The Pacific (29 page)

While the mission's objectives could be clearly stated, the method of reaching Allied territory, which meant Australia, fifteen hundred miles away, seemed irrational. They would have to steal a plane or a ship. A plane seemed preferable, since the Imperial Japanese Navy might catch up to a wayward ship. The one thing they had in their favor: they had heard from the other Americans that the Empire of Japan controlled mostly port cities. Great swaths of the wild backcountry of Mindanao remained unoccupied.

The three marines shelved the plan and focused on the team. The team would be comprised of men with requisite skills: a navigator, a mechanic, a pilot, a medic if not a doctor, and someone who knew Mindanao to serve as their guide. The three marines would be responsible for any combat. Every member needed to be in top physical condition. Supplies and equipment also had to be gathered and safely stored. The details of the actual day of escape had to be worked through with great care.

Shifty knew an army pilot who had fought with great bravery in the air war over Bataan, Captain William "Ed" Dyess, and approached him. He suggested another pilot as well as an aviation mechanic. Dyess and his two army air corps men had been in the Philippines for a month before the war began; the three marines, a week. None of them knew anything about the island of Mindanao or how to get from it to Australia. They knew they were ready to think through all of the problems, prepare themselves to the extent possible, and go.

ACT III

"THE PAUSE THAT REFRESHES"

Christmas 1942-Christmas 1943

AMERICA'S VICTORY IN THE BATTLE OF GUADALCANAL TAUGHT HER LEADERS that the war would be both long and costly. While Washington did not discern how devastating the campaign had been to the enemy's army and navy, it knew the crisis had passed. The end of the first year of conflict found the United States assured of its connection to Australia and comfortable that the Battle of Midway had blunted the offensive capability of Japan's carrier fleet.

ABOARD USS
JOHNSON
IN THE HARBOR OF ESPIRITU SANTOS, SID'S SQUAD HAD A meal of the standard shipboard fare. Each man received a box from the Red Cross. Sid opened his to find the "contents completely molded and useless except for a sewing box." The ship's PX served Coca-Cola if one could get to the store in time. All in all, it was the "driest and poorest Christmas" anyone could remember. The officers, of course, were served a turkey for their Christmas dinners. When the 2/1 disembarked, they moved into a tent camp under coconut trees with lots of flies. Deacon found a PX, one run by black U.S. Army troops, which sold candy and cigarettes. Sid took some of his "jap souvenirs" and went out to some of the ships looking for trades. He also went aboard USS
Enterprise
, swinging at anchor in Segond Channel, but found it less generous than USS
Honolulu,
where he was given lots of free ice cream.

On New Year's Eve, a double ration of beer was doled out, a double feature was shown at the base theater, and the colonel announced they were departing soon for Australia. The small-arms fire that took place at midnight marked the beginning of 1943 and the fact that the veterans of Guadalcanal never went anywhere without their rifles, clean and loaded, and their helmets. After a few days, they boarded another transport and shipped out for Australia. They arrived off the coast of Brisbane and, as usual, waited a few days. The Fifth Marines had already gone ashore to a rest camp. Word came that the Fifth Marines hated the camp and had complained. General MacArthur, who commanded all U.S. forces in Australia, had replied that there was no shipping available to take them anywhere else. It took some time, but Admiral Halsey made the ships available. Sid's ship hoisted anchor and got under way; the 1st Marine Division sailed south, to Melbourne. Along the way, the heat of the tropics subsided.

Through a narrow pass, the ship steamed into a large bay and at last came to the dock on a clear summer day in mid-January 1943. Sid's squad knew something had changed when they were told to leave the heavy mortars behind; someone else would unload them. The embarkation ramps dumped them off at electric trams. The trams took them through the downtown to a station, where trucks took them on a short ride to the Melbourne Cricket Grounds, a stadium. "Women and girls lined the way, waving and blowing kisses." Sid and his squad "knew immediately we were in heaven."

