Conflict of Interest

It was a little after midday when I steered my boat into the harbor at Port Moresby, New Guinea, and tied her up at the pier. It was much busier here than it had been before the war started last December. There was a PBY Catalina floating just beyond an Australian patrol boat. I stepped up onto the pier and headed to the harbormaster's office.

Maxwell Parsons, a prewar friend, stood next to a desk. He was dressed in his crisp white Royal Australian Navy (RAN) uniform and was talking on the phone.

“Yes, sir. I know, sir. But there's nothing we can do right now. Lee was one of the best coastwatchers we had in the area, as was Brabham. There was no time to extricate them before or during the Japanese attack. Yes, Lee's wife has been notified. We're still looking for Brabham's wife. No, we don't have a suitable replacement yet for either island.” Then Max paused and added, “Actually, I think I might have one. Good day, sir.” He hung up the phone.

“They keep you busy, Max,” I observed.

“Of course, Ezra,” he said calmly. “There's a war on.”

“So I noticed,” I said.

“We seem to be on the losing side,” he went on. “At least for now.”

I shrugged.

“You don't seem to have any current residence,” he went on. “What if I offered you one? I think you would find it comfortable enough. And you could even assist us while you're there.”

“That depends on what you call 'comfortable',” I said. “I'm pretty comfortable on my boat.”

“Ah, yes, your boat,” Max said. “I'm afraid that we might have to requisition it as part of the war effort.”

I stood up and glared at him. “Max! That boat is all I've got!”

“Just a temporary requisition,” he went on. “We could even improve it. At no cost to you, of course.”

“Cost in what” I asked. “Money or my skin?”

“Money, of course,” he said. “In exchange for assisting us.”

“Do I have a choice?” I asked.

“Of course you do,” he said. “You can either volunteer or get drafted.”

I made a face. “That's not a choice. Jumping out of a plane or jumping off a cliff is a choice. The only difference is that you usually have a parachute when you jump out of a plane.”

“Now, now,” Max said calmly. “I think you would enjoy your new home. There's a nice beach. Plenty of shade and peace and quiet. And a hammock.”

“I'd be on my own?” I asked.

“Naturally,” he said. “Except when you see anything that we'd be interested in. And if the situation gets dangerous, we would naturally remove you and transport you to safety. I trust that's clear enough?”

I nodded. “I hope I won't regret this.”

“Of course not,” Max said. “We'll even deliver you to the island by PBY Catalina this evening.”

“Which island is it?” I asked.

“Vella Lavella,” he said. “It's near the northwest end of what the Americans call The Slot. We'll even loan you a rubber boat.”

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It was actually after sunset when the PBY Catalina landed just outside an opening through the reef along the northern coast of the island. I climbed out of the seaplane and into a rubber boat. Waves crashed against the reef. The lagoon beyond looked calm enough.

Max stood at the opening in the starboard side of the seaplane. “We'll be airdropping supplies to you once a week,” he called to me. “You should have enough already to tide you over until the first airdrop three days from now. Any questions?”

“If anything goes wrong, can I sue you?” I called back.

“Of course,” he called. “I'll make sure that you have the best solicitor in Port Moresby.”

“You'd better,” I muttered, and started rowing toward the opening in the reef.

The waves gave me helpful pushes toward the beach. When I reached the beach, I looked back. The PBY Catalina was already fading from sight as it headed back to Port Moresby. With any luck, they'd arrive by midnight.

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Day 1: Found the coastwatcher's hut on the island about fifty yards from the beach. Inside the hut, there was a map on the wall near the doorway, with an enlargement showing where Vella Lavella was compared to the surrounding islands. Near the map was both a radio set and a poster showing the black outlines of both Japanese planes and ships. A table dominated the center of the hut with a kerosene lamp and binoculars on it. A little refrigerator near the far side of the hut, within reach of the table, had a little amount of food in it. Enough to last me a few days. Right. I guess I'd better make myself some fishing gear; I'm going to need it. Sitting on the hut's front porch minutes later, I ate a canned dinner. Not exactly what I'd call tasty, but at least filling. Nearby was a hammock hanging from where the roof hangs over the front porch. With any luck it won't … then I heard thunder. At least it sounded like thunder. I ran into the hut, grabbed the binoculars from the table, and then ran back out. I pointed the binoculars in the direction of where I'd heard thunder coming from. For a moment, I thought I saw a plane – or maybe two – heading southeast through the darkening sky. Then they disappeared, replaced by falling rain. I took sat at the table and listened to the steady rhythm of the rain on the thatched roof. At least there didn't seem to be any leaks in the roof … yet. I'm going to turn on the kerosene lamp and see if there's anything to read. There's a months-old Stars and Stripes newspaper. Headline on the front page: Japanese Forces Invade the Solomons. You're a little bit late, chap; they're already here. Several books in a milk crate under the sink near the refrigerator: Mutiny on the Bounty, Dracula, The Maltese Falcon, and Shane. I guess they'll have to do. At least the rain has stopped. I'll get in the hammock and start reading “Mutiny”.

