“Thiswillbeafightagainstoverwhelming

oddsfromwhichsurvivalcannotbeexpected.Wewilldowhatdamagewe

can.”

With these words, Lt. Cdr. RobertW.Copeland addressed the crew of thedestroyerescortUSSSamuelB.RobertsonthemorningofOctober25,1944,offthePhilippine island of Samar.On thehorizon loomed the mightiest ships oftheJapaneseNavy,amassivefleetthatrepresentedthelasthopeofastaggeringempire. All that stood between it andDouglas MacArthur’s vulnerableinvasionforceweretheRobertsandtheother small ships of a tiny American

flotillapoisedtochargeintohistory.

THELASTSTANDOFTHETINCANSAILORS

It was an upset victory won byovermatched American warshipsfighting a battle they were neversupposed to fight. In a two-and-a-half-hour running cataclysm in thePhilippine Sea, the Americansperformedtheimpossible,turningbackthe JapaneseNavy in its last desperategamble and changing the course ofWorld War II in the Pacific. Writingfromthepointofviewofthemenwhowaged this steel-shattering battle,following them from trainingcamps tothe midst of an engagement that the

eminenthistorianSamuelEliotMorisoncalled “the most remarkable of thePacific war,” James D. Hornfischerbrings to life the valor of individualsailors, officers, and airmen in arivetingaccountofwarat seaas ithasseldombeenpresentedbefore.

“Spellbinding.Hornfischer hascaptured the essence ofnaval warfare…. Herelays this story ofheroism amidst graphicdescriptions of tin cansailors fighting theirshipsuntiltheirshipsaregone—and then theyfight sharks, thirst, and

delirium. This bookshould be read by allAmericans—and neverforgotten.”

—RearAdm.CharlesD.Grojean,USN(Ret.),ExecutiveDirector,The

AdmiralNimitzFoundation

WINNEROFTHESAMUELELIOTMORISONAWARDFOR

NAVALLITERATURE

AMAINSELECTIONOFTHEBOOK-OF-THE-MONTH

CLUBANDTHEMILITARYBOOKCLUB

AFEATUREDALTERNATESELECTIONOFTHEHISTORY

BOOKCLUB

MorePraiseforJamesD.Hornfischerand

THELASTSTANDOFTHETINCANSAILORS

“Acriticallyacclaimed,blow-by-blowlookatasmallAmericanforce

counterattackingintotheteethofhopelessodds.”—

MiamiHerald

“Aninstantandenduringclassicofnavalwarfare

andWorldWarII

literature.”—FlintJournal

“SamarisagrandAmericanepicandin

Hornfischerithasfinallyfoundanarratortomatch

itsscale.Thisisanexemplarycombinationof‘oldstyle’navalhistorynarrativedeeplyenrichedandelevatedbyacarefullywovencollageof‘new

style’individualtestimoniesthathammer

homethehumanexperience.…Avividandbrutalportraitofnavalsurfacewarfare.No

existingworkcantouch

LastStandinconveyingtherealitiesofgunfireandtorpedowarfareonvesselspoweredbysuperheated

steam.”—RichardB.Frank,authorofGuadalcanal

“Whatatreatitwastoreadthiswork.

Hornfischer…paintsaportraitsoremarkableheshouldatleastbemadeanhonorarytincansailor.[His]skillfuldescriptionmakestheoldsaltreader,aswellasthelandlubber,feelrightthereonboardthoselittletincans,

alongsidethesailorswhoselivesbecomereal.Thenavalhistorianandamateuralikecanlearnfromthisfascinating

book.”

—ViceAdm.RonEytchison,USN(Ret.),ChattanoogaTimesFree

Press

“Abrilliant,fast-movingbookworthyofthesailorswhofought…thefirst

majorworktoconcentratesolelyontheBattleoffSamar…doesadmirably

forthesailorswhat

StephenAmbrosehasdoneforinfantrysoldiers.WillenthrallanyreaderwithevenatepidinterestinWorldWarIInaval

history.”

—SanAntonioExpress-News

“Anastonishingstorythatleavesthereadershaking,breathless,andforeverthankfulthatsuchagenerationofseamenexistedtodefendthis

country.Thisisthemostgrippingworkofnaval

historyinyears.”

—H.WBrands,DistinguishedProfessorofHistory,TheUniversityofTexas;authorofTheFirst

American

“Hornfischerisapowerfulstylistwhoseexplanationsareclearaswellasmemorable.Heneverlosescontrol.…Adiresurvival-at-seasaga.”

—DenverPost

“Epic,elegiac,chargedasatorpedofoamingthroughthewater…

leadsusthroughviolence,grandstrategy,spectacle,

andshockingloss.Awreath,offeredlovingly,tosomeofthebravestyoungAmericanseamen

evertosacrificethemselvesinbattle.”

—RonPowers,coauthor,FlagsofOurFathers

“SurprisinglythefirstbooktodetailtheNavy’sastonishingachievementintheWorldWarIIBattleoffSamar.Avaluable

tributeandalsoareverenteulogy.”

—SeaPowermagazine

“Animmenselygripping

accountofthesupremecourageandself-sacrifice

displayedbytheoutgunnedsailorsand

airmen.Withcaptivatingproseandinnovativebattlemaps,Hornfischerdeftlycreatesaclearpictureof

whathasbeencharacterizedbysomehistoriansasthemostcomplexnavalbattleinhistory.Hornfischer’sworkwillbewelcomedbybothgeneralreadersandnavalenthusiasts.Highlyrecommended.”

—LibraryJournal

“OneofthemostoutstandingexamplesofcourageinU.S.naval

history…agrippinganddetailedaccount…morethanjustabattlenarrative.Hornfischerprovides

fascinatingbackgroundonwhattheU.S.ships,

crews,andcommanderswerecapableofinbattle.”Classicnavalhistory.”—DallasMorningNews

“Readslikeaparticularlygoodnovel…thispopularhistorymagnificently

bringstolifemenandatimethatmayseem

almostasremoteasTrafalgartomanyinthe

earlytwenty-firstcentury.”

—Booklist(starredreview)

“Hornfischertellscolorfulstoriesofheroismand

companionship.Thebookiswell-toldandenjoyable

[with]excellentandpertinentnotes,

documentationandbibliography.”—AssociatedPress

“Stirring,inspirational…Noaccountoftherunning

gunbattleoffSamarhasbeentoldintimatelyfromthepersonalperspective—untilnow.Hornfischer

makesastellardebutthatrankswithJohn

Lundstrom’sTheFirstTeamandRichFrank’sGuadalcanal.Weeagerlyawaithisnextbook.”—BarrettTillman,The

Hook

“Onlyonceinagreatwhiledoesabookcomealongthatmanagestocombineauthentic

historicaldetailwiththefastpaceofthethriller.

Thisisanimportantbookandonethat

everyoneinterestedinnavalhistoryshouldreadandthatevery

destroyerveteranshouldhaveinhispersonal

library.IfyoureadonlyonedestroyerbookaboutthewarinthePacific,TheLastStandoftheTinCanSailorsshouldbethat

book.”—TheTinCanSailor/TheNationalAssociationofDestroyerVeterans

“Anabsolutelyfascinatingstory…andavaluable

anduniqueadditiontotheliteratureofthePacificnavalwar.”

—RearAdm.DonaldMacShowers,USN(Ret.)

“JamesHornfischerdropsyourightintothemiddleofthisragingbattle,withfive-inchgunsblazing,torpedoesdetonatingandNavyfliersdive-bombing.TheoverallstoryofthebattleisoneofAmericanguts,gloryandheroicsacrifice.”—OmahaWorld-Herald

“Agrippingsagaof

courageandcarnageonthehighseas…triumphal…atalethatdeservesa

placeamongthisnation’sgreatest

wartimeepics.Mixingmeticulousresearchwithaprofoundrespectforthegutsandgritofordinaryseamen,HornfischermayhavewrittenthefinalmilitarychapteroftheGreatestGeneration’sheroicsacrifices.

Hornfischer’saccountcombinestheepicscopeofTolstoywithErniePyle’sgrunt’s-eyeviewofcombattogivea

rivetingaccountofwhatsurvivorsendured.”

—MetroWestDailyNews

“Hornfischer’sbrilliant,breathtaking,page-turningsagaisthe

definitivewordononeofthisnation’smostcriticalmilitarymoments.Thisisastunningworkthat

shouldberequiredreadingforanyoneseekingproofthatordinarypeoplecanbecomeextraordinary,transcendentheroes.Thebookisatoncethrilling,cautionaryandpulsingwitheternallessons.Itis

aboutsomanythings—asearingbattle,awarfortheagesandaharrowing,

hurtlingjourneytomanhood.”

—BillMinutaglio,authorofCityonFire

“Aspectacularbook.Inthebesttraditionofnavalhistory,itcombinesthegrandsweepofoceanic

strategywiththeexperienceoftheaveragesailor,fromtheadmirals’bridgestothefliers’

cockpitstothegunners’turrets.Itshouldbe

requiredreadingforall

navaldevotees.Itissimplyfirst-rate.”

—HolgerH.Herwig,ResearchChairinMilitaryandStrategicStudies,UniversityofCalgary;

coauthorofTheDestructionofthe

Bismarck

“Splendid.Drawingonanimpressivearrayof

personalinterviewsandgovernmentrecords,Hornfischerpresentsastirringnarrative….Asignificantcontribution

toWorldWarIIliterature.”

—JohnWukovits,authorofPacificAlamo:The

BattleofWakeIslandandDevotiontoDuty:ABiographyofAdmiralCliftonA.FSprague

“Themostamazingairandseabattlestoryyouwilleverread…Icouldwriteabookaboutthisbook;it’sprobablythemostinformative,

entertaining,engagingandawe-inspiringworkofNavynonfictionIhaveeverencountered.”

—PacificFlyermagazine

“Hornfischer’sprotagonistsarerealmen,swabbiesandadmiralsingoldbraid,hotshotpilotsandfatalisticJapaneseofficers.HerecountstheDavid-and-Goliathsea

battlethroughthefamiliarvoicesoftheveteransweseeswappingtalesinneighborhoodcoffee

shops.”—BostonHerald

“Hornfischerhascapturedthehonor,thecourage,andthecommitmentofsailorswhodidtheirdutyandbeyondinthefaceof

greatperil.Afittingmonumenttooneofthegreatestseabattlesinhistory.Itwillstandasaclassicofnavalliterature.”—Lt.Cdr.ThomasJ.Cutler,USN(Ret.),

ProfessorofStrategyandPolicy,NavalWar

College;authorofTheBattleofLeyteGulf

“Carriesaconsiderableemotionalwallop.”

—Madison(WI)CapitalTimes

“Hornfischer’scaptivatingnarrativeusespreviously

classifieddocumentstoreconstructtheepicbattleandeyewitnessaccountstobringtheofficersandsailorstolife.”—Texas

Monthly

“Hornfischerthrustsreadersintotherealityofutterdestruction….Thefirstcompleteaccounttofocussolelyon[theBattleoffSamar].Atreasuretroveofinformation.”

—NavyTimes

“Thewritingisforcefulandvivid,andthebookis

harrowingand

unforgettable.Amonumentaltribute.”—BarbaraLloyd

McMichael,Bookmonger

“Hornfischerexpertlyconveysthesensory

experienceofwarfare…toproduceagrippingminute-by-minutereconstructionofan

engagementawfulincostbutawesomeinimportance.”

—KirkusReviews

Contents

PartITinCans

PartIILastStand

PartIIIAVanishingGraveyard

PartIVHighestTraditions

Acknowledgments

MenofTaskUnit77.4.3KilledinAction,

October25-28,1944

Bibliography

SourceNotes

PhotoandArtCredits

AbouttheAuthor

ExcerptfromNeptune’sInferno

THEINVASIONOFLEYTE,

PHILIPPINEISLANDSOctober17–25,1944

DRAMATISPERSONAE

GeneralDouglasMacArthurSupreme Commander, Allied Forces,SouthwestPacificArea

U.S. Seventh Fleet (“MacArthur’sNavy”)andLeyteInvasionForce

ViceAdm.ThomasC.KinkaidCommander, Seventh Fleet and TaskForce77

RearAdm.DanielE.BarbeyCommander,TaskForce78

ViceAdm.ThomasS.WilkinsonCommander,TaskForce79Invasion force, embarking Lt. Gen.WalterKrueger’sSixthArmy

RearAdm.JesseB.OldendorfCommander, Seventh FleetBombardmentandFireSupportGroup

RearAdm.ThomasL.SpragueCommander,TaskGroup77.4EscortCarrierGroup“Taffy 1,” Rear Adm. Thomas L.Sprague“Taffy2,”RearAdm.FelixB.Stump“Taffy 3,” Rear Adm. Clifton A. F.Sprague

U.S.Navy

FleetAdm.ChesterW.NimitzCommanderinChief,PacificFleet

Adm.WilliamF.Halsey,Jr.Commander,ThirdFleet

ViceAdm.MarcA.MitscherCommander,TaskForce38FastCarrierForce

Taffy3(TaskUnit77.4.3)Northernmostescortcarriertaskunitofthe Seventh Fleet, operating off the

PhilippineislandofSamarRear Adm. Clifton A. F. (“Ziggy”)Sprague

EscortCarriers(CVE)Fanshaw Bay (flagship), Capt.

DouglassP.JohnsonSt.Lo,Capt.FrancisJ.McKennaWhitePlains,Capt.D.J.SullivanKalinin Bay, Capt. T. B.

WilliamsonGambierBay,Capt. Walter V. R.

ViewegKitkunBay,Capt.J.P.Whitney

ScreeningShips

Cdr.WilliamD.Thomas

Destroyers(DD)

Hoel,Cdr.LeonS.KintbergerJohnston,Cdr.ErnestE.EvansHeermann, Cdr. Amos T.

Hathaway

DestroyerEscorts(DE)SamuelB.Roberts,Lt.Cdr.RobertW.CopelandDennis,Lt.Cdr.SigHansenRaymond,Lt.Cdr.A.F.Beyer

John C. Butler,Lt. Cdr. John E.Pace

ImperialJapaneseNavy

Adm.SoemuToyodaCommanderinChief,CombinedFleet

The Sho-1 Plan (for the defense ofthePhilippines)

ViceAdm.JisaburoOzawaCommander, Northern Force (decoyforce)

ViceAdm.TakeoKuritaCommander,CenterForce

ViceAdm.ShojiNishimuraCommander,SouthernForce

ViceAdm.KiyohideShimaCommander, Southern Force (SecondStrikingForce)

October25,1944San Bernardino Strait, thePhilippinesAgiantstalkedthroughthedarkness.Inthe moonless calm after midnight, thegreat fleet seemed not so much tonavigate the narrow strait as to fill itwith armor and steel. Barely visibleeven to a night-trained eye, the longsilhouettes of twenty-three warshipspassed in a column ten miles long,guidedbythedimglowof thechannellightsinthepassagethreadingbetweentheheadlandsofLuzonandSamar.

That such a majestic processionshould move without challenge wassurprising,inexplicableeven,inlightoftheviciousreceptiontheAmericanshad

already given it on its journey fromBorneo to this critical point. Havingweathered submarineambush thenightbefore,andassaultbywaveafterwaveof angry blue aircraft the previousafternoon, Vice Adm. Takeo Kurita,steward of the last hopes of theJapaneseempire,wouldhavebeenrightto expect the worst. But then Kuritaknewthatheavenlyinfluencescouldbecountedupontotrumphumanplanning.In war, events seldom cooperate withexpectation. Given the dependablecruelty of the divine hand, mostunexpected of all, perhaps, was thisfact: unfolding at last after more thantwoyearsofretreat,Japan’sornateplantodefendthePhilippinesappearedtobeworkingperfectly.

For its complexity, for its scale, forits extravagantly optimisticoverelegance, theShoplan representedthe very best and also the very worsttendencies of the Imperial Navy. TheJapanese military’s fondness for boldstrokes had been evident from theearliest days of the war: the suddenstrike on Pearl Harbor, the sprawlingoffensiveinto theMalayPeninsula, thelightningthrustintothePhilippines,andthe smaller but no less swift raids onWake Island, Guam, Hong Kong, andnorthern Borneo. Allied commandersbelieved the Japanese could not tacklemore thanoneobjectiveata time.ThesuddenspasmofadvancesofDecember1941, in which Japan struck with

overwhelming force in eight directionsatonce,refutedthatfallacy.

In the war’s early days, Japan hadoverwhelmedenemiesstretchedthinbythe need to defend their scatteredcolonies throughout the hemisphere.But as the war continued, thegeographical breadth of its conquestssaddledJapaninturnwiththenecessityof piecemeal defense. America rallied,thehome front’s spirits boostedby thegallant if doomed defense of WakeIslandandbyJimmyDoolittle’sraidonTokyo. As heavier blows landed—theBattle of theCoralSea, the triumphatMidway, the landings on GuadalcanalandtheleapfroggingcampaignthroughtheSolomonsandupthenortherncoastofNewGuinea—Japan’soverstretcheddomain was in turn overrun by the

resurgent Americans. The hard chargeofU.S.Marines up the bloody path ofTarawa, the Marshalls, and theMarianas Islands had put Americanforces, by the middle of 1944, inposition to sever the vital arteryconnecting the Japanese home islandsto their resource-rich domain in EastAsia. The Philippines were thatpressure point. Their seizure by theAmericans would push the entireJapaneseempiretowardcollapse.

ThestrengthAmericawieldedinitscounteroffensive was the nightmareprophecy foretold by Adm. IsorokuYamamoto and other far-sightedJapanese commanders who had longdreadedwarwithanindustrialgiant.As

twogreatAmerican fleetsclosed inonthe Philippines in October, with Gen.Douglas MacArthur’s troopsspearheading thegroundassault on thePhilippine island of Leyte, Japanactivated its own last-ditch plan toforestall the inevitable defeat. It wasunfoldingnow.AdmiralKuritawas itslinchpin.

The Sho plan’s audacity—orchestrating the movements of fourfleets spreadacross thousandsofmilesof ocean and the land-based aircraftnecessarytoprotectthem—wasbothitsgenius and its potentially disastrousweakness. Adm. Jisaburo Ozawa,leading the remnants of Japan’s onceglorious naval air arm, would steam

south from Japan with his aircraftcarriers and try to lure the Americanfast carrier groups north, away fromLeyte. With the U.S. flattops busypursuing the decoy, two JapanesebattleshipgroupswouldcloseonLeytefrom the north and south and dealMacArthurasurprise,killingblow.

AdmiralKuritahaddepartedBruneionOctober22withhispowerfulCenterForce, led by the Yamato and theMusashi, the two largest warshipsafloat, aiming to slip across the SouthChina Sea, pass through SanBernardino Strait above Samar Island,andcloseontheLeytebeachheadfromthe north. Meanwhile, the SouthernForce, led by Vice Adm. Shoji

NishimuraandsupportedbyViceAdm.Kiyohide Shima,would cross the SuluSeaandapproachLeytefromthesouth,throughSurigaoStrait.

OnthemorningofOctober25,aftertheir thousand-mile journeys throughperilous waters, Kurita’s andNishimura’s battleship groups wouldrendezvous at 9:00 A.M. off LeyteIsland’s eastern shore, encircling theislandslikehandsaroundathroat.Thentheywould turn theirmassive guns onMacArthur’s invasion force. Japanwouldatlastwinthedecisivebattlethathad eluded it in the twenty-eightmonthssincethedebacleatMidway.

Kurita’s grandfather had been agreat scholar of early Meiji literature.

Hisfathertoohadbeenadistinguishedmanoflearning,authorofamagisterialhistory of his native land. In themorning Takeo Kurita, who preferredaction to words, would make his owncontribution.OffSamarGathered around the radio set in thecombat information center of thedestroyer escort USS Samuel B.Roberts, they listened as a hundredmiles to their south, their heaviercounterparts in the Seventh Fleetencountered the first signs that theJapanesedefenseofthePhilippineswasunder way. There was no tellingpreciselywhat their countrymen faced.It was something big—that much was

forsure.Andyet,until thescaleof thefar-off battle became too apparent toignore, they would pretend it was justanother midwatch. By the routineindications, it was. They watched theradar scopes and the scopes watchedback, bathing the darkenedcompartment in cathode-greenfluorescence but revealing no enemynearby.ThesouthwestPacificslept.Butsomethingwason the radio, and it putthelietothesilentnight.

The tactical circuit theywere usingtoeavesdropwasmeantforsendingandreceiving short-range messages fromship to ship. Officers used it to tradescuttlebutt with other vessels aboutwhat their radar was showing, about

their course changes, about the targetsthey were tracking. By day, the high-frequency Talk Between Ships signalreached only to the line of sight. Buttonight, the earth’s atmosphere wasworking its magic and the TBSbroadcasts from faraway ships werepropagating wildly, bouncing over thehorizon to the smallwarship’s vigilantantennae.

Theyhadcomefromsmallplacestoaccomplishbigthings.AstheAmericanliberation of the Philippines unfolded,the greenhorn enlistees who made upthemajorityoftheSamuelB.Roberts’s224-man complement could scarcelyhaveguessedatthescopeofthedramato come.On themidnight-to-four-A.M.

midwatch, the Roberts’s skipper, Lt.Cdr.RobertW.Copeland,hisexecutiveofficer, Lt. Everett E. “Bob” Roberts,his communications officer, Lt. TomStevenson, and the young men underthem in the little ship’s combatinformationcenter (CIC)had littleelsetodo thanwhile away thenight as thedestroyerescortzigzaggedlazilyofftheeasterncoastofSamarwith the twelveother ships of its task unit, the small,northernmost contingent of thesprawling Seventh Fleet. Whenmorning warmed the eastern horizon,thedailyroutinewouldbeginanew:runthroughmorninggeneralquarters, thenedge closer to shore with the six lightaircraftcarriersthatwerethepurposeofthe flotilla’s existence and launch air

strikes in support of the AmericantroopsadvancingintoLeyteIsland.

With a mixture of pride andresignation, the men of the SeventhFleet called themselves “MacArthur’sNavy.” The unusual arrangement thatplaced the powerful armada underArmycommandwastheproductofthelong-standing interservice rivalry. Thetwo service branches, each wildlysuccessful,werebeatingdivergentpathsto Tokyo. From June 1943 to August1944, MacArthur’s forces hadleapfroggedacrossthesouthernPacific,staging eighty-seven successfulamphibious landings in a drive fromDutch New Guinea and west-by-northwestward across a thousand-mile

swathofislandedseatothefootofthePhilippinearchipelago.Simultaneously,Adm. ChesterW.Nimitz’s fast carriergroups, accompanied by battle-hardenedMarine divisions, had drivenacrosstheCentralPacific.

The perpetual motion of theAmericanindustrialmachinehadbuiltanaval and amphibious arsenal of suchstaggering size, range, and strikingpowerthatthevastseaseemedtoshrinkaround it. “Our naval power in thewesternPacificwassuchthatwecouldhavechallengedthecombinedfleetsofthe world,” Adm. William F. Halsey,Jr., would write in his memoirs. Therival commanders had used it so wellthat the Pacific Ocean was no longer

large enough to hold their conflictingambitions. There was little of thePacificlefttoliberate.Behindthemlayconquered ground. Ahead, lookingwestward to the Philippines andbeyond, was a short watery vistabounded by the shores of Manchuria,China,andIndonesia.OncetheFarEasthad seemed a world away. Alliedsoldiers, Marines, sailors, and airmenoperatingalongthefarPacificrimearlyinthewar—theFlyingTigersinChina,the U.S. Asiatic Fleet in Java, theMarinesonWakeIsland, thedefendersof Bataan and Corregidor—wereconsigned to oblivion, so desperatelyfar from home. Now that U.S. forceshad crossed that world, the greatestchallenge was to agree on how to

delivertheinevitablevictoryasquicklyaspossible.

Formost of the summer of 1944 adebate had raged between Army andNavy planners about where to attacknext. On July 21 Franklin DelanoRoosevelt, newly nominated at theChicago Democratic Convention for afourth presidential term, boarded theheavy cruiser Baltimore at San Diegoand sailed to Oahu for a summitmeetingofhisArmyandNavyleaders.Inasoberdiscussionafterdinneratthepresidential residence in Honolulu,NimitzandMacArthurrepeatedtotheircommander in chief the samearguments they had been espousing tothe Joint Chiefs of Staff these many

weeks. The Navy preferred an assaultonFormosa (nowTaiwan).MacArthurhad other priorities. On a large mapFDR pointed to Mindanao Island,southernmost in the Philippinearchipelago, and asked, “Douglas,wheredowegofromhere?”

Without hesitation, MacArthurreplied,“Leyte,Mr.President,andthenLuzon!”

Ithadbeennearly threeyears sinceBataan fell and the American Caesarfled that haunted peninsula by nightaboardaPTboat,arrivedinMindanao,and boarded a B-17 bomber forAustralia to endure the exile of thedefeated.OnMarch20,1942,atapressconferenceattheAdelaidetrainstation,

he declared, “The President of theUnited States ordered me to breakthrough the Japanese lines … for thepurpose, as I understand it, oforganizing the American offensiveagainst Japan, a primary object ofwhich is the reliefof thePhilippines. Icame throughand I shall return.”Tornfromcontextandconflatedtoanationalcommitment, “I shall return” becameMacArthur’s calling card and hisalbatross.

Forthegeneral,fulfillinghisfamouspromise to the Philippine people wasnot solely a question of militarystrategybutalsoapointofpersonalandnationalhonor.Hetoldhispresidentofthe backlash in public opinion that

might arise if the United Statesabandoned seventeen million loyalFilipinos to their Japanese conquerors.And the livesof some3,700Americanprisoners—the ravaged survivors ofBataan and Corregidor—would fall inimmediateperilifthearchipelagowerebypassed and its occupying garrisonstarved out, a strategy many U.S.plannersfavoredafterseeingitsucceedagainstotherJapanesestrongholds.

Nimitz reiterated the Navy’spreferencefordrivingfurtherwestwardto seize Formosa. Such amovewouldland a more decisive blow against thelong communications and supply linesthat linkedTokyo to its bases and fuelsupplies in Sumatra andBorneo.Mac-

Arthur and Nimitz made their bestarguments, and after extendeddiscussionFDRsidedwithhisgeneral.MacArthur had flown inwith virtuallyno time toprepare.Suchwas the forceof his personality and persuasive giftsthat even Admiral Nimitz wasultimatelywonover.ThePhilippines—Leyte—wouldbenext.

And so it began. Two great fleetsgathered at staging areas at Manus inthe Admiralty Islands and at Ulithi intheCarolinesforthefinalassaultonthePhilippines.UnderMacArthur,asithadbeensinceMarch1943,wasViceAdm.Thomas C. Kinkaid’s Seventh Fleet.Nimitz retained the Third Fleet,whichsailedundertheflagofAdmiralHalsey.

The Seventh Fleet had a widevarietyofships toferryandsupply theinvasion force itself. In addition to analphabet soup of troop-, tank-, andequipment-carrying landing craft—APAs,LSTs,LSDs,LSMs,LCTs,LCIsand LVTs—it had amphibiouscommand ships, ammunition ships,cargo ships, oilers, seaplane tenders,motor torpedoboats, patrol craft, coastguard frigates, minesweepers,minelayers, repair and salvage ships,water tankers, floating drydocks, andhospitalships.Standingguardoverthiswide assortment of hulls were thecombatantvesselsoftheSeventhFleet:JesseOldendorf’sbombardmentgroup,composed of battleships and cruisers,and,fartheroffshore,TaskGroup77.4,

a force of sixteen escort carriers underRearAdm.ThomasL.Sprague,dividedinto three task units and screened bydestroyersanddestroyerescorts.

OnOctober20,1944,twoandahalfyearsafter retreating from thestrategicarchipelago, Douglas MacArthur,Supreme Commander, Allied Forces,SouthwestPacificArea,madegoodonhisgrandpromise.AtsevenA.M.sharp,theSeventhFleetbattleshipsMaryland,West Virginia, andMississippi trainedtheir main batteries on Leyte Island’sbeachesandhillsandopenedfireontheconquerors and murderers of Bataan.The American liberation of thePhilippineswasunderway.Forexactlytwo hours the massive rifles roared.

Then, precisely on schedule, theshelling stopped and Higgins boatsbegan spilling out of the larger shipsthat housed them. Lt. Gen. WalterKrueger’s troopsclambereddown ropeladders thrown over the sides, thelanding craft circling until their fullnumberhadgathered.Thentheinvasionforcespiraledoutintoaseriesofwavesthat surged across San Pedro Bay andbrokeonLeyte’seasternshore.

AstwocorpsofSixthArmysoldierspushedinlandfromthecoastaltownsofDulag and Tacloban, newspapers backhomecaptivatedthepublicwithreportsoftheongoingoffensive.MACARTHURRETURNS TO PHILIPPINES INPERSONAL COMMAND OFAMERICANS. FDRVOICESGRATITUDE

FOR NATION. The drama had beenstage-managed from thebeginning.OnLeyte’s Red Beach the cameras wereready for the general’s star turn,carefully positioned to capture theliberator coming ashore. He obligedthem with a flourish, wading from alanding craft ramp to inspect thedamage inflicted by the Navy’sbombardment. Then, with Philippinepresident Sergio Osmeña at his side,General MacArthur, resplendent inpressed khakis, sunglasses, andmarshal’s cap, corncob pipe in hand,leaned into a microphone held by anArmySignalCorpsvolunteerandspoketohistory:

This is the voice of

freedom, GeneralMacArthur speaking.Peopleof thePhilippines!I have returned. By thegrace of Almighty God,our forces standagainonPhilippine soil—soilconsecrated in the bloodof our two peoples….Rally to me. Let theindomitable spirit ofBataan and Corregidorlead on. As the lines ofbattle roll forward tobring youwithin the zoneof operations, rise andstrike…. The guidance ofdivineGodpointstheway.FollowinHisNametothe

Holy Grail of righteousvictory!

If anyone aboard the Samuel B.Roberts fancied that his shipwould bespearheading something so grand as aGod-inspireddrivetorighteousvictory,he was probably wise to keep it tohimself.Thedestroyerescortwasbutatinycoginthisunimaginablylargeandcapable engineofwar, itsmen smallerstill, though collectively theywere thelong arm and clenched fist of anenraged democracy at war. Theirflotilla,TaskUnit77.4.3,withtheradiocall sign Taffy 3, was far from centerstage. One of three escort carrier taskunits positioned off Samar to watchMacArthur’s back, Taffy 3 had a

supporting role, vital in its way ifunlikely to generate for its leadersheadlines to match those of its theatercommander. Its sixsquadronsofFM-2Wildcat fighters and TBM Avengertorpedobombersflewaircoverfor,andstruck ahead of, the American troopsadvancing ashore. As the planes cameandwent from their oceangoing hives,seven small warships—destroyers anddestroyer escorts, including the“SammyB.”— steamed in a protectivering that encircled Taffy 3’s escortcarriers.

Like the twelve other skippers inTaffy 3, Captain Copeland well knewthathistaskunitwasfarfrombeingthemost formidable American force

operatingintheLeyteGulfarea.Asthehappenstance transmissions coming tohimvia theTBScircuit now remindedhim, that honor belonged to AdmiralOldendorf’s battle line. Steaming ahundred miles to Taffy 3’s south, thesix battleships of Oldendorf’sBombardment and Fire SupportGroupwere theSeventhFleet’sheavyhitters.Five of them—the California, theMaryland, the Pennsylvania, theTennessee, and the West Virginia—were scarred veterans of PearlHarbor.Each had absorbed the enemy’streacherous blow on that Sundaymorning nearly three years before.Now, lifted from the harbor mud,refloated,refitted,andsenttorejointhePacificFleet, theywere togetheragain.

They had set a trap in the deadlygauntlet of Surigao Strait, and tonightthat trapwasclosingononeofseveralJapanese fleets sailing to challengeMacArthur’sinvasion.

Dawn was still hours away asCopeland’s officers and the rest of thecrewintheSammyB.’sCICgatheredtolisten to an accidental play-by-playbroadcast of an era in naval warfarethundering to a close. They did notimmediately grasp the significance ofthe rogue bursts of radiation thatskittered off the nighttime ionosphereand into their shipboard radio receiver.The signal—now crisp and clear,bringingthevoicestothemasifoveranintercom, now cut through with static,

incomplete—gave them only hints ofwhatwashappeninginwatersfartothesouth. They were American voices,Navy voices: upright, impersonal, butgirded with the confidence that comesfrom long hours of drill and training.Theirtenorandcadencehadapracticednonchalance,buttherewasnoescapingthe sense that down in Surigao Strait,bigthingswerehappening.“Skunk184degrees,18miles.”“Captain of McDermut is taking

first target, you take one farthestnorth.”“Proceed to attack. Follow down

westshoreline.Followothergroupsin.Thenretiretonorth.Makesmoke.”

Onmost nights, BobCopeland and

theothersintheCICgladlyhitthesackwhen themidwatchendedat fourA.M.Buttonight theescalatingdramaoftheevents in Surigao Strait had movedthem past the point of needing orwanting sleep. They were camped outfor the longhaul.Sleepcouldwait.Asthemenofthemorningwatchbegantorouse themselves to relieve themidwatch,thevoicesontheradiowerejoined in chorus by the sound ofsomethingelse:gunfire.“Fishareaway.”“Thisisgoingtobequick.”“I have a group of small ones

followed by a group of large ones.When the large ones reach twenty-sixthousandyards,Iwillopenfire.”

Twenty-six thousand yards.Fourteen and three-quarter statutemiles. To a sailor aboard a destroyerescort, the reach of a battleship’s bigguns inspired awe. When they fired,sending their armor-piercing bullettrains shrieking out over the horizon,shooting out of a thun-derhead ofcorditesmoke,theshockwaveflattenedthe seas around them. The full sonicexperienceof theshellingcouldnotbeappreciated over the radio. Indeed, itcould seldom be fully appreciated byanyone other than its target. But thesudden sharp cracks of the great gunsnow and again obliterated the voicescomingoverthespeaker.

The sound and the fury stirred the

men’simaginationandtheircuriosity.IftheyswitchedofftheTBSradio,it

wouldallhavegoneaway.TheechoesoftheAmericanbattlelineloosinghellto their south would have vanished,leaving themcontemplating theirblankradar scopes. Since its defeat in theMarianas Islands in June, the JapaneseNavyhadstayedoutofsight,gatheringitsstrengthforafinalshowdown.Nowit was increasingly apparent thatMacArthur’s move against thePhilippines had at last stirred it toaction.

In the radio shack next to theCIC,the Roberts’s communicationsdepartment—TomStevenson’sgroup—hadbeenpickingupanunusualamount

of radio traffic. It was all in code, itsmeaning mysterious until theinscrutable five-character sequencescouldbetranscribedanddecrypted.Theonly unfiltered real-time informationthey got came via the Talk BetweenShips radio. They sat around theplotting table,studyingcharts,buildinga visual picture from the clues comingover the TBS frequency. As thefragmentary broadcasts began toresolve into a notion of what washappeninginthenarrowstraitssouthofLeyteGulf,nolevelofdrillortrainingcouldquitesuppresstheirjubilation.

They felt no concern for their ownsafety. The flanks of Taffy 3—and oftheir sibling task units Taffy 1 and

Taffy2—wereguardedby theSeventhandThirdFleets, thegreatestgatheringof naval strength the world had yetseen. Let the Imperial Japanese Navycome to challenge the invasion. Thecontesthadbegun,andthemenaboardtheSamuelB.Robertshaditrightthereontheradio.

***

OUTSIDE,FROMHISWATCH station inthestarboardtwenty-millimeterguntubjust forward of the bridge, seamansecond class George Bray, an enlisteefromMontgomery,Alabama,sawquickflashes of light illuminating thesouthernhorizonandfiguredthemforastorm. Most of the enlisteds had no

particular love for the ocean, and therainyseasoninthesouthwesternPacificseemed to do its level best to keepthings thatway.Afewdaysbefore,enroute to their station off the island ofSamar,theRobertsandherconsortshadbeen swallowed by an unexpectedtyphoon.Theshiphadrolledsosharply—to fifty-nine degrees on theinclinometer—that at terrifyingintervals it was easier to walk onbulkheads than stand on deck. Therolling lasted for three full days.Mostof the crew who had not been to seabefore lay in theirbunks,paralyzedbynausea.But thepitchinghullpermittedthat luxury only to the resourceful.Afterafewhardfallsoutofthesacktothe deck, a bluejacket learned to sleep

—orsuffer—witha leghookedaroundthechainthatsuspendedhisbunkfromtheceiling.

Asever,sailorslearnedtogetby.Inthemess,theycouldpressasliceofwetbread under their supper tray to keeptheir meal on the table—when nauseapermittedthemtostomachameal, thatis.Someretchedsobadly they thoughtthey might die. When landlubbingenlisteesfromplainsstatesfelttheshipheel over to starboard—thirty-five,forty, forty-five degrees—then makethe long, creaking roll back to port, itwas natural for them to fear the shipwould sink. After suffering through adays-long spell of the cork-in-a-washtubgyrations,itwasjustasnatural

to worry that the ship might remainafloat.When the three-day ordeal wasover, the feeling that the poor troopsashore were getting a raw deal hadabatedifnotentirelydisappeared.

Withmemoriesofthetyphoonfreshinhismind,Brayturnedandshoutedupto the wing of the bridge, where BobCopelandhadcomeforabreathoffreshair and a look at the action on thehorizon. “Hey, Captain, look at thatstorm.”

“That’snotastorm,son,”Copelandsaid.“It’sabattle.We’vegot iton theradioinhere.”Abattle.GeorgeBrayhadn’tbeena

shellback long enough to weighknowledgeably the risks of possible

combat against the perils of anotherhungry typhoon. For now, theAlabaman was glad simply to havesomething to look at, because ninenightsoutoftenthelonebenefitofthemidwatchwasrelieffromthestaleheatof the poorly ventilated sleepingquartersbelowdecks.Navymenwenttogreat lengths to find breathable air inthetorridlatitudesoftheSouthPacific.Yousleptondeckifyoucould;underabloweroranairductfailingthat.Whenno officerwas looking, radioman thirdclass Dick Rohde would stretch hisstandard-issue hammock from thebridgewingtoasuperstructuresponsonand sack out, dangling from thestarboardsideoftheship.Whenevertheship went over to starboard, his

makeshiftaerie,withRohdeinit,wouldswing out over the open ocean. If itrained, thecool, freshwater rollingoffthe roof of the pilothouse wouldcascade down over him. He wouldn’thavehaditanyotherway.

If fresh air was the reward of themidnight deckwatch, boredomwas itspotentially steep price. Snoozing ondutywasasureroutetoCaptain’sMast,a disciplinary proceeding where anenlistedman who was found guilty aschargedcouldgetbusteddownaratingor win himself eight hours of extraduty, possibly in that hell-on-earthknownastheengineroom.Thoughlifein the wartime Navy was full ofpotentially catastrophic risk, mostly it

was isolated and monotonous, brokenonly by the regimented pleasures ofwatching movies and opening mailfromhome.As the shipmade itsway,steaming, always steaming, yet neverseeming to arrive at an actualdestination,Brayandthethreeothersinhis gunmount took turns standing andsitting in pairs.While two of the mensatdownandshotthebreeze,theothertwo would stand, one with binoculars,the other donning headphones with areadylinkto theofficerof thedeckonthebridge.

Now the sudden spectacle of thedistantpyrotechnics—thebloomingandvanishing oases of light beneath thePacific’s vast vaulting darkness—

concentrated Bray’s attention. As hewatched the gunfire backlight thesouthern horizon, a thought beganpeckinginthecornerofhismind:If that’s a battle, well, God

Almighty, what might we be gettinginto?SanBernardinoStraitSunrisewouldcomeat6:27A.M.onthedaythatmightwellsettletheendgame,ifnottheoutcome,ofthelongstruggleinthePacific.Asthemightiestshipsofthe Imperial Japanese Navy boomedthrough the northern strait toward thewide waters of the Philippine Sea andthe slumbering dawn, Admiral Kuritadared hope that the Sho plan mightsucceed.Hehad suffered losses severe

enoughtodetermostcommanders—thegreatbattleshipMusashi,victimoffivewaves of air strikes the afternoonbefore; three heavy cruisers, sunk orforced home by submarine attack. Butbattlewasnotnewtohim,norloss.

Kurita’s tenure with the fleet wasdeep. During the invasion of Java inMarch 1942, he had led the JapanesecruiserforcethatsanktheUSSHoustonand HMAS Perth in Sunda Strait. Hehad commanded the heavy cruiserMikuma,sunkatMidway,thebattleshipKongo during the audacious Japanesebombardment of Guadalcanal’sHenderson Field, and the aircraftcarriers that had covered the TokyoExpress,asthedaringJapaneseeffortto

resupply the besiegedSolomon Islandsbecameknown. In thedisastrousbattleintheMarianasIslandsinJune,hehadthedistinctionof being theonly escortcommander not to lose any of thecarriershewasshepherding.Thelosseshehad sufferedon thepresentmissionwere but the latest chapter in a careerscarredsmoothbybattle.According toan American historian, Kurita “hadbeenbombedandtorpedoedmoreoftenthan almost any other Japaneseadmiral.”

So much lay behind him; what layahead?Though thenightwasyet clearasheexitedSanBernardinoStraitaftermidnight on October 25, events weremovingthroughthethickestoffogs.Of

his countrymen—Admiral Ozawa andhisdecoyforce,Nishimurainthesouth—he had had no word. Poor radiocommunications meant that he wouldnotlearnoftheirsuccessorfailureuntilit was far too late for the news tomatter.

There was no telling what wouldgreetTakeoKuritaintherain-squallstothe east, beyond Samar Island. At themoment, American eyes were lookingelsewhere.Soonthewholeworldwouldbe watching. For now, all that waswatchinghimwerethesharks.

PartI

TINCANS

“Captain,howoftendoesalittleshiplikethissink?”“Usuallyjustonce.”

—TheGismo,newsletteroftheUSSSamuelB.

Roberts,September30,1944

One

On January 20, 1944, threemonths prior to thecommissioningceremonythatwould make it a U.S. Navywarship, the welded hull ofDE-413, its prow festivelydrapedinred,white,andbluebunting, slid off the ways atthe Brown Shipbuilding

Company and entered theHoustonShipChannelwitharoaring sidelong splash. Atthe launching ceremony,administered by theemployees of Brown’s pipedepartment,aprayerwassaidtobe in theheartsofallwhowatched: “May she be asound ship, capable of risingto the heights when hersuprememomentcomes.”The hull that would

become the USS Samuel B.Roberts had been laid downalongside thehull thatwouldbecome her sister ship, theWalter C. Wann, onDecember 6, 1943. Twoweeks later the twins weremoved from their initialproductionstations,andworkbegan on the Le Ray Wilsonand theLawrence C. Taylor.From July 1942 to March1944 the shipwrights,marineelectricians, pipefitters,

machinists, and welders atBrownship would turn outsixty-one destroyer escorts,one pair following the nextwithpunch-clockefficiency.As the shipyard workers

continuedmakingtheRobertsready for sea, installing gunmounts, laying ducts andwiring, and testing the ship’smany internal systems, agroup of newly mintedseamenleftthenavaltraining

center at Norfolk, Virginia,and boarded a train toHouston to fill out the ship’scomplement of seamen andrated petty officers. Theweathered World War I-erapassengertraintookfivedaystomakethetrip.Therecruits’place in the world wasreflected not only in thenineteenth-century decor oftheir accommodations—apotbellied stove warmed oneend of the car; gas lamps lit

their card games—but in theunceremonious manner bywhich their train got shuntedaside whenever a line ofboxcars had to get through.Duringwartime, anddecadesbefore America woulddevelopacultureofpersonalconvenience, there was nodenying that cargo could beasimportantasmen.Once,interminablydelayed

while a long freight train

squealed by ahead of them,theenlistees,accompaniedbythe two youngest ensignsassigned to the Samuel B.Roberts, John LeClercq andDudleyMoylan, piled out oftheir passenger car andpassed the time riding cowsbareback in a pasture.Another time, stuck in amountain rail-yard withnowhere to go, they got offthe train, took over a ruraldiner, and helped cook their

own dinner. Three railcarsfull of young sailors and nodrill-fieldexercises toburdentheir days—itwas amemorythat would grow dearer withtime, and it bonded them asonly the great adventures ofyouthcan.What the kids had gone

through inbasic trainingwasmeant to adjust theirperspective on their relativeindividual worth in this new

world.For teenagersenteringmilitary service duringwartime, the shock of bootcamp was bracing,equalizing.Itleveledthelittlehills and valleys ofsocioeconomic differences,broke down egos, and madenew recruits glad to end upwherever the NavyDepartment’s Bureau ofPersonnel might send them.When Dick Rohde, son of aNewYorkCityshipchandler

who went broke in theDepression, arrived at bootcamp in Newport, RhodeIsland, he first encounteredthe well-calibrated crueltythatwouldensurehissmoothentryintothewartimefleet.Sharply dressed in his

neatly pressed uniform, theboot camp companycommander,asWorldWarII-era Navy drill instructorswereknown,linedhismenup

at first muster and addressedthem gently. “I know whatit’s like for you guys. Acouple days ago you werehomewith yourmothers andfathers. Now all of a suddenhere you are. You’re up inthis strange part of thecountry. You’ve been rootedout of your homes. You’rehomesick. You’ve got yourhair all shaved off and yougotthoseshots.Ijustwanttotell you that for the next six

weeks, I’m going to be yourmother and your father. I’mgoing tomakesure thingsgojust as nicely for you aspossible. That’s the reasonI’mhere.Ifthere’sanywayIcan accomplish these thingsI’mgonnadoit.Iwantyoutoknowthat.”Well, this I can handle,

Rohde thought. Maybe itwasn’t so bad that theMarines had turned him

away,thebigsergeantbehindthe desk saying somethingalluringly dismissive like,“Go home and grow up andthencomebackandwe’lltalkto you.” Rohde didn’t gohome. He went around thecorner to the Navy recruiter,who had ready good use foran eager seventeen-year-old.Let theMarines slog throughmud—Dick Rohde fromStaten Island was going tosea.

“Now,I’mgoingtocalltheroll,” the companycommander said. “I don’tknowhowtopronouncesomeofyournames,soifImakeamistake, please correct me.”HegotdowntoRohdeonthelistandcalledout,“Road?”“Uh,sir,that’sRohde,”his

young charge offered,emphasizingthelonge.The company commander

walked up to the freshly

croppedboot,anditwasthenthat Rohde discovered thetrue nature of the instructorhehaddared toadmire.“No,that’s Shithead!” he roared.“Your name from now on isShithead!”Thus began a six-week

program of drill-fieldmarching, obstacle-courserunning, weaponmaintenance,latrinecleaning,and more. Each morning

whenRohde’snamecameupat muster, the companycommander called out“Shithead?” When Rohde’smother heard about thetreatmenthersonwasgettingatthehandsoftheU.S.Navy,shevowedtoblowthelidoffthe scandal through the goodoffices of Mr. WalterWinchell and his littlenewspaper column. Her sonput an end to that plan.Perhapsmotherswere poorly

equipped to appreciate theeducational value ofscrubbing a concretecourtyard with a medium-bristled toothbrush. DickRohde survived boot camp.Hebecameasailor.Rohdehad skills theNavy

prized.Asaone-timepagetoa Wall Street investmentbanker, he was a proficienttypist. That, combined withthe rudimentary Morse code

he had learned in radio clubatStatenIsland’sCurtisHighSchool, set him up to strikefora radioman’s rating.Withnew ships launching dailyfromshipyardsallaroundthecountry, bodies were needed—andmindstoo.Therewasashortage of trained radiomento man the sets. In March1944DickRohdewenttotheU.S. Naval Training Schoolin Boston, where radiomenweremade.

The genius of the Navy’spersonnel system was that itsorted young men by theirtalents, trained them forspecialized duty, andfunneled them to placeswheretheirknowledgewouldbenefit the nation most. Arecruit with promise in aparticulartechnicalareacouldgo to a service school tostudy a specialty. Someonewith a keen ear for pitchrecognition would be

encouraged to attend soundschool inKeyWest, Florida,where he learned to operatesonar equipment.An enlisteewith an engineeringbackground might be acandidate for radar school atMIT in Cambridge. Mostrecruits went straight to sea,where they got about thesweaty business of scrapingpaint, loading supplies,maintaining equipment, anddoing anything else the petty

officers said needed doing.Seamenwhodiscovered theircallings aboard ship couldaffiliate themselves with aparticular department and“strike for a rating” in thatarea. A sailor with thedesignation “seaman firstclass (radioman striker)”would be the gofer of theradio department.As long ashe didn’t slip too often withthe coffeepot, he would intime get promoted to

radioman third class, a pettyofficer rating that signifiedhis expertise in the chosenfield.After completing basic

training at Newport andgraduating from radio schoolinBoston,Rohdewenttothereceiving station at Norfolk,Virginia,wherelikescoresofmenheawaitedassignmenttoa ship and got furthertraining. The training never

quite ended, for there wasalways something else tolearn. At Norfolk Rohde’straining went beyond drill-fieldroteandbegantoreflecttherealitiesoflifeunderfire.One day he entered a largeroom enclosing an indoorswimmingpool.Intooneendof the pool was poured fueloil,whichwassummarilysetalight. He and his fellowseamanrecruitsweredirectedto jump into the smoking,

flaming water, to splash theburningfuelawayfromthem,and tomake theirway to thecleanendofthepool.Naryaneyelashwas singed, but theirminds were seared indeliblywithaglimpseofwhatmightlieahead.Like many others in the

mob that had boarded thattraininNorfolk,GeorgeBrayhad not joined the Navylookingforafight.Likemost

enlisted men, he was apragmatist. The calculuswassimple: awarwason. Ifyouwere eighteen or older, thething to do was join theservice. If you wereseventeen, you could get aparenttosignyourenlistmentpapers.Or you could just lieaboutyourage.Endsjustifiedmeans: if you wanted toimpress a girl, your best betwastogetyourselfinuniformas quickly as possible. The

only question was whatserviceyoupreferred.When the Japanese hit

Pearl Harbor and the warstarted, Bray had been aseager to sign on as the nextkid.Buthetemperedidealismwith practicality. He lookedattheoptionsavailabletohimand chose the Navy forreasons that recruiters surelyexploited in the 1940s: hewould get threemeals a day,

cleanbedlinens,andnoneofthe trench-humping that wasthe daily lot of theinfantryman.Not that Bray was a

shrinking violet. Back inAlabama he had made thehigh school varsity footballteamas a seventhgrader.Hewas a hard-nosed halfback,adept at catching passes outof a Notre Dame-style Tformation, which had come

into fashion in 1943 whenFighting Irish quarterbackAngelo Bertelli brought it toSouth Bend and won thenational championship andthe Heisman Trophy alongtheway.Halfwaythroughhissenior year Bertelli hadjoinedtheMarines.Ifmilitaryservicewas good enough forone magician of the Tformation, it was goodenough for another. And soBray found himself aboard

the U.S. Navy’s smallestman-of-war, a destroyerescort.In Houston the men came

aboard theRoberts as it wasundergoing a final fitting outprior to the commissioningceremony thatwould convertitfromtheprivatepropertyofthe Brown ShipbuildingCompanytoapublicassetasa United States Ship. Thosewhocamebytrainfoundthat

their Spartanaccommodations had beengood preparation forshipboardlife.Theirbunksonthe Roberts were three-high,with forty or fifty men to acompartment.Therewaslittleventing, let alone air-conditioning. But comfort isanafterthoughtforateenageron the cusp of adventure.Dick Rohde swooned at thethought ofwhatwas in storeforhiminthePacific.“There

was always something new,always something exciting,”he said. “We weren’thomesick at all. It was just‘Wow, what’s going tohappennext?’”

Two

What happened next wouldbe up to Bob Copeland. Itwas his world—the enlistedmen just lived in it. Thecommanderof threepreviousships, Captain Copeland, anaval reservist from Tacomawho had left behind abudding legal career to

assume his fourth command,arrived inHoustononMarch4, 1944, and instantly likedwhat he saw in the Roberts.Holed up at the Rice Hotelwhile the ship nearedcompletion, he and hisofficersspenteachdayat theshipyard, watching thenondescript slab of metalbecomeawarship.Fair-minded, firm, and

shrewd, Copeland, at the

advanced age of thirty-threeyears, had a rare gift: theability to assert his authorityandmakehismenlikeit,bothat the same time.No one onthe Samuel B. Roberts wasever heard bellyaching thatthey had gotten a raw dealfrom Bob Copeland. Hewasn’t above turning to anenlistedmanandasking,“So,how’s your family?” If hesaw a picture of a sailor’sgirlfriendonadesk,hewould

be likely to ask, “You stillhearingfromher?”Heledhiscrewfromapositionoftrust.And they trusted him for hisabilitytolead.Theskipperof theRoberts

hadbeena lawyer exactly aslong as he had been anofficer. Commissioned as anensign the same day he wasadmitted to the WashingtonStateBarAssociation,hehadmaintainedatriallawpractice

inTacomawhilefulfillinghiscommitment to the navalreserve, with meetings onenight a week. The fact thatBob Copeland was not“regular Navy”—anAnnapolis graduate with afull commission and a full-time job in the fleet—owedmore to his sense of familyduty than to a lack ofdevotiontonavalservice.Like the rest of his

generationwhogrewupamidthe patriotism andWilsonianhigh-mindedness of WorldWarI,Copelandhadcomeofage aspiring to be a warrior.Eight years old when theGreat War ended, he hadspent his childhood infusedwith enthusiasm for playtimewar, prancing around indoughboy getup, tin hatcocked over his forehead,stockings pulled up over hiscalves, wooden rifle at the

ready. In his teenage years,whenhispeershadmovedonto playing sports, BobCopelandwasupinhisroomrunninghisownprivatenavy.He kept his fleet on paper,order of battle formed up, acommand hierarchy drawn.Thoughhisdevotiontonavalstrategy might have led himto neglect certain skills thatwouldbeusefulatsea—suchas the ability to swim—itfilled his imagination and

prepared him for themanagerial reality ofcommand.Atacriticaljunctureinhis

young life, he had beenoffered the chance to attendAnnapolis. Every Fourth ofJuly young Bob Copelandwatched the fleet weighanchor in Tacoma’sCommencement Bay to helpthe city celebrateIndependence Day.

Destroyers, cruisers, andbattleships, and the Admiral.The Admiral was there. Theopportunity was not lost onBob Copeland. He aimed tosee the Admiral, if only hecouldbuckuphiscourage tomake the trip. Every day hewent down to the dockswhere small boats ferriedtownsfolk out to see theships. But each dayCopeland’s nerve failed him.Finally, on the last day the

fleet was to be there in July1927,hemusteredthewilltoamble aboard the smallharbor ferry and go see theAdmiral. Tucked in hispocket was a letter ofintroduction from the mayorof Tacoma. He approachedthe flagship, climbed aboard,and handed the envelope tothe officer of the deck. Theletter was passed to theexecutive officer, then to theAdmiralhimself.

Before Copeland couldgraspwhatwashappening,aninvitation was extended tohim. He would see theAdmiral in his flag quarters.A kid who commanded aworld-beating fleet on paperwaspermittedtositdownandtalk toamanwhoearnedhisliving doing the real thing.They talked for hours.Copeland’s knowledge ofnavalhistory,hisappreciationfor fleet organization and

command, won him anunexpected prize: theAdmiral told him he shouldgotoAnnapolis.Better than that, the

Admiral wrote a letter. ToCopeland’s congressionalrepresentative. Who wrote aletter.To thecommandantofAnnapolis. An appointmentto the Naval Academy wasthereforthetaking.Buthismother,whohadan

extreme, unreasoning fear ofwater, could not abide theidea of her only child goingto sea. So the family doctorwassummoned.Hemusteredhis most ominous tone ofvoice and said to theseventeen-year-oldsomethinglike this: “Robert, yourmother’s health concerns medeeply. She might very wellhave a heart attack if youdecide to enter the service.Please don’t cause her this

stress.” Born to his parentsten years into theirmarriage,Copelandknewthathewasalong-wished-for and onlychild. He decided that hecouldnotinflictsuchpainonhis mother. Bob Copeland,thedutifulonlyson,declinedhis appointment to thebreedinggroundofadmirals.He would settle for living

in smaller worlds. In 1929,Copeland enlisted in the

naval reserve and, six yearslater,wascommissionedasanaval reserve officer,coincident with hiscompletion of law school.Having fulfilled hiscommitmenttotheservice,hereturned to civilian life in1935 to practice law inTacoma until 1940. OrderedbacktoactivedutyduringtheNavy’s prewar expansion, hecommanded two auxiliaryshipsandthedestroyerescort

USSWymanbefore reportingtoHoustonasskipperofDE-413. He liked the men hefound there. In Houston,standingon thebridgeof theproteanwarship,watchingtheworkers of the day shiftscramble down the gangwayand into the safety of theircivilian lives, Copelandnoticed two officers lookingupathimfromthedock.Hisinstinct told him he wouldcome toknow themwell.He

ambleddownandaskedthemif they belonged to his ship.They did. One was Lt.WilliamS.Burton.TheotherwasLt.LloydGurnett.InBurton,Copelandfound

akindredsoul,forBurtonhadpreviouslybeenalawyertoo.But the attorney fromClevelandhadtheedgeonhiscaptaininfamilyprominence:Burton’s father, HaroldBurton,aWorldWarIArmy

captainandtheformermayorof Cleveland, was amemberoftheU.S.Senate.(Hewouldbecome, after the war, ajustice of the U.S. SupremeCourt.) Copeland wasrelieved to find that Burtondid not let it go to his head.“He stood on his own andsuccessfully lived down hisfamily fame.Bill byhisownabilities and his ownpersonality won his waycompletely with both the

officers and the enlistedmen.”Lieutenant Gurnett was a

mustang, a sailor who hadclimbedtheenlistedratings—in Gurnett’s case, to chiefquartermaster—and finallyachievedacommissionatsea.“Lloyd knewhis navy, knewhis job, and didn’t knowwhen to quit working. Noman on boardworked harderor loved the ship more than

he,” Copeland would write.BecauseGurnett’s dedicationwas so readily apparent,Copeland gave him the postof first lieutenant, makinghim responsible for theconstruction department,which handled damagecontrol, shipkeeping,messing, berthing, andrepairs. The officers werejoined by their so-callednucleuscrew:thirty-oddchiefand first-class petty officers

who had the experience towhipagreencrewintoshape,aswell as other key officers,includingTomStevenson,thecommunications departmentboss, and Bob Roberts, theship’sexecutiveofficer.TheSamuelB.Robertswas

christened in posthumoushonor of a twenty-one-year-old naval reservist fromPortland, Oregon, SamuelBookerRoberts,Jr.,killedon

Guadalcanal when, at theheight of fighting onSeptember 28, 1942, he tookthe landing craft hecommanded and motored intodrawfireaway fromshipstrying to rescue Marinestrapped in a Japanesecrossfire.When the secretaryof the Navy informedRoberts’s bereaved motherthatDE-413wouldbenamedin her late son’s honor, sheplanned to come down from

St. Louis to attend theceremony. Her husband wasan engineer working forMississippi River FloodControl,butevenhecouldn’tstop the great river fromrampaging as the big day,April 28, 1944, approached.Floodwaters washed out thesouthbound rail lines, andtravel became impossible.The wife of the floodcontroller had no choice butto yield to high water. She

wroteBobCopelandwithherregrets and enclosed a photoof coxswain Roberts, whichthe captain placed in thewardroom.She also made a request:

would he find a place on hiscrew roster for JackRoberts,her youngest son, who wasfinishing basic training atGreat Lakes Naval TrainingStation?TheyoungerRobertsbadlywantedtheassignment.

From Galveston, Copelandwrote the Navy Departmentwith a request to bring JackRobertsaboard.Commissioning is a

signature moment in the lifeofawarship.Anauthorityonnaval history has observed,“If launchingmaybe likenedto birth, and christening theendowment of individuality,then at commissioning theship is at the threshold of a

productive and rewardingmaturity.” It constitutes itsformal transfer to the careofits commanding officer. Itsofficers and crew assembleon the quarterdeck as thefleet’sdistrictcommandantorhis representative reads thedirective that assigns thevessel to the fleet.TheNavyband plays the nationalanthem,theensignishoisted,and the commissioningpennant is broken out. The

new commanding officerreads his orders and assumescommand,andthefirstwatchisset.A productive and

rewarding maturity—closethough itwas for theSamuelB. Roberts— lay far in thefuture for Bob Copeland’stwo small children. His wifeof four and a half years,Harriet, hadbeen therewhenallthreeofhispreviousships

hadbeencommissioned,fromhis firstcommandaboard thecoal-burning tug, thePawtucket, tohismostrecenttouraboardanolderdestroyerescort, the Wyman. Hewanted her there in Houstonfor the commissioning of theRoberts, andhe let herknowit, cajoling her in letter afterletter to make the long tripfromTacoma.Buthiseffortsat persuasion could notovercome the imperatives of

newmotherhood.Thoughshewanted to be there for herhusband, Harriet Copelandhad an infant daughter andtoddler son to care for. Andso on the day the Samuel B.Roberts became a Navywarship, Bob Copeland tookcommand of her without thecomfort of family. Copelandwould continue to chide hiswife for missing thecommissioning. “I think Ioverdid it,” he later

acknowledged. He finallyrelented when Harriet wrotehim, saying, “There’s an oldsaying that one picture isworth ten thousand words,and the enclosed picturewillperhapsexplainwhyIwasn’tthere.” Tucked inside theenvelopewas the front coveroftheSaturdayEveningPost.It depicted the inside of afirehouse,firemenclamberingaboard an engine as it racedout of the station. Their

mascot,aDalmatian,wasleftsitting on a large red pillow,sucklingalitterofpuppiesasthe pumper zoomed off tobattle the flames. AsCopelandracedofftohisownfour-alarmfire in thePacific,hecouldnotbesurehewouldever see Harriet and theirchildrenagain.After the commissioning

ceremony on April 28, theRoberts departed for

Bermuda with a group ofotherdestroyerescorts foranextendedshakedowncruisetotest and break in the ship’sphysical plant. But as anexperienced commander likeBobCopelandwellknew,thesuccessful operation of awarship would depend asmuch on his ability to forgethe character of the ship’screw as on the Texans’ skillin forging the curve of theship’skeel.

After shakedown wascomplete, the Robertsescorted a paddle steamer upthe East Coast to Norfolk,then continued northward toBoston for a final fitting outand inspection prior to goingto war. In Boston seamansecond class Jack Robertsreported for duty. The onlypeopleontheshipwhoknewhis connection to the Mr.Samuel B. Roberts were theskipper and his executive

officer, Lt. Bob Roberts. Noonesuspectedathing,forthesurnameRobertsdidn’t standout: theshipalreadyhad twoof them.By the time thefactof young Jack Roberts’srelation to the heroic landingcraft skipper of Guadalcanalslipped out a few monthslater,hiscaptainwrote,“JackRoberts had made his ownway, and his place in theship’s company was secureforhiminhisownright.”

When he finished bootcamp, Jack Yusen wasorderedtojointheSamuelB.RobertsatCharlestownNavyYard in Boston. On June 7,1944, as the U.S. Army wasconsolidating its hold on theNormandy beachhead,Yusenloaded his seabag aboard atruck with eleven otherrecruitsandwasdriventothedocks to meet his new ship.When he saw the big turretsand bristling guns, his first

thought was, What a ship!Then a petty officerapproached the New Yorkerand his buddies and asked,“What are you guys lookingat?” The petty officer toldthem that the object of theiradmiration was in fact aBritishheavycruiser.Hethenpointedtothedrydockontheothersideofthepier.“You’regoingonthatoneoverthere.”The large waterless

enclosure appeared to beempty,saveforasinglemastthatstuckupoutofit,aradarantenna affixed to its top.“That’s your ship,” the pettyofficer said. Yusen and hisfriendswerecrestfallen. “Welooked down the dock at thelittle ship—306 feet long—and then looked at the bigcruiser, and said, ‘Oh myGod!’”How quickly

disappointment turned topride.Destroyerescortsailorstended towardan intensityofpride that was out of allproportiontotheirundersizedships.Fourdaysintohisnewlife as a Samuel B. Robertssailor,Yusenwalkedwithhisbuddies on liberty into aBostonpub.WhenNavymenmeet in barrooms or dancehalls,orwhereverwomenarenearby, they seldom pass uptheopportunitytoboastabout

their ship. Yusen said,“They’d ask you what shipyou were on. We’d say,‘We’re from the Samuel B.Roberts—theUSSSamuelB.Roberts,DE-413.’You’d saythatwithpride.Youmightbetalking to someone on aheavy cruiser. So you’re justtellinghimthatwe’reasgoodas you. We had that pridealready.We had been on theship for four days. So muchpride, and it had been only

fourdays.”The feeling that destroyer

escorts were specialmanifesteditselfinsurprisingplaces. In a stained-glasswindow that adorned theNorfolk yard’snondenominational chapel,someonehadgluedan imageof a destroyer escort, cradledlike a baby in the arms ofJesus Christ. The imagestruck somebody as

sacrilegious and wasremoved. But the sentimentwassurelygenuineenough.Pride would take the

Sammy B. far. But the factremained that the destroyersthattheRobertswouldjoininTaffy 3’s screen—the Hoel,the Heermann, and theJohnston—carried twoandahalf timesthegunpowerandmore than three times asmany torpedoes as their

smaller cousins. Sailors whopossessed the detachment ofdistance—for instance, themen on the escort carrierswhoreliedonthetincansforprotection—grasped thepractical significance ofentrusting theirwell-being tothe more diminutive ships.When they looked out andsaw DEs skirting theperimeterof the formation inlieuofdestroyers,theywouldjust shake their heads.Could

they be trusted to protectthem?Bob Copeland of the

Samuel B. Roberts readilyvalidated their concern: “Wewereshortofdestroyers—wewere always short ofdestroyers—and actually thiswasadestroyer’sjob.SotheyusedalotofDEstofinishoutthe screens. In all we hadthreedestroyersandfourDEsthatmadeupthescreenships.

We actually should have hadeightorteninthescreen.Wewereoverextendedandtryingtocarryonabigoperation.”Destroyer escortswere not

builttoridehighinthebattleline and trade salvoswith anenemy fleet. The Roberts’sdesigned displacement—theweight of the seawater thather hull displaced—was1,250 tons. Fully loaded forbattle, she displaced about

2,000 tons. She went to warwith 228 men: 217 enlistedand eleven officers. But bythe standards of the fleet shewas a pipsqueak. Thebattleship Missouri, with acomplement of 1,921, wasnearly three times theRoberts’s length and almostthirty times her weight.Unlike the Mighty Mo, theRobertshadnotbeenbuiltforengaging armoreddreadnoughtsat28,000yards.

Destroyer escorts wererunabouts. In port, theydelivered mail to the largerships. At sea, they rode theouter edge of a formation,keepingwatchful eyes, sonarstacks, and radar scopes totheoceanandthesky.Whereas the big ships’

bulkwas theirbest insuranceagainst heavy seas, destroyerescortslivedatnature’sficklemercy. As the seas went, so

went the DEs. In anunpublished 1945 dispatchsent shortly before he waskilledbymachine-gunfireonOkinawa, Ernie Pyle evokedthe precarious seaworthinessofthetinyvessels:“Theyareroughand tumble littleships.They roll and they plunge.They buck and they twist.They shudder and they fallthrough space. They are inthe air half the time, underwater half the time. Their

sailors say they should haveflightpayandsubmarinepayboth.”TheRoberts was rated for

twenty-four knots but couldmake nearly thirty when hertwo six-thousand-horsepowerWestinghouse turbines werespinning under full steampressure. Her armament waslight. A Butler-classdestroyer escort’s mainbattery consisted of two

single-barreled five-inch/38-caliber naval rifles, one foreand one aft. A triple torpedomount amidships was hermost powerful weaponagainst enemy surface ships.A well-located torpedo blastcould cripple a large capitalship.Butwitha rangeofnotmorethantenthousandyards,the torpedo’s effective userequired that the shipmaneuver to virtual point-blankrange—andsurvivethat

approach despite hercomplete lack of armor orother self-protection beyondthewhimsofluck.Destroyer escorts were

every bit the equal ofdestroyers (DDs) inantisubmarine operations.They used the same sonarequipment, but DEs weremore maneuverable, able toturnacirclelessthanhalfthediameter of what a destroyer

circumscribed.Still,thepilotsand crew on the escortcarriers (CVEs) would havepreferred to see full-fledgedFletcher-class destroyersriding shotgun on the taskunit. But it was 1944, theoceanwasvast,andthesameAmericanheavyindustrythatraced to fill the oceans withaircraft carriers was hardpressed to turn out enoughdestroyers to protect theflattops. Destroyer escorts,

cheaper and faster to build,filled the bill of necessity.Andtheydiditwell.

***

THROUGH SOME OLD-FASHIONEDSHIPYARD horse trading inBoston, Copeland securedcertain mechanicalimprovements—a pair ofgyro repeaters for the bridgewing foremost among them.With the new compasses his

quartermasters and watchofficerswouldbeabletotakemore accurate bearings. Tohelp turn his mostly teenagecrew into a team ready tofight a desperate and savageenemy, Copeland broughtaboardkeynoncommissionedofficers and technicalspecialiststhroughtheNavy’spersonnellottery.As the Samuel B. Roberts

leftBostonHarborandbroke

intothewidewatersoffCapeCod, Captain Copeland setcourse for Norfolk.Provincetown was cominginto view on the starboardbow.Ens.JohnLeClercq,theofficer of the deck, and hiscaptain, seated in his bridgechair, scanned the morningsea and listened to the slowcadenceofthesonarsystem’secho-ranging machine as itsent its sharp falsetto callsinto the deep in search of

enemy submarines. SuddenlyCopeland noticed that theoutbound ping was getting ahardechoinreturn.“BeforeIcould fully believe my ears,the sonaroperatorcalledout,‘Good contact! Four hundredyards—up Doppler!’”referring to the acousticsignatureabogeymadewhileclosing with the ship.Copeland thought to himself,Barely out of port, and asubmarineisalreadystalking

us?Recognizingthepossibility

of collision,Copeland leapedfrom his chair and grabbedthe engine order telegraph toring a stop bell. Before theskipper could send down theorder, there came a deep,hollow-toned boom and areverberatingcrashthatshooktheship.Itfeltasifatorpedohad hit. Copeland rang a“back full” order to the

engine room, but the impactcontinued to grind along. Afew seconds later a secondviolent seaquake shook theship.“I was belowdecks when

therewasagreat shock, thenagrindingsensationalongthekeel, and finally the sternshook violently,” chiefyeoman Gene Wallacerecalled. “I rushed to thedeck, and there on the sea

wasevidencethattheRobertshadmadeherfirstkill.Therewas blood on the water andbits of flesh—positiveevidence of a kill—of awhale.”The Roberts’s first

underwater kill was amagnificent sixty-foot-longspecimen whose backbonehad been severed by theship’s slender bow. Thestricken animal spouted a

geyserofbloodastheofficersandcrewracedtopside,rantotherail,andlookedonaghast.The whale’s immense bulkrolledalongsidethestarboardsideof theshipasagrowingbloodslickstained thewater.The destroyer escort’schurning starboard screwsawed at the whale, cuttingclean through its backboneagain. The crew watchedtransfixedas theruinedbeastsurfacedbehindtheship.

No captain ever wants toreportthathehasrunhisshipaground—certainly nocaptain with hopes for abigger command. But whatother conclusion should bedrawn from the dented bow,thebentkeel, and thebrokenscrew? Captains customarilymade up stories to cover fortheir negligence. “It islegendary in theNavy,” BobCopeland later wrote, “thatunlessshesticksfast,noship

admittedly runs aground, allgroundings being laid tocollisions with submergedlogs and the like.” But thiswas no phony sea story, andCopeland didn’t want astench of suspicion hangingaround him or his ship. Theexec,Lt.BobRoberts,tookafix on the ship’s position,documentingitslocationwellclearofshallowwaterswhereagroundingcouldtakeplace.Meanwhile, Captain

Copeland, ever the lawyer,orderedhiscrewtogatherupthe exonerating physicalevidence. Several chunks ofwhale hide and flesh wererecoveredfromtheship’shulland preserved in medicinalalcohol by Dr. Erwin, thedivisionmedicalofficer.Copeland continued on to

Norfolk to have the brokenpropeller repaired in drydock.Noquestioneverarose

as to the origins of theSamuel B. Roberts’sinaugural bruising. It was anincident that grew in comicmagnitude as time went by.But just as surelycould it besaid that the Sammy B.’svoyage to the Philippine Seahad begun with a very pooromen. Such dramatics—andthe small vessel had yet toenteracombatzone.

