by Jon Stafford
As they looked forward, they could see “A” turret already half submerged and water lapping gently at the base of the housing below the massive “B” turret not far away. The ship had only a few moments left before she would begin her slide to the bottom five hundred fathoms below. But Rodgers stopped, and for almost a full minute took a long, slow look around.
Finally, with the anxious Cashion already over the side and climbing down a rope, he smiled a smile of gratitude, nodded slowly several times, and went over.
A spontaneous and sustained cheer went up from the hundreds of exhausted men in the boats and on Winslow.
Battle Off Noemfoor
Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more . . .
—Shakespeare, Henry V
Weapons . . . when next we meet,
May serve to better us, and worse our foes
Or equal what between us made the odds, . . .
—Milton, Paradise Lost, Book Six
By the late spring of 1944, General Douglas MacArthur, Commander Southwest Pacific, had taken many locations in his advance up the east coast of New Guinea to the northern edge of the island, called the “Vogelkop,” or “bird’s head.” Unfortunately, only two proved usable as bases for the heavy B-24 bombers: Nadzap, in the extreme south, and Hollandia, halfway up the coast. A successful conclusion of the campaign would require the acquisition of a third location that would yield the six-thousand-foot runway capable of handling the big bombers for the next jump, to the Philippines.
The island of Biak off the “Vogelkop” was selected and was attacked May 29, 1944. The island of Noemfoor, fifty miles to the west, was then selected for invasion in order to secure Biak’s flank. The Japanese reaction to Biak was swift. First they attempted to bring in reinforcements, and then they brought major warships to bases to the west of New Guinea. The Allied support of Biak and Noemfoor was staged from Hollandia with its airfields and excellent harbor, Humbolt Bay.
Off the coast of northern New Guinea, June 25, 1944
Captain Theodore R. Rodgers, Jr., was a hard man for the crew to figure. Many a sailor studied him closely or just plain stared at him to try to understand what he was like. By this time in the war, he was a legendary figure in the United States. Many of the younger men had idolized him long before they entered the Navy, having seen his picture in Life or some other magazine next to Joe Foss, Marion Carl, or Eisenhower. His accomplishments made him into a natural hero. The men knew of his decisive action at Pearl Harbor, how he had brought crucial supplies to the Marines at Guadalcanal, and how he had beaten the Japanese at the Battle of Huon Gulf despite two-to-one odds and saved an invasion force.
Though it was the furthest thing from his mind, the forty-one-year-old squadron commander with graying temples looked every inch the hero the young men idolized. He was tall and lean, and had become better looking with age. The physique that had made him one of the great athletes in the history of Annapolis was still evident, his body as yet oblivious to his heavy smoking. The crew knew that the “Old Man” still held the record for winning twelve games in a row as a pitcher on the baseball team, and that he had been such a star on the football field that more than one newspaper had called him “the best tackle in the east.”
While young men naturally admire a famous athlete, they had come to like Rodgers personally as well. He was fair in his dealings with them, always ready to take the time to talk with them, and played no favorites. They knew that he was always cool under fire, never rattled in any way. He never even raised his voice. Finally, they were fascinated by the testament to his leadership abilities that followed him around: that he had never relieved an officer or needed to.
As young men do, they failed to understand their leader. Rodgers thought of himself as a rather average professional soldier and patriot. While he recognized that he had achieved some measure of success, he was sure it was due to the excellence of his subordinates. There was no place in his strict code of honor for individual laurels. While many portrayed him as a great dispenser of revenge against an implacable foe, in this too they misjudged him. He had no hatred of the enemy as a people at all. He opposed them simply because they were the enemy of the United States.
In this process of battling for his country, Rodgers thought very little of his own life. He was prepared without any hesitation for it to be sacrificed for the good of the nation. Only one thing in his life matched his duty to country: his duty to his men. To him, his men essentially were the nation, and his respect for and dedication to them knew no bounds. Neither was this contradiction—of doing the nation’s bidding versus not risking lives needlessly—apparent to his observers, though it caused him much anguish.
It would have confused the younger men all the more had they known that nine months before their hero had suffered through the loss of his great love, sunken heavy cruiser Grand Rapids. He still thought of her every day and would grieve for her in his own quiet way, telling no one, until the day he died. But she was gone, and no trace of anguish was evident on his face. He never mentioned her again, and those whom he carried with him as he went up the chain of command knew better than to mention her in his presence. Even to Sam Cashion, now a ship’s captain, who had saved Rodgers’ life twice, and who several months before had married Rodgers’ little sister, Faye, Rodgers confided nothing of his loss. He appeared the same as always, joking and smiling with the crew, and spending inordinate amounts of time in idle talk with them.
Perhaps he had remained so strong because he had a new love to replace Grand Rapids. It was the destroyer Reed. Built as a destroyer leader before the war, she and her nine sisters in two similar classes had been among the largest destroyers in the world when built in the middle 1930s. While the Fletcher-class destroyers, now rolling out of US shipyards in great numbers, were actually heavier tonnage-wise, the older ships had as much gun power as any in the world. To the Fletcher-class ships’ five five-inch guns in five single turrets, Reed had eight such guns in four double turrets.
