‘Time heals everything—almost’

The following is the last of a three-part series on eyewitness accounts and personal experiences of the World War II Pacific War, recorded as described by Raymond F. “Hap” Halloran to William H. Stewart, military historical cartographer.

Raymond F. “Hap” Halloran, once stationed on Saipan, has returned to the island several times in recent years to participate in World War II commemoration ceremonies.

It doesn’t take long to engage this fascinating man in conversation. I had met several other veterans from the 73rd Bomb Wing and asked Hap if he knew them. When he replied he did not, I was somewhat surprised but later understood the reason when informed that he had only been on Saipan about a month before being shot down over Tokyo and taken prisoner by the Japanese. He flew his first mission to Iwo Jima on Christmas Eve, 1944. Subsequent missions were flown to Akashi/Kobe and Nagoya before being shot down over Tokyo on his 4th mission on Jan. 27, 1945.

There are rare people who are so endowed with a sense of grace, self-confidence and humanity that it is almost a religious experience to be in their presence. Hap Halloran is one such man, an American hero. And while he will never acknowledge that fact, it is immediately apparent when the story of this modest man is known.

“We came together on the fields of Kansas. Some had experienced combat in other places. These men were to be our leaders. We were kids from farms, small cities and major metropolitan areas of America,” he said. “Crews were formed and crew memories exist forever. Most are happy, some are sad, but they are always deep. I remember my first glimpse of that beautiful, silver B-29—what a sight.

“Our crew and the plane, the ‘Rover Boy’s Express‚’ left Mather Field near Sacramento, California, for Rogers Field, Hawaii. As we climbed out from Mather, the City of San Francisco was off to our left at nine o’clock low. It was a crystal clear night and the lights sparkled below. As we crossed the shoreline and headed west over the dark Pacific, something happened. We all continued to look at the lights of San Francisco until they finally disappeared. The intercom went silent—the usually talkative ‘Rover Boys’ were quiet as we were headed for hostile territory. It was my feeling that during that very brief segment of our lives we made a critical, important and lasting transition in our lives from youth to manhood. Then from Hawaii we flew west to Kwajalein and then to Saipan.”

The 73rd would be the first to bomb Japan on Nov. 24, 1944 and of all the missions flown against Japan, the Saipan based B-29s would fly the most.

Twenty-two year old Hap Halloran from Cincinnati was an aircraft navigator.

“On Jan. 27, 1945, while over Tokyo at 32,000 feet in our B-29, we were attacked by two Japanese twin engine Toru fighters—code name ‘Nick,’ closing on us fast. One got through and disabled the ‘Rover Boy’s Express‚’ enabling other fighters to continue to attack us,” he recalled. “Suddenly we were trailing smoke and fire with a full load of bombs and half our full. We fell below and behind the rest of the B-29s in our squadron. There was nothing they could do to help us; it was a sad feeling. The bomber lurched as the 20 mm cannon shells ripped through the fuselage and shot out the electrical controls and the intercom system.

“Before the attack, the inside of the plane was pressurized at a comfortable temperature of 70 degrees but, in an instant when our nose was shot out, the temperature plunged to minus 58 degrees, a temperature change of 127 degrees in a fraction of a second. As we bailed out through the bomb bay my feet, hands and face froze. I didn’t want to let my silk out too fast and fell free to somewhere between three and four thousand feet over Chiba Prefecture East of Tokyo as I didn’t want one of the fighters to take a pop at me while in the parachute harness and, falling without oxygen, I wanted to get out of the extreme cold and rarefied air to warmer air near the ground.

“Once the chute opened, three Japanese fighters headed directly for me as I hung helpless in the sky. They came in very close…throttled back and circled me in a counterclockwise direction…very close in. Two left after the initial circling. The third plane returned for a second pass…very close in. I feared the worst. He throttled back…was very close in just below me. I raised my hands over my head—I was frightened. The pilot was very visible to me. Then he saluted me (1) and pulled off.”

Drifting down East of Tokyo, Hap viewed a large gathering of Japanese gathering below his chute.

“I felt helpless and feared the worst. I hit very hard in a strong wind. The civilians followed the flow of my chute. They were extremely hostile and beat me with clubs, rods, rocks and many other objects. I blacked out from the beatings. I felt I would die that afternoon on enemy soil.”

Japanese civilians sometimes killed American personnel. The military police arrived and wedged themselves between Hap and the people that wanted him dead.

“I later learned the military were under orders to capture some B-29 personnel for interrogation purposes. I was tied and thrown into a coal truck and taken to a briefing room at a fighter base where the beatings continued. From there I was taken to Kempei Tai, the Japanese federal torture prison adjacent to the northern perimeter of the Imperial Palace grounds in downtown Tokyo, and placed in a cold, dark horse stall. This ordeal included 67 days of solitary confinement, torture and two days on display locked in an animal cage at the Ueno Zoo. In April, I was transferred on a truck from my public exhibit cage in the zoo to the Omori prisoner-of-war camp on the southwest edge of Tokyo. During the trip, even though I was always blindfolded, I could see the almost total devastation caused by the B-29 fire raids throughout Tokyo. At Omori there were other American prisoners and all were forbidden to speak or pass notes.”

At Kempei Tai, Hap was taken from his cell for brutal beatings and pointless interrogations every day.

“They wanted to know about the B-29 aircraft. It was a charade,” he said. “One day they showed me a large blueprint of the aircraft and I found out that they knew more about the technical aspects of the plane than I did. They would grill me about Saipan. How many Japanese prisoners were held there? I told them I didn’t know since I didn’t know the difference between a Japanese and an islander. That was the wrong answer and I would be knocked down again. I would tell them that I didn’t see any Japanese after being accused of killing Japanese as they tried to surrender when the island fell in 1944. With that answer I would be hit again. Well, maybe I saw a few, I would say and then they would beat the hell out of me and say that their people would never surrender. It was a no-win situation.

“One day, after the transfer to Omori POW camp, we were taken outside and, as the roll was taken, I counted off five of my crew of 11 that had survived the loss of our aircraft. Among the 32 prisoners at our location was Gregory ‘Pappy’ Boyington, the irascible Marine ace captured near Rabaul on the day he destroyed three Japanese fighters. He was already a hero to me with his 28 aerial victories long before our B-29 was shot down. He had maintained a sparkle in his eyes and the look and mannerisms of a natural leader.

“A tough leader, he instilled confidence in us in a quiet way and I knew I would be OK as long as Pappy was there. Pappy didn’t know he had been awarded the Medal of Honor until I told him. He said, ‘Right now I’d trade it for a hamburger.’

“Boyington would give the Japanese guards demonstrations of the number of Japanese planes he had shot down. Strangely, most of the guards respected and sometimes applauded him.

“After a while we were marched daily into Omori where we cleared broken timber and ash heaps from homes and factories destroyed by fire. From the ground in Tokyo I thought constantly of Saipan. As an early prisoner of war I had no knowledge of Tinian, Guam, Iwo Jima and the progress of the Pacific war. While in prison I heard, saw and felt many B-29 missions over Tokyo and the Tokyo–Yokohama corridor. I remember well the terrifying early morning darkness of March 10th. Early that day, about 0:100 hours, B-29s initiated a monstrous low-level fire bomb attack on Tokyo. Over 100,000 people were killed during that raid. In the air and on the ground the flames, smoke, noise, fire storm winds and screams were beyond comprehension—fear was ever present and I prayed for myself and the safe return of the B-29 crews to Saipan. They gave me hope for freedom. At Omori I was with 31 other B-29 prisoners-of-war and we had been told by one Mr. Kano, the superintendent of our camp, that in the event of an invasion all POWs would be executed immediately. We were never given any medical assistance.

“In late August, after the war had ended, the B-29s came in low over our prison camp with bomb bays open dropping food, clothing and medical supplies. They were wonderful; they were beautiful. They had come back for us. On August 29th I was placed aboard the hospital ship Benevolence in Tokyo Bay anchored adjacent to the battleship Missouri. I was too weak to climb the ship’s ladder and had to be lifted aboard along with others in a cargo net. On September 1st—the day before the signing of the Peace Treaty aboard the Missouri in Tokyo Bay, Admiral Halsey visited me in my room aboard the hospital ship.

