Tactikol Unkol

THE BULLDOG AND THE BLACK CAT — THE TWO TRACKS THAT DECIDED WAU

In the jungles of New Guinea, the war was not decided by highways or railways, but by narrow foot tracks carved through mountains and rain-soaked forest. Nowhere was this more true than in Morobe Province, where two routes — the Bulldog Track and the Black Cat Track — quietly determined the fate of Wau, Salamaua, and ultimately Lae.

The Black Cat Track ran from the Japanese-held coast at Salamaua inland through steep jungle toward Wau. It was the route the Japanese relied on to push their troops into the highlands. Their plan was simple: move inland, seize the airstrip at Wau, and collapse Australian air power in the Huon Gulf. But the terrain turned every kilometre into a battle. Steep ridges, disease, and fragile supply lines meant Japanese troops advanced slowly, often arriving exhausted, under-supplied, and vulnerable to Australian patrols and ambushes.

The Bulldog Track, running in the opposite direction, was the Australians’ lifeline. It linked Wau and Bulolo to Bulldog airstrip on the Lakekamu River side of the Owen Stanleys, allowing aircraft from Port Moresby to land and feed men and supplies into the mountains. Everything needed to defend Wau — ammunition, food, medical supplies, even radios — passed over this route, carried by Papua New Guinean carriers and, where possible, mules. Without the Bulldog Track, Wau would have fallen.

These two tracks formed a strategic contest. The Japanese advanced along the Black Cat Track, stretching their supply line further with every step. The Australians reinforced Wau along the Bulldog Track, slowly building strength at the end of their own fragile supply chain. One side was pushing uphill into jungle and ambushes; the other was flying men in, then pushing them forward over the mountains.

When the Japanese finally attacked Wau in early 1943, the outcome was decided not just on the airstrip, but along these tracks. The Bulldog Track allowed Australian reinforcements to arrive in time. The Black Cat Track, by contrast, left Japanese troops exhausted and isolated. Geography had chosen a side.

In the end, Salamaua was abandoned and Lae fell not because of a single great battle, but because the Japanese lost control of the routes that sustained their forces. The Bulldog and the Black Cat were never just tracks — they were the arteries of war, and whoever controlled them controlled the campaign.

The Battle of Bita Paka – The First Shots of the Great War in the Pacific

On 11 September 1914, the First World War came to Papua New Guinea — not with mass armies, but with a small force, dense jungle, and a wireless station hidden inland from the coast near Kabakaul, east of Rabaul.

Australian forces of the Australian Naval and Military Expeditionary Force (AN&MEF) arrived aboard several vessels, including HMAS Australia, HMAS Sydney, HMAS Encounter, and HMAS Warrego. Their mission was clear and urgent: seize and destroy the German wireless station at Bita Paka, a critical communications node linking German naval forces across the Pacific.

The landing took place near Kabakaul Bay, where Australian naval reservists and infantry pushed inland along narrow tracks cutting through thick jungle, coconut plantations, and swampy ground. What they encountered was not token resistance.

German forces — made up of European reservists, colonial police, and Melanesian soldiers of the Polizeitruppe — had prepared defensive positions along the route to the wireless station. Fighting broke out at several locations, including Old Wireles Station Track, Bita Paka village, and surrounding plantation areas. Visibility was poor, command and control were difficult, and the terrain favoured the defenders.

Among the Australians killed were Able Seaman William Charles Williams, Able Seaman Ernest Andrew Dempster, Able Seaman David Moffatt, Able Seaman Robert Bowey, Leading Seaman Albert Holmes, and Signalman John Walker — the first Australian combat fatalities of the First World War. German losses included Lieutenant Robert von Blumenthal, a key figure in organising resistance, as well as several Melanesian soldiers whose names were never formally recorded.

Despite stiff resistance, Australian forces eventually overran the wireless station, cutting German communications in the region. Within days, Rabaul fell, and German New Guinea was effectively under Australian control for the remainder of the war.

Bita Paka matters because it shattered the illusion that the Great War was a distant European affair. It proved that the Pacific — and Papua New Guinea — were strategically significant from the very first weeks of the conflict. It also exposed a harder truth: local people were drawn into an imperial war not of their making, fighting and dying on ground they had always called home.

