Somewhere in the Marianas, 1945, by Col. G.R. Johnston

From MemoryArchive

Who: submitted by S. A. Johnston
What: Personal letter back to the States
When: March 6, 1945
Where: "Somewhere in the Marianas"

Hq. 21st Bomber Command, APO 234, c/o Postmaster, San Francisco.

It's hot here in the Marianas, and I'm writing this in nothing but shorts and slippers. Outside my tent the jungle is dense and green -- with flowers of half a dozen types coming here and there, much unlike the States. So far that's the best part of our mission here, missing the bitter cold and the snow-bound landscapes of the Middle West.

Outside, too, gangs of GIs are rushing to completion this advanced B-29 base, one of an undisclosed number in the Marianas. Life is rugged, but of the heated variety, and most of the roads, paved with material from captured Jap asphalt plants, would put to shame many of the highways back in the States. But red volcanic dust blows over everything, covers your clothes, four canvas cots (minus sheets, mattresses and pillows), and it's half a mile to the nearest wash room -- a grotesque looking thing with irregularly spaced unpolished faucets (many handmade from old pipe) squirting lukewarm, rationed water.

There in the morning and late in the afternoon the officers foregather to clean off the red dust and discuss the latest news or a new pinup picture. Many of them have been here a long time, and are looking forward to getting back to God's country sometime before they are old and gray. Their slogan has been "Still alive in 45" until now, and there are lively discussions over a new one, such as "Out of the sticks in forty-six", "A spot of Heaven in forty-seven", or "Golden Gate in forty-eight." I supplied "Back in time to greet forty-nine", which is taking gross liberties with rhyme, while Capt. Ned Noss, my "aide" and an ex-Steve Hannigan man, with a flair for the incongruence, chimed in the other day with "You'll have to be shifty to get home by fifty."

There still are lots of Japs on all the islands we've taken out here, but nobody seems to care much about them. The troops still knock off a couple of dozen a week, mostly those who get starved and sneak in to raid a mess hall. They kicked up some excitement a few days ago, though when they ambushed a party of 10 sailors who went into the jungle to gather coconuts. Only one got out alive. The marine and army patrols go frequently along jungle trails and rarely miss getting a few Japs. Yesterday, while on a carrier plane which has a regular schedule through the islands, I noticed a marine B-25 bombing a large rock off the shore of one island, where six or eight jabs are said to have holed up in a cave. The marines go out every day or so and drop a couple of "eggs" on the rock just for practice.

On the way out from Johnston Island we swung far off our course to look for Lt. Gen. Harmon, another general and a dozen other officers missing [**2 inches censored**] you probably read about that. They haven't been found as yet, and are probably goners.

The only excitement we've had was while we were on the courier plane "Miss Fortune", a B-24 piloted by a guy who has little respect for Jap marksmanship. He set his course past the tip of [censored], one of the islands bypassed by the Yanks, and paid no attention to it at all until a colonel who is riding up front with me tapped him on the shoulder and bellowed "Someone's shooting at us!" I couldn't see out of the port, but the pilot yelled back "Hell, those yellow b------s can't hit anything!" He'd no more said that than he jerked the rudder and ducked into a rain squall, throwing me so hard against the radio I thought I'd busted a rib. When we'd straightened out again and I was looking pretty indignant, I guess, the copilot silently pointed to a neat little hole slanting crosswise through the plexiglas nose. On [censored] I asked the PRO about [censored] and he told us there were still plenty of Japs there, but that they had practically nothing but .30 caliber guns and only got ammo occasionally via submarine.

We picked up the pilot and a sergeant who were on the first B-29 to land on Iwo Jima -- you probably have read about that too -- and brought them back to Hqs. for the war correspondents to work over. Then they were on a few broadcasts being beamed back to the States. Probably being all festooned with ribbons and hardware pretty soon, and well deserved, too.

The telephone system here works about the best of all -- though I wish you could see what goes on in everything. Movies tonight -- "Roughly Speaking", which we missed before we left. Must see that. But to get back to the telephones. It's all field stuff, of course, but the Signal Corps has done a swell job, as they always do. You can get "Chicago", "Detroit" or "Atlanta" here quicker'n you can in the States! That's the way the main exchanges are named; the lower echelons are named after trees.

Here's a report of a telecom (telecommunications conversation) that's been going the rounds, and is worth a chuckle: "Hello. Is this Spruce Tree Tree Tree?" "No, this is Elm Fir Fir Fir." "Oh, sorry! Wrong lumber!"

Best to all of you, and write when you can.

Your'n, as ever, [signed] Gerry G. R. Johnston, Colonel, Air Corps.