by Bruce Gamble
Owen was among the last to leave. He started up the Big Dipper, then noticed that the truck assigned to the aid post was sitting idle, its driver missing. Taking over the vehicle, he started up the hill just as Doc Silverman climbed aboard. Shells were “bursting round the truck,” recalled Captain Field, as the two officers drove up the road and left the beachhead to the Japanese.
ABOARD HIS FLAGSHIP, REAR ADMIRAL SHIMA WATCHED AS 0400 CAME and went. Seeing no flares to confirm the capture of the coastal guns, he reluctantly ordered all vessels to “retreat to special anchorage positions.” Simultaneously, Major General Horii issued a signal for his troops to prepare for a second assault on Crater Peninsula. The orders had barely been communicated, however, when three white flares burst high above the South Daughter.
Shima ordered the fleet to hold its position. Later, it was determined that the company commander had been reluctant “to fire signal shots irresponsibly,” and risked his own neck to make absolutely certain the two wrecked emplacements were the only ones on the peninsula.
Now that his ships were safe, Shima ordered several ships to proceed directly into Simpson Harbor. At approximately 0530, the Okinoshima and another large minelayer, the Tsugaru, steamed to the waterfront and offloaded 170 members of the Maizuru 2nd Special Naval Landing Force. Shortly thereafter, the Tenyo Maru delivered another 130 SNLF troops which had previously completed a sweep of nearby Credner Island. The naval infantry “mopped up the city,” claimed an Imperial Navy summary, though the soldiers of the 2nd Battalion had actually gotten there first.
AFTER BOARDING A LANDING CRAFT FROM THE YOKOHAMA MARU, MAJOR General Horii went ashore on Matupi Island briefly to observe the overall situation. He ordered the 1st and 2nd Battalions to converge on Rabaul, then returned to the landing craft and headed toward Rabaul. During the ride across Simpson Harbor, he was inspired by the sight of 3rd Battalion troops as they landed “in the rain of shells which poured down from Vulcan.” He disembarked at the waterfront and proceeded to Chinatown, where Tsukamoto and Kusunose briefed him on the invasion’s progress. At about 0830 a message arrived from Kuwada: the 3rd Battalion was encountering resistance at Three Ways, and the capture of Vunakanau airdrome would be slightly delayed. In response, Horii directed Kusunose to shift his battalion toward the southern plateau to assist Kuwada.
The order was unnecessary. The Japanese already owned Rabaul and Lakunai airdrome, and the fleet was now moving into the safety of Simpson Harbor. Horii’s troops had accomplished all this within a couple of hours; so quickly, in fact, that the sun was still rising above the islands east of the anchorage. Cliché or not, the sight must have greatly inspired the general and his staff. They needed only to mop up a few pockets of resistance and occupy Vunakanau in order to complete yet another lopsided victory.
Horii would not rest, however, until every Australian was killed or captured. He did not care which.
CHAPTER SEVEN
EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF
“The warrior’s blood runs hot as the Rising Sun flag advances.”
—From a victory song of the South Seas Detachment
During the critical early hours of January 23, while Japanese troops stormed ashore at Vulcan Crater and Raluana Point, Colonel Scanlan was busy moving his headquarters. It was the second time in the past twelve hours that he had changed locations. The previous afternoon, after evacuating Lark Force from Malaguna Camp, he’d elected to set up his headquarters near the observation post established by Lieutenant Dawson. Then, at 0300, a mere thirty minutes after the Japanese began landing along the south rim of the caldera, Scanlan decided to withdraw his headquarters to high ground near Toma, a coconut plantation several miles to the rear.
To cover his withdrawal, Scanlan ordered D Company to occupy new positions between Taliligap Mission and Vunakanau airdrome on the Kokopo Ridge Road. He then asked Private Harry, the local terrain expert, to guide him and his staff to the new headquarters position on a hilltop known as Tomavatur. Familiar with a little-used footpath that was more direct than the main roads, Harry started off with Scanlan and the NGA staff at 0330. For the next few hours, the commander of Lark Force was out of touch with his garrison.
