It was too late for him – Lloyd knew that now with complete certainty – but it might not yet be too late for Eileen or Mal to get away, if indeed it was his partner currently hiding up in the treeline beyond the open fields. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he formed the idea of a suitable message in his mind and considered how best to get it across.
“Shit, sir, he’s signalling me…!” Langdale blurted, far too loud to be safe in his sudden excitement.
“…The Fuck…?” Thorne responded in kind, all pretence of radio protocol going out the window in that moment. “How, mate? How can you be sure?”
“I – I wasn’t at first…” he answered hesitantly, still watching the scene below through binoculars. “At first I thought he was just scratching himself, but he’s repeating a bloody pattern: I think it’s friggin’ Morse code…!”
“Jesus, mate; how’s your Morse these days?”
“Shit, good enough… wait one: translating now…
He went silent for a moment, watching intently through the glasses as the distant Lloyd continued to open and close his fingers against his chest, tapping out a repeated rhythm. It took him two cycles of the initial message before he had the entire thing decoded, reading: U MAL? I C U. CHK FLSH.
“Bloody hell; he knows it’s me, boss! Message reads: ‘You, Mal (question mark). I see you. Check flash.’… Stand back! Stand back where they can’t see you!” He added excitedly, throwing an arm back toward Victoria and warning her away as she began to approach his forward position once more.
“Oh, Christ…!”
“‘Check flash’…!” He realised suddenly, turning the field glasses in his hand and staring in surprise at the large lenses. “He saw the reflection of light on my binoculars!” He instinctively backed further into the treeline, taking care that leaves from some of the lower, overhanging braches were now keeping him in shadow.
“Watch that, Mal: if he can see it, so can they…!” Max warned automatically, his own voice quavering in stress now. “Can you signal him in return? Use something safer…?”
“Shit, I dunno…” Langdale muttered, staring down at his own pockets and combat webbing for a moment as he considered the problem, then glancing up once more as realisation spread across his features. “Fuck, yeah! My tactical light… the laser…! I can put a beam right on his chest at that range and no bugger will see a bloody thing unless they’re standing right the way!”
“Do it, Mal… do it quick: there mightn’t much time…!”
Not wasting another moment, Langdale lowered the binoculars to hang about his neck and drew his pistol, quickly removing the tactical light from beneath its muzzle before holstering it once more. Switching it on, he checked its operation by placing a tiny green spot against the open palm of his other hand before lifting the glasses to his eyes once more and aiming the laser down range. The coin-sized green spot that instantly appeared on Lloyd’s chest was extremely difficult to see at a distance of 300 yards, and he muttered a silent prayer of thanks that the sky was mostly overcast, as it would’ve been impossible to see in full sunlight at that range.
Taking care not to flash it directly into Lloyd’s eyes, Langdale flicked the beam across his face several times to gain his attention before settling the beam directly on the officer’s chest once more, resting upon his bound hands. With a short, preparatory breath, he began to signal, flicking his fingers in and out of the beam’s path as he sent his coded message on its way.
EV. MAL. GIRL W ME. RECON CONF E ALIVE.
He advised Thorne of the message he was sending, then repeated it twice more, sweating proverbial bullets for a moment or two before he caught an imperceptible nod of recognition from Lloyd and was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. A moment later and he began to signal back.
ACK. 2LT 4 ME. SAVE E.
“He’s acknowledging,” Mal exclaimed excitedly, then deflated quickly as he began to think about the content of the message. “‘Two-el-tee for me? What’s that mean?” He added, still transmitting but mostly thinking out loud. “What bloody second lieutenant? He says ‘two-el-tee’ then just says ‘for me - save E’: save Eileen…?”
There was a pause of just a few seconds that seemed an eternity before Thorne responded, his tone dark and hollow.
“It’s not ‘second louie’, Mal…” he advised sadly. “He’s saying it’s too late: ‘too late for me: save Eileen’…”
“Bullshit…!” Langdale growled softly, shaking his head in denial. “That’s bullshit, right sir? We’re gonna do something… right…?”
