by Walter Lord
In any case it seemed wise to clear out as fast as possible. Hoping to reach the Aita River far below, they now headed down the mountainside together. It was too steep to stand; so they slid feet first, grabbing occasional roots to slow their speed … starting small avalanches of rock and gravel … hoping, praying that the Japanese were too busy to notice the noise. In the blackness they could see nothing, but tried to keep in physical contact so that wherever they went, they’d go together.
Finally they bumped to a stop on a narrow ledge or shelf. It was too dark to see, but probing with his feet, Read could feel nothing ahead or below. He had the uneasy feeling they were on the brink of a sheer precipice, and they decided to stay put until dawn.
It was a sound decision. Daybreak showed they were on the edge of a cliff—only inches from a vertical drop of hundreds of feet to the Aita River. When it grew light enough, they began creeping along the shelf, hoping to find a workable way down.
They had gone about fifty feet when a shower of pebbles indicated that someone else was coming down from above. Flattening themselves against the cliff-face, they drew their guns and waited. Fortunately, at this point they were under an overhang; so whoever it was, they would at least have the drop on him.
Presently they spotted a pair of brown legs feeling their way down from above. Then another pair, and yet another. It looked like a party of natives on their trail. There was no escaping, and both Read and Robinson had always resolved never to be caught alive.
“Wobbie” let go a burst from his Tommy gun. There was a yell of pain, and a voice cried out in pidgin English not to shoot. The new arrivals were half-a-dozen of their own scouts trying to escape the same way. Fortunately, the wounded native had only a grazed leg—not enough to put him out of action—and the combined party ultimately reached the river and safety.
Learning that the Japanese raiders had moved on, Jack Read led his group back up to the camp on June 15. Only charred ruins were left. All stores and gear were gone, the teleradio batteries and charging engine smashed. But the teleradio itself had not been discovered. Read retrieved it and headed for the commando base at Aita, hoping to find new batteries, another charging engine, and some benzine to run it.
The commandos were all gone. Hearing the gunfire at Read’s camp only five miles away, they had cleared out and were now somewhere to the west. Offsetting this, Read found Sergeant Falls, Yauwika, and Womaru hiding nearby. His natives were also drifting in, and to his amazement he gradually realized he hadn’t lost a single man in the attack. If he could only get the teleradio going again, he’d be back in business.
A charging engine turned up in the gear abandoned by the commandos. Then a 12-volt storage battery was salvaged from the wrecked Catalina. Finally, some benzine was located when Jack Keenan arrived from Lumsis, reporting that he had been attacked again. This time he had to leave the area. His cache of benzine had been abandoned, and a couple of natives were sent to get it.
Meanwhile Read worried about his parties in the west … especially Lieutenant Bedkober, who was guarding the injured airmen at Sikoriapaia. When last seen, the Japanese raiders were headed that way. On the 19th he sent Keenan to check the situation and, if possible, use Sergeant McPhee’s teleradio to arrange a supply drop.
Jack Read’s worries were well-founded. A little after 9:30 on the morning of June 16, as Bedkober’s men lazily watched a B-24 duel with several Zeros overhead, a blast of machine gun fire ripped into their camp, catching everyone totally by surprise.
Fighting back with submachine guns, five of the party—three commandos and two flyers—managed to break out of the trap and escape into the bush. Doug Bedkober himself stayed behind. He could have gone with the others, but that would have meant leaving Flying Officer Dunn and Corporal Fenwick, two of the injured airmen.
Cut off from the rest, these three tried to escape into the hills, but it was no use. Early in the afternoon Fenwick was captured and put into a leaf hut guarded by two sentries. Some hours later—just as the moon was rising—Bedkober was brought in too. Finally, at daylight next morning a party of Japanese soldiers appeared, dragging Dunn’s body. He was shot through the chest, but it was never clear exactly when or where he was killed.
Along with Bedkober and Fenwick, one other prisoner was taken. The camp cook, a native named Savaan, had gone off on an errand shortly before the attack and walked right into the advancing Japanese.
