Invasion Rabaul (11 page)

R O
PERATION HAD COMMENCED DAYS EARLIER.
A
T 1330 ON
J
ANUARY 14,
the South Seas Force Transport Fleet—nine ships carrying more than 5,300 men, hundreds of horses, and thousands of tons of vehicles and equipment—departed Apra Harbor, Guam. The troopships soon met an escorting fleet of warships that included three light cruisers, nine destroyers, and two large minelayers led by Rear Admiral Shima, commanding officer of the 19th Squadron. High above, reconnaissance planes out of Saipan scouted ahead for possible submarines.

Three days later, an even mightier fleet of warships departed Truk for a prearranged rendezvous with Horii’s force near the equator. Fresh from their recent success at Pearl Harbor, four aircraft carriers of the 1st Air Fleet, commanded by pug-faced Vice Admiral Chuichi Nagumo, would be used to pummel the remaining defenses at Rabaul. Replenished in Japan, the
Akagi
and
Kaga
of the 1st Carrier Division carried a total of fifty-four Type 0 Carrier Fighters (Mitsubishi A6M2s, or Zeros), forty-five Type 99 Carrier Bombers (Aichi D3A1s), and fifty-four Type 97 Carrier Attack Aircraft (Nakajima B5N2s) which could be armed with either torpedoes or bombs. Similarly, the 5th Carrier Division (
Zuikaku
and
Shokaku
) added thirty fighters, fifty-four dive bombers, and fifty-four level bombers to the arsenal. Additionally, as if such an overwhelming strike force wasn’t enough, Nagumo had the big guns of the battleships
Hiei
and
Kirishima
for fleet support. The capital ships were protected in turn by the heavy cruisers
Tone
and
Chikuma
, the light cruiser
Abukuma
, and nine destroyers. Lastly, Nagumo deployed two squadrons of submarines to patrol St. George’s Channel and ambush any Allied ships that might happen along.

For the first few days out of Guam, the soldiers and sailors of Horii’s invasion force enjoyed almost idyllic weather. The conditions changed drastically as they drew nearer the equator.
“The heat began to increase all at once,” wrote newspaper correspondent Toshio Miyake. “The decks seemed to be scorched and the cabins felt like steam baths. Sweat ran down our bodies like so many tiny waterfalls.”

Miyake, who was likely aboard the army transport
Yokohama Maru
with Horii, was privileged if he was allotted some space in a cabin. The enlisted men were packed in the ship’s stifling cargo holds by the hundreds. As far back as 1905, the Imperial Navy had introduced a method called the
tsubo
system for calculating the amount of personal space for soldiers
aboard transports. The problem was that by 1941, the allowance had been cut to two-thirds of its original size, and the box-like holds were fitted with wooden ‘tween decks to make use of wasted vertical space. Each soldier slept and stowed his gear on what amounted to a small platform, the total space adding up to only a few cubic yards.

Private Akiyoshi Hisaeda, from the Ehime Prefecture of Shikoku, kept a diary as he sailed to Rabaul aboard the transport
Venice Maru
. He described the conditions as
“very cramped and uncomfortable,” and noted that the temperature inside the ship reached 43 degrees Celsius (110 Fahrenheit). Life inside the other transports was equally awful. There was little fresh water, and the crude wooden
benjos
(latrines) were up on the main deck, which also happened to be where the meals were cooked. Down below, everyone was tormented by hordes of flies.

The Japanese soldiers were no strangers to terrible conditions or harsh environments. Their rigorous training system, based on the principle of instant obedience achieved through strict discipline, had prepared them well. From the moment they began training as recruits, they were immersed in a culture of degradation and abuse, a rude awakening for people who had spent their entire lives learning group harmony. Not only were recruits cursed and shamed in front of their peers, they were also beaten regularly. Sometimes they were hit on the buttocks with wooden sticks, other times they were slapped, usually with an open hand but occasionally with the sole from a hobnailed shoe. Many instructors were sadistic, barely more than thugs, and they had tremendous latitude to punish recruits with methods calculated to break down every vestige of individuality. Frequently the entire class or platoon received the same punishment: If one suffered, all suffered.

