"He can't walk back. He'll have to wait for transport. I'll leave the orderly with him."
Pockley was wearing a large Red Cross brassard on his arm. He took it off and gave it to his orderly, for safety's sake.
A dozen German militia had come in and surrendered; they said that more had run away and one or two had gone back towards Bitapaka.
Bowen sent a message back, called for support for his small party as he had met organised resistance along what was certainly the right road.
"Push forward, Chief Inspector?"
Ned had been talking with the militia boy, chatting quietly, getting a laugh occasionally because his Pidgin was not exactly the same as the local variety.
"The German officers give all of the orders, sir. The local men do just what they are told, no more, no less. The boy says that if we shoot the whiteskins then their troops will be inclined to run - they don't want to be ‘ere, ‘ave got no reason to fight in a white man's quarrel. He says as well that they know ‘ow to use their rifles and most of them can shoot straight, and they will as long as they are under command - too big a risk not to, the Germans ‘ave been known to burn whole villages as a punishment for one bad man."
"Do they say how many are along the road?"
"Two trenches, 'holes to shoot from', the actual words. And two places where they ‘ave buried 'long iron pipes with the wires that burn when you hold them'. There is an officer hiding with a box at the end of the wires. He says they dug a ditch beside the road, put the pipe in and bits of iron and buckets of stone on top, then covered it with earth over that. Sounds like a mine, sir, detonated electrically."
"Does he know exactly where?"
"He helped bury one and ‘e will point out the big tree where there is a boy watching up on top and the officer ‘iding on the ground. I’ve promised him that I will buy a dozen live chickens for his village, and a cockerel - a kakaruk - so that they will be better off."
"Not very much for selling out his officers."
"He has been saving ‘is wage for two years and ‘oped ‘e might be able to get some chickens in another five. Add to that, e’s no volunteer, it's not his choice that ‘e's wearing a uniform – ‘e’d far rather be at ‘ome."
They walked out, spread into a line rather than a column on the road. It slowed them, but open order seemed far more sensible to the men who remembered the Boers.
A few shots were fired and they lost one man dead and another wounded before coming in sight of the big tree where the mine was laid. They peered through the field-glasses they had liberated from the wounded German, were able to pick up a rope leading up the tree to help the sentry climb quickly. Slow, careful inspection of the ground showed a patch of shadow that might be a hiding man. Two shots killed an officer, a third a man with a rifle who came running out.
They found a heavy battery with wires leading to a detonator box and then underground, out of sight. They cut the wires and made a wide detour around the patch of disturbed ground.
"Covered in leaves and bits of bush, Mr Hawkins. Never have seen that if we hadn't been looking out for it."
A little up the road and they came to the remaining men of the ambush party and exchanged fire; they had not expected the Australians to be in the trees and retreated after a few rounds. Two of the sailors were hit and Pockley ran forward to them, was shot as he knelt beside the second. Bowen was wounded a few minutes later, immediately before they caught up with a group of three officers.
The Germans offered their surrender - their troops had run, there was little else to do. They gave their names, two Regular officers, full-time soldiers in command of the militia, and a third, a Mr Kohler, who was a local planter called up as a reservist. They agreed to send a message to Bitapaka instructing the remaining force there to surrender; they had been told of the battalion coming up the road, seven hundred men had now become a thousand with machine guns and a naval twelve-pounder mounted as a field gun.
"Sydney carries a gun-carriage, many cruisers do since the South African War - so they know it's likely, and it is what they would do."
They sent the local man with the message, preferring to hold the regulars out of harm's way.
"Best to wait, Chief Inspector. There will be reinforcements, I expect, and an officer to take over."
The midshipman, not unreasonably, did not fancy the responsibility of leading the party to Bitapaka and negotiating terms of surrender.
"We should get Captain Pockley and Mr Bowen back as well, sir."
Ned had looked at both, shook his head.
