Lieutenant Colonel Dailey took a seven-day leave, spending it with his mother in Greenwich, Connecticut. And then returned to Washington, where Colonel Rickabee informed him that he would travel at least as far as Pearl Harbor with a briefcase chained to his wrist.
“Two birds with one stone,” Rickabee explained. “And it will free the seat the officer courier would normally occupy.”
At Anacostia Naval Air Station, Dailey asked Rickabee about the G-2 Hold. He did that just before he got on the plane to San Diego, reasoning that it was too late for Rickabee to do anything about it, even if he did make him mad.
“I presume the G-2 Hold situation has been resolved, Colonel,” he said. “May I ask what it was, specifically?”
“I see that our friends in personnel have diarrhea of the mouth again,” Rickabee said.
“What I’m asking, Colonel, is whether there is some sort of cloud over me.”
“No. I assure you there is not.”
“Then may I ask why there was a hold?”
“Am I to suspect, Colonel,” Rickabee replied, “that your conscience is bothering you vis-à-vis your relationship with Fraulein Ute Schellberger?”
“I wondered if that was a matter of official record,” Dailey confessed. For an instant it all seemed perfectly clear. That’s why he was sent to Princeton. If there was anything worse for a young officer on attache duty than getting drunk and pissing in the Embassy’s potted palms, it was getting involved with a German blonde.
“Well, it bothered the FBI some, frankly,” Rickabee said. “But then I told them that so far as the Corps was concerned, we would have been worried if a red-blooded young bachelor Marine officer far from home had not been fucking the natives, and that we were convinced you had not become a National Socialist.”
“Christ!” Dailey had said.
Rickabee smiled at him.
“I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that,” Dailey said.
“You didn’t hear anything from me, Colonel,” Rickabee said. “Understood?”
“Understood.”
“And now you are wondering, naturally, how come you were given this assignment? And are too polite, or too discreet, to ask?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“There are several things going on over there in which we have an interest. Since you have no need to know what they are...”
“I understand, Sir.”
“We may need replacements for the incumbents. An ideal replacement would be an officer of appropriate grade, who had already gone through the FBI’s screening and been declared ninety-nine and forty-four one-hundredths percent pure on the morals scale—like Ivory soap. And who was not only over there, but in a position to know more of what’s going on than, say, a battalion commander. Or for that matter, a division G-2. A liaison officer, for example.”
“I think I understand, Sir,” Dailey replied, very seriously.
“Think of yourself as a spare tire, Colonel. I devoutly hope we never have to take you out of the trunk.”
“Yes, Sir.”
(Two)
CAPE ESPERANCE
GUADALCANAL, SOLOMON ISLANDS
7 AUGUST 1942
At 0200, the Amphibious Force of OPERATION PESTILENCE, Transport Groups X and Y, reached Savo Island, which lies between Guadalcanal and Florida islands. The skies were clear, and there was enough light from a quarter moon to make out both the land masses and the other ships.
The fifteen transports of Transport Group X carried aboard the major elements of the 1st Marine Division and were headed for the beaches of Guadalcanal. These turned and entered Sealark Channel, which runs between Savo and Guadalcanal.
Meanwhile, Transport Group Y sailed along the other side of Savo Island, that is, between Savo and Florida Island, and headed toward their destinations, Florida, Tulagi and Gavutu islands. Transport Group Y consisted of four transports carrying the 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines, and other troops, and four destroyer transports carrying the 1st Raider Battalion. These were World War I destroyers that had been converted for use by Marine Raiders by removing two of their four engines and converting the space to troop berthing.
The Guadalcanal Invasion Force was headed for what the Operations Plan called “Beach Red.” This was a spot about 6,000 yards East of Lunga Point, more or less directly across Sealark Channel from where the Tulagi-Gavutu landings were to take place. The distance across Sealark Channel was approximately twenty-five miles.
Three U.S. Navy cruisers and four destroyers began to shell the Guadalcanal landing area at 0614. It had already been bombed daily for a week by U.S. Army Air Corps B-17s. At 0616, one cruiser and two destroyers opened fire on Tulagi and Gavutu.
