Harold Guard
Page 18
In the morning we had corned beef hash with two fried eggs sunny-side up after what was a sound night’s sleep. The convoy was now steaming within sight of land, and repeatedly changing course and altering formation. It was a tricky business keeping a tight formation in these cumbersome crafts, and they tended to drift sideways with the wind and current. Our skipper said that on their voyage from the United States, some of these vessels drifted as much as forty miles off course each day. “In this part of the world, though, reefs are more dangerous to us than the Japanese. Handling these babies is a skipper’s nightmare. But we always get where we want to—by guess and by God,” he said.
Some of the Australian officers had now started to hold conferences around large-scale maps that were spread out over the mess room tables. Every platoon and every company commander was given detailed instructions, and the men were briefed on where exactly they would be landing. Drizzly rain did not perturb the camping Aussies, who were sprawling everywhere on deck. Wagers were made as to when they would return to Victoria and New South Wales, Queensland and West Australia. “Home for Christmas,” said one—“Which Christmas?” came back the laughing question. The entire convoy spent the afternoon testing ack-ack and machine guns, which periodically relieved the monotony of our journey. The tests also gave us a foretaste of what was to come, and few of us onboard were of the opinion that this mission would be in any way a walkover.
Everyone was then issued with a lifebelt, and lookouts started checking everywhere for the presence of submarines. I could feel now the tension among the troops was starting to increase, as they sensed that the time was drawing nearer when they would be called into battle. Any small talk and “leg-pulling” that had been taking place amongst them began to dwindle, and instead their attentions were given to a much concentrated cleaning of guns, adjusting of equipment and discarding of unessential items. We were still a fair distance away from our objective, but the soldiers had to start getting themselves ready in good time, because from now on they could only make any necessary preparations in daylight hours, as no deck lights would be allowed once nightfall arrived.
The next day our fleet had grown, and now included six more LCTs, six destroyers and some ocean-going tugs. We anchored somewhere off the coast, and two submarine chasers came alongside us for fresh water, which they had been short of for some days. We had ample to spare, as Gill was disposing of all excess ballast in order to increase buoyancy of our craft in readiness for running ashore on the beachhead twelve miles east of Lae. Thousands of gallons of fresh water were pumped overboard, and I could see that there would now be many showerless days in front of us, which was not a prospect I particularly relished, as the heat between decks was really oppressive. As the day drew on the weather became even more sweltering, with a great scorching sun unrelenting above us in an otherwise empty blue sky. The water from the hoses actually boiled in the morning on the deck plates, and the steel sides of Gills lower bunk were almost unbearable to touch. Even the ink in my typewriter ribbon went soggy, which had the effect of blurring the letters as if they were blotted. Probably the coolest people aboard were the Australians in their tarpaulin tents, but anyone trying to get any sleep between decks found it pretty much impossible.
General Quarters were sounded twice during the day, and Australian troops manned their Bofor ack-acks as two planes flew over our heads at high altitude. There was even less chatter amongst the soldiers now, and the process of cleaning guns and checking equipment, once more, intensified. The troops had been told now that they would be landing at Lae, and I overheard the fleet surgeon confirm to the captain that they were ready with plenty of stretchers and everything needed to take care of burns. Company commanders were still poring over maps, pencilling notes and making crosses against unknown gun positions. Our troops were due to be landing on “Red Beach,” while others had been allocated to “White Beach.” One of the captains remarked, “I reckon ours will be pretty red by the time we have finished.”
Our chief signalman, Ulan, had seventeen years service, and told me, “six months ago I swam ashore from the sunken Chicago, in the Battle of Rennell Island, but I shall walk ashore from this baby.” He was the only veteran sailor in the entire flotilla. One of the yeomen, who was in his forties, was affectionately nicknamed “Pop” by his comrades, but he wasn’t a veteran. In fact, the crew were made up from all walks of life, and were for the most part amateur sailors but doing a seamanlike job. Ulan told me that it was harder to handle a fleet of LSTs than a fleet of battleships. The irony of it all was that as sailors, most of their time concentrated on ways of keeping craft off the rocks, whereas in the LSTs, they have to find the best way of running them aground.
