Turn 1: In Which the Yanks Take a Dip and the Japs Rearrange the Furniture
Things got off to a sticky wicket for Gerry, representing the United States and all that’s good, true, and wholesomely corn-fed. His opening gambit—storming Guadalcanal—was repulsed in a manner that can only be described as bad form. The Japanese marines, stout fellows under Doug’s watchful monocle, stood firm while their air units flung themselves skyward in a gallant, though terminal, display of self-sacrifice.
To add to Gerry’s discomfort, the cruiser group under the Northampton took a brisk and uninvited swim courtesy of Doug’s dashing counter-attack at Savo Island. The whole business was ably assisted by those rather disagreeable airmen from Rabaul, who made it clear they had no respect whatsoever for American shipbuilding.
Doug, meanwhile, began his turn not with fireworks but with the kind of methodical efficiency that makes civil servants and Japanese logisticians so admired and feared. Reinforcements were moved hither and yon—Guadalcanal got more bombers, Gili Gili received visitors, and Rabaul fairly hummed with new activity.
Undeterred (and perhaps fortified by a few slaps on the back from Admiral Nimitz), Gerry launched another go at Guadalcanal. The 1st Marines splashed ashore in fine style, though at some cost in the arm-and-leg department. Doug responded with only modest air cover, clearly saving his best tricks for a later dinner party.
Doug then busied himself shifting divisions through the New Guinea undergrowth, sending fine upstanding soldiers from Rabaul and Wewak down the Kokoda Trail toward Port Moresby. Gerry, catching the scent of trouble (and perhaps a whiff of Vegemite), dispatched the 2nd Australian Division to shore up the defence, along with some American air units who were told to “give it the old college try.”
Things got frightfully unpleasant when Japanese cruisers Aoba and Nachi paid an impolite visit. The Australian cruiser Kent, having had the daylights knocked out of it, limped home to Townsville for a restorative cup of tea. However, Japanese aircrews were taking losses too—proof that the Aussies meant business.
Doug, not content with mere theatrics, ended the turn by launching a full-on assault on Port Moresby. It was a frightful muddle: blood, mud, and confusion all round. The Australians held the line, but both divisions looked as if they’d been through the laundry twice without a rinse.
Turn 2: In Which the Americans Stage a Comeback, and Then Immediately Regret It
Gerry, showing the bulldog spirit (or perhaps the American equivalent—a bald eagle with indigestion), decided to shift his gaze northward. The Solomons looked inviting, and Bougainville was sitting about undefended, like a plum pudding on Christmas Eve. The Yanks took it without a shot fired, and lo! the airfields now lay within hopping distance of Rabaul.
Doug, meanwhile, had clearly decided that Port Moresby was the place to be that season. He launched another attack—less ghastly than before, but still frightful enough. The 2nd Australian Division finally threw in the towel, leaving the 1st to hold the fort with little more than grit and a sense of national pride.
Gerry, realising things were looking grim in the antipodes, decided to stage a magnificent counter-offensive at Gili Gili. He threw in the works—three aircraft carriers, a battleship group led by the South Carolina, and the 1st Marines, whose morale was rumoured to be “guardedly optimistic.”
Doug, however, had been keeping an eye on the proceedings. With a twirl of the moustache and a cry of “Yamamoto will see you now!”, he dispatched the IJN from Truk, led by the dreadnought Yamato—a ship roughly the size of a minor European nation.
What followed was a naval engagement so furious that Neptune himself considered handing in his resignation. When the smoke cleared, the US Navy was in tatters. The Enterprise, Wasp, and Lexington were sent to the bottom, along with the South Carolina. The Marines, left without so much as a canoe, were promptly pushed back into the sea.
It was, in short, a disaster of operatic proportions.
Not to be outdone by their nautical colleagues, the Japanese Army immediately threw itself once more at Port Moresby. After a ghastly tussle, they emerged triumphant—battered but jubilant. The Australians were seen retreating with what dignity could be salvaged under the circumstances. Cries of “Banzai!” echoed through the jungle.
Back in Washington, Gerry was summoned home to explain to various stern-faced gentlemen how, precisely, he had managed to lose the entire Pacific Fleet before lunch. Rumours suggest that his defence began with the words, “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
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