***

WHILE THEIR SHIP WAS

convalescing in Norfolk,Lieutenant Roberts andCaptainCopelandmade finaladjustments to the crewroster, weeding out a fewne’er-do-wells from theship’s complement of 219.Among the 217 keepers,Copeland could sense acoming together that bodedwell for the upcomingjourney to the Pacific. Theskipper gave his crew leave

and instructed them to reportbacktotheshipintimeforitsdepartureafewdayslater.Bud Comet, a nineteen-

year-old seaman, took theopportunitytovisithisfamilyin their coal-miningsettlement on the GuyandotRiver in northern WestVirginia,where they lived ina home owned by the coalcompany. So long as Mr.Comet showed up reliably at

the mine and obeyed hissuperiors and called his boss“Mister,” he would have aplacetoliveandgetthehourshe needed to bring home aliving wage to his family.Mostly he fed his family outof his vegetable garden—afterhegavethebestproduceto neighbors. “My dadfigured there were peopletherepoorer thanus,hegavethebeststufftothem,andwegotwhatwasleft.Ifhekilled

a hog, he gave most of thehog away,” Comet said.When the visitwas over andBud was due to rejoin theSamuelB.Roberts,hesawhisfatherofftowork,thenlefttocatchthetraintoNorfolk.Hefound a seat aboard the trainand looked up to see afamiliar face sitting acrossfrom him. “I want to talk toyou,”hisfathersaid.Budknewthattheforeman

at the coalmine didn’t granttime off lightly. From thelook in his father’s eye, hecouldseethatwhathisfatherwas about to say was likelygoingtobeimportant.Mr. Comet was concerned

for his son’s future. It was1944.Theworldwas atwar.He told the teenager he wasworriedthathewouldgetoutto the front and beoverwhelmed or afraid and

wouldn’t do his job. If hescrewedupandwentoverthehill and if the MPs had totrackhimdownandhaulhimto the brig, he would bringupon his family the worst ofsins: dishonor. If there wasonethingheneededtoavoid,his dad said, it wasdishonoringhismother.Heremindedhissonofhis

own beginnings. Born inItaly, the senior Comet was

raised under the worst ofpolitical systems. He hadcome to this country andmanagedtomakealivingandprovide for his family.Whatthis meant, he said, was thatAmericawasworthdyingfor.Death would be acceptable,so long as it was honorable.“An honorable man diesonce,” he told Bud. “Acoward dies a thousandtimes.”Cometthoughthehadheard that line somewhere

before, maybe fromShakespeare. His fatherdidn’t mention anythingabout the Bard. Bud Cometwasprettysurehisfatherhadnever read Shakespeare. Hesaid, “I think he got that outofhisheart.”ButBudComet’sheartwas

already spoken for. He hadfallenhardinlove.Theobjectof his affection was theSamuel B. Roberts. “I had

confidence in the ship. I hadconfidenceinthepeoplewhoI hadmet on the ship. I hadconfidence in the officerswho I saw on that ship. Mr.Roberts, our executiveofficer,wasAnnapolis—verystrict,strictlyNavy.Ifeltthathewould bemore strict thananybody else. There wasStevensonandMoylan. Ihadalotofrespectforthem.”CometgrewtolikeDudley

Moylan. The ship’s juniorofficer, with an Englishdegree from Duke and a“ninety-day wonder”commission from NotreDame’s officer candidateprogram, was prone tospontaneous kindness. Onlatewatches,onceinawhile,Ensign Moylan would bringby a pot of coffee and somecups, toss them around, fillthem,andsitdownintheguntub with the men and visit

and just talk, oneman to thenext.Juniorofficerscouldbethatway. JohnLeClercqwaslike that too. There was anunshakable goodness to him,withhisblondhair andeasy,boyish smile. He had anatural empathy for even thegreenest sailor.LeClercqandMoylan were the onlyofficers with the group thatmade the five-day trainjourney from Norfolk toHouston.

Enlisted men who talkedwith Johnny LeClercqweren’t put off by his goldbars.Hedidn’tputupanyofthebarriersthatotherofficersdid. “I remember LeClercq,”BudComet said. “He lookedat you always and smiled—like he was in love with theship too and the people thathewas servingwith andwasvery proud.” Somehow theSamuel B. Roberts justseemed to foster that kind of

pride. It tended to trickledownfromthetop.Ofcourse,anybodycaught

up in the fantasy that theSamuel B. Roberts was theGood Ship Lollipop alwayshad Bob Roberts to reckonwith. He could be arch anddomineering. But in thatsense his personality meshedwell with the job descriptionfor an executive officer. Hewas remote even from his

own officers. Enlisted menlived in another universealtogether.LikeLloydGurnett,hewas

a mustang, an officer whohad entered the Navy as anenlisted man and performedwell enough to win a fieldappointment to Annapolis.ComingoutofhighschoolinRidgefield, Connecticut, hehad been beaten to hiscongressionaldistrict’sNaval

Academy appointment by anambitious Yale Universitysophomore. So he made hisNavycareertheold-fashionedway. He jumped into theenlisted ranks with both feetand within two years wonentrance to Annapolis bytaking competitiveexaminationsatsea.He and Copeland were

among the few experiencedofficers on the Samuel B.

Roberts. Most of the otherswere so-called “ninety-daywonders.” There was nosmall amount of sarcasmbehind the title, for veteranpetty officers seldomacquiescedtotheauthorityofthe young men whoswaggered aboard as newlyminted ensigns in the navalreserve. In theory a ninety-day wonder was superioreven to the seniormost chief.Butifayoungofficerplanned

to have a long and thrivingcareerinthenavalservice,hewas wise to defer to hischiefs’experience.At the top of the chain of

commandofenlistedmen,thewarrants, the chiefs, and thefirst-class petty officerswerethe ones who had theexperiencetoget thingsdoneat sea, from tying lines tolaunching boats to bringingon stores to organizing work

parties. On the Roberts, RedHarrington, the first-classboatswain’s mate, was thecatalyst formost ofwhat thedeckforceaccomplished.Theradiodepartmentreliedontheleadership of Tullio Serafini,a grizzled but popular chiefwhose naval service datedback toWorldWar I.Chiefsdid not wear golden-barredepaulets or cap brims ladenwith braided “scrambledeggs.”Theydidnotdinewith

fine silver in the officers’ward. But they were capablemenwhohadspenttheirbestyears at sea. By virtue ofseniority, a forty- or fifty-year-old warrant officer,whose half-inch gold stripegavehimtheactualprivilegesof an ensign, earned moremoneythanmanyanadmiral.In his two years as an

enlisted man, Bob Robertshad painted enough

bulkheadsandtuggedenoughlines to acquire a certainsaltiness to his personality.But as the only Annapolisgraduate aboard the ship—classof1940—hecomportedhimself with the assuredprofessionalism that onlyBancroft Hall and TecumsehSquarecouldbreed.Hisblendof experience and pedigreemadehima respected leader.Beyond those emotionalnuances, the exec’s job was

intellectually demanding aswell. To handle theconsiderable responsibility ofsupervising the CIC, theexecutive officer of adestroyer or destroyer escorthad to have a quick mind.Duringatorpedorunitfelltohim to perform the exactingwork of selecting the ship’scourse to put it in optimumposition to fire its torpedoes.A computer was available tohelp with the mathematical

chore. But computers, evensimple durable mechanical-analog devices like the first-generation Mark 1A fire-control computer, could fail.In those cases, the humanmindhadtostepintothevoidand determine the target’sspeed and course, his ownbest firing course, thetorpedo’s optimum speed,andall thedifficultgeometrythat thatwork involved. BobRoberts’s mind was among

thebest.Copelandcalledhim“asfastasaslideruleandasaccurate as a micrometer …an A-1 crackerjack boy, assharp as a phonographneedle.”Bob Roberts probably

lookedatayoungofficerlikeJohn LeClercq, so full ofniceness and interpersonalengagement, and saw agreenhornwhoneededalittletoughening. The exec knew

how to focus impressionableminds by hitting themwherethey were strong. Once hepulled LeClercq aside andtold him he didn’t like hisattitude toward theNavyandthoughthedidn’ttakeenoughinterest in hismen.LeClercqrated himself highly on bothcounts and seethed at theremark for weeks. Later, heexacted an underling’s brandof revenge. When he wasscheduled to take the ship’s

whaleboat to retrieve thepunctiliousexecfromliberty,LeClercq found a defensiblereason to be three and a halfhourslate.Heandhisbuddy,the juniormost officer on theship, Dudley Moylan, got alaugh out of the passiveinsurrection. But LeClercqwas dead serious aboutavenginghishonorasafriendof the crew. “As long as Ihavetheconfidenceandtrustof the enlistedmen,” Johnny

wrote his mother, “Mr.Robertscangotoblazes.”

***

IN NORFOLK, LLOYD GURNETT

pulledsomestrings(orjustaslikely, picked some locks)andrequisitionedforthecrewitsveryownicecreammaker.Theluxuryofcarryingsuchamachinetypicallybelongedtoaircraft carriers and otherlarger ships. Usually escort

vessels contended for theprivilege of rescuing adowned pilot, knowing thattheir reward in exchangewould be five gallons of thefrozentreat.NowtheRobertscouldtendtoitsownneedsinthe realm of icedconfectionery.Before leaving Norfolk,

BobCopelanddecidedtoaddone last recruit to the ship’scomplement. How the dog

first came aboard had less todo with the captain’spreferences than with thedrunken enterprise of someRoberts sailors on shoreleave. The small black muttwas found on the dock,smuggledaboard,andhiddensomeplace where officersseldom went. Before toolong,inafitofcandor,oneofthe sailors went to CaptainCopeland and askedpermissiontokeepthedogon

theship.CopelandandGurnetttook

the dog into the wardroom,sat down over coffee andcigarettes, and decided thatgreater expertise than theirswasrequiredifthedogwastobe made a crew member ingood standing. It was wellafter midnight, but theysummonedDocErwin.Thesleep-ruffledphysician

arrived as ordered, standing

on the cold floor of thewardroom in slippers, askivvyshirt,andcottonkhakitrousers.Asthedoctorrubbedhiseyes,Copelandsaid,“Wehave a new recruit on board,andIwantyoutogivehimaphysical and make out ahealth record for him so thatwe can properly take himupin the ship’s company.”Erwin stared at him. Had hereallybeencalledatthreeA.M.toperforma routinephysical

exam on a new crewmember?Gurnett brought Erwin

somecoffee.“Comeon,Doc,sit down,” he said. Thephysician looked around forhis patient. Copelandgestured beneath the largetable. Erwin looked down athis feet, saw the puppy, anderupted in anger.He told thecaptainwhathethoughtofhisandthefirstlieutenant’slittle

joke. On the verge ofstomping off to his bunk, hewas stopped in his trackswhen Copeland said, “Oh,this dog is going to be theship’smascot,andeverythinghas to be just so.”Grudgingly,thedoctorpulledouthisstethoscopeandgottowork.Hisskipperwasimpressed.

“He really gave the puppy athoroughgoing-over.Hetook

the stethoscope and checkedthedog’sheartandlungs,andhe got the blood pressurething out and wrapped himup. I don’t think he had anymoreideahowtotakeadog’sbloodpressurethanIdid.Hemadeoutacompletemedicalreport on the puppy. He puton a good show for just thetwo of us, Gurnett and me.Then he sent for the chiefyeoman.IthinkhewasasputoutasDr.Erwinhadbeenat

beingbrokenoutofhisbunk.However, he entered into thespiritofittooandmadeupaservice record for the puppy.We forthwith named themascotSammy.”Given the rating seaman

second class, Sammyreceivedarapidpromotiontopetty officer during a tour ofthe boiler room initiated byan obliging fireman whofound him peering down a

hatchtowardtheblackgang’swonderland.Thenoiseof theboilers threw the animal intoa fit. As he relieved himselfonto the hot steel deck, heearned his rating of watertenderfirstclass.A sailor adept at tailoring,

Sam Blue, took a kapok lifejacket and, with a few cutsand stitches, fashioned aminiature life jacket for thedog. Sammy made a splash.

Speculation flew in TheGismo, the ship newsletter,thathehadacanineparamourinTokyoandsawtheDE-413ashisquickestwayacrossthePacific.The teenagers and young

men aboard the Samuel B.Roberts acquired a certaindegree of affection for themammals that touched theirlives, both the one they hadaccidentally killed and the

one they now saved. Withtheir official mascot now onboard, the boys joined bytheir dog, the ship’s journeytothePacificwasdelayednofurther.

Three

From Pearl Harbor,transferred from the Third totheSeventhFleet,theSamuelB. Roberts escorted convoystothenavalbaseatEniwetok,a huge coral atoll whosemassive lagoon, a circularlandscape of coral headsfilled with white sand and

bright blue water, was cutthrough with sleek graywarships. The Roberts madethe Oahu-to-Eniwetok runtwicebeforecontinuingsouthwithaconvoytowardManus,at twodegreessouth latitude,in the Admiralty Islands,where part of the Philippinesinvasionforcewasgathering.Getting there required that

theRobertscrosstheequator,an event that is of some

significance in Navytradition.Whenashipcrossestheequator, it iscommonforone with a significantcomplementofnewcomerstohold a crossing-the-lineceremony. Apart from usualdivisions of rating and rank,menaboardwarshipsfallintotwo classifications: so-called“shellbacks”havecrossedtheequator before; “pollywogs”have not. The distinction istreated as important enough

topushasidethemeritocracyof rank that separates themen.Apollywoglieutenantisstillmerelyapollywog,andashellbackseamanashellback.Onashipfullof reservists

and new recruits like theRoberts,thepollywogsvastlyoutnumbered the shellbacks.Bob Roberts was the seniorshellback. Only two otherofficers, Lt. Herbert W.(“Bill”)

Trowbridge and Lt. LloydGurnett, had crossed theequator before. They werejoined by twenty-five orthirty enlisted initiates of the“charmed circle,” as BobCopeland called them. Therest of the officers and crew,nearly two hundred men,were pollywogs, Lt. Cdr.Robert Witcher Copelandamongthem.Their initiation was as

much theater as ceremonyand asmuch hazing ritual astheater. In preparation, theshellbacks broke out oldswabs, manila line, canvas,and bunting from the ship’sstores and fashionedcostumes for King Neptuneand his “royal family” towear. The screencommander’s signalman, aman named Price, playedDavy Jones, Neptune’smessenger. Bill Trowbridge,

garbedinalong-tailedcoat,asilktophat,agoldenwig,andabigwhitemustache,wastheroyal judge.ToCopeland,he“lookedlikeacountrycircuitjudgeofAbeLincoln’stime.”A carpenter’s mate, DariSchafer, “painted andpowdered…untilheactuallylooked pretty delicious,”wasNeptune’s wife, dolled up inhulaskirtandabrassiere.Theroyal dentist was there, andthe royal barber too. But the

best-of-show prize went toTullioSerafini.Theoldchiefradioman, all 240 pounds ofhim, made an ideal royalbaby.Heshowedupwearingabigdiaperfashionedfromamattresscoveroralargesackandheldwithabigsafetypin.Aside from that, he didn’twearastitch.The initiation began when

Davy Jones, dressed in apirate suit made from black

bunting,declaredthattheshipwasabouttoenterthedomainof Neptunus Rex anddemanded that all shellbacksensurethatthepollywogspaytheir due respects. Copelandhadhisyeomanpassaspecialorder that all crewmen weretowear their undresswhites,and officers to wear theirdresswhites.It began with minor

indignities. An officer who

was particularly unpopularwith the crewwas forced, inthe highest heat of theequatorial day, to sit on thesteeldeckoverthesoundhut,abovethepilothouse,anddona complete suit of foul-weather clothing, whichincluded multiple layerssuitable for the arctic and arubberized topcoat. Over itthey strapped a kapok lifejacket and perched asou’wester hat on his head.

As the officer baked fromwithin, he stayed topside asordered for an hour and ahalf,keepingthewatchwithalarge pair of binoculars.Pollywog Copeland was sentforward to stand by the jackstaff and keep a lookout onthe horizon, using a portablefoghorn as a long glass. Heplayed along gamely, callingto thebridge a steady streamof lookout’s reports:seahorses drawing carriages,

and all manner of otherfanciful trappings ofNeptune’srealm.After the shellbacks

lingered over steaks and arich variety of side dishes,while the pollywogswatchedand waited, the pollywogswere given beans, bread,water, and coffee. Then theinitiateswereordered tohearthechargesagainstthem.Theless memorable or colorful

crewmen were accused of“being a pollywog.” Most,however, had additionalchargestodefend.WhenBobCopeland’sturncame,

I foundmyselfchargedbyKing Neptune with themost heinous of crimes. Ihad killed a whale. Aprotected whale, of allthings, served inNeptune’s royal huntinggrounds for Neptune’sexclusive sport andgame….OnthefaceofitIwasguilty.Thewhalewas

certainly dead. My shiphad killed it. And ofcourse, as everyoneknows, the captain isresponsible for what theshipdoes,goodorbad. Itappeared that I was asguilty as Robin Hood forinvadingSherwoodForestand shooting the bloodyking’sdeer.

AroundeightP.M. all handswere ordered to stand downfor the night. The followingmorning the initiationresumed. The crews aboard

the five other ships in theconvoy’sscreenwereholdingtheir own crossing-the-lineceremonies.Toensurethatatleastafewoftheshipshadafull watch at any given time—thiswas, after all,wartimeand Japanese submarineswereabout—theshipsstartedtheir ceremonies thirtyminutesapart.On the Roberts the

pollywogs were ordered to

the fantail, stripped down totheir shorts, and facedprosecutionfortheiroffenses.Fire hoses were turned onthem—all warships hadfirefighting gear that wouldmake most municipalitiesproud. Bob Copeland wasduly soaked; then the royaldevil, wielding a pitchforkwhose copper tines werewired toahigh-voltage, low-amp electricity source, stuckhimafewtimes,deliveringa

bracing jolt. Ushered beforethe King, charged byLieutenant Trowbridge, theroyal judge, Copelandproduced thesoakedpieceofpaper containing a poem hehad written in his defense.Hisalibiwent,inpart:

Ihit thewhale, thatmuchistrueButIpray,myLord,whatcouldIdo?MyshipwasonamissionboundWhen the royalwhaledid

choosetosound.

My ship, it never had achance.Your whale came rushinglikealance,Straight up at us fromdepthsbelowWe were attacked by anunseenfoe.

The whale we hit, deathwashisfate;Butnot inmalice,rageorhate.NoothercoursewaslefttomeSo self defense is nowmyplea.

After considering the plea,the court handed down averdict requiring the skipperto visit the royal dentist andthe royal barber, kiss theroyalbaby,thenruntheroyalgauntlet. By the time thecaptain, now a shellback,returned tohiscabin tocleanup, he had had his hairsmeared with fuel oil pasteand his mouth washed by avalve sprayer filled withdiesel oil, vinegar, paprika,

and other imponderableingredients; he had planted akiss on royal baby Serafini’sgrease-loaded navel, and hehadrunthegauntlet,crawlingthrough a fifteen-foot canvasventilation tunnel filled witha two-day-old compost ofeggshells, coffee grounds,potato peels, and otherunmentionables, whileshellbacks pounded himthroughthecanvaswithlargewoodenpaddles.

Copeland cleaned up asbest he could, then returnedto the fantail in time to seethe four mess stewards,Washington, First, Butler,and Lillard—the only blackmen on the ship—get theirs.“Thosemessmenwere goodfellows and they took theinitiation in stride. If I everhadanyraceprejudiceinme,the war knocked it out ofme.” The system ofsegregation that kept the

black sailors in the messcould not withstand thebonding effects of thecrossing-the-lineceremony.The only thingworse than

participating in the ceremonywas sitting it out. Watchinghis shipmates run thegauntlet, one crewmanbecamesqueamishandaskedto quit. Lieutenant Robertsdidn’t miss a beat: “We’lldismiss him; he’s out of it.”

Indeed, the ceremony waspurely voluntary. This sailorwas free to go. About twohours later, once it sank inthat he was now the onlypollywog aboard the ship, hereturned and begged to be“giventheworks.”According to Copeland, “I

suppose we were mean, butwe wouldn’t let him haveit…. He had had his chanceandheflubbedthedub.Istill

can’t help but feel sorry forthepoorboy.Iknowwhathemissed.He reallymissed thefeeling of something youcan’tputintowords,afeelingofbelonging.”

***

COPELAND’S CREW BELONGED.There was no more practicalpreparation for war than thefraternal coming together oftheyoungmenwhogave the

Samuel B. Roberts life. AtManus, the ship itself foundnew associations too. OnOctober 12, after BobCopeland and the otherskippers had been briefed onthe planning for OperationKing Musketeer II, as thePhilippines invasion wasknown, the destroyer escortjoined her cousins in theSeventh Fleet: the oldbattleships of AdmiralOldendorf’sTaskGroup77.2,

the escort carriers of TaskGroup 77.4, andmost of theothertincansthatwouldjoinher under the call signTaffy3 for the long journey toLeyte.

Four

ThethreedestroyersofTaffy3—theHoel, the Heermann,and the Johnston— were theonly ships in the SeventhFleet task unit that were notconceived as lesser versionsof a more capable vessel.Escort carriers were bargain-basement aircraft carriers.

Destroyer escorts did thework of destroyers with lessthan half themain weaponryandone-third less speed.Butthe trio of Fletcher-class tincans were deep-seathoroughbreds, members ofthe finest class of U.S.destroyers produced duringWorldWarII.Tin cans. Destroyers wore

the nickname proudly, fornonebettersuitedtheseships

whose three-eighths-inchsteel decks creaked and bentinwave troughsbut rodeoutstorms like corks. Thedestroyers’ forerunners werethe torpedo boats that hadshown their offensive valueas early as the Civil War.Their successes spurred U.S.naval planners to carry theirdesign forward as theindustrializing nationmobilized to defend the farreaches of the hemisphere as

required by the MonroeDoctrine. Assistant Secretaryof the Navy TheodoreRoosevelt championed theconstructionof “torpedoboatdestroyers” seaworthyenough to sail with theoceangoing battle line andprotect it from an enemy’storpedo boats. In the yearsleading up toWorldWar II,as the Navy experimentedwithin the strict zero-sumenvironment bounded by the

variables of size, speed,offensive power,survivability, and cost, themodern concept of thedestroyerevolved.By1944theFletcher-class

destroyers that rode withTaffy 3 represented the stateoftheart.Theywerethefirstclass of U.S. warship to bedesigned free of treatylimitations. Because theirdesign coincided with the

massive ramp-up inproduction during the earlyyears of the war, moreFletcherswereproducedthanany other class of combatantvessel. From the February1942 launching of theNicholas at Bath IronWorksin Maine to the June 1944launching of the Rooks atSeattle-Tacoma, 175Fletcher-class destroyerswould be built by the timeWorldWarIIended.Mostof

them served in the Pacific.Becausetheabsenceoftreatyrestraint enabled the Navy’sGeneral Board to tailor thenew destroyers to theirmission rather than to therequirements of diplomats,the Fletchers were largeships. Overstretching afootballfieldat376½feetinlength, they were far moreimposing than the nickname“tin cans” might havesuggested. It would have

taken Ted Williams’s bestswingtohitabaseballfromaFletcher’s fantail all thewayto its graceful bow. With adisplacement of 2,050 tons(2,700with a full fuel load),they were swift, seaworthy,and stout, with considerablefirepower. Though rated at atop speed of thirty-six knots,the Fletchers carried enoughweaponrytomakethebiggestenemy feel their punch—tenMark 15 torpedoes, five

single-mounted five-inch/38-caliber guns, a formidablethicket of twenty- and forty-millimetermachineguns,tworoller racksofdepthcharges,and the sophisticated sensingequipment to land them ontheir targets. That ships soswift could span the distancefrom home plate in FenwayParktotheGreenMonster indeep left-center field wasimpressive testament to thepoweroftheNavy’sindustry

and technology. Yet in thetaxonomyofU.S.warshipsofthe 1940s, destroyers weremere dust mites comparedwith the new battleshipsnamedforstatesandroamingthe seas on behalf of theirfederalunion.Individual warships draw

much of their personalityfrom two sources: theirmission,andthepersonalitiesof their most prominent

officers and chiefs. Withdestroyers, a certain tensionexistedbetweentheirmissionand their mind-set. Theirmission had long beendefined by the Navy’sexpectation that any waragainst Japan would involverefighting World War I’sBattleofJutland:heavyshipstrading salvos at long range;destroyers standing faithfullyby thebattle line, interposing—screening—as needed to

protect the higher-valueships. The destroyers’offensive value was largelyanafterthought.Destroyer commanders

tended to have a moreexpansive view of theircombat potential.Recognizing the power oftheir principal armament—torpedoes—toturnthetideofa battle, they chafed at theirrole as auxiliaries. But even

astheJapanesewereravagingAmerican fleets in theSolomon Islands withtorpedoes and aggressivetactical doctrine that madetheir destroyers giant-killers,and even as carrier aircraftwere proving decisive atMidway and elsewhere,American tacticians insistedon the supremacy of theheavygunandrefusedtofreedestroyers to operate in anoffensiverole.

As the war proceeded, thebig ships won followingsback home with front-pageheadlinesandphotos.Buttheless glamorous grunt workperformed by the destroyershelped make their largercousins’ iconic statuspossible. They worked theouter perimeter of their taskforces, pinging the deep forsubmarines andwatching theskies for planes. “Tin cans”may have been the moniker

that stuck to them, but aHeermann sailor appreciatedtheirtruenature:“thehuntingdogs of the fleet.” Theirvigilant work allowed theirmore regal principals tomaintain the illusion ofinvulnerability. Thoughbattleship guns were oftendecisive wherever theyengaged, as often as not thebigger ships assertedthemselves by their merepresence. Destroyers and

destroyer escorts assertedthemselves with theirweapons or did not assertthemselvesatall.If battleships and carriers

were corporations, withpayrolls of thousandsmanaged by a bevy of mid-levelmanagerswhoworethegoldstripesoflieutenantsandlieutenant commanders,destroyers and destroyerescorts were mom-and-pop

shops. Where the capitalshipscarried themselveswitha certain institutional hubristhat existed apart from themenwho ran them, the DDsand DEs were steel-platedextensions of their mostprominent individual officersandchiefs.Inthisrespect,thestandard persona of a fleetdestroyer was made uniqueby the shaping and moldingof human hands. BobCopeland shaped the identity

oftheSamuelB.Roberts.Butin that respect, among theskippers of Taffy 3’s screen,hewasnotunique.The leader of the seven

ships that screened the sixescortcarriersofTaffy3wastheUSSHoel.Commissionedon July 29, 1943, at theBethlehem Steel shipyard inSan Francisco, theHoel hadthe luxuryof two competent,popular skippers: the current

boss, Cdr. Leon Kintberger,and the former captain inwhoseshadowheworked:hispredecessor, Cdr. WilliamDow Thomas, who stayedaboard as Taffy 3’s screencommander.Barrel-chested and good-

humored,Thomashadbeenapopular captain. Hispopularity and knack forcommandearnedhimthejustdesserts of the skipper who

does his job a bit toowell—he got promoted straight outof it. Newly promoted andawaiting reassignment, hewas not able to get off theHoel before the Leyteoperationbegan.Sohechosetoremainaboardhisoldshipas commander of Taffy 3’sseven-ship screen. He couldbe found in the wardroomeverynight,playingcribbageover coffee. Kintberger,cheerful and pleasant,

handled the inevitablebenignpressure of Thomas’scontinued presence withaplomb and grace. AlfredThayerMahanhadwrittenofthe “Nelson touch,” apersonal style of commandfavoring cordial socialrelations with officers,professionalappreciation,andconfidence.TheNelsontouchwas “rarely the result ofcareful calculation, butbespeaks rather the inner

graciousnessof theheart that[Nelson] abundantlypossessed.” The Hoel’swardroom seemed to operateby Nelson’s principle. Noteveryshipwassofortunate.Cdr. Amos T. Hathaway,

age thirty, hadoncebeen theHoel’s executive officer. Asexec, he was effectively theship’s general manager,Commander Thomas’s righthand in all matters. He

imposed discipline. Hemaintained thegoodorderofthe crew, the upkeep ofequipment, set the dailyschedule, and oversaw itsfulfillmentbytheseniorpettyofficers.As boss of theCIC,he was the ship’s eyes andears. But the way heinterpreted and acted uponthe things he saw and heardwas seldom to the liking oftheHoel’screw.

Hathaway was a martinet,as disliked by his men asThomas was admired. Asmartinets are wont to do, hedisposedofhisdutieswithanexacting severity. That traitserved him well, forexecutive officers seldomadvance by gaining theaffections of underlings.Shortly before the HoeljoinedTaffy3,Hathawaygotapromotionandcommandofhisownship.

Themen of theHoel whohad the closest acquaintancewithhispredationsandmindgames quietly cheered hisdeparture. But that departuretook him only as far as theother side of the formation.When Amos T Hathawaytook command of theHeermann, one destroyer’srelief became another one’spain.As the new skipper of the

Heermann, Hathaway madehismarkquicklyenough.Theday before hewas to inspecthis crew at a full muster, heasked his chief yeoman andcaptain’s talker, HaroldWhitney, to bring him theservice records of the fullcrew.Hespentthenightwiththe records and the next daydemonstrated the power ofhis photographic memory bywalking down the ranks,stopping at every fifth or

sixth man, and asking abouthis wife, family, andhometown,bynameandwithnaryamistake.Though he stood six foot

four, heweighed around 130pounds.With sunken cheeks,protrudingears,andeyesthatnaturallybugged,hewaswirynot only in physical bearingbut in voice and attitude too.He was reflexively peevishand relished keeping his

officers off balance and ontheir guard. His memorymade him a marvelousstickler for “Rocks andShoals,” as the Navyregulations, Articles for theGovernment of the Navy,wereknown.Hewouldrejectwritten reports withoutcomment—“This is wrong.Fix it.” But he was just aslikelytoupbraidsomeoneforslavishly following the ruleswhentheydidn’tsuithim.

The patrician collegialitythat marked many Navywardrooms was altogethermissing from theHeermann.The native Coloradoan’sshrill voice could often beheard chastising someoneover one or another point oforder. “He was a son of abitch,” said a formerHeermann officer fifty-sixyearsafterthefact.“HemadeCaptain Queeg look like asissy.” That officer wasn’t

alone in his ill sentiments.The Heermann’s physician,Dr. Edwin Bebb, wasrequired to keep a monthlymedicalrecordoneachoftheship’s officers. Though heknewhewas shielded by hismedical credentials, Bebbfeared his skipper wouldresenthisadverseassessmentofhispsychologyandseekapretexttocourt-martialhim.When Hathaway had been

the Hoel’s exec, hisunderlings could take refugein the kindness of theirskipper, William Thomas.Buton theHeermann, wherehe stood atop the chain ofcommand, Hath-away’s willwas law, and officers whoflouted it by coddlingpersecuted crew membersrisked drawing his fury. TheHeermann’s wardroombuzzed with half-cockedfantasies about doing the

skipper in.Something had tobe done, the thinking went.This was not His Majesty’sNavy circa 1835. This wasAmerica.Someonesuggestedthat it might be arranged forCaptain Hathaway tragicallyto lose his footing out ondeck during a storm. Butregicide was beyond them.Ultimately they settled onless capital forms ofaggression.

One day when Hathawaywas gone from his quarters,someone found a way toinsert a handful of marblesinto the compartment abovehis sea cabin.Every time theHeermann rolled—and likeany destroyer it rolled oftenand deeply—the captain wasserenaded by the clangorouslullaby of the little spheresrolling across the thin steelplatingoverhisbunk.

Such petty conspiracy-mongering bound theHeermann’s crew togetheragainstacommonenemy.AtleastHathawayservedinthatrole until a real foe could beengaged. Perhaps when theshooting started, the crewwould see their skipper’smalignwillasaweaponinitsown right.What forcemightit have when joined withtheirs and turned upon anactualenemy?

TheHoel was run by thepopular duo of Kintbergerand Thomas, the Heermannby the white-knuckledautocracy of AmosHathaway. The fightingculture of Taffy 3’s thirddestroyer, the Johnston, wasthe product of one man’sinspiredleadership:thatofitsfirst and only captain, Cdr.ErnestE.Evans.WhenEvansarrivedat the

Seattle-Tacoma shipyard tooversee the fitting out of thebrand-new USS Johnston,DD-557, he impressed hiscrew immediately with thesubstance of his will. At theship’s commissioningceremony on Navy Day,October 27, 1943, heinformed his raptly attentiveaudience:“Thisisgoingtobeafightingship.Iintendtogoin harm’s way, and anyonewhodoesn’twanttogoalong

hadbettergetoffrightnow.”As if to underscore theinvitation, he added, “Nowthat I have a fighting ship, Iwill never retreat from anenemy force.” Something inthe toneof his voice toldhislisteners that he was deadlyserious. Not one of themacceptedhisoffertoleavetheship ahead of whatevertrouble he had in store forthem.

Indeed hewas serious. Asan officer aboard the WorldWar I-era four-piperdestroyer Alden, Evans hadwitnessed the disaster of theBattle of the Java Sea inFebruary 1942, in which aJapanese heavy cruiser forcemadeshortworkofanAlliedfleet. Two weeks after thebattle Evans assumedcommand of the Alden. Buthe never expunged from hismind the sting of having to

fleefromtheJapanese.Inthatsense, he came to theJohnstonwithacrosstobear.Evanshadinitiallypursued

military service with thedreamofbecomingaMarineofficer,butanappointmenttoAnnapolisescapedhim.SoinMay 1926, at the age ofnineteen, he said farewell toMuskogee, Oklahoma, andenlistedintheNavy.Thirteenmonthsafterhisenlistmenthe

won entrance to the NavalAcademy class of 1931 viafleet competition. HisAnnapolis midshipman’smoniker, “the Chief,” wouldprove to be apt for at leasttworeasons.First,hewasbynature always in charge.Anyone who met him couldfeel the way his charismanaturally filled a room.Thenthere was the matter of hisproudCherokeeheritage.Hisancestry was not

overwhelmingly evident inhisappearance.Thesetofhisdark-browed gaze, the largechest,andthesubtlesmirkofhis lips accented by a neatblack mustache made himlook like a somewhat stouterincarnationofClarkGable.Itwasclear toallwhomethimthatErnestE.Evanswas nota man to trifle with. Hebestrode his narrow bridgelike a colossus. The fightingspirit of his forebears

animatedhim.Evans appreciated the

hidden nature of things, thepowerof theunseenover thetangible. In matters ofdiscipline, he generallypreferredtolettheideaofhiswrath do the work of theactual thing. He neverexploded in anger asHathaway did. He seldom ifever upbraided a subordinateopenlyforpoorperformance.

But then he seldom smiledeither. “He expected everymantodohisjobwithoutanypsychologicalploys,”Lt. (jg)Ellsworth Welch, Evans’santisubmarine warfareofficer, remembered. Evanstrusted people to do theirwork. If they failed, he letthem—he knew instinctively,as they did, that theywouldn’t fail him twice. Henever quite had to spell outthe consequences; the very

thoughtthattheskippermightbecome disappointed wasenough. The Johnston’sgunneryofficer,Lt.RobertC.Hagen, said, “He had greatfaithinallofus,unbelievablyso.Idon’trecallhimsayingamean word to me the wholetime…. The captain was atrue,instinctivefighter….Wewere on a high-class shipbecausethecaptainwashigh-class.”

If Ernest Evans was notdestined to be a Marine, hewould settle, seventeen yearsafter his enlistment, forrunning a warship like one.That meant simply that hewould take care of his men.Hewouldalso, soonenough,take care of Marines. InFebruary 1944, during theinvasion of the MarshallIslands, the Johnston drewshore bombardment duty tosupport Marines advancing

againststiffenemyoppositionon the islands of Kwajaleinand Eniwetok. For Evans, itwas not just anotherassignment. Beyond hisgeneralized desire to grapplewith an enemy, he hadempathy for the mud-slogging grunts moving intothe Japanese killing fieldsashore. He knew this: hecould well have been one ofthem. The Johnston got inclose, sometimes so close as

to pierce the veil of distancethat usually stood betweenNavy men and conditionsashore.For many of the crew it

was their first sightofblood.According to Edward Block,a coxswain, “a landing craftcame alongside with youngkids who had been woundedon the islands. They werebrought to our ship becausewewerecloseintothebeach

andwehadadoctoronboard.ToseethoseyoungkidslyingthereallshotupbroughttearstomyeyesandIcried.TherebutforthegraceofGod…”The crew of the Johnston

witnessed more of it duringthe Marianas campaign,during the bombardment ofGuam. Broadside to thebeach, pounding the caves inthe cliffs above with a fullbattery of five-inch fire, the

Johnston fired so furiouslythatthegunsglowedred.BobHagen had to take theoccasional break, just to letthebarrelscool.Duringalullboatswain’s mate first classBobHollenbaughwentbelowto check on Gun 54’shandling room, when heencountered a young Marinein the care of the Johnston’smedical division.Hollenbaugh approached theMarine, who held fast to

consciousness despite thegruesomefactthathehadhadan arm shot off, and askedhim how he felt. “I’m fine,sir.” The kid told theboatswain’smate thathehadentered theMarines justnineweeks ago. “That kid lookedlike he was about fourteenyearsold,”Hollenbaughsaid.“MyGod.Whatisthisworldcoming to? I’ll never forgetthe expression on that kid’sface. And he still had the

presence of mind to look upatmeandcallmesir.”Evanscaredaboutthekids

fighting ashore. Time aftertime he took the Johnstoncloser to shore than theNavy’s bombardment planspecified. When his allottednumber of shells were firedinto the island—suchquantifiables being carefullymanagedbyhighercommand—he beseeched his superiors

formore.“Damnit,theyneedfire support, andwe’regoingto give it to them,” he said.Twice during the shelling ofGuam, Evans boarded hiswooden captain’s gig, waslowered into the water, andmotored over to the taskgroup’s flagship to ask formoreammunition.Hegotit.“Wewouldpullawayfrom

our positions near the shoreand reload with ammo and

then pull back in to resumefiring,” fireman third classMilt Pehl said. “At timesweweresoclosetoshorethatwewere actually hit by smallarms fire.” In the first yearsince her commissioning,through six invasions, theJohnston never sufferedahitworsethanthat.The full-court-press

gunnery duty placed a lot ofpressureonthemendirecting

the shooting. In Bob Hagen,one of the destroyer’s seniorlieutenants, Evans had thekind of gunnery officer theskipperofafightingshiphadto have. Of the seventy menin his gunnery department—which included not only themenwhomannedandloadedthe guns but also the fire-controlmen in the gundirectorand theradar-men inthe combat informationcenter, the crews on the two

quintuple torpedo mounts,andthe“pingjockeys”onthesonar stack—only seven hadever been to sea beforecomingaboardtheJohnston.Hagen had pushed them

hard in training, teachingthem the job by rote andrepetition. Training a greendeck force, never a smalltask,wasmademoredifficultstill when the manresponsibleforthatjobonthe

Johnston, the chiefboatswain’smate,went“overthe hill” the day before theJohnstonwasscheduledtogoto sea. A ship had to have achiefbosun.IfCaptainEvansdid nothing else to impresshis crew, hewould still haveensuredtheireternalgratitudeforsecuringasareplacementchiefboatswain’smateClydeBurnett.Burnett was a child of the

fleet. An orphan reared insouthTexasbyfourdifferentfamilies, theJohnston’schiefboatswain’s mate began hislifeof service in theCivilianConservation Corps beforeenlisting in the Navy morethan two years before thePearl Harbor attack. Burnetthad just returned froma tourof duty in the Pacific whenEvans found him ashore at aNavyreceivingstationinSanDiego. “The captain put the

make on him,” Bob Hagensaid. “The guy didn’t have achance.”As a superior chief bosun

should be, Burnett was righthand to the captain. ErnestEvans relied on him as aliaison to his enlisted force.In turn, Burnett delegatedtheir supervision anddisciplinetohiscapablefirst-class boatswain’s mates.Harry Longacre ran the First

Division, the hundred-oddsailors who comprised thedeck force on the forwardhalf of the ship. Hiscounterpart aft, boss of theSecond Division, was BobHollenbaugh, a sharp, no-nonsense Indianan whosefather, a machinist’s mate inthe Dantesque boiler roomsof a World War I-erabattleship,hadcounseledBobto get a topside rating at allcosts.Hollenbaughperformed

his duties cleanly andprofessionallyandwithnotalittle relish.On a crewmadeup mostly of first-timeseagoers,his,Longacre’s,andBurnett’s most vitalcontribution was theirexperience.Burnett proved to be a

popular chief. The boyishtwenty-four-year-oldwith thelantern jawandquietmannerwatchedover thekidson the

Johnston’s deck force like afather.Thekidswhoswabbedand painted and scraped andloaded supplies and took onfuellovedhimlikeone.But forging a crew into a

hardenedfightingunitmostlyrequired, not love, butdiscipline and ruthless,repetitivedrill.InthatrespectEvans prized LieutenantHagen’s tough, stickler’snature. He let his gun boss

draw up the general quartersorbattle stationsassignmentsandgavehimthediscretiontocall the crew to GQ mostanytimeheliked.Hagenusedthat freedom liberally, somuch so that the Johnstonacquired its own inevitablenickname, long before itreached a combat zone, “GQJohnny.” When the claxonsounded, the men raced totheir guns and searched fortargets. For antiaircraft

gunners, there were longnylontargetsleevestowedbypilots—very brave pilots—from the nearby air station.Crews on the five-inchmounts fired on sleds pulledbehind tugboats—very bravetugboats—at varying rangesonthesurface.Ittookalotofdrillforthe

crew’s proficiency to live upto the precision of theirequipment. Each of the

Johnston’s five-inch gunmounts was engineered withthe precision of an outsizeSwiss watch. The turretassemblieswere three storiestall, running deep into thebowelsof the ship.Eachgunmount sat atop anammunition handling room,where crew loaded shellsonto hydraulic hoists—dumbwaiters—that whiskedthe shells upward.Below thehandling room was a

magazine that fed all thehandlingrooms.Among the greatest

innovations of the 1940s-eraNavy were the radar fire-control systems with whichall new surface combatantswere equipped. Unlike theweapons on the smallerdestroyerescorts, thegunsofa Fletcher-class destroyerwere controlled centrally byits gunneryofficer.Seated in

the enclosed gun directorplatform high above thebridge, Hagen operated atwo-handled steeringmechanismthatcontrolledtheaimingoftheJohnston’s fivemain gun mounts. WhenHagenorderedtheguncrewsin the mounts to “matchpointers,” thegunscame intoalignment with the director,and the gun captainsrelinquished control of theirmounts to Hagen. At that

pointthetwomenbesidehimin the gun director, thepointer and trainer—teenageenlisted men named GeorgeHimelrightandJamesBuzbee—took over. They keptwhatever they were shootingat fixed in the crosshairs oftheir telescopes, one forgauging bearing (ordirection), the other gaugingelevation(ordistance).Inheavyseas,thesightofa

destroyer’s five director-controlled guns swaying inunisontostayontargetastheship pitched, yawed, androlled could be unsettling.This synchro-gyroscopicwizardry relegated the menmanningthegunstoauxiliarybackups whose duties wentbeyondsimpleloadingonlyifthe system broke down. Aslongas rangeand targetdatakept feeding the fire-controlcomputer,theyhadnoaiming

to do and little discretion toexercise.Guncrewshadonlyto pull rounds off thehydraulic shell hoist and laythem in front of the powdercanistersintheslidingbreechtray. Their most immediatechallenge was to keep theirfingers and hands fromgetting crushed between aheavy shell and the breechmechanism.In another day, eyesight

was essential to gunnery.Optical rangefinders wereuseful to a point, but thecriticalworkofspottingshellsplashes and correcting aimbelonged to those with thesharpest eyes.By1944,evenin its first generation,American fire-controltechnology was so good thatitcouldmakeatopperformerout of a man who wouldprobably have been unsuitedtothejobnotlongbefore.

At age seventeen, havingbeatenoutsixtyapplicants incompetition for the honor,Bob Hagen arrived atAnnapolis as an aspiringplebe—onlytogetsenthomethat same day for flunking aroutine eye exam. He optedfortheenlistedroute,scrapedpaintfortwoyearsaboardthebattleship Texas, thenreturned to the States toattend junior college andfinishhisbachelor’sdegreeat

the University of Texas. Inhissecondbidforanofficer’scommission, Hagen attendedthe reserve officer “ninety-day wonder” program atNorthwestern University. InSeptember 1941 in Chicago,Bob Hagen at last got hisensign’sgoldstripe.Hagen saw action almost

immediatelyoffGuadalcanal,as assistant communicationsofficer and radar officer

aboard the destroyer AaronWard. In a ferociousnighttimesurfaceengagementagainst superior Japaneseforces inNovember1942,hetook shrapnel to his leftbiceps, nearly bled to deathfrom hiswounds, andwon aSilver Star for gallantry.Returning to the States toconvalesce, he decided thathe would rather pursue hiscareer in gunnery than incommunications. “The gun

boss could fire a hundredshotsandhitonceandhe’sahero,” he said. “Incommunications,ifyouscrewup[intranscribing]oneletter,all hell breaks loose, andyou’ve committed a mortalsin. I said to myself, ‘I’dratherbeahero.’”

***

HAGEN FINISHED GUNNERY andfire-control school in

Washington,D.C.,learningtouse thegyroscopesandservomotors that ensured thatimperfect eyesightwould notimpedehisadvancement.Forcertain specialized purposes,theJohnston’sMark1Afire-control computer and Mark37radarwerebetterthananypair of spectacles, if rathermoreexpensivetoclean.Following her

commissioning at Seattle-

Tacoma, during theJohnston’s shakedown cruiseoffSanDiego,Hagentackledthe challenge of training hiscrew of inexperiencedpollywogs to operate thesophisticatedgunnerysystem.“We were all so green. Thegun crews didn’t know whattheyweredoing,andIwasn’tso sure what I was doingeither,” he said. In the firstdays of shakedown, whendrills were going poorly,

Hagenwrote a friend aboardanothership,“Stayoutofourgun range—anything canhappen.” He was in CaptainEvans’sthrall,eagertopleasehis charismatic skipper. Butthecaptainmade itplain thatHagen was on his own inbringing his gunners toproficiency. This freedom tohang himself with his ownhawser was nearly as bad assuffering under an ill-temperedmicromanager. The

pressurebegantogettohim.BobHagenwas“anervous

wreck” during shakedown.Well groomed and intense, acompulsive smoker,disdainful of repose, Hagenhad an intellect as sharp ashis personality. Intelligenceandinitiativewerederigueurfor a destroyer officer. On asmallshiptheperformanceofa few key individuals couldmakeorbreakher.Hagenhad

little patience for those whostruckhimas slowor stupid.In drawing up generalquarters station assignments,he distinguished the thinkingmen from rote operators,installing the latter in thesweaty jobs in the handlingroomsandmagazinesandtheformerinsonar,CIC,andfirecontrol, where humandiscretion could make adecisivedifference.

Unlike his captain,Lieutenant Hagen didn’thesitate to dress down anunderperformerinfrontofhisshipmates. Aware of theirgrowing resentment, hebecame cautious among thecrew. When possible, heavoided walking the decksalone at night, for fear anembittered sailor might“accidentally” knock himoverboard.

Butmanymenwerefirmlyconvinced that Bob Hagen,like Clyde Burnett, was oneof the best things that couldhave happened to theJohnston. In six weeks ofdrill his program of trainingturned the gunnerydepartment into a competentworking team. Boatswain’smate first class BobHollenbaugh was especiallysharp.ThecaptainofGun54,mounted on the stern of the

ship, had the initiative andsavoir faire to lead youngenlisted men effectively.HagenalsohadconfidenceinLt.JackBechdel,his torpedoofficer,andinJulianOwen,aresourceful gunner’s matewith a knack for repairingbrokenmachinery.Thecrewsinthefivemain

gun mounts—numbered 51,52,53,54, and55 frombowto stern—competed for

bragging rights as the ship’sfastest gungang.An averagerateoffireforafive-inch/38-caliber crew was fifteenrounds per minute. Gun 55,the rearwardmost mount onthe ship, got off eighty-fourrounds in one four-minutefiring drill, an average oftwenty-one per minute.Withresults like that,Hagendaredto begin feeling his oats.Writing again to the samefriend he hadwarned several

weeksbefore to stay clearofhis scattershot batteries, thelieutenant discarded allmodesty: “You may nowbring on the Japanese fleet.”Before an opposing fleetappeared in his sightingtelescope, however, theapprentice gun boss wouldfirst have to prove hisproficiency in action againstenemyshoretargets.During the bombardment

ofKwajalein in theMarshallIslands, Hagen wielded thehammer that Evans used tosupport the Marines. Therethestricttrainingregimenandthe engineered precision ofthe radar-controlled gunnerysystem came together at last.Captain Evans took the shipin close to the beach,dropping anchor to stabilizeher as a gun platform on thenorthern edge of the landingzone, which frogmen from

the Navy’s UnderwaterDemolition Teams hadmarkedwithnavigationlightsvisible only from the opensea.Hagenwas“nervousasacat,” gripping his slewinghandles with white knucklesas the destroyer closed withenemy shore gunners. “Theycould have machine-gunnedus to death, and we weretrying to figure out how todefend ourselves,” he said.“All of a sudden over the

loudspeaker came this song,and the lyrics, ‘A sleepylagoon…’”Hagenfoundthatwell-trained crewmen couldbringhumor toany situation.Call it the product ofconfidence.

***

ATCLOSERANGEtheJohnston’sentire chorus of weaponrycame to bear on the island.There was the sharp,

earringing bark of thefiveinchers, the rhythmicthumping of the twin-mounted forty-millimetermachine guns, and the fastermetallicchatterofthesingle-barreledtwenties.Menfromadamage-control party brokeoutriflesandmadelikeDavyCrockettfromthemaindeck.Lt.(jg)EllsworthWelchtookout his. 45-caliber pistol,outstretched his arm, andenfiladed the distant enemy

withthehandgun.From his perch in the gun

director, Hagen spied aJapaneseofficeronthebeach,waving a saber, rallying histroops to the fight, andthought,Whynot?Heputtheofficer in the sights of hisslewing device. The fire-control computer clicked andwhirred and zippedcoordinates to the Johnston’sfive main gun turrets. When

Hagen closed the firing key,they all barked as one. Thetechnology lived up to itsbrutalpromise.Thefive-shellsalvoobliteratedtheman.“Mr.Hagen, thatwasvery

good shooting,” calledCaptain Evans from thebridge.“Butinthefuture,trynot to waste so muchammunition on oneindividual.”

Five

The thirteen warships thatweregatheredunderthecodename Taffy 3, their crewstotaling about 7,200 men,sailedunder thecommandofRear Adm. Clifton AlbertFrederick Sprague. He wasoneof thenewgenerationofnaval officerswho hadmade

theircareersinnavalaviation.A graduate of the Annapolisclass of 1918, he had beentagged with the nickname“Ziggy” for the kinetic styleof his gait—limbs agangle,“tousled hair swinging foreand aft”—as he shuffled offtoclass.Thoughjustfivefeetnine inches tall, he wassturdily built, a skilled andenthusiastic baseball player,and according to a NavalAcademy classmate, “clever

innearlyeverysport.”Spraguehadheard thecall

of the sea at an early age,from his family’s oceanfrontcottage in Rockport,Massachusetts, thirty-fivemiles up the coast fromBoston. There he had spenthis childhood summersfishingfromthejettiesof thepicturesque Headlands withBuster, his Irish setter, andprowling the rocky shoreline

of Sandy Bay with hisyounger sister,Dora, huntingfor crabs to use as bait. Hisattraction to the oceanbecame so strong as to bephysical; he had to be nearthe sea. To Clif Sprague,traveling even a few milesinland was like entering avast,ariddesert: tolerableforshort stretches but leavinghim eager to reimmersehimself in the ion-chargedsaltair.

For the newly mintedensigns pouring out ofAnnapolis, naval aviationoffered fresh career paths tobe blazed, unprecedentedopportunities to learn and tolead.In 1919, as Lieutenant

Spraguewasservingonboardthe USS Wheeling, theGeneral Board of the Navydeclared that “fleet aviationmust be developed to its

fullest extent.” The board, acommittee of admirals whocounseledthesecretaryoftheNavy,predictedthatinfuturenaval battles “the advantagewill lie with the fleet whichwins in the air.” Embracingthe dangers and uncertaintyofthefieldatatimewhenitspreeminence was anythingbut assured, Ziggy Spragueand the Pensacola class of1921werepioneers.WhenhefinishedPensacola’sfledgling

aviation program after ninemonths of flight training, hejoineda smallcadreofnavalofficerswhowerequalifiedtofly. Sprague knew changewas coming, and hepositioned himself tocontribute to it. Hisassignments throughout the1920s exposed him to thelatest thinking in carrieroperations. Assigned toPhiladelphia’s naval aircraftfactory in 1923, he helped

engineers work out thewrinkles in the catapultsystems that launched theheavy aircraft from theircarriers. Later, Spragueworked as a test pilot atHampton Roads Naval AirStation in Virginia, assistingthe inventor Carl Norden indevising safe ways to landplanesonacarrierdeck.If Sprague helped create

thisworld,itinturnplacedits

mark upon him. It wasevident in the physicalstructure of his countenance.Early in his naval careerSpragueacquiredwhatpeopleintheaviationtradecalledan“instrument face,” the pug-nosed look of the test pilot.Whenthearresterhookonthetail of his plane snagged thewires stretched across theexperimental flight decksupon which he practiced, asoften as not the jerk caused

his plane to stop withconsiderably greatersuddenness thanhis facedid.His frequent collisions withthe cockpit instrument panelliterallyreshapedthecontoursof his appearance. His nosewas slightly flatter than itshould have been, his teethlooser. Aviation was adangerous business, to besure.Bythetimethewarwasover, nearly a quarter ofSprague’s Pensacola class—

eight out of thirty-four—hadbeenkilledinmishapsontheflightline.Despite this revolution’s

stark dangers, Sprague wasthrilled to be part of it. Helovedairplanes,cherishedthevery idea of flight. But likeanyrevolution,navalaviationcameupagainstareactionaryold guard, many of them atthe highest levels of Navycommand. The battleship

officers, whose traditional“gun club” culture had longdominated the fleet, wantednothingtodowiththeseflakyflying futurists who seemedblind to the beauty andbreathtaking power of aneight-gun main-batterybroadside. Sure, battleshipscarried airplanes. Parked oncatapults mounted on theirsterns and after turrets,floatplanes were useful forscouting and gunnery

spotting. But by and largethey were consideredbothersome contraptionsnotorious for soiling thehandsome teak of thedreadnoughts’ quarterdeckswithoilandgrease.As for the men who flew

them,theoldguarddidn’tseecommissioned aviators asspecial or different. Theywere simply regular officerswith a peculiar specialty.

Naval aviation was asideshow. This conceitrevealeditself inthefact thatin 1923 eighty-eight out ofthehundredpilotstrainedthatyearwere transferredback toduty in surface ships so thatthey could sharpen theirtalents as line officers.Advocates of airpowerresisted this chauvinism,stating that “aviation isessentiallyandfundamentallya different profession….

Practically every country intheworld…hasacceptedtheassignment of personnel toaviation as a permanent lifework.” But the old guard atAnnapolis would hear noneof it. Chief of NavalOperations William S.Benson listened to theproponents of the brave newwild blue world anddismissed it all as “just a lotof noise.” The officer heappointed to supervise the

Navy’sairarmheld the loftyrank of lieutenant juniorgrade.By the mid-1920s,

however, while ZiggySprague was trying outcatapults and putting arrestersystemsthroughtheirpacesatthe Ana-costia Naval AirStation near Washington,D.C., neither rhetoric noradministrative gamesmanshipcould trump the arrival of an

idea whose time had come.The U.S. Navy was on itsway to becoming a carrier-based fleet. The Lexingtonand the Saratoga wereoperational, converted inmidconstruction frombattlecruisers to aircraftcarriers. The move was inpartmotivatedbytheneedtosatisfythenewlimitationsonlarge warship constructionthat the Washington NavalTreaty imposed upon the

United States, Britain, andJapan. But theirtransformation was also aclear sign of the shape ofwars to come. Their eight-inch main batteries wereshunted aside to starboard,making room for spaciousflight decks that stretchedfrom stem to stern. Beneaththose 888-foot expanses ofwood, the flywheel catapultsSprague had tested wouldlaunch aircraft into the sky.

On landing, they would bebrought safely to a stop bythe arrester wire systems hehad helped Carl Norden torefine.In 1925 Sprague married

AnnabelFitzgerald,whomhehad met at a naval officers’party on Christmas Day,1924. Their wedding wasnotablefortheabsenceofherbrother, a wanderer whosemigrations seemed to

intensifywhenever importantfamilyoccasionsloomed.Shewas not close to F. ScottFitzgerald; she did notapprove of the author’s fastlifestyle. Annabel must havebeen dismayed at some leveltoo by the life her husbandhadchosen.Hewasawayonassignment when their firstdaughter was born and wasroutinely called to service attimeswhenhisfamilyneededhim. Courtney, his first

daughter, would one dayexplain, “The Navy was hislife,anditcamefirst.Itneverentered our minds that theNavydidn’tcomefirst.”InMarch1928,assignedto

the Lexington, Spraguemovedfromthelaboratorytothefrontline.Hewasgivenaplum,highlyvisiblejobasitsflight deck officer andassistant air officer. Like acello virtuoso appointed to

conduct a symphony, theveteran test pilot relished theintricacies of command.Orchestrating themovementsof planes and the tempo offlight operations aboard shipdrewonalloftheknowledgehe had gained, all of theinstinctshehaddeveloped inprevious assignments. Helearnedhowtocoordinatetheflight deck crews as theymoved planes for launch andrecovery operations and how

to anticipate what weaponsand equipment would beneeded and when, thesequence inwhich theywereto be used, and the order inwhich the planes would flyofftheship.Herehearsedthechoreography that wouldmake theLexington, home totwo thousand sailors andseventy-two airplanes, anefficientfightingship.Though distrust of the

Japanese was widespread inthe Navy, Sprague wasamong the first to appreciateexactly what the Japanesemight do. In June 1928 theLexington participated in amocksurpriseattackonPearlHarbor. By night the shipcrept to within 250 miles ofthe great Pacific base andlaunched its planes at dawn.As theAmericanplanes flewclose overhead, interruptinginnumerable breakfasts with

the rattling reverberations oftheir piston-driven enginesand an onslaught of flour-filled sacks dropped fromtheir bomb bays, thedefendersonOahureceivedabracingglimpseofthefuture.To Sprague and others innaval aviation, it was proofenough of the hitting powerof their new weapon. Thefollowing year the Lexingtontook part in a successful airraid drill on the Panama

Canal. Slowly but steadilyaircraftcarrierswerebreakingthe battleship’s monopoly inthe business of projectingoffensive power at sea.Sprague spent fourteenmonths aboard theLexingtonbefore doing a tour on shoredutyinMay1929.Hewasinthe vanguard of the newwave.Butifanylessonsweredistilled from those earlymock assaults on the PacificFleetHeadquarters, theNavy

had all but forgotten themcomeDecember7,1941.Thatday,ascaptainof the

seaplane tender Tangier,Sprague watched every shiptiedup toFord IslandexcepthisgethitduringtheJapaneseattack. Loaded withtorpedoes, an infernoawaiting its spark, theTangier early in the battlebecame shrouded in smokefrom the burning wrecks

aroundher.Thepreviousday,December 6, Sprague hadupbraided his crew for theirsloppyperformanceduringanintensive series of drills. Hebrokewith his nature and letthem have it. Gathering hisofficers in the Tangier’swardroom, Sprague said,“We’re not prepared. Wecan’t trust theJapanese.Howdo you know the Japanesewon’tattacktomorrow?”Thenext morning the Combined

Fleet struck. The Tangier’sgunners were by manyaccounts the first in theharbortofireontheJapanese.They brought down threeenemy planes, and their shipwasneverhit.Among his classmates in

the Annapolis class of 1918,however,Spraguewasamongthe last to lead an aircraftcarrier into action. ForrestSherman was captain of the

Wasp as early as 1942. J. J.“Jocko” Clark commandedthe Yorktown. ThomasSprague—no relation to Clif—began skippering theIntrepid in June 1943.WhenSprague was ashore atAnnapolis serving as a flightinstructortenyearsoutoftheacademy, one of his studentswas a man who wouldbecome the most publiclyacclaimed naval officer sinceDewey. Capt. William F.

Halsey decided early on tostake his professionalfortunes on the wings of thenaval air service. “I waseating, drinking, andbreathing aviation,” Halseywroteinhismemoirs.“Iflewasoftenas…ZiggySpraguewouldgivemearide.”WhileSherman,Clark,and

Tommy Sprague were livingonthesharpedgeofthenavalair war against Japan, Ziggy

Sprague was ashore, firstsupervisingairdefensesalongthe Atlantic and Gulfcoastlines of Florida, thencommanding Seattle’s SandPoint Naval Air Station. Butsoon enough Sprague wouldhave a new seagoingcommand. It would onlystrengthen his appreciationfor what carrier-basedairpowercoulddo.In October 1943 Sprague

took command of the newlyminted Essex-class fleetcarrierWasp, the ninthNavyship to carry that storiedname. The Wasp’s mostrecent namesake, captainedbyForrestSherman,hadbeensunkbyaJapanesesubmarineoff Guadalcanal the yearbefore. But Americanindustry saw to it thatWaspnumbereightwasreplacedbyan even more formidableship. Built to house nearly

3,500 officers and crew, theWasp’s newest incarnationwas launched at Quincy’sFore River Shipyard onAugust17,1943.ZiggySpraguewasslowto

make his mark on the newship,sloweventobenoticed.The ship’s newsletterreported that CaptainSprague,truetomodestform,“came in quietly and tookoverwithsolittlefanfarethat

itwasseveraldaysbeforetheword got around.” But therewas no doubting hiseffectiveness. One ofSprague’sofficers aboard theWaspwasLt.JohnRoosevelt,the youngest son of thepresident who would shortlymake Sprague an admiral.Lieutenant Roosevelt wrotethat Sprague “took a verygreen crew and molded ustogether into a unit that eachand every one of us had a

personalpridein.”At the Wasp’s

commissioning ceremony inBoston,Spraguehad told theassembled crew, “The airgroup is the only reason forthe carrier’s existence.Remember that…. Theircomfort andefficiency isourmajor concern.… A carrier,offensively, you know, is nobetter than the air group itsupports.” They were the

wordsofatruefly-boy.Sprague’s appreciation for

his air groups was shared atthe highest level of carriercommand. The Navy’sleading maestro of carrieroperations, Vice Adm. MarcA. Mitscher, knew that apilot’s value went beyondeconomic calculation. “Youcan train a pilot for $50,000.But never, ever tell a pilotthat,”Mitscherwould tellhis

biographer. “We can’t buypilots with money…. Thewhole striking force of thiscarrier, all we spend inpreparation and operation upto this point, finally isspearheaded by a hundredyoung pilots. Each of theseboys is captain of his ownship. What he thinks, hisconfidence in what he isdoing, how hard he presseshome the attack, is exactlyhow effective we are…. We

don’t hypnotize them. Thesekidsaren’tcrazy.”As important as pilots

were, good old-fashionedseamanship remainedessential in carrieroperationstoo. On this score Spragueperformed admirably. At thehelm of theWasp under airattackduringtheBattleofthePhilippine Sea in June 1944,he maneuvered the ship soskillfullythathedodgedthree

bombs dropped by Japaneseplanes and won the Navy’sLegion of Merit for theengagement.Aboutthreeweekslater,on

July9,1944,CaptainSpraguewas appointed to thetemporary wartime rank ofrear admiral by order ofPresidentFranklinRoosevelt.The president’s son,Lieutenant Roosevelt,observed, “When he was

promoted from Captain toAdmiral, we were all happythat his fine quality ofleadership had beenrecognized but, at the sametime, we felt a personal losswhenhelefttheship.”Sprague,atageforty-eight,

wasoneof theyoungest flagofficers in the fleet. Butadmirals did not commandindividual ships. He wouldleave theWasp and graduate

to bigger things—though inhis case bigger things meantsmaller ships. In August hefound himself assigned tocommand Carrier Division25, which consisted of theescort carriersFanshawBay,Midway, White Plains, andKalinin Bay. When theSeventhFleet’sescortcarrierswere divvied up into threetask units for the Leyteoperation, Carrier Divisions25 and 26were joined under

therubricofTaffy3.Spraguecommanded the combinedunitfromhisflagquartersontheFanshawBay.The Fanshaw Bay’s

skipper, Capt. Douglass P.Johnson, was a gentlemanlyCincinnatian who hadgraduated in the Annapolisclass of 1920 and earned hiswings during the genesis ofnaval aviation. Johnson hadendeared himself to his crew

on the Fanny B.’s maidenvoyage, ferrying aircraft toAustralia. Fleeing an enemysub, Johnson was informedthatthecarrier’sboilerswerereaching their temperaturelimit. In the fine rhetoricaltradition of Farragut,Dewey,andNelson,Captain Johnsonshouted into the voice tube,“Pisson them then.Weneedmorespeed.”Ziggy Sprague was not

ambitious in the outwardlygrasping manner of some ofhis colleagues at the flagrank. His predecessor incommandofCarrierDivision25wasRearAdm.GeraldF.Bogan,whowaspromotedtocommand one of Halsey’sThird Fleet carrier groups.During his tenure aboard theFanny B., Bogan could notseem to bear the perceivedindignity of flying his flagfromthecrampedquartersof

an escort carrier. He madesure his officers and crewparticipated in his misery.Though most were newenlistees and reservists whohadneverbeforebeentosea,Bogan demanded perfectionof them, or at least perfectcompliance with “Rocks andShoals,” which began withthe declaration: “Thecommanders of all fleets,squadrons,navalstations,andvesselsbelongingtotheNavy

are required to show inthemselves a good exampleof virtue, honor, patriotism,andsubordination.”The indelicate assessment

of one senior Fanshaw Bayenlistedmanwas that Boganwasa“first-classhorse’srearend.” And the disdain wasdecidedly mutual. With onlyone officer excepted, Boganlater wrote, “the entire crew[of the Fanshaw Bay] was

incompetent.”Yearsafter thewar he would harborbitterness toward the carrier,decryingitas“theworstshipI’deverseeninanyNavy.”IfBogan’s attitude toward theFanshawBaywasdeterminedby the drag he thought itexerted on his professionalascent, perhaps an ambitiousofficer was bound to hopethat his assignment tocommand an escort carrierdivision was a short one.

Climbing the flag ranksrequired heading to the frontlines with the big fleetcarriers, not sitting in a reararea aboard a dawdlingKaiser coffin. Quiet, gentlyironic,professorialinbearing,Sprague never let his egointerferewithhiswork.As flag commander,

Sprague was no stranger tothe well-being of theFanshaw Bay’s crew. He

made it his business to walkthedecksoftheFannyB.andstay mindful of thepredicaments of the enlistedman.Hisstylehadlongbeenone of good humor andegalitarian informality. Heknew how to put nerves ateasewithoffhandstorytellingandeasygoodhumor,ahabitofcharacter thatwasevincedin the wrinkled laugh-linesaroundhismouth.Hewasthekind of officer who stopped

by the radio room aftermidnight in his robe andslippers to chat over coffeewith whomever he found onduty. At sea he allayedhomesickness by easing theenforcement of certainregulations: the galley andmess hall stayed open at allhours, and gambling, whilenever encouraged, wasquietlytolerated.Asitwasonmore than a fewNavy ships,gambling was a cottage

industry aboard theFanshawBay. Marathon craps andpokergameswererunon thesly in the ship’s metal shopand other hideawaysbelowdecks.Thesharpsoundof dice ricocheting off metalbulkheads could keep a lightsleeper awake through thenight. But Ziggy Spragueturned a deaf ear to it,considering it a harmlessvice. At best it was adependable morale-builder

for enlisted men, far fromhome and at sea for the firsttime.A Fanshaw Bay crewman

recalled, “For the first timewehadamaninchargeofthetask unit who made us feellikewewere on his team.Amanwhowasn’tmadbecausehe hadn’t received anEssex-classcommand.”ZiggySpraguewaswiseto

use a light hand with the

reservists and greenhornenlistees who manned theFanshaw Bay. Coming fromthefactoriesandhighschoolsand cornfields of America,manyhadreceivedaboardtheFanshawBay their first sightof theopensea.Withseveralexceptions among the smallcore of career officers andpetty officers on the ship,theywere the very definitionof a motley crew, in thewords of one, “a

conglomeration of farmers,ranchers, mechanics,scholars,carpentersandabouteverything there isbutactualsailors.”Harold Kight enlisted in

January 1944 at age twenty,joining fifteen of his buddieson a train from Holdenville,Oklahoma, to San Diego forbootcamp.Theoldestoffivechildrenfroma250-acrefarmin Gum Springs, Oklahoma,

southofTulsa,hehadgrownuphelpinghisfathercultivatecorn,peanuts,cotton,pecans,and cattle—whatever wouldsellintheuncertaineconomyofthepost-Depressionplains.Working the fields with histhreebrothersandsistergavehim an appreciation fornature’s bounty. Assigned tothe Fanshaw Bay as aseaman,hestruckforaship’scook rating, working as amess cook in S Division,

which comprised the galleystaff and the ship’s supplydepartment.The quality of food at sea

was a crapshoot whose oddstendedtovarywiththelengthof time the ship had beenaway from port, despite theblandishments of the 1944edition of theCook Book ofthe United States Navy:“Active men need largeamounts of energy, 3,000 to

4,500 calories per day….Planningthemenu,therefore,should be of primaryimportancetothecommissarypersonnel, for upon itdepends,toagreatextent,thehealthandmoraleofthemenin the general mess.” TheCook Book suggested thatmenusbepreparedaweekinadvance. A chart offeredseasonal pattern menus forthe three daily meals—breakfast,dinner,andsupper.

In autumn, a Tuesdaybreakfast should featureorange juice, hot wheatcereal, scrambled eggs andham, coffee cake, butter,milk,andcoffee.Mainsupperdishes included pork sausagelinks and sauerkraut pie,smotheredhamslices,tomatorarebitontoast,andspareribswith barbecue sauce. “Whilethe emphasis in menuplanning is placed on thenutritive value of the food,”

the Cook Book said,“attentionmustalsobegiventoprovidingmealswhichareinteresting, attractive, varied,andsatisfying.Thisishelpfulinmaintaininggoodmorale.”The ubiquity of meat

products on the templatemenus suggests a degree ofoptimism on the part ofWarDepartment nutritionists.CVEs were short onrefrigerated storage space,

and so meat and otherperishablesneverlastedlong.The Army guys who cameaboard from time to timeprofessed to love the food.Coming from their junglehellholes where theysubsisted on lizards, frogs,worms, and who knew whatelse, they must have seen aplate of mutton garnishedwith the ever-present navybeans as an exotic andflavorful indulgence. “Hey,

we had good chow; theybragged on it,” Kight said.“Youcouldn’tfindanybetterbakers than the Navy hadaboard those ships,” he said.The bread was fine, so longas weevils didn’t infest theflour.If the cooks of SDivision

could not hope to please allcomers, at least they couldserve them efficiently. Likethevictorygardensandscrap

metal drives back home, theCook Book reflected thenation’s preoccupation withusing limited assetsefficiently.

[A] large mess serving1,000 men will use lessfoodthantenmesseseachserving 100 men. Toconserve food and avoidgreatamountsofleftovers,the following reductionsare recommended: Formesses of 500 to 1,000men, reduce theingredients in the recipe

by5percent.Formessesof 1,000 men or more,reduce theamountsof theingredients in the recipeby10percent.

The imperative to avoidwastewas contagious. Insidethe front cover of his Navycookbook, Harold Kightscrawleda recipe formakingcottage cheese out of sourmilk:“Pourmilk intodoubleboiler,heatoverwarmwateruntil soft curd has formed,

pour into thin cloth bag anddrain.Removecurdfrombag,break into fine pieces andmoisten with cream andseason to taste.” In thewartimeNavy,youlearnedtomakedo.Youmadefoodoutofwaste.You took shortcutsto get the job done. Indeed,the very same notion ofefficiency and making moreout of less was at the verycoreofthesmallcarriersthatZiggy Sprague would take

intoharm’sway.

***

ESCORT CARRIERS HAD MANY

nicknames,onlyafewtingedwith anything resemblingaffection: jeep carriers,Woolworth flattops, Kaisercoffins, one-torpedo ships.Wagsinthefleetdeadpannedthat the acronym CVE stoodfor the escort carrier’s threemost salient characteristics:

combustible, vulnerable,expendable. That mosteveryone seemed to get thejoke—laughing in that grim,nervous way—was probablythe surest sign that it wasrootedintruth.When the Fansbaw Bay,

the Samuel B. Roberts, andthe rest of Taffy 3 took uppositions off the Philippines,painful memories of theescort carrier Liscome Bay

werestillfreshintheirminds.The disaster that befell herbecame an indelible memoryfor allwho served onCVEs.Before dawn on November24, 1943, Capt. Irving D.Wiltsie was turning his shipinto the wind to launch themorningantisubmarinepatroloff Makin Island in theGilberts chain when anexplosion shook the shipanda tall column of water rosefrom the starboard side.

