No Bended Knee

by Merrill B. Twining

  Relations got off to a good start, and there were no fights during the party. Not that fights between Marines and Australian soldiers were unknown in Melbourne. As elsewhere in Australia, fights were a national tradition. Every Saturday afternoon the battle royal started down on Flinders Street near the railroad station and continued for hours, blocking traffic in both directions. The police intervened tentatively and ineffectively, but their hearts were not in it. With the return of the Aussies from North Africa, the fights took on a new dimension. Marines sometimes got involved on both sides and became quite enthusiastic.

  Somebody, probably Rudyard Kipling, wrote about soldiers fighting on a Flinders Street somewhere in the United Kindgom: “Nothing dirty mind you, no knives or broken bottles like them Frogs and Wops in Shanghai, knock a man down and he’d get right up and come at you! Never saw anything like it.” I can’t find the reference, but the underlying tradition seems to have survived intact its transplant to Australia.

  Of all our gracious visitors and guests to General Vandegrift’s headquarters and mess, one was unique. Lt. Gen. Walter Krueger, U.S. Army, MacArthur’s senior general commanding the Sixth Army, was probably the most unpleasant man I have ever known. An old “smoothbore” born in Prussia and risen from the ranks with long service dating from before the Spanish-American War, he seems to have been a great favorite of General MacArthur. What they could have had in common I cannot imagine, unless it was their mutual dislike of Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower, who had served both of them as a chief of staff, with scant loyalty, it would seem.

  Krueger and many of his staff stayed with us for several days while General Rupertus was acting division commander during General Vandegrift’s trip to Washington. The purpose of Krueger’s visit was not clear, as the army presence in Melbourne was very small. I imagine he was conversing with top-level Australian military officials about forthcoming operations. He was a careful observer of a two-day amphibious operation we put on in Port Philip Harbour in conjunction with elements of the U.S. and Australian navies. His only comment was, “There’s a lot more to amphibious warfare than just jumping in and out of a boat.”

  Krueger considered himself an expert on landing beaches. “Give me,” he would say, “a long, gently sloping beach where men can get out of the boats in waist deep water and wade ashore.”

  This is the typical Hollywood beach, the kind that Julius Caesar picked for his landing in Great Britain and on which he almost lost his famed Tenth Legion. Men are helplessly exposed as they slowly struggle through the restraining water and slippery sand. Then, when the tide goes out, the landing of supplies and ammunition is interrupted for hours at a time. Sometimes, however, as at Tarawa, you must take what you can get.

  At that time the naval forces assigned to commander, Southwest Pacific, were totally inadequate for a large operation. Krueger’s staff was studying the practicability of conducting a gigantic shore-to-shore operation from Northern Australia to New Guinea, directly across the Great Barrier Reef, using whatever ships, boats, and landing craft they could lay their hands on. I shuddered, but on second thought realized that some good might come of the idea. It would so shock the navy that in their desperation to prevent it they would somehow dig up the necessary shipping for a more realistic effort.

  Despite his personality, General Krueger stayed the course and was the driving force behind the Allied army in its victorious drive from New Guinea to the Philippines. Perhaps his kind of leadership was the kind that was needed by that army at that hour of the war. But as one authority ruefully puts it, “He possessed a sometimes volatile temper.”33

  England still maintained its attitude of colonialism toward Australia in the matter of limitations or prohibitions placed on the manufacture of spirituous liquors. The supply of these was cut off due to the exigencies of war, and Australia was forced to create a new industry. They developed a form of fiery whiskey under the trade name “Corio.” It was dreadful stuff, reminiscent of the Mason jars of “corn licker” we used to buy from the Virginia farmers in the days of Prohibition. Fortunately, their beer was both excellent and adequate.

