Missing, Presumed Dead

By Gabriel Cox

Robert Davis is a young RAAF pilot during World War Two's outbreak in the Pacific. He has wanted to fly since he was a small child. Though he has been successful in achieving his dream, the course of his career and life will change in a strange set of twists during a raid on an enemy-held harbour that could never have been predicted. He must find resilience within him that he was unaware of.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gabriel Cox
• Release date: Oct 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215583463

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Table of Contents

Missing, Presumed Dead

Special thanks to my mum, without whose help this book would not exist.

Chapter 1

It was strange that the whole world was ablaze, for, on this night, the inky blackness would have betrayed that idea. The Solomon Sea, though small compared to others, dwarfed the tiny, twin-engined craft that soared two miles above it, silhouetted only by the moonlight. Hundreds of miles from safety, the ever-nervous crew tried in vain to focus on their tasks in order to blot out the dark beast of their own imagination.

Flying in her certainly was an assault on the senses. Apart from her ungainly appearance, the noise of her Twin Wasp radials was deafening. They were mounted only a few feet from the fuselage and the natural feeling of having sprouted some set of silky wings that any aviator has was offset by the cold, unheated atmosphere in the cockpit, and a constant damp, oily smell inhabited the nostrils of the entire crew.

From the outside, she assumed the appearance of a vengeful albatross, bent on the destruction of her foe. Nevertheless, if one word embodied the beast, it was strength. She was a matriarch and would protect her crew. The captain took a sip of cold coffee from his flask. Internal lighting was dim on purpose, the spooky faces of the pilots lit up in a red glow. They became ever more nervous as they approached the target. A tinny voice came over the intercom. New course, skipper. 313 degrees.

Perkins was still green, but he was certainly capable of doing his job. It was a trait that Robert Davis, the pilot, had come to respect. As he turned on to the new heading, Robert felt his stomach turn to ice. He could see their objective in front of him. Two other Catalinas had attacked in the preceding minutes

Searchlights and red tracer bullets filled the air. The Japanese naval base at Rabaul was now alert. Their approach from the Southeast gave them a grandstand view of the damage that had been done. A freighter was burning in the harbour, 7,000 feet below, illuminating other ships that seemed to be laid out in rows like children’s toys.

The bow turret gunner took up his second position, that of the bombardier. He peered through and adjusted the sight, considering wind speed, wind direction, and the aircraft’s altitude. The burning ship was still on the surface.

The next couple of minutes were a constant stream of communication between him and Robert as he called out small adjustments in heading, using the fire as his aiming point. Once he was ready, he simply waited for his moment and pressed the switch. The eight 250-pound semi-armour-piercing weapons fell from their racks in pairs.

Bombs gone! he yelled. With that, Robert heaved the control column to the left and applied a substantial amount of power, glad to finally be able to manoeuvre after necessarily flying a straight and level bomb run. The bombs straddled the harbour.

As they dodged and weaved through the flak, a Japanese fighter circled high above. The pilot had been alerted after the first two attacks but had not been able to locate the attackers. When Robert’s aircraft started to leave the area, he noticed exhaust flames. Opening the throttle, he dove straight for them. Once he felt he was within range, he lined his gun sight upon the attacker and opened fire. .303 Bullets tore into the Catalina.

In the opening burst, the ventral gunner and blister gunners were wounded while the radio operator and flight engineer were killed. Only the two pilots, the navigator and the bow turret gunner escaped unharmed.

With his aircraft now filled with smoke, dead and dying crew members, and with limited control, Davis fought with more exertion than ever before. It took both his and co-pilot John Cowan's effort on the control column to turn it, trying to get away from their unseen foe. The larger, lumbering machine turned sluggishly to the right, but the Japanese plane simply turned with him.

Lining up, the pilot fired another burst, this time aiming for the right engine. The bullets once again hit home. The engine belched flame, wound down, and ceased up. The aircraft now lurched from the sudden loss of power on one side.  Both pilots pushed their feet down on their rudder pedals to try and keep the aircraft from yawing.

The fighter left, the pilot believing he had destroyed his target. He may as well have. As well as killing or wounding most of the crew and knocking out an engine, he had damaged the flight control linkages and the radio set was sparking. With what little control they had, the crew tried to evade the fighter, not knowing that he was no longer there.

Davis gave up on any idea of returning to Port Moresby. Buissa Atoll in the Northwest of the Solomon Islands was his best option. There, he thought, was an Australian garrison and a small lagoon that he could land on. They would be able to get help for the wounded crewmen, who were still groaning in the back. Once he felt he was safe, the Australian decided to carry out some damage control.

OK, carry out the engine fire procedure on number 2 he said. Cowan reached up, pulled the throttle, fuel, and rpm levers to idle on the console above their heads, and then pulled the fire extinguisher. Everybody check in, he said. Only three responded; the right blister gunner in a weak voice, the navigator, and the bow turret gunner. The rest, aside from Cowan and Davis, were casualties.

