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Peter Mills sunbathes aboard the USS White Plains in this undated photo. Mills is a veteran of the Battle of Leyte Gulf, which took place in the Philippines during October of 1944.
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Peter Mills of Roseburg
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Mills had his photo taken in this undated photo in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.
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<i>As a special Veterans Day tribute to our local servicemen and women, The News-Review offers this account from a World War II veteran of the 1944 Battle of Leyte Gulf in the Philippines, the largest naval battle in history.
In this account, Roseburg resident Peter Mills describes his harrowing experience during a pivotal battle in the Pacific Theater during the second half of the war. The account has been edited for clarity and historical consistency.</i>
The story you are about to hear is true. The day of Oct. 25, 1944, will always remain in my mind. The ship was the jeep (escort) aircraft carrier the USS White Plains. The place, Leyte Gulf in the Philippine Islands. The purpose was to soften up the beach to prepare for the return of Gen. Douglas MacArthur. I was there. I was an aviation torpedo man.
The sea was rough from two recent typhoons when the messenger shook my shoulder and said it was time to relieve the gun watch. It was 3:30 a.m.
Some of the other sailors were moving about and the griping had already started. It all seemed routine and quite boring — four hours on watch and eight hours off. The off-time filled with regular duties.
Our task force had the sea to ourselves, except for the report of an enemy submarine in the area. Supposedly, the Japanese fleet was hiding out in Singapore. Why couldn't we sleep in?
I stumbled my way up through the hangar deck and up to the starboard sponson to the aft 40 mm gun. That was my watch station during condition three gun watch.
In this account, Roseburg resident Peter Mills describes his harrowing experience during a pivotal battle in the Pacific Theater during the second half of the war. The account has been edited for clarity and historical consistency.</i>
The story you are about to hear is true. The day of Oct. 25, 1944, will always remain in my mind. The ship was the jeep (escort) aircraft carrier the USS White Plains. The place, Leyte Gulf in the Philippine Islands. The purpose was to soften up the beach to prepare for the return of Gen. Douglas MacArthur. I was there. I was an aviation torpedo man.
The sea was rough from two recent typhoons when the messenger shook my shoulder and said it was time to relieve the gun watch. It was 3:30 a.m.
Some of the other sailors were moving about and the griping had already started. It all seemed routine and quite boring — four hours on watch and eight hours off. The off-time filled with regular duties.
Our task force had the sea to ourselves, except for the report of an enemy submarine in the area. Supposedly, the Japanese fleet was hiding out in Singapore. Why couldn't we sleep in?
I stumbled my way up through the hangar deck and up to the starboard sponson to the aft 40 mm gun. That was my watch station during condition three gun watch.
I could barely see the other five men, so I called out their names and waited for an answer. I was the gun captain.
Farrish: “I reckon I'm here;”
Morrow: “Yea;”
Tyler: “That's me, bucko;”
Thompson: “Yo;”
Aguilar: “Si, I am here.”
I made my report to the bridge and remarked that things were sure quiet. He stated things had better stay that way as all of the big ships in our task force had left the area to meet the Japanese fleet. It had left Singapore and come out to fight. Our larger ships had gone to intercept them, leaving us little guys all alone.
The Japanese had split their fleet and were coming at us from three directions. Our small group was left behind as decoys, our 5-inch guns and smaller against their 14-inch guns. Our destroyers and destroyer escorts against Japanese cruisers and battleships. Our only hope was in the aircraft on the six small carriers and only then if the enemy held off their attack until daylight.
Farrish: “I reckon I'm here;”
Morrow: “Yea;”
Tyler: “That's me, bucko;”
Thompson: “Yo;”
Aguilar: “Si, I am here.”
I made my report to the bridge and remarked that things were sure quiet. He stated things had better stay that way as all of the big ships in our task force had left the area to meet the Japanese fleet. It had left Singapore and come out to fight. Our larger ships had gone to intercept them, leaving us little guys all alone.
The Japanese had split their fleet and were coming at us from three directions. Our small group was left behind as decoys, our 5-inch guns and smaller against their 14-inch guns. Our destroyers and destroyer escorts against Japanese cruisers and battleships. Our only hope was in the aircraft on the six small carriers and only then if the enemy held off their attack until daylight.
Life was no longer monotonous. Life had just taken on a new meaning.
