Fortress Rabaul (6 page)

Nagumo planned to rendezvous with the South Seas Force on January 20 at the equator. Horii’s invasion fleet crossed the line at 0500, whereupon the South Seas Force held a ceremony to commemorate their achievement as the first army force to cross the equator in Japan’s 2,600-year history. Nagumo’s fleet joined them at mid-morning, and soon thereafter the carriers began launching a massive strike against Rabaul. The attack force consisted of eighteen horizontal bombers and nine fighters from
Akagi
, twenty-seven horizontal bombers and nine fighters from
Kaga
, and nineteen dive-bombers each from
Shokaku
and
Zuikaku
.

The strike leader, thirty-nine-year-old Cmdr. Mitsuo Fuchida, was trained as an airborne observer rather than a pilot. A 1924 graduate of the Imperial Japanese Naval Academy at Etajima, he was renowned for his brilliant tactical ideas and leadership of the attack on Pearl Harbor. Eminently qualified to lead the first carrier strike against Rabaul, he coordinated the assorted air groups by radio from the cockpit of a B5N2.

Fuchida’s trademark method was to attack the target from multiple directions simultaneously. For the strike on Rabaul, he separated the attackers into three groups—the smallest numbering about twenty planes,
the largest more than fifty. The groups headed outbound from the carriers in three different directions; then, on Fuchida’s cue, they converged on the target from the east, west, and north.

AT 1214 ON JANUARY 20, Cornelius Page reported twenty aircraft passing over his plantation. Half an hour later, the antiaircraft gunners at Rabaul watched slack-jawed as Zeros roared overhead in flights of three.

The militiamen’s reaction was not uncommon. All across the Pacific, the Allies were stunned by their first encounters with the celebrated fighter known to the Japanese as
Rei Shiki Sento Ki
(Type 0 carrier-borne fighter), commonly abbreviated as
Rei-sen
. No other aircraft better represented the dominance of Japanese air power at the beginning of World War II. Designed in the late 1930s and accepted by the Imperial Navy in 1940, the Zero was a marvel of economical engineering. The A6M2 Model 21 weighed only a little more than 5,300 pounds fully loaded (about the same as a modern-day SUV), yet its 950-horsepower radial engine gave the diminutive fighter tremendous speed, an astonishing rate of climb, and superior aerobatic capability. The Zero’s armament—a pair of rifle-caliber machine guns in the nose and two 20mm automatic cannons in the wings—was fairly effective, and the Imperial Navy pilots were thoroughly trained. Their favorite tactic was to single out an enemy aircraft and overwhelm it with superior numbers.

When the
Rei-sens
appeared over Rabaul at 1248 that afternoon, two Wirraways were already airborne on routine patrols. Three others scrambled from Vunakanau, and three more attempted to take off from Lakunai, but the Aussie crews were at a terrible disadvantage. Displaying what David Selby later called “desperate gallantry,” they rose skyward like so many gladiators to face the Japanese.

Only two of the Wirraways at Lakunai actually got airborne. The engine on Bruce Anderson’s plane faltered, and he crashed-landed on the runway, injuring both himself and Plt. Off. Colin A. Butterworth in the legs. Thus a total of five Wirraways took off to join the two already on patrol.

Seven underpowered fighters—nothing more than glorified trainers—would face 109 of the Imperial Navy’s best.

The
Rei-sen
pilots did not wait for the Aussies to get organized. “
There could be only one conclusion
to this fantastically uneven combat,” wrote Selby after witnessing the action from his perch atop the North Daughter.
“There was a puff of white smoke from the cannon of a Zero, a red flash as the shell found its mark on one of our planes, and before the boom of the explosion floated down to us a Wirraway was screeching earthward, angry red flames and black smoke pouring from it.”

The first to die were Flg. Off. John C. Lowe and his observer, Sgt. Albert C. Ashford. Both were twenty-six years old when their Wirraway spiraled into the waters off Praed Point.

In the other patrolling Wirraway, the two crewmen were a study in contrasts. The rear seat observer, Plt. Off. Albert George Claire, was eight years older than the pilot, Sgt. George Albert Herring, and outranked him by several pay grades. But Herring, who had turned twenty-one only the day before, was a capable pilot. When a swarm of Zeros fired on the Wirraway, hitting both men in the legs and mangling the plane’s tail, the aircraft went out of control. At the last possible moment, Herring regained control of the spinning fighter and bellied in at Lakunai. Both men were pulled to safety moments before Zeros swooped down and strafed the crumpled Wirraway, destroying what was left of it.

