The Guns of Muschu

by Don Dennis

  By morning, tired but pleased by the cohesive effect the alert had on his men, Tomei allowed a 50 per cent stand-down. He then issued orders to all staff and sub-unit commanders to coordinate their search across the island using their best men.

  This time, they would flush out and kill the Australians.

  After an uncomfortable night, once again nursing coral cuts and shivering from their futile attempt to get past the reef on their makeshift raft, Hagger, Chandler, Weber and Dennis decided to move further inland. They knew the Japanese, having found their foldboats, would begin a coastal search, so it would be wise to be well clear of the beach area. As the Japanese seemed to have a dislike for the jungle, they felt the best place to lay up during the day would be in the more heavily timbered hills behind Cape Saum. Then, come dusk, they could move to the cape and wait for the HDML’s arrival. That evoked some discussion about how the others had fared. All expressed quiet confidence that they’d be able to mirror-flash a reconnaissance aircraft and pass the message on to HDML 1321. However they all knew that four men floating on logs would be extremely difficult to see from the air—even if they were signalling.

  As dawn broke, the four men gathered what remained of their equipment, spread out and headed north-east into thick jungle. There they came across several tracks, which they checked for signs of the enemy, but found none. It seemed as if the eastern end of the island was still deserted, or at least only thinly occupied, but they had no way of knowing—the enemy could be waiting in ambush anywhere. They considered themselves lucky that the attempted ambush at the foldboat hide had been clumsily laid. If the Japanese had been deployed in concealed positions, with their machine guns covering the hide area, and used competent ambush discipline, it would have been all over. Instead, the enemy had been out in the open and made no attempt at concealment. On this point, Sixth Division Intelligence had been right: the troops here were mainly second-line. But that was little comfort now.

  After an hour they found a suitable lay-up among tall trees and thorny ‘wait-a-while’ bushes. Clearing an area with their knives, they covered their tracks and prepared to wait until nightfall.

  Corporal Buzuki returned to his section early that morning, taking with him two men carrying pails of boiled rice and fish. His men would be ravenous, as they hadn’t eaten for almost 24 hours. He’d left them late the previous afternoon under the command of Private First Class Asaki, a soldier who claimed to have extensive experience in jungle warfare. Buzuki’s orders were clear: set up an ambush position covering the enemy’s kayaks, then wait until morning. If the Australians showed during the night, kill them.

  As they hurried along the track parallel to the beach, Buzuki suddenly paused. Ahead he heard voices. For a moment he feared it might be the Australian commandos, then he recognised Private Asaki’s voice. He left the track and pushed through to the beach, emerging a hundred metres from the kayak hide. Ahead he could clearly see Asaki and the remainder of the squad standing around, making no attempt at concealment. The two machine guns, instead of being hidden and covering the ambush area, were on the beach aimed out to sea.

  For a moment he was consumed by rage: so this is how the jungle warfare ‘expert’ arranges an ambush! Controlling his anger, he strode along the beach, his rifle at the high port. He was 10 metres away before Asaki even realised he was approaching. Turning, Asaki’s jaw dropped when he saw Buzuki bearing down on him. Before he could speak, Buzuki drove his rifle butt into his stomach. Asaki dropped on his knees, gasping for breath.

  Buzuki turned on the remainder of the squad. They stood motionless, wondering who’d be next. Instead, Buzuki ordered them to form ranks. They shuffled into position, stared out to sea and tried to avoid his eye.

  As Buzuki strode along the line, staring clench-jawed into their faces, the two men clattered along the beach with their rice canisters. Breathing hard, they stopped and lowered the four containers. The squad eyed them hungrily.

  Buzuki strode over and kicked the containers with his boot, spilling the contents onto the sand. Pointing to Asaki, who by now had risen to his knees holding his stomach, he ordered that he be escorted back to barracks.

  Buzuki then turned on the squad, coldly explaining that he’d shoot anyone who disobeyed his orders, and instructed them to set up a concealed ambush covering the enemy’s kayak hide.

