by Peter Watt
‘Jap plane!’ Mel Jones shouted, and Lukas looked over his shoulder to be blinded by the sun rising over the sea. In that split second he saw the outline of a Japanese float plane coming in low. Even as the Japanese pilot lined up the vulnerable sub, the hatches were slammed shut and water began flooding the ballast tanks.
Lukas immediately flung himself across the deck to his .50 calibre machine gun. The Yanks had risked everything to help them and now they were under threat. The aircraft released two small bombs, then headed straight at the Riverside. Jack was pleased to see that his crew were already firing at it with their Bren guns, but the Japanese pilot was using his machine guns to take them on. Splinters of wood were ripped up from the deck by the enemy bullets. Lukas felt something hit his chest but he was too busy squeezing off a volley at the aircraft’s nose to see what it was. After the strafing pass over the Riverside the Japanese pilot rose into the sky, circled and made a second pass on the sub, which was disappearing beneath the calm sea.
Lukas could feel something warm running in rivulets down his chest but he ignored it and instead swung around on his target. This time it presented a side-on view to him and he levelled the sights a few yards in front of the aircraft, squeezed again, and saw the smoky trail of tracer bullets hose into the sky, curving and ripping down the full length of the fuselage of the Japanese seaplane. The enemy aircraft seemed to pause for a moment before a thin stream of smoke began trailing behind it. The pilot banked and turned away.
Lukas continued firing at the retreating float plane until the last round was expended from the belt. His crew cheered when they saw the distant shape suddenly dip and disappear into the sea with a great splash.
‘You got the goddamned son of a bitch!’ Mel whooped, slapping Lukas on the back. Lukas glanced out over the water; there was no sign of the sub. He hoped it would surface somewhere safe.
‘You need a bit of patching up, Kelly,’ Mel said, suddenly sounding subdued.
Lukas looked down at the blood dripping around his feet and realised that a couple of wooden splinters had torn deep cuts in his chest. One was still sticking out of his flesh and he pulled it out with a grimace. Now the adrenaline was wearing off, the wounds were beginning to hurt. He would have to clean them carefully to avoid infection and bandage them up as best he could until he could get medical attention.
‘Let’s get out of here, Mel,’ he said. ‘I happen to know a nurse at Moresby who can look after me.’
The American opened up the throttle, and the supply boat, battered by the short, sharp attack, growled into life. Lukas sat down on the deck and stared at the New Guinea coastline. He felt as though he had been fighting this war all his life; he was growing weary of it and was beginning to think he would not live to see peace again.
*
The explosion was almost lost in the chatter of a Nambu machine gun and the crack of rifles, but Jack felt the impact of the grenade at first hand. Wicked metal fragments shredded the left side of his back and arm, throwing him on his face in the mud of the forest floor. He gripped his Owen and could hear Corporal Gari screaming orders to counter the ambush.
Jack rose unsteadily to his knees and glanced around to ascertain their deployment. Nixon was on the ground a few feet away and Jack could see Gari bounding into the scrub in the direction of the Japanese machine gun.
Jack crawled forward to find one of his men stretched out, dead, blood oozing from a bullet hole in his head. There was no time for emotion. He stripped the dead soldier of his weapon and ammunition and tossed them to the American pilot.
‘Here, get useful with these,’ he shouted above the noise of the gunfire.
Suddenly the gunfire tapered away, and in the distance Jack could hear a man screaming. At the same time he looked around for any of the section who were still alive. The Japs were good, he thought grudgingly. They had let them walk into the ambush before springing it. These were no frightened conscripts but battle-hardened enemy.
Pain wracked his body; every movement was agony, and Jack gritted his teeth in an effort to stop from swooning. He thought he saw one of his men in the thick undergrowth a few yards ahead of him but was stunned to see a Japanese soldier suddenly emerge with a bayonet-tipped rifle pointed directly at him. Jack attempted to bring up his gun but the Japanese soldier lunged with the long bayonet, and Jack staggered backwards and fell. Just as Jack thought he was done for, the Japanese soldier was suddenly jerked backwards by the impact of a high-velocity bullet.
