by Peter Watt
Fuji was not dead. As the RAAF Beaufighter strafed his submarine, he swam to the upturned wreckage of the floatplane and clung to its bullet-riddled wing, while the I–47 submerged. He was about to wave to the dinghy containing his comrades when he saw them lashed by machine gun fire from the Independence. Immediately he slid off the wing and took shelter, treading water behind the downed aircraft, out of line of sight to the schooner. He saw the Independence motor away and waited, clinging to the wing. A pack of sharks suddenly appeared, swimming lazily around the submarine’s dinghy. To his horror Fuji watched them glide in to savage the bodies of his former shipmates. With the Independence out of sight Fuji was able to climb onto the wing of the floatplane, having thankfully escaped the sharks which eventually had finished their feeding frenzy and disappeared.
Night came and so did a terrible thirst, driving Fuji to the point of madness. Clinging to the wreckage, he was hardly aware of the dark shape surfacing. The captain of the bullet-riddled I–47 had waited until it was safe to resurface to repair external damage brought about by the strafing. A lookout noticed Fuji and a dinghy was sent to fetch him aboard.
For the captain of the I–47, his two contacts with the Papuan registered schooner had proved a defeat. That a mere wooden schooner could escape being sunk by him on two occasions caused the young captain to brood on the spiritual aspects of destiny. Should he ever again encounter the schooner, he would use one of his precious torpedoes against it, ensuring its total destruction.
Kenshu mourned the loss of shipmates. At least he had been able to save Leading Seaman Fuji, he reflected as Fuji was hauled aboard. He would get his submarine back to Rabaul for urgent repairs – and when the repairs were completed he would return to Papuan waters.
TWENTY-THREE
Returning from a base camp in the mountains west of Lae, Jack Kelly, with his rifle on one shoulder and kitbag over the other, hardly recognised the town of Port Moresby as he stood amidst the wasteland of bombed-out houses and government buildings. The extensive damage had been the result of Japanese air raids nearly every second day against the troops sent up from Australia to protect the vital port facilities. Jack was pleased to see that the town’s pubs still operated, providing some relief from the stress of war. But to Jack, Port Moresby was now a dreary place filled with the unfamiliar, frightened faces of young soldiers far from home.
‘Jack Kelly – you old bastard. How are you goin’?’ a voice yelled across the street which was littered with sheets of corrugated iron and shards of metal shrapnel from the bombs.
Jack turned to see a familiar face. ‘Sergeant Groves … thought you would have more sense than to hang around here. I thought you would have gone bush with the kanakas.’
The police sergeant strode across the street and enthusiastically shook hands with the man he had once had the task of dumping, completely inebriated, at the door of his friend Paul Mann. A severe tongue-lashing from Karin Mann was far worse a punishment than being locked up for the night on a charge of being drunk and disorderly, Sergeant Ian Groves considered.
‘I see that you signed up again,’ the police sergeant said, observing the three stripes on Jack’s arm. ‘Hope I don’t have to arrest you for being akwilly.’
‘I’m not absent without leave,’ Jack grinned. ‘So you can go and harass a few unfortunate lads who are.’
‘So what are you doing back in Moresby?’ the police sergeant continued.
‘I got some leave and was hoping to meet up with my young fellow when he gets back with the Independence. You haven’t heard anything about the schooner’s whereabouts by any chance?’ he asked.
Ian shook his head. ‘All I have heard was that the Independence was on the ferry run between Finschhafen and Lae a few weeks back – that’s about it.’
‘Thanks, cobber,’ Jack said. ‘Guess I will head out to Sen’s place for a day or two.’
‘Kwong Yu Sen?’
‘Do you know any other Chinaman by that name?’ Jack replied. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Maybe nothing, Jack,’ the police sergeant answered, removing his hat and scratching his balding head. ‘I know Sen is a cobber of yours from way back. It is just something I overheard on the military grapevine. Our signals boys have intercepted radio transmissions coming from out his way. But since they haven’t been able to triangulate they cannot specifically say they are coming out of Sen’s place – just from his direction. Whoever is sending the signals is transmitting in a Japanese code of some kind. The sig boys are always vague about that sort of thing though.’
