Assault On Buna

By “Daika”

AS the dawn grew into day, that morn ing in 1942, two small boats could be seen sailing slowly, closer and closer to shore. Were they ours or the enemy’s?

Some flags were up, but too far away to see. Suddenly, over came some planes with the white spot of the American Air Corps on them. They sailed right on.

We speculated: Were they out of bombs or did they not see the boats?

Then came another. It banked and swooped low over the luggers. Smoke and spray flew high, and in a minute the crash of, the explosion reached us, together with the rattle of machine-gun fire.

The boats circled madly, and the plane banked and came in for another run. Again, the smoke and spray flew high. A near-miss.

Again it came in—the machine guns roared.

The plane, after a final circle, flew towards Moresby. The boats came close to the beach again. Rigging was cut, and the hulls, and the deck-houses of one were riddled with shrapnel.

Six men were wounded. All were Allied troops—the first to come up the coast. And, of all our planes in the air, only one had not been notified of their trip: and it had seen and bombed them!

Bombed by their own plane as they landed was a good opening for the advance up the coast to Buna. But the war went on.

The sun shone through the clouds at lengthening intervals as the showers and clouds of the morning cleared away. The beach presented a busy scene. Assault boats (flat canvas dinghys), and canoes plied by natives, swarmed between the shore and several small boats at anchor as close in as they could get.

Cases and bags of stuff came ashore, to be dumped at the water’s edge and then carried by troops farther back into the bush. Piles grew at various places.

Ammunition dumps were dispersed. Food dumps made. Tents, clothing, all things for an army.

Never before had so much activity been seen in this previously almost unknown snot on the Papuan coast. Troops, as they came ashore, picked up their gear and tramped wearily away. Some came back for tents and other supplies. A party of doctors and orderlies set up in an old deserted native hut and issued medicines for various ills. A cook-house was well advanced towards completion.

Machine-guns, some mounted for ack ack, had sprung up everywhere. Guards were on duty on strategic heights and points.

The first of the troops to make thp advance up the coast towards Buna had landed. The war was being taken to the enemy—the pressure was being put on.

The fund opened in Fiji in November to provide Christmas presents for the personnel of a New Zealand ship that has served the Colony well throughout the war period, closed in November with a total of £555. In addition, the Govern ment donated £25 towards the cost of a commemorative plaque for the ship.

An English society matron, visiting a farm in her new WAAF uniform, and feeling very patriotic, coldly eyed a young farmer, busy milking a cow.

“And how is it. mv good man, that you are not at the front?”

The farmer took a straw out of his mouth, spat, and replied: “Because, mam, there ain’t no milk at that end!”