by Victor Mahn
“What time do you think it is now, Chief?” Dennis inquired.
“Must be oh-three-hundred. The wind is colder now than an hour ago, and there are some insect sounds. They sense the shifts in the temperature far better than we do. They know that the sun will be out in less than two hours,” Rickety said.
“Charming creatures,” Dennis said.
“I do not care for insects or the sun, thank you very much. I would rather just get the hell out of here, back to our daily routine of combat and recon,” Annand tried to plant the idea of normalcy in them. “See what happens when we shift out of our routine.” He nudged his chin toward Magnus. “He is breathing, right? And are we okay? I mean, we are safe here?”
Rickety arched forward, placed his palm under Magnus’s nostrils. “Yes, he is. And yes, we are safe here. There’s no human presence here, besides us, and no mines. Plus, I am sure his body had quite a shock, and he’d just shut down for a bit. He’ll come to, soon.” He sat back, cross-legged now.
He thought that he might be the one who was more rested than the others, thanks to the nap he’d managed to get. Consequently, his mind was not in a tormented state, so he was still able to make sound decisions. Well, better than these guys, at least. They are spooked, and tired, and most likely faint from hunger. And then there’s our enemies… around the jungle, possibly running patrols even now…
Rickety chewed on what Annand had just said—on the idea of heading back to Camp-12 and back to their customary life of soldiers. There was some solace in that, he admitted. Dealing with a known devil is far better than an unknown angel. Devil… Who’s to say what is out there in this part of the world? They say that these rainforests are one of the oldest places on the planet. Trees and plants were here earlier than mobile organisms, so they would have thrived here far longer than animals have. Thrived, and survived… survived amongst unknown Devils…
He shook his head to cast away these thoughts. I need to drive some optimism into these guys… They’re shot, ambulant at best. I would need to draw them away from the insidious state we are in, and once we have our spirits up, we will head back. And then there is Magnus… with his mysterious strangulation…
“Amazing mechanism, the body is. Just a little lesson here, guys. If we do make it back home from the war, and if you do start families and have children, you could share this piece of knowledge with them. Vital, vital stuff.” It was one of the rare moments in wartime when you could tutor a team, or even a person, especially soldiers. Rickety was fond of such moments, as they rarely make an appearance.
“The human body,” he began his tutelage, “uses ploys and other mechanisms to make sure you continue to live. In Magnus’s case, when there was no way for oxygen to come through, the body induced a faint, so that he will collapse on to the ground and lie horizontal, closer to ground level. This will increase the chances of him breathing. In most instances of external events such as a fire in the building, the body, particularly the nose and mouth, are away from the rising fumes, and would now be able to breathe in the air which is closer to the ground. Amazing, eh?”
“Pretty impressive, Sir. You ought to say that to the CO,” Annand said, and they all burst out laughing. It was a good thing too, albeit they might be a bit too loud for the jungle, but Rickety thought that he’d achieved his objective.
“All right, guys,” Rickety said, “we’ll leave another marker here at the frontier of the house we were at. We get the two tribesmen, head back to camp, and I will report to the CO’s office as soon as I have checked on Magnus at the infirmary. There’s some neck restraints there and vitamin supplements that’ll be helpful.” He paused, then added, “I do not suppose that we’ll be allowed out of the camp anymore. This’ll be our last stint out of there. Until the war is over, that is.”
Dennis gave a snort to that remark. “Well, I am not sure why you’re upset about that, Chief.” Annand was silent; seemed to be in a semi-wakeful state.
“Do you suppose that… that, as in today, so much could happen in a day?” Rickety asked.
“How do you mean?” Dennis asked. Annand’s eyes were open just slit-wide, and he was seemingly attentive to the question posed.
