The Guns of Muschu

by Don Dennis

  The G3 Intelligence, Captain Roland McKay, wasn’t totally convinced. Since he’d first been prompted to look more closely at the island, he’d been receiving scattered pieces of information that indicated activity there had increased, including preparing defensive positions along the high ground at the eastern end overlooking possible landing areas. One suggestion was that a force should be landed on the island simultaneously with the main Wewak force; however, this would require at least a battalion, plus supporting elements. These could be better used in the main landings, rather than chasing a second-line enemy force around an isolated island.

  While opinions still differed on the role Muschu would play in defending Wewak, it was agreed that there was a growing need to determine the actual situation there. Had the garrison been reduced or reinforced? What new defences had been constructed? Were there really naval guns on the island, or were they only a figment of someone’s imagination? Maybe the entire situation was an elaborate diversion?

  On the morning of 6 March, however, a series of messages arrived from Allied Intelligence Bureau departments in Australia which suddenly changed everything. After examining them McKay quickly noted, point by point, the information he now had.

  Known facts:

  The Muschu guns have been sighted on the hills at the eastern end of the island. Ongoing Tactical Reconnaissance has not been able to confirm this sighting due to heavy jungle.

  Lieutenant Colonel Watanabe, an artillery specialist, has been on the HQ staff of the 21st Division since January (previously misidentified as a medical officer with a similar name).

  Watanabe has a headquarters on Muschu Island.

  Increased movement of personnel between Wewak and the island has been reported by natives and coastwatchers. It is uncertain whether there has been an increase or decrease in personnel on the island. Assessment is that the fittest personnel are being transferred to the Wewak garrison in exchange for some second-line personnel.

  Administrative radio traffic has increased between the island and the HQ 21st Division. Our Signals Intelligence advise they are now operating on three radio channels within the High Frequency band. It is suspected the Japanese now have two, possibly more, transmission-receiving sites on the island, one of which is located at the western end, another halfway along the island. One is suspected to be a mobile (manpack) unit. Tactical Reconnaissance aircraft have not been able to locate any fixed antennas.

  Stocks of telephone cable have recently been shipped to the island from Wewak. Indications are that more than 9 kilometres of cable have been delivered. This is consistent with the construction of new defensive positions and linking them to dispersed and central command centres.

  A Jap engineering unit sent a construction team to the island in early February along with several bargeloads of supplies, some of which were reported by coastwatchers and trusted natives to be concrete and reinforcing steel.

  Colonel Watanabe has ordered stocks of 140 mm ordnance moved from a shore battery to Muschu Island. (How many rounds?)

  A British rangefinder (Barr & Stroud, model JA1901) was included in the cargo landed by torpedoes near Wewak. The B&S JA1901 is effective up to 18,000 metres.

  Previous intelligence indicates the guns on Muschu are copies of a British Vickers design, 140 mm calibre with a maximum range of 15,000 to 20,000 metres.

  Colonel Watanabe had two bottles of sake delivered in the same torpedo as the rangefinder. Was the rangefinder delivered in the storage torpedo destined for Watanabe? (Highly probable.)

  McKay reflected that one of the basic rules of intelligence assessment is that often the obvious conclusion is the correct conclusion. For McKay, the obvious conclusion was that Colonel Watanabe had spent two months bringing the Muschu guns into service. He now had the rangefinders and calculating equipment required to lay them accurately and was acquiring ammunition stocks from mainland batteries. The guns were probably well defended from both ground and air attack and therefore could present a serious threat to the Wewak landing force.

  McKay decided to strongly recommend the use of a Z Special patrol to confirm his findings. He gathered his notes and headed for the office of the G2 Operations—ultimately it would be his decision.

  6. 1ST AUSTRALIAN ARMY HQ, LAE, PNG:

  9 MARCH 1945

  On 9 March a request from the General Officer Commanding (GOC) of the Sixth Division for a reconnaissance of Muschu Island was sent to the commander of the Services Reconnaissance Department (SRD), Major Richard Cardew, at 1st Army Headquarters, Lae. This immediately presented Major Cardew with a problem. All his reconnaissance teams were heavily committed to both the Sixth and Seventh Division to assist in preparations for the invasion of Wewak and Borneo. Now with an additional patrol required, no amount of juggling the schedule or shuffling personnel between teams would provide the additional manpower he needed.