Yet today, this battle is barely remembered. There are no major memorials, no annual commemorations, and little public awareness — even here in Papua New Guinea. For many of us, this history comes as a surprise, despite living on land where the war first touched the Pacific.

At Tactikol Unkol, we tell these stories because they matter. Bita Paka was not just Australia’s first battle of the Great War — it was Papua New Guinea’s first experience of global war, and it deserves to be remembered as such.

Samuel William John Wilson – A Forgotten Son of Papua

Until today, I never knew this story. And that, in itself, says a lot. Whilst parked outside Kina Haus I noticed the plaque on the side of the old City Pharmacy and a quick Google search revealed something I myself had never known.

Samuel William John Wilson is often described as the only Anglo-Papuan to have served during the Great War of 1914–1918. In an era when Papua and New Guinea were still distant colonial outposts of the British Empire, his decision to serve places him among a very small and largely forgotten group of men from our region who answered a call that was not meant for them.

While thousands of Australians and New Zealanders are rightly remembered for their service on the Western Front and at Gallipoli, names like Wilson’s rarely appear in mainstream histories. There are no statues, no school lessons, and very little public record acknowledging that men connected to Papua New Guinea were already stepping onto the world stage long before the Second World War came to our shores.

What strikes me most is how little known this is — not just to the wider public, but to people like myself who spend time reading, writing, and thinking about military history in Papua New Guinea. If his story can be this easily overlooked, how many others have been lost to silence?
Wilson’s service reminds us that Papua New Guinea's connection to global conflict did not begin in 1942. It began earlier, quietly, with individuals whose loyalty, courage, and sense of duty crossed oceans and empires — and then faded from memory.

At Tactikol Unkol, we believe remembering matters. Not just the famous battles and well-known units, but the individuals who stood in the shadows of history. Samuel William John Wilson deserves to be remembered — not as a footnote, but as part of our shared military heritage.

You can read more on this at;
https://www.greatwarforum.org/topic/279938-the-only-native-papuan-to-serve-the-empire-in-ww1/

Christmas, 1914 — A Quiet Moment in a Violent War

In the winter of 1914, the First World War had already taken more lives than most could comprehend. Along the Western Front, soldiers lived in cold, flooded trenches, surrounded by the dead, the wounded, and the constant expectation of violence. Home felt impossibly far away.

On Christmas Day, something rare occurred.

Along sections of the front in Belgium and northern France, British, French, and German soldiers left their trenches. Carols were sung across the darkness. For a brief moment, the guns fell silent. Men met in No Man’s Land, exchanged simple gifts, buried the dead who had lain between the lines, and in a few places shared informal games of football on ground scarred by shellfire.

The Christmas Truce of 1914 was not ordered. It was not celebrated by command. It was a quiet, human pause in a war that would show little mercy in the years that followed. Within days, the fighting resumed. By later Christmases, there would be no carols — only artillery.

What makes this moment endure is not the novelty of enemies meeting, but the reminder of what soldiers carry. Even then, men spent Christmas far from their families. They missed meals, prayers, and moments that would never return. While the world marked peace, they remained on watch.

That reality has not changed.

Today, soldiers, police, and security personnel continue to work through Christmas and other sacred occasions. They stand guard, es**rt convoys, protect communities, and hold positions so others may gather safely. Important milestones pass quietly — birthdays, anniversaries, the first words of a child — all sacrificed in service.

The Christmas Truce reminds us that beneath every uniform is a human being, bound by duty, restraint, and responsibility. It was not an end to war, but a brief acknowledgement of shared humanity in its midst.

As Christmas comes and goes, we remember those who serve away from home — then and now — standing the watch in silence.

Their sacrifice is not loud.
It is constant.

THE SALAMAUA RAID — AUSTRALIA STRIKES BACK

In June 1942, when the Japanese advance across the Pacific appeared relentless and Allied forces in New Guinea were still reeling from the loss of Rabaul and Lae, a small Australian force launched a raid that carried significance far beyond its size. This was the Salamaua Raid — one of the first deliberate Australian offensive actions of the Pacific War.

