The Pacific (43 page)

As befitted one of the nation's most powerful industry associations, the NAM held a very fancy affair for the four thousand members attending its "second War Congress." The remarks by its speakers were recorded for an international radio broadcast. The chairman of General Motors informed his audience that GM was ready to invest $500 million into "postwar America."
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Lieutenant General A. A. Vandegrift, identified as the Commandant of the Marine Corps although his tenure would not begin until the new year, said that victory over Japan would "demand the best kind of teamwork."
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John sat on the dais next to another sergeant, William Downs, who had lost a leg in the air war over Stuttgart, Germany. Both men gave short speeches as a part of thanking their hosts.
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In order to make Manila John available to attend the NAM event, the USMC had extended his leave again, to December 26. So he returned home to Raritan for another twenty days of furlough. One of the letters that arrived during that period came from his friend Richard Greer.
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Greer started by giving him the Dog Company news--who was now sergeant of which platoon, who had gotten busted in rank, who "broke his hand on somebody's jaw." Their pet, Jockstrap, was still with Dog Company. J. P. Morgan sent his regards but would not write. The boys were near the ocean and were once again bathing in a river. They saw lots of "fuzzy wuzzies," or natives, mostly males but sometimes females. "The young are black, bushy headed with those pointed breast and the old gals are baggy and their breast hang down to their waist."

Even out in the boonies, Greer said they had read a news report stating John would soon marry Helen Helstowski, Steve's sister. Along with demanding to know "the dope," Greer teased him. Like all good jokes, there was some truth and some lies mixed together. "We thaught you had a wife and kids in Minila to take care of let alone one in the states. Ever hear from Nora? Or the gook gal you ran up a coconut tree about eighteen months ago? I believe Morgan dragged you out of the church in Georgia once time. Boy you've had some close calls but this time its news and you're _____." Greer closed the letter by saying that they all wanted to hear from him. Having written letters for John, Greer knew his friend all too well, so he ordered Manila to "get somebody to do it if you won't."

THE MONTHS SPENT AT NAVAL AIR STATION SANTA ROSA, JUST NORTH OF SAN Francisco, had been very much like the months of training at NAS Quonset Point, Rhode Island. The naval aviators of Bombing Two gained confidence faster than competency. They referred to their Dauntlesses in disparaging terms. They expressed their concern that they were missing the war. The arrival of another award for Lieutenant Vernon Micheel could have only convinced them they were right. Mike received notice from the navy that he was entitled to wear the Presidential Unit Citation for his service aboard
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, which had "participated in nearly every major carrier engagement in the first year of the war."

It escaped no one's attention that none of the U.S. carriers had merited that kind of award for their actions in 1943. There had not been any major carrier engagements and the end of the year was fast approaching. A look at the map showed the United States in control of the Gilberts and the Solomon Islands. A vast ocean dotted with hundreds of islands separated them from Tokyo. One afternoon the wolves found out they were going to do their share to get there. In mid-December they packed their Dauntlesses hurriedly and flew down to Alameda. Instead of an immediate departure, they found themselves in a barracks near the wharf. Being so close to San Francisco, and not being ones to sit idle, most of the wolves raised such a drunken ruckus that the whole squadron was put on report. The warning made little impression on the ringleaders. They knew Uncle Sam had a job waiting for them. A few days before Christmas a crane began to load their airplanes on a small aircraft carrier, known as a "jeep" carrier. The pilots of Bombing Two walked aboard. "Marines stood on the dock with sub-machine guns," the ensigns noted sarcastically,

"as if to prevent dangerous criminals from a last minute escape."
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After sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge, Bombing Two would spend Christmas 1943 cramped in a small space on the way to Pearl Harbor.