A great repast awaited them inside the stadium. In the covered sections of the bleachers, the seats had been replaced by steel bunks. The PX sold milk, Coca-Cola, cigarettes, and other treats, but as soon as it got dark, marines in stained and ragged uniforms started slipping out. Thin and weak but determined to take liberty, the veterans had to walk about a mile to reach the center of the city. Although streetlights and neon signs had been dimmed, the marines saw people wearing clean clothes and living aboveground. They saw order, peace, civilization. For their part, the Australians welcomed them like old acquaintances, usually with a cheery "Good on you, Yank." Sid felt "absolute joy and ecstasy."

THE SEVENTH MARINES, THE LAST REGIMENT OF THE 1ST MARINE DIVISION TO land on Guadalcanal, was the last to leave. After spending Christmas at Lunga Point, Puller's 1/7 embarked on January 5 and sailed directly to Melbourne. It disembarked on January 13. The marines in Basilone's machine- gun platoon carried their adopted dog, Jockstrap, in a seabag. As they came down the ramp, the Australian immigration officer noticed Jockstrap's head poking out. " That dog can't come in here." The gunners stopped, angry and armed. " The hell he can't," one replied. The official decided to look away and the unloading continued.

The city of Melbourne slid past their windows as their train took them along the edge of it and then south around the bay to the village of Mornington. Waiting trucks carried them the short distance to their camp at Mount Martha. Rows of green eight-man tents surrounded a few semipermanent buildings sheathed in tin. The remoteness of the camp made it more difficult to skip out that evening. The trouble started the next morning. John's buddy J. P. Morgan went AWOL from nine thirty a.m. on the fourteenth "until apprehended by U.S. Army military police" at four thirty p.m.
¹
Manila John, however, did not get caught.

LIEUTENANT MICHEEL MET UP AGAIN WITH RAY DAVIS AND A FEW OTHERS FROM Bombing Six at North Island in San Diego when their leaves expired in early January. Bill Pittman had recovered and showed up as well. Settling into the Bachelor Officers' Quarters, the pilots would have learned that not much had happened in the Pacific since their return. Mike heard about the medals being awarded for Midway. Pilots from other squadrons had already been awarded Navy Crosses and Distinguished Flying Crosses for their participation. Unlike Bombing Six, those pilots had not been on Guadalcanal and had therefore been available to accept them. Ray and Bill had received theirs upon their return to San Diego.

They assured him that, based on what had been awarded them and others, Mike would soon get a Navy Cross. The navy's rationale had been divined. "Everybody that flew four flights" got a Navy Cross. Although "some of the guys that didn't fly four flights got them too," depending on whether they had flown the first two missions on June 4 or the second two. "Anybody that just flew the last two, they didn't get it. They might have got a DFC but they didn't get a Navy Cross." After a few days, Bombing Six received their new planes, the Dauntless's newest version (-4) and fourteen new ensigns. Mike's first flight in more than two months came in mid-January, when his squadron flew to their new naval air station at El Centro, California. Just inland from San Diego and a hop from the Mexican border, Bombing Six's new home was in the desert.

The pace of in-flight training began slowly in late January. The training began by making sure the new pilots could fly a decent formation. As flight officer, Mike made sure the veterans showed the new guys a thing or two about gunnery, dive-bombing, and the like. He also had to spend some time in the backseat of an SNJ, as his proteges practiced "flying on instruments," or performing maneuvers without being able to see outside. "Outside of making sure that they didn't fly into us," and other aerial instruction, "I really don't remember that we made any effort to bring them into the squadron." Just as he had had to find his own way when he first went aboard the Big E, Micheel and his friends expected the new men to find theirs. The friendship and trust that existed between Mike, Ray, Bill, and the others could not be extended easily. The new pilots were expected to measure up.

