CHAPTER 6

BATTERY HARTFORD

One morning, after breakfast, a Battery meeting was called. We were assembled in the second floor squad room. The Battery Commander explained that there would be an expansion of the 60th CAC. He said all the “old” batteries would furnish some of their enlisted men, NCO’s and officers, into a pool of men. New batteries would be formed from this pool. Lists would be displayed on the bulletin board indicating those men assigned to new batteries. We all hustled down to the first floor where the main bulletin board was located to see the lists, and yes, I found my name on one of the sheets. I was reassigned to “H” Battery. My new outfit would be located in Middleside Barracks. “H” Battery would also be an AA gun battery. Somehow I was pleased at this change of direction. Now I would be at Middleside, away from all of the officers, and the spit and polish. I would be in the same barracks as Spence.

The word came we would be moving in two or three days, and the following afternoon I inquired where my new battery was located in Middleside Barracks. I was surprised to learn Middleside Barracks consisted of two buildings and “H” Battery would be situated in the second section which previously housed the Philippine Scouts. It seemed I wouldn’t be very close to Spence after all.

After lunch, I took off for Middleside. Luckily I found Spence at his battery and I told him the news. He too was delighted with the move. I told him several new batteries were to be formed, and it seemed that most would be located at Middleside. We decided to walk over to the other building and see what was going on. We asked a corporal in front of the first battery area if he knew where “H” Battery was to be located and he pointed down toward the other end of the building. We continued to walk until we reached the Guardhouse. Several men were moving about and we found out from one that “H” Battery would be next door on the north side.

We wandered next door and found several Americans and Filipinas moving containers and barracks bags and shuffling furniture around. Talking to one of the enlisted men we learned that the barracks was ready for its new occupants. The Rec Room was already set up, the kitchen and mess hall were intact, and walking up to the second floor, we saw that many of the bunks and wall lockers were in place.

A sergeant walked up and asked what we were doing there and I told him that I had been assigned to “H” Battery and had walked down to see where it was. He said that he also was transferring from “D” Battery, and that he would be one of the gun sergeants. We would begin moving shortly, he said. He told us it was cooler at Topside and that he would miss that, but that he was being promoted to gun commander and that would raise his pay, and that was good. He walked downstairs with us and we headed back to Spence’s battery.

The move to Middleside went very smoothly, and shortly, I was settled in my new quarters located on the second floor. I walked out onto the veranda which faced the east and the view was peaceful. An open space approximately 20 to 25 yards separated the barracks from huge trees that ran the length of both buildings of the Middleside Barracks. The trees were broken only by a few structures. One such building was a long, one story affair that squatted to my right, its length paralleled the open space which I later learned was for the battery formations. The one story building was the Middleside Theater, and I learned  we had a tailor shop where we could order tailor made fatigues, and shark skin suits, etc. The tailor shop and a photo studio were located just in front, and slightly below “A” Battery where Spence lived. I still possess the two photographs I sent to my parents that were taken in the small studio. One of myself, and one of Spence and I.

Also on the island was a theater at Bottomside, and a combination bar and restaurant situated in Barrio San Jose. A large bakery was also located at Bottomside. It seemed that Corregidor resembled a small city, equipped with every type of facility.

A major storm struck the area just after we were settled into our new barracks and we were to experience the effects of a typhoon. Since mosquitoes were rigidly controlled on the island, the huge concrete barracks at both Topside and Middleside were open and airy. When the vicious gale force winds struck the island, large sliding shutters were moved across the openings of the verandas and it became snug and cozy inside the barracks, although I was surprised to learn that it could become cold in the tropics. During the rainy season, from June through the remainder of the year, I learned that one could become chilled on Corregidor!

I was assigned to a squad, and also a gun crew. I now had a corporal (Cpl. Sam Lynch) and a sergeant, (Sgt. Bill Gardner) and I was meeting new men in the battery each day and settling into a comfortable routine. Many of the new men came over on the Republic and somehow, it seemed to give us something in common. The noncoms were transfers from original units of the 60th, several of those from “D” Battery, each awarded promotions.  I found that “H” Battery was blessed with reliable non-coms, starting with First Sergeant Bezalee Fooshee. I had nothing but respect for Sgt. Howard Frank, Sgt. Charlie Jackson and Sgt. Len Naylor. There were too many good non-commissioned officers to mention in “H” battery and they held the men solidly together  through the black days ahead.

