Bill told Benny of his exchange with one of the Davao escapees while he was recuperating at Walter Reed in Washington. And that “positive developments” had him hoping for a three-brother reunion. When it was time for Benny to share his own news, he wished he had told Bill sooner. But perhaps it was obvious. The toll of alternating days, months, and years of high alert, worry, and fatigue had gathered in darkening ditches beneath Benny’s normally bright eyes.
“Bill, I’ve been on this ship for four years, and I’m proud of the work we’ve done, what we’ve accomplished. But I’m exhausted. My marriage is in shambles, and I’ve only seen Jeanne Marie once in eighteen months. I have put in for a transfer to Washington. I can really help those desk captains there in Ordnance—they need an experienced hand from the field. So I guess that means it’s up to you now to see the rest of the way through to Barton.”
Bill took in Benny’s every word without interrupting. He was a combination of sad and relieved at Benny’s news, but not surprised. Remembering his own anxiety during engagement after engagement, wondering if Benny was dead or alive—if it had left him emotionally whipsawed, he could only imagine its effect on Benny. Bill knew he would find out soon enough.
They stood together for a few more minutes, having no idea when—or if—they would see each other again. No more was said about Barton, but they did agree that Benny’s reassignment was a wise move for their mother’s sake, not to mention his own.
Benny fought welling emotion as he watched Bill make his way toward the idling launch that would take him back to Rocky Mount. With forced cheerfulness, he called out to his brother, “Just remember, Bill, hell, be careful. It can get dicey out here!”
PART
THREE
28
THE BEST-LAID PLANS
IN APRIL 1944, GENERAL Sutherland finally returned to Brisbane. He left behind the bitter scrum in Washington over whose military strategy would dominate the balance of the Pacific War—only to step into the GHQ turf war that had been simmering in his absence. The widening scope of Courtney Whitney’s PRS and its control over the submarine missions had become the sorest of points to G-2 generally and to General Willoughby specifically.
As PRS activities had expanded—adding more coastwatchers, clandestine radio receivers, and Filipino agent nets, plus stepped-up supply and support of the guerrillas—so had Whitney’s free agency and access to MacArthur. Severely irritated by his rival’s increasing stature and erosion of his own authority over Philippine affairs, Willoughby greeted General Sutherland with a formal recommendation for a GHQ reorganization regarding the handling of Philippine affairs. They should be split among staff sections, Willoughby argued, and, as head of G-2 for SWPA, the majority of Philippine activity should be returned to his purview. Willoughby also asked Sutherland to immediately re-approve the Rosenquist prisoner rescue mission, which had been inexcusably thwarted by Whitney during his long absence.
For the previous twelve weeks, Willoughby, Mellnik, and Rosenquist had all tried to placate Whitney with revision after revision of the rescue plan so that Rosenquist could depart for Mindanao. After Whitney scuttled his February departure, Rosenquist made a brief diary entry: “Ready to go on mission, but Whitney’s influence too strong.” He had begun to fear privately that they were running out of time.
Tensions were exacerbated further by the media sensation over the Davao escapee story. Whitney and Willoughby had quarreled endlessly over whether the story’s publication had likely worsened (Whitney) or improved (Willoughby) the Japanese captors’ treatment of Allied prisoners. Inevitably, the argument expanded to include their respective opinions on whether or not this had a bearing on Rosenquist’s incipient mission.
When General Sutherland returned to GHQ, Whitney fired off a memo justifying his actions:
My objection to [the plan] lay in the:
(a) Status given Lieutenant Rosenquist rendering him subject only to the direction of G-2, GHQ [Willoughby];
(b) Rosenquist’s unrestricted right to call upon the local commander [Fertig] for such personnel, supplies, communication and transport facilities and other assistance as may be necessary to accomplish his mission;
(c) Establishment of an intelligence system within the POW camp by written directive from this Headquarters to certain officer prisoners and;
(d) Plan for mass evacuation or escape of prisoners.
. . . I believe that we should but ask these prisoners to continue to show the fortitude that alone will make it possible to survive the difficult and trying ordeal which yet lies ahead.
