FP-1942AU-AprilJuly

Chronology of Events April-July 1942

04-09-42 Bataan falls: stories by M. Villarin &. Whitcomb POW

04-11-42 Royces Raid: story by E. Teats.

04-16-42 Doolittle raid on Tokyo from Aircraft Carrier Lexington

04-29/30-42 PBYs fly nurses out of Corregidor.

05-05-42 Attempt to fly nurses from Del Monte fails.

05-06-42 Corregidor Falls: Wainwright surrenders forces in the Philippines

05-7/11-42 Coral Sea Battle, Japanese Navy turned about, Lexington is sunk.

POW & AGOM story Index, all on CD, selected condensed stories at end of this book

Bataan Falls by M. Villarin P-40 pilot

By the end of the first week it was obvious that the US forces on hand could not defend Luzon, MacArthur decided to move all supplies and personnel to the Bataan peninsula and maintain a defense there until "The Aid" arrived. On Jan 15 MacArthur issued a message to all military personnel that aid was coming. At that time it was believed the supplies enroute could reach Bataan in time. By the end of Jan key personnel were being evacuated by submarine. By the middle of Feb planners knew they could not get aid into the Philippines.  Author M Villarin, P-40 pilot, served as a Philippine Army 2nd Lt on Bataan. After the war he joined the American Army. A retired L/COL in the USAR.

April 9, 1942, is a sad day to remember. It all started at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, the day which will live in infamy. The attack on Pearl Harbor triggered the war in the Pacific which lasted three and a half years.

Within hours after Pearl Harbor, Japanese planes attacked Clark Field in the Philippines and destroyed half of Gen. Douglas MacArthur's Air Corps on the ground. Then followed the devastation of Cavite Navy Yard and Nichols Field. These raids left the United States Army Forces in the Far Fast under MacArthur with hardly any air or naval Support.

The American garrison in the Islands consisted of only 19,000 troops, plus 12,000 Philippine Scouts and their 685 American officers who were a part of the regular United States Army. The Philippines being an American colony, some 100,000 Philippine Army troops were sworn into the USAFFE by Presidential Proclamation. The war in the Philippines sealed the fate of these American and Filipino troops. It was the most humiliating defeat in American military history when Maj. Gen. Edward King surrendered his 78,000 Bataan troops, including 12,000 Americans, to the enemy. We lost the first round of the war in the Philippines. General MacArthur, his Chief of Staff Brig. Gen. Richard Sutherland, and the Chief of the Far Fact Air Force Maj. Gen. Lewis Brereton, drew bitter criticism for their apparent lack of foresight and indecision in the Clark Field catastrophe. Brereton said that if he had been authorized to carry out a B-17 attack on Formosa earlier, his bombers would not have been caught on the ground. Sutherland's account was that the bombing mission could not be authorized without first sending a photo reconnaissance mission to Formosa

Retrospectively, General MacArthur made a postwar statement to the effect that "our fighters...to protect our bombers in the Formosa attack...did not have the necessary radius of action. An attack would have been doomed to failure." This statement, made four years after the war, was rather perplexing.

Apparently, MacArthur forgot that he had authorized a bombing mission at 1100 hours on December 8, 1941 (Manila time), shortly after authorizing a photo mission at 1010 hours. When the Japanese attacked at 1230 hours, the three bombers assigned the photo mission were still on the ground at Clark Field. So why would MacArthur authorize a bombing mission since, according to his postwar statement, he did not have enough fighter planes to support the B-17s? And why would he authorize a bombing mission at 1100 hours since his photo reconnaissance mission of three bombers, authorized to leave at 1010 hours, had not even returned from Formosa, let alone left Clark Field when the Japanese planes attacked at 1230 hours?

A furious Gen. Henry Arnold, the Air Corps Chief, wondered "how in hell" could an experienced airman like Brereton have been caught with his planes down nine hours after Pearl Harbor. L. Edgar Whitcomb, a B-17 navigator from Clark Field, author of Escape From Corregidor and later governor of Indiana, said, "Our generals and leaders committed one of the greatest errors possible to military men -- that of letting themselves betaken by surprise."

The Japanese began landing at two places north and south of Manila for the purpose of converging on the capital city where they thought General MacArthur's headquarters was located. They were wrong. MacArthur and his troops had already made a retrograde movement into the Bataan peninsula for a last ditch stand. Layac junction in northern Bataan had to be held to enable the defenders to establish their first Main Line of Resistance along the Abucay-Mauban line. A superior enemy force drove the defenders to that MLR. It was during an action at Culis on January 6, 1942, that a Philippine Scout sergeant, Jose Calugas, earned the Congressional Medal of Honor.

The battle of Abucay began on January 9, when the enemy launched a heavy artillery barrage on the Manila Bay side, but the Scouts from the 57th Infantry (PS) stopped the Japanese dead in their tracks. The 57th was the fightingest unit on Bataan, its members having earned one Medal of Honor (Lt. Alexander Nininger, a West Pointer), ten Distinguished Service Crosses and forty Silver Stars. Another Scout officer from the 45th Infantry (PS), Lt. Willibald Bianchi, also won his Medal of Honor.

When Bataan fell, some 2,000 managed to escape to Corregidor, including the nurses. The siege of the Rock lasted nearly a month. Rather than having to witness the massacre of 13,000 defenders and 78 nurses, General Wainwright had no choice but to surrender Corregidor on May 6, 1942. The gallant stand of the defenders of Bataan and Corregidor disrupted by four months the enemy's timetable of conquest of the Southwest Pacific.

The crack Philippines Division of the United States Army consisted of three well-trained, seasoned regiments, namely the American 31st Infantry, 45th Infantry (PS) and 57th Infantry (PS). Most of the Philippine Army divisions consisted of ill-equipped and inadequately trained reservists. Gen. Jonathan Wainwright, who took over from MacArthur, wrote: “The Philippine Army units were doomed before they started to fight That they lasted as long as they did is a stirring and touching tribute to their gallantry and fortitude."

The mission to defend the western coast of Bataan was given to the first Regular Division, PA, under Brig. Gen. Fidel Segundo, a Filipino West Pointer, and Troop G, 26th Cavalry (PS). On January 15, a powerful enemy task force engaged the defenders in a savage horde and occupied Morong. L. Edwin Ramsey and his Scout troopers were ordered to retake Morong, which they did, for which Ramsey earned his first Silver Star.

Recalls Colonel Ramsey: "It was in the battle of Morong where I had the dubious pleasure of having led the last mounted horse cavalry charge of the United States Army. We then withdrew behind the Pilar-Bagac line. Thereafter our horses were eaten by the troops in Bataan ." (Ramsey, after escaping from the Death March, eventually won the DSC and his second Silver Star as commander of Ramsey's 40,000 Filipino guerrillas operating effectively in central Luzon during three years of Japanese occupation.)

Stymied in their efforts to break through the Pilar-Bagac MLR, the Japanese tried another strategy by landing 900 men at Caibobo Point on the west coast to isolate the defenders at Bagac. Without navigation charts and due to darkness, 600 men landed instead at Quinauan Point and 300 at Longoskawayan Point on January 23. The enemy then sent 200 men to reinforce the bridgehead at Quinauan but they landed instead at Anyasan Point on January 21. By February 13, all 800 Japanese at the Quinauan-Anyasan encounters were killed while the USAFFE casualties were 210 killed and 316 wounded.

At Longoskawayan Point the Navy Battalion of 380 sailors without ships, including a company of Marines, was being clobbered by machine gun and sniper fire when the Scouts from the 57th Infantry (PS) came to their rescue. War correspondent Clark Lee wrote: "When the Scouts got up to the front lines they slapped the exhausted Americans on the back and said, `We'll take over now, Joe.' "By January 28, all 300 Japanese were wiped out and the casualties among the sailors, Marines and Scouts were 22 dead and 66 wounded. The Battle of the Points was one of the bloodiest on Bataan.

U.S. and P.A. Air Corps personnel who fought as infantrymen, American tanks, elements from the P.A. and Philippine Constabulary, crewmen from Navy auxiliary vessels firing at the entrenched enemy and coast artillerymen from Corregidor, besides the Navy Battalion -- all had their share in helping the Scouts eliminate the enemy from the Points.

The Americans and the Philippine Constabulary, and those of us from the P.A., had a high regard for the elite Philippine Scouts. In a 1947 article in the Armored Cavalry Journal, Col. William Chandler, 26th Cavalry (PS), wrote: "...the men were extremely proud of their unit and intensely loyal to the United States and to the American officers under whom they served...The superb discipline of these Scouts who went calmly about their business under a hail of fragmentation bombs and strafing was a source of inspiration and pride to every American officer in the regiment."

Col. Ernest Miller, commander of the 194th Tank Battalion, wrote: "Fighting was bloody in the Abucay area. The highest tribute I can pay to the Philippine Scouts is that I have never seen nor do I ever expect to see, any better or braver soldiers than the Scouts...Many wounded Scouts were brought to the rear. Not once did I hear one whimper of Pain or an utterance of complaint...These were the Scouts who also loved and believed in America...

Gen. Masaharu Homma's invading forces were living off the land. Our rations on Bataan were cut to two meals a day and consisted mostly of "lugao" (rice gruel). The reassurance given to us by General MacArthur on January 15 that "Help (was) on the way" didn't amount to a hill of beans. No ships were arriving and all hope of getting reinforcements from the United States vanished into thin air. The Philippines had been written off. The crucial event came during the Holy Week in April when Homma unleashed his fury on the defenders with everything he had. The starving, sick and demoralized USAFFE troops began retreating in chaos to the south.

General King wanted to avoid further bloodshed. With a starvation diet of two meals a day, and his troops suffering from malaria and dysentery, not to mention the constant air bombardments and shellings, King's surrender of Bataan was inevitable. To the Japanese, being taken prisoner was a disgrace to the military and to the family. They told us in no uncertain terms, "You surrendered. You deserve no mercy." That's why on the march from Bataan to an unknown destination, they subjected the Fil-American POWs to the most unimaginable forms of atrocities. It was to be known later as the infamous Bataan Death March, where an estimated 7,000 to 10,000 prisoners died from disease, starvation and beatings. Estimates by U.S. historians of the Americans who died on this march varied from 650 to 2,330.

The Japanese would not allow the prisoners to get water from streams or from artesian wells along the road. The guards warned us to stay away from those who could barely march. It was survival of the fittest. Those who were lagging behind or could not make it were clubbed, bayoneted or shot. Examples of atrocities:

From Brownell Cole of Valley City, ND: "A woman about eight months pregnant threw some coconut candy into the group. One of the guards went back and bayoneted her right into the side and you could hear her scream for a mile along the road"

From Harold Kurvers of S. Paul, MN: "We got clobbered every time we broke line to get some sugar cane or water. The Filipinos would come running to us with rice and water in containers and the Japanese would swing and shoot at them. The Filipinos can't be praised enough for how they tried to help."

From Joe Wengronowitz of Waseca, MN: "I walked by a rice straw stack which had been set afire and saw a Filipino farmer and his wife tied to a stake in front of the fire, apparently for trying to help the marching POWs with food."

A P.A. officer reported to Medical Officer Capt. Alvin Poweleit of Covington, KY, that a guard had bayoneted several prisoners as they broke ranks to relieve themselves.

From Cliff Omtvedt of Eau Claire, WI: "I was a very sick man in Hospital #2 when Bataan fell. I remember one Filipino officer there who had an American wife. She was the only female American patient there. This woman was brutally raped within hearing distance of my bed by three Japanese soldiers."

Of the 78,000 troops who surrendered on Bataan, only 54,000 POWs, including 9,300 Americans, reached the notorious Camp O'Donnell prison camp where some 29,000 Filipinos and 2,000 Americans died from starvation, disease and beatings. This will remain etched in the memory of those of us who survived. For these war crimes and other atrocities committed during the liberation of Manila in January 1945, Generals Masaharu Homma and Tomoyuki Yamashita were tried, convicted and executed in Manila. (end Villarian)

Clark Field to Bataan – Escape from Bataan by Ed Whitcomb

Three of my classmates whose planes had been destroyed on the ground remained with me at Clark Field when the 19th Group departed for Del Monte Field on Mindanao. With me were Jay Horowitz, William Warner, and Jack Jones. Since we did not have planes to navigate, we assumed other positions. I took a job in the communications section, encoding and decoding radio messages at the mobile radio station. Members of the communications section ate from a field kitchen which had been set up under the trees. Because I was on duty 24 hours a day, I slept on the ground outside the radio trailer. We endured air raids day after day, with the Japanese bombers coming over so low at times that we could see into the bomb bays as their bombs fell about us. The bombers were virtually unopposed. since we had no fighter planes at Clark Field.

Even though I was working in the communications section, I was unaware that the 19th Bombardment Group had evacuated Del Monte Field and moved to Batchelor Field, Australia, on 17 December 1941, only nine days after the first attack on Clark Field.

I was training to encode and decode messages. It seemed strange to me that there was not someone there who was already trained for such duty until I learned that the regular cryptographers had been moved to Corregidor or to bomb group headquarters.

There were code books which were very simple to use; but I suspected that the Japanese had the same books and were much handier with them than I. Then there was a set of disks about the size of checkers. On the outside of each disk were letters of the alphabet. The disks rotated on a spindle. It was like a puzzle. My job was to take the letters of the alphabet that came in on the radio and rotate the disks until all of the letters from the radio were in a row. Then I would rotate the thing until I could make out a sentence that made sense. The trouble with that was that the sender was using code words that were only understandable to the officer to whom I delivered the message.

On 24 December, the staff in the communications section packed equipment and prepared for a move. We had no idea of our destination: however, we were all glad to be leaving Clark Field, where we had been pounded so mercilessly by enemy bombers.

Shortly after noon, we found ourselves to be a part of an unbelievable convoy made up of every kind of military vehicle. At first, we headed toward Manila, about 56 miles to the south; but when we reached the city of San Fernando, we turned westward. The convoy moved slowly, with long delays from time to time. The farther we traveled, the more disabled vehicles we saw along the side of the road. The numbers grew into dozens, then hundreds, of abandoned vehicles of every description. Instead of an orderly withdrawal, it appeared to be more of a rout. If anything went wrong with a vehicle, it was abandoned. There was not time, or even inclination, to repair anything that was out of order.

Although we had traveled only about 70 miles, it was well after dark when we pulled off the main road. Then we followed a trail about one-quarter of a mile before we stopped for the night. It had been an unceremonious Christmas Eve for us confused and weary travelers.

On Christmas Day 1941, we arose and looked out across the waters of Manila Bay to the isle of Corregidor, to the south of us. In the distance to the southeast, we could see the radio towers of the Cavite Naval Base; to the east, we could make out a part of the skyline of Manila. We were on the peninsula of Bataan, just to the north of a coastal village by the name of Cabcaben.

Though we had no way of knowing it, this was the refuge provided for us under War Plan Orange III (WPO 111). The plan had been worked out over past years, and it was said that it was well known to all US Army officers who had been in the Philippines six months or more. But I had been there less than two months. I knew nothing of it.

