by R. B. Shaw
Fang followed eagerly. ‘What’s up Ted?’
‘We’re close.’ He scanned the limestone face. ‘This narrow gorge and the cliff face to our right above the trees, it’s familiar.’
Three hours were lost slashing jungle and probing numerous false trails and dead-ends. Ted finally hesitated at a break in the foliage. ‘Dave, this has gotta be it. That trail leads up through a gap in a sheer rock wall. It should open up into a huge bowl in the rock. The old Jap headquarters are in there.’
They scrambled anxiously through the breach in the rock wall. The trail led ever upward over steep and broken stone along a contorted sheer-sided chasm. Eventually the winding corridor of rock opened into the base of a huge sinkhole. The precipitous walls were over a hundred metres high and streaked with white limestone. Impenetrable forest capped the upper lip and draped over the edges. They ventured forward through a trapped mist over uneven ground covered in kunai and shrubs.
A hideous litter of skeletal remains protruded from the muddy ground. Some were still armed and wore tattered scraps of Japanese uniforms. Their time-locked poses spoke of a violent death. Among the Japanese dead were old trenching tools, radios, Nambu pistols and rifles. The brittle silence caused the living intruders to speak in whispers as if not to disturb the dead. The command bunker dominated the far side of the sinkhole, carefully constructed to allow unlimited scope for gun emplacements.
The sight inside stunned everyone. The old bunker contained a rotting jumble of uniformed skeletons. Some were broken apart by scavenging birds and animals. Many were still armed in an eternal combat around two large Jap ‘Woodpecker’ machine guns, obviously the perpetrators of the mass carnage surrounding the bunker.
Fang noticed the few porters they had selected to come along were reluctant to enter. ‘Dave, the Zawan are uneasy. To them it’s a Ples Tambu, a place of evil. Even Jake is shit scared.’
Dave did not respond, pre-occupied as he studied the two collapsed skeletons behind the heavy machine guns. Corroded Australian Infantry badges were still pinned to faded scraps of dilapidated slouch hats. ‘Look at those uniforms. They’re Aussies.’
‘Yeah, brave men. Musta tried to make a break. Looks like they killed all these Japs,’ Fang deduced, but honoured their bravery only briefly. ‘Let’s get on with it, Jake. The porters are still edgy.’
Dave called the group together. ‘Everyone, collect any books and documents, no matter how decrepit they are. Seiji can check them out for clues.’
Fang and Jake carefully searched bags and containers near each corpse, looking for some of the elusive gold dust. Helmeted skulls with bullet holes were twisted back, teeth wide with the agony of death. Rusted bayonets lay loose in rib cages and opposing Jap and Aussie combatants still lay tangled together in final conflict.
Seiji carefully searched each Japanese skeleton for clues to his father’s last resting-place. He turned to Ted as he inspected a weathered Samurai sword. ‘Was my father here?’
Ted did not respond initially. He trembled and stared at the carnage around him, clearly reliving a momentous tragedy of his life. ‘Only briefly. He made for the coast.’
Fang butted in eagerly. ‘Where did ya dig those graves you mentioned, Ted?’
‘Beyond the bunker. The Jap outpost Commander told us to start diggin’ before we moved on. We were worried, thinkin’ we might be diggin’ our own graves. He got killed later and the other Jap Officers didn’t know nothin’ about it. Unless someone’s been here since, it ain’t been touched.’
Fang and Jake did not wait for further explanations. They grabbed a trenching tool each and clumps of earth began flying.
The soft soil of the basin’s catchment gave little resistance to the steel blades. Each grave revealed the grizzly corpse of a Japanese soldier. The yellowed skeletons rested in a damp mulch of human sludge and scraps of cloth.
Within minutes, Fang shouted excitedly. ‘It’s here! Get me a container! The top bags are okay. The lower ones are rotted through and breakin’ up. They’re all full, Dave!’
Ted remained solemn as gold fever ran rampant among the other four men. While Fang carefully gathered every grain of spilt gold, Dave calculated the value at over $40,000.
Though still intent on retrieving every speck of gold, Fang turned to Ted. ‘How come the Japs never cleaned up this mess or buried the rest of the bodies?’
