Isegoria

Dunlap managed to avoid an ugly firefight:

They were pinned down at one spot for several hours and accounted for over 100 Nips with machine gun fire. Finally a tank came looking for them and got them out of trouble, but it was really an engagement. The lieutenant in charge took a walk when the shooting started, and a part-Indian staff sergeant took over and ran the bunch. He got a Silver Star and a commission out of it and a couple of other NCOs collected Bronze Stars. I think the G.I. who ran the .50-caliber on the weapons-carrier and did most of the damage got something out of it a few months later. Nothing was ever done to the lieutenant other than to give him a five or six weeks’ vacation in a “rest camp” and a transfer. An enlisted man would have drawn 15 years for running away, if he was not shot by the rest of the gang. That officer was kept away from the company, just in case.

Dunlap’s company managed to settle down and hire some local help for a while:

The local population practically lived with us and the women made the rounds of the tents every morning and evening asking for clothes to wash. It was probably the only time these Filipino farm women ever had a chance to make a little money. The laundry was a big help to both soldiers and the “lavenderas.” They would wash everything from socks to blankets in the little brooks and creeks, beating the clothes on the stones with both their hands and wooden paddles. Somehow they were able to get them clean without wearing them out; I never did understand how. Drying the wet wash in the moist, rainy climate was a problem they solved by shaking the clothes in the air and then folding them and sleeping on them overnight. It worked. We had to supply the soap, otherwise they used their own rather rank coconut-oil types which left an unpleasant odor requiring two or three days airing and sunning to dispose of.

[...]

The Filipinos loved our food, especially the bread and meats we had, as their main diet had been rice, fruit and vegetables. We were completely fed up on corned beef and dehydrated stuff and did not even eat half our share of it so there was plenty for the Flips. For canned meat and clothes the people would trade eggs, chickens, bananas, even their cherished bolos.

Dunlap describes the “mighty cavalry air force” they had in the Philippines:

Our forces now held all the airfields on the island and we had plenty of planes. A great force of bombers raided Ormoc, but the enemy in the hills was almost indestructible from the air. What got them was artillery. The little spotter planes — our mighty cavalry air force, the “PC70’s” (Piper Cub, 70 miles per hour) — were in the air almost every hour of daylight, picking up bullet-holes from Jap ground machine guns and rifle fire every day, dodging the Zeros from Negros island by flying at treetop height and maneuvering so close to the ground they got muddy. The flight officers and lieutenants who flew them, without parachutes, armed only with a pistol or a carbine, really rated respect from both the foot soldiers and the Air Corps. Every time they saw more than two Nips close together they called for a 105 to drop a shell there. It paid off, I guess.

As it was a few guys from the 12th lived through the war. If they had had to go after all the Nips by hand more would have died. By the end of the Leyte battles at least two of the troops (companies) of the 12th had less than 30 men left. I do not mean 30 of the original men, I mean 30 men, period. Not many replacements went into action in the cavalry after the first week of the invasion, and as the weeks passed men fell out not only due to battle casualties but also to diseases, other injuries and such strength-reducing causes.

The camp was isolated in a way because of the terrain. A lot of useful items could not get up and a lot of wounded could not get down. From the combat zone about two to three miles away to our small hospital facilities was a three-hour trip for an able-bodied man, unburdened. A stretcher required not less than 10 men to handle it and a day for the trip. It had to be raised and lowered and handed along the steep and rough spots over the trails and only emergency cases were brought out. Most of the wounded stayed up where they were until they could move out under their own power and with the help of a couple of Filipinos, or soldiers. Very few dead were carried back. I remember seeing only one blanket-wrapped bundle coming down, tied to a pole.

One man came down on a stretcher for an emergency operation. A Mexican-American, he was one of the division’s famous fighters and had been shot in the stomach. The division surgeon came up that night riding a cat and operated, but the boy died four days later. A lot of men suffered and died because they did not or could not receive prompt attention.

[...]

