Chapter 2 Type 999; Stuart, Invasion of Borneo; No Flowers to say it with.

TYPE 999

THERE used to be a shabby little vessel of uncertain lineage which haunted the wide reaches of Scapa Flow like some mildly eccentric wildfowl. She would generally come in from seaward in the late afternoon, ploughing a clean white furrow across the ragged, slate-grey waters of the Flow, the gulls dipping and wheeling astern of her like drifting snowflakes against the darkening sky. An unkempt, impudent little ship, darting about between the lordly men-o'-war at their moorings as nimbly as an urchin wriggling through the legs of a fashionable crowd.

Her skipper was an ancient, weather-beaten old salt of twenty-three, who had attempted to conceal the soft contours of his cherubic countenance behind a fierce, spiky black beard, but somehow he had only succeeded in looking like a mischievous boy playing at pirates. From the sleeves of his deplorable monkey-jacket hung the tattered remains of one wavy stripe, and his cap badge was green with the brine and verdigris of honourable service. His name was Sub-Lieutenant David, and that of his First Lieutenant, a tall, gangling, engaging youth, was Jonathan.

Wherever the ancients forgather in the wardrooms of the fleet you may expect to hear these names, for no blither, more irrepressible pair of spirits ever wore the fouled anchor, and their deeds are handed down to posterity in legend and song.

It happened that David's ship (let's call her H.M.S. Atrocious, for she really was) was laid up for a brief refit in one of those grim northern ports where the inhabitants seem to tone their conversation, their clothes, and their homes to blend with the drab grey weather. It was a spot which might easily have discouraged a more sensitive pair of roisterers, but, on the odd occasions when David and Jonathan were free to do a run ashore in company, no port, however gloomy, was proof against their youthful exuberance.

On this particular occasion they had flitted from pub to pub, spreading sweetness and light wherever they went, so that when the pair left, the thoughtful gatherings around the dart boards felt as though the sun had blazed suddenly through the window of their shadowed bar parlour, and then had swept on again, leaving them only the memory of its warmth.

It was some time during the middle watch, when a man's vitality is said to be at its lowest ebb, that David and his Jonathan turned their wavering footsteps towards the docks, and it is typical of them that, at this grisly hour, when their spirits should have been hovering uncertainly between life and death, they were, in fact, marching vigorously, arm in arm, down the main street of the town, singing lustily. The rumbling near-bass of Number One clung stolidly to what he firmly believed to be the tune, whilst David, ever an adventurer, struck out boldly on various improvisations in a cracked tenor. "Around her knee she wore a purple garter," they bawled, and the good citizens, hearing the great outcry, rose and barred their shutters thinking that evil spirits were abroad.

In the fullness of time they came to a pawnbroker's shop a short haul from the dockyard gate, and there, like a sign from heaven, hung the age-old symbol of Uncle, the three brass balls. Jonathan stopped dead in his tracks, gazing in rapture, like a jewel thief catching his first glimpse of the Crown jewels.

"Skipper," he said, huskily, seizing his superior firmly by the coat-tails and causing him to lose way, "do you see what I see?"

Lieutenant David stared owlishly at the sign, which seemed to be swinging in wide, rhythmic arcs across the dark sky; then intelligence flitted briefly over his features and, clearly and concisely as befits a captain of one of His Majesty's ships, he spoke:

"Number One, I am about to secure that bauble. Hump your shoulders a bit and grit your teeth for it may be necessary for me to stand upon your head."

The operation was a long and hazardous one, and there were moments when co-operation between the air and ground staffs seemed to have broken down, notably when Jonathan suddenly withdrew his support and retired to massage his ear, leaving his captain dangling blasphemously from the sagging metalwork. But at last the job was done and, as they passed into the gloom of dockland, the ribald echoes of their song went wavering along the empty streets.

A few days later, as the last watery rays of the sun were slinking away into the sombre greyness of the Flow, Atrocious came romping into the anchorage, handling the awkward set of the tide as easily as a seal. On the tiny bridge, their oilskins dripping and gleaming in the eerie light, were David and Jonathan, grinning delightedly as at some secret jest, and at their masthead proudly rode the shining trophy of the chase . . . the three brass balls.

Now, in Scapa, the days are dreary in the extreme, and utterly without incident, so that as Atrocious passed between the lines of tall ships with her curious adornment flaunted for all to see, her passage caused almost as great a sensation as if the Royal barge had suddenly appeared. The two reprobates on the bridge bowed graciously to port and starboard, enjoying themselves hugely until, from the signal deck of a vast, grey, distant monster, a piercing eye began to glitter and wink through the murk. Number One read the message and blanched a little. Then he moved closer to his friend and spoke in a hushed, deathbed whisper:

"Bill, old boy, we've had it. Flagship wants to know what that is," and he pointed unhappily at the pawnbroker's sign glowing evilly at the masthead.