  Requests for assistance to the SRD headquarters in Brisbane came back with the suggestion to create a new team using men who had just finished or were about to finish their Z Special training. However, this suggestion met with some concerns by Cardew’s staff. Even experienced operatives required time to settle in with each other—but these men had never been on an SRD mission before. With clandestine operations it was essential to know how other team members react to situations, and while they’d all be veterans of the New Guinea or Middle East campaigns, expecting them to become a cohesive team in a few days was unrealistic.

  For the Muschu operation there would be no time for extensive preliminary training. The mission had to be underway by early April, when both tide and moon favoured a night insertion. The night of 12 April was selected as the target date as there would be no moon, disguising the team in its clandestine approach to the island from the sea. That gave barely a month to bring together all personnel, brief them, conduct rehearsals, then make a final reconnaissance before the actual insertion. Not nearly enough time in Major Cardew’s opinion.

  On 12 March, Major Cardew flew to Aitape to speak with the staff of the Sixth Division about the proposed Muschu operation and other patrols scheduled for the Wewak area. The intelligence summary during that meeting again noted that Muschu Island was now of ‘some concern’ due to the latest assessment indicating that the Japanese had brought their guns back into action. There was still conjecture about the island’s role in the defence of Wewak, and the G3 Intelligence highlighted their belief that the island’s garrison had been depleted rather than increased.

  One alternative that had been considered was to bomb the island—not the small raids previously carried out by RAAF Beauforts and Bostons, but a large-scale ‘pasting’, European style. By 1945 the Australian Air Force had a large inventory of B-24 Liberator heavy bombers, and theoretically had more than enough to level the entire island. However, requests made by the Sixth Division had been refused by the Air Force’s Operational Command in Australia as there was a shortage of 500- and 1000-pound bombs. Essential munitions were being rationed due to General Douglas MacArthur, Commander South-West Pacific, diverting stocks to support his operations further north. An ongoing dock dispute in Australia was delaying shipment of what munitions remained to New Guinea and therefore the Air Force was reluctant to squander what few large bombs they had on speculative targets. They needed a definite target location before they would schedule even a small raid by heavy bombers—let alone the squadron or more that was estimated as the minimum required to provide enough coverage to destroy a gun battery in heavy jungle.

  So there was no alternative. The matter had to be dealt with using resources on hand, which meant risking men’s lives in an operation that might have been unnecessary if enough bombs were available. It was especially frustrating given that the Americans, meanwhile, had the luxury of throwing such bombs lavishly around elsewhere in the Pacific.

  Major Cardew was reluctant to deny the Sixth Division its request, recognising that if Muschu was to play a part in the defence of Wewak it was best to determine its r
ole as soon as possible. The argument also had another aspect. After all, intelligence staff reasoned, Muschu was only a ‘soft’ target, garrisoned by an agricultural unit made up of recuperating sick, wounded and others classified unfit for combat duty. Also, being a reconnaissance mission lasting no longer than 48 hours, the patrol wasn’t expected to make contact with the enemy—just get in, observe, then get out and report. Almost a training exercise.

  Cardew wasn’t convinced it would be that simple. However, Muschu had originally been scheduled along with a series of other operations around the Wewak area, and much of the planning had already been done. Codenamed ‘Ash’ at the time, it had then been decided to use eight men in the operation, including two officers, so that after landing, if it was deemed necessary, the patrol could be split into two sections that would then cover different areas of the island to save time.

  Although the specifics would need updating, the basic format of the mission could remain the same. A patrol of eight would be inserted at night by kayaks onto one of the beaches, then proceed to ascertain the enemy’s strength and preparations to defend the island. After completing their mission—and perhaps snatching a Japanese prisoner if the opportunity arose—they’d withdraw by kayak to be picked up by an Australian Navy patrol boat.

