To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5 (45 page)

‘Right, you lot, line up and you will be marched to the administration office for processing,’ the soldier barked.

Karolina recognised the two stripes on his arm as marking him as a corporal in the Australian army. She fell in beside Giselle whose shocked expression was also that of disbelief. ‘I have a British passport,’ Giselle protested to the corporal.

‘That don’t count for much around here, lady,’ he replied. ‘Half the people going into here were born in this country, but a German is a German despite all that. Tell your story to the government officials.’

Karolina took her daughter’s hand in her own. ‘We will be safe, my little one,’ she said with a weak, reassuring smile and never before had Giselle loved her mother more than now, when their world had been turned upside down.

Satisfied that his charges were under control, the corporal gave the order to march. The small party of German internees – men, women and children – stumbled through the gates to be processed. Giselle was too stunned to cry. The tears of despair would come when they were assigned their tent quarters.

Sweating, reloading, yelling orders and feeling the thump of the rifle in his shoulder, Dieter Hirsch fell back with his contingent of Tolai policemen, against the steady Australian advance along the track to Bitapaka. Around him in the scrubby jungle, he guessed, were others experiencing the same fear that he felt. He had seen enemy soldiers fall from their bullets and knew that he had left many of his own men lying back along the track either dead, wounded or simply too terrified to react to the assault on them.

Dieter knew that they would eventually lose the fight. The sheer numbers of the assaulting force alone dictated this. He saw movement and swung his rifle onto the target. The firing pin clicked on an empty chamber and he reached for the bandolier across his chest, finding a clip and slamming it in the open breech, sliding the bolt forward to chamber a round. The Australian soldier had disappeared and for a moment the jungle fell eerily silent.

Dieter glanced around and saw that he was truly alone now. His ears rang from the constant gunfire. When he took stock of his situation it appeared that he had lost his command to bullets and capture. He knew that he was faced with a couple of grim alternatives. He could go down fighting, or surrender to the advancing Australians. Had he not sworn to Major Pfieffer that he would acquit himself as a son of the Fatherland?

There was a third alternative, he thought grimly. He could simply slip away and head back into the hills where he might find others like himself, evading capture, and then move into a guerrilla war against the invading Australian forces.

When a man screamed in agony not far away Dieter recognised the terrible sound of a bayonet being withdrawn from a body. He had heard a similar sound when pigs were
stuck. He lowered himself to the ground and cautiously moved aside some undergrowth to see an Australian soldier wiping the blood from his long bayonet on the trunk of a tree nearby. At his feet lay a Tolai policeman gasping out the last of his life, while gripping the terrible wound to his chest.

Dieter shrank back into the concealment of the undergrowth. Had the policeman surrendered, only to be murdered by the Australian soldier, or had he attempted to fight the man in hand-to-hand combat? Whatever the answer, Dieter was convinced to escape and continue armed resistance another day. He was not deserting – as his command no longer existed.

Very carefully, Dieter concealed himself while the advancing Australian soldiers and sailors passed by him on their way to capture the radio station. Gunfire broke out behind him where he deduced a handful of his fellow countrymen were still holding out. The rifle fire was answered by a fusillade of shots from the advancing Australians.

Suddenly, Dieter felt his side thumped as if he’d been stung by a giant hornet. He realised immediately that he had been hit by a stray bullet and lay gasping in the undergrowth. Dieter could feel the stinging pain along his ribs halfway down to his waist and gingerly probed the wound with his fingers. From what he could ascertain the bullet had grazed his side, smashing a rib. The pain came in agonising waves and he groaned softly, praying that his cries had not revealed his position to the enemy. He knew he was losing blood and applied a bandage from his kit, listening carefully and gritting his teeth as the Australians moved all around him, but fortunately intent on clearing the track to the radio station.

With the bandage applied securely, Dieter remained
hidden until last light when he broke cover to escape into the hills. He at least knew the country better than the invading Australians and calculated that it would take him a good day and night to reach the mission station. From there he could make his plans to disappear in the jungle and continue waging war against the occupying Australian troops.

Unknown to those at the Catholic mission, the skirmishing against German resistance continued on the coast and, despite a clear intent by the few remaining German troops not to cede, a surrender ceremony was already being arranged in Rabaul by the commander of the invading force to mark the defeat of the Germans on Neu Pommern.

Father Umberto had organised to use his limited supply of malarial suppressant to save Alex who by now was out of the worst of the fever and sitting up to take soup administered by the nuns. He was thin and pale but still alive.

Matthew had sat by him day and night and the strain of worry had creased his face with worry lines.

‘How is the patient?’ Father Umberto asked, entering the lime-washed infirmary with a broad smile.

‘Good, Father,’ Alex answered with a weak smile. ‘Should be on my pins by this afternoon and out of your hair by tomorrow.’

‘Well, one of my boys returning from Rabaul has some astounding news that I think you two might like to know,’ the priest said, his smile widening. ‘It seems that your countrymen have landed and captured Rabaul, and that they have even conducted a surrender ceremony. You will be able to go home soon.’

Matthew leaped to his feet and grabbed the startled priest’s hand, shaking it vigorously.

‘Thanks, Father,’ he said. ‘The news could not have come at a better time.’

‘However,’ the priest continued, ‘I would caution against Captain Macintosh attempting any trek to the coast in his present condition. He should rest a few days and gather his strength before doing so. In the meantime I will be sending down a message to your people to tell them that you are up here safe and well.’

Matthew looked to his cousin propped up in the infirmary bed. ‘That is good news,’ he said. ‘If a party comes for us Alex can be littered down to Rabaul.’

‘Be damned if I am going to be carried out of here,’ Alex retorted fiercely. ‘I will walk out with you.’

