South China Sea, December 20, 1942
“Good eyes Montague” The skipper whispered to the nineteen year old sailor who had seen a bump on the horizon minutes before anyone else saw the approaching danger. USS Gay Corsair’s engines were off and the wooden cargo boat was now drifting. No man stood up, any movement was on hands and knees to shrink the silhouette of the converted cargo ship. The smoking lamp had been out all night so a few men were chewing tobacco and spitting over the side to deal with the stress.
They waited. Eyes focused on the Japanese minesweeper that was lazily patrolling against blockade runners and surfaced submarines attempting to land commandos or drop off supplies to guerrillas behind the front lines. The Japanese crew was tired and bored as this was a run that they had been making for months with little action and ever increasingly uncomfortable conditions on land as they were near the bottom of the supply priority list of a navy that was having trouble shipping the tens of thousands of items a fighting fleet needed. An engine was out of balance and rations were bland and boring, more so than usual as almost everything was locally requisitioned. None of the men aboard the minesweeper dared to be obviously lax but few were on the ball as the minesweeper’s second officer held the deck on the overnight watch.
The patrol boat puttered along at a steady, efficienct twelve knots. For over an hour, the American blockade runner was silent and still in the waves. One of the engineers was busy muttering incantations to keep the clouds covering the almost full moon. Either luck or the spells worked as the minesweeper never came closer than 10,000 yards. A sharp eyed look-out with good light probably may have seen the crazily painted boat, but neither condition was met. The radium painted watch ticked past the hour, the skipper raised his head and stood up. He ordered sandwiches to be passed around and for his engines to come back to life. A few minutes later, the blockade runner was back up to twenty four knots. Three more hours to the destination. Four more hours until the morning twilight and five more hours until any Japanese pilot had a possibility of taking off and seeing the boat.
Four of the crew held look-out positions. They rotated every half an hour to stay fresh and alert. No lights were on as full black-out was maintained above decks to keep both their eyes adjusted and the enemy unprompted. The heavy cargo allowed the boat to go through instead of over the waves and progress was smooth and fast as the smuggler penetrated the inner patrol line without difficulty. Eight thousand yards from the small fishing village on the west coast of the siege camp, breakers were heard. The skipper ordered his engines to slow to sixteen knots and a hurricane lamp to be brought to the bow. Four minutes later, the impromptu signalman flashed the morse recognition signal. Thirty seconds after that, a bright light flashed back. The countersign was correct.
As the blockade runner pulled into the small creek at a walking pace, a flurry of activity was about to commence. The boat pulled in slowly to the wooden dock. Hawsers were flung across the deck and bights bit into the manila fibers, holding the cargo ship tight. The skipper shut down the engines and within a minute leaped off the deck of his command and onto the dock where he stood tall and gave a parade ground salute to a Navy Commander in a battered set of clothes that once was a working uniform.
“Lt. Kennedy reporting as order sir”
“At ease… how was the voyage? Any trouble?” The senior officer lazily returned the salute. He had far more important things to use his energy on.
“We ran into a minesweeper on patrol 70 miles out, just after we split with Gay Viking. It never saw us. Beyond that, fairly dull. “
“Very well, you and your men are gladly welcomed; sight for sore eyes to see a supply ship come in. Let’s unload and figure out what we’re doing wrong for the next time”
Even as the two officers were speaking, nets were being flung over the ship and mobile camouflage was being made ready to hide the boat. Six Ford trucks were lined up along with dozens of ox carts. A hundred men were ready to move the food to the depots. Hard work today for their daily bread, but it would be worth it.