by Don Dennis
All this occurred without Dennis’s knowledge. When he returned to the bar, his sisters made no mention of the incident and he assumed they’d given the lieutenant the brush-off. However, the lieutenant had borne a grudge against Mick Dennis ever since, and recognising his name in the administrative instructions being passed through Lae HQ, tried to interfere. There was no place for such animosity in an operational theatre: later that day, the lieutenant suddenly found himself boarding a C-47 headed back to Australia, to serve out the remainder of the war behind a desk.
8. Z SPECIAL UNIT, AITAPE:
27 MARCH 1945
While Mick Dennis was en route to Port Moresby by ship, the other seven members of the Muschu team were flown to Aitape. There they were given an initial briefing by the SRD staff on the enemy situation around Wewak, concentrating on the coastal areas north and south of the port. This briefing was a general outline only; there was no specific mention of Muschu Island for security reasons. In the interim, all they were told was that they’d be making a reconnaissance patrol somewhere around Wewak in early April. Meanwhile they’d prepare their equipment, carry out some preliminary training and learn to work together as a team.
The Z Special Unit detachment was situated near the beach about 4 kilometres from Sixth Division HQ. Using materials scrounged from the engineer’s stores, successive occupants had built huts where they lived and worked in relative comfort. Here, patrols could train away from prying eyes and observation by other units that inevitably led to talk around the base. While the risk of a security leak was minimal, it was preferable not to tempt fate, as any hint to the Japanese of a new commando mission being prepared could result in them heightening security.
Vital to the mission were collapsible two-man kayaks known as ‘foldboats’ to be used for insertion and extraction. Four metres long, with a clip-together plywood frame covered by a pull-on rubberised canvas skin, they were designed to be quickly broken down into a compact bundle for transport or concealment. The same type of kayaks were used in the successful 1943 Jaywick operation into Singapore Harbour and they could carry a load of almost 100 kilograms plus two occupants. They differed slightly from the models the team members had trained on in Australia, but it didn’t take long for them to adapt: by the end of the first day they were able to assemble, launch and handle the foldboats with ease.
Each boat would carry a two-horsepower outboard motor, wrapped in a waterproof sheet and carried in the stern compartment until needed. Although very quiet in operation the motors were intended to help only in escaping the island, not for the landing. They were checked and run, refuelled then packed away.
The team’s radio men, signallers Hagger and Chandler, tested the equipment to be used on the mission. The main radios would be two ATR4 sets—high-frequency portable transceivers designed for long-range communications and often used by coastwatchers. The ATR4’s vacuum tube construction was bulky by modern standards, weighing 11 kilograms complete with batteries. Their voice and Morse capability would be used to establish a base station and communicate with landing craft, or even communicate as far as Aitape if atmospheric conditions allowed. Hagger and Chandler confirmed both sets were operating and that the batteries were new, then packed them in their canvas haversacks and wrapped them in a rubberised canvas sheet.
In addition they had three SCR36 handy-talkies. Also known as walkie–talkies these short-range US Army handsets would allow the patrol to maintain communications if they had to split into two parties, and would also provide emergency communications with the Navy or reconnaissance aircraft. These too were tested, loaded with fresh batteries and wrapped in rubberised canvas.
For signalling their pick-up vessel, all men were issued with a torch. These were meant to be of a new waterproof design, but a dockworkers’ strike in Australia had delayed their delivery, so they’d have to make do with the standard-issue item. Lieutenant Barnes raised the issue with the Aitape SRD detachment commander, noting that he had one of the new torches in his personal equipment, and suggested the commander should loan it to the Copper team. Although the commander declined, he ordered the quartermaster to send an urgent message to Divisional HQ, requesting the new torches be flown in. With over a week to go before the mission, there seemed to be plenty of time for SRD in Australia to obtain enough torches and put them on one of the daily flights to New Guinea from Darwin or Brisbane.
In the meantime, they’d have to train using the old torches. To improve their water resistance, the batteries and internal connectors were smeared with Vaseline, then the casing bound with electrical tape. Not perfect, but the best that could be done under the circumstances. They’d also carry two Verey signal pistols, along with an assortment of coloured flares and signal mirrors.
The main personal weapons for the mission were 9 mm Austen submachine guns, to which some team members objected. The Austen had a bad reputation: it had a habit of misfiring, or when it did fire, of ‘running away’—continuing to fire even though the trigger was released. With a side-mounted magazine that snagged on foliage, it was awkward to wield in thick jungle, whereas the Australian-designed Owen gun overcame this drawback with a top-mounted magazine. The Austen also wasn’t as rugged as the Owen, and not nearly as tolerant of dirt, mud or water. Developed from the British Sten, the Austen was built in Australia (Australian Sten), and although it improved on the original design, with the wide availability of the Owen gun by 1945, its use by SRD was somewhat anachronistic.
Z Special’s Austens, however, had been worked on by unit armourers, incorporating modifications that helped overcome many design weaknesses. All members of the patrol would carry Austens along with six spare magazines each holding 30 rounds. After being issued the Austens, the men spent a few hours on the range test firing and getting the feel of their weapon. As any soldier knows, each individual weapon, regardless of make, has its own personality. Trigger feel and pressure, recoil, accuracy—even the sound when the weapon is cocked—all add up to a unique character that soldiers recognise and which can only be gained through familiarity.
