“Yeah! Yeah, that’s him!” Jinkins agreed quickly, cheering up immediately upon hearing those words. “Sam Anderson: an officer, like you said!”
“One of my junior commanders reported such a man being received by forward units advancing on Mount Nona,” Hasegawa explained to Ritter in Japanese, allowing him time to translate the information to Jinkins. “I was told the man was badly injured and my officer saw no purpose in impeding his progress: he and his bearers were allowed to proceed through our lines back to Tan Tui, seeking medical aid. Last report was the man had later been captured again in the advance on Tan Tui and had been moved to one of our aid stations…” He shrugged. “The prisoner can be taken to see him if he wishes… after we are done.”
Ritter relayed all of this to Jinkins, who brightened considerably upon hearing the news.
“That’d be bloody great, yeah… uh, sir…” he exclaimed, almost forgetting where he was for a moment, so pleased was he to hear the news his friend and colleague was being looked after.
“This officer here,” Ritter continued, indicated Hasegawa with an opened palm, “will have you taken to see him, but first they want you to speak with the Dutch commander here with the intention of carrying a personal message from him and the Japanese surrender demands back to your own lines.”
“They – they’re going to let me go again, sir…?” Jinkins stammered, completely taken aback by the revelation.
“This is what they are telling me,” Ritter shrugged in return, on the understanding that you deliver these messages to your own commanding officer. In my personal opinion…” he added, glancing around momentarily as if worried he might be overheard, “…I should recommend to your CO in strenuous terms that he accept these demands: these Japanese are at the moment acting agreeably, but I would not count on things remaining that way for very long. Do you understand, lieutenant…?”
“I do, sir… thank you, sir…” Jinkins nodded fervently, somewhat impressed by the fact that this German knew to pronounce his rank as lef-tenant in the Commonwealth, rather than American fashion.
“The prisoner states that he understands the situation and will comply with your request to transport these documents back to his own lines,” Ritter declared in Japanese, turning to address Itō and his entourage. “He has also offers gratitude for his kind treatment and for the care provided to his fellow officers and men,” he added quickly, noting the general nods of haughty agreement among the Japanese officers and deciding to play to his audience. “He vows he will make every effort to convey to his commanding officer that he should seriously consider acceptance of these surrender terms.”
That last statement had at best been a fairly liberal extrapolation of what had actually been discussed, although it appeared to draw mild reactions of approval among the gathered officers, whose collective grasp of English had presumably been insufficient to pick up the exact tone and direction of that short conversation. He managed to ignore the raised eyebrow that that was Reuters’ only response, along with the quickly-hidden, wry grin Schiller momentarily displayed in reaction to his fellow officer’s blatant warping of reality.
“You see Kapitz…” Hasegawa advised Jinkins directly in his stilted English, stepping closer. “After… then you see friend… then you go…” Watching carefully again, Reuters suspected the major must have understood something of what had actually transpired between he and the Australian lieutenant, however if this was indeed the case, the Japanese officer was giving nothing away. “Come…” Hasegawa added, nodding almost genially and extending a hand back toward the school room beyond the command tent. “Come: we go now…”
“Assuming the enemy does not surrender, gentlemen,” Itō began slowly, the moment he’d decided Jinkins was out of earshot, “we must move forward on our final assault on the Laha airfield: without the ability to operate a land-based fighter defence, we remain vulnerable to aerial assault this close to the Australian mainland and other Allied bases.” Although he was relatively confident that most of their enemy’s number would not speak Japanese, one didn’t often reach general’s rank by taking unnecessary risks. “Intelligence indicates opposing forces on the Hitu Peninsula should not number greater than company strength at best, with no more than possible one or two troops of armoured cars in support. We will ensure our own tanks are brought up to deal with any such threat, along with significant air support from our carrier forces.”
The whole time the general spoke, Ritter stood to one side and in a hushed voice, translated the basic details to Reuters and Schiller as quickly as he was able, forced to skip over some less important sections in the interest of keeping up.
