Always alert, we followed the shoreline down the coast. Early that same morning, our Air Force had flown over our heads plane after plane of paratroopers bound for the fortress that dominated the entrance to Manila Bay, Corregidor. It had been extremely fortified since the Japanese had taken over the fortress. They put some of their best troops to man the guns we had left behind. Now, hundreds of paratroopers were being dropped on the fortress because the Japanese were so dug in that the only way they could be dislodged was by hand-to-hand combat. Of course, this put our paratroopers in the position of sitting ducks. Many were dead before they hit the ground. Others found it hard to land on the fortress grounds and ended up drowning in the waters around the objective since no small craft could get to them. Those that did make a safe landing were now engaged in some terrifying struggle to wrest control of the island from an enemy that knew their lives might come to an end if they lost control of the last remaining piece of real estate.
On our way down the 50-mile stretch of land, our crew tested out their guns. A blast of ten or twenty rounds from each of the machine guns was proof enough that the guns were in working order. With land on our port side and the vast China Sea off our starboard, the commander stayed just far enough off shore to remain in the safe zone--that is, safe enough not to be picked off by rifle fire should remnants of a retreating army be present. The commander, expecting action, had the crew on alert and stationed at their guns. I was surprised by the youthfulness of the crew. None seemed to be more than 17-years old, with the exception of the motormen and commander. Their faces had just smidgens of fuzz for beards. But beard or not, they all seemed to be well-trained as they went about their duties. As we came closer to Manila Bay, we could make out in the distance a huge armada of ships, including some big battleships, cruisers, mine sweepers, and some two dozen merchant vessels, within half a mile off Corregidor. The loud crackling of static and voices coming across the network with its links to other PT boats and the mother command vessel dominated the air and grew stronger. The screen of our radar was marked with lots of dark spots which represented the vast number of ships gathered in the area.
Our orders were to pass through the passageway of the two command vessels and enter Manila Bay. As our little PT boat swerved to the starboard and passed in between these two giant warships, the crews of both ships lined the railings and watched our boat follow another PT boat. They broke into applause in respect for and solidarity with the crews who manned the torpedo boats.
The sun was just disappearing as we passed through the gap with Bataan on our port and besieged Corregidor on our starboard. A voice came over the loudspeaker from the command vessel, "We will fire a star shell over the fort at 20-minute intervals. Be on the alert for enemy reinforcements moving to the fort as well as anyone escaping from the fort. If you are fired upon from the fort, do not return fire, as our forces are occupying various positions on the fort." "Message acknowledged," replied our commander. I tried to be observant as we passed into the Bay. There were parachutes scattered about on the island, some in the water. Rifle fire and machine gun fire could be heard all over the island. Boom, a star shell exploded over the island, descending slowly and lighting up the area like a Hollywood kleig light. We continued into the Bay, leaving Corregidor behind us.
Ahead of us we could see flames roaring skyward from the many fires within the city of Manila. It seemed like the entire city was being put to the torch. On the mainland, the Japanese were being attacked on one side by our forces which had landed at Subic Bay and were now being driven to their main force in Manila. To the right of Manila, our First Cavalry Armored Division was attacking the Japanese and driving them further toward Manila. It was a no-holds barred situation and one that would doom the Japanese troops.
In the midst of this three-sided attack, the retreating and besieged enemy was being harassed by a powerful movement of Philippine guerillas hell-bent on making the enemy pay dearly for their occupation of their country. Retreating enemy soldiers were shooting any civilian who got in their way.
