The Turning Tide (12 page)

After a few days the sig recovered and I was sent back to B Platoon headquarters at Fatu-Maquerec. I had Bullock as escort again and was pleased; he was good company. We had our
criados
and a pony and didn’t run into any trouble, but most of the villages we saw on the way were ruins.

It was monsoon season, strange weather. Glorious mornings, then on cue at noon clouds would roll in and the rain would start bucketing down. On the second day, all pink dawn and blue sky, we set off early. It would have been lovely except I could feel a bout of malaria creeping up on me.

The path was narrow and steep and there was no avoiding a burnt-out native village to one side. Even if we
hadn’t seen it we would have smelt it. I was feeling weaker every minute. I almost tripped. At my feet was the rotting corpse of a woman, her black hair in a knot. She was clutching a dead child.

I hallucinated she was Aida, but thought wildly, it couldn’t be, she didn’t have a child. Then it hit me: how would I even know? I stumbled to one side and vomited. Bullock got me onto the pony and I don’t remember much more until we reached Fatu-Maquerec that evening. This bout of malaria wasn’t as intense as the first, although I was still weak two days later. My nightmares got worse.

At least it was almost Christmas and we knew we had a few parcels dropped by storpedo to look forward to. But at dawn we were woken suddenly by bullets, whining like wasps, thwacking the sides of our hut. I dragged on my pathetic excuse for boots – Bullock had slept in his – and we rolled out the door with our guns. Two huts were already alight.

Out lieutenant roared the name of the rendezvous point and we scattered. Our packs, radio gear and precious parcels were abandoned; our
criados
, wisely, headed for the hills. Bullock and I followed another two men along a track, then they drew ahead as the malaria slowed me down. Bullock stayed with me.

We came around a bend in the track and a Japanese soldier was there, aiming. He shot Bullock, who simply dropped. As I leapt sideways I felt the second shot, a blow to my left shoulder as if Johnny had thumped it harder than I could imagine. But I’d already lifted my gun and fired at the same time. The man’s chest exploded red and he fell back. I saw his ordinary little face looking at me, surprised, dead.

My ears were ringing, my knees gave way. I sat down in the mud and leant against a tree, astonished. Then I looked at Bullock and moaned in horror. The bottom half of his amiable face was destroyed and he was staring at me, beseeching. I tried to rise, to get help, but I was too weak to stand.

I ripped off my shirt and tried to stem the red bubbling from his neck but it didn’t work. Bullock moved his arm and I took his hand and held it desperately and said something, anything, to comfort, to keep him alive; and he looked into my eyes and faded and died.

I could see the small scar on his brow I’d given him so long ago at the Prom. It had healed easily, the flesh knitting itself together magically; such a small, perfect scar. And below it, the great gaping wound; surely it could heal too, could knit itself together, could re-create that good man?

I was half-mad from shock and blood loss and malaria. We were there for a long time. Finally some men came cautiously back along the track and found us. It was dark soon after.

They buried Bullock on the side of a mountain. They did what they could with my shoulder and put me on a pony. Jorges and three other
criados
, gentle as doves, took me up and down mountains and through rivers, and got me to company headquarters and the small hospital.

Chapter 12

I’m sitting in an honours tutorial and one of the students is reading out a paper. There’s a couple of nice lads in the class – Jiro from Kyoto and Shane from Brunswick. Best friends.

When Shane’s dad died, Jiro took him home for the holidays and he came back a lot happier. When Jiro had his heart broken by some girl, Shane teased him and got drunk with him till he got over it.

I know for a fact they help each other with assignments, but I reckon they’re both learning something. They’ve got a friendship that’ll remain a warm memory all their lives, as it should be.

I look at Jiro and imagine him in Japanese uniform; Shane, across from him, in Australian greens. I think
of them both, sick, exhausted, terrified, in the Timor mountains, meeting around a corner. (My money’d be on Jiro: great reflexes.)

Two fine young men. An orgy of death. A tutorial in Room 327. No. It’ll never make sense. I sigh and try to concentrate.

They bound up my shoulder and I got a week or so in the hospital. That wasn’t as comfortable as it might sound, just some huts and stretchers under the trees. But they had medicines and gave me quinine and sulphanilamide and I started healing fairly quickly – I was only twenty-one, for Christ’s sake.

Alan was stationed at company headquarters now, a cushy job. He came to visit. He said he was sorry about Bullock, he’d liked him, everyone did. I was in a foul mood and said something rude about Alan’s job.

