by Peter Watt
‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Sandy said in a weary voice, stretching out his hand to Paul. ‘Irvin says we don’t have very far to go before we pitch camp for the night. I –’
Sandy’s voice was cut short by the stuttering of a Nambu light machine gun and he suddenly pitched forward with a startled expression on his face.
Paul’s old military instincts screamed ambush! The Japanese had somehow got in front of them. The chatter of the rapid firing was joined by the blast of rifles and the screams of men joining the battle on either side of them.
Sandy fell on Paul, who dragged him back down the slope to avoid the hail of bullets ploughing up the ground at the lip of the slope. Below the slope Paul and Sandy were safe from the line of fire.
‘Jesus, it hurts,’ Sandy groaned, fighting the almost unbearable pain of his numerous bullet wounds. He lay on his back and Paul could see where the Nambu had stitched a close pattern of wounds through Sandy’s hips and stomach. It seemed that he had taken the full volley when the gun opened up, and had Paul been standing then he too would have been hit. Grass and leaves rained down on both men as they lay below the ridge.
‘Oh, God it hurts!’ Sandy screamed, no longer able to contain the terrible pain. ‘For God’s sake Paul, do something!’
Paul realised that he had his pistol in his hand. As the sound of the close-quarter fighting continued on the ridge, he could hear Irvin calling orders to his men. They were probably about twenty yards away in the thicket of saplings clinging to the ridge. At least he was still alive but the situation was confusing. How many Japanese were they up against? Was this the end for them all? The machine gun continued to fire on them in bursts.
Paul glanced down at Sandy’s pain-wrecked face staring up at him. He had seen similar wounds many times before and knew that under the current conditions his friend would die an agonising death. He had to turn off all emotion and not think about Sandy as his friend anymore but merely as a human in extreme pain pleading for the means to avoid the inevitable prolonged suffering.
Paul pulled the trigger of the revolver and the bullet entered Sandy’s head, causing a fine mist of red to shower Paul’s hand. ‘I am sorry, friend,’ Paul muttered as Sandy stared up at the sky with sightless eyes. He placed his hand on Sandy’s face as a gesture of respect for the man who had once saved his life. There was nothing else he could do and he expected that he would probably be soon joining his doomed comrade in death.
The silence came as suddenly as the late afternoon, and with pistol pushed forward Paul scanned the lip of the slope for movement.
‘Hey! You blokes all right?’ Paul heard Irvin’s voice call.
‘Over here,’ Paul replied.
A few moments later he saw Irvin’s worried face appear at the top of the slope.
‘Sandy?’ Irvin asked, and Paul shook his head.
‘We have to keep moving,’ Irvin said. ‘My boys got the Jap MG crew but two others escaped. Looks like we stumbled onto a forward scouting party so the rest won’t be far behind after the ruckus we made.’
Paul stripped Sandy of his identification tags, rifle and spare ammunition. There was no time to bury him. The jungle would be his grave.
‘What happened?’ Paul asked when he was on top of the ridge.
‘The little yellow bastards sprang an ambush on us,’ Irvin replied bitterly. ‘But they bit off more than they could chew with my boys. Buka, over there …’ Irvin said, indicating a black face baring betel-stained teeth and holding up two Japanese soldiers’ heads, ‘was able to outflank the Jap gun crew and finish them off with his machete. He gets to keep the Jap machine gun as a prize for his prowess. It seems we must have walked through their ambush site and they only woke up to us when they saw Sandy, the poor bastard.’
Paul almost pitied the dead Japanese soldiers. He wondered how they had felt, looking up at the big native warrior wielding his razor-sharp machete above his head before he decapitated them.
‘We have to get this show on the road,’ Irvin said.
Paul hefted Sandy’s rifle into his hands. He hoped that he would get a chance to use it on the Japanese and avenge his friend’s death – and assuage his guilt. There was nothing else he could have done under the circumstances, he continued to reassure himself. But he had lost a friend who had saved his life and now the Japanese would pay.
Momis had a fever and lay groaning in his bunk below decks. Lukas took his temperature with the thin thermometer and ascertained it was well above 97 degrees. He could only guess that his leading seaman was down with a bout of malaria.
