by Peter Jesser

Shortly after the outbreak of war in Europe in 1939, the Administrator of the Territories of Papua and New Guinea suggested to the Australian government that a military unit should be established for local defence in Papua. He could not ask the same for New Guinea because of the terms of the League of Nations Mandate. Of course, there were months of negotiation before the formation of the 1st Papuan Infantry Battalion (PIB) was approved. The PIB was to commence on 1st June 1940, with an initial establishment of one company of infantry and supporting elements. Their main roles would be in reconnaissance and as a guerrilla unit. Although also formed to be a fighting unit, the PIB would never be equipped to fight pitched battles.

Mr Leonard Logan of the Royal Papuan Constabulary (RPC) was appointed at the rank of Major to lead the PIB. Logan had served during the First World War as a Lieutenant and after the war became a patrol officer in Papua. He made his career in the RPC and in 1940 was the Headquarters Officer in Port Moresby. He was approaching his fiftieth year and those who served with him doubted whether he was the “right stuff” for a military unit. A report on him at the time noted that he was not altogether self-reliant owing to his lack of training opportunities and that he was “at times irritable with those under his command.” But Logan had been chosen principally for his knowledge of both serving and former policemen.

Logan immediately commenced recruiting around Buna in the Northern District of Papua. He knew many serving and former members of the RPC in that area. Some sixty recruits were obtained. These walked back across the Owen Stanley Range to Port Moresby where they arrived in July 1940. Together with smaller numbers of recruits from around Port Moresby, the new enlistees formed what would become A Company of the PIB.

In the first months after its formation there were only two European officers in the PIB – Major Logan, who was the Commanding Officer, and Captain Bill Watson who was the Officer Commanding (OC) A Company. Watson was an interesting man. He had served in the First World War, rising to the rank of Lieutenant, and he had been awarded the Military Cross and Bar and the Distinguished Conduct Medal for acts of bravery. He had played rugby for Australia and captained the Wallabies in three Tests. Watson was older than Logan but, unlike Logan, he was very fit and had an approach to managing his men that earned their complete loyalty.

Training for the new recruits started immediately. However, this training didn’t proceed smoothly – through no fault of the PIB.

As early as August 1940 the PIB unit diary noted: “Battalion just commenced weapon training but has been taken from this training to construct a road through Murray Barracks.” Training would continue to take a back seat to labouring duties as all hands were pressed into the construction work that was needed to create some kind of defence infrastructure in Port Moresby. It must be pointed out, however, that “all hands” were only the first few recruits for the PIB and 200 soldiers from the 15th Battalion who arrived in Port Moresby in August to do the work. The only other military personnel were a handful of members of Fortress Engineers and Fortress Artillery.

At about the same time that the raising of the PIB was being approved, a young Corporal from Brisbane was posted to Fortress Engineers in Port Moresby. Harold Jesser had completed an apprenticeship at the Ipswich Railways Workshops, but his real interests were in engineering. The expansion of Australia’s military at that time gave him the chance to pursue his interests.

Jesser had grown up as a boy in the 1920s in the railway camps where his father was employed. Consequently, he was used to a fairly simple life and he found conditions in Port Moresby reasonably comfortable. He was soon hard at work on the various construction projects that the engineers were supervising. Of course, the labourers on these jobs included the native soldiers of the PIB – and Harold Jesser got on very well with them.
While he worked with the Engineers, Jesser rose to the rank of Sergeant before being commissioned as a Lieutenant in March 1941. Within days of being appointed to commissioned rank he was transferred into the PIB. He was just the third European officer to be taken onto its strength after Logan and Watson.

The PIB was still doing more labouring than military training. But all soldiers in Port Moresby at that time were working on the wharves or building defences. The PIB just took it in their stride. In New Guinea*, labouring was what the natives did. (*During WWII, a convention was adopted of referring to the Territories of Papua and New Guinea as just ‘New Guinea’. That convention will be followed here for convenience.)