Faster than the human mindcould register fear, thecollapsing column ofseawaterwas turned tovaporby a massive, flamingsecondaryexplosiontriggereddeepwithinthebowelsoftheship. A torpedo from aJapanesesubthathadslippedpast the screening ships hitthe escort carrier on herstarboard quarter, bursting inthe aircraft bomb stowagecompartment below the

waterline.The explosion blasted

skyward a storm of oil,molten metal, splinters ofburning decking, andshredded human flesh, agrisly potpourri that raineddown on ships of the taskgroup for miles around. TheTaffy 3 destroyer Hoel wasbombarding Makin at thetime. “It didn’t look like anyshipatall,”wroteLt.JohnC.

W Dix, the Hoel’scommunicationsofficer.“Wethoughtitwasanammunitiondump…. She just wentwhoom— an orange ball offlame.”Fourteenpilotsandaircrew

from the Liscome Bay’ssquadron, VC-39, sitting intheir planes awaiting launch,met fiery deaths at thecontrols of their aircraft.Hundredsofmenbelowdecks

wereincineratedbyfire,slainby force of shock, or cookedby superheated steamreleased frombrokenboilers.Flames that would haveoverwhelmed four alarms’worth of firefighters in amajor city formed an infernowhose roar drowned out allbut the loudest shouts. Butthey were quenchedaltogether just twenty-threeminutes later when theLiscome Bay’s eviscerated

hull slipped hissing andgroaning beneath the waves.Lostwithherwere644men,including both CaptainWiltsieandRearAdm.HenryM. Mullennix, thecommander of the escortcarriergroup.The Liscome Bay, a

product of the shipyard atVancouver, Washington, hadsurvived just 109 days fromher commissioning. But for

the rest of the war thememory of her hellish endlurkedintheconsciousnessofanyone aboard an escortcarrier.In 1944 a journalist

traveling with the Taffy 3escort carrier White Plainswrote, “A jeep carrier bearsthesamerelationtoanormalnavalvesselthatisbornetoadistrict of fine homes by arespectable, but struggling,

working-class suburb. Thereis a desperate effort to keepup appearances withsomewhat inadequatematerials and not whollysuccessful results.”Nonetheless, in importantways the Fanshaw Bay andher five sister ships inSprague’sTaffy3taskunit—theGambierBay, theKalininBay, theKitkun Bay, the St.Lo, and the White Plains—were the very emblem of

American power. The waytheywerebuilt anddeployedsignified both the Navy’sunparalleled mastery of thevital business of carrierwarfare and America’scoming-of-age as a nation ofshipbuilders.Likeher largercousins the

Lexington and the Saratoga,the Fanshaw Bay and hersisters in the Casablancaclass of escort carriers were

adaptedfromblueprints foravessel with an altogetherdifferent nature and mission.Anescortcarrierwasbuiltona cargo ship’s hull.Shipbuilding magnate HenryJ.KaiserwastheLeeIacoccaof his day, a visionaryindustrialistwhosenamewasahouseholdword.Amonghisinnovations was the Libertyship,acargovesselthatcouldbe mass-produced virtuallylike an oceangoingModelT.

Using a breakthroughwelding technique,submerged arc welding, thatcould stitch steel plate withmolten rivets up to twentytimes faster than existingmethods, Kaiser’sshipbuilders produced aLiberty ship inanaverageofonlyforty-twodays.Seeing that he was in a

position to bolster not onlyAmerica’s merchant marine

butalsotheNavy’soffensivecapability, Kaiser’s nextbrainstormwastoreconfigurehis merchantmen as aircraftcarriers. However brillianttheir means of construction,Kaiser took shortcuts oncomponents and materials.Escort carriers did not havemany watertightcompartments, a standarddamage-control feature onAmerican combatants. Theships were driven by

inexpensive, idiosyncraticSkinner Uniflow steamengines, peculiar in designand nonconforming withNavy specs for cylinderlubrication, filtering, andqualityoffittings,andforeignto the young mechanicscoming out of America’swartime technical schools. Incombat conditionsbreakdowns were common.The hull of a CVE was nobetter than its engines. High

in sulfur and phosphoruscontent, the thin steel wasbrittle, a deficiency thatworsened when all thehatches, vents, and otherstructuraldiscontinuitieswereaccountedfor.Though compromise had

its costs, it was necessary ifthe ships were to be built intime and the Navy was topursue the war using navalairpower.Theescortcarrier’s

most essential variation fromthedesignoftheLibertyshipwastheadditionofa477-footflight deck. It was made ofwood, inlaid with steelfittingsfortyingdownplanes.The expense of the cross-deck wood planking couldnot be avoided. A carrierspent much of its dayenveloped in an invisiblecloudofaviation-fuelvapors.A dropped wrench, a bombdollyunloaded toohardonto

a metal flight deck, couldcreateasparkthatcouldwellbe disastrous. A woodenflight deck reduced thefrequency of sparks thatcouldigniteacarrier’stinder.If fire was a concern, heatwasn’t. Temperaturesbelowdecks on warshipscruising the equatoriallatitudes were sweltering. Inhis campaign to cut costs,Kaiser did not install blowersystemstoventilatethelower

compartments. Crewssweatedmiserably.Accompanying Atlantic

convoys in 1943, the CVEsand their air groups weredeployed to defendmerchantconvoys against submarineattack. Soon other missionscame their way. There wascertainly no shortage of newCVEs looking forwork. In aone-year sprint of productionfrom July8, 1943, to July8,

1944, Kaiser’s shipyardslaunched fifty Casablanca-classescortcarriers.Ferryingnew aircraft to the front wasone such job, unglamorousbutessential tomaintainingahigh-tempo air war againstJapan. The Fanshaw Bay’sfirst mission was to take aload of P-38 Lightnings toAustralia in 1944. If somebelittled them as “buckets,”escort carriers formed ahighly effective bucket

brigade, carrying urgentlyneeded planes to the farreaches of the Pacific. Andthe Marines soon learned tolove them as well. Sailingwith invasion fleets to giveair support to Americantroops, CVE pilots becameexpert in placing bombs intohard-to-hit caves andcrevices. The learning curvewassteep,butsowasthecosttoJapanesedefenders.

Significantly too, the lowcostoftheCVEswasitsownform of defense. With theescort carriers’ aerial strikingforce spread over a largernumberofsmallflightdecks,the loss of any one ship didlittle to reduce the group’soverall strength.With its sixescort carriers, Taffy 3fielded the same number ofaircraft—about 165—as twolarge fleet carriers. But if aJapanese plane got lucky,

penetrated Sprague’sdefenses, and scored a bombhit that sank one of theirnumber with most of itsplanes aboard, the group’scollective striking powerwoulddropbyonlyone-sixth,not one-half. This simplearithmetic was itself apowerful military virtue.With so many wooden-planked flight decks arrayedagainstthem,betheythe477-footers of the CVEs or the

872-footersoftheEssex-classfleet carriers, Japanhad littlehope of whittling awayAmerica’s control of theskies.The Fanshaw Bay’s

baptism by fire was ratherless calamitous than theLiscome Bay’s. It came inJune, during the invasion ofSaipan, two months beforeSprague came aboard ascommander of Carrier

Division 25 and the othershipsofTaffy3.Launchedbycatapult in his fully loadedTBM Avenger, Lt. (jg)Joseph W Oberlin, one ofComposite Squadron 68’soutstandingpilots, lostpoweron takeoff for a predawnmission.Theplanehittheseaahead of the ship. With thecarrier bearing down on thesinking plane, CaptainJohnson ordered a stop bell.Asengineersinthefirerooms

worked furiously to slow thesteam, the ship narrowlyavoided running over thepilot and his two crewmen.Butafewminuteslater,afterthe VC-68 plane had slippedbeneath the surface, severaldeep explosions shook thewater and rattled the ship’sbrittle hull. It was theAvenger’s depth charges,explodingattheirpreassigneddepth. “Boy, I thought we’dbought the farm, and so did

everyone else!” recalledcrewman Vernon Miller.“The pipes rattled, and thedust about choked us. Butwhenallsettleddownandwegot the full-speed bell again,we were still afloat.”Lieutenant Oberlin and histwoenlistedcrewmen,gunnerDon Yoakum and radiomanGeorge Koepp, were lessfortunate.Theshockfromtheundersea blast killed them inthewater.

Two days later theAmerican invasion forcecame under attack by someseventy Japanese bombersand torpedo planes. LeonardMoser, an aviationmachinist’s mate first class,was standing on a catwalknear the after elevator.Leaning on the rag mop hehadforgottenhewasholding,he watched the Japaneseplanes bear down on theFanshaw Bay. Intense fire

from her gunners and thesurrounding destroyersknocked three Japaneseplanes into the sea. A sleekTony fighter plane survivedthe barrage, flew over theship,puffsofsmokereachingbackfromitsfuselageintoitsslipstreamastheshellsstruckhome. Moser thought theplane would explode inmidair, right above the ship.But thenhesawthebomb.Itfell from the plane’s wing,

arced downward, and struckthe Fanshaw Bay smack onthe after elevator. The bombpenetrated the elevator andexploded inmidairabove thehangar deck below, whereplane handlers were fuelingand arming their aircraft forbattle.The bomb’s detonation

burst Leonard Moser’seardrums and set aflame thebusinessendofhismop.But

themostseriousdamagewasbelowdecks.When the bombexploded, Lt. (jg) TommyLupo, a TBM Avenger pilotfrom New Orleans, and hisroommate were runningacross thehangardeck to theladderthatleduptotheflightdeck. Lupo and his buddywere talking as they ran, andwhen Lupo turned to saysomething to him, hisroommate was headless. Thepilot ran at least five steps

withouthishead.Fire consumed the aft part

of the hangar deck. Fourteenmen died there; twenty-threemore were wounded. Theblast burst a saltwater main,and as water raced throughopen compartments, the shipbegantofounder.Withwaterrushing in faster than thesubmersible pumps couldsend it back out, the shipbegan to list and settle.

Asbestos insulation shookloose from the pipes andducts overhead and chokedthepumpswithitsdetritus.Members of a repair party

dove beneath the surface ofthe chest-deep water,scoopinghandfulsofasbestosfrom the intakes of thepumps.Augmentedbybucketbrigades manned by allavailable hands, the pumpsneededfourhourstobringthe

water level down to thekneecaps. The ship wouldsurvive.The Fanshaw Bay was

lucky. The bomb’s blast hadshredded a thick braid ofintertwined electrical cables,which began to burn,dropping molten chunks ofthe conductive alloy onto arack of aerial torpedoesstacked on the hangar deck.“Whatever kept them from

exploding I’ll never know,”Leonard Moser wrote. “Hadthey exploded, I’m sure itwould have sunk the ship.Godwaswithus.”Offshore of the sprawling

deathscapes of Makin andTarawaatolls,thebombblastleftfourteenmendeadaboardCVE-70. They were dulyburiedatseaenroutetoPearlHarborforrepairs.TheFannyB.was still a lucky ship: she

had been one live igniterswitchawayfrombecomingafull-scale reenactment of thecalamityoftheLiscomeBay.Rear Adm. Clifton A. F.

Sprague had not grown upreligious.Formalworshiphadplayed no role in hisupbringing in Massachusetts.When he made theFanshawBay his flagship on August28, just ten weeks after itsnear catastrophe off Saipan,

he came aboard a ship thathad already once tested theextent of its blessings.Spraguewouldsoonhavehisown opportunity to try thefickle mercy of KingNeptune,orGod.

Six

Warships have two names:the one they are christenedwith and the letters andnumbers that designate theminthefleet’sinventory.ZiggySprague’s flagship theFanshawBaywasnamed fora scenic bay in Alaska, anamethatconferreduponthe

shipan identitybywhich thecrew, the public, and historymight rememberher.Butshewas known to the fleet’srecord keepers as CVE-70,thelettersindicatinghertype,and the number giving herjust enough individuality tosetherapartontheBureauofShips’ledgers.The aviators who made

their home aboard theFanshaw Bay during the

Philippine operation had noname to give them acollective identity.Under thecommandofLt.Cdr.RichardSpalding Rogers fromBerkeley,California,whohadfinishedatourintheAtlanticflying antisubmarine patrolsagainstGermanU-boats,theywere known simply as VC-68.TheletterVindicatedthatthe squadron flew heav ier-than-air vehicles. Thisdesignation was a relic of

naval aviation’s early dayswhen helium-filled dirigiblesappeared to be permanentfixtures in the fleet. The Cindicatedthesquadron’stype:a c omposite squadron, onecomposedofamixofaircrafttypes.Largercarriershadtwoor three distinct squadrons,each specialized by theirmission: VT for torpedobombers, VB for dive-bombers,andVFforfighters.Escort carriers had no such

luxury. One group was alltheyhad.VC-68’s complement of

aircraft andpersonnelvaried.Ittypicallyhadatitsdisposaltwelve to sixteen FM-2Wildcat fighters, eight totwelve TBM-1C Avengertorpedo bombers, and fourpilotsforeverythreeaircraft.It was a versatile mix.AlthoughWildcats no longerflew from the frontline fleet

carriers—those ships fieldedthe F6F Hellcat fighter,superior in every way—theFM-2s were sturdy anddependable. When flownwell, especially at loweraltitudes,Wildcatscouldholdtheir own against the nimbleJapanese A6M Zeros. TheWildcat pilots learned todependontheirplane’snativeadvantages: its armoredcockpit, self-sealing fueltanks,andheavyarmamentof

four .50-caliber wing-mounted machine guns. Onthese inherent strengthssquadrontacticiansdevelopedand refined team-orientedtactics that could defeat thefaster, more maneuverableZeros. Though their primarymissionwasair-to-aircombat—shooting down enemyaircraft while protectingAmerican ships and attackaircraft—the Wildcats couldcarry a light bomb load too.

Their pilots, however, foundto their dismay that thebombs could be difficult todrop: a pilot had not only topullthebombreleasebutalsoto jerk the plane’s rudderback and forth, shaking theplaneinmidflighttodislodgethe bombs from theirnotoriouslystickymountings.TheTBMAvengertorpedo

bomber was a marvel ofaviation engineering, faster,

longer-ranged, and morepowerful than the death trapthat was its predecessor, theDouglas Aircraft Company’sTBD Devastator. Designedby Grumman butmanufacturedlaterinthewaron the more capaciousassemblylinesoftheGeneralMotors Eastern AircraftDivision,theAvengerpackeda tremendous punch. Itsmassive bomb bay couldcarry either a single 2,000-

poundMark13aerialtorpedo—devastating against enemyshipping—or four 500-poundbombs. The plane’s bigweapons bay could hold astill larger number of 100-pound antipersonnel bombsfor attacking troops on theground. Or the planes couldbe outfitted with depthcharges for antisubmarinepatrols. The plane’s wingswere fitted with rails—fouron each side—for firing air-

to-surface rockets five inchesin circumference, useful forblasting targets ashore or atsea. Finally, the Avengershad a pair of wing-mounted.50-caliber machine guns, athird housed in a rotating,flat-sided glass-domed turretbehind the plane’s longgreenhouse canopy, and asmaller. 30-caliber machinegun,the“stinger,”behindtheweapons bay and below thefuselage.Ittookthreemento

fly theAvenger:apilot,whowas usually an officer, andtwo enlisted men—a gunnerto operate the turret and aradiomanbelow.The potential mix of

weaponrymadetheAvengersmarvelouslyversatile.Tacticsevolved to maximize thevalueofallof theseweaponstypes. Avenger pilots couldput their aircraft into ashallowdive, fire theirwing-

mounted machine guns tozero in on a target withphosphorus-tailed tracerbullets,thenletloosewiththerockets, which were alignedto follow the path of thebullets. Avengers carryingbombs could place them ontargetinanynumberofways.They could be dropped fromhigher altitudes or placedwith greater accuracy from ashallow dive. Since theAvengers were primarily

designed to attack shipswithtorpedoes,flyinglevelastheyapproachedtheirtargets,theywere not optimally equippedfor steep dives. They had noair brakes, the flaps ofperforated metal that swungdown from the trailing edgeof the wings to slow andcontroltheplummetingplane.Some Avenger pilots treatedtheir lumbering aircraft likedive-bombers nonetheless,plunging from the clouds to

lay bombs on enemy targetswithpinpointprecision.Theywere as likely to die fromimpactwiththetopofapalmtree as from the inevitablywithering enemy antiaircraftfire.A torpedo attack, uniquely

dangerous,requiredapilot tofly low, slow, and perfectlystraight. The mantra,drummed into every torpedobomber pilot during flight

training,was“needle-ballandairspeed.”Thechallengewasto keep his eyes focused ontwo instruments, the needle-ball, which indicated theplane’s orientation on thehorizontal plane, and theairspeedindicator.Ifthepilotcould keep both instrumentswithin thenarrowparametersneeded fora successfuldrop,the torpedo would enter thewater like a free-styleswimmer hitting the water

from a racing podium: flat,straight,andtrue.Apilotwhoflew too fast, or with anydegree of pitch, yaw, orbounce, or at an altitude thatcaused the torpedo to enterthe ocean with excessiveforce, was likely to see historpedo veer off course or“porpoise.”The cruelty of the torpedo

pilot’s trade was that thegreater his proficiency at

straight,slow,andexquisitelystable flight, the greater hischancesofbeingblownfromthesky.Byreputation,fighterpilots were the wilder breedof aviator—daringindividualists who itched tomatchreflexeswithanenemycounterpart in the skies. Inless sober moments fighterjocks were prone to razz theAvenger guys as “pickleluggers,” their bulky aircraftas “turkeys.” Yet when the

Wildcat drivers paused toconsiderwhattheirbuddiesatthestickofanAvengermightbecalledupontodo—boreinonahostilewarship,oneeyefocused on needle-ball andairspeed, the other on thetarget, alight from stem tostern with guns aimed theirway—fewwereeagertotradeplaces with them. A TBMpilot from the escort carrierSt. Lo, Ens. William C.Brooks,said,“Theylookedat

us and said, ‘Good God, Iwouldn’t get into that thinganddowhatyoudoforalltheteainChina.’”

***

THE OLDEST SALTS ABOARD theUSS St. Lo, its chief pettyofficers,knewa thingor twoaboutshipnames.Theyknewatleastthis:thataccordingtotradition, it was plain badlucktohaveyourship’sname

changed when under wayduring wartime. Theblessings of the Navy’schristening ceremony weremanyandmanifold.You justdidn’tthrowthataway.Ifyoudid, disaster was sure tofollow.Although the Navy

secretary’s custom had beento nameHenry Kaiser’s newCasablanca-class escortcarriers after bays, when

CVE-63cameoffthewaysatVancouver, Washington, onAugust17,1943,thetriumphat the Battle of Midway inJune 1942 was still de-liciously fresh in mind. Andso in a rush of bureaucraticexuberance,perhaps, theshipwas christened two monthslater in honor of the battlethathadturnedthewar’stide.TheUSSMidwaywasborn.But someone in the Navy

Department soon thoughtbetter of giving such anoutsizenametothedecidedlyin-size ship. The honor ofcarrying the name Midwayshould belong to a carriermore majestic than a Kaisercoffin. Midway, the battle,had turned the course of thewar.Midway,theship,shouldreflect the glory of itsnamesake victory just asproudly as the Saratoga andtheLexingtondidtheirs.With

theNavy’snextbigcarrier,a45,000-ton thoroughbreddesignated CVB-41, underconstruction at NewportNews,Virginia,thenamewassummarily wrested fromCVE-63andgiventothenewleviathan.On October 10, 1944, as

theMidway lay at anchor inSeeadlerHarbor,atManusinthe Admiralty Islands, newsarrived that the jeep carrier

wouldbe renamed theSt. LoinhonoroftheArmy’srecenttriumphinFranceaftertheD-Day landings. Few of theveteran crew aboardCVE-63seemed disposed toappreciate the honor,however. When the newscame down of the namechange, the groans of thechief petty officersreverberated through theship’sbrittlehullsoloudlyasto defy the rumpus of the

Uniflow engines. “DamnNavy,” said an old chiefboatswain’smate.“Youdon’tchange the name of a ship.It’sanill-fatedship.It’llbeatthe bottom of the ocean intwoweeks.”As career sailors—many

were in their forties—theyhad served in the U.S. Navysince the Depression, hadlived and breathed thelegendsandsuperstitions that

formed the core of Navytradition.Storiescirculatedofnewly renamed ships takingtosea,nevertobeseenagain.In some divisions on the St.Lo,asmanyasninetypercentof the men requestedtransfers.Still,manyyoungermembers of the ship’scompany—the teenageseamen, the twentysomethingninety-day wonder ensignsand lieutenants junior grade—brushed off the

superstitions of their elders.“We didn’t shudder andshake about it,” said EnsignBrooks, the junior ensign inthe St. Lo’s residentsquadron, VC-65. “Werespected their view, but wedidn’tgetalluptightaboutit.We were too busy doingsomethingelse.”Ever since the St. Lo had

takenpositionoffSamarwiththe Fan-shaw Bay and the

other ships of Taffy 3 onOctober18, therewas indeedno shortage of things forpilotstodo.Fliersassignedtomorning patrol were rousedfromtheirquartersatfourA.M.After reveille the Filipinostewardsservedthemaquickbreakfastofcoffee,eggs,andnavy beans. Then, chartboardsinhandandparachuteharnesses strapped to theirbacks, they climbed to theflightdeckbeforethesunwas

up, vaulted into the cockpitsof their planes, and ignitedtheirbigradialenginestolife.Runningthroughthepreflightchecklist as plane handlersmuscledtheaircraftintotheirharnesses on the catapulttrack, thepilots pressedbackagainst their headrests as thecompressed-air system underthe flight deck slung theplanes from zero to seventyknots in just sixty feet ofspace. Spitting flames from

their exhaust stacks undertheir cowlings, the heavilyladen torpedo bombersdropped from the flight decktoward thewaterbefore theirbig propellers grabbedenough air to carry themaway into the predawndarknessaheadoftheship.Flying at three or four

thousand feet, with theirfourteen-cylinder, nineteen-hundred-horsepower Wright

radial engines throttled backto minimum RPMs and themanifold pressure set forefficient fuel consumption,theTBM-1CAvengers couldremainonstationforuptosixor seven hours on a singlemission. Their extendedvigilance—patrolsweremorecustomarilyfourorfourandahalf hours—put tremendouspressure on any Japanesesubmarines aiming to take ashot at Taffy 3. The enemy

often stalkedAmerican shipsby dawn, hoping to catch acarriersilhouettedagainst thesunrise for an easy torpedoattack.Butwhenthemorninglight was just right and thewindwas incheckand if thesubwasnot toodeep,apilotlooking down at the properangletotheocean’sreflectivesheen could actually see thesilhouette of the underwaterpredator,likethedimformofa trout in a shaded pool. If

friendly surface ships wereclose, the pilot would radiothe contact to the fleet,summoning a destroyer tohunt itdown.Thenhewoulddivedownanddrophisdepthchargesonthetarget.The urgent tempo of

wartime operations alwaysput a little guesswork in thedifficult business ofdistinguishing friendly subsfromfoe.Itwasalessonthat

the St. Lo’s aviators hadlearned the hard way threeweeks before taking upstation off Samar, during theinvasion of Morotai. OnOctober 3 a spread oftorpedoes had appeared fromthe deep, narrowly missingthe St. Lo and the FanshawBay, and struck the USSShelton in the stern, leavingthe destroyer escort dead inthewater.AtelevenA.M. thatmorning Bill Brooks,

launched to conduct a“hunter-killer”search,spotteda suspicious contact close tothe enemy sub’s expectedlocation, and radioman RayTravers blinkered that day’sMorse code signal to thesubmarine.The sub, running with her

decks awash but her conningtowerstillclearlyvisible,notonly failed to return thecorrect signal but did not

respondatall.Itcontinuedtodive. By the time Brooksswung around again andwinged over to strike, thesubmarine was under water.He dropped a stick of depthchargessomefiftytoseventy-fiveyardsaheadofwhereheguessed it had submerged,then released a canister offluorescent green dye topinpoint the vessel’s lastknown location. Brooksreported his attack and

remained on station untilrelief arrived in the form ofthe destroyer escort USSRowell.TheRowell’s ping jockeys

heard through their headsetsthe telltale ping-woo-woo-oothat signaled contact with anundersea target and begandropping depth charges.Shortly after the foam of thelast detonation settled, theRowell’s crew watched as

iridescent bubbles of oilsurfaced near their ship.Floating up with the messwasanassortmentof flotsamand debris that signaled theend for the target and allhands aboard her—theAmerican submarine USSSeawolf.After investigation by a

board of inquiry, nodiscipline was taken againstBrooks or his crew. But the

lessonoftheMorotaiincidentwas clear: when bad luckstrikes, it is usually thefunction of a cause farsimpler and more readilydeterminable than crossedstarsorachangedshipname.

***

LIKE THE REST OF the pilots ofthefleet,Taffy3’sflierswerethe product of a carefullystructured, multilayered

training system that did fortheNavy’s rawhumanassetswhat the great coastal andriverineshipyardsweredoingfor its steel. The Navy’saviation program hadballooned in scope since theearly 1920s, when ZiggySprague joined Pensacola’sinauguralclassofcadetfliers.By 1943 pilot training hadbeen standardized andsystematized. With somethirtythousandaircraftrolling

out of America’s factorieseach year and Detroit’sautomotive production linesrampedupandrecalibratedtotheclosetolerancesneededtobuild airplanes, the Navyscrambled to find enoughpilotstoflythem.Mostly the service looked

tocollegestudentstoswellitsnaval aviator ranks, althougha college degree was notrequired if one had the

strength and smarts tocomplete the rigoroustraining. At first the Navyrestricted the privilege offlighttonewlycommissionedensigns and other officers.Then grudgingly the Navyrelented in the face of war’sdemands, allowing seniorenlisted men to enter pilottraining. In 1943 the Navyannounced its goal to train25,000 studentnaval aviatorsthat year in order to keep

pace with combat andoperationallossesandfill theflight decks of carriers underconstruction. A network ofpreflight and primary flighttrainingschoolssprungupallacrossthecountry,fromLongIsland to San Diego, fromCorpus Christi to the GreatLakes.Bill Brooks did his

preflight training at ChapelHill,NorthCarolina,learning

the basics of aerodynamics,meteorology, mathematics,survival swimming, navaletiquette, and other subjectsthatdidnot require strappingoneself into a cockpit.Emerging from Chapel Hillas a cadet, he first flew soloduringprimaryflight trainingat Bunker Hill Naval AirStation in Indiana. There hebecame acquainted with theN3N Yellow Peril, a two-seaterbiplanetrainerthatwas

forgiving to green handspracticing stalls, rolls, loops,and S turns but that had adangerous tendency toground-loop—to cartwheelon landing from the torquecreatedbytheengineandthenarrowly set landing gear. Apilot could be killed onimpact,orahardshockcouldrupture a fuel line in theexposed, air-cooled engine,causingacatastrophicfire.

Certified proficient at theentry level, Brooks and histhirty-five classmates movedon to intermediate trainingatPensacola, where they flewincreasingly powerful single-wing planes: the VulteeValiant, better known to itstrainees as the VulteeVibrator, and the NorthAmerican SNJ Texan. Nowthat the trainees hadmore orlessproventheirphysicalandpsychologicalresilience,their

rewardwas to flyplanes thatwereactuallyarmed.Trainingat Whiting Field includedlow-level bombing, strafing,night flying, aerobics, andcombat tactics. When theyfinished the syllabus, thepilots had a choice to make:would they go on to flyfighters, torpedo bombers, ordive-bombers? For Brooks—six foot one, 185 pounds, aformer member of theSouthernCal football team—

sitting down in a fighterplane’s cramped cockpit was“likegettingintoashoebox.”His knees were jammed upunder his chin, the controlstoo close for his long arms.So he chose the morespacious cockpit setup oftorpedobombers.To train as a torpedo

bomberpilot,BrookswenttoBaronFieldNavalAirStationnear Mobile, Alabama—

nicknamed “Bloody Baron”owing to the occasionalcrashesthatresultedwhentheairfield’s swirling red dustgummed up the planes’ air-cooledengines.ThereBrooksrehearsed higher-riskoperations like nightmissions, tactical flying, andfield carrier landings. Nearlyone-third of the traineeswashed out before theycompleted intermediatetraining. It was the final

hurdle before Cadet BrooksreturnedtoPensacolatogetaset of wings pinned to hischest and the single goldstripe of a commissionedNavy ensign sewn into hissleeve.Atadvancedflight training

at Opalaca, Florida, thediscipline and danger ofattacking a ship while flyingwith fixed needle-ball andairspeed was drummed into

Brooks day and night. Hespent several days thereflying the accursed DouglasTBDDevastators.“Theyflewlikeabus,”BrookssaidofthesluggisholddeathtrapsoftheBattleofMidway.Brooksdidnot relish the thought ofriding the misnamedDevastator into battle. Butsoon enough the next-generation Grum-manAvengers arrived. Flying thefaster,morepowerfulplane—

dropping torpedoes, bothdummy and live, intohundred-foot-long targetsleds towed by tugboats—pilots experimented withhigher altitudes and fasterairspeeds for dropping atorpedo and speeding to theescape. The Avenger couldsuccessfullydropwhileflyingat280knots at analtitudeof500feet.Thatwasmorethandouble the optimum attackaltitude for the Devastator

and twice its rated speed.Atthesametimethepilotswentto ground school to refinetheir knowledge ofemergency procedures,hydraulics, and cockpitlayout.Theydrilleduntiltheycould operate all systemsblindfolded—anexercise thatcould save the life of a pilotwhosewindscreenwasblownout during combat and whobecame blinded by a hotsprayofengineoil.

Afterhefinishedadvancedtraining, a young manaspiringtobecomeacertifiednavalaviatorhad topassonelast test: mastering thedifficult art of landing on amoving redwood flight deckand catching an arresterwirewith the tail hook. Beforeentering the pool for asquadron assignment, atrainee pilot had to land sixsuccessful touch-and-go’s atthe Navy’s Carrier

Qualification Training Unit,whichoperatedtwomakeshiftaircraft carriers on LakeMichigan, convertedpaddlewheel excursion boatsnamed theWolverineand theSable. Completing this taskrequired the instincts,courage, and feel thatseparated a carrier pilot fromhis land-based brethren.Thosetraitshadtobesecondnature, because a pilotreturning from combatmight

wellhavetoperformthisfeatwhile fatigued after a longafternoon in the air, orwhileslowlybleedingtodeathfromwounds suffered in battle.Sometimesapilothadtodoitat night,when the cues fromthe landing signal officer—whoforanaviatoristhemostimportant individual on theship after the captain—werebuttworedfirefliesdartingtoandfrointhedarkness.

The final air strike of theMarianas campaign was acase in point showing thedangers of nighttime carrierlandings. Vice AdmiralMitscher’sdecision to launchlateintheday—toolateforadaylight return—was acalculated gamble.When thepilots returned after dark,locating their carriers in thevoidofthenighttimeseawasnearlyimpossible.

Ashis fliers felt theirwayhomethrough thenight, theirfuel tanks nearly empty,Mitscher broke the strictnighttime blackout rule,designed to hide the fleetfrom enemy submarines. Hehadwon the lifelong love ofhis aviators by followingthrough on his own affectionfor them. With his pilotsdesperately searching for aplace to land, Mitscherordered all ships of his task

group to switch on theirlights.Jittery about possible

exposuretosubmarineattack,some of his carrier skipperswere restrained in theirpyrotechnics. But Capt.Clifton A. F. Sprague of theWasp complied with gusto.Spraguelituphisshiplikeanoceangoing Christmas tree,impaling the night with theprobing white fingers of his

giant arc spotlights. Heswitched on the red flightdeck lights. Sailors pointedaloft hand-held flashlights.Destroyersfiredstarshells toilluminate the storm-threatened night. The lightshow was glorious, like “aHollywoodpremiere,ChineseNew Year’s, and Fourth ofJuly rolled into one,”according to the historianSamuel Eliot Morison. Withexhausted American aviators

bouncing down onto anyflight deck that presenteditself, losses were kept to aminimum.Mitscher’s gallant risk

deeplyimpressedhisaviators.Adive-bomberpilotfromtheEnterprise wrote, “I heardpilotsexpresstheopinionthattheadmirals lookedupon thefliers as expendable, and Isupposetheymusttoacertainextent,butIshallneveragain

feel that they wouldn’t doeverything conceivable intheir power to bring a pilotback.… It was ademonstration I shall neverforget.”

***

WHEN BROOKS COMPLETED HIS

trainingatGlenview, Illinois,he flew to the Grummanfactory near Floyd BennettField onLong Island to pick

up a TBF Avenger, thenferried himself cross-countryto San Diego to await asquadron assignment. Withnone immediatelyforthcoming, Brooks wasorderedtotheordnancedepotat Whidbey Island,Washington, where he andother pilots worked withengineersfromallaroundthecountry—Caltech, Harvard,Columbia,GeneralElectric—to solve the problem of the

dud torpedoes,which for thefirsttwoyearsofthewarhadsubmarine skippers andtorpedo pilots alike riskinglife and limb in a potentiallyfruitless effort. A simpleengineering miscalculationhadresultedinfiringpinsthatfailedtoignite.Completing the syllabus at

Whidbey in June 1944,EnsignBrooksboardedaPanAm China Clipper from San

Francisco toOahu, gatheringwithhundredsofothernewlyminted pilots at Ford IslandNaval Air Station to awaitassignment to thefleet.Fromthere he hopped toward thefront, from island to exoticisland. At Eniwetok, theNavy’s forwardmost base atthe time, Brooks joined VC-65, the squadron assigned totheescortcarrier thenknownastheUSSMidway.

The pilots of VC-65 wereolder than their ship’scompany. Averaging twenty-three to twenty-four years ofage,theyhadwivesandkids.The thirty-year-old squadroncommander, Lt. Cdr. RalphM. Jones, well liked for hisfairness and seasonabletemperament, knew hisbusiness and minded it solongashispilotsknewtheirs.Ifoneofthemscrewedup,hedidn’tneed to raisehisvoice

toregisterhisdispleasure.Hejustglowered—gavethemthe“big glom.”With a graduateengineering degree fromMIT, he was a skilled TBMpilotwithaNavyCrosstohisname. Jones’s plane wasalways first in line for thecatapult whenever a combatmissionwasscheduled.Although the imaginary

bulkheads that separated theair group from the ship’s

company were thinner andmorepermeableaboardCVEsthan aboard the largercarriers, fliers on bothgenerally consideredthemselvesabreedapartfromtheir deck-boundcounterparts. They wereconcerned with differentthings, theirworlduncircum-scribed by the boundary oftheir ship’s hull. From highaltitudes they wereaccustomed to seeing their

carrier for the rectangularmote that it actually was,traversingawateryplain thatreduced it to but fleetingconsequence. Flying on acombat mission, theywatched their carrier vanishinto the vast expanse ofocean. Returning to it waslikeahomecoming.Befittingthesedifferences,pilots livedin quarters separate from theship’s company. They ateseparately, slept separately,

socialized separately. Theymade the ready room theirhome,gatheringtheretolearnwhatwasnewintheworld,toread Time magazine andlisten to Tokyo Rose. Hertauntings, exquisitelydelivered in a singsongNipponese accent, wereseldom irritating enough todefeattheblissofhearingtheGlenn Miller Orchestra sixthousand miles from home.Pilots listened to her while

playingAceyDeucyandRedDog,whileshootingdice.Asoften as not, Tokyo Rose’sbroadcast was rooted in justenough truth to beinformative and just enoughfalsehoodtobeentertaining.Jones seemed to

understand the value of alittle sporting rivalry in thesquadron. Like his task unitcommander, AdmiralSprague, he tolerated

gambling in the wardroom.And whenever the Avengerand Wildcat pilots startedtrading jabs about theiraviation pedigree, he justsmiled. Larry Budnick, aWildcat jockey, said, “Werazzed the torpedo pilots alot. We were the guys whowere winning the war, youknow. It was a friendlyrivalry.”JustastheAvengerswere dubbed “turkeys” or“pickle luggers,” the FM-2

Wildcats, with their noisynine-cylinder, fourteen-hundred-horsepower Wrightengines, were “MaytagMesserschmitts.” For all thehorseplay,mostlytheywereaserious group, soft-spokenandfocusedontheirmission.Lt. (jg) Leonard “Tex”Waldrop, an Avenger pilotwho sported a red beard inmute defiance of squadronguidelines, was affable andagreeable,expansiveinaway

thatbefittedthestereotypeofhisnativestate.Lt.TomVanBruntfromTallahasseewasawidely respected TBM pilottoo. Though he was amongthe senior pilots in thesquadron, having servedstatesideasaprimarytraininginstructor, Van Brunt hadmade fewer carrier landingsthan anyone else on the St.Lo. Most of VC-65’s pilotshad four months of combatexperience already. Van

Brunt would have been asectionleaderbutforthefactthathewasnearlyasgreenasa freshly commissionedensign when it came totouching down on a flightdeck. He had made just fiveof them—and not one sincehis wheels last touched thedeck of the training shipWolverine during carrierqualifications.

***

BILL BROOKS’S GREAT-

GRANDFATHER HAD been awhaling captain who sailedfrom ports all along coastalMassachusetts during themid-1800s, doing his part inthe ravenous harvest of theAtlantic coast whalepopulation.Whentheonsetofthe Civil War boosteddemand for oil, he and otherwhalersdecamped fromNewEngland’s over-picked seasand took their ships south,

around Cape Horn to SanFrancisco, where theycontinued to hunt blubber,ranging out to thewaters offMaui, then “uphill” againstcurrents and winds to thebounteouswatersoffAlaska.A hunter like his great-

granddad,Brookspursuedanaltogether different sort ofPacific Ocean quarry: thesteam-powered gargantuansthat flew the pennant of the

Imperial JapaneseNavy.Thetwenty-four-year-old pilotwaspositionedtocontinueinhis great-grandfather’sfootsteps, if only the U.S.Navywouldlethim.Thesolecomplicationwasthefactthatthe Avenger pilots who flewfromCVEshadbeen,byandlarge, stripped of theirharpoons, their Mark 13torpedoes. They were notmeant to attack enemysurface warships. That job

fell to the fliers aboardAdmiral Halsey’s carriers.Charged with antisubmarinepatrol and striking at groundtargets in support of Armytroops, theAvenger crewsofTaffy 3 watched as the warmoved beyond them withrespecttotheirprimarymodeofattack.Taffy 3’s aviators

contented themselves withperfecting a type of warfare

that was in its infancy andcritical to the retaking of thePhilippines: theclosesupportmission.ThepilotsofVC-65had been pressed into thisvital work from the first dayof theLeyte invasion.Beforethe troops went ashore onOctober 20, Navy special-operations frogmen swam tothe beach to clear awayobstacles that might impedethe progress of the landingforce. When their work was

finished, Brooks and hissquadronmates buzzed thebeach at daybreak, cruisinglowoverthewavetops,guns,bombs, and rockets primedand ready as motorboatsbelow zoomed in with bighoops hung overboard toscoop the frogmenoutof thewaterbeforetheenemycouldfindtherangewiththeirshorebatteries. With Brooks andhis buddies overhead, aJapanese gunner would have

beenafooltoopenfire.Other times thepayload in

Brooks’s bomb bay was ofthe nonex-plosive variety:bundles of printed leafletsexhorting the Philippinepeople to support theirAmerican liberators. AsBrooks took his plane downto 250 feet, treetops zippingby below, his radioman, RayTravers, opened the bombbay doors and released a

paperstormoverthescatteredFilipino villages. Though thebrutality of the Japaneseoccupation had all butensured their wholeheartedsupport in any event, thepropaganda boosted theirhopes and securedMacArthur’s legacy as theirsavior.Like the rest of the

Avenger crews, Brooks,Travers,andturretgunnerJoe

Downs preferredmore directformsofengagementwiththeenemy. Barges, truckconvoys, ammo dumps—allwere suitable and rewardingtargets for a weapons-ladenAvengeronagroundsupportstrike. Every day since thelandings began on October20, planes from all threeTaffies ranged up and downthe Philippine archipelagoknocking out enemyinfrastructure, interrupting

troop movements, playinghavoc with communications.Hugging the jungle canopy ahundred feet off the ground,Brookswouldhunchforward,looking through hisdashboard-mounted gunsight, hunting for quarry. Apilot flying ground supportwaswise tomind the dangerof lingering too long over atarget. Those who came intoo flat often paid with theirlives. Wildcat fighter planes

had enough agility for theirpilots to fly in steeply.Plummetingat a sixty-degreeincline, nearly perpendicularto theground, theypresentedthe smallest possible target,forcedtheantiaircraftgunnersinto a difficult high-angleshot, and built up maximumspeedtofleeatargetareathatwas sure to be popping withhot lead. Brooks in hisAvenger couldn’t managesuch a steep dive, but he

knew the value ofmaintaininghisairspeedforafast escape. Rather than pullup sharply andmake a high-altitude exit, as someinstructors had taught him,Brooks liked to stay lowandflyawayattreetoplevel.Thattechnique kept him movingfastandshrankthebreadthofterrain from which enemygunners could hit him.Another way pilotsminimized the amount of

shrapnel lodged in their tailswas toapproach the target ina curving pattern. Thatenabled them to stay out ofthepathoffiredirectedattheplane ahead. Boring instraight,closebehindanotherpilot, was a sure way to geteaten up by the inevitablefusillade of waywardordnancethatmissedtheleadaircraft.On the inland strike

missions, pilots riskedexposure to any number ofunseen enemy gun positionshiddenbeneaththetrees.Andthey took a lot of fire frompanicked gunners onAmerican ships too. A fewbarrages of forty-millimetertracer fire from a friendlyship was all it took toconvince many pilots of theineluctable stupidity of theaverage gun crew. It wasdownright harrowing to be

airborne while battleshipsoffshore were bombardingtargets ashore. Pilots flyinggunnery spotting missionsbecame sandwiched in aninvisible corridor betweensalvos from the big shipsoffshore. While they spottedshell bursts and called incorrections, fourteen-hundred-pound battleshipshells flew overhead in trios,plainly visible to the eye.Below, the smaller warheads

ofthecruiserswhizzedpast.Close support of troops

was a new job for navalaviators, and the CVE pilotswerethefirsttomasterit.Ona close support missionBrooks would fly to anassignedstationandreport toan Army air coordinatorskimmingthetreesinaPiperCub,keepingtabsonhismenon the ground. Thecoordinator would radio

instructions: “Proceed topointAble.Makepassto000down to 180, along thatridge.” Usually directed tofly parallel to the line ofbattle, Brooks would wingover to the attack, whenpossible dropping out of thecloudstomaskhisplanefromJapaneseantiaircraftgunners.With a payload ranging

from ten hundred-poundfragmentation bombs for

attacking troops and vehiclesto a pair of five-hundred-pound semi-armor-piercingbombs for hitting reinforcedtargets,afullyladenAvengerwas a veritable flyingammunitiondepot.And if hebanked the plane sharply,turning it up on a wing, JoeDowns could swing thesphereofhis turretout to theside and cut loose on targetsof opportunity with hissingle-mount fifty. Swooping

down in elementsof threeorfour planes at a time, theAvenger pilots tended to getthe attentionof the Japanese.“Stuff would be coming upallaroundyou,”Brookssaid.“You’d think,HowcomeI’mnot being hit? You’d thankthe dear Lord that youweren’t.You’dcomethroughit. You’d join up with yourbuddies. When you madeyour exit, you felt like youhadconqueredtheworld.”

Brooks became proficientin the art of skipping bombsintocaves.Hewouldstarttheattack at four thousand feet,thengointoadive, jukingtododge flak. But rather thandrop his bombs at thecustomary altitude of twothousand feet, he would flyright down to the deck. Byliftingthenoseofhisplaneatthelastminute,hecouldskiphis delayed-fuse bombs offthe ground and right into the

mouthofthecave.Morethanonce he felt the sickeningthud of the concussion andshrapnel from his ownpayload ravaging the tailsectionofhisplane.Aboutasoften as not he woulddiscover, on his return to thecarrier, fronds of coconuttrees stuck in the creases ofthewingsandfuselage.Seven years Brooks’s

junior, just seventeen,

aviation ordnance-man thirdclassJoeDownsregardedhispilot with no small measureofawe.“Heseemedfearfulofnothing. And he had thisburlymanner. If you tried tolie to him or something, hewouldjustlookatyouasiftosay,‘Doyouwantmetobeatyou into the ground now orjust throw you overboard?’But he had a great sense ofhumor.”

Of their various missions,aviators enjoyedantisubmarine patrols theleast. They offered none ofthe kinetic thrill of pursuingan enemy truck across abouncing jungle trail, bulletsandrocketstearingdownandconverging at the point ofattack. On A/S duty, a pilotstucktohisquadrantandflewslowly, watching theglittering sea for hour afterhour.“It’sallseaandsky,sea

andsky,forhours,”saidTomVan Brunt. Spotting aperiscopefromfour thousandfeet required eagle-sharpeyesight and tremendoussustained concentration.Though no pilot was everdocumented to have crashedhis plane by falling asleep atthe stick, drowsiness was aconstant threat. Perhaps thiswas why Avengers carriedthree men: they could keepeachotherawake.

“It used to get so hot atnight aboard ship,” JoeDowns said. “The sleepingsituation was miserable.You’d have fifty, sixty guysin the bunkroom, with poorventilation, no A/C. You’dget up early for morninggeneral quarters, have chow,then go out on submarinepatrolaroundfiveA.M.You’dhit this nice cool air, and itwas the darnedest thing tostay awake. By six or seven

o’clock,youreyes justdidn’twanttostayopenanymore.”Fromhis crampedposition

in the ball turret, Downscould spread his knees andlookdownatRayTraversontheradioset.Thedroneofthepiston-drivenenginedrownedoutallattemptsatspeech,andthe intercom was usedsparingly, to avoid botheringEnsignBrooksinthecockpit.But every now and then

Downs would get suspiciousof the inert form below him.He’d give Travers a hardpoke with his foot, just tomake sure hewas conscious.With a sharp slap on theankle, Travers would returnthefavor.

***

NINETYPERCENTOFApilot’slifewas standingbyandwaiting.Pilots waited in the ready

room to get called to theirplanes, playing cards, talkingaviation (always talkingaviation), and boasting oftheirvictories,confirmedandotherwise. One thing pilotsnevertalkedaboutwasdeath.A memorial for a fallen

memberof theairgroupwasunfailingly a requiem ofsilence. Since June, in actionover the Marianas and Mo-rotai, VC-65 had lost six

pilots and ten crewmen. Themen were not mourned, atleastnotopenly.“Theskipperwould assign someone togather his things and cleanouthisstuff.We’dgettoportandshipithome.Therewereno eulogies or comments,”Bill Brooks said. “This wasan unwritten law. And therewas dignity in it, becauseeverybody knew that at anygivenmomentitcouldbeus.Youjustdidn’twanttodwell

on it. You had a job to do,and if you dwelled on it toodeeply, it impeded your ownproficiency. The fellowwouldbereplaced,andyou’dfeel damn lucky it wasn’tyourturn.”If a body was recovered,

therewouldbeaburialatsea,asolemnceremonyledbythechaplain and attended by allhands;thebodywaswrappedin canvas sheeting and

dropped over the sideweighted with a five-inchshell. But his squadronmatesdid not talk about him, didnotdiscuss thecircumstancesof his end. “You might getupset if someone got drunkand got hit by a truck. Butcombat was another matter,”Brooks said. With so muchtimespentwaiting,mourningcould not be allowed toferment into despair. For thefaithful, there was ample

opportunitytopray.On the St. Lo those who

sought other forms of salvecould join the group ofenlistedswhogatheredontheflight deck three nights aweek to hear ordnancemanJohnGetas sing. The qualityof the diversions availableaboardashipatseadependedon the talents of its citizens.InGetas theSt.Lo happenedto boast one of the better

operaticbaritonesinthefleet.Though the boys fromKentucky and Alabama andother points south preferredtheir hillbilly music, Getascould count on a turnout often, fifteen, twentyguyswhowouldenjoyhisrenditionsof“On theRoad toMandalay,”or any of three hundred-oddother numbers he hadmemorized.JoeDownskeptahand-crankedVictrola recordplayerintheenlistedsleeping

quarters,sandwichedbetweenthehangarandtheflightdeckamidships, suspended fromthebottomoftheflightdeck.Life in the war zone

permitted quieter diversionsas well. At Seeadler HarboronManus,thestaginggroundfor the Leyte invasion, TomVanBruntdiscoveredthathisyounger brotherBernardwason a cargo ship, the Luna,that happened to be in port

too. They were seven yearsapart but good friends. VanBruntgotpermissionfromhisskippertogoashoreandseekout his brother’s ship. Thedock foreman told him thattheLunawasanchoredat thefar side of the harbor. Theforeman said he could getVan Brunt to the ship, butwasn’t surehecouldgethimbackintimefortheMidway’sscheduled departure the nextmorning. As Van Brunt was

trying to figure out what todo, a motor whaleboatgurgled up to the dock andtiedup to theotherside.Theboat was making theMidway’s mail call. Itscoxswain was Bernard VanBrunt.Tom summoned his best

officer’s vox Dei and calleddown to his brother, “Hey,coxswain, don’t comealongside until I tell you to

come alongside.Okay: comealongside.” The surprise oftheir reunion wasproportionatetotheirdistancefrom home in Tallahassee.ThebrotherswentaboardtheLuna for dinner, which wasfine except that theirbrotherly bond could notwithstand thecuriosityof thecargoshipofficerscaptivatedbythenoveltyofentertainingacombatpilot.Tomateinthewardroom with them while

Bernard went belowdeckswith the crew. That night,though,thetwomenreturnedto theMidway, and BernardgotatourofaCVE.Courtesy of the wardroom

steward’smates,theyenjoyeda feast worthy of officers’country. Then they retired tothe flight deck. “It was aglorious, beautiful, tropicalevening,” Tom Van Bruntrecalled. All night long they

watched the ships in theharbor flash their bigsearchlights off the cloudsoverhead, blinking messagestoeachotherviaMorse.Theyspent the night talking, andfrom the conversation TomVanBrunt learnedsomethingsurprising: that his kidbrother had become a man.Thenextmorningnewscamedown that the name of theMidwaywouldbechangedtoSt. Lo. His brother was the

onlypersoninhisfamilywhoknew.ThemenoftheSt.Lostole

funwhere they could find it.Butmostly thecrewdivertedthemselves with endless,repetitive work. The nine-hundred-man complement ofa CVE was like a one-company town workingperpetualovertime.Thattheywere a coherent communitywas obvious to all. A jeep

carrier’sthinhullenclosedallthe trappings of small-townlife: the barber shop, thedoctor’s office, the postoffice, the power plant, thewaterworks, the church, thesoda fountain, the boxingring, the sweatshop factories,and the tenement-stylehousing.Itsresidents,looselygrouped into three classes—the pilots, the airedales (astheflightdeckcrews,aviationmechanics, and technicians

were known), and the ship’scompany who operated theship—worked around theclock. Aviation machinist’smates labored through thenight tuning aircraft enginesfor their morning missions.Ord-nancemen and armorersbore-sighted machine guns,snapped rounds into ammobelts, pulled dollies ladenwith bombs, and hoistedrockets onto launch rails.Parachute riggers packed

chutes.Aviationmet-alsmithsrepaired damaged wings andfuselages. Deckhands sweptdown the hangar deck andswabbed the redwood flightdeck, cleaning up oil andgrease.Andtherewasalwayspainttochip.Thatwasanall-purpose time-filler, butcrucially important. TheNavy had learned the hardway, at Pearl Harbor andelsewhere, that handsomelypainted surfaces burned

furiously, producing cloudsof poisonous smoke. Themonotony of the remedy hadat least one immediatebenefit: most every sailor inthe fleet soon acquired thethickwristsandforearmsthatcame from repetitivescraping.The pilots and aircrewmen

were the exclusivepractitioners of the razor’s-edge lifestyle that the

shipbound men could onlyshake their heads at andadmire.Thelifeofaflierwasnever in more immediateperil than while landing aplane. Bringing an aircraftdown through shiftingcrosswinds to land on apitching flight deck was anexperience that Ernie Pylelikened to “landing on half ablock ofMainStreetwhile acombined hurricane andearthquakeisgoingon.”

Atnight,pilotscouldenjoythe daily ounce-and-a-halfration of brandy authorizedby Navy regulations. But itwas rotgut, and enterprisingpilots found better use for ithidden inside their pillows,where the steward’s mateswould find it andbe inducedto perform a more thoroughcleaning of the quarters. Thesquadron medical officercouldbecountedontokeepasecret stash of medicinal

alcohol. Sweetened withiodine and burnished withcaramel coloring, it couldpass, after the third or fourthshot perhaps, for actual sourmash. The enlisted mendistilled their own liquorfromraisinsandyeast.Emptyfive-inchshellcanistersmadeuseful brewing vats for theraisinjack. Ten days offermentation in the SouthPacific sun turned it intopalatablemoonshine.

Like the squadrons aboardthe five other carriers ofTaffy3,VC-65hadtwelvetofourteenWildcat fighters androughly the same number ofAvengers. Its humancomplement averagedeighteen fighter pilots andtwelvetorpedobomberpilots.The war was turning againstthe Japanese in part for theirinability to replace trainedaviators killed in battle.Experienced Japanese “sea

eagles” stayed with thesquadrons until they wereshot down and captured orkilled. American pilots, onthe other hand, weresupported by a massivetraining and logisticsapparatus that ensured asteady rotation of talent andmatériel to and from thecombatzone.Aircraft continued to roll

out of American factory

assembly lines to reinforcesquadronsonthewar’smanyfronts. “They came out likesausages there for a while,”said one former Navyplanner. The Navy’sproduction of human assetswas no less impressive. Atnavalair stationsallover theAmerican mainland, veteranpilotswerereturningfromthefleet to trainnewfliers tofillsquadronvacanciescausedbycombatoroperationaldeaths.

That VC-65 fielded pilots asskilled as Ralph Jones andTex Waldrop to begin withwas one thing. That it couldreplace its losses along theway with pilots as good asTom Van Brunt and BillBrookswasquiteanother.

Seven

Thewarwasgoingbadly forJapan. In June 1944, duringthe invasion of theMarianasIslands—whichcontained theimportant bases at Guam,Saipan, and Tinian—theJapanese Imperial CombinedFleet had sailed with itsremaining carrier force to

challenge the Americancolossus. Like the battles ofMidway and the Coral Seabefore it, the Battle of thePhilippine Sea was foughtalmostentirelyintheair.U.S.Navy fliers shot down somany Japanese planes, killedso many of their seasonedpilots, that the Japaneseaircraft carriers wereeffectively detoothed asoffensive weapons. A fairnumber of the American

pilotsknewtheirwayaroundthehuntingfieldsbackhome,andclearlytheyhadbenefitedfrom the practice. They tooktocallingthebattle theGreatMarianas Turkey Shoot.Afterward,with the Japanesein retreat, the subsequentinvasions of Morotai andPeleliu—critical preparationfor the move on thePhilippines—had goneunchallenged by the Imperialfleet. Already B-29 bombers

were raining fire on theempire’s industrial centers.Only one of the aircraftcarriers that had struck PearlHarbor remained afloat, andit, the lucky Zuikaku, hadbeenbyOctoberbledofmostofitsaircraftandexperiencedpilots. Nursing its strengthsince its defeat in theMarianas, the Japanesemilitary awaited America’snextmovebeforecommittingitself to what might well be

itsfinalmajorfight.Although the Combined

Fleet could not sustain ageneral offensive in the faceof America’s overwhelmingsuperiority, and though itsairpower had been whittleddown to a paltry force ofland-based planes operatingfrom the Philippines andFormosa, its commandersheldon to the slimhope thatiftheycouldchoosethetime,

place, and circumstances,they might yet land astaggering blow against theoncoming U.S. juggernaut.They would gather theirstrength and take their bestshot. The only questionremaining was how tocommitlimitedforcessoastobest disrupt America’s nextmove.Would the Americans

invade Formosa and Japan’s

southern home islands?Hokkaido to the north?Would thePhilippinesbe thenext target? Could Nimitzand MacArthur be soaudacious as to attackHonshu itself and the centralJapanese home islands?Designated the Sho-Go(Victory Operation) plan, astrategywasdrawnupbytheSupreme War DirectionCouncil todefendagainst theinevitableoffensive.Prepared

in late July, as MacArthurwas wooing Roosevelt inHawaii,anddebated,revised,andapprovedbytheemperoron August 19, the Sho-Goplan was conceived in fourvariations depending on thegeographical region Americatargeted for its next majorthrust. The Sho-1 plan wasaimed at deflecting anAmerican assault of thePhilippines; Sho-2 woulddefend Formosa and the

southern Japanese homeislands;Sho-3wouldbeusedto counter an invasion ofHonshu and Kyushu, thecentral home islands; andSho-4wasdesignedtodefendHokkaido and the Kuriles inthenorth.Though the Japanese had

hints of the Americandecision to invade thePhilippinesalmostassoonasMacArthur, Nimitz, and

President Roosevelt hadadjourned their conference atPearl Harbor, they got theirfirst solid markers ofAmerican intentions onOctober12,when,justbeforedawn,fourfastcarriergroupsof Mitscher’s Task Force 38—the backbone, muscle, andfistofHalsey’sThirdFleet—closedtowithinfiftymilesofthe Formosan coast andbegan launching air strikesintended to neutralize

Japanese airpower in thetheater as preparation for aninvasionofthePhilippines.By seven A.M. the first

echelons of Grumman F6FHellcat fighters weresweeping over Japaneseairfields on Formosa,interrupting the breakfast ofthe ground crews scatteredalong their runways.Resistance was futile. Thosefew of Vice Adm. Shigeru

Fukudome’s 230 fighterpilots who managed to getaloft,Fukudomewrote,“werenothing but so many eggsthrown at the stone wall ofthe indomitable enemyformation.” Three days ofcarrier strikes, consisting of1,378sorties, leftFormosainruins.TheThirdFleet’ssavaging

of Formosa and nearbyislands forced an unnerved

Japanese high command—bothAdmiralsFukudomeandToyoda were caught onFormosa during the attack—toprepareboththeSho-1andSho-2plansforactivation. Infact, Rear Adm. RyunosukeKusaka, who as Toyoda’schief of staff was effectivelyincommandoftheCombinedFleet while his superior washunkered down on Formosa,ordered Sho-2 activated onthe morning of the first

attack. But a few days later,on the morning of October17,Japaneselookoutsspottedan advance force of U.S.ArmyRangerscomingashoreon Suluan Island in LeyteGulf. It was then they knewthat the Philippines wasAmerica’s real objective. Onthe evening of October 18AdmiralKusakaorderedSho-1, the Philippines variation,intoeffect.

The Sho-1 plan wasmassiveinscale,Byzantineincomplexity, and exacting inits requirement that fourfleets separated by thousandsof miles of ocean time theirmovements with near-impossible precision. Fromthe far-flung imperialanchorages in Japan’s InlandSea, from Borneo inMalaysia, and fromSingapore’s Lingga Roads,the fleetswould sortie to the

attack. If they could executethe Sho-Go plan as written,land-based aircraft wouldassault the American carriergroupswhileadecoyforceofaircraft carriers under ViceAdm. Jisaburo Ozawa luredHalsey’s Third Fleet north.Exploitingthegapcreatedbythe diversion, two battleshipforces, one underViceAdm.TakeoKurita,theotherunderVice Adm. Shoji Nishimura,with Vice Adm. Kiyohide

Shima’s Third Section insupport, would then slipthrough the waters north ofSamar and south of Leyterespectively.TheplanplayedtoJapan’s

strength, for the ImperialNavy still fielded aformidable force of big-gunnedsurfaceships.Twoofits71,659-tonbattleships, theYamato and the Musashi,were the largest warships in

the world. The Nagato, theFuso, and the Yamasbiro,aged though they were, haddisplacements in theneighborhoodof40,000tons.The imperial fleet had twofast 36,601-ton battleships inthe Kongo and the Haruna.Anditsdozen-odd13,000-to-15,000-tonheavycruisersandseveral squadrons of hard-hitting destroyers werecapable combatants that haddrawn their share of

Americanbloodearlierinthewar.Convergingfromnorthand

southonMacArthur’slandingbeach, the two battleshipforces would catch the U.S.troopsinapincersmovement.The heavy ships would sinkat their leisureany transportsor supply ships off Leyte,thenturnthegunsinlandandblast the American armiesfrom the rear while imperial

troops rallied ashore. If theyworked quickly enough, theJapanese fleet might routMacArthurandmakegooditsescape before Halseyrecovered and inflicted anoverwhelmingairattackuponthem. The challenge, ofcourse,wouldbetomovethebigshipsthatformedthetwopincersthroughlongstretchesof American-patrolled seas,intact and on time, and hopethat Admiral Halsey would

act as they suspected hemight when presented withOzawa’sbait.Therewasgoodreasonfor

Japan to expect AdmiralHalsey, whose Third Fleetguarded MacArthur’snorthern flank, to take thebait and chase Ozawa north.Japan’s carriers had longbeen his obsession. Andindeed, recent history provedthe necessity of knowing

where the carriers were.Japan had attacked PearlHarbor on a day when theEnterprise and theLexingtonwereatsea.Thiscostherthechancetodestroy,ratherthanmerely wound, the U.S.Pacific Fleet. The carriers,having dodged thetreacherousblow,went on tospearhead the Alliedcounteroffensive in thePacific. At Midway sixmonths later a U.S. scout

pilot’s fortuitous peekthroughabreakinthecloudsenabled theAmerican carrierplanes to strike the Japaneseflattopsfirstandturnthetideofthewar.The Navy did not fully

appreciate it at the time, butwithJapanesenavalairpowervirtually wiped away in theMarianas Turkey Shoot, itreally no longer matteredwhere the Japanese carriers

were. Japan didn’t haveenoughtrainedpilotstomakethemathreat.That thehopesoftheSho-1planwerevestedinbattleshipswasasuresignthat Japanknew its tenure asacarrierpowerwasatanend.Thathardtruthwasnotlost

on JisaburoOzawa, themosttalented of Japan’s carrieradmirals.His seniority in theCombined Fleet laggedbehind only that of its

commander in chief, Adm.Soemu Toyoda. But for thedistinguished vice admiral,widely thought the mostcapable commander in theJapanese Navy, reality couldnot have been more bracing:in the age of the aircraftcarrier, the Sho-1 planrelegated him to leadingJapan’s remaining carrierstrength on a mere decoymission. It was likely asuicide mission as well.

SteamingfromJapan’sInlandSea with the fleet carrierZuikaku, the light carriersCbitose,Cbiyoda, andZuibo,twohybridbattleship-carriersIseandHyuga,andaforceoflight cruisers and destroyers,Ozawa fielded the last ofJapan’s paltry naval airstrength.Ozawa’s carrierswere like

dragons whose fiery breathhad been quenched. At the

controls of their 116 combataircraft were rookie pilotswhose training barelysufficed to land them safelyaboard their carrier after amission. His screen includednot only fast fleet destroyersbut coastal defense vesselspronetocripplingmechanicalbreakdowns.Butprevailinginbattlewas

not Ozawa’s mission. If hecould just get Halsey’s

attention, chanceswere goodthat the Bull’s predilectionswouldgetthebetterofhim.IfOzawacouldenticetheThirdFleet commander to chasehim,itmightopenforKuritathe northern path aroundSamar, through SanBernardino Strait, and intoLeyteGulf,where theCenterForce’s big ships,rendezvousing withNishimura’s Southern Force,could devastate MacArthur’s

landingbeach.Likeanaikidomaster, Ozawa would turnHalsey’s aggressivenessagainst him. All of it hingedonOzawa’sallureasbait.On October 24 Ozawa

steameddownfromthenorth,making radio noise andplanning to launch an airstrikeonanyAmericanshipsit might find. Steaming offCape Engaño, a peninsulajutting out from the

northeastern shore of Luzon,Ozawa did everything hecould to be noticed. It wasoddlyappropriate:engaharisthe Spanish verb “todeceive.”If Ozawa’s deception

worked,battleshipswoulddothe rest.TheSouthernForce,withelementsunderAdmiralsShoji Nishimura andKiyohide Shima, wouldapproachMacArthur through

SurigaoStrait,southofLeyte.Themorepowerfulgroup,theCenter Force under TakeoKurita,would trace the coastof Palawan—a long slash ofan island that separated theSouthChinaandSuluSeas—maneuver through therambleofislandsintheSibuyanSea,and then exploit the gapcreated by Ozawa’sdiversion,movingthroughanunprotected San BernardinoStrait before turning

southward around SamarIsland and attacking LeyteGulf as the Sho-1 plan’snorthernpincer.With the superbattleships

Yamato and Musashi, thebattleships Nagato, Kongo,and Haruna, ten heavycruisers, and severalsquadrons of destroyers,Kuritahadmorethanenoughmuscle for the job. Hischallengewouldbetosurvive

the inevitableonslaught fromAmerican planes andsubmarines on his approachtoSanBernardinoStrait.Ifhecould, he might yet hope tomeet the Southern Force inLeyteGulf.

***

GUARDING THE LEYTE INVASION

beach’s northern flank wasAdmiralHalsey’sThirdFleet.Itsprimarystrengthlayinthe

seventeenfastaircraftcarriersof Task Force 38, nominallyled by the legendary carrierboss, Admiral Mitscher. Thecarriers, supported by apowerful surface force thatincluded six new battleships,hadgreaterspeedandamuchlongerreachthantheSeventhFleet did. But Halsey’s fleethad a somewhat less clearlyestablished mission. Hisorders, drawn up by ChesterNimitz in line with the

agreement brokered byPresident Roosevelt inHawaii, required the ThirdFleet to “cover and support”MacArthur’s troops“inorderto assist in the seizure andoccupationofallobjectivesinthe Central Philippines” andto “destroy enemy naval andairforcesinorthreateningthePhilippines area.” But anamendment to the operationsorder,addedbyNimitzafewdays later, stated, “In case

opportunityfordestructionofmajor portion of the enemyfleet is offered or can becreated, such destructionbecomestheprimarytask.”Whether it was offered by

theJapaneseorcreatedbytheAmericans, that opportunitybegan to materialize on themorningofOctober24,whenThird Fleet pilots mademultiplesightingsofJapanesewarships.At8:22A.M.Halsey

received a report from anIntrepid flier that a Japanesefleetwas in theSibuyanSea,in thewaterswest of Samar.Less than an hour later, at9:18, planes from theEnterprisepatrollingtheSuluSea to the south spotted andattacked another Japaneseflotilla containing twobattleships evidently headedeast toward Surigao Strait.The sightings themselvesweremoreimportantthanthe

minor damage the planesinflicted. All of the reportscoming in from the Navy’sinterlocking web of searchplanesandpicket submarineswere telling the Americansthe same thing: the enemyhadbeenstirredtoaction.Because the Imperial

CombinedFleetfacedseriousfuel shortages, U.S. navalintelligence had learned topredict its maneuvers by

tracking the advancemovementsof its fleetoilers.TodivinetheintentionsoftheImperialNavy, one had onlytofollowthetrailofoil.The Joint Intelligence

Center, Pacific Ocean Area(JICPOA),hadreportedmorethan a month earlier, onSeptember 18, that “largescalelogisticpreparationsareinthemaking.”OnOctober2JICPOA reported that

Japanese tankers had leftSumatra for the fleetanchorageatLinggaandwererehearsing underway-refueling operations. Twoweeks later the CombinedFleet was reported to haveplaced seven fleet oilers atAdmiralKurita’sdisposalandordered two freighters toyield their fuel to the CenterForce’s warships if Kuritaneeded it. On October 20Navy intelligence discovered

that two tankers awaitingKurita’sorders in theTonkinGulf had been directed torendezvous with the admiralinthewesternPhilippinesandrefuel the Center Force, alsoknown as the FirstDiversionAttackForce.So the tea leaves were

there to be read. The onlyremaining question wasexactly when and how theJapanese would strike. On

October 23 two U.S.submarinesoperatingwestofthePhilippineshadambusheda large northbound surfaceforce steaming through thePalawanPassage.TheDarterandtheDacesunktwoheavycruisers,theAtagoandMaya,andforcedathird,theTakao,backtoSingaporeforrepairs.WiththemorningsightingonOctober 24 of this sameenemy flotilla in theSibuyanSeawestofSamar,andofthe

battleship force headedtoward Surigao Strait in thesouth, the full picture wasbeginning to emerge. Fromhis Seventh Fleet flagquarters aboard the USSWasatch in LeyteGulf,ViceAdm.ThomasKinkaid couldat last see the Japanese planunfolding: a Japanese taskgroupwouldnavigateSurigaoStrait and challenge LeyteGulf fromthesouth.Anotherthreatloomedtothenorth,in

the Sibuyan Sea. But it wasaccounted for—Halsey’scarrierpilotswereallover it,strikinghardontheafternoonofOctober24andsinkingthesuperbattleship Musashi.Now Kinkaid had his ownwelcomingpartytoprepare.At 2:45 P.M. that afternoon

heorderedJesseOldendorftoreadyhisbigshipsforanightbattle. If the Imperial Navywas going to break through

Surigao Strait and reachLeyteGulf, theywould havetodefeatthemultilayeredtrapthat Oldendorf would set forthem. Having seenMacArthur’s Sixth Army tothe beach on the twentiethwithout incident,Oldendorf’sPearl Harbor battleships,thoseresurrectedoldsoulsofthe U.S. Navy, prepared toreturntodoingwhattheyhadbeenbuilt todo.Achallengewas coming. The challenge

wouldbemet.

Eight

Steaming by night towardSurigao Strait aboard hisSouthern Force flagship, thebattleship Yamashiro,Admiral Nishimura knewwhatawaitedhimandheldnoillusions about his chancesfor victory. At 12:35 P.M. theprevious day a float plane

catapulted from the heavycruiser Mogami had radioedthe fifty-nine-year-oldadmiral with word that apowerfulAmericanbattleshipforcewasgatheringatthefarend of Surigao Strait. Thepilot may have beenprescient. It was not untilmid-afternoonon the twenty-fourth that Admiral Kinkaid,having anticipated thatNishimura was headed hisway,orderedJesseOldendorf

tomove his heavies down tothe strait and prepare for anightaction.What drove the Japanese

admiral to sail to nearlycertain death is between hisghostandhisMaker.AclosefriendoftheJapaneseadmiralhadseeninhimadeathwishever since Nishimura’s onlyson,Teiji,atopstudentatthenaval academy at Etajima,haddiedwhenhisfloatplane

explodedduringoperationsinthePhilippines in 1942.ThatNishimura did not nowwithdrawfromSurigaoStrait,that he did not pause andregroup with AdmiralShima’s cruisers anddestroyers, trailing him bysome forty miles, suggestedbravery more thanfoolhardiness, for bravery ismotivated by purpose, andShoji Nishimura’s purposehad been established not by

his own personal loss but bythe strategic designs of theJapanese naval command.With the Imperial JapaneseNavy’s far-flung forcescommitted to the attack, theSho-1 plan was beyond thepointofnoreturn.Fromhisflagbridgeonthe

Yamashiro, Nishimuraevaluatedtheoddsfacinghimandknew that the success ofthe Sho-1 plan depended on

hiscommitmenttoit.Evenifexecuting it meant his owndeath,hiseffortwaslikelytolock down a sizableAmerican fleet committed tohis destruction and spareAdmiral Kurita’s CenterForce that many moreopponents in its own bid forLeyteGulf.Nishimura rested his

fortunes on the strong keelsof the Fuso and the

Yamashiro. The battleshipshad spentmost of thewar inJapan’s Inland Sea ontraining missions, because,like Oldendorf’s old bat-tlewagons, time was passingthemby.Theywerenolongerfast enough for the demandsof the carrier war. But nowheavy-gunned ships such asthe Fuso and the Yamashirowere the best Japan had left.The lateAdmiralYamamoto,who had first championed

naval airpower in 1915, hadoncederided thebig shipsas“like elaborate religiousscrollswhicholdpeoplehangup in their homes.” “Thesebattleships,” he once said,“willbeasuseful toJapaninmodernwarfare as a samuraisword.”Perhaps.Butperhapstoo the stark reality that noalternative remained wouldallow the old swords to beunsheathed to fight as theirdesigners had intended.

