A waxing moon painted the quiet waves of the Solomon Islands with a touch of silver as they lazily lapped to shore on the night of 11–12 December 1942. But like many a night in Iron Bottom Sound, this peace would not last. Suddenly, the roar of engines tore through the calm. Men barked orders as torpedoes flew into the water. Seconds later, a great explosion illuminated the sea as shots rang out into the night. Flames bathed the dark South Pacific in a macabre orange, and the shadows of warships danced across it. The loud crack of heavy gunfire soon joined the cacophony until once again, the night turned bright with another massive explosion.
Then, silence. The sounds of motors faded into the distance, and the seas turned placid once more. All that remained of the battle were the groans of the injured around their sinking ship. Though neither side knew it at the time, this short engagement would prove pivotal in the sway of the arduous Guadalcanal campaign. It would be the final chapter in the at-sea career of one of Japan’s most distinguished admirals and would temporarily halt the famous "Tokyo Express” supply runs to Guadalcanal.
An Essential Task
The events leading to the night battle on 11–12 December started four days earlier at a desk in the Shortland Islands. An urgent letter had come through to Rear Admiral Raizo Tanaka, and he finally realized he had no choice. With the sinking of the submarine I-3 on 9 December, and after yet another failed Tokyo Express run due to “the presence of enemy planes and motor torpedo boats” on 5 December, the situation of the Japanese Army on Guadalcanal was desperate.1 It was so desperate, in fact, that Admiral Yamamoto himself had sent Tanaka a personal message. Tanaka had to make it through.
The eclectic assortment of vessels Tanaka commanded in Bougainville had been bolstered by the arrival of ships from the 17th and 9th Destroyer Divisions, along with the new Akizuki-class destroyer Teruzuki.2 Not only did the Teruzuki have one of the most up-to-date gunnery suites of any Japanese destroyer, but she had already put it to use. On 13 November the Teruzuki had used her new fire control and rapid-fire 100mm guns to devastating effect, crippling the USS Sterett (DD-407) and helping sink the USS Laffey (DD-459) and Monssen (DD-436) before launching torpedoes the next night at the battleship USS South Dakota (BB-57). Tried, tested, and capable, it was on the Teruzuki that Tanaka would choose to fly his flag.3
Setting Up a Surprise
Even with all the added firepower, Tanaka was running a transport mission, not a combat one. Six of his 11 destroyers were weighed down by barrels full of supplies that the thousands of soldiers still stranded on Guadalcanal sorely needed.4 Still, nearly half of his force was armed for combat. Tanaka knew the dangers of his assignment, but the hero of Tassafaronga had been to hell and back many times, and he would not be deterred. On the afternoon of 11 December, the Teruzuki would lead a formation of battle-hardened ships once more into the bloodied waters of Iron Bottom Sound.5
As dusk set over the Solomon Islands, the small island of Tulagi was brimming with activity.6 U.S. intelligence was reporting that the Japanese were trying to run the Tokyo Express. A task force of ships was running down the “the Slot,” as the New Georgia Sound was known. Marine SBD dive bombers had spotted and attacked the force, but without much success.7 The task of stopping them now fell to the Navy’s PT boats.
Built small, fast, and dangerous with their armament of four Mk-8 torpedoes, PT boats already had seen extensive action in the area.8 Relying on surprise, these boats tended to hunt their large prey at night. If surprise had been achieved, they would throttle up to make the final sprint to a distance less than 1,000 yards from their target, release their “fish,” and disappear back into the dark.9 These were high-risk, high-reward maneuvers that perfectly suited their young and aggressive captains.
As their boats’ modified V12 engines spurred them up the coast of Guadalcanal, the crews, commanded by the experienced Lester H. Gamble in PT-37, must have wondered what lay in store for them.10 Many of their operations saw them engaging landing barges and troop ships, but the fact that this formation of vessels had escaped U.S. aircraft unscathed and then chosen to continue toward Guadalcanal must have caused some worry. It was not every day that the tiny wooden boats armed with four torpedoes, light weapons, and the courage of their crews were asked to go into combat against a full destroyer group. Gamble and his men, though, were no newcomers to the area. Behind PT-37 and kicking up wakes of their own were the boats of Stilly Taylor in PT-40 and Bill Kreiner in PT-48. Farther back were Frank Freeland’s PT-44 and Charlie Tilden’s PT-110.11 All of these men had tasted combat before, and all of them understood the importance of their mission.
