To Ride the Wind (16 page)

‘It was not he who had you seconded,’ Patrick said. ‘You were posted to the War Office on my request.’ Stunned, Sean slumped back in his chair to stare at Patrick. ‘You see, I felt that you were not ready to return to the battalion straight after your staff college. I thought that a spell away from France might help you get your thoughts straight.’

‘I was ready, sir,’ Sean protested indignantly. ‘I realise that there was some confusion in what I did at Fromelles that day but I was ready to lead again.’

‘Sean, you are one of the best officers I have had the honour to command,’ Patrick said. ‘I saw you lead at Gallipoli and was proud to see you recognised with the award of the MC, but I have been a soldier for a long time and know that we are sometimes asked to go beyond what I would call the breaking point. The doctors are naming this nervous sickness shell shock and I feel that you were on the edge of losing your reason. The medical people believe that rest and time away from the front goes towards curing a soldier. I am not sure if they are right but the army needs good men such as you to lead others – to their deaths, if necessary.’

‘Did Sergeant Kelly say something about my behaviour that day?’ Sean asked.

‘When I questioned him for the report he was nothing but supportive of your actions,’ Patrick answered gently. ‘From reports I have seen of him in the last couple of months he is a bloody good soldier and I would hope that one day he takes a commission. But despite the fact that he would say nothing against you I was able to read between the lines. You should have been sent home to Sydney after Gallipoli for a rest before returning to France.’

‘Sir, I think I lost it that day and do not know why,’ Sean choked. ‘Sergeant Kelly should have got the VC for what he did that day clearing the trench.’

‘Sadly, because of my eagerness to see you rewarded again, the British are punishing me,’ Patrick replied. ‘And the British government has downgraded Kelly’s nomination from VC to a DCM. However, it is certainly a higher award than the Military Medal. He should be pleased.’

‘I am sure he will be,’ Sean agreed, without sounding very convincing. His actions that day had cost the gallant soldier the high award he deserved. It should have been him submitting the report, not Colonel Duffy. No, Sean well knew that he had let down Sergeant Kelly.

‘The battalion is currently resting up behind the lines so you will have the opportunity of squaring away when you join them,’ Patrick said. ‘I will be returning to France within the week and may come across you from time to time.’

‘I hope so, sir,’ Sean answered. ‘I would appear churlish if I did not thank you for all that you have done.’

‘No thanks required,’ Patrick replied, waving off the young officer’s gratitude. ‘I just pray that my old friend John Hughes continues to be successful in detaining Alexander in Australia for the duration of the war,’ Patrick confessed. ‘I know that my son would not appreciate my efforts to keep him away from the front but he does not realise just how important it is that he remain alive to one day take the reins of the family companies.’

Sean was not surprised to hear the colonel confess to his secret manoeuvring to ensure Alex remained away from the war. If he had a son he would have done the same. Deep down he knew it would only be a matter of time before the bullet with his name on it took away his life. The former solicitor had resigned himself to death and just prayed that when the time came it would not be painful. Worse still was the thought of being mutilated like some of the pitiful creatures he had seen survive their wounds only to be terribly disfigured or lose their limbs. There were some things far worse than dying.

*

For hours after Matthew and Joanne fled the scene of the killing they had said little to each other. A cold, bleak wind that cut through them like icy bullets reminded them that winter was hovering, about to descend on the ancient lands.

Before leaving the gully, Matthew had scouted a short distance to see if there had been more than the three men but only found their hobbled horses. Perhaps only three had come out in search of them because of the shortage of horses in the Turkish army. Hopefully, if a Turkish patrol found the three dead in the gully they would assume that they had been killed by Arab irregulars under the British officer, Lawrence. Bearing that in mind, Matthew had stripped the bodies and taken the uniforms and weapons to dump them in the desert somewhere along their route. Stripping bodies was the trademark of Arab irregulars and hopefully the scattered items would not be found too soon by the Turkish patrols.

Near midday the big American vehicle bogged down in soft sand and Matthew dismounted to place the metal strips carried for such circumstances under the wheels. Grunting and heaving, he pushed while Joanne drove. Eventually they were able to free themselves from the shifting sand.

