Invasion Rabaul (34 page)

With the changeover to navy administration came minor improvements in the daily rations. Stewart G. Nottage, a captain in the heavy artillery, was assigned to oversee the preparation of meals. He made it a priority to provide ample food for the sick men, but was forced to give them portions that were
“still terribly meager.” Nottage pleaded with the Japanese for more rations, but was told bluntly that the staff was “too busy to be bothered with sick men.”

The new commandant was fifty-three-year-old Captain Shojiro Mizusaki, the officer in charge of the 81st Naval Garrison Unit. According to Hutchinson-Smith, he “was six feet high, not very Japanese in facial characteristics, immaculately dressed, spoke English carefully but not fluently, and advertised himself as a member of the directorate of Nippon General Electric.” The Australians came to despise Mizusaki, who was not only arrogant and contemptuous, but continued to farm the prisoners out to labor parties on a daily basis.

T
OWARD THE END OF
A
PRIL 1942
,
THE DOCKSIDE WORKERS NOTICED A
tremendous increase in harbor activity at Rabaul. Something big was obviously afoot, but they could only speculate about what might be happening.

Unknowingly, the POWs were being used to help the Japanese resume the offensive. Pleased that the South Seas Force was
“making better progress than expected,” Imperial General Headquarters had ordered Vice Admiral Inoue to “capture various important points in British New Guinea and in the Solomon Islands …as quickly as possible.” The general idea was to gradually expand the Empire’s control over the Southeastern Area, thereby cutting the lines of supply and communication between Australia and the United States and forcing the Commonwealth to sue for peace.

The orders called for the second stage of the Southern Offensive to begin with MO Operation, a bi-directional thrust from Rabaul. First, a small invasion force would head six hundred miles southeast to Tulagi, the capital of the British Solomon Islands Protectorate; a few days later, an even larger force would move southwest against Port Moresby. The Japanese had already gained control of the northern Solomons by establishing forward air
bases on Bougainville and nearby Buka, along with Faisi in the Shortlands. Once Tulagi was occupied and a new airfield was constructed on the coastal plains of Guadalcanal, twenty miles to the south, the Japanese would dominate the entire Solomons chain.

Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, who ultimately commanded MO Operation from his headquarters in Tokyo, did not like the concept of dividing his forces for the two-pronged attack. However, he viewed it as an opportunity to lure the carriers of the U.S. Pacific Fleet into a decisive battle, and reluctantly gave approval to commence the operation. Vice Admiral Inoue dispatched the Tulagi Invasion Force from Simpson Harbor on April 30, after which the next fleet of transports began loading men and equipment for the assault on Port Moresby.

Laboring at the wharves for days on end, the Australian POWs were duly impressed by all the harbor activity. The Port Moresby Invasion Force included twelve transports carrying a total of six thousand troops, and on May 4, “a sleek Jap aircraft carrier” was seen sailing down St. George’s Channel in company with four powerful cruisers. This was the light carrier
Shoho
and her escorts, part of the Close Support Force. In all, the Australians counted twenty-seven Japanese ships leaving Rabaul on the 4th, known thereafter as the
“Day of the Armada.” That evening, one of the guards at Rabaul boasted,
“Japanese take Moresby, then Australia, you go home.”

The Tulagi Invasion Force achieved its objective with relative ease, but the invasion of Port Moresby was foiled by the American carriers. The Battle of the Coral Sea began on the morning of May 7, when Japanese planes crippled the American oiler
Neosho
(later finished off by friendly torpedoes) and sank the destroyer
Sims
. A few hours later the
Shoho
was sunk by dive bombers and torpedo planes from the
Lexington
and
Yorktown
.

The following day, American planes damaged the heavy carrier
Shokaku
, scoring two bomb hits on her flight deck and another on the bridge. She withdrew from the battle after sending forty-six aircraft to land aboard the
Zuikaku
, whose own pilots were simultaneously attacking the American task force. The
Lexington
, struck by two torpedoes and two bombs, seemed initially to have weathered the damage. However, fumes from leaking high-octane aviation fuel tanks ignited a few hours later,
gutting the carrier with massive internal explosions. Torpedoes fired by the American destroyer
Phelps
finally sent her under that night.

