On 14 January 1944 the Sterett was moored directly ahead of an aircraft carrier, and there was a strong wind blowing against the pier. Scheduled to get under way to join in the Marshall Islands campaign at noon that day, the new skipper called for a tug to assist in holding the Sterett clear of the flattop. Given the demand for such services by many major combatant ships that morning, it is not surprising that no tug ever materialized to assist the destroyer. Champ confronted his first challenge as a new commanding officer. He now admits to having had butterflies in his stomach, but nevertheless he determined that it was essential for him to go, tug or no tug. He moved the ship like a veteran and got clear with a beautiful display of expert ship-handling skills, using more power in the process than anyone on board had previously witnessed. It was a great way to begin the “Blouin era.” The new captain had shown the crew that he was highly competent and unflappable. The Sterett’s officers warmed to the new captain’s enthusiasm and his obvious charisma. He roamed the ship alone to observe the crew at work and inspected the armament, engineering plant, and communications and radar equipment closely. He was a careful observer, and he asked the right questions. It was not long before he fully appreciated the Sterett’s capabilities.
Somewhere in the western Pacific the Sterett makes her approach to fuel from an unidentified carrier. The clusters of men “topside” are waiting to handle fuel hoses and rig the high line for transfer of stores and personnel. (U.S. Navy Photo)
Escorting the new battleship Alabama, the Sterett reached Funafuti in the Ellice Islands on 21 January. Two days later she departed as a unit of Task Force 58 with the carriers Bunker Hill and Monterey. This was the kind of duty that the destroyer’s officers had cut their teeth on. Acting as escort and plane guard for a fast-attack carrier was a demanding role that required heads-up performance, and the Sterett’s men were proud of their skill in that capacity. Commenting about this period in a recent letter, Champ Blouin (now retired Vice Admiral Blouin) said this: “We were part of a carrier group, with lots of attendant screen orientation and plane-guarding duties. When a plane went down on launch or land, if the pilot survived we retrieved him and got ice cream for our efforts. Wee Willie Williams was usually the star of these episodes—wearing a harness and line he would go over the side, swim to the pilot, and bring him back. This, plus refueling and carrying mail, all made for exciting days, but there was little action for the Sterett during these first weeks except for shore bombardments.”
From 29 January until 7 March 1944 the Sterett toiled in the Marianas and the Marshalls. When the Bunker Hill and the Monterey, along with other Fifth Fleet carriers, struck Roi and Namur islands in Kwajalein Atoll, the Sterett was there. When the carriers attacked the great Japanese base at Truk on 12 February, she was there also. She was still in the lineup when they raided Tinian and Saipan five days later. These were busy times, and the pace of operations never slackened. Often these carrier strikes were conducted over periods of a week or more and were interrupted only to refuel and replenish at sea every third or fourth day. Frequently there were enemy air attacks to counter. “The attacks on Truk and the Marianas were filled with action,” Admiral Blouin recalled. “Again we were with a carrier task group. There was no surface engagement, but there were gigantic air battles, with ships firing at aircraft, many aircraft dog fights, and the spectacular sight of both U.S. and Jap planes falling from the sky.”
There was no time to relax, and the skipper lived on the bridge so as to be immediately available in case of emergency. The ship made it back to Espíritu Santo on 13 March but left a few days later as part of the invasion force headed for Emirau Island. While the official history offers few details, typically on such missions the ship engaged in shore bombardment for a day or two before the landings; was subjected to air attacks while in the objective area; was menaced by the threat of Japanese submarines; and took part in offensive air operations launched from the carriers (screening the flattops from submarine attack and plane-guarding to rescue downed aviators). It was a hectic pace, but the men of the Sterett loved it. Following the Emirau invasion, the ship was ordered back to the Puget Sound Navy Yard. She stopped at Purvis Bay on 4 April, Efate on the seventh, and Pearl Harbor on the sixteenth, reaching Puget Sound on the twenty-fourth.
