Jungle Rescue

By Robin Freeman

WWII has broken out and the Japanese are sweeping down through the Pacific Islands towards Australia and are seemingly unstoppable. Utilising the specialised skills in tracking and bush survival Joe had learnt in his youth going walkabout with the aboriginals on his fathers 4 million acre cattle station in far north Western Australia, Joe is made an officer and put in command of a team of twelve highly trained men. These men are part of an elite force called the Australian Jungle Survival and Rescue Detachment. Their missions are to rescue any Allied airmen shot down by the enemy over New Guinea and surrounding Pacific islands. They are flown to the crash sites in a C47 transport plane with an escort of fighter planes, and under cover of night parachute into enemy held territory to search for and rescue any survivors, who they then take to the coast for extraction by submarine, seaplane or destroyer.

Extract from novel...The night was so sultry and humid I could have cut it with a knife, and so dark it was impossible to see my hand in front of my face as I parachuted towards the invisible jungle somewhere two thousand feet below me. My chute was made from black silk and it was invisible against the night sky above me, and with no moon and stars to illuminate the night, I felt like I was falling down a bottomless, black well.
The drone of the perfectly good aeroplane we had just jumped from was gradually diminishing into the distance, until the only sounds were the sigh and rush of wind passing through the many cords attached to the parachute. Somewhere above and behind me were twelve other men, my team of highly trained specialists in jungle warfare and survival, and in all likelihood experiencing the same emotions and trepidation as I was.
Our mission was to locate and extract any survivors from a crashed American bomber that had been shot down by Japanese zeros yesterday. If any survivors were found, we would make our way to the coast for extraction by submarine that was hopefully heading towards the coordinates of the pickup point at this very moment. Since I had jumped from the C47 I had been mentally counting down the seconds, and with the jungle canopy now racing towards me at break neck speed, I braced myself as I stalled the parachute to lessen the impact of colliding with the trees and branches any second.
As the sudden and violent impact drove the wind from my lungs I was unaware I had been holding my breath until I exhaled loudly. I tried to curl myself into a ball to avoid injuring myself as I fell through the tree canopy with a loud crash and crack of breaking branches and covered my face with one arm as I was whipped and slashed by the passing branches and leaves. The parachute finally became snagged in the high branches and I jerked to a sudden stop and hung suspended from my harness. I fumbled for the quick release catches on my pack strapped to my front and letting it fall listened intently for the sound of impact with the ground. Counting the seconds I was surprised to only count to five before I heard the dull thud. I was closer to the ground than I would have thought and thanked my lucky stars the chute got caught up just when it did.
My next task was to release the chute harness and climb down the tree I was caught in without falling and injuring myself. I had a small torch in one of the pockets of my flak jacket and when I shone it around and below me, I saw what I was looking for. Just off to my right, and ten feet below, was a stout branch that I hoped would support my weight.
I took a deep breath and then put the torch between my teeth before punching the quick release catch of my harness. As I fell the branch flashed past me and I grabbed at it with both hands and hung onto it tightly for dear life. My arms felt like they had been ripped from their sockets and I quickly swung a leg over the branch and hauled myself up onto it and sat astride it while I caught my breath and tried to calm my madly

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: May 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499005141

Robin Freeman

Robin Freeman is an artist, adventurer, sailboarder, surfer, diver, photographer, environmentalist, world traveler, published author and blue water yachtsman. For the past 25 years Robin and his wife have been sailing and exploring the deep blue oceans of the world on board their catamaran. They have had many exciting adventures and close encounters with cyclones, pirates and giant whirlpools, and have sailed over 75,000 nautical miles together. He has been able to draw upon many of these exciting experiences and adventures and vividly capture them on paper in gripping, graphic detail that will keep the reader spellbound until the last page.

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Copyright © 2014 by Robin Freeman.

ISBN:              Softcover                      978-1-4990-0506-6

                       eBook                            978-1-4990-0514-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 05/21/2014

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Contents

CHAPTER 1.

CHAPTER 2.

CHAPTER 3.

CHAPTER 4.

CHAPTER 5.

CHAPTER 6.

CHAPTER 7.

CHAPTER 8.

CHAPTER 9.

CHAPTER 10.

CHAPTER 11.

CHAPTER 12.

CHAPTER 13.

CHAPTER 14.

CHAPTER 15.

CHAPTER 16.

CHAPTER 17.

CHAPTER 18.

CHAPTER 19.

CHAPTER 20.

CHAPTER 21.

