Target: Rabaul (25 page)

WORK ON THE last of the underground shelters continued without interruption until early October, when a P-38 suddenly appeared out of the east. Everybody stopped what they were doing and watched as the Lightning crossed Lakunai airdrome and followed the shoreline of the caldera, overflying the town, Simpson Harbor, and finally Vunakanau. The surprise was complete. No antiaircraft batteries opened fire until the P-38 was speeding south toward Port Moresby.

Instead of resuming work, the prisoners were hustled back to their cells. They would not remain there long, recalled Holguin:

Lieutenant McMurria and I were taken to one of the interrogation rooms, where Captain Yamada, Captain Matsuda, and the interpreters Tsukahara, Yano, and Ono were assembled. By this time we were all well acquainted, and quickly greeted each other in a friendly way. The Japanese wanted to know what we thought about the appearance of the American reconnaissance plane. Did it mean that an American air attack was imminent? Yes, that’s exactly what it meant, but we could only guess when that would be.

Over the next several days the prisoners performed little work. Sitting in their cells, they observed the Japanese moving rice into the shelters; they also noticed handcuffs hanging on hooks outside their cells, along with strips of cloth. From these clues, they deduced that they would be cuffed and blindfolded before being escorted to a shelter. “Actually,” added Holguin, “we were hoping that the Japanese would move us to Japan and away from Rabaul, which we believed would soon be turned into an inferno.”

He was partially right: Rabaul soon
would
be attacked for the first time in months. But the destruction he envisioned was still months in the future. And when it came, the POWs would pay dearly.

*
A popular fortunetelling or divination game, similar to Ouija but without the sinister connotation.

*
This was evidently a matter of German rhetoric, considering the Soviet Union’s victory at Stalingrad six months earlier and the more recent strategic victory at Kursk, which halted Operation Citadel.

CHAPTER 11

The Buccaneers Attack

T
HROUGHOUT SEPTEMBER, WHILE
Rabaul continued to enjoy a holiday from Allied bombing, the Japanese strongholds in New Guinea faced a series of carefully planned offensives by MacArthur’s forces. The effort began on September 1 as the Australian 9th Division, famed for its roles at Tobruk and El Alamein in 1942, sailed north from Milne Bay for the amphibious assault on Lae, scheduled for three days hence.

As the invasion convoy proceeded up the coast, Kenney began to worry. Seven months earlier, he had achieved his greatest victory by annihilating a Japanese convoy headed for the same destination. Kenney could ill afford to let the Japanese turn the tables, yet he had not attacked Rabaul since mid-July. Although he urgently wanted to hit the airdromes on the eve of the invasion, his heavy bombers were already scheduled to give Lae one last pasting.

At the eleventh hour, Kenney arranged for two Australian patrol squadrons to attack Rabaul. Besides heavy bombers, the only aircraft with the range to reach the target were PBY Catalinas. Cumbersome and slow, the flying boats could carry four thousand pounds of bombs in racks mounted beneath their sturdy parasol wings—80 percent of the bomb load carried by B-17s or B-24s on long-range missions. Catalinas could do the job, but both squadrons were operating out of the harbor at Cairns, on the north coast of Queensland, while laying mines in the Netherlands East Indies.

Kenney shanghaied nine Catalinas from 11 Squadron and 20 Squadron. They took off from Cairns on the morning of September 3, landed in Milne Bay to refuel, and then flew another 450 miles to Rabaul that evening. With orders to linger over the airdromes to “disturb the sleep and nerves of the enemy,” the RAAF crews succeeded in attacking Vunakanau, Lakunai, and Rapopo. But nobody stuck around. After the first Catalina dropped its bombs, the second was pinned in the beams of nine different searchlights and barely escaped. All the flying boats returned safely, having completed a round trip of approximately two thousand miles. But for their considerable effort, the airdromes at Rabaul suffered little serious damage.