For a terrible moment they stared at each other blankly while the green waters rose up over their bows and lashed them with icy spray. Then David squared his shoulders, and x6th the swift and firm decision of the true leader he said, "We will make the message 'The equipment at my masthead is Experimental Radar Aerial Type 999'. That is all." And so the awful deed was done.

The effect of this simple signal in the flagship was somewhat akin to the sounding of ..e action gongs. The "Major" rose swiftly from his bunk like a snipe from the marshes, kai calling for his subaltern as he ran, flew consult his C.Bs. Radar types, drawn together by some instinctive defensive impulse, held frantic conference in the wardroom flat. Everyone from Number One downwards declared stoutly, and with a lamentable disregard for veracity, that they knew all about Type 999, but for the moment couldn't recall the details. Dismissing his henchmen with fine scorn, the captain caused the evil eye to wink again, and the two criminals in Atrocious were horrified to receive:

"My radar officers will board you a.m. tomorrow to inspect Type 999."

It has been said, with a great deal of justice, that to see your matelot at his supreme best you must see him in a sudden emergency, and David's crew, when apprised of the approaching disaster, responded with a skill and resource which were, and are, a lasting credit to the service which they so modestly adorn. By 1000 hours of the next forenoon there had been assembled on board Atrocious a contraption of switches and knobs, and lights and dials and gauges which would have been considered imaginative to the point of recklessness even by so spacious a thinker as the late Mr. Heath Robinson. Boldly engraved upon the brass plate above it was the inscription, "Type 999".

The plenipotentiaries from the flagship arrived on the seventh stroke of the bell and were courteously ushered below to the warmth and cheer of the tiny wardroom, where they admired the gin and the murals alternately at such length that their boat was alongside before Type 999 had reared its ugly head among the pleasant flow of conversation. The switches were duly switched, and immediately lights danced magically upon the panel. Knobs were twisted and gauges leapt madly into action. Finally an inspirational indicator traced a sort of planchette message upon a piece of graph paper. The experts, deeply impressed, withdrew across the waters and, as they receded into the distance, Number One drew a shaky hand across his gleaming brow.

"Suggest up spirits, sir," he said.

The captain inclined his youthful head. "Make it so, please, Number One."

In the hectic days that followed, shore base after shore base was thrown into confusion by sudden demands for Radar Type 999. Every

one had heard of it, knew all about it in fact, but couldn't just put their hands on one for the moment. It was always one maddening jump ahead, in some other ship, or base, or department. One hundred and twenty-eight distinct and separate files were started to cope with the situation, tons of emergency supplies of paper were rushed from one end of the country to the other until, finally, an isolated genius (who was subsequently recommended for accelerated promotion) in a moment of vision ordered Atrocious to surrender her set to the flagship.

There is not, unfortunately, any permanent record of the stirring scene when Type 999 came over the flagship's side. No cameramen were there to record the spectacle for posterity, no artist to capture the breathless moment on canvas, but her officers, who speak lightly of bombs, torpedoes, and kamikazes, still shudder when they recall that day. In the meantime, by an odd coincidence, both Sub Lieutenant David and Sub-Lieutenant Jonathan had discovered a latent but passionate desire to serve in submarines, and, there being a shortage of officers about that time, their wish was granted forthwith. When last heard of they were operating from a remote Pacific base where their youthful joie de vivre and exuberance does much to relieve the monotony of the tropics-except that, when anyone mentions radar or flagships, they glance furtively at each other, and their tongues are curiously stilled.

"SEPTIMUS"

STUART

SHE is back on the job again, to outward appearance little changed. Apart from the loss of her for-ward funnel she might still be the old familiar leader of the "Junks", but that missing funnel is a forlorn reminder to the initiated of the changes that have taken place within the lean old hull. To friends it is a little sad to see an old warhorse curbed and constrained, as it were, between the milk cart shafts; but if ships have hearts-and lots of silly sailors think they have-it is certain that Stuart's heart is in no way troubled.

To fetch and carry for those who have taken her place is honourable work for a pensioner and vastly preferable to a rustful retirement or the knacker's yard. Her grotesque pole mast and single vertical funnel stand out incongruously amongst the lattice masts and streamlined funnels of her sleek successors, but the old hull is sound and her lines are clean and graceful and her ensign flutters just as proudly as it did when she led the 10th Flotilla on the screen for Cunningham's battle fleet.

Step aboard and have a look round. Down here are the captain's quarters. In this cabin, over the last twenty-six years, a long succession of commanding officers have dwelt a little while and then passed on, leaving a record of their names in the ship's book and something of their personalities, one likes to think, somewhere in the ship.

Andrew Cunningham used to say that Stuart was full of ghosts. An old destroyer man himself, he~ liked occasionally to snatch a few moments from his twenty-four-hour working day to sit in this cabin and recall the names-many now famous-and the exploits many now legendary-of her former captains.

