Inoue's
Aichis departed Rabaul just in time.
A few hours later around midday, thirteen Fifth Air Force Flying Fortresses
from the 19th Bombardment Group led by Lt-Col Richard Carmichael based at Port
Moresby appeared high overhead Vunakanau with open bombays.
They walked 1,000‑pound bombs over the complex, but the recipients
considered the damage slight, and patrolling 2nd Ku Zeros shot down one Fortress, piloted by the young captain who had evacuated
General Douglas MacArthur from the Philippines.[9] Despite American
claims to have disposed of seven Zeros, Yamada lost no aircraft
either airborne or on the ground.[10] Groundcrews worked hard and furiously
to repair runway damage before Eguchi's rikkos returned.
At 1315 hours over Savo
Island, Southerland received a laconic
radio order to nudge left ten degrees. Thick cloud was building and
in the way, on a day which commander Simpler described as "one of
heavy cumulus clouds that hung in huge lumps ‑ the kind that you
can ride around the corner and anything could be right smack in front
of you". With startling clarity, Eguchi and company abruptly
appeared just off Southerland's left wing, about 200 to 300 feet higher.
He briskly counted twenty‑seven bombers and called into his microphone,
"Horizontal bombers, three divisions, nine planes each, over Savo,
headed for transports. Angels twelve. This division from Pug ‑
drop belly tanks, put gun switches and sight lamps on. Let's go get
'em boys".
Kawai's 2nd Chutai Zeros had pushed ahead of the rikkos,
searching for "Grummans', as they commonly termed the Wildcats. In
the lead rikko, Eguchi could not see the main body of
Zeros and radioed his rearmost bomber to determine their whereabouts.
They could not see them either, but regardless Eguchi ordered
the attack to proceed. In the Zero cockpits of the other two Chutais,
the experienced Tainan cadre became concerned at the intensity of the
sun's glare. Enemy fighters could drop from that angle, their attack
only seen with squinting difficulty. So it happened one chubby machine,
ignoring Nakajima's resolute fighters, tore through the rikkos.
It was a Wildcat engaging unspoiled quarry over Guadalcanal, flown by
Pug Southerland. Behind him followed Tabberer, Price and Innis in that order, but above them were Kawai's five forward Zeros of the 2nd Chutai. Kawai led them violently downwards and bounced them
as they followed Southerland.
In rearmost position, an anxious
glance from Innis disclosed that he was a sure target for the guns
which lurked under black cowls of incoming grey Imperial fighters.
He heaved his Wildcat skywards and exchanged head‑on fire with
all five Zeros before one lodged itself on his tail. Innis soon had
jagged holes speckle his fighter, but what was more serious was that
the control response had become sluggish. As he would later discover,
his left elevator had been all but shot away. Innis' sorry Wildcat
stole into cloud where it tarried for protection. Innis was lucky. Neither Price, 23 years old, nor Tabberer,
three years his senior, were seen again, both subsequently declared
Missing in Action. Within seconds, half of Southerland's team had been
killed whilst Innis licked his wounds and contemplated how best to return
his damaged mount to a moving steel deck.
Behind SCARLET TWO came Pete Brown's four SCARLET EIGHT Wildcats. Brown had witnessed Tabberer and Price cut from the sky, but nevertheless remained determined to
hit the rikkos, his first priority. As Brown's team approached
the massed target, Nakajima's 1st Chutai broke away and
downwards to intercept. Brown and company faced two stark inferiorities
‑ lesser altitude and fewer aircraft. [11]
Making a snap decision, Brown ordered wingman Blair to stay with him to defend themselves
against the Zeros whilst letting Holt and Daly pursue the rikkos.
The former two twisted and climbed, and banked and dove. Brown took
hits to his cockpit which left it rancid with smoke. His leg and hip
were bloodied and he prepared to bail out by cranking back the tracked
canopy. The smoke cleared however and Brown regained composure.
Then it was that one of the day's more
remarkable incidents occurred. Brown was amazed to see his opponent
draw up alongside his wing. The two foes looked each other over before
the goggled anonymous Japanese waved curtly then drew away.[12] As he did Brown
loosed several rounds at the tail of the Mitsubishi, but such was the
battered condition of his Wildcat that it stalled and fell away. Another
Zero crossed his sights as he descended for the cover of cumulus, but
Brown had little doubt that his burst was token. The Zero's had not
been ‑ an incendiary had entered his thigh, such was the excruciating
pain and blood loss that he injected himself with a phial of ammonia
to stay awake. As he entered the sanctuary of a fluffy cloud he contemplated
in his bloodied cockpit how he too might get home safely.
