Battleground

by W. E. B Griffin

  The same day, 31 July, the Amphibious Force left Koro in the Fijis, after the rehearsal. On 2 August, the long awaited and desperately needed Marine Observation Squadron (VMO-251, sixteen F4F3-Photo reconversions of the Wildcat) landed on the new airbase at Espiritu Santo. Without the required wing tanks. They are essentially useless until they get wing tanks. A head should roll over that one.

  The day before yesterday, Friday, Aug 7, the invasion began. The Amphibious Force was off Savo Island, on schedule at 0200.

  The 1st Marine Raider Bn under Lt Col Red Mike Merritt landed on Tulagi and have done well.

  The 1st Parachute Bn (fighting as infantry-men) landed on Gavutu, a tiny island two miles away. So far they have been decimated, and will almost certainly suffer worse losses than this before it’s over for them.

  The 1st and 3rd Bns, 5th Marines, landed on the Northern Coast of Guadalcanal, west of Lunga Point, to not very much initial resistance. They were attacked by Japanese twenty-five to thirty twin-engine bombers from Rabaul, at half past eleven.

  I can’t really tell you what happened the first afternoon and through the first night, except to say the Marines were on the beach and more were landing.

  Just before eleven in the morning yesterday ( 8 Aug), we were alerted (by the Coastwatchers on Buka, where Banning sent the radio) to a 45-bomber force launched from Kavieng, New Ireland (across the channel from Rabaul). They arrived just before noon and caused some damage. Our carriers of course sent fighters aloft to attack them, and some of our fighters were shot down.

  At six o‘clock last night Admiral Fletcher radioed Ghormley that he had lost 21 of 99 planes, was low on fuel, and wants to leave.

  I am so angry I don’t dare write what I would like to write. Let me say that in my humble opinion the Admiral’s estimates of his losses are over generous, and his estimates of his fuel supply rather miserly.

  Ghormley, not knowing of this departure from the facts, gave him the necessary permission. General Vandergrift came aboard the McCawley a little before midnight last night and was informed by Admiral Fletcher that the Navy is turning chicken and pulling out.

  This is before, I want you to understand, in case this becomes a bit obfuscated in the official Navy reports--before we took such a whipping this morning at Savo Island. As I understand it we lost two US Cruisers (Vincennes and Quincy) within an hour, and the Australian cruiser Canberra was set on fire. The Astoria was sunk about two hours ago, just after noon.

  In thirty minutes, most of the invasion fleet is pulling out. Ten transports, four destroyers, and a cruiser are going to run first, and what’s left will be gone by 1830.

  The ships are taking with them rations, food, ammunition, and Marines desperately needed on the beach at Guadalcanal. There is no telling what the Marines will use to fight with; and there’s not even a promise from Fletcher about a date when he will feel safe to resupply the Marines. If the decision to return is left up to Admiral Fletcher, I suppose that we can expect resupply by sometime in 1945 or 1950.

  I say “we” because I find it impossible to sail off into the sunset on a Navy ship, leaving Marines stranded on the beach.

  I remember what I said to you about the Admirals when we first met. I was right, Frank.

  Best Personal Regards,

  Fleming Pickering,

  Captain, USNR

  Patricia Pickering looked at Frank Knox.

  “I didn’t know that we lost three cruisers. My God!”

  She may not consider herself qualified to run Pacific & Far East Shipping, Knox thought, but she knows what a cruiser is, and what the loss of those three cruisers means to the Pacific Fleet.

  “That was very bad news,” Knox said.

  “And they had to leave, to avoid the risk of losing even more ships?”

  “Your husband doesn’t think so,” Knox said. “I don’t want to sit here in Washington and judge the decisions made on the scene of battle by an experienced admiral whose personal courage is beyond question.”

  “And my husband? Do I correctly infer that he went ashore on Guadalcanal and is there now?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “God damn him!” Patricia Pickering said furiously. “The old fool!”

  “Apparently, there is someone more annoyed with Captain Pickering than I am,” Knox said. “I didn’t send him over there to shoulder a rifle.”

