“Worth a try…”
“Pass the word that they can use the kitchen at the big house. They can brew up at least during the day.”
Blue spoke to Pat while George returned to the map. A few minutes and he was disturbed by a buzzing in the distance.
“Can you hear planes, Blue?”
They bellowed together.
“Air raid! Lewises ready. Take cover.”
The men scattered under the rain trees at the bottom of the valley, joining the lorries parked up under the shade and almost invisible. George watched approvingly as the Lewis gunners paired up, facing down towards the foot of gorge.
“Don’t see the Japs doing much here, Blue… They won’t want to fly into the gorge and they can’t come in from either side.”
“Low level bombing on the airstrip, George. Still be making their height, might be following the valley north east. The bombers won’t climb too fast, not like those nippy little fighters of theirs. Here they come, look. Twin-engine, all of them. Seven or eight. Tight together, reformed their unit to go home. Low as well, no more than five hundred feet. Protection from fighters, maybe? We ain’t got any left, but they might not know that.”
Pat blew a whistle and the guns opened fire, seven pairs now, well concentrated on the last three planes, presumably at his orders.
“That’s one coming down, George!”
One of the flight veered out of formation, nose down and into the valley wall, fuel tanks blowing as it hit, flaming petrol running down the rock walls.
“Chalk up another one to us, Blue. Did you recognise what sort it was?”
“No idea – some sort of slant-eyed bastard.”
“Sounds about right, mate.”
They remained in cover until the engine noise died away.
“This lot ain’t coming back. What’s the betting they’ll tell their mates, Blue?”
“Odds on, George. They’ll be looking for us next raid.”
George gave the orders to dig slit trenches and get everything out of sight.
“Can’t move out until these bloody staff officers turn up, Blue. Or not for a couple of days. Got to give them time to get out of bed, I suppose. Wireless as well – supposed to be getting a transmitter and an operator to man the base camp. Too heavy to take it far inland with us.”
Blue agreed – a wireless was very useful, but only while it could be transported by lorry.
“This road up to the top, George. The plantation manager gave you the map. He knows the route already. Why don’t they know it in Moresby?”
“Because they’ve never got off their backsides and found out, Blue. Too bloody useless to do things – they just sit in their offices and wait to be told. They’ve wasted two months for no reason at all. They say the Yanks are more likely to charge head-first into things, without finding out the hazards first – the sooner they get here, the better off we’ll be. This lot here are useless.”
They inspected the slit trenches being dug in the shade of the rain trees, found them mostly down to about three feet and then hitting rock.
“Roll big stones and boulders across from the river, if you can. Easier to build up the sides than to try to cut into bedrock. Where are you putting the Lewises, Pat?”
“Over at the edge of the trees, behind the bit of a bank there, George. Looks like there was a couple of acres of swampland that was drained off years back. The drainage cut is dry and gives places for the gunners. The river used to take a bend here, I reckon, was straightened out to make a bigger working yard for the plantation. Draining the swamp made the place healthier as well.”
“Good enough, mate. Keeps us well out of sight. Did you see what that plane was that you knocked down?”
“No idea, mate. Sort of a medium bomber. Twin-engine. Land plane, not carrier. Be up from a strip somewhere around Lae, I suppose.”
“Be useful to have some idea of what its range was – not that the bloody idiots at Konny would know what to do with the information.”
Blue straightened up, looked down the track.
“Motorbike coming, George.”
“Despatch, I suppose.”
They stepped across to the road, waved to the rider.
“Captain Hawkins, sir?”
“That’s me.”
The rider handed over an envelope, waited for a response.
“Get yourself a mug of tea, mate. Bound to be some going over at the plantation house. The lads are using the kitchens there.”
George read the note, grunted in disgust.
“Staff officers will join us tomorrow morning. Pity. I’d hoped it was a cancellation. Got a pencil on you, Blue?”
George scrawled a brief confirmation on the back of the despatch and waited for the rider to return.
“Take the message back where you got it, mate. You know Colonel Billingham?”
“Yeah. Complete dick, mate.”
“That’s the bloke. Will you tell him, verbally, that we have got the route for a roadway up the gorge and that he should send some Engineers up to make a survey and get the work started. Soonest.”
“Right, mate. Tell Billingham that you’re ready to go and he should pull his finger out?”
“Good one, mate. Just what I meant.”
“Right, I’m off. Can I say it’s urgent?”
“Say what you bloody want for me, mate.”
“Good on yer! I got to keep to thirty mile an hour for ordinary stuff. ‘Urgent’ says I can open ‘er up!”
The throttle opened with a roar and the rider drifted across the dirt and down to the first bend in a plume of dust and small pebbles.
“Mad bugger!”
“Bet he was into dirt-tracking – speedway, that sort of thing, George. What’s the chance he’ll be in Konny inside the hour?”
“That or in the ditch with his neck broken. His choice, mate.”
“Do you reckon they’ll be calling us for indiscipline again, George?”
“Sod ‘em.”
A Humber staff car pulled in towards mid-morning next day. The driver parked the car neatly next to the visible three-tonner and trotted to the rear door, opening it for the motionless officer inside. An orderly was doing the same on the near side of the car while a second was opening the rear to pull out kitbags.
