A New Place Read online

  Andrew Wareham

  A New Place

  BOOK THREE

  Cannibal Country Trilogy

  Digital edition published in 2018 by

  The Electronic Book Company

  A New York Times Best-seller

  Listed Publisher

  www.theelectronicbookcompany.com

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this ebook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This ebook contains detailed research material, combined with the author's own subjective opinions, which are open to debate. Any offence caused to persons either living or dead is purely unintentional. Factual references may include or present the author's own interpretation, based on research and study.

  A New Place

  Copyright © 2018 by Andrew Wareham

  All Rights Reserved

  Contents:

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Introduction

  PNG Map

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  By the Same Author

  Introduction

  A New Place: After Ned’s death, George is now head of the family and is tasked with finding a route north to engage the Japanese who are moving south with the intention of taking Port Moresby so they can use it as a staging post for an invasion of Australia.

  PNG Map

  Editor’s Note: Andrew’s book was written, produced and edited in the UK where punctuation, spellings and word usage vary slightly from U.S. English.

  A New Place

  Chapter One

  “Mary, I am late, I am sorry! I was flown out of Bulolo two days back and was lucky to get out of Port Moresby and down to Cairns this quickly.”

  She was tired, weary from labour, but relieved to see him at all – the word down from the New Guinea Side had been of unmitigated disaster, of massive casualties among the small forces fighting the Japanese invasion.

  A nurse appeared, carrying the baby, placing him in Mary’s arms.

  “Feeding time, my love. How are we to name him? As we agreed when I saw you last?”

  “Ned will do very well, I think, Mary. What for your father?”

  “He says you should not – a Chinese name would not be helpful perhaps in his later life.”

  “Balls, Mary! I have the greatest of respect and affection for your father, would not see him slighted.”

  “I told him you would say that. If we must, then he says Lee – spelt English not Chinese, not ‘Li’.”

  “So be it, Ned Lee Hawkins he shall be. A pity my father could not have seen him. Has mother been in yet?”

  “She went home an hour ago, George. Is it certain that your father is gone, George?”

  “He is dead, my love. No doubt at all. One of the many. Two of the mechanic boys from the sawmill at Vunapope watched and managed to get away, down to the coast. The word came back on the boats trying to make pick-ups down on the south coast.”

  She wept but could not be surprised.

  “It was his life, George. He was not one to run when there was duty. Nor you, my love. Go home – and get yourself washed! I shall see you tomorrow, George.”

  He left, deliberately not mentioning the rape and mass slaughter of the Chinese population of Rabaul – that could wait on another day. She had no illusions about the Japanese, knew exactly what they had done in Nanking and had heard of their vileness in Hong Kong and Singapore; she would know what had happened in Rabaul.

  His mother was dry-eyed when he found her at the sugar plantation.

  “Ja. I knew when I said my goodbyes, Georgie. He did not have run in him, my Ned. You should learn to run, Georgie, when you must. When do you go back?”

  He could not give a day, thought it would not be for some months.

  “I am to help train up a new battalion, Ma. They have a lot to learn. I doubt they will go up to Moresby this year, unless the need is too great. January or February of ’43 seems most likely. Are the Tses not here with us?”

  “They bought into a place and moved out last week. On the outskirts of town. Mr Tse has businesses to manage in Cairns, it seems. He has been buying for some years now, ever since he became convinced that the Japanese would come. A big boatyard for small naval craft and a building firm as well as warehouses in the food line. He will keep himself busy, that is for sure. When do you report into your barracks?”

  “Three days leave before the colonel wishes to see me.”

  George made the most of his three days, knowing it was possible that they might be the last unbroken days he ever spent with his family. In the early morning of the fourth he drove the few miles south of Cairns to the camp of the Fifth Battalion the Queensland Militia where it was commencing its training in the Far North.

  Colonel Patterson was glad to see him, a decorated officer would add prestige to his battalion, he said. His adjutant, stood correctly at his shoulder, muttered his agreement.

  “What was that I saw you carrying in from your car, Captain Hawkins?”

  “Thompson automatic carbine, sir. Very useful in the bush.”

  “Hardly the sidearm of an officer, one might think, Hawkins?”

  “At the front of a platoon in the bush, sir, it is the only sensible weapon for an officer to carry. With a visibility of no more than thirty feet on occasions then the leading men need firepower, sir.”

  The colonel gave a superior little smile, the professional soldier correcting the militiaman.

  “I do not believe it will come to that, Captain Hawkins. The Japanese will wish to fight on clearer ground and we will do the same. There will be no conflict in the, ah, ‘bush’ as you call it.”

  “Where will you find this clearer ground, sir? There is very little of it over on the New Guinea side, and the stretches of kunai grass on the Papuan side are impossible for an army to get to, other than by air.”

  “How did the Japanese get so far inland, Captain Hawkins, if there are no places in which to fight?”