[In the years before World War I, the War and Navy Departments devised a series of contingency plans wherein a certain color identified the specific plan to be implemented in the event of war with a given country. War Plan Orange CWPO) denoted hostilities with Japan.

From the early 1920s, both the US Army and Navy agreed that the Philippines would prove an early and easy target for a Japanese invasion force. When it came to a Pacific strategy, they agreed upon little else. For its part, the Army urged redeployment of all American forces stationed in the Philippines to a defensive line running from Alaska to Oahu to Panama. Anticipating major sea battles in the Western Pacific and stressing the strategic importance of a Philippine base for offensive operations, the Navy strongly opposed such a move. Following certain other concessions desired by the Army, planners agreed that WPO III would provide at least for the defense of Manila Bay. The authors of VVTO III envisioned the defenders of Manila Bay holding out on Bataan and Corregidor for four to six months while the Navy steamed to their relief across the Central Pacific. Significantly, nothing was said about reinforcement of the Army garrison or how long it might take the Navy to fight its way back to the Philippines.

Shortly after WPO III went into effect, the "color plans," each of which envisioned US hostilities with only a single country, were transformed into the Rainbow series which more realistically assumed the existence of various combinations of alliances and multiple theaters of war. The terms of Rainbow 5 most closely approximated the situation that existed when the US entered World War II. However, although VTPO III had been superseded by Rainbow 5, the provisions and assumptions of the former were incorporated into the latter. Thus, as a practical matter, the third revision of VVTO III, written in 1938, was in effect when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and attacked the Philippines. More importantly, although no one in Washington cared to admit it, there was no change in the prevailing assumption that the Philippines could not be held against a determined Japanese foe.]

We were there even though it had been well established by competent authority that the Philippine Islands could not be defended by the United States in the event of war with Japan. As late as 1937, just four years before the outbreak of World War II, Gen Stanley D. Embick, then chief of the War Plans Division of the US Army, believed that in case of war with Japan, the United States should withdraw behind its natural strategic peacetime frontier in the Pacific-the line of Alaska, Oahu, and the Panama Canal. He knew the territory well. As a colonel on the General Staff after World War I, he had opposed the 1924 Orange Plan. Later, as commander of the army garrison on Corregidor, he had written a critique labeling "Orange" an "act of madness." Those of us who became victims of War Plan Orange III would wholeheartedly agree with Colonel Embick. The planners certainly never envisioned a situation where 80,000 troops would endeavor to fight a war with no reinforcements whatsoever against a Japanese army of 200,000 soldiers who were being regularly reinforced with fresh troops and supplies.

Gen Leonard Wood, a former chief of staff of the US Army and later governor-general of the Philippines, had said that war with Japan would require "the abandonment of American posts, American soldiers, an American fleet, and American citizens in the Far East."3 General Wood was right-that is exactly what happened!

Within three months after the outbreak of the war in the Pacific, all of the American military posts in the Philippines had been abandoned except the tiny island of Corregidor and some forces on Mindanao. The naval station at Subic Bay, Cavite Naval Base, Fort McKinley, Clark Field, Nichols Field, and Nielson Field lay in ruins and in the hands of the Japanese. Part of the American Pacific Fleet had been unable to escape from the islands, and had been captured or sent to the bottom of the sea; and 3,000 American citizens were languishing in Japanese internment camps at Santo Thomas University in Manila or at Baguio, 200 miles to the north. Almost every prediction by Gen Leonard Wood had come true!

Those troops who survived the first three months of the war had retreated to the peninsula of Bataan and the mighty fortress of Corregidor Island, protecting Manila Bay as contemplated under War Plan Orange III.

Medical supplies were depleted so that less than minimal care was available for the sick and wounded. Sick and wounded patients in the hospitals were spread out across the jungle, many without any shelter whatsoever. The southern end of the Bataan peninsula was a beautiful place with tall mahogany trees and cool mountain streams, but the beauty was meaningless to us. We wanted so much to believe that reinforcements were on the way that we actually believed it would happen. We never gave up hope.

I set up a radio in the center of our camp area under four towering mango trees so that we could hear the shortwave newscasts from station KGEI San Francisco, 7,000 miles away. Evening after evening we heard President Roosevelt promising that the US was going to produce thousands of new planes this year and thousands more next year, thousands of new tanks this year and thousands more next year. That was encouraging to us and we never really gave up hope that those reinforcements would reach us in time to be effective.

Engineers scraped a dirt runway across the rice paddies next to the village of Cabcaben on the shore of Manila Bay. They also built revetments with banks of dirt 20 feet high around them to protect the new planes, which would be coming from the states. We set up the communications system with a wooden scaffolding; it would be the control tower when Cabcaben Field became operational.

During the daytime, several of us trained our aircrew members on jungle warfare. At night, we would make trips to the shore of Manila Bay and deploy our forces in beach defense exercises. Japanese forces were hammering at our defense lines about eight miles to the north of us, and we could hear the roar from the heavy artillery day and night. Japanese aircraft from Manila across the bay made numerous strafing and bombing attacks on us daily. Throughout the days and nights of January, February, and March, we waited for those supplies and reinforcements from the United States. Many of us had no more protection from the elements than a shelter half spread above our bunks. Everyone lived in tents or outdoors since there were no permanent structures of any kind in the jungle.

Our rations were reduced by half and later to half rations again until men were scrounging over the hills for eatable roots or animals. Some tried iguana, others captured and ate monkeys. There was never enough extra food to overcome the hunger that we suffered constantly.

Malaria, dysentery, and a variety of tropical diseases took their toll until about half of our units were not able to function. When orders came for us to go to the front lines as artillery spotters, Jack Jones and I were flat on our backs with malaria fever. Jay Horowitz and Scott Warner did spot for the artillery until our lines were pushed back, and they were ordered back to our camp.

We continued to live in hope for the arrival of reinforcements to rescue us. There was no other way out. There was no way for us to escape from Bataan, with its barbed wire and bamboo barricades all along the shores and the battle lines across the neck of the peninsula. Bataan was jokingly referred to as the greatest concentration camp in the world. We were captives of our own War Plan Orange III.

US Navy planners had predicted long before World War II that, in the event of war with Japan, it would take two or three years for the US to fight its way across the Pacific to bring relief to the Philippines. Fortunately for us, none of us knew that. But again, that is exactly what happened. It took more than three years for the United States to fight its way back through the Marshall, the Gilbert, and the Mariana islands. These islands, previously occupied by Germany, were given to Japan after World War I under a mandate whereby the Japanese were prohibited from building any military fortifications.

It took three years and four months to rescue the thousands of American soldiers, sailors, and marines who had become victims of WPO III. We had been placed in a totally helpless position because the planners who had developed and supported War Plan Orange III had disregarded the warnings of Generals Embick and Wood.

In retrospect, the only thing that could happen under the circumstances did happen. Our defensive lines finally gave way to the Japanese forces who had hammered them relentlessly for more than three months.

At Cabcaben Field, on the night of 8 April (Philippine time), we were ordered to withdraw to kilometer post 182, north of Mariveles on the southwestern tip of the Bataan peninsula. We were glad to make the move when we learned that our own heavy artillery guns had taken up positions behind us. It took all night to traverse the eight miles from Cabcaben Field to Mariveles. Again, the road was clogged with vehicles moving very slowly and then stopping for long, unexplained periods of time.

At dawn on 9 April, as we were approaching kilometer post 182, we observed vehicles passing us in the opposite direction and displaying white bed sheets fastened to poles. At first, we could not comprehend. Then we were shocked to realize that the bed sheets were white flags of surrender. In a way, it seemed to bring some relief from the long days, weeks, and months of waiting and worrying. We had endured disease and starvation with no words of encouragement except those repeated promises from President Roosevelt that help was on the way with thousands of planes and tanks. Not one new plane reached us from the United States during the months that we were on Bataan. Not one supply ship reached us from the United States. As the war-weary stragglers made their way into the area where we were ordered to surrender, it appeared to me that it might be feasible to get away from the surrender area and avoid being taken prisoner. I found a couple of my friends, John I. Renka, a B-17 pilot, and Jim Dey, a bombardier, and proposed to them that we try to get away. They both agreed without hesitation.

It was much easier than we anticipated. We casually walked to the road, found a vehicle with the keys still in it, and drove straight to Mariveles harbor without any problem. There we found a small launch with several soldiers aboard and ready to set out to sea. They welcomed us aboard, and we set out for the island of Corregidor, about seven and one-half miles away. It was so easy that I could not believe it was really happening. It was too good to be true. We were escaping from the Bataan peninsula where we had spent more than three months living on hope until we had run out of hope. There were Japanese planes in the sky, but they took no notice of us or our little boat making its way to freedom.

From the dense, malaria-ridden jungles of Bataan, we were headed for Corregidor, that island fortress, bastion of steel and concrete. There was food enough to last for five years and big guns enough to ward off any enemy. There, we would be secure until reinforcements arrived from the United States.

A new problem developed just as we were approaching the shore, however. We observed a flight of Japanese bombers coming from the east like a dark storm blowing up on a sunny day, and it appeared that we would arrive on Corregidor at the same time. Our skipper gave the engine full throttle in the hope that we would make our landing and find shelter just before the bombs exploded on the island.   (Whitcomb Continued)

Royces Raid -- Last chance to Bomb & Evacuate People by E. Teats

In early April -- only a matter of hours after the fall of Bataan -- we bombed the Philippines.

It was my last visit to the familiar cow-pasture air field at Del Monte, on the north coast of Mindanao. It came very near to being my last visit anywhere. General Royce was in command of the mission. He’d asked for it.

The three Fortresses on the mission, piloted by Captain Frank Bostrom, Captain Rawls and myself, took off individually from our North Australian base at 11 o'clock on the morning of April 11 and flew to Del Monte. The B-25s, (North American medium bomber) flew up in formation.

That night we met at General Royce's headquarters and the objectives were selected. The B-25s now, incidentally, officially known as "Mitchells"-were to work on Davao, Zamboanga and Cebu. The first objective of the B-17s was Nichols Field, the former Air Forces depot just south of Manila.

Bostrom’s ship had a bad engine so on the morning of the 12th, he took Rawls' ship. It was agreed that my plane was to find and. bomb a convoy which had been reported in the vicinity of the island of Panay in the Visayas; the middle group of the Philippine Islands, midway between Mindanao on the south and Luzon on the north. It was thought that this convoy. was headed for the city of Iloilo, on the southeast coast or Panay.

My first objective was the convoy, while Bostrom was to go on to Nichols Field. If I located the convoy, I was to radio him to join me for an attack; if I didn't, I was to proceed to Nichols as the alternate target. If our plane couldn't reach Nichols, in the event or our failure to find the convoy, we were to attack either the air base at Batangas, slightly less than 60 air miles due north of Manila or shipping at Cebu.

We carried a full load of bombs and if we had to refuel, we were to put in at a field at Iloilo on Panay. The Japs at this time had begun their invasion of Cebu, were fighting in Cebu City and had taken the air Field at San Jose, Mindanao -- the field where, on our return from Lingayen on Dec. 23, had enjoyed our rum-laced, coffee.

The convoy which later did reach Cebu as reinforcements for the. initial Jap landings, was reported to be made up of five or six transports and about the same number of cruisers, most of them heavy. We took off at sunrise and searched all over the area between Negros and Panay and up as far as the south tip of Mindoro, but we couldn't find it.

We were, just about off the Southern tip of Mindoro when we developed engine trouble of a nature which compelled us to use a great deal more fuel than we had anticipated. At the rate of fuel consumption, it was plain as the nose on your face that we couldn't bomb Nichols and get back. Our alternate course was either to bomb the airfield at Batangas or shipping at Cebu. Since the B-25s were taking care of the latter; we decided to hit Batangas.

It was a beautifully clear day and from our altitude almost mockingly, all that we had lost was laid out below us.

We could plainly make out Mt. Arayat, 60 miles north of Manila, familiar landmark in the approach to Clark Field. We could see the highway and the railroad which runs up from Batangas to Manila and although we couldn’t see the field, a group of metal buildings at Nichols were glistening like mirrors in the morning sun.

The long tongue of Bataan crouched behind the wooden shoulders of Marlveles Mountain, was clearly visible. Corregidor and the other island forts stood out boldly against the blue of Manila Bay, but there were no signs of military activity either of attack or defense.

It was useless to waste bombs on the air field and we turned back over the port. A boat was anchored just a little off the end of the pier -- a nice, big, long boat -- and a lot of stuff was piled on the pier. Lighters were working the ship, seemingly in the process of unloading.

We turned, made the run and the bombardier lined up his sight on the large, box-shaped end of the pier. There was not a hint of interception or anti-aircraft.

"Bombs away" the bombardier reported from his seat in the nose. Since then I have often thought that the glee in his voice was not unrelated to the thoughts called up by the sight of Bataan, where our pal's had put up such a tooth-and-nail fight and of bomb-and-shell-battered Corregidor, lying just off our rear starboard quarter as we made the run.

The first two bombs "hung” -- released too late and then both plummeted down together. The first one struck just aft of the ship's superstructure, almost dead upon the rear cargo hold. The second smashed into the stern.

One of our engines had been kicking up, and the moment the bombs were released, I cut it and feathered the propeller -- streamlining to prevent vibration -- caused by the wind pressure turning the blades.

I banked the ship sharply to see the results of our hits. The whole stem of the ship was afire. Dense clouds of black smoke were rolling up, rapidly obscuring the entire vessel- Three minutes later, as we were speeding toward Del Monte, the bombardier exulted: “The whole damned ship blew up!”

There was deep satisfaction in his fatigue-cracked voice.

Bostrom got into Del Monte a little later, to report the same hardly-believable lack of enemy interception or anti-aircraft. He had laid a stick of bombs diagonally across Nichols Field, scoring direct hits on the big metal-sided depot building which the Japs evidently had built as store house for parts and supplies. One was blazing furiously as he left the target area, the result of a direct hit.

As soon as we landed at Del Monte, the ground crews-hustled to get the ship Bostrom had flown serviced, gassed and armed for another mission that afternoon.

We had either to change an engine or replace a cylinder on my plane.

We were down at the ships when we heard a sudden scurry of rifle shots from the hills -- the signal of an air raid -- and within a few moments, a couple of Jap float planes came over and bomber us. The echoes of the rifle shots barely had died away down the valley before we dove for a pile of rocks in a gully off the edge of the field, and burrowed under the bush. We had no protection whatsoever against hostile raiders.

One bomb fell 25 feet off the tail section of my ship and cut the elevator cables. The tail was riddled. Fabric was torn from the elevators and control surfaces. Rawl’s ship -- that Bostrom had flown in the morning and which Rawl’s intended to take out on another mission that afternoon, was badly damaged at the tail. It couldn’t possibly fly a mission that afternoon, while mine could not be repaired for a combat mission, if at all, until the following day.

We went up to headquarters and reported the critical turn in our plans. While there, we were told that all of the evidence indicated that the ship which we had demolished at Batangas was a munitions carrier, unloading ammunition for the heavy Jap batteries which were bombarding Corrigidor, Hughes, Fran and Drum from the Cavet shore. That made us feel a little better.

