The fate of the Allies rests in the hands of eccentric British Navy Captain George Hardy. Regarded as a madman by some, and viewed as a genius in naval warfare by those who serve with him, Hardy leads his ragtag fleet of warships into a deadly match of wits and wills against the determined Kern and his untested U-boats. Under cover of the ocean, the deadliest of enemies are about to engage their final battle…. Welcome to HuntersAndTheHunted.Com, the Cyberspace Home of author: Steven Wilson.

Pappy Gunn’s B-25s Part 2
by Steven Wilson, 2005

ARTICLE ORIGINALLY APPEARED AT MILITARY.COM, July 19, 2006

New Britain is an irregularly shaped island that splits the Solomon and Bismarck Seas to point like at dagger at New Guinea. The Japanese had lost Guadalcanal just six months before and now the contest centered on the fighting in the green hell of the New Guinea jungles. By March 1943, the Australians, American, and Japanese had proved themselves proficient at jungle fighting, or for that matter, simply surviving in the endless tropical forests. It was a battle that was rapidly grinding away both sides and each depended on supply by sea. It was these broad avenues that were a salvation to the infantrymen, and it was on the ocean that much of the vicious fighting that was often no quarter, was played out. The weather, like the ancient gods, took capricious delight in first aiding one side, and then the other, and the weather in early March 1943 had thrown in its lot with the Japanese Imperial Navy.

The Lae ReSupply Convoy had set off from Rabaul under the command of Admiral Masatomi Kimura, a veteran of the Tokyo Express. His ships carried over 15,000 men, the largest Japanese invasion force since the attack on the Philippines. It was a do or die situation. This force was to sweep the American and Australian forces back to Port Moresby and into the sea. With daring, and a little luck, Kimura, known as the “Eel of the Pacific” for his lightning-like movements, would take his ships from Rabaul, around the New Britain’s Gazelle Peninsula, across Kimbo Bay, through the Dampier Strait, and onto Lae on New Guinea’s Huon Gulf. His movement would not go unnoticed by the Americans and Australians. Nor did he expect it to. Between the coast watchers and dozens of enemy scout planes Kimura realized that his convoy would become known to the Allies almost immediately. But he counted on two allies of his own; the weather, and his own skill.

Elements of the American Fifth Air Force were warned about the Japanese fleet’s movements and scrambled a force of B-17s with P-38 escorts on the morning of March 2, 1943 to intercept the enemy ships. Kimura’s fleet was just north of Kimbo Bay when the Americans struck. It was a futile effort from the very beginning. As powerful as the 28 B-17’s were, they were simply not designed to hit a moving target. The convoy simply scattered, zigzagging across the Bismarck Sea, the bridge crews timing their course changes to the bombs’ releases. The bombers, flying at 5,000 feet, did nothing more than sink one transport and damage several other ships. One B-17 was downed and several were slightly damaged. While the American bombers returned to base, the Lae Resupply Convoy continued on its way.

Later that day twelve B-25s of the 38th Bomb Group carrying conventional bombs took their chance with the convoy, but after the early B-17 attack, the weather deteriorated. Thick clouds would form, dissipate, and then reform all along the convoy route. The sky might be clear one hour, and the next visibility could be reduced to less than a mile. Kimura knew this of course, and skillfully used the fast moving weather fronts to camouflage his convoy. For the Americans and Australians, especially the B-25s and A-20s of the 3rd Bomb Group based at Dobodura, the situation was becoming frustrating. When members of the 38th reported in from their attack they claimed one cruiser and one transport sunk, but the 3rd’s attempt to reach the convoy was called off when they were enveloped by a dense fog. Flying in formation with dozens of other bombers, P-38s, and P-39s was dangerous enough. Besides the weather the problem was that conventional bomb runs, high or low altitude traditional attacks, wouldn’t work. The Japanese crews were just too skillful in maneuvered their ships out of the path of the falling bombs. The Americans could inflict some casualties, but not enough to turn the convoy back or significantly reduce its effectiveness.

Now Kimura demonstrated why he was known as the “Eel of the Pacific.” He had planned to take the convoy through the Dampier Strait and enter the Solomon Sea about 50 nautical miles northeast of Finschafen. That was the shortest and most logical approach to Huon Gulf and Lae. But Kimura, knowing that 1.) he was still being watched from the jungles of New Britain and by irritating enemy aircraft, and 2.) knowing also that his path would be obvious to anyone who could read a chart, chose to make a feint. His gunners had kept up a sporadic fire at the circling PBYs, occasionally chasing them into a cloudbank for safety, so Kimura decided to sail into the Dampier Strait, trailing the pesky reconnaissance aircraft. Halfway into the Strait, his gunners let loose a terrific barrage, driving the enemy planes off. Then Kimura ordered the fleet to reverse course, steam back out of the Dampier Strait, and head due west to the Vitiaz Strait. In other words, he disappeared.