The next day, while the 9th Division landed east of Lae near the Bulu River, Kusaka sent twelve Bettys, sixty-one Zeros, and eight Type 99 carrier bombers (Aichi D3A “Vals”) from Rabaul to destroy the invasion fleet. Early in the morning, three JAAF twin-engine attackers sneaked in from Wewak and damaged a couple of landing craft, killing three sailors and wounding nine. Seven hours later, Kusaka’s attack force arrived in the Huon Gulf. They fought past sixty intercepting P-38s and P-47s, but missed the main convoy and beachhead, where 1,500 tons of supplies were stacked in vulnerable mounds, and instead attacked six LSTs (landing ship, tank) off Cape Ward Hunt. Vals scored hits on one landing ship and near misses on two destroyers, while a Betty put a torpedo into a second LST. No other damage was achieved, although that was no consolation for the fifty soldiers and sailors killed aboard the LSTs.

Overhead, an undetermined number of Ki-43 Oscars from Wewak joined the attempt to repulse the Allied landing. When the brawl petered out, P-38 pilots claimed fourteen Zeros and Oscars, one Val, and two Bettys. Among the P-47s, Lt. Col. Neel E. Kearby, commanding officer of the 348th Fighter Group, racked up his first two victories—an Oscar and a Betty. Shipboard antiaircraft gunners claimed two other Bettys. Actual losses among the JAAF units are unknown, but it was a costly day for the 25th Air Flotilla, which admitted the loss of three Bettys (matching the claims by American fighters) and four Zeros. Five Vals, seven Bettys, and three Zeros sustained damage. The surviving crews, meanwhile, submitted whopping exaggerations that included four Allied transports and a cruiser sunk, plus two destroyers and two transports badly damaged by fire. Equally egregious were the reports by Zero pilots and aircraft gunners, credited with twenty-three P-38s shot down and four others considered “uncertain.” Only two were actually lost, with three others damaged.

The Lae invasion proceeded smoothly, as did the next day’s advance into the Markham Valley. Eighty-one C-47s disgorged 1,700 paratroopers in a low-level drop over the plain at Nadzab—the first parachute assault in the Southwest Pacific—while B-17s dropped fifteen tons of supplies. The execution was so smooth that MacArthur, observing with other “brass hats” aboard a B-17, was said to be “jumping up and down like a kid.” Pioneer troops worked through the night preparing a rough strip, and the first C-47 landed the next morning with a load of engineers. In the span of just a few weeks, a busy airbase emerged from what had been an isolated, uninhabited landscape.

Reeling from the aggressive assaults, the Japanese abandoned Lae on September 15. A week later, on the 22nd, another amphibious landing put three Australian battalions ashore just north of Finschhafen. The JAAF at Wewak was so depleted that the Eleventh Air Fleet had to step in again. The task force was attacked by eight Bettys and thirty-five Zeros out of Rabaul, which again claimed several vessels sunk, including three phantom cruisers and three destroyers. No Allied ships were even damaged, whereas the Japanese admitted losing six Bettys and eight Zeros, and sustaining damage to two bombers and two fighters. Ashore, a week of fighting
ensued before Finschhafen and the airdrome were in Allied hands. Most of the four thousand Japanese defenders had withdrawn to a position high above Finschhafen, where the 20th Division later joined them. The Australians faced two more months of tough jungle fighting before completely securing the Huon Peninsula.

IN RABAUL, KUSAKA was undoubtedly feeling the pressure of the two-pronged Allied advance. Munda had fallen in early August, whereupon U.S. Navy Seabees promptly repaired the coral strip. Marine Corps fighters were operational there by August 14, ready to lend support for the next operation. Determined to avoid another grinding fight like the one for New Georgia, Halsey had already decided to bypass the big Japanese garrison on cone-shaped Kolombangara. Instead, on August 15, a few thousand troops landed at Barakoma Beach on Vella Lavella and easily secured the island. Once again the Seabees went to work immediately, cutting an airstrip just a few yards from the beach on the south shore. Within five weeks, the runway could handle fighters.