  She smiled at him.

  “They’re mad, you know. Anyone who is, or who ever was, a Marine is mad. And I am blessed—or cursed—with two of them.”

  “Blessed, I would say,” Knox said. “Wouldn’t you, really?”

  She smiled at him again. “What happens now?”

  “That message came in just as Haughton and I were leaving for the White House. As soon as we get back to the office, Captain Haughton is going to radio orders for Captain Pickering to be withdrawn from Guadalcanal as soon as possible. How long would you say it’s been, Mrs. Pickering, since someone read the riot act to your husband?”

  “Much too long, Mr. Knox,” Patricia Pickering said.

  “My heart won’t be in it, frankly,” he said. “But under the circumstances—I used to be a sergeant myself, you know—I don’t think I’ve forgotten how to chew somebody out.”

  Mrs. Fleming Pickering surprised the Secretary of the Navy. She moved her head quickly to his and kissed him on the cheek.

  (Two)

  NEAR LUNGA POINT

  GUADALCANAL, SOLOMON ISLANDS

  1440 HOURS 12 AUGUST 1942

  Captain Fleming Pickering, USNR, stood on the bed of a Japanese Navy Ford truck and watched as Marines worked to put the finishing touches on the airfield the Japanese had begun. He was wearing sweat-streaked utilities; on his head was a soft utility cap (instead of the steel helmet he was supposed to wear). A Springfield 1903 .30-06 rifle was cradled like a hunting rifle in his arms.

  This airfield, in his judgment, was the reason for OPERA TION PESTILENCE. Even before it was ready to handle aircraft it was named “Henderson Field” by General Vandergrift in order to honor Major Lofton Henderson, USMC, who had been killed after some spectacularly heroic airmanship at Midway. Whoever controlled this airfield was going to be able to control the Solomons, and thus New Guinea and Australia, and very likely the outcome of the war.

  There was no doubt in Pickering’s mind that the Japanese Imperial General Staff was at least as aware of the importance of this airfield as Frank Knox’s personal snoop. And thus there was no question in his mind that they were going to make a valiant effort to take it back. Soon they would try to throw the First Marine Division back into the sea. He was surprised that there had not already been a violent counterattack, if not by the Japanese actually on Guadalcanal, then by Japanese naval and air forces.

  So far, OPERATION PESTILENCE had gone much better than Pickering had expected, particularly after the Navy had sailed off to protect its precious aircraft carriers, taking with them a long list of material and equipment that was desperately needed on the island.

  The area held by the Marines was now about 3,600 yards wide and 2,000 yards deep. Not all of the perimeter was occupied, however; that is, not every part of the perimeter was protected by trenches and foxholes. The entire beach line was so defended; but at the ends of the beach, the foxholes and machine gun emplacements extended only 500 yards or so away from the water. The cannon of the 11th Marines, in fortified positions, were in place on the forward line; and there were fortified positions scattered among the artillery emplacements.

  Facing inland, the Marines held positions from 700 yards to the right of the mouth of the Kukum River to the right bank of Alligator Creek (also called “The Tenaru River”) on the left. “Henderson Field” was within this area, roughly in the middle, and about 1200 yards from the beach. Division Headquarters had been set up about equidistant between Lunga Point on the beach and Henderson Field.

  The invasion of Guadalcanal had taken the Japanese by surprise. Their major troop units there
had been the 11th and 12th Naval Rikusentai companies, about 450 men in all. The nearest American equivalent of these units would be Naval Construction Battalions. But the Rikusentai were neither trained nor equipped the way the American Sea-Bee’s were—to fight as infantry as well as to build. Thus when the invasion began, the Japanese Rikusentai units on Guadalcanal had scattered to the boondocks—specifically to somewhere near Kukum.

