And if two prayers were powerful, Yani thought, three would be irresistible. Using his gift of language memorization in much the way children sing “Adeste Fideles” at Christmastime without knowing what the Latin words mean, he remembered Big Man Duff’s magic formula for making ships appear: “Oh, most merciful God ... He who provided manna for the children of Abraham, hear our pleas. Send us the shipload of supplies we so desperately need. Help us to do your great work of conversion. We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”
Yani remained in the kneeling position in silence as he had been taught. Then he stood up, removed his Policeboy/Coast Watcher shorts and plunged into the blue waters of the lagoon for his morning swim.
Chapter 29
Lieutenant Saburo Sakai was one of Japan’s three top-scoring aces. He loved to fly. He was not above fabricating reasons to keep his Mitsubishi fighter plane airborne when the rest of his unit had returned to the carrier. Today’s excuse was to check out the little island on the horizon for evidence of enemy activity. He had flown over it a few days before and had seen nothing suspicious, but he persuaded his commanding officer that it would be no trouble to be certain.
As the sun was setting, he chose to make a wide circle of Chase Island to study it from all angles since that would take the most time. After his first circuit, he then flew straight over the island’s volcano. Even when he was a little boy he had always wanted to look straight down the center of a volcanic crater — now he would get his wish. He flew precisely over the center and tipped the wing so he was at a 90-degree angle to the ocean.
It was beautiful. In spite of the deepening shadows. He could see the steam bubbling out crevices in the walls of the living mountain. He remembered all the stories his grandfather had told of the spirits who lived in Mt. Fuji and wondered what the old man would say if he could see him now 500 feet above an active volcano, peering down its throat like a doctor examining a patient.
Once was not enough. He flew out to sea again, and did a roll that brought him in at right angles to his first flight. This put him in direct line with the sunset, making it a bit hard to get a clear view. He dropped his altitude 100 feet to get a closer look at the scenery. He was grinning at his own cleverness in arranging this reconnaissance flight. No danger — just pleasure.
Then he saw it! It couldn’t be, but there it was. Perched on the edge of the volcano was a small, single engine plane.
Sakai could not believe his eyes. This was impossible. There was no landing strip on top of the volcano. In fact there was no landing strip anywhere he could see on the island; even the beach was too short.
He pulled back hard on the stick and roared into a steep climb. He leveled off and flew out to sea. He was flying under radio silence, so dared not call the carrier. He was on his own. He had been training for more than two years, and had recently been part of the attack on Hawaii.
The Imperial Navy does not need officers who need to ask instructions constantly, he told himself. If I break radio silence I will be asking for trouble. What do I do?
Another circuit of the island was in order, while he made up his mind. It cannot be one of ours. If someone had crashed, I would surely have heard about it. Besides, it’s too small. In fact, it’s the smallest plane I have ever seen, he reasoned. “If it is not Japanese,” he said aloud, “then it is an enemy plane and must be destroyed.”
Only the top ten degrees of the sun was above the horizon, now casting very dark shadows on the spot where he saw the aircraft. However, using the top of the sun as a guide and centering on it, he knew exactly where the grounded plane was, even if he could not see it clearly.
He sighted on the spot and began a long dive, exceeding 200 miles an hour. While he was still a half-mile out to sea, he began firing his two 7.7mm machine guns. He allowed a least 500 of the slugs to rain at random on the jungle on the outside of the volcano, and sprayed as many inside the cone. The bullets ripped through the fuselage of the target plane, tearing off one wing totally. Tracers showed him he was successful. One of them ignited the body of the plane and it began to burn.
One more pass at the lip of the crater, this time spewing 20mm cannon rounds, showed Lieutenant Sakai the burning outline of the unidentified airplane. It would offer no threat to the Imperial Navy.
Performing a victory roll, contrary to Naval regulations, he sped toward the distant carrier to proclaim his unexpected victory.
