Orote peninsula protrudes some three miles to the westward from the main body of the island of Guam, and forms the south side of Apra harbor. On this point of land was to be built the Naval Operating Base, and here the first group of Lion Six went ashore on July 23, 1944, two days after D-day. The Marines of the First Provisional Brigade had made their initial landings at Agat just south of the area the base was to occupy, and as a result of the heavy fighting the place was a shambles. The enemy had suffered over a thousand casualties there, the roads and beaches were still full of mines in spite of the efforts of the Bomb and Mine Disposal units, there was still little shelter from snipers, and no water was available. However, it was necessary to get the Garrison Beach Party (the B4D Component) and the Port Director organization ashore and functioning as soon as possible, and to commence operating boats for unloading ships, so the early birds took their equipment on their back and went ashore and pitched their pup tents wherever they could find shelter from enemy bullets.
The first two weeks were pretty rugged, but by the end of that time wall tents were being put up and a hut to be used as a galley was under way. A dugout was also constructed as a command post and headquarters for the Commanding Officer. In front of it was placed a unique distinguishing emblem—a Japanese sign post. There were many conjectures as to the meaning of the characters inscribed on it. Among the guesses were suggestions that it said “General’s Quarters,” or that it marked the habitat of Geisha girls. However, in due time an interpreter unraveled the mystery; it said “Fire Plug 12.”
It is impossible for anyone who has not taken part in such an expedition to imagine the mosquitoes, mud, and rain. Lion Six landed in the rainy season; the ground was constantly churned up by jeeps and trucks, and supplies were being dumped everywhere in the soggy mire. The situation was definitely a case of “organized confusion,” which is an entirely different thing from “disorganized confusion.” The first group to land was self-sufficient and carried on while snipers’ bullets sang overhead and the Marines were blasting the caves in the area with flame throwers to exterminate the remaining Japs. But it was not enough to be self-sufficient. There were thousands of men to come, and preparations must be made. Shelter, water, food, and sanitary facilities were needed.
The “confusion” on the beaches was under the close supervision of the Beachmasters. These especially trained officers were in charge of picked groups of men whose duties included supervision of the landing and retraction of landing craft, the control of offshore boat traffic, and the maintenance of ship-to-shore communications. The Beach- master’s party had to make sure that boats were landed as close to supply dumps as possible, that the immediate needs of the shore party were met, and that craft were dispatched to the beach in order of priorities in an attempt to avoid congestion.
All those who had been in previous undertakings in any way resembling the present one realized that upon the shoulders of the Beachmaster rested the success or failure of the initial unloading. His ability meant the difference between getting the necessary supplies ashore in good order, under competent supervision, and having everything dumped in a mess, some of it lost in the water, some pilfered, and some smashed. To obviate these troubles, Lieutenant A. O. Ring, U. S. Naval Reserve, had been placed in charge as Beach- master. His party was well trained, and functioned efficiently during the entire assault and the early phases of occupation, directing the landings on the beaches at Agana, Piti, and Dadi, generally under enemy fire. Another Garrison Beach Party took over the beachmaster functions at Sumay, in Apra harbor.
The Beachmasters were perhaps the hardest working of all the overworked personnel in those early days. A letter from Lieutenant Ring to Captain Becker of Lion Six gives the vivid story of the landing on the beach and the struggles during the first few days:
Dear Captain Becker:
I’ll try to describe some of the work done by your B4D number 5 component. At Asan, on Blue, Green, and Red beaches, we were kept very busy with radio and field telephone communication between the Division Shore Party Command Post and the ships off the beaches regarding supplies needed ashore and the number of beds aboard ship for the wounded. For several days there was a scarcity of anti-gas gangrene serum. We communicated requests for whatever amount could be sent ashore to several ships, and forwarded results to the Third Marine Division Hospital, and also to the Evacuation Center. Assistance was given in evacuating the wounded. Some of our boys ran a rehabilitation shop for abandoned small arms found in the sand and foxholes. These weapons (mainly rifles) were wiped clean of sand and rust, adjusted and oiled, and turned over to the Marines who needed such arms when going to the combat line. The Marines found out that we were doing this, and we had many customers daily, never getting a surplus of more than a dozen or so rehabilitated rifles in stock.
Minor storms coupled with high tides at night often drove many of the pontoon barges over the reef and high and dry. We would sometimes start the day with half a dozen or more of the big five-by-twelves and smaller three-by-sevens high on the beach or stranded in the lagoon. By means of bulldozers and lines from the tug Apache these barges were worked off the beach and reef each morning. Finally we were able to round up enough concrete clumps ashore to be of some use. We sent a couple of LVT loads of these seaward of the reef; and after the concrete had been tied in clumps with wire ropes, and drums and cables attached, they were dumped over the side with the aid of the Apache’s boom, to anchor the mooring buoys for the barges.
Collins, S2c, to whom you awarded the Purple Heart, was our only casualty—from fragments of a Jap booby trap or mine. At one time the Japs got the correct range of our reefs and put a number of mortar shells exactly where an LST had been unloading on the reef half an hour before. The LST had already moved out, so no harm was done.
Daily tonnage unloaded at Piti by pontoon barges, LCVP’s, LCM’s, and LST’s and delivered to the Marine shore party commander for trucking went as high as 2,000 tons on favorable days. While these supplies were for many organizations, Lion Six was carrying out one part of its mission through barge control and unloading and safeguarding the security of supplies. The augmented B4D number 5 worked not only at Piti but at Dadi beach south of Sumay. A beach party was also furnished the 77th Army Division, at White Beach, south of Dadi beach, just following the assaults on Blue, Red, and Green beaches. These latter beaches, as you know, stretched between Asan and Adelup Points. The roads were not yet open between Asan and Dadi so it was necessary to send a party by LCVP around Orote Peninsula to come in on White beach. Though I do not have daily tonnage figures for Dadi beach, on supervisory trips there I estimated that more than 1,000 tons daily were being unloaded there, as LST’s were able to drop ramps direct to the beach, requiring small sand fills only in order to drive trucks on the ramp. This was a short beach and a small beach party.
On September 15, 1944, the Seabees took over our duties as well as those of the Marine shore party, and we moved to Lion Six, bivouacking there henceforth.
During the typhoon in early October all the beach party worked on LCVP’s and LCM’s for extremely long, arduous, and hazardous hours. These boats were used as tugs, shunting transports and other supply ships to new anchorages as old ones became precarious or mooring cables broke and pontoon docks buckled and shifted. Two men were hurt, but not seriously, in these operations. Lack of food and sleep continued for over 72 hours, until other men from Lion Six components were interspersed with the B4D men. Before leaving Guam I arranged for commendatory notes to be recorded on each man’s service record.
I think you should have a laugh at my expense, so here is an incident that occurred on Green beach. There was one of those torrential downpours for which Guam is infamous. We had a big tarp drawn well over our foxhole C.P. A radio man and a runner were under cover with me. The rain was beating drums on the tarp, and rushes of water were filling the bottom of the foxhole. We were busy moving radios, field telephones, clothing, bedding, and other equipment to higher levels within the foxhole, with no time to make adjustments in the tarp, and no one alert enough to even look outside or to maintain camp security. Those fifteen minutes were well suited to the sneaking Jap to move about. Once or twice during showers like this there had been a little sniping.