A pause followed, one that was far too long to inspire any confidence.
“…Sir…?”
“Mal…” Another, shorter pause. “Mal, I’m sorry…”
“No. Fuckin’. Way…!” Langdale snarled as loudly as he dared, grasping the mike of his headset and drawing it closer to his lips as he spat the words out. “You are not fuckin’ serious. I am not going to let them chop his bloody head off!”
“Mal, we can’t…” Thorne continued, but Langdale was too enraged at that moment to hear how close his commander was to tears in that moment. “We need you for the main rescue attempt tomorrow… if we risk you now, we may lose the one asset we have on the ground… We – I can’t afford that…”
“Fuck you, sir… fuck you…!” Mal rasped, fighting back tears now too as he lifted the binoculars and the laser again and started another message.
BE RDY. 2 MIN. I CVR. RUN.
For a few seconds, Lloyd’s spirits surged as every instinct within him rallied to the idea of escape, but those initial feelings of elation dissipated quickly as he considered again what Hasegawa had said. Eileen was still alive, and that recon flight had confirmed it. Yet if any attempt was made to help him escape right there and then, then successful or not, Donelson might not live out the night. There was also the issue of Victoria Watson to consider. Mal had just confirmed she was with him, and should he reveal his presence, any pursuit would also but her in danger; something that was hardly fair considering her inexperience.
Two women, one of whom Lloyd cared a great deal for, and both of them were currently stuck in situations that left them extremely vulnerable. Difficult as his next decision was, he made it quickly, fighting the sudden urge to vomit as the knot of fear in the pit of his stomach exploded into life once more. Struggling with his own emotions, he carefully composed and sent his reply.
NO GO. WDRAW. SAVE E. NOT ME.
“No…! No, no, no, no, no…!” Langdale moaned softly, heart sinking as he translated.
“Talk to me, mate… What’s happening…?” Langdale had left the radio on transmit, and every word was now relaying straight back to Thorne in Australia.
SAVE U! BE RDY! He signalled back, ignoring Thorne’s call for information over the radio.
He watched intently through the glasses, desperate for any acknowledgement. None was forthcoming however, Lloyd instead simply staring up in his direction and giving a single, sad shake of his head.
“Mal…! You gotta listen to me on this, buddy: this is killing me too, but we cannot risk you right now on something futile…!”
“No, bugger ya… no…!” Langdale croaked in response to both of them, almost sobbing as he dropped the binoculars to his neck once more and took up his rifle. Squinting through the weapon’s low-power optical sight and blinking to clear the tears clouding his vision, he sighted in on the guards standing closest and flicked off the safety, setting it to semi-auto. “Evan; you’re not doing this…! You are not gonna throw your life away like this, you selfish bastard…!”
“What’s he saying, mate,” Thorne asked gently, taking a softer approach now upon hearing those words. “What’s he tellin’ you…?”
“Same as you, dammit: to leave him and save Eileen… tellin’ me to withdraw.”
“He knows, buddy… he knows…” Thorne whispered, voice cracking halfway through the sentence. “How many are there…? Two dozen, you said, didn’t you? Two
dozen, right…?”
“Yeah… yeah…” Langdale answered shakily, lowering his weapon just long enough to wipe something from his eye. “Maybe more now, with the ones bringing the prisoners…”
“Can you take all of ‘em, mate? Can you do that, then take the other hundred that come swarming up the hills after you open fire…?”
“I’ll kill every one of the bastards…”
“Maybe you will, mate, but what about the girl with you…” Thorne argued, playing dirty and hating himself for it. “She was tough enough to handle a forced march, mate: you think she can hold her own in a firefight… with no training… no experience…?”
“Fuck you, sir: I know what you’re trying to do…!”
“Yeah, I know you do, mate… but it’s the truth all the same. You need to keep her safe too, don’t you…? What’s her name, Mal…?”