The three prisoners were lined up during the morning of the 17th, and with troops both to the front and the rear, the force marched to the west coast. On the 20th, as they slowly moved north, Savaan was sent to a stream to wash a saucepan of rice. That was all the opportunity he needed. He plunged into the bush and escaped.
Bedkober and Fenwick were not so lucky. They ended up at Rabaul, where they were eventually executed. Nor did the five who got away survive very long. With few arms and in some cases barefoot, they struggled east across the island, hoping to link up with one of Read’s outposts. Near Numa Numa they were seized by local tribesmen and turned over to the Japanese. It was never clear what happened afterwards. Some natives said they were sent to Rabaul and executed; others that they were lined up and shot at Numa Numa.
Two of the injured airmen were still relatively safe. Sergeant Thompson was back on his feet and helping Sergeant McPhee cover the west coast. Corporal Wettenhall, also recovering, had a closer call. Just 45 minutes before the Japanese struck, he had left the camp with three of the commandos to prepare a supply drop site. They heard the firing, guessed what had happened, and went bush.
This party reached Read on June 19, and gave him his first intimation that all might not be well at Sikoriapaia. There was more bad news when Keenan’s benzine arrived on the 22nd, and the teleradio worked again. KEN reported that Bedkober’s camp had definitely been captured … that McPhee was hard-pressed … that Mason had gone off the air after reporting that his presence had been betrayed to the enemy.
The game was up. All the parties were either destroyed or on the run. None were producing intelligence, and the Japanese were closing in on all sides. On the night of June 24 Jack Read composed a long message to KEN:
MY DUTY TO NOW REPORT THAT POSITION ALL HERE VITALITY SERIOUS. AFTER FIFTEEN MONTHS OCCUPATION ALMOST WHOLE ISLAND NOW PRO-JAPANESE. INITIAL ENEMY PATROLS PLUS HORDES PRO-JAPANESE NATIVES HAVE COMPLETELY DISORGANIZED US. POSITION WILL NOT EASE. BELIEVE NO HOPE REORGANIZE. OUR INTELLIGENCE VALUE NIL. IN LAST FORTNIGHT ALL PARTIES HAVE BEEN EITHER ATTACKED OR FORCED TO QUIT. RELUCTANTLY URGE IMMEDIATE EVACUATION.
Next morning he showed it to Robinson and asked what he thought of it. “I like the word ‘weluctantly,’ ” was Wobbie’s only comment. So at 5:13 A.M. on June 25 Jack Read contacted KEN and with heavy heart sent the message off.
Forty miles to the south Paul Mason and George Stevenson were still pushing toward Buin with eight commandos, about 30 native police boys and carriers, and Usaia Sotutu, the redoubtable Fijian missionary who had rescued Lieutenant Mackie from Buka in the early days of the occupation. They had been off the air since June 22, but this was to foil the enemy’s direction-finding apparatus, not because they were on the run. True, the Japanese did know the party was in the general area, but exactly where was another matter.
On June 25 they reached Dubonami, a small village at the foot of the Crown Prince Range, the dramatic mountain chain that dominates the southern half of Bougainville. Mason’s goal was to cross the range and continue south on the eastern side—an area he knew well from his days of watching the Tokyo Express.
Unfortunately he didn’t have enough carriers to get everything across the range at one time. With the Japanese riding high, most natives were scared of serving the Coastwatchers these days. The solution was to divide the party and make two trips. Taking four of the commandos and half the gear, Mason crossed the range at 6000 feet and camped near Moru, at the head of the Luluai River. Early on the 26th he sent the carriers back to Dubonami, where Stevenson was waiting
with Usaia Sotutu and the rest of the party.
For Stevenson’s group, the wait meant a welcome opportunity to relax after weeks of hard marching. They were camped on a ridge that seemed exceptionally safe. Joined to the mountain by an impassable wall of rock, it could be reached by only three paths. These could be easily watched, while a cliff and dense thickets of bamboo blocked any other access.
The men spent the morning of the 26th bathing in a nearby stream, then had a leisurely lunch and lay down for a nap. Stevenson rested in an open shelter of banana leaves a little way off from the others. He had sentries posted on two of the paths, but the third was left unguarded. Known as the “women’s path,” it was said to lead nowhere except to a hiding place where the local tribe kept their women in time of danger.