Whilst Brown and his extravagant adversary
had squared matters away, Daly and Holt had time to line up the rikko's left‑hand chutai. Daly was in frustration
as his bullets, so clearly led by tell‑tale red tracer lines,
took hits on a rikko with no apparent result. Holt was having
no luck either, so they broke away together for another frightening
pass. Southerland had meanwhile escaped the attention of marauding
Zeros, albeit briefly, and he too approached the other side of the rikko V‑formation. As he approached he saw "the open bomb bays,
and it looked as though a total of eight to ten medium bombs were lined
up fore and aft on either side of the one plane noted in particular.
I hit this plane at the forward end of the bomb bay from below and at
close range". Southerland had singled out that flown by Tamotsu
Sato. He watched jubilant as flames sprouted, just opposite its
left Sakae engine. Blair meanwhile witnessed and confirmed
the US Navy's first aerial victory of Guadalcanal as Sato's sieved
machine fell oceanwards in fierce flames. Southerland's place in Guadalcanal
history was now assured, as indeed was that of the unfortunate Sato. Zeros were still tailing him, so Southerland broke left and down
but in the process took incendiary hits to the canopy and cockpit, shattering
his windscreen. An acrid smell left Southerland calculating how long
he could now remain airborne, but he crossed over right for another
crack at the rikkos, and pumped .50 calibre lead into
that under the command of Yoshiyuki Sakimoto. It fell back,
but it was clear that damage rendered was not major, at least not yet.
Black flak bursts erupted among the rikkos ‑ US warships
had found the range of the approaching enemy formation. Southerland,
handicapped by a damaged machine, drew away to preserve himself.
Shortly after flak startled the rikko crews, several of the big bombers took hits. Holes were torn in the
starboard engine of one of Eguchi's wingmen and the engine lost
power. In Eguchi's own rikko the bombardier crouched
on the corrugated aluminium floor and adjusted his sight. It was 1220
hours and the formation was at 12,000 feet when Eguchi's rikko dropped its bombs, the others following suit. Above in his Zero, Saburo Sakai was disgusted to observe the bombs make wide splotches
between the enemy vessels below. Not one made a hit, even though the
4th Ku would later claim one destroyer sunk and one transport
damaged. Wildcats reappeared to hassle the rikkos. SCARLET
EIGHT seemed determined to make the most of the day, much to
the distaste of one Japanese aircraft commander who would record their
manoeuvres as akin to those of "attacking dogs". Three more rikkos took hits, one streaming white smoke. The remaining formation
gingerly turned left, the island of Malaita falling behind to their right.
As he worked over the bombers, Daly saw
approaching fighters but they were not Wildcats. He scissored but to
no avail, "The whole plane shook as a 20 millimetre shell exploded
beneath the cockpit. The next second I was sitting aflame. My clothes
were on fire; my pants and shirt were burning: I could see nothing but
red fire all around me. I remember vividly the thought that ran through
my head: "Sonny boy, you're not going to get out of this ‑ this
is it!" Daly dove out of his cockpit at 13,000 feet but delayed
opening his chute for fear of being strafed. It nevertheless opened
quite high ‑ around 7,000 feet ‑ and Daly splashed off Berande
Point, some fifteen miles east of Red Beach where
the US landing had occurred that morning. Daly was badly burned all
over, and shell fragments had reduced the use of his left leg, but he
remained strong enough to set a moderate breaststroke in Guadalcanal's
direction. Three US destroyers steamed past nearby, but missed Daly's
vigorous waves to attract attention. Finally, close to complete exhaustion,
a Curtis SOC‑1 floatplane from VCS‑4 flew overhead. Its pilot recognised
a swimmer, so set down, but with pistol drawn just in case. Daly's
burns smothered his face and the rescuer was unsure of the swimmer's
nationality until select American vernacular from Daly left little doubt.
Daly was transferred on board Chicago at a quarter past four that afternoon, a happy ending to what might
otherwise have been a flight to oblivion. Daly was soon uncomfortable
however, for when he awoke next morning he observed, "my lips were
greatly swollen, so that I had to drink my meals through a tube, and
my eyes were so puffed up and stuck together that I couldn't see".
During the night Daly lay in a bunk in the giant cruiser's sickbay and
was jolted as she absorbed one torpedo to the bow and several heavy
shell impacts.[13] At Guadalcanal even being rescued,
it seemed, could be hazardous.
Throughout the aerial combat Holt meanwhile
had tried to stick with Daly where he could, but the 24‑year‑old
fell to the Zeros, although no‑one knows exactly how or where,
and thus Holt remains classified "Missing‑in‑action'.
Innis meanwhile had quietly climbed to 20,000 feet from whence he tailed
the rikkos, hopeful of an effective last foray. As Eguchi's V‑formation banked left for home Innis went in and expended
his last ammunition. Two Zeros joined him for a game of tag before
he lost them in cloud. Innis then headed back to the waiting Saratoga.
