The Guns of Muschu

by Don Dennis

  Fifty metres from the tumble of rocks at the base of the cliff, Buzuki paused again. By now they should have been challenged from the command bunker high on the cliff. But then he remembered that the entire marine platoon assigned to this area had been withdrawn to attend the ceremonial parade. Even so, there should still be someone on watch.

  He’d been to this area many times, as he’d made friends with the sergeant in command. Sergeant Hiroto and his men were experts at distilling a potent brew from coconuts and spices, which he traded for sake three to one. Buzuki knew that although Hiroto’s men were at this morning’s ceremonial parade, Hiroto had refused to attend, citing the proceedings as a waste of time and insisting that someone had to remain to keep watch. Only a stubborn old veteran like Hiroto could get away with such insolence, and Buzuki expected to see him sitting on the boulder at the base of the cliff with his faithful Juki. Most mornings, Hiroto would engage in target practice with the weapon, popping off streams of tracer into the gull flocks feeding on the fish that came in with the tide. But this morning he wasn’t there—nor was his Juki.

  He went forward cautiously, then 10 metres from the fallen boulder he froze. Hiroto was lying face down on the beach, his head encircled by bloody sand. The muffled gunshot had been real after all.

  Buzuki snapped orders to the patrol. They fanned out and took cover among the rocks while Buzuki checked the body. Carefully, almost as if approaching a sleeping loved one, he knelt beside Hiroto. Buzuki saw that his hands were bound, and felt an anger he hadn’t experienced for a long time. Slowly he rolled the dead marine onto his back. Hiroto’s eyes were still open, his jaw set in a determined expression that Buzuki had seen many times before when he told of his experiences in the early days of the war. Barely containing his rage, he ordered one of his men to go to the shelter behind the rock and bring a blanket to cover the body.

  Buzuki then carefully examined the area. The body was surrounded by a maze of boot prints in the hard sand, leading to and from a track that emerged from the tree line east of the cape. He gauged that perhaps ten or more men had passed through here, undoubtedly Australian commandos from the pattern of their boot prints. As they’d made no attempt to hide Hiroto’s body, Buzuki concluded they were an assassination squad intent on terrorising the garrison with random killings. They’d been warned about how the Australians were using death squads to sow fear among the defenders on the mainland, and how they often cut off their victim’s ears or penis for trophies. Stories had spread about how most of them were selected from felons held in Australian prisons, murderous thugs descended from British and Irish convicts who were promised a pardon if they killed a Japanese soldier. They were rumoured to be huge men, trained in the crudest methods of killing and torture, with no concept of honour or code— white barbarians who were little more than animals.

  Suddenly Buzuki forgot his hunger. From the tracks in the sand he reasoned that the Australians were heading east, possibly towards Sup Point. He ordered one of his men to take the cliff trail up to the command bunker and use its field telephone to report the situation and advise headquarters he was pursuing the enemy.

  Following the track back to their lay-up, the Australians came to the abandoned village where they’d captured their first prisoner. Lieutenant Barnes was in the lead and suddenly propped and gave the caution signal. In the clearing ahead were three Japanese soldiers. One of the soldiers called out a name and at the rear of the team, the prisoner lunged forward. Walklate seized him by the collar, dragged him back and rammed his Welrod into his stomach, shaking his head. The prisoner glared at him, tried to call out but only managed muffled grunts against his gag. Walklate shoved his Welrod behind the soldier’s ear and clicked back the hammer. The prisoner immediately quietened.

  The Japanese kept calling, and Barnes indicated that they should bypass the clearing and head south. They left the track, pushing quickly through the dense undergrowth until they came to the beach. Scrambling down a steep incline onto the sand, they moved west in single file for another 400 metres then, calculating they were past the Japanese, began climbing back up the slope. In the rear the prisoner tried to climb, but despite forward shoves by Walklate, kept falling. Seeing the problem, his hands were untied, then bound again in front of him. This allowed him to climb slowly.