“Well. About twenty-four hours ago, I was going through the list of shipments from the Royal Navy’s depot off the island of Nicobar, of medicines and drugs and band-aids, and I thought that that was the most onerous task that medical personnel could undertake in war. Maybe it still is, to carefully establish that enough medicinal supplies are available. But then this comes along…”
“It might be an acute observation on your part, Chief. I’d say that you are just talking silly cos you ain’t gonna admit the consequences we’ll face. That you’ll face more than us, anyhow. Maggie could have died. Any of us could have died, Rick.” Dennis looked so solemn that one would suspect he’d be running for a seat in parliament back home. Rickety glared at him, sensing the undercurrents of a portentous nature. If there was one who would to rat out on him to his superiors, for the inexcusable act of going AWOL; including the act of carrying firearms and other registered ordnance which are the property of the Royal Australian Armed Forces, it would be Dennis.
“Well, Sir,” Annand rested his right elbow on the ground, lifting himself up, “a lot could happen in a day. We may be born, some may die. We may get married, have children. And we may lose it all in a day. Sounds philosophical, I know. But I do know what you’re saying.” Annand met Rickety’s gaze, comforting him with a sense of comprehension as to questions that we all eventually face in life. The question of whether life itself is worth living. “But we ought to leave here. I hope, Sir, that you’d be kind enough to get Limbuang and the young fellow as soon as you could, please.”
“But I would like to know, Rick. What really happened to Maggie here? Why did he collapse?”
“I don’t know, goddammit! I don’t have a clue. I reckon that none of us touched him when we were at the house, did we? No, no… maybe it was poison—”
Rickety realised that the last part was not necessary, that it could play itself out against him; he also knew that he really didn’t know where they were headed off to, nor how to get home. He knew they needed the assistance of the local tribespeople, which is something that the army views as a collateral asset, and that they could be walking into a trap orchestrated by the Japanese with the help of the very same locals. Too many unknowns.
He left the others after he checked Magnus’s pulse; once on his wrist and another time at the jugular (careful as to not cause further damage to the tissue structure there). He gathered his backpack, handed over the screwdriver he had procured from the shed to Dennis, who nodded when accepting it. After glancing over the landscape and gathering his bearings, he headed off to where the next marker from their present location was.
Rickety walked silently, cautious where he stepped. He pursued the markers, upon which their very life and limb depended. He found one, then the next, and another. He saw a line of trees and brambles, and the occasional puddles of muddy water; all of them familiar. And he relaxed, knowing that he was on the right path out toward the direction of the village, Kimolohing. He knew that he was pointed southwards. The crash site of the Japanese plane must be just ahead, then.
He heard some brushing of leaves on the floor, just several yards ahead. The path was dark, and he estimated that he should be around the spot where the shaman and his kin were. But it could be the Japs—perhaps they are tracking the fallen craft? He slowed his pace, smelt the air for traces of burning gasoline.
He heard another bout of crackling in front of him, expressed inner annoyance that he had given away the screwdriver to Dennis. He still had his revolver, though. But to use it in the jungle would mean that the enemy will know that there is a patrol out here. He needed the use of stealth— thus, the screwdriver. But it was no use fussing about it, if he had to use extreme force with his weapon, he was prepared to do so. He was studying the path ahead when a familiar voice
broke out from the darkness.
“Hello Richard. Where are the others?” Ambiau asked. Damn… this is the second time tonight a tribesman had me startled!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brigadier Francois Kirk-Rhine, Company Commander of the North Borneo Land, Air & Sea Regiment of the Royal Australian Armed Forces, found the patrol unit’s lieutenant at the mess hall, rummaging through some biscuits to have dunked into his weak coffee. The lieutenant was a sight of such sorrow and blight that the brigadier was quite taken aback.
Francois looked about the entire hall as he stepped in through the only entrance and exit of the place and observed that the floor showed traces of rain—muddy footprints about the somewhat miry floor, and in every few yards, cakes of soil were evident, duly dropped off by the stamping of army-issued steel-capped boots. Having surveyed the space, he sprang onwards to the seat right opposite the lieutenant, who looked up as he approached. The others in the room seemed to be fraught at the presence of the superior officer, and they were shifting about in their seats.