Day 2: Bright, sunny morning. I decide to spend the day fishing on the beach. When I return to the hut with half a dozen fish for dinner, the radio is already alive and I can hear Max's voice.

“Ezra? Are you there, Ezra? This is Max.”

“I'm here,” I said. “I was fishing. Dinner should be good. Better than the canned food.”

“Change in plans,” he said. “First airdrop will be today instead of tomorrow. The transport plane should be overhead in about twenty or thirty minutes. Look for parachutes.”

“Anything decent in the airdrop?” I asked.

“If you're expecting alcohol, you're going to be disappointed,” he said.

“Alcohol I can live without,” I said. “How about a better selection of books?”

“You'll likely find something more to read in the airdrop,” Max said. “Oh, and Ezra, have you seen anything yet?”

“Yesterday evening,” I said. “Just before it started raining. A plane or two, heading southeast.”

“Excellent,” he said. “If you could be more prompt about reporting sightings, that would be most useful to us. Those were probably long-range scout planes from Rabaul, designation Emily, heading for Guadalcanal and possibly further than that.”

“I can be as prompt as a bill notice in the post, Max,” I said. “Is that prompt enough?”

“Quite sufficient,” he said. “And I'm afraid we can't use our names from now on.”

“What's wrong with them?” I demanded.

“Too risky,” he said. “We need to call each other something else.”

“I won't be Little Bo Peep,” I said.

“No need,” he said. “You can be Siegfried and I'll be Wotan. Do you know your Wagner operas?”

“Not really,” I said.

“Let's hope the Japanese forces are equally as ignorant,” Max said. “Oh, and thanks again for volunteering.”

“You know what you can do with your thanks?” I asked angrily.

“Ta ta, Siegfried,” he said and hung up.

I slammed the radio receiver down, not caring if it was broken. I was just sitting down to eat dinner when I heard the drone of a plane overhead. Nearby, I heard the sound of boxes landing on the ground. Everything Max had said was in them, along with a case of Australian beer. This could work out after all.

Day 3: Around dinnertime, I was picking up coconuts on the ground near the beach when I heard the sound of a boat or ship. Looking through the binoculars, I didn't see anything at first. Then I saw a Japanese patrol boat come into view from the west. I hid behind a row of bushes as a searchlight beam swept the beach, first to my right, then to my left. Then the beam went dark. In the darkness, I ran back to the hut, with coconuts in my arms. I dumped the coconuts on the table and picked up the radio receiver.

“Wotan? Siegfried here. Patrol boat passed by. They scanned the beach with a searchlight.”

“Which way were they coming from?” Max asked.

“From the west,” I said. “Do you think they're checking each island in the area, to see which ones are inhabited?”

“That would seem most likely,” he said. “Did they see you?”

“I don't think so,” I said.

“Allied intelligence reported that a troopship convoy left Rabaul this morning,” he went on. “Escorted by several destroyers. Destination likely to be Guadalcanal. If you see them, do notify us.”

“You know I will,” I said. “So far, it's been mostly peaceful and quiet. A man could retire here … once the war ends, that is.”

“Until next time, Siegfried.” Max hung up.

Day 4: Late last night I was sitting on the beach, watching the moonlit waves. I suddenly saw a series of distant lights quickly blinking on and off. They went dark moments later. I hurried back to the hut and grabbed the radio receiver.

“Wotan? Siegfried here. Sorry to wake you up, but those visitors you warned me about are passing by the north side of Vella Lavella.”

“Understood,” Max said. “Heading?”

“Hard to tell in the dark, but I'd guess east-southeast,” I said. “They were sending signal messages back and forth. Sorry I couldn't tell you what they were saying. I don't have a Japanese Navy code book.”

“I'll send you a copy in the next airdrop,” he said. “In the meantime, I need to make an urgent call. Until next time.” He hung up.

I know he's doing his best, just as I am. I just don't like feeling expendable. I want this war over and done with, and my boat back. Preferably tomorrow. Off to bed.

Day 5: Planes overhead. Squadrons. Reported them to Max. In return, he told me that the Cactus Air Force on Guadalcanal is doing what they can. Rather like Faith, Hope, and Charity defending Malta in the Mediterranean. I had to ask who they were, but he explained.

Day 6: Quiet day. I lie on the beach, enjoying the warmth of the sand and the sunlight, while listening to the waves slide up onto the beach and then back into the ocean.

Day 7: Another quiet day. I'm rather enjoying the lack of uninvited visitors.

