Kokoda (37 page)

Potts was happy to hear it. But just in case there were any mishaps—and notwithstanding the fact that his men would be without porters to do a lot of the heavy lifting, as the 39th had been blessed with—Potts insisted that his men carry a fair measure of extra supplies. Experience told him the only way to be sure that a soldier had the bare basics necessary for survival was for the soldier to have them on his person.

Up at Eora Creek, just a day’s march back from the Australian frontlines, Doc Vernon had his hands full as never before. He was trying to patch up the wounded well enough that they could continue walking back to Moresby, while also looking after the porters, many of whom were now breaking down. Time and again the porters would reluctantly say to Doc, ‘MI FILIM NOGUT, MI TUMAS KOLT’, they did not feel well and were very cold, and it was never difficult to see why. Underfed, overworked, going without rest for days on end, and often in the high climes that the lowlanders were simply not used to, they were simply breaking down under the strain.

It was usually the wounded soldiers who required the most urgent attention, though, and with another orderly in the rough tent that had been set up as their frontline ‘hospital’, the old doctor worked eighteen to twenty hours a day, removing shrapnel and bullets, cleaning wounds and sewing them up, fixing splints and trying to deal with the endless cases of malaria that continued to blight the fighting men. Even in the middle of the night he was not off duty. One of the soldiers with him at this point, Sergeant Jack Sim of the Signals Platoon, later told of being in a similar situation with Doc at Efogi, sharing a hut built on stilts with him. It was a freezing night up there in the highlands, and around three o’clock in the morning Doc briefly disappeared, carrying his blanket, only to return without it. Bert Kienzle was there too.

‘Where’s your BLANKET?’ Bert shouted at him.

‘Wrapped a carrier in it,’ Doc replied matter-of-factly. ‘Poor devil, dying of pneumonia. All I can do is make him warm for his last hours.’
¹⁴²

Bloody hell. Where’s all the green? Where was the jungle? From the decks of the ships
James Fenimore
and
James Wilson,
the first view of New Guinea looked nothing like what the men of the 2/14th and 2/16th had been expecting. It was now the height of the dry season and, from the deck, Moresby appeared brown and dusty, hot and listless, as they spied it across the skeletons of sunken ships that dotted the shore. It looked, frankly, about as welcoming as a German with a toothache in a bunker, and as the troops of the 2/14th made ready to disembark, the mood blackened a little.

For all that, Osmar White was there on the morning of 12 August when the ships pulled into Port Moresby Harbour, and was immediately impressed as the men of the 2/14th disembarked. As he would later describe it: ‘These troops were tested and selected by war. They were scrawny, muscled and burned to the colour of leather by desert winds. There were no weeds among them. They betrayed no enthusiasm. They did not cheer and catcall. They knew what fighting meant and they were going to fight.’

By God they were. And they didn’t really care what stories they heard from wild-eyed wounded shortly after arriving, stories about six-foot Japanese as strong as mallee bulls, who were also like snakes creeping silently on you in the night and slitting your throat in such a way that you wouldn’t even cry out…

Yeah… bullshit. Maybe the Nips could do those kind of things to the Chocos, but not them. Now Australia had sent in
the men
. And how tough could the Japs really be if only the likes of the Chocos had held them up as long as they had?

By nightfall the battalions had been trucked to a camp at Itiki, at a spot about thirty miles northeast of Moresby. Potts had especially selected the site as a place where his men would have the best chance of staying clear of the nightmare of Moresby and its surrounding malarial swamps, while also being close to the beginning of the track leading to Kokoda.

