Guadalcanal Diary

by Tregaskis, Richard;

  Tonight there was none of the usual “scuttlebutt” about an enemy task force being on its way into our island, but late in the evening we heard the sounds of many of our planes taking off and surmised that some sort of contact had been made.

  SUNDAY, AUGUST 31

  This morning at operations headquarters on the airport (which now, incidentally, is being called Henderson Field after the heroic marine flier of the Midway battle), we heard that four Japanese troop-carrying destroyers had been spotted last night trying to land forces at Koli Point, about twenty miles to the east of our positions.

  The two fliers who had spotted the ships were on patrol at the time. They had dropped their bombs, but the visibility was poor and they were undergoing heavy anti-aircraft fire at the time; the combination had made it hard for them to observe the effects of their bombing.

  After that the patroling pilots had called by radio for supporting aircraft, but the striking force which we had heard taking off had failed to intercept the enemy. Evidently, they had hauled out of the area after the attack of our two patrol planes.

  I heard that one of the two patrol fliers had been wounded. Then I learned that he was an ensign whom I had met on a previous Pacific war adventure, “Spike” Conzett (Elmer E. Conzett of Dubuque, Iowa). I went down to the field hospital to see “Spike.”

  One of his long legs was bandaged, in the region of the knee, and he looked a bit drawn. He said he had a chunk of shrapnel in there, and that it pained a bit now.

  “I didn’t even see those birds until they opened up with antiaircraft, and I got this,” he said, motioning toward his leg. “They shot out my instrument panel, filled the cockpit full of holes, and scared the hell out of me.”

  Spike said that the other flier up with him, a Capt. Brown of the marines (Capt. Fletcher L. Brown of Pensacola, Fla.), had spotted the enemy ships before he did. Brown had dived on one of the ships.

  “The weather was pretty thick up there,” said Conzett, “but I made an approach and dived and let my bomb go, too.

  “On the way back here I got lost and thought I’d never get out of it. I was trying to fly by what instruments I had left, and that didn’t work out very well. I got into a spin and spun down from 8,000 to about 4,500 before I could pull out of it. My radioman said he was figuring on getting out and hitting his chute. It was that bad.”

  But after he got out of his spin, said Spike, things straightened out a bit and he found his way back to Guadal but, he added, “I was pretty feeble when I reached here, and I couldn’t find the runway. I was lucky to get in at all.”

  There were three air-raid alarms today. But none of them developed, and enemy planes reached Guadalcanal only on the second alarm. They were frightened by our fighters and jettisoned their bombs in the jungles to the southwest and then retreated precipitously.

  The longest air-raid alarm lasted from 12:30 to 1:30. I picked out a comfortable foxhole by a bend in the Lunga and lay on my back, watching the sky. It was pleasant there, lying beside the swift-moving water, infinitely preferable to the hot dugouts where most of our people go for such occasions.

  TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 1

  Good news today that our coast defenses are being strengthened by extra artillery of large caliber. This news heightens the general air of optimism, which is engendered by a combination of other circumstances.

  The fact, for instance, that for the last two days the Jap bombers have shown themselves to be frightened and cautious; they have turned back and unloaded their bombs.

  And then the fact that last night was particularly calm, with no shellings either by “Oscar” or the usual force of Jap destroyers or cruisers.

  Furthermore, things have been quiet along our land fronts, and large numbers of Japs have been coming in to surrender. Apparently their food is getting short.

  Increased numbers of ships have been coming in with supplies of late, including food as well as ammunition. Soon, we hope, we may be able to start eating three meals a day, getting away from our present scanty schedule of two meals.

  We are also becoming a little more comfortable in our island quarters. A few elementary necessities like privies have been slammed together, mostly made from prefabricated Japanese housing sections which we captured here.

  Our privy, at Col. Hunt’s command post, is called “McLeod’s Masterpiece,” after Lieut. McLeod, who built it. A rope set on stakes has been constructed leading from the command post to the masterpiece, so that one may find his way in the dark. Lieut. Wilson has labeled this the “McLeoderheim Line,” and set up a poster celebrating the fact.

