Peter G. Sovil
Era: World War II
Military Branch: Navy
Peter G. Sovil served in World War II in the Pacific.
Mr. Sovil enlisted in the U.S. Navy on October 13, 1943. He was sent to Farragut Naval Station, Idaho, for boot camp for six weeks.
He was allowed to go home on leave and then was sent to the Naval Construction Training Center (NCTC), Camp Peary, Virginia, for construction training. He was assigned to the 25th Special SeaBees Battalion. His unit was sent by train to Port Hueneme, California, for combat training.
In February 1944, they went north to San Francisco and boarded the USS Monticello, bound for New Guinea. The ship held 11,000 service members from each of three branches: Army, Navy, and Marines. In his time in the Navy, Mr. Sovil served on Construction Battalion Detachment #1101, the 25th Naval Construction Battalion, and the 35th Naval Construction Battalion.
He returned to the United States on the USS Sanborn (APA-193). He was discharged on May 24, 1946. Mr. Sovil’s rank was Storekeeper 3rd Class.
Mr. Sovil was decorated with the World War II Victory Medal, American Defense Service Medal, American Pacific Campaign Medal, National Defense Medal, Asiatic-Pacific campaign Medal, and the Philippine Liberation Medal.
Mr. Sovil was born in Calumet, Minnesota, in 1926 to Dan and Antonia Sovil.
Source: Veterans’ Memorial Hall veteran history form; veteran’s account (below):
"In 1943, I turned seventeen, and I could hardly wait to get to the recruiting office in Hibbing. So along with two friends, Bill “Guzzy” Weber and Lawrence “Jessy” Tanner, we all went together. We were told to go to St. Paul and Fort Snelling for our physical.
"I, along with my buddies, went home and packed. But wait—my being only seventeen—my dad was required to sign papers that would allow me to join. You havd to be eighteen to be considered an adult. I followed and begged my dad to sign. Well, I won, and he signed; poor guy was crying while signing.
"I was sent to Idaho and Farragut, which was a Navy boot training camp, in October 1943. After about six weeks of boot camp training, we were allowed to go home on leave. Boy, did I think I was hot stuff. Little did I know what was ahead! After my leave, I was told to report to Camp Peary, Virginia, for construction training. While at Camp Peary I was put into the 25th Special SeaBees Battalion. After a few weeks of training, we boarded a troop train headed cross country to Port Hueneme, California, to get what was called “advanced combat training.” Around the later part of February we again boarded a troop train and went north to San Francisco. There, we boarded a confiscated Italian liner, which had been converted to a troop ship. It was named the USS Monticello.
When this ship left port, there were 11,000 troops aboard: Marines, Army and Navy SeaBees. The ship had been refitted into many 500-person compartments. There was a Marine guard stationed at the one and only door. His job was to keep order, and if enemy subs or ships were spotted, he was to close the door and seal it shut. It stayed this way until the alert was over. We were down on F deck and razzed about being “torpedo section.” The ship had to travel a zigzag course, which required a change in direction every seven minutes.
I’d ordinarily not mention this, because there were at least 10,999 other souls on board, but we in F deck had to suffer much more than those in decks above us. There was a lightweight pipe coming from above that went through each deck above us. The troops above us would punch holes in the pipes to get more air coming through, so by the time it got to F deck there wasn’t much air left. After about seventeen miserable days, we pulled into a port on the island of New Caledonia, where troops either got on or got off.
We still had no idea where we were going. Five days later, we sailed into what we were later told was Milne Bay, the southernmost part of New Guinea. Since there were no docking facilities for a ship as large as the Monticello, a rope cargo net was put over the side of the ship so that all of our gear and us could go down the side of the ship. Everything went down this way, including our personal stuff (mattress, blankets), then our rifle and pack. There were no second trips . The landing craft at the bottom of the cargo net was going up and down in what, I guess, were 8-foot swells.
