The other destroyers gradually filtered out to the war zone, arriving at different times depending upon when their ship’s overhauls were complete. Seaman Chesnutt and Fletcher left California on January 13, while O’Bannon and Nicholas left home waters on January 24. Seven days later, La Vallette participated in the Marshall Islands assault by bombarding the tiny island of Roi. According to Quartermaster Martin Johnson, the destroyer blasted Japanese defenses “such as gun emplacements, pillboxes, machine gun nests, troop trenches and pits, and buildings. We were inside the 2000-yard line of the beach thus we were the closest DD [destroyer] to bombard that day there.” He added, “The whole island was covered with dust, smoke, and debris that it was hidden. How anyone survived this I do not know for it was the heaviest bombardment ever made. Everything moved along favorably. We could see the marines advance and the enemy trying to stop them.”23
The officers and crews returned to altered roles when they reached the Southwest Pacific. After so gallantly holding the line in the Solomons and giving shipyards and factories time to build the nation’s arsenal, they now slipped into a more traditional role for destroyers. Screening for enemy submarines and aircraft while accompanying carriers and cruisers and bombarding landing areas dominated much of their time. The hazards that had earmarked the Slot as dangerous waters followed them to new arenas, but at the same time they were introduced to other forms of warfare. One from the sky, in particular, added a fiery terror that imperiled every crew along the way to Japan.
Back in the Pacific, Doc Ransom’s new year began inauspiciously when a Marine with a bowel obstruction was transferred to La Vallette for treatment. Ransom operated and removed a perforated appendix, but the Marine failed to respond. “The patient went into a coma 11 hours post op and died one hour later,” Ransom recorded in his diary on January 14. “We didn’t give him much of a chance as soon as we saw what was up in the abdomen.” Upset over the loss of his patient, a glum Ransom “went to bed dead tired. First surgery of 1944 and lost the patient—hope that isn’t a bad omen.”
His humor returned later that month when he transferred to another ship in the convoy to treat a man with dengue fever. After tending to the patient, Ransom radioed La Vallette that he was ready to be transferred back by breeches buoy, a line of ropes connecting the two ships. Ransom quickly suspected the crew had a surprise in mind. “By the time they got the breeches buoy rigged practically the whole crew of our ship was on top side and I knew something was up.” As Ransom crossed in the breeches buoy, he spotted one man snapping photographs with his camera, “and when I got half way across in the buoy, they slacked the line from our ship and I slowly lowered into the water up to my hips.” As everyone burst into laughter, “they rapidly pulled on the line and I shot up in the air about 20 feet—a wonder it wasn’t 200 feet!” The doused physician finally climbed aboard, wet but unharmed, to backslaps and more laughter. “The crew’s spirits rose high as a result of the incident and it was pretty funny. Takes a good ship to have a little horseplay when we’re only a few days away from Jap islands.”24
His mention of Japanese islands was a reference to the invasion force headed toward the Marshall Islands, where the six destroyers that had steamed together to the United States—La Vallette, Fletcher, Radford, Jenkins, Nicholas, and Taylor—provided gunfire support for the Marine landing units. Standing two thousand yards offshore, the ships opened fire as the Marines churned toward their objectives in the Marshalls.
“Signal tower blown down, buildings destroyed, crane hit, runway damaged and shore batteries hit,” wrote Seaman Chesnutt in his diary about Fletcher’s successful bombardment.25 Japanese shells landed close by and crew spotted a torpedo slicing alongside, but the ship avoided damage.
After the landings, La Vallette, accompanied by Nicholas and Taylor, escorted two aircraft carriers to Pearl Harbor. During the trip Ransom treated a sailor who cut his hand on a can of peanuts, but otherwise sick bay remained quiet. Arrival in the tropical paradise was bittersweet. The crew could enjoy the scenery, but they knew that once in port they would lose their beloved skipper, Commander Robert L. Taylor. On March 10, Commander Wells Thompson boarded La Vallette to take over the reins.