Meanwhile, the
Yorktown
’s flight deck had been damaged by a heavy bomb. The Japanese, thinking both American carriers were sunk, congratulated themselves on yet another victory. They had scored a tactical win,
sinking three American ships in exchange for the
Shoho
, but both the
Zuikaku
and the damaged
Shokaku
were withdrawn, leaving the transports of the Port Moresby invasion force without aerial protection. Inoue had no alternative but to postpone the invasion for the second time in as many months.

At Vunapope, the captive women noticed that the guards had suddenly become quiet. Some even looked depressed. The reason soon became clear as
“a battered and dirty replica” of the fleet returned to Rabaul. Watching from the shoreline, Alice Bowman was mesmerized by the sight of the
Shokaku—
her superstructure blackened and the flight deck empty—as she limped slowly past Kokopo.

S
OON AFTER THE SEA BATTLE, PLANTATION OWNER
T
ED
H
ARVEY AND HIS
family were arrested by the Kempeitai and charged with espionage. For the past three months they had been hiding in the hills above New Britain’s north coast, but suddenly they became scapegoats. Ted, a former coastwatcher, was charged with signaling the enemy
“by radio telegraphy and fires.” No specifics about the alleged espionage were given, nor did the charges state why his wife Marjorie and his eleven-year-old stepson, Richard, were also arrested. Perhaps the Kempeitai discovered that the Harvey plantation had been used earlier by Australian soldiers, but the more likely explanation is that informers revealed the family’s hideout. Whatever led to their arrest, the Harveys were no threat to the Japanese.

At the time of Ted Harvey’s recruitment as a coastwatcher in 1940, he was given a military-channel crystal for his two-way radio. A few months later, his supereriors deemed him unreliable and repossessed the crystal, terminating his assignment. However, he continued to use the transmitter on a commercial frequency. After the Japanese invaded New Britain,
Harvey continually sent what one AIB officer described as
“all sorts of silly reports” from his jungle hideout. Considered an oddball by the AIB, he
ignored repeated warnings to stay off the air, and probably contributed to his own downfall.

Within days of their arrest, the Harveys were handed over to the 81st Naval Garrison Unit. They were confined in a small compound in Chinatown while Vice Admiral Inoue convened a court-martial to try them for espionage. He appointed Captain Mizusaki as the senior member of the tribunal, and named three other officers to the prosecuting panel. The accused received no legal representation for their defense.

During the three-day trial the Harveys underwent intense questioning. An interpreter was provided to assist them with presenting a defense, but the verdict was already decided. The entire family was found guilty of espionage, and the prosecuting panel recommended the death penalty. Their statements were forwarded to Inoue, who approved the findings and issued an order for execution. Lieutenant Yoshio Endo, adjutant of the 81st Naval Garrison Unit, was directed to
“dispose of them by shooting.”

On June 5, a truck carrying several sailors armed with rifles pulled up in front of the compound. The Harveys were placed aboard, and the truck drove east out of Rabaul, following the road that led around Simpson Harbor to the base of Tavurvur. A short distance from the volcano, near the town dump known as the Malay Hole, the Japanese had established a crematorium and “war cemetery.” The volcanic earth was soft and easily excavated, an ideal location for disposing of bodies.

A number of officers, including Mizusaki and Endo, were already waiting at the site. They watched as the family was lined up in front of the armed sailors, and when all was ready, the master-at-arms barked commands to the firing squad. A volley of shots rang out. Later, during a postwar interrogation, a member of Mizusaki’s unit testified:
“I remember hearing some seamen say it was a really miserable scene, and the parents had clasped hands with the young boy standing between them. I thought at that time it was not possible a young boy could be guilty of any crime.”

At the time, neither Mizusaki nor Endo could have known that Richard Harvey would be the youngest Australian executed during World War II. If they had any objections, they did not make them public; they simply followed orders. Indeed, there were many more executions yet to come over the next few years, and the three bodies buried at the foot of Tavurvur would have plenty of company.