SHOFNER AND HIS FRIENDS MADE GOOD TIME FLYING ACROSS THE PACIFIC ON A class-three priority. They landed at Pearl Harbor on December 14. On their way to Washington, they changed planes in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Shofner walked into the airport. "Behind the Pennsylvania Central Airline counter Shofner saw . . . Kathleen King, his sweetheart."
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They had begun dating while attending the University of Tennessee. He got in line. Jack Hawkins watched as he walked up to her. She caught sight of him and fainted. The man she knew had lost some of his strength, with lines etched into deeply tanned skin. He had lost some teeth. The last word from him had come a year ago, a postcard letting his family know he was a prisoner. Here he was out of the blue and he had a plane to catch. He had been ordered not to reveal his ordeal. Shofner was allowed to share good news: after he and the others reported in to the chief of naval operations, they would receive furloughs. He would see her soon.

A car met their plane when it landed in D.C. and took them to the Willard Hotel. In the main dining room of the hotel, Major Shofner felt out of place "with a complexion more brown than that normally allowed a guest of the Willard." At least some of the guests, however, must have recognized him--if not by the DSC, the Silver Star, the Purple Heart, and rows of campaign ribbons, then by his uniform and rank--as a veteran returned from the Pacific. The three marines were allowed a few days of rest. After completing some paperwork, Shofner got paid and decided to treat himself to a new pair of shoes. He had to admit to the shoe salesman that he had never heard of ration cards. He could not purchase shoes without them. It was one of those little things that made him think his transition would not be entirely easy.

The big meeting came on December 22, when the three friends went to see General Archer Vandegrift, the incoming commandant of the Marine Corps. The officers of his staff welcomed them, as did the general, until at length each escapee had a moment alone with Vandegrift. Along with the words of praise, the general offered the idea of Major Shofner working with a Hollywood studio on a film about the great story. It certainly had all the elements for a great movie. Austin came clean. One morning in Cabanatuan Prisoner of War Camp Number One, Shifty replied, he had decided to consider the war against the Japanese as a football game. His desire "to get back into the game, and to win . . . had kept him going." He "did not want to be cheated out of his opportunity to bring the battle to the Japanese." The general granted his request. As the meeting concluded, Vandegrift and his staff informed all three men that they would receive a two-month furlough. Even as he spoke, Vandegrift said, their families were being notified of their return. When their furloughs ended in late February, Major Shofner and Captain Dobervich would report to the Senior School of the Command Staff College of the Marine Corps in Quantico, Virginia. Captain Jack Hawkins would go out to Hollywood, California, and develop a movie about their experiences with the legendary film producer Darryl F. Zanuck.
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For the time being, however, they would have to continue to keep the secret of Cabanatuan, of the March of Death on Bataan, of their escape. The burning desire to tell their countrymen had helped sustain them. Now that they were home, they were ordered not to speak of it. Shofner was not told why, exactly, he had to keep his mouth shut. Everyone of prominence in Washington knew about it. He guessed that it had to do with President Roosevelt's decision to beat Germany first. Roosevelt wanted Americans to continue to focus on Germany, rather than on Japan. Whatever the reason, Austin Shofner's year did not end on a high note, but with frustration.

On December 23 he said good-bye to his two comrades, with whom he had endured so much, and boarded a flight for Nashville. His parents met him and drove him to Shelbyville. The thin line of blacktop made for a four-hour drive, so he had plenty of time to tell them "what he dared." Sharing the story of his war was a moment steeped in generations of family tradition. The land upon which their home stood had been granted to a Shofner for his service in the Revolutionary War. Austin's grandfather had served in the cavalry led by Nathan Bedford Forrest during the Civil War. As the car neared their home, it passed an oil truck driven by one of Austin's teammates from his high school football team. They exchanged a wave. The car pulled into the drive. Austin was home. His mother began preparing dinner. In the driveway came the oil truck, followed by the cars of more friends. The homecoming lasted late into the evening and continued the next day as aunts, uncles, cousins, and more came for a visit.

The party proved too much too soon. All that he had suffered at the hands of his captors could not be washed away by a few weeks of hot showers, nor bound up by a clean dress uniform, nor healed by his parents' warm embrace. Months as a guerrilla had helped him, but sometime that day, Christmas Eve of 1943, Austin's family watched as he "collapsed into a state of near total mental and physical exhaustion."

