The Tillerman's Gift

By C J Brown

Tess Newell returns to Clowder Bay, her home town, to find closure to her thwarted relationship with the man she loved as a teenager, and whose child she bore. All that Tess has of Charlie after he was killed in Vietnam is an engraved key - she calls it her promise key - which represents his promise to marry her when he returned.
Tess is accompanied by Alison, the daughter Charlie never knew, and whose fiancé is missing in action in Afghanistan, as well as by Mia, Alison's teenage daughter.

They meet Kim Trang who is facing eviction from her home. Kim tells of her childhood in Vietnam during the closing stages of the war and how, with her cousin, she escaped and made her way to Australia and ultimately to Clowder Bay.

The Tillerman’s Gift tells of Peter’s fate at the hands of the Taliban.
It tells of Kim’s escape from Vietnam and how Tess’s and Kim’s stories and unanswered questions are entwined.
It also tells the story of Mia befriending Jimmy, Kim’s son, and how they try to deal with the unwelcome attention of local bullies.

With the help of a stray cat and a mysterious bikie, and in an adventure that almost sees her lose her life, Mia tries to discover the real meaning of her grandmother’s key.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C J Brown
• Release date: Oct 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301552184

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THE TILLERMAN’S GIFT

By C J Brown

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 C J Brown

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

Thank you to my family for their encouragement and editing of my writing (although I accept full responsibility for any enduring errors).

THE TILLERMAN’S GIFT

PROLOGUE

December 1900: Somewhere off the far north coast of the Colony of New South Wales

The storm continued to rage as the heavy turbines of the SS Halfpenny gradually wound down to a dull drone.

Captain William McIntyre smoothed his beard and knocked loudly on the door of the Governor's cabin.

Enter.

McIntyre opened the door and, removing his hat, stepped inside. He held an ornate silver tray covered by a matching domed lid. The Governor of Queensland sat at the polished rosewood desk reading over his speech. The heavily embroidered velvet and linen curtains were drawn around the large, four-poster, parcel-gilt, mahogany bed.

Your Excellency, the winds are strong and the waves high. We are taking shelter in a bay until it is safe to resume our journey.

Thank you for keeping me informed, Captain. For how long will we be delayed?

I expect the storm to last only two, maybe three hours at most, Excellency.

Good. I have no wish to be late to Melbourne for the Federation Ceremony and we… he glanced fleetingly at the drawn curtains, … we would rather not have to cut short our shopping days in Sydney.

A loud sneeze sounded behind the curtain.

I trust Her Ladyship is not unwell, the Captain frowned.

A simple allergy, Captain. We believe it may be the cats.

The cats, Your Lordship?

Yes, the cats. Her Ladyship is allergic to cats. I wonder, Captain, do you think it would be asking too much to ... shall we say cull the clowder?

The captain looked blankly at the governor.

Cull the clowder, My Lord?

Yes, minify the moggies, so to speak. Clear the clutter. Lighten the litter.

The captain looked increasingly confused and stroked his chin as though it might somehow help him to understand the governor’s meaning.

He means get rid of some of those damned cats, Captain! The shrill, nasally voice took Captain McIntyre by surprise. He had not, until that moment, heard Her Ladyship speak. More kindly-disposed folk described her as aloof. Others thought she was rather stuck-up.

The cats, Your Lordship?

Yes, Captain McIntyre, the cats.

But …but, Your Lordship, the Captain stammered, the cats …catch the rats.

Captain, I have seen no rats.

My Lordship, that would be because the cats catch the rats.

Indeed ... yes, and a fine job they do. Another ear-piercing sneeze and the captain thought the heavy bed curtains ballooned out at least ten inches. He winced and pressed a protective forefinger to his ear.

Our journey… the Governor looked sideways towards the source of the unpleasant noise, would be considerably more agreeable for all concerned.

The captain nodded sympathetically. He turned to leave then stopped, realizing why he had come to the cabin in the first place. I beg your pardon, Your Excellency, I almost forgot. The cook has prepared a sweet treat for you and her ladyship. He recommends it as a suitable accompaniment to a hot cup of tea.

The governor motioned to the side table and the captain set the silver tray down, removed the lid and revealed a most unusual sight.

Simple sponge cake, My Lord, with a layer of chocolate icing. The cook has sprinkled a little coconut to remind her ladyship of home.

The governor’s eyes widened. My dear, come, look at this!