George and Blue were sat with mugs of tea, quietly talking in the shade of their tent. They exchanged glances and stood up.
“Staff officers, George?”
“That or the bloody king.”
“More like a pair of queens, mate. Look at ‘em, brushing down their jolly uniforms in case they’ve got a speck of dust on them.”
“Jesus, Blue – they’re wearing shoes and best working dress. No idea! Better get across to them. I know one of them, seen him before that is… Can’t remember where, mind you.”
“Lae, George, when we joined the Militia, I’m bloody sure it was. Twat of a lieutenant – what was his name?”
“Mr Dickhead?”
“Nah, that was what we called him.”
Neither George nor Blue was wearing tunic or hat or officer’s side-arm. They had not bothered to put shoulder boards with rank markings on their shirts. They strolled across to the pair.
“Lieutenants Arkenshawe-Mathers and Carter. You are improperly dressed the pair of you. Inform your officers that we are here and that you are on a charge.”
Lieutenant Carter stared and began to smile.
“Wait a minute. Hawkins and Piggott, is it not? No surprise to see you both here and as riflemen! Your sergeant’s stripes did not last very long, Hawkins!”
“No. They went the week after you did, Carter. I am Captain George Hawkins. You can call me ‘sir’. Lieutenant Piggott is known to you, as you say. Are you two to accompany us into the bush? Dressed like that?”
A New Place
Chapter Four
“Still a lieutenant, Carter? Kept clear of the action, I suppose? I thought you would have gone to the Middle East with you
r regiment. From all I have ever heard you get promotion in the fighting zone. Your regiment is in the desert, ain’t it?”
Carter flushed, the colour showing on his office-pale face.
“I was privileged to be made a staff officer to General Curtis, sir. I have no doubt that I shall be well to the front, in his company, when the time comes.”
George wondered just who in Carter’s family was acquainted with or related by marriage to Curtis.
“Good. I am sure you will be at his side, wherever he goes. Are you to come up to Sogeri with us?”
“That is the intention, sir.”
“Your choice. We set out tomorrow morning. At dawn. I shall be with Number One Platoon. Blue will be holding the rear with Four. A couple of the lads who have picked up loose guts will remain in this camp for the while, as caretakers. I will expect you to accompany me. The distance ain’t too far, but there’s a rise of the better part of two thousand feet, so it’ll be hard walking. What weaponry are you carrying?”
“We have our officer’s sidearms, of course.”
“And?”
“And nothing, sir. An officer is not a mere rifleman.”
“Then you’re useless if it comes to a scrap. What about the orderlies?”
“They are our servants, Captain Hawkins. Does your servant carry a rifle?”
“Officers have no servants up here.”
Carter pouted his distaste for that particular hardship.
“General Curtis found that a ridiculous ruling. He has changed it. He was aware that officers need servants if they are to be efficient and maintain the minimum of standards.”
“I thought he was bloody useless when I met him. No passengers with us. If they come, they carry a rifle and their own gear only. You carry all of your own stuff, Carter. If it can’t go uphill on your back, it stays down here.”
“That is quite unacceptable, Captain Hawkins. It is contrary to the General’s rulings.”
“Do it or get out. I don’t report to your general and I don’t give a toss what he says. There’s no room for useless mouths with us. Pull your weight or bugger off. Report to me for five o’clock tomorrow, dressed for the bush, or don’t bother. Boots, full bush gear, your own pack and an automatic carbine, if you can lay hands on one. If you can’t, then a repeating shotgun will be useful. Take your Humber and go back to the QM and get kitted out. If you can’t do that, don’t come back. If you’re not here for five in the morning I shall report you as AWOL and go without you.”
Lieutenant Carter was already aware that his career with his regiment had been destroyed as a result of his previous contretemps in Lae; he was sure in his own mind that he would be stabbed in the back again by Hawkins’ friends in the places of power if he gave him the least opportunity. He drew himself into a salute.
“Yes, sir. I shall be present and reporting for duty, sir.”
“What about you?” George turned to Arkenshawe-Mathers, who had said not a word.
“Oh! Yes, well, I should jolly think so, sir. Exactly.”
He got into the staff car and waited for the orderly to close his door.
“Do it yourself, you idle object!”
“Oh! Well, if you think I should.”
He tentatively pulled the door to, had to open it again to slam it shut.
The car drew away, sedately, so as not to bump its precious occupants.
“Do you reckon we’ll see them again, George?”
“Probably, Blue. They’re so bloody useless that no other bugger will want them.”
Four signalmen turned up later in the morning, driving a thirty-hundredweight truck with a tall whip aerial.
“G’day, boss. We’re supposed to set up a base for you. Poor bloody reception down in the valley here, but if we stick the aerial up top of one of the big trees it ought to work. We’ve got a small set we can take up the hill with you. Short range, but we can pick it up down here and transmit down to the coast if needs be. The main set will be too heavy to walk up to the top. Give us a road and we’ll take ‘er up, but not otherwise.”
“Seems good, sergeant. Can you talk to Konny from here?”
“Should do, boss.”