CHAPTER 22.

CHAPTER 23.

CHAPTER 24.

CHAPTER 25.

CHAPTER 26.

CHAPTER 27.

CHAPTER 28.

CHAPTER 29.

CHAPTER 30.

CHAPTER 31.

CHAPTER 32.

CHAPTER 33.

CHAPTER 34.

CHAPTER 35.

CHAPTER 36.

CHAPTER 37.

CHAPTER 38.

CHAPTER 39.

CHAPTER 40.

CHAPTER 41.

CHAPTER 42.

CHAPTER 43.

CHAPTER 44.

CHAPTER 45.

CHAPTER 46.

CHAPTER 47.

CHAPTER 48.

CHAPTER 49.

CHAPTER 50.

CHAPTER 51.

CHAPTER 52.

CHAPTER 53.

CHAPTER 54.

CHAPTER 55.

CHAPTER 56.

CHAPTER 57.

CHAPTER 58.

CHAPTER 59.

CHAPTER 60.

CHAPTER 61.

CHAPTER 62.

CHAPTER 63.

CHAPTER 64.

CHAPTER 65.

CHAPTER 66.

CHAPTER 67.

CHAPTER 68.

CHAPTER 69.

CHAPTER 70.

CHAPTER 71.

CHAPTER 72.

CHAPTER 73.

CHAPTER 74.

CHAPTER 75.

CHAPTER 76.

CHAPTER 77.

CHAPTER 78.

CHAPTER 79.

CHAPTER 80.

CHAPTER 81.

CHAPTER 82.

CHAPTER 83.

CHAPTER 84.

CHAPTER 85.

CHAPTER 86.

CHAPTER 87.

CHAPTER 88.

CHAPTER 89.

CHAPTER 90.

CHAPTER 91.

CHAPTER 92.

CHAPTER 93.

CHAPTER 94.

CHAPTER 95.

CHAPTER 96.

CHAPTER 97.

CHAPTER 98.

CHAPTER 99.

CHAPTER 100.

CHAPTER 101.

CHAPTER 102.

CHAPTER 103.

CHAPTER 104.

CHAPTER 105.

CHAPTER 106.

CHAPTER 107.

CHAPTER 108.

CHAPTER 109.

CHAPTER 110.

CHAPTER 111.

CHAPTER 112.

CHAPTER 113.

CHAPTER 114.

CHAPTER 115.

CHAPTER 116.

CHAPTER 117.

CHAPTER 118.

CHAPTER 119.

CHAPTER 120.

CHAPTER 121.

CHAPTER 122.

CHAPTER 123.

CHAPTER 124.

CHAPTER 125.

CHAPTER 126.

CHAPTER 127.

CHAPTER 128.

CHAPTER 129.

CHAPTER 130.

CHAPTER 131.

CHAPTER 132.

CHAPTER 133.

CHAPTER 134.

CHAPTER 135.

CHAPTER 136.

This book is dedicated to my father, Bruce Freeman and all those other brave men who were POWs during WWII at Changi Prison and the infamous Burma/Thailand railway. Thousands upon thousands died a terrible and shocking death by the inhuman treatment of their enemy, far from home and their loved ones. Many of those who came home were affected in one form or another for the rest of their lives, and many found it hard to return to a normal life after what they had suffered.

WE WILL REMEMBER THEM… LEST WE FORGET

‘Jungle Rescue’ is the long awaited,

exciting sequel to Yowie Country,

Book 1 in the Series.

CHAPTER 1.

T he night was so sultry and humid I could have cut it with a knife, and so dark it was impossible to see my hand in front of my face as I parachuted towards the invisible jungle two thousand feet below. My chute was made from black silk and was invisible against the night sky above and with no moon or stars to illuminate the night I felt like I was falling down a bottomless, black well. The drone of the perfectly good aeroplane we had just jumped from was gradually diminishing into the distance, until the only sounds were the sigh and rush of wind passing through the many cords attached to the parachute. Somewhere above and behind me were twelve other men; my team of highly trained specialists in jungle rescue and survival, and in all likelihood were experiencing the same emotions and trepidation as I was.

Our mission was to locate and extract any survivors from a crashed American bomber that had been shot down by Japanese Zeros yesterday. If any survivors were found we would make our way to the coast for extraction by a submarine that was hopefully heading towards the coordinates of the pickup point at this very moment. If there were any dead airmen they would be given a decent burial and not left to rot and feed the carnivores of the jungle.