“Personally, I do not expect them to surrender without a fight – if at all,” he continued with barely a pause. “To do so would be a great dishonour. We will prepare our attack on this assumption. Our esteemed fellow officers,” he added, turning to nod at the three Germans and in the process obtain their absolute, apprehensive attention, “will be our honoured guests during this advance. It will be fitting that they see the power and glory of the Imperial soldier at first hand, so that they may go back and extol our virtues to their Führer.”
“We’re going to be their ‘guests’ tomorrow for the assault on Laha,” Ritter explained hurriedly, not liking the idea any more than the other two, although possibly for different reasons.
“The Devil with that…!” Reuters snapped softly, mostly forcing himself to stop short of shaking his head. “What of Kormoran…? The device…? We’re due in Hiroshima to meet bloody Tōjō the middle of next week! They’re sending a flying boat across from Palau on Monday to collect us, and we must have a solution for this by then. I doubt it would be prudent to remain here anyway: I have a feeling we shan’t be welcome here for much longer.”
“With regard to the Reichsmarschall and our other honoured guests,” Itō continued suddenly, once again galvanising their attention, “I have no doubt they have concerns regarding the unfortunate circumstances surrounding this German freighter…”
“Wait…” Ritter muttered softly, starting to translate once more at a furious rate.
“…I can only say this…” Itō declared magnanimously, almost sounding sincere. “…That the Emperor’s best fighting men will guard this vessel with their lives while they are witness to our glorious victory tomorrow against this Australian rabble!”
“…And we’re not getting anywhere near that boat,” Ritter translated with thinly-veiled frustration, cutting right to the centre of what the general was truly implying in one short sentence. “He just made it quite clear the verdammt thing will be surrounded by their ‘best and brightest’, which I would actually translate as ‘most fanatical bastards they have’…”
“I think we’re grooming a thorough-going cynic here, Kurt,” Schiller observed, almost managing a smile despite the poor news.
“I’ve spent the last year reading reports of the atrocities these vile bastards have perpetrated against Chinese and Manchurians alike during my time on the Asia-Pacific desk,” Ritter growled darkly, surprising both men with the intensity of his tone. “I know exactly what they’re capable of, and I tell you now; their worst are every bit as bad as ours… on a far grander scale…!”
“I think perhaps you accord our worst some undeserved kindness,” Reuters muttered, “but I also know enough to concede that you’re probably correct in this case.” His own damning knowledge of the atrocities committed by Imperial Japanese Forces before and during the Second World War had all been learned in hindsight, but the horror of it was in no way diminished by that fact. “Nevertheless, we must do something about this bloody bomb,” he continued, drawing the conversation back to their primary mission. “I doubt we’ll be given the chance to do anything while there’s still fighting on the island, but perhaps that may change once hostilities cease. Much as I’d rather be with you two, I think that I shall feign some illness and remain here tomorrow however, just in case some opportunity presents itself.�
�� He gave a frustrated sigh.” Much as I deplore the idea, perhaps we shall need to remain a little longer than expected… perhaps,” he added, another thought occurring, “that will provide us more time to perhaps also ensure that Donelson or those bloody nuclear documents don’t fall into their hands either.”
“I don’t think I like any of those scenarios,” Schiller observed softly, strangely serious in that moment.
“Nor I, old friend…” Reuters nodded slowly, a grimace flickering across his features. “Nor I…”
It was hours past sunset by the time Jinkins was finally escorted back to the Amahusa lines, accompanied by Hasegawa himself to ensure the lieutenant encountered no impedance from some over-enthusiastic junior officer. The night itself was mild and balmy, with the earlier sounds of battle replaced now but the myriad hoots and calls of jungle wildlife. Mosquitoes and other small, biting insects flitted here and there, singly and in great clouds, as they homed in on their human and animal targets like so many tiny bombers in close formation.
