THE PACIFIC
WAR
We were transported from Camp
Stoneman to the Port of Embarkation in the dead of the night and loaded aboard
the General John Pope, with numerous armed MP's in attendance to make sure none
of us made a break for it. After
sneaking us aboard without the Japanese High Command discovering it, we sailed
under the Golden Gate Bridge about 9:00 AM the next morning with everyone on
deck as we bade the USA goodbye for the duration if not forever.
That troopship was real
hardship; we were stacked about six bunks deep, with no ventilation, salt water
showers and the stench, with a few people seasick, was overwhelming. We stood in line, deep in the bowels of the
ship, for meals and stood up as we tried to force down unappetizing food (the
traditional Navy beans for breakfast, UGH).
Even the time on deck was rationed;
There were about 4,000 of us
aboard. At sunset, the loudspeaker would announce that "The Smoking Lamp
is out" and no one could smoke on deck.
There were no other lights above deck, either, because of the real
danger of submarine attack. We made that
run without destroyer escort, all by ourselves, and we realized for the first
time that this was serious and unpleasant things could happen anytime.
We arrived in Noumea, New
Caledonia in mid-December, 1943, after a seven day voyage and were immediately
trucked to a Repple Depple (Replacement Depot) for assignment to such exotic
places as Guadalcanal and Bougainville.
My MOS (Military Occupational Speciality) was Machine Gunner, the life
expectancy of which was about seven minutes in combat and who ever heard of a
noncombat job for a machine gunner.
Prospects for the future were not promising.
The Repple Depple
We
were welcomed to the Repple Depple by the Camp Commander, introduced as Major
Parks. He was red headed and I
recognized an Aggie Ring on his hand.
After we were dismissed, I summoned my courage and went up to him. "Sir", I said, "are you Red
Parks, the C.O. of H Company Infantry, Class of 1941". "I sure am and who are you"? "I'm Private Sparks, Sir, H Company
Infantry, Class of 1945".
The
next morning all us replacements fell in after breakfast for work assignments;
names were called for KP, garbage and various other details, but at the end the
Noncom in charge said "Private Sparks report to the Commanding Officer's
Office". The few people who knew me expressed their hope that I wasn't in
real big trouble, avoiding attracting attention was the goal.
I
reported to the Headquarters Tent as ordered, and was ushered into Major Parks’
office. I strode to the front of his desk, clicked my heels and saluted
smartly, "Private Sparks reporting as ordered, Sir". Major Parks returned my salute, excused the
Noncom who had escorted me and motioned me to a chair. The Camp Commander's Office was not exactly
luxurious; the whole camp was housed in tents, but it was relatively large and
private, separated from the rest of the headquarters staff by a canvas
wall. Actually, after zero privacy for
almost eight months, reception center, basic training, staging for overseas at
Fort Ord and Camp Stoneman, the troop transport, and now the 20 men to a twelve
man squad tent with cots, no sheets and dirt floors at the Repple Depple, it
SEEMED luxurious.
Major
Parks wanted to hear about his friends in H Company. All my upperclassmen had
been his underclassmen. He had coffee and doughnuts brought in and we went
through the entire organization class by class, exchanging gossip, as we drank coffee,
smoked his cigarettes, and ate doughnuts.
I could visualize myself out on garbage detail or on KP (pots and pans)
when our meeting ended. Like the
mythical condemned prisoner in the Arabian Nights who kept the Caliph amused by
telling stories and delaying his execution, I kept dredging up minutiae to recount. It turned out he loved it; I was his guest
for lunch, Private Sparks and the Camp Commander like Lady and The Tramp. I was in his office until quitting time; by
then I was into the cadets in G and I Companies.
Then it was back to reality, stand
in line for slightly warmed C Rations and back to the crowded tent and dirt
floor. The Noncom, probably a PFC or Corporal, in charge of our tent was Permanent
Personnel and had a real good thing going down in his end of the tent. He had a
few of the amenities of life, a metal cot and mattress, sheets and pillow with
pillow cases; but mostly he had a
table and a Coleman lantern. With them
and a box of poker chips, he had his own little casino. He ran the game: he was the banker, set the
house rules, ruled on any disputes, and made sure no one was stacking the deck,
second dealing, or finger nailing selected cards. Sometimes he played, but he ALWAYS made sure one white chip, worth a dollar, went
into a slot in the middle of the table from the ante on EVERY deal. At a dollar a
hand, 365 nights a year, that smart SOB probably went home rich if he was smart
enough to turn down any promotions.
At formation the next morning, when work
details were announced, again "Private Sparks was ordered to report to the
Commanding Officer's Office. When I got
there Major Parks said, "Sparks, we've got to figure out some way to keep
you from being sent up North" (Up North meant Infantry, combat,
beachheads, foxholes, firefights, bombing and shelling, Purple Hearts and other
heroic things) "what can you do? I
was tempted to say, "I can shine brass and shoes and make up beds, do you
need an orderly? Instead, I said
"I'm not sure I can do anything the Army wants; I was a Wildlife
Management major at A&M". Parks
called in an enlisted classification specialist and asked if him if he had any
jobs open for a wildlife biologist. The
EM said, "Can you type?" and, before I could I could answer
affirmatively, Major Parks quietly said, "Wildlife Biology,
Corporal". The Texas Aggie
equivalent of the British "Old Boy" system was functioning.
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