With the entry of Japan into the war, both the labouring and the training increased. All able-bodied civilian men in Papua were conscripted into the Australian New Guinea Administration Unit or ANGAU. ANGAU would later look after the carriers who worked on the Kokoda Trail and elsewhere. But the Europeans were old New Guinea hands who had fixed attitudes towards those they called “the natives”. They were quick to criticise the PIB who they thought should be under their control – where they believed “the natives” belonged. This was to be a recurring issue throughout the war. But at this time it was only January 1942 and the Japanese were advancing rapidly down the Malay Peninsula in the west and through the Pacific Islands to the east. By the time they were bombing Rabaul, it was clear that Port Moresby would soon be in their sights. The strain was too much for Major Logan. He was repatriated to Australia suffering from “nerves” and was replaced as CO by Bill Watson, who was promoted to Temporary Major.

Watson would be the making of the PIB which now had a new role. At this time, patrols were sent to Rigo in the east and Kairuku on the western side of Port Moresby. These patrols had the job of encouraging local people to continue their support for the Administration if the Japanese landed. A third patrol was sent to Sogeri in the hills behind Port Moresby. This patrol consisted of 30 Papuans and was led by Lieutenant Harold Jesser. They established a base at Bisiatabu while a smaller section of the patrol began mapping the tracks in the rubber plantations and surrounding areas. The thinking in Port Moresby at that time was that there was no chance of repelling any Japanese landing. They simply did not have the troops, equipment or ammunition. But if they were invaded they could retreat to the hills and fight a harassing defence from there until help arrived. For that they would need good maps and the task of making those maps fell to Jesser with an Artillery surveyor and the small patrol of six Papuans that he took with him.

Jesser found that the mapping took less time than he expected. He asked his men what else they thought could be done. One of them asked, “Why don’t we go to Kokoda?”

Jesser knew where Kokoda was. He was also looking at mountains that gave him a fair idea of what lay between Koitaki and Kokoda. To the military in Port Moresby it was terra incognita. Sometime in the latter part of 1941 the Army was working with a very basic outline map of New Guinea. It was all they had. Detail was limited to the coastline, the major rivers and a few administrative centres. The section between Port Moresby and the north coast of Papua showed two short straight lines – representing roads – extending inland from Port Moresby and Buna. In reality, the roads were anything but straight, but that was of little consequence. The ends of the roads were joined by another straight line – this time a series of dashes – representing a track across the mountains. The line marked by the dashes did not pass through or near Kokoda.

Jesser was aware that many of his men had walked back across the mountains from Kokoda to Port Moresby. But he also knew that in Port Moresby, the received wisdom – from the Administration – was that the mountains would be an impassable barrier for an army of any size. Even a small party of Europeans would need to be supported by large numbers of carriers. And there was no map of the track. Jesser was sceptical. But it had been impressed upon him that he was to be thorough in his work. Lives could depend on the mapping task. His soldiers were telling him the crossing was possible. It was not easy, but it could be done in a few days.

Jesser said: “So the native troops conned me into going to Kokoda. But I didn’t take much conning.”

The suggestion that they cross to Kokoda probably came from Corporal Kamani who was the NCO on the patrol. Kamani was one of the first to enlist in the PIB. He would have been a former member of the RPC and may have carried mail across the mountains between Port Moresby and Kokoda in the years before the war.

Click on the map to see an enlarged view.

After air travel became more available very few Europeans had crossed the track to Kokoda, so it was virtually unknown to them. But Morris had taken the Administration’s word that it was impassable. Consequently, it had not been considered in defence planning. The Papuans who carried the mail bags knew the way, but in those days no one would have thought to ask “the natives” – until Harold Jesser did.

Jesser consulted his surveyor who agreed they could do some kind of map. Jesser laughed as he recalled the moment.

“I said, ‘Fair enough.’ So we just packed up and left for Kokoda. But told nobody.”

The crossing was done in six days over and five days back. Jesser said there was an established track for short areas around the villages but the rest of the way they “broke bush” – the New Guinea term for forcing a track where none exists.
And so the wartime track to Kokoda was mapped in terms of the walking time between the villages along the way. Jesser led the patrol but it was the Papuans – most probably Corporal Kamani – who led the way. At that time, the theoretical track from Sogeri to Kokoda was known as the Kokoda Road (It was referred to as such by Lieutenant Anthony Leutchford in his notes after a planning meeting.). Unfortunately, the Papuans have been mostly left out of the Kokoda Trail narrative. Here we can give them the recognition they deserve.