Several miles to the south, Sgt. Charles F. Bromley and his observer, Sgt. Richard Walsh, took off from Vunakanau and were still clawing for altitude when six Zeros attacked them over Blanche Bay. The two Aussies never stood a chance. Bromley, only nineteen, was killed instantly by a bullet to the head. Walsh evidently tried to jump just before the Wirraway hit the shallows near Praed Point, but his chute did not fully deploy.

Of the two Wirraways that took off successfully from Lakunai, one was flown by Sgt. William O. K. Hewitt, who had dashed to a parked plane and gotten it started while Flg. Off. John “Jack” Tyrrell manned the rear gun. After getting airborne and working his way up to nine thousand feet, Hewitt spotted a formation of enemy planes attacking the wharves at Rabaul. He turned toward them, but before he could get into a firing position, he saw a Zero heading him off from above. Pulling up in a hard, climbing turn, Hewitt tried to meet the Japanese fighter head-on, but his anemic Wirraway could not sustain the climb and stalled.

For a few seconds the Aussie fighter hung almost motionless in the air. Hewitt was completely vulnerable, and the Japanese pilot immediately took advantage. Pieces of Hewitt’s unarmored plane flew off as bullets and cannon shells ripped through the little Wirraway. One 20mm shell
exploded in the cockpit, severing hydraulic lines and wounding Hewitt in the left knee.

The Wirraway pitched over, nosing down so abruptly that the negative g-forces lifted Jack Tyrrell completely out of his seat. Flailing as he fell, he grabbed for the D-ring of his parachute and discovered to his horror that it was gone. Moments later, the parachute obliged him by opening. Tyrell drifted serenely over the plateau south of the caldera and landed unharmed in the branches of a tree. Later, while walking cross-country toward Vunakanau, he came across a group of Lark Force soldiers hunting for “a supposed Japanese parachutist.”

Hewitt, meanwhile, his knee full of shrapnel and his face covered with hydraulic fluid, steered the damaged Wirraway toward the sanctuary of a cloud. He remained hidden until conditions were clear and then crash-landed at Vunakanau without further difficulty. He would live to fight another day, but the Wirraway was beyond repair.

In another Wirraway, Sgt. Ronald C. G. Little and his gunner, Sgt. Donald R. Sheppard, endured a similar experience. More than a dozen Zeros attacked them, damaging the tail of their aircraft, but Little managed to duck into a cloud. Each time he tried to poke out of it, however, he was forced to hide again by the swarming Zeros. Eventually he made a dash for Vunakanau and landed safely with no injuries to either crewman.

Twenty-year-old Sgt. Robert A. Blackman took off from Vunakanau and was last seen “in combat with several Zeros.” But nothing more was heard thereafter from either Blackman or his gunner, Sgt. Stanley E. Woodcroft. Eventually their official status was changed from missing to dead.

Only one Australian pilot, Sgt. Malcolm G. Milne, landed with an undamaged Wirraway. After taking off from Lakunai with Sgt. Raymond S. Harber in the back seat, Milne headed straight into a cloud. According to the official RAAF history, he played “a grim game of ‘tag’ with a greatly superior force of Zeros,” but they failed to draw him into combat. Eventually the Japanese withdrew to concentrate on stationary targets, and Milne returned to Lakunai without a scratch.

The fight was over in seven minutes. Selby later observed, “
There was something sickening
in that sudden merciless extermination, something inspiring in the cold-blooded heroism of those Wirraway pilots, diving splendidly to what each man must have realized meant certain death.
Every incident of that horrible fight had been visible to us, but we were powerless to help.”

The casualties suffered by 24 Squadron were heavy, if not as absolute as Selby implied. Of the eight Wirraways that participated, one crashed during takeoff, three were shot down in combat, two crash-landed with irreparable damage, one landed with moderate damage, and one came back without engaging in combat. The final toll among the airmen was six dead and five wounded. There is no evidence that any of the attacking Zeros were damaged, making for a completely lopsided massacre.

That the defenders took off against such an overwhelming force should be considered one of the great sacrifices of the Pacific war—but not a single medal was awarded by the RAAF. Responding in 1946 to an official inquiry about this grievous oversight, the defense ministry stated that no citations could be issued because no enemy planes had been shot down. By that twisted logic, no man who ever jumped on a grenade to save his buddies would deserve a medal either, because his self-sacrifice caused no harm to the enemy.

