The Passion and the Glory

by Christopher Nicole

  Joan was shown below into a tiny cabin and told to stay there, but as soon as the engines, massive eighteen hundred horsepower petrol motors, began to rumble, and the entire little vessel to vibrate, she found her way up the ladder to stand on the low bridge behind Lieutenant Kato, Hashimoto, and his new second in command, Captain Oshiwa, to watch them leave the harbour.

  It was just dawn as they threaded their way through the sunken and damaged ships and out past The Mother before rounding Watom Island. Now the throttles were opened and the torpedo boat raced just south of west at well over thirty knots. The sea was calm but even so the boat pounded over the shallow waves, scattering spray to left and right and leaving a long, undulating wake behind them. It was exhilarating even if it was also bone-shaking. Coming as she did from a naval family, Joan had always loved and enjoyed the sea, and she had never before travelled in a boat quite as fast as this one. As was common to all Japanese warships, the vessel was as clean and spic and span as if she had just been launched, the sailors polite and obviously expert at their allotted tasks.

  There she went again, she thought, beginning to like these people. But they could not all be like Hashimoto or Osawa.

  *

  The crew were also very alive to the possibility of American air attacks, as apparently United States planes had begun to penetrate the Bismarck Sea in ever increasing numbers. But when they lunched at noon, in sight of the Witu Islands, the sky remained empty.

  Their first refuelling stop was to be Madang on the west side of Astrolabe Bay in New Guinea, lying at the foot of the Adalbert Range of mountains, and they reached this at dusk, to be greeted by sombre news. Having secured their bridgehead at Lae, at the head of the Huon Gulf, the Americans and Australians had begun to push inland, and were only just over a hundred miles away. Worse, they had built an airstrip at Lae, and it was this which was allowing their planes to dominate the skies over the Bismarck Range and bomb Japanese positions on the north coast. In Madang fires were still burning from the last raid, and Hashimoto was like a cat on hot bricks in his anxiety to be away again.

  Even more devastating was the news from the Gilbert Islands, where a massive American task force had appeared and was shelling and bombing every Japanese airfield they could locate. That the Americans intended landings to take the islands seemed certain. The famed Japanese perimeter, within which the Greater East Asia Prosperity Sphere had been intended to develop into an impregnable self sustaining fortress, was beginning to fold in every direction.

  Hashimoto made no comment, not even to her. That the situation was serious was certain, but he seemed confident that Japan would still hold the inner perimeter of the Dutch East Indies, Malaya, the Philippines, the Marianas, Iwo Jima and the Bonins, thus guarding the homeland itself, and preserving the sources of economic strength — oil and rice — without which the fight could not be continued. And for all the destruction about her, she still could not doubt that he was probably right.

  Leaving again at dawn, they followed the coast, inside Kaul Island before turning north west this time. Noon saw them off Wewak, where fires were burning from a recent bombing attack; they did not stop there, and by dusk they had reached the old Dutch capital of Hollandia, just across the border from the British half of the enormous island.

  Today they were not quite so lucky, and an American reconnaissance machine dropped out of the sky to look at them, but it was driven away by their anti-aircraft gun and they reached port without mishap.

  Hollandia was a much bigger place than Rabaul, but its harbour was less sheltered. None the less the Japanese had converted it into a huge base, and the place was bustling with ships and activity. It also had been recently bombed, however, and was undoubtedly preparing for a siege, even if the Allied forces were still a very long way away.

  Joan had been to Hollandia before, with Hashimoto; their plane had touched down here when they had been on their way to begin their destructive sweep along the north coast of Dutch New Guinea. They were in fact shown to the same house they had occupied on their previous visit, and it was a great relief to have a bath at last — all such facilities had been lost in Rabaul some days before. But here too the bad news continued to follow them; the Americans had actually invaded New Britain. The landing had taken place at Waku on the Arawe Peninsular, after four hundred and thirty three tons of bombs had been dropped. Waku was virtually at the opposite end of the island to Rabaul, but no one could doubt that the once impregnable base would now soon fall.