Suddenly a corner of the tarp was lifted and a Jap’s face appeared in the aperture. Our reshuffling of the equipment jelled, then froze into immobility. The minds of the three of us were racing, reaching for the answer to “Whither have we moved our small arms?” The Jap was smiling when he first lifted the tarp. The smile ceased to be; this became a serious minded Jap. lie too felt that he was on a spot. All we could see of him was his face, so we all had a funny feeling, with our backs toward our equipment. Then he did a simple thing, the necessary thing, therefore in our minds a very intelligent action. I le stepped all the way in. Drenched though he was with rain and our thoughts with consternation, nevertheless we recognized the Marine dungarees and field cap. He asked “Where’s the Division C.P., Mac?” 1 emerged from unreality and countered with something like, “Who wants to know?” He then explained himself as an interpreter. We went outside and 1 showed him the way to the shore party C.P. It had stopped raining, anyhow.
At the time we moved to the Piti Navy Yard most of us were having trouble—dengue, fungus, barber’s itch, and a few ulcers; nothing very serious, and mostly caused by living in the wet soil and sand. With better rations and tarps we eventually had quite a comfortable camp, and as far as I could see there were no lasting ill effects on any of the personnel.
Working closely with the Beachmasters were the Bomb and Mine Disposal boys. They were smart, alert, keen youngsters who had volunteered for this duty and who knew they would have no chance to make a second mistake if they did the wrong thing. They came in with the first units and cleared the beaches and cam]) areas. Most of the peninsula-on which the base was built was heavily sown with mines, and the personnel of the disposal units, starting at the landing points, spread out over gradually increasing areas and eliminated the hazards. When word would reach them that a new area was to be explored or that someone had found what he thought was a large mine that should be disposed of, away they would bounce in their jeeps with broad smiles on their faces. Their morale was excellent, and they had learned their lessons well, for they came through months of hard work with no casualties.
Every effort was made to keep all personnel out of uncleared areas, but there were always some experimenters who didn’t believe the orders and signs. One Seabee left the Recreation Area and wandered some fifty feet into the neighboring jungle, where he encountered a 250-pound mine. The ensuing explosion left little but a huge crater.
The fact that Apra Harbor was almost completely unprotected to the westward not only allowed heavy seas and swells to enter, but also exposed shipping to possible attack from enemy submarines and torpedoes. On the north side of the harbor the water over the reef was dee]) enough for shallow-draft torpedoes to enter, while the main entrance, with its depth of over 100 feet, would permit a sub to creep in. Even though the enemy would be detected by the underwater sound apparatus, great damage might be caused to shipping before positive action could be taken. Consequently, it was important to place nets across the exposed area.
The officer in charge of this operation was faced, first, with the problem of laying the nets from improvised barges, while working in very rough and deep water. Secondly, due to this depth of water, it was necessary to have two sets of nets, one in deep water to stop the submarines, and the other near the surface to catch any torpedoes that might be fired from a distance. About this time word was received that Saipan, 120 miles to the north, needed immediate protection, and almost all the equipment from Lion Six was sent there, leaving the Apra Harbor net defense officer with very little except a quantity of old Japanese equipment. He immediately placed this so that the harbor was protected, but, obviously, no repairs were obtainable. Consequently, as fast as the Seabees extended the breakwater along the reef, sections of the nets were removed and used as replacements when repairs were necessary. So far as known, this was the only time that Japanese nets were used by the United States for defense against Japan.
Eventually a large net depot was built, and sufficient equipment was at hand to supply all needs, but, as with so many other things, the early days were full of makeshifts and improvisations. The completed depot had space to haul the nets out for repairs, which cut out the difficulties of working from barges, and there were plenty of spares. However, it is easy to do a job when everything is in perfect order; the man who was valuable in the first months was the one who could get the work done with next to nothing to work with.
For the main camp of Lion Six, a piece of high ground overlooking the harbor, formerly the home of the Guam Marine Detachment, was selected. Wall tents went up in rows, as many as four officers per tent in each of the smaller ones, and sometimes eight enlisted men in the larger.
The first problem of the camp was water. A fairly comprehensive water supply system had been built years before, and a reservoir in the mountains supplied Orote peninsula and the Marine camp through a pipe line. No one knew what the condition of this system would be, so the invasion groups took sufficient drinking water in five-gallon cans to last until plans could be made for the use of island water.
For emergency use there were several sets of apparatus for distilling sea water, but these were not used extensively, as “water points,” consisting of springs or hastily dug wells, were soon established. Pontoons were placed on trucks, complicated systems of pumps and piping attached, and off went the trucks to haul water from nearby “points” on a 24-hour basis. On their return the liquid was pumped from the pontoons to tanks or other pontoons on raised platforms, and from these it drained by gravity.
Then began the fight to prevent waste. The theoretical limit was five gallons per day per man, but in spite of everything it generally ran as high as ten. The doctors posted instructions on how to wash underwear while wearing it, and one of the MDs was almost constantly at the showers to remind anyone who was careless that there might not be enough water to cook dinner. This was the period of mechanisms so ingenious that they might have come from the brain of a Rube Goldberg. A five-gallon can placed on a post outside a tent and filled with water soon became warm and even hot under the sun’s rays. A small rubber tube stuck in a hole in the top and allowed to hang down, with a wire clip to hold it shut when not in use, needed only a little suction to make a fine hot-water faucet. With care, five gallons would last several days for shaving and washing. Rain water running off the tents was collected in various ways, but it was dyed brown by the tent coloring and proved suitable for washing khaki-colored clothing only.
The windmill laundries, familiar to all who have visited the Pacific islands during the war, appeared everywhere. They came in all grades, from the simplest plunger in a bucket to gaudy contraptions, with double-action rods, and with tower and blades painted in colors. The average machine was a homemade windmill with four blades, operating a shaft and plunger in a thirty-gallon drum filled with soap and water. One of these machines would do the laundry for a whole tentful of men.
Along with the water shortage came the necessity for having water available for protection against fire, for with so much equipment stacked up everywhere there was more than a chance that a cigarette or match would cause serious trouble—signs or no signs. The first fire department consisted of a water-filled pontoon on a truck, and a small trailer carrying chemical extinguishers. Like everything else on the base, the fire department grew and grew, until there were fully equipped fire stations, trucks, high-pressure pumps, and an experienced fire chief.
There were no fires of any consequence in any of the camp or ship areas, but there were two spectacular blazes in gasoline dumps, both caused by vehicles backing into stacked drums. These drums exploded successively, and the fires burned for hours, occasionally blowing drums high in the air where they burst and threw burning gasoline far and wide. The fire departments from the entire island tried in vain to subdue the flames, one great handicap being that all water had to be brought in trucks, as there were no fire hydrants. By the time the Army, Marines, Air Stations, Sub Base, and all the NOB units were on the scene, the confusion was great. However, the Base units could always be distinguished by the slogan, painted on each truck, “You light ’em, we fight ’em!” The fires burned themselves out.