EVENTUALLY EUGENE SLEDGE'S PARENTS STATED THAT THEY BELIEVED HIM: HE had been kicked out of the V-12 program against his will. Now all he had to worry about was the weather, since the daily rains were hindering his platoon's rifle instruction and the final test was approaching. Then a camp doctor determined that one of the members of Platoon 984 had spinal meningitis and quarantined the lot of them for three days. Eugene passed the time reading the Mobile newspaper and writing his friends and family. "From what the papers say," he joked, "I am safer out here than in Mobile with all the ship workers. When all of us come home I really hope all those people have left town for good." The newspapers had also carried stories about the marine invasion of Tarawa in the Gilbert Islands. The marines had suffered more casualties in three days there than in six months on Guadalcanal, a disturbing fact that no one at the Recruit Depot could explain to him, except to say "something went radically wrong."

When the quarantine ended, Platoon 984 shot for record, meaning their scores would be entered into their personnel files and affect their respective futures. Eugene shot 300 out of a possible 340, just shy of Expert. Although disappointed to rank only Sharpshooter, he had been around long enough to know that in this category, the one prized by the Marine Corps above all others, his score placed him above the average. The platoon left the rifle range and returned to its huts for the final week of training. The NCOs gave a lecture on the Japanese use of sabers. Sledge "thought that's absolutely got to be the most ridiculous thing. That was in the Civil War when people were running around a saber at people." The boots eased through the last few days. Sledge was allowed to take communion for the first time since his arrival and spent every last dollar he had ordering Christmas presents for his family.

A number of Christmas presents for him, carefully selected and beautifully wrapped, began to arrive as Christmas approached. Boot camp officially ended for Platoon 984 on December 24. Along with being recognized as a Sharpshooter, Eugene had scored a perfect 5 in "obedience" and "sobriety," and 4s in the other categories, like "Military Efficiency" and "Intelligence." Although he already had worn the eagle, globe, and anchor emblem, Sledge attached it to his collar not as a student but as a United States Marine. He had been promoted to Private First Class. He would depart for Camp Elliott, a training base nearby, on Christmas Day.

IN MID-DECEMBER, SID PHILLIPS'S COMPANY HAD THE CHANCE TO REVIEW THEIR next assignment while studying a physical, three- dimensional map of the island of New Britain. The big enemy base of Rabaul sat on one end of the long thin scythe of an island. Reports of the slow devastation of Rabaul by U.S. planes had been reaching them for two months. The 1st Marine Division would storm ashore on the other end of New Britain, on Cape Gloucester, near New Guinea. The advance had already begun. In the course of the past two weeks, his division had leapfrogged up the northern coast of New Guinea. Each stop had involved unloading the ship, making camp, breaking camp, and reloading. As they neared the point of New Guinea that almost touched Cape Gloucester, the air raid alerts were no longer false alarms. Enemy bombers appeared overhead on occasion.

As December came to a close, Sid's 2nd Battalion, First Marines, learned that not all of the division would go ashore at Cape Gloucester. Their battalion, reinforced with some supporting units to form a landing team (LT- 21), would seize a beachhead near the village of Tauali, eight miles from the main invasion site. The 2/1 would block one of the island's main trails and thereby prevent the enemy from either resupplying its forces at the main beachhead or withdrawing from that position.
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One last leapfrog brought them and the rest of the First Marines to Finschhafen; the next one would take them into combat. Not so long ago, Finschhafen had been in the enemy's hands. The site of the battle interested Sid and Deacon because it was still littered with weapons, ordnance, and equipment. Through the port came battered ships and wounded men on their way to rear areas.

On December 23, the NCOs ordered the #4 gun squad to turn in all of their khaki uniforms, all excess clothes, and all personal effects they wished to save. Amid the equipment they were authorized to take with them were their new jungle hammocks. Sid liked his hammock. A waterproof tarp and a mosquito net covered the hammock's sleeping area. At last the U.S. military had figured out how to provide its troops with a convenient means of escaping the wet and muddy ground. Before Christmas service that evening, they learned that Cape Gloucester had been bombed by one hundred Liberators, the four-engine bombers of the army air corps.