Now everyone waited, hoping the Japanese had not spotted them. Out of the night, a bright flash of light marked a hit by at least one torpedo. The distance caused a delay in the sound of the explosion.
“Bridge, radar, there is a separation between the first two destroyers and the third, and it’s widening.”
“Bridge aye. OOD, give the torpedo crew a Baker-zero, looks like one of the fish got a target.”
The first four torpedoes missed, the last struck the stern of a Momi class destroyer. The torpedo struck just at the stern propeller tube packing gland passed in front of it. The explosion cut one of the twin shafts in two halves — the other bent into the underside of the ship. A massive hole was ripped open under the stern third of the ship, with only the port side holding the remains to the ship, and it was giving away.
“Helm, ten degrees right rudder to one-three-two. Talker, to Fire Control, pick your target and open fire with five rounds per gun, then shift to the secondary target, commence firing.”
The destroyer shook from bow to stern with all four guns pouring out shells. The air about the ship seemed to blow in every direction from the pressure waves of the blasts.
“Bridge, topside lookout, flames, and explosions off the port side in the distance.”
“Bridge aye,” the talker passed the word to the OOD and Captain. The officer watched through binoculars and confirmed the report.
The captain flipped the Fire Control switch on the IC box, “Fire Control, Bridge, good shooting. We still have another one out there; check with radar to see if they can locate it.”
“Fire Control Aye.”
Then the guns and director began moving in unison, then stopped and resumed firing. Again, the ship shook, and the cordite smell pervaded the interior as well as the exterior of the ship.
****
In the after-engine room, everyone was wearing smiles as they listened to the relays from the throttleman.
Sitting on the large toolbox, Lieutenant Lanner and Petty Officer Williams sat talking like it was just another day.
“Sir, what was aviation training like?”
“Well, in nineteen-thirty-seven, I had finished my studies in Mechanical engineering and received my degree. Following a long conversation between my mother and dad, we all met with a Navy recruiter on campus, where I signed the documents and took the oath of entering the Naval Flight Training program.”
“I was selected and sent to the Naval Flight Preparatory School. This course included physical training, basic military training, naval customs and history, and the all-important etiquette training us selectees needed to become gentlemen.”
Williams turned to the throttleman and said, “See, I told you they had to train officers to be gentlemen, and they’re not born that way.”
“That’s not the half of it, even with the training, some officers revert to their former ways.” Bringing a laugh from everyone.
The Lieutenant when on, “then there were the courses in math and physics and their practical applications of these skills in flight. I thought wisely to swear never to butt into instructors' lectures by trying to show off some of my already acquired skills. One guy didn’t and spent two of his off days washing aircraft.”
“The next step was a short preliminary flight training session during which we cadets did ten hours in a simulator and an hour test flight with an instructor. I passed and received with a gold-metal aviator’s wings with the V-5 badge set in the center. The other passing cadets in the class and I were sent to primary and basic flight training at Pensacola, Florida. Once there, we found out we would be training at Corry Field, north of the main Naval Air Station. After several weeks surviving the training, the successful group of pilots went to Corpus Christi, Texas, where we finished up well over a year’s training in military flying and surviving. By then, I was an officer and a gentleman, with the rank of Ensign, and had my Aviator’s wings.”
“I was transferred to Bremerton, Washington. Now, having seen aircraft carriers only in the bay at San Diego, I knew they were big. Standing on the pier in Bremerton, looking up at the huge ship, I felt even more dwarfed. I wondered how all that steel could float. It would seem like magic to a layman, but to us sailors, we understand the displacement of water and height of the freeboard worked together to support the mass. The big ship was eight-hundred-eighty-eight feet long, a hundred-six feet across the beam, and had a draft of thirty feet when fully loaded to just over forty-three thousand tons.”
“I boarded the ship via the forward gangway. Like everyone else, I saluted the colors and Officer of the Deck and presented my orders.”
“The OOD said to me, “Your squadron is already aboard, I’ll have a messenger take you to the squadron office.”
“Thank you, sir,” I saluted again and stepped aside to await the messenger. Everywhere I looked, men were busy at work preparing the ship for her deployment to the Hawaiian Islands.
“Let me take your bag, sir,” the messenger offered. It felt a little strange, I relented, and I had the smaller young man take my lighter bag and followed him inside the hangar bay. There we saw what looked like a haphazard packing of aircraft attended by men. The messenger led me to a hatch and a ladder to the deck just above the hangar deck. There we passed several offices marked with squadrons, subunits, or services on the doors. At the one designating a fighter squadron, he opened it for me, I went in first, feeling a bit sheepish at the treatment.”
“My orders,” I said, as I handed over the large envelope containing the orders and his service record to a petty officer.”
“One moment sir,” he told me, while I looked around, there were a lot of manuals, books, and files all over the place, they were really busy. Then I found out they too had just reported aboard and were just getting set in. Anyway, he told me Commander Hodges would be right in.”
“It was hot, and the office personnel was working in their t-shirts, I just said, “Thank you, petty officer.”
