by Don Dennis
It was just after 0600 hours when the relief section arrived. After exchanging brief formalities, Buzuki and his men trudged off east along the track towards their base camp, rifles slung over their shoulders. A hundred metres on, the track branched towards the beach. Buzuki decided that as it was now low tide they’d take the beach diversion as this provided an opportunity for them to search for sea life that may have been stranded during the night.
They reached the beach after a quick walk. The tide was low, leaving rockpools and dips in the sand. One of his men whooped in delight: in one rockpool was a large crayfish, which he promptly skewered with his bayonet and held up, its spindly limbs flailing and sending drops of water sparkling in the morning sun. Buzuki grinned as they found more crayfish, heaping them in a flapping pile on the beach. Quickly they gathered vines to bundle the spiny crustaceans together.
Buzuki looked back along the palm-fringed beach. It was protected by a reef about a hundred metres out, forming a shallow, clear lagoon. In happier times, this would be regarded as a tropical paradise, and for him in some ways it was. Tonight they’d dine in style—one crayfish was more than a meal for any man, and they’d found over a dozen. Being the ranking non-commissioned officer he could take two of them and trade them for a bottle of sake—a precious commodity of which there was a surprising quantity both here and on the mainland, if one knew who to trade with.
He was about to turn around and rejoin his men when something on the beach caught his eye. Near the high-water mark was an oval shape partly concealed by weed—a turtle perhaps? That would indeed be a bonus, for turtle meat and eggs were regarded as delicacies. As he approached he realised that it was no turtle, but a canoe paddle—probably lost by one of the island’s inhabitants. He paused two metres away. It was double-ended and painted black. This was no rough-hewn paddle, but one of modern design—and it looked new. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to tingle.
Quickly he glanced about. This could mean only one thing: commandos had tried to land along the coast and had hit the reef. Had they drowned? Or were they nearby watching? There was no indication that anyone else was on the beach, for the sand in both directions had been smoothed by the withdrawing tide.
For a moment his main fear was that the commandos had come ashore while he and his men had been asleep. However, he quickly reasoned that if the commandos were nearby they would have retrieved the paddle to prevent it being discovered and compromising their presence. So the chances were it had been lost further east and drifted in with the current on the rising tide.
Unslinging his rifle, he called to his men, ordering them to take up concealed positions watching the beach and for one to return promptly to the command post and report the finding.
The time: 0615 hours.
12. MUSCHU ISLAND:
12 APRIL, 0630 HOURS
The eight men of Operation Copper spent the remainder of the first night cold and shivering, with two awake at all times while the others tried to rest. Most had suffered coral cuts when they waded to shore and these now ached, making sleep difficult.
At the first greying of dawn, all woke and lay with weapons ready, seeing their surroundings for the first time. They were in high grass among palm trees and vegetation that became dense jungle further inland and from which now came the raucous screeching of waking birds. Behind them the beach was a wide strip of smooth, empty sand, the drag marks and footprints from their landing the previous evening erased by the tide. Waves were breaking on the exposed reef in a muffled roar and the sun shimmered off the lagoon. Beyond the lagoon, a flock of gulls were noisily circling and diving into a school of fish that was moving west along the coast. The scene was deceptively peaceful.
For half an hour they lay watching for any sign of the Japanese, their senses becoming attuned to the island. The air warmed quickly and a light breeze ruffled the palms while the bird calls eased to a steady background noise of hoots and whistles. As the sun climbed higher they were able to make out in detail the low hills to the east that would be their first objective. Finally, after almost an hour with no sign of the Japanese, they quickly moved their foldboats 30 metres into the tree line, then again went to ground and waited.
After satisfying themselves that they hadn’t been observed, they unloaded the foldboats, covered them with foliage, then moved all their equipment further inland to an area of thick scrub about 100 metres from the beach. While the rest of the team lay on guard around them, the signallers unwrapped the two ATR4 transceivers to find they’d been soaked through. However, as the radios were internally coated with protective wax, the signallers agreed that little harm would have been done and the radios would dry out in the heat of the day. They unplugged the batteries to prevent internal shorting, then covered the radios with the waterproof canvas sheet and concealed them beneath palm fronds. They discovered that one of the walkie-talkies had been lost, and that the remaining two handsets had also received a drenching. They drained them and hid them near the ATR4 sets to dry.
Lieutenant Barnes then called the group together to review their situation. Considering the problems they’d had crossing the reef, they were in good shape. No one had sustained serious injuries and the coral cuts were more a nuisance than anything else—antiseptic cream from their medical kits should prevent any infection. They’d lost some equipment, including two paddles, two Austen guns, one walkie-talkie, a spare radio battery and some Verey flare cartridges, but this wasn’t enough to render the patrol ineffective.
Those who’d lost their Austens still had their Smith & Wessons and they were given a Welrod each as a backup. There was some discussion about whether the lost equipment would be found by the Japanese; however, all agreed that as it went overboard on the reef well out from shore the chances of anyone finding it were slim. All of it would have sunk, except for the paddles, which were designed to float. But as they’d been lost on the reef, they would have been wedged in the coral far from view or even swept back out to sea. A quick check along the beach confirmed they hadn’t washed ashore nearby.