“Well today it happened and no one was very happy about it,” wrote Ransom. “Captain Taylor was relieved by Captain Thompson. Our old captain gave a swell farewell speech to his officers and crew and with tears in his eyes he had to stop before saying all. He admitted he didn’t want to leave the ‘Dilly.’ As he sailed away in the gig, he kept waving back and never did turn around until he was out of sight.” Ransom admitted that “it was a mighty quiet wardroom tonight.”26
That calm would not long remain. The next month Desron 21, which had operated in the South Pacific with Admiral Halsey for such a crucial portion of the war, entered the Southwest Pacific, where the squadron operated under the supervision of another renowned commander, General Douglas MacArthur. Their time off New Guinea and the Philippines presented different challenges to those they had faced in the Slot, and serving under the imperial MacArthur was certainly a stark contrast to their months with the sailor-friendly Halsey. “This will be our new theater of operations and the rest of Squad 21 will join us next week,” Doc Ransom wrote in his diary. “We are leaving the 3rd Fleet command to join with the 7th Fleet.”
The physician enjoyed working in the South Pacific for Halsey, an admiral who held every sailor’s respect for his aggressive way of fighting and his high regard for the men under his command. MacArthur, however, was another story. Like any American, Doc Ransom followed the general’s exploits with admiration; there was no denying MacArthur’s courage. But the unassuming physician could not relate to MacArthur’s love of the spotlight. Already sailors talked about the general’s war communiqués, which usually included only one name for every action—MacArthur’s. Officers joked that upon entering the Southwest Pacific and service with MacArthur’s Seventh Fleet, they would from that moment on remain anonymous and overshadowed by MacArthur. “New Guinea and ‘Dugout’ MacArthur—Oh joy!” Ransom scribbled in his diary.27
Ransom dismissed those thoughts as La Vallette steamed on a course for Cape Sudest in southeastern New Guinea, for he had too many details to handle. He had lectures to deliver on prophylactics and venereal disease, and he had to treat crew sick with fever or banged up from manning the machinery.
He was surprised at the noise a destroyer made at sea. He expected thundering sounds in battle, but even when the ship slowly glided through the Pacific, far from the sites of those Kula Gulf surface engagements, noise seemed everywhere. His squadron mate aboard Nicholas, Sonarman Douglas Starr, claimed that even “in a normal sea, a destroyer is a noisy ship. There’s always the whine of the wind and the slap and splash of the sea along the hull.”28 The ship’s screws smacked the water whenever they broke the surface, and the anchors knocked against the hull with each lift and fall of the bow. Ocean waters swept across the forecastle, and the steady drum of the engines mingled with the barked commands from chiefs to deck crew.
It seemed that the next operation might be another big one, Ransom thought as a collection of military brass boarded La Vallette at Cape Sudest. Sixteen high-ranking officers from the Navy, Army, and Marines, plus an Australian general, had selected the ship as their observation post for what Ransom would soon learn would be MacArthur’s final steps in securing all of New Guinea and establishing a launching pad for his long-awaited move north to the Philippines. Over the next four months American forces would land at six locations on New Guinea’s northern coast, from Aitape in the middle to Sansapor at the western end. The first three landings—at Aitape, Humboldt Bay, and Tanahmerah Bay—would unfold in April, followed by landings at Biak Island off New Guinea’s coast in May and Noemfoor Island and Sansapor in July. If all went according to plan, MacArthur would gain control in New Guinea and be ready to take the next step on his way back to the Philippines.
The eight destroyers of Desron 21—Ransom�
��s La Vallette, O’Bannon, Jenkins, Nicholas, Hopewell, Howorth, Radford, and Taylor—would play key roles in each operation, mainly by escorting the landing craft to the beaches, lending gunfire support as the troops crashed ashore, and keeping enemy submarines and aircraft at a distance. For the April landings, the first six destroyers accompanied the landing teams to Aitape while Radford and Taylor sailed to Humboldt Bay, a body of water that, along with Tanahmerah Bay, flanked the important port of Hollandia.
