SHORTLY AFTER the battle for New Georgia ended, I was selected by the Regimental Commander to attend a Chemical Warfare School in Brisbane, Australia. I guess this was an honor to be the lone ‘‘ selectee’’ in the entire division but I was more grateful for the social respite . . . the clean clothes, the warm showers, the flush toilets, the beer and ‘‘ steak and eggs’’, and the women. In two weeks I learned all I needed to know about chemical warfare. In fact, as the war turned out, there was no need to know anything since neither side resorted to poison gas. Though both we and the Japanese brought gas masks into combat, both sides quickly discarded the masks; the trail we followed to pursue the enemy on New Georgia was littered with these masks.
After the two week respite in Australia, I bummed a plane ride back to Guadalcanal where our regiment had been shifted from New Georgia. The ride is described in this excerpt of a letter to Irene:…
‘‘ Just as we were in the middle of a stretch of the Pacific, the emergency alarm rang on our plane, the plane’s motors went off, the plane started getting lower and lower until it was at water’s level, the crew ran to the escape hatch and tossed out a rubber lifeboat. All of us passengers thought the end had come. I saw Eddie Rickenbacker (in mind only) and said to him ‘‘ Here I come, boy. ’’ Then, the plane veered upward, and the crew explained: another plane had fallen into the ocean; its crew was swimming out there and we happened along just in time to see them, throw them a lifeboat, and we circled over the spot several times. I saw four men get safely to the boat. We wired their position to the nearest port, and by now, I imagine they are safe and sound. ’’
On reaching our Guadalcanal Headquarters, I was confronted with some good and bad news. The bad news was that we were immediately to train for our next Solomon Islands objective, Bougainville, the northernmost terrain. The good news was that I had been named Regimental adjutant, promoted to captain, a promotion which moved forward more briskly than most paper because it was designated (not exactly accurately) as a battlefield promotion.
More significantly, my new title as regimental adjutant meant I would remain behind, in command of the rear echelon, while the rest of the regiment attacked Bougainville. In conjunction with other 37th Division troops and Marines they were assigned to push into the island only deep enough for an airfield to be carved out along the beach. From this airfield, we could then bomb Rabaul, New Guinea, and neutralize the Japanese attacks on our sea lanes, clearing the way for air and sea dominance en route to the Philippines.
My role was now administrative: keep the records, guide the supply line, receive the wounded, bury the dead, train the replacements who would be stopping off for two weeks before being sent on to the front lines in Bougainville.
Colonel Lawrence K. White, Regimental Commander, asked me on the eve of the departure of our troops whether I felt sorry to be left behind. We were close friends, about 6 years apart in age.
At 30, he was the youngest regimental commander in the Pacific, and had served under MacArthur in the Philippines before being called back to the States just prior to Pearl Harbor. I told him, in all honesty, I felt guilty about not going along since I had been a part of the fighting until then. On the other hand, I didn’t object to not being shot at or bombed. Laughing, he prophesied (as it turned out, rather accurately) that I might see more action in the rear than the troops who were going to attack the Japanese. Since the mission was not to drive the Japanese off the islands, but to set up a perimeter around an airfield and force the Japanese to come at us, this was a much more innocuous assignment than in New Georgia, where we had had to slash our way through the jungles and the camouflaged enemy.
Our troops landed on Bougainville, along with a Marine division, in early November. They pushed inland against little opposition, for the Japanese were obviously expecting them to fight across the island, through the jungled terrain, as in New Georgia, where they could nibble them to death. Instead, after our troops had covered an area about 5 miles square, they stopped, built perimeter defenses, carving out fields of fire to their front and side, zeroing in their artillery to the edges of the cleared out jungles, and settled down to wait for the Japs to come to them. Meanwhile the Navy Seabees built the airfield which it was the Division’s mission to protect. From it our air forces could attack, Japanese island strongholds further North as well as a portion of the Philippines. So there was a pleasant lull from November to March until the Japanese finally understood the limited nature of the mission and were forced to come after our troops.