It was decided that the mission would continue. Although they’d missed their landing point and were now further west than planned, they should be able to reach their initial objective in an hour. Their present location provided good cover, so it was agreed this would become their primary lay-up area and rendezvous if they became separated. When the radios dried out they’d set them up, but as they were only to be used for calling for an emergency extraction they weren’t essential. HDML 1321 would return to their original drop-off position, which would now become the rendezvous for their extraction.
Again Lieutenant Barnes went through the procedures for the mission, including alternative rendezvous points, light signals for the torches, mirrors and Verey flares. They then checked their maps to ensure everyone was correctly oriented. Also every man was to record information in their patrol notebooks, the duplication being a precaution if they separated or were captured or killed, to maximise the chances of at least one patrol member getting the information out.
After Barnes finished his briefing, all weapons were cleaned and oiled, the men working in pairs—one cleaning his weapon, while the other stood watch. They then ate a quick meal from their rations, then doublechecked the area to ensure all equipment was concealed and that they’d left no signs of their presence. Then they moved off, heading east through the scrub towards Sup Point.
After about half an hour they found a track that headed north. Cut through dense foliage, the track looked well used and they were at first reluctant to follow it, but if they stayed off the tracks, the dense foliage would slow their movement to such an extent that it would take hours to cover distances that could otherwise be travelled in minutes. So they spread out, spaced themselves alternately on either side of the track, then moved on.
Ten minutes later the track steepened as it climbed towards Sup Point, where they found a series of defensive positions built along the top of the ridge. On the h
ighest point about 20 metres above the beach was a bunker made from heavy timber and coral rock, with a view commanding the beaches to the north and to the south-west. Shaking out into an assault line, they quickly closed on the bunker but found it unoccupied. Covered by the others, Mick Dennis climbed inside to find it clean and tidy, but otherwise unoccupied. From its dominating position and all the phone cables that were dangling inside, they assumed it was an observation post for directing the defences in this area. Dennis used his compass, took a bearing to the southern tip of Kairiru Island and noted it on his map.
Looking west from the operation post, about 500 metres out, Chandler pointed out a false crest in the hill. Behind it, among tall trees, beneath the heavy jungle canopy, they could just make out what looked like a gun emplacement. Using his binoculars Lieutenant Barnes scanned the area and confirmed that there was definitely something there—it looked like a camouflaged gun position dug into the side of the hill. The movement of the trees in the wind cast changing shadows that made it difficult to see exactly what it was, but the position coincided with the suspected gun location reported by divisional intelligence, so it was likely that this was it. The false crest hid the emplacement from the sea, while the thick overhead cover concealed it from aerial observation. Only when the rising sun cast light into the area was the emplacement visible to an observer from a low angle, which explained the difficulties Sixth Division Intelligence had been having trying to locate it. He marked his map and suggested that if they had time later they would reconnoitre the area further.
Also visible from the bunker was an L-shaped slit trench running west then north along the clifftop to Cape Saum almost a kilometre away. There were bunkers spaced at 50-metre intervals along the trench, so again the patrol shook out into an assault line and advanced on the first bunker, only to find it was also unoccupied. However, inside was a medium machine gun—a 7.7 mm Juki or ‘woodpecker’. The weapon was in good condition and had only recently been oiled. They dismantled it and tossed the components and ammunition into the sea.
The patrol then moved further along the trench line to the next bunker, where another Juki in similar condition was found. This was also dismantled and thrown over the cliff. They continued examining all the bunkers and when they reached the northern end of the defences at Cape Saum, they’d found and destroyed four machine guns.
They now realised how lucky they’d been. The defences overlooked their original landing area and the shoreline provided very little cover. From the condition of the weapons in the bunkers, it looked as if they were manned at night and the chances were they would have been sighted as soon as they reached shore. Being caught in arcs of fire from four Jukis, they’d have stood little chance of surviving.
The fact that there were no sentries posted there during the day indicated that the Japanese regarded these defences as of secondary importance. Not far away would be a base encampment from which troops could be called on quickly. If they could find that base area it would help the Air Force later, and possibly also provide an opportunity to snatch a prisoner.
There was a network of paths behind the defences leading inland to the west, and they decided to follow what looked like the main trail. Moving silently, after fifteen minutes they came to a large clearing filled with tilled vegetable gardens and about a dozen thatched huts spread around the perimeter. The area appeared to be deserted, so they waited five minutes then moved in. Working as two groups, one covering the other, they checked each building and after finding them all empty, moved further on to a stretch of higher ground 50 metres away that had been cleared of foliage. From there they could see the mainland and the port of Wewak.
After taking more bearings so the position could later be accurately fixed on the map, they moved away from the clearing, found a well-concealed area among the trees and called a halt. Comparing notes, they concluded that the defences at this end of the island were probably only kept in a state of readiness rather than being continually manned. This fitted with the Sixth Division Intelligence’s assessment that the island garrison was being stripped of the fittest men to reinforce the mainland defenders.
