“His name’s Kiernan, right enough. Never heard bugger-all about him playing cricket.”
“Plays for Queensland. Pretty good, but he won’t make the Test team. Not bad, though.”
“He’s our medical orderly.”
“Heard he was training up as a quack, George. Useful sort of bloke to have on your side.”
George said no more – he could not quite see why the ability to play cricket made the man a better medical orderly, but he was not about to argue. He waved the men aboard, stood back to check that all three planes were loaded then joined his own people.
There was a single crewman aboard, acting as co-pilot and loader.
“Mac by name – oh, it’s you, George. You got out of Lae, then, mate? What are you doing with this lot, mate? Carrying heavy, ain’t they?”
“Going up to walk the bush, Mac. Trying to work out a good way to get inland from Moresby.”
“There ain’t one, George. Not a good way. Follow the Brown River road then turn up into the Laloki gorge, and then up the hillside Sogeri way. Walked it meself a few times, ten years since, looking for colour. I was flying out of Moresby and went fossicking in me spare time. Past the copper mines and up to the top there – you can do it in a couple of days and there’s a bit of a track the locals use bringing fruit and vegetables down from the hills into the market outside Moresby, down Boroko way. Once you’re up to Sogeri, there’s a chance of getting across and part way into the Astrolabe range, using the river valley. After that, you’re on your own, mate, but you might have a chance of finding something; there’s trade lines so there must be rough tracks. Goes up to about six thousand feet, so it ain’t too high for walking. Thick bush and narrow, winding valleys – you know what that’s like, George. You’re the bloke who walked it out to Salamaua, ain’t you? At least you got some idea what it’s like up there.”
“Yeah, that’s why they sent me. Find anything worthwhile up there?”
“No gold, George. Pockets of copper, not worth setting up a mine, the reserves too small to bother with. Worst sort of country for prospecting, George – there’s always a hope of finding something a bit better. I reckon, meself, that there’s gold up there, if only I could have worked out the right place for it.”
Every prospector George had ever met said the same – it was there, around the next bend, over the next hill, just waiting for the lucky man to hit it. He could not remember ever meeting a rich prospector, one who had actually found the vein of gold.
They took off and made their way almost due north, within sight of the beaches and the Barrier Reef all the way.
“Always worth looking at, the Reef, sir.”
“It’s a sight, ain’t it, Bob. Did you lay hands on a side arm?”
“Picked up a pair – bloke in the armoury got to talking cricket for half an hour and then came up with a pair of short barrel thirty-eights, three inch, Smith and Wessons. Said that they would do for all I needed in the way of looking after meself if we were attacked. Good bloke.”
“Useful. He found me a couple of extra drums for the Thompson Gun. Heavy enough to use in the bush. I reckon it might be better than the Lanchesters, which fire a short nine-millimetre round, but we’ll see about that. I want you to take over the malaria pills, Bob. Dish ‘em out and make sure the blokes take ‘em. Bloody nuisance, I know, but they’ve got to be watched or they’ll throw ‘em away.”
“Can do, sir. I might be able to persuade ‘em to be sensible.”
“No man on Earth could do that, Bob. Try, anyway.”
The DC3s circled their landing strip, giving George a sight of the corvette tied up at the wharf. It was small, he thought.
“No bloody size, that little warship, Bruce.”
“Bit less than two hundred foot long, George. Tough enough, though. Do anything and go anywhere, those little buggers. Can you see any bugger on the ground?”
“Over by the huts, Bruce. Bloke standing there.”
“Good. No radio here yet, can’t talk to ‘em. Just got to hope they know we’re coming and ain’t flying anything out. Tell your blokes we’re landing, George.”
They came down on a rough and bumpy stretch of dirt, recently extended to handle the larger transport planes, and parked up half a mile distant from the wharf.
“What do you do next, Bruce?”
“Go home, as soon as I’ve talked to the blokes here, George. They might have something for us. The corvette probably came down from Moresby. Might have a load of sick Diggers to get down to the hospital in Cairns. Take a couple of hours to fold down the seating so that stretchers can go in.”