We gathered up what loot we had acquired — bolos traded from the Filipinos, a Jap rifle or two, a couple of knee mortars and bayonets. The Jap stuff came from souvenirs sent back from the line troops for safekeeping. We would keep it and take care of it, and when an owner was reported killed, we would take the item over ourselves rather than destroy it. Nothing could be sent home, so all anyone could do with it was play with it personally or maybe find a sailor or marine to trade it to, if he ever got to the beach. The naval forces could get things home we could not.

[...]

Japanese planes made fewer and fewer daylight flights, and those only in fast planes for observation only. One day I saw two single motor fighters make monkeys out of a pair of P-38’s. The Japs would flip around in a tight turn and the Lockheeds would swing out two miles. Neither set could harm the other and finally the Nips decoyed the P-38’s into a diving turn, cut back past them and streaked for their home base somewhere northwest. By the time our planes got straightened out, the Japs were long gone. This was late in December, 1944, over Tunga, in the northwestern section of Leyte.

Everything in war is simple, but the simplest thing is difficult, as Dunlap discovered in the rough terrain of the Philippines:

Jap stragglers were all through the area covered, and he had to try and protect the driver and tractor from them, which was a tough assignment since the noise of the motor would drown out the sound of Jap rifle fired at even close range. The Japs might easily get more than one shot at the men before they would even know they were in danger. I know, because one took a shot at me when I was going up and I still do not know in what direction he was, although I heard both the bullet and, faintly, the report of the rifle.

[...]

Only those few men pulling and pushing levers on the jolting, sliding tractors kept the ammunition and food moving up. They sure did not keep any union hours, either. I often wondered what the people at home would feel if they knew just how thin the string was that held us together.

[...]

Quite a few tents were up, since they could be dropped from planes without damage.

[...]

While we were carrying our belongings into the tent, three or four soldiers came down the trail and passed us, heading back, all leading huge dogs. I asked a trooper standing by what the idea was and he said “Oh, those are the war dogs — they’re takin’ ‘em back because the country’s too rough for ‘em.” Nice place we had come to.

[...]

A hospital had been set up, with three or four tents and cots for maybe 50 men, and a kitchen was running, serving hot food to everyone around. This kitchen was important. When a man had been up in the line too many days on cold rations and got sick or just played out, he would be sent back here to “guard rations” one, two or three days. Actually, it was a chance to relax and sleep in a straight line and get a few hot meals. The men would get some of their strength back then we would see them going back up one morning with the ration pack train.

The rations went from here on the backs of Filipino carriers because only men could navigate the trails from here on. They worked in pairs either carrying their load on a pole sling or one walking empty-handed until his partner got tired. Some were young boys, some almost old men. Every age and class of person was represented. They were hired, or perhaps rounded up is a better expression, by the guerrillas, who usually acted as guards along the trails. It was terrible labor to handle some of the items, such as C-ration cases or cases of pistol ammunition, and often some of the men would want to quit. The guerrillas did not let them. Remember, some of the paths went almost straight up and down and it was necessary to use ropes and vines to assist ascent and descent and always the footing was slippery clay or mud. The trip up and back required about nine or ten hours, allowing for a short rest at the front end.

A lot of rations were flown in to us a week or so later when transport planes reached the island. Delivery was fast — a crew member just kicked the boxes out the open door of the airplane as it flew over, 200 or 300 feet up. Cargo parachutes were tried a few times on medical equipment, but did not do so well. Chutes tore, or did not open, so they just went back to throwing stuff out and hoping it would hit a bush or small tree to break the fall. Attempts were made to drop rations right at the line, but the Japs got half of them and the men up there could not hunt through the brush for the boxes. Also, a couple of guys got hurt by boxes landing on them, so it was decided to keep up the packtrains, which had to handle the ammunition anyway.

[...]

The ambulance is for my money the best army wheeled vehicle for going places. I have seen them go through mud and rough country that jeeps, weapons-carriers and six-by-sixes could not pass.

[...]