By 0651 the transports of both groups dropped anchor 9,000 yards off their respective landing beaches. Landing boats were put over the side into the calm water, and Marines began to climb down rope nets into them.
Mine sweepers working the water between the ships and their landing beaches encountered no mines, but a small Japanese schooner carrying gasoline wandered into Sealark Channel. It was set afire and quickly sunk by Naval gunfire and machine gun fire from Navy fighter aircraft and dive bombers These were operating from carriers maneuvering seventy-five miles away from the invasion beaches.
The Navy sent forty-three carrier aircraft to attack the Guadalcanal invasion beach, and forty-one to attack Tulagi and Gavutu. Eighteen Japanese seaplanes at Tulagi were destroyed.
At 0740, B Company, 1st Battalion, 2nd Marines, went ashore near the small village of Haleta, on Florida Island. They encountered no resistance.
At 0800, the First Wave of the Tulagi Force, Landing Craft carrying Baker and Dog Companies of the 1st Raider Battalion, touched ashore on Blue Beach. A Marine was killed almost immediately by a single rifle shot, but there was no other resistance on the beach. The enemy had elected to defend Tulagi from caves and earthen bunkers in the hills inland and to the South.
The Landing Craft returned to the transports, loaded the Second Wave (Able and Charley Companies, 1st Raiders), and put them ashore. Then a steady stream of Landing Craft put 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines on shore.
Once on Tulagi, the 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines crossed the narrow island to their left (Northwest), to clear out the enemy, while the Raiders turned to their right (Southeast) and headed toward the Southern tip of Tulagi. About thirty-five hundred yards separated the Southern tip of Tulagi from the tiny island of Gavutu (515 by 255 yards) and the even smaller (290 by 310) island of Tanambogo, which was connected to Gavutu by a concrete causeway.
The Raiders encountered no serious opposition until after noon. And 2nd Battalion, 5th Marines, encountered no serious opposition moving in the opposite direction until about the same time.
Off Guadalcanal, at 0840, the destroyers of the Guadalcanal Fire Support Group took up positions to mark the line of departure for the Landing Craft, 5000 yards North of Beach Red. Simultaneously, small liaison aircraft (Piper Cubs) appeared over Beach Red, and marked its 3200 yard width with smoke grenades.
At exactly 0900, all the cruisers and destroyers of the Guadalcanal Fire Support Group began to bombard Beach Red and the area extending 200 yards inshore.
The Landing Craft carrying the first wave of the Beach Red invasion force (the 5th Marines, less their 2nd Battalion, which was at that moment in the process of landing on Tulagi) left the departure line on schedule. When the Landing Craft were 1300 yards off Beach Red, the covering bombardment was lifted.
At 0910, on a 1600 yard front, the 5th Marines began to land on the beach, the 1st Battalion on the right (West) and the 3rd Battalion on the left (East). Regimental Headquarters came ashore at 0938, and minutes later it was joined by the Heavy Weapons elements of the regiment.
Again, there was virtually no resistance on the beach.
As the Landing Craft returned to the transports to bring the 1st Marines ashore, the 5th Marines moved inland, setting up a defense perimeter 600 yards off Beach Red, along the Tenaru
River on the West, the Tenavatu River on the East, and a branch of the Tenaru on the South.
Once it had become apparent that they would not be in danger from Japanese artillery on or near the beach, the transports began to move closer to shore, dropping anchor again 7000 yards away.
At about this point, serious problems began with the off-loading process, in many ways duplicating the disastrous trial run in the Fiji Islands.
The small and relatively easy to manhandle 75mm pack howitzers (originally designed to be carried by mules) of the 11th Marines (the artillery regiment) had come ashore with the assault elements of the 5th Marines.
