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CORREGIDOR
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The corregidor operation was an example of co-ordination as it ought to be. The fact that every arm or service has as its final mission, either directly or indirectly, the delivery of John Rifleman to the heart of the enemy’s ground with his GI boot resting squarely on the chest of the enemy is at last being recognized. With that recognition the development of true coordination between the arms is getting somewhere. It isn’t perfect yet, but we’re getting there fast. The mechanics of close air support and naval gunfire support were first worked out in theory, then tried and improved; and they are still being improved. Like most of us, I first learned the mechanics at informal staff schools out of the “books,” and in pre-operation planning. It all sounded good and everyone apparently had the right idea, but something always seemed to mar the picture in actual operation. The weather turned out to be bad for the planes, communications went haywire, the Japs kept the Navy busy somewhere else. It was always something- until the Corregidor show. There, we Doughfeet got the kind of suppose we had heard about and dreamed about, but which we were beginning to doubt existed. Everything clicked, just the way it says in the book, only better. The preinvasion bombardment plans were worked out by the higher staffs. We had no voice in the plans, except by accident. I’ll say more on that later. Briefly, the Air Forces dropped around two hundred tons of bombs per day for over two weeks before Corregidor D-Day. And the Navy bombarded the island for several days from cruisers and destroyers. Luckily, Captain “Tommy” Thompson, my naval gunfire liaison officer, was on the ball. The firing ships for the show were anchored near our staging area, and after studying the tactical plan, Thompson went out to talk things over with their officers. On board one of the cruisers, he found Commander H. L. McCoy who had been stationed on Corregidor at the time of its surrender and later escaped. Commander McCoy came ashore with Captain Thompson to our CP on Luzon and answered a thousand and one questions about the island. The talk was worth an extra battalion. Among other thing, we worked out one especially important detail. |
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One of the entrances to the large tunnel in Malinta Hill on Corregidor looked right down on the beach where we could land. A gun in that entrance could have spelled murder for anyone on the beach – might even have stopped the whole show. McCoy knew exactly where the entrance was. I asked him if he could close it for us, or at least neutralize it. His answer was “Hell, yes. I’ll go to the fire control tower and lay some eight-inchers right in there myself.” What more could we want in cooperation on that important point? In our landing plan, one rifle platoon, equipped for assault-party operations (flame throwers, demolitions, bazookas etc.) was earmarked to hit out fast for that tunnel entrance and finish the job When that platoon reached the spot on D-Day, there was no job to finish. McCoy and his eight-inchers had completely closed it. Support? And how!
Plan for Corregidor A quick stretch of the terrain and tactical plan before I continue with the close-in air and naval support will clarify the story. Corregidor is a tadpole stretched out from west to east in the entrance of Manila Bay. The head of this polliwog (the west end of the island) is called Topside. It is a 500-foot high plateau that drops into deep ravines and cliffs to the water’s edge on all sides, and this part of the island is 2,500 yards in diameter. The thin waist of the tadpole is called Bottomside. It is about five hundred yards wide and rises about twenty five feet above the water. Overlooking Bottomside and to the east of it is steep, jagged, 400-foot Malinta Hill. This hill is over 800 yards long from north to south and only 300 yards wide. The main corridor of Malinta Tunnel runs through the base of the hill from west to east with a main entrance at each end. North and south wing tunnels join the main tunnel inside and come out at smaller entrances on the north and south sides of the hill. From Malinta Hill to the east, the tail of the tadpole stretches out for 3,000 yards to its tip. Corregidor’s long standing nickname, “the Rock,” is a good one for there is only enough soil over the jumble of rock strata to support the life of heavy undergrowth. The tactical plan, which was followed to the letter, called for the 503d Paratroop Regiment to land two battalions on Topside by parachute at 0830. The 3d Battalion, 34th Infantry, was to land near South Dock on the south shore of Bottomside at 1030, secure the Bottomside area and Malinta Hill. From there on, priority one was to open the road from Bottomside to Topside. Priority two, the 503d would clean up Topside including all its ravines and cliffs while the 34th held tight on Malinta. Priority three, a drive down to the east tip from Malinta Hill. There are a hundred or more stories to tell of how it all worked out, but I shall stick to air and naval gunfire support.
