concentrated on the first as it dove for the boat in a gradual sweep,
increasing to an angle of about seventy degrees. I maneuvered at high
speed, to present a starboard broadside to the oncoming plane. When it
was apparent that the plane could not pull out of the dive, I feinted in
several directions and then turned hard right rudder under the plane. It
struck the water thirty feet off the starboard bow.
“The second plane began its dive. When the pilot committed himself to
his final direction, I swung the boat away from the plane’s right bank.
The plane hit the water fifty feet away.
“The third plane came in at a seventy-degree dive. After zigzagging
rapidly as the plane came down, I swung suddenly at right angles. The
plane landed in the water just astern, raising the stern out of the
water and showering the 40-mm. gun crew with flame, smoke, debris, and
water. All of us were slightly dazed, but there were no injuries and the
boat was undamaged.”
Lieut. (jg) Frank A. Tredinnick, in 77, was attacked by a single. He
held a steady course and speed until just before impact, and then
chopped his throttle. The _kamikaze_ pilot, who had quite properly taken
a lead on the speeding boat, crashed ten yards ahead.
Lieut. (jg) Harry Griffin, Jr. swung his 223 hard right just before
impact, and his attacker showered the boat with water.
With two planes after him, Lieut. (jg) J. R. Erickson maneuvered at top
speed.
“The gunners fired a steady stream of shells into one plane as it came
down in a steep dive and crashed fifteen feet off the port bow. The
second plane circled until he saw his partner had missed, and he dived
on our stern, strafing as he came. The gunners fired on him until he
crashed _three feet_ off the starboard bow, spraying the deck with
debris and water. One man was blown over the side by the concussion but
was rescued uninjured.”
The last plane was shot down by the combined fire of the PTs before it
could even pick a target.
That afternoon as 224 and 297 were leaving for the night’s patrol, two
planes dropped three bombs but missed. The ships in the bay shot one
plane into the water. The other was last seen gliding over the treetops,
trailing fire.
On the afternoon of December 17th, three planes came into the bay. One
went into a steep dive aimed at Lieut. Commander Almer P. Colvin’s 300.
The _kamikaze_ had been studying the failure of his comrades, with their
suicidal sacrifice, to inflict any damage on the swift PTs. Lieut.
Commander Colvin gave the 300 a last-second twist to the right, but the
pilot outsmarted him, anticipated that very move, and crashed into the
engine room, splitting the boat in two. The stem sank immediately and
the bow burned for eight hours. Lieut. Commander Colvin was seriously
wounded, four men were killed, four reported missing, one officer and
four men wounded. Only one man aboard escaped without injury.
That night Lieut. Commander N. Burt Davis’ boats carried sealed orders
from General MacArthur to a guerrilla hideout on the other side of
Mindoro and delivered them to Lieut. Commander George F. Rowe, U. S.
Navy liaison officer to the Mindoro Underground. The boats picked up
eleven American pilots, who had been rescued and sheltered by the
guerrillas, and brought them back to Mindoro.
Some of the Japanese High Command wanted to write Mindoro off as already
lost; others wanted to make a massive counterlanding on the north
beaches to fight it out at the perimeter defense and push the American
airfield off the island. The two groups compromised, and as often
happens in a compromise, they sent a boy to do a man’s job.
Admiral Kimura left Indo-China with a heavy cruiser, a light cruiser,
and four destroyers, on a mission of bombarding the Mindoro beachhead.
It wasn’t much of a naval task force to send into those waters, but as
it happens, every American capital ship in the area was at Leyte, too
far off to help. The only naval forces handy were the PTs.
The PTs had been up against this very problem before. Twice, at
Guadalcanal, they had tangled alone with a bombardment force and a far
mightier bombardment force than the one approaching from Indo-China.
“Recall all patrols to assist in the defense of Mindoro,” Lieut. Admiral
Kincaid ordered Lieut. Commander Davis.
A patrol line of the nine most seaworthy boats was strung out three
miles off the beach. Two more boats, under Lieut. P. A. Swart, had
already left to call on the Mindoro guerrillas, but Davis called them
back, vectoring them toward the approaching Japanese, with instructions
to attack on contact.
