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- Колин Маккалоу
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Though
their
resources
were
pitifully
stretched
,
their
armies
foundering
from
lack
of
supplies
and
reinforcements
,
they
made
the
Americans
and
the
Australians
pay
for
every
inch
they
gained
back
.
In
retreat
,
the
Japanese
abandoned
Buna
,
Gona
,
Salamaua
,
and
slipped
back
up
the
north
coast
,
to
Lae
and
Finschafen
.
On
the
fifth
of
September
1943
the
Ninth
Division
was
landed
from
the
sea
just
east
of
Lae
.
It
was
hot
,
the
humidity
was
100
percent
,
and
it
rained
every
afternoon
though
The
Wet
was
n't
due
for
another
two
full
months
.
The
threat
of
malaria
meant
everyone
was
taking
Atabrine
,
and
the
little
yellow
tablets
made
everyone
feel
as
sick
as
if
they
had
the
actual
malaria
.
Already
the
constant
moisture
meant
permanently
damp
boots
and
socks
;
feet
were
becoming
spongy
,
the
flesh
between
the
toes
raw
and
bloody
.
Mocka
and
mosquito
bites
turned
angry
,
ulcerated
.
In
Port
Moresby
they
had
seen
the
wretched
state
of
the
New
Guinea
natives
,
and
if
they
could
n't
stand
the
climate
without
developing
yaws
,
beriberi
,
malaria
,
pneumonia
,
chronic
skin
diseases
,
enlarged
livers
and
spleens
,
there
was
n't
much
hope
for
the
white
man
.
There
were
survivors
of
Kokoda
in
Port
Moresby
as
well
,
victims
not
so
much
of
the
Japanese
but
of
New
Guinea
,
emaciated
,
masses
of
sores
,
delirious
with
fever
.
Ten
times
as
many
had
died
from
pneumonia
nine
thousand
feet
up
in
freezing
cold
wearing
thin
tropical
kit
as
died
from
the
Japanese
.
Greasy
dank
mud
,
unearthly
forests
which
glowed
with
cold
pale
spectral
light
after
dark
from
phosphorescent
fungi
,
precipitous
climbs
over
a
gnarled
tangle
of
exposed
roots
which
meant
a
man
could
n't
look
up
for
a
second
and
was
a
sitting
duck
for
a
sniper
.
It
was
about
as
different
from
North
Africa
as
any
place
could
get
,
and
the
Ninth
was
n't
a
bit
sorry
it
had
stayed
to
fight
the
two
Alameins
instead
of
Kokoda
Trail
.
Lae
was
a
coastal
town
amid
heavily
forested
grasslands
,
far
from
the
eleven-thousand-foot
elevations
of
the
deep
interior
,
and
far
more
salubrious
as
a
battle-ground
than
Kokoda
.
Just
a
few
European
houses
,
a
petrol
pump
,
and
a
collection
of
native
huts
.
The
Japanese
were
as
ever
game
,
but
few
in
number
and
impoverished
,
as
worn
out
from
New
Guinea
as
the
Australians
they
had
been
fighting
,
as
disease
ridden
.
After
the
massive
ordnance
and
extreme
mechanization
of
North
Africa
it
was
strange
never
to
see
a
mortar
or
a
fieldpiece
;
just
Owen
guns
and
rifles
,
with
bayonets
in
place
all
the
time
.
Jims
and
Patsy
liked
hand-to-hand
fighting
,
they
liked
to
go
in
close
together
,
guard
each
other
.
It
was
a
terrible
comedown
after
the
Afrika
Korps
,
though
,
there
was
no
doubt
about
it
.
Pint-size
yellow
men
who
all
seemed
to
wear
glasses
and
have
buck
teeth
.
They
had
absolutely
no
martial
panache
.
Two
weeks
after
the
Ninth
landed
at
Lae
,
there
were
no
more
Japanese
.
It
was
,
for
spring
in
New
Guinea
,
a
very
beautiful
day
.
The
humidity
had
dropped
twenty
points
,
the
sun
shone
out
of
a
sky
suddenly
blue
instead
of
steamily
white
,
the
watershed
reared
green
,
purple
and
lilac
beyond
the
town
.
Discipline
had
relaxed
,
everyone
seemed
to
be
taking
the
day
off
to
play
cricket
,
walk
around
,
tease
the
natives
to
make
them
laugh
and
display
their
blood-red
,
toothless
gums
,
the
result
of
chewing
betel
nut
.
Jims
and
Patsy
were
strolling
through
the
tall
grass
beyond
the
town
,
for
it
reminded
them
of
Drogheda
;
it
was
the
same
bleached
,
tawny
color
,
and
long
the
way
Drogheda
grass
was
after
a
season
of
heavy
rain
.
"
Wo
n't
be
long
now
until
we
're
back
,
Patsy
,
"
said
Jims
.
"
We
've
got
the
Nips
on
the
run
,
and
Jerry
,
too
.
Home
,
Patsy
,
home
to
Drogheda
!
I
can
hardly
wait
.
"
"
Yair
,
"
said
Patsy
.
They
walked
shoulder
to
shoulder
,
much
closer
than
was
permissible
between
ordinary
men
;
they
would
touch
each
other
sometimes
,
not
consciously
but
as
a
man
touches
his
own
body
,
to
relieve
a
mild
itch
or
absently
assure
himself
it
is
still
all
there
.
How
nice
it
was
to
feel
genuinely
sunny
sun
on
their
faces
instead
of
a
molten
ball
in
a
Turkish
bath
!
Every
so
often
they
would
lift
their
muzzles
to
the
sky
,
flare
their
nostrils
to
take
in
the
scent
of
hot
light
on
Drogheda-like
grass
,
dream
a
little
that
they
were
back
there
,
walking
toward
a
wilga
in
the
daze
of
noon
to
lie
down
through
the
worst
of
it
,
read
a
book
,
drowse
.
Roll
over
,
feel
the
friendly
,
beautiful
earth
through
their
skins
,
sense
a
mighty
heart
beating
away
down
under
somewhere
,
like
a
mother
's
heart
to
a
sleepy
baby
.