“Sir!” the soldier stood to attention. He had his gaze fixed on the insignia on the shoulders of his superior – with a crown and three pips, together with the word ‘Australia’ below them. He also noted the gorget patches on the collars. This is a man to tread carefully with, the lieutenant thought.
“At ease, son. Quite a morning, huh?” the commander asked, as he seated himself.
“Yes, Sir. Quite a morning.” The youth sat down, with his hands immediately grasping onto the cup holding the coffee. “And chilly, Sir. Unusually so.”
“Yes, yes. Quite right.” Francois looked about the table, glancing at its edges. He then said, “What is your name, son?”
“Second-Lieutenant Giles Pearson, Sir. Just got off the boat off Changi. Was earmarked to join ‘E-Force’, Sir, but I guess I’ve been re-assigned to here instead.”
“I see. Enjoying it here?”
“Enjoy, Sir? Hardly! I am glad to experience some action, though. It is unlike the previous stationing that I held, with some of my pals being thrown into the prison at Changi,” he said, and a shot of dismay overcame him. “But I am glad to be here, Sir.”
He is trying to impress me, Francois thought. Very well. “I am glad too, son.” He beamed at the young Giles. “Now, tell me. How came you to the Japanese deciphering machine?”
“Purely by accident, Sir, I assure you,” Giles started, leaning forward. “I do not care for the way the rumour is playing out! And I find it odd that they think that I am spying for the Japs, Sir. Quite preposterous!”
“Well, leave that to me. I will be sure that the word gets suppressed as quickly as possible. HQ will not get a wind of it from my camp.” There! I said, ‘from my camp’, which implies that HQ might hear of young Giles here, but it might be from another place. Just might…
“Thank you for that, Sir. Appreciate it greatly.”
“Still feeling cold, son?” Francois asked as he glanced at Giles’s hands.
“Yes, Sir. A bit.”
“Go on, then. How did you manage to discover the deciphering machine?”
The lieutenant wet his lips with his tongue, as though indicating that he was about to narrate Homer’s Odyssey from the first word to the last. “Well… We got our stations when the PL (Platoon Leader) broke ranks of the gunners. At twenty-three hundred, we were placed at our stations for the night, and left with the usual instructions of patrolling a radius of a mile. Nothing out of the ordinary, Sir. Was quite routine, up until oh-two-thirty, thereabouts.”
“Yes?”
“I was returning from my one-mile marker, stopped about midway, finished my packet of ANZACs. There was a slight drizzle. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. So, then I finished my meal… yes, Sir, I was sure to remove all evidence of my being there, put it all into the bags provided. As I was tightening the laces of my boots, I heard… well, what I thought it was at the time, the wailing of a woman. Not so far off from where I was.”
“Wailing of a woman?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Out there in the jungle? With no lights or a machete to work through the thickets?”
“That’s what I thought, Sir. I had the very same question running in my head. How could someone be out here – a woman, on top of that – without the aid of such tools, or a guide? Then I thought, well maybe she’s here as part of a larger group, a Japanese recon party. Though whether they have female recruits, I could not fathom. I know Sir, there is no question about that; it is not possible. But that was how my mind was running at the time, with such questions.”
“Okay. Go on, then.” Francois planted his right elbow onto his lap and cupped his mouth. I should talk less and listen more…
“So, then I pulled out my rifle, cocked it. I was sure glad that by that time, my sights were well-tuned to the surroundings. I could make out the trees and such, so I knew that I could easily spot a Jap. So, I was on the alert, looked about the direction from where the feminine sounds came. I dared not move, Sir. Who knew whether I was about to be caught in an ambush. I stood still.” Giles appeared to have been awaiting an acknowledgment from the commander, which came in the form of an impatient wave of his hand—Go on…
“I stood at the spot for a good five minutes. The wailing, Sir, came only once. But it was clearly carried through the air, and I knew for a fact that I heard it. No Sir, I was not imagining it—if I was, I would have imagined the sound of a male soldier instead. I am sure it was a woman.”