***
He couldn’t explain it, but a restlessness had overtaken Moses McDuff late in the afternoon. For lack of something else to do, he hiked down to the village with Yani to talk to Ooma about trading tinkens for fresh coconuts. The American had developed a taste for a fresh coconut milk drink his island companions prepared. More and more, he preferred it to the rainwater he collected almost daily, and pretended not to know that it was half tuba wine. It took a great deal of selective perception not to be aware that Yani had several palm trees from which he was collecting fermented sap.
Everyone was just getting comfortable. McDuff was sipping his coconut drink, and Ooma, Yani and the other men involved in the trade negotiations were drinking kava. Yani was sitting in a position that let him gaze out toward the ocean. When a movement caught his eye, he pointed and asked McDuff, “What?”
Never leaving the camp without his binoculars, he trained them on the object. “It’s a Zeke,” he said. “It’s like those airplanes that flew over the island last week. Remember?”
A quick discussion went through the group. Yani said, “Ooma still wants to catch one. He thinks they would make him very strong.”
“I think you would kind of have a tiger by the tail,” McDuff laughed. “They are rather hard to tame.”
“I think John Frum, he come in plane, maybe,” Yani suggested.
“John Frum isn’t coming in anything, Yani,” McDuff said angrily. “That’s a Japfella plane and it’s certainly up to no good.” He watched it pass out of view and was quick to figure out that it was scouting the island.
A few more sips of kava and the powerful coconut cocktail allowed the conversation to come back to how many coconuts should be traded for each tinken.
When the Zeke made its appearance again, there was no ignoring it. It flew low over the island in the direction of the volcano at 150 miles per hour. The prop-wash shook the tops of the palms. “My God, I hope he doesn’t see our antenna,” McDuff shouted in alarm, and jumped to his feet. The others were in no condition to stand up, much less jump. The kava had done its work, and the natives would not leave the clearing where they sat for a number of hours. Their legs were asleep for the night, Yani’s included.
Foolishly, McDuff decided to return to his camp. What he would do when he got there was not clear, but he felt his presence was required. But the tuba wine had taken its toll, and he lost his footing in the dense undergrowth. He slid down the hillside, away from the path and had to crawl up the rough slope, pulling himself forward bush by bush. It was getting dark quickly, since the sun was going down on the other side of the volcano. Then he heard the Japanese fighter shrieking in his direction. Its machine guns were blasting a path through the trees about 100 yards to his right.
“He’s seen the antenna, damn him!” the ex-minister said in the strongest language he dared. “He’s strafing the camp. The dirty son-of-a-bitch.” McDuff even surprised himself. He had never used such language before in his life. War and wine evoked strange behaviors.
He lay there panting in the heat. Partly the climb, but equally the excitement of the attack had raised his pulse and breathing rates. Keep cool, he thought. Yani is down below, and there is nobody at the camp. This is just an exercise in noise and violence. He closed his eyes and began praying aloud.
When he had repeated the Lord’s Prayer for the third time, he heard the plane making another run. The tracer bullets had started small fires in the jungle, but the vegetation was so moist most of them went out for lack of fuel. This time, he could tell the guns were even bi
gger and louder. He heard a few trees fall when the cannon fire cut them in half. His prayers got more specific and he begged to be out of the line of fire. He was.
A few minutes later, he heard the plane’s engine getting further away. It apparently decided to return to its carrier. More than ever, I have to get back to the camp ...send a message to Headquarters to report the hostile engagement. But who’s gonna run the generator? He was on the path now, trying to regain his strength. I just need to relax and close my eyes for a few minutes, Moses told himself. Then I’ll be able to climb the rest of the way.
The next thing he new, Yani was returning from his morning bath, and had found him sleeping on the soft grass next to the trail.
***
McDuff examined the campsite quickly, checking mainly to see if his radio equipment had been damaged by the strafing. He sighed deeply and his shoulders relaxed. “It was a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,” he said to Yani, who plainly did not quite understand the comment.
