Lost in Palau

Lost in Palau

By Randy Schafer

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2009 Randy Schafer

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Map of Palau

Table of Contents

Ch 1 Mine!

Ch 2 If It Was Easy…

Ch 3 Pearl Divers

Ch 4 A Wreck

Ch 5 The Brass Ring

Ch 6 The Voice of Reason

Ch 7 A Diver

Ch 8 A Couple Questions

Ch 9 A New Agreement

Ch 10 Found and Lost

Ch 11 Making Water

Ch 12 Blackness

Ch 13 Dead End

Ch 14 The Promise

Ch 15 Swim For It

Ch 16 Like a Warrior

Ch 17 They’d Never Know

Ch 18 Beyond Words

Palau 1946

Ch 1 Mine!

We were getting close to something. Charlie hadn’t said anything, but after three months of cruising these waters with the same guys, I knew the signs. He cupped the earphone and pressed it to his head then scribbled on the pad of paper sitting on his knee. Charlie poked out from under the canopy covering his electrical gear.

Jake, ease up a bit, he said.

I backed the throttle and our thirty-foot motor launch slowed immediately.

The sky was a beautiful cloudless marine blue. The tropical sun was a golden ball of fire assaulting our bodies and heating everything it touched.

Tom’s skinny body lay a couple feet in front of me along the starboard gunwale. His bare feet rested on the engine cover, and his head was propped up by a life jacket and covered by his dirty-white cap.

I never knew finding unexploded ordnance was so tiring, Tom said.

Tom was a shade shorter than I was and had tangled black hair on top of a chiseled square face. He’d moved less than a cat near a warm fireplace since we’d started today’s patrol.

You wouldn’t know a hard day’s work if it fell on you, I said.

Tom patted the gunwale beside him. Hey, I keep Betty in the highest state of operational readiness.

Ah, I was wondering what you did.

Charlie frowned. At first I thought he intended it for us, but he started flicking switches and writing again.

It’s the same reading I had on the last leg, Charlie mumbled. It’s stronger this time…we’re almost on top of it now.

I moved my hand to the throttle ready to cut power to our reliable little four cylinder diesel.

It’s off the port quarter, Charlie said without looking up.

I eased the tiller over slightly and reduced speed. I looked out over the water. In every direction the shallow swells sparkled like crystal in firelight.

Very close now, Charlie announced. This time he shot me a glance.

‘Close, aye," I said. I knew he couldn’t hear me with the earphones clamped around his head, but my lips moving were enough of a response for him. Charlie turned back to his dials.

Don’t you think it’s darn sporting of Uncle Sam to clear up all the mines, bombs, rotting melons, and other nasty items so the locals can go fishing again without getting blown to bits? Tom asked.

Considering half of it was ours to start with…I think it’s the least we can do, I answered. Before Tom could respond I kept going. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it’s a true pity the commander didn’t see fit to assign us the usual ordinary seaman for bowman duties. Then I’d have someone intelligent to chew the fat with.

There’s not a better fat chewer than yours truly. All the other motor machinists have personalities like a dim bulb. And none of them could carry a conversation unless it was in a pail. Tom peaked out from under his Dixie-cup hat.

If you’re done with your eyelid inspection…would you mind getting the marker buoy ready?

Aye, aye P.O. Wilson. Anything the coxswain wants. Tom jumped to his feet and saluted in a show of phony discipline. He pulled a bright orange marker buoy from the supply stacked in the middle of the boat. Ever get the itch to do more than just find chunks of metal bigger than a bread box?

"What do you mean? Go down and blow the things up?

Yeah, maybe.

Not in a month of Sundays…make that six months of Sundays.

Tom had the marker buoy with its attached flag ready and leaning against the engine cover.

What do you think it will be this time?

He lifted his head and squinted over the top of his aviator glasses. We’d all been issued with a pair when we’d gone to the sickbay complaining of sore eyes and headaches. That time we’d been on the level, and the glasses did the trick.

Bomb, Tom said.

Darn it. I was going to say that.

Get the buoy ready, Charlie snapped.

With a groan, Tom lifted the buoy and held it ready.