‘We saw aircraft searchin’ overhead. The Japs knew more Aussie reinforcements were hot on their trail.’ The silver flask again sparkled as Ted found solace. ‘Their orders were to get the gold urgently to the coast. The Commander insisted we leave the others and head off immediately.’
Fang ignored Ted’s explanation. ‘Y’ think this is all the gold they left here?’
‘Dunno’. At the time, I thought it all reached Saidor. As I said, I can’t remember exactly what happened. Your bits and pieces from war records keep promptin’ my memory—it’s gradually comin’ back.’
Dave scanned the gruesome skeletal remains about them. ‘What the hell happened here, Ted?’ He spoke softly as though he feared he might disturb the dead.
‘The Japs led us into the concealed headquarters up the gorge back there. Two of our blokes grabbed a submachine gun from a guard. They blew a few Japs away, tossed a few grenades and then commandeered the two heavy machine guns.’ Ted took another swig. ‘By the time they were killed, they’d mowed down over twenty Japs. The outpost was effectively wiped out. The Jap Commander left it as was and expedited the gold shipment to the coast.’ Ted’s eyes were misty with pride. ‘It’s the bravest thing I ever saw.’ He turned to Dave. ‘Gonna do anything with their remains?’
Dave hesitated and slowly shook his head. ‘No, what’s the point? They’ve been like this for fifty years; I don’t think we should disturb them. It was a gallant stand; we’ll leave them as they died. I’ll advise the War Graves Commission back in Port Moresby though.’
A sudden explosion blasted across the clearing, the noise amplified by the confined space and sheer limestone walls.
‘Shit! What the hell was that?’ Dave shouted.
Jake rushed over. ‘I think one of the porters was killed!’
Fang shouted for attention. ‘Don’t nobody touch nothin’, this place could be booby trapped!’ He then turned to Jake. ‘Was he tampering with anythin’?’
The mysterious explosion in the grim basin unsettled Jake. He suppressed childhood tribal superstitions. ‘No, he was wandering around near the entrance trail.’
Fang froze as he scanned the muddy ground of the ancient battleground. ‘Don’t make a move anybody! I think we’re standin’ in the middle of a fifty-year-old minefield!’
The incident prompted Ted’s memory. ‘I think you’re right! Seiji’s father sent two men back. He must have had the place mined after we left!’
Jake interrupted nervously. ‘Dave, the man that was killed, he’s not one of our porters. Looks like a Nokopo.’
‘One of Harada’s spies. Probably sent to follow us,’ Dave smiled. ‘Ironic he was the unlucky one. Somehow we all managed to cross the clearing without stepping on a mine. Now we gotta get ourselves out!’
Fang took command of the crisis. ‘Okay everyone, the trail we made through the kunai grass is relatively safe. Either we missed steppin’ on a mine or only trod on duds. Only step on old footprints and use your knives to carefully probe a safe path back to the main trail. Use the full depth of your blades.’
All search activity ceased as each man stooped and began probing back to a central area cleared by Jake and Fang.
Ted stammered nervously. ‘There’s one here! I’ll mark it with a stick and go round.’
Each man carefully made his way to the safe clearing. It then took over an hour to retrace a trail to the entrance chasm. Miraculously they had all trekked in over two mines. After fifty years, it was likely they were duds, but no chance could be taken.
Seiji insisted and kept probing trails to each corpse in turn, care
fully avoiding the dangerous mines. Dave thought it too risky. ‘Seiji, leave it at that. They could be booby trapped as well.’
Seiji ignored Dave and worked on. He removed all personal belongings, wallets, diaries and dog tags, carefully recording everything in a notebook. He then symbolically hammered a small wooden stake in the ground alongside each pathetic pile of remains. He carried a small pack of the sacred stakes, each the size of a large cracker biscuit and hand painted with Japanese characters.
Fang kicked one of the stakes out of his way. ‘Hurry up, Tojo!’
Seiji stood up, angered. ‘They are sacred symbols for the dead and should be treated with reverence.’
‘I didn’t rattle your pig bucket, arsehole!’ Fang snarled.
Dave butted in. ‘Break it up you two! Let’s find a way outa here!’
