Chapter 8 Action Stations off Biak Is.; Painting Ship's Side; Sailor Leaves Sea

ACTION STATIONS OFF BIAK ISLAND

THIS is a story of the Australian Tribal Class Destroyer H.M.A.S. Arunta going into action. All of us had done it many times before. We had heard the "buzz" that the ship was proceeding to sea that day; then the shrill bos'n's pipe, as the bos'n's mate hurried around the decks calling, "Special sea dutymen to your stations, close all X doors, valves, scuttles and deadlights, men out of the rig of the day off the upper deck." And so we got under way, forming part of an antisubmarine screen ahead of Australian and American cruisers.

The tropical sea is often calm, and the days are always hot, and below decks the ship is like a Turkish bath. Everybody growls about the mails and the heat, but it is good to be at sea again.

We hear the pipe, "Hands will clean into battledress at 1600, and go to second degree it 1900." At 1600, which is 4 pm- to land-lubbers, we change into long trousers and long-sleeved shirts; and don lifebelts and anti-flash gear which covers our head and face from the flash of bursting bombs or shells.

At 7 p.m. we close up to our action stations. It may be a supply party, damage control, the plotting table, a gun, or any other of the countless jobs on a destroyer prepared for immediate action with the enemy.

A number of landing ships full of men and material have now made a rendezvous with us, and the force creeps along into the night, hoping that no reconnaissance planes have spotted us and are going back to report our advance.

Everybody-except the men on watch tries to make himself comfortable near his action station. It means lying on the steel deck, and it nearly always rains, making it difficult to rest. The few who have a sheltered position with the ship closed up, find it too hot for comfort.

The cooks are relieved from their stations to make coffee, which is issued- to each position at the change of watch. This is very welcome, and keeps sleep away. As the night ages, a glow of light can be seen as the sun approaches the horizon, and "Hands to first degree of readiness" is piped.

Everybody is now alert and at his action station. An uncanny silence prevails as the ships, with their convoy of landing craft, proceed towards their objective.

A target on a point of land has been assigned to Arunta. From a distance it appears only as a clump of trees. The spotting officer can be heard murmuring into his phones, and the gun crews are tense as the weapons of destruction swing around noiselessly.

The fire gongs are sounded. Suddenly there is a deafening roar and a blinding flash as the guns fire. Seconds later the shells burst on the target. Again and again the guns speak, until our quota of shells is expended. We leave the target covered in smoke that shrouds who knows what destruction.

All this time other destroyers are firing at different targets, and in the dim morning light their tracer shells make a magnificent fireworks display. A heavy pall of smoke rises through the trees from the exploding shells, and the smell of cordite fills the air.

Occasionally a warning of hostile aircraft is received, but luckily the fighter planes sent out to cover us keep them at a distance.

During this excitement, U.S. forces are landing from various types of craft, while, from patches of dense jungle, Japanese are contesting their advance. Arunta is again ordered to open fire to wipe out this opposition. The roar of guns is heard once more.

When it is seen that the landing is being carried out satisfactorily, and that we can be of no further service, our force withdraws from the immediate vicinity, to take up a position to ensure that enemy surface craft will not interfere with the landing.

Later, while on patrol, our force is attacked by six enemy aircraft, who drop two bombs very close to us. The screaming sound as they come down is distinctly heard. However we are lucky enough to dodge them and the planes disappear.

Later the same night we help to chase five enemy destroyers, but are too far away to catch them, and are diverted to hunt for barges.

We found only one, which was blown out of the water by our guns.

Another exciting adventure was ended.

D. C. P.

PAINTING SHIP'S SIDE

The "Jimmie" has commanded that we clear the lower deck,
- We'd better get a-crackin' or we'll get it in the neck;
- The ship's side must be painted, that's an order we'll obey,
- We know that if it isn't done there'll be no leave today.
So get your chipping hammers out and get your scrapers too,
- And draw your pot of red lead, that's the first big job to do;
- Get over on the stages, then "Oh hell, there's lots of rust!"
- Though maybe it will take all day, we'll chip it off or bust.
Things really start to happen as the chips begin to fly,
- "Be careful with that hammer, Jack, that piece went in my eye;"
- The boys are giving all their best, and soon the chipping's through,
- So get your brush and get your pot of smart Chicago Blue.
The fun is really on now as the paint flies ev'rywhere,
- It splashes on your face and neck and in your bloomin' hair;
- It makes the stage all slippery, just like a skating rink,
- You nearly overbalance and go swimming in the "drink".
The side is almost done at last; you've really got the pip;
- You're wond'ring where the most paint is, on you or on the ship;
- A few more deft strokes of the brush, it's finished neat and clean,
- The "Jimmie" says he's very pleased-"Libertymen to clean."
You clamber to the upper deck, return your paint and brush,
- Be first beneath the shower or be trampled in the rush;
- You've only got ten minutes left before the last boat goes,
- So if you want to catch it, you had best be on your toes.
As practice has perfection brought, you'll catch it, never fear,
- But in the hustle you've not washed the paint behind your ear;
- With all the rush and painting, you have worked up quite a thirst,
- And in imagination now you quaff a beer - your first.
By this time you have landed, and you're on your way ashore,
- Proceeding at the rate of knots to reach the hotel door.
- You're just in time to hear these words (they're anything but good),
- "I'm sorry, boys, the beer is off." Well, wouldn't it? IT WOULD.

