Gallipoli Street (32 page)

‘Pilot. There's a pilot,' called one voice from a stretcher near Clarkson.

‘That's right, fella. I'm a pilot,' Clarkson shouted back, turning towards him.

‘Pilot. Like you,' the man called out, coughing. ‘In the field. Other side of farmhouse. Plane went down…hours ago.'

‘How do you know?' Clarkson went to him and clutched the man's hand.

‘Watched him. We was…trapped all day…so I watched. He is…moving.' The man coughed again, grasped at Clarkson, then managed to point to the east. ‘He's alive.'

Clarkson followed the man's pointed finger and looked out to a farmhouse that obscured much of the field beyond. He stared for a moment, seeing what he had to do.

‘What is it?' Rose called over the noise. Clarkson grabbed a few bandages and supplies, throwing them in a bag before going over to her. ‘It's Rookie. He's down. I think…I think he is still alive.' He paused to grab her shoulders and kiss her briefly. ‘I have to go, my love.'

He gave her one last look before running out of the station and towards the line of trees that led to the farmhouse.

‘You can't go into the battle area,' said Beatrice, watching Rose from nearby.

Rose looked around her as she finished bandaging the soldier's arm she had been tending. ‘It's quietened down for now.'

Beatrice surveyed the area and realised it was true. There was a lull. She turned back to argue further but Rose was already gone.

Gregory hunched further into the stall. The animals were well gone but the place stank of manure. Still, it was the best option he had for now, trapped in this sector as they were.

Curse Pankhurst and his stupidity.

‘Messenger!' called his young lieutenant, Harris.

‘Captain,' panted the man as he arrived at the barn. ‘At last! Pardon, sir. Message from HQ. They want you to report back. Leave Pankhurst in command, sir.'

‘Pankhurst's dead,' Gregory informed him, sizing up what was left of his party. ‘Harris,' he called, ‘take over.'

The young lieutenant looked set to protest at being left in the barn, in charge of a band of terrified men under a raining hail of bombing, but Gregory wasted no time on that. He was getting out.

‘Rookie,' Clarkson said. ‘It's me.'

The sun was crimson behind the heavy clouds and Rookie stared at him, his breathing sharp and short.

‘Clarkson?'

‘It's me, mate. I'm here.' Clarkson tried not to let the tears slide down his cheeks. He'd seen enough death to know that he was too late.

‘The Jerries…' Rookie said, his young body shaking with the pound of each explosion.

Clarkson shook his head. ‘They can't see you here, mate. You chose a good field to crash in.' Looking around him, he acknowledged it was true. The crash site was in a valley and only visible from the farmhouse.

‘Rose,' Rookie said, looking over his shoulder.

‘She's…'

‘…here.'

Clarkson turned in surprise as Rose crouched next to him. Rookie tried to smile at her then turned his eyes back to Clarkson. ‘…I got one…a Jerry. Grandfather…owes me a car…'

The blood trickled from the side of his mouth and Rose wiped it away with her apron as Rookie drew his last breath. She closed his eyes and Clarkson allowed himself his first tears of the war.

He was running. The messenger had been hit as the bombs continued in endless succession and he now ran alone. Gregory fell into the cover of the tree line that ran along a farm near the village and followed them along. Hunted. Afraid. Furious. Pressing himself against a large trunk he paused to heave air back into his lungs, watching the red sun set behind a curtain of black smoke. This was all because of his wife. If he hadn't needed to stay in England to hunt for Rose he would have gone back to damnable Australia to his house in Melbourne to wait out the war. He never would have been forced by his mother to take this commission. He never would have been made to change his carefully planned life.

He never would have lost his child.

Gregory watched as a woman and a man crossed the field below, walking away from plane wreckage. The pilot seemed to have survived. A tall man. Vaguely familiar. And the woman…not unlike the red-haired slut he'd married.

Gregory's entire being froze as the hatred ran through him like iced water.

Rose. With her lover, Clarkson, after all. Walking across before him through the middle of the war. In his sights at last.

He lifted his gun as they reached the rise and took aim.

I told you I would never let yo
u go.

Clarkson didn't hear the shot in the noise of the artillery, he only saw her fall, stumbling backwards and holding her stomach where a scarlet stain spread. As he turned to catch her the bullet in his back drove him straight into her arms.

‘Captain!'

Gregory turned as he headed past the farmhouse, gritting his teeth as a major called him over.

‘Yes, sir?'

‘Get these men over to the right, near the second house. We need to take out that gunner.' He pointed out the objectives as he shouted his instructions, pressing himself against the stone as a bomb exploded nearby.

‘I have to report to HQ–'

‘HQ can wait!' The major yelled, pulling his gun around and taking aim. ‘Go!' He waved his arm and the lot of them went, Gregory forced to go with them.

The village was by now reduced to half-shells of buildings and rubble and Gregory ran and weaved his way, losing sight of the men almost immediately in the dust. He threw himself behind a broken wall, the explosions around him shaking it as it crumbled further.

She was dead. There was no time to relish the satisfaction as the hell around him flashed in white explosion after explosion, jolting him again and again. A severed arm landed on him and he recoiled, throwing it off in horror.
En
ough.

He ran again, away from the men, away from the explosions, away from the war. This time he didn't pause.

The machine gun shot him in the back and his last awareness was of grim satisfaction. At least she was denied life too.

He felt her heart growing weaker as he laid his head against her breast, his own breath shallow and ragged. She was still warm and soft and it seemed impossible that she would ever be otherwise. He managed to lift his hand and hold hers, forcing himself to roll onto the ground to ease his weight upon her. It cost him. The pain shot through his back and for a moment he thought he was already dead as the white blinded his vision. Then she spoke and his entire being focused on her words as she drew him back to consciousness.

‘Stay with me.'

‘I told you before, I could never…leave you now.'

‘You said never give me up.'

‘Did I?' He paused to find breath enough for words. ‘Not my choice.'

‘What's that…supposed to mean?'

‘I don't own you…can't give you up. Your choice who you give yourself to.'

She smiled, applying what little strength she had left to squeezing his hand. ‘I give…to you.'

He felt the white coming closer. ‘When can I seal the deal…with a kiss?'

She smiled again. ‘Typical man.'