by Don DeNevi
With Rupertus and Shepherd in the back seat at the windows, and Peter in-between them, with Sims on the passenger side of the front seat, the lead car pulled away on the road of crushed coral and slowly headed down the straight road to the landing stip. Six Marine motorcyclists with machine guns perched on their backs assume position on each side of the staff cars. All six drivers impressed Peter with their handling of their respective bikes, as their speed increased, and a good deal of ground was covered. As they assumed the point positions, they began to skid and bounce as Peter searched the roadside for anyone who could pose a threat to the guest and his entourage.
As the welcoming convoy proceeded slowly along the slender, and high-backed roughhewn, prickly roadway, several jeeps conveying six Marines, each bearing Browning Automatic Rifles, intercepted and replaced the motorcycle escort, which immediately fell behind the retinue. Although squeezed and smashed, the crushed coral from the tropical sea showed the wear and tear of small tank treads and the wheel marks of countless heavy army trucks, gun carriages, and jeeps.
Along the way, all side traffic was halted, congesting much of the normal vehicular movements on Pavuvu, all the way back to the pontoon bridge. They drove past several ration dumps, collapsible water tanks, and Marines manning heavy-duty machine guns that had been set up that morning all along the route. Marines either waved or saluted the Commander’s staff car.
Rupertus asked, a twinkle in his eye, “Remember how all our roads used to bog down in the mud and the common name for Pavavu was ‘mud hole’? All the men of the 1st blamed me for it.”
“Heck,” interjected Shepherd, “They blamed you for all the bad things about this stink hole. Now, after only a few months, the men are eulogizing you for all the improvements you’ve made, regularly rationed beer rations being one, along with a solid recreation program with ample bats and balls, boxing gloves, volleyballs, basketballs, horseshoes, badminton, among all the card games.”
“The lighted screened mess halls you had installed when we got here in February and March meant an enormous amount. Now, they serve the men for letter-writing and playing cards.”
“Well,” responded Rupertus, “much of that came from Melbourne, Honolulu, and San Diego, including having the USO and other stateside organizations collect current magazines from families that were through with them for distribution, not only on Guadalcanal and the Russells, but all over the Pacific. Headquarters has seen to it that every area has a shower and a laundry. Thank God, a Division order finally came down authorizing quartermasters to cut off khaki trousers above the knees for daytime shorts the men have been clamoring for. They were right: the Japs were better at issuing tropical clothing than we were.”
“Not to change the subject, General, but what can you tell us about Bob Hope?” asked the Chief of Staff.
“Well, let’s first of all hope they all come in safe and sound, and not crash into the post at the end of the runway,” responded the Major General.
“Well, the part of the strip we’re having them land on,” added Shepherd, “is where we evacuate our seriously wounded by plane. It’s also the smoothest part of the road-runway our observation planes land and take off from. So, the Piper Cubs have the best area to land in the Russells. It’s no longer a little, ole lonesome strip uncared for.”
Commander Rupertus added,
“Supposedly, Ernie Pyle may be with the Hope entertainers. After the invasion of Normandy in June, his people reassigned him from Europe to out here. So, gentlemen, on our watch, for a little more than 10 hours, we have one of the most popular comedians in the world on our hands, and certainly one of the most important war reporters in America. Suppose for a moment we lost them both on Pavuvu to the Ghoul, while we were in charge of their lives... “
After a long minute of silence, while everyone was in deep personal thought, and within sight of their airstrip parking lot destination, Peter asked,
“Isn’t the new Seabee-built Red Cross building beautiful? It’s the best looking structure in the whole Pacific world.”
“Yes, it is,” answered Rupertus. “But some of us feel it’s more of a tribute to our Red Cross girls, to our 1st Division Command, and to our troops themselves.”
Shepherd chimed in,
“You see, Peter, there was never a problem with the girls on Pavuvu as there were on Banika. Here, at the old plantation house, the Red Cross girls lived. There were only six of them, with 16,000 Marines who hadn’t seen a woman for a year since the Division left Melbourne. There was not a single, tension, disrespect, or sexual insult exhibited. Of course, our M.P.’s still patrolled the plantation facility right up until the girls moved into the new nurses’ facility a month ago. On Banika, the M.P.’s had to employ war dogs and high barbed-wire fences which were inundated by high pole floodlights.”