‘I think we should have a hot drink,’ Joanne said, standing beside the heavily packed vehicle. ‘This cold could cause us some concern.’

Brushing down his clothes, Matthew nodded. While Joanne set about brewing a pot of coffee on a fire of petrol in a sand-filled tin, Matthew took the opportunity to scan all the horizons with her binoculars and check their bearings on the map. All he could see was a relatively flat surface of rippled sand and tiny pockets of tough, tussock grass. He calculated that they were at the edge of the Sinai, which meant they were not far from his airfield.

Joanne passed him a mug of steaming, black coffee and he sat down with his back against the front wheel. She sat next to him, sipping at her drink.

‘Who are you, really?’ Matthew asked, unable to reconcile his earlier impression of her with what he had seen in the gully that morning.

‘I am what I seem to be,’ she answered, staring at the flat horizon to the east. ‘An American archaeologist touring the Holy Land in search of undiscovered ruins. The war between the European powers does not concern me.’

Matthew gave a short laugh. ‘So, executing that German officer was not of great concern to you?’

As Joanne turned to him he regretted his taunt. There was great pain in her eyes and he thought that she might be on the verge of tears.

‘I have never killed anyone in my life and the death of those three unfortunate men will haunt me forever. But I knew if I did not do what I did you might have lost your life. The German officer I killed has . . . had a reputation for extreme cruelty towards prisoners. I know that as a neutral in this war I have now compromised myself but it was either that or you being taken prisoner and possibly killed.’

‘I am sorry,’ Matthew said in a humble voice. ‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just that you did it so efficiently and, well, I had a stupid idea that you might be working for someone in intelligence. You cannot deny that you admitted to knowing the Hun you killed.’

‘My father is a good friend of our president, Mr Wilson, and I could not risk compromising my country in your affairs, Captain Duffy,’ Joanne said. ‘To do so could possibly cause an international incident.’

‘Call me Matthew,’ the Australian said. ‘If I may call you Joanne?’

‘I would like that, Matthew,’ Joanne said, softening. ‘You have a fine name.’

‘For an Irish papist,’ Matthew said and saw the glint of humour in her eyes at his joke.

‘You must know, Matthew, that I find you an attractive man,’ Joanne said impulsively. ‘But I must also say that there is no future in anything other than a lasting friendship.’

‘I did not suspect that there was anything else,’ Matthew lied. ‘I am flattered that you think I hold some attraction to you, as I have thought since we met at the settlement that you are nothing other than a lady to be respected. However, I have to say that since saving my life you have somewhat endeared yourself to me.’

‘Nothing else?’ Joanne queried.

Matthew could hear the disappointment in her question but it gave him some satisfaction not to reveal his true feelings. It was obvious that she was a strong-willed woman who was used to getting her way with men. Had she not persuaded her father to fund her expedition into a war zone?

‘Nothing else,’ Matthew shrugged, rising to his feet.

‘Then, that is good,’ Joanne said, tossing the remnants of her coffee to the wind.

They continued the journey south and near sundown saw a faint cloud of dust rising before them. Matthew stopped the car and reached for the binoculars.

‘Is it a sand storm?’ Joanne asked anxiously.

‘No,’ Matthew replied, focusing. ‘It’s a column of mounted troops and they have changed course. They are coming this way.’

‘If we turn about we may be able to outrun them,’ Joanne said.

‘Not necessary,’ Matthew answered, rubbing his eyes. ‘They are my countrymen. From their uniforms they appear to be mounted troopers. It seems that we may receive an escort to my base.’

Matthew had been correct about the slouch hats the men wore. Within minutes a patrol of ten troopers rode cautiously towards them, their rifle butts resting against their hips.

‘G’day,’ the leader of the patrol, a tough-looking sergeant said when he had his mount alongside the car. ‘Who in hell are you?’

‘Captain Matthew Duffy of the Australian Flying Corps and the lady with me is Miss Joanne Barrington, an American citizen,’ Matthew answered. ‘We would like an escort to the nearest airfield.’

The sergeant scratched his chin. ‘You have any proof of who you are?’

