Aoba slid alongside the swimmers, who started performing the Australian crawl to show they had plenty of stamina. “Keep swimming,” advised Thompson. “Don’t turn or look around, and for the love of God, don’t wave at the bastards.”
But the Aussies had only two choices: drown in the Bismarck Sea or be taken prisoner. Wisely they chose the latter. Aoba ’s crew saved them from certain death, and the ship’s medical officer treated their wounds. Transported to Japan, all five Australians survived the duration of the war in various POW camps.
WITH THE NEAR-ANNIHILATION of 24 Squadron over Rabaul on January 20, Vice Admiral Nagumo had come close to fulfilling his main objective, the destruction of enemy air power in the region. But there were still a few airdromes to neutralize on New Ireland and New Guinea. Even as Bob Thompson and his crewmen winged toward their fateful encounter, Nagumo launched the necessary strikes.
Soon after dawn on January 21, fifty-two aircraft from Akagi and Kaga bombed Kavieng. Reports of the early morning attack were received byFortress Signals, the communications unit at Rabaul, which also picked up the grim news that Thompson’s crew had found the Japanese fleet off New Ireland. Throughout the day, as additional messages arrived from Port Moresby with updates about the Japanese fleet, the picture gradually developed in all its frightening clarity. An enemy invasion force consisting of four cruisers, at least two carriers, five to seven troop transports, and numerous other ships was converging on Rabaul.
Colonel John J. Scanlan, the commander of Lark Force, realized that the enemy would be within gunnery range of Rabaul by nightfall. A decorated veteran of World War I, he gathered his staff for a hasty conference. Scanlan’s first order was to evacuate the encampment on Malaguna Road, which was completely exposed to naval bombardment. It was a wise decision, but in the next breath Scanlan issued a puzzling instruction: the troops were not to be told about the approaching enemy fleet. Instead, they were instructed to prepare for a battalion exercise lasting two or three days. As a result, the Aussie soldiers loaded their haversacks with only a minimum of supplies.
AMAZINGLY, AS IF unaware that 24 Squadron had been nearly wiped out, Townsville ordered Lerew to go on the offensive. A message received at 1630 on January 21 instructed him to use “all available aircraft to … attack the enemy shipping concentration southwest of Kavieng.” Lerew was exasperated. He had already informed his superiors that he had only two airworthy planes. What was he supposed to accomplish by sending one Hudson and a Wirraway against a fleet of forty enemy ships?
Despite his frustration, Lerew understood intrinsically that he could not disobey the order. His duty, as Lord Tennyson had expressed so eloquently in his 1854 poem, “The Charge of the Light Brigade,” was “ not to reason why … but to do or die.”
Bill Brookes volunteered to pilot the Wirraway, but when he and an ordnance man inspected it that afternoon, they found that the wing-mounted bomb racks had been removed to configure the plane as a fighter. That left the Hudson, which had been hidden in a stand of trees at Vunakanau. Dozens of native laborers muscled it out into the open and hauled it to the runway, where Sqn. Ldr. Jack Sharp climbed aboard with his copilot and two gunners. Just before dusk, the four men courageously took off to find the approaching fleet. Fortunately for them, darknessfell rapidly after the sun dipped below the horizon, and an approaching weather system made visibility even worse. Forced to abandon the search, Sharp returned safely to Vunakanau.
With the Hudson back in one piece, Lerew signaled his intention to evacuate the wounded airmen using the bomber as an ambulance. The reply, from Air Cdre. Francis M. Bladin at Townsville, was blunt: “Rabaul not yet fallen. Assist Army in keeping airdrome open.
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