Under the Southern Cross

By Clara M. Miller

Under the Southern Cross, the eighth book in the Brothers Series and the fourth in the Shamrocks Saga, continues the story begun in Shamrocks in the Heather with the adventures of the rapidly maturing younger members of the Quigley clan.

World War II is now in full swing and the Quigley cousins (by whatever name theyre known) volunteer for duty in the armed forces: Andrew, Finn and Doug in the RAF, Dennis in the Royal Navy and Geordie in the Army. Roarke, trapped in Australia by the outbreak of war, joins the coastwatchers in the Solomon Islands. This job, vital to the war effort and extremely dangerous, keep Martin, Anne and the twins on tenterhooks.

Whether due to old age or the toll taken by the stress of war, the family suffers many deaths. The younger generation suffers greatly as well as they perform their various stints in the military. In the meantime, the demon inhabiting the soul of Adolph Hitler is beginning to believe the Nazis are no longer going to win the war. He takes desperate and sometimes foolish measures to try to rectify the deteriorating situation. Lucifer, ever practical, decides to hedge his bet by looking at Stalin as a new would-be ally in his war to establish the Rule of Chaos. The Spear of Destiny will play a role in the outcome of the war and many forces are determined to gain control of the mystical weapon. What no one counts on is the interference of the Quigley twins. Dora and Dosia are set on reclaiming the Spear for its original owner.

While a vicious war turns London into matchsticks and mainland Europe into hell-on-earth, a semi-normal life goes on. People, Quigleys included, marry and have children. Their traveling is curtailed by shortages of fuel; their gatherings are more subdued with less food and fewer gifts but a semblance of normalcy is stubbornly adhered to. So, the battle between good and evil goes on. On one side is the Prince of Hell and his faithful (?) Lieutenant Beelzebub. Or is he faithful? Hes beginning to develop a reluctant admiration for the twins and even begins to like them. On the other side are the Quigleys, their Angels and the two wild-cards: Dora and Dosia.

What happens to the Spear will have great bearing on the future of mankind although no one really realizes that and the twins want to keep it that way. They know this is not the last time theyll have to face and fight Lucifer and his minions but they take one day at a time, one challenge at a time while whispering the Quigley lullaby Whisht now, whisht.

This is not a religious book nor meant to endorse or promote any type of belief. It is intended to provide a verbal roller-coaster ride. Plus, Ive grown to quite like The Old Man. Enjoy!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 12, 2004
• ISBN: 9781469109701

Clara M. Miller

The author was born in Buffalo, New York. Her first published book, Echoes of a Haunting (published in 1999) is non-fiction. In the fiction field, she has written Brothers (2001), Once a Demon (2002), Birds of a Feather (2002). Cirque Diabolique (2003), Shamrocks in the Heather (2003), A Breath of Old Smoke (2004) and Daughters of Gemini all in the BROTHERS Series. In 1975, she moved out West, first to California and then north to Oregon. She currently resides in the coastal town of Florence, Oregon with her mother, their dog, “Dear” Abby and a cat named Miss Kitty.

Book preview

Copyright © 2004 by Clara M. Miller.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

26329

Contents

PROLOGUE

PART I

1942-1943

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

PART II

1943-1944

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

PART III

1944-1945

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHARACTERS IN UNDER THE SOUTHERN CROSS

WORDS YOU MIGHT NOT KNOW

PERSONAL INFORMATION: CLARA M. MILLER

THE ENTIRE BROTHERS SERIES IS DEDICATED TO:

My mother, Ann Boland Miller, who never lost faith in me and

who has suffered through countless read-throughs

THIS VOLUME, THE EIGHTH IN THE

BROTHERS SERIES AND THE FOURTH IN

THE SHAMROCKS SAGA IS

DEDICATED TO:

Warren Stanley, who helped me out with his own recollections of

World War II

Ilah Cole in thanks for Jennifer who’s a real doll and

Henry Cole, who first told me about the Spear of Destiny

I must confess, I am rather surprised Myself at the heroic actions of the Quigleys during the War. Surely, they have been sorely tested but they have not been found wanting. So many of their number have died and, yet, they carry on. Would that all My sons and daughters were as resolute.

Now, if you’ve been following My story or, rather, their story, you’ll remember that young Roarke is serving his country in Australia in the role of a Coast-watcher. He has also met a young lady who promises to become even more special to him. Does he survive? Does the young couple become closer? As always—guidance is available in the back and, as always—to find out more, you’ll have to read on … .

T.O.M.

PROLOGUE

It’s 1942. World War II is now in its fourth year for Britain. The strain has begun to tell on the economy and resources of the Commonwealth. With America’s entry into the war in 1941, hope blossomed anew in the hearts of Britons everywhere. Like the rest of the world, the Quigleys, their friends and relatives have been caught up in the conflict. As the year opened, the war on the Eastern front was escalating, bringing Australia further into the fray. Australian Prime Minister John Curtin, knowing his country was directly in the path of Japanese aggression, had nevertheless declared war on Japan the day after the attack on Pearl Harbor.

At this perilous time, the Quigleys are scattered due both to the natural progression of events and the war itself. With typical good humor, they brace for whatever will come and they pray. Though the family is separated physically, the members are one psychically and spiritually.

