The flare burst.
Lieut. Jones continues:
“There was the perfect target, a Jap barge loaded with troops—you could see their heads sticking up over the gunwale.
“Open fire! Open fire! I screamed in my mind, but no words came out of my mouth.
“What was the matter? Why weren’t the guns firing? Thousands of tracers should be pouring into that enemy craft, but no gun on either PT fired. The flare died and I ordered another.
“Why was I doing this? Why wasn’t the barge sinking now, holed by hundreds of shells? Why hadn’t the gunners opened fire as ordered when the flare went off? And what was the matter on the Jap barge? Why weren’t they tearing us up with their guns, for the flare lit us up as brightly as it illuminated them?
“We closed to 75 yards, still frozen in that strange paralysis under the glare of the dying starshell.
“My helmsman spoke up. ‘They’re not Japs, sir, they’re natives.’
“I flipped on the searchlight, and our two boats circled the canoe, searchlights blazing, guns trained. That eerie scene will remain in my memory as long as I live. Thirty natives—some of them boys—sat rigidly still, staring forward unblinkingly. I don’t know if it was native discipline or sheer terror that held them. Even the children didn’t blink an eye or twitch a finger.
“We shouted to them that we were Americans, but we gave up trying to get through to them, for they refused to answer or even to turn their heads and look at us. We left them rigidly motionless and staring straight ahead at nothing.