While Jesser and his PIB soldiers were away on the mapping task, Rabaul had fallen and the Japanese had commenced bombing Port Moresby. The war had well and truly arrived in New Guinea. Jesser had exceeded his orders in crossing to Kokoda but perhaps that was just as well because Major-General Basil Morris, the head of New Guinea Force at that time, now realised it was possible that the Japanese could invade across the mountains to the north. He had not planned for that.

Within days of Jesser’s return to Port Moresby, Morris had ordered him back across the mountains to Kokoda, to start patrolling the north coast and screen any lines of possible advance by the Japanese on Port Moresby. Jesser took thirty Papuans with him, including Corporal Kamani and the other five who had been on his first crossing. The patrol set off on 19 February 1942, the same day that the Japanese began bombing Darwin.

The Papuans had been trained as much as any other soldiers in Port Moresby at that time – which is to say that they got the training there was time for. But the approaching war was something that they could not fully comprehend. After the War, Private Paul Lafe said “We would go to [Captain Jesser’s] tent at night and say ‘What is this war? Why do the Japanese want to come here?” And Jesser would explain to the soldiers as best he could. Neither he nor the Papuans knew what the War would be like. They just had to work it out when the time came to face the threat.

On the north coast, Jesser began his patrol work as directed. He split his 30 men into smaller groups under NCOs to keep as much of the coast as possible under observation. He maintained radio contact with Port Moresby through the District Officers or the small signals detachment at Buna. His patrol had no radio of its own.

Less than three weeks later, on 8th March 1942, the Japanese commenced their invasion of Lae and Salamaua. They faced no opposition. This brought the Japanese dangerously close to the Papuan north coast. Jesser recalled that he was at Kokoda on 9 March when the District Officer received a radio message that the Japanese were going to land at Buna the following day.

Jesser had Kamani with him and they set out immediately for Buna, walking all night until the Buna District Officer picked them up at the end of the rough track that led inland a short way from Buna. They reached Buna just as a Japanese float plane arrived overhead.

Jesser recalled that Anglican Bishop Philip Strong was just returning from Gona in a small launch and was machine-gunned by the Japanese. He said the launch was beached and the bishop dived into the sago swamp “purple frock and all”. The Japanese plane made a number of passes to machine gun Buna before settling on the water.

Jesser knew they would have been in real trouble if the plane used its machine guns from there. He only had a Thompson sub-machine gun which was useless against an aircraft some 300 metres away. But Kamani had a .303 and Jesser grabbed another .303 from one of the young Signals soldiers who was there. The two of them – Kamani and Jesser – opened up on the Japanese. They assumed that the fuel tank was in the wing above the fuselage and aimed for that. There is no doubt that they hit it. The sound of the .303 rounds smashing through the fuselage was enough to send the plane immediately back into the air. It came back and dropped a couple of small bombs which did no damage. Then it departed. Jesser said Bishop Strong walked past him, covered in mud and “never said thank you or anything”.

This incident is not of great significance except for the fact that Kamani was the first member of the PIB – the first Papuan – to fire on the Japanese. When we consider that he had also played a key role in mapping the wartime track to Kokoda, it is clear that Kamani was a fine soldier whose name should be remembered by Papuans and New Guineans today. Jesser relied on him heavily in the early days of the war in New Guinea. (Sadly, Kamani died of illness in early 1945. At that time he held the rank of Sergeant.)
Jesser was promoted to Temporary Captain at this time. Watson was a Temporary Major and Battalion CO and Jesser became OC A Company.

In May and June 1942 the remainder of the PIB began crossing to Kokoda to take up extended patrol duties in Northern Papua. Jesser guided them to their appointed areas and spread his experienced NCOs among the patrols.