On 29 June 1942, elements of Kanga Force, drawn mainly from the 2/5th Independent Company, supported by the New Guinea Volunteer Rifles (NGVR) and assisted by Papua New Guinean police, guides, and carriers, struck Japanese positions around the coastal settlement of Salamaua. Moving silently through dense jungle and broken ground, the raiding parties attacked barracks, stores, and command areas with gr***des and small arms fire before withdrawing swiftly back into the interior.

Tactically, the raid was small and deliberately brief. Strategically, it mattered because of where Salamaua sat on the map.

Salamaua lay directly opposite Lae, one of Japan’s most important forward bases in New Guinea. Together, Salamaua and Lae anchored Japanese control of the Huon Gulf and threatened the Allied lifeline between Australia and Port Moresby. From this position, Japanese forces could project power inland toward Wau and Bulolo, potentially cutting off the highlands and opening routes toward the Markham Valley and beyond. Holding Salamaua also allowed Japan to shield Lae from overland attack and secure its coastal supply lines.

By striking Salamaua, Kanga Force forced the Japanese to confront a problem they had not anticipated: the interior was not empty. The raid compelled Japanese commanders to reinforce and defend Salamaua and Lae against further inland attacks, tying down troops and resources that might otherwise have been used offensively. It also helped convince the Japanese that Wau and the Bulolo Valley posed a threat to their rear — a miscalculation that would later draw them into costly operations along the Black Cat Track.

The raid carried an equally important psychological effect. At a time when Allied forces were largely on the defensive, Salamaua demonstrated that the Japanese could be surprised, penetrated, and attacked in territory they believed secure. For Australian troops and commanders alike, it was proof that small, jungle-trained units could take the fight to the enemy under the most unfavourable conditions.

The operation also validated the use of independent companies and local intelligence networks in New Guinea. The success of the raid rested not only on Australian soldiers, but on the indispensable support of Papua New Guinean carriers and guides, whose knowledge of the land enabled the force to move undetected and withdraw intact. This model of warfare — light, mobile, intelligence-driven — would shape Australian jungle operations throughout the campaign.

In purely military terms, the Salamaua Raid did not seize territory. But it achieved something just as important. It fixed Japanese attention on the Huon Gulf, disrupted their sense of security, and bought precious time while Australia rebuilt its strength in New Guinea. In the long war that followed, larger battles would eclipse Salamaua in scale and firepower, but few carried such importance at such a critical moment.

In the winter of 1942, Salamaua stood as a signal — that New Guinea was not lost, and that the fight for it had only just begun.

Christmas Message | Tactikol Unkol

Christmas is meant to be a time of togetherness — shared meals, laughter, church services, and moments that become lifelong memories. Yet for many of our soldiers, sailors, and airmen and women, this festive season is spent far from home.

While families gather, these men and women in uniform are missing Christmas mornings, children’s first presents, family prayers, and the simple comfort of being surrounded by loved ones. They stand watch at our borders, patrol our seas and skies, and carry out security operations across the country — choosing duty over personal celebration.

This is a sacrifice few truly understand. Special occasions cannot be postponed. Time missed can never be recovered. And yet, they continue to serve with quiet professionalism, accepting absence from family so the nation can remain safe and secure.

We also acknowledge the families who wait at home — carrying the burden of absence, holding Christmas together, and supporting their loved ones from afar.

From all of us at Tactikol Unkol, we extend our deepest respect and gratitude. Your sacrifice, especially during moments that matter most, is not forgotten.

Merry Christmas. Stay safe. We honour your service.

KANGA FORCE — HOLDING THE LINE WHEN THERE WAS NO LINE

In the dark months of 1942, when the fall of Rabaul and the rapid Japanese advance had shattered Allied confidence in New Guinea, Australia’s defence rested not on divisions or corps, but on a small, improvised force operating deep in the Morobe hinterland. This force was known as Kanga Force.

Formed in April 1942, Kanga Force was never intended to be permanent. It was an ad hoc formation created out of necessity, drawing together elements of the 2/5th Independent Company, a platoon from the 1st Independent Company, and the locally raised New Guinea Volunteer Rifles (NGVR). Commanded by Major Norman Fleay, its task was simple in wording but daunting in reality: observe the Japanese, gather intelligence, conduct raids where possible, and deny the enemy freedom of movement around Wau, Bulolo, Salamaua, and the tracks leading inland from Lae.