No wartime visit to the States was ever long enough to suit the officers and the crew, and this visit was exceptionally short. Only the most urgent repairs were completed before the Sterett was sent back to the war zone. By 30 May she was back in Majuro anchorage in the Marshall Islands. (On the way there the crew underwent two weeks of concentrated training exercises in the Hawaii area. These exercises included gunnery drills against a target towed by the USS Lamberton [DMS 2], whose skipper was Lt. “Cal” Calhoun.) The Sterett’s battle-readiness was excellent. On 6 June she sortied with Task Force 58 to prepare for the invasion of the Marianas. From 11 to 25 June she screened and plane-guarded for the carriers as they launched strikes against Saipan, Iwo Jima, Guam, and Rota. During this period she was frequently called upon to help repel enemy air attacks. Admiral Blouin remarked, “At Saipan—once more with a fast carrier task group—we did some shore bombardment, but my most significant recollection from that period is of the hundreds of Japanese bodies floating in the ocean after their suicidal jumps into the sea.” The Sterett’s log contains the following entry for 23 June 1944:
1015—Proceeded to investigate raft in water. Captain at the conn. Steaming on various courses at various speeds. 1020—Recovered two Japanese survivors from raft. Rank not determined. Both malnourished, condition weak. Were fed and bathed. Placed under guard. 1115—Alongside Essex. 1120—Commenced transfer of prisoners. 1145—Completed transfer of prisoners. Received twelve Japanese prisoners of war. Placed under guard. 1633—Transferred fourteen prisoners of war to Indianapolis [at Saipan Island in the Marianas].
From 25 June to 7 July the Sterett concentrated on antisubmarine patrol duties around Rota and Guam; shore bombardment assignments on Guam were added for good measure. Next came carrier escort work during the attacks on Yap, Palau, and Ulithi, which occupied the rest of July and the first week of August. Then it was back to the States again, arriving at the Puget Sound Navy Yard on 20 August. This time the Navy brass was more reasonable: for eight glorious weeks, the officers and crew enjoyed all the comforts and pleasures that were available only on the mainland. There could hardly have been a more appreciative group of sailors.
The Sterett left the West Coast once more on 13 October for the Hawaiian Islands and arrived there five days later for one of the most concentrated periods of training she had ever witnessed. For a month her guns were fired at every conceivable target, surface and air alike. She also launched torpedoes, conducted antisubmarine exercises with live submarines, and engaged in close-order tactical drills, escort duties, and task force maneuvers. By the time she left on 19 November, her crew had attained their highest-ever level of readiness. Her next stop was Manus in the Admiralty Islands; more escort duties followed. She returned to Lunga Point, Guadalcanal, on 29 November, and was back in Manus three days later. On 11 December she entered Leyte Gulf, in the Philippines, for patrol and convoy duty. The following excerpt is from the official ship’s history prepared by the Office of Public Information, Navy Department:
On 27 December the Sterett left Leyte for a run to Mindoro that was to prove one of her most grueling tasks of the war. On this trip, the Sterett screened the third resupply echelon to Mindoro. Commencing early on the morning of the twenty-eighth, the convoy was subjected to repeated air attacks of varying intensity, particularly vicious over the next three days. The number of planes in a raid varied from one to twenty-five. The formation was under actual air attack for a total of six and one-half hours and was subjected to five major attacks during that period. Only one of these, on the morning of the twenty-eighth, could be considered successful from the enemy’s viewpoint. On this one the planes were able to come in on the formation with a very short approach [wi
th a land background, and emerging out of heavy clouds] and make four successful suicide dives.
The Sterett splashed her first plane out of this series of raids with the assistance of another destroyer at 2000 on 28 December, during the second large attack. On the morning of the twenty-ninth, the Sterett assisted in shooting down another enemy suicider. At 1706 and 1717 that afternoon she assisted in shooting down two more. At 1925 the Sterett splashed one with full radar control. No other ship had the target under fire, and he was seen to burst into flame and hit the drink. The Sterett also participated in repulsing the large raid on the afternoon of the thirtieth, in Managrin Bay, Mindoro, during which several of our ships were hit. During this run to resupply Mindoro it is estimated that the enemy lost at least twenty-five planes from ships’ antiaircraft fire. Of these, the Sterett knocked down one unassisted and aided in shooting down three more. She returned to San Pedro to fuel and replenish ammunition in time for the next operation, the invasion of Luzon. She was in the screen of the San Fabian attack force and helped beat off air attacks en route to Lingayen. At Lingayen Gulf the Sterett carried out her assigned shore bombardment mission and put a shore battery (then firing on our landing craft) out of commission with counter battery fire.
