Chapter 14

Half the squadron left Morotai for Tarakan on the 3/7. Dal and I flew round Morotai at low level. We saw army camps, native villages, and lots of jungle and really enjoyed an invigorating flight. Next day Joe Weger said that the remainder were due to fly to Tarakan on the following day. Consequently everything was chaos- we had to uproot ourselves from our settled surroundings, and pack all our gear. Just as we finished the effort, getting hot and throwing out accumulated objects, we were rung up to say the flight was postponed until the 6/7. All afternoon on the 5/7 I spent putting my gear into the aircraft. It entailed unscrewing the armour plated behind the seat, undoing two clips and lifting the seat bodily out of the kite. Well the cockpit is pretty small and the seat rather large and it was like trying to get a three-seat sofa out of a lounge window. Anyhow after much blood had been spilled from gashes on the metal, with the help of one of the ground staff (an "erk"), I got it out. The rest was easy-packing the bag in to the space behind the seat. Then it started to pelt down with rain and there we were with the seat out. At this juncture along came a jeep with an American Red Cross girl in it. It was a mobile canteen with doughnuts and orange cordial. We really appreciated this, and found out that it was a regular thing down at the aircraft lines. The chap who was helping me was very decent- racing off to get various items like rope, mats, covers and so on. Then he volunteered to put the seat in himself, presumably with the help of his mates. We had a briefing before going to bed. I did not sleep as well as usual as I had no PJ's, just a stretcher and a blanket. Halfway through the night the rain beat in on me and I found a pool of water around my feet. It was cold. We were up at 5. We had breakfast and went down to the strip, ripped out the seat to pack the rest of my gear, and I was ready for 6.30 take off. Then came the rain and the weather aircraft reported bad weather along the route so it was abandoned again. Once again we had to rip gear out of the kite. By the time we had finished we were covered in mud and soaking wet, and very unhappy. With the dawn of 7/7 we took off and got about 45 minutes out, ran into bad weather and had to turn back to base. This brassed us off no end, as it was the third false start. We returned to camp and flaked out. Our attempt on the 8/7 was different. The diary entry for this day says, "we flew to Zamboanga (Moret Field)". This simple entry masks a flight I will never forget.
On the 8/7 we set off together with a Beaufighter who was the weather aircraft and the navigator. We formed up more or less loosely in 2 flights, on either side of the Beaufighter and to the rear. All went well until we gradually closed in on a towering thunderstorm. It was morning but the cloudbank was black as pitch and appeared to occupy all the half circle of vision. Immediately the Beaufighter started a climb to go over the storm and informed the leader of his intentions. We were ordered into echelon port, which put me directly beside the Beaufighter with the rest of the flight extending out on my left and slightly to the rear. When we hit the rain it streaked over the canopy and blurred the vision so that the Beau was just a blob on my right. I had to formate close on to it as the others in the section were formating on me, and then each other. Had I lost the Beaufighter all of us would have been lost. After climbing to about 14000 feet, it became obvious that we would need to go very much higher to fly over the top and as we had not prepared for the use of oxygen, this could have been dangerous for a long flight. Hence the only course was to go under the storm so down we went following the Beaufighter to just above sea level. For a time the responsibility for all those on my left did not assume the greatest importance. Rather, it was the vast surrounding blackness with but faint glimpses of the dark shape of the Beaufighter through the sheets of rain on the Perspex canopy that forced my total attention on to staying right on the wing-tip of the lead plane. Even the appreciation that we were very close indeed to the surface of the sea did not pose as much of a problem as did losing sight of the Beaufighter. We flew like this for an agonising time, during which I did not even attempt to glance at the Spitfires stretching out on my left. Their pilots like me would have been bathed in sweat, with eyes glued to the wing tip on their right. The storm was horrendous, with vicious lightning flashing almost continuously. Eventually we broke out of it and made our circuits to land in Zamboanga. This is the place according to a popular song, where the monkeys have no tails. It was a wonder that we did not kiss the ground after landing, so grateful we were to have made it safely, but our training allowed us to simply make a few laconic comments. After we had gathered on the tarmac, some heartfelt comments from the rest of the flight brought home to me just how valuable my role had been.
Two of our ground staff had been flown in before and they refuelled us within 2 hours. Despite our weariness after that horrific 3-hour flight, we climbed back into our aircraft to fly on to Tarakan. Off we set but had gone for only ten minutes when the lead aircraft turned back and we all landed at Moret Field again. We drove to a US transit camp and had lunch of chicken and corn, which, after our usual diet of bully beef and dehydrated potatoes, was Cordon Bleu stuff. We went to another camp to stay the night and on the way had the opportunity to have a scenic drive. The natives that we saw were very small in stature but quite healthy and good looking. The girls were quite the best to be seen in all the islands we have been in. It has been occupied by the Yanks for about 5 months. There were crashed Jap aircraft around in quite a few spots. The town itself had been bombed to bits and then shelled. There must have been some very attractive homes, but all that we saw were stone gates and front steps, or one wall standing remotely amongst the ruins. Everywhere only ghosts of houses and shops remained. A road runs along the sea front and from it the bay stretches quietly out to Basilan Island. The passage is called a strait but it is calm enough to be part of a harbour. Flying over these shores one sees beautiful colours in the water, from whites through yellows, greens to a deep bright blue. In the evening I took a short walk around and saw two natives with game cocks, promoting a cockfight which was interesting to watch, just the once. I saw other natives pounding grain in the hollow of a tree trunk. Every minute or so a native would pass by on the road carrying his evening meal of fish. I saw some specimens that must have tipped the scales at 30 lbs. We saw quite a lot and would have liked to stay longer. At the camp we were very well fed and housed so had a good night's sleep.
