"Good morning, Sergeant," Lieutenant Howard said. "You are to be commended on your shipshape appearance."
"Thank you, Sir. I try to set an example for the men."
Lieutenant Howard was dressed and shaved and coiffured exactly as Sergeant Koffler was. That is to say, he was wearing rotting shoes; cut off utility pants; and no shirt. A Thompson was slung over his shoulder. The last time either of them had a haircut or a shave was two months before in Australia, on June 6, the night before they jumped into Buka. And there were in fact no other men to set an example for. What was carried on the books as "Detachment A of USMC Special Detachment 14" consisted of Lieutenant Howard and Sergeant Koffler.
But at least once a day, they went through a little routine like this one. It was ostensibly a joke, but there was more to it than that. It reminded them that they were in fact Marines, part of a fellowship greater than two individuals living in the jungle on an island neither of them had heard of three months before; dodging the Japs; and with chances of getting home alive ranging from slim to none.
Two days before, after supper, Lieutenant Howard had told both Reeves and Koffler that in the very early hours of 7 August, OPERATION PESTILENCE, the invasion of the Solomon Islands of Tulagi, Gavutu, and Guadalcanal by the 1st Marine Division, would begin.
The great majority of Japanese bombers intending to strike at the invasion force would come from their major base at Rabaul or from its satellite installations; the flight path of these bombers would take them over Buka. Thus the importance of the Coastwatcher station on Buka could hardly be overstated. If the Americans in the invasion fleet knew when the Japanese could be expected, they could launch their aircraft in time to intercept them. This early warning would be of even greater importance once the Americans got the Japanese-started airfield on Guadalcanal completed and operational.
"How come you never said anything about this before?" Sergeant Koffler had inquired.
"In case either of you were captured by the Japs," Howard had explained, "you couldn't have told them because you didn't know."
"You knew," Koffler pursued. "What if you got caught?"
"I couldn't let myself get caught, Steve," Howard said, softly.
"What were you going to do, shoot yourself?"
"Let it go, Steve," Howard had said.
The sound of aircraft engines was now quite definite, Howard thought, but it was still sort of fuzzy, suggesting that there were a large number of aircraft some distance off, rather than one or two aircraft somewhat closer.
When they reached the tree, Howard gestured for Koffler to go ahead of him, and Koffler scurried quickly up the knotted rope and out of sight. Since the arm he'd broken when they first landed was now pretty well healed, Howard was able to follow him.
A platform had been built in the tree a hundred feet off the ground. It was large enough for three or four people to stand or sit comfortably. Reeves was sitting with his back against the trunk, when Steve Koffler stepped from a limb onto the platform.
He handed Koffler his binoculars and pointed north. Steve followed the directions and thought he could pick out, far off and not very high in the air, specks that almost certainly were aircraft. He leaned his shoulder against the trunk to steady himself, and with some difficulty found the specks through the binoculars. They were still too far away to see clearly, but he could now see that they were flying in formation, a series of Vs.
Lieutenant Howard touched his arm; he wanted the binoculars. Steve handed them to him.
Howard hooked the eyepieces under the bones above his eyes, took a breath, let half of it out, and held the rest, much the same technique that a skilled rifle marksman uses to steady his sight picture before firing.
"There's a bunch," he said. "What do you think they are, Steve?"
"Too far away to tell," Steve replied.
"If they were Bettys, for example, how could you tell?" Howard asked innocently.
"Shit," Koffler chuckled, realizing that he was being tested. Since they had been on Buka, they had been training each other-not just because there wasn't much else to do. Koffler had rigged up a simple buzzer and taught Howard Morse code, and Howard had not only sketched various Japanese aircraft, but had called forth their characteristics from memory and passed them on to both Koffler and Reeves.
"Well?" Howard went on.
Koffler pushed himself away from the tree and came to attention-except for a broad, unmilitary smile.
"Sir," he barked. "The Japanese Mitsubishi G4M1 Type 1 aircraft, commonly called the Betty, is a twin-engine, land-based bomber aircraft with a normal complement of seven. It has an empty weight of 9.5 tons and is capable of carrying 2200 pounds of bombs, or two 1700 pound torpedoes, over a nominal range of 2250 miles at a cruising speed of 195 miles per hour. Its maximum speed is 250 miles per hour at 14,000 feet. It is armed with a 20mm cannon in the tail, and four 7.7mm machine guns, one in the nose, one on top, and two in beam positions." He paused just perceptibly, and barked "Sir!" again.
Lieutenant Reeves applauded.
"Very good, Sergeant," he chuckled. "You win the prize."
"I'm afraid to ask what the prize is," Steve said, leaning against the tree again.
"How about Patience?" Howard asked innocently. "I've noticed the way she looks at you."
"Shit!" Steve said. "You know what she did to me just now?"
"Tell me," Howard said.
"No. Shit!"
"You might as well let her," Howard said. "You're going to have to sooner or later. And besides, you're a Marine sergeant now. It's time you lost your cherry."
Reeves laughed. Steve Koffler glowered at Howard.
Pretending not to notice, Howard put the binoculars back to his eyes. He studied the sky intently for thirty seconds, and then handed the binoculars to Reeves.
"I make it Betty," he said. "Large Force. I count forty-five."
"That's a bit, isn't it?" Reeves said, and put the binoculars to his eyes. Thirty seconds later, he took them away. "Vs," he said. "Five to a V. Nine Vs. Forty-five Bettys. Looks like they're climbing slowly."
He handed the binoculars to Koffler, who waved them away.
"You better see who you can raise, Steve," Howard said.
"Aye, aye, Sir," Steve said, and left the platform for the limbs of the tree, and then started climbing down.
"Why don't you go along with him?" Reeves said. "I'll stay and see if anything else shows up. Send Patience up."
"All right," Howard said.
"We can't have her distracting our operator, can we?" Reeves chuckled. "And if there's anything I don't recognize, I'll send her after you."
Howard climbed out of the tree and walked quickly to the village. He saw two men tying the long wire antenna for the Hallicrafters radio in place in two trees on opposite sides of the cleared area. The antenna lead wire rose from the center of one hut.
The antenna was erected only when they intended to use the radio. Otherwise, like the other parts of the radio, it was neatly stored and packed, ready to be carried into the jungle if the Japanese should send a patrol into the area.
When he entered the hut, Howard saw that Koffler had the radio just about set up. A muscular native, named Ian Bruce, was already in place at the generator, which looked something like the pedals of a bicycle, waiting for orders to start grinding. Koffler was carefully checking his connections for corrosion. He glanced up at Howard when he sensed his presence, but said nothing.
Howard walked to the set itself and glanced down at the message pad. There was nothing Koffler had written on it that needed correction. All the message consisted of was the time, the type and number of aircraft, and their relative course. In Australia, or if the connection to Australia could not be completed, in Pearl Harbor, there were experts who would understand this information and relay it.
Koffler screwed a final connection in place, went outside to quickly check on the antenna, and then squatted on the floor by a packing case which held the transceiver, the key, and two sets of headphones. He picked up one set of headphones (which Howard now thought of as "cans," which is what Koffler called them) and handed them to Howard. He put the second set on and made a winding motion with his finger. Ian Bruce smiled and began to pedal the generator; there was a faint, not unpleasant whine.
In a moment, the dials on the Hallicrafter lit up and their needles came to life.