Lukas consulted his charts and plotted the position of the schooner just north of the port of Morobe in the Huon Gulf. The weather was fair and the sailing good. He picked up the dividers and calculated that he could be in the township within hours before sunset. At least he might find medical aid for his leading hand. Lukas bawled up orders not to spare the sail.
Late that afternoon, Lukas waited patiently on the verandah of the hospital staring out at a grove of palm trees rustling gently in the breeze. A nursing sister appeared in her clean white dress and starched nursing bonnet.
‘I am Sister Megan Cain,’ she said when Lukas turned away from his view of the countryside. ‘Your man should come through but I will be keeping him in overnight to see how he is in the morning.’
Lukas was attracted by the bright blue eyes and warm smile of the young nursing sister. She had a pretty if not beautiful face, spattered with freckles. Her lips were full and under the nursing hat Lukas could see that her hair was a lustrous chestnut colour. Her hips were broad and her bottom well rounded without being what he would consider fat. She exuded a sensuality he sensed immediately and guessed her age to be a couple of years younger than his. ‘Thank you for your help, Sister,’ Lukas mumbled.
‘So it is your boat in the harbour,’ Megan commented, keeping eye contact. ‘I love yachts.’
‘The Independence is a bit more than a yacht,’ Lukas bridled. ‘She is a blue water trading ship.’
‘I did not mean to cast aspersions on your boat, Mr Kelly,’ Megan hastened. ‘I just meant that she appears to be a fine seagoing craft.’
‘No aspersions taken about my really big yacht,’ Lukas replied with a slow smile. ‘Maybe we could drop rank and exchange first names and you could come down to join me in a late afternoon drink on deck.’
His brazen approach had unsettled the nursing sister. There was just the slightest flush under her light tan and freckles.
‘What is your first name, Mr Kelly?’
‘Lukas,’ he replied, offering his hand. ‘Or some people call me Luke – whatever you prefer.’
Megan took the firm but gentle grip. ‘I think Lukas sounds very dignified,’ she said. ‘And I will accept your rather forward offer to have a drink with you when I go off my shift.’
Lukas was surprised at her acceptance and immediately wondered why he had made the offer so impulsively. Whatever it was, it kept a smile on his face as he walked back to the jetty and his really big yacht.
Megan drove down to the wharf in the hospital’s car and came aboard just as the sun was sinking below the jungle-covered hills behind the tiny township of Morobe. She was wearing a light skirt that flowed around her legs, and her hair flowed over her shoulders. The red lipstick she wore accentuated the sensuality of her lips and Lukas could see what had attracted him to her in the first place.
‘Gin and tonic?’ he asked as he helped her step aboard. He had changed into the best pair of slacks and short-sleeved shirt he owned and hoped that his clothes did not smell too strongly of mothballs.
‘G and T will be fine,’ Megan answered when she was aboard, scanning the schooner with an appreciative eye. ‘Where is the rest of your crew?’
‘I, uh, gave them some shore leave to go and buy some betel nut,’ Lukas answered, hoping that he did not sound guilty of plotting for them be alone. Despite her sensuality Megan Cain did not have the air of a woman who would abide any
clumsy sexual overtures. ‘They will be returning later this evening. I had my cook leave us with a curry and rice for supper – if that is okay with you.’
‘Curry and rice sounds fine with me,’ Megan said, turning her attention back to Lukas who was standing just a little bit awkwardly by the mast. ‘So where do we park ourselves?’
Lukas indicated the area at the aft of the boat where they could watch the sunset. Megan made herself comfortable while Lukas brought up the bottle of Gilbey’s and a bottle of tonic water which he poured into a couple of glass tumblers.
‘To the return of peace and good company with equally good food and conversation,’ Megan toasted, raising her glass to Lukas who responded by raising his own and saying, ‘Cheers.’
‘So, tell me all about yourself,’ Megan said, sipping the slightly bitter drink. ‘And don’t leave out how you have come to look like some dashing Caribbean pirate with that eye patch. You strike me as a man with a past full of adventure.’