Saburo Sakai was among the Zeros which had mixed with SCARLET EIGHT. Afterwards he rejoined Chutai leader Sasai,
but in the process had lost his two wingmen, the very ones he had exhorted
to stay with him at all times. He finally saw them, or at least thought
he did, as two of three Zeros battling a lone Grumman well below. Incredulously,
it appeared that the enemy pilot was actually chasing the Japanese by
turning into them all the time. Ichirobei Yamazaki had latched
his Zero onto the Grumman's tail at about 11,000 feet, and could be
seen loosing shot bursts from behind and above. Sakai drew closer to Sasai and signalled for permission to dive
into the fray below.
It was Southerland which flew the
hunted Grumman. Worst of all, his guns had stopped firing, so he manually
tried to recharge them, hoping they had jammed rather than run dry.[14] With self‑preservation in mind he also lowered the seat to take
refuge behind the armourplate slab behind.[15] He observed: "a Zero was attacking at this time from my starboard quarter so I pushed over
as though trying to escape him, then pulled out immediately, cracking
my flaps and whacking off my throttle. He overran as I'd hoped and
made a climbing turn to the left. I turned inside easily and had the
aviator's dream ‑ a Zero at close range perfectly lined up in
my sights for about a quarter deflection shot. However, I pressed my
trigger without result and realised sadly that I'd have to fight the
rest of the battle without guns". Southerland knew that the enemy
were land‑based Zeros, "perfectly capable of running circles
around me as I soon discovered."
Whilst Southerland tried to duck Yamazaki's guns, the latter was joined by Kakimoto and Uto to lengthen the odds to three to one. The three Mitsubishis
set up attacks from each side, taking turns when necessary. Sakai dived to join his comrades, making a fourth
adversary for the troubled American flyer.
Southerland was aware that his major
contribution now to the day was now to draw the four Zeros away from
the bombers they were meant to protect, and he had determined how best
to endure their methodical aggression, "this consisted merely of
determining which of the two Zeros, attacking almost simultaneously
on either quarter, was about to open fire first, and turning sharply
toward him as he opened up. This gave him a full deflection shot so
he invariably underled me, riddling my fuselage aft but doing little
serious damage. This quick turn also placed the second plane directly
behind me so that I was well protected by my armour plate. When runs
were not exactly simultaneous, I would rely chiefly on my armor, placing
the attackers directly aft in succession as they made their runs".
Southerland now had a clear objective ‑ to reach Red Beach where he could
bail out within the sanctity of friendly lines. Essentially he was
now engaged in a race of time versus risk. The Wildcat took more hits
almost every time the Zeros made a pass, the 7.7mm slugs
making the loudest sound when they impacted against the armour plate
directly behind him. Sometimes a Mitsubishi would overrun and pull
out ahead, adding to the frustration of defective guns, but then through
his shattered goggles Southerland noticed a fourth Zero join the fight,
which led in a burst at long range. Sakai had arrived.
As opposed to the mechanical
tactics of his three counterparts, Sakai was determined
to latch himself onto the Wildcat's tail using the design advantages
of Mitsubishi's fighter. The enemy kept turning into him, but Sakai gradually lessened the distance with the belligerent Grumman, then at
last held onto its tail. In the battle of turns the Grumman had gradually
run out of altitude and options. Sakai had full confidence in
his Zero's ability to destroy the quarry using only his machine guns.
He double‑checked that his 20mm cannon was switched
off and moved closer. The Wildcat crossed the coast just West of the
Bonegi River, still eighteen arduous miles short of Red Beach,
but at least over land. Unbeknown to Sakai, his rival had reached
the reasoned judgement that it was time to bail out. Sakai was
taken by surprise when the Grumman snapped into straight and level flight.
He checked his own tail, then closed in. Now closer than he had ever
been to a Wildcat, its appearance and the moment moved him sufficiently
that he groped for his beloved Leica camera and in a grand example of
eccentricity, savoured this moment by taking a photograph for his private
collection.[16] Sakai discarded the camera to the side of the
cockpit, closed to fifty metres, and fired a stream of 7.7mm projectiles at the Grumman, by his estimate between five to six hundred
rounds. Incredibly they had no apparent effect. Sakai at this
stage thought it astounding at how a Zero, if subjected to similar punishment,
would by now be a ball of flame. He contemplated the Wildcat's rudder,
"ripped to shreds, looking like an old torn piece of rag". The
steadfast nature of the pursuit and the opportunity to witness a formidable
enemy at such close distance briefly lulled the Japanese ace into complacency.
He firewalled the Mitsubishi's throttle to get closer, but was startled
to find that his eagerness had lurched him ahead of the Grumman. Sakai cringed knowing he had placed himself cleanly in front of six Brownings.
But nothing happened and Sakai then realised that at this critical
moment that this had been a one‑sided combat ‑ his opponent
for whatever reason lacked teeth. He dropped back, this time falling
into formation slightly left of the straight‑and‑level Grumman.
He had previously savoured the luxury of taking a photograph, now he
would go a step further and examine the man in the machine.