Since I had jumped from the C47 I had been mentally counting down the seconds, and with the jungle canopy now racing towards me at breakneck speed, I braced myself as I stalled the parachute to lessen the impact of colliding with trees and branches. As the sudden violent impact drove the wind from my lungs, I was unaware I had been holding my breath until I exhaled loudly. I tried to curl myself into a ball to avoid injury as I fell through the tree canopy with a loud crash and crack of breaking branches and covered my face with one arm as I was whipped and slashed by the passing branches and leaves. The parachute finally became snagged in the high branches and I jerked to a sudden stop, hanging suspended from my harness. Once I had caught my breath and ascertained that I had no injuries, I fumbled for the catches on the pack strapped to my chest and letting it fall listened intently for the sound of impact with the ground. Counting the seconds, I was surprised to only count to five before I heard the dull thud. I was closer to the ground than I had thought and thanked my lucky stars the chute got caught up when it did. My next task was to release the chute harness and climb down the tree without falling. I had a small torch in one of the pockets of my jungle fatigues and when I shone it around and below, I saw what I was looking for. Just off to my right and six feet below was a stout branch that I hoped would support my weight. Taking a deep breath and putting the torch between my teeth I punched the quick release catch of the harness. As I fell the branch rushed towards me and as it flashed past I grabbed at it with both hands and hung on for dear life. My arms felt like they had been ripped from their sockets with the sudden stop and quickly swinging a leg over the branch I hauled myself up and sat astride it while I caught my breath and tried to calm my madly racing heart. I adjusted the straps securing the Sten gun to my chest then began to slide and pull myself along the branch to the trunk of the massive rainforest tree.

Ten minutes later I was safely on the ground, none the worse for my descent except for some skin missing off my left knee, which must have happened when I first hit the branches plummeting through the canopy. I removed the gun from around my neck and cocking it, held it at the ready as I shone the torch about in case I had fallen into the midst of a Japanese patrol, as had happened on one of my rescue missions several months ago. Luckily the six Japanese soldiers at the time were so startled by my sudden and noisy appearance from above, I had been able to quickly despatch them with my machine gun before they could even get a shot off.

I was alone in the dense undergrowth and breathing a sigh of relief I searched for my survival pack with my spare ammunition, medical kit, machete, water and food rations. Quickly locating it near the trunk, I put it on then pulled the compass from beneath my shirt. It always hung from my neck on a strong piece of leather thonging so I didn’t lose it, as it would be easy to get hopelessly lost in the dense jungle, especially when it was overcast and there was no sun, moon or stars to get my bearing.

From the coordinates sent out to base by the radio operator of the mortally hit bomber, I knew I had to maintain a course of 280 degrees from my location and walk for a mile or so before hopefully finding the wrecked plane and any survivors. But first I had to find my team members before beginning the search. That was usually a difficult and time consuming task, as we would invariably be scattered across the jungle in a long line. We had a method of finding each other that had worked perfectly on the hundreds of missions we had so far accomplished. We each had a small, round, tin fox-whistle hanging from the dog tags around our necks and when it was blown it made the sound of a rabbit in distress. To the enemy it would be just another of the hundreds of animal noises to be heard in the jungle at night, but to us it was like a beacon in the night as the shrill, distinctive sound carried a long way. Before joining up to fight in the war I had used the whistle on my property during the lambing season, as the sound would draw out any foxes hiding in the nearby vicinity thinking there was a rabbit injured and in distress. I could then dispatch the fox with my rifle before it killed any more lambs.

It was two hours before we were all assembled and I was relieved to find that no one had been injured or killed by the perilous descent into the thick rainforest jungle. We were now huddled in a close circle as we studied our topographical map by shielded torchlight, which marked the approximate position of our drop and that of the downed bomber.

As Commanding Officer of this team of highly skilled men, I took my responsibilities for their safety very seriously as they were like brothers to me after so many successful missions being dropped behind enemy lines to rescue downed airmen. To date the detachment had not lost a single man. All of them had been specially chosen for the unique skills they had gained living and working in the bush in far North Queensland and the Northern Territory as stockmen, farmers, kangaroo, feral pig, and buffalo shooters before the war began. They had all worked with aboriginal stockmen in the past and had learnt from the bush-wise aboriginals how to survive in harsh environments where others would perish from thirst or hunger in a very short time. Like myself, they had gone walkabout with the local native tribes at one time or another and had been taught how to find water, edible plants and roots, start a fire rubbing certain sticks together, and track and kill all manner of game. The skills learnt from the aboriginal trackers and elders, and the specialised skills and survival training in our jungle camp in North Queensland turned them into one of the army’s most specialised and formidable group of men. Our official name was the Australian Jungle Rescue Detachment. There were sixty men in the newly formed detachment, with five teams of twelve men in each with their own Commanding Officers responsible for each team. When time permitted, which wasn’t often, we were in constant demand as instructors for the army officers who were being sent to the tropical islands north of Australia with their men to try and stem the advance of the Japanese forces sweeping down through the Pacific towards Australia. The officers would in turn pass on these skills and specialised training to the new recruits. The skills they learnt from us would prove invaluable time and again in jungle warfare and survival, saving many a life.