Meanwhile, back at Guadalcanal, I ran into more action . . . and more danger . . . than our whole regiment had experienced in Bougainville, the ammunition dump on Guadalcanal, which supplies the entire South Pacific with bullets, shells, hand grenades, mortars, rockets, flame throwers and gasoline suddenly caught fire and blew up.
The most graphic account of that event might be my deposition at a hearing conducted to determine the reason for death by drowning of one of my recruits during that explosion. I was in charge of the investigation and my own statement was supported by many other witnesses. Mine was quite detailed, and it was accepted by the investigative body as accurate. Here it is, verbatim from the transcript report:
About noon, November 26, 1943, while eating lunch, we heard small arms fire coming from an area approximately 500 yards from our headquarters, in the direction of the Ammunition Dump. We thought nothing of it, but slowly, both the noise and the intensity of the explosions became louder. At 1: 30 p. m., the noise was deafening and one of the men came to me with a large piece of shrapnel which had fallen next to his tent. I made up my mind to evacuate the area immediately, not because of the immediate danger but because I didn’t know for sure how large this dump was, and I wanted to take no chances.
I fell in both the Replacement Company and the Real Echelon, with their helmets and instructed Lt. Holloman, leader of the 1st Platoon, to march the men to the beach, walk along the beach (away from the ammunition dump), past the dangerous area, to the clearing about 500 yards away from there. I instructed him to disperse the men to await there for future orders. At that time, this new area was well out of the danger zone.
I made a personal inspection of each tent after Holloman and the other officers had marched the troops off. I found a few sleepy stragglers and promptly booted them toward the beach, on the double. By this time (2: 00 p. m.) the explosions were growing louder and two shells burst almost simultaneously in our area, throwing a few of us to the ground. The men needed no more urging, and when I was satisfied that the are was completely evacuated, I followed up the beach.
On the road between our CP area and the CB’s, there were hundreds of men from all units, natives, CB’s, marines, Australian, and Army and Navy troops. Warrant officer Bailey took the initiative of directing traffic at this point and he made it possible for the ambulance to get through on a mission somewhat farther down the road. I walked hastily toward the area where our troops were assembled, and the shells then began to sprinkle all around us. There was nearpanic among the men along the beach and complete panic among the natives. I ran up to Lt. Holloman and we agreed that we had better get the men on further down. About two hundred yards away, the Tenaru River runs into the Pacific Ocean. The mouth is about 50 yards wide, and about twentyfive yards of this mouth was about six to seven feet deep.
When our men arrived at this crossing, there was much confusion and panic. About six hundred in all were crowded around the narrowest part of the opening and many more were jumping in, attempting to swim across. Men were jumping on top of each other, and I noticed that some who could not swim were hanging onto others who barely could. By this time, the whole area was being showered by light shrapnel, and the explosions were growing in intensity. The only escape was across the river, since there were enough bomb shelters for only about 200 men around that area, and it was hazardous to return to any area toward the Ammunition Dump.
Seeing a few men floundering in the water, I asked for volunteers to go in and help them, and about five of our own 148th men went in with me and dragged a few to safety. I thought we had all of them. I then asked everyone to keep still, and I said that the men who could swim well could swim across the mouth. I had noticed a native edging his way toward the ocean, then back in, in a semicircle around the mouth and I thought there must be a shallow sand bar so, I yelled that everyone who could not swim to form a chain and I would lead them across this bar. The chain was immediately formed, and we struck out in the general path that I remembered this native had taken. Feeling our way, we were able to cross this mouth with water going up no higher than our necks. After I reached the other bank, I told the men to keep moving up the beach past Hq., Forward area which was well beyond the danger point. I stayed on this bank until the chain of about 400 men had crossed safely. I noticed about fifty men lying flat on the other side of the bank, and several officers were attempting to get all of them on the chain, but they refused. I assumed they were afraid of the water. One Captain called to me that he would find cover for the men who were afraid to cross. When Lt. Drewry and I were both satisfied that the men were either safe on our side of the stream or safe in bomb shelters, we proceeded up the beach.
