The Pacific

by Peter Watt

  ‘You had a go and it didn’t work out,’ Jack relented. ‘Matter closed.’ He took a sip of the strong black coffee. ‘Now, launching a raid is going to be difficult but, oddly enough, your actions might have helped us. If I were the Nip commander I would already have a patrol out searching for us. They’ll have a good idea of where we are and it is only a matter of time before they find us.’

  ‘Do we pull out and abort the op?’ Lukas asked.

  ‘No, we use the distraction to our own ends,’ Jack replied. ‘If the Japs have sent out a patrol, their village defences will be significantly reduced. Rabasumbi and I have a good idea of the village layout and Jap positions, so I will take a small force of myself, Rabasumbi and four of my men to the village. We’ll move in a flank to avoid their patrol, which I presume will be coming this way and should be around this area by morning. That means we will have to set up an ambush tonight, which should keep the patrol pinned down while we make an assault on the village. Mel will remain aboard and allow himself and the Riverside to be spotted, while you will have the rest of my section and your boys set up out in the mangroves.’

  ‘It’s a risky plan, Dad,’ Lukas said. ‘They might not walk into the ambush. They might destroy my boat. But I trust your experience and judgement, so let’s call everyone in and brief them. I think we should get this show on the road.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Jack said. ‘We should have your men in position before midnight to ensure the Nips don’t catch us asleep.’

  The crew and PIB soldiers were mustered in the rain and informed of the plan. None questioned it and Mel just grunted his understanding.

  ‘You keep the .50, Mel,’ Lukas said. ‘Maybe you will be in a position to give us covering fire when the time comes.’

  The briefing over, Jack supervised the collection of weapons and Lukas dragged out his mortar. He would use his old mortar base plate location again, as the lack of foliage overhead allowed the bombs to ascend without interference.

  Although it was risky, Jack made a decision to use torches so the ambush party could set up their positions; he made a calculated guess that the enemy would still be a way off, the heavy undergrowth and pouring rain slowing them down as it had him and Rabasumbi. He appointed Corporal Gari to command the ambush, and it was after midnight when he was satisfied the ambush was in place.

  With his small party of heavily armed men, Jack slogged his way through the jungle in inky blackness. Just before dawn the rain eased, and soon afterwards Private Rabasumbi signalled that they were very close to the village. Just then Jack heard the first distant crump of an explosion from the direction of the Riverside, indicating that he had been right about the enemy’s movements. Jack found himself madly praying that his son would be safe.

  He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch and noted that it was just after 0545. It was now or never, he told himself, and whispered his final orders to his men, who had quietly gathered around him. The first target was the Japanese machine gun post. Jack knew it would be manned at all times, as it covered a track into the village. Private Rabasumbi volunteered to take one of the men out into the bush and flank the gun; the elimination of the machine gun crew would be the signal to launch the assault on the village. Which hut Ilsa was being held in could only be ascertained once they cleared the village.

  Rabasumbi and the soldier accompanying him melted into the jungle while Jack nervously fiddled with his Owen gun. Village dogs were barking now, sniffing the intruders on the outskirts, but their barking was silenced by the explosive blast of a grenade coming from the direction of the machine gun post.

  ‘Okay, boys, up and at them,’ Jack said, rising from the wet, stinking earth and brushing aside the sodden foliage that had concealed him and his men.

  He sprinted straight for the hut he had earlier observed being used by the Japanese soldiers as a billet and was at the entrance when the first bleary-eyed soldier emerged, armed with a rifle and wearing nothing more than a loincloth. Jack cut him down with a burst of fire, bullets slamming into the soldier’s chest and stomach, throwing him on his back. Jack quickly pulled the pin from a grenade and held it for a couple of seconds to allow the internal fuse to burn down, before tossing it through the open doorway. The blast ripped through the flimsy sides of the building, and he could hear a man screaming inside.

  There was no way back now, and Jack was aware that he and his men would have to kill every Japanese they came across, without giving any quarter.

  THIRTEEN

  The rain had eased, leaving a steamy mist rising throughout the mangrove swamp. Lukas lay on his stomach next to his precious mortar tube, gripping a .303 Enfield. He peered into the mist, straining to hear any sound that was out of place. He knew that his father had laid out an L-shaped ambush position covering the most likely approach, and about a hundred yards away the Riverside lay at anchor, Mel standing by his machine gun.

  The waiting was terrible, and every sound made Lukas start with fright. To reassure himself he touched the little leather bag around his neck, feeling the engagement ring inside. He swore to himself that he would return and place it on Megan’s finger as soon as they had completed this mission; he might even consider taking an administrative job back in Moresby, which he knew would please her.

  Lukas sensed that the Japanese were coming, and the only thing he and Jack’s men had on their side was surprise.

  He did not see the first Japanese soldiers enter the ambush zone, but Corporal Gari did, initiating the attack with a long burst from his Bren gun; immediately afterwards Jack heard the ripping sound of rifles engaging the enemy in the thick tangle of mangroves.

  Whilst setting up his mortar, Lukas had agonised over his elevations and traverses, and now he prayed that his calculations were correct. He dropped the first bomb down the tube, and the projectile soared skyward to drop back into the mangroves. The explosion was about two hundred yards out and, using his hearing, he ascertained that he had dropped the bomb in the place he had calculated would intersect the route the enemy would take to engage them. Muffled screams of men caught in the explosion drifted to him.

  ‘Bloody beauty!’ Lukas whooped and dropped another bomb down the tube.

  *

  Petty Officer Oshiro, leading the patrol of ten men, had been taken by surprise. One of his forward scouts had spotted the concealed boat, and Oshiro had given orders to form a line of assault to attack the boat, which was seemingly manned by only one guard on a heavy machine gun. It was when they were making their cautious approach that all hell broke loose. The soldier next to Oshiro collapsed, almost cut in two by a burst of machine-gun fire that erupted from very close by. Oshiro cast about desperately for the rest of his patrol, as bits and pieces of foliage were whipped off the stunted, tough trees around him.

  The ambush had been cleverly concealed, Oshiro thought despairingly, and immediately knew that he would have to fall back and try to outflank his hidden enemy. But as he did so, the first mortar bomb exploded only yards away and cut down three of his men, and it was quickly followed by another explosion that took the life of another man, shredding his arm from his body and tearing off the top of his head.

  The rifle and machine-gun fire continued to tear through his patrol, but the mortar was inflicting the worst of the casualties. Oshiro did not know if the fall of shot was being directed, but he knew he must eliminate the mortar.

  ‘Get on your feet and advance to our left,’ he shouted to the remainder of his men.

  More bombs fell but now they were random, as if the operator of the mortar were probing for the survivors of the enemy patrol.

  More by luck than calculation, Oshiro saw movement through the mangroves. He sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the ancestral gods because he could see the mortar man fiddling with the sights on the mortar, preparing to fire again. Oshiro leaned forward and fired his rifle. The bullet smacked up a squirt of mud beside the mortar operator, who reacted by snatching up his rifle and looking around to iden
tify where the shot had come from.

  Oshiro fired again and saw that his enemy had rolled to the ground behind a log that appeared to have been put in place for his protection. Oshiro noticed one of his men moving up beside him; he, too, had seen the mortar and was firing off rapid rifle rounds at the log, pinning down the operator. Oshiro knew the only way he could get to the enemy behind the log was to move in closer and use a grenade.

  Oshiro moved closer until he was only about ten feet away, and lobbed his grenade towards the log. He was satisfied to see that it had fallen on the other side, but when he glanced up he suddenly realised the mortar was covered by the big American .50 calibre machine gun mounted on the boat, just visible through a gap in the mangroves. The gun was pointed in his direction and Oshiro did not understand the words the gunner was yelling.

  Oshiro was vaguely aware that the explosive sounds around him were the thumb-sized heavy projectiles from the enemy machine gun ripping apart the foliage – and his own body. He felt no pain as he fell to the ground, only a strange sense of relief that his war was finally over.