Accordingly, they were encouraged to practise whenever they could. Often Z Special members took this instruction literally and, being close to the beach, fired out to sea whenever the mood took them, much to the detriment of the local sea bird life which had become notably scarce in the area.
Each man would also carry a six-shot .38 calibre Smith & Wesson revolver with twelve additional rounds. Also divided among the team were four Welrod 9 mm silenced pistols. These were a British weapon that, unlike other pistols with add-on silencers, had the breach mechanism, barrel and silencer built as a single assembly. Using a specially designed subsonic round, with an effective range of 15 metres, the Welrod was reputedly the world’s quietest assassination weapon, its only drawback being that it was a single-shot pistol and had to be manually reloaded from its six-round butt-grip magazine. To achieve silence, the round was propelled by a smaller charge than those used in the Austen or Owen gun, hence the Welrod’s hitting power was reduced. Even the powder used was specially formulated to be smokeless and as near odourless as possible. All Welrods were test fired, cleaned, then reassembled. Those carrying them would wear them in a shoulder holster under the left arm.
Every man was also issued with a bush knife, a machete used mainly for hacking through jungle foliage—however, some team members sharpened both sides of the blade and ground it to a stabbing point, making it useful in close combat. Also available were a variety of killing knives, garrottes and other weapons, depending on personal preference. The principle was if you wanted it, you could have it, but you had to carry it.
Each man would also carry a water bottle and one day’s rations—mainly chocolates, concentrated glucose tablets, a compressed fruit bar and hard biscuits. The plan was to be out for two days at most, so food wasn’t a priority. In their personal kits they’d also have a compass, wristwatch and maps, water-purifying tablets plus a small first aid kit.
Mk
34 ‘Mills Bomb’ hand grenades were issued and the seven men insisted on testing their batch of grenades to ensure they worked. To do this they trooped down to the beach and proceeded to hurl them off one of the ricketty palm-log jetties. The grenades functioned as advertised, the result being a harvest of fish that floated to the surface to be served that night in an impromptu tropical feast along with sake, beer and four bottles of Scotch that had been acquired from the Australian Air Force’s officer’s mess at Tadji airfield by one of the more larcenous members of the patrol.
The SRD commander turned a blind eye to the complaints that inevitably followed the next day, knowing that morale was proportional to his men’s disrespect for authority. However, as a reminder of who was in command, he decreed that if they insisted on engaging in such behaviour then next time they should do it without leaving witnesses to the crime. To drive home the message he then sent all seven on a supervised pack run of 10 kilometres around Tadji airfield. They did it in under an hour.
For the next five days the team trained together around the Aitape area, practising weapons handling, field craft, concealment and foldboat handling— including assembling and dismantling the craft in darkness.
It wasn’t until 5 April that the eighth man, Sapper Mick Dennis, joined the team. He’d arrived in Port Moresby and been flown to Lae, where he’d been put aboard an Australian Navy harbour defence motor launch—or HDML—to Aitape. Of wooden construction, about 24 metres in length, HDMLs were a British design adapted for Pacific operations, and were often used by the SRD. Powered by twin diesels, giving them a top speed of about 15 knots, carrying an assortment of armament—including two .50 calibre Browning machine guns and an Oerlikon 20 mm cannon mounted forward— they were versatile and rugged craft. This particular vessel, HDML 1321, had been assigned to the Muschu mission and was skippered by a former plantation owner, Naval Lieutenant Ernie Palmer.
Twenty-nine years old, Palmer knew the waters around the New Guinea coast well and, along with his crew of ten, had gained a reputation for an eagerness to pursue the enemy. During the voyage from Lae to Aitape, Palmer and his men went out of their way to ensure Dennis was made comfortable—they’d developed a special affinity with the men of Z Special and regarded them as their own.
Dennis came ashore in the morning and met the other members of the patrol. For the next three days they trained together, with Dennis quickly making friends and becoming part of the team. He found he had a particular affinity with ‘Spence’ Walklate, who’d been a constable in the Sydney police force before the war. Walklate had also been a St George first-grade rugby league forward and had played in the 1943 grand final against Dennis’s home team and won. This sparked a friendly rivalry between the two men and they took every opportunity to outdo each other in training.
To the SRD staff, the team appeared to be coming together better than expected and their reservations about the hasty nature of the mission’s preparation were somewhat relieved. Accordingly at 1600 hours on 8 April, after completing an afternoon’s training in their foldboats, the team was called to the SRD briefing room—a small corrugated iron hut surrounded with sandbags.
They immediately knew something was in the wind: for the first time there were armed military police guarding all approaches and entrances to the Z Special area. As they shuffled into their seats in front of the lectern they noticed that the maps had been changed and there was a new display of aerial photographs.
The Officer Commanding then announced what they’d been waiting to hear: the mission was on.
The date: the night of 11 April.
Their objective: Muschu Island.