Conor and Megan still practice medicine in Edinburgh with their son, Danny. Danny is busy honing his skills in the fairly new practice of reconstructive surgery. Megan’s father, retired doctor Tully O’Brien, has joined the couple after his daughter’s pleading became too much for him. His heart is no longer as dependable as it had been and, reluctantly, he admitted he needed help.

Ethna lives in Lochleal with her husband, Douglas MacKinnon who still runs the Lochleal Tattler. Their son, RAF Flight Officer Doug MacKinnon Jr., is busy flying bombing missions over Germany.

Erin’s widower, Lee, still practices medicine at St. Bartholomew’s in London while their son, RAF Flight Officer Andrew Drew Bainbridge, guards the coast as he flies a fighter plane from a base in the south of England.

Martin and Anne live near Hampstead Heath with their twin daughters, Theodora and Theodosia, affectionately known as Dora and Dosia. Their son, Roarke, has been trapped in Australia since the outbreak of hostilities with Germany. His family hasn’t seen him since 1937. The news that he had volunteered to be a coastwatcher in New Guinea and the Solomons shook the family’s nerves. While he awaited assignment he continued with his coastwatching duties at the northern tip of Australia.

Anne’s father, Louis Woolcott, the Earl of Ballingsgate, continues to reside in his estate near Lincoln in the east Midlands. At sixty-eight, the Earl retains his health and his high spirits. Late in 1941, he began to court Miss Cordelia Bysmouth Comfrey, a young lady of fifty. His relatives aren’t a bit surprised.

Alison Quigley MacGregor, widow of both Finn Quigley and Broc MacGregor, still dwells on her estate near Lochleal. Her son, Donel Quigley, and his wife, Mary, live nearby. Donel acts as his mother’s factor just as he had for his step-father. Alison’s other son, Geordie MacGregor, is home recovering from wounds suffered in the fight for Tobruk. His friend, Charlie Coggins, who accompanied him, has made himself invaluable to Donel in the running of the estate. Donel’s son, RAF Squadron Leader Finn Quigley, is still flying fighter planes from a base on Malta.

Alison’s daughter, Sheila, lives at Ardsley Manor in Hampton with her husband, Timothy Arbuthnott. Their daughter, Jennifer, works as a nurse at St. Bart’s while her twin, Lieutenant Dennis Arbuthnott, is now serving with the Royal Navy aboard the destroyer Pendragon.

Kerwyn O’Leary and Aidan Quinn are still publishing the Edinburgh Tattler although Aidan has been troubled by blinding headaches for some months now. They’ve come to rely more and more on Jasper Jales, their Cockney assistant.

In Australia, a Quigley cousin, Toby Shaughnessy, continues to run his far-flung business empire from his main office in Brisbane. His son, Aubrey, has volunteered for coastwatching duty and has agreed to take his young cousin, Roarke, along. Toby has been watching with keen interest as Roarke’s attachment to his barrister’s daughter, Mary Clare Keenan, grows.

The Butlers, also Quigley cousins, run a cattle station in northern Queensland. When Roarke gets a break from his harrowing vigil, he visits them. He has gotten to know Ward Butler quite well and the two men often ride into the bush together. Ward, the twenty-year-old son of Burt and Eve, is champing at the bit to get into the fray like his cousin but his father insists that his help on the station is much more vital to the war effort since they provided food for the soldiers. Ward is far from convinced.

Burt’s sister, Carolyn, and her husband Kenton Hofbrenner, also run a cattle station in northern Queensland. Their eighteenyear-old son, Neal, has shown up at Roarke’s watch-site twice now. Roarke worried about the boy’s tramping through the bush by himself. Neal, however, had no qualms about finding his way. His father was half Kongkandji so, Roarke surmised, the boy could find his way as well as his Aboriginal relatives. Neal hadn’t answered when Roarke asked if his parents knew of his activities. Neal’s brother, Grady, is younger and, as yet, hasn’t attempted the trek to visit Roarke.

Roarke spent what time he could exploring the area around his cousins’ stations thinking that someday he might own such a place. He and Mary Clare would do quite well, he thought.

Mary Clare Keenan, who by now had publicly declared her intention of marrying young Roarke Quigley, remained at her father’s side in Brisbane. William Keenan is a barrister whose office is in one of the larger buildings in town. Mary Clare prefers the bush although she agreed to study law when the war ends. She chafes at the prevailing rules that dictate she wait for her man to do the dangerous work. Roarke had tentatively agreed that she could accompany Jutta Ganballa on coastwatching activities when he, himself, left for the islands.

Mary Clare was torn in two. On one hand, she couldn’t wait to be useful in the war effort. On the other hand, she dreaded with an almost physical pain the more dangerous estrangement she’d have to endure. In moments of introspection, she pondered on the miracle that was her love for Roarke. Early on she had stated firmly and often that she intended to marry no one. Being subject to another human being, especially of the male persuasion, irked her since she knew herself to be as good or better than the best of them. But Roarke was different. He respected her brains and asked her opinions. That, plus the fact that he looked on her with open adoration, broke Mary Clare’s resolve into a million pieces. Now, she sat in Brisbane and tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for men to determine her fate.

