Anzakku Tales

 The three figures huddled in the night chill.

 Hentley, old and bent, tossed the crushed can into the fire and looked across at the ex-indentured Message Runner.

The young man gestured at the sheepskin-clad Eurasian face with blue eyes crumpled by the fire.

"Is that why you keep this one along?"

"He just follows me everywhere; I appreciate the company. I hear the 'collectors' are nosing around."

"Yeah. I hate those patrols. Seen a few dragged off. They don't come back. Were you in Liberty Square when the shrine fell in on February 22nd?"

"No, I was delivering a message to an Ojisan on Cashmere Hill - but I saw the dust from the falling buildings plain as day. Hid up the tops before trekking out here. I hear it was harder for those in town."

"Yeah. I was down Colombo St not far off from the Shinto Temple of Liberty. Most were taken by the 'quake - but survivors were made to enter the more dangerous rubble to rescue--."

 A dog barked and the group kicked dirt onto the fire. Booted feet pausing then passing on. 

Hentley removed his hand from the kid's mouth and patted his shoulder.

 Archer watched the convoy arrive from Burnham. Wigram Field was about as packed and hectic as he could remember it ever being. He hefted the wooden crate to his shoulders and angled his way through the ground crews by the Wellington bomber.

 The whine of a jeep transmission at full noise and the crack of the barrier arm being forced made him look up. Sentry guards were in full chase after the vehicle which pulled up outside the radio hut, the passenger dashing inside.

 The MP's had the driver on the ground when the air raid siren cracked open its earsplitting wail. Ground crew, Home Guard, pilots... all froze gazing at each other til the voice of the RSM drowned out the siren with his Bully bellow:

“ALL RIGHT – STAND TO!! STAND TO – MOVE!!!”

 Hob nails crashed, sparked, men yelling, serge and blue and greasy overalls flying this way and that to their stations, Kittyhawk engines spluttering into life and aircraft taxiing out, eager to get topside.

 Archer raced to the sandbagged AA gun and unloaded mags from the crate ready to hand to the Gunner then focused his eye on the man in charge of the range-finder, scanning the horizon.

 Half an hour later, there was still no all-clear. The RSM barrelled out of the Briefing room and dashed right across the parade ground, losing his cap on his way to Dispatch as if the devil was in his trousers. A Sergeant of Engineers raced across to the hangars and the original passenger of the jeep ran over and retrieved his driver from two very vocal Provosts! The Jeep swerved off at top speed heading for town.

The AA Team looked at each other.

“What the hell's up, Corporal?!”

“Got me. Stay at your posts. They'll let us know – til then, do your job.”

 Overhead the squadron was orbiting high over the Port Hills and the Harewood crowd was just visible to the North as well.

 A Leading-Aircraftsman jogged past and Anderson hailed him.

 Without stopping, the NCO shot over his shoulder: “TwoJapBattlegroups'veBeenSpotted 900MilesOffCapeRienga!”

 The team looked at each other.

“Two?”

“He's got to be kidding...”

 Overhead the Squadron was peeling off, heading North. The War had finally found them.

 In the tussock, rolled in a green sheepskin, the boy's eyes looked out from their cocoon.

"Jiji, what was it like before?"

"Don't call me that", Hentley growled, "'Gramps; Old Man; Hey You' - anything but that."

"Sorry. Um. Mister? Was it hard without Anzakku no shiyōnin to do the work?"

 Hentley bristled at the name.

"No! ...you could potter on some fix-up job, or mow the lawn for an hour, then a mutton roast with onions and spuds for tea -"

"What's 'tea'?"

"Cha - but we meant it as the evening's Yūshoku back then."

"Weird. And when they 'arrived'?"

 The old fellow's eyes dimmed.

"Chaos it was. Half the bloody town trying to get out. Only people to get away were on the Yamamoto Parade en route to the coast; and most of them had to leg it due to strafing."

"What happened to the soldiers?"

"Got cut off in Banks Peninsula and captured. Those who were in Burnham... I think they got West of the Divide. The Authorities don't go there much except to mine."

 On the road a car passed and the old man stared at the glow of the broken, distant city for a time.

 The King Edward Barracks was a complete riot.

 Home Guard units, Territorials, Police and transport units vied with artillery and parade space inside the great hangar while the raucous voices of NCOs and Provosts ordered and counter-ordered, shouting themselves hoarse.

 Hentley, in charge of a C60 heavy truck, helped a section of infantry load crates of grenades, ammunition and food then swung the blunt nose of the truck out into Cashel street and through the Bridge of Rememberance en route to New Brighton.

 He drove through the semi rural area of Bromley and waited in line to cross the New Brighton bridge. He was smoking a fag with another Driver watching an aircraft patrolling the Bay when there was a sudden crack overhead. A black cloud had suddenly appeared out to sea dangerously close to the plane which was dropping altitude rapidly. A shout and a man pointed at the hills; from Mt Pleasant a series of white puffy dots appeared – four more black clouds appeared beyond the pier and a Bofors AA cannon opened up near the New Brighton playground, sending orange streaks skyward.

