“We were advised of your arrival, sir,” a waiting Japanese officer advised in good English as they made their way up the sand toward the ruins of the beach-front village. “I am Captain Yanagisawa: I’ve been directed to escort you to the other side of the peninsula to be reunited with your colleagues.”
“Glad to hear it, captain,” Reuters answered tartly, not at all happy that it had taken so long for him to be allowed to leave Nachi and head for the beach. “I trust there will be no delays…”
“I will do everything within my power to ensure this is so, sir,” Yanagisawa bowed deeply. “Please; follow me and we will be on our way. I apologise for the nature of our transport: it was the only vehicle available to me.” Behind him, a rather worn-looking only Nissan army truck awaited, the rear cargo bed already loaded with half a dozen submachine gun-armed troopers.
“The vehicle is of no consequence to me, captain,” Reuters dismissed immediately. “So long as it is capable of transporting me from place to place, I care little about anything else.”
“Of course, sir… please…” Yanagisawa repeated, extending a hand as the Reichsmarschall stomped off toward the truck, his bodyguards in tow.
The vessel Donelson was eventually able to commandeer had no official name; just a designation number instead. One of over four hundred in her class, harbour defence motor launch HMDL 1314 had originally been constructed in the United Kingdom and subsequently transferred to the Royal Australian Navy following a long and arduous journey half way around the globe to reach its new home.
A small craft of only fifty-two tons, she’d been designed from the outset for harbour defence against similar vessels and submarines, and to that end she was armed with a single 40mm Bofors gun forward, a pair of 20mm Oerlikon cannon aft, two machine guns amidships and a brace of depth charges at her stern. Capable of around 12 knots, the class had been designed to operate within the turning circle of a submarine, and her keel and rudders had been modified to that end, significantly improving her manoeuvrability but also making the vessels extremely difficult to hold in a straight line.
One thing in the HDML’s favour however was its exceptionally low draught of just five feet, allowing it to be run very close into the beach beside the towering, beached bulk of Kormoran. Detmers, Oetzel and a number of the crew were already back on board as the little gunboat pulled into shore, preparing one of the freighter’s deck cranes for operation.
“You think this bloody thing is big enough to take another three tons?” Lloyd asked nervously, standing with Eileen by the forward 40mm mount and not at all happy with the amount of roll the craft had displayed in the short trip from the Tan Tui wharf down to the open beach.
“We’ll need to make sure the weight’s properly distributed,” she replied, staring up at the towering hull of Kormoran, “but she’ll manage well enough. We only need to get her out into the middle of the bay in any case...” She shook her head dismissively, then glanced down at the gentle waves washing up onto the beach between the two vessels. “I’m more worried about the tide to be honest,” she continued with a frown. “I’ll lay odds it’s going out at the moment, and I damned sure don’t want to end up beached here as well once they load that extra weight aboard. The sooner we get this bloody job done the better.”
“Ahoy, captain…!”
The call came from high above, and as they stared upward once more, shielding their eyes against the brilliant blue sky beyond, both could see the tiny silhouette of Detmers hanging out over the ship’s railing.
“Ahoy, yourself, captain…!” Donelson shouted back with a single wave of recognition.
“Are you ready to receive the cargo?”
“Aye, sir… ready and waiting…!”
“Preparing to lift now: give us… two minutes…”
The howl of an artillery shell made them all duck instinctively, thirty seconds later, although it continued on its merry way overhead from the north and detonated harmlessly on the beach, five hundred yards further on. That it had been fired at all however was a significant source of concern for all, regardless of the fact that it had been wide of the mark.
“Oh, Christ, not now, for God’s sake,” Eileen moaned angrily, anger and frustration clear in her voice as a second shell arced in from the same direction, this one exploding within the trees up the beach not three hundred feet from their position.
“That one was a lot closer,” Lloyd observed unnecessarily, voicing his own concerns. “What are the odds the next lot will be right on the money?”