A world away in both time and distance the town of Scajaquada on Long Island waits. The twins would have a long road to travel before reaching their destiny and fulfilling their purpose in the Old Man’s schemes. What obstacles Lucifer may place in their way are unknown. Thus begins our story.

PART I

1942-1943

CHAPTER 1

The rain soaked everything. For three days it had come down, not like rain anywhere else but in solid sheets making visibility impossible. Roarke hunkered down and pulled his tarp closer around him. He sat in a lean-to constructed against a huge gum tree. Though the torrent came straight down it still managed to soak everything without prejudice. Jutta sat at his side. The pair were eating canned meat and drinking tea. Roarke winced as a trail of cold moisture rolled down his neck and under his shirt. He sighed, Doesn’t the Wet seem wetter this year, Jutta?

With his usual imperturbability, Jutta shrugged. Dunno! Maybe. Seems always wet to me, but. Maybe you whitefellas feel more.

Roarke looked at his companion to make sure he was joking. White teeth flashing back at him told him he was. They resumed eating in silence. Roarke hoped to be leaving for the Solomons at the end of the week so he had only one more day here. Something in the monotonous, almost hypnotic drumming of the rain seemed to make him introspective or maybe it was a sign of old age. In a few months he’d be twenty-one years old, that hoary old landmark. He wondered if he’d feel different, more mature, perhaps. Then, unconsciously shrugging his shoulders, he decided he wouldn’t feel anything. With a start, he realized that this June the twins would celebrate their seventeenth birthdays. He laughed out loud at the thought. In his mind, the twins were still twelve. At his laugh, Jutta jerked to attention and almost jumped to his feet. Roarke apologized. Sorry, old chap. I just remembered that my sisters will soon have a birthday. You know—the twins. I’ve told you about them.

Jutta settled back down and nodded. Sure. You tell me of one-be-two girls. How old?

Roarke marveled anew as he answered, Seventeen! Boy, I can hardly believe it. They were only twelve when I last saw them.

Jutta asked, They married?

Roarke stopped himself before he showed his amazement. Aborigine women married young. No, they’re not. They don’t even have boyfriends … . or, at least, I don’t think they do.

Jutta looked sympathetic. Too bad. They be old enough, but. Soon they be too old.

Roarke decided not to pursue the subject of his sisters’ marriageability. He shaded his eyes to keep the rain out and tried to pierce the solid sheet of water pouring through the trees. Think it’ll let up?

Jutta didn’t bother raising his head. No. Could use a humpy right now, but.

Roarke nodded. We’ll have to start back tomorrow morning. Think we can find our way?

The flash of teeth in the mahogany skin showed his answer before he spoke. Sure. When you go I bring your whitefella gal here with me, but?

Roarke grimaced. Yes and your blackfella bum better watch out for her. She’s very special to me.

Jutta laughed out loud. I be watching her like I watch you. Hope she wait till Wet finished. What you take with you Solomons?

Roarke wiped some of the moisture from his face with a wet handkerchief and then grunted at the futility of the gesture. He knew without being told that Jutta referred to weaponry. I don’t know. My boomerang, certainly, and a knife. Don’t think we’re allowed guns but I don’t know for sure.

Jutta looked concerned. This against Japs? How ’bout nullanulla. Could crack some mardi’s dun-gu.

Roarke clapped the man on the shoulder. Much as I’d love to cart one of your head-bashers with me, I think they’d be too heavy. The radio we have to haul weighs a ton when it’s assembled. I imagine we’ll need native help to carry it.

Jutta turned to him and, once again, asked the plaintive question. Why I can’t go too, but? I can carry; I can use nullanulla; I can use boomerang; I can use bullroarer.

Roarke shook his head. "You know I’d love to have you with me but they want to use the local talent. It may be that the natives there would resent a tough Kooree like you. I have tried to talk them into it, you know."

Jutta nodded, his lips pursed in disapproval. I don’t like you go alone, but. You no so tough as Jutta. Jutta guni more lots mardi than you.

Roarke blew his breath out audibly to signal his agreement. I know, Jutta, and I truly wish I could take you. I’ll probably get lost in the bush without you.

Jutta made a hasty gesture to repel evil spirits. Don’ go say that. It bad to say such awful thin’. Bring kurdaitcha for sure. You spit on ground or see Koradji. He get kurdaitcha away from you.

Roarke sighed. At times he forgot Jutta’s background but then, when he began to discount the man’s beliefs, he wondered. Was the Aborigine’s faith any more unbelievable than talking to your Guardian Angel?

By morning the rain had temporarily slacked off and Roarke sent a quick prayer of thanks. They bundled up their matildas and set off for Cairns. The bush around them was beginning to steam in the weak sun. It was the beginning of winter here while England celebrated summer. Roarke still had trouble remembering that. He laughed to himself at the tendency men had of making wherever they happened to be the center of the universe, the linchpin by which all events were measured.

Jutta’s words cut through his thoughts. You be happy, but? This be last time we come for long time. You take Jutta’s words with you. They keep you safe. Hear?

Roarke nodded. His friend had brought him abruptly back to the present. The thought of Mary Clare huddling in the steaming, treacherous outback made him regret his promise. He knew her resilience, her tenacity and her innate toughness. Still, some inner voice kept insisting " … but she’s a woman." He knew what his mother and his sisters would think of that declaration.