There were three Fletcher-class ships in Rodgers’ squadron. Cashion was actually the commander of Reed, but Rodgers had made his flag in her, forcing Cashion from the captain’s cabin to bunk with the other officers. She was top-heavy like his old love, and buxom, with “B” and “X” turrets high out of the water. She was as handsome as any warship. The casual observer might have assumed her to be a light cruiser. Over time, she proved too top-heavy, and some of her double turrets were replaced with single mounts. But on this day, her ability to fire four guns forward, to the two of the Fletcher-class ships’, would prove very important for the United States.
Rodgers came onto the spacious starboard wing of the bridge at 0430, as was his custom. His orders dangled from his right hand. He sat in the new captain’s chair he had had installed on the wing in order to allow Cashion room to command his ship and stay out of the way of the traffic of the tiny bridge.
The door into the back of the bridge was open. Around the corner, in his cabin, a favorite record spun on the Alabamian’s phonograph: Ernest Tubb’s first big country hit, “Walking the Floor Over You.” Young Tubb’s twangy voice, not yet developed into the lustrous bass of later years, sounded in the background. It repeated again and again, to the consternation of some bluejackets unimpressed with country music.
Rodgers had read the orders a number of times but looked at them once more as Tubb’s voice droned on:
FLEET ORDERS 62-869
AS PART OF OPERATION TABLETENNIS, YOU WILL STAND OUT FROM HUMBOLT BAY AT 0130 HOURS 24 JUNE 1944, WITH YOUR COMMAND TO CONDUCT OPERATIONS OF EIGHT DAYS’ DURATION.
PROCEED TO A POINT SOUTH OF BIAK ISLAND VIA JAPAN STRAITS, MAKING RADIO CONTACT WITH OUR FORCES AT BOSNIK AT 0330 HOURS 25 JUNE. USE THE CALL SIGN “METEOR.”
FROM BIAK:
1. PROCEED ALONG THE BIAK-NOEMFOOR AXIS
2. DOMINATE THE ISLAND OF NOEMFOOR UNTIL RELIEVED:
A. BOMBARDING THE LANDING BEACHES AS PRESCRIBED IN FLEET ORDERS 62-864B.
B. SUPPRESSING SHORE BATTERIES THAT COULD JEOPARDIZE THE LANDINGS.
C. BOMBARDING AIRFIELDS AT KAMRI AND KORNASOREN IN THE NORTH AND NAMBER IN THE SOUTH AS PER OPPORTUNITY.
D. PREVENTING REINFORCEMENTS FROM REACHING THE ISLAND.
E. RESCUING ALL DOWNED US AVIATORS AS POSSIBLE. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE YOU TO ENTER GEELVINK BAY TO THE SOUTH.
YOU ARE TO INTERPOSE YOUR COMMAND BETWEEN NOEMFOOR AND ANY ATTEMPTS AT RELIEF BY THE ENEMY, ENGAGING AND DESTROYING ENEMY FORCES OF EQUAL OR INFERIOR STRENGTH.
YOU ARE TO RETREAT BEFORE SUPERIOR SURFACE FORCES, LINKING UP WITH THE INVASION CONVOY IF PRACTICABLE.
Knowing that an action involving destroyers had just taken place two weeks before off Biak, Rodgers had carefully readied his command. The usual accompaniment of shells had been augmented from the Fletchers’ 350 to nearly 450. Reed’s supply had been raised from three hundred to about five hundred, the great majority being AP, or armor piercing, to be used against ships rather than targets such as airfields.
The port commander had strenuously remonstrated at the overloading. “I intend to lodge an official complaint that this creates a safety hazard to your entire command,” he’d said.
Unable to convince the man, Rodgers had simply ignored him. The loading had continued. The crews found themselves stepping around shells stuffed in every nook and cranny, and in some places just stacked on deck. Aside from ammunition, it was a command that needed little else to prepare it for battle. In the nine months since the loss of Grand Rapids at the Battle of Huon Gulf, Rodgers’ Destroyer Division 29, or Desdiv 29, had built an enviable record. While the central Pacific had Arleigh Burke and his “Little Beavers,” the southwest Pacific had Rodgers and his “Maulers.”
Since their formation in December 1943, the “Maulers” had been in almost continuous action against the Japanese. Suffering no serious damage, they had conducted twenty-one coastal bombardments and, several antisubmarine sweeps, and labored through nine major air attacks, including the one that sailors liked to call “The Battle of the Lights.”
In February, they were halfway up the New Guinea coast and about thirty miles off Wewak when they were beset by some of the same elite air units that had sunk the old heavy cruiser Chicago off Rennell Island in the Solomon Islands the year before.
The Japanese had illuminated Chicago with pyrotechnic flares, a skill American aviators never learned. Few of the attackers had been fired on or even seen. The cruiser had taken two torpedo hits and gone down, producing one of the great Navy stories of the war.
