H-Ref-GKenney

General Kenney Reports

by

General George C. Kenney

Commander; Allied Air Force

consisting of

5th Air FORCE

(Formerly the Far Eastern Air Force)

and

Royal Australian Air Force

August 1942 till August 1945

The first part of General Kenney Reports pertains to the history of the

19th Bomb Group

extracted for inclusion in the 19th BG Assn’s History

General George Marshall; Roosevelts Chief of Staff

and General “Hap” Arnold; Air Force Chief of Staff

sent

General George C. Kenney

to Australia

most believed the Japanese would take New Guinea

and soon invade Australia

He was to Command the Allied Air Forces

German front would receive top priority

he’d have to make do with what he had

his orders:

Report to General MacArthur

Australia was not invaded, the Japanese advance was stopped, the tide was turned

this is Gen Kenneys story of those critical times

The Japanese had landed in strength on New Guinea and were driving the Australians back down Owen Stanley mountain range threatening Port Moresby. Though New Guinea was the scene of combat, the battle first had to be won in Australia. The fall back of forces from the Philippines, Java and the Pacific region had left things in disaray. Expecting the Japansese to by able to attack locations in north east Australia, most forces were pulled back to lower Australia. It was necessary to fly from south to north Australia, then to Port Moresby to refuel before a strike could be made on Japanese forces on the other side of the Owen Stanley range, or to reach the main Japanese supply depot at Rabaul.

Introduction to General Kenney Reports

The first chapters of Kenney’s report provide insight into the Australian chapter of the 19th Bombardment Groups history, an almost undocumented phase. The 19th BG was at Clark Field in the Philippines when the Japanese attack, 2/3 of their aircraft were destroy in the first day! By the end of January the remaining aircraft plus a few flight and maintenance personnel had been moved to Australia or Java. Clark Field was evacuated to Bataan on Christmas Eve where they became infantry.

The 5th Air Base Unit had arrived on Mindanao Dec 1, 1941 to help set up operations at Del Monte, Airfield, code named PLUM. The 7th BG was scheduled to follow. On New Years a ship load of personnel at Bataan were sent south to Mindanao on the inner island ship the Mayon, to help protect Mindanao and support operations out of Del Monte Field.

Reinforcement aircraft and crews of the 7th BG, originally intended for PLUM, were instead routed to Malang, Java, the new line of defense, where they were merged into the 19th BG. Bachelor Field, near Darwin, Australia served as the supply base for those on Java.

Java could not be held and was evacuated at the end of February. From March on all flights originated out of Australia. Most of the personnel of the 14th, 28th, 30th, 93rd Sqds, 7th materiel, and 5th Air Base unit remained in the Philippines, where if not killed they became POWs or Guerrillas on Mindanao. The forces on Bataan surrendered when they ran out of food, many did not survive the Bataan Death March.

A contingent of the 7th AF that had arrived at Hicham Dec 7th were moved from Hawaii to Australia where they became the 435th Observation Sqd and assigned to the 19th BG. They were serving as the eyes for all Far Pacific forces. The 435th, with a crew members from the original 19th BG who knew Del Monte Field on Mindanao, were the ones who flew MacArthur & staff out of the Philippines.

The 435th were set up to operate out of Townsville. The remainder of the 30th reformed at Cloncurry, and those remaining of the 28th and 93rd Sqds reformed at Longreach. In time they moved forward to Mareeba, closer to Port Moresby.

All this time General Sutherlands staff retained command authority over the Army Air Force. During the make do with what you had. Once in Australia, Australian and U.S. aircraft and crews were pooled to make a fighting force. Australian ground forces on New Guinea were engaged with Japanese forces intent on crossing the Owen Stanley range and take Port Moresby. Transport aircraft were carrying in supplies with some local fighter aircraft protection. Bomber aircraft were few, flying to Port Moresby to refuel before crossing the mountains on single to few aircraft missions. The few aircraft kept flying was at the cost of cannibalizing other aircraft for parts.

General Brett, from the India theater had been put in command of the Army Air Corps, with few experienced personnel for support. General Sutherland, MacArthur’s chief of staff were issuing detailed mission plans and upset with Brett when they didn’t materialize as planned. In Washington they knew things were a mess and they had a good idea what the fundamental problems were. They needed someone who had the ability and experience necessary, also someone who could stand up to Sutherland & MacArthur. MacArthur was requesting help, Sutherland figured he’d still run the show.

There was not much going right when General Kenney arrived. It didn’t take him long to determine the general status of affairs...... He had the knowledge, experience and soon the authority to implement corrective measures.

When he took over, the personnel and aircraft of the 19th BG were already tired and beaten. The hours and hours of flying time, the constant problems with equipment, weather, supply, let alone the enemy, had worn them down. They had seen many of their close friends go down and not return. They were aware that many of their close friends were now POWs, and the tales of brutality had already reached their ears. They had lost the fresh vitality of the kids they were when they first arrived. Many were in need of being pulled out so they could refresh their energy and will, they were indeed a mixed lot.

General Kenney’s Report carries the story from there in a most engrossing and informative manner.

Of those with the 19th before General Kenney arrived:

Frank Kurtz, 32nd Sqd, was assigned to General Brett’s staff becoming his personal pilot of the Swoose.

Henry Godman, 14th Sqd, was assigned to General Sutherland’s staff as General MacArthur’s personal pilot.

Wilber Beezley, 435th Sqd, became General Kenney’s personal pilot.

(Those crewing the 12 19th BG planes returned to the states are unknown at this time.)

DL 03-29-94

Index

Chapter Name Page

Introduction 6

I Assignment to the Pacific July 1942 9

II With MacArthur in Australia August 1942 18

III New Guinea August - September 1942 32

IV The Buna Campaign I September - October 1942 47

V The Buna Campaign II November - December 1942 61

A DOCUMANTARY INTRODUCTION

I. VITAL STATISTICS

(adapted from Air Force releases)

General George C. Kenney now commands The Air University of the United States Air Force, Maxwell Air Force Base, Montgomery, Alabama.

Born August 6, 1889, in Nova Scotia, where his family was vacationing, he was brought up in Brookline, Massachusetts. He attended grade and high schools in Brookline and spent three years at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.

As a lieutenant pilot in World War I, General Kenney flew seventy-five missions, shot down two German planes, and was once shot down himself. He ended the war as a Captain with the Distinguished Service Cross and the Silver Star.

As a peacetime officer, in the years from 1919 t0 1939, he concentrated on aeronautical development and its application to warfare as he slowly worked his way up the Army promotion ladder to the grade of lieutenant colonel

From 1939 to 1942 he served brief tours as Air Corps Observer with the Navy in the Caribbean; as Assistant Attaché for Air at the American Embassy in Paris; as Commanding Officer, Air Corps Experimental Division and Engineering School, Wright Field, Ohio; and as Commanding Officer of the Fourth Air Force.

In August 1942, General Kenney assumed command of the Allied Air Forces in the Southwest Pacific. The story of the next three years of his career from his transfer to combat duty to the surrender of the Japanese is encompassed in General Kenney Reports.

In December 1945 he was given an assignment with the Military Staff Committee of the United Nations, which took him from Washington to London to New York.

On April 1, 1946, he assumed command of the Strategic Air Command.

In October 1948, he was transferred to the command of The Air University at Maxwell Field.

General Kenney has been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross with cluster; Distinguished Service Medal with cluster; Silver Star; Distinguished Flying Cross; Purple Heart; Honorary Knight Commander, Military Division, Order of the British Empire; Croix de Guerre, with palm (Belgium); Grand Officer of the Order of Leopold with palm (Belgium ); Philippine Star; Military Order of Merit First Class of Guatemala; Order of Orange-Nassau, degree of Grand Officer, with swords (Netherlands); William E. Mitchell Memorial Award (1948); Croix de Guerre, with palm (France), and the French Legion of Honor, Rank of Commander.

Although this array of awards and citations might seem to have set him apart in a rarefied atmosphere of military achievement, General Kenney has always been known, particularly among the officers and enlisted men of the Fifth Air Force, as "a soldier's general."

2. CLOSE-UP OF AN AIR GENERAL

(excerpts from Time's cover story of January 18, 1943.)

Last week was the most successful week of the war in the Southwest Pacific.... Last week belonged to the airmen. The center of the week's action focused first on a drab sedan which lurched over the pocked and pitted track that winds from Jackson airdrome to Port Moresby. The thick red dust of New Guinea blurred its windows, but not the three white stars on its license plate. Spying the stars, half-naked troops, Australian and American, grinned and threw casual salutes. One of their favorite brass hats was home again: General George C. Kenney, Commanding General of Allied Air Forces, Southwest Pacific Area, and Commander, Fifth U. S. Air Force.

The grins would have become cheers had the troops known what scrub-headed General Kenney was saying at that moment: "Good, Whitey! Let's smear 'em tomorrow."

"Whitey" was his deputy commander, Brigadier General Ennis C. Whitehead. " 'Em" was the Japanese concentration at Rabaul....

In five months in the Southwest Pacific, the man chiefly responsible for the successes has yet to have a day off, or even to want one. General Kenney's office is wherever he and his aide are at the moment. Places are always laid for General Kenney at two luncheon tables, one at Port Moresby, the other nearly 2,000 miles south in Australia. Most weeks he manages to have several meals at each of them. Last week he had three lunches at his mainland headquarters, two with Mac Arthur in New Guinea....

General Kenney was raised (to a height of 5 ft. 6 in.) in Brookline, Mass. He studied civil engineering at M.I.T., but left after three years to become an instrument man for Quebec Saguenay Railroad. Then he became a civil engineer and a contractor. In 1917 he enlisted in the U. S. Signal Corps as a private. He learned to fly under Bert Acosta, who was later to achieve fame as a transatlantic pilot. His first three landings were all dead stick, but he was notably successful once he got to France....

Between wars Kenney... went through the routine which is designed to round out an air general: War College, Supply, Air Corps Engineering School, instructor in observation. In France in 1940 he riled other military observers by recommending that the U.S. throw its Air Force into the ash can....

Between times he experimented. George Kenney was the first man to fix machine guns in the wing of a plane: back in 1922 he installed two .30-caliber Brownings in the wing of an old De Havilland. Kenney is the inventor of the parachute bomb, which enables bombing planes to fly lower, bomb more accurately. He invented this bomb in 1928....

"You've got to devise stuff like that," Kenney says. "I'd studied all the books... and Buna was not in any of them."

The textbooks did not tell George Kenney what he would find in the Southwest Pacific.

3. THE BIG PICTURE IN THE PACIFIC

(excerpts from a paper by General Kenney describing the first phase of the war, up to July 1942.)

On December 7, 1941, without warning and following the consistent pattern of her military tradition of dispensing with a formal declaration of war, Japan struck at Pearl Harbor.

Shortly after daybreak, possessing exact and accurate knowledge of its objective, and with each individual assigned a definite task and target, a superbly trained force of 360 fighter and bomber aircraft launched its bombs on the big Hawaiian naval base and its protecting Army and Navy air installations. In less than an hour our Pacific fleet was out of action, with most of its units heavily damaged or resting on the muddy floor of Pearl Harbor. The Air Forces left to defend Hawaii were a mere handful. Shops, hangars, depots, supplies, and aircraft had gone up in smoke from the bombing and strafing of an air attack that was a model of perfection and precision.

Japan was then ready to begin the march to the rich empire to the south the Philippine Islands, the Netherlands East Indies, Malaya, Melanesia, through Burma to India and perhaps even to Australia and New Zealand without fear of interference by the United States Fleet, which up to then had been considered the strongest force in the Pacific. Nippon's dream of a Greater East Asia seemed ready for fulfillment.

The tide of Japan's conquest rolled on with a speed that seemed incredible to a paralyzed world. Almost coincident with the Pearl Harbor attack, a small American air force in the Philippines was knocked out of action and Japanese bombers appeared over Hong Kong and Singapore. Japanese fighter planes cleared the air of opposition and a flood of Japanese infantry, trained to the minute in amphibious warfare and schooled in the art of utilizing the jungle to aid them in over coming the complacent and overconfident white man, poured into his Southeast Asia and East Indies holdings. Thailand be came a satellite partner of Japan on December 8. Two days later, as Guam was being occupied by a Nipponese force that had sailed from Japan a week previously, the Prince of Wales and the Repulse, both first-line battleships of Britain's Far Eastern Fleet, went to the bottom off the Malay coast. Japanese torpedo bombers had proved to the Royal Navy some thing that it should have already known: surface craft cannot survive unless friendly aircraft control the air above them.

On the 25th, the white man's Christmas Day, Hong Kong, the Gibraltar of the East and a British colony for over a hundred years, fell to the Oriental conqueror. Wake Island had already gone on the 23rd. On January 2, 1942, Manila was occupied by the invaders, who had swarmed ashore on the main Philippine island of Luzon at Vigan and Aparri on December 10, 1941, at Legaspi on the 13th, and had landed in force at Lingayen Gulf on the 21st. That same month of January saw the Japanese take over Borneo, the Celebes, Ambon, New Ireland, New Britain, and move into the Solomons and the Gilberts. By February, Japanese bombs were falling on Darwin in northern Australia and on Port Moresby the capital of Papua and key port on the south coast of New Guinea. Singapore crashed ignominiously on February 15, with a British garrison surrendering to an invading force of half its size. Timor was seized on February 20. Portugal, the neutral owner of the eastern half of the island, was not consulted any more than were the belligerent Dutch, who owned the western half, Sumatra, Java, and the rest of the Netherlands East Indies went early in March. Japanese occupation of Lae and Salamaua, strategically important ports and air bases on the north coast of New Guinea on March 8, followed a day after Rangoon was evacuated by the British. Resistance to the brown conqueror seemed to have stopped. Generals and their staffs evacuated themselves to India and Australia where they talked about last-ditch stands. Some of their troops got away with them. Most of them died in position or went to Japanese prison Camps.

A gallant stand in the Philippines on Bataan held up the consolidation of the Nipponese empire for a while. On March 17, 1942, General Douglas MacArthur and a small nucleus of his staff arrived in Australia to take over command of the Allied forces there. It had taken repeated orders from the President of the United States to get General MacArthur to leave his mixed American and Philippine command. Twenty-three days later, out of food and ammunition, weakened by dysentery and malaria, his successor, Wainwright, evacuated Bataan and moved the remnants of his forces to the island fortress of Corregidor at the entrance to Manila Harbor, where he held out until May 6. America had lost everything in the Pacific west of Midway Island.

Flushed with victory, the Japanese pushed southward into Bougainville Island and the northern Solomons. A Nipponese naval task force, backed up with troop transports, sailed south from Rabaul, now the main enemy base in New Britain, into the Coral Sea. The goal was Port Moresby, the key not only to southern New Guinea but the jumping-off point for the invasion of the east coast of Australia itself. Between May 4 and 8, the Battle of the Coral Sea gave the Allies their first chance to take a real breath. Air reconnaissance had spotted the Japanese invasion force and had passed the word to a United States naval task force under Vice-Admiral Frank Fletcher which had been operating against the Japs occupying the important anchorage of Tulagi in the Solomons. Fletcher promptly moved into the Coral Sea to contact the enemy fleet. As soon as they were in range, both sides launched their carrier aircraft. Each side lost a carrier and some smaller vessels. The remaining carriers on each side were damaged sufficiently to put them out of action as far as this engagement was concerned. With one of his carriers sunk, one badly damaged, and most of his aircraft shot down, the Japanese Admiral Hinoue decided to abandon his mission and withdrew to Rabaul. For similar reasons our fleet withdrew south to New Caledonia. Tactically we had barely gained a draw, but strategically we had gained a real victory. Port Moresby had been saved from almost certain capture. A Japanese expedition had failed. It was the first one so far. Our most serious loss was the big air craft carrier Lexington, but the price was small for the gain.

On June 3 more American territory changed hands when the banner of the Rising Sun was hoisted over Attu, Agattu and Kiska in the Aleutian Islands off Alaska. Two days later the Allies took another breath. This was a deep one. Four air craft carriers, a heavy cruiser, and 275 airplanes was the price the Japanese paid for their failure to occupy the tiny island of Midway, 1200 miles west of Pearl Harbor. A second Japanese expedition had failed. We lost the aircraft carrier Yorktown and a destroyer. Like the Battle of the Coral Sea, the Battle of Midway was an air show. No surface craft on either side fired a gun except at enemy airplanes.

July saw the tide reach its crest. Guadalcanal and Rekata Bay in the Solomons were occupied on July 6. On the 22nd a picked force of special Japanese landing troops seized the Buna-Gona area on the north coast of Papua and drove for the Kokodo Pass across the Owen Stanley mountain barrier protecting Port Moresby. Kokoda fell on the 29th and, driving a tired Australian militia brigade back, the invaders headed for Port Moresby in a furious headlong rush that carried them to within thirty miles of the port.

Here the tide turned.

I ASSIGNMENT TO THE PACIFIC; July, 1942

It was ten o'clock on the morning of July 7, 1942, at my headquarters in San Francisco where I was commanding the Fourth Air Force. I had just finished reading a long report concerning the exploits of one of my young pilots who had been looping the loop around the center span of the Golden Gate Bridge in a P-38 fighter plane and waving to the stenographic help in the office buildings as he flew along Market Street. The report noted that, while it had been extremely difficult to get information from the somewhat sympathetic and probably conniving witnesses, there was plenty of evidence proving that a large part of the waving had been to people on some of the lower floors of the buildings.

A woman on the outskirts of Oakland was quoted as saying that she didn't need any help from my fighter pilots in removing her washing from the clotheslines unless they would like to do it on the ground.

Considering the mass of evidence, it was surprising that more complaints had not been registered, but in any event I would have to do something about the matter. Washington was determined to stop low-altitude stunting and had put out some stringent instructions about how to handle the budding young aviators who broke the rules. The investigating officer had recommended a General Court-Martial.

I had sent word to the pilot's commander that I wanted to see the lad in my office, and I was expecting him at any minute. My secretary opened the door and said, "Your bad boy is outside. You remember the one you wanted to see about flying around bridges and down Market Street."

I said to send him in. I heard her say, "The General will see you now, Lieutenant," and in walked one of the nicest-looking cherubs you ever saw in your life. I suspected that he was not over eighteen and maybe even younger. I doubted if he was old enough to shave. He was just a little blond-haired Norwegian boy about five feet six, with a round, pink baby face and the bluest, most innocent eyes now opened wide and a bit scared. Someone must have just told him how serious this court-martial thing might be. He wanted to fly and he wanted to get into the war and do his stuff, but now he was finding out that they really were tough about this low-altitude `buzzing' business and it was dawning on him that the commanders all had orders really to bear down on young aviators who flew down streets and rattled dishes in people's houses. Why, he might be taken off flying status or even thrown out of the Air Force! He wasn't going to try to alibi out of it, but he sure hoped this General Kenney wasn't going to be too rough. You could actually see all this stuff going on in his head just behind those baby-blue eyes. He didn't know it, but he had already won.

I let him stand at attention while I bawled him out for getting himself in trouble, and getting me in trouble, too, besides giving people the impression that the Air Force was just a lot of irresponsible airplane jockeys. He could see that he was in trouble just by looking at the size and thickness of the pile of papers on my desk that referred to his case. But think of all the trouble he had made for me. Now, in order to quiet down the people who didn't approve of his exuberance, I would have to talk to the Governor, the Mayor, the Chief of Police. Luckily I knew a lot of people in San Francisco who could be talked into a state of forgiveness, but I had a job of looking after the Fourth Air Force and I should spend my time doing that instead of ruining around explaining away the indiscretions of my wild-eyed pilots.

"By the way, wasn't the air pretty rough down in that street around the second-story level?" I was really a bit curious. As I remembered, it used to be, when I was first learning to fly.

"Yes, sir, it was kind of rough," replied the cherub, "but it was easy to control the plane. The aileron control is good in the P-38 and " He paused. Probably figured he had said enough. For a second, the blue eyes had been interested more than scared. He was talking about his profession and it was more than interest. It was his life, his ambition. I would bet anything that he was an expert in a P-38 and that he wanted to be still better. We needed kids like this lad.

"Lieutenant," I said, "there is no need for me to tell you again that this is a serious matter. If you didn't want to fly down Market Street, I wouldn't have you in my Air Force, but you are not to do it any more and I mean what I say. From now on, if I hear any more reports of this kind about you, I'll put you before a General Court and if they should recommend dismissal from the service, which they probably would, I'll approve it."

I began slowly to tear up the report and drop the pieces of paper in the waste basket. The blue eyes watched, a little puzzled at first, and then the scared look began to die out.

"Monday morning you check in at this address out in Oakland and if that woman has any washing to be hung out on the line, you do it for her. Then you hang around being useful -- mowing a lawn or something and when the clothes are dry, take them off the line and bring them into the house. And don't drop any of them on the ground or you will have to wash them over again. I want that woman to think we are good for something besides annoying people. Now get out of here quick before I get mad and change my mind. That's all."

"Yes, sir " He didn't dare to change his expression, but the blue eyes had gone all soft and relieved. He saluted and backed out of the office. The next time I saw Lieutenant Richard I. Bong was in Australia.

I was still chuckling to myself over the look on that kid's face as he watched me tearing up the charges against him and thinking how wonderful it would be to be twenty-two and a lieutenant flying a P-38 instead of fifty-two and a general looking after a whole Air Force, when the light flashed on the direct telephone line from my desk to General `Hap' Arnold, the head of the Army Air Forces in Washington.

Hap believed in working directly with his commanders. He made quick decisions and he demanded immediate action. Once in a while, when his staff had given him insufficient in formation, his decisions would be wrong. If you had the real facts at your fingertips and could present the case briefly and correctly, you could argue with Hap, but your argument had better be good if you wished to emerge from the `brawl' unscathed. On the other hand, while the interview might be, and generally was, exceedingly stormy, if you put across your point he would reverse his decision immediately and correct the situation.

I remember once hearing Hap say that if he had a hundred problems put up to him in a day he would make one hundred decisions that day. Fifty of them would be good decisions. The other fifty might range from good to fair to poor. Before the day was over he would find out about most of these and correct them, but some days he might make twenty-five that were not so good and he'd just have to take the blame for them later on.

While he and I have had lots of arguments, and the finish on a lot of desk tops has suffered in the process, I like to work for a man who will make decisions. If he is right three times out of four, his batting average is far better than most. Hap and I understood each other, we respected each other's judgment and were strong personal friends of over twenty years' standing. He called me almost daily about a multitude of matters, some big, some little, and sometimes, I suspected, just to blow off a little excess steam. Hap lived with the throttle well open most of the time. I wondered what was on his mind now.

"George, I'm keeping my promise to you. Pack up and be in my office at eight o'clock Monday morning. That's the twelfth. I'll give you all the dope then. I can't tell you any more on the phone. Tell me, who do you recommend to take over your job?"

I knew this meant that I was leaving the command of the Fourth Air Force for another job. I had three brigadier generals under me, but Bamey Giles was my choice if one of them was to succeed me. I told Hap that I wanted to turn the job over to Giles but that he would have to get out some special orders from Washington as Bamey was outranked by both the other brigadier generals.

Hap said okay and that he would get the orders out right away. We said goodbye and I told him I would be in his office on Monday morning.

Back in 1940, General Arnold had ordered me to the Air Corps Materiel Division at Wright Field, Dayton, Ohio, to look after the aircraft-production program, which was being stepped up to increase our air strength, and to coordinate the stepped-up output with the huge orders then being placed in this country by the British and French. At that time I had remarked to him that, the way things were going, it looked to me as though we would be getting in the war ourselves before very long. If we did get in it, I wanted him to let me take a combat outfit. I promised him that I would get the aircraft production speeded up but asked him not to make me stand around counting airplanes corning out of factories if we started shooting bullets for keeps.

Hap refused to give me any definite promise right then but hinted quite strongly that if the production machinery were set up and operating satisfactorily he would not keep me out of the combat action.

By February 1942, the program was getting into high gear. The aircraft output was already exceeding our fondest hopes and the curves on the charts were all spiraling upward. Hap called me at Detroit, where I was completing the final negotiations to put the Ford Company into the bomber manufacturing business. It was a typical Arnold telephone call.

"George, pack up and move to San Francisco and take over the Fourth Air Force. I want a lot of fighter and bomber units trained in a hurry, the offshore reconnaissance maintained, and I want to see that accident rate come down. Come in and see me tomorrow morning at ten o'clock and I'll give you the whole story. By the way, I hope you will notice that I'm starting to keep my promise to you. Oh, yes, another thing. You will be promoted to major general by the time you get to California. Goodbye see you tomorrow."

A couple of weeks later, with two stars on my shoulders, I arrived in San Francisco and took command of the Fourth Air Force. Now, only four months later, another telephone call was putting me on the move again.

I sent for Brigadier General Barney Giles, who headed my Fourth Bomber Command, and my top staff officers and told them that I would be leaving the Fourth Air Force in a few days, that General Cites was the new boss, and that I expected them to work even harder for him than they had for me as I had no authority to take any of them along where I was going. I told Barney to select the best colonel in his command to succeed him and to put in a recommendation right away for his promotion which I would take to Washington with me; at the same time I would see what I could do to fix up Giles with a promotion to the rank of major general.

The next job was to call my other two brigadier generals and explain to them that, while I had nothing against them and I considered their work eminently satisfactory, I believed Giles was the best of the three and better qualified to take over when I left. I told them that I expected them to serve Giles as loyally and as faithfully as they had me but that, if they did not want to carry on in their present assignments, I would do what I could to get General Arnold to place them where they wanted to go. They both assured me that I need not worry about the matter at all, that they had jobs to do and not only liked Giles but would do everything they could to make the Fourth Air Force a credit to its new commander. I had known they would but I felt much better after I had talked to them. After all, no one likes to be "passed over" by someone junior in length of service.

Sunday afternoon, July 11th, I landed at Bolling Field with Major William Benn, my aide, and went over to Air Force Headquarters to see if I could find out anything. Arnold was not in, but I saw Major General "Joe" McNarney, an old friend of mine who was now Deputy to the Army Chief of Staff, General George C. Marshall. Joe told me I was going to Australia. MacArthur was not satisfied with Brett or with the way the Air Force was working. My name had been submitted and MacArthur had said I was acceptable. Joe wished me luck and remarked that, from the reports coming out of that theater, I was going to need it.