C. W.
Sutherland was unmoved by Whitney’s arguments, and General Sutherland had the final say—always with MacArthur’s presumptive authority. He was MacArthur’s top confidant at the time and widely regarded as his full and equal partner. In fact, it was an open secret that General MacArthur was positioning Sutherland for the highest office in the army, one that he himself had held: army chief of staff. As popular as “Court” Whitney was with General MacArthur, Sutherland’s power trumped any amount of shameless flattery Whitney could pour on.
RICHARD KERENS SUTHERLAND HAD been unwavering in his endorsement of the Davao prisoner rescue mission from the start—despite the risks it might pose for MacArthur’s planned Mindanao landing, for the Mindanao guerrillas, or for the prisoners themselves. To Sutherland, its potential rewards outweighed all imagined downsides.
But to say that General Sutherland had a complicated relationship with the whole idea of POWs would be a serious understatement. For eighteen months, he had been conducting an intense and surprisingly public affair with one Elaine Bessemer Clarke, the Australian wife of a British captain whom the Japanese had taken prisoner at the fall of Singapore.
The married Sutherland had met Clarke and her infant son in Melbourne, Australia, in March 1942, shortly after he, MacArthur, and other senior MacArthur staff had fled the Philippines. According to sources present, Sutherland and Clarke were attracted to each other from the moment they met. The new couple quickly became the subject of endless staff gossip.
When MacArthur’s headquarters moved offices from Melbourne to Brisbane, eyebrows rose further as Clarke, her toddler son, the nanny, and their cocker spaniel packed up and made the six-hundred-mile journey with them. And they rose all the more when Sutherland pulled strings and appointed the Australian Clarke a captain in the American Women’s Army Corps (WAC), making her the first non-American woman to join those proud ranks. Captain Clarke became the receptionist at GHQ’s new Brisbane headquarters at the AMP Building on Queen Street.
The couple’s bold intimacy became increasingly apparent over time, with Sutherland playing father to Clarke’s young son. All the while, the uncomfortable subject of her POW husband reportedly weighed heavily on them both. It is unknowable whether Sutherland and Clarke’s intense relationship propelled his support of the Davao prisoner rescue plan. Was he allaying his guilt by supporting the rescue of an unrelated group of war prisoners? What if the plan had been to rescue the British prisoners in Singapore?
Sutherland’s relationship with Clarke would eventually put him in an untenable position with MacArthur, but at the time, Sutherland still had his mentor’s full support. So in April 1944, when Sutherland overruled all objections and reasserted his earlier approvals of the rescue mission, even Court Whitney had to accept it. Lieutenant Rosenquist would depart for Mindanao on the next available submarine.
Whitney conceded defeat reluctantly; this was the third time Sutherland had ruled in favor of the Rosenquist plan. Yet even as he agreed to arrange Rosenquist’s submarine conveyance to Mindanao, Whitney continued deploying delay tactics. In his capacity as head of PRS, he had the final say on when submarines could be dispatched to the Philippines. On the April night of Sutherland’s latest ruling, Rosenquist confided to his diary, “Okay again by General Sutherland, but again, delays.”
Rosenquist did not board the USS Narwhal until May 10, 1944, but with cautious optimis
m, he wrote his boss at MIS-X’s secret headquarters in Virginia. Both men understood each and every carefully veiled reference in the letter, including its high praise for Steve Mellnik:
Lt. Colonel John H. Starr
P.O. Box 1142
Alexandria, Virginia
May 10, 1944
Dear Colonel Starr:
At last! After much fussing around, I can write you that my mission is now set and I’m going shortly. The good news came quite unexpectedly after many trying months of nursing the project.
Eventually and without question . . . everything hoped for should materialize. You can be certain, Colonel . . . my designation is fixed and reachable . . .
Knowing the responsibility of this job, perhaps more than people realize, makes enthusiasm secondary to firm patience. I realize the big opportunity to save lives and the joy my presence will bring people who have untiringly waited for word of encouragement.
