When John Frum Came

by Bill Schroeder

  Lieutenant Mitsumo could not stomach this butterfly approach to warfare. “We are not on a trading mission, Ensign. You are here as an interpreter, not a strategist. Our men are not afraid to die, but I doubt if a handful of natives offer much of a threat to a landing barge loaded with 40 combat-trained soldiers of the Imperial Army. I don’t care if we have to kill every spear-chucker on that island to fulfill our mission. Which — since you missed the briefing last night — is to determine if there is an enemy installation anywhere on the island.”

  Mitsumo pushed roughly past Ensign Ishikawa, and went to the bridge of the torpedo boat. He laid out a map of the island and examined the recent photographs of the lagoon. “Two torpedoes here,” he said, pointing to a point on the map, “should open up a channel large enough for the landing craft to enter the lagoon.”

  He spoke on the radio to Captain Nagama, who was in charge of the infantry company on the seagoing tug that guided the barge full of troops. “I will blast an opening in the reef for you to use. Let me speak to the captain of the tug.” There was a brief silence while the other Navy officer took the microphone and put on the headset.

  “Line up behind me,” Mitsumo told him, “and prepare to push the landing barge through to the spot where you see the torpedoes detonate.”

  The helmsman of the second boat positioned his boat as directed.

  ***

  Moses McDuff awoke with a start. The six 20 MM shells going off on the cliffs below his camp jolted him out of his half-awake state. He jumped to his feet and foolishly ran to the edge of the cliff where he could have been easily spotted. Below were two Japanese boats, roughly in the same place the Wombat had occupied when it delivered him to the island. However, all eyes were on the beach and he escaped notice.

  He ran back to his radio equipment and wondered where Yani was now. He hoped he had not been harmed by the shooting, and needed him to run the generator. Fortunately Pee-wee, the 10-year old assistant generator operator who knew the drill came racing up the trail. He chattered away in Booga-booga, telling the obvious tale of the Japanese Navy’s arrival. McDuff pointed to the generator and made a circular motion with his hand.

  In a matter of minutes he was clicking off a message to Port Moresby: “Japs here. One torpedo boat. One landing barge under tow. I am leaving base camp. Will transmit when able.”

  McDuff picked up his pre-arranged escape gear, generator, transmitter, and his rifle. Pee-wee watched him take the trail for the top of the volcano and disappear.

  ***

  There were two massive underwater explosions spaced about ten seconds apart at the low spot on the reef. After delivering her deadly tin sharks at the target, the torpedo boat swerved off to the right. The officer in charge of the tug revved his engines to the maximum rpm to get a high speed run at the opening in the reef marked by churning froth. The distance from the starting point to the entrance to the lagoon allowed the tug to propel the barge at a speed of better than 20 knots.

  Captain Nagama had climbed on to the barge. He told his infantrymen that once their craft shot through the narrow gate it would continue to accelerate. The maneuver was to skim across the shallow tidal basin and come to a decisive stop at the beach. The men would then drop over the sides into the shallow water. Forty screaming soldiers with fixed bayonets would charge toward the cowering natives, shooting their weapons at anything that had the misfortune to be in front of them.

  Fed constantly by the news of victories in Hong Kong and the Philippines, their propaganda officer had convinced them that they were “The Japanese Gods of War” and were invincible in battle. Nothing could stand in the way of their victory over this tiny volcanic island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

  Reality set in when the landing craft was one-third of the way through the new opening. The barge was three feet wider than the newly blasted gate, which caused it to rear up on a 30-degree angle and stay there. Many of its brave, battle-ready soldiers fell over the side into the churning surf around the reef. The landing barge itself, just hung there on the reef, looking to all the world like a large, ungainly and paralyzed fish.

  The soldiers on board were not ready for the direction the deck beneath their feet took. The fixed bayonets were already unsheathed, causing some nasty injuries. There were several accidental discharges of rifles in the hands of soldiers who had never been in combat before, which also took their toll.