"Bowen's got a chance, but Pockley's not got another hour in him. Pity - brave man."
Reinforcements came up, men volunteered from the destroyers and in a mix of uniforms and working dress, all armed with something, though several had revolvers only.
A commander from Sydney, in full dress uniform for some reason of his own, led them and took them straight up the track and into an ambush. He drew his sword and called the charge and was killed instantly, the sole casualty of the engagement.
The militia ran and their officers refused to surrender to such a poorly uniformed, amateur bunch, demanding 'proper officers' to talk to. A naval lieutenant walked across to them and snatched their handguns from the belt holsters, informed them they were prisoners like it or not and that they did not have to surrender, he would be happy to accommodate them if they wanted a fight.
The Germans, gentlemen all, were disgusted - the Australian peasants had no idea how to run a proper war.
By ten in the morning, four hours after setting out, they were at Bitapaka where they were met by a company or more of militia, two officers and the reservist Kohler.
"You have Mr Kohler's message, sir?"
"I cannot surrender the wireless station, I do not have the authority, only the Acting Governor could do that. I will instruct my men not to fire, a truce for the moment."
"Mr Kohler has already surrendered, sir. I am surprised to see him carrying a gun now."
Kohler shouted something they could not understand, then ordered the militia to shoot, saying that he would fight and was not bound by anything said to 'bloody Englishmen'.
Ned, standing back from the negotiations and watching quietly, thumbed off the safety on his three-oh-three and shot Kohler twice as he lifted his revolver.
"Never shoot once," he murmured to the midshipman at his side. "Always make sure of them."
Davy had told him that back at Laloki and it sounded good – it would impress the boys and make them more likely to listen to him.
"You've killed him."
"Not much point shooting if you don't."
"You could have warned him."
"Why? He’d surrendered once, why trust ‘im with a second chance? He was a liar – ‘e's better dead."
The German officers were mortified, apologised profusely - Kohler had shamed them and the whole German Army, so they said.
They offered unconditional surrender - they had no alternative, they said, after such disgraceful conduct - and cooperated in the dismantling of the facilities at the station.
There was a smaller installation at Toma, they said, but they did not think it was functional.
The business of the day was over and they turned back down the track, escorting their prisoners, their weapons loaded into a cart and pulled down the track by militiamen.
They reached Herbertshohe and found the military in control, the town pacified and quiet.
"Holmes and his men are dealing with Rabaul and he will detail half a battalion to go up to Toma. Australia and the rest of the squadron will sail tomorrow, leaving the destroyers behind. The French cruiser Montcalm is expected any day to provide big gun backing, and the submarines will patrol. What do you intend to do, Chief Inspector?"
"Set up in the police station here, sir, and get things ready. Just as soon as Colonel Holmes gives the word I will have a police force up and running, sir."
The Admiral was impressed.
LONG WAY PLACE
Chapter Eight
Colonel Holmes had appropriated the German Governor’s private residence on the top of Namanula Hill, overlooking the harbour and previously serving essentially as a military headquarters, primarily naval. The big house, high, cool and airy, catching every breeze and more than its fair share of lightning in the Doldrums, stank of sulphur from Matupit’s crater, ominously visible a couple of miles away. Holmes had set up his administration here, shifting the civilian base from Herbertshohe, twenty five miles round the bay, where it had been out of direct range of the volcanoes, thus ensuring that in the event of an eruption the administration would need to be rescued before it could take charge of any evacuation. Volcanoes, however, came into the category of ‘future planning’, and, as the colonel wisely said, ‘you can’t have a future unless you’ve got the present sewn up first’. Quite what he meant nobody knew but his staff applauded, loudly.
The tasks of civil government were to be carried out as before, the colonel proclaimed, except differently, as the military would now carry them out efficiently. His staff applauded again – being military men they could all do things the same but differently on a daily basis.
