The 164th Regiment Series Boxset

by Chris Glatte

  Lieutenant Swan got his color back and said, “Get your men settled then brief me in the bunker in ten minutes.”

  Carver said, “Yessir.” He was exhausted, and wanted to lay down and sleep, but the lieutenant wouldn’t wait. He splashed some water on his face, opened a can of spaghetti from a K-rat, and got a few spoonfuls before it was time to debrief.

  Swan was waiting for him inside the dim bunker. It was evening, the sun still a few hours from setting. It was sweltering inside. He wondered how Swan could stand staying in here all the time. There was a radio in the corner manned by a sweating corporal who looked ready to pass out.

  “Ah, Sergeant Carver, come in.” Carver was already inside, and took off his helmet. “Have a seat, and tell me what you found.”

  Instead of sitting, he went to the map on the table. “I’ll retrace our steps for you, sir.” He put his dirty index finger on Hill 260 then found the spot they started. “We left here and went due south for about an eighth of a mile then veered east. When we’d thought we’d gone far enough to line up with the pass we turned north…” he went through the day, describing the mud, the terrain, anything he thought important.

  He compared his map with the rocky bivouac site, and found it on the lieutenant’s map. He told him of the night, and the morning attack. “They found our tracks. A blind man could’ve found us. The mud’s no good.” He relayed the battle, then their run back. He marked the areas they found sign of the enemy, and told him of the booby-trapped camp. He circled an approximation on the map.

  “The long and the short of it, there’s Japs all over the area. I don’t know where they’re coming from, but it’s too dangerous to have patrols out there. We were lucky to get back, sir.”

  Lieutenant Swan nodded, then slammed his hand down on the map, “Dammit!” He shook his head. “I know there’s a road out there, and if we could find it we could seal it off and…” he didn’t finish.

  Carver wondered, “And what, sir?”

  “And hit them before they hit us. We’re hanging in the wind out here. Our main lines are behind us. We’re exposed out here, and the only way to keep from being overrun, is stopping an attack before it happens.” He pointed out the bunker slits at the vast green carpet of jungle. “They’re out there, and all we can do is sit here and wait to get hit. Wait for more men to die.”

  The radio man looked up at Swan then quickly made himself look busy when he caught Sergeant Carver’s scowl.

  He pulled Lt. Swan away a few feet. “You want some advice, sir?” he didn’t wait for a response, “This is war, and in war, men die. That’s an unavoidable fact. Men die. Your men will die. Men you’ve trained with for months, men you like, men you respect. It’s gonna happen again and again, and the only way to deal with it is to accept it. If you try to save everyone, you’ll only get more men killed.”

  Lieutenant Swan looked up at him sharply, and Carver held up his hands. “I’m not saying sending us out to find the enemy road’s a bad idea. In fact, the more I think about it the more I agree with you, but even if we find it, and bomb the hell out them, we’re still gonna lose men.

  “I’ve fought the Japs; they don’t stop until they’re dead, and even then they can be deadly with their goddamned booby-traps.” Lieutenant Swan looked at his boots. Carver put his hand on his shoulder. “You’re doing good, sir, but don’t start over thinking shit.”

  Swan moved to his makeshift desk and sat down. He put his head in his hands and said, “I want to find that road, Sergeant. How we gonna get a patrol past all those Japs? You have anything in mind?”

  Sergeant Carver smiled. “I’ve been thinking about that, and I think I have a solution that just might work.”

  42

  Purata Island sat off the coast of Empress Augustus Bay beachhead like a tiny pimple. It was mainly used as a holding area for supplies and equipment for the Army Divisions protecting the airfields, but it was also home to the Navy’s venerable PT boats. Eight of the seventy-seven foot, low profile vessels lay at anchor on the southwestern side of the small island.

  Commander Hawkins was the officer in charge of them. He sat hunched over a map of Bougainville Island. Beads of sweat dripped off his nose, and pooled on the map. He was shirtless, as were all the men around him. He slammed his fist down, and in a gruff Texas twang said, “These damned maps are next to useless. We were just here last night,” he punched a spot on the coast to the north of Purata Island, “But this map shows nothing about the bay we found.” He took out his pencil, and drew the small bay he’d discovered. “Guess I’m a damned cartographer now, eh Smitty?” he slugged the man to his right Bosun’s Mate, Smith.

