The Passion and the Glory

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘You’re to get the DSC,’ the English captain said. ‘Congratulations,’ said the admiral.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Clive said. The Distinguished Service Cross. That would make the old man proud. But … for surviving?

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ the admiral agreed. ‘We are now concerned with your future employment. I want you to know that there is air transport awaiting you, which will take you in the first instance to Trincomalee in Ceylon. There a task force is being prepared for an assault upon Diego Suarez in Madagascar. There is a sizeable British squadron gathering in Ceylon, and a berth will be found for you on arrival.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Clive said again. And waited. The admiral had not sounded as if he was finished, nor was there any reason for an admiral to wish an interview with him if he was merely being reposted. Besides, he didn’t want to go all the way off to Madagascar; that would mean fighting the French, and sounded rather a long way away from the Japanese combat zone.

  ‘There could, however, be employment for you nearer at hand,’ the admiral went on. ‘It might be work peculiarly suitable for someone who has already engaged the Japanese in these waters, and seen his comrades die. And one who, to a certain extent, knows the area of operations.’

  Still Clive waited. The admiral was picking his words with great care.

  ‘It would be,’ he continued, ‘work of vital importance to the defeat of Japan. It would also be work of an extremely hazardous nature, and of an extremely secret nature. It would, I’m afraid, mean a by-passing of what might be called the natural ladder of a naval officer’s career, at least until the war is over. I can, however, assure you that at such a time it would be recognised with compensatory promotion, at the very least.’ He gazed at Clive. ‘Are you interested in such work, McGann?’

  ‘I am interested in beating the Japanese by every means possible, as quickly as possible, sir,’ Clive said, also choosing his words with great care.

  ‘Then from this moment on, everything I say is totally confidential. I wish this understood.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Our principal problem, in dealing with the Japanese thrusts, is lack of information as to their intentions. Owing to the racial differences between ourselves and the enemy, the introduction

  of reliable agents into the Japanese forces is simply not on. We, and the Americans, can maintain as much surveillance as possible, by air and by submarine, but this is naturally limited to Japanese forces already virtually at their destinations, both by the great distances involved and by Japanese watchfulness. We need information about enemy movements behind their lines, as it were; areas where they do not anticipate surveillance and therefore will carry out their ship and troop movements with less caution. Fortunately, there are many people, in French Indo-China, of French extraction, and more especially in the Dutch East Indies, of Dutch extraction, who remain totally committed to the Allied cause.’ He glanced at Schooten.

  ‘Although, sadly, our forces in the Netherlands East Indies have been forced to surrender,’ Schooten said, ‘this does not mean we have ceased to fight against the Japanese. Nor do we entirely lack the means. Not all the Dutch planters have been imprisoned by the enemy; many of them have been allowed to continue their pre-war occupations, because Japan needs a smoothly running economy in her conquered territories, and unlike Malaya, where a reasonably educated native population was waiting to take advantage of your British misfortunes, large areas of the Dutch East Indies remain utterly primitive. Dutch New Guinea is one such place. Here we have already made contact with certain allied sympathisers. But we can hardly use these people as agents. It would involve them, as civilians, in a terrible risk. Even more important, as civilians, they lack the knowledge of what they are looking for, and of the best ways of transmitting such information as they can gather. They lack the equipment.’ He paused, and looked at the English captain.

  ‘But they are still an important part of our operation,’ the captain said. ‘Because without their support what we are trying to achieve would be impossible. Briefly, it is this, McGann: we are engaged in setting up a series of observation posts behind the enemy perimeter. These observers will be placed in certain selected areas, preferably lonely promontories overlooking strategic waterways. Their business will be to watch every ship movement, and wherever these movements are considered to be significant, report them by radio.’

  ‘Full training in the use and maintenance of such equipment will be provided, of course,’ the admiral put in.

  ‘It goes without saying,’ said the captain, ‘that the work would be of an entirely clandestine nature. The watcher must be totally concealed at all times, as he will never be able to lose himself in either the native or occupying populations. The Japanese must never know of his existence.’

