1000 words from
Under the Java Moon

The full moon was both a blessing and a curse, George decided. The Auxiliary Minesweeper Endeh, a 175-ton vessel that typically held sixty crew but now held only twenty-four, had been forced to change course since Japanese ships were blocking the Soenda Strait.

“Looks like we’re heading north,” Vos said, coming to stand by George at the railing as the sea breeze tugged at their clothing. Vos spoke in a low voice, as if there were a nearby Japanese vessel listening in.

George nodded, his only answer for now.

Everyone was on edge, and the tension was as thick as tar. Conversation among the men was limited and brief. No one slept, even though it was nearly four in the morning. Although the minesweeper’s intended job was to detect and detonate enemy mines, no one was focused on that. The real threat was a Japanese ship spotting them.

Hooft joined them at the rail, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Any news?” George ventured to ask.

“Rouwenhorst is taking us to the South Borneo coast, and from there we’ll cruise between the smaller Soenda Islands. We’ll make a break for Australia once we’re clear.”

George heard the roughness in Hooft’s voice, and he turned toward him. When they’d been readying for departure, Hooft had taken it upon himself to cut away the main mast of the minesweeper in order to make the silhouette smaller. While pushing the mast overboard, he’d been struck in the abdomen.

He’d brushed it off then, but now, his face twisted in pain as he held an arm against his stomach.

“Are you in pain?” George asked. “Maybe you should lie down? That hit was stronger than we thought.”

Hooft grimaced but shook his head. “I think I cracked a rib, but it will heal soon enough.”

“I agree, and you should lie down,” Vos said.

“Not going to happen,” Hooft said. “Not with Japanese all around us.”

Vos sighed, then craned his head to examine the skies. “We should have left at first dark. This moon is exposing our path.”

George wholeheartedly agreed. But they’d had to do all the inspections first, and with the mission planned last minute, they couldn’t have left any earlier. He followed Hooft’s gaze and studied the large white sphere in the black sky. Was its brightness keeping Mary awake too? He hoped she had gone to bed after he’d left. She needed all the rest she could get. Before leaving, he’d written down all the information he thought she might need, including a note to the bank manager that Mary should have access to their funds.

He hoped his officer’s pay would continue no matter who occupied Java, and that even if rations were stricter, his family would have plenty of food and supplies for their needs. His consolation was that Oma was in good health at sixty-seven. She was a strong woman and had endured many trials already. Perhaps it was both a blessing and a curse that she’d come to the Netherlands East Indies. She’d missed the breakout of the war in Europe and the subsequent German invasion of the Netherlands, yet now . . .

“It’s nearly 4:00 a.m.,” Vos said.

“Right.” George headed to the engine room where his shift was about to start. Before he reached the stairs, he saw a dark form about two hundred meters away. The moonlight splashed across a destroyer ship, and since the Allied ships were either sunk or crippled, that could mean only one thing.

The destroyer was Japanese.

Had they spotted the minesweeper yet?

Then, another form emerged . . . a second Japanese destroyer.

George blinked in the moonlight, hoping that his eyes were bleary and playing a trick on him. What were the chances the Endeh could slip past undetected? None . . . echoed through George’s mind.

His breath jerked, and he turned and hurried down the steps to the engine room. At the bottom of the stairs, he made the announcement, “There are two Japanese destroyers following us.”

Lieutenant Van Wijnmalen’s eyes rounded, and he sprinted up the stairs.

George turned to the control room, his chest tight with tension. The others had gone silent, staring at him. Then the commander’s urgent voice came over the 1MC—or 1 Main Circuit, the ship’s main public address system. “This is not a drill. This is not a drill. Two Japanese destroyers have been spotted. God’s grace will get us past them undetected, but right now, halve the engine speed.”

George and the others set to work immediately. No one spoke as they went about their duties to halve the engine speed. By the time the engine speed had slowed, perspiration stood out on George’s face.

Each moment of waiting passed with agonizing slowness.

Then George heard a popping sound above the engine noise. Guns. Light caliber guns by the sound of it. The Japanese were firing at the minesweeper.

Almost instantly, the commander’s voice came through the 1MC, “Slow the engine to a crawl.”

George set about the task. The engine was at its lowest setting, and for a moment the bullets stopped. He moved to the edge of the engine room, trying to hear better as the other engineers watched him in silence, fear plain in their expressions.

George wiped at the sweat on his face. His throat felt like it had been scratched dry. He needed water. What he really wanted to do was get out of this stuffy engine room and find a lifeboat. Were the Japanese destroyers toying with them? Or had they moved on from the small minesweeper?

“Stop the engines!” the commander said, his tone urgent, even panicked. “This is not a drill. This is not a drill. All engines must cease.”

