Last Flight of the Buffaloes — Sample
Dutch pilots and Allied ground forces fight a desperate defense of Java against the Japanese in WW2
Last Flight of the Buffaloes is an upcoming novella on the Second World War, particularly on the sparsely depicted Battle for Java (modern Indonesia), 1942.
Java, 1942. In the desperate defense of the last allied stronghold in the East Indies against the undefeated Imperial Japanese Army, a group of brave Dutch pilots, flying the much weaker Buffalo fighter aircraft, and soldiers from a Texas Army National Guard unit hold the last line of defense as the island chaotically evacuates.
Last Flight of the Buffaloes will be available on Karyakarsa, Google Books, Kindle, and other platforms in both English and Indonesian.
Enjoy!
Java, 1942
The sky, save for a few clouds here and there, was clear as day. It was no secret that on that day in late February 1942, the great European powers were on their back foot. Retreat after retreat: Malaya, Singapore, Borneo, Hong Kong, engagements in the far Sunda Islands by Bali… There was rarely news worthy of rejoice.
And though the seas and skies were still up for grabs, it was obvious that one side had a serious, and most important, advantage over morale… the Japanese had fought many wars of conquest; made the vast plains and river valleys of China their own and had effectively kicked the colonial powers out of Asia. Perhaps it was the opening of a new chapter in human history, perhaps it was an end to colonial rule. Yet, even though on paper this seemed like a great discourse among political scientist and ethics lawyers, in truth, for most, this was not a political conflict.
The airmen and soldiers stationed in Andir airfield, Bandoeng, Western Java, had heard that a few nights back, a major fleet led by their own Admiral Doorman launched an attack to thwart an invading Japanese fleet by the Java Sea.
They had not heard of them for days. It was the last nail on the copper for morale under ABDACOM (American-British-Dutch-Australian Command). Rumors of British bombers being flown out of Java went about, and cancellation of supposed American reinforcements from New Caledonia was regarded as common, unspoken truth.
Whether mechanic, technician, ground unit, or aviator, they all felt the hit.
Four aviators sat on a mess table. The emptying of the airfield’s officer’s mess — once occupied by British, Australian, and a few number of American Army Air Corps officers — was now all but a handful.
“They’re really letting us go, are they?” asked Second Lieutenant Francis Drebbel, ML-KNIL.
“Doesn’t change our mission, Franky.” Said his commander, Captain van Helsdingen, who was tall, olive skinned, and looked more like his Native mother than his long-nosed Dutch European father. “Now eat. Before the goddamn Japs call us out again.”
“Yes, sir.”
The meal went by quickly and quietly as no one was in mood for discussion. They headed to the ready room, coming by the asphalt tarmac that had been subject of Japanese air raids for weeks now. No one thought they would ever be shoved up like this. And to think that only a couple months ago Drebel was still partying in Batavia with his beloved Kay, whom now he barely heard from; nor did he hear anything from his friends who joined up with the KNIL (Royal Netherlands East Indies Army), who were then hastily sent over to far flung battlefields lost to the Japanese. The world had crumbled around him. The Java he once knew — quiet country roads, metropolitan centers of culture, and vast plantations that fueled the world’s industry — had now turned to a bombed out, panicked, militarized (not that they were doing a good job about it) rock in the crossroads of the Indian and Pacific oceans. Everyone packed up and tried to leave, even the Natives, but some stayed, and among those who wanted to stay, not a small number were simpatico to the Japanese.
Franky Drebel once discussed with a wingman, Bruggink, on the matter:
“When you finally put that foul mouthed bastard Soekarno into prison, the Japanese come here and mess everything up… Heck, we’ve all got local blood here, you’re a half-blood yourself, eh, Franky? Are we looking for a Greater Asian sphere, whatever the hell that means?”
Having talked to some ‘dissidents’ himself — college students studying law and medicine when he was posted in Batavia — the dialogue was much more nuanced than he thought. Many native intellectuals looked for independence while their opinions of it were strictly split… Some want complete independence, the other half, wanted sovereignty under the Dutch Queen, some more whacky ones wanting an Islamic state of sort — but either way, the Japanese invasion was both a spark to the independence movement and a dead end for those who had opted for dialogue, and the question ‘will the dialogue ever reignite in the future would surely’ be one lingering many people’s minds.
Drebel didn’t care much. As much as he knew, the East Indies, Java, was his home, and so it had been for the last several hundred years. He was born here and he never even knew what the Netherlands looked like. And whatever idea stood behind the East Indies, Drebel was going to fight his best.