While the Allies grew stronger each day, the Eleventh Air Fleet suffered heavy attrition during the battle for New Georgia, preventing Kusaka from significantly increasing his air strength. Judging from his diary, Kusaka continued to display assurance and resolve. His confidence likely stemmed from the admirable combat record of the Eighth Fleet. Parity still existed between Kusaka’s veteran warships and Halsey’s naval forces, with many of their duels among the jungle islands ending in a draw. Numerical and technical superiority were tilting in favor of the Allies, but the Japanese had better torpedoes. Aside from those comparable strengths, however, the Japanese-held islands were falling like tenpins, and Kusaka’s air forces were being chewed up—both on the ground and in the air. As the battle for the Solomons progressed, the Eleventh Air Fleet steadily fell behind.

Although several factors gave Halsey’s air forces the advantage, two merit special attention. One was the Vought F4U Corsair. Big, heavy, and well-armed, it boasted a top speed over four hundred miles per hour. The navy had eschewed the early Dash-1 model because of an unacceptable shipboard accident rate, blamed mostly on control issues and forward visibility. The Marine Corps took advantage of the fighter’s unexpected availability to re-equip its land-based squadrons. Arriving in the Solomons in early 1943, the Corsair became the signature fighter in Halsey’s island-hopping campaign. It was ideally suited to the Marine Corps’ forte of deployment to forward bases. Each time Halsey’s forces took an island, Corsairs appeared overhead almost before the Seabees could finish bulldozing a new strip. It was common for pilots with low fuel or battle damage to land on an unfinished airfield, hopping over construction equipment to save their Corsairs for more fights.

Halsey’s other aerial game-changer was the Thirteenth Air Force. It has received little credit for its role in the Solomons campaign but proved invaluable. Granted, the heavy bomber effort in the Solomons was still evolving. Most of the missions flown by the B-17s of the 11th Bomb Group, operating from Espiritu Santo and
Guadalcanal in late 1942, were reconnaissance or long-range patrols. Some crews flew these missions, each lasting about twelve hours, for up to seventeen consecutive days. By year’s end the fliers were exhausted. The strikes they attempted achieved poor hit ratios compared to the land-based navy and marine dive-bombing squadrons. Major General Millard F. “Miff” Harmon, commander of U.S. Army forces in the South Pacific Area, believed the cause was a lack of accountability. Seeking better organization of multiservice air units, Harmon pressed Arnold for creation of a new, numbered air force. His wish was granted: activation of the Thirteenth Air Force occurred in mid-January 1943, under the command of Maj. Gen. Nathan F. Twining. Units were divided into XIII Fighter Command and XIII Bomber Command, headquartered on Espiritu Santo.

In March 1943, when the 11th Bomb Group relocated to Hawaii, the 5th Bomb Group took over duties in the Solomons. By late summer, the group was routinely putting two or more squadrons of B-24s over targets on New Georgia, Bougainville, and adjacent islands. But the results were unpredictable. Sometimes the bombardiers missed huge objectives in broad daylight. The navy and Marine Corps pilots escorting the bombers would shake their heads disgustedly when bombs missed the island and landed in the water. But on other occasions, the bombers achieved pinpoint accuracy. After two dozen B-24s attacked Buin on August 12, the Japanese noted that thirteen Zeros, ten Vals, and a reconnaissance plane had been burned up.

The bashing undoubtedly frustrated Kusaka, who had suspended daylight attacks by his land-based medium bombers due to severe losses. The decision preserved his planes and crews, of course—only two
rikko
were lost in all of August—but for Kusaka it was like losing a limb. With his bomber force shackled, it would be difficult to slow the Allied advance.

Even with limits on
rikko
operations, the 25th Air Flotilla was not easily or rapidly strengthened. At the end of August, the fighter groups had sixty-five Zeros on hand, but only thirty-seven fighters were actually operational. Readiness among the
rikko
units was considerably worse. Out of an authorized strength of forty-eight aircraft, they could only scrounge sixteen Bettys on August 31. Of those, twelve were operational, equating to 25 percent availability.

Such statistics were common, according to the postwar testimony of Capt. Takahashi Miyazaki, a senior staff member of the 25th Air Flotilla. “In 1943, at any one time, only 50 percent of [our] planes were ever available,” he stated, “and on the next day following an all-out operation, only 30 percent would be available.”