by Bruce Gamble
But to obtain such performance, the engineers spurned components essential for survival in combat: armor plate for crew protection, and self-sealing liners in the fuel tanks.
Over a two-week span beginning on June 30, Air Groups 705 and 702 launched several daylight raids against the amphibious fleet and supply convoys off Rendova, adjacent to New Georgia. But even with substantial fighter escort, the Bettys could scarcely get through the Allied Combat Air Patrol (CAP), which boasted dozens of fighters orbiting over the ships and landing areas. The first raid was the costliest for the Japanese. Of the twenty-six rikko sent to attack the fleet, nineteen were shot down, failed to return, or crash-landed. Seventeen crews perished, equating to a single-day loss of approximately 120 men.
To offset the losses, more than thirty G4Ms were rushed to Rabaul from other units. Most, however, were expended for no gain. The fuel tanks of the Betty caught fire so easily the crews gave it a derogatory nickname: “Type 1 lighter.”
Sometimes, a Betty would stay in the air despite severe battle damage. On those occasions, the bomber often landed with dead or wounded crewmembers aboard. One day, Ichikawa assisted with the cremation of two comrades from his shotai who had been killed over Rendova. First the bodies received a Shinto funeral about a mile from Eleventh Air Fleet headquarters at the foot the South Daughter, an extinct volcano that formed the tip of Crater Peninsula. Ichikawa helped build a pyre of breadfruit trees, empty ammunition crates, and palm leaves, upon which the two bodies were placed in lightweight coffins. The pyre, soaked with waste oil and gasoline, was then set afire. The cremation, apparently Ichikawa’s first, disturbed him:
The coffins and pilot suits were burned down soon. It was hell on earth to see the naked corpses burning. Only the organs didn’t burn easily. They smoldered forever.
Not even flowers were offered. With the smoke their souls ascended high into the sky over New Britain Island.
Helping to conduct the incineration with section members, my tears dried up. I was learning painfully the fragility of life and the cruelty of the human world.
Although we did not know any sutra, we chanted Buddhist prayers over and over loudly for a long time; probably several hundred times. No one felt like having the sake that was delivered to those who did the incineration.
AFTER THE COSTLY June 30 attack, the 25th Air Flotilla continued suffering heavy losses. Over the next thirty days, eleven more Bettys failed to return from bombing missions or reconnaissance flights, six more were “destroyed by fire” on the ground, and eight incurred heavy damage from combat or bombing. Altogether, seventy-one pilots and aircrew were killed and another thirteen wounded in action. The effort to destroy the Allied invasion force with bombs and torpedoes proved too exorbitant to sustain. After another costly mission on July 15, daylight attacks against the central Solomons were suspended. Thereafter, the rikko units flew harassment attacks at night or routine long-range patrols in daylight.
Although the strategic setback was surely a disappointment to Vice Admiral Kusaka, it gave the Betty crews a new lease on life. During the daylight raids, most believed they would not survive the war. Out of compassion, the nonflying staff at Vunakanau often made special foods for the rikko crews to take on long missions. The youngest crewmen preferred these “aero lunches” to the meals served in the barracks, where they endured constant hazing by older crewmen.
An aero lunch was a treat. “Men in the paymaster section took the trouble to make sushi, vegetable rice, bean rice, and more to satisfy each crewmember’s liking,” Ichikawa recalled. “They sometimes put sweet bean dessert soup, hot or cold, in a vacuum pot large enough for ten people. Sometimes they gave us special aero-foods such as liver oil-and-milk candy, green tea powder cookies, peanut candy, or sweet bean jelly. We were given special foods that we wouldn’t even see at home. For young crews, the joy and happiness of eating surpassed the fear of death.”
YOUNG ENLISTED FLIERS coped with hazing and wartime hazards thanks to simple treats, but the senior officers of the Eighth Fleet enjoyed real comforts. During summer 1943, Rabaul was an agreeable place to recuperate between supply runs and surface actions down in the Slot. Captain Tameichi Hara, skipper of Shigure and commander of Destroyer Division 27, described the restorative effects of shore leave in the aftermath a night action off Kolombangara. Returning to port on August 18, he and his crew received leave the following day. Hara met with another division commander and their immediate superior, Rear Adm. Matsuji Ijuin (commander of Destroyer Squadron 3) for lunch at the officer’s club. Afterward, they shared a pleasant afternoon together:
Rabaul was enjoying a comparative quiet spell from air raids so we left the club after lunch and went for a stroll. A balmy southeasterly breeze rustled the coconut trees. There was little fuss about formalities at this tropical base.
We wore plain shirts and shorts and ordinary straw hats. Accordingly, sailors passed us without saluting for a change, and it was fun to walk unnoticed.
Stores conducted business as usual and most of them were owned by Chinese. What a tenacious people! While Japan and the Allies are engaged in savage battle the calm Chinese of Rabaul seemed interested only in strengthening their control of the local economy.
Admiral Ijuin suggested a visit to the hot springs. Several small fumaroles and thermal springs formed a volcanic playground known as Sulphur Creek, where the navy built an open-air bathhouse. The facility, with metal baths made from the halves of fuel drums, was popular with the ships’ crews—but rarely used by senior officers.
Unconcerned, the officers stripped naked and filled their tubs with the near-scalding water. “The baths were wonderful,” wrote Hara. “Before they were over, we had scrubbed each other’s back, lined up in a row like three monkeys. It was most undignified for naval officers, but we did not care.”
Even during their bath, the officers’ focus did not stray from the war. While sitting in their tubs, they casually discussed torpedo tactics, a specialty for which Hara was renowned.
IN CHINATOWN, THE 6th Field Kempeitai did not take days off. In addition to intelligence-gathering, counterespionage, and maintaining a POW compound, the military police performed constabulary duties for ninety-seven thousand personnel. Lieutenant Matsuda was appalled by a rash of “atrocious incidents” committed by the Japanese in mid-1943, including the killing of an officer. He blamed the acts of violence on “pitiful hospitalized men who retreated from Guadalcanal,” a group whose behavior was unanticipated. Matsuda and his fellow officers struggled to comprehend the causes and determine appropriate punishments. And the cases piled up. In addition to the officer’s death, at least a dozen court-martial offenses were committed between April and October 1943.
Some members of the Kempeitai were kept busy interrogating and attending to the POWs. The ongoing campaign in the central Solomons, particularly the air war over Bougainville, was swelling the prison population. In early August 1943, when the number of prisoners stood at thirteen, the kempei played host to a traveling liaison group. Two Japanese naval officers and three German officers, visiting Rabaul to investigate methods for countering air attacks, requested a meeting with some of the POWs.
Joe Holguin, Jim McMurria, and Alex Berry were picked. After bathing and donning clean clothes, they were escorted to the enlisted men’s mess hall. A civilian interpreter they knew only as Mr. Ono arranged food, cigarettes, and sake for the participants, then seated the POWs on one side of a mess hall table and the Germans on the other.
“The German officers were curious to find out how and where we had been shot down and then captured,” Holguin recalled. “They asked us about our families and the cities and states where we lived. They even asked us about our treatment as prisoners and about living conditions. Frankly, we could not complain too much about the treatment and although our rations were poor, most of us … were still in fairly good health.”
Emboldened by the food, wine, and the opportunity to speak with a seemingly objective party,
the three Americans complained about the denial of medicine, bathing opportunities, and air raid protection. Although there had been no raids for weeks, the captives were convinced that one day soon, Rabaul would be flattened. After hearing them out, the German officers wanted the captives’ opinions on who caused the war—and who would win. Holguin considered it the most interesting part of the meeting:
We answered emphatically that we were already winning the war and pointed to the African campaign and to our victories at Midway, the Bismarck Sea and Guadalcanal. The Germans replied that subsequent battles would be so costly that the American public would demand an end to hostilities—in fact, they were at that time inflicting huge losses upon the 8th Air Force in Europe and upon the British in the submarine campaign. The Japanese blamed the Americans for starting the war by imposing an embargo on steel, oil, and other raw materials. They also contended that the Americans would not be able to sustain the tremendous losses they would face in the struggle for island bases, at the hands of their navy and air forces. The Americans would have to give up—especially when Russia was defeated by Germany.*
In spite of the sensitive nature of the topics we were discussing, the conversations were friendly and actually enjoyable. We had several cups of sake and had our fill of papaya and bananas. The cigarettes did not impress me since I was a non-smoker, but my friends took full advantage of the treat. The most significant outcome of this event was the German assessment of the Americans as related to us by Mr. Ono when the visitors had departed: “The German officers are amazed that your fighting spirit is so high and wonder how it is possible considering the bad conditions under which you live.”
The benefits of the meeting extended far beyond the treats. Soon after the group departed (Holguin estimated it was August 9), the interpreter and Matsuda informed the POWs that construction of three underground air raid shelters had been approved by Colonel Kikuchi. Two would be dug within the compound, the third in front of the headquarters building on Casuarina Avenue. Prisoners would participate in the construction. The Americans knew now that the Japanese did not recognize the Geneva Convention, so it made no sense to speak out against manual labor; besides, the physical work would be healthier than sitting all day in a squalid cell. Furthermore, the prisoners were promised space in the shelter—should it be necessary—when the task was completed.
Construction began the following day. All but the sickly teenager, Cephas Kelly, were able to work. The Japanese doubted that Holguin, badly stooped from his back injury, would be useful. “I insisted on trying,” he later wrote, “and gradually, in spite of severe pain, my back got better and I became healthier.” As the Japanese and POWs labored together, the attitudes of the guards relaxed. This, recalled Holguin, led to additional benefits:
The work involved in digging out the dirt for the bunkers was hard, but tolerable. We were assisted by about twenty natives who did the heavier work of carrying away large bags of dirt and handling the large coconut logs that were used to reinforce the dirt bunkers. These natives also helped us by bringing extra food and leaving it near the work site where we could find it. All of the American workers got stronger. We also became fluent in Pidgin English and increased our knowledge of Japanese. We were allowed sufficient rest periods and our food and water supply was adequate. We were allowed to converse with each other and with the guards, thus becoming more familiar with them and allowing us to break down some of the hostile barriers that the war had created between us.
The fresh fruit slipped to the prisoners was helpful. Their regular rations—a serving of rice and a small container of soup three times a day—had been barely enough to sustain them. The POWs got healthier as they worked, and progress went smoothly on the two interior bunkers. The largest, measuring sixty feet by twenty, was centered in the parade ground. A smaller version was dug near the enlisted mess. Approximately forty Indian laborers, escorted by guards, brought in truckloads of cut logs to reinforce the shelters’ walls and ceilings. As soon as the first two bunkers were completed, excavation of the shelter alongside Casuarina Avenue commenced. Everyone enjoyed another unexpected benefit: the brothel known as the East Magnificent Love Line was directly across Casuarina Avenue.
The work on that bunker had its perks, remembered Holguin:
This was a slightly more enjoyable project because we were cheered on by the contingent of “comfort girls” who lived across the street. They would stand next to each other with their arms around their shoulders and sway from side to side singing songs or just calling to us. The guards didn’t seem to mind as long as we didn’t stop working. During the rest periods we could stare at the girls but we couldn’t cross the street. They were very attractive and since we were all quite healthy at the time, they did manage to arouse our imagination.
Consequently, half-jokingly, half-seriously, we asked Mr. Ono one day if the prisoners could be allowed to visit the girls some evening in the same way as the Japanese officers did. The next day, Mr. Ono, not unexpectedly, informed us that the colonel had declined our request because, he said, “Prisoners are entitled to the bare necessities of life, but no luxuries.”
ABOUT A MONTH before the third bunker was finished, a new prisoner arrived. The circumstances under which Capt. Charles C. Lanphier, USMC, went down over Bougainville are unknown. He took part in a mostly botched effort by two Corsair squadrons to strafe the big airdrome at Kahili (Buin) on August 28. After the formation became separated in a thunderstorm en route to the target, Charlie’s fellow marines never saw him again. A popular division leader in VMF-214 (known first as the Swashbucklers, later as the Black Sheep), Charlie was listed in the after-action report as “missing in action.” One of his squadron mates, Lt. Alvin J. Jensen, popped out of the same thunderhead and proceeded to strafe the airdrome by himself, allegedly burning twenty-four planes on the ground. (Japanese records indicate that five fighters were “set afire.”) The feat earned Jensen a Navy Cross, overshadowing the disappearance of Lanphier.
When Charlie arrived at Rabaul in September, nothing about him seemed unusual. His fellow prisoners detected no significant injuries or other issues, nor did they learn much about him. This was almost certainly the result of careful silence on the part of Lanphier, who was guarding two important secrets. By maintaining a low profile, he protected the other prisoners and himself. Had the Japanese discovered either secret, their lives would have been worthless.
At the Swashbucklers’ camp at Fighter One, a navy/marine airstrip on Guadalcanal, the squadron staged a campfire and songfest almost every night. Charlie’s older brother, 1st Lt. Thomas G. Lanphier Jr., an army pilot, flew P-38s in the 339th Fighter Squadron at nearby Fighter Two. On the night of April 18, the elder Lanphier visited Charlie’s camp and boasted about a mission he had flown that morning. Tom had been part of the mission to intercept the Betty bombers carrying Admiral Yamamoto and the Combined Fleet staff from Rabaul to Ballale. Both of the Bettys had been shot down for the loss of only one P-38 and its pilot.
All the participants were ordered to maintain absolute secrecy about the mission, lest the Japanese discover that their primary naval code had been breached. But that didn’t stop Charlie’s brother. “Tom Lanphier, who was claiming credit for shooting down Yamamoto himself, came down to our area that night and spilled the whole thing,” recalled Henry Miller, Charlie’s squadron mate. “As soon as the word got out that he had done this, he got in a lot of hot water. They wanted to court martial him for blabbing so much.”
Lanphier no sooner landed at Fighter Two than he proclaimed, “I got Yamamoto!” At the time, his brother Charlie and nearly everybody else believed Tom’s account. Initially, he shared credit for the victory with Lt. Rex T. Barber. But Tom had invented many details. Later revelations based on inspection of Yamamoto’s wrecked aircraft and publication of a diary kept by the Combined Fleet’s chief of staff, Vice Adm. Matome Ugaki, resulted in full credit going to Barber.
Charlie undoubtedly prayed the Japanese woul
d not discover the link between his brother and their beloved commander’s death. Others worried about the implications, too, none more than Admiral Halsey. “We bottled up the story, of course,” he later wrote. “One obvious reason was that we didn’t want the Japs to know that we had broken their code. The other reason was for [Tom] Lanphier’s personal sake. His brother was a prisoner of war, and if the Japs had learned who shot down Yamamoto, what they might have done to the brother is something I prefer not to think about.”
WORK ON THE last of the underground shelters continued without interruption until early October, when a P-38 suddenly appeared out of the east. Everybody stopped what they were doing and watched as the Lightning crossed Lakunai airdrome and followed the shoreline of the caldera, overflying the town, Simpson Harbor, and finally Vunakanau. The surprise was complete. No antiaircraft batteries opened fire until the P-38 was speeding south toward Port Moresby.
Instead of resuming work, the prisoners were hustled back to their cells. They would not remain there long, recalled Holguin:
Lieutenant McMurria and I were taken to one of the interrogation rooms, where Captain Yamada, Captain Matsuda, and the interpreters Tsukahara, Yano, and Ono were assembled. By this time we were all well acquainted, and quickly greeted each other in a friendly way. The Japanese wanted to know what we thought about the appearance of the American reconnaissance plane. Did it mean that an American air attack was imminent? Yes, that’s exactly what it meant, but we could only guess when that would be.
Over the next several days the prisoners performed little work. Sitting in their cells, they observed the Japanese moving rice into the shelters; they also noticed handcuffs hanging on hooks outside their cells, along with strips of cloth. From these clues, they deduced that they would be cuffed and blindfolded before being escorted to a shelter. “Actually,” added Holguin, “we were hoping that the Japanese would move us to Japan and away from Rabaul, which we believed would soon be turned into an inferno.”