Chapter Seven
Shots In Anger

The move forward from Guadalcanal was the most momentous of the many undertaken by the battalion. For the first time action lay immediately ahead and, somehow, a strange air of unreality persisted. Yet now, through that very unreality, 26 October and the immediately succeeding days of 1943 will live long in memory. The short, gruelling, sweaty march from camp to shore, where launches and barges waited; the clambering up on to destroyer decks; the grimy cramped search for a place to sleep; how good to come up on deck for a breather after all that!

Once to sea the convoy wasted little time, and groups of men spent a beautifully calm afternoon talking of what they would do when and if they saw New Zealand again! As long as possible was spent on deck, for down below quarters were stuffy, crowded with men and the paraphernalia of war—rifles, web gear, valises, Mae Wests. Only when the phosphorescent wash sparkled in the darkness did the possibility of sleep appeal. By nine o'clock most of the bunks were occupied, but in odd corners cards were played, books read, coffee swallowed.

Half an hour after reveille, at 3.30 am, men filed quietly through for mess—a spoonful of beans and a cup of coffee for most of them. There followed a quiet half hour below when camouflage paint was applied, gear checked, magazines charged and the last precious cigarette carefully smoked. It was time to go on deck. Darkness melted into the grey drizzle of the foredawn and troops lined themselves silently near the rails, talking in whispers, shuffling awkwardly in search of a more comfortable position. Word was passed that operations were delayed 30 minutes. Strangely enough, nobody had any page 57comment to offer. The steadiness that was to be a feature of the entire operation was already in evidence.

The crash of guns sounded ahead and as the APD veered to star' board a low, flat island came into view. In a matter of seconds shells were streaming in towards the target while assault boats were lowered and filled. Under the canopy of flaming red and blue shell-fire the boats formed up and entered Blanche Harbour. On the inner flank a gunboat moved slowly off shore, pumping a continuous hail of fire point blank into enemy positions. From the barrage everyone experienced a strange, warm comfort—not wholly justified by results, for accuracy was sacrificed for volume and surprisingly little damage was caused either in Falamai or upon enemy ridge positions above the Saveke. Ignorance was bliss. Fifty yards from the shore Brownings spattered. The boats grounded sharply. Ramps were lowered. Men moved out and forward.

To B and C companies fell the honour of leading the attack upon Falamai. In theory C company was to clear one-third of the village, but in fact B company bagged the lot. C company had the peninsula until a point on the coast 100 yards below Bryant's Brook was reached. In that move neither contact nor control was lost at any stage. The job might well have been an excellent manoeuvre. Unfortunately the enemy had escaped along the Malsi trail a few minutes before G company reached it.

In the meantime B company cleared the village and drove on a two platoon front towards Falamai. Lieutenant K. J. D. McCorkindale's platoon made rapid progress and captured the native cemetery after a fierce assault upon its occupants, all of whom had been dead for many years. Not satisfied with these eiforts, later parties also poured fire into the mounds and piles of stones that were NOT Japanese weapon pits. Lieutenant E. H. Smith's platoon, operating on the left, struck trouble in the form of an enemy LMG and AA post. In this engagement Private Reeve was killed before the Japanese fled, several of them wounded, along the track toward Malsi. Four or five dead remained permanently after a brief duel with grenades and small arms.

For this early drive A company had a role similar to that of G company, and made a wide sweeping movement on the left flank from Cutler's Creek to the Kolehe River, without meeting opposition. page 58The carriers landed with A company to assist D company on the beach.

Paradoxically enough on that first day the reserve company probably saw more of the war than any of the forward groups. D •company, landing in the rear of B company, established its headquarters on Cutler's Creek and set about its task of unloading. These men were destined to suffer many interruptions, but the company worked excellently throughout the day and evening. It was eight

This diagram indicates company areas of the 29th Battalion on the morning of the landing on Mono.

o'clock at night before they left the beach and made their way in the darkness towards their allotted perimeter position.