As we lolled around the Bay, things started to get boring, and at the rate we were going, I figured I might as well find a safe spot, curl up and have a nap. But it was not to be. The commander shouted out, "Stand by, number one torpedo." The radar man had picked up a big ship lying close to shore. Our little boat veered to port and her engines slowed down. I had always believed that torpedo boats came upon their prey with engines wide open at top speed, coming close to the target, dropping the torpedo and veering off and away from the exploding ship. That was the picture one got from government propaganda. In actual life the opposite was true. We crept up on the vessel with our engines running extremely slow and muffled for sound. No one talked, but all eyes stared through the darkness, waiting for the first sight of the vessel. From the radar man came not just the sighting, but the distance to the object. Two thousand yards, then fifteen hundred yards, now less than a thousand yards from the vessel. I could see it now, at first just the silhouette. Now, closer, the smokestack in outline. We were using the brightness of a few stars and the occasional dim light from an exploding star shell to find our way. At that moment I had a great fear that the enemy aboard the ship knew we were there, had set their sights on us and were getting ready to blast the hell out of us and our little boat. I'm sure our commander sensed this also, but he did not show it.
Two men stood at the side of the forward torpedo. "Get ready now," said the commander. Our bow pointed directly at the enemy ship. "Fire. Let her go," he shouted. I heard the small whir of a motor start up. It was the alcohol-driven motor of the torpedo, slow at first, then increasing in speed as the whir got louder. I stayed clear of the torpedo, and not wanting to be in the way of the operation I moved to the far edge of the port side of the boat. In the semi-darkness there seemed to be some confusion at the torpedo rack. The torpedo should have been in the water by now and on its way to the enemy, but, no, the torpedo was still secured to the rack with its propeller going full speed. "Damn it!" shouted the commander. "Take cover; we have a hot one! Get me an axe!"
At this juncture I had some preconceived notions about torpedoes. I had believed that once the motor starts, it is preset for distance and when that distance is reached, the torpedo will explode. Thus, with the motor racing like crazy, it was racking up mileage and, I believed, could explode within seconds. Everybody had scattered, but the commander kept shouting for someone to bring him the fire axe. There were no two ways about it--I expected to be blown to kingdom come within a few seconds. I inched myself over the side of the boat and angled myself so that 95 percent of my body was just touching the water. Then another phobia arose. I'm scared to death of sharks, and the water in and around Manila was shark-infested. I had a notion that almost touching the water would invite a shark to take a nibble on me. The choice of being blown to hell or being a tidbit for some hungry shark stared me in the face. The commander, thankfully, got his hands on the fire axe and saved the day. I rose up to see him swing the axe at a carter pin holding the torpedo to its rack. He walloped it at least three times, but nothing gave. At this point he quickly retreated below deck into the cabin. Sparks started to fly from the motor, and strange new sounds were heard. Another 30 seconds passed, and the motor stopped. This brought the commander back on deck, this time with a flashlight in his hand. He turned it on the torpedo. "Damn it to hell, you pulled two pins and forgot the main one! No wonder it never dropped!" His remarks were sharp and directed to the two torpedo men, both youngsters in their late teens.
He easily withdrew the pin and the torpedo rolled off and into the water, quickly sinking to the bottom. Our little boat registered a slight tilt to port now that the weight was removed from the stateboard side.
"Ready port torpedo," he shouted, "and this time remove all of the goddamned pins!"
The youngsters said nothing but quickly went to the torpedo, removed two pins, and waited for the command to send it on its way. The commander maneuvered the bo
at to make sure he had the target in position before issuing the order to fire. "Get ready, on the mark," he said, and the two youngsters set the propeller in motion. "Drop it!" the commander shouted, and without incident the torpedo hit the water. For a moment, it seemed like it had disappeared and that this one, too, was lost, but up it came, leaving a fluorescent wake as it headed toward the ship.
I stood holding onto the railing, waiting for this big explosion to take place, but somehow the torpedo drifted off target . It missed the stern end of the vessel by a mere six feet and rode up the sandy beach. There was no explosion, but a lot of gun firing took place. We assumed it was the ship's crew who had taken their position on the beach rather than on the larger target of the ship. In the dark, they may have concluded that it was a landing party and were firing in the direction of the noise.