Lieutenant General George H. Brett had been General Wavell's deputy in the now disbanded American-British Dutch-Australian Command. When the Japs ran the Allies out of Java in March 1942, Wavell had gone to India and Brett had taken over the Allied command in Australia. On MacArthur's arrival in that country a couple of weeks later, Brett, as the senior airman in the theater, became General MacArthur's Allied Air Force Commander. He had not had much to work with and his luck had been mostly bad. MacArthur's Chief of Staff, Major General Richard Sutherland, and Brett had seldom seen eye to eye on anything. Brett's own staff was nothing to brag about and that had not helped either. I had worked under Brett when he commanded the Air Materiel Division at Dayton a couple of years before and liked him a lot. I hoped they would give him a good job when he got back. General McNarney said he hadn't heard what Brett was lined up for.

I talked with McNarney at some length about the general situation. Europe was going to get the real play, with a big show going into North Africa that November to chase Rommel and his Afrika Korps out of the area before they grabbed Egypt and the Suez Canal on one of their tank drives.

The Pacific war would have to wait until Germany was disposed of before any major effort would be made against Japan. There simply were not enough men, materials, or shipping to run big-scale operations in Europe and the Far East at the same time, so the decision had been made to concentrate on defeating Hitler and to take care of the other job later on.

McNarney held out no encouragement that troops, aircraft, or supplies in any appreciable numbers or quantities would be sent to the Pacific for a long time to come. No wonder he wished me luck.

The next day General Arnold took me into General Marshall's office, where I was officially told about my new assignment. My instructions were simply to report to General MacArthur. Their analysis of the problems that I would be up against not only confirmed what I had heard from McNarney but sounded even worse. The thing that worried me most, however, was the casual way that everyone seemed to look at the Pacific part of the war. The possibility that the Japs would soon land in Australia itself was freely admitted and I sensed that, even if that country were taken over by the Nipponese, the real effort would still be made against Germany.

I gathered that they thought there was already enough strength in the Pacific, and particularly in Australia, to maintain a sort of "strategic defensive," which was all that was expected for the time being. Arnold said he had sent a lot of air planes over there and a lot of supplies, but the reports indicated that most of the airplanes were out of commission and that there didn't seem to be much flying going on. He said that Brett kept yelling for more equipment all the time, although he should have enough already to keep going. I was told that there were about 600 aircraft out there and that should be enough to fight a pretty good war with. Anyhow, while they would do what they could to help me out, they just had to build up the European show first.

General Marshall said there were a lot of personality clashes that undoubtedly were causing a lot of trouble. I said I knew of some of them already and that I wanted authority to clean out the dead wood as I didn't believe that much could be done to get moving with the collection of top officers that Brett had been given to work with. They told me that I would have to work that problem out with General MacArthur. I said I wished that they would wash the linen before I got out there and save me the trouble, but I didn't get to first base with the suggestion.

Luckily I would have two good brigadier generals to work with me as Ennis Whitehead and Ken Walker had already been ordered to Australia. I had known both of them for over twenty years. They had brains, leadership, loyalty, and liked to work. If Brett had had them about three months earlier, his luck might have been a lot better.

I stayed around Washington for three more days, absorbing all the data I could find in regard to the Southwest Pacific Area. I knew Arnold didn't think much of the P-38 as a fighter plane, so it wasn't hard to get him to assign me fifty of them with fifty pilots from the Fourth Air Force. I intended to make sure that a Lieutenant Richard I. Bong was one of the pilots.

While looking around for anything that was not nailed down, I found that there were 3000 parachute fragmentation bombs in war reserve. No one else wanted them, so they were ordered shipped to Australia on the next boat.

Back in 1928, in order to drop bombs in a low-altitude attack without having the fragments hit the airplane, I had put parachutes on the bombs; the parachutes opened as the bombs were released from the airplane. The parachute not only stopped the forward travel of the bomb, but slowly lowered it down to the ground while the airplane got out of range of the fragments by the time the bomb hit the ground and detonated. With a supersensitive fuze, which kicked the thing off instantaneously on contact with anything even the leaf of a bush, the bomb was a wicked little weapon. It weighed about twenty-five pounds and broke up into around 1600 fragments the size of a man's little finger. At a hundred yards from the point of impact these fragments would go through a two-inch

plank. I had had a hard time getting the Air Corps or the Ordnance to play with the thing, in spite of a dozen demonstrations I had put on. It was actually 1936 before an order of about 5000 was made up for service test. Everyone that used them was enthusiastic, but somehow or other the 3000 remaining got hidden away in war reserve and people gradually forgot about them. I think the Ordnance Department was actually glad to get rid of them. But I was speculating about trying them out on some Jap airdrome and wondering if those fragments would tear airplanes apart as well as Japs, too, if they didn't get out of the way.

Hap Arnold told me that Major General Millard (Miff) Harmon, who had been his Chief of Staff, had been ordered to the South Pacific Theater, where, under Vice-Admiral Robert H. Ghormley, he was to command all Army troops, air and ground. He was taking with him, to command his Army Air Force units, Brigadier General "Nate" Twining and several colonels. We would all go out together in a Liberator bomber that had been converted into a sort of passenger carrier. Sort of because they had dispensed with such luxuries as sound proofing, cushioned seats, heating system, or windows to look out of. It might not be very comfortable, but I preferred it to spending a month on a boat. According to the present schedule, we would leave on July 21 from San Francisco for New Caledonia, via Hawaii-Canton Island-Fiji. Miff and his gang would get off in New Caledonia, and Bill Benn and I were to have the plane to ourselves during the remainder of the trip to Australia.

Among the multitude of people that I conferred with about the arrangements for sending airplanes, engines, propellers, and spare parts to Australia to keep my show going, was "Bill" Knudsen, the former president of General Motors, who had been called into government service to speed up production of war materials, particularly through mobilization of the automotive industry of the country. I had had a lot of dealings with him during the past two years, and besides admiring his methods of getting things done, I had gotten very fond of him. We liked each other.

His ability in his field was unquestioned. His simple honesty, his sincerity, his unselfish patriotism, and his unfailing sense of humor endeared him to everyone. The country owed a lot to William S. Knudsen, who had been made a lieutenant general a few months previously, with the additional title of Director of War Production for the War Department.

Bill had just come back to his office from a long conference which had consisted of a lot of talk but no decision. In that charmingly thick Danish accent of his, he told me about it and then suddenly said, "George, do you know what a conference is?"

I said, "Go ahead. I'm listening." He grinned, hesitated a little, and gave me his definition. I still consider it a gem. It still fits most of them.

"A conference is a gathering of guys that singly can do nothing and together decide that nothing can be done."

My favorite of all Bill Knudsen's sayings, however, came one day in Washington when we were Listening to an efficiency expert give us a lecture on speeding up the process of letting contracts to industry .In the course of the talk, he kept using the phrase, "Status quo." After about ten repetitions of the two words, Knudsen nudged me and whispered, "George, do you hear that `status quo' stuff?" I nodded. Bill waited a few seconds and continued, "That's Latin for what a hell of a fix we're in."

The last thing I did before leaving Washington was to get Major William Benn fixed up with orders to go along with me as my aide.

I inherited Benn as an aide when I took over the Fourth Air Force. It wasn't long before I found out that he was much more than the generally accepted version of a general's aide. I could open my own doors and put on my own overcoat without any help, so I "fired" Benn as aide and ordered him to take over a heavy-bombardment squadron that needed a leader to put it on its feet. In a week that squadron was the best in the Fourth Air Force. Benn had leadership, energy, new ideas, and enthusiasm to burn. In addition, he was a lot of help as a personal staff assistant. That was the kind of aide I really needed, so when Arnold told me I was leaving San Francisco, I recalled Benn from command of his squadron and now I insisted on taking him with me to Australia. A general is supposed to have an aide, so Arnold said I could take him along. Benn grinned when I told him the news and asked how long I thought he would hold the job this time. I told him not to buy any more aide's insignia until I told him to. He would be a lot of help to me in lots of ways but I had a hunch that I was going to need some young commanders out there and Bill Benn had the makings of a real star performer.

On July 16, I said goodbye to Hap Arnold, and Benn and I flew back to San Francisco.

During the next five days, I wound up my affairs in San Francisco and packed for the move. I was not sorry to leave but my job on the West Coast had been a pleasant one. General DeWitt was a prince to deal with. He believed in this loyalty business working both ways. He definitely had a mind of his own and a temper that was a joy to watch in operation, but he was a square shooter and his decisions were sound. He told you what he wanted done and then let you alone to produce results. We got along together fine, in spite of my complicated assignment. I was responsible to DeWitt for the air defense of the West Coast and the offshore reconnaissance. At the same time, I was training fighter and bomber groups under General Arnold. We combined the two missions as far as possible and worked out a fairly respectable solution. The bomber crews learned navigation, instrument flying, and reconnaissance by performing offshore patrols to distances seaward up to 500 miles. If a submarine or a suspicious wake or a trail of oil were sighted, the airplane passed the word ashore, giving the position, and then circled the suspicious spot until a destroyer or some other type of antisubmarine vessel arrived to take up the hunt with its sound-detecting apparatus and depth-bombing charges. Once in a while the bomber would get a chance to drop its bombs, but most of the time the coup de grace was left to the surface vessel. This scheme of handling the submarine menace, later known as the "hunter-killer" method, became standard procedure throughout the war in both the Atlantic and the Pacific. With all flying, both military and civilian, in the states of California Oregon, and Washington under my control, we had plenty of opportunity to train the fighters in interception of other aircraft in the air. Fighter control centers were established in Seattle, Washington, Portland, Oregon, San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego; into them was fed a continuous stream of information from thousands of volunteer civilian ground observers, who telephoned aircraft sightings in to the nearest control center. At these centers, where all air traffic was plotted by more civilian volunteers working in shifts twenty-four hours a day, Air Force, Navy, and civil airline controllers identified the aircraft from flight schedules. Markers representing the airplanes were kept moving over a huge flat map of the area by the plotters, in accordance with the in formation coming in from the ground-observer stations. All flight schedules had to be furnished us and approved before an airplane could fly in our area of responsibility. If an airplane was sighted which could not be identified by any of our controllers, fighters from one of my airdromes were dispatched to intercept the intruder and escort him to the nearest landing field for identification. The scheme worked with surprisingly little interference with either military or civil air traffic. Once in a while someone would neglect to notify us of a flight and would find himself forced down. I remember one time "Tom" Girdler, the steel tycoon, who had a private plane and who had just taken over the management of Consolidated Aircraft at San Diego, decided that he could cross the Arizona-California line and visit his own factory without asking any permission from anyone. Our fighters picked him up, called his pilot on the radio, and ordered the plane landed at a nearby airdrome. A little hesitancy on the part of Girdler's pilot prompted the observation that the fighters' guns were loaded and the argument was settled immediately. Mr. Girdler didn't quite approve and so stated rather forcibly on landing, but our fighter pilot acted as a well-bred policeman should, explained the system and the fact that he was simply carrying out his orders. He then called the Los Angeles control center, received permission for Mr. Girdler to proceed, and escorted him all the way to San Diego. I saw Tom a couple of days later. Much to my gratification, he was loud in his praises of the youngster and the system. He said he had not understood the situation or he would never have tried to crash through and, with his plant so close to a possible raid from some clandestine base which Jap agents might have established in Lower California, he was glad that our surveillance and control were that good.

On another occasion Admiral McCain, in charge of the Naval Base at San Diego, found himself intercepted on the way to Los Angeles when his operations officer at the Navy field at San Diego neglected to notify either the Los Angeles or the San Diego control center of the flight. McCain was also a bit more than annoyed at first, but, when he found out whose fault it was, he promptly replaced the offending operations officer.

Our radar warning service was a bit sketchy. We had only six sets to cover the whole West Coast from Seattle to San Diego and some of our operators were still learning how to operate their equipment. Our fighters took off on many wild goose chases to intercept "big formations of unknown aircraft" spotted out over the Pacific and presumably coming from a Jap aircraft carrier. We never found these "enemy" attackers, but it was good practice for the fighters, to see how fast they could get going, and for the bombers, who would load their bombs and go on the alert to take off as soon as the "enemy" carrier could be located. One morning it looked like the real thing. The radar scope clearly showed a lot of "spots" at fairly low altitude about fifty miles due west of the Golden Gate. In less than five minutes our whole available fighter force in the San Francisco or area, totaling about 35 P-38s, was roaring out over the Pacific for the big "kill." All fighter and bomber squadrons on the West Coast were alerted and told to stand by for orders. A half hour later, I called everything off and told the gang to go back to breakfast. An incoming vessel had unloaded its garbage at the point where the radar operatc)r had observed the "enemy" formation, and a few thousand sea gulls, wheeling and diving at this welcome meal, had been picked up on rhe radar scope and caused the illusion. The kids were disgusted but I was just as well satisfied. It was not time yet to send my green fighter pilots who were just learning how to fly the P-38 and who knew practically nothing of aerial gunnery up against the seasoned Nip veterans of the Pearl Harbor, Manila, and Hong Kong operations.

The day before I was to take off for Australia, I went over to General DeWitt's headquarters to say goodbye. He was very complimentary about my show under him and said how sorry he was to have me leave but that he knew how I felt about going to a real combat theater. and wished he were going with me. He showed me a message that he had sent to General MacArthur the day I had returned from Washington I and told him where I was going. The message read: "Major General George C. Kenney Air Corps has received orders relieving him from duty Fourth Air Force this command and directing him report you for assignment stop Regret to lose him but congratulate you stop He is a practical experienced flyer with initiative comma highly qualified professionally comma good head comma good judgment and common sense stop High leadership qualities clear conception of organization and ability to apply it stop Cooperative loyal dependable with fine personality stop Best general officer in Air Force I know qualified for high command stop Has I demonstrated this here stop Best wishes."

DeWitt then grinned and said, "Now read this," and handed me MacArthur's slightly "I'm from Missouri" answer: "Personal for General DeWitt stop Appreciate deeply your fine wire and am delighted at your high professional opinion of Kenney stop He will have every opportunity here for the complete application of highest qualities of generalship stop Wish you and the Fourth Army could join me here we need you badly."

We both chuckled over it, shook hands, and wished each other luck for the duration.

At 9:30, the evening of July 21, with Major General Miff Harmon and his staff, Bill Benn and I took off from Hamilton Field, about thirty miles north of San Francisco, and headed west for Hickam Field, Oahu, Hawaiian Islands.

Shortly after daybreak the next morning we circled Pearl Harbor and landed at Hickam Field. While Pearl Harbor still showed the scars of the Jap attack of last December 7, with the Oklahoma still lying capsized on the bottom and the Arizona a tangled mass of twisted wreckage sticking up out of the water, the whole island of Oahu was bustling with activity. Both Army and Navy had certainly become "shelter" conscious. Everybody seemed to be digging in. Fuel storage tanks were being installed underground. A complete underground headquarters was in operation by the Army Air Force and a huge air depot and engine overhaul plant was being constructed by tunneling into the side of a mountain.

Hickam Field and Wheeler Field, the two Army airdromes at the time of the big Jap attack, still showed the effects of the disaster. Hangars, barracks and warehouses, burned and wrecked during the bombing, had not yet been rebuilt. There was no doubt about it, Hawaii had been in the war and, from all the digging going on, they had not forgotten it either.

When I asked about the news of the war out where I was going, I learned that, the day we left San Francisco, the Japs had made a new landing on the north coast of New Guinea at a place called Band and had started driving the Australians back along the trail over the Owen Stanley Mountains toward Port Moresby. MacArthur's communiqué spoke of the landing being opposed by our aircraft, which had sunk some vessels but had not stopped the invasion. I figured that it probably meant more trouble for me. Anyhow I'd find out in a few days.

On the 24th, we flew to Canton Island and spent the night at the Pan American Hotel which had been taken over by the Navy, who had done a real job blasting a channel through the coral reef to get an anchorage for vessels and building an excellent flying field on the atoll itself. A squadron of Army Air Force P-39 fighters was stationed there for protection from Jap air attack, although the Nips had no airdromes within operating range. If an aircraft carrier should get close enough to threaten the place, this one P-39 squadron couldn't do anything about it except be the gesture of defense that it really was. As a matter of fact, if the Japs had really wanted Canton Island, they wouldn't have needed much of an expedition to take it. It was practically defenseless against any decently organized attack.

The next day we arrived at Nandi in the Fiji Islands about eleven o'clock in the morning. We taxied up in front of a hangar, stopped the engines, got out, and looked around to see if anyone lived in the place. We had been in radio communication, but there certainly was no welcoming party for General Miff Harmon, the new commander of the South Pacific Theater, which included Fiji. After about fifteen minutes, a young lieutenant hurriedly drove up in a jeep and asked for General Harmon. Miff identified himself and was handed a message from the colonel commanding the Nandi Base, saying that he would see him at mess at 12:30, as at the moment he was taking a sun bath. Miff handed me the note without saying a word. I read it and handed it back to him, also without a word. Miff put it in his pocket and said, "Let's go find where we are going to stay and where they serve that mess the colonel mentioned.'

I suspected that there would be a new commander there shortly. (Note: There was, although he did hold the job for another week.)

Harmon's new command included an American Infantry Division, the 38th, which was relieving the New Zealand troops who were pulling out. We went over to their headquarters and got briefed on how they would defend the place if the Japs should try to take over Fiji. It sounded too much like the old textbook stuff to be very impressive. I didn't get the impression that they realized that World War Two differed radically from World War One. However, while we may get pushed around rather roughly at first, we generally learn fast. The bad thing about it is that, in war, it costs lives to learn that way.

To take care of the air situation, Harmon had a couple of P-39 fighter squadrons and two squadrons of B-26 medium bombers stationed at Nandi to defend the Fiji Islands, along with a few New Zealand reconnaissance planes which were helping out on antisubmarine patrol. It wasn't much more than a token force, at best.

So far, I had seen nothing to indicate that our air line of communication across the Pacific was very secure. Canton was wide-open and any one of the Fiji Islands could have been taken easily, including Viti Levu, the one that Nandi is on, and the only one defended at all. If either of these links in the chain were taken out, the air route would be gone and the ship distance to Australia increased by at least another thousand miles to keep out of range of Jap bombers that would then be based at our former Canton or Fiji airdromes.

Benn and I had been discussing low-altitude bombing all the way from San Francisco. It looked as though there might be something in dropping a bomb, with a five-second-delay fuze, from level flight at an altitude of about fifty feet and a few hundred feet away from a vessel, with the idea of having the bomb skip along the water until it bumped into the side of the ship. In the few seconds remaining, the bomb should sink just about far enough so that when it went off it would blow the bottom out of the ship. In the meantime, the airplane would have hurdled the enemy vessel and would get far enough away so that it would not be vulnerable to the explosion and every one would be happy except the Japs on board the sinking ship.

The more we talked about the scheme, the more enthusiastic we got, so finally we borrowed a B-26 from the boys at Nandi, loaded on some dummy bombs, and tried the idea out against some coral knobs just offshore. It was quite evident that it was going to take quite a bit of experimental flying to determine the proper height for release of the bomb and how far from the ship it should be released. From this first experiment it looked as though 100-feet altitude and a distance of about 400 yards would be somewhere near right. We bounced some bombs right over the targets, others sank without bouncing, but finally they began skipping along just like flat stones. Benn and I both agreed that we would have to get some more firepower up in the nose of the bomber to cover us coming in on the attack if the Jap vessels had very much gun protection on their decks, but it looked as though we had something. The lads at Fiji didn't seem to think much of the idea but I decided that as soon as we got time after we got to Australia I would put Benn to work on it. He was really enthusiastic about it, particularly after we began to score some good "skips" against the coral knobs.

On July 28 the whole party hopped over to Plaine des Gaiac, a new field that American engineers had built on the west coast of New Caledonia, a couple of hundred miles north west of Noumea where Miff's headquarters had been located. Another plane flew up from Noumea to ferry Miff and his party to their new home, so Benn and I pushed off right after lunch for Brisbane, Australia, on the last leg of our trans Pacific joy ride. My trouble-shooting job was about to start.

II WITH MacARTHUR IN AUSTRALIA

We had excellent weather all the way from New Caledonia, which gave us a chance to appreciate the beautiful blue water of Australia's east coast and the startling green colors around the pink and white coral reefs offshore. The land itself made you feel at home. Here were well-kept farms and villages, beaches that looked as though they were used as summer resorts, and rivers with wharves and boats on them. After all the water, atolls, and jungle-covered islands I had seen for the past week I was glad to be arriving among people and civilization again.

We crossed the coastline, flew inland across the city of Brisbane, Australia's third largest city, sprawling on both sides of a river and looking to be about the size of Cincinnati, Ohio. with its multi-storied business district, apartment houses, and the outskirt fringe dotted with bungaIow-type single houses, from the air it could have been any one of a dozen Midwest American cities.

Just before sundown, we landed at Amberley Field, about twenty miles west of Brisbane. As we got out of the airplane, a Royal Australian Air Force billeting officer at once took me in tow and in a few minutes I was on my way to town assigned to Flat 13 in Lennon's Hotel. Benn was also assigned there. It was explained that only the top brass and their aides lived there, as it was not only the best hotel in town but the only one that was air-conditioned.

The air-conditioned part didn't interest me very much as August is a winter month in Australia and, although it was only twenty-eight degrees below the equator or about the same distance south that Tampa, Florida, is north, the wind was chilly enough so that I was glad I had on an overcoat.

Flat 13, however, sounded all right. Although I don't claim to be superstitious, a lot of good things have happened to me with that number involved. Back in 1917 I passed my flying tests, which first entitled me to wear pilot's wings, on the thirteenth. I left New York to go overseas in World War I on that date; my orders sending me to the front were dated February 13, 1918 I shot down my first German plane on the thirteenth, and so on. That number on my door at Lennon's Hotel looked like a good start.

After dinner I spent a couple of hours talking to Major General Richard K. Sutherland, General MacArthur's Chief of Staff. I had known him since 1933 when we were classmates at the Army War College in Washington. While a brilliant, hard working officer, Sutherland had always rubbed people the wrong way. He was egotistic, like most people, but an unfortunate bit of arrogance combined with his egotism had made him almost universally disliked. However, he was smart, capable of a lot of work, and from my contacts with him I had found he knew so many of the answers that I could understand why General MacArthur had picked him for his chief of staff. I got along with him at the Army War College when we were on committees together and I decided that I'd get along with him here, too, although I might have to remind him once in a while that I was the one that had the answers on questions dealing with the Air Force. Sometimes, it seemed to me, Sutherland was inclined to overemphasize his smattering of knowledge of aviation.

It didn't take long for me to learn what a terrible state the Air Forces out here were in. Sutherland started out right at the beginning on December 8, 1941. He said that he advised General Lewis H. Brereton, the Air Commander in the Philippines at that time, to move his airplanes to Mindanao and that, as Brereton didn't do it, the loss of our planes on the ground to the Jap bombing and strafing attack was Brereton's fault. He claimed that, following the attack, our air officers and men were so confused and bomb-happy that the military police were busy for days rounding them up around Manila. He castigated all the senior air officers except Brigadier General H. H. George, Brereton's Fighter Commander in the Philippines, who was killed in May 1942 at Darwin, Australia, when he was hit by an airplane which swerved off the runway.

I had known "Hal" George ever since World War I. He was a good boy and, according to all the reports, he had been a thorn in the side of the Japs in the Philippines right up to the time he had gotten down to his last fighter plane. His loss by that unfortunate accident at Darwin was another piece of bad luck for George Brett.

The more I heard about those opening events of the war in the Philippines the more it seemed to me that the confusion that day had not been confined to the Air Force. These stories about everyone else being calm and collected were told and retold with so much emphasis that I began to suspect they were alibis.

Sutherland finally worked up to present-day conditions. Brett certainly was in wrong. Nothing that he did was right. Sutherland said they had almost had to drive Brett out of Melbourne when MacArthur's headquarters moved from there a couple of weeks previously to the present location in Brisbane. According to Sutherland, none of Brett's staff or senior commanders was any good, the pilots didn't know much about flying, the bombers couldn't hit anything and knew nothing about proper maintenance of their equipment or how to handle their supplies. He also thought there was some question about the kids having much stomach for fighting. He thought the Australians were about as undisciplined, untrained, over advertised, and generally useless as the Air Force. In fact, I heard just about everyone hauled over the coals except Douglas MacArthur and Richard K. Sutherland.

Come to think of it, he did say one thing good about the men of the Air Force. It seemed that up on Bataan, after all their air planes were gone and they had been given some infantry training, they made good ground troops....

This was going to be fun. Already it began to look like a real Number One double-shooting job.

The next morning I saw General Brett at Allied Air Force headquarters on the fifth floor of the AMP Building, a nine story Life-insurance building which had been taken over by Allied Headquarters and in which General MacArthur and his staff, together with the Air and the Navy commands, maintained their offices. We talked for a while and then I went up stairs to the eighth floor to report to General MacArthur. General Brett did not go with me. Sutherland said the "Old Man" was in, so I walked into his office and introduced myself. The general shook hands, said he was glad to see me, and told me to sit down.

For the next half hour, as he talked while pacing back and forth across the room, I really heard about the shortcomings of the Air Force. As he warmed up to his subject, the short comings became more and more serious, until finally there was nothing left but an inefficient rabble of boulevard shock troops whose contribution to the war effort was practically nil. He thought that, properly handled, they could do something but that so far they had accomplished so little that there was nothing to justify all the boasting the Air Force had been indulging in for years. He had no use for anyone in the whole organization from Brett down to and including the rank of colonel. There had been a lot of promotions made which were not only undeserved but which had been made by Washington on Brett's recommendations. If they had come to him, he would have disapproved the lot. In fact, he believed that his own staff could take over and run the Air Force out here better than it had been run so far.

Finally he expressed the opinion that the air personnel had gone beyond just being antagonistic to his headquarters, to the point of disloyalty. He would not stand for disloyalty. He demanded loyalty from me and everyone in the Air Force or he would get rid of them.