‘If they are working off a bearing, the signals could be coming from a Jap surface ship or sub in line with Sen’s place off the coast,’ Jack offered.
‘The signals people are pretty sure that the transmitter is in a static loc.’
‘Got to be a mistake,’ Jack replied. ‘I have known Sen for years and he is not capable of working for the Japs. After all, the Chinese hate the Japs as much as we do. It just doesn’t make sense that he would betray his friends. Maybe someone does have a transmitter out near his place. Anyway, I promise you I will have a bit of a look around.’
‘Thanks, Jack,’ the sergeant said, replacing his cap. ‘Hope you hear from that boy of yours soon. I know young Lukas and fortunately for him he is no chip off the old block.’
Jack grinned, shook the sergeant’s hand and turned to walk through the bombed streets towards the track out to Sen’s place.
A good three-hour slog brought him to the gate of Sen’s bungalow in the Papuan bush and he was immediately greeted by the old gardener.
‘Yalia, yu stap gut or nogat?’ Jack asked.
Yalia replied with a wide smile. ‘Mi orait, Masta Jack.’
‘Masta Sen, i stap we?’ Jack asked, and Yalia waved his arm in the direction of the house.
‘Tenk yu tru,’ Jack said, pushing the gate open to walk along a neatly kept gravel path flanked by brilliant bougainvillea flowers. He was pleasantly surprised to see Iris sitting on the verandah, a book in her lap, and Jack marvelled at the serene beauty of the woman who had suffered so much in the last two decades. ‘Iris, how are you?’ he asked as she rose to greet him.
‘Jack, it is wonderful to see you so well considering what you have been doing lately,’ Iris said with a genuine smile of pleasure. The man reminded her of better times when she was in love with his English expedition partner, Lord George Spencer. Impulsively, Iris took his hands and gazed searchingly at his face. ‘You have been unwell,’ she continued with a frown. ‘I see it in your eyes.’
‘Just a touch of malaria back up in the hills. My CO gave me a bit of leave in Moresby to help me to fully get back on my feet. So I thought I might head out your way to see if Sen might have a place for me to put my head down for a couple of days.’
‘I know he will be more than pleased,’ Iris replied, leading Jack to a cane chair. ‘I will have the haus meri fetch us a pot of tea and scones.’
Jack slumped gratefully into a well-worn, comfortable cane chair and placed his rifle against the wall. ‘How is Marie?’
‘From her last letter she is well and happy working for Mr Tom Sullivan in Sydney,’ Iris replied after issuing orders to the haus meri. ‘Mr Sullivan has put her in charge of selling his French perfumes to cosmetic departments. It seems that her accent helps the sales along and she is doing well financially. She even has her own flat and –’
Iris cut herself short when Sen appeared on the verandah wearing a white tropical suit and matching hat. Jack rose to greet his friend.
‘The housegirl said you were here,’ Sen said, and although his tone was friendly enough Jack subtly noticed that his old friend did not extend his hand. ‘Are you just visiting or looking for a bed?’
‘Good to see you, old cobber,’ Jack said, feeling a little uncomfortable at the way Sen had asked the question. ‘I was hoping that I might be able to stay a couple of days if that was okay with you. Moresby is not much of a place to take leave at the moment wi
th all the bombing that has gone on.’
Sen seemed to be considering the request and Jack sensed that he would be some kind of imposition to his old friend. ‘Look, if it is not convenient I can return to Moresby.’
‘No, no, Jack, you are always welcome in my house,’ Sen said, waving off Jack’s protest. ‘I can put you up in the shed behind the store room – if that suits you?’
‘Anywhere with a roof and a soft bed will do,’ Jack replied. ‘It beats where I have been putting my head down for the last few weeks.’
‘Then the matter is settled,’ Sen said, finally extending his hand. ‘I see tea and scones are about to be served and I hope that you don’t mind if I join you.’
Jack pulled over another cane chair and the three sat together amidst the beauty of the tropical garden, a serene oasis in a world of turmoil. The hours passed pleasantly with much talk of how Iris should invest her inheritance from her former fiancé.