  We also have an oven which has been fashioned from a captured Japanese safe, so that Juan Morrera, our cook, can make bread. Bread, however, is still so scarce that it is received with whoops of joy and eaten with as much relish as if it were cake.

  It is startling to think how one’s standards of values change under the continued impetus of living conditions such as ours on Guadalcanal. Things like bread and privies, considered the barest necessities at home, become luxuries. One thinks of warm water, the smooth water-closet seat of civilization, and a bed with sheets as things that exist only in a world of dreams.

  Miller and I went to Kukum at about noon today to watch for an air raid. There was an urgent alert, but again the Japs did not appear. We went for a swim in the beautiful clear water along Kukum Beach. The swimming was superb, but would have been more enjoyable if we had not found it necessary to look out for sharks. Sharks are the principal hazard of swimming in salt water hereabouts—that and the hazard of getting fungus infections in the ear, just as crocodiles impinge on one’s contentment while swimming in the Lunga River.

  This afternoon trucks came to dump a pile of gray canvas sacks at Col. Hunt’s CP. It was mail—the first to reach the troops since we landed on Guadalcanal! Each man seemed as happy as if you had given him a hundred-dollar bill at the mere thought of getting mail. And that evening was an orgy of reading. Most of the men had three or four letters each; they sat about in circles and read them several times, and read pieces of them to each other.

  Guy Narder dashed into our tent with a letter in his hand and shouted: “I’m a mother!” The girl’s name, he said, was Geraldine, and she had been born on the 27th of June.

  Don Dickson stood at the tent door, watching more mail being sorted out for delivery. “Mail should have priority before food,” he said.

  Col. Hunt had three letters. “They’re from Dear Mom,” he said, “and no bills.”

  Sgt. Charlie Morris had a bill, however. It was from the Book-of-the-Month Club.

  I saw a circle of marines clustered about one of the lads who had a reputation for being a demon with the gals. These, he said, were letters from his Number One girl.

  “That’s the only dame he could never make,” said one of his admirers good-naturedly. “He wants to marry her.”

  The Sheik only chuckled. “F– – –you, Mac,” he said, indulging in the marines’ favorite word. “The trouble with you is you never met a virgin.”

  WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 2

  Guy Narder, who is a communications officer, waked me at 2:30 this morning to ask if I wanted to come to the radio dugout.

  “They’ve got an enemy contact,” he said. “Want to listen to the calls?”

  “They caught some ships that were landing troops,” he said, as we probed our way through the night.

  We climbed down into the lantern-lit dugout and Narder gave me an earphone. The set was tuned to our inter-air frequency.

  We could hear planes taking off from the airfield. But there was no sound in the earphones, except the crackling of static. Nearly an hour later, we heard the message:

  “To all planes from control. Plane Two is in the target area. He will drop flares. He will drop flares.”

  A few minutes later: “Over enemy ships dropping flares”—a report from Plane Two, on the job.

  But the other planes were having trouble trying to spot the enemy.
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  “I am down to 1,000 feet trying to pick up enemy. Visibility very poor.”

  I had begun to realize before this how difficult are flying weather conditions around Guadalcanal, how hard it is for our planes to spot enemy ships at night unless the moon is very bright.

  Now we heard some of the planes, having difficulty in the thick overcast, calling Control in an attempt to find out the exact enemy position.

  One pilot heard the calls and reported: “During initial dive on the cruiser it was heading due east. That was fifteen minutes ago. She was making twenty knots. I haven’t located them since.”

  “How many miles east of the field?” asked Control.

  “Twenty miles,” was the answer.

  “The enemy is landing troops at Taivu Bay, twenty miles east of the airport,” reported Control to all planes.

  A few minutes later we heard inter-air conversations of pilots who were evidently on the scene but could not locate the enemy.