But it could be that I was so concerned about myself I didn’t see what was going on around me. We didn’t know if we would face any hostilities, but soon learned that the Army had driven the enemy out months earlier. Our job here was to make sure supplies got to the troops in the fight up north. We loaded and unloaded ships, built and maintained the muddy roads. We lived in six-man tents with only a floor and canvas roof (no sides) during the rainy season, which seemed to be all year. The canvas on the tent became waterlogged and would leak like a sieve. We would need to dump our cots over to get rid of the water and go to sleep under wet ponchos. The only thing that kept us from feeling sorry for ourselves was we knew the Marines and Army had it many times worse up north.
Here are a couple of stories I’d like to share with you: I and maybe four others boarded a boat headed for a ship that was aground and abandoned by her crew. There were medical and other supplies aboard that needed to be taken off to deeper water and sunk. When we got to the ship there was a large barge tied to her. We got off our boat and onto the barge. There was what they called a Jacob’s ladder—rope ladder—over the side of the ship. Our crew chief, Gilroy, was a short husky 32-year-old coal miner from Pennsylvania. He discussed the mission with us, and since the swells were 8-10 feet high, we were told to go up one at a time and to wait until the barge was at its highest point before reaching for the ladder. He was to go first. He did as he told us to do, but for some reason couldn’t hold on to the ladder and fell into the water as the barge was going down in the valley of the swell. We all ran to where he had fallen in but no sign of him. As the next swell was lifting the barge and the water was rising between the ship and the barge, up popped Gilroy, his corncob pipe still in his mouth. Two of our crew pulled him out by his raised arms just in time before the barge closed the gap and banged up against the ship. His next words were, “Let’s get the hell out of here!” I don’t know what ever happened to this ship or cargo.
Another experience worth mentioning was a trip across the bay to what was called Gili Gili. We were to go to an abandoned Army engineering camp, load, and bring back a load of lumber on the barge we were on. If I remember correctly, we loaded up a good load of lumber and had some extra time, so Wally O’Hara and I decided to explore. We were walking around the abandoned Army camp. Nothing was left except a large Quonset hut. The door wasn’t locked, and when we opened the door we were surprised to see a warehouse full of Army clothing. We were about to leave when a door in the back opened and out came three Oriental-looking individuals. This is the time you don’t know if you should run, poop, or go blind. Before I had a chance to make a decision, these guys were bowing to us. They got us bags and indicated we should help ourselves, which we did.
I ran into a man that was in the unit that was stationed at Gili Gili. They killed seventy-five Japanese and captured three. The three prisoners eventually had the run of the camp. When this unit left, they didn’t know what to do with them, so they left them there—don’t know if this last part is true, but makes for a good story. Maybe Wally and I should go back to see if they are still there?
There is a little more to tell about this trip. On crossing the bays back to Gama Dodo, we ran into one of the storms that come up late in the afternoon. You get hurricane winds that may last for only fifteen minutes then clear up. Well, on our return trip, we ran into one of the squalls. Must have been water in the fuel, but one engine on the barge quit, and the pilot couldn’t get it going. The wind and waves were washing and blowing some of the lumber overboard, and there was nowhere to go to be safe. The lumber in the water was attracting the sharks; you could see their dorsal fins skimming the water. In another five minutes, the sun was out and the sky clear.
We left New Guinea, I believe, in late 1944 or early ’45. Again we were not told where we were going, but the U.S. was preparing for the invasion of Japan. When we arrived in the Philippines, we joined a mass of ships as far as you could see. Hundreds, maybe a thousand, were preparing for the invasion of Japan. But after the second atomic bomb was dropped, Japan’s unconditional surrender was accepted, and the war was over. Our mission changed somewhat, and we started to help the Filipinos rebuild their roads.
We built screened market structures to keep flies off the produce and more. I slept in a crane on the deck of an APA all the way to the Philippines with a stop at Manus Island. After spending almost a year in the jungle of New Guinea, we thought we were in heaven when we got to our new camp in Ologapal—which was actually a filthy, corrupt, and dangerous place. While there, we built barracks and unloaded ships. We also built barracks for ourselves. Sure was nice sleeping inside and not getting wet. There was still a war going on in the mountains, but it wasn’t with the Japanese who had been driven out, but with the Huks, a Muslim group looking for power.