Bostrom had just started snoring and I was drifting off luxuriously when there was an excited yowl of rifle shots in the distance. Waiting only to pull on our shoes, we ran out to the porch just in time to see four Jap float planes circling the field.

After the first raid, the five P-40s still in service at Del Monte were sent out to attempt to intercept the raiders -- if possible to catch them on the water at Davro while loading -- for we fully expected them back. Cloud formations over Davao favored the Nips and they were able to avoid the attempted interception by our fighters, but the P-40s followed them back and interrupted their second bombing of our field.

One of those fighter planes was flown by a flying school classmate of mine --”Brownie” Brownwell.

Brooks could -- and I hope some day may be written -- about those fellows. Brownie, like “Buzz” Wagner, "Shady" Lane and Charlie Sprague, was an expert fighter pilot, a crack shot, a man to whom odds meant absolutely nothing. He flew daily missions against odds in his quiet modest, unassuming fashion, as though it was the most natural duty in the world. To those chaps, any mission from which they returned alive was “routine." Time after time, when Brownie brought his wheezing P-40 back, showing scars of combat, his ground crew would eagerly press him for details of his mission. Invariably, his reply would be: "Nothing unusual. Nothing exciting.”

On one occasions he went into the Davao with just one 50 caliber machine gun in working order, and gave the airfield and the dock area a thorough working over until his one gun jammed. Then he evaded the machine-gun fire of a couple of Zeros, leading them a neat chase around, and among mountains and valleys, and brought his plane back to the base bullet-riddled and almost out of gas.

Another one of be fighter pilots, whose name I can't remember right now, was jumped by Zeros on a similar mission. He evaded them in a close chase all of the way back to his base but finally had to abandon his bullet riddled plane. He crash-landed on the water just off-shore, planed it in on the smooth water and up on the beach like a surfboard, jumped out and managed to take cover unharmed. Huddled in the brush, he helplessly watched as the Zeros proceeded to strafe his stanch mate on many perilous missions, leaving it a useless hulk on the sand.

Every one of those chaps was a hero in his own right. In the language of the citation of the Far Eastern Air Force, they “fought their equipment to exhaustion.” Tremendous odds to them were daily routine.

Had it not been for them, we might have taken an even worse drubbing that day at Del Monte than we did. As Bostrom and I stood -- in shorts and shoes watching from the porch one of the float planes peeled off and dove to release his first bomb. Our fellows, a mile away across the valley, were shooting at him. We heard some of their bullets whining over our heads and then one hit the dust about a hundred feet in front of us and just missed us in a screaming ricochet. We promptly decided it was time to take to the slit trench.

The Nips released their bombs at about 2000 feet and we knew from the detonations -- the heavy “w-u-u--u-m-p” -- that they were heavier than the bombs employed on the first raid.

Bostrom’s own ship the one with the bad engine -- had been hit. A tall column of smoke was ascending from the parking area, and when we reached it, Bostrom's plane was practically consumed.

The Japs dropped some other bombs. The first one fell about 50 feet off the right wing tip of my plane and another about 75 feet off the left. The shrapnel tore up the wings badly, the rear spar of the left wing was practically knocked out and there was a lot of damage to the sides all of the way back. The-oil tank on the number four engine was ruined. The tank had a hole the size of a man's fist in it, but fortunately the oil itself cushioned the splinters and saved the engine.

For the second time, we had to change our plans. It was decided that we would attempt to repair Rawls' ship so that the men of his and Bostrom's crew, and some passengers they planned to carry, could get out during the night. It also was decided that we would work on my plane through the night and before sunrise come to a decision as to whether to attempt to fly it back to Australia from Del Monte, or fly it to another nearby field where there was some cover to complete repairs.

We knew we wouldn't be safe at Del Monte. The Nips would be up from Davao at dawn. If we didn’t get out of Del Monte by daylight, we wouldn't get out at all.

Earlier in the day; one of the junior officers of our squadron, Lt Taylor, commanding a group of ground crewmen, who were manning the beach defenses some distance from Cagayan, asked us if we would need any maintenance men. I told him to get a few of them up to the field in case of emergency. That order saved our two remaining B-17s -- and possibly our lives.

Patched-Up Bomber, Crippled, Overloaded, Escaped Jap Raiders

Between the two raids, which destroyed one of our three B-17s and seriously damaged the other two, a busload of maintenance men arrived.

The men were tickled to death to get some work to do, for they hadn't worked on a plane since we left Mindanao for Australia, four months before. They had been crouching behind sand bags with rifles and dwindling ammunition supplies for weeks. That sort of thing -- waiting for the inevitable to happen, but no one knowing when -- can get very monotonous.

In the next 19 hours that gang of 12 or 14 men performed the greatest job of emergency repair I personally have ever witnessed. I have never heard of anything to match it.

We worked through the night. We had a good dinner the night before, but no breakfast, and lunch was a watery stew with a couple of acorn-sized new potatoes in it and a microscopic piece of meat -- hardly good supporting fare for heavy labor. About 9 o’clock that night a truck drove up with some stew, watered a little more and a tank of coffee.

With nothing but a pair of pliers, a screwdriver and their bare hands, that gang spliced the heavy control cables. They had a soldering iron but the blow torch would not work. Un-discouraged they built a tiny fire of grass and shavings and heated the soldering iron that way.

Each heating was sufficient to melt one or two drops of solder but, one or two drops at a time they soldered the turn buckles on the control cables.

They took an oil tank out of an old B-17 carcass, left over from the Dec show, plugged six holes made in it by shrapnel fragments from numerous bombing raids and installed it.

They cut sections of metal from the skin of the old B-17 and covered up the worst rips in the wings and tail section.

By three o’clock the next morning they had done everything but check the engines. Those men were very tired, they weren’t too well fed, and they probably knew that their chances of getting out of the Philippines were nil, but they went at that job not only uncomplainingly but with a dash and a good humor and skill that was beautiful.

Without additional facilities, of which there were none available to us closer than Australia, we could do nothing more. Either the plane would make it to Australia or it wouldn’t. After carefully weighing the chances, I decided we could make it.

The engineer and I checked out the bad engine and then he and the crew ran up the other three engines while I went to a field phone. I called Col Elsemore, the base commander, to report our plan to attempt to fly to Australia instead of going to another field to do further maintenance, and to check for passengers.

Bostrom and Rawls were still working on their plane. There was a leak in the hydraulic system. They worked all night by flashlight, but when they found that repair was impossible they kicked off their passengers and part of the crew. Eventually they got away about 5:30 A.M., a half or three quarters of an hour before we did.

* * *

After talking to General Royce, our task force commander, and General Sharp, commander of our forces in Mindanao, Col Elsmore approved our plan and said the passengers would be sent down immediately. All I knew about the passengers was that there were a couple of Bostrom’s crew, two Air Corps colonels, a young Lt who had been assigned to my squadron at Clark Field just before the war broke, a naval officer and a private.

It was not until he came aboard that I knew the naval officer was Lt Commander John D. Bulkeley, commander of motor torpedo boats which had played such merry dancing Hades with the Nips in the water around Bataan and Cebu. I had heard of Bulkeley, of course including the story of his latest exploit, only a few days before, of sinking a cruiser up around Cebu, but I had no opportunity to talk with him.

Dawn was our dead-line. We had a badly damaged plane on our hands, and we were dog-tired. I had no sleep for two nights. It took every bit of concentration I could summon to keep my mind clear and intent on the job. Not even the Nips are worse enemies of a pilot than fatigue.

Lt “Ted” Greene, my co-pilot; Lt Walter Seamon, my navigator, and Lt Stone my bombardier, all turned in for a few hours sleep. Greenes back bothered him a little. He had not jumped for cover quite soon enough that afternoon, when the second formation of Jap bombers came over, and some shrapnel splinters had caught him in the small of his back a fraction of an inch from his spine. The other two couldn’t really help much with the plane and needed the sleep.

We got the ship on the runway, ran up the engines and cut the throttles. The engines were idling, as we waited for the field lights to be flipped on... and then I heard a plane. At the same instant I saw it vaguely, off to the left and at about 2000 feet. It was a float plane, and while we weren’t positive he was a Jap, one thing was beyond argument: if he was , the other dive bombers would not be far behind him.

We just sat there, the motors turning over slowly. The moment the unidentified plane was sighted, the field lights were doused. It was so black we couldn’t make out the bushes within a few feet of us, at the edge of the field. A vague outline of mountains was visible off to the east in the first, faint ghost of dawn.

I don’t think any of us took so much as a deep breath until the float-plane passed the end of the runway and reached a position where we knew he could not turn in and catch us at the take-off. Fortunately for their peace of mind, most of the personnel aboard did not know about this until later.

It was nice timing. The field lights flicked on; I yanked open the throttles and the plane roared down the runway and got into the air before the Jap, if he was a Jap-could catch us on the ground. We knew about how fast his type of plane could travel, and that if we could reach maximum speed without our plane falling apart, we probably could outrun him.

Pouring on the coal; we steamed down the valley picking up speed, then turned and came back climbing at a rate at which he might stay with us but at which he could not overtake us.

We slipped along-below the tops of the ridges so that the Jap plane, if that's what it was, would be unable to spot us against the sky. Just after we started climbing back along the mountains, the engineer who was manning the almost useless top turret reported he saw something diving on the field and then saw a flash. General Royce later told in Australia that the Japs came over and bombed the hell out of the field, just at dawn.

Thirty minutes out, we "lost" one engine, and I had to stop it and feather the prop. The top turret had only one gun that would fire, and the turret itself would turn in only one direction.

Our bottom turret was out of working order. A large piece of shrapnel had torn quite a hole in it, ruining both guns. To save weight, before the take-off we unloaded all the ammunition from it, and carried only 100 rounds per gun for the others. When we lost the engine, I had the gunners "ready guns" and stand by in the radio compartment from which position they could man the available guns in a hurry if necessary.

We had a big overload of gas aboard and 16 people. Two of the remaining three engines were acting a little rough -- just enough to make us wonder whether they would get rougher and, if they did, what we would do then. Our passengers were jammed together like sardines in a can on the bomb bay catwalk and in the radio compartment to beep the weight as far forward as possible.

With our heavy load and the reduced power, we could not pick up either speed or altitude. If we increased the power output, we would burn too much gas and the other two engines might quit on us.

To complete the picture, the sliding side windows on both sides of the cockpit had been shattered by a large piece of shrapnel during the bombing. We had no replacement windows, so we faced the attempted return flight to Australia without a window by the side of either the pilot or the co-pilot. Both of us, fortunately wore heavy winter flying suits and helmets. He had the only pair of goggles. I wore a pair of sun glasses. The shrapnel wounds in his back were beginning to bother him, for they had been treated only with a dab of iodine.

We were at medium altitude when the engine went bad; just above a smooth-rolling overcast which looked like fog, and which topped a very turbulent formation of low cumulus clouds. The cumulus extended right down to the water.

We managed to stagger along just above or in the top of the fog-like overcast, at stalling speed, doing everything possible to stay above the turbulent area of clouds. We maneuvered as little as possible, as every turn lost us a few feet of precious altitude at our speed. We were taking the maximum allowable power from the three engines, short of damaging them more than they already were.

It was practically a miracle how that plane flew, considering its structural and engine weakness and the fantastic overload. It took us ten and a half hours to get back to Australia.

We had to maintain excessive power to compensate for the dead engine and the overload. We were burning fuel at a rate which might exhaust it short of Australia faster than would be the normal consumption on four engines. Our engines got no rougher and Greene and I decided to push on to the half-way mark of distance and fuel consumption, whichever came first. Then we would decide, of necessity, whether to turn back and attempt a landing on Mindanao somewhere, incidentally running the chance of being caught by fighters in the air or enemy troops on the ground, or to keep on going.

My recollection of those hours is blurred. Everything we did was almost purely mechanical. There wasn't any personal feeling in it. I suspect that if, half way out, someone had tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to name our passengers, I would have been unable to do it. I think I would have had trouble recalling my own. That was how tired we were. Greene was a hospital case, but he stuck to his job without a whimper although he was suffering intensely from the pounding wounds in his back. The passengers, jammed in cramped positions, barely moved a muscle In order not to affect the trim of the plane.

Aside from flying it -- maneuvering, as little as possible while at the same time fighting to keep out of the rough air below -- our whole attention was centered on the steady retreating fuel gauges. We knew, although our passengers may not have known; that if we dipped into that turbulence, we were in for trouble.

Hour after hour passed, with the two rough engines grinding along, getting no smoother but evidently getting no rougher, and steadily the weight of the plane lightened with the reduced load of fuel. Before we reached the halfway point, I knew we were going to make it. Slowly, but stubbornly, the plane was picking up speed and altitude, fighting almost like a living thing for survival.

As the load lightened, we were able to reduce the power out-put and finally to get back to normal consumption on three engines.

When we finally put the ship down at our base, Bostrom was out on the field, waiting for us. He ran over to the ship, wearing a broad and relieved grin on his face, and shouted: "We had about given you up. I didn't think you could get off the ground before daylight.!”

Our passengers were out of the plane. I was too tired to make a move. Ted and I just sort of folded up over the controls.

I would like to see Bulkeley sometime, to talk over that trip. He is quite a chap.

(Teats continued)

A Navigators Story by H. McAuliff

A B-24 taxied in from the runway and we went over to see what that was all about. It turned out to be Ben Funk whom I had known at March Field, who was the pilot. He loaded as many as he could on the airplane - including a very pregnant Dutch woman - and we headed for Perth, 1000 miles to the south. I never dreamed that a B-24 could be so crammed full of people, and, to a man, we were all praying that the Dutch woman could hold out until we reached Perth.

This was the end of our air travel (the Dutch lady made it, thank God), and we were put on a troop train headed east across the Great Australian Desert for Melbourne. The Australian troops seemed young and noisy, very friendly, and curious about us. The cars were old wooden antiques from a by-gone age and as it was extremely hot, all the windows were open and flies, dust, and smoke from the steam locomotive came inside.

The trip took four days and we slept sitting up -- when we could. I don't recall eating anything other than sandwiches provided by some volunteer ladies when the train stopped briefly at small little settlements along the way. Doug Keller and I had invested in a couple bottles of Scotch before leaving Perth and we kept a poker game going to ward off the boredom of the trip.

As we passed through Western Australia and reached the border of South Australia, we had to get off the train and board another, as the rail gauges were of a different size. This happened each time we passed from one territory into another. We eventually reached Melbourne, a large modem city that was cold and gloomy at that time of year (late fall in Australia). The first order of the day was to find a hotel room and get into a shower. We located a supply outfit of sorts and were able to get some badly needed fresh clothing.