Next day we flew on to Tarakan. The chain of islands down from Mindanao were very attractive, especially Tawi Tawi. The sea was calm and it was an easy flight. Sadly I heard that it was at Tawi Tawi that Bill Gilfillan died in a Beaufighter on a low-level mission in a valley, flying into cables stretched across the valley. Tarakan turned out to be a relatively small island on which oil had been found. There was heavy rain most days and the strip was overlaid with interlocking metal plates. When we landed there were chaps lining each side of the strip-it was quite an occasion. It was good to see the others from the squadron. Typically it came on to rain so I did not get much of a look at our surroundings. The drive to our camp was 5 miles over bumpy roads, and all I saw were large numbers of oil derricks, oil pipelines, blasted houses and huts. The camp was built in a valley that the Japs called "The valley of the tranquil river". Camp was a mixture of houses and tents.
The messes were in 3 large Dutch homes, our mess being the best of the three. We slept in tents beside the homes, the CO having a room in the house, which also had showers, kitchen and huge dining room and anteroom. The rear wing housed stores, armoury, radio section and all the various other sections making up the squadron. The floors were tiled; walls were of wood and stucco, roof of wooden tiles and large wide windows. The Japanese officers used it and before that it belonged to Dutch officials. It all made for the best surroundings one could hope for in a place like this. On a short drive around I saw lots of oil derricks and was told that it was a great source of oil. The Australian army fought hard for this place, and we saw a cemetery with lots of Australian graves including that of a Victoria Cross winner, Tom Derrick. The ridges are honeycombed with foxholes, which had to be gained more or less hand to hand, and one by one. We saw what had been a beautiful modern tiled Dutch hospital. It was intact when it fell into our hands, the story goes, but Japs infiltrated and put bombs in it and blew it up. There was a great swimming pool beside it, quite intact and very popular. We are rationed to using it for one hour a day. The natives, we are told, are from Sourabaya and Celebes and there are a few Chinese.
On the night of July 11 we were all in the mess chatting away, when a burst of machine gun fire hit the air. We dashed out and there, about 30 yards away was a fully armed, wounded Jap soldier. Our guards had challenged him twice, then fired. He was just walking down the camp road. Perhaps he was unaware of recent events or had a death wish. Later on one of our pilots, Garth Clapburn was driving back in a jeep, and was within 100 yards of our camp when another fully armed Jap soldier stepped out onto the road. Garth jumped out with his .38 and ordered him to surrender, which he did. So the score was two Japs in the night. We heard a story of another sighting. Apparently there was a two-up game on, and one participant turned to the fellow sitting beside him, to make a comment, and to his amazement it was a Jap. He took to his heels. The next day five of us went on a laughable patrol to find him in the bush. We found a hut with evidence of recent occupation but no sign of life. It was fairly obvious that food would be short for any Japs around, as supply lines would have been cut. Also these had probably been cut off from their fellows. On this day, John Dehnert (an ex-Wirraway instructor) pranged on landing but was unhurt.
The noonday sun blazed down on the camp, and the heavy, humid air was still. Silence reigned, save for the occasional twisting in sleep of one of the aircrew. I was awakened by the persistent efforts of a fly to explore my face. I peered from beneath my drowsy lids at the still form of my roommate Dal, lying unclothed on his canvas stretcher. His body glistened with sweat, and flies pursued each other over all parts of his body. I decided to get a drink to quench the thirst brought on by the excessive heat. Stepping silently on the tiled floor I passed into the mess room and was just about to enter the outer room when a glimpse of something unusual arrested my progress. There on the floor was what at first appeared to be a curved stick, one end pointed and the other leading into and lost within the recesses of a cupboard. Its obvious symmetry assured me it was no stick, but the tail of some animal. Deciding to investigate further I returned to pick up my .32 revolver and an old broom handle. I peered into the darkness of the cupboard but could not make out the shape of the body within. So I thrust the broom handle in until I felt it make contact with something and leaped back with gun ready. Receiving no sudden response and not even a movement from the exposed tail I was somewhat reassured and picked up a torch that I had brought. In the light of its beam I saw the huge proportions of the animal, by this time presumed to be a large lizard. Responding to further prodding, it slowly emerged from its resting-place and revealed its enormous ugly figure. In all it must have been over 5 feet long with body 10 inches across at its widest point. It was certainly the largest lizard that I had ever seen. Two fellows arrived by this time and gazed at it with loathing. They insisted on shooting it immediately for it looked capable of giving a savage bite. However I dissuaded them from this act by showing them just how sleepy it was. It disregarded playful teasing. Eventually we persuaded it to waddle off into the jungle, but the memory of this monster remains as certainly the biggest lizard I have ever seen. In retrospect, other parts of Indonesia harbour the Komodo dragon, the probable identity of our monster.