Jesser was on his way down from Kokoda to Awala with Major Watson, when news reached them that the Japanese had landed at Buna and Gona on the afternoon of 21 July 1942. The PIB at this time consisted of two companies – A and B Company. In total there were about 250 Papuan soldiers and 25 Australian officers and Warrant Officers. B Company accounted for half of these and had been placed to the north of the track which ran from Kokoda to Buna. They were stationed at Ioma, along the Kumusi River and at Ambasi. B Company was immediately cut off by the line of the Japanese advance and was not available to bolster Watson’s forces while the struggle for the Kokoda Trail took place. Watson only had A Company and the few soldiers of his Headquarters Company available. It’s unfortunate that some later historians have jumped to the conclusion that the other half of the PIB must have deserted. They had not. But they were effectively out of the battle until Kokoda had been retaken by the Australians. (The official Australian War History by Dudley McCarthy South-West Pacific Area – First Year: Kokoda to Wau, 1959, p. 123-124 provides more accurate information on the distribution of the PIB – if it is read in full).

There were about seventy PIB men around Buna at the time of the Japanese landings but they did not have the arms to offer resistance. They were on the run immediately the Japanese began to land. Another seventy men were with Watson and he did the only sensible thing he could at that time: Jesser knew the tracks between Kokoda and Buna, so he immediately sent forward Jesser with Lieutenant John Chalk and 35 PIB soldiers to ascertain whether the Japanese were establishing a base at Buna or making their way inland towards Kokoda.

Jesser and Chalk soon had the answer. The Japanese advance troops had bicycles and were able to move rapidly along the short stretch of road that led out from Buna for part of the way towards Kokoda.

It was just on dark when Jesser and his patrol reached Sangara plantation and there they encountered the Japanese. Fortunately, Jesser and his men saw the Japanese before the Japanese saw them. This allowed the PIB to withdraw to a position where Lieutenant Chalk could set up an ambush. Jesser returned to inform his CO what was happening and then left with a small patrol to penetrate deep behind the advancing Japanese and assess the situation.

Jesser was accompanied by Sergeant Katue and two Papuan Privates. It was a long patrol lasting more than 24 hours under the most strenuous and trying conditions. They gathered valuable information but at some time during the night Sergeant Katue succumbed to injury. According to Jesser, large cracks opened up in the soles of Katue’s feet and he was unable to walk. Jesser had to leave Katue in a native village with the two Privates to care for him. He continued the patrol alone.

It was a lonely and dangerous one-man patrol far behind enemy lines. And yet he never referred to that. He just said it was a beautiful night with the jungle full of fireflies. But while this was happening, Chalk and his 35 Papuan soldiers had set their ambush for the leading Japanese troops. Chalk selected a site in an area of native gardens, where the Japanese would be coming up a slight hill towards him. The PIB had no machine guns. Chalk had a Thompson sub-machine gun and his soldiers were armed with .303 rifles. That wasn’t much for an ambush of a much stronger enemy. According to Chalk, the Japanese advanced with native carriers as a screen in front of them. They probably expected to encounter opposition at some time. Chalk let the carriers pass before giving the signal to fire on the Japanese who were then a bit over 100 metres away. The official War History states that this historic ambush occurred about 4 p.m. on 23 July 1942, at a site about 1000 yards (about 900 metres) east of Awala. The ambush was conducted by the PIB alone. Some later writers have suggested that the 39th Battalion was also involved, but this is not correct.

Chalk observed the leading Japanese fall as they were hit. But the Japanese were soon in action with rifles, machine guns and what Chalk believed was a mountain gun (although it may have been a mortar). Their baptism of fire came as a shock to the Papuans. Their own weapons were nothing against the machine guns and artillery of the Japanese. They fired their shots and melted away into the bush. Looking back on it, John Chalk said “I suddenly realised I was the only one still firing.” It was time for him to follow his soldiers to the rear.

No matter how much training a soldier is given, there is nothing that can prepare him for the experience of coming under direct enemy fire for the first time. The Papuans were no different to Australian soldiers in this respect but, attitudes being what they were, they would face more criticism than Australian soldiers who behaved in a similar fashion.

Just a couple of hours later, a platoon of 39th Battalion soldiers who had been ordered by Watson to hold the village of Awala for 30 minutes, departed their position without putting up a fight. The Japanese war history says it clearly: the PIB ambush was soon brushed aside, but the opposition of the 39th Battalion troops was “over before it started.”