Early in the afternoon the fleet got into battle formation, with oceangoing tugs moving out on our wings, along with destroyers and sub chasers, while the LSTs and destroyers lined up abreast and astern in the centre. P38s were now flying overhead, and amongst the troops there was now open talk about the job to be undertaken. “Got to walk a bloody long way after we get ashore. I’d sooner go right in where the artillery is than footslog through the swamps,” one remarked. Gill told me not to expect much sleep that night as it was the last stage before we started moving towards our target, and that we would all have to be “on our toes.”
On September 4th the first landing was made, and Allied troops went ashore in considerable strength at the beachhead, twelve miles east of Lae. At 5:24 am there were red flares from the shore to indicate that the first landings had been effective, and momentarily the starlit sky was illuminated. We had been at General Quarters since 4:00 am, and waited nervously for our time to come. The sound of guns could be heard all around, and the blasts from them were also indicated by a series of intermittent flashes. Our destroyers steamed inshore to provide cover for the first small craft landings, and there was a smell of cordite after a heavy pounding of the Japanese positions. The LSTs now formed into a single column and then steamed straight onto the shore.
A group of planes up above alerted our anti-aircraft crews, but it was a false alarm as they only proved to be some of our P40s. The Australian troops then started to fasten their equipment, and fell into line ready for the elevator to take them to the landing deck. There were now more antiaircraft puffs billowing up into the air, which had been prompted by reports that some Japanese Zeros were now approaching. At 7:20 am the troops started to descend the elevator, and the bow doors were then opened. The troops streamed out onto the beach, which was already thronged with their comrades swarming in all directions like ants. In the morning sunlight it was possible to see the wire meshed landing strips that had been laid down by American amphibious engineers in the second wave of landings, and over these, jeeps and tractors crawled in a long line, laden with every conceivable supply item.
Most of the jeeps were piled so high with supplies that it was barely possible to see the driver behind the wheel. Among the convoy were many bulldozers, which had already been tearing a path through the jungle that fringed the beach. Australian troops were filing into the various tracks that had been made, with different units being distinguished by their banner. There was again, briefly, some consternation as Zeros appeared on the port side, but they soon made their way off inshore at high altitude under the ack-ack fire from several of our ships.
We braced ourselves again as another group of planes were sighted coming over the mountain ranges, but once again this was a false alarm as they were identified as Allied craft. Our relief, though, was only short lived, as it became apparent that Japanese medium bombers were in hot pursuit of them, and they swooped in low over our heads. Again our ships put up a thick burst of anti-aircraft fire, but couldn’t prevent some light bombs being unloaded and scoring a direct hit on one of the LCTs, which was quickly set on fire. Then another craft, further along the beach to the east, was also hit by some cannon fire. Several groups of Allied planes were overhead, and a formation of B17s flew over from the direction of Lae. After
this, bombs were heard exploding, and their reverberations could be felt aboard our LST.
Whenever our planes went overhead the ground forces cheered their efforts in ridding the sky from enemy attacks. American engineers had already begun digging slit trenches in anticipation of further enemy attacks, while others had busily started to erect anti-aircraft guns. In amongst all of this frantic activity, I was amazed to find PFC William Pipelow covered in sweat and blood, apparently oblivious to the surroundings, as his only interest was in demolishing a can of peaches that had fallen from a split packing case of supplies. A nearby Australian private called over to him, “Good on yah yank, don’t let the bloody Jap interfere with yer tucker.”
The landing and unloading of stores and supplies proceeded at a breakneck pace. Everybody seemed to find a place for everything, and all the stores were rapidly concealed and dispersed within the jungle. Occasionally the troops cast an anxious eye towards the sky, but throughout the rest of the operation it was only Allied planes that now flew over.
