by R. B. Shaw
Dave walked past the sentry to the water’s edge. A rosy glow in the northern sky reflected on the surface of the river. He could hear the slow garamut drumbeat clearly now. Distant voices chorused a primitive chant, backed by a rumble he had heard before. The rapid beating of a thousand spears on shields thundered through the night. The primitive tribes were locked in a stone age time capsule. The native lifestyle here had remained unchanged since prehistoric times. They were working themselves into a frenzy.
When he returned, Jake and Kumo squatted near the sanctuary of the fire, smoking bamboo pipes of wild tobacco. The smoke eased the onslaught of countless flying insects from the jungle swamps. Dave sat alone sipping a mug of rum, thinking about elusive gold and lost love. He turned his thoughts to Jan. He missed her perfect smile, poise and irresistible charm. The reassuring light from the fire mellowed his thoughts as it flickered across the pebbly banks. No crocodiles or snakes ventured near the fire. Though Harada remained an ever-present threat, Dave rechecked the sentries and tried to settle for the night.
Ted could not sleep in sight of the campfire. He rolled over, terrified of the evil flickering flames. The distant thunder of drums, chanting and stamping feet, carried him back. He tried to turn his thoughts to Richard, then drowned his painful memories in whisky.
His dreams again degenerated into stark disjointed nightmares of torture and lost gold.
Ted watched as the chubby Japanese soldier held one of the heavy canvas bags open and attempted to thrust his stubby fingers into the gold. The weighty dust was too dense to allow this greedy fantasy, so he clawed a handful from the top and luxuriously sifted it through his fingers. The soldier’s face mellowed with gold lust, insensitive to the horrors he had recently inflicted on his prisoners.
The arrival of an elderly Japanese Officer disturbed the soldier’s fantasy. Ted recognised the shiny anchor and chrysanthemum badge on the Officer’s dented helmet. It identified him as a marine and Ted distinctly heard the soldier call him ‘Sugano’. With undisguised rage, Sugano surveyed the bayoneted and tortured captives. A violent argument developed as he criticised the chubby soldiers’ actions. After the severe reprimand, Sugano turned and inspected Ted’s disfigured face. Ted saw genuine concern in his large brown eyes. Strangely, all Sugano’s upper teeth were gold and one eye had a fixed gaze, obviously glass. Ted felt a flood of relief as the sympathetic Officer quickly delegated a medical orderly, Harada, to attend to his gaping wound.
Ted’s hands were tied as he crouched on the rolling deck of a barge. The dark foreboding grey of the sky merged with the foamy steel grey of the sea. A burnt umber smudge obscured the horizon. He could see the distinct form of a large volcanic island reaching skyward. The smoky plume almost touched the clouds.
The guns of the Japanese barge fired into the shrill sound of planes diving amid the blast of their exploding bombs. The barge heaved in the turgid bomb-blasted waters. Foaming seawater cascaded across the deck, drenching all aboard. To Ted, the tropical island ahead looked incongruously placid and innocent. Enormous volcanic slopes swept upward backing the palm-fringed beaches. Something seemed odd to him. Despite the sudden attack by the aircraft, there were no hits on the barge. He felt that they were being deliberately coaxed toward the island.
Suddenly, the barge ground to a halt before reaching the beach. A hidden reef had torn the bottom out. Ted stood up as panic-struck Japanese made for the life rafts. Sugano stayed calm. With military precision, he supervised the loading of the valuable cargo and some munitions into the main lifeboat. Ted was relieved as he ordered all the Australian prisoners aboard and powered off toward apparent safety.
As they landed on the beach, the Japanese fled the last attacks of the Australian planes. Ted cowered as a new enemy, more primitive and fierce, materialised from the jungle. The native warriors were demented and unafraid of death. Their attack was so ferocious that the battle-seasoned Japanese scattered in panic. Ted hid as an arrow caught the cruel chubby soldier in the stomach. A warrior smeared with pig fat and charcoal then impaled the soldier with a triple-tipped spear. As he fell, the warrior quickly disembowelled him.