Ahead, Southerland methodically worked through the Navy checklist for bailout ‑ electrical
switches off, disconnect microphone and transmitter cords, undo safety
harness, open canopy. Alongside flew Sakai, consumed with curiosity and watching Southerland go through his
paces. Southerland had time to assess the state of his mount, "my
plane was in bad shape but still performing nicely in low blower, full
throttle, and full low pitch. Flaps and radio had been put out of commission
. . . the after part of my fuselage was like a sieve. She was still
smoking from incendiary but not on fire. All of the ammunition box
covers on my left wing were gone and 20mm explosives had
torn gaping holes in its upper surface . . . my instrument panel was
badly shot up, goggles on my forehead had been shattered, my rear view
mirror was broken, my Plexiglas windshield was riddled. The leak‑proof
tanks had apparently been punctured many times as some fuel had leaked
down into the bottom of the cockpit even though there was no steady
leakage. My oil tank had been punctured and oil was pouring down my
right leg".
Sakai purposefully wound back his canopy and stared into
the Grumman's open cockpit. There he saw a man with a round face who
he estimated was about seven or eight years older.[17] He watched the American
flier, in bloodstained flightsuit, apparently undo his harness. Sakai observed that the Grumman "was a shambles. Bullet holes had cut
the fuselage and wings up from one end to another. The skin of the
rudder was gone . . . it was incredible that his plane was still in
the air". Lifting his goggles, Sakai had the impression
that the man was huddled over in prayer, and thought he even tried to
wave. For the first time in combat, the Imperial Navy graduate felt
a conflicting empathy for the crouched figure, a contrasting emotion
brought on due to the worthy nature of his enemy, "but this was no
way to kill a man ! Not with him flying helplessly, wounded, his plane
a wreck. I raised my left hand and shook my fist at him, shouting uselessly,
I wished him to fight instead of just flying along like a clay pigeon.
The American looked startled. I had never felt so strange before.
I had killed many Americans in the air, but this was the first time
a man had weakened in such a fashion directly before my eyes, and from
wounds I had inflicted upon him. I honestly didn't know whether or
not I should try to finish him off. Such thoughts were stupid of course.
Wounded or not, he was the enemy, and he had taken on three of my men
a few minutes ago. However, there was no reason to aim for the pilot
again. I wanted the airplane, not the man". Time, a decisive indulgence
in any combat, was drawing to its limits. Sakai fell in behind
to finish off the Grumman. He released the cannon safety switch, aimed
for its engine, and gently squeezed the firing button. Several cannon
rounds impacted into the top cowl where they flashed as they exploded,
cleanly removing two cylinders in the process.[18] It was approximately half‑past
one on a hot Guadalcanal afternoon.
Southerland would report, "...at
this time a Zero making a run from the port quarter put a burst in just
under the left wing root and good old F‑12 finally exploded.
I think the explosion occurred from gasoline vapour. The flash was
below and forward of my left foot. I was ready for it . . . consequently
I dove over the right side just aft of the starboard wing root, head
first. My .45 holster caught on the hood track, but I got rid of it
immediately, though I don't remember how. I feverently asked
God to let me live and pulled the ring just as my head was passing below
the starboard wing. The plane did a chandelle to the right and went
down in a dive, passing about 15‑20 feet ahead of me."
Caught in this unreal moment, Southerland
still had the senses to reflect, "The ring came out so easily in
my hand that I immediately assumed my ripcord had been severed by gunfire.
All aviators who bail out want to save the ring. This flashed through
my mind as I reluctantly hurled it away and started clawing frantically
into the webbing trying to locate the release end of the ripcord. At
this point the parachute opened and I was floating comfortably about
100‑150 feet above the trees". Chunky yet substantial pieces
of his Wildcat tumbled from the sky and into a steep jungle ravine,
grown over with dense foliage and large trees. The engine came to rest
in a creek bed, whilst the rest of the debris fell through solid foliage,
scattered over a length of more than three hundred metres. There they
would lie undiscovered to history for nearly fifty‑six years,
save passing curiosity by a native hunter.
Southerland fell through trees relatively
unscathed and, fearful of being strafed, hit the ground prepared to
ditch his chute harness by loosening the straps. He grabbed the upwind
shroud and spilled what air he could from the chute, allowing it to
fill just above the trees. When he landed his first thought was the
trailing Japanese would find his chute an attractive target, so he ran,
"100 yards away in 9 seconds flat. My first grateful thought was
to thank God that I was alive. I can guarantee that this was a wholly
unexpected outcome of the battle". Under cover of nearby trees
he counted eleven wounds, including three holes in his right calf, flash
burns to his arms and a gaping hole in his right foot, the most painful
of all. There was some consolation ‑ the parachute fall through
the trees had given him but minor abrasions to the left leg. Southerland
next sized up the geography and figured he had touched down about ten
miles east of Cape Esperance, four miles inland from the beach.[19]
Sakai noted that in the Grumman's last seconds it rolled
away, directly over the coast and headed inland. The last he saw of
the pilot was him hanging limply in his chute, then lost him to view.