“Need a hand, Bruce? I’ve got forty blokes here.”
“No thanks, mate. The sailors have done the job before. If it needs doing, they’ll handle it, quick and needing be told nothing.”
“Fair enough, mate. See you next time.”
“Lukim yu, mate.”
The Pidgin farewell cheered George up – it smacked of home. He ducked out of the cockpit and down to the main door.
“Everybody out! Check you’ve got all of your gear, nothing left behind. Walk across to the huts and we’ll see what we’re doing.”
They straggled across to the small buildings, three huts and a single hangar, the men deliberately out of step to annoy Sergeant Baker.
There was a man in Royal Australian Air Force uniform, more or less; he had a tunic showing sergeant’s stripes over khaki shorts and sandals.
“G’day, mate. Captain Hawkins and a half-company to go up to Moresby?”
“G’day, George. Long time, mate.”
“Christ, Hans! What are you doin’ here, mate? I thought you’d gone for a fighter pilot?”
“I am, George. Two of us here, got a pair of knackered old Buffaloes in the hangar. We fly patrols along the coast here, hoping not to see any Japanese.”
“Yer welcome to that, mate! Seen anything at all?”
“Picked up a sub last week, radioed it in. Don’t know if they caught it or not. There’s a few corvettes and a destroyer cruising the Gulf. They’ve killed one submarine so far, I know.”
“What about ground crew here, mate?”
“Mechanics over in the hangar. Couple of blokes who run this place are down at the wharf at the moment, with the lorry. We only got one set of wheels. Picking up some soldiers from the corvette, to go South on the Dakotas.”
“Right, mate. We’ll march on down to the navy. Supposed to get ourselves to Moresby as quick as we can.”
“Good on yer, George. Time we had some blokes going there. Most of what we’ve seen these last weeks has been spare bodies being got out of the way. They’ve evacuated just about everybody who ain’t directly in the firing line, George.”
“Do we know where the Japs are, Hans?”
“On the coast, almost into Milne Bay. Coming overland slowly, crawling, supposed to be in the Owen Stanleys, but well over on the north. The word is, George, that they landed a bloody great load of men and gear at Salamaua and told ‘em to get marching. They had heard that you could walk across to Bulolo and Wau and then hoof it across to Moresby – apparently they had been told that some bloke walked it out five years ago!”
“By God, give me a medal – I just won the war single-handed!”
“Yeah, they really believed they could march an army across. If they’d kept all of their men on the coast and hopped from bay to bay they’d probably be in Moresby by now.”
George was still laughing as he led the half-company down the track to the shore; he did not notice the couple of men from the half-company talking to Hans, asking him for details on the conversation they had part heard.
They came out of the bush to a small natural harbour. A pair of freshwater creeks met the shore and created a gap in the coral reef sufficient for small ships to enter and berth against an old wharf, probably originally a Victorian mission station. There was the single corvette and a pair of small launches tied up. The lorry was parked up close to t
he corvette and a few soldiers were being helped across and boosted up onto its bed. A young naval officer in tropical uniform came across to George and offered a salute.
“Good morning, sir. Lieutenant Carberry, first lieutenant, Bunbury corvette.”
George made an effort to get that right – ‘Carberry of Bunbury’, he must not reverse the names.
“G’day, Lieutenant. George Hawkins, captain, with a half-company of the Fifth Militia. We’re for Moresby on board you, I think?”
“Forty-four men was the message, sir.”
“That’s right. Four platoons, two officers, a sergeant and medical orderly, Lieutenant.”
“Very good. We’re a small ship but we can get you all below and with a place to stretch out and get some sleep. You’re heavily armed, I see, Captain Hawkins.”
“Set up to make a recce patrol of the bush. Looking for tracks north.”
“There’s word of Jap activity across to the east, towards the Solomons and coming into the Coral Sea. Aircraft especially. The captain might appreciate your bringing those Lewis Guns up on deck, sir.”