Once, years later at an inquest having nothing to do with Chicago, an old veteran of the vessel was giving testimony. Part of his duty was to answer questions about his career. The judge advocate asked: “When did you consider yourself detached from Chicago?” Without batting an eye, the old salt had asked for permission to light a cigarette, then leaned back and replied: “When the Pacific Ocean reached my knees, sir.”
At the “Battle of the Lights,” Rodgers and company had faced the same obstacles: a powerful, unseen, and untouchable enemy with enough bombs and torpedoes to take care of all four of his destroyers. Worse, unlike at Rennell Island, the action was fought completely at night. No one saw even one of the attackers.
In the early morning hours, as many planes had begun to approach, Captain Rodgers had stood before the radar screen, studying it carefully for ten minutes. Then, he had gone to sit down in his chair without commenting on what he saw.
“It sure is a lovely night,” he had said to the keyed-up men on the bridge as they sweated away.
Minutes later the Japanese had begun dropping surface flares, illuminating the entire squadron. They’d started to put together their complicated attacks, so difficult to organize at night. At the last minute, as the planes began to attack, Rodgers had returned to the bridge and ordered his ships to disperse like a half starburst, with each ship fanning out and away from the enemy in different directions. It had ruined the coordination of the attack, and the enemy had not been able to reorganize and try again. They had returned to their bases without using a single weapon.
In the short or long run, the “Maulers” proved to be quite an assemblage. Of course, Sam Cashion and Rodgers, now related through marriage, proved to be a wonderful team. But Annapolis classmates, now commanders, Spruel “C.T.” Trediger on Bindle and William “Dude” Hennessey on Paulley took a back seat to no one. Inseparable for most of their lives, they knew exactly what the other was thinking. The lanky and affable Trediger and his wife Lauren were godparents of Hennessey’s two daughters, as “Dude” and his wife, Sharon, a former beauty queen from Colorado, were for the Trediger children. Both had enough command ability to later become rear admirals.
Perhaps Commander L.L. “Pete” Bernhard of Kaulk had the most potential of anyone in the command outside of the commander himself. Tragically, he would be killed, along with his entire family, in an automobile accident outside of Cleveland, Ohio, on February 21, 1947. Many others in the force would have distinguished careers after the war, in the military and out. There would be a rear admiral, a chief of the Bureau of Ordnance, several CEOs of large companies, and both a US senator and congressman. The force was experienced, well trained, and of the opinion that no task was beyond its reach.
After making radio contact with US forces at Bosnik, the four-ship squadron proceeded directly for Noemfoor. Reed was in the van, and the three Fletchers followed in line: Kaulk, Paulley, and then Bindle.
By 0615, they were making fifteen knots and about six miles short of the nearly round eleven-mile-wide island. Suddenly, a shell jarred Reed as it hit some five hundred yards to starboard.
Battle Stations sounded throughout the squadron. Sailors jumped to their feet and scrambled to their places. Rodgers and Cashion went to the edge of the bridge, only to be greeted by another, and nearer, miss.
“What in the hell was that?” Cashion complained. “They must have some coastal cannon hidden behind one of those little hills we saw on the map.”
“What’s the height of those hills?” Rodgers asked.
“Four hundred feet?” Cashion guessed.
“That’s all jungle though, isn’t it? Those shells are at least five inchers. It’s hard to drag guns like that around in terrain like that. I don’t see it.”
As the day lightened, minute by minute, other shells exploded around the destroyers in intervals of about fifteen seconds.
“Look at that co
lor in the water from that last one, red,” said Cashion. “Those are naval cannon. The army’s not going to use dye markers so you can tell one gun from another.”
Rodgers agreed, watching another shell hit near Paulley.
“Yeah, a blue color on that last one. I’ll bet they’re coming from one of those two bays we saw on the map. What was that one to the southwest, Roembi or Roemoi? Another bay on the east side.”
“They have a cruiser in one of those bays,” Cashion guessed. “Let me get ‘Guns’ on the phone and see what Lanaman says.”
He walked toward the phone and in a few seconds was talking to the officer one level above. “Don, what’s the direction of that fire?” Then he relayed the answer to Rodgers. “Sir, he thinks it’s northwest.”
“They have a cruiser in that bay on the southwest side of the island!” the squadron commander said, lifting his eyebrows. “They must have a spotter somewhere on one of those hills.”
The shells came closer, with geysers erupting seventy feet in the air, well above the tallest masts on the American ships. Every time one came close to one of his ships, Rodgers winced a little, thinking of the underwater damage such a concussion might cause.
“Get on the TBS [radio voice system] to the guys,” he ordered. In a minute, a signalman handed him the phone.
“Guys, I want to pull out of here before they put holes in us. Sam and I think they have a cruiser, a light cruiser, in that bay to the southwest of the island. I want all of us to execute a 180 turn to port in fifteen seconds from now. Mark! ‘Dude,’ that will put you in the van. Head out at, ah, 100 degrees. We will follow you.”