UnderKurita andNishimura,they might flash in the aironceagain.The Japanese high

command had debated themerits of employing the lastof Japan’s naval strength onwhat many commanders sawasauselesssacrifice.Kurita’schief of staff, Rear Adm.Tomiji Ko-yanagi, thought itbeneath the navy’s ancientdignity to send its proudest

ships gunning for transportsin a harbor.He considered itpreferable from a militarystandpoint, and infinitelybetter from the standpoint ofpride,toseekadecisivebattlewith the enemy’s carrierforces. Koyanagi argued thata successful disruption ofMacArthur’s invasion forcewould only delay theinevitable. The invasionwould regroup, supported bythe powerful American

carrier force. On the otherhand, if Halsey’s carriergroups could be somehowdestroyed, the Americanswould be unable to sustaintheir drive toward the shoresof Japan. Some officers feltthat if thenavywasgoing toriskitsexistenceontheSho-1plan, at the very least itshould be led personally bythe Combined Fleetcommander in chief himself,AdmiralToyoda.

Itwascleartoallthatwiththe outcome of the warhanging in the balance,reserving the empire’sstrength was no longerfeasible. A decisive battlewas needed. This was not asudden realization. Thedoctrine of Decisive Battlehad driven the JapaneseNavy’s strategyandplanningsinceatleast1930.Shapedbythe inevitability of fighting alarger American fleet—a

situationimposeduponJapanby the 1922 WashingtonNaval Treaty—the doctrinerested on ensuring localsuperiority in the westernPacific.Itenvisionedfightinga war of attrition against thewestward-boundfoe.Inhomewaters a powerful Japanesebattleship force would finishoffanAmericanfleetthathadbeen worn out and whittleddown by the need to sustainthefightacrosslongdistances

inthePacific.DecisiveBattledepended upon seizingAmerica’s forward bases andforcingtheU.S.Navytopickits way across the Pacific,whereitwouldbesusceptibleto attrition by hit-and-runattacks from a mobileadvance force comprised ofsubmarines and torpedo-armed destroyers andcruisers.On August 1, 1944,

Combined Fleet Top SecretOperationsOrderNumber83directed Japanese forces “tointercept and destroy theinvading enemy at sea in aDecisive Battle.” Land-basedaircraft would sink theAmerican aircraft carrierswhile the battleshipsconcentrated on penetratingLeyte Gulf and attackingMacArthur. That missionwouldbepursuedatanycost.At a combined meeting in

Tokyo of Japan’s army andnavy staffs, Adm. TasukuNakazawa, chief of thenavy’s operations section,observed tearfully that thedefense of the PhilippinescouldbetheJapaneseNavy’sfinalopportunitytomeetwithan honorable end. “Pleasegive the Combined Fleet thechancetobloomasflowersofdeath,” he told hiscompatriots. “This is thenavy’s earnest request.” It

was a request that ShojiNishimurawasfullypreparedtohonor.JesseOldendorfwasreadytoindulgeittoo.

***

LIKE THE OTHER JAPANESEadmirals who sailed in fuel-hogging battleships,Nishimura was forced tooperate far from thecomfortable embrace of theJapanesehomeislands,outof

BorneoandSingapore,closerto what remained of hisempire’s meager fuelreserves. Notwithstandingthat logistical handicap, themission was going well thusfar. He had been remarkablylucky since leaving BruneiBay, in Borneo, on October22, his two battleshipsaccompanied by the heavycruiser Mogami and fourdestroyers. First, though theharbor was closely watched

by U.S. search planes, heslipped past the web ofreconnaissance patrols thatSeventhFleetintelligencehadcast all around the Bruneiport.Next, Nishimura passed

unseen and unheard throughthe tripwire of Americansubmarines cruising the SuluSea between Borneo and thePhilippines to the east.Finally, on the morning of

October 24, southwest of theisland of Negros, he cameunder attack by twenty-eightplanes from the Enterpriseand theFranklin ofHalsey’sThird Fleet. A bomb struckthe quarterdeck of the Fuso,causing a raging fire thatdestroyed her complement offloat planes. The destroyerShigure was hit too, losingher forward gun turret. ButNishimura’s striking power,modest though it was in

comparison to what theSeventhFleetwasmarshalingtomeethiminSurigaoStrait,wasintact.

***

TIPPED TO THE JAPANESEapproach that morning,Admiral Oldendorf used thelate afternoon of October 24to plan his welcoming partyforNishimura’sforce.Hehadmore than enough firepower

tohandlewhatevertheenemymightsendathim.Enteringthebrambleofthe

Philippine archipelago fromthe west, through the SuluSea and into the crease ofocean between the islands ofNegros and Mindanao,Nishimura would first facesuccessive swarms ofAmericanPTboats, charginghim three by three, thirteenwavesinall,firingtheirdeck-

mounted torpedoes, thenwithdrawing under cover ofdarkness and lurking nearbyto report his position toOldendorf throughout theengagement.As he took a northeasterly

course and headed for theconfines of Surigao Straititself, he would next faceOldendorf’s hard-hittingdestroyers.The“tincans”—aname that belied the

destroyers’ potent offensivehitting power—would comeat him in three squadrons,ranging down both theeastern and western sides ofthe narrow strait to launchtorpedoes at him from theflanks.Eachdestroyercarriedten of them; the crossfire,Oldendorf and hiscommandershoped,wouldbedevastating.Oldendorf’ssixbattleships,

under the tactical commandof Rear Adm. George L.Weyler, would cruise singlefile across a fifteen-nautical-mile stretch of water at thenorthern outlet of the strait.Steaming parallel to them,five miles to their south,wouldbeeightcruisersunderRearAdm.RussellS.Berkey,three toWeyler’s right flankandfivetohisleft.Straddlingtheexitofthestrait,thebattlelinewouldbepoisedtofinish

off any of Nishimura’s shipsthat survived the smallerships’onslaught.Oldendorf’s five wounded

veteransofPearlHarborwerejoined by the battleshipMississippi, which hadescaped the treacherousenemy blow onDecember 7.Ithadtakennearlythreeyearsfor the damaged ships torecover and return to a placewhere they might do their

builders’ terrible bidding.Civilian engineers and Navytechnicians came from theWest Coast to join PearlHarbor’s yard workers. Thearmyofgatheredelectricians,mechanics, burners, divers,and pumpers worked aroundthe clock, as often laboringunderwaterindivingsuitsasunder the scintillant Pacificsun.Theywere theseedofasalvage organization thatwould boast 27,000 civilian

workers in addition to 3,000Pearl Harbor Navy Yardpersonnel.The great ships were

patched, pumped, and liftedfrom the muck, righted withwinches,andsetuponby theyardbirds at Pearl beforebeing taken to shipyardsalong the West Coast forrepairsandrefitting.Shipyardcraftsmen replaced their tornhull plates, burst bulkheads,

silted boilers, and meltedelectrical wiring. Navalarchitects and engineers tookdown their great cage mastsand installed more prosaic-lookingstructuresthathousedthelatestfire-controlradars.Admiral Yamamoto had

morosely foreseen that thesneak attack would provokeAmerica to just the sort ofindustrial and humanmobilizationthatreturnedthe

old battleships to the line.They had taken varied pathsto the waters of Leyte Gulf,climbing the curve of theearth across thePacific, theirmassive steam-poweredscrewspushingthemalongatthe speed of a swift bicyclerider. They had visited aseries of islands en route,supporting American troopsastheywentashoreonislandafter island, from Peleliu toMorotai to the current

operation in the Philippines.They escorted convoys alonglengthening supply linesacross the southern andcentral Pacific. Their gunturrets, housing rifles thatfired shells fourteen tosixteen inches wide and astallasaman,hadbeenbuiltageneration ago to fight otherbattleships. But that battlehad thus far eluded them.Enemy dreadnoughts had yettofallwithintheirreach.

Late in the war, as theNavy employed them inshore-bombardment roles,America’s aging thirty-thousand-ton monsters hadbecome little more thanmassive seagoing artilleryplatforms. Perhaps it wasonly appropriate that suchmachinery, too slow to keepupwiththecarriers,beplacedundertheArmy’scommand.Butnow,atSurigaoStrait,

thankstothedesperationofaJapaneseNavysailingtostopMacArthur at any cost, theworld would learn that thepronouncements of the oldships’ obsolescence were abit premature, if not whollyexaggerated. Pearl Harbor’sghost ships were not yetready to fade into history orlegend. The dashing newbreed of carrier admirals,smug aboard their gracelessfloating bird farms, might

well have declared the battlelineobsolete.ThepresenceofOldendorf’ssixbattleships inthestraitwasadeclarationofa different sort, one thatshouldhavesentamessagetothe warlords in Tokyo whohad ignored AdmiralYamamoto’s prophecy: ifAmerica could raise its olddreadnoughts from the dead,what chance could the U.S.Navy’s enemies possiblyhave?

Oldendorf would take nochances throwing the dice inthe fog of war. Here, in thenarrow waters of SurigaoStrait, there would be nopitched battle. Nishimurawould have no room tomaneuver. Oldendorf’s fleetwould hold its positionastridethenorthernendofthestraitanddevourNishimura’scolumn like a log thrust intothe business end of a U.S.Navywoodchipper.

At2:40A.M.onthemorningof October 25, 1944, thedestroyer McGowan radioedOldendorf, “Skunk 184degrees, 18 miles.” Thebeams from the tin can’sradarsethadfoundtheenemyin the darkness. All thatremained for Oldendorf’sfleetwastoclosethetrapanddestroyit.

Nine

Blocking Surigao Strait’stwelve-mile-wide openingintoLeyteGulf,theAmericanbattle line spanned nearlythreemilesofocean.Thesixships that formed it plowedthe strait’s waters at aleisurely five-knot speed.When the battle line was

headed to the east, theWestVirginia led the way,followed in half-mileintervalsbytheMaryland,theMississippi, the Tennessee,the California, and thePennsylvania. When onAdmiral Weyler’s commandthe ships turned to the right,they did so in majesticunison,plowinga180-degreearc and fallingback into lineon a reversed course andsequence, with the

Pennsylvania in the lead andtheWestVirginiaattherear.The battle line, the

preferred formation ofadmirals since 1655, whenJames, Duke of York, hadroutedtheDutchattheBattleof Lowestoft, endured fornearlythreehundredyearsonthe strength of its irreduciblemerits: it offered navalcommanders both commandunity and concentrated

firepower. For any navalofficer, the dreamed-ofscenariowasto“crosstheT”of his opponent,concentrating their fullbroadsides on approachingshipsthatcouldrespondonlywith their forward batteries.In the narrow waters ofSurigao Strait, geographymadedoingsoamucheasierproposition. All JesseOldendorfhadtodowasholdhis position astride the

restricted waters and let theenemy column walk into hiscrossbar.But his battleships would

not start the fighting. Thathonor would fall to thesmallest combat vessels theU.S.Navyhadever sent intobattle. Lt. Cdr. Robert A.Leeson’sthirty-ninePTboatshad come off the assemblyline built to deliver high-speed hit-and-run torpedo

attacks. Lurking like schoolsofbarracudaalongtheislandsof Bohol, Leyte, and Panaonin the easternMindanaoSea,they had a twofold mission:to harass, and to track, theapproaching Japanese force.The small boats with theirfifteen-man crews were wellequippedforboth jobs.Theirthreetwelve-cylinderPackardgasoline engines gave themtopspeedsofforty-oneknots.At that clip they could close

range quickly with a target,launch four stubby Mark 13torpedoes, turn on a dime,and escape. Theywere adeptat patrol, and their offensivepotential was considerable.But Leeson’s crews hadn’tfiredatorpedoinangersincetheGuadalcanal campaign inAugust 1943. And attackingan enemy battleship was notsomethingtheyhadeverdonebefore.

The weather was so clearas to be threatening—“toobeautiful to serve ourpurpose,” one destroyercommanderwouldwrite.Thequarter moon shone aluminescent path across thesea to its viewer. Wind wassoft and the seas were light,withvisibilitytoagoodeightthousand yards, about fourand a half miles. But as theJapanese approached, thenight darkened. The moon

fell toward the westernhorizon, and rainsquallswalked through, laying blackclouds across the sky andmaking the night, here andthere, opaque to all light.Flashes of lightning offeredfleetingglimpsesofwhatwasabouttohappeninthestrait.At 10:50 P.M., under a

setting moon, Leeson’s firstsection of PT boats venturedout from the dark corners of

the shoreline to attackNishimura’s force. The shipsup the strait heard atremendous racket as thePackard V-12s roared to lifeandthetorpedoboatsracedtotheattack.TheJapaneseshipsopened the shutters of theirsearchlights, illuminated thePT boats, and opened fire.The PTs slashed in insuccessive trios, loosingtorpedoes at the enemy. Allmissed. The Japanese

returned fire, repelling thenuisance but inflicting littlereal damage. A PT boatskipper grabbed the mike onhisTBSradioandexclaimed,“I’vegotabigoneinsight….MyGod, there are twomorebig ones, and maybeanother.”OnAllied ships farto the north, men watchedstarshellsglowlikeminiaturesuns and searchlight beamssweeptheseas.

The noisy dance lastedthreeandahalfhours.Tenofthe PT boats were hit, butonly one of them severely.PT-493 took three hits fromthe five-inch guns of thedestroyerShigure. The shellsblew away her charthouse,holed her wooden bottom,killed two sailors, woundedfive, and forced the boat togroundon therockyshoreofPanaonIsland.Bravelyledbytheir skipper, Lt. (jg) R. W.

Brown, the crew jumped offthe stricken boat and formeda defensive perimeter, riflesand machine guns at theready in case the Japanesecame for them. But AdmiralNishimura’s goals were farlargerthanfinishingoffafewscrappy PT boat sailors. TheAmericans were left alone,andwhenhightidecame,thesplintered hull of their boatrose from the rocks anddisappearedintothesea.

Shortly before 12:30 A.M.Oldendorfreceivedadispatchfrom his PT boats, dulyrelayed to him by the PTboats’ tender, the USSWachapreague. It was thefirst report he had gotten onNishimura’sexactdispositionandlocationsinceteno’clockthe previous morning.Oldendorfevaluatedit,foundno surprises, and had thesatisfaction of knowing thathis Japanese counterpart

wouldarriverightontimeforthe fiery reception that therestof theSeventhFleetwasplanningforhim.

***

THE TWENTY-TWO DESTROYERS

THAT filled AdmiralOldendorf’s screen carried atotal of 111 five-inch gunsand 214 torpedoes. Evenwithout the battleships, adestroyer force like that

mightwellhavebeenable todestroy the bulk ofNishimura’s and Shima’sfleets all by itself. Verynearlyitdid.At about 2:30 A.M. Capt.

Jesse G. Coward led threeships of Destroyer Squadron54,theRemey,theMcGowan,and the Melvin, down theeasternsideofthestraitwhiletwomore,theMcDermutandthe Monssen, hugged the

western shore. BehindCoward followed sixdestroyers from Capt. K. M.McManes’s DestroyerSquadron 24, steaming southintwosections:theHutchins,theDaly,andtheBachewereclosest to the Leyte Islandshore; theHMASArunta, anAustraliandestroyer assignedto the squadron, followed bythe Kitten and the Beale,cruisedoff their port quarter.Finally, Capt. Roland

Smoot’s nine-ship DestroyerSquadron 56would attack inthree columns: theRobinson,the Halford, and the Bryantranging down the easternside; the Newcomb, theRichard P. Leary, and theAlbert W. Grant down themiddle of the strait, head-on,firing,thenloopingback;andtheHeywoodL.Edwards, theLeutze, and the Bennion onthewestsideofthestrait.

At 2:56 lookouts aboardthe Shigure reported threeships at a range of eightkilometers. The largesearchlights aboard thebattleship Yamashiroswitched on, bathing theRemey, at the head of theAmerican line, in hot whitelight and making her crewfeel like“animals inacage.”Sheendured the spotlight forthree minutes before comingcloseenoughtotheenemyto

fire her torpedoes. It tooklittle more than a minute forthe Remey, the McGowan,and theMelvin to loose theirtorpex-loaded fish at theenemy. Leaping from theirtubes set at an intermediatespeed of thirty-three and ahalf knots, the torpedoeswould need eight minutes toreach their targets. CaptainCoward turned to port andwithdrew to the northeast atflank speed of thirty-five

knots.Eightminuteswentby,and precisely on cue severallarge explosions flashed asthe battleship Fuso was hitamidships by two torpedoesfromtheMelvin.Withboilerslikely shattered, the Fusoslowedfromtwentytotwelveknots as her skipper, RearAdm. Masami Ban, swungher out of formation to theright to avoid collisionswiththe ships cruising in columnastern.

At3:10,barelytenminutesafterCoward’s three tin canslaunched their torpedoes andjust a few minutes after theFuso was hit, theMcDermutand the Monssen fired theirownspreads,wheeledaround,and made good their escape.Thewait for the torpedoes toreach their targets ended inpyrotechnics at 3:20, whentorpedoes from theMcDermut hit no fewer thanthree of Nishimura’s four

destroyers. The Yamagumodisappeared in a successionof great explosions, sinkingwith a sizzling noise like a“huge, red-hot iron plungedinto the water.” TheMichishio, shattered at thewaterline, was left behind,crippled and burning. TheAsagumo,herbowblownoffby the blast, controlled herfloodingwellenoughtoretiretothesouth.

The Monssen’s shootingwas almost as good as theMcDermufs. A torpedo fromthatshipstruckthehulloftheYamashiroontheportsidetothe rear.Theblast forced thebig battleship to slow to tenknots as damage-controlparties flooded twomagazines as a precautionagainst a massive secondaryexplosion. But theYamashiro’s captain,Katsukiyo Shinoda, soon

returned his ship to eighteenknots.Nishimura and Shinoda

were unaware that the Fusohadfallenoutofline.At3:52the Japanese admiral radioedtheFusostating,“Notifyyourmaximum speed.”Clearly hethought theFusowasbehindhim as he rushed toward theAmerican fleet. Little did heknow that unimaginablecatastrophe had befallen his

mostformidableally.Aftertakingthetorpedohit

fromtheMelvinatabout3:08A.M.,AdmiralBanhadsheeredtheFuso to therightsoas toprevent the cruiser Mogamibehind him from collidingwith his rapidly deceleratingbattleship. As the Mogamisteamed past on her portquarter at 3:13, the Fusobegan listing to starboard.True to the Japanese Navy’s

stubborn form, shecontinuedforafewminutestoadvance,at a north-by-northeasterlycourse, toward the Americanbattle line. But at 3:18 theship reversed course back tothe south, the advancingdeterioration of the Fuso’sstarboard list likely havingtempered Admiral Ban’sfortitude. Shadowed by twoPTboats, theFuso retired tothe south as damage-controlpartiesstruggledtostanchthe

inrush of seawater into herstarboard-side torpedowounds. Twenty minuteslater, at 3:44, all handstopsideonthedestroyerDalyobserved three large blasts.“Eachexplosionwasa roundball of dull orange flamewhich subsided anddisappeared almostimmediately,” the ship’sskipper wrote. They tookthese for their own ship’storpedoes. “The ship which

was hit by these torpedoesimmediatelyopenedfirewithmajorandminorcaliberguns,frantically throwing steelthrough 360 degrees, andinitiating general gun actionbetween both forces,” wrotethecommanderoftheDaly.But within seconds the

nighttime heavens flashedinto daylight as a greatexplosion shook the Fuso.The Hutchins, eight miles

away, reported “two faint[explosions] and a loudsnap.” The Fuso’simmolation could be seen asfar away as Oldendorf’sbattle line some twenty-fivenautical miles to the north.Lookouts aboard theMississippi reported “flamesreaching above themastheads.” It must havebeen a magazine explosion,fornothingelsecouldexplainits terrifying power—or its

lurid result. American radaroperators watched theirscopes inwonderment as theFuso’s single large radarsignaturesplitapart.Herkeelandarmoredhullshatteredbythe force of the blast, thegreat39,154-tonshipbrokeintwo.Consumedbyflamesashot

as a steel mill’s forge andbright enough to illuminatewarships nearby, the Fuso’s

innards were revealed incross-section. The piecesrefused to sink. Burning andsmoking furiously butseemingly animated bydefiant spirits, they remainedstubbornly afloat. The bowandthesternoftheFusohadacquired separate lives. Eachpiece clung bizarrely to life,populated by crewmen whorefused to concede theirship’s destruction by doingthe prudent thing and

abandoning her. The lazytwo-and-a-half-knot currentcarried them back down thestrait, to the south whencetheyhadcome.Nishimurawasreeling,and

theU.S.battleshipshadyettoopen fire on the falteringJapanesefleet.

***

THEFIRE-CONTROLOFFICERSINthecombat information center of

the West Virginia, their bigturrets rotated out tostarboard, had been chafingfor an opportunity to openfire ever since they had firstspottedtheenemycolumnontheirscopes.AdmiralWeylerhadorderedthemtoopenfirewhen the range to theapproaching Japanese targetshad closed to 26,000 yards(14¾ statutemiles).At3:53A.M. the “Wee Vee” openedthemajorgunfirephaseofthe

battle, the onetime gunnerychampofthefleetunleashingthepowerofhersixteen-inchguns for the first time at anenemy ship. Two minuteslater the Tennessee and theCalifornia joined the barragewiththeirfourteen-inchrifles.The West Virginia’s

gunneryofficerlaughedaloudasheannounceda first-salvohit to his captain. The olderships in the battle line,

equippedwiththeolderMark3 fire-control set, were stillblind to the enemy at thisextended range. But theenterprising gunnerydepartment aboard theMaryland managed to defeattheinadequacyofitsradarbylocking in on the toweringcolumns of water raised byher three sisters’ fallingshells.By rangingon thebigsplashes, which registeredmomentarily on the

antiquated Mark 3, theMaryland’s gunners firedfour dozen sixteen-inchroundsattheenemy.TheYa-mashiro,struckallaroundhertowering pagoda mast, wasquicklyenvelopedinflames.Meanwhile, Admiral

Berkey’s cruisers had foundthe range themselves. Thelight cruisers Denver,Columbia, Boise, andPhoenix made up for their

thin skin with offensivefirepower that was simplyvicious.TheBoise’s gunneryofficer, Lt. Cdr. William F.Cassidy,wasn’tevenpausingtospotthefallofhissix-inchsalvosonradar.Hehadthemlocked in continuous rapidfire.Captain Smoot,

commanding DestroyerSquadron56fartherdownthestrait,hadafront-rowseat:

The devastating accuracyof this gunfire was themostbeautifulsightIhaveever witnessed. Thearched line of tracers inthedarkness looked likeacontinualstreamoflightedrailroadcarsgoingoverahill. No target could beobserved at first; thenshortly there would befires and explosions, andanother ship would beaccountedfor.

In justeighteenminutesofshooting, Oldendorf’s left-flank cruisers fired 3,100

rounds at the Japanesecolumn: “It seemed as ifeveryshipontheflankforcesof the battle line opened atonce, and there was asemicircle of fire whichlandedsquarelyononepoint,theleadingbattleship.”That hapless ship was the

Yamashiro. From the bridgeof the besieged dreadnought,Nishimura looked for help.He radioed in vain to the

Fuso,whichhebelievedtobeto his rear, encouragingAdmiral Ban to make fullspeed in his support. Thedestroyer Shigure hailed thebattleship repeatedly aswell.It seems that the Shigure’sskipper mistook Nishimura’sown ship for the Fuso.NishimuraprobablyheardtheShigure’s misdirectedbroadcasts to “Fuso” andfalsely took heart, thinkingthe battlewagon was in line

behind him, accompanied bythedestroyer.In reality the Fuso was

driftingwiththecurrentawayfrom Nishimura’s onrushingforce, its two halvesghoulishly still afloat.Nishimura’s southern pincerof theSho-1planwasallbutdestroyed, his largest shipsfoundering, his destroyerseither sunk or sinking,consumed with the

imperatives of their ownsurvival. Nishimura did notbothertoradioastatusreportto his compatriot Shima,following behind. He wouldbe left to discover the extentofthecatastropheforhimself.At4:08A.M. Shima arrived

on the scene. Nishimura’sflagshipYamashiro, steamingnorthward at twelve knots,was firing blindly into thedarkness with her two

forward turrets. Silhouettedby her own fires ragingamidships, the Yamashirostraddled the light cruiserDenver and hit the destroyerAlbertW.Grantwithher5.5-inch secondary battery. ButOldendorf’s ships were toopowerful and too numerous,asthecoldeyesoftheirradargazed through the darknessupon the dying ship. TheAmerican gunners were ontheir game now, their

adrenalineoverflowingasthepneumatic hoists whiskedshells fromthemagazinesuptotheguncrews,whoplacedthem onto loading trays, slidthe trays into breech blocks,discharged the shells at theenemy,andejectedtheemptycasings through the bottomsof the turrets to the decksbelow as the cycle beganagain and again. A projec-tileman inoneof theBoise’sforward turrets broke his left

hand while laying shells inthe breech tray but missedhardlyabeatloadinghisgun.Flames appeared to

consume the Yamashiro’sentirelength.At4:11,havingswung out to the west in aneffort tounmaskand fireheramidships gun turret, thebattleshipabsorbed twomoredestroyer torpedoes. Listingheavily to port, theYamashirocapsizedandsank

at 4:19, taking with herAdmiral Nishimura, CaptainShinoda, and the vastmajority of her fourteenhundred men. As theYamashiro was in her deaththroes, turning over onto herside, Shima blandly radioedNishimura,“Wehavearrivedatbattlesite.”Shima’s force too should

havebeeneatenalive,exceptthat at 4:09, ten minutes

before Shima radioed hiscounterpart aboard thefoundering Yamashiro,AdmiralOldendorf gave hima reprieve, ordering allAmerican ships to cease fire.It was a necessary decision,to be sure. A minute before,Oldendorf had received anemergency message fromCaptain Smoot’s DestroyerSquadron 56 saying that hisvaliant tin cans were takingfire from friendly ships. The

Grant was hit by sevenrounds from the Yamashiroand theMogami. But elevenmore came from themerciless barrage of theAmerican light cruisers,whose errant salvoscontributed to the carnagethat killed thirty-four menand wounded ninety-fourmore. The destroyer captainswho had so courageouslypressed the attack when theenemy was at full strength

werenowcaughtinaterriblecrossfire.The ten-minute pause in

shooting brought an eeriesilence to the strait. Thesmoke-shrouded surface ofthe water was still lit by thewhite glare of star shellsoverhead, drifting downwardon parachutes. Occasionallythroughthesmoke,wrecksofwarships smoldered. ThecruiserMogami, brightest of

them all, could be seen fromthe bridge of the cruiserLouisville, “burning like acityblock.”The captain of the cruiser

Nachi, under Shima, spottedthe Mogami and, believingthe ship dead in the water,attempted to move ahead ofher tomakeatorpedoattack.But the Mogami was stillmaking eight knots, whichmeant that the Nachi’s

navigator had miscalculatedbadly. At 4:30 the two shipscollided, the Nachi’s sharpstemglancingheavilyoff theMogami’sstarboardbow.Shimahadgottennodirect

report on what had befallenhis Eta-jima classmate’sforce. On entering the strait,the retreating Shigureblinkered to Shima, “I HAVERUDDER DIFFICULTIES.” But theShigure’s skipper offered

Shima nothing furtherregarding Nishimura’s fate.He would later explain, “Ihad no connection with[Shima] and was not underhis command.” The blazingJapanese wrecks that lit thewaters told Shima all heneeded to know. “If wecontinued dashing furthernorth,”Shimawrote later,“itwasquiteclearthatweshouldonlyfallintoareadytrap.”

At4:32,havingspiedatrioof fleeing Japanese ships onthe radar fourteen milesaway, Admiral OldendorftookhiscruisertheLouisville,thePortland,theDenver,andseveral destroyers to pursueShima’s retreating force. “Inthepalepre-dawntwilightthescene in Surigao Strait wasappalling,” Lt. James L.HollowayIII,gunneryofficeron the destroyer Bennion,later wrote. “I counted eight

distinct fires, and the oilysurface of the gulf waslittered with debris andgroups of Japanese sailorswho were clinging to bits ofwreckage and calling out tousasweracedpast.”After forty-fiveminutes of

pursuit Oldendorf had theJapanese in gun range again.In one of the most bizarregunnery engagements of anynaval war, the Louisville

closed with the forward halfof the battleship Fuso andopened fire at a range ofnearly eleven statute miles(18,900yards).Intothathulktheflagcruiserfiredeighteenrounds of eight-inch armor-piercing ammunition. Withinminuteswhateverspiritswerekeeping the blackened,smoking wreck afloat weredispelled. At 5:36 itdisappeared from theAmericanradarscreens.

About a mile away, inwaters steadily burning fromalongslickofbunkeroil,theFuso’ssternsectionremainedmiraculously afloat, driftingsouthward at the speed of aslow walk. Sometime before6:30, as the sun began towarmtheeasternhorizon,thedestroyer Asagumo, her ownbow blown off duringCaptain Coward’s torpedoattack,hadpulledclosetothefloating pyre to take on

survivors. It was only thenthat the Fuso’s after-sectioncrew decided to abandonship.As survivorsof theFuso’s

nightmarish ordeal quit theburning hulk and swam forthe safety of the Asagumo’sdecks, an American PT boatwas watching them. At 6:30Lt. (jg) H. Stadler,commanding PT-323, sawopportunity and sped to the

attack.Whilethesternsectionof the Fuso went bubblinginto the depths of SurigaoStrait,Stadlerpouncedonherwould-berescuerlikeacatonawoundedpigeon.Heclosedrangeandfiredhistorpedoes.One of them struck theAsagumo, wounding hermortally. Then at 7:07 theJapanese destroyer wascaught by the light cruisersDenver and Columbia andthree U.S. destroyers. The

Asagumo returned fire, herafter turretbarking longafterherbowwas awash.By7:21theshipwasgone.At dawn the remainder of

Oldendorf’s task groupformed into a circularantiaircraft disposition andsteamed southward down thestrait. According to theskipperoftheDaly,

At daylight seven heavypillars of billowing blacksmoke could be seen on

thehorizonahead.Onebyone thesepillarsofsmokedisappeared as the shipsfrom which theyoriginated sank under thegunfire of our ships.Hundreds of survivorswere reported in thewater,almostallofwhomrefused tobe rescuedandwerelefttotheirfate.

The wounded and thehealthy alike turned awaytheir American rescuers. Aflustered destroyercommander radioed to

Oldendorf, “All survivors inwater are Nips and refuse aline.What do youwant donewith them?” Seconds latercame the task groupcommander’scoldreply:“Letthem sink.” Some of thedefiant Japanese, those withsufficient muscle or will tosurvive, managed to swimashore on Leyte or DinagatIsland,onlytobesetuponbyFilipino guerrillas whorelishedthespectacleoftheir

sinking and welcomed theopportunity to hack them topieceswiththeirboloblades.

Ten

Naval combat is nothing likegroundwar,butthatdoesnotmake it any less terrifying.Death comes suddenly,shrieking down with littlewarning from the sky. If atwo-thousand-poundprojectile fired from longrange has your number—if

thelazy,decayingparabolaofitstrajectoryterminatesonornear your ship—you arefinished, no matter how fineyour reflexes or howassiduous your training. Insize and explosive power,naval gunfire in this wardwarfed anything in theArmy’s arsenal. The biggesthowitzer that MacArthur’stroops used fired a 155-millimeter shell, about thesame size as the six-inch

rounds of light cruisers.Battleshipshellswereseveralorders of magnitude heavier.When they struck, theyshreddedarmor,burnedsteel,and vaporized flesh. Theykilled any number of ways:by flame, by shock, or bystormofflyingshrapnel.As in ground combat,

chanceisoftendecisivetotheoutcome. Eight of the nineships of Captain Smoot’s

DesRon 56 made daringsorties against Nishimura’sbattleships and executed aclean escape. But the AlbertW. Grant was in the wrongplace at the wrong time.Blasted by friendly fire, shesteamedawaywiththirty-fourdead, thirty-four familiessoon to receive dreadedtelegrams from the Navy.And even when the order ofbattle appeared to doom ashiptodestruction,deathwas

no foregone conclusion. TheJapanese destroyer Shigure,luckytotheend,hadescapeddestruction not only at Suri-gao Strait but earlier in thewar as well. One of herskippers, Tameichi Hara,grandsonofasamurai,wouldwrite a widely acclaimedmemoir and becomecelebrated worldwide as the“unsinkable captain.” Buteven he admitted, “The factthat Isurvivedwasentirelya

matterofluck.”The night was illuminated

by two sources of light: theflash of American guns andthe flames consumingJapaneseships.Thecrewmenof the Samuel B. Roberts,cruising off Samar about ahundred miles north of theaction, were not alone inwatching the distantpyrotechnics. The menaboard the invasion ships in

SanPedroBay lay awakeallnightwatching thefireworks,though the sounds did notreach them. Only combatantvessels with TBS sets tunedtotherightfrequencyenjoyedthefullexperience.“Large target has

disappeared from sight.Target referred to bearing205distance11.”“Keep track of enemy and

make reports on course and

speed—wearegoingtomakechaseforthem.”“We have one dead in the

water—we are going topresenthimwithfivefish.”“We have quite a few

survivors in the water. Doyoudesirewepickthemup?”“Pick them up. Do not

overload your ships withsurvivors. Search each manwell to see that he does nothave any weapons. Anyone

offering resistance—shoothim.”“Take three destroyers,

polishoffcripples.”The men standing the

midwatch in the Samuel B.Roberts’scombatinformationcenter had begun celebratingas soon as they determinedthat a rout was on. Theypumped their fists, clapped,and cheered. The exec, BobRoberts, was

uncharacteristically ebullient.Hearingthesoundsofvictorycoming over the radio fromSurigao Strait moved thetough twenty-eight-year-oldto pink-cheeked reverie. Heturnedtohisskipperandsaid,“By God, I think we finallygot’em.”Proximity to combat was

what a warship commander,or a litigator, lived for.Listening to rogue

transmissions of the fightingin Surigao Strait, CaptainCopeland and the other menintheRobertsCICknewthatthe stakes of their innocuoussupport operation had beendramatically raised. Theenemyhadbeenspotted,met,androuted.Suddenly the work of

baby-sittingabunchofescortcarriers was getting a wholelotmoreinteresting.

***

AS THE SOUTHERN FORCE wasmeeting its end in SurigaoStrait—the Fuso shattered,the Yamashiro capsized,Oldendorf’s battle linesendingsalvoaftersalvoafterthe stragglers—Kurita’smassiveCenter Force had anentirelydifferent reception inwaters far to the north.Plungingbynightthroughthedarkened narrows of San

Bernardino Strait, his CenterForcewas themostpowerfulgathering of surfacecombatants the imperial fleethadeversentintobattle.Thatfact alone should haveensureditavigorousgreetingby American naval forces inthestrait.Standingontheflagbridge

of the Yamato, Kuritaexpected at any moment tosee the flash of enemy

battleship guns in thedistance, to feel the deepreverberations of submarinetorpedoes tearing into hisbattle line as they had in thePalawan Passage the nightbefore. He could not believetheAmericanswerenotthereto challenge him.Astonishingly, the nightremained quiet. It appearedthatluckwasonhisside.

Eleven

Admiral Kurita’s CenterForcewas farmorepowerfulthantheweaponryNishimurahadbroughttoSurigaoStrait.In addition to two squadronsof heavy cruisers, he had theYamato and theMusashi, thebiggest battleships anywhereon the high seas. For the

Japanese sailors aboard thecruisers and destroyersescorting them, the sight ofthe two gargantuan 863-footvessels in the battle linestirred the heart. Togetherwith the oldNagato and thefast battleships Haruna andKongo, it was a gathering ofheavies such as Japan hadneverbeforeassembled.Thedecisiontocommitthe

Yamato and the Musashi to

thegambletopenetrateLeyteGulf had been controversial.Kurita’schiefofstaff,TomijiKoyanagi, was not alone inhispreferenceforgoingafterAmerica’s carrier groups toslaughtering transports in aharbor. As journalistMasanori Ito summarized thedissent’sposition,“Wedonotmind death, but we are veryconcerned for the honor ofthe Japanese Navy. If thefinaleffortofourgreatNavy

shouldbespentinengagingagroup of empty cargo ships,surely Admirals Togo andGonnohyoe Yamamotowouldweepintheirgraves.”Kurita had committed

himself to the Sho-1 planwitharesignedfatalism.Likethe rest of the ImperialNavy’s high command, hesaw that the plan placed himinadesperateposition.Itwasaimed at setting up the

DecisiveBattle,butsofartheonly side suffering theattrition upon which theDecisive Battle doctrinedepended was the CombinedFleet. The strainwas evidentin the fuel shortages thathadforced Kurita to operate farfrom home in Brunei, whererefined bunker oil was morereadily available; in the lackofaircrafttoprotecthisships;in the perpetual infightingbetween the army and the

navythataroseasmuchfromnatural interserviceenmityasfrom the shortages. Prior todeparting Brunei, Kuritagathered his demoralizedcommanders aboard hisflagship, the heavy cruiserAtago, and addressed thegrowing dissent about thewisdom of pressing theattack.“I know thatmany of you

are strongly opposed to this

assignment,” he said. “Butthe war situation is far morecriticalthananyofyoucouldpossibly know.Would it notbe a shame to have the fleetremainintactwhilethenationperishes?” Though dashinginto Leyte Gulf was risky,Kurita deemed it “a gloriousopportunity…. You mustremember that thereare suchthingsasmiracles.Whatmancan say that there is nochance for our fleet to turn

the tide of war in a decisivebattle?”The Sho-1 plan’s

weaknesses were plainenoughtosee.Itreliedontheoptimistic notion that Japancould fight a complexsequenceofbattlesonitsownprecisetimetable,atplacesofits choosing, against anenemy that would acquiescetoeveryambushandfeintandrefrain from the discourtesy

of overwhelming it withsuperior force. The DecisiveBattle strategy envisionedJapanholdingthePhilippines,Guam, and other forwardbasesbutdidnotreckonwithan enemy whose fleetnourished itself at greatanchorages such as Ulithi,Manus, and Hollandia. Nordid it account for a flexible,thinking enemy that brokeimperial codes and exploitedtechnical breakthroughs such

as fire-control sensors andsearch radar.And it certainlydid not allow for an enemyequippedwiththeaudacityofaBillHalsey,theprudenceofa Raymond Spruance, themethodicalness of a JesseOld-endorf, or theresourcefulness of a ZiggySprague.After departing Brunei on

the morning of October 22,Kurita had walked into one

disaster after another. Firstcame the devastatingsubmarine attack in thePalawan Passage. Shortlyafter dawn on October 23,nearly a full day into hissortie,sailingalongtheislandof Palawan west of thePhilippines en route to SanBernardino Strait, Kurita’sgroupwas ambushed by twoU.S. submarines. Japaneseradio intelligence had tracedAmerican sub transmissions

that originated near Kurita’slocation.Butthesubsdidnotannounce theirpresenceuntiltheywerereadytodeliverthecrushingblow.At 6:34 A.M. Kurita’s own

flagship,theAtago, sailingatthe head of a columnof fivecruisers and two battleships,wasstruckbyfourtorpedoes.Sixty seconds later twomoretorpedoes blasted the Takao,following the Atago directly

astern. These six hits camecourtesy of the submarineDarter, captained by Cdr.DavidH.McClintock.Abouttwenty minutes later fourmoretorpedoes,firedbyCdr.Bladen D. Claggett’s Dace,hit the heavy cruiser Maya,third in line in the CenterForce’s eastern column,sailing about five hundredyardsaheadoftheYamato.AshatteringexplosionfilledthenightastheMaya’smagazine

exploded. “After the sprayand smoke had disappearednothingofherremainedtobeseen,” wrote Rear AdmiralUgakiaboardtheYamato.The endhadcome fast for

the three stricken cruisers.The Atago sank in eighteenminutes; the Maya died infour. The Takao, her rudderblown away together withtwo of her four screws,limped back to Brunei under

destroyer escort for repairs.As the rest of his destroyerscreen scourednearbywatersfor their undersea assailants,Kurita was fished from theseaandthatafternoonmovedhisflagtothemoreexpansivequarters of the battleshipYamato.Having weathered the

onslaught of submarines,Kurita had pressed onnortheastward, entering the

Sibuyan Sea on the morningof the twenty-fourth. Thatbodyofwaterwas some twohundred nautical miles wide,a rabble of islands andpassages that provided ahaven for enemy submarinesand restricted a largeformation’s ability tomaneuverwhileunderattack.On the eastern side of theSibuyan Sea was SanBernardino Strait, thebottleneck that separated the

Sibuyan from the PhilippineSea. Beyond the strait werethe waters where Halsey’sThird Fleet lurked betweentheCenterForceanditsLeyteobjective.

***

JAPAN’S FAITH IN MIRACLES wasrooted in its history, repletewith the apparent results ofgodly intervention, from thetyphoon-assisted triumph

over Kublai Khan in thethirteenth century to the routof the Russians at TsushimaStraits in 1905.But ifKuritawas counting on Heaven’sblessings to fall upon theYamato and the Musashi,therewouldfirsthavetobeareckoning with the treacheryoftheirveryexistence.At least one Japanese

commentator implied theexistence of a dark curse in

their extralegal origins. “Thegiants of Japan’s Navy weregood ships,” Masanori Itowrote,“buttheywerebuiltinbadconscience.”Whensecretplans to build them began inearnest in October 1934,Japan violated in spirit theWashington Naval Treaty.Negotiatedin1922,thearms-limitation agreement heldJapanese, American, andBritish battleship forces to a3-5-5 tonnage ratio. At the

time none of the threemajorseagoing powers had built anew battleship in fifteenyears. That suited Japan’sproponents of the treaty verywell. The Combined Fleet’sten prewar battleshipsmaintained the sixty percentproportion. When moremilitantvoicesonthegeneralstaff prevailed and Japandefiantly withdrew from thetreatyin1936,detaileddesignwork on the Yamato was

already nearly two yearsalong.WorkonhersistershiptheMusashiwouldrun justayear behind. The omens oftheir construction almostimmediately began toreverberate in the largerculture.The ropenetting thatscreened the Yamato’sconstruction site from viewwas so expansive that formonths Japanese fishermenhad suffered a shortage ofhemp.

Evenwith the 3-5-5 treatyratio in place, Japaneseplanners had figured theycould maintain at least aregional advantage over theAmericans. With the UnitedStates saddled with twooceanstodefend,JapancouldgainsuperiorityinthePacific.And becauseAmerican shipshad to have beams smallenough to fit between thelocks of the Panama Canal,the Japanese, free from

constraintsofintercontinentalgeography,wouldholdasizeadvantage as well. Theaddition of the two giantsincreased the ratio ofJapanese to Americanbattleship tonnage to 4-to-5.Displacing 72,000 tons each,theyweremorethantwicethesizeofanywarshipJapanhadeverbuilt.But as Japan had already

provenatAmerica’sexpense,

the age of the battleshipwaspassing.At about tenA.M. onthe morning of October 24,the radar operators on theMusashi reported enemyaircraft approaching: theharbingers of MarcMitscher’s Task Force 38.And now the secondcatastrophe fell upon Kuritaen route to San BernardinoStrait.A scout plane from the

Intrepidhadbroughtthegoodnews of the sighting toAdmiralHalsey.Theadmiralspent fifteen minutesquerying the pilot andconferring with his staff.Then he sent a terse butcatalyzingorderovertheTBScircuit to his task forcecommanders: “Strike!Repeat:Strike!Goodluck!”When the American

aviatorsarrivedoverKurita’s

fleet, the spectacle of theCenter Force steamingeastward was a commandingone. The wide circle ofdistinct white wakes wasvisible from as far as thirtymiles away. The first wavestruckat10:26A.M.,withfourdozen planes from theIntrepid and the Cabot airgroups winging over to theattack. The former occupantof the Fanshaw Bay’s flagquarters commanded those

carriers, and it was he,AdmiralBogan,whosentthefirst of four waves of planesagainst Kurita. During thecourse of the afternoon asAdmiral Oldendorf waspreparing to fight theSouthern Force in SurigaoStrait, Halsey would launch259planesagainsttheCenterForce.The heavy cruiser Myoko

and theYamatowere hit, but

theMusashitookthebruntofthe assault. Her skipper,Adm. Toshihira Inoguchi,sailed with 769 survivors oftheheavycruiserMaya, sunkby the Dace in the PalawanPassage. Manning whateverbattle stations their cruisertraining suited them for,supplementing the efforts oftheMusashi’sowncrew,theyfought bravely. SB2CHelldiver dive-bomber pilotsdrewfirstblood,landingfour

nearmissesnearthebowandopening minor leaks in thehull. A direct hit atop aheavily armored 18.1-inchturret was closely followedby a torpedo hit forward.Inrushing water caused afive-degreelisttostarboard.The agony of the ship’s

destruction was onlyprolonged by her efficientdamage control. Belowdecksa network of pumps emptied

and filled compartments onbothsidesoftheshiptoavoidcapsizing. Directing threeteams of sailors in controlrooms spread throughout theship, theMusashi’s damage-control officer, Lt. MasanaoNaito, orchestrated thepumpingandcounterfloodingto ensure that the woundedshipremainedupright.Aboutan hour later, around 11:45,Avengers placed three moretorpedoes into theship’sport

side. The flooding was sogreat that emergencypumpingcouldnotkeeppace.Naito filled everycompartment on the ship’sstarboard side but could notstop the list. AdmiralInoguchi slowed his ship totwenty-two knots to reducethe water pressure on thefracturedbulkheads.The last wave of Third

Fleet planes arrived over the

CenterForceatabouttwoP.M.

Lt. Cdr. Joseph T Lawler,leading a group of sixteenHellcat fighter planes fromthe Enterprise, had spottedthe longwhitewakes trailingfrom the ships of Kurita’sCenter Force as theymaneuvered in the SibuyanSea. The spectacle of such ahugefleetwasfamiliartoanypilotwhohadflownoveroneof Halsey’s sprawling taskgroups. But still a lump rose

inLawler’sthroat.Heledhisflightbeyondtheenemyshipstothewest,thencircledbackat twelve thousand feet inordertoattackwiththesuntotheir backs. Spreading outinto three groups, they choseup targets and dove down inan attack that converged onthestrickenMusashi.Fires were already raging

in one of her engine rooms.Theblazehadseveredamain

steam pipe, stopping one ofher propeller shafts. Nearmisses and torpedo strikeshad pierced some lowercompartments and filledothers with lethal carbonmonoxide.A bomb explodedonthelargetowerthathousedthe bridge, ruining AdmiralInoguchi’s left arm andkilling several other officers.Then four more torpedoesburst into theforwardpartofthe ship. The battleship’s

heavy armored bow plateswere torn outward. One ofthemjuttedoutlikeacataract,carving into the sea like anarmored plowshare.Now theinrushingtorrentsofseawaterwere too great even for theMusashitoendure.Though the imperial crest

fixed to her prow stoodproudly above thewater, herbow was nearly submerged.The ship settled until water

lapped over the forecastle.Hertwoforwardturrets,eachone heavier than a largedestroyer, appeared to floatatopthesurfaceoftheocean,just offshore of whatappeared to be a small steelisle: her superstructure. ItoccurredtoAdmiralInoguchitobeachhisshipandfightheras a shore battery, but herbow was tilling so deeplybeneath the waves that acourse change would likely

have capsized her. As hercrew shifted all movableobjects to the port side tokeep the ship from turningturtle, Inoguchi gave theorder to abandon ship. Hisfinal report thathehanded tohis executive officer, Capt.Kenkichi Kato, included anapology to the emperor forhisfailuretocarryhisshiptoits assigned destiny. Hisexecutive officer asked tojoin him in the ship’s final

plunge. “Damn fool!” thecaptain replied toKato. “Myresponsibility is so great itcan’tevenbecompensatedbydeath and I must share theship’s fate, but the executiveofficer is responsible fortaking thecrew to safetyandgettingthemaboardasecondand thirdMusashi to avengetoday’sbattle.”Kuritahadappealedforair

support from the army’s

Second Air Fleet on Luzonand from Ozawa’s decoycarrier group. But just tenfighters were available tocoverCenterForce.The fourunluckypilotswhohappenedtobepatrollingoverthefleetwhen theAmericansattackedwere downed immediately.Therewaslittlepointsendingthe rest of them. Theywouldn’t stand a chanceagainst the fighters from theThirdFleet.

Kurita was calm amid thechaos, assessing the damageand weighing his prospectsfor fulfilling his part of theSho-1 plan mission. TheMusashi was gone. TheNagato had taken twotorpedo hits but wasseaworthy except for areduced twenty-knotmaximum speed. The lightcruiser Yahagi had been hit,limiting the fast ship to justtwenty-two knots. As

worrisome to Kurita as hislack of air cover was theshorthanded status of hisdestroyer screen. Two of theescorts had broken formationto stay behind with thestricken Musashi. The daybefore, two more hadaccompanied the heavycruiser Takao, torpedoed offPalawan, back to LinggaRoads.Held by their slowestmember to an eighteen-knotcruising speed, his ships

would be sitting ducks forany enterprising U.S. subcommander lurking in thearea. His eleven remainingdestroyers would be hardpressed to cover him.Aggravating his concerns, adispatch from CombinedFleet Headquarters broughtthis warning: “PROBABILITY ISGREAT THAT ENEMY WILL EMPLOYSUBMARINESINTHEAPPROACHESTOSAN BERNARDINO STRAIT. BEALERT.”

Kurita’sstaffinformedhimthat American carriers,wherever they were, hadenoughdaylightlefttolaunchas many as two additionalwaves of air attacks againsthimbeforenightfell.Hehadnot yet heard from Ozawa,who was supposed to bemaneuvering northeast ofLuzon and drawing thisdevastating offensive powerto himself. If Kuritacontinued eastward toward

SanBernardinoStraitintheselast hours of daylight on thetwenty-fourth, it would onlymake the trip shorter for hisattackers.Kurita feared that the air

attackhadputhimhopelesslybehind schedule to meetNishimura in Leyte Gulf.Was Nishimura still evenalive? Kurita had not heardfrom him since the previousnight, at10:10 P.M.,when the

Southern Force commanderhad radioed him that he wason schedule to penetrateLeyteGulfwiththeFusoandtheYamashiroat fourA.M.onthe twenty-fifth. If he turnedaway now, Kurita knew hewould be hard pressed tomeethim.

Twelve

At3:30P.M.,seeinglittlepointin continuing to sail into theAmerican meat grinder anddespairing of his ability toadhere to the Sho-1 plan’stimetable while underconstant air attack, Kuritaordered his remaining shipsto withdraw westward. He

transmitted a message toCombined FleetHeadquarters: “IF WE CONTINUEWITH OUR PRESENT COURSE OURLOSSES WILL INCREASEINCALCULABLY, WITH LITTLE HOPEOF SUCCESS FOR OUR MISSION.THEREFORE, HAVE DECIDED TOWITHDRAW OUTSIDE THE RANGE OFENEMY AIR ATTACK FOR THE TIMEBEING, AND TO RESUMEOUR SORTIEINCOORDINATIONWITHSUCCESSFULATTACKSONTHEENEMYBYOURAIRFORCES.

TheturnwestwardbroughtthefleetbacktotheMusashi,deadinthewaterandsettling.

Adm. Matome Ugaki, thecommander of the FirstBattleship Division, hopedthe crewwould do their besttosavetheshipbutcouldnotmuster the words to cheerthemon.Steaming away from the

Americans gave Kurita achangeofheart.Emboldenedbyalackoffurtherairstrikesandfeelingheshouldat leastattempt a rendezvous with

Nishimura—he still did notknowthefateoftheSouthernForce—Kurita decided at5:14 to resume heading east.TheYamato, theNagato, theHaruna,theKongo,andtheirheavy cruiser and destroyeraccompaniment heeledaround toward SanBernardino Strait again. Anhour later the response toKurita’s four P.M. dispatch toheadquarters arrived.Toyoda’s order—his

exhortation—was classicallyfatalistic, steeped in theJapanese propensity forinvoking destiny: “WITHCONFIDENCE IN HEAVENLYGUIDANCE, THE ENTIRE FORCE WILLATTACK!” As grim as themessage’s implications were,at least it removed fromKurita’s weary shoulders theburden of discretion. TheSho-1 plan had come too farto turn back.The decision tocommittheImperialJapanese

Navy’s most powerfulsquadron had been made byitssupremecommander.Back on its way toward

San Bernardino Strait, theCenter Force passed theMusashioncemoreatsunset,aroundsixP.M.ontheeveningofOctober24.Anhourandahalf later thegreatbattleship,left behind by her comrades,rolled suddenly to port andvanished beneath the sea.

Admiral Inoguchi remainedaboard to the end, to perishalong with half the ship’screw.A plume of steam and

smoke rising above the pointof her sinking was theMusashi’sfarewelltohertaskforce,andtothewiderworldto whom her existence hadbeena lurkingmystery.Builtto conquer leviathans, theMusashi was done in by

swarms of tiny flyingmachines. The rules of warhad changed. Now thesurvivors of the Musashiunderstooditassurelyasdidtheir counterparts from theUSSArizona.

***

WITH THEIR SINKING OF theMusashi, Halsey’s ThirdFleet carrier pilots had dealtthe most concentrated and

crushing aerial assault on awarship in recorded history.The battleship had absorbedseventeen bomb hits andnineteen torpedo hits beforegoingunder.AtPearlHarborasinglebombhadcausedthecatastrophic magazineexplosion that destroyed theArizona;twotorpedohitshadcapsized the Oklahoma. TheMusashi’s torturous endshowed how far navalaviation had come. The

sinking of the Musashi wasthe first time a Japanesebattleship had been sunksolely by air attack. That theshiphadbeen the largestoneafloat only underscored thepoint.But theMusashiwasnota

carrier,andsoHalseywasnotsatisfied. All his career hehad dreamed of bringing anenemy carrier force withinrangeofhisplanes.Hisevery

instinct told him that theywere nearby, moving towardsome objective that couldonlyasyetbeguessedat.HisguttoldhimthattheJapanesewould not commit their fleetto battle without carriers tosupportthem.Intelligence reports

brought him tantalizing hintsof their whereabouts, yet fordays the imperial flattopseluded him. He dreaded the

thought that the enemycarriers might sit out thiscampaign altogether, as theyhad done during the Gilbertsand Marshalls campaigns in1943.Worse,heworried thatthe Navy might repeat itstimid performance in theMarianas, letting Japanesecarriers slip away in thenight. If the Japanese wouldnotcometohim,heresolved,hewouldgotothem.

He had more than enoughstrength to make a completerout of it, if he could findthem.Among theninety-fourcombatant vessels of theThirdFleetweresixpowerfulbattleships—the fast newbreed,withsixteen-inchgunsand the very latest fire-control systems, ablycommanded by Vice Adm.Willis“Ching”Lee,anexpertin every gun from a. 45-caliber to a sixteen-inch, a

member of the 1920 U.S.Olympic rifle team, and thehero of the naval battle forGuadalcanal, where hisflagshipWashingtonhadsunkthe battleshipKirishima. ButcarriersweretheThirdFleet’scenterpiece. Halsey hadsixteen of them, eight heavyand eight light, packed withplanes and divided into fourtask groups commanded bythe best aviation minds theNavy had yet produced.

Admiral Mitscher, the mostaggressivecarriercommanderof the war next to Halsey,flew his flag aboard theLexingtonincommandoftheThirdFleet’s carrier element,namedTaskForce38.UnderMitscher were Vice Adm.John S. McCain aboard theWasp, Rear Adm. FrederickC.ShermanaboardtheEssex,Rear Adm. Gerald F. BoganaboardtheIntrepid,andRearAdm. Ralph E. Davison

aboardtheFranklin.Betweenthem they had nearly twelvehundred aircraft, with battle-hardened fighter pilots—twenty-nine of them aces—flyingthemarvelousnewF6FHellcat, as well as torpedo-bomber and dive-bomberpilots flying Avengers andHelldivers. Six heavycruisers, nine light cruisers,andnofewerthanfifty-sevendestroyers rounded outHalsey’sforce.

He would crush theJapanese—if only he couldget out of babysittingMacArthur. The general andhis Army planners expectedtheThirdFleet toguard theirnorthern flank,protecting thetroop transports and thebeachhead at Leyte. Nimitzand the Navy, on the otherhand, felt pressure to letHalsey go hunting. In theLeyte battle plan, these twoprerogativescollidedinaway

that allowed the second todefeat thefirst.Ononehand,the Third Fleet was chargedto“COVERANDSUPPORTFORCESOFTHE [SEVENTH FLEET] IN ORDER TOASSIST IN THE SEIZURE ANDOCCUPATION IN THE CENTRALPHILIPPINES.” It was to “DESTROYENEMY NAVAL AND AIR FORCES INOR THREATENING THE PHILIPPINEAREA.”Sofarsogood:Halseywould attack only if aJapanese fleet threatened thePhilippines. But at the finalhourNimitzhadgivenHalseythe wiggle room the

aggressive commandercraved, permitting hisstanding orders to bemodified by means ofOperationsPlan8–44.Itread:IN CASE OPPORTUNITY FORDESTRUCTION OF A MAJOR PORTIONOFTHEENEMYFLEETISOFFEREDORCAN BE CREATED, SUCHDESTRUCTION BECOMES THEPRIMARYTASK.This new mandate was

broad enough to eraseHalsey’s duty to MacArthurand Kinkaid. He was free to

abandon guard duty. He hadthe discretion to chase theJapanese Navy regardless ofthe Seventh Fleet’s needs orexpectations. Indeed, Halseynow enjoyed not only theliberty to pursue an enemyfleet, his “primary task,” butthe operational flexibility to“create” such an opportunityinthefirstplace.Ifhisdegreeof creative license was opento interpretation, Halsey,whoseearsweretunedtohear

what they wanted to hear,could be counted upon tomakethemostofit.Suddenlyoffensive operations soundedlike Halsey’s primaryobjective, whether thebeachhead was safeguardedor not. As for protectingMacArthur, Halsey figured,wasn’t thatwhat the SeventhFleetwasfor?At3:12ontheafternoonof

thetwenty-fourth,Halseyhad

sent to his commanders acontingency plan providingfor the formation of TaskForce 34, to be composed offour fast battleships, theIowa, New Jersey,Washington, and Alabama,five cruisers, and eighteendestroyers. Under WillisLee’s command, they wouldstand ready to guard SanBernardino Strait against apossible about-face by theJapanese Center Force.

Admiral Kinkaid overheardthemessageandassumedhisSeventh Fleet’s northernflank was protected.Monitoring the radio trafficfromhisheadquartersatPearlHarbor, Nimitz too believedthat Task Force 34 had beendetached to standwatchovera possible reversal of coursebyKurita’swoundedbutstill-dangerousCenterForce.At3:40P.M.,lessthanthirty

minutes after Halseycirculated his battle plan,ThirdFleet fliers spottedoneof Ozawa’s task groups.Halsey’smomenthadarrived:hehad foundenemycarriers.Confronted with two enemyfleets—a mysterious carrierforcelurkingtohisnorthanda ravaged and retreatingCenterForceseveralhundredmiles to his west—andthinkingit“childish”tostandidle sentry over San

Bernardino Strait when suchplentiful game had beenflushed, Halsey planned toattack the carriers at dawn’sfirst light. At 8:22 P.M. onOctober 24 Halsey orderedAdmirals Bogan, Davison,Sherman, and Lee to sailnorthafterOzawa’sforce.AsSamuel Eliot Morisonmemorably observed,“Halseywasnomantowatcha rathole from which the ratmightnever emerge.”Halsey

retiredearly, leaving it tohischief of staff, Rear Adm.RobertB. “Mick”Carney, toput his orders into effectduringthenight.Halsey’s subordinate

admiralshaddoubtsabouthisdecision. Bogan, havingreviewed pilot reports sayingthat Kurita’s Center Forcehad turned around andresumed its course towardSanBernardinoStrait,drafted

a message to Halsey, thencalled his fleet admiral overthe TBS radio and read it toHalsey’s staff himself. “Yes,yes, we have thatinformation,” replied thestaffer.Theabruptnessof theresponsedeterredBoganfromexplicitly recommending thatWillis Lee’s battle line,together with Bogan’scarriers Intrepid, Cabot, andIndependence and the otherships of Task Group 38.2,

turn south and cover thestrait.Willis Lee was similarly

put off. The battleshipadmiral notified Halsey viasignal flags that the Japanesecarriersdangling to thenorthwere a decoy and thatKurita’s retreat had beentemporary. In response Leereceived only a pro forma“Roger.”Lee latercalledviathe TBS radio to make the

same point again. He wassure,hesaid, thatKuritawasheaded for the strait. Nofurtherreplycame.Heletthematterrest.Shortly after Halsey’s

secondincommand,AdmiralMitscher, went to sleep forthenight,Mitscher’schiefofstaff, Cdre. Arleigh Burke,received the sighting reportfromthenightfliersfromtheIndependence and confirmed

its essential facts at 11:05.KuritawasinSanBernardinoStrait. Burke and anotherofficer woke Mitscher andtold him they considered iturgent to send Lee south.Mitscherasked themwhetherHalseyhadgotten the report.They said yes—towhich thevice admiral replied, “If hewantsmyadvice,he’llaskforit.” With that Mitscher wentbacktosleep.

***

ONCE THIRD FLEET SEARCH

planes had discoveredOzawa’s Northern Force onthe afternoon of October 24,the Americans at last had afull picture of the Japanesenaval presence around thePhilippines: Nishimura’sSouthernForcewasmarchingtowarddestructioninSurigaoStrait to the south; Kurita’sbigCenterForce,hithardby

Halsey’s aviators thatafternoon, had lost thesuperbattleship Musashi andthe heavy cruiserMyoko andwas in the Sibuyan Sea; andnow came Ozawa,tantalizingly on the edge ofthe search perimeter to thenorth.Without the benefit of

hindsight, who in October1944 could have known forsure exactly what Ozawa

had? An intelligence reportreceived by Willis Leesuggested that two new fleetcarriers, the Amagi andKatsuragi, had recentlyjoinedtheCombinedFleet.Ifthetwonewshipssailedwiththe veteran Zuikaku, such acarrier force could pose apowerfulthreattoHalseyandMacArthur both, assuming ithadenoughplanesandpilots.The day before, a luckyJapanese bomb had sunk the

Third Fleet light carrierPrinceton, with a secondaryexplosion that inflicted evenheavierlossoflifeaboardthelight cruiser Birmingham,alongsidetoassisther.Halseyincorrectly surmised thatOzawa’s planes had beenresponsible for the attack.AndlikeeveryothergraduateoftheNavalWarCollege,hehad been schooled never todivide his strength in acombatzone.

Among the Third Fleet’soperational brain trust,everyone except Halseyhimselfseemedtoknowwhatwascoming.Asfarashewasconcerned, he was rightwherehebelonged:patrollingPoseidon’s Pacific precincts,running down enemy aircraftcarriers wherever he mightfind them. Otherconsiderations had seldomwaylaid him from thatpursuit.Ascommanderofthe

Enterprise carrier task groupon December 7, Halsey hadcursed his luck for missingthe chance to intercept theJapanese Pearl Harbor strikeforce. (In reality, he wouldnot likely have survived theencounter.) Reportedly hisfirst words upon seeing thedestruction at Pearl were“Before we’re through with’em, the Japanese languagewill be spoken only in hell!”That fighting spirit animated

his every move. The publichad embraced his feistypublic persona. They didn’tcall him the Bull because hesat around babysitting trooptransportswhen largerquarrywasjustoverthehorizon.He hated the nickname.

“Bull” was the creation of apress corps eager to give thepublic a larger-than-lifefigureinwhomtoplacetheirhopes against an implacable

enemy. He disdained it asartifice, a fictitious characterwhose phony, flamboyantpersonawas one of the pettyhumiliations a man sufferswhenswallowedbyfame.But if Halsey had not

already been known as theBull, the papers would havehad little choice but to sonamehimnow,ifonlyforthesnortingmanner in which helowered his horns and took

the entire Third Fleet—carriers, battleships,everything—in pursuit ofAdmiralOzawa, thematadorof Cape Engaño, and hisdanglingredcape.Meanwhile, Kurita’s

powerful squadron racedthroughSanBernardinoStraitby night, fighting atreacherouseight-knotcurrentbut aided by the glow ofnavigation lights arrayed on

either side of the channel.The fact that the lights hadbeen switched on had beenduly noted by Third Fleetfliers. Night reconnaissancepilots from the light carrierIndependencehadspottedthebeacons and reported theilluminated channel as asuspicious sign, even asHalseywassteamingnorthinpreparation for a morningstrike on Ozawa. The nightfliers’ inconvenient report

was not enough to pull theBullawayfromhisnorthwardcourse. He would not dividehis force in the face of theenemy. Nor would he standidly by while an enemycarrier force—whitewhale tohisAhab—tauntedhimtohisnorth.

***

AT THREE A.M. ON Wednesday,October25,TakeoKuritaled

his Center Force out of SanBernardino Strait north ofSamar, heartened, delighted,andaboveallsurprisedbytheabsence of an Americanwelcomingcommittee.Kuritahad expected Americanbattleships to greet him. Ifdreadnoughts were notwaiting,thensurelyhewouldtangleagainwithsubmarines.The traumaof theambush inthe Palawan Passage wasfresh in his mind. But there

were no submarines; at leasttherewerenotorpedowakes.Since itwasdark, therewerenonewswarmsofplanesliketheonesthathadstruckdownthe Musashi the afternoonbefore.At5:30A.M.,inpreparation

for daylight, Kurita orderedhis fleet out of itsmulticolumned night-searchdispositionandintoacircularantiaircraft formation.Owing

to the wide, thirteen-milefront that his squadronspanned, the reorientationwouldtakemorethananhourto complete. When morningdawned,theywouldtaketheirchances againstwhatever theU.S. Navy might hit themwith,thensteamsouthanddotheir emperor’s bidding withMacArthur’s invasion forceinLeyteGulf.

Thirteen

It was 5:45 A.M. on October25, a half hour before dawn,whenaTBMAvengerpilotedby Bill Brooks, with JoeDownssqueezedintothegunturret andRayTravers at theradio set below, slingshottedfromthedeckof theUSSSt.Lo and climbed toward the

dark eastern horizon. At thesame time, Oldendorf wasleadinghiscruisersinpursuitof the remnants of the lateAdmiral Nishimura’sSouthern Force, planes fromHalsey’s Third Fleet weretakingwingtostrikeOzawa’scarriers. For Brooks and theotherpilotsflyingfromTaffy3’sCVEs,itwastimetohuntsubmarines.The previous afternoon

Brooks and hissquadronmates had returnedfrom patrol to hear reportsthat a great victory had beenwon by the better-publicizedharpoonists flying from thebigcarriersofHalsey’sThirdFleet.Whenwordcamedownthat Halsey’s planes hadstruck Kurita’s Center Force—had actually sunk theMusashi, the sister of theYamato, the world’s biggestbattleship,andforcedtherest

ofthetaskforceintoretreat—it appeared there was littlepossibility of getting into thethickoftheaction.Aboard the Fanshaw Bay,

Rear Adm. Clifton Spraguehad been keeping close tabson Taffy 3’s air activities,monitoringtheirradioreportsand, when necessary,directing their movements.The night before, AdmiralKinkaid had ordered the

commander of all threeTaffies, Rear Adm. ThomasSprague,toprepareforabusymorning. One group wouldflydownintotheSuluSeatohelp Oldendorf track downany stragglers from the nightaction at Surigao Strait. TheSeventh Fleet commanderalso instructed Sprague tosend a dawn patrol to thenorth, over San BernardinoStrait.

Everymorning the thirteenshipsofTaffy3wereabustlewith activity long beforesunup.Aboard thesixCVEs,crews were busy in thehangardeckandontheflightdeck readying planes for themorning launch. From thebridge of the Fanshaw Bay,turned eastward into thewind,ZiggySpraguewatchedhis planes take flight. Adozen Wildcat fighters wentup to fly patrol over Leyte

Island,protectingtroopstherefrom Japanese air attacks. Ithad taken just eight minutesfor the plane spotters andcatapultteamontheGambierBay to put eight Wildcatsaloft. The St. Lo launchedfour more. Fifteen minuteslater another group ofWildcats went up to coverTaffy 3. Theywere followedbyamixedgroupofWildcatsandAvengersarmedtostrikeat Japanese ground positions

onLeyte.The antisubmarine patrol

fromtheSt.Lo,consistingoffour Avengers and twoWildcats,were the lastTaffy3planestotakeoffonroutinemorning missions. BillBrooks,TomVanBrunt,andtwo other Avenger pilots—Lt. (jg)GeorgeH.MacBrideand Lt. (jg) Gerald E. Fields—fanned out to all fourpoints of the compass

centered on their task unit.With the planes aloft andmorning general quartersover,thecrewsofthethirteenships returned to their bunksorwenttothemesstograbalittlebreakfast.Chewing an unlit cigar—

smoking in the cockpit wasforbidden—Brooks took hisAvenger to four thousandfeet, searching for a suitableaerie from which to monitor

the waters below. Thoughsunrise was at 6:27 A.M., thecloudy morning meant fulldaylight would be late incoming. Wherever arainsqualllay,thegraycloudsfell to the sea like drapes.Brooks climbed their layers,seeking a higher ceilingwherehemightwatchawiderstretch of ocean. The CVEpilots were not instrumentrated. As a saying in theready room went, “If the

birds don’t fly, neither dowe.” On the morning ofOctober 25 the birds flew.They just didn’t seeespeciallywell.One never knew where a

submarinemight lurk.As forthe restof the Japanese fleet,itseemedthatthreatwaswellin hand. Overnightincomplete accounts ofOldendorf’s victory atSurigaoStraithadreachedthe

ships of Taffy 3. The TBScircuitsburnedwiththenews.Aboard the Samuel B.

Roberts, Captain Copeland,giddy from his impromptuall-night eavesdroppingsessionintheCIC,celebratedwith his staff. The victorymeant that Sprague’s grouphad little to fear from theJapanese. Certainly nothingcould get at them from thesouth.Andtheideaofathreat

coming down from the northwas lessworrisomestill.TheThird Fleet was there, itsstrikingpowerdwarfingeventhat of Oldendorf’sformidable group.An enemyfleet aiming to reachMacArthur on the beachheadat Leyte would have to getthrough Halsey first. HisThird Fleet had alreadyproven its mettle against themost powerful ships Japancould muster. The Japanese

had nothing that could touchit.Seventh Fleet operations

plans were explicit that “anymajor enemy naval forceapproaching from the northwill be intercepted andattacked by Third Fleetcovering force.” AdmiralKinkaid had been secure inthe knowledge that WillisLee’s Task Force 34 wasblocking the strait with its

fourbattleships.Heknewthetask force was likely to beshort on air cover—not thatthere was any pressing needfor it. Certainly he wasn’texpectinganysurprises.Some twenty miles

northwest of Taffy 3, BillBrooks, at the stick of hisAvenger,continuedsearchingfor openings in the layers ofcumulus.Theweatherdidnotcooperate. As he finished an

eastbound leg of hisimprovisedsearchpatternandturned to the left headingnorth, anotherAvenger cameintoview.Thepilot,probablyEns. Hans Jensen from theTaffy 2 carrier KadashanBay,whowas investigatingastrange blip on hisradioman’s radar display,wavedathimandwentonhisway. A few minutes laterBrooksswunghisplaneclearof a big squall and found

what he was looking for: alarge hole in the floor of theclouds.ThenEnsignBrooksfound

whathewasnot looking for:there, spanning the visibleslice of ocean below, wereships, lots of them. Againstthe blue-black dawning sea,their darkened shapesappeared, a majesticassortment of battleships,cruisers, and destroyers

trailing white wakes thatbetrayed their southeasterlycourse and considerablespeed. Brooks flipped on theintercomandtoldDownsandTravers, “Hey, look at that.Halseymusthavecomedownfrom the north.” It had to beHalsey,theheavyunitsoftheThirdFleet,inalltheirarmor-cladglory.Downs pressed the

intercom button and said,

“Thank God they’re on ourside.”Brooks felt a tinge of

doubt.Therewerenocarriersamong them. If this wasHalsey, where were hiscarriers? And the ships: tothe extent that their contourscould be distinguished fromhis perch in the clouds, theydidn’t look like Americanships. In ship identificationtraining,Brooks,Downs,and

Travershadbeenshown,overand over, the silhouettes ofshipsflashedforafractionofa second on a projectionscreen. The men of VC-65drilled constantly in the St.Lo’s darkened ready room,training to recognize in aninstant not only thesilhouettes but their telltalewakesaswell.Were these American

ships? Looking down as the

armada filed by below him,Brooks made out the tallpagoda towers of Japanesebattleships and cruisers. Thedoubt evaporated into astunning realization: they areJapanese.As if to punctuate the

thought, black clouds ofcordite smoke began toappeararoundhisplaneastheJapanesegunnersdrewabeadon the lone Avenger. “The

skyjustturnedblack,”Downssaid. “They had our courseandaltitude.Theywerereallypopping them in there.” Theenveloping drone of theAvenger’s Wright enginebehind the firewall atBrooks’s leather-booted feetdrownedoutthebarkoftheirblasts. But he could feelthem. The detonationsbuffeted the heavy torpedobomber in violent staccato.Every so often a spectacular

blossom of pyrotechnicswould bloom in theirimmediate vicinity. The airburst would leave behind asmokeless, shimmeringcircle, some hundred feet indiameter. It looked toDownslike a burning ring of whitetinfoil. It sparkedandburnedfor twenty, thirty seconds,then dissipated. Asmysterious and hypnoticallybeautiful as it was, Downswanted no part of it. Brooks

was less concerned for hisownaircraft than forhis taskunit.TheJapanesebattleshipswere no more than twentymiles away from Taffy 3—already in long-gun range.Their wakes trailed behindthem like long white tails.Theseshipswerehaulingass.We’re never going to see

daylight, Brooks thought.These guyswill blow all ourships out of the water. He

pulledhisplaneupoutofthethicketofflakburstsandtookinventory of the mass ofwarships arrayed beneathhim.It was 6:43 A.M. Brooks

tuned his transmitter to thefrequencyusedbytheSt.Lo,code-named Derby Base forpurposes of radiocommunication, anddelivered the news: “Enemysurface force of four

battleships, four heavycruisers, two light cruisers,and ten to twelve destroyerssighted twenty milesnorthwest of your taskgroupandclosinginonyouatthirtyknots.”Though the pilot had

estimated the makeup of theenemy fleet nearly to a T,Ziggy Sprague, overhearingthe report, was incredulousand not a little bit annoyed.