Now, Charlie said louder than normal. He usually forgot we didn’t have earphones on ourselves.

Tom heaved the weighted orange float over the side. I cut the engine and put the tiller hard over so we’d drift in a circle.

Mine! I said.

Not likely, Tom replied as he spit into the water.

We’ll see, I answered.

Charlie pulled the earphones from his head and slid out from under the canopy. He put his arms on his hips and arched backwards.

So…what is it, Charlie? I asked.

He looked over the water around us then turned to study the shoreline to the north of us. The island was covered in jungle vegetation and stretched away to the east and west of us. Charlie was pretty smart, that was why we got our picks in early.

What have you guys picked? he asked over his shoulder.

I say it’s a mine and Tom says bomb.

Charlie shook a cigarette out of a well worn Camel’s package. His lighter flared to life on the first try and he breathed in slowly. Charlie looked at me and then Tom as he slowly blew out a long stream of grey-blue smoke. His jaw worked back and forth a couple times, and then he said, It’s a plane.

Tom grunted and I shot a look at Charlie. If it’s an Emily or some other big four engine job… I didn’t finish my thought.

If it’s something that big, then the bet’s off. That jumped up toaster can tell the difference between small ordnance, a big plane, and a ship, Tom added.

Charlie stretched out his arms and said, I’m just as much in the dark as you two.

We’ll see, I said.

Tom grabbed the modified pail we’d dubbed The Looking Glass. It was a five gallon pail with the bottom replaced with a sheet of thick glass and some lead weights. He pressed it into the rolling waves and bent over to have a look. He hung there a long time. Charlie glanced back at the dials on his equipment. He seemed satisfied we were still over our target.

Well? What do you see? I asked.

Tom’s voice echoed from the bucket, Nuttin’. He stood and repeated the whole maneuver over the port side.

I looked up as a sea gull squawked overhead. Charlie stretched again and then lowered himself onto the starboard gunwale.

Okay, Tom’s metallic voice said, I think I see it. He paused for a moment then lifted the Looking Glass from the water. It’s a plane, he hissed.

Charlie smiled.

How big a plane? I demanded.

Tom spat back into the water. A Zero.

We both looked at Charlie. He was a couple inches taller than my six foot height. With blond hair and blue eyes he looked more like some Nazi poster boy than a native Californian. He was a year older than me but had joined the navy a week after Pearl Harbor, just like me.

Charlie tossed the butt of his finished cigarette over the side. He slid back into his position under the canopy and said, I’m starting to feel a thirst coming on already. The two beers you guys owe me will really hit the spot. He gave us a smile and picked up his earphones.

I looked down at my shoes which were sitting empty beside the engine cover.

Don’t do it, Tom said. Remember last time? You’ll miss him again and hit the toaster. This time it might be more than a broken dial and my fancy foot work won’t get it fixed without Ensign D getting wind of it. Last thing we need is him sticking his nose in our business.

Tom was right. We didn’t need a dose of that medicine. Thought never crossed my mind.

In a pig’s eye.

As the senior member of this crew, I think I’m due for a bit more respect than that, I said and smiled. I pulled a well worn chart from a waterproof tube and spread it over the engine housing. With a hand compass I took a couple bearings and then marked our location on the chart.

You think because you’re doing the Ensign’s job with the charts you get the same respect as an officer? Tom asked. If you’re doing navigation, it can’t be that hard. You don’t need to be an egghead to fix a point with islands all around us. Even a lowly mechanic knows that.

Maybe you’d get more respect if you added an initial to your name, Charlie added. Petty Officer Jacob G. Wilson. That has a ring to it.

So does a head, Tom shot.

What does the ‘G’ stand for? I don’t have a middle name.

Could be a lot of things, Charlie replied. Grumpy…grouchy…take your pick.

Tom and Charlie were both smiling now, and I joined them.

After marking the chart and making a note of what we found, I threw our throbbing little engine into gear and we started forward. We kept to our search grid for two more hours, but nothing else set off our metal detector. The brilliant orange fireball of the tropical sun had started its descent towards the Philippine Sea. I looked at my wrist watch. Ten minutes to four. Time to head for home.