  *

  Lukas heard Mel scream the words, ‘Look out! Grenade!’ and he turned his attention away from his mortar. For a split second, Lukas caught sight of the Japanese soldier throwing the grenade and then the man seemed to explode in a red mist, as the heavy .50 calibre rounds ripped through his upper body.

  The small metal object arched through the air as Lukas instinctively flung himself down behind the log between himself and the bullet-riddled Japanese soldier. But, alarmingly, the grenade fell on his side of the downed tree, only a few feet from him. Type 91 or 97, Lukas thought, and lunged towards the grenade to toss it over the log away from him. He was on his knees when the grenade exploded with a blinding flash and ear-splitting bang.

  Lukas was hurled back against the log and lay crumpled in a world of shock. Then the terrible pain hit him and he knew that the small but deadly hand grenade had done its job. He did not know exactly where the fragmented metal casing had hit him, but it seemed all his body had taken the full impact.

  He rolled painfully on his back to stare up at a clear patch of blue sky above and tasted blood in his mouth. Mel was still screaming orders to him. ‘Keep your head down!’ he could hear.

  For some strange reason, Lukas remembered a time that he and Karl had scored a try together playing rugby at their boarding school in Sydney. It had been a cold day in June, and Karl was playing front row in the forwards, whilst Lukas hovered near by as a breakaway. Their team work resulted in a greasy ball being slipped from the scrum into Lukas’s hands and a break in the opposition defence. With his speed, strength and agility, Lukas made it through to the try line to score.

  Then Lukas found he was thinking back to when he was a young man, and his father stood beside him as he learned to handle the navigation of one of their trading schooners. He had felt so proud at how his father praised his sailing skills.

  Lukas gasped; the pain was terrible and more blood filled his mouth. He knew that he was mortally wounded and reached for the small leather pouch attached to his dog tags. He wrapped his hand around the satchel containing the treasured ring intended for Megan’s finger, and reassured himself that it was his lucky talisman, and that so long as she loved him, he could not die.

  ‘I’ll get to you,’ Mel roared above the sluggish chatter of the big machine gun, raking the foliage around Lukas. ‘Just hang on.’

  Lukas continued to grip the bag containing the engagement ring. He spat a mouthful of blood and sighed. ‘Megan,’ he whispered, closing his eyes and slipping into an unconscious world where the body-racking pain mercifully faded to nothing.

  *

  Jack could feel his heart pounding with slippery, sweating fear as he glanced around to ascertain the next threat. Already the Papuan villagers were spilling from their huts, screaming their terror and running towards the shelter of the surrounding forest. When Jack turned around he could see his men going from hut to hut, cautiously probing inside with their bayonet-tipped rifles. Occasionally gunfire was followed by screaming and then silence. Jack was about to congratulate himself on the clearance when, suddenly, a Japanese officer wielding a sword emerged from behind a building and sprinted towards him.

  Jack raised his Owen and fired but it clicked on an empty chamber. Absolute fear gripped Jack as he reached for the only weapon he had – his long combat knife.

  The enemy officer was only yards away when he slowed to a stop, samurai sword held in both hands and raised above his head. His face was contorted with rage and he was yelling something at Jack.

  Jack knew he was dead if he attempted to run; the officer would cut him down from behind. He knew his puny knife was no match for that sword, but still he stood his ground, crouching in the knife fighter’s pose.

  ‘C’mon, you yellow bastard!’ Jack spat, edging sideways, aware that the blade poised to take his life could descend from any angle.

  Suddenly there was a shout – the words sounded like a woman’s name, but Jack couldn’t be sure – and the Japanese officer lurched forward as if pushed from behind. Jack leaped back to avoid the samurai blade, which still slashed him with its point, opening up a wound across his chest. He lunged forward with his knife, burying it in the officer’s chest. The man struggled but the bullet had done its job and, after a few twitches, he lay dead at Jack’s feet.