He looked around at the bush along the trail and was thankful that Jutta was with him. As often as he’d traveled this way, he still found it hard to distinguish one spot from another. The bush had a habit of replicating itself in monotonous regularity. One tree looked identical to the one next to it; one clearing duplicated its neighbors on each side. If one contemplated the sameness, it began to take bites of the soul like a harpy. The very similarity confused the senses and he could understand why people died not 50 feet from salvation merely because they couldn’t differentiate one part of the bush from another.

In a strange way, the peculiarity of the bush reminded him of the holiday the family had spent at Blackpool when he was six. The arcade on the boardwalk had a machine that cost a ha’penny to operate. Inside a viewing tube was a drum painted with scenery and outside that the silhouette of a horse and carriage. Once the mechanism was activated, the drum turned according to the speed at which you cranked a handle. The scenery on the drum in back rotated, giving the illusion that the horse and buggy were moving. The scenery repeated itself at short intervals. Right now, he felt as though he were the horse and carriage—at least the horse. He shuddered reflexively and was grateful when Jutta made no comment.

They camped just before sundown. The weather had cleared and the sky blazed with stars. After boiling the billy, they sat down and ate another container of dried beef with their tea. With a sharpness that startled him, he had such a craving for his mother’s roast beef with yorkshire pudding that he almost bent over double. Gritting his teeth, he suppressed the feeling. They were about 15 feet from the trail. Behind them was a thick underbrush of bindii. They were surrounded on three sides by eucalyptus. Jutta squatted at his side in that peculiar way of the Aborigines, with one leg stretched straight out in front of him. Roarke envied his suppleness. They spoke very little before turning in.

Roarke had tried many times to explain the war to Jutta and had given up since he barely understood the reasons behind it himself. Jutta couldn’t fathom why whitefellas would fight whitefellas unless it were for land or to avenge a wrong. Economic reasons, xenophobia and megalomania made no sense to the practical Jutta. Roarke was glad they’d achieved such a closeness that talk wasn’t necessary. There was something cathedral-like in the stillness of the bush tonight. Talking seemed irreverent.

As they stretched out the canvas that would help prevent insects from biting from below, Roarke began to wonder again about his Wik-Mukan friend. He’d been astonished to learn that Jutta was only two years older than he yet he had a wife and three children. The man talked very little about himself and if you asked a question he’d agree with whatever you perceived the answer to be. Roarke supposed he did it to avoid causing the questioner any discomfort. When Roarke had asked if he’d been born in Queensland, Jutta had answered—Youi. When he’d asked if he’d been born in the Northern Territory, he again answered Youi. Once Jutta had told Roarke that girl babies weren’t worth having; then he bragged about his daughter Ooderoo. Roarke had given up. He thought that Jutta had two boys and a girl. He thought the boys’ names were Mudrooroo and Muk Muk but he wasn’t sure. The names seemed to vary with the telling. Roarke wasn’t comfortable asking anyone personal questions and he felt that Jutta’s obfuscation was designed to stymie such intimacies. Just as he made that decision, he knew he was wrong. Jutta’s brand of courtesy was foreign to Roarke and he knew he could never hope to understand it.

A large mosquito net was tacked to a gum tree and spread over both of them. Malaria was still a problem and they were taking no chances. Just as important was keeping out the ubiquitous flies that traveled in huge swarms and didn’t hesitate to fly into your mouth should you unwisely keep it open too long. Snoring without a mosquito net could prove too adventuresome for most.

After wishing Jutta a perfunctory goodnight, Roarke turned onto his back and watched the sky through the lacy, leafy canopy above them. He spotted Virgo and moved a little way over to find the five stars that made up the Southern Cross, the constellation that appears on the Australian flag. Moving his eyes further, he could just make out the semi-oval shaped Southern Crown. Britain couldn’t see these formations and it made Roarke feel unutterably lonesome to ponder that fact. He sighed as he turned on his side and tried to dream of Mary Clare.

By 11 the next morning, they’d reached Cairns and headed directly to the small building on the outskirts that served as headquarters for RISK. Roarke had to duck as he entered the metal building. The lintel looked sharp enough to decapitate the unwary. Cal Johnson sat at a battered desk talking on the telephone. When he spotted them, he beckoned them to enter and take a seat. Instead, they stood watching him. Another minute passed while he finished up his call. After he hung up he stood to greet them. Both Roarke and Jutta shook hands with him before taking their seats. Johnson sat back and lit his pipe. He took a few puffs before turning his attention fully on them. Then, leaning forward with the pipe in his hand, he cleared a place on the desk for his elbows. Now, then. Anything to report?

Roarke handed over the notes he’d made on the slick, waterproof paper. Johnson leaned back and scanned the sheet. Jap planes, huh? He read the neat, compact writing, his head following the lines. Roarke had unkind thoughts about the man’s literacy. Johnson’s voice rapped out, Are you sure about this? I didn’t think they were using the Nakajima this far south. At Roarke’s nod, he folded the paper and put it in his shirt pocket. Well, if torpedo bombers are in the area I’d best get this to the Yanks. Sighing deeply, he made a great show of tapping his pipe on the edge of the tin box on the desk. Roarke waited patiently while the man went through his usual histrionics as he speculated on what feelings of inadequacy Cal had that would cause the need for them.

