by Peter Watt
Morning came with scudding clouds and a stiff breeze. Jack lay in his bunk aboard the schooner and wished that he had not drunk so much the day before with Paul who snored in a bunk on the opposite side of the cabin.
With some effort Jack heaved himself out of his bunk and padded to the sink to wash away the dryness brought on by the over-consumption of alcohol at the Moresby pub. He vaguely remembered that Paul had kept up with him and their old friends from his prospecting days. It was unusual to see the normally reserved man drink so much and Jack could only put it down to the fact that he was attempting to drown the thoughts of being separated from his wife and daughter.
‘Are you two alive?’ Lukas called cheerfully down from the deck. He had not been afforded the opportunity of getting drunk with his father. Someone had to remain aboard and supervise last minute details before they could set sail this day.
‘Just,’ Jack moaned, rinsing his face with the cold water. ‘But I am not sure about your Uncle Paul.’
At the mention of his name, Paul Mann rolled over to blink at the first rays of the rising sun filtering weakly down through the porthole between breaks in the clouds. ‘I am alive,’ he groaned, and let his legs hit the floor. He sat at the edge of the bunk. ‘But I wish I wasn’t.’
Jack raised a feeble grin. ‘Never seen you get so drunk before,’ he said, throwing his friend a wet cloth to bathe his face. ‘Wait ’til I tell Karin how you played up last night in the bar.’
‘I didn’t – did I?’ Paul questioned in a shocked voice before realising that Jack was kidding.
‘Well, old friend,’ Jack said, ‘time for you and I to go ashore. Our passenger should be here pretty soon.’
‘I am your passenger,’ Paul said quietly lest he split his head with undue sound.
‘You are kidding?’ Jack asked. ‘You can’t be the man Lukas is taking to Rabaul.’
Paul enjoyed the effect his announcement had made on Jack. ‘I am.’
‘But why the bloody hell didn’t you tell me this yesterday?’ Jack asked. All he had known was that whoever the passenger was, he had the highest government clearance.
‘I was sworn to secrecy by your military people not to tell anyone,’ Paul replied, rubbing at his eyes to remove the imagined grit. ‘Not even you and Lukas. I am not supposed to tell you anything, as you can understand.’
Jack stared at his friend with new respect. Whatever the mission was it must be dangerous. Paul Mann, former highly decorated officer in the Kaiser’s army, was undertaking a mission in Rabaul for the government of his former enemies on the battlefields of France and Belgium. ‘Cobber, whatever you are up to has got to be bloody interesting,’ Jack said in awe. ‘So what the bloody hell are you up to?’
Paul heaved himself to his feet and felt the gentle rock of the boat’s decking below his feet. ‘I wish I could tell you,’ Paul said. ‘But I swore an oath to secrecy. I know you will understand, old friend.’
Jack nodded. He understood but did not agree. Whatever Paul had been asked to do had the smell of danger about it and Jack feared for his friend’s life.
Shaved, washed and back in uniform, Jack hefted his kitbag on his shoulder and climbed up to the wharf. Momis and the Solomon Islander crew had returned from a visit to a village outside Moresby where it was rumoured alcohol and women could be found. They were a sorry sight as it seemed they had also found a fight. Momis had a swollen lip and the other two had half-closed eyes. Jack did not ask. At least they had got back to man the schooner.
Now it was Jack’s turn to watch a boat depart. In the last twenty-four hours it seemed all the people he cared about were sailing from his life. He waited until the schooner was well out into the channel before turning to go to the airfield where he had a plane to catch.
FIFTEEN
Built in the shadow of active volcanoes, the township of Rabaul had known tragedy in its short history. An eruption had occurred in the late 1930s, nearly destroying the town. Just prior to Lukas and Paul sailing for the island a series of violent earthquakes had shaken the town and surrounding country.
