by Don Dennis
Dennis backed up quickly then left the track, cutting into the undergrowth until he reached an area covered by tall grass. Dropping into cover he remained there waiting for signs of pursuit, but none came.
The light was fading now and Dennis was tiring. He decided to backtrack, circle the garden, then make for the rendezvous again to see if the others had returned. If not, he’d set out for the western end of the island. Checking his bearings, he found the track back to the gardens and moved quickly along it. As he approached the spot where he’d shot the last Japanese he heard voices, so he took cover behind a fern tree. To his right he then saw four Japanese stealing along another track that emerged just a few metres away. Unable to move further around behind the fern in time and knowing the Japanese would see him, Dennis levelled his Sten and shot the leader. He then fired a six-round burst into the others and heard a groan and a yelp of pain. Not stopping to see the results, Dennis bolted down the track for 200 metres, then headed north into the jungle until he was satisfied he wasn’t being followed. Nearly exhausted, he searched until he found some heavy undergrowth. Unable to go any further, he decided to make this his lay-up for the night. Crawling between the thick roots of a tree, he made himself as comfortable as possible and prepared to wait out the night.
23. SIXTH DIVISION HQ, AITAPE:
14 APRIL, 1600 HOURS
At the afternoon briefing, the SRD detachment commander announced that as the Operation Copper team had failed to make rendezvous with HDML 1321 on the nights of April 12 and 13, it was likely the patrol had run into ‘unexpected difficulties’. The Navy would, however, continue patrolling the area: HDML 1321 was due to be relieved on station by a Fairmile—a larger patrol vessel—which would remain in the area, checking the alternative rendezvous points for the next four nights. Tactical Reconnaisance aircraft would also continue their flights twice a day in accordance with the contingency plan, but as yet they’d sighted nothing.
The chances of all the patrol’s radios failing simultaneously were remote. They’d either lost them or were being prevented from using them. Coupled with failure to make the rendezvous, the outlook, while not yet hopeless, ‘wasn’t favourable’.
There was a moment’s silence from those gathered at the briefing, as the realisation sank in that the eight men were probably dead or had been captured by the Japanese. However, everyone had become accustomed to the setbacks of war—there’d be time for grieving later.
The briefing resumed, moving on to the next item, a review of Senator James Fraser’s visit to the Aitape area. It seemed the Senator’s ‘meet the troops’ soiree had resulted in a welter of complaints to the politician, who’d beaten a hasty retreat to the officer’s mess before boarding his C-47 back to Australia. There was a faint ripple of laughter.
After the briefing, Captain McKay spoke in private with the SRD commander, asking if anything more could be done for the Muschu patrol. The commander merely shrugged and reminded him there was still hope. But, he added, seeing that there’d been no radio communication, even what little hope they had was fading. The patrol could be hiding somewhere on the island well away from the coast, but this was a long shot. And even if they were, unless there was some means of flying in and plucking them from the jungle, nothing could be done for them.
Captain Tomei was starting to doubt his own judgement. He’d just received reports from the eastern sector telling how three more men had been shot dead and another two wounded. There were no reports of enemy casualties, and conflicting reports about their numbers. It seemed the commandos were everywhere, yet nowhere, setting ambushes or dashing through the jungle taunting his men, then turning and killing them.
Again he realised that in the initial confusion of contact, these reports tended to be exaggerations. So calling in his staff and the lieutenant commanding the marine detachment, he confronted them with the problem and set about coldly analysing the situation.
After half an hour they arrived at the following conclusions.
Enemy forces: it was likely that two groups of eight Australian commandos had landed on the night of 11 April—one group near Cape Barabar, the other of size unknown in an area yet to be determined, probably near the Cape Saum defences, which were unoccupied at the time.
Enemy intentions: sabotage and reconnaissance.
Course of action: prevent further sabotage of defences; kill or capture the Australian commandos.
Captain Tomei’s adjutant reminded him that capturing a prisoner would be most desirable. As the invasion of Wewak was expected soon, HQ 18th Army was most anxious to learn what they could about the Australians’ plan and seeing that the commandos were obviously a prelude to the invasion, there was a possibility they would have useful information.
Captain Tomei agreed. Over the next hour they worked out a detailed plan. First they’d man all the defences at the eastern end of the island. Then using the marine detachment, starting at dawn, they’d search the area west of those defences where the commandos were last reported, the aim being to corner them or drive them south towards the sea.
In addition, all other defensive positions around the island would be occupied. However, harvesting and food gathering would continue, with all work parties fully armed and sentries posted.
A comprehensive field telephone reporting procedure would be implemented and additional cable laid to those gardens being worked but not yet linked to the telephone network.
Tomei wanted everything to be in position by morning. The marine lieutenant agreed that his men could move by night. He’d take four squads— 40 men—and march them quickly to the eastern sector via the track. It would involve some risk of ambush by the Australians, but he doubted they would be equipped for the type of intentional ambush that could cope with 40 men at night. He also knew Australian tactics—if his men moved well spaced, there would be no way they could be overwhelmed by eight or even sixteen men. Equipped with one light machine gun for every squad, his men would probably overwhelm any attacker who dared set upon them.
The other twenty men could remain here in reserve, ready to move quickly to any point on the island at a moment’s notice.
His marines also brought with them two backpack radio sets. This would give them a distinct advantage while deployed, enabling him to split his force into two groups, yet coordinate them and remain in contact with headquarters.
After thoroughly examining the plan, orders were drafted and despatched by runner and field telephone to outlying units. Tomei was confident that by this time tomorrow, he’d be done with the Australians and life could return to normal.
24. MUSCHU ISLAND:
15 APRIL, 0500 HOURS
An hour before dawn, a rain shower passed over the island. Dennis woke and was able to drink from water channelling off leaves and collecting in dips in the ground. The rain stopped before he could fill his canteen, but he knew he’d be able to find more water later. He’d slept fitfully, insects and nervous adrenaline combining to make deep sleep impossible. However, gone was the utter exhaustion that had descended on him at the end of the previous day. Apart from a welter of cuts, bruises and insect bites, he was in good condition. He still had his pack, with emergency rations, medical kit, Sten, spare magazines, knife, maps and compass.
Now all he had to do was avoid contact with the enemy and make his way to the western end of the island.
Then swim five kilometres through shark-infested water.
Then walk 20 kilometres through enemy-held territory.
Then find the Australian lines and hope they didn’t see him first and shoot before he could identify himself.
For a moment the enormity of what he was attempting overwhelmed him. But he shrugged it off. The only way to deal with the situation was to take it one step at a time. No point worrying about what might happen, just deal with things as they came. It was a philosophy his family had always lived by and it had served him well.
He thought about his mother, wondered how she was coping.
She had no idea that he was stuck on a tropical island swarming with Japanese hell-bent on killing him. Probably just as well, he thought—not for her sake but for the Japs. She was a tough woman who’d raised six children after his father’s death and, being born in the bush, could ride, shoot and rope a steer with the best of the drovers. Let her loose here and all the Japs would soon be lined up, caps in hand, having their ears and fingernails inspected for cleanliness.
And then there were his three sisters, always scheming ways to annoy their big brother. He wondered about the youngest, Alice. She was expecting her first child this month. His two brothers would also be oblivious to his predicament. One was in the Air Force, a mechanic who could repair an aero engine with chewing gum and baling wire, the other too young to join up, yet itching for the day he could fulfil his comic-book fantasies about beating off the enemy with nothing more than a cricket bat.
Dennis wondered about the others in the patrol. Where were they? Had they been captured? During the night he thought he’d heard the Japanese taunting him, calling for him to give himself up. Once he swore he heard Mike Hagger shout ‘Don’t let the little bastards get you . . .’ But at night when drifting on the border of sleep, the mind does strange things. He put it down to an overworked imagination fuelled by exhaustion.
His first aim was to make sure he could still fight. As soon as light permitted, and after checking to ensure there were no enemies around, he disassembled his Sten. A perversity of most weapons is their ability to rust, and at this the Sten excelled. This one had been dunked in the ocean, dragged through mud, been rained on yet still had worked perfectly when called for. Opening the tiny cleaning kit he carried, he quickly cleaned, oiled then reassembled the weapon. After checking the action and finding the bolt slid smoothly, he replaced the magazine, cocked the weapon and applied the safety catch.
He unloaded three of the remaining magazines, then cleaned, oiled and refilled them. After swapping over the magazine on the Sten for one of those he’d cleaned, he unloaded the partially used magazine. After cleaning then reloading it, he put it in his left-side magazine pouch so he wouldn’t mistake it for a fully loaded magazine. The other two full magazines he placed in the right-side pouches. In all, he counted 105 rounds. He’d used almost half his ammunition in the brief contacts he’d had so far.
Before he packed away his cleaning kit he checked the oil container, a small screw-top brass tube carried by all Australian soldiers. He’d used almost half its contents, which meant he’d have to ration the oil for future cleanings. If he didn’t fire the Sten then it would remain clean a little longer, but to ensure it was always in perfect working order it needed regular attention—preferably twice a day in this climate. He’d have to be careful with the remaining oil: it would be ironic if he ended up with a useless weapon just for the want of a few drops of oil. He screwed the top back on hard, then wrapped the tube in the cleaning rag and tucked it securely away in his pack.
Surprisingly he wasn’t hungry, so he decided to eat only after he found more water. His food rations were compressed fruit bars and protein concentrates, and without water they’d set in his bowels like concrete. He’d experienced that before and it was something veteran soldiers avoided.
Shrugging on his webbing, Dennis snapped off a few small tree branches and shoved the stems in his clothing to camouflage his outline, then smeared his face and hands with mud. After checking around him and waiting another ten minutes to make sure there were no Japanese in the area, he left the hide. He’d decided not to use the tracks as the enemy would be on full alert after yesterday’s activity and would probably set ambushes along the trails and streams. Instead, he’d cut west cross-country following compass bearings until he was well clear of the eastern sector. The Japanese wouldn’t expect him to head for their main base areas, so he felt he had a good chance of staying clear of them.
