James Benn: The White Ghost

“That is the same size as the wound in Daniel’s skull,” Kaz said as he studied the weapon. “Porter said he had owned an Australian commando knife, but lost it.”

“I bet I know exactly when and where he lost it,” I said, handing the weapon back to the sergeant. “In that small inlet off the beach where he killed Daniel. If we have the bottom searched as far out as a man could throw one of these, we’ll have the murder weapon.”

The bodies were dragged off the path, their weapons tossed into the river. We continued on, sweat soaking our clothes, the air so thick and hot it felt like walking through a steam bath filled with snakes, lizards, and spiders. I took a swig from my canteen, the water hot and tasteless.

A distant pop pop pop sounded, echoing from the hills above. More gunfire, and soon the rapid hammering of a machine gun joined in. We strained to determine the direction, sure only that it wasn’t behind us. It seemed to be everywhere else.

“Choiseul Bay is that way, due west,” Johnston said, studying his compass as he conferred with Ariel, who nodded his agreement without bothering to look at the device. “That’s where Major Bigger and his men were to attack a Jap base in the harbor.”

“Could that be the attack?” Kaz asked.

“No,” Johnston said, checking to see if Ariel agreed. He did, giving the slightest nod. “The harbor is too far away. But they could be fighting their way back to the river. We need to cross here and find them.”

“Agri,” Ariel said. “Yumi faetem, kill Japan man gut.” With that, he beckoned us forward, to the river. I had to think about what he’d said, and then I agreed, too. You and me, we fight ’em.

Within minutes Ariel had led us to the riverbank. Johnston sent two men over first, wading in waist-deep water to the other side. They gave the all-clear sign and we forded the river, which was much calmer than it had been downstream. Kaz didn’t even look concerned, until a water snake rippled its way along the line of men. That got everyone moving fast.

We spread out, moving up a ridge, scrambling over moss-covered rock that dripped water from between rocky seams, making the going as slippery as it was tough. When we reached the top, I was about done in. A grueling march, too little sleep, and heat that wrung out every ounce of strength had left me limp on the ground, gasping for air. Only the volleys of gunfire got me to roll over and scan the ground below. The sounds were closer now, more distinct, with each weapon sending its signature rhythm echoing out into the valley below. The dull crump of mortars mingling with the rapid blam blam blam of M1s and the slower but steady cracks of the bolt-action Arisakas.

“Up there,” Johnston said as he swept the hills with his binoculars, one arm extended to the next ridgeline. I could see the explosions, small bursts in the thick green cover. Those were the mortars, but it was impossible to tell whose or where the opposing forces were. Directly below us, stretching off to our left, was the plantation we’d glimpsed earlier: rows of coconut trees extending to the river’s edge, undulating with the landscape, cresting over a small hill below us. At the edges, the jungle had already begun encroaching on the cleared land, tall shoots of tiger grass overcoming the palm trees and erasing the precision of the planted rows.

“Look!” Kaz said. “There, a man running between the palms.”

I saw him. Darting from tree to tree for cover and looking over his shoulder each time. The Sten gun dangling from his shoulder. The dirty khakis, the slouch hat.

“That’s Porter,” Johnston said, finding him with his binoculars. I didn’t correct him. He ordered two men to hustle ahead and intercept him before he got to the river. The rest of us followed slowly, fanning out in the brush, alert for any signs of the enemy.

“Do you think he is running away?” Kaz asked as we pushed aside tiger grass, its sharp edges slicing at our fingers.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Where would he run to? And why wait this long? Seems like he’s coming from a helluva fight.” Choiseul seemed a million miles away from Tulagi. Here, the Japanese were the terrible and immediate threat. I had to remind myself of Daniel Tamana and how his young life was cut short; Sam Chang, and how he survived months hiding in the jungle only to be killed in his hospital bed; and Deanna Pendleton, knifed in a filthy alleyway. The man who called himself Silas Porter was a killer far more dangerous than the enemy. He killed his own kind, and for nothing but lucre.

We finally broke through the tiger grass, the entire platoon spreading out to advance into the grove of trees. Ahead, I saw that the two runners had caught up with Porter, who was seated on a fallen palm tree, drinking from his canteen. I held Kaz by the arm and we stood back as Johnston, Ariel, and the radioman approached Porter.

“Where’s the G Company radio team?” I heard Porter ask Johnston. “They’re supposed to be across the river.”

“Gallaher?” Johnston asked. Porter nodded, a frown forming on his face as he worked it out. “Dead. The Japs got him alive.”

“Bastards,” Porter spat. “Does your radio work? We had another set with us, but it crapped out.”

“Sure,” Johnston said. “What’s the situation up there?”

The radioman took the heavy pack off and he and another marine began fiddling with it. As they knelt, Porter caught sight of Kaz and me.

“Boyle! What the hell are you two doing here?” His face revealed nothing but surprise. Either he had a good poker face, or was too exhausted to realize why we were with the marines.

“Never mind us,” I said with a smile I didn’t feel. “Lieutenant Johnston needs a briefing.”

“Yes, of course,” Porter said. “Kari and I, along with two scouts, guided Major Bigger and his men to Choiseul Bay. It took us a damn sight longer than we expected. Tough going if you keep off the trails. We attacked a Jap base and surprised them, did a lot of damage. Then we pulled back into the jungle and began to encounter patrols coming in from the eastern shore. That’s when John was wounded along with one of the scouts. The other was killed.”

“Are there many casualties?” Johnston asked.

“Three dead, about a dozen wounded,” Porter said. “The biggest problem is the radio. When the Japs hit us a few hours ago, Bigger sent me to try and make contact with our radio team across the river.”

“To call in the landing craft, I assume,” Johnston said.

“Yes. We’re being pressed hard right now. The major figured if the Japs occupied the river mouth, the LCs would never be able to get in and pick us up. Did you have any trouble?”

“No,” Johnston said. “We crossed further upstream after we found Gallaher. No sign of the other men, or the radio, for that matter.”

“Can you radio for a pickup now? I’ll head back and let the major know,” Porter said, looking anxious to leave our company. Johnston nodded and ordered the radioman to make contact with the landing craft. Then he called for a corpsman.

“Lieutenant, there’s some urgency here,” Porter said, his eyes darting nervously between Johnston and me. “Major Bigger’s held off the Japs so far, but they’re bringing in more troops and nearly have him surrounded. He didn’t want to make a break for the river until he knew the landing craft would be there. Otherwise they’d be cut to pieces with their backs to the water.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of everything,” Johnston said. “Give our Coastwatcher friend some Atrabine and salt tablets, Corpsman. Can’t take chances with malaria and dehydration out here. How’s G Company fixed for medical supplies?”