A/B "BING."

SAILORS LEAVE THE SEA

THIS story isn't half as dramatic as the title suggests. It is merely an account of how naval personnel come to Darwin the hard way. A fortunate few fly here from southern cities in a matter of hours, but the majority travel overland-either north from Adelaide or west from Townsville. Normally, the trip may take a fortnight at the most, but during the "wet" season, it sometimes lasts as long as a month. Anyway, let's start from Melbourne, and see firsthand what this overland trek constitutes.

Before embarking on the troop-train, all personnel travelling north of Brisbane were issued with water-bottles and "battle-bowlers". Everybody had a mug, plate, knife, fork, spoon, and if one of these very useful articles were lost-well, it was just too bad.

The "trooper", time of departure secret, left Melbourne crammed full of sailors, soldiers and airmen, and the city gave us a typical send-off as far as weather was concerned drizzling rain and bleak skies. The trip between Melbourne and Sydney, Sydney and Brisbane, was uneventful, and to the older hands just another train ride.

A first-class carnage had been assigned to the Navy in Brisbane, and the twenty sailors appreciated in full the added comfort. Blue serge suits were carefully folded and stowed away, and soon all were dressed suitably in khaki tropical rig. And so we followed the coastline north. Meals were eaten regularly at wayside stations where the feeding of 350 assorted servicemen was carried out competently and well. So far, the ride had been without any inconvenience whatever, but this blissful state was about to come to an abrupt end. The River Burdekin was flooded, and the railway bridge was seven feet below the surface. Yellow floodwaters, sweeping down from the hills, had swollen the Burdekin to many times her normal size, and all north and south-bound traffic was effectively held up.

The townspeople of Mackay came gallantly to the rescue. The flood was a yearly occurrence, and, for many years past, a committee had arranged for the billeting of travellers until the waters subsided. Two trains were in Mackay, both packed with troops, and that Sunday morning found the local inhabitants answering their roll-call. Within three hours, 700 troops had been billeted and taken into the homes of these kind people. Truly a superb example of co-operation and whole-hearted assistance.

At 0800 the following morning, our train proceeded to the river-bank. A train was also on the other side, and the long job of ferrying the troops from one side to the other was commenced without loss of time. Only one boat was available, a twenty-foot skiff powered by an outboard engine. It carried fifteen men at a time, the transfer taking all day and being without mishap. Joyfully the engine blew its whistle, and we were off again on the next leg of the journey, Townsville.

There were five men for Darwin when we assembled on the platform of the Mount Isa bound train. Water-bottles were filled, gear stowed aboard, and with only the staff of the R.T.O. to wave us good-bye, we moved slowly out. It was a mixed train, part passenger and part goods. The carriage behind us was filled with Italians recently released from internment camp and bound for road-building and labouring jobs in Central Australia. The forward part of our carriage had as passengers jackeroos, stockmen, and several aboriginal families, whose spirits nothing could dampen.

The course was west across the flat Queensland plains, with an occasional mountain or miniature range of hills rising incongruously and abruptly above the sweep of the rain soaked downs. Hour after hour the scene never changed except with the sight of a kangaroo, emus, or a flock of cranes. At every little wayside station, which seemed so out of place in the vastness of the inland, herds of goats of all colours and sizes clambered on to the carriages and under them with never a casualty.

Then we entered cattle country, where the magnificent beef cows eyed the puffing monster suspiciously, or bellowed their alarm and backed into the scrub. Only the great, broad chested bulls stood their ground, and nonchalantly chewed their cuds as we rattled Past.

Suddenly we were in mining country, which culminated in the towering frameworks and ugly slag-heaps of Mount Isa. Mount Isa is on the River Leichhardt-a sun blistered town, which for nine months of the year shimmers in the heat waves, and for the other three is inches deep in tropical rainwater. The bed of the Leichhardt fills to overflowing, then slowly empties and retires to anonymity 'midst its pebbles and sand, a pitiful scar on the now craggy landscape.

For four days we were held up at the staging camp, and were the willing guests of the Army, who were responsible for our further travels. We lived in a tent and slept on the ground, and backs accustomed to hammocks found the sudden change to a mattress of granite rather uncomfortable.