  Fortunately for the Marines, whose own engineer equipment had never been off-loaded from the invasion fleet, they left behind all of their engineer equipment, as well as large quantities of food and other equipment, and even cannon. That wasn’t the end of the bounty, though: A Japanese communications radio, far superior to anything the Marines had, had been captured intact and converted to American use. And Marines of Lieutenant Jim Barrett’s machine-gun platoon, M Company, 5th Marines, had captured two Japanese 3-inch Naval cannon, found ammunition for them, and pointed their ad hoc coast artillery battery seaward from the beach. They would be used against the Japanese warships everyone knew would soon appear offshore.

  The large stocks of food the Rikusentai left behind would probably keep the 1st Marine Division from starving, Pickering thought. The departing fleet had carried away with it most of the rations it was supposed to have put ashore for the Marines.

  Though the Rikusentai had rendered unusable the truck Pickering was standing on—the tires had been slashed and sand poured into the gas tank and engine oil fiiter—they didn’t have time to sabotage most of the other trucks they left behind. So these were either intact or repairable. And so were several small bulldozers and other engineer equipment. Without the Japanese equipment, completing the airfield would have been impossible.

  The Japanese plan for constructing the field involved starting from both ends and working toward a natural depression in the middle. Since the Japanese had not yet filled in the depression by the time the invasion came, when the Marines started work, that was their first order of business. One of the officers told Pickering that the job required moving 100,000 cubic yards of dirt. After that, the Marines extended the runway to 2600 feet, which was the minimum length required for operation by American airplanes.

  But all that was now just about completed—with more help from the Japanese than the U.S. Navy, Pickering thought bitterly. The proof seemed to be that a Navy Catalina amphibious long range reconnaissance airplane was overhead, acting as if it wanted to come in for a landing.

  Pickering jumped off the bed of the derelict Japanese truck, and walked to the Henderson Field control tower—obligingly built by the Rikusentai. They neglected to destroy it before heading for the boondocks.

  Antennae had already been erected and strung. And when Pickering entered the building, a ground-to-air voice radio was in operation, manned by a Marine aviator who had obviously come ashore with the invasion force.

  He looked at Pickering curiously, even with annoyance; but Lieutenants do not casually ask officers wearing silver eagles on their caps what the hell they want. So he returned his attention to the Catalina overhead, holding his microphone to his mouth.

  “Navy two oh seven, I repeat the airfield is not, repeat not, ready to accept aircraft at this time.”

  “It looks fine to me,” a metallic voice replied. “I repeat, I am exceedingly reluctant to land this aircraft on the water.”

  “Oh, shit!” the Marine Lieutenant said, and then pressed the TRANSMIT button on his microphone. “Navy two oh seven, the winds are negligible, the altimeter is two niner niner niner. Be advised that the runway may be soft, may be obstructed, and has vehicular and personnel traffic all over it. That said, you are cleared as number one to land, to the north, at your own risk. I say again, at your own risk.”

  “Henderson,” the metallic voice replied cheerfully, “Navy two oh seven, turning on final.”

  Pickering went to the window of the control tower and noticed that some glass panes were missing. This was not due to any kind of bombing or shelling of the field, however. There was a jar of putty on the floor. The Rikusentai had not completed installing the glass when the Americans arrived.

  Once its gear unfolded from the boat-shaped fuselage, the Catalina banked, lined up with the runway, lowered its flaps, and dropped toward the ground. It touched down, bounced back into the air, and then touched down again and stayed down. When it completed its landing roll, stopped, and began to turn, there was shouting and applause; and any vehicles with horns blew them.

  Henderson Field was now in operation, and the men who made it so were delighted with themselves, with Naval Aviation, and with the world in general.

  In fact, everyone in sight seemed pleased—with the exception of the Marine Aviator who had been on the radio. He started down from the tower as the Catalina taxied toward it. Pickering followed him.

  The pilot parked the Catalina and shut the engines down. A moment later, he emerged from a door in the fuselage, wearing a large grin.

  He was a Lieutenant, one grade senior in rank to the Marine Aviator First Lieutenant who greeted him, “What’s wrong with it? I want to get you out of here as soon as I can. Before the Japs start throwing artillery at us.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with it, Lieutenant,” the Naval Aviator said.