“Your papers are here,” the major advised, handing across a battered leather satchel as they stepped out of the jeep, at the side of the main track leading down the peninsula, running mostly parallel with the beachfront for a large part of its journey south.
“Thank you, sir,” Jinkins replied, nodding as he stuffed the case under one arm. “For your help and for letting me see Lieutenant Anderson…”
“We have a motorcycle waiting… you may use it to get back to your lines…”
“I’ll take these to my CO, sir,” he promised in earnest, patting his free hand against the top of the case.
“I wish you luck, Lieutenant Jinkins, ‘Second Twenty-First Battalion, VX44818’…” the major said finally, mostly hiding a dry smile as he mimicked the lieutenant’s earlier insistence of giving only name, unit and army number under interrogation. Extending a hand, he added: “If you don’t come back, perhaps we shall meet on the field…”
“Sir…” the lieutenant began, suddenly realising something for the first time as he accepted that hand and shook it firmly. “If you don’t mind me saying; you’re speaking English a lot better than you were back at Halong…”
“Perhaps you already suspect I am with Intelligence, lieutenant,” Hasegawa answered slowly, also allowing himself a faint smile. “It is my job to watch and listen, and sometimes, those being watched talk more when they think they cannot be understood.”
Minutes later, riding in almost complete darkness save for the yellow glow of his single, weak headlight, it was only then that Lieutenant Bill Jinkins thought again of what Hasegawa had said and suddenly wondered: if the man had been open to him about his language skills, then who had he actually been watching…
December 12, 1942
Saturday
A morning of relative peace and quiet for the defenders at Laha airfield was completely shattered at noon that next day by the distant rumble of artillery firing from the shoreline at Amahusa, across the bay, bombarding the entire Laha area at a range of six thousand yards. A relatively small artillery piece, firing shells with less than two pounds of TNT filling, the Type 94 mountain gun was nevertheless a reliable and effective weapon that in sufficient numbers was certainly capable of supressing the general area of the runway and the Laha defences.
It was units of the 1st Kure SNLF who had initially come into contact with the outer defences north of the airfield early that morning, however no engagement had been made with the enemy due both to the existing ceasefire and, more importantly, the level of exhaustion the marines were experiencing after having spent the better part of an entire day slogging it on foot through twenty miles of dense and unforgiving jungle after landing at Hitu-Lama on the island’s north coast.
A torrential downpour during the night and early morning had exacerbated their situation, reducing the ground underfoot to a muddy quagmire and turning otherwise mild and unremarkable rivers and streams into raging torrents that were extremely difficult to negotiate. Forced to leave most of their heavy equipment behind, the marines had stoically advanced with little more than their own rifles, submachine guns and ammunition, at times forced to wade knee-deep or worse through swamps and swollen creeks at a greatly reduced pace.
The Australian defenders for the large part had abandoned the airfield itself by this stage, quite correctly recognising that its open expanses would be difficult, if not impossible to hold. Backed by rows of pill boxes and gun emplacements, most of Gull Force’s C-Company had instead retired to the surrounding jungle, digging into makeshift trenches and emplacements along the edges of the forest where the canopy was at least able to provide some shelter from both the elements and the prying eyes of ever-present enemy aircraft overhead. Their situation was clearly dire nevertheless, with additional, heavier bombardment following quickly from Nachi and several other warships that had entered the mouth of Ambon Bay during the course of the morning.
Having advanced with comparative ease and comfort, the main Japanese attack force – comprised predominantly of units from the 228th Regiment – struck their first major obstacles just outside the bayside village of Soewakoda, perhaps two miles or so north of the airstrip itself. With many of their own supply vehicles also delayed by treacherous, muddy tracks and overflowing rivers, they at this point came under attack from mortars and 25-pounder guns firing from dug-in positions in the jungles to the west of Laha.