J
UNE 5 WAS A DAY OF IMPORTANT EVENTS AT OTHER LOCATIONS AS WELL.
Three thousand miles away, in Fremantle Harbor on the west coast of Australia, the crew of an American submarine prepared for their
fourth war patrol. The submariners were hoping for some good luck. During the previous three sorties, the USS
Sturgeon
had fired torpedoes at several targets but had sunk only one merchantman. The problem was with the “fish.” The torpedoes either ran too deep or simply failed to explode—shortcomings that were chronic throughout the fleet. However, the
Sturgeon
’s fresh reload of twenty-four torpedoes held promise: they were fitted with new Mark-15 or -16 warheads, each packed with hundreds of pounds of high explosive called “torpex.”

In addition to stowing the long torpedoes aboard, the
Sturgeon
’s crew provisioned the boat with ninety-six thousand gallons of fuel oil, more than three thousand gallons of lubricating oil, ammunition for the topside machine guns and 3-inch deck gun, and an assortment of foodstuffs. Under the watchful eye of the supply officer, the crew filled the escape trunk in the forward torpedo room with potatoes, and hundreds of pounds of Australian beef went into the refrigerators. The cook even stowed enough fresh lettuce to last more than a month.

By noon, the 308-foot submarine was almost ready. The commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander William L. “Bull” Wright, was likely wondering if his professional career was riding on this patrol. A graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy, Class of 1925, he was under some pressure to make up for the mediocre results of the previous three patrols. Furthermore, his torpedo data computer officer was none other than Lieutenant Chester W. Nimitz Jr., the son of the Commander-in-Chief, Pacific Fleet (CINCPAC).

A
T THAT VERY MOMENT
, CINCPAC
HIMSELF WAS DEEPLY INVOLVED IN THE
defining moment of his own career. Seven thousand miles east of Fremantle, Admiral Chester W. Nimitz was in a command center at Pearl Harbor, where for the past several hours he had been tracking a major battle between three of his Pacific Fleet carriers and four big Japanese flattops. The decisive engagement that his counterpart, Admiral Yamamoto, had been seeking for months was still unfolding near a pair of tiny islands named Sand and Eastern, otherwise known as Midway. Because of the nineteen-hour time difference between Fremantle and
Midway, it was just 1700 hours on June 4 at Midway, and Yamamoto’s dream of annihilating the Pacific Fleet was going up in smoke. Three of his prized carriers were already engulfed in flames, and the fourth was destined for a similar fate.

Twelve hours later, Admiral Nimitz was greatly pleased with the outcome of the battle. All four Japanese carriers had been sunk, and despite the loss of the
Yorktown
, it was obvious that he and his carrier commanders had won a great victory. Under the circumstances, he was probably unaware that his twenty-seven-year-old namesake had just departed Fremantle on a hazardous war patrol.

T
HE
S
TURGEON
GOT UNDERWAY AT
2230
ON
J
UNE
5. W
ITHIN AN HOUR SHE
was in the teeth of a force five wind that churned the ocean, making heavy work for her four Hoover, Owens & Rentschler diesel engines. The weather grew even worse the following day, and by late afternoon the sea state became so rough that Bull Wright was forced to reduce speed to ten knots. Even so, a rogue wave washed over the bridge, sending tons of seawater down into the control room. An electrical flashover in the pump room knocked out all power, and for nearly an hour the sub lay dead in the water, her round hull rolling perversely. One engine was restarted shortly before 1900, allowing the sub to make headway at five knots, and by morning the remaining three diesels were back on line.

During the next several days, with the exception of training dives, the
Sturgeon
ran on the surface at fifteen knots. Because of a solid gray overcast and frequent rain showers, there was little risk of detection from the air, and she made rapid progress to the South China Sea. Anticipating plenty of targets, Wright began to hunt off the western coast of Luzon. He knew the Japanese were transporting men and supplies to their newly acquired territories in convoys of merchant ships, which then returned to the home islands with loads of raw materials.

Surprisingly, however, the first two weeks yielded nothing. The first convoy was not sighted until the night of June 24, when nine merchantmen escorted by a pair of destroyers approached from the south, possibly out of Manila. Taking advantage of the conditions—the night was moonless and the sea as smooth as glass—Wright raced north to get well ahead of the convoy. Once in position, he picked out the largest target. Eight of the
cargo ships were fairly small, but the third vessel in line stood out clearly: a big transport estimated at seven thousand tons.