AFTER ANNIHILATING the Wirraways, the Japanese concentrated on stationary targets. At Vunakanau, where the 2/22nd Battalion had a few Lewis machine guns for antiaircraft defense, the soldiers had a difficult time compensating for the speed of the enemy planes. This was their first experience with single-engine carrier planes. During previous attacks they had watched as formations of medium bombers and giant seaplanes passed high overhead; but the Aichi dive-bombers and nimble Zeros seemed phenomenally fast as they bombed and strafed from all directions. Among the dozens of bombs that landed on the airdrome, many were duds. Some penetrated up to fifteen feet into the soft earth, and the troops later spent hours digging them out. Miraculously, no one was hurt during the delicate process.

HIGH ATOP THE SLOPES of the North Daughter, Lieutenant Selby’s two antiaircraft guns swiveled around to face a large formation of Type 97 bombers. The old guns put up a steady barrage, but the Japanese came on resolutely, heading toward the eastern shore of Simpson Harbor on a course that would bring them close to the battery.

Stacked in three
chutais
of nine aircraft each, the formation was led initially by Lt. Cmdr. Takashi Hashiguchi,
hikotaicho
(air group
commander) of
Kaga’s
carrier attack unit. But he, like Fuchida, was primarily an observer. Shortly before commencing the bomb run, he signaled the crew of the number-two plane to take the lead. Petty Officer 1st Class Tatsuya Sugihara, specially trained at horizontal bombing, moved to the front of the
chutai
. He was teamed with the unit’s top bombardier, PO Katsuo Yamamoto, whose bomb release would cue the other pilots to drop their ordnance. Some carried six 60-kilogram “daisy cutters,” while others toted an 800-kilogram (1,764-pound) bomb.

One of the latter was carried by Ens. Takeshi Maeda, flying the number-three position in the lead element. When the first two planes switched positions, he removed the safety device from his release mechanism. Moments later, while he prepared for the bomb run, the barrage from the Australian guns rocked the
chutai
on all sides. “Our aircraft shook a lot from all this antiaircraft fire,” he recalled. “I paid attention to the leading Type 97 and released our bomb, which caused our aircraft to rise up. Suddenly, Sugihara’s aircraft was hit by antiaircraft fire and dropped out of our formation. Then it became engulfed in flames and slammed into the mid-slope of Mt. Hanasaki, a volcano on Rabaul. I believe this was a direct hit, and everything happened in just a matter of seconds. If it had not been on the ‘bomb run,’ the
taicho’s
Type 97 and our aircraft would have been in danger.”
*

Only six weeks earlier, Sugihara and his crew had participated in the glorious attack on Pearl Harbor. Now it was their distinction to become the first Japanese airmen to die at Rabaul.

SOME OF THE DAY’S MOST impressive attacks were made by the Type 99 dive-bombers from
Shokaku
and
Zuikaku
. Selby and his gunners had a stadium view as three of the big fixed-gear bombers swooped down on the Norwegian freighter
Herstein
, still loading copra at the Burns, Philp & Company wharf. Three bombs hit the merchant ship squarely, igniting the cargo of oily copra. In the superstructure, a defiant sailor fought back with a mounted machine gun until the rising flames forced him to evacuate his post. The mooring lines burned through, and
Herstein
began to drift slowly across the harbor, her hull glowing cherry red.

Another group of Type 99s concentrated on an even bigger ship,
Westralia
, a former passenger liner that served as a floating coal bunker. An easy target, the stationary hulk was blasted by bombs and sank out of sight.

Carrier planes also attacked Lakunai, dropping bombs and machine-gunning the adjacent coconut groves to destroy the dispersal areas hidden among the trees. The coastal defense battery at Praed Point likewise received attention, after which the Japanese tried without success to knock out the antiaircraft guns. Because they were situated on a razorback ridge, nothing but a pinpoint hit would destroy them. As it was, several bombs tumbled harmlessly into a ravine before exploding.

Ending the attack at approximately 1330, the Japanese performed a deliberate aerial pageant over Rabaul to flaunt their power. They had reason to celebrate: out of 109 participating aircraft, only the Type 97 flown by Sugihara had been shot down.

But not all of the others got away cleanly. Describing the mission as “frightful,” Ens. Haruo Yoshino stated that five additional Type 97s were damaged by the heavy barrage from the Australian antiaircraft guns. His own plane was hit in the engine, which caused a disconcerting vibration. The long overwater flight back to the aircraft carrier was particularly nerve-wracking. “I was scared that the engine might stop at any moment because of the vibration,” Yoshino later said. “A bunch of electrical wires in the engine were hit. Around that area fragments from antiaircraft shells were scattered inside. So, I thought that there was something in that area that didn’t explode yet; I desperately wanted to go back.”