Palawan, April 28, 1943
Birds had stopped singing hours ago. Predators were afoot. Most had fled from this patch of forest bordering the coastal road. A few had nowhere else to go besides up a tree and into silence.
Captain Ibling fingered his rifle. He had not fired a shot in combat in over a year, and that streak might well be broken today. The guerilla band had taken position overnight and now they were well dug-in and nearly invisible to anyone who would not take an hour to walk two hundred meters. Their lives depended on it. A yard behind him, a radio operator was resting back to back with a naval fire observer. His battery operated kit was ready. They waited as a Japanese infantry battalion was being paced by the scouts along the coastal road. The captain nodded, and the radio operator began to send the critical message requesting fire.
Eleven miles off-shore, Bosun Swanson wiped his forehead and adjusted his steel helmet. This battle had been the first time USS Arizona fired her main battery in anger. His boys had worked hard even as the crew had almost completely turned over since Pearl Harbor. Three other chiefs were there that day, the chief engineer had been an assistant engineering officer and a pair of ensigns were now JG running their own turrets. He was on his third skipper since that morning of infamy. It would not matter, they had trained, and trained hard. Yesterday they maintained a steady fire for twenty minutes to cover the assault waves. Now they were about to attack targets of opportunity.
The landings had been only lightly opposed as the two Japanese divisions garrisoning the island were spread too thin to defend everywhere. A few bunkers, numerous minefields and more obstacles and a single battery of mountain guns supported a battalion of third string infantry on the beaches. The heavy battleship shells and near constant bombing broke a company that held the southern beach, while a regiment from the 7th Division had to wait until the support tanks could land to clear the Japanese defenders of the northern beach. Flame throwers, satchel charges and medium velocity high explosive rounds were a good combination.
The turrets aboard Arizona and Pennsylvania shifted ever so slightly. Shells were now being loaded. Final adjustments were being made deep in the armored citadels. And then the solution was there. A single gun from A turret fired. The shell reached for the height of a heavy bomber before tipping over. Almost a ton of steel and dozens of pounds of high explosives crashed into the earth.
Captain Ibling was a mile away. His stomach felt the impact. He knew it was coming, as the guns of Fort Mills had broken up several Japanese attacks along the Ternate shore and the evacuated survivors had shared the experience of seeing battleship breaking shells fall danger close. The forward observer called for a correction as the shell was quarter mile short and a little wide.
Aboard Arizona, another gun fired. The chief waited for the radio call and then smiled. All the turrets slightly shifted and then a full broadside was sent reaching out for the Japanese battalion. Most of the counter-attacking column was on the ground, elbows bracing their head, knees digging into the tropical earth, torsos and pelvises slightly elevated for whatever incremental protection that offered them.
The next ten minutes was the longest lifetime for the survivors as two battleships fired their main batteries on a metronome. Arizona on the minute and Pennsylvania on the half minute. Trees that had reached four stories into the sky before the bombardment were now scattered toothpicks, the road was a battered obstacle course impassible to the ox drawn carts that hauled the heavy weapons. Even if the carts could be hauled forward, most of the oxen were dead, a few were bellowing with pain until their drivers could give them a mercy shot. And just as the bombardment lifted, the guerrilla band started sniping at any Japanese soldier who showed either courage, stupidity or bravery.
As the two battleships secured their main battery, a pair of destroyers detached themselves from the screen and moved closer to shore. Fletcher and Jenkins moved to almost point blank range of the coastal road and would stay there for six hours until their magazines held only enough shells to defend against one substantial air raid.