One of the cruelest penalties was meted out during evening meals. Picked at random, recruits were ordered to recite by memory from the
Gunjin Chokuyu
, “Emperor Meiji’s Instructions to the Men of the Fighting Services.” First issued in 1883, it exhorted warriors to carry out their duties with loyalty, propriety, valor, faithfulness, and simplicity. The wording was archaic, difficult to memorize, and if anyone made a mistake or forgot a passage, he was forbidden to eat. For recruits already bruised, exhausted, and ravenous from the day’s training, the denial of food was excruciating. After six months or more of such extreme conditioning, the recruits
emerged as well-disciplined soldiers, their
“bodies and minds tempered hard as steel.” The men of the South Seas Detachment were no different, and could tolerate anything that nature or the Imperial Army could throw at them.

W
HEN THE INVASION FORCE REACHED THE EQUATOR AT 0500 ON
J
ANUARY 20,
the South Seas Detachment paused to commemorate a special event. In all of Japan’s 2,600-year history, they were the first army force to cross the line. Miyake later described the scene aboard his vessel:
“On the day we crossed the equator, all the men, fully armed and equipped, assembled on deck. ‘At this time, when we are about to … advance into the southern hemisphere, we shall pay our respect toward the Imperial Palace,’ said the commander toward his assembled subordinates. Solemnly, and with overflowing emotions, the men presented arms toward the north.”

Without a doubt, the assembled troops also listened to motivational speeches designed to bolster their fighting spirit. One contemporary example, written by an Imperial Army lieutenant soon after the war began, drew upon the
samurai
ethics of ancient warriors:

When we fight, we win. When we attack, we capture. The results of our recent glorious battles are acknowledged by all…

The Imperial Family is the light, the life, the pride of Japan. In truth, Japan is Japan and the Japanese are Japanese because of the Imperial Family. From this consciousness the Japanese spirit is born. A loyalty is born, which utterly disregards the safety of the home and family—even one’s own life—for the welfare of the Emperor and country…

It is obvious that the road before us is not easy. We need strong determination to establish the New Order in Greater East Asia. Governors and governed must unite purposes and push ahead fearlessly with a single object in mind. Here I want to raise my voice and declare: “Carry out your duty with the Japanese spirit.”

The spirit of Bushido has been spoken of from olden
times in these words: “Among flowers, the cherry; among men, the warrior.” With this spirit hold your ground without yielding a step, no matter what wounds you may receive, and thus make your end glorious by carrying out your duty calmly.

The soldiers were reminded constantly of the values extolled in the
Gunjin Chokuyu
, of which propriety was a keystone. “Inferiors should regard the orders of their superiors as issuing directly from Us,” the instructions stated, which literally meant that verbal or written orders were to be construed as coming from the Emperor. This explains why the Japanese sometimes staged mindless banzai charges or committed suicide en masse without hesitation: they were merely complying with orders. In simple terms, it was relatively easy for a soldier to sacrifice himself at a superior’s bidding. The alternative—refusing to die on the behalf of the Emperor—was the ultimate dishonor. Indeed, it would cause the soldier’s family far more grief than his demise. The concept of surrender was so alien to the Japanese that they treated their own captives with absolute contempt. A man who willingly capitulated was as good as dead: something less than human.

I
N ADDITION TO THE SPECIAL COMMEMORATION, THE SOLDIERS OF THE
South Seas Detachment were treated to a naval spectacle on January 20. Nagumo’s powerful carrier fleet arrived on schedule at the rendezvous point, and soon more than one hundred aircraft began taking off for a massive strike on Rabaul. In all, the attack force consisted of eighteen Nakajima bombers and nine Mitsubishi fighters from the
Akagi
, twenty-seven Nakajimas and nine fighters from the
Kaga
, and nineteen Aichi dive bombers each from the
Shokaku
and
Zuikaku
. Their leader was Commander Mitsuo Fuchida, renowned as the airborne commander at Pearl Harbor.

Adhering to Fuchida’s strike plan, the aircraft gathered in three formations, the smallest numbering twenty planes, the largest more than fifty. Fuchida sent them off in three different directions, and at a prearranged time they turned inbound to attack Rabaul. Observing from one of the Nakajimas as the attack unfolded, Fuchida realized that his tactics
were unnecessary. With such a massive force at his command, he
“felt like a hunter sent to stalk a mouse with an elephant gun.”