The 105mm howitzers now came ashore. But their emplacement was hindered because there were not enough drop-ramp Landing Craft to handle their “prime-movers,” the trucks which tow the cannon. The “prime mover” for the 105mm howitzer was supposed to be a 2½-ton, 6×6 truck. The 11th Marines had been issued instead a truck commonly referred to as a “one-ton.” Instead of the six (actually ten) powered wheels of the “deuce and a half,” it had only four powered wheels to drive it through mud, sand, or slippery terrain.
It was this much smaller, inadequate, one-ton “prime mover” for which there were insufficient drop-bow Landing Craft to move immediately onto Beach Red.
So when the 105mm howitzers arrived on the beach, the only vehicles capable of towing them inland to firing positions were the few, overworked, Amphibious Tractors. These had a tank-like track and could negotiate sand and mud.
They were pressed into service to move the 105mm howitzers. In doing that, however, their metal tracks chewed up the primitive roads and whatever field telephone wires they crossed, effectively cutting communication between the advanced positions, the beach, and the several headquarters.
Within an hour or so of landing on the beach, moreover, the Marines were physically exhausted. For one thing, because of the long time they had spent aboard the troop transports, they had lost much of the physical toughness they’d acquired in training.
For another, as they moved through sand and jungle and up hills carrying heavy loads of rifles, machine guns, mortars and the ammunition for them, Guadalcanal’s temperature and high humidity quickly sapped the strength they had left.
And there was not enough water. Although Medical Officers had strongly insisted that each man be provided with two canteens (two quarts) of drinking water, there were not enough canteens in the Pacific to issue a second canteen to each man.
The Navy was asked to provide beach labor details of sailors to assist in unloading the supplies coming ashore from the Landing Craft, and then to move the supplies off the beach to make room for more supplies. The Navy refused to do this.
Marines exhausted by the very act of going ashore were thus pressed into service unloading supplies from Landing Craft.
But first there were no trucks to move the supplies off the beach, and then when the “one-ton” trucks finally began to come ashore, these proved incapable of negotiating the sand and roads chewed up by amphibious tractors.
The result was a mess. Landing Craft loaded with supplies were stacked up off the beach. They were unable even to reach the beach, much less rapidly discharge their cargoes.
Meanwhile, starting at 1145, Navy SBD dive-bombers attacked Gavutu across the channel. Ten minutes later, the Navy started a five minute barrage of the island, creating huge clouds of smoke and dust.
By 1500, both Tulagi and Gavutu were “secured.”
On Guadalcanal itself, the main invasion force spent the rest of the afternoon and the night trying—with little success—to clear up the mess on the beach itself, and to set up a perimeter defense around the beach and the six hundred yards the Marines had moved inshore.
There was no question that the Japanese would try to throw the Marines back into the sea. The only question was when.
(Three)
BUKA, SOLOMON ISLANDS
0745 HOURS 8 AUGUST 1942
“I rather think that’s more than one, wouldn’t you agree?” Sub-Lieutenant Jacob Reeves, Royal Australian Navy Volunteer Reserve, said, turning to Miss Patience Witherspoon and nodding vaguely toward the far off sound of aircraft engines to the North.
Reeves was a bit old-forty-one-to be a Sub-Lieutenant, the lowest commissioned rank in the Royal Australian Navy; and his uniform fell far below the standards usually expected of an officer on duty. He was wearing a battered and torn, brimmed uniform cap; an equally soiled khaki uniform tunic with cut off sleeves; and khaki shorts and shoes whose uppers were spotted with green mold. His hair tumbled down his neck; and he was wearing a beard. A 9mm Sten submachine gun and a large pair of Ernst Leitz Wetzlar binoculars hung from his neck on web straps.
He and Miss Witherspoon were standing beneath an enormous tree, down from which hung a knotted rope.
“Oh, yes, Sir,” Miss Witherspoon replied. “That’s certainly more than one. A great many, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Well, then, I suppose I’d better go have a look, and you had better wake up the sodding Yanks, don’t you think?”
“Yes, of course,” Miss Witherspoon said. “I’ll fetch them.”
Lieutenant Reeves reached for the knotted rope. And then hanging onto it, he agilely climbed the trunk of the enormous tree, disappearing in a moment into the foliage.