Jack looked up to see the American pilot crouching with the rifle at his shoulder, already chambering another round.
‘Stay down, Sergeant Kelly,’ Nixon shouted. ‘I’ll get you help.’
What help? Jack thought with a twisted grimace of pain. He was the only real help the patrol had.
Nixon made his way cautiously to Jack. The firing had tapered away and only the distant shouts of his men could be heard as they called to each other. After what seemed forever, Corporal Gari returned to Jack’s side, covered from head to foot in blood. He was a fearsome sight but reassuring at the same time. Gradually the rest of the patrol made their way to Jack.
‘How many have we lost?’ Jack said through gritted teeth.
‘Two, Masta Jack,’ Gari answered. ‘One fella wounded.’
‘Can we get our wounded man out?’ Jack asked and Gari nodded.
‘Got a wound in the arm but he can still fight,’ Gari said.
‘Okay, we continue on to HQ,’ Jack said, getting to his feet, trying not to cry out as the pain surged through him.
Nixon put his arm around Jack’s waist to support him but Jack shook off the gesture. ‘I’ll be able to keep up.’ Jack hoisted his Owen gun to his waist to prove that he was armed and ready to march.
‘According to the Jap order of battle, their MG section is around a platoon size,’ Jack whispered to Nixon as they made their way through the thick undergrowth. ‘That makes me think there’ll be others out there looking for us. Those two bloody Japs we didn’t kill back at the lagoon must have bumped into one of their own patrols and tipped them off that we’re working behind their lines.’
Nixon nodded, and then they trudged on in silence. Eventually they made their way down a very steep slope, slippery and treacherous, to a narrow but rapidly flowing creek. Entering the icy water, guns aloft, they struggled to the other side, where they proceeded to climb an equally steep slope.
Jack issued an order to his men to make the passage obvious to any enemy tracking them. Halfway up the slope he stopped and issued orders to take up an ambush site covering the route they had just taken. His men quickly prepared their cover and settled in to wait.
Nixon took up position beside Jack.
‘You expect the Japs to be following us?’ he whispered.
‘One thing we have learned about the little yellow bastards is that they are persistent, and from the uniform on the dead Jap back on the other side of the creek, we are being hunted by some of their best. They’ll be close behind us, you can be sure of that, and when they come I intend to reduce their enthusiasm as much as possible,’ Jack said, wincing with pain. He was losing blood as it oozed from the numerous small punctures caused by shrapnel from the grenade. It must have gone off only a few feet away, he reflected, and cursed himself for allowing himself to be ambushed in the first place.
Jack realised that when the Japanese did come into contact with them, they would automatically go into their military drill of attempting to outflank his position. He knew that he did not have enough men to fight off a concerted attack, but he hoped that if they tried to carry out an outflanking movement, the creek would slow them down. By then he and his men would be on top of the ridge and not far from the PIB base.
They waited for a good half-hour in silence, although the sound of the creek below, with its almost comforting babble, would mask any noises they made.
‘Are you married, Sergeant Kelly?’ Nixon whispered eventually, catching Jack off guard.
/> ‘I was,’ he answered. ‘Twice. My second wife was American. She was killed at the beginning of the war.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Nixon replied with genuine sympathy.
‘I’ve got a son who should be back in Australia rather than risking his life out here,’ Jack continued, pleased to have something to take his mind off the pain sweeping through his body in agonising waves. ‘He used to fly Hollywood big shots around before the war – until he lost his eye in a prang. He began serving with our Volunteer Rifles a couple of years ago and has ended up working with the small ships supplying the coast. The stupid galah is not fit to be on active service. He should just go home.’ Jack paused and continued. ‘I also have a daughter, somewhere in Europe, I think.’ But he didn’t want to talk about Ilsa.
‘I’m putting Corporal Gari in for a decoration for his work back at the ambush,’ Jack said, changing the subject. ‘I’d appreciate it if you supported the recommendation. As an officer your support would go a long way.’
‘It will be a pleasure,’ Clark answered. ‘From what I observed, he single-handedly took out the machine-gun crew with his machete.’
‘How about you, Lieutenant Nixon?’ Jack asked. ‘Do you have someone waiting for you?’
‘I do, Sergeant,’ he replied. ‘My fiancée is a war correspondent, and I worry about her.’
‘She must be an extraordinary woman,’ Jack replied, then suddenly fell silent. He could see a Japanese soldier on the opposite bank of the creek, cautiously observing the signs of their crossing. The soldier was crouching and his eyes swept the hillside, scanning for any sign of trouble. The men of Jack’s ambush watched him, tense with anticipation. Rifles were cocked, primed grenades close at hand.
The soldier rose, signalled and commenced to cross the creek. Behind him a patrol of twenty soldiers emerged from the thick foliage and followed him across the icy cold water. Jack waited until the first enemy reached the shore. They had been forced to assume a single file for the crossing and Jack had calculated that the range was around seventy-five yards. He had selected their site because it gave a good field of fire.
Jack eased his Owen into a firing position, took a bead on the last men in the file and opened fire. His weapon signalled the opening of the attack and the rest of the patrol joined in. The Bren gun ripped into the ranks of the Japanese caught in the open. Spouts of water erupted in the creek and when Jack had emptied the magazine of his submachine gun he reached for a grenade, hurling it into the jungle this side of the creek where a couple of the enemy had struggled ashore to take refuge. His grenade was followed by others, one even reaching the water’s edge to explode amongst the soldiers milling in frightened confusion. The water was quickly taking away the streams of blood as the enemy fell in the deadly ambush.
‘Time to get out of here before the little yellow bastards reorganise for a flanking assault,’ Jack said to Nixon, rising to his feet and glancing around to ensure the rest of his patrol knew what was expected of them. They were good soldiers and quickly formed into a disciplined patrol to climb the ridge. Beyond which lay a hot meal and a chance to sleep without one eye open.
Off to their left the crump of an exploding mortar bomb shook the leaves. The Japanese were well armed but Jack hoped that the enemy was firing in blind anger, without much idea of where their target was. A second bomb landed a little closer but Jack led on without stopping. His men followed, and after a gut-wrenching, lung-tearing time they reached the apex of the ridge. Utterly exhausted, all the patrol wanted was to simply collapse and suck in air, but Jack, despite his agony, forced them over the other side. He knew that the Japanese would not give up in their pursuit. They were tough, dedicated soldiers who only expected death for their service. Jack wanted to live.
*
Captain Hung van Pham’s face reflected his French mother more than his Indochinese father. His French education in Paris had moulded him into a Francophile. His service in the French Foreign Legion before the war had marked him as a professional soldier of the highest order. In his late twenties, he was handsome in any language and Captain Featherstone found him attractive, with his enigmatic aura of a Eurasian aristocrat.
‘Please, Captain Hung, take a seat,’ he said when the Vietnamese officer entered the office in a nondescript house in a leafy Sydney suburb. ‘You may smoke, if you wish.’
Pham nodded his thanks, sat down in a comfortable leather chair and removed a packet of English cigarettes from the top pocket of his Free French Forces uniform jacket, displaying the ribbons of his considerable service and bravery.
‘This will be our last briefing alone before you meet your colleague on the mission,’ Featherstone said, standing in the centre of the gloomy room now filling with smoke. ‘You will be nominally under the command of Major Karl Mann from an Aussie commando company.’
‘Mann – that’s a Boche name,’ Pham said, speaking English with a distinctive French accent.
‘Ah, yes it is,’ Featherstone answered. ‘However, his loyalty is beyond question.’
Pham gave a slight nod of acknowledgement, and Featherstone continued. ‘Major Mann speaks German fluently and has experience working in covert operations. He will be the commander of the mission but you have the authority of the British and French governments to act as you see fit.’
‘Major Mann does not know of this?’ the French officer asked.