He considered that in the process of conducting his fifty‑ninth
kill that his Mitsubishi had flown "much too low for safety".[20] He climbed to
rejoin his cheerful companions, Uto, Yamazaki and Kakimoto, and briefly
removed his scarf to identify himself. Together the four eased control
sticks back for the climb.[21] The Tainan fraternity had just destroyed five of eight VF‑5 Wildcats
despatched that morning.
As the four enemy Zeros
which had stalked him banked away and climbed, Southerland took
stock of his lonely situation. He was in low rolling hills, covered
with thick kunai grass, difficult to traverse. It was sharp too, not
to mention the degree to which it made the skin itch. He realised he
could not try for friendly lines in a straight line as the undergrowth
and jungle in the valleys was too impassable. His best alternative
lay with getting to the coast, then following its sandy littoral. Descending
down hill crests would be easiest, but this would not always be desirable
as the enemy could more easily spot him against such an open background.
His right shoe was full of oil, blood and dirt. He removed it and stuffed
the oily black sock into the wound to minimise bleeding. Knowing he
was in enemy territory and that his bail‑out would probably have
been seen, the downed flier's foremost certitude lay with vacating the
area. With these thoughts he cautiously hobbled off, fet4ered by discomfort
and injury. Southerland's four victors meanwhile
traversed Sealark Channel and headed towards the rikkos which
were approaching Tulagi on their return to Rabaul. As they eased
up through 7,000 feet between fluffy clouds, a projectile streaked through
the rear of Sakai's canopy. Angry and humiliated at having
been caught unaware, Sakai's four swiftly banked and climbed
away to turn the tables on a slower culprit Dauntless flown by Dudley
Adams of VS‑71. Sakai now descended
high from aside, his first burst causing the SBD to stall and drop away.
Japanese barbs had just taken the life of Adams' rear gunner Harry Elliot, and left Adams struggling with excruciating bullet
wounds. Adams ditched SBD‑3 fuselage number S‑10 at 1337 hours, and the wounded pilot floated with stinging wounds until
collected by US warship Dewey eight minutes later. Satisfied
that they had completed another kill, Sakai's four again adjusted
their climb towards the rikkos. Approaching 8,000 feet they
saw what appeared to be eight Grummans ahead almost begging to be ambushed.
Unfortunately for Sakai, the approaching Zeros had been noticed
well in advance and Carl Horenburger's eight SBDs closed ranks whilst
eight pairs of .30 calibre machine guns beaded sights on the approaching
Mitsubishis. Sakai realised his disastrous mistake after
he had committed himself to a deflection attack from the rear. To pull
away now would mean exposing his Zero side‑on in a manoeuvre from
which he would be lucky to emerge alive. The extent of the folly was
lost least on Sakai, and in the humiliation of his own culpability,
he pressed the attack. Kakimoto stuck with him, but further back Uto and Yamazaki perceived danger and flicked away. Sakai's Mitsubishi was caught in the crossfire of sixteen machine guns at close
range, shattering the windscreen and blinding him in one eye. Thrown
upside down, the grey fighter passed overhead the SBDs, then dived. Uto tried to catch up with Sakai but could not. With
fear in his gullet, he thought he had just witnessed the death of a
Tainan warrior. Nishizawa likewise could not find Sakai,
and in a rage because of it, became determined to ram the next American
he came across. Luckily for the enigmatic Nishizawa such an
opportunity failed to materialise so he sullenly turned for home.
Sakai's successful and extraordinary return to Rabaul would pass into aviation
folklore ‑ low over the water he somehow pulled out, and hampered
by severe pain and weakness nevertheless found his way back to Lakunai on his own. His Zero was recognised in the landing pattern by Sasai,
alert with a pair of binoculars. Sakai was surrounded before the engine stopped,
and the bloodstained ace was physically pulled from the cockpit by two
returnees ‑ Sasai and Nakajima.
Whilst Sakai battled exhaustion through
blood‑loss in the confined cockpit of his ruined Zero, the also‑wounded
Southerland picked his way deliberately through Guadalcanal jungle.
He had no water with which to slake his sweated thirst, and the island's
notorious afternoon sun soon took its effect. He gave wide berth to
a wooden Japanese observation platform in a tree manned by two laconic
soldiers, then continued towards water's edge, "I continued towards
the jungle, keeping as well concealed as possible, and crawled into
a discouragingly thick and seemingly impenetrable undergrowth. There
were masses of thick thorny vines, spider webs with big formidable spiders
and unseen but imagined wildlife of all sorts, mostly poisonous snakes
and boa constrictors. The imagination really goes to work in a jungle.
The going became easier as I worked my way into what appeared to be
the dry bed of a small brook... eventually I broke out into some
tall grass bordering a coconut grove . . . through this grove appeared
to be a deserted Jap camp."
Southerland stumbled into the abandoned
enemy encampment. There he souvenired the reflector of an old torch
before negotiating a close pebbly beach, from whence he waded into cool
seawater. Throughout he "kept as concealed as well as possible,
skirted the buildings, and at last made the beach". His right foot
still hurt although other pain had abated through numbness. With the
aid of the reflector and his yellow Mae West he was able to attract
the attention of several SBDs. Several diverted to circle him warily,
and being competent in Morse code, Southerland used the former Japanese
torch to transmit the message "SOS ‑ send cruiser scout".
When the SBDs came closer Southerland waved his yellow lifejacket at
them. One of the SBDs dropped a smoke flare before they all turned
back to the carriers. By now it was late afternoon, about half past
five so Southerland thought.
Whilst Guadalcanal's skies were
busy, back at Rabaul Admiral Mikawa listened to the concerns
of his staff officers. Several expressed disquiet that the four cruisers
would not have sufficient destroyer escorts. Mikawa, by now in excellent humour, dismissed their
concerns, and by mid‑afternoon and in presenting himself in dapper
uniform, the Imperial Admiral unfurled his battle colours aboard flagship Chokai as she steamed out of the harbour entrance.
Even at this late stage,
four VF‑71 Wildcats were meanwhile patrolling Tulagi and
descended into an SBD formation to attack, but realised in time that
they were friendlies. Thaddeus "Thad' Capowski, in F‑13, lost
the others after the pull‑out, so headed south and established
Guadalcanal. For some unknown mechanical reason his Wildcat was consuming
far more fuel than it should, and it died west of the Matanikau River,
well behind enemy lines, when he put down near the treeline on the beach.
The fighter slammed into a tree about a hundred yards inland, and although
he protected his face with his hand the impact broke four ribs and punctured
his left lung. He regained consciousness in an upside‑down wreck,
and suspended from his harness. There he stayed until after dark when
he thought it safer to move. Capowski made it to the shoreline, crawling,
and waded into the water where he now discovered to his alarm that his
pistol was missing. In one of the day's more extraordinary moments,
a Japanese sentry approached him after dark, but did not see him and
walked on. The wounded American, still in tormenting pain, quickly
recovered to the shelter of the palms. Unbeknown to Capowski, another
American was in the same predicament just a few more miles West. Pug
Southerland would later submit that the night he spent on the beach
was "cold and windy".
As the American fliers discussed
the days events a sorry Saburo Sakai contemplated
an uncertain future back in the Navy hospital at Rabaul. With a bloodied
swollen face, and having collapsed from anaemia, he had been carried
from his shot‑up fighter and man‑handled into the familiar
black Ford motor car used by the Tainan fliers as their hack. Despite
his condition, Sakai had argued with Nakajima that before
doing anything else, it was his duty to officially report to Captain Masahisa Saito, overall Commanding Officer of the Tainan Ku. Nishizawa also tried to persuade him to go straight
to hospital, but within minutes Sakai had placed himself at attention
in front of Saito who regarded his precarious condition
incredulously. Sakai, again, collapsed. Saito dismissed Nishizawa and Ota to transport the obstinate but unconscious aviator to the hospital. In frustrated concern Nishizawa physically removed the waiting driver
and sped directly there, whilst Ota and Sasai upheld their wounded comrade
in the Ford's back seat. Once deposited on the hospital bed, in resurgent
semi‑consciousness, Sakai felt a blade perforate his scalp,
near his eyes. After four more days in hospital he was informed that
he would be returning to Japan for eye surgery. The evening before
departure his superior Sasai bade him farewell at his bedside,
along with a huddled elite coterie of the Tainan corps, most of whom
were dog‑tired from another long mission over Guadalcanal. Conversation
was quiet and subdued, with conversation mostly revolving around matters
at home in Japan. A despondent Sakai left Rabaul in a H8K2 flying
boat on 12th August, with other passengers mostly war correspondents.
The flying boat's destination was Yokohama, with refuelling stops at Truk and Saipan.
It landed in Yokohama Harbour early next evening, and Sakai was
shocked to discover a bustling city without any apparent care for the
seriousness of the war unfolding many miles away to the South. Speakers
on every corner blared out news of massive victories in the Solomons. Sakai wondered how two such disparate worlds could
co‑exist in such surrealism.
At dawn the morning after Sakai had
blasted his Wildcat from the sky, Southerland hobbled along the pebbly coast towards Lunga Point. Villages on the
way were unoccupied and it was in one such locale that he found a native
canoe. It leaked however, so he returned it and continued onwards.
He eventually made the village of Ruijo and its rustic Catholic chapel. There he found
two natives whom he befriended and they escorted him back to their village
of Mamara. There, for the first time since he had been removed from
the sky by Sakai's guns, Southerland relaxed.
One of the natives was Bruno Nana,
who as previously described, had worked as a paid porter on the Japanese
airfield, "We were very sympathetic towards him so we took him to
Tanavasa and cared for him that night. He had a bullet in his foot,
so we had to find a way to take him to Lunga Hospital. We could not
walk to Lunga because between Lunga and Tanavasa the Japanese occupied the area and we could have been shot doing that".
Southerland slept relatively well that night at Tanavasa village and
passed the next day, 9th August, in relative peace whilst
Bruno and friends discussed ways of getting him back to the Lunga area via Kukum village, where it was known that
the Americans had established a first‑aid post. That evening the
loud rumble and vibration of naval gunfire kept them awake as the Battle
of Savo Island unfurled. Next morning the natives, alarmed at the obvious
seriousness of the Japanese Navy from the previous evening, were understandably
more nervous about escorting Southerland through enemy territory. Nevertheless
the following dawn, the 10th, Jonesi, Bruno Nana, [22] and one other native named Plorentino paddled their European friend in a canoe past the mouth
of the Matanikau River, giving wide berth to a Japanese camp
complete with roaming soldiers, presumably a reformed unit of Monzen's labourers. The unusual four paddled further towards Kukum where they were approached by men waving rifles at them.
According to Southerland
"they wore overalls and helmets similar to those of the Japs, so
I didn't know who we were running into. The natives also questioned
their identity. Taking faith in the evacuation of the village we had
just passed, and realising we just had to be successful in this campaign,
I raised up and waved to them. They waved back, which convinced the
natives we were old friends, so they paddled rapidly to the beach. What
a relief to see our own Marines!" Southerland was laid in a blanket
and carried along the beach to Colonel Leroy Hunt of the 5th Marine Regiment, and after profusely
thanking Jonas, Bruno and Co, Southerland retired for a well‑earned
rest. Two days later he was flown out to Espirito Santo in COMAIRSOPAC
's personal Catalina PBY‑5A, his eventual destination the US Navy hospital at Jacksonville,
Florida. The evacuation flight was historic, being the first
aircraft to ever land at Henderson Field, named that very day after
Major Lofton Henderson, a Marine squadron Commander who had been lost at Midway. [23]
Having deposited Southerland into the safe
custody of armed Marines, the teenage Bruno Nana and his two Solomon
Islander friends paddled their way back along the coast. When they
reached the mouth of the Matanikau River they were halted by armed Japanese
who fired on them and destroyed the canoe. With threatening gestures
the three were told to get out of the canoe, then led away. Nana recalls,
"They took us and interrogated us. We tried to trick them, but someone
who had seen us earlier with the American told the Japanese that we
were not telling the truth. He explained to them where each one of
us had sat in the canoe. He then pointed to me and said I was the one
steering the canoe. He was right. They then tied our hands behind
our backs and tied us to a big post. For four days we went without
food or drink. I thought that was the end of us. One of the soldiers
urinated into a tin and then brought it back to me. He forced us to
drink it. When I told my friends that it was urine they told me not
to drink it, but I answered that they should also drink it, just as
Christ had been offered water on the cross. We prayed to God for freedom
and that afternoon the sky was so cloudy that you could hardly see anything.
At about four o'clock the ropes mysteriously loosened, so I asked my
two friends if they had that same experience. They said yes, so I urged
all of us to run away. From Matanikau we fled through the bush behind Rove and White River. Finally we arrived
home but found no‑one there. Everyone had fled to Veraboli.
On the 12th of August we found our people. We had to abandon
our home because the Japanese were looking for us. I left to join Father
Eneriko at Tangarare with the scouts and soon I was on a government ship."
References
Kodochosho, Tainan Kokutai, August 7, 1942
Kodochosho, 4th Kokutai, August 7, 1942
Kodochosho, 2nd Kokutai, August 7, 1942
Footnotes
[1] The aircraft was B-17E Flying Fortress 41-2446 (aka "Swamp Ghost"). Damaged by Yoshida's bullets and those of other
Zeros at 0745 hours, Eaton took extended evasive action which depleted
his fuel substantially. The mission had been planned on peace-time
fuel calculations and Eaton realised over New Guinea's northern coast
that he could not make Port Moresby. He forced-landed the Fortress
in Ambiago Swamp, and although none of the crew were injured it took
them six weeks to return to duty. The Fortress still lay intact
where it came to rest.
[2] Sakai noted this tail number from his log-book entry of the day. He often flew A6M2 Zero Tail V-128 and kept a piece of it as a souvenir when he was evacuated to
Japan. He still has it to this day.
[3] Many have speculated the degree to which history might have been
changed had the bombers launched low-level torpedoes into the transports
on this deciding day. Whilst it is tempting to criticise the Imperial
navy decision to keep the aircraft bomb-laden, it is worth considering
that there was another pressure bearing on the Japanese flag officers
that day - concern that the Americans would conduct a surprise and substantial
air-raid on Rabaul to cripple the bombers before they became airborne.