After another sneeze, the governor’s wife parted the curtain, nodded perfunctory acknowledgement of the captain and walked over to the side table.

How delightful! Lady Mary Lamington forced a thin smile. It almost certainly is snowing in Scotland at the moment. Please pass my thanks on to the pastry cook.

Certainly, Your Ladyship. And I shall look into the cat situation as soon as possible.

As soon as possible, Captain?

"Um, that is to say, immediately, Ma’am."

With that the captain took his leave and went in search of the cabin boy.

The heavy rain drilled into Flynn's face and arms as he held the first cat by the scruff of the neck and dangled her over the side of the ship.

That one…And that one too! the captain had ordered a few minutes earlier, pointing at the forlorn and mangy creatures sheltering under the lifeboat. They’re nothing but fur, fleas and flatworms, those two. Toss ‘em over, boy!

Sorry, girl. Captain's orders. In you go and good luck. Maybe you'll be better at catchin' fish than rats.

Flynn watched the bedraggled form splash into the water and disappear only to resurface a few seconds later. He did the same with the second. Maybe you can get the sharks before they get you.

The scrawny unfortunates, selected for being the least proficient rodent hunters on board, clung to each other as wave after wave swamped them and forced them below the surging waters. But each time they kept resurfacing.

Flynn felt a pang of pity as the cats clawed at the side of the iron vessel and looked up at him as though pleading for forgiveness for their unknown transgressions.

I s'pose it's only fair to give you a fightin' chance, he said out loud and, looking around the deck, he found a small, wooden crate under a canvas. He ran back to the side of the ship and threw it into the water. To Flynn it was a piece of rubbish, a small pine box that would not be missed and would in all likelihood fail to hold together for more than a few minutes. To the cats it was a life raft that would provide the possibility of survival, if only for a short time.

CHAPTER 1

Saturday June 29th 0930 hours - Highway A1, Afghanistan

Given the size of the country and the great distances he often travelled Ahmed Khan considered the highway drive from Jalalabad to Kabul to be relatively short and safe. The business he had conducted in Pakistan had come to a successful conclusion and although the weapons would not be available for another two weeks he was exceptionally pleased with the quality of the product. He was relieved also - relieved that he was able to convince the arms dealer to give him a considerable discount in return for a guarantee of further business in the future. It was inconvenient that the previous supplier was out of circulation indefinitely due to the annoying diligence of United Nations investigators. The man he had just met in Pakistan, on the other hand, was a newcomer to this dangerous game and was as yet unknown to the western authorities.

As usual, crossing the border into Pakistan and then back again into Afghanistan had been easy enough. He was always surprised as how little money the border guards were willing to accept in return for allowing the gold Mercedes G-500 virtually unchallenged passage. Of course it had to be American dollars. Any other currency and the price would double. Still cheap, he reckoned.

Drive carefully, Abdul. This road has many twists and turns. Removing his thick-framed glasses, Khan allowed himself a brief moment to rest. The cool air streaming from the vent washed over his face as he absent-mindedly played with the silver key that hung around his neck.

Outside it was already a searing thirty-nine degrees. Half a kilometre away and at a vantage point above this section of road, Major Rob Harris wiped the sweat from his eyes as he spoke urgently into his VHF radio.

Zero Alpha, we have eyes on the target. We are good to go. Catch or kill? Please confirm. Catch or kill?

The commanding officer on the other end of the line had given the kill order the previous day but the politics of these decisions changed quickly, sometimes hourly, but always unpredictably. Harris had been instructed to gain confirmation of the order immediately prior to executing it.

To Harris's left, the Carl-Gustaf  M3 rested comfortably on Corporal Paul Chan’s shoulder.

Zero Alpha, window is closing fast, sir. Twenty seconds. Still no reply.

Confirm. Catch or kill? Harris shouted again. The radio crackled an indistinct reply. At this range the difference for Chan between catch and kill was less than one degree. But he was, at least by his even-if-I-say-so-myself reckoning, the best the Australian Army had to offer. A call of capture would see one shell cause the car to stop and a second take out a front tyre. A call of kill would see one shell smash through the driver’s bullet proof window and a second blow-up the engine, destroying the vehicle and its occupants.

Zero Alpha, come in! Ten seconds, sir... Sir I need a call, now!

Dammit! Harris gritted his teeth. He turned to Chan. Capture! Capture!

The missile blew open a crater thirty metres in front of the speeding car. The Mercedes screeched to a spinning stop.

