Don Huebner ONE MARINES ADVENTURES IN WWII
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Guadalcanal Our new home was pure delight situated on the far north end of Guadalcanal near Cape Esperance under neat rows of palms fronting calm seas. A former copra plantation which rooted out all underbrush to enhance the growth and production of the neat lines of tall trees. |
 Marine Buddies Near Cape Esperenece, Guadalcanal, 1944 Top - Todd, Heubner Middle - Hoeffer, Palardnd Bottom - morris, Kristofer |
We thoroughly enjoyed the fact that our streets and coast road were all gravel or sand, not mud! In 1944 Guadalcanal had evolved into a major supply base of operations with over one hundred thousand men and miles of supply dumps containing the material of war.
We had a major medical unit, "Mob-8", or Mobile Hospital Number Eight established by the navy. We had a major post office serving a wide area and even a Red Cross unit there trying to make life a bit easier so far from home.
We built a very comfortable 'permanent' camp with screened galley and mess hall along with fresh water showers which in the 95 degree average humidity was a real luxury.
Across the coast road we built screened heads, (latrines) which were also much appreciated along with a real theater with log seats and all!
Life was very good for us there as opposed to those poor guys over on Pavuvu...as we used to say in sympathy..." for you but just can't quite reach you!"
In our exalted state we were assigned a second mail clerk, Sergeant Charles Todd who out ranked me in grade only, a real buddy for the balance of the war. A regular post office was built for us with heavy gauge screening for security since we handled stamps and lots of money.
I was notified that the Navy had bonded me through a Boston bank for $10,000 security and we began selling money orders and on paydays we took in from ten to twelve thousand dollars cash as the men tried to outsmart the card sharks to stash moneys safe at home with family.
Ten thousand equates to about a hundred thousand in today's monetary values and we had to take that wad of cash almost sixty miles through jungle roads to sign it over to the postal system. Todd or I would strap on our forty-five and try to look mean as we drove that distance very sparsely populated with camps. We did our job and the Boston Bank was not abused at all.
Our camp life became comfortably routine and we enjoyed proper foods for a change and even had a 'reefer', huge ice box to keep fresh meat in if any ever arrived but usually it was Spam which kept nicely in cans.
Our communication section installed loud speakers high up in palm trees and wired in radio reception for 'background' music to enhance our easy life. Armed forces radio provided most of the music and news but often we switched over to hear Tokyo Rose who had a large collection of American 'big band' records.
She amused us as she spoke softly to us about our sorry plight and explained how easy it would be to end our misery by simply placing a grenade beside our temple and pull the pin. Nothing but sweet peace and silence thereafter. We grinned at one another and wondered where to address a fan letter to the charming little lady.
We peons in the Marines usually wore fatigue uniforms to suit our menial tasks while commissioned officers wore clean khaki outfits to suit their endeavor, filing nails, polishing brass or whatever.
We hladn't seen a WHITE woman in many moons and this topic was foremost in all bull sessions, with favorite foods running a close second. Tropical moonlight effected all of us to the utmost and we young bucks yearned for feminine companionship during those long balmy nights.
Inspired, I devised a plan to go down to the hospital and actually SEE a WHITE woman! I discussed my idea with a buddy, Joe, and he liked the idea volunteering to be my accomplice in the endeavor.
Joe, the peon, would dress normal in sweaty fatigues, and I, the 'whatever' would dress in clean starched khaki and wear a slightly vague expression, which I practiced in front of a mirror. The lowly one, Joe, would chauffeur the exalted one, me, to the base hospital in search of our quest.
Nearing the gate I sat erect and glared at the guard who quickly saluted me. Not to be impolite I returned his salute and we drove on into the hospital grounds. Simply wearing clean khakis could not be considered impersonating an officer and it would not hold up in court...I kept telling myself as we drove completely around the area and didn't see a living soul, much less a WOMAN!
Joe said, "That long building must be their living quarters, yeah, look!" and he pointed to a long line of feminine underwear hanging on a clothesline behind the barracks. Two grown men, of voting age, sat enthralled..."Boy look at that red nightie..wow, look at the size of that bra....boy that black lace set...she must be a TIGER!"
A bit subdued we drove back out the gate and I again returned the guards salute and we went on over to the main post office, feeling our mission was not a total failure. The post office staff knew me and didn't salute.
The name Guadalcanal denotes more than just a remote island in the south Pacific where a major battle was won over half a century ago, the longest battle in our nations history. Many conflicts during the carnage of World War Two overshadowed it numerically, considering the masses of troops involved. Some of Russians battles resulted in as much as five thousand men killed in one days fighting.