But others, beside her captains, have slept in this bunk. "Ali Baba" Morshead had once to leave his forty thousand thieves to fend for themselves in Tobruk while he spent an impatient week in Cairo. He came out and returned in Stuart, the most valuable cargo she ever carried on that run.

Another legendary figure, the pint-sized but potent "Tich" Cowan, occasionally slept -if he ever did sleep-in this bunk. He was naval liaison officer with the commandos, but was for ever mislaying them, so he said, and begging rides in the destroyers which haunted the North African coast. One suspected that he lost them deliberately, for he dearly loved to feel a ship under his feet and seemed to enjoy submarine hunts and bombing raids.

A diminutive dynamo of a man, he carried his seventy years as lightly as he did the three tarnished stripes on the shoulders of the motley uniform-part Army, part naval, part pure imagination-which he affected. He had been an admiral at the end of the last war, with more medals than the King; but he emerged as a commander from retirement, as sprightly as ever, to join that curious company of lords and labourers, admirals' sons and adventurers whose early experiments helped to perfect the brilliant technique which later characterized the work of the commandos.

Stuart had an encounter with a submarine one day when Tich was on passage. He stood silently in a comer of the bridge, his enormous military coat flapping about his tiny frame, following every move with sharp interest. When it was over he turned to Captain Waller and said: "That was very good, Waller; I'll tell young Ned about you when I see him next." The Commander-in-Chief was Admiral Sir Andrew B. Cunningham, but to Tich he was just "young Ned". The little man was awarded a bar to his last-war D.S.O. the other day, at the age of seventy-three. His presence will haunt this ship as long as naval men have memories; and so too will the presence of all those unnamed, dusty men who slept in trusting weariness, not only on the bunks but on stools and chairs and lockers and even on the steel decks, in the dark days and nights after Greece and on many a midnight run out of Tobruk.

Let us leave the captain's cabin with its ghosts. Up a steep ladder and we almost step into the officers' bathroom. Shorty Ley, the gunner (T), found himself in there one day during a sudden air attack. It is said that his sense of nakedness so oppressed him that he sat in his tin hat and put the round tin bath tub over his head.

Pass the wardroom galley. There are two small black ghosts in there. Two little Goanese, a steward and a cook, who took passage on a long lonely run down to Diego Suarez and back in November 1939. The Graf Spee, having sunk the Africa Shell, was supposed to be somewhere in the vicinity, but fortunately she was not and Stuart trudged safely back to Aden. Short of food and water, the ship's company lived on bully; so did the officers. But the little Goanese conjured it into fierce exotic curries and moulded the mashed potatoes with swift black fingers into strange zoological shapes to beguile flagging appetites. None of the officers will forget the lifted eyebrows of Leading Steward Martin when he first proffered a slightly grey-looking potato pig with raisin eyes to "Robbie", the First Lieutenant. The ship's company, white Australians all, made pets of the little black men and were sad when they had to go.

Step out on deck. The captain's little sailing skiff used to be stowed just here. Captain Waller bought it for a tenner in Malta, but King, the shipwright, who spent most of his spare time repairing it, was sure the Malts must have seen him coming. One day it slipped out of its slings, accidentally, so it was said, into the harbour at Alex and damaged itself beyond the ship's slender repair resources. The captain gave his Cox'n a free hand to dispose of it. After a lot of acrimonious haggling a Gyppo felucca man bore it away and the Cox'n proudly presented his captain with the purchase price-three watermelons.

Along the narrow deck past the torpedo tubes and we come to the "engineer's bridge". Not much of a bridge. Just a bit of hot steel deck with two round hatches wherein the engineer officer and McAskill, his chief E.R.A., were wont to perch, listening to the rhythm of the machinery: their legs parboiled by the engine heat, their faces lashed by spray and their nerves and eardrums periodically lacerated by the 3-inch gun above them.

This gun, "Tom Crec's cannon", was Stuart's anti-aircraft armament. It was augmented as time went on by several Italian Breda guns, a German anti-tank gun and various other strange pieces which were acquired by barter and larceny along the coast. Tom Cree never boasted of actually bringing anything down, but he claimed a near miss on a Blenheim and frightened hell out of a couple of Spits. It was shoot first and challenge afterwards with Tom.

The Breda guns, with their beautiful tracer bullets, were the means of saving Stuart from a sticky end on what Admiral Cunningham called her wild night at Matapan. While the main armament was busily pumping 4-7-inch bricks into an Italian destroyer at the unsporting range of 150 yards or so, the boys on the starboard side joined in for good measure with a few clips of Breda. This must have deceived the cruiser which Stuart almost rammed in the darkness shortly afterwards, because the cruiser failed to blow her out of the water and allowed her to withdraw, in Captain Waller's words, "softly to the southwest". Softly, except for the gnashing of the teeth of Mr. Ley and his torpedo party, who, having loosed off all their fish at an earlier target, now sat impotently on their empty tubes and watched the world's greatest "sitter" go by.