I passed the word on to the rest of the gun crew. Just as we started to discuss the problem the call to general quarters (or battle stations) was called.
The gong used for general quarters would wake the dead. “Gong. Gong. Gong. All hands man your battle stations. This is not a drill. This is not a drill.”
My battle station was on the hangar deck where the torpedoes were strapped to the bulkheads. But I had to stay on the gun until the battle gun crew took over. By the time I got to my battle station the order had been given to load and arm all torpedoes in the TBM (torpedo bomber). We did this in record time.
The Japanese started firing at us from 15 miles away. They used shells with colored dye to get the range. One sailor said, “Look, they're shooting at us in Technicolor.” Our guns were no good at that range. Get the planes launched. Keep a zig-zag course to keep them from getting a direct hit.
The order came down from the flight officer to launch every aircraft. We had one pilot on board who was most always grounded. His plane was called Hank's fore-and-aft Taxi. He too was to fly. He sat in his plane waiting for takeoff when a Japanese shell took the tail off his plane — grounded again.
I passed the word on to the rest of the gun crew. Just as we started to discuss the problem the call to general quarters (or battle stations) was called.
The gong used for general quarters would wake the dead. “Gong. Gong. Gong. All hands man your battle stations. This is not a drill. This is not a drill.”
My battle station was on the hangar deck where the torpedoes were strapped to the bulkheads. But I had to stay on the gun until the battle gun crew took over. By the time I got to my battle station the order had been given to load and arm all torpedoes in the TBM (torpedo bomber). We did this in record time.
The Japanese started firing at us from 15 miles away. They used shells with colored dye to get the range. One sailor said, “Look, they're shooting at us in Technicolor.” Our guns were no good at that range. Get the planes launched. Keep a zig-zag course to keep them from getting a direct hit.
The order came down from the flight officer to launch every aircraft. We had one pilot on board who was most always grounded. His plane was called Hank's fore-and-aft Taxi. He too was to fly. He sat in his plane waiting for takeoff when a Japanese shell took the tail off his plane — grounded again.
All planes were launched and all of our group started laying smoke for a smoke screen. I don't know who gave the order but we started to pump aviation gas into the ocean hoping to lure the Japanese into a sea of gas and then ignite it, but that was never done.
As soon as the torpedo planes were launched our job was finished — I could watch what was going on. I watched a destroyer attack a battleship, torpedo it and make good its escape only to turn around and make two dry runs (no torpedoes left) to protect the carriers. This time it disappeared, blown to bits by a full broadside.
I watched as the escort carrier Gambier Bay lost control and sailed between two Japanese cruisers, to be seen no more. Two other destroyers or destroyer escorts were sunk.
Once the Japanese were within four miles, our single 5-inch gun on the fantail opened fire. The warrant gunner in charge as gun captain fired so many 5-inch rounds that later when it cooled the gun barrel was warped.
I believe that all the ships in our task force were doomed. But for some strange reason unknown to us, the Japanese fleet turned and left. Great, what a relief.
Wait, it's not over yet — “Stay at your battle stations, but one person from each gun mount go to the mess hall and get sandwiches for all hands.”
“All gun crews alert. Enemy planes coming in on port-side.” I looked to that side, the escort carrier St. Lo was there. A Japanese plane, a Zero, I think, dove into the flight deck. The ship exploded. The forward elevator looked like a postage stamp, it blew so high. An officer looked like a rag doll. Later, someone said he only suffered a broken arm.
Another suicide plane dove at us, coming in fast port-side. Gunners are taught not to fire across the flight deck, but a seaman in a 20 mm gun on the starboard side shot across the flight deck and brought down the Zero. It blew up close to the ship and the shrapnel and plane parts put 123 holes in the side of the hangar deck.
Another suicide plane dove at the Fanshaw Bay, hit the catapult steel and went off the bow into the sea.
In all, two escort carriers, two destroyers and one destroyer escort were sunk.
We spent the rest of the day recovering planes. Due to carrier loss and planes low on fuel, they could land on any of the carriers left.
Later on, we were told that the Japanese fleet was almost entirely sunk by the task force.
After landing aircraft and picking up survivors, we were told to leave the scene. I'm not sure what small island we sailed to to recuperate.
It was a long day — the longest sea battle in history at the most uneven odds.