  21. CAPE SAUM:

  13 APRIL, 1800 HOURS

  As the sun dropped below the horizon, the four Australians broke cover and headed north-east towards Cape Saum. They quickly located one of the tracks they’d used earlier in the day and spread out, moving quietly along with Dennis in the lead. After pausing several times to listen, but hearing nothing except the buzz and croak of night insects, they arrived at Cape Saum at 2000 hours. A quick check of the defences along the clifftop confirmed they still weren’t manned. Skirting around the defences, they climbed down to the beach and found a hide among the rocks.

  Again it was a moonless night. A gentle breeze kept the insects at bay and they searched expectantly for light signals from the HDML. The sea was a black smudge, broken only by a faint line of white foam a hundred metres out where the waves met the reef. Occasionally the screech of a night gull broke the silence, and all of the men found they were losing concentration and dozing off. Fighting sleep, they forced themselves to stay alert.

  Just after midnight, they heard the muffled burble of diesel engines and knew it was HDML 1321 venturing in close. The thought of Lieutenant Palmer and his crew cruising just a few kilometres away with hot coffee on the stove and fresh corned beef sandwiches waiting was frustrating. Someone suggested lighting a fire, but they knew it would draw the Japanese like moths to a flame, so they had to sit and listen as the diesels slowly faded into the night.

  Half an hour later a rain shower passed through the area, drenching them. The breeze dropped and the mosquitoes homed in. Without insect repellent, the men had no choice but suffer their whining attacks. By 0100 hours they’d not sighted any signals, nor had the HDML been heard again, so reluctantly they concluded that Lieutenant Barnes and his group had failed to signal the reconnaissance aircraft. They tried to avoid speculation about the fate of the four men, hoping that the current had swept them to the mainland.

  After a brief discussion, they decided their best course of action would be to head back to the foldboats and reassess the possibility of killing the soldiers guarding them. If they could, they’d then make a quick dash out to sea and remain there until the HDML returned after dark. If they couldn’t escape in the foldboats they’d head for the equipment cache and retrieve the radios, then move to higher ground and get one of the radios working. Once contact was made with either HDML 1321 or base, they could schedule another pick-up.

  If they became separated at any time, they agreed to meet at a water-filled bomb crater they’d passed earlier that evening about 400 metres inland. Failing that, they’d make their separate ways to Cape Samein on the south-western end of the island. From there they could try to swim for the mainland and then make for the Australian lines near Dagua.

  They considered moving to the foldboat hide immediately, as they’d become familiar enough with the coastal track system and were confident they could reach the cache in less than an hour. However, it was agreed it would be better to move in daylight—they could make a thorough reconnaissance of the area around the foldboats just in case the Japanese also found the equipment cache and set up another ambush.

  Silently they left the beach, headed inland and found a lay-up position in heavy bamboo. There they’d rest until dawn.

  Cruising offshore at the designated pick-up area east of Cape Barabar, the crew of HDML 1321 had no way of knowing that the patrol had moved further north to Cape Saum. For three hours they motored in a racetrack pattern along the coast between Cape Barabar and Cape Warbu, lookouts scanning for signal lights. The night was inky black and balmy, with a slight swell running before an easterly breeze. At one point Lieutenant Palmer
ventured close in to Cape Saum in the off-chance the patrol had for some reason moved further north, but knowing the water there was littered with coral he was forced to come no closer than 2 kilometres. After scanning what they could see of the shoreline and sighting nothing, he went about, then resumed patrolling between Cape Barabar and Cape Warbu.

  At 0130 hours a rain squall passed through and the breeze dropped, leaving the water oily calm. Lieutenant Palmer ordered the engines be pulled back to idle and the little ship hove to about 3 kilometres off Cape Warbu, rolling easily on the low swell. Again the lookouts saw nothing on shore, the island a vague brooding mass against the stars. For a few minutes Palmer shut down the engines and allowed the ship to drift, ordering absolute silence. Ears straining, they listened in the vague hope that the patrol was nearby and trying to hail them, but the only sounds were the slap of water against the hull and the faint hiss of waves breaking on the reef. In the tiny radio shack the operators had their high-frequency radios tuned to the patrol frequencies, but all that was heard was the hollow rustle of atmospherics and the occasional fading bleep of far-off Morse signals.

