​It is the story of Charlie McLachlan’s war: a triumph of stubborn Scottish defiance and laconic Aussie genius over the relentless violence of man and nature.

 

From the Rudolph Hess crash-landing to the atom bomb, from history’s last bayonet charge to the war’s greatest aerial bombardment, Charlie McLachlan survives and bears witness to some of the landmark days of World War II.

 

At one time or other in his four-year ordeal he is fired upon by the armies, navies and/or air forces of Germany, Japan, Australia, the Netherlands, Great Britain and the United States of America – pretty much everyone but the Russians.

 

He defies or evades the ravages of tropical ulcers, tropical heat, alpine cold, gangrene, cholera, malaria, beriberi, dysentery, mosquitoes, crocodiles, snakes, sharks, scorpions, sadistic Sikhs, Japanese hellships, falling coconuts, flying shrapnel, beatings, beheadings, bullets, bombs, bayonets, torpedoes, a crushed leg, a fractured skull, malnutrition and premature cremation.

 

He’s presumed dead by the British Army, left for dead by Japanese guards, and declared dead by a Dutch-Javanese doctor.

 

Yet through it all Charlie soldiers on.

 

Half a world away, his wife Mary, fashioned from the same mental granite, stoically awaits his return. Not even an official telegram confirming the near-certainty of Charlie’s death, or later rumours of his torture, can shake her iron faith.