The unusual point or feature about this camp was that there was absolutely no guard system. Each man was his own perimeter, so to speak, and kept his rifle or carbine within reach at all times. You ate with your gun across your lap. The only time we kept an all-night guard was once when a Filipino reported he had seen several Japs dressed as Filipinos prowling around about a half mile away. That night the Filipinos were warned not to move at all after dark and we decided to shoot completely on suspicion.

[...]

The banks and bed of this one were composed entirely of smooth boulders and the water was clear, clean and cold, perfect for bathing. Soldiers in the Pacific were always looking for decent places for a bath. A lot of water was bad — carrying infections and diseases. The sole objection to this stream was that a would-be Jap sniper liked to haunt it. He would take a shot at somebody every afternoon. He did not hit anybody while I was there, but it was annoying. We kept on using the same spots, for after all, it was a swell place for a bath.

[...]

The troop armorers as a rule were not much good at anything except cleaning guns and replacing broken parts which were obviously out of kilter, but a few of them became expert by their own interest and study of weapons.

[...]

Most of the men from the foxholes stopped in at our tent on their way to or from the line. They really appreciated our being up there and we appreciated their appreciating us, if you get what I mean. We did no sloppy jobs, for our hearts were really in our work. When a man asked for a carbine or an M1, we would go over all we had and give him our best, with whatever we had in the way of patches, oil, extra magazines or other helps.

[...]

The M1’s were going to ruin for lack of cleaning in the holes up front — the poor guys did not have anything to take care of them with, and often were not in a position to shoot them often enough to keep the barrels clear of corrosion (grass won’t grow on a busy street — regardless of the corroding primer compound, if a .30-06 barrel gets a bullet through it every six or eight hours it will stay in pretty good shape).

[...]

We happened to have an almost new rifle to give him, so after he changed the rear sights he felt all right. He had filed the top of his original aperture out into a large open V and wanted to keep it. Said he had killed eight Japanese all within 50 feet, in bad light, and did not need or want an aperture rear sight. He would not use anything except the rifle, as he considered the extra penetration he could get compensated for the weight. Most men wanted carbines as they could be carried so much easier than the M1, but the boys who really wanted to kill Nips liked the rifles. “Kill ‘em through trees,” was their story.

[...]

The Thompsons were only popular in the jungle, where a fast spray-effect was desired. Much of the Philippine fighting was in comparatively open country or rough mountain terrain where the submachine gun was heavy to carry and not too effective.

Dunlap talks a bit about the Filipinos:

The Filipinos of course must be described — they were definitely on our side, even though the inevitable few sold out to the Japs. The guerrilla movement was well organized on Leyte and Samar at the time of our landing and most of the guerrillas we worked with in Leyte were fighters. On Samar they practically liberated the island by themselves, though the 8th Cavalry was the strong force over there.

Some of them were very hard little characters indeed. The U. S. had equipped the recognized organizations with small arms before we landed, by submarine, and evidently brought in some clothing, as their standard uniform was a U. S. fatigue cap, a pair of shorts, weapons and, in some cases, fatigue jackets. They loved fire-power. I have seen a Visayan who would not weigh 120 pounds wringing wet (and he was) plodding through calf-deep mud carrying a BAR, a loaded 10-magazine belt, a half-dozen bandoleers of .30-06 rifle ammunition for reloading, and a Jap knapsack full of grenades and loose cartridges, grinning happily as he headed for the line to unload.

Some were useful soldiers and some were not. The good ones were very good, however, having been members of the Philippine prewar forces, or trained by some member for years, most of whom were veterans of the Jap invasion and knew what the war meant. Such men and units could fight either as guerrillas or combat troops — there is a great difference — while the other native forces were mainly effective only as irregulars and not particularly useful in a prolonged battle.

A lot of American soldiers in the Philippines saw only the second-rate Filipino forces, who were sort of home guard units, spending their time guarding bridges and street corners and lying about the Japs they had killed, and whose organizations were more officer-heavy than anything else. Had more officers than men.