Miss Witherspoon, who was eighteen, ran quickly and gracefully to Sergeant Stephen M. Koffler’s hut down a narrow dirt path cut through lush vegetation. She ducked through the low entrance and knelt by his bed.
She giggled. Sergeant Koffler was also eighteen, and Miss Witherspoon was more than a little attracted to him. He was on his back, asleep. He was wearing only his U.S. Marine Corps issue skivvie shorts. The anatomical symbol of his gender, gloriously erect, poked through the flap in his skivvie shorts.
Miss Witherspoon, tittering, put one hand to her mouth, and with the other gave Sergeant Koffler’s erection a friendly little pat. Sergeant Koffler gave a pleasant little grunt. Miss Witherspoon patted him again, just a little harder, but enough to waken him. He reached down and caught her wrist.
“Goddamn it, Patience!” Sergeant Koffler said, sounding more exasperated than angry.
“Lieutenant Reeves sent me to fetch you,” Miss Witherspoon said, pronouncing the rank title in the British manner—Lef-ten-ant. “There’s a large number of aircraft.”
“Be right there,” Koffler said. “Make sure Lieutenant Howard is up.”
“Right you are,” Miss Patience Witherspoon said cheerfully. Smiling, she backed out of the hut.
Steve sat on the edge of his bed. Miss Patience Witherspoon herself had constructed it of narrow tree trunks driven into the ground; a sort of “spring” of woven strips of bark supported a thin mattress. The mattress was covered with a surprisingly clean white sheet. The mattress and the sheet had also been made by Miss Witherspoon, who also washed them regularly.
Sergeant Koffler pulled on a pair of shorts that had once been a pair of “Trousers, Utility, Summer Service”; and then a pair of socks. He jammed his feet into his just-about-rotted through ankle high shoes, once a pair of “Shoes, Service, Dress.” When he graduated from Parris Island these had worn a shine he could actually see his reflection in. Last he picked up his weapon where it lay under his bed.
The truly astonishing thing about Miss Patience Witherspoon, Sergeant Koffler thought for perhaps the hundredth time, was not her teeth, which were stained blue-black and filed into points; or even her breasts, which she made no effort to conceal, and which were elaborately decorated with scar tissue; or even that she lusted absolutely shamelessly after him. The truly astonishing thing about her was the way she talked.
Miss Witherspoon sounded almost exactly like Miss Daphne Farnsworth, who was the only other female subject of his Most Britannic Majesty Steve Koffler had come to know intimately. Miss (actually Yeoman, Royal Australian Navy Volunteer Reserve) Farnsworth had neat, pure white, intact teeth, and her breasts, which she modestly concealed virtu
ally all of the time, were not only unscarred, but in Steve’s opinion, they were an absolute work of art.
Without really being aware that he was doing it, Steve removed the magazine from his Thompson .45 ACP caliber submachine gun, worked the action, and then replaced the magazine. If necessary, it would fire.
The moment he ducked through the entrance to his hut, he heard the sound of aircraft engines. The hut was constructed of narrow tree trunks, covered with a thatch of enormous leaves. The sound had not penetrated the thick leaves of the hut.
He started to trot toward the Tree House, slinging the Thompson over his shoulder on its web strap as he ran. A hundred yards up the path, he encountered First Lieutenant Joseph L. Howard, USMCR, commanding the Marine Garrison on Buka Island.
Sergeant Koffler saluted crisply, and his salute was as impeccably returned.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” Lieutenant Howard said. “You are to be commended on your shipshape appearance.”
“Thank you, Sir. I try to set an example for the men.”
Lieutenant Howard was dressed and shaved and coiffured exactly as Sergeant Koffler was. That is to say, he was wearing rotting shoes; cut off utility pants; and no shirt. A Thompson was slung over his shoulder. The last time either of them had a haircut or a shave was two months before in Australia, on June 6, the night before they jumped into Buka. And there were in fact no other men to set an example for. What was carried on the books as “Detachment A of USMC Special Detachment 14” consisted of Lieutenant Howard and Sergeant Koffler.
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