In a recent letter, Neale T. Fugate of Dallas, Texas, who as Ensign Fugate was the torpedo officer at the time of these air actions, said this:
My main memory of the Sterett was that it was a happy, tight, and efficient ship. I can’t remember how many times I was told that the ship was made out of Texas horseshoes. There was a lot of kidding and banter across the wardroom table and on watch, all of which came across as promoting a sense of ease and competence. Very few personality feuds seemed to occur. The crew was very proud of the ship’s gunnery and of the ship. The tale was often told of the Sterett’s exploits and tough times in and around the Solomons, and those who hadn’t been there still took pride in the ship’s fine service. It’s wonderful how an action like that can pass through time, and later glue men together.
I remember being very scared on occasion. The main reaction always seemed to hit me after the event. And it seemed to hit the crew that way too. The first suicide planes didn’t bother us too much, but after the first attack had time to soak in for a week or so we got pretty uptight with the idea. I think our first experience was at night on the Mindoro resupply run, as we sailed up the Sulu Sea. A kamikaze hit an ammunition ship a couple or three thousand yards from us. The water-hammer concussion was so heavy that many of us thought we had taken a torpedo. The first impression was gut-wrenching, and the later reaction was even stronger. As to being scared, the worst was to have to stand still and watch the attacking planes come in. I was on the bridge to man the torpedo director and would have given anything to have a 50-caliber machine gun to use. Too much topside weight, they said.
The Sterett showed some fancy gunnery on that run. It was a dark night with low clouds, and the Jap planes hopped over the hills to the east, stayed just above the clouds, and then dropped down on us. We picked one up on radar, got a solution, and began firing the 5-inch gun. We could follow the trajectories by the tracers, and we saw the first two rounds pass into the clouds. The third seemed to stop, hang for a minute, and then drift down. There were still two rounds in the air when the plane was hit.
On that same trip, on a dark, dark night with a heavy overcast, a plane came at us from starboard on a skip-bombing run. The lookout near me and I agreed that we saw the bomb skip clear over the ship. Then when the plane went over us we could see the “meatballs” on his wings. We could have knocked him out of the air by throwing potatoes, if we had had any. The moving cones of fire that followed the planes as they passed over the convoy were awe-inspiring.
It wasn’t all grim. Once we were patrolling (weren’t we always?) just outside of Los Negros Harbor, where we were staging for the Marianas operation. An island just off the harbor entrance held some of us spellbound. There was a clear, blue sky, a bright sun, and a pretty good surf running. Above the blue water was a white cloud of spume and spray around the base of the island. A rich red-brown band showed above the spray, and above that appeared the glittering emerald green of foliage. The island looked as if it were floating above the ocean on a white, fluffy cloud. After so many dull, colorless days at sea, it was witchery!
Admiral Blouin adds:
At Leyte, I remember that one of our sailors went to the beach, AWOL. The mud was a foot deep. He was picked up by the Army, and they wanted a sack of potatoes as a reward for apprehending him—we offered two sacks if they’d hold him an extra day. We also learned a good morale lesson here. A former shipmate of mine now had his own squadron, and under his tutelage for several afternoons (if all was quiet) we’d put twelve enlisted men in a boat with one case of beer. It was amazing—some of them came back buzzing! After the men had all gone through this process we put the officers into the “cocktail boat,” and they had their libation as well.
One night at Leyte we had to escort a ship out of the gulf. An air attack took place after the Sterett’s departure. When we returned to our anchorage, a very irate commanding officer came over from an adjacent destroyer to complain that our 40- and 20-mm guns had hit his ship. Fortunately, I was able to convince him that we were not guilty—we hadn’t even been there.