  This same surviving spirit of colonialism extended into the field of people-to-people relations in a strange way. The growing friendship and respect between Australians and Americans embarked together against a common enemy apparently became a disturbing factor at the lower levels of the British government. British Major General Dewing was sent out on a subtle mission of dissuasion. He gave a series of interesting discourses before groups of comparatively influential people on the subject of the war in North Africa—a rare treat for listeners starved for hard news of the war abroad. I heard one of these and noted that his attitude toward the American effort in North Africa was politely deprecatory. For the first time I learned that inexperienced American soldiers had suffered a severe reverse in the February 1943 battle of the Kasserine Pass. They had been broken, and their general had been replaced by Gen. George S. Patton, USA. He pointed out correctly enough that “no army is worth a damn in its first fight” and closed on an upbeat note, but subtle damage had been done. Under what authority and to what purpose had he released depressing news of this nature to civilians, news to which our most senior officers were not yet privy?

  Immediately thereafter I had access to a British inspired confidential news release plan about the movement of a single squadron of the famous Spitfire fighters to New Guinea from England. It provided several successive story line steps as a guide to reporters. It went something like this, only in great detail:

  Step 1: Spitfires reach New Guinea . . .

  Step 2: Spitfires engage Zeros . . .

  Step 3: Spitfires score first success . . .

  Step 4: Spitfires overwhelm Zeros . . .

  The Spitfires’ arrival was duly noted in the press, but I saw no further mention of them thereafter. I understand they had tried to dogfight the super-nimble Zeros (no one could do that) and had suffered resounding losses in return.

  This strange proceeding had not gone unnoticed in Washington. An Army Air Force colonel from the general staff came out to take a look. He told me, “That British General Dewing is not doing us a bit of good.”

  General Vandegrift and Colonel Thomas returned from Washington at about this time full of plans and changes to be made. General Vandegrift would go to Noumea, New Caledonia, and relieve Maj. Gen. Clayton B. Vogel, USMC, as commander of I Marine Amphibious Corps (IMAC) for the forthcoming operation against the Shortland Islands, adjacent to southern Bougainville. Upon completion of the operation, he would return to Washington to become commandant of the Marine Corps upon the retirement of General Holcomb. Vandegrift would also reorganize the command structure of the 2d Marine Division, now at Wellington, New Zealand, before it proceeded to the Central Pacific for a combat mission (Tarawa) under control of Maj. Gen. Holland M. Smith, USMC. This reorganization was begun from Melbourne on the basis of agreements reached in Washington.

  Col. Merritt A. Edson flew to Wellington to become chief of staff. Brig. Gen. Alphonse de Carre and his colonels were replaced. Col. David M. Shoup came from the States to become the D-3, and Maj. Gen. Julian C. Smith was given command of the division. These changes, long overdue, would greatly strengthen the command structure of the 2d Marine Division in advance of Tarawa.

  Epilogue

  Major General Vandegrift had expected to proceed directly to Washington from Australia to take over the duties of commandant of the Marine Corps upon the retirement of Lieutenant General Holcomb. However, Admiral Halsey needed his assistance to reorganize and strengthen the command of our newly formed I Marine Amphibious Corps (IMAC), composed of the 2d and 3d Marine divisions plus support units. This organization had been assigned to plan and conduct the New Georgia operation, the first major advance up the Solomons chain toward Rabaul. Corps planning clearly indicated that two divisions would be required rather than the one division force visualized by ComSoPac planners. The latter remained obdurate, and the New Georgia o
peration was reassigned to U.S. Army forces, who agreed to the one-division limitation.

  Nevertheless, it became necessary to throw large additional forces, army and Marine, into the confused and protracted operation that followed. This may have vindicated the military judgment of the then commanding general IMAC, Maj. Gen. Clayton B. “Barney” Vogel, USMC, but it did nothing to solve the problems faced by Admiral Halsey, particularly when General Vogel, in an apparent fit of pique, took off on a protracted inspection trip of the South Pacific. This was the situation that caused ComSoPac to ask General Vandegrift to assume command of IMAC and set matters aright before proceeding to Washington to assume the commandancy of the Marine Corps.