One interesting part of my stay was talking to Marcos, who would become the future president of the Philippines. He was a captain in the Philippine guerrilla army at the time and was under the protection of the U.S. military, since he had enemies out to assassinate him. He lived in the middle of our camp. Wally and I decided we’d catch a ride through the “Zigzag Pass,” as it was called, and go to Manila. We never made it all the way there, and since it was getting late, we caught a ride with a couple of Army soldiers driving a weapons carrier. At the time all bridges were guarded by a soldier and a Filipino. When we stopped at a bridge, the soldier checked us out and gave us the OK to continue. We moved no more than 10 feet when the Filipino jumped in front of us with his rifle pointed at us. He said it was stolen. They marched us through some tall elephant grass to an outpost. Wally and I were panicked. We didn’t know what was going to happen to us and pleaded with the soldier to let us go because we were just trying to get back to our camp.
A sergeant came up to us and told [us] that he would turn his back to us and that we had better run for the road and don’t look back. We ran as fast as we could to the road. We managed to catch a truck. We crawled up into the box and the next 20-25 miles almost killed us because this truck didn’t have springs. My guts felt like they were about to drop out. This was an adventure I wouldn’t repeat. My older brother Emil joined the Navy in 1938. I hadn’t seen him in at least five years when I may have been thirteen. While in the barracks someone shouted, “Pete! Someone to see you.” I walked by a man I didn’t recognize, and he said, “Where are you going? I’m your brother Emil.” I got weak with excitement. He told me that he had to leave his Navy uniform behind because Navy personnel were not allowed to go inland after a certain point. I don’t know how, but he made it by putting on Army clothes. Our visit had to be cut short because his destroyer was in port only to refuel and would be leaving in late afternoon. As he got back to Manila, his ship was leaving. He managed to get a sailor to take him to catch the ship. He was a chief petty officer, so I supposed he pulled rank on him.
Emil was in seven naval battles and was close to losing his chief rank when he got back on board. I got my 3rd class petty officer’s rate. Since the 25th Special Battalion was dissolved, it no longer existed. I was put in charge of part of the supply yard. The remnants of the 25th were going back to the states for discharge That is, all but me. Since I had a storekeeper rate, I was required to stay to inventory and distribute materials. Wally told me some years later about seeing me at the end of the dock as the ship was sailing off. He said it was a sad site. He was right: you get attached to your buddies when you share a tent for a couple of years.
Sometime around January 1946, I was sent home on leave. I had lost a lot of weight. My mother was shocked to see me all yellow from the tablets I’d been taking for a couple of years to ward [off] malaria. I was told to report to Seattle. When I got there, they put me on a hospital ship. I believe I spent a couple of weeks on it. I could eat any time I wanted to and as much as I wanted. I gained at least 20 lbs. in three weeks. I was released and told to report to the USS Sanborn (APA-193). I was put into the supply div.
My first assignment was to type up the menus for the week. It didn’t take long for me to fill the wastebasket since I’d never typed before. When the officer in charge of the supply depot came, in he saw that I couldn’t type. He said I couldn’t work in the office, so he put me in charge of general stores. As far as I’m concerned, it was the best duty on the ship. I was nineteen years old at the this time, around February 1946. We were to take troops to Adak, Alaska, so I and the chief warrant officer went to the warehouse to buy food for the trip. This poor officer had a drinking problem, so he handed me his “grocery list.” He went off to quench his thirst. On the list were something like 500 lbs. of flour, powdered milk, 200 dozen eggs. I don’t really know the amounts, but to let you know that I was a nineteen-year-old who had this much authority.
On our return trip, we docked at San Francisco on Mare Island. We were to put USS Sanborn into retirement (mothball it). I was to take inventory. It was May sometime. I was really homesick, so I lied a bit and told the executive officer that my dad had a large farm in northern Minnesota and needed my help. It worked. I got my orders for discharge. I arrived at Fort Snelling, and who should I see but my old school teacher, Pete Zanna. He said he would interview me. He was a chief petty officer. He asked me what I wanted to do. I said I didn’t know. He told me flat out that school probably wasn’t for me, since I wasn’t a very good student. He suggested I take the government offer of homestead land and $40,000 and take up farming. It went in one ear and out the other. So ends my time with the SeaBees.