  “Let’s go down to 500 feet,” said one voice. “They should be directly under us around here.” But there was no contact. Weather conditions out there must have been abominable. I took off the earphone and looked out the dugout door. The night was black; there was no trace of a moon.

  It was after four o’clock when we heard the news of a contact relayed to headquarters: “Control from Plane Three: three large landing boats sighted east of Taivu Point.”

  Plane Twenty-seven corrected: “One mile west of Taivu Point.” But the weather was evidently too thick for interception.

  I gave up the long night watch at about 5:00 and went back to bed. I was just getting to sleep when I heard the sudden rattle of bombs on their way down. I shouted, “Hit the deck!” and the others in the tent were so well trained that we all landed on the tent floor at about the same moment—the moment that we heard the crack of the bombs exploding.

  Fortunately, they were not close to our camp, and fortunately the Jap attackers did not make another “run” on our positions. But there came salvos of gunfire a few minutes later, which apparently landed far down our shores to the east.

  Miller and I hustled to the headquarters building at the airport to find out whether any damage had been done to the Jap ships which were apparently landing troops at Taivu last night. Col. Fike said misty weather had interfered with the contact, but added that three large Jap landing boats had been strafed by our Navy and marine fliers.

  An Army captain came in to report that his flight of Pursuits, which had just returned from a patrol, had found six large Jap landing boats on the beach near Taivu (the Pursuits went back later in the day to strafe the boats). He reported there was no activity in the area, no people visible, and no sign of the Jap ships which had launched the boats.

  Col. Fike said there was no definite information as to the number or type of ships. But probably they were several of the now-familiar, troop-carrying type of destroyer, and probably at least one cruiser, for the two planes which had come over and dropped bombs just before daylight this morning had been cruiser-type aircraft.

  At Col. Cates’ CP we heard that there had been only one casualty in this morning’s early raid, and that casualty had been a man who lost his leg in the explosion of a delayed-action bomb. Our people are becoming more expert at taking cover; with the exception of those who stay out to watch the show, few are being injured or killed.

  Two more correspondents have come in to Guadalcanal. They are Tom Yarbrough and Tillman Durdin. They have glamorous fresh uniforms and make Miller and me feel like street urchins, for our hand-washed clothes are scarcely clean and our faces stand in need of a good scrubbing with hot water.

  This afternoon we had two air-raid alerts, and after the second, eighteen Jap bombers appeared and dropped their sticks. Three bombers and five fighters were shot down in the mêlée that followed.

  For a few minutes after the bombers had dropped their sticks, we heard the rattle of small arms fire and heavier explosions sounding like mortar or artillery shells, coming from the direction of the Tenaru. We wondered if the Japs were making another attempt to break through our lines, but Lieut. Wilson checked by phone and looked contented as he reported: “It’s only a small ammo dump. Bombs set it afire.”

  Col. Hunt has one of the few desks in the Solomons—an item captured from the Japs. Some of the officers of the Raiders came into the CP this afternoon and asked if they might use the desk. Then they spread out maps and started a deep discussion. I found they were laying plans for an expedition to Taivu, where the Japs last night apparently landed troops and supplies, and where, according to our scouts, there is now a good-sized task force. That should be an interesting excursion. I may go along.

  THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 3

  We were awakened at fifteen minutes after midnight this morning by guns booming offshore, from the direction of Kukum. I sat outside the dugout and watched the flashes lighting the sky, heard the haughty voices of the cannon. The shells were not coming in our direction at all this time. Others came out of the dugout and we watched the firing.

  Lieut. Wilson checked with Kukum, and told us the beach watchers had spotted three subs lying off Savo Island (which is off the western end of Guadalcanal). One of the subs, which lay closest to Guadalcanal, was doing the shelling. Comdr. Dexter said that there were small fires burning along the shore near Matanikau, apparently signals to the Jap subs.

