To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5 (38 page)

‘All of you,’ he said in German. ‘Get into the cell.’

The gaoler, two soldiers and Hirsch entered the tiny cell which Alex locked. ‘No noise or we will shoot you,’ Alex said, tossing the keys to the end of the building, knowing that he had no intention of carrying out his threat. He glanced at Hirsch but did not betray his thoughts of gratitude for what the officer had risked to save their lives.

Outside the gaol, Matthew scooped up the rifles and passed one to Alex. ‘Stick close with me,’ he said. ‘I think I know a way out of town to the track up into the hills.’

They had the cloak of night to conceal their flight and only the barking of town dogs might have betrayed their presence to the occupants of the houses they slipped past in the night. Very soon, Alex found the path and their trek began. They struggled in the dark through rainforest gullies and climbed steep ground. The more distance they put between them and the township before first light the better. Many times they slipped in the dark, knocking skin off exposed flesh. Desperation kept them immune from both the pain they were suffering and the stench of rotting vegetation. Exhaustion dogged them. By dawn they had put a respectable distance between themselves and Rabaul and they collapsed into the leaf-carpeted floor of the thick forest surrounding them.

‘How much further is the mission station?’ Matthew gasped, fighting the need to drift into sleep, despite his terrible thirst.

‘A fair distance yet,’ Alex replied, also suffering dehydration. ‘Coming back down the trail with Jock I remember that somewhere along here was a spring. I think we need to find water before we go mad with thirst.’

Forcing himself to his feet, Matthew followed Alex who had already set off in search of the spring. They stumbled forward, sometimes on their knees and hands, clawing up steep, overgrown slopes of tropical vines that tore at their exposed limbs. From time to time they were stung by insects. Matthew wondered if they would make the mission alive. It was Alex who set the example to keep going. Plodding on, he stopped at the base of a small incline. ‘It’s here!’ he exclaimed.

Matthew watched as Alex broke off the track to plunge into the forest. ‘Over here,’ he whooped.

When Matthew joined his cousin he saw him gulping from a clear trickle of water running down a small crevice in the rocks. Matthew staggered forward to drink as much as he could. Refreshed, he fell back against the warm, rainforest floor. ‘Good on you, Alex,’ he said with a sigh. ‘You’re a bloody marvel.’

‘I don’t think we can stay here very long,’ Alex said, leaning against the trunk of a forest giant. ‘No doubt the Germans will be following close behind. They seem to know about Father Umberto’s collaboration with us. Maybe we have had a chance to make a good gap between us and Rabaul but I figure they would have headed after us as soon as the sun rose.’

‘What do you think we should do?’ Matthew asked, staring with bleary eyes at the thick canopy blocking the sun.

‘I think our best bet is to continue deeper into the forest, get off the track, covering any evidence of our path as we go, and then rest up for the day. With any luck the German patrol that’s likely to come after us will stick to the track and pass us by.’

Matthew glanced around. He could see how someone could easily hide in the forest. ‘Not a bad idea,’ he agreed.
‘But we are going to need more water before too long or we will be too weak to continue.’

‘We could get that at the mission station,’ Alex replied. ‘It’s not that far off and I don’t think we will die of hunger before then.’

Moving cautiously at a right angle from the track, the two men found a place to hold up for the day and rest. They were in luck. There was a source of water only a short distance from their location and now it was a matter of evading the enemy until they could receive help from the Italian priest. Secured in their hide, both men quickly fell into a deep sleep, unaware that an armed patrol of Tolai police were already searching for them along the mission station track.

Hauptmann Dieter Hirsch stood at attention before Major Paul Pfieffer. Hirsch could feel the cold sweat of fear trickling down his spine as the senior officer scanned the reports he had compiled from the two soldiers who had been released from the gaol along with Dieter. He sighed and looked up at the young militia officer.

‘It does not look good for you, Hauptmann Hirsch,’ he started. ‘From what the two men accompanying you last night have told me in their reports, I am having trouble accepting that the prisoners escaped by their own devices. We are at war, and to aid the enemy is an act of treason punishable by death.’