Army bombers attacked the Japanese bombardment flotilla all night long
(and attacked the patrolling PTs, too, seriously damaging 77 with a near
miss and wounding every member of the crew—which was more than the
_kamikazes_ had been able to do in days of ferocious attack).
Admiral Kimura bombarded the beach for about thirty minutes. It was a
most desultory job, did almost no damage, and caused not a single
casualty. He fired three poorly aimed salvos at the PTs and left.
Halfway up the western coast of Mindoro, Admiral Kimura ran into Lieut.
Swart’s two PTs, hustling back to get into the scrap. Just after
midnight the two boat skippers and the Japanese discovered each other
simultaneously. The Japanese illuminated 220 with a searchlight and
fired dangerously accurate salvos—the first good shooting that force had
done that night.
Lieut. (jg) Harry Griffin, Jr., closed his 223 to 4,000 yards and fired
both his starboard fish. Three minutes later a long lance of flame shot
up from the ship’s side and she went under the waves.
The next afternoon PTs picked up five Japanese sailors from the water.
They were survivors of the brand new destroyer _Kiyoshimo_, victim of
Lieut. Griffin’s steady eye.
The worst ordeal of the Mindoro landings was prepared on December 27th,
when a resupply convoy shaped up near Dulag on Leyte Island. The convoy
led off with 25 LSTs in five columns of five ships; next came three
Liberty ships, one Navy tanker, six Army tankers, two aviation gasoline
tankers and the PT tender _Orestes_ in five columns at the center of the
convoy; last came 23 LCIs in five columns. Nine destroyers formed an
outer screen; 29 PTs formed an inner screen on each flank.
Aboard the _Orestes_ was Captain G. F. Mentz, commander of the
Diversionary Attack Group of LCIs and PTs which was being moved to
Mindoro for mounting amphibious landings behind the Japanese lines.
A Japanese night snooper spotted the convoy about 4 A.M. on December
28th, and at the same time the convoy commander learned that the weather
was so bad over Leyte airfields that he could expect no air cover until
noon the next day. Unfortunately the weather was fine over the
convoy—perfect weather for the _kamikazes_ to draw a bead on the slow
ships of the supply train.
In midmorning three planes attacked. The first tried to crash-dive the
LCIs and was shot down by LCI 1076. Another overshot the aviation
gasoline tanker _Porcupine_, and splashed.
The third _kamikaze_ made perhaps the most spectacular suicide crash of
the war. It hit the _John Burke_, a merchant ship loaded with
ammunition, and pilot, plane, ship, cargo, and crew disappeared in a
blinding flash. A small Army freighter went down with the _John Burke_.
The LCI flagship, LCI 624, ran to the rescue, but only two heads bobbed
in the water, both survivors of the Army ship, and one of those died
almost immediately. All sixty-eight merchant sailors had been vaporized
in the explosion.
Another _kamikaze_ hit the merchant ship _William Ahearne_ on the
bridge, setting it on fire. The ship was towed back to Leyte. Loss of
this ship was a sad blow to the forces ashore at Mindoro, for included
in her cargo was a large stock of beer.
Friendly air cover arrived and ran off that particular flight of planes,
but the convoy was under almost constant attack that night. In the
moonlight, about 7 P.M., a torpedo bomber put a fatal fish into LST 750.
Three LCIs each shot down a plane. Sailors on the LCI flagship had the
harrowing experience of hearing a torpedo scrape along the ship’s flat
bottom from stem to stem without exploding. Some of the LCIs had
surgical units aboard, and many of the wounded were run over to these
handy, impromptu hospital ships.
Air attack was incessant, in daylight and dark, and too monotonously
similar to recount in detail unless there was scoring.
During the morning of December 30th, three planes were shot down, one by
a PT that knocked down its victim as the _kamikaze_ was diving on an
escorting destroyer.
The last attack of the morning came just as the convoy was entering the
harbor at San Jose. The landing-craft flagship shot down a _kamikaze_
with a short burst of 40 mm.
Inside Mangarin Bay the ships hurried with the stevedoring, because the
sailors were eager to leave this unfriendly land. No planes appeared
until almost 4 P.M.