“Yeoman First Class David Jennings, I’m the Squadron yeoman.”
“I reached out to shake his hand; to my surprise, he accepted it with a smile. “Glad to meet you, I said.”
“Likewise, sir.”
The door opened, and an officer shorter, but stockier than me stepped inside. He quickly took me in before the door closed. “Commander Al Hodges, I understand you’re the last of our newly assigned officers. Welcome aboard, Ensign. How much time do you have in the air?”
With a quick query, his mind popped out the answer, “eight-hundred-twenty-five sir, which includes my personal time, sir.”
“Personal time? I take it you own a plane?”
“Yes sir, a Jenny I purchased when I was sixteen.”
“You started early. Good, we’ll see how well you do. Have you been checked out in the Wildcat?”
“Yes sir, I have over a hundred hours in it, sir.”
“Very well.” Turning to the Yeoman, “Do we have a stateroom assigned to the Ensign yet?”
“Yes sir, the only one left is with Lieutenant Rader.”
“Show him where his new home is for now.” Taking the new man by the arm, he led him to the far corner of the small office. “Lieutenant Rader is a ‘Mustang, he came up through the enlisted ranks, and some find it hard to make friends with him. He has lost a couple of close friends in aircraft accidents and doesn’t want to make any new friends. If he seems aloof or ignoring you, don’t take personal, you understand?”
“Yes sir, I’ve lost a couple of friends, too, I understand.”
“In this business we all do, maybe you can help him down the line, I would suggest letting him get to know you first.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Yeoman take our young Ensign to his stateroom. You may as well get unpacked; it’s almost supper time. The wardroom dress for us is khakis.”
“Aye, sir,” as I eyed the proper uniform identifiers. In the stateroom, I stowed my gear and had time to shower to remove the gritty feeling o
f the long journey from my last duty station.”
“A couple of days later, we headed for San Diego, where I had some time to get into town. I quickly learned it was a Navy town, no doubt about that. The main drag beginning at the pier started with stores offering everything a sailor could use and didn’t need. There was even a Navy-oriented club that touted lockers where sailors could change into civilian attire. They had all the most popular clothing and gadgets. The jewelry shops along the streets were selling cheap jewelry at high prices. The local churches had a couple of places to serve men in a less aggressive environment, who were away from home, many for the first time.”
“It was fun to watch recruits on their first liberty. They would get some civilian clothes and go out looking for girls, forgetting they were sporting buzz-cut hair and shiny black military shoes.”
“I remember those days,” said the throttleman, Orville Jamison.
“I need some coffee,” the Lieutenant said.
He went to get up, and Williams said, “I’ll get it for you.”
“Tell you what, let me get it this time, and you the next, want yours heated up?”
“Yes sir,” looking like he was a bit sheepish,
****
Bridge, flashes, and fire on another target off the port side.”
“Bridge aye.” The officers again trained their glasses at the mayhem their rounds were creating.
“Talker, check with both Radar and Fire Control for the positions of those three ships.”
“Aye, sir.”
A long minute later, the talker said, “The first ship is stopped three miles from the second ship, which is almost stopped, and turning away. The third ship is in the same position as before, but showing almost no return, we believe it is sinking. “OOD, what would you do now that we have had some fun, go to the island, or finish them off?”
After a few seconds, the officer said, “Our primary duty is the landing party recovery. We have staved off a probable surface attack, but I believe it would be in error to go in after the kill and leave our shipmates to go it alone, we need to protect them. And I would like to say, I would like to go sink those bastards, but we have a more pressing detail.”
“Excellent analysis Lieutenant, that’s our job; get us back to cover the AGAR.”
“Aye sir, Helm right standard rudder. Bring us to one-nine-zero.”
“Right standard rudder, one-nine-zero, sir.” As the helmsman spun the wheel, it caused the ship to heel to port. A minute or so later, he said, “Steady on one-nine-zero, sir.”
“Very well, all ahead flank, thirty-five knots.”
“All ahead flank, thirty-five knots, aye, sir.” The frisky destroyer leaped ahead.
The Captain pulled the TBS phone, “XCCE, KJOB, situation?”
“On station, retrieval party on the way, standing by for gunfire support of recovery.”
“Very well, en route, ETA…”
He turned to the duty, Quartermaster, “ten minutes, sir.”
“…ten minutes.”
“Roger that, sir.” Then the line went dead.
Five minutes later, as the fast destroyer approached the waiting recovery ship, they went to five knots, the slowing screws acting as a mild brake, then the OOD calling for all back a third. The ship shuddered when the screws began to counter the forward flow, stopping half a mile from the AGAR.
The blinker light with a red lens inquired on the HALLIS’s success. The HALLIS response was short, “Three encountered, one possible sunk, two left in flames.”
A single return said it all, “Outstanding.”
“Bridge, radio, the shore party sent coordinates for gunfire support, the enemy is attacking.”
The Captain closed the radio switch, send coordinates to Fire Control. Then he switched to Fire Control, “Match incoming coordinates from radio and commence firing when ready.”