Sims added,
“Our boys haven’t shunned that new Red Cross building, or blackballed or ostracized it. However the men feel that going there shows a certain weakness in them. To show their open prejudice, they mock the regular visitors by calling them ‘Red Cross Commanders’. The six Red Cross woman themselves remind us that Marines are brought up the hard way, not to expect any favors such as ‘Red Cross’.”
“Well,” Commander Rupertus smiled and said, “I love those two nice buildings although my boys are not ‘taking’ to them. But the troops are in high combat morale, ready for the next campaign coming in a few weeks. Along with a lot of spit-and-polish, and healthy, fulfilling activities rather than gathering up rotted coconut . . . Oh we’re turning into the airstrip’s parking lot. Soon, the first Piper Cub should be landing. Let’s get out and stretch our legs. Once the landings have taken place, we’ll walk over and welcome them all. I hope Ernie Pyle is with them.”
Of course, Peter had been on the landing strip innumerable times, rarely acknowledging the area. Now, he looked around in earnest. There were no taxi ways, no buildings, only an open control tower with a thatched roof adjacent a coral strip 7,000 feet long running east to west on a narrow tongue of land. Almost from water’s edge to water’s edge, there were no squadrons of heavy Corsairs, no refueling facilities, no huts of mess halls and sleeping quarters, only a long white landing strip from a roadway. The only movements that were discernible were three men, an assistant operations officer, a control functionary, and an observer leaning over the tower railings talking to the medical emergency rescue force of physicians, nurses, and corpsmen waiting around three ambulances and two fire trucks. Half a dozen yards on a strip of shade along the perimeter of tall palms was a flatbed truck with a dozen or more Marine musicians tuning up or playing their musical instruments. Known as the USMC Pavuvu “Hashbangers”, the potpourri of trumpeters, violinists, banjo players, and varying other brass, string, and drum players were rehearsing “God Bless America.”
“Tropical heat running into solid fronts with clouds this time of year tends to ground all planes extending from 3,000 feet to 10,000 feet,” said Sims. “Even Piper Cubs. Hope nothing goes awry.”
“It could,” interjected Shepherd. “Small observation planes like the Pipers always have a greater chance of hydraulic problems and their thin fragile tails and wheels falling off.”
“That’s a very prejudicial comment about an Army-designed airplane,” grinned Shepherd.
After a pause, Rupertus, still cheerful, added,
“Well, at least our beautiful coral air field isn’t muddy . . . Praise God for that!”
Then, at precisely 1400, two P-38 Lightnings roared overhead so fast no one saw them until a second later as they twisted in broad turns. Two VMO-251 Corsairs followed within a moment, tipping their wings to the welcoming committee below waiting in the parking lot.
As Peter looked skyward for the “Lightnings,” Rupertus chucked,
“Wish the Corps gave me such escorts as that.”
Then, the faint, muffled sounds of light-engine aircraft could be heard approaching and suddenly, six tiny dots could be seen app
roaching from the southeast, the P38s and Corsairs continually circling the evenly spaced Piper Cubs.
“Wow!” exclaimed Peter, bringing smiles from the three command officers.
Now, every eye of everyone on the parking lot and in the observation tower were on the sky not only on the six light planes in a row, but also throughout the sky’s panorama. It was always possible that Japanese aircraft could be lurking at low levels from the other seas.
“They are here, safe and sound. Now, let’s hope, no pun intended, that they land without any mishaps. The winds have calmed, nothing is in their way to cause an accident, yet... “ Rupertus worried quietly.
After maintaining their cruise speed and significantly reducing airspeed, thereby coping with the high turbulence in the light aircraft over Northwestern Pavuvu, the first Piper Club slowly and smoothly approached the long touchdown.
“I’m so thankful the Seabees added the Martson steel matting atop the crushed coral last month. The lessons of constant crackups, flip-flops and turnovers at Henderson Field on Guadalcanal last year and this taught us matting saves pilot and passenger lives.”