Well, the boys who met us on those first days of invasion and moved along with the advance, either on Leyte or Luzon, were of a different stripe. They did not do much bragging about Jap-killing, but most of them had Japanese army equipment on hand.

[...]

The Filipinos who hated the Japs most and who worked and fought against them were as a rule the poor farmers out on the edge of the mountains and jungles who suffered less from the Japanese than the townspeople who were impoverished by the occupation. The ragged farmer who owned a couple of acres of rice land and a water-buffalo if he was well off, and only a bolo and a nipa shack if he was not, was the guy who defied the Imperial Nipponese Army.

[...]

Do not make any mistake — both the Japanese and the Nazis had some very good ideas in their plans for Asia and Europe, ideas with plenty of merit if honestly administered and carried out as on paper. Naturally, they were bait for winning over conquered populations. A lot of trouble is due the world from those plans, too. Witness Indonesia now. The Japs did not give the Dutch colonies anything themselves and treated the people worse than the Dutch ever had, but they promised plenty and the people are now wondering why they cannot promote the better way of life on their own hook.

[...]

When I was in Leyte at the Sugud Road Junction I lived in a fair-sized house, very well built, but slightly ventilated by machine gun fire and shrapnel. It was a frame building with a metal roof, about one story off the ground and of about five or six rooms. The wood used was almost entirely red mahogany. The owner was a civil engineer and his wife had been a school teacher, hence both spoke very good English. From these people we did get a good picture of the Japanese in Leyte. The man had been one of the higher-ranking intelligence workers for the guerrilla movement, and was very level-headed. His wife and child had once been held hostage by the Japs until he came in and gave himself up — then escaped to the mountains after they were safe. Despite this, he told me once that all Japanese should not be considered bad, but as a race they were always unsure of themselves and that in his opinion most of their direct cruelty stemmed from that fact. They never knew how to do anything diplomatically and were always worrying about how their actions were being received, as a prelude to running amuck to justify themselves in their own minds that the populace was against them and needed to be made afraid.

[...]

The people blandly ignored the law and as a rule sold nothing to conform to the price ceilings.

[...]

These country people were good enough in their way and very honest. I do not know of anything being stolen from any soldier while we were in Leyte. Small boys were of course all over the camps and one I remember in particular; a very small soul about two or three years old and about two feet high. I had been test firing and was cleaning some guns on the rack beside our test range when one of the section men called “Who’s your friend?” I looked around and down to this very serious-faced boy. He was dressed in the usual short shirt and an overseas cap someone had given him. He watched every move I made for half an hour, and would not say a word or laugh, just kept a deadpan expression with his hands clasped behind his back. Finally a welder offered more interest than I and he wandered over to see the sparks fly. He came around every day for a week or so and finally a few of the men temporarily adopted him and named him “Charley.” He learned a little English and had the run of the camp. We got his history from older people — both his father and mother had been killed by Japs as they retreated along the road past his home. The boy’s true name was Sergio, and he roamed the neighborhood, every woman knowing him and taking care of him for the day or two he would stay with her. No one attempted to keep him, but accepted him as a member of the community, free to come and go as he pleased. I asked a reasonably well-to-do farmer what would become of him and got a surprised look. He said the kid would just grow up, welcome in all the homes, and when he was through school he could take his father’s place and start farming it. The women would see that he was fed and had clothing enough. I guess Leyte does not know about orphan asylums, and I think that kid will be all right without one.

[...]

In the jungle a determined Filipino could be a very unpleasant foe, as the Japs found out (so did we, a long time ago!). This time they were for us, not against us.

Dunlap had 24 men and a useless lieutenant:

He was not a bad guy; he just did not know anything. In unguarded moments he would even admit it. Had been a lawyer, so when his draft board started looking at him longingly he asked for a commission in the JAG (Judge Advocate General Dep’t.—Army for legal branch) and got it, with a desk which he polished until some unkind son shanghaied him to the South Pacific and eventually he ended in the MP’s because he knew nothing about soldiering whatever. He was a gentle soul and positively no help to me.