  ‘We just left there in time,’ Hashimoto said as they lay together. He had sufficiently recovered his spirits to wish to make love to her.

  ‘Would it not make more sense to come to terms, now,’ she asked. ‘They are winning on every front.’

  He took her suggestion seriously. ‘We cannot come to terms with these people,’ he said. ‘They have demanded that we surrender, unconditionally. Japan has never surrendered to anyone, in all its history. As for “unconditionally”, that is an insult to the emperor.’

  ‘And you are afraid you would be hanged as a war criminal,’ Joan said, boldly.

  He merely smiled. ‘Perhaps. Supposing they ever take me alive, which they will never do. But you, my sweet Joan, when they take you, they will hang you, most certainly. As a traitor.’

  *

  She presumed he was right there too, but the prospect did not frighten her, as long as the Allies did win. She was more immediately concerned at their course the next day, as they made their way north west once more, round the d’Urville headland and inside the large island of Biak to Manokwari in the very north westernmost part of the island. Because here was where their seek and destroy mission in the spring had actually started.

  Manokwari was still beyond the range of US bombers, and had grown, as more and more Japanese troops had arrived to make it a staging post for the fighting further east. Here she again met Colonel Tarawa, who clearly regarded her as Hashimoto’s succubus — and who equally clearly, as he had revealed on their last visit, disliked the kempei-tai and all its activities.

  A dislike Hashimoto ignored. ‘So tell me, Colonel,’ he said. ‘Has there been any activity in the Peg Tamrau area?’

  ‘There are people there,’ Tarawa told him. ‘My patrols see signs of them.’

  Hashimoto frowned at him. ‘White people? Or Papuans?’

  ‘Some Papuans, certainly. It is difficult to say if there are any white people still in the vicinity. If there are, they hide in the jungle. The plantations are now overgrown. It was a sad waste of valuable copra.’

  ‘It was necessary. When we have won this war, we can clear the area again,’ Hashimoto told him.

  ‘I would like to clear it now, your excellency,’ Tarawa said. ‘Not to replant copra, but to plant food. My people are on short rations as it is. Due to the activity of American submarines off the coast of New Guinea our food supplies are more often than not interrupted. We need to become self sufficient here until the naval problem can be dealt with. Every plantation had an extensive kitchen garden. These could be cleared quite easily and replanted. And even extended.’

  ‘You are insubordinate, Colonel,’ Hashimoto said. ‘If there is a naval problem, it is because of the incompetence of the army. If you need additional food, cultivate the area to the south, beyond the mountains.’

  ‘With respect, your excellency, the land beyond the mountains is impenetrable jungle.’

  ‘Then clear it. Round up these Papuan vagabonds and put them to work. But not in the Peg Tamrau area. I have given orders that the north coast is to be kept empty of aliens, of any description. These orders still stand. Find these intruders and take off their heads. That is an order, Colonel Tarawa.’ Tarawa hesitated for a moment before bowing.

  ‘It would be easier to replant on land which has already been cleared,’ Joan argued. She was no longer afraid of any of his reactions, even physical ones. ‘And surely it can do no harm to let the people return to Peg Tamrau now? The Americans can find out
about your troop movements from their planes; they no longer need observers or spies.’

  ‘It would be a sign of weakness,’ he insisted. ‘And clearing and cultivating fresh land will give these louts something to do. They are the cause of all our misfortunes. Let them do some work for a change.’

  He was not prepared to discuss it longer, and she did not challenge his assessment of the situation. If he was entering the phase of self delusion that was his problem. She was only happy to turn her back on New Guinea, and breathed a sigh of relief when next day the mountains of Peg Tamrau fell astern as they crossed the bottom of the Philippine Sea for Davao on the island of Mindanao, southernmost of the Philippines. She could still remember the photograph of Stefanie van Gelderen, standing next to Clive at the garden party in Surabaya, at a time when the war had been young enough to look forward with hope to the coming months and even years if necessary. They had both looked so proud, so confident. She felt, having been in the woman’s house, as if she had also known Stefanie, and even more through the medium of Clive. Now they were both dead, Clive no doubt at the bottom of the Java Sea, and the woman a rotting heap of bones in the jungle of Peg Tamrau. While she was still alive, and healthy. Fate had truly been in an odd mood these last few years.