There was a lot of the old "hurry up and wait" routine while people were rounded up and sorted out, and the 19th was once again formed into squadrons and I wound up in the 30th again. While this was going one, some replacement fighter pilots had to be flown up to Townsville, 1,000 miles to the north. I started feeling sick on the way up, and by the time we returned, I was a mess – chills, fever, and assorted aches and pains. Fortunately, I ran into our flight surgeon in the hotel lobby. He took one look and said, "Dengue fever, you're going to the hospital." He gave me a slip of paper, shoved me into a staff car and told the driver to take me to Heidelberg Military Hospital. I thought this sounded a little strange, but it turned out to be a large Australian Army hospital. The routine here was the usual hospital Staff, with one added feature. Each morning at dawn I was prodded awake and swabbed down with cold water, leaving me to curse silently for the next two hours until breakfast was served.

Dengue fever is a lot like malaria, with the same symptoms and caused by a mosquito bite. I seemed to respond to whatever they were giving me and soon felt well enough to leave. The only hitch here was that the doctor had not signed a formal discharge and there was no telling when he'd get around to it. I'd seen where they'd put my uniform, so I got dressed and called a cab amid a storm of protests and got the hell out of there.

It’s a good thing that I did, as the 30th squadron moved out the next day. We flew north to the small town of Cloncurry in Queensland and set up camp nearby. The town itself looked like something from a Western movie set where a couple of cowhands would stage a gunfight in the middle of the dirt street. Several of us moved into the only local hotel and had our meals there.

Then we met Mr. Mellefont, the manager of the local branch of the Bank of Queensland. He’d sent his family south, away from any possible combat zone, and lived alone in this big house which he offered to share with us. Ray Schwanbeck had been bumped up to the rank of Major and was the Squadron C.O. So he, the operations officer, Adjutant, Engineering Officer, and I all moved into Mellefonts house.

During the day we were out at the field attending to our various chores. I was designated Class A Finance Officer and given the miserable task of straightening out the enlisted payroll, and this was one grand mess. A lot of service records had been destroyed, lost, or left behind in the Philippines. Some men had been promoted on verbal orders of which there were no record, and nearly all of them had received partial payments to keep them going.

These payments had been in Philippine pesos, Dutch guilders, and Australian pounds, shilling, and pence, which was the most awkward of all to handle. Mr. Mellefont was most helpful in establishing the rates of exchange but how to verify rank and pay grade was the problem.

We finally came up with an affidavit signed and sworn to by each man and witnessed by the Adjutant. There must have been about 50 of these things. The payroll had to be figured in U.S. dollars to get to the bottom line, and then reconverted to Australian money since that's what I'd been paying off with. All of this took several weeks to track down each individual and get his story and then complete all the paperwork.

At last everything was done and I took off for Townsville, some 600 miles away. When we landed, I headed for the base finance office and ran into a brick wall in the form of a nit-picking Captain of the Finance Department who decided that he couldn't accept the affidavits and a written explanation of why they were necessary. The argument grew louder and more heated until a voice I recognized came from the rear of the room saying, "Captain, give that officer anything he wants." It was Col. Eubank, now the head of a new structure called Bomber Command. At long last, I flew back to Cloncurry with a very large check. I'd already alerted Mellefont how to break it down so we could pay off the troops. So, we finally had a payday and got everyone up to date.

There were some nervous moments, as regulations required that anyone not showing up for pay call had to be red-lined and his pay held over until the next month. We had crews out on a mission, and I didn't want to red-line these guys, so I took a chance and didn't. Fortunately, they all made it back and I could breathe easy again the whole thing wrapped up.

I was kept off combat missions while in Cloncurry. I think it was because the flight surgeon was not convinced that I'd fully recovered from Dengue fever, due to my unorthodox style of departure from the hospital in Melbourne – with no formal discharge.

There was an interesting collection of livestock here. There were large groves of eucalyptus trees on either side of the runway where a large group of kangaroos dwelled. Every so often they'd get the urge to visit the grove on the other side and would take their time about it, frequently stopping to play around (horse around?) in the middle of the runway. If an airplane was about to take off during this performance, it was necessary to send out a truck filled with people shooting .45's in the air to shoo them back into the woods. Sometimes they didn't shoo worth a damn, so here was a truck full of G.I.s careening around, uncooperative kangaroos, and a pilot sifting at the end of the runway with his engines heating up and cursing anything and everything that had to do with Australia.

Then there were the dogs. Soldiers seem to attract dogs, and throughout the encampment there were dozens of them – all sizes, shapes and colors. Finally, there was a goat who lived at the hotel. There was a large yard in the rear of the hotel and this was his domain. There was also a door at the rear of the bar through which the goat would amble when the mood struck him to lap up beer from a pan set beneath the beer tap to catch the overflow from the glasses as they were filled. Cloncurry was a very casual "outback” community. (McAuliff continued)

Last Plane Out of Del Monte 04-30-42 by T. Caswell

One morning about 3:00, I was awakened and hurried off to a bridge across the river adjacent to the town of Cagayan. With me was a 30th Sq. Navigator, 2nd Lt. Butler Lauterbach and a corporal Cline and Pfc. Koenig. Lauterbach had graduated from Navigator school too young to be commissioned so he flew as a navigator on one of the 30th Sq. B-17s flown over as a cadet. As soon as the war started he was commissioned.

From mid-January until April 30, 1942, the four of us lived in a vacated bamboo house near one end of this 600 foot long steel and concrete bridge that went across the river to the town of Cagayan. The bridge had been mined with considerable amounts of dynamite and the detonators were connected to a “plunger" kept in our shanty that would set it off with an electrical discharge.

We (the four of us) were now under the command of a ground forces Major (Webb, I think) from Salt Lake City. He was good to get along with even though he held little respect for the Air Corp. Major Webb soon brought us more dynamite for the bridge. We put much of it, still in the wooden boxes, between the top of the concrete support piers and the steel structure below the roadbed. Then, we used bamboo about 18 inches long by 4 inches in diameter to make grenades. We did this by packing in dynamite with a detonating cap, using a ten minute powder train fuse. We placed these by the various dynamites located under the bridge road bed. The idea was that when we knew the Japs were coming, light the fuses, then try the electrical detonator. If the electrical detonator worked as planned it would be a much more efficient blast. If it failed the 10 minute fuses would set it of, though not all at once.

Our 4 month stay there is really another story in itself. Hopes, and hopes dashed. Occasional airplanes would come in from Australia and take out Air Corps personnel. It was my understanding that three B-17s left Australia headed for Del Monte to pick up MacArthur. One turned back with engine trouble, one ditched off the coast of Mindanao and when the one landed at Del Monte, MacArthur declined to fly in it. Fortunately, that let another load of Air Corps types to get out to Australia. Then three more B-17s came up and got him and his staff and family.

It was at Cagayan where Lt. Buckley and his PT boats brought MacArthur from Corregidor.

Air Corps Captain Al Mueller and crew flew an LB -30 from Australia to Del Monte - over Japanese territory for some 1500 miles in daylight to take some more of us out. I have enclosed a copy of our orders which were written after our arrival in Melbourne. Three days later, Mueller went back to Del Monte and upon arriving there was shot at -- the Japs had captured the landing strip. He followed his plan for such a turn of evens: Flew south until the first engine quit (from lack of fuel), ditched and they all got out OK. Stayed on a small island near the equator until a U.S. submarine picked them up. I saw Mueller in Australia about a month after my escape.

Special Order No 5 EXTRACT 6 May 1942

24. The verbal orders of the Commanding General on April 29, 1942 ordering the following named officers, to proceed by military or commercial aircraft from the Philippine Islands, to Melbourne, Victoria, Australia, reporting on arrival --to the Commanding General for temporary duty pending reassignment, are hereby confirmed and made a matter of record. In lieu of subsistence a flat per diem at the rate of six dollars ($6.00) is authorized while traveling and on this temporary duty, in accordance with existing laws and regulations. The nature of the duties being exceptional a delay in excess of 72 hours at any one place is authorized. The Quarter master will furnish the necessary transportation. The travel directed is necessary in the military service. FD X 1 P 5-06 A 0410-2. FD 4123 P 1-01 A 0200-2. 

Lt Col	ELSMORE, RAY T.	0150792	2nd Lt	COLMAN WILLIAM G.	0411964
Maj	FRY, RALPH L.	0117388	2nd Lt	FOSTER, EARL C.	0406732
Maj	GEE, LELAND O.	0278225	2nd Lt	GREER, J. H.	0407082
Maj	HUFFSMITH, VICTOR C.	019539	2nd Lt	HANEY, RICHARD P.	0406540
Maj	MOHAY, WILLIAM H.	0286311	2nd Lt	KALE, JAMES S.	0412695
Maj	SEARCY, DAN B.	021689	2nd Lt	KEATER, RANDALL D.	0412276
Maj	SHAMBLIN, WILLIAM C.	0258495	2nd Lt	LAUTERBACK, BUTLER	0431679
Capt	LAMBERT, CURTIS L.	0890034	2nd Lt	MARKLEY, EDGAR V.	0418047
lst Lt	COCANOUGHER, HAROL F.	0396380	2nd Lt	McCLUNE, GERALD W.	0427152
lst Lt	LICHTER, C. J.	0338606	2nd Lt	MOORE, MILTON E.	0418053
lst Lt	MESSMORE, HIRAM A.	0406422	2nd Lt	NOELKE, MARNE	0418160
1st Lt	MITCHELL, DONALD U.	0411844	2nd Lt	PICKIER, READE R.	0432349
2nd Lt	BLITCH, HARRY A.	0417936	2nd Lt	RIGHARDS, ROBERT E.	0418169
2nd Lt	BOWMAN, CHARLES L.	0406517	2nd Lt	ROWE, WILLIAM M.	0406336
2nd Lt	CASWELL, THOMAS A.	0427208	2nd Lt	THOMPSON, LYLE E.	0432350

Holding out on Corregidor – Hoping for the Submarine by E. Whitcomb

We (Whitcomb, Renka, and Dey) took shelter in the ruins of an old stone building as bombs from the high-flying planes pounded Malinta Hill, about 100 yards to the southeast of us. We felt the shock waves from each exploding bomb. As soon as the raid was over, all of us from the boat raced through the rubble to the western entrance to Malinta Tunnel. A warm feeling of security came over me the moment we entered the big arch of the tunnel.

Malinta Tunnel was 1,400 feet long and 30 feet wide. From where we stood, we could not see the other end. It seemed gigantic. We saw officers and men who were casual and relaxed, and dressed in freshly washed uniforms. They were not like the shaggy, haggard men we had left back in the field on Bataan. It seemed that we were in a different world, a secure place where life would be more peaceable.

We found an officer and explained that we were aircrew members and that we had just arrived from Bataan. He quickly put us in touch with an Air Corps colonel by the name of Newman R. Laughinghouse.

The colonel greeted us warmly and explained that we would be taken to Australia by submarine very soon. He carefully took our names in a notebook he carried:  John Ivan Renks, Pilot; Edgar E. Whitcomb, Navigator; James Dey, Bombardier.

Aircrew members were needed in Australia as more and more new bombers arrived from the United States. Getting our names in the colonel's book seemed to make it official. Soon we would be on our way back to our bombardment group in Australia. What a break for us!

We had taken a big gamble in leaving the area at kilometer 182, where the surrender was taking place. We could have been shot at any moment by the hoards of Japanese soldiers who came streaming over the hills. We could have been strafed by enemy planes as we made our way across the seven miles from Mariveles to Corregidor. The high-flying bombers that arrived at Corregidor at the same time we arrived could have snuffed us out had their bombardiers made a slightly different setting on their bombsights. None of those things had happened. We had gambled and we had won. We were overjoyed at the prospect of soon being back with the guys in the 19th Bombardment Group. It seemed like a dream come true. It had been more than three months since I had seen an American bomber. I was ready to go to Australia. "Now, while we are waiting for the arrival of the submarine, you will be assigned to the 4th Marine Regiment on beach defense," the colonel explained. That seemed reasonable enough. We would not have to be in the tunnel while we were waiting for our transportation.

The next morning I was having breakfast with a group of husky marine officers, outdoors on the south side of Malinta Hill. Col Samuel L. Howard was there with some of his high ranking officers. I was amazed that they did not run for cover when a barrage of artillery fire erupted from the Bataan shore. Being on the south side of the hill, they apparently felt secure. I did not.

After the breakfast my new commander, Capt Austin Shofner, escorted me to the eastern end of the island and explained that I would be in charge of an artillery piece. It was said to be a British 75. I had heard of French 75s before, but never a British 75. Under my command was a young Filipino 3d lieutenant, a graduate of the Philippine Military Academy. {Newly commissioned officers in the Philippine Army served in the grade of 3d lieutenant.} After we became acquainted, I learned that the crew of five Filipinos were very familiar with the gun. Upon my command, they would load and aim the gun and do everything but fire it. We seemed to enjoy a good relationship as I used every possible means to avoid letting my command know that I knew absolutely nothing about the weapon. I was helped in this by the fact that we were under siege from artillery fire and from bombing and strafing airplanes from the first moment.

Renka and Dey had assignments on other parts of the island and I had no occasion to see them. In their place another old friend appeared. As I looked down the road near my gun position, I was surprised to see Dayton L. Drachenberg. A native of Rosenberg, Texas, he was a photographic officer from the 19th Group. We had been close friends from the time we had arrived at Clark Field six months before. After that, we had been together at Cabcaben Field on Bataan for three months. It was good to have someone from the bombardment group to visit with. The only time I had an opportunity to visit with anyone other than the Filipino gun crew was when the chow truck came around at about 11 o'clock at night. Some of the marines from nearby gun positions would then congregate for a visit while we ate. We also met at the same place at dawn, when a Navy corpsman boiled some pretty terrible coffee in a pan over an open fire.

We were frequently entertained by a family of monkeys that came in the mornings begging for crusts of bread. We assumed that they were longtime residents of the area since our location was known as Monkey Point.

The Japanese set up more than 100 artillery pieces on Bataan, two and one-half miles across the channel to the north. Artillery attacks and aerial bombing raids were a way of life from that first day at Monkey Point.

During lulls in the bombing and shelling, Drachenberg and I were able to salvage a number of useful items from the debris where officers' quarters once stood. We found a footlocker, an innerspring mattress, a can of Kentucky Club tobacco, a pipe, a silver spoon, and a number of other useful items. We dragged the mattress to a spot near our gun position, then dug deep trenches on each side so that at the first sound of artillery fire we could roll into the trenches for protection from the hours of shelling which would follow.

Artillery barrages were so frequent and intense that the area all about us was sprinkled with jagged pieces of steel shrapnel. Within a few days the footlocker located about 20 feet from our trenches took a direct hit. My can of Kentucky Club tobacco, the pipe, and other treasures were blown to smithereens so that not a shred of any item was salvageable.

One of the delightful features of Corregidor was that it was free from the mosquitoes that had plagued us all through those miserable months in the jungles of Bataan. Another good feature of our new home was that we could slip over to the south side of the island, where it was relatively safe from the shelling and bombing, for a cool refreshing swim.

After little more than a week on Corregidor, we were heartened by radio news that American planes had bombed Tokyo, Japan. I had no idea that two members of Charlie Lunn's first class were navigating those planes. Our spirits were raised and we began to believe that maybe the Americans had at last gained the offensive. Maybe reinforcements would be coming so that we could defend Corregidor.