The remnants of the PIB and the 39th Battalion platoon fell back to Wairopi – a wire rope bridge over the Kumusi River. Watson cut the bridge to hinder the Japanese. Further action was planned there but it could only be token resistance because neither the 39th nor the PIB had the weapons to fight a pitched battle. It was here, the next day, that Jesser swam the Kumusi River to bring back the intelligence that he and Katue had gathered on their long patrol.

Jesser was awarded the Military Cross for his work on the night of 22/23 July 1942 and similar work on 26/27 July 1942 while Katue was awarded the Military Medal. Their citations note that their work took them some twelve miles (20 kilometres) behind Japanese lines and was carried out at great personal risk. Jesser’s Military Cross was the first to be awarded in the New Guinea theatre. But Katue’s Military Medal is more significant for Papuans and New Guineans. It was the first decoration won by a Papuan or New Guinean and it was won within 24 hours of the Japanese landing in Papua. It was only the first of many decorations that Papuans and New Guineans would earn during the War.

Katue did not return to the PIB for some weeks. He recovered from his injury and with his companions waged a private war across Northern Papua. He picked up other PIB soldiers who had been cut off and his patrol increased to about twelve. When he at last returned he had the insignia of more than 20 Japanese officers and NCOs sewn onto his uniform. He said he didn’t target lower ranks because they had nothing worth collecting. He also brought back a Japanese prisoner with him.

Katue’s initiative made good press at the time but it was not entirely approved by the PIB. Katue had summarily executed villagers who openly supported the Japanese. The officers of the PIB were adamant that their men had to display exemplary conduct towards the civilian population. They had to win their confidence, not kill them.

This account will only provide a brief description of the fighting that followed. But the first pitched battle was at the village of Oivi a few days later on 26 July 1942. At Oivi there were about 60 Papuans and 90 Australians of the 39th Battalion. All they had were rifles although most of the officers carried Thompsons and the 39th had a couple of obsolete Lewis guns, one of which had only one magazine. They dug in to fight the lead force of about 240 Japanese The Japanese were well equipped. Watson – who had good experience with machine guns in the First World War – estimated that the Japanese had deployed at least 20 machine guns against them (this would be one machine gun per section, which was standard for a well-equipped force). The Japanese also had al least one mountain gun and mortars. It was a one-sided fight and the Australians and Papuans could do no more than resist for a time and then slip away under cover of rain and darkness. They were guided from their position by a Papuan policeman, Corporal Sanopa.

The Japanese continued to push the lightly-armed Australians back, seizing Kokoda and then challenging them in the small mountain village of Deniki. It was here that the PIB began to carve out the role that they would become recognised for in the War. They manned listening posts in advance of the Australian forward positions and, in Jesser’s words, “poked about in the bush trying to see where the Japanese were”.

It was at this time that an ANGAU officer, Major Sydney Elliot-Smith arrived in Deniki with a line of twenty-six carriers – two of them carrying his bath. Elliot-Smith had years of experience in New Guinea. The size of his party confirmed the Administration’s view of what was required for just one European to make the crossing. But as far as any real knowledge of the track went, it was more a case, as Jesser observed, that they just didn’t know.

Elliot-Smith was briefed on the difficulties the defenders were facing. No maps, little in the way of supplies, the debilitating effects of illness with constant damp and cold nights. He dismissed the map issue with the statement that he knew “every rock and bush” in the area. Watson said “Good. Jesser has been out every day and he is totally done in. You can relieve him.”

But that night, Jesser said, “the Japs bunged on a bit of a show.” In the morning, Elliot-Smith lined up his twenty-six carriers and said “I think I’ll be wanted back in Port Moresby.”

Watson said “No. We need carriers here. You can take two. The rest are staying.” And they did. It was a tense situation. Elliot-Smith would not forget the PIB and the circumstances in which he left Deniki. But he could leave. Any man there would probably have gone to Port Moresby if he could.

It was 9 August 1942 and a few hours later, Jesser and Corporal Gabriel Ehava were doing their usual work “poking about in the bush” when Jesser sighted an Orokaiva scout who he thought had been sent by the Japanese to spy on the Australians. He called to the scout, intending to arrest him. But the Orokaiva was guiding Japanese into the position and they had already seen Jesser. The Japanese fired, hitting Jesser in the left arm. Jesser said “I always had the Thompson ready to fire so I just gave the native a burst and we beat it out of there.” He was helped back to the aid station by Corporal Ehava and Private Lafe.
That was the end of the Kokoda campaign for Harold Jesser. He was not just wounded, but suffering from malaria and black water fever. He took a line of walking wounded back to Port Moresby before being transferred back to Brisbane on a hospital ship.