“That's a bloody Jap, mate!”

 Hentley jumped on top of his truck for a better view. A ragged cheer went up as the plane raced out to sea, their first taste of action and they'd showed the bastard!

 When he rolled into the coastal Supply dump, he joked loudly with some of the guards there about it all, everyone grinning like mad.

“That bloke'll need some new trousers, eh?”

“It was a single prop, recon plane” a mousy fellow said plainly.

“So?”

“So it's a short range flier, innit.”

 The lads all looked at each other. “You reckon they're coming this way?”

 A flight of Kittyhawks at full speed snarled past trying to head the plane off and Hentley took a quick chance to buy a bag of hot chips before returning the way he came.

 Later, a solitary Harvard trailing oil and smoke, limped over the beach heading for Wigram, but crashed into the Edmonds Factory after getting off a single message: "Invasion".

The explosion killed not only the workers in the factory and the immediate neighbours, but 200 tons of aerated flour ignited as well, devastating Charleston and Lancaster Park. By the time the fires were under control, the bombs were falling over Cathedral Square.

 Mrs. Gunderson dropped by Cathedral Grammar to pick up wee Jim. It was eerie now that most people had moved away and the traffic was so thin, but talk was of the coming victory against the Japanese and how they'd beat them back and ... the air shook with a rumble like thunder. Off to the East a huge cloud of smoke and fire billowed into the air and the sirens began to wail. A pause then pandemonium. Drivers screeched down the streets at top speed, men and women running for Hagley Park and the Gundersons being swept along with them. The Japs were coming, they were here, they were already in Cathedral Square, they were bombing, they were being fought back to the beach; every story a contradiction.

 In North Hagley Park hundreds of people flooded in, some girls were crying, men were shouting, families trying to find each other and Wardens yelling for everyone to SHUT UP AND LISTEN. A man in an important suit and a tin hat finally stood on a big box and told them what was happening. A New Zealand airplane had crashed and the Edmonds factory had exploded, so everyone should carefully walk home and switch on the radio for further instructions.

 Muttering, the crowd evaporated and Mrs. Gunderson led her kids back home, switched on the radio and put the kettle on. There was a lot of music, marches mostly, but not much news so they sat on the verandah and sipped tea.

 Off in the distance they could hear the drone of engines. Wee Jim, grinning ear to ear, ran onto the roadside and pointed East, calling them over.

“See! Look at all the planes! Mum!!”

 They stood, squinting up at the sky at a gigantic armada of aircraft slowly appearing high over the trees and waved.

 Then the sirens began to scream again.

Hentley veered off through a garden wall to avoid a burning tram bearing down on him in Aranui and felt the steering column go slack. One of the soldiers from the back of the truck pulled him clear and he spent a few moments as he lay in the cool grass trying to work out why the lady next to him was staring at him. The realisation brought him to his feet in a rush and he scrambled out of the garden to where the soldiers were gathering. Traffic was being strafed by the air assault and there were no end of places to take cover behind.

“All right, all right, stop gaping – get in line and charge your magazines! Don’t waste ‘em on the planes!! You, mate, you all right?” A sergeant bawled.

“I think so-“

“Good! Take this rifle, one previous owner, low mileage. Get in line”

They set off at a jog trot towards the New Brighton Bridge just in time to see the cloudy horizon spasm with flashes.

Hentley threw himself into the gutter.

The sea wall, and all of New Brighton across the Avon dissolved into dust, flame and mind-shattering noise.

"My feet hurt, Mister."

"Keep walking."

 The flax hissed and smoked. 

 In the pile of rocks, Hentley cowered and stared at the clouds while massive naval artillery rounds thundered overhead. Behind him Mt Bradley blazed, the gorse set alight from the tracer and high explosive.

 A Vickers MG chattered in the next foxhole, angling downwards from the Eye of the Needle at the huddled infantry slowly climbing towards them.

 He could see the fires of New Brighton from where he'd managed to escape by cycling like mad, and the ruin of the town centre, nearly flattened from the waves of aircraft. Wigram blazed unchecked. Out past the remains of the New Brighton pier, the Japanese task force was disgorging landing craft onto the shore, occasional puffs of white from the Port Levy Battery landing amongst them.

 Johnson crashed into his rock bivvy with lead bees on his heels.

"AMMO. GRAB GRENADES AND HOLD FOR THIRTY THEN MAKE FOR LITTLE RIVER VIA KAITUNA."

 Hentley filled his satchel and lay back again to let the infantry get closer. A flight of Oscars blasted past below his position from the East and banked towards Lyttleton. Charteris Bay was choked with smoke. He could see the Japs setting up MG Nests on Herbert and knew there was not much hope.

 A grenade cracked and the Vickers team went silent. He pulled the pins from three Mills Grenades and rolled them over the lip of the flax bush. A fresh burst of fire hissed through it again; three sharp cracks and a long shrill bellow confirmed how close the enemy were.

 The rocks crackled and spat. A line of artillery on the Crater Rim North of Sugar Loaf joined in, confirming the fall of the Port Hills and the command of Christchurch.