Peep down into the engine-room. Nothing much to see except the smooth rounded backs of the turbines and a few shining wheels. Nothing much except forty thousand horses to drive the slim hull through the sea at thirty three knots. She was always a fast ship. It must have been her speed which tempted Captain 'Waller to disobey his orders during the battle of Calabria and join the other destroyers when Cunningham flung them in against the Italian fleet. It was a beautiful sight to see -hem go in, at thirty knots in line abreast, with their forward guns blazing and their battle flags flying. It was so beautiful that it must have affected the C.-in-C. because all he said when he noticed the Australian flag in the centre of the line was: "I ought to court-martial that damned fellow, but I don't suppose I will."

There was another occasion when Stuart's speed was tested out. To carry out a certain operation, which may not yet be talked about, it was necessary for her to steam 300 miles, enter harbour, secure, take out her torpedo tubes, embark cargo and 400 tons of fuel and get to sea again all in the space of eleven hours. Pretty good going for an old ship, but she was well built and tough.

She hit a rock at thirty-five knots one night oft Tobruk and folded up one propeller. The vibration almost shook their teeth out, but they carried on and did their job and got back to Alex the next day. They sang a little song CD commemorate the incident, to the tune made famous by the Diggers at Bardia: The Wizard of Oz.

We've lost a ruddy whizzer,

I wonder which whizzer it was.

It's easy to do to lose a screw

On the Libyan coast because

Since the Diggers they up and they took Tobruk

The "Stuart", the "Vees" and the "Waterchook"

Take 'em their scran, whenever they can,

By night.

Because of the ruddy great bombs they drop.

Wbee-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e Bloonch!

We've lost a ruddy whizzer.

That was a whizzer, that was!

Pause now for a moment at the break of the forecastle. The gay little ghost of Chico, the monk, haunts this spot. Tom Harsley brought her aboard, but the whole ship's company immediately adopted her. They would gather here daily to see her take her bath in a kero tin of hot water. Here she would sit on a bag of spuds in all weathers chewing a bar of soap or a handful of red lead, and endlessly bickering with Brophy, the butcher, and Thomas, the chief stoker. Chico had a hammock which was slung above the grating of "A" boiler-room fan inlet.

One night, while the ship was steaming fast, the watch below in the galley flat were awakened by the sound of shrill and passionate simian vituperation and found that she had fallen out of her hammock and was spread-eagled against the bars of the grating, her frail little body held immovable by the rush of air. They rescued her and did what they could to soothe her outraged feelings, but her childlike trust was gone and she never fully trusted a sailor again. Wise little monkey.

Up three steep ladders and we are on the bridge. One looks instinctively to the starboard comer, almost expecting to see Captain Waller in his favourite position. Old blue sweater and woollen beret in winter, blue silk shirt and cricket hat in summer; there was something reassuring about his broad back; something stable and unchanging. One saw the power in his sun-blackened forearms and massive features; one felt the power and unquestionable authority in his brief orders; but it was in his signals, more than anything, that his real character was revealed.

There was an occasion, shortly after Italy entered the war, when Stuart, patrolling outside Alexandria for submarines, suddenly found herself in the middle of a newly laid minefield. Captain Waller's signal reporting his plight ended with these words: "Have buoyed centre of minefield. When I get out" (when, mark you, not if) "will endeavour to locate further fields." Then, with the aid of the old Pattern 123 Asdic set, he plotted the position of all adjacent mines and slowly and carefully extricated his ship. He mustered the ship's company amidships, assuring them that if he did hit a mine he would do so with the front end or back end. They trusted him, and even when they noticed a mine swaying horribly below the surface a few feet from the side they believed him when he told them he knew it was there all the time and they stayed where they were.

Captain Waller was as good as his signalled word and went on that night to find two more minefields, one of them in the middle of the swept channel, by the effective but spine-chilling method of running into them, plotting them and then getting out. He got his first D.S.O. for this job, and Lieutenant Corlett, the A/S officer, got a D.S.C. Commander Morrow, in Voyager, got a D.S.O. the same night for killing one and wounding another of the subs that laid the eggs.

It was in an encounter with a submarine that the navigator, Lieutenant Teacher, R.N., also earned a D.S.O. for himself. Stuart had set out under the temporary command of Teacher, to go to Malta for a refit, but, overstraining herself in a successful effort to emulate an air-sea rescue boat, she suffered a ruptured steam pipe and was sent back to Alex.

To fill in time waiting for the morning boom to open, Teacher decided to look for submarines. He was immediately successful and at io p.m. on a glorious still Mediterranean night a most fantastic cat-and-mouse hunt began. It was fantastic because the scene was so utterly peaceful and lovely. Even the periodic dull detonations of deep depth charges could not dispel beauty and tranquility. All night long the hunt went on and all night long the ship's company lounged on deck yarning and smoking. On the bridge the asdic team quietly and mercilessly pursued their quarry while the engineer officer passed a running commentary to the depth-charge party down aft. Came the dawn. The sun leapt over the horizon and still the hunt went on. Finally, after twelve hours, the stricken sub threw in the towel and surfaced suddenly, fine on the starboard bow.