After months of combating the persistent Japanese nighttime resupply missions known as the Tokyo Express, the PT boats now had routine interception points to face whatever might come down the Slot. Off the northwestern tip of Guadalcanal, Freeland’s PT-44 and PT-110 had been assigned to Kamimbo Bay, where the choppy waters that tossed and turned the small boats earned the assignment the nickname “the bitch patrol.”12 On the more sheltered eastern end, Gamble’s PT-37 alongside PT-40 and PT-48 made their way off the shoreline. They brought their engines to an idle as they took sheltered positions by the coast. The silence gave them the key advantage they soon would need: surprise.
Patience Pays Off
Hours passed, and the orange glow of the sun was replaced by a silver sheen of moonlight, illuminating the crests of the waves around the boat crews as they waited silently in the gloom. The Japanese were out there, and Gamble knew that when he found them, he would only get one chance. Plenty of PT boats already had met their ends after the slightest missteps against the enemy. All it took was one shell.
Even in the calm sound, currents pushed the small boats farther and farther apart until, by around 0100, Gamble knew only their general position off Guadalcanal.13 Still, he did not lose his focus, his crew peering into the darkness for any sign of the Japanese. At 0115 his patience paid off.14 Shadows in the murk headed toward him from his southeast.15 Around him, PT-40 and PT-48 had locked in on the approaching targets as well. Ship after ship appeared in a line, steaming back toward the entrance of the Slot. All three crews noticed something else: A ship was abreast of the main formation, far closer both to the island and to them. Gamble would have his chance.
As the seconds crept by and the three PT boats waited for the Japanese ships to close in, the crews could only pray that they had not been spotted. After a few more agonizing minutes, the silence hanging in the air was replaced by the roar of PT boat engines, each crew homing in on the shadow that loomed larger in front of them as they closed. The crews held their course with a grim determination. Their boats nearly skipped through the water, desperately clawing away the yards to their targets.16
Finally, sharp blasts of compressed air and the dull thud of his boat’s torpedoes hitting the water told Gamble that half his job was done. Wheeling his PT-37 around, he headed back for the cover and safety of Guadalcanal. Around him, both PT-40 and PT-48 followed suit seconds later, the three boat crews waiting for the sight of Japanese shells overhead as they sped to safety.17 Instead, a few seconds later they heard a tremendous roar as thousands of pounds of water soared skyward. They had hit their mark: none other than Tanaka’s flagship, the Teruzuki. One of their torpedoes had struck home near the aft of the ship, immediately rendering the Teruzuki unnavigable and throwing Tanaka himself unconscious to the deck.18 The next Japanese ship in line, the Naganami, quickly came alongside to receive the limp body of their commander as he was transferred from his stricken ship. Around the two ships, more destroyers began to pull out of line to assist, the whole scene bathed in an orange glow as leaking fuel on the Teruzuki ignited, illuminating the crippled Japanese ship for miles.
To their north Frank Freeland, the skipper of PT-44, listened intently to his radio. From what he could hear, Gamble had found his man, the results of which were playing out—all while he led PT-110 through choppy and barren waters to the north.19 The Japanese had clearly been found, and Freeland knew Gamble only had three boats at his disposal. So he wheeled PT-44 around, and, with PT-110 in close tow, sped south toward the sound and light of action.
A Desperate Engagement
They arrived on the scene to find carnage. Gamble’s boats had cleared the area, leaving the Teruzuki battling fierce fires on her stern. Eager to find more targets, Freeland charged in, his boat passing the stern of the crippled Japanese destroyer. As his crew scanned the horizon for new targets, an officer, Chuck Melhorn, pointed out the danger of their situation.20 By moving so close to the burning Teruzuki they had illuminated themselves. Suddenly, a cry from another crewman rang out as Freeland saw what he feared most. A massive black shadow emerged from the gloom as the Arashi entered the scene. But this destroyer seemed not to notice Freeland’s tiny boat and instead moved to assist the burning Japanese flagship. Jumping at the opportunity, Freeland lined up his boat for an attack—until he heard another callout. Two more destroyers had appeared, sandwiching his illuminated ship between themselves and Savo Island to the north, cutting off his escape route back to Guadalcanal. In the chaos, PT-110 had managed to slip away, meaning whatever decision he made now, Freeland was on his own.