The timing of Scanlan’s move was certainly poor, but there was no question that his former headquarters near the rim of the caldera was vulnerable. Furthermore, the new location at Tomavatur provided a good view of the harbor and St. George’s Channel. Even better, a communications truck was hidden in a coconut grove at Toma, just a short distance down the Glade Road.
The truck was one of the last links between Lark Force and the outside world. The only other radio with the transmitting power to reach Port Moresby was in the hands of Lieutenant Mackenzie and his independent Royal Australian Navy detachment, which had begun moving the so-called “portable” set toward the Baining Mountains the previous afternoon. They hoped to operate the radio beyond the reach of Japanese patrols, but transporting the set was a monumental effort. The bulky AWA Model 3B included a separate transmitter, receiver, and loudspeaker, and was powered by large, automobile-type batteries. Gasoline was required for the engine-driven battery charger, which weighed seventy pounds. Altogether, the equipment was more than Mackenzie and his signalers could carry without a vehicle, and the passable roads ended a few miles beyond Malabunga Mission. Thus, they were compelled to wait until native porters could be obtained.
Guided by Private Harry, Scanlan and his staff reached Tomavatur at about 0600. Although they were miles from the nearest action, Scanlan drafted a message to Combined Defense Headquarters at Port Moresby that described “the deteriorating situation as well as it could be interpreted.” He then gave the draft to Harry and sent him to find the radio truck.
At approximately the same hour, Lieutenant Figgis drafted a hasty warning to Port Moresby just before evacuating his forward observation post near Rabaul. He cranked up a field telephone and got through to Captain Appel, then asked for a dispatch rider to take his message to Toma. “To CDH, Port Moresby,” he dictated: “One aircraft carrier anchored off Credner Island.” That done, he sped off on a motorcycle to find Hugh Mackenzie and his precious radio. Appel sent the runner to the radio truck, but somehow Figgis’ message became corrupted during encryption. When decoded at Port Moresby it read, “MOTOR LANDING CRAFT CARRIER OFF CREBUEN ISLAND.” No one could make any sense of it.
By the time Bill Harry reached the radio truck, which had been moved far into the plantation to avoid enemy aircraft, he found it “hopelessly bogged” in the soft ground. Harry handed Scanlan’s message to rifleman David A. Laws of the NGVR, a radio expert who had spent the past several years maintaining equipment owned by Amalgamated Wireless. Laws accepted the draft with every intention of getting it out, but it was never transmitted. Harry surmised that another strafing attack must have knocked out the truck before Laws finished coding the message.
Dozens of Lark Force’s vehicles were attacked by Imperial Navy planes that day. Pilots from the Akagi and Kaga took off well before dawn and enjoyed absolute control of the skies over Rabaul, with upwards of thirty Zeros and eighteen Type 99 dive bombers in the air at any given time. Their instructions were to provide “aerial protection for the ground units … and scout for information on the enemy’s disposition,” which allowed them plenty of flexibility to hit targets of opportunity. The first attacks started at 0430.
Aerial superiority was arguably the most important component of the invasion. Although the South Seas Detachment had the biggest role in the overall plan, the relatively few planes involved contributed significantly to the rapid collapse of Lark Force. Twin-float reconnaissance planes from the Kiyokawa Maru, a converted seaplane tender, cruised without fear over the Gazelle Peninsula and searched for targets. Whenever the observers spotted a likely position or vehicle, they called warplanes from the Akagi and Kaga in to attack. Zeros prowled in three-plane sections and shot up anything that moved. Dive bombers pounded key intersections and roadways with antipersonnel bombs.
The well-coordinated attacks also contributed to the breakdown of communications between Australian positions. Telephone lines had been strung haphazardly through the trees alongside the roadways, and whenever a vehicle swerved out of control or was knocked off the road, it often damaged a section of wire. Other lines were cut by shrapnel from the antipersonnel bombs, such that by early morning only B and C Companies still had an operating connection.
Among the outlying platoons and isolated patrols, almost total confusion prevailed. “Mac” McLellan, the London-born warrant officer, led a five-man squad from B Company to bury land mines in a secondary road, after which they were to await further instructions. Hours passed with no word, so the squad started back toward Three Ways. A burst of enemy machine-gun fire raked the road, sending the Australians into a ditch.