The landing of first wave personnel had been effected in very-smooth fashion, and shore fire had caused little damage in the initial move to land. Unfortunately an enemy weapon pit had escaped detection; not until sniper bullets had caused casualities was its position located in the scrub some twenty yards back from the beach. In an attempt to bring fire upon this post Private Gray, of D company, page 59received the wound that was to prove fatal. A section of carriers, guided by Privates E. V. Owen and E. C. Banks, of the I section, reached the scene and grenades were thrown into the pit. Silence followed, and the section continued to search through the village. Perhaps 40 minutes later, further fire came from the enemy position, and this time no mistake was made. An American bulldozer turned the process of death and burial into a simple one-piece job. For this coolness and leadership in the reduction of this post Private Owen was awarded the Military Medal; the only decoration won by a battalion member in this section, and one well earned by a man of 46 who had a son serving in the RNZAF.

All sense of time was lost that morning, but unloading operations were scarcely under way when the beach and village came under steady and accurate mortar fire. At first it was believed that this fire came from Watson Island, but later deductions were more accurate, for the mortars were sited upon what is now known as Artillery Hill, overlooking the Saveke. Their field of fire was an extensive one; their ranging remarkably accurate. A number of casualities were in consequence suffered by the battalion. Warrant Officer E. Stephenson, Sergeant W. J. Pearson and Private C. J. Sargent were killed. Members of battalion headquarters had a narrow escape in that less then ten minutes after they had shifted to a less vulnerable position a bomb landed in the centre of their hastily vacated area. The enemy mortar fire was even more dangerous than the moving of battalion headquarters might suggest.

At midday, or shortly afterwards, the enemy positions had been silenced by fighting patrols of the 36th Battalion and by naval shelling that forced the Japanese to withdraw along successive ridges into the interior. D company and those members of headquarters company on the beach developed machine-like speed in the digging of shelter holes and introduced a vigorous type of profanity into the Treasuries. A direct hit on the church, which had been used as a Japanese ammunition dump, huts and LST and LCI all combined to breed a healthy respect for Japanese proficiency with the mortar and mountain gun. Through it all the task of unloading continued, while the forward companies swung into position along a defensive perimeter, extending from Bryant's Brook to Cutler's Creek, with the 36th Battalion on the left flank.

The weeks spent on Guadalcanal had been invaluable to the mor- page 60tar platoon. This time had enabled personnel to modify or change mortar procedure and generally to familiarise themselves with jungle conditions. Use of compass and radio had acquired a new importance, experiments had been carried out with charges until a minimum range of 90 yards and a miximum of 2000 were made possible. Had the mortars been allotted a daylight task they could have covered any target in a matter of minutes. It had been intended to mount a section of mortars on Watson Island, so as to give immediate support to troops landing on Falamai, but this had been discarded because of landing difficulties on the island and the possible danger to crews from the offshore bombardment. As a result, although the mortars went ashore early, no offensive task was found for them and they were not called upon until nightfall of 28 October.

After sections had covered the initial advance of B and C companies on the 27th, during which time the remainder of the platoon had assisted in unloading, traverses were made and fire plans worked out beyond the outer perimeter. On Thursday night and the two succeeding nights Waugh's circus delivered the goods at the rate of 200 bombs nightly. Ammunition was checked and rechecked and a stubby kiss imprinted on each bomb before it followed its fellows.

The signals platoon likewise proved its adaptability. In the move to shore a six-phone exchange unit had been consigned to Davy Jones's locker. As a result, until Wednesday evening, all telephones were brought in on one wire. Two telephones captured were put to good use at battalion headquarters. Within a few hours of landing four miles of wire had been run out. The radios functioned excellently and communications were never broken. Day and night messages were passed smoothly and without delay, indeed the long training in night work stood Lieutenant Tulloch and his tapsters in good stead when night work was essential.

Few people enjoyed a good night's sleep for the first night. Guadalcanal had given the troops an idea of tropical night life, but Mono was different in that there were Japs around. Every rustling of lizards in the undergrowth, every squawk of a night bird, every flurry of bats in the tree tops— each and all suggested the stealthy night stalk of the cats-eyed enemies. An occasional shot sounded along the line, but the realization that silence was sensible had been well impressed upon the battalion in training. Men lay in their shallow pits wide awake. Sanitation problems disappeared in the dark.

