To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5 (16 page)

‘Thank you, Sister,’ Hirsch said, himself also of the Catholic faith. ‘I must confess that I also do not know what his ramblings mean. No doubt your closeness to Father Umberto might reveal if the man is a spy working for the English government. I fear that Captain Macintosh is not simply here for humanitarian reasons.’

‘I must return to the clinic,’ Sister Bridget said. ‘Father Umberto will be taking patients very soon.’

Dieter Hirsch nodded and watched the nun walk unsteadily away with the aid of a walking stick. God did not spare nuns from arthritis and the good sister suffered badly in the hip from the debilitating disease. He pondered on what Sister Bridget had overheard during her nursing shift with the gravely ill Australian.
Clearing the jungle
. . . Why would the Australian army officer be fixated with clearing the jungle? It did not make sense. Hirsch shrugged. It was time to speak with Father Umberto and ascertain the patient’s health.

As the German militia captain walked out of the shade of the trees he noticed one of his Tolai police running towards him with an expression of fear across his dark face.

‘What is it, Buka?’ Hirsch asked.

‘The Tolai,’ Buka answered. ‘They stole a rifle and ammunition.’

‘God in heaven!’ Hirsch exploded. ‘When, and whose rifle?’

‘It was my rifle and it happened just now,’ Buka answered, standing at attention. ‘A bush kanaka took it when we were eating at the kitchen.’

Hirsch had some sympathy for the man confessing that he had lost his rifle. The Tolai policeman knew the harsh penalty he might incur for such a breach of regulations. Past cases of missing rifles usually suggested the policeman simply deserted rather than face a charge. But Buka had owned up immediately. ‘Get the others to parade now,’ he commanded. ‘We will commence a search for the offender and when we find him he will answer for his crime against the government.’

Buka ran back to where his companions nervously awaited the outcome of his admission to their commander. Within seconds they tumbled onto the large cleared space between the buildings of the mission station. When Hirsch questioned his men as to what they had witnessed one of them said he thought he knew in which direction the offender had gone. He even recognised the man from a nearby village that they had once visited. Hirsch suspected that the thief would be making his way back there.

Father Umberto had already heard of the theft of the rif le and hurried across to the German officer. ‘My people have told me that it was not one of them who took your weapon,’ he said. ‘They are a peaceful community and
informed me that the thief is a man from the village east of here.’

‘I know,’ Hirsch said to ease the worry he could see in Father Umberto’s face about possible reprisals from the government for the serious breach of internal security in his mission station. ‘I will take my men and go immediately to the other village.’

Without any further thought of his duty to Alex Macintosh, Hauptmann Hirsch ordered his patrol to set off in pursuit of the thief.

By the time night fell over the mission station Hirsch had not returned. Alex was now out of the worst of the fever. He sat up and sipped from a bowl of vegetable soup prepared by the nuns and brought to him by Father Umberto who was sitting at the side of his bed. Jock stood in the background, relieved to see the young man recovering.

‘Is it safe to speak in front of your man?’ Father Umberto asked in German.

‘He does not understand German,’ Alex replied, wiping with a cloth at some drops of soup that had missed his mouth. ‘You know why I have come to meet you.’

‘I only know that your father has promised a generous grant of money and medical supplies to my mission for something that could prove to be dangerous to all concerned.’

‘I hope not,’ Alex replied. ‘But I would ask you to commit yourself to helping me with certain tasks that might be construed by the government here to be subversive. I do not know how the German authorities might react if they learned of what we have planned.’

‘If it involves any threat to life here you know that I will not assist you in whatever you are going to propose,’
the priest said, spooning the last of the vegetable soup into Alex’s mouth. ‘That would be against my principles and detrimental to the standing of the Catholic Church in this part of the world.’

‘I can promise you that what we have planned involves no threat to human life,’ Alex reassured. ‘We want you to recruit some of your trusted parishioners to clear a strip of jungle on the east coast for us. I have the dimensions but it needs to be done secretly within the next two months. Perhaps you could convince them that they are preparing the land for a large vegetable garden.’

‘Is that all?’ Father Umberto asked. ‘Just send some of my native boys to hack out a field down on the coast.’