“No bet,” Eileen growled sharply, hands on hips and fuming as she stared up at the freighter. “At least we’re covered by the bloody Kormoran here for the moment, but they’ve got no such luck,” she pointed out, jabbing an accusing finger up at the unseen crewmen currently working feverishly to bring one of the raider’s cranes into action.
As if part of some grand conspiracy, the next round of enemy fire came as a barrage rather than a single shot. Having effectively determined range, a trio of 75mm mountain guns behind the Japanese lines near Halong began firing for effect, raining shells down right across the beach area surrounding both vessels, and on the Australian defensive positions set up nearby, prepared solely for the purpose of holding off any assault against the freighter for as long as possible. The men manning those makeshift defences of hastily-dug foxholes and piles of felled timber knew full well they’d not hold long against a concerted attack, but they’d at least intended to provide enough delay to permit the removal of the device within Kormoran’s hold.
“Tanks…!” The cry rose up from nearby in a moment of silence between the explosions, causing further feelings of despair as the reality of it sunk in. “Tanks and infantry advancing in force…!”
Along the coastal road to Halong and through the jungle to the east, the rumble of tanks could be heard quite clearly, along with the chatter of heavy machine guns as streaks of tracer arced out toward the Australian lines from a number different points, scouring the undergrowth with fire and making it extremely difficult for anyone to break cover.
Several bursts of fire rattled off Kormoran’s hull, doing no actual damage but giving clear intent that wasn’t lost on Detmers or his skeleton crew. Having started one of her diesels to provide power for the operation of her cranes, this also provided the freighter with power for her defences, allowing two enterprising seamen to head aft under their captain’s orders and bring her aft-mounted 23mm flakvierling turret into action with surprising speed.
Although intended primarily for anti-aircraft use and not possessed of great angles of depression, the gun crew were aided somewhat by unexpected good fortune in that at the time of her running aground, Kormoran had come to rest with a significant list to port, allowing the flak turret to point downwards into the jungle to the north due to the pronounced angle of her main deck.
There was a deafening roar akin to a great tearing of linen as all four barrels opened up in concert, sending a torrent of bright tracer scything through trees, scrub and human beings alike. From their higher positon, well above ground level, the gunner was easily able to pick out some of the armoured vehicles approaching beneath the cover of the jungle canopy and moved to engage, directing short, lethal bursts against some of the nearer vehicles.
A licence-built version of the standard German P-1 light tank, the Type-98 Ke-Ni was protected by a thin, half-inch layer of welded aluminium that was barely capable of deflecting anything larger than a .50-inch machine gun bullet on a good day. They certainly weren’t able to withstand the withering fire from four 23mm cannon, and three of the light tanks exploded violently in quick succession, setting the surrounding jungle ablaze as troops escorting them dived for cover or fell to the ground, wounded and screaming.
Having experienced some initial success, the gunner next sought out some of the larger and more heavily armoured Type-1 Chi-He mediums, they too being a Japanese-made version of a German design – this time the larger P-2 Luchs. With armour as
thick as one and a half inches in places however, the Chi-He was an entirely different beast, its frontal armour quite impervious to high-explosive cannon shells of such relatively small calibre. The fire did serve to attract their attention however, and two Type-1s, having shrugged off the battering fire, subsequently stopped in their tracks and turned their main guns in Kormoran’s direction.
The good fortune that had enabled the flak turret to draw aim on the approaching troops now proved to be a sudden disadvantage as it stood stark and exposed on the ship’s listing afterdeck. From a range of just a few hundred yards, it was no great feat for the tanks’ experienced gunners to pound the squat gun mount with fire from their high-velocity 47mm cannon, tearing it to pieces with just two or three well-aimed shots.
Both then proceeded to smash the freighter’s already-shattered superstructure even further with high-explosive shells and machine gun fire as they raked it from stern to stem, not necessarily inflicting many more casualties but nevertheless making the sailor’s presence on deck extremely untenable. Also reacting to the fire from Kormoran, several mortars joined in the fray and began to land shells on and around the freighter, one or two going long and landing uncomfortably close to the motor launch on the far side.