With a final word to the men to take care and keep vigilant, I took the lead and we set off to search for the downed bomber. The men formed a single line behind me keeping fifty paces between each man in case we walked into an ambush by the Japs. I was glad it was still dark as I swung my razor sharp machete left and right to cut a trail through the vines and choked undergrowth, for if it had been daytime the heat and stifling humidity in the jungle would be unbearable and we would all be a lather of sweat, with heat exhaustion a real risk. It rained almost every day in the rainforests of Papua New Guinea and the wet, steamy environment added to the cloying humidity and wretched conditions with mud and blood sucking leeches to contend with.

Dawn was starting to cast back the dark shadows of the jungle when I finally came across broken branches and fresh leaf litter in the undergrowth. I looked up and saw high overhead a narrow clearing had been cut through the canopy as if by a giant with a machete and I could see several stars through the opening. We were on the right path to finding the bomber and I breathed a sigh of relief as I wiped the sweat from my eyes. I raised my hand to signal the men behind to be extra cautious and watchful, for a downed plane often brought Japanese patrols searching for survivors to interrogate and gain intelligence pertaining to the whereabouts of our air bases and troop movements.

I soon found large pieces of plane wreckage torn and ripped from the massive bomber, a tail fin here, a ripped off wing there, even a nose wheel half buried in the mud and undergrowth. ‘Getting close now,’ I thought. Except for the broken branches and snapped off small trees and palms, there was almost a clear path leading up to the bomber now dimly seen ahead. Again I signalled to the men, a different signal this time and as one we quickly fell to the ground and lay prone, weapons cocked and safety catches off as we checked the surrounding jungle for signs of the Japanese having arrived before us.

Except for the natural sounds of the jungle insects, small furtive sounds of animals in the undergrowth and birds twittering in the treetops, all was quiet. The hairs on my neck and forearms suddenly prickled and stood erect. Listening to my inner senses without conscious thought I rolled off the path gouged by the bomber and crawled deeper into the undergrowth. A split second later I heard the loud report of a gunshot and a spurt of mud suddenly erupted right where I had just been lying.

I was about to return fire where I had seen a gun flash over near the plane when I heard a loud voice shout out, There’s more where that came from you stinking yellow Japs. Come and get it and be damned to you.

It was an American accent, probably Texan by the distinctive drawl and I called out, Hold your fire Yank. We’re Australian Special Forces come to rescue you.

There was a profound silence for long moments before the American replied loudly, How do I know you’re who you say you are? You could be an English speaking Jap for all I know.

Frowning in frustration I thought for a moment then replied, Damn fool Yankee. Do I sound like a Jap soldier? We’ve parachuted in overnight to find survivors and take you to a rendezvous with a sub ten miles from here. Now I’m going to stand up slowly and show myself, so don’t shoot again Yank. If you see slanty eyes and a Jap uniform you have my permission to shoot. I took a deep breath and keeping my Sten gun at my side slowly stood and stepped clear of the undergrowth. I smiled in the direction of the invisible American who I knew would no doubt have me in his gun sights. I slowly exhaled and stood waiting for an outcome one way or the other. I was dressed in camouflage jungle fatigues and my face was also streaked with black camouflage paint to hide the whiteness of my face. I was also wearing an Australian slouch hat and even though it was stained with sweat and dirt, its distinctive shape told the American it was not part of any Japanese uniform. I saw movement to one side of the massive fuselage of the bomber and then a man slowly stood and showed himself. He still had his Colt.45 aimed at me and I remained smiling as I said, Put your weapon down Yank. You’re making me bloody nervous mate.

After some moments of hesitation he lowered the gun and un-cocked the hammer. He smiled across at me and said, Sorry digger. It doesn’t pay to be too careful with the jungle swarming with Jap patrols. Come on in and bring your men.