Later on there was plenty of water. It was found that the main reservoir in the mountains was intact, and within three months the Seabees had laid a new pipe to Orote. But in the early days, the water trucks and the windmills worked overtime.
The food problem was placed in the capable hands of a Naval Reserve lieutenant with hotel and restaurant experience which stood him in good stead when it became necessary to serve thousands of meals as rapidly as possible. The first actual galley was in a small Quonset hut, and in this limited space all the baking and cooking were done. The food was served through small windows cut in the screening at each end; sometimes it was two hours before the line of men had passed. On top of the feeding of the regular personnel came the emergencies. For instance, late one night “Pappy” Briggs, in charge of the galley, was called and told he would have to feed 900 more men that night—this at a time when the only facilities were the small galley. The answer came back cheerily, “O.K., Boss,” which, while not military, is the kind of answer that builds bases.
As many as 2,000 men were served from this rather makeshift arrangement; even at this early date the word had spread that the food was good, and the line had many strange faces in it, for Marines and Seabees were dropping in for a meal. The men were well fed, considering the difficulties, and had graduated from K rations to canned foods, hot cakes, rolls, and ice cream.
Dishwashing was no problem for the galley force, since every man washed his own mess kit, but it was a serious one for the doctors and others. It was extremely difficult to keep the water in the large GI cans at a high enough temperature to sterilize the mess gear, and the Medicos battled daily for more soap, hotter water, and a succession of rinses.
The question of heads—or latrines to those accustomed to Army nomenclature—was a difficult one. The camp was on a coral rock, and any digging or entrenching entailed the use of bulldozers or compressed-air drills, or both. A little dynamite was also helpful. All these items were in continuous use for other purposes, mainly road building, and it was necessary to resort to something unusual in the way of an expedient. There were quantities of Jap grenades around, and those were placed in holes drilled by pounding steel bars into the coral. They were exploded from a safe distance by tying a lanyard to the ring, and were reasonably satisfactory as a means of breaking up the coral so it could be handled with pick and shovel. Those who waited for routine procedures to get things done were left far behind.
Reveille was early, for muster in those days was at 0630, and by that time the sun was already blisteringly hot. The work hours were unlimited, generally ending in time for the movies at 1930. Almost every afternoon there were heavy showers, which delayed all operations and made the roads and camp sites slippery, and left lakes in foxholes to make life more uncomfortable during the ensuing night. The dark hours were generally enlivened by shooting, and sometimes it seemed as though units camped nearby were having a private war with stray dogs. It was impossible for any outfit to keep a mascot, as it would be mistaken for a Jap as soon as night fell.
There were still many of the enemy in the area and thousands on the island, and occasionally they would enter a camp in search of food. Thus the nervousness of the sentries was warranted. One night two guards reported there had been some infiltration between their posts, over the post of the man between them. The duty officer asked the middle sentry about this and he denied it emphatically, almost convincing the officer that the other men had been seeing will-o’- the-wisps. However, just to make sure, a patrol was organized and searched the area. Eventually a Jap was surrounded near the Command Post. When finally seen, he was between two lanes of boxes of canned goods, and had his arm drawn back ready to throw a grenade. A Boatswain’s Mate shot him through the head with a .45, and the grenade exploded in the Jap’s hand. Later the sentry told his story. He was almost blind, but his record showed perfect vision. He had worked in an optical supply house and knew all the eye charts by heart when he took his eye examinations.
A picture that stands out from those early nights is the one of Chief Boatswain’s Mate Huntington, the Master-at-Arms, sitting in mud up to his waist at the bottom of a shell hole. He had been called out of such quarters as he possessed because sentries thought they saw Japs and commenced firing. He finally announced loudly to all that he would skin the next one alive who fired unless he brought in a dead Jap in the morning to show he was shooting at something.
It was during the early days that Lion Six suffered one of its few casualties from enemy action. Five Merchant Marine sailors had entered a cave near the Port Director’s camp, and the Japs inside had shot one through the head. A Marine officer had attempted a rescue, but had been wounded through the shoulder, and was lying near the cave entrance. Lieutenant (later Lieutenant Commander) Fred E. Jansen, U. S. Naval Reserve, heard the shooting and approached the Marine under enemy fire to drag him to safety. This he succeeded in doing, but he was shot through both ankles, and had to be evacuated to the States.
During all this, the doctors and their sanitary squads had been instituting measures that paid big dividends. Everything that might attract flies was buried (including deceased Japs), and the entire area was searched for puddles and tin cans or other containers that might hold water and breed mosquitoes. Disinfectant was sprayed everywhere. Garbage disposal was immediate and complete. The results of this work were soon apparent; of the first group to come ashore, forty-five out of forty-six succumbed to dengue, or breakbone fever. Only about fifty per cent of the second echelon caught the disease, which is mosquito-borne, and by the time later groups arrived it was almost non-existent. But the epidemic cost us one life when a hospital corpsman succumbed to a particularly virulent attack.
Between the dengue and the sanitary measures, the doctors were kept busy, but they found time to supervise the building of the dispensary. This was immediately used for a recruiting station for the Chamorros, the natives of Guam. Many had been in the Navy at one time, others had been in the Insular Force, and others wanted to get a shot at the Japanese. They would go to great lengths to enlist. One had a little finger cocked at an angle, and the doctor explained to him that this was a bar against enlistment. The man left, and returned in a week. He had cut off the finger with a hatchet. The doctor asked him why he did this, and the native explained, “I read on down in your book and it said that I could enlist if one finger was missing.”
Another native asked for some drugs for his family, and upon receiving them was very grateful, saying he would be back later to go to work at the base. It was several weeks before he returned, bringing various souvenirs, with the explanation, “I only killed my Jap last night.” It was then we discovered that there was an unwritten law that each native must get one Jap before he was free to do as he wished.
There was also the case of the Chamorro bosun who got a bullet in the knee when the Japs machine-gunned a cave in which he was hiding. He came in months later and said he thought it was time to have the missile removed. He had been too busy previously!
Of course, every attempt was being made at this time to get the enemy to surrender; leaflets were dropped, and sound trucks toured the side roads while interpreters explained in Japanese to their compatriots that they should give up to avoid further bloodshed. However, the Japanese soldiers evidently felt that the American occupation was only temporary, and results were meager.
While all this was taking place, offices had been set up in tents, and the paper work was going on as usual. The rainy season was a hazard even in this department, for often the wind would blow the flaps of the tents open and the rain would pour in suddenly. A river running through an office tent was not unusual, and in at least one instance the Personnel Officer put up signs alongside the desks stating that this was a “Boat Landing.” When squalls came up, everyone was busy holding tent flaps together. At night, in the darkness, it was more confusing and difficult. One of the amusing mental pictures remaining with many who were there is of the Public Works Officer, seen by the aid of a flickering flashlight beam, standing stark naked in the rain, holding up his tent pole and yelling for the help which everyone was far too busy to give him.