Perkins had returned to his chart table by this point. As they started the engine fire checklist, Robert asked Len, can you give me a course for Buissa?. 105 degrees Rob Perkins replied, we should reach Buissa in about forty-eight minutes.  After that, Perkins asked if he could leave the table and give first aid to the wounded. Robert agreed.

...

The sun was starting to rise.

Robert could just about make out Buissa in the distance. They had made it this far, which was a comforting thought. But what he didn't know was that the tiny Australian garrison had already left. Still fighting to keep the aircraft level, he and Cowan were exhausted. In addition, the aircraft had steadily been losing height.

Out of an initial crew of nine, only five were left, the two gunners having died of their wounds. The lagoon was now clear as day straight ahead of him. Perkins returned to his seat and strapped in. As Robert got down to about 100 feet, he started to urge the aircraft on. 50 feet, now. Suddenly, as the speed bled off, the aircraft veered to the right. He couldn't control it.

He and Cowan struggled desperately. Eventually, they straightened it out and crossed over the beach twenty feet off the ground. But, just then, it stalled again and hit a clearing. With a noise like a thunderclap, the right wing crumpled as it struck solid earth. The cockpit contacted the ground on the right side, killing Cowan and the bow turret gunner. The right blister gunner wasn't strapped in and was thrown to the ceiling. He died.

Davis slammed his head against the instrument panel, knocking him into a groaning stupor and leaving blood everywhere. Now only Perkins was both alive and conscious. Hearing his captain's groans, he made his way to the cockpit, opened the roof escape hatch, climbed through it, and, by superhuman effort, pulled Davis out. Davis's dog tags snagged on a jagged piece of metal. Perkins quickly pulled them off his neck and discarded them.

Then he climbed down over the left side, away from the spilling fuel of the smashed wing. He dragged his skipper to the ground and pulled him well clear of the wreck, before running back into it to try and save Gray, who he thought was still alive. That’s when it happened. Something touched off the fuel vapours. In a huge orange fireball, the plane disappeared.

Robert Davis, unconscious and barely alive, was now the lone survivor of his crew.

...

Robert’s mother sat on the front porch of her house in South Yarra. She gazed down the road, watching the heat mirage seemingly give the effect of a pool of water at a dip in it. A cool breeze blew in from Port Phillip Bay and, though she was sat in the shade, it was still a relief. She was worried.

Many mothers were. They were the generation whose sons would be called up for war. As was common with all Commonwealth countries at the time, there were uniforms everywhere and, although the Pacific war was young, Australians had been fighting in Europe and North Africa almost since the beginning, declaring war on Germany only a week after Britain.

But things really changed when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbour. With the United States and Japan in the war, the allies now had a whole new theatre to contend with, to which Australia was central. This was brought home when the same carrier force that had attacked Hawaii struck Darwin in the Northern Territory, causing much damage.

It was against this backdrop that Robert had gone to war when he started flying operational sorties out of Port Moresby. He wrote home regularly and seemed to be relatively happy with his existence. There had been no mention of any bad tidings in his letters, but, being a military officer, he probably wasn’t likely to mention any. Suddenly, she became alarmed.

Through the shimmering haze, a sight appeared which she had dreaded since Robert had enlisted. The shape that she saw had now morphed into that of a staff car. She felt weak at the knees and had to grip the sides of her chair. As the sky-blue 1938 Chevrolette, complete with roundels, pulled up outside her house, she knew what it meant. A Flight Lieutenant in matching uniform stepped out, lowering his gaze and pausing for a moment.

Walking up to the porch, he asked Mrs Davis?. She couldn’t speak and just nodded her head. I’m afraid I must give you this. Please let me express my deepest sympathies. He handed her a telegram. Thank you she said, her voice cracking. She tore the envelope open and read the first line. I regret to inform you that your son, Flying Officer Robert Davis, is missing in action. She buried her head in her hands and wailed. It would be another hour before her husband Edmund found out the fate of their son...

Chapter 2

Buissa's landmass was a tiny atoll. A narrow strip of land that encircled the lagoon was covered in shrub-dotted fields, palm trees, and white beaches. It is an island paradise, but this was the rainy season. The lagoon had three access channels on the northwest of the island, just to the south of the village.

Despite the absence of an amphibious force, the Japanese had paid attention to Buissa in recent weeks. A Japanese flying boat had passed over a few days ago, prior to the garrison leaving. The gunners had left it trailing smoke, but they were unsure as to whether they had completely destroyed it.

After that raid, the garrison had been recalled to the Solomon Islands. A token force, there were only twenty of them, but they had given the Japanese a bloody nose for their troubles. It was best that they return to the Solomons and strengthen forces there. Two Catalinas based at Sorekan on Bougainville near the northwest tip of the chain had spirited them away in the darkness. The problem was that Robert didn't know that they had left the night before.

The sound of an aircraft engine was not completely alien to the villagers of Lalasais, the only settlement, which looked west, out to sea. What was a surprise was how close this one was. The fishermen on the beach saw and heard what happened next, then ran to help. They reached the clearing just in time to see Perkins' heroic deed.