  Colonel Patterson seemed to think he had made an unanswerable point.

  “They marched through the bush, sir, in single file, with aircraft in front of them when possible. They took the ports by overwhelming them with ships, planes and guns and sheer numbers of infantry. Then they marched, sir. They landed a full army corps, sir, who were faced by a thin brigade of Militia and Regulars. They had at least one aircraft carrier together with an escort of heavy cruisers and destroyers. We had no navy. They had more and better planes, sir. We took casualties of about eighty per cent. They probably lost more men in total, but their casualties would have been well under ten per cent. They will continue to push forward until the Wet Season stops them. Then they will come again in the Dry. They can be stopped and then thrown back, sir. But only by guns and planes and trained infantry who can fight in the bush.”

  “Can’t be done, Hawkins. It’s not our way. We have to fight the war properly, you know, old chap. Shoulder to shoulder, rifles at the high port, marching forward in disciplined lines. That’s the way to win our wars!”

  The adjutant agreed, in a clear, manly voice.

  George shook his head.

  “That cannot be done, sir. There is no place where that can happen down on the coa
st. Not even in the plantation areas, sir. It can’t happen.”

  “It must be made to happen. There is no alternative. For the while we shall perfect the men’s drill and then get them to the butts for rifle training. Six months on the drill square and we shall have useful soldiers, Hawkins.”

  “I am sure you are right, sir. How are the men armed, sir? What proportion of them carry automatic weapons? What of anti-tank platoons, sir? How many grenades per man? Is there a machine gun company?”

  “This is an infantry battalion, Mr Hawkins. The men have their rifles.”

  “Experience in the bush, sir, suggested that a platoon of twelve men required six rifles, three Thompson Guns, two Brens and a Boys Rifle, though that is better used as a sniper rifle than against armour, which you won’t find in the bush anyway. Each man to carry a pair of grenades, more if they are available.”

  “I have no patience with such nonsense, Captain Hawkins. Rifles will do everything that we require. There is no more to be said. The adjutant will take you to the Mess and allocate your quarters. Have you brought your servant with you?”

  “Servants are forbidden in the war zone, sir. Mess stewards only, and they will be recruited locally.”

  “Ridiculous! How can we possibly turn ourselves out in the absence of servants?”

  “Meals were eaten in working uniform in Port Moresby, sir. The General set the example, of course.”

  “The man must be mad!”

  “On the contrary, sir. He knows better than to attempt to fight the battles of the Great War. He has every intention of stopping the Japanese and of holding them until the American Army arrives in large numbers and then undertaking a slow land offensive under air cover. The probability is, he told me, that the Japanese will be starved out when the American Navy and Air Forces take control of the Bismarck Sea. The Australian forces will supply local knowledge and some degree of expertise in the bush. He regarded it as vital that the Diggers should be properly trained for the warfare they will meet on the New Guinea Side. Untrained battalions will be sent back to Australia in disgrace, sir and replaced by American.”

  “He dare not! I do not believe the government would tolerate such an insult to Australian manhood.”

  “It will happen, sir. Battalions that are untrained in bush conditions will be useless mouths to be fed, and bodies to be buried. We have suffered a massive defeat, sir, to an extent because the bulk of our forces did not fight. They could not fight because they did not know how to. They died uselessly, sir. This battalion will die equally futilely if you do not train them properly, sir.”

  Colonel Patterson listened unbelievingly, could not comprehend what George was saying.

  “Get out of my barracks, Captain Hawkins. You are unfit for duty. Report to Brigade, to the medical officer. My report will state you to be incapable of further service due to shell shock.”

  George saluted and enquired where Brigade hung out. He drove away laughing.

  Brigade was to be found in the Cairns Hotel, occupying the nearest to comfort to be discovered in the old town. The Medical Officer was sat in the bar when George arrived.

  “G’day, Captain. What can I do for you this fine day?”

  “I’ve just been refused entry to the Fifth Battalion. I asked the twat of a colonel there what he was doing by way of bush training for his battalion and he decided I was shell shocked and unfit for service. There’ll be a report landing on your desk as soon as he has recovered enough to write it. He’s bloody useless, not fit to shovel. Just like that dick we had up in Lae and liable to live as long if he ever gets up to Moresby and actually sees a Japanese at close quarters.”

  “Sounds right. Have a beer?”

  “Bloody right, mate.”

  “I’m Major Rourke, by the way. Call me Doc, every other bugger does.”

  “George Hawkins.”

  “Glad to meet yer. You sound sane to me.”

  “That’s why I stand out, mate. There ain’t many of us in this army. That no-hope bloody fool asked whether I had brought me servant out with me. Wouldn’t believe me when I said officers were forbidden servants up in Moresby. That’s why he thought I was loopy – unheard of, how would he possibly wear the right uniform for dinner, old chap, without a jolly servant?”