At this point he paused and I decided it was time for me to lay my cards on the table. I didn't know General MacArthur any too well as I had just met him a few times when he was Chief of Staff of the Army six years before, but if he was as big a man as I thought he was, he would listen to me and give me a chance to sell my stuff. If not, this was a good time to find out about it even if I took the next plane back to the United States. I got up and started talking.

I told him that as long as he had had enough confidence in me to ask for me to be sent out here to run his air show for him, I intended to do that very thing. I knew how to run an air force as well or better than anyone else and, while there were undoubtedly a lot of things wrong with his show, I intended to correct them and do a real job. I realized that so far the Air Force had not accomplished much but said that, from now on, they would produce results. As far as the business of loyalty was concerned, I added that, while I had been in hot water in the Army on numerous occasions, there had never been any question of my loyalty to the one I was working for. I would be loyal to him and I would demand of everyone under me that they be loyal, too. If at any time this could not be maintained, I would come and tell him so and at that time I would be packed up and ready for the orders sending me back home.

The general listened without a change of expression on his face. The eyes, however, had lost the angry look that they had had while he was talking. They had become shrewd, calculating, analyzing, appraising. He walked toward me and put his arm around my shoulder. "George," he said, "I think we are going to get along together all right."

I knew then that we would. I had been talking with a big man and I have never known a truly big man that I couldn't get along with.

We sat down and chatted for over an hour. I told him that General Marshall, Admiral King, and Harry Hopkins had gone to England to discuss with the British some operations to take the pressure off the Russians and that the next move would be to go into North Africa. He thought it a mistake and a poor gamble. If the Germans should move into Spain, Gibraltar would fall, closing the Mediterranean, and German aircraft operating from Spanish bases would wreck the whole show. Even if the Germans did not move into Spain, the results to be obtained by fighting our way east along the Mediterranean coast would not be worth the effort. It would be far better to land in France just as soon as the necessary force were built up and the proper degree of air superiority attained. Landing in Africa would not shorten the war anywhere near as quickly as landing on the European continent. Actually, by landing in Africa, our forces would be dissipated and the eventual landing in Europe thereby delayed.

As far as taking the pressure off Russia was concerned, he did not share the prevalent view that Germany was about to knock them out of the war. He said that, while the German was a better soldier than the Russian, Hitler was overextending himself without adequate rail and road communications and it had already been demonstrated that in winter the German offense could not move and even trying to hold their positions was bleeding them white. There weren't enough Germans to keep this process going forever, especially against the almost inexhaustible manpower reserves of Russia. Hitler was trying to conquer too much geography and in the long run the Germans would exhaust themselves.

The General told me that on the 7th of August, the South Pacific forces were to land at Tulagi and Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands. The First Marine Division was to make the landing, supported by the available fleet units. He had been called upon to furnish naval and air support of the show and had already turned over a cruiser and a couple of destroyers from the naval forces under him which were commanded by Admiral Leary. He wanted to know what my recommendations were for the use of the Air Force. I told him that I didn't have any as I didn't know what there was to work with, but I intended to fly to New Guinea that night, look the show over there, and visit the airdromes in the Townsville area on the way back to Brisbane about the 2nd of August. I said we would do everything possible to help him carry out his commitments, but that I would prefer to tell him what that "possible" was when I got back. General MacArthur agreed and said, "As soon as you get back, come in and see me and we'll have another talk." We shook hands and I left.

MacArthur looked a little tired, drawn, and nervous. Physically he was in excellent shape for a man of sixty-three. He had a little less hair than when I last saw him six years ago, but it was all black. He still had the same trim figure and took the same long graceful strides when he walked. His eyes were keen and you sensed that that wise old brain of his was working all the time.

He wanted to get going but he hadn't anything to go with. He felt that Washington had let him down and he was afraid that they would continue to do so. He had two American infantry divisions, the 32nd and the 41st, but they still needed training. The Australian militia troops up in New Guinea were having a tough time and they were not considered first class combat troops, anyhow. The 7th Australian Division was back from the Middle East and they were about the only veteran trained fighting unit that the General could figure on for immediate action. His naval force, a mixed Australian and American show, was small and he had no amphibious equipment and little hope of getting any for a long time. All that could be spared was going to the South Pacific effort in the Solomons. The amount of transport shipping was barely sufficient to supply the existing garrisons in New Guinea. his Allied Air Force of Australian and American squadrons was not only small but what there was had not impressed him very favorably to date. No wonder he looked a little depressed.

I went back downstairs to see Brett. He took me around to meet all the Allied Air staff and tried to explain the organization to me. This directorate system of his, with about a dozen people issuing orders in the commander's name, was too complicated for me. I decided to see how it worked first, but I was afraid I was not smart enough to figure it out. Furthermore, it looked to me as though there were too many people in the headquarters. I thought I'd better see what could be done to cut down on the overhead and plow those people back into the combat squadrons.

In order to make it a truly Allied organization, the Americans and the Australians were thoroughly mixed everywhere, not only in the staffs but even in the airplane crews. An Australian pilot on a bomber, for example, might have an American co-pilot, an Australian bombardier, an American navigator, and a mixed collection of machine-gunners. It sounded screwy but maybe it was working. That was another thing I'd have to find out about.

Air Vice-Marshal Bostock of the RAAF (Royal Australian Air Force) was Brett's Chief of Staff of the Allied Air Forces. He looked gruff and tough and was very anti-GHQ, like all the air crowd I'd talked to so far, but he impressed me as being honest and I believed that, if he would work with me at all, he would be loyal to me. A big, red-faced, jolly Group Captain Waiters of the RAAF was Director of Operations, and Air Commodore Hewitt, also RAAF, was Director of Intelligence. Both had several American officers as assistants.

Only an advanced echelon of the American part of Brett's air organization was in Brisbane. The rear echelon was still back on the south coast of Australia, 800 miles away, at Melbourne, under Major General Rush B. Lincoln. It was just as if the headquarters were trying to function at Chicago with its rear echelon in New Orleans, except that we would have had much better telephone service. All personnel orders were is sued through Melbourne, the personnel and supply records were all down there, and, as far as I could learn, the boys were really bedded down to stay. That would be another thing for me to look into.

Brett told me of his troubles with Sutherland. They just didn't get along. Brett said he had so much trouble getting past Sutherland to see MacArthur that he hadn't seen the General for weeks and he just talked to Sutherland on the telephone when he had to.

Brett said it would take him several days to pack up and that he expected to leave about the 3rd of August. I told him I was going up to Port Moresby that night to look things over and he said to take his airplane, an old B-17 which had been named "The Swoose." The Swoose was supposed to be half swan and half goose; the plane had been patched and rebuilt from pieces of other wrecked B-17s.

I asked about Brigadier Generals Walker and Whitehead. Brett said he had sent both of them to Darwin to look things over there and become familiar with the situation in North west Australia and that he had intended to have them do similar tours in Townsville and New Guinea before bringing them back into his own headquarters. He said he though Whitehead had returned to Townsville, so I asked him to have "Whitey" meet me there and accompany me to New Guinea. Brett said he would send a wire to Major General Ralph Royce, the Northeast Area commander at Townsville, to that effect and have Royce go to New Guinea with me to show me around.

I took off for Townsville at eleven o'clock that night. Four hours later we landed, picked up Royce and Whitehead and an Australian civilian named Robinson, who, according to Royce, owned a piece of everything in the country and, as a leading industrialist, had a big drag with the government.

On the way to New Guinea over the 700-mile stretch of the Coral Sea between Townsville, Australia, and Port Moresby, New Guinea, Robinson spoke of knowing President Roosevelt and Winston Churchill and I gathered that he acted as a sort of unofficial ambassador for the Premier, Mr. Curtin. He had been quite helpful to Brett and was quite pro-American. He gave you the impression that he was a big shot and I believed that he was. He asked me to look him up in Melbourne and to call on him for help any time I needed it. I decided I'd remember him. I would probably need all the help I could get from any source before I got through with this job.

Soon after daybreak I got my first sight of New Guinea. The dark, forbidding mountain mass of the backbone of the country, the Owen Stanley range, rising sharply from a few miles back of the coastline to nearly twelve thousand feet and covered with rain-forest jungle was truly awe-inspiring. You didn't have to read about it to know that here was raw, primitive, wild, unexplored territory.

We picked up the now familiar line of coral reefs offshore, crossed the two-mile-wide calm lagoon, and flew over the beautiful little harbor of Port Moresby with the town and wharves on one side and perhaps a hundred native huts on stilts bordering the water's edge on the other. A few flat areas along river courses could be seen to the north and east of the harbor, where the bulldozers were at work raising huge clouds of dust but the general impression was that even the foothills of the Owen Stanleys that rimmed the harbor and separated the landing areas were rough and rugged. I figured that living in New Guinea would be like that, too.

About seven in the morning we landed at Seven Mile strip, just north of the town of Port Moresby. The airplane immediately took off for Horn Island on the northeast tip of Australia, in order to be out of danger from the daily morning Jap air attacks coming from Lae, Salamaua, and Band on the north coast, where the Nips had air bases. Seven Mile strip was used only as an advanced refueling point for the Australian-based bombers. It was defended by some Australian antiaircraft artillery and by the American 35th Fighter Group, equipped with P-39s.

Brigadier General "Mike" Scanlon, who was in command of the Air Forces in New Guinea, met us and accompanied us on an inspection of the camps and the construction of several other fields in the area. I had known Mike ever since 1918 and liked him immensely, but he was miscast in this job. He had been an air attaché in Rome and London for the best part of the last ten years, with a tour as intelligence officer in Washington. I don't know why they sent him up to New Guinea; he was not an operator and everyone from the kids on up knew it.

The set-up was really chaotic. Missions were assigned by the Director of Bombardment at Brisbane; Royce at Townsville passed the word to the 19th Bombardment Group at Mareeba, which was a couple of hundred miles north of Townsville; and the 19th Group sent the number of airplanes it had in commission to Port Moresby, where they were refueled, given their final "briefing" on weather conditions along the route to the target and whatever data had been picked up by air reconnaissance. The fighter group at Port Moresby sat around waiting for the Japs to come over and tried to get off the ground in time to intercept them, which they seldom did, as the warning service rarely gave the fighters over five minutes' notice that the Nip planes were on the way. Scanlon had the authority to use any aircraft in New Guinea in an emergency, if targets of opportunity such as Jap shipping came within range, and this authority had to be exercised occasionally when the bombardment planes arrived without knowing exactly what they were supposed to do.

The briefing was done entirely by Australian personnel. The system did not contemplate utilizing the squadron or group organization but dispatched whatever number of airplanes was able to get off the ground. No one seemed to be designated as formation leader and even the matter of assembly of individual planes was ignored. The aircraft might or might not get together on the way to the target. On the average, seven to nine bombers usually came up from Australia. Six would probably get off on the raid. The rake-off generally took about one hour until they had all cleared the airdrome and usually within another hour two would be back on account of motor trouble. Others came back later on account of engine trouble or weather conditions, so that from one to three usually arrived at the target. If enemy airplanes were seen along the route, however, all bombs and auxiliary fuel were immediately jettisoned and the mission abandoned. The personnel was obsessed with the idea that a single bullet would detonate the bombs and blow up the whole works. The bombs, of course, were not that sensitive but no one had explained it to the kids, so they didn't know any better.

The weather service was not even sketchy. Weather fore casts were prepared by the Australian weather section at Port Moresby from charts of preceding years which purported to show what would happen this year. During July, the youngsters told me, three quarters of all bomber missions had been abandoned on account of weather. We could have done better than that by tossing a coin to see whether to go or not.

During the morning I attended a briefing down at Seven Mile Airdrome. The target was listed as Rabaul, the main Jap base in New Britain. Before the war Rabaul was a town of about 15,000. It had an excellent harbor and was defended by a heavy concentration of antiaircraft guns and two airdromes at Lakunai and Vunakanau. No particular point was assigned as target and I found out afterward that nobody expected air planes to get that far anyhow, but, if they did, the town itself was a good target and there were always vessels in the harbor and the two airdromes were also considered worth while. The Australian weather man, in giving the weather conditions along the route and the forecast, mentioned "rine" clouds. I heard one of the youngsters in the back of the room turn to his co-pilot and say, "What are rine clouds?" The co-pilot answered, "I think he said `rime.' Probably the kind of clouds that have rime ice." The pilot remarked that he did not think that they had ice this close to the equator but then remembered that he had once picked up some ice at 20,000 feet over the Mojave Desert in California, and guessed that that was what the Australian weather man probably meant, after all. Several of the crews who overheard this conversation then became a little bit worried as they had no de-icing boots on their wings or fluid for the stinger rings to keep ice off of the propeller. I relieved their apprehensions by explaining to them that in the Australian accent "rain" became "rine.'

I then told Whitehead to see that in future an American staff officer was present at all briefings by the Australians and that as soon as I took over officially he was to form an American staff for operations in New Guinea and that this staff would be in charge of or at least supervise all briefings. Furthermore, that from then on we would have a definite primary, secondary, and tertiary target assigned for every mission.

About noon the Japs raided Seven Mile with twelve bombers escorted by fifteen fighters which came in at twenty thousand feet and laid a string of bombs diagonally across one end of the runway and into the dispersal area where our fighters and a few A-24 dive bombers were parked. A couple of dam aged P-39s didn't need any more work done on them, three A-24s were burned up, and a few drums of gasoline were set on fire, shooting up huge flames that probably encouraged the Jap pilots to go home and turn in their usual report of heavy damage to the place. A few other aircraft were holed but not seriously. Luckily the last of the five bombers that had come in from Mareeba at daybreak had left for a raid on Rabaul about ten minutes before the Japs arrived. One bomb hit on the end of the runway but that damage was repaired in about twenty minutes. I had a grandstand seat from a slit trench on the side of a small hill just off the edge of and overlooking Seven Mile, although I did not enjoy the spectacle as much as I might have under better conditions. The trench was full of muddy water and there were at least six too many people in with me.

There was no combat interception. The fighter-group commander seemed a bit proud of the fact that he had gotten ten P-39s off the ground before the Japs arrived overhead. With forty P-39s on the airdrome, I didn't think that was a very good percentage but I found that most of the rest were out of commission because they couldn't get engines, propellers, and spare parts up from Australia to replace stuff that had worn out or been shot up in action. Due to the lateness of the warning, which only gave four minutes' notice, the fighters, of course, could not climb to twenty thousand feet to engage the Jap bombers, which did their stuff and left for home without interference. Even the antiaircraft fire was ineffective. It looked, from where I was, short of the twenty-thousand-foot level and scattered all over the sky.

One thing was certain. No matter what I accomplished, it would be an improvement. It couldn't be much worse.

Throughout the whole area the camps were poorly laid out and the food situation was extremely bad. There was no mosquito-control discipline and the malaria and dysentery rates were so high that two months' duty in New Guinea was about all that the units could stand before they had to be relieved and sent back to Australia. Everyone spoke of losing fifteen to thirty pounds of weight during a two months' tour in Port Moresby. The piece de resistance for all meals, which was canned Australian M-and-V (meat-and-vegetable ) ration, was cooked, or rather heated, and served in the open as there was no mosquito screening anywhere. Swarms of flies competed with you for the food and, unless you kept one hand busy waving them off as you ate, you were liable to lose the contest. Even while walking around, the pests worked on you and it didn't take long to figure out what the kids meant when they referred to the constant movement of your hands in front of your face as "the New Guinea salute." Now, just throw in a continuous choking dust that seemed to hang in the hot, humid atmosphere and you began to realize that, in spite of the truly gorgeous mountain scenery and the heavenly blue of the ocean, it would be hard to sell the glamour of this part of the South Seas to the GIs. If you were thinking of dusky but fair sarong- or grass-skirt-clad girls, flitting among the palm trees, you were in for another shock. There were a few Papuan women in evidence around the native villages. They were dusky, in fact quite so, and they wore grass skirts, but from there on the dream faded. They forgot to give the poor girls any beauty to start with and the tattooing of tribal marks on their faces didn't help any. The prevalent mode of hair dressing called for the naturally fuzzy, kinky black hair to stand out from the head. This was accomplished by thoroughly applying pig grease, which got results apparent to the eye and, in the down-wind direction for a distance of at least a hundred yards, to the nose as well.

Both men and women worked around the camps building huts of bamboo framework thatched with palm leaves. The huts looked picturesque, kept out the rain, afforded shelter from the sun, and were nice things to stand in front of while you had your picture taken to send home to the folks, but after a short time they served as homes for a million varieties of spiders, scorpions, centipedes, lizards, and even birds. Luckily they were highly inflammable and accordingly, through accident or design, you didn't stay in the same house too long.

As New Guinea is close to the equator, darkness succeeded daylight with scarcely any twilight. You had just paused to ad mire the truly wonderful color display of the sunset, when blackness and the mosquitoes descended upon you. The mosquito problem was not being taken care of, with the result that the malaria rate was appalling. Most of the men had mosquito netting, but a large percentage of it was tom in places or full of holes and afforded little protection.

They really had mosquitoes up there. Big ones that dwarfed the famous New Jersey variety. I heard the usual yarn with a new locale when one of the kids tried to keep a straight face as he told me that one of them had landed over on the edge of the strip the other evening just after dark and the emergency crew had refueled it with twenty gallons of gasoline before they found out it wasn't a P-39.

The next morning I returned to Townsville with Royce and Robinson, the Australian "billionaire." I told Royce that he was going home as Arnold had a job for him running the First Air Force, which was a training show with headquarters at Mitchel Field in New York. He said he was glad to go and would like to have about ten days to straighten out his affairs and get packed up. I told Benn to make arrangements for space on a plane going back about August 10th. Royce said Walker was due in Townsville from a tour in Darwin, in a few days and asked whether or not I wanted him in Brisbane. I said that as soon as Royce left I wanted Walker to take charge in Townsville as head of a Bomber Command which I would organize as soon as I got back to my headquarters in Brisbaine Whitehead would stay in Port Moresby, succeeding Scanlon. I asked Royce when Walker got in to show him the ropes and help him all he could before he left.

I decided to leave the Townsville show for Walker to straighten out. It turned out to be another scrambled outfit of Australians and Americans, with so many lines of responsibility, control, and coordination on the organizational chart Chat it resembled a can of worms as you looked at it. I made a note to tell Walker to take charge, tear up that chart, and have no one issue orders around there except himself. After he got things operating simply, quickly, and efficiently he could draw a new chart if he wanted to. The top Australian and Royce's Chief of Staff at Townsville was Air Commodore Lukis, a big likable individual who reminded me of Mike Scanlon. They even had the same kind of mustache. I didn't get much information out of him. In fact, the only one in Townsville who had the answers to very many of my questions was an Australian RAAF officer named Group Captain Goring. They called him "Bull," but he was active, intelligent, knew the theater, and had ideas about how to fight the Japs. He had flown and been all over the New Guinea country before the war and also knew New Britain, New Ireland, and the Admiralty Islands. I decided to keep my eye on him for future reference. I asked Goring about landing-field possibilities along the north coast of New Guinea between the eastern end of Milne Bay and Band where the Japs were. He told me that halfway between Milne Bay and Band, at a place called Wanigela Mission, there was a good natural landing field, approximately a mile long and half a mile wide, normally covered with the native grass called kunai which grew six to eight feet high. A few weeks previously an Australian Hudson reconnaissance plane had a forced landing there. The crew got the natives to cut a path through the grass and, after a second Hudson had flown up from Port Moresby and made repairs on the first airplane, both of them took off and returned home. This looked like something for me to investigate as a possibility for the future, the next time I went to New Guinea.

That afternoon I flew to Mareeba, where the 19th Bombardment Group equipped with B-17s was stationed, and talked with Colonel Carmichael, the group commander, and the youngsters. Carmichael had not had command very long but he seemed to have taken hold of the show and was trying. He had a real job on his hands and it was apparent that I would have to help him a lot. Walker would have to help, too. The 19th Group had been kicked out of the Philippines and out of Java and kicked around ever since. They had had innumerable group commanders who had come and gone without leaving anything behind them. The crews were thinking only of going home. Their morale was at a low ebb and they didn't care who knew it. The supply situation was appalling. Out of the thirty two B-17s at Mareeba, eighteen were out of commission for lack of engines and tail wheels. About half of them were old model B-17s, without the underneath ball turret to protect the airplane from attack from below, and in addition they were pretty well worn out. Anywhere else but this theater they would probably have been withdrawn from combat, but they were all we had so I'd have to use them if we wanted to keep the war going. Airplanes were continually being robbed to get parts to keep others running. At that moment the group could not have put over four airplanes in the air if called on for immediate action. Requisitions for supplies and spare parts were submitted by the group through Royce's headquarters at Townsville to an advanced air depot at Charters Towers, about sixty miles south of Townsville. Charters Towers, for some reason, sent the requisitions to Melbourne. Melbourne forwarded them to Tocumwal, the main Air Force depot about one hundred miles north of Melbourne. An average time of one month elapsed from the time the requisition started until it was returned, generally with the notation "Not available" or "Improperly filled out."

I said I didn't believe it, but the kids made me eat my words when they showed me a whole filing case of returned requisition forms. I took along a handful for future reference and as evidence that some of the people in the organization were playing on the wrong team.

I told Carmichael to cancel all flying and put his airplanes in commission for a maximum effort about a week later. I said I'd be back in a few days to talk things over with him again. I got a list of all the bits and pieces he needed to put his airplanes in shape, called Royce and told him not to schedule anything except the usual reconnaissance, and pushed off for Brisbane. It looked as though I'd have to start at Melbourne to get any thing moving. I decided to postpone bothering the Townsville Charters Towers supply organization until I came back in a couple of days to brief Carmichael and see what I could do to fire those kids up a bit. Carmichael told me that no one had received any decorations for months and then just one or two had been passed out. He was told to prepare recommendations for every deserving case in the group and that I would see that they got them promptly. I knew that little bits of pretty ribbon had helped in World War I; maybe they would help in this one, too. Anyhow, it wouldn't hurt to try. The next morning at the office I got General Lincoln on the phone and read him a list of things to ship to Carmichael at once. I told him not to worry about the paper work but to load the stuff in every air plane he had and fly it to Mareeba without consulting Towns Charters Towers, or anybody. Also that I would be in Mareeba in a day or two myself and would check up on deliveries and, if I found that he had delayed for any reason, I would demote a lot of people and send them home on the slowest freight boat I could find. I told him to call me back as soon as he had seen his supply people, report what action he had taken and what the schedule of departures from Melbourne and Tocumwal looked like. A colonel named Frye, who was running a small air depot in Brisbane, came in and I told him to report what requisitions from my list he had in stock and also to give me a forecast right away on how many B-17s then undergoing repair and overhaul at Amberley Field and Eagle Farms, two airdromes a few miles out of Brisbane, would be ready that day, the next day, and each day for the rest of the week.

Brett came in and asked me if I had any objection to his taking the Swoose, his private B-17, for the trip home as far as Hawaii, as it was hard to get air transportation that far by air. I said, "No." He also said that he would like to take Brigadier General Perrin back with him to Washington on temporary duty to help him compile his reports. I said okay, he could have him. I knew Perrin and didn't know what I could use him for. After Brett left, I'd wire Arnold to give Perrin a job in the United States.

I checked in with General MacArthur and talked with him for about two hours. I told him frankly what I thought was wrong with the Air Force set-up in both Australia and New Guinea and discussed the corrective action that I intended to take immediately. I asked him to give me authority to send home anyone that I thought was deadwood. He said, "Go ahead. You have my enthusiastic approval." I then discussed the air situation and told him that I wanted to carry out one primary mission, which was to take out the Jap air strength until we owned the air over New Guinea. That there was no use talking about playing across the street until we got the Nips off of our front lawn. In the meantime, our reconnaissance aircraft would be constantly looking for Jap shipping that should be hit at every feasible opportunity, but we were not going to get anywhere until we had won the air battle. I told him I had called off flying all bombers, B-17s, B-25s, and B-26s, until we could get enough of them in shape to put on a real show; that about August 6, just prior to the coming South Pacific operation to capture Guadalcanal and Tulagi, I would send the maximum number of B-17s against the main Japanese airdrome at Vunakanau, just southeast of Rabaul. The Jap aircraft there would raise the devil with the Navy landing operations if they were not taken out. At the same time, the B-25s and B-26s with fighter escort should be given a mission to clean up the Jap airdromes at Band, Salamaua, and Lae. The effort against the New Guinea airdromes should be continuous until the Jap airpower in New Guinea was destroyed and the runways so badly damaged that they even stopped filling up the holes. In the meantime, I would put everything else in support of the Australian drive along the Kokoda trail. General MacArthur approved this program and said to go ahead, that I had carte blanche to do anything that I wanted to. He said he didn't care how my gang was handled, how they looked, how they dressed, how they behaved, or what they did do, as long as they would fight, shoot down Japs, and put bombs on the targets. When I told him that I hoped to put between sixteen and eighteen B-17s on Vunakanau, he remarked that it would be the heaviest single attack in the Pacific war up to that time. It did seem like a lot of bombers, although the Japs were making it look rather small with their formations of twenty-five to forty bombers with about the same number of escorting fighters whenever they raided us at Darwin.

Back in my office, I asked Brett how many airplanes the Allied Air Forces had in the theater. He said he didn't know but called in the Director of Operations, Group Captain Walters, and Waiters said that he would try to get the information for me right away.

Brigadier General Cart Connell, Lincoln's assistant at Melboume, called me to give a report on how things were moving. They had a few spare engines for the B-17s but only two of their cargo planes would carry them, so only four engines could be flown to Mareeba the next day unless I could send down the one cargo airplane in Brisbane which could carry engines. I told him I would start it south right away. Propellers, tail wheels, and other spares, enough to fix up 12 B-17s, would also leave Tocumwal the next day. I told Connell to keep on shipping the rest of the list I had given them as the war would not stop after this operation. He wanted to know if he couldn't come up to see me about supply matters but I said not until the 19th Group had all the parts necessary to fix up every air plane in Mareeba.

I drove out to Amberley Field and talked with the mixed repair outfit, composed of Australian Air Force mechanics, American Air Force mechanics, and Australian civilians. I told them I wanted the place to operate twenty-four hours a day to finish up the five B-17s in work there. After a few pep talks and some arguments, I got a promise that four of them would be ready by the afternoon of the 5th.

