'Did the sergeant in personnel tell you
anything about what we do in this department?' Major Hunter asked
as he sat down at his desk.
'No, Major.' Faith replied, 'he didn't'.
'Well.' Hunter smiled, placing his hands
together and making a steeple with his fingers, 'my job here at HQ
is Army Liaison Officer. What that means is that when the US Army
wants to discuss anything officially with the US Navy, Army Air
Force, the Marine Corp or vice-versa, communications travel via me
and this office.' Major Hunter smiled again, almost apologetically.
'I'm afraid that in the United States armed forces there is a
tradition of rivalry and obstructionism that at times requires a
high level of diplomacy to overcome. Our job here is to make
inter-service relations as trouble-free as possible. That means a
lot of clear, concise communications entailing a never-ending
stream of paperwork. And that's where you come in.'
Faith smiled, 'I'll be pleased to help in any
way I can, Major.'
'The workload can get pretty heavy at times,'
the major cautioned. 'And we're always short-staffed. There are
five of us here at the moment, doing the work of ten. But this is
the Army. The brass would sooner spend whatever resources they have
on guns and munitions than adequate office staff.'
Faith looked across the neat, orderly desk at
the immaculately presented young major. He looked more like an
efficient well-groomed businessman. Only the uniform identified him
as a soldier.
'I've only been in the Army a short time,' he
said, as if reading her thoughts. 'A few months ago I worked with a
public relations and advertising firm in New York City. Perhaps if
this war ends soon we can all get back to our regular line of work.
I expect you'll be glad to get back to the Northern Territory.'
Faith looked surprised.
'The staff sergeant showed me your references
yesterday,' Hunter said, reading her thoughts again. 'I've never
been to Darwin. Is it very big?'
Faith smiled. 'Not as big as New York, Major.
But it is home. It was named after Charles Darwin, the famous
naturalist.'
'I call Albany home,' Hunter said. 'It's
where I was born. It's about a hundred and fifty miles north of New
York City on the Hudson River. And like New York it was named after
the Duke of York and Albany, brother of King Charles the Second. My
family have lived there for almost three hundred years. We...'
The major was interrupted by Welenski tapping
on the open door of the office. 'Major, there's a Colonel Eastwood
from the Marine Corp. I think he's trying to drum up more aircraft
for Henderson Field on Guadalcanal. He's a bit hot under the
collar, sir. He says you were to arrange a meeting for him with the
brass upstairs.'
'Okay, Welenski, show him in.' Hunter got up
from his chair. 'And then would you show Miss Brodie around the
office and get her settled in.'
*
The Sharkeys were already eating their
evening meal when Faith arrived home. Even before she joined them
at the table she knew something was wrong.
Mike got his call-up papers in the mail
today,' Helen said as she served Faith dinner. 'He has to report to
the army in three weeks.' She cast an exasperated eye at her son.
'He's talking of volunteering for the AIF again, Dick says if he
lies about his age he'll tell the Army.'
'What we've been trying to tell him,' Dick
said, 'is that the AIF are fighting right alongside the Militia now
in New Guinea, so what's the difference?'
'There's a big difference,' Mike said
quickly. 'It's only the AIF that's allowed to fight overseas. That
means after the Japs are kicked out of New Guinea, the biggest part
of the Australian Army will be sitting at home on their backsides
leaving the Yanks to do most of the fighting. Talk to any Yank on
the streets these days, he'll ask you why he's been conscripted and
sent halfway around the world to protect a country that refuses to
send its own conscripts overseas. Hell, dad, we've got to do our
bit in this war, you know.'
'What do you mean, we've got to do our bit?'
Helen cried out. She was hardly able to contain her anger. 'We have
a small population but per capita we have more men and women in
uniform and more people working in war-effort jobs than any other
country in the world. Who do you think is feeding the American
troops? Our farmers and Women's Land Army, that's who. And who do
you think is making their replacement uniforms right down to their
socks and boots? We Australians are. And besides that, we're
feeding and clothing our own servicemen here and overseas, and
anything that's left over we're sending to the British. So don't
sit here in this house and say the Australians are not doing their
bit.' As soon as she had finished speaking, Helen burst into tears,
got up from the table and rushed from the room.
Faith had never seen Helen so upset. She
moved to get up to go after her but changed her mind, thinking her
aunt might prefer to be left alone. A moment later she was glad she
had stayed at the table when Mike got up and went through to the
kitchen to console his mother.
'How was your day, Faith?' Dick asked
quietly, trying to smooth the waters. 'I hope it's been better than
your aunt's and mine.'
'Oh, it was good. But I never realized before
there could be so many administrative people in the armed forces.
It doesn't seem fair on the ones on active service.'
Dick swallowed the last of his dinner and
aligned his knife and fork on the empty plate. 'No word from Dan, I
suppose?'
'No. You know how it is Uncle Dick. I'll see
him when he walks through the front door I suppose. But I'm one of
the lucky ones. At least I know where Dan is and what he's doing up
there at Iron Range.' Dick poured himself tea and stirred it.
'Faith, is it true what Mike said? Are the Americans really saying
that, about them having to do most of the fighting?'
'I've never heard them say it seriously, but
I suppose they joke about it. Just like when our soldiers say they
only came to Australia because it's as far away as they could run
from Pearl Harbor.'
Dick smiled briefly, then frowned. 'You know
how your aunt and I have always felt about wars, don't you, Faith.
The politicians start them, then let old generals use our young men
as cannon fodder. We've always been against conscription. The young
hotheads who want to go off and fight overseas can always volunteer
for the AIF. After bringing Mike up, watching him grow from baby
into a young man, we couldn't bear to see him throw his life
away.'
'Dick,' Helen said softly from the doorway
behind them, 'Mike has something to tell you.' Dick and Faith
turned as Helen walked back into the room. She was smiling and
leading Mike by the hand.
'I will report for service with the Militia,
Dad,' Mike said. 'I promise I won't try to enlist in the AIF. For
what it's worth, if my unit is sent to New Guinea and I'm in the
thick of the fighting, it will be the Army's decision, not
mine.'
*
Even though the onset of the wet was still a
month away, the convoy transporting A Company found it heavy going
once it had turned east from the Katherine-Alice Springs dirt road
onto the Roper Bar track. A combination of early rains and the
widening of the narrow track by laborers from Aboriginal camps in
the area had turned stretches of it into a quagmire. Fearing more
rain, the convoy drivers headed back to Katherine just as soon as
the Nackeroos and their equipment had been unloaded at Roper bar.
The company's headquarters was a fenced-off enclosure beside the
river with a few hastily constructed semi-permanent buildings and
several rows of tents and a large horse paddock.
The next morning, after parade, officers and
NCO's set about breaking down A Company into various sections that
would form mobile patrols and man fixed observation posts. Joe was
surprised when the lieutenant commanding his platoon told him to
report to the company CO. When he arrived at the administration hut
a corporal took him directly into the CO's office. A captain in his
early forties was seated behind the desk looking over some papers.
A lean and very intense looking sergeant about the same age as the
captain stood off to one side.
'Private Brodie, sir,' the corporal
announced, then withdrew to an outer office.
The captain looked up at Joe standing stiffly
on the other side of the desk. 'At ease, Brodie. Out here we're not
as formal as Ingleburn or Katherine.' He tapped the papers on the
top of his desk. 'Now, I've been reading about your background. It
says here you were a long-time resident of the Top End before
joining up and that during your training at Ingleburn you took the
special radio course with Marconi in Sydney. And before that you
were the skipper of a coastal trading vessel that was strafed by a
Japanese dive-bomber in the Gulf of Carpentaria, then left to sink
by a private vessel. Is all that really true?'
'Yes, it is, sir.'
'Just how well do you know the Northern
Territory coastline and its navigable rivers?'
'Like the back of my hand, sir.'
'And on this vessel of yours, how many crew
did you have?'
'Four, sir. Myself, an offsider and two
Aboriginal deckhands.'
'Then as skipper of a seagoing vessel you
would be used to responsibility and know the importance of
leadership to those whose lives depend on you.'