Now there’s some screwyyoung aviator reporting partofourownforces,theadmiralthought. Sprague consideredthereportpreposterous,ifnotflatly irresponsible: Brookshad spotted nothing otherthan Task Force 34, thebattleship group underAdmiral Lee thatHalsey hadleft behind to guard SanBernardino Strait while hetook his carriers north. Theexcitable ensign had only

magnified his error bybreaking radio silence,potentially revealing thepresence of U.S. carriers toJapaneseradiosnoopers.Andthis to report his stunningdiscovery of an Americansurfaceforce.Sprague hailed the

Fanshaw Bay’s executiveofficer in theCIC,where themovementsofnearbyaircraftwere tracked: “Air plot, tell

him to check hisidentification.” Thoughevidence of the unthinkablewas continuing to mount—radiomenwerestartingtogetsomestrangetransmissions:achatter of Japanese voices asBill Brooks’s Avenger cameunder fire—Sprague wantedproof. Brookswould have toconvincehim.An angry voice on the

other end of the frequency

laced into Brooks with somechoice Navy language.Whether itwas Sprague or acontroller in the CIC wasimpossible for the pilot toknow. He didn’t much carewhethertheabusecamefroma rear admiral or a mereensign.Hedidn’tenjoybeingdoubted.Brooksknewathingor two about his mission. Inadvanced flight training hehadpaidcloseattentionwheninstructors discussed theway

the sea looks under differentwind conditions, when theytrained him to judge a ship’sspeedfromthesizeandshapeof its wake, and when theyrepeated, time and again, theflash-card drill for shiprecognition. Seated in theAvenger’s gun turret, JoeDownsheardhispilot vent afew epithets of his own. Ifconfirmation was what theadmiral needed, that’s whathewouldget.EnsignBrooks

wouldgodownandverifyhisreport.Suitablyawedbytheheavy

if inaccurate volume ofantiaircraft fire rising up tothemfromtheJapanesefleet,Downs was less sure it wasnecessary to prove anything.But he was not flying theplane. As VC-65’s juniorpilot rogered the order toconfirm and pushed his stickforward, putting theAvenger

into a thirty-degree dive,Downs, seated facing to therear,watchedtheplaneofthesea pivot down out of sightand the clouds above himswing into view. The planedropped down to twothousand feet, back into thebrambleofflak.Brooks lingered over the

Japanese fleet for a few longminutes as Ray Traverssnapped some pictures with

thebigK-20cameramountedin thebombbay.Brooksslidametal-framedplottingboardout of his control panel andchecked his briefing andnavigation notes. It didn’ttake long to confirm hislocation. And from thisaltitude there was nomistaking the distinctivearchitectureof thebattleshipsand cruisers below. Heradioed the Taffy 3 flagshipwiththebadnews:“Icansee

the pagoda masts, and I seethebiggestredmeatballflagIeversawflyingonthebiggestbattleshipIeversaw.”The pagoda masts were

unmistakably Japanese.Though theKongo happenedtobethecreationofaBritishshipyard and British shipdesigners, the ubiquitousxenophobia of the daycredited its ungainly profileto the imagined idiocyof the

bucktoothed, bespectacledJapanese.TheshipshadoncebeenthelaughingstockoftheU.S. Navy. The beliefcirculated among Americanofficers that they wouldcapsizeinheavyseas,toppledby their lofty centers ofgravity. But chauvinismabout Japanese engineeringand naval architecture hadbeen as ill-founded aschauvinism about Japanesetactical skill and bravery.

Early battles in the Java Seaand off Savo Island, amongothers—disasters all forAllied fleets—had revealedboth Japan’s deadly masteryof surface combat and thelethaldesignofherwarships.The contours of theseseagoing towers of Pisa—impossible to confuse withthesleekerlinesofAmerica’snew fighting ships—hadbecomeadreadedsight.

Dread. It was preciselywhatZiggySpraguenowfelt.Brooks’sreportofthepagodamasts was the clincher. Andhegrasped fully itsmeaning:against battleships and heavycruisers,Taffy3didn’thaveaprayer. Among his thirteenships there wasn’t a gunheavier than a five-incher.The fifty-four-pound shellstheyfired,readilyloadablebyhand, could not penetratecruiser or battleship armor.

They had a surface range ofabout seven miles. Even thesmallest of the four Japanesebattleships facing him firedshells that were fourteeninches in diameter and somefourteen hundred pounds inweight. Each armed with aneight- or nine-gun mainbatterywith a range ofmorethan twenty miles, and withspeeds approaching thirtyknots, the Japanesebattlewagonscouldeasilyrun

down and destroy Sprague’splodding escort carriers.There were four battleships.And the heavy cruisers werearguably even moredangerous.Eachoneof them—with a treaty-bustingdisplacement of thirteen tofifteen thousand tons fullyloaded—carried not only aneight-inch main battery buttorpedo tubes as well. Andthey were swift, capable ofthirty-five knots. The

Japanese destroyersthemselves—eleven of themto Sprague’s three—weretogetherprobablymorethanamatchforhisentireforce.What chance did Sprague

have? His destroyers carriedtorpedoes. But using themrequiredchargingintoarangethatwouldbesuicidalagainstcapitalshipsinbroaddaylight—tenthousandyardsatmost.They would never make it.

The Avengers aboard theCVEs carried some ship-killing weapons: torpedoesand semi-armor-piercingbombs. But there wereprecious few of them, andmost of the bombs were ofthe light antipersonnelvariety, useful for killingtroops on the ground andoverturning jeeps but uselessforstoppingalargewarship.Sprague tried to think like

his enemy. His first thoughtwas that the Japanese woulddetachafewheavycruiserstodealwithTaffy3’sshipsandsend the rest of the forcestraight down the coast toLeyte Gulf. With or withoutthe help of the Yamato andthe other battleships, theheavy cruisers, Spraguefigured, would mop up andwringoutmostofTaffy3 infifteenminutes.

***

ITWAS6:47A.M.whenEnsignBrooks confirmed hissightingof the Japanese fleetand relayed it to ZiggySprague. At precisely thesame moment, AdmiralHalsey, on the flag bridge ofthe battleship New Jersey,received a radio messagefromAdmiralKinkaid:“Question: Is TF 34

guarding San BernardinoStrait?”What the hell was this?

Halsey wondered. Why wasKinkaid bothering him now?Sent by the Seventh Fleetcommander at 4:12A.M., twoand a half hours beforeHalsey got it, Kinkaid’sinquiry had traveled fromLeyte Gulf two thousandmiles east to Manus,languished for a few hours

amid a pile of othercommuniqués, then beenrouted to the Third Fleetcommander. At MacArthur’sinsistence, all messagesbetween the Third andSeventh Fleets were routedthroughhisAdmiraltyIslandsheadquarters. Thecommunications staff therewas deluged withtransmissions,theurgentonesallbut indistinguishable fromthemerelyimportant.

Halsey read the late-arriving message from hisSeventhFleetcounterpartandthought him out of touch, ifnot entirely delinquent. TaskForce 34, the heart ofWillisLee’s battle line, sailed withhim. In the earlier dispatchHalsey had meant that TaskForce 34 “will be formed”onlyonhisfurthercommand.HewasshockedthatKinkaidhadassumedtheactualityofamere contingency. Wasn’t it

plainenough thatHalseyhadnot detached the fourbattleships?AndwhywastheSeventhFleet relyingonhiminanyevent?Conceivedasadefensive force, it had morethan enough firepower.WithOldendorf’s heavies at hisdisposal, Kinkaid couldwatch his own back. AsHalsey’s assumptions begancolliding with Kinkaid’s inthe unforgiving light of day,Kurita curled around Samar

withhiswholeCenterForce.The black puffs of flak

grasping at Bill Brooks’sAvengerwere nowvisible tothecrewsonthedecksofthethirteen ships of Taffy 3.Above a gray rainsquall totheir northwest, they couldseethedensepatternofblackclouds hanging like layers ofcharcoal in the sky. Thencame their first view ofsomething more frightening

still: from below thenorthwesternhorizon,beyondthe curve of the earth, rosedarkgraytowers:thefightingtopsofJapanesemen-of-war.As it was dawning on

Taffy 3’s commanders thatsomething had goneinexplicably, disastrouslywrong,thebigtripleturretsofthe Yamato, and the onlyslightly smaller guns of herbrutalconsorts,weredrawing

a bead on the Kaiser coffinsof General MacArthur’sNavy.

***

BILL BROOKS WAS SOBER withfear.Againstthedroneofhisplane’s radial engine in frontof him, he,RayTravers, andJoe Downs were as quiet asmice.“Mygutfeelingwaswewere never going to see theafternoon,” Brooks said. It

was of course academicwhether death arrived in theform of a shard of shrapnelfromanexplodingantiaircraftroundor fromahard landingin the sea with his carriersunk.TherewasnothingtobedoneagainstsuchapowerfulJapanese force. Brooksfigured the best thing hecould do now was use whatfewtoolswereatthereadytotake some of the bastardsdownwithhim.

Whattoolsdidhehave?Hewasarmedforantisubpatrol,not an air strike. In theweapons bay down in thebelly of Brooks’sAvenger—behindhim, belowDowns intheballturret,andforwardofTravers in the radiocompartment—sat four 250-pound depth charges. Theycouldn’tdomuchtoasurfacewarship.With fuses sensitivetowaterpressure,notimpact,they wouldn’t explode even

withadirecthit.Droppedlikebombs on the deck of anenemy ship, the best thatcould happen was that theirmetalcasesmightshatterandgivecrewmenstandingintheopenafewsplintersandcuts.Or hemight get really luckyandhitanofficerinthehead.But itwashardly thekindofattack that had givenAmerican naval aviation itsworld-beatingreputation.

Feeling more than a littleuseless,Brooks looked downat a column of four heavycruisers below and had adesperatebrainstorm.Perhapshecouldimproviseanewusefor his submarine-killingordnance. With theirhydrostatic fuses set todetonate at a certain depth,the depth charges might beuseful after all.Perhaps if hedroppedthemnotontoashipbut forward of it, into the

water directly in its path, theunderwater explosion mightrupture it from below. Hemight shake it up, slow itdown, create a leak orsomething.Whoknew?Brooks swung around and

lined up on the tail of thecruiser column. Whenattacking a submarine,doctrine called for a pilot todiveanddrophisweaponsatan altitude of 300 feet.

Brooks thought better of ithere. He didn’t want to getthat close to the bristlingheavy cruiser. Nor didDowns:1,500 feetwasmuchtoo close for his liking. Hewould have preferred analtitude about ten times thathigh.Flyingdirectlyover theshipat1,500feet,blackpuffsof flak jarring his plane andvibratinghisribcage,Brooksran down the last heavycruiser in line from the rear.

At 180 knots, the Avengerrapidly overtook the thirty-three-knotship.Ashepassedahead of the target, Brooksjerked his ordnance releaselever, letting go his fourdepth bombs. As theydroppeddownandbehindhisplane,theAvengerlurchedasifcutfromatether.He harbored no lofty

expectations.Hedidn’tlingerto see the result. His mind

was occupied with theimperative of escape.Brookswasanavidquailhunterbackhome. He knew that thehardestbird to shootwas theone that was flying straightaway from you, dipping andveeringoverthebrush.Sohefollowed the game bird’sexample. He pushed hisAvenger down to the water,building speed for his exit,justfiftyfeetabovethewavetops. Downs, facing to the

rear, watched the four depthcharges plunge down towardtheship.Hesawtwoofthemstriketheforwarddeckoftheship, and two land in thewater forward of the bow.Very likely no damage wasdone. But at least the St. Loand VC-65 had delivered alittle calling card to theJapanesefleet.EnsignJensenfrom theKadashan Bay haddonejustthesame.

Pulling away from thecruiser column, Brookstapped the intercom buttonand checked in with Downsand Travers. “Anybody hurtback there? What’s goingon?” They chatted gamely,trying to settle their nerves.Aside from a piece ofshrapnel that had caughtDowns in the hand, the crewwasfine.BrookstriedtoraiseBendix Base—the FanshawBay—buttheradiogavehim

only silence. Either AdmiralSprague was no longerspeakingtohimorachunkofflak had knocked out histransmitter. From thedeadness on his headphoneshe knew it was the latter.Brooks thought over hisoptions.Heknew that theSt.Lo and the other Taffy 3escort carriers would not belanding planes. They wouldbe fleeing under fire,probably to the south,

zigzagging to dodge shells,outofthewind.Possiblytheirflightdeckshadalreadybeenshredded by shellfire. Manyof them might already besinking.From his briefings Brooks

knew that a second group ofjeep carriers, Taffy 2, wasoperating south of his taskunit. He knew their generaldirection and was confidenthe could find them in the

open ocean. With fuelrunning low, he cut back hisRPMsandreducedhisenginemanifold pressure to aminimum.Preferringtobe“alive pilot rather than a deadhero,” he ruled out furtherfutile heroics against theJapanese fleet. He decidedthat his best contribution tothe coming one-sidedslaughter would be to gethimself to a place where hecouldloadatorpedoorarack

ofheavybombsandreturntothe Japanese fleet, this timemeaning business.He set hiscourseforTaffy2.Hewouldfind a friendly carrier, land,rearm,andgetbackintheairjustassoonashecould.Itwas7:15andshapingup

tobeaverylongmorning.

PartII

LASTSTAND

Innoengagementinitsentirehistoryhasthe

UnitedStatesNavyshownmoregallantry,gutsandgumptionthaninthose

twomorninghoursbetween0730and0930

offSamar.

—SamuelEliotMorison

Fourteen

Theseasrolledcalmly,stirredby a gentle easterly wind,when the early risers of themorning watch rose forbreakfast at three A.M. torelieve themidwatch at four.Aboard the destroyerJohnston, washrooms filledwith boisterous morning

energy,lockersslammed,andthegalleycamealivewiththehissingofsteam,thebanterofcooks, the sizzle of eggs andbacon. Quartermaster strikerRobert Billie went to themess,pouredhimselfacupofcoffee, and decided to forgetgoing back to bed. Therewere only two hours untilmorning general quarterswould be called at six. Anyteasing hints of sleep hemightgetwouldonlydeepen

his fatigue. Until he couldsleep in earnest, hemight aswell fill the remaining timewithusefulwork.Hewenttothe chart room to update hischarts.In previous campaigns,

from the Marshalls to theSolomons to the Carolines,theJohnston’screwhad longago proven their ability tofunction on a fractured sleeppattern. At six, per the daily

routine, the claxons sounded,setting the steel decks andladders vibrating with theconcussion of quickfootsteps.Thedawn-duskcallto battle stations was part ofthedailyregimenofstructureand discipline designed tokeep minds sharp andequipment ready. TheJohnston stood down after afewminutesonalert.Then, unexpectedly, the

general quarters claxonsoundedagain.After a midwatch in the

Johnston’s laundry, seamanfirst class Bill Mercer wasfast asleep in his bunkwhentheGQalarmbeganshriekingfor a second time.Hewasatfirst slow to rise. But wordthat enemy ships were nearshot life into him. Mercersprangtohisfeetandsprintedtoward his battle station on

the port side forward forty-millimetermount.HeranpastLee Burton, a ship’s cookwhowas busy setting up thebreakfastchowline,andsaid,“How about some bacon? Itmay be the last I ever get.”Burton told Mercer to helphimself, and he did, gladlyandgenerously.ThenMercersaw the tall shell splashesstraddling the escort carrierGambier Bay off theJohnston’s port bow and

immediatelylosthisappetite.Ellsworth Welch, the

Johnston’s junior officer ofthe deck, was leaning overtherailontheportsideofthebridge taking in the warmaromas of breakfastwhen hefirstsawthecolumnsofwatertoweringoverthedecksofanescortcarrier.Instinctivelyhelookedskyward,expecting toseeenemybombersoverhead.Butthenherealizedthattheir

air-search radar would havelongsincespottedanyplanes.Torpedoman first class

ThomasSullivanmistook thesound of splashing water fordolphins at play. When heturned and saw the geysers,Sullivan knew that what hewas seeing was thehandiworkofamorewarlikespeciesofmammal.In the chief’s quarters,

chiefboatswain’smateClyde

Burnettwaslyinginhisbunkawaiting breakfast when aship’s talkercameon thePAand announced that aJapanese fleet was somefifteenmilesaway.“Ithoughtsomeone was joking until Igot topside and looked aft.Thewholehorizonseemedtolightupfromthegunfire,”hesaid.

***

ABOARDTHEHOEL,LTJohnC.W Dix knew somethingpeculiar was in the air whenhe went belowdecks, cup ofcoffee and cigarette in hand,and ducked into the low-ceilinged compartment thathoused the destroyer’scombat information center.Lt. Fred Green was at theplotting board, listeningintently to voices on hisheadset and transcribingnumberswithagreasepencil

on the Plexiglas: 4, 6, 10.“Our Combat Air Patrolreports strange ships,”Greensaid, “four battleships, sixcruisers, ten tin cans. Listen,thepilot’scominginagain.”A burst of static washed

through the speakers,bringingadistantvoice:“I’mdrawing fire.” Anotherwaveofnoise:“Thebastardshavepagodamasts.” Dix checkedthe radar scope. In the upper

left corner was a cluster ofsmall green blips. Dixcounted seventeen of them.Their range was less thanforty thousand yards—abouttwenty-twomiles.Waiting in line for

breakfast near the starboardhatch leading to his generalquartersstationintheforwardfire room, water tendersecondclassChuckSampsonsawDix come runningdown

the ladder from the CICshouting something aboutenemy ships closing withthem. Sampson abandonedhisplace in lineanddroppedthrough the hatch and downtheladdertohisbattlestation.Standing on the grating thatdivided the cavernouschamber into a split-levelpower station, Sampsonshouted above the boilers’din,tellinghisfellowsontheblack gang what was

happening.Lt. Cdr. John Plumb, the

engineering officer, arrivedfromthebridge tomakesuretheHoel’s four boilers werelit. His snipes had alreadyturnedthewheelsandthrownthe switches that cut theboilers onto the main steamline. In the engine roomsomeonethrewopenthemainsteam stop. Within minutesthe ship had full power, its

exhauststacksunfurlinglargeblackcloudsofboilersmoke.As quartermaster Clarence

Hood took the helm withHerbert Doubrava, thefighting tops of foreignwarships became visible onthe horizon, a scattered butgrowingforestofangrysteel.An alarmed voice was heardcoming over the TBS:“WherethehellisHalsey?”The Hoel’s general

quarters alarm began ringingnow, a pulsing, synthesizedminor-keygonging“designedto jar thebrain, towakeyou,speed the senses, make youfeel the pitch of keenexcitementintheair,theurgeto reach your battle stationfast,”asLieutenantDixputit.For the second time thatmorning the ship came alivewith the percussion of soleson steel decks. The galleyemptied.Earlierrisersgulped

down the last of theirscrambled eggs, navy beans,and cinnamon rolls, thensprinted through narrowpassageways,duckedthroughhatches, raced up and downladders.When GQ sounded, there

wasneveranyquestionwheretogoorwhattodo.Butwhenthe alert was unscheduled, adegreeofmysterysurroundedwhy exactly you were doing

it. According to LieutenantDix:Maybe it’s just a false

alarm. You run. You don’tknowwhatit’sfor,andsoyourun. Torpedoes could beheading for the ship orbombersdivingin.Youneverknow.Nobody tells youwhatit’s for. You run. You takeyourstationfirstandthenyouask. Nobody seems to know.The bell still rings. It’s

hardeston theguyswhostaybelow. You’ve reached yourstation—forward magazine.The other fellow’s there. Hegrabs thephoneandcallsupto the handling room to askwhat’sup.They’retellinghimtheword.Youwatchhisface,andnowhe’s tellingyouandwatchingyours.Youhearhimsay, “The Japs have openedfire.” He’s talking numbers.Twenty ships! A fleet! Youdon’tbelieveit’struebecause

youcan’tgetoutondeckandseeitforyourself.Aboard the Samuel B.

Roberts, Bob Copeland andeveryone elsewho had spentthe night listening to theSurigaoStrait fightingon theTBS frequency knew thatsomewhere a Japanese fleetwas in fast retreat. They hadheard it with their own ears:thesightingreports,theheavyblasts, thesatisfiedchuckling

of gunnery officers, and theplain-language chatter ofOldendorf’s skippers,exuberant as they ran downthestragglersoftheSouthernForce. The Japanese werefleeing, but in whichdirection? The question wasof more than academicsignificance, for Taffy 3steamed about a hundredmiles north of where theSeventh Fleet’s big boys hadrouted Nishimura the night

before. If the Japanese werefleeing north, theremight besomethingtosee.Copeland was leaving the

bridge to get a cup of coffeein the officers’ mess whenEns. Dudley Moylan, theofficer of the deck on themorning watch, said,“Surface radar reports thatthey have a contact, sir,bearing three-three-zeroapproximately thirty or forty

miles away.” EdwardWheaton, a radar techniciansecond class, said the imagewas kind of fuzzy, but yes,there was a dense pattern ofechoeson the surface radar’sA-scope. Like the radarreturns observed bymonitorson the island of Oahu onDecember7,1941,theywereeasytodismiss.Justaslikelythey were echoes ofrainsqualls or nearby landmasses.

Peering out of a portholefrom the pilothouse,Copeland spied a mass ofgray clouds looming on thehorizon. He told Wheaton,“Well, there’s a storm overthere, but there could besomething inside of it, sokeepaneyeon it.”Copelandwashalfwaydowntheladderto the mess when a lookoutcalled toMoylan, “Objectonthe horizon. Looks like themastofaship.”

With dozens of othersGeorgeBraythoughthe’dgoout on deck and get himselfan eyeful. He heard a voicecome over the ship’sloudspeaker. It was theexecutive officer, BobRoberts:“Ifyou’reinterested,come up on deck. Remnantsof the Japanese fleet arefleeing over the horizon.”Here was something out ofthe routine. Bray, who wasbelowdecks turning in his

laundry at the time, rantopsideintimetoseeawhitephosphorescent fireballilluminate the predawnmorning with a phonybrilliance, its smoky fingersfalling in shallow arcs intothe sea. The realizationsickenedhim: somebodywastaking a range on them.Sight-seeing hell, they hadgone and gotten themselvesinto a fight. As the generalquartersalarmsounded,Bray

rantohisbattlestationintheafter living quarters, grabbedthe steel helmet out of hisfootlocker,andhustled to thestairwell where repair partynumber twowas supposed toreport.Gunnery officer Lt. Bill

Burton, who had anespecially sharp eye for shipsilhouettes, confirmed forhiscaptainthatthemysteryshipson the horizon belonged to

Imperial Japan. Battleships.Heavy cruisers. They werebigones.BobCopelandnevergothis coffee.Hegoton theTBSradioandraisedAdmiralSprague aboard theFanshawBay. Copeland didn’t tellSpragueanything theadmiralhadn’t already heard fromEnsign Brooks, whoseAvengerwas at thatmomentbeing buffeted by flak fromKurita’sships.

The revelation that theenemy was not fleeing butadvancing had the surrealquality of a dream. Ineveryone’s mind the far-fetchedpossibilityofdisasterhad hitherto been shouteddown by the certainty thatany Japanese forceapproaching from the northwould have to confront thethoroughbreds of the ThirdFleet.Justthedaybefore,thecrews of Taffy 3’s ships had

lined the decks to watch thecarriers Franklin andEnterprise, accompanied bythe fast battleships Alabamaand Washington and anassortment of lesser ships,steam northward to join therest of Halsey’s huge force.In thewakeof thatparadeofdreadnoughts, reports thatJapanese fleets were on themove inspired little fear.Oldendorfwas to theirsouth,Halsey to their north. There

was nothing to fear fromJapanesesurfaceraiders.On the bridge of the

Samuel B. Roberts Lt. TomStevenson, in his slippers,chinos,andaT-shirt,andtheassistant gunnery officer, Lt.(jg) John LeClercq, watchedthe towering mainmasts ofJapanese battleships rise onthe horizon and felt theirsenseofsafetydissolve.Nowand then the distant

silhouettes were obscured bysilent flashes of light fromtheir cannonade. Althoughneither acknowledged asmuch to theother,StevensonandLeClercqbothknewtheyhad little chance to survive.Heavy shells were inbound,and their own tiny ship wasmuch too far away to strikeback. As they prepared tohead for their battle stations—Stevenson below to theCIC, LeClercq to supervise

the aft forty-millimeter gunmount—the two officersshookhandsandwishedeachotherluck.Captain Copeland picked

up the intercom mike andaddressedtheRoberts’screw.That he was speaking forhimself struck Ens. JackMooreasunusualandurgent.Normally seaman JackRoberts was the publicaddress voice of his

namesake warship. Hissouthern drawl was all butunintelligible to anyone notacquainted with Dixie’srhythms and diphthongs. Butthe skipper’s diction was ascrisp as a litigator’s.Hewastalking fast and soundingmorethanalittlenervous.“AlargeJapanesefleethas

been contacted. They arefifteen miles away andheadedinourdirection.They

are believed to have fourbattleships,eightcruisers,andanumberofdestroyers.“This will be a fight

against overwhelming oddsfrom which survival cannotbeexpected.Wewilldowhatdamagewecan.”JackMoorewasalreadyat

hisGQstationinSammyB.’sdecoding room. The ensignhad been late getting there,having stayed awake till the

close of midwatch reading anovel in his bunk. WhenMoore arrived in the smallwindowless compartmentcontaining the codingmachine, the chief radioman,TullioSerafini,wasalreadyatwork.Mooreofferedasleepy“goodmorning” and Serafiniacknowledged it. The portlyItalian chief never talkedmuch.Thoughhehadplayedtheroyalbabyatthecrossing-the-lineceremony,hewasthe

oldest man on the ship atforty-three and had little incommon with boys twentyand more years his junior.Serafini was an immigrantfrom theOldCountrywhoseNavy service dated toWorldWar I. When Pearl Harborwas attacked, he had left awell-paying job in thePhiladelphia Navy Yard andreenlisted despite bothexceeding the age limit andhis status as father of two.

Serafini felt that he owed adebtofgratitudetotheUnitedStates. Moore sensed thatTullioSerafiniwasthesortofguy who always made goodon his debts. CaptainCopeland was only too gladto accept payment on behalfof the nation. RecognizingSerafini’s talents, he waivedthe time requirements tomakechief.As a mail censor, Moore

had gleaned some ofSerafini’s personal historyfrom a birthday letter thechief had written to his son.“Be a good, stout boy andmindyourmommyallof thetime, even when you thinkshe might be wrong, so thatyour daddy can be proud ofhis eight-year-old man whenhe comes home again.[Signed]Your lovingDaddy.P.S.Keepupthegoodgradesin school.” The way Moore

saw it, “Serafini’s entranceintothewarwasanalogoustoour country’s entrance….They had worked anddevelopedwhattheyhaduntilnow itwasworth protecting,even if it meant sacrificingtheirverybeing.”Apronouncedclick on the

intercom punctuated the endof Copeland’s announcementtohiscrewandlefttheyoungensign and the old chief

sittingindisbelievingsilence.Serafini turned to Moore,cocked his head to the side,and puckered his lips incomic sadness. Thecommunicatorhadnothing tosay.Through the Samuel B.

Roberts’s tour of the Pacific,Moore had learned to calmhismen’sfearsbyrecitingthebetting odds that stood intheir favor. En route to the

Philippines, he had postedoddsofninetytoonefavoringtheir safe return. During thebig typhoon at Leyte, he putthem at fifty to one. “Whatare the odds, Mr. Moore?”Thequestionfromanenlistedman tookhimaback.For thefirst time Moore couldremember, theoddswerenotwiththem.Hefiguredthematmorelikeonetoone—afifty-fifty chance. Not fifty-fiftythe Roberts and her band

would win the battle, butfifty-fifty thatanygivenmanwould live to see the nextday’ssunrise.Theenemywastoo close, too big, too fast.One to one; that was aboutright.Some other numbers

helped tell that story. If theJapanese cruisers anddestroyers could make thirtyknots, theywouldgain abouta mile on the fleeing

eighteen-knot Americancarriers every five minutes.Anygroupofships,nomatterhow swift, was effectivelyhostage to its slowestmember. Moore avoideddwelling on where thisarithmeticwouldput them inan hour or so. He occupiedhimself with the decodingmachine,numblypunchinginthe five-character sequenceshegotfromtheradiomen.

The five-character codeblocks came from the radiodepartment next door, wherea row of enlisted men werebusily transcribing encryptedradio traffic transmitted inMorse code over theirearphones. The sixexchangeable wheels insidethe coding machine tookMoore’s keyed input andspunandlinedupandprinteda thin white ribbon of plain-English prose. One of the

messages that spooled outonto the ticker tape wasimportant but brief. It wasfrom Admiral Nimitz,addressed to all ships.According toMoore,“It readsomethinglikethis:DUETOTHESPLENDID AIRMANSHIP SHOWN INYESTERDAY’S ENGAGEMENTS, ANDWITH A CONTINUING OF SUCHCOORDINATEDACTION,ICANASSUREA DEFEAT OF THE JAPANESE NAVYFROM WHICH IT WILL NEVERRECOVER.” Ensign Moorethrewthemessagetothefloorin disgust. He didn’t know

much about Kurita’s CenterForce. Nor, as it happened,did Admirals Halsey andNimitz. Whatever might besaid of Admiral Kurita’sgroup,ithadsurelyrecoveredfrom its beating by ThirdFleet aviators the previousafternoon. It was bearingdownnowonTaffy3,aimingtoproveit.

Fifteen

At 6:35 A.M., as sunriserevealed a grayed-out andhazydawn,themostpowerfulconcentration of naval gunpower the Japanese empirehadeverassembledreorderedits geometry in preparationfor daylight operations.Twenty-five miles to Taffy

3’s north, lookouts on theheavy cruiser Chokai andlightcruiserNoshiroreportedaircraft approaching. SoHalsey’splaneswerecomingafter all, Takeo Kurita musthave thought. Almostsimultaneously, cat-eyedlookouts on the battleshipNagato spied masts on thehorizonvisiblehereandtherethrough the rainsqualls thatdropped down from theheavens like gauzy shrouds.

An eight-knot easterly windroused low swells from thesea. From the Yamato’sgunnery platform high abovethe bridge, Cdr. TonosukeOtani, Kurita’s operationsofficer, squinted through arange-finding telescope andspotted the flat-toppedsilhouettes of Americanaircraftcarriers.The presence of carriers

meant this was not

Nishimura’ssquadron.Kuritacould not believe his luck.Here,withingunrangeatlast,werethefast,first-lineEssex-class fleet carriers thatconstituted the heart of theAmericanfleet.There lookedto be six or seven of them,accompanied by whatlookouts took for Baltimore-class heavy cruisers,powerfulcombatantsonlysixfeet shorter than SouthDakota-class battleships. The

imagination of AdmiralKoyanagi, Kurita’s chief ofstaff, ran wild. He believedthey faced not an escortcarriergroup,butfourorfivebig carriers escorted by oneor two battleships and ten ormoreheavycruisers.

As Ziggy Sprague’s taskunit flees eastward into thewind, its six jeep carriersscrambling their pilots andaircrews, Kurita’s CenterForce begins its high-speedpursuit, its battleships firingheavy salvos at extendedrange.At 6:59, loaded with

rounds designed to penetrateheavy armor, the great 18.1-

inch rifles of the battleshipYamato trained to starboardandopenedfireonTaffy3ata range of nearly twentymiles. One minute laterKurita issued a fleet-wideorder for a “general attack.”TheKongo turned out to theeast, in fast but independentpursuit.AheadoftheYamatotoport,thesixheavycruisersof CruiserDivisions 5 and 7formed into a single column,trying to take the lead in the

chase. Angling to thesouthwest, theNagato turnedhersixteen-inchriflestwenty-five degrees to port andopenedfireatarangeofmorethan twentymiles. The swiftHaruna loosed fourteen-inchsalvos using its crude radarset.Apparently unaware of the

speed advantage his shipsheld over their Americanprey,Kuritaseemedeagerfor

hisheavycruiserstopressthefight before the Americanscould escape. A moredisciplined (or better-informed) commander mighthave drawn his ships into asingle line of battle, withdestroyersintheforwardvanto scout the enemy andmaneuver for a deadlytorpedoattack.For all the strength the

Japanese Center Force

brought into play, itscommanders were unsettledabout the manner in whichthebattlebegan.Inthemidstof the shift to a daytimeantiaircraft formation, witheach captain operating at hisown freewheeling discretion,confusion took command oftheCenter Force.ViceAdm.Matome Ugaki, commandingKurita’s First BattleshipDivision, composed of theYamato and the Nagato,

observed, “each unit seemedvery slow in starting actionsdue to uncertainty about theenemy condition.” “I fearedthe spirit of all-out attack atshort range was lacking,”AdmiralUgakiwouldwrite.The heavy cruisers led the

Japanese charge on Taffy 3.Cruiser Division 7’scommander, Vice Adm.Kazutaka Shiraishi, was afifty-two-year-old Nagasaki

native who had not had aseagoing command since1940. Shiraishi receivedKurita’s order, “Cruiserdivisions attack!” and turnedhis ships to the southeast,steaming at their maximumspeed of thirty-five knots.AimingtoflanktheAmericanships from the east, heradioed each of his captainsin succession: “We areclosing the enemy. Intend toengage to starboard.” Then

—bizarrely—though ageneral attack had beenordered, the vanguard of anysuch attack, the CenterForce’stwodivisionsofhard-hitting destroyers, led by thelight cruisers Noshiro andYahagi, were ordered to therear. Though there weredoubters in hismidst, Kuritawas overjoyed by hisperceived good fortune inencountering Americancarriers.Atseveno’clockthe

Center Force commanderdispatched a message thatdelighted Combined FleetHeadquarters: “WE AREENGAGINGENEMYINGUNBATTLE”…and then “BY HEAVEN-SENTOPPORTUNITY WE ARE DASHING TOATTACKTHEENEMYCARRIERS.Theemperor’s fleet had beenhandedadreamed-forchance.Carriers were queens of theseas, mobile and lethallyarmed with ship-killingplanes. Now it was theImperial Japanese Navy’s

turn to move on thePhilippine chessboard. Itsrooks hadAmerica’s queens,so Kurita thought, lined upforslaughter.

Sixteen

As flecks of antiaircraft firedotted the northern horizonaround Bill Brooks’sAvenger, Ernest Evansemerged from his sea cabinonthedestroyerJohnstonandsized up Taffy 3’spredicament in an instant.Situated closest to the

advancing enemy fleet, hecould not have missed hisship’s consignment to quickdestruction. Faced with it,Evansevidently sawnoneedto await orders fromCommander Thomas aboardthe Hoel or from AdmiralSprague. If carriercommanderstraditionallysawthedestroyers’primarybattlerole as laying smoke screensto cover the flattops’ escape,Evans had other ideas about

what hewas supposed to do.Destroyers sortied. Theyinterposed. They sacrificedthemselves for the ships theywere assigned to protect.Evanswould do his duty fortheFanshawBay, theSt. Lo,theGambier Bay, the WhitePlains, theKalinin Bay, andtheKitkunBay. If thatmeantclosingwithanenemywhosegunswerebigenoughtosinkhimwithasinglehit,sobeit.He would make good on his

commissioning-day promise—his warning—to his crew:the Johnston was a fightingship. He would not backdown.Recalling his skipper’s

speech in the context of thepresentsituation,BobHagen,the Johnston’s gunneryofficer,grewill.Astheship’sseniorlieutenant,heknewhisskipper. The certainty thatEvans would turn the ship

into the teethof theJapanesefleet saddledhimwithdread.This is an impossiblesituation with this skipper,Hagen thought. He’s notgoing to run. He doesn’tknowhow.Hagenpracticallyheardthe

orders before his skipperdeliveredthem.Hisrapid-firesequence suggested he hadrehearsedallhisNavylifeforamomentsuchasthis.

All hands to generalquarters.Prepare to attack

major portion of theJapanesefleet.All engines ahead

flank.Commence making

smoke and stand by for atorpedoattack.Leftfullrudder.

Lt. (jg) Ellsworth Welchcouldn’t help but beimpressed with his skipper’sbrio, his calm, his directness

of action, and clarity ofthought.Whydidn’tIthinkofthat? he found himselfwondering. Nothing likehavingaproincharge.Left full ruddermeant that

theshipwouldpeelofftothenorth-northwest, away fromthe illusory sanctuary of theformation and chargingtoward the enemy fleet. Theorder made Robert Billie, aMinnesotan, want to go to

ground like a gopher. “Thatwas the only time I everwantedtodigatrench.”Bob Hagen ran his

numbers—the fire-controlcomputer could not help himhere—and drew the sameconclusion Jack Moore hadon the Samuel B. Roberts:there was probably a fifty-fifty chance of survival. Thelongoddsnotwithstanding,hewasinnohurrytoclimbupto

the gun director. Though thesituation seemed to demandurgentaction—andindeed,hecouldcountonhismenbeinginside each of the five maingun mounts within aboutninety seconds of going togeneral quarters—what wasthe point of hurry-up-and-wait? The gunners wouldhavenothingtoshootatuntilthe range to the enemy hadclosed from 35,000 yards to18,000yards,aboutsixmiles.

Until then, the gunneryofficerfeltnoimmediateneedtogazeupontheenemyshipsthroughhisbinoculars.Theshellfireputoutbythe

Japanese force wasoverwhelming. Battleshipmain battery rounds plungeddown at the Johnston,shrieking like locomotives,smacking the seawith a slapand roar and sending uptowers of dye-stained

seawater. At that momentHagenhadasgoodaviewofthe Japanesedreadnoughts ashecaredtohave.The Johnston’s gun boss

contemplated the audaciouspath his captain had chosenand saidquietly, “Please, sir,letusnotgodownbeforewefireourdamntorpedoes.”He did not doubt that

Ernest Evans would do hisbest. Like the other officers

on the Johnston, Hagen hadcometoseehimas“acaptainwho could strike fightingspirit from his men the waysteel strikes spark from aflint.” Evans’s conductimpressed him indelibly. “Ican see him now,” Hagenwould write, “short, barrel-chested, standing on thebridge with his hands on hiships, giving out with arunning fire of orders in abullvoice.”

That Evans acted oninstinct, ahead of actualorders, was elemental to hisconstitution and hisexperience. The crew in turnvested their faith in the all-encompassing will of theCherokee warrior who hadsworn that he would neverwithdraw. And who knew,perhaps promises asportentousashiscarriedwiththem some kind of implicitmagic that assured their

survival. The laws ofprobabilityandthelessonsofrecent combat history,however,heraldedadifferentoutcome. At the Battle ofSavo Island, Japanesecruisers and destroyers hadneeded only six minutes toannihilate an Allied cruisercolumn. At Midway,American dive-bombers hadwipedoutmostofaJapanesecarrier task force in fourdecisive minutes. Alone

against heavy cruisers andbattleships—cruising throughshellsplashesfiredbyvesselsuptothirty-fivetimeshersize—the Johnston would haveno business surviving eventhatlong.AstheArmytroopsat Bataan or the Marines onWake Island could attest,Americans had beenoverwhelmedinbattlebefore.The Pacific had affordedthem several occasions torefight the Alamo. Now, it

seemed, it was the Navy’sturn.As his ship sped to the

northwest, alone against theJapanese fleet, Ernest Evanshad no illusions that theJohnston’s five-inch mainbattery would do muchdamage. He knew that hisonlychancetosendJapaneseiron to the bottom of thePhilippine Trenchwas to getclose enough to fire his ten

torpedoes, mounted in twoquintuple mounts amidships,and plant a little torpex intotheirunderbellies.Until then,allhecoulddowasmakehisbest speed and blow out asmuch smoke as his boilerswerecapableofmaking.Whenthefiremenreceived

Captain Evans’s order tomake smoke, theymisinterpreted it as areprimand. “But we are not

making smoke,” came thedefensive reply. Boiler roompersonnel trained hard to doanything but make smoke,lest the ship betray itslocation or foul its boilertubes and require apainstaking cleaning. Evansgrabbed the sound-poweredphonesandyelled,“Iwantasmoke screen, and I want itnow!”On the fantail, Lt. Jesse

Cochran, the assistantengineering officer and headof a repair party, had troublegetting the chemical smokegenerator going. Its valveswerestuckfastfromsaltwatercorrosion. Torpedoman firstclassJimO’Gorekusedabigadjustable wrench and visegripstojogthemloose,whileCochran and his party setdepth charges on safe anddoggeddownallhatchesanddoors on the aft part of the

ship.After aminute or so ofurgent wrenching, the grayconcoction was billowing inthe ship’s wake, hangingclose to the sea in thehumidmonsoon-season air. As theJapanese star shells burnedoverhead like miniaturemidday suns, advancing thelight of the early morning,blacksmokeflowedfromtheship’s two stacks, turningdawnbackintonight.

Smokemakingwas an actof sacrifice: the smokeflowed behind the ship thatmadeit,shroudingeverythinginitswake.Itgaveitsmakernoprotection.IfTaffy3hadaprayer to survive, it woulddepend on confusing Kuritaand shielding the retreatingescort carriers from view.“We were making smoke,zig-zagging and heading forthe Jap fleet,” seaman JohnMostowy would write, “at

flankspeedandalone.”As the Johnston came

around to port on CaptainEvans’s order, taking anorthwesterly course towardthe Japanese fleet, seamanfirst class BillMercer pulledonakapoklifejacket.Hewasfastening it tight when aseamannamedGormanaskedhimifhewasscared.Mercer,a Texan, said hell yeah, hewas scared. In fact, his heart

was thumping so hardbeneathhisribsthathefearedthe Japanese might hear it.The only words Gormancould find in reply were astrangenonsequitur:“Thisisfun.”To quartermaster Neil

Dethlefs,thesituationseemedlike the work of a cruel anduncaring universe. He hadbeenontheJohnstonforonlythreeweeks.Notlongagohe

hadbeenworkingaboard thehullrepairshipPrometheusatTulagi when the Johnstonentered the harbor flashingsignal lights requesting areplacement for aquartermaster who hadtrouble with seasickness.Dethlefs and anotherquartermaster on thePrometheus fit the jobdescription, so they cut adeck of cards to determinewho had to go. Dethlefs

pulled an eight to hiscolleague’skinganddutifullyreported to his yeoman fortransfer to thedestroyer.Thebitter thought seized himnow: he had arrived aboardthe Johnston just in time togethimselfkilled.As Captain Evans rang up

flank speed, officer of thedeckLt.EdDiGardiknewtheJohnstonwasn’t ready foranextended high-speed

engagement. The fuel reportindicated that the ship hadonly 12,000 gallons of fueloil. At standard cruisingspeed, the ship burned 500gallonsanhour.Butataflankspeed of thirty-six knots, therate jumped to 5,000 gallonsan hour. In just over twohours the tanks would bebonedry.The shipwouldgodead in thewater,whether itwas hit or not. LieutenantDiGardi told the engineering

officer,Lt.JoeWorling,todowhat the engineer alreadyknewhadtobedone:mixtheoilwiththe10,000gallonsofdiesel fuel theshipcarried inseparate tanks. Thoughengineers hated the way thedirty-burning grog fouled thedelicate boiler tubes andrequired a painstakingcleanout, there was noalternative in these desperatecircumstances.

Not everyone was entirelydespondent.Lookingdowntothe bridge from the gundirector, Bob Hagen sworethat he could see CaptainEvans’s “heart grinning” asheledhisshipintothefight.

Seventeen

From the bridge of theFanshawBay,ZiggySpraguetook in the vicious columnsof water rising around theWhite Plains and the otherCVEs on the edge of theformation nearest the enemyandsawaterriblebeauty.Thesplashesfromthesalvosrose

in a rainbow of colors: red,pink,purple,green,yellow—eachsodyedinorder tohelptheenemygunnerscorrectthefalloftheirshots.In the whole horrible

courseofthewarinfourwideoceans, not once had anAmericanaircraftcarrierbeensunk by gunfire from anenemy surface ship. Thehistoric nature of Sprague’splightwasnotlostonhim.In

the triumphant closing phaseof the war against Japan,Admiral Sprague, anemissary of the world’sgreatestseapower,wasgoingto see all six of his flattopssunk by gunfire. It wascertaintohappen.Itwouldn’ttake more than fifteenminutes. There was no otherpossibleoutcome.ForthekidfromRockport,

the situation was beyond

imagining. “Iwouldn’t say itwaslikeabaddream,formymind had never experiencedanything from which such anightmare could have beenspun.” Once Clifton SpraguehaddreamedofgoingtoWestPoint, of parading onhorseback before cheeringcrowds down his hometownthoroughfare.HehadbecomeaNavyadmiral instead.Nowhe would have hisappointment with notoriety,

leading thirteen ships whosependingdestructionwouldgodowninhistoryjustassurelyastheywouldgodowntothebottomless deep of thePhilippine Trench: “Neithercould such dream stuff havebeen recalled from myreadinginsomehistorybook,becausenothing like thishadeverhappenedinhistory.”By any measure the

mathematics of the

engagement werepreposterously against them.TheYamato displaced nearlyseventy thousand tons. ShealonematchedalmostexactlyinweightallthirteenshipsofTaffy 3. Each of her threemain gun turrets weighedmorethananentireFletcher-class destroyer. Her armorbelts—sixteen inches thickatthe waterline and more thantwo feet thick on her gunturrets—wereimpenetrableto

an American destroyer’sguns. Her nine 18.1-inchrifles were the biggest gunsthat ever went to sea, firing3,200-poundshellsmorethantwenty-six miles. Theirdevelopment was so secretthat evenAdmiralKurita didnotknow their true size.Thesuperbattleship’s secondarybattery of six six-inch gunspacked twice the hittingpower of anything ZiggySprague’slargestescortshad.

The ship was a great graybeast whose bulk presseddown into the ocean andpossessed it, displacingenough water to raisemeasurably the level of asmall lake.At flank speedoftwenty-seven knots, theYamato sliced the sea anddrew it back around her in aroiling maelstrom, leaving awake that capsized smallboats.

The Yamato was not theonly ship that completelyoutgunned Sprague’s taskunit. The Nagato, displacing42,850 tons, fielded eightsixteen-inch guns, and theKongoandhersistershiptheHaruna (36,600 tons) werefast frontline battleshipsarmed with eight-gunfourteen-inch batteries.Kurita’s six heavy cruiserswere thirty-five-knot killersthat had a cumulative

displacement equal to that ofthe Yamato. Finally, Kuritahad two flotillas ofdestroyers,eleveninall,eachled by a light cruiser, theYahagi and the Noshiro(8,543 tons), with six-inchbatteries. On paper each ofthe destroyers matched theJohnston, the Hoel, or theHeermann in speed andtorpedopower if notquite ingunnery.TheonlyweaponinSprague’smodestarsenalthat

Kurita could not match wasaircraft. Each of the sixAmerican jeepscarriedaboutthirtyplanes.Butloadedwithdepth charges, antipersonnelbombs, rockets, and themachine guns in their wings—not to mention thepropaganda leaflets theysometimes carried in lieu ofmore kinetic payloads—theywere not armed for attackingheavysurfaceships.

A fighting force cannot bereduced to its order of battleanymore thana ship’svaluecanbereducedtothenumberof guns she carries or theshafthorsepowerherturbinescangenerate.Avessel drawslife from the spirit of hercrew, which derives in largepart from the leadershipqualities of her chiefs andofficers. Morale defiesquantification—and yet itweighs significantly on the

ultimate lethality of the toolsofwar.Aship’seffectivenessistheproductofthousandsofbonds that develop betweenindividual officers and crew.Thebondsformandbreak inachainreaction,thepowerofwhich is determined by drill,byrelationships,byfortitude,faith, and values. Task forcecommanders can be onlyabstractly aware of theseuncountable qualities as theyexist on the particular ships

under their command. Theofficers of the shipsthemselvesseethesequalitiesmoreclearlybutstillcanonlyguess how the chemicalreactions will coalesce whenthe real shooting starts andmen begin to die. And soordersofbattlearedrawnupto focus on the tangibles:speed, displacement,armament, and sensors. Onthat score Taffy 3 scarcelyeven registered on the scale

of force that Takeo Kuritabroughtagainstthem.ThankstoEnsignBrooks’s

diligent sighting report,Admiral Sprague knewprecisely what he faced. “Ithought, we might as wellgive them all we’ve gotbeforewegodown,”helaterrecalled. That meant gettingintopositiontolaunchplanesandputtingasmuchdistanceaspossiblebetweenhisships

and the faster Japanese.Bothof those goals could be metby heading east, into thewind.Ziggy Sprague coolly

measured what wouldbecome a steadily shiftingmatrix of variables—enemycourse headings, patterns ofwind and squalls, theeffectiveness of his ownships’evasionsandprotectivesmoke laying and the effect

of the enemy fire—andinstinctively planned hisescape. He ordered his shipsto turn from their northerlycoursetoaneastwardone,onheading 090. Three factorsrecommended that course:first, it was directly awayfrom the Japanese fleet;second, it brought a strongwind rushing from bow tosternoverhiscarrierdecks—an apparent headwind oftwenty-two knots was

necessary to get a fullyloaded Avenger airborne,evenwithcatapultassistance;and third, it tookhim towardopen ocean, where he couldhope for the intervention notonly of rainsqualls butperhaps also of otherAmericanships.“Iwanted topull the enemy out wheresomebodycouldsmackhim,”he would write; eitherOldendorf or Halsey,wherever they were, could

handle that job. “If we weregoing to expend ourselves Iwantedtomakeitcount.”At6:50Spragueflippedon

theTBSradioandorderedtheskippers of his command,“Signal execute on receipt.Shackle baker uncle easyunshackleturn.”Betweenthewords shackle and unshacklewas the coded numericalheading Sprague intended tofollow. Baker Uncle Easy

weretheencodedintegersforaheadingof090.Allasone,the helmsmen on twelve ofTaffy 3’s thirteen shipsturned to the right, bringingtheir ships on an eastwardheading.Spraguealsopassedthe order to begin makingsmoke for concealment.Aboard the jeep carriers,flight deck crews raced toreadytheirplanesforlaunch.Ittookonlyfiveminutesto

turn the six nimble carriersonto a windward course.Spragueordered,“Launchallplanes as soon as possible,”thenhedgedagainstthelong-shot possibility that the fleetopposing him might yet befriendly: “Caution all pilotsto identify all ships beforeattacking.” The roar andcolorfulsplashesofincomingshells, however, all butremoved that distantpossibility.

Many of Sprague’s planeshad been airborne since firstlight, flying off beforedaybreak to strike targets onLeyte. Now, needing thebombs they carried, heordered them to abort andreturn. He also needed helpfromtheother twoTaffies tohissouth.OntheTBScircuithe raised the commander ofTaffy 2, Rear Adm. FelixStump, “Come in please.Come in please….To any or

all: We have enemy fleetconsisting of BBs andcruisers fifteen miles asternclosingus.Wearebeingfiredon.”Admiral Stump got on the

line, already briefed byintercepted radiotransmissions, and said,“Don’t be alarmed, Ziggy,rememberwe’rebackofyou.Don’t get excited! Don’t doanything rash!” Since

Stump’sTaffy2wastheonlyofthethreeTaffiesnotunderdirect attack—Taffy 1wouldbe fighting off land-basedJapanese aircraft most of themorning—he was bestpositioned to help Sprague.Still, something about histone tended to undercut hisadvice.Thomas Sprague, in

simultaneous command ofTaffy1 andall threeTaffies,

recognizedthatinthecomingfight Ziggy Sprague shouldbe free to decide how toconduct it. All that ThomasSpraguecoulddoforhimwascover bureaucratic bases andask the Seventh Fleet’scommander of supportaircraft for permission tolaunch all available torpedobombersand“goafterthem.”Therequestwasdulygranted,and thereafter, according toAdmiral Stump, “no orders

were received from anyoneduring the entire day, norwere any necessary.” It wasZiggySprague’sbattletowinor lose, “using the initiativethat was required under theprevailingcircumstances.”Ziggy Sprague knew that

help was a long way off.Whathedidn’tknowwasthatJesseOldendorf’sbattleships,idling in Leyte Gulf aftertheir historic victory in

SurigaoStrait,wouldbekeptfromcomingtohisassistancebecause Admiral Kinkaidfeared the Southern Forcemight turn around and attackagain through Surigao Strait.Though one might questionthe wisdom of ensuringagainst a contingent disasterwhen a very real one wasalreadyathand, thecold factof October 25 was thatAdmiral Sprague, the shipsandmenofTaffy3,andtheir

brotherstotheirsouth,wouldhave no help from theoverwhelming naval powermarshaled to their north andsouth. They were on theirown.Sprague’s moves in the

crucible of imminent combatwere swift but not rash.Onetrait of good commanders isthat they make simpledecisions at the right timesand without delay. Sprague

was an instinctive andforceful decision maker. Heplayed golf in a hurry. Hedidn’t line up his putts. Hejustwalkeduptotheballandhitit.Whenhemethisfuturewife, Annabel, he knewimmediately he wouldmarryher.AtPearlHarborheknewright away what to do withthe few weapons he had ontheTangier. On themorningof October 25, with anoverwhelming Japanese task

force pressing down on him,he saw instantly the surestroute to his slim hope ofsurvival. If he did notcompletely resign himself todying,heatleastacceptedthereasonable certainty of animminent swim. If noassistance came from otherships, Sprague would settlefor the intervention of aheavenly being of whomduring quieter periods of hislife he had asked, and to

whom he had given,relativelylittle.

Eighteen

In the ready room of the St.Lo, VC-65’s skipper, RalphJones, pulled on his MaeWest, a parachute harness,helmet,andgogglesasfastashe could. The pilots andaircrews of VC-65 followedsuit, the boom boom rummpof the enemy ships’ near

missesurgingthemonastheyscrambled to the flight deckandclimbedintotheirplanes.Kuritahad found their range.Pink, red, and blue columnsofwaterroseuparoundthem.Something crazy washappening—they were underattack, but by whom? Therewas no cause to question it,but how the hell was thispossible?Takeoffwouldhavetobequick,oritmightnotbedoneatall.

Ens.EdBreedinghadbeenuphalfthenight,listeningonthe combat frequency to thefracturedtransmissionsofthefighting down in SurigaoStrait. Strapped into thecockpit of his FM-2Wildcatfighter, engine started andidling, in queue for takeoff,the twenty-three-year-oldwatchedascolorfulspoutsofwater climbed into the air tostarboard and port, thencollapsed in rings of sea

foam. A teenage planehandler jumped onto hiswing, gestured toward themaelstrom, and asked, “Sir,what’sthat?”Theotherpilotshad nicknamed Breeding, afarmer’s son from HillCounty, Texas, “Speedy” forthe pace of his Texas drawl.He said, “Well, it looks likesomebody’s shooting at us.You better put me on thatcatapult so I can go shootback.”

Until he sawwithhisowneyes the big shells inboundfrom the battleships andheard with his own ears thecrackling whistle of theirdescent, Holly Crawforth, aSt. Lo radio technician,thought it was all some kindofsickjoke.ConfrontedwithasuddenvisionofhiscaptureandtortureatJapanesehands,he took his dog tags andthrew them away. On thesound-powered phones he

could hear the guys in theengine roomgettingpanicky.Belowdecks men frettedabout the possibility of atorpedo hit swallowing themfrombelow.“Telluswhatthehell is happening!” theyshouted.TheSt.Lo’sskipper,Capt.

Francis J. McKenna, calledcourse changes to hishelmsman, zigzagging hard,tryingtothrowofftheaimof

theJapanesegunners.Asvitalas his evasive maneuveringwas, it complicated mattersfor pilots aiming to getairborne. With the flow ofwind over the deck shiftingwitheachturn,aviatorsneverquite knew how crosswindsand engine torque wouldaffect their takeoff. Thecatapult crews preferred tofirewhentheshipwasfacingthewind,sotherhythmofthelaunchwasdisruptedand the

planes started their missionswidelyseparated.As ever, Lt. Cdr. Ralph

Jones was first in line fortakeoff.Thecatapultwhippedhimairborne,andthecatapultcrews raced to gather theharness and string it to thenext plane rolling forward.Jones turned sharply to theleft, fifty feet off the water,and headed for the Japanesefleet. Inching ahead in his

Wildcat, Breeding’ssquadron-mate,Lt. (jg)LarryBudnick, far from hisSuperior, Wisconsin, home,thoughttohimself,Letmethehell off this thing. Smokefrom the carrier’s exhauststacks, which rose barelyabove the flight deck, stunghisnosewithitsacridity.Oneby one the planes ahead ofhim whipped aloft—Avengers using the catapult,Wildcats making deck runs.

AtlastitwasBudnick’sturn.Heopenedhis throttle, rolleddown the deck, and roaredaloftafterhiscommander.Theusualstrikeplancalled

for theWildcats toescort theAvengers to the target andcoordinate their attacks. Enroute the pilots of the swiftWildcats kept their throttlesback,weavingandcirclingtostay with the lumberingtorpedo bombers. At the

target the fighters wingedover to strafe while theAvengers lined up theirexcruciating low-altituderuns. That kind of teamworkwas impossible now. Therewas no time to fly by thebook. Larry Budnick had ahard time finding otherfighterpilotstoformupwith.Hefoundhisradiofrequencycongested with confusedtransmissions: “I’m overhere, where are you?” “If

you can’t find me, go in byyourself” There was norhyme to the babel, and nostructuretotheminuet.Intherush to get airborne,CommanderJoneshadhadnotime to give his pilotsrendezvous instructions. Itwas going to be every pilotforhimself.

***

ONTHEFANSHAWBAY,RoyceHall

rose early, ready for anotherday’s dull routine. Theaviation ordnanceman firstclass from Emanuel County,Georgia, was the turretgunnerontheTBMflownbyLt. Harvey Lively. Theiraircraft, last in line fortakeoff, was perched on theaftendoftheflightdeck.Hallclimbed into the torpedobomber through the smallradio compartment hatch inthe belly, twisted his torso

around, stepped up, andsqueezed into the flat-sidedsphere of the Avenger’s ballturret. Hall sat down in theturret’s metal bucket seat,fingered his trigger, andpeered through hisilluminated gun sight. Whenhe saw the great toweringsplashes around the ship, hecraned his neck and lookedskyward through thePlexiglas, expecting to spotenemy bombers. But Hall

could not see above the lowceiling of clouds. Then henoticed the yellow-orangeflashes of light breakingthroughthecurtainofsquallson the northwestern horizon.The light bloomed and fadedbut never seemed completelyto disappear.At first he tookit for something burning—maybe a ship in its deaththroes. But when largesplashesbeganbracketingtheFanshaw Bay, walking the

water around her in tightthree- and four-shell patternsand dousing the flight deckwith dye-stained seawater,Hall knew that what he waslooking at were blasts fromthe muzzles of some verylargeships.“Hey, Guns, what’s going

on?” asked radioman WillieHaskins, seated below in theradio compartment, lookingup at the soles of Hall’s

leather-booted feet. “Oh hell,some SOB is shooting at usfrom way over yondersomewhere,” the Georgianreplied.AstheplanehandlersmuscledtheAvengerforwardtoward the catapult, Lively,Hall,andHaskins,as the lastcrew to leave Sprague’sflagship, never thought theywould make it airborne. TheFanshaw Bay was bracketedby at least fifteen shellsbefore their TBM ever got

into launch position. Finallytheplanehandlershookedthecatapult cable to hooksunderneath the wings andlooped it around the hookburied in the flight deck’scatapulttrack.Without ceremony, the

catapultfired.Hallreflexivelytucked his chin between hisknees to keep inertia fromjamming his face back intohis gun sight, and suddenly

theywereairborne—ornearlyso. As the heavy planeclawed its way heavenward,Hallwas treated to the turretgunner’sbackseatviewoftheflight deck rising up abovehim as the aircraft droppedtoward the water, thetowering bow of the shipcutting the sea in pursuit oftheplaneuntil theAvenger’sfourteen cylinders finallycaught air, gained the sky,and outraced its host vessel.

Looking back at the thirteenships of Taffy 3, Hall said aquiet good-bye. “My firstthought,” he later recalled,“was that I would never seeany of the task force abovethewateragain.”On the flight decks of the

five other escort carriers ofTaffy 3, a similar dancewastakingplace:pilotsjoggingtotheir aircraft, radial enginesturning over, a queue to the

catapult forming up, andplanes flinging skyward.They left their shipscarryingwhatever ordnance theyhappened to have. Theaviation ordnancemen,meanwhile, pushed theirwheelbarrows to the edge ofthe deck and dumpedoverboardallbombs,rockets,and other armaments thatwerenotalready loadedontoan aircraft. From theFanshaw Bay’s plane

captain’s shack, VC-68aviation machinist’s mateDave Lewis awoke to thesound of commotion, lookedup, and sawanordnancemannamed Bob Kenny runningdowntheflightdeckshovinga two-wheeled bomb cartloadedwithahundred-poundbomb that hadn’t found ataker.Kennywas a bigman,built like a football player,butLewishadneverseenhimmove so fast. “He was not

inclined to exert himself. Ifhe was running, I knew thiswas really serious.” Lt.VerlingPierson,watchingthebombs going overboard, wasimpressed with the crew’sinitiative if not entirelyhopefulaboutitsbenefits.“Afutile gesture, but it gavethemsomethingtodo.”As the pilots readily

appreciated, it was probablymore dangerous to remain

aboard the fuel- andexplosive-laden jeep carrierthan to take off and glide-bombaJapanesecapitalship.As Leonard Moser, a planecaptainon theFanshawBay,waschangingacarburetoronaVC-68aircraft,halfadozenpilots hovered nearby,coveting a chance to climbintothatcockpitandgettheirtailsofftheship.Theaviationmachinist’smate finished thejob, then climbedup into the

cockpit. “What are youdoing?” one of the pilotsasked.“I’m going to check this

damn engine out,” Mosersaid,“andthengofindaholetohidein.”Thepilotsaidthathe would do his own enginecheck this time, thank youvery much. Moser steppedaside. “He got in, started itup, and took off with a coldmotor.Myhelperdidn’teven

have all of the cowling on.Thatpilotwasgladtoleave.”

***

SEATEDINHISTBMAvengeronthe deck of theKalinin Bay,his engine idling as heawaited launch, Lt. (jg) EarlArcherwas soaked like a catin a storm. The crash andsplash of the near misseslanding near the carrier haddrenchedhimthoroughly.For

the first time in his life, hereally prayed: Lord, pleasedon’t let me die sitting hereon deck. He was numberthreefor takeoff,behindVC-3’s skipper, Lt. Cdr. Bill“Pops” Keighley, and Lt.PatsyCapano.Hewasamongthe few TBM pilots with afull weapons load: four five-hundred-pound bombs, eightrockets, and two magazinesfull of .50-caliber ammo.Finally his turn on the

catapultcame,andhisprayerwas answered: he wasairborneandoutbound.On the day Pearl Harbor

burned, Earl Archer haddriven his Buick fromHope,Arkansas, to Little Rockaiming to enlist in the ArmyAir Corps. When Archer, ajunior at the University ofArkansas, arrived in LittleRock,hehadaspikingfever.It might have been

pneumonia. “When you getwell,we’ll sign you up,” therecruiter said. Archer gothome and talked to a friendwho told him that navalaviationwaswheretheactionwas. For a daredevil whocame home from college onFridaynightssohecouldracecars at the fairground on theweekend, action wasimportant. Archer went toNew Orleans with his friendand signed on to be a Navy

pilot.In flight training at the

naval air station at LakePontchartrain, Archer nevermissed a chance to go intotownforalittlenightlife.Talland thin, eyes hooded bydrooping lids that made himlook sleepy all the time, hewas improbably adept atgettinggirls.Hetoldthemhiseyeslookedthatwaybecauseofaninjuryfromshrapnel.

Thelineworkedsowellonthe girls at New Orleans’sCopa Cabana Review thatArcherbecamea semiregularpatronoftheRooseveltHotel,convenient for high-stylerendezvous.Sonotoriouswashe among his fellow cadetsfor his stays in that hotel’sBlueRoomthat“BlueRoom”becamehisnickname.Soonitwasshortenedtojust“Blue.”Blue Archer was still in

training when the Battle ofMidway was fought. At theofficers’ club one day, anofficer told him the Navyneededvolunteersfortorpedobomber duty. Archer hadheardaboutthecatastropheofTorpedo 8, the torpedobomber squadron from theHornet,butcherednearlytoamanonJune4,1942.Buthisconcerns about danger—“Torpedo training? Areyou crazy?”—were nothing

that two martinis and theworldview of a race-cardrivercouldnotovercome.From sinking a cargo ship

with depth charges on anantisubpatroltoretrievinganAmerican flier from anairfield on Saipan stillpartially controlled by theenemy, there wasn’t muchBlue Archer hadn’t done inhis time as a VC-3 Avengerpilot. He was given to crazy

stunts and inappropriateexuberance. When hesnatched the flier from theairfield, he had landed underfire,stoppedjustlongenoughfor the stranded aviator toclamber aboard theAvenger,then, gunning the engine,spun his plane around andstarted back down therunway,strafingtheJapaneseat the far end of the airstrip,swerving to spread his firelike a scythe as his plane

gained the sky. Returning totheKalinin Bay, Archer feltthe urge to celebrate a little.Hewasalreadyawell-knownhot-rodder.Fully trainedasalanding signalofficeraswellasapilot,hefeltthatheknewhow far to stretch the safetyrules. So in he came, lowover the waves—and lowerstill over his carrier’s flightdeck. He buzzed his ship,sending flight deck crewducking from the roar of his

big Wright radial engine.When the jeep carrier’s airofficer dialed his radiofrequency and warned himnot to try any suchfoolishness again, Archercircled back as if to land,flipped his plane over on itsback, and buzzed the five-hundred-foot length of hiscarrieroncemore.Hisrewardwas restriction to the shipduring shore leave—lubricatedbyanamplesupply

of beer provided by hisdelighted squadronmates. Asfar as torpedo pilots went,Blue Archer had seen anddoneitall—all,thatis,exceptattack the main body of theImperialJapaneseNavy.About fifteen minutes had

passedsincetheJapanesehadbeen sighted. The six jeepcarriers of Taffy 3 had mostoftheiravailableplanesintheair. The pilots and their

aircrew were on their own.They would see what theycould do against Kurita’sonrushingleviathans.

Nineteen

It took just minutes for theJapanese gunners todemonstrate the horriblepotential of their broadsides.At7:04theWhitePlainswasstraddledonadiagonal.“Thissalvomeasured thecarrier ascalipers,” the action reportnoted,witha four-shellsalvo

from a battleship missingnarrowly, two off the portquarter and two off thestarboard bow. Even thoughthe shells missed, theirunderwaterblaststwistedandshook the CVE hard enoughtothrowmenfromtheirfeet,send loose deck gratingshurtling across the engineroom, and knock heavyequipment fromitsstowages.The ship lost steering, itsradar failed, and when a

circuit breaker was thrownopen by the shock of theblast, its compartments wentdark.The damaging effects of

shells that missed left to theimagination what mighthappenifotherswereactuallyto find their mark. Momentslater they did. At 7:10 aneight-inch round from aheavy cruiser hit the WhitePlains.Butbecauseitwasan

armor-piercing round, fusedto penetrate hardened armorplate and ignore lesserimpediments such as meremetalsheet, itpassedstraightthrough without exploding,likeabulletholingashoebox.To the Japanese gunners,

the thick funnel smokeflowing from the stacks oftheir targets presented theillusion of ships burningfiercely.

The Yamato’s great gunsroareduntilabout7:05,whenthe carriers vanishedmomentarily into a wash ofrainsqualls. Even when theyhad a clear line of sight, theJapanese still did not knowwhat they faced. From theelegant proportions of theirsuperstructures to their twinstacks to the graceful rise oftheir forecastles, Fletcher-class destroyers hadsilhouettessimilartothoseof

Baltimore-class heavycruisers.Japaneserecognitionbooks did not include HenryKaiser’snew-fangledflattops.At 7:16 lookouts on theKumano spotted an aircraftcarrier afire. Satisfied withthe presumed kill, theychanged targets two minuteslater and threw their nextsalvos at the St. Lo. By thistime Vice Adm. KazutakaShiraishi had realizedsomething vital: his quarry

were not Essex-class fleetcarriers after all but lightcarriers. But the cruisercommander apparently neverrelayed that information upthe line. About that essentialfact, Kurita would remainthoroughlyinthedark.ZiggySpraguehadnoidea

what the Japanese knew ordidnotknowabouthisforce.Armed with his own goodreconnaissance, he could

assumeonlythattheJapaneseknew what they faced. “Atthis point,” Sprague wouldlaterwrite, “itdidnotappearthat any of our ships couldsurvive another fiveminutes.Thetaskunitwassurroundedby the ultimate of desperatecircumstances.”Heknewthatthe sluggish exertions of hiscarriers’Uniflowengines,thecopious smoke, and thedauntlesseffortsofhiscarrierpilotswouldnotbeenoughto

save his carriers fromannihilation.At some point Sprague’s

screen,asaunit,wouldhaveto form up and engage. Assoldiers must occupy groundin order towin a land battle,control of the sea is bestassertedby ships,notplanes.Admiral Kurita haddemonstrated that eloquentlythe previous afternoon whenmost of his Center Force

survivedfiveheavyairstrikesfrom the Third Fleet andcontinued through SanBernardino Strait. If evertherewasatimeforAmericatobring itsnavalairpower tobear, thiswas it.Meanwhile,Sprague might yet forestalltheonslaughtoftheJapanesefleet by throwing hisdestroyersintothebreach.With salvos from the

pursuing Japanesebattleships

and cruisers landing closearound Taffy 3’s carriers inalldirections,Spraguegotonthe TBS circuit at 7:16 A.M.and ordered the screencommander, WilliamThomas, aboard the Hoel,“Stand by to form twotorpedo groups, big boys inone group and little fellas inanothergroup.”Therewas little anguish in

thedecisiontosendthesmall

ships to almost certaindestruction. Under theimpossible circumstances,there was nothing else forthemtodo.

***

WHEN CLINT CARTER REACHED

the Johnston’s fantail andclimbed into position in theleft rear corner of Gun 55,assuminghisgeneralquarterspost as its captain, he dryly

informed the other mencrowded into the steelenclosure,“AdmiralHalseyisshooting at us.” Once thetelltale pagodas rose intoviewon the horizon, they allknew otherwise. But untilrealitysettledin,Carter’sguncrew shared the disbelief ofeveryoneelseinTaffy3:Thiscan’t be the Japs.We’ve gotHalsey watching our back.Linked to Bob Hagen in thegun director via headset and

sound-powered phones,Carter reported that Gun 55was manned and ready. AstheJohnstonransolothrougha forest of shell splashes,swerving through rainsquallsand the back-drafts of herownsmoke,alltheguncrewscould do was wait as therange closed, then feed thegunasrapidlyaspossibleandhang on for the ride asLieutenant Hagen slewedthemfromtargettotarget.