When life got too discouraging—and it seemed as though it consisted of nothing but official reports and unnecessary correspondence—it was invigorating to go down to the water front at any hour of the day or night. There the clatter of the dredges, the banging of the pile drivers driving piles for docks which were sorely needed, and the trucks unloading material made one feel that the winning of the war was in good hands. It was a stimulating sight to see those youngsters sitting high on a piling operating a huge hammer, working a suction dredge that removed the shoals in the harbor and poured them through a pipe to where the material was needed to fill in a swamp, or swinging cargo ashore and into waiting trucks.
As an example of the growth of the usable space in the harbor, the remark was made in Pearl in April, 1944, that “you’ll be lucky if you get eight ships in there.” by the summer of 1945, as many as 231 commissioned ships s were at docks or at anchor! This was due to the outstanding work of the “harbor stretcher” unit, which cleared obstructions, removed reefs, and made space for ships where none existed before.
The main job of stretching the harbor was to remove the coral heads that came close to the surface, rising sharply from the hundred foot depth characterizing most of the harbor area. This meant weeks of heavy blasting, and care had to be taken that no divers were working in the water when explosions took place. The work proceeded rapidly, and many times every day the buildings would shake and one could look out and see a column of water shoot two hundred feet in the air.
The results of “all work and no play” from which so many suffered were difficult to combat, because such beaches as existed still had masses of scrap iron all over them, and possible recreation areas either were seas of mud or danger areas of unexploded mines. Therefore every effort was made to have lots of ice cream and plenty of movies. The pictures were good, and both they and the projectors stood up under a terrific beating administered by the amateur operators. Of course, the seating arrangements were poor, generally consisting of gasoline drums, and occasionally someone would let out a yell when he was bitten by a scorpion, but the evening hours were occupied at a time when letter writing was difficult due to lack of lighting. Many will remember one evening when the wind howled and the rain came down in sheets. And the picture? Mutiny on the Bounty, with Captain Bligh making his way in a small boat through wind and rain!
One incident which occurred during the first week when movies were shown seems almost incredible as one looks back at it. During the picture, the film broke and the operator turned on the lights in the area. (These consisted of two or three small bulbs hanging from palm trees.) The lights had been on for a few seconds when a Marine from the AA battery yelled, “Well, I’ll be damned!” and grabbed a man in front of him. Everyone jumped up and looked in his direction. Lo and behold, there sitting on a log was a Jap, grinning as no one but a Jap can grin. He had obviously been watching and enjoying the movies. If the film had not broken, necessitating the turning on of the lights, he would not have been caught. As it was, he was led away to the stockade.
In spite of the lack of water and the superabundance of rain (an anomaly that never seemed to be corrected), Lion Six was fortunate. The camp was on fairly high ground, and the equipment was coming in—piles of it, mountains of it—all being dumped so rapidly that it was impossible to check it. There were showers and hot meals, and their fame was spreading. Not only did the Marines in adjacent areas drop in at meal times, but the Army, bivouacked near the center of the island, “got the word,” and we were having many callers. As an example of the complete lack of that “cleanliness which is next to godliness,” an Army officer asked the camp officer if he could have a shower, saying that he was from the 77th Division and hadn’t had a bath for six weeks. He was, of course, made welcome, given soap, and shown to the nearest stall. After several scrubbings the camp officer recognized him—a classmate at college.
A Public Works office was set up in a tent, the office in charge of construction had been given a yeoman who doubled as carpenter, and plans were being drawn for the permanent camp. From this time forward we suffered from another anomaly; there were always too many men and too few men— too many for the housing that was finished, and too few for the work to be done. Plans for offices were drawn, and by the time they were finished they were far too small; pipes were laid for water, and they wouldn’t carry the amount needed. These defects were not due to lack of planning; the war was moving fast, and the base at Guam was being expanded many fold to prepare for the final push on the Jap Empire. In spite of all this, the Public Works construction office came through with offices and buildings efficiently laid out, galleys that functioned effectively, a BOQ mess hall built to conform to a concrete foundation already at hand, and, last but not least for the welfare of all, a theater and stage with seats for 5,000 spectators.
It was soon realized that the Seabees would be so involved in building roads and docks, bridges and water mains, and other major projects, that they would not be available for the construction of Quonset huts and galleys. The Base personnel would have to do a large part of their own building. One suggestion was that the men be told, “There are your homes—build them,” but this hardly seemed workable. The plan which was evolved successfully utilized competing gangs. Three building crews were organized, one consisting of seamen, one of steward’s mates, and one of Chamorros. All were under the direction of the Public Works Officer. The Chamorros generally finished first, either because they were used to working hard under the enemy or because they were grateful for their liberation and the fact that they were eating well.
Work progressed simultaneously on the officers’ and enlisted men’s huts, the offices, the showers and scrub racks, the galleys and mess halls, and the recreation huts. Inasmuch as huts were being built on the same camp site as the tent city, large-scale operations were impossible and everything was progressive. As ships of the Fleet were already making Guam their headquarters, a small club was erected for the use of officers coming ashore for recreation. This was constructed almost entirely of native materials, using native labor. It was built of thatch and split bamboo, and made an unusual and attractive building, but not a permanent one. A type of boring beetle moved in, and on a quiet night, if one placed one’s ear close to a panel, one could hear the beetles gnawing inside. The same attack on the overhead beams caused showers of fine sawdust which sifted into the beverages. All this limited the life of the building to about a year.
One of the earliest construction jobs was the erection of a CIC, or Combat Information Center. The object of this was to have a central, protected place where the Commanding Officer would be in touch with all units of the Base, as well as with the Island Command and adjacent Marine Anti-Aircraft batteries and Army coast defense guns. A splinter-proof forty-by-twenty-foot reinforced concrete vault was built seven feet below ground and three feet above, with two stairways protected by steel doors leading to it. One door led to the Commandant’s Office and the other to the hut which was shared jointly by the Communication and Intelligence units. Into this shelter all telephone, teletype, and radio circuits were led as soon as possible. With its communication systems, rugged construction, and central location, it was excellently suited for its purpose.
Perhaps the queerest trade among all the bits of barter in the history of Lion Six was made in connection with the CIC. The amphibious forces had a power fan they didn’t need, but they lacked a toilet seat which they did need—badly. They got the seat and the Combat Information Center got the fan needed for forced ventilation of the underground post.
To most people the word “Intelligence” signifies cloak-and-dagger men, under-cover work, and FBI personnel in the background. To Lion Six, it meant just another component, the A5 unit, albeit an important one. The group consisted of five officers and eleven men under the capable direction of a Naval Reserve lieutenant-commander.
For several months after the initial landing, operations were carried on in a twenty- by-fifty-foot tent; but when the Combat Information Center was completed, part of it was used as a plotting room. Here various plots or running records of ship movements were recorded. This made an excellent arrangement, as during attacks or alerts the Commandant could keep in close touch with all activities.