As it turned out he and two other men were the sole survivors of the bomber crew. One was suffering from a broken wrist and dislocated shoulder, and the other from minor cuts and lacerations from the bomber’s impact with the forest at over two hundred and fifty miles an hour. The man who had taken a pot shot at me was the Captain of the bomber and we later learned he was a veteran of two world wars. He said he had brought the plane down in a long, gentle glide despite being shot out of the sky and if it hadn’t been for his long years of experience as a pilot no one would have survived the crash. The rest of the crew, who had died from injuries inflicted by the heavy 7.7 millimetre machine guns and 20 millimetre cannons on each wing of the Japanese Zeros, had already been buried in shallow graves near the fuselage. The crude crosses marking their graves had the mens dog tags hanging from the crosses. The Captain told us they had only just finished burying their dead when we came along.

The medic in my team, we had nicknamed Doc, soon had the dislocated shoulder of the co-pilot popped back into place with the help of two of my team holding the patient firmly but gently, and his broken wrist reset and a splint applied with the dressing that would help keep it immobilised while we trekked through the rugged jungle to the coast. Doc then attended to the other man’s cuts and lacerations to disinfect them and try to keep infection at bay in the damp, humid conditions. He bound them with bandages to keep the dirt out and the large black flies, which had been attracted to the smell of fresh blood.

While this was going on I had a quiet word with Captain Bruce off to one side. As soon as we are done here we’ll have to get going in case a Jap patrol is on the way. If you have any sensitive material on board the bomber, be it maps, code books or top secret instruments you want to keep the Japs from getting their hands on, now is the time to collect it or destroy it.

He replied with a frown, Good thinking Joe. It’s been on my mind, but the burial of my men had first priority. I’ll see to it right now.

Out of curiosity I followed him into the bowels of the bomber, as it was the first time I’d had the opportunity to inspect one at close quarters. I was staggered by the amount of damage to the stricken bomber and it was a miracle that anyone had survived. I was six feet four inches in my socks and this bomber certainly wasn’t designed for my height. I had to bend over to prevent knocking my head on reinforcing struts, ribs, pipes, bulkheads and ripped apart body work with its razor sharp, jagged edges. I had to give these brave warriors of the air credit, for they certainly were a hardy lot to spend so many hundreds of hours in the close confines of these bombers. Not being nimble and fast like Jap Zeros, they were easy prey and there was a high mortality rate. I had a quick look around and being prone to claustrophobia, I left the Captain to it while I escaped the bomber with its gore, pools of congealing blood and swarming, black flies gorging on the mess and returned to the fresh air with a grateful sigh.

CHAPTER 2.

W e had to hack our way through the dense jungle all the way to the coast as there were no roads or tracks. Despite being physically fit it was such gruelling work we had to have a break after twenty minutes on the machete and swap with one of the other men. The heat in the jungle was oppressive and stifling hot now the sun was up, and we were all a lather of sweat with our clothes sticking to our saturated bodies. There wasn’t the slightest breeze amongst the thick undergrowth and I was concerned about heat exhaustion for the airmen who were not used to such conditions. I tried to pace myself with that of the airmen and ensured everyone drank plenty of water or they would run the risk of dehydration and its ensuing health complications. I’ll give the Americans their due, not one of them complained and my respect for these brave men went up ten fold as we slogged through the jungle for hour upon endless hour, surrounded by swarms of annoying mosquitoes and blood sucking leeches attaching themselves at every opportunity, especially when we forded creeks.

CHAPTER 3.

I t took four gruelling days to reach the coast and there wasn’t a man amongst us who didn’t breathe a huge sigh of relief when we first smelt, then felt the sea breeze long before the jade green water came into sight through the coastal mangrove trees.

The ocean looked cool and inviting and we would have given anything to plunge in to wash off the sweat and grime and find relief from the heat, but we saw several large shark fins cutting through the water just off the beach, and the murky, jade coloured water wouldn’t allow us to see a shark in time if it decided to attack. By my calculations we had reached the rendezvous and somewhere off the coast a submarine was hopefully sitting on the seabed waiting for our radio transmission.

As we rested in the shade of the trees for hour after hour keeping a wary eye open for the enemy, we waited for the scheduled time to come round to try and make contact. I knew the sub had to come up to periscope depth to receive and send radio transmissions, and it would be extremely dangerous for the submarine to surface in broad daylight. We would have to wait for night time until a rubber inflatable could be sent from the sub to pick us up, as Japanese Zeros were constantly flying overhead on patrol and we had already seen one patrol boat pass slowly up the coast soon after we arrived. Luckily we had heard it coming long before we saw it and took cover in the dense undergrowth until it went by.

