervously, she checked her mirror again and as she did so the headlamps caught her staff car for the first time, bathing the interior in sharp, jolting light. Then she heard the roar of an overworked
engine and a dark shape shot past, making the staff car sway slightly with the force of its velocity.

  ‘What the hell …?’ General Burton, shaken out of his reverie, shot forward in his seat.

  Alys had automatically eased her foot off the accelerator, now she depressed it again, shooting forward in the wake of the overtaking vehicle’s tail lights.

  ‘Just some crazy fool,’ she said.

  ‘It had better not be one of my men. Did you see who …’ the General broke off in mid-sentence. Up ahead the lights spun suddenly, shooting an arc in the darkness first one way, then the other. In the quiet of the night there was a sickening thud and silence, apart from the purring engine of the staff car.

  ‘Christ!’

  Shock sent tingling waves to each of Alys’ muscles and her voice came tense yet strangely soft. ‘He’s lost it!’

  ‘Not surprising! Bloody idiot!’ Greg Burton sounded more angry than shaken.

  Alys reduced her speed, her foot shaking slightly as she eased off the accelerator. The lights of the crashed car were still working; now they made a tunnel of brightness across the width of the road. Beyond it her own lights picked up the dark slewed shape. Closer and she could see it was on its roof, wheels spinning. She braked in behind it, switched off her engine and opened the door. Greg Burton was out of the car as quickly as she was, striding towards the wreck, cigar still clamped between his teeth.

  ‘Sir – you had better put that out. There may be petrol.’

  He swore, backed off to a safe distance and ground his cigar out into the road with the heel of his shoe.

  The crashed car had hit a tree at the edge of the road, upended and flipped onto its roof. The bonnet had folded concertina-like into the body and there was indeed a sickening stench of petrol. Alys approached it. The tremble of her foot seemed to have transferred itself to her stomach. She did not want to look into the car, did not want to be a first-hand witness to what she might find there, but she ignored her apprehension, bending down to peer through the smashed window, preparing herself for … what?

  The lights of her own car were illuminating the wreck; as the General approached again she straightened, puzzled.

  ‘There’s nobody there!’

  The General crouched down beside her, reaching through the broken window, feeling into the condensed space between dashboard and driver’s seat.

  ‘He must have been thrown out.’

  ‘Thrown out! But …’ she saw the shattered windscreen, a gaping hole where before there had been a sheet of glass and nodded, comprehending.

  ‘We had better look for him.’

  For seemingly endless minutes they searched in the darkness then Greg Burton called: ‘ Over here!’

  The broken body of the young driver lay yards back into the undergrowth. Barely recognizable. Barely alive. Alys bent over him, feeling for a pulse. When she found it, it was weak and irregular and her fingers became sticky with blood.

  ‘He’s in a bad way.’

  ‘What the hell would you expect!’

  ‘We’ll have to get him immediate medical attention or there’s no chance. Oh, if only I had my ambulance!’

  ‘We’ll use the car.’

  ‘But maybe he shouldn’t be moved.’

  ‘We’ll have to chance that. By the time we get a doctor to him he could be dead. There’s a groundsheet in the car. We’ll use that.’

  Alys returned to the staff car, found the groundsheet and took it back to where General Burton was bending over the inert body. Gently, they lifted the boy onto it, then Greg-Burton took two corners and she took the others, terrified she might not be strong enough to support his weight, but she found it much easier than she expected. Manhandling Frances in and out of her chair had been better training than she had realized, she thought ruefully. At the car there was another problem – how to get him in. Greg Burton took the boy’s shoulders and together they managed to lay him across the back seat. Then he installed himself in the front passenger seat alongside Alys and reached for the telephone he used to communicate with HQ.

  Alys started the car while he carried on a brief staccato conversation and when he had finished she was ready and waiting to go.

  ‘Where are we taking him?’

  The General’s voice was as cool and unruffled as ever. He might be divorced now from front line action, but this incident had proved him as capable of dealing with an immediate crisis as deploying men for copybook actions.

  ‘It seems we are closest to 138 AGH,’ he said. ‘ They will be ready and waiting for him, Alys, if we take him there.’

  Alys took a long drink of strong sweet tea, set the mug down on the scrubbed wood table in front of her and bowed her head into her hands, smoothing the lines of tiredness out of her forehead with her fingers.