Lukas was hardly aware of time passing. They talked into the night with the ease of two people who had known each other for years. Lukas told his story only when Megan delicately drew it out of him. In turn, Lukas learned that Megan was the daughter of a wealthy Queensland squatter from the Cloncurry district. She had pursued a nursing career, as was traditional for many of the daughters of wealthy landed gentry in the Outback. Eventually she would return to the district, where she would be expected to marry the eligible son of another property owner.
‘I don’t have anyone in mind back home,’ she said. ‘I am going up to Finschhafen next week to the Lutheran mission station. Will you be sailing up that way in the foreseeable future?’ she asked.
Lukas suddenly smelled his unattended curry burning on the stove in the galley. Without hearing her pointed question he muttered a curse and dashed for the galley where the curried meat had turned into charcoal. Lukas moaned at his incompetence and took the heavy pan from the stove to dump the contents in a bin. ‘Sorry about dinner,’ he called up from below. ‘How about a corned meat sandwich?’ he offered lamely. ‘I make the best corned beef sandwiches in the Pacific.’
On cue, Lukas appeared above deck carrying two huge corned beef and chutney sandwiches on a cracked plate. Megan accepted his apology for a meal with good humour and Lukas forgot the question she had asked. They had just finished the sandwiches and a strong mug of tea when Lukas’s crewmen returned, mumbling their greetings shyly to Megan. Lukas wished that for just once in their lives they had disobeyed him and returned late. Their punctuality meant escorting Megan back to the hospital. Perhaps he would not see her again for a long time – if ever.
‘Well,’ Megan said with a sigh. ‘It has been a truly wonderful evening, Lukas. I wish I was sailing with you to all those exotic ports you must visit.’
Lukas laughed. ‘The only exotic ports the Independence will be sailing to are full of troops waiting for supplies – not much else. I doubt that you would want to be going with me to those places.’
Megan placed her hand on his arm. ‘I think sailing with you would have been reward enough,’ she said quietly. ‘But for now I must return to go on duty on the late shift. I hope I get to see you in the morning when you come for your boy.’
‘I will walk you to the car,’ Lukas said, acutely aware of her touch. ‘And I will see you in the morning.’
He walked Megan to the car and took her hand formally. It was a moment he did not want to end and his hand lingered in hers. ‘Until tomorrow,’ he said, reluctantly releasing her hand and opening the door of the sedan.
‘Goodnight, Lukas Kelly,’ Megan said, putting the car into motion and driving away into the night.
Lukas stood on the wharf, watching her disappear. Shaking his head in bewilderment at the hours they had just spent together, he walked back to his schooner. Megan had a serene beauty that could smite a man’s heart, he thought when he reached the rail of the Independence and hauled himself aboard.
When Lukas came to collect Momis he was disappointed. Momis was weak but well enough to return to the schooner. However, Megan had been called out in the night to attend to a native woman in a nearby village. Lukas would have liked to have stayed in port but there was a war on and it was time for him to set sail back into dangerous waters.
TWENTY-ONE
Lukas was assigned his first task of ferrying Lutheran missionaries from Finschhafen to the port of Lae. Along with the missionaries, the small fleet of coastal boats mobilised from Papuan waters also picked up downed pilots and civilians who had made their way to nominated pick-up points.
Lukas was acutely aware that it was becoming increasingly dangerous working in the tropical seas off Papua and New Guinea as the Japanese navy manoeuvred to cut off the sea lanes. With his father’s help Lukas had been able to spirit an old .303 Lewis machine gun aboard to beef up protection for his schooner. It came with a case of extra rounds of drum-like magazines of ammunition and Momis had taken over the role of the schooner’s machine gunner with relish. Jack had instructed the Solomon Islander in its maintenance and use and Momis proved to be a keen student. Out at sea he had been allowed one precious magazine of ammunition to practise his marksmanship on tins tossed overboard into the wake of the Independence and after half a magazine Momis had proved to be a natural shot, with the tins disappearing under a hail of controlled bursts from the gun. A slap on the back from Lukas brought forth a proud smile of healthy teeth stained by betel nut. The machine gun was fixed to the bow railings where it could be swivelled to confront an aerial threat or cover shore landings, and Momis was never very far from his new love.