A notice was posted ordering all men to prepare for a visit to the rifle range the following day. Recruits must qualify on the 200 yard range. We were to fall in at 08:00 am. I rather looked forward to firing the 30-06. Perhaps a slight trepidation, but I harbored no fear. My father had taught me to fire both the rifle and pistol, and I walked many fields with him, hunting pheasants and rabbits.

Some of the men from the northern cities were rather nervous when confronted so suddenly with rifle range participation, and some of the noncoms eased their fears somewhat, explaining it was nothing earthshaking to fire on the range. It was illustrated that we would be required to fire the Springfields, the BAR (Browning Automatic Rifle), the 22 cal. rifle on the 1000” Range, and also the 30 cal. machine gun at tow targets. It later developed that only twenty or twenty-five men would fire the 30cal. machine gun.

The next few weeks proved to be a test for all of us. Several visits to the rifle range were experienced by we “rookies”. This was all a great adventure to me. It was never drudge work. I could still be in Columbus Ohio scrounging for work. I would much rather be here. The palm trees, the ocean, and this fascinating island, bristling with guns, this was a real adventure! My friend Spence approached this in the same manner as I. Each day was a new experience.

A list was posted on the battery bulletin board enumerating those men chosen to qualify on the 30 cal. machine guns (A-A type) and this would take place during the following week. Those men listed were broken into groups of four, and each group was assigned a specific time to fire in the morning, or in the afternoon.

“Availability of a tow plane could affect any scheduled firing times,” the Range Officer informed us during a meeting.

“We are totally reliant upon the Army Air Corps to supply us with a tow plane, and we must coordinate all range firing, A-A machine guns that is, with the Air corps.”

The entire group was clustered around the machine gun that was mounted on the tall, anti-aircraft type tripod. The quiet speaking sergeant demonstrated loading a belt of ammunition into the breech of the Browning Machine Gun, pulled the loading handle back and released it. “The machine gun is now loaded and ready to fire,” the sergeant remarked, “and keep in mind, when firing the thirty and fifty caliber machine gun, the gunner does not use sights to direct the fire. Every fifth round in the ammo belt is a tracer, and directing a stream of tracers to the target is much more efficient than sighting down the barrel of the gun!”

The instructions were repeated until each man was initiated into the art of firing the 30 cal. Browning. Since this was a new experience for me, I faced this with a little apprehension, but I explained to myself that I had often witnessed those guys in the movies firing machine guns at low flying aircraft! Of course I had to admit the low flying aircraft were Spads and Fokkers in World War one, hardly equivalent to the planes of today!

My time to fire the machine gun materialized on the second day! But now I was armed with new information! I listened to the tales of those chosen to fire at the tow target on the first day. These experiences were animated with the movements of hands and arms, and the attempts to build the experience into a major adventure! I learned the tow plane was a rather slow moving biplane pulling the target at the end of a very long cable.

One of the corporals in attendance stepped in and offered a bit of technical advice for those of us yet to fire the 30 cal. at the tow target. He explained that tracers were loaded into the ammunition belt in every fifth position. He went on, describing the characteristics of the tracer rounds.

“The tracer bullet is lighter than the ball, and  the armor piercing round,” he said, “therefore, the tracer will fly higher than these heavy slugs. You must direct the tracers above your intended line of fire, and well in front of the target to allow for the speed of your target, be it a target sleeve, or an enemy aircraft! If you do not lead with the necessary number of lengths, depending upon the speed of your target, you will miss and your rounds will go behind your intended target.

Armed with this new insight into the ballistics of various types of ammunition, I felt better prepared to face the test of firing a 30 cal. machine gun at the tow target. The following morning, those of us directed to fire on the range were called out. Names were checked on the list by the sergeant in charge, and we walked to Topside. Four 30 cal. machine guns were stationed along the cliff, several metal boxes containing cartridge belts were stacked close to each gun. The tow plane had already arrived and the pilot was given the signal to begin his first run. I was chosen to fire on the third or fourth run and the sergeant instructed me how to pull the handle to load the first round into the firing chamber. He quickly explained the method of leading the target, and directing the path of the tracers. I was ready to fire when the tow plane approached. The plane came in at an altitude just above the level of the cliff, flying from left to right. When the plane was almost even with my position, I squeezed the trigger! The tracers leaped from the muzzle and I attempted to direct their flight to several lengths ahead of the sleeve, and slightly above the level of the target. I knew that this pass of the sleeve was my sole chance, and I tried to make the best of it.

