Читать книгу The Map Of Honour - Max Carmichael - Страница 5

The car journey to Headquarters 3^rd Division was slower than anticipated. There was an unscheduled stop when the car’s right rear tyre was punctured, necessitating the driver to replace it with the spare. Then a little further on, the journey was again temporarily halted for Green to be violently sick onto the road verge. However, in spite of these intermissions, Green was still able to present himself on time at the Headquarters’ main reception area, where he was received by an overly officious sergeant of military police.

The military policeman looked Green up and down, and was clearly unimpressed by what he saw. ‘Name?’ he asked curtly.

Green pushed the posting order across the desk.

The policeman glanced at the order. ‘Oh, so you’re Sergeant Green,’ he smirked, as if Green’s somewhat dishevelled appearance was now explained. ‘You’re expected. You’re the special one, you are.’

‘I’ve no idea what you are talking about,’ replied Green haughtily.

‘Then I imagine you’ll find out soon enough, sergeant,’ returned the policeman equally as haughtily. He stamped a card which he pushed back across the desk to Green. ‘Keep this with you at all times. If anyone challenges you while you are in the headquarters, show them this card. Got it?’

‘Got it,’ agreed Green, placing the card in the breast pocket of his tunic.

‘Lieutenant Colonel Law’s office is down that passage. You are a bit early, so you’ll find a brew room about halfway down on your right. Help yourself. Someone will come and get you in about five or ten minutes.’

‘Thanks,’ Green said and hefted his echelon bag and pack on to his shoulders.

The policeman relaxed a little and held up a restraining hand. ‘Ah, shit. No, mate! Don’t take that lot down there! Pile your stuff over there in the corner. I’ll keep an eye on it for you.’

In the wake of this friendlier atmosphere, Green smiled and put his baggage where the policeman indicated. ‘Thanks again, mate.’

‘All part of the service cobber.’

The brew room was a busy place with people of various ranks visiting, filling a cup or a mug with tea, then hurrying away to some hidden destination within the building. Green helped himself to a spare cup and leaned against a wall, quietly sipping the scalding liquid. His hangover was beginning to pass, and he able to give more serious thought as to why he had been sent to the Headquarters. It occurred to him that the most likely job he might be destined for was Headquarters Defence Platoon, probably as the platoon sergeant. ‘Playing bum boy to some young prick of a lieutenant who had never heard a shot fired in anger,’ he muttered despondently. He glared angrily into his teacup. Platoon sergeant under such circumstances would be bad enough, but he determined if they tried to make him a clerk, or a cook, he’d bloody well desert.

A tall Lieutenant Colonel entered the brew room. ‘Sergeant Green?’ he inquired politely.

Green set his brew aside and stepped away from the wall. ‘Yes, sir. Lieutenant Colonel Law?’

‘That’s correct. Leave your brew. I’ve tea and cakes in my office. Please, follow me.’

Law led the way along a passage to arrive at a door which bore his name. He stood aside and ushered Green inside. ‘In here, and take a seat…now, tea?’ A tray holding a china tea pot, three cups and saucers, and a plate of cupcakes was positioned at one end of a large desk.

‘Thank you, sir. Black, no sugar,’ Green replied as he settled into one of the chairs.

Law poured the tea and passed Green a cup. ‘Help yourself to a cake when you’re ready,’ he said.

‘Thanks.’ Green sipped his tea. Then, impatient to learn his fate, he added, ‘Look here sir, I’m a bit puzzled. What’s all this about?’

Law smiled. ‘Can’t tell you just yet; let’s just say this is an initial job interview.’

Green reached for a cake. His hangover induced fasting had gone and he found he was ravenously hungry. ‘So long as it’s not for a cook, or a clerk’s job,’ he said meaningfully as he bit into the cake.

Law chuckled. ‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s not that kind of job, but you will just have to wait a few more minutes yet.’

Law seated himself behind the desk and glanced briefly at a file detailing Green’s particulars before pushing it aside. He was used to interviewing interesting characters, but Green was particularly thought-provoking. In his pre-interview research, Law had discovered that Green was the youngest son of a white man, a South Australian pastoralist and entrepreneur who lived and worked in the South East of that state near the township of Penola. Green senior had shocked and horrified polite society by marrying an Aboriginal woman. Inter-racial marriage was common enough among the working classes, and while on occasion, an upper-class gentleman might indulge in a little bit of black velvet, they never married one of them! However, in spite of the gossip and snide innuendo, the Greens’ marriage was indeed a love match and the two had no compunction in turning their backs on both the white and black societies in order to be together. Unusually, the children resulting from this union had remained with their parents. Government policy was to remove half-caste children from their parents and to make the children wards of the state and to place them in institutions, there to be trained as domestic servants. However, this had not happened with any of the Greens’ offspring. Law guessed that Green senior had used his power and money to isolate his children from the practise. Law had also been intrigued to find that in stark contrast to the majority of Aboriginal children, all of the Green offspring were well educated—in Sergeant Green’s case, up to Year 11 level, a commendable standard even for a white person. There was no doubt that Green and his siblings had lived a life of privilege denied the vast majority of their countrymen both black and white. However, he wondered if Green senior’s wealth and influence had been enough to shield his children from the bigotry that infected white Australian society.

