James Benn - The White Ghost

“Not planning on it,” I said, trying for a nonchalance I didn’t even remotely feel.

“Speed is the essence of war,” Kaz said as he lowered himself into the raft. Jack gave a knowing nod and helped shove us off.

“Is that a quotation?” I asked, a bit irked that Kaz could always come up with a pithy saying.

“Sun Tzu, from The Art of War ,” he said. “Jack seemed to know it.”

“Of course,” I said, digging in with my paddle. “He’s a Harvard boy. Now row, before we’re swamped.” It took both of us at maximum effort to keep the small raft from drifting, the current pulling us away from the smooth, glassy water ahead. We finally made it past the breakers, and with a few easy strokes were up on the sand, dragging the raft into the bushes.

We squatted beneath the overhanging palms. I checked my watch. Ten of one. If we weren’t back in the raft and close to the boat by ten after, we were out of luck. Stuck on Choiseul with a killer and several thousand Japs on high alert. What the hell had I been thinking?

Blood was pounding in my head, masking all other noises. Or was that the surf? Kaz stuck his head out and glanced up and down the beach, shaking his head when he saw nothing. As we waited, I began to sense the sounds around me with increasing clarity. The wind through the trees, the breakers out on the reef, and the softer sounds of water lapping at the white-sand beach.

Nothing else.

Five more minutes passed. It was one o’clock on the dot.

Nothing.

We stuck our heads out from the undergrowth and scanned the beach in both directions. I didn’t see any movement, but suddenly a figure was standing on the beach, a few feet out from the arched palms. A pinpoint of light flicked on and off.

I tapped Kaz on the arm. He nodded and took up the coils of rope. There was nothing to do but walk over, with no sudden moves. We had to be quiet enough not to alert the Japs and deliberate enough not to panic Porter and have him shoot first and ask questions later.

Then the flashlight shined in our direction. The pinpoint of light hit me full in the eyes, and I shielded them with one hand, keeping the rifle at my side with the other. We stood and walked to the light.

“Kari?” I said. “Porter? Turn that thing off.”

“Sure boss,” the figure said, his cadence and accent pure Pijin. He was a native, bare-chested, wearing a tan lap-lap , a big machete on a cartridge belt around his waist, and a Lee-Enfield rifle slung over his shoulder. “Nem blo’ mi Ariel.”

“Wea nao ples blong John Kari? Silas Porter?” Kaz asked, after he’d made introductions. I was pretty sure he asked where Porter and Kari were.

“Warrior River,” Ariel said. “They scout for marines. Many marines lost. Too many Japan man.”

“How far?” I asked, resisting the urge to make walking motions with my fingers.

“One day, no Japan man. Two days, lotta Japan man. You bringim gans?”

“No guns,” I said. “Guns tomorrow, food today.” I figured we might as well pass out the food and get back to the boat kwiktaem.

“You bringim Silas and John here tomura?” Kaz asked.

“No, too much fight, too many Japan man. We takim food, takim you to marines. Both with marines.” Ariel waved a hand and four more native scouts appeared around us. Two of them hoisted the rations and the others drew their machetes and quickly sliced the rubber raft into pieces.

“Japan man no find, is gut, namba wan, yes Billy?”

“Yeah, great, number one idea,” I said, my mouth gaping. I watched them use the paddles to scrape a depression in the sand and cover the remains of the raft. I looked out to sea, wondering how long Jack would wait. Five more minutes by my watch.

“Well, we came to do a job,” Kaz said. I had to agree. Ariel and his pals were ready to take us to Porter, so why not? Well, I thought of a lot of reasons why not, but with no raft and Jack heading back to Rendova in a couple of minutes, it really didn’t matter.

“Usim marine wailis,” Ariel said. “Send for more gans. We killim plenty Japan man.”

“Wailis?” I said, falling in behind Kaz as the group filed into the bush, each man nearly invisible in the darkness and thick undergrowth.

“Wireless,” Kaz said. “We can use the marine’s radio. As soon as we get there, we can contact Jack.”

“If the Japs don’t mind,” I said.

“Kwait, no ken mekim nois,” Ariel whispered harshly.

“Wait a minute,” I said in a low voice. “One question. How did you know where we were? You shined the flashlight right at us.”

“You smellim like waitman. Bad smell, but not bad as Japan man. Hariap.”

Ariel took off, taking fast, sure steps, as if we were walking through an open field in daylight. We haried ap for the rest of the night, not stopping until the faint light of early dawn.

“I can’t believe you endangered these men, Lieutenant, and in the middle of an important operation, goddammit!”

Colonel Victor Krulak paced in front of us, one hand wiping sweat off his crew cut, the other resting on his holstered.45 automatic. I hoped his arm was just tired. His lungs sure weren’t. This was about ten minutes into a full-dress tirade, and he wasn’t done yet.

“These scouts and the Coastwatchers have been invaluable,” Krulak said. Ariel seemed to enjoy the spectacle, even if he might not understand most of it. I tried not to think about the nickname his men had given Krulak. Brute. “Now you want to arrest Porter in the middle of a battle, after Ariel walked through Jap lines to get you here? What the hell are they thinking back on Tulagi?”

“Probably that three murders shouldn’t go unpunished, sir,” I said in my most respectful voice.

“The man you know as Silas Porter may be unstable, Colonel,” Kaz said. “He is not to be trusted.”

“We’ve been trusting him and the other Coastwatcher, Kari, with our lives,” Krulak said. “Not to mention Ariel and the other scouts. But I don’t want to harbor a murderer, even if he’s good in a fight.” He sighed, and grabbed his helmet from where he’d thrown it to the ground during the start of his lecture. “Johnston, get over here,” he yelled to a group of marines watching the proceedings.

“Yes sir,” Johnston said, eyeing us as he approached, tommy gun slung over his shoulder.

“Lieutenant Johnston is taking a platoon to the area in which Porter and Kari are operating,” Krulak said to Kaz and me. “Go with him. Don’t get in the way and don’t get anyone killed.”

“Sam Johnston,” the officer said as we introduced ourselves. He was tall, lean, and filthy, sweat and mud caked on every part of his uniform. After only one night in the jungle, Kaz and I were cultivating much the same look. “I didn’t expect the army to tag along, especially the Polish Army.”

“First to fight, as they say,” replied Kaz.

“That’s what Krakowski was always saying. He wanted the marines to invade France and take on Hitler. He’d enjoy talking with you, but he’s dead.”

“The first to fight often are,” Kaz said. “Now, what is the situation?”

“I’ll explain as we walk,” Johnston said. “Damn, I wish Krakowski could’ve met you.”

In short, the situation could have been better. The marines had been busy raiding up and down the island. They had four Higgins boats hidden on a small island off Voza, where the battalion had been put ashore. The boats carried detachments up and down the coast, hitting Jap installations, then disappearing, keeping the Japs guessing about the size of the force.

Early yesterday, two of the landing craft had dropped off a company north of the Warrior River, under the command of Major Bigger. The Higgins boats were to return to the mouth of the river this morning and extract the marines, after they’d raided an enemy base near Choiseul Bay. The marines didn’t make the rendezvous at oh-six-hundred. Worse yet, there’d been no radio contact, and Major Bigger should have checked in by now.