  Captain Nagama was thrown from his perch at the rear, and landed on the deck. As soon as he could reach the radio he spoke to Lieutenant Mitsumo. He threatened the Navy officer with a painful form of castration, and demanded that he do something to keep his soldiers from drowning. Water was pouring through a gash in the bottom of the assault boat. Some who were already in the deep water had the sense to let go of their rifles and unbuckle their combat packs. Others drowned before they realized the bottom was a good twenty feet below them.

  ***

  Ensign Ishikawa maintained perfect facial control, and said how much he regretted that the accident had happened. Mitsumo was shaken. The loss of the landing craft was clearly going to be blamed on him, and decided that the final failure of the mission should fall on the hapless Ensign.

  Swallowing hard, he said with a quaver in his voice, “Do you have an alternate approach to achieving our objective?”

  “I am afraid you will find my actions extreme, sir,” Ishikawa said.

  “Extreme!” he shouted. “How much more extreme do you think things can get? We are about to lose 40 men without even engaging the enemy.”

  “Then allow me to take one man in a small boat to the island, and talk with the tribal chief. The only problem is we will have to go completely naked, and it may take time,” Ishikawa said.

  “We don’t have time. That boat is sinking and I can’t fit more than half of the men on to this one. What do you think you can do by going in naked?”

  Ishikawa explained that during his years on his father’s trading boats he had learned the native languages, and their customs. He was planning to employ the same tactics the Australians had witnessed when Yani and Negeb went ashore. The only problem being that he was not a native.

  Mitsumo had no choice but to agree.

  ***

  Yani and Ooma watched the Japanese dinghy make steadily for the beach. “This is John Frum?” Ooma asked.

  Somewhat chagrined, Yani replied, “No. I think these are Japfellas. I should go tell Big Man Duff.”

  “No. You stay here. Ooma needs you more. We will talk with the Japfellas.”

  Several warriors threw long, javelin-like spears at the Japanese soldiers who had tried to swim to the shore. Now they aimed for the approaching boat, but it was too far away for them to reach. Ooma told them to stop trying until he had a chance to hear out the emissary who apparently knew the island customs.

  Both Ishikawa and his companion held their oars above their head to demonstrate that they bore no weapons. “I wish to make a circle in the sand,” the Japanese said in perfect Booga-booga. It took both Chase Islanders by surprise. Neither expected to hear a Japfella speak their language.

  “How do you speak our tongue?” Ooma asked.

  “My honored father traded in these islands many years. I was fortunate to spend much time with him. He taught me the ways of the island people.”

  “We cannot make a circle with someone who has tried to kill us with powerful weapons,” Yani said. “I believe you are bringing your war with the Witman to us.”

  Ishikawa got down on his knees and pressed his head to the sand. “I humbly beg the forgiveness of the chief of the island. As you have warriors who throw spears without being told, so we have people who do not know how to be a friend of the Blackfella.”

  “Why does the Japfella come to Chase Island?” Yani asked, as several of the warriors came to stand next to the shamans to hear what was going on.

  The Japanese looked them over and made some mental notes. “Our ship is trapped on the reef. I am afraid
that our men will drown in the surf. We ask permission to allow the men to swim to shore. They will set up a camp on the island until we can send another boat to take them away.”

  Ooma allowed Yani to conduct the discussion because his contact with the outside world was greater. Yani chose not to raise the question of why they were trying to breech the gap in the reef in the first place. The islanders seemed to have the advantage now, and he wanted to see what gifts the Japfellas might offer them as compensation for letting the endangered soldiers come ashore.

  Yani and Ooma walked off a few yards and turned their backs on Ensign Ishikawa. They talked it over and decided to allow him to evacuate the landing barge. There was still the danger that the torpedo boat might do them serious damage with its guns, and force a landing anyway.

  When they returned to the Japanese, Ooma said, “We will expect you to show your gratitude with tinkens and knives.”