The functions of the Intelligence Department were to keep the Commandant informed of any developments in which he might be interested, to coordinate the intelligence aspect of the defense of the island against enemy attack by ship or submarine, to identify, through the radar stations, all surface craft coming within range of the is land, and to “brief” all departing shipping. This briefing took place at a conference held by the Port Director prior to the departure of each convoy. The captains of the ships which were leaving attended this meeting, and an intelligence officer was present to give a summary of conditions, as well as to answer any questions. The following general information was covered:
(1) The status of the enemy-held bases within 300 miles of the projected route of the convoy.
(2) Recent contacts which had been made with enemy surface or submarine craft.
(3) Enemy mine operations.
(4) Friendly merchant or combatant vessels likely to be encountered.
(5) Local United States operations and training area information, and mine fields to be avoided.
(6) Any special information, such as unusual enemy activity.
Intelligence officers were often confronted with the problem of how much information should be given and how much withheld for reasons of security. Generally the commanding officer of a naval vessel was provided with data on all matters, while the information given to masters of merchant vessels was limited to the- first three items given above. Since merchant ships always departed in convoys, it was enough that the whole situation was known to the protective escort, while the commercial vessels only knew the location of the enemy.
Perhaps the most valuable of the unit’s activities was the keeping of the various charts or plots showing the location of all vessels operating in the Pacific Ocean. One of these plots covered an entire wall, and on it, drawn to scale, was a map of the Pacific Ocean from the West Coast to China. This chart provided a current, graphic view of all available shipping information. Regularly established routes were shown with colored strings, easily adjusted to make changes, with the names of the routes and direction of travel clearly marked. Ships traveling these routes were indicated by bits of cardboard with the names typed on and held to the chart by pins.
Every effort was made to keep all possible data regarding shipping in a card index, which gave the following information: point and time of departure, convoy number, route, speed, composition, escort vessels, and expected time of arrival. Notes were also made regarding any officers having a special interest in the convoy, or any who were to be notified upon its arrival. When the ships actually arrived, the time was also noted and compared with the estimated time, for future reference.
A large-scale map of Guam and the adjacent area covered another wall, and on this were marked all reference points for fire control, radar stations, coastal defense and heavy guns, defense sectors, the stations constantly patrolled by the local defense craft, the Harbor Entrance Control Post (HECP), and all shipping routes in the area.
All shipping coming within range of the surface search radars was plotted on this chart. It was the responsibility of the unit to identify such shipping, notify HECP and the Port Director of arrivals, and to warn the proper defense units and interested commands of the approach of enemy or unidentified craft. Information from all radar stations was received by radio and direct telephone lines, and radio or telephone connected the plotting room with the Port Director Operations Officer, the Patrol and Escort Commander, Air Defense Center, Coast Artillery Commander, Island Command, and the Anti-Aircraft Battalion Commander in the harbor area.
The plot operated continuously and provided the only source of information on the location and identity of close-in ship movements. When identification could not be effected through plots and other information at hand, a plane or surface craft was dispatched to investigate and report. In case an unidentified ship failed to answer the challenges of the patrol craft and attempted to enter the harbor, orders could be given direct to the Coast Artillery to open fire. No opportunity ever arose to test this latter arrangement, as the enemy failed to send in a suicide ship for the experiment.
In many cases convoys were diverted to Guam and arrived unexpectedly, and this method of plotting proved of great value in that it enabled the Port Director and Harbor Master to have a little warning in which to arrange anchorages.
Routine boarding was done by the Port Director’s unit, who made general inquiries of each vessel on matters of interest to Intelligence. In the event that something unusual was disclosed, an Intelligence officer immediately made a special visit to the ship and conducted such inquiries as were necessary.
An activity of the unit of minor importance but large in bulk was the handling of enemy equipment and souvenirs. All Japanese rifles and pistols had to be approved for sending home, and other material, such as grenades, had to be examined to make sure the charge had been removed. Occasionally someone would evade instructions and place dangerous material in the mail, where it was almost always caught. However, in at least one case, where the postal clerk found a package not properly marked with the approval stamp, serious injuries to two people were caused by the explosion of a grenade when the package was opened. Those who O.K.’d the tags that were attached to the weapons sent home often felt sorry for the wives and mothers on whose walls these mementos would hang only to gather dust.
Communications at an advanced base may include, depending upon the size of the base, a complete radio station (both sending and receiving), searchlight and semaphone signaling devices, telephone, radar, teletype, a Fleet Post Office, a Registered Publications Issuing Office, and various internal communications, with all the telescopes, binoculars, typewriters, and monkey wrenches needed to connect the eye and ear and mind of the outpost not only with the outer world but also with its own interior workings. It is the nerve center of the whole establishment, and therefore one of the first groups to go into action upon landing.
Before Lion Six left the United States, Communications Unit 16, made up of various C components, had been assigned to the organization to handle the requirements of the Base. The personnel totaled 30 trained communications officers and 300 enlisted communications ratings who had been trained for some time both in the United States and Hawaii. It was expected that, upon landing with one of the early echelons, Communications Unit 16 would take over the entire job for the Base, and the preparations had been made toward that end.
However, a change in the development plans for the island assigned Unit 16 to the Island Joint Communications Activity immediately upon its arrival, and the Base was left high and dry without any communications facilities except those that could be improvised to fill in the period until personnel and material requirements could be analyzed and a new organization could be sent out and placed in operation. The duty of carrying out this interim measure was assigned to the Base Communications Officer.
Certain facilities were needed at once, particularly those at the Boat Pool, the Port Director’s office, and the Command Post. A wooden signal tower was erected at Piti to signal the small boats in the harbor, and for ship to shore messages. For signaling, two borrowed twelve-inch lights and an Aldis lamp (blinker) were used, and these were operated by men borrowed from the Beachmaster group. A small radio station was erected at Sumay to guard two voice circuits for use in harbor work, and this also was manned by Beachmaster personnel and equipped from their meager material plus what could be begged or borrowed. A “field” telephone line circuit was rigged from tree to tree between Piti and Sumay to provide ground communications. With this type of instrument, one cranks and cranks until he hears what might be a voice at the other end; then, after yelling for a while, each party realizes he cannot understand the other, both set out in jeeps to find out what is wanted, and pass without seeing each other en route.
As the Japs were driven northward on the island, and the units in Apra harbor settled to work without serious danger from snipers, a definite plan for a communications system was evolved. An office was established at the Port Director’s office to handle voice radio, telephone, and teletype service, and personnel and equipment were requested through official channels. To start with, the office had three borrowed officers and ten men to handle twenty-four hour duty, and all equipment was borrowed. The teletype was “simplexed”—that is, cut in on the same wire—on the field telephone line connecting the office with the Communications Center some fifteen miles away, and it operated very acceptably. The first telephone switchboard was obtained by trading. It was discovered that the Army telephone men needed battery acid; the Supply department had some, the Army had switchboards; the exchange was made and everyone was satisfied.