Operating from Wau — little more than a vulnerable airstrip carved into the mountains — Kanga Force became the only Allied presence in a vast area of jungle and broken terrain. Their patrols pushed along razor-back ridges, through river valleys, and across tracks barely visible on a map. They were lightly equipped, often short of supplies, and usually operating far beyond immediate support. What they lacked in numbers, they made up for in mobility, local knowledge, and initiative.

Kanga Force’s actions were characterised by reconnaissance and small-scale offensive raids, most notably the June 1942 raid on Salamaua, one of the first Australian offensive actions against Japanese forces after the shock of early defeats. While tactically limited, these actions forced the Japanese to divert troops and remain cautious about the interior — a psychological and operational effect far greater than the size of the force itself.

Crucial to Kanga Force’s effectiveness was its reliance on Papua New Guinean police, carriers, and guides, who moved with patrols through country few Australians could navigate alone. Their bushcraft, endurance, and knowledge of the land were indispensable, and their contribution underpinned nearly every successful operation conducted by the force.

By late 1942 and early 1943, as larger Australian formations began to arrive in New Guinea, Kanga Force’s role diminished. Its elements were absorbed into the expanding Allied order of battle, and the force itself quietly disappeared from the order of battle. It did not receive battle honours under its own name — a reminder of its temporary nature — but its influence was undeniable.

Kanga Force bought time when time was desperately needed. In the months when New Guinea stood exposed and vulnerable, it denied the Japanese uncontested access to the interior, provided vital intelligence to higher command, and demonstrated that the enemy could be challenged even in the aftermath of defeat.

Its legacy lives on not in banners or honours, but in the knowledge that when Australia had little else to rely on, a small force of independent soldiers, volunteers, and local allies held the ground and refused to let it go.

THE NEW GUINEA VOLUNTEER RIFLES — NEW GUINEA’S FIRST DEFENCE LINE

Long before the great battles of Kokoda, Buna, and Salamaua took centre stage, a much smaller and often forgotten force was already carrying the weight of New Guinea’s defence. They were the New Guinea Volunteer Rifles (NGVR) — a militia raised in 1939 from the European residents of the Territory of New Guinea. Planters, miners, patrol officers, mechanics, traders — men who had lived for years among the mountains, rivers, and dense jungles of the Morobe and Sepik districts. When war came, their deep knowledge of the land suddenly became a strategic asset.

When the Pacific erupted in 1942, the NGVR found itself pushed to the front far earlier than anyone expected. Their detachments at Rabaul, Lae, Wau, Bulolo, Salamaua, and Madang were among the very first Allied troops in contact with the Japanese advance. With no promise of reinforcement and often cut off from higher command, NGVR patrols slipped through jungle tracks and river valleys to scout enemy movements, warn villages, evacuate civilians, and guide scattered Australian forces to safety.

It was in the Wau–Bulolo region that the NGVR carved their legacy. As the Japanese pushed inland, NGVR patrols tracked their movements along the Black Cat Track and across the rugged ridgelines of Morobe. Their intelligence bought crucial time — time that allowed reinforcements to land on the Wau airstrip under fire in early 1943, securing a victory that shaped the momentum of the New Guinea campaign. These weren’t large battles, but the consequences of their small patrol actions were far-reaching.

Though the NGVR was officially a European militia, they never operated alone. Papua New Guinean police, carriers, guides, and scouts moved with them — men whose mastery of the terrain and bushcraft often made the difference between survival and disappearance. Their presence wasn’t an official enlistment, but their contribution to NGVR operations was unmistakable and indispensable.

For their service, the NGVR carries the battle honours Rabaul, Wau, and South-West Pacific 1942–1943, their colours now laid to rest in the Australian War Memorial — a quiet acknowledgment of a small unit that held the line when New Guinea was at its most vulnerable.

In the story of the Pacific War, the NGVR stands as a reminder that sometimes the fate of a campaign begins with small groups of men who simply know their land and refuse to abandon it. Before the divisions arrived, before the wider Australian Army built momentum, the NGVR was already out there — watching, reporting, fighting, and holding fast in the thickest jungles of New Guinea.