It was just after 2 P.M. when Sergeant Frank Furner heard a burst of gunfire. Crying, “What’s that?” he leapt from his cot. Japanese soldiers in green fatigues were racing down the “women’s path” toward the camp, firing as they came. Stevenson, nearest the path, was now on his feet too. He reached for his Austin gun, but too late. Riddled with bullets, he fell on top of it.
Usaia Sotutu rushed over to help. For the next few seconds he provided a good covering fire, until his gun jammed. Then he tried to drag Stevenson to safety. Finally realizing that the lieutenant was already dead, he abandoned the effort and joined the rest of the party. They had now grabbed their guns and were firing back as they retreated along the path that led down from the ridge.
They spent a miserable night in the bush, then cautiously returned to the camp next morning. The Japanese were gone, but the place was a shambles—the midget radio smashed, Stevenson’s body lying where he fell. Sergeant Furner was now acting CO, and he decided to rejoin Mason as soon as possible. He, of course, knew nothing about the area, but once again Usaia Sotutu came to the rescue. He knew the trails, and with a composure that gave them all a new feeling of confidence, he led them swiftly across the range and into Mason’s camp.
The disaster had to be reported—even at the risk of breaking radio silence—and on the 27th Mason flashed the bare details to KEN. The news confirmed the wisdom of a decision just reached by Commander I. Pryce-Jones, the somewhat austere officer who had recently relieved Hugh Mackenzie. This was to close down the whole Bougainville operation and evacuate all personnel as soon as possible. After Jack Read’s gloomy assessment there seemed nothing else to do, and the top brass in Brisbane agreed.
Pryce-Jones now ordered Mason to retire north to Kereaka, near the west coast. Here he would join Sergeant McPhee’s party and wait for a submarine to come.
Early on the morning of June 29 Paul Mason began the long, hard trip back. Once again he would have to travel over half the length of Bougainville, dodging Japanese patrols that knew he was there and were closing in to get him. He had done it in December and January, but this time would be harder. The familiar eastern trail was now blocked by the enemy. The western route was through the roughest imaginable country—gorges that seemed made for ambush, paths almost lost in lawyervine, chilling ridges and steaming swamps.
The size of his party worked against him too. Like most Islanders, Mason was happiest when working with a minimum of people. Last time he had only Otton and Wigley. Now he had around 50, counting all the police boys and carriers. Finally, his commandos were anything but experienced bushmen; Mason regarded them as an extra responsibility rather than a source of strength.
Trouble came soon enough. As they crossed a gorge on the 30th, shots rang out from a village above them. Mason, at the front of the column with four of the commandos, got his men under cover and began to return fire. Soon four Japanese came charging down the hill toward them. A police boy picked off one, and the others retired. The firing continued.
While Mason’s advance guard held off the enemy, the rear was meant to get the teleradio and supplies under cover, but it didn’t work out that way. Instead, the carriers dropped everything and fled in panic. When Mason finally pulled his little group back to link up with the others, he discovered the charging engine, three weeks’ rations, and all their trading tobacco abandoned on the trail. Farther back he found the rear guard huddled on a path in the gorge, wondering what to do.
Rallying the men, he now led them down the gorge, far below the Japanese outpost, moving generally west. Most of the carriers were gone for good, but it no longer mattered so much. The teleradio receiver and transmitter had been lost in the panic and were never found again. Most of the commandos had lost their packs too, and the group spent a miserable night sleeping in the open under a pelting rain.
July 2, they were still working their way down the gorge, hoping for an easier place to cross. They could hear native signal drums in the distance, and with all the villages now working for the Japanese, the sound was anything but reassuring. Near the village of Lamparan they caught two natives spying on them. Holding one hostage, they sent the other to warn his people to let them through. As they moved from the gorge into a narrow valley, the hills exploded in gunfire. Another ambush.
In the confusion the hostage escaped, but the Japanese fire soon tapered off—apparently a tactic designed to lure them deeper into the valley. But Mason too could play the waiting game, and his party lay low until night. From time to time they caught a glimpse of Japanese troops searching for them.