Hence the decision to launch the rikkos soonest can be further
justified.
[4] This
little-known fact was determined by the author in 1997 when examining
the wreck of 705 Kokutai G4M1 Betty 1570 Tail 377 shot down into Guadalcanal's
jungle on 30th June 1943.
[5] In most cases the aircraft
commanders were the pilots flying the rikkos. In some cases
more senior officers flew as observers, but because of their seniority
were defined as the aircraft commander. The rikko from which Renpei Eguchi commanded the 4th Ku was piloted by Kiyoshi Nishimura. Most rikko crews this day comprised two pilots, two observers, two
radio operators and one maintenance officer who manned the tail gun.
[6] Confirmation of the approaching Japanese came from two sources. The
first was a TOP SECRET decoded JN‑25b intercept, complemented
by a more earthy message from Australian coast-watcher and former plantation
owner Paul Mason on Bougainville.
[7] Saratoga's log shows Southerland assigned to Bu 5133 for the mission. However,
due to the mission's hurried and unexpected nature he took the foremost
aircraft which happened to be Bu 5192.
[8] These type of aircraft would later be given the Allied codename Val.
[9] The Americans actually lost two Fortresses on the day, the first
being B-17E #41-2617 on takeoff at Seven-mile strip, Port Moresby.
That shot down over Rabaul constituted a significant loss however. B-17E 41-2439 was flown by Captain
Harl Pease. His Fortress crashed near the confluence
of the Mavlo and Powell Rivers, taking seven crew with it. They
were buried behind a kiln in a Christian mission by natives and exhumed
in 1946. Pease and crewmember Chikowsky bailed out however, but were
captured by the Japanese and transferred to Rabaul on 8th October 1942, where they were forced to work daily on airfield repair
work. The details are lost to history, but Pease was shortly thereafter
executed, and would be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor posthumously.
[10] Kenney's memoirs boast "75" Japanese bombers parked
wingtip to wingtip" destroyed in Carmichael's raid. In fact less
than twenty rikkos remained at Rabaul on the day, mostly assigned
to the Chitose Kokutai.
[11] VF-5's Commander Simpler would later compare
SCARLET EIGHT 's situation as being thrown into a "Japanese
meat-grinder".
[12] History will never know for sure who the pilot was. There are
strong arguments however that it was Nishizawa, Nakajima's chosen wingman for the
day. The skill and almost chivalrous behaviour of Brown's assailant
was in character for Nishizawa who had done similar impulsive
things in the past.
[13] After the
war Daly would write his memoirs titled "Luck is my Lady".
[14] His guns had in fact jammed. Examination
of the wreckage of Southerland's F4F 5192 in February and May 1998 revealed belts of live 50 calibre ammunition in the area.
[15] Southerland would note in a 1943 Navy chronicle that he
was "deeply grateful to the manufacturer of the armour plate, for
I could hear a steady stream of bullets zinging into it behind me, none
of which damaged me in the slightest".
[16] The Leica camera would survive the return
journey, but the film was lost back at Rabaul. Sakai had used
it many times previous including in the China theatre, to photograph
both enemy airfields and aircraft.
[17] Southerland was actually five years
older than Sakai.
[18] The removal of two cylinders was determined from an examination
of the wreckage of F-12's engine on 13th February 1998,
thus also supporting Sakai's claim that he aimed for the engine
and not Southerland. Close examination revealed that one of the 20mm
projectiles passed cleanly and horizontally through the top section
of the fin before hitting the engine - a marvel of Sakai's superior
marksmanship or coincidence of the day? One of the propellor tips sports
two very close 7.7mm bullet holes.
[19]
With the benefit of pinpointing the wreckage of F-12,
and with the safe assumption that Southerlandparachuted not more
than a mile from his aircraft, one can now be precise and state that
he parachuted about two miles inland and fourteen miles East of Cape
Esperance. Under the circumstances, Southerland's WWII estimate
was a good one.
[20] Ahead of Sakai lay a mountain spine at right-angles
to his flightpath, its peaks some 700 feet higher (surveyed by the author
at the site on Guadalcanal itself).
[21] Despite Kakimoto's contribution, the records of the
Imperial Japanese Navy record the kill equally between Sakai, Uto and Yamazaki.
[22] In 1998 Bruno Nana was living at the
village of Leila near Honiara, capital of the Solomon Islands. In
an interview with the author he lucidly recalled his meeting and subsequent
escort of Southerland through enemy territory. He also provided the names
of the other natives which not surprisingly differ slightly from Southerland
's recollections. Nana also published his story in the Honiara Church of
England chronicle in 1998.
[23] The PBY was piloted by Lt. W. Simpson, personal aide to Admiral
John S. McCain. Simpson had been instructed to land the craft offshore,
but feigned an engine failure as an excuse to put down on the field. After
arrival, in a spirited move to test the mettle and humour of Marine Corps
aviators, he audaciously declared the field "fit for fighters".