A
T MIDDAY ON
J
ANUARY 20
, C
ON
P
AGE REPORTED THAT TWENTY AIRCRAFT
had just passed over his plantation.
^*
Despite the advance warning, the antiaircraft crews at Rabaul were unprepared for the swiftness and ferocity of the Japanese attack.
“The first indication of action,” recalled Gunner David W. Bloomfield, “was our six remaining Wirraways wheeling and diving over Blanche Bay and not too far in front of our position. At first we thought that they were practicing maneuvers. Suddenly several aircraft swooped on them with amazing speed. It was like hawks attacking sparrows.”

Two Wirraways were already patrolling the skies over Rabaul when Page’s warning was received, and six more took off to intercept the attackers. However, one crash-landed at Lakunai due to engine failure, leaving only seven fighters to face the incoming raiders. But which way to turn first? The Wirraway pilots began to receive conflicting radio warnings in rapid succession. A formation of thirty-three planes was reported over Rabaul, having sneaked in undetected from the west, and another group of fifty enemy planes was spotted over the Duke of York Islands, just minutes away in the opposite direction. No wonder it looked as though the Wirraways were practicing maneuvers: the Australian pilots turned every which way as they tried to meet multiple threats.

The engagement was over in minutes. Three Wirraways were shot down in rapid succession, two others were forced down and crash-landed, one returned with repairable damage, and one landed safely with no battle damage. The Zeros had scored an entirely one-sided victory, killing six RAAF airmen and wounding five. Observers on the ground could scarcely believe what had happened.
“We sat at our guns,” remembered Bloomfield, “shocked by the massacre we had just witnessed.”

After swatting aside the Wirraways, the Japanese bombed specific targets around Rabaul. At Vunakanau, the men of C Company had a difficult time compensating for the incredible speed of the carrier planes as they fought back with rifles and Lewis machine guns. The Japanese dropped dozens of bombs on or near the runway, of which at least twenty buried
themselves in the soft ground without exploding. They penetrated to an average depth of fifteen feet, reported Captain Appel, whose troops spent hours digging up the duds. Miraculously, no one was hurt.

On the North Daughter, the antiaircraft battery opened fire with a continuous barrage the moment the enemy planes came into range. The crews finally succeeded in knocking down one plane, which crashed on the slopes of the Mother. An Australian tabloid later described the wreckage:
“It was a bomber-fighter type, single engined. There were three dead Japs in it—stocky little fellows aged 24 or 25. Bombs were lying some little distance from the crashed plane.” The pilot of the aircraft, a Nakajima Type 97 of the
Kaga’
s horizontal bombing unit, was Flight Petty Officer 1st Class Michinari Sugihara. A few weeks earlier, he and his two crewmen had participated in the attack on Pearl Harbor; now it was their destiny to become the first Japanese aviators killed at Rabaul.

Meanwhile, from their volcanic aerie atop Frisbee Ridge, the antiaircraft crews had a ringside view of an attack by several Type 99 dive bombers against the
Herstein
. The freighter was still loading copra at the Burns-Philp wharf when three aircraft swooped low and hit it squarely, starting several fires that quickly spread to the two thousand tons of oily cargo in her holds. Up in the superstructure, a defiant Norwegian sailor fought back with a mounted machine gun until forced by the flames to evacuate. Soon the intense fires enveloped most of the ship, which was set adrift when the mooring lines burned through. Eleven crewmen were killed and several others burned, some severely.

Other Aichi dive bombers concentrated on the
Westralia
, a once-elegant liner that had been out of service for years. Used as a floating coal bunker, the stationary hulk was an easy target and soon sank out of sight. Next the attackers swarmed over Lakunai airdrome, dropping bombs and machine-gunning the adjacent coconut groves to destroy encampments and supplies dispersed among the trees. The coastal guns at Praed Point received minor damage, after which a few planes tried to knock out the antiaircraft battery. Nothing but a precise hit on the razorback ridge would have destroyed the guns, but the crews held their collective breath anyway until the bombs tumbled down the slopes and exploded harmlessly.

Forty-five minutes after beginning the attack, the Japanese concluded
it with a deliberate pageant. Zeros showboated with aerobatics and bombers wheeled overhead in formation, flaunting their power. Down below, plumes of smoke rose from the burning wharves and the red-hot hull of the
Herstein
, and clouds of dust swirled above both airdromes. Locally there had been few casualties aside from the Norwegian sailors, but the crewmen from the crash-landed Wirraways were hospitalized with an assortment of broken bones and bullet wounds.