All right, let’s call it a day, I said.

Charlie had only one earphone on at the moment. He looked at me and said, Fine by me.

"I heard that, Tom replied.

Tom tossed over the flame-red dan buoy so we would know where to start tomorrow. I then opened up the throttle and turned us to the northwest. Charlie switched off his gear and came out of his cave as Tom and I called his covered workspace. Tom pulled in the round sensor part of the metal detector. It was the size of a garbage can lid and sat suspended on a metal pole over the port side of the boat. He laid the sensor on the boards in the bottom of the boat. Charlie took out another cigarette and offered one to Tom. He then lit both with his Ronson lighter.

Charlie looked at me and I shook my head.

I think you’re doing most everything else your Pa wouldn’t approve of. Why not start smoking too?

Yeah. What they don’t know won’t kill ‘em, Tom added.

Well, I reckon if I pile up too much sin all at once the hand of God might come down and swat Pa right in the middle of a sermon, I said.

Hey…smoking’s not a sin, Charlie said.

It is if you’re a Baptist, I answered.

They both shrugged their shoulders and stretched out on opposite benches. They started talking baseball. Since I was the only one still working, I kept quiet and focused on the water on either bow.

After maybe twenty minutes Charlie looked at me and said, Still awake?

Uh-huh.

Good. Someone should be minding the store.

Yeah. We don’t want to end up like that boat that went missing a couple months ago.

I’ve been sailing these waters for a year now and haven’t got lost yet, I lied.

Good, you guys owe me a lot of beers that I’m looking forward to collecting, Charlie added.

Perhaps the sun’s baked your brain. You forget you got us lost in that little maze on the north east side a while back?

I was about to reply when Charlie said, They still haven’t found that boat have they?

Tom sat up and looked out over the water. The one that went missing a couple weeks ago? Not that I heard. Even the fly boys from Pelilu turned up a big goose egg.

Hard to believe you can totally disappear like that, Charlie said.

Fear not. Next stop Malakal Harbor, I announced.

Make sure it is, Tom added. I didn’t make it through four years of war only to get done in by hitting a log or reef.

You’d think we’d have a radio aboard by now, Charlie said.

What do you think this is a cruiser or destroyer? Where would you put it? I asked.

If we had a radio, Ensign D would be riding our asses demanding hourly reports, Tom said. I’m all for no radios. That way we’re on our own once we round Kuapesngas Point and clear the harbor.

Maybe, but if we hit something and go down, no one will be the wiser, Charlie replied.

At about seventeen-thirty hours Kuapesngas Point came into view. Time to get back into uniform, I announced. We all set about fixing our clothing. We did up our shirts, rolled down the pant legs, and put on our socks, shoes, and life jackets.

You think Ensign D will catch on some day? Charlie asked.

About the uniforms? I asked.

Charlie nodded.

If he does, he’ll likely have a stroke and fall in the drink. By the time we get our shoes off and jump in to save him, he’ll drown, Tom said with a smile.

Funny…very funny, I replied.

All the other boats are doing the same thing, so there’s no reason for him to come down on us, Charlie said.

Hell, he’s breaking regs himself. He’s supposed to be out here cruising around in one of the boats every day, Tom added.

That was only at the start of the operation. Since then all the other ensigns have been either reassigned or mustered out back to the States, I said.

So the son of an Admiral gets to do what he wants? Tom asked.

He does in this man’s navy…well…the peacetime navy, I said.

I’m just glad I don’t have to do the daily reports. That guy is a top notch fink. He doesn’t let five minutes go by without busting your chops for one thing or another, Tom said.

All I know is a day without Ensign D is a happy day, Charlie added.

A-men to that, I said.

Maybe you should just explain that the navy uniform for seaman wasn’t designed for prolonged work in an open boat in the tropics, Charlie said.

Who me? Tom asked.

Charlie nodded his head. If we all passed out from heat stroke, they’d have to search for us. We’re saving the navy the trouble of a search and prolonged medical care for three enlisted men.