Our commander was beside himself with the bad luck he was having. We had no more torpedoes. He got on the walkie-talkie and made contact with the other torpedo boat. Within a few minutes the PT boat was within a few yards of us. Our commander related the incident and asked the other commander to finish the job. Within five minutes they launched their torpedo, and blasts of lightning hit the ship. It seemed that the torpedo hit one of the hatch sections just astern of the engine room sector. At least ten minutes went by after the explosion. We waited in silence. We could hear no cries of panic or any other noise coming from the ship. We had no idea what damage, if any, was done by the torpedo. Word was sent to the mother ship lying outside the Bay directing the operations of the PT boats, asking for permission to fire off a star shell to light up the area around the vessel to determine the scope of damage. A word of caution came back to keep a safe distance from the vessel after the shell was fired.
The shell brightened the area and for the first time we could see that it was a Japanese freighter, empty perhaps, with a sizable hole in the area of number four hatch. She had taken a slight list with water pouring through the hole as her hull rested on the sandy bottom, which didn't seem to be very deep.
By now the fire on Corregidor had slackened. Dawn was breaking. We had pulled away from the partially-sunk vessel and idled in the middle of the Bay with the other PT boat. We could hear the loudspeakers crackle as the commander on the mother ship announced that within the next half hour we should be prepared to make our way out of the Bay, since aircraft was due to fly over and drop bombs on designated targets. The ship, now wounded, was to be one of them.
At this moment the other PT boat revved its motors and, without anyone saying a word, raced off to starboard. We had no idea why this happened, until our radar man announced he had discovered a blip on his screen. In a few moments we noticed that, sneaking off under the cover of semi-darkness, there was a small, 35-foot motor barge similar to our LSTs. It had on board at least 20 Japanese marines, fully armed. Their mistake was being too late in abandoning Corregidor and heading for the mainland. Had they left in the middle of the night they might have gone undetected.
When the other boat reached them, there seemed to be no command given to haul or surrender. No time seemed to be wasted before a small cannon shot was fired from the PT boat. So powerful was the shot that it blew several of the marines out of the boat and into the Bay. Another quick shot, and the small vessel quickly sank. I could not see all the action after that, but I did hear a lot of machine gun fire, and then there was silence.
By the time we got on the scene, the other PT boat had pulled one of the marines out of the water and made him sit on deck near the bow. No one said a word or even attempted to give an explanation. We were left to make our own estimate of what could have happened. Our conclusion was that no one really cared much about taking prisoners. We had taken advantage of the surprise. The one lone prisoner on board was for identification purposes and whatever intelligence could be gotten out of him. He may have chosen to drown rather than become a prisoner, but apparently our men fished him out of the water before he had a chance to go under. And why didn't our radar man detect this moving vessel on his radar? He just wasn't looking closely enough. The long hours without sleep and charged-up nerves always operating on battle station alert played havoc with his eyesight. Had the other PT boat not been on the ball, the boatload of marines would have made it to the mainland.
We headed out of the Bay. Word had already been relayed that a Japanese landing craft and its passengers had been engaged in battle and one lone prisoner was coming in. We proceeded out of the Bay in the same fashion we had entered it, between several war ships with their crews lined up on deck, applauding as the PT boats slowly made their way to the mother command ship. The prisoner was handed over and we proceeded back up the coast to Subic Bay.
I had a chance to talk with the young commander as our boat slowly rode the warm swells up the coast. Why, I asked, did everyone seek protective cover when the torpedo was racing if they knew it would not explode? Why the panic?
"There was never any fear," he replied, "that the torpedo would explode. That happens only when it hits something solid. What I was afraid of was getting hit by parts of the motor."
"And how would that happen?" I asked.
"As the motor of the torpedo is set in motion, it begins to pick up speed, because the propellers have no resistance. Once it is in the water, it meets resistance and the motor remains safe. In our case the motor was set in motion on deck, as we expected to drop it into the water. Since we could not release it, the motor was now picking up speed, getting faster and faster. It reached what we call the critical speed and started to disintegrate. Once that happens, pieces of the motor start to fly here, there, and everywhere, and if a piece should hit you, it would be equal to being hit by a bullet. That's why seeking cover till the motor clunked out was the best thing to do. We lost a torpedo, but maybe saved some lives. So? Buy more war bonds."