  At approximately 0200 hours one of the lookouts reported lights approaching from the direction of Cape Boram on the mainland. Simultaneously, all weapons swung round and safeties clicked off. Palmer gave the order to hold fire as the sound of a diesel motor echoed across the water. The lights coalesced into a landing barge, its deck crowded with Japanese soldiers, talking and laughing as if they were out for a harbour cruise. Totally unaware they were being tracked by a 20 mm cannon, two .50 calibre machine guns plus an assortment of rifles and submachine guns, the barge chugged past about 400 metres away. Sorely tempted, Palmer realised that although they’d be able to decimate the soldiers and sink the barge, opening fire would compromise the Copper team pick-up. Reluctantly he allowed it to pass unharmed. As the barge’s lights faded towards Muschu Bay on the western end of the island, he ordered the gun crews to stand down.

  After waiting another half an hour he ordered the ship to go about. For the next two hours they cruised the southern coast looking for light signals from the missing patrol, then at 0430 hours having sighted nothing, Palmer altered course and HDML 1321 headed away from the island.

  Captain Tomei watched the barge nudge onto the beach. The ramp slammed down and 60 marines splashed ashore and formed ranks. These were men of the Kaigun Rikusentai, elite Navy troops from the headquarters guard in Wewak. Tomei had used all his persuasion to have them sent here, calling in favours and promising a number of senior officers additional supplies of pork, fish and the potent native brew that had become popular as a sake replacement.

  The lieutenant in command strode up the beach to him, saluted then bowed. Tomei responded, then the lieutenant turned to his sergeant and issued quick orders. The marines would be fed, rested until dawn, then briefed and deployed in the hunt for the Australian commandos.

  22. MUSCHU ISLAND:

  14 APRIL, 0600 HOURS

  The four Australians spent a restless night in their lay-up, damp and cold, plagued by mosquitoes and insects. As dawn came they waited fully alert, watching for signs of the Japanese, while the birds around them shrieked their morning chorus. After an hour the sun had climbed above the horizon and the birds had calmed. With no sign of the Japanese, the men relaxed a little and again went over their plan for the day.

  It was apparent that Lieutenant Barnes and his group had not made contact with the Tactical Reconnaissance aircraft or the HDML. While they knew the HDML would return to the rendezvous area off the coast for the next four nights, without torches or radios they had no way of contacting it. One alternative was to use the foldboats to get out to sea and signal the boat using Verey pistols. They’d counted about eight Japanese plus two machine guns at the foldboat hide, and with only one Sten and three pistols among them, even with the element of surprise, killing all the Japanese was a tall order. However, they’d reassess that possibility after reaching the hide. The soldiers looked disorganised and poorly disciplined, so maybe there was a chance it could be done.

  The next option was to sneak in and recover the radios from the equipment cache. As this was about a hundred metres further inland from the foldboats, there was a chance the Japanese hadn’t yet found it. They were confident if they moved carefully they could get in and out without the Japanese seeing them.

  The contingency for this plan would be that on contact with the Japanese, Dennis would provide covering fire with the remaining Sten while the others cleared the area. If separated, the rendezvous for the group would be the water-filled bomb crater they’d found off the track behind the Cape Saum defences. If they failed to make the rendezvous, or if they couldn’t regroup, then they were to individually make their way to the western end of the island, attempt to swim the strait to the mainland, then head north for the Australian lines.

  After cleaning their weapons and an equipment check, they set off, heading west along the track paralleling the beach. Moving silently, again with Dennis in the lead, it took them an hour to reach an area about 200 metres inland from the foldboat cache. Leaving the track they moved into the undergrowth, then slowly crept to where they could see the large palm tree that marked the cache.