“Plus, we know”, added slightly anxious assistant commander Shepherd, “From our months of using this little strip which is nothing more than an elongated taxiway requires more than just guts and hope to putting that tinker-toy Cub into this pea-patch. It takes an imperturbable art of flying.”
“Well,” added Sims, “Henderson became an important air base for the region. The original fighter strip was improved and expanded into a larger bomber strip with hard stands and taxiways. We have plans in the works to turn our little observation plane strip into a much-needed fighter runway.”
As Peter and the Command staff observed touchdown after touchdown of all six of the light aircraft, the lead Piper Cub taxied to the far end of the runway and turned abruptly into the end of the parking lot. The passenger sitting next to the pilot clasped his hands and waved them over his head. Then, he started clapping.
Taxing to the leveled and surfaced area in the corner of one of Pavuvu’s coconut plantations that had been cut down earlier in 1944 to serve as a storage lot for 100 LVT-1 (Landing Vehicle Tracked) amtracs of the 1st and 2nd Amphibian Tractor Battalions, the area was guarded 24 hours a day as the popularly known “Alligators” were being serviced and prepared for the Peleliu assault. Thick jungles virtually surrounding the lot helped camouflage and conceal the precious water-land vehicles.
“Yes, sir,” smiled Rupertus, “very tidy landings, very doctrinaire flying, very text bookish. Those cute little Cubbies are something to behold in action.”
“Yup. The pilots, the best the Corps has in this part of the Pacific, flew the Cubs from Henderson to Banika this morning, then around 1330, picked up the six member entourage and flew them here, one passenger per Piper. Those pilots know how to handle them, how to track and fly them in current wind, true ground speed and time to this very point from dead reckoning to true, experienced, veteran pilotage. Not once did they stray or have their engines stall.”
After climbing back into their respective staff cars, trucks and motorcycles, the reception party drove over to the first Piper Cub to land that was quietly parked waiting for the other five to taxi over and line up next to it.
“Here, the planes are the most vulnerable. We have security around the lot, but is it enough? Supposed a group of superior Jap officers and troops waded ashore and hid out in the jungle for reconnaissance to verify where our lines are in preparation for an attack, a concentrated attack, on Mr. Hope and his people. Or, a strafing and bombing mission just about now by ‘Zeros’, the AGM2 Kokutais, single-engine fighters, flying out of the main field on Rebual, or the one at Buin on Bougainville. Just two or three of those Zeros could turn this field, and Pavuvu, into a wild melee. And, trust me, the Japs would love to diffuse, better yet, quash the Hope phenomenon.”
Within moments, headquarters staff cars, army truck flatbeds laded with heavy antiaircraft guns and machine-gun carrying Marines, and jeeps converged on the lead Piper Cub. As the commander’s car sped the several hundred yards toward the first plane that had lined up to be the first in a row for later departure. The single engine still idling, the pilot had quickly emerged from the Cub to place a four-step stool at the passenger side of the plane to assist the passenger in stepping down.
Pulling up within half a dozen yards of the passenger side of the Piper Cub, the driver hadn’t turned off the car’s engine before Rupertus opened the car door to his back seat and literally bounded forth to greet the arriving guest.
“Well, would you look at him?” an astonished Shepherd asked softly. “The old man can still scamper pretty well.”
“And, for a few hours, not preoccupied about the seven dead in the Pavuvu refrigerator morgue, and then son-of-a-_____ who’ll probably kill a few more of our boys before we catch up to him,” said Sims somberly.
At that point, actor Bob Hope climbed out of the cockpit, giggling standing atop the ramp with arms spread wide apart, he began singing loudly, “Oh, happy days are here again.”
“Yup,” responded Sims, “it’s Hope all right, shorter than I remember him in all the movies I’ve watched him in. The skid nose sure stands out. It actually complements the slope of his chin.”
Peter, who said nothing other than chuckle at the comments of the highest officers in the 1st Division command, was riveted by what he observed. Watching Rupertus rush the plane, and hearing his commander ask enthusiastically, his eyes wide and bright,
“Mr. Bob Hope?”