I had a corporal, one of the regular MPs, who was OK. Except in air raids. A red alert would drive him into a hole and keep him there, scared as he could be. I never knew a man so allergic to Jap airplanes. Since he was completely unashamed of his fear, no one said or thought anything of it. Had he pretended otherwise, he would have lost all respect from the men.

They ended up directing traffic, which was a surprisingly demanding job:

A man from the Corps HQ came around and gave us a lot of information on territory outside our beat and we had to figure out every outfit we knew of and how far it was to them from us and their nearest town, etc. In a few days we had every outfit listed by branch of service, distance from all towns on maps, and complete traffic information on northern Leyte. When a driver would stop in the road and ask where the 7th Division was, the man on duty would call to one of us to check and we would tell him where both of them were—the 7th Japanese Division and the 7th American Division. Things were fine till a G2 man came around and said we should not have so much information—a Nip might get to see it. So we had to give up our maps and our detailed lists and go on our memories thereafter. Technically, I suppose he was right (personally, my idea was that he was jealous, account of our having more dope than he had).

[...]

As far as I was concerned, a reckless driver was practically a traitor.

[...]

Some QM trucking companies began to bring loads up from Tacloban. I think all of them were colored units, and practically all the drivers were bad, a menace to the road and everything on it. We began to have a lot of wrecks as the result of speeding, sideswiping, meetings at one-way bridges, etc.

Dunlap witnessed some unsanitary practices in the Philippines:

I remember listening to one skirmish for about half an hour one night about 10 o’clock — a Jap woodpecker (light tripod 6.5mm machine gun) would fire a short burst, then an American .50 would answer. This kept up for quite awhile. I never did find out what was going on. Did not try to. A Filipino farmer proudly brought in a Jap one morning, except that he did not bring all the Nip. Just the head. We had to get him to take it out and bury it somewhere without being too rough on his feelings. He was so happy. Combat MPs ran into the screwiest situations at times.

[...]

While here a second typhoon hit and bothered us a little. It was not as violent as the first. That same night we had to go get a Jap, as the 12th Cavalry broke their unsullied record and reported a live Nip. A couple of the boys went back — yes, back — to get him and the three of them returned in time to spend the night holding the orderly room tent down. In the morning we tried to find some clothes for the Jap and a small lieutenant donated a suit of khakis. The Jap had really been captured by some Filipinos and turned in to the cavalry, stripped of everything but a breechcloth. This was our first true Jap as such and we looked him over well. He was valuable — had been a top non-com and in charge of all their vehicles at Tacloban. He was a smart city boy and totally unafraid of us, seeming to know he would not be hurt. Most of the better-class Japanese knew some English but this one had only a few words. We kept him all day and after he was questioned, kept him busy ditching our tents, for by now we lived in them.

[...]

The town of Barugo is rememberable only as the place where the Filipinos did very complete bolo jobs on three Japs they caught. Took them on the beach and blinded them, then amputated everything possible, the heads last. The kids were kicking the heads around in the streets, an unsanitary practice, as they were barefooted.

[...]

There was also a very good blacksmith at Barugo. He later made a lot of souvenir bolos for soldiers which were works of art.

Dunlap was north of Tacloban when the first typhoon hit:

I had managed to build myself a sort of pup tent, and it stayed up for the first half of the big wind, while regular tents were blowing down. No one had bothered to remember that the blamed wind blew one direction for a few hours, then calmed down awhile and finished by blowing the opposite way. My open-ended shelter lasted about two minutes of the second half. Everything was down in the in the morning and between the rain, mud, and wind the war was stalled for everything except the foot soldiers out ahead.

[...]