I walked to Headquarters, Forward area, around which many of our men were grouped, and I talked to the Adjutant General, Lt. Col. Pruden, telling him our story and making arrangements to feed, house, and clothe our men who straggled in. I saw Lt. Harral, placed him in charge of our bunch, told him to gather the men together around Hq. Forward area and wait for me. I bummed a jeep ride to Div. Hq., reported the situation to Col. Moore, and then made arrangements with the 145th, the 129th, the Artillery, and Hq. Co., to put our men for the night . . . allotting 75 men to each unit. I went back, told Harral to march the men to Division Hq., and made a jeep drive along the beach for a period of three miles rounding up stragglers.
At 5: 00, we had accounted for about half of our men, and after feeding, Lt. Holloman reported to me at Division and told me that he had remained on the other side of the bank, helping the men find cover. He told me that the bulk of our men were returning to our area. It seemed that the explosions had subsided quite a bit, but I was reluctant to let the men stay in that area overnight. I went with him to our area, found a lot of duds and shrapnel all over the tents and open ground, with little material damage done. A few hunks of shrapnel had torn tents, ripped cots, and shaken up the inside of the tents, but our installations and records were safe. Nightfall was approaching and since the road we would have to travel to Division was studded with unexploded shells, I ordered all men to get on trucks immediately. Three men and three officers volunteered to remain behind as guards. We set their cots in the large dugout near the mess hall, and then we returned to the Division CP., carefully signalling when a shell was in our path. The men were well treated by the various units, and they were fed, bedded down, and blanketed for the night.
That night, the night of November 26, rumors started to come to us at Division that a man had drowned. There was nothing certain but I tried to contact the 20th Station Hospital and found the line had been burnt. It was also impossible to travel there via jeep since the MP’s had guards to keep people away. I learned later that the 20th Station had evacuated its patients to the hills, anyway. I couldn’t sleep that night because of worrying about that report.
The first thing the next morning (November 27), Mr. Bailey, 1st Lt. Phillips (MC), and several enlisted men went directly to the spot where the men had tried to swim. The natives were diving in that mouth to bring up helmets, clothes, shoes, etc. One of them said he thought there was a body there, and Dr. Phillips went in, dragged out the body, and brought it to the 20th Station Hospital. The man was identified as Pvt. Donald B. Keeney, ASN 33505724, a replacement who had been tentatively assigned to Co. M., 148th Inf. Regt.
The men began drifting back, and Sunday morning, November 28, all were accounted for. I was so dubious that only one man could have been killed in this situation, that I called roll myself, and personally accounted for every man.
I named Lt. Holloman to act as investigating officer in the death, and he proceeded immediately to question members of our unit and examine the available evidence. Lt. Drewry was appointed to inventory the effects of the deceased.
The platoon leaders from the 148th Inf. Regt., Holloman, Drewry, Pesosky, Farrigton, Harroll and McHugh, did an exceedingly able job in cutting down the panic and assisting in rescuing scores of men. They obeyed all of my orders, and they not only exercised control over their own men but over most of the 350 non- 148th men as well. I wish to commend all of them plus an unnamed number of non- coms for their work, in helping the 600 men emerge from this situation with so few casualties.
There were many men hit by shrapnel and by diving to the ground, but no injuries were of a serious nature and the 20th Station Hospital and our own doctors rendered effective treatment in all cases. Keeney was buried immediately by the 20th Station Hospital because of the decomposing state of the body.
The tragedy of one boy being killed has upset me tremendously even though I am certain within my own mind that all of us did everything possible to extricate every man from the trap. I think it miraculous that our loss was so small. In addition to the one man from the 148th, one CB was killed by shrapnel on that beach and an MP had an arm blown off in the same area. Light cuts and abrasions were general throughout the men in that vicinity.