There was never any word of a submarine to take us off the island, though we waited patiently. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that a Japanese invasion of the island was imminent as the bombing and shelling became more and more intense. It was especially severe on 2 May, after I had been on Corregidor for three weeks. Gen Jonathan Wainwright later wrote that the Japanese had hit Corregidor with 1,800,000 pounds of artillery shells on that date. It was estimated that the 240-mm howitzers delivered 12 shells a minute onto the tiny island. In addition, there had been 13 air raids that day. Two days later, Corregidor was hit by 16,000 shells in twenty-four hours. We survived it all, with no idea that the Japanese were targeting our sector for a planned landing on the island. My one hope was that I would hear from Colonel Laughinghouse before the invasion came.

On the night of 5 May at about 1100, there was an unusual amount of firing to the north of my position. As it became more and more intense, we became aware that the moment had come. Dark streaks of clouds blotted out the moon, presenting a sinister atmosphere. The artillery fire stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Then came the chatter of machine-gun and small-arms fire.

Drachenberg was away at his duty station and I was alone with my Filipino gun crew. From the flares and the flashes I saw, it was apparent that the Japanese were landing on the north shore of the island about 400 yards from my gun position. There was nothing we could do but wait. Our gun was mounted on a semicircular track and pointed in a southeasterly direction. There was no way that we could participate in the battle unless the Japanese swept around the eastern tip of Corregidor.

We waited throughout the night, with gunfire all about us. Then, at first light of the new day, we disengaged the breech-block from the gun and threw it over the cliff so that it would not be available to the enemy. After that, we moved to a position on a ridge to the northwest of the Navy communications tunnel. There I joined Drachenberg and others in forming a defense position along the ridge.

History tells that Monkey Point was overrun by the Japanese as of 0100 on 6 May. It seems to disregard the stalwart crew of an antiquated British 75 field gun that held out until dawn on that date. According to the historical account, we were behind the enemy lines from 0100 until dawn.

We moved to a point near Denver Hill and organized a line of riflemen on the ridge. A .30-caliber machine gun next to me was firing in the direction of the oncoming enemy until a sniper drilled the machine-gun operator through the upper right arm. Another shot put the gun out of commission. We were unable to tell where the shot came from. It may have come from a sniper somewhere behind a tree stump. We never learned where.

As Drachenberg and I, and a couple of other officers, were in a huddle trying to establish some strategy, a mortar shell landed between us. Drachenberg and the other two fell. Drachenberg had a hole the size of a silver dollar in the top of his steel helmet, and blood was running down his face.

I ran down the hill to the Navy tunnel and procured a couple of stretchers along with some people to help move the injured men to the tunnel. It turned out that Drachenbergs serious injury was shrapnel in the intestines. The wound to his head was only superficial. One of the other wounded officers later died.

The real tragedy was that it all happened about an hour before Gen Jonathan Wainwright and his party rode east from Malinta Tunnel to Denver Hill in a Chevrolet automobile to meet with the Japanese and surrender. Before that trip, the general had sent a radio message to the president of the United States. It read in part:

With broken heart and head bowed in sadness but not in shame I report that today I must arrange terms for the surrender of the fortified islands of Manila Bay. Please say to the nation that my troops and I have accomplished all that is humanly possible and that we have upheld the best traditions of the United States and its army With profound regret and with continued pride in my gallant troops, I go to meet the Japanese commander.

Five long months after the Japanese had dropped their bombs on Clark Field, we became prisoners of war. It seemed as if all sense of emotion had been drained from my body by the events of the past days, weeks, and months. I was no longer afraid. There was no reason to be afraid. Nothing could happen that was worse than what we had endured. We were helpless and it seemed that all hope was gone.

The Japanese soldiers ordered a couple hundred of us to form in a column of fours. We then marched to the north a couple hundred yards to the Corregidor airstrip known as Kindley Field. Somewhere along the way, the Japanese halted our column and searched each of us. Watches, fountain pens, wallets, bracelets-all things of value-were extracted from us by Japanese soldiers.

From Kindley Field we were marched westward past the middle of the island known as Middle Sides. We had no idea where we were going. At some point we turned around and headed back toward the east. It was growing dark when we finally halted. At that moment we were located on a section of the old Corregidor electric rail line. We were ordered to sit down. Then we were ordered to sleep. Sleep? How could we sleep? We were in such a close formation that when we lay back we were each lying on the legs of the person behind us.

We had not eaten food of any kind for more than 48 hours because the invasion of the island had come at our mealtime the night before. No food was offered to us. That was of no concern because there was no feeling of hunger. There was little feeling of any kind. All hopes were gone for getting a submarine back to Australia. All hopes were gone for getting back to my outfit. All that remained was the vague possibility that there might be an exchange of prisoners or that the American forces would retake the Philippines. No one dreamed that it would be more than three years before the American forces would return to the Philippines to free the prisoners. (Whitcomb continued POW)

Whitcomb would swim back to Battan, join with mining engineers, be taken POW claiming to be a civilian son of mining engineer. Was later part of a Prisoner exchange and back in US in 1943. After the war he got a degree in law, was part of Indiana legislature and become Gov of Indiana. After retiring he used his Celestial Navigation to sail solo about the world. DL

Wainwright Surrenders the Philippines

General Jonathan M. Wainwright broadcasts at a Manila radio station, reluctantly ordering his troops in the Philippines to lay down their arms. As he speaks a Japanese guard watches attentively. Guerrilla resistance by Filipino patriots and American survivors continued to harass the victors until the long-awaited return of American troops took place.

Australia mid March by E. Teats

US Soldiers Defeat Fever in Australia before Tackling Japs. Australia in the middle of March, 1942, was no paradise for us. The squadrons moved into locations where they practically had to build the bases themselves. They had runways of a kind -- and that was about all. The facilities for the men were deplorable. In many if not most instances, water supply was notable for its absence."

Of course, we griped about it, but we weren't kidding ourselves. It was war. For weeks, military and civilian debris, including ourselves -- forced out of Dutch, British and Australian possessions and mandates from Sinapore to the Solomons -- had been spewed helter-skelter upon Australia.

Broken fragments of the United Nations' armed forces were fighting to re-orient and re-equip themselves in the face of the final threat -- a Jap push through the Malayan barrier on Australia and our Southwest Pacific supply line.

Misunderstandings, irritations, lost motion -- all of the handicaps and obstacles that mushroom in chaos -- were inevitable.

From mid-March through June our squadrons were extremely limited in equipment. It wasn't often during that period that any formation larger than six planes could be sent on a mission from a single squadron. In order to put out a flight of 10 to 12 planes, it was necessary to draw on other squadrons of the group.

It was a period of reorganization, of building back up to operating strength, getting things moving for the business that any blind nun could see was building up in the north and northeast: The business of pounding at the Nips to keep them off our necks and our supply lines.

When we finally were settled in our bases, our health was pretty fair. We should have knocked on wood, for dengue fever hit us or, more specifically, the mosquitoes hit us.

From the middle of March well into June we always had a few men in the hospital. Our fellows were not in shape to standup under that stuff. Dengue fever isn’t recurrent, as is malaria, but one attack does not confer immunity. There really isn't much to choose between them. The fever smacks a man down without warning. He aches all over. Food -- even good food -- has no attraction at all. He not only doesn’t want to, but he can't eat. It was not at all unusual for a man to lose 15 to 20 pounds in a week, and two or three weeks generally were required for full convalescence.

A number of our men were beginning to be pretty well burned out and the wave of dengue fever almost smashed up the works. They took things in their stride -- missions, maintenance, reconnaissance, the endless routine of fighting a war -- but they hadn't gotten the break when they needed it.

Those first three months drained every man down to his last reserve, mental and physical. Only those who were ill or "grounded" by the flight surgeon for absolutely necessary reasons got a break from the continuous hectic alert. In three months not a man had been absent from his base except on official business. There was no such thing as letting down, getting away from the whole mess periodically for two or three days. Finally, it got to the point where every man had to exert himself, dive himself, to do what he was supposed to do. There was no break.

I was lucky. I had skipped malaria. Once or twice I felt lousy and thought the bug had caught up with me...a touch of fever, a buzzing in my ears, a general "Oh, the Hell with it" feeling, but I shook it off and kept on going and I was by no means alone. They took good care of us in the Philippines, as far as facilities permitted. At Del Monte, for instance, we kept a big jar of quinine tablets on a table and each man was supposed to pop one into his mouth before every meal, but with meals on a catch-as-catch can basis, with the pressure of missions, it is hardly believable that we managed to keep going in as good shape as we did.

Actually, plenty of our fellows were on the ragged edge, but they kept going. It wasn't heroism. There was a job to do, and not anywhere near enough equipment and men to do it.

An instance of the pressure was the case of Walter Ford, then a Lt. You will recall that in late December, we flew every flyable plane we had from Australia to bomb Davao and then, after gassing and loading at Del Monte, flew two combat missions against the Jap invasion fleet in, the Gulf of Lingayen, the other against Davao.

Ford, then a Lt, had malaria, but we were desperately short of pilots, most of whom still were stranded in the Philippines. Ford knew that, so he said nothing about his own condition, we knew that he was feeling rocky, but none of us was feeling really chipper.

How he managed to carry out the mission against Davao, fly up to Del Monte after dark and land on that field is, I suppose, just another example of what a man can do if he must. When the plane pulled up alter landing at Del Monte he was practically on fire. He was so weak he had to be lifted from his seat, and I don't believe he was entirely rational. For that, he won the D.F.C. His citation, well-deserved, read:

"On Dec. 22, 1941, Lt Ford commanded one of the B-17 airplanes (Flying Fortresses) which departed to attack enemy ships and transports in the Gulf of Davao, Mindanao, P.I. His bombardment group had just a few days previously, evacuated its airdrome due to constant ground strafing attacks and hence there were no alternate crews available. Although at the time suffering from a severe attack of malaria fever, Lt Ford insisted on making the flight which was over 1500 miles over open seas and involved a night landing for refueling. The seriousness of his condition was withheld because or the shortage of pilots and the importance of the mission. He landed upon completion of the flight in a state of near collapse and was immediately hospitalized. The courage, determination and devotion to duty and piloting skill shown in this instance are of the highest order and have set a high standard in his organization and the service at large."

Three months later, again back in Australia, we were fighting mosquitoes, supply problems and the Japs simultaneously. We ran occasional missions against Timor and Ambon, former Dutch possessions with air facilities which the Japs had taken over, and we flew continuous reconnaissance missions, but most of the attack missions were against Lae and Salamaur on the east coast of New Guinea and Rabaul, on the northern end of New Britain.

Practically all of the reconnaissance was flown by one squadron out of Townsville, commanded by Maj “Bill” Lewis, and a darned good job was made of it. The was basically the same crowd that Col Carmichael had led out to Australia as a task force in late January and early February. Frank Bostrom, whose plane I had been co-pilot in flying out MacArthur and who was one of the B-17 pilots on General Royce’s raid in April; Fred Eaton, and Ted Faulkner, who became the 19th Group executive in July, all were in this outfit. Which in time was given the designation “435th Sqd” assigned to the 19th BG and called themselves the “Kangaroo Sqd”

As airplanes straggled in over the Pacific, we built up our strength -- and how we needed them! Although Port Moresby had a good air-raid warning system, the field there was totally inadequate for use by our B-17s as a full-time advanced striking base.

At that time it was merely a single runway without adequate dispersal areas. One end of the runway was low and in wet weather water undermined the base so that loaded Fortresses broke through while taxiing. Furthermore, if a Fortress was dispersed off the runway, It usually had to be pulled out.

It was impossible at that time to conceal our big bombers because of the smallness of the field. At times, it resembled a parking lot at a football game, with planes lined up in depth, wing-tip to wing-tip, or grouped at the higher end of the runway like plans on a carrier deck.

Our planes had to be flown up to Moresby, re-fueled there and then sent out on missions. If they had sufficient fuel upon returning to the vicinity of Moresby after completion of the mission, they could grind right on through to their bases in northeastern Australia; if not, they had to pick up more fuel at Moresby.

In other words, we could use Moresby only as a staging center for attack and reconnaissance missions, just as we had used Del Monte.

The Japs knew that quite as well as we did, and they strafed and bombed the field continuously, trying to knock out our planes on the ground, cripple such servicing facilities as there were, and chew up the field to the point where it could not be maintained for heavy bomber operation. We didn’t dare leave planes parked too long at Moresby, and of course that increased the number of hours each plane was required to be away on a mission. At the same time, We had to use Moresby as an advance base for striking at Salamaua, Lao and Rabaul. It was the only one we had.

It isn't telling the Nip anything he doesn't know to emphasize that the situation has been vastly improved since those days only ten months ago.

When that full history can be told -- and for obvious reasons the time is not yet -- it will set every American's spine tingling with pride. No one who saw it done who, literally hour by hour, saw order emerge from chaos, strength from weakness, effective organization from almost prostrate disorder can be in any doubt how this show is going to end.

Crippled US Plane Escaped Safely after “Trailing” Dozen “Zeros”

Didn’t see much of the Coral Sea show.

Our fellows, flying through fair weather and foul -- and by foul, I mean the kind that could discourage a sea-gull -- kept the Japs under constant surveillance up to early May, when the big invasion fleet formed and moved out from the northeast bases southward toward the Coral sea.

The Navy caught them on the way down and we caught them on the way back.

From May 7 through May 12, every available plane was in the air almost continuously. No sooner would one mission be completed than the ships would be gassed, serviced, loaded with bombs and either sent out again or held on continuous alert waiting orders to hit a suitable target.

The chips were down. The Jap held some good cards -- good enough to encourage him in the belief that he could knock off Moresby, and get set to smash our vital supply line in the Southwest Pacific.

But we held a few good cards of our own. We didn’t know much about our naval dispositions, but we knew that the Navy was itching for a scrap out in the open, where the odds would not be too heavily against them and where the best man would win.  Just as a foot-note to now well known history, the best man did win.

Several missions had been flown against the Japs and on May 8 reconnaissance reported 15 or 18 vessels gathered in a convoy and retreating to the northward, just north of the passage through the Louisiade Archipelago.

(The Louisiade Archipelago is the cluster of islands southeast of New Guinea which, geological are an extension of the Papuan Peninsula. Navy Department Communiqué 68, issued June 12, 1942, which comprised the final summary of the Coral Sea action, revealed that on May 7, the United States task force under Vice Admiral Frank V. Fletcher "hit the main body of the Japanese force in the Louisiade Archipelago off Misima." Misima is an island approximately 375 air miles south east of Port Moresby -- J.M.M.).

On May 7, group headquarters at Townsville called for two crews to replace the crews which had been flying missions or on alert since the first reports were received of the approaching Jap force. Lt, (now Captain) Charlie Hillhouse and I, with crews, were ordered in as replacements and I was assigned the lead plane of eight B-17s which were standing by loaded for business.

We took off immediately in two flights of three planes each and one flight of two, the latter mine. We were to find the Jap convoy and hit it before sunset, if possible. Two of the planes' were forced to turn back at take-off, because of engine trouble, so our three flights of two B-17s each headed off at full speed at five minute intervals.