This office was gradually enlarged until in the spring of 1945 six voice circuits were guarded continuously, three teletypes were tied in to circuits all over the island, and all general messages for ships were distributed through it. The personnel, which had grown to 8 officers and 76 men, briefed all convoy ship communications personnel and distributed merchant-ship publications.
As the Base Staff Headquarters developed, the main communications office was located there. It started with a radio transmitter obtained from a wrecked Military Police jeep and a radio receiver borrowed from the Welfare Office, a borrowed Marine instructor, a twelve-terminal field telephone switchboard hooked up for interoffice and island telephone service, such as it was, and an “acquired” teletype simplexed on the telephone circuit. It performed amazingly well, and grew apace. By the spring of 1945 six radio voice circuits were guarded continuously, and there were twelve tape-printing teletypes, a forty-circuit teletype switchboard, dial telephones, and various types of intra- and inter-department communications apparatus. Twelve officers and 84 men were handling 1,600 messages a day.
This central office acted as the coordination point for the Base and its subordinate commands and departments, and all messages were serviced and filed there. It also acted as communications office for the Base Hospital, the Marine Anti-Aircraft Battalion in the area, and the Administrative Command Subordinate Command Amphibious Forces Pacific Area. This latter—probably one of the longest titles to come from this alphabetical war—soon had its equipment lettered “Subordinate Command, AMP,” which logically reduced to SCAMP, and so it was known, and the commanding officer called by the same short, snappy title. There were several other examples in the area of how names evolve. Commander Destroyer Escort Pool became ComCess Pool. Across the bay, at the little town of Piti, the Small Craft Repair Annex had been established; when a memorandum came through saying that certain boats were now in SCRAP, it took a few moments to realize that the boats were not being scrapped, but merely being repaired in that Piti annex.
Eventually, subordinate communications offices were established at the Industrial Department, Ammunition Depot, Receiving Station, Anti-Aircraft Training Center, Naval Supply Depot, Harbor Entrance Control Post, and the three radar stations, and all offices were connected by teletype, radio, or telephone. The personnel of each varied with the traffic involved.
Lumber for construction purposes is practically non-existent on an island like Guam, and what little material had been brought in with the early echelons was desperately needed for docks and bridge repair; so when the question of building a signal tower arose, something had to be improvised. The old Sumay water tower, which had furnished water to the Pan American Airways hotel and surrounding buildings, had been badly shot up during the fighting. It was repaired and used as a harbor signal tower. It stood 160 feet high, and eventually 10 twelve-inch lights were operated from it. The CinCPac signal tower on Cabras Island was erected early in 1945 and worked in cooperation with the Sumay tower, and the one at the Harbor Entrance Control Post was tied in with them. Due to the topography, none of the three could reach all the ships in the harbor, which was a great handicap, as the harbor visual traffic was tremendous, and it was difficult to keep it running smoothly.
As the fuel system of the island developed, with its tank farms and hundreds of miles of pipe line, many of which carried highly volatile aviation gasoline, an intra-communications system was evolved to provide service along all sections of the fuel system. This was of inestimable value in allowing the quick closing of valves along the line when, as occurred with what seemed discouraging regularity, the operator of a bulldozer digging a ditch would forget where the line was and plow through it, generally setting the contents afire from the exhaust. In addition, local radio and telephone circuits were established for use between the tankers and the shore for communications during fueling operations. Teletype service was provided to the big dry-docks, and the Harbor Master had complete radio contact with the harbor fuel, supply, police and service boats.
Most of the enlisted men received for duty with the Communications Department were without previous practical experience, and some were without any communications training. Therefore, a training facility was provided at the control office and arrangements were made for all communication personnel to undergo instruction and tests to equip them more fully for their jobs and to meet requirements for advancement in ratings. This facility was necessary, and served its purpose well, as shown by the fact that in the year following the establishment of the Base there was never a major mistake or failure of the communications service, in spite of the fact that the whole system was planned, equipped, and manned while “on location.”
The Marine anti-aircraft battalion which guarded Orote Peninsula shared our camp; they were most welcome neighbors during these days of air raid alarms and excursions, which almost always occurred at night. A typical alert ran something like this: the sentry outside the hut would run to the door calling, “The Marines are running!” This unusual phrase simply meant that the men who manned the anti-aircraft batteries near-by had received the phone call warning of possible enemy planes one call ahead of our operator, and had started running to their posts. By the time pistol and helmet had been picked up, sirens were going and telephones ringing. Long before the few hundred feet to the command post had been covered, all lights were out and the anti-paratrooper units assembled. These were picked men who were stationed at strategic locations with machine guns and carbines. All the anti-air raid groups were under the supervision of a Chief Boatswain, and it speak well for their training and direction that there was no case of firing on their friends or the accidental discharge of a weapon. Instructions in all cases were simplified to the utmost. Watches at the main generators had instructions to turn off the main switches if they heard the siren blow, and leave them off until told differently. Such instructions were necessary for it often happened that a neighboring unit would be several minutes late in sounding its siren, and some of those who had been alerted would decide that the second one they heard was the “all clear.” It became obvious that life in these unaccustomed surroundings was complicated enough, and orders must be reduced to a minimum.
Certainly neither officers nor men had much time for complaints in those days. All hands were busy on their own quarters in their spare time, and it was quite an achievement to have a floor built of “dunnage” in one’s tent. As work on the huts progressed, officers were told that they could have all the furniture they wanted if they built it at night themselves. A standard plan was drawn for wardrobes and chairs, and the power saws hummed every evening—surprisingly enough without the loss of a single finger. Desks and chairs for offices were also built on a quantity basis. Certainly everyone was learning to do everything, and that was what was needed to make things go.
The land transportation was a problem from start to finish. Greasing racks and temporary repair facilities were set up immediately, but the situation was much like that which existed in connection with the housing; far loo much repair work for the mechanics, and far too little equipment for the work to be done. In addition to hauling water, trucks had to bring coral from distant pits and dump it throughout the camp to make roads and foundations. Operations were on a 24-hour schedule, with drivers supplied in shifts, and jeeps were shuffled around among those who had urgent need for them. The earlier instruction that most of the men had received at the Army school was now put to good use, for handling heavy vehicles in a sea of mud is no job for a beginner. In addition to their earlier training, all drivers were required to pass a test for their local licenses. Not only were they required to go through the usual maneuvers, but they were taken part way down a steep hill and told to stop. This in itself was difficult, but the next order disqualified many. They were told to back up, and it couldn’t be done unless the operator used his head and shifted into four wheel drive. It was an excellent test, for people who could use their heads were urgently needed.
The transportation department eventually graduated into a fine building and service station, with gasoline pumps, air hoses, and a complete shop. Over a period of time, all the equipment was painted blue and gold, and the Lion Six, rampant, which had marked each, vehicle, was replaced by NOB.
Lion Six went overseas with the personnel and equipment for three radar stations for the detection of surface vessels and low- flying aircraft. Those stations -the sensitive antennae, the “feelers” of the base—had to be far away from the main camp, where there would be a minimum of interference; eventually sites were selected on three headlands from which the entire 360 degrees of the surrounding ocean could be guarded. There was one spot where it would have been possible for a submarine to come up near the shore and be undetected because of intervening land masses, but the enemy never tried it.