  ‘Will they not be able to trace the radio signals, sir?’

  ‘Given time, and sufficient signals, yes. It would be up to the watcher to use his equipment sparingly, and at irregular times.’

  ‘But to use it,’ the admiral said, ‘whenever a large enemy movement is observed. I repeat, it is a highly dangerous operation.’

  ‘Its success,’ Schooten said, ‘depends on the loyalty and support of the local population in the immediate vicinity of the watcher’s position. Just for example, the batteries to operate your equipment will have to be recharged at regular intervals. There will also be the matter of fresh food. Obviously, once a watcher is in position, he will have to remain there for some time, and it will not always be possible to supply him by submarine. This is where your name came to mind, Lieutenant McGann. Our Dutch colonials are naturally afraid of betrayal. So are we. The planters will be dealing with names recommended to them, not people they know; they will be dealing in the main with men they have never seen, and who will possess credentials which might easily be forged. It is only in very rare instances that we can consider emplacing a man where he is already known and trusted by his supporters. Such an instance seems to exist in your case. Do you remember Mr and Mrs Van Gelderen, who operate a plantation in the Peg Tamrau region of Dutch New Guinea?

  ‘Indeed I do,’ Clive said. ‘Bill and Steffi. They were very kind to me in Surabaya.’

  ‘Quite. Now, they are still operating their plantation, or they were, according to the last reports we had from Surabaya. They are prepared, I believe, to act as your logistical support, so long as it can be done without extreme risk to themselves.’

  ‘You would be taken to northern New Guinea, by submarine,’ said the English captain. ‘And there set ashore, clandestinely, as near as possible to the van Gelderen plantation.

  Captain Schooten will supply you with the necessary information to make contact with them. Having made contact, and acting on their local knowledge, set yourself up on one of the headlands overlooking the sea. We anticipate that you would not only oversee all Japanese movements of ships and men into and around the New Guinea area, but also intended for New Britain and possibly the Solomons. Both these are regions where we expect major Japanese offensives in the near future. The most important Japanese thrust, however, will almost certainly be at Port Moresby. If they can secure Moresby, all of New Guinea will be theirs, and Australia will lie at their feet.’

  ‘The work, as I have said, will be of vital importance to the allied cause,’ the admiral said. ‘Its dangers, however, cannot be overestimated. Our information is that the Japanese kempei-tai is probably a good deal more unpleasant than the Gestapo to those that fall into its clutches. It would therefore be necessary for any watcher to be prepared to commit suicide immediately upon discovery. Certainly he must never betray his support, and it goes without saying that the support would deny him were they to be taken by the enemy. These things would need to be understood before taking on the posting.’ He paused, studying Clive’s face. ‘It is equally well understood by ourselves that such an undertaking would be above and beyond the call of any duty which could be demanded of any officer. Should you feel unable to accept ou
r suggestion, you would still be recorded by us as a most gallant and willing member of our service. I wish you to know that, McGann.’ Again he paused, and this time the captain remained silent as well.

  Steffi and Bill, Clive thought. Still fighting away, in their own way. What gallant people. But this was a war of peoples, not just armies. ‘There is a complication, sir,’ he said. ‘My brother is in Brisbane. He is in the United States Navy. I can hardly disappear without saying a word.’

  ‘You will be posted to Ceylon, officially and publicly, and will say goodbye to him on that basis. No one, not even your brother, will expect to be told exactly how we intend to send you there, along with several other officers. That you never arrive will be one of the misfortunes of this war.’

  ‘It goes without saying,’ the English captain said, ‘that you would be unable to inform even your brother of the true nature of your employment.’

  ‘I understand that,’ Clive said.

  ‘So, may we have your decision, Lieutenant McGann?’ the admiral said.

  It would be striking a blow for Joan, far more definitely than hanging around Ceylon waiting for action. He did not doubt he could survive, even in the jungles of New Guinea, with the van Gelderens’ support. ‘When do I leave, sir?’ he asked.