As the afternoon drew on, one of the native servants was called for. He guided Jack to his sleeping quarters in the store room. It was a neat, clean corrugated tin shed with a camp stretcher, mosquito net and kerosene lantern, and a packing crate which acted as a low table. The room was empty but well ventilated with its high roof and latched windows.
Jack dropped his kitbag and rifle beside the camp stretcher and thanked the houseboy. He was weary, the bouts of malaria had sapped his strength, and he lay down on the makeshift bed. Sleep came easily and soon Jack was dead to the world. When the houseboy returned to take Jack to dinner in the main house, he could see that the Australian soldier was still in a deep sleep and quietly left him undisturbed.
Some time later Jack felt his shoulder being shaken. ‘Jack, wake up.’
He slowly opened his eyes and was surprised to see that he was in a world of total darkness.
‘Must have slept a bit longer than I thought,’ he mumbled with the sleep still upon him. ‘Iris! What time is it?’ he said, pushing himself onto his elbows and blinking away the sleep.
‘I think it is about midnight,’Iris replied uncertainly. ‘I need to talk to you about a very urgent matter.’
Jack fumbled for the kerosene lantern. With the expertise of a soldier, knowing where all vital pieces of kit were left in the dark, he found a box of matches and struck a light for the lantern. In the flaring of the match he could see Iris’s worried face. He lit the lantern and placed it on the wooden crate, realising that he was still fully dressed. Instinctively Jack sought out his rifle by the bed. It was still there, he thought with relief. He had been fortunate that he was not deep in enemy territory, where to be approached so easily could mean death.
‘What is so urgent,’ Jack asked, rubbing his eyes with the back of his knuckles, ‘that it brings you here at this hour?’
‘I have waited until Sen went to bed before coming to see you,’ Iris said.
Jack could sense her fear. ‘Why all the secrecy?’
‘I have come to you because I could not think of anyone else I could trust with what I know,’ Iris said. ‘Can I trust you, Jack?’
‘I can’t see why not,’he replied, but with just a hint of wariness. ‘What’s up?’
‘I think my brother-in-law is reporting to the Japanese. I know he has a radio transmitter.’
The revelation brought Jack fully awake. ‘Are you a hundred per cent sure? Can you prove what you are saying?’
‘I have seen him making a transmission and have since learned that a Japanese man by the name of Fuji was staying with him just before I arrived in Moresby. The natives who work for Sen talk, and the houseboy confirmed the rumour.’
‘Why haven’t you reported your suspicions to the police in Port Moresby?’ Jack asked.
‘I am virtually a non-person to the authorities here on account of being Eurasian and was afraid that if I did report Sen, your government might just imprison me for simply being in the same house with a spy. I was waiting until either you or Lukas came to visit.’
In the dim light of the small room Jack frowned. ‘I believe all that you are saying,’ he said. ‘And what you are saying leaves me with no other choice than to confront my old friend. First, I will need you to show me where the radio is hidden.’
Fear flitted across Iris’s face. ‘I am afraid to go to his office. He may discover us.’
Jack reached for his rifle. ‘Not much he can do when I have this,’ he said grimly, turning her expression of fear to reassurance. ‘So let us go and speak to Sen.’
‘There is something else,’ Iris said as she followed Jack, who held the lantern in one hand and trailed his rifle in the other. ‘I have heard from the girls here that this Japanese man who visited my brother-in-law has a woman in a village down on the coast. They say the woman is pregnant to him.’
‘Do you know her name?’
‘She is a Motu girl called Keela,’ Iris told him. ‘She lives in the village not far from here.’
Jack did not reply as they reached the front verandah of the darkened house. He stopped, placed the lantern on the ground and pulled back the bolt of his rifle to feed a round into the chamber. ‘You carry the lantern,’he whispered.
Together, they entered the house and went to Sen’s office. Iris told Jack where the radio was hidden; he placed his rifle on the floor and dropped down on his knees to slide the panel aside. When he flipped the catches on the battered suitcase, he found himself staring at the radio. He had hoped that Iris was wrong but the evidence before his eyes was damning enough.