Within days the Australians and Papuans had been forced back to Isurava where they were at last reinforced by troops of the Australian 7th Division. The PIB was sent to shore up defences on the Alola side where the Japanese were opening up a second line of attack. As the Japanese pressed in there were glimpses of the PIB that would be inscribed on the memory of those who were with them. On the evening before the expected major assault, Australian troops were stunned to hear the Papuans singing the old Civil War hymn “Just before the battle, mother”. And the PIB carried that spirit into battle next day. John Chalk recalled Bill Watson firing his Thompson from the hip and reciting the Charge of the Light Brigade:
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Between verses he was yelling at the Australians: “Get up and fight. You’ll never hit anything from down there.” Chalk said that all he wanted was to be hugging the ground with the 7th Division troops – but you wouldn’t dare while Watson was on his feet.

In fairness, this was the first time that the7th Division had encountered the Japanese style of jungle warfare. They had to learn, just as the 39th Battalion and PIB had before them. But the PIB did their best work away from the front line as guides and in scouting work that the Australians were less suited for.

The PIB also came in for criticism, mainly from ANGAU officers who Watson had rejected as unsuitable for the PIB. One said that all the PIB did was “fire one shot and run away”. But Harold Jesser took a different view. He said the Papuan style was to sneak up and shoot a Jap – and then disappear, because tomorrow they could sneak up and shoot another one. It was a natural extension of their scouting work and an effective style of warfare for soldiers who could exploit their advantage in the jungle. However, as more Australian troops reached the front Brigadier Potts, the Brigade Commander, could see that the Papuans’ jungle skills could be more useful in another role. And so the PIB laid down their arms and took over the essential role of recovering wounded Australians from the battle zone and carrying them to safety. John Chalk described the nerve-wracking experience of doing this work, crawling through the jungle with his soldiers and a shielded torch to locate wounded soldiers in front of the Australian lines. The ability of the Papuans to move undetected under the noses of the Japanese enabled many wounded Australians to be rescued.

As the Australians were beaten back over the Kokoda Trail, the Papuans went with them, eventually regrouping at Bisiatabu in the hills behind Port Moresby to ready themselves for the next stage of the campaign. They had come out of the battle for the Kokoda Trail with confidence in their abilities and a keen understanding of the advantages they held over the Japanese.

But in spite of the good work they had done, there was mounting pressure from ANGAU to disband the PIB. They were highly critical of the Papuans’ tendency to withdraw under heavy fire. But Watson staunchly defended their performance in the reconnaissance role. He pointed out that the PIB could not stand and fight because they lacked heavier weapons, such as Bren guns, which the Australians had. A force which is comprehensively out-gunned cannot stand and fight. And he was quick to see off the whispered slights that were meant to undermine the Battalion.

At a dinner in Port Moresby shortly after the tide had turned on the Kokoda Trail, General Blamey asked Watson “What do you think of your PIB now, Major?”

Watson was too smart to be caught like that and replied “What do you think of your AIF?”

Blamey bridled and asked Watson what he meant. Watson, who had little time for rank or privilege, is said to have replied “We all ran, Tom. We all ran.”

Blamey took his point. Watson would not have the PIB made scapegoats for the failures of the much better trained and equipped AIF.

Over the next few weeks, what was left of A Company of the PIB regrouped, trained and re-equipped at Bisiatabu. In mid October, Watson and his Adjutant, Lieutenant Colin Goodman, flew to Garaina in the mountains north-west of Buna and Gona, to set up a base and await the arrival of some seventy PIB soldiers from A Company who were walking in. Jesser flew to Garaina a short time later. The next phase of the PIB involvement was set to begin.

On 2 November the Australians had re-occupied Kokoda after brief but intense fighting to re-take the Kokoda Trail. They were now preparing for a major assault on the main body of Japanese who had fallen back to prepared positions in the Oivi and Gorari areas. It was to be the enemy’s last ditch stand to protect their beach heads at Buna, Gona and Sanananda Point.