  The shelling lasted about ten minutes more, then stopped. And Wilson said, “Oscar’s tired.” So were we. We went back to bed.

  There were several air-raid alarms this morning, and Miller and I went out to Kukum to watch. But the Japs did not come. They were growing exceedingly timid, and that was encouraging.

  Back at Col. Hunt’s CP, I found the Raider officers at work over their maps. But, they told me, their plans, for the time being, had been changed; they were going to make a landing at Savo Island first, and put off the Taivu expedition until after that.

  It seemed that mysterious fires, possibly signal fires, had been seen on Savo Beach of late. And one flier thought, but was not sure, that he had been fired on by a machine gun as he flew over the island. A large group of Raiders were being sent to conduct a reconnaissance in force. They were leaving this afternoon.

  Miller and I stopped in at Col. Edson’s CP (he had moved his people from Tulagi to Guadalcanal) and got permission to accompany the expedition to Savo.

  The auxiliary transports Little and Gregory were going to carry this group of Raiders to Savo. Miller and I were told to be at a certain embarkation point at four o’clock to get aboard one of these ships. But we were late. The ships were pulling out as we arrived.

  Col. Edson was standing on shore at the time. He was not going along on this trip. Lieut. Col. Sam Griffith, Edson’s executive, was leading the show.

  Col. Edson said: “You’re too late.” But he was helpful. “Get aboard the cargo ship,” he ordered, “and you can get aboard the transports later.

  “Better get going,” he snapped, “or you’ll miss it.” We did not understand at all how we could get aboard one ship, which was leaving, by getting aboard another which was not leaving. But Col. Edson was the leader; we obeyed his instructions.

  The mystery became clear soon after we went aboard the handsome cargo ship. She was going to put to sea in a few minutes, and later in the night would have a secret rendezvous with the two transports. Then we would be able to change over to the Little.

  We were not sorry to be aboard the cargo ship. She was clean and brightly modern. A friendly officer showed me to his bath and gave me a clean towel, and I was able to wash in hot water for the first time in five weeks. It was balm.

  I had dinner in the ward-room afterward, and felt like the country-mouse come to visit his sophisticated cousin. I found my values had grown so primitive on Guadalcanal that I was dazzled by the white tablecloth and shining silverware. I wondered if unconsciously I would put the silverware into my pocket after the meal, for on Guadalcanal, one car
ries his own spoon, and knows that if he loses it, he will probably have to rely on his fingers for feeding purposes.

  We got aboard the Little later that night, according to plan. The leader of the excursion, Col. Sam Griffith, and his officers received us hospitably in the ward-room.

  Col. Griffith, a handsome young officer, tall and broad-shouldered, with reddish mustache, cursorily went over the plans for the expedition. A warhorse from ’way back, with a distinguished record in Nicaragua and China, and also at Tulagi, he did not seem at all nervous about tomorrow morning’s landing.

  The other officers shared his calm. Evidently they did not think we would meet much opposition on Savo.

  Our plan, said the colonel, is to land at the northern tip of the island. There we will divide into two groups, one of which will reconnoiter the eastern half of the island; the other the west, and the two will meet at the southern tip after the work is done.

  The island, said the colonel, who expresses himself well and easily, is shaped like a walnut, with the points at the north and south extremities. It is about nine miles from northern to southern tip along either shore. That hike should take all morning and part of the afternoon. “If,” said the colonel, “we don’t run into any Nips.”

  The captain of the ship, who did not share the colonel’s suave good nature, viewed Miller and me with suspicion. He asked for our credentials and told us not to talk to any of the crew of the ship. He seemed upset because we had no written orders to make the trip. Miller and I had visions of ourselves in the brig, but the prospect did not bother us. By this time we were past being annoyed by the idea of physical discomfort.

  Finally the matter with the captain was straightened out, and he unbent and became quite friendly. We decided that he had merely been carrying out routine procedure. We—the captain, the colonel, some of the other officers, Miller and I—sat in the captain’s little office, yarning.