A sound from the door drew Roarke’s attention and he turned to see Mary Clare coming in. His heart did its usual little leap when he saw her and he wondered at his own vulnerability. He rose immediately and she was running toward him. The fact that he knew how she resented feeling such emptiness when he was gone made him appreciate her spontaneous gesture. Soon, he was holding her and ignoring the sound of Jutta’s chuckle behind him. Then she was grinning up at him, her face flushed with a combination of fresh air and pleasure. They exchanged a few quiet words and walked back to the chairs together.

Johnson looked embarrassed at the display of affection. Roarke exchanged grins with both Jutta and Mary Clare. The man cleared his throat. Yes … . well. Let’s get on with it, shall we?

Roarke looked closely at him. When do I leave for the Solomons?

Johnson looked surprised at his directness. Well, now … . We’re waiting for your companions. Meanwhile, I’ll bring you up to date, shall I?

Roarke nodded, unwilling to play into the man’s inflated sense of self-importance. Johnson shuffled some papers on his desk. "I’ll just recap what the enemy has done so far. Last month, the Japanese landed on Luzon, North Borneo and Lingayen Gulf. They captured Wake Island and Hong Kong. Of course, you know they sank the Prince of Wales and the Repulse. I believe that debacle taught us to provide enough air support in the future. On the second of this month Japanese forces occupied Manila. Yesterday, the 11th, they entered Kuala Lumpur and in a separate skirmish badly damaged the American ship, Saratoga. Signs are that an attack at Rabaul is imminent. We’ve had unconfirmed reports that the Yanks have broken the Japanese naval code. Hopefully, the rumor’s true and they’ll share their intelligence. The new Yank commander, Admiral Nimitz, seems to know what he’s doing. That chap, MacArthur, sounds promising as well."

Roarke fidgeted in his seat. Even though most of this was news to him, it increased his impatience to do something. Finally, he broke in. With all due respect, sir, isn’t it about time we began striking back. Rabaul is pretty damn close to the Solomons, isn’t it? At Johnson’s nod, he continued. Then we’d bloody well better get on with it!

Roarke’s impatient words had barely registered when the door opened to admit two men. One was Aubrey but none of the three friends recognized the other. Mary Clare shrugged at Roarke’s tacit question. Johnson walked over to meet the newcomers and shook hands with them. After they’d exchanged a few words, he began to introduce them. Roarke, you know your cousin, Aubrey. This other bloke is Howard Angstrom. He’s from Darwin.

Roarke shook hands with the man and presented him to Mary Clare and Jutta. Angstrom hesitated a fraction of a second before shaking Jutta’s hand and lost points in Roarke’s mind. Then, to compound his error, he looked closely at Roarke and then turned to Johnson. Ya didn’t tell me he was another bloody pom.

Jutta took offense. Roarke’s as good a bushwhacker as any Territorial, but. Watch yer bloody daa. The man’s eyes opened wide at the insult from one he considered beneath him.

He reached forward but before he could touch Jutta, Aubrey grabbed his arm. That’ll be enough ah that. Roarke’s ma cousin an’ that should be enough recommendation. Jutta’s right—watch yer bloody mouth or I’ll crack it open fer ya!

At first, Angstrom seemed about to reply, then thought better of it. He took a deep breath and settled silently into an empty chair. Johnson looked annoyed but at whom, Roarke couldn’t tell. It took them a little while to settle back into their places. The tension was almost visible. Mary Clare broke the silence; she addressed Johnson. Really, do ya expect Roarke ta work with a man who has so little ta recommend him?

Johnson looked daggers at her and then thought twice of what he’d been about to say. Adding to his annoyance was the fact that he hadn’t approved her attendance at this meeting. He visibly braced himself before answering. Miss Keenan, I appreciate your input but Mr. Angstrom is a capable, resourceful bushman.

She snorted. Mr. Angstrom’s an ass!

Roarke leaned over and touched her arm. Thanks, love, but I can take care of myself. He turned to Angstrom. Look, we may not like each other very much but we’ll have to get along. We’re all competent at what we do and I hope we’re on the same side. Surely, we can save our vitriol for the real enemy, can’t we?

Angstrom wrinkled his nose as though he’d smelled something unpleasant. I suppose we’ll have ta. Don’t like poms, never have. Don’t plan on changin’ me mind any time soon.

Roarke said mildly, Fair enough. I don’t like assholes either so we’re even.

The man bristled. What the bloody hell do ya mean by that?

Roarke looked at him, anger blazing from his eyes. I’ll put up with your bullshit as long as I have to but don’t push me or I’ll knock you on your arse! I may be a pom but I’m a bloody sight better than a damned territorial who’s as thick as pea soup with a dead dog in it.

To everyone’s astonishment, Angstrom burst out laughing. I reckon ya could talk under wet cement with a mouthful ah marbles. You’ll do, sonny. Don’t mind sharin’ me job with a buckjumper; but I’ll be buggered if I wanna depend on a god-damned pom who’s all yak an’ no yakka.

Clenching his teeth, Roarke declined to answer the insult. He might be forced to depend on this man and he had no intention of jeopardizing their mission by fighting with him. He’d met his type before and he knew that he’d said enough to let Angstrom know he wouldn’t put up with any nonsense.