In the evening I invited Benn and several of the lieutenant colonels and majors from Air Headquarters in Brisbane to eat, drink, and talk at Flat 13 at Lennon's. There were a couple of them, named Freddy Smith and Gene Beebe, who looked pretty good. They hadn't been in Australia very long and were anxious to work but didn't seem to be able to find out just what part they were to play in the war. So far they had spent most of their time shuffling papers from one directorate's office to another. There was a Lieutenant Colonel Bill Hipps who seemed to have a lot on the ball, too, but he was a Java veteran and a little tired. He did not say anything about going home but I figured I would use him for a few months and then send him back to the United States for a rest. I decided to clean out all the Philippine and Java veterans as far as possible. Most of them were so tired that they had almost lost interest. If we were to salvage them, they would need a long rest back home. I learned a lot from talking with those kids. Under the existing organization, so many people were putting out instructions, with or without the knowledge of the Commanding General, that no one could tell what the score was. The organization for getting supplies moving around the various gauges of the Australian railroad system and moving them up to the two fronts at Darwin and New Guinea was evidently so complicated that nothing moved. The whole service of supply was centered at Melbourne, which was 2500 miles away from the war in New Guinea. Even orders of the American part of the Allied Air Forces had to be issued from the rear echelon at Melbourne presided over by Major General Rush B. Lincoln. Most of the business was done by mail, although the telephone service was fairly good. The communication between Brisbane and Darwin was mostly by radio, as there was no telephone line between those two points. Communications to New Guinea were telephoned or mailed to Townsville and from there radioed or flown or sent on a boat across the Coral Sea to Port Moresby. The tendency seemed to be to keep every thing in the south on account of the probability that the Japanese would soon seize Darwin and land on the east coast of Australia somewhere between Brisbane and Horn Island. There was a lot of talk about the Brisbane line of defense, which was about twenty-five miles south of the city and upon which the Australians were supposed to rely for the last-ditch defense of Sydney and the country to the south. Everyone seemed to speak of the coming evacuation of New Guinea as a fairly good possibility. The organization was too complicated for me. I decided I would have to simplify it at least to the point where I could understand it myself.

Those youngsters following topside lead seemed to have an intense dislike of GHQ and all American ground organization. Sutherland was definitely unpopular with them. They said that he was dictating practically every action of the Air Force by his instructions to Brett. I told them to lay off the hate campaign. That MacArthur was okay, that he intended to let the Air Force run itself, carrying out general overall missions that he, of course, would approve. I also told them to quit wasting their time worrying about Sutherland, that I would take care of that situation myself, and that I would handle our dealings with the rest of the GHQ organization as well. These lads all wanted to work and I believed they could work. All they needed was somebody to lead them and we wouldn't have to get out of New Guinea or fight along the Brisbane line. However, someone had to go to work and it looked as though the finger were pointing at me.

Officially, Brett remained the Allied Air Force commander for the Southwest Pacific Area until he left for the United States. General MacArthur told me that for the present he was not going to release to the press the fact that I was even in the theater, as he didn't want the Japs to know that he was shaking up his command. However, Brett had already stopped issuing any orders and was helping all he could to get me acquainted with things before he left.

At noon each day, the commanders and top staff officers of the Air Force, the Navy, and the Australian Land Forces, together with a few representatives of GHQ, gathered in the Brisbane Air Force War Room, which was operated by the Air Force Directorate of Intelligence. There we were given the latest information from the combat zones, an analysis of enemy land, sea, and air strengths, locations of units and movements, with an estimate of probable hostile intentions. The briefing was done by reference to a huge map, about twenty feet square; of the whole Pacific theater from China to Hawaii on which colored markers and miniature airplanes and ships were correctly spotted to represent our own and enemy forces. The map was laid out on the floor in front of and a few feet below a raised platform on which we sat. The whole thing was very well done and served to keep us up to date on what was going on in our own and in adjoining theaters. Another valuable feature was that each day the heads and top staff officers of the three services saw each other and had a chance for brief discussion of the common problem: What were we all going to do about defeating the Japs?

General Sir Thomas Blarney, the Australian Land Force commander, took his seat regularly at the daily briefing. He was a short, ruddy-faced, heavy-set man with a good-natured friendly smile and a world of self-confidence. No matter what happened, I didn't believe Blarney would ever get panicky. He appealed to me as a rather solid citizen and a good rock to cling to in time of trouble. He was one of the few people I'd talked to outside of General MacArthur who really believed that we would hold New Guinea.

There was a Major General George Vasey who came in with BIamey that I liked the looks of. He was more like the Australian that we generally visualize, tall, thin, keen-eyed, almost hawk-faced. He was going to New Guinea soon to command the 7th Australian Division in combat and I thought we would hear a lot of him before this war was over. They told me his record with the 7th in the Middle East was excellent.

Vice-Admiral Herbert F. Leary, the Allied Naval commander, was another regular attendant. I'd never met him be fore but he was extremely cordial to me. There was some conflict between Leary and GHQ, but I had enough troubles of my own, so I didn't try to find out anything more. I gathered, however, that a successor to Leary would be on his way out here shortly.

The Australians seemed a little more than worried about being pushed aside by the Americans as soon as our forces and equipment would arrive in sufficient quantities to start offensive action. They are a young, proud, and strongly nationalistic people. So far, they had done most of the fighting in this theater and they wanted to be sure that their place in the sun was going to be recognized. I couldn't blame them and I promptly assured all the RAAF crowd that I was not going to be pro anything but Air Force and that I would fight to get airplanes, engines, and spare parts for both the Americans and the Aussies. I wanted aviators, regardless of nationality, who could fl shoot down Japs, and sink Jap ships.

On the afternoon of the 3rd, Brett told me he was leaving the next day and then went upstairs to say good-bye to General MacArthur. He told me this would make the eighth time he had seen MacArthur since he had arrived in Australia last March.

Later he said the General had been extremely nice to him, had wished him all kinds of luck, and had presented him with the Silver Star Medal.

In the evening I went out to Brett's house where he was giving a farewell cocktail party. The house, called "Braelands," was one of the best in Brisbane. I understood that Robinson had secured it for Brett.

At the party were all the top rank of both the American and Australian forces, lands sea, and air, and a few representatives of General Headquarters. I spent most of the time talking to Sir Thomas Blarney. I discussed the question of Wanigela Mission as a landing-field possibility and asked Blarney if he would let me fly some of his troops in there to occupy it while we built an airdrome. He did not offer any objection but said that he would give us Band in a few weeks. He stated that he intended to reinforce his force on the Kokoda trail, send a really aggressive commander up there, and order the Australians to advance, capture Band, and drive the Japs out of Papua. The Australians had just withdrawn to the Kokoda Pass in the Owen Stanley Mountains and expected to hold there until reinforcements arrived. Blarney seemed a little overconfident of the ability of his troops to make the trip over that extremely difficult, alternately mountainous and swampy trail through the rain forests from Port Moresby to Kokoda and still have enough drive left in them to chase the Japs out of the territory between there and Band itself. I didn't say so to General Blarney but I hoped that his confidence could be transmitted to his troops. From what I had been told in Port Moresby, those men up on the trail were worn out and it wasn't going to take much effort on the part of the Japs to crack the defenses of the Kokoda Pass.

On August 4th at daybreak, General George Brett left for Hawaii in The Swoose, Major Frank Kurtz piloting, taking Brigadier General Perrin with him, and I officially took over the job of Allied Air Force Commander of the Southwest Pacific Area.

Air reconnaissance at daybreak that morning showed a Jap concentration of approximately 150 aircraft, mostly bombers, on Vunakanau airdrome and over fifty fighter planes at Lakunai. The strength at Vunakanau was an increase of nearly 100 aircraft in the past two days. It might be an accident or it might be that the Japs suspected we were up to something in the Solomons.

I went up to General MacArthur's office, gave him the information, and told him that I still intended to attack Vunakanau with the maximum possible B-17 strength on the morning of the 7th as I believed there was a possibility that the Japs had read the Navy's mail and that this might be the reason for the recent heavy air reinforcement in the Rabaul area. I said I would Like to strike earlier but the airplanes had to leave Australia on the 6th in order to refuel and take off from Port Moresby early on the morning of the 7th. In spite of the fact that the crews had been working day and night to get the planes in commission, if I backed up the schedule one day it would mean the difference between a decent-sized attack and one of four or five planes. The General agreed and again asked me how many B-17s I expected would take part in the raid. I told him I hoped that twenty would leave Mareeba and Townsville for Port Moresby on the 6th and I saw no reason why my original estimate of sixteen to eighteen over the target would not hold. He was very enthusiastic and wanted to know who was going to lead the show. I told him that I expected my group commanders to lead their groups in combat and that Colonel Carmichael was the group commander. He nodded approval and remarked that, if the operation went as I expected, it would be our heaviest bomber concentration flown so far in the Pacific war. He said not to forget to award as many decorations as I thought fit. He gave me authority to award all decorations except the Distinguished Service Cross, which he wanted to present himself as that was the highest decoration he was allowed to give. However, if a particularly deserving case came up and I wanted to decorate someone on the spot, he told me to just go ahead and he would confirm it.

During the afternoon, orders came down from GHQ covering our support of the South Pacific Guadalcanal operation. Instead of ordering the Allied Air Force to support the show by a maximum effort against the Jap airdromes in the Rabaul area and putting in the usual sentence about "maintaining reconnaissance," the order went into a page and a half of details prescribing the numbers and types of aircraft, designating units, giving times of take-off, sizes of bombs, and all the other things that the Air Force orders are supposed to take care of.

I immediately went up to see Sutherland and had a show down with him on the matter. I told him that I was running the Air Force because I was the most competent airman in the Pacific and that, if that statement was not true, I recommended that he find somebody that was more competent and put him in charge. I wanted those orders rescinded and from that time on I expected GHQ would simply give me the mission and leave it to me to cover the technical and tactical details in my own orders to my own subordinate units. When Sutherland seemed to be getting a little antagonistic, I said, "Let's go in the next room, see General MacArthur, and get this thing straight. I want to find out who is supposed to run this Air Force."

Sutherland immediately calmed down and rescinded the orders that I had objected to. His alibi was that so far he had never been able to get the Air Force to write any orders so that he, Sutherland, had been forced to do it himself. I asked him if he prescribed for the Navy what their cruising speed should be and what guns they would fire if they got into an engagement. He didn't say anything. No wonder things hadn't been running so smoothly.

I spent the rest of the afternoon working out a reorganization of the Air Force. I decided to separate the Americans and the Australians and form the Americans into a numbered Air Force of their own which I would command, in addition to commanding the Allied show. The Australians would be organized into a command of their own and I'd put Bostock at the head of it. My Allied Air Force headquarters would remain a mixed organization. I would not only command it, but be my own chief of staff until I could get someone from the United States to take over. To keep the Australians in the picture I would leave Group Captain Waiters in as Director of Operations and Air Commodore Hewitt as Director of Intelligence for the Allied Air Force headquarters. As American assistants, Lieutenant Colonel Beebe would work with Waiters and a Major Benjamin Cain would be Hewitt's assistant director. Besides letting the Australians have something to say about the show, I really hadn't an American capable of doing either of these jobs unless I took Walker or Whitehead out of the combat end. I couldn't afford to do that.

It was quite noticeable in New Guinea and up at Mareeba that the combat units were short-handed. Back in Brisbane it was equally noticeable that officers were falling all over them selves. I decided to have a real housecleaning right away. Those who were not pulling their weight could go home and the rest would move north to take their turns eating canned food and living in grass huts on the edge of the jungle. Furthermore, there were a lot of those kids up in New Guinea who ought to come back to Australia for a couple of weeks rest. Many of them told me that they had been in combat continuously for four or five months.

The next morning I flew to Mareeba, assembled Carmichael and his squadron commanders, and gave them instructions for the raid on Rabaul. The primary target was to be Vunakanau, the secondary target Lakunai, with the shipping in Rabaul Harbor on third priority. It looked as though twenty bombers would take off the next morning for Port Moresby. The group was quite elated over the fact that they were to finally put on a big show. I cautioned Carmichael and the squadron commanders about holding formation, as they would undoubtedly run into plenty of Jap fighters. They were a bit concerned about their formation work as they were not used to flying "in such large numbers together." I couldn't help but shudder at this evidence of a lack of formation training when twenty airplanes appealed to the kids as a large formation. I told them that from now on we would utilize every opportunity to practice formation flying as well as quicker take-offs and assemblies in the air. I said that the exhibition I had seen at Port Moresby of six B-17s taking an hour to get off the ground and never assembling into formation before arrival at the target was something that I did not want to see again. I gave them a long talk on the subject of what would happen to a bomb if it were hit by a machine-gun bullet. Hundreds of tests had shown that the bomb would not blow up as the crews believed, so there was no excuse for unloading the bombs just because an enemy airplane headed in their direction. From that time on, we wanted the bombs put on the target. They seemed glad to get the information which relieved them of one of their biggest worries.

In the afternoon I went over to Charters Towers and looked aver the 3rd Light Bombardment (Dive) Group and the air depot on the other side of the field. The 3rd, which used to be she 3rd Attack Group back home, did low-altitude strafing and bombing work. They still wanted to be called an Attack Group, so I told them to go ahead and change their name. That organization had trained for years in low-altitude, hedge-hopping attack, sweeping in to their targets under cover of a grass cutting hail of machine-gun fire and dropping their delay fuzed bombs with deadly precision. They were proud of their Outfit and they liked the name "attack." Now the powers that be had changed their name to "Light Bombardment parenthesis Dive" and they didn't like it. I knew how they felt. I had been an attack man myself, had written textbooks on the subject and taught it for years in the Air Corps Tactical School. It seems like a little thing but it really isn't. Numbers, names, and insignia mean even more to a military organization than they do to Masons, Elks, or a college fraternity.

The 3rd Group was a snappy, good-looking outfit, but their combat operations had been at a low ebb for some time on ac count of a lack of equipment. One squadron was equipped with A-24 dive bombers which hadn't enough range to reach any of the targets in New Guinea. One squadron had A-20s, but these had arrived in Australia without any guns or bomb racks. It would be a couple of weeks before installations could be completed. A third squadron had B-25s with only one front gun. This squadron had seen quite a bit of action, but they had taken heavy losses from the Jap head-on fighter attacks so that the airplane was not very popular. The fourth squadron had no airplanes at all.

The Charters Towers air depot was not paying its way. It bad a lot of hard-working earnest kids, officers and enlisted men, who were doing the best they could under poor living and eating conditions, but their hands were tied by the colonel in command whose passion for paper work effectually stopped the issuing of supplies and the functioning of the place as an air depot should. He had firmly embedded in his mind the idea that he could not issue supplies if he was taking inventory or if the requisition forms were not made out correctly. Requisitions coming in from New Guinea and even from the 3rd Group on the other side of the field were repeatedly being returned because notations were made on the wrong line or the depot was too busy sorting out articles that had just been shipped in. He told me that he thought "it was about time these combat units learned how to do their paper work properly." I decided that it would be a waste of time to fool with him so I told him to pack up to go home on the next plane back to the United States. The excuse would be "overwork and fatigue' through tropical service. I told Bill Benn to get his name and make arrangements by telephone with my office at Brisbane to ship him home. A good-looking major on the depot staff told me he knew what I wanted done. I put him in command and told him that beginning immediately I wanted all requisitions, verbal or written, filled at once regardless of the state of inventory or whether or not the forms were filled out properly and that whenever possible he was to fly the equipment or parts to points where they were needed in order to speed up maintenance and get airplanes back into commission.

The ingenuity of the kids at Charters Towers was an inspiration. In spite of canned Australian rations and hot, dirty, dry season living conditions in tents in bush country, they were trying. The junior officers were helping all they could. The seniors had been the stumbling block. There were very few spare instruments, so the kids salvaged them from wrecks and repaired them. There was no aluminum-sheet stock for repair of shot-up or damaged airplanes, so they beat flat the engine cowlings of wrecked fighter planes to make ribs for a B-17 or patch up holes in the wing of a B-25 where a Jap 20-mm shell had exploded. In the case of small bullet holes, they said they couldn't afford to waste their good "sheet stock" of flattened pieces of aluminum from the wrecks, so they were patching the little holes with scraps cut from tin cans. The salvage pile was their supply source for stock, instruments, spark plugs anything that could be used by any stretch of the imagination.

One youngster had built, out of scraps of junk, a set for testing electrical instruments. I asked him if he could assemble the stuff, which he had spread all over a table, into a box the see of a small suitcase and give me a drawing of it so I could send it back to the Air Force Materiel Division at Dayton and have it standardized as a field testing apparatus. He grinned all over and said he could and would. I told him after he finished that job to make about six more of them as it was the best thing of its kind I had ever seen and I wanted to put them around the other places where repair work was going on.

A radio came in from Scanlon asking for ten days' leave as he was tired and needed a rest. I wired back to take his leave and to bring his things with him as he was not gomg back to New Guinea. I then sent a note to Whitehead telling him to take command in Scanlon's place, told him the details of the coming bomber mission on Rabaul and what I wanted done to the Jap airdromes in New Guinea.

III NEW GUINEA

My Estimate turned out all right. Twenty B-17s flew to Port Moresby and eighteen took off on the big strike on the morning of the 7th of August. Twenty Jap fighters intercepted our bombers about twenty-five miles short of the target, but the kids closed up their formation and fought their way to Vunakanau [south east of Rabaul] where they dropped their bombs in a group pattern that was a real bull's-eye. The Japs still bad the same 150 planes lined up wingtip to wingtip on both sides of the runway. The pictures looked as though we got at least seventy-five of them, besides setting fire to a lot of gasoline and blowing up a big bomb dump on the edge of the field. In the air combat we shot down eleven of the twenty Jap fighters that participated.

We lost a B-17 piloted by Captain Harl Pease, who really had no business in the show. He had been out on a reconnaissance mission on the 6th and came back in the afternoon to Mareeba with one of his engines out of commission. He and his crew decided they simply could not miss the big show, so after working for several hours on another plane which had been declared unserviceable, they got it running and arrived in Port Moresby about one o'clock on the morning of the 7th. One engine on this airplane was missing badly but Pease and the crew went to work on it and a couple of hours later took off with a load of bombs and joined Carmichael and the rest of the group. During the combat coming into Rabaul, Pease was on the wing which bore the brunt of the attack. By skillful handling of his airplane, in spite of the fact that the bad engine by this time had quit entirely, Pease held his place in the formation and his crew shot down at least three of the Jap fighters. Shortly after he had dropped his bombs on the target, another wave of enemy fighters concentrated their attack on his airplane which they evidently realized was crippled. The B-17 burst into flames and went down. No parachutes were seen to open.

I recommended Pease for a Medal of Honor; General Mac Arthur approved and forwarded the recommendation to Washington. The next day a wire came in from the War Department confirming the award. Carmichael was given a Distinguished Service Cross, while a number of lesser decorations were awarded outstanding members of the group.

The Marines landed at Guadalcanal with practically no opposition. Tulagi was also taken, but with a little more fighting. There was no Jap air interference. Admiral Ghormley wired General MacArthur a congratulatory message on the success of our attack on Vunakanau and the fact that it had broken up the possibility of Jap air interference with his landing in the Solomons. General MacArthur added his congratulations and I sent both messages to the 19th Group with my own. During the day, we intercepted several Jap radios which were appeals by the Nips in the Solomons for help from the Rabaul air units. The Jap commander at Rabaul replied that he couldn't do anything for the boy in the Solomons on account of our "heavy air raid on his airdromes." The next day we intercepted another message which showed that only thirty bombers were serviceable at Vunakanau. Jap prisoners, taken at Guadalcanal airdrome (Lunga), confirmed our observation that the day before there were approximately 150 bombers at Vunakanau at the time of our attack. I issued instructions to an Australian squadron at Townsville, equipped with Catalina flying boats, to work on both Vunakanau and Lakunai for the next three nights. The squadron would put over only three or four planes each night but I hoped that would help the Japs to worry a little more.

Group Captain Waiters finally brought me the report on air craft strength that I had asked for a few days before.

On the books I had, in the United States part of the show, 245 fighters, 53 light bombers, 70 medium bombers, 62 heavy bombers, 36 transports, and 51 miscellaneous aircraft, or a total of 517.

This didn't look too bad, until I found what the real story was. Of the 245 fighters, 170 were awaiting salvage or being overhauled at Eagle Farms. None of the light bombers were ready for combat, and only 37 mediums were in shape or had guns and bomb racks to go to war with. Of the 62 heavy bombers, 19 were being overhauled and rebuilt. There were 19 different types among the 36 transports and less than half of them were in commission. The 51 miscellaneous turned out to be light commercial or training types which could not be used in combat.

The Australian Royal Air Force listed 22 squadrons, but most of these were equipped with training planes doing anti submarine patrol off the coasts of Australia itself. Two fighter squadrons in New Guinea had a total of 40 planes, and four reconnaissance squadrons had a total of 30 aircraft.

There was also a Dutch squadron of B-25s, supposed to be training at Canberra, but Waiters said they were a long way from being ready for combat.

All told I had about 150 American and 70 Australian aircraft, scattered from Darwin to Port Moresby and back to Mareeba and Townsville, with which to dispute the air with the Jap. He probably had at least five times that number facing me and could get plenty more in a matter of a few days by flying them in from the homeland. I issued orders that no more airplanes were to be salvaged. We would rebuild them, even if we had nothing left but a tail wheel to start with.

The 19th Group returned to Australia the night of the 7th and got ready for the next raid. The airplanes had been pretty badly shot up and a lot of repair work and engine changes had to be accomplished, but on the morning of the 9th Carmichael was off to clean up the Jap airdrome at Lakunai. This time, however, the fates were looking the wrong way. Heavy weather interfered with the mission so much that only seven B-17s made the raid. This time only fifteen Jap fighters intercepted. The bombers fought their way through to the target, put down a good pattern of bombs on Lakunai, and shot down five of the Jap fighters. The photographs were not too good but it looked as though we destroyed at least fifteen more Jap airplanes on the ground, besides building several good-sized fires and hitting a vessel in Rabaul Harbor. The vessel was an afterthought. On one of the bombers, the bomb release mechanism did not function in time to bomb Lakunai, but it was fixed immediately after and on the withdrawal, as the formation was passing over the harbor, the bombardier pulled the string when he found himself lined up on a big Jap merchant vessel. Two of his eight bombs were direct hits and the ship was burning nicely as the lads left the area.

All of our planes were badly shot up. One of them bad to land in the water off the east tip of New Guinea. We sent out a couple of Australian flying boats and picked up the crew. Another of the B-17s got back to Port Moresby on two engines but collapsed on landing. Whitehead reported that he would try to rebuild it but might have to use it for spare parts to fix up others.

Whitehead had been pounding away at the Jap fields in New Guinea. In the last three days fifty-five individual planeloads of bombs, totaling at least that number of tons, had been unloaded on the enemy airdromes at Lae and Salamaua. It was hard to tell how many planes the Nips had lost on the ground at these two fields, but the photographs showed a lot of wrecks that wouldn't fly for a long time if ever, some piles of ashes where airplanes used to be, and runways full of bomb craters which had not been filled up for the past two days. We hadn't seen a Jap airplane over New Guinea for five days, so our fighters had been busy shooting up everything that moved or looked like Jap property, all along the trail from Kokoda to Buna. During the past week, my estimate was that the Nip had lost over a hundred airplanes in the Rabaul area and between thirty and forty in New Guinea. Of course, he could replace his losses fairly easily, while if I lost that number, I would be out of business.

On the 7th [Aug] I had sent a wire to Washington asking for authority to organize a numbered air force. I said that if they were not using the number five, I'd like to call it the 5th Air Force. On the 9th in came a wire from General Marshall telling us to go ahead and organize the 5th Air Force from our own personnel. In the message, General Marshall said, "Heartily concur in your recommendation." He had told me in Washington that he didn't think much of mixing nationalities in the same organization.

On the 10th I went to Townsville with Bill Benn and started talking skip-bombing with Walker and Carmichael. Walker was not for it. He was an old bombardment can himself and, as an instructor at the Air Corps Technical School, had written the book on bombardment tactics and was a great believer in high-altitude formation bombing. It was an excellent method for a big target like an airdrome or a town but not so good against a turning, twisting target like a moving vessel on the open sea. Carmichael was against skip-bombing, too, but for a different reason. He thought the morale in the 9th Group was a bit delicate already and that introducing a new method of attack would break them. They had taken a lot of punishment in the past few days and were beginning to talk about the virtues of night bombing. That, of course, would be much safer but only good for area targets. Carmichael was probably right. I would have to start the skip-bombing scheme with some other outfit.

While talking with Walker, I found out that there was sup posed to be another heavy-bombardment group in the theater, the 43rd, but all they had left was the flag and a couple of guys to hold it up. The group had run out of airplanes about two months previously, so all the officers and men were scattered over Australia in little details running emergency landing fields, weather stations, doing guard duty over supply dumps, building camps, and everything but what they were trained for. I ordered the pieces picked up and assembled in the Townsville area, where I decided to equip them with B-17s as fast as I could get them out of overhaul and repair, or from the United States as replacements.

Lieutenant Colonel Paul B. Wurtsmith, the commander of the 49th Fighter Group over at Darwin, came in to see me. I had sent for him a couple of days previously after hearing about the excellent job his outfit had done in maintaining their airplanes and shooting down raiding Jap aircraft. For some reason his nickname was "Squeeze." He looked like a partially reformed bad boy. He believed in himself, was an excellent thief for his group, took care of his men, and they all followed him and liked him.

I told him I was going to put him in charge of the newly organized 5th Fighter Command. If he made good, I'd make a general out of him. If not, he would go home on a slow boat. I said for him to go to Sydney for ten days' leave and then move to Port Moresby and set up his headquarters. As soon as I could move the two RAAF fighter squadrons then in New Guinea to Darwin, I'd move the 49th from Darwin to New Guinea to help the 35th Fighter Group keep the air clear of Jap aircraft in New Guinea. Wurtsmith grinned and said, "General, I don't like boats to travel on, even when they are fast."