The meticulous layout of the gardens meant they were Japanese owned, as the islanders never bothered with such precision. There were also several species of plants that were only favoured by the Japanese, and the healthy condition of all the crops indicated they were regularly tended. The location of the huts in the tree line and their thatched construction was probably deliberate, to help conceal them from aerial photography and to give the impression that they belonged to the islanders. None of the patrol could recall having seen the clearing when they’d flown over the island on the preliminary reconnaissance, which reinforced just how simple it was to conceal anything from the air in jungle areas.
For a few minutes there was speculation about how easy the patrol had been. It was now just after 0800 hours, they’d been on the island less than twelve hours and despite their original setback, had accomplished a major portion of the mission. They were surprised by the extensive track network— like a ‘ruddy bloodshot eyeball’ someone remarked—but this was only to be expected after almost three years of occupation. Of the Japanese there’d been no sign, which was unexpected, but it was likely that they’d be found further west in the coastal area around Muschu Bay, where they were known to have living quarters and more food-production areas.
It seemed the Japanese here were less than vigilant, which also tended to confirm intelligence assessments of the garrison’s quality. Lieutenant Barnes reminded everyone that this was no reason to be less cautious, however it did make them more confident in using the tracks rather than forcing their way through the undergrowth. He also cautioned that as they moved west, the chances of making contact with the enemy would increase.
They decided the best course of action would be to return to their equipment cache near the beach. There the signallers could check the radios and after a rest and a quick feed, the patrol would head west towards Muschu Bay in search of a prisoner. All were confident they could finish the reconnaissance by the end of the day, and if they found a suitable prisoner they’d be able to leave the island after nightfall and make the rendezvous with HDML 1321. That would mean they’d completed the mission in less than 24 hours—something of a record, Lieutenant Barnes suggested.
After a weapons check, they set out. Quickly skirting the empty huts they located and followed what they thought was the track that had brought them in.
Unfortunately it wasn’t.
13. MUSCHU BAY:
12 APRIL, 0800 HOURS
Captain Tomei of the Japanese Imperial Navy was the commander of Muschu’s base force or Tokubetsu Konkyochitai, located near Muschu Bay at the western end of the island. Two days after the Japanese captured Wewak in 1942, a small detachment of marines landed on the island and claimed it for the Emperor. Since then, despite the Japanese Army being in overall command of the area, Muschu remained under naval administration. In practical terms it made little difference who was in command, as Tomei received his orders from the 8th Army’s headquarters in Wewak and he obeyed them irrespective of the cut of his uniform. His job was to ensure the island produced food and palm oil—and as long as he produced the goods he was left very much alone.
At this Tomei had been very successful. An intelligent man in his late forties, he’d enlisted the support of the islanders and, using a carefully balanced mixture of stick and carrot, persuaded them to cooperate. Under his stewardship, Muschu had become an important production area and his men, a small cadre of marines supported by about 300 assorted Army troops, lived a relatively comfortable existence, despite regular interference by the Australian Air Force—some of the Japanese soldiers even taking local women for wives and producing children.
In early April 1945, after more than two years commanding the island, Tomei was informed that he was to return to Rabaul at the end of the month, where he would await reassignment. His successor was Captain Temura,
a former destroyer commander whose ship had been sunk in the Battle of Leyte Gulf in October 1944. Wounded in action, Temura spent six months recuperating, then rather than accept the pension offered to him, had persuaded the Navy to give him another command. Instead of another ship they suggested Muschu Island. For some reason best known to himself, Temura swallowed his pride and accepted. Determined to erase the shame of losing his ship, he’d arrived on Muschu boasting he’d increase production and turn its garrison of misfits into a fighting unit the Emperor would be proud of.
Tomei ignored his bravado, expecting that after a few weeks on Muschu, reality would set in. However, Temura proved obstinate from the moment he set foot on the island. For a week prior to assuming command, accompanied by his aide, he prowled his new domain making notes and finding fault in almost everything he saw. For the official handover of command on the morning of 12 April, Temura insisted on gathering the entire garrison to the headquarters area to witness his formal acceptance of office and the raising of his personal standard.
Tomei cautioned that this meant losing a day’s work in several of the outlying gardens that were being harvested, and that withdrawing patrols from the coastal areas would compromise security. Having more than 300 personnel gathered in one place could prove an inviting target for any Australian aircraft that just happened to be passing at the time.
Temura ignored the advice, insisting the ceremony take place early in the morning and that increased vigilance by observer teams would give adequate warning of any approaching aircraft. And so it was that at 0700 hours, with the sun shafting through the palm trees, the garrison paraded on a hastily cleared grass square between the thatched bamboo huts of the headquarters. Standing on the covered porch of the hut to one side of Temura, Captain Tomei couldn’t help seeing the pathos of the moment. Here was a man who firmly believed a miracle would happen and Japan would be saved from the humiliating defeat that must soon befall it.