Seiji moved close to the entrance, burdened with a knapsack full of old relics and three Samurai swords. A porter in the alley of rock waved, indicating he should follow urgently. He glanced back at Fang and Dave. They were pre-occupied packing up the gold. Seiji hurried off hoping the warrior had at last found a clue to his father’s whereabouts.
Another ground-shaking thump caused a cascade of boulders and earth to crash down the walls of the chasm. Ted ran back to avoid being crushed by a tumbling avalanche of rock that filled the narrow gully trail over head high.
‘Everyone okay?’ Dave shouted.
Ted called through a blinding cloud of dust. ‘No! Can’t see Seiji.’
As the cloud of dust settled they found they could still climb over the new barrier of rubble. ‘Probably another mine!’ Fang shouted, unconcerned about Seiji.
Dave disagreed. ‘No. I reckon Harada blew up the entrance, hoping to collapse the chasm. Everyone get through before he tries again and watch for Seiji.’ He pulled out his Colt and nervously scanned the upper reaches. ‘Jake, you got a good eye, lead everyone out. Fang, watch out for more mines or booby traps. I’ll follow and cover the rear.’
‘Where the hell is Seiji?’ said Ted.
Fang eagerly clambered over the high pile of rubble. ‘Who gives a rat’s arse? Stupid prick’s probably halfway to Saidor.’
‘Dave!’ Jake suddenly called. ‘Over here, he’s been hit by rocks.’
Rubble partly covered Seiji. His mouth hung open and a purple bruise stained his temple around a huge lump.
‘Seiji, Seiji,’ Dave shouted. ‘Wake up!’
Seiji did not respond. Dave moved closer and found he was only just breathing, his pulse shallow and erratic. Seiji’s backpack and the valuable diary were gone.
Ted’s Zawan bodyguard searched around nearby, clearly agitated. He tracked unfamiliar boot prints to a small clump of bush in the canyon wall, then signalled to the group. Dave and Fang hastened over, closely followed by Jake and Ted.
The naked porter, Kumo’s cousin, lay prone in a pool of blood against the rock wall. A curtain of blood still flowed down his bare chest.
Fang searched unsuccessfully for a pulse. ‘His throat’s been cut from ear to ear, Dave.’
15
Harada possessed the diary again, as was right. He relaxed in his bush hide and anxiously thumbed through the fragile pages. Large tracts of text still remained virtually unreadable. His father had died only a year ago. The tragedy and fateful revelations of the moment flashed through is mind.
Harada senior was skinny and grey, his withered body badly burnt and scarred from his wartime ordeal. He never talked about his military service in the Pacific or the primitive battlegrounds of New Guinea. Only on his deathbed did his father reveal the horrors of the campaign and the existence of his detailed diary.
Something strange in his father’s last words tantalised Harada. The dying veteran had whispered that this legacy might be his son’s only birthright. It almost sounded like an apology, that he had no riches to pass on. Harada did not put much importance on reading the faded pages until some weeks after his father’s death. The implications of his father’s words and the significance of the diary’s contents staggered him.
He now deciphered more important passages in the diary. His father’s writing caused no problems, but water damage erased and faded much of the pencilled Japanese text. Harada gloated—there was no mistake. Even with missing or unreadable sentences, it clearly indicated he was now wasting his time. Two important points became evident. He needed Frazer’s help urgently and must expedite his journey to the coast.
‘How long now till we reach the village?’ Harada asked the Nokopo in his best Pidgin.
‘Late tomorrow.’
Harada paused and plotted his strategy. ‘Get me enough warriors for a surprise attack on the village.’
The Nokopo stared, astonished. ‘I would need many men for this.’
‘All I need is six. It will be a very brief skirmish—a diversion while I get Frazer,’ Harada responded, then considered his strategy beyond the village toward the coast. He unfolded his map of the region. Saidor, a small coastal town with wharf facilities and importantly, an airstrip. Harada realised he would need air transport. ‘Saidor has an airstrip. Can I charter a plane there?’ he questioned the Nokopo warrior.
The warrior frowned, not comprehending Harada’s poor Pidgin.
‘Balus! Can I buy a balus and captain for a few days?’ he repeated in a poor mix of Pidgin and English.
‘Nogot balus at Saidor. Sometime come, then go.’
Apparently there were no aircraft based in Saidor, only the occasional light aircraft transit.