‘Jeez, you’re a cranky bastard, Mike. Here, check this for cushy.’ Alan sat down on a stool and unwound a grubby bandage on his calf. There was a hole in the flesh the size of an egg. A horrible, pus-filled egg.

‘Oh shit, I’m sorry, Al. That’s awful.’

‘It’s looking good now. You should have seen it last week. So do you want to shut your gob and hear a bit about what’s going on, or would you rather sulk?’

‘Gob shut, sah.’

‘It’s clear the Japs are everywhere now. They moved into Atsabe and Alsai in December, so A Platoon had to leave and come east. They’re around here at the moment.’

‘Where’s C gone?’

‘They left Atsabe earlier. Now they’re mainly south, around Alas and the road to Samé.’

‘Have you seen Johnny?’

‘Yeah, a few weeks ago. The dysentery’s knocked him sideways. Not our glamour boy anymore. Skinny as a rake, cranky he hasn’t managed to kill any Japs himself and pretty miserable.’

‘Poor sod,’ I said with feeling. ‘And what about B? How’s the Dili observation post going?’

‘It’s finished, Mike,’ Alan said gently. He knew I’d sweated blood over it. ‘A few days after Christmas the Japs moved in en masse and now they’ve put a garrison there. But all the boys got away safely.’

‘So that’s it then, isn’t it?’ I said, slowly. ‘We came here to monitor Dili and now the posts are closed down. No reason to stay.’

Alan nodded. ‘Depends what the brass want. Maybe they think a permanent presence will uphold the white man’s bloody prestige.’

We looked at each other in despair.

‘You know what’s been driving me mad the last couple of days?’ I said. ‘I’m sick with rage at the Japs,
incoherent
with it. Who are these mongrels? Start a war, invade Asia, come all the way from Nippon to shoot a great bloke like Bullock. Who the
fuck
do they think they are?’

‘Search me, fella.’ He shook his head. ‘And think what we’d have now if they’d stayed in Japan. Food. Beds. Boots. Jobs.’ He grinned wolfishly. ‘Women. Men. Sky’s the limit.’

‘Put it away, Flynn, you’re terrifying,’ I said. ‘But listen, another thing driving me crazy – you know how I’m from Broome?’

‘You’ve mentioned it once or twice, yes.’

‘Growing up, my two best friends were Japanese, born in Australia. Look, Al, I couldn’t be happier I got to kill that shit who murdered Bullock, but my friend Ken joined the Jap army and now I’m waking up at night wondering if one day I’ll have to shoot him too.’

‘Pretty slim odds of you meeting up, Mike. But if he was stupid enough to join the Japs he’ll get what he deserves.’

‘Yeah. But I’ve known his mum all my life and it’s her who doesn’t deserve it.’ After a moment I added, ‘And there’s his sister. Betty. Sent off to Japan before the war but she’s as Australian as you and me, Al. I worry about her.’

He smiled. ‘Is she pretty?’

‘Yeah. Stop grinning, you drongo.’

‘Mike, you and women. You’re just a hopeless romantic.’

‘Just hopeless, I reckon. Woozy as shit, too.’

Alan said, ‘Okay, you poor sod, here’s something funny to think about. At Christmas, A Platoon got their parcels and gorged themselves stupid, then were sick as dogs for days.’

‘That’s funny?’

‘Well, the Japs got hold of your unit’s parcels. They’re even hungrier than us. They’d have gone through them like locusts and they’re not used to our food. Whenever you’re feeling gloomy, think about how sick and sorry your parcels have made the Japs.’

‘Nah. No comfort at all.’ But I definitely felt better.

Next day Alan came by my stretcher again. He sat quietly on the stool and after a while he said, ‘There’s something driving me crazy, too. And it’s not the Japs.’

‘Not the Japs?’

‘Look, Mike. Strong countries always take whatever they want from the weak, even dear old Mother England – hell,
especially
dear old Mother England. And with smarter politicians and better defences we might have stopped this whole madness before it even started. No, it’s not them.’

‘So what is it?’

‘It’s us, fella. Us.’

I was puzzled.

‘Look around. This place, it’s bloody paradise. Or it used to be. You can see from the villages they haven’t destroyed how lovely it once was – friendly people, nice huts, little gardens, pretty white Porto churches everywhere. What did we do?’

‘I thought we defended it.’