Just about the time we spotted the second flight ahead of us, my bombardier, Lt Stone, reported a convoy ahead and then we saw the first black bursts of ack-ack at fairly high altitude quite a distance in front of us.

We were all flying at fairly high altitude-on about the same level. I didn't see the first flight until they had flown across the convoy of about six or eight troop or auxiliary vessels and eight or nine war ships, including cruisers and destroyers.

The second flight went in. We could see the convoy clearly. All ships were maneuvering wildly in all directions, like an aggregation of excited water-bugs. We were too busy to observe what damage the bombs of the first and second flight had caused, other than to notice that no direct hits had been scored.

Watching the ack-ack ahead of us, I climbed a little higher, but just as Stone announced that he was ready to make his bombing run, and we turned on the course for his selected target, a string of heavy ack-ack started popping about a quarter of a mile ahead of us right on our level and right on our course. I immediately dropped several thousand feet, to mess up the Jap gunners range, and continued on course.

Neither before nor after have I seen such heavy and well placed anti-aircraft fire as those cruisers and destroyers threw at us. We could see the orange flashes as the ships batteries fired. Things grew hotter and hotter. The side gunner reported some close behind us, and then my wing man peeled off and took some distance because one burst was so close the side-gunner thought the plane had been hit.

The split-second the bombardier reported "bombs away," I made a sharp diving turn away to the left and at that same instant, the tail-gunner began to chatter excitedly through the inter-phone. On the turn, I saw a line of shell bursts on the level course we had just left, and later the tail gunner reported that one burst really had our name on it. If we had not turned when we did, someone else might be relating this story of the 19th Group but it wouldn't be me.

I knew that those Nip gunners were in the groove, and I also knew that they were getting close. The gunner reported that the bursts started about a mile behind and each one came a little closer, directly on our level. By his report, we evaded by a split second either a direct hit, or one just as bad. As we turned away, we noted one very near miss on a heavy cruiser but figuratively, I tipped my hat. It was beautiful anti-aircraft gunnery.

About mid-afternoon of May 10, I received orders to lead a flight of six planes on a "search-strike" mission over an island area in the Louisiade Archipelago, thence toward St. George's channel between New Britain and New Ireland, proceeding as far as possible before dark and then returning to Port Moresby. Three other planes standing by on alert were to go direct to Moresby and stand by to carryout further search or strike with our flight the following day.

The object of the search was either an aircraft carrier or a seaplane tender which had been reported badly damaged in the Coral Sea engagement.

We reached the area to be searched just at dusk and had only a few minutes available until total darkness closed in. Low clouds forced us to abandon the search and return to Port Moresby. I landed last in the six plane formation and, due to congestion, I had to park my plane a short distance from the end of the runway along the edge. Due to the softness of the parking strip and the many hastily-filled bomb craters, we stuck four times before we could park satisfactorily.

The next morning a “recco" (reconnaissance ship) took off to search for the main body at the retreating Jap forces: I led out our formation of nine B-17's about an hour later, before dawn, expecting to receive either a contact report or a bombing signal from him as we neared the target.

About two hours out, one of the third element planes developed engine trouble and turned back. Half an hour later, I was forced to cut out one engine, which had become dangerously rough in operation, and turned back.

I turned the formation over to the deputy leader and headed for Moresby, flying about 100 miles off course to make reconnaissance among some islands farther south. The remainder of the planes failed to receive any signal from the reconnaissance plane or to contact the Jap force themselves; so about half of them plowed through miserable weather to bomb the airdrome at Rabaul and then came home.

On the way south, we jettisoned our bombs, made as lengthy a reconnaissance as we could with the fuel available, and then turned in for the long, slow flight back to Port Moresby on three engines. We ran into bad weather, and finally had to get under the clouds at only 500 feet as we approached the southeastern end of New Guinea.

We were within sight of Moresby when we saw a Fortress take off and head directly south, flying low over the water, while fighters were taking off from a nearby strip. We came lumbering in on approach with one prop feathered, our wheels down and little gas left, only to receive a peremptory signal from the ground not to land. When the signal was repeated, we pulled up our wheels and flew south over the water a few miles and then headed in to shore again to land. We had to, for the tanks were practically empty.

To-our surprise, the radio operator reported over the inter-phone that he had received the "all clear" from Moresby. When we got in, we learned that we had followed a flight of twelve Zeros" for 100 miles up the southern coast of New Guinea, only 30 minutes behind them. We had missed the original warning signal. If we had blundered into the flight of Zeros, crippled as we were, we would have been in trouble.

In June and July, we operated principally against Salamaua and Lae, with occasional missions against Rabaul, but we still were confronted with a maximum availability problem -- the missions we flew required every plane that we could get into the air. Planes and supplies were straggling in, but not then in sufficient quantities to operate with an effective reserve either of ships or crews.

An instance is a mission against Rabaul flown by "Jack" Dougherty. He had one close call when we were operating out of Java. Flying an old LB-30 on a bombing mission up in Macassar Strait, he was shot up pretty badly, ducked into a thunderhead to get away from the Zeroes, was caught in a spin and finally forced down on a small island south of Borneo.

One of the crew managed to hobble to a mission and the natives took care of them until the wreck was spotted by a plane returning from a mission and the crew was picked up. We had given them up for lost, for they were missing almost two weeks.

On the Rabaul trip, Dougherty's ship was to drop flares to illuminate the target area. Major "Ben" Schriever, the group engineering officer, was his co-pilot, and Lt “Maggie” Magee, the group armament officer, his bombardier. The plane was one of the old "Es" which had been shot up pretty badly, overhauled and restricted as to it’s top speed because of the weakened condition of the structure.

After they dropped their flares; they were to bomb shipping in the, harbor. Each time Jack maneuvered his plane to the approximate point where the-bombardier could make final adjustments for release of the bombs, a. cloud threw a shadow over the target. This happened six or seven times and both Dougherty and Magee were getting riled at Jack's suggestion that they get down lower, Magee heartily assented but he certainly didn't expect what followed -- the nearest thing to dive-bombing that a B-17 can do.

Jack circled the volcano which overlooks Lakani airdrome, one off the most heavily defended spots in. the whole Rabaul area; opened the throttles wide and dropped down -- "just like an elevator;" one of the crew swore later that he could pick up the Jap ship at extremely low altitude under the overcast.

The B-17 was restricted to 210 miles an hour, but the air speed indicator read over 300 when they pulled out and made the run for the target. "Maggie" lined up two big ships. His first bomb scored a direct hit on a large transport and the other was a water-line hit or a near miss -- both with heavy bombs.

The whole area was lighted up like a Christmas tree." Every anti-aircraft gun was tossing stuff at them. Jack bored through it, crossed the bay and then dropped down over a hill on the other shore to get out of the line of fire.

"When we went over that hill," Magee insisted, "we dropped so fast I was hanging in midair a couple or feet out or my seat, and a .30 caliber gun was hanging right beside me. Everybody who didn't have their safety belt fastened was up against the roof."

The transport sank, not a single member of the plane’s crew was injured, but Dougherty, Magee and Schriever took a solemn oath when they got back.

"That," all three declared, "is the last time we try dive bombing with a ‘lame-duck' B-17."  (Teats continued)

Extracted from "One of the Lucky Ones" by M. McKinsie

On the 2^nd of February, I arrived at a Dutch Air Force airfield on Java being used by our B-17s. As we taxied to a dispersed parking pad, the field air raid warning sounded. So, like the first day at Clark, I dove into a convenient foxhole. It was the first of daily raids by Japanese Zeros. I was pressed into service on the ground as the Assistant Engineering Officer of what was left of the Group. My new job each night was to get as many flyable -17s ready by daybreak for the day's mission.

In addition, I was finally able to become a B-17 first pilot. It had been four long months since I had been given my final check ride by the Colonel (Eubank). In my first 8 days on Java, I was first pilot on four combat missions. I quickly learned the hard way how to fly a tight formation clouds and all. Each day the Group lived in two worlds: peace at night with movies and cafes in downtown Malang and war at daybreak at the airfield. Whenever we were lucky enough to get an extra plane ready without a regular crew, I would get a pick-up crew and join the mission of the day.

Reinforcements were slow in coming. A few P-40 fighters and A-24 dive bombers attempted to island-hop from Australia to join us. Less than half made it. Many were strafed at refueling stops and others had forced landings or lost their way. Unfortunately, the A-24s drew a lot of friendly fire because they looked and sounded like a Japanese Zero.

The Dutch pilots were exceptional, but they only had obsolete Martin B-10 bombers and Brewester Buffalo fighters, which were no match against the Zero. By the time I arrived on Java, the Dutch Air Force was out of airplanes. We weren't much better off. Since we had no revetments, B17s caught on the ground were easy targets and often reduced to ashes by attacking Zeros. I never saw a P-40 over our airfield. Critical spare parts were about gone and the mechanics were doing double duty, flying as gunners.

We were down to five combat-ready planes when a brand new B-17E flew in from the States by way of India. We thought it was from heaven. It had a powered upper gun turret and a ball turret in the belly. Best of all, it had tail guns. The youthful crew had just come out of training school. They said more planes were on the way and they were to return to the States to ferry more, but the Colonel told them to get a good night's rest because they were going out on a mission in the morning! That next day, their tail gunner got 5 kills.

The influx of a few B-17Es was too little too late. Defense of Java was a lost cause. We had no effective air cover or anti-aircraft defenses. I had been in Java less than a month when we evacuated to Australia in late February'42. The injured needing hospital care had to remain on Java and became POWs. One of them was a classmate I had helped to safety during one of the many air raids. His foot had been hit by an explosive 20mm bullet. The surviving, around personnel had another boat trip. The ship's Dutch captain chose not to go with a convoy to Australia, preferring to go it alone. As it turned out, he made it, but 3 of the 5 ships in the convoy were sunk by submarines!

The 19th was down, but not out. I hitched an airplane ride to Melbourne, Australia. What was left of the Group took a long overdue leave in Melbourne while the planes were patched up or taken out of combat. The squadrons were brought up to strength with new personnel, and equipment. It took a while to stop looking skyward when we saw someone running.

As late as March'42, people were still being flown out of Del Monte on Mindanao. Lt Harl Pease another of my flying school classmates and later winner of the Congressional Medal of Honor, was [sent] to fly General MacArthur and family out of Del Monte. After MacArthur's staff saw the sad condition of his airplane, they asked for another plane and an older pilot! This suited Harl because then he was able to fly out more of our gang.

After the Group reorganized, I became the Engineering Officer of the Group's 30th Squadron, which was sent to a dirt airstrip at Cloncurry, in northern Australia, 1000 miles from any other town. Cloncurry reminded me of scenes in old western movies with dirt streets and one hotel. The movie house was an open air structure, with a dirt floor and wooden benches. Rain came only one month of the year. Mosquitoes out numbered flies 2 to 1. There were more sheep than people in town, but it did have a post office we could use. A Christmas package of Macintosh apples from my parents finally caught up to me in July! The apples had dried to the size of grapes, but we enjoyed eating the 7-month-old popcorn packing.

We started running missions out of Port Moresby, New Guinea and doing our repair work back at Cloncurry, a 1,000 mile trip. I continued to fly missions with a pick up crew when a plane was available. Our targets were shipping and air fields around the islands northeast of Port Moresby, including the major Japanese base at Rabaul. On one mission over Rabaul, my ball turret gunner said he was hit, but was OK. When he came out of the turret, he opened his jacket and a bullet fell out! It had just enough energy, after penetrating the turret, to pierce his jacket and give him a skin burn.

In May '42 the Group participated in the Battle of the Coral Sea, bombing the Japanese fleet. This first Allied victory prevented the Japanese from taking Port Moresby and stopped the Japanese advance in the South Pacific. It also set the stage for the critical Battle of Midway which came in June.

Through out the summer of '42 the Group attacked targets of opportunity on the east coast of New Guinea and New Britain islands. In August the Group also supported the first Allied offensive at Guadalcanal. We were told we'd be home for Christmas; this was hard to believe, but it did come true. B-24s took the place of our B-17s the Fall of '42.  (end McKinsie)

Coral Sea Battle by H. Hornbeck Nav 435th Sqd

Heulet Hornbeck above asked Landau to take this photo by Coral Sea section of WW II Monument WDC

[04-23-42] War was still new to us in April 1942. From the mainland of Australia out to the islands that in many necklace chains form the eastern, northern and western perimeter of Australia, ours was the only Heavy Bombardment Squadron flying against an encroaching enemy. On April 23rd, we bombed Rabaul Harbor sinking an unloading transport. In the days following there came a greater change in the balance of our lines. Enemy ships were on the move. This was to result in the Coral Sea Battle -- our first great naval victory and the 435th was to play a significant part. Down through the Solomons conquering, occupying the Japanese came till on May 3rd Tulagi, Australian seaplane base, fell. Our picture was one of an assembling Japanese Invasion Fleet 1,000 miles east from Australia across the Coral and Solomon seas. And, I thought they will come on for we alone have not the strength to stop them. We flew long range reconnaissance, saw and reported their convoys and movements. This was the key information on which our naval strategy must be planned.

[05-06-42 Port Moresby] At Port Moresby, New Guinea before dawn on May 6th, the crews of our squadron were awakened to a new cool night. The men were tense, the course food and bitter coffee did not set too well. Earlier, the night had been hot and sleep had not come easy to the perspiring men. But it had come now and the first striking force contacted a carrier and flanking war vessels, scoring a hit on a cruiser while at the same time another flight of the 435th's attacking another force hit a cargo ship. So it started. Returning planes were refueled and fresh crews took them out. By the 7th the enemy was still in rendezvous and on their way to Port Morseby. But again sections of our Pacific Fleet struck.

The 7th was a Saturday and we returned long after dark. It had been a tough day- and flying at night is lonely. There are many elements to contend with besides the enemy and we were glad when we were back on the ground and momentarily secure. In the night and clouds, without radio aids, one plane failed to return from the long sea flight. Again the sleep troubled with scenes of invasion and destruction now come so close to a nation. Who can realize its monstrous significance. Surely not they who are concerned with dancing -- Ah! But this was Saturday night.

But averted it was, by the Navy and Army Air Corps. By the following day the enemy had turned back and far out on reconnaissance we saw below us two long slowly moving columns of transports, one burning fiercely, on a smooth and silver sea. It was sunset and we knew that for the moment we had seen the last of them, for in a few hours they would pass out of our bombing range and into the night. 

(end of available story)

Navigators Story by J. Steinbinder, 435^th Sqd

[05-__-42 actual date unk] Reconnaissance by aircraft consists of obtaining a complete picture of all possible enemy positions and movements; and as much information of personnel and strength as can be determined by means of' photographs and individual aerial observations.

It also embraces patrol of many shipping lanes, enemy submarine waters, and any other regions where enemy activity could effect any allied movement.