  Smitty grinned, and rubbed his hands together like he was looking at a freshly baked pie. “Yes, sir. That bay’s a perfect spot to lay up and watch for Jap cruisers. We could dart out, hit ‘em with the mark 13s and scurry back before they knew what happened.”

  Commander Hawkins leaned back and stared at him with a sneer. “We haven’t seen a Jap heavy for weeks. We’re barge hunters now. You know that Smitty.”

  Bosun’s Mate Smith looked down, and nodded. “I know. I long for the old days though. Remember the Canal, sir? Darting out to a real target, a cruiser or frigate, putting fish in the water, and watching ‘em run true. Damn, I miss that.”

  “You’ve forgotten more than you remember, Smitty. Half the time those damned torpedos failed to detonate, or ran in circles chasing us out there.”

  Smitty took the few steps to the dock, and put his arm around a Mark 13 torpedo. “Now we’ve got these new fish. That won’t happen anymore. They’re as reliable as the sun.”

  Commander Hawkins guffawed. “Not quite, but damned better than the Mark 8s, that’s for sure. Only problem is, we got no more targets for ‘em”

  Smith lit up, “We should shoot one at the next barge we come across.” He gazed longingly at the torpedo under his arm. “Oh my, I’d sure love to see that.” He lifted his hands, and made a mock explosion sound.

  Commander Hawkins grinned, imagining it. “That would be a sight to see, but getting close enough would be a formidable task. That’s what we have those for.” He gestured at the big 40mm gun on the back, the mounted twin fifty calibers on both sides, and the 20mm gun on the front. “Those babies do plenty damage, and we don’t need to get too close to the little bastards.”

  The welcome addition of the heavy deck guns was made possible by switching out the large Mark 8 torpedos with the smaller and lighter Mark 13s. The firing tubes of the Mark 8s were also switched out for the lighter launching racks, simple devices that dumped the torpedos over the side where they’re engines would kick on, and swim them to target. The mark 13s were smaller, but packed a bigger punch than the mark 8s. Their only drawback was their shorter range.

  Over the past month their mission had changed, forcing them into the different gun configuration. No longer were they hunting the big capital ships of the Imperial Japanese Navy. Indeed, none had been spotted in these waters for weeks. Now their primary objectives were finding and sinking the large force of Japanese barges used to transport men and material to the increasingly cut-off forces on Bougainville.

  At first, they thought the barges were anomalies, something they’d stumbled upon accidentally, but soon they were finding them night after night. Increasingly, they’d become more deadly as the Japanese mounted machine guns, and even mortar tubes.

  “Gather the men, Smitty. We’re going out tonight, and G2 seems to think we’re gonna find some barges.”

  In minutes the open sided thatch hut attached to the dock was clustered with forty men. Most were shirtless, squinting in the midday sun. Some had been sleeping from last night’s mission. Four of the boats had gone out just after dark. Standard operating procedure was to stick together loosely. Typically they’d be within a half mile of one another, checking in every half hour by radio.

  Each boat had three, 12-cylinder Packard engines. They’d proved reliable but in combat conditions
, they weren’t serviced as often as they should have been, and crews often found themselves stranded. Often having to use only one engine to get themselves home. Working in teams kept the casualty lists lower.

  Commander Hawkins stood before the men. He’d donned his shirt, which was already soaked through with sweat. “Boats 360, 345, 334 and 423 are patrolling tonight since you had the night off last night. The rest of you don’t need to stick around.”

  He waited as officers and petty officers filed out. When things had settled down, he continued. “G2 thinks the Japs will try to drop troops off barges tonight to the north of us. Seems they had some spotters report movement.

  “We don’t know numbers, but the spotters are on high alert, and will relay any sightings as soon as they see them. Like always, we’ll be johnny on the spot, and intercept and destroy them.” With a bamboo stick, he pointed to the map he’d hung on the back wall of the thatch hut. “Despite what the map shows us, this area has a nice little bay we can use for cover. We’ll patrol the coastline in pairs. If we run into trouble, this will be the rally point. We’ll call it ‘victor.’” The men scribbled on their sheets of paper with nubs of pencils. “We shove off at 1930 hours. Any questions?”