  Accompanied by a small command group consisting of Colonel Thomas, myself, Lt. Col. Edward W. Snedeker, Maj. James C. Murray, and Maj. Ray Schwenke, the general reached Noumea on 7 July, took over command of IMAC, and cleaned house.

  His house cleaning was radical and widespread; some of it had begun even before the general left Melbourne. We had advance notice that the 2d Marine Division would be sent against Tarawa. This was serious business, and Vandegrift’s experiences on Guadalcanal left him with the impression that the 2d was not receiving the active, aggressive leadership the situation demanded. He sent Edson to be chief of staff and persuaded the commandant to send Maj. Gen. Julian C. Smith, USMC, out as the new commander. None of the 2d Marine Division infantry colonels who had been on Guadalcanal were retained, and new faces and aggressive officers like Dave Shoup joined the completely reorganized unit. Vandegrift did this completely on his own. On Guadalcanal where these ideas must have originated, I had never heard him utter one word in derogation of this fine unit or any of its members.

  IMAC’s control of the 2d Marine Division was administrative only, but we were still able to help them in one vital respect. A glance at coral-encrusted Betio Island underscored the vital necessity of amphibian tractors (LVTs) to cross the reefs. There were 114 of these vehicles held up on the docks at San Francisco by some bean counter who didn’t think we needed them. When General Vandegrift left Noumea for Washington, I was designated to ride herd on the newly organized supply system to see that these tractors reached the 2d Division posthaste. I followed through, and the gators were shipped in time for Tarawa, where their presence may well have been decisive. Many people have claimed credit for this act; it was General Vandegrift in person who detected the need and took steps to meet it.

  I was not privy to any of the intramural bloodshed that accompanied the reorganization, for I was appointed operations officer of the IMAC and handed the job of immediately preparing an operations plan for the seizure of the Shortland Islands at an early date. As my assistant C-3 (operations), I was assigned the services of Maj. Wilbur J. McNenny, USMC, a recent graduate of the Army Staff College at Leavenworth, Kansas. Facing an early deadline to prepare a preliminary plan, we were immersed in work day and night from that time forward.

  The ComSoPac directive gave us little reliable information. The estimate of enemy strength seemed to be so highly inflated as to make one wonder how our small force could be expected to attack at all. But we had faced this situation before and were not too greatly concerned.

  The Shortland Islands lie just off the southern tip of Bougainville Island, a former German protectorate taken over by the British under the treaty of Versailles in 1919. Most, but not all, of the inhabitants favored the Allied cause. Here again Coast Watcher assistance would be vital.

  The Shortlands themselves were not remarkable in any way, but they provided an extensive fleet anchorage and a strong air base on the island of Ballale, adjacent to the main island. Accessible landing beaches seemed almost nonexistent, although as yet we had almost nothing in the way of photographic intelligence and would be unable to obtain any pending confirmation of the task assignment. The new staff people at ComSoPac seemed to have learned little or nothing after eighteen months of war. Their operation plans still had about the same degree of realism as a four-year-old’s letter to Santa Claus.

  We adhered to General Vandegrift’s maxim to avoid heavily defended beaches if by any combination of march and maneuver it was possible to place troops ashore unopposed but within striking distance of their objective. Such resort was not possible at places like Tarawa and Iwo Jima, where the nettle had to be grasped despite heavy initial losses. But in the Shortlands, by using LVTs in advance waves, we believed we could land at points that would in all probability be lightly defended. By selecting landing beaches remote from the main defensive zone, we would likewise have time to reform and move forward before serious hostile interference could materialize. It was essentially the same type of maneuver we had employed at Guadalcanal. General Vandegrift and Jerry Thomas studied the plan in detail and with great care. The general gave it tentative approval pending receipt of further and more specific intelligence as to enemy strength, hydrography, and the character of landing beaches. It was already apparent that existing studies were inadequate and that we would be largely dependent upon aerial photography and our own onshore patrols landed from submarines.