‘It was only a matter of time,’ Sen said sadly from the doorway behind them.
Jack turned cautiously with the aim of reaching the rifle at his fingertips. But when he glanced up he could see that Sen was not armed.
‘I don’t understand,’ Jack said in a voice laced with sadness and disbelief. ‘I have known you for years and would have trusted you with my life. How could you work for the Japs considering what they have done to your relatives in China?’
‘I had no choice, Jack,’ Sen sighed. ‘Somehow, I am glad that it was you who found out and not some stranger.’
Jack stood and faced the smaller man. ‘You are working for the very people who want to kill us all … why?’
‘It was what you call blackmail,’ Sen said. ‘But I will tell you all about it over a glass of scotch. You won’t need your rifle,’ he added when he saw Jack swing it up to cover him. ‘I have long resigned myself to this day and do not want to see any harm befall my family. That is all I ask.’
Jack nodded and eased the rifle down. He could see in his old friend’s eyes that he had accepted his fate. The three of them went to the living room, where Sen had a well-stocked liquor cabinet. He produced a bottle of good scotch and three tumblers. Iris remained silent, awed by the events that had transpired so quickly. She had expected resistance from her brother-in-law if he thought he might be cornered – not complete capitulation.
‘Before the last war I was approached by the German authorities in New Guinea to work for them,’ Sen began. ‘I think it was 1912 or ’13,’ he said. ‘They asked me to move into Papua and spy on you Australians.’
‘Why you?’ Jack asked.
‘Because I already had a well-established native recruiting business, which made it easier for me to be accepted by Europeans needing labour for the gold mines and plantations. I was able to send reports on just about everything.’
‘You used me in your spying?’ Jack asked, dumbfounded by the extent of his friend’s espionage history.
‘No, Jack, you were a genuine friend who I always liked and respected. I have never used you.’
But this was a lie as Sen had used Jack and Paul Mann to dispose of the infamous and brutal recruiter of native labour, Tim O’Leary. He had been well aware that the formidable expertise of the two men would rid him of a man who had the ability to betray him to the Australians for his spying role in the Great War. ‘My role should have ended with the war but when the Germans signed their pact with the J
apanese I was transferred to Japanese intelligence because of my value to their operations in this part of the world. Fuji Komine returned in disguise to threaten me with exposure to the Australian authorities if I did not comply with him. My first loyalty is to my family. I had to do what I was told. I did not want to help the Japanese, and being Chinese I despise them as my ancestors have loathed the Monkey Men for centuries. That is all I can say except that I would do anything to prove to you how much I regret going along with Fuji.’
Jack stood and walked back to the library, returning with his rifle. ‘There is something you can do to prove how much you regret your decision to work for the bloody Japs,’ he said, flicking the safety catch off the rifle and unexpectedly passing it to his old friend. Startled, Sen took the rifle. ‘Point it at me, Sen,’ Jack said. ‘Believe me, all you have to do is pull the trigger and I will no longer be a witness to your spying activities. But if you put the rifle down I will shift heaven and earth to help you and your family get out of this mess. I have friends who can help.’
Slowly, Sen rose to his feet, pointing the rifle at Jack.
Petrified, Iris remained seated, mouth agape in horror. Jack Kelly was crazy, she thought. Sen would kill him and then kill her.
The rifle was levelled at Jack’s chest, and the men stared into each other’s eyes. Seconds felt like minutes to them both, until finally Sen passed the rifle back to Jack, butt first. ‘I doubt that you would have done that with a loaded rifle, Jack,’ Sen said with the slightest hint of humour.
Jack took the rifle, grasped the bolt back spinning a live round into the air. Its brass case gleamed gold in the light of the lantern as it spun and clanked onto the floor. Sen’s eyes grew wide with shock. ‘I needed to know if I could trust you,’ Jack said, placing the rifle beside him.
‘What if I had pulled the trigger?’ Sen gasped.
‘We have known each other for too many years,’ Jack replied, picking up his tumbler of scotch and swigging the lot down. ‘And if you had, I would have been dead wrong in my estimation of you.’