Fortress Rabaul (5 page)

During a briefing on the Southern Offensive presented to Emperor Hirohito on November 3, the occupation of Rabaul was identified as one of the primary goals—a testament to its vital importance in Tokyo’s strategy. Three days later, Imperial General Headquarters issued orders to the army and navy to mobilize their forces for war.

As an independent unit under the direct command of Imperial General Headquarters, the South Seas Force was created to establish a strong defensive perimeter of island bases around the territories seized by the Southern Army. Combined with existing fortifications, Japan would control the Pacific from the Kurile Islands southward to the Gilberts in the Central Pacific, then westward through the Solomons and Bismarcks to New Guinea, and finally around Java and Sumatra to Burma—a chain of strongholds more than twelve thousand miles in length. As the linchpin of what the Japanese called the Southeast Area, Rabaul would be developed into an impregnable military complex, a hub from which to launch additional campaigns and further extend Japan’s grip on the southern hemisphere.

In other words, the Japanese planned to transform Rabaul, with its huge anchorage and excellent topographical features, into the mightiest fortress in the Pacific.

THERE WAS GOOD REASON for a direct chain of command from Tokyo to the South Seas Force. The Imperial Army and Navy were parochial, neither one willing to be subordinate to the other, particularly at the start of what promised to be a glorious offensive. But with Imperial General
Headquarters in charge of operations, the typical rivalries were avoided. As insurance, the services were bluntly ordered to work together. The South Seas Force, for example, received Great Army Instruction No. 992 on November 8, 1941, which emphasized, in part: “The army and navy will cooperate.”

There wasn’t an officer alive in either service who would dare to question the directive’s legitimacy.
Every
direct order in the Japanese military system, whether written or verbal, was regarded as though Emperor Hirohito himself had issued it. As a result, the army and navy components of the South Seas Force not only cooperated but conducted a near-flawless operation against Guam.

When the Southern Offensive commenced on December 8, Tokyo time, several troop transports and a sizeable convoy of Fourth Fleet warships were already en route to Guam, an American possession in the Mariana Islands. Land-based naval aircraft from Saipan softened up the island’s defenses for two days, and when the invasion troops stormed ashore on December 10, the garrison of 153 U.S. Marines and the local militia surrendered within minutes.

After securing Guam, the South Seas Force spent the rest of December preparing for the invasion of the Bismarcks. On January 3, 1942, Maj. Gen. Tomitaro Horii and his battalion commanders flew more than 630 miles to Truk for a planning session with their navy counterparts. Boarding the cruiser
Kashima
in Truk lagoon, they met with Vice Adm. Shigeyoshi Inoue, commander of the Fourth Fleet, and hammered out the various details of “R” Operation, as the coming invasion was called. The meeting concluded with the signing of a cooperation agreement between Horii and Inoue, ostensibly to satisfy the dictates of Tokyo, after which Horii and his staff flew back to Guam.

The following day, the Imperial Navy’s 24th Air Flotilla received orders to begin attacking Rabaul from its base at Truk. Having already conducted several high-altitude reconnaissance flights over the area, the aircrews were undoubtedly anxious to initiate combat. None, however, could have foreseen that the air war over Rabaul would continue unabated for almost four years. The longest battle of World War II was about to begin.

CHAPTER 3

Gladiators

T
HE WAR CAME TO RABAUL
on a pleasant Sunday morning, the fourth day of 1942. Dawn broke rapidly, as it always does in the equatorial latitudes, giving the antiaircraft gunners atop the North Daughter a breathtaking sunrise. Accustomed to such splendor after weeks of sitting at their posts, they might have assumed that yet another monotonous day awaited them. If so, they were in for a surprise.

At approximately 1000 hours, plantation manager Cornelius L. Page sent an urgent radio message from the tiny island of Tabar, ninety miles north of New Britain. Recruited two years earlier into the network of coastwatchers, he had observed a flight of Japanese bombers as they passed over his coconut plantation on a direct course for Rabaul.

The formation consisted of sixteen Navy Type 96 land attack aircraft of the Chitose Air Group, currently attached to the 24th Air Flotilla at Truk. Known to the Allies as Mitsubishi G3Ms, the twin-engine aircraft were fast and well armed. They also possessed an extraordinary combat radius that allowed them to reach Rabaul easily from their airfield seven hundred miles away. The Imperial Navy’s unique category of land-based attack aircraft,
rikujo kogeki-ki
(commonly abbreviated as
rikko)
, emphasized the use of aerial torpedoes against ships, but the aircraft could also carry bombs, and on this mission the Mitsubishis were armed with 60-kilogram fragmentation bombs.

The air-raid sirens began to wail in Rabaul shortly after 1100. High atop the North Daughter, the young antiaircraft gunners fidgeted with excitement as they strained to catch a first glimpse of the enemy. Suddenly the planes appeared—sixteen bombers coming straight toward the gunners in perfect V formation. The Aussies were enthralled by the size and splendor of the enemy formation, and many thought the planes looked beautiful in the sunlight.

One keyed-up teenager, having never experienced the guns in action, asked, “
Can we really fire this time
?”

“Too right we can,” answered Lt. David M. Selby, the battery’s commanding officer. He gave the order to fire, and the old guns belched flame a split second apart, causing the gunners to flinch reflexively. They held their collective breath until the shells detonated at thirteen thousand feet, far below the enemy planes. Recovering from their surprise at the initial blast of heat and noise, the gunners set the fuses for the maximum range of fifteen thosand feet and quickly settled into the familiar routine they had practiced for months, getting off round after round from the two vintage weapons. But still the shells failed to reach the enemy planes. The only noteworthy outcome was the successful performance of the cracked breach; otherwise the Japanese bombers continued toward Lakunai airdrome with nary a scratch.

At the airdrome, Flight Lieutenant Brookes and Sqn. Ldr. Archibald R. Tindal scrambled aloft in two Wirraways just as the bombs began falling. They should have been airborne much sooner, but for unknown reasons the fighters did not take off in time to intercept the formation. Not that the delay made much difference: the Japanese bombers were at least ten miles per hour faster than the Wirraways. Two other Wirraway crews tried to scramble from Lakunai but were forced to abort, their vision obscured by thick clouds of volcanic dust churned up by the exploding enemy bombs.

Without interference from the Wirraways or the antiaircraft battery, the Japanese should have smashed the airdrome. Surprisingly, however, only three bombs out of forty actually hit the target. Twenty struck the water, and the other seventeen landed within the Rapindik native housing complex and infirmary adjacent to the airdrome. Shrapnel from the small fragmentation bombs caused horrific casualties in the confined area, killing a dozen islanders outright and severely injuring thirty others.

Shortly before dusk, eleven Navy Type 97 flying boats (Kawanishi H6Ks) of the Yokohama Air Group attacked Vunakanau airdrome. With their long parasol wings and slender fuselages curving upward toward twin vertical stabilizers, the four-engine seaplanes resembled giant dragonflies as they droned overhead. An estimated forty bombs were dropped, all of which missed Vunakanau by a wide margin due to the rapidly waning daylight. Twilight fell so quickly, in fact, that the antiaircraft gunners did not even fire at the formation.

The first raids on Rabaul made headlines in Japanese newspapers. One article, citing a report from Melbourne, stated that the “radio station” had been an objective of the attacks. But the bombers were clearly targeting the airdromes, and the powerful civilian radio facility operated by Amalgamated Wireless of Australasia was untouched.

The next raid occurred on the afternoon of January 6, when nine huge Kawanishi flying boats returned to hit Vunakanau again. This time, with no early warning from “Con” Page, the attack caused serious damage: a direction-finding station smashed, a Wirraway destroyed, a Hudson damaged by a near miss, and the runway pocked with craters. The Japanese reported “intense” antiaircraft fire, which caused minor damage to one Kawanishi. Four Wirraways took off to intercept the flying boats, but due to their pitiful climb rate only one managed to get close enough to open fire. Flight Lieutenant Bruce H. Anderson chased the formation beyond New Ireland and expended all of his ammunition at a retreating bomber from maximum range. Although he failed to register any hits, he was credited with being the first Allied fighter pilot to engage the enemy in the Southwest Pacific. The achievement counted for very little, however, and Bill Brookes noted sourly that “the enemy took advantage of cloud cover and their superior height to get away.”

The following morning, another
rikko
formation attacked Vunakanau. Page radioed the alarm at 1030, having counted eighteen Type 96 bombers overhead. Wirraways took off immediately, but the Japanese bombers dropped their ordnance on the airdrome without opposition because the Australian planes were too underpowered to catch them.

On this occasion the bombardiers’ aim was accurate. Two parked planes—the Wirraway assigned to Bruce Anderson and a Hudson loaded with bombs—caught fire. Anderson and another pilot attempted to save the Wirraway, but John Lerew noticed the danger posed by the burning
Hudson and shouted a warning. The squadron doctor drove up in his sedan just as the bomber’s fuel tank erupted, and all four men dived under the vehicle. Seconds later the Hudson’s bombs exploded, peppering the car with debris. After struggling from beneath the car, Lerew marveled at the shallow space he and the others had squeezed into when the need was urgent.

THE JAPANESE CEASED raiding for several days, sending only a few reconnaissance flights over Rabaul instead of bombers. During the same period, a specially prepared Hudson of 6 Squadron flew a photoreconnaissance mission from Kavieng to Truk lagoon on January 9. The crew returned from the daring flight, the longest undertaken by the RAAF to date, with evidence that a large enemy fleet was gathering in the lagoon.

The 24th Air Flotilla resumed its bombing campaign on the morning of January 16, when another formation of
rikko
destroyed stockpiles of fuel, bombs, and flares at Vunakanau. Two Wirraways tried to intercept the Mitsubishis but never got closer than a thousand yards—nowhere near effective gunnery range. “Owing to the superior speed of the enemy,” noted Brookes, “they had no trouble escaping.”

Six hours after the first attack, a handful of flying boats dropped strings of fragmentation bombs on Lakunai, narrowly missing the ordnance dumps. Bombs exploded all around Lerew and several other men sheltering in slit trenches, but no one on the ground was hurt. From the systematic nature of the attacks, it was obvious to everyone in Rabaul that the Japanese were preparing to invade. Harold Page, the senior territorial official, pleaded with the government in Canberra to evacuate the remaining civilians. The Norwegian freighter
Herstein
, docked at Rabaul since early January after unloading a cargo of aviation fuel and bombs, had plenty of space available, but the officials in Canberra were adamant: the vessel was to take on a load of copra. Stunned that the government was more concerned about a few tons of coconut meat than two hundred civilians, Page continued to appeal for evacuation. Finally he received a terse message: “No one is to take the place of the copra on the
Herstein.”

FLUSH WITH VICTORY after the easy conquest of Guam, Major General Horii and the troops of the South Seas Force were already en route by the time Page got his answer. R Operation commenced on January 14 when
the invasion fleet, escorted by a powerful screening force of three light cruisers, nine destroyers, and two large minelayers, departed Guam and headed south toward New Britain.

Three days later, according to plan, a much more powerful fleet of warships sailed from Truk lagoon. Commanded by Vice Adm. Chuichi Nagumo, the aircraft carriers of the First Air Fleet had just replenished in Japan after their triumphant return from Pearl Harbor. The fleet was reduced from six aircraft carriers to four for R Operation, but these were four of the best. From the 1st Carrier Division came the big flattops
Akagi
and
Kaga
, with a combined complement of fifty-four Type 0 carrier-borne fighters (Mitsubishi A6M2s), forty-five Type 99 carrier-borne bombers (Aichi D3A1s), and fifty-four Type 97 carrier-borne attack planes (Nakajima B5N2s).
Zuikaku
and
Shokaku
of the 5th Carrier Division brought an additional thirty A6M2s, fifty-four D3A1s, and fifty-four B5N2s. To protect this floating arsenal, Nagumo had battleships
Hiei
and
Kirishima
for fleet support, which in turn were shielded by the heavy cruisers
Tone
and
Chikuma
, the light cruiser
Abukuma
, and nine destroyers. Additionally, two squadrons of submarines were deployed from Truk to secure the sea lanes around the Bismarcks.