“It means there was a lot of noise, but little damage. The first thing we need to do is take that aerial down. He probably saw the crossbar and guessed what we were up to,” McDuff said.
While Yani was moving the antenna wire to a more concealed place along the rock wall, one of the warriors entered the clearing. He was coming down from the top of the volcano and wanted to talk to Yani immediately. They conferred amid a great deal of gesticulating and arm waving.
“What is he saying?” McDuff wanted to know.
“He say Japfella shoot duck at top of volcano. Duck burn up, sir. All gone.”
“What ducks? I didn’t see any ducks up there. In fact, I didn’t see any kind of birds up there.”
“You come with Yani, sir. I show you,” the young man said.
“No. First, I need to send a message to report the Japfella plane to headquarters. I have to tell them we have been attacked.” He motioned to Yani to start the generator and tapped out his code sign and message: “Attacked by Japanese Zeke last night. Heavy strafing of camp. No injuries or serious damage. They know we are here. I await instructions.”
A little while later he received: “Anticipate landing party to seek and destroy. If Japs land take to bush. Seek native help.”
McDuff responded: “Natives friendly. No problem. Is Les Gale there?”
A few minutes later: “Hi, Mo. Read message. Take care.”
“Having wonderful time. Wish you were here. Yani will be my lifeline.”
“Bad news. Percy traitor. Convinced Japs are John Frum’s soldiers. Tried to kill Wembly. I had to shoot him. Watch out.”
“Sorry to hear. Will beware.”
“New code shortcut. Zeke is now Zero. Use long dash for symbol. Out.”
The Coast Watcher put down his earphones and was bewildered. Percy tried to kill Mr. Wembly? he thought. Does Les think Yani would be a traitor, too? What’s all this “John Frum” business about anyway? I refuse to think that Yani can’t be trusted. Yani is my friend. He has even saved my life ... But, that was before he got friendly with Percy. But he seemed to be our friend also.
Seeing that McDuff was finished transmitting, Yani stopped the cranking. “We go and see duck now?” he asked.
For a moment, the Witman did not understand the question, then remembered the conversation that took place just before he sent his transmission. “O.K., Yani, let’s see the duck that the Zeke — excuse me — the Zero shot down.”
___
When they reached the summit, McDuff stood on the path that ran around the top and said, “Which way?”
Yani pointed across to a spot where the ground was a different color. There was a pile of ashes from a fire that had spent itself during the night. At first, he thought it might have been a hot boulder shot out of the boiling mud pit, but as he reached the spot it took shape. It had the rough outline of an airplane.
“What on earth...” he said. “What is this? It looks like an airplane.” Examining the unburned portions, he added, “But it must have been made out of bamboo and leaves.”
“We build duck-coy, like you say,” Yani said.
“Decoy?”
“You say Witman catch ducks in America with wooden decoy ducks. We make decoy airplane. You say ‘set out decoy’ and Ooma can catch Japfella plane. We make decoy from bamboo and reeds from lake. It work. Make plane come.”
Understanding came like a flash. “That’s what all you fellas were doing coming up here with the tools and bamboo and stuff the other day.”
“Yes. But we not catch Japfella plane. He plenty angry. Not like decoy. I think he want real girl-fella plane.”
“No, Yani, no. They are not birds. They are flown by Japfellas. Just like Witman who flew the plane to Brisbane you were on.”
The technology escaped the Chase Islander. He was still convinced that the Zero was a disappointed avian lover, who had not found what he wanted.
McDuff guessed pretty closely what had taken place. And said, “Better throw pieces into volcano. He will be plenty angry if he comes back and sees decoy again. He send Japfella soldiers.” The white man picked up a small, unburned piece of wing and examined it. Pretty good job, considering ..., he thought, and sailed it out into the void.
Chapter 30
As the sun came up over the mountain behind him, Yani finished his recitation of “Big name watchem Sheepy-sheep...” Like makers of prayers around the world, he was becoming bored with the constant iteration of the same words. He was racing through “Send us the shipload of supplies we so desperately need...” when his eye caught a speck on the horizon. He stopped the litany in mid-sentence and lifted his sunglasses. They had become so scratched it was difficult to see anything clearly through them any more, especially something far away.