  Jack looked up to find a Japanese soldier standing above him, his rifle raised. He blinked and looked again. Surely that couldn’t be Fuji Komine? What was he doing here? And why the hell had he shot his commanding officer to save Jack’s life?

  ‘My mother has written that you have personally ensured my parents’ welfare,’ Fuji said, as if reading Jack’s mind.

  Jack was completely confused. ‘Why?’ he asked and his question could have meant so many things.

  Fuji gave a slow smile. ‘Maybe because we are both Papuans,’ he answered and laid the rifle stock against his cheek to take aim. The crack of the rifle came an instant before the pain. Jack felt the bullet rip through his thigh, causing him to lose balance and collapse into the mud of the village clearing.

  He shouted out in pain, and when he rolled over he could see that Fuji was gone. Instinctively he knew that he had deliberately aimed his shot to wound rather than kill him. He had no idea why Fuji would kill the officer and spare him. Whatever the reason, though, Jack was grateful to be alive.

  Seconds later he looked up into the face of one of his men, who was crouching over him with an expression of concern.

  ‘No more Japanese man left alive in the village,’ he reported. ‘We ask one of the villagers we caught about the white woman and they say she taken away yesterday to the beach.’

  ‘God almighty,’ Jack groaned. ‘We were only hours late. The German sub must have been here to pick her up.’ He couldn’t believe it – they had missed Ilsa by less than a day. He didn’t dare think about the consequences for her; in fact, he barely allowed himself a moment to register the information. The raid might have been a success, but there was still a lot of work to be done, and he would not stop until he had returned to the Riverside and found out whether or not his son was safe.

  Jack was relieved to discover that none of the men in his party had been killed or wounded. After a quick sweep of the village for any useful documents or equipment, he made his way back to the Riverside, limping with the aid of an improvised crutch and leaning on the shoulder of a PIB soldier.

  As he neared the location of the boat he saw the devastating results of the ambush. Dead and mangled Japanese soldiers lay where they had been struck down and already the flies were buzzing around them in the humid air. Jack was greeted by Corporal Gari and Mel Jones, both looking grim, and Jack knew immediately that something had gone terribly wrong.

  ‘How many did we lose?’ he asked, leaning heavily on the shoulder of the PIB soldier.

  ‘Just one, Jack,’ Mel replied and stepped forward. ‘I’m sorry. It was Lu
kas.’

  For a moment Jack thought he had heard incorrectly, and he shook his head in denial. He pushed himself away from the PIB soldier and leaned on the crutch, staring wild-eyed at the American.

  ‘Lukas took the full blast of a Jap grenade,’ Mel continued gently. ‘He got the mortar working and broke up the Jap patrol, killing a lot of the bastards in the process. He’s over here. We haven’t moved his body yet.’

  Lukas’s body was covered with a canvas sheet and Mel gently lifted it away. When Jack looked down at his son’s body, he saw that it was covered in blood from the many shrapnel wounds the grenade had inflicted.

  ‘I personally killed the son of a bitch who did this,’ Mel said. ‘Lukas was one of the best goddamned men I ever had the honour of serving with.’

  Jack collapsed to his knees beside the body of his son, ignoring the searing pain from his own wound, and gently stroked his son’s thick crop of matted hair. He saw the leather pouch around Lukas’s neck and removed it, placing it in the pocket of his trousers.

  ‘We bury him at sea,’ Jack said quietly. ‘I know that’s what he would have wanted.’

  The men gathered around the young Riverside captain and set about conveying his body to the boat. He was laid out on the deck and, after sending off a radio report, Mel set the boat on course to return to their base down the coast.

  A few hours later, out in the open sea, Mel had Lukas’s body sewn up in the strip of canvas and weighted with a couple of mortar bombs. The boat came to a stop on a gently rolling sea and Lukas was committed to the deep, as the American engineer read out a passage from a battered Bible. ‘Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . .’

  The body disappeared out of sight below the surface and Jack just stared at the sea. Mel turned over the engine and the Riverside continued her voyage. Jack remained on deck until night came, then went below to share the last of the bottle of whiskey Lukas had stowed.