In a strange kind of way, it was almost worse than a surprise attack. Back at Deniki, the troops with Major Cameron could see Kokoda with the naked eye in the distance, and the columns of tiny ant-like figures filing out, clearly heading their way. The weird thing was that even at that distance, those ants kinda looked
angry
and intent on doing them damage. It looked very much like the Japs were building for a major attack on their position and the Australian preparations for digging in became feverish. True, there were not a lot of them to defend their position, but they would simply have to make do. At least Deniki was on relatively high ground and marginally easier to defend than the Kokoda plateau; though the Australians were a much depleted and weaker force than they had been just four days previously before embarking on Major Cameron’s foolhardy plan to retake Kokoda. Through the night, every sound, every creaking branch or broken twig, sounded to the soldiers like the Japanese Army massing on their perimeters. Maybe it was, and maybe it wasn’t, but few got much sleep that night.

The following morning, they all waited for the attack to begin. Though they couldn’t see them yet, they just knew the Japs were there. Among the defenders, Smoky Howson kept playing over and over in his head a scene that had occurred just a couple of months before he’d joined the 39th. He’d been with the 52nd Battalion for only a short time when they’d called for volunteers to join the 39th and go overseas, and he’d put his hand up. Then, just before he was about to depart, the word came through that the government had decided that because he grew vegetables, he was classified as being a part of ‘essential services’ and would have to return to the market gardens. Well, Smoky had kicked up such a stink that the officer in charge of placements had spat back at him, ‘Oh, if you want to go and get yerself bloody well killed, well we won’t stop you. Off you go then!’
¹⁴³
And off he’d gone. And now here he was. Jammed into a hole in the ground, while the Japs came ever closer. It was the waiting which killed him most, because it gave a bloke time to think, and once you started thinking you realised you were shit scared.

But now, and here was the strangest thing of all, once the Japs started firing there was never any time to be frightened. When the attack started it was almost a relief. Like now…

The first mortars started coming in, someone yelled ‘Take cover!’ and Smoky felt an immediate calm come over him.

In this early morning of 13 August, the Japanese were hitting Deniki with force, peppering the Australians with sniper fire, pounding them with mortars and constantly probing their perimeters, looking to exploit any weakness. Now experienced in the ways of the Japanese, though, the Australians followed orders and held their fire until such times as they had an absolute bead on a Japanese soldier. Earlier in the campaign they had learnt that one of the key Japanese tactics in such situations was to put out a heavy blanket of fire with the sole purpose of drawing Australian fire in return, which would allow the Japs to determine their position. But not this time, Tojo. Conscious that even one shot in retaliation risked bringing a mortar on their heads, the Australians simply gritted their teeth and lay doggo, waiting for the Japs to get to close enough quarters that mortars were useless and it no longer mattered that the Australians were giving away their positions. Still, if the opportunity to fire before that was too good to miss, they at least moved quick smart away from the point they fired from, for fear of the mortar which would likely soon be heading their way. Another thing the Australians had learned was to paste mud over their gun barrels so that no stray ray of sunlight could shine off the barrel and needlessly give away their position.

When the Japs really were close it was on for young and old, and no one was seen to be sending more lead their way than Smoky Howson. Though remaining absolutely dead calm inside, he just kept firing, all the time firing, pausing only to reload, and had gone through twenty magazines before his position became too hot and he had to move back momentarily. He must’a killed
dozens
of them.

Another all but on the spot, and one of the few officers Smoky really liked, was a former AIF bloke by the name of ‘Tubby’ Jacobs who had witnessed it all and promoted Smoky to corporal, adding that he was going to nominate him for the Military Medal.

For the 39th’s B Company in this engagement there would be no such nominations for medals as, still in disgrace—at least in Major Cameron’s eyes—they were kept well back from the front line of the Deniki battle in nominal reserve.

To the north of Deniki at that time, still at Naro, Captain Symington’s A Company heard the fighting and wisely decided to detour around Deniki. Not only were they exhausted and laden down with their wounded, but they were unlikely to have been able to make any impact against the attacking Japanese, who would most certainly have set up ambushes against any Australian force coming from their direction. By an alternative track, they pushed on to the next village back down the track, Isurava.