Our casualties over a six-month battle were far less but this one engagement was far more important strategically than many of these duels suffering astronomical losses in manpower.
Guadalcanal was, is, a national state of mind due to the mood of most all American citizens during a time of humiliating defeats across the Pacific. We sorely needed a reversal of our self-image of being beaten bloody against the 'ropes'.
The Japanese onslaught rolling over so much territory caused some to believe that they were unstoppable, unbeatable!
The First Marine Division was asked, no, ordered to go forth in a very poorly planned invasion and prove the doubters wrong.... beat that massive land grab to a stop and reverse it.
Poorly planned and very poorly supplied once on shore, the untested Marines were hanging on by their fingers eating fish heads and rice left by retreating engineers.
Our navy was bringing minimal amounts of urgently needed supplies on a few ships braving stiff opposition to even come near the island. Japan controlled the air above and the sea around and were unloading troops and weapons daily with little interference from our forces.
The Marines were suffering regular bombing daily and naval shellfire during many sleepless nights. Poor food, miserable debilitating jungle ailments, malaria, jungle rot and diarria resulted in a bottoming out of morale among the men.
With the huge build-up of Japanese forces on the north end of the island everyone knew that a final showdown battle was in the making and the Marines tried to prepare as best they could.
The military hierarchy in Washington evidently was sold on the invincibility of the opposing force and began to plan for the worst scenario and secretly ordered General Vandergrift to have a plane ready to evacuate him before his capture.... just as MacArthur was removed from the Philippines.
Wake Island5abandonment and loss was foremost in many minds and some thought that Guadalcanal might become another Wake with Marines being over run by sheer weight of numbers. It really looked like a hopeless situation and one day many news reporters crowded in around the Secretary of the Navy, Frank Knox, asking if he thought the Marines could hold out on Guadalcanal.
The big boss of the Navy replied, in effect, "Whatever happens I know our Marines will make a good show of it." When this remark was heard by the Marines it went over like a lead balloon and when anyone asked, "Hay, did you hear what Knox said?" The reply was, "Yeah, ain't he a TIGER!"
In the spring of 1944 those heroes of Guadalcanal had been overseas about two years and were sorely in need of rest and recuperation, plus their experiences were invaluable for the training of future marines destined to fight the Japanese.
After the New Britian campaign wound down a rotation system was devise and our friends began to leave us as their orders came for the 'stateside' journey and soon our battalion was composed of mostly all replacements like me.
For about a year I had lived very close to this bunch of unique guys, unique because the Guadalcanal experience itself was unique, never to be the same in future operations. During those many bull sessions we relived the whole campaign in detail and often I felt I knew these stories first hand it was so real to me.The Marine Corps slogan, "First to fight", was epitomized by the men, or boys, in many cases who became men over night! As they departed and new recruits filled the depleted ranks I and my group became the 'old hands' and enjoyed a bit of respect from the fresh, innocent faces joining our ranks.
As the humid tropical heat beat down on us began to train for the next adventure, Peleliu.... where ever that is. Our new 'eye in the sky' added greatly to our powers of observation and also brought a new kind of man into our midst. Flyboys! These characters flying our little artillery spotter lightweight aircraft were truants. Villains being punished for some aerial indiscretion like flying an F4F under the Golden Gate Bridge or buzzing the court house dome in their hometown. Trivial but naughty offenses and their sentence was to limit them to fly only aircraft with less than a hundred horsepower.
Our particular dude, was a Navy fighter pilot being limited to fly our little black OY, (Cub) and his flaky grin was sorta' lopsided and he fitted in nicely with our group of intellectuals. Often he had to fly the mail over to Pavuvu, sixty miles across the sea which was sometimes glassy smooth in the lee of islands.
Occasional some high-ranking officer asked to go with him on some ruse of officialdom and this pleased our flyboy greatly. Once well clear of land the pilot found his flying 'nitch' about twenty-four inches above the water and if conversation lagged he would break the monotony enroute by spinning his wheels with a light touch on the ever so smooth water. Tiring of this sport he would fly low with full throttle to make a speedboat wake churning the smooth water into riverlets.
At touch down on his return to our grassy landing strip his passenger usually got out and had difficulty standing on rubbery knees but hurried away promptly.
Our pilot secretly stashed a thirty-caliber machine gun in his baggage compartment with wires, cables and levers to mount it on the wing struts after we got to Peleliu. He found a willing accomplice in our observer lieutenant who stashed boxes of grenades in for later use...but thats getting ahead of the story...later on the Peleliu segment!
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