Five Japanese dive-bombers pierced the friendly fighter cover and
whistled down from 14,000 feet in their suicide dives. One hit the
destroyer _Pringle_ and did only light damage. Another hit the aviation
gasoline tanker _Porcupine_ with such an impact that its engine went
clear through the decks and out the bottom, tearing a large hole in the
hull. Seven men were killed and eight wounded. The stern burst into
flames, a dangerous development on a ship carrying a tankful of aviation
gasoline forward.
The fourth plane dove on the destroyer _Gansevoort_ and crashed it
amidships. The main deck was peeled back like the lid of an empty
sardine can. The impact cut power lines and set fires, but caused
surprisingly light casualties.
The destroyer _Wilson_ came alongside and exercised the fire-fighting
crew by putting them aboard the Gansevoort to fight the flames.
The _Gansevoort_ was towed to the PT base. There she was given the
bizarre task of torpedoing the burning _Porcupine_ to knock off the
blazing stern before the fire reached the gasoline tanks forward. The
trick didn’t work, for the blast just spread burning gasoline on the
water, endangering the _Gansevoort_ herself and setting new fires, so
she had to be towed to a new anchorage. There she was abandoned, but a
volunteer crew of a nearby PT boarded the destroyer and put out the
fires. _Porcupine_ burned to the waterline.
The most grievous blow of the _kamikaze_ attack, however, was struck at
the PT navy.
The fifth Japanese dive bomber dove on the PT tender _Orestes_, was hit
by tracers from PTs and LCIs, hit the water and bounced upward into the
starboard side of the tender. The plane’s bombs punched through the side
and exploded within, blowing many officers and men into the bay. The
ship burst into violent flame, and fire mains were ruptured by the
blast. Fifty-nine men were killed and 106 seriously wounded.
The waters around the _Orestes_ were teeming with swimming sailors, and
PTs bustled about, pulling in the stunned survivors of the blast.
The LCI 624 went alongside and Commander A. V. Jannotta, the LCI
flotilla commander, led a volunteer fire-fighting and rescue party
aboard the ship, which had become a hell of exploding ammunition and
burning aviation gasoline.
Commander Jannotta was awarded a Navy Cross for his heroic salvage work
of that afternoon. Captain Mentz had been severely wounded in the
_kamikaze_ blast, and his chief of staff, Commander John Kremer, Jr.,
had been killed, so Commander Jannotta took over as commander of the
whole task group. He was given a Silver Star for his performance in that
capacity.
Led by Lieut. Commander Davis, many PT sailors went aboard the burning
_Orestes_ to pull wounded shipmates out of the fire.
By 9:45 P.M., flames were out on the _Orestes_ and Commander Jannotta
lashed an LCI to either side and pushed it up on the beach.
At dusk, PTs and LCIs scattered and hugged the shoreline, to make the
worst possible targets for night marauders. The small craft had good
reason to be shaken. The five _kamikazes_ had made 100 per cent hits,
and any weapon that is 100 per cent effective is a fearsome weapon.
That same night four PTs shot down a plane as they left the bay on
patrol.
Early in the morning of New Year’s Day, 1945, bombers came over the base
again. One fragmentation bomb killed 11 men and seriously wounded ten
others, most of them survivors of the _Orestes_.
The _kamikazes_ were not through with the Mindoro shipping. On the
afternoon of January 4th, PTs 78 and 81 set fire to one of four enemy
fighters that flew over the bay. Trailing smoke and flame, the plane
glided into the side of the ammunition ship _Lewis Dyche_, anchored a
quarter mile from the two PTs.
The ship exploded with a roar, taking her 71 merchant sailors to the
bottom with her and lifting the PTs out of the water. The concussion
badly damaged the boat hulls; two PT sailors were killed and ten men
wounded by the blast and falling debris. It was the last visit of the
_kamikazes_ to Mindoro, but a spectacular one.
As Commander Jannotta said in his report: “This new weapon employed by
the enemy—the suicide diver or human torpedo—constitutes a serious
threat to naval forces and to shipping.”
The Mindoro PTs won a Navy Unit Commendation which read:
As the only naval force present after retirement of the invasion
convoy, this task unit served as the major obstruction to enemy
counterlandings from nearby Luzon, Panay, and Palawan, and bore the
brunt of concentrated hostile air attacks through a five-day period,
providing the only antiaircraft protection available for persons
ashore. The gallant officers and men ... maintained a vigilant watch
by night and stood out into the open waters close to base by day to
fight off repeated Japanese bombing, strafing, and suicide attacks,
expending in three days the ammunition which had been expected to last
approximately three weeks in the destruction or damaging of a large
percentage of attacking planes.