Law turned his attention to Green’s military record. There was a report in the file suggesting Green senior had made every attempt to prevent his youngest son from enlisting in the AIF. That effort should have been easily achieved, for at the time, Aboriginals were actively excluded from the ranks. Law recalled the guidance for enlisting officers at recruiting depots promulgated earlier in the war: “Aboriginals, half-castes, or men with Asiatic blood are not to be enlisted—This applies to all coloured men.” Apparently, Green senior had learned of his son’s intention, and had ensured the local recruiters were aware of his son’s heritage. There could be little doubt that furnished with this information, the local recruiting officer would have turned Green junior away. However, the lad was a resourceful fellow and overcame his father’s interference by simply travelling in secret to a recruiting station in Victoria where he reapplied for enlistment and was accepted.

Law glanced at Green over the top of his teacup, the sergeant’s complexion was certainly dark, and he wondered how he had overcome that particular hurdle at enlistment. However, Law noted grimly that whatever subterfuge Green had used his true racial background was eventually discovered, but by that time he was in Egypt about to deploy to Gallipoli, and no action was taken against him. Other than this infringement of the law, so far as Law could tell, Green’s service record was impressive and almost unblemished. There was a small incident during his initial training, something about an affair with a married white woman, and another unproven accusation of assault during the Gallipoli campaign.

The rest of the report detailed Green’s deeds in glowing terms, with several particular commendations provided by General Monash, leaving Law puzzled as to why the recommendations had not resulted in any award for bravery. However, when he considered the existing antagonism within the AIF’s senior leadership toward Monash, the lack of awards for Green became clearer. Perhaps, he mused, Monash had an enemy in the higher echelons where the award of medals was considered. It would be easy enough to quash a recommendation at that level.

He glanced at the space on the page that listed Green’s promotions, first to Corporal and later to Sergeant. It was hardly a meteoric rise; however, the issue of Green’s aboriginality was probably the reason for the man’s career had peaked at senior non-commissioned level. Social snobbery and racist beliefs, Law thought sadly, were so bloody stupid and wasteful, for he was sure Green’s aboriginality provided the reason why the Australian press had studiously avoided any reports of Green’s deeds on the battlefield to the Australian public. The worst of it was, if they had reported on Green, rather than much deserved adulation, there would have been a public outcry as to why a black fellow was in the AIF.

Aside from these background notes, the report stated that Green was of slight physique, a description that prior to their meeting had given Law to wonder if Green would be strong enough to undertake the rigors of a battlefield. That part of the report Law now dismissed, for while Green was certainly no muscle-bound hulk, he was clearly an extremely fit and powerful man.

As he watched Green sipping his tea, Law recalled another aspect of the report that he found to be almost alarmingly understated. The report simply stated Green’s eye colour as “pale blue.” While this was certainly correct, Law found that as he looked into Green’s eyes, he was reminded of a bird of prey. Law had no doubt whatsoever that under certain circumstances, Sergeant Green would be a very dangerous man.

‘So you’re Killer Green,’ Law said quietly.

Green blushed. ‘That’s what they’ve called me, sir,’ he replied. ‘I’m not into nicknames myself, although I’ve certainly had a few in my time: “darkie,” “boong,” even “nigger.” They were bad enough, but I find “Killer” to be a bit,’ he searched for a word, ‘ostentatious,’ he concluded.

Law smiled. ‘Well perhaps the nickname is the price of fame,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard all about you, of course. You and Billy Sing were quite the celebrities of the campaign, were you not?’

‘Billy might have been a celebrity,’ Green replied, ‘not me though. I just did my job. Besides, I’m sure others made a damn sight more positive contribution to the campaign than either of Billy or me.’

‘Hmm, perhaps they did,’ Law mused thoughtfully. He took a pipe out his breast pocket and began to fill it with tobacco. ‘But that does not detract from your contribution,’ he concluded. He smoothed the contents of the pipe bowl into the desired shape and struck a match. The flame flared briefly on the tobacco as he sucked the pipe stem, to be rewarded by the rich fruity flavour of the smoke.

Green shrugged depreciatingly.

Law was enthralled by Green’s demeanour. In spite of having studied the man’s background report, Law had expected to meet a rather basic human being, one who would be unable to resist boasting of his prowess.

However, the more he talked with Green, the more he realised how wrong this preconception had been. Green was articulate and confident, and Law had the impression the famed “Killer” Green would be at home in most social situations. He puffed briefly at his pipe and once again regarded Green through the cloud of tobacco smoke. There was no doubt in his mind that Green was indeed ideal for the mission he was soon to be offered. He set the pipe aside and began to nibble at a cake. ‘Well, all that’s behind us now,’ he continued. ‘France is very different, much tougher. Compared to France, the Gallipoli adventure was just a side show. The Germans are real soldiers, professionals.’

Green frowned. He had heard belittling comments regarding the Turks’ skill at arms before, but it was an opinion generally expressed by men who had not fought at Gallipoli. ‘Well, I can’t comment on that, sir,’ he replied evenly. ‘I’ve not been to France.’ He decided to change the subject. ‘Where do you fit in to all of this, sir? he asked.

Law shrugged. ‘I can’t tell you much about myself,’ he said. ‘While I’m part of General Monash’s staff, I also work for another organisation as well.’

A crisp knock on the office door interrupted further discourse on the subject, and without Law’s leave, the door opened, and General John Monash entered the room.