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Colin Bridge's short stories.
FIGHTING MEN
It is September 3, 1942, and the night is filled with gunfire, explosions, and the pitiful sounds of men screaming; men dying. This is the battle for Milne Bay at the eastern end of the Papua/New Guinea peninsula. Australian troops of the 7th Brigade are fighting to hurl Japanese invasion forces back into the sea. The Japanese are determined to take over vitally strategic airstrips but they meet stern resistance by the Australians who are supported by some American marines and engineers. This battle and the defence of Port Moresby are vital to prevent the north of Australia falling under control of the Japanese. During a lull in the battle’s noise, Australian trooper Steve Burns detects a pitiful moaning sound and a cry for help.
Is it the sound of what could be a wounded mate? With jaw set, Steve now crawls along a narrow path at the jungle’s edge. Could this be a ploy by an invader; a Japanese soldier luring a defender to his death?
As he moves silently with his sub machine gun held appropriately, Steve hears a voice with an American accent. It comes from a nearby foxhole.
“Hey, buddy, Help me - please, I’m wounded bad!”
Still on a razor’s edge, the Aussie soldier crawls on until he reaches the foxhole.
A sigh of relief emanates from the foxhole and, in what little light there is, Steve Burns identifies an American engineer. Entering the dugout, he quickly examines the distressed man. “You’re not alone now, mate. I’ll get you out of here.”
“Gosh, I’m glad you aren’t a Jap,” The wounded man manages with a slight smile.
“I’m glad you’re not too, yank. Before we move, I’ll bandage that left leg of yours. It’s a shrapnel wound, from knee to thigh, but luckily the main artery is untouched. I’ll get you to an aid post but it’ll take some time.”
With the wound dressed with cloth carried for such a purpose, Steve Burns lifts the American from the foxhole and moves slowly through the dark, carrying him over a shoulder. As they move away from the scene of the rescue, they hear Japanese voices at the foxhole they had vacated just in time.
It is an arduous task but the Aussie is determined. This American ally will be delivered to the Australian medics – to hell with the Japs.
Getting close to the defenders’ perimeter, Steve stops and places his burden on the ground. His sharp hearing has detected movement. Suddenly, three of the enemy come charging out of the jungle, two with fixed bayonet; the other carrying an officer’s sword. Moving swiftly, Steve Burns raises his Tommy gun and charges right back. In a crazy move the three Japanese have failed to spread out. Steve’s bursts of fire blow them out of the war.
Returning to the wounded American, he finds a right hand reaching for his. It is the hand of a grateful ally. “Thank you - my friend,” the yank smiles through his pain. “You’ve put your life on the line for a total stranger. I owe you.”
“You owe me nothing, mate. My name’s Steve.”
“Glad to be on your side, buddy.” the wounded man now sighs, trembles, and passes out through sheer exhaustion.
It is almost midnight when the Australian soldier delivers his wounded comrade to the medical emergency tent. Doctors spend almost two hours tending the American’s wounds and inserting many sutures to his badly damaged thigh.
Morning comes with the sound of sunrise gunfire and Steve Burns calls at the RAP
to check on the American. However, the patient is in a deep sleep so the man who saved him walks back into action never to see him again in that jungle.
The battle at Milne Bay resulted in the Japanese suffering their first defeat in a land invasion. It set back the Japanese plans to control Port Moresby and the Coral Sea.
To reach Port Moresby, the Japanese had to change tactics so switched to landings in the north and headed over the Owen Stanley Ranges and the treacherous Kokoda Track. The track was one of the most horrendous, putrid theatres of war imaginable.
Fortunes swung to and fro as the battle raged and once again the Japanese were finally beaten and driven back to the sea.
Among the many heroes of the Papua-New Guinea campaign was Steve Burns who wore sergeant’s stripes when the war ended in 1945. An incident in the final days of war changed the course of his life and set him on a career he had never considered. The incident, at Tarakan, involved a large Japanese officer who was a prisoner. The officer had become enraged during a verbal clash with an Australian Major and, in his fury, knocked him to the ground with a vicious karate blow. Steve Burns was quick to his feet and darted in front of the brutal attacker. A karate blow now came his way but the Australian evaded it and dealt out his own punishment. Two rapid left jabs speared into the face of the Japanese and were quickly followed by a powerful straight right. The antagonist went down like a cut tree; unconscious. As the man with a busted face was taken away, Steve’s mates went to him offering praise for what he had done.