At about the time of the typhoon, a couple of days either way, the first American army planes appeared — Lockheed P-38 “Lightnings.” We were childishly pleased to see them and expected great things. I think there were eight planes at first, but am not sure; more came in almost daily as the engineers ironed out the airstrips. By this time we held two fields, the one at Tacloban and the one at Dulag. I saw a few dog-fights, but never saw a P-38 knocked down. They always flew in pairs, in the system originated by Chennault, one plane always protecting the other which did the actual fighting, or at least made the initial pass or attack. It was our firm belief that only the P-38s were allowed in the Philippines because they were the only American plane that the anti-aircraft gunners could positively recognize as not being Japanese and therefore not shoot them down accidentally on purpose. I don’t know how much truth there was to the rumor, but we never saw a single-engined fighter such as the P-51 or P-47 until the Jap air force was almost driven out of the southern Philippines, and either of the ships was better at dog-fighting than the Lockheed.

Japanese pilots were specimens, Dunlap noted — at first:

One of the wounded prisoners in the hospital was a Jap Naval pilot, a warrant officer in rating. He was a pocket Hercules and looked like an ad for a physical culture magazine. Only 21, he had been flying fighter planes for a year and a half, and had started his training at 16. He told us that the Japanese army air force was only spending four months in pilot training, and that the men were no good (the Jap army and navy did not get along very well together). This bird had been around too long and was too smart to act like most of the Japs. Being captured did not bother him at all and he was actually anxious for us to win the war so he could go home. He did not believe much of the propaganda, either Japanese or American, so he did not give us any trouble. The suicide type was either the ignorant soldier or the newer recruits. The smart Nips did not go for it, though they were often forced to go along with their orders.

Prisoners needed protection:

When a prisoner did show up outside the hospital, we had to protect them as well as watch them. All Filipinos and half the G.I.’s were anxious to knock them off. I remember one morning a tall slant who kept grinning idiotically and tapping himself on the chest as he repeated “Taiwan, Taiwan,” meaning he was a Formosan. He even pretended not to understand Japanese. Probably was a Jap peasant who fancied himself a bright boy and did not want to die for the Emperor. Two or three native boys, Filipinos about 14 or 15 years old, were standing watching and carrying on a very polite conversation with me. Finally one asked “Please, sir, you give him to us? We kill.” As if he were asking for a match. I explained that I had signed a receipt for this particular specimen, but that I would be pleased to try and save an odd one for them if he turned up off records.

Both Formosans and Koreans were as bad as the Japanese in ill-treatment of native populations and prisoners of war. Some Filipinos went so far as to say that the Japs were easier to get along with, and the Koreans the worst of all. Which is why a lot of ex-soldiers and ex-prisoners of war will refuse to get worked up about the delay of independence for the noble and oppressed Koreans. Those “forced labor battalions” showed a hell of a lot of fight when the Japs were still riding high. In the Admiralties and and New Guinea they made banzai charges, sometimes with bayonets tied to poles, spear fashion, when they did not have rifles for all.

Camouflage played a queer part in the Pacific war, Dunlap concluded:

Queer is the word, because the Japanese used it so much and were so good at it and because we used it so little and were so poor at it, anyway. The Americans totally ignored the whole problem of fooling the enemy observers. I never saw a sign of camouflage attempted anywhere on Leyte, or later, on Luzon.

Blackouts during air raids were the only precautions taken against attack.

Dunlap describes his second day at Leyte:

Early in the morning of this second day in the Philippines, Colonel Drake, C.O. of the 5th Cavalry, was killed. Only nine other Americans were lost in this neck of the woods, though about 300 Japs were killed by the time Tacloban was taken.

[...]

The airfield was captured the first day, but proved to be a disappointment. The Japanese had not been using it and had not improved it for use of heavy planes. A lot of work would have to be done before our aircraft could operate effectively from it.

[...]

The 24th did not do so well and suffered from poor leadership at all levels. Traditional cavalry tactics call for movement of course, and the fact that they were dismounted did not deter the troopers in their actions here. They ranged far and fast compared with any previous Pacific operation. The terrain around Tacloban was not too well suited for such movement, but the soldiers were so glad to be out of the heavy jungle and see an occasional stone-surfaced road they moved ahead as fast as they could, clearing the Jap nests out as they advanced. Gains were made in miles, where usually tropical warfare was measured in yards.

