The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “Not possible…” Eileen growled dubiously, shaking her head as she also gazed out through the same borrowed binoculars. “Must have struck a mine or something…”

  “I don’t give a bugger about that, ma’am…” the elated Bofors gunner called out from the foredeck with a cheeky grin and raising a few chuckles from some of the other men. “I’m still claiming it before some other bastard tries to get in on the act!”

  “Well done, that man…!” She called back, also allowing herself a faint smile and a moment’s relief as the launch finally chugged into shore heading for the Laha jetty.

  “Thank Christ we’re here at least,” Lloyd observed gently, having been the only one sharp enough to have noticed how close to breaking point she must have been during that short, intense episode.

  “Aye, we’re safe – maybe – for a little while,” she conceded grudgingly, turning her gaze back to the now distant shores of the Latimor Peninsula, back across the bay. “Really wish we could’ve gotten that bloody bomb off though…”

  “Me too,” Evan agreed, resting a reassuring hand momentarily on her arm as he too stared in the same direction. A dark, terrible pall of smoke lay across the entire treeline where fighting had been at its worst, stretching for many miles in either direction. “Not worth dying for though… not dying pointlessly, at least…” he added, trying to sound a little more optimistic. “We’re not down and out yet, anyway: where there’s life there’s hope…”

  “Aye…” Eileen muttered softly, only half listening. “Aye, I suppose so…”

  With her thoughts whirling wildly about within her mind, she suddenly slung her field glasses over her back by the neck strap and reached over for her combat pack, filled with the urge to check its contents. Unzipping the main compartment, she reached in and instantly pulled out a set of bound booklets and notepads, all tied together and wrapped securely in several sealed layers of thick, watertight clear plastic. Inside it was also possible to see a small key suspended from a silver chain, coiled up unevenly and pressed in between the plastic and the books below – the same key she’d taken from the device during her initial inspection, days before.

  “Jesus, we’ve still got these at least…” she breathed softly, having been suddenly overcome with paranoia that the documents might somehow have been lost from her pack during the battle.

  “And that is…?”

  “Remember that briefcase, Evan?” She answered, her thin smile brightening imperceptibly now. “The one you collected from Kormoran’s bridge? Well, it seemed a bit awkward lugging that bloody briefcase about, what with all this webbing and the combat pack and all,” she explained, still staring off toward the east. “Not to mention that it actually was a ‘bloody’ case… literally,” she added with a faint grimace, recalling how unpleasant the thing had felt, having been well-soaked in the blood of the dead and dying aboard the freighter’s shattered bridge. “I figured it made sense to just take the contents and bring it with me…”

  “Anything useful…?” He asked with interest, having had no chance to check the case himself since he’d originally acquired it, four days and a lifetime ago.

  “Oh, aye… useful indeed,” she confirmed with a single raised eyebrow, lifting the plastic-wrapped package to display the top-most bound notebook, its cover printed with a series of sentences in German that were completely unintelligible to Lloyd. “Theoretical essays on nuclear fission,” she explained, noting his quizzical expression. “Practical case studies, research notes and plans; both for workable refining processes for bomb-grade uranium and plutonium and blueprints for a device that looks identical to the one in Kormoran’s hold.” She shrugged. “This stuff’s almost as dangerous as that bloody bomb over there… more dangerous when you consider that they can only set a bomb of once, but with this…” she waved the package in one hand “…they have the power to potentially make dozens of the bastards… hundreds, maybe…”

  “Good thing we got ‘em then,” Lloyd agreed with a wry grin of his own, adding sarcastically: “You reckon they’ll be missed…?”

  14.Best Laid Plans

  “That stinking, Schottisch bitch has taken the bloody documents…!” Reuters snarled angrily, tossing Fuchs’ empty briefcase across the breadth of Kormoran’s ruined deck, having discovered the discarded satchel lying near one of the stairways leading up to the equally-damaged bridge. “Wherever I go, always Hindsight is somehow there to haunt me…!” It came to a halt against a low bulkhead, lying in a crumpled heap not far from the open hatches of the ship’s main hold.