Johnson sat open-mouthed while the rest of the group merely grinned at the by-play. The two men were like fighting cocks circling each other before a battle. The pecking order had been settled to their satisfaction. They were evenly matched. Roarke found himself taking a deep breath, relieved that some hurdle had been crossed.

Johnson regained his composure with difficulty. London born, Melbourne bred, he knew he’d never get used to the need for so-called he-men to assert themselves. In his world, disagreements were settled by polite debate, not vulgar insults. All right, I hope you’ve proved something to each other although I’ll be damned if I know what. He paused while they all exchanged looks. "Now. We’ve started evacuating inhabitants of the Solomon Islands from Tulagi on the steamer Morinda. Some, of course, have refused to leave. At the outset, I want to disabuse you of the prevalent notion that the Nips are inferior fighters. That’s simply not true and we do ourselves a disservice to believe so. Mind you, I’m in the minority but I’d rather not underestimate my enemy. They’re being described in newspapers, especially Yank papers, as little better than monkeys. That’s a dangerous attitude in my opinion. Never underestimate them! I can’t stress that enough. They’re planning on taking over the whole bloody Pacific. Next on their list is New Guinea and the Solomons. Rabaul on New Britain is certain to be attacked soon and it can’t hold out long."

He unfolded a map on his desk and they bent forward to familiarize themselves with what would soon be their home. He picked up a pencil and, using it as a pointer, traced the outlines of the islands. Okay. As you already know, north of Australia is a group of islands classified as Melanesia which includes Solomon, Bismark, Fiji and New Guinea. We’ll start out with the eastern half of New Guinea, called Papua. You’ll be embarking from Port Moresby on the Gulf of Papua. Across this stretch of water, at the northeastern end of New Britain is its capital, Rabaul. East of New Britain and two hundred miles away lie the Solomons. Just so you’ll know—the Solomons forms an archipelago of several hundred islands generally northeast of Australian territory. As you can see, here we have Buka and Bougainville which are both part of the Australian mandate of New Guinea though they are in the Solomons. The other islands you need to be concerned about are Choiseul, Guadalcanal, Malaita, New Georgia, San Cristobal, Kolombangara, Vella Lavella, Ontong Java, Rennell and Santa Isabel. They’re British protectorates. I want you to pay special attention to this strip of water north of Guadalcanal. Officially, it’s New Georgia Sound but it’s better known by its nickname ‘the Slot’. This is the logical place for the Japs to transport war matériel. It’ll have to be watched closely. He turned to them, pencil in hand and fixed each of them with his eyes.

Suddenly, his self-importance didn’t seem so ridiculous to Roarke. The man knew what he was talking about. I’m going to tell you something you may not like. Aubrey, I know you were counting on going inland with Roarke. That’s no longer feasible. Each of you men will be assigned a native guide and several bearers to carry the radio. The terrain is somewhat similar to that of Australia but is more tropical. You’ll need guides to find your way in the thick jungle. Don’t be cocky because you’re familiar with the Outback; we’re talking jungle here. Bougainville has two live volcanoes which I’m hoping won’t erupt. In the jungles you’ll find mosquitoes … . He waited until the groaning died down. You all know about them. There are lizards, crocs and bush rats the size of rabbits. They make good eating I’m told. The natives are black Melanesians and headhunting is still practiced in some parts of the islands.

He stopped again and waited. Angstrom suddenly burst out. Oye, I don’t wanna lose me head. As empty as it may be, it’s mine.

He echoed the sentiments of all of them. Roarke decided to make a gesture toward peace with the man. I agree with Angstrom. I didn’t really count on headhunters. How do we cope with that little problem?

Johnson was pleased that the men had apparently decided to bury the hatchet somewhere else than in each other’s skulls. We’ve recruited natives who’ve been trained by the missionaries. As far as we know, they’re loyal to Britain. Of course, that’s subject to change except for the most indoctrinated. None of them are headhunters and they don’t want to lose their heads any more than you do. If you go to Choiseul you’ll have to be especially careful. We know less about that than the others. It’s probably the least charted island in the world. The outsiders, some 650 of them, who live in the islands are a tenacious, independent bunch who’ve more or less withdrawn from the world. Except for the missionaries, of course. Right now, we have only two small groups of regular troops in the area. A unit of 24 commandos with the Australian Imperial Forces is stationed at Buka in the north and a similar unit at the Royal Australian Air Force patrol plane base in Tulagi harbor. That’s here, north of Guadalcanal. They’re still evacuating civilians from the harbor so the troops will stay until they’re safe, probably next month which is when we expect to take you chaps over.

Roarke protested. I thought we were leaving right away.

Johnson smiled, a strangely cryptic expression. You’ll have to learn to take the radio apart and put it together blindfolded before you go. You’ll need to learn a little of the lingo and at least familiarize yourself with the rudiments of the terrain. And you, Roarke, had better rest up a bit. The three of you are slated to leave on 8 February from Port Moresby so enjoy your vacation while you can. He stood then and indicated that he was finished for the day. As they left, full of unanswered questions, he handed them each a piece of paper telling them where to report in 2 weeks for lessons.

Rabaul fell to the Japanese forces on 23 January.