Tom nodded towards me. It’s a job for the senior man…the coxswain.

I adjusted the tiller to start taking us around the point. I don’t think the Ensign…or anyone else… will grasp our advanced methods of efficiency.

Tom and Charlie stared at me for a moment and then set to preparing the boat for docking.

We rounded the point as the sun winked out of sight to the west. Malakal Harbor still showed heavy scars from the war. The bottomed Jap repair ship Akashi was always visible along the south side of the harbor. The Akashi was a big ship. Bombing raids sunk her back in ’44. The continuous effects of two years of salt water combined with bomb and fire damage had turned her into a scarred and rust streaked hulk. She reminded Tom of some type of sea monster breaking the surface.

There were a number of other wrecks that were marked by masts and funnels jutting above the surface of the water. The eeriest sight in the whole area was the bow of the tanker Amatsu Maru. She’d gone down by the stern but hadn’t disappeared entirely. About 50 feet of the port bow jutted out of the water in the western anchorage. Engineers said trapped air and light weight fuels in a forward bunker kept her above water. But guys who had been to the sea all their lives said the ship’s soul was refusing to be forgotten. That was crazy talk, but it made me shiver every time I saw the wreck. The deepening gloom of twilight was fast swallowing up all signs of the wrecks.

I piloted our launch over to the refueling dock. Tom handled the actual refueling activities. When that was finished, we headed for our berth in the small boat basin. Once we were tied up, Charlie cleaned out the boat and checked our weapons back in with the Master-at-Arms. Tom set about getting more buoys to replace any we had used.

I opened the boat chest where our tools and emergency equipment were stored. There was a flare pistol, spare electric lantern, spare compass, and many other items inside. There were also a few things we had added ourselves, namely several well worn photos of Betty Grable, our launches namesake. What a pair of legs she had.

I pulled out the waterproof tube that held our chart then stepped onto the dock. I was now on my daily pilgrimage to report to Ensign D. Being coxswain meant more pay, but every time I went to make my report it didn’t seem to be enough. Hopefully Ensign D would be in a good mood. If he was, I wasn’t sure how I’d recognize it.

I crossed the base heading to the ensign’s office. I skirted round the bombed out Jap oil tanks. Being underground hadn’t helped them escape destruction. You could still smell the burnt oil. I passed by the motor pool, laundry and a machine shop before coming to the long concrete building from where our ordnance clearing operation was run. The outside walls still showed marks of bomb and strafing damage. A large roll-up door stood open at one end. There were signs painted in faded red letters to either side. One said ‘Underwater Hazard Detection’ and the other ‘Underwater Demolition Teams.’

I entered through the open doorway. Several work benches were surrounded by walls of wooden packing crates. Most of the warehouse area was used by the underwater demolition boys. They shared the building with us, but it wasn’t a fifty-fifty split. I think more like seventy-thirty, with us getting the short end of the stick.

There were air compressors, diving suits, underwater tools, and things I couldn’t identify stacked about. The UDT guys were the ones who blew up what we found. The whole outfit was commanded by a lieutenant. He was a good enough sort for an officer, but spent most of his time with the divers. The detection teams reported in to Ensign D.

At the back of the stores area a wooden staircase led up to a series of six offices on one side of the building. The corridor linking them was open to the warehouse area below. Leave it to the Japs to put the offices up high where the heat built up. Everything in the building had been painted white at one time, the stairs, rails, walls, even the roof beams. Now the white appeared as varying shades of dusty grey or pale yellow depending on how much sun a spot received. I trudged up the stairs and turned at the third door. Black lettering on the door read ‘Ensign Everett D. Cunningham.’ I took a breath and knocked twice.

Come, came a muffled voice.

I took my cap off and opened the door. I entered the office, closed the door, came to attention, and gave a crisp salute.

Daily report, sir!

Ensign D had a chart spread out on his desk and was looking it over in detail. Finally he looked up at me and acknowledged my salute with a wave of his hand.

Well? Let’s have it, he said.

I filled him in on the 1,000 lb GP bomb we had found in the morning and the Zero later in the day. He didn’t say much. The Ensign was tall; maybe a couple inches above me, but he was skinny like a rail. He didn’t appear any older than I was either.

