"Later I had no recollection of unbuttoning the flap of my holster, drawing the 45, or charging..."
On
the 24th of November 1942 I was advised that, effective as of 1 November,
I had been promoted to Aviation Machinist Mate First Class. Not long afterward Barnes announced that I
was the leading petty officer of the engine shop. It was a bit mind-boggling to me because I
had still been in the Navy for only two years and four months but it was gratifying
to feel that I was successfully doing my small part in the war.
New
Caledonia is not a part of the tropical south Pacific. It is too far south and there was nary a palm
tree to be seen. The main island is
heavily forested and, according to the New Zealanders from whom we took over
the base in Ile Nou, at the time was populated in the hills by natives who were
cannibals. The Kiwis told us some
hair-raising tales about savages that would come down from the hills and paddle
out to Ile Nou in canoes. They (the Anzacs)
solemnly assured us that more than one of their sentries had been clubbed to
death or knifed in the middle of the night. We were sure that such tales were pure
malarkey but they did contribute to a memorable night when I was base petty
officer of the watch and fired the one deadly shot of my wartime career.
Our
little base on Ile Nou was not fenced but there was a perimeter road around it
that ran along the brow of the low hills on either side. There was a total of nine or ten sentry posts
along the perimeter road that were manned during the hours of darkness. It was the duty of the leading petty officer
of the watch to make hourly checks of the sentries that walked the posts
carrying rifles.
One
warm night in December (it was summer “down under”) I was posted as leading
petty officer of the midnight to 0400 watch.
At 0200 I set out, armed with a Colt 45 automatic in a holster on my
hip, to check my sentry posts. I went up
the hill to the north toward the leper colony moving very quietly as a result
of all those hours I had spent in the Ozark woods stalking squirrels and
practicing moving noiselessly through the darkness.
There
were two sentry posts along the perimeter road along the brow of the hill. There was no moon but the starlight was
sufficient that I could see that the road was empty. Neither of the sentries (not members of my
engine crew) were anywhere to be seen and did not answer when I softly called
out.
I
moved along the road and, to my dismay, found both watch standers sitting on a
low embankment sound asleep. Apparently
they had sat down to chat a minute or share a smoke and both had fallen
asleep. It came to me with a shiver along
my spine that sleeping on watch in wartime is a court-martial offense
punishable in the extreme by execution.
It
was agonizing. I knew that my
responsibility by Navy Regulations was to arrest the two and report them to the
OOD. They would certainly be court-martialed
and it did occur to me that the death penalty was unlikely since we were not
actually in a combat zone.
I
stood over the sleeping men for two or three minutes then came to a
decision. Their weapons were held
loosely between their knees. I reached
down and took both rifles in the course of which both men woke with a
start. They leaped to their feet and
came to attention, both obviously terrified.
I was pointing the rifles directly at their belt buckles.
Neither
man was a personal acquaintance of mine but I knew that both were fairly recent
recruits and were still seamen first class.
One of them reminded me of my y9unger brother Rex. I also recalled the nights that I had stood
the mid-watch by our airplanes on the ramp at Kaneohe and, on one occasion, had
come so close to falling asleep leaning against an airplane that I nearly
dropped my rifle.
It
was simply beyond me to put the two frightened young men on report. Instead, in a low voice as cold as I could
make it, I ripped them up one side and down the other. I do not recall my words but they were harsh
as I reminded them of the possible consequences of sleeping on watch. They stood ramrod straight and shivered as
they took it.
Finally
I grounded the butts of the rifles then handed them back to the chastened two
and said, “Look, it wouldn’t be any satisfaction to me to turn you in and I’m
going to make you a deal. My butt would
really be in a sling for not putting you on report if word of this got out and
so would yours so you are not to breathe a word to anyone!
“From
now on every time I have a watch I am going to make sure you are on it. Whenever I check your posts—and you never know
I’m coming—I want to find you on your feet, your weapon on your shoulder,
walking your post. Furthermore, I want
to hear you challenge me and make me advance to be recognized just like it says
in the book! Now, shoulder arms and get
with it!”
The
men moved off marching their posts and I turned and took a shortcut down the
hillside toward the watch shack to make my report to the OOD that all was well at
0200 hours. Just down from the road I
stepped up on a small boulder. In the
starlight I could see something that looked like a log lying beneath the
boulder so I stepped down on it, forgetting that there are no long sized trees
on Ile Nou.
When
my weight hit the “log” three was a sudden “OOF!” as if the breath were going
out of someone. The thing rolled and I
went sprawling. As I fell, a thought of
the Kiwis’ tales about the savages flashed through my mind. I rolled in midair and hit the ground on my
back. There against the skyline I could
see what appeared to be a man getting to his hands and knees. My flashlight had gone flying out of my hand.
Later
I had no recollection of unbuttoning the flap of my holster, drawing the 45, or
charging it but I must have done that in midair as it was in my hand. As the shape moved without challenge or hesitation
I fired. In the quiet of the early
morning hours, the boom of that 45 sounded like a 16-inch naval rifle! There was a sort of squeal and the dark form
went down.
Lights
came on all over the base. Still holding
the gun on the inert form, I found my flashlight. I heard the duty officer’s jeep come to life
so I signaled it with the light then shined it on the “man” I had shot. When the duty officer skidded to a halt beside
me he found me staring down at a very large and very dead pig. My shot had hit it just below one eye and had
blown a sizeable chunk out of the other side of the head—and I never could have
hit the broadside of a barn with a handgun on the target range!
Men,
including my two sentries from up the hill, came running from all directions—many
of them in their skivvies. I explained
what had happened to the OOD. He laughed
ruefully and said, “Oh hell, go call out the duty cook to butcher this
thing. We’ll have some fresh pork for
breakfast—which will be a nice change from those beans and Spam!”
That,
of course, was not the end of it. I took
an unmerciful ribbing from my shipmates although tempered by admiration that I
was apparently a dead shot with a forty-five.
(I chose not to mention my scores on the target range with a pistol!)
The
next afternoon a very mad French farmer from the leper colony was in the
commanding officer’s office raising Cain about our shooting his “best and
finest sow” as well as the interpreter could understand his voluble
sputtering. I never did find out what
the Navy paid him but he finally went away somewhat mollified.
