Chapter 14 A Soft Cop; Delirium; Walking Back; This Lovely Day

A SOFT COP

THE tent flap swung open. I rolled over on my back and blinked in the sunlight coming through the opening.

"Scram," I mumbled, "and let a feller sleep." And turned over again.

"Off your spine, mug! I'm back. The prodigal returns. Get up and welcome me home."

The voice penetrated and suddenly I was wide awake.

"Sluggo! "

I sat up and wrung his hand. He dumped his gear in his old place and sat on the blanket roll. He pushed his hat back on his head and began rolling a cigarette.

"Well, how was it?"

He grinned, spreading his blunt boxer's nose across his face and showing his teeth very white against his brownness.

"I've had enough. From now on I don't go to hospital, even if my head is falling off. The hospital was all right--"

"How do the V.As look?

-the hospital was all right but when they put me on the X list--"

"I wonder what a white woman looks like?

-and sent me to the I.T.B., then the grind started--"

"I wonder if they'd send me down to Moresby if I got another attack of malaria? Just imagine-a beautiful V.A. caressing your brow--"

"Shut up. You haven't heard it all yet. I thought I'd never get away from the place."

"Fancy wanting to run away from white women.

I ducked and the water-bottle flew over my head.

"I'm talking about the I.T.B.' Will you listen? I'm telling you-and warning you about the I.T.B."

I put the beautiful women at the back of my mind. I could dream about them to-night.

"Tough going? "

"Tough?" He grunted and laughed. "I'll never work again. I'm back here to loaf, Ox. I've had three weeks of more infantry drill than I knew was in the book. I'll bet I know more about it than the general." He eliminated a mosquito on his wrist. "I'm looking for a nice soft cop now. Know of anything?"

That made me laugh. "Where'd you get the idea I like hard work? The queue forms behind me for soft cops."

The next day he came into the tent, flung himself on his blanket, lay back with his hands under his head, and beamed in such a self-satisfied manner that you knew you were going to envy him before he had even opened his mouth.

"I've got it." Even his voice was dripping self-satisfaction.

"Got what? "

"The soft cop. I'm a stretcher-bearer, from here on."

"Well, don't tell me there's any justice! The battalion's biggest poler - and you come back to the sweetest job in the show. What did you do-buy the job?"

He grins and spreads his hands. "Influence, Ox. That's all, influence." From then on he did less work than a paralytic. Every time I went out of the tent, toting my pack and rifle, he'd wave to me and settle back on his bed.

"Enjoy the march, Ox. I can't go to-day- I have to stay home and maintenance my stretcher."

Then we went back in again. We went down to Eora and walked into trouble. The Jap was well dug in there. He had 37-mms and 75-mms and he knew how to use them. His snipers had the place well covered; you needed eyes in the back of your head to keep off the casualty list. You were on edge all the time, keeping a jump ahead of a bullet. It was no place for relaxation or day-dreaming.

Every so often we would make an attempt to go forward and they would counterattack, but we were just going back and forth over the same ground, slugging away at one another till we were punch-drunk from the continuous jolting strain and effort. It was cold and wet; we shivered at night, lying in the mud, hating the weather and the jungle and the stinking, clinging, deep mud more than the Jap down there in the village.

I looked about for Sluggo. It was just daylight now and I hadn't seen him since yesterday morning. Every man was hard to see, lying in a dip he had scraped out or tucked close behind a tree, screened by the low hanging branches.

Then I saw him, squatting in the mud beside a man whose leg was a mass of blood. He was bandaging the wound. He worked with his hands high in the air, keeping the dressing out of the mud. I watched him for a while then he stood up, picked the fellow up over his shoulder, and stumbled back to the rear. About ten minutes later I saw him coming back again. I whistled softly.

Bent double he ploughed through the mud and dropped down beside me.

"How're you doing?"

He grinned. His greens were torn and dull with mud, his hat flopped, wet with rain, and his face was stubble-bearded and streaked where the leaves had brushed across it. He looked a hobo. Not that I was Beau Brummel.

"Wish I was back here toting a rifle." He fished a battered cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. "I've never worked so flaming hard in my life."

"So the sweet cop bounced back on you?"

He poked me in the ribs. "I'm putting in an official complaint when we get out of here."

"When we get out . .

"Stop your laughing. You're having the time of your life. Wish to hell I could have a crack. I'm tired of seeing blokes being bowled over and not having a crack myself. See if you can get one for me-give the Nip stretcher-bearers a bit of work."

He sat against the tree. I lay there for a while occasionally saying something, then I caught a movement out front. I raised my rifle, took a sight and the gun kicked.

"Got the b--!"

"Thanks, pal. Have a cigarette."

"Any time at all, pal. Call again."

"Well, so long. Keep your head down." He went back through the trees, the mud squelching as his feet lifted.

That -afternoon the Jap really got to work. The M.Gs chattered incessantly, slapping the trees, keeping us low; the snipers were busy, picking us if we moved to what looked like a better hole; and the artillery was coming over in bulk, the explosion crashing and lingering in the thickness of the jungle and then going away, echoing and re-echoing. The place was unhealthy.