Day 8: Having breakfast inside the hut while reading another chapter of “Mutiny”. The mutineers have reached Tahiti. Wish I could be there instead of here. Approaching drone of plane engines overhead. I grabbed the binoculars and ran outside. The sky was clear at first, but then I saw a small squadron of twin-engine bombers. At first, I thought they were headed past the island, but then they peeled off and came in low over the island. I heard scattered explosions, some separate, some overlapping. I hid in the hut, covering my head. The hut shook several times, but stayed intact. I reported the attack to Max. He didn't seem as worried as I was, but he wasn't here getting bombed on. I bet that the Japanese know that someone is on one of these islands. Better be more careful now.

Day 9: This morning, while it was still dark, I thought I heard birds arguing in the trees not far from the hut. I grabbed both a rifle and the binoculars. No birds. Instead, I saw shadowy figures keeping low behind the bushes and trees that bordered the beach. Japanese, probably. They'd finally decided to take a closer look. I backed away from the hut, stayed low and hidden. They seemed to be headed for the hut. How did they know it was there?

“Keep quiet and stay close to me,” the woman whispered. “There should be someone inside.”

She was accompanied by two girls. What in the world were they doing here?

I waited until they carefully climbed up the wooden steps to the front porch and looked inside.

“Hey!” I called. “You stay out of there! That's my hut!”

Freezing in place, they looked around and the woman asked, “Who said that?”

“I did,” I said as I approached them. “I'm the only inhabitant on this island. At least I used to be.”

“I'm – I'm sorry, but we came from another island,” she said. “We were told that there was safety on this one. That you might give us shelter.”

The woman had short red hair and was dressed in a brown skirt suit. The two girls looked like sisters. The taller one had shoulder-length black hair and was dressed in a dark button-down shirt and trousers. The shorter one had longer black hair, wore a cap, and was dressed in a similar shirt and shorts. They were all barefooted and tired.

“Who in the world are you?” I asked.

“I am Frances Brabham,” she said. “These girls are Diana and Audrey Larson. Now, if you don't mind, we would like to go inside your hut.”

“Hold on,” I said. “Who told you about all this?”

“An Australian man,” she said. “He said his name was Wotan. He contacted our island while it was being attacked. I spoke briefly with him, explaining what was happening. He told us to head for your island and you would shelter us. If you are the only inhabitant, you must be Mr. Ezra Onslow.”

“That's right,” I said.

“You might want to let him know that we've arrived here safe and sound,” Mrs. Brabham went on.

I made a face, went past them, and grabbed the radio receiver. “Wotan? Siegfried here. Three uninvited guests. Not Japanese.”

“Then they arrived all right,” Max said, sounding relieved.

“You knew?” I asked.

“Of course I did,” he said. “I was the one who told them to go there. The Japanese invaded their island, destroying everything in sight. They were the only survivors.”

“What happened to the coastwatcher there?” I asked.

“Dead,” Max said simply.

“Why here?” I asked.

“It's safer than where they were,” he said. “Unless you'd rather they were captured or dead?”

“No, I wouldn't,” I said irritably, “and you know that. All right. I'll do what I can. But no promises.”

“None expected,” he said. “Oh, and there will be another airdrop this afternoon. Included are clothes for all four of you and additional provisions. Try to stay safe.”

“Do my best,” I said and hung up. I looked at Mrs. Brabham and the two girls; they were standing in the doorway. “I suppose you're all hungry?”

“Starved!” Audrey said.

“I'll show you where the food is, then,” I said.

Day 10: The three ladies are sleeping inside the hut and I'm still in the hammock outside. I can't believe it's been ten days here already. Had my first argument with Mrs. Brabham. I needed something in the hut and they were still in pajamas.

“Mr. Onslow!” Mrs. Brabham said, sounding shocked. “There are ladies in here!”

“So I noticed,” I said. “Now if you don't mind –” I tried to enter.

She blocked me and shook her head. “At least let us get dressed.”

“You are dressed,” I said.

“Not properly,” she said. “If you don't mind?”

I sighed and turned away.

She finally said, “You can turn back around now, Mr. Onslow.”

They were dressed in shirts and pants, including Mrs. Brabham. She went straight to the refrigerator, saw what was inside it, and started removing bottles of beer.

“Hey!” I said. “Leave those alone!”

“I am disposing of them,” she said and dumped them outside the hut. The small pile of shattered remains was soon empty of beer. “There. That's better. Alcohol around children. You should be ashamed.”

“There weren't any children here until yesterday,” I pointed out.

“But now there are,” she said.

“Is this how you treated your husband?” I asked.

She gave me a cold look. “My husband, Mr. Onslow, is dead. The Japanese killed him; I saw it with my own two eyes. He was the island's coastwatcher.”

I suddenly remembered what Max said on the phone at his office in Port Moresby. Two coastwatchers dead: Lee … and Brabham.

“I'm very sorry to hear that,” I said, chastened.

“In war, there are no winners,” she said. “Only widows. It's from a Mandarin poem.”

“Very apt,” I said.

“Indeed,” she said. “Now, then. Would anyone care for some lunch?”

The girls and I nodded.