As is readily seen, the work of a reconnaissance squadron is broad in scope, highly coordinated in nature and long and exhausting in observation. Its importance is of the utmost value to each and every task force concerned in the particular theater, for aerial reconnaissance is the largest single source of information upon which depend the future movements of all forces. Below is a typical combat reconnaissance mission in the southwest Pacific as reported by a navigator:

"Having been informed my Air Force Bomber Command headquarters that a reconnaissance mission was to be flown tomorrow, and that our crew would fly the mission, we held a brief meeting and then retired for the night at an early hour. Two hours before the take off which was scheduled for day break, we were awakened by the guard. We gathered our necessary equipment and after a hasty breakfast we left the camp area and proceeded to the line.

The pilot and I were then briefed in the grass hut which we complimented by referring to as operations headquarters. Here, we were informed of all the latest enemy and friendly activities in our theater of operations. We received the weather forecast and other necessary forms; and then we returned to the plane which had been warmed up and was ready to fly. We studied the weather forecast and discussed various approaches and alternate courses to and from our objective. We finally agreed on an approach and took off at the designated time. Soon after the take off, I gave the pilot my initial course.

En-route to the target, I made half-hourly position reports in my log-book thus keeping myself informed as to my position at all time. I also maintained an hourly weather report, special reconnaissance forms.

As we left land and started to fly over water, the pilot notified all gunners to test their guns. I checked my guns along, with the others. Approximately thirty minutes before we reached our first objective, I called the pilot informing him as to our estimated time of arrival. He immediately put the crew on the alert for enemy aircraft and told them to watch out for anti-aircraft fire.

Immediately prior to passing over the target the photographer was notified to stand by the camera. I directed the pilot exactly over the target. At the moment the photographs were snapped, I noted the time and altitude and also made out a weather report over the objective and recorded on the reconnaissance form everything I cold see through the binoculars. I noted the disposition of planes on the airdrome and the boats in the harbor and made positive report as to types and number of all surface vessels and planes as I was quite sure how much all these aided in the interpretation of the photographs. As soon as the photographs were taken and I had completed my notes, I gave the pilot our course to our next objective.

On our way to the second target, we ran into a severe tropical storm necessitating a change in course. The pilot climbed several thousand feet, flying in and about the clouds during this time, I tracked the pilot. He broke out into the clear after fifteen minutes of instrument flying. The bombardier suddenly called the pilot and told him that he saw a convoy of three surface vessels below us and dead ahead at an approximate distance of ten miles. The fact that no allied forces were listed in this position our intelligence report assured us that the convoy was non-friendly. I immediately made out a radio message containing the number of ships, the course, speed, latitude and longitude position, description and the time of sighting. I submitted the radio message to the pilot for approval; he in turn sent it to the radio operator who immediately transmitted the message to the home base. The effect of this knowledge determines whether or not an immediate striking force is to be sent out to attack.

Since that second objective was known to be a strongly fortified enemy base, the pilot climbed up to thirty thousand feet necessitating the use of oxygen. Again the pilot put the crew on the alert. As we approached the target, several pursuit ships were spotted circling below us. We knew it would be a matter of only a few minutes before the pursuit ships were aware of our presence in which case they would attack. So we made our run on the target as quickly as possible. The side gunner and the tail gunner reported anti-aircraft bursts breaking off to the right of the plane and some to the rear. We varied our course and altitude in attempts to dodge the ack-ack and took some photographs before we headed out to sea. By this time the pursuit ships made a head-on attack in an attempt to turn us back into the concentrated pursuit behind us. In doing so he came head on into the full blast of the twin fifties in the nose and when the pilot dropped the nose of our ship slightly the upper turret caught him in deadly burst which set him afire and put him into a dive from which he never recovered. Two others made a frontal attack and I got in a few good bursts. I managed to take a look at the compass and make notes as to our heading while we were engaged in the combat. We all had . . . (story incomplete)

Extracted from W. Fields Oral Interview

Q Did you ever see MacArthur?

A Yes, I saw him, but only from a distance, at Townsville.

Q You and Harry Spieth were awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for the Philippine rescue trip that you made ?

A Yes that's right.

Q Where was it awarded to you?

A It was awarded to me at Townsville. General Kenney presented this medal, along with the other people that had medals coming, and he awarded them all at one time.

We spent 26 days in Melbourne, as I said, getting our engines changed out. During the time we were there I stepped off of a bus from the airport, and ran into a fellow that I had graduated with from Shamrock High School. His name was Raymond Chance, and his nickname was "Pig" Chance. I had the opportunity to visit with him for a little bit. Later I met another fellow that I had graduated from high school with named James Atchison, and I got to see him a couple of times. We finally got our airplane out on April 23rd, and then we then went to Sydney and picked up some P-40s. The P-40s followed us in to Charleville, where we landed and spent the night. We went on into Townsville on April 24th. On April 25th we had a combat meeting and they put us on our way the next day for a mission to Kissa Island.

Q Was that in the New Guinea area?

A Yes. The Japs had an airstrip on that island, and we bombed the airstrip. I was flying co-pilot with Harry Spieth on that mission.

Q When was your next mission?

A. The next mission was on May 6th. We were on alert May 5th, and on the 6th we flew our actual mission. This was during the Coral Sea Battle.

Q Did you know that there was a big naval battle shaping up at that time?

A Yes we did. We could tell from the number of surface vessels that were coming into the area and congregating there.

Q Our vessels, or the Japanese?

A Theirs.

Q What was the duty of the 435th during the Coral Sea Battle?

A We operated out of Townsville most of the time.

Q Did you ever make contact with the Japanese fleet?

A Yes we did.

Q What do you recall about that, and what dates did you fly during the Coral Sea Battle?

A We flew missions on the 6th, 7th, 8th and 11th of May.

Q On May 6th, you were looking for the Jap fleet; did you find them?

A We found the fleet. We found some of everything, including aircraft carriers.

Q Were you flying with Harry Spieth that day?

A Yes I was. We sighted an aircraft carrier of the Japanese fleet and made a run on it. We were in the same flight as Hotfoot Harlow, and Harlow bombed a heavy cruiser. Wilbur Beasley was flying with us also. We had heavy antiaircraft fire, but not too many fighter planes, because they were all carrier based. Their fighters were too busy with the Navy and the low level stuff.

On one of our missions, there was a bit of confusion. The Navy had told us that everything north of a certain parallel would be enemy, and everything south of a certain parallel would be friendly. We were north of this certain parallel, and there was a squadron of B-26 s on the mission with us also. We were coming in at about 18,000 feet and could see some planes flying below and diving at low level. We thought that those were the B-26s, so we lined up on the battleship that they were bombing and dropped our bombs on it. It turned out that it was the Australian flagship Australia, and the planes that we saw diving were Jap bombers.

Q You didn't hit the Australia?

A We didn't hit the Australia, luckily, and they didn't hit us, because they were shooting at us; they were wanting us to get out of the area. Just as a sidelight; when we were in Sydney, Australia, recently, we went into a little shop in the Hyatt Regency Hotel where we were staying, and visited with the proprietor. It turns out that he had been a sailor on the Australia, so we had an interesting little discussion about it, and each was happy -- I that he didn't shoot us down, and he that our bombs didn't hit the Australia. We had a pretty good laugh about it.

Q You flew at least one other mission during the Coral Sea Battle, didn't you?

A I think the last one I flew on was on the 11th. On the 8th, we were bombing a convoy of cargo ships; nothing unusual about it; the same usual fight that went with all of them. On the 11th, we flew a reconnaissance mission and saw 12 Jap ships, one of them towing a burning ship.

Q Would that have been an aircraft carrier they were towing, or could you tell?

A I don't recall.

Q When was your next combat mission?

A On May 13th we flew a 10-hour reconnaissance mission, and sighted the Japanese fleet again. We saw 7 Jap ships.

Q During the time that you were operating out of Townsville, were you taking bombing and strafing from the Japs at Townsville itself?

A Not at Townsville, except occasionally. They very rarely came up to bomb us, and then usually at night. I don't think we were ever strafed at Townsville.

Q You were also operating a lot of time out of Port Moresby in New Guinea?

A Yes, most of the time we operated out Port Moresby.

Q It that where you took the bulk of Japanese attacks as far as bombing and strafing?

A Yes it was.

Q Do you recall anything particular about those attacks?

A Well, yes. They'd send 18 to 26 bombers over, but they were lousy bombers. They couldn't hit anything. The most frightening thing was when they sent fighter planes over to strafe. The fighter planes were really frightening, because you didn't know where that next bullet was coming from, and they'd just spray the whole housing area and the airstrip. We lived just off the airstrip in grass huts.

Q Did you have slit trenches?

A You bet.

Q That you could find in a hurry?

A We did, and we used them.

Q Did you get any good looks at low-level Zero strafers, or is there any such thing as a good look at a low-level Zero strafer?

A Yes. They would come down within a hundred yards of us and fly right by us or right over us. They'd fly at a 100 feet or so at times.

Q You didn't have much fighter protection for the air field?

A We didn't have any fighter protection.

Q When was your next combat mission?

A Well, the next mission was on May 29th, and I took over Harry Spieth's crew. We went back to Port Moresby with one B-17 and a couple of crews, and I flew a couple of missions up there. Then one of the other pilots got shot up a little bit, and he couldn't get back into Moresby, so he went to Horn island and landed there. That left me and my crew stranded at Port Moresby. I rode downtown into Port Moresby on June 1st, and 18 Jap bombers came over and tried to destroy the docks, but they didn't get any hits on it. A B-17 was sent for me and my crew the next day, and we left Moresby.

Q What did you do while you were in Port Moresby itself; did you have an air raid shelter there, when the bombers were coming over?

A No, we didn't have an air raid shelter. We had slit trenches, that just protected you from something that was not a direct hit, that might be a machine gun bullet or a bomb.

Q So you were lying-over in Moresby without an aircraft, trying to get back to Townsville, when this big bombing raid came in?

A Yes. On June 2nd I flew a mission with Harry Spieth's old crew. As I said earlier, he had checked me off as first pilot at Wheeler Field in Hawaii, and until such time as he relinquished his crew, I flew as his co-pilot, just getting more experience all the time. In the later part of May, Harry Spieth became the maintenance officer for the 435th. It was a ground job, maintenance and material. He had charge of all the maintenance on all the aircraft and the supplies for them, and cannibalism and whatever was necessary to keep the airplanes flying.

Q When was your next combat mission?

A I flew a mission on June 2nd to Salamaua, and Lae, and Dampier Straits and Rabaul. I made a note that we were encountered by 6 Zeros and had rotten weather. That was what we looked for when there was a Zero; rotten weather, so we could hide from them.

Q When was your next combat mission?

A Well, we had landed at Horn Island, and I was supposed to lead some P-40s from Horn Island back to Port Moresby, but they canceled that out for the next day, and I was back in Townsville on the 3rd. I didn't do anything then until June 8th, when I went to Horn Island. That was where Lucius G. Penick, a good friend of mine, had been killed in a B-17 crash with McPherson, with a load of Australians on board. They had spun-in in their B-17, and it killed all of them.

Q Had you flown with McPherson before?

A Yes, I had flown with him back in Salt Lake City. When I heard of that accident, I had a pretty good idea of what had happened, because McPherson was a person that just took everything out of an airplane that it had in it. Penick was a classmate of mine, and I know that McPherson didn't let him fly very much; he wasn't as fortunate as I had been with Harry Spieth. The word was out that Penick was flying the airplane and was going to land it, and they overshot the runway and made a very steep turn and dug a wing in the ground. That sounded to me like something that McPherson would pull because he was pretty caustic; he probably just took the airplane over and made a sharp turn and dug a wing in the ground on his go-around. Anyway, nobody will ever know, because they were all killed.

Q When was your next mission, Dad?

A The next mission was on June 9th. We had a 3 plane formation, which I was leading. My flight engineer was sick, so we had to do a little shuffling around. I had let one of my side gunners, named Pinoseon, talk me into letting him run the top 50 caliber turret. He let the guns run away, and he shot my tail off.

Q Can you give me a little more detail about that?

A Well, there is an electrical solenoid that is supposed to stop the guns from firing in the upper turret. They're supposed to be synchronized so that as the guns go by the vertical stabilizer they won't fire. To keep your guns from freezing up, you fire them in the air every so often to keep them warmed up, and we were doing this in our formation. Pinoseon's top turret guns didn't fire, and he put them in the stowed position from which they were not supposed to fire at all. He reached up and slapped his guns, and even though they were in the stowed position, pointed directly at the vertical stabilizer, they ran away. A runaway gun means they're just firing out of control, and that's what happened. It shot the vertical stabilizer in two. Now the vertical stabilizer is pretty thick in the front part of it, and there was enough left on the side wall to hold the vertical stabilizer, but the rudder was shot in two.

Q You had no rudder control?

A No rudder control.

Q Did you use ailerons?

A We used ailerons. It wasn't anything serious at all. It was all right.

Q Did you go ahead and complete the mission with your rudder shot in two?

A No, we didn't. We went to sea and dumped our bombs and went back into Port Moresby. General Scanlan and General Royce were there on an inspection tour, and they saw us come in. They thought the Japs had shot us up, so they came leering out there to see how many Japs there were, and where they were, and everything, and we told them that our guns had run away; that we shot our own tail off. Well, they were pretty much disgusted; they turned around and got in their jeep and drove away. They weren't very happy.

Q When was your next mission, Dad?

A Well, on June 15th we had a 3-ship formation going to Lae. That involved Tea Faulkner and Fred Eaton and myself. We were each loaded with fourteen-300 pound bombs. We left out on the 15th and went to Horn Island. On the 16th at 6:30 a.m. we took off from Horn Island and bombed Lae at high noon, landing at Moresby at 12:35. We had bad weather, and had to do an instrument let-down at Townsville. We split our shifts going back into Townsville and came back individually from Moresby.

Q When was your next combat mission?

A On June 20th we took off at 7:45 for Lae. I led a 3-ship formation over the target. We had two Jap pursuit planes attack us, but they didn't persist, and they didn't do any damage to us. We dropped our bombs on the airstrip at Lae, but the visibility was not such that we could tell what kind of damage we did. It would have just been damage to the airport.

The next mission, I believe, was June 27th, when we flew to Kavienu.

Q That was a Japanese airbase?

A Yes. Kavienu is an island with an airstrip on it. We had about a 12-hour flight to Kavienu, and that was the time that General Brett and General Richardson came out to check on us. They were up there inspecting Port Moresby, and they came out to meet us and welcome us back. I noted in my diary that General Marshall had sent them up there, and that they were supposed to be up there to cheer us up a little. On June 29th, I took off from Port Moresby to Kavienu to Gloucester Straights. We had rotten weather and the plane iced up. On this flight, we saw Fred Eaton's plane, which had crash landed on our first bombing mission which I earlier described, in the jungle. We had a short flight, only 6 hours and 44 minutes.

Q The aircraft you mentioned is number 2446 that we talked about earlier? (Fields continued)

The Coral Sea Battle

Aircraft from the 435th sqd at Townsville, formerly the 88th recon, were charged with performing reconnaissance, searching the waters for Japanese naval forces approaching the Coral Sea, Australia's east coast.  These same B17s landed while the Pearl Harbor was under attack, then provided reconnaissance for the Navy while convoying supplies already en-route to Australia. Only long range aircraft could perform this function, there were no satellites, and there were not enough Navy aircraft to cover such vast reaches.

