The Pacific

by Hugh Ambrose

  The night of April 5 they offered a double feature. The rain abated, and that allowed the men to watch them before bed. At about four a.m. a huge crash woke up Sid. Someone yelled, "Tree on a man." Sid climbed out of his hammock to see a huge tree, with a trunk perhaps ten feet in diameter and fifty feet tall, lying on a tent twenty feet from him. The galley men grabbed their Coleman lanterns and the whole of H Company came to help. The tree had crushed the legs of one man in the tent. Deacon and W.O. were with Sid when the company moved the trunk, freeing the injured man and extracting a body out from underneath. The dead body had been Don Rouse, one of the original members of the #4 gun squad.

  Later that morning Lieutenant Benson gave Sid the job of going through Rouse's personal effects as a team of Seabees showed up and began to inspect the forest in and around camp. Two of them carried a giant chain saw like a stretcher team. They cut the tree that had killed Rouse into pieces. In Don's possessions Sid found a piece of propaganda that had been dropped by the Japanese on them back in New Guinea. Don had a copy because he had been moved over to the company's intelligence section. Given the propaganda's pornographic content--the Japanese had mistaken the marines for Aussies and had intended to sow discord among the Allies with it--Sid took it to Benson. Benny told him to keep it; he already had one.

  Apparently the rain had weakened the hold of the trees in the earth. All of the top-heavy ones had to come down. A Seabee from Oregon dropped trees with precision, not even asking for the tents to be moved. The company held the funeral at two p.m. for Private First Class Don Rouse of Biloxi, Mississippi. They buried his body in the cemetery. The headstones they erected would not last long in the jungle on Cape Gloucester. Nothing man-made lasted within the green inferno. Next to the tents the Seabees cut the felled trees into logs and the marines rolled them out of their way.

  A few nights later How Company learned lists were being drawn up for rotation home. A furlough system had also been established for those who qualified, although applying for a furlough meant delaying one's rotation stateside. Neither would happen until they departed Cape Gloucester, New Britain. The first reliable news about their departure reached the men on Easter Sunday, April 9. A senior NCO called a special meeting to announce the army's 40th Division would relieve them in seven to ten days. The 1st Division would either go to Noumea, Guadalcanal, or some island in the Russells.

  EASTER SUNDAY FOUND PRIVATE FIRST CLASS EUGENE SLEDGE STILL STUCK IN the replacement battalion camp in Noumea, New Caledonia. The Red Cross held services. Attending church brought him joy and fond memories of attending the Government Street Presbyterian Church in Mobile with his family. As he told his father in a letter written on that day, "You and mummie have given Edward and I a pure Christian outlook on life that we will never lose no matter where we are."

  The replacement battalion made long marches into the mountains outside of town. They hiked eighteen miles fast enough that Sledge felt "sure Stonewall's Foot Cavalry would have thought us pretty good."x His sharp eyes did not miss the cockatoos and parakeets in the trees. The birds' brilliant plumage as well as their scolding replies to any disturbances on the ground below delighted him. Later, when the marines practiced their amphibious maneuvers, he noticed the tiny shells and took interest in the sea life.

  Now that he was overseas, Eugene permitted himself to talk the talk of a marine. To a friend in Mobile who had "just joined the best outfit in the world," he counseled, you "will find the furloughs few and the work pretty hard. But when it's all over he can say he was a Marine. I'm proud to say that right now." To his aunt, who had had the temerity to suggest that Gene "looked like an R.A.F. fighter pilot" in a recent photo, he declared, "If a man told me that I'd grab him by the stacking swivel & blacken his sights. In other words--push his face in. Not that I have anything against the R.A.F. But I'm in an outfit with 169 years of fighting spirit & tradition behind it and I don't care to be told I resemble a 'fly- fly glamour' boy." His pride in the Marine Corps only seemed unbounded, however. He drew the line at tattoos. A lot of the men in camp had had the eagle, globe, and anchor etched into their arms or chests, but he knew his parents would be "horrified."

  Private First Class Sledge also quickly adopted the fighting man's disgust at receiving bad news from home. "When I'm down here doing the best I can," he advised his mother, he didn't want to hear about "strikes, racial trouble, or political bickering." He liked the clippings from the newspaper she sent that were about hunting or history, but he asked her to stop sending him news about the war--the recreation room was full of it and he was sick of it. So far as politics went, "When we win the war I hope the politicians have left enough of America for us fellows to live peacefully in."

  HORNET SAILED OUT OF MAJURO ON APRIL 11 ON THE WAY TO HELP GENERAL MacArthur's army move farther up the northern coast of New Guinea. Due to a shake-up in command, Micheel's flattop had become the flagship of Task Group 58.1, which included USS Bataan and two other light carriers, under the command of Jocko Clark. The task group sailed with the other task groups of Task Force 58, a force totaling twelve carriers and dozens of escorts. In offensive capability, it had no equal.

  Sailing with an armada of cruisers, destroyers, and other carriers made launching sorties more difficult. The carrier had to turn into the wind, whatever its direction, and speed up. The speed of the carriers made life difficult for the slower vessels. On the trip to New Guinea, Admiral Clark informed his task group that his "flipper turn" was now standard operating procedure. As a carrier commander, Clark had invented "the flipper turn," in which his carrier exited the group formation at twenty-five knots while the other ships held steady at eighteen knots.85 It saved fuel. Now that he commanded 58.1, Jocko Clark decreed the entire task group make the flipper turn, whose prosaic name was changed to "Modified Baker" to fit better with naval lingo. Jocko, a former pilot, ordered the change because he put the needs of his carriers first. His plan angered the captains of the battleships, cruisers, and destroyers, who had "to give way" to the carriers.86 Modified Baker represented another marker in the destruction of centuries of navy tradition and doctrine. The line of great battlewagons had once ruled the seas. Breaking that line meant the battleships were no longer preparing to fight the decisive fleet engagement; their guns existed to protect the carriers from enemy aircraft. Admiral Mitscher, in command of all of the task groups, also wore the Golden Wings of a naval aviator. Mitscher observed Jocko's 58.1 execute the flipper turn, decided it worked better than any other, and ordered it adopted by all the task groups of the Fifth Fleet.

  In the Bombing Two ready room, Campbell showed his men a map of New Guinea and of MacArthur's target, Hollandia. As usual, they would help the soldiers by destroying several airfields nearby. Reports by army reconnaissance estimated Japanese strength at 350 aircraft. While other squadrons hit Hollandia itself, the wolves were assigned to strike bases about 120 miles farther west along the coast. Part of the preflight briefing concerned the location of a place to land or to bail out over in the case of trouble. Hitting targets on the coast of New Guinea gave them a lot more options than the Palau Islands had, but Mike warned his guys with a grin, "Don't land in the jungle because there's aborigines in the jungle . . . man eaters!" As they approached New Guinea, they again found themselves within the range of enemy planes. The Combat Air Patrol (CAP) began to have bogeys to chase down. The bogeys came in singles, though, not in squadrons.

  An unexpected ruckus broke out early in the morning of April 19, the day before the next combat mission. As the ship turned into the wind to launch some routine ASW scouts, general quarters sounded.87 Mike and the other pilots had to remain in the ready room. It turned out that the carrier had turned into the path of another ship of the task group. More of the story came in later, when Hal Buell returned from his routine ASW search. He had seen two ships almost collide with Hornet. He had been sitting in his plane, the engine idling, when he had looked over the starboard (right) side of the ship to see the prow of anot
her charging at him through the darkness. It had slid past with perhaps twenty feet to spare. Just as he had gushed relief, another one appeared; its prow "appeared as tall as our flight deck" and "on a direct collision course." Hal had cut the engine, released his harness and jumped from his plane. He watched as the tanker threw itself into reverse, sliding past "our stern with only inches to spare; I could have jumped from our fantail onto her bridge deck. . . ." From the bridge word came that Captain Browning had been at the helm when this happened and had gotten an earful from Admiral Clark, "who had run to the bridge in his bathrobe."88 It ended with Jocko warning Browning, "Don't you ever do that again."89 The ship's captain walked away, shaking his head.

  Beginning on April 20, the airplanes of Task Force 58.1 spent four days hitting targets at Sawar, Sarmi, and Wakde Island. The weather was terrible, with a ceiling so low that the Helldivers began their dives from four thousand feet.90 The low altitude helped the enemy gunners on the ground. In a few days, the wolves lost eight planes.91 Mistakes and malfunctions accounted for more losses than enemy AA fire. Two planes collided. Another had engine trouble soon after takeoff and crashed while attempting to get back aboard. The pilot survived; his gunner did not. Another plane failed on takeoff and fell into the ocean. His gunner got out, but the pilot's body had to be pulled from it. Blunt- force trauma to the head had killed him. Every pilot knew why: the handle to pull up the wheels was beyond most pilots' reach. Pilots had begun taking off with their shoulder straps unbuckled, so they could get their wheels up quickly. Getting the gear up quickly helped the Helldiver reach flying speed faster and thus reduced the chances of hitting the water. Without his straps on, Lieutenant Bosworth had sustained a severe blow to the head when his Beast fell off the end of the bow and hit the water 52.3 feet below.

  The accident prompted the skipper to make sure the navy understood the problem. Campbell also asked for immediate assistance in extending the handle. The pilots had to be able to bring up the wheels while remaining strapped in. When another SB2C failed on takeoff and hit the water, the pilot had his shoulder strap on. When he was fished out of the water, he described being "trapped in the cockpit and dragged thirty to forty feet below the surface before he could fight clear."92 The crash brought Hal Buell and Mike Micheel together for a talk. Something had to be done. Their air group had suffered ten crashes. After reviewing the circumstances of each, the two veterans decided the pilot had been at fault in one or two; "insufficient wind" over the flight deck had caused the others. While the ship's other planes, the Hellcats and the Avengers, seemingly jumped off the deck in a light breeze, a fully loaded SB2C demanded lots of wind and lots of flight deck. Buell did not think their squadron CO, Campbell, appreciated the danger and recommended going over his head to the air group commander. Mike agreed. Roy Johnson, the CAG, listened carefully to his veterans and decided they were correct. He found a way to convince Captain Miles Browning to either get twenty- five to thirty knots of wind or allow the Helldivers to fly with a fifteen-hundred-pound payload of bombs instead of two thousand pounds. Skipper Campbell of Bombing Two found out about the meeting, of course, and he blamed Buell.

  Their task group spent a few more days in the area, providing air cover and escort services in support of MacArthur's attack. From the radio news programs, it soon became evident that "MacArthur's public relations department was extolling the accomplishments of the Army's invasion of Hollandia but there wasn't one word about the Navy's support."93 The wolves could only shake their heads in disgust at the unabashed machinations of "Dugout Doug." Some of the frustration they felt, however, resulted from the feeling that their strikes had not been effective. The exact locations of the enemy installations had not been known in advance. Their targets on the ground had been "heavily covered by coconut trees," and well dispersed. "Dives were therefore made," Campbell complained, "on areas of the island rather than a specific target. In most cases it was a matter of luck whether a valuable target was hit and destroyed."94

  JOHN BASILONE WROTE HIS FAMILY AGAIN IN APRIL--OBVIOUSLY HIS MOTHER had given him a stern lecture about writing more often--to tell them he had spent the first part of the month out in the fields of Camp Pendleton.95 Living out of his backpack for two weeks had been easy. "I'm feeling fine only I got a lot of sun burn. I'm as Black as the ace of Spades." As usual he spent most of his short letter inquiring about his family--his grandmother, who was ill; his father, who had been hired by a prestigious clothing store; his brothers and sisters. His brother Al had joined the marines. Johnny asked his mother to "tell him all the luck in the world for me." He signed his letters, "Love and Kisses, your loving son Johnny." He asked his mother to send a copy of Parade magazine: "I want to show it to the boys."96

  "The boys" were some of the sergeants in his company: Clinton Watters, Jack Wheeler, Rinaldo Martini, and Edward Johnston. These were his buddies in Charlie Company, which was just back from field maneuvers in the boondocks. The NCOs had to get their green marines accustomed to firing live ammunition, conducting patrols, and infiltrating enemy positions at night, crawling under fire.97 Out in the field the marines of Charlie Company found their attention focused on their gunnery sergeant. Basilone was special. All of his fame and fortune made a few things self-evident to the men just out of boot camp. He loved being a marine. He believed the war was a worthy endeavor. He would always do his best. These truths stayed with them even as the glitter of fame gave way to the familiarity born of camping in the field. Not that a private first class ever got too familiar with a senior NCO, only that the gunny's easy way with everyone broke down the stereotype of Manila John.98 Most of all, he made it clear that he would have to depend on them, too, when the shooting started. Mutual trust created a team, not adulation.

  Johnny relied on his sergeants--Clint, Ed, Jack, and Rinaldo--to help him with the company's administration and with the guidebooks used to explain theory to the men. He taught his men how to operate and maintain the Browning .30-cal light machine gun by demonstrating it to them. The new air-cooled Brownings weighed a lot less than the old water-cooled models, and that helped a lot as they moved in support of the advancing fire teams. His enthusiasm for machine guns and for the physical demands of field problems impressed his men. They became imbued with his understanding of what being a marine meant. Charlie Company knew their gunny was going to be out in front.

  Back in camp, they could see him at the slop chute on base or at a beer hall in Oceanside, drinking a beer "with all the gusto of a millionaire guzzling champagne."99 If Lena had to work, he'd be there with Clint, Ed, Jack, and Rinaldo. Ed had played some semipro baseball and was the best athlete. Jack was the quiet one. Rinaldo had ridden the rails as a hobo so long he claimed to have no hometown.100 When Johnny came back to camp with his garrison cap on sideways, doing his impression of Napoleon, his friends knew he was just goofing off. It looked different to marines in the other companies of 1st Battalion, however. Now the air carried a whiff of "Oh, he gets away with it because he's a Medal of Honor winner."101

  RATHER THAN RETURN TO THE FLEET ANCHORAGE AT MAJURO WHEN THEIR New Guinea mission ended, the ships of Task Force 58 blasted through a fearsome storm, bound for the island of Truk in the Caroline Island chain. Everyone in the navy knew of Truk's fearsome reputation as the enemy's great forward fleet anchorage. The air force's B-24s had been working it over for some time, and the carrier fleet had hit it previously. The Imperial Navy had sent more planes there, though, and the wolves still feared it.102 As Hornet steamed north, Bombing Two began reviewing maps, becoming familiar with the several atolls that made up the location known as Truk. Their new maps noted every building, their function, and type of construction. In the briefings, the skipper made clear that a massive fighter sweep would be launched first, in order to clear out the enemy fighters, so the dive-bombers could do their job. The ship would launch them about a hundred miles from their targets.

  Before dawn on April 29, Hornet came to course one hundred degrees True, her speed
twenty-five knots. The fighters took off from all the carriers in the group.103 During the course of that morning, they shot down fifty-nine enemy fighters, and destroyed another thirty-four on the ground. When Campbell led the first of Bombing Two's missions, a few Zeros made passes at them, but the wolves' problems came not from enemy planes during the following days. In eleven strikes against Truk and other enemy bases in the Caroline Island chain, the enemy AA guns took a lot of bites out of their planes. Mike led four strikes, punishing any signs of life with five-hundred-pound bombs. On one sortie, an enemy gunner blew another hole in his wing, but the shell failed to explode. It left a three-inch hole in the leading edge of his left wing. He hardly noticed. Other squadrons, however, lost a lot of guys to the heavy AA fire. News of the losses on the other carriers came slowly to the squadron ready room, usually arriving in dribs and drabs. Pilots needed to know. More than half of the forty-six airmen shot down were rescued. The rescue submarine USS Tangpicked up twenty-two by itself. Floatplanes launched from the cruisers picked up others, an idea Admiral Clark in his flag bridge atop Hornet's island had put into action.

  The neutralization of the enemy's ocean fortress went well, but the Beast did not hold up under the strain. Several planes collapsed upon landing, one of them catching fire and later pushed overboard. The Helldiver's bomb release mechanism had begun sticking.104 On the last day of their mission, the problem became severe. In one instance, a pilot landed on Hornet with a hundred-pound bomb still attached under his wing. He had tried all manner of maneuvers to shake it loose on the return flight, with no success. As soon as he slammed into the carrier's deck, though, it disengaged and rolled down the deck and exploded. Two men died. The damage to the deck was repaired temporarily within twenty minutes, allowing flight operations to continue. Later that day another pilot landed with a five-hundred-pound bomb in his center rack. This bomb also detached upon impact, fell through the airplane's closed bomb bay doors, rolled underneath the spinning propeller and up the deck.105 All hands jumped off the deck and down onto the catwalk that surrounded it. When nothing happened, one of the wolves peeked over the edge. The flight deck "looked like a ghost town."106 Finally, the deck crew got a cart and disposed of it.