The names of the points on which the stations were built are in themselves unusual—Jalaigai, Ritidian, and Facpi. The first was an ordinary promontory, easily approached, but the second was on a cliff with a sheer drop of 400 feet. Unbelievable as it may seem, an enlisted man fell over this cliff and lived; the jungle trees below broke his fall. The third station, at Facpi, could only be approached by water until a road was built; the difficulties of bringing delicate radar instruments ashore in amphibious vehicles were enormous.
These stations, manned by groups of some 20 men each, were so far off the beaten path that they had many contacts with the enemy. The officer in charge visited the units daily, traveling by jeep, boat, and on foot. Fie came through unscathed, although occasional shots whizzed past him while on his treks through the jungle.
A twenty-four hour watch was kept at all three locations, and all ships and many planes which approached the island were tracked and reported. There were radio and telephone connections with the CIC, and it was with the aid of these radar stations that Intelligence was able to advise the Port Director of many arrivals. There were also many contacts with American planes, and often these caused a bit of excitement by forgetting to turn on their recognition signals when they were contacted.
The matter of keeping these lonely outposts clean and shipshape was a difficult one because of the lack of close supervision, but “Pappy” Briggs made regular rounds, inspecting and transferring personnel. His inspections were so strict that they brought on one incident that made Ritidian Point famous. General Larson, the Island Commander, dropped in one day with his staff and requested a cup of coffee. He was told he couldn’t have any “because Mister Briggs was coming soon, and everything had to be spick and span!” Obviously some additional indoctrination was needed, and it was quickly given.
The Army and Marines had charge of aircraft detection in general, and operated in close coordination with the three Navy groups. The stations did the work well, and didn’t miss a thing. The equipment never failed, and the men kept their little local power plants running in spite of adverse weather conditions.
The Disbursing Office was one of the first administrative departments to start functioning. Although there was no need for money on the island at that time, the men had families at home and wanted to send money back for other purposes, so “pay day” became a regular function from the beginning. But nowhere in the piles of material was there a safe. Soon there were thousands of men being paid, and at night the money lay in sacks on the floor of the pay office. Some dentists arrived about this time, and announced that they had $2,500 in gold and must have a safe. They were told to put it on the floor with the rest of the stuff; they found the order very disturbing.
Later the disbursing officer had a small concrete vault, but even after this acquisition he had a plaint which is well remembered; “I have millions here, and all there is to protect it is a Little Giant Boy Scout padlock!” It seemed no time at all until there were 25,000 accounts on the books, and “Disbursing” was another big business item. Before the first year ended, there were steel vault doors with time locks, and as much as $29,000,000 in U. S. currency on hand, besides various types of invasion money. However, the padlock had done its bit, and there was never any shortage.
The number of men who felt they must have “special money,” or be paid on other than the regular days, was amazing. It was often interesting to question these bankrupts, because they would never admit they had lost their all in petty gambling and wanted more in an attempt lo recoup. They would explain, for instance, that they needed razor blades. “The chaplain will issue you a package until pay day,” was the answer. They needed tooth paste. That was easy: “Use salt and water.” Cigarettes? “You’ll have to do without until you can borrow a nickel.” Hut they must have soap for a bath. “If no one in your hut will lend you his soap, you had better change your methods of living and make some friends.” It was necessary to be rather heartless about such things, or the pay accounts could never have been handled, and there would have been delays in paying the entire base.
A store is one of the first things needed in a growing community, and it was interesting to watch the growth of this branch of the base. A start was made in a small tent where the essentials were handled—razor blades, soap, tooth paste, cigarettes—and for the first month all such issues were free. At the end of that time the store was put on a cash basis, and this business, like the others, grew rapidly. As soon as possible, beer and “cokes” were added, but this took large-size refrigerators, which were scarce. However, within three weeks after the landings the refrigerators were available; ice cream became a regular dish at mealtimes, and the “beer hour” became part of the day’s routine.
As the ship’s store expanded, there were branches in all the camps. NOB also handled, by request, the store of Commander Forward Area, and this in itself speaks well for the management. The authority for running this department was vested in a Naval Reserve lieutenant, who travelled a long route every day, seeing to the stock in the morning and collecting the money from the outlying stores late in the afternoon because there was no place to keep it in these camps overnight.
As the buildings went up, large stores were established, and it was found necessary to have twin stores alongside each other. They would be open alternate hours, and during the closed periods could re-stock. The merchandise handled included all necessities and some luxuries, such as native souvenirs. There was never a shortage of cigarettes or candy bars, but now and then cigars were scarce. A soda fountain which foresight and planning had provided was soon put into operation, and there was plenty of ice cream at five cents a half pint, with syrups and soda water to go with it. The fame of the soda fountain spread and it was necessary to use chits in an attempt to limit customers to Base personnel. There just wasn’t enough ice cream for the whole island. Many times B-29 pilots came twenty miles for a soda chit, and at least one officer from Island Command made it a point to schedule his official visits around “ice cream time.”
Eventually the main stores, the recreation hut, and the beer garden were formed into a compact unit, and the band played during the before-dinner refreshment hour. Sometimes it seemed as though the storekeepers would be drowned by the beer spray as they opened hundreds of cans. (It was necessary to open all cans as they were served, to eliminate the possibility of a black market in beer.)
Another big business was clothing. The men were furnished, without expense to them, all their overseas equipment, including clothing and heavy shoes. These should have had a long life, but it was soon noticed that many of the men came back in a few weeks for new shoes. One wondered about this when one saw natives sporting new footgear, but the wondering didn’t go too far, because the natives were our friends and certainly needed the shoes.
Fifteen thousand men can wear out a lot of clothes, and “ ‘Collins’ Clothing Emporium,” run by Lieutenant James B. Collins, U. S. Naval Reserve, was soon establishing branches and handling everything from jungle greens to officer’s grays. The whole plant was an interesting example of a self- contained community. The money went round and round, from the paymaster to the men, then to the stores for beer, clothing, and other items, and back to the pay office; some of it came out of the circle by way of the post office, where an average of $30,000 a day was sent home.
While all this activity was going on, someone had to keep track of the men themselves —the thousands of men—where they were, what were their proper ratings, who had been sent home on emergency leave, who was in in the hospital, and above all, who was eligible for advancement in rating. The officer in charge of this assignment had seen to the transfer of the original group from Norfolk to California, and had processed all the echelons leaving for their island paradise, making all possible advancements before leaving. On his arrival in Guam, he took up the job, and again began making promotions wherever warranted, for no one knew better than he the effect on morale this would have. Keeping track of the men was a big job, for they were scattered in camps all over the island; there were daily requests to have a cook transferred here and a yeoman there; two men to learn rat elimination to go to Island Command, or a court reporter to take dictation at an investigation. Someone had to know where everyone was, whether they were needed there, and who was short- handed.
