Published: 13 Feb 2023

Chapter 11

The morning arrived quietly without further attack and with breakfast finished word came that the wounded were close. The crew of flight-136 commenced their readiness for departure but before doing so Chip presented Owen with a gift.

“What is it?” Owen asked.

“It’s an Asmat war mask, from Dutch West New Guinea.”

“It’s spooky but I like it.”

“I thought you couldn’t return home without something as a reminder of your little trip.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Not from the Asmat that’s a certainty, many in that area are still headhunters. Another lot eat the brains of dead relations to honor their passing, while others use the skull cap as a drinking cup.”

“Is that true?”

“So I’m told.”

“You’re turning me of it.”

“Don’t concern, the mask is from a lot closer to the coast and made especially for visitors to buy, the headhunters are mainly in the northern forests.” As Chip shared his gruesome tale of headhunting, forward word arrived from those bringing in the wounded. There number had been reassessed to eleven, although one was considered well enough to remain in Port Moresby but the others would need to be evacuated for more urgent treatment. Also there would be a military medic travelling to Mareeba with the wounded, before returning to his outfit on the next available flight.

While waiting for the wounded to arrive, news came of the situation on Guadaicanal, being the airfield had been held by the marines and the attacking Japanese soldiers scattered into the hills but from tapping into secrete Japanese messages, the word was Tojo strongly determined the Solomon Island airfield to be imperative to hold Japan’s air superiority in the South Pacific and over the Coral Sea and steps would be taken to reestablish control of it and the island.

“At least that’s a start, that and with you Aussies taking back Buna we should be well on the way to ending this war,” Chip suggested to Owen if for no other reason than to give the lad heart.

“If what we hear is true and not propaganda to spook the Japs,” Wilson dampened down any developing optimism.

There was movement towards the north as a number of natives are spotted travelling in a long line carrying stretchers. A murmur lifts from those at the base, Fuzzy Wuzzy Angles is the call and true to name they had been guardian angles to many wounded Australian soldier and not once did a single natives desert his charge, not even when under fire from the Japanese. If still on the trail as night approached they would find a level spot and settled the wounded under some makeshift shelter, before finding water and giving food, if any could be found, all done before attending to their own needs. So great was their humanity, if a soldier died while being transported, his remains would still be delivered as if he were living.

The terminology Fuzzy Wuzzy had been borrowed from a name used by the British for the Hadendoa warriors along the Red Sea coast of the Sedan, who matted their hair using butter, so the expression of Fuzzy Wuzzy was therefore portrayed to the New Guinea natives because of their thick matted black hair.

The Australian General, Basil Morris had issued an Employment of Native Order earlier that year, directing use of the natives in service for a period of three years. The natives were to be employed to carry supplies to the front and bring the wounded back to Port Moresby. It was also suggested that in many cases the natives never received what had been promised for their service and often the Papuans were forced into service without agreement.

Eventually a long line of natives arrived and one by one the wounded were brought into shade, then after attending to injuries and supplying what nourishment that could be consumed, they were readied to take on board the flight back to Mareeba. As soon as they were set down the medic came with word that one of the wounded had succumb to his injury; even so his remains were to be repatriated back to Australia with the wounded.

The deceased soldier was the first on board to be placed to the rear and covered with a sheet but as he was loaded his comrades demanded he remain with them as he had been during six weeks of long, dirty and bloody battle.

Once the natives had delivered their charge they quickly departed back to their villages, or to the front carrying supplies, or to bring further wounded back to Moresby, as there was always more wounded. It was a strange site and without receiving much welcome from those at the base, the natives silently placed the wounded down, some touched to the arm, or stood for a moment then were gone without obvious appreciation or comment from those receiving the wounded into their care.

With the natives’ work completed, it was up to the medical advantages of the army to patch wounds and remove metal from tender flesh but very few gave thought to the minds of the wounded as some would never mend and it was their invisible mental scars that lasted long into the future.

It was now up to the Dakota’s crew to carry the wounded men into the belly of the aircraft and secure them for the flight. As they did so, the first of the American bombers commenced their departure for the north, to harry the Japanese at Milne Bay and Rabaul, or support the Australians along Kokoda, or at Buna.

The sound of the big birds was deafening as they hurtled past the Dakota, creating the need for the base commander to shout instructions to Chip, “is the plane ready?” he called as the last of the bombers sped past with its engines at full throttle.

“It is, all we have to do is get them on board and we will be off.”

“Then as soon as the medic has given them a final examination they will be in your care.”

As the Colonel spoke the medic approached. He is a tall thin man in his early thirties, although he could be considered more emasculated than lean, through months of heavy work without proper food or chance for physical hygiene. His expression never faltered from grave, he had seen too many injured men to smile, too much spilt blood, and too many deaths under his attempt to prolong life that now his facial muscles had frozen for all time.

“Ready?” the officer asks.

“All but one, I’m afraid he wouldn’t last the flight. He may have a chance if he is treated here,” the medic answers.

The Colonel gives Chip a nod and the loading commenced and silently the Dakota’s crew pair to carry the wounded. Owen did with Wilson, collecting the first a young man with a leg wound although he displayed a happy disposition, believing he had done his bit and was going home.

“Where is home?” Wilson asks.

“Dirranbandi,” the soldier proudly answers.

“Where is that?” Wilson asks.

“South western Queensland,” Owen helps with Wilson’s understanding of place.

