Rain sent rivers of water cascading down the mountain track making it slippery and hard to find a foothold. Private Glen Jones struggled up the path towards Jivevaneng where 'A' Company was ordered to relieve 'D' Company of the 2/17th Battalion.

"Does it ever stop raining?" complained Private Ed Symonds.

"You want an easy life," replied Corporal Pete Meadows.

"That's right."

"This bloody track's dangerous. We're lucky we're not those poor bastards lumping those mortars," said Glen pointing to two soldiers slipping in the mud while trying to carry their large weapons.

"It rains so much, you'd think it'd wash this bloody island into the sea," grumbled Ed.

"It can take the Japs with it," said Glen.

"I'm so wet; I reckon I've got mould under my balls. I'd bare my arse to the battalion just to be dry for a while."

"You might get a few takers in this mob," said Pete.

"No wonder with the Yanks taking our sheilas," snapped Ed.

"You're an unhappy bastard," said Glen.

"What the bloody hell have I got to be happy about? I'm wet, hot, could be killed at any time. I'm getting bloody six and six a day. That's gunna make me fuckin' rich."

"At least they'll bury you for nothing," said Glen.

"I am an ungrateful bastard."

                                                                        *

Early the next morning in the village of Jivevaneng, Glen heard strange voices raised and repeating the same indecipherable phrase. Gunfire blazed from the jungle opposite the 9th Platoon's area of defence. He peered through the gloom. Some Japanese dashed into a clearing; Glen fired, more in hope than expecting to hit anything. One Japanese clutched his shoulder as his rifle went flying. The enemy retreated as Glen shot another one hoping others would appear. "Get ready for the shooting gallery," Ed yelled.

Small arms fire from the enemy covered the Australian positions. Glen returned fire into the surrounding jungle. Enemy machine guns chattered, but were ineffective because the diggers were in safe cover. Australian mortars hissed and Glen heard the crump of explosions in the jungle. Pete slid in beside him. "Why don't they bring up the rest of the battalion?" Glen asked.

"The Nips have cut the wires. We can't reach headquarters."

A Japanese machine gun sent dirt flying around Glen's trench. He kept firing towards the muzzle flashes and soon all around him were firing at the machine gun. Australian three-inch mortars found the range, trees, and dirt around the gun started to fly in the air until the gun stopped firing.

The edge of the jungle seemed to come alive with Japanese screaming incoherently, eyes crazed with wild courage. Glen felt panic and alarm as he faced the charging horde. Then he saw the faces and the dead looks of mind numbing fear on the faces of the Japanese and felt a reluctant admiration for them. Mortars landed amongst the charging enemy and Glen saw bodies thrown into the air and landing in piles like discarded cordwood. The charge stopped and those still alive seemed to be like frightened schoolchildren before rifles and machine-guns from the trenches cut them down. Wounded Japanese were crying out and crawling their way free of the battlefield back to the jungle.

Glen watched as the carpet of bodies started to jerk. The Australian riflemen continued to pump bullets into them. Glen looked at Pete. "Make sure they're dead. We don't want them jumping up and surprising us," said Pete. Glen joined the rest in firing bullets into the dead enemy. He needn't have bothered, mortars landed among the bodies picking them up and ripping them apart. "The bodies can be used as cover," said Pete.

Glen hung his head in his hands. He didn't want to watch.

The crump of mortars sounded on the other side of the village, followed by machine guns and rifle fire. It didn't last long; the enemy was driven back again. The battle settled back to spasmodic firing from both sides.