  Lieutenant Mankowitz raised his hand. “We expecting any shore activity in that cove, sir?”

  Commander Hawkins shook his head. “I was there last night with boat 345. It’s unoccupied as of last night, but we’ll use caution when approaching, just in case. We didn’t head far back into it, but it was good deep water, don’t think we need to worry about beaching.” The man sat, and there were no more questions. “Be sure you have a full load of ammunition and top off your tanks. See you at 1930.”

  At 1930 the PT boats backed out of their moorings on Purata Island and made their way to deep water. They were side by side; the low profile boats looked menacing in the darkness. Their silhouettes bristled with weapons.

  Once they were in deep water, they opened up the throbbing Packard engines, and the wooden boats accelerated and were on smooth planes within seconds. A PT boat in top condition could make forty knots, but the boats of Squadron 32 were well past their six hundred hour engine overhaul requirement, so were lucky to get thirty knots. They wouldn’t be able to outrun a Japanese cruiser, but aside from that, they were the fastest boat on the water.

  Commander Hawkins had piloted PT boats countless times, but he never failed to feel his pulse pound when he pushed the throttles and felt the boat get up to speed. He could’ve had command of a Cruiser or maybe something bigger, but there was nothing like the exhilaration he felt behind the wheel of a PT boat. They were small but deadly, packing more punch than any surface craft, pound for pound, in the US Navy.

  The traditional navy men looked down on PT boats. To them, they were glorified speed boats. They referred to them derisively as the ‘mosquito navy,’ more a nuisance than a threat. Rather than take offense, the tightly knit crews took to the name with affection. They were small but caused endless irritation and if you were bitten by the wrong mosquito, fatal.

  When they were a mile from Purata Island the commander said, “Signal the others we’ll break into twos from here.”

  The signalman, Gramly, whose five-foot tall frame allowed him to move around the boat like a monkey, said, “Aye aye,” and flash signaled the other boats. Soon PT 345 and PT 360 were in echelon moving closer to the coastline. PT 334 and 423 would stay further out looking for any Japanese naval boats. Commander Hawkins and Lieutenant Mankowitz would be barge hunting.

  An hour passed without any contacts. Commander Hawkins found the cove from the night before. He cut his speed and nosed his way in. His men were ready on the guns. Bosun’s mate Smith was on the rear 40mm cannon, Petty Officer Cutler on the forward 20mm. Smith kept his eyes on the starry night searching for enemy fighters. It was unlikely a fighter would find them at night. The fifty caliber gunner on the starboard side, Seaman Russell, kept his twin muzzles pointed into the jungle.

  Hawkins had been piloting PT boat 345 for two months. He got along well with the crew while maintaining tight discipline. They worked well together. They’d seen plenty of action since getting their base on Pruata Island set up. Hawkins trusted every man with his life.

  The engine was idling as they slipped into the cove. Hawkins turned the boat, bringing the 40mm to bear. Smith shifted his sights and waited for the flash of a rifle, but it never came. Hawkins didn’t like coming to a spot he’d been to only the night before, but it was a good place to lay low and see if any Japanese barges passed. Boat 360 was also faced outward searching for targets. If something did pass by, they’d be able to see them, but the blackness behind them would make the PT boats invisible.

  The men kept vigil on the guns while the rest of the crew used binoculars and searched the sea. Besides the constant tittering of night animals and insects from the jungle, the sea was quiet. The soft lapping of small waves rocking the boat was soothing, threatening to dull their senses.

  Commander Hawkins called up his second in command, Ensign Hanks. Hanks let the binoculars dangle and walked to Commander Hawkins’s side. “Sir?” He was a thick man with tree trunk sized thighs from playing football at Ohio State. He’d been the leading rusher as a full-back when he quit school to join the fight against the Japanese. “If anything comes by be sure the men know we’ll be letting them pass. I don’t want to start a fight pinned against the jungle. Once they’re past, we’ll sneak out beyond them, then stick it to ‘em.”