“Oh ! mate,” trooper Larry Erskine said. “I’ve never seen anything to match that. Your, speed, your balance and those powerful punches. Man, you’ve really got something. I know boxing and I know something special when I see it. You could make a fortune in the ring. When we get back to Sydney, I’ll take you to Mick Gannon’s gymnasium. Mick could do plenty with you. He’s a great bloke and a straight shooter.”
Steve shook his head. “I’ve never even thought of boxing. I’m not the type.”
“You’re the type, alright,” Erskine said. “Consider it, Steve.”
So Steve considered it. At war’s end Steve Burns, after being demobbed, accompanied Larry Erskine to the Newtown gymnasium of Mick Gannon.
After introductions were made, Gannon put him in the ring with a tough looking sparring partner and liked what he saw at first glance.
“This bloke’s a natural,” the trainer said to Larry. “If he can dish punishment like this out with 16 ounce gloves, what’ll he do with eight ounces?”
After three two-minute rounds, the sparring partner confirmed Gannon’s thoughts, saying he had never been given such a tough workout. The trainer praised Steve and urged him to take up boxing.
“You can make plenty of money out of your talent, son. I can get you some real attractive bouts and boxing fans are clamouring for some action now the war’s over.
What do you say?”
Steve pondered a moment, then replied: “I really enjoyed that session, Mick. Yes, I’ll have a crack at it. When do we start?”
“You’ve already started, Steve. I’ll be your manager as well as trainer and you can trust me. You’ll be in the middleweight division and I can line you up with Clem Fry two weeks from next Monday. Fry was to fight Jack Wheeler then but Wheeler has injured his wrist. I can have you in top shape for April 8 at Sydney stadium. We’ll start with roadwork at six tomorrow morning, then gym work in mid afternoon. OK?”
“That’s fine by me,” the tyro boxer replied with a grin.
Gannon shook his new charge firmly by the hand. “You’ll do well, Steve. You’re a natural and you’ll find it’s easier than jungle fighting. And, when you meet Fry at the weigh-in, shake his hand like you just did mine – let him feel that strength – give him something to think about.”
The following morning, Steve’s boxing career got under way. For two weeks, he threw himself into every training session and rapidly improved his speed, breathing, punching power and liver defence. He was the possessor of a sharp left jab and a powerful right.
At noon on Monday 8, he met his opponent at the weigh in. As Gannon suggested, he let him feel the right hand strength and noticed a slight smile on Fry’s face. That night, Steve was exhilarated by the atmosphere at “The Old Tin Shed.” He felt a little nervous in his dressing room and was eager to swap leather. Shortly before nine, he was called to make his way to the ring for the penultimate bout on the card.
In white trunks with black piping, Steve entered the ring and went to the red corner.
Mick Gannon and his second gave him final instructions, and then the referee gave his in centre ring, ending with: “At the sound of the bell, come out fighting and protect yourselves at all times.”
And so began a different type of war for Steve Burns. He soon found that Clem Fry was a hard nut to crack. In the first round, he had trouble nailing him with anything that would trouble him and was a little frustrated in his corner at the break.
Mick Gannon urged him to use the double jab/straight right combination more and with increased power. This he did in round two and he could feel he was troubling his opponent. In rounds three and four, there was little between the two men who were slugging it out to the delight of the crowd.
Midway through round five, Fry made the mistake of carrying his left hand too low and Steve took advantage. Rapid jabs and the right to follow sent him reeling across the ring. Steve pounced on him as spectators rose to their feet. Now, a fierce left sent Fry to the canvas. He tried in vain to rise and the referee placed his hand on Steve’s head. Mick Gannon darted into the ring and hugged the winner. “This is just the start of something big,” he said. A new era of Australian boxing had begun.