The rest of the barge crew dashed for the obscurity of the jungle, all labouring under the weight of their valuable burden. Another determined attack isolated Ted and he found himself in company with Harada, the Japanese medical orderly who had tended his cheek. A forest of the brutal warriors surrounded them. All pointed spears or bows and arrows. Their heads were capped with brilliant glossy feathers; their faces daubed with gaudy ochres of yellow and red, the features deliberately lost amid the splashes of colour. Ted back-stepped as they inched closer, howling and jabbering aggressively.
When Ted recovered, it was night, the full moon above radiant in a heaven of indigo blue. The parabolic volcanic slopes were silhouetted against the tropical night sky as they swept upward to the fuming caldera lip. Plumes of smoke glowed from the red flames within. Ted realised he was tied back to back with Harada. Other Japanese and Australian prisoners were also lashed in pairs on a wooden frame coarsely woven with smaller branches, palm fronds and kunai grass.
Natives were propped up on the woven grid around him, most of them long dead and all with pathetic bundles of artefacts or belongings strewn about them. Ted was aware of the chanting, primeval and full of sorrow. The wailing villagers finished some form of ritual ceremony and retreated reluctantly to the perimeter of the woven grid. Again they began shouting and appealing to their dead relatives on the timber matrix.
As Ted struggled, stocky chanting warriors with strange flaming headgear now weaved among the dead and bound. Flames plumed from insulated crucibles on their heads as they drunkenly danced and cavorted among the condemned.
The crowd fell silent. A chief, magnificent in physique and regalia, moved slowly among the captives on the grid. His omnipresence dominated all activity. He stopped at each in turn. Ted would never forget those malicious black eyes. Cloudy with demonic possession, they glinted with reflected sparks from the flaming caps.
Ted watched him strut along the supporting beams. As the chief moved, he deliberately spilled liquid fat from a gourd. Ted was horrified as he realised their flimsy supporting matrix was suspended over a pit or gorge and this was some sacrificial ritual.
Ted gazed at the platinum moon as it nestled into the volcano’s looming contours. The chief shouted an incantation and the drums began a rhythmic pulse. Fire-capped warriors surged around the sacrificial matrix, twirling blazing tiki-torches. They stopped at intervals to light the edge of the grease-soaked timbers.
As the flames took hold, Ted panicked and tried to break his bonds. Harada sat behind him and also struggled frantically. The fire grew larger and nearer as the tinder and fronds rapidly burned. The now frenzied drumbeats urged them on. The chanting from the villagers at the edge turned to a pitiful cry. He realised it was a heartrending last plea for their loved ones to rise from the dead and run from the fire-decayed grid. Ted was terrified. If they didn’t burn alive, then they would certainly die falling to the fathomless depths of the yawning chasm, obviously the last resting-place of many a tribal ancestor.
The structural bearers burned fiercely and he heard an unearthly howl emanating from below the failing grid. The updraught of rising hot air turned to an eerie blue flame and torched through the burning timbers spraying glowing cinders skyward. Ted prayed as the first of the native captives shrieked and began to burn alive. The flames were impartial. The bound Japanese and Australians around him began to scream and shout amid the sobbing chant of the villagers standing safely on the edge. He heard the loud groan of strained timber and the wooden matrix subsided a little amid a shower of renewed sparks.
Frenzied pleas and screeches from those trapped on the collapsing frame provoked shouts from the bystanders. Ted and Harada struggled at their bonds, accosted by the pungent smell of singed hair and burning flesh. The strange blue flames surged around him.
Suddenly, with a rending crash, t
he weakened grid collapsed. Ted had a fleeting glimpse of a black abyss swallowing a falling mass of flaming timbers, burning bodies and charred artefacts. He screamed as he fell, but the terrible sensation was suddenly arrested. A savage jolt swung him heavily against the wall of the chasm. Ted winced in agony as his leg was crushed on impact.
Uncannily the burning trunk to which his bonds were tied was still firmly lashed at the cliff-edge of the pit. He hung suspended in a limestone chimney. The howling updraught seemed straight from hell as blue flame and showers of cinders swept over him.
Ted and Harada were still tied securely back to back on the dangling log. The flames on the lower end now crept ever upward toward him like a burning fuse. Below he could see the fiery depths of the sacrificial pit. He squirmed frantically and shouted as his legs began to burn. Suddenly, jabbering warriors hauled him and Harada back over the rim and doused them with water. Ted finally succumbed to the pain of his burnt and broken leg and lost consciousness.