  *

  ‘Oh, heck,’ Walt said. ‘I thought we were going to be fighting alongside each other.’

  ‘Well, we will be,’ Clive said. ‘This is a worldwide show, Walt.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Walt said. ‘And you’re leaving tonight? Heck, there was so much I wanted to talk to you about … ‘

  Clive grinned at him; they were having a quiet lunch in a dockside pub. ‘Like how you got on last night?’

  ‘Christ, I managed to ditch them. Hogan wasn’t too pleased. But the fact is … I’m engaged.’

  ‘Well, hell, I never knew.’

  ‘Nobody does. It happened kind of suddenly, the night before Pearl Harbour. I haven’t even told Dad and Brenda.’

  ‘Pearl Harbour was more than five months ago,’ Clive reminded him.

  ‘Sure. But I haven’t really had the chance to draw breath since. When we got to Oahu, I went up to the house … but they’d already left, and I didn’t have their address … ‘

  ‘I’ll give you their address,’ Clive said. ‘What’s the name of the lucky girl?’

  ‘Linda Brewster.’

  ‘She sounds like a true blue red blooded American.’

  ‘Oh, she is. She’s just … everything I have ever dreamed of.’

  ‘Then you’re a lucky bloke, as well.’

  ‘Yeah. The trouble is … ‘ Walt sighed. ‘There was this girl in Honolulu … ‘

  ‘Come again?’

  Walt told him about Janice Te Hota.

  ‘You are a busy little bee,’ Clive commented. ‘Don’t tell me you shagged this Linda as well?’

  ‘Good lord, no. Linda is a lady. I mean definitely.’

  ‘And your Hawaiian friend?’

  ‘I’m quite sure she’s a lady too. After her fashion. She just happens to have different mores.’

  ‘So you can’t make up your mind,’ Clive remarked. Definitely his mother’s son, he thought.

  ‘Oh, I have made up my mind. I want to marry Linda. It’s just … do you think I have any obligation to this Janice?’

  ‘Was she a virgin?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘If she wasn’t, you don’t. Unless she happens to be pregnant.’

  ‘Oh, shit, I never thought of that.’

  ‘Either way, if you reckon she really is keen on you, and you really want to marry Linda, I’d stay out of Pearl until you have tied the knot. Or if you do find yourself in Pearl, keep a low profile. Hell, that shouldn’t be difficult with a war on.’ He grinned at Walt’s woebegone face. ‘I’ll look forward to hearing about it when next we meet.’

  If there is a next time, he thought. And thanked God he had no domestic problems of that nature to leave behind.

  *

  ‘Periscope depths,’ said Lieutenant Commander Lazenby.

  The control room was quiet as the periscope went up. Clive felt an old hand as a submariner now, as he had been with the crew of this British vessel for some ten days, while they had felt their way up the Coral and into the Solomon Sea, taken the narrow Vitiaz Strait between New Guinea and New Britain, to emerge into the Bismarck Sea, and then followed the New Guinea Coast to the west for some five hundred miles.

  Most of the journey had been made submerged even below periscope depths; Lazenby’s orders were to attack no enemy shipping and indeed give no sign of his presence, until after he had dropped his passenger and was well on the way back — the Navy did not want the Japs to have reason to suspect any Allied activity north of New Guinea. This had been galling to the commander and his crew, because they had seen, on their periodic inspections of the surface, any number of transports and small warships just waiting to be torpedoed; no one could doubt that the Japanese were building up their forces in Rabaul — the capital of New Britain and a magnificent natural harbour — as rapidly as possible. But as yet there were no capital ships in the area.

  Clive had been kept busy enough, as he had spent almost the entire voyage in the radio room, being taught everything possible about the equipment he was carrying with him. It was extraordinarily heavy and bulky, and he could understand why he would be totally unable to operate without help on the ground to establish himself.