“I was still aboard on September 2nd when the surrender ceremonies were taking place aboard the Missouri. Planes of all types from the Pacific Theater came in low in trailing procession up Tokyo bay—what an event! Then came the best of all—some five hundred B-29s flying in low formation. The sights and sounds of those magnificent B-29s was overpowering.”

Precisely to the day 44 years later, Hap Halloran flew the return trip from Tokyo to Saipan that he was unable to complete on January 27, 1945. He was completing the return leg of the “Rover Boy’s Express” mission V Square 27 to Tokyo Target 357, which was the Musashino Nakajima aircraft engine facility. This time, however, his return flight was made in the comfort of a DC10 in only three hours. Hap recalled, “Iwo Jima was quiet and all alone as we passed just to the east. I thought of the many B-29s that used Iwo Jima on troubled southbound flights back to Saipan. We circled Saipan from the northwest along the invasion beaches. The turquoise waters and white sand beaches deny the 1944 invasion, but the sunken silhouettes of U.S. military landing craft and tanks of our invasion forces bring the reality of the past to life again. The beach area at Obyan brought back pleasant memories as we entered our final landing approach pattern. It was good to be back exactly 44 years to the day since I left on that fateful mission. My thoughts returned to my crewmembers of the ‘Rover Boy’s Express‚’ who died in the air or on the ground that fateful day in Tokyo on January 27, 1945.

“After much research and many telephone calls, I traveled to Tokyo in May 1984. I had to exorcise the nightmares of almost 40 years. With assistance from the American Embassy in Tokyo and the 5th Air Force Intelligence section, I met and shook hands in friendship with Kaneyuki Kobayashi, a former guard at Omori Prison, and Saburo Sakai, who at that time was the leading living Japanese fighter air ace. Mr. Sakai and I became friends and, before his death in 2001, at his request I became mentor to his daughter Michiko.

“It was Mr. Sakai who helped me locate Isamu Kashiide(2), the Japanese pilot that disabled the ‘Rover Boy’s Express.’ I was able to find the pilot since Japan had relatively few twin-engine planes in the early B-29 days and the downing of a B-29 was an event rare enough to attract attention. A meeting with him would complete my circle of life.”

Living quietly in the small town of Kashiwazaki-shi situated on the Sea of Japan was a man who could help Hap delve deeper into the enigma of war.

“The passing of time had healed most of the memories of war. We were both doing what we were trained and directed to do when our paths crossed at high altitude over Tokyo that fateful day so long ago. On the day I was shot down, I learned that there were more Japanese attacks on B-29s that day than at any other time in the war, 300 fighters made 900 attacks on our B-29s.”

Kashiide and Hap met at Hap’s hotel and after a shy, nervous beginning, the conversation picked up and Hap said, “That was a great shot or a lucky hit you made on V square 27. You blew out the entire electrical system on your first hit—but you must know we were aiming immense firepower from our guns to knock you down.”

Such is aerial warfare. Later at dinner the two veterans drank a toast to peace, friendship and understanding. They met again the next day for lunch and discussed golf, family and other normal subjects that friends discuss. Hap returned to the United States and the years of nightmares disappeared.

“I remained close friends with Saburo Saki and his family. He visited me and we played golf together at my club in Palo Alto, California. Time heals everything—almost.”

(1)“Many years later, while working with Japanese historians and researchers, I learned this incident was known to many Japanese flyers. By pursuing the matter in great detail I was able to locate and visit Hideichi Kaiho (confirmed as the pilot who saluted me). I visited him in 2000 and 2002 at his home. He was bedridden but our reunion was a wonderful occasion. I was scheduled for a third visit on June 24, 2004; however he died one day before. I was invited to his pre-funeral in Tokyo on June 24, 2004. His son opened the casket for my final viewing of this gentleman flyer—the one who saluted me when I was helpless in my chute 59 years earlier. I prayed as I stood at his casket and recalled those long ago days. I saluted him as I walked away from his casket.”

(2)“Isamu Kashiide died in May 2003. I visited with his son in Tokyo in June 2004. He will be coming to my home in California to visit in the near future.”

(William Stewart is the author of Saipan In Flames and Ghost Fleet of the Truk Lagoon, both books documenting the Pacific conflict.)