Ted woke from the terror of his nightmare with temples pounding and stared at the wall of jungle. He rubbed his disfigured face and gazed at his scarred and badly-knitted left leg. Memories were vague, but what he could remember was so indelibly clear. He wondered why the cult warriors had saved him and Harada. To this day, over fifty years later, he was terrified of fire and hated the Japanese with an intense passion. Physical and mental scars from an almost-forgotten era haunted him. The gold must have been lost forever to the Fire Cult or the Japanese.
Though the Officer’s son, Seiji, slept nearby, somewhere out there in the jungle another desperate Japanese man waited. Kendo, the son of the orderly who had treated him, proved to be a murderer who would stop at nothing to find the lost gold. Ted still trembled from the curse of his nightmare and the abuse of the amber spirit that never lay too far out of reach. He again fingered the welt of ugly scar tissue across his cheek, a physical reminder of ancient memories, pain and guilt. His Commanding Officer should have told the Japanese. He died for nothing. They would have found the gold dust when one of them eventually gave in to the sadistic torture. Ted still felt some guilt about his single act of cowardice over fifty years ago.
The New Guinea jungle night chorused to the drone of a million agitated insects. Ted’s sense of loss and loneliness festered into frustrated thoughts of revenge. He drained the bottle of whisky and ironically, waited for the comfort and security of the rising sun.
Next morning they moved off the rugged jungle trail into the waist-deep Nankina river. Dave had overheard Ted’s raving dream and was eager to question him. ‘Ted, I was listening last night. What’s this about warriors with burning heads?’
With his limp, Ted had trouble keeping pace with the porters. ‘The Jap orderly, Harada’s father, and me were tied back to back. It was obviously some form of fire ritual. The chief was careful where he stepped, so we had to be over a pit or cliff, not a volcano like I first thought. The flames came later and I could see the distant volcano. The chantin’ natives had fire coming out of the top of their heads. Strange, but I could have been hallucinatin’, the condition I was in.’
Dave listened, intrigued. ‘Harada’s ahead of us and has the advantage of the diary. Your memory is all we’ve got. You have to try harder, otherwise we’ll never find that bloody island.’
Ted simply shrugged and opened his flask.
As Dave plotted his next move toward the village, porters wading near the embankment started jabbering.
Seiji called. ‘Stark, there’s something large moving through the jungle.’
Dave pulled out his Colt and waded over to investigate.
Fang moved in warily. ‘Take it easy, Dave. Could be a croc’.’
Dave climbed the riverbank to check the movement. Through the thin bush it looked like a crocodile, but the huge lumbering reptile moved far too slow. ‘It’s okay. Just a Salvadores monitor.’
Seiji followed nervously. He crept in for a closer look. ‘A what?’
‘The world’s longest lizard, nearly five metres. In New Guinea the age of the dinosaurs lives on,’ Dave added.
Suddenly Fang shouted. ‘Crocs on the far bank! I’ll get the porters out!’
Dave cursed his complacency and scanned the bank urgently in time to see the last powerful shape slide silently into the water.
Ted waded dangerously close to the crocodiles then limped from the water to join the Zawan in a nearby clearing.
Seiji watched the frantic activity with concern. ‘I didn’t realise crocodiles were so fast. I thought they were slow and awkward.’
Ted was panting heavily and didn’t take his eyes off Fang’s team. ‘In the water they’re ruthless, swift and silent. On land, I’ve chased one with a Landrover. It was runnin’ like a dog at nearly twenty kilometres an hour. They’ve got no endurance, only good for short bursts, then they’re stuffed.’
‘Can’t see any on the surface. Can they stay under long?’ Seiji enquired.
‘Up to three hours.’
The response stunned Seiji. ‘How?’
‘They move their liver and stomach back so their lungs almost double in size. Then they rest and reduce their metabolism. Their heart rate can drop as low as four beats a minute.’