After dark they moved on again, slipping and stumbling in the rain. It was pitch black, and to keep the group together, each man fastened to his back a piece of phosphorescent fungus.
Finally clear of the valley, they continued on, always working their way north and west, sometimes through steaming lowlands, sometimes along ridges so high that bitter winds swirled around them at night. Most of the time they had little food—none at all for one 34-hour stretch—but on July 6 they enjoyed a real windfall. Near the village of Mom they shot a stray one-eyed pig, then captured another in somewhat better shape.
The feast that night suffered an interruption that tended to dampen the appetite. One of the missing carriers turned up with a note written on a sheet of paper from one of the lost packs:
My dear Ansacs: We all admire your bravery. You have done your best for Great Britain. You are advised to give yourselves up. The Japanese are not a cruel people, as the lying propaganda of the United States would tell you. You will die of hungry in the jungle. You will never reach your friends in Buka, as all the jungle trails are watched by the Japanese soldiers and the sharper eyes of the natives.
(signed) Commander of the Japanese Army
On second thought, Mason found the note encouraging. For the past eight days he had been completely cut off from the world and had no idea whether Read’s people had been caught or not. Now this note with its boast that “you will never reach your friends” must mean that they were still free. With new heart he trudged on.
By July 12 they were north of Empress Augusta Bay and up against the jagged limestone ridges of the Emperor Range. It was the toughest climbing of all: again and again they struggled up to the 5000-foot level, then plunged down into a valley, only to face still another climb. At least the natives were friendlier. Most of them had never seen either a Japanese or a white man before, but they cheerfully fed these ragged strangers.
By now the long marches and constant hunger had taken their toll. Seven of the eight commandos were in wretched physical shape, and on the 16th Mason decided to give them all a day’s rest. As they relaxed, the local natives told him about some soldiers camped a day’s march to the north. They sounded like Read’s men, but he couldn’t be sure. After all, he was dealing with people who couldn’t tell the difference between an Asiatic and a European.
Playing it safe, Mason sent two police boys ahead to investigate. They carried nothing in writing—just an oral message giving his position and numbers, to be delivered if the soldiers were friendly.
They turned out to be Jack Keenan’s party. Under Read’s orders he had taken charge of all operations in the west and was
concentrating everyone at Kereaka, pending evacuation by submarine. Mason’s men were the last to be accounted for, and to spur them on, Keenan sent guides to meet them with rations of tea and meat. When they wearily trudged into Kereaka on the 19th, Paul Mason had pulled off a miracle. He had led his men 80 miles through enemy territory, over the most impossible terrain, in the face of constant harassment by hostile natives, and past every trap set by the pursuing Japanese. It had taken him three weeks.
When Keenan signaled that Mason had linked up, Jack Read was still some miles to the east, working his way toward the coast. With him were Eric Robinson and an assortment of police boys and Chinese refugees. Learning from KEN that a submarine could be provided on four days’ notice, Read gave the go-ahead signal and radioed Mason to take charge of the evacuation. His own party, he explained, was blocked by the Japanese and couldn’t get to the beach in four days, but it was all-important to take off those already assembled as soon as possible. Then if the submarine returned for a second pickup in another four days, he and his people would be on the shore and ready to go.
SOPAC gave its blessing, and Mason began moving his group to the coast. Collecting at Atsinima Bay, they were a very mixed bag: 22 commandos … the last two survivors of the Catalina … seven Chinese who had been hiding in the hills … 24 native scouts and police boys … four native wives and children … a stray Fijian … and, of course, Keenan and Mason. Conspicuously absent was the tireless Usaia Sotutu, who went off with five of the best scouts to help Read.
By the morning of July 24 Mason’s whole party was at the beach. A native named Bombay planted two sticks in the sand, then carefully stretched a white cloth between them. In the evening there would be signal fires too, but the sub was supposed to make its landfall during the day, and the cloth marked the spot where the party was waiting. It would be easy to miss on this wild, uncharted coast, and Mason could only hope some sharp-eyed sailor would see it ….