Air Support Operations The air support set-up was quite orthodox in organization but outstanding in ability. Captain Gire, the air liaison officer, had one lieutenant and four enlisted men. They were equipped with a radio capable of reaching both the air base and the planes in the air. An air strike would begin with a request to the air liaison officer. Sometimes he got his request twelve or more hours in advance, but a fifteen-minute notice didn’t faze him in the least. Next, an OP would be established for the strike. At the OP was a ground troop officer thoroughly familiar with the ground, the tactical situation and the target. That was usually the battalion CO or executive officer of the unit being helped by the air strike. The Air Forces lieutenant was there with a telephone line to the liaison officer at the radio. An 81mm mortar observer completed the group. The procedure usually went like this: Captain Gire called the squadron leader, who was circling overhead with his outfit, and designated the target on their corresponding air support photos. He also gave him the position of the nearest friendly troops and a line of air flight along which overs and shorts would be harmless to us. After the squadron leader had identified the target and instructed his pilots, the made a trial run. For the trial run, we marked our lines with colored smoke and the target with a white phosphorus mortar shell. For the bombing run the target was again marked the same way and in they came. The air officer at the OP watched them like a hawk. Control was so tight that after one pilot had dropped his bomb, the next plane could be given an adjustment for over or short on the first bomb to make his own release accordingly. If necessary, the second plane could be turned off the target. Such an emergency never arose, but that safety measure definitely could have been taken. That is real air support! Our planes were usually P-47s loaded with either two five-hundred-pounders, or two belly tanks of incendiary fuel. A two-hundred-gallon tank of that stuff bursting in the undergrowth of a ravine, flushes out the rodents in it most efficiently. The infantryman often finds men of other branches standing in awe of his stories of personal contact with the enemy. Some of the bold and adventurous will occasionally ask to go on a patrol or visit the troops in contact in order to get a personal taste of it. Our Air Forces forward observer had the time of his life one day. Company L of the 34th Infantry was scheduled for an attack up a large ravine past the north entrance to Malinta Tunnel. In preparation for it we were running an incendiary strike to burn out the heavy undergrowth and silence a Jap 20mm. in the area. The battalion executive officer and the air observer had a beautiful OP in a small trench overlooking the target area. When the planes passed over on the trial run, a six-foot Jap jumped out of the bushes, ran like mad up the narrow road about fifty yards and popped back into the bushes. The Air Forces lieutenant’s eyes bulged. “Hey, I could have got that bastard if I’d had an M1!” The executive officer smiled, got an M1 from the near-by platoon sergeant and laid it over the parapet. “OK, there you are. Now, when the first bomb drops, keep your eyes open. He’ll probably flush again.” The bomb dropped near the road. Out came the big Jap like a bat out of you know where. The lieutenant dropped him neatly. The other riflemen, having given the Air Forces officer a visitor’s courtesy, made sure that the Jap stayed down. The next plan was coming in, the phone rang madly. The excited lieutenant unconsciously answered it. The voice in his ear was angry. “What the hell are you doing up there? I’ve been ringing my head off! The pilots want to know if the bombs are going in OK!” “Bombs? Oh, bombs! Yeah, they’re all right. Say, I just shot a Jap!” Frequently and fortunately there were more planes available than we could use on close support targets. Normally, there were requests for about two strikes a day. The air base often sent enough planes for four or five strikes if we happened to need them. The liaison officer would say, “I’ve got fifteen planes overhead. Any targets?” “Nothing right now.” “OK, they’ve got about two hours of gas. I’ll keep them standing by and check again when they have about fifteen minutes left.” If at the end of the two-hour period, no close-in targets moved up, the bombs were used “strategically” on the east end of the island, on likely storage areas and hideouts in ravines where naval gunfire couldn’t reach. After the bombs were dropped, the planes would rat race around and strafe for any Japs flushed by the bombing. One day, the liaison officer was sending a squadron on a “strategic” mission. The squadron commander asked, ”Is it OK to strafe in there?” “OK to strafe. Go ahead.” ”Roger.” Then a strange voice came in. “This is so-and-so right over you. I’m coming home from reconnaissance. I haven’t and bombs, but may I join in the strafing?” ”Sure, come along?” ”Roger, Wilco, and thank you.” Cooperation and coordination are wonderful things once everybody gets the idea.
Reasons for Air’s Successes Our air support worked exceptionally well because:
While I’m on the subject, I believe a few general suggestions for better air support are in order:
With the decrease of Jap air power and the increase of bitter ground fighting (witness Okinawa), close tactical air support becomes more possible from the Air Forces view and more important and necessary from the Ground Forces view.