  “Then our work here is not yet done, I take it?” Schiller observed drily, thinking it likely to be an inopportune moment to point out that the last few times they had crossed paths with Thorne and his team, it had been because they had actively sought the Australian out rather than due to any particular fault on the side of the Hindsight crew.

  “One bomb is bad enough,” the Reichsmarschall harangued, not speaking to anyone in particular as he stalked angrily about a small section of deck, his bodyguards and a small collection of Japanese escorts standing off at a discreet distance and watching with bemusement. “If the Japanese manage to get hold of those papers, they’ll be able to make a dozen of the fucking things! Certainly, it will take a few years, but this remains a disaster of titanic proportions!”

  “Then our work is not done, Mein Herr…” Ritter shrugged matter-of-factly, trying as best he could to hide his concern for Donelson and her group, now believed to be – for the moment – safely tucked away with the Australian forces defending the Laha airfield. “In the interim, the Japanese now have possession of the device in this vessel’s hold, and we are just seven men against an entire invasion force, if we are to face the truth of the matter.”

  It was an accurate and unpalatable observation, and that he had included their four armed escorts into the equation did nothing to redress the incredible odds against them, should they try to do anything contrary to Japanese interests.

  “Don’t concern yourself with that for the moment,” Reuters answered cryptically, his tone so dismissive that it even surprised Schiller. “There’ll be time enough to take care of that when the moment is right… which will be never if we don’t get those verdammt documents back! I’d almost be tempted to let the bloody woman keep them if I could be certain she could keep them out of Japanese hands, but somehow I don’t see that happening right at the moment.”

  “I doubt they’ll be likely to let us out of there sight either,” Schiller pointed out with a growl of his own. “We were toward the rear of the offensive here before you joined us, and I saw Deutsche sailors firing on the advancing troops. The mad bastards killed God-knows-how-many troops and destroyed a couple of their tanks into the bargain… what in hell were they thinking?”

  “After being fired on by one of their own U-boats and then attacked and forced to run aground by our allies…?” Reuters shrugged with a thin, mirthless smile. “There may be repercussions, depending on how this pans out, but for the time being I’m willing to allow Detmers and his crew a little latitude; they’ve had a ‘difficult’ last few days…”

  “Herr Reichsmarschall…!” That call came from Major Hasegawa as the man clambered up and over the side rail of the ship at a point where a long rope ladder had been suspended for access.

  “That being said…” he grimaced as the Japanese officer jogged across the deck toward them, “…it may leave us in a difficult position all the same…”

  “Herr Reichsmarschall…” the officer repeated as he drew near, coming to attention and giving a slight bow. “Major Hasegawa; aide to General Itō… I have been assisting your fellow officers since their arrival this morning. I’ve been sent by the general to request your presence at a briefing regarding the current situation…”

  The statement had been in Japanese, and Ritter stepped forward quickly, translating as Reuters arched an eyebrow and gave an expectant stare.

  “Can you understand me, major?”
The Reichsmarschall asked slowly in English.

  “Yes, sir… English not good, but… I understand…” Hasegawa replied, understanding well enough but displaying some difficulty in responding in kind.

  “Then English will do for the time being,” Reuters decided gruffly, still somewhat annoyed by the revelation they’d discovered earlier than a large number of Japanese officers spoke the language reasonably well, to some extent negating the need for an interpreter, happy as he was that Ritter had come along.

  “Yes, sir,” the major nodded, accepting the decision with as much grace as he could manage. “Please, then… you… come with me?”

  “I’d prefer to remain with this vessel for the time being, if it’s all the same to you, major,” Reuters countered quickly, making an effort to cover his inner nervousness by affecting an outer display of mild disdain. “It would be a terrible thing if something happened to the device below, now that we have it – finally – in our grasp.”