“V-Victoria…” He replied, voice faltering as his eyes remained fixed on the scene below. “Victoria Watson…”
A short silence ensued as Langdale altered his aim to take in several canvas-covered trucks he’d just spotted coming down the main road into Soewakoda. They pulled up close to the school house and there was the sound of a sharply-drawn breath from him as the rear covers were thrown back on all three vehicles and several dozen more Japanese troops clambered out, all dressed in naval uniforms.
“Oh, Christ, sir… there’s more of ‘em now: three trucks full of Jap sailors in the village…”
“Armed…?”
“All of ‘em…” he groaned, realising in that moment that there now truly was no hope of a successful rescue. “Jesus Christ, sir, the have swords… they have swords…every stinkin’ one of ‘em!”
“You need to get out of there, Mal: you two need to get to safety now!”
“I’m not gonna leave him…!” He hissed back, renewed determination flooding through him.
“Mate…” Thorne began softly, “are you sure? Are you sure you wanna see that…?”
“No, I’m not fuckin’ sure,” he snarled, his tone then softening dramatically. “I don’t wanna see it… but I have to…”
“I hear ya, Mal… I hear ya… Listen, can you do me a favour…” Thorne asked softly, sounding as if he too was having trouble finding suitable words. “Can you tell him something for me…?”
“Anything, sir… what is it…?” Langdale answered immediately, consciously stiffening his own resolve as he prepared himself for whatever that message might be as he laid down the rifle once more and again took up the binoculars and laser sight.
“Tell him…” Thorne’s voice broke completely then, there was a short pause during which he too fought to control his emotions. “Tell him: I’m sorry… Tell him… it’s been an honour… okay…?”
“Sending now, sir…” he croaked hoarsely, lowering his eyes for a moment as pain and anger threatened to overwhelm him. “Sending now…”
There was a pause as Langdale waited for the translation and then an equally long response, before releasing a snort of emotional laughter in spite of himself.
“He says it’s okay, sir…” he advised, wiping at his eyes once more. “He told me to look after you…”
“Jesus, that’d be bloody right…” Thorne observed, making an effort to walk the difficult path between sorrow and dark humour as he struggled to maintain his own control.
“Oh, Jesus, they’re coming for him, sir… they’re coming for him…!”
“Steady mate… steady…”
Thorne knew there was not a damn thing he could say in that moment that would be of any use whatsoever, and as a result he wisely elected to remain silent, waiting for any cue from Langdale that the man needed his help.
“Oh, you bastards… you filthy, fuckin’ bastards…!” He croaked softly, tears streaming down his cheeks as he fought down an overwhelming urge to take up his weapon and empty the magazine into the enemies below. Eight hundred miles away, Max Thorne slid to the floor of that radio room, all reason momentarily lost as he released a long, soul-wrenching howl of anger and despair.
MAX SAYS SORRY. ITS BEEN AN HONOUR
Those seven simple words took some time to send in Morse, and Lloyd could already hear the approach of the new arrivals through the jungle behind him as he finished decoding it. He stared skyward for a few seconds, fighting the tears trying to force their way free from the corners of his eyes, then composed himself once more and gave a jerky nod of acknowledgement, hoping desperately that his friend could see his face at that moment.
ITS ALL GOOD. LK AFTR THE BSTD 4 ME.
They were close now, and he could hear the jeers and catcalls growing louder. A strong hand grabbed his shirt collar from behind and he was hauled to his feet, then shoved roughly toward the nearest of the crudely-dug graves. Something hard cracked across the back of his legs, a sword scabbard perhaps, that sent him crashing to his knees once more with a stifled grunt of pain.
To simply sit there on his knees and accept his fate flew in the face of everything he’d been trained as a soldier: every fibre of his being screamed at him to attack… to wrestle a weapon from the nearest guard and go down fighting, taking as many of them with him as he could. Yet still there was the fear of what they would do to Donelson if he fought back, and he understood the cold, callous brutality of the Imperial Japanese Army well enough to believe that officer would follow through on his threat. There was also what might happen to the Watson girl to be considered when Mal joined the fight, as he was bound to if Lloyd attempted an escape.