Private Webster, the rough-rider and bulldogging champ, later regaled his friends with a colorful account.
I was flat in the side cut of the road. My head seemed low enough but I was not so sure of my arse, so I shifted my tin hat. My old mate “Gabby” Searle went through a patch of bamboo like a mad native with a bush knife. As for “Bombhead” Naylor, he was sprinting to get over the rise with the soles of his feet showing so often that I thought he was kneeling in prayer. Gee, I wish I’d seen those Japs come over those land mines; there would have been rice everywhere.*
Webster escaped from the ambush along with Privates Donald N. Searle and Peter J. “Joe” Kelleher, but McClellan and Private Milton R. Naylor were captured.
Other isolated units experienced similar difficulties. Corporal Hamill’s patrol was still guarding Boiler Road when daybreak came, and they had not heard from D Company headquarters since the previous evening. At 0800, Hamill heard the sound of trucks getting underway in the vicinity of company headquarters and ordered his squad into their own truck. They started up the hill but were soon flagged down by Lieutenant Henry, who was unaware that they had been down on Boiler Road all that time. He warned them that Japanese troops were within a hundred yards of headquarters, then sent them on their way. A few minutes later, while driving north on the Kokopo Ridge Road, they were flagged down again, this time by Major John C. Mollard. “He said we were overwhelmed,” recalled Private Pearson, “and to go for our lives.”
Mollard, who had become the second in command of the 2/22nd when Major Leggatt departed, was under orders to hold the Kokopo Ridge Road open as long as possible. Directing traffic that passed through Taliligap, he urged Hamill’s driver to get beyond Three Ways before the intersection was cut off. First, however, he held the truck briefly so that additional soldiers could jump aboard. Some squeezed onto the running boards while others clung fiercely to the canvas top, all of them willing to take their chances with the Zeros rather than be captured.
Speeding northwest, the truck safely reached Three Ways, and the driver turned inland on the Bamboo Road, which skirted around Vunakanau airdrome to Malabunga Junction. As the truck bounced over the rough road, the passengers saw several shot-up vehicles in the ditches. No one was very surprised, therefore, when several Zeros had “a go” at their truck. Somehow they made it unscathed to Malabunga Junction, then followed the Glade Road to Toma.
Others were not so fortunate. The well-coordinated strafing attacks caused mayhem on the roads between Vunakanau and the caldera. Australians trying to withdraw from advancing Japanese troops found themselves being strafed from above with machine guns and 20mm automatic cannons. Trucks became potential death traps. “Vehicles could not travel on the roads,” Lieutenant Figgis reported, “and traffic between Vunakanau and the other companies was brought to a standstill.”
Drivers tried to run the gauntlet anyway, and some paid the price. Private James A. Ascott of Burwick, Victoria was killed as he drove a truck down the Kokopo Ridge Road near Taliligap. Sitting beside him in the cab, Lance Corporal Herbert G. “Graham” Parsons was shot in the upper torso and staggered from the truck when it rolled to a stop. Of the three men riding in the cargo bed, two were killed immediately. The third man, Private Merton G. Carmichael, jumped out only to be fatally wounded seconds later. Parsons, the only survivor, wandered in the jungle for hours before finding a road that showed fresh tracks from a Bren gun carrier. Bleeding heavily, he followed the tracks until he linked up with a platoon from C Company.
AT TOMA, A SIZEABLE GROUP OF AUSTRALIANS BEGAN TO GATHER. HAVING successfully gotten past the Zeros, the troops were told to rest under cover while the officers conferred. At about midday, everyone climbed back aboard the trucks and drove without mishap to Malabunga Mission, where they found the food Lieutenant Dawson had sent down the day before. It was a godsend. While the ravenous troops tore open cans of bully beef and fruit, someone boiled a “billy” of water for tea.
Perce Pearson, though he had not eaten since the night before, was too keyed up to eat. He tried, but couldn’t swallow solid food. The cure for his jangled nerves, he discovered, was to drink “about three pannikins of tea.” It was not just a drink to the Australians. Like their English cousins, they considered tea an essential element of everyday life. Brewing it was almost as soothing as drinking it, and they steadfastly maintained the rituals even in the heat and humidity of a tropical island.