Seconds later, both ships opened up with salvos from all five-inch guns into the same coordinates.
****
“Did you get the fire control coordinates to the Yank ships?” Lieutenant Cockburn asked of Signalman Earl Rogers.
“Yes sir, they should begin bombardment straight away.”
The trees and leaves about the commandoes and prisoner were jumping and popping from being hit by incoming enemy rifle and small machinegun fire, driving the beleaguered Aussies into the volcanic based earth.
Then, above the din of rifle and machinegun fire, they heard the train-like sound of incoming artillery, which began exploding within a semicircle around the trapped men. The harrowing and repeated explosions so close made the men try to crawl beneath anything that would provide cover and protection.
The enemy was not so fortunate with the shells raining upon them again and again. The eight batteries of five-inch naval guns poured a ten-round salvo from each barrel, covering the small area called for, put shells just feet from one another. There was no mercy for the stronger force bent on killing all the men trapped within the semicircle they had set up.
One man survived the barrage by being outside the immediate perimeter in a sniper’s role. Although deafened and badly shaken by the surprise artillery barrage, he was still a dangerous adversary. Slowly he scanned through the savaged opening to the inner circle. He was unable to identify any targets, but he was able to see movement. That was sufficient since all were claimed to be valid targets. He opened fire with his 7.7mm sniper rifle.
The snipers fourth-round struck an unseen target, which immediately went down with a bullet into his midsection. Immediate return fire caused the man to drop from his perch in a tree to the soft earth below. His next move was to the southwest, away from the withering gunfire.
Because of his cross-training as an expert in hand-to-hand combat, Signalman Forrest Brant had the guard duty on the prisoner. He immediately applied all the medical skills he was trained to save the Japanese Doctor’s life. Gunner Addison Bates assisted Brant; the other soldier cross-trained in combat medicine.
Immediately after getting the man stabilized enough to move, they put him on a makeshift litter and got him into the waiting boat.
“Yank, Brant said to the radioman, inform your ship our package has taken a rifle shot to the midsection. He is unconscious but pretty stable. His survival is vital.”
“Will do.” Then he immediately radioed the ship, while the coxswain got underway at maximum speed.
Fifteen minutes later, Captain Tyson watched the loading from the bridge when he got the all-clear signal; he turned to the Navigator, who was working on the best and safest course to Tulagi. Following a short talk with the Captain, he turned to the OOD, “OOD make your course one-one-one, speed, and thirty-five knots for one-hour thirty minutes. At that waypoint, turn to one-one-five, maintain thirty-five knots for four hours and fifty minutes.”
The OOD repeated the order to the helmsman, and in the engine rooms, the throttlemen pushed the engines to their designed maximum speed.
A few minutes later, the starboard lookout said to the messenger, standing beside him, “Now isn’t that a great sight?”
“What’s that, Jack?”
“Look at the AGAR; she looks like she is skipping along on the surface of the calm sea.”
The messenger replied, I love to have a color picture of both these ships right now; it would look great in my living room.”
The Captain waved to the Bo’sun for the 1MC, “This is the Captain, AGAR has recovered the commandoes and their passenger, who shot by enemy forces just before boarding the escape boat. He is in serious condition, and we’re making our best speed to get him and a wounded commando to medical assistance as soon as possible.”
“I want every resource on this ship to scan the sea, sky, and everywhere for any sign of the enemy. We hurt their attempts last night to attack the landing; I have no doubt they will pull out all stops to find and sink us. We hurt them, and they will come looking for severe retribution. Captain out.”
CHAPTER SIX
The talker reported it to the OOD. “Messenger, Captain to the bridge, Bo’sun sound General Quarters, repel aircraft astern. Signal, inform AGAR.” The ship turned the last of the men out for the incoming threat.
The signal messenger entered the bridge, “Sir, AGAR confirms the incoming contact and has set GQ, repel aircraft.”
“Very well,” said the OOD. Just then, the Captain arrived on the bridge, and the OOD brought him up to date on all conditions and threats.
In the after-engine room, the GQ team settled in as the ship continued on its run to Tulagi. Lieutenant Lanner grabbed his cup and drew some fresh coffee, then sat next to Petty Officer Williams on the toolbox.
The first ten minutes of conversation was about the plant, its setup, and related issues. Then Williams said, “Sir, you had a very interesting and different early life and especially involving your entry and training in the military. You should write a book.”
“I’ve been thinking about it; maybe I’ll start putting some stuff on paper, so I don’t forget it.”
“Good idea, sir. Any further thoughts you have about things that happened to you before you became a real sailorman?”
Laughing, the Lieutenant said, “That’s a different way to put it. My first meal in the wardroom was a bit different, being the new man in the squadron.”
“At the first sounding of the call for dinner, I had to work to find my way to the flight officer’s wardroom. I had to keep reminding himself I was now a trained gentleman, not a farmhand. Seating was by rank, with me being a lowly ensign, I knew my place was the furthest from the squadron and Air Wing Commanders, which didn’t bother me. I tried to keep a low profile.”
Attack of the Greyhounds Page 6