I pray God I can completely execute the job you have assigned me, through the untiring efforts of one who for so many months has pushed this assignment . . . in the face of many obstacles. For him, and you know of whom I speak, I have the highest admiration and respect. Knowing he will be on the job here is of great consolation to me . . . and I know that reports will get through to you as he finds them possible.
My best regards to all at PO Box 1142. I sincerely hope I can do the job with credit to our Section.
H. A. R.
Rosenquist was delayed another five days at the Darwin rendezvous point without explanation. On May 15, 1944, he confided to his diary: “At last . . . after eleven months, on our way.” He estimated that the voyage would take ten days, putting him in Davao by early June.
But on May 27 and 28, a dismayed Rosenquist was still aboard Narwhal. He wrote, “We are way off course . . . no contact . . . disappointed . . . navigation lousy . . .” Then again, on May 30: “Marking time . . .” On the thirty-first of May, he reported: “Sight of land through periscope.”
That faint outline of land, however, was the southwest coast of Mindanao, hundreds of kilometers (hundreds of miles) from Rosenquist’s explicitly planned debarkation point near Davao, on the island’s southeast coast. But Rosenquist had no alternative. He and the other Narwhal passengers, weather observers carrying a supply of weapons, pistols, daggers, emergency rations, and numerous thermometers, were told they must debark and make the best of it.
The disoriented party paddled ashore in a rubber boat and, fortunately, was intercepted by local guerrillas instead of the Japanese. Colonel Robert Bowler, the senior-most guerrilla in that part of Mindanao, questioned the group, but Rosenquist declined to disclose his mission. When Bowler told him that Wendell Fertig insisted on seeing him personally before he could proceed, Rosenquist reluctantly agreed. Fertig’s Tenth Military District headquarters in the Agusan Valley, however, was even farther from Colonel Lauretta and the Davao Penal Colony than the submarine’s erroneous landing point, causing Rosenquist still more costly delays.
The guerrilla-guided journey, however, confirmed everything Mellnik had told him about Mindanao’s skilled and fleet-footed guerrilla population. Rosenquist’s journey across miles of jungle, enemy-infested mountains, and treacherous inland waterways was made possible only by his seamless conveyance from one guerrilla unit to the next. They fed, housed, and protected him every step of the way, and even arranged for a dentist and barber en route. Rosenquist was impressed.
The orders he carried from GHQ explicitly sanctioned his mission and ordered the guerrillas to fulfill it. They also made clear that Rosenquist reported directly to General MacArthur’s command, not Wendell Fertig’s:
“Captain Harold Rosenquist, 0-278037, has been placed on temporary duty . . . for the purpose of acting as advisor in the planning of assistance to prisoners of war in your military area. Such matters will be conducted in accordance with the policies of [General MacArthur] as communicated to you from time to time.”
In addition, he carried letters from Steve Mellnik to specific trusted individuals inside Davao Penal Colony, men who could be relied on to facilitate the escape from the inside. One letter, dated February 10, 1944, was written after the broad publication of the atrocity stories. It was addressed to Lieutenant Colonel Memory “Doc” Cain:
General Headquarters, Southwest Pacific
Dear Doc,
It’s been almost a year since we talked about things at Barracks Number 8. I pray you are still there to read this . . . The country has just heard the news. Congress and the people have sent up a cry that’s echoing around the world. Things are afoot to do things. I won’t give any “target dates.” This letter, written from General MacArthur’s headquarters, is sufficient proof of what is happening. He is taking a great and active interest—I should know.
Much has to be done, Doc. I’m depending on you to do it. The source of this message was sent by me to you. Trust him. He is H. A. R. He will get in touch with you. You’ve got to consider yourself C.O. of the camp with this. Mobilize all of [his] activities. Exercise extreme security precautions . . . Take your time, be awfully careful, and remember all of this is being done to speed up the DAY. I cannot reiterate too strongly that the success of our plans depends on 100% secrecy.