  But the submarine had usually surfaced for several hours each night, once Lazenby had established there were no enemy ships in the vicinity, to charge her batteries and replenish her air supply. Then Clive had stood in the conning tower and used his binoculars to study the coastline to the south. It had been immense, mountainous, and from the absence of lights, empty. Only in the vicinity of the ports of Wewak, Hollandia and last night, after they had skirted the off lying island of Biak, Manokwari, was there the least suggestion that it was inhabited. Beyond Manokwari, indeed, there had been nothing at all, as they approached their destination. Now, although the night itself was clear, with the stars seeming close enough to touch — there was no moon — the land, some five miles off, was utterly dark.

  Lazenby had taken the necessary compass bearings at dusk and now he checked his position again, by sextant and dead reckoning. He knew that to drop Clive on the wrong beach would be the same as throwing him over the side. But even on the right beach, there wouldn’t be too much difference. He also had the outlying rocks to negotiate.

  ‘Course one nine two, slow ahead,’ he said.

  Diesels hardly turning over, the submarine slipped through the rocky patches — there was no proper reef as New Guinea was not a coral island — towards the shore, while a rating on the echo sounder called the steadily shoaling depths up from the control room. Clive continued to study the shore through his binoculars; it gave him something to do, allowed him no time to think about what he was actually about to risk. It seemed simple enough. He had been provided with very detailed maps, drawn by Schooten himself; he apparently knew the area well and had often visited the van Gelderens on their plantation before the war. The whole operation had indeed been set up almost entirely on his recommendation and say so. Clive didn’t doubt he was genuine … but his information was necessarily a couple of months out of date. Thus no one knew for certain that the van Gelderens were still there, just as no one knew the Japanese hadn’t set up an armed post on this very beach.

  Equally, there had been no way to inform the van Gelderens of what was happening. Captain Schooten had had no doubt at all that they would be more than willing to co-operate, and Clive agreed with him, at least in principal. But he was going to have to ask them to take the most terrible risk imaginable; he could hardly blame them if they said, ‘So sorry; we would love to help you, but we simply can’t take the chance.’

  In which case, it would be back to the drawing board in Brisbane. He couldn’t be sure whether he wanted that to happen or not.<
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  The moment had arrived. ‘Twenty feet,’ the rating said from below them, somewhat anxiously; the water was very shallow, and now there was no way the submarine could dive for some time, even were she to head north immediately.

  ‘Slow astern,’ Lazenby said. The engine pitch changed, and the ship’s way was checked. ‘Stop engines.’

  The night was totally silent, but the officers continued to study the shore for some time. Then Lazenby said, ‘If you are satisfied, Lieutenant McGann.’

  ‘Satisfied, sir.’

  ‘Very good. Break out the dinghy.’

  Sailors launched the inflatable from the foredeck, and loaded it with the radio equipment and batteries and emergency rations, all contained in waterproofed boxes. Lazenby shook hands. ‘I’ll wait for two days, McGann, for your signal. I hope I don’t see it.’ He shook hands again. ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Because a signal from him would mean the van Gelderens were out as support. He shook hands with the other officers, got into the rubber dinghy, and was paddled towards the shore by the four ratings. The submarine had stood so close inshore that only a short distance had to be covered, then one of the sailors stepped out of the bow into three feet of water. Another followed, and they dragged the boat through the gentle surf on to the beach. Clive followed, and between them they unloaded the gear and concealed it in the seagrape bushes behind the sand. Then the sailors in turn shook hands, and returned to their boat. From the shore Clive could easily make out the dark shape of the submarine, waiting for their return. Therefore anyone else on the shore would be able to see it too. Lazenby was perhaps risking even more than himself. But only a little while later he heard the low rumble of the diesel, and the dark shape began to withdraw. Soon the engine was merged with the surf, and he lost sight of the ship itself.

  He looked at his watch. It was three thirty in the morning, and the date was 1 May. He had carefully slept during the daylight hours of the previous day, and felt perfectly fresh, keyed up, and ready for anything, but there was no point in attempting movement in the dark: he still had to establish which of the four beaches on Schooten’s map this actually was, and that could only be done in daylight.