The LCI on the beach was still burning, and so our LST lowered its ramp and ran ashore, rigging up fire hoses in order to fight the fire. They managed to extinguish the fire, but unfortunately fourteen casualties had already been reported and at least four others killed. The ramp was then raised, and it pulled out from the shore to resume our formation in the fleet, with Buna being the next destination. It was now about two o’clock, and General Quarters were sounded once more and the crew closed up for action stations. Planes had been reported straight ahead, and anti-aircraft fire could be seen now in the far distance. The destroyers in the fleet constantly encircled the LST convoy, which from time to time had scattered out of formation. We heard that two more LSTs had been hit in the approach to Lae, inflicting further casualties amongst our comrades.
Red Cross staff patched up the casualties that were being stretchered aboard our craft, while a chaplain and doctors carefully scrutinised the wounded. Foghorns were sounded for the return aboard, so I clambered back up the slippery ramp into the LST. On board a doctor treated casualties on the loading tank deck, those who had ailments including a variety of fractures, lacerations and shrapnel wounds needing urgent blood plasma transfusions. The medical staff laboured under trying conditions late into the night, attending the wounded, but all of them seemed to make satisfactory recoveries. Overall, commanders felt that given the size of the operation, the casualties had been quite small, and that the day’s operation had been the most important so far anywhere in the South Pacific.
The following day I found out that two of our convoy had been bombed and beached further up the coast. I had very little time to write any stories while dodging the frenetic activity on board, and so returned to Lae with the next convoy. On our way we were attacked by two Japanese Zeros that dived in from a high altitude and dropped two light bombs three hundred yards off our port side. Once more, the reverberations of the attacks could be felt on board, and the destroyers in our fleet fired several rounds of anti-aircraft fire in return and managed to see them off.
We then received official notification that the troops in our initial landing had now achieved their initial objective, which apparently was to reach a position across the Bulu River. This was six miles west of the landing beach, and was the position that had originally been bombed by B25s during the first action of the operation on 4th September. The general consensus of opinion was cautionary though, as it was expected that more opposition would be met the further inland the troops progressed.
I journeyed back and forth over the next two days with convoys between Buna and Lae, as I felt that it was the best way to spend my time; the troops who had gone ashore would still be making a pathway by flogging their way through the swamps and jungle. I went on a number of the operations with amphibious craft, along with several other correspondents. These operations were in the main quite successful, except for times when there was a breakdown in intelligence communications; also, a little flotilla of craft that were making landings on various parts of the New Guinea coast were mistakenly bombed by American airplanes.
They were not very severe attacks, but on one occasion Geoffrey Reading, an Australian correspondent, and myself, had to jump over the side and swim for shore from our particular landing craft. Barney Darnton of the New York Times was, however, killed in the incident, which was very upsetting for me, as I had spent much time with him over the past year. I kept Barney Danton’s typewriter, an old Remington with a big “D” stuck on the lid, as a memory of him and our time together in New Guinea for many years afterwards.
On 7th September I went ashore and into the jungle to find out how the troops were progressing. In spite of the repeated dive-bombing and low-level strafing by the Japanese Zeros, I found that the Allies were actually making steady progress with the establishment of a complete rear supply base that was within a good distance from Lae. Since their initial landing, the assault troops had so far encountered minimum air and land opposition, with the brunt of the operation falling upon the engineers and various supply units. However, conditions did prove to be tough, which was not only due to the difficult terrain but also to occasional nuisance attacks from the Japanese dive-bombers. There were countless tales of courage from the troops, most of whom were experiencing their first action. At times the engineers could only make progress with the building of roads while under the cover provided by the pitch darkness of night. The enemy planes could at times play havoc, but as soon as they disappeared and the ack-ack subsided, the determined muddy and bloodstained engineers once more resumed their work and repaired any damage that had been caused.