The Malinta OP Before mentioning our naval gunfire support, I’ll tell you about the Malinta Hill OP. Before the war, a concrete OP on the top of Malinta Hill, known as base end station B-23 was used for artillery direction. It is dug into the rock, has overhead cover, and affords a grand view of the entire island. Every officer ever stationed on Corregidor knows the spot. I met Major Jules Yates after his liberation from Cabanatuan, and found that he had used this OP to defend Corregidor from Japs. He was happy to know that the same OP had been used to drive them off. Our Company L had an officer on duty there around the clock. After a day or two, they had learned all the most likely places to nail a few Japs. Machine guns were adjusted on road junctions, cave entrances, paths, etc. The 81mm. mortar observers did likewise with their guns. From there on, it was a game, mostly at night, observing fire by the light of the moon and Navy star shells. One or two Japs moving down a road was a challenge to the mortar observer to fire his gun at the precise instant which would bring Jap and the shell together. A miss of five yards, even though it got the Jap, brought derisive remarks. When a Jap column appeared, school was out and a field day in order. The best Malinta Hill OP field day story comes later in speaking of naval gunfire. Our pre-landing bombardment was copious, well places and was furnished by cruisers, destroyers, gunboats, rocket firing LCI’s and PT boats. On D-day the fire never ceased from the opening of the heavy guns at daylight until our first wave touched shore amid the dust of the final volleys of five-inch shells. My best story of naval support concerns our floating artillery. The destroyers which stood offshore day after day giving close support with gnat’s-eye accuracy were a main factor in the retaking of Corregidor. The set-up was similar to that of field artillery and air support, a liaison party and a forward observer party. These parties come from the Joint Assault Signal Companies made up of individuals from both the Army and Navy. JASCO is a good outfit and deserves a lot of credit. Their men on Corregidor showed plenty guts and skill. We had two destroyers available at all times, day and night. During the day, one destroyer sat dead in the water off the south shore firing on any likely looking target east of Malinta Hill, while the other worked around the west end, firing mission for the paratroopers in their clean-up of the rugged ravines and cliffsides in that area. At night, one destroyer lay out west of the island firing star-shell illumination until the moon rose, while the other patrolled outside the bay entrances though still available to fire on call.
Targets on Call Scheduled fires were requested daily through the liaison officer. Concentration lasting from ten minutes to an hour were fired in preparation for attacks on the day’s objectives. At night illumination schedule usually called for one or two star shells every few minutes until moonrise. Targets of opportunity were worked all days. If we picked them up, we asked for the fire and got it. Often the ship picked them up. It was quite common to hear from the radio, “We see what appears to be a gun position at so-and-so. May we fire?” The Navy’s “may-we-fire” attitude was worth a million to us. A good example of coordination on a target of opportunity happened one night. The normal night schedule was in progress, one ship firing star shells, the other on patrol. From the light of a star shell, the Malinta OP observer picked up a long column of heavily laden Japs coming out of the east entrance to Malinta Tunnel and moving down toward the eastern tip of the island. The telephone switchboard began to snap with business, SCR-300 radios began to talk and SCR-284 generators began to whir. In the first three minutes, four machine guns were set to cover the column from head to tail, four 81mm. mortars were likewise shifted, star-shell illumination was increased to continuous lighting. All machine guns and mortars opened fire together. The initial bursts caused heavy casualties and pinned the Japs down. Seven minutes later, the destroyer on patrol had reached its firing position and had fired the initial round for adjustment. For the next thirty minutes, five-gun broadsides raked those monkeys from tip to tail. If any of the 150-odd Japs in that party lived through it, I don’t know how. Smooth teamwork that night saved the lives of quite a few Doughboys who would have to dig those Japs out of a hole the hard way later on. The Navy got a “well done” from us for that one and we weren’t just being polite. In addition to scheduled fire and targets of opportunity, we had several special targets. The east entrance to the main tunnel was a tricky one. While the 503d was working on their Topside job, my 34th Infantry force held Malinta Hill. But there just weren’t enough troops to maintain control of the east tunnel entrance at night. At the same time, both Colonel George Jones, commanding officer of the 503d “Rock Force,” and I wanted to stop this nightly business of Japs bringing supplies out of the tunnel down to the east end of the island. We knew exactly where the entrance was, but we were leery about firing on it. It was right below our own men on the hill, but it couldn’t be seen from there for adjustment. Firing from our verbal descriptions wouldn’t do because it was hidden under heavy bushes and hard to locate. Our patrols visited the area almost daily, so we had several officers who had seen it. But there was no place on the island from which they could adjust fire on the tunnel entrance. The Navy gave us a simple solution by invitation. “Come out to the ship and show us,” they said, so we did. Colonel Jones, Lieutenant John Bierne, who had patrolled the area, and I went out one afternoon. Bierne laid the fire control cross-hairs right on the entrance. The fire of one gun was adjusted and then the ship poured in a hundred more rounds of APC. Our patrol the next morning reported the entrance closed. Our visit to the destroyer not only accomplished an important mission, but fostered mutual esteem and friendship which made for even better teamwork in the future, if that were possible. The coordination between the higher planning staffs of the Army and Navy is excellent and produced first-rate results. I’d like to see more opportunity for the men doing the job to get together and work out details. Skippers of destroyers and gunboats should have at least one conference with the staff of a landing team before the show, and several more during the show if possible. I have probably made the Corregidor operation sound like a picnic. It wasn’t. The troopers took their share of casualties in sweating out the extermination of six thousand Japs and there are hundreds of stories to be told about it. It would, however, have cost many times the price in blood if Air, Navy, and Ground Forces coordination had not worked so magnificently. Anything we can do to foster and improve our teamwork will always be of prime value in finishing this war as cheaply as possible. |
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| This article was originally published in the INFANTRY JOURNAL August, 1945. |
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