Steve Burns quickly became the favourite of boxing fans and he put together a series of wins against the best boxers in Australia and New Zealand. Five of his six bouts resulted in knockouts and his points victory was clear cut.
It was during that period that he met a young lady with whom he quickly fell in love. Joyce Crane did not like boxing but she was soon attracted to this young gentleman who bashed people up for a living. Their partnership blossomed into marriage in the winter of 1947. The following year, Steve experienced two of the most thrilling moments of his life. Firstly, there was the arrival of twin girls and then a bout with Mark Delaney for the vacant Australian middleweight title.
Joyce was nervous on the afternoon of the bout as her husband set out for Sydney Stadium with Mick Gannon. “Be careful, Steve,” she pleaded as Mick’s car pulled away from her Redfern flat. “Don’t worry, Joyce,” Steve grinned. “I’ve been through much tougher things than this. I’ll be back with my three greatest loves in a few hours. I’ll bring you the championship belt.”
At nine-thirty that evening, the referee gave his instructions in centre ring and the combatants returned to their corners. At the sound of the bell, a ring war erupted.
Both men had the same thing in mind and charged into centre ring. For four rounds they traded punches with little between them. It came to an end in round five.
With 40 seconds to the bell, Steve’s vicious left hook dropped Delaney and he was counted out. Steve Burns was the new middleweight champion of Australia.
As promised, Steve returned home with the championship belt. Joyce rushed into his arms as he came through the door. “Welcome home, champ,” she beamed as she hugged him. “I’m so proud of you - with that lumpy face of yours.”
“You should see Delaney,” Steve replied. “We sure gave each other some.”
“I’ll make some coffee and we shall sit quietly and relax,” Joyce said.
“And admire those two little gems in the bassinets,” Steve said. “We sure are lucky, Joyce. I’m the luckiest man on the planet.”
It was almost midnight when the phone rang. Joyce answered it and handed it to her husband. “It’s Mick,” she sighed.
Steve listened, intently, for a moment and then almost shouted. “World title shot?
Are you kidding?”
“No mate, it’s for real. I’ve just been called by Jay Conrad, the matchmaker in New York. The world title match between the champ, Bobo Brown, and Virgil Spencer is off. Brown has been injured in a car crash and his ring career is over. Conrad wants you to take on Spencer for the vacant title – in six weeks. He’s seen you on film and reckons you and Spencer would put on a great show. The yanks like your style of fighting. Madison Square Garden sound good to you?”
“You bet it does, Mick. Wow ! A world title shot at the “garden” – take it.”
“I’ve already taken it. Rest for a few days and then we’ll get ready for the fight of your life. This is the chance of a lifetime, son. Now, break the news to Joyce.”
Steve and Gannon arrived in New York in the American summer of 1948. Steve had some workouts there with American sparring partners and each one said he would be a handful for Virgil Spencer. After much roadwork and many rounds of sparring, Steve was ready. He was calm and confident. On the morning before the bout, the opponents met at the Hilton Hotel for the weigh in.
After they left the scales in their towels, they shook hands; reporters went to work. Suddenly, Steve was stunned by something that was said. In answer to a question, Virgil Spencer said: “I’ll be proud to be in the ring with an Aussie. It was an Aussie soldier who risked his life to save mine in the battle of Milne Bay in ’42.”
Steve said: “Virgil, you’ve got a shrapnel scar on your left thigh - Right?”
Now it was the American’s turn to be surprised. “Yes. How do you know that?”
“I bandaged the wound before I carried you to our first aid post!”
Virgil Spencer’s mouth was agape. There was a momentary silence. Then, many voices were raised. The loudest voice belonged to Virgil Spencer.
“Holy cow! - this is unreal – the man who saved me in the Milne Bay battle!”
He grabbed Steve and they hugged each other. Many questions were coming at the same time. And there was a request. “Show us your thigh, Virgil.”
The American raised the towel on his left thigh to expose the scar and cameras flashed. The media had a great story. Virgil had a problem. He had to fight the man who saved his life.
Steve was overwhelmed by all this and refused to talk about what he did that night in the jungle. He restricted himself to say: “We haven’t seen each other for six years and were together for only a couple of hours, at Milne Bay, with the only light coming from explosions and gunfire. No wonder we didn’t recognize each other.”