ALTHOUGH NUMEROUS SKIRMISHES OCCURRED ACROSS THE PLATEAU DURING the early hours of January 23, the Australians dug in at Three Ways had still not encountered any Japanese troops as of 0800. Carrier planes had been harassing them since daybreak, but the only soldiers to pass through the intersection were Aussies, mostly stragglers from Raluana Point. Captain Selby and his militiamen, for example, had arrived at dawn and dug in alongside B Company.
The erstwhile gunners were bone weary. In the past twenty-four hours they had endured an air attack, blown up their own guns, relocated to the opposite side of the caldera, been overrun at Raluana Point, and survived a hair-raising retreat in the darkness. No one had slept during that entire time, but after digging in at Three Ways they napped in spite of the enemy air activity.
The Zeros did not concern Selby, who later described their shooting as “wild and inaccurate.” What did worry him were the Japanese troops that suddenly crested the rim of the caldera. “Over the ridge about 800 yards away, the enemy appeared like a swarm of black ants, threw themselves down and opened fire.”
The Australian rifle platoons and two Vickers machine guns returned fire, but the Japanese poured onto the plateau and began to maneuver around the defenders’ right flank. Captain McInnes could not afford to let them cut off the Bamboo Road, in which case B Company and the attached personnel would have no escape route. By 0830, the two Vickers guns were nearly surrounded. The crews pulled back under a barrage of counter-fire from nearby mortar teams, but soon thereafter McInnes’ command post came under small-arms fire. In addition, carrier planes increased their attacks in support of the advancing Japanese troops. As Selby later put it, the “dive-bombing and machine-gunning from the air were becoming unpleasant.”
At 0845 McInnes and Captain Appel conferred by telephone. Appel wanted to make certain that A Company, thought to be still withdrawing from Vulcan, made it safely through Three Ways. McInnes informed him that Owen and his men had already passed through the intersection, then added that he was about to withdraw his own company. Appel, realizing that R Company and the headquarters personnel at Noah’s Mission would be trapped if the intersection were abandoned, urged McInnes to stay in position as long as possible.
A moment later, Major Mollard took the phone from McInnes and gave his own assessment. Having arrived at Three Ways mere minutes ahead of the Japanese, he considered the situation there hopeless. Mollard not only supported McInnes’ plan to withdraw from the intersection, but ordered Appel to cover their withdrawal. Once they were safely away, Appel was to move C Company to Malabunga Junction south of Vunakanau, and the two companies would form “a fresh front.”
Appel, a former pharmacist from St. Kilda, Victoria, thought the two companies should consol
idate northeast of Vunakanau in an attempt to close the breach in the Australian defenses. Such a position, he argued, would give them a “good front with good depth” and force the Japanese “to come out into the kunai grass country.” Mollard would have none of it, and repeated his original order: Appel was to cover B Company’s withdrawal from Three Ways, then move C Company to Malabunga Junction.
It was the correct thing to do. Appel’s desire to slug it out with the Japanese was commendable, but from his distant location at Vunakanau he lacked an accurate picture of the situation at Three Ways. Mollard, on the other hand, could clearly see that the Japanese were surrounding the intersection. Furthermore, even if Appel’s recommendation had been accepted, it would not have changed the outcome. General Horii had already arrived in Chinatown and learned of the delay at Three Ways, whereupon he ordered an additional battalion to assist with the capture of Vunakanau. Soon, the Australians would be facing twice as many Japanese.
WHILE THE ENEMY ADVANCED ONTO THE PLATEAU, LIEUTENANT COLONEL Carr decided to follow Scanlan’s example by moving his headquarters. First, he conferred with Scanlan using one of the few field telephones still in operation. He then left Noah’s Mission and moved the battalion headquarters to Malabunga Junction. Thus, Carr was preoccupied during critical periods of the invasion, much like Scanlan had been a few hours earlier. Unaware of many of the events unfolding around him, he relied on dispatch riders to send and receive messages. Later he attempted to rationalize the situation: “Owing to the difficult country, the long distances to HQ, and the fact that most of these were moving, very few messages and orders got through and it was then felt that the companies would have to fight practically independent actions.”