Steve Mellnik
En route to Wendell Fertig’s headquarters, Rosenquist encoded a preliminary report for relay to Brisbane once he reached Fertig’s radio station. Despite the serial setbacks and detours, the indefatigable Rosenquist remained optimistic:
Guards and outposts covering trails, roads, and rivers everywhere; one rifle, fifteen rounds of ammunition per two men of front line units, who are familiar with respective sectors. Plan formulated for roadblocks, bridge construction, trail coverage, and delaying enemy action . . . Troop and civilian morale high. Our trip untold value.
BUT WENDELL FERTIG—WEARING locally crafted silver stars of a brigadier general on his collar despite his actual US Army Reserve rank of lieutenant colonel—was of another mind when Colonel Bowler radioed him that an unannounced submarine had surfaced off the coast of southwestern Mindanao and unloaded five surprise guests: four enlisted weather observers, and one highly ranked intelligence officer on an undisclosed mission “of great importance.”
Fertig said to his aide de camp, Commander Wheeler (no relation to Ken), who had delivered the dispatch, “You send a message back to Bowler. Tell him to disarm those weather people and turn their stuff over to people who can use it . . . Make clear,” he added sarcastically, “we won’t interfere with their basic mission of wetting their fingers to detect which way the wind is blowing.”
Fertig was just getting warmed up. “And tell Bowler,” he continued, “to make sure these people understand that all persons reporting to Mindanao must come under my direct command, and that all activities will be directed by me. And Bowler is to tell this Rosenquist that as far as we’re concerned, he is a visiting staff officer without authority. Until I find out what his mission is and I approve it, he is not to issue orders to any of our men. I need to find out from Headquarters what the hell is going on.”
Then Fertig gave Wheeler a second order. “Send a message to GHQ asking them what the hell is going on with Rosenquist. Tell them all activities on the island of Mindanao must be controlled by me.” Then he muttered, “Thickheads.” A bewildered Wheeler left to carry out the orders.
Fertig sat back, absorbing what he had just learned. Weathermen were one thing; hopefully their presence presaged an increase in US air reconnaissance, which hopefully presaged an imminent landing by MacArthur on Mindanao, a moment he had been savoring for some time. But a high-ranked intelligence officer on a secret mission? That was something else entirely.
Fertig’s disposition did not improve when Wheeler returned with a response from Brisbane. “Headquarters,” he reported, “says we are to furnish Rosenquist with any aid and assistance he may require.”
Fertig spun around, eyes wide. “What is his mission?”
“They won’t say,” Wheeler said, “just that it’s of the ‘greatest importance’ and that all we have to do is follow orders.”
Fertig then spat, “I haven’t stayed alive here for over two years by allowing a crowd of dreamers fifteen hundred miles away to tell me what I have to do. And, by God, I’m not going to start now. I’m not going to have them sending special missions in here that could get my tail in a crack without my knowing what’s happening until it’s too late. Therefore, you will tell Bowler to send this Rosenquist to me, and I’ll decide whether we’ll help him or not.”
Since late May, Fertig had been hearing the distinctive drone of US Navy carrier aircraft strafing in the distance. He had interpreted this as further corroboration that MacArthur planned to make his first strike at Mindanao—his military district—meaning, hopefully, his place in history would soon be secured. After that first landing, or so he had heard, Allied troops would slog their way north to Leyte, and then Luzon—and its prize, Manila. Both Fertig and the Japanese were expecting this scenario to unfold in the coming weeks.
So when Rosenquist finally arrived at Wendell Fertig’s headquarters, the colonel’s guard was up. Whatever this stranger was up to, Fertig was determined that it not derail his grand plan at the last minute.
Rosenquist shook Fertig’s hand enthusiastically. “It won’t be long now,” he told the guerrilla leader at their introduction. “I don’t know when it’s going to be, but it’s an open secret it’s going to be soon.”
He then complimented Fertig on his work of the past two years, adding that GHQ thought that he’d “done one hell of a fine job.”
“My instructions are to give you any assistance I can,” replied Fertig, in a tone of one unaffected by compliments. “Whether I do depends on whether I decide your mission is practical. I want to make that clear.”
Rosenquist replied that it was. He had great confidence in his mission, he said, and the potential for its success had been confirmed by everything he had seen in his smooth guerrilla passage across the island.
The Jersey Brothers Page 28