Lonely Vigil by Walter Lord

Author:Walter Lord [Lord, Walter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-3849-3
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2012-09-24T04:00:00+00:00

10

DRIVEN OUT

COMPARED TO THE BIRTH of a baby, a supply drop was a comparatively minor complication in the life of a Coastwatcher, and Jack Read was not unduly worried about the drop scheduled for northern Bougainville on the night of April 26.

After some wildly inaccurate drops in the early days, these affairs were now almost routine. Guided by the signal fires, the plane—usually an RAAF Catalina of 11 or 20 Squadron—would circle down to about 500 feet and begin a series of runs over the drop site. Each time it passed, crew members would toss out some containers: fragile things like radio parts would float down by parachute; bulk items like rice and sugar would hurtle to the ground double-packed in jute bags. Never too much on any one pass, so as to concentrate the drop in the area bounded by the fires. When the last container had been jettisoned, the plane would usually waggle its wings, sometimes flash “good luck” on its signal lamp, and disappear again into the night.

On the ground the Coastwatchers would gather in the containers, smother the fires, and vanish as quickly as possible.

Back at camp the containers would be opened, and along with the supplies the Coastwatchers would almost invariably find little presents tucked in by the “delivery boys”: cigarettes, candy, sometimes a bottle of whiskey, and once for Slim Otton, who religiously followed the races, the latest Australian pink sheet giving the results of the Caulfield Cup.

Only occasionally was there a complication, like the time on the Abia River when Paul Mason scheduled a supply drop just a few hours after the local chief planned a funeral pyre. Worried that the plane would confuse the pyre with his signal fires, Mason asked rather indelicately, “Can you cook him before the moon comes up?” The Chief assured him that this could be done, and it was.

There were no funeral pyres on the night of the 26th. The only problem was the shift to a new drop site. For months Read had used the abandoned coffee plantation called Rugen near the north coast, but in December mounting Japanese pressure forced him to move the site south to the Inus area. Now that was dangerous too, and tonight would be the first time for using Aita, a small village deep in the mountainous interior of the island. It would be unfamiliar ground, but the pilot had all the necessary bearings, and there shouldn’t be any trouble.

By 11 P.M. everything was ready. Four stacks of branches soaked with kerosene marked off a rough rectangle in the clearing. Natives stood by, ready to light the stacks. A group of bearers hovered in the rear. Two of the Australian commandos working closely with Read—Sergeant Walter Radimey and Sergeant H. J. Broadfoot—cast a practiced eye over the scene, making doubly sure all was in order.

At 11:59 they heard the distant hum of the Catalina’s engines. That was the signal to light the fires, and all four stacks were soon blazing.

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