  After the patrol reached the top, they quickly found the track again. For a moment they waited, making sure they’d left the Japanese well behind. Satisfied, they spread out and prepared to move off.

  Suddenly Japanese voices were heard further up the track. Before anyone could stop him the prisoner whipped his bound hands up to his gag, tore it down and screamed a warning. Walklate slammed the butt of his Welrod over his head, knocking him to the ground, but he rolled away and kept yelling. Ron Eagleton drew his Welrod and shot him in the head.

  The Japanese rushed around the bend and came face to face with the Australians. Startled by the sight of eight big men, who in the dim light of the jungle must have looked like spectres from a kabuki play with their blackened faces, the Japanese fled into the jungle.

  Barnes gave the signal and the patrol broke track and headed south again towards the beach. As they moved they discussed what they should do; the consensus was that they should get off the island as soon as possible. Now that the Japanese were alerted they couldn’t risk trying to capture another prisoner and it was vital the information they had was returned. Fortunately, the sea was now calm and they wouldn’t have to fight waves breaking on the reef. If it remained calm they could risk setting out after last light; if not, they’d have to wait for high tide, which would be just after midnight. Once over the reef they could use the outboard motors to quickly reach the rendezvous, then signal the HDML with torches.

  With luck, they’d be back at Aitape in time for a late breakfast.

  17. MUSCHU ISLAND:

  12 APRIL, 1300 HOURS

  Corporal Buzuki’s patrol moved steadily along the beach, heading east towards Cape Barabar. It was past midday and the sun was now on his back, giving some relief from the glare off the water. His mouth was dry and he’d already drained his small water flask, yet thirst wasn’t important— he could drink later. With the tide now at its lowest, the beach was almost 20 metres wide and he’d spread his men in an extended line across the sand. He kept glancing over his shoulder, searching for the runner he’d sent to report Sergeant Hiroto’s murder, but he suspected the soldier wasn’t very enthusiastic about rejoining the patrol. He couldn’t blame him. Several times Buzuki had questioned himself on the wisdom of pursuing what was probably a force superior in number and skill to his men, yet the answer always remained the same: it was his duty to do so.

  So they trudged on, the coral sand squeaking beneath their boots, nerves tingling at the knowledge that at any moment they might come under fire. It was times like these Buzuki hated, the vulnerability of being out in the open and the thought that someone ahead was taking aim. He’d made sure his section was well separated in a V-shaped formation, which made it difficult for a single shot or burst of automatic fire to hit more than one man from the front or the flanks. The problem always was though, who would that man be? He could only hope that when the time came everyone remembered their battle drills.

  Putting these thoughts aside, Buzuki surveyed the beach ahead. Here the jungle thinned to high grass and palms in a broad fringe that extended almost 50 metres to the sand.

  They had gone almost 2 kilometres past Cape Warbu when one of his men, walking close to where the grass met the beach, suddenly halted and called out in a loud voice. Buzuki turned to him, wanting to rebuke him for breaking voice discipline, but realised that in his excitement the man had forgotten everything he’d ever learned about infantry work. He was pointing agitatedly at the sand, then into the undergrowth, fear written on his face.

  Buzuki waved the patrol into extended line and advanced them to the edge of the undergrowth to take up firing positions protecting the flanks and inland. Only the
n did he trudge over to see what had drawn the soldier’s attention.

  In the thin strip of soft white sand above the high-tide mark was a series of faint grooves that indicated something had been dragged from the beach into the undergrowth. An attempt had been made to brush them out, but the traces of two grooves remained. Buzuki complimented the soldier on his find, then gave the command for everyone to advance in extended line either side of him, searching ahead as they went. He also gave the order ‘safeties off’, which meant every man was to carry his rifle safety catch released, ready to fire.