Upinthegundirectoroverthe pilothouse, Bob Hagenfelt powerless. “All this timeI had been completely,sickeningly impotent. I hadchecked my gun stations,seen that everything was inorder,butafterthattherewasnothing Icoulddobutwait.”Evanshadorderedhimtofireon any enemy target thatcame into range. At a rangeof25,000yards, theshipstillhad not been hit. Was

someone looking out forthem?At 7:10 the distance from

the Johnston to the nearestJapaneseheavycruiserclosedto the five-inch/38-caliber’smaximum range of eighteenthousand yards, or about tenstatute miles. Evans directedHagen to target the leadingheavy cruiser in the columnto starboard. Hagen’s fire-controlmen, George

Himelright and JamesBuzbee, fixed the ship in thedirector’s sights and fire-controlman Tony Gringherientered ranges using hisstereoscopic rangefinder onthe mainmast. The datapassed down into the ship’sMark 1A fire-controlcomputer. Developed by theFord Instrument Company inthe 1930s, the intricate butsturdy array of gears, cams,shafts, and dials was an

analog device with nomemory as we understand ittoday.Rather,itwasdesignedonlytopredictthepositionofitstargetandaligneachofthefiveturretstoplaceitsshellatthe coordinates that thecomputercalculatedthetargetwouldoccupyat impact. Justas a football quarterbackpedaling back in the pocketmust place extra zip on histhrow to compensate for hisown rearwardmovement, the

computer removed theimparted effect of the ship’sown motion from the firingsolution.A gyroscopic stableelement corrected for thepitching and rolling of theship. Other critical inputsincluded the initial muzzlevelocity of the ship’s five-inchshells—adjustedforborewear and current weatherconditions; the ship’s currentlatitudeandtherelationofitsheading to true magnetic

north, inordertocompensatefor the effect of the earth’srotationandthe“english”thatit imparted to the shell’strajectory; and the range tothe target, which amplifiedtheeffectsofallthevariables.It took thecomputerabout

thirty seconds to calculate afiring solution for a newtarget. Running adjustmentson an existing target tookonly a few seconds. The

computer transmittedelectrical signals to the turretmotors to aim the gunsaccordingly.ThenBobHagenclosed the firing key.With aflashofflameandsmoke,theJohnston’smainbatterycamebarking and cracking to life.Improbably, the Battle offSamar was joined byAmericanguns.Through his sighting

telescope, Hagen could see

his target return fire. It wasthe Kumano, the sleek13,440-ton flagship ofAdmiral Shiraishi’s CruiserDivision 7. An eight-inchshell from a Japanese cruiserstruck the water off theJohnston’sbowandsentupawave of red-dyed water thatwashed down the entireforward superstructure. BobHagenwipedhiseyesclearofthe redness and said to thefive men in the gun director

with him, “Looks likesomebody’s mad at us.” ButtheJapanesedidnotprovetobe the shots that Hagen’sradar-directed gun systemwas. Hagen’s crews hadlighter weaponry but farbetter aim.Thehumanswerenovices to surface combat,but the computer, like theradar and gyro that aided it,knewnofear.The Johnston loosed a

continuous ladder of shellsover a two-hundred-yardstretch of ocean centered onthe projected path of theheavy cruiser Kumano.During the five-minute sprintinto torpedo range, thedestroyer’s guns let fly withhundreds of fifty-four-poundfive-inch rounds. WhenHagenbegantoseehisshellshitting the ship—flames andpuffsofsmokeobscuring thedivision flagship’s upper

superstructure—he tightenedtheladdertoahundredyards,concentratingthebarrage.HelandedsomefortyhitsontheKumano with his five-inchshells. Through his scopeHagen could see the smokyflashes tearing up themetalwork on the cruiser’sdecksandgungalleries.Theyblewoutportholesandkilledmen in exposed positions.Althoughthispummelingwasnot enough to sink the

Japanesecruiser,thewavesofshock, sheets of flame, andstorms of shrapnel thatbuffeted the Kumano’ssuperstructure played havocwith its crew’s ability toreturn accurate fire. TheJapanesegunnersdidnotlanda singlehit in returnon theirbantamweightassailant.With each gun mount

firing seventeen to twentyrounds per minute, two

mounts forward and threemore aft, it didn’t take longfor the hot empty shellcanisters,discardedthroughahole in the floor of eachmount,topileupandrollandclatter across the Johnston’ssteel decks. Jesse Cochran,leading a repair party, wasgrateful that he had nothingbetter to do at the momentthantossthemovertheside.The noise of the general

quarters alarm had stoppedsome time ago, and on thebridgenoonehadawholelotto say. Only the ship reallyspoke: the grinding vibrationof the twin propeller shafts,therumbleofthegundirectorrotatingonitsmountatopthebridge, and the shock of thefive-inch guns that buckedthe deck and rattledcrewmen’shelmetswiththeirreports.Asfor themen, theiremotions stayed under the

skin. They were trained todeal only in facts, orders,data. The officers maskedtheir desperation with thecool demeanor thatdisciplinedleadershipinstills.Thefacts, thedata,spokeforthemselves, one more loudlyperhaps than all the otherscombined, though it was notexplicitly discussed: not oneof them would get decentbetting odds of surviving thegauntlet their skipper had

steeredtheminto.Thedestroyer’szigzagging

inbound course was notentirely random. Evansdeliberately turned towardand steamed through theroiling cauldrons of theenemy’s misses. Known as“chasing shell splashes,” thetactic relied on the diligenceof the Japanese gunners tocorrect their aim. Becausethey continuously adjusted

their range and train, navalsalvos were like proverbiallightning, seldom strikingtwiceinthesameplace.IftheJapanesehadcaughtontothegame, they might have firedsuccessivesalvostothesamerange and bearing. But theydid not. They had theirtraining too. And so theJohnstonpressedaudaciouslyin,closingtherange.Clint Carter’s crew loaded

andshotat suchabriskpacethat the paint on Gun 55’sbarrel blistered and burned.After each shot a blast ofpressured air cleared thebarrelofhotgases.Evensoitwas dangerous to let a liveround sit too long in thebreech. If you cooked it toolong,itwouldcookyourightback.Cartergotascarewhena sudden course changeforced his loaded gunmountto pivot and strike the cam

stops that kept it fromdischarging. It was aprecaution to keep the gun,when swiveled all the wayforward, fromhitting itsownsuperstructure. But foragonizing seconds the safetydevice imperiled itsoperators. The round satcooking in the breech,waiting for the computer torelease it. “I was never asscared as Iwas in those fewseconds,”Cartersaid.

Expecting a disastrousinternal explosion at anymoment,Carter raisedHagenand asked permission to firethegunmanuallytopreventadetonation in thebreech.Butbefore the lieutenant couldanswer, the ship turnedsharply again. When thedirector-controlled gunswung out automaticallyabeam to stay on target, itcame off its stops and fired,ridding thebreechof its time

bomb.The men assigned to train

andpointthegunhadnothingtodoaslongastheirweaponwas on automatic directorcontrol. In Gun 54, forwardof Carter’smount and aboveit, atop the aft deckhouse,Bobby Chastain, the trainer,wasresponsibleforswivelingthe gun mount toward itstargets in the event theautomatic system failed. If

the mechanisms that aimedtheir gun were knocked outbut the mount still receivedtrain and elevation data fromthedirectoror from theCIC,crews could go to “modifieddirectorcontrol,”aimingtheirgun manually by matchingthedialpointerindicatingthedirector’sorientation.With Bob Hagen

controlling his mount,Chastain’s telescope was

useful only for sightseeing.Peeringthroughthegunsightprotruding through a smalldoorpositionedateyelevelinfrontofhisseat,hefoundthathe couldn’t bear the sight ofthe larger ships. So long asLt.Hagendidn’tneedhimtoturnthegun,Chastainfiguredhe’d spare himself somepanic.Heclosedthegunsightdoor and pretended hard thathewassafe.

BobHagengotinformationabout targets from theexecutive officer and hisradar-watchers in theCIC,ordirectly from the captainhimself. Captain Evans waswithin shouting distancebelow,ontheopen-airbridgeoutside the pilothouse.WheneverHagenfelttheshiptakinganewcourse,hecouldyell down to Evans, “Whatare you up to now?” Evanswouldlookupathimandsay,

“Hey, take that ship overthere.” After a target waschosen, Hagen slewed hisdirector toward it, and assoonashispointerandtrainerhollered “On target!” Hagenclosedhis firingkey,and theJohnston’s main batteryresumedthebombardment.

Twenty

Clyde Burnett had beenaround the fleet long enoughto know a hopeless situationwhen he saw one. Thehourglass that measured thereasonable life expectancy ofa lone destroyer charging ahostile squadron ofbattleships and cruisers had

runoutandemptiedlongago.As the distance between theJohnston and her targetclosed, the chief boatswain’smatetookinthesightofshellsplashes from enemybattleships all around hisdestroyer and told themembersofhisrepairpartytoliedownondeck.Hefeltsuretheywereabouttotakeahit.When Bob Hagen first

opened fire, the range was

eighteen thousand yards. Asthe range closed—fifteenthousand, then twelve—withJapaneseshellsstraddling thedestroyer, Captain Evansordered, “Stand by fortorpedoattack.”The twelve-man surface

search team in the fishtailingdestroyer’s CIC, underexecutive officer Lt. EltonStirling, relayed the range,bearing,course,andspeedof

targets to the bridge and thetorpedocrew,whiletheothertwelve-man section, the airsearch team, watched andwaited. Closing to tenthousand yards under acrossfire this heavy was asunlikelyasamanstayingdrywhile sprinting through adriving rain. Miraculously,the shipmade it. Impossibly,she was not hit. The targetcruiser was steaming fortydegrees off the Johnston’s

starboard bow. At tenthousand yards the Johnstonwaswithin the outer limit oftorpedorange.To maximize their reach,

Lt.JackBechdel, thetorpedoofficer,orderedthefishsetontheir slowest speed setting,just twenty-seven knots. Astorpedoman first class JimO’Gorek supervised themount crews and stood bywith a wooden mallet that

could be used to fire thetorpedoes if their ignitersfailed, two torpedomen,Thomas Sullivan and JohnMoran, cranked mountnumber one to starboard andtrained it to 110 degreesrelativetotheship’sheading,justabaftofthebeam.Mounttwo, manned by RedBenjamin and Frank Gillis,was rotated out to 125degrees relative. As soon asthe range was good, Captain

Evans shouted, “Firetorpedoes!”With sharp rushes of

compressed air, theJohnston’s ten torpedoesleaped from their tubes, onefollowing the preceding atthree-second intervals. Theyflew out over Burnett’s crewhuddledondeck,theirmotorswhirring wildly as they felltowardthewaves.Hittingthewater, their propellers found

theresistancetheycravedandclawed into thesea.Carryingwarheads tipped with threehundred pounds of torpexexplosive, the Mark 15torpedoeswereabouttwenty-fivefeetlong,nearlytwofeetindiameter.Adjustingtotheirset depth of six feet, thetorpedoes turned to the rightper the gyro settings thatLieutenantBechdelhadgiventhem and accelerated totwenty-seven knots, running

“hot, straight, and normal”towardtheleaderofthefour-cruisercolumn.With the torpedoes away,

his shipblessedlyuntouched,Evans ordered LieutenantDiGardi, his officer of thedeckatthehelm,tobringtheJohnston into a hard turn toport. The beauty of themaneuver was that the shipnow entered her ownspreading smoke screen,

blotted from the view ofenemy gunners. As Bechdelcounted down to thetorpedoes’ calculated time ofimpact,thetwinscrewsoftheJohnston dug into the sea—drivenby thecombinedsixtythousandshafthorsepowerofher steam turbine engines—and drove her at top speedback toward the carriers ofTaffy 3 that so desperatelyneededassistance.

At flank speed aFletcher-classdestroyercouldoutpaceaJapaneseheavycruiserbyacouple of knots. Speeding torejoin Taffy 3 as her tentorpedoes ran the other way,the destroyer made the bestpossible use of that smallmargin, opening the rangewith the enemy whileobscuring the interval withsmoke. The flashes from theJapanese guns, and theconcussion of their blast,

eased only slightly as thedistance opened. Wheneverthe squalls between thecombatantsthickened,thefirefelloffmeasurably.Buttherewasnot enough rain to sparethe Johnston entirely. It wasdaylight. The rising sunfavored the fleet that flew itspennantfromtheirfantails.Destroyermen have this in

common with submariners:they experience no greater

suspense thanwhile countingthe seconds to theirtorpedoes’ time of impact.Jack Bechdel’s calculationswere seldom wrong. CaptainEvans and everyone else inthe pilothouse listened to thecountdown. They had shottheir one spread; the shipcarried ten torpedoes and nomore. Bob Hagen’s goodwork in the gun directornotwithstanding, this wastheirbest andonly chance to

sinkanenemyship.At 7:24 lookouts on the

Kumano reported threetorpedo tracks close off thestarboard bow. Knifingthrough the water at morethanthirtyknots,theshipwastraveling too fast to evade.TheKumano couldnotmaketheturn.Betweensquallsandsmoke

EllsworthWelchsawabrightflashandthelong,darkform

ofaship liftoutof thewaterslightly, as if punched frombelow by an enormous fist.Torpedo explosions soundeddifferent than gun blasts.Five-inch guns stung theeardrums with their sharp,concussivebark,throwingoutshock waves that patted theclothes. Torpedo explosionswere deeper and heavier—basso reverberations thatcouldbefeltinthesternumasreadilyasheardwiththeears.

Themenof theJohnston feltadeepthrummp—somefeltasecondone, and then a third.The Johnston whippedthrough thickets of smoke,emerging long enough forLieutenantWelch and otherson deck to see a tall columnof water rising beside theJapanese heavy cruiser,whichappearedtobeburningfuriouslyastern.One torpedofrom the Johnston struck theKumanointhebow,rippingit

clear away. The crippledcruiser fell out of line,limping along at fourteenknots.The Kumano could still

stand and jab, but with abroken bow she could notholdherplaceincolumninarapid running fight. AdmiralShiraishi ordered the Suzuyato come alongside, and hetransferred his flag to her.The Suzuya was not fit to

resume pursuit either. Nearmisses from aircraft bombshad ruptured her after fueltanks, contaminating someeight hundred tons ofprecious fuel with seawater,starting fires thatwouldburninto the afternoon, andrestricting thecruiser’s speedto just twenty-four knots, nofaster than the lumberingbattleship Nagato. With histransfer to the crippled ship,Shiraishi took himself out of

the battle. He may have hadno other choice. He did notwish to hold back the twoships of Cruiser Division 7that could still make chase.The Tone and the Chikumasped past, joining CruiserDivision 5’s Haguro andChokai in pursuit ofSprague’scarriers.

Twenty-one

ThefirstthingHarveyLivelyandRoyceHallofVC-68sawupon breaking the surface ofthe cloud layer was a largeformation of Avengersclosing their position.As theplanes drew near, Hall madeout the distinctive tailmarkings of aircraft from

another jeep, the GambierBay.Hallhadflownwiththatship’s squadron, VC-10,before. He knew its skipper,Lt.Cdr. Edward J.Huxtable,Jr.—or knew his reputationanyway. He toggled theintercom and told LieutenantLivelythatHuxtablecouldbecounted upon to findwhatever they were goingafter.TheloneAvengerfromthe Fanshaw Bay taggedalongwithitssistersquadron.

Huxtable would find thetargets, but there remainedthequestionofwhathewouldhit them with when he gotthere.Before takingoff,VC-10’sskipperhadclimbedintohisAvengeronly to find thathis weapons bay was empty.Heaskedhisplanecaptaintoask Buzz Borries, the airofficer, for a bomb load.Huxtable watched as Borriesbrought thequestion toCapt.Walter Vieweg, standing on

the Gambier Bay’s islandsuperstructure. The skippermade a broad sweepinggesturewith his arm as if tosay,“Gettheseplanesoffmycarrier.”Word came back toHuxtable that he would leadhisflightwithouta load.Theabsenceofaheavytorpedoorbomb load meant his planewouldbeabletostayairbornelonger. Huxtable launchedimmediately, turned right,climbedtotwothousandfeet,

andjoinedtheotherAvengersfromhissquadron.It took just ten to twelve

minutes to find the enemyships bearing down on theircarriers. Beneath the cloudceiling at a thousand feet, itwashardtomissthem.Therewereclear skies to the south,but the skies over the seaswhere the enemy fleet laywere roofed by gray clouds.Somewhere beneath that

shroud of gray were thedestroyers of Taffy 3’sscreen.EdwardHuxtablewasstunned to learn that at leastone American destroyer hadturned to face the monstrousopponent.Breaking through the

clouds, the VC-10 skipperspotted the tin can runningalone, returning to formationonasoutheasterlycourse.Hecould see puffs of smoke

coming from her batteries,and heavy splashes rising allaround her as the Japanesefired in return. It was theJohnston. Transfixed by thesight, Huxtable then spied,farther to thewest, the lethalslender forms of Japaneseheavy cruisers giving chase.Beyond the cruisers, headingdue east, he could justmakeout the thicker silhouettes ofimperialbattleships.

Huxtable decided that theheavycruisers,fasterthanthebattleships and better suitedfor pursuit, posed the mostimmediate threat to Taffy 3.Climbing through a cloudbreak to 2,500 feet, the VC-10 commander could see thecruisers firing rapidly attargets to their south. Thebattleships seemed not to befiring at all. Huxtable turnedhis formation from north toeast, spreadinghisplanesout

in a wide front, and climbedto three thousand feet, abovewhich the sky was solidovercast.Outtotheeast,flakdotted the skies. Apparentlyotherplaneswereabout.Theywould need all the help theycouldget.The commander would

have preferredmore altitude.A properly planned air strikewould have allowed time forpilots to locate holes in the

squalls and plot their attackroutes amid cloud-blinds andrain. Altitude gave a pilotoptions and flexibility. Overtheradiocameanorderfromthe Fanshaw Bay’s airofficer: “Attackimmediately.” No reminderof the urgency was needed.JoinedbyWildcatsfromVC-10, which heeled over intosteep dives, strafing theenemy ships ahead of thetorpedo bombers, Huxtable

directed hisAvengers to lineupandmoveinbehindthem.Lt. Burt Bassett watched

Commander Huxtable diveleft, heading for the secondship in column. Withoutordnance Huxtable wouldmake a decoy run. Itsdeterrent effect on the targetship would be no lesspronounced; to a Japaneseskipper, there was no tellingwhat Huxtable’s turkey

carriedinitsweaponsbay.Bassettlineduponthelead

cruiser. As he nosed overfrom2,800 feet and emergedfrom the clouds, he felt thefull intensity of the flak.Tracers etched burning pathsin every direction. Every sooften a larger shell burstnearby, releasingan invisiblespray of shrapnel through asmall sphere in the sky.Bassett bore in steeply and

released his first bomb from2,000 feet. Almostimmediately his aircraftshuddered from a hit to hisstarboard horizontalstabilizer. He released thesecond bomb right away,while he still could, pullingout at 1,500 feet. At about200 knots, it took abouttwenty endless seconds forBassett to reach the safetyofa cloud bank ahead of thecruiser.

Since he had no bombs,Ens.RobertCrocker, third intheformation,wasorderedtostay out of Huxtable’s firstrun. The fourth pilot in line,Ens. William Shroyer, wentnext. Angling his Avengerdownward toward abattleship, Shroyer releasedshort bursts from his twowing-mounted machine gunsto sight his rockets.He firedthem,andtheyshotaheadoncoils of white smoke. Then

Shroyer pulled the lever toopenhisbombbaydoors.Butsomethingdidn’twork.

The doors stayed shut,trapping two five-hundred-pound bombs in his plane’sbelly. Shroyer skimmed thewater so low that hisradioman, Louis Vilmer, Jr.,looking out his small platewindow in the TBM’sfuselage, had to look up tosee the sailors on the

Japaneseship’sdeck.Shroyerclimbed and circled foranotherpass, thenfollowedadozen Wildcats diving downto strafe. On the way inShroyer instructed Vilmer touse the hand crank in theradio compartment to get thedoors open. By the timeShroyer emerged from theclouds over a column of sixlarge ships, Vilmer hadsucceeded.

Running up on a Tone-class cruiser from astern,Shroyerdroppedhispayload,and Vilmer watched the twobombshitthewaterjustafewfeet behind the fantail,disrupting the ribbon of thecruiser’s wake with theirdetonation. The two pilotscominginbehindShroyer,Lt.Paul Garrison from theKitkun Bay and Ens. J. F.Lischer from the GambierBay, reported that the cruiser

had slowed and seemed tolosesteering.WhenHarveyLivelynosed

over to attack, he didn’t sayanything over the intercom.There was no “tallyho” oranything else kids heard inthe movies. His first sortieagainst ships began withoutfanfare. Royce Hall just feltthe plane push over into ashallow dive as flak burstsbegan appearing around

them. When the nose of theplane pushed over, the tailswungup, theoceandroppedoutofview,andHallwasleftwitha180-degreeviewofthesky and squalls. As theyapproached the Japanesecruisercolumnfromtherear,tracer bullets whizzed pasthimlikeangryfirefliestoportandstarboard.Livelypressedhome the attack, engine atfull power, the pin on theairspeed indicator trembling

at280knots.Lively closed on a cruiser

frombehind and released hisfour five-hundred-poundbombs.Thepilot didn’t havethe luxury of seeing theresultsforhimself.Heleveledoff fifty feet above thewavetops, having traded altitudefor airspeed and aiming topreserveeverybitofitforhisescape.Fromthetinywindowin his radio compartment,

Willie Haskins saw thebombshit.One landedunderthe fantail of the cruiser andexploded. Itmighthavebeencloseenough,Haskinshoped,to damage the propellers.Lively sped low along thewater, parallel to a line ofships. Royce Hall had beenwatchingtheskiesforenemyplanes to shoot at. Nothingcame. But here now wereships. He recognized theopportunity for some

improvisation.Practice, practice, practice.

The answer to the question“HowdoyougettoCarnegieHall?”was drilled intoNavygunnersfromdayone.Infact,the training pamphletssuppliedtoairgunnersbytheNavy’s Bureau ofAeronautics played on amusicalmetaphor:

The concert violinist setsconsiderable store by hisinstrument … So it had

better be with you andyour guns. Learn tohandle them, naturallyand firmly, with all theprecision and skill of agreatmusician…At first,all good gunners lookedupon their weapons ascumbersome things thatcrash and vibrate, feelawkward and unwieldy.They also had the inwardfeelingsthattheguns,andnot they themselves, werein charge. But as theylearned togive theirgunsclose personal attentionand firm handling, theirgunsgraduallyturnedinto

usefulfriendsandallies.

Royce Hall had nevergiven thought to theparallelsbetween gunnerytriangulation and themusicalarts. He had devoted whatfew idle hours he enjoyedaboard the Fanshaw Bay tofleecinghissquadronmatesatthepokertable.Hehadneverimagined that hewould havethe occasion to pepper aheavy cruiser with his very

ownmachinegun.Thestrikeshe had flown over Leyte’sjungles and cane fieldsinvolved firing rockets anddropping bombs on Japanesetroop concentrations.Shooting at a by-God heavycruiser—this was somethingelse.There were few things

more terrifying to a sailorthan strafing. Heavymachine-gun bullets could

make a mess out of theexposed positions on a ship,ripping through gun shields,breaking glass, andsplintering wood. Theydestroyed electricalconnections, shattered steampipes, and tore flesh. In thatlight, Hall and every othergunner in Taffy 3’s sixcomposite squadrons had amission akin to that of thedestroyer screen as a whole:to distract and delay the

enemy’s pursuit of thecarriers. Any weapon thatcould be brought to bearmight contribute to theirescape. Only a couplehundred feet of water laybetween Hall and the creamof the Imperial JapaneseNavy. He cranked his turretouttoportandwenthunting.Hall could see Japanese

gunnersdepressingtheirgunsand blazing away wildly at

his plane. Shooting at anunpracticed close range andat an angle nearlyperpendicular to the target’spath of flight, the enemywould have neededconsiderable skill to knocktheAvenger from the sky. Itwas a difficult matter oftiming—likebirdhunting,butwith the weapons and preyinflatedtogiantsize.Aswithshooting quail, the challengewas to place your lead not

wherethetargetwasnow,butwhereitwouldbeinasecondortwo.Firingfromthesideata fast-moving target requiredthattheshooterleaditsothatthe target flew into the pathofhisbullets. In thepanicofbattle, undisciplined gunnersattempting a deflection shottended to shoot behind theirtargets. That was the casenow with the Japanese.Lively’s plane wasuntouched.

The same principlesoperatedasHallreturnedfire,except that his target wasslow and his plane was fast.The net effect of thegeometrywasasifthecruiserwerespeedingpasthim,awayto therear.And theshipwasso large in comparison toHall’susualpreyastoinduceasortofvertigo.Nonetheless,a target that bigwas hard tomiss. From Pensacola NavalAir Station, where he had

been a gunnery-rangeinstructor,tothefieldsaroundYemassee, South Carolina,where he had hunted quailand doves with his olderbrother, Hall was wellpracticedinthedifficultcraftof deflection shooting. Hallledtheshipaft,pressingshortburstsintoitsgrayblackbulk,rakinggunemplacementsandgunwales. He could see thetracerssparkandricochetoffthe superstructure and rip

through the metal shieldsprotecting the Japanesemachine-guncrews.As Lieutenant Lively

roared past the forward partof the ship, Hall raised hisgun and sprayed the glass ofthebridgestructure.Inreturn,originating from placestucked away throughout thesteely rabbit warren of thecruiser’s superstructure,tracers flew past the

Avenger’swings.Itwasoverbefore it had really started.The 280-knot plane overtookand passed the thirty-five-knot cruiser in just a fewseconds. Lively zoomed pastthe last man-of-war in thecolumn, thenpassed thenextthree cruisers ahead of her,allowingHalla two-or three-second window in which tofireateachone.Hallemptiedatwo-hundred-rounddrumof.50-caliber ammunition, then

yelled down at Haskins tosend up another. Lively tookhis plane around for anotherpass while Hall changedammodrumsforthenextrunthrough the shooting gallery.Hall was beyond beingscared. The poker shark ofVC-68 had never felt calmerinallhislife.

***

FROM TEN THOUSAND FEET,Larry

Budnick picked his waythrough the cloud heads,looking for targets. Theclouds were a nuisance toreconnaissance but ideal forstealth. Spotting a large shipbelow, the fighter pilotwinged over into as steep adive as possible. The roar ofthe FM-2 Wildcat’s engineand the rushing sensation ofacceleration was relief fromthe circling and the thinkingandtheworrying.

Since there was no tellinghowmany runs hewould becalledupontomake,Budnicktried to conserve hisammunition. On each run heset two of his four machineguns on safe. Gone from hismind now was anything notimmediatelyrelatedtoputtinghis tracers into the armoredleviathan wheeling beneathhim.Atthreethousandfeetorso, he opened fire. To avoidburning out the delicate

riflingofhisgunbarrels—theinevitable symptomofwhichwas an erratic corkscrewingpath of bullets flyingeverywhere exceptwhere hiscrosshairs were fixed—Budnickkepttheburstsshort,twoorthreesecondsatapull.Their curving bright trailsdisappeared into the ship’sencompassing mass. Therattling he gave the ship’sdecks was three times asdeadly as it appeared, for

onlyoneroundinthreehadatracer load. But really therewasnotellingwhattheeffectwas. It was over too quicklyfor fastidious observation.Budnickknewonething.ThisCatholic, converted to thefaith on his wedding day,considered it a miracleworthy of Mary that he wasnever hit.As the flak rose athiminsheets,hewasgladhehad made time for Lt. ChrisMaino’s thirty-minute

services, heldon theSt.Lo’shangar deck on mostSundays. Maino wouldbecomeapriestafterthewar.But right now, in October1944,helikelyhadinhislayministry of aviators andairedalesaflockasdevoutasany man of the cloth couldhopetohave.Ens. FosterDillard, aVC-

10 Wildcat pilot from theGambierBay,foundaholein

the clouds at 9,500 feet andbegan a dive on the leadcruiser. The next thing heknewhewasrecoveringfromthat dive 800 feet above thesea.A large antiaircraft shellhad struck his plummetingWildcat, blowing out hisglass canopy. The rushingwind carried off Dillard’shelmet and goggles, and hisWildcat fell out of controlthrough nearly two miles ofsky before the ensign at last

regained his senses andpulledoutjustafewhundredfeet above the water.Suffering from a concussionandbarelyabletocontrolhisaircraft, Dillard headed forthe Tacloban airfield onLeyte, escorted by a planefromtheFanshawBay.

***

WITHOUT A TORPEDO, ALL thatVC-10 commander Edward

Huxtablecoulddowasbluff.Havingdone it once, nowhedid it again, turning back tothe west above a thin cloudlayer at two thousand feet.Thoughtheskippernolongersaw anyWildcats around, hedecided this wasn’t the timeto insist on by-the-booktactics.About twoandahalfmilesout,thecruisersopenedup a terrific barrage ofantiaircraft fire. Huxtablebore in on the trailing ship’s

starboard bow, hoping todraw its fire from the otherplanes of his flight. EnsignCrocker,armedwithtwolightrockets, followed him in.Onthe intercom Huxtable toldthe others to concentrate onthe lead cruisers. Finishinghis run, he pulled out to theleftandpatrolledaheadofthecruiser line, tracking theirmovements.Theships turnedtothenortheast,andHuxtablerelayed that information to

Admiral Sprague. So muchsmoke and rain covered thewaters between theantagonists that HuxtablethoughtforamomentthattheJapanese had lost sight oftheirquarry.Commander Huxtable had

lost track of his fighterescortsafter the first run,butVC-10’sWildcat jocksfoundusefulemployment longafterthe Avengers dropped their

ordnance. Starting at eightthousand feet, Ens. JosephMcGraw began a series ofsteep strafing runs at abattleship.Hemadeeleveninall, then three more on aTone-class heavy cruiser.Ensign Lischer and sevenothersfromtheGambierBayspotted a pair of destroyersandwingedovertostrafe.Lt.RichardRobymadeapairofruns on the tin cans beforegetting separated from the

other fighters amid thesqualls. Lischer and Robymade their separate ways tojoininganorthboundflightofAvengersandWildcatsledbythe Kitkun Bay’s Lt. Cdr.Richard L. Fowler. Robyknew the Japanese were totheeast,butFowlerevidentlydidn’t have radio contact.Roby pulled alongsideFowler’s Avenger andgesturedas if to say,They’reover there.Fowlerswungoff

to the east and foundJapanese cruisers almostimmediately.After making his runs on

the destroyers, Dick Robyfoundthattwoofhisfour.50-caliber guns were eitherjammed or empty. He madeseveral runs at the cruisersuntilhis ammunition ranout.Thereafter he continueddiving on the ships withoutammunition. Roby didn’t try

to stay with Fowler. TheGambier Bay lieutenant losthimafter thefirstpassas theplanes continued their madwhirling dance over theJapanesefleet.While making dry runs,

Roby’s practice was to lookfor an Avenger with itstorpedobaydoorsopen.Robywould line up ahead of theTBM, hoping its pilot reallyhad a torpedo. As often as

not, the Avenger pilot wasbluffingasdoggedlyasRobywas. Even if both planes ranin and pulled out withoutshooting or droppinganything, they might drawfire from other planes andforce their targets into sharpturns to avoid the apparentthreat. As far as ZiggySprague was concerned,slowing the enemy’s pursuitwas nearly as good asplanting an actual torpedo

into his ships. Owing to thefrequency with which theyturned to avoid air attacksboth phantom and real, thecruisers’ angle of chase wasajar to Taffy 3’s line ofretreat. The distancewas notclosing as fast as Kuritawouldhaveliked.From the bridge of the

Yamato, Admiral Ugaki wasimpressed by the courage oftheU.S.pilots,whohadbeen

pestering and bluffing theJapanese task group sincetheyfirstfoundthemroughlytwenty minutes after thefleets spotted each other.Ugaki counted airplanestakingofffromtheAmericancarriers in the distance—hefigured at least thirty planesattacked his battleship whilehe was closing with hisenemy. “The rateofhitswasquite good and most of thedamages our cruisers

sustainedweredue to them,”hewouldlaterwrite.Admiral Kurita was

doubtless frustrated by theimperative his ships faced toseparate and scatter whenconfronted with such apersistent air attack. Theirflak was perhaps moreeffective as a spectacle thanasadefense.Each timeDickRoby emerged from theclouds, he was treated to a

variety show of antiaircraftordnance. “They wereshooting the craziestcombinations at us you’veever seen.” Star shells burstinto white clouds and spatphosphorus chunks in everydirection. When theypeppered the wings andfuselage, the sizzling piecesmade sharp snapping sounds,like the little firecrackerswrapped in white paper thatkids throw on pavement.

Main battery rounds wereconsiderably more kinetic,exploding in a rainbow ofcolors and a blizzard ofmetal. Some of them lefthanging in the sky snarledcoils of steel mesh thatradiated whipping wires attheU.S.planes.Asimpressedas hewas by the innovation,Roby saw no planes fall tothe strange killingcontraption.

Like so many otherWildcat pilots, Roby losttrack of how many dry runshemadebeforehisgas tanksgrew light. Withoutammunition, he could stillmake himself useful. Butwithoutfuel,hismorningwasover. Roby too headed forTacloban.

Twenty-two

TheHoel held her screeningstation on the northern edgeofTaffy 3’s ring, zigzaggingan eastward course, makingsmoke to cover the flight ofthe carriers. The smoke shegenerated, and that of thedestroyer escort Raymondahead,offherstarboardbow,

was carried to the west andsouth by the eight- tothirteen-knot wind. Thoughthe smoke shielded the jeepcarriers like a protectiveshroud, no one was makingsmoketocovertheHoel.Thewind whipped it behind her,keeping her exposed toenemysight.Theshipstohersouth churned out their ownsemicumulus wall ofblackness and gray. Itprovided a high-contrast

backdrop that framed theHoel’s sleek lines forJapanesegunners.Seaman first class Sam

Lucas had a clear view ofJapanese ships off the stern.He could see the flashes oftheirbiggunsand the smokebillow out. Light came first,followed by horrific sound.“ItseemedtotakealongtimebeforeIheardthecrackoftheguns and the projectiles as

they passed overhead. Theysounded like boxcars goingthrough the air, end overend.”Asalvoraisedawallofwater dead ahead.Therewasanother roar of freight trains,and three more shells struckclose by to port, just thirtyfeet abeam the forward gunturret. Another salvobracketed them to starboard,missingbyjustsixtyfeet.Lieutenant Dix expected

the next salvo to split thedifference between the lasttwomisses toeither sideandcut the air directly into thebridge.He tensedhimself forit.

Youstand therewaiting—clutch the rail—andwatch.The bow swings back tostarboardasweturn.You’rehangingontowait—andscaredtodeath.And then you hear thewhistlingsoundagain.Youfreeze,youflinch,you

waittohearthem,hit.The seconds pass andnothingcomes,nojolt.Your hand’s there on therail—you’restillalive,But still just standingthere.SothenyouturnAndlookbackaftandseethesplashesleapWell back beyond thestern—they’ve missedagain.The ship’s still safe, butyou’renotquitethesame.You’removingthroughthemotionsofyourjob,Yet all the time you’rethinkingoftheodds

The Hoel came throughunhit, entered a squall, andenjoyed a moment’s respiteas rain pelted the decks. Butthe speeding ship passedthrough it in a few shortminutes, entered the sunlightonce again, and endured anewroundofgunfire.Standing on the bridge

wing, Captain Kintbergerconned his ship through theboiling whirlpools of the

enemy’s misses. Chasingsalvos, he steered the Hoelthrough the cauldron, testinghis luck, keeping his shipfrom falling under the arc ofthe shellfire. His voice wassteady and sure. Dix wasimpressedwithhisskipper.

“Right full rudder. Meether.Steadyup.“Now left full rudder.Giveitallyou’vegot.”He never once lets up.He’scalmandfirm.Damn but that guy’s

magnificenttoday

TheHoel’sluckheld,butitwasnotatallclearhowmuchlongerTaffy3’swould.Withevery passing second theJapanese cruiser line closedwith the carriers, their eight-inch salvos straddling andshaking the fragile hulls oftheCVEs.Like their fellows in the

screen, Captain Kintbergerandhismen felt likea short-

armed boxer enduring blowsthat couldn’t be returned.AdmiralSprague’s7:16ordertomakea torpedorunon thebehemoths confronting themhad had a bracing effect.They knew their best chanceto survive required them toattack, not flee, to presswithin range of the enemyand take their shot. The lasttowering miss landed nearlyclose enough to pierce theirtin can’s hull. No one saw

anypointinstandingthere.At 7:18, as Ernest Evans,

miles to the north, waspreparing to launch theJohnston’s torpedoes, LeonKintberger ordered a hardturn to port. QuartermasterClarence Hood swung thewheelanddidn’tbringitbackuntil his ship was headedstraight west, toward theadvancingJapaneseforce.

***

TORPEDOES WERE A

DESTROYER’S most powerfuloffensive weapon. The nightbefore, at Surigao Strait,Jesse Oldendorf’s tin canshaddemonstrated theirgiant-slaying qualities with expertaplomb. In Taffy 3’sdesperate straits a torpedoattack had a purposecollateral to but no lessimportant than actually

hitting and sinking ships:forcing a superior fleet tobreakoff its lethalpursuit.Adestroyer skipper didn’t needto actually hit anything, solong as he brandished thethreatofdoingso.An attacking column of

ships had to stay together tomaximize its fightingeffectiveness.Ordering Taffy3’s destroyers to attackseparately from the slower

destroyer escorts was therightwaytodoit.Bystayingtogether at flank speed andcoordinating their torpedospreads, they could make ithard for theenemy toescapetheir overlapping fields offire. Speedwas a destroyer’sbestprotection.Itwouldhavebeen foolish to rein in theswiftHeermannandtheHoelfor the sake of keeping themin column with the slowerDEs. So thought Captain

Copeland on the Samuel B.Roberts, in any event. Butwhen Commander Thomasrelayed Sprague’s torpedo-attackorder to the screen,allCopeland heard was, “Littlefellows, make a torpedoattack.”“He didn’t designate a

target or anything of thatkind,”Copelandwouldwrite,“and so we didn’t know justexactlywhatwaswhat.What

did he mean by ‘littlefellows’?”Not fullygraspinghis commander’s lingo,Copelandwasconcerned thatThomaswanted thedestroyerescorts to accompany thefaster destroyers. “It justdidn’tseemright tome.SoIgot on the air and calledCommander Thomas. Icoineda littlephraseologyofmy own to distinguish DEsfromtheDDs,ordestroyers.Isaid, “Taffy 33 [denoting

Commander Thomas], this isJuggernaut.Doyouwant thelittle little fellows to go withthebiglittlefellows?”Thomas replied,

“Juggernaut,thisisTaffy33.Your last transmissionnegative—negative. The bigfellows form up for the firstattack, and the little fellowsmakethesecondattack.”Well, that’saproblemtoo,

Copeland thought. If the

screen idled about muchlonger, theymightwell haveno carriers left to protect. Ifthe Roberts was going tolaunch its torpedoes, therewas but a small passingwindow of opportunity.Certainlytherewasnotimetoform into a column with theother three DEs ringing thewide circle of fleeing escortcarriers.Beyond questions of

geometry, time, and distancewas the matter of commandprotocol.Because thecaptainof the Dennis, Lt. Cdr. SigHansen, was the seniorskipper among the destroyerescorts, and Copeland thejunior, by all rights theDennis should have led theDEs to the attack. Yet theRoberts, stationed astern theHoelonthenorthwestedgeofthe carrier formation, wasbestpositionedtopeeloffand

attack the Japanese cruiserline. In theabsenceofordersspecifying how, with whom,and when the destroyerescorts might form up, andwhat targets they wouldengage,whatwastheskipperof the Samuel B. Roberts todo?AsCopelandponderedthis

question, a sleek dark formslid into view out of thesmoke and squalls, swinging

across the Roberts’s bow.There was no mistaking aFletcher’s clean lines. ItwastheHeermann,racingtoformup with the Hoel. At thebattle’s outset Sprague hadordered Amos Hathaway’sdestroyer to stay with thecarriers,andsotheHeermannstayed on the far side of theformation, making smoke.When Sprague’s 7:16 orderwentouttoprepareatorpedoattack,CaptainHathawayhad

tocutclearacrossthemiddleofTaffy3.At full boiler steam,

Hathaway conned his shipthrough the thicket of smokeand rain—right into the pathof the Samuel B. Roberts.Faced with a collision, BobCopelandorderedhishelmtoback down, as Hathawaysteered clear. Both shipsquicklyrebuilt steam,but theHeermann could not quite

keep pace with the Hoelrunningin.Copeland stood at the

captain’s conning station onthebridgeofhisship,waitingto get his speed back,studying the evolving pictureof the pursuit. Forming upwith the other destroyerescortswouldbe impractical,ifnotentirely impossible.Hethought,MyGod,howarewegoing to work this? You

didn’t takeadestroyerescortin alone against heavy ships.ButCopelandwas starting tothink he should just doprecisely that. Why not joinup with the “big boys”? Heestimated the course hewouldneedtotaketoputtheRoberts in position to firetorpedoes at the approachingheavy cruisers: sixty degreesoffthebowofthetargetship,range five to seven thousandyards. As it happened, the

Japanese men-of-war wereaccommodating himbeautifully. With a minorcourse change, he would beinanoptimumfiringposition.Waiting to link up with theother DEs would forfeit theopportunity. Copelandreachedoverandgrabbedthehandle of his squawk box,twisted it down, and threwaside his concerns aboutstaying with the fasterdestroyers.“Well,Sisonyou,

pister. Let’s go!” he said.Whentheorderpassednearlytwenty minutes later for thedestroyer escorts to executetheir own torpedo attack, theSamuel B. Roberts was longgone, already grappling withtheJapanese.Copeland called Bob

Roberts,hisexecutiveofficerin theCIC: “Bob, giveme acourse to put me sixtydegrees on the bow of the

leading ship in that cruisercolumn.” The computerclicked and whirred andproduced a heading just sixdegrees to the leftof theoneCopelandhadfiguredbydeadreckoning. Then Copelandgrabbed the JV phone andcalled his chief engineeringofficer. In formal dutysettings officers addressedeach another by surname.Casually, in the wardroom,most of them trafficked in

nicknames. Lt. Bill Trow-bridge was known in privatequarters as “Lucky.” Indesperate straits, Copelandopted for informality.“Lucky, this is the captain.Lucky, we are going on atorpedo attack and I haverung up full speed; we aregoing in at twenty knots. Assoonaswefireourfish,Iwillring up flank speed and Iwant you to hook oneverything you’ve got.Don’t

worry about your reductiongears or your boilers oranything, because there’s allhell being thrown at us uphere,andwe’rejustfortunatewehaven’tbeenhityet.”Lucky pushed their good

fortune a bit farther. Theboilers on the Roberts weredesignedtocarry440poundsofsteampressure.LieutenantTrowbridge ordered watertender third class Wilfred

Labbe to turnoff theboilers’safetyvalves andbuildup to660 pounds of steam.Trowbridgewouldneedeveryroaring ounce of it if heaimed to live up to hisnickname and get the shipthrough its torpedo run. TheRoberts fell inwell astern ofher larger cousins the Hoeland the Heermann. In theengineroomtheneedleonthesteam gauge broke newterritory.

The destroyer Johnston,having struck the leadJapanese cruiser Kumanowith her torpedoes, wheelsaround and returns toformation. The destroyerHoel, already hit hard, leadstheHeermannandtheSamuelB. Roberts in for a torpedoattack.Hiddenbyrainsqualls,Ziggy Sprague gambles andturnshiscarrierstothesouth-southwest, momentarily

outdistancinghispursuers.

Twenty-three

It had to be only amatter oftime before Japanese shellsbrokenotwaterbutsteelanddrew men’s blood. ErnestEvans and theofficersof theJohnston had scarcely stolena moment to celebrate theirtorpedo hits when thedestroyer walked into a

doublesalvoofenemyshells.Running through her ownsmoke to return to stationwith the carriers, thedestroyer was rocked by adizzyingseriesofblasts.BobHagensawandfeltthe

impactfromthegundirector.On the highest point on theship, movements wereamplified. The impactseemedtoshovethedestroyersideways. All across the

Johnston’s376½-footlength,men were knocked off theirfeet. “It was like a puppybeingsmackedbyatruck.”Thefirstthreeroundstohit

the destroyer came from abattleship, probably theKongo. The first one, afourteen-inch shell, nearlyfifteen hundred pounds, fellin a ripping arc and struck,opening a three-by-six-foothole in the main deck,

blowingouttheplumbingandmain drain from the ship’shead, tearing up themachineshop, penetrating down intothe after engine room, andexploding against the bulkyiron housing of the port-sidepropeller shaft’s mainreduction gears—one of thefew pieces of hardware on adestroyer substantial enoughto detonate a hard-headedarmor-piercing round. Thesecondshellpunchedthrough

the deck and slashed criticalelectrical cables and steamlines before detonatingagainst the main steamturbine in the after engineroom.Belowdecks aft the

Johnston was plunged intodarkness.Thethirdlargeshelldemolished the source of theheatitself,strikingaboilerinthe after fireroom andextinguishing by concussion

its oil-burning flames. Withthat hit the port-side screwstopped spinning, and theJohnston’s thirty-six-knotspeed was cut in half. Whatthe shell failed to doinstantly, high-pressuresuperheated steam fromshattered boiler pipes didwithsubstantiallylessmercy.Not a man in the afterfireroom survived the 840-degreebaththatfollowed.

Amomentlatertherecamea sound like awhole load ofsheet metal dropping onto ahard floor as the destroyerabsorbed the blast of asmaller salvo. The first six-inch shell—from theYamato’s secondary battery,or perhaps a light cruiser—holed the number-twoexhaust stack, detonatingunderneath the directorplatform and twisting itupward on both sides of the

uptake. Two other shellsslammed into the port bridgewing, igniting a forty-millimeter magazine, whichburned and popped smokilywith the runaway bursts ofantiaircraftshells.Just secondsbefore impact

Lieutenants DiGardi andWelch had left the bridgewing and entered thepilothouse to carry outCaptain Evans’s most recent

course-change order. Theywere just in time. Anexplosion propelled Welchforward into a pile of thewounded and the dead. Hepickedhimselfup,dazed,andtended to the injured. EdBlockwas in shock,missinga large chunk of his rightshoulder.Thecoxswain’sleftshoulder was dislocated, aneardrum punctured. Withsmall pieces of shrapnellodged between his eyes,

under his chin, and in hisright eye, Block stumbledthrough the pilothouse hatch,past DiGardi, and crumpledagainst a gray metalbulkhead. Welch, standingoverhim,statedwhatwasnotaltogether obvious—“Blockis alive”—then grabbed hiswrist and stuck him with amorphinesyrette.Asthedrugpermeated his bloodstream,Block regained his bearings.Hemadeitdowntothemain

deckonhisownpower, thenjoinedthepharmacist’smateswho were escorting thewounded down toLt.RobertBrowne’s medical triage intheofficers’ward.The blast to the bridge all

but undressed Ernest Evans.Itblewthecapfromhisheadand tore the shirt from hischest. Shrapnel lodged in hisface, neck, hand, and torso.Lieutenant Browne came to

his captain’s aid. “Don’tbotherme now,” Evans said.“Help some of those guyswhoarehurt.”Evanswasstillin charge—coolly so,seemingly unbothered athaving two fingers slicedfrom his left hand. Heorderedthesurvivorstoclearthebridge.Ellsworth Welch was

transfixedbythegrislysightsallaroundhim.Thewell-kept

and orderly pilothouse hadbeen transformed into whatmightbemistakenforadirtymeatlocker.Bodypartswerestrewn throughout thecompartment; limbs andfingers and indeterminateremnants of flesh filled thehumid air with the rich,metallic odor of blood.Fearing the sight of thecarnage would hurt morale,Welch gathered up what ofthemesshecouldand tossed

itoverboard.Time seemed to stop,

though events surely rushedforward. Welch found JackBechdel, the torpedo andassistant gunnery officer,propped up against thewheelhouse,complainingthathis arms were hurt, unawarethat he had lost a leg at theknee. Bechdel asked for adrink ofwater.Welch pulledout a syrette and gave him a

shot ofmorphine. Somethinglarge and sharp and movingtoo fast for the eye hadcleanly severed the head ofLt.(jg)JoePliska,ashipandaircraft recognition specialistwho had joined the JohnstonatManus to train itsofficers.Ens.Gordon Fox died in theblast too. Signalman JoelDixonwasblownapartathisbattlestation.Outside, below the bridge,

at his post on the starboardforty-millimeter gun,Clarence Trader looked upand saw blood flowing likewaterfromaholeinthesteelbulkhead. Maybe it wasblood. Maybe it was theresidue of the crimson towerof seawater that a JapaneseroundhadsentbreakingovertheJohnston’ssuperstructure.Possibly it was a swirledmixtureofboth.TraderheardCaptain Evans ask for help

removing bodies from thebridge. Clyde Burnett, thechief boatswain’s mate,respondedtothecall,comingforward to shepherd Bechdelto the officers’ ward, wherethe pharmacist’smates couldattend tohim, stickhimwithmore morphine, and tie atourniquet to his leg stump.Hearingsomeonecall,“Standby below,” Bill Mercerglancedupandsawahumanformbeing lowered from the

bridgewingtothemaindeck.The body descended—feet,khaki trousers, torso—andstopped, seeming to hovernexttohim.Ithadnohead.It took a fraction of a

second for a heavy shell tospinshriekingthroughtheairandpunchthroughbulkheadsanddecksandmachineryanddetonate or fail to detonate,ending lives in seconds andcasting teenagers with the

hard,dulllookofveterans.Inthat time boldcommissioning-day promisesto sail into harm’s wayacquired human andmaterialconsequences.Thiswasnavalwarfare in the machine age.In 1944 Annapolis was stillturningoutmenpossessedbythe idea that naval servicewas, in the words of onehistorian, “clean andprofessional, without thecomplications of civilians,

refugees,partisans,lootingorpillage.” But in fact,technology made it as brutaland hellish as anything thenavymenof imperialBritainand Germany had sufferedthrough a generation ago atJutland.When a heavy round from

a naval rifle hits a ship andexplodes, theenergyreleasedpulverizes the hardened steelof theshellandswirlsup the

shattered remnants ofsurrounding metal decks andbulkheads. All of this metalrushesoutwardontheedgeofawaveofblastpressurethatatypical shipboardcompartment cannot hope tocontain. The sudden andoverwhelming“overpressure”turns the compartment itselfinto a weapon, its remainschurning up into asuperheated storm offragmentedorliquifiedmetal.

The blast wave’s effect onpeopleishorrific.Itcollapsesbodycavities,crushesorgans,andblowsfleshfrombone.Thesizeofthekillingzone

—the radius within whichthese effects will occur—depends on the amount ofexplosive the shell holds. AJapanese eight-inch armor-piercingshell, threefeet longand 277 pounds in weight,had a 6.9-pound bursting

charge.Afourteen-inchhigh-explosiveshell,1,425poundsand five feet long, containedsixty-three pounds ofexplosives. The Yamato’sgiant 18.1-inch armor-piercingshells,sixandahalffeetlongand3,219poundsinweight, carried a seventy-five-poundburstingcharge.The men of the Johnston

learned in an instant thatshrapnelcame inmanysizes,

sometimes large enough tocut limbs and grind flesh,sometimes fine andparticulate,fillingtheairwithhot driving mist. Theylearned that shells tumblingthrough layers of steel filledcompartmentswithpoisonousgases, that exploding shellscouldkillbyshockorwithacascadeofflamesthatdousedthem like liquid. Gone wasthe mystery of why ClydeBurnett, Bob Hollenbaugh,

and the other seniorboatswain’s mates kept themscraping paint for hours onend: it burned fiercely. Thelessonhadbeenlearnedintheshipboard conflagrations atPearl Harbor and in theSolomon Islands in 1942.Now they saw it firsthand.Yetsomehowshipsstillcameoff the line full of paint toscrape. This was harm, andthe Johnston was in its way.ThiswaswhatCaptainEvans

hadpromisedthem.Bob Hagen had seen hell

once already, from the decksofthedestroyerAaronWard,damaged during theSolomonscampaign.Butnowtheabsenceofnoveltydidnotdiminish the horror. “I waslookingoutof thedirector atthe time. Everythinghappened at once,” Hagenwrote. The force of the hitsthrew him from his stool in

the gun director, helmet,headphones, and binocularstorn from his head. Herecovered in time to see themainmastfractureandtopple.Ithousedtheship’sSCradar,the so-called “whirlingbedspring,” used for airsearch.Thewholethingcamedown, seesawed over thebridgetower,andswungbackand forth like an off-kiltermetronome. The impacttumbledtheship’sgyrostable

elementoffitsmount,trippedthe internal communicationscircuit board for a fewminutes,andcut theshearingpin that held the FD “FoxDog” fire-control radar in itsvertical position. Unable toslew his radars for elevationuntil the assemblywas reset,Hagen climbed out of thedirector, grabbed the bigantenna,andwrencheditintopositiontowardthehorizon.

Lookingdownonhisship,Hagen was dumbstruck bywhat had become of it. “TheJohnston was a mess,” helater recalled. “There weredead men on the deck andgaping holes from thefourteen-inch shells throughwhich a fat man could haveplummeted.” Shrapnel hadgashed metal bulkheads anddeckslikesomuchtinfoil.Amid the hissing of steam

and the screaming of men,Orin Vad-nais peered overthe side of his forty-millimeter amidshipsgun tuband saw chunks of solidexplosives from a smasheddepth charge scattered acrossthedeck.Upoutof thegianthole opened by the fallingshell popped HaroldBeresonsky’s steel-helmetedhead.A lit cigarettedanglingfrom his lips, he startedthrowing chunks of the

explosive overboard,casually, like a weekendercleaninguphispatio.Whenthebigshellshit,the

deckjerkedupsosharplythatJosephCheckranghishelmeton something hard overhead,then collapsed. Lying on thedeck in the first-aid station,he could feel the thin steelgrowing hot to the touch assuperheated boiler steamfilled the engineering spaces

below. Broken boiler lineswere bad news for at leastthree reasons. The loss ofsteambledtheshipofenginepower, slowed the turbinesthat ran the ship’s electricalgenerators, and liberatedsuperheatedvaporsthatkilledmenfast.Aneedle-sizedholeinasteamlinecouldreleaseacutting spray powerfulenough to sever limbs.Battleship shells were lessdelicate than that.Steamwas

gushing out of three largeholes in the deck where thefourteen-inch rounds hadstruck.Jesse Cochran ran to the

steam-stop valves on themain deck above the afterfireroom and spun the largewheeltoclosethelines.Itdidnothing to stop the lethalhissingofescapingsteam,forthe detonations ruptured notonly the lines but the tubes

inside theboilers themselves.JosephCheck saw threemenclimbing out of the hatchfrom the after engineeringspaces, emerging through thethickwhite steam.The effortto escape sapped them oftheir final energies. Checkwatched them collapse andslump back against thebulkhead,theirskin,whiteasivory,coveringswollenflesh.The skin fell away here andthere, revealing pink patches

beneath. The steam hadcooked them like so manyshrimp. They did not livelong.Bob Hagen was on his

sound-powered phones afterthe first onslaught of shells,polling his gun bosses to seewho was with him and whowasn’t: “All stations—Control testing!” The repliescame:“GunOne,aye!…GunTwo,aye!…GunThree,aye!

… Gun Five, aye!… Plot,aye!”Hewasrelievedtohearhe was not suddenly alone,but wondered after Gun 54.Bob Hollenbaugh did notrespond. But the boatswain’smate first class did not keephis gun boss in the dark forlong. Momentarily amessenger came on the line,calling Hagen from a forty-millimetermountbackaft.Hesaid Gun 54 had lost powerand communications, and its

link to the fire-controlcomputerwasdead.Gun54wasworseoffthan

the other two aft five-inchgunmounts.Guns53 and55had no electrical power torotatethemountbutwerestillgetting signals from the gundirector.Alltheyhadtodotobenefit from radar controlwas to trainandelevate theirguns to match the dialpointers showing the

director’s orientation at anymoment in time.ButGun54was getting neither electricalpower nor indicating signalsfor training and elevation.HagengrantedHollenbaugh’srequest to fire on localcontrol, and as Hollenbaughwould write, “Gun 54declared its own war on theJaps.”Firing his gun the old-

fashioned way—slowly and

not terribly accurately—Hollenbaughwascutofffromeverybody. He couldn’t talkto Hagen, nor even with themen below him in theammunition handling room.Because his shell hoist wasout, the shell handlerswouldhavetopassammotohimbyhand. Hollenbaugh jumpedout of the mount’s portsidehatch and slid down theladder on the aft side of thegun deck. Jumping over

unrecognizable bodies, hestuck his head into thehandling room, where themen were milling, unsurewhattodowithoutaworkinghoist to feed. He explainedtheproblemto themand toldthem that their battleperformance and probablyalso their survival woulddepend on keeping a steadybucket brigade of shellsmoving up to the gun. Theywouldhavetodoitmanually,

the same way Hollenbaughwouldbeaiming.Seated in Gun 54’s

trainer’sbrassbicycle seat totheleftof thefive-inchnavalrifle, Bobby Chastain couldonly guess at the horribleextent of the carnage outsidehis station. The jolts andsudden movements of theship, the sudden sickeningreduction in the intensity ofthe engine vibrations—none

of it made him optimistic.The trainer’s gun sight doorremained closed, for he hadseen enough Japanese men-of-war for a lifetime. Now,though, with his mountpartially disabled and theloudvoiceofhisguncaptainsaying something about“local control,” his willfulignorance had to end. Localcontrol meant the gun crewwould do its own shooting,trainingandelevatingthegun

by cranking handwheels inthe mount. They had neverdrilled under local controlbefore.Back in the mount,

Hollenbaughstoodontheguncaptain’s platform, headpoking up from the turret,shouting bearings to BobbyChastaintoguidehisrotationof the gun, and ranges toSamuel Moody to determinehow high to elevate it. The

forty-millimeter mountimmediately forward of Gun54 had its own Mark 51director, adequate forobtaining ranges if not for acomplete gyro-aided,computerized firing solution.Walt Howard, one of thecrew manning that gun,passed range information toHollenbaugh, who made dowith it what he could.Chastain and Moody turnedand elevated their gun by

turning brass-handled wheelson either side of the mount.They cranked them furiouslyback and forth as the shipveered and the guns barkedand Hollenbaugh relayedranges.But for the help theyreceived from the radaroperator on the forty behindthem,theymightaswellhavebeen refighting the Battle ofTrafalgar.Ahead of the stricken

Johnston loomeda large raincloudwhosegray-blackmassoffered sanctuary from therelentlessroarandslapoftheJapanese salvos. The fury ofthebombardmentwasworthyof Neptune himself. But therain drifting across thewaterinspiredhope that thegodofthe oceans knew mercy aswell as wrath. The squall’sgray tendrils fell to the sea,draggedtotheirsourcebythefriction of falling

precipitation.Hiscrewmightenjoyitfor

only a fewbriefminutes, forthe squall appeared to bemoving faster than the shipwas: on a single workingscrew, just seventeen knots.But Evans would take whatshelter he could get.Alreadythe squalls were shelteringZiggySpragueandhisCVEsracing south as fast as theirengines could shove them.

Ernest Evans steered theJohnston south, running fortherain.

Twenty-four

The White House staffersgathered in the Map Roomwere jolted from their workby the bracing immediacy ofthe uncoded, plain-languageplea. Most of the Navy’soperational communicationswere routinely copied tothem.Theyscanned themfor

compelling news and sharedit with their higher-ups as itcame.AstheBattleoffSamarwas beginning, arounddinnertime on October 24,Washington time, the MapRoom staff received thismessage meant for AdmiralHalsey:

ENEMY FORCESATTACKING OURFORCES COMPOSEDOF FOURBATTLESHIPS, EIGHTCRUISERS AND X

OTHER SHIPS.REQUEST LEEPROCEED TOP SPEEDCOVER LEYTE.REQUEST IMMEDIATESTRIKE BY FASTCARRIERS.

Aworldremovedfromthefighting, at 1600Pennsylvania Avenue, itwasn’t clearwhohad sent it.The staffers’ best guess wasthat it had come from theSeventh Fleet’s amphibiouscommander, Rear Adm.

Daniel Barbey, whose groupseemed most prone toneeding emergencyassistance. No matter who ithad come from, they werecertain the transmissionrequired the president’spersonal attention. Themessage was typed up inshort order and submitted toFranklinD.Rooseveltaspartof a briefing on thePhilippinessituation.

Though it is not knownwhat he did or said uponreceiving the briefing, thepresident was sufficientlyintrigued by the unfoldingevents off Samar to requestupdates as the nightprogressed. The little shipswereonabigstage,andnowthey had the president’sattention.Theworldwideaudienceto

thedramaoffSamarincluded

notonlytheWhiteHousebutJames Forrestal’s NavyDepartment, the top brass atPacific Fleet Headquarters atPearl Harbor, and theJapanese Combined Fleetleadership at Tokyo andHiyoshi. At the U.S. PacificFleet’s new advanceheadquarters onGuam, radioeavesdroppers manned largebattery-powered receiversmountedinthecargobedsofbig Marine trucks. One

radioman, Albert Fishburn,defying the burning sun andtheconsiderabledistractionofnearby Japanese snipers,manned his set all day long.Hewascaptivatedbywhathepicked up on the circuitdesignated 7910J: “It justoperated all day long. It wasjustoneshipafteranother.”Information from the

Guam radio intercepts wasrelayedbacktoPearlHarbor,

where Cdr. Jasper Holmes,deputy chief of the Navy’sJoint Intelligence Center,Pacific Ocean Area(JICPOA), monitored it.WhenHolmessawthereportof the developing situationoffSamar,hewasastounded.He telephoned fleetintelligence officer Capt.EdwinT.Laytontoaskaboutthe location of Task Force34’s battleships. Holmesfiguredthebattlewagonswere

already guarding SanBernardino Strait. Absentspecific confirmation fromHalsey, Layton was lesswilling to assume Lee’sheavieshadbeendetached.As it happened, Admiral

Nimitz shared CaptainLayton’s outlook.HedidnotknowforsurewhetherTF34hadbeencreatedperHalsey’searlier battle plan. Though itseemedsensibleenough,until

nowhehadn’tseenfittoask.The commander in chiefhated to be seen as second-guessing his theatercommanders.At 6:48 that morning

Halsey had been stunned todiscover that Kinkaid wasassuming the actuality of acontingency—thedetachmentof Task Force 34. Halseyended the mystery of hisbattleships’ whereabouts at

7:02, when he responded tothe Seventh Fleetcommander’s 4:12 A.M.

request for confirmation thatthebattleshipswereguardingSanBernardinoStrait.Halseytoldhim,“NEGATIVE.TASKFORCE 34 IS WITH

CARRIER GROUPSENGAGING ENEMYCARRIER FORCE. Thatmessage took the customarytwo-hour trip around Robin

Hood’s barn and the Manusreceiving station beforereachingKinkaid.Bythetimeit did, the Seventh Fleetcommander had alreadytransmitted a string ofdesperatemessagesindicatinghis own surprise at theimpendingdisaster.At 7:07 Kinkaid informed

Halsey in uncoded Englishthat Taffy 3 was taking firefromJapanesebattleshipsand

cruisers. That messagereached Halsey at 8:22. At7:27KinkaidradioedHalsey,“Request Lee proceed at topspeedtocoverLeyte;requestimmediate strike by fastcarriers.” The tenor ofKinkaid’s pleas grewincreasingly shrill. At 7:39:“Fast battleships urgentlyneeded immediately at LeyteGulf.”At8:29:“Mysituationis critical. Fast battleshipsandsupportbyairstrikemay

be able to prevent enemyfrom destroying [escortcarriers]andenteringLeyte.”ForNimitz, thatwasenough.Bewildered by the evidentshort-circuiting ofcommunications between theThird and Seventh Fleets, hecomposed a straightforwardinquiry toHalsey:“Where isTF34?”A radioman on Nimitz’s

staff saw the implicit

emphasis and repeated theinterrogatory phrase, “Whereis—” Then the message waspassed to an ensignresponsible forencoding it, aprocess that involvedinserting nonsense phrases atthe beginning and end of adispatch, on either side of adouble consonant, so as toconfound unauthorizedrecipients.Thus the message that the

Commander inChief,PacificFleet, transmitted toHalsey’sradio department aboard theNew Jersey read, TURKEYTROTS TO WATER GGWHEREISRPTWHEREISTASK FORCE THIRTY-FOUR RR THE WORLDWONDERS.To this day the world

wonders whether the ThirdFleet radiomanwho receivedthismessage aboard theNew

Jerseywasscholarenoughtoknow that the phrase “Theworld wonders” appears inAlfred Lord Tennyson’spoem “The Charge of theLight Brigade,”commemorating a battleagainst long odds that wasfoughtthatveryday,October25,inadifferentcentury.Theworld wonders too whetherhegaveChesterNimitzcreditfor the same literary acuity,recognizing with a grin

CINCPAC’s historicalflourish, uncannily suited tothe circumstances, andassuming the reference waspart of themessage intendedfor Halsey. All the worldknows for sure about theformulation and transmissionof the query is that Halseyreceived it with the tail-endpadding intact and took it asan armor-piercing broadsideofsarcasm.

Reeling from the thoughtthat his gentlemanlycommander in chief had justinsultedhim,Halseywhippedhisbaseballcapfromhisheadand chucked it to the deck,cursing bitterly. He had justordered Ching Lee’sbattleships to prepare foraction against Ozawa’saircraft carriers.Now he hadno choice but to recall them.AsHalseyraged,hischiefofstaff, Mick Carney, said,

“Stop it!What the hell’s thematter with you? Pullyourself together.” Temperscooled. Orders flew. Andslowly, all too slowly, themajestic leviathans thatcomprised Admiral Lee’sbattle line pulled out offormation and swung aroundtoaheadingof180degrees.Itwasagesturemore than

anything else. Fast thoughthey were, the battleships

weren’tswiftenoughtocoverthe two-hundred-miledistance in time to do ZiggySpragueanygood.

Twenty-five

Rain pelted the Johnston’sdecksandhissedlikedropletsonahotgriddle,steamingonthemetalabove theshatteredboilers in the number-twofireroom. Where it didn’tcompletely evaporate, therain cleaned the decks ofbrineanddryingblood.

In Gun 54, BobHollenbaugh set down hissightingtelescopeandhoppeddown from thegun,allowinghis crew a breather. Theyemerged from the illusorysafetyofthegunmount’sthinsteel walls, taking in theirfirst unshuttered view of thekilling field that the ship’sdecks had become. “By nowthe topside of the Johnstonlooked like a mess ofspaghetti,” recalled Robert

Billie. So many men weredead, yet the ship itselfcontinued to live, as ifanimatedby its own forceofwill.That too was an illusion.

The shipwas runningnow—maneuvering at least—principally on the sweat andpain of its sailors.The shellshadknockedoutnotonlyhalfthe ship’s steam power butmostofitselectricalpoweras

well.Thehitshadseveredthecables running aft from thenumber-two engine room’sdistribution board. With thegeneratorknockedout,theaftcompartments of thedestroyer were withoutpower. The electrical pumpsthat might have stanched theflood of seawater into theengine rooms could notoperate.Worse, therewasnopower to the steering engine,the motors that powered the

ship’s large rudder. Withoutelectricitytomovetherudder,theonlyway to turn theshipwas via “Norwegian steam”:the strong backs andshoulders of the enlistedcrew.Whensteeringwaslost,the

callwent out for able bodiesto report aft. Men whosebattlestationswereredundant—gunners on lightantiaircraft mounts, or

survivorsfromcrewsthathadbeenwipedout—gatheredonthe fantail. They took turnsbelowdecks, teaming up inpairs to crank the two-handledwheelattachedtothehydraulic pump that turnedtherudder.Facingeachotherand working in concert, twostrongsailorscouldrotatethewheel reasonably well andmove the rudder inaccordancewithorderscalledtothemfromthebridge.

The retreating destroyerwas changing course sofrequently that even theburliest seaman could handlejustfifteenminutesatatime.And even with their bestefforts, the ship was stillsluggish at the helm. Theynever reallykeptupwith thecourse-change orders thatCaptain Evans was callingover the JV phones from thebridge.

As leader of the number-threerepairpartystationedinthe aft deckhouse, Lt. JesseCochran was in charge ofrestoring power to therearmost parts of the ship.Withelectrician’smatesAlanCravens and Burton Hoover,gunner’s mate third classDaveLewis,chiefmesscookDusty Rhodes, and others,Cochran pulled cables fromthe forward engine room’sdistribution board to the

steeringmotors. But struggleas they did to route casualtypower aft, they could notquite complete the circuit.The juice did not flow, andthere was no telling why.With masses of cables andwires twisted together likeropes and threaded throughroundholesinbulkheads,onewas all but indistinguishablefrom another.Certain criticallines had been painted red.What the others did was a

mystery. Combat allowedlittle opportunity forprotracted investigation.Critical or not, each cablewas responsible for somepiece of machinery’s properfunctioning. They neversorted it out, and the rudderremainedpowerless.Duringthetwentyorthirty

minutes in which Cochranandhisrepairpartyfought torestore the spark to the

Johnston’s work stations aft,the temperature in theengineering spaces hadcooledsufficientlytoenablearescue and salvage missionintotheriddledbowelsoftheship.Motormachinist’smateBob Sochor, Jesse Cochran,and other rescuers put onasbestos suits and descendedthe ladders—slowly, blindly—to search for survivors. Inthe aft engine room, whichwastakingonwater,Cochran

checkedthetubepackingthatkept ocean water fromseeping in around the portpropeller shaft. It was intact.He then closed the intakevalvetothecondenser,whichturned saltwater to fresh fordrinking. But still the waterrose.Cochran was amazed to

find several boiler roommachinists crawling likeoversized rats out of the

bilges below the grating. Toelude the killing steam, theenterprising survivors hadpressed themselves againstthe skin of the ship’s bellydown in the bilges until thecauldron cooled and theycould make good theirescape.Light from Sochor’s battle

lantern scarcely penetratedthe cavernous darkness. Hegropedaroundinthestinking,

steam-soaked void, found abody, tied a rope around it,and pushed upward whilemen on deck lifted fromabove. When Cochranenteredtheafterengineroom,he found warrant officerJohnny Merritt, one of theship’s best machinists andmost popular “old men,”lying facedown on the grateswhere he had fallen at hisstation.Withaheavywrenchin hand, another warrant

machinist, Marley Polk,swam beneath the grating inthe dark compartment,looking for the source of thein-rushing water. As he wassubmerged, therewasa largevibration from a hitsomewhere.Aheavypieceofengine room machinerydislodged and splashed intothewater,trappinghiminthebilges.Hestruggledtogethisheadabovewaterandorderedhis rescuers to save

themselves before the wateragainclosedoverhishead.Bob Sochor shimmied up

the ladder to the main deckand removed his asbestossuit.Hewaslookingdownatthe closed hatch leading totheafterfireroomwhentohisamazement the round wheelstarted spinning, turned frombelow, and the hatch swungopen: “Trying to climb outwasafiremanbythenameof

West. I ran over to help himuptherestoftheway.Hehadbeen down in that hot fire-roomatleastfifteenortwentyminutesaftertheboilerswerehitandexploded.Hestoodondeck, his clothes wet andsteaming,andhewasshakinghimselfoffasiftogetthehotsteaming clothes off hisskin.”Electrical fires in the after

engine room burned

stubbornly but eventuallysuccumbed to the cool gustsof rescuers’ CO2 bottles.Three feet of water coveredthe deck. Rescuers rigged asubmersible pump, but thecord didn’t reach the powersupply. When a longer leadwassplicedand linked to theengine room distributionboard, still no power came.Theywouldhavetomakedo.Sochor led West and

several otherwounded to theofficers’ wardroom, whichwas used as an operatingroom in combat. “It was anawful sight to see,” Sochorsaid. “All thosepatheticmensitting and lying on thecrowded deck waiting to betreated by the doctor andpharmacists.”Joe Worling, the

engineering officer, orderedSochorandwatertenderthird

class Fielden Critz to comewith him to the after fire-room. The ship was runningon a single screw, thestarboard propeller shaftworkingovercapacityat350RPM just to maintain thelimp-along speed ofseventeen knots. Driven bythe turbine and reductiongears in the forward engineroom,theshaftwassquealingloudly, a sign of possible—and doubtless fatal—engine

failure.Worling gaveSochorapailoflubeoilandtoldhimto go pour it over the shaftand the spring bearings.Wearing gas masks andholding battle lanterns,Sochor and Critz climbeddownthrough thehatchfromwhichWesthadjustescaped.Experienced snipes, asengine-room and fireroompersonnel were called, coulddescend the fifteen-footladders to their stations with

their feet never touching thesteps. Saddled with theprotective suit and movingsightlessly through smokeand darkness, Sochor’sprogress was slower now.The fireroom was smoky,filled with steam from theshattered boilers. Cracks ofsunlight shone between bentdeckplates,buttherewasnotenough light to penetrate thesmoke.“Withlittlehelpfromour battle lantern,” he

recalled,“we inchedourwaybehindtheblownboileralongthe narrow catwalk, up andoverpiping, to the topof theshaft. We poured the oil allover the shaft bearing box,which stopped the squealingsound.” The ship continuedcreeping back to Sprague’sbesiegedcarriers.The interlude in the squall

meant that the Japanesecruiserswereblindandcould

not fire on theAmericans.AMark37gundirectorhadnosuch blinders—it was assharp-eyed in the fog or thedark as itwas in the clear ofmidday. While the ship wasenshrouded by rain, the gundirector’s radar spied thecolumn of Japanese cruisersclosing on the escort carrierformation.AsBobHagenandhis gunners fired some 100five-inch rounds at thenearest Japanese cruiser, the

squall’s only impact on theefficiency of the Johnston’sgunnery department was therude manner in which itsoaked Hagen’s smokes. “ItwasthefirsttimeinmylifeIdidn’tmindhavingapackageof cigarettes ruined,” hewrote.Time,however,wasnoton

Taffy 3’s side. Though twoJapanesecruisers,theSuzuya,damagedbyaerialattack,and

the Kumano, hit by theJohnston, were out of thebattle,thefourothersstillhadtheir legs, and their captainswere determined to drawblood. Through nearly threeyears of war, no aircraftcarrierhadfallen toJapaneseguns.AdmiralKuritacreditedheavenly intervention for theopportunity. He would soonbeinpositiontomakeuseofit.