The Coastwatchers – The Silent Eyes of the Pacific War

Hidden deep in the jungles and along the coastlines of Papua New Guinea operated one of the most effective intelligence networks of the Second World War—the Allied Coastwatchers.

Comprising Australian officers, planters, missionaries, and trusted Papua New Guinean scouts, the Coastwatchers lived in total isolation behind enemy lines. Armed with little more than a rifle, a radio, and local knowledge, they observed Japanese ship and aircraft movements and passed warnings directly to Allied commanders.

Their intelligence saved lives. Early warnings from Coastwatchers allowed Allied aircraft to intercept Japanese formations, including advance notice of air raids moving toward Port Moresby and Allied bases across the South West Pacific. Japanese forces placed bounties on their heads, knowing how dangerous these men were.

Crucially, the Coastwatchers did not operate alone. Papua New Guinean scouts, carriers, and guides were essential—maintaining supply lines, protecting radio sites, and moving wounded personnel through jungle and mountain terrain while evading enemy patrols.

Many were never recognised. Some were captured and executed. Others vanished into the jungle, their work known only to a few radio operators and headquarters staff.

They did not fight in battles—but battles were won because they were there.

🇵🇬 Sergeant Katue – A Frontline Leader of the Papuan Infantry Battalion

Today, Tactikol Unkol honours Sergeant Katue, one of the early battlefield leaders of the Papuan Infantry Battalion (PIB) whose wartime service helped shape the fighting reputation of Papua New Guinea’s first indigenous combat unit during World War II.

Raised in 1940, the PIB was initially viewed as a reconnaissance and labour support force. That perception changed rapidly in 1942 when Japanese forces landed on the Papuan coast. From that moment, PIB soldiers were no longer just scouts — they became frontline jungle fighters, operating ahead of Allied units in some of the most dangerous terrain of the Pacific War.

As a section commander and later senior NCO, Sergeant Katue led patrols deep into contested jungle areas where Japanese troops were advancing toward Port Moresby. These patrols involved:
1. Silent jungle movement over long distances
2. Enemy tracking and trail ambushes
3. Night infiltration and observation posts
4. Guide and es**rt missions for Australian units
5. Rear-area security and counter-infiltration tasks

Unlike conventional battles, the fighting faced by Katue and his men was close, sudden, and brutal — often at distances of a few metres. Engagements typically erupted from ambushes along narrow jungle tracks, river crossings, and ridge lines. Patrols could be moving for days with minimal rations, soaked by rain, and under constant threat of enemy contact.

During the early stages of the Kokoda and Papuan campaigns, PIB patrols were frequently the first Allied troops to make contact with Japanese patrols, providing early warning of enemy movement and preventing surprise breakthroughs toward Port Moresby. Many of these encounters never appeared as named battles in war diaries — yet they were tactically critical.

As a sergeant, Katue’s role was not only to fight, but to:
1. Maintain discipline under constant pressure
2. Keep frightened young soldiers moving forward
3. Recover wounded men under threat of enemy fire
4. Ensure patrols returned with intelligence rather than casualties

The Japanese later referred to PIB soldiers as the “Green Shadows” — a name earned through relentless patrol warfare, where small groups struck quickly and vanished into the jungle without leaving clear trails.

One of the soldiers trained and later influenced by Sergeant Katue was Benjamin “Ben” Moide, who would go on to become one of PNG’s most recognised WWII veterans. This direct link between trainer and warrior reflects Katue’s lasting impact on the battlefield generation that followed him.

Like many PIB NCOs, Sergeant Katue received little formal recognition in Allied records despite carrying immense responsibility in the field. But among the soldiers he led, his reputation endured — as a hard leader, skilled bush fighter, and steady presence under fire.

Through men like Sergeant Katue, the foundations were laid for the professional jungle warfare culture that still defines the Papua New Guinea Defence Force today.

Lest we forget.

The Blue Eyed Sepik Man - Warrant Officer Class 1 Paul Yauwiga

Warrant Officer Class 1 Paul Yauwiga, from Kubalia in East Sepik Province, is recognised as one of Papua New Guinea’s most notable indigenous veterans of the Second World War. Serving with the Allied Intelligence Bureau (AIB) and the Coastwatchers under the Australian Army’s M Special Unit, he played an important role in several key Allied operations across Papua New Guinea.

