Harold Guard
Page 16
Once more I took the opportunity to accompany American aircrews on their bombing missions, to see how the war was progressing from the air. On one occasion I went up in a Liberator bomber named Roarin’ Rosie that was being piloted by a John Mufich. He was leading a squadron of medium heavy bombers, with the plan of unloading eighty tons of explosives and carrying out some low-level strafing of troop concentrations and installations in the Lae area of New Guinea. Though the Allied forces were now starting to get the upper hand, on the ground, the Japanese troops were proving very difficult move back, and required continuous air attacks.
Our journey on the way to the target area was largely uneventful, as air supremacy was now starting to be achieved. Once we reached Lae, though, some Japanese Zeros attempted to intercept us, but our P38 fighters that had been covering the squadron managed to see them off quite easily before the Zeros could inflict any damage on us. I had the opportunity on this particular mission to position myself between the two waist gunners, which a year ago would have been a dangerous area of the craft to stand in, as it was so exposed, but was now quite safe. It also gave me the opportunity of using my binoculars to view the Salamaua area, close to Lae, and to see how the war had developed. We circled around the area about three times at a height of about five thousand feet. We knew that Allied ground forces were within a mile of our target, and so great care was going to be needed with the accuracy of our attack.
Mufich flew over the Salamaua Peninsula that joins the North Papuan coast with a threadlike isthmus, which I remembered from before as being thickly wooded with palm trees. It was now, however, thinned out to just a few skeleton-like trunks, which was due to the repeated Allied bombings. The airstrips at Salamaua were completely pockmarked with bomb craters, and I was unable to count how many there were as they were so numerous. The red-topped buildings throughout the area had been completely gutted, and Japanese bombers and fighters were strewn all over the place. Despite all of this destruction, there were still areas where the Japanese held strong with ground forces dug well in.
On our right wing I could see the Liberator named Yankee Doodle Dandy release a full load of heavy explosives on the troop concentrations, which were situated in a wooded area to the right of the Salamaua Isthmus. Some of the ground had not seen sunshine for thousands of years, but now the continual explosions had churned it up, leaving great tree trunks uprooted from the ground. We then unloaded eight thousand pounders into the target area, and the detonations were so great that they reverberated throughout our plane. We then swung out to sea again, leaving our target behind us, and as I looked through my binoculars I could study the black smoke and red flames that we left in our wake.
At the same time over Lae, Liberators approached targets in relays from different directions, with our P38s actively scouring the thick clouds in the skies above for any Zeros that might be lingering with the intent of causing trouble. I could see a single Zero far off in the distance as Mufich approached the Lae area, apparently making it’s way back to base after a dogfight. With my binoculars I could also see red flames leaping from wharf side installations, and there were great columns of thick black smoke that rose about a thousand feet in the sky. The retreating Zero had obviously been unsuccessful in trying to defend the area; I could see from five thousand feet plenty of evidence of the damage that had been left by our squadron’s attacks.
I could also see the Japanese and Allied position in the Mount Tambu area, where the enemy cunningly took advantage of every piece of jungle cover that remained. On the home run my binoculars once or twice also revealed Allied positions, showing Australians gazing up and waving as bomber flights zoomed towards base after completing their job of “softening” the Japanese resistance. The whole experience was fascinating as I was able to get a great overall picture of what was happening in this intense war; it was exactly the reason why I had not wanted the United Press to withdraw me from New Guinea.
Another mission that I went on was in the company of a Universal cameraman named Earl Crochett. We went up in a Liberator bomber called Connell’s Special, piloted by a Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Rogers, on our way to Humbolt Bay off the north coast of New Guinea. Once more there was little air opposition from the Japanese as we made our way across the Owen Stanley Mountains at high altitude. Again the mood was quite relaxed until we began to reach the target area, when the excitement increased as we descended to three thousand feet in search of enemy shipping.
Before long we sighted an enemy freighter approximately thirty miles from the Wewak area. We unloaded five hundred pounds of bombs onto it, which landed on it’s deck with a resounding explosion, and as we passed over it I turned around and could see smoke and an oil slick spreading out from the stricken craft. Crochett had been precariously crouching down on the catwalk that divided the bomb bay doors, shooting snapshots of the bombs all the way on their descent to the target. We now turned back in preparation for a second run, as the heavy calibre machine guns aboard the ship blazed away at us. Undeterred though, we let more of the bombs go, which this time fell just short of the starboard bow, but which rocked it quite violently. Some of our load had been fitted with small white parachutes, and I watched with Crochett as they spread out over the target. Even though we were able to see the crew of the craft jumping overboard, the anti-aircraft gun kept blazing away and the tracers from it flew directly underneath us.
The bomb bay doors were now closed as we started to prepare for our third run over the target, and this time we swooped right down as the altimeter first registered seven, then five, and then three hundred feet, and all our guns were blazing. We were passing now over a distance not much higher than the masthead, and skip bombs had been dispatched that Crochett was able to photograph as they entered the freighter’s rear. We then turned and banked steeply, and prepared for the long journey home across the Owen Stanley mountain range once more.