The large collection of destroyers and transports, backed by escort carriers and cruisers, rendezvoused northwest of the Admiralty Islands two hundred miles above the objectives on April 20. The next day the flotilla split into groups, with each heading toward its designated landing area. MacArthur, who watched from the cruiser Nashville, later wrote of the impressive array, “Just as the branches of a tree spread out from its trunk toward the sky, so did the tentacles of the invasion convoy slither out toward the widely separated beaches in the objective area.”29
In between the typical demands of sick bay, which currently housed a man with appendicitis, Ransom prepared his surgical instruments and medical supplies in case the ship sustained casualties, and checked to see that his pharmacist’s mates were ready. “Continuing ‘en mass,’” he wrote on April 21. “Very hot today and we are almost on the equator. Got all medical material ready for instant use. At 1700 [5:00 p.m.] our group turned south and the force will split into 3 invasion groups—ours for Aitape, the others for Humbol[d]t Bay and Hollandia. We strike at 0630 [6:30 a.m.] tomorrow and we will shell the beach from a short distance out. Hope they don’t have too big or too many guns firing back! We shall see.”30
Ransom waited at his station in the ship’s wardroom for the naval bombardment from La Vallette and the other escorting ships. A ten-minute naval barrage at 6:00 a.m. lifted to allow aircraft to bomb and strafe the beaches, then resumed as the troop-laden landing craft moved toward shore. Nine waves reached the beach against minor opposition from the small Japanese defense detachment.
“It was quite a show and we surprised them all right,” Ransom wrote of Aitape. “We, alone, fired 440 rounds of 5 inch into the landing area.” After the troops hit the beaches, “we then remained in the water stopped and watched the show and waited for any additional fire support orders—which never came.”31
While Ransom’s day passed without incident, that night another Desron 21 destroyer, Jenkins, sighted what they called a “suspicious object in water” while on antisubmarine patrol. When the task group commander ordered the ship to investigate, the skipper, Commander Philip D. Gallery, at first concluded it was a drifting log. To be safe, he ordered the object illuminated and destroyed by his 20mm gun crews, but Gallery and everyone else on deck received a surprise. “Numerous Japs seen to dive off barge or raft, which was repeatedly hit,” Gallery explained in his action report. Crew then used their forty-five-caliber pistols to shoot at the Japanese, killing most while forcing the rest to swim toward a nearby island. “Scratch one barge. Killed eight Japs. Resuming patrol,” reported Gallery to the task group commander.32
“Watched the dive bombers attack the village of Aitape where 1000 Japs still remain,” recorded Ransom from his quiet post aboard La Vallette. “The Jenkins sank a barge of Japs (8) trying to escape last night. Lots of our planes flying around all day and no zeros [Japanese fighter aircraft] in sight. The destroyers will probably return tomorrow for Sudest. Hope so, it’s dull here.”33 Unfortunately, on the way back a La Vallette sailor fell overboard and, despite a thirty-minute search by the ship, was lost.
Radford and Taylor encountered something very similar at Humboldt Bay 150 miles to the west. The destroyers and two cruisers, with MacArthur watching from Nashville, covered the unopposed landings before spending the remainder of the day maneuvering offshore to provide fire support for the units moving inland.
“Our World Was the Ship We Were Standing On”
After the rush of action experienced in the Slot and during the Kula Gulf battles, it is not surprising that the crews of Desron 21 found New Guinea’s four-month succession of landings and escorting tame by comparison. No one wanted a repeat of those earlier trying times, but the less frenetic pace made the days pass slowly. For a unit that had built a reputation based on nonstop action and combat with the Japanese, New Guinea was both a welcome break and a letdown. They enjoyed the breather, but thought they could do more than merely escort landing forces.
Despite the change of pace, officers tried to maintain the same level of readiness that the Solomons had required. The example of the sunken Strong—a key component of the squadron one instant and a battle casualty the next—remained as a cautionary tale that death was never far distant. Even minor operations had to be taken seriously.
To fill the gaps, Doc Ransom added to what had become a favorite tradition aboard La Vallette—his humorous recitations over the ship’s loudspeaker. Men at their stations looked forward to hearing his voice waft throughout the destroyer, offering a joke, a humorous poem, or a clever characterization of one of his fellow shipmates. Ransom brought a touch of home to a crew already weary of a war that separated them from loved ones.
Submarine hunting occupied some of the hours. Ransom’s shipmates in the sonar room sent underwater electronic pings that returned an echo whenever they hit a solid object. While the object usually turned out to be a whale, a school of fish, or an outcropping of rock, the crew still had to man stations in any event.