Throughout the Bougainville campaign, Yauwiga guided US Marines through dense jungle terrain, gathered intelligence on Japanese movements, and took part in reconnaissance and rescue missions that proved vital to Allied success. His reliability and deep knowledge of the land earned him the respect of both Australian and American commanders.

In 1944, he was sent to Queensland, Australia, where he instructed Australian troops in jungle-survival skills — a rare responsibility at that time for a Papua New Guinean and a testament to his expertise.

His service carried significant personal sacrifice. In June 1945, a phosphorus gr***de accident resulted in the loss of his left hand and serious injury to his eyes. He was evacuated to Brisbane for treatment, where a cornea transplant restored vision in one eye. For his courage and contribution, he was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM) in 1947 — one of the highest awards for gallantry available to non-commissioned personnel in the Commonwealth forces.

After returning to East Sepik, Yauwiga remained active in community development. He played a major role in establishing Kreer Community School near Wewak, contributing to education and rebuilding efforts after the war.

Today, Yauwiga’s legacy continues to be recognised. In August, the Yangoru-Saussia District Development Authority and the 2nd Battalion, Royal Pacific Islands Regiment began work on a dedicated memorial and tomb at his home in Marinumbo, with additional plans for a health centre to be named in his honour. Thanks to the Field Engineers of 2RPIR, the tomb has been completed. This project ensures that future generations understand the scale of his service and sacrifice.

Although he passed away in 1982, Yauwiga’s wife Anna is still alive — a living link to one of the most important Papua New Guinean stories of the War.

Warrant Officer Class 1 Paul Yauwiga’s life stands as a testament to the essential role Papua New Guineans played during World War II — not just as carriers or guides, but as skilled operatives, leaders, and brave contributors to the Allied victory.

Lest we forget.



(Thanks also to members of 2RPIR for supplying the photos used in this post)

🇵🇬⚔️ The Kangu Beach Massacre

Along the far reaches of Bougainville’s Buin District, the quiet sands of Kangu Beach stretch out toward the Solomon Sea. Before the conflict, this remote corner of the island lived at its own steady rhythm—fishing canoes on the water, children running between coconut trees, and families who had called the coast home for generations. Kangu was peaceful, distant, almost forgotten by the outside world.

But by the mid-1990s, Kangu Beach had become a frontline. What had once been a simple coastal outpost was transformed into a PNG Defence Force forward operating camp, positioned to maintain government presence in the volatile south. It was isolated, lightly supplied, and vulnerable—its soldiers cut off from strong logistical support, relying on local arrangements and their own discipline to hold the line.

On 7 September 1996, that isolation proved fatal, fighters from the Bougainville Revolutionary Army (BRA) launched a sudden, coordinated attack on the camp. The assault was fierce and overwhelming. Within moments, the PNGDF perimeter collapsed. Outnumbered and caught off-guard, the defenders were overrun. When the fighting ended, twelve PNGDF soldiers lay dead. Five others were taken prisoner, dragged into the interior where they would be held hostage in the tense weeks that followed.

Some retrospective accounts, drawn from conflict investigators and interviews conducted after the crisis, suggest that discipline at the camp had been deteriorating in the days leading up to the attack. According to these sources, a number of soldiers may have been drinking, playing volleyball, or resting, unaware that a BRA force was moving toward them. While these details remain contested, they reflect the broader reality of the conflict—where remote outposts were often left unsupported, stretched thin, and exposed to both operational pressures and human weaknesses.

The massacre sent shockwaves through PNG.

For the PNGDF, Kangu Beach became a sobering symbol of the dangers faced by troops deployed into isolated and under-resourced positions. For many families across the country, it marked a personal tragedy—sons and brothers who never returned home. For Bougainville, it signalled yet another escalation in a conflict already defined by grief, mistrust, and deepening division.

Nearly three decades later, the name Kangu Beach still carries weight within PNG’s military community. It stands as a reminder of sacrifice, of the harsh lessons of counter-insurgency warfare, and of the human cost borne by those who serve far from home under the most unforgiving conditions.

At Tactikol Unkol, we honour the men who stood their ground on that remote shoreline. Their story remains part of our national memory, etched into the history of PNG’s longest and most painful conflict.

Lest we forget.