  Slowly they advanced into the undergrowth, pushing through the high grass towards the jungle. After about 50 metres, the man on Buzuki’s right called out. Again he ordered everyone to pause, take cover and stay alert. Then he strode over to look at the find. At the base of a tall palm tree, covered by fallen branches, were four kayaks. He smiled. So this is where the Australians had landed.

  Carefully he walked around the kayaks, making sure there were no trip wires or booby traps. Then he ventured a look inside one, checking the front compartment to find a paddle identical to the one he’d found on the beach. The rear compartment also held a paddle and behind the seat was an outboard motor wrapped in canvas.

  Now he was faced with a dilemma. Should he continue the search or should he wait here? Was this the only landing point? The four kayaks could hold eight men, but because of the maze of footprints he’d seen in the area where Sergeant Hiroto was murdered, he was convinced there were more in the raiding party. He decided to despatch another runner to the nearest command post, about a kilometre inland. All his men knew the island’s track system well and it would take less than ten minutes for the runner to get there and raise the alarm. Meanwhile he would search the strip of undergrowth for a hundred metres either side of the kayak-hide for signs of more commandos. Then they would remain here and await further orders.

  Captain Temura was becoming increasingly frustrated. A message had come in from an outpost reporting that a sergeant had been found shot dead near the Cape Warbu defences, and there were more signs that Australian commandos were loose on his island. His immediate reaction was that this would look bad on his record—he’d been in command less than four hours and already the enemy was making a mockery of his security. Maintaining a stern face, he strode into the little room that served as an operations centre and examined the map. An orderly had marked the place where the paddle had been found with a neatly flagged red pin and was now marking the location of the dead sergeant with another.

  Temura’s first order was to alert all outposts and have them deploy as many men as possible to the western half of the island. This should have been a simple procedure as the field telephone network extended to all units; however, as he quickly learned, raising the alarm wasn’t as simple as it first appeared. His insistence on having all garrison troops attend his ceremonial parade had left several key posts unmanned, and with most of the troops returning on foot it would be hours before these were manned again. He sent runners to catch up with those now en route to turn them around and bring them back.

  Half an hour later he received a report from the eastern area near Cape Barabar that three soldiers from a harvesting squad had come face to face with a large group of Australian commandos on a track near the coast. They’d described how they barely escaped the barrage of fire laid down by the commandos by deploying into the cover of the jungle. After assessing the situation, they told how they’d then started out in pursuit of the Australians only to find the body of one of their comrades. They called off the chase and reported in.

  Then a few minutes later came a report from the central coast area that two more soldiers had been found shot dead. This was soon followed by more reports—the defences between Sup Point and Cape Saum had been sabotaged, with four machine guns destroyed and possible booby traps laid.

  Temura broke out in a cold sweat as he watched the orderly jab more pins into the map. He’d never commanded ground forces before, and this situation was beyond his training. The closest experience he could liken it to were damage-control exercises at naval college where ship compartments were flooded using a model simulator, and which usually ended with the model turning belly up or sinking—Temura had the uneasy feeling that if he didn’t get a grip on this situation very quickly, the same thing would happen to his career.

  From the welter of reports flooding in, it was obvious to him that a large commando force had landed. They were working in two—possibly three—groups of twelve or more, concentrating on the western, central and eastern areas. Having ordered his forces to concentrate on the western sector, he now needed to redeploy them to ensure all sectors were covered. The result was significant confusion as Temura despatched more runners countermanding his original orders.

  Temura began to panic as the field telephones began an almost constant jangling and the map became crammed with more red pins. Was this an invasion?

  During the commotion, Captain Tomei was kept well informed: his staff remained loyal even though protocol demanded they now obey Temura. At first Tomei was amused by the idea of messengers scampering all over the island and troops dashing about chasing shadows, but when he was passed news of Sergeant Hiroto’s death he was furious. The old sergeant was a friend who’d been through several campaigns with him and deserved better than execution at the hands of assassins. Putting on his uniform, he buckled on his katana sword, then strode up to the headquarters and took command.