CHAPTER 2

Roarke and Mary Clare decided to go back to Brisbane for the two weeks. Aubrey was staying with relatives near Cairns. The older man was annoyed at the delay since he’d left work undone at home. The young couple boarded the train in Cairns after informing Johnson where to reach them. Roarke hadn’t been in Brisbane for months and, as the train made its way south, he felt as though he were entering a different world. Even the war faded into the distance. Gradually, bush gave way to semi-civilization and, as they drew closer to the city, to regimentation never seen outside the precincts of metropolitan areas.

Quietly, Roarke talked to Mary Clare as he held her hand, dreading the moment when he’d have to let go even temporarily. Love, are you sure you want to go back in the bush with Jutta? It’s really rough. I was miserable most of the time.

She looked at him, love warring with annoyance in her expression. Does that sentence have a ‘an’ yer a woman’ at the end? Because if it does, I’m about ta be very angry.

He shook his head, denying the thought that had been firmly suppressed in his own mind before he could voice it. Of course not. I know you’re as much a man as any man I know. It’s just that there are dangers women face that men don’t. I’m sorry, I guess that didn’t come out right but you know what I’m trying to say.

With her usual directness, Mary Clare answered. "Rape, ya mean? I have thought about it. I’ve gotten ta know Jutta pretty well an’ he’s very dependable. Y’ve said so yerself. As fer the rest, I can cope. I’ve camped in the bush since I was a wee tyke. I’m not minimizin’ the risk. I know how bad it is. Y’ve told me often enough. Johnson told me. Dad told me. Lord, even Toby acted like a mama hen. It’s not just you men who want ta help in the war, ya know. If I’ve got more ta lose in the bush, I’d have even more ta lose if the Japs win the war an’ take over our government. Doncha think?"

Roarke shivered and rubbed his palm over his bristly chin. His beard had gotten thicker these last few months and it was a mixed blessing. Now he felt filthy and unkempt. He sighed and avoided a direct answer; the question was too painful, I’m dying for a good long bath. I don’t remember ever being this dirty.

She laughed. Don’t say that ta Angstrom. He’ll call ya a prissy pom.

He nudged her. If I remember, a certain young lady called me a pommy the first time we ever met.

She blushed, the color gradually creeping upward. Well, that was before I knew ya. Anyway, I agree with ya; ya do need a bath.

He laughed. Do I stink that badly then?

She wrinkled her nose. God, yes! Mondi would say ya smell like the bottom ah some cocky’s cage in a blind woman’s pet shop.

He grinned ruefully. Ouch! Thank Mondi for me. Has he written lately?

She frowned. Nah. I don’t think Luz has heard from him in ages. He was in Tobruk, ya know. No word since then. I guess communications must be bad, though. Me dad laughs because I miss an Abo but I never really thought ah them as bein’ different. They’re me friends.

He squeezed her arm. Thank God, you do. I’d hate it if you were like Angstrom.

She turned to him, suddenly remembering the encounter of earlier in the day. Didn’t ya just hate that? Jutta shoulda cold-cocked him. That piss-weak whacker. Who does he think he is—the Duke ah bloody Gloucester?

He laughed then, delighted at her show of temper. Where did you get that? The Duke of Gloucester?

She blushed once more. "Well … . Me mum used ta say that.

I don’t really know what it means but it always sounded good when she said it."

Softly he asked, I’ve never had the nerve before but I’ve got to ask. How did your mum die?

She breathed deeply for a few moments, drawing strength from a place he couldn’t see. She was a government nurse, ya see. There was a brushfire upcountry an’ she went ta help. She was caught in a backburn. There was hardly enough left ta bury. I was ten an’ I still miss her.

Roarke dropped his head. I’m sorry, love. I didn’t know.

She shrugged, all business again. Ah course ya didn’t—I never told ya. Now ya know an’ we needn’t talk about it anymore. Besides, ya said yer aunt died in a fire, didn’t ya?

He nodded. My aunt Erin. She was in one of the raids during the blitz. A bomb trapped her in the office. God, so many of my family have died since I left. Sometimes I think when I get home I won’t know anyone.

His mood had plummeted and Mary Clare felt she was to blame. Now, pom, don’t go takin’ on. Sure y’ll know people. Yer sisters, fer instance. They’re okay, aren’t they?

As she knew it would, talk of the twins brought him right out of the black mood that had been looming. Oh, yes! They’re very much alive. Johnson said Sir Ralph told him they’re going to volunteer for motorcycle duty when they turn seventeen. Imagine! My skinny little sisters! I can see them so clearly when I close my eyes. Mum or Katya would always carefully tie their hair up in bows. That’d last all of five minutes before the bows were askew and the two of them were running like hoydens all over the place. Poor mum!

Her voice went soft. Ya really miss them, doncha? He nodded and they both fell into a comfortable silence that lasted most of the day. A porter came by after a while selling sandwiches. They consumed them with a minimum of conversation. It almost seemed as though if they didn’t speak, the time wouldn’t pass. When night fell, they slept side by side, upright in their seats. Morning found them rumpled and stiff. Roarke felt if he didn’t get a bath soon someone would declare him dead from the smell alone. By midmorning, their destination came into view.