“Pity. I’d rather be well out of contact with those bloody fools.”
“Bloody right, boss. We’ve got a couple of Thompsons with us and two rifles. What do we take up top?”
“The Thompsons. How heavy is your set?”
“The batteries weigh a fair bit.”
“Two of the riflemen will take the Thompsons in place of their three-o-threes. I’ll assign them to your blokes as permanent guard.”
“She’ll do me, boss.”
“Good. Pulling out at five in the morning. Tea from the plantation house kitchens. Muck in with one of the platoons besides.”
“We’ve got some extras by way of food in the truck…”
“Work it out how it suits you, mate.”
The Japanese Air Force returned in early afternoon, a group of eight bombers dropping from height, well out of range of the light machine guns. None of their bombs fell within a quarter of a mile of the camp. The Signals sergeant sat in cover watching through his binoculars.
“Medium bombers, boss. Carry about a half ton – four or five two hundred and fifty pounders, more or less. Long range – they’ll have come across from Lae, Rabaul even. Not much use from height – they must be up at five thousand feet. They can be very accurate low down, but they got no armour on their petrol tanks or on the cockpit. Four machine guns and a twenty mil cannon, so they can be a nuisance ground-strafing. They’re known as Bettys, officially – apparently the Yanks like the name. No armour, like I said, so they’re soft targets for a machine gun.”
“Yeah, we saw that yesterday. You can see the burnt patch up on the valley wall over the other side.”
“Good on yer. They’re taking some losses to the guns over at the airstrip; enough to send them higher. As soon as we get some Spits in there they’ll be driven right off. They can’t live with fighters for having no protection.”
“Sounds good. Wouldn’t fancy being bombed half way up the gorge.”
“You won’t be, mate. Too narrow for planes to get into it low, and they ain’t going to hit you from high up.”
“Glad of that. We’re going to be exposed up on top, I would reckon.”
“Maybe. Get into the bush and they’ll never see you.”
“Yeah, saw that coming out of Lae. Provided you’re under the trees they’ll never pick you up.”
They wandered across to the plantation house, asked the manager if he knew how the locals came down with their fruit and vegetables for the markets.
“Down the track on the map, mate. Not too steep even at the worst parts for people on foot. There ain’t no other way round. One track, that’s it. Used to be two more, both of them tight and hard work; they had landslips during the big Wet, three years ago, no use at all now. Couldn’t get a motor up the good track, mind you. Had a bloke worked with me for a couple of years who had a motorbike. Tried to ride up a couple of times. Went over the edge the second go. Four hundred feet drop.”
“Ah! I don’t suppose he did it again.”
“Strawberry jam, mate. He wasn’t much good on the plantation anyway. No great loss.”
“Just another kiddie brought up from South. Take ‘em out of school wanting ‘a life of adventure’, poor little sods. This is a Burns Philp place, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, has been for years. They bought out the Papuan Rubber people back before the last war. Still a few rubber trees at the back. Land not right for coconuts and they haven’t been cut down for firewood yet. Only other thing that remains is the orchids around the bungalows at the side of the house. One of the blokes who lived there before the First War collected ‘em, so they say.”
“My father, I think. Ned Hawkins.”
“The bloke from out Kokopo way? Heard of him. Didn’t know he started out here. If you’re his son, then you’re the
one who walked out to Salamaua, ain’t you?”
George nodded.
“My sole claim to fame, mate.”
“Good trick, mate. Ain’t many who’ve done anything like that.”
“I didn’t exactly volunteer.”
“Don’t expect you did. Anyway, walk along the main track for another mile, then you’ll see where it turns off to the right, away from the side of the river. No tyre tracks to follow, but you could drive that far in a small truck. I’ll go with you in the morning, point you on yer way. After that, the track’s clear enough to see, just bloody hard work. Once you get to the top, make a camp and then talk to the locals, tell them what you want to do. Soon as they work out that you’re road building, they’ll be on yer side. Nothing they want more than a road down as far as Boroko. They know the Administration won’t do it, but if they reckon the soldiers will, they’ll do what they can to help. Some of them have worked down in Moresby for a few years, picked up a bit of money and come back home again. They know a bit about driving, might be able to point out a route for a road for a few miles.”
“Be useful if they could, mate. Quicker.”
“Good thing for me as well. Get the Army to put some tarmac on the road down to Moresby then I’ll be able to drive into town in the Wet. Hope you find something, mate. You reckon the Japs will make it this far?”
“Unlikely. They might. Depends on the Yanks. If they get here, then the Japs won’t. They’ve been thrown back at sea, so it’s overland if at all. If the Yanks delay too much, we might have a bit of trouble on our hands. Word I’ve been given is that there’s a lot of men heading this way, from both sides, but they don’t know the bush yet.”
“They’ll learn. The hard way, probably.”
It rained in the night, an hour around midnight, which was annoying. The Dry in Moresby was often broken by heavy showers, unlike the Gazelle which normally saw no rain at all for months of the year. George woke up to mud and dripping trees.
“Bloody track’s going to be slippery underfoot for a couple of hours, Blue.”
“Delay starting?”
A New Place Page 8