Later, when we were ordered on a run to Mindoro, we had to trade beer to a merchantman to get supplies and ammunition from him; our crew did all the labor. There was a lot of action on that run, with frequent air attacks. One of our accompanying destroyers was hit and had to be beached. The Sterett was credited with a couple of aircraft kills during that raid.
Fate deprived Champ Blouin of an award for his conduct during the action at Mindoro. The senior commander (who was the screen commander during the initial phase of the action) later lost his flagship, with all of his records, and was temporarily out of action. Champ was second in seniority and thus became the new screen commander. More air attacks followed. Consistent with his inspirational style of leadership, he always rewarded his juniors for outstanding performance of duty. In this case he took it upon himself to recommend the skipper of the Wilson, the Sterett’s companion ship during the engagement, for a Navy Cross. No recommendation was made for an award for Champ because no senior officer was present during the later phases of the action (and he certainly could not put in for one himself). His officers and crew all felt that he was entitled to some sort of reward—but such are the vagaries of life in the Navy.
IT WILL BE OBVIOUS TO THE READER that this author has had a difficult time doing justice to the human aspects of the Sterett story during the months after his departure from the ship. But the many letters and conversations from which this book was compiled make it clear that during the Blouin era the Sterett was in her highest state of combat-readiness. It is also apparent that veterans of the period still possess the same enthusiastic respect and admiration for their skipper, their shipmates, and their ship that also characterized the “plank owners” (the original crew). Some of their comments convey the esprit de corps that prevailed during Admiral Blouin’s command. From William H. Deuel, former watertender 1/c and now a resident of Deming, New Mexico:
On the lighter side, the men in the fire room were an especially close-knit group. I always have to chuckle when I look back at some of the stunts we pulled. We were a group of young, hungry men, standing the twelve-to-four watch in the hot fire room. I suppose every watch had one man who was a superior food thief. We had a little fellow by the name of Rip Kelly who, when sent out to scout for food, would generally come back with something. One night when the bakers were baking pies and a line of men were helping to relay the pies from the oven to the shelf, Rip just happened to be in the galley. He took up the last position in line. Suddenly the door opened, and because we were at darkened ship the lights automatically went out. The door shut, the lights came back on, and Rip was missing—and so was one pie. We advised Rip to hide for a while. We were sure that the c
ook would be after him. And so he was. He came down to the fire room, really mad. Of course no one knew anything about a pie, or about Rip. The cook didn’t find either of them, but we all certainly enjoyed that pie when the coast was clear. It was just amazing what we were able to cook with steam; we could of course boil coffee, or cook delicious hams that somehow always managed to fall through the hatch into our fire room when provisions were taken aboard.
Many of those who wrote to contribute observations about the men of the Sterett mentioned the impact of the ship’s doctor on their lives and their welfare. Admiral Blouin has gone to considerable lengths to acquaint me with the expanded role of Doc Lea’s ministry, which went far beyond the boundaries of medical science. He was chaplain, counselor, father-confessor, friend, ombudsman, and co-conspirator to officers and men alike. J. D. Jeffrey has already described how the doctor persuaded him to take a more compassionate stance with a wayward sailor in Sydney. Other shipmates cited many similar cases in outlining the tremendous contribution he made to the morale of the ship.
Roy Cowdrey (now a retired Navy captain living in Annapolis) has related many anecdotes about Doc Lea. One day the doctor went ashore in Efate with Roy, his pharmacist’s mate, two other individuals, and five shotguns to bag a few wild chickens. Not only did the group fail in its primary mission, but they managed to get lost in the jungle on the way back. Fortunately, they encountered a native (complete with dyed hair) and for a few shotgun shells hired him as their guide back to the harbor. “Fuzzy Wan”—as Roy identified him—proceeded to demonstrate his superior marksmanship by hitting a chicken with every shot, a feat rendered all the more impressive by the fact that Fuzzy had a rusty French gun with no trigger. Roy now admits that the medicinal alcohol that Doc had taken along in case of snakebite may have had an effect on the Sterett hunting party’s aim. No battle stars were awarded for this engagement.
Tin Can Sailor Page 20
