Biuku and Eroni anchored their canoe near the Japanese barge and set out searching the interior. They found a Japanese rifle, took it, and climbed back aboard their canoe. They were just starting to paddle when they looked toward Nauru.

“Look,” Ross said, pointing.

Kennedy stared across the water and saw the two men in the canoe.

Were they Japanese?

Kennedy and Ross had no way to know, so they filtered back into the bushes and hid.

“Japanese?” Biuku asked Eroni.

“Don’t know,” Eroni answered.

The men were paddling furiously away from the encounter north on Blackett Strait. If not for Biuku becoming thirsty at just this instant, history might be very different.

“Let’s stop on Olasana and drink some coconut milk,” he said.

Luckily, Eroni, now clear of the possible Japanese, agreed.

On Olasana, Thom watched the men approaching. He stared at them carefully. Even at this distance they appeared to be natives, but were they islanders consorting with the Japanese? At that instant, he made a decision that would seal their fate. He waded into the water and began to call out to the men. The natives stopped and began to turn away. Then Thom got a brainstorm.

“White star,” he shouted, “white star.”

The natives had seen the emblem on the lower wings of the American planes. In addition, most knew that if they helped an American pilot, there was usually a reward.

“American,” Biuku said at last.

So they paddled over. With help from Thom, they stashed their canoe in the brush.

After a hurried conference, Thom convinced them to take Starkey in their boat back to the base at Rendova. It was almost forty miles distant and the sea in Blackett Strait was choppy now, but the three men set out.

Kennedy had loaded the water tins and hard candy into the dugout. After leaving Ross to guard Nauru, he was paddling back toward Olasana Island. His plan was to share the spoils with the crew, then have them all move south to Nauru.

Biuku and Eroni made it partway into Blackett Strait before they had to turn back because of the worsening weather. At the same time, Kennedy was returning to Olasana with the water and candy. The two canoes met near the island and glided onto shore.

That night, Kennedy and Ross tried to paddle out into Ferguson Passage, but their boat overturned and they nearly drowned. They managed to swim to Nauru and fell into an exhausted sleep.

The night passed slowly on Olasana. A few of the crew were distrustful of Biuku and Eroni and spent the night watching them carefully. Not knowing whether the native men were loyal, they feared the two would slip off into the night and report them to the Japanese for a reward. On the other side, the massive men armed with black handguns intimidated Biuku and Eroni. They wanted to explain that they only wanted to help, but what little English they spoke would not allow them to get their point across. The Gizo Scouts slept, but with one eye open.

The following morning, when Kennedy returned to Olasana, he knew it was time to do something. Kennedy needed to trust the natives — it was their only hope. Taking a knife to a coconut, he scratched out:

He asked the two natives to deliver the message, and they set out for Rendova at once. Stopping in Raramana, they showed the coconut to Benjamin Kevu, the English-speaking leader of the scouts. Kevu knew that Evans was moving his base, and he sent a native to deliver a verbal recap of the message on the coconut. Biuku and Eroni continued on toward the American base at Rendova.

Reg Evans had moved from the top of Kolombangara Island down to water level on Gomu Island. As soon as the native arrived with the message from Kevu, Evans began planning a rescue. Drafting a reply, he ordered seven of his scouts to leave in the morning for Olasana. The text of the message was:

Before dispatching the trio of canoes, Evans loaded them with supplies. Rice, C rations, cigarettes, cans of hash along with native pawpaws, boiled fish and stoves to cook, tins of water, matches, and fuel. As soon as the natives reached the shipwrecked crew, they set to work fashioning shelters out of palm fronds, cooking food, and lopping off coconuts so the men could drink the sweet milk. Then they showed Kennedy to a canoe and hid him under palm fronds, so planes flying over could not see him. They began to paddle back to Evans with Kennedy.

Meanwhile, Biuku and Eroni had reached the base at Rendova.

It was almost six that evening when Kennedy slid from under the palm fronds and shook Evans’s hand. Evans motioned to his crude hut. The men immediately began to discuss the rescue plans.

“Have the boats stop here and pick me up,” Kennedy noted. “I’ll lead them through the reefs.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Evans said, staring at the skinny, sandy-haired man. A beard covered the man’s face, and his lips and cheeks were chapped and red. Only the man’s eyes were clear — they burned with a conviction that brooked no argument “Why don’t you let us handle it?”

“I’m going back for my men,” Kennedy said, “period.”

“Okay,” Evans agreed. “I’ll radio Rendova.”

The signal to the boats was to be four shots in the air. After checking his .38, Kennedy realized he had only three shells left and borrowed a rifle from Evans. Then he set off with the natives in a canoe for a nearby island where they would meet the rescue boats.

At 8 P.M. that night, he heard the engines of the boats and fired into the air.

PT-157 pulled close, and Lieutenant Cluster shouted across the water.

“That you, Jack?”

“Where the hell have you been?” Kennedy said.

Hauled aboard, Kennedy took a place on deck with Biuku and Eroni, who were there to help guide the boat. The PT boats roared up the channel. In half an hour, they were off Olasana.

“Slow down,” Kennedy said, “and lower a raft. We will lead you through the reef.”

Climbing into a rubber raft with Biuku and Eroni, Kennedy led PT-157 safely through the coral. Once inside the reef, he began to call to shore.

“Lenny, Barney, come on out,” he yelled.

The crew of PT-109 walked into the open. They could scarcely believe the ordeal was at an end.

The survivors were ferried out to the PT boat in the raft. Once they were all aboard, Kennedy showed the helmsman the way back through the reef. It was almost 10 P.M. when PT-157 reached open water and the skipper set a course for Rendova. As soon as the boat was gliding over the water at close to forty knots, a bottle of brandy appeared and the crew took a drink.

“Thank you,” Kennedy said to Biuku and Eroni.

Biuku smiled, but he could not resist the urge to kid with Kennedy. “You loosim boat, no find ever again, but you still a-number one,” he noted.

Craig Dirgo: