Chapter 8 The First Day; Vale Lexington; Koopa; Victuals; Twirps

The First Day; Vale Lexington; Koopa; Victuals; Twirps

"Bombing Up" an aircraft on HMAS Australia by B3/154

THE FIRST DAY

IT is a night of a million stars, and the tropical sky is so dark that even the tiny baby ones have been allowed out. On our port bow a wisp of moon, shaped like a scimitar, flings a handful of thin, argent light across the surface of the sea, extending to the western horizon.

A curiously keen and searching little wind blows, and when we are on the starboard leg of our zigzag it is downright cold. The storm wrack of the previous day, which screened us from prying Japanese eyes, has rolled away, and it promises a fair, clear day for our adventures of the morrow at Guadalcanal.

The soft cosiness of our beds has given way to the undignified hardness of the deck, since we are sleeping at our posts in the first degree of readiness.

Soon after midnight we alter course to starboard and the moon is gone. We are pressing grimly and silently onward, the ships seemingly shrunk to half their former size as they hug the inky velvet which is the Pacific Ocean. Occasionally a smother of phosphorescent foam breaks away from our forefoot with a delightful hiss and the ship seems to be enjoying it as she wallows slightly in the trough.

All is bustle and excitement when the bugle hurls forth its brazen challenge at 2.45 a.m. calling us to "action stations". The sailors rise stiffly with their rest and collect their odds and ends; steel helmets, Mae Wests, etc.

We eagerly suck up a mug of boiling cocoa, turning the bottoms up sky high to get the last sweet drop, and we can see the land now, black and menacing on our starboard bow. This first sight of enemy territory impresses itself on our minds, and we hope to snatch it back from the gentlemen of Nippon this day. It is amusing to hear the bridge personnel discussing events in a low whisper, presumably in order that the enemy shall not be aware of our presence. But he is still some twenty miles distant.

To-day is my birthday and I cannot help reflecting upon a very great Englishman whom I thoroughly admire. He did a curious thing three hundred and twenty-six years ago. He died on his birthday, which is also England's Saint George's Day. I am a little anxious not to emulate this illustrious person, but his lines are haunting me all the day and it worries me. Not because I am afraid. Death by the sword is clean and decent, and preferable to death from cancer or similar decay. But I have many things to read before I go (if it be possible) and much to do. My little son has much to learn.

Our large force silently, and without signal, splits into two groups; one for the assault upon Guadalcanal, the other for the attack on Tulagi and some smaller islands fifteen miles off, and exactly opposite the place where we shall land our marines. Passing Savo Island we go our separate ways.

The Cross blazes in the zenith, and presently Jupiter and Venus come wheeling up the eastern sky in an effort to overtake Orion and the Keys of Heaven which have preceded them. They see the beginning of our operation, but rapidly lose interest in earthly affairs when the mighty orb of day comforts us with his appearance, and presently embarrasses us with his fiery rays.

But before this happens we have done much work. Australia leads the way in, detailing -he U.S.S. Quincy to assume the responsibility for silencing the forts on Lunga Point. This fine American cruiser fires the first offensive shot against the Japanese at about o6oo and we thereupon hoist our battle ensigns. At least two large White Ensigns must be worn in action, so that if one is inadvertently shot down the enemy shall not imagine we have surrendered by lowering our colours. As the Australian custom is, we had also hoisted the Blue Commonwealth Ensign, the largest we possessed.

We rather relish this new type of fighting, for hitherto we have been merely on the defensive. Calling the tune is much more fun than paying the piper.

We discover that not a single Japanese warship is in harbour. Our forces, however, destroy seventeen or eighteen flying boats which are found at anchor near Tulagi. A little later another, coming in from a night patrol, is shot down in flames before he knows what it's all about.

The transports are stopped at 0630 and immediately hundreds of invasion barges are lowered, and gradually filled with marines, while the warships bombard the shore. At the same time bombers from our aircraft carriers place heavy bombs on the enemy gun emplacements, and vigorously strafe the beaches and buildings with machine-gun fire. The airmen are so effective that not a single shot is fired at our force from Guadalcanal.

The strafing runs make a very pretty showing in the greyness of the dawn, the tracer bullets bouncing back into the sky from the ground, giving an effect somewhat like a playing fountain might if it played flames instead of water. We are gladdened by the sight of an umbrella of fighters above the fleet, a luxury to which we have never before been accustomed.

Henderson airfield is well alight and a small schooner is burned to the water's edge. Although we have no opposition at present we do not doubt that some will arrive before the day is done. We notice much smoke and heavy fining over at the Tulagi side and the enemy has a gun on a hill which gives much trouble.

At 0700 we have breakfast, which consists of bread and butter and a handful of potato and salmon, technically known as "fishcake", and very good it is too, washed down by coffee.

All hands are extremely elated at the unparalleled success of our operation and the obvious surprise it has been to Tojo, but a few of the warriors who are a little long in the tooth are heard muttering that it is not all over yet.

The marines land at 0830 without opposition, to find that the Japanese have fled to the tall timbers, leaving, ignition keys in their cars, and half-cooked breakfasts as evidence of their hasty departure, apparently totally unplanned. All is quiet for a time and heavy guns and stores are being landed from the transports with frantic haste.

We receive word that heavy bombers are flying in the direction of our position, and they are due to arrive about noon.

We wonder if they will bring their own lunch, and set about making all the necessary preparations for receiving them, finding, to our consternation, that there are no finger bowls.

Shortly before noon the Admiral makes the signal: "Stand by to repel air attack," and presently they come into view. We sight them first when they are over Savo, about twenty-four high-level bombers escorted by a dozen or so Zero type fighters.

The first bomber is shot down by U.S.S. Astoria, and as it comes streaming down across the sky like a great flaming torch it pleases us mightily. The sailors cheer, and then it's time for us to open fire.

Our fighters are chasing them in, fighting the Zeros and harrying the bombers, and it is obvious that the enemy is considerably worried.

They come in at great heig ht and great speed and drop their bombs far too soon, thanks to the presence of our fighters.

The bombs fall all together, as usual, and make a mighty wall of water leap into the sky. They fall half a mile distant from the nearest ship and, despite the fact that there are many hundreds of barges, etc., in addition to the ships, there is absolutely no damage as a result of this raid.

The Japanese have flown six hundred miles for it, and now have to get home again if they can. The result of this bombing is very different from that which was executed upon the Anzac Squadron three months previously in the Battle of the Coral Sea. Then they caught us without fighters and the bombing was very accurate indeed. The enemy claimed to have sunk Australia on that occasion and we were remarkably lucky not to have been a victim.

Now the bombers are out and away with our fighters sticking to them like terriers, the rat-tat-tat of their machine guns cheering our ears, and occasionally our eyes as an enemy plane falls into the void. The noise of battle dies away into the distance and we decide to take the luncheon adjournment while all is quiet. Our lunch has been well earned, and is sandwiches and a cake, with tea.

During the afternoon we have several alarms and there are a number of attacks executed by enemy dive bombers, one of which succeeds in putting a bomb on board an American destroyer. This knocks out one gun and kills most of the gun's crew, but no serious damage is done and the ship fights on.

The day wears on slowly and, though the night will have new terrors lurking in the depths, we will be glad when the sun is gone and the mantle of night has drawn round us to hide us from the aircraft. For we have grown very weary of them. They don't seem to be able to get the idea into their heads that they aren't welcome here any more.

In these climes there is no twilight, and when the sun goes it is just as though somebody has switched off the lights. We are tired and battle worn, but there is not yet time for rest. We have a quick meal, a wash, and meet our shipmates again for a moment. Not many of them have had such good fortune as I, with a battle station on deck, with fresh air and a grand view of the games. Many of them have sweated in an inferno all day, clad in heavy fea-nought clothing in readiness for instant attack on fires or explosions. They have been lying flat on their faces most of the day, wondering if the heavy explosions they hear are the result of our own or enemy fire. No praise can be too great for these men, and nobody who hasn't done their job can possibly appreciate what it means.

We expect submarines to join the fun and games now but we get off scot free for this night. As it nears midnight I frequently consult my watch, which is luminous. It has been a full and happy birthday, and I have had many nice fireworks, but I shall be extremely glad when it is done. When the hands converge on twelve a great peace and much strength flows into my heart, and I lay me down to sleep easily. I have survived Master Shakespeare's fate and I have lived to fight another action.

So endeth the first day.

SIGNAL BOATSWAIN C. H. N.

VALE LEXINGTON

Sunk by the Japanese in the Coral Sea, the 8th May, 1942.

ALAS! No field of Flanders poppies red

Shall serve to mark the bravery of your dead;

The viewless south-east trade winds fan the wave

That hurries o'er the depth which is their grave,

Leaving no monument in that wide sea

To tell all men your deeds of gallantry.

Yet, in our hearts, we mourn you as our kin:

Our consort in the Freedom we shall win,

Than whom no ship has shown more proof by worth

To rank with Sydney, Canberra, and Perth.

For when the foe sailed down the Coral Sea

Your splendid airmen fought to make him flee.

Lexington helped to turn him back and foil

The Japanese invasion of our soil.

Your name shall live for ever in our ranks,

Ennobled by a grateful nation's thanks!

SIGNAL BOATSWAIN C. H. N.

KOOPA, THE MYSTERY SHIP

The Koopa, well known as a pleasure ship to the people of Brisbane, has excited considerable interest by her appearance as a H.M.A. ship on her periodical trips up the river. Members of the ship's company have been quietly amused by the comments and opinions of the passengers on the trams that pass her in the course of their journeys to and from the city.

I'LL tell you how it came about: the tram was crowded out,
- And I was talking to a chap, "about it and about,"
- General sort of resume, a round-up of the news.
- Then we started talking ships, their countries, and their crews
- Suddenly he gripped my arm and hushed me to a quiver,
- And confidentially pointed out a ship tied in the river.
"I knoo her, mate; I knoo her when she made her maiden run.
- I can tell you where she come from and how many miles she done.
- When I first came to Brisbane, that was several years before
- Old "Hoch der Kaiser" Wilhelm started up that other war,
- That ship she was a beauty and was she looking fine?
- You see the one I mean-there-with funnels two in line.
"For over thirty years, mate, she done a special job,
- Running folks to Redcliffe from Bribie for a bob;
- Up and down the river to every girl and boy,
- To every man and woman she brought happiness and joy.
- She's been on the job for years and she's done it good and well,
- Though I won't say some weren't seasick when she got out in a swell.
"Now the Navy's took her over and you ain't supposed to say,
- But they've got her on the secret list, out workin' in the bay;
- We don't know what she's doing and we don't know where she goes,
- But she's tied up every morning, and the bloomin' mystery grows.
- Some say she's on patrol work, some say she's sweeping mines,
- Some say they took her mast out to improve her flamin' lines.
"Just look at her appearance-she'd fool a lot of boobs;
- It's underneath she carries all her five torpedo tubes.
- You see that sort of grill thing built up around her side?
- She got a six-inch there, that's what they're trying for to hide.
- Look at all that space they've cleared there, along the awning aft;
- I understand they need it for their Fairey Battle craft.
"Of course we always knew she had a pretty turn of speed
- And now she's up to thirty knots-I guess that's all-she'll need.
- She's on a special mission, so don't pass this bit round;
- I only heard the other day, the Mary's gone aground.
- You see those blokes a-working with those pipes along the wharf?
- Well, they're fixing up the Koopa just to go and drag her off."
It seemed he'd heard this morning from a friend who knew the ropes
- That Koopa was the ship on which MacArthur pinned his hopes.
- I neared my destination so I made to pull the bell,
- And wondered if my noisy friend was getting out as well.
- But there's one thing that I did learn from my municipal trip,
- That the Navy had attached me to a most unusual ship.

LIEUTENANT E. K.

TWIRPS., ONE, FOR THE USE OF

AFTER leaving Oro Bay promptly (it was bombed the following 'day), likewise Milne Bay, which was also expecting trouble, we were sent to Port Moresby as escort, a very safe spot.

It was one of those calm, clear and peaceful days, peculiar to the tropics, when the Officer of the Watch was leisurely performing his seemingly monotonous task, Nippon being far from his mind, Port Moresby ahead, about thirty miles. Suddenly the lookout reported, "There seem to be bombs bursting on the hills ahead." Sure enough, it was the start of a 100-aircraft raid. So, after taking avoiding
action, we approached when things seemed quieter. On reaching signalling range, we were ordered to return, holus-bolus, to Milne Bay. Two days later we were reminded of Oro Bay when H.M.A.S. Pirie passed; she was bombed there.

Steaming up Milne Bay, the sky clear and blue, our fighters circling overhead, it seemed peaceful enough. Whilst we were in the process of proceeding to our ordered anchorage, "Air-raid warning" came through. Shipping commenced to disperse in all directions. Shortly after the buzz of Kittyhawks filled the sky, and they could be seen patrolling high above the bay. About twenty minutes later the tension was relieved by the sighting of thirty-seven Jap bombers approaching from the south-east, at approximately twenty-five thousand feet, appearing like tiny silver toys against the white-speckled blue of the sky. Smaller specks-our fighters, weaving in and out of the formation, two bombers of which were losing height and leaving behind a heartening trail of smoke.

On they came, until the stillness of the day was shattered by sticks of bombs exploding amongst shipping, across the landing strips, and amongst the coconut plantations.

We noted momentarily one ship smoking aft, but such sight-seeing was abruptly interrupted by dive bombers, screaming down from the nor'ard.

So much happened in the ensuing twenty minutes, that every one afterwards had a different tale to tell. Two fighters chasing a dive bomber were robbed of their prey when a Bofors blew it apart. Others whined down at H.M.A.Ss Whyalla and Wagga; all bombs luckily were near misses, and columns of spray concealed each ship. Two were seen heading for a supply ship close on our bow, which we were endeavouring to protect. The first missed, the second scored a direct hit aft but came to a fiery end under the guns of the merchantman. She continued on, swinging to starboard to face the next attacker, which our starboard Oerlikon claimed, but which before crashing dropped its bomb, hitting the engine-room; her engines stopped.

Meanwhile, not far away, another merchant ship was seen blazing from two hits abaft the funnel. As H.M.A.S. Whyalla was proceeding to her assistance, we turned our attention to the first victim, which was now smoking badly aft, a bucket chain her only means of extinguishing the fire, as her electric, power was out of action. Once alongside aft, our battery of hoses and fire extinguishers soon dealt with the blaze, during which we and other small craft commenced to tow her inshore. Most of her Chinese and Malay crew were sheltering in the 'tween decks during the attack and they, poor devils, received severe bums and abrasions from the blast and explosions of the bombs; two of them were killed outright. Our S.B.A. and Miscellaneous Branch Ratings in the meantime dealt with the injured, whilst awaiting the arrival of shore medical assistance.

Luckily she was only slightly holed, on and above the waterline, abreast the engine-room. These holes were effectively stuffed with blankets. We berthed her alongside Lyall wharf, and the Army took charge; we stood by to provide electrical power and any other assistance. It was then learnt that the after holds contained ammunition, cases of which were charred. With this job done, we were able to take a breather and see what damage the port had suffered. The burning ship was well ablaze, and eventually sank in deep water, after vain attempts to extinguish her. Damage to shore installations was negligible. Officially it was estimated that between seventy-five and one hundred aircraft, including forty-six dive bombers and fighters, took part in the raid. The total bag ,vas thirty, our losses small.

After we had repaired her generators, our damaged merchantman was unloaded, and essential repairs effected. Meanwhile we did several miscellaneous jobs, so that she was more or less forgotten. Then came orders for us to prepare to tow her five hundred and thirty miles to the mainland, assisted by tug James Wallace, using a bridle of two shackles of cable, secured to each quarter bollard, to which was shackled her 6-Inch insurance wire.

Progress down the bay was slow and erratic while the correct length of tow was found, even with the tug's assistance. Our tow was of six thousand-odd gross tons, and we only nine hundred; and furthermore, she could only be steered by emergency hand steering aft. China Strait was negotiated safely, though she took one or two frightening sheers. Once clear, she veered three shackles of cable, making the length of tow approximately five hundred and sixty feet. The tug went ahead of us, passed us her towing hawser, so that we towed in tandem, a total length of fourteen hundred feet, from the tug's stem to the merchantman's stern.

What an unusual sight we must have looked to reconnaissance aircraft, two stout, small ships proudly pulling a large merchantman with two escorts guarding on each wing! Certainly God was with us, for the next few days the Coral Sea was at its best, smooth as glass, enabling us to average the excellent speed of 7-1 knots from start to finish. Off Cairns we slipped James Wallace, then ourselves, and the merchantman anchored. Our ship bounded forward, imbued with new life, her burden released, and perhaps conscious of a job well done. We left our charge awaiting the arrival of the tug which was to tow her south for repairs, with a succession of jubilant blasts and cock-a-doodle-doos on the siren.

Thus ended ten days full of varied work and excitement, during which an Australian minesweeper, H.M.A.S. Kapunda, was used as an escort vessel, anti-aircraft ship, fire and salvage ship, hospital ship, tender and tug.

Lieutenants F. D. S. and D. A. L. D.