Now the scene became even more fantastic. The midshipman who was acting gunnery officer sounded off action stations, but so drugged were the ship's company with the unreality of the scene that many of them lined the guard-rails with cameras and were in danger of being decapitated by the first salvo. The gun layer of "Y" gun stepped out from behind the shield waving them a little to one side and shouting: "Will some of you blokes kindly get away from in front of this gun; she's liable to go off any minute."

After a few rounds the sub's crew, having set their scuttling charges, were seen to be abandoning ship and firing was checked. The survivors - there was only one man killed were quickly fished out of the water and then occurred the most fantastic scene of all. The dejected captain of the sub was escorted to the bridge. Teacher, looking like a youthful Bernard Shaw, with his long ragged red beard blowing in the breeze and a satanic grin on his face! advanced with outstretched hand and said in his well-bred Irish voice: "How do you do? I'm pleased to meet you." It was no more than the truth, but the Italian, who was a fine type of officer and a very brave man, failed to respond.

He became more cheerful and resigned after lunch, however, and the carnival atmosphere of the whole bizarre action was maintained to the very end, when, under the disapproving eyes of the wooden faced Marine guard, he and his officers shook hands warmly with the ship's officers, politely expressed the wish that they might meet again under more congenial circumstances, and filed over the side as honourable prisoners of war. Perhaps we might follow their example. This is a busy ship with little time to waste on sentimental visitors and their reminiscences. Let us go over the side and leave her and her ghosts. There is still plenty of work to be done and Stuart is still on the job.

"KAMLOOPS"

THE INVASION OF BORNEO

A CENTURY ago ships' captains and crews moved heaven and earth to prevent their ships sailing on a Friday.

It was considered an unlucky day on which to sail, and the mere thought of sailing on a Friday that was the thirteenth of the month would make the mariner of olden times perspire with horror.

No such superstitions, however, trouble the majority of sailors today.

It was with no qualms regarding the future that H.M.A.S. Westralia sailed from Seeadler Harbour, Admiralty Islands, at 1700 on Friday, the 13th April, 1945.

Actually it was an unlucky day for freedom-loving people all over the world, as President Roosevelt had died suddenly at 0330 Eastern Australian Standard time and Westralia's ensign flew at half-mast in his honour. The landing ship had reasons for ignoring superstitions connected with this date, as it was on Friday, the 13th October, 1944, that she sailed from Hollandia for the highly successful first landing in the Philippines. Nothing had occurred to mar that operation.

With the U.S. destroyer Foote as anti-submarine escort, Westralia pursued a course roughly west by north. We crossed the equator at 0200 on Tuesday, the 7th April, and after an uneventful 1,400 mile voyage arrived at Morotai at 1000 the following Thursday. Here there was every sign of an impending operation. The harbour was crowded with landing ships and craft, and the air was thick with rumours. Our ship's company began to mix with the many men of all the Services on shore and, in their usual manner, pieced together a story about our future movements that was substantially correct.

On Saturday we berthed alongside the naval jetty and commenced to load Australian Army equipment. By Sunday, the 22nd April, the first anniversary of our attack on Hollandia, everybody aboard had some idea of what we were going to do. At 1700, ninety-three officers and 1,005 men, mainly of the 2/24th Battalion, 9th Division, A.I.F., embarked. They were of the 2/26th Brigade, and the battalion commanding officer was Lieutenant Colonel Warfe, M.C. A doughty jungle fighter who had learned all about the Japs in New Guinea, Lieutenant-Colonel Warfe was a perfect choice for the job. We were elated at the prospect of carrying out, for the first time, an assault landing with the A.I.F. It transpired that we were to take part in the first landing in Borneo, making an assault on the rich oil-producing centre of Tarakan.

On Tuesday, the 24th April, we did a rehearsal of the landing. These rehearsals are absolutely essential, as mistakes crop up in them that are not seen on paper. A number of the troops were inexperienced in various aspects of a landing, particularly in regard to amphibious tanks. The next day being Anzac Day, we held church service in the cafeteria dining hall; during the ceremony one of our young buglers surprised us with a beautiful rendering of the Last Post. At 0915 we were honoured by a visit by General Sir Thomas Blamey, Commander of Allied land forces in the South-west Pacific. He was accompanied by Lieutenant-General Sir Leslie Morshead and staff officers. The general walked slowly around the ship talking to an occasional man he recognized, then met all the officers. After wishing us all good luck, he left in the American admiral's barge.