When we returned to the barracks, the sergeant informed us he would display the results of our gunnery prowess once it came in. Those men firing each day, usually were able to read a curt paragraph describing their poor qualities of marksmanship the following day. Unfortunately, the paragraph was posted on the Battery bulletin board for all eyes to see.

The results of my groups firing indicated only three of the twelve men in my group managed to hit the sleeve! Suffice to say, there was little boasting to be heard concerning our capabilities with the 30 cal. AA machine gun! The paragraph did not list the three men who succeeded in hitting the sleeve.

Corporal Wood approached me a couple of days later and asked if I would like to join him, and another man in our squad for a sandwich in the mess hall. I liked this jovial man and I accepted his invite. When we entered the dining area Cpl. Wood motioned toward a man sitting across the room. I recognized the man as we sat down and said hi. It was Roy Joplin, also in my squad, and also a passenger on the Republic. Cpl. Wood motioned to someone in the back of the room dressed in a cook’s ‘uniform’ and shortly the cook approached the table with a platter. I stared at contents! There were slices of bread and slices off large, white onions!

“Joplin and me like onion sandwiches, McGrew. You like onions?” This from Cpl. Wood. I had to laugh.

“I’ve yet to meet an onion I didn’t like!” I grinned. And thus began our long association, the three of us, gathering to eat onion sandwiches and consuming mugs of coffee! Cpl. Wood went on to tell Joplin and I that we were two of the three men to hit the target sleeve when our group fired the 30 cal. machine gun! Of course, he suggested we keep it to ourselves, and refrain from any boasting.

A few weeks later, Spence informed me that he was assigned to the Drum and Bugle Corps and that he would be attending practice each day instead of his regular duties. He would no longer serve on a searchlight crew.

“I turned in my rifle to the supply room, and now my weapon will be a 45 caliber automatic,” he boasted, displaying one of his pearly-white grins.

“Where is your forty-five?” I says, looking at his midsection.

“Oh, I only have my forty-five when I catch guard duty, or go on parade,” he managed, ignoring my smirk.

Even our normal duties gave us considerable leisure time and I hardly thought much of this bugler business when he first told me of it.

Daily routine was generally limited to mornings, and quite often we had little to occupy ourselves with other than a foray to the beach or a hike to another part of the island. If we had a few centavos we tried the duck pin bowling alleys at the Middleside Enlisted Men’s Club. Since neither Spence nor I drank beer, we only went to the club for duck pins or to watch inter-battery basketball games.

Battery “H”, as all Army units, was the roosting place for several “characters” that managed to keep everyone loose, or entertained. Our chief character was a full blooded Indian named Philip Bluebird. Bluebird was one of the great drinkers of that era. He did not restrict his drinking to various kinds of booze. Bluebird would drink anything!

My first encounter with Bluebird’s drinking customs was about a month after “H” Battery was formed. It was early one morning, and I, just returning from a shower and shave downstairs, reached into the top compartment of my wall locker for my after shave and found it missing. I looked behind other objects without success. My Aqua Velva was gone! I proceeded to search for other missing objects. It seemed that only my after shave had disappeared! Later, I approached Cpl. Wood and mentioned the incident.

“Aha!” he howled, “Bluebird has struck again!”

“Whadayamean,” I mumbled quizzically.

“Didn’t you know that Bluebird’s a boozer?”

“Huh-uh, I don’t know anything about him.”

“It’s the middle of the month,” Cpl. Wood groaned, “that’s when he gets desperate!”

“You mean he drinks Aqua Velva?” I says.

“He’ll drink anything,” the corporal muttered, “maybe even diesel.”

“Do I gotta put a lock on my locker to protect my Aqua Velva?”

“Good idea if you can find one,” he said, walking  away mumbling.