Matthew sat down. He could understand his cousin’s pride. ‘Okay, we wait for them to arrive and walk out together.’

The Italian priest shrugged. At least now he did not have to fear reprisals from the German administration for harbouring the two Australians.

That evening the mission station had a visitor, but not one who was expected.

Matthew and Alex were stunned to see Hauptmann Dieter Hirsch helped into the infirmary by two of the native nuns and Sister Bridget and laid down on a cot next to Alex. With glassy eyes, he looked up. Matthew could see the dark shadow of a blood-soaked bandage strapped around his chest.

‘Where did you get it?’ Matthew asked Dieter.

‘In the side,’ Dieter replied hoarsely. The Irish nun was swabbing the wounded German officer’s brow when Father Umberto arrived.

‘Sorry to hear that,’ Matthew said without rancour. ‘We have heard that your cobbers have surrendered to our boys.’

‘I have not surrendered,’ Dieter replied, gritting his teeth
against the pain when the priest stepped in to remove the bandage, exposing the ugly wound.

‘That’s a bit of a moot point,’ Matthew said. ‘Captain Macintosh over here is a commissioned officer and obliged to accept your surrender.’

‘There are no prisoners under the roof of my mission,’ Father Umberto said, tossing aside the bloody field bandage and reaching for a sterilised swab to clean the wound. ‘Your war is out there, not here. Italy is still a neutral country.’

‘But you are now on land occupied by my country,’ Matthew countered. ‘You will fall under our administration.’

‘When you and Captain Macintosh sought our help did not my people and I risk everything to protect you?’ the priest asked.

Matthew felt embarrassed by his nationalistic enthusiasm but before he could reply Alex’s voice cut across the tiny space of the infirmary. ‘Hauptmann Hirsch risked his career to aid us in our escape,’ he said. ‘We owe him our lives and must honour the risk he took. As far as I am concerned, we never saw him brought into the mission.’

‘That suits me fine,’ Matthew agreed. ‘But I never thought that you might see the matter from other than a military point of view.’

‘Thank you, my friends,’ Dieter said, gritting his teeth as Father Umberto bandaged the wound. ‘I am grateful for your consideration.’

‘How are you at chess?’ Matthew asked, causing Dieter to glance up at him with a questioning look.

‘I play well,’ he replied.

‘Good,’ Matthew answered. ‘Captain Macintosh is a lousy player and I need a bit of competition. Father Umberto has a chess set. You and I will have a few games while you are recuperating.’

‘That should be a short time,’ the Italian priest said, washing his hands in an enamel dish. ‘Hauptmann Hirsch has not suffered a life-threatening wound. The bullet has broken a rib and it will heal with some bed rest.’

That night the four men shared a bottle or two of the good French wine that Father Umberto had stashed away. For the night there was no war as they swapped stories of home.

Two days later, a patrol of Australian soldiers and sailors arrived under arms to make contact with their two countrymen rumoured to be holed up in the mission station.

When they arrived they were met by the sight of two very gaunt men with beards, wearing ragged clothes but exhibiting broad smiles of relief. They were not told of the German militia officer who’d been moved outside the mission station to an outlying hut where he was being cared for by an Irish nun.

29

I
t was a grand homecoming for Alex and Matthew in October. Guests filled Patrick’s house and no expense had been spared in catering for the formal dinner to toast the return of Captain Macintosh and Mr Duffy. Only George Macintosh did not appear happy as the invited friends and guests celebrated the miraculous survival of the two Australians. Alex wore his military dress uniform while Matthew found that his formal suit still fitted him, albeit hanging just a little loosely on his frame on account of the loss of weight he had incurred in the jungles of the Pacific island.

‘Good to have you back, m’boy,’ a red-nosed guest congratulated Alex, slapping him on the back. ‘Now you will have the opportunity to show those dirty Huns a thing or two.’

Alex smiled weakly and moved on. He found that he was only comfortable in the company of his cousin who
had shared so much with him on their failed mission. Even his father was now a distant figure – caught up in military duties for his newly formed battalion. Since returning home to Sydney he had barely had the chance to speak with Patrick in private.

‘Alex,’ a voice said and he turned to see his future sister-in-law smiling at him. ‘Would you like to step outside for a little fresh air?’

‘Certainly,’ Alex answered, glad to have an excuse to leave the pack of well-wishers.

They made their way to the garden where they stood under a magnificent southern sky of twinkling stars.

‘How are you?’ Louise asked, and her question had a note of genuine concern.

‘I am fine,’ Alex answered, reaching for a silver case containing a row of small cigars. ‘I’m just glad to be back.’

‘You do know about Giselle and Mrs Schumann?’ Louise asked.

Alex removed a cigar and noticed that his hands were trembling. He had tried to block Giselle from his thoughts for some time. ‘I don’t know how I could, since I saw them last at their plantation.’

‘Giselle told me what happened when you were there,’ Louise said. ‘I am sorry that it all went so badly.’

‘When could she have told you that?’ Alex asked, attempting to light the cigar. ‘Did she stop by Sydney after she betrayed Matthew and myself?’

Even in the dim light of the garden Alex could see the expression of shock on Louise’s face. ‘She did not betray you,’ she retorted. ‘As one of her best friends, she confided in me that she is madly in love with you, and would have given her own life if it meant changing what happened.’ Louise repeated the story of how Giselle had been
intercepted with the supplies intended for the sea voyage south to Port Moresby.

‘Is she back with her father and mother?’ Alex asked, attempting to appear casual about her fate.

‘No, she and Mrs Schumann are being held in an internment camp at Holsworthy and they have since been informed that Mr Schumann was killed in a native uprising at his plantation last month. I think that you should pay Giselle a visit as I suspect that she really needs to see you.’