The staff officers all thought Holmes was a very fine colonel – he looked just as a colonel should – short on the forehead, long on the jaw, incisive of eye and chin, rigid of back and possessed of a voice that could be heard above the cannon’s roar. Best of all, he was a good decision-maker – present him with a problem, any problem, and there was an instant answer, no time wasted at all. None of this dilly-dallying and shilly-shallying while he thought about the situation and discovered the facts. He was a true man of action.
The colonel interviewed Ned, finally accepting his existence after managing to avoid him aboard ship and during the first days of the occupation. He needed Ned, he discovered, but he deplored him as an aberration, one who interfered with the natural order of things.
Policemen, the colonel thought, should be properly menial, but Ned wore the crowns of a major on the open-necked abomination that he claimed as uniform, despite being still a civilian. He was an officer, but no gentleman. He discussed the problem with his staff.
“Can’t be, can he? If he was a gentleman, then he couldn’t be a policeman – that goes without saying, after all! But, a Chief Inspector ranks with a major, and a major is an officer, and an officer must be a gentleman! It’s beyond me, it really is! But, the orders are that the police must be established on a civilian basis, but with enough of the military about them to deal with tribal fighting, when it occurs, so they must have an officer corps! It puzzles me, that, I will tell you all! You people had ought to be tactful with him – no good expecting him to know his wines or anything – ask what he wants with fish and he’ll answer, ‘chips’! Haw-haw! Send him in, I’ve got to see the bloody man! On his own, no need to embarrass him, poor beggar! We ought to have a tradesman’s entrance! Make his sort more comfortable.”
"Excuse me, sir, but the Navy said that he conducted himself well on the march up to Bitapaka."
"I know. I have read the reports! Makes it very little better, to my mind. If he has the attributes of a fighting man, then why ain't he properly joined up? In any event, we know just how sensible the Navy are! What about their destroyers, eh?"
There was a polite snigger - it would not do to laugh too loudly at their sister service. The Admiral had received information that the Germans had sent a squadron of armed merchant ships to hide in the Sepik River, over on the mainland. He had responded by despatching the three destroyers to find them and they had penetrated farther inland than any European ship had ever managed. They had discovered swamps, had waved to any number of amazed natives in their canoes, but they had found no Germans. Mission stations on the coast assured them that no ships had ever entered the great river, so they came back, ridden with malaria and dengue and dysentery, and very short of glory.
The Admiral could not understand it, told Holmes that the information had come from a German officer, and if he hadn't known what was going on, then who would?
“Come to attention properly, Hawkins! Can’t stand sloppy salutes! Soft posture, soft mind! That’s what I say, what?”
Being unmilitary Ned did not realise that he had been reduced to shreds, rebuked, squashed and routed, put firmly in his place. He was merely confirmed in his opinion that the colonel was another bloody old fool to put up with, slouched a little more determinedly. The colonel shook his head sadly, turned to the business of the day.
“Now then, Hawkins. Police, you won’t mind working with the blacks, will you?” It was less a question than a social comment. “We want a civilian police force as soon as possible, releasing the soldiers so they can go back to their proper business, war! My people can set up a town force, but we need a man with experience to handle the country areas. You are to find a couple of hundred reliable natives, probably constables who worked for the Germans, and get them organised while we’re waiting for some officers to come up from Australia to run the show, what?”
“Yes, sir. It will be a temporary job, for me, sir? If I’m to be of service, I should be back at sea, sir. I am a certificated ship’s engineer.”
The colonel was instantly relieved, his mind cleared of its worst fears. Everyone knew that Engineer officers were a different breed, must be the same at sea. What was it they said of Engineers? ‘Mad, Methodist or married’, that was it.