‘I have a map of where we need the clearing done,’ Alex said. ‘We would also need a crew of at least six of your most reliable men to remain behind to assist us with porter duties – they will be well paid for their services.’

‘What is this “garden” to be used for?’ the priest asked with a touch of sarcasm.

‘The less you know the better,’ Alex answered. ‘Then you don’t have to lie if you are ever questioned by the Germans about our activities on the other side of the island.’

‘So long as your task will not unnecessarily endanger my community or any citizen of Neu Pommern I will assist you,’ the priest replied, standing stiffly away from the bed. ‘You need to rest for the night before you attempt to get on your feet. I will speak further to you in the morning. In the meantime, may God look over you.’

Alex thanked the Italian priest and turned to the Scot hovering close by. ‘Well, Jock, it seems that I am not yet destined for the bone yard.’

‘It was touch and go, laddie,’ Jock said, moving out of the shadows. ‘I was not keen to return to Rabaul carrying
your rotting carcass. What was all that about with the dago priest?’ The Scot had little time for Papists – and even less time for anyone who did not have Scottish blood.

‘Nothing of any real consequence,’ Alex lied. ‘He was just saying that I was recovering well.’

Jock frowned. He could sense from the way the two men had been conversing that there was more to the conversation than mere trivial talk about health matters. ‘Captain Hirsch has been called away on a job,’ Jock said. ‘I heard from one of the nuns that a bush native stole one of their firearms and the wee German laddie has shot through after the thief.’

‘It could not have come at a better time,’ Alex said without elaborating any further. ‘Do we have any idea when Hauptmann Hirsch will be returning?’

‘None that I know of,’ Jock replied. ‘How long are we going to remain here?’

‘We leave tomorrow,’ Alex said, attempting to place his feet on the floor and test his strength after the bout of fever. He found that he could stand but felt giddy. He took the priest’s parting advice and sat down on the bed again. ‘I would think around mid morning when I have completed my arrangements with Father Umberto. I guess we will have to be prepared to camp out in the bush overnight.’

‘The sooner we leave the better,’ Jock growled. ‘I dinna like what’s going on around here. Something tells me that it could be dangerous if we stay on and I dinna know why. Just an old sense I got from my grandmother when I was a wee laddie myself.’

Alex accepted his engineer’s fears. His uncanny sense of impending trouble had proved accurate in the past when they had worked together. He only had to give Father Umberto a detailed briefing on the arrangements for the
clearing and the assistance they would require and then they could leave – with or without the German officer currently away chasing a firearms thief.

After briefing the Italian priest the following morning, Alex and Jock prepared to make their way down the jungle-covered slopes of the mountain range to the coast and Rabaul. Hirsch had still not returned but Alex had decided to make his way back nonetheless. The priest provided them with some stores for the journey from his meagre supply and Alex thanked him for the anti-malarial drugs.

Alex and Jock had departed by a good six hours when Hirsch returned with his patrol of Tolai police.

‘Where is Captain Macintosh?’ he asked Father Umberto.

‘On his way to Rabaul by now,’ Father Umberto replied, noticing the expression of annoyance in the German officer’s face. ‘He left this morning.’

‘Why did you not stop him from leaving?’ Hirsch asked.

‘I could see no reason to do that,’ Umberto replied. ‘Besides, my people have informed me that the path back to Rabaul is safe to use because of your visit to us.’

Hirsch removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve. He knew that what may have transpired between the Australian and the missionary priest would be reported to him by Sister Bridget. He hoped for Captain Macintosh’s sake that his mission to see the priest was no more than a goodwill visit but a discreet meeting with the Irish nun soon revealed information that caught the German officer’s attention.

‘He has asked Father Umberto to provide labour to clear a stretch of jungle on the east coast,’ she said under the shade of a huge rainforest giant at the edge of the mission station.
‘Father Umberto has asked me to assist him with the plan but says little more about it.’

‘Do you know where and when this will take place?’ Hirsch asked.

‘That I do know,’ the nun replied and gave the details.

Hirsch let the information sink in. Suddenly he realised what the Australian was up to. ‘An airstrip!’ he exclaimed.

‘A what?’ Sister Bridget asked, fingering the long length of beads around her waist.