There were two specks out on the sea, not one. His first impulse was to abandon his prayers and race up the trail to tell Big Man Duff to send a message to Port Moresby. In fact, he was in the process of getting up when he stopped. It was as though a voice called out “Stop! Maybe this is the answer to our prayers. Maybe this is John Frum coming to the island!”
Yani sank back into the kneeling position. He closed his eyes, folded his hands in the classic supplicant position, and said very slowly, “Help us to do Your great work of conversion. We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.” When he opened his eyes again he focused on the rapidly growing shapes at sea.
It was not long before he could make out that the lead boat was very similar to the Wombat in its form; perhaps even larger. The other boat was a boxy affair of a kind he had never seen before. Judging from its shape, it could hold a great deal of cargo. Yes! This must be what I am waiting for, he told himself.
Other men and women from the village were coming down to the water’s edge for their morning baths. As they joined him Yani said, “John Frum, he come! John Frum, he come!” and pointed at the two boats coming toward the beach. Before long, everybody in the village was assembled. All the warriors held their shields and two or three throwing spears.
Ooma asked, “Witman Patrol boat again, or Captain West comes back?” The latter worried him. The old man was concerned that he might have returned after all this time with reinforcements.
“No,” Yani insisted. “John Frum, he come!”
Nevertheless, the excitement was growing. The prospect of battle was something the men were not afraid of. For years, there had been no opportunities to test their virility and valor against an outside aggressor. If it wasn’t John Frum, it was at least a chance for young men to earn reputations for daring and bravery.
***
Two young officers stood on the bow of the Imperial Japanese Navy torpedo patrol boat and surveyed Chase Island. Ensign Ogata Ishikawa and Lieutenant Junzo Mitsumo looked through their binoculars at the mass of black bodies that were gathering on the beach. Mitsumo turned to his Chief Petty officer and said, “Fire a burst of six rounds into the cliff behind those trees ... about ten meters abo
ve the water line.”
“Yes, sir,” the man answered smartly and passed the order on to the gunner, who sent a half dozen 20 MM armor-piercing shells arcing into the rocks on the cliff face near the beach.
The senior officer grinned with satisfaction when the explosions had the desired effect. Everyone ran from the strand to the palm trees that edged the sand.
“No disrespect intended, sir,” Ishikawa said. “But I think that we might have better luck with another approach with the natives.”
Ishikawa’s father had operated a small fleet of trading vessels out of Sasebo for 35 years. Ogata had worked on the island-hopping boats since he was a teenager, and was quite familiar with life on the islands of the South Pacific. In fact, he had been sent to this part of the world mainly because he spoke Booga-booga and Pidgin rather well. Normally, he was attached to the Admiral’s flagship, now anchored off Guadalcanal.
However, it was decided that his linguistic skills would be useful in investigating the report of enemy activity on this small island.
Mitsumo, a graduate of Eta Jima, the Japanese Annapolis, had a low opinion of this man who was loaned to him for this operation. However, he came from the flagship staff, and the same dynamics were at work here that operated in anyone’s navy. He deferred slightly to the young man and said, “What do you propose to do — Ensign?”
Ignoring the emphasis on his lowly rank, he said, “Perhaps I could take a small boat and a few men and go ashore to talk to the chief. I have looked at the charts, and the lagoon appears to be locked in by reefs. However, I am sure there is an opening somewhere in the chain. Invariably they have a low spot somewhere that connects with the open sea.”
“And then what? Will you have tea with the chief, and ask him if he has seen any British or Australian airplanes landing on the island?” Mitsumo mocked.
“Essentially, yes,” Ishikawa said, coolly. “I don’t see any reason to risk the lives of any of our men, or to just slaughter the natives, for that matter.”
When John Frum Came Page 24