Paul would have liked to have explained to Lukas the secret mission he was carrying out on behalf of Australian naval intelligence. Paul Mann had agonised over his role in this second war of his life. He had a son risking his life for his former enemies and yet Paul felt the whispers of ‘coward’ in his own life. Once he had been a soldier, and now knew it was again time to cast his lot to protect his adopted homeland and family from this new and ruthless enemy which was poised to invade Papua. In the end Paul’s conscience had led him to the offices of naval intelligence and hence to this journey to New Britain. The Royal Australian Navy had long recognised the strategic importance of Rabaul Harbour and Paul now had a small but important part to play in the overall scheme to secure specific objectives in the event of war. But war had come suddenly to the Pacific, so now the mission had to be carried out under the most dangerous of conditions.
Paul sat at the chart table finishing his morning mug of coffee and poring over a chart of the harbour only a few sailing hours away. The schooner wallowed and slapped through a rising sea and outside the cabin the sky was awash with low scudding rain clouds threatening a downpour. The weather was a reflection of Paul’s brooding thoughts about his mission and his agonising over disclosing it to Lukas, who he regarded more as an adopted son. If he could not trust Lukas Kelly then he could trust no one, he considered. Maybe he could … Paul’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Lukas’s cry on deck.
‘Uncle Paul! Get up here, quick!’
Paul scrambled from the table scattered with charts and up the ladder into the early morning sunlight. Off their starboard bow through the scudding rain squalls was Praed Point, and Paul could see what had caused Luke’s urgent call. Many aircraft circled and dived at a coastal battery guarding the entrance to Rabaul Harbour. The distant sounds of explosions and machine gun fire drifted to the schooner.
‘Japanese aircraft,’ Paul said. ‘The poor bastards manning the coastal guns are taking a hammering.’ He glanced at Lukas behind the wheel who stood gaping and realised that this was the first time Lukas had witnessed the scenes of war.
The aircraft peeled away and with growing fear Paul noticed that they were directly under the flight path of the Japanese dive bombers as they droned lazily away from the smoking ruins onshore. His fear was justified when one of the aircraft peeled away from its formation and came down at them to level off just above the waves. It was coming straight on.
‘Swing the wheel!’ Paul screamed. ‘Get her over.’ In an instant Paul had appraised the situation and realised that they were being lined up for a strafing run. The fountains of water already spouting ahead and clawing their way towards the schooner verified this. Unopposed, the Japanese pilot had been able to line them in his sights for an easy run of machine gunning them from bow to stern.
Lukas obeyed and the big schooner heeled over to present a three-quarter target to the pilot’s guns. The bullets slammed into the hull and deck which exploded with slivers of timber. Paul could feel the shudder of the bullet impact under his feet and instinctively threw himself down whilst Lukas half-crouched behind the wheel, continuing to turn the schooner about. The deckhands had sought cover behind the hatch openings.
All could hear the terrifying roar of the engine directly overhead and feel the draft of its propeller. When he glanced up Lukas was aware of the great red roundel on the wings. The Japanese aircraft was climbing into the blue sky and the thought of the rifles below came to Lukas. Not that they would prove very useful against a modern fighter plane but at least he was not going to lose his ship without some kind of a fight.
‘It looks like it’s leaving,’ Lukas gasped. ‘Must be out of ammo.’
Paul could also see the plane continuing to climb in the direction of the disappearing formation and agreed with his observation. The formation would have expended all they had on their primary target onshore. It just happened that this
one pilot had a little bit left over and chose to use it up on a target of opportunity.
‘Anyone hurt?’ Lukas called and was relieved to hear that all reported that no injuries were sustained. Paul turned to Lukas who was swinging the sailing ship back on course.
‘You did well,’ Paul said, placing his hand on Lukas’ shoulder. ‘You kept your head.’
Lukas was visibly shaken. He had paled under his tan and Paul could see the receding fear in his eyes. ‘I thought we were dead,’ he rasped, his mouth suddenly dry. ‘I could see the flame from his guns and even saw the bastard’s face when he flew over. I swear he was smiling.’
‘We were lucky,’ Paul reassured. ‘That is all part of war.’
‘Were you scared?’ Lukas asked.