With conditions still overcast and hazy from the overnight storms, cloud cover was low and visibility poor as a result. Aerial spotting and the subsequent neutralisation of these guns would therefore prove difficult, and this harassing fire would continue to beggar the advancing Japanese throughout the course of the battle that followed. It had little effect on naval gunfire however, as eight inch shells from Nachi began to fall about the Laha area, leaving devastation in their wake.
Not far from the head of the main column, Ritter and Schiller had been provided a modified Type-1 tank, the Chi-He having been converted into a command vehicle with the removal of its main armament and ammunition in exchange for extra radios and other equipment. Schiller at least knew the origins of the vehicle well enough: the Japanese model was a licence-built copy of the German Mark-2 panzer which, in turn, had been an almost direct copy of the Realtime American M24 Chaffee light tank.
With around and inch and a half of hardened steel armour on its glacis plate and turret front, it provided some protection from the rifle and machine gun fire that occasionally swept over their position, set back from the main lines of engagement, however neither man was particularly confident of how the vehicle might fare if struck by dedicated anti-tank guns or rocket propelled grenades.
Within the cramped confines of the small turret, one fitted only with a single coaxial machine gun as armament, they were squeezed in behind the unit commander of two troops of Type-1s pushing up with the advanced guard at the head of the column. That that commander seemed to revel in the fact that the overhead hatch was wide open, allowing the ingress of the elements and any debris of shrapnel thrown up by nearby explosions was of added concern to both men.
“And this was a good idea in whose opinion?” Schiller asked with a mirthless smile, flinching momentarily as a volley of heavy machine guns slugs whined and rattled harmlessly against the hull outside.
“Mmmh,” Ritter agreed, feeling equally apprehensive over being placed directly in the midst of a full-blown assault. “My initial impression was that we would be accompanying the rear echelons in this advance. And all the while, the Reichsmarschall acts like he wanted to come with us…” he added, shaking his head.
“Our esteemed commander doesn’t like to be left out,” Schiller growled back, almost managing a faint chuckle, then flinched again as a mortar shell landed far too close for comfort. “Perhaps he should be careful for what he wishes…”
There was the sudden shriek of a high-velocity shell outside as it passed close by, followed closely by a loud explosion and, belatedly, the dist
ant crump of the firing weapon from somewhere off to their front.
“That was an anti-tank gun,” Schiller croaked nervously, recognising the sound well enough as both men suddenly became acutely aware of how vulnerable one could feel while encased in a relatively thin shell of hardened steel.
The Japanese tank commander suddenly shouted a flurry of lightning-fast commands into his radio, his eyes never leaving his optical viewers as he picked out some new and extremely dangerous targets, the commands quickly followed by the crump of several more tank guns firing around them.
“They’ve spotted enemy tanks advancing down the main road from Laha,” Ritter translated, cutting to the gist of it. “At least two troops with armoured cars in support. He’s not particularly happy about that: apparently, their intelligence officers promised there would be armoured cars and no panzers in opposition.”
“Perhaps their intel boys should have mentioned it to the Australians as well – scheisse…!” Schiller muttered darkly, anything else he was about to add replaced by a sudden, plaintive profanity the deafening clang of a shell strike rang against the outside of the turret near his ear, followed by the almost joyous whine of it ricocheting away into oblivion.
The incident drew an immediate reaction from their Japanese companion, who burst into a barrage of frantic, screaming orders hurled wildly into his radio mike at hoarse full volume.
“You think he noticed…?” Schiller asked sarcastically, not bothering to hide the fear in his tone.
The actual guard posted around Kormoran was surprisingly light as the jeep pulled up at the base of the vessel’s crumpled bow. Reuters climbed from the vehicle, accompanied by his escort, Captain Yanagisawa, while their driver remained behind the wheel. Although the cool morning was already giving way to the customary humidity of a tropical afternoon, the Reichsmarschall had nevertheless taken it upon himself to borrow a standard-issue M39-pattern tropical camouflage jacket from one of his escorts, ostensibly as light protection against the threat of further rain.
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 76