Off Finschhafen, Lukas anchored the boat to meet with a small dinghy motoring out from the crowded wharf, which was occupied by other coastal boats also taking aboard refugees. He stood at the portside to assist the passengers being brought to him. Beside the helmsman, a uniformed NGVR man, there were only three other people – two young women and a middle-aged man.
When the dinghy drew closer Lukas could see that one of the young women was a striking, fairskinned beauty whose long, lustrous dark hair was piled up under a broad-brimmed straw hat. The other he recognised as Sister Megan Cain, and immediately broke into a broad smile of unconcealed delight, waving to her.
‘You young Lukas?’ the helmsman of the dinghy called up to the deck of the Independence when it drew alongside.
‘That’s me,’ Lukas replied as the engine in the dinghy was turned off and the small boat drifted alongside the schooner.
‘Cameron Fleay,’ the NGVR soldier called back cheerily. ‘I heard from your old man that you were stupid enough to sign up with us. How’s the eye?’ Lukas flinched – out of habit he was wearing his black leather eye patch. ‘Got to be the worst-kept secret in Papua and New Guinea,’ Cameron continued with a broad grin. ‘Don’t worry, half the blokes I know in the unit should be in an old people’s home. Give us a hand aboard.’
Lukas hurried to throw down a short rope ladder and the first of the dinghy’s passengers scrambled aboard with grace and agility. Carrying a small, battered cardboard suitcase, the pretty young woman with the lustrous dark hair turned to assist Megan and then the older man on deck. As she climbed aboard, the wind whipped the hat from her head, causing her hair to flow over her shoulders.
Very independent, Lukas thought when she politely declined his assistance with a smile. Finally, Cameron came aboard after securing the dinghy to the schooner.
‘Should introduce your passengers,’ he said, grasping Lukas’s hand in an iron grip. ‘This is Pastor Schmidt from South Aussie. He has a Lutheran mission station up country.’
Lukas took the man’s hand. ‘Just call me Lukas,’ he said cheerily. ‘I don’t go much for last names aboard the Independence.’
‘Sister Cain is from Brisbane and was working at the local hospital.’
‘So I finally get to sail to all those exotic ports you visit,’ Megan said smiling, taking Lukas’ hand in hers without shaking hands. ‘And
I hope you have improved your cooking skills since we last met.’
‘Good to see you again,’ Lukas replied. ‘I was kind of hoping that it would not be the last time after treating you to one of my burnt offerings.’
‘Gather you two have already met,’ Cameron said with a grin. ‘And this is Miss Ilsa Stahl, she is a Yank correspondent for some paper back in her country, but needs a lift back to Port Moresby.’
Lukas turned to the dark-haired girl and was met by a frank appraisal. ‘Nice to make your acquaintance,’ he said.
‘Well, I have to get back to the wharf,’ Cameron said. ‘Next time I see your old man I will tell him I saw you in the company of a couple of beautlooking sheilas.’
Lukas found himself blushing under his deep tan. When the NGVR soldier was over the side and the engine of his dinghy kicked over, Lukas gave orders to Momis to sail. It did not pay to be too long in waters where boats congregated. The armed Japanese recon flights were constant and the target tempting to Rabaul-based aircraft.
‘If you come with me,’ Lukas said to his three passengers, ‘I will show you where you will be quartered for the voyage to Lae.’
It was strange, Lukas thought, showing the three to the closed-off bunks, that two of his passengers had German names. Lukas had heard that the Australian government had replaced interned German missionaries with Australians of German descent in the Lutheran Church, and when the pastor thanked Lukas he did so with a broad Australian accent.
Megan also thanked him. ‘I have to admit that I missed your company and conversation after you sailed away,’ she said with a bright smile that highlighted the sparkle of her eyes. ‘And I have had the good fortune to meet your father since you and I met in Morobe. He was in charge of a party to oversee our evacuation. You are very much like him.’
‘Kind of hope not,’ Lukas grinned. ‘I heard that he was a real rascal in his early days around Papua and New Guinea. Well, I should let you settle in and when you are up to it I will have one of my boys brew up a cuppa.’