Chapter XIII: The Bomb
Aboard ship there were many aspects a seamen enjoyed that his shoreside fellow worker did not. Aboard ship you were close to your work. You were close to the dining room and your meals were waiting for you at the proper hour. The spare time was yours to enjoy the best way you could, doing your laundry, sewing up clothing, writing, sunbathing or playing games with your shipmates. You were always seconds away from your bunk. Of course, one of the greatest advantages of the life of a shoreside worker was the loving companionship of loved ones who were always close by. The seaman traded home comforts for freedom in the form of a world tour, gratis. There were new ports, new sights, new languages and an education you couldn't get in a classroom.
The great excitement of shipboard life was the men you worked and sailed with. They made the trip a success or a nightmare. The more you sailed with the same crew, the more you learned about each other, your strengths and weaknesses. You learned who among them would hang tough in a crisis and who would fold.
My couple of weeks ashore between ships were coming to an end. I would have to ship in the next few days. I walked into the Marine Firemen's Union hall simply because I was near it and I wanted to check up on a few of my friends. I ran into an old buddy and dear friend, Sid Churgel. I had not seen Sid for nearly a year. While I was sailing as an engineer, Sid was sailing as electrician.
On the blackboard in the dispatching hall were the names of 25 ships that required crews. We scanned the list of ships and the personnel required. Sid turned to me with a smile, "Why don't you come along with me this time?" he asked. "You can go as chief electrician and I'll go as your assistant, or I'll go as chief and you as assistant. Whatever you like is okay with me."
The thought that within a few days I would be boarding a ship as an engineer and perhaps not know anyone on board made Sid's proposal a happy thought. Besides, Sid was a real first-class character. He was friendly, warm, generous, trustworthy, and a nice guy to be around.
"Why not?" I said. "You pick the ship."
We boarded the SS Laredo Victory, Sid as chief electrician and I as his assistant. Many sailors preferred the Victory
ship over the Liberty ship. The main reason was that the Victory ship was faster that the 13-knot reciprocating engine-driven Liberty. The Liberty, under the best of conditions, had 2,500 horses pulling it along, while the new Victory ship was powered by a steam-driven, noisy turbine engine with 5,000 horses, which lent power to drive the Victory to 15 to 17 knots. In wartime that extra spurt of speed could be the difference between outrunning an enemy submarine or being its victim. The Victory had better sleeping quarters, a bigger galley, and bigger iceboxes that stored more food. Its cargo-working machinery was electric-run, and compared to the steam-driven winches of the Liberty ship, it was a safer and cleaner working environment. The electrician's sleeping quarters were on the main deck port side forward. It had two bunks, two portholes, lockers and a small settee and wash basin. It was much better than what we would have enjoyed on a Liberty.
We bid farewell to San Francisco and headed toward the Golden Gate and out to sea. We were loaded down with some special items in our cargo. Later we would learn that these items were a special new magnetic bomb and mine, extremely dangerous to ship. It was so dangerous, in fact, that it had to be stored on the upper deck in number three hatch. It had to have special shoring to make sure it did not shift so much as an inch or move around the cargo hold, otherwise it would blow the ship to kingdom come. This, of course, almost made a wreck out of the captain, who managed with every little storm to send the mates down into the hold to check and recheck those items.
There was much work that had to be done on this ship to bring it up to par. The last gang of electricians had left much of the machinery in need of some repair. Sid carefully mapped out the daily routine. One day we might find ourselves working in the engine room, the following day on the boat deck. Sid was the kind of mechanic who demonstrated a great interest in his work. He took few shortcuts, and every job finished could be expected to hold up under stress and pressure. We all realized that we were operating in the enemy's backyard. No cause for a breakdown could be permitted in the event our ship was called upon to outrun or outrace an enemy submarine. The breakdown of one lone water pump or a faulty generator could cost us our lives. Sid assured the ship's engineers, crew, and captain that it wouldn't happen on any ship Sid sailed on, and I was there to back him up.
Bill Bailey Page 52