“If you want ‘em, you’ll get ‘em. The boys could use the practice.”
The captain was much in favour of extra short-range firepower.
“If the Japs come this far into the Papuan Gulf, Captain Hawkins, then we are in trouble – they will probably take Port Moresby. The Americans are intending to stop them, they have two aircraft carriers in the Coral Sea. Hopefully, they will turn the Japs back. There is a chance of reconnaissance aircraft reaching this far. They have bombed Darwin already, although that has been kept out of the newspapers. The odds are that we would see little more than a seaplane in the next few days, but there might be more, particularly if they could radio in a report of our presence. We have a reasonably strong anti-aircraft armament, but extra close-range weapons would be very welcome.”
“My men are green, sir. They know how to fire their Lewises but have not even taken them onto a range yet. Given that, I will be more than pleased for them to have the chance to use them. Twelve Lewises, sir; where do you want them?”
“Eight in the bows, Captain Hawkins. If possible, I will turn bows on to any attacker. The other four towards the stern, port or starboard depending on how any attack develops. We have a four inch high angle and a pair of twenty mm cannon as well as twin Vickers and a twin Lewis mounting. The best rule would be for your men to hold fire until our Vickers and Lewises open up.”
George promised to give the order to his men.
“Not much point to trying with the automatic carbines, I presume, sir?”
“None. Far too short a range. Might use your riflemen if we meet up with a sub on the surface, which ain’t very likely.”
“Where do you want the men during the day, sir?”
“They’re welcome on deck but they must go below, all except the gunners, on a call for Action Stations. No smoking on deck at night – that’s important. A fag can be seen for a mile and more, or so I’m told. No lights at all on deck at night.”
George promised to pass the word.
He went below to inspect the accommodation for the two days and a night they would be aboard. It was cramped, in the extreme.
Lieutenant Carberry joined him.
“Eighty-five men in the crew, Captain Hawkins. Two messes, engine room and deckhands, the two preferring to be kept separate. Officers in the wardroom to the stern, as is normal. Captain has a small sea-cabin below the bridge which he will use while we are on passage. Two lieutenants, a sub and a midshipman, sharing three cabins between us. The captain’s main cabin is yours for the passage, Captain Hawkins. For the rest your men will use the mess decks, hot bunking – sleeping in the bunks of the men on watch. We try not to use hammocks for short cruises and on passage like this. The galley will feed your men, after the crew have eaten. It wouldn’t work for a long passage, but it can be done for two days. The vital rule is to keep out of the way, Captain Hawkins. If there is a call to Action Stations, then your Lewis gunners to their stations and the rest to sit on the mess deck, out of the way.”
“Will be done, Lieutenant Carberry. I’ll pass the word. Blackout is essential, the captain told me. I’ll make sure they know that.”
“Thanks. If they want to sunbathe, they’re welcome. The crew will show them where they’ll be out of their way.”
“They’ll appreciate that. When do you want them to board?”
“Give us an hour, Captain Hawkins. Time to clean up a bit – the fever cases we brought down got a bit messy. Not their fault, but we need to scrub out where they’ve been.”
George nodded. He had been there before.
He went ashore and sat the half-company in shelter, out of the direct sun; he gave them a quick briefing.
“I want the Lewis gunners to be ready during daylight hours. There is a possibility of being attacked by Jap aircraft. If that happens, then the Lewises will fire back. Open fire only when the machine guns aboard ship start up. A Lewis Gun can knock a Jap seaplane down – saw it done by my blokes as we fell back from Lae. Chances are we shall have a quiet run, but anything can happen. If there is any trouble of any sort, the Navy has the command. If a sailor tells you to shift, then jump to it. No matter what rank, we’re passengers, no more, and do as we are told – and that includes me. Keep your area clean – we don’t want to leave a mess behind us. If you get seasick, spew where you’re told and mop up after yourself. You shouldn’t have any trouble that way – the weather’s pretty good. Uniform rules are relaxed at sea – if you want to get your shirts off in the sun, you’re welcome. Don’t get sun burned – any man who does will be on a charge for rendering himself unfit for duty. Sergeant Baker, to me.”