There was little doubt that the Japanese would be defeated. But the task of the PIB would be to secure the northern flank of the battle zone and prevent any Japanese escaping in that direction to the safety of their bases in the Lae-Salamaua area.

Because the Australians had now contained the Japanese against the coast, they could not retreat to the mountains. The Japanese could only hope to escape by being evacuated by barge or making their way up the coast. But in their retreat from the Oivi-Gorari area they would first encounter the Kumusi River. The river wound in great loops towards the sea and many would attempt to raft down it to safety. South of where the Kumusi entered the sea were the Japanese fortified beach heads which would be next to come under attack. But north of it, blocking any escape overland, was a vast expanse of sago swamp extending almost 40 kilometres from the Kumusi to the Mambare River and spanning another 40 kilometres from the mountains in the west to the coast – 1,600 square kilometres of sago swamp which Jesser described as a “black, stinking mess” of bottomless mud, full of crocodiles and snakes. Finding a way would be like working through a maze. Even with a canoe, the swamps were impassable except to those who knew them. And no one knew the entire region.

But Jesser knew the main tracks in the area and he was now detailed to take a patrol from Garaina down the Waria River, to determine the limits of the Japanese occupation and prepare to block any escape attempts. Jesser was in his element. He needed to travel fast and light so he put together a small patrol of ten men with Corporal Gabriel Ehava as the NCO. Gabriel had been with Jesser when he was wounded and Jesser had developed a great appreciation for the abilities of both Gabriel and John Ehava. They were competent soldiers and good leaders, the kind who could be relied on.

The patrol was eventful in many ways. Somewhere down the Waria, Jesser came on part of B Company with its OC, Lieutenant Hooper. Jesser said they were “way up in the hills” well back from any Japanese held area. He pressed on. He had a job to do and, as he said, they were nothing to do with him. As Jesser confirmed each area was clear he sent word back to Watson who moved his headquarters down. Eventually Watson set himself up at Ioma, north of the Kumusi, close to the Mambare River and the edge of the swamps.

The battle for Oivi-Gorari was over by 14 November and it was soon confirmed that hundreds of Japanese were attempting to escape, many by rafting down the Kumusi – as expected. Jesser – whose patrol had now grown substantially in size – was ordered to proceed to the area and attack the escaping Japanese.

The PIB was still without machine guns but by gathering information from village natives and through their own reconnaissance they could determine when and where rafts were moving. They would pick an area where the river looped back on itself and set their ambush on a curve of the river, where the rafts would sweep in close to the bank. When a raft entered their fire zone they would open up with everything they had, firing until the raft was swept away out of range. Then they would quickly run across to the other side of the loop, where the river doubled back, and be ready to plaster the survivors a second time as the raft swept into their fire zone again. How many Japanese were killed they could never know. Those who dived into the river to avoid the firing either drowned or were food for the crocodiles. Any who got to shore would have lost their rifles or other weapons and were clubbed to death by village natives if they were found raiding their gardens. The PIB had wasted no time in securing the support of the locals.

There were inevitably some survivors who made it back to what was nominally the Japanese held side of the river. They brought back stories of native soldiers who moved like shadows in the jungles and swamps – men whose calling card was sudden death. And it was true that the Papuans were developing a certain flair for their task. Katue, now back in action with A Company, was referred to on numerous occasions as having done “excellent work” on the periphery of Japanese encampments – a reference to his ability to pick off individuals. It was said that on one occasion he stalked a small party of Japanese gathered around a campfire at night. No doubt the Japanese anticipated no danger if they risked having a fire – until Katue leapt from the shadows, split the head of one with an axe, leapt back into the shadows and disappeared.

It was for killings such as this that the PIB came to be feared by the Japanese. One officer referred to them in his diary as “green shadows” who struck from the jungle without warning and faded back into it leaving only death and destruction in their wake. After learning of this, the PIB adopted the name “Green Shadows” as their own.

—- END OF PART 1—-

For PART 2,  click here

Acknowledgement: An earlier version of this material was broadcast by Radio Adelaide 101.5 FM “Service Voices” on 10 February 2020.