When they found Robert, they checked for signs of life. One of them, a tall, heavy-set, muscular man dressed in white shorts named Benjamin pressed his head onto Robert's chest and heard a heartbeat. After having fashioned a makeshift stretcher, they lifted Robert from the ground. A large crowd, including the chief, or Tsunono, was gathered in the centre of the village, awaiting news from those at the crash site. The crowd chatted excitedly in their native Haku language.

They moved Robert into the Tsuhana, or village hall, where he would be taken care of, and removed his tunic. Benjamin despatched a man to tell the nuns at the mission that they should come quickly. Then he turned to the chief, who was his father, and asked him about Robert. What should we do with him? Benjamin asked.

Keep him here, of course. The chief replied. We can bring the nuns to him but, when he awakes, he must not be allowed to get up and walk around. Let your sister look after him. She has done some nursing. We'll hold a meeting about this presently. We will meet in the Tsuhana. Soon, a wooden slit-drum was sounded and the villagers made their way to the building.

The chief stood in front of the gathering and began to speak. My good people, I have called this meeting because of the very special situation we find ourselves in. The crash of the Australian aeroplane has brought a fresh problem. If the Japanese come here and find the pilot, he will be in grave peril. Perhaps more so than us. To that end, I would like to ask you what we should do with him. Needless to say, our judgments must be rooted in compassion and common sense. We should also take note of his condition.

The villagers talked amongst themselves for a while. They knew Robert was ill. He is still unconscious said one man isn't it prudent to allow the nuns to go about their work?. The chief nodded in acknowledgement. Of course.  But, if he wakes up, he may be very confused. I highly doubt that he will have all of his senses. We should devise a plan to hide him if the Japanese arrive. The question is how and where?. The how part was answered by the next commentator. Can we use the earth to give his skin our colour? the woman asked.

I think that’s wise said the chief. Next came the where. A middle-aged man stood up and said if we dig a hole in the ground and cover it with palm tree leaves, he could be hidden there. We could give him provisions for many days at a time. That seems fair said the chief, a man of few words.

We can start preparing this accommodation and gathering the food for him. Benjamin, will you see to that? Of course, father Benjamin replied. Good. I'll also put a sentry by the door. We'll take turns said the chief. Benjamin detailed a team of five men to dig the hole. Meanwhile, the rest of the villagers stripped the wreck of anything that could still be usable.

The rubber de-icing strips on the wings, main wheel tyres, control surface linkages, engine components, and any useful piece of metal that could be easily detached from the airframe were ripped out, including parts of the radio, namely the transmitter and receiver. They also took the bunks out and used some of the metal for constructing flat-bottomed boats.

Once they had done that, they removed the bodies of the dead crew and buried them in small mounds near the wreck. When they did so, they made sure that there was a cross for Robert. This was to make sure that any Japanese landing force wouldn't count the number of dead and come up one short.

Robert came around during the night, but in a dazed state. The nuns had arrived by now. His head was spinning, all but literally. He could not focus his eyes. He heard people speaking in a language he didn't recognise. All in all, he was very scared. As the nuns treated him, they heard him start to mumble random words.

He had been stripped of his shirt and one of them gently applied a soaked cloth to his chest. It soothed him. Gently rolling his head to one side, he spotted a gentle flame lying at the entrance of the building. It spooked him and he whimpered, shuffling off the stretcher to get away from it. But the sister gently pressed the cloth against him, smiling.

Robert lay down again, which was about all he had the strength for. His head pounded. He could hear his own heartbeat. He felt nauseous. Robert yelled incoherently. He was out of his head. He tried to get up but the nuns restrained him. After a time, he was calmed again and provided with some boiled water to drink.

The sun was just starting to rise and Benjamin, along with the other male villagers set out to collect shellfish from the shallows on the sun-bleached beach. When Benjamin and his friends came back into the village, he stopped by the Tsuhana to see how Robert was doing. When he got there, Susil was helping the nuns.

She was smiling. What are you smiling about?. I'm just happy. Susil replied. Benjamin nodded. She had always been that way, very carefree. Benjamin wasn't so much. He entered the Tsuhana and asked Aileen about Robert. How is he, sister? He is delirious, he's had quite a traumatic injury to his head. He can talk, but it was nonsensical when he did. We are still watching him. Just as she said that, she heard a groan come from Robert.

She gazed toward him. What she saw was a young man wincing with a blank look on his face. He opened his mouth as if to form a word. Where...where am I?. Just rest for now she said. She knelt down and hand-fed him a ready-made bowl of rice, the bowl being half of a coconut with its inner flesh removed. As he lay there, a striking, beautiful burst of sunlight stabbed its way through the gaps in the wood of the front door, its rays taunting him.

He winced and turned away, then closed his eyes, trying to rest. As he did, strange thoughts started to flash through his head. He could remember a small, but well-kept suburban garden somewhere when he was a boy. He could also recall a young woman looking down at him and smiling. Then she picked him up and kissed him. Robert couldn't remember the word for this kind of person.

The next memory was one of a man, maybe in his late twenties with dark hair, sitting by a fireplace, smoking his pipe. He was disturbed from his thoughts by a sound in the room. It was Susil.