A few weeks later I was a witness to another episode in the continuing saga of Philip Bluebird. The  Indian had scraped up enough dough to go on pass to Manila. Probably won it in a crap game. A plot had been hatching for some time among a small group of the men and apparently Bluebird’s weekend pass lent itself  remarkably well to their plan. Knowing that the Indian always caught the last boat from Manila, the sneaky conspirators began their preparations for his return to the barracks after a weekend of revelry in Manila.

Two of the perpetrators hoisted Bluebird’s bed and carried it up to the third floor and deposited it on the rear veranda. The remainder of the culprits then proceeded to reposition all of the beds in the area to eliminate the space left by Bluebird’s cot. The wiseacre’s then surveyed their handiwork, each rubbing their hands in anticipation of the fireworks to come!

Hearing of the Indian’s general condition each time he returned to the base from Manila, I wanted to watch, but definitely not get involved in the pyrotechnics that was surely to occur upon his arrival in the squad room. Fortunately, my bunk was located two rows away from Bluebird’s cot, and I considered myself a safe distance from the epicenter of the Indian’s explosion, surely to come! It came! As always, Bluebird was potted, and as always, he tottered down the aisle, seeking his much needed bunk. As he groped from one cot to the next, finding each complete with an occupant, his muttering grew louder, his only desire to fall upon his bunk, clothes and all, and ease the pain in his head. Each attempt was thwarted by a “sleepy” voice from bunk threatening mayhem. His consternation grew and finally he exploded! He grabbed the side rail and dumped the bed, occupant and all, of the next victim in line, upside down. The Indian had now successfully aroused the whole battery! He was now out of control! Men were spilling from their bunks, each faced with two options. Either take cover, or join the melee now in progress to get Bluebird under control. Someone turned the lights on and this revealed mass chaos! One of the sergeants appeared and after considerable threats and admonitions, managed to banish Bluebird to the rec hall downstairs for the remainder of the night. To all of the perpetrators of this hilarious incident, it had developed into a howling success!

At the breakfast table one morning I was sitting across from Eddie Kobrinsky, our battery bugler. I asked him what I would have to do if I were interested in joining the Drum and Bugle Corps and learning to blow the bugle. Eddie laughed and told me it was quite a coincidence. He said that he was leaving soon for Baguio for a sojourn due him for R&R at Camp John Hay. He said he would check with the battery clerk and see if any requests had been filed for his job, and if not, I should do so immediately.

Later that same day Eddie informed me the job was mine if I wanted it. Two days later I had Eddie’s bugle, and a couple of mouthpieces. I checked my Springfield into the Supply Room as directed and headed for what was known as the “holler” where the buglers and drummers practiced. I found that one just went down in the “holler”, sat under one of the huge trees, and found a good comfortable root to spend the morning on. Glancing around the large, open area, could be seen a drummer here, a bugler there and a small gathering chatting about the latest rumors, or some other nonsense.

I learned to blow the bugle quickly and was told that I would soon have to stand guard whenever my battery pulled guard duty. This required being familiar with the standard bugle calls, reveille, mess call, retreat, taps, tattoo, etc. also any special calls such as fire call. I did not feel confident enough as yet, but was sure I would be proficient very soon. Each battery of the 59th and 60th Regiments were required to stand guard, either at Topside or Middleside, and the bugler of the assigned battery was required to blow all of the necessary bugle calls at the specified times. The word was that guard duty at Topside was much more nerve wracking because there were so many officers. As my experience grew, I continued to hope “H” Battery would draw Middleside guard duty first, allowing me to gain seasoning on the bugle before facing the rigors of blowing the calls at Topside, but it was not to be. “H” Battery (Hartford) was slated to stand guard duty the following Monday!

I had learned many helpful hints from Eddie Kobrinsky before he left, and one of these hints saved my bacon when I had to serve as bugler the first time at Topside. Eddie had told me that it was much easier to make a call if you stuffed your handkerchief into the business end of the bugle and worked up your lip as you practiced the call, over and over.

“Reveille is the toughest,” Eddie explained, “because it’s early in the morning and often the air is cold and damp. This makes it more difficult to work the lip up.”