‘Sir,’ Dieter attempted to explain, ‘I was over-powered by Herr Duffy and disarmed. I decided that the most appropriate action to take to avoid one of my men being killed in an exchange of gunfire with a desperate man was to fully comply with his demands. I knew that the prisoners could not go very far without help and as they are visitors to the
island I felt that they would not receive assistance from the local populace.’

Pfieffer rose from behind his desk and walked across to a window that had a view of a large mango tree shading the backyard. He turned to the officer, still standing rigidly at attention. ‘You and I both know that Captain Macintosh has been in contact with that Italian priest and I have no doubts that he and Herr Duffy are making their way to his mission station. I have already despatched a patrol of our native police to capture them. I may be unable to prove that you abetted the prisoners in their escape,’ he said. ‘But I do have the power to place you on close arrest for negligence in your duties, Herr Hauptmann. As of this moment you are confined to your quarters at the barracks. I will convene an official inquiry into your actions last night in due course. That is all.’

Hirsch saluted, turned and marched out of the office. His fate was now in the hands of his fellow officers. Apart from a charge of negligence in his duties he knew full well that he could be found guilty of treason.

24

I
n the mid-morning sun of late winter, Colonel Patrick Duffy completed his inspection of his regiment. The proclamation of war by the Prime Minister, Mr Fisher, had inspired many to enlist, eager to join the battles being fought in Europe.

Saluting the regimental second in command, Patrick left the parade ground to go to the reviewing dais for the march past. His men gave the traditional eyes right salute under the command of their sub unit commanders as they swung past the platform where the senior military guests sat.

Patrick returned their salutes until the last unit passed and then went to join John Hughes among the spectators, proudly watching the sons of the Empire dismissed to their barracks. It was a scene repeated across the Empire from Canada to New Zealand, from India to South Africa. Fresh-faced young men could see an opportunity to travel
and find glory under the British standard, proudly displaying their own brand of nationalism to the Mother Country, Britain.

‘They will require more training,’ Patrick said to John Hughes. ‘But they are keen and I am sure will display the same soldierly character we did in South Africa.’

‘I am certain they will,’ Hughes agreed. ‘I have orders on my desk. The government intends to raise what is to be called the Australian Imperial Force, and that means you and I will be tied up with our recruiting people for the next few weeks.’

‘What about the German navy’s operational order?’ Patrick asked. ‘You and I know that if they are able to carry it out, we won’t have any recruiting halls still standing along the east coast – let alone military depots. We both know the terrible power of the German cruiser guns.’

Hughes took Patrick by the elbow and guided him away from the throng of civilian and military spectators attending the parade. ‘I have it from good sources that we are raising a combined army and navy expeditionary force to deal with the problem,’ he said quietly. ‘Its task will be to take out the German radio stations and cut off all communications in the Pacific for the German navy on their China station.’

‘Have we heard anything in the radio intercepts concerning my son and Matthew?’ Patrick asked.

Hughes shook his head. ‘Sorry, old chap,’ he replied. ‘Nothing since we heard they were being taken to Rabaul.’

‘My son is now officially a prisoner of war,’ Patrick reflected. ‘They would have to treat him under the terms of the Hague Convention.’

‘I am sure they will,’ Hughes reassured. ‘As Matthew is a civilian the worst that could occur is for him to be detained as an enemy alien and simply confined. The Germans are a
civilised race, despite our differences with them. They cannot afford to mistreat our people when they know so many Germans live in this land. Tit for tat, one could say.’

‘They were not so civilised when they invaded neutral Belgium,’ Patrick countered.

The invasion of Belgium had forced Britain’s hand as they held an old but valid treaty with that country in the event of invasion. Somewhat reluctantly, England had been forced to declare war against Germany and her allies when German troops had crossed the Belgian border in a sweeping movement aimed at the heart of the French nation. Paris was in the German sights and crossing neutral territory a necessity to achieve that aim.

‘Would not you and I have used the same strategy if we were on the German planning staff?’ Hughes asked. ‘Military men are guided by wanting decisive victories on the battlefield – not political ends to satisfy the men sheltered in their party rooms.’