Not wanting to disengage toward Savo just yet, Freeland ordered his ship to face the two new destroyers before he spotted more movement in the haze. Two more destroyers, the Kawakaze and Suzukaze, had finally spotted the PT boat in the light of the burning Teruzuki, and they were out for revenge. Freeland wheeled PT-44 around, laying smoke as the two Japanese ships bore down on him,21 the crack of their guns giving way to the whistle of shells churning the sea around the fleeing boat. Hoping to take cover near its dark shoreline, Freeland fled toward Savo Island, wheeling his boat through the walls of water that erupted around him. Just south of Savo, the shell splashes seemed to let up. Freeland wheeled his boat around; he would not go the night without firing his torpedoes.22
Once again, PT-44 launched itself into the gloom until, out of the murk, came the bow of a Japanese destroyer. Freeland desperately turned PT-44 about once more, but this time, it was too late. The Japanese gunners had found the range, and a 5-inch shell tore into PT-44’s engine room. Men dove over the side as more 5-inch shells found their mark, blasting PT-44 into splinters. While Chuck Melhon came back to the surface, Freeland did not. Only two of PT-44’s crew would survive.
As the sounds of battle faded into the night, the stricken Japanese force turned back to their flagship. Their situation seemed only to get worse. Fire reached the aft powder magazines for the Teruzuki’s 100mm guns, and the Japanese destroyer buckled under a massive explosion. There was no longer any choice. Captain Tsuneo Orita ordered the Teruzuki’s Kingston valves open even as his ship began to slip beneath the waves.23 By 0440, the destroyer sank.24 Around her, the Arashi and Naganami picked up survivors, rescuing 196 men, while another 156 were forced to swim to Kamimbo. As the sun rose, save for a few men still swimming for safety, the gentle lapping of the waves over Iron Bottom Sound left no trace of the night’s chaos.
Gamble and his men, through fearlessness and determination, had once again put a pause to the critically important Tokyo Express. In just a few minutes’ time, they had felled the single largest warship sunk by any PT boat during the war. On the other side, the sinking of the Teruzuki forced an end to the vaunted Tanaka’s at-sea career. He would be reassigned to Burma for the rest of the war. Only a few months later, Japanese high command would officially begin the evacuation Operation Ke, bringing a close to the Guadalcanal campaign after more than six months.
1. Jeffrey Cox, Blazing Star, Setting Sun: The Guadalcanal-Solomons Campaign, November 1942–March 1943 (London: Bloomsbury Publishing, 2020), 268.
2. David C Evans, ed., The Japanese Navy in World War II: In the Words of Former Japanese Naval Officers (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2017), 205.
3. Evans, Japanese Navy in World War II, 205.
4. Cox, Blazing Star, Setting Sun, 268.
5. Evans, Japanese Navy in World War II, 205.
6. Ian W. Toll, The Conquering Tide: War in the Pacific Islands, 1942–1944 (New York: W.W. Norton, 2016), 179.
7. Richard B. Frank, Guadalcanal: The Definitive Account of the Landmark Battle (New York: Penguin, 1992), 523.
8. Frank D. Johnson, United States PT-Boats of World War II in Action (London: Blandford Press, 1980), 108.
9. CAPT Robert J. Bulkley, USNR (Ret.), At Close Quarters: PT Boats in the United States Navy (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 2012), 60.
10. Johnson, PT-Boats of World War II, 108.
11. Johnson, 108.
12. Johnson, 108.
13. Johnson, 108.
14. Cox, Blazing Star, Setting Sun, 269.
15. Evans, Japanese Navy in World War II, 205.
16. Frank, Guadalcanal, 523.
17. Evans, Japanese Navy in World War II, 206.
18. Evans, Japanese Navy in World War II, 205.
19. Cox, Blazing Star, Setting Sun, 268.
20. Johnson, PT-Boats of World War II, 108.
21. Frank, Guadalcanal, 524.
22. Johnson, PT-Boats of World War II, 110.
23. Nishiura Susumu, ed., Senshi Sōsho, vol. 83, Nanto Homen Kaigun Sakusen (SE Area Naval Operations Until Guadalcanal Evacuation) (Tokyo: Asagumo Shimbun Sha, 1975), https://usnwcarchives.org/repositories/2/archival_objects/58229.
24. Cox, Blazing Star, Setting Sun, 269.