No one noticed Kumo, still depressed since the murder of his cousin. He straggled well behind the porter line out of earshot and missed the warnings. Suddenly the old cook shouted a pitiful wail as a flurry of agitated foam surrounded him. A crocodile clenched Kumo’s leg firmly in its serrated jaws. It continually death-rolled, gradually dragging the screaming cook into deeper water. Dave reacted too late and fired some distant shots. In a last frantic struggle, beast and prey slid beneath the surface.
Terrified of crocodiles, Jake ran to the riverbank with the panicked porters. Dave rushed to the scene, pistol out and carefully searched from the shallows. By the time they reached the spot where Kumo had disappeared, only a muddy swirl drifted downstream. Dave fired more futile shots blindly into the water. He hoped the crocodile might still release its unfortunate prey. It was a desperate last resort. With nothing visible, he could possibly hit the old cook.
Dave cursed aloud—he had become quite attached to jovial old Kumo. Now he felt responsible for the man’s death.
17
Two hours of determined searching revealed no trace of Kumo. Dave thoroughly checked all areas inhabited by crocodiles. He delegated perimeter lookouts, then cautiously re-entered the water as an example for the reluctant porters. ‘Come on. Back to the ropes! Make sure you stay in the shallows. I want to reach the village today!’
With the large wheels totally submerged, the Cessna looked like a boat. Strangely enough, progress quickened, probably due to the porters’ anxiety and the buoyancy of the fuselage.
Fang waded over from the flank, a concerned look on his face. ‘The water’s gettin’ deeper. It’s difficult to stand in places.’
‘Find the shallowest route and keep watching for crocs’.’ Dave ordered. ‘The village and raft are just downstream.’
Fang moved alongside Ted, his thoughts again on gold. ‘How long till we hit the road to Saidor, Ted?’
‘Within a coupla days. First we’ve gotta get through the gorge and over a vine bridge.’
Seiji’s showed renewed interest. ‘Is it likely we could find more documents or clues?’
‘Don’t know. I told ya the Japs knocked us around a lot.’ Ted responded. ‘Some were bloody brutal with the Aussie prisoners,’
Seiji took offence at the remark. ‘In Japan we were taught that all prisoners were treated with dignity and respect as per the Geneva Conv …’
‘Bullshit! How d’ya think I got this?’ Ted erupted and stabbed his bony finger at the ugly scar across his cheek. ‘I didn’t slip while shavin’, Sunshine!’ Despite his stubble of beard, the deep scar stood out plainly.
Seiji relented. ‘In warfare there are always isolated cases of torture and maltreatment. It would have been the uneducated conscripts from Manch
uria or Korea.’
Fang stumbled on a rock hidden beneath the surface, then interrupted angrily. ‘Crap! Try tellin’ that to the families of thousands of Aussies that died in captivity. Brutal Jap guards tortured twenty thousand poor bastards!’
‘And your prisoners were never maltreated?’ Seiji procrastinated defensively.
Ted intervened. ‘We were compassionate initially, but after witnessing their suicidal treachery, things changed.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Seiji.
‘One day in ‘43, two Japs surrendered to us, hands in the air, one ahead of the other. Suddenly the front one fell on his knees. He had a sub-machine gun strapped to his back. The other guy dropped down and grabbed the machine gun. He killed two Aussies and wounded four others before we shot ‘em. We stopped taking prisoners after that.’ Ted stared defiantly into Seiji’s eyes.
Seiji pressed his point. ‘So how are these different from your two heroes—who slaughtered over twenty Japanese back at the old headquarters.’
Ted didn’t bother to reply. Seiji appeared to be another pupil of Japan’s post war propaganda campaign.
The strange line of porters and their burden of aircraft parts laboured along the gravel river flats. They rounded a bend in the river early afternoon and saw the distant village. If all went as planned, a raft should be waiting to transport the cumbersome fuselage downstream. Frightened village children ran off screaming into the bush. A group of fearsome-looking warriors in full battle dress emerged noisily from the village gardens.
Jake turned to Seiji. ‘The boar tusks through their noses are curved up. It means they’re ready for combat.’
Seiji watched nervously. ‘A warrior is coming forward.’
‘He’s their spokesman,’ Jake advised.
Fang smiled sarcastically. ‘Don’t worry. They knew we were comin’. He’s just makin’ a fuss so all the tribe can see how brave he is. This is academy award stuff.’