George spun back into the room and followed orders.

Then, the ship’s alarm clanged at the same moment Van Wijnmalen came barreling down the stairs. “Life jackets!” he hollered as he grabbed his from the supply along the wall. “Everyone up on deck and to the lifeboat!”

The alarm continued to clang. And the commander’s voice blared through the 1MC, “This is not a drill. All hands to the lifeboats.”

George and the others reached for their life jackets as Van Wijnmalen tugged his on. The man turned back toward the stairs and headed up.

But he didn’t get very far.

One second, George was reaching for a life jacket, and the next Lieutenant Van Wijnmalen disappeared. No. Everything disappeared.

The engine room. The men around him. The walls. The floor.

We’ve been hit, George dimly thought. His ears were throbbing, and his head felt like it had burst, then come back together, only to burst again.

What was that sound?

It was a high-pitched keening, almost mechanical, but louder than anything George had ever heard. He tried to lift his hands to cover his ears, but his arms were so very heavy. The high-pitched sound lowered and separated.

“Vischer, jump!”

Someone was calling his name? Telling him to . . . jump?

George’s eyelids felt like sandpaper, but he dragged them open. The first thing he saw was searchlights skating across the minesweeper’s deck. He began to remember. The alarm, the commander telling everyone to get in the lifeboat. The sound of gunfire. The searchlights must be the Japanese. And now he was on deck. Wait. How was he on deck? Hadn’t he been in the engine room?

Then he smelled it. Smoke. He turned his head to see flames. The ship was on fire, and . . . there were men lying on the deck like he was. Not moving.

With a groan, George pushed up on one elbow. His skin felt like it was on fire, although he couldn’t see any flames on his clothing. Rips in his pants revealed gashes from shrapnel.

Nothing hurt, though. How was that possible?

“Van Wijnmalen,” George murmured to the man lying a few feet from him. His face wasn’t right, though. It was half gone.

At the realization, pain shot through George, and he began to feel his injuries. Like a throbbing, living thing. He couldn’t pinpoint where he hurt, though—it was everywhere.

“Jump, Vischer, jump!” someone called to him. But the sound was muted, almost like he was dreaming it.

He turned his face toward the railing, away from the fire. Men bobbed in the water that reflected the glittering stars. The Japanese destroyer’s searchlights lit up the men’s faces, then moved on. Beyond them, the lifeboat was on fire. The men wouldn’t last long in the water, and only a couple of them were wearing life vests. How this realization got through George’s murky mind, he didn’t know.

With another groan, he moved to his knees. Then slowly, he stood. Pain lanced through his wounds, but at least he was on his feet. Another sweep of searchlights passed over him, and he wondered if the Japanese saw him staggering. All the men he passed on the way were dead.

George was the last one alive on the minesweeper.

 

 

In August 2021, I had the privilege of meeting Marie (Rita) Vischer Elliott for the first time when she traveled to Utah. My husband and I visited with her for a couple of hours, and she told us stories about her remarkable life in her lovely accent. During our first meeting, Marie and I were both vetting each other. I wondered if I’d be able to do justice to a story that Marie had kept to herself for so many decades. She wondered if she was truly ready to share such private and difficult memories.

Marie told me that her family never spoke of the war after it ended. Her parents had wanted to fully move on. Years later, Marie ventured to ask her mother some questions, but her mother gave precious few answers. The topic was still considered a closed book to the past. Because of all that she’s endured, Marie never wanted to watch war movies or read about wars. She especially stayed away from stories about concentration or prison camps and their victims. Like her parents, she was keeping her past firmly behind her.

As my husband and I sat across from Marie and listened to her recount her experiences on Java Island, I was truly astounded. I had never heard of the Dutch plight in the Pacific Rim during World War II. Marie and her family lived in Indonesia (then called the Netherlands East Indies) due to her father’s position with the Royal Packet Navigating Company (KPM),

After Japan invaded, conquered, and then occupied Indonesia, Marie’s family was divided up, then sent to live in Japanese prison-of-war camps. Marie, her mother, grandmother, and younger brother Georgie were sent to the Tjideng camp, which interned women and young children. Men and older boys were sent to their own camps. This began a period in Marie’s life that would shape her childhood, her future, and her beliefs.

Later in life, as a young mother, Marie joined The Church of Jesus Christ as Latter-day Saints while living in South Africa. A recent interview was published by LDS Living about her experiences with finding God in her life and the differences it made in her healing.

The above chapter excerpt from Under the Java Moon was adapted from George Vischer’s experiences on the Java Sea in a series of articles titled “Fight for Survival against Japs in the Java Sea,” which was published in The Moth Magazine in 1990. 🕮

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