  “Nothing will happen… to ship or cargo: army of Emperor… has control…” Hasegawa pointed out, and the emphasis in that statement was not lost on the three Germans in spite of his broken speech. “The general commands…” he added, making the position clear. “Nothing happen here… general want to see you… wants you all there… for attack… airfield tomorrow…”

  “It seems we have no choice, Mein Herr,” Ritter muttered in German, leaning in close to his commander’s ear. “We are just seven of us, in the end, and it’s difficult to argue that any possible contribution we might make to the defence of this vessel that could not be better handled by an entire company of Japanese infantry. If we are to have any possibility of realising our own intentions here, it would seem prudent to maintain a cordial relationship with our ‘hosts’ for as long as possible.”

  “Sound advice,” Schiller agreed, nodding slowly as he considered what Ritter had said. “They’ll start asking questions if we do anything out of character – or anything to piss them off – and they may well be questions we don’t particularly want to answer.”

  “Curse both of you and your bloody logic,” Reuters growled, extremely reluctant to accede to the major’s request, but in the end he could see the reality of the situation as clearly as the others and knew full well there was no way they would be able to reasonably argue their way out of it.

  “I of course accept the general’s gracious request,” he continued, addressing this to Hasegawa as he clicked his heels in an overly exaggerated fashion. “Please… lead on…”

  “Thank you… sir,” the major nodded, appearing quite relieved there was not going to be any further disagreement. “Follow me, please… car waiting…”

  Bill Jinkins’ platoon and the remainder of Sam Anderson’s had somehow managed to evade Japanese units advancing on Mount Nona by negotiating a tough climb down the other side of the summit, at times skirting steep cliffs via some extremely narrow trails. Making their way back down toward the shoreline somewhere between Batuanjut and Eri, they found themselves relatively safe but nevertheless cut off from the rest of the Australian forces on that side of the bay and unable to make contact with their own command.

  As dusk began to fall around their makeshift camp, not far from the main track up from the beach, Jinkins was soon alerted by sentries of the unexpected return of one of his own men.

  “Christ, Johno, what’re you doing back here?” He growled softly as the man was brought before him, looking from his expression to be experiencing some type of physical distress. “You’re s’posed to be at Eri getting your guts looked at!”

  “There’s no buggers there, Bill,” Private John Lewis replied sourly, wincing in discomfort over the savage cramps he was feeling in his stomach. “Japs have already taken the whole bloody place and there’s no way past. Ran into some bloody Dutch officer who reckons the Japs have cut through our lines at maybe half a dozen bloody places; he reckons the colonel and the rest of our boys have been pushed right back past Eri to the tip of the peninsula… right back as far Latuhalat. He also told me Kapitz and the other bastards down at Halong have already surrendered.” That news brought drew some reactions of surprise and shock from the lieutenant and some of the men nearby. “He said there’s a ceasefire on until tomorrow morning to give us time to think about a surrender as well.”

  “Well, I’ll be buggered…” Jinkins muttered, frowning deeply and feeling torn over what action to take. “Sounds a bit bloody iffy… wish we could talk to Leonard about it,” he mused, meaning Roach, the company CO. “Where was the bugger going?”

  “Don’t think he knew, Bill,” Lewis shrugged. Somewhere away from the bloody Japs, I’d reckon.”

  “Sounds like a bloody good idea all round,” Jinkins muttered with a grimace. “Dunno about this, boys…” he continued, thinking out loud. “Can’t just bloody give it away off our own bat without knowing what else is happening – we’re a long way from being done in yet. If the rest of our blokes have already tossed it in, though, and we keep fighting we might bugger it up for them too…” he shook his head, not pleased with being caught in the middle of such a conundrum. “Reckon we could be stuffed either way.” He swore softly, cursing the lack of communications. “If only we could get hold of HQ…”

  There was silence for a moment or two as Jinkins thought over his options, crouching in the scrub with his men clustered about him. Eventually he sighed and made a reluctant decision.

