FROM THE JUNGLES OF GUADALCANAL
BY MAURY WILLIAMS
Our first observed hostile fire on Guadalcanal came shortly after we'd
arrived on the island in the fall of 1943. Our Special Troops Bn. had, that
day, erected a movie screen across the coral street from our camp. The war
seemed a million miles away:
We were sitting on coconut logs, or on our helmets or butts one night,
enjoying a movie under the stars (and a few overhanging coconuts), when the
air-raid sirens sounded from one end of the island to the other. This was one
of our first such warnings, previous alerts having been much to do about
nothing during daylight hours. All lights were extinguished and cigarettes
ground into the soil. The moon was bright, giving the Japs a good view of
their prime target, Henderson Field, a Marine fighter strip seventeen miles
west of camp. The dark sky was almost instantaneously transformed into a
kaleidoscope of thousands of searchlights, each trying to locate/isolate
enemy planes that may have flown the four or five-hundred-mile trip from the
Jap airstrip at Rabaul. We newcomers, this being our first nighttime air-raid
alert, were properly awed by the display.
I was surprised when the strange sound of several planes passed overhead,
heading in the direction of the airfield. Their engines sounded as though
they were made of tin. The guys who had earlier heard those sounds said they
sounded like a washing-machine. The name, "Washing-Machine Charley," was born
during the battle of Guadalcanal.
After a few minutes, as we began to wonder if this wasn't just another
"drill," we saw an orange/yellow explosion and heard a dull thud near the
airfield, followed a few moments later by another of the same. Bombs were
being dropped yet thousands of searchlights had yet to spot the enemy. A few
minutes later a brightly-lit bomber (later identified as a "Betty") came into
central focus of the converging searchlights. After several minutes of
watching the plane, and with nothing more happening, we were beginning to
wonder why our AA guns continued to be silent. A strange thing then took
place. High overhead in the distance, out of the black sky, a string of
glowing pearls streamed out of the darkness and arched across the heavens
toward the illuminated plane. What in blue blazes? It took a moment or two to
realize that the "pearls" were tracer bullets being fired from a second
plane. In an instant the brightly-lit Betty left a fiery trail, then spiraled
toward the ground and exploded with a great flash and a muffled roar! We were
all cheering wildly (as though this were a football game) over our first
observed "kill," when a second Betty was isolated by the searchlights. As
before, the mystery plane launched another string of bright lights, hitting
the target head-on! The plane exploded in the air, leaving several trails of
burning debris floating to earth! The "phantom," with two kills to its
credit, remained a great puzzlement until the following day.
Next morning we got the word: It was SOP that our planes remain on the ground
during enemy raids so that AA batteries, working with searchlights, could
fire without jeopardizing friendly craft. A New Zealand P-38 Fighter pilot
had disobeyed orders. The last word we got about the incident was that the
poor guy was going to be court-martialed and stripped of his wings. To us,
the guy was a full-fledged hero!
That had been our first, though from a safe distance, encounter with the
enemy, a forecast of things to come.
