To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5 (39 page)

George’s speech chilled Patrick. His son was so clinical about what he was doing and the final sentence about him and Alex being in harm’s way was delivered as if his eldest son were talking about share prices rather than the possibility of losing a father and brother.

‘Have you any further news from Mr Gates?’ he asked, shrugging off his son’s speech.

‘Nothing,’ George replied. ‘My last communiqué from him was that he had reached Pearl Harbour and was looking for Nellie. Since then nothing has been heard. You know that you gave him access to a lot of funds against my advice. I would not be surprised to learn our American friend has decided to abscond with what Macintosh money he can lay his hands on and is now, as the Yanks say, living the life of Riley.’

‘Randolph Gates is not that kind of man,’ Patrick retorted angrily. ‘I have known a lot of men in my life and consider myself a relatively good judge of character. Mr Gates loves Nellie dearly. He would not desert her.’

‘Sorry, Father,’ George said from behind his desk, ‘but I do not share your opinion of him. And on the matter of my siblings, have you heard anything of Alex?’

‘Only that he may be in Rabaul and, if so, then he
is probably a prisoner of war of the Germans,’ Patrick replied.

‘Well, at least we have not heard any news concerning his death,’ George said, hiding a scowl of disappointment for not hearing such from his German source at the consulate. As it was, at the last meeting with Maynard Bosch two days earlier, the German had informed him he expected to be interned and, with any luck, possibly repatriated to Germany, as he had semi diplomatic contacts. Bosch had been evasive about Alex’s fate. All he could tell George was that he believed Alex was being held in custody in Rabaul along with Matthew Duffy.

‘Are you sure Miss Gyles will accept your proposal of marriage?’ Patrick asked, changing the topic of conversation.

George blinked in surprise at his father’s question. ‘Why would she not accept?’ he countered.

‘Oh, just that I felt she may be holding a candle for Matthew Duffy,’ Patrick answered. Although he was making a guess, based on Matthew’s attention towards Louise at the ball, he knew it would unsettle his smug son. ‘No other reason.’

This time George’s scowl was apparent. ‘Why would she be interested in a Papist drifter like Matthew Duffy?’ he asked.

‘Papist as he might be, he is a rather handsome and dashing man and believe me, son,’ Patrick said smugly, ‘in times of war such men have an appeal to the ladies.’

George sensed that his father was deliberately needling him and refused to let his feelings of anger show. ‘That may be so,’ he answered mildly. ‘But there is a very large part of a woman which desires the comforts and stability such men as myself can offer. Now, if that is all, I have to prepare for a meeting with a representative of our shareholders.’

Patrick left his son’s office knowing that his eldest son
could be a dangerous adversary. But beneath his son’s calm exterior, he knew, was a troubled and insecure man.

Matthew slept through to early afternoon until the crawling insects annoyed him out of his repose. When he awoke he noticed that Alex was already up and about. He was sitting with his back against a tree and from his demeanour Matthew sensed that the young officer was suffering a bout of melancholy.

‘What’s up, cobber?’ Matthew asked, scratching at the numerous bites to his arms and face.

‘It’s all gone so bloody wrong,’ Alex replied in a faint voice. ‘We have failed miserably to carry out the mission, I have lost Giselle and now, here we are, on the run from the Germans whom I have no doubt will shoot us on sight.’

‘Cobber,’ Matthew said, standing and stretching his legs, ‘despite what has happened to us in the last few weeks, we are still alive. That is at least something to celebrate.’

Alex glanced at the man who had grown as close as any brother could. ‘I suppose that you are right,’ he replied with a weak smile, struggling to his feet. ‘Someone is looking over us.’

‘A black angel called Wallarie,’ Matthew said, causing Alex to cast him a quizzical look. ‘Why not?’ Matthew shrugged. ‘It might be my Irish blood that makes me believe in the unseen forces around us. After all, we have relatives back in the old country who still believe in the little people and banshees. So why not believe in the mystical powers of our new land?’