Though as he went by the tarmac on his way to the ready room, he noticed a certain irritable sight. They were promised a British Hurricane squadron, an American P-40 Kittyhawk squadron — which would mean some kind of resistance to the advancing Japanese… But all there was were broken down, damaged, cannibalized Brewster Buffaloes; an infirmary of wounded pilots and ground crew, and a few spare working Buffaloes which Drebel and his squadron operated.
And there they were… Flying barrels… The only hope for Allied air superiority in the East Indies… A bunch of goddamn Buffaloes!
Then there it came. A loud howling in the air. Alarm! Alarm! Someone yelled, a ground tech, which meant all pilots were to scramble. Was refueling done? Radios working? Ammunition loaded? God Christ, Drebbel had no idea what to do. On double time from the ready area, they headed to the hangar. Cigarettes killed off, they went into their aircraft to perform final checks. The pistons were kicked to life. Smoke engulfed the hangars as one, from another section, failed to start.
“We’ll brief on the radio. We fly West Northwest. Let’s go.” Said Captain van Helsdingen. Helsdingen led the way, taking off.
Bruggink went second, followed by Drebbel, and lastly, Scheffer took off from the airstrip, followed by half a dozen other Buffaloes. Climbing up, the beautiful West Java mountain range became toy-like and small.
Van Helsdingen briefied them once they reached 30,000 ft. “Alright. Now here we go. We lost contact with the fleet at Java Sea, and from the looks of it, I think we’ve pushed our luck too far. The Navy did their best, boys, now it’s us and ground forces. The Japanese have landed in Banten. We will join some British hurricanes from 605 Squadron taking off from Batavia. Everyone here has their fair share of Japanese fighters; time to get some more. Stick tight in wings of two. For the Indies.”
“For the Indies.” They all replied, Drebel included.
They zoomed out of sight, heading into a pair of clouds in the direction of Banten.
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[TIMESKIP]
Captain Jacob Pieter van Helsdingen, commander of 2nd Squadron, Air Group 5, ML KNIL (2-VLG-V), married, father of two, was not a man of full European blood, but he was, in fact, a European, and most importantly, he was a Hollander and he loved his country. No, not the Netherlands; the Queen can screw herself. He loved the Indies. He loved his men, his second family, but with only three remaining operational Buffalos of Air Group 5 against dozens of Japanese fighters, attackers, and bombers, Jacob Pieter and his men knew that they were not coming back.
A listening post deep in Japanese-held territory near Palembang had informed them that the Japanese were going to launch the largest air raid against the Dutch defenses in Lembang, where ABDACOM headquarters were located and holed up. It was their last and final message:
JAPANESE COMBINED FORCE FIGHTERS ATTACKERS BOMBERS HEADED TO LMBG BDG LP OVERRUN SAMPAI DJOEMPA LONG LIVE THE NETHERLANDS EAST INDIES
2nd Squadron, consisting of three pilots now, Lieutenant Bruggink, Lieutenant Scheffer, and himself, headed on a northwesterly course. 150 kilometers out, the Japanese appeared; black dots aplenty in the sky in various sizes, ready to strike at any moment, flying at a malicious, murderous pace, the same airmen that had razed the Malay Peninsula, Singapore, Borneo, and Sumatra in a trail of fire, painting it with the Rising Sun. Van Helsdingen raised his men through the radio: “Gentlemen… this is it… It’s been a great honor to be fighting with you. Godspeed, Good Hunting. Attack. Follow me.”
The three Buffaloes, with little to no hesitation, drove into the Japanese formation, and did all they could. Van Helsdingen took one bomber down, but the Japanese fighters overwhelmed him, blowing his fuel tank, and killing him as his plane disintegrated into several burnt pieces onto the ground. His body was never recovered.
Lieutenant Bruggink’s plane was shot up, and fuel tank depleted, he crash landed amidst some rice paddies, only to be surrounded by Japanese infantrymen with raised bayonets. He would spend the rest of World War II in places he thought he would never see: camps in Singapore, railway projects in Burma, hard labor in Japanese mines… One thing he kept was his tireless humor.
Newly-promoted Lieutenant Scheffer, the youngest and fresh out of the military academy, having witnessed the death of his comrades and seeing no possibility of winning, took down one Japanese attacker and rammed himself into another, ruining his propeller and breaking his own wing. Before he could eject from his aircraft, two Hayabusas went by him, and shot him right through the cockpit. He died before his plane reached the ground.
No longer would the Buffaloes watch over Java.
For the Last Flight of the Buffaloes was complete.
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