'Well, yes I suppose so, sir,' Joe said.
The captain gestured toward the sergeant.
'This is Sergeant Xavier Herbert. Like you he is one of those
rarities in the Northern Australian Observer Force, a man who is
actually an old hand in the Top End. He's also a well-known writer.
Perhaps you have heard of him?'
Joe looked hard at the sergeant. After a few
moments he said,' I can't say that I have, sir. The only Herbert
I've heard of was a superintendant of Aboriginals at Darwin when I
was a boy. But I never met him.'
'That was me, Brodie, Sergeant Herbert said.
'I also worked as the government pharmacist in the Darwin Hospital
for some time.'
The captain shrugged. 'Well, anyway, it was
Sergeant Herbert who brought you to my attention. Under the normal
scheme of things you would be sent to a fixed observation post or
join a mobile patrol under the command of a seasoned soldier. But
in view of the special nature of the force and your experience in
the north, Sergeant Herbert feels that you should lead one of the
sections we are forming here today, and I concur. So, as of this
moment you have the rank of corporal and will assume command of a
section.'
Joe was stunned.
'Ideally,' the captain continued,' you should
have been given one of the force's small coastal sailing vessels.
But Captain David Herbert, who incidentally is Sergeant Herbert's
brother and also the officer responsible for our boats, says there
isn't one available at present. So your section is to set up an
observation post near the mouth of Rosie Creek on the south-west
coast of the Gulf of Carpentaria, about a hundred and thirty miles
from here. We have code-named it Eagle's Nest.'
'How will we get there, sir?' Joe asked.
'On horseback. As you would be aware, Brodie,
there are no known bush tracks so you might have a difficult
journey to the coast, but we have assigned an Aboriginal guide to
your section. He's old but he'll get you safely to Rosie Creek.
When you get there, use your use your own judgment when setting up
the exact location of your post, then report any activity in the
area immediately, however insignificant it may seem to be. In a
couple of weeks a section from C Company, posted at Borroloola on
the MacArthur River to the south-east of you, will pick up your
surplus packhorses for use on patrols in their area. The rivers and
creeks along the coast may well be used by the Japanese to press
inland after a landing, so remember, any innocent looking vessel
you see might be charting the coast, locating our observation posts
and reporting to the enemy. Now, is everything quite clear?'
'Quite clear, sir...' Joe hesitated for
a moment the added.' The private vessel that abandoned me in the
Gulf, sir. It was a small sloop named the
Groote Island Lady.
I believe
the
two men aboard may well be working for the Japanese. She looks like
any dilapidated old croc-boat but I saw her leaving Darwin the day
after the first Jap raid, then again in the Gulf just after I was
strafed, and an American flyer told my sister he saw the same boat
at Horn Island during a Japanese air raid.'
'I'll pass that on to HQ at Katherine,
Corporal,' the captain said as he jotted down the information. When
he'd finished he looked up briefly and said, 'That will be all,
Corporal Brodie. I'll leave you in the capable hands of Sergeant
Herbert. He'll organize the make-up of your section and authorize
the acquisition of horses, radio equipment and everything else you
require. Good luck.'
Sergeant Herbert and Joe left the CO's office
and headed for the stores building located on the far side of the
camp beside the horse paddock. It was a fair distance and Herbert
walked briskly. He spoke non-stop every inch of the way, barely
pausing to draw breath.
'First, we'd better get your section's
equipment and horses together before the others get the best of
everything,' Sergeant Herbert said. 'Then we'll organize the men.'
He turned briefly to Joe, 'I must say, Brodie, I was glad to see I
wasn't the only member of the force that had ever set foot in the
Northern Territory. Couldn't have a Territorian being led around
the Top End by a bloody dentist from Adelaide or some red-necked
dairy farmer from New England who couldn't find their way through a
surgery waiting room or a cow paddock. That's why I spoke up for
you. It needs a special breed of man to lead up here. Men who know
and love this land. Men like you and me. I've only been in the Army
a few weeks. Never been in the service before, but I made it quite
clear from the start that I'm more qualified for this particular
work than any soldier in the Army. So of course they made me a
sergeant right away.'