“A long way from where you are from,” the soldier suggests of Wilson.

“I would have to agree with you on that. How old are you?”

“The army has me down as twenty,” the soldier admits with a cheeky smile.

“What does your mom, have you down as?”

“Seventeen,”

“Then when you arrive home I hope you old man gives you a good boot up the arse for being so fucken’ stupid,” Wilson growls.

“She’ll be bonza’ mate,” the lad answers as he is placed down inside the plane.

As Owen returns for his second stretcher his eyes meet those of the wounded soldier, he smiles, “you will be home and safe soon fella’,” he says in a southing tone. As he speaks there is a measure of recognition between the two.

Owen’s breath falters.

“Little brother what are you doing here, have you enlisted with the flaming yanks?” the soldier asks and lifts a hand towards Owen in a gesture of greeting but as quickly it falls back to his side.

“Jim!” Owen almost drops the stretcher, “Jim, are you hurt?” Owen cries as his voice croaks while hurrying his brother into the body of the aircraft.

“I wouldn’t be laying here for entertainment,” the soldier growled.

“Chip its Jim, it’s my brother Jim and he’s hurt,” Owen’s voice rises with fear while placing Jim with his comrades. Owen quickly kneels beside his brother taking him by the hand.

“Come here Owen!” Chip demands, as the last of the wounded is loaded.

“But it is Jim he’s hurt!”

“Do your work brother and don’t fuss over me,” Jim protests in a whisper.

“Do what I say come and sit here; they are all hurt,” Chip demands.

Owen reluctantly obeys.

“You can have your reunion once we’re in the air, for now they are all brothers; all hurt and don’t need the fuss – do you understand?”

“Sorry Chip it was the shock,”

Chip nodes to his second, “come on let’s get this bird off the ground and this lot back home as quickly as possible.

With Moresby behind and the Coral Sea beneath Owen was given permission to sit with his brother but Chip sternly warns him against hysterics.

“I’m fine now Chip, it was the shock of seeing Jim injured that is all.”

Owen quietly approached his brother and sits beside, “what happened?” he asks.

“A sniper got me in the shoulder.”

“Is it bad?”

“Bad enough but went clear through and miss everything important, or so the medic says.”

“You were lucky.”

“I wouldn’t call it flaming luck, anyway what are you doing here and dressed in Yankee air force overalls?”

“Chip managed to let me take a ride to Moresby with him and the overalls are as to not to attract attention.”

“Who is Chip?”

“He is your pilot.”

“How’s mum?”

“She is well and Gavin is driving the truck now.”

“I don’t know how you managed to get mum to agree to you coming here.”

“I threatened to enlist.”

“I hope you’ve come to your senses,” Jim warns.

“We have had some problems with Gavin, twice now he has attempted to enlist but was discovered to be underage.”

“As well, I’ll give it to him when I see him next,” Jim assures.

“I think he has now given up trying.”

“I have a million questions but so have the others,” Jim says and appears warn out from his ordeal.

The medic approaches, “that’s enough lad; let the men have their rest.”

Owen gives Jim a smile and a pat to the shoulder and takes his seat.

Eventually as night again approaches the lights of civilization are ahead as the aircraft crosses the coast, Chip makes his way back to where Owen is seated, “how is your brother?” he asks.

“Sleeping, he said the bullet pass right through his shoulder without much damage.”

“That is fortunate as some of the others are in a bad way,” Chip points ahead, “we are almost home that’s Mareeba. Ray has called ahead and there will be a number of military ambulances to convey the wounded to the hospital.”

“Will they be taken to the Mareeba hospital?”

“No to the military hospital. It is close to Rocky Creek on the Atherton Road, besides Mareeba isn’t equipped to handle battle wounds.”

“Can we take Jim home?”

“I’m afraid not, he is still the property of the army and will need further attention. I’m sure your parents will be able to visit him as soon as he is assessed and they have him settled.”

“Can I go with Jim to the hospital?”

“Again no and on landing I will need to do debriefing, I will have someone drive you home – another thing.”

Owen waits for Chip to continue, believing that during the flight home he had witnessed a serious nature to his friend.

“I will like to visit you sometime next week, possibly if you can arrange it we could go for a drink. I think you can guess why.”

“Yes that could be arranged.”

“If you two need to talk, do you want me to bring her in?” Wilson calls back from his co-pilot’s seat.

“No Hank I’ve finished here for now.”

Once on the ground Chip arranged to have Owen delivered home issuing an apology to be extended to his parents for any concern the delay in Moresby may have caused.

“Right until next week and be sure to apologize to your mother for me.”

“I should think knowing Jim is alive and home, even if carrying a wound, will take her thoughts away from me,”

“Even so you were under my charge and possibly I should not have taken you into a theater of operation.”

“Hey Miller, the old man is calling for you,” was insisted with urgency from the dullness across the field.

“On my way,” Chip answers and walks with Owen as the injured are taken from the plane.

“I better say goodbye to Jim first,” Owen says while his brother is loaded into a waiting ambulance.

“Hey kid tell mum not to worry, I’ll be up and about in no time,” Jim assures as the vehicle door is shut.

“You lift is waiting,” Chip draws Owen away and does something he had never done before, he offers Owen his hand. It was a warm greeting and lingering, “I’ll telephone you next week. I believe we have things that need discussing.”

“I would like that.”

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Conder 333 at Hotmail dot Com

17,441 views