[...]

I was examining my water-soaked feet in the last light when the earth stood on end and exploded. One second all was peaceful and the next was one great concussion; we were ringed with 90mm AA guns and they had decided there was a Jap plane overhead and fired simultaneously. Four men dived into a one-man slit-trench and they all fitted.

Third day:

Half an hour after we got there two of my original detachment went up on a nearby hill to look over the Jap diggings and hunt for souvenirs. They found the souvenirs and killed two Nips at the same time. The Japs cut down on them with a light machine gun but missed. Each American soldier had a Springfield and got one apiece. There was a third Jap who got up and ran when the other two died, but a young Filipino with the boys took care of him. The soldiers were taking careful aim when the Filipino asked them not to shoot and took off after the Nip. He caught up with him within 100 yards and made one pass with his bolo. Headless Jap. The Leyte bolo, called a sundang, is a short, bladeheavy weapon, balanced for chopping and edged on one side only. The cutting edge is beveled on one side, that is, one side of the blade is perfectly flat and all the bezel or bevel on the other, like our wood chisels in cross-section. The blade is slightly curved or straight on top edge, with cutting edge deeply curved and handle at a downward angle to top of blade. They come in all sizes, but the average working size is a 12″ to 15″ blade. Handles are of orange root or carabao horn and the wooden scabbards are often highly decorated and skillfully made. This type of instrument is peculiar to the island of Leyte alone and is startlingly similar to the famed Ghurka kukri, though lighter. The Ghurka fighting knives are often very heavy.

[...]

These days became famous as the “raid an hour” period. At first we would start for cover, but the urge to look was too great and always most men were exposing themselves to see what was going on.

[...]

I found a very fine little dugout just a few feet from my makeshift shelter (a Japanese hole and therefore much deeper and better than American!) and always stayed close to it when things looked doubtful. Experience had previously taught me how to figure a plane’s direction when it peels off to dive bomb from fairly low altitudes, so I stayed outside when most of the lads were worrying about strafing.

A few mornings later I saw one of the great running fights. A navy fighter shot down four enemy two-motored bombers in about three minutes and then was shot down himself by our own antiaircraft fire. This was during one of the few mass raids. I do not know how many enemy planes started out, but when I saw them about 10 were left, with American naval planes attacking them. Only two or three reached their objective — the anchored ships offshore — and I believe only one of them lived long enough to complete its suicide dive. It destroyed either a Liberty ship or an LST, I am not sure which, off Red beach. The Japanese made no evasive action but flew in ruler-straight lines for their targets.

Our ackack was so bad it was ruining our morale and becoming a source of jokes. We never saw it bring down anything except our own ships, which trustingly flew low and slow over our own territory.

[...]

We threw up millions of rounds of .50 caliber, 20mm, 40mm and 90mm, to practically no effect that I could see. Beautiful fireworks effect at night, I should say; red, white and green. I became used to the sound of their motors — they really did have a washing-machine sound, too.

[...]

The planes all looked alike — I mean the single motored ones. I was at one spot, busy at something under a tent fly, when I heard some racket and asked one of the boys to take a look. He did and turned back saying that it was a Grumman “Hellcat.” About six seconds later the “Hellcat” came down and strafed hell out of things. Our things. From then on I did my own looking, even if I did not know the aircraft. I knew British and German ships well, and American bombers, but could not remember much about Jap or U.S. small planes.

The beach had a couple of lovely fires, the best of which concerned 3,400 drums of fuel, mostly aviation and truck gasoline. The Nips got the credit for destroying it, though the inside story was that an enthusiastic 20mm gunner on one of the ships in the bay had followed a Zero down the shore line too far and plowed a few shells into the dump. Four of the men who had come ashore with me were burned to death in this particular fire. A couple of others on the beach were tagged by .50 caliber machine gun bullets from the antiaircraft guns ranging too low, also.