The beginning of February meant that Ray Davis would begin holding a monthly inspection. The squadron assembled on the flight line, outside their hangar. Ray stepped up to his friend Lieutenant Junior Grade Vernon Micheel and presented him with a Navy Cross, the highest decoration for valor the Navy can bestow and second only to the Congressional Medal of Honor. A golden cross hung from a ribbon whose thin white stripe separated two broad stripes of navy blue. Like those awarded to others who had flown at Midway, Mike's citation concluded: "His gallant perseverance and utter disregard for his own personal safety were important contributing factors to the success achieved by our forces and were in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service."
²
Ray pinned on the medal, stepped back, and saluted him.

ON FEBRUARY 1, SHOFNER HAD "THE HAPPIEST DAY OF PRISON LIFE." HE RECEIVED a few letters from home. To hear that his family were all well in a letter postmarked in June of 1942 was to know joy. It moved him more than the Red Cross packages the guards had distributed a week earlier, although these boxes had contained treats like chocolate, cigarettes and cookies; necessities like canned meats, sardines, and even toilet articles. Along with all the goodies there was some clothing and a small supply of quinine and sulfa drugs. Each prisoner received two boxes, although the guards had stolen from some of the boxes. Copies of the Manila newspaper were provided to each barracks. In addition, the guards gave each man fifteen cans of canned meat and vegetables. The prison officials also made sure the prisoners had blankets, mosquito nets, canteens, and mess kits.

On top of this shocking largesse, the camp commander allowed his prisoners to send a postcard home. The chance to tell their families that they were still alive, even if it was a tiny postcard on which they filled in a few blanks, brought hope. The supply of quinine came in handy almost immediately, as Shifty had his first bout with malaria. He took the pills and hoped he had averted a trip to the hospital. Going into the hospital meant a loss of privileges. It meant the loss of his spot on a work detail. It meant he might lose his chance to escape.

Even though the lives of the POWs had improved greatly in Davao from Cabanatuan, almost half of them lacked the strength for a work detail in March of 1943. Not working made recovering from dengue fever, beriberi, tropical ulcers, dysentery, and the like more difficult. The cans of food and supplies of medicines were consumed quickly. Those who could work could steal, although the guards had become more watchful. Punishment for stealing food from the emperor of Japan was meted out with fist, boot, and club immediately. Still, it had to be done.

Using the quinine worried Shifty, though. His team of would-be escapees were not indulging themselves in all of the great canned food like the other POWs. Canned food had to be saved for the escape, just like the medicine. The camp commander made the saving of food more difficult when he cut the supply of fresh vegetables. All of the prisoners needed to work in the fields in order to make up the loss. In Shifty's case, the medicine worked. It knocked down the malaria. He remained on the detail.

Shifty went looking for a navigator. Quietly, with his poker face in place, he observed and assessed the naval officers. As with most of the marine officers, disease and malnutrition had rendered most of the navy men unfit for a difficult journey. He approached Lieutenant Commander Melvyn McCoy. At an appropriate point in their conversation, Shifty asked him if he could navigate a ship from Mindanao to Australia. McCoy knew where this discussion would go. He liked how it had begun. McCoy had met Shifty in Bilibid, played poker against him in Cabanatuan, and had watched him give money to other POWs so they could buy food.
³
He knew Captain Austin Shofner had the strength and the courage to succeed. So McCoy replied that he had been a top mathematician at the United States Naval Academy. He could devise a formula for navigating the great ocean.

When at last Shifty broached the subject of escape directly, Commander McCoy let Shofner know he had already begun planning to break out with three others. He could not abandon them. This wrinkle halted the conversation. The commander and the captain returned to their respective groups. Each group had to consider if the total number of both groups--ten--would be too many. On the other hand, could the two groups afford to remain separate when they knew that whichever group went first would spoil the chances of the second? Last, they had to evaluate the men in the other group for toughness and health, if not for skill. Enough men had faltered during the many months since the surrender that having a discussion among so large a group brought great unease. The considerations created a slow dance. At length, though, they decided to go together.
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