Lloyd H Bunting Jr, 1941
The first wave
Sunday morning December 7th, 1941 was another beautiful day. I was returning from the shower clad modestly in my Army issue towel and with breakfast in the mess hall, or a snack at the P.X., on my mind. When I entered the barracks I noticed lots of the men were clustered at the window and I went to see what was interesting them. It seemed there was unusual activity over Pearl Harbor.
Some guessed it was bombing practice or some such normal exercise. Then we noticed other planes crossing our air base enroute to Pearl Harbor. Suddenly a low flying plane, barely higher than the barracks, banked giving us a view of a big red ball insignia under the wing. Gee !, then more speculation, perhaps a happy conclusion to Japanese / U.S. negotiations had something to do with it.
Loud explosions made us decide to be elsewhere. We were being bombed, and we were on the top floor. By the time we got to the ground, the building was being shaken by the explosions and wall tiles were crashing down the steel staircase behind us.
Outside we found some blokes trying to set up a machine gun while enemy planes roared overhead enroute to the harbor. There were more big explosions further down the hangar line and rubbish began to fly. Such a beautiful day and all this happening "just like in the movies!"
I and others were sheltering behind things assuming that we'd soon be bombed or strafed, like in the movies, and we were trying to assess our position. No-one ever told us what to do if ......... , particularly an air raid on a Sunday morning in our various conditions of dress.
B-18 flight line under attack by Japanese fighter aircraft at Hickam Field, 7 Dec 1941
The parade ground
An enterprising lieutenant arrived with a truck. He gave us the "you, you and you" invitation to board his truck in which we found a couple of machine guns. Before our mouths closed we had arrived at the local parade ground opposite the barracks complex.
Half of us were left at one end of the ground with a gun and a couple of cans of 50 calibre ammunition. I and the other half were left at the other end similarly equipped. Nobody knew what to do but, being soldiers, we tried.
All the while those Japanese planes were coming down the airstrip, banking over our empty space and continuing to the harbor. I at least, from my interest in our squadron armament area, knew how to load and fire these guns and was able to select the cans of ammunition properly loaded for our guns.
Nothing seemed to mean anything to my colleagues who drifted off leaving me with a now loaded machine gun to defend us. Next, I couldn't get the plurry thing to charge. The bolt, when pulled back, wouldn't snap forward to force a cartridge into the firing chamber. What the hell ! there was I, barefoot and dressed in only a tiny towel, equipped with an anti aircraft machine gun with plenty of targets but ....?
Meanwhile people were running around in every direction, like one young officer and his girlfriend were driving all around quite as confused as us all. Someone crossing the ground near me lightened his load by dumping his loaded rifle near me. Then a sergeant got close enough for me to ask him "what's wrong with this thing?" He tried it, took the back plate off and found the charging spring broken and, reasonably, gave me a look and a grin and, shrugging his shoulders, took off. Again, what the hell ?
I took up the discarded rifle which I did know about, even if I didn't know about shooting at targets in motion. I lay down and wasted all of the ammunition I had, shooting at the planes.
The second wave
Lying down with no more cartridges I looked up to see a formation of five planes at high altitude coming down the line of barracks, and in line with me. I dumped the empty rifle and took to the street gutter, getting as low as possible below the kerb. I had read about bombing in the Spanish Civil War.
No sooner had I done that than the bombs started arriving, whoosh whoosh, and the explosions. The barracks copped it again and so did I, but I wasn't standing around outside the barracks like some fools.
After the concrete quit falling, I looked up to see right next to me in the road , an ammunition truck stopped. The driver had been wounded and his passenger needed help to get him out from behind the controls. With the bleeding victim on my lap, the other guy started the truck and took off toward the base hospital. However, he took the first corner too fast and dumped the victim and me onto the road. The poor guy now had to hold his buddy while I drove us to the hospital where it was found the bloke was dead. I left the fellow and his truck to go find some clothing.
Afterwards
Me in my skimpy towel surprised no-one and my modesty was not necessary but my bare feet were getting sore. A nurse kindly gave me a steel helmet, which I assembled and put on. Bunting in towel and helmet was ready for war.
Not having had breakfast, or even a cigarette, caused me to make for the P.X. restaurant which was now nearer than the barracks where I hoped my clothing would be. At the P.X. I had to holler for service. The staff were all in the cool room, and I was told to help myself.
While I was making with the doughnuts and coffee a couple of young fellows came in, one helping the other through all the broken glass and furniture. They had just come from the hospital where the wounded one had been given a handful of bandages and told to come back later. Between us we managed to get his shirt off and found that whatever had hit him, had gone right through his shoulder. We did what we could with the bandages then made with the free breakfast and cigarettes. Pity I had no pockets for free cigarettes.
Later, at the barracks, I dressed in what I could find. The top floor was still smoking, including our lockers. After dressing I went over to the hangar where I learnt that our squadron was now out of business. All our aircraft lay melted, except for their engines, where they had been parked for Sunday.
Some of the fellows were trying to mount our air machine guns on the hangar roof in case of future attacks.
I found a pistol and magazines, then went out to help fill and place sand bags, but now I was ready and able to retreat to the hills if the rumours of an invasion proved to have foundation. There would be no surrender for me knowing how the Japanese dealt with their prisoners.
Back to the mainland
In the times later, the squadron was given new temporary timber barracks and found something to do. The war had moved on and we were there; suffering being left out after the embarrassment of having failed to do what we were supposed to do, protect the naval base and thereby the west coast of the U.S.A.
So when a notice appeared on the bulletin board "Volunteers for pilot training sign here", well, I signed. I crossed the Pacific to the U.S. west coast via troop ship, but now in a blacked out convoy which made the war seem real again.