Letter from Leyte, eighty years ago

In November 1944, my father, Ensign George S. Weigel, USNR, was serving as executive officer of USS APc 18: a coastal patrol and transport ship, armed with four 20 mm. anti-aircraft guns, that would eventually earn two battle stars during World War II in the Pacific.

Like many of his generation, my father, who had graduated in 1943 from the Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania, rarely spoke about his military experience, which took him to New Guinea, the Philippines, Okinawa, and Japan during the Occupation. On Okinawa, he was an officer in an LCT flotilla that would have been in the first wave of Operation Olympic, the planned invasion of the Japanese home island of Kyushu in November 1945—and if that had happened, I likely wouldn’t be writing this, decades later, as the expected casualty rate in the first assault wave was something on the order of 80%.

Almost twenty years after my father’s death in 2004, I discovered a letter he had written to his mother back in Baltimore about a day’s event during the Philippine campaign. It is an indication of how little men like my father knew of the history unfolding around them that this letter, dated November 24, 1944, makes no mention of the greatest naval battle in history, the Battle of Leyte Gulf, which had taken place just a month before, and in the same neighborhood.

Life was very concentrated on the tasks at hand, and the laconic and, in a few instances, elegant way in which my father described a day’s action speaks volumes about the calm steadiness that he and others displayed in exceptional circumstances—certainly ones in which an Ivy League economics graduate never expected to find himself. By volunteering for the Navy, as he did, you went where you were told and did your duty as best as you could.

On this Veteran’s Day, I think it’s good to remember the quotidian life of a very junior naval officer during World War II—a life punctuated by spasms of mortal danger which were often processed (as I’m sure Dad’s were) in prayer.

24 November 1944

Leyte, Philippines

I feel compelled to relate the events of this day. For war seems to have come to us.

I arose at 0730 and was in the midst of my cereal—not very good because of the powdered milk—when the general alarm sounded. I put the jellied bread that was in my hand into my mouth and went to the pilot house on the double, wooden clogs and all. When I arrived there, flak from the anti-aircraft guns was filling the early morning sky. The enemy planes had penetrated the harbor. The first time they came over, one large bomb fire as seen behind the airstrip. Straight up the line from it was another ball of fire, and columns of black, ugly smoke. This was a Japanese plane whose rising sun had set. We have been given credit for the destruction of this plane. Our ship is small, so this was a momentous event.

Just about this time a man ran hurriedly up to me and told me that a man on the fantail had been hit in the back with shrapnel. He was a Y 1/c [Yeoman First Class] on the LCT staff that is aboard. I immediately sent our pharma mate down. He was wounded quite severely. At the present (eleven hours later) he is on a hospital ship. His lung has been punctured and 50 cc. of blood has been drained from it. He is in an oxygen tent now. His wife is an expectant mother any day now, so he must get better.

Our pursuit and fighter planes were up. Finally, the enemy came back, but were so high that nothing we had could reach them. Those slim, silver, twin-bodied P-38s were up there after them. In the blue-gray sky with the morning sun washing them they looked like feathers on a wallpaper design—not messengers of death and devastation.

When the raid was over and the ship examined, we found quite a bit of holes in the deck and canvas from where shrapnel had penetrated. One hole was just where I usually stood.

We finally went down and finished—in a fashion—our breakfast.

About ten o’clock three other officers and I went into Tacloban, the capital of Leyte, to go to the Post Office and attend to sundry matters. I had some of the “officer messenger” mail so along with the fact that I wanted to see the town, [that] was my reason for going.

We landed our small boat at the pier and walked over rotting burlap bags of flour to the shore. There is a horrible, lingering, penetrating odor about decayed flour. The wharf and town were encased in six inches of slushy, oozy, light brown mud. The roads were formerly macadam, I believe. All the buildings were in the last stages of dilapidation. Bare boards with plaster sandwiched between and faint, weather-stained signs. Now practically unreadable. The inhabitants were most all barefooted. They probably had shoes but were not subjecting themselves to the mud. The Army was employing most of the male population in loading and unloading operations. I noticed typewritten signs stating that the laborers henceforth would be paid weekly instead of daily. It was signed by an Army officer. General MacArthur’s proclamation about restoring self-government was amply visible. A few of the shops were trying to open up, but they had absolutely nothing to sell.

It is one month and four days since we landed there. Whatever buildings were tenable were serving the Army. After disappointingly not getting any mail we went back to our small boat, over the flour bags, and went top our ship. The officers, all staff except myself, were Lt. (j.g.) Kedersha, Lt. (j.g.) Hurley, En., Ryan, and myself.

We had noon chow undisturbed. About 1400 the captain and several other officers went over to another ship on some official business. Ten minutes later the sound of the shore batteries was heard. Once again we took our battle stations, this time for most of the afternoon. Almost immediately one of our P-38s was seen pouncing upon an enemy plane. The latter faked a faint-away but the P-38 followed close on his tail and in a matter of seconds the enemy was seen looping downward in a trail of black smoke, The P-38 did a graceful victory roll and flew on for other prey.

A few minutes later and right off the port bow, some distance away, an enemy plane came in low and hatched his “egg.” It was intended for a tanker. It missed the tanker but caught a PC badly and almost damaged an LCI. Both craft were tied next to the tanker for refueling. The captain of our ship was in the vicinity.

Intermittently all evening alerts were going off. We were bringing some planes in from the south when the airstrip was blackened out. This was a tedious process. The planes flew in, blinked their lights, the airstrip turns on their lights for a few brief minutes for each plane and then, as if to swallow its precious charge up, turned off the lights and once more darkness prevailed.

———–

A Prayer for Those Who Served, and Serve

Lord God, Almighty Father,
creator of mankind and author of peace,
as we are ever mindful of our veterans and the cost paid for the liberty we possess,
we ask you to bless the members of our armed forces.
Give them courage, hope and strength.
May they ever experience your firm support, gentle love and compassionate healing.
Be their power and protector, leading them from darkness to light.
To you be all glory, honor and praise, now and forever. Amen.