That night 'Tojo' came over and there was nothing on shore to convince him that he was not wanted. So he came back regularly through the night, dropping bombs with leisurely inaccuracy. But the men in the holes knew nothing of where those bombs were actually going to land; they thought mostly of where they could land. There were certainly more pleasant thoughts more conducive to sleep

By nightfall perimeter positions had been established in the jungle beyond Falamai village

but the long, slow surge of Jap engines, the crump of bombs, the suspense aroused by 'Tojo's' casual, unconcerned circlings above—these things failed to evoke such thoughts. It was a long night. When the dawn came through it brought relief—and a cigarette.

During the next fortnight, slit trenches and weapon pits became home for every member of the battalion.

Routine occupation of the perimeter was broken by constant patrolling in section, platoon or company strength during the hours of daylight. The first prisoner was captured by members of A company, who surprised a live Japanese on the edge of the Kolehe. Lieutenant page 62P. B. McKenzie overcame the enemy in traditional Blomfield fashion, but the Jap, badly wounded in the stomach, had little left in him. Other patrols had less luck, and enemy bivouac areas forward of the perimeter yielded nothing more than evidence of a steady retreat. A patrol from C company summoned to deal with snipers in the report centre area took the unusual method of chopping down a tree to prove that there were not six snipers in its foliage. It was perhaps as well that there was no beer for consumption. On 29 October, B company left the perimeter under the guidance of Privates W. M. Gilfillan and C. M. Rusden, who were members of a party under Sergeant W. A. Cowan, Brigade Intelligence Sergeant, which had landed before the main attack to disrupt communications and establish contact with the friendly natives. The battalion could not have been more worthily represented and these two members of the battalion T section not only fulfilled their pre-landing assignment, but conducted a tireless patrol for the first fortnight of the occupation. Their story is worth telling.

Leaving Guadalcanal at three o'clock on the morning of Monday, 25 October, the party travelled by plane to Vella Lavella and in the evening continued their journey by PT boat. They were dropped off at midnight and went ashore by canoe to Havilea village. Early the following morning Sergeant Cowan established his headquarters in Reuben's gardens, but Gilfillan and Rusden made thir way over to Soanotalu, leaving Private J. B. Lempiere, also of the 29th, with signals equipment at the garden.

At Soanotalu they halted for a spell outside a native hut. From inside stumbled a man—a white man—with a fervent, surprised 'Good God. You are New Zealanders'. Thus Sergeant George Luoni, RNZAF, found promise of a speedy deliverance after five weeks spent rather miserably in enemy territory. His sores were attended to and a native runner despatched to patrol headquarters before Gilfillan and Rusden carried on across rugged country in the Ulapu area, eventually to reach the Laifa-Saveke trail late in the afternoon. On the Kugala River, perhaps 100 yards from the track, they spent a night of sleepless waiting—a night that was not improved by the explosion of an allied bomb less than 70 yards from their lair. At 4 am on Wednesday morning, as the invasion force came up from the south, they cut the enemy line of communication between the page 63Laifa OP and Japanese headquarters, and made their way back to Soanotalu and to patrol headquarters.

Subsequent activities found the pair in Soanotalu on the night of the first enemy attack there, as the Japs, driven from the south, tried desperately and unsuccessfully to get away from the northern coast. However, although Bougainville and the Shortland Islands, both Japanese strongholds, were clearly visible from Soanotalu, the attack merely succeeded in ruining yet another night's sleep for Gilfillan and Rusden. In the morning these two searched the enemy dead before consigning them to the deep.

Regular patrolling between Reuben's Gardens and the Kolehe brought evidence that the enemy line of retreat was towards Soanotalu and not towards Malsi. To the cave north east of Malsi, parties of the 34th Battalion were guided after enemy stragglers had been located, and on one occasion, hastily interrupting a swim, they captured a Jap near Havilea after a native boy had thoughtfully blocked the enemy line of retreat. In all Privates Gilfillan and Rusden did a pretty good job.

While B company was in the Malsi area the perimeter developed its night life in astonishing fashion. There was no doubt that enemy stragglers did enter the battalion lines at night, notably in the D company sector, where Private I. M. Thompson was killed, but indiscriminate firing, although perhaps understandable, did little to relieve matters. Out of the fog of fact and fantasy came tales of foxhole grappling, of Japanese hurling insults in good English, of shrieks in the darkness, to all of which credence may be given without fear or doubt. On the other hand, tales of swords and gold scabbards, of enemy officers enjoying a leisurely midnight meal on the very edge of a New Zealand weapon pit, of Japanese hauling boxes of ammunition to the coconut tops around battalion headquarters, may be equally set at a discount—unless, of course, you were there!

There was silent rejoicing in every heart on the second night when raiders came again and were met with the fire of newly established antiaircraft defences. The sense of helplessness disappeared, and morale rose almost in as great a bound as it did on a later occasion in the week when permission was given to boil up. Tea came as if by magic from web pouches, mortar barrels and the lining of tin hats. For those lucky enough to collect mail in the first unexpected prompt mail, life had plenty of savour by the end of the week.

Although thorough, B company's search in the Malsi area yielded nothing. C company, relieving B, saw something of the island from the inside—and liked it as much as C company always liked cross-country exercise. Lieutenant Rusden's effortless fall down a twenty foot face will long be gratefully remembered by his platoon, for it was one of the highlights of the journey. But, as far as Japs were concerned, A company alone was to find patrolling worth while. It was 6 November when Major Y. K. Fleming's unit reached Soanotalu, where the main action had already been fought out and where a pile of enemy dead littered the area assigned to A company.

On 8 November a patrol under Lieutenant E. C. Chandler set out to search the caves and coastline. Part of the platoon operated along the top of the cliffs, part along the rocky coral shore. When several hundred yards west of Soanotalu, in the Ulapu area, the shore party discovered an enemy LMG post temporarily deserted, but obviously not permanently abandoned. Members of the party continued their search, and suddenly a Jap opened fire upon them at a range of less than thirty yards. Lieutenant Chandler returned his fire with his revolver and the Jap turned suddenly towards one of the several adjoining caves in the cliff face. The party on top of the cliff was ordered to close in and the left flank of the platoon swung coast wards. While this move was taking place, Lieutenant Chandler's section closed in towards the caves and grenades were lobbed into the mouth of the hole into which the Jap had vanished.

At this juncture a burst of tommy-gun fire echoed from the land-ward side of the rocks, where Private A. H. Norris was staging a lone battle. He had been the first of the cliff party to reach the scene of action, and had covered the distance more rapidly than he expected. Emerging from the scrub fringing the coast, he stepped on to a coral ridge at the rear of the caves. Without pausing to examine a pile of Jap rifles near by, he stepped casually to the nearest cave mouth. It was well that his entrance was unheard, for a second or two passed before his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. Only then did he see several Japenese soldiers crouched facing the other entrance to the cave, intent upon the activities of the shore party. Norris spoke quietly 'Hands up'—and then wisdom overruled a mercy that might have been suicidal. As the Japs turned, startled, Norris fired two bursts and then flung himself down behind a rock that partly blocked the rear entrance. Acting with automatic haste he tossed a grenade over the page 65rock. The effect was instantaneous. A shattered body blocked the passage beside which Norris lay. Another corpse lay headless in the cave. Two others lay still, for Norris had been accurate with his tommy gun, and into a fifth unconscious form he sent a final slug. The whole job lasted a matter of seconds, but it was a highly creditable performance by Norris.

A small force known as Logan force landed at Soanotalu when the main attack went into Falamai in Blanche Harbour

Altogether, ten bodies were counted within the caves, while another hireling of Hirohito who had attempted to play surrenders with a concealed grenade and a nasty intention lay on the rocks outside. Next day, Norris and Major Fleming returning to the scene, found an additional body—that of the Jap who had duelled with Lieutenant Chandler. The body lay on a ledge above floor level, thus perhaps escaping earlier notice, and the victim had made some attempt to bandage his wounds—revolver shots in the shoulder—before death had come. This was the celebrated occasion on which Major Fleming earned his soubriquet 'Dead Jap'.

From this section Sergeant D. Jones and Lieutenant Chandler gained a sword apiece, while binoculars, a couple of watches and arms and equipment were smartly acquired. Souveniring became popular but lost face rapidly when one Fitzgerald decided to visit these same caves on 10 November. He returned with assistance to himself but no souvenirs and he will carry for some time shrapnel creasings along his skull. A Jap had made his way back to the scene, apparently after missing the opening act, and he provided Fitzgerald with a nasty surprise before the latter rang down the curtain on him.

The fight of the Soanotalu patrol was almost the last exciting episode in the battalion's story. The T section continued to carry out patrols and one of these interrupted the Nipponese doctor and a fellow fugitive. The doctor would have made a good catch, but Murakosa is not the only good runner hailing from Nippon and the medico made good his escape. At the mouth of the Kugala River on 8 December the last kill was made by an T patrol. Although one or two surprise encounters took place no damage was done by either party, and as was proved a few months later when practically the whole brigade combed the island, it was useless looking for the odd Jap. The battalion went back to the old round of camp duties and fatigues. Days and nights spent before moving into the comforts and bedcots were a far cry from the amenities of the Ritz. The weapon pits were not conducive to sleep. It was necessary to choose between a soft bed in inches of mud, or a dry bed on sharp, flinty coral. In the former one shared the place with landcrabs, in the latter with centipedes. For all that, those holes represented home and after a few hours spent on patrol it was good to return to them.

In mid' November tents were set up; the jungle was cleared right away. Then returned all the knick-knacks that the ingenuity of man could devise, ranging from coconut lamps to Scotty Bell's waterway. The later stage of aeroplane building was already in embryo and only leisure was lacking. By December the fighting was over and the battalion was ready for the next job—work on dumps and air strips.

Four days after the landing on the Treasuries a great fleet of ships had sailed up past the island to Empress Augusta Bay, on Bougain-ville. Not only did this make the relatively small force less out on a limb, but it seems certain that the escorting warships broke up an actual attempt to reinforce the Japanese garrison on Mono.

The night before the invasion barges drove into Blanche Harbour page break

First aid in the jungle on Mono, where a man could so easily be swallowed up in the dense undergrowth which could be both friend and foe

Deiected japanese nrisonprs wait on the beach before being taken back to headquarters for interrogation by the intelligence staff

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A new church at Falamai replaced the one destroyed during: the landing. Inset: the dedication service

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Fed up with the heat, the mosquitoes and the jungle—from a drawing by the official artist who moved with the Third Division

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The 29th Battalion's rugby team at Ouameni in 1943: Back row: L.A.D. Pye, J. E. McKenzie, P. J. Eastwood, G. F. Bolt, R. B. Burke, A. Strang, D. H. Thurston, P. B. McKenzie, A. J. Skinner, P. J. Meadows, N. M. Conder. Front row: K. E. J. Ward, R. V. Campbell, II. W. Monk, L. R. Jordan, H. Waugh, A. W. Wright, R. H. Barlow, D. S. Swinburne, C. E. Rogers, H. G. Gillespie, 0. C. Greathead, D. H. McDonald. Below A scene during the semi-final of the Barrow-clough Cup which was played against the 37th Battalion at Nepoui

page 67a few Japanese reinforcements had landed on the island, but at the time of the landing they still had no arms. The siting of the mortara on the hill above the Saveke and installation of the dual purpose gun on Falamai beach had been only recently completed, and the full effect of these armaments was not felt by the New Zealanders. It seemed that the attack had come just in time. But by December the bridge head at Empress Augusta Bay had become secure. Forces crept up New Britain. There were suggestions that the Japanese were making at least a partial evacuation of the Shortlands. Any chance of a counter attack seemed to have gone and the battalion was back to the garrison stage.

At first air raids were not frequent. The sounding of condition red was the signal for a general move towards the bomb-proof shelters, but later, when familiarity had bred contempt, there were those hardy or foolhardy, who stood watching the flaming traceries woven by the anti-aircraft fire. Often there were nights to remember, nights when a stream of purple, red and orange was pumped into the face of a pale moon; when searchlights scissored and stabbed the darkness; when lone raiders ran a fiery gauntlet, dropped their bombs and ran again. Dawn almost invariably brought a cessation of activity, but one morning newly arrived reinforcements received a thrill in the form of a near miss dropped a few yards off the LST s.

Biggest, brightest and best, the 'million-dollar' barrage on the night of 12 January, when the Japanese put in their heaviest air raid, was the most colourful show the battalion saw. Some of the officers and men, guests for that evening aboard the New Zealand auxiliary ship Tui, had an uninterrupted view of dozens of gracious streams of tracer arching over them for an hour against the dark tropical sky. The flash of heavies lit up the islets and bright searchlights swung mystically through the palms.

Japanese aircraft came over in four waves, the first three each of six and the last of three. There were three alerts of an hour, 40 minutes and 15 minutes respectively, and each time everything opened up. In all 61,692 rounds of ammunition were used up that night:—90 mm, 4628 rounds; 37 mm, 7817 rounds; 50 in, 46,421, rounds; 40 mm, 3096 rounds. The claims were four aircraft destroyed and one possible by the anti-aircraft guns and one shot down by night fighters. But the main point was that little damage was done, and after a few more half-hearted attempts the enemy did not try again.

The main target was the air-strip on Stirling Island. This had been opened on 17 December, when forced landings were made by a Corsair and a Mitchell bomber which had run into trouble farther north. Later a crippled Liberator struggled in, and soon the field was in full use. From it formations took off several times a day to batter at Rabaul and keep the enemy fields on Bougainville out of commission.

Also on the priority list for enemy raiders was a deck of steel pontoons near the airfield on Stirling. The first Liberty ship, the Robert C. Grier tied up alongside on 30 January, and from then on a series of vessels poured ashore their cargoes of gasoline, bombs, air-craft parts and food. The lack of any heavy attack on either of these facilities showed clearly that the allies had absolute mastery of the air. And the convoys that trailed past the islands showed how the American Fleet dominated the sea.

The harbour filled with Catalina flying boats, American and New Zealand. Nightly the fast PT boats went off to raid the coastal waters of the Shortland Islands, Bougainville and Choiseul. Destroyers dropped in at dusk and refuelled, stealing away again in the dawn. It was an important base. But the Japanese hardly made a dent in it. Then came the assault by the other half of the Third Division on Green Island; the Admiralties fell, Rabaul airfields were reported unserviceable. Any further raids seemed to be impossible, and so it proved to be.

Christmas was now long past—Christmas with its turkeys and the decorated messrooms, the tablecloths, the beer. It had been a great meal—as much as anyone could eat of turkey, fresh vegetables, fruit salad, plum pudding, biscuits and candy. It would have been hard to better anywhere. And even though the cooks turned on cold bully beef, raw from the tin, for the evening meal, it did not matter. No-one was hungry anyway.

Peace time, manoeuvre time, came again, with working parties and multiplied fatigues. But now the pictures at the St. James, the battalion's outdoor theatre, went on without interruption, and the opportunities for recreation and making brass ornaments increased. There was always a fair amount of amusement to make up for the limits of travel. Swimming was very popular down at the beach, while on 7 February a carnival of sideshows, boxing, wrestling, wood-page 69chopping, canoe events and horse races was held. Somehow the time passed, and it passed quickly.

Up on the Treasuries it rained. There was sunshine in plenty, but the weather changed often and each shower was a deluge. During December 21.89 inches fell, including 12.296 inches between the fifth and tenth of the month, and a shower of 4.53 inches on 8 December. Any illusions that this was only the heart of the rainy season were dispelled. January produced 16 inches of rain, February, 20 inches, and from then on it kept getting wetter and wetter. It seemed fair to assume that the average rainfall would be between 250 and 300 inches a year.