Everyone turned silent as we heard the distant approach of aircraft. Not the steady hum of a formation, but the oncoming sounds of diving whines and turns, throaty open throttles and the sudden chatter of machine guns.
“It’s not healthy out there,” Cotter said, returning from below. “The PT base at Rendova’s been bombed, as well as our positions on New Georgia. The Japs sent fighters on down the Slot to draw our Wildcats away. That’s what we’re hearing.” He jerked his thumb up, toward the leafy palm tree cover, the noise of dogfights ebbing and flowing over the island just out of sight. “Soon as the sun sets, we’ll head for Lumbari. The fighters will all be home by then, drinking their saki or scotch.”
“Then all we have to worry about are the Kawanishi,” Gordie said. “Delightful.”
“You knew that when you signed up for the cruise, Gordie,” Cotter said, slapping him on the shoulder. “I’m going to get some shut-eye.”
“He seems like a decent guy,” I said, keeping my voice low.
“You mean not the type to leave his comrades in the lurch?” Gordie said.
“More that I’m surprised he’d lie about it. From what I understand, he still insists he carried out a search.”
“Which seems unlikely, given the flames from the burning fuel on PT-109,” Kaz put in.
“Tell me, either of you,” Gordie said, “how long did you think that Zero was attacking us before it went down?”
“Forever,” Kaz said, to which I nodded my agreement.
“I’d say less than four seconds, but it likely felt much longer facing it head-on. Time is different out here,” Gordie said, stretching his hand out toward the water. “On the sea, I mean, in one of these flimsy plywood crates filled with fuel and explosives. Daylight or darkness, it makes little difference; it seems as if the entire Japanese air force and navy is determined to blast you to hell. At night, the lines from tracers burn your eyes and the fire from a destroyer’s guns is a blindingly bright, vivid white. Shore batteries, too, not to mention the threat of deadly Kawanishi overhead. Maybe he saw the burning fuel and mistook it for enemy fire. He may have searched, and thought he’d done so for thirty minutes or so.”
“It could have been much less?”
“Quite possible. I can’t say for certain, but perhaps by the time they docked at Lumbari, every man jack among the crew swore they carried out a full-scale search. And believed it themselves.”
“It is quite easy to conjecture,” Kaz said. “But we were not the ones left adrift and alone. Lieutenant Kennedy and his men certainly see things differently.”
“Less forgiving, I’m certain,” Gordie said, lighting a cigarette. “Say, I heard you both met up with old Luckman. What did you think of him?”
“How’d you hear that?” I asked.
“Telephone, old boy. I checked in with Hugh before we departed. You are the suspicious type, aren’t you?”
“Sorry, occupational hazard. I thought he was hurrying things a bit. Not much that the government can do until the Japs are cleared out.”
“I think it may have more to do with the natives and getting them back working at prewar wages,” Kaz said.
“How are you going to keep them down on the farm, isn’t that how the song goes?” Gordie said with a smile. “Very likely. Luckman’s a big cheese with Lever Brothers, don’t let that government stuff fool you. They’re working hand in glove.”
“It sounds like he’s working in your best interests as well,” I said. “It’s going to be hard getting your plantation back on its feet once the fighting is past. Don’t you want the natives to return to work without demanding higher wages?”
“Look,” Gordie said, “I want to profit from my work as much as the next man. What I paid my workers before the war was fair, by the standards of the day. Things have changed, I understand that. But I’m not a Lever man and wouldn’t work for them if I were down to my last shilling. Some of us came out here to make our own way, not to take pay from a corporation.”
“Did you ever run into Luckman?” I asked.
“I heard him speak at some gathering in Buka Town, on Bougainville, before the war. Drinks with the islanders, Lever seeking out new talent to run their plantations. I wasn’t interested, except for the drinking. He knew his stuff, I’ll give him that. Wasn’t afraid to get out into the bush and visit the more remote plantations. I made it clear Lever wasn’t for me, so he passed me by. He saw plenty of others, though.”
“He remembered Peter Fraser, Silas Porter’s assistant,” I said. “Thought he was manager material.”
“Don’t mention that around Archer,” Gordie said. “He spent time kowtowing to Luckman, only to be told Lever wasn’t interested in him. Too rough with the natives, which is true enough. Archer didn’t take it well.”
“I thought he came out here to get away from civilization after his father’s ranch went under,” I said. “Working for Lever doesn’t quite match up.”
“I think he feared another failure if his plantation didn’t prosper. He’d had a run of bad luck, and his treatment of his workers didn’t help. Too much stick and not enough carrot, if you know what I mean. Lever would at least mean security, and he’d still be an islander, in charge of his fiefdom.”
“It sounds as if you do not like the man,” Kaz said, glancing back to be sure Archer was out of earshot.
“Not a matter of liking or not,” Gordie said. “I trust him. He knows the bush, and he’s not afraid of a fight.”
“Good with a knife?” I asked, glancing at the stiletto on Gordie’s belt.
“There’s several dead Japs who can attest to that,” he said. “But I doubt he’d turn on his own.” Gordie’s eyes shot to the shore, where two natives had stepped silently out from the jungle.
“Aftanun ol’ta!” Gordie said loudly, drawing the attention of the rest of the crew. He waved cheerfully, and they smiled back.
“Good afternoon?” Kaz asked.
“Very good, Baron,” Gordie said and rose to speak to the natives, who approached the side of the PT boat, one of them carrying a spear. They had a rapid-fire conversation in Pijin I couldn’t follow, and one of them handed over a map to Gordie. He gave it a quick once-over, handed it to Cotter, and went below. Crewmen tossed them cigarettes and chewing gum. Gordie returned with two cans of Spam, which were even more eagerly accepted.
“Tanggio tumas,” Gordie said. “Thank you very much.”
“No wariwari,” the one with the spear said, waving to the rest of us. They turned and vanished silently into the thick bush, footprints in the sand the only evidence they’d been here. In a second, waves cleared away even that.
“Spooky buggers,” Archer said, returning to our group. “Glad most of ’em are on our side. What’d they say?”
Gordie lit a cigarette before returning to his seat. “A Zero went down about a mile offshore on the other side of the island. Men from their village paddled out when they saw the pilot parachute into the water.”
“Did they get him?” Cotter asked, looking up from studying the map.
“Hemi daefinis,” Gordie said with a smile. “He’s dead, finished. Came down bleeding, evidently. Sharks got to him before the native chaps. There was enough of him left attached to the ’chute for them to find that map.”
“Looks like they came from Buka, as reported,” Cotter said. “Routes to Lumbari and our lines on New Georgia are marked. Not much value as intelligence, but I’ll pass it on to G-2 when we get in tonight.”
“Things are pretty quiet right now,” I said. “We haven’t heard a plane in a while.”
“There’s still plenty of time for another daylight raid,” he said. “We stay here until dark. Get some rest.”
There wasn’t much else to do. I found a life jacket, not wanting to be without one on this trip again, and used it as a pillow, propping myself up against one of the torpedo tubes. Kaz did the same, along with the crewmen who weren’t on watch. Gordie and Archer sat at the stern, aloof now, perhaps steeling themselves for their upcoming mission. My eyes wandered to the dense, green jungle, thinking about the natives and how quickly they had disappeared from view.