‘I am afraid I have only forged documents to get me through the enemy lines – thanks to the help of Miss Barrington,’ Matthew responded. ‘However, proof of my identity can be made by my squadron commander as soon as you get us to the airfield. I was shot down some weeks ago and, no doubt, am currently listed as MIA.’

‘Okay,’ the trooper sergeant replied, wheeling his horse around and signalling to his men who were now staring with great curiosity at both the American automobile and the two passengers. It was not a sight they expected to encounter on their patrols pursuing the retreating enemy.

Matthew put the car into gear and slowly followed the lead men of the patrol while a section fell in behind them. They reached the airfield just after sunset and Matthew was welcomed with pleasure by his commanding officer who thanked the troopers for their assistance.

Matthew had found his kit already stowed away as few had given him much chance in the desert when he did not return. It took him some time to unpack it and find another uniform, and after a debriefing with the unit intelligence officer joined the merriment of the men of the squadron at rest.

Joanne was given a tent to stay in for the night and invited to the officers’ mess that evening for drinks before dinner was served. The mess was an open-sided tent during summer but with the bitter cold creeping in the sides were down and a coal brazier provided some heat. Such a pretty guest attracted every male to offer their guest a drink and Matthew quickly became jealous at seeing his brother officers turn on the charm. He had sidled unobtrusively up to Joanne, surprised to see her wearing a rather elegant dress for the occasion. Despite the wear and tear of the harsh desert lands she shone like a precious stone, he reflected.

A British major who Matthew knew held some aristocratic title in England joined the ring of men surrounding Joanne. ‘Joanne, my dear, what a very pleasant surprise finding you all the way out here in this godforsaken place. When we last met it was at a party in Kensington around ’14,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘How the devil did you get to be in here? I should add my condolences for the death of poor Freddy,’ he continued. ‘He was a damned good chap. We heard of him going down over France.’

The merriment in Joanne’s face momentarily faded.

‘Thank you, Harry,’ she replied. ‘But it has been some time now and I have chosen to get on with pursuing my work as an archaeologist. I know Freddy would not want me to just sit around and grieve for him, but make something of my life.’

‘Annabelle will be tickled pink when I write to let her know that we met out here,’ the major continued. ‘You and Freddy made a grand couple. I say, we heard that you rescued Captain Duffy, what.’

‘I would not say that I rescued Captain Duffy, but simply gave him a ride,’ Joanne replied. ‘I am sure that Captain Duffy is resourceful enough to have made his own way back without my assistance.’

‘But we heard that you shot three men,’ the major persisted. ‘Devilishly brave of you to do so, if I must say so, and a tad dangerous, as a neutral.’

Matthew felt a twinge of embarrassment. No doubt his debriefing, where he had accounted for all that had occurred since his aircraft had been shot down, was no longer a secret. Very little was kept private among this tight-knit band of flyers.

‘Oh, I see Captain Duffy wishes to speak to me,’ Joanne said, turning to Matthew who was standing a few feet away pretending to be engrossed in his drink. She excused herself and pushed her way to him.

‘Matthew, I hope that I have not embarrassed you,’ she said gently, touching his arm. ‘But I said nothing of what has happened on our journey together.’

He looked up from his glass and into Joanne’s eyes. ‘It was I who informed of all that had occurred, when I gave my debriefing. I had to give a full account but did not say how you killed the German officer. I said that he was killed from a distance by you protecting my life.’

‘Thank you,’ Joanne said, taking her hand from his arm. ‘There would be people who might get the wrong impression of me.’

‘Who was Freddy?’ Matthew asked quietly.

The pain returned to Joanne’s expression.

‘Freddy was Lord Frederick Norman-Smith, and he was a flyer like you with a unit he commanded in France. He was shot down and killed early last year over France. We were engaged to be married,’ she answered softly.

‘I am sorry,’ Matthew replied. ‘I guess that flyers are at the top of your list as not the kind of men to become involved with.’

Although Joanne did not reply Matthew knew he was right.

‘Thank you for your company on our trip,’ Joanne said, stepping away. ‘I must retire after dinner to get an early night as I am continuing my journey to Cairo tomorrow with one of the Arab servants your commanding officer has been able to obtain for me. He says that he is trustworthy and reliable.’