  Finally, after hours of discussion and examination of the latest intelligence, Cardew agreed to supply a team to carry out the Muschu reconnaissance. The operation was given a new codename—‘Operation Copper’—and was tentatively scheduled to commence on the night of 11 April, which coincided with the new moon—a ‘black as the inside of a cow’s guts’ type of night that should make it almost impossible for the enemy to sight the approaching team.

  Cardew wrapped up his discussions and flew back to Lae that afternoon in a Beaufort, passing high over Muschu Island during the flight. A smudge of green on a sparkling ocean, it looked strangely inviting.

  7. 1ST AUSTRALIAN ARMY HQ, LAE:

  13 MARCH 1945

  On his return from Aitape, Major Cardew’s staff began selecting men to take part in the Muschu operation. With twelve Z Special Unit training camps scattered around Australia, it was a drawn-out process contacting all units, gathering their assessments of potential candidates, then creating a short list—all conducted using the military communications system, which although now a large and efficient network, still suffered the limitations of the era. Messages needed to be encrypted, transmitted, then decrypted, while copying documents required additional time in the absence of modern photocopiers. Telephone conversations had to be scheduled over long distances, and line encryption used. Even internal phone calls needed to be carefully worded to minimise the possibility of compromise. All these factors added to the time and workload of preparation.

  Had it only been merely a matter of selecting eight good soldiers plus a few reserves, the process would have been simple enough. However, besides being superb soldiers, each man had to be a specialist in such fields as explosives, radio, weapons or boat handling. All had to be cross-trained to some extent, and already at peak fitness as there wasn’t time for the operational work-up associated with most missions. It took seven days to create a short list and another two days to make the final selections.

  Those chosen for Operation Copper were Lieutenant Thomas Barnes, Lieutenant Alan Gubbay, Sergeant Max Weber, Lance Corporal Spencer Walklate, Signaller Michael Hagger, Signaller John Chandler, Private Ron Eagleton and Sapper Edward Thomas (Mick) Dennis. There were also two reserves nominated for the mission, both of whom were already in Lae. The team members were then interviewed by their unit commanders, told that they’d been selected for their first mission, then given three days pre-embarkation leave before being flown to New Guinea—all of them, that is, except one.

  Sapper Mick Dennis was a former commando who’d seen extensive action in New Guinea in the opening days of the Kokoda campaign. No stranger to jungle warfare, Dennis had vowed to make life as miserable as possible for the enemy, managed to do so and yet possessed a lucky streak. In early March 1945, Mick Dennis had just finished his final Z Special course at the Tabragalba training camp south of Brisbane. Transferred to the holding unit at Milton to await embarkation to New Guinea, on 26 March he was ordered to pack his kit and report to the transport office where a vehicle would be waiting to take him to the docks. He was told he was being sent to join his new Z Special unit in New Guinea, and for him the prospect of a few days at sea was a pleasant one. What he didn’t know was that he’d been assigned the three-day sea passage instead of a four-hour flight, due to an administrative foul-up.

  Services Reconnaissance Department (SRD) staff discovered the mistake too late to have Dennis put ashore. This meant that by the time he arrived in Port Moresby and was then flown to Lae, he’d lose three, possibly four, day’s work-up with the new team. In light of this, an administration officer at 1st Army HQ Lae suggested Dennis be replaced by one of the team’s reserve members. The administration officer, a lieutenant who’d recently arrived on staff, claimed that Dennis’s record showed he was an undisciplined larrikin who had little respect for authority and should never have been chosen in the first place.

  SRD was reluctant to replace Dennis. Although losing three or four days’ work-up training with the Muschu team was less than ideal, they’d been impressed by Dennis’s service record. Dennis, 25, was five foot ten, broad shouldered, had a deceptively gentle manner, and came from a sporting family—one of his three sisters was a gold-medal swimmer in the 1932 Olympics. An unarmed combat instructor for the New South Wales police force before the war, he’d served in the militia since he was old enough to join, and after the outbreak of war was transferred to the Australian Imperial Force.