***

LARGELY ON THE INDEPENDENT

initiative of its differentdivision commanders, theJapanesefleetwasfannedoutand advancing in roughlyparallel columns: four heavycruisers steaming southward,out to the east; the Yamatoand the Nagato looming astepbehindthemtoTaffy3’snorth; the Haruna and theKongo making independent

tracks ahead of their slowerheavies; and two destroyersquadrons bringing up therear.Against them came the

Hoel, theHeermann, and theSamuel B. Roberts, formedinto a loose semblance of acolumnandsteamingintotheopen maw of the armoredbehemoths arrayed beforethem.LiketheRobertsbeforeher, the Hoel had narrowly

avoided a collision with theHeermann as Hathaway’sdestroyer made its dashacross the Taffy 3 formationtolineupfortheattack.Nowthe three steamed north atflank speed, while Sprague’sjeep carriers ran southward.With each turn of theirscrews, the gulf between thedestroyers and the carrierswidened. Their exposure,theiruttervulnerability,grewstarker with every passing

minute.Destroyers were hit-and-

run ships. As the Japanesehad demonstrated time andtimeagainwith theirowntincans, and as Oldendorf’sdestroyers had shown atSurigao Strait, torpedoattacks were best executedunderthecoverofnight.Thiswould be no replay ofSurigao Strait. Though theirstacks billowed smoke amid

sheltering rainsqualls, ZiggySprague’s screening shipsattacked in daylight. Theiropponents had roughly threetimes the gun power ofNishimura’s group. TheAmericans were unsupportedby a powerful battle linewhose large guns offered asheltering canopy to hideunderuponwithdrawalandadevastating deterrent toenemypursuit.

Moreover, Kurita’s CenterForce was not confined to astrait. Roaming free in openocean, his ships had bothroom tomaneuver and speedsufficient to overtake andencircle the jeep carriers anddestroythemfromallsides.For the destroyer screen,

the risk of encirclement wasmoot, for they were offeringthemselves for slaughter,throwing themselves

willinglyintoitinthehopeofdelayingtheinevitableforthecarriers. Perhaps they wouldharry the Japaneseenough tolet Sprague’s CVEs slipaway. “I had heard all alongthat destroyers wereexpendable but never quitebelieved.Now I knew itwastrue,”EverettLindorff of theHoelwouldwrite.From the gun deck on the

fantail of the Fanshaw Bay,

situated on the northwestedge of the circular pod offleeing escort carriers, ship’scook Harold Kight had afront-row seat fromwhich toobserve the destroyer screenforming into line for theirtorpedorun.Hisbattlestationwas in the handling roombelow the ship’s lone five-inch gun.When the gunwasfiring, he, Jack Frisch, andWarren Whitaker fedprojectiles and powder cases

intothehoistthatsuppliedthecrew on the open-mounted“stinger” or “peashooter.”Until the enemy got closer,the crew that Kight supplieddid not have anything toshootat.Butwithaclear180-degree vista off the stern,there was certainly a lot towatch.Kight lookedonawestruck

asthedestroyersfellintoline,lit off their boilers, and left

their stations by the carriersto race off toward theJapanesebattleline.Thelittleships seemed to possess aspirit all theirown.And theyremindedhimofsomething—horses. On his family’s 250-acre farm in centralOklahoma, Kight workedwith the Percheron drafthorses that hauled his dad’splowsandpulledhiswagons.Theywerepowerful animals,stalwart and dependable. He

knew the habits of the bigblack and gray beasts.Whenever a thunderstormloomed across theplains, thebroad-shouldered workhorsesbecame as skittish asstallions. Their eyes bulged.Their nostrils flared. Spurredby the drop in barometricpressure, they sprinted anddashed around the pasture.Whentheyacceleratedfromastandstill, their hindquartersdropped down, legs

jackhammering the earth,heads pulled high, maneswavinginthewind.Harold Kight thought the

two destroyers and thedestroyer escort, sprinting into attack, looked like thatnow, like horses sprintingexuberantly across a waterypasture. At flank speed, theFletchers tossed up a flaringbow wave like a mane andtheir sterns sat low, digging

their screws into the sea,sprinting like Percheronsmadly energized by a low-pressurefront.Astheflagshipof Commander Thomas’sscreen,theHoelledtheloosecolumn, followed by theHeermann. Then went thatdetermined pony, theSamuelB.Roberts.Kightfiguredthiswould be the last he wouldsee of these ships and theirvaguely equine nobility. Hefeltalumpriseinhisthroatat

the realization that, mostlikely, none of them wouldsurvive to run under thethunderagain.

Twenty-six

SeamanfirstclassSamLucascould feel the Hoel’s deckvibrating from the exertionsof the turbines. Their deepsteam-driven hum resonatedin his sternum. Lucas, atorpedoman striker, andtorpedoman third class EarlTompkins busied themselves

setting the depth charges onthe starboard and port-sideracks on safe. There wouldsoon likely be plenty ofexplodinggoingon.Noneedtocontributetothefireworks.Painted with sharply

angledcamouflagepatternstoconfuse enemy lookouts, theHoel was neverthelessinescapably framed againsttheveilofsmokeandsquallsbehind her. The Japanese

gunners walked splashes upanddownandbackalongtheAmerican ship’s line ofadvance.Jack Creamer, the Hoel’s

assistant gunnery officer,could see the problem theimpromptu torpedo linefaced:timeanddistancewerenot on their side. While theHoel was laying smoke forthecarriers, theJapanesehadclosed the range rapidlywith

the formation. BecauseCaptain Kintberger’sdestroyer was closest to theenemy, she had the leastroom tomaneuver toprepareher attack. The column wastoolong,theenemytooclose,and the visibility too spottyfor the U.S. ships tocoordinateeffectively.The Americans and

Japanese closed at acombined rate of more than

fifty knots. Zigzagging toavoid shellfire andsimultaneously calculatinghisownbestapproach to firethe Hoel’s ten torpedoes attheproperangletotheenemyships, Kintberger was forcedto seize his chance when itpresented itself. The Hoel’sskipper elected to passbetween the columns ofbattleships and cruisers. Hisshipwouldbeexposedtofirefrom all sides, but at least

therewouldbenoshortageoftargets. The steel deckswereslick with rain. Despite theembraceof the laden tropicalair,HughCoffelt,agunneronone of the amidships forty-millimeter mounts, realizedthathewasshivering.Fred Green was on his

game in the CIC, lining upthe torpedo attack andplotting the progress of theoverwhelming Japanese

force.Bridge, this is Combat.Rangeone six fivedoubleoh. Give us a sightbearing on thebattleships…. Three fourtwo? That checks withours by radar. Where isthecruisercolumn?Threefiveeight?Destroyers,twonine one and three threenine. That leaves the bigships unprotected then.Captain, suggest a courseofthreefivethree.

Then Green gave the

gunnery officer, Lt. BillSanders, the benefit of thedata flowing in from hisradar.

Gunnery Control, this isCombat.Standby toopenfire. Range one four fivedouble oh. Stand by. I’llgive a mark on fourteenthousand yards. Stand byto open fire. Stand by…stand by … mark—onefourohdoubleoh.

On cue, the Hoel’s twoforward guns opened up,

crashing out at a large grayform looming off her bow.Sanders had a heavy cruiserin his sights. On the bridge,everyone’searsrangfromtheconcussion of Guns 51 and52. Lieutenant Dix didn’tmindtheroar.

Damnitwasgoodtohearthemspeakingout….The whole ship trembledwiththeirrapidburstsAnd Sanders up above usgrinningthereWasgivingoutgunorders

tohiscrewsMaking them keep a

steady,evenpace,“Just like your drills—forgetabouttheJaps.”

Fourteen thousand yardswas close enough for theguns. But to launchtorpedoes, theyneeded togeta bit closer. Sanders slewedhis gun director mount andtrained his batteries on abattleship. The three afterturretsjoinedinnow,bucking

theshipwiththeirstiffreport.Thedestroyerplungedahead,fishtailing through shellsplashes as the decks rattledfrom the exertions of herpowerplant.Theyhaven’thitus yet, Lieutenant DixthoughtastheHoelclosed totorpedo-launching range.We’re almost there…. We’reall together now—let’s makeitgood.Itallhappenedinthespace of a hundred seconds,theeventscomingtoofastfor

even the most meticulousquartermastertorecordinhislog.∗ The sequence of eventsduring the battle is obscuredby some doubt. There isambiguity in officialdocuments whether theHoelwas hit before or afterSprague issued his order tothe destroyers, the “bigboys,” tomake their torpedoattack. The TBS logs of

several Taffy 3 warshipsrecordSprague’s order goingout at 7:35 or 7:40, ten tofifteenminutesaftertheHoelwas hit, on her way in toattack,at7:25.Thelogofthedestroyer escort Raymond,relied upon by Samuel EliotMorison and John Toland,places the order at 7:16,which makes more sense,since the Hoel survivorsconsistently assert that theirshipgothitonthewayinand

that Kintberger did not actahead of orders. AdmiralSprague’s own publishedaccountofthebattlesuggeststhat he may have issued theorderevenearlier.Despitethetwenty-nine minutes ofambiguity—and twenty-nineminutes is an eternity in arunning battle—we do knowwith near certainty that theHoelwas firsthitat7:25.At7:25 A.M. the Hoel’simpossibleluckranout.

Leon Kintberger had beenchasing salvos in a desperatebid to keep the Hoel alive.Battleships and cruisers hadthe ship’s range, and so thesplashes were not hard tofind.The closer the shipgot,however, the more futile theconcept of “dodging” salvosbecame. It was mostly apretense in any event, for noship could actually dodge ahigh-velocity inbound shell.The first one that hit them

was small in caliber—smallat least relative to thefourteen-, sixteen-, andeighteen-inch battleshiprounds thatweresplitting theairwithpalpableroarsand,atthe end of their twenty-miletrajectories, losing their gripon the sky and fallingdownwardliketumblingtrashcans. This one came in fastand unseen, striking thebridge high on the port side.Lieutenant Dix thought, Oh,

Jesus,thisisit!The ship rocked and

staggered. There was a flashandacrrrumpandawhistlinghailofmetal thatkilledmostofthemeninthewheel-houseimmediately.Lt.EarleNason,quartermaster HerbertDoubrava, fire-controlmanMarcellino Dilello, andsoundman Otto Kumpunenwere gone in an instant. Asurreal cloud of green-dyed

mistsettledoverthecarnage.Sitting in the pilothouse

lookout’s chair overlookingGun 52, seaman first classKeith McKay felt a rush ofwind around his left calf,looked down, and saw thatshrapnel had shredded hisdungarees. Blood wasrunning down into his shoe,so he tied a red bandannaaround his ankle. He lookeddown at the water sloshing

aroundthedeckofthebridgeand saw that it rannot greenbut red. The reassuringrumble and grind of BillSanders’s rotating Mark 37gun director stopped, leavingonly ominous silence fromthe shattered battle stationabove.The blast spattered the

Hoel’s passageways with theremains of breakfast: porkandbeansandcinnamonrolls

flew out of the galley andlittered the decks. The cloudof vaporized green dyedispersedandseemedtodriftdownthelengthoftheshipastheHoelpressedahead.Somemen who saw it wonderedwhatnewhorrortheJapanesenow unleashed. Cries of“Gas! Gas!” could be heardfrompanicked crew.Thrownfrom his chair at the helm,Clarence Hood regainedconsciousness on the

starboard side of thepilothouse and saw thatLieutenant Dix had takenover the wheel. CommanderThomas and CaptainKintberger were both hurt,but their injurieswereminor.Hood’s were too, so he tookbackhispost.Milestothenorth,Admiral

KuritasawanAmericanshiperupt in smoke and flame,probably the Hoel, and the

Yamato’s log recorded,“Cruiserobservedblowingupandsinkingat0725.”With the fire-control radar

gone, control of the Hoel’sgunsfelltotheCICteam,ledby Lieutenants Green andCreamer. They were able totake ranges with the muchless finely tuned surface-searchradar.Thetwoofficersfocused on lining up thetorpedo attack and relaying

range and bearinginformation to the guns. Asthe ship groped its waytoward the oncoming fleet,Hoyt White, a radarman inthe CIC, called out rangesand bearings of the Japanesecruisers to the gunners overthe sound-powered phones:13,000yards…12,500yards…Themenwinced at everyvibration and rattle as theshellsstruckneartheship.

Seeingthedestructionwithone’s own eyes evoked onekindoffear;notbeingabletoseeitwasperhapsworse.Themen in the CIC or the radioshack or the engine room orthe gunmounts or in any ofthe ship’s other enclosedspacesweresparedthehorridbeauty of the red, green,yellow, and bluewaterspoutsrising around the ship. HoytWhite felt theHoel reel andshudder,absorbingtheblows.

There was no telling howseriousanyparticularhitwas,orwhere the next onewouldstrike. From time to time hefound himself staring at thebulkhead that stood betweenhimandthehumid,smokyairandwonderingwhena roundmight burst through it,bearinghisname.

***

AS THE THREE SMALL ships

pressed through the squallson their run against theJapanese heavy ships—thestaggering Hoel in the lead,followed by the Heermannand the Samuel B. Roberts—a sight greeted them unlikeany they had seen before: asmokinggray-blackwreckofmetal,crawlingsouthas theycharged north. It was theJohnston.Limping along on one

engine, with no hydraulicsteering, the shipwas a ruin.And yet somehow CaptainEvans was pulling herthrough, returning toformation. Though thedestroyerremainedonafairlyeven keel, the battering shehadtakenwasalltooevident.The mast had toppled downaround the superstructure.The metal shields andbulkheads around the bridgeand the stacks were

blackened, torn, riddled, anddented likeacoffeecanonabackyard tree stump. How aship in that condition couldstill make steam was for itsengineerstoexplain.By any fair measure, the

Johnston was entitled to callit a day. Her torpedo tubeswere empty. At her hobbledseventeen-knot speed, shecouldn’t keep up with theother destroyers on the way

in. Sprague’s carriers neededher smoke. Everyone on theJohnston’s bridge had heardthe admiral’s order, directingthe “small boys” to form upand attack. Few if anybelieved it applied to theirship. Surely they weren’texpected to turn around andgoinagain.When Captain Evans saw

theHoel and theHeermann,with the Samuel B. Roberts

laggingbehind incolumn,hearrivedat adifferentviewofhisobligation.Aslongashisship had guns that worked,the Cherokee figured hecoulddosomethinginafight.He told his dumbstruck menon the bridge, “We’ll go inwith the destroyers andprovide fire support.” Evansordered Ed DiGardi to bringthe Johnston around asterntheRoberts and informedhisofficersoftheplan.Owingto

steering difficulties, thedestroyer made a completecircle before steadying oncourse. The Johnston fell inline with the three otherships, plying the shell-tornwatersbetween themand theJapanesefleet.Oh,dearLord,I’minforaswim,BobHagensaidtohimself.

Twenty-seven

On the bridge of the Hoel,CommanderThomaswatchedthe other escorts in thestrung-out torpedo linewhileCaptain Kintberger steadiedthe ship on her own firingcourse. Torpedo officerLieutenantColeman,whohadmoved from the bridge to

torpedo mount number two,owing to the loss ofcommunication with hismounts,tookoverthehelmasranges and bearings werecalled out by Green andCreamer in the CIC. TheHoel’storpedomountsswungout to starboard. There abattleship loomed, at a rangeoftenthousandyards.Kintberger bore in closer,

fishtailingintoninethousand

yards off the starboard beamof a battleship, probably theKongo,whoselongdarkformwas visible intermittentlythroughthesmoke.“TubeOne—”“Oneaye!”“Half salvo, starboard

side…. Steady now. Matchpointers.”“ReadyOne.”“Standby.FireOne!”

Fivetorpedoesrushedoverthe starboard rail andsmackedthesea,runninghot,straight, and normal.Kintbergerordered,“Leftfullrudder,” and theHoel leanedintothehelmsman’shardturnofthewheel,runningawaytothesouth.Belowdecks, amid the roar

of the boilers and the 120-degree heat, water tenderthirdclassFrancisHostrander

felt the ship shudder as aJapanese shell entered theforward fireroom on thestarboard side, just above thewaterline.Itblastedaholeinthehull two feet indiameter,blowing a spray of red-hotshrapnel into the menworking the boilers. Manywere injured, but mercifullythe storm of metal left thesteam lines intact. The spacewentdark, save for thebeamof daylight entering through

the bulkhead’s newestporthole.Noone’s namehadbeenonthatoversizedbullet.Theroaroftheboilerssurgedon.Secondslateranothersalvo

struck, and one of its shellswas covered with names. Itentered the after fireroom,shattering lines and settingloose a holocaust ofsuperheated steam. Thosewho were not immediately

scaldedtodeathweretrappedby the hot steam cloud thatrose to the top of thecompartmentandgatheredbythe escape hatch, blockingtheir exit until it cooled andcondensed. Sixteen ofseventeenmendied.A sailornamed Vern Simmons wasthe compartment’s solesurvivor.Another shell punched

through theportside into the

after engine room, making aclean two-foot hole justabove the waterline andexploding against the heavysteelhousingofthereductiongears, freezing the Hoel’sportscrew.Thedestructionoftheturbineshutdownhalftheship’s electrical generatingcapacity too. A cloud ofwayward steam escapedtopside,engulfingthecrewofGun 53 amidships in whitevapor. Another shell struck

below them in the gun’shandlingroom,startinga firethat laced the white cloudsthroughwithblacksmoke.Live steam swamped the

forty-millimeter gun on theport side amidships. DickSantos, a radioman strikerwho was the trainer on thatmount, had his feet andanklesburnedsoseverelythathe could not walk. Shrapnelpeppered his back and legs.

Bathed in steam, thepositionwasfastbecominguntenable,but Santos couldn’t move.Ship’s cook third class JimNorris, with Santos, had aclear line of sight aft. HewatchedtheshellshitGun53and the engine and fireroom:“Guys were piling out ofthere screaming—some werescalded and some of themwere on fire. God, it wasawful.Ididn’tcount thehits.Let’ssaythereweretoodamn

many.” Rolling masses ofsuperheated steam finallydrove Norris away from hismount. He ran toward thebow and tried to get insideGun52,but thecrewrefusedhim and held the hatch shut.Norris climbed down theladder running to the maindeckfromGun52’splatformand heard men prayingsomewhere in an interiorpassageway. He came uponthe bodies of pharmacist’s

mate third class John Quinnand ship’s cook first class J.R.Lindseylyingsprawledonthe deck. The sight of theircorpses rinsing in bloodyseawatermadehimretch.Across the deck from

Santos and Norris, theexplosionliftedtheheavytubof the starboard forty-millimeter gun right off itsrevolving base. From withinthesteamcloudLarryMorris

couldn’t see a thing. Whenthewhippingwindwashed itaway, the seaman first classrealized that several of hiscrew, including his guncaptain, had disappearedaltogether.Three more shells from

God knew where rocked theHoelastern,onenearthebaseof Gun 55, freezing themount in train. Another onewhistledoverhead,slicingoff

alengthofGun54’sbarrelascleanly as a giant blowtorch.The six-foot tube ofhardened, rifledsteelclangedtothedeckandbeganrollingto and fro with the fan-tail’severytilt.Thefinalshellfromthis deadly salvo struck thechemical smoke generatorson the fantail, spewingwhitephosphorus across the deck,which burned and burrowedintosailors’exposedflesh.

“Stuff just flewalloveruson the forty-millimeter gun,”saidHughCoffelt,thepointeron themount aft of Gun 53.“Wehadnoprotectionatall.The Japanese kept firing atus, with great success,sometimes missing though,and when they did miss, itsounded like a freight trainpassing by. Then they beganto use shells that wouldexplode over us. That waswhenIandothersonthegun

gothitwithshrapnel.Igothitsohardthatitknockedmeoffmyseattothedeck.Iwastheonly pointer on that forty-millimeter gun, and I stillcan’t figure out how I wasknocked off that seat to thedeck, as Iwas hit inmy leftchest,notfarfrommyheart.”Afterturningonthesmoke

generator at the start of thebattle, Sam Lucas had littleelse to do. He didn’t relish

beingaspectatortothehorrorunfolding around him, so helay down on the deckbetween the depth chargeracksand thegunshieldofafantail twenty-millimetermount.Hefeltnoneedtoseewhatcamenext.Seamanfirstclass Marvin Compomizzoand signalman second classCharles Patten lay downbeside him. They could hearthe severed barrel ofGun54lollingheavilybackandforth

across the pitching deck; thesoundofanaircraftengine—it sounded low, down on thewater, moving in, gettinglouder;thechatterofmachineguns out over the water—theywerenotAmericanguns.They heard the screams andshouts asmen ran for cover.Theyheardthestaccatocrackof theHoel’s twenties firingback.Theyfelttheshiplurchhard three times from heavyhits amidships. Then Lucas

felt something burninghorribly on his neck andback. He did not want toknowwhatitwas.Hewastooscared to give it a great dealofthought.Dye and shrapnel and

asbestosandasoakingstenchof blood—it all filled the airover and around the batteredafter section of the Hoel.Somehow the destroyer didnot break up and sink,

although even her designersat the Bureau of Ships andher builders at Mare Islandmighthaveexpectedanyshipto do so under such apummeling. The three-eighths-inch steel of her hullheld.Her rudder did not.At the

helm quartermaster ClarenceHood found his wheelsuddenly unresponsive. TheHoel still carried five

torpedoes that needed to getinthewater.Butnowtheshipcould not maneuver to firethem.The rudderwas lockedinahardturntoport,leavingthe ship steaming in a circledrawn tighter because onlythe starboard screw waspropelling them now. TheHoel passed through arainsquall,buttherespitewastoo brief to do any lastinggood.

As the wounded destroyercircled against her will, theair was cut by the whooshand roar of the concentratedenemyfusillades.TheKongo,which loomed off itsstarboardbeamwhenthefirstspreadoftorpedoeswasfired,came into view again, thistime to port, as the Hoelwheeled around and around,out of control, helpless toevade. Shells were hittingwith terrifying regularity all

aroundtheship.TheJapanesebattleship’s imposingfourteen-inch rifles weremounted in pairs in sleekturrets, two forward, two aft.Now somehow thebattleship’s dark massseemed to be shrinking intothe distance, becomingsmaller as it turned awayfrom theHoel. TheKongo’slookoutshadspiedtheHoel’sfirst spread of torpedoes. Itshelmsman turned to present

the smallest profile to them.Looming intoview,somesixthousand yards off the portbeam, came the Japaneseheavy cruisers. Kintbergercouldn’t ignore them andhope to survive. Though theship was still locked into itssickening turn, he could notwait for his steering to comeback. He and LieutenantColemanknewwhattheyhadto do. They would launchtheir last five torpedoes on

the fly or theywould not dosoatall.“Get set to fire,”

Kintberger ordered. “Leadcruiser. All remaining fish.Standby.”“Tube Two—train out to

port—curve five ahead.Quick now. We’re swingingfast.Allready?Fire!”From his forty-millimeter

gun amidships, Dick Santossawachiefstandingatop the

torpedo mount, hammer inhand. One by one the chiefbrought down the mallet onthe torpedoes’ manual firingpins. They leaped out insuccession and hit the wateras the Hoel continued herinexorableturntoport.Minutespassedas theship

and her weapons ran theirseparate courses. The shiptraveled in acounterclockwise arc as the

torpedoesspedstraightacrossthe arc’s base. Lynn Lowry,thebridgemessenger,gaspedand pointed down at thewater. He could see threetorpedowakes,runningalongthe ship’s bow on the portside.Could they be from theHoel? Whatever their origin,the Hoel was in danger ofrunning into their path.Instinctively, before realizingthe futility of it, LieutenantDix shouted, “Right full

rudder!” But the rudder wasstill dead. The big underseamissiles passed several feetahead of the bow andcontinued on toward thecruisers, now almost deadahead of the strickendestroyer. Dix didn’t see it.“Toomuchwashappeningtostand andwatch.”But otherssaw the torpedoes stay oncourse. Lieutenant Colemanannouncedthecountdown.Atabout the time the Hoel’s

second salvo was scheduledtohit,columnsofwaterwereseen rising beside the storm-gray hull of an enemy man-of-war.With her torpedoes now

spent,somehowtheHoelhadto regain steerage and returnto thecarriers.Quartermasterthird class Donald Ulmanek,manning the after steeringroom, was ordered tocommence manual steering

from the aft steering enginecompartment. Kintbergerordered all signalmen andlookouts on the bridge to goaft, join Ulmanek, and manthewheelpoweringthepumpthat turned the rudder.SomehowtheHoelneededtoget back on station by thecarriers, laying smoke,standingby,andprotectingitsherd. With the gyro out,Kintberger asked FredGreenwhich way south was.

LieutenantGreendidn’tneedinstruments to answer thatone. He responded, “Put thesun on your port beam.”Kintberger toldLynnLowry,who was leaving for thesteering engine room, to getready to steer a 180-degreebase course, with ten-degreezigzagstoeitherside.On one good engine

Kintberger would race hisstricken ship against time,

againsttheoncomingcruisersthatwere relentlessly closingthe distance, and against theseawater flooding his solefunctioning engine room. Asflames heated the decksbeneath their feet, volunteersfor rudder-pump dutysprinted down both sides ofthe376-footship,underahailof shrapnel that rained downfrom the explosionsoverhead, past dead bodies,some dismembered and

others startlingly intact,through slicks of blood andpork and beans and gobs ofdye-stained asbestosinsulation, and through thelast gasps of steam risingfrom the engineering spacesbelow. Reaching the fantail,they grabbed the hatchleadingtothesteeringengineroom, cranked it open, andpulled it up. They shimmieddown the ladder, looking torestorewithmuscleandsweat

thesteampower thatenabledtheshiptomaneuver.

Twenty-eight

The Fanshaw Bay’s singleopen-mount five-inch gunwas placed on the stern as ifto anticipate the likeliestcircumstance of its use:fendingoffanassailantwhilebeating a flank-speed retreat.As the Japanese cruisercolumn closed range on the

jeeps,ZiggySpragueorderedthe carriers to open firewiththeir“peashooters.”The flagship’s gun sat

inside a thirty-foot-diameterturntable mounted on ballbearings. Below it, Kight,Frisch, and Whitaker loadedthe hoist that broughtprojectiles and powder casesto the gun deck.Theywoulddo twenty or so at a time,then climb up the ladder, sit

down,watchthedimformsofthe Japanese ships flash atthemonthehorizon,andfeeltheir teeth rattle from theblast of the Fanny B.’s owngun. Then they would goback below and do it again.Though an electrical elevatordid all the lifting, longsummers spent hoeing corn,chopping cotton, and tossingeighty-pound hay bales putKight in good enough shapetodo a lot of it himself.The

gun’srecoilwasconsiderablystronger, however. Oncewhen he was on the ladderbetween decks, the gundischarged and the wholeship seemed to shoveforward.Kightwasjarredoffthe ladder and droppedthrough space, his handsclawing through fifteen feetofair.Watching large enemy

men-of-war shoot at his ship

madean indelible impressionon the twenty-one-year-oldOklahoma farm boy. “TheJaps would fire their bigguns,”Kightsaid,“andyou’dhear it—a roar of thunderright up close—and yourpantswouldhityourlegfromthe concussion of the gun….And then you could see theprojectilecomingthroughtheair. It wasn’t blurry, it wasdistinct—2,800 pounds, thesizeofaVolkswagencoming

throughtheair.Itwasabulgeof fire with a bullet in themiddle of it. It made youwant to get somewhere.”Usually there would befifteen or twenty seconds tomake good an escape beforetheshelllanded.Kight considered it

“natural forany individual towant to hide or get out ofharm’s way.” On a CVE,hidingfromenemyfirewasat

bestapsychologicalgame.Atworst, it could be downrightembarrassing. “One old boywas always looking for aplace tohide.He said tome,‘Here, Kight, get on top ofme.’” The sailor huddleddownon thedeck,andKightclimbed on top of him,wonderingall thewhilewhatgood it would have done.“The shell would have gonethroughbothofus.”

The peashooter crews onTaffy 3’s carriers fired togood effect. An old chief ontheFanshawBaywatchedtheSt. Lo’s gunners poppingaway and saltily observed,“They oughta fire that thingunderwater. We could use alittle jet propulsion rightnow.”Butthegunsprovedtobesurprisinglyusefulintheirintended application. Theyscored three hits on a heavycruiser at 14,000 yards,

starting a raging fire on theforecastle. Meanwhile, theWhite Plains was doing itsown unlikely imitation of afighting ship of the line. Astheenemycruisershammeredaway at shrinking range, agunnery officer shouted out,“Just hold on a little longer,boys—we’re sucking themintoforty-millimeterrange!”The Japanese split their

four cruisers into two

columns, one looking toovertake the carriers to port,the other joining a group ofdestroyers and advancing toSprague’s starboard quarter.Between the two columns,lagging to the rear, Spraguecould see the battleships.“TheJapswerenowfiringatus from three sides. Withinthis three-sided ‘box,’ mycarriers were formed in alarge circle, with thedestroyers and destroyer

escorts in a larger circlearound them. I kept thisformation on a southwesterlycourse, squeezingover ten totwenty degrees to one sideand then to the other,according to which side wasthrowing the hottest fire.”Theshipsheldformationandmaneuvered together, theirdiscipline impressing evenKurita’schiefofstaff,TomijiKoyanagi. “I must admitadmiration for the skill of

theircommanders,”hewouldwrite.High above the action, it

was plain enough to VC-10skipper Edward Huxtablewhat the Japanesecommanderwas trying todo.Already the cruisers,beleaguered by buzzingplanes though theywere,hadmade frightening progressoutrunning Taffy 3 to theeast. For Sprague, further

eastward flight was futile.Huxtable advised Spraguethat thebest coursewasnowsouth. Of course, Sprague’sradar toldhimallof this andmore. By 7:30 the Taffy 3commander was alreadycharging hard to the south,nowand thenangling towardSamar to the southwest. Asthe pilots pressed home theirattacks, word came over theradiothatTaffy3’sdestroyerscreen was engaging the

Japanese fleet, and pilotswere cautioned not to hit theinboundAmericanships.Sprague’s decision to turn

from a southeasterly headingto the southwesterly onewasrisky. By turning right sosharply, he would give theJapanese a chance to turninside him, cutting into hiscircular route and bearingdown fast on his starboardbroadside. Nevertheless, he

felt the need to turn in thedirection of help, towardLeyte Gulf, whereOldendorf’s battleships lay.And if the Japanese didn’tcatch on in time, Spraguemight open some distancebetween Taffy 3 and itspursuers.With visibility down to

half a mile and with theclouds hovering at a ceilingof 500 feet, Sprague ordered

a turn to a course of 200degrees. Kurita did not getwind of the audaciousmaneuver until Taffy 3 hademerged from the rainsquall.The Japanese admiralfollowed the escort carrierformation around in thisclockwise quarter-circle, hispursuit slowed by thefrequent need to evade theincessant, piecemeal attacksof the hell-for-leatherAmerican aviators. Ziggy

Sprague had gambled—and,fornow,won.

***

BLUE ARCHER AND THE rest ofthe planes from the KalininBay needed just a fewminutes to find the Japanesefleet. When Pops Keighley’sradio malfunctioned, PatsyCapano took the lead. Atabout 7:50 they happeneduponacolumnofdestroyers.

Capano, Keighley, andArchercameoutofthecloudsandwentrightdowntheline,firing short bursts from theirwing-mountedmachineguns.The flight of Avengersclimbed back into the cloudsand joined with seven otherAvengers and ten Wildcatshuntingforbiggerships.Withinminutes anechelon

of cruisers and battleshipscameintoview.Oncuefrom

Capano,thepilotsturnedandplummeted. Third in line,Archer dove at two cruisersas they leaned hard into aleftward turn. From 4,500feet, Archer dropped all fourbombs and landed two goodhits. He recovered, climbed,and circled around again.Time to use the rockets. Theordnance crews on theKalinin Bay aligned therockets to follow the samepath themachine-gun bullets

traversed, converging athousand feet ahead of theplane. Pushing over in athirty-degree dive on anotherheavy cruiser, Archersqueezed short bursts fromhiswinggunstokeephisaimtrue. Then, a thousand feetout, hepressed thebuttononthetopofhisstickandlethiseightrocketsfly.Archer had become

proficient using rockets at

Saipan and Guam, knockingouttanksandlargetrucksandsmall houses with theweapons in support of theMarines advancing inland.Now he watched them walkup the fo’c’sleof thecruiser.Two of them hit the bridge,exploding brightly andappearing to knock loosesome steel weather shieldsaround the mainsuperstructure.

The light bomb loads thatsomeof thepilotscarriedledthem to wonder whatprecisely they ought to betrying to accomplish. Twoother pilots from theKalininBay, whose radio call signwas “Georgia,” debatedwhether to attack somedestroyers they had found orseek out larger quarry. TomVan Brunt, a St. Lo pilotreturning from the abortedmorningantisubmarinepatrol

with the other VC-65 fliers,heard a squeaky voice overhisheadset:“This is 81 Georgia. Are

there any other Georgiaplanesinthearea?”Alow,slowsoutherndrawl

came in reply. “This is 84Georgia. I have you in sight.I’lljoinup.”“This is81Georgia.What

kindofarmsdoyouhave?”“I’mloadedwithhundred-

pound antipersonnel bombs.Whatdoyouhave?”“I have the same loading.

What kind of target do youthink we should take, 84Georgia?”“Webettertryoneofthem

destroyers.”“This is 81 Georgia. I’m

senior toyou,and I thinkweoughttoattackabattleship.”“This is 84 Georgia,” the

voicedrawled.“Won’t dono

good.”Now81Georgiadrewona

sourceofmotivationfarmorepowerfulthanmererank:“84Georgia, ifyou’rescared,gobacktothecarrier.”“Thisis84Georgia.I’llgo

anywhere you go,God damnit!”The Japanese cruisers

endured a savage strafingattackby thefighterpilotsofTaffy 3. Lt. Jim Murphy of

theKalininBay’sVC-3foundthe Japanese fleet almostimmediately upon clearingthe rain-squall that wasdrenchingthecarrier’sdecks.He owed the honor of

flyingthatdaytohisfleetnessof foot: he had beaten hisexecutiveofficerGilHallidayby a few steps to the lastplane on the flight deck.“LittleMurph” was preparedto yield to superior rank, but

Halliday yielded to speed.Murphyhadgottentherefirst—“Goahead,”Halliday said,“and good luck.” Murphytookoffat7:25,thelastplaneofftheship.He joined Lt. Ken Hippe

and Ens. George Heinmillerin strafing a heavy cruiser.Over Leyte the day before,LieutenantHippehadbecomean ace in seven minutes,shooting down five twin-

engine Lily bombers thatwereheadedforMacArthur’stroops. Hippe’s targets nowwere considerably larger, ifless prone to disintegratingunder his guns.Pushingoverand diving down as if ridingan invisible waterfall, thepilotsmade threerunsbeforebecoming separated. Murphythen formed up with Lt.LeonardPorterfield anddoveonanothercruiser.Porterfieldtold Murphy he was out of

bullets and headed forTacloban.LittleMurph’snextdance partner was Ens. PaulHopfner, who formed up onhiswingandhelpedhimruinaJapanesedestroyer’sday.Thefire thatmet thepilots

over the fleet wasconsiderable. “How thoseJaps could shoot so manyguns and still not hit anyonereally hadme fooled,”wroteMurphy. But there was little

doubt as to the effectivenessof the pilots’ own shooting.After his second pass on thecruisers, Murphy noted withsatisfaction that the Japaneseships were maneuvering toavoidthem.

TheKalininBaytookherfirsthitsat 7:50, just as Blue Archerwas firing his rockets at theheavy cruiser. Steaming onthe windward side of theformation,exposedtoviewas

the smoke screen was blownwest, the carrier absorbedJapanese cruiser shells at therate of about one a minute.Someskippedlikerocksoverherdeck,gougingthewoodenflight deck and showeringsplinters into the air. In totalthe fragile CVE took fifteenhits from the cruisers’ eight-inchmainbatteries.Oneshellbreachedtheport

sideofthehulljustabovethe

machine shop, angled downthrough the machine shop,and burst in the freshwatertank and the fuel oil settlingtanks.Whileinvestigatingtheextent of the damage to thecritical oil tanks, engineeringofficer Lt. George H. Keelercould hear loud crashes andother novel sounds ofmaterial fracture and stress,“but above all others wecouldhearmenscreaming.”

The shells’ screechingimpacts scrapped the innardsof the Kalinin Bay rightbefore the crew’s horrifiedeyes. Armor-piercing shellspenetrated the thin hull andflight deck withoutexploding, turning the shipinto an oversized colander.Shells hitting below thewaterlinelettorrentsofoceanwaterrushin.In a narrow wedge of a

compartmentat theverybowoftheship,seamanfirstclassMorris Turner was up to hiswaist in water pouring inthrough two holes left by ashell that had punched cleanthroughbothsidesofthehull,right at the waterline.Mattresses and large corksandpillowsfloatedallaroundhim as he struggled to keepthe debris clear of the intakeof the submersible pump hewas operating. Other sailors

in the compartment pressedmattresses up against theshell holes. But every timetheshipmovedoutofawavetrough and plunged intoanother swell, the suddenincrease in water pressureshoved aside the mattressesandforcedmorewaterin.Standing in the rising

water, Turner had troublegaining leverage against theincomingflow.Afterhoursof

work, struggling to keep thepumps operating and theinflowdown,heandtheothersailors brought the waterdown to amanageable level.In so doing they very likelysaved their ship. If thecompartment had failed, theKalinin Bay’s bow wouldhave plowed under the sea,theswampedshipwouldhavelost her speed andseaworthiness, and in allprobability the Japanese

would have caught her. Shewould have met that fate nomatter the heroics of hercrew.Escortcarrierswerenotbuilt to take fifteen major-caliber hits and survive. ButtheKalininBay did just that.Shells damaged herdegaussing cables and toreshelving and rupturedbulkheads and opened thehull to flooding.They rippedsix holes in the flight deckand wrecked support beams

belowit.Theypuncturedlubeoil tanks, contaminating theship’s freshwater system,ruined radio and radar gear,sprayed compartments withmetal splinters, filledpassageways with noxiousfumes and gases, ignitedacetylene bottles, startedelectrical fires, and renderedbunkrooms uninhabitable.The extent of the ship’s luckwastrulystaggering.

The day before one well-placed Japanese bomb hadsunk Halsey’s light carrier,the Princeton; a singletorpedo had once filled theskieswith the remainsof theLiscomeBay.Somehownow,however, theCVE known astheLuckyK.tookfifteenhardblows from heavy cruisershells—at least fiveofwhichexploded—andsailedonwithjust five dead and fifty-fivewounded.Itisastoundingthat

her losses were not far, farhigher.

***

AT 7:50 ADMIRAL KURITA’Sforce was spread out overfifteen miles of ocean as itpursued Sprague’s fleeingcarriers. The crippledKumano, assisted by theSuzuya, lagged behind as thewesternmostJapaneseshipasshecompleted the transferof

AdmiralShiraishi’s flag.ThelightcruiserNoshiro,headingacolumnofsevendestroyers,passedthetwocrippledheavycruisers to their north but,forced to circle by viciousstrafing attacks by Wildcatfighters, came onto asouthwardcourse thatcarriedher away from the eastward-chargingYamato,theNagato,andtheHaruna.Northeastofthethreeotherbattleships,theKongowasrunningsoutheast

andturningawideclockwisecircleasshetracedthecourseof the four heavy cruisers inlineaheadofher.Those fourships—the Tone, theChikuma, the Haguro, andthe Chokai— on the othersideofalargerainsquallfromthe Yamato, ran south bysoutheast, turning an arcthrough the compass towardthe south, matching ZiggySprague’scircularcourse.

As the Japanese cruisersbore down on the jeepcarriers, the American pilotssteppedupthetempooftheirattacks, buzzing the shipswith the ferocity of hornets,determined to drive themback at whatever cost.AccordingtoZiggySprague:

The Wildcat pilots weregivenafreehandtostrafe,with the hope that theirstrafing would killpersonnelontheJapaneseships, silence automatic

weapons, and, mostimportant, draw attentionfrom the strugglingescortcarriers. Sometimes two,or four, Wildcats wouldjoinup forastrafingrun.Again, a Wildcat wouldjoin up and runinterference for anAvenger. Then, likely asnot, itwouldturnout thatthe Avenger had notorpedoorbombandwassimply making a dummyrun. When theirammunition gave out, thefighters also made dryruns to turn the pursuers.Lt. Paul Garrison, of

Seaside, Oregon, madetwentystrafingruns,tenofthemdry.

“The attack was almostincessant,” Kurita’soperations officer, Cdr.TonosukeOtani,wouldwrite,“but the number of planes atanyoneinstantwasfew.Thebombers and torpedo planeswere very aggressive andskillful, and the coordinationwas impressive; even incomparison with the great

experience of Americanattack that we had alreadyhad,thiswasthemostskillfulworkofyourplanes.”

Twenty-nine

Lt. (jg) Thomas J. Lupo, anAvenger pilot from theFanshawBay,wasoneofthefirst pilots to reach Taclobanonce the initial wave ofattacks by Taffy 3’s pilotshad crested and broken andscattered in searchofaplaceto land. TheVC-68 flier had

made run after run with hissquadronmates, dropping hisbomb load, exhausting hisammunition, and capping offhis morning by throwingassorted loose itemsfromhiscockpit at the Japanese fleet:a Coke bottle, a navigationboard, and other vaguelyballisticmiscellany.Hewas awild sort of kid,

with a dangerous look and areckless demeanor. His

father, a New Orleans realestate developer, had tried tokeep his son on a productivetrack, paying an architecturalfirm to hire him during hissummers off from Tulane.But ultimately he was notoptimistic about Tommy’sfuture. The kid was given tocrazy stunts: driving hisconvertiblefromthebackseatwith his feet on the steeringwheel, drinking all night,playingpranks, chasinggirls.

Once his dad had tried towarn off Tommy’s bride-to-be, declaring to her father,“Don’t you let that girl getinvolved with my son. Thatboy will never amount toanything.”True to form, Lupo’s

interest inaviationseemedtogrow out of defiance of hisparents’ will. In high schoolhe sold enough magazinesubscriptionstoearnatripby

air to New York, but hisparentsrefusedtolethimgo.When news arrived that theJapanese had struck PearlHarbor, Lupo was playingpokerwithhisbuddiesat thehouse. He seized the chancefor an even granderadventure.Theybrokeupthegame on the spot and randown to the New Orleanscustoms house, looking toenlist.By the timehewas inoperational flight training at

Otay Mesa, California,Tommy Lupo still hadn’tkicked his inclination forderring-do. He was alwayshappy to demonstrate hisaileroncontrolbybuzzingthemarshes low enough towhipup a storm of mud with hispropeller wash. But he wasalsoaproficienttorpedopilot.During the Saipan campaignhe had had more than a fewchances to put his dash intouseful service on ground

support missions against thedug-in Japanese. Such wasthe genius of the Navy’sBureau of Personnel tochannel the rowdiness ofyouth toward productiveends.Lupo eased back the

throttle of his Avenger andlanded on Taclo-ban,weaving across the muddytarmac pocked with bomband artillery craters and

strewn with wreckedmachinery. As a relativelynew acquisition for its U.S.Army conquerors, the fieldwas still pitted by thehandiwork of Americanbombers and strewnwith theremains of Japanese aircraft.ArmyengineersandSeabees,as the men of the Navy’sconstruction battalion werecalled, were working torehabilitate the airstrip. Theywere pouring truckloads of

crushedcoral into themuddypatches around the strip,layingabaseonwhichtolaysteel-mesh Marston runwaymatting. But the mud wasdeep, and so the coralvanished “like chunks ofvanilla ice cream into asarsapa-rilla soda.” Lupobrought his torpedo bomberdownontoareasonablysolidstretch of runway, cut hisengine,androlledtoastop.

The first person Lupo sawupon climbing out of thecockpit of the “BayouBomber” was an Armybulldozer operator. Knowingthat any fighter planes thatlanded on the field wouldneedmore space thanhehadneeded to land safely, Lupoasked the bulldozer driver toclear somemore roomat theend of the runway. Then,spying crates of ammunition,pyramids of 250-pound

bombs, and drums of fuelstockpiled alongside theairfield, Lupo demanded toknow who was in charge ofthe operation. The driverpointedtoanArmymajor.The major was already

morethanalittleinterestedinwho had dared park a Navyplane on his airfield, whichwas still in the care of theArmy engineers and theirbulldozers, trucks, and roller

rigsandwouldsoonbehometo a Marine night fightersquadron that was setting upforoperations.Lupotoldhimof the desperate naval battleragingoverthehorizontothenortheast. “We’ve got sixjeep carriers out there underattack, and our planes havenowhere to land and rearm,”Lupo said. “I’d like to getsome of this fuel and thosebombsandammunitionsowecan bring our planes here,

load them up, and get backoutthere.”Themajortookadimview

of the request. “We’ve got awargoingonheretoo.Ican’tgive you this stuff. I’ve gotplanes coming here in seventotendays—P-51sandP-47s—and these bombs are forthem.”“I have to tell you,Major,

if we don’t get these bombsandstopthisJapfleet,they’re

gonnacomeinhereandbombthehell out of this place andmaybe recapture it. Thentheir planeswill be droppingthese bombs on you. I’vegotta have these bombs, sir,or we’ll have a disaster onour hands.” Lupo askedwhothemajor’ssuperiorwas.The Army officer

mentionedacolonelwhowasstationedouttowardthefront.“He’soutfightingawar,and

I’mnotgoingtobotherhim.”“Well,” Lupo said, “that’s

justtoobad.”The pilot pulled out his

service revolver and pointedit at the major. Then Lupohanded the pistol to hisradioman, Earl Gifford,instructing the flabbergastedaircrewmantoholdtheArmyofficer at bay. Lupo climbedinto the cockpit of his planeand hailed the Fanshaw Bay

ontheradio.Hisfellowpilotsfrom VC-68 and other Taffy3 squadrons were alreadyinbound.Army antiaircraft gunners

opened fire on a gaggle ofstrange planes circling thefield.Ittookthemonlyafewbeats to recognize they wereNavy aircraft. Graduallyawakening to the direcircumstances of Sprague’sfleet and his daring aviators,

the men at Tacloban clearedthewayforthepilotstoland.The strip wasn’t ready. Thesixinchesoflooseblacksandthat covered the field whenTaffy3’saviatorsarrivedwasa lousy surface to land on.Making matters worse, therewere as yet nocommunications facilities inplace to guide the planes in;noservicesquadronstorefueland rearm them and take thewounded pilots to field

hospitals; no airdrome orcontrol tower to coordinatethetrafficanddeterminehowthe planes would be parked.The result was going to bechaos.The first plane from the

newgrouptoucheddownonasolid stretch of runway, spedforward, caught its landinggear in the soft sand, andpitchedforwardontoitsnose.The pilot coming in behind

him,seeingthewreck,pulledout of his landing approachand roared away for anotherpass. At that, the rest of theinbound planes dispersed“like a flight of birds at thefirst crack of a shotgun,” anobserverwrote.Unexpectedly, a voice

came on the pilots’ radiocircuit: “Navy planes, Navyplanes. This is Taclobanairstrip, beneath you. Can

you hear me? Come in,please.”ItwasayoungArmyAir Force officer withTacloban’s fighter controlgroup, Lt. Edward Worrad.Drivingaradio-equippedjeepastheplaneswerecircling,hewas accompanied by a Navyfighter director officer, Lt.Russell Forester, in anotherradio jeep. Stranded ashore,Forester had been champingat the bit for days as battlesragedinthewatersallaround

him.Nowhewasfinallyinaposition to help. As Worradstayed in touch with theplanes in the air, Forestermade contact with theSeventh Fleet’s air controllerin Leyte Gulf and informedhim of Tacloban’savailability.Athirdman,Sgt.Sam Halpern fromTacloban’s service squadron,joinedthem,checkingouttheplanes that Worrad guideddown.

Before long the threemenhadpiecedtogetheranout-of-pocketaircontrolandsupportsquad. Hastily mustering aplane-handling gang frommembers of the 305thAirdrome Squadron, theyhelped dozens of NavyWildcats and Avengers landon the Army field as thebattle raged off Samar. TheArmy volunteers rightedflipped aircraft, extinguishedfires, and loadedbombsonto

the unfamiliar Navy planes.Thepilotspitchedin,helpingto arm and service theirplanes before taking offagain.Japaneseairraidsweresporadic throughout the day.And friendly planes posedhazardstoo.Somepilotswhotook off amid the fragilelymanaged chaos experiencedharrowing and unsolicitedgames of chicken: anAvenger landing and taxiingdownthestripsouthtonorth,

while a Wildcat roaredoverhead, taking off north tosouth.Itwasnotby-the-bookairfieldmanagement,buttheygotthejobdone.Serviced and flown off

with the help of Armypersonnel and Navy pilots,the pilots hooked up withNavy air control throughLieutenant Forester’s jeepradio and were vectored tostrike at the Japanese fleet.

Fuel and oil trucks skirtedaround the edge of the strip,their drivers diving flat ontothe black sand wheneverstrafingJapaneseplanescamein. At one point a trio ofenemyfightersflewinsolowthat Sam Halpern mistookthem for friendlies in thepatternandgavethemagreenlighttoland.Incomingplaneswere waved off while eightbig graders and four rollerslumbered across the tarmac,

flattening out the little hillsand dales of sand made bytaxiing aircraft. As soon asthey cleared the strip, wavesofNavyfliersroaredinagain.Only eight planes were totallosses at Tacloban that day.Not a single pilot trying tolandtherewaskilled.

***

BLUE ARCHER, OUT OF ammo,flew wide circles over and

around the Japanese fleet,dropping down to make dryruns on them before passingout of range, climbing again,and wheeling around foranother run. Working fromthreeorfourthousandfeet,hewoulddive to a fewhundredfeet over his targets and lethisgunnerandradiomantakepotshots at whatever targetswere handy. After severalsuch runs his gunner, in theball turret, and his radioman,

on the bilge gunbelow, bothreported they were out ofslugs. Archer was ready tocall it a day and head forTacloban.Butthenheheardamessage from the carriersrequesting a torpedo attack.This suggested desperatecircumstances.Whoever sent themessage

hadtohaveknowntherewerefew torpedoes in circulationamong Taffy 3’s planes.

Archer waved his wings,signaling two other pilots toform up on him. He passedthrough a squall and gotdown on the water, runningstraightforabattleship.Thenit happened. The shellexploded no more thantwenty yards ahead of him.“It was like running into abrick wall,” he recalled.Slumped in his seat with aconcussionandaback injurythatmade him numb,Archer

fought through the pain andlooked to his left. Where asecondbefore therehadbeena pilot flying on his wing,nowallhesawwasacloudofindeterminate aircraft partshurtlingineverydirection.Archer kept his course

toward the battleship. Heopened his bomb bay doorsfor show,hoping topersuadethedreadnought toveer fromitscourse.Then,ashebegan

to pull up over the ship,Archer rolled his Avengeroveron itsbackand tookhis.38-caliber service revolverfromitsholster.Running on anger born of

pain and not a littleadrenaline, he squeezed thetrigger repeatedly, sendingsix rounds into the darksuperstructure of thebattleship. As he flew overthe warship, Archer noticed

thattheJapanesegunnershadstopped firing at him. TheArkansan swears he saw thefaces of Japanese bridgepersonnelstaringupathiminbewilderment. He surmisedthen,andbelievestothisday,that the Japanese saw himand, seeing his narrow faciallines, goatee, and squintingappearance, took him for aJapanese pilot flying acaptured plane and mistookhispistol shots for signalsof

somekind.Archer loitered over the

enemy fleet for thirty moreminutes, reporting theirmovements over the openfrequencytotheairofficerontheKalininBaybefore flyingto Tacloban and landing atLieutenantWorrad’sairstrip.

Thirty

For Captain Hathaway,conning the Heermannthrough thecanteringherdofCVEs amid heavy smoke,spray, and fog en route tojoining the torpedo run hadbeennominoradventure.TheHeermann had nearlycollidedwiththeRobertsand

theHoelonthewaytoattack.Now that his destroyer wasclear of the carriers,navigationwastheleastofhistroubles. The sea all aroundthe ship boiled with enemysalvos.When thenearest Japanese

ship, a Tone-class heavycruiser, was just ninethousand yards away,Hathaway ordered a halfsalvo of five torpedoes fired

ather.Withthetubestrainedper executive officer Lt. BillCarver’s coordinates, chieftorpedoman Arthur Owensorderedmountnumberonetofire her five fish. But whenthe command went out—“Fire one … Fire two”—thetubetraineronthesecondtorpedo mount got excitedand fired two of the fivetorpedoeshewassupposedtobe reserving for a secondattack. Before the mount

captain could stop him, theyjumpedoutandranparalleltotheir counterparts, leavingonly three torpedoes for thesecond launch. TheHeermann’s seven torpedoesleft the ship cleanly, hot,straight,andnormal.Though Bill Carver

reported over the sound-powered phones four largecontacts, giving their rangeoff the port bow, Harold

Whitney, the Heermann’schief yeoman, couldn’t seethem.Noonecouldasyet:“Itwas an odd day—onemoment the sun was shiningandtheskyseemedclearasabell, and the next momentyouwereinarain-squallanditwasdarkasnight.Therainblottedoutour radar, andwehadnowayof knowing howclose we were to thebattleships.” Suddenly theHeermann emerged from a

squall, and all too clearly,dead ahead, lay the fourlargest ships Kurita had. Lt.Bill Meadors, the gunneryofficer,couldseetwoKongo-classbattleshipsadvancingincolumn. Beyond them,looming in the haze, weretwo ships that looked evenbigger. Whitney figured theHeermannwouldbe sunkonthe spot. The bigger ships,however, seemed to behaving trouble targeting the

small destroyer at closerange.Lieutenant Meadors had

the Haruna square in thesights of his director scope.He could see the battleship’sfour double-barrel fourteen-inch main turrets, housingrifles fifty-four feet long,turned out to starboard in afrighteningarray.Flashesandsmokeseemedtoswallowtheship each time it fired. First

the front and back turretsfired, and four shellsscreamed overhead at mastlevel, hitting the ocean athousand yards beyond thedestroyer.Thenthetwohigh-mounted turrets let go. TheHeermann madly returnedfire all along. LieutenantMeadors had the firing keyclosed,whichcausedthegunsto discharge as soon as theirprojectile trayswere rammedinto thebreech.Another roar

camefromtheHaruna,afullbroadside, and thebattleship’s four turrets,flashing as one, “illuminatedthe entire ocean on ourstarboard hand,” Meadorswrote. The eight heavyrounds screamed overheadandmissed.Salvos from the Haruna

and three other battleshipsraised walls of water allaround the ship.Thecolorful

towers blotted out the blueandgray skies.Watching thenear misses bracketing hisship and cascading over hissuperstructure made AmosHathaway “wish [he] had aperiscope with which to seeover the wall of water.”“Everything looked rosy,”hewould write, “but onlybecause the splashes werecoloredredbythedyeloads.”The Haruna’s gunnery

officer,Cdr.MasaoGondaira,saw the sleek lines of hisantagonist and believed hewas dueling a heavy cruiser.Harold Whitney had fewerillusions as he played apointless game of hide-and-seek with the inboundbombardment: “The guns ofthe leading Jap blazed, and Icould see three little dots,lookinglikerustyspotsinthesky, coming directly at me.Thelittlerustyspotscameon,

andIduckedbehindthewingof the bridge, a little thinpiece of metal that wouldn’tstopa.45-caliberpistolslug.”The first salvos missed,slapping the sea in a ladderpattern three hundred yardslong.Whitney lookedupandsaw that the ship’s signalhalyardshadbeencut in twoand the rangefinderhadbeenloppedoff.Ashewaslookingup, something smaller hitthem—asmallshellormaybe

some shrapnel—and woodensplinters flew, the remnantsofthemotorwhaleboatblownfromitsdavits.Lieutenant Meadors’s five

main battery crews firedsome 260 shells at thebattleship. From close range,four to eight thousand yardsaway, Meadors watched hisshells explode all along theship’smenacing form. Itwasanyone’s guesswhat damage

the fifty-four-pound roundsdid to the armored giant.Judging by the smoke andflame that wreathed thebattlewagon’s toweringsuperstructure, it wasreasonable to think thedestroyer was giving back alittle bit of the hell that hadengulfed the bridges of theJohnstonandtheHoelshortlybefore. From what Meadorscould see, the effect wasconsiderable. About four

minutes went by duringwhich the Haruna laybroadsidetothedestroyerbutdidnotfireatall.While all this was

happening, the Heermann’sseven torpedoes bubbled ontheir course. The last threehadbeenfiredwithouttheaidof mechanical rangefinding.Whitneytookrangesfromthesurface radar and relayedthem to Owens, who calmly

turned the dials on thetorpedo mount. With asuddenreleaseofcompressedair, the torpedoes were ontheirway.It took less than ten

minutes for Hathaway’sdestroyer to fire seventorpedoes at a heavy cruiser,change course toward thebattleship line, engage thelead vessel with mainbatteries, fire three more

torpedoes, and turn to speedaway. Few warships inhistory had ever spent tenminutes more productively.At8:03Hathawayreturnedtothepilothousefromtheopen-air bridge and raised ZiggySprague on the TBS radio.His message was remarkablefor its professionalnonchalance:“Myexercise iscompleted.Over.” Hathawaywondered at his own choiceof words until he recognized

his instinct that the Japanesemight be eavesdropping onthe circuit, in which eventthere was no need to informthem that his ship had firedthelastofitstorpedoes.Shortly thereafter, as if to

reward Amos TownsendHathaway for his brio anddash—the only destroyercaptain in history to engagedirectly four battleshipssupported by heavy cruisers

and live to tell the tale—acloud of black smoke boiledup near the stern of theHaruna,beneathitshindmostfourteen-inch turret. Thevisualevidencewasfollowedclosely by a deep blastrumbling across thewater.AtorpedofromtheHeermann’sfinalspreadofthreeappearedtohavescored.Ironically,however,itmay

have been the first fan of

torpedoes,all sevenofwhichseemed to miss, that didZiggySpraguethemostgood.Theysizzledoff tothenorth,missing their intended target,the cruiser. Continuing on,they approached thebattleshipYamato. At 7:56 alookout on Kurita’s flagshipsignaled thewarning, “WATCH

OUT FORTORPEDOTRACKS.” Thenthe Nagato spotted threetracks approaching tostarboard. Duly warned, the

vessel’s commander, Adm.Yuji Kobe, ordered a hardturn toport.As thewakesofthe torpedoes passedalongside the Nagato tostarboard, the battleshipopened fire on a “cruiser”—probablytheHeermann—atacloserangeof9,400yards.All of a sudden two more

torpedoes were seenapproaching the Yamato toport. The helmsman turned

her rudder hard over to port,puttingthesuperbattleshipona northward course, awayfrom its quarry, so as topresent the smallest possibleprofile to the torpedoes. Itwas a panicked decision.Admiral Ugaki should haveturned toward the torpedoes,combing their tracks inpursuit rather than in retreat.For tendecisiveminutes—“itfelt like a month to me,”wrote Ugaki—the parallel

spreads hemmed in the greatship, pinning her into anoutboundcourse.The instinct for survival

demonstrated by theYamato’scommanderseemedto put the lie to any notionthat theCenterForcewasonaone-waymission,drivenbythe “heavenly guidance” thatAdmiralToyodahad invokedfrom Combined FleetHeadquarters.Atthemoment

ofdecisiontheofficersoftheYamato succumbed to theuniversal impulse to savetheir ship. They held thecourse north until thetorpedoes’ alcohol reservoirsburned dry. By the time theunderseamissilesceasedtheirpursuit, disappearing into thefour-thousand-fathom depthsof the Philippine Trench,UgakihadtakentheYamato’ssixty-nine-foot-long guns,and the Center Force’s brain

trust, clear out of the battle.In the engagement’s firstminute, Kurita had forfeitedcontrol of his fleet byordering a hurried generalattack. Now, having fallenback more than thirtythousand yards from thefleeingescortcarriers,helostwhat limited ability heretained to command anddirecthisforce.

Torpedoes from thedestroyer Heermann chasethe battleship Yamatonorthward, taking AdmiralKurita’s flagship out of thebattle at a critical moment.Meanwhile, Japanese heavycruisers, ledby theTone andtheChikuma, press down onthe escort carrier formation.The Samuel B. Roberts firesher torpedoes. Cdr. AmosHathaway’s Heermann, still

not hit, engages enemybattleshipsandheavycruisersatcloserange.

***

AT 7:50 A.M., AS AdmiralStump’sTaffy2carrierswerelaunchingthelastoftheirfirstair strike in support of Taffy3—a raid comprising fifteenAvengers and twentyWildcats—Admiral Spragueradioed to his destroyer

escorts,“Allsmallboysgoinand launch torpedo attack.”The Johnston and the Hoelhad already passed intoharm’s way and launchedtheirfish;theRobertsandtheHeermann were at thatmoment only minutes awayfrom releasing theirs. Thenew order sprang theDennisand theRaymond intoaction.The John C. Butler, layingsmoke on the far southernsideoftheformation,wasout

of position to intercept thespeedingenemycruisers.Itwaspreposteroustosend

a destroyer escort against anenemy’s main surface fleet.Theydidn’tdo itonpaperattheNavalWarCollege,andithad not happened in thewhole course of the warleadingup toOctober25.AstheDennis and theRaymondsortied, BobCopeland’s shipwas fighting like a true

hunter-killer, bidding to takedown a heavy cruiser on theopensea.TheHoel had firedtwo salvos of five torpedoeseach. The Heermann hadfired seven, then three. IfCopeland was lucky, theSamuel B. Roberts wouldsoonbeinpositiontofirehersinglesalvoofthree.In a quieter time, in

Hawaii, before the ship’sdeparture for the far reaches

ofthewesternPacificcombatzone, the admiral whocommanded U.S. destroyerforces in the Pacific hadinformed Copeland that hehad recommended replacingthe Roberts’s torpedo tubeswith a new forty-millimetergun mount. Copeland hadsurprised even himself withthe tenor of his refusal:“Admiral, somedaysomebody is going to forgetwe’re boys and send us over

to do a man’s work. If I’meversenttodoaman’swork,I want a man’s weapons.”ThenCopelandsmiledalittle.“Admiral,asfarasmyshipisconcerned, the torpedo tubeswill be removed over mydead body.” Due either toCopeland’s persuasive skillsor to lack of follow-throughby the bureaucracy, theSamuel B. Roberts left PearlHarbor with her one tripletorpedomountinplace.

Now her captain had achance to do what nodestroyer escort had donebefore and actually use themagainstanenemyheavy.Copeland was glad he

hadn’t wasted precious timetrying to form up with theother DEs on the far side ofTaffy3’sringformation.LikeCaptains Evans, Kintberger,and Hathaway before him,Copeland knew that his first

and only chance to stagger alarger foe depended on hisperformancenow.As the Roberts closed on

the cruiser line, Lt. BillBurton,Copeland’sgunboss,wasanxioustoopenfirewithhis two five-inch guns.Burton’stwoguncrewswereprimed and ready. But therewere still about thirteenthousand yards of oceanbetween theRoberts and her

target, a sleek heavy cruiser,probably the Chokai,steaming off the starboardbow. Every few minutes heasked, “Captain, may I openfire?”His skipper thoughthehad “ants in his pants.”Copeland didn’t want towaste valuable five-inchammunition at extendedrange, where aim was diceyandhittingpowerdiminished.Hewanted to get closer, andso far, so good. He doubted

the Japanese ship had yetspottedhim.The sea throughwhich the little ship chargedwaswreathed in smoke fromthe destroyers that hadattacked ahead of her.Though numerous targetspresented themselves,Copeland denied Burton’srequest to open fire. Thegunnery officer kept therequests coming until finallyCopeland shouted, “Goddamn it, Mr. Burton, I’ll let

you know when you mayopenfire!”Through smoke that was

thick but intermittent,Copeland’s visibilityalternatedbetweenabout fivemiles and zero.On the radarscope’s PPI screen, he couldsee the two green-whiteslivers of the Americandestroyers running southtoward him. Aided by thescope, he had little risk of a

collision, poor visibility ornone.Thetorpedoattackwasin excellent hands; BobRobertswasliningitup.Theexec wanted to close to fivethousand yards and launchthethreefishonahigh-speed,forty-five-knot setting. Atthat speed, and from thatrange,thetorpedoeswouldbedifficult for the target cruiserto spot and avoid. Seated onthe triple torpedo mount,chief torpedomanRudySkau

had his speed-setting wrenchin hand, preparing to matchhis aiming pointers to thecoordinates relayed by theexec.Suddenly there was a

windy, ripping rush and acrash of metal as a Japaneseshell passed through theRoberts’s rigging. The shellsevered the radio antenna,and a large section of it,carrying a mass of dangling

wires, fell down across thedeck, whipping over Skau’shand, nearly breaking it, andknocking thewrench into thewater before the adjustmentscouldbemade.Thetorpedoeslay in their tubes, still set onintermediate speed. A sparewrenchwaskeptdowninthetorpedo shack, but Robertsand Skau both knew therewasnotimetofetchit.As the Samuel B. Roberts

closed with its target, BobRoberts reran the firingsolution in his head: theenemy’s course and speed,and its rangeandbearingoffthe bow, determined thetorpedospeed,deflection,andgyro setting. The variableswere complex, and over thelong course of a three-milerange to target, even a smallerrorcouldbecomemagnifiedinto a gross inaccuracy. Butthe exec, quick with

calculations, managed hisbest guess and shouted thetube train settings down toChiefSkau.TheChokaiwasunleashing

withering fire from herforward eight-inch batteries.But her gunners were nottargeting the Roberts. Theyeither did not see or did notcareaboutthesmallshipwiththe low silhouette. No shellslanded near her, though the

shells arcing high overheadtoward the carriers—orperhaps it was the blasts ofthe gun muzzles themselves—buffeted the destroyerescortwiththeirturbulence.Time seemed to stop, yet

beforeCopelandknew it, theRoberts was just fourthousand yards from thecruiser line, a little over twomiles,andhisthreetorpedoeswere waterborne, racing

toward the cruisers on BobRoberts’s improvised firingsolution. On the broadocean’ssurfacefourthousandyardswaspoint-blankrange.Copeland, his ship as yet

unscathed,orderedahardleftrudder, turning the Robertsback throughherownsmokeand toward the carriers.Down below, LieutenantTrowbridge brought everypound of steam pressure on

line.Thedeckshookfromthetwin turbines’ whining,roaring labors. The ship ranpast its rated limits, totwenty-eightandahalfknotsandpossiblybeyond.Astimeran down on the torpedo run—three or four minutes—Copeland indulged himselfwithapeekastern.Throughagap in the smoke, he wastreated to the sight of asteaming column of waterand flame rising from below

theaftermastofwhathetookfor an Ao fez-class cruiser.Possibly it was the Chokai.As the Samuel B. Robertsraced back to her station tolay smoke by the carriers,Copeland heard someoneyell, “We got her!” A cheerwent up from all hands ondeck,asifsomeonehadhitalate-inninghomer.

***

FROM HIS GUN DIRECTOR, BobHagen looked forward overtheJohnston’s starboardbowand was shocked to see anAmerican destroyer on acollision course. It was theHeermann. The destroyeremergedfromasmokescreenheading straight at Evans’sship, just two hundred yardsaway. Evans shouted, “Allengines back full!” EdDiGardirantothepilothouseandpulled“backfull”on the

engine room telegraph andorderedaleftfullrudder.TheJohnston’s riddled hullshudderedas itsoneworkingpropeller bit into the water.TheHeermann did the samewithhertwinscrews.Stationed on the depth

charge racks on theJohnston’s fantail, Bob Dealwas nearly pitched over theside from the sudden changeinmomentum:“Oursterndug

deep into the sea, and theocean boiled over the afterdeck.”Aswaterengulfed thedestroyer’s fantail, theHeermannwassoclose—lessthan ten feet—that someonecould have hurdled over tothe other ship’s deck.Crewmen watching let out aroar of celebration as theships backed down. Severalcrew on the Johnston’s deckatthispointsawthewakesofthree torpedoes passing

silently below the surface,narrowly missing the ship.The two ships formed upmomentarily into column—theHeermann would outracethe damaged Johnstonquickly enough—and headedsouthasternthecarriers.At some point between

8:08 and 8:24 theHeermannwasfiringitsmainbatteriesattargets to starboard whenchief yeoman Harold

Whitney,CaptainHathaway’stalker,heardoverhisheadsetanexcitedshout fromaport-side lookout. Appearingunexpectedly out of thesmoke and haze came adestroyer.Fromthestarboardbridgewing,Whitney lookedacrosshisship’snarrowbeamandsaw the tincansteamingclose alongside to port.Walkingovertotakeacloserlook, he saw the sharp risingprow, the blocky

superstructure, the twinmaingun mount, and the foreigndress of a sailor scurryingaround pointing at theAmerican destroyer, and herealized the ship wasJapanese. “I could havethrown a potato and hit thatkid running around there,”Whitneysaid.Whitney returned to the

starboard bridge wing andcalled the shocking

development to AmosHathaway’s attention,recommending that he orderthe Heermann’s machine-gunners to engage theintruder atpoint-blank range.Unfazed, the skipper said tohis talker, “I can’t shoot atthem now. We’re busy withthese cruisers over here.”Evidentlytheimperialtincanhad other priorities as well.After several tense minutestheshippeeledofftoportand

disappeared through thesmoke and squalls that hadcovereditsarrival.

***

ZIGGY SPRAGUE’S FLATTOPS

SHOULD have been run downand butchered like antelopeon the steppe, but theycontinued to elude thatseemingly predestined fate.At 8:10 A.M. Sprague’scarriers were on a

southwesterly heading,fleeing with the wind. Thecruiser column led by theTone, followed by theChikuma, the Haguro, andtheChokai,was toSprague’snortheast, running south,working a clockwise circularcourse toward the southwest.The aggression of thescreening ships and thedoggednessofthepilotsweremaking their mark. Eightyminutes into the pursuit, the

Japanese still had notovertaken themforslaughter,their thirteen-knot speedadvantage notwithstanding.Everytimeapursuingcruiserhad to veer from course toavoid a TBM approachingwith torpedobaydoorsopen,Sprague won valuable time.Every time a Wildcat pilotrattled a cruiser’s pilothouse,sendingofficersdivingtothedeck, it delayed course-change orders and frustrated

the concentration of spotterspeering through theirbinoculars.As his carriers plodded

along on a course of 205degrees to the south-southwest, Sprague couldscarcelybelievehisluckuptothis point. At 8:14 FelixStumpheardhimontheradiosaying, “We have beenstraddled for the last halfhour. We have not been hit

yet. Their shooting is verybad.”Admiral Kurita tended to

see another reason for hisinability to close for the kill—his opponents were swiftfleet carriers and cruisers,able to outrun him on theirown.Kuritawatchedhisshipsfail to close the range andknew he could not afford tochase them forever. He hadhis own fuel shortages to

worry about. For all Kuritaknew,thiswastheU.S.ThirdFleet. Just fifteen hours agoHalsey’s and Mitscher’splanes had sunk one ofJapan’s two greatestbattleships, the Musashi.Aboard her sister ship, theYamato, there wasdisagreementaboutwheretheThird Fleet was. TheJapanesehadheardKinkaid’spleas for help from heavyAmerican ships. Though

Admiral Shiraishi on theKumano had reason to knowotherwise, having sighted“light carriers” and recordedthat fact in his log, he failedto report it to superiors.AndsoKuritacontinuedtobelievethat his opponents werelarger, faster, and morecapable than they actuallywere. He had no idea howdesperatehisenemywas.Though neither Ziggy

Sprague nor his captains hadany reason to know it, thebest way to turn back theJapanese onslaught was fortheir torpedoless tincansandtheir weaponless airplanes tokeepthebluffgoing.