Private Len Smith shoved another 84 millimetre missile into the breach of Chan's weapon and slapped him on the shoulder. Go!

With the car at a standstill the second shot would be a cinch. The front passenger tyre exploded forcing the car to roll one complete turn eventually coming to rest on its remaining wheels in gravel off to the far side of the road. Regaining his senses, Abdul tried without success to restart the engine. He looked around to see Khan bleeding profusely from a deep wound caused by his head having smashed against the reinforced steel window frame. His broken spectacles hung from one ear.

Get me out of here, you fool! Khan screamed.

The engine is dead! We are not going anywhere. We will have to run for it. We might make it to the cover of those trees. He was looking at a thick grove of white poplars about fifty metres north of the car.

If you step out of this car you are a dead man.

If we stay here we are both dead men.

If they wanted us dead, then we would be dead by now. Ahmed Khan leaned forward, vomited on the floor and passed out.

Harris lowered his binoculars. Well done, Corporal. You just might be as good as you say you are after all.

If you say so, sir. Pack it up, Smithy. Private Smith took the rocket launcher and handed Chan his F88 assault rifle.

The Afghan security forces had set up road blocks ten kilometres away in both directions from the assault site so the possibility of another vehicle straying innocently into the target zone was minimal.

Now we wait, Harris sighed. In this heat it shouldn't be long. At least I hope not. These camouflage uniforms might make us invisible, but if we melt away to nothing then we won’t need to be.

At that moment the radio crackled back to life. Amber 21, come in! The voice of Lieutenant Colonel Frank Elliott sounded urgent.

Amber 21. Go ahead.

Can you confirm the capture?

Harris breathed a heavy sigh of relief but tried to inject some urgency into his voice. But, Sir, my orders were to kill. He winked at Chan. Your transmission broke up. I couldn't make out your last message, sir.

Dammit! The situation changed. We wanted him alive.

Chan gave the major a look that said you’re braver than I am stirring the boss like that.

Don't worry, sir, Harris continued, deciding not to push his luck too far, Capture confirmed. We're just waiting for the oven to heat up. Amber 21 over.

Without air conditioning, the temperature inside the car was rising rapidly. Barely ten minutes after the assault, the driver's door opened just enough to allow Abdul to hold up his arm and wave his white handkerchief.

Major, we've got movement. Should we give the signal?

Not yet, Smithy. That's the driver. Let him get out, but keep him in your sights. If he tries to run take him out. Khan is probably in the back seat. I want to see his hands before we move in.

Slowly the driver's door opened fully. Abdul swung his legs out and stood. He held his right arm high above his head waving the cloth. He pressed his left hand to the back of his head. He stood there for a full minute expecting the assailants to reveal themselves. Then, realising what they must be waiting for, he took a slow step towards the back door. Keeping his please-don't-shoot-me cloth high, he reached out with his left hand and opened the door. Still making sure he made no sudden moves, Abdul leaned into the car and dragged Khan's limp body out onto the ground. He then lay face-down beside him and held both of his hands behind his head.

Harris spoke into his radio again. Amber Three Zero. We’re good to go. Let's pick up the package.

With that, the M113 APC roared out from the thick grove of trees a mere thirty metres from where the men lay on the hot gravel. In less than two minutes the Mercedes was a burning wreck and the two Taliban operatives were handcuffed, secured inside the armoured personnel carrier and on the way to the Australian base hospital.

CHAPTER 2

Sunday June 30th - Sydney

The sound of gunfire is deafening. Thud! Thud! Thud! Bullets from invisible guns ricochet off rocks and slam into sand. It is impossible to see the shooters. They blend in so well with the hills that they seem to be one with their surroundings. All the soldiers can do for the present is bunker down behind any small cover they can find and hope and pray that they live to see another day.

Captain Peter Katz screams into his two-way radio: Backup! We need backup!

There is no backup! comes a crackling reply. You’re the only one left! The radio goes dead. Katz slowly lifts his head and peers around the rock that lies between him and death.

They’ve gone. His mates have all gone! They were just there and now they’ve gone. The voice was right. He is the only one left. It’s hopeless.

Without another thought, Katz stands in full view of the hidden enemy, raises his F88 to his shoulder and aimlessly empties the magazine into the hills. His gun finally falls silent and he drops it onto the ground. Five figures appear as if by magic from the hills. Each has an AK-47 trained on Katz.

"You have fought bravely, says one. But now it is finished."

Bang!

The loud noise of a