I was delighted to meet up once more in New Guinea with my old friend Shanty O’Neil, with whom I had been on bombing missions a year earlier when I was first stationed in Port Moresby. I was lucky enough to accompany him again on a mission over Wau, this time in a B25 Mit chell Bomber, which was carrying three hundred pound bombs and armed with hundreds of rounds of ammunition for low-level strafing. So I rendezvoused with other members of the squadron just before dawn one day. All the weather reports stated that conditions would be favourable over the mountainous territory we were due to cross, which was a relief as I knew from previous experience that this was extremely difficult terrain to navigate.
As we approached our target the sky seemed to be filled with all types of craft. P38 and P39 fighters were weaving into formation above and below us, while B24 engines roared at a higher altitude, circling as they took up formation so they would be in place over their specific target section. Shanty circled four times over Wau, awaiting the “green light” to be signalled for an attack on the target area. Suddenly the command came squawking through the phones, “Here we go!”
In formation we roared downwards, way out over the Salamaua Peninsula, then circled for the formation to be picked up again before turning inland to the river mouth that marked the entrance to a steep ravine, a thickly wooded area on either side leading towards the target area. As we approached the coast I saw B24s dropping heavy bombs, which exploded far above the treetops with a vivid flash, spreading plumes of black smoke. Shanty twisted and turned the craft up into the ravine, and then cried to his co-pilot “bombs away!” The co-pilot flicked some small red switches on the front panel, which flickered a number of red lights, as Shanty took the plane into the steepest dive with all guns pouring tracers into the thick woodland. From all sides I saw Mitchell bombers pouring heavy calibre incendiary explosive shells into the area.
The whole business took less than about three minutes, after which Shanty then pulled the bomber into a steep climb over the sharp peaked craggy rocks. Looking back I saw the thick black smoke shrouding the entire target area. The fe
eling among the crew was that the mission had been a success. “Jeeze! It would be a miracle if any Japanese are still alive and kicking in that area,” one of them said, as the squadron started to make its way home. I must say that the whole experience was very exhilarating, and that bombing from a B24 was a completely different proposition from what I had experienced before.
Shanty O’Neil flew over six hundred combat hours, and received almost every decoration available to him in the American Air Force. In recognition of this he was due to be relieved from New Guinea, and sent on a long leave back to the USA. To mark the occasion the American Air Force laid on a dinner for him, which was quite a feat really, as in New Guinea most of the food needed to be improvised. They made spaghetti using the grease guns from their aircraft, and cooked it with meatballs, all of which really made it a tremendous treat. It was all dressed with flaked cheese, and made a very happy occasion.
Then a tragic thing happened. Shanty O’Neil, who was rather excited amidst all the celebrations, went out to the kitchen to get a drink of water from the icebox. On top of the icebox were some yellow flakes that he thought were the same flaked cheese we had on our dinner, and so he took a handful of them and put it in his mouth. It was only then that he found that it was not flaked cheese after all, but a very powerful disinfectant that the Americans call lye, and this gave him some fearful internal damage. The last I saw of Shanty was of him being taken away in an ambulance, and I think he had to undergo some extensive surgery when he returned to America.
What made the achievements of the Allied Air Forces in New Guinea and Australia even more notable was that during the whole of the conflict they did not necessarily have the best aircraft or support. I reached this conclusion from listening to their conversations at the airbases and also by witnessing firsthand some of the points they were making. There were concerted efforts to supply the airmen with an adequate number of craft in their mission to halt the Japanese advance towards Australia, but these were not always backed up with the necessary supply of spares, ground support or adequately trained pilots. In the opinion of the pilots, the strategy of only providing large numbers of aircraft without this type of support was a futile exercise, and in some instances posed a bigger threat to them than the Japanese themselves. I personally knew of one mission where twenty-five Liberators were due to be employed, but only sixteen took off, due to minor defects in the remaining number of craft.
The airmen would also site problems in the allocation of aircraft, which were not suitable for the job they were intended to do. One example of this was in the way in which heavy bombers were being utilised for low-level attacks, which really needed the power of diving attack bombers. Their opinions were backed up by surveys of heavy bombing losses in the northeast and northwest sectors of the Pacific conflict, which showed that the fewest losses were under conditions where bombers were being used for their intended purpose at high altitudes. Using such large planes at low altitudes provided the enemy with a sizeable target that could not easily be manipulated to avoid their attacks. These types of operation really demand the attributes of a medium attack bomber like that of the B26, which I had seen myself in action over Rabaul at heights of just seventy-five feet. Outside of this, other losses were often from faulty take-offs and navigational problems.
The use of fighter planes was also something that they questioned. The Spitfire that had been so successfully used in the Battle of Britain had also been utilised in protecting Darwin from enemy attacks. The pilots contested the appropriateness of this—the Spitfire may have proven effective over the short distances of the English Channel, but could be left vulnerable when having to cover the larger area of the Timor Sea. The Japanese realised this and used a tactic of specifically targeting Spitfires, using their best pilots in planes that could exploit the Spitfire’s vulnerability over long-range distances. The danger in this situation could be increased if an inexperienced young Spitfire pilot got carried away during a dogfight. In the pilot’s opinion, the P38 was better suited for the defence of Darwin.