We made ourselves as comfortable as possible a hundred feet or so back from the high tide mark and two hundred yards north of the track we had cut through the jungle. With sentries posted all around us to forewarn us of any Japs trying to sneak up on us, we settled down to catch up on some overdue sleep and await rescue. At the designated time I would get the radio operator to set up his radio and aerial and send a coded message to the sub. The radio operator, nicknamed Sparky, would tell the submarine in code we would flash our torch at midnight, first three times, then after a space of three seconds, two more flashes. I knew the moon wasn’t due to rise until 0300 hours and the night would be dark and ideal for extraction. I looked at my watch again and saw it was only midday and we had a long wait ahead of us.

I was dozing when my shoulder was suddenly shaken and I heard someone whisper in my ear, Japs. I was immediately wide awake and sitting upright saw it was probably an hour before sunset. Nigwani, the only New Guinea member of our team, was pointing in the direction we had come from, and he had a worried frown on his dark skinned face.

Nigwani had been recruited because he had been a hunter and gatherer before the war and knew the jungle intimately. He knew which vines could be cut to find drinkable water inside, what plants were edible and what was poisonous, and his tracking and hunting skills were second to none. He was an invaluable member of our team and despite being uneducated he had a witty sense of humour that endeared him to all of us.

I quickly released the safety catch on my Sten gun and when I looked at the rest of my team saw they were already alert, ready for anything, and looking at me for orders. Motioning for them to follow, I stayed close on Nigwani’s heels as he led me back to the trail we had hacked so laboriously down to the coast. He led us along the trail for five hundred yards or so before suddenly stopping and raising his clenched fist in the air, pumped it up and down twice before crouching to one side of the trail. The hand signal was only used for extreme danger and I quickly looked over my shoulder and repeated the signal to Sparky who was crouching twenty feet behind me. He in turn quickly passed the signal to the man behind him and on down the line until all the men had sought cover. All my senses were on high alert as I listened intently, searching for the invisible enemy. Suddenly I heard someone laugh softly, then heard voices speaking in low tones. I caught Nigwani’s eye and he signalled by opening and closing his large hand twice with his fingers spread that there were ten Japanese in the enemy patrol. Again I passed the same hand signal to Sparky to pass the signal on. It was obvious that a Jap patrol had found the wreckage of the bomber and had been following the trail we had cut through the jungle. Again Nigwani caught my eye and using sign language signalled that the patrol was resting and eating.

I knew this would be the perfect opportunity to surround and attack them while they were off guard. We couldn’t take the risk of melting away into the jungle in case they discovered us when we rendezvoused with the inflatable from the submarine. If they knew a sub was in the vicinity all hell would break loose, and not being able to dive to much deeper waters because of the shallow, shelving waters off the coast, the submarine would be at the mercy of Japanese dive-bombers or torpedo boats with their deadly depth charges.

I again turned to Sparky and using hand signals told him of my intentions to encircle and engage the enemy in fifteen minutes time. He nodded his head and as he turned to pass along the message, I then checked that the pouch with my spare magazines was unclipped and ready for action. The Sten gun was an effective and cheaply produced machine gun that was ideal for close combat. It could be fired on full automatic or single shot and was an extremely lethal weapon. Each magazine clip held 32 rounds with 9mm bullets and my men always carried plenty of spare clips in their packs.

I silently crawled towards the enemy, which I estimated to be about a hundred feet further along the trail. Once I spotted my first Jap, I lay prone on the ground and kept him in my gun sights. I knew Nigwani was off to my right, and even though he was only ten feet away I didn’t hear the slightest sound, nor catch a glimpse of him. It had always amazed me how stealthfully he could move through the densest undergrowth without making a sound. In the past when we were honing our skills during training exercises back at base, he had often crept up on me in total silence, and from out of nowhere would suddenly tap me on the shoulder and say, You dead Boss. When he saw my startled expression he would laugh until he cried. He was a real character all right.