  ***

  On his way back to the Torpedo boat, Ensign Ishikawa boarded the seagoing tug. In spite of the desperation of the situation, the other men were amused by the sight of a naked naval officer. Ignoring them, he spoke to Captain Nagama, “I have negotiated safe passage onto the island for you and your men. Take as many men as you can hanging on to the dinghy until we reach a point where the water is shallow enough for them to walk. I will tell Lieutenant Mitsumo to give you as many life rafts as possible to transport your weapons and equipment ashore.”

  “Do you think there are enemy soldiers on the island?” Nagama asked.

  “I don’t know. But I did notice that all the men wear strands of telegraph wire around their wrists. They didn’t make that themselves. One of the Big Men, the younger one, wears a Christian cross and sunglasses. He must have had close contact, or he took them from the body of a flier.”

  “Good work, Ensign,” Nagama said. “Tell that arrogant fool, Mitsumo, that this is not over. I will report his stupidity to the highest command.”

  ***

  In a very short time, life rafts from the tug and the patrol boat were put over their sides. Once they were guided to the sinking barge, guns, packs, and other equipment were stacked on them. Injured soldiers were transferred to the tug to be returned to their home base. Lieutenants Eisaku Harunobu and Isoroku Shakaru, the platoon leaders got into two larger lifeboats. Soldiers who could not swim were allowed to hang on the sides until the water got shallow enough for them to wade ashore.

  On a second trip, radio equipment and food was transferred from the larger ships to the rafts and lifeboats. When all the equipment was stacked in random piles, the mildewing “Japanese Gods of War” were assembled in military ranks.

  The natives were immediately curious about what gifts they had brought, and advanced cautiously. Guards were assigned to the equipment piles, and young Japanese privates stood at port arms with bayonets glistening at the ends of their rifles.

  The Chase Islanders found their new visitors of great interest. With long slender spears in their hands, the natives gradually encircled the landing party. Ten of the warriors gathered around a stack of boxes full of sake, the property of the officers. They poked at them tentatively while the frightened soldier on guard watched.

  “What did you bring us for a gift?” one asked in Booga-booga. He jabbed sharply at a box. The soldier took a defensive pose, ready to defend his post.

  “Sergeant of the Guard,” he yelled. “Sergeant of the Guard!”

  A Sergeant came running with his sword drawn. He charged into the crowd of natives, swinging. When he cut one of the islanders on the arm, a spear was thrust between his ankles, making him fall. Before he knew what was happening, he was on his back with a spear skewering his wrist to the sand. There were six other spearpoints at his throat.

  Ensign Ishikawa, now wearing a pair of shorts, raced to the scene. “Wait!” he said, half pleading, half commanding. “There are presents for you. I will give them to Ooma and Yani.” He looked up just as the two men came on the scene.

  “We have presents for Ooma and Yani,” he said, pressing his forehead into the sand in front of the two shamans. “Please tell your men not to kill my Sergeant.”

  Ooma told the men to back off, and they complied.

  Ishikawa broke open the nearest wooden case containing small ceramic flasks of sake, and gave each of the leaders some of the rice wine. He showed them how to take the cork out of the bottle and sip the contents. There was no time to indulge in any kind of ceremony. Ooma pulled out the cork on his jug and poured the contents into his mouth. He immediately spit it out, and said “Hot water! Burns the tongue!”

  The Ensign demonstrated a more proper way to sip the contents, and Yani followed. He laughed and said in Pidgin, “Japfella Scotch!” he.

  “Hie! Japfella Scotch,” Ishikawa repeated in the same language. “Blackfella hab Witman Scotch? We trade?”

  “Churchfella no likem Scotch. We no hab,” Yani said without realizing how much information he had unwittingly given away.

  The Ensign said, returning to Booga-booga, “Japfella soldier cook rice. You bring fish. We have feast. We be friends. Blackfella go back to village now. We make feast when sun go down.”

  The warriors withdrew from the beach, and several soldiers helped the sergeant to a sitting position. The spear had to be broken off about four inches from the entry wound and pushed through the opposite side of his forearm. Native spears had barbed points that were not intended to be removed.