Some information came in that looked as though the Japs were going to run supplies and troops into Buna from Rabaul in a few days, so I told Walker to send all the heavy and medium bombers he could get in shape up to New Guinea, said goodbye to Royce who was to leave for home that night, and flew up to Port Moresby to talk with Whitehead and see what we could do to stop the Japs from getting ashore.

With all the shooting we had been doing along that trail from Buna to Kokoda and all the fires and explosions we had caused, the Japs might be low on food and ammunition or even troops.

On the morning of the 13th air reconnaissance picked up the Jap convoy of one light cruiser, two destroyers, two sub chasers, and two large transports off the south coast of New Britain, headed for Buna and escorted by Jap fighters.

During the day we dispatched a total of twenty-two B-17s and six B-26s on four different raids against the Jap convoy. Each ran into heavy Jap fighter opposition and as a consequence the best our bombardiers could claim was that they had splashed water on a couple of the Jap ships. All of our planes returned, although one B-26 collapsed as it landed. We had a couple of crewmen wounded and all that the gunners claimed was one Jap fighter plane definitely, and two others probably, shot down.

I went down to Seven Mile Airdrome to meet the crews as they landed. They were all tired, sweaty, and mad. One tall cocky-looking bombardier, who looked about twenty, gave me the answer when I asked him if he made any hits. The response was, "No. General, we've got to have some new vitamins. Some new kind to make us tough." I remarked that he looked pretty tough to me already, but the kid was serious.

"No," he said, "I'm not tough enough yet. When I'm bending over that bombsight trying to get lined up on one of those Jap ships and the bullets start coming through the windows in front of me, they take my mind off my work. I want some kind of vitamin that will make me so tough I won't notice them. Then maybe I can concentrate on getting some hits."

I know what he meant. He was right. We were not going to make hits until we could keep those bullets out of the bombardier's cockpit. That new vitamin he wanted was fighter cover. We didn't guess very well when we designed our fighters with insufficient range to do the job in the Pacific where distance was the main commodity. As soon as I could get those P-38s with their extra range and maybe add some more with dropable tanks hung under the wings, that kid and the rest of them would get their new vitamins.

The Japs unloaded their ships that night at Buna and were well on their way back by the time six B-17s made an attack on them the next coming. Once again the Jap fighters interfered with the bombing. Our planes all came back, another man was wounded, they shot down two Japs, but hit no ships. It was another bad day. We sure did need those P-38s. I went over to a first-aid tent by the side of the runway where a wounded sergeant bombardier was having his leg fixed after a Jap bullet had gone through the calf.

"Tough luck, Sergeant," I said. "How did it happen?"

The sergeant hadn't noticed me come in. He was puffing away contentedly on a cigarette and watching the bandaging job but not saying a word. He looked up, hesitated, and the tears started rolling down his cheeks.

"General," he said and began to choke up, "General, there I was the lead bombardier, with the other two planes dropping on my signal. I'm lined up swell and coming along just right, when about two hundred feet short of the bomb release point that damn Zero dives in and shoots me in the leg and it startled me so I pulled the bomb-release handle. The damn bombs fall off and the two guys behind me release theirs when they see mine go and there we have a swell pattern of eggs two hundred damn feet short of that Nip boat." The tears kept coming and the sergeant kept talking. "I didn't mean to do it, General, but when that bullet hit me it made me jump and "

"Sergeant," I interrupted, "for god's sake shut up and let me pin this Purple Heart on you. The first thing you know you'll have me bawling, too."

I had to shut him up as I was getting lumps in my throat, too. Somehow I'd have to get some more bombsights. We had enough to install in each third airplane, so the lead bombardier of each flight of three did the aiming and the other two planes flew in close and dropped when they saw the leader's bombs go. With a screwy system like that, if the lead bombardier missed, all the bombs missed. If the lead airplane was shot down or the lead bombardier was shot, we really were in a fix. If I could just get one bombsight for each bomber, we'd cut down on the misses and maybe stop that sergeant's tears.

We heard that General Eisenhower had been directed to go ahead on the North African invasion in November. That meant that probably we would be more than ever a forgotten theater, especially as far as airplanes and shipping were concerned.

The Ausualians lost the Kokoda airdrome on the 16th. It wasn't much as a landing field, but the light Jap fighters could and might operate from it. Kokoda was only ten minutes' flying time from Port Moresby. Just to be on the safe side, I told Whitehead to drop an occasional load of bombs on the runway to keep the Japs from using it.

I found that the morale was not all gone in the 19th Group. It was principally the veterans of the Philippine and Java fighting who wanted to go home. Most of the crews that had come out from the States during the last three months were still as cocky as the day they arrived. They were not at all convinced that the Nip was any superman.

A B-17 reconnaissance airplane landed that afternoon after its third mission in twenty-four hours. The plane was really shot up. The brakes and flaps were out and two engines ruined, after a hot fight with some Jap fighters up north of the Vitiaz Straits between New Guinea and New Britain. The pilot stalled down the best he could, but the plane rolled the whole length of the field and then, by groundlooping at the far end, the pilot brought it to a stop just before pitching over into a swamp. The kid, a red-headed, freckle-faced rascal, who probably shaved once a week, coolly slid back his side window, looked around, and then remarked to the world at large, "Huh! I'll bet I'm the first sonofabitch that ever used this much of this runway."

He taxied back along the runway to the hard standing as signed to this particular B-17, where the ground-maintenance crew was waiting to put it in shape for another mission. The top-turret gunner crawled out and stood there in a cocky pose -- all five feet three inches of him -- with his cap back on one ear, chewing gum and sporting a confident smile. A favorite with the gang, he had five Jap planes to his credit.

"How's she going, Joe?" called one of the admiring grease monkeys.

"One hundred per cent," retorted Joe the gunner. "Yesterday and today, three flights, three fights. Just right."

The gang laughed admiringly. Joe was enjoying himself, too. He was strutting a bit, but why not? Who had a better right?

"Boy, did I see a pretty sight this morning," he continued. "Just off Finschaven, on the way home, we get hopped. One of them Zeros peels off up ahead about five hundred yards, half rolled, and comes in head-on. I let him have a nice long burst at about two hundred yards. He never straightened out of his dive. I watched him all the way. Do you know, he hit that water so clean he hardly made a splash. Boy, was it a pretty sight!"

Except for a small seven-plane raid on Milne Bay out on the east end of New Guinea, where we were trying to put in a couple of landing fields, we hadn't seen a Jap plane over Papua since August 5th until on August 17th the Nips came over Port Moresby on a really good-sized raid. Our continuous air offensive had evidently annoyed them, as the raid was made by twenty-four bombers escorted by about the same number of fighters. We lost eleven aircraft on the ground at Seven Mile Airdrome. In addition, the operations building was burned down, several trucks destroyed, two hundred drums of gasoline went up in smoke, and the runway was hit in several places. The Jap left eight calling cards in the shape of long-delay time fuzed bombs which exploded at intervals all the way up to forty-four hours. Several men were wounded by bomb fragments. Once again our warning service was inadequate so that, although we managed to get twenty fighters in the air prior to the attack, no interception was made on the Jap formations which came over at better than 20,000 feet. We remained on alert all day for a follow-up attack, but it did not come. If he had come back again with a low-level show about an hour after the first one, he would have just about cleaned me out. Maybe he was short of aircraft, but I didn't think so. He just did not know how to use his air decisively.

The next day Benn and I flew along the south coast of New Guinea from Port Moresby and spotted three locations for emergency landing fields for airplanes to land on in case the Port Moresby area was fogged in or if they ran out of gas on the way back from a mission. I arranged to put the natives to work cutting the kunai grass, removing trees, and leveling the places off.

We then flew across the mountains to the north coast and looked over Wanigela Mission, the place Bull Goring the Australian had told me about. It was a natural. We could land there anytime and occupy and supply the place by air. From here we flew along the coast to Buna and then along the trail to Kokoda and back to Port Moresby. The coast between Wanigela Mission and Buna was not too good for airdrome locations, but there were a couple of grass-covered flats along the way that with a little fixing could be used by DC-type transports. About ten miles west of Buna, however, the country was wide-open. The country was quite flat and covered with kunai grass that did not look to be over four feet high, so that the ground was probably dry and hard. There were several fires in the Buna area and along the trail to Kokoda where our fighters and bombers had been operating while I was flying around Wanigela, but I did not go close enough to make any detailed inspection. The Jap antiaircraft boys might have resented my presence and, besides, the photographs which would be taken immediately following the raid would furnish much better information than I could get.

Driving along the strip at Seven Mile after I landed, I noticed a soldier on a bulldozer pushing dirt along to surround something or build a circular wall around it. I stopped and asked him what he was doing. He stopped the bulldozer and said, "Oh, we got one of them delay-action bombs down there in the ground about ten feet that ain't gone off yea. The engineers have dehorned most of the others, but this one is a new breed that they don't know about, so I'm just pushing dirt around her so she'll just fizz straight up when she goes off." I thanked him for the information. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and calmly went on with his job.

The bomb went off that night about eight o'clock. As he had predicted, "She just fizzed straight up." It made quite a lot of noise and a lot of dirt went up into the air, but no damage was done.

These kids adapted themselves fast. They were almost blase about bombing and you could hear them comment on or criticize a Jap formation or their own with equal calmness. It helped to keep me from worrying, when I saw them so unconcerned.

An old sergeant of one of the B-25 squadrons came to see me. He said, "General, we got five B-25s out of commission for lack of wheel bearings. If they sit around here, the Japs will come over some day and burn them up sitting on the ground."

"Sergeant," I said, "I know about it and there just are no wheel bearings in supply anywhere here or in Australia."

"But, General," he replied, "I know where there are some wheel bearings. Last month a B-25 was shot down near Bena Bena. There is a Lieutenant Hampton over with the troop carriers who knows about a field near there and if you will let him take me and three other guys, some rations, a kit of tools, and a couple of tommy guns and some ammunition with us, we'll salvage the bearings and some other stuff off that B-25 and do ourselves some good instead of waiting around here until we get taken out. That B-25 didn't burn and we might get a lot of good loot out of her."

Bena Bena was on a plateau up in the middle of New Guinea, inhabited by the partially reformed cannibals discovered there by explorers and gold seekers about twelve years before. We were not sure how many of the natives of Bena Bena were for us and how many were for the Japs .Lieutenant Hampton was the hot-shot troop-carrier pilot who was sup posed to be able to land and take off a DC-3 transport out of a good-sized well. The field at Bena Bena at this time was not much, but it could be negotiated easily by Hampton and, with a little luck, by any other good transport pilot. The only complications were that we didn't know whether the Japs were patrolling the area or not and there was always the sporting proposition of flying an unarmed transport, with no rubber covered, bullet-proof gasoline tanks, within easy range of Jap fighters at Lae and Salamaua. But the sergeant was right. We needed those wheel bearings.

Whitehead was with me. We talked it over, and Whitehead suggested that Hampton fly the sergeant and the three grease monkeys in under cover of the next strike we put down on Lae and Salamaua. I agreed.

The next morning the little expedition flew to Bena Bena, where Hampton left the four men and made a date to meet them four days later. That was the time the sergeant estimated it would take him to get to the wrecked B-25 and finish his salvage job.

Four days later Hampton landed again at Bena Bena. He and the co-pilot sat in the plane, engines running, tommy guns stuck out the windows, and ready for a quick getaway if things began to look suspicious. There was no sergeant, none of his gang, and no natives. An hour went by. It looked as though the estimate of the situation had been bad. Maybe the Japs had the sergeant and his three men. Maybe the natives had decided that the white man had lost the war and had joined the Japs. Maybe there was a meat shortage at Bena Bena. Maybe

Hampton had just about decided that something had gone wrong and it was time to think about getting out, when the sergeant came running all out of breath out of the jungle trail onto the field and yelled, "Hold everything, Lieutenant. The gang will be here in just a minute. We got delayed because we found a wrecked fighter plane about five miles east of here and we got a lot of good loot out of that, too."

A few minutes later the "gang," consisting of the other three men and a hundred natives, appeared, loaded to the limit with everything they could stagger under. They had brought back most of both wrecked airplanes. Wheels, landing-gear parts, ailerons, rudders, fins, pieces of aluminum sheet cut from the wrecks for future repair work, propeller parts, instruments and the precious wheel bearings.

Three hours later the flying "air depot" landed at Port Moresby. Three days later five B-25s and three P-39 fighters joined the list of aircraft in combat commission.

Twenty-five P-38s, the first of the fifty promised me by General Arnold, arrived by boat at Brisbane. I sent word to Connell to come north from Melbourne, take charge of setting them up, and work twenty-four hours a day on the job. Also to give the Australian sheet-metal industry a contract to make about 10,000 150-gallon droppable gas tanks to hang under the wings so that we could extend the range. The pilots for all fifty airplanes had already arrived, among them Lieutenant Dick Bong, my bad boy from San Francisco. A Captain George Prentice, a veteran from "Squeeze" Wurtsmith's 49th Fighter Group, was assigned to command them. I wanted a veteran as a leader so that the new youngsters would have someone they could look up to and from whom they could get instruction in the art of shooting down Japs. They didn't have any back in the States to practice on. Prentice had one official victory to his credit and had flown a lot of combat missions up at Darwin.

It wasn't long before I began having engineer and quartermaster troubles. They belonged to the Service of Supply (SOS ) and ran the base organizations at ports like Townsville and Port Moresby, were in charge of construction of docks, roads, and airdromes, and were responsible for getting supplies in by boat and for feeding us. There were not enough engineers at Port Moresby to do all the work in a hurry, so the tendency was to spread the men thin and skimp the job in order to make a showing. One of the results was that they were not paying enough attention to the drainage problems that would confront us when the rainy season arrived about two months later. Runways were being built without enough culverts to carry off the water and I was afraid that, with our airdromes washed out, we would get caught with our airplanes on the ground some day. The stock answer of the engineers was that they knew all about building airdromes and would appreciate it if we tended to our flying and let them do the construction work. I told the base commander that for his sake I hoped he was right when the rains did come.

The food situation was really bad. Australia had plenty of fresh meat and vegetables but the SOS had loaded up with a lot of canned stuff. It was not bad for the first three or four days, but after that the men threw most of it away, as it was simply unpalatable in that steamy climate after a hard day's work. The American kid wants fresh meat and gravy, once in a while. If he doesn't get it, especially when he knows there is plenty available, he goes stale and tires easily. If he loses his appetite, he doesn't eat, loses weight, and is soon a prey to all the ills and diseases of the jungle country. The alibi given me was that there were not enough refrigerator boats, but the cargo vessels that came in to Port Moresby seldom had their refrigerators full when they left Australia. The crews of these vessels insisted on fresh meat and they were not particularly interested in what the combat troops got. Some adjustments surely could have been made, but the SOS attitude was that they had provided food and we should eat it and shut up.

Outside of General MacArthur, most of the American ground people seemed to be looking for reasons to criticize the Air Force. I kept hearing that no favoritism should be shown the Air Force and that they deserved no special treatment and so on. As far as I could find out, we had not been getting any special favors, but, as long as we were the only ones doing any fighting in the American forces, I was going to see that if any gravy was passed around, we got first crack at it.

In order to cut down the malaria and dysentery rate, I said something about putting concrete floors in the mess buildings and screening them in, but was informed that this was unnecessary, it was not in accordance with the regulations on what constituted combat-zone construction, and anyhow there were no building materials, cement, or screen wire available.

I sent instructions to Connell to get together a stock of cement by hook or crook and to load every plane going to New Guinea with it so that we could concrete all our kitchen and mess-hall floors. I told him also to buy up all the screen wire he could find, even if he had to get it one roll at a time in the hardware stores. We needed refrigeration, so Connell was to buy any electric or oil-burning types that we could carry in a DC-3 transport and fly them to New Guinea, too, along with the motor generators to operate the electric equipment. To satisfy the paper-work advocates, I'd have to get our tables of equipment amended. When those tables had been drawn up in Washington several years before, no one thought about what we would need to fight the Japs in New Guinea, but still there were people who looked upon a table approved by the War Department as something as sacred and inviolate as the Constitution of the United States.

On August 21st, I returned to Brisbane and saw General MacArthur. I discussed the operations in New Guinea and, when I got to describing the terrain along the north coast from Milne Bay to Wanigela Mission and Buna, the General wanted to know where I had gotten my information. I told him, "From visual inspection from a hundred-feet altitude." I then spent the next ten minutes listening while General MacArthur bawled me out for flying around where there might be some Japs. He said he had decided that he needed me to look after the Air Force and that, from now on, I would stay south of the Owen Stanley Mountains unless I got direct permission from him otherwise. I decided it would be better to wait a few days before proposing that we seize Wanigela Mission with an air borne show.

Special intelligence indicated the Jap was up to something. It looked like a convoy run with a special landing force. It might be a reinforcement for Buna, but there were indications that it might be to capture Milne Bay where we had two brigades of Australian troops and some engineers fixing up a couple of airdromes. One was already in operation, with two Australian fighter squadrons installed there. Jap air reconnaissance had been quite active in the last day or two. So I sent word to Whitehead to watch for Jap bombing raids on Milne Bay to begin any time, but probably soon.

My 3000 parachute fragmentation bombs arrived but there were no racks in the A-20 light bombers that would take them, so I turned the job of making the racks and installing them over to a character named Major Paul I. (Poppy) Gunn. Poppy was a gadgeteer par excellence. He had already developed a package installation, of four fifty-caliber machine guns, that fitted beautifully into the nose of an A-20 with 500 rounds of ammunition per gun. He had learned how to fly with the Navy years ago. No one knew how old he was but he was probably well over forty, although he looked you straight in the eye and said thirty.

When the war broke out, Poppy was doing civilian flying in the Philippines, so the Army mobilized him and now I had him as a major. It was a private war with him, as he had a wife and four children in Manila. He didn't know whether they were still alive or not. Anyhow, he didn't like Japs.

People called Poppy eccentric and said he told some wonderful stories that were too good to be all true. I don't believe that Poppy ever took a chance on ruining a good story by worrying about the exactness of some of its details, but he was a godsend to me as a super-experimental gadgeteer and all around fixer. There was absolutely nothing that feazed Poppy. If you asked him to mount a sixteen-inch coast-defense rifle in an airplane, Poppy would grin, figure out how to do it, work day and night until the job was finished, and then test the installation by flying it himself against the Japs to see how it worked.

His stories of his exploits were something that no one should miss. His actual accomplishments, however, which Poppy seldom mentioned, were just as good as the astounding stories he delighted to tell.

Right now he was breaking his back to fix up those A-20s to carry my parachute frog bombs. I told him I wanted sixteen of them ready in two weeks. Poppy said he would have them. No one else but me believed he could do it, but when I offered to make a small bet on the possibility, I found no takers.

The next day Bill Benn and I flew to Melbourne, looking over Tocumwal on the way. Tocumwal was evidently designed to rival our big supply establishment and procurement center at Dayton, Ohio, so that the boys would feel at home when the war moved down to Australia. Beautiful runways, nice big hangars, concrete and steel test stands, warehouses everything was well built and dispersed all over the place so as not to be vulnerable to the Japanese bombers. Of course, the nearest Jap airdrome was still 3000 miles away, but it was explained to me that we should play safe in case the Japs came a little closer. About a mile from the field a little village of quarters was being built to house the Tocumwal Depot officers. The base hospital was three miles from the field. There was plenty of transportation; the buildings were so widely dispersed that, if walking were necessary to get from one building to another, so much time would be consumed that the men would get very little work done.

The place was loaded with airplane and engine parts, propellers, lumber, furniture, lighting fixtures, plumbing supplies -- almost anything you could think of. The depot commander's real pride and joy, however, was his filing system, with its stock records. The only difficulty he seemed to be having was that he could not get the inventory up to date; new stocks were coming in all the time and messing up their figures. That made it difficult to keep track of things and at the same time fill requisitions, but it wouldn't be long before the war moved down into Australia and then the supplies would be where they belonged.

I went on to Melbourne where Major General Lincoln and his staff met me and drove to his headquarters. I was introduced around and told about the organization and what they were doing. I told Lincoln to close up his whole shop, except for a small office to look after our contracts with Australian industry in the Melbourne area, and to move to Brisbane right away. All supplies in the Melbourne area were to be moved to Brisbane for the time being, until I could shove them still farther north. Lincoln had another big organization in Sydney which I said to close down to another small office like the one I proposed for Melbourne.

Everyone seemed to be taking on a stunned look at this point, so I brought up the subject of Tocumwal. No more supplies were to be sent there for any reason, the airplane repair work was to be finished as soon as possible, and everything except the runways and buildings was to be moved to the Brisbane area or farther north as fast as I could get storage space at Townsville. All construction work, including that of the pretty little village, was to be stopped immediately, regardless of the state of completion, and the building materials held for shipment on my orders. This stuff would probably go to Townsville, as I intended that to be my main supply and over haul depot for Australia until we moved out of the country entirely.

Lincoln at this point began to look a little worried. He asked me what I was going to do with Tocumwal and reminded me that we had put a lot of money in the place. I told him to give it to the Australians, or back to the aborigines if the Aussies wouldn't take it. When I was invited to inspect the filing system, I'm afraid I was not very polite. I was not interested in his paper work. I had seen too much of it already. From now on, if he had the supplies, I wanted them issued on oral, written, or telephoned requests, and issued fast, with no more alibis about taking inventory or worry about whether the form was filled out properly. We could not sink Jap ships or shoot down Jap planes with papers and filing cabinets and I was far more interested in getting the planes flying than in having a beautiful set of records that we were not even going to take home when the war was over just ask the Australians what happened to their records and filing cabinets at Singapore. I understood they had some excellent ones there.

I spent the night with Lincoln and a few of his top staff out at the house which Billy Robinson had turned over to Brett. A beautiful place, full of good-looking furniture, rugs, and paintings. Excellent meals and nice comfortable beds. No wonder the boys didn't like to give it up. They probably thought I was crazy. They were probably right.

Everyone in Melbourne had gotten himself fixed up with as much rank as the job would allow. Up in New Guinea I noticed that squadrons were commanded by captains and lieutenants, whereas the jobs called for majors. I told Benn to remind me as soon as I got back to Brisbane to stop all promotion in the non-combat outfits until the squadrons were commanded by majors who had earned that rank by demonstrating their leadership in actual combat. I remembered that in New Guinea one of the big gripes was that they never received any promotions while the boys in Melbourne and Sydney lived "the life of Riley" and got increased rank besides.

The next morning I had Lincoln assemble his whole staff and tried to give them the picture of what we were up against in New Guinea. That was where the war was and it was not moving to Australia. Those youngsters up there were our customers and customers are always right. Our only excuse for living was to help them. The payoff would be Jap ships sunk and Jap planes shot down. As far as I was concerned, the ones accomplishing that job were going to get top priority on everything. We might work ourselves into having stomach ulcers or nervous breakdowns, but those things were not fatal. The work those kids up in New Guinea and at Darwin were doing, however, had a high fatality rate. They deserved all they could get. Most of the crowd appreciated what I was talking about. The others would go home.

Over at RAAF Headquarters I met Air Vice-Marshal George Jones, the Australian Chief of Air Staff. He wanted me to help him get American airplanes and equipment. I told him I would do everything I could to put both Australians and Americans into air combat. I explained the new set-up of an American Air Force and a separate Australian combat air organization. Jones agreed that he thought it would work much better but was not too keen when I said I was going to put Bostock in command. These two just didn't like each other. It dated from a few months before when Sir Charles Burnett, an Englishman who was acting as Australian Chief of Air Staff, was called back to England. Bostock, the ranking RAAF officer, was passed by and Jones, considerably his junior, was selected for the job. Why, I didn't know. As a matter of fact, except for the feud which sometimes was a nuisance, I liked the situation as it was. I considered Bostock the better combat leader and field commander and I preferred Jones as the RAAF administrative and supply head.

I also called on Mr. Drakeford, the Australian Air Minister. He was the head of the locomotive engineers' union and had no aviation background, but he was trying. I considered that he was sincere and honest and would help in every way possible. My call was just a courtesy affair, as I had no real business to discuss with him, but he appreciated it. One thing that I liked about him was that he didn't pretend to know anything about aviation or the strategy or tactics involved in the use of air power. He looked after the interests of the RAAF when it came to budget matters, allocation of manpower, resources, and industry, and left the operating end to the operators.

During the evening the news came in that Squeeze Wurtsmith's 49th Fighter Group at Darwin had intercepted a Jap force of twenty-seven bombers escorted by fifteen fighters and had definitely shot down six Jap bombers and eight fighters, with three more bombers probably destroyed. We had no losses. General MacArthur wired me congratulations. I added mine and passed them cut to Wurtsmith.

Back in March 1942, on the fourth of March to be exact, Lieutenant Robert Morrisey had shot down the first Jap plane for the 49th Fighter Group. During the celebration which followed, Squeeze Wurtsmith had produced a magnum of brandy which he announced they would open when the 49th achieved its 500th official destruction of a Jap airplane in air combat. None of this shooting-them-sitting-on-the-ground stuff was to count. They had to be wing shots. They had to get them in the air. The group was still carrying that huge bottle around as if it were a household god. It was not even a very good grade of brandy and it was definitely green, but that made no difference to the kids. They were not thinking about how it would taste. It had become a symbol of a goal that they were shooting for and which they were certain they would reach ahead of any other group. The fight at Darwin brought the score to sixty. Only 440 to go.

On the morning of the 24th I returned to Brisbane. I asked Bill Benn to find out how many B-17s and crews had already been assigned to the 63rd Bombardment Squadron, which would be the first of the four to comprise the 43rd Bombardment Group which I was resurrecting. His report showed eleven B-17s and twelve complete crews had arrived at Torrens Creek Field, about a hundred miles southwest of Townsville. I told Bill he was fired as aide and to go up there and take command of the 63rd Squadron. Bill grinned and left to pack up. After a couple of weeks' training under Bill's supervision, I figured on attaching the squadron to the 19th Bombardment Group for operations and starting formation of some more squadrons, until I got enough to put the 43rd Group in business on its own.

It looked as though we were due for trouble in New Guinea soon and I was more certain than ever that it was Milne Bay. The Japs raided the place that morning. The two RAAF fighter squadrons there intercepted the Nips and chased them off, getting two definitely destroyed and two more probables. The Aussies had one P-40 fighter damaged out of the twenty three they put in the air.