The order came down to withdraw till thev had let up. We went back, dropping flat as the metal came over. We had vacated the area and were cutting up over the ridge to come down in back of the other platoon when I heard Sluggo yelling for the C.S.M. who was in charge of us.

"Hold it a minute! I've got two more men to get!"

I looked back. I could see him, partly obscured by the trees. He was lowering a wounded man from his shoulder and then he turned and started back towards the position we had just left. The Japs were plastering the place: the noise was terrific. You could see the trees shaking as in a great wind, and the smoke was slowly drifting away, lying heavy in the rain on the tree-tops.

I ran back to where he had left the wounded man and I found there were two of them lying there, both of them badly knocked about. The C.S.M. followed me and as he reached me Sluggo came stumbling out of the trees again with another man slung over his shoulder.

We took the wounded man from him and instantly he turned and was off back again, melting into the trees.

"Come back, Sluggo! " the C.S.M. yelled.

His voice floated back to us, thin against the noise. "Won't be a tick! Got another man to collect! "

The C.S.M. picked up one of the men over his shoulder. "I'll send two men up to help you get these blokes out. As soon as Sluggo comes back, follow the rest of us."

I was straining my eyes, trying to peer through the trees into which Sluggo had disappeared but the world stopped twenty yards from me in a thick, twisted green wall.

Then I saw him coming, crashing through the low branches, his knees angled, bent double under the man on his back, his feet dragging heavily in the clinging, soggy mud.

He came stumbling, his mouth open catching breath, his face muddy and taut with the physical effort. He was out on his feet.

I took the wounded man from him and the other two were picked up by the men who had just arrived. Sluggo fell against a tree, his head hanging, his breath coming in great tearing gasps.

"Let's go," I said.

Sluggo lifted his head. His face was still drawn but he managed a twisted grin.

"What! Nobody to carry me~"

We went up over the ridge and down to the other platoon.

We took Eora two days later and we moved on. They mentioned Sluggo in dispatches for that afternoon's work. But now he's back with us, humping a rifle.

"I'm finished with these soft cops," he grins.

"NX1437"

Walking Back

IT was a little past midnight. A slight moon. John Woolley and I were retracing our steps through the blackened ruins of the town burnt to the ground the night before to prevent its capture by the Japanese.

The place seemed strangely still and eerie, markedly contrasting the feverish activity, raging fires and shattering explosions of seemingly only a few hours before.

We had been on the switchboard and were two of the last to leave Wau. The previous morning at daybreak we had received our last message from Headquarters to destroy and to retire.

As we now trudged along what had been the main street I strove to collect my thoughts. Yes, I had pushed over the switch when the message came through. John had ripped open mattresses, and had piled cane furniture on the beds. A swish of kerosene and together we applied our matches.

Vividly I remembered his grimly determined face in the flicker of those growing flames.

I saw again Jack Creary bolting from a blazing house and throwing himself over an embankment just in time to avoid flying lead from exploding ammunition which he had not removed. Jack's troubles!

On the outskirts John called for a spell. He was not used to walking in his sleep, he said. My pack felt heavy, too, not from its weight but from my physical weariness. Besides my rifle and ammunition I had but a blanket, an indispensable mosquito net, one pair of shorts, six tins of emergency rations and quinine.

We had no plans, simply orders to make Bulldog on the Lakekamu River in Papua. "Just a matter of walking," mused John; but neither of us knew the way. We reckoned that by following native tracks we would reach a camp or native village each night. I had two packets of razor blades for trade. Further we had heard that the army was establishing a series of camps and food dumps in from Bulldog towards Wau and so we were in good spirits. Youth refuses to get downhearted. On the contrary I felt excited. A trip across New Guinea! That would mean from coast to coast, as I had walked over the track from Salamaua to Wan too often for comfort. Optimistically I saw myself in Moresby.

In more than seven months around Mubo I had become well aware of the difficulties of the jungle; but the thrill of being an amateur explorer brooked no obstacles. Those immense mountain chains west of Wau, peak on peak, misty, deep blue, fascinated me with their mystery and grandeur. What did those mountains hold?

It did not seem advisable to rest for long, and soon we shouldered our rifles and packs and pushed on through Crystal Creek for Kaisenik. It was some hours after daybreak when we were welcomed there by Captain Umphelby. I volunteered my only blanket for the sick and wounded coming in from Mubo. It was less to carry and I was glad to be rid of it.

The track branches at Kaisenik, a well beaten one going towards Mubo, and an obscured one winding back into the mountains to Kudjiru and beyond. Along the latter we walked until three o'clock that afternoon when we camped for the night on the track. After fifty-seven sleepless hours I was too tired to eat, and perhaps just as well, I thought, for food was scarce and I reasoned that these rumours of army dumps might be yet another myth. A few natives plucked up courage to draw near us. I gave the old man among them a razor blade and immediately won his confidence. In the quaint pidgin of the islands he complained of the scarcity of food, "Masta, kai-kai I enough long gammon bel tassol." (Food was enough to deceive his belly, that was all.)