After we left the scene that evening, the boatswain's whistle called attention to all hands. A voice came over the PA system: “This is your captain speaking. Men, we have had a busy day. I want to thank all of you for doing your job for which you were trained. We know now that the Japanese Fleet is no longer a threat. I know you are all tired, so lights out in five minutes. Reveille will be at dawn.”
As soon as the torpedo planes were launched our job was finished — I could watch what was going on. I watched a destroyer attack a battleship, torpedo it and make good its escape only to turn around and make two dry runs (no torpedoes left) to protect the carriers. This time it disappeared, blown to bits by a full broadside.
I watched as the escort carrier Gambier Bay lost control and sailed between two Japanese cruisers, to be seen no more. Two other destroyers or destroyer escorts were sunk.
Once the Japanese were within four miles, our single 5-inch gun on the fantail opened fire. The warrant gunner in charge as gun captain fired so many 5-inch rounds that later when it cooled the gun barrel was warped.
I believe that all the ships in our task force were doomed. But for some strange reason unknown to us, the Japanese fleet turned and left. Great, what a relief.
Wait, it's not over yet — “Stay at your battle stations, but one person from each gun mount go to the mess hall and get sandwiches for all hands.”
“All gun crews alert. Enemy planes coming in on port-side.” I looked to that side, the escort carrier St. Lo was there. A Japanese plane, a Zero, I think, dove into the flight deck. The ship exploded. The forward elevator looked like a postage stamp, it blew so high. An officer looked like a rag doll. Later, someone said he only suffered a broken arm.
Another suicide plane dove at us, coming in fast port-side. Gunners are taught not to fire across the flight deck, but a seaman in a 20 mm gun on the starboard side shot across the flight deck and brought down the Zero. It blew up close to the ship and the shrapnel and plane parts put 123 holes in the side of the hangar deck.
Another suicide plane dove at the Fanshaw Bay, hit the catapult steel and went off the bow into the sea.
In all, two escort carriers, two destroyers and one destroyer escort were sunk.
We spent the rest of the day recovering planes. Due to carrier loss and planes low on fuel, they could land on any of the carriers left.
Later on, we were told that the Japanese fleet was almost entirely sunk by the task force.
After landing aircraft and picking up survivors, we were told to leave the scene. I'm not sure what small island we sailed to to recuperate.
It was a long day — the longest sea battle in history at the most uneven odds.
After we left the scene that evening, the boatswain's whistle called attention to all hands. A voice came over the PA system: “This is your captain speaking. Men, we have had a busy day. I want to thank all of you for doing your job for which you were trained. We know now that the Japanese Fleet is no longer a threat. I know you are all tired, so lights out in five minutes. Reveille will be at dawn.”
A day Mills won't forget
<b>CHELSEA DUNCAN</B>
Peter Mills describes that time back on October 25, 1944 as “quite a day.” Maybe that's why the 85-year-old can remember with such clarity his part in what many call the greatest naval battle in history, the Battle of Leyte Gulf. The scale of the attack off Samar caught Navy personnel off guard, including Mills, a young man from Iowa who chose to be a sailor when the draft came to call. The Imperial Japanese Navy, according to historical accounts, had lured the backbone of the U.S. Navy's force in the Pacific away in a cunning yet doomed plan to botch the Allied liberation of the Philippine Islands. Left behind in their destroyers, destroyer escorts and escort carriers like Mills' USS White Plains, the sailors were heavily outnumbered. “I figured we were dead,” Mills, of Roseburg, said. But hours of ferocious fighting, in which hundreds did lose their lives, led to a U.S. victory and ended the Japanese fleet's role in the remainder of World War II. Mills wrapped up his five-year stint in the Navy in 1947, marrying a woman he'd met at a barn dance in California. He helped raised his wife Kathryn's three children in California, where he later retired from his work at a gas company. In the late 80s, the Millses left the smog that had plagued Kathryn's health and followed their daughter's lead to move to Douglas County. Bonnie Hobday, whose mother died last May, said her father didn't talk frequently about his experiences in the war. When he recently expanded on writings he'd started years ago about the Battle of Leyte Gulf, Hobday learned something new about the man. “It's pretty amazing,” she said of his story. “… It's been on his mind a long time.” • You can reach reporter Chelsea Duncan at 957-4246 or by e-mail at cduncan@newsreview.info. |