Zero hour approached, and massive 3-ton semi-trailers assembled at the starting point. All but three were filled with stores for destinations farther north, and those three were to carry human cargoes. A friendly spirit existed between sailors and soldiers, and we heaved our gear aboard with light hearts, although the thought of four days' constant travelling in these 'juggernauts was rather dampening. With that thought in mind we all made our selves as comfortable a; possible before the convoy started.

And so those four days passed. Frequent stops were made to rest L. drivers whose nerve-racking job it was to follow the long black ribbon of road for hours daily. Those so inclined boiled billies, and clambered aboard when a warning horn was sounded. The bitumen roads, built on bush-tracks and camel-pads, were Australia's Burma Road, and daily carried hundreds of tons of traffic. Bores,

the life-blood of the inland, were the focal points about which each staging camp was built. The convoy arrived often after dark, hungry men were fed, and then assigned to their tents. We were usually called long before dawn, at 043o, breakfasted, and were under way again before the red rim of the sun had peeped above the horizon.

The rolling plains dotted with giant anthills and granite outcrops gave way to tropical bush country, lush and richly green because of the rain. Larrimah, a large camp and terminus of north and west-bound convoys, was reached at last. Rain poured down ceaselessly.

No tents this time, but the tin-roofed, sideless huts which we soon christened "igloos". The roofs leaked, and we seemed to be constantly wet, as were our blankets and gear, However, all were hardened to it by now and we accepted the added discomfort philosophically.

There followed four sodden days before the troops in transit boarded that remarkable little train known affectionately as the "Spirit of Protest", that was to take us to Adelaide River. Running on 3 foot 6 inch gauge, she made no effort to adhere to schedule. Stops were frequent while the driver and fireman boiled their quart-pots. Soot poured in through the glassless windows and covered the thirty occupants of each so-called carriage. No seats were provided, and everybody made themselves as comfortable as possible on the splintery floor. Water-bags hung from the sides, webbing gear and equipment were suspended from the ceiling, and above the noise of talking, laughing, cursing and singing rose the cheerful toot of the little engine with the big heart as she puffed laboriously up a slight gradient.

Aborigines, their lubras and piccaninnies giggling shyly in the background, stood on the side of the tracks and held out hopeful hands for unwanted tins of bully beef and loaves of bread.

They repaid us with smiles that split dusky features almost in two.

The sooty, jolting, uncomfortable night passed, and mid-forenoon found the "Spirit of Protest", breathless but unconquered, steaming into Adelaide River.

A hasty breakfast followed by a quick shower, and we were ready for the last seventy miles of our long trek. A brisk two-hour run by lorry, and we arrived in Darwin - a rather damp and muddy Darwin, but showing very few scars from air raids.

And so our ways finally parted. We shook hands with our soldier friends and waved farewell as the truck rolled away. The blue of the sea was in front of us, and behind us lay the experience of nearly a month on the road. We had crossed the tracks of Bourke and Wills on bitumen roads and in 3-ton semi-trailers. We had passed through places which to most people are merely romantic sounding names on a map-Charters Towers, Cloncurry, Mount Isa, Camooweal, Banka Banka, Larrimah, Mataranka, Katherine, Adelaide River and finally Darwin.

Sailors without a ship, adrift in the Inland.

"ZANE."

JUST PLAIN DRIPPING

HE just trotted up the hill one day, looked us over, and decided to stay. One of the Wrans, seeing him, exclaimed, "Oh! isn't he cute? Come here, Dripping."

He wagged his tail and seemed to like the name, so from then on he was just plain "Dripping", although later, when we became better friends, this was mostly shortened to "Drip".

Drip was forty per cent fox terrier, and sixty per cent this and that.

He was of no particular colour; just a few patches of browns, and blacks, and whites, blended into an uncertain pattern. Soon he became part of our lives. He made himself at home in the box we gave him beneath our quarters.

In no time he learned the station routine, and made it his business to chum-up with the cooks. It was surprising how much food such a small dog could hold, and still romp and jump with astounding energy.

After a while he lost the forlorn appearance he had worn the day of his arrival: his coat took on a new
gloss; his eyes a keener sparkle; his laugh became a Joyful one. He would throw up his tiny head, open his mouth, part his even white teeth, and a look of great happiness would overspread his face.

There was no mistaking his joy.

We took pride in his improvement, and did all we could to make him a credit to our wireless station. At first he objected to the weekly bath which was ordered, but later became resigned to it. Not that he ever really liked his tub, judging by the sad looks he assumed, and the occasional winces he gave; but afterwards he would lie on his bag in the sun, until dry, and ready to be combed. His toilet completed he would show off no end, and look for the fuss which was always made of him.

Occasionally, when other dogs strayed on to his domain, Drip showed them in no uncertain fashion that there was room for one dog only on the station. He was it.