I called Walker at Townsville and told him the Jap air raid on Townsville looked like a pre-invasion show. I ordered two squadrons of B-17 bombers to be at Port Moresby ready for action at daybreak the next day and two more squadrons to be there that afternoon. Also all effective medium bombers (B-26s) of the 22nd Group were to go to Port Moresby immediately and go on alert for action on arrival. One of the B-17 squadrons was to hit Vunakanau and Lakunai airdromes or Rabaul that night with incendiary bombs.

I then sent word to Whitehead to knock out the Jap field at Buna and keep hammering it as long as the Japs tried to use it.

If I could keep the Jap air force whittled down so that it couldn't support their landing operation, that operation wouldn't go far and they would have trouble supporting any troops that they did put ashore.

Eight B-17s hit the Rabaul airdromes during the night. After the attack, fires visible for forty miles were reported by the returning crews. I figured that might help.

I had told the fighter pilots of the 35th Group when I was in New Guinea the preceding week that if anyone shot down a Jap airplane in air combat, I would give him a decoration. In the afternoon of the 25th, seven P-39s found a "hole" in the bad weather hanging over Port Moresby and raided the Jap airstrip at Buna. As the P-39s appeared over the edge of the airdrome, ten Jap fighter planes, which were taxiing out to take off, stopped. Over at Port Moresby at Fighter Command Headquarters where they were listening in on the fighter radio frequency, they heard one of our pilots say, "Get off the ground, you so-and-so's. Don't you know the General won't give us any ribbons for shooting you while you're sitting?"

It sounds screwy, but the Jap fighters and our own operated on the same frequency and actually hurled insults at each other in the air during combat. A lot of these Japs spoke fairly good English, but their habit of hissing some of their syllables generally identified them. At any rate, on this occasion following the insult, they started taking off, but after three of them were shot down before they could get the landing gears retracted, the rest stopped, got out of their cockpits, and ran for cover. So the boys finished the job by setting fire to the remaining seven Jap planes "while they were sitting."

Around noon, flying in wretched weather, a reconnaissance plane located a Jap convoy of 3 destroyers, a minesweepers, 2 transports estimated at 8000 tons each, and 2 unidentified smaller ships, about 120 miles north of Milne Bay and headed south. Our B-17s took off to attack but owing to the weather did not locate the Jap vessels. Just before dark, the Aussies from Milne Bay put twelve fighters carrying two 300-pound bombs each over the convoy. Although a 300-pound bomb was rather light for this type of work, it was all they had. They sank one of the minesweepers and then heavily strafed all the rest of the ships in the convoy. All the planes returned and the Aussies were swaggering wider than ever. Those rascals are fighters.

During the night, the Japs landed between 1500 and 2000 troops on the north side of Milne Bay about fifteen miles east of our Number Three airstrip which was under construction. The other two strips were about four miles west of Number Three.

All day long on the 26th, in the face of the worst weather I had seen in New Guinea so far, we kept taking off to attack the Jap vessels and the troops and supplies that had been landed. Most of the planes had to return without being able to get through. Some of them, however, found targets in spite of the weather. One flight of six B-17s reported sinking one of the Jap transports and damaging a minesweeper. The B-26s and the Aussie P-40s sank Jap landing barges, destroyed four light tanks that the Nips had managed to get ashore, and set fire to piles of supplies on the beach. We had one B-17 shot down in flames and another so badly damaged by antiaircraft gunfire that it folded up on landing back at Port Moresby. Another had the whole nose shot off, killing the navigator and badly wounding the bombardier. Still another had five anti aircraft shell holes in each wing, each large enough for a man to jump through. One pilot had his bombs stick in the racks. After making twelve runs on the Jap vessel, he was still unable to get the bombs off, so he brought them back home. With literally hundreds of shrapnel and shell holes, the skin of the wings and fuselage practically in ribbons, and two engines shot out of commission, I don't yet understand how he made it.

In spite of our attacks, the Japs pushed west along the trail, driving the Australian outposts ahead of them, and by night fall were within three miles of our Number Three strip where the Australian resistance had stiffened.

Just before midnight, a B-17 returning from a reconnaissance mission to Rabaul, piloted by Lieutenant R. E. Holsey, landed on a narrow strip of sandy beach on the south coast of New Guinea about fifty miles east of Port Moresby. As a result of an argument with the Jap antiaircraft defenses at Rabaul, two engines had been knocked out and a third was not doing too well. It had suddenly died altogether. Hurriedly releasing a couple of flares, Holsey had done a beautiful job of putting the B-17 down and keeping it right side up on that carpet sized strip of sand. The crew worked all night removing every thing they could take out of the airplane and working on the engines to get them in shape. We sent down a thousand feet of steel mat to lay on the sand for a rake-off strip, chopped down some trees, and waited for the tide to go down so that the wheels would be out of water for the run. Holsey and the sergeant crew chief, who had finally got all four engines running after a fashion, then took the B-17 off. Just as the plane had been literally jerked into the air by the pull of more horse power than the engines had ever been designed for, one of the engines died, but the others held and twenty minutes later the plane was back at Seven Mile strip waiting for the barge to bring back the rest of the crew and the stuff they had stripped off the airplane and which now had to go back on again. Four days later Holsey announced that he and the plane were ready to go again.

Fighting like fanatics, with their supplies gone, their tanks destroyed, and with nothing but rifles and bayonets, the Japs drove the Australians to the edge of Number Three strip. General Clowes, the Australian commander, ordered preparations made for the evacuation of Milne Bay. We pulled the two RAAF fighter squadrons back to Port Moresby, keeping the Milne Bay Number One strip open for refueling purposes only.

As part of the preparations ordered by General Clowes, the Australian canteen at Milne Bay was mined so that at the last minute it could be blown up to prevent the Japs from getting hold of the supplies there. During the night a native cow, wandering around outside the canteen, alarmed one of the guards, who fired his rifle as a signal that the Japs were breaking through. Someone pushed the plunger and blew the canteen up. The next day, when it was discovered that the Jap advanced troops were still several miles away and that a large part of the beer had survived the explosion, the Australian troops availed themselves of the golden opportunity to get all the beer they could drink without the necessity of drawing their rations. That evening the Japs started withdrawing.

Major Victor Bertrandais, in civil life an executive of Douglas Aircraft, and Captain Eddie Rickenbacker's crew chief in World War I, reported to me for a job. Vic was a driving go getter. I'd known him for over twenty years. He said he had reported to General Joe McNarney in Washington about a week ago. Joe said, "Go on out to Australia and report to George Kenney. He'll either chase you home on the next plane or give you a job and work you to death." I told Vic I had a job for him. First, to go to Townsville and see where he was to build a depot to be manned by 3000 to 4000 men, overhaul 100 engines a month, erect or repair 200 airplanes a month, and do everything else I happened to think of, besides running a supply depot to keep Whitehead going in New Guinea and Walker in northeastern Australia. Then he was to go to Tocumwal, pack up everything there, and transfer it to Townsville, personnel and all. He had carte blanche. All I asked was speed and results. I introduced him to Connell and explained what I wanted Bertrandais to do. I told Connell to give Vic all the help he could and to push our stocks of supplies out of Brisbane and forward to Vic as fast as he got buildings erected in which to store them.

We wound up August with a low-altitude attack on Lae which caught the Nips by complete surprise. After the B-26s had blown huge craters in the runway, set fire to a big fuel dump, and wrecked a number of buildings, the A-20s swept in, strafing antiaircraft gun positions, aircraft on the ground, vehicles, and buildings. They left the place a mess. Just as the A-20s came over the edge of the airdrome, two of the pilots on the right side of the line-abreast formation, noticed that the porch of a large plantation house, on a little hill just north of the strip, was crowded with Japs sitting there having lunch. The two lads banked over and emptied their guns into the house, setting it on fire. They circled around for about five minutes to take care of any survivors who might come out, but with great glee they reported that there was no sign of life and that the house was blazing furiously when they left. The next night Tokio Rose said that our sneaky tactics were what might be expected of the gangster-murder type of people that the American air forces were recruiting.

General Rowell, the Australian commander in New Guinea, sent me a nice note of appreciation:

HQ N G F

31 Aug 42

Commanding General,

Allied Air Forces,

Port Moresby.

I desire to place on record my thanks for the assistance the Allied Air Forces under your command have given to the Army in the past few days, not only in the way of direct ground support, but also in keeping the enemy air force away from out troops by the attacks on Buna.

The fact that the weather was dead agaist securing really decicive results in attacks on shipping was beyond control and does not detract from our admiration for the determined efforts made by your bomber pilots to find the enemy and sink his ships.

Major General Clowes has asked that a record be made of his appreciation for the work of Fighter and G.R.Sqns. R.A.A.F. stationed at Milne Bay. I am convinced that, when the story is complete, it will be found that their incessant attacks for three successive days proved the decisive factor in the enemy's decision to re-embark what was left of his force.

S. L. Rowell, Lieutenant General

General Officer Commanding New Guinea Force.

Now that the Jap attempt to seize Milne Bay had failed and the Australians were mopping up the survivors who had not been evacuated, an interesting sequel to the story had come to light.

When the Japs started raiding Milne Bay on August 24, we had flown a fifty-caliber machine-gun antiaircraft unit down there from Port Moresby. One of the pairs of guns was mounted in a revetment on the west edge of Number Three strip. Work was abandoned on the strip when the Japs got a little too close for comfort, and on the afternoon of the 28th a detail under a sergeant of the antiaircraft unit was getting ready to pull the guns out, when suddenly a Jap soldier moved out of the jungle opposite the gun position and stood there looking around. He didn't see the sergeant, who was behind the gun, or the others, who had ducked fast. The sergeant whispered, "Watch me get that s-o-b," slipped in the ammunition belt, swung the guns around, took aim, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened, except that the Jap turned leisurely around and disappeared as the sergeant suddenly woke up to the fact that he had forgotten to unsafety the guns. The curses started rolling forth but stopped as about a hundred Nips pushed out of the jungle in a bunch and started to move out on the strip. The lone Jap had just been a scout to draw fire or see if the coast was clear for the others.

The fifty-calibers now really got into action. Of course, the sergeant and his Little gang say they killed hundreds of Japs. They probably did pretty well by themselves, at that. Any how, that was as far west as the Japs ever got.

On September 3d I returned to Brisbane and saw General MacArthur. I gave him a report on how things were going in New Guinea, as they appeared to me. The fighter defense had improved with the installation of a radar station at Yule Island about fifty miles northwest up the coast from Port Moresby and another at Rorona, thirty miles from Port Moresby in the same direction. Whitehead, with Freddy Smith as his Chief of Staff and Bill Hipps as Assistant for Operations, was doing a swell job, although the mess he had established for his own staff had easily the worst food in New Guinea. Whitehead was so busy he didn't know or care what he ate. Poppy Gunn had fixed up six A-20s with racks for my parachute frogs and, as soon as the crews got a little training in the use of them, we would try them out the first time we could catch the Jap air planes on the ground. We were watching Buna as a good place for the initial test.

I told General MacArthur that I had no faith in the Australians' holding Kokoda Gap. The undergrowth at that altitude was sparse and the Nips would move through it and around the Aussies and work their same old infiltration tactics. We were bombing along a trail that we could only see in spots. Maybe we could scare away the native bearers and make the Jap carry his own supplies but the surer way was to sink his ships and shoot down his planes. Even the Jap couldn't fight long without food and there was nothing to eat along that trail. The General said to keep on with my program as he had nothing but praise for the way the Air Force was operating.

The final story of the Milne Bay expedition was given us at the noon briefing in the War Room. The initial landing was by 1600 Japs, who were reinforced later by 600 more. One thousand were killed, 450 evacuated, 50 reached Buna by walking along the coastal trail, and 9 were taken prisoner. Of the 700 still unaccounted for, some were probably dead, some had escaped to the islands off the tip of New Guinea, and the remainder were still roaming the jungle and being hunted down by the Australian patrols. Many of the dead showed signs of starvation. Their clothes were torn, their shoes rotted off from the mud and rain, and they had become so weak that they could no longer carry their rifles. The prisoners all admitted that our planes had done them wrong from the start. They were quite annoyed because their own airplanes had not supported them and had not even contested the air with ours.

Brigadier General Al Sneed had been Brett's senior American Air officer at Darwin. With the coming move of the 49th Fighter Group to New Guinea, Sneed was out of a job. I wired Arnold to give him a job back home as I had nothing for him here. I needed operators. He was not an operator. Arnold wired back okay, so I arranged for Sneed to leave in a couple of days.

September 8th was a bad day. First the news came in that the Japs had worked around the Australian defenses in the Kokoda Gap and were already five miles beyond at a native village called Efogi, on the downgrade toward Port Moresby, with the Aussies still retreating.

Then I had to ground all my P-38s. The leak-proof tanks were improperly made and now they were falling apart at the seams. I sent for every rubber expert, Australian and American, in the country to come to Brisbane to see if the tanks could be repaired. The other twenty-five P-38s of the fifty that Hap Arnold had promised me, arrived but without feeds for the guns, and six B-25s came in as replacements but these had no gun mounts, no guns, and no bombsights. The communications people had a new message from me to Arnold about every hour all day.

During one of the lulls in bad news I called Lincoln at Melbourne to find out how soon he was moving to Brisbane. When I learned that they were still waiting for me to confirm in writing my verbal instructions of August 22, over two weeks ago when I was down there, I almost pulled the telephone out by the roots. It wasn't long, however, before he understood that he was to move north rather soon.

The rubber experts said that some of the P-38 tanks could be reworked. The experts were all out at Amberley Field with their coats off, working with my mechanics and changing good tanks for bad ones. It looked as though I'd have enough in a few days to equip about twelve of the P-38s so that they could go north. I wanted those new pilots to get some experience flying in New Guinea before I put them into action against the Japs.

In the evening I spent about three hours with General MacArthur in his flat at Lennon's Hotel. I described Wanigela Mission and outlined my plan for occupying it and using it as a base for movements along the coast to Buna and particularly to the flat Dobodura plain, a few miles west of Buna, where I wanted to establish a big air base. If we got on that north coast, we would not only extend the range and bombload of our airplanes, but we wouldn't have to climb over the Owen Stanleys and buck the thunderheads which made a barrier almost as bad as the mountains themselves. We could go into Wanigela Mission with a light plane or two, get the natives to cut the grass, and then throw in troops at the rate of a thousand a day, feed them, and supply them with ammunition, even if a couple of divisions were put into the show. With the Japs strung out all the way from Buna to Kokoda and beyond, this move would be a threat to the Japs that might develop into a quick defeat for them if we could move fast. MacArthur liked the idea but wanted to see where the Australians were going to halt the Jap drive for Port Moresby. If by any chance our airdromes in the Port Moresby area should be threatened or occupied by the Nips, obviously we might have to modify our plans considerably. He said he had inspected the 32nd Division (U.S.) a couple of days ago and, while their training still left something to be desired, he was going to send them to New Guinea shortly. The 7th Australian Division was now moving up to New Guinea and would be rushed up the trail to halt the Jap advance. MacArthur was certain that he would hold Port Moresby but he was not yet ready for the Wanigela Mission thing. He said for me to go back to New Guinea, watch the situation develop, and give him a report when I got back on the 12th. I took off for Port Moresby the next morning. On arrival I talked with General Rowell and his staff. He was busy getting barbed wire strung all over the place around the town. Whitehead's house was practically surrounded by barbed wire and trenches, as that hill was destined to be a resistance center if the Jap came to Port Moresby. It was apparent to me that if someone didn't stop him he would be there soon. The Aussies were still being driven back along the trail.

Rowell was planning a withdrawal to his perimeter defense line, which would put most of our airdromes in the hands of the Japs. I told him that I couldn't see why 12,000 white men should have to let two or three thousand Japs chase them behind the barbwire, but that if he did retire that far, I would evacuate the air troops, and then he would really be in trouble as Jap planes would occupy our fields and dive-bomb every vessel in the harbor or approaching the New Guinea coast. Then it would only be a question of time before he was starved out. Clowes down at Milne Bay would be cut off and he, too, would starve. With our air bases back in Australia, there would be nothing to stop the Nips from landing anywhere and taking Rowell out. With the Jap based in Port Moresby, Australia would be next on their list. He agreed that the situation would be bad but thought that he could hold out. If we couldn't stop the Jap advance by use of our air, it looked to me like another Singapore. One vital thing Rowell would lose by withdrawing would be his water line to the Laloki River. Another parallel with Singapore, where the British position became hopeless when they lost the only reservoir that supplied the city.

At present, our air opposition was all that was even slowing the Jap advance down. I hoped, by cutting off his supply line and driving his native bearers off the trail, to weaken and halt the Nip drive. Even a Jap had to eat and had to have ammunition to shoot. At the same time, some new blood was needed in New Guinea. I decided to recommend to General Mac Arthur that he let me fly some Yanks up there. They would come in bragging about taking over after the Aussies had failed. Actually they probably would be no better fighters when the chips were down, but they didn't know that and the Aussies didn't know it, so a little competition might help.

On September 12, Captain "Don" Hall leading nine A-20s of the 89th Attack Squadron demonstrated my parafrag bomb for the first time in war. The Japs the day before had filled up enough holes in the Buna strip to land twenty-two airplanes just before dark. They were still on the ground when the A-20 sneaked in over the palm trees and, strafing as they flew over the field in two waves, dropped forty parafrags per plane, stringing them over the airdrome about fifty yards apart. Seventeen of the Nip planes were destroyed, nine of them by Hall himself. The leading wave of four planes got some ack-ack fire, but the second wave reported "everything quiet as a grave." When the first parachutes blossomed, some of the Nips evidently thought it was a paratroop landing for they rushed out with their rifles and began to shoot. As soon as the super-sensitive fuzes on the noses of the parafrags touched the ground, however, the Nips found out their mistake. The fragments from that bomb will cut a man's legs off below the knees a hundred feet from the point of impact.

Following the attack by the A-20s we put five B-26s and seven B-17s over Buna to complete the job. They unloaded some 1000-pounders along the runway and from the looks of the photos I didn't think the Japs would be using Buna airdrome for a long time. They had bled themselves out of a lot of airplanes, trying to use the place. Sooner or later even a dumb Nip should understand that we didn't want him that close to us. During the past two days Buna got 35 tons of bombs and 33,000 rounds of ammunition.

I wired Arnold for 125,000 more parafrag bombs and sent word to my ordnance officer at Brisbane to get together with the Australian ordnance people to convert our standard fragmentation bombs into parafrags as fast as possible.

I returned no Brisbane and that evening reported to General MacArthur my conversations with Rowell and my own conclusions about the situation in New Guinea. I told the General that I believed we would lose Port Moresby if something drastic did not happen soon. The Japanese were advancing so fast that the Australians had had no opportunity to organize any resistance and their withdrawal had been so fast that they had abandoned the food dumps at Kokoda, Efogi, and Myola Lake that we had put so much effort into building up by air drop during the previous two weeks.

I believed that Rowell's attitude had become defeatist and that this attitude had permeated the whole Australian force in New Guinea. In some quarters there was evidence of panic. The troops were worn out and the constant stream of sick and wounded coming into Port Moresby had visibly affected the morale of the troops there, who had no hesitancy in saying that they wanted no part of fighting up on the trail. There was a definite lack of inspiration and a "don't care" attitude that looked as though they were already reconciled to being forced out of New Guinea.

I advised getting some American troops up there as soon as possible to stop stories now going the rounds that the Yanks were taking it easy in Australia and letting the Aussies do all the fighting. The Jap propaganda leaflets all pictured the Americans taking good care of the Australian wives while the Aussie sweat it out in the jungle. It wouldn't do to have this propaganda take effect. The Germans, in appealing to the French in 1940, blamed the British troops for doing the same thing. I was in France at that time and I know it had an effect on the French, who gradually developed a definite coolness toward the British.

I asked General MacArthur to let me fly a regiment to New Guinea right away and to let General Blarney put them into the fighting. The General said he agreed that we must send some Americans to New Guinea right away and said to be in his office the next morning when we would meet with the staff to work out plans for the move.

IV The Buna Campaign I

September -- October 1942

September 13th turned out to be a pretty good day. I like that number. General MacArthur announced that he was ordering the American 32nd Division to New Guinea. I asked him to let me fly the first regiment in, as it would be two weeks before they could get loaded and transported there by boat. The General's staff didn't like the idea at all. They wanted to make the move "in an orderly way." I kept stressing the importance of the time element, as the Aussies up on the Kokoda trail were still withdrawing and they didn't have much farther to go before they would be behind the barbed wire at Port Moresby with no air support.

General MacArthur asked me how many men I would lose flying them from Australia to New Guinea. I told him that we hadn't lost a pound of freight yet on that route and that the airplanes didn't know the difference between 180 pounds of freight and 180 pounds of infantryman. The General said he hated to hear his doughboys compared to freight but for me to fly a company up there and we would see how long it took and how the scheme worked out. It was decided that we would start at daybreak on the morning of September 15th with a company from the 126th Infantry of the 32nd Division. I figured I'd have them all up there by that evening and then I'd see if the General would let me fly the rest in.

General MacArthur wanted to know all about the parachute frag-bomb attack on the Buna airdrome. I told him of the success and that I was so sure that it had proved the value of the bomb, I had radioed Arnold for 125,000 of them. In the meantime, we had started converting our regular fragmentation bombs to parafrags. That afternoon the General awarded me a Purple Heart for meritorious service in developing the bomb and utilizing it successfully for the first time in warfare.

I called Walker and told him to get busy with parafrag attacks on the Jap fields at Lae and Salamaua if they should land any planes there or start filling up the existing bomb craters. The B-26s and the B-17s with heavy bombs were to follow up the low-level attacks and dig deeper and better holes in the airdromes for the Nips to work on. Whitehead sent word to me the next day that he had abandoned work on a projected strip at Rorona and pulled the radar set out of there, as Jap patrols had been reported only a few miles away. The Nip advance had reached Ioribaiwa Ridge, which was on the Kokoda-Port Moresby trail, only thirty miles from Port Moresby and twenty-two miles from my new field at Laloki.

Admiral Ghormley of the South Pacific Theater called for help. He wanted us to beat down the Jap air strength at Rabaul on the 15th and 16th of September so that it wouldn't interfere with his sending a convoy of reinforcements and supplies into Guadalcanal at that time. I told General MacArthur I would put one squadron of B-17s on Rabaul each day and have the RAAF Catalinas work the Nip airdromes over at night. I called Walker and gave him the change in mission for the B-17s. They were already loaded with 2000-pound bombs to dig up the fields at Lae and Salamaua, so they had to unload and put in the smaller bombs for destruction of airplanes on the ground in the Rabaul area. These sudden calls for changes in the mission were not popular with the crews, but I told Ken to explain that Ghormley was in real trouble again.

On the 15th, at first light, 230 doughboys of the 126th Infantry, with small arms and packs, loaded on board a mixed collection of Douglas and Lockheed transports at Amberley Field. At six that evening, Whitehead radioed me that they had all landed at Port Moresby. I rushed upstairs to General Mac Arthur's office to give him the good news and asked him to let me haul the rest of the regiment. He congratulated me most enthusiastically but told me that he had already ordered the rest of the regiment shipped by boat and that the loading had already begun. I said, "All right, give me the next regiment to go, the 128th, and I'll have them in Port Moresby ahead of this gang that goes by boat."

The staff again opposed a little more forcefully this time, as though they were afraid this foolishness might get out of hand. General MacArthur asked Sutherland when the 126th was scheduled to pull out of Brisbane Harbor. Sutherland replied, "The morning of the 18th." MacArthur said, "Tell General Eichelberger that George is flying the 128th Infantry to Port Moresby, beginning the morning of the 18th. George, you and Bob get together and make your arrangements." I said, "Yes, sir," and went to work.

I called Mr. Drakeford, the Australian Air Minister, and got twelve transports released from the civil airlines to report to me the afternoon of the 17th at Amberley Field for a week's duty. All bombers overhauled anywhere in Australia from then on until further notice would assist in hauling troops to New Guinea and any airplanes coming in from the United States would be commandeered, civilian ferry crews and all, to help out. Making arrangements with Major General Bob Eichelberger presented no problem. We were friends of twenty years' standing. He liked this air-movement business, as it was fast and Bob liked to move fast once he was told to move. He wasn't going up to New Guinea right away, but he expected that if enough American infantry did go up there, the command would eventually be big enough to warrant sending him, too.

Brigadier General Donald Wilson arrived from Washington the next day. I had asked Hap Arnold for him some time ago. I appointed him Chief of Staff, Allied Air Forces, relieving Air Vice-Marshal Bostock, who took over the newly created RAAF Command. Wilson also had to double in brass as my Chief of Staff for the 5th (U.S.) Air Force.

I took off for Port Moresby to confer with Whitehead and tell him about the movement of the 32nd Division to New Guinea. All our troops were glad to see the American doughboys arriving. Even though only 230 had been flown in, our crewmen, who had been wearing pistols as they worked on airplanes for the past few weeks, felt that from now on things were going to be different. I hoped they were right. Those Yanks were eager-looking boys, but I guess the Aussies were, too, when they first came up to New Guinea. The Australians at Port Moresby were quite interested in the arrival of the American infantry. They were curious, wondering, but obviously glad. I believe that the move was made at just about the right time psychologically, for the Japs were still advancing, although not quite so pell-mell as a few weeks previously. The dead ones looked pretty thin.

The Buna airdrome appeared deserted. Wrecked airplanes were still where the bombs hit them and the bomb craters had not been filled in. It looked as if the Nip had decided to abandon trying to use it as an airdrome.

I told Whitehead to get me some low-altitude pictures of Wanigela Mission and to watch for any sign of Jap occupancy or activity down there.

On the 17th the Jap advanced patrols reached the edge of Imita Ridge where they were halted by elements of the Australian 25th Brigade. Imita Ridge is only eighteen miles from Laloki, and from there it is only another eight miles to Port Moresby itself. Our fighters and light bombers shuttled back and forth all day, strafing and bombing the whole length of the trail from Imita Ridge to Kokoda and on to Buna. I returned to Brisbane, bringing Whitehead with me as far as Townsville. Whitehead looked tired, so I decided to let him and Walker exchange jobs for a while to let Whitey eat some of that good Australian food while Walker got used to M and V rations and gained operating experience running the advanced echelon in New Guinea. I made the exchange and then went on to Brisbane.