After the media people hurried off to print pictures and file their stories, it was arranged that the boxers and their trainers/managers would lunch together but that their togetherness would be brief by necessity for obvious reasons. The boxers could really get together when the ring action was done.
Virgil Spencer moped in his hotel room that afternoon. He was deep in thought and his manager, Bud Nader, was concerned. “Virgil, pull out of this mood you’re in. Don’t blow a chance to win the world middleweight title. Your livelihood is at stake.”
“Livelihood? My life was at stake the night Steve Burns recued my ass at the risk of his own. How can a man physically attack one who has done that for him?”
“Listen, pal, Mick Gannon and I discussed the situation this afternoon,” Nader said. “We agreed that you and Burns should go for a points win. You don’t have to bash each other senseless. Both aim to score well - pile on points - but don’t go for a knockout. There’s nothing crooked about that.”
“I thought of pulling out but – yeah - you and Mick are right. Give the crowd a good show, do our best to grab the title and everything’s above board.”
Almost at the same time, Mick Gannon put the same proposition to his charge.
Steve agreed that a points win was the best solution to the problem and added:
“Who could have imagined that two soldiers who met under fire in jungle night fighting would fight each other fifteen rounds for a world title six years later?”
“The media will have a field day with this story,” Mick replied. “I reckon if there are any tickets still unsold, they’ll be snapped up.”
Mick Gannon was right. The Madison Square Garden promotion was a sell-out.
On the other side of the world, Joyce Burns sat with family and friends by a radio as the boxers entered the ring. Joyce was very nervous as the introductions were made and the referee issued instructions.
As the bell sounded for round one, both men moved quickly into centre ring and started to trade punches. They fought at a brisk pace and it was soon obvious that there was a mutual respect. For the first four rounds, the crowd applauded some excellent boxing with little between the combatants. This was no slugfest; this was boxing at its best. Through rounds five to eleven, Steve scored well with his double jab/ straight right combination while Virgil’s left hook was a good points scorer.
Round twelve came and with it came an incident that was to shake boxing to its core. After some clever sustained in-fighting by both men, Steve became off balance and swayed back. A right hand caught him and he went down on his back. Ringside spectators rose to their feet. They had heard his head crash hard onto the canvas, near the ring apron. Steve Burns was unconscious and a doctor was quickly at his side. The doctor signalled that an ambulance was required. At two am, Mick and Virgil Spencer were at the Australian’s bedside as he became conscious. A doctor and nurse were in attendance.
Virgil took Steve by a hand and said: “Sorry, my friend – I shouldn’t have thrown that last one. It’s my fault you’re here.”
With great difficulty, Steve said: “Don’t think that way, Virg. This was my fault. I just got - clumsy. It was a head wound in the war that led to this – not your punch.”
Virgil now felt the hand he was holding tremble. Steve’s head dropped to one side and Virgil and Mick knew he was dead. A nurse escorted the tearful world champion outside while the doctor covered Steve Burns with a sheet.
Mick Gannon said to the doctor. “Steve never suffered a head wound in the war. He got through unscathed. He said that to help Virgil.”
“I’ve heard about Australian mateship,” the doctor replied. “It’s most admirable.”
Soon after, on the other side of the world, Joyce Burns cuddled her twins, while rocking them to and fro, and sobbed.
*****
Colin C Bridge Nov, 2011
THE TALK
(dialogue only)
‘It’s good to see you again, Tom. I’ve been looking forward to having a talk with you. When I heard that Tom Porter is now living in Manhattan, I decided to look you up as soon as I could get away from ‘Frisco. I’m here on family business and thought it best to see you before I get busy.’
‘I’m pleased to see you too, Burt. It seems ages since Porter and Martin kicked Viet Cong butt. We had one hell of a platoon.’
‘We sure did, buddy. I’m still amazed we survived that ambush. The Aussie artillery did a great job. I heard you had some problems when you got home. Are you okay now?’