Back at Deniki the Diggers fought on, with surely the most extraordinary episode occurring around noon. After a furious firefight, some quiet had suddenly descended and for the life of him, Lieutenant Don Simonson, in a far forward position on the eastern flank, swore he could hear Japanese happily chatting somewhere nearby. Carefully, oh so carefully, he inched his way forward, slowly lifted his head above a bluff of rock and saw a dozen Japanese soldiers having lunch! For dessert he gave them two lobbed grenades before scurrying back to his position… and it was on again. (Lieutenant Simonson would later be awarded the Military Cross for his bravery in action on this occasion.)

By the morning of 14 August, Major Cameron knew there was no way his men could hold on to Deniki for another day. The Japanese now controlled the high ground overlooking the Australians’ defensive positions and were beginning to push through the perimeters. Staying there meant certain annihilation. One more time, they would have to withdraw, and get back to Isurava. The major managed to get a brief message to Port Moresby advising them of his decision, concluding with the heartfelt words: ‘We have done our best.’
¹⁴⁴

Quickly, almost in a scramble, the Australians moved back, taking as much food and ammo as they could carry—Smoky set the record by carrying 1100 rounds in bandoliers around his neck— but unfortunately they were still obliged to leave a lot of their equipment and ammunition behind. Also, some of their number became isolated from the main body of retreating troops and would have to fight their way both through the jungle and against Japanese patrols to reach Isurava. But the job was done. For the most part the Australians had survived, and lived to fight another battle. Even for those who were still relatively strong though, it was a long haul. Isurava was well up into the highlands, thousands of feet above Deniki and perched on the steep side of the first of the Owen Stanley Range when approaching from the north—getting there was one hell of a climb.

Back in General MacArthur’s Headquarters in Brisbane, the mood was grim when the news got through. On the situation map, the tiny little flag indicating the furthest reaches of the Japanese forces moved half an inch closer to Moresby, while the Australian flag moved half an inch backwards, always backwards. What was wrong with these Australians? Why didn’t they fight like men? If only, thought, MacArthur if
only
he had some marines, some American fighting men ready to go, he really would be able to turn the situation around.

Happily though, that moment was not far off. Even then, two divisions of American infantry were training in Queensland, and MacArthur was waiting for the right moment to throw them into the fray and really show these
‘Ossies’
how to fight. If all went according to MacArthur’s plans once the Australians had stopped the Japanese advance down the track, the Americans could counterattack and chase them all the way back to the sea whence they came. And
that
would provide some choice raw material for absolutely stunning communiqués from the good general…

A small parenthesis here. Among Australia’s leading politicians and military officers, there was an equal impatience to see American troops thrown into the fray. Shortly after MacArthur had arrived in Australia, he had journeyed to Canberra and, in his address to the assembled politicians, had declared that, ‘as a soldier on a great crusade we shall win or we shall die, and to this end I pledge you all the resources of all the mighty power of my country and all the blood of my countrymen… ’
¹⁴⁵

To this point though, however much American resources had been appreciated, in terms of Australia’s key military action in New Guinea, it had really only been Australian blood that had been spilled. And way too much of it. Close parenthesis.

Now the Australian forces gathered at Isurava and began to dig in for the next, inevitable, Japanese assault. To give the Australians more time, Captain Max Bidstrup, with two platoons of his D Company, set up an ambush on the track to Deniki one hour’s march north of Isurava to knock over the first of the Japanese who came their way. They did not have to wait long. On the morning of 15 August, D Company’s ambush accounted for some eight Japanese deaths. The Japanese fell back to regroup. Captain Bidstrup called his own men back to set up another ambush. So it went. Simply slowing the Japanese advance and blunting their thrust with their every probe forward was, as ever, a victory in itself.

It was the question that Osmar White simply couldn’t hold in any longer. What the hell was the 21st Brigade doing going all the way up there anyway? Why take them on so far from Moresby when it had to be obvious that the advantage would be with the Australians if they chose a battlefield far from the Japanese beachhead and close to the Allied supply dumps?