‘Alas, I was not able to brief the major on the true purpose of the mission. He has been told that he is to extract a German national from Saigon because her father, a high-ranking German intelligence officer, has asked us to do so. In return he will furnish us with vital information on the location of sensitive records currently being held in Germany – if we get his daughter out of Saigon.’
‘But, as you and I know, my mission has nothing to do with saving some Boche woman,’ Pham said. ‘My mission is to ensure the future of my country.’
‘We are very well aware of the importance of your making contact with the Indochinese national resistance movement but I think you will discover that our missions are mutually beneficial.’ Featherstone gave a strained expression. ‘Major Mann gets our woman out, and you can carry on with your own agenda,’ he added with a touch of sarcasm.
‘Which of our joint objectives has priority?’ Pham asked quietly.
Featherstone thrust his hands behind his back, clasping his hands tightly.
‘I have demurred to our government’s wish that, if push comes to shove, your mission takes priority,’ he replied, attempting to conceal his anger. Featherstone did not like the way his superiors in London had insisted on putting the French interests first, in the name of Allied goodwill and cooperation.
‘And if I feel that Major Mann is compromising my mission in Saigon?’ Pham asked, taking a puff on his cigarette and blowing smoke towards the ceiling.
‘Then you have the permission of my government to terminate his role, and that of the German woman.’
Featherstone sighed. As always in his work, individuals were sacrificed for the greater good of winning the war. Fortunately, he had great faith in Major Mann’s ability to stay alive.
The French Indochinese colonies were of little interest to Featherstone, but he knew the French would have to take on the nationalist leader Ho Chi Minh when they returned after the war. There would be a vacuum created by any victory in the Pacific, and the French needed time to build an army of occupation before Ho Chi Minh and his Viet Minh movement could fill the vacuum with a government of their choosing.
When the meeting was finished, Featherstone accepted a salute from the Free French officer and watched him walk out the door. How strange, he thought, withdrawing a cigarette from his gold case, that in his opinion an Aussie officer born in Germany was preferable to a Frenchman born in Indochina.
FOUR
They were swimming in a beautiful lagoon, small fish darting around them, and his beloved Victoria was laughing and splashing him. Jack smiled and reached
out to grasp her but she suddenly snarled and turned into a Japanese soldier aiming a bayonet at his belly.
‘Shh,’ came a sound in his ear. For a terrible moment he did not know where he was. Was he back in Moresby, sharing an evening drink with his wife, Victoria?
Jack opened his eyes and the pain swept over him. Lieutenant Nixon kneeled over him in the dark of the tropical night, holding his hand on Jack’s mouth.
‘You were having bad dreams,’ he whispered. ‘I had to shut you up.’
Jack could smell the fetid, rotting undergrowth and realised that a light rain was falling through the tree canopy and dripping heavily down on them.
A second voice came out of the dark and Jack momentarily forgot his pain. He recognised the language as Japanese although he did not understand what the man had said. Jack felt for his weapon, reassured to find it close by. He could hear the slight rustle of undergrowth and feel the tension of the American flyer leaning over him.
The sound slowly faded until only the night sounds of the forest remained.
‘How long?’ Jack croaked his question.
‘Since midafternoon, when I gave you a morphine shot. You almost passed out with the pain,’ Clark replied. ‘I took command. The Japs have been hot on our heels, so I ordered that we lay up and place the men in an ambush position. I think they’ve missed us.’
Jack was impressed by the American’s initiative. ‘How did you know to do that?’
‘Corporal Gari has been giving me advice,’ Nixon answered. ‘Your boys are goddamned good.’
‘We’ll have to reroute around the Jap patrol,’ Jack said, sitting up with great difficulty. He knew there was a danger of his wounds becoming infected and he also knew that he would soon get to the stage where he would compromise the safety of his men.
‘You’re going to have to lead the men out,’ Jack said. ‘I’ll stay behind and cover your rear as best I can.’
‘Sorry, Sergeant Kelly,’ Nixon said. ‘You’re coming with us. I’m not leaving a wounded man behind for the Japs – I know how they treat prisoners.’