His visit made a vivid impression on us, and brought home to us the tremendous importance of the forthcoming operation. It was to be the first time since the Finschhafen landing eighteen months ago that the 9th Division had carried out a landing against the Japs, and the first time for twelve months that they had come to grips with him. After a year's training on the Atherton Tableland, Australia's famous Division was "rarin' to go".

While we made last-minute preparations, the 25,000 Japs on nearby Halmahera prepared to repel an attack there. They expected we might land in the vicinity of Galela or Tobela, both less than fifty miles from Morotai. But we were not interested in Halmahera. At least not yet. We wanted Borneo's oil, not Halmahera's diseases. We were "leapfrogging" again. As if further to defy superstition, we sailed with Task Force 78 at 1600 on Friday, the 27th April. The commander of the Tarakan attack force was Rear-Admiral Royal, U.S.N., aboard the U.S. amphibious flagship Rocky Mount. In command of the combat troops was Brigadier Whitehead, who had travelled to Milne Bay in Westralia in July 1943. The force comprised about 150 ships all told. Ships of the R.A.N. taking part were Hobart, Manoora, Westralia and four frigates. It was to be our ship's fifth and second smallest landing, yet one of the most important.

The personnel actually taking part in the landing consisted of the 2/26th Australian Brigade reinforced (5,859 men of the 2/23rd, 2/24th and 2/48th Battalions), the 2nd Australian Beach Group (2,096 men), ist Australian Corps troops (2,487 men), ist Australian Base Sub Area units (483 men), R.A.A.F. construction engineers and ground staff (6,309 men), U.S. Army (489 men), U.S. Navy shore party (102 men) and some Dutch units (404 men). Amongst the Dutch were civil officials who would set up a civil administration. Enemy strength was estimated at about 2,000 so it was thought that one reinforced brigade could deal effectively with them. This made a total of about 18,000 Allied personnel actually landing. With them would be put ashore about 7000 tons of stores and 2,000 vehicles. All this was carried in two L.S.Is, one A.K.A., twenty-one L.S.Ts, twenty-five L.C.Is, one A.P.D. and four L.S.Ms.

The covering force consisted of three cruisers, twelve destroyers, two destroyer escorts, two P.Cs, one S.C., six L.C.Ss and eleven minesweepers. Air cover was provided by the R.A.A.F. and the 13th U.S.A.A.F. operating from fields at Tawi Tawi, Zamboanga, Palawan and Morotai. R.A.A.F. Liberators came from Darwin to support the landing.

By sunset on Friday the convoy had formed up and we passed only four miles off Halmahera to give the Japs there a good look at us. Early the same day, hydrographic and minesweeping operations had commenced at our objective. There were Dutch, American and possibly Japanese mines sown around Tarakan Island and the smaller ships, covered by the cruisers and destroyers, were clearing channels through them for us. A full moon brilliantly lit the whole scene as we cleared Morotai Strait and headed west on our 700mile journey to Borneo. Astern of us we towed an L.C.T. full of Army equipment. Most of the other landing ships towed either L.C.Ts or L.C.Ms. Because of the tow, we prayed for good weather. Fortunately we got it. The tows kept the convoy's speed down to eight knots.

Tarakan Island, eighty-five square miles in extent, lies off the swampy delta area at the mouth of the Sesajap River in eastern Dutch Borneo. It is bordered on nearly all sides by dense mangrove swamps and has a hilly, heavily wooded centre. The swamps extend inland as far as two and a half miles in many places. Coral reefs fringe the southern capes. Scattered sand beaches and spits are isolated along the outer edge of the swamps. The interior of the island is a solid jungle of rain forest, practically impenetrable except by men on foot.

Numerous streams feed the marshy coastline. The island is fifteen and a half miles long, and eleven miles wide at its widest part. The importance of it lies in the oil-producing area around the town of Tarakan in the south-west. The port of Lingkas is about one and a half miles south-west of Tarakan, and the airfield about three miles to the north. In peace-time the island was a Dutch naval and air base, and oil-producing centre. There were three piers at Lingkas, each about 400 yards long. Our main objectives were the oil installations and wells, and the airfield. The only beaches suitable for landing a modern army were off Lingkas, and it was here that we proposed to land the landing force.

The difficulties confronting us in carrying out a landing near to Lingkas were not Japanese, but navigational. The beaches here were an amphibious-warfare officer's nightmare. The diurnal range of tide was from eight to ten feet, and underneath the water close inshore was mud varying from one foot to eight feet in depth. Nature thus produced plenty of obstacles. To make matters worse, each beach was protected by three rows of wooden fences sunk into the mud. In fact, in front of both the former Dutch naval air base and the oil tank farm there were four rows of fences. The outer fence was about 140 yards offshore and several miles in length. As the best beaches were behind the fences, it was obvious that gaps through which our boats could pass would have to be made in the them.