Alex was surprised to be reminded that, despite his very Protestant upbringing under the guidance of his great-grandmother Lady Enid Macintosh, he still had Irish blood
through his father as well as Celtic blood from the Scots side. ‘You could be right,’ he conceded. ‘Maybe our guardian angel is Wallarie, but from what little I know about our mutual family histories he has not been so accommodating in the past.’

‘Not a good thing to talk about the dead,’ Matthew warned. ‘It might piss off Wallarie’s ancestor spirits – he told me that once.’

Alex grinned, picked up his rifle and started walking towards their water supply near the track. ‘You coming?’ he asked over his shoulder and Matthew shouldered his rifle to follow.

They refreshed themselves at the spring and, proceeding very carefully, found the trail leading to the mission station, fully aware that any patrol sent for them might be just up ahead of them on the track. This was the most dangerous part of the trek. They would be groping in the dark and could stumble upon a camp that the patrol might have set up for the night.

Then the skies opened and the rain bucketed down on them through the canopy above, soaking them through. They plodded on for hours, staying within a couple of paces of each other, until they were too exhausted to take another step in the mud that gripped their boots. They eventually agreed that they should pull off the track and struggled in the pitch blackness and under the heavy tropical downpour to find a piece of ground to stretch out on. When the rain eased, clouds broke above the canopy allowing the moon to shine through, casting eerie shadows on the forest floor. A clinging mist rose around them and they lay on the soggy earth shivering. Clammy, sticky leeches attached themselves to their skin. Then Matthew heard the noise. It was a man coughing, followed by a soft murmur of voices and the
clink of metal. He recognised the sound as a Mauser rifle bolt being locked into place. Unwittingly, they had pulled up just short of the German patrol’s camp site. Had they continued along the track they would surely have found themselves stumbling into the heart of the enemy unit.

Alex smiled grimly in the dark. Had the old Nerambura warrior – so far across the sea – sent the rain to save them? He was beginning to think like his cousin!

The following morning their fears were confirmed when they heard the unmistakable sounds of a camp being broken. They lay in their improvised hide listening as the patrol had their breakfast and moved on. At least now they could gauge where the patrol was. They found the camp but were disappointed to discover that the Germans had ensured they left no scraps behind. Hunger was becoming an increasing concern. If they did not eat soon it would be difficult to continue on their flight to freedom.

‘What do you think?’ Alex asked.

Matthew was poking around the camp site looking for anything that might have been left behind. ‘We get off the track and continue to the mission station using the path as a guide off to our right,’ he answered.

Alex agreed. He was not sure how the Germans operated but there was just the chance they might leave a rear patrol to keep an eye on the jungle trail for anyone coming up it.

They broke away from the track to push into the dense forest. Ahead were ridges, valleys and cloying mud to fight. After some hours in the dense scrub they had lost sight of the trail they needed to guide them to their destination. Alex was first to admit that they were now lost. The country was
devoid of landmarks and sweat rolled down their bodies as the humidity rose with the sun. They would need water to stay alive and reaching the mission station now took second priority to finding water.

By sunset they had travelled an unknown distance.

‘Got to have a break,’ Matthew gasped, collapsing to his knees and using his rifle as a support.

Alex also slumped to the ground. From where they stopped they had a magnificent view across a steep valley. ‘There has to be a river or creek down there,’ he observed. ‘All we need to do is have a short rest and then make our way down.’

Despite his thirst, Matthew closed his eyes and drifted into a short sleep – as did Alex. He did not know how long he had closed his eyes or dozed but something woke him with a start. His time as a soldier on active service had trained him to listen for sounds out of place in the environment. It was the soft sound of stealthy foot falls on the rotting vegetation. Cautiously, Matthew felt for the rifle beside him and wrapped his hand around the stock, his finger curling around the trigger. He needed to roll over towards the direction of the sound. As casually as he could, still gripping his rifle, he rolled onto his back. ‘Alex!’ he said in a loud voice as he looked up into the dark face of a man holding a deadly machete at his side.

‘I see them,’ Alex replied quietly from a few feet away behind him. ‘They have my rifle.’

The man towering over Matthew was not alone. Any attempt to fight would result in him and Alex being overwhelmed. He sat up, glanced around to count three more Tolai men armed with machetes standing in the tiny clearing. They were naked except for the loincloths they wore.