Brisbane was a bustling, busy city and Roarke was at first repelled by the unaccustomed noise. They were met at the station by Mary Clare’s father and Roarke had time to wonder when she’d rung him. Mr. Keenan had insisted early on that Roarke call him Bill. At first, Roarke stammered every time he tried the informal address but it had become more comfortable as time went on. Bill greeted the couple warmly and ushered them to the car. Roarke was grateful that the man said nothing about his rather ripe aroma. After dropping Roarke off at Toby’s, Bill made him promise to visit them the next day after he’d rested up. With a wave, Roarke turned and walked up the steps to Toby’s.

His aunt Corny met him at the door with a hug. He’d tried to warn her off and burst out laughing when she held him at arm’s length, nose wrinkled and breathed, Whoof! What cheese factory produced you?

The rest of the day was spent bathing and lounging. Two days on the train had drained what energy he had left. Even more draining was the thought that the thousand mile distance from Mary Clare he’d endured would soon be increased. Before they knew it, there would be a world separating them, not just distance. As he sprawled in an easy chair, he opened the letter from his mum. At least the missive served to dampen the emptiness of time without Mary Clare. He sighed and read the letter, trying to picture his mother as she’d written it.

Dear Roarke,

Sir Ralph offered to send this letter with his latest dispatch and, once again, I thank God for his friendship.

Funny, I feel he’s closer to us than my dad who only lives in

Lincoln. Still, dad might as well be a world away. I must tell you—your grandfather is courting! Do you believe that?

Her name is Cordelia Comfrey. I don’t know if she’s named after the tea or what. I’m being catty and I have no reason to be. I haven’t met her, mind you. Sometimes, though, it gets so boring. I never thought war could be boring. But there’s a sameness about it that drains one’s strength and abrades one’s resolve. Terrible things happen and we accept them as normal. I think that’s unhealthy but still, I find myself doing it like everyone else. The shortage of petrol limits any visiting we might want to do so I may not meet my new step-mum until after the war. Listen to me—I have him married already.

I want to ask where you are and I know I can’t. I want to ask when you’re coming home but I know the answer to that one. I know you’re healthy because Sir Ralph’s agents say so. Lord, what a way for a mother to find out how her son is! This war is turning everything topsy-turvy. How is Mary Clare? We’re so anxious to meet her. Your father is sure she’s a knockout. The twins, of course, reserve judgment. What do you think of their joining the Women’s Auxiliary Territorial Service? I really have mixed feelings about it. Still, Drew is stationed at one of the RAF bases they’ll visit and Doug at another. They’ve both promised to keep their eyes open. Also, Craig MacMurray is manning an anti-aircraft gun near Westminster. They may be assigned to deliver messages to him as well. You remember Craig, don’t you? Dermot and Ivy’s son? An interesting aside here—Craig and Jennifer are becoming very close from what Lee says. He goes to the hospital to pick her up after work. I wonder. Listen to me—a gossip-monger in my old age.

Roarke, please keep yourself safe. Life seems so tenuous to me any more. Since the blitz ended we haven’t had much action here but Churchill keeps insisting Hitler will come. We all know he won’t but still there’s that tiny chance that keeps us on edge. Meanwhile, we man the factories, hospitals and newspapers and we hope. Tim reluctantly helps send the boys into battle. Drew, Doug, Finn, Dennis and maybe you, go into battle and Lee, Danny and Jennifer patch up the results. Your father and I merely try to keep the home fires burning. On the subject of the end of the war the

Angels are curiously silent. I guess we’re not wise enough to handle the knowledge. Your father, the twins, Bella and the rest of the family send their love. God keep you safe!

Love, Mum

The next two weeks were spent in an almost frantic search for amusement. Each day they set out together and walked like tourists through the streets. Roarke tried desperately to memorize each building he passed, each sensation he encountered. Each smell, each sound, each taste became precious, something to be savored and preserved so he could draw on the memory while he huddled deep in a foreign jungle. Mostly, they walked in companionable silence. They’d tacitly agreed to avoid the subject of his upcoming assignment, it being too painful to contemplate. They stopped at sweet shops, now woefully short of wares. They ate fish and chips covered with tangy vinegar and served in rolled-up newspaper. They laughed, challenging fate and pretending to a bravery they didn’t feel. And time passed with no hope for a reprieve. By now, Roarke was beginning to doubt his wisdom in volunteering for something that was clearly extremely dangerous. From time to time, he’d look at the woman walking beside him and begin to quake inwardly at his foolhardiness. But when he’d almost decided to back out of the deal, the thought of his mother and father braving Nazis and demons arose in his mind and overwhelmed the fear lurking there.

Trying to pack a lifetime into the two weeks was exhausting for both of them. When he walked Mary Clare home each day, it brought the time of reckoning closer. Finally, it was the day before he was scheduled to report for lessons in survival. Without even consulting each other, they walked to the beach outside of Brisbane. Usually crowded, few people braved the possibility of a Japanese submarine finding them near the shore. Soldiers patrolled up and down the water’s edge giving a sense of unreality to the few sunbathers who’d been valiant enough or foolish enough to spread their blankets. The day was hot. They shared cold drinks and spoke softly, both mortally aware that their time grew short. Roarke walked to a nearby Jewish deli and returned with sandwiches. They sat on his spread-out jacket and ate them in silence.

The sun