  *

  Clive watched, through his binoculars, the lone torpedo boat making its way north. ‘Out of Manokwari,’he mused. ‘Scuttling away. I suppose with despatches. God, what I would give to know what was going on.’

  Stefanie combed her hair with her fingers; it seemed to grow longer every day, as did his, although she had cut his beard back to six inches with one of their knives. ‘We will find out, one day,’ she assured him.

  She understood his impatience, even as he understood that perhaps she never did wish to find out what was happening in the war, or in the rest of the world. If she undoubtedly missed her daughter, she had also found her own version of paradise, and was in no hurry for it to end. So why was he so anxious? Only because of years of training. But as he could do nothing about it, there was little sense in fretting. Because he too had found his paradise, in the woman, and the land.

  It was still necessary to observe caution, however, for the Japanese soldiers still made sweeps into the Peg Tamrau region from time to time. They were not very enthusiastic about looking for anyone, were more concerned with seeing what food they could discover. They were not members of the kempei-tai. But he supposed they would still shoot on sight at a white skin.

  Or even a brown one. One day not long after Christmas — as close as they could figure, for they had lost track of the days — they heard shooting from the vicinity of the plantation; after the trucks had gone bouncing down the overgrown track back towards Manokwari, Stefanie and Clive went down to see what they could find, and discovered two Papuans dead in the neglected coconut grove — there were signs that they had been living on the abandoned plantation for some time. And now they had met a horrible fate, for they had only been wounded by the bullets, but had then been decapitated.

  ‘They are my people,’ Stefanie said. ‘My poor people.’

  ‘There are others,’ Clive told her.

  The Papuans emerged from the forest where they had taken refuge, a good score of them.

  ‘Bhutto!’ Stefanie cried, and ran forward to embrace the butler, much to his embarrassment, because if she had put on a sarong to leave the mountain, it was very obvious that she was wearing nothing else.

  But he was delighted to see her. ‘We did think you dead, mistress,’ he said.

  ‘I have never felt better, Bhutto,’ she said.

  ‘And Mr McGann,’ he said wonderingly, gazing at Clive.

  Clive shook hands. ‘I am sorry about your people.’

  ‘The Japanese came upon us by surprise,’ Bhutto explained. ‘We have been here for a week. We did not expect the Japanese to return.’

  ‘They do so regularly. Why did you come back?’

  ‘The plantation is our home. And now that the Japanese are being beaten … ’

  ‘Beaten?’ Clive cried. ‘Beaten where?’

  ‘We have heard that the Americans are advancing along the north coast, towards us,’ Bhutto told him. ‘And that they have invaded New Britain and New Ireland, and Bougainville, and that they have seized the Gilbert Islands and are attacking the Marshalls. They are driving the Japanese out of every stronghold.’

  ‘Well, glory be.’ Clive looked at Stefanie. Once it had been she praying for the coming of the Americans.

  ‘But they are still a long way away from Peg Tamrau,’ she said quietly.

  ‘They are coming, mistress. They are coming. That is why we have returned.’

  ‘I think you should go back to your people in the south,’ Stefanie said. ‘Until you are sure that the Japanese are beaten. Otherwise they will come and kill more of you.’

  Bhutto looked somewhat disappointed, but he was not going to argue with the mistress. ‘Why do you not come with us,’ he suggested, ‘And Mr McGann. We will hide you from the Japanese.’

  ‘We are safe here,’ Stefanie said. ‘We will stay here until the Japanese leave. And then you can return.’

  Bhutto looked even more disappointed, but he rounded up his people and began the long walk home. Stefanie and Clive returned to the mountain and bathed in the stream. ‘What do you think will happen when the war is over?’ she asked.

  ‘I guess we’ll all try to return to normal as quickly as possible.’