“Is that right? Better than being a bloody flatfoot, anyway! No, it’s not temporary – you’re here for as long as it takes, Hawkins. Your papers say that you’ve got a sound record in this country, can handle these kanakas, so I need you here. Get this police thing off the ground first, then I’ll want you to oversee the plantations and keep a close eye on the bloody Germans. They’re civilians and we can’t take their land off them while they behave themselves, that’s the law, like it or not, but have you heard of this bloody business in South Africa? Armed risings by bloody farmers against the Crown! We’ll have none of that here, so we’ll have to watch them! There are three or four dozen of German merchant ships in Far Eastern and Pacific waters, so they tell us, and we know damn well that some of them are carrying guns. The navy caught two buggers last week off Samoa, loaded with two millions of Mauser rounds which they had carried through Australian ports in peace time, on the manifests as agricultural machinery. They must have been planning this war for months, they loaded in Hamburg last February.”
“Right, sir. If I am needed here, then I must stay – but I do want to serve my King, sir.”
The old gutter instincts had surfaced – when survival called Little Neddy re-awoke and spoke the words that soothed the savage breast.
“Good man! But you are serving where you are, doing more than you could with a rifle or in an engine-room.”
Maybe not a gentleman, but a man for all that, the colonel thought, slightly moist of the eye.
Silly old twat, thought Ned.
“Monthly reports, sir?”
“Yes, that’ll do. More often if problems arise – use your discretion. Staff will deal with your requisitions and budget, I’ll give them the nod.”
“Thank you, sir!”
“That will be all then, Hawkins. Oh, one more thing. Where are you messing?”
“Out at Herbertshohe, sir. It’s the old centre of administration - plenty of barracks and quarters for the new policemen and it’s central for the plantations, too.”
“Good idea, stay there. Made a start on things already, have you? Well done! I like to see proper initiative, I didn’t think I had seen you in town. Got a telephone line?”
“Destroyed in the first raid, sir.”
“Bloody navy! No matter. We’ll get the line up soonest, save you having to travel in too often. Difficult journey.”
“I’ll need horses, sir, I’ve only the one at the moment, and I borrowed that from a Chinese storekeeper.”
“Not good enough! There will be horses and
a cart of some sort out to you within the week. A couple of troopers with them for the while, until you can find grooms yourself.”
“I’ve got my eye on three men, sir. Worked for the Germans, in their stables.”
“Not ‘men’, Hawkins! ‘Natives’, I prefer.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I won’t be able to get a motor out to you, Hawkins, but otherwise I’ll do all I can.”
Ned interpreted this accurately – motor transport was too rapid, would bring him into town too often. It was much preferable that he should stay out of sight, deep in the bush, where he could not offend his betters’ eyes. He made a bet that the work on a telephone line would start within the week. He liked the idea – the officers’ mess held few charms for him: he did not like whisky, was bored by social chit-chat and did not need to kiss the colonel’s arse to win promotion – he was much better off out on the other side of the great bay. He rode back slowly in the afternoon heat, quite content to be on his own, weighing up the new country, far richer than the coast behind Moresby, the soil stronger, the crops in the food gardens more varied.
It was a banana staple area, he surmised, each village was surrounded by plantings of sweet and cooking plantains, but there was taro and kau-kau – sweet potato, the Europeans called it – pit-pit and paw-paws and a few bush orange trees and some rows of beans. There had been some European influence on the villages, it seemed, he was sure that the beans at least were not native to the peninsula. Queen Emma and Parkinson had been here for nearly thirty years, longer than the Germans, and Parkinson, who had married Emma’s sister Phoebe, was one of the world’s great botanists, he had been told, had sent collections to the British Museum, which, apparently, made him an important figure, of some sort. A pity that Emma had left, had retired to Monte Carlo with the latest of her husbands and died there, Ned would have liked to have met her. He walked his tired horse past the great house Gunantambu at Ralum, just outside Herbertshohe, where Emma had lived and her following of Bukas from Bougainville still remained. The Bukas stood out amongst the fair-skinned Tolai, for they were the blackest people on Earth, shiny black, the colour of his police boots.
Long Way Place (Cannibal Country Trilogy, Book 1) Page 17