The old handkerchief trick worked for me on many occasions. Each call was blown through a long megaphone, first in one direction, then the other. It was truly eerie, late in the evening. The sound of the bugle would reverberate along Topside Barracks, the trees and out over the water of Manila Bay. My favorite call was Tattoo, and I can hear the notes rising and falling across Topside.

Serving on the island of Corregidor was idyllic. We were now knowledgeable U.S. Army soldiers, we thought. Our everyday existence was pleasant for my friend and I. We had refrained from the temptation of weekend leaves to Manila for the simple reason that a weekend in Manila cost money! Money we had little of. Our pay was thirty dollars per month. From my thirty dollars, the allotment to my parents was ten dollars. Necessities such as shaving supplies, a monthly trip to Bottomside for my hamburger steak and eggs (with catsup for my hamburger), and various other minor costs that seemed to crop up, such as trips to Middleside Theater and duckpin bowling at the Middleside Enlisted Men’s Club quickly defrayed the remaining twenty dollars. Also, I often kept a small amount to expand my fund to pay for my tailor-made fatigues that fit smartly, and neatly compared to those voluminous apparitions that my friend Spence Bever insisted on wearing! I often reminded Spence that the issue fatigue blouse gave him the appearance of a pregnant woman.

The tailor-made fatigues were trim looking, and I liked wearing them, and furthermore, since I didn’t invest in a tailor-made sharkskin suit so popular with the other men, the fatigues were one of my few luxuries (together with the monthly hamburger steak and eggs.)  Sharkskin suits, used for forays to Manila, cost the enormous price of eight dollars! Eight dollars was a bunch of money in 1941!

In early November, “H” Battery received a new Battery Commander and the atmosphere of the organization changed rapidly. Our new C.O. was Captain Warren Starr. We learned that he had arrived in the Philippines in September, was assigned to “G” Battery for a short while and then was ordered to take over “H” Battery. The general feeling among the men was the Captain was a plus. Little did we know how much of a plus he would be during the next few months! I learned from Cpl. Woods that our battery was getting new equipment. By the middle of November our battery had new 3” guns, and a new Director, and the Captain had the guns, Director and Height Finder set up on Middleside Parade Ground. All of the gun crews and the range section began drilling on the equipment. I invited Spence to join me and watch the gun crews drill. He was amazed how speedily the men could run the practice ammunition through the gun. Several times we had a night drill. A plane would fly across Corregidor and the crews would practice firing at the plane. One or more searchlight crews fired up their generators and the big 60” lights would send brilliant shafts of light stabbing up into the night, seeking out the target plane.

We noticed an aura of preparedness changing our everyday routine as the month of November moved along. The training sessions became more frequent, and the very demeanor of the officers seemed different. A serious intensity seemed to permeate our activities. Afternoons off became a rarity, often the morning training sessions began to spill over into the afternoons.

The 1st Sgt. notified me that I would be a machine gunner in Cpl. Layden’s machine gun section. This was good news to me since I had little to do, and everyone was bustling about but me. I found Cpl. Layden and informed him that Sgt. Fooshee had assigned me to the machine gun section, and I was ready to go to work. The corporal told me that he would be giving operating and takedown instructions starting tomorrow, and that he wanted all the section to attend. This proved valuable to me since I knew little about the water-cooled 30 cal. machine gun.  I learned quickly over the next two or three days how to take the 30 cal. down, and how to clean the operating parts. I studied the spare parts list.

My next major project was to learn to load the 30 caliber ammunition belt.

“It is important that you load your own belts,” Cpl. Layden stated to each of us, “if you load your own you can ensure that each cartridge is properly positioned in the belt. If your gun jams, you will have no one to grouse to other than yourself!”

Cases of ammunition were placed before us, tracer, ball and armor piercing. The Corporal had a low table brought in. He lifted the loader onto the table, (with a little help).

“We will load each belt in this manner,” Layden said as he laid an empty belt across the loader.

“First I will insert a tracer round,” he slid the tracer into the loop, “next we load two ball rounds,” he slid two red-nosed cartridges into the belt, “and next two black-nosed armor piercing rounds,” and he did so.

“Now you start again and repeat the process over and over until the belt is full.”

Needless to say, I spent many hours loading 30 ca. machine belts. My own! It was tedious work, but one thing is certain! At no time during the air attack on Corregidor did my machine gun ever jam!