  In 1941, Dennis volunteered for a new unit, the 2/5th Commando Company. In March 1942 the 2/5th was sent to New Guinea, where they fought the Japanese in a long guerilla campaign around Wau and Mubo. There, outnumbered almost a hundred to one, ‘Kanga Force’, as it became known, harried the Japanese for over a year, instituting a raid on Heath’s Plantation in June 1942 that had been used ever since as a textbook example of commando tactics. Dennis had been cited for bravery under fire, carried wounded to safety, and shown initiative and leadership in this campaign.

  He also had a reputation as a prankster, always up to mischief with one or more of his mates. A favourite pastime was playing with explosives— Dennis boasted he was so precise he could do anything with C4 explosives, from blowing up bridges to extracting teeth. Those who doubted him soon learned otherwise: it was amazing where explosives could be detonated at the most embarrassing of moments without damaging the human body.

  While his pranks infuriated some, they provided the light relief so essential during times of hardship, diverting soldiers from their misery. The saying around the 2/5th was that if they really wanted to stop the Japs in New Guinea, all they’d have to do was hand Mick Dennis over to the enemy.

  In 1943, the 2/5th returned to Australia for recuperative leave. During this period, out of boredom, Dennis volunteered for a series of training courses that eventually led him to joining Z Special in late 1944.

  Even with his larrikin streak and disdain for authority, Dennis had been considered for promotion several times. He’d always refused, explaining that his purpose was to inflict pain on the enemy, survive the war then get back to civilian life. Promotion wasn’t going to speed up that process— besides, if he did get promoted he’d wind up at a desk and that was something he feared even more than the Japanese.

  Major Cardew’s staff knew of Dennis’s reputation and ignored the administration officer’s suggestion, only to find that the officer had run the objection further up the chain of command. The SRD made its own decisions about its personnel—if it judged a soldier suitable that was it, irrespective of his conduct sheet. Even so, questions were asked about the wisdom of including Dennis in the squad, all quickly parried. However, the administration officer’s enthusiasm to have Dennis removed had piqued the SR
D staff’s curiosity. Some quick investigating revealed that it was this particular officer who’d caused the transport problem in the first place.

  While on pre-embarkation leave in Sydney 12 months earlier, the lieutenant had come across Mick Dennis in uniform in the Australia Hotel, standing at the bar with two gorgeous women giving him their undivided attention. The lieutenant, of the opinion that such lovelies would do better to lift their social standing by associating with an officer rather than a simple private soldier, attempted to muscle in by pulling rank.

  Dennis merely burst out laughing and told the lieutenant to get lost. This inflamed the newly commissioned Duntroon graduate, who then proceeded to dress Dennis down in front of his escorts and an amused crowd of drinkers. Again, Dennis ignored him, then decided to visit the men’s room without replying.

  The lieutenant took this as a backdown and closed in on the two women, who now turned their attention to him. Encouraged further when they both accepted his offer of buying drinks, he began his sales pitch. He didn’t get far when one of the women, the taller of the two, a slim and athletic brunette, moved seductively closer to him, smiled sweetly, then delivered a knee to his groin. Amid cheers from the onlookers, the lieutenant was then seized by a tall man wearing a fedora and grey suit, put in an arm lock, then hustled from the hotel and tossed in the back of a police car. The car sped away, siren blaring, and the lieutenant spent the night in the CIB cells at Central. In the morning, shackled to a hefty constable, he was delivered to Victoria Barracks somewhat worse for wear.

  The next day the story got around. Lieutenant so and so was dropped by a woman, so how would he fare against the Japs? The lieutenant attempted to lay charges against Dennis, his female companions and the police for wrongful detention but found that he couldn’t locate a single witness. What he didn’t know was that the two women were Mick Dennis’s sisters— and the one who’d felled him was none other than Clare Dennis, the former Olympic swimming gold medallist who was now married to a Sydney police detective who’d been watching from further along the bar. This detective had organised the lieutenant’s transport and also made sure that all witnesses to the incident evaporated.