  She shivered; the water was surprisingly cool. ‘Can life ever be normal again, for people who have lived through this war? For us?’

  He took her face between his hands and kissed her. ‘That depends on us.’

  ‘I am going to be forty-two this year.’

  ‘I love you,’ he said.

  ‘And you will be twenty-seven.’

  ‘I love you,’ he said again.

  ‘And Juliana will be sixteen,’ she said thoughtfully, and sat in the sun to dry herself.

  *

  ‘I want to congratulate you, Commander Phillips,’ Admiral Nimitz said. ‘You and all your crew.’ He had just inspected the men lined up on the foredeck of Sea Lion as she lay alongside in Pearl Harbour; she had returned from the Solomons the previous night.

  ‘Shucks, Admiral, we are only one of a crowd,’ Phillips protested.

  ‘Sure, I know that, Commander. And they’re all doing a grand job. You just seem to have done a better job than most. Or maybe a luckier one. Now let’s go below. I have some information for you.’

  Phillips escorted the admiral, the flag captain, and the flag lieutenant into the bowels of the ship, and Bristow, Walt and Galt accompanied them. Returning home, after such a tremendously successful campaign, and being greeted by the admiral himself, was all very exciting. But Walt’s mind was already up at the O’Malley house, and then, hopefully, the McGann bungalow. He was throbbing with anticipation.

  Nimitz sat at the tiny wardroom table, and the officers also sat down. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘I have to tell you that we are producing submarines faster than we can train the men to man them. That’s lucky for some. You guys in the main. Commander Phillips, you are promoted Captain, and will take command of Group Fourteen.’

  ‘Heck,’ Phillips complained. ‘Does that mean I don’t get to go to sea?’

  ‘Only in an emergency,’ Nimitz told him. ‘Now that we’ve secured Kwajalein Atoll, we can consider the Marshalls as ours. My experts tell me that Majura Atoll is perfect for a mid Pacific naval base. The Seabees are already at work. You’ll take passage out there on one of your submarines and set up a local headquarters. We’re consuming too much time, bringing ships all the way back to Pearl for replenishment. From next month Majura is as far east as they’re going to come.’ He grinned at them. ‘I’m sorry, boys. The pleasures of Pearl will have to await the end of the war. You’ll be sampling the pleasures of Tokyo before you come back here again.’

  Oh, damnation, Walt thought. But he kept his face expressio
nless.

  ‘Lieutenant Bristow,’ Nimitz went on. ‘As of this moment you are promoted commander, and will take command of USS Leopard Ray as soon as she arrives from the mainland. You will be in Captain Phillips’ flotilla, and will then proceed immediately to Majura.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Bristow said, in delight.

  Walt’s heart started to pound. It wasn’t really possible, surely. But …

  ‘Lieutenant McGann, as of this moment you are promoted to lieutenant commander. How old are you, McGann?’

  Walt swallowed. ‘I will be twenty-one this year, sir.’

  ‘Well, you’re probably the youngest lieutenant commander in this Navy. But you’ve also got as much experience as the next man. You are now in command of Sea Lion.’

  Walt looked at Phillips in consternation.

  The captain winked. ‘Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.’

  ‘Ensign Galt,’ Nimitz said. ‘You are promoted lieutenant, and will take over as executive officer of Sea Lion.’

  ‘Oh, boy,’ Galt said. ‘Oh, boy.’

  ‘There will be a new lieutenant and a new ensign joining your ship this afternoon, Commander McGann,’ Nimitz told him. ‘Neither has seen action before, but I know they’ll be in good hands. Well, gentlemen, that concludes this session. My congratulations to you all.’ He shook hands with them in turn.

  ‘Now I know you have a lot to do. I’m sorry that I can’t give you a furlough. Sea Lion will replenish and make for Majura not later than dawn tomorrow, Commander McGann. I will wish you bon voyage.’

  They accompanied the brass on to the deck, saluted as the admiral crossed the gangplank.

  ‘Yippee!’ Gale said, ‘For all of us.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Bristow said. ‘Oh, congratulations, Walt.’