In order to carry this out, a small force of artillerymen landed on Sadau Island at o8oo on Monday, the 3oth April (P-1 day). Sadau Island is a small island a few miles north-west of Tarakan town. Firing their first angry shot since El Alamein, these gunners opened fire on the Japs with 25-pounders. Under cover of this, and fire from the ships, men of the Royal Australian Engineers moved in with Bangalore torpedoes and other demolition charges and blew gaps in the palisades. So fast did they work that they had blown seven gaps in an hour. Four boat lanes, each thirty feet wide, were provided for each beach. We knew all about the fence, as a Dutch officer who helped to build it was at Morotai. From him the engineers learnt what size charges to use. They were under enemy small-arms fire whilst they did this, and did a grand job. By the time they had finished, large columns of smoke were rising from the island and many mines had been swept up by our ships. A Jap floatplane appeared over Sadau Island and tried to attack; but did no damage.

When the convoy passed Slau Island at 1730 on Saturday, the 28th April, we saw smoke signals rising from the jungle. Whether this was natives, or Japs, signalling we never discovered. It could have been Japs, as we had seen them using smoke signals on Bougainville the previous July. At dusk the same day we entered the Celebes Sea. In the course of this operation H.M.A.S. Westralia operated in the Celebes Sea for the second time this war.

Our passage across this sea was singularly peaceful, although it was very hot. We went over every detail of the landing, studying aerial photographs taken as recently as the 2oth April. Most of us tried to improve our poor knowledge of Borneo from books. Information was plentiful~ but not all entirely
reliable. We had much from native sources, and the Army were receiving information in this manner up to two days before we sailed.

You have to treat what the natives tell you with a certain amount of caution. One native said that during one of our air raids on Tarakan 700 Japs were killed. Even with wishful thinking thrown in we felt we could hardly accept this as the truth. A valuable asset were some Dutch people who had lived on the island; yet even they were shaky on some facts that the Army wanted to know. You can
live for years in a place and miss some things.

At 1630 on Monday, the 30th, we slipped our and loaded the machine guns, mortars, ammunition, water and stretchers into the boats. forces already off our objective reported at everything was proceeding according to plan. The gaps in the palisades looked nice ,land inviting. The engineers had even erected signs to guide the craft in, right under the noses of the Jap defenders. They seemed optimistic of a dry landing for the assault waves around high-water time, o8io. In case the personnel boats on Red Beach did not get far enough in for the troops to wade ashore, each L.C.V.P. was to tow several small folding boats to which the troops could be transferred if necessary. Green Beach, the southernmost beach, was the best and here the first troops would ride ashore on fifty-one amphibious tanks. Westralia had the reserve battalion, which was to follow the 2/23rd on to Green Beach.

It was at 0400 on P-day, Tuesday, the ist May, that we first saw the coast of Borneo, and Tarakan Island, in the moonlight. Earlier in the night several enemy submarines had approached the convoy. One torpedo was supposed to have been fired, but no damage was done. At 0500 we closed up at action stations, and the task force sneaked in and anchored between Tarakan Island and the mainland at 0600. The first streaks of daylight at 0639 brought with them three torpedoes, which mysteriously appeared in the harbour. They seemed to come from a point on shore. One struck the U.S.S. Rushmore, lying a mile eastward of us, and failed to explode. Another was reported to have passed underneath an L.S.T., and a third was reported elsewhere. No damage was done.

At 0640 we commenced to hoist out our boats. By the time our boats were all in the water the naval bombardment had commenced. This slowly increased in intensity until at 0805 a perfect hail of high explosives was pouring into the enemy positions. The aircraft then lent a hand, Liberators roaring in and dropping sticks of bombs on the foreshore. We watched the sticks falling. They created terrific havoc. Fires were everywhere. Some, of course, had been burning when we arrived. At about 0811 a Liberator hit an ammunition dump about two and a half miles east of our ship with a stick, and the resulting explosion was like a gigantic clap of thunder. Even where we were, it struck us with great force and Westralia shuddered and shook.

Zero hour was 0815, and the first waves of troops landed at this time. The 2/48th did not have to use their folding boats, their L.C.V.Ps rammed right up on the beach and gave them a dry landing. As the troops pushed inland they met sniper fire. Our battalion was called in at 0907, and landed at 0927- In their headquarters jeep was a Union Jack and the 2/24th Battalion flag, which were to be planted on the airfield after its capture. For the capture of the airfield was the particular job of our troops. Actually they did not take the airfield until about 1600 on Friday, the 4th May.

Once the troops were ashore, the problem of unloading the ships began. And it was quite a problem. The jetties were damaged and the tide had gone out with a rush. Working under incredible difficulties, the ships' crews and shore parties did the best they could. Unloading of the boats on shore was the greatest problem, particularly at low tide. With the coming of night the Japs came out of their holes like so many beetles, and started to lob mortar shells on the beach from reverse slopes inland. They killed an R.A.N. rating of the beach group, and wounded two others.