“So much for having the freighter as cover,” Lloyd growled darkly as they were all drenched by water thrown up by a mortar shell explosion that had been far too close for comfort.
“Bastards…!” Eileen snarled, refusing to take cover and staring angrily up at the huge ship beside them as the survivors of Kormoran’s crew desperately threw a few ropes over the side and began to evacuate, placing 20,000 tons of steel hull between them and the advancing enemy. “We were so close…!”
“Close or not, we need to bloody move right now or we’re gonna be completely fucked...!” Lloyd pointed out sharply. “We gotta go, Eileen… now…”
Several loud explosions suddenly rang out above, followed quickly by billowing clouds of red flame and that rose up from Kormoran’s stern as crewmen continued to slide down the ropes hanging over her side. Oily, black smoke poured into the sky in thick clouds, filling the air around the rear of the ship and obscuring everything beyond.
“Beware below…!” They heard called from overhead, and Detmers and Oetzel landed in the water a few seconds later, having released their hold on the ropes they were using and allowing themselves to fall the last fifteen or twenty feet. Donelson, Lloyd and a number of the launch’s crew immediately leaped forward to drag them aboard, along with another half-dozen of Kormoran’s crew who’d also escaped the barrage of fire directed against the freighter.
“We had a lovely store of diesel fuel in the aft cargo hold,” Detmers explained with a wistful smile as he clambered onto the deck and brushed himself off. “The old girl’s not likely to need any of it now, but Gustav and I thought perhaps that it might be useful in giving us a little cover. It’s impressive what one or two hand grenades can do in an enclosed space, yes?”
It was only as they realised that the improvised smoke screen had been Detmers’ idea that Lloyd and Donelson finally noticed that both men’s faces were blackened and quite scorched, their eyebrows almost completely burned away.
“We’re in your debt again, captain,” Eileen pointed out quickly, not hesitating to make use of the opportunity. “You’ve bought us some time to play with… Helm…! Get us out of here at best speed. Back to Tan Tui wharf as fast as you can!”
The launch’s engines gunned loudly and there was a faint scraping beneath her hull as HDML 1314 backed slowly away from the beach, making use of the smoke enveloping Kormoran to mask her movements. Turning away, she chugged off to the south, hugging the shore and making a direct line for the jetty near the barracks, no more than 500 yards away.
“We’re a bit earlier than expected,” Eileen muttered softly to herself, Lloyd the only one close enough to overhear. “I hope Mal’s managed to get the wounded organised.”
“Whoever’s there, we’ll have to go with what we’ve got,” he shot back with a disappointed shake of his head. “I doubt we’ll get time for a second trip.”
To his credit, Sergeant Langdale was indeed waiting at the end of the jetty as they approached, accompanied by Watson, his daughter, Nicholas Renne and two dozen of the worst of Tan Tui’s wounded. They tied up in a rush, loading the injured onto the deck as quickly as they were able with fire from the advancing Japanese drawing nearer the entire time.
“There are more…!” Watson cried desperately, unable to tear his gaze from the cluster of patients still gathered at the far end of the wharf, huddled together and as confused and frightened as the rest.
“We’re already overloaded, John!” Eileen shouted over the rattle of a nearby machine gun, looking around at the stretchers already crowding every available inch of deck space and knowing when to accept reality. “We need to get out of here!”
“We can’t leave them…!” He howled, unwilling to take that last step off the wharf and onto the boat and still unable to look away. “We can’t…!”
“I’ll take care of them, John,” Renne assured, moving to stand beside his stricken colleague and resting a steady hand on his shoulder. Ten years older than Watson, tall and fair and possessed of good English with a thick, Dutch accent, the strength of his voice was finally enough to focus his fellow doctor’s attention. “You need to go, John!” He urged calmly. “Take Vicki and go with them… they’ll need you across the bay soon enough.”