‘Yes. It was just shellshock; some bad nightmares and sweats. I married Sue just after we got back and she’s been wonderful. She works for a psychiatrist and some of his knowledge has rubbed off. She soon had me in good shape. I wish she were here but she’s with her boss at a convention in Washington.’
‘I’d liked to have met her. From the photos you showed me, she’s some dish. This is a great apartment you have here, Tom. It’s easy to see there’s a woman’s touch.’
‘Yes. Sue has excellent taste so never consults me about such matters as décor. She has free rein.’
‘There’s just one thing I don’t like about this apartment, Tom.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s too damn high. The view’s great but 14 floors up is too much for me. I can’t stand heights.’
‘I know that, Burt. I’ll never forget the look on your face on your first parachute jump. Did you marry your girl when you got home from Vietnam?’
‘No. She wasn’t available any more. She ran off with her art teacher while I was in that hell hole chasing “Charlie”. I’m staying single.’
‘Do you see any of the guys these days?’
‘I met up with some at a reunion back home last month. Here, these are some pictures. We were a bit bleary-eyed when they were taken but managed to stand still for a moment.’
‘The boys still look pretty fit. Hey – who is this guy in the back row?’
‘Surely you remember him, Tom. That’s Lieutenant Foley – the one who gave you such a bad time from boot camp to Bien Hoa – treated you like a rabid dog.’
‘Foley! – it can’t be. The son of a bitch is dead!’
‘Foley dead? You’ve been misinformed, Tom. He’s alive and well and living in Seattle. He was listed as missing in action – believed dead – but some villagers had found him badly wounded near the bodies of two Vietnamese plantation workers who had also been shot.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Certainly. The villagers nursed Foley back to health over several months. We were home long before he returned.
‘No – it can’t be. That guy in the picture is the spitting image of Foley - but Foley is dead!’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Okay, I’ll give it to you straight. Remember you once told me that Foley was a danger to the platoon and we would be better off with him out of the way?’
‘Yes. That was so.’
‘Most of the boys wanted rid of him because of several blunders and gross inefficiency which cost the lives of six members of our platoon. Well, I did the job during an action in the jungle when Foley was in a panic.’
‘You what?’
‘Someone had to stop him. I found the opportunity in that action. I shot him at close range. I made sure he was dead. That guy in the picture isn’t Lieutenant Foley!’
‘You’re right, Tom. He’s just a guy who is the image of him and he was planted in the picture to try you out. What you have just done is admit that you cold-bloodedly murdered an officer of the United States Army. The man you killed wasn’t the perfect officer but he was considered to be the perfect father of two little girls.’
‘I’ve been set up! Well, I’ll be – so I shot my mouth off and it’s out but if you repeat what I said, I’ll deny it. You’ll have no proof.’
‘Tom, the authorities suspected you might have had something to do with Foley’s death. His body was found with American bullets in it. Close by, were bodies of two Vietnamese men who were killed by the same weapon. Presumably, they had witnessed your execution of Foley.’
‘Nobody can pin it on me – it won’t wash!’
‘It will, Tom. You see – I am working with an armed services team investigating some atrocities and the deaths of two officers; one of them Foley. It would be no use denying what you’ve told me. See that truck in the car park down there?’
‘Yeah, what about it?’
‘There are two men inside that truck with high tech equipment and a machine which is recording this conversation. I am wired for sound. See this little button? It’s a microphone.’
‘Damn you! I’ve been set up over the death of a low creep who should never have been considered as officer material; a coward who caused the deaths of six of our buddies. How could you do this to me after what we’ve been through?’
‘I haven’t enjoyed it, Tom. This is very painful. But you went over the top and played jury, judge and executioner. Maybe you killed Foley not because of his blunder that cost the lives of six of our men but because he disliked you from the start and gave you a bad time. You will be placed under arrest shortly. You will be tried by a military court and the recorded conversation is admissible evidence.’
‘Oh, no - NO! They’re not standing me before a firing squad!’
‘Tom – what are you doing? Come away from that window. Don’t do it, Tom – please! Oh - no!
Damn it! He’s gone boys. We’ve lost him. The case is closed!’
To see "A Sisters Gift" Click here
Colin C Bridge