The Japanese were coming. And we were going to ambush them as they crossed.
The only sounds came from the flowing water and the thumping of my heart. I tried to catch Vouza’s eye to get some sense of what was going on. How many Japs were there? Did he know? Did he care? He stayed focused on the riverbank, which at this point was the smart move, so I did the same after checking to be sure Kaz was in a good position. He and Deanna were behind a moss-encrusted rock. Kari was closer to the water, prone behind a fallen log. I couldn’t spot Porter.
We waited.
Then I heard sounds. The kind of sounds infantrymen make even when they work at being quiet. The subtle creak of leather, the slap of a canteen on a hip, the wood-on-metal clatter of slung rifles. Faint, but unmistakable.
A minute later a figure emerged from the bush, near the stepping stones. His uniform was a pale khaki brown, his shirt as sweat-stained as ours. He wore a cloth cap with a neck flap, and clutched an Arisaka bolt-action rifle that was almost as tall as he was. Stepping cautiously into the river, he looked upstream and down, crouching as if ready to run at the first sign of trouble.
Vouza held steady, and without a word spoken, we all knew he was calling the shots. No one was going to fire until he did. He let the lone soldier cross, coming within five yards of us. As soon as he gained the bank, he stood on the bare earth and scanned the thick underbrush, nervously poking at the greenery with his bayonet. When he was satisfied, he turned and waved to the rest of the patrol. Three other Japs came down the bank, followed by an officer wearing a sword, and then about ten soldiers clustered around the pilot, wearing a white silk scarf, khaki flight suit, and leather boots. His shoulder was bloody and he cradled the injured arm with his good one. The scout climbed the bank, turned and sat on a rock to watch the others cross, unaware of the hidden threat on both sides of the water.
A flash of shadow and spray of blood. John Kari with his hand on the Jap’s jaw and a knife drawn across his neck. Then the scout was gone, no sounds other than the faint rustle of Kari dragging him into the bush and a gush of blood on leaves as the soldier’s heart beat its last.
One of the Japs in the river looked up and called out. He spoke to the others and they laughed. Probably a joke about the scout taking time for a piss. A few more steps and the first of them were almost on top of us, the rest strung out, jumping from rock to rock.
Vouza fired.
We opened up on the soldiers to our front. Three, then four dropped quickly, the others shooting wildly, not certain where we were. The rapid semiautomatic fire from Deanna’s carbine behind me and the louder, slower Lee-Enfield single shots rang in my ear. I steadied my automatic with both hands and aimed two shots at the closest Jap and saw him crumple, blood staining the smooth rock beneath him.
More shots came in our direction as the remaining soldiers spotted us and fired, but they were in a panic, their shots high, zipping through the foliage like angry bees. The noise was deafening as everyone seemed to fire at the same moment. Porter came charging out of the undergrowth, firing and leaping behind a boulder, giving him a better angle on the enemy rear.
An explosion behind me left my ears ringing as I fell forward, tensing against the expected flow of blood or feel of red-hot grenade shrapnel. I was unhurt, as was Deanna, who winked as she raised her carbine.
Vouza dropped a soldier at the edge of the group protecting the pilot. Then the officer pointed with his sword to the opposite bank, obviously telling his men to retreat. Kari got another one and that hurried them on.
Right into the trap.
The natives opened fire from the bank and more Japs went down, the rest huddled in confusion, firing at the new threat and looking to their officer for orders. A bullet took him in the throat and he fell, his hand clutching his neck as spurts of blood escaped through his fingers. His other hand clutched the sword, now swung in our direction. He tried to get up but fell as his men got the message and charged our position. There were five of them left, plus the pilot, who staggered after them. He must have felt invincible with all the lead leaving him unscathed. Or did he know his bounty price?
Vouza stepped forward, firing at the men on either side of the pilot. I followed, but Kaz was even faster, jumping into the water and firing his Webley revolver, taking out the Jap right in front of the pilot. The last two men charged with their bayonets, their faces a snarl of anger, fear, and resignation. Shots from the far side of the river sent them sprawling, the water washing their blood from the rocks.
The pilot stood alone and forlorn, bodies all around. He gaped as Kaz and Porter checked him for weapons.
“Good shooting for such a little guy,” Porter said, slapping Kaz on the back. “Didn’t even nick this fella once!” He turned the pilot roughly and pushed him back across the river with his rifle barrel.
Vouza went to the officer, who was still holding his throat, blood bubbling out across his hands. He picked up the sword from the side of the dying man and leaned on it as he studied him.
“You seeim these scars?” Vouza said, touching each of the knotted scars on his chest and throat. “Japan man give me these. But I no dae. You dae.” With that, he swung the sword, separating the body from the head, severed hand still grasping the wound as the head rolled into the water to be taken away by the current.
Chapter Thirteen
Fortunately the Japanese patrol hadn’t discovered our boat. We boarded with our reluctant passenger, who was at turns surly and morose. Getting shot down, wounded, then rescued is one thing. But to watch your rescuers massacred before your eyes must have been a real shocker. Then to see the motley force responsible, well, that would be enough to drive any sane man over the edge. We tied him up and thankfully left Malaita, heading into the setting sun.
“You all did well,” Vouza said. “No one even scratched and a pilot to bring back.” He sat on a crate and lifted his face to the cooling sea breeze.
“What happened?” I asked Vouza as we lounged on the deck. “The scars, I mean.”
“Last year, on Guadalcanal,” he said. “Mi lukim Jap positions. I go as native wanting work. They grab me and search me. I had hidden a small American flag marines gave me, folded in lap-lap. They found it and beat me. Tied me to tree, ask where marines are. I tell them nothing. They hit me with rifle butts, and still I say nothing. The officer tells his men to use bayonet, not to waste bullets.”
“You received those wounds all at once?” Kaz asked.
“Yes,” Vouza said, caressing each of the rough scars. “Here, here, and here. Jap officer stab my throat with his sword, cut off part of my tongue. Thought he killed me.”
“How did you get away?” I asked.
“They leave me for dead. I see many Japs headed for the marines. Two, three hundred. A big attack. So I chew through the ropes to get loose and crawl back to marines. I tell them attack coming. They had time to get ready. Kill many Japs.”
“That’s the Battle of the Tenaru he’s talking about,” Kari said. “The big attack on Henderson Field. Almost the whole Jap force was wiped out, seven hundred at least.”
“All because Jap officer didn’t want to waste one bullet on me,” Vouza said, and gave out a throaty laugh that got us all going. Except for the pilot, who hung his head and studied the deck.
We docked at Tulagi and turned the Japanese pilot over to navy intelligence. As soon as news of our encounter got around, Hugh Sexton organized a party to celebrate. There was beer and booze, mangoes, sweet potatoes, rice, and fish cooked on an outdoor grill. And more booze. I decided Coastwatchers survived months in the jungle by thoroughly pickling themselves.
Deanna had freshened up and looked like she’d been at a hair salon all day instead of providing medical aid and covering fire. A couple of striking Chinese women made up the rest of the female contingent. Clad in bright silk, they added color and cheer to the khaki and brown assembly. Kaz and I cleaned up as best we could, threw on clean shirts, and went out looking forward to the evening and the company.