Up in front of us a long column of trucks and jeeps trailed their way further inland, as I sloshed my way along the corduroy trail to the press corps jungle camp in sodden clothes. I repeatedly received many kind offers from Australian troops to carry my pack. They had seen that I was affiliated with the American forces, and were keen to repay the efforts of the American engineers in building the trails through the jungle. “The Yanks do everything they can for us and we want to do something for you fellers. Bigod if it wasn’t for the American Navy we wouldn’t be here and now it’s the Yankee engineers who are making it easier for us to get at the bloody Jap,” one of them commented. Another who landed with an LCI and met with the Japanese air opposition told me how the Americans had run a landing craft ashore into the teeth of an enemy dive-bomber, which had been attacking the Australian troops.
The conflict was relentless though, and on the previous day Japanese Zeros had carried out low-level strafing in two separate raids, making two passes each time. In the afternoon, medium bombers pattern-bombed the beach and dispersal areas, which had caused slight damage and a number of casualties. Again in the evening the bombers returned and bombed the road area, just before the start of torrential rain that swamped the press corps camp. We received some unconfirmed reports later that three Zeros and one bomber had been shot down on the beach by American anti-aircraft fire.
The following day was the first peaceful one since the mission had started. I shared the Press Corps camp with twelve other correspondents, and around us we could still hear the sound of Australian artillery shelling in the Lae area. Throughout the day American planes patrolled the area, covering the unending movement forward to the Bunga River, which was the foremost Australian position that had been reached without much opposition. Late in the previous night Japanese bombers had been zooming above, and explosions could be heard in the far distance to the west of us— but since this was the only raid for twenty-four hours, it indicated to us that the enemy air strength was starting to wane considerably.
Living in the jungle presented many different types of personal nuisance, in addition to the anxiety of the occasional Japanese air raids. Visibility was limited to small patches of blue between the treetops, and at night there was a pitch-blackness that seemed to envelop everything. When enemy bombers did fly overhead, even the myriad of crickets and insects in the jungle were
hushed, as if the animal life were joining in with the camped troops listening to the awesome roar of the aircraft. When there were flashes of tropical lightning, all the waiting watchers flinched; this would be followed by the first explosions of anti-aircraft fire, leaving us all prone on the ground digging into the jungle mud. There was also a chance of Japanese troops infiltrating our camp, so the perimeter to our camp was strengthened following reports that there had been enemy patrols in the area. The danger was sometimes increased in the darkness of the jungle, as it could become filled with suspicious sounds and shadows. Occasionally, trigger-happy sentries managed to shoot at their comrades by mistake.
The jungle camp was very basic, and less than comfortable. We draped mosquito nets from Liana vines, and then spread a groundsheet out on the sodden earth among the ants and leeches. In the darkness of night you lay prone on the ground, using your pack for a pillow, listening to the noises of the jungle. If the rain came you had to pull the ground sheet over the top of yourself, but in spite of these feeble attempts you still ended up getting drenched. Getting any sleep was therefore extremely difficult, but after a number of successive nights eventually exhaustion got the better of you. One night I slept soundly uncovered through four hours of torrential rain, and when I awoke I felt like a submariner, as I was lying in about four inches of liquid mud. The entire contents of my alleged waterproof pack were soaked, and so I decided to strip naked, draping everything over tree branches to dry out. I then spent the morning wallowing around in the Buso River trying to get myself clean.
Predominant among the insects that could be found in the jungle was a venomous looking red spider, which favoured habitation inside American-type steel helmets. There was also a species of purple lizard, which seemed friendly enough, but could give you a nasty shock when met unexpectedly in the darkness of night. Fireflies could sometimes take on the appearance of distant ack-ack flashes, and crickets made a ceaseless chatter and rustle which could also be mistaken for a rustling noise and potential nearby Japanese patrol. Needless to say we spent much of our time living on our nerves, terrified either by the inhabitants of the jungle or the occasional Japanese air attack.