  “Aye, sir.” He went off to relay the plan. Commander Hawkins watched him go. Hanks was a good second in command. He’d made a good showing of himself up to now. He had a good head for tactics and knew these boats like the back of his hand. By all rights, he should be in command of a boat of his own, but there weren’t enough to go around. Even with near constant manufacturing, it was a daunting task to get the boats from stateside to the Solomon Islands.

  He’d decided he’d let the Ensign take the wheel when they returned to base when Signalman Gramly whispered. “I see something.” Keeping his binoculars to his eyes he pointed, and Ensign Hanks shuffled over to him, and following his finger brought his own binoculars to his eyes. At first, he didn’t see anything, then there was a white flash from a boat’s wake. He leaned forward, his heart rate doubling, causing his mouth to go dry. He scanned forward looking for another but didn’t find anything. He went back to the barge; it looked to be a sixty footer bristling with what had to be machine guns. He thought he could also see helmets sticking up from the high walls.

  He scanned back when Gramly whispered, “Another one behind,” he paused, “make that two, no, three.”

  Hanks nodded as he confirmed the sightings. He waited for more, but after a minute decided there were only three. He made his report to Commander Hawkins. “Tell Gramly to signal boat 360. We leave in 3 minutes. We’ll get to open water then attack them broadside with everything we’ve got.”

  “Aye aye, Commander.”

  The air seemed to turn electric as the men scrambled, readying the boat but mostly themselves, for impending action. Seaman Floyd on the port-side twin fifty pulled back the charging handle and took a deep breath. He’d be facing the enemy. He pictured himself raking the barge. There were three of them, which meant he needed to make quick work of the first boat. He doubted they’d have any trouble, particularly with the added firepower of the 40 and 20mm cannons.

  The three minutes had passed before anyone was ready. Commander Hawkins nudged the throttles forward. The increase in the Packard engine’s throb was barely noticeable, but to him it sounded like fireworks. The Japs engines will mask the sound. He knew there was no way they’d be heard; they’d have complete surprise.

  Ensign Hanks had his binoculars up. “I’ve still got them in sight, at least the tail end charlie. They haven’t altered course, still hugging the bank making eight to ten knots, sir.”

  Hawkins didn’t respond but put more power to the engines. Now they were glid
ing along at ten knots. When they passed the cove inlet, the gunners instinctively shifted their muzzles to starboard in case there was another group of barges they hadn’t seen. To be caught between two barge forces could prove disastrous. Once away from the cove they shifted their weapons back to the three enemy barges. They couldn’t see them in the gloom, but they knew they were out there, close.

  Hawkins led PT 360 out until he figured they were two hundred yards from shore then he turned to parallel the barges’ course. Lieutenant Mankowitz would be closer to shore on PT 345’s port-side and a little back, assuring both boats had clear fields of fire.

  Without being asked, Ensign Hanks kept Hawkins appraised. “I’ve still got their wakes; we’re gaining slowly. They haven’t changed course or speed. We’ll be broadside to them in approximately six minutes, sir.”

  Hawkins nodded his head, then had a thought. Wonder where they’re headed? “Any sign they’ve spotted us, Ensign?”

  Hanks kept scanning them, “No sir. We’ll take ‘em by surprise.”

  Commander Hawkins made his decision. “Tell Gramly to signal 360. We’re tailing them to wherever they’re going. Follow my lead.”

  Hanks took the glasses from his eyes and looked back at his commander. He hesitated for an instant then said, “Aye aye, sir.” He ran forward and relayed the message to Gramly who quickly flashed the message. Lieutenant Mankowitz had the sense not to flash back but decreased speed acknowledging his intent to follow.

  Ensign Hanks resumed his post at the commander’s side and brought the binoculars up. Commander Hawkins said, “The instant you see anything that looks like they’ve seen us, we’ll open fire.” He brought the throttle down to match the barges speed.

  “Aye aye, sir.” Despite the pleasant sea breeze, Ensign Hanks started to sweat. He concentrated on the barges, trying to distinguish individuals, but they were invisible against the jungle. All he could see were the wakes. The first sign of being spotted would be tracer rounds lancing towards them.