  Temura was livid, but there was nothing he could do. His staff simply ignored him and obeyed Tomei, knowing that in time of emergency he had the right to assume command. The legalities of the situation could be worked out later, but now the immediate priority was to determine exactly what was happening.

  Quickly Tomei assessed the situation, then sent a squad to reinforce Corporal Buzuki’s patrol guarding the kayaks, ordering him to take charge, remain in his location and set an ambush. He knew that eventually the Australians would try to leave the island and they’d need their boats to do so.

  Then he ordered that a message be sent to the mainland advising them of the situation. Depending on what happened in the next few hours, he might need to call on their reserve company to assist with hunting the commandos down. To this Temura objected strongly: to call for assistance was a sign of incompetence, an admission of weakness.

  Tomei ignored him and the message was sent.

  18. MUSCHU ISLAND:

  12 APRIL, 1500 HOURS

  Fifty metres east of their foldboat hide the Australians paused. They were in heavy undergrowth, with Lieutenant Barnes in the lead. He stopped and signalled everyone to go to ground, indicating he could hear voices ahead. Moving slowly forward until he could see along the beach, he peered through the grass to glimpse a group of twelve—possibly more—Japanese soldiers in the area where the boats were hidden. Two heavy machine guns were mounted on the beach covering the hide. Withdrawing carefully, he moved back to the others, signalling that the area was crawling with Japanese and indicated they should head inland and find a safe lay-up.

  After travelling about 200 metres into the jungle, they found their equipment cache, picked up two of the radios, then continued on for another hundred metres. Satisfied they couldn’t be overheard, with two of the patrol covering the direction they’d come in, they gathered together to discuss their situation.

  The consensus wasn’t good. It now looked as if the entire island was alerted. HDML 1321 would be at the rendezvous between Cape Warbu and Cape Barabar during the night and without the foldboats they’d have no way to reach it. With the Japanese waiting, signalling the HDML for a beach pick-up wasn’t practical. The boat would have to lay off the reef and send in a Zodiac. Even if the sea was calm, crossing the reef would be dangerous and then they’d still have the Japanese to confront. The HDML could of course lay down a significant barrage of covering fire, but in doing so it would become a prime target for the heavy machine guns and cannon on Warbu—not to menti
on the two large naval guns further east. Sitting off the reef less than a kilometre from shore, the HDML would be blown out of the water.

  Sapper Dennis suggested they move further inland to higher ground and get a radio working. They could then set up an alternative rendezvous for the HDML, perhaps west of Cape Saum where there were no outposts and they could send in a boat to pick them up. The idea was agreed on by the two signallers, but rejected by the others as the Japanese would be listening out for any radio transmissions.

  Dennis then proposed that they should sneak up on the Japanese, wipe out the gun crews and as many enemy soldiers as possible, then retrieve the foldboats and put to sea using the outboards. Once over the reef they should be safe. However, they were uncertain exactly how many soldiers were guarding the kayaks, and while they’d have the element of surprise on their side, a night attack without sufficient time for a thorough reconnaissance beforehand was very risky. They’d have to kill every soldier, because once they were in their boats, with no covering fire they’d be easy targets for anyone on shore until they crossed the reef. The idea was ruled out.

  Another option was to use their torches to signal the HDML. They could do this from one of the headlands in relative safety as the HDML would be within torch range all night. This would need to be a one-way conversation, as any return signalling would not only reveal the HDML’s position but could also compromise those on shore. However, the signallers had previously discussed this scenario with the ship’s captain. There were other ways they could acknowledge receipt of light signals, including firing shots from their .50 calibre machine gun—one round for yes, two for no. The quick bursts of gunfire, without tracer, could be heard on shore, but their source would remain a mystery to the Japanese. After all, there was a war in progress and gunfire was fairly common in these parts. This option looked like a possibility, and using it they could set up an extraction from the northern shore. However, the idea was dismissed when an examination of the remaining torches found that all of them had leaked and their batteries shorted into useless lumps of soggy chemical.