Even the girls of his species seemed to have no attraction for him, although once, when a rather handsome kelpie girl visited us, we thought, for a while, that there would be wedding bells for our pal. But no, his affection soon cooled. Disdainfully she went her way.

He seemed to have no interest in the more serious problems of life. Each day, to him, was just a time for play.

"Here, Drip! Fetch it."

Away he would go after the stick, or ball, which someone had thrown for him, and return it to the thrower's feet, although sometimes he would pretend to be stubborn. Then he would require a little coaxing.

"Good dog! Let go!"

If he didn't "let go", and made to run away, it was only because he wanted to be chased. Whatever he played at, whether chasing birds as they came down to peck at worms in the freshly dug garden, or barking at the old goanna who roamed the station grounds, he put everything into his game. His greatest fun, however, was joining the men in their daily routine jobs. When liberty-men fell in, he would trot up and down the ranks behind the duty officer, and carry out his own inspection; then would bark his farewell as the men marched away. Always, too, he had a bark of welcome for those returning. In the mornings when hands were called, he was at his best. Behind the duty petty officer he would go through the dormitory, and at each bed bark his morning greeting, or even jump on the beds to show that he meant business. At this time he was the recipient of many friendly curses.

"Get out of it, you noisy blighter! "

"Wait till I get hold of you! I'll teach you to jump on my bed."

But to all threats Drip would turn deaf ears as he disappeared through the door.

The seasons passed through their cycle. Under the seasonal influences of a beautiful spring several romances between men and Wrans developed: Chris became engaged to Dorothy; Joe to Daphne; whilst it was obvious that Roger was only waiting for Susie to give the word. And all this in spite of the restrictions of strict discipline, which allowed few opportunities, on the station at least, for romance.

But no restrictions hindered Drip. If ever a dog had opportunities, that dog was he; subject to no laws, free to come and go as he pleased, the target at which several of the opposite sex aimed their affections. Yet, either because he could not spare the time, or because he was meant to be an old bachelor, he was indifferent to feminine charm. At least so we thought. How we misjudged him.

One day, when the sun beamed down from a blue sky on to an earth carpeted in green, a day when the flowers were hardly stirred by the gentle breeze from the south, Drip went a-w-alking. Not much after noon, we saw him returning arm-m-arm, or at any rate flank-to-flank, with none other than Miss Kelpie, whose advances he had previously rejected.

We were greatly surprised, and disappointed too. We felt that Drip had deceived us: such intimacy as was evident between these two obviously could not be the result of a morning's courtship. We could see now the reason for what had become, of late, his frequent absences from the station.

Any coolness on our part he disdained to notice. Alternately snapping playfully at his lady's lips, and laying his head across her neck, he brought her up for our inspection. It was obvious that he was asking: "Well! What do you think of me now? Aren't you going to congratulate us?

We did.

"You old rascal. Been holding out on us eh! When is the big event to be?"

Drip only laughed and proceeded to show his friend over the premises. We took it for granted that she had come to stay.

"Hope she hasn't an appetite like Drip," bewailed the cook. "The way you chaps clean your plates, there's not enough left to feed a cockroach."

Neither cookie nor we had cause to worry. It was soon evident that the influences of love were greater than those of friendship. Whether she found Drip's quarters unsuitable for the rearing of a family which, no doubt, she had in mind, or whether she had some other reason, we do not know, but Miss Kelpie saw to it that Drip spent more and more time away from home. Finally his visits to us became infrequent.

One day, after an absence longer than usual, I saw Drip coming towards the station, and waited for him. He bounded up and made a great fuss over me.

"Hello! old timer. You haven't forgotten us altogether. How's the wife?" I asked, as I returned his greeting.

Although he continued to bound at me, barking his pleasure all the time, I could sense that he had something important to tell me. Several times he made as though to walk away, and each time looked back to see if I was following. Intuition, which can be strong between friends, told me to go with him.

He took me to the house overlooking the river, just before the bridge. There, under the house, in a hole made in the ground, were the causes of his excitement - two boys and a girl. Mother and children all doing well.

The boys were their father over again: patches of brown, and black, and, white, just where Drip had similar patches; ears the same, in all respects, as his; tails with the same peculiar twists at their ends. On the other hand, the girl had all her mother's characteristics. In filial likeness Drip had certainly not been outdone.

There and then I named the boys Suet and Dumpling; leaving the naming of the girl for some future occasion.

"Great work! Drip, old boy," I said, as I left the happy scene. "Come and see us again soon."

But Drip came to see us only once more, a few days later. He did not stay long. He looked over his old haunts, played with us for a while, then he was away. He was not one to neglect his responsibilities.

As he turned the first bend in the road we heard the screech of brakes suddenly applied and the cries of an animal in pain.

For a time no one spoke. Words seemed so inadequate.

"RAFFER."