“Now, John…!” Eileen snapped sharply, adding her voice to the conversation as she took a firmer grasp on his other shoulder. “Let’s go, captain… now…!”
Still unwilling but too confused and shocked to argue, Watson allowed himself to be manhandled aboard the launch and taken below decks, Victoria sent with him by Donelson after being given specific instructions to make sure he stayed there unless needed above. Langdale was the last man aboard as HDML 1314 pulled away from the jetty once more, this time turning south-west toward Laha, six miles away on the opposite side of the bay.
Lieutenant Oshiro Takeshi turned his Zero toward the west and swept in low over Mount Nona, enjoying the unusual experience of flying solo without wingman or as part of a larger flight. He’d taken off from the deck of the carrier Hiyō an hour earlier, the ship standing well out to sea off Hutumori with its sister ship, Junyō, and a brace of escorts, and had initially been part of a three-plane flight that had been split up soon after launch, their pilots sent on separate patrols over different areas of the island. With Allied air power now non-existent, it had been thought unnecessary to send out fighter patrols in force now, the force commander deciding instead to spread aircraft individually to cover greater areas and hold most of their forces in reserve, allowing an opportunity for rest and refit.
As Oshiro zoomed past the Latimore Peninsula and out across the Bay of Ambon, he turned his head to the left and watched as a pair of mine sweepers worked in shore off Cape Batuanjut, clearing Allied mines from the approaches to the inner bay. Waggling his wings at a couple of sailors waving below on the nearer of the two, he banked slowly around to the north and immediately picked up another, far smaller vessel chugging its way across the middle of the bay between Benteng and Laha, a small, silvery wake stretching out behind it.
“Dragon Four to Fighter Command,” he began instantly, keying the transmit key on his radio. “Dragon Four to Fighter Command, respond please…”
“Command reading you loud and clear, Dragon Four; please report…”
“Command, I have a small armed vessel in transit across Ambon Bay, approximately five kilometres south-west of Kudamati,” he advised calmly, checking the folded map he carried beneath a clear plastic pocket on the thigh of his flight suit. “Please confirm identity, over…”
“Checking, Dragon Four,” the reply came back after a moment or two, the voice on the other end a little more interested now that it had been previously. “We have two W-class minesweepers currently working the outer re
aches of the bay – could this be one of these vessels… over…?”
“Negative, Fighter Command… I have a positive visual on both vessels south of my position…” Oshiro countered immediately, shaking his head as he spoke. “Third vessel remains unidentified… please advise, over…”
There was a longer pause, his controllers aboard Hiyō undoubtedly conferring with local commands on shore before deciding on a course of action.
“Dragon Four, we have no known friendly vessels in this area. We are allocating surface units to intercept: you are free to engage. Please acknowledge…”
“Orders understood, Command… engaging now… Dragon Four out…”
Oshiro Takeshi brought his A6M2 around in a wide, shallow bank, maintaining speed as he traded off altitude and came back around onto an approach toward the new target below. At the same time, minesweeper W9 – the nearer of the two warships – broke off from its clearance duties and also turned northward, accelerating quickly to top speed as its crew went through their battle stations drills and armed their guns.
“Aircraft incoming…! Low level… ten o’clock…!”
That warning came from the forward gun position as other crewmen quickly moved to man their weapons. The fighter’s thin, dark silhouette had been difficult to pick out against the background of the jungle and the green mountains of the Latimor Peninsula, and the alert had come dangerously late as a result. The Zero was upon them even as the forward Bofors crew charged its loading hopper and it began to turn toward target, the aircraft’s cannon and machine guns opening up at a range of six hundred yards.
Shells and solid slugs ripped into the vessel just aft of the bridge, killing several crewman and also a number of wounded lying on stretchers there. The sailor manning the twin Oerlikon mount was one of them, struck by several 12.7mm machine gun slugs and blown overboard in a terrible spray of crimson gore. The Zero howled past overhead a few seconds later, almost low enough to touch before clawing its way skyward again and banking around for a second run.
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 72