I looked at my watch again and saw the prearranged fifteen minutes of waiting to engage the enemy had elapsed, hopefully giving my men plenty of time to get into position. I tightened my grip on the stubby machine gun and taking careful aim fired off a short burst at my target. Through the gun smoke I was gratified to see the Jap suddenly lurch backwards with flailing arms and a spray of crimson blood erupting from his chest. I then began firing in the general direction of where the voices had been coming from. After the silence of the jungle, the loud cacophony of automatic gunfire from our Sten guns, and the urgent shouts and grunts of pain from the enemy shattered the peace and quiet. I emptied three clips into the area, reloaded and then held my fire. Gun by gun gradually fell silent, and in the ensuing silence I could hear the groans of the wounded Japs and someone sobbing with pain. I slowly advanced at a crouch keeping my gun before me ready for the slightest movement, but nothing moved as I cautiously approached the enemy. The ten man Jap patrol had been taken out with complete surprise and except for two wounded officers, the others were dead from the heavy barrage of automatic fire. The element of complete surprise had caught them off guard, and later checking their rifles we found they had not fired a single shot in response.

The two wounded officers were quickly bound with rope and once secured Doc tended to their injuries. We searched the rest of the patrol for any Intel, anything that would show where their camps and bases were so our bombers could obliterate them from the face of the earth. It was a bloody business and hard not to look at the ghastly wounds on the dead bodies that were already crawling with the insidious blue/black flies that seemed to appear out of nowhere whenever there was any blood. We found a code book with the radio, a topographical map showing several Japanese base camps, and what looked like an ammunition dump, but we wouldn’t really know for certain until the map was passed along to our Intelligence division and their translators deciphered the Japanese writing. I knew the two wounded officers would have to be taken along with us in the sub for later interrogation to find out what they knew. Their wounds were only superficial and in time would heal, but they were obviously in pain and not very happy being prisoners of war. I caught the older of the two officers watching me through slitted eyes and on an impulse went over to him and squatting down on my haunches said, Do you speak English? There was no response so I said to Dodgy who was standing guard over them. No sense in keeping them alive. Shoot them both Dodgy. I quickly winked at him just in case he thought I was serious and carried out my order. I was hoping the Jap would fall for my bluff and start speaking English.

As Dodgy loudly cocked his gun the Jap suddenly shouted, You no shoot me. I prisoner of war. Against Geneva Convention.

I grinned and said, So you do speak English. The Jap then realised his mistake and his face turned ugly as he glowered up at me with hate filled, dark eyes.

I said, Relax. No one is going to shoot you. At least not me or my men unless you try to escape or hurt one of us, then I will not hesitate to blow your brains out. Do I make myself clear? He looked up at me and then tried to spit in my face but I was quick enough to avoid the flying spittle. It was obvious he understood me perfectly.

I stood and after staring at the officers deep in thought for some moments, turned and went over to my men who had gathered together and were studying the Japanese map more thoroughly.

As I stepped to their sides, Bert, whose nickname was Bird Big because he looked like a giant stork with his long skinny legs, looked at me and said, We’ve gathered all the Intel we can from the bodies and officers Boss. The question is, what do we do with the bodies now?

I’d already given it some thought and replied, I’m tempted to hide them in the undergrowth and let nature take its course, but if another patrol comes looking for their missing comrades the smell of their decaying bodies might lead to their discovery. We don’t want them being discovered until we have been picked up by the sub. The decent thing to do would be bury them in a shallow grave. Cut a small clearing well off the trail and take it in turns to dig a mass grave. In case the sound of battle bring more Jap patrols down on us we move out in ten minutes, so make it snappy.

Big Bird then caught my eye and said, I was having a close look at the map and with the spattering of Japanese I know, it looks like there is a POW camp about twenty miles to the northwest, but I could be wrong.

I frowned at this news, but knew there was nothing we could do even if he was correct. We had our own mission to complete first and if the Intel proved correct by the intelligence people, I was sure a mission would be organised by other allied forces to attempt to break the prisoners out and take them to safety. It had been successfully accomplished before with a minimum loss of men, but it didn’t concern me or my men on this particular mission as we had our own agenda to rescue the aircrew before the Japs got hold of them. Those in command knew how much time and extensive training was needed to get airmen mission ready, and the loss of even one bomber and its highly trained crew was always a severe blow to the war effort.

Once the burial detail was finished we gathered up the two prisoners and set off back to the beach. It was nearly sunset and I didn’t want us stumbling about in the dark. When the beach came into sight I turned aside and set off to my right for two hundred yards, pushing my way through the undergrowth instead of hacking a trail. I knew if there were any other Jap patrols following our easily seen trail hacked through the jungle, they would invariably come out upon the coast to the north of us and give us time to disappear into the jungle if there were too many to engage. I would post sentries to forewarn us of enemy activity, and just hope and pray we had an uneventful wait. Once the prisoners were tied to separate coconut trees with strong cord, guards were posted to keep a wary eye on them, as an escaped prisoner was the last thing we needed to worry about.