When fighter planes began to fly in Mindoro, Americans went ashore on
Luzon. Some hard fighting remained, but the war was nearing the end.
The last two PTs lost in the war were, sadly enough, victims of their
own mates.
During the landings at Nasugbu, in western Luzon, on the night of
January 31st, ships of the screen were attacked by twenty or more
Japanese midget submarines. One of the little craft sank the PC 1129.
Immediately afterward the destroyer escort _Lough_ attacked a swarm of
thirty or more _kamikaze_ explosive boats. Naturally the screen vessels
were nervous about small vessels in those waters.
On the following night, Lieut. John H. Stillman set out to hunt the
suicide flotillas with PTs 77 and 79. (The 77 had already been treated
roughly by friendlies; it was the boat damaged by American Army bombers
during the repulse of Admiral Kimura’s bombardment flotilla.)
Lieut. Stillman’s orders were to stay south of Talim Point, because the
American destroyers were patrolling north of there. While the PTs were
still three miles south of Talim Point—well within their assigned
area—they ran into the destroyer escort _Lough_, the same ship that had
shot up the explosive boats the night before, and the destroyer
_Conyngham_.
The _Lough_ fired starshells and the PTs fled south at high speed,
trying to identify themselves by radio and signal light. The destroyers
meanwhile were trying to raise the boats by radio but failed. They did
not see the PT light signals.
The PTs still might have escaped, but hard luck 77 picked that evil
moment to run aground. A shell from _Lough_ hit her, blowing the crew
into the water. The _Lough_ shifted fire to 79, and hit her on the
portside. The boat exploded and sank, carrying down with her the
skipper, Lieut. (jg) Michael A. Haughian, Joseph E. Klesh, MoMM1c, and
Vincent A. Berra, QM3c.
The 30 survivors of the two boats, swimming in the light of the burning
77, assembled and held a muster. Besides the three dead on the 79,
Lieut. Stillman was missing. He was never seen again.
The shipwrecked sailors swam together to an enemy-held shore two miles
away. Guerrillas sheltered them until February 3rd, when they were
picked up by PTs 227 and 230.
On March 2, 1945, just two weeks short of three years after he left the
Rock on Lieut. Bulkeley’s PT, General MacArthur landed on recaptured
Corregidor. Finally, he had returned. And he returned the same way he
had left—by PT 373.
In the last days of the war, the PTs fought the familiar kind of mop-up
action against bypassed pockets of Japanese troops that they had been
fighting for three years in the Pacific. Nightly patrols fought minor
actions, but targets became harder and harder to find. When the war
ended on August 14, 1945, the Japanese came out of the woods and the PTs
learned for the first time the tremendous enemy power they had kept
bottled up far from the fighting front.
At Halmahera, for instance, six PTs picked up Lieut. General Ishii,
Commanding General of the army forces there, and Captain Fujita, Naval
Commander, and took them to 93rd Division headquarters on Morotai, where
they surrendered 37,000 troops, 4,000 Japanese civilians, 19,000 rifles,
900 cannon, 600 machine guns, and a mountain of miscellaneous supplies.
For almost a year the PTs of Morotai—down to two understaffed squadrons
at the end—had held at bay a Japanese force powerful enough, in the days
of Japanese glory, to conquer whole nations and to hold vast stretches
of conquered lands in iron control.
The Japanese themselves paid the top tribute to the PT fleet. “The enemy
has used PT boats aggressively,” one of their tactical publications
read, “On their account our naval ships have had many a bitter pill to
swallow.”
So much for the past of the torpedo boat. What about its future?
The PT fleet was quickly disbanded after the war. Today, although the
Soviet navy has more than 500 motor torpedo boats—according to _Jane’s
Fighting Ships_—and even though Soviet-built torpedo boats ply Cuban
waters almost within sight of American shores, the U. S. Navy has not a
single PT in commission.
But in the waters of Long Island Sound and in sheltered bays on the
Pacific Coast strange craft are roaring about—experimental craft that
lift out of the water to skim along on hydrofoils at dazzling speeds
(though even the modern hydrofoil cannot attain the breath-taking speeds
ascribed to the PTs by overeager reporters during the days of the
MacArthur rescue run).