The temperature was at least ten degrees hotter in here than outside. I could feel the sweat starting to build up on my forehead. There was an open window behind the desk, but not a breath of air came through it.

Charts of the whole Palauan chain covered most of the walls. There were two open white spots on the left wall, every office had them. That was where the Japs had put up photos of the Emperor and Tojo. If having your picture on a wall had counted for anything, the war might still be going on. On a bookshelf the Ensign kept some photographs. There was a couple with groups of young officers…some type of graduation pictures I figured. Then a couple of his dad in case anyone forgot who Ensign Everett D. Cunningham was related to.

I passed the chart I had been using on the boat to the ensign. He looked it over, and then glanced at me over the top of the paper.

You didn’t cover very many grids, he said pointedly.

Yes, sir, I replied. We’ll do better tomorrow, sir.

I hope so, otherwise… He didn’t finish his thought but moved to one of the wall charts. It showed the main islands of Palau. There was the big island to the north. We called it Babel because its real name was too hard to pronounce.

Koror, Malakal, and Arakabesan islands were all clustered around the south end of Babel. They had been where the Japs had built their main supply and repair base for the region. Further south was Urukthapel. A long thin stretch of land that curved back and forth so much you thought it was ten islands. Farther south were Eli Malk, Pelilu, and Angaur. Those were just the big islands. There were dozens of smaller ones.

He located our recent finds and transferred the marked locations to his chart. Ensign D then handed my chart back without comment.

Anything else to report? he asked as he sat back down.

Ah…we have scheduled engine maintenance for Thursday, sir

Ensign D frowned as if our regular engine maintenance was somehow going to set back the free world or something.

Very well, dismissed, he said.

I snapped off another salute, and the Ensign waved his hand again. I opened the door and started to leave.

Seaman Wilson!

Sir?

Remember what I said about covering more territory.

Yes, sir.

And those shoes could stand a good polishing.

Yes, sir. Right away, sir.

I’d like to give the Ensign an up close view of my shoe. I closed the door and started towards the barracks.

Ch 2 If It Was Easy…

By oh-nine hundred the next morning, Tom, Charlie, and I were just north of Urukthapel Island. We would resume our patrol at our dan buoy on the south side. With the sun now well above the horizon, you could feel the temperature climbing. Deep blue sparkling waters stretched in every direction. I had once heard an officer say it reminded him of sapphires. I’ve never seen a sapphire, but I’m guessing they’re blue and sparkle like crystal. To me the water was the color of turquoise. But turquoise didn’t sparkle. It would shine if you polished it, but that was all.

Just once I’d like to set foot on one of those islands, Tom said over the throb of our engine.

You know the standing orders, I answered.

Yeah, sure, stay in the boat unless there’s an emergency. No landings on unapproved islands.

Why would you want to go ashore anyway? It’s likely lousy with booby traps, mines, and other ordnance. Not to mention maybe a couple of Jap hold outs, Charlie added.

Just because one boat got shot at, everyone thinks there’s Japs hiding all over the place now, Tom replied.

Charlie got up and took his seat in the cave. It took a squad of jarheads three days to flush out those two half-starved Japs.

We’re armed now, Tom said as he nodded towards the canvas bag at his feet.

Two .45’s, a Thompson, and some extra magazines doesn’t make us a PT boat, I said.

Still…something to break up the day would be nice. I think I’m starting to go stir crazy, Tom added.

Tomorrow we’re down for maintenance. Think you can make it till then?

I hope so…I really hope so.

Tom kicked off his shoes, yanked off his socks, and rolled up he pant legs. Once he was done, he spelled me on the tiller and I did the same. Tom then pulled out a scrap of canvas. He laid down on a bench and covered his head with the canvas. Charlie focused on powering up the toaster and checking its working order. Soon the sound of snoring came from under the canvas.