‘Scared out of my wits,’ Paul replied.
‘At least you were able to react. If we hadn’t heeled over he would have caught us from stem to stern. Your decision was not one of a frightened man.’
‘It was fear that caused me to make a split second decision, never forget that,’ Paul said gently. ‘Believe me Lukas, I was scared … Now it’s time to check for damage and for you to steer us safely into the harbour. We have a job to do and I fear that what we just witnessed is only the tip of the Japanese sword.’
Lukas steered the schooner under motor past Matupi Island and into Simpson Harbour. As they approached the townships, even from the deck they could see an eerie absence of the bustle of an important town. Recent volcanic eruptions from the surrounding mountains had clothed much of the town in grey dust and the visits by the Japanese bombers caused smoke to rise from twisted wharfs and burning buildings. The once peaceful, pretty town of old German colonial buildings looked wounded and worn.
Paul slipped an old .38 revolver that Jack had given him many years earlier into his belt and gathered together a small blanket-wrapped swag of a few personal items. He dropped it on the deck and stood with Lukas. ‘No one to welcome us ashore,’ he said. ‘Place looks deserted.’
‘Maybe they are all indoors or in shelters somewhere,’ Lukas agreed, gliding the Independence into a berth at a deserted wharf showing signs of damage.
‘I don’t like it,’ Lukas said, surveying the area while Momis and his boys leapt ashore to secure the schooner. All Lukas could see were the rib-skinny native dogs roaming the streets alongside their better kept four-footed European cousins. The place was like a ghost town.
Lukas glanced at the rifle leaning against the railing, hoping that he would not have to use it. ‘I don’t think you should continue with your mission, Uncle Paul.’
Paul Mann hefted his swag over his shoulder but hesitated. ‘I have to honour my oath to those who have put their trust in me,’ he said uncertainly.
‘I think the bloody Japs must be already ashore somewhere and the town has been deserted. It looks like the residents have gone bush up into the hills.’
‘Then I will find out when I go ashore,’ Paul replied. ‘There is no reason for you to stay around. Better you get away now.’
‘You have rocks in your head, Uncle Paul, if you think we are going to sail away without you.’
‘You were paid to get me here,’ Paul argued. ‘Now your job is done. Besides, officially Germany is an ally of the Japanese so even if they take me I can always fall back on that.’
‘I have a bad feeling that they will not bother to take the time to check you out – just shoot you on sight,’ Lukas countered.
Paul knew Lukas was worried for his safety but he had once been a soldier and understood the meaning of following orders. ‘If it seems that the Japanese are already here I promise I will return with you. If they are not then I must continue with my mission.’
‘Fair enough,’ Lukas agreed. ‘I will hold you to your word but the first sight of any Japs and we get out of here quick smart. You want me to come with you, Uncle Paul?’ Lukas asked.
‘Best you stay here with the boat,’ Paul replied. ‘It might be an idea to have Momis and the boys stand by on the wharf ready to slip the ropes if we have to leave in a hurry.’
Not all the town was deserted. In the Chinese quarter, people still went about their business. After all, as Asians, they did not count to the European administration when it came to evacuation plans and all that they could do was wait in fear for the Japanese to come. They attempted to convince themselves that with good fortune they might just be left alone.
Meanwhile, Fuji Komine was elated. His brothers were a mere few hours away from occupying the strategic port nestling between the volcanoes, but he had work to do before then. There was bomb damage assessment and the location of any military forces to be located and reported to the fleet off the coast. Now he could move freely, as he would still be considered a Chinese national by any European administrators he may stumble upon in the town. He was not armed except for the knife but felt he did not need to be under the current circumstances.
The first place he had decided he must investigate was the wharf district. It was important to send a comprehensive report to his superiors on the state of the docking facilities. With an air of confidence Fuji set out for the wharf jutting into Simpson Harbour.
Paul moved cautiously into the town of low-set colonial buildings.
‘Who are you, cobber?’ a voice challenged him from a building.