  “Brigadier Harrington’s the same sort – you won’t get any sympathy from him. Best thing you can do, George, is go round to see the Intelligence people. They want blokes who know what’s going on up north. They want to send people up to walk the bush and find out where the Japs are and how to get to them. They tell me there’s no roads going out of Moresby; none at all, they reckon.”

  “That’s right, mate. None going north and no more than tracks along the coast. It’s walk or stay home. Unless you can fly, of course, and the Japs have got the planes.”

  “You seem to know that country, George”

  “Born there. Went to school down South; other than that, it’s my place, for the while, until the natives ask for it back. My father bought a couple of plantations just outside Cairns as well as the places on the Gazelle, outside Rabaul, Kokopo way. I’m part owner of a firm in Lae – was, that is, there’ll be sod all of that left by now. I’ve flown into the gold fields, fifty times over, and walked there from Lae with the half of my company that survived the invasion. That’s why the colonel didn’t want me – I knew too much. He knows nothing and thinks he’s a bloody military genius, useless prat!”

  “Drink up, mate. I’ll take you round to the Intelligence offices – they’ll still be there, they’re the only buggers who do any work in this place. Me included. All I do is treat staff officers for the pox – got to have a field officer for that, old chap, keep everything quiet, you know, couldn’t trust the juniors!”

  They walked out of the hotel with its Victorian cast iron fretwork veranda, and down towards the docks, passing Tse and Sons, Boatbuilders as they went.

  “My father-in-law, Doc. Best bloke around if you ever want actual knowledge of the Islands. Being Chinese, the Army wouldn’t talk to him, of course.”

  “Married into his family, did you?”

  “Yep. Two years back. My son’s four days old. Mary should be taking him home today or tomorrow.”

  “Well, you should be able to sleep at home tonight, if we can fiddle the orders. Can’t stand that dickhead Brigadier Harrington, and he thinks I’m jolly unreliable, not the right sort at all, you know. But I played Rugby for New South Wales when I was at medical school, so I know more politicians than he does. Nothing like playing Rugby if you want to get ahead in this life! Got to know the right pollies if you’re to open your mouth in this man’s army – he can’t touch me. I can work the system nine times out of ten, and he don’t love me for it!”

  George had been told that the Australian system of government was based on corruption and favours between friends, even more than was the case in the Administration in New Guinea. He was still a little surprised at such an outright avowal of the ability to bend the rules.

  “Rules is like orders, George – ‘for the obedience of fools and the guidance of wise men’. I don’t know who said that. Confucius probably. He was right. Turn in here.”

  They walked into a clapboard warehouse, single story and ramshackle, a typical local warehouse. There was a sentry on the door, dressed casually but with a shiny rifle.

  “G’day, Doc. How they hanging?”

  “No problems last time I looked, Jack. Is the boss in?”

  “Judging by the swearing, I should reckon, Doc. Who’s the soldier?”

  “Hawkins. Just come out of the shambles in New Guinea.”

  “Well done, mate. There ain’t many who managed that. They’ll be glad to see yer, inside. You might actually know something that ain’t guesswork.”

  George laughed.

  “No point to knowing bugger all in this army, Jack. Makes you stand out as unreliable, knowing things.”

  “You’ll do, mate. Are these bloody Japs as good as they
say?”

  “No. They got no idea how to fight in the bush, but they don’t know how to stop. Kill one out of ten of our lads and we turn round and go home. Kill nine out of ten Japs and the last bugger charges you with a bayonet. They ain’t good, as such, but they don’t give a toss about being killed.”

  “Awkward sods to fight, by the sound of it.”

  “Kill ‘em at a distance, Jack. Planes and guns and machine guns and flame throwers, then get close enough to shoot the few who’re left.”

  “Good on yer, mate. You’re the first bugger I come across who’s got any idea of what to do. Better go on in – they got ears in there, likely to listen to you.”

  The warehouse had been divided up into offices, the bulk of them empty. Doc Rourke led George past eight rooms and through the open door of the ninth. It was a small room, evidently set up for a senior officer, containing a single desk and four chairs, occupied by a group of partially uniformed and middle-aged Australians. George knew they were Diggers for having a beer in front of each man.

  “G’day, Doc. What yer got here?”

  “Hawkins, Captain, just come down from Port Moresby from the goldfields and Lae. Posted to the Fifth but Colonel Patterson decided he was the wrong sort and threw him out for understanding how to fight this war and not knowing his way around the parade ground. Born up in the Islands and worked there all his life.”

  The oldest of the men looked up, hearing George’s name.

  “I’m Fred Higgins, Captain Hawkins. Are you Ned Hawkins’ son?”

  “I am, sir. You knew my father?”

  “Met him a good few times when he was down South. Talked business with him. You said ‘knew’?”

  “Japs killed him. Don’t know the details yet.”

  “Sorry. He was a good bloke, was Ned. You’re the one who walked out to Salamaua when your plane went down a few years back, aren’t you. Sixteen or seventeen at the time?”