The waiting was the hardest part. Every rustle or strange noise in the bush would have us on high alert, wondering if we were about to be ambushed. The minutes and hours ticked by so slowly it allowed me time to dwell on thoughts of Alisha and my family who were running our four thousand acre property while I was serving in the war. My two children from an earlier marriage, Michael and Mary, were now adults and had both married wonderful partners. When war broke out they quit their jobs and leaving the city returned to the farm to help work the property in my absence. Michael had tried to join up when I did, but with most farmers being exempt from joining the forces as they were crucial to the war effort to feed the armed forces and the nation, it was a case of either Michael or myself being recruited. As I was a lot older than Michael I thought I might be rejected, but once they found out about my bush survival skills, they selected me and declined Michael, who naturally enough was bitterly disappointed. Alisha had been distraught when I told her I’d joined up, as we had been inseparable for so many long years we were almost joined at the hip. But with the Japanese driving further and further south down through the Pacific islands towards Australia, and seemingly unstoppable, after many tears she eventually agreed it was for the best and I had her full support. After basic training I was selected for Officers School, as they had a particular job in mind for me. With so many planes being shot down over New Guinea and other Pacific islands, and the high demand for our specialised group of men, it had been over a year since I had last been granted leave to visit my family. To say I missed Alisha desperately was an understatement and there was many the time I cursed myself for joining up instead of staying home. Her letters were frequent and long and brought her closer to me, even though we were thousands of miles apart. She was a good letter writer, and her descriptions and stories of happenings on the property and antics of the grandchildren made me miss her and the family so much more.

I was suddenly brought back to the present when I heard a faint whistle off to my left. Sparky was obviously trying to get my attention and I instantly forgot about thoughts of Alisha and home and concentrated on the matter at hand. I crawled over to him and stopping by his side whispered, What’s up Sparky?

Just had a radio message from the sub saying they are launching the rubber inflatable.

I quickly looked at my watch and by the luminous dial saw that it was now midnight. I was astounded as to where the time had gone once I started thinking about Alisha. I replied, Righto, let’s assemble the men and the prisoners and make our way to the beach to signal the inflatable. Is your torch handy?

No problems Boss. I even put fresh batteries in just to be on the safe side.

Everyone in my team had nicknames, and after Nigwani had started calling me Boss when he first joined us, the name stuck. I used the distinctive whistle of a bar-tailed kite to summon the men, as it was our prearranged whistle to come together. There were many different Australian birdcalls we all used when silence was needed, and each call had its own particular meaning. We had to wait a little longer for the outer sentries to join us, but when all the men were accounted for I whispered that it was time to hit the beach and signal the sub.

The prisoners were still bound and gagged and once freed of the ropes securing them to the coconut trees, were frog marched towards the beach in single file in the middle of my men. As silence was now paramount, the men walking behind the Jap officers had been told to use their knives in case the prisoners tried to make a break for it, as firing a gun would only alert any Jap patrols in the area.

CHAPTER 4.

I t had been two days since we had safely arrived back at base by submarine. The prisoners were taken away for interrogation as soon as we docked and would eventually be interned for the duration of the war. The Intel gathered from the Japs had also been handed over and the Intelligence guys were very excited when they saw the latest Japanese codebook, and an up-to-date map of their bases. The bomber crew had thanked us profusely for bringing them to safety, and that night at the club we were shouted free drinks by the Americans until we were so drunk we could hardly stand. It was strange how an experience like we had just gone through brought everyone closer together, and we were all brothers in arms and the best of mates by the time we said goodbye the next morning. They were boarding a C47 that had been specially assigned to fly them back to their airbase on an unspecified island somewhere out in the Pacific.

Time passed quickly as we cleaned and oiled our weapons until they were mission ready again, replenished our ammunition, medical and food supplies, washed our sweat stained muddy clothing, cleaned and oiled our jungle boots, attended to any health issues from scratches or insect bites, and generally relaxed and rested while awaiting new orders. In our spare time we wrote letters to loved ones and family before we were flown to the next mission to extract any surviving crew from another downed plane.

CHAPTER 5.

M ail call the next morning brought a thick pile of letters from Alisha and I could hardly wait to get back to my quarters in the Quonset hut to open them. It was hard being separated for so long, as we were