The Navy is puttering about with these hydrofoils, arming them with
homing torpedoes, experimenting with tactics to use against swift
nuclear submarines—the capital ships of future navies.
There may again be a job in the Navy for the dashing young sailor who
prefers the swift give and take of small-boat service to the staid and
plodding duty on ships of the line. There may still be room in America’s
arsenal for David’s giant-killing slingshot.
_Appendix 1_
Specifications, Armament, and Crew
American PT boats, with only a few exceptions, were of two types,
78-foot Higgins-built boats and 80-foot Elcos. Draft to the tips of
propellers was five feet six inches. Power supply was from three Packard
V-12 engines giving 4,500 shaft horsepower. Tanks held 3,000 gallons of
high-octane gasoline and 200 gallons of potable water. Normal crew was
three officers and 14 men, though the complement varied widely under
combat conditions. The boat could carry enough provisions for about five
days. The boat weighed 121,000 pounds, of which 30,000 were contributed
by four torpedoes and tubes, a 40 mm., two twin 50 caliber, and one
20-mm. antiaircraft gun, one 37-mm. cannon, two rocket launchers with
eight 5-inch rockets, a 60-mm. mortar, and a smoke-screen generator. In
combat, PT skippers often improvised other armaments to adapt to local
conditions. Pound for pound, the PT boat was by far the most heavily
armed vessel afloat. Top speed under ideal conditions was 43 knots.
Conditions were seldom ideal.
_Appendix 2_
Losses Suffered by PT Squadrons
Destroyed by surface ships:
by gunfire, 5;
by ramming, 1 (this one, 109, was destined to become one of the most
famous boats of all time, because of the subsequent employment
of its skipper, John F. Kennedy).
Destroyed by aircraft:
strafing, 1;
bombing, 4;
_kamikaze_, 2.
Destroyed by shore batteries: 5.
Destroyed by mines: 4.
Damaged by surface ships and beached to prevent capture: 1.
Lost in transit on transports sunk: 2.
Grounded in enemy waters and destroyed to prevent capture: 18.
Destroyed to prevent capture: 3 (the boats left behind by Lt.
Bulkeley’s squadron on quitting the Philippines).
Destroyed by U. S. aircraft: 3;
by Australian aircraft, 2.
Destroyed by surface friendlies: 2.
Destroyed possibly by enemy shore battery, possibly by friendly
destroyer: 1.
Lost in storms: 5.
Destroyed by fire and explosion in port: 6.
Destroyed in collision: 3.
Total: 69.
_Appendix 3_
Decorations Won by PT Sailors
Congressional Medal of Honor: 2.
Navy Cross: 19, plus two Oak Leaf Clusters.
Distinguished Service Medal: 1.
Distinguished Service Cross, Army, with Oak Leaf Cluster: 1.
Distinguished Service Cross, Army: 2.
Distinguished Service Medal, Army: 1.
Silver Star with Oak Leaf Cluster: 30.
Silver Star: 342.
Legion of Merit, Degree of Officer: 1.
Legion of Merit with Gold Star: 2.
Legion of Merit: 29.
Navy and Marine Corps: 57 (including one awarded to John F. Kennedy).
Bronze Star with Gold Star: 4.
Bronze Star: 383.
Commendation Ribbon with Gold Star: 3.
Commendation Ribbon: 120.
Distinguished Conduct Star, Philippines Government: 4.
Distinguished Service Cross, British: 6.
Distinguished Service Medal, British: 2.
[Illustration: Camouflage paint and nets protect PT boats from detection
by Japanese air patrols. (New Guinea, 1943)]
[Illustration: High-speed, lightweight “Mosquitoes” on patrol at Midway
(1943)]
[Illustration: The old and the new: Filipino outriggers and PT boats
combine forces for a sea rescue operation. (1944)]
[Illustration: PT boats not only spot and attack Japanese craft, but
also pick up survivors. (Battle of Surigao Strait, 1944)]
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Transcriber’s Notes
--Silently corrected a few typos.
--Retained publication information from the printed edition: this eBook
is public-domain in the country of publication.
--In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by
_underscores_.