  For a moment they thought the Japanese had gone, but after waiting a few minutes they saw that the Japanese were still in positions around the foldboats. However, they’d moved their machine guns off the beach and were better spread out and camouflaged. From this it was obvious that someone who knew what they were doing was now in command, and they decided that with only one Sten gun among them they’d have little chance of killing them all. That put an end to plan one.

  Further inland, the radio cache still remained unguarded. After waiting an hour and making sure that they’d spotted all the Japanese in the area, they inched towards the cache, pausing frequently to observe and listen. It took them almost two hours to circle around the foldboat ambush, then swing back again to reach the equipment cache. Collecting the radios they moved silently away, treading slowly through the undergrowth, pausing and listening every 20 metres. Finally reaching the track, they headed for the bomb crater rendezvous.

  This time their progress was slow. Several times they heard voices in the distance and they broke track to lie silently in the undergrowth until they considered it safe to move on. It was late afternoon by the time they neared the bomb-crater hide. The team’s spirits were high, one remarking that in half an hour they’d have the radio working and be set to get out of the place.

  In the lead Dennis suddenly propped. On the track ahead, at the corner of a muddy puddle of water, was a boot print, water still draining into the shallow impression. He signalled the others to be quiet, then crept 50 metres further along the track.

  Crouching down, he strained to see around a bend. It was then that all hell broke loose. Rounds spattered into the trees around him and zipped close by. Dropping flat, he returned fire with his Sten, aiming where he thought the fire was coming from. The rest of the patrol, hearing the fire, ran up behind him, broke track and headed into the undergrowth. Changing magazines, Dennis opened up again, spraying rounds on a wide front until the weapon emptied. The Japanese also stopped firing and then he heard the others moving again, making their way deeper into the jungle.

  The Japanese again opened fire, this time towards the sound of the men crashing through the undergrowth. Dennis changed magazines, then heard the Japanese talking loudly and moving along the track towards him. One suddenly appeared, 5 metres away heading straight at him, but at the same time the three escaping Australians suddenly resumed their flight. Behind him, more Japanese opened fire in their direction. The enemy soldier in front of Dennis went down on one knee and raised his rifle, but before he could take aim Dennis lined him up and put two rounds in his chest. Without a sound the soldier fell face down on his rifle in the mud. Still on his stomach, Dennis saw another Japanese stride over to the dead soldier and kneel. Dennis put three rounds into
him and he fell dead across his companion.

  Slithering backwards, Dennis moved into thick scrub and waited. The Japanese fired a few more shots, stopped, then he heard them moving away into the undergrowth.

  For almost an hour he lay waiting. Then, looking around, he saw through the bushes that he was only 20 metres from the bomb crater rendezvous. By now he was dry with thirst and knowing the crater was filled with rainwater, he slowly crept towards it. Five metres away he saw the rim was covered with fresh boot prints. Then he noticed bubbles rising near the middle. Cautiously he slid down the bank, dipped a finger in the water and tasted. It was bitter and strangely hot. The Japanese had poisoned it.

  He scrambled up the rim, then into the undergrowth. Pausing to get his bearings, he remembered that further up, the track branched north towards the empty garden village they’d searched the previous morning. There was a small stream nearby used to irrigate the crops and he could fill his canteen there. Crouched low and staying on the edge of the track, he moved forwards to the perimeter of the gardens. The stream was on the far side of the clearing near a line of trees. He waited a few minutes and, seeing no one, decided to move around the perimeter behind the huts rather than cross through the gardens.

  Staying in cover, he made his way around to the line of huts. They seemed deserted. Carefully he moved along the narrow track behind them. Without warning a Japanese soldier, carrying his rifle at the high port, stepped out from behind a hut only a few metres in front of him. Startled, the Japanese soldier panicked and with his rifle still pointed to the sky, pulled the trigger. At the same time Dennis squeezed off two rounds from his Sten, hitting him in the chest. The soldier dropped forward, dead.