Patrick reluctantly agreed. He might have formulated the same strategy, now known to them as the Schliefflen Plan. ‘I don’t want a desk job in recruiting,’ he said, changing the subject to a matter weighing heavily on his mind. ‘Either I lead my regiment in battle, or I am included in the staff of the expeditionary force for the Pacific region of operations.’

‘I regret that you will never have the opportunity to lead the men of your militia regiment,’ Hughes replied. ‘I have been informed that your soldiers are to be absorbed into the soon-to-be-raised AIF, but I will do my best to get you included in the expeditionary force for operations against German territory in our part of the world.’

‘Thank you, John,’ Patrick said. ‘Do you personally think that the war will be over by Christmas?’

John Hughes stared across the now empty parade ground. ‘Take what you and I saw in South Africa and multiply it a hundred thousand times. I doubt it. The way things are going in Europe the Kaiser might be sitting on a newly resurrected French throne in a matter of weeks. The Belgians are fighting back, but I doubt that they will be able to hold the German advance, and our own small army, as well trained as it is, is no match for the sheer weight of German numbers that will be arrayed against them. The Germans are not the primitively armed Fuzzy Wuzzies you and I faced in the Sudan and Egypt. They are crack troops, well armed and motivated, and Lord Kitchener is already calling for at least one hundred thousand volunteers to enlist, which will put a huge strain on Britain’s workforce. I fear that we will be in for a protracted war.’

‘My own thoughts,’ Patrick said. ‘But still the politicians are boasting to the papers it will be all over before the year is out.’

‘How many politicians have you known who have ever been on a battlefield and seen what we have?’ John Hughes reflected sadly. ‘The stupid bastards are only thinking about popularity and votes garnered by jingoism. A lot of them will make a lot of money out of this war, along with their cronies, while good young men will die to help them boost their profits.’

The British colonel’s last words struck a chord with Patrick. He had no doubts that his son George would come to him and explain how, as one of the captains of industry, he must stay out of military service in the interests of his country’s economy. The thought sickened Patrick. He had seen it all before where young men died so that a handful of already wealthy men could further prosper.

Patrick made his excuses and left the barracks in his
chauffeured limousine. He needed to stop off at the Macintosh offices on his way home. He was let off in the street and noticed that the civilians who had hardly given him a glance before when he was in uniform now respectfully dipped their hats. Even the occasional, ‘Good on yer, cobber’ followed him.

George was at the offices when Patrick arrived. The outbreak of hostilities had caused some panic among shareholders, as their sources of income were now under threat of being cut off by naval blockades. Patrick greeted familiar faces as he made his way up the stairs to his son’s office. He knocked before walking in and was surprised to see his son in the company of Miss Louise Gyles. She was standing close to his son by the window. George glanced at his father with a look of annoyance.

‘Hello, Miss Gyles,’ Patrick greeted, ignoring his son’s expression. ‘How is your father, Sir Keith?’

‘He is well,’ she replied sweetly. ‘You should reacquaint yourself with him when you can.’

She turned back to George. ‘I must excuse myself as I have an appointment with my mother for afternoon tea,’ she said. ‘George dear, I will see you on the weekend at the Grants’ – don’t forget.’

Patrick could smell her perfume as she brushed past him. When she was gone, he turned to his son. ‘A truly wonderful young lady,’ he said.

‘One whom I hope will agree to become your future daughter-in-law,’ George replied, walking back to his desk. ‘I intend to speak to Sir Gyles and ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage and I have a strong feeling he will be agreeable to having me as a son-in-law.’

Patrick registered his surprise. ‘Is that a bit sudden considering we have just gone to war?’

‘Father, we both know the best thing I can do for the country is to remain out of uniform and run the family companies,’ George said. ‘We have vital commercial interests tied up in war production and England is going to need many of our primary products to feed the masses. We have a huge stake in providing that important service and for me to enlist would be a disaster for the business. So I do not think asking for Louise’s hand in marriage is out of place. I will not be in harm’s way as you and Alex will probably find yourselves in the future.’