“Son, stop belabouring the subject of the woman. Tell me, from that moment, how did you discover the deciphering machine?” Damn it, man!
“Yes, Sir! Am sorry, Sir! I guess that I am still shaken up by that sound in the jungle, Sir.” Giles looked apologetic, which came rather naturally to him. He should enrol in a drama school after the war…
“After a bit, I decided that I could not stay put. I had to move out, and at least to investigate what the sound was, or who it was out there. So, I walked to where I thought the sound came from, and there was no one there. Oddly, though, Sir… there were some footprints. The ground was moist from the rain, you see…”
“Footprints? You gathered if they were a woman’s or a man’s?”
Giles was mute, and diffidence was seen to be mounting on his expression. “Sir… I guess this is why the rumours started… No one believed me when I said it. Hell, I didn’t believe it when I was out there, seeing it with my own eyes…” Another pause, then, “Sir, it was the footprints of an animal.”
“An animal?” Francois was beginning to enter a fit of pique. “What do you mean, an animal?”
“It seemed to be footprints of a small animal. It looked like miniature V’s, like the letter,” he brought out his fingers, presenting them in the universal sign for peace. “Like so, Sir. Only smaller, much smaller, like half-an-inch each.”
“Okay… and?”
“And it seemed to have walked – or rather, hopped – for several feet, then it kind of… disappeared.”
“Disappeared? You couldn’t find any more traces of those prints?”
“No, Sir. I inspected the ground thoroughly but couldn’t see them anywhere beyond that point.”
“Hmm…” Francois was contemplating the report.
“Oh, and another thing, Sir! I think that the animal had claws, like a crab? You know, at a distance from its body? Why do I think that? Because, there appears to be slight depressions on the ground diagonally away from the footprints, Sir. On either side of them. And they seemed to be at equal distances from the footprints. So, I was thinking that it could be a crab. Possibly a land crab, living in the mud?”
“Yes. You might be right, son. A mud crab…”
“I know, Sir. I know!”
Francois placed his palm around his mouth again, eyes fixed on Giles’s.
“Right. Sir, just next to this set of prints… about ten feet or so, was the deciphering device. Just barely hidden, off in the thickets. Seemed
to have some smoke coming off it, and the metal plating around it was warm when I touched it. I guessed that it would have been dropped off a plane. I told my PL that too, Sir.”
“The machine was just there?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Right around the place where you saw the footprints?”
“Yes, Sir.” Giles was adding nods to his statement, as though that would add credibility.
“Will you be able to show me where it was, if we were to go out there again? No, not now, son. The coming night. We need the cover of darkness for this one.”
Francois and Giles locked eyes for a brief second. Giles was wondering if the Commander believed him. There are gaps to the story, I see it myself. But that’s what happened. And why would I lie about such a thing? Why did I bring the machine here? Would have been better to just leave it there, Goddammit!
“Seems persuasive,” Francois said. He checked his watch, noted that it was almost time to send in his daily report to HQ, and calculated that it would take about ten minutes to get to the Comms Room. He tapped his knuckles on the table as he got up, then smiled and said, “You’ve done well, son. Bringing the machine back was a good move. Very tactical; like a soldier. I will make sure HQ hears of it.”
“Why, thank you, Sir!” Giles returned the smile. Well, so long as the Commander believes my story, I am still fine…
Francois left the soldier, and then the hall. He was in a pensive mood. He needed some time alone, to crunch data and produce a decision on what he, and the rest of the Company, would need to do. Without a doubt, a decision must be made by noon. Especially since he would need to report the matter to HQ—and subsequently, to the office of Lord Mountbatten.
Of course, he hadn’t mentioned the initial findings of the team he had assembled ad hoc, which had been charged to probe the deciphering machine that had been borne in on a Japanese aircraft. The initial report of his team had read - by the looks of it, the aircraft had been forced to be downed. The deciphering machine had been removed while the aircraft was still airborne, and not when the aircraft was on the ground. Signs of abrasions, due to the rugged handling of the device, suggests this.