Once south of Urukthapel we located our dan buoy and resumed patrolling. We’d cruise towards the island until we were in less than two feet of water. I turned Betty, we paralleled the coast for a few boat lengths, then I pointed us back out to sea. This would be the pattern we’d repeat for the rest of the day. We were suppose to cover all shallows plus 300 yards out into deeper waters. Minesweepers had covered all of the channels and the deep water in the islands back in ’44.

Each time we approached Urukthapel I’d stare at the palm trees. For some reason I never got tired of them. The long slender trunks and the huge waving leaves had an affect on me I that was hard to explain. We had a few palm trees back home, but I had never paid them much attention. Here they were somehow different. Most of the main islands had been heavily bombed and shelled in the war. That meant most of the vegetation had been chewed up and spit out for match sticks. Most of Pelilu, where the Marines had invaded, looked like it had been through a meat grinder. Urukthapel and most of the smaller islands still had their thick carpet of plants. It looked like one of those posters Pan Am used to get people to fly on the Clippers before the war.

Pelilu was the main air and land base in Palau. It had the biggest airstrips. All the brass were headquartered there. There were more Marines on Pelilu than seagulls. We didn’t go to Pelilu often, which suited everyone just fine. Malakal was nowhere near as crowded.

We cruised the whole morning without finding a thing. I finally called a break for lunch a few minutes past twelve hundred hours. Tom dropped our anchor and we all gathered amid-ship to have lunch. We’d set the ration tins on the engine cover about an hour ago. The heat of the sun and engine worked to warm up the contents of the ration tins so they didn’t taste like cold dog food.

What do we have today? Charlie asked.

I turned each of the tins so I could read their labels. Chicken and vegetables, franks and beans, and meat and spaghetti.

Thank goodness….no ham and lima beans, Tom said.

The food combo feared by one and all, I said.

I’ll have the chicken, Charlie said.

I looked at Tom. Spaghetti good for you?

He nodded.

Good, I had it yesterday.

Charlie pulled out a cloth bag and passed it around. We each grabbed a piece of fruit from it. We cracked open our tins, peered inside, and then stared spooning down the contents.

We all sat low in the boat. Tom and Charlie had their backs against the bench that stretched across the boat amid-ship. I had my back against the engine cover.

That was one long, hot, and boring morning, Tom said between mouthfuls.

Maybe, but it’s still more interesting than delivering ice, I responded. I’ll take cruising around here over driving back and forth across Houston carrying twenty pound blocks of ice into people’s kitchens. My most boring day in the navy is still better than hauling ice.

Farming’s not so bad, Tom said as he wiped spaghetti sauce from his chin. You’re outside and every day is different. It keeps you busy. But navy work certainly pays better.

I knew Tom preferred to be back on his dad’s farm in Montana, but he needed the money too much. He had a sister sick with something. He sent most of his pay back state-side to help with her treatment. Tom wanted to stay in the navy as long as they’d keep him.

Charlie had his spoon deep in his ration tin. He scooped out the last bits of his chicken stew.

What about you? I asked.

What about what? Charlie mumbled as he chewed.

Rather be working back home? Tom asked.

Charlie shrugged his shoulders. I dunno. Dad keeps writing about how business is picking up. With the war over, folks back home are buying more radios and other home appliances. Sooner or later everything that’s sold needs to be repaired.

Well, you do make the repair business sound exciting, Tom said.

It’s not so bad. I helped out a lot before the war.

But now it’s after the war…that was five years ago, Tom added.

I put my empty can down and licked the spoon. Some days I think we’ve changed. I’m not sure how, but we’ve all seen a lot more than we could have imagined before. We’ve also been to places we’d never heard of before. What if none of us will be happy when we go back to our old jobs?

Charlie had put down his tin and was now peeling a banana. That sounds crazy. I’m still Charlie Owens.

It sounds scary, Tom said.

I picked up a mango, pulled out my knife, and carved it up. I just know I can’t go back to my old job. That I know for certain.

Tom had closed his eyes and was leaning his head back.

What I know for sure is I like the heat. Beats a Montana snow storm by a country mile, Tom said.

These patrols are certainly one of the better postings I’ve had, Charlie agreed as he tossed his banana peel over the side of the boat. Beats checking circuits in the belly of The Big Stick.