Ransom preferred submarine hunting to being posted on listening watch, where La Vallette stood off a harbor’s entrance and scanned the depths with her sonar to prevent submarines from sneaking by and attacking the ships inside, or to conducting one of the many gun drills. Antiaircraft crews had to be sharp, but Ransom expressed surprise that gunnery practices often expended $25,000 worth of ammunition.
The few breaks while in Humboldt Bay gave the men from different squadron ships the chance to mingle. Tied up to tenders, crews walked back and forth to other ships, where a sailor could socialize or find a welcome at a poker game or craps. The downtime helped cement squadron unity, and even though their main loyalty was to their individual ships, the sailors boasted that they served in the top Pacific squadron. “We were all part of the same squadron and had pride in both it and in our ship,” said Ensign Gabelman.34
Unlike the talks to crew about social diseases, Doc Ransom enjoyed the first-aid lectures, in which he showed the men how to apply the battle dressings and use the morphine syrettes that were stored in boxes at each gun station and other strategic posts. He provided additional training to Chief Pharmacist’s Mate J. R. Cloward, and taught the four pharmacist’s mates how to organize the aft dressing station and how to direct stretcher bearers. He emphasized medical education because he recognized that in the heat of battle, a prepared pharmacist’s mate could save lives that poorly trained ones might lose, and a medically knowledgeable gunner or torpedoman could keep the man next to him alive until Doc Ransom or one of the pharmacist’s mates arrived.
Battle wounds sometimes came from unexpected places. On May 2, Ransom treated an Army infantryman rushed to the destroyer when another soldier’s rifle accidentally discharged and hit him in the face. “Removed several pieces of fragments from forehead and eyelids,” Ransom wrote on May 2. “One eyeball was lacerated and the choroid hanging out in shreds. Dressed him up and transferred him after we returned to Humbol[d]t Bay at 1600 [4:00 p.m.].”35
No one enjoyed much rest or privacy while on a destroyer at sea. When Ransom and his shipmates donned the naval uniform, they handed over any expectations they had for privacy. “You learned that your days of privacy were over while you were in the Navy and they would not return until you were back in civilian life again,” wrote Seaman 1/c James Fahey, of his ship, the USS Montpelier, a cruiser almost twice as long as Ransom’s La Vallette. “When you ate, slept, took a shower, etc., you were always part of the crowd, you were never alone.”36
If that was
true for Fahey aboard a cruiser, it was even more so for Doc Ransom and anyone else stationed on one of the Desron 21 destroyers. As Sonarman Starr of Nicholas put it, “Our world was the ship we were standing on—a block long and a street wide.”37
Privacy and trust became a bigger issue when a crew suffered under the hands of an unpopular skipper. Seaman Tom Chesnutt on Fletcher, like everyone else aboard that destroyer, valued the skilled combination offered by Lieutenant Commanders Cole and Wylie and their immediate successors, but in some eyes the current skipper, Commander John L. Foster, failed to measure up. Chesnutt and a few shipmates applied the label “GQ John” to their new commander, who called an inordinate number of general quarters and drills throughout the day, something many skippers minimized when in the war zone. “Under Cole, when GQ was called, we manned it in less than a minute,” said Chesnutt. “Under ‘GQ John,’ who wanted to be a career Navy guy and called many GQs, it took us five to six minutes.”38
Chesnutt’s diary contained numerous references to the incessant drills and restrictions imposed by the skipper. “Hot as heck, no cool area,” he wrote on June 25, 1944. “This crew is getting in a bad way. This Ole Man is fast losing a fighting ship. His drills, inspection and no rest is driving them NUTS. A few days in a cool, civilized world could do wonders.”
In August they steamed into one harbor, but Foster refused to give the men a respite. “Not one Jap plane or ship has been spotted anywhere near here in weeks,” Chesnutt complained in his diary. “This damn Ole Man says this ship needs more drill and GQ and no liberty or recreation. I’d hate to see a ship with a crew any lower in feeling.”
Later that month Foster removed the coffeepot Chesnutt and the others had placed in the radar shack, and imposed a ban on reading and writing letters while at that station. “This life is hard enough without his screwy ideas. I have heard many of the fellows wish for this ship to get hit, so as to return for repairs. I’ll take my chances and sometimes I think death would be better than continuing this way. A fellow needs a rest once in awhile.”
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