When Kimura and the 19 ships of his convoy reappeared the next day he was just three hours from his destination, Lae. He had alerted Japanese army and naval aircraft to be on standby because now the convoy was entering an area of true danger. As he was hours away from safety he was hours away from virtually every Allied aircraft on New Guinea. And the Allies had decided on a new tactic; the B-25s and A-20s would launch skip bomb attacks on the convoy just as the heavy bombers, B-17s and B-24, were ending their attacks. The Americans and the Australians were praying that the Japanese would be so preoccupied dodging high level attacks they wouldn’t see the skip bombers coming in on the deck.

It hadn’t been easy to convince General Ennis Whitehead, deputy Fifth Air Force commander; skip bombing was unproven except in training, and it was especially dangerous, some might suggest almost suicidal. The skip bombs were fused at fifteen seconds—there was no room for error. But Colonel Bob Strickland pointed out the obvious to General Whitehead, Pappy Gunn’s skip bombs were all they had left. Even if the clouds reduced the ceiling to virtually nothing, if the pilots could see the water, they could see the enemy ships. It was a gamble, a gamble that might result in the deaths of hundreds of Americans and the loss of precious aircraft, but to do nothing would result in even more destruction and possibly the loss of New Guinea and Australia.

But if the weather had been unkind to the Allies, Fate offered her condolences. Some Australian P-40 fighters flying near Lae noticed Zeros parked wingtip-to-wingtip awaiting deployment. When word got back to Whitehead, who, after some thought, ordered the 38th Bomb Group and RAAF Operational Group, mobilized with instructions to attack the Zeros only when the convoy had been spotted. The proposition was simple enough; if the Americans and Australians struck Lae too soon the Japanese could call up protection for the convoy from other sites. The skip bomb attack on the convoy and the fragmentation, napalm attack on Lae field had to be timed perfectly.

The Lae ReSupply Convoy was spotted by two Australian P-40s at 13:30 on March 3, 1943 and things happened as Whitehead predicted. The Japanese base at Lae was notified by the convoy, ground crews of the Japanese 7th Fighter Division began preparing their aircraft, and all hell broke loose. Thirty-two Australian and American bombers thundered over the base at tree-top level, dropping napalm and fragmentation bombs on the closely packed enemy aircraft. Those Japanese planes that were not destroyed were damaged, but even for those that could get off the ground, the situation was dire—it would be hours before the airstrip could be repaired.

The A-20s and B-25s came in low, the tips of their props throwing spray over the olive-drab wings. They were so low that many of the ships larger anti-aircraft guns could not be depressed enough to hit them. And just as bad, the bombers guns chewed into the ships as they approached. Ships swerved to dodge the on-coming aircraft, putting up a storm of fire. The sea was churned into a white froth by speeding vessels careening out of the way, and the impact of thousands of bullets. This was unlike any attack that Kimura and his men had experienced before. These bombers behaved like torpedo planes, hugging the tops of the waves, but they did not release their deadly cargo until they were 25 yards away. They should have been caught in the explosion of their own bombs; but they weren’t. What Pappy Gunn had drilled into the men was to keep your intervals—fifteen second, the bombs were fused for fifteen seconds. In a matter of minutes fifteen planes managed 34 hits with skip bombs. Ships were stopped and listing, or twisting wildly to get out of the way, or sunk. It wasn’t over. The American planes returned to Dobodura to rearm and refuel and Whitehead, cautiously elated at the success of the attack, called up every aircraft he could get his hands on. He didn’t want to destroy the Lae ReSupply Convoy; he wanted to annihilate it.

The second attack found the remaining12 ships of the convoy speeding through Huon Gulf. When the Allied bombers left, all that existed were five destroyers and a transport. The remnant was symptomatic of the effectiveness of the skip bombers; only the fastest, most maneuverable ships survived. In all, the Lae ReSupply Convoy lost 16 ships over a two- day period. The cost in dead, wounded and missing (not counting aircrews) was grim. Several thousand of Japanese sailors and some 14,000 army troops were lost. American and Australian fighters strafed pitiful bundles of troops floating on the gentle swells of the Bismarck Sea. The reason was obvious; they could still swim to their destination.

Pappy Gunn was called a wild man, and some flyers thought he was crazy, but what he and his skip bombers proved in March 1943 was that sometimes, crazy is good.

Steven Wilson / HuntersAndTheHunted.Com E-Mail: readermail@HuntersAndTheHunted.Com