“I want you to take charge of the Lewis guns at the bows, Sergeant Baker. Eight of them. Point out their targets and make sure they don’t fire too soon. Wait for the sailors, they have more experience of anti-aircraft work. Eight extra guns firing together should shake any Jap up. Keep an eye on the blackout at night. No fags, no lights.”
“Sir!”
“Lieutenant Jerningham. You are to command the men at the stern. Same rules.”
“Sir! Beg pardon, sir, but as an officer should I not have the larger group of guns?”
“How long have you been a soldier, Mr Jerningham?”
“Three months, sir.”
“As I thought. Sergeant Baker, how many years have you got in?”
“Twelve, sir. Posted two years with the garrison in Papua, sir. Been there before. Trained in India as well, sir.”
“Good. Your service up North will come in handy, I do not doubt. You understand why Sergeant Baker has the larger group, Lieutenant Jerningham?”
“Yes, sir.”
The reply sounded sulky, given unwillingly. George made his final decision that he would dump Jerningham in Moresby, unless he could show some very good reason why not in the few days left to him.
They boarded and the men settled into their places, thankful that they would be less than two full days in discomfort.
A sailor came to George, requested his presence on the bridge.
“Message in to the effect that there is a battle taking place in the Coral Sea, Captain Hawkins. Aircraft from both sides have made contact and have attacked carriers. No certainty about successes, or otherwise.”
“Thank you, sir. Does that make it more likely that there will be reconnaissance planes about, sir?”
“Perhaps. It’s always possible. Some of the big Jap subs have seaplanes aboard, and there are bound to be subs out, hunting for naval activity at a time like this.”
“Do you need extra lookouts from my blokes, sir?”
“No, thank you, Mr Hawkins. Untrained men won’t be that useful to us.”
“Right, sir. Is water rationed, by the way, sir?”
“No. This close to land, we have no problems with water. We would be careful with the issue if we were any distance foreign, but in the Gulf, no proble
ms.”
“Good. The men will brew up tea whenever they can, of course.”
“The galley will supply boiling water for them, no problems.”
“Right. I’ll get below and make sure they are settled in, sir.”
The corvette sailed, and the soldiers tried to get comfortable. Sergeant Baker forbade them to play cards, as being undisciplined; George overruled him.
“Better playing cards than sitting and fretting, doing nothing at all, Sergeant Baker. As well, if they can play openly then we can keep an eye on them. I don’t want them gambling for anything more than pennies – and we can’t control that if they have to hide away to play at all.”
“All gambling is forbidden, sir.”
“It may be, Sergeant Baker, but that won’t stop it.”
“They should be productively occupied, sir. Putting a proper shine on their boots and belts would be a correct use of their time, sir.”
“Pointless in the bush, Sergeant Baker. You’ve been up in Moresby – you must know that it’s impossible to keep leather shiny there.”
“No, sir, I don’t. It merely requires a proper pride and an hour or two of extra effort, sir.”
“Balls, Sergeant Baker. We are not wasting our time on parade ground crap and shiny boots. They will keep their boots waterproof – which means waxing them up – and nothing more. Belts must be kept flexible – again, grease and wax slathered on, and that will make their shirts mucky too. I want you to show them how to keep their rifles and carbines and machine guns in good condition. No rust, no verdigris, no damp in the magazines. I’ll try to get an issue of French letters for the purpose.”
Sergeant Baker’s eyes popped – he had never heard of such a thing.
“Condoms, Sergeant Baker, pulled over the muzzle and preventing rain getting inside. Best rust-proofing ever. We used to go through them by the hundred in the Militia in Lae.”
“Not to be thought of, sir. Can’t go marching through the streets with those things on the rifles, sir. Must be against Regulations, sir. Can’t be done.”
A New Place Page 4