 He threw the rest of the grenades as fast as he could, ducking over the ridge and crashed his way through the scrub towards the Port Levy Saddle.

 They heard them coming long before they saw them. Old Hentley pushed the kid into the tussock and peered out as they approached. On the Coastal Route caution paid dividends.

"...Furenchitaun, Akaroa, was dog awful..."

 The two strangers walked in the starlight, mountains staring down at them and the stream babbling happily in the gloom.

"Were you Indentured or a Hauler?"

"Hauler; family always has been. After the quake we had to lift the food from the jetty to the distribution center in the school then carry it to the households before curfew."

"Uhuh. How'd you get away?!

"Legged it one night over the hill to Cooptown; near the Little River National Battlefield Memorial. Snuck out in the back of a truck."

"I know the place; some kid got nicked there a few years ago for climbing on it I heard."

"You were Indentured I guess?"

"At first I was – the family bought their privilege card in the 70's and I stepped in as the family representative to our nominated Goshujin-sama when Dad died. In the end I bought myself off and got a job to stand around a lot and do simple stuff; y'know - like fetching people or delivering wee Arigatō dispatches. They're really a very civilised people once you get inside their circle."

"Like arresting seven year old kids I suppose."

"You know what I mean."

"<<TEISHI!>>"

 The gutteral bark echoed off the beech trees as the two men froze in fear. Hentley put his wrinkled hand over the kid's frightened eyes and hugged the ground.

 The green glow of nightvision, shouting, a harsh crackle of radio static, whip of a Hyūga helicopter Raiding Team heading West somewhere above.

 It is a long time before Hentley dares to move again...

"Last round!" roared the gunner.

"That's it! Spike 'em and hare it down to the bottom of the hill" screamed the artillery Lieutenant.

 The Battlecruiser at the Heads thundered at them again. Hentley, in his truck, dove out of the cab.

 Number three gun disappeared in a sheet of flame and the limber blazed crazily downhill into the fenceline below the saddle. Port Levy would have to take its chances.

“Come ON! Double it!”

 The gunners left the Gun Tractors behind and trotted down the dirt road in an orderly double column, hobnails crunching and clattering in their retreat. The saddle above them screamed with shellfire as their old position was methodically flattened.

"What do we do now, Sir?!" puffed the Sergeant.

"Try and hide out til nightfall above Little River and we'll see if we can't make our way towards the mountains at night. We'll be back - the Aussies will be here soon you can be sure of that!"

 They descended to a turn in the road where it leveled out briefly before falling away into the valley once more and caught up with a mortar team, hastily setting up.

"Wouldn't go down there Sir!" a wiry Corporal spoke up from his frantic digging, "The enemy is at Lake Forsyth."

"Shit. Is Hilltop open?"

"Unknown, Sir - anything on the tops gets toasted pretty quick."

"Do your best and keep an eye on the back door for us: they'll be coming this way in an hour or so. Who's down below?"

"There's a Signals platoon down there holding the local bridge and the church has a Bren team in it, but that's it as far as I know. I think we're pretty fucked, sorry Sir."

"Yes... Well do your best. Carry on and good luck. Sergeant! Think we can shimmy across the contours above them? Give them some supporting fire?"

"It'll take time Sir, but we can do it. I'll send Hentley as a runner to let them know."

 Hentley set off at a run.

 Down in the valley the lads were dragging debris and rocks onto the roads with help from the local farmers. Things were well on their way in preparation when Hentley puffed up.

"Where's your OC?"

"Corporal over there by the shops" shrugged a lump of wool covered in mud.

 Hentley jogged over and was right in the middle of relaying the report when the cover party sprinted in.

"Tanks! TANKS!"

 Just audible from past the old stone church was the grate and squeal of tracks on concrete. The bren in the belfry opened up, suggesting supporting infantry but was rapidly silenced by a 37mm HE round - Hentley could see the rubble fly above the macrocarpas.

 The town erupted into running figures.

 The track noise stopped and idling engines vied with shouted Japanese orders on the other side of Little River.  

 Hentley ran over to the Corporal in charge and relayed his misgivings. They legged it out of town back to the bridge just in time to see the entire area rise up on a massive pillar of flame, burst in mid air and come splintering down. Naval 16 inch guns. Brutish weapons that pulverised everything.

 Most of the signals Platoon had fallen back just in time and were quick to retake their positions - it was a shocked Japanese vanguard who fell in the first assault wave to take the town from the Kiwis.

Old Hentley shivered and shook the sleeping child.

"Time to go."

Together they walked, heading westward under the silent, watching drone.

In the historical report of the engagement, the South Pacific Colonial Governor has this to offer:

'During the clearing operations of Oyayubi, then known as Banks Peninsula, an Imperial Japanese company of infantry supported by a tank platoon and naval artillery advanced into the village of Wairewa in order to cut off the retreating enemy.

After encountering initial small arms fire, the town was bombarded and completely destroyed. 

Opposition was slowly forced back into the head of the valley where a scattered unit was surrounded and after some resistance capitulated.

A T95 hulk now stands at the entrance to Cooptown in memory of our soldiers' sacrifice for the Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere.