Islands of Destiny: The Solomons Campaign and the Eclipse of the Rising Sun

by John Prados

  But the war also challenged the fabric of indigenous society. Malaita Island—never invaded, never occupied, never a battleground—gives the example. The closest Malaita came to the war was the quiet presence there of a couple of Australian coastwatchers. Natives returning from work on Guadalcanal brought tales contrasting their treatment with that meted out by plantation overseers. Even African-Americans in the U.S. forces—themselves visibly oppressed—behaved more graciously than the compradors. An emancipation movement formed on Malaita and spread through the Solomons. After 1945, protectorate security authorities regarded these self-government advocates as revolutionaries, which led to a hysterical response.

  The Allied commanders at least took some pains to avoid the worst of culture shock. Native villages were typically off-limits to Allied troops. Often there were only chance contacts, or ceremonial occasions when officers were invited to native rituals. Most outsiders, both American and Japanese, were left with their fantasies of half-naked natives frolicking at village festivals. Some encounters were less convivial. When PT boats moved to the new Russells base, a couple of sailors who had rustled up a skiff with an outboard went off exploring a little river. Startled by black snakes, they ran away from the boat and saw some native women, only to confront tribesmen with spears, who followed them, pounding their spears on the ground in the manner of Zulu tribesmen in the British-African colonial wars. The sailors hightailed it for their skiff, ignoring vines and snakes alike.

  Most PT sailors’ encounters with the tribesmen more resembled Jack Kennedy’s attempt to teach his houseboy soccer than that of the crewmen in the Russells, but there was no escaping the fact that Allied bases, wherever they were, shared the islands with the indigenous. Soon enough Kennedy arrived in the Russells himself with PT-109. Jack, who had participated in such antics as keeping his men in instant ice cream, and turning a blind eye to their concocting moonshine, was ready too. Lieutenant Kennedy lost a coin toss for a PT boat assignment to New Guinea and went to the Russells instead. Toward the end of May his boat, rated combat-ready, his crew “Tulagi-groggy,” moved up and into the war. There were three PT formations at the base. Commander Allen P. Calvert led the group, as he had the original force at Tulagi. PT-109 belonged to the Russell Islands Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron.

  PT patrols now frequently escorted small ship movements, or went as outriders for the tin cans and other vessels screening larger convoys. Kennedy guarded the 4th Marine Raider Battalion when it was inserted at Segi Point, and PT-109 helped screen one of the Rendova landings. The Seabees installed the Rendova PT base at Lumberi, an islet at the southeastern end. It was named Todd City after Leon E. Todd of PT Squadron 9, the first devil boat skipper killed there. Lieutenant Commander Thomas G. Warfield led the force to which PT-109 soon belonged. The boats here aimed at Munda and Vila. Their exploits exasperated the enemy, who could be dangerous, but Allied air was nearly as bad. On July 20, PT-164, -166, and -168 were returning to Rendova when they were set upon by Army B-25s. They shot down one of their own planes. Another night Kennedy’s PT would be attacked by a Catalina snooper.

  The whole New Georgia venture turned out to be much more complicated than anyone, Admiral Halsey included, had anticipated. The passel of little landings that led to Rendova became a kind of amphibious infiltration. When the first three U.S. battalions assaulted New Georgia, they landed only five miles from Munda. The troops were supposed to prepare the way for a much bigger force of the 43rd Division that would wrest that place from the enemy. Terrain proved so difficult that more than six weeks of mud and misery would sap the energy and consume the strength of the GIs sent to New Georgia to cover those five short miles—more properly four, since the lead units moved a mile or so on the day of the invasion.

  General Sasaki observed the American encroachment with mounting alarm, appealing to Rabaul for reinforcements and supplies. The series of naval battles off Vila demonstrated that running the Tokyo Express in these waters, if anything, would be more difficult than at Guadalcanal. But the Japanese gamely went at the task. On July 18, Admiral Kusaka issued his Operations Order No. 10, which provided for measures to secure Munda and Kolombangara and “sweep” the enemy from New Georgia. “The air units and surface units will cooperate with the submarine force, exerting every effort to cut enemy transportation lines, especially to prevent his unloading in the Kula Gulf region.” Dusk or dawn “group fighter attacks” were favored, and submarines were to make surprise strikes.

  Instead it seemed the Japanese themselves were being swept from the board. The submarine force tried hard. At one point Rabaul set two of the smaller RO boats to approach Munda from opposite directions and snare SOPAC vessels either there or off Rendova. No result. Commander Orita Zenji made seven patrols in The Slot during June and July. He found little except PTs until July 12, when the American destroyer Taylor caught his RO-101 on the surface and opened fire. Orita submerged, escaped, and made Rabaul, but counted 127 dents in his boat from the destroyer’s automatic weapons. Two other subs were not as lucky. The fleet also deployed heavy surface ships to Rabaul for the first time in many months. Vice Admiral Nishimura Shoji’s cruiser force steamed off Kolombangara as cover unit for a Tokyo Express, ready to intervene against any SOPAC sortie into Kula Gulf. But on the night of July 19–20 it was Nishimura who was set upon—by half a dozen U.S. Marine Avengers, probably from Marine Torpedo Squadron 143 or 144. One TBF managed a near miss on cruiser Kumano that sprang hull plates and sent her to the repairmen for two months. Nishimura moved his flag to the Suzuya, but took Cruiser Division 7 back to Truk without attempting further operations.

  Admiral Kusaka next tried a heavy Tokyo Express to Buin, sending the seaplane carrier Nisshin crammed with twenty-two tanks and eight guns, plus almost 1,200 soldiers aboard her and three destroyers. AIRSOLS planes piled on them on July 22, based on an Ultra intercept the previous evening that revealed the Nisshin’s time of arrival and planned anchorage. The aerial ambush was a fifty-plane raid, covered, since the action would take place in the heart of the Japanese base zone, by no fewer than 120 fighters. Several bomb hits crippled the Nisshin, which sank with the bulk of the troops and supplies and all the heavy equipment.

  On July 20, Captain Hara was summoned to Rabaul and brought destroyer Shigure to join the Eighth Fleet transport unit. She carried a load of desperately needed aircraft spare parts and spent several days in transit. When Shigure dropped anchor in Simpson Harbor and the captain could get to headquarters, he learned that two of the destroyers responsible for the naval victory off Kolombangara were already sunk. Hara was stunned. Within a few days he had been scheduled for a Tokyo Express to Vila. Before that expedition, on August 1, another of the Kolombangara victors fell to the enemy. The Vila Express would have a nasty encounter with John F. Kennedy’s PT-109.

  Hara Tameichi dreaded formulas. What unfolded on August 1 was not an exact repetition, though the Express did follow the course of a previous mission, which had made a sort of backdoor passage through Blackett Strait. Captain Sugiura Kaju of Destroyer Division 4 led the Express and its transport unit. Admiral Kusaka kicked off the action by sending a dozen bombers to plaster Todd City and keep down the devil boats. That SOPAC knew of the expedition, in turn, is indicated by the fact that it ordered a full-press effort. At sunset fifteen PT boats put to sea under Lieutenant Henry J. Brantingham in PT-159. He also served as section leader for one group, posting himself farthest up the channel and other PT sections on down it. On the opposite side of Kolombangara, Admiral Halsey posted a destroyer group under Captain Arleigh A. Burke.

  Captain Yamashiro Katsumori led the one-ship destroyer guard force for the Express. He had had some success on previous voyages, including reaching Vila with a transport unit the night of the Kula Gulf battle, and had taken over Destroyer Division 11 afterward. Yamashiro sailed in the Amagiri, with Sugiura’s Hagikaze, Arashi, and Shigure bringing up the rear. That only a single vessel could be spared for the crucial guard role indicates th
e thinness of Japanese resources. Captain Sugiura’s unit carried 900 reinforcements and 120 tons of supplies. The night was pitch dark as they entered Blackett Strait. Sugiura had his vessels hove to at the rendezvous, and barges came from shore to meet them. Yamashiro put the Amagiri to the west of the mission force, steaming in a loose square pattern. In the Shigure, Hara was astonished that all the men and supplies could be unloaded in just twenty minutes. They were under way within five more, and not long afterward were making thirty knots through waters so treacherous that in peacetime no one would dare a fraction of that speed. Yamashiro recalled that the entire business of approach, transshipment, and withdrawal was completed within ninety minutes. Once he saw Sugiura’s bow waves, Yamashiro altered to starboard and increased speed to resume position at the head of the Japanese column.

  Comparing historical accounts of this action leaves some mysteries. Hara clearly recollects that the engagement took place during the return voyage. Captain Yamashiro and Lieutenant Nakajima Goro, navigation officer of the Amagiri, both confirm Hara’s observation. American accounts are replete with detail on all the PT boat sections firing at the enemy. In fact, the PT squadron after-action report erroneously cites five Imperial Navy destroyers and claims five or six torpedo hits. These claimed contacts would have been possible only if the action had taken place with Sugiura’s vessels still inbound for Vila. Hara recounts only the single encounter with PT-109. Brantingham’s PTs had been on station since twilight. The discrepancies cannot be resolved on the basis of available evidence. Either the PTs missed the inbound Express or the Japanese remained completely oblivious to torpedo attacks that resulted in five to six hits.

  But no one contests the contact with Brantingham’s “B” Section. The unit leader detected the Express on radar and soon had visual contact. PT-159 shot four torpedoes at 1,400 yards; her consort the 157 boat launched two. Their presence revealed—grease in a torpedo tube caught fire during launch—Brantingham’s vessels fled under fire. Remaining were Lieutenant (Junior Grade) John R. Lowrey’s PT-162 and Jack Kennedy’s PT-109, joined by Lieutenant P. A. Potter’s PT-169, which had become separated from its group. They saw flashes and heard radio chatter, but had no real knowledge of the situation. Kennedy called general quarters once he glimpsed a searchlight and the water spouts of exploding shells. Suddenly in the darkness the prow of a big ship loomed. For a second Kennedy thought it might be another PT.

  Japanese lookouts also saw the other vessel only at the last moment. Lieutenant Commander Hanami of the Amagiri recorded this as a cloudy night with intermittent squalls and poor visibility. It was about 2:00 a.m. Petty Officer Kametani, the first to spot PT-109, reported Kennedy’s boat when she was just 1,100 yards away. For a moment Captain Yamashiro, on the bridge as guard unit leader, thought the object might be a Japanese barge, but he swiftly decided she must be one of the devil boats. Navigator Nakajima later described the options for Australian journalists: “We had three alternatives—to turn to port and collide with the other destroyers, to keep ahead and go onto the reefs, or to turn to starboard and meet the M.T.B. [motor torpedo boat].” Skipper Hanami recounts that conventional wisdom in the Imperial Navy at the time was to meet a PT boat with a “crash strategy,” and that he ordered a course change to run it down. Captain Yamashiro insists that he ordered a turn to port to avoid collision. Coxwain Doi Kazuto turned the wheel. Either way the Amagiri was just beginning to respond to her helm when she sliced into Kennedy’s PT-109 at thirty-four knots. Lieutenant Nakajima, in the charthouse as the collision occurred, felt a bump; Hanami heard a thunderous roar and felt the searing heat as flames erupted from the stricken PT. A sailor in one engine room heard a thud and feared they had been hit by a torpedo; in another a petty officer heard a scraping noise and thought the destroyer had stuck on a reef.

  The Amagiri’s left-hand propeller had a blade sheared off as it ran through the American torpedo boat while turning. Scorched paint along the bow plus leaks were the main damage to the Japanese vessel—not serious but cutting her speed down to twenty-four knots for the return trip. At Rabaul, Captain Yamashiro took Commander Hanami with him to flagship Sendai to report to Rear Admiral Baron Ijuin Matsuji, who had replaced the deceased Izaki at the head of Eighth Fleet’s destroyer squadron. The baron met them on the quarterdeck with a broad smile. He only wondered why Yamashiro had not broken radio silence to reveal this exploit. Japan, starved for good war news, made much of this ugly business, with newspapers headlining, “Unprecedented—Enemy Torpedo Boat Trampled Asunder,” and “Enemy Torpedo Boat Cut Smack in Two.” The Domei News Agency interviewed crewmen and presented the event as if it had been the achievement of a master swordsman.

  Imperial Navy participants have their own dispute in the PT-109 affair. It raged in Japanese media in the late 1950s, including articles in newspapers like Yomiuri, Sankei Shimbun, and Nihon Keizai Shimbun, and in television coverage on the NHK network. Officers Yamashiro and Hanami bickered over the events of that night, with Commander Hanami sticking to his claim that he had gone after PT-109. Captain Yamashiro insisted he had sought to prevent the collision. Both wrote letters to John F. Kennedy as if he could settle their argument. The question of whether the collision was deliberate turns on whether Amagiri altered to port or starboard and who ordered this change. Rightly enough, Yamashiro insists the ship’s master could not have given the order against the wishes of his division commander, but the captain weakened his argument by telling Kennedy in a 1958 letter that the course change had been to starboard (a claim he subsequently reversed), and by writing in a 1960 article for the publication of an association of former naval officers that he could not remember whether helm orders had also been issued by Commander Hanami or by Lieutenant Yonemaru, the assistant navigator, who had had direct charge of the coxswain. The standard account with which American readers are familiar, Robert J. Donovan’s book PT-109, relegates this dispute to brief mention in a footnote and declares that the case for an accidental collision is thin. In August 1962, Captain Yamashiro wrote Donovan and his publisher, McGraw-Hill, contesting Donovan’s quotations from the accounts of certain Japanese sailors and demanding that changes be made to that book.

  Back in 1943, when PT boat leader Lieutenant Brantingham saw the flaming carcass of Kennedy’s boat and heard the shell fire of that engagement, he rejoiced that at least someone had gotten a hit. But the shoe was on the other foot. Fate tied together many threads that night. John F. Kennedy’s war service later helped his political career. Arleigh Burke, whose destroyer unit had been too far away, smashed another Tokyo Express in November at the Battle of Cape St. George, one in which Captain Yamashiro led the transport unit. Yamashiro was subsequently banished to shoreside billets. And Commander Hanami’s hometown, Fukushima, would be devastated by a nuclear plant meltdown. Japan, whose war ended in the awesome destruction wrought by nuclear weapons, had swiftly adopted nuclear power, and in 2011 the Fukushima plant complex succumbed to the climactic disaster of a tsunami.

  So the Amagiri cut the PT-109 in two. Two crewmen perished. Thus began a weeklong ordeal for Jack Kennedy and his eleven survivors. At great personal risk Kennedy rallied his sailors, saved several from the flaming wreck, and shepherded the disoriented men toward an island, swimming with one of them himself. After days of exposure Kennedy helped move them to another islet. He looked for ways to contact Allied commanders. A portion of the PT boat’s wreck was found afloat in daylight, and in due course Station KEN, the Guadalcanal coastwatcher network control, circulated a notice to look out for American survivors. Reginald Evans, the Australian coastwatcher on Kolombangara, got the message. He confirmed the nature of the observed wreckage. Two of his native scouts, Eroni and Biuku, eventually encountered a pair of the PT-109 crewmen, and Jack Kennedy was able to get a note to Evans and then meet him. Natives took the news to a U.S. outpost. Kennedy and his crew were picked up by PT-157 on August 8. While that day marked the end of an ordeal for Jack Kennedy and his men, it also framed the m
oment Japan tumbled over the edge into an abyss.

  TOWARD THE EVENT HORIZON

  New Georgia continued to beg for help. Admiral Kusaka had to respond. On August 4 he ordered another Express. In Tokyo the next day General Sugiyama informed the emperor that Allied moves threatened every post in the Outer South Seas. Sugiyama had to endure a very unusual imperial outburst. “Isn’t there someplace where we can strike the United States?” Hirohito demanded. “When and where on earth are you ever going to put up a good fight? And when are you going to fight a decisive battle?” The next engagement would confirm all the emperor’s worst fears.

  At Rabaul naval officers gathered under an awning on the destroyer Hagikaze for a briefing on their operation. Captain Sugiura Kaju, who had led the previous Tokyo Express successfully, commanded this mission and went over the plans. A torpedo expert, Sugiura had already been a senior destroyer leader before the war, and he had a sterling reputation. But he intended to replicate the approach of the previous sortie, so, even to an old friend, Hara Tameichi objected. Sugiura countered that the details of the Express had already been settled with Kusaka’s headquarters and with the Army. It was too late. Captain Hara sailed in the Shigure, last in Sugiura’s four-ship column.