  “You said you couldn’t land it on water.”

  “I said, I was ‘exceedingly reluctant’ to land it on water,” the Navy pilot said. “My name is Sampson, Lieutenant William Sampson, USN, in case you might want to write that down in some kind of log. I believe this is the first aircraft to land here.”

  “You sonofabitch!” the Marine Aviator said.

  If it was Lieutenant Sampson’s notion to remind the Marine Lieutenant that it was a violation of Naval protocol to suggest to a senior Naval officer that his parents were unmarried, he abandoned it when he saw Pickering ... when he saw specifically the silver eagle on Pickering’s cap.

  He saluted. “Good afternoon, Colonel.”

  Pickering returned the salute. He did not correct Lieutenant Sampson’s mistake.

  “Welcome to Guadalcanal,” Pickering said. “Do you have business here? Or was your primary motive turning yourself into a footnote when the official history is written?”

  “I’m Admiral McCain’s aide, Sir. I have a bag of mail for General Vandergrift.”

  “I’ve got a Jeep,” Pickering said. “I’ll take you to him.”

  “That’s very good of you, Sir.”

  A Jeep bounced up to them, and an officer in Marine utilities, wearing a Red Cross brassard on his arm got out from behind the wheel.

  “Have you got any space on that airplane to take critically wounded men out of here?”

  “I can take two, Sir,” Sampson replied. “That’s all.”

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Just as soon as I can deliver something to General Vandergrift.”

  “I can have them aboard in ten minutes,” the doctor said.

  “My crew will help you, Sir,” Sampson said, and then looked at Pickering, who gestured toward the derelict Japanese Ford truck and his Jeep.

  (Three)

  G-2 SECTION

  HEADQUARTERS, 1ST MARINE DIVISION

  NEAR LUNGA POINT, GUADALCANAL

  1710 HOURS 12 AUGUST 1942

  Captain Fleming Pickering, USNR, did not hear Major General Alexander A. Vandergrift enter the map room of the G-2 section.

  The title “map room” was somewhat grandiose: A piece of canvas (originally one of the sides of an eight-man squad tent) had been hung from a length of communications wire, dividing the G-2 Section “building” in two. The G-2 building was another eight-man squad tent, around which had been built a wall of sandbags. When there was time, it was planned to find some timbers somewhere and build a roof structure strong enough to support several layers of sandbags. At the moment, the roof was the tent canvas. Because of the sandbag walls, an artillery or mortar shell landing outside the tent would probably not do very much damage. But the canvas tenting wo
uld offer no protection if an artillery or mortar shell hit the roof.

  Pickering was on his knees, working on the Situation Map. Specifically, he was writing symbols on the celluloid sheet that covered the Situation Map. This in turn was mounted to a sheet of plywood leaning against the sandbag walls. When there was time, it was planned to find some wood and make some sort of frame, so that the Situation Map would not have to sit on the ground.

  In his hand, Pickering held a black grease pencil. He was marking friendly positions and units on the map. In his mouth, like a cigar, was a red grease pencil, which he used to mark enemy positions. A handkerchief, used to erase marks on the map, stuck out of the hip pocket of his utility trousers. He was not wearing his utility jacket. The Map Room of the G-2 Section was like a steam bath, and Captain Pickering had elected to work in his undershirt.

  General Vandergrift walked to a spot just behind Pickering so that he could examine the map over Pickering’s shoulders. Vandergrift’s face, just starting to jowl, showed signs of fatigue. He stood there for more than a minute before his presence broke through Pickering’s concentration. And then, startled, Pickering looked over his shoulder. A split second later, he realized who was standing behind him.

  He rose quickly to his feet and came to attention.

  “I beg your pardon, Sir.”

  Vandergrift made an “it doesn’t matter” wave of his hand.

  “Is that about it?” he asked, with another gesture at the map.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Where’s Colonel Goettge?” Vandergrift asked. “For that matter, where’s the sergeant who normally keeps the Situation Map up to date?”