‘Paul Mann out of Moresby,’ Paul replied, sensing that he may be in the centre of someone’s rifle sights.
A middle-aged man stepped from a shop. He was unarmed but gripped a wooden crate of supplies. ‘Herb Boyd,’ the man said. ‘I was just closing down my shop. You got transport?’
‘Just arrived by boat,’ Paul answered. ‘What’s going on around here?’
The man placed the crate on the road and wiped his brow. The crate contained vials of quinine, tea, bags of sugar and other essentials needed to live for a short time in the bush. ‘We have reports that the Japs are just offshore with a bloody great invasion force. It’s too big for our boys to take on so anyone left is heading up into the hills and inland. I would strongly recommend that you don’t hang around here very long.’
‘Do you have transport?’ Paul asked.
Frowning, the Australian shopkeeper glanced at Paul. ‘You a Kraut?’ he asked bluntly. ‘Thought all you blokes had been interned from here in ’40.’
‘I was born in Germany,’ Paul replied. ‘But I am a loyal Papuan.’
‘That’s okay with me,’ Herbert Boyd said, thrusting out his hand to Paul. ‘You can come with me, old chap. Just give me a hand with this stuff and then we will be off. I have a car parked around the corner.’
‘Thanks, cobber,’ Paul said. ‘I just have to report back to the skipper of the boat that brought me here that I will be all right. I can tell him to leave immediately.’
‘No worries,’ Herbert grinned, taking up his crate of supplies. ‘Just hope your mate gets his boat out of the harbour before the whole bloody Jap navy arrives. I will wait for you around the corner but don’t be too long. We have to get up the hills before dark.’
‘I will be quick, my friend,’ Paul reassured him.
Fuji stared not so much at the schooner as at the young man with the eye patch who stood on its deck. Years had passed but not faded Fuji’s memory of an incident that had brought great loss of face to his father. On the beach off the Mann plantation Fuji had sworn to kill one of the men responsible for his father’s humiliation. It was Lukas Kelly, Fuji thought, as the memory of the day renewed the hatred in him. This day was his. The naval forces of his country were poised to deliver his countrymen to Rabaul and here – only a matter of a few yards away – was a chance to settle old scores. Fuji was elated.
However, the rifle he could see leaning against the boat’s rail and within reach of Lukas Kelly dampened his joy. He was only armed with a knife. What he needed to do was get close enough to Kelly to use it. Fuji could also see the three Solomon Islanders with the schooner and correctly guessed that the men were crew. They were ano
ther problem to overcome, but such was his desire for revenge that he knew he would come up with something. So preoccupied was he in keeping the schooner and its crew under observation that he did not notice the figure approaching from the town.
Paul Mann frowned. The Asian man watching the Independence was doing so in a very covert way. He was crouching out of sight as if not wanting to be seen by Lukas and the boys. Maybe he was a Chinese desperate to get off the island by hijacking the Independence, Paul thought, drawing the revolver from its holster. ‘Hey, you. Rausim!’ he roared, waving the pistol to emphasise his meaning.
Startled, the man spun around and for a brief moment their eyes met.
‘Fuji!’ Paul exclaimed in a whisper. He could never forget the young man who had brought death to the Mann plantation years earlier and whose name had been linked to Victoria’s. It was obvious that Fuji also recognised him as his eyes widened in alarm. The sudden, totally unexpected meeting froze Paul to inactivity but not so Fuji. He came out of his half-crouch behind a pile of heavy ropes to sprint away, ducking and weaving in the expectation of a volley of shots from Paul’s revolver. Fuji flung himself off the wharf in a shallow dive to splash into the waters below.
Paul caught his breath and flung his arm out to fire the pistol in the direction Fuji had taken, but the bullets ripped through empty space.
Lukas had heard Paul’s shout and then heard the shots. Without hesitating he snatched up the rifle and ran to the schooner’s railing. He could see a figure running, then diving from the wharf into the water. Lukas’ attention was on searching out his Uncle Paul and he was relieved to see him standing on the wharf with his pistol drawn.