Pilots also rated the effectiveness of the P39 Airacobra, and labelled it the “baby B17.” Their views were backed up by research that showed statistically that the smallest number of pilot casualties occurred while operating a P39. Pilots who flew this craft and then survived a crash landing all bore a distinctive v-shaped scar on their forehead, which was caused by them coming into contact with the gun sight on impact with the ground. I witnessed a P39 crash landing, which was a horrendous sight— the wings were ripped off, propeller blades were hurled in all directions and its engine was torn out. Though afterwards, the pilot emerged with nothing more than the distinctive v-shaped cut, which airmen described as being the “sign of the P39.”
Back on the war front in the jungle, the Australians were still slogging their way on foot across the Owen Stanley Mountains to Kokoda, where the Japanese where still thought to be firmly entrenched. On my travels one day, I came across a little United States Air Force unit who were making reconnaissance flights in light aircraft known as “hedge hoppers” across the Owen Stanley Mountains at very low levels. I managed to join one of the crews that were flying over to Kokoda, which at the time was still supposedly being held by the Japanese. When we arrived there though, the enemy was nowhere in sight, so we stayed there for three or four hours and raised the American flag.
We then flew back again to Port Moresby, and I wrote a story about the incident that caused a great deal of attention, especially in Australia. The main thing of interest was that we had managed to fly to Kokoda without any interruption, whereas the Australians were flogging their way through the jungle, anticipating meeting with the enemy at some point during their mission. Marie sent me a cutting of my story that had been printed in The Melbourne Herald, Sir Keith Murdoch’s newspaper. This incident had highlighted two very different approaches to the war.
In the field—Harold at his typewriter prepares another report ready for inspection of the censor. Author collection
The next bit of the war that I got mixed up in was in the Buna, Gona and Sanananda area, and it was the first time that I had really been involved in any coverage of the conflict on the ground. I would never want to live through an experience like that again, and it really was a grisly business. It was one of the final attempts to try and push the Japanese out of New Guinea, and the Australian and American forces met with fierce Japanese resistance whose troops seemed to be determined to fight to the death. They were literally dug in within the area, and in some instances needed to be blasted out of the ground.
Even when they were apparently wounded, the Japanese would be in a fighting mood. Enemy troops that were supposedly injured would plead with Allied troops, begging for water, and then promptly shoot any kindly natured soldier with a concealed firearm if they stopped to help them. Even the genuinely wounded would attempt to bite the thumbs off the stretcher bearers while they were being taken to hospital. The Japanese who were captured were found to have far lighter packs to carry than the Allied troops. The contents tended to favour weaponry and medicine, with more reliance being put on the enemy soldier’s ability in finding food in the jungle, as opposed to carrying their own supplies.
One place where the fighting was particularly tough was in an area near the Tambu Bay that became known as “Roosevelt’s Ridge.” It was considered to be one of the most important strategic positions along the approach to Salamaua, as it provided a good vantage point and was very difficult to capture. The American troops here, though, were making steady progress, and gained more and more advantage the higher up the ridge they got—the Japanese started to loose sight of them because the Americans were quite literally hidden beneath their noses.
In spite of this the Japanese were still well and truly dug in, and continued their combat by rolling hand grenades down the ridge onto the approaching troops, which made for extremely uncomfortable conditions. Not only did the US troops have to deal with the inhospitable environment while
climbing up the ridge to reach the enemy, they also had to contest with the prospect of grenades being dropped in a haphazard fashion from above their heads. Some of the troops who I spoke to about this conflict re-christened the area as “Son-of-a-Bitch Ridge,” as they became so exasperated not only with the jungle conditions, but also with the stubborn Japanese resistance. They explained to me that the jungle rains were unrelenting; even when they stopped there was no respite as the raindrops continued to drip down from the jungle foliage. When they managed to reach some of the enemy fox holds, they would then drop a grenade into them, thinking they had cleared an area of Japanese troops. However, more enemy forces would later appear, and like the experience of those Australians I had met at Wau, it seemed that the Japanese must have had quite an intricate system of interconnecting trenches into which they could retreat to avoid the explosions. Though despite all these difficulties, the spirit amongst the Americans did not drop, and they kept launching attacks and encountering the Japanese in some of the bloodiest circumstances.
While in the jungle we were constantly living in about four inches of mud, as much of the area was near the coast and very swampy. The terrain and weather were unbelievable, and at times I honestly thought that our position was beyond being desperate, as even the experienced Australian soldiers were finding it difficult. Along the Sanananda and Kokoda Roads the ground conditions varied from dense jungle to marshland, and the soldiers were sunk waist deep in water as a result of several days of rain that caused streams to overflow. The Japanese foxholes and pillboxes were of an elementary design, made from local logs and mud, and connected together by crawl trenches. Enemy soldiers that were captured were mostly found to be starved, malaria ridden, and suffering from dysentery. The state they were in was typified on one occasion when blood transfusions were needed. Six prisoners were selected as donors, who would have normally produced six pints of blood, but it was only possible to extract half that amount from these worn out bodies.