By the end of April 1942, the tally of Japanese victories in the Pacific seemed unending.  She had conquered all the Philippines except for Corregidor. The flag of the Rising Sun flew over Hong Kong, Thailand, Malaya, the Netherlands East Indies and a goodly part of Burma. Flush with success, the Imperial High Command now reached out to take Tulagi in the Solomons and Port Moresby in Papua. They could sever Allied lines of communication with Australia and lead to the eventual conquest of that entire continent.

The stakes were high when the B-17s sighted a large Japanese force bearing down on Australia's east coast. The Navy was alerted and the stage set for what would be a most important sea battle.

Extraction from "The Battle of the Coral Sea" by S. E. Morison USNR

The Coral Sea is one of the world's most beautiful bodies of water. Typhoons pass it by; the southeast trade winds blow fresh across it’s surface almost the entire year, raising white-caps which build up to long surges that crash on Australia's Great Barrier Reef in a 1500-mile line of white foam. Lying between the Equator and the Tropic of Capricorn, it knows no winter, and the summer is never uncomfortably hot. The islands on the eastern and northern verges -- New Caledonia, the New Hebrides, the Louisiades -- are lofty, jungle-clad and ringed with coral beaches and reefs. Here the interplay of bright sunlight, pure air and transparent water may be seen at its best; peacock-hued shoals over the coral gardens break off abruptly from an emerald-hued fringe into deeps of brilliant amethyst. Under occasional overcasts the Coral Sea becomes a warm dove-grey instead of assuming the bleak dress of the ocean in high latitudes. Only in its northern bight -- the Bismarck Sea -- does the Coral Sea wash somber shores of lava and volcanic ash. That bight had been dominated by Japan since January 1942, from her easily won base at Rabaul. It was now time, in the view of her war planners, that she sawing around the New Guinea bird's tail, and move into the dancing waters of the broad Coral Sea.

Cincpac (Commander-in-Chief, U.S. Pacific Fleet) Intelligence smoked out the gist of this plan by April 17, and Admiral Chester W. Nimitz saw to it that Task Force 17, a two-carrier group (Lexington and Yorktown) under Rear-Admiral Frank Jack Fletcher, was there to spoil it. That is why the Coral Sea, where no more serious fights had taken place in days gone by than those between trading schooners and Melanesian war canoes, became the scene of the first great naval action between aircraft-carriers in which no ship on either side sighted the other.

The Japanese operation plan was not simple; her Naval strategists believed in dividing forces. There were three main divisions: (1) A left prong (Rear Admiral Kiyohide Shima), to occupy Tulagi in the lower Solomons and establish a seaplane base whence Noumea could be neutralized; (2) a right prong (Rear-Admiral Sadamichi Kajioka's Port Moresby invasion group, floating a sizable army in a dozen transports, covered by heavy cruisers and the light carrier Shoho), to start from Rabaul, whip through Jomard Passage in the Louisiades, and capture Port Moresby; and (3) Vice-Admiral Takeo Takagi's big carrier striking force, including Shokaku and Zuikaku, veterans of Pearl Harbor, to enter the Coral Sea from the east and destroy any Allied interference with this plan. The whole was to be directed from Rabaul by the Commander-in-Chief of the Fourth Fleet, Vice-Admiral Shigeyoshi Inouye.

Admiral Nimitz did not have even half this force at his disposal; but he put together under Admiral Fletcher's command all he had and gave him no more specific orders than to stop the enemy. Fletcher, in Lexington, familiar with the Coral Sea, came steaming west from Pearl Harbor. Yorktown, already known as the "Waltzing Matilda of the Pacific Fleet," was ordered to cut short a period of upkeep at Tongatabu, waltz over to the Coral Sea and rendezvous with "Lady Lex." Most of the ships of "MacArthur's Navy," not yet named Seventh Fleet, also joined. These were three cruisers H.M.A.S. Australia and Hobart, U.S.S. Chicago and a few destroyers, under the command of Rear-Admiral J. G. Grace, R.N.

The ensuing action was full of mistakes, both humorous and tragic, wrong estimates and assumptions, bombing the wrong ships, missing great opportunities and cashing in accidentally on minor ones.

The Japanese won the first trick. Admiral Shima's group occupied Tulagi, unopposed, on May 3. They took the second, too, on May 4, when Yorktown's planes bombed Tulagi and did only minor damage. At the same time, however, Japan missed her best chance to win this game, through false economy. To save an extra ferrying mission, Shokaku and Zuikaku were ordered to deliver nine fighters to Rabaul: this delayed the big carriers two days, so that on May 4 they were too far away to counter-attack Fletcher.

Nothing much happened on the 5th and 6th, when each big carrier force was searching for its enemy without success. At one time they were only 70 miles apart. That 6th day of May, when Lieutenant-General Jonathan M. Wainwright surrendered Corregidor in the Philippines, marked the low point of the entire war for American arms. But the next day opened with a bright dawn. This transition from Corregidor to the Coral Sea is startling and dramatic.

At dawn on the 7th Shokaku and Zuikaku sent out a search mission for an enemy force they suspected to be in the Coral Sea. The search planes sighted Fletcher's retiring fueling group, fleet oiler Neosho and destroyer Sims, and made the second big mistake of this error-crowded battle by reporting them to be a carrier and a cruiser. Admiral Takagi promptly ordered an all-out bombing attack on this hapless couple and sank them both. This caused Rear Admiral Tadaichi Hara, the carrier division commander under Takagi "much chagrin," cost him six planes, and saved the American carriers from attack.

The American planes, however, were off on a similar wild-goose chase. That particular "boo-boo" had resulted from the report of a Yorktown search plane, at 8:15 a.m. on May 7, of "two carriers and four heavy cruisers" about 175 miles north-west of the American force. Fletcher, naturally assuming that this meant Takagi's Striking Force, launched full deck loads to go after it. When these aircraft were already airborne it was discovered that the "two carriers and four heavy cruisers," owing to a disarrangement of the pilot's code contact pad, should have been reported as "two heavy cruisers and two destroyers." Nevertheless, by good luck the Lexington and Yorktown fliers encountered the light carrier Shoho and put her under in a matter of ten minutes -- a record for the entire war. "Scratch one flat-top!" signaled Lexington's dive-bomber commander.

It was not the right flat-top, but the loss of Shoho so discouraged Admiral Inouye that he ordered the Port Moresby invasion group, instead of pressing on through Jomard Passage, to mill around at a safe distance north of the Louisiades. Thus, our attack on the wrong carrier thwarted the enemy's main object.

More grim humor on the 7th was furnished by "Grace's Chase." Fletcher gallantly weakened his carriers' screen by detaching Rear-Admiral Grace, R.N., with his two Australian cruisers, U.S.S. Chicago and a few destroyers, to find and attack the Port Moresby invasion force. Grace handled this mixed group so efficiently as to beat off 31 land-based bombers from Rabaul without receiving a scratch; and he also fought off three U.S. Army Air Force B-17s from the Townsville, Queensland, base, which thought his ships were Japanese. To cap this comedy, the thwarted Japanese planes claimed to have sunk two battleships and a heavy cruiser.

Towards evening of the same day, May 7, Takagi sent a search-attack mission to find and bomb Fletcher's carriers. They missed the flat-tops, but had a rough experience. First they were intercepted by FIetcher's fighter planes and lost nine of their number; then, after dark, six tried to land on Yorktown, mistaking her for Japanese; and 11 more were lost trying to make night landings on their own carriers.

On May 8 came the pay-off. The two major carrier groups under Fletcher and Takagi (or, to name the officers in tactical command of the carriers, Aubrey W. Filch and Hara), which had been fumbling for one another for the better part of three days and nights, finally came to grips. Each located the other and attacked. Never were forces more even. The Japanese Admiral with the Irish name had 121 planes; "Jakey" Filch had 122. Hara had a screen of four heavy cruisers and six destroyers; Filch, now Grace was away, had but one more of each type. Nature, however, gave the Japanese carriers one great advantage. They were in a belt of heavy overcast which had moved into the Coral Sea from the Solomons, while the Americans were out in the clear under brilliant sunshine. Thus the Yorktown attack group, 41 planes strong, missed Zuikaku under a rain squall, concentrated on Shokuku and obtained only two bomb hits; but one of these bent the flight deck so that she could no longer launch planes. Half of Lexington's attack group failed to find the fog-enshrouded enemy; the other half gave Shokaku another bomb hit. Takagi, who by this time believed that both American carriers were sinking, decided he could dispense with the damaged carrier and sent her back to Truk.

The carrier Lexington, the main American casualty in the victorious Battle of the Coral Sea, is shown immediately after the fatal explosion. United States losses also included a destroyer and a tanker. The enemy lost seven major warships and took heavy punishment on seven other ships. In this key battle of the Pacific theater, surface vessels did not exchange a single shot.

His assumption was about half correct. The Japanese attack group, amounting to some 70 planes, gave both American carriers a severe working-over. Yorktown took one bomb hit which killed 66 men; Lexington took two torpedoes and two bomb hits. The end of the battle found "Lady Lex" listing, with three fires burning but her power plant intact. There was every prospect of damage control quenching the fires, when suddenly she was wracked by two internal explosions which forced Captain Frederick Sherman to abandon ship. This was done skillfully, some 150 wounded being lowered in basket stretchers into motor whale boats, while the able-bodied slid down lines into the water, where they were picked up by waiting destroyers.

"Lady Lex," beloved as few warships have been by her crew, some of whom had been on board since she was commissioned in 1927, finally had to be sunk by a friendly destroyer's torpedoes. Her loss gave the Japanese the winning score in tonnage sunk; but that does not register the effect of the battle. Admiral Inouye, fearful of risking the Port Moresby Invasion Force south of Papua without air cover, ordered it to retire to Rabaul; and never again in this war did the keel of a Japanese warship vex the Coral Sea south of the Louisiades. Thus the battle was really won by the Americans owing to their biggest mistake, the sighting and bombing of Shoho; her loss led Inouye to throw in the sponge. Even the big carriers' battle turned out ill for the Japanese -- Shokaku took two months to repair, and Zuikaku took over one month to replace her plane losses. Neither big flat-top could take part in the Battle of Midway coming up. But Yorktown could and did. (end Coral Sea Battle)

When Clark Field was abandon, the remaining 19^th BG personnel were taken by truck to Mariveles on the tip of Battan. Half were left on Battan to fight as infantry and the other half taken by ship to Mindanao to help protect Del Monte Field and service planes that might land there.

Except for a handful taken out by submarine, most left on Battan became POW’s. Of those less than 50% survived the war.

Typical Filipino home Moro girl in full dress Mindanao area used by AGOM

Tom Mitsos: I never want to forget how kind the Filipino people and natives of Mindanao were to us. Sure there were some bad ones, but very few. Of the 182 Americans that retreated into the jungles of Mindanao, approximately seven were killed by roving bands of natives, another 15 died due to malaria, dysentery, or were turned in by traitors. The other 167 survived for six months because of decent tribes such as this. We would walk into a village composed of about ten nipa huts and would be given food and a place to sleep. These huts were about 10 x 10 in size, if that large, and without any furniture in them. The floor was made out of bamboo slats & that’s what we slept on. We would fold our Army wool blanket in half, and sleep on half of it and cover ourselves with the other half.

It was their custom to share their rice with us and after supper, offer 1/2 of their hut as sleeping quarters. The Filipino family would sleep in the other half. If you planned on staying longer you were given a hut and the two families would share the other hut. Every time we would walk into a village, the dogs would attack us. I guess it was because our body odors were not the same as the natives. On more than one occasion, we would receive minor bites. After that, they would come around sniffing and sneezing and walk away with minor growls.

The Filipino hill people were very hospitable and of great value to our American forces. The Japanese would not enter the jungles because they would be killed, yet our troops could use back trails to attack Japanese. To try and put into words simple situations such as this, is very difficult. Whoever said a picture is equal to a 1000 words, knew what he was talking about. But you still have to live it to fully grasp the situation. All of us experienced this type of living at some time or another during our 32 months on Mindanao. None of the small villages or barrios had restaurants or motels. Sometimes there was a small market place where you could buy something to eat.

If we had to stay in any area for a short while, we were always invited by some Filipino family to stay in their home. Before the surrender from Jan. 1942 thru April, 1942, we always slept outdoors. I don't remember ever sleeping in a tent or hut even during the monsoon season. In the guerrillas, it was the opposite. We seldom slept outdoors. Some local native family, such as the one shown in the picture, would always invite us into their home for bed and breakfast.

AGOM Reunion 1994 San Diego

1. Wm. Johnson, 2. Wm Williams, 3. Len Lecouvre ,4. Ben. Farren, 5.Cy Grosh,6. Bruce Elliott, 7. Loyd Waters, 8. Ken Bailey, 8. Leonard Merchant, 9. John Lewis, 10. Tom Mitos, 11. Fred Taylor, Gerald Chapman,13. (back) Tom Samples, 14. Clyde Childress, 15. Luke Campeau, 16. John Simmons, 17. Dick Osborne, 18 Paul Marshall, 19. Richard Lang, 20. Jim Schoen, 21. Tracy Tucker

The 1994 AGOM Reunion was held in San Diego CA, May 5-7, many were also members of the 19th BG Assn. Each has a remarkable story to tell, some wrote, all visited of shared events. Not all survivors made it to this reunion. They are a unique group, each made the choice to not surrender or managed to escape -- they had to be confident, cooperative and self sufficient. Their close bond is evident, they continue to feel concern for each others welfare, they overlook faults and take pride in each others best attributes. By 2004 half of the above were gone.

AGOM authors on CD: Ken Bailey 14^th Sqd , Gerald Chapman 30^th Sqd , Luke Campeau (Vol), R Chambers, Bruce Elliott {Navy), Ben Farrens 14^th , Bill Johnson (Navy), Leonard Merchant Hdq, Sqd Tom Mitsos 30^th Sqd, Robert Stohl (Vol), John Tuggles (Navy), Howard Watson 30^th Sqd, William Williams 93^rd Sqd.

POW authors on CD: Lyle Knudson 30^th Sqd, Ira Morris 30^th Sqd, Jay Mercer (AAC), Col Olson (Inf), U, Hllom (Nurse), Al Young.28^th Sqd, Dr E. Jacobs MD

(Vol) Volunteered to be taken by submarine from Australia to Mindanao for special duty.

(Navy) Elliott became POW at Corregidor, taken to Palliwan to build air field, escaped & sailed boat to Mindanao arriving 1 yr after escape, joined AGOM who got him to Australia by Submarine.

(Navy) Johnson & Tuggles were on PT boats (ref movie “They Were Expendable”) taking MacArthur party to Mindanao. Johnson became POW, then escaped to become an AGOM coast watcher.

All the stories are excellent and included on the CD. The following are representative, condensed for this Book: Jay Mercer POW, Lyle Knudson POW, Ed Whitcomb POW, Al Young POW, Bill Johnson POW-AGOM, Tom Mitsos AGOM, Howard Watson AGOM. E Jacobs MD AGOL-POW.