  How much longer would it be before General Burton finished his conversation with the CO and was ready to be driven back to Base? Exhaustion was catching up with her now; all she could think of was how wonderful it would be to fall into her bed, close her eyes and snatch a few hours, blissful oblivion before it was time to be up and working again. But General Burton was tireless. Just when she thought he had reached the same sort of low ebb she was experiencing he seemed to discover a new fount of energy; the man existed – no thrived – on no more than three or four hours’ sleep a night. All very well when he extended his day at Base when she was no longer needed, not so good when she had to try to remain alert enough to be able to drive him again the moment he was ready.

  Alys turned her wrist over to look at her watch and even that small movement was an effort. Half-past-two – and still no sign of the General. But tomorrow he would be up with the dawn and ready to go again – and expecting Alys to be ready, too.

  She sighed, almost wishing she had taken a different route home tonight and not been driving on the road where the accident had occurred. But that was not only futile it was selfish too. If they had not come upon him the young man could have lain injured and undiscovered for hours and would almost certainly have been dead by now. As it was …

  The last Alys had seen of him was when he was whisked away on a trolley surrounded by concerned hospital staff. The General had gone off to talk to old friends he had not expected to see and she had been shown into the rest room to wait. That had been well over an hour ago and since then she had seen no one but a couple of night duty sisters who had come in for a brief break and a cigarette and an orderly who had brought her a mug of tea.

  Footsteps sounded in the corridor and Alys looked up expectantly as the door opened. Then her eyes widened and her lips curved in a smile of surprised greeting.

  ‘Richard!’

  ‘Hello, Alys. I heard you were here.’

  He looked as tired as she felt, his face rumpled as if he had been dragged from sleep, his hair still slightly tousled.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you!’

  It was true, she had not expected to see him. It had crossed her mind when she had been on her way to 138, but during the last hour the probability had faded. Now, her tiredness dropped away as pleasure sent a fresh supply of adrenalin coursing through her veins.

  ‘If you will bring in these casualties in the middle of the night …’

  ‘Yes.’ She lifted her mug and sipped the now luke-warm tea. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Your young man? Not very well I’m afraid. I don’t think he’ll make it.’

  ‘I didn’t think he would. He was going like a bat out of hell.’ She was silent for a moment, remembering the broken body and the tragic memories it had rekindled for her. ‘We still don’t know who he is, do we?’

  ‘An American serviceman. He had papers in his pocket.’

  ‘American. Oh Lord.’ Greg Burton would not be too pleased about that.

  ‘He has just come out of the operating theatre. We’ve done what we can but I don’t think it will be enough. He had massive internal injuries.’ Richard sat down, stretching his tall frame wearily. ‘I was got out
of bed to assist.’

  ‘Oh … sorry.’

  ‘That’s what we are here for. Anyway, it’s always a pleasure to see you, Alys. How are you getting on?’

  ‘Fine. General Burton is a hon.’ She used the General’s own expression unselfconsciously. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Fine. Life at an AGH doesn’t change much. The problems are much the same wherever you are. And at least conditions here are pretty good since we got our new buildings.’

  ‘And Tara. How is Tara?’

  She saw the faintest shadow flicker across his face.

  ‘Still in New Guinea. You know she is managing an AAMWS club there?’

  ‘I knew she was going to. How does she like it?’

  ‘Very much, if her letters are anything to go by.’ Again there was the slight hesitancy in his voice. Something about that is not pleasing him, she thought. Aloud she said: ‘ It must be very hard, being separated so soon after your marriage. You have had very little time together.’

  ‘Very little. I have some leave coming up and I have the problem of deciding what to do with it. Try to get over to New Guinea by hook or by crook to Tara, or travel down to Melbourne to see my parents.’

  A slight puzzled frown creased her eyes, ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘As it happens, yes. I know Tara is expecting me to at least try to hitch a lift over to the islands, but my father has been very poorly and I feel I ought to try to get home and see him. I don’t think he has much time left.’

  ‘Oh dear. What is the matter?’

  ‘He had a heart attack a few months back. Now the winter has come and he has bronchial problems too. I’m afraid the combination might prove too much for him.’

  Alys twirled the mug on the table between her hands.

  ‘It’s no business of mine, but if he is that poorly I think I would go to see your father. I mean – I know you want to see Tara, of course you do, she’s your wife, but I know from experience how guilty it’s possible to feel about neglecting your parents.’

  ‘You!’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You could hardly be accused of neglecting your mother, Alys.’