The trip proved to be as John had predicted, "Just a matter of walking". Mile after mile, ever upward and always winding we trudged along the narrow, boggy track. Two days of this and in the evening we came over a crest and saw the smoke from the Kudjiru camp. What a welcome sight! John began to quote, "Then felt I like some watcher of the sky . . ." Our Independent Coy, part of the command of Lt.-Col. Fleay, D.S.O., had established its headquarters here.

Many of the fellows including the Colonel were burning off grass from the surrounding hills. This was a signal for American transport planes which were out searching for the hide-out. Seven of them zoomed in circles as low as they dared, and out were thrown grenades, food and bales of blankets, and yes, mail! Cases of meat and tins of biscuits hurtled into the swamps or broke upon the hillsides and scattered the contents for chains. Late into the night we were retrieving those precious goods. Our gratitude to those airmen was beyond words.

Kudjiru at an elevation of 6150 feet is wet and cold. I made a rough bed by placing logs together and heaping on them a two-foot mattress of grass; but in spite of the issue of four blankets I shivered all night. Next morning I continued to shiver with a touch of fever. That delayed us a day.

The next stage was into rougher country, into the heart of the jungle-covered ranges. As I was weakened by the fever John went ahead to prepare a fire and a hot meal for midday. I was confident that I could make the journey, but how often do one's achievements fall short of one's expectations. I had to rest every ten minutes or so. For the first time in my life I realized what it was to be alone. Vast areas, unexplored and uncontrolled, lay all around me. Tier after tier of towering mountains, drained by many cold hill streams, loomed higher than Kosciusko.

The mysterious silence and utter stillness of this fastness was broken only by the squelch of the mud when I walked. Long moss was growing on trees and roots. The damp vegetation was dripping with mist and rain. The steepness of those mountain tracks is unforgettable and it is no exaggeration to say that I rested by leaning against the track in front of me. In places I had to pull myself up precipitous banks by my hands from root to root; for hundreds of feet I did not step on ground. Tough going. It was not until two o'clock that I reached John's blazing fire.

Two hours' spell in the warmth, hot food and boiling tea, and we were ready to go forward to a camp that John had heard about from natives. They had called it Water Dry, and as names are usually correct in description I was puzzled. Late that night we arrived and then I knew. The "camp" was a few mildewy tents with rough wooden floors. No sunlight ever penetrated the thick foliage and light rain fell almost continuously. It did not seem "dry"; but the tents were in the driest spot-the bed of the creek! The stream ran underground and issued some distance farther down. An old prospector was camped here, and he advised us to heat small stones in his fire, and to put them into our boots to warm and dry them. That night I curled up like a rat before the fire.

We were two more days crossing the divide. The "just a matter of walking" had resolved itself into stepping from root to root down precipitous slopes or climbing in a similar manner up high river-banks. The shallow and swiftly flowing streams were invariably bridged in many places by fallen trees, slippery and moss-covered. We were always extremely careful; but I was just across one when I heard a shout. Quickly turning I saw John executing the neatest dive I have seen. In a moment he was some thirty yards down stream in the shallow, turbulent rapids which swept over jagged boulders. I do not know how he managed to save his life. The jungle and vines growing thickly to the water's edge prevented me from assisting him at all. I still regard his preservation as a minor miracle.

At length and without further mishap we reached Centre Camp which was a considerable army food camp. I was overjoyed to meet Carl Jacobsen who had helped us considerably in Wau before he carried out his own demolition work around the aerodrome. He was great company and raised our spirits by his humour and shrewd observations. For a middle-aged man his agility and stamina were remarkable.

We travelled with Carl from Centre Camp to Bulldog in two days. The going was much easier; the track became more and more defined; the streams slower, wider, deeper, and crossed by vine bridges; the mountains became hills and undulated into stretches of flat ground.

Three very weary men tramped into Bulldog. The trek was over. We were all much pleased that we had done it. Perhaps we had visions of the future telling of this adventure and introducing further difficulties and yelling savages.

The officer in charge of the supply dump treated us with all hospitality, gave us food and good quarters, a change of clothes, and provided canoes for us to go down the Lakekamu to Terapo near the mouth.

That ninety-mile trip down the river is a story in itself-clouds of mosquitoes, huge sago swamps, and two lonely outposts at Otumi and Pa-pa with a white man at each. What tales they could tell!

At Terapo we joined a party of nearly thirty and we went by schooner to Yule Island and thence to Moresby. There we had to wait many hours before we (Tot in contact with a responsible officer who arranged transport for us to the special Australian New Guinea Unit. He telephoned the O.C. and evidently told him that there were thirty boys in from the Lakekamu.

The O.C. gave the normal New Guinea interpretation to "boy", and looked rather taken aback when we arrived. He had had food prepared for us-yes, two kerosene tins of cooked rice.

"NG2057"