‘Father, he send us,’ the oldest man, the one who had
stood over Matthew, said with a broad grin. ‘Me think you lost,’ he said in fractured German. ‘You two men come with us.’

Matthew glanced at Alex. The Tolai warrior had passed his rifle back to him and Matthew did not sense that they were in trouble.

The leader of the men who had found the two Australians identified himself as Joshua and told them that he had no love for the Germans who had invaded his people’s lands. He was a proud Tolai warrior who still bore the scars on his back of a whipping he had receive for his defiance to the German occupiers. He and his family had fled into the hills, avoiding contact with the Europeans and their police. His family had been joined by others resisting the occupation. In all, his small village now numbered around eighty men, women and children eking out a living from the gardens they established to grow root crops and raise pigs. The village was well hidden and not known to the Germans. He had befriended the Italian priest who ensured that the people received medical aid when needed.

‘How did you know about us?’ Alex asked in German. He estimated the Tolai man to be in his early thirties.

‘Germans come to Father’s mission,’ he replied as they wended their way along a hidden path. ‘They say they look for you and any native boy who help you be hanged. Father, he send mission boy to us to say we must find you and look after you. You not to go to mission station.’

Alex wondered if the Italians were in the war and, if so, on which side. He felt that the Italian king would most probably ally his country with Britain should they go to war.

Just before sunset the two Australians, escorted by the machete-wielding young men, entered the village. It was
a typical Melanesian village with log huts on stilts with sloping palm-frond roofs and open to the air. They were met by wide-eyed, curious children and their bare-breasted mothers.

The Australians smiled to their silent welcoming committee of Tolai villagers and were quickly brought baskets of cooked tubers and gourds of water which they accepted gratefully, squatting by a fire that Joshua had ushered them to. The people watched them dine and a few of the children overcame their fear and touched the skin and hair of the two strangers.

That night they slept on woven mats above the ground in a hut set aside for the men. At all times the two Australians kept their rifles close. It was not the people of the village they feared but a sudden appearance of German soldiers. Alex and Matthew both knew that they would not be taken alive and the rifles ensured at least they would go down fighting. Despite their fears a heavy downpour of rain lulled them to sleep.

When they awoke next morning the sun was shining and food was provided for them. After they had finished their meal Joshua reiterated that they were to stay close to the village. Matthew and Alex asked if they could find a place to bathe and Joshua led them to a stream not far from the village at the end of a well-worn track through the forest. They stripped off and washed themselves. Both men were covered in rashes and swollen insect bites but the cold water helped ease their discomfort. When they had dressed they rested on the bank of the small stream.

‘You realise that it is our duty to mount a military campaign against the Germans on Neu Pommern,’ Alex said, his rifle resting in his lap.

Matthew looked at his cousin with an expression of
disbelief. ‘You realise of course, Captain Macintosh, that between us we have ten rounds of 7.92mm ammo for the rifles and my Mauser pocket pistol has nine rounds in the magazine of fairly useless 6.35mm ammo. I doubt that we are really ready to take on the German army.’

‘We will have to persuade Joshua and his men to aid us in the fight,’ Alex said, ignoring Matthew’s summary of their arms status. ‘With their help we may be able to ambush the Germans or at least steal some of their supplies. I have studied the tactics of the Spanish guerrillas in Wellington’s Peninsula campaign and think that our small numbers could tie up the Germans until Australia sends a force to seize the island. It’s the least we can do for the cause.’

‘You forget,’ Matthew said, ‘that I am a civilian. Simply keeping one step ahead of the Germans is all we need to do until our cobbers come to save us.’

‘You were once a soldier,’ Alex countered. ‘And you have more combat experience than I have. I cannot see why you should not join me in fighting our war.’

‘Your war,’ Matthew snorted, realising how hopeless any confrontation with the Germans and their indigenous police would be. ‘Don’t include me and Joshua’s mob. He has women and children to protect. If the Germans suspect he is aiding you they will surely carry out reprisals against the Tolai. They have a long record of doing that in this part of the world.’