Harada thought for a moment. ‘What about boats, can I get a boat to Madang?’
‘Planti. Many boats travel between Saidor and Madang.’
Harada smiled slyly. ‘Good. Now, draw me a map of the village layout. Show me exactly where the river passes on its way to the bridge.’
16
The tragic turn of events concerned Dave. Seiji now regained consciousness thanks to Ted’s Patrol Officer training and they carefully carried him back to the main trail.
Fang called Dave over. ‘Seiji don’t look well. What do you wanna do with him?’
Dave assessed the crisis. ‘Radio Jan and declare a medical emergency. She can fly in with the Egg and airlift him to hospital.’
‘What about the porters? Four of ‘em wanna leave and carry the body back to Zawan. Others are wild about the murder and talkin’ payback.’
‘You speak the local lingo, Fang. See if you can calm them down.’
Fang quickly assembled the agitated group of porters. He reiterated that a desperate Japanese man organised the attacks and sabotage. Fang found them easy to convince. Some of the porters met Harada when he had tried to coerce them back at Zawan.
Fang thought briefly. ‘Dave, better draft a quick note to the authorities and explain what happened. Deliberately avoid detail. Just tell ‘em an unidentified person’s been stirrin’ up hostile tribesmen.’
Dave took Fang’s advice and drafted a note for the leader of the departing group. He paid them out with a very generous bonus, an honourable gesture that helped ease their grief. Dave’s crafty move also had a dual purpose. It displayed his goodwill to the remaining porters who were willing to continue, despite the obvious dangers.
After reassuring them, Dave noticed Ted approaching. He looked restless.
‘If you radio for the chopper to airlift Seiji out,’ Ted hesitated, sober but perplexed. ‘I want to get a lift to Madang.’
Dave swore silently. He had to argue Ted out of his proposal. ‘I still want to get this wreck to the coast, but as you know, it’s secondary. You agreed to help us search for the rest of the gold.’
‘I’m worried about how Richard’s goin’.’
‘He’s still in a coma and you said we’re close to the village. A short raft trip and the truck takes us direct to the coast. You think being there an extra day or two earlier will help?’
Ted considered Dave’s logic. ‘I understand, but when the chopper arrives I want that option.’
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‘I told you at the start, no one’s blackmailing you,’ Dave replied angrily. ‘If you want to drop out now, when we’re so bloody close, then go!’
Seiji overheard the conversation. ‘Stark, I must achieve my goal. I will not leave under any circumstances.’ He forced himself to sit up, furious about the evacuation plan. ‘If I can walk, you must take me with you.’
‘I’ll hold off making the call until noon.’ Dave shook his head. Seiji’s tenacity impressed him. ‘We’ll see how you look then.’
Fang cursed, fed up with the delay. ‘We’re losin’ precious time. Get Jan to fly him out on a medivac. The last thing we need is a bloody stretcher case. Ted can only just keep up with his limp—we don’t need another handicap!’
‘Don’t you think I know that! The fact is we need both of them! If we airlift Seiji out, Ted wants to hitch a ride in the chopper as well!’
That afternoon, despite severe swelling and bruising, Seiji walked around eagerly, demonstrating his fitness. Dave, Jake and even Fang reluctantly agreed he was capable of completing the trek to Saidor. Any sign of concussion and Dave would be forced to call for the helicopter medivac.
Dave issued orders to Jake. ‘From now on, I want Ted and Seiji kept together at all times. I want them so bloody close, they look like Siamese twins!’
Jake could not understand. ‘What’s the point, Dave?’
‘Harada wants to get rid of Seiji, but he can’t risk Ted—he’s too valuable. If they’re close together, Ted becomes Seiji’s insurance policy.’
Fang, Ted and Seiji led as they again headed off along the trail. Dave placed spotters at strategic points along the struggling line of porters. He studied the mutilated tyres with concern and hoped they would hold together long enough to reach the village.
At the end of the day, they camped near the banks of the Nankina. As night fell, Dave mentally attuned himself to the rhythmic pulse of the myriad insects. He prepared for the next spasm of wild jungle melody, but instead detected another rhythm, which challenged the first. Barely audible, the gentle breeze varied the strength of the deep resonant beat as it carried upriver.