During the evening I saw General MacArthur in his apartment at Lennon's Hotel, talked with him about the situation in New Guinea and my impression of the effect of the arrival of American infantry upon both Australians and Americans up there. I said I thought he ought to look over the show in New Guinea himself at the earliest opportunity. I believed that his presence in the Port Moresby area at this time would be a real boost to morale. He said, "All right. Let's leave to morrow. I'll be your guest."

We took off about noon the next day and landed at Townsville where we spent the night. The first airborne contingent of the 128th Infantry had passed through without mishap and Walker radioed that the planes had all landed at Port Moresby and were on their way back to pick up another load. General MacArthur was happy as a kid over the way the movement was going and quite enthusiastic about the way Bertrandais was getting along with the establishment of the big air depot I had told him to build. Vic had already started a production-line type of airplane repair work and had made plumbers, carpenters, electricians, and any other specialists he needed out of just plain GIs, which was all I had to give him. His mess probably put on a special effort for General MacArthur, but it was not much better than it had been when I had eaten there before on my return trips from New Guinea. The General said to Bertrandais, "Well, now I know who to steal from if I ever need a good cook." Vic pretended to look a bit worried and said, "General, if you need a good carpenter or steam fitter or plumber I wouldn't mind so much, but cooks are hard to get." MacArthur laughed and said, "Don't worry, I've already got a good one." He asked Bertrandais where he got all the carpenters who were busy erecting hangars, ware houses, shops, and camp buildings all over the place. Vic said he gave each of the men a hammer and some nails. Anyone who hit his thumb more than once out of five times trying to drive a nail was eliminated. The rest became carpenters. General MacArthur "bought" Bertrandais.

During the evening I talked with him about occupying Wanigela Mission by air and then moving northwest along the coastal trail to Buna, with air supply keeping the show going the same way that we were supplying the Aussies on the Kokoda trail. As soon as we could take out Buna, there was a similar set-up to capture Lae by landing troops on the flat grass plains at Nadzab on the Markham River about twenty miles west of Lae. General MacArthur listened, asked several questions, and said, "We'll see." If I could prove our capabilities of transporting troops and supplying them by air during the next week or so, I figured he would give me a go-ahead on Wanigela. It was too bad that his staff hadn't his vision and intelligence. They were the stumbling blocks, not MacArthur.

The next morning we flew to Port Moresby. The General got quite a kick over the fact that we made a turn over the Jap positions on Imita Ridge, coming in to land at Seven Mile strip, where the air movement of the 128th Infantry was in full swing. Ten troop carriers that had cleared Townsville before we took off were just beginning to land at Seven Mile, while just off the edge of the strip the bulldozers were busy filling in three deep craters made by the Japs the previous night when they had raided us again.

The General watched the orderly way the transports were coming in, being unloaded and refueled, and taking off for Townsville while the troops were quickly formed up and marched off to their camping area. He liked the show and said so, chatting for some time with doughboys, mechanics, and airplane crewmen. I showed him around the town and the construction work on the docks and the roads. He didn't think much of the speed being made or of the quality of work and told the engineers about it in no uncertain terms.

After lunch with Walker at Whitehead's mess, which was still the worst in New Guinea, we drove out to Laloki where sixteen P-38s which had arrived a few days before were being worked on and flight-tested. I introduced the P-38 pilots. General MacArthur was glad to meet and talk to them and they could feel it. As usual, anyone that saw him and talked with him or listened to him for fifteen minutes was sold on Douglas MacArthur. This gathering was no exception.

All the newspapermen in New Guinea were at Laloki. There were Pat Robinson of INS, Dean Schedler and Ed Widdis of the AP, Harold Guard of UP, Byron Darnton of the New York Times, Lon Sebring of the Herald Tribune, Jack Turcott of the New York Daily dews, Al Noderer of the Chicago Tribune, Ed Angly of the Chicago Sun, Frank Prist of Acme Pictures, Martin Banett of Paramount News, and Bob Navarro of March of Time. Geoffrey Hutton and George Johnston represented Australia and William Courtney and Dixon Brown were covering the war for the British public. General MacArthur gave them an off-the-record talk as background for future releases. He emphasized that we were not going to be run out of New Guinea and that he would fight it out with the Jap here and not in Australia. He paid a real tribute to me and the Allied Air Force, giving us credit for breaking up the Jap show at Milne Bay and for gaining control of the air over New Guinea. He predicted that the Jap drive on Port Moresby had reached its limit and that we would see the Jap withdrawing across the Owen Stanley Mountains soon, as he could not keep going without a supply line. That the air attacks had ruined his supply line and therefore his capability of continuing the attack.

General Blarney came to Whitehead's house to see General MacArthur in the evening. They made a date to go out along the trail the next morning to inspect the troops. They could go all the way to Imita Ridge by jeep. The trail was a bit rough, but passable that far. Mr. Drakeford, the Australian Air Minister, also was in. I thanked him for his cooperation in turning over the civil air transports to me for the move of the troops to New Guinea. He promised to do anything he could to help. I promised to return the transports by the 25th of September.

General Blarney did not want to use the Americans for the present on the Kokoda trail. He intended to use them to cover the Laloki River line from infiltration. General MacArthur offered no objection. Blarney was sending General George Vasey with the 7th Australian Imperial Forces Division units up the trail to chase the Japs back to Buna. He had a lot of faith in Vasey and these troops. Also I believe that as a matter of pride he wanted the Australians to get themselves out of the mess they were in.

General MacArthur and Blarney spent nearly all the next day "jeeping" along the trail all the way to Imita Ridge where the fighting was going on. The Japs were trying to capture the ridge but were still being held. Replacement troops coming up were now fresh and the supply situation was quite good, as stuff could be brought in by jeep and trailer. General Mac Arthur made quite a hit with the Aussies. They were glad to see him up on the trail. Good psychology.

I didn't go along. I hate to walk, anyhow, so I spent the morning with Bill Benn, playing with skip-bombing on the old wreck on the reef outside Port Moresby Harbor. The lads were doing quite well. A nice-looking lad named Captain Ken McCullar was especially good. He tested ten shots and put six of them up against the wreck. At 200 mph, altitude 200 feet, and releasing about 300 yards away, the bomb skipped along like a stone and bumped nicely into the side of the ship. Some times, if the airplane was too low or flying too fast at the time of release, the bombs would bounce clean over the vessel. Our delay fuzes were coming along. We couldn't get anything out of the United States for some time, so we were modifying the Australian eleven-second delay fuzes into four- to five-second delay. So far they worked pretty well. Sometimes they went off in three seconds, sometimes in seven, but that was good enough. I knew I would have to prove the scheme before I could really put much heat on the gang back home for an American fuze.

The troops of the 128th Infantry were still coming in on schedule at the rate of about 600 men every twenty-four hours. When I gave him the figures that evening, General MacArthur was really enthusiastic about the air show. He said that the Aussies told him we were saving the situation up on the trail. He said the AIF troops were real soldiers and that they would fight. Blarney stopped all conversation about with drawing any farther and said that in a few days he was passing to the offensive to drive the Nips back where they came from. It looked to me as though it wouldn't be long now before Rowell went south. He and Blarney didn't act like bosom friends, from where I sat. During the afternoon General MacArthur drove over to the hospital on the edge of Port Moresby and pinned a Silver Star on Vern Haugland, an AP correspondent who had parachuted from a B-26 over the jungle on August 7th and had finally been picked up by the natives twenty-five days later. The plane had encountered bad weather coming to Port Moresby from Australia, the pilot had become lost, and finally, as the fuel was exhausted, had ordered everyone on board to take to their parachutes. Haugland had landed in the Owen Stanley Mountains without food or matches. By the time he was rescued and hospitalized his weight had dropped from around 160 pounds to 90. He had nearly starved to death and was desperately ill and delirious when he stumbled onto a native trail which led to a remote Papuan village. He was actually only half conscious of what was going on as the General spoke to him and pinned the medal on his pajama top. The little ceremony seemed to act like a tonic to Haugland, however. From that day he improved rapidly and three weeks later was flown back to Australia to recuperate. In another month he was back at work.

General MacArthur also inspected the American infantry being flown in. He said they were fresh and full of pep and ready to go, although they were far from being seasoned troops. Blamey's decision to use battletried Australians was probably a good one. During the day I saw some pretty experiments on some 300- and 500-pound bombs which we had been fixing up to annoy the Nips.

To cut up aircraft on the ground we had wrapped these bombs with heavy steel wire, and we dropped them with instantaneous fuzes on the end of a six-inch pipe extension in the nose. They looked good. The wire, which was nearly one quarter inch in diameter, broke up into pieces from six inches to a couple of feet long, and in the demonstration it cut limbs off trees a hundred feet away which were two inches thick. The noise was quite terrifying. The pieces of wire whirling through the air whistled and sang all the notes on the scale and wailed and screamed like a whole tribe of disconsolate banshees.

The Jap built pretty good dirt revetments around his air planes, so, to get at them from above, we were experimenting with the delay fuze that came with the photo-flash bomb which could be set for night photography to fall two or more thousand feet before it went off. We set this fuze so that it would explode after dropping 10,000 feet. Then, with the plane dropping it from just above that altitude, we hoped to get an air burst to get at the revetted planes from above or maybe sometimes at Nips in slit trenches. If the bomb hit the ground first, it had an instantaneous fuze in addition to the other so it wouldn't be wasted. In the test I witnessed, one exploded on contact and acted about Like any other bomb with an instantaneous fuze. The second went off about zoo feet in the air and showered fragments all over the map but probably would have not done much good as the fragments were dispersed too thinly over too great an area. The third exploded at about fifty feet and really cleaned house. The bushes and jungle growth were cut up and blown away over an area big enough for a baseball diamond. We decided to fix up some 1000- and 2000-pounders from air bursts, and maybe wire wrap them, too, and some day give the Nips a surprise.

On the next test we scheduled one airplane to fly at sea level and radio the barometric pressure up to the one dropping the bomb, to see if we could get the altitude determination as true as possible. I hoped this would give us more air bursts around fifty feet, which was the altitude we wanted.

I told "Ken" Walker to try using instantaneous fuzes on shipping, as I thought we had overestimated the effect of "near misses." The reconnaissance reports following our bombing attacks with 1/10- second-delay fuzes had shown that the convoys were still proceeding at the same speed after the bombing attacks, so evidently the near misses had been going so deep before the explosion took place that all we got was a big wave, which didn't even slow the Nip vessels down. I believed, however, that an instantaneous explosion near a vessel, up to perhaps fifty yards away, would push fragments into it, killing Japs, cutting steam and fuel lines, and maybe setting fires. If we got a deck hit on one of these unarmored ships with a big bomb, it would sink anyhow, whether the fuze was 1/10-second-delay or instantaneous.

Ken didn't like the idea and his Naval liaison officer didn't think much of it, either, but I told them to try it for a while and see what results we got.

General MacArthur and I returned to Brisbane on the 21st.

Just as the General left for his office, two B-17s, replacements from the United States flown by civilian crews who belonged to the Boeing Aircraft Company, landed at Amberley Field. They got out of the planes and asked how they could get into town. I told them the next town they saw would be Port Moresby, New Guinea, as I was loading thirty dough boys in each of those B-17s and they were to fly them to the war at the rate of one load every twenty-four hours. They were tickled to death at the idea of taking part in the show and said, "Okay. Give us something to eat and we'll push off whenever you are ready."

If anything happened to these civilian ferry crews, I'd catch hell, but if we didn't get troops into New Guinea I'd catch hell, too.

Evidently our attacks on the Jap airdromes around Rabaul to support the South Pacific operation were as successful as the kids claimed they were. Just as I was leaving for another visit to Port Moresby, General MacArthur sent me a letter of commendation which I transmitted to Walker and asked him to bring to the attention of the crews that did the job.

GENERAL HEADQUARTERS SOUTHWEST PACIFIC AREA

OFFICE OF THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF

September 23, 1942

SUBJECT: Commendation

T0 : Commander, Allied Air Forces

I. Admiral Ghormley has informed me that he and Admiral Turner are convinced that the attack by the element of the 19th Bombardment Group upon Vunakanau on the 16th contributed materially to the successful accomplishment of Admiral Turner's mission m Guadalcanal. Admiral Ghormley asks that there be conveyed to the crews of the six B-17s his commendation, "Well done."

2. It gives me great pleasure to convey to you this message.

DOUGLAS MacARTHUR,

General, U.S. Army

On arrival at Port Moresby I went out to General Blamey's field headquarters just outside of town and had a long conference with him, General Rowell, and members of the Australian staff on the possibilities of a land advance along the Kokoda trail toward Band, plus one along the Kappa Kappa to Jaure trail, on which we had a reconnaissance party, then from Jaure down the Kumusi River to Wairpoi on the trail, halfway between Kokoda and Buna. These two movements would be combined with an airborne occupation of Wanigela Mission, followed by an advance along the coast to Buna itself. I had discussed this three-pronged movement with General Mac Arthur on our trip back to Brisbane and he had asked me to sound out Blamey and get his reaction to the plan. I discussed with Blamey the amount of help the Air Force could give the troops and told him that we could take care of all the air lift and air-dropping requirements of all three forces, assuming that the Australian 7th Division would go over the Kokoda trail, one American battalion over the Kappa-Kappa-Jaure trail, and that the rest of the American 32nd Division would be flown to Wanigela Mission for the advance up the coast. The way we were flying in troops from Australia ahead of schedule had impressed Blamey that we had more airborne capability than he had dreamed of. He told me that as soon as he could get moving forward along the Kokoda trail and felt that he was in the clear there, he would go for the Wanigela Mission thing and give me an Australian battalion from Milne Bay as the occupation force. The Kappa-Kappa-Jaure trail idea he was not sure of and he preferred to wait until our reconnaissance party, then out prospecting the route, returned and gave us an idea whether or not the route was feasible.

Blamey had taken over personal command of the Allied Land Forces in New Guinea. Rowell was not even consulted any more.

All Jap attempts in the last two days to capture Imita Ridge had failed. The Aussies were getting ready to move forward and do some attacking of their own. The tired militia troops had been replaced by General George Vasey's veteran 7th Division fighters, who were fresh and eager to go. For the ninth successive day we pounded the Japs along the trail with every airplane we could put in the air.

Don Wilson radioed me that General Hap Arnold was due in Brisbane late the 24th or early on the morning of the 25th, so I took off in one of the "troop-carrying" B-17s which was returning to Brisbane. It was their third straight round trip in three days.

When I got to Brisbane I got a message from Walker saying that the last of the 128th Infantry had arrived at Port Moresby. The 126th, which was still at sea, was not due to arrive there for another two days and then they would have to unload. I thanked the civilian ferry crews who had brought out the B-17s and told them they could go home now and wired Drakeford that he could have his civil airline crews and planes back. After writing a lot of letters of appreciation to the two batches of civilians who had really made it possible for me to do the job on time, I went up to see General MacArthur, give him the news, and crow a little over getting the airborne 128th Infantry in ahead of the waterborne 126th. He grinned like a kid and was quite complimentary.

I showed him pictures of Wanigela Mission, which looked quite good for landing purposes, and told him of my conference with Blarney. I said Blarney had agreed to put a battalion of Aussies in there just as soon as he got moving on the Kokoda trail and that I was able to fly them in, feed them, and then fly in and supply the whole 32nd Division as it moved up the coast to Buna. I reiterated the need to build a big air base on that flat plain area west of Buna, from which we could hit Rabaul and Lae without first having to climb over the 13,000 foot Owen Stanley range.

General MacArthur approved the air seizure of Wanigela Mission and told me to deal with Blarney on it directly. I was almost certain that General MacArthur would soon give me a go-ahead on the ferrying of the 32nd Division across, too. Sutherland and the rest of the GHQ staff were definitely opposed to the whole scheme, but if we didn't run into any trouble at Wanigela Mission, I felt sure the General would give me a green light in spite of his staff. I didn't expect any trouble. The Japs hadn't a hundred men east of Buna.

Hap Arnold's whole time schedule, from the minute he was due to arrive in Brisbane until he returned to Noumea via Townsville, Port Moresby, and Guadalcanal, came in that evening by the "punch card" code. This code, which we used when the message needed to be secret for only a short time, could be broken easily in an hour. The worst thing about his schedule was that, in addition to broadcasting it to the whole world, it called for his flying from Townsville to Port Moresby and from there to Guadalcanal in daylight in an unarmed airplane. I rearranged his schedule so that these two flights would be at night. His staff didn't use their heads very well, unless they wanted the Nips to pull an interception on the Old Man. I anticipated having a bit of fun explaining to Hap that I had rearranged his schedule and his route.

About noon on the 25th, Arnold, Major General Streett and Colonel Bill Ritchie, who looked after SWPA affairs in the War Department Plans Division, arrived at Amberley Field. I explained to Hap that I had rearranged his time schedule and why. He looked a little sheepish and said, "Okay, let's go in town and eat, and then when can I see General MacArthur?" I told him I had arranged the meeting for that afternoon after lunch. After conferring with General MacArthur and hearing a lot of nice things about myself and chuckling at General MacArthur practically ordering Hap to give me anything I wanted, Hap and I spent the rest of the day going over my problems and needs.

He said he could not give me any more groups but would do the best he could on giving me replacement aircraft, al though he warned me that every time an airplane came out of the factory about ten people yelled for it, with the European Theater getting the first call.

He promised to take care of crew replacements for combat losses and combat fatigue. He was glad I wanted to send home the Philippine and Java veterans, as he needed them to put more experience in his training establishments back home. I told him he certainly needed it, as the kids coming here from the States were green as grass. They were not getting enough gunnery, acrobatics, formation flying, or night flying. He promised to do something about that as soon as he got back. I told him that the 19th Bombardment Group would have to be pulled out, both combat and ground crews. They were so beaten down that psychologically they were not worth fooling with. I asked him to exchange them for the 90th Bombardment Group, then in Hawaii, equipped with B-24s (Liberators). General Emmons, in command there, needed an experienced group and I needed a fresh one. Arnold agreed and said he would arrange the swap. He asked about having two types of bombers to maintain, but I told him I didn't care as long as he would send me replacements. The B-17 was preferred in Europe, but I was not particular. I'd take anything.

He wanted to know all about the parafrag bombs and how they were turning out. I told him the story and he promised to push a program for big-quantity output right away.

He was quite complimentary about the way the show was going in this theater but seemed worried about my building a depot as far forward as Townsville and stocking our supplies up there. When I told him that Townsville would really be the rear-area depot, as I was going to start one in Port Moresby right away, he said he thought I was crazy, that it would be bombed out, and from the way the New Guinea situation looked to him when he left Washington, the Japs would probably capture the place soon. I told him that the Japs were all through as far as Port Moresby was concerned and he would soon see them back across the Owen Stanleys and that, furthermore, the gain in being able to repair shot-up airplanes in New Guinea, instead of shipping them by boat back to Townsville, was worth losing my depot from bombing once a month.

He laughed about my scheme to get troops on the north coast of New Guinea by way of Wanigela Mission and said, "More power to you, if you can put it across. I'll get you some more transports somehow, if I have to steal them."

I asked him to stop his staff from trying to tell me how to run my show out here. He wanted to know what I meant. I reminded him of a radio signed "Arnold," which came in a few days before, wanting to know why I was bombing airdromes when experience had shown that they were not profit able targets and that Rabaul was full of shipping within range of my B-17s and B-26s. I told him that bombing airdromes had given me control of the air over New Guinea, allowed me to mess up the Jap advance over the Kokoda trail, and air-drop supplies to feed the Australian troops there, had deprived the Japs of air support at Milne Bay, and had made Port Moresby almost a rear-area rest camp. In regard to the B-26s going to Rabaul, while when his staff laid their rules on the map it might show that Rabaul was in range from Port Moresby, the fact remained that after the B-26 had climbed over the 13,000-foot Owen Stanley range with a load of bombs it just did not have enough gas left to make the trip and get back home.

Hap said he'd put a stop to such foolishness. He promised to read the riot act to his staff as soon as he got back, but I knew that sooner or later some more radios would slip by and get me all mad again. One thing that helped, however, was that a very important guy named Douglas MacArthur believed in me. He would not let me down and I would not let him down. I was quite sure that he knew that, too.

Big news came in from New Guinea that night. The tide had turned. The Aussies attacked, drove the Nips out of their advanced positions at the foot of Imita Ridge, and were pushing them back on Ioribaiwa Ridge.

The next morning I took Arnold to Townsville, inspected the depot with him, and then sent him on to Port Moresby, with Whitehead accompanying him. I told Whitey to come back to Townsville as soon as Arnold left and finish getting some rest. I returned to Brisbane that night after Hap took off for New Guinea. I was to hop over to Noumea on the 28th to meet Arnold again, in a conference with General Miff Harmon and Admiral Ghormley on cooperation between SWPA and SOPAC. Sutherland was to go along to represent MacArthur.

General MacArthur asked me to fly the headquarters of the 32nd Division to Port Moresby, starting the next day. That made about 4500 troops of that division flown to New Guinea from Australia. The remaining regiment, the 127th Infantry, was to go up by boat.

On the 28th I flew to Noumea, taking Sutherland along. At lunch with General Arnold I brought up the question of what to do with Lincoln. I had abolished the Melbourne rear echelon and consolidated its functions in my Brisbane headquarters, so that Lincoln was surplus. Miff Harmon said he needed someone to be "King" of Fiji and would give Lincoln the job. Arnold later agreed and said he would issue the orders for the transfer as soon as he returned to Washington.

In the afternoon I attended a conference on board the Argonne, Admiral Ghormley's flagship in Noumea Harbor. Besides Ghormley, Admirals Nimitz, Turner, and Callahan were there and Generals Arnold, Harmon, Streett, Sutherland, and myself.

The Navy wanted me to make mass raids on Rabaul airdromes and shipping as a primary mission. I told them that we were doing everything we could and were just as anxious as they were about the Jap strength at Rabaul. I said we were then planning and getting ready for a large-scale attack on the airdromes there and would also try to burn the place down but that knocking off Jap convoys to Buna, maintaining air control over New Guinea, and helping out our ground forces were all missions that had to be attended to, so that I could not set any definite dates. Ghormley said he appreciated everything we had done to help their tough situation at Guadalcanal and hoped we would have all the luck in the world when we hit Rabaul in force. I told him that he could rest assured that we would do all we could, as General MacArthur scrupulously responded to his directive from the Joint Chiefs of Staff in Washington which called for cooperation between the two theaters. I hoped that some day when they got out of trouble they could come over and help us out. I liked Ghormley but he looked tired and really was tired. I don't believe his health was any too good and I thought, while we were talking, that it wouldn't be long before he was relieved.

That evening the news came in that the Aussies had captured Ioribaiwa Ridge. The Japs were really dug in and fought to the last man but they were out of food and short on ammunition.

I spent the night with Miff Harmon and the next morning said goodbye to Hap Arnold and flew back to Brisbane.

They told me there that Lieutenant General Rowell had left New Guinea. The Australians said his new job was to be in Melboume. They didn't know what it would be but assured me that it would not be very important. It is a bad idea to be a loser in a war.

The last of the headquarters of the 32nd Division, with Major General Forrest Harding in command, were flown to New Guinea the 29th.

General MacArthur, in spite of adverse recommendations of his entire staff, who insisted I was reckless and irresponsible, decided to take the north coast of New Guinea by an air borne, air-supplied movement of the 32nd Division from Port Moresby to Wanigela Mission and on up the coast to Buna. The Aussies were to make the initial occupation of Wanigela Mission by flying in a battalion from Milne Bay. This would all be coordinated with the drive of the Australians over the Kokoda trail to Wairopi, where they would be joined by one battalion of the 32nd Division which would move from Kappa Kappa to Jaure and then down the Kumusi River to Wairopi.

The next morning a note came down to me from General MacArthur. It was a copy of a message he had just sent to Washington.

Chief of Staff

War Department, Washington, D.C.

Recommend the promotion to Lieutenant General of Major General George C. Kenney, 0-8940. This officer commands the Allied Air Force, composed of the Fifth Air Force and the Royal Australian Air Force, South West Pacific Area. His position justifies the rank of Lieutenant General. Allied Land Forces and Allied Naval Forces, the latter of far less strength than Air Forces, are commanded by men of corresponding or higher rank. General Kenney has demonstrated supenor qualities of leadership and professional ability.

MacArthur

Quite a nice way to end the month.

Major William Benn's 63rd Bombardment Squadron had really gone to town, justifying everything I'd ever said about Bill and his qualities of leadership.

Their first combat mission was on the night of September 19th, when five B-17s of the squadron attacked Jap shipping in Rabaul Harbor. They admitted that no hits were scored. The crews were evidently peeved at missing the targets, so they dropped down to 200-feet altitude and machine-gunned three vessels in the harbor with all the ammunition they had. Fires were reported breaking out on all three. In spite of heavy antiaircraft fire, all five B-17s returned. There were no casualties and surprisingly few holes in the airplanes.

Benn promptly put the squadron back on bombing training, with individual crews taking their turns on reconnaissance missions. At dawn on October 2nd, six planes of the squadron repeated the attack at Rabaul. The results of training paid off this time. Two large Jap transports were set on fire by direct hits, a cruiser heavily damaged by a direct hit, and an ammunition dump near Lakunai airdrome was blown up. That lad Captain Ken McCullar, whom I saw doing some excellent skip-bombing a week ago, hit one of the Jap ships on this attack. A couple of hot boys named Murphy and Sogaard got the other two.

All day on October 4th, the natives around Wanigela Mission worked like beavers cutting a strip though the kunai grass big enough for us to land transports. The next morning we turned the corner in the New Guinea war when we started flying a battalion of Australians to Wanigela from Milne Bay. By nightfall we had landed the whole battalion of approximately 1000 men and, in addition, about a hundred American engineer troops from Port Moresby, to put the strip in shape for bigger operations later on. No Jap troops were encountered and no Jap aircraft flew over the area all day. As far as we could find out from the natives, the Nips had no idea that we were on the north coast of New Guinea.