His parents had been older – born of a different era – and his father had always instilled in Evan Lloyd the belief that real men believed in honour and respected women… that real men defended the weak and should always be willing to stand by their convictions. Well, he could kneel for his instead. He might not be able to fight back, but he could make damn sure he didn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him beg.
He heard footsteps close behind him to his left, and a gruff, gloating voice called out some unintelligible insult that drew laughter and cheers from some of the others standing about. A myriad of images flashed through his mind, time stretching out into infinity as part of his psyche began to finally accept the fate that now lay before him.
A single scene flared and vanished: one of an old movie he’d watched so many times with his father during his youth. Two men seated together at sunrise and awaiting the firing squad… actors Edward Woodward and Bryan Brown as Harry Morant and Peter Handcock in Breaker Morant. He remembered it so vividly now, The Breaker’s attributed final words so clear and poignant in his thoughts. As he closed his eyes one last time, Evan Lloyd couldn’t imagine any other phrase fitting the bill quite so perfectly. With one final, deep breath he shouted loudly:
“Cut straight, ya bastards: don’t make a mess of it…!”
Mercifully, the stroke was clean.
Major Mark Newbury, commanding officer of Gull Force’s C-Company was executed next, followed by many more as they were led from the school house in ones and twos and marched to their fate among the trees of the plantation. The massacre of Australian prisoners of war at Laha would continue throughout that day and well into the night. As promised and ordered by a rear admiral commanding the SNLF marines landed on Ambon, survivors of the ill-fated minesweeper W9 were first to take their turn with either sword or bayonet.
It would be close to midnight before a halt was finally called on that first night, with proceedings starting up again at dawn as more prisoners were brought in from the surrounding area. By the afternoon of the second day, close to two hundred POWs would lose their lives in a slaughter so horrific that even some of the Japanese present would turn away, sickened by the brutality of their own peers.
16.Mentes Reae
December 13, 1942
Sunday
They’d maintained a cracking pace for at least an hour, threading their way south through the jungle west of Laha as they put some much-needed distance between themselves and
the massacre still going on at Soewakoda. The cloud had begun to break here and there, with the sun threatening to break through as they’d finally stopped for a hard-earned rest in the foothills above the airfield. Having already marched for most of the preceding night, neither were in any fit state to continue much further.
As a nurse, Victoria was also well aware of the fact that her companion was now also suffering the effects of mental trauma in addition to the physical exhaustion they were both feeling. Having no binoculars of her own, she’d been spared the more gruesome details of what had been going on within the plantation below, yet she’d nevertheless seen enough at a distance of three hundred yards to be quite certain she didn’t need to see any more.
She’d already had some experience in dealing with shell shock and the other damaging effects of combat exposure from which soldiers often suffered – conditions that in Langdale’s era would become more commonly known of as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – and she was quite conscious of the danger of such conditions when exposed to the kinds of stress and trauma that the sergeant had just experienced. She was therefore watching him quite closely for any tell-tale signs that he might be developing any of the symptoms she’d seen in other cases.
“Trooper to Phoenix-Leader: reporting in... over…” Langdale croaked in a lost, hollow voice, leaning back against the trunk of a large palm and fiddling with the radio set at his belt.
“I hear ya, mate,” Thorne responded immediately, having been waiting by the radio at the other end awaiting a call that entire hour. “Advise your position, over…”
“We’re up in the hills, maybe half a mile south-west of Laha…” Mal advised, releasing a long, exhausted sigh. “We can’t move anymore today, sir… we’re both exhausted…”
“Understood, Mallee… understood. Is your position safe…?”
“Safe enough. We’re in thick jungle with reasonable views looking down over the airfield and to either side. We’d hear anyone approach long before they knew we were here.”
The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3) Page 89