  “Reckon there’s nothing for it but to find out for me bloody self…! Bill…!” He called out as loudly as he dared, looking for Private Tibbetts.

  “Yes, boss…?” Tibbetts responded quickly, limping over to the lieutenant’s position at a crouch and still feeling the pain of the graze he’d taken in his backside from a Japanese bullet.

  “How’s yer arse…?” Jinkins asked with a grin, a few others around them chuckling at the man’s expense.

  “Bloody hurts…” Tibbetts growled plaintively, exaggerating his limp at that moment as if in emphasis.

  “Reckon you won’t be riding that bike you found any time soon then,” the lieutenant observed with a chuckle of his own and drawing more laughs from the others. “You still got it handy…?” He added as Tibbetts handed out an annoyed selection of ‘piss offs’ and ‘get stuffeds’ to his grinning mates.

  “Too right… bloody thing works a treat, too…” Tibbetts nodded, glowering at the others standing around. “Some silly bugger just dumped it in the middle of the track.”

  “That’ll do me, then,” Jinkins declared with as much optimism as he could manage. Rummaging around in his combat pack, he drew out a section of plain, white bandage and made a show of tying it around his upper right arm. “Reckon the Japs will see this okay?”

  “You’re not going to go talk to ‘em…?” That horrified question came from Corporal Mummery, one of his platoon NCOs.

  “We’re stuck out on our ‘Pat’ here, Lindsay, with no communications from HQ or anyone else, and the only news we do have is second hand from some bloody Dutchman who reckons they’ve already chucked it in… I, for one, wanna make damn sure I know what’s really going on before I make a decision to throw the towel in meself, and I can’t think of any better way to find that out right now than by going down to the lines and talking to those cheeky little bastards directly. You lot hold out here as best you can, and if I don’t make it back, don’t chuck it in unless you’ve heard something from HQ, or the buggers have got you surrounded and you’ve got no other choice.” Rising to his feet, he clapped a reassuring hand on Tibbetts’ shoulder. “Righto, Bill… where’s this bloody pushie…?”

  Five minutes later, Lieutenant Bill Jinkins was riding an old but otherwise serviceable pushbike northward along the main track, back toward the Japanese lines at Amahusa and what felt at that moment like a very uncertain future.

  Still under minimal guard, Detmers, Oetzel and the small group of Kriegsmarine sailors brought across from Tan Tui on HDML 1314 had at least been given access to food a
nd water as they sat together in a small group, north of the main airstrip and not far from the Laha CP (Command Post). Making use of a number of discarded supply crates and ammo boxes as makeshift seating, they shared a pack of cigarettes one of their guards had kindly provided as the sun began to disappear below the hills to the north-west and shadows lengthened across the hard-packed earth around them.

  “They don’t have the men to resist,” Oetzel growled, not particularly happy about it as they discussed the current situation the Australians were facing. “They are fine fighters – that much is evident – but they have insufficient strength to hold back any kind of sizeable force.”

  “We should never have allowed them to bring us here…” one of the others muttered darkly. A young, fair-haired seaman of no more than twenty-two, he had been a relatively new addition to Kormoran’s crew prior to departure from Kiel so many months ago now. He’d also quickly developed a reputation among the rest of the men of being a card-carrying, dyed-in-the-wool member of the Nazi Party whose blind worship of The Fatherland was surpassed only by his blind worship of Adolf Hitler himself. “Had we held fast on the other side of the bay, we’d be safe with our allies now,” he continued, that remark drawing a sharp stare from Detmers and one or two of the older officers and ratings. “Safe there instead of stuck here behind enemy lines and running the risk of all being massacred, standing side by side with our enemies!”

  “Bremer, do you forget that these allies have attacked us twice now…?” Detmers snarled in reply, his worse soft but vehement. “Do you forget that they forced us to beach our own ship, and then attacked us again on the trip across the bay not sixty minutes ago? Poor bloody Horst was killed as that schwein strafed us; do you forget that…?”