  Captain Nagama was beaching his lifeboat with another load of supplies as the natives were leaving. He ran up to where the bloody sergeant sat keening in pain. “What is going on here, Ensign. What happened to Sergeant Ubo?”

  The old battle-hardened soldier struggled to stand at attention and answer for himself. “We were defending the Officers’ rations when the natives attacked.”

  “Then why do I not see any dead natives?” Nagama demanded.

  “I intervened,” Ishikawa said. “As acting intelligence officer, I thought it best to settle the matter without a battle.”

  “That may be a strategy in the Navy, Ensign...” Nagama started to say.

  “Begging your indulgence, Captain. How many men do you have left on the beach?”

  “Thirty-two,” he said suspiciously.

  “It is my guess that there are at least 200 armed warriors behind that green wall of a jungle you can see from here. We would not be able to achieve our objective if they all threw their spears at one time,” he said. “We would all look like Sergeant Ubo.”

  “Hmph!” the Captain replied.

  “However, I am certain they are harboring a missionary here on the island. The younger chief said as much. He also speaks Pidgin fairly well and he is wearing a cross. So, he has been in close contact with the Australians.”

  With a deep sigh, the Infantry officer said, “What do you propose we do?”

  “We will cook up a large amount of rice, and give them some more sake. I have persuaded them to provide the fish, and we will have a native feast. I think there is a missionary, and we can find out where he is. If there are any military types on the island, we should be able to find that out, too. We’ll be out of here in a day or so if we play this right.”

  Chapter 31

  The Japanese cooks had set up a field kitchen. By persuading Captain Nagama and the two other infantry officers, Ensign Ishikawa had gathered enough specialty food items for the feast. They had been intended for the officers’ mess for the duration of the mini-invasion. By experience, the Captain had learned that warfare was difficult in the extreme, and compensation for leadership was hard to come by. His officers knew that no matter what else they might face, fine dining could be achieved behind the lines with a little planning.

  A couple months earlier Nagama, Harunobu, and Shakaru had been present at the fall of the Philippines. As luck would have it, their company had taken the Governor’s Palace — and its kitchen. When word came that they would be ordered to the larger Pacific Campaign, the Gove
rnor’s pantry was combined with theirs, and some of the booty had been taken with them to Chase Island. Little resistance was anticipated, and the exercise was regarded as an opportunity for Rest and Recreation. Finding a downed enemy flier on a flyspeck island could be drawn out to take a week or more. It was better than life aboard a troop transport. They had come prepared to enjoy their stay. But that was before they came out second best in their battle with the coral reef.

  The plan now was to cajole the natives into surrendering whatever white men might be found on Chase Island. Ishikawa assured the Army officers that feasting was the most effective way to deal with this problem. Most of the infantry company’s rice ration was cooked up, and numerous dried and canned items were prepared. Native women brought raw fish wrapped in large green leaves, and disappeared.

  When the moon rose, Ooma, Yani and a large number of warriors approached the area marked by kerosene torches stuck in the sand. Yani began the feast by scooping up a handful of the high-grade white rice and stuffing it into his mouth. Most of the islanders had never seen rice before, and found it interesting. They took quantities of it between their fingers and examined it closely. There was excited chatter, and the mess sergeant asked Ensign Ishikawa what they were saying.

  He laughed and answered, “They want to know what kind of grubs they are, and where did you find so many?”

  All the fancy items were tasted, and often cast aside to the irritation of the Japanese officers. “What is wrong with the expensive items we have offered as presents?” Lieutenant Harunobu hissed at Ishikawa.

  Somewhat ill at ease, he answered, “They want to know where the sago palm is, and why there is no taro?”

  “Ignorant savages!” the Captain said angrily. “We waste all this good food on them, and they look for something I would plaster a wall with. Let’s get on with this meeting. I want to know where the Australian or American pilot is they are hiding.”