SOLOMONS BLOCKADE

Dominion, Volume 36, Issue 101, 23 January 1943, Page 5

SOLOMONS BLOCKADE

Aboard U.S. Torpedoboat (Olliciul War Correspondent, N.Z.E.ff.) ABOARD A MOTOR-TORPEDO-BOAT, December 28. Death is riding on wings of white sea spray tonight toward any ship the enemy may try to sneak through Solomons waters to supply his beleaguered ground forces on Guadalcanal. We are riding with it in a fierce little ship that is all guns and high-powered motors and tat torpedoes. This is one of the “monsters with flapping wings”—the motor-torpedoboats of the United States Navy—for which the Japanese learned a healthy respect in the Battle of the Philippines. He is learniiv more about them here as they, sweep the calm but sinister sea that lies between his bases and Guadalcanal. Their swift stabs in the night have sent at least three enemy ships of war to the bottom and have damaged several others. Fast, elusive and powerfully armed, the torpedoboats are a constant thorn in the enemy’s side. They roam with impunity across his slender, fastdwindling supply line, and when they strike they strike hard, and often are gone before the Jap knows what has hit * Onr search for targets tonight has been in vain. Perhaps the night is too bright and clear for the enemy to risk any more of his ships’, he has found these waters filled with danger in much poorer visibility than this. But it is still exciting to feel the ship surge forward at every light touch on her throttles, her bow riding high and her wake churning behind: to listen to the radio chatter between aircraft aud shore stations and other boats; and to creep close in to the Japanese beach head —a venture that seems to emphasize our mastery of this stretch of sea. . . It’s exciting, too, to sit m the open cockpit with the blue-eyed young navy lieutenant in command, and hear what might have happened tonight—what really did happen not so many nights ago to this same ship and this same crew. He gives us a picture of the squadron heading out from its base into a night far blacker than this; all that can be seen of the boats is the dim white trail of foam behind each stern. On the Alert. The crews are tensely on the alert, and the officers in the cockpits constantly swing their binoculars around the horizon The enemy is known to be attemting desperately to get supplies througa under cover of night by destroyer and even submarine, and it is almost certain lie will try to make full use of this blackness. Suddenly the two-way radio crackles, and words come —clear, cool, urgent. One of the boats has sighted something, a black, uucaveu shape, just, distinguishable against a slightly less black sky. And there lire more (him one—there are seven, and they are destroyers, and I hey are Japbnese. They steam in a tight column, in line astern, past Savo Island, a mere live miles off the coast of Guadalcanal. • r Our torpedo boat moves silently in tor the kill. The noise of the engines lias dropped from a roar to a murmur, and her white wake fades. She picks out. the leading enemy ship for her own. The young skipper plans his attack with cool deliberation, for the Japanese destroyers steam on unaware of the ambush. From tin extreme range, two torpedoes hurtle one after the other into the black water. Our boat swings quietly away, and tlie crew watches witli suppressed excitement. Two sudden red flashes . . . and then a fury of flame and explosion llmr means the violent death of the enemy ship. ’.rhe Japanese did not know what hit them that night. They did not. know what to shoot back at. When the rest

of our pack of torpedo boats had crept in and struck, scoring three more hits, the enemy broke and ran in confusion. Dawn is spreading its pale light over the glassy sea. The radio crackles again, and wo hear the voice of the squadron commander in the leading boat: "I in hungry—let’s go!” And we race home to a better breakfast than the Japs on Guadalcanal will ever get.