‘Nothing of importance,’ Hirsch dismissed. He would need time to consider all the possibilities of why Captain Macintosh was planning to have an airstrip constructed in the jungle. What could it possibly achieve?

‘Thank you, Sister,’ Hirsch said, terminating their meeting. ‘Your assistance in helping my government is duly noted and I am sure that it will go a long way in the future of a free Ireland for your people. I am also sure that if the English ever decide to make war on us we will assist your resistance movement against the occupiers of your country.’

Sister Bridget nodded. Liam might be dead from a British soldier’s bullet but there were many of his friends who would appreciate her tiny contribution to cementing a relationship with a free Irish movement far away in the Atlantic Ocean.

Dieter Hirsch walked away to muster his men for the return to Rabaul. He no longer had a reason to kill Captain Macintosh and his engineer. It would be better that the Australian proceed with his plan. Later Hirsch could swoop with an armed force on whoever was assisting him – including the Italian priest. He knew where and when the plan was to be implemented but for the time being it was a matter of organising the resources to intervene in the English plot. A cruiser from the Imperial German Navy should be tasked to support an operation against the would-be invaders of his
land, Hirsch thought, walking towards the cluster of buildings where his men awaited him.

As they steamed for Sydney Alex stood at the stern of the
Osprey II
, gazing at the headlands of Rabaul harbour. The mission had proved to be very successful so far, especially obtaining the assistance of the Italian missionary and his parishioners. He would be returning within a month but still his mind drifted to Giselle and he was tempted to have the captain alter course to once again see her on his way south, but he knew he must stick with the plan outlined by his father. He was joined by the Scottish engineer, now covered in grease from the engine room, who was wiping his hands on a rag.

‘Glad to be out of there,’ he said, taking a place beside Alex.

‘You still have that bad feeling, Jock?’ Alex asked, turning away from his view of the horizon gently bobbing under blue skies and a few high level clouds.

Jock stared across Alex’s shoulder at the tiny stretch of huts and houses at the harbour’s mouth. A thin plume of smoke rose from the volcano overlooking the settlement. ‘I dinna know why,’ he replied with a frown, ‘but I have a bad feeling, something I cannot put my finger on. It’s a bit like that wee volcano out there. I feel something is going to explode around me and I canna put it out of my mind.’

As Alex listened he wondered if things were going smoothly after all. He could not see the Italian priest revealing his plans to the German authorities. After all, only his father and a handful of carefully selected people knew of what was being planned. How could they be compromised? He attempted to reassure himself but the Scot’s words of
warning echoed in his mind. Who could possibly betray the scheme?

Matthew Duffy held the reins of his horse with one hand and a small, paper-wrapped parcel with the other, and stared up at the heat shimmer surrounding the craggy, scrub-covered hill. It was as if an invisible shield had fallen between him and the summit and he could not proceed any further. ‘Bloody stupid,’ Matthew growled, shaking his head at the superstitious fear he was experiencing. But no matter how much he wanted to climb the hill to that place where it was said was a sacred cave, he could not motivate himself to move his feet.

Matthew had visited his mother in Townsville and the reunion had been poignant. Kate Tracy held her son to her with all the maternal love a woman could muster and chided him for his long silences, while praising Randolph Gates for continuing to keep her up to date on his welfare. She had recovered her health although was under strict orders from her doctor to get plenty of rest.

Matthew remained only three days and nights in his mother’s sprawling house in Townsville and after listening to her less than subtle hints that he should return, marry and produce children to carry on the name, he left with promises of returning within the year.

Kate had farewelled Matthew from the verandah of her house, watching her beloved only child walk off on his way to their property adjoining Glen View in central west Queensland. Matthew would first travel by train south and then by a Cobb & Co stage coach to his destination. When he was out of sight, she returned to her living room where she could sob in private. It was not that Matthew
was selfish, she attempted to console herself, but that he had inherited his father’s character. Luke had been a drifter, always searching for his mountain of gold, and his son was the living spirit of the father, searching for the intangible thing that meant putting his life on the line. The mix of the wild Irish and pioneering American blood was a terrible thing, Kate sniffed, drying her eyes and considering the lonely years ahead.