E. M. Postlethwait, Lt. Col. (US
ARMY)
The
corregidor operation was an example of co-ordination as
it ought to be. The fact that every arm or service has as its
final mission, either directly or indirectly, the delivery of
John Rifleman to the heart of the enemy�s ground with his GI
boot resting squarely on the chest of the enemy is at last being
recognized.
With that recognition the development of true
coordination between the arms is getting somewhere. It isn�t
perfect yet, but we�re getting there fast. The mechanics of
close air support and naval gunfire support were first worked
out in theory, then tried and improved; and they are still being
improved.
Like most of us, I first learned the
mechanics at informal staff schools out of the �books,� and in
pre-operation planning. It all sounded good and everyone
apparently had the right idea, but something always seemed to
mar the picture in actual operation. The weather turned out to
be bad for the planes, communications went haywire, the Japs
kept the Navy busy somewhere else. It was always something-
until the Corregidor show. There, we Doughfeet got the kind of
suppose we had heard about and dreamed about, but which we were
beginning to doubt existed. Everything clicked, just the way it
says in the book, only better.
The preinvasion bombardment plans were worked
out by the higher staffs. We had no voice in the plans, except
by accident. I�ll say more on that later. Briefly, the Air
Forces dropped around two hundred tons of bombs per day for over
two weeks before Corregidor D-Day. And the Navy bombarded the
island for several days from cruisers and destroyers.
Luckily, Captain �Tommy� Thompson, my naval
gunfire liaison officer, was on the ball. The firing ships for
the show were anchored near our staging area, and after studying
the tactical plan, Thompson went out to talk things over with
their officers. On board one of the cruisers, he found Commander
H. L. McCoy who had been stationed on Corregidor at the time of
its surrender and later escaped. Commander McCoy came ashore
with Captain Thompson to our CP on Luzon and answered a thousand
and one questions about the island. The talk was worth an extra
battalion. Among other thing, we worked out one especially
important detail.
One of the entrances to the large tunnel in
Malinta Hill on Corregidor looked right down on the beach where
we could land. A gun in that entrance could have spelled murder
for anyone on the beach � might even have stopped the whole
show. McCoy knew exactly where the entrance was. I asked him if
he could close it for us, or at least neutralize it. His answer
was �Hell, yes. I�ll go to the fire control tower and lay some
eight-inchers right in there myself.� What more could we want in
cooperation on that important point?
In our landing plan, one rifle platoon,
equipped for assault-party operations (flame throwers,
demolitions, bazookas etc.) was earmarked to hit out fast for
that tunnel entrance and finish the job When that platoon
reached the spot on D-Day, there was no job to finish. McCoy and
his eight-inchers had completely closed it. Support? And how!