General Blarney was quite enthusiastic about this modern warfare but told me he had really had to order General Clowes to provide the troops from Milne Bay. Clowes didn't approve of this method at all.

While the Aussies were being flown to Wanigela Mission, we covered the operation by attacks on Buna and Rabaul to give the Japs something to look at besides our airborne troop movement. Benn's squadron put eight B-17s over Vunakanau airdrome and dropped twenty tons of bombs with excellent effect, setting fires, destroying aircraft on the ground, and digging huge holes in the runway. The squadron was intercepted by thirty Jap fighters, but the, B-17s shot down eight of them and all eight B-17s returned without even having a man wounded or an engine shot out. In a few weeks that 63rd Squadron had developed into a cocky, swaggering outfit if I ever saw me.

I went back to Brisbane and told General MacArthur that we had started on the road to Tokio and that, as soon as Buna was out of the way, a similar bow would put us into Nadzab and let us capture Lae from the back door. I said I wanted to do some reconnaissance and start planning soon. The General said to go ahead on the planning but that no final decision would be made until Buna was occupied. If the Buna job could go through quickly, I was sure he would be ready to roll on up the coast. I'd need some more transports to handle the Nadzab show, but Arnold had promised to take care of that.

Some time previously we had started shipping a lot of cement and other building materials, as well as a few refrigerators, to New Guinea by boat, but as soon as the stuff was unloaded the engineer colonel commanding the base issued instructions for the engineers to take custody. Of course, the regulations said that the engineers were charged with the purchase, storage, and issue of such things, but as they wouldn't get them for me I'd been getting them myself. I told Connell to ship as much of the stuff as he could by air direct to the airdromes, where Whitehead would see that it got where it be longed, and to put things Like refrigerators in airplane engine boxes. The engineers didn't touch boxes and crates labeled Air Force supplies.

One of Wurtsmith's sergeants one day went down to the dock to pick up a shipment of engines. One of the boxes was not the right size and shape for an Allison engine, although it was so labeled. The sergeant said, "That's no engine crate. Open her up and let's see what kind of a shenanigan is being worked. I'm not going to load up this truck with someone else's junk."

The box was opened, exposing to view a nice new refrigerator which was supposed to go to the very squadron to which the sergeant belonged.

"You're right, Sergeant," said the engineer officer in charge of the unloading crew. "I guess they must have made a mistake in the marking of that box."

We not only lost the refrigerator but, from then on, any suspicious-looking box or crate would probably be opened be fore we could cart it away. That dumb sergeant was not very popular in his squadron for several days.

Our P-38s were grounded again, with leaks in the air intakes of the cooling system. We were now practically rebuilding the wings to plug the leaks on ten of the airplanes at Port Moresby, eighteen at Townsville, and twenty others at Brisbane. It looked as though I wouldn't have enough ready for operations until around the middle of November.

General MacArthur sent for me on the 6th and told me that the Navy over in the South Pacific Area was planning another operation for October 11th and wanted us to support it by at tacking Rabaul. I had already planned to do something about that place. For the past couple of weeks the Japs had been unloading supplies and troops there. They might be building up for a reinforcement of their forces in the Solomons or maybe around Band. The shipping had not been a good target, as the Jap vessels had been coming in just before dark, unloading at night, and leaving before daybreak. The airdromes in the Rabaul area were well beaten up and the Jap air strength was low. I told General MacArthur that my recommendation to help SOPAC was to burn out the town of Rabaul the night of the 8th-9th and repeat the attack the next night. At the same time I'd put the Australian Catalinas to work on the Jap airdromes on Bougainville Island. In case there should be a Jap reaction to our bombing of Rabaul, I would put down a big attack on the morning of the 9th on the Lae airdrome to stop the Nips from Rabaul from using it as a refueling point on the way to or from Port Moresby for their fighters which did not have the range for the full round trip. When my B-17s got back to Port Moresby after their attack on Rabaul, I'd keep a standing fighter patrol in the air to cover the refueling of the bombers and their rake-off for their home bases in Australia. The General approved my plan and I told Whitehead and Walker the dates to put it into effect. I told Walker I expected that we would have nearly thirty planes on the opening night and maybe twenty on the second attack.

The Australians were still advancing along the Kokoda trail. The Japs were withdrawing so fast the Aussies had lost con tact with them. The trail was littered with dead Japs and graves where others had been buried. The bombs and bullets took out a lot of them but most of them just starved to death.

During the night of the 8th-9th, the weather over Bougainville was so bad the Catalinas could not get through, so four of them dropped their incendiary bombs on Rabaul, setting fires that lit the town up nicely for thirty B-17s, a record number to date, which showered the place all night with instantaneous fuzed 500- and 300-pound bombs and incendiaries. The whole town was left a sea of flames, which were still visible eighty miles away an hour after the last airplane had left the area. The next morning the photo-reconnaissance plane found the place still covered with smoke and could not get any pictures. All of our planes returned.

The next night seven Catalinas lighted up Rabaul again for us and eighteen B-17s repeated the attack. Five of these bombed Lakunai airdrome, building many fires. The town was still burning when the bombing started and blazed up all over again when the incendiaries began to rain down. Bill Benn's 63rd squadron had ten B-17s in each attack. That had become the hottest outfit in the whole air force.

General MacArthur sent me a message stating: "Please tell the Bomber Command how gratified I feel at their fine performance over Rabaul." I did.

I got word that day that General Arnold, on his return to Washington the previous month, had agreed with the Navy that in an emergency Admiral Ghormley could divert air planes on the way to me and use them himself, "provided that they can be used more effectively in the SOPAC area." They should have merged these two theaters a long while before and let one man decide where the equipment was most needed for the campaign as a whole. I had already lost fifteen P-38s, some B-17s and DC-3s (C-47s) on account of these "emergencies."

During the night of the 11th-12th, the Navy pulled off their show, sinking a Jap light cruiser and three destroyers and dam aging a heavy cruiser and a destroyer. Our Navy lost a destroyer and had a heavy cruiser, a light cruiser, and a destroyer damaged. The operation covered the landing at Guadalcanal, beginning on the 12th, of the American Division under Major General "Sandy" Patch, relieving the First Marine Division which originally landed there over two months before on August 7th.

On the 14th, 670 troops of the 128th Infantry of the 32nd Division were flown to Wanigela Mission. Those were the lads who were headed for Buna along the coastal trail.

On the 15th, on the way to Port Moresby, I stopped at Townsville and Mareeba and pinned over 250 decorations on that many proud chests. The ceremony at Townsville took nearly an hour and the one at Mareeba over two hours. By the time I got through, I had worn most of the skin off the thumb and forefinger- of my right hand. It was a great show.

The 19th was all pepped up about going home. The rumor was out. I told Walker that, as soon as the actual orders came in, no one scheduled to go home would go on any more combat missions. I never saw a flyer yet who didn't worry about this "one last mission" business. I don't like it myself.

At Whitehead's, for dinner that evening, I talked with Major General Forrest Harding, the commander of the 32nd Division. He was quite enthusiastic about the way things were going on the air movement of his troops to the north coast. He said the Air Force had really opened his eyes as to what could be done with airplanes and that from then on he was on our side of all the arguments. Harding was a nice guy. He was anxious to move and I believed with luck he would make good. Some of the GHQ staff said he was inexperienced, but so was everyone else fighting Japs in New Guinea. If the ground forces had tried to fight a slow-moving, walking war the way the textbooks taught, the combination of malaria, dysentery, Japs, and jungle would have ruined a lot of reputations. Harding wanted to move fast and was willing to gamble on the planes keeping him supplied with food and ammunition as he moved along the trails, instead of building up big supply dumps and depots along a line of advance which was also intended to be a line of retreat if things should go wrong.

The troops that we flew to Wanigela Mission were moving west along a trail that, according to the map and the natives, led to Buna. The battalion of the 126th Infantry moving across the mountains from Kappa Kappa was having trouble. The trail was extremely rough and so grown up in places that it had to be cut out to get through. The pass over the Owen Stanleys was nearly 9000 feet, a lot higher than the 6500- foot elevation in the Kokoda Gap. They hadn't run into any Japs so far and the Jap had shown no sign that he knew any thing about our build-up at Wanigela Mission.

Harding said the morale of his troops was good and he hoped no one would stop him from moving. He remarked, "General Kenney, I'm drinking the same stuff you guys are these days. I don't know what it is or what it is going to do to me, but it sure tastes good."

I hoped with Harding that they would turn him loose, but this mixed-command organization might trip him up. General Sir Thomas Blarney was the Allied Ground Forces commander in New Guinea. The Australians under Vasey were heading for Band along the Kokoda trail and Blarney probably hoped they would get through in a hurry and retrieve the reputation of the Australians and incidentally himself. Vasey, a grand fighter, leading a grand fighting division, could go only so fast up that trail and the Australians would be pretty tired and a lot thinner by the time they got to Band. It was not unreasonable to think that Blarney would not relish the idea of the Aussies getting to Band all worn out and finding the Americans already in there, having been flown right up to the edge of the war and then walking in and taking all the prizes. If they got talking about "coordinating" the efforts of Vasey and Harding and they delayed too long, this could be a difficult show. It was dry season right then on the north coast of New Guinea, the trails were mostly dry and the swamps were shrunk to their minimum sizes, but about the middle of November the rainy season would hit us. The records indicated that the normal annual rainfall was around 150 inches. That meant that in a short time the trails would be muddy ditches and the flat coastal plain would be mostly swamp. In turn, that would mean more delay and more time for the troops to get malaria and dysentery. About that time, those eager-beaver but inexperienced troops of ours would be liable to lose their eagerness and high morale and bog down. If they bogged down, Harding would not come out of this war a big shot.

Sutherland complicated the picture. He had no confidence in the Australians. Every time I talked to him he tried to impress on me the terrible consequences if we should have a reverse. He said if anything went wrong, General MacArthur would be sent home. He didn't mention it, but in that case Major General Sutherland would also be out of a job. There wasn't any need for a reverse, if we kept moving. We had more men than the Jap. We owned the air over New Guinea. We were bombing and machine-gunning his troops and burning up his supplies. We could supply by air, while the Nip had to run an air blockade with his vessels every time he wanted another bag of rice, another round of ammunition, or another Jap soldier to replace his losses.

Admiral Ghormley called for help again. On the seventeenth we put five Catalinas on Buka, six B-17s on Buin, seven B-17s on Jap shipping in the Faisi anchorage, and seven B-17s on Vunakanau airdrome. The next night sixteen B-17s hit ship ping off Buin. By this time I had to go to General MacArthur and tell him that my bomber crews were worn out and, regardless of anyone's needs, they needed a rest and the airplanes needed maintenance. Just then a wire came in from General Emmons in Hawaii, saying that the first squadron of twelve B-24s of the 90th Bombardment Group would arrive in Australia on October 23rd. I recommended that we send home the twelve crews of the 19th Group most in need of rest, in twelve of the old-model B-17s immediately and follow with the rest of the 19th Group as fast as the crews and planes of the 90th Group arrived from Hawaii. The General approved the plan.

Major General Rush B. Lincoln left on the 19th for Noumea to report to Miff Harmon.

I put out an order requiring everyone in the Fifth Air Force to wear long trousers and long sleeves. The funny thing about it was that it not only made sense but I knew it would be enthusiastically obeyed. A month before, however, it would have been exceedingly unpopular.

When the Americans first came to New Guinea and saw the Aussies wearing shorts and shirtsleeves cut off above the elbow, it appealed to them as a smart idea for that hot, humid, jungle service. Just as an experiment, I put long trousers and long-sleeved shirts on one squadron of a fighter group and shorts and short-sleeved shirts on another squadron for a month. At the end of the trial period, I had two cases of malaria in the long-trousered, long-sleeved squadron and sixty two cases in the squadron wearing shorts. The evidence was good enough for the kids as well as for me, so I issued the order. Later, in New Guinea, I noticed that Vasey's 7th Australian Division were wearing "longies."

On the 22nd, an Australian detachment occupied Good enough Island, about fifty miles northeast of Milne Bay. They found a few Japs left over from the Milne Bay invasion, but the opposition did not amount to much. We planned to put a radar out there to help out our warning service and, as soon as I could spare some engineer effort, to build a fighter strip there, too.

General MacArthur asked me when I was going to decorate Bill Benn His 63rd Squadron had sunk or damaged more Jap shipping during the past month than all the rest of the Air Force put together, without losing a man or an airplane. I told the General that I'd like to decorate Bill but hesitated to hurry the thing as he had so recently been my aide. I didn't want the rest of the gang to think there might be a bit of favoritism. The General smiled and said, "Yes, that's right, you can't be too careful about such things, so I'll decorate him myself. Go write me up a nice citation for the Distinguished Service Cross." I had it in his office in an hour.

The first squadron of B-24 bombers arrived that day from Hawaii and at the same time a radio came in from Arnold, telling me to check the anti-shimmy collars in the nose-wheel gears for cracks and to ground all airplanes that showed cracks. We checked them. They all showed cracks. I wired the in formation to Arnold and asked for replacements to be flown out immediately. We tried welding the cracks. That just made more cracks. I told Connell to get all the tool shops in Brisbane busy making some out of steel. The cracked ones were not steel, but we didn't know what they were made of so we played safe and made them strong enough. Now the B-24s would be no good to me for another couple of weeks. In the meantime, I'd sent twelve B-17s back home, so I was just out both ways.

We put over another trick on the Nips on the night of the 23rd Twelve B-17s went over Rabaul Harbor after air reconnaissance the day before had reported a concentration of shipping that looked worth while. The first six bombers were from the newly organized 64th Squadron of the 43rd Group. They bombed from 10,000 feet and, while the Jap searchlights lit up the sky and the antiaircraft guns blazed away, the other six bombers from the 63rd Squadron came in at 100-feet altitude and introduced skip-bombing to the Nips. Captain Ken McCullar, whose airplane already had been credited with sinking or damaging four Jap vessels, sank a Jap destroyer with two direct hits amidships. Captain Green scored direct hits on a light cruiser or large destroyer, a small cargo vessel, and a medium-sized one. The crew reported that the cruiser had her stern under water and was on fire all over when they left. The cargo vessels were both sunk. A lieutenant named Hustad hit another cargo vessel estimated at 10,000 tons, setting fire to it. Hustad reported that she was blazing nicely and listing a little when he left but he could not claim the vessel as definitely destroyed. The six planes from the 64th claimed damaging four other vessels with hits or near misses.

I sent word to Benn to come down to Brisbane. He arrived about five that afternoon. I immediately took him upstairs to General MacArthur's office where the "Old Man" congratulated him and pinned on his Distinguished Service Cross. I told Benn to stick to moonlight nights and bombing with flares for this skip-bombing business. I didn't want the gang to do it in daylight, as they hadn't enough forward firepower to beat down the Jap deck guns as they came in for the kill.

The next morning a courier came in with a letter from Whitehead giving us news of the progress of the 32nd Division troops after they left Wanigela Mission. After walking west two days add covering about fifteen miles on a very poor trail, they came to the Musa River, the end of the trail and nothing but swamps on the other side. After spending another day without locating any trail on the other side of the river, they got some native canoes, paddled down to the mouth of the river, arid turned northwest along the coast to a native village called Pongani. Four hundred men were ferried to Pongani in this way and with the help of the natives were now clearing out a few bushes and cutting the grass for a strip big enough for a DC-3. The troop carriers would then fly to Pongani the rest of the troops, who had left the Musa River and gone back to Wanigela Mission. So far no Japs had been encountered on the north coast or by the battalion which crossed the mountains from Kappa Kappa and had now reached Jaure at the headwaters of the Kumusi River.

The Japs were so strung out along the trails from the Buna area to Kokoda that they couldn't have had much strength left at Buna. We should have been able to take the place in another couple of weeks if we could have just kept moving before the rainy season arrived.

I wrote to Arnold and asked him to take back that permission he gave the Navy to hijack airplanes on the way to me. A couple of weeks previously they had decided they had an emergency and stopped ten of my transports at Noumea and I couldn't get them to give them back to me. In the meantime, Whitehead had sold the Aussies on the scheme of an airborne show at Nadzab to take Lae out from the back the way we were going to take Buna. General MacArthur would have bought the idea as a follow-up to the Buna campaign, but without those ten transports I simply could not show the air lift necessary to do the job. In addition, due to the lack of these transports which I had been promised and which I had figured on, the capture of Buna itself had probably been delayed. The Army was not sending any more men to Wanigela right then, as they were afraid I couldn't supply them and at the same time keep on dropping food to the Australians on the Kokoda trail and the troops on the Kappa Kappa-Jaure trail. My job would be easier after the Aussies recaptured Kokoda strip. We could land supplies there instead of dropping them along the trail, where only about half the stuff was ever recovered by the troops, but I hated to wait and watch that rainy season getting closer and closer all the time.

On the night of the 25th, Benn's 63rd Squadron, which now constituted about all the heavy-bomber strength I had, put on another skip-bombing party at Rabaul. Eight bombers took part, demolishing a gunboat, probably sinking a 5000-ton cargo vessel, and badly damaging two other large cargo vessels. McCullar was again one of the lads getting hits. Lieutenants Hustad, Anderson, and Wilson were the others.

I was really in a bad way for heavy bombers. The 19th Group was out of the picture, going home. The twelve planes ,of the 90th Group were on the ground with cracked nose wheel collars. Incidentally, the replacement collars shipped out by air were also cracked when they arrived and my production of steel substitutes would not solve the problem for another week or so. The new 64th Squadron had nine B-17s, but the crews were still pretty green. The third new squadron of the 43rd Group, the 403rd, had eight airplanes, but those crews were still greener. That was the complete picture on heavy bombardment in the Southwest Pacific Area at that time and I had lots of work to do. The reconnaissance pictures showed Rabaul crowded with ships.

The Navy had just won another battle over in the Solomons, which they called the Battle of Santa Cruz. The Japs lost 250 planes and a light cruiser. Two of their aircraft carriers, a cruiser, and three destroyers were damaged. SOPAC lost the aircraft carrier Hornet and a destroyer and had a battleship, a carrier, and a destroyer damaged. The Japs turned back. The action was all by carrier and land-based aircraft.

Just before the Battle of Santa Cruz, SOPAC must have asked Washington for help and sold their case, for on the 27th we got a copy of a radio from the War Department to Emmons telling him to expedite the departure of the next squadron of the 90th Group to Miff Harmon in the South Pacific. The message also said to hurry up the departure of the rest of the group and have it, too, report to Harmon for temporary duty if Admiral Nimitz wanted it. I hoped the Santa Cruz victory would cheer Ghormley up so that he would let those B-24s keep on past Noumea. I had an emergency my self.

On the 28th Ghormley called on MacArthur again for help, asking that we hit Jap shipping at Buin-Faisi and lend them a squadron of P-38s at Guadalcanal as soon as they got gasoline up there. I told General MacArthur that the shipping at Buin-Faisi was well dispersed and transitory, while Rabaul was congested with vessels at anchor, and that I would have only eight P-38s in shape in about another ten days, as eve were still reworking the wings to plug those leaks in the inter cooling system. He directed that I use the bombers on Buin-Faisi and wire Harmon that we would lend him eight P-38s in ten days.

On the 29th nine B-17s hit the Buin-Faisi anchorage, setting on fire an 8000-ton cargo vessel and damaging a cruiser and a destroyer. On the 30th, the 43rd Group commanded by Colonel Roger Ramey, just in from Hawaii and a real leader, put twenty-four of the group's thirty B-17s over Buin-Faisi and Rabaul. At Buin-Faisi fourteen bombers got directs on a battleship and two other unidentified vessels and damaged a light cruiser and an aircraft carrier. The other ten hit a large cargo vessel and two destroyers in Rabaul Harbor. Photos taken the next day showed all three vessels half under water and aground. That night, eight Australian Catalinas also at tacked shipping in the Buin-Faisi anchorage. We wound up the month of October with a daylight attack by nine B-17s on Ruin which blew up an unidentified ship and damaged a light cruiser, a destroyer, and a large cargo vessel. That night, nine Catalinas continued the attacks on Buin-Faisi.

On November 1st, as the Australians recaptured Kokoda and reported that they had counted over 2000 dead Japs on the trail since they captured Ioribaiwa Ridge on September 28, twelve B-17s again hit Buin-Faisi, damaging a destroyer and a couple of cargo vessels. We were keeping our fingers crossed, for we had not lost a bomber during the raids of the past four days, but at this point I found my bomber effort again about shot until the crews could get some rest and the airplanes get some much-needed maintenance.

For five weeks we had not seen a Jap airplane over New Guinea, except for an occasional night bomber. On the after noon of November 1st, six of our light bombers making their customary raid on Lae were intercepted by from nine to twelve Jap fighters. The lads shot down one Jap and came on home. A reconnaissance plane scouting over Buna reported that he had seen seven Jap fighters as he ducked into a cloud to avoid them. This looked like the preliminary to another Jap convoy movement to resupply or reinforce Buna, and there I was caught with my only heavy group worn out. I sent word to Ramey to send what he had in commission up to Port Moresby prepared to attack shipping at daybreak to morrow.

The next day, November 2nd, as we had guessed, two Jap vessels, escorted by two destroyers and with fighters escorting them, tried to run into Buna. I wired Whitehead to tell the kids that those ships were the targets and that I had plenty of decorations for any crew that sank a ship. Captain Ed Scott, leading seven B-17s of the 63rd Squadron, all that the group had in shape, made an attack late in the morning, scoring some damaging near misses, slowing one of the vessels down to a walk and then strafing its decks with machine-gun fire. They were intercepted by nine Jap fighters, who interfered considerably with the bombing. Scott got three of the Jap fighters and brought all his planes back. In the afternoon he led his outfit out again and repeated the attack. This time they sank the already crippled vessel and set fire to the other. I made good on the decorations I had promised.

The Japs must have got the fire out, however, and probably landed their cargoes during the night, as the next morning's reconnaissance picked up a Jap vessel escorted by two destroyers north of Buna headed back toward Rabaul. The weather closed down, preventing further attacks, although I don't know what we would have made them with, as Scott's outfit had only three bombers in commission that morning.

General MacArthur wired congratulations to General Blarney for the recapture of Kokoda and sent me the following:

To-Commander Allied Air Forces

From-GHQ SWPA

Please express to all ranks of the Air Corps concerned my ad miration for the magnificent part they have played in the campaign which has resulted in the capture of Kokoda.

MacArthur

A few days previously I had received a message from General Miff Harmon asking me to locate and send back to him a B-17 and crew which was supposed to go to him but for some reason had left New Caledonia and gone to Australia. I checked up and found that the pilot was a classmate of a lot of my 43rd Group gang and that originally he had been ordered to come to me. By the time he got to New Caledonia, his orders were changed, assigning him to SOPAC. On arrival at Plaines des Gaiac field in New Caledonia the kid got gas, in order to "test his engines which had been giving him trouble," and headed for Brisbane. On arrival he demanded gas in a hurry so he could get to the war. With such commendable enthusiasm, he got service, flew to Townsville, reported in, and the next night was over Rabaul on an attack.

He had had three combat missions to date and I hated to let him go, but after all he had broken too many orders, so I ordered him to go back to Miff. I wrote a nice letter to Harmon telling him what a grand kid the boy was, all about his combat record and spirit, asked him to take care of him and above all not to have him suffer for wanting to carry out his original orders, which meant serving with the gang he knew while he was learning to fly. I also said that the lad was not trying to shirk combat but had exhibited commendable courage and ability and that I was confident that he, Miff, would give him a break or I would not be sending him back to New Caledonia.

A couple of days later Miff wired me thanks and said he would take care of the kid.

I finally got an airplane of my own. A few weeks previously I had told Bertrandais to fix up an old Wrecked B-17 for me, with a table, a bunk, and a few chairs in it, so that I could use it as a flying headquarters, taking along my new aide, a bright lad named Captain "Kip" Chase, and a couple of staff officers or guests on my travels around the theater. The crew was one of the hot ones of the 19th Bombardment Group that had a lot of combat time and needed a rest but didn't want to go home. Captain Wilbur Beezley was the first pilot, one of the best handlers of a big airplane I had ever seen. Now I wouldn't have to thumb rides back and forth on repaired airplanes going back to New Guinea or take up cargo space on one of the transports.

I wired Arnold that sooner or later I had to have some bombers. The second squadron of the 90th Group had come in, as Ghormley decided he did not need them, after all, but I had received no B-17 replacements for over a month. I decided to keep the rest of the B-17s of the 19th Group and send the crews back home by the Ferry Command, which could take care of about eleven men a day. If Emmons or Arnold complained, I'd tell them that I had an "emergency," too.

I asked General MacArthur if he agreed to that action. He laughed and said he believed he'd have me shot if I didn't keep those B-17s. That was good enough backing for anyone.

Colonel Art Meehan, who a few years before used to do a good job for West Point during the football season, reported in from Hawaii on November 4th. I sent him up to Walker to take command of the 90th Bombardment Group and start operating as soon as I got those nose-wheel collars fixed.

The Australians fixed up the Kokoda strip and we started flying in supplies and tolling out the sick and wounded. The field was nothing but a strip, one hundred feet wide and half a mile long, on a slope so steep that the planes landed uphill, turned around, and took off downhill. At that time in early November, with the continuous rain at the altitude of 6500 feet, the mud on the field itself was from a foot to a foot and a half deep. How these kids got in and out of the place with a heavily loaded DC-3 I don't know, but they did.

V THE BUNA CAMPAIGN: II

November -- December, 1942

On November 6th I flew to Port Moresby, taking with me General MacArthur, his aide, Lieutenant Colonel Morehouse, and my aide, Captain Chase. The General had established an advanced headquarters at Government House, the former residence of the Australian Governor of Papua, which was about a mile west of Port Moresby. MacArthur said he was going to stay there until the Buna show was over. He wanted me to be there with him in personal commad of the Air Forces in New Guinea, except for short trips to the mainland that I would have to make to keep things moving forward and to look after the rest of the operations in Darwin and Townsville.

Sutherland and several members of the GHQ staff had come up a few days before with a small detachment to open