Before heading off, he decided to make one last check of the rendezvous in case the others had managed to return there. It took about ten minutes to reach the bomb crater, and Dennis carefully surveyed the area from cover. There was no sign of the others and, from what he could see, no new boot prints—certainly none with the distinctive Australian sole pattern. Of this he was absolutely sure. So what had happened to them? If they hadn’t been killed or captured, they would be proceeding with the agreed plan—heading west for Cape Samein and then on to the mainland. With luck, they’d all meet and be able to make the crossing together.
Leaving the crater he pushed on through the undergrowth, heading west. The jungle was thick and dark, with motes of light shafting through the canopy and dappling the leafy ground. The insects were now out in force, buzzing, zipping, stinging. After about half an hour, the dense foliage gave way to an area several kilometres wide, covered with high kunai grass and scattered palms. He began crossing the kunai, relieved to be out in the open and away from the insects, even though he was more exposed.
He’d gone about a kilometre when he heard movement not far off, followed by a Japanese voice calling. Quickly he hid behind the drooping fronds of a small palm tree, just in time to see two Japanese soldiers come into view. They were about 10 metres apart, using their rifles with bayonets fixed to poke and prod bushes as they advanced. As they moved closer, beyond the second man, Dennis could see more soldiers stretching in extended line a hundred metres or more. Although they made little attempt at remaining quiet, constantly calling to each other, he could see they were well organised and disciplined.
Fortunately he was in a position beyond the last man at the end of the line. The soldier passed by the palm tree, seeming to look straight at him, but still kept going. Dennis waited until their voices faded, then cut away from their line of advance at ninety degrees for a kilometre, before taking a bearing with his compass and resuming his westerly course.
After another hour he arrived near a small rock-strewn hill, about 30 metres high. Climbing it, concealed in high grass, he used his compass to take more bearings and fix his position on the map. He couldn’t get a clear view, but he was able to estimate that he was still about 8 kilometres away from his objective. It was now early afternoon and he knew he wouldn’t reach Cape Samein by last light.
After a short rest, he went down the hill and came to a small garden. There were no huts, which meant the garden was only tended occasionally, so he relaxed a little. Scouting around the area he found a narrow track heading west; he could see it hadn’t been used for some time, so he decided to risk following it. The track wound through the low scrub, and after about fifteen minutes he came to a small pond. Remembering the poisoned water at the rendezvous, he searched for footprints, found none, then gratefully noticed small fish swimming among the reeds. Even so he tasted the water before drinking, then filled his canteen.
Continuing along the track, he passed a small stone mill used by the islanders to grind sago flour. Again there were no footprints or signs indicating recent use. After another kilometre, the track climbed a steep hill, and at the top he paused to rest.
Suddenly, from a distance, he heard shots. Crouching low, he realised they were coming from another hill about half a kilometre west. There were no rounds heading in his direction, so he assumed the Japanese were either hunting game, or perhaps the other members of his patrol. Sadly, there was little he could do to help them.
He now decided not to remain on the trail in case the shooting party came his way, so he broke track and headed due south until he again came to high ground. Using compass and map, here he was able to make a reasonable estimate of his position, gauging he had another 6 kilometres to go before reaching Cape Samein. With luck, and depending on how many Japanese were around, he figured he’d make it by midday the following day.
The hill was covered by tall trees surrounded by thick cover, which made it a good defensive position. With dusk approaching, he chose to remain there for the night. Settling in at the base of a large tree, he cleared an area and shrugged off his pack. It was then he re
alised just how sore, tired and hungry he was. With plenty of water, he was now prepared to risk the wrath of the emergency rations, so he broke out the compressed fruit bar, sawed off a portion with his knife and, imagining he was back home, enjoyed his Sunday evening meal.
25. SIXTH DIVISION HQ, AITAPE:
15 APRIL, 1600 HOURS
The staff of Sixth Division now faced a dilemma. All evidence indicated that Operation Copper had failed. However, they were none the wiser as to the future role of the island, nor the condition or location of the naval guns. With the Wewak invasion scheduled to begin in less than a month, it was doubtful whether there’d be time to send in another patrol—and even if there was, doing so without knowing the fate of the Copper team was questionable. It had to be assumed that the enemy was now fully alerted and that new patrols would run a high risk of meeting a similar fate.
Division Intelligence had already requested that the Aitape Signal Intelligence detachment look for any changes in Japanese radio traffic that might give an indication of the patrol’s fate, but little had yet been discovered. The Aitape Allied Translator and Interpreter Service detachment confirmed that most of the non-ciphered voice traffic from the island was of no immediate value, comprising the usual supply requests, food production reports and other non-essential traffic.
Reports from the Allied Intelligence Bureau decryption and translation services back in Australia advised similar low-value content with encrypted communications intercepted from the island. Also, as of 14 April, there’d been no mention by Wewak of a commando raid in routine reports to 18th Army HQ in Rabaul. However, this didn’t necessarily indicate that the Japanese weren’t aware of the raid. After all, reporting a raid-in-progress would involve considerable loss of face, and it was likely that they preferred to wait until there was a positive outcome before reporting such an event.