The base had an A7, or Shore Patrol Component, assigned to it, and this small unit of three officers and twenty-three men formed the nucleus of the group which was organized daily to work with the Military Police of the Army and Marine Corps, keeping the thousands of men from the shore bases and the Fleet in order and in some kind of uniform. The officers had been trained in such work, and the enlisted patrolmen were nearly all experienced policemen. They understood that the object of the unit was not to make arrests, but to preserve order without having to resort to any show of force.
Every day the call went out to the ships in the harbor to furnish their quota for patrolling the water front, and every day the same excuses came back, saying that no officers could be spared. Yet every day the quota, or most of it, finally arrived and then the regular force had to break in a new group for the job. Officers and men watched the water front, saw that there was some semblance of a uniform on those coming ashore, and that boats were properly handled and loaded. Officers stood at the door of the Fleet Club to see that the place was not swamped with personnel from other camps. The regular force handled traffic at the junctions, picked up traffic violators (speeding and reckless driving, in the main), and were on call for any emergency in their radio-equipped jeeps. One of their most tiresome duties was the continual fight to get rat guards properly placed. Ships were arriving from China and other places where plague was prevalent, and twice daily the patrolman made the rounds, insisting on absolute compliance with the local orders requiring the use of rat guards.
Most of the time the routine was dull, but occasionally there was a wild chase after a speeder, or an incident such as the case of the officer who drove a jeep off the end of a dock one night. He was eventually fished out, and upon being questioned stated that there were four other officers with him. Witnesses were found who had seen the jeep traverse the dock, and these stated that the officer was alone, that there was one person with him, and that the jeep was full. There was a hectic time for a couple of days while all units were requested to report any missing personnel and the harbor was dragged. By that time it had been established that the officer was a victim of “combat fatigue.” a phrase that covers a multitude of sins, but in this case was a bona fide diagnosis. The psychiatrists brought out all his movements for the evening, and were convinced that he had been alone in the car. He was sent to the hospital, the jeep was retrieved, and the case closed.
One exciting chase resulted from the “borrowing” of a fast small boat by a group of sailors. They were seen going down the channel and pursued by the harbor patrol, but were lost to sight in the darkness of the harbor. The pursuit continued, and a few minutes later the boat, empty, was seen drifting with the tide, and the area was searched for swimming men. Although it was a long distance to shore, none was found, and it was feared that there had been several drownings. The search was continued, however, and some two hours later the culprits were found clinging to mooring buoys. They had dodged around these buoys, avoiding the searchlights, every lime the patrol boat approached.
As the weeks passed, buildings were going up rapidly. The dispensary had been finished first, within a month after landing, and gradually the others took shape—offices, living quarters, special purpose huts, and, most important of all, a huge mess hall and galley. Much thought had gone into this, for it had to be clean, attractive, light, with space for the men to line up out of the rain, and so arranged that the line flowed smoothly from entrance to food counters to tables, and eventually to the scullery where dishwashing machines did the job that has troubled the Army and Navy as well as housewives for untold years. There were four large wings to the mess hall, each able to serve well over 1,000 men an hour. Other smaller wings contained the bake shop, meat cutting room, store rooms, and ice cream machines. The main galley had the very best equipment, with oil stoves and pressure cookers. “Pappy” Briggs now had something he could show to visitors. This building, like the rest of the camp, was built almost entirely by base personnel, under the supervision of the Seabees.
Occasionally men who wanted to make out a sorry case for themselves wrote home that they had nothing to eat but K rations. Once a man wrote his Congressman that he had had nothing to eat but bread for six weeks. In many cases these letters were returned to the Commandant requesting an investigation. The standard reply was to forward the official menus for the period in question.
As mentioned earlier, the El or Ship Repair unit originally designated as part of Lion Six was sent elsewhere. It was not until late in the fall of 1944 when the originally planned facilities for the development of Guam were greatly augmented, that another expanded El unit, which later became the basis for the great ship repair yard, was ordered in. Pending this, much important work had to be accomplished with the facilities at hand.
These facilities were in the form of E8 and E9 components—Small Boat and Amphibious Craft Repair Units, respectively and went forward with the early groups. The E9 units (there were two) are worthy of mention in that they were motorized, each unit in a truck, with complete equipment for repairing small craft. The equipment included a thirteen-inch lathe, drill press, grinder, air compressor, both gas and electric welding machinery, forge, arbor press, generator, and power hand tools.
The personnel of these E components landed before the island was reported secure, and they almost literally had their rifles in one hand and their tools in the other. They were to establish a boat repair base destined to become the largest ship repair facility west of Pearl. Tents were set up in the Port Director’s camp and work commenced.
Material for the unit arrived soon after the debarkation of the men, and heavy machinery had to be removed from the delivery trucks by hand. Equipment too heavy or too cumbersome to handle was dragged off trucks onto piles of old tires. Despite this makeshift method of unloading, no breakage or damage resulted.
No equipment for the removal of boats from the water was at hand, and the Commander of Craft Repair Units suggested the building of a marine railway from scraps and salvaged material. Much wreckage was available from the old Pan American Airways buildings and the narrow gauge railway used by the enemy. It was obvious that the railway would have to be built by Base personnel, as no other labor was available. It was also obvious that work would have to proceed on a 24-hour schedule in order to complete the means for hauling out boats for repairs before ship unloading stopped due to lack of water transportation. During August most of the personnel of the G2 (hospital) unit had arrived, and these men, having no hospital as yet, volunteered to pour concrete on a round-the-clock basis under the supervision of such construction personnel as were available. The offer was gladly accepted, and the Pharmacist’s Mates and Hospital Apprentices got themselves a manual labor job at which they were very successful. On September 15 the railway was completed and the first boat hauled out for hull repairs. The railway with its sidings was capable of handling 17 boats at once.
It was soon found that the light, cast-iron Japanese wheels would not carry the weight of the heavy boats, and the machine shop had to make car wheels. These were made up of three thicknesses of metal plate, cut out in approximately circular form by electric torches. Two plates, each about three quarters of an inch in thickness, formed the tread of the wheel, and a third, larger in diameter and about half an inch thick, formed the flange. When the three had been bolted together and turned down on a lathe, the wheel was ready for use. These improvised wheels made it possible to handle large boats with ease, including the forty- five foot picket boats, and the little yard functioned smoothly until it was absorbed by the large repair yard built later.
At the end of three months of strenuous work, the base was beginning to take shape, the second word was being eliminated from the expression “organized confusion,” and the organization was emerging. The base was already large, but it was still growing rapidly, and faster than the men could be housed. Quarters were always found, however, sometimes by increasing the number of men per hut, sometimes by using warehouses as billets. Finally orders were received to decommission Lion Six and commission Naval Operating base, Guam, and designating Captain Becker as Commandant. This ceremony took place on October 21, 1944. Lion Six had finished its work and thenceforth became merged into the great Naval Operating Base, Guam.
This is the second of two chapters from the book, Lion Six, which will be published complete by the Naval Institute later this year. Members of Lion Six and other advance base units will find the book of great personal interest.