The passenger, pulling his travel bag out of the cockpit, turned, smiled at the general, and answered,
“No, I’m Bing Crosby. Hope is back in Hollywood rehearsing his acceptance speech before a mirror for the Oscar he’s certain to get next spring.”
Everyone within hearing laughed uproariously.
“Mr. Crosby,” responded Rupertus, “we’re happy to have either one of you, you or Mr. Hope, out here in nowhere sea and sky. Welcome, on behalf of all 16,000 Marines of my 1st Division troops. Every single one of us grew up loving both of you.”
“Well,” responded Hope, “in case we’re too tired to return to Banika, tell me you have clean and fresh bed sheets on the cots. No more bed sheets sewn out of discarded tent canvas. Promise me, unlike that island next door, that you don’t have lizards, scorpions, and rats copulating with the land crabs. And, more important than sleeping in dazzling white linen, and watching oversexed creepy-crawlies, dance toward each other, tell me you don’t have any Jap snipers hanging around in your treetops.”
Just then, the flatbed Army truck transporting the 1st Division’s makeshift band of volunteer musicians pulled up. More than a dozen musicians leaped off carrying their horns and stringed instruments in hand and quickly assembled a few yards from Rupertus and Hope. A crude, primitive PA system was set up, and as the general and comedian turned to observe the group, the band began performing the “Star Spangled Banner”, immediately followed by “God Bless America.”
With everyone standing at attention, Hope held his right hand over his heart. With Rupertus, and his two assistant commanders, including Peter, following suit, hands over their hearts, everyone spontaneously began singing “God Bless America.” Even before the refrains were concluded, Peter swore later, confirmed by Shepherd and Sims, Hope was observed wiping a tear from his eye while Rupertus, eyes to the ground, wept unashamedly. Patrols and sentries throughout that third of Pavuvu Island reported the sounds of the band and singing of those participating.
When it was over, one of the Marines in the band handed his stringed instrument, a violin, to the fellow musician and lifted a short, portable flagstaff on a tripod from the flatbed and raised the “Stars and Stripes” to thump and flap over the scene.
Then, after a moment of silence, everyone turned back to the comedian and his five performers, and the six pilots who successfully flew them in.
For Peter, the moment was so overwhelming,
filled with emotion he wanted to cry. All of it, of course, was due to patriotism. But it was more than that. It was the sight of each of his murdered Marines he had to examine. How could a Marine kill a fellow Marine? The moment was so poignant, he could feel his face flush red.
As the P-38, “Lightenings, and Corsairs flew back across the parking lot for the final time that morning, the pilots, in unison, waggled their wings. Hope, his hand now on Rupertus’ shoulder smiled and shouted,
“Go lick the Japs, boy, so we can go home, damn it! Otherwise, we’ll be fighting them in Seattle, San Francisco, and L.A.”
So many thoughts, so much excitement, so varied the images, and all at once, commingling with musings over Joan incarcerated in an internment camp, and brooding about the Ghoul, anger, nay, a fierce hatred for not only the multiple murderer, but also that the Pacific War might last another year, possibly two, Peter knew he had considerable thinking to do sort it all out.
With that, Rupertus turned to Hope who said, in all smiles,
“General, and all you nice officers, musicians, rifleman, and pilots who risked your lives flying us in, I want you to meet, face-to-face, the Hope Gypsies, whose eyes, like yours and the others of the 1st, are turned defiantly toward Japan.”
Somewhat awed, everyone turned to look upon the five “Gypsies” who had lined up before them.
“First,” continued Hope, “meet ‘Mother’ Frances Lanford, our dancer. She’s the oldest of the Gypsies at 31 and, also a darn good singer.”
As she stepped forward, smiled, and waved, Hope continued, “You all know that FDR, in 1941, created the USO, the United Services Organizations, to raise your morale, and to keep your morale, among another thing, high. Well, I could make a naughty funny that the girls there, ‘Mother’ and Patty, are delighted to do so, but I won’t.”
This triggered an amount of titillating giggles, causing Rupertus to blush red and Hope and Jerry Colonna to grin from ear-to-ear.