  General Vandegrift and the IMAC staff displaced forward from Noumea to Guadalcanal on Friday, 13 August 1943. We landed at Henderson Field in the midst of the uproar arising out of a small Japanese sneak air raid—the first in several months and the last air attack on Guadalcanal of the war. One of the new transports, John Penn (APA-23), was sunk off Lunga Point before our own forces could intervene. I knew we had returned to our old haunt.

  The next day General Vandegrift announced the longrumored command changes affecting Marines in the South Pacific. He would depart the area and return to Washington to relieve General Holcomb as CMC after an inspection tour of all Marine activities in the Pacific Ocean area. He would be accompanied by Colonel Thomas. Maj. Gen. Charles D. Barrett, USMC, now commanding 3d Marine Division on Guadalcanal, would take over as commanding general, IMAC. Command of the division would pass to Brig. Gen. Hal Turnage, USMC, the present assistant division commander. Col. Alfred H. Noble, USMC, would become chief of staff, relieving Colonel Thomas. These assignments would automatically result in a one-rank promotion to each of the officers involved.

  The 3d Marine Division was living in an excellent tent camp near the coast east of Koli Point. Squad tents and cots with mosquito nets provided the men with a high degree of freedom from the malaria that had scourged their predecessors. The 3d was the first of the new divisions, that is, those composed of entirely new units organized after the outbreak of the war. These men were a splendid lot, but they had problems of their own. They wanted to fight. All felt they had been held back too long working on page one of the book. They had spent long months in Samoa’s debilitating climate under someone’s policy of acclimating the troops to a tropical environment. “Someone” had forgotten the old saying: “Three things you don’t need to practice up: going on half rations, jumping out of planes in parachutes, and living in the tropics.”

  At best the tropical environment is deleterious to non-natives. Those who survive habitually live quiet lives in an upgraded environment. This can never be true in the case of the soldier or Marine, whose lot must, of necessity, be a hard existence to achieve and maintain physical fitness to meet the test of battle. This well-recognized factor had somehow been forgotten or ignored.

  In the case of the 3d Division, the problem was greatly intensified by the fact that some of its units had been stationed in areas where they were exposed to a disease in which parasitic filarial worms block the flow of lymph, causing parts of the body to become greatly enlarged. This dreadful mosquito-transmitted disease is known as elephantiasis or, as the Islanders of the South Seas call it, “mu mu.”

  How such an assignment could have occurred escapes me, but to my mind it represented the ghastliest untoward incident of the entire Pacific War. Fortunately the mistake had been detected when the affliction was in its early stages and easily curable, but the psychological impact must have been terrific. To thei
r credit the 3d Division maintained throughout a morale and spirit second to none.

  The remedy for the malady in its symptomatic stage was simple enough—prompt removal of the patient from the tropical environment to an area of the temperate zone where he can be encouraged to lead an active outdoor life to divert his mind away from the horrible psychological problems accompanying the disease. Special camps were set up to receive those afflicted. One such camp in the mountains near Klamath Falls, Oregon, my home state, was especially successful.

  I understand that due to the early recognition and timely treatment of the disease, no advanced cases or deaths occurred. I strongly suspect that my old friend Dr. Warwick Brown, now at CinCPac Headquarters had a leading role in straightening this out.

  In early September elements of Col. Harry B. “Harry the Horse” Liversedge’s 1st Raider Regiment came through Guadalcanal en route to Espiritu Santo following their Bairoko foray. They were a disgusted group. Someone found them a bottle of Scotch, which they sorely needed. I listened carefully. They had been sent on an ill-defined mission involving extreme hardship and unnecessary exposure. Finally, they brought their enemy to brook, but holding a strong position. Timely air and logistic support did not materialize, and the Marines were unable to dislodge a stronger, better-armed and better-supplied antagonist. In short, they had been required to repeat the exact sequence of events that had so often brought disaster to the Japanese on Guadalcanal. This was Kelly Turner’s last appearance in the role of soldier/sailor of the Solomons.