‘No, Mike. We drew the Japs in like a honey pot. So they started bombing and murdering and raping and torturing and setting the tribes at one another’s throats.’

‘That’s not our fault.’

‘Bullshit it isn’t. There was no reason to fight here, but our brass panicked. They don’t give a damn about the Porto and Timorese deaths. Or ours. Hell, Mike, three hundred of us left against twelve thousand Japs? You reckon they’re taking bets on whether or not we get home?’

‘But it’s all part of the bigger picture. Remember we’ve got a couple of Jap regiments tied up here, men they could be using anywhere. They might have invaded Australia, for God’s sake.’

He shook his head. ‘They were never going to do that, Mike. Propaganda,
our
propaganda. The Japs said they only wanted to grab the Asian oil and rubber and force the
Allies to armistice. We don’t have what they need. The Japs know it and our pollies know it, too.’

I looked at him, stunned.

‘Mike, I’m a commando, I’m going to fight these bastards to the death,’ Alan said. ‘But I’m not going to forget it didn’t have to be like this. We’ve bombed Dili Cathedral, shops, peaceful little towns. And what we didn’t destroy, the Japs soon will.’

He sighed. ‘We owe the Timorese so much. Not just the
criados
, God bless them, but the thousands of poor bastards who’ll die horribly once we’ve pissed off.’ His face was haggard. ‘Sorry, Mike.
This
is what keeps me awake at night. I don’t know why I feel so responsible, but I do.’

‘You’re a good bloke, Al, that’s why. You see more than the rest of us.’

He smiled wryly, then said, ‘Oh, by the way, you stretcher-bashing bastard, Happy New Year.’

‘Happy New Year! Already? What’s the date?’

‘Second of January. Year of Our Lord 1943. And Lord knows what it’ll bring us.’

‘More of the same, I suppose.’ I noticed the look on his face. ‘Why, what do you reckon?’

Alan looked around briefly and murmured, ‘A few days ago HQ told Darwin we’ve only got a few weeks before the Japs do us all in and they’ve got to get us away. Haven’t had a reply yet so they must still be arguing.’

I stared at him and whispered, ‘Arguing? You mean some lunatic thinks it’s worth leaving us here?’

A day or so later I was resting in the sun outside the hospital hut and Alan stopped by for a moment. He said
softly, ‘Answer’s in. Secret message sent to all outposts. All sections to rendezvous at Cledik in four days. Tell everyone it’s just a company operation, nothing special.’

We stared at each other. Cledik was only about ten miles from the sea. He nodded, grinning. ‘Yeah. I reckon so.’

After a day of turmoil the hospital got on the move. Although my shoulder was bandaged I could walk and carry a light pack, and Jorges helped me when it got too much. Other
criados
carried the sickest men on stretchers. We finally got to Cledik camp on the night of 8th January.

There they confirmed what we’d all hardly dared hope. We were going to be evacuated to Australia the next day. It seemed unreal, impossible. I felt as if I was holding my breath all the time. I ran across Alan that night at the camp, looking worried. He’d been checking if C Platoon and Johnny had turned up, but so far they hadn’t.

At four the next morning we were assembled. The platoon leaders told us grimly, almost embarrassed, that Darwin was now expecting an officer, six other-ranks and four signallers to volunteer to stay here on Timor, to continue passing on intelligence.

Some of the blokes laughed at first, thinking it was a sarcastic joke, then horror descended as they realised it wasn’t. But after a time men volunteered: they always did, fearful of the weight of not standing by their mates. It was something the brass knew well.

My wounded shoulder counted me out, for which I was profoundly grateful. Alan volunteered with the rest but four other sigs were selected. That made me profoundly grateful too.

We left Cledik before dawn on a fairly easy march to Quicras, a clump of huts near the sea. We were there by midmorning. We still had a couple of miles to go to the beach and they were the worst of the lot, through streams and mud and swamps up to our waists. Hours later we emerged, exhausted, onto the beach.

Gradually through the day the rest of the company gathered in the scrub beside the beach, along with hundreds of
criados
and Portuguese, plus wives, mistresses and children. There were the half-caste Portuguese too, the civil servants who’d kept the colony running, hoping to be rescued with their masters and allowed into White Australia. Poor bastards.

The monsoon storms hit at noon, darkening the sky, flinging around the trees and hiding us from Japanese planes. As night was falling Alan and I saw some C Platoon boys arrive. A little further up the beach we finally found Johnny.