The troops pushing inland were meeting growing opposition, and fire from 75mm. guns. Roads were mined, and the tanks were held up. About 2,000 the front-line troops started sending calls back for flame-throwers to burn out Japs in strong positions. We continued unloading all night, keeping a good lookout for any tricks the Jap would be likely to get up to. We knew all about midget subs, explosive motor-boats and suicide swimmers. But the enemy did not try anything against the ships that night. He kept everyone ashore fairly busy, however, sniping the pier and keeping up intermittent mortar fire.

When the dawn of P+1 broke, smoke was still rising from fires on shore. It had been a quiet night, apart from the unloading. We found it hard to believe that only 5,280 yards from where we had lain all night Japs were crouching firing mortars. About sunrise Mitchells commenced to bomb and strafe enemy positions just inshore and the destroyers opened up again. A remarkable fact was that there was only about nine feet of water under our keel. By this time we had embarked about a dozen A.I.F. casualties. We completed unloading about 1000, and started to hoist in our boats. To the westward of us rose the mountains of Borneo, land of crocodiles, snakes, tiger-cats, great apes (orang-outang and gibbon), wild boar and rhinoceros. A few miles from us was the mouth of the Sesajap River, up which you could penetrate over eighty miles into wild country. You would then be about thirty miles from the eastern border of Sarawak. The majority of travel in Borneo is by water.

At noon, in company with Manoora and Rushmore, we weighed anchor and moved out into the Celebes Sea. The heat was intense. As we left, some destroyers wer( still bombarding the shore, with aircraft spotting for them. Others were fuelling from a tanker. As we passed the flagship we saw the courier Catalina secured astern of her. This plane would do almost daily trips to Manila, only 810 miles away, and other Allied bases. Smoke was still rising from the ruins of Lingkas, and the A.I.F. were meeting stiff opposition. But we were confident of the outcome. We were quite convinced that our "Fighting Ninth", veterans of North Africa and New Guinea, were invincible. Once clear of Tarakan Island, we increased speed to fourteen knots and set an easterly course with a destroyer and a destroyer escort as anti-submarine escort.

As at all other landings, everyone aboard Westralia had enjoyed every minute of it. It had not been as big a show as Lingayen, nor as dramatic as Leyte. Yet it was a landing of first-line importance, bringing us only 820 miles from Singapore. The ship had suffered no damage or casualties. In fact the nearest the enemy got to us was on several occasions during Tuesday forenoon when a stray Jap shell from the shore fell a quarter of a mile away. I am afraid the Diggers kept the Jap far too busy to allow him to pay much attention to the Navy.

Tarakan Island was defended by Japanese marines, the cream of Jap fighting men, commanded by a naval captain. A.I.F. experts told us that the defences of the island were the best they had ever seen. The Jap had everything man could devise. The Lingkas beach had a tunnel beneath it, with pillboxes about thirty feet apart along the shoreline. These pillboxes, many more of which were scattered inland, were built of thick concrete. They were sunk in the ground and then covered with about eight feet of clay. Clay is a good protective substance, particularly when damp, as it acts as a soft cushion to anything striking it.

Alongside most of the roads leading inland were ditches about four feet wide and several feet deep. At their bottom ran an oil pipeline. When the landing took place the Japs filled the ditches with oil, then set light to the oil. Thus in some sectors our troops had to advance through a wall of fire. Farther inland were very cunning defences. In some hills the Jap had dug tunnels from twenty to thirty feet long, with a gun in them mounted on rails. When the gun was fired it was then backed into the tunnel, leaving the attackers guessing as to its whereabouts. This could be confusing at times, yet it is hardly likely that such tricks worried seasoned Australian troops for long. The Jap really let himself go with land mines and booby-traps, and planted them everywhere.

Some of the land mines contained 300 pounds of explosive, as much as an average sea mine. The A.I.F. captured a Jap sergeant-major in the first few days of the landing, and he told them a lot. He said that when they had sighted the convoy, and when the naval bombardment opened up, they had thought it was a divisional landing. In pursuance of orders received earlier they had left the beach defences and retired to make a stand around the airfield. He added that if they had known it was only a brigade of combat troops that was landing, they would have defended the beach.

The beach defences were excellent. Most of the pillboxes were intact and guns in them mounted to sweep the beach, some of them 20 millimeter, had not been fired. Our casualties would have been extremely heavy, both in men and craft. As it was, Westralia lost only one boat in the operation. When our ship returned to Lingkas anchorage on a resupply trip at o800 on Monday, the 7th May (P+6), the airfield was rapidly being prepared for use. But the brigade had suffered many casualties, many more than in the New Guinea fighting. This time we brought in 900 officers and men of all Services, and 250 tons of equipment. Thus in the space of one week, as a result of the first really combined Allied landing in the Pacific, the airfield and rich oilfields of Tarakan had been wrested from the Imperial Japanese Marines.

"AMPHIBIAN"