9. SRD BRIEFING ROOM, AITAPE:
8 APRIL 1945
Briefing soldiers about to embark on any mission—particularly one infiltrating enemy territory—is always a delicate balance between revealing information essential for the success of the operation and withholding other information as a precaution in the event of capture. In World War II torture was used by the Japanese as a normal interrogation method and despite popular perceptions—particularly by the Americans—that only the weak gave in under torture, it was widely recognised that no man could be expected to withhold information indefinitely when subjected to the variety of torture techniques used by the enemy.
SRD staff were acutely aware of this. Despite the established protocols of war, the Japanese insisted that Australian reconnaissance teams be treated as spies and therefore could be executed without trial—usually preceded by a long period of torture to extract the last essence of information from the unfortunate subject. So when briefing reconnaissance teams for any operation these facts had to be considered. SRD’s Operation Order dated 10 April 1945 doesn’t elaborate on the justification for the mission but instead laid out the essential information in a format and sequence that was the standard for the day—and has remained relatively unchanged within the Australian Army ever since. What the official records didn’t show, however, were the points expanded on by the briefing officers.
One of the main factors for the renewed interest in Muschu Island— the status of the guns on the eastern high ground—was not included in the written Operation Order. The guns were, however, mentioned during the briefing and that it would be of value if their positions were confirmed. The fact that various intelligence agencies had pieced together a picture of the events before and after the guns’ sighting was not explained—to do so could compromise the sources of information, particularly the existence of the radio intercept and deciphering units. While it would be naive to suggest the Japanese didn’t suspect that Allied Intelligence had such units in place, there was no point in risking giving them evidence as to the full extent of the Allied capability by revealing to the patrol anything other than the most essential information.
Nor was the imminent invasion of Wewak mentioned. It was obvious to all patrol members what was going on around Aitape, with troops being trained and supplies being stockpiled. It may have been ‘inspirational’ for the patrol to know that this was all about to happen, but as this information wasn’t critical to the mission’s success it was withheld.
The men were shown the latest aerial photos of the island and known enemy positions, then told that during the next few days all patrol members would be taken on reconnaissance flights over the island so they could get a better appreciation of the terrain they’d be covering. The enemy was known to have built defensive positions on the western, southern and eastern sectors, with the bulk of forces thought to be in the western sector. Intelligence had assessed that the beach between Sup Point and Cape Saum was clear of enemy and was therefore selected as the patrol’s insertion point. Much of this information had been gleaned from extensive aerial reconnaissance and captured records—information the Japanese were aware was already in Australia’s possession, and therefore would be of no value if revealed during interrogation. However, the fact that there’d been recent movement to and from the island, mainly at night, was not explained, as it could compromise the presence of coastwatchers and native informants.
What the patrol were told was that the main garrison on the island consisted of second-line troops numbering about 300 to 400 and that this number may have been reduced as the fittest were being moved to reinforce the Wewak garrison. No doubt the knowledge that they’d be up against what could be unkindly described as a ‘bunch of geriatrics and medical misfits’ was of some reassurance, but all were acutely aware that one should never underestimate the enemy. The more experienced of the group knew this all too well, particularly Sapper Mick Dennis, whose previous combat experience in New Guinea had taught him that even dead Japanese could be dangerous. The enemy often booby-trapped their own casualties and he’d seen unsuspecting diggers wounded or killed as a result.
The patrol was warned to avoid contact with the locals on the island at all costs. While the Australian propaganda of the time portrayed all the New Guinea natives as smiling ‘Fuzzy Wuzzie Angels’ sympathetic to the cause and
despising the Japanese, this was far from true. In reality, many of the locals had never seen a white man before and really weren’t concerned about who won or lost the war. All they wanted to do was live their lives without interference, and their allegiances went to whoever was going to cause them the least grief. On Muschu, the inhabitants had been living side by side with the Japanese for over two years and had learned to coexist, even to the extent that the Japanese had established a school and a hospital on the island. To expect these people to suddenly switch sides by merely waving the Australian flag was naive in the extreme. So the men were ordered to stay away from the islanders, but if discovered by them, not to trust them—and if necessary, use the Welrod.
The aim of the mission was simply stated in the original SRD Operation Order:
Intention:
To insert a party on Muschu Island to,
Capture an enemy prisoner for 6 Div interrogation, and
To make a recce of the beach 800 yds NE of Cape Warbu.
The execution of the operation was relatively simple—on paper. On the night of 11 April, the team would be taken to Muschu onboard HDML 1321, then dropped in foldboats about 6 kilometres south-east of Cape Barabar on the southern side of the island. The moon would be in total darkness and the weather was predicted to be favourable, with clear skies during the day and perhaps some rain squalls in the late afternoon or early evening.
From the drop-off point, the team would paddle into the beach area between Cape Saum and Sup Point, lay up until dawn, then move further inland and create a concealed base position. From there they’d carry out the reconnaissance as required, either splitting into two groups or working as one team, depending on the situation. On completion they’d signal HDML 1321, either by radio or torch, make rendezvous at night and be back in Aitape for breakfast. The mission duration was expected to be 48 hours maximum.