Thirty-one

Following its near collisionwith the Heermann, theJohnston’s protracted streakof astonishing luck seemedsimply to run out. The shipwastakinghitsregularlynow.Shells struck in deepsyncopated rhythms, eachslightly less momentous and

terrifyingtothecrewthantheone before, anundifferentiated cadence thatseemed to diminish in effectas shell shock set in. Anarmor-piercing round passedthrough the thin metal of anexhaust stack withoutexploding. Another shellrained metal shards all overthe bridge, knocked crew tothedeck, and showered themwith asbestos insulation.Robert Billie felt something

strike his communicationsheadset, and somehow hismouthwas full of blood andbroken teeth. Down in theengine room the hits jarredasbestos lagging from thesteam pipes and blinked thelights. According to CharlesLandreth,“theshipfeltlikeitwas shaking apart…. Therewasanoiseontheearphones,and it felt like it blew myeardrums out. Then for ashort time the phones were

dead….Thensomeonegotonthe phones and said we hadbeenhit andeveryoneon thebridgehadbeenkilled.”Quartermaster Neil

Dethlefs could see a largeshipon thenorthernhorizon,brightflashesleapingfromitstwo forward turrets. Thesilent yellow strobes of lightwere followed, after a delayof several dozen seconds, bya rising, freight-train roar as

thelargeshellsrippedintothesea.He saw three hit to portand three more to starboard.“I was sure the next salvowas coming into thepilothouse,”hewrotelater.“Iprayed that if it did, Iwouldget the full package and notbe left with an arm or legmissing.”“Itdidn’tappearwewould

be alive much longer,” saidCharlesLandreth.“Uptothis

time the thought of us notmakingithadn’tbotheredmemuch.Istillhadnotseenwithmyeyespeoplegettingkilled.But that was soon to come.Fear was written oneveryone’sfaceintheengineroom.” The seniorengineering officer, Lt. JoeWorling, was coming andgoing,movingbackandforthbetweentheengineroomandthe fireroom that energizedhisturbineswithsteam.From

the expression in theirlieutenant’s eyes, the menunderstood their chances. “Icould tell by looking at himthat our ship was in its firstandlastsurfaceengagement,”Landrethsaid.

***

IFSHEERHUMANWILLcouldhavepropelled theUSSHoel on asouthwesterly course backtowardthecarriers,shewould

have made thirty-six knots.As it was, on only one goodengine,steeredmanually,andconfrontedwithanunceasingrain of fire from multipleenemy ships, the destroyerhad no chance to escape. Astherainsquallsbegantoyieldto the morning sun, theJapanese had a clear viewofthe stricken tin can, whichnow paid the price for LeonKintberger’sgallantheadlongrunintotheenemy’smidst.

The wounded vessel wastrapped ina savagecrossfire.A cruiser was close by, soclose at some four thousandyards that even the forty-millimetergunscouldhither.Theirrhythmicthumpingwasinsyncopationwiththeblastsof the two forward five-inchers. Targets were inoversupply, but so wereJapanese shells. They camefrom both sides, whistlingand roaring and crashing to

starboardandport;explodingoverhead, filling the air withcandy colors and showeringthe decks with shrapnel,drilling straight through thehull.LieutenantDix:

You heard the whistlingwhineandgrindingthud,The iron rumble

followingtheblast,The rattle of the

instrumentsandgear.You felt the shudder

runningthroughthehull.Theshakingofthedeck

beneathyourfeet.The quiver in your

limbsaseachonestruck.The masts and radars

toppleddownondeck,Main Radio and

Charthousetookahit,Boats,liferafts,stacks,

were riddled with thesprayOf leadand steel from

airburstscrashinghigh.

The decks were a killingfield. Bob Prater soughtrefuge in the aft torpedo

room, but it was full ofcorpses.Hemovedtotheportside and saw steam comingoutofthefireroom.“Themenwere coming out mortallyscalded…. There was bloodandbodieseverywhere.”Around this time the

skipper of the Raymond, Lt.Cdr.A.F.Beyer, Jr., spottedan American ship taking aterrificbeating.He thought itwas the Samuel B. Roberts,

but Copeland’s ship had yettobehit—itwasmore likelytheHoel. That he apparentlymistook the destroyer for adestroyer escort may havebeen testimony to thebattering Kintberger’s shiphadtaken.Hersilhouettewasscarcely even recognizableanymore.Hermasthadfallenover the superstructure. Shehad only two working five-inch guns. Captain Beyercouldseeherrapid-firesalvos

going out at the enemy. Thebombardment that came inreturn was horrifying. Itappeared to overwhelm her,swallowing the ship in a“curtainofflashes.”A salvo struck the Hoel

below the waterline, bullingthrough the forward engineroom and letting in the sea.Lt. Cdr. John Plumb gotmany of his men out beforethey were drowned at their

stations and secured theboilers before they couldblow. But this hit sealed theHoel’s fate. Her last enginewas gone. Slowly, and evermoreslowly,theHoeldrifted,her list worsening by theminute.Japanese heavy cruisers

and battleships were firingpoint-blank into her hull.Bobby DeSpain took coveron the deck beside the depth

charge racks. “Lying on thedeck,” he recalled, “I lookeddown at myself and thoughtI’d been hit. My body wascovered with blood and gorethathad flowedaft down theguttersontome.”The Hoel’s two forward

guns fired back, crudelyaimed, in the absence of aworking Fox Dog set andMark37gundirector, by thesurface-searchSG radar.The

Tone-class cruiser loomingjust two thousand yards toport had slowed down.Whether itdidsofrombattledamage or to steady its gunplatform for a final, killingfusillade is not known. Itpresented an excellent targetfor gunners who were notready to quit. The top hatchof Gun 52 was open, andChesterFay, theguncaptain,was standing up out of it,congratulatinghiscrewinthe

mount whenever they scoreda hit. On the bridgeLieutenant Dix saw him andwas moved: “He looked uptowardthebridgeasiftosay,‘We’re still not licked—we’ve got a few rounds left.We’ll sink the bastard if shestaysthatclose.’”Fayandhiscounterpartsin

Gun 51 swung their mountsto starboard and engagedthree destroyers closing in to

the point that machine gunscould have opened fire togood effect had they beenworking. Someone on thebridge shouted the commandto open fire, but power wasgoneandmostofthemenonthefortiesjustforwardofthesuperstructure were dead orwounded. Aft, the prospectswere still worse. The lightweaponry back there hadbeen ripped to pieces andsmashed, bent down and

wrenched from the deckplates. Dix saw the crews ofsome destroyed gunshunkeredbehindtheirshields.A shell from the Tone-classcruiser passed through abulkhead and through aforward magazine, starting afirethatragedbelowGun51.But its crew blasted away atone of the Japanesedestroyers, which continuedto press in, undaunted. OfftheHoel’sstarboardbow,the

stubbyblueformofaWildcatfighter plane appeared. Theaircraft fell on a Japanesedestroyer,coming in lowandfast, a rain of spent shellcases cascading from itswings. The storm of .50-caliber lead rattled theJapanese destroyer so hardthatthesoundofthericochetsand penetrations could beheard on the decks ofKintberger’sship.

AstheHoeldrifted,ashellstruck the forward stack. Lt.(jg)MylesBarrett,thesupplyofficer, was standing on thecatwalk by the forty-millimeter remote controlconsole, filming the battlewith the ship’s sixteen-millimetermoviecamera.Thehit set the ship’s whistleshrieking. Some of the crewthought it was the abandonship signal. From the bridge,Lieutenant Dix looked down

on the decks and watchedmendraggingwoundedtotherailsandleapingintothesea.“They took no life jackets,left rafts andnets, nothing tohold them up but their arms.More than a hundred musthave gone this way. Theycouldn’thearusyellingfromthebridge.”Roy Lozano was climbing

the ladder from the forwardfireroomwhentheblastwave

from the hit struck him.Whoever was above him onthe ladder was blown topieces. “The force of theexplosionwassogreat that itripped the seam right out ofmy pants,” he recalled. “Butwe continued to climb uponly to walk over deadbodies.When we arrived topside,

we went to the port side ofthe ship to try to get one of

the lifeboats down. I don’tknowwhywewere trying togetitdown,asitwasshotfullofholes.”The explosion in the

fireroom collapsed thebulkhead that separated itfromtheemergencygeneratorroom, a compartment be-lowdecks that housed theelectrical generator thatkicked in if main powerboardsfailed.GlenFoster,an

interior communicationselectrician, was knocked tothe floor as the generatortoppleddownonhim.Ashotsteam poured into his space,he pushed open the hatchleading forward from hissmallcompartmentbut foundonlysmokeandfire.Hetriedgoinguptothenextdeck,buttheescapehatchwasjammed.Foster panicked when hediscovered that he’d beenturning the hatch the wrong

way. He opened it finally,made his way through anescapehatch that led throughthe internal communicationsroom, and found that it hadbecomeacharnelhouse,piledto a sickening depth withbodiesandbodyparts.One of the hits the Hoel

took destroyed the ship’ssafe.Assupplyofficer,MylesBarrett was responsible fordisbursing cash to the crew

on payday. With theshattering of the large irondeposit box, suddenly it waspayday. “Money wasfluttering everywhere. Billscameblastingoutofaholeinthe bulkhead,” Barrett said.The fifty-dollar bills settledandstuckfastonthedeck,thegruesome windfall driftingwith the flowof blood downintothebilges.

***

THE SHIPS OF TAFFY 3’s screenfired the last of theirtorpedoes when CaptainsBeyer of the Raymond andSig Hansen of the Dennisanswered Sprague’s call,releasingtheirthreetorpedoesat a Japanese heavy cruisernotlongaftertheRobertsdid,and observing, but claimingnocredit for,at leastonehit.After his torpedoes weregone, Beyer wheeled theRaymond around to a 110-

degree course, swiftlycrossing four miles of sea,barking away with her mainbatteriesuntiltherangetotheJapanese heavy cruiser wasjust 5,700 yards. TheRaymond acquitted herselfwell enough in her ensuinggunnery duel with theHaguro to brag in anycompany. The crew in thehandlingroombelowGun52worked so hard that severalmen collapsed from heat

exhaustion. The aft repairpartyrelievedthem,withonlyslightly less impressiveresults, although some time-delay-fused antiaircraftrounds found their way intothe hoist, resulting in a fewshells exploding prematurelyen route to the target. TheRaymond fired414roundsoffive-inch ammunition at theHaguro, landing numeroushits all across hersuperstructure. Then,

improbably, the Haguroturned and headed away tothe east, and Beyer checkedtheRaymond’sfire.

***

THESMOKEFLOATINGOVER theseas in the vicinity of theJohnston was so thick thatCaptain Evans ordered BobHagen not to fire his batteryunless he could actually seewhatheintendedtoshoot.He

hadnoideawhathadbecomeof his sister ships in thescreen. No sense adding totheir misery by hitting themwithfriendlyfire.Through the smoke,

cruisingseventhousandyardsofftheJohnston’sportbeam,Hagen spotted the profile ofthe 36,000-ton British-builtmonster, the Kongo. Thepagoda superstructure andmainmast seemed to crowd

the shortened forecastle,wheretwotwinfourteen-inchgunmountslay.Athirdmainbatterymount sat justbehindtheaftermast.Somedistancefarther aft, set so far asterngun number three as toaccentuate her tremendouslength, was her fourth maingun.Hagen took in the sightofthebattleshipandmutteredto himself, “Well, I sure ashellcanseethat.”Oncemoreheslewedhisdirectortoward

a new target and closed hisfiringkey.In just forty seconds the

destroyer sent thirty shells atthe leviathan, landing byHagen’s estimation fifteenhits on the superstructuretower. “As far asaccomplishing anythingdecisive,itwaslikebouncingpaper wads off a steelhelmet,” Hagen would laterwrite, “but we did kill some

Japs and knocked out a fewsmallguns.Thenweranbackinto our smoke. The BBbelched a few fourteen-inchers at usbut, thankGod,registeredonlycleanmisses.”Several miles behind the

othersurvivingshipsofTaffy3’s screen, the Johnstonheaded south at half speed.Overtaking Evans’s ship toport was the cruiser line andthe battleships behind them.

To her right a line of enemydestroyers advanced togunnery range.Aswicked asthecrossfirewas,asightnowcommanded everyone’sattention on the Johnston’sbridge: an escort carrier,listing to port, dead in thewaterandtakingheavyfire.ItwastheGambierBay.

Thirty-two

Given her position on thewindward side of theformation, the Gambier Bayrode in nearly plain sight ofthe cruisers to her east, herown smoke screen, and thatofthetailingdestroyerscreenblowntothewest.Therewasno telling how many ships

haddrawnabeadonhernow.Under fire for nearly ninetyminutes, the Gambier Bay,steaming behind the KalininBay,tookherfirsthitat8:20,when a shell penetrated herforwardengineroom.Theseaflooded in, and even thestrenuous exertions of thebilgepumpsandtwoportablesubmersiblepumpscouldnotprevent the burners frombeing swamped. Asmachinists secured the

flooded boilers, the speeddifferential between thedamaged CVE and herpursuers opened widely. Thetight circle of Taffy 3’s sixescort carriers stretched andfracturedastheGambierBay,struggling along at elevenknots, dropped out of theformationandrecededtowardthecruisersclosing inonherportquarter.A signalman on the

Gambier Bay’s twenty-four-inch carbon arc searchlight,Don Heric, spotted threeshipstothesoutheastflashinga recognition signal. Theywere the Taffy 2 destroyersHailey,Haggard,andFranks,which Admiral Stump hadorderednorthtointerceptanyJapanese ships that mightpursue his CVEs. Ens. ColeWilliams, theGambierBay’ssignal officer, ordered Herictoacknowledgethechallenge

and request assistance. Thesignalmanopenedtheshuttersof his lamp and blinkered,“WE ARE UNDER ATTACK, PLEASE

HELP.” No sooner had hefinished the message than alargeshellrippedtheaircloseenough to burn his forearmsand knock Williams to thedeck. In turn, the Taffy 2destroyers blinkered Morsefor R— standard shorthandfor“messagereceived”—thenturned and withdrew to the

south. Upon learning at 8:17thatJapanesebattleshipshellswere straddling hisdestroyers, Taffy 2commander Admiral Stumpdecided against risking hismost capable escorts in adicey offensive action. If theJapanese destroyed Taffy 3and continued south, hewouldneedthemforhisowndefense.Chasedby salvosoffourteen-inch shells, theHailey, theHaggard,and the

Franks turned and racedsouth after having closed,unmolested, to within fifteenthousandyardsoftheHarunaandtheKongo.High above, Edward

Huxtable, commander of theGambier Bay’s air group,VC-10, sighted the carriertaking concentrated fire fromJapanesecruisers.AstheFM-2 Wildcats escorting himwinged over into strafing

runs, Huxtable turned,descended,and leveledoff ina mock torpedo attack. Hemade four such runs, eachtime keeping up the ruse,flying level with bomb baydoorsopen.Eachtimehedidso, he attracted a lot ofattention from Japaneseantiaircraft gunners. ThenHuxtable became aware ofreinforcementsontheway.“Iheard flight leaders from theother CVE group preparing

for attacks,” he said, “anddecidedthatthesituationwasmuch improved and left forTacloban at 0915 to bombup.”Itwasplain,however, that

theGambierBaywasindeeptrouble. When the engineroom was abandoned fiveminutesafter itsboilersweresecured, Lt. (jg) HankPyzdrowski,anAvengerpilotwhohadbeen strandedwhen

his ship turned out of theheadwind in favorof itsownsurvival, felt the intensity ofthe deck vibrations slacken.He looked up at the ship’stiny islandsuperstructureandsaw the battle ensign droop.With a boiler gone, theeighteen-knot ship could doonlyelevenknots.Shebeganlistingtoport.The volume of ordnance

flying the ship’swaywas so

great as to register on theship’ssurface-searchradar.IntheGambier Bay’s CIC, Lt.(jg) Bill Cuming waswatching the surface radar’sA-scope,takingrangesontheJapanese ships. Every nowand then a quick stray blipwouldappearon thegraph—the echo return from aninbound Japanese shell.Cuming could do nothingwith that information exceptappreciatehowlongtheodds

were against the shipsurvivingmuchlonger.Everyminute, it seemed,a

salvo landed near the ship.Usually at least one shell ineach salvo inflicted somedamage. The vibrationswereso severe, the men hadtrouble staying on their feet.A shellwentoff behindhim,andaviationmachinist’smatethird class Tony Potochniakwas knocked to the catwalk

on the port side of the ship.Hestoodandmovedforward,preoccupiedwith thoughts ofwhat the inscription on hisgravestonemightsay:Lostatsea,age19years.Potochniakfound bodies laid flat acrossthe bloodied wooden flightdeck. He entered acompartment that had beenturned intoa first-aid station.Lt.Cdr.WayneStewart,VC-10’s flight surgeon, shooedhimasidesohecouldgetata

severelywoundedsailorlyingon a stretcher. Just thenanother shell hit. The blastshowered shrapnel intoPotochniak’s hand and legsand cut down CommanderStewart as hewas tending totheman.Thedoctorfelldeadontopofhispatient.Photographer’s mate

second class Allen Johnsonwascrossingacatwalkwhenhe came upon a sailor

crumpledagainst abulkhead,clutchinghisarmsinfrontofhimandweepingsoftly.“I’mruined, I’m ruined,” the kidwas saying. Looking down,Johnson saw that hisabdomen had been tornwideopen. He walked forward,past a fortymillimeter gunmount, and encountered acrewman he had once heardgripingabouttheboredomoflifeonaCVE.“Whenarewegonnaseesomerealaction?”

thiskidhadwanted toknow.Johnsonlookedathimnow—he was glassy-eyed, gazinginto the distance—andcouldn’t resist a dig. “Well,buddy, is this enough actionfor you?” No answer camefromhis lips but a streamoflittlesalivabubbles.

***

AMOS HATHAWAY HEARD HISadmiral, Ziggy Sprague, cut

inontheTBScircuitat8:26:“Smallboysonmystarboardquarter, intercept enemycruisercominginonmyportquarter.”Eachcarrierhaditsown gun, a single-mountedfive-inch/38-caliber on itsfantail, and its crew knewhowtouseit.Buttofendoffcruisers,Spraguewouldneedthe help of a real surfacecombatant.Hathaway saw the

Johnston limping southward,trying to comply withSprague’s order. Itwas quiteevident, as Captain Evans’sstricken ship moved tointerdict,thatitwasn’tgettinganywhere fast on one screw.A signal light blinkered themessage“ONLYONEENGINEXNOGYRO X NO RADARS.” Thedestroyerwas in trouble.Butthe Heermann still had herlegs. Hathaway swung hisdestroyer into a tight turn to

port and tore across the rearof the carrier formationtowardtheenemy.There remained the

question of exactly how adestroyer bereft of torpedoeswould turn away an armoredship of the line. Usingdouble-talk on the opencircuit, which he thought theenemy was surelymonitoring, Hathaway triedtotellSpraguethathehadno

more torpedoes aboard. Heheard other skippers doingthe same. “As I listened,” helater recounted, “it becameevident that there wasn’t atorpedo among us. Anythingwe could do from now onwould have to be mostlybluff.”TheHeermann broke from

the smoke to find the squatbulk of an escort carrierbearing down on her off the

portbow.ItwastheFanshawBay.Hathaway backed downtoastoptoavoidacollision;then, when the ship was outof the way, he had a clearview of what Sprague wasanxiousabout.Ahead lay theGambier Bay, afireamidships, listing twentydegrees to port, and taking aceaseless battering from aTone-classcruisertohereast.The wounded carrierobscured most of the

Japanese ship, so Hathawaymaneuvered to gain a clearerline of sight. As his viewinggeometry improved,hemadeout the silhouettes of threemorecruisersinthehaze.Hethought he could see twolarger ships looming to therear.The Heermann’s wake

boiled as Amos Hathaway’sshipregainedsteam.Soonshewasmakingtopspeedtoward

the Japanese cruisers. Somany Japanese ships werefiring on the Heermann thatthe ship was like achameleon. Each time a newsalvo landed near, she wasdoused in a different color.Each time the destroyer’sbowbitintoawave,thewaterrinsed the decks andgunwales clean until a shellbearing a different huecrashedacolumnofseawateracross her decks again.

Green, yellow, red, andundyedsplashesroseneartheship,oneafteranother.Chiefyeoman Harold Whitneylooked at his skipper andnoticed that Hathaway hadbeen dyed red from head tofoot.The gun boss, Lieutenant

Meadors, kept up a steadycadenceoffireallthewayin.His fiveguncrewskept theirbreech trays loaded while

below them the shell hoistscycled continuously, drawingammunition up from thehandling rooms as the mendown there pushed powdercases through the scuttles inthe bases of the turrets. Hisnostrilsstungby thesmellofcordite and burning cork andhuman sweat, seaman firstclass Stanley Urbanski wasdown in Gun 52’s handlingroom.

Round after round I takefrom [Ralph] Sacco,placingitinthescuttle.Asthe previous round isremoved,Ipushupanewone and secure it in itsseat. Forty, fifty rounds,then the violent action ofthe ship, a brief pause.Just enough time to bringup more shells from thelower handling room.Many times more, rapidfire, no time for thought.Keep a powder charge inthe scuttle. No talk, onlySacco’sorderstokeepthelower hoist moving. Thehuman machine works

flawlessly. We still knownothingof thehappeningsaroundus.Nofeelings,nointerruptions, just keep apowderinthescuttle.

James Boulton’s crew inGun 52 made good use ofSacco’s and Urbanski’sefficiency. Spent shell casesrattled and rolled across thedeckastheHeermannblazedaway, firing some fivehundred shells in a twenty-minuteduelwithaTone-class

cruiser. Meadors countedfifty hits. The destroyer’sbombardment started severalfiresaboardherfoe.Fromhislookout’s position on thebridge, Wallace Hock couldsee Japanese sailors beingblown into the air from theship’s deck. There appearedto be internal explosions. Alargefire ragedastern,wheretheTone-classshipshadtheirbigseaplanehangars.

The men in Gun 52,directlyforwardofandbelowthe bridge, did their jobs toowell. The concussion fromtheirfireranginHath-away’sears, so he climbed to thefire-control platform toescape the cacophony,outsideLieutenantMeadors’sgundirectormount.Theextraelevation improved his viewof the seascape. He shoutedcoursechangesintothevoicetube leading down into the

pilothouse, running aneastward zigzag course,chasing roiling shell splashesto keep his ship alive. Theenemy’s salvos were landingcloser and closer to the ship,the Japanese correcting theirfire in hundred-yard steps.Hathawaycould see the tighttriplesetsofsplashesmovingin his direction. The onesclosesttohimwerered.Destroyers did not sortie

alone against columns ofsuperior warships withoutpaying the price. CaptainHathaway’sshiphadnomorebusiness surviving thisapproach than CaptainEvans’s Johnston had hadcoming through its solo run.Now a salvo found theHeermann. An eight-inchshot from a cruiser rippedthrough the ship’s bow,blowing a five-foot hole inthe hull and flooding the

forwardmagazines.Another shell struck

Hathaway’s destroyeramidships. It tore through anexhaust uptake leading fromthe boilers to the stack andexploded in a supply locker.Lt. Bob Rutter, the ship’ssupplyofficerandpaymaster,was standing on a spottingplatformthatgirdledtheafterstack.Theexplosionknockedhim down against the stack,

and a hot blast washed overhim, covering him with asticky substance. The newfather—hehadbecomeadadin January 1944, while theHeermann was at sea—prayed, “God, letme seemywife and son.” He wiped ahand across his face,expecting to find blood andgore. After a terrified pause,Rutter realized he was allright, and lucky too. Themess that covered him was

navybeans,cookedinstorageby the blast of the shell,steamed by the sudden heat,and blown through theuptake, washing him in ablast of paste. According toHarold Whitney, Rutter“scraped the beans from hiseyes and looked aroundwitha gaze that wouldn’t believethethingsitsaw.Hewasstillhere.”CaptainHathawaylaterspeculated that after thisincident Rutter wouldn’t

mind if he never ate anotherservingofbeans.Withthehitsforward,Gun

52’s handling room wasplunged into darkness.According to StanleyUrbanski, “Suddenly allthought was lost in anexplosion, total darkness, theear-shattering hiss of abroken air ejection line.Bright red flecks scatteredaround our closed and dark

cubicle, red-hot shrapnel.Fear sets in, I pray to myGod.” Urbanski heard thesounds and felt the tremors,and his imagination filled inthe rest. “Heermann issmashing through the sea.The firing starts again. Thenthemostviolenttremorofall,a great explosion, and ourLady iswounded.She seemstohavestartedherwaytohergrave. Down, down by thebow, what seems like

eternity.”As the inrushing water

dragged down the bow,Hathaway momentarilythought his ship might runitselfbeneaththewaves:“Weweresofardownbytheheadthat our anchors weredragging in the bow wave,throwingtorrentsofwateronthe deck.” He consideredslowing the ship to reducepressure on the critical

forward bulkheads, whichcrewmen belowdecks hadraced to buttress with oddlengths of timber. The firstlieutenant, Bill Sefton,reachedHaroldWhitneyoverthe phones and pleaded withhimtoaskthecaptaintoslowdown. The damage to thebelowdecks compartmentswas evident in thevoluminous litter of cigarettecartons and toilet paperbobbing on the edge of the

ship’s bow wake. Havingweighed the risks of slowingdowntostemtheprogressiveflooding, Hathaway chose tostay at speed. He was wellaware of what had happenedto theJohnston and theHoelafter they slowed down.Speed was his only realdefense.Whitney relayed theskipper’s refusal to Sefton,saying, “Just put moreshoring in there and hope itholds.”

Another shell, a smallerone, probably from adestroyer, struck the bridgebelow Hathaway, scatteringshrapnel in every direction.Thenavigatortookasprayofsteel full in the face, whichwasleftpockmarkedbymetalfragments, as if he had beenmaimedwith a shotgun blastfromanonlethaldistance. Itsimpactwasdampenedby theman standing beside him,who crumpled to the deck.

AnaviatorfromtheGambierBaywhomtheHeermannhadpulled out of the sea theprevious day, Lt. (jg)Walter“Bucky” Dahlen, was cutdowntoo.Hehaddodgedfatethe day beforewhenhe triedto land his Avenger on thecarrier with his bomb loadstillslungaboard.Caughtinaslipstream flying anoverloaded plane, he wasshort on his approach. MacMcClendon, the Gambier

Bay’s veteran landing signalofficer,triedtowavehimoff,but it was too late. Dahlen’splane bounced hard, lostpower, and plowed into thesea ahead of the carrier.Hathaway’s ship, which hadplane guard duty on October24, pickedDahlen out of thesea.The skipper put the flierto immediate use on thebridge, assigninghim tohelpspot and identify incomingaircraft.Dahlenwassupposed

totransferbacktoVC-10thatmorning. He never got thechance.Harold Whitney saw the

carnageinthepilothouse,sawblood running across thedeck, and knew in an instantthateveryonehadbeenkilled.With chief quartermasterJohn P. Milley lyingapparently dead on deck, thewheel was abandoned, andthe Heermann was running

headlong toward the columnofJapanesebattleships,rangepoint-blank—2,500 yards—and closing. Whitney seizedthewheelandspunitaround,away from the enemyleviathans, then called theexecutive officer, saying thebridgewatch had been killedandhedidn’tknowwherethecaptain was. When Whitneysuggested that the execprobablyoughttobeconningthe ship, the officer insisted

thathisradar-assistedviewofthe battle from the CIC wasprobably better than what hewould have on the bridge.“Continue what you’redoing,” the exec said. “If Iwant you to change course,I’lltellyou.”Whitneysteeredtheshipas

hehad seen the skipperdo itsomany times, chasing shellsplashes and hoping for thebest. Then he felt a hand

pullingathispantleg.ItwasMilley. “I’ll take it,” thequartermaster told Whitney.He was bleeding, barelyconscious. “I’ll take it,” heinsisted. Harold Whitneyhelped Milley to his feet,searching him for woundsandaskingifhewasallright.“I’ll take it.” That was allMilley would say. Satisfiedthat the chief was fit for hisold job, Whitney went insearch of Captain Hathaway,

finding him on the flyingbridge, shouting steeringorders into the voice tube.Whitneyhadn’theardasingleoneof them.Henever letonthat his captain’s orders hadbeen for naught, andHathaway didn’t seem tosuspect anything was awry.Regardless of who had beendoing the conning, therewasnoarguingwiththeoutcome.TheHeermann had survivedherimpossiblerunagainstthe

mainJapanesestrength.

***

THE STRICKEN GAMBIER BAY hadfallen into the envelopingadvance of the Japaneseformation.Therewasnothinganyone in Taffy 3 could doaboutit.Aheavycruiserwasblasting away at the CVE atan alarmingly close range.Observingthecarrier’splight,Captain Evans of the

Johnston issued what BobHagen considered “the mostcourageous order I’ve everheard.” The skipper said,“Commence firing on thatcruiser,Hagen.Drawherfireon us and away from theGambier Bay.” Hagen couldseethatall four turretsof thecruiser, with its distinctiveflared prow,were swung outtowardthecarrier.While the Japanese ship

bracketed the carrier with itseight-inch salvos, Evansclosed to six thousand yards,andHagen loosed a fusilladethat scored repeatedly. Thecruiser’s four turrets,however, stayed trained onthecarrier.Hagenconsideredthe Japanese captain’sdecision to ignore theJohnston foolish; he figuredthe Japanese ship had morethan enough firepower to doinbothtargets.

At about 8:40, beforeErnest Evans could press hisattack further against thecruisers to Sprague’s portquarter, a column of fourdestroyers appeared behindthe Johnston to starboard,closing rapidly with thecarriers. It was Rear Adm.Susumu Kimura’s TenthDestroyer Squadron, led bythe light cruiser Yahagi. Atabout eight o’clock, as theYamatowas runningnorth to

avoid the Heermann’storpedoes, strafing Wildcatshad sent the Yahagi and herconsorts into a wide circularevasive maneuver. By thetime Kimura’s squadronfinally came around andreoriented itself on asoutherly course parallel toand four miles west of theYamato and about ten milestothenorthwestof theheavycruiser column, it had nearlyperformed, by accident, the

maneuverthatZiggySpraguehad earlier feared the wholeJapanesefleetwouldattempt:itwasslicing through thearcof his retreat. As Kimura’ssquadron bore down onSprague’s starboard beam,the American admiral wassandwiched between it andtheheavycruiserstotheeast.Had Kurita’s attack been

planned more deliberately,Kimura might have been

joined in this attack by theSecond Destroyer Squadron,which consisted of sevendestroyers led by the lightcruiser Noshiro. But thatunit’s progress had beendelayed by relentless aerialstrafing. According toAdmiralUgaki,at least twiceplanes from the Taffiesforced the Noshiro and herconsortstoturnawaytoduckeviscerating hails of .50-caliberslugs.

Ernest Evans, seeing theloomingthreattothecarriers,ordered BobHagen to checkhis fire against the heavycruiser and turned westwardtoward the Yahagi and herfour destroyers. Closing towithin ten thousand yards ofthe enemy ships, EvansorderedHagen to engage thelight cruiser leading thecolumn. Hagen scored hitspractically from the firstsalvo. He kept up the fire

until the Johnston was just7,500yards fromtheYahagi.The American tin can tookseveral hits from five-inchshells fired by Kimura’sdestroyers in return. Buttwelve of her own struck theYahagi.Then, Hagen wrote, “a

most amazing thinghappened. The destroyerleader[theYahagi]proceededto turn ninety degrees to the

right and break off theaction.” The lieutenantwatched in astonishment asthe light cruiser beganwithdrawing to the west. Heshifted his aim to the nextship in line, a destroyer.Hagen didn’t know how farthe Johnston could push itsluck: “they were sleek,streamlined Terutsuki-classvessels,ourmatchintonnageand weight of guns, but notour match in marksmanship,

crippled as we were. Weshould have been duck soupforthem.”The captain of Gun 55 on

the fantail, Clint Carter, aTexan from the Sweetwater-Abilene area, was screamingdown to the handling room,“More shells! More shells!”One of his gang grumbled,“I’m sure glad there ain’t noJapsfromTexas.”Drolleryinthefaceofmortaldangerwas

a common sign of adisciplinedcombat team, andCarter had a good one. Hisprojectileman, boatswain’smate first class HarryLongacre, was one of thebest.Hewasstrongasabullanddemandedhisownspace.Nothingseemed toscarehim—he had had a warshipblown out from under himearlier in the war, so whatelsewas there to fear?Givento wearing gold hoop

earrings, one in each ear,Longacrecutauniqueprofileon the crew.Hewas a rebel.People referred to him as“Asiatic,” which meant hemarched to a differentdrummer. By some accountshe was a lousy boatswain’smate who resisted thecommandhierarchy.Oncehewent to Captain’s Mast andgot busted all the way backdowntoseamansecondforadisciplinary infraction.Butat

general quarters you didn’twant anybody else handlingthe projectiles. HarryLongacrewasfast,agile,andstrong. Eighteen times aminutehepulledafifty-four-pound projectile off the shellhoist and laid it into theloadingtrayinsequencewiththepowderman,whoplacedapowder case on the traybehind the shell. Then thehydraulic rammer assemblyshoved the tray forward,

socking the shell firmly intothe lands and grooves of thebore. Without electricalpower, on partial localcontrol, Gun 55 had beenfiring almost without breakfrom the time of the firsttorpedo run.Guns 51 and 52forwardkeptupasteadypacethroughoutthefighttoo.Taking a sustained

batteringfromtheJohnston’sfive-inch gun crews, the

second Japanese ship incolumn, a destroyer, alsoturnedwestandfledwiththeYahagi. The next threedestroyers did the same.Hagen was dumbstruck withjoy at the Japanesewithdrawal. Evans was too.According to Hagen,“Commander Evans, feelinglike the skipper of abattleship, was so elated hecouldhardly talk.Hestruttedacross his bridge and

chortled, ‘Now I’ve seeneverything!’”Evans and Hagen might

have been less amazed hadthey known the real reasonthe Japanese columnwithdrew. It was not theJohnston’s gunnery thatdrove them off, but the factthat they had finishedlaunchingtheirtorpedoattackat the carriers and wereturningtoreform.

Still, Captain Evans’saudacious interception ofKimura’s squadron probablyencouraged the Japaneseskippers to release theirfamedLongLance torpedoesatextremerangeandfromanunfavorableangleasterntheirfleeingtargets.EitherKimuradidn’t have the stomach,faced with the Johnston’stireless gunnery, to close tokillingrange,orhe,likeotherJapanese commanders,

believed his quarrywere fastfleetcarriersthatcouldnotberundowninanyevent.The fog of war was so

thick that neither side knewexactly what was happeningat any given moment. But itwas only the Japanese whowere moved to pure fantasy.Somehow Admiral Ugaki onthe Yamato acquired thehyperbolic notion that theTenth Destroyer Squadron’s

halfhearted attack had“accomplished the great featof sinking three carriers, onecruiser,andonedestroyer.”

Thirty-three

While the Johnston wasengaged in her shorthandedduel with the Japanesedestroyer squadron, LeonKintberger, his ship dead inthe water far to the north,concluded that theHoel wasfinished. The destroyer’sgraceful lines had been

broken and bent beyondready recognition. Boxed inby the enemy on three sides,the Hoel had no propulsivepower to escape through thebox’sopenbottom.TheKongo lofted ash-can-

sized fourteen-inch roundstoward her without thrift orrestraint. Having passed thestricken American tin can tothe south, the Tone, theChikuma, the Haguro, and

theChokaiblastedsalvoaftereight-inch salvo toward her.Even theYamato had caughtup to the fight. Recoveringfromher ten-minute torpedo-bracketed sprint northward,the Center Force flagshiplumbered steadily south.WhentheHoelappeared,likea sitting duck, at a range often thousand yards, Cdr.ToshioNakagawaopenedfirewith the Yamato’s 6.1-inchsecondary battery. The

Japanese battleship’squartermaster paid the U.S.destroyer a high complimentwhen he noted at 8:40 A.M.,“Cruiserblowsupandsinks.”The Japanese observer’s

perception was somewhataheadofevents.Theseawasonly now starting to washover the Hoel’s stern.Rushing into the damagedport side, thewater caused aprogressivelyworseningport-

side list. The ship had takenmore than fortyhits of everycaliber. Now Kintberger hadnochoice.At8:35heorderedthe crew of the Hoel toprepare to abandon ship.QuartermasterClarenceHoodtriedtocalltheorderoverthePA system, but the circuitwasdead.Kintbergertoldhisbridge personnel to descendtothemaindeckandpassthewordtothemen.

WillardFrennwasluckytobe alive. For most of thebattle the gunner’smate firstclasshadstayedathisstationin the chief’smess, awaitingcalls for gun repair. Whennone came, hemade himselfa few sandwiches, none tooconfident that the lack ofdemand for his servicesmeant all was well topside.Having survived the blast oftwoarmor-piercingshellsthatpenetrated his compartment

andblewhim into a stackofbedding, he climbed topsideand was running by theforward deckhouse belowGun 52 to find a lifeboatwhen he looked up and sawLt. Bill Sanders. Though hisgundirectorhadbeenblastedout of action long ago, thegunnery officer was stillalive, tangled up in theriggingwith both of his legsshot off at the knees. Frennasked if he could help him,

and Sanders said no. “Theword was to abandon ship,”Frennrecalled.Someone finally helped

Dick Santos, his feet scaldedbeyond use, down from hisamidships quad-forty mountto the port-side main deck.He saw men filing out of ahatch leading to theengineering spacebelowdecks. “They wereburnedbeyondbelief!God, I

remember that so wellbecause when they tried togetoutof thehatch,we triedtohelpliftthemout,andtheirfleshwould fall off. Itwas ablessingthattheydiedalmostimmediately,”Santoswrote.When the abandon ship

order reached Gun 51’sammunition handling room,the crew exited through thechief’s quarters, sloshedthrough the flooded mess

hall, and climbed a ladder tothe starboard side. SeamanPaul Miranda opened thehatch to the main deck andfelt the heavy slump of abody falling against hisshoulder. It was the ship’sdoctor, Lt. Louis Streuter.The body slid down theslippery deck and stoppedagainst the port-side rail.Miranda stepped aside to letthecrewbehindhimfileout.Looking up, he saw Donald

Heinritz, known locally as“Tiny” for his line-of-scrimmage bulk andexpansive jocularity. He hadgiven up a footballscholarship to the UniversityofWisconsin and enlisted inthe Navy, figuring he’d gohelpwinthewarandbehomein six months. Now Tinystoodthere,likePaulBunyanincarnate,balancingaloadoftimbersandmattressesonhislumberman’s back. He was

yelling at Miranda to helphim shore up the hole in theportsideofthehull.A fourteen-inch battleship

shell, probably from theKongo, had opened a hole inthe waterline big enough todrive a pair of sedansthrough,onebesidetheother.Seawaterwasrushingthroughit, filling the mess hall. PaulMiranda stood on the laddergetting ready to accompany

Tiny belowdecks whenanother shell struck. It killedmost of the men from thehandling room and blewMirandaofftheladder.Whenhegot tohis feetagain,Tinywasgone.Thefloodingmesshallwas

in flames. Miranda climbedback up the ladder throughthe smoke and found thehatch to the main deckjammed. Fear gripped him.

He pulled at the dogs on thehatch, wrenching the smallsteel handles until, blessedly,they turned. He walked outonthedeck,andwhenhegotthere, it occurred to him thathe could not swim. He hadnever before considered thepossibility that his homemightsink,leavinghimalonewith the ocean.An eighteen-year-oldwasrighttowonder:on a proven ship like theHoel, and with a pair of

skippers like CommanderThomas and CaptainKintberger in charge, whywould a man ever have toswim?Miranda stood on the rail

of the ship, working up thenerve to jump. The shipshuddered as anotherJapaneseshellhitsomewhere,knocking him to the deck.“ThenextthingIknew,Iwaslyingbesidegunnumberone,

and the deck was very hotunder me. In one leap I wasinthewater,scaredashell.”Radioman John Oracz

exited the radio shack,following another radiomanoutthehatch.Thesharpflashandblastofa shellpropelledOracz into unconsciousness.Whenheawoke,hewasbackin the radio compartment,bloody but only slightlywounded.Theotherradioman

was gone. In the silence thatfollowedtheblast,herealizedhe was disoriented, lost in alabyrinth of smoke. He felthimself struggling to breatheas he rose to his feet andgropedhiswaytotheinteriorladder leading from thebridgetothedeck.Theladderwas twisted away from thebulkhead, dangling. Lookingforward,Oraczcouldseethatthebowof theshiphadrisenslightly out of the water.

Astern, the port side of thequarterdeck was awash. Hesaw the ship’s doctor comeout of a hatch on deck justahead of him. “I could seethat he was seriouslywoundedinhisrightsideandrightleg,andhewasbleedingseverely.Hecouldjustbarelywalk, and as he did, he lostfooting and slid down thedeck to the port side.… Ineversawhimagain.”

AsplanesfromTaffy2andTaffy 3 strafe and bombKurita, the end nears for theHoel,deadinthewaterastheJapanese close in.The escortcarrier Gambier Bay is hittoo, loses steam, and dropsout of formation. Spragueordershisdestroyerscreentointercept cruisers looming onhisportquarter.TheHaruna,ranging out to the southeast,opensfireonTaffy2.

Bud Walton, the chiefradiotechnician,wasvaguelyaware that the crowd ofsailorsthathadgatheredwithhim on the bridgewas gone.The men—the plotting roomcrew and assorted gunnersand fire-controlmen andmenfrom the CIC—were cutdown and scattered by themajor-caliber explosion. Alarge piece of metal had hithim;hefeltasifhehadbeenstomped in the chest by a

mule. “The ship was listingseverelytoportanditbecameimpossible, due to theaccumulation of debris anddead and injured, to walk.”He moved to the starboardside, where the smoke fromtheburningmagazineswassodense that he could not seethe water. “I dove over theside. It seemed to be agesbeforeIhitthewater.”Working the plotting table

when the abandon ship ordercame, Everett Lindorff wasthelastmantogetoutof theHoel’s CIC. That meant hewould live. The explosionthat killed all themen aheadof him only knocked himcold.

WhenIwokeup,IwasstillintheCICtryingtogathermy wits as to what hadhappened. I rememberedtheshipwassinking,andIdidn’t know how long Iwas lying there. So I

crawledoutthehatchanddownthepassagewayovermany more bodies to theoutside main deck. ThefirstthingIsawwasmorebodiesandsmokeandfire.Isawaboutsixmentryingto lower the motorwhaleboat, and Iwondered why because Icouldseeholesallthewaythrough it. In the nextminute or two there wasanexplosion,andthemenwere gone. I started aft,then a shell hit the forty-millimeter ammo anddepth charges. I couldhear the ammo going off,

then a hatch opened andtwo men from the engineroomcameout,tookafewsteps, and were cut downby shrapnel. I backed upagainst the superstructureand looked up at thebridge. There was thecaptainleaningontheraillookingback,justascalmas if nothing werehappening. Then a largehole opened in thesuperstructure just a fewfeet from me, and aboutthe same time I sawsomeone jump over theside, so I decided it wastimeformetogo.

Bob Wilson’s onlyimpressions of the actionderived from sound and feel:thebuckingof theshipwhenthe Hoel’s guns fired, thechange in inertia when theship turned, the sickeningyaw and stutter-step whenhits buckled the decks.Stationedinthemachineshopbelowdecks astern, Wilsonhadjustfinishedcheckingthestarboardstuffingbox,which

keptseawaterfromleakinginaround the propeller shaft,and was passing through theafter crew’s quarters back tothe machine shop when thelights went out. He doggedshut the hatch behind him,and when he turned tocontinuethroughthesleepingquarters, there was a flashand the sound of shreddingmetal.Sixfeetfromwherehestood a shell pierced thestarboardbulkheadandexited

toport.Wilsonsurvivedonlybecause the armor-piercinground did not explode. Hewasknockedflattothedeck,buried in bedding. “Thecompartment was filled withthesmellofburntgunpowder,and except for a little lightfromthehatchandsomethatcame through the holes leftby the shell, it was quitedark.”Lightly wounded by

shrapnel,Wilsondughimselfoutfromunderthebunksandwenttopside,wherehejoineda group of men huddledbeside the sheltering hulk ofGun 55, disabled earlier. OffbothsidesoftheHoelWilsoncould see the sleek darkforms of Japanese shipsflashing and roaring. Theirsalvos screamed in fast,ripping the humid air at flatanglestothesea.Atthiscloserange, their freight-train roar

was more densely pitchedthan when the shells weredropping lazily down, firedfrom extended range. Allaround the ship Wilson sawslicks of varicolored dyespreadoutinthewaterwhereshells had burst. One hit thefantail, destroying a twenty-millimeterguntub.

Therewerequitea fewofus by the gun mount,whichatthattimewasoutof action. Several were

wounded,andsomeoftheguncrewswhowerekilledwhen thegunwasputoutofactionwerelyingonthedeck by the gunmount. Itseemed like I was thereonly a short time whensomeonegatheredagroupof us together to goforward to help out. Justaswereached thevicinityof the galley, some shellshit theship in thatarea. Ihave no idea whathappened to the otherguysthatIwaswith.

Hisskullfractured,Wilson

was dimly aware of menrunningpasthim. “SomehowIknewtheywereabandoningtheshipand that Ihad togetmyself over the side. I alsofound that I had no realcontrolofmyleftarmorleg,and I couldn’tgetmy feet towalk,”helaterwrote.“Icrawledforwardpastthe

passageway between thebridge structure and thedeckhouse where a group of

guys had been killed andmany others severelywounded by a direct hit, andon up to the wardroom area,where I was finally able togetovertheside.”Lt. Jack Creamer, the

assistant gunnery officer,exited theplottingroomwitha chief petty officer namedHickman, crawling throughventilation ducts part of thewaytogettopside.Hetriedto

reach the bridge, but thesuperstructure was such atwisted wreck of metal thatthere was no clear route up.HeandwarrantofficerLouisStillwell spent their lastmoments aboard the Hoelwalking down the starboardside, helping survivors getinto life jackets and over theside into the water. Allaround the ship clusters ofheads bobbed, survivorsriding the slow, rolling

swells. Creamer watchednumbly as a Japanese salvostruck the sea a fewhundredfeet to starboard, right in themiddle of a big gathering ofwounded survivors. “We lostmanyofourshipmatestothatone salvo,” he later recalled.“Mr. Stillwell and I went totheportside,assistedthefewstill there, and abandonedship,port-sideamidships.”FrancisHostranderwasthe

last one up the ladder out ofthe forward fireroom. Oneboiler was still working, butsteamhasnousewhenithasnowhere to go. Hostranderand his fellow snipes wereamong the first to know thatthe ship was dead in thewater. They didn’t needreminding to abandon ship.Hostrander shimmied up theladder to the port side. Hewalked forward over a deckslippery with blood, through

anopen-airgraveofmangledbodies and body parts. HesawaJapaneseheavycruisershooting point-blank into theship. An eight-inch shellstruck at thewaterline, aboutten feet from whereHostrander was standing,bringing a blinding whiteflashofelectriclight.Thoughthe engine room was out ofaction, evidently a generatorwas stillworking. It had 440voltsandnoplace to send it.

Thecruiserputanendtothatproblem.When Hugh Coffelt’s aft

forty-millimeter gun lostpower, he and his crewwereordered down to the maindeck to look after thewounded. He made it downfrom thegun tub to theport-side deck in two jumps, thenwentforwardandbandagedafewmen injured by shrapneland the machine guns of a

Japanese floatplane that hadstrafed the ship. Running tosick bay to get a supply ofmorphine, he looked aft andsawaman joggingdown thedeck take a direct hit anddissolve into a red mess.ShellswerehittingallaroundCoffelt.Heslippedandfellina blood slick, recovered,turned, and ran aft down thestarboard side of the ship.Surviving a running navalbattle was all stupid luck

anyway;amanmightaswelldowhatamanhadtodo.

On that side I had achance to see so manymore of the men dead,lyingonthedeck,someofthem only half there. Iwent back to the fantail.There were more mendead and half dead. Istepped into thewater, asit was coming over thedeck already, and I swamasquicklyasIcouldawayfrom the ship. I stoppedjustforabit,lookedback,and saw shells hitting in

theplacewhereIhadjustbeenstanding.

From the bridge, CaptainKintberger had a hazy viewof thebattle as it passedhimby,runningsouth.TheescortcarrierclosesttotheHoel,theGambier Bay, intermittentlyvisible through theblackandgray smoke,was listing hardto port, with shell splashesstriking up the waters allaround her. According toLieutenantDix,“Thatwasthe

last we saw of friendlyships.”Friendly ships would soon

see the last of CaptainKintberger’s hard-chargingdestroyer. Through thesqualls Captain Copelandspotted the Hoel. Therewasn’t much left of her.Listing severely to port,motionless in the water, theshipwas a pile ofwreckage.Her bridge had collapsed on

itself,hermastwasgone,andtheamidshipstorpedomountshad been blown off the ship.Fireswere raging astern, andsmoke and steam werepouring from unseen spacesbe-lowdecks.Herstackswerecut throughwith holes of allsizes. Lifeboats weresplintered and dangling fromtheir davits. Guns weretwisted down like crazystraws,bentinorpulledfromthe deck by their wire roots.

Fromhisposition inGun41,one of theRoberts’s forwardforties, Jack Yusen, numbfrom the concussion of theforward five-inch gun rightnexttohim,couldn’teventellthattheHoelwasaFletcher-class destroyer. Its silhouettehad been mangled andreformed into a grotesqueapproximationofawarship.For the Roberts’s skipper,

encountering theHoel in her

final minutes was “one ofthose disheartening things…that puts a lump in yourthroat.”Wehadtopassherbyand

leaveher lying theredead inthe water with a big list onher. She was on fire. Wecould see men scramblingaround launching life rafts.We just had to steam by. Incombatyouhavetoleavethewoundedbehindwhetherthey

are men or ships and go onyour way and fight.Nevertheless, it wassomething that made everyman on our topside feel thesameasIdid,anditbotheredus to leave those men at themercy of the Japs, but therewasnootherchoice.

Thirty-four

By 8:40 the Samuel B.Robertswas speeding towardthe cruisers closing on thecarrier formation’s portquarter. When Lt. VerlingPierson on theFanshaw Bayspied the destroyer escortcrossing astern his CVE,racing toward the Japanese

ships, he turned to an officerstandingnexttohimandsaid,“Look at that little DEcommittingsuicide.”Inaloosecolumnwiththe

Johnston and theHeermann,the Roberts steamed south,the three shipscutting inandout of one another’s smoke.Whenever one rode the port-side flanknearest theenemy,the other two remainedconcealed in the exposed

ship’s smoke, which wasgenerously blown over thembytheeasterlywind.In all likelihood, this

apparent tactical improvisionwastheaccidentalby-productof their independent zigzagcourses. None of the ships’action reports suggests acoordinated advance. BobCopeland, however,perceived deliberatemaneuveringinthehaphazard

dance.Whoever was out on theadvance flank was takinga terrific beating. Theotherswouldbefairlywellprotected in her smokeand the smoke they werelayingfortheprotectionofthe carriers. So every fewminutes, when it got tooheavy going on theoutboard flank, whoeverwasuptherewouldcut into the right, fall in, andcome down on the insideof the formation; and thenext one would push out.

We…justplayedleapfrogandkeptpeelingoff.

Looming to port was theChikuma, so close thateveryone topside on theRoberts watched infascination. Her eight bigguns flashed and smoked,launchingeight-inch shells atthecarriers.Copelandheadedtowardher, closing the rangebetweenthemuntiltheheavycruiser was almost directlyoff the Roberts’s port beam.

The destroyer escort’storpedoes were gone. Gunswere all she had left. But ingunneryasineveryotherlineof business aboard adestroyer escort, theRoberts’screwmadedowithwhattheyhad.“Icamealittlebit left,” Copeland recalled,“and when the range wasclosed down some more, Isaid, ‘Mr. Burton, you mayopenfire.’”

Even as his guns blazeddefiantly at the Japanesecruiser, the skipper of theRobertscouldnothelpbutbetaken with the imperialwarship’ssleeklines:“Itwasabeautifulship.Ithadquiteaflareonitsbowandhadfourturrets all forward, a longfo’c’sle and the turretsalternated—alowone,ahighone, a low one, and a highone—right up the fo’c’sle.”As the Roberts approached,

two of those turrets trainedslowlytostarboardtoengagethe Roberts, while the othertwo continued shelling thecarriers.So began the 1,250-ton

destroyerescort’sduelwithaheavy cruiser twelve timesher weight. The necessity ofthe engagement did nothingto squelch the crew’s fear.Most everyone felt it. Somewere well-nigh paralyzed by

it, cowering in passagewaysand behind bulkheads as ifthe ship’s thin metal platewoulddoanythingmorethanblock their view of theincoming projectiles.“Anybody who says that hedidn’tgetscaredinasituationlike this is either a liar or adamn fool,” Copelandwrote.“The point is, though, thatyoudidn’tstayscared.”Naval combat offered

nowhere to run, no foxholestodiveinto.Youhadnowayto know whether the nextround would fall ahead ofyou,behindyou,totheleftorright, or come burningstraight in, right downLucifer’s pike. No degree ofpersonal cleverness coulddefuse or deflect a shellbound in a particular sailor’sdirection. Against a faster,more powerful opponent, asailorhadneither thehopeto

vanquish him nor thepossibility to flee. TheRoberts had no way out butthrough this enemy cruiser.Therethusremainedonlytheduty to engage it. No oneshirked from thatduty. “[A]ssoon as the splashes hadsettled back, practicallyeveryone was over it; fromthenon,forthemostpart,wewere just too busy operatingandfighting theship to thinkabout being scared.” And no

one in Taffy 3 fought moreresolutely than the man wholed the crew of the aft gunturret on the Samuel B.Roberts,PaulHenryCarr.All through the Roberts’s

wartimeservice,Carrkepthisaftfive-inchgun—designatedGun 52 or gun number twoon a destroyer escort—clean,primed,and ready foraction.His skipper considered thegunner’s mate third class

valuable not merely for hisability to keep his weaponmechanically fit but for hisleadership skills as well.“Gunnumbertwohadacrewjust out of this world,”Copelandwrote.“Ithadbeenoutstandingfromthetimeweshookdown.”As the captain of gun

number two, Carr wasresponsible for maintainingthe delicatemachinery of his

mount in the midst of aninhospitable saltwaterenvironment, and hewas thecatalyst to the odd mix ofseamen and petty officerswho manned his gun atgeneralquarters.Carrwas itsfull-time caretaker. “He keptthat gun the way a verymeticulous housewife keepsher kitchen and kitchenutensils,”Copelandwrote.“Itwas absolutely spotless. It isnot an exaggeration to say

you could have eaten off thedeckofthatgunmountatanytime.”Back home in Checotah,

Oklahoma,Carrhadpaintedabull’s-eye on the barn andpracticed long-snapping afootballatitforhoursonend.He was no less fastidiousaboard the Roberts. His bestqualities had a way ofrubbing off on his crewmen.Seaman second class Bill

Stovall, a teenage enlistee,was the pointer on Carr’screw. “I doubt if [Stovall]weighed more than 115pounds dripping wet,”Copelandwrote.“Hewasjusta little shaver, but he wascool as a cucumber.”GilbertStansbury, the loader, andJames Gregory, the trainer,were two more good men.Their counterparts on theforecastle in Gun 51 werewell drilled and adept. But

theganginGun52surpassedthem.“Itjusthappensthathiscrewonournumber-twogunwasthebestIhaveeverseenandIimagineoneofthebestthat has ever existed,”Copeland wrote. “That crewwas, in fact, so good thatanother very good gun crew,namely number one, lookedmore or less mediocre bycomparison.”Unlike the guns on the

largerdestroyers,thegunnerysystem on the Roberts wasrelatively rudimentary, withno centralized fire-controlsystem to direct it.A gunneron a destroyer escort couldget a range from the CIC,where the exec oversaw theuse of the ship’s Fox Dogsurface radar. In a pinch theMark 51 director that guidedthe forty-millimeterantiaircraftgunscouldfill in.But destroyer escort gunnery

was largely a nineteenth-century affair. Their pointersandtrainerswerebusymen.Copelandthoughthemight

haveinadvertentlydiscovereda weakness of the vauntedJapanese ship: its inability tohittargetstooclosetoit.TheChikumawas so close to thelow-lying DE that hergunners seemed to havetrouble depressing their gunssufficiently to take the

Roberts under fire. At thatdepressed angle the gunnerscouldn’treload.EachtimetheJapanese cruiser let loosewith a flaming, windy blast,the guns would rise up andtheturretswouldturninboardasthecrewreloaded.Silentlythenthegunswouldtrainoutagain.“We’dseetheflashoffire;thenwe’dheartheblast,andseeminglymuchlaterbutactually at about the sametime—whoosh— they’d go

rightoverourheads.”Copeland’s two gun crews

had no such trouble. ThoughitwasdebatablewhatdamagetheRoberts’sbatterycoulddoto a heavy cruiser, therewasno doubting that Paul Carr,Bill Stovall, James Gregory,Sammy Blue, GilbertStansbury, and the rest ofGun 52’s crew had foundtheirgroove.

The boys took the

ammunitionjustthewayitcame up the hoist—nobodycaredwhatitwas.They just took it as itcame. Five-inch blindloaded and plugged, five-inch AA, five-inchcommon, five-inch AP,five-inch star shells, five-inch proximity fuse: justwhatever came up theammunition hoist. It wasall fodder for the guns.Theythrewitinasfastasthey could get it. It wasveryodd to see those starshells banging off overthereinthedaylight.

The Roberts couldn’tmatch the output of BobHagen’s teams on theJohnston, Bill Sanders’s onthe Hoel, or Bill Meadors’son the Heermann, but theydidwellenough.Inthirty-fiveminutes of shooting, Carr’ssquad in Gun 52 popped off324roundsattheenemy.Gun51ontheforecastlefired284more.Five-inch guns were

useless shooting at a heavilyarmoredhull,buttheymadeafair mess out of an exposedposition. Each hit producedsheets of flame and chokinggustsofmetallicandasbestosdust.Thestarshellsunloosedfuriously sizzling showers ofphosphorusthatatemetalandflesh alike. One such hit inthe right place could bedebilitating; several score ofthem concentrated over thecompact topside decks of a

heavycruiseranddeliveredina short space of time couldre-create purgatory itself.From what Copeland andother observers on theRoberts could see, the resultof their shooting wasdevastating to the Chikuma:“We had the Jap cruiser onfire from the start of herbridge superstructure, justabovethemaindeck,clearupto the fighting tops—absolutely an inferno of

flames.” The cruiser’snumber-three gun turret wasknocked out, the bridgebattered repeatedly, fires setaft,underneath thesecondarycontroltower.But while fires raged

seventy-five feet above theChikuma’s mainmast, thecruiser didn’t falter. Capt.Saiji Norimitsu’s determinedgunnerskeptupasteadyrateof fire ather two targets, the

Samuel B. Roberts and thestricken Gambier Bay.Though the carrier made aneasy target, amazingly, anhour and forty-five minutesinto the battle the Robertshadn’t been touched. Now,fightingbeamtobeamwithaship twelve times herdisplacement, she seemed tobegetting thebetterof it.Asfor the opposing Goliath,there was no mistaking thefact that theChikumawas in

some serious trouble. Hernumber-three gun, the thirdone back from the bow, wasno longer firing. Her bridgewasacrudelyholedwreckofscorched and twisted steel.Several small fires could beseen feeding on thesuperstructure behind thebridge.

Thirty-five

Despitethedauntlessworkofits screening ships, by 8:40theGambier Bay’s fate wassealed. A salvo from aJapanese cruiser knocked outits steering hydraulics, slicedoff the starboard propeller,and quenched the ship’s lastsource of steam power, the

number-three boiler. On theflight deck of the GambierBay, Lt. (jg) HankPyzdrowski, stranded whenhis ship turned out of thewind, had nothing else to dobut watch the silhouettes ofJapanese ships grow steadilylarger.As a reader of fictionsetduring theageof fightingsail,hewonderedwhethertheenemy cruisers mightapproachandtrytoboardthestricken CVE. The pilot

massaged his .38-caliberservice revolver and thesurvivalknifeonhisbelt.Pyzdrowski went down to

his stateroom and discoveredthathislockerhadbeenrifledandhisstashofscotchraided.He sat down to collect histhoughts, and Lt. GeorgeBisbee popped in. “Need adrink?” the pilot asked,holding forth a half-drainedbottle. Pyzdrowski followed

his squadronmate into theadjoining room, wheremattresses taken fromnearbystateroomshadbeengatheredand stacked into a largeteepee, as if the layers offoam padding could stop oreven slow down the cuttingarcofa shrapnelburst.Fromwithintheteepee,Pyzdrowskicouldheardrunkenvoicesofsome of the other VC-10pilots who had also beenstrandedaboardtheship.

Empty bottles werescattered all about its base.When the after engine roomwashit,theshipwentdeadinthe water, and Capt. WalterVieweg gave the order toabandon ship. As theemergency alarm began tosound, Pyzdrowski said toBisbee,“Bettergettheseguysreadytogo.”

***

ONE OF THE JAPANESE officersresponsible for the GambierBay’s destruction, Capt.HaruoMayuzumi,theskipperof the Tone, was among hisnation’s foremost experts onbattleship gunnery. As theexecutive officer on theYamato when that great shipwas put into commission, hehad overseen the installationof her massive 18.1-inchguns,whoseboresizewassosecret that even Admiral

Kurita did not know it. As atacticalinstructoratthenavalgunnery school at Yokusukain the years leading up toPearlHarbor,Mayuzumi hadstudiedinterceptsoftheradiochatter exchanged betweenU.S. battleship commandersand seaplane spotters duringgunnery drills off theCalifornia coast. Japanesesubmarines and merchantshipsreadilyeavesdroppedonthe plain-language play-by-

play, and the ImperialJapanese Navy tallied thestatisticsasdiligentlyastheircounterpartsdid.Atarangeof22,000yards,

the Japanese learned,Americanbattleshipshittheirtargets just seven percent ofthe time. Japanese heaviesscored at a rate three timesthat.Mayuzumiledtheefforttoopenthatperformancegapstill further. He knew that if

the shells were fired at flatenough angles to the water,theyneednotactually“hit”aship at all. A near miss thatstruckthewatercloseaboard,continuing on an underwaterpath, could land the mostdevastating blowof all: a hitbelow the waterline. Firedfrom22,000yards,asixteen-inch battleship shell enteringthe water at a seventeen-degree angle to the surfacecould penetrate seventy-six

millimeters of face-hardenedarmor even if it “missed” bytwenty-five meters. Theshells retained a velocity of1,650 feet per second at thetimewhen they reached theirtargets. The keywasmakingsure that the angle of entrywasflatenough.Ifitwas,theso-called “danger zone”—thesurface area inwhich a shellmight land and still causemajor damage to the ship—extended143metersfromthe

target’s hull. Mayuzumi didnot anticipate that Americaninnovations in radar wouldmake his work seemprimitive in comparison. Buthis findings influencedJapanese gunnery doctrine,which may have been whysome Taffy 3 sailorswitnessed shells skipping offflight decks like slices ofshaleacrossacalmpond.As a connoisseur of

gunnery but not bloodthirstyin the art of war,Mayuzumiwatchedamidshipmanbyhisside meticulously guide thefire of the Tone’s secondarybatteryintothehindquarteroftheGambierBay,gunningforanengineroom.Suddenlyhesaw U.S. sailors gatheringastern near some lifeboats,preparing to abandon ship.The Japanese skipperordered, “Ceasefire,” anddirected his midshipman to

aim at the forecastle, wherenopeoplecouldbeseen.At roughly that time,

aroundnineA.M., tenminutesafter the abandon ship ordercirculated on the GambierBay, a flight ofWildcats fellfrom above and rattled thegunwales around the Tone’sbridgewithsquirtsfromtheirmachineguns.AroundstruckMayuzumi in the thigh,ricocheting off bone and

rippingawayaneight-by-ten-centimeter chunk of muscle.The captain fell to the deckbut never left the bridge. Asthe ship’s surgeon tended tohim, he sat there in his ownblood,unabletotakehiseyesoff the Gambier Bay’s crewcalmly gathering anddropping rope ladders downinto the water. He could nothelp but admire theAmericans’ evident bravery.His devotion to gunnery had

bornefruitfortheempire.HehadhelpedsinktheonlyU.S.carrierofthewartosuccumbtosurfacegunfire.Butheandhis compatriots would soonassess the cost of Taffy 3’saudacious resistance, theeffectiveness of which notactician could ever haveforeseen and no statisticiancouldhavemeasured.

Thirty-six

The Samuel B. Roberts wasblessed with luck and a lowprofile to the horizon. Shellswhistled by overhead asCopeland steered his shipthrough the effervescentwhirlpools of the enemy’smisses. As he conned theship,hestayedfocusedonthe

ocean ahead of him, payingno mind to what lay behindhim. Suddenly he heard alookout shout, “Captain,there’sfourteen-inchsplashescominguponourstern!”Thebattleship Kongo lay someten thousand yards in thatdirection, shooting withuncannyaccuracythroughthehaze.At7:22herrangefinderhadbeendisabledbystrafingWildcats. Now it wasrestored. As the Cyclops

fixed on the Samuel B.Roberts, the Kongo’s gunsboomed salvos of 1,485-pound shellsBobCopeland’sway.Copelandturnedandsawa

procession of foamingcolumns walking up frombehind.Gauging theprogressoftheexplosions—theclosestofthemsmackedtheseafiftyyards astern—relative to themovement of his speeding

ship,heknewwhathehadtodo:hitthebrakes.Thenormalprocedure, designed to sparestrainonexpensive reductiongears, was to ratchet downfromflankspeed tostandard,two-thirds, one-third, andstop.ButCopeland’sworrieswentbeyondtheconditionofLuckyTrowbridge’spreciousmachinery. Like a driverspeeding down the freewayshifting straight into reverse,he shouted into the voice

tube,“Allenginesbackfull!”“Thatwastheonetimethe

oldshipreallyshudderedandshivered and quaked,”Copeland wrote. “She justkind of lay down and prettynearlybackedhersternunderwater.”Thedestroyerescort’sbow wave collapsed as herforward movement stopped.Almost immediately therewere more sounds likerunawayfreighttrainsandan

ungodly buffeting of air.Directly over the ship flewanother brace of battleshipshells. They smacked theoceanahundredyardsahead,right where the Robertswould have been hadCopelandnotslammedonthebrakes.Thecaptainhadnotimeto

congratulate himself. Nosoonerhadhecalledforflankspeedagainthanasalvofrom

a heavy cruiser found themark. From the barn-doorrange of 5,500 yards, thecruiser spat three eight-inchshellsintotheRoberts’s low-slung broadside. The timewas8:51.Seaman first class Bill

Katsur“feltas thoughIwerea bedsheet on a clotheslinebeing whipped by a strongwind.” The hit knocked outthe electrical distribution

board in the internalcommunications gyro room,andwiththelossofauxiliarypower, lights throughoutmany lower compartmentswent black. Communicationsthroughout the ship wentdead too. A second shellpuncturedthebulkheadoftheforward handling room,penetratingwithoutexplodingand duly exiting thecompartment to starboard.The third hit was the most

catastrophic. It struck themain deck below the davitsthatheldthemotorwhaleboatand entered the forwardfireroom. Steam lines weretorn, and the steam didwhatsteamdoeswhenitisreleasedfrom high-pressure lines.Amid the sudden hissinghorror, all but twomendied.But Jackson McCaskill, ateenageseamansecondclass,retainedhiswits.Twoweeksearlier the kid had been

reassigned to the black gangin the forward fireroombecausehewas, according tohisskipper,“anabsolute flopon the deck force.” Theeighteen-year-old outlivedthat reputation now. Hecoolly turned off the firesbeneath the boilers and spunthevalvesthatcuttheflowofsteam from the boilers andthe supply of fuel into theburners.McCaskillpulledtheheadphonesfromthebodyof

Chester Kupidlowsky, afireman killed by the blast,andcalledtheengineroomtoask for help opening theescape hatch to let the livesteamescape to theopenair.Then, with the flesh on hisfeet burned down to whitebone, McCaskill wedged his130-pound frame under adeck grating, dropped downinto the bilges, and layprostrateagainstthelastpieceof cool steel on the ship, the

bottom of the hullwhere thekeelcutthesea.IntheCIC,rightabovethe

punctured number-one boilerroom, Tom Stevenson, thecommunications officer,found himself bathed insteamandchokinginastormof asbestos that waspulverized by the explosionand blown through theventilationducts.Theshowerof insulation turned him

white and filled his mouthand nostrils with thick dust.Thegyroandradarwereout,rendering the CIC useless.Bob Roberts, Stevenson, andthe rest of the CIC gangdecided to evacuate thecompartment and went up tothe bridge, but the smallenclosure was crowded withother displaced CICpersonnel looking to escapethe steam. Copeland orderedthe bridge cleared—with the

after fireroom working andtwogoodengines,hestillhada ship that could fight.Stevenson climbed up to thesignal bridge. He felt a loudblast andahot rushofwind.Some cloth sacks full ofsignal flags burst into flamenear him, and Stevensonnoticedhehadtakenshrapnelin his legs, but he was soscared that he didn’t feel athing.

The battle was nearly twohours old when the Robertstook her first hits. With thedestruction of her forwardboiler, the Roberts slowedfrom nearly thirty knots toseventeen. Lieutenant Trow-bridge’s snipes cross-connected the number-twofireroom to both enginerooms to keep the screwsturning, but the ship nolonger had the power tomaneuver aggressively

enough to chase salvos. Atthe helm quartermaster thirdclass Elbert Gentry seemedunable to process BobCopeland’s commands. “Mr.Roberts,” Copeland asked,“would you please take thewheelandgetthisshipoutonthe heading that I am tryingtoget to?”Theexectookthehelm from the shell-shockedquartermaster as Copelandtried gamely to take the shipsouth toward the carrier

formation.The shells from the heavy

cruisercutthepowertomanystations on the ship—PaulCarr’s five-inch gun amongthem. Gun 52 still fired, butwith the power out, certainsystems critical to themount’s safe operation nolonger worked, including theautomaticgasejectionsystemthatpuffedairintothebreechaftereachshellfired,clearing

it of hot gases. When thatsystem failed, the gasesstayedinsideandgunnumbertwo’sbreechgrewhotterwithevery salvo. George Bray,assigned to repair partynumber three, relievedamanin Gun 52’s handling roomwho had dropped from theexhaustion and the heat.Bray’s football prowess kepthim in good shape, and heand thefiveothermen in thecompartment kept a steady

supply of fifty-four-pound,twenty-one-inch-longprojectiles loaded into thehoist. The men from themagazine one deck belowpassedammunitionuptohim,and Bray dropped each shellintothehoist,nosedownintoits funnel-shaped housing.He’d close the hatch on thehoist, and there followed anelectrohydraulicshriekasonehoistcarriedtheliveroundupand the empty one cycled

back down to the handlingroom.Carrandhissuperbcrewin

Gun52wereintheirrhythm,grabbingpowdercasesoutofthe slot, laying them in thebreech,pickingtheprojectilesoff the hoist, sliding them inahead of the powder case,ramming shut the breech,firing the gun, kicking thespentcaseout theholedownontothedeck,andstartingthe

sequence again. When thepowerwentout,theyrammedthe tray into the breech byhand. When the air ejectionsystem broke down a fewminutes after that, Carr andhismengotoffsevenoreightmore shots before theinevitablehappened.Inthelowerhandlingroom

two decks below the gun,George Bray heard a deep,percussive bfff, like a big

paddle smacking a mattress.There was shouting andsounds of men in pain. Ashell had cooked off in thebreech, detonated by contactwith the overheated tray inwhich it sat. Burninggunpowdersprayedoutofthebarrel, setting part of thefantail afire. Butmost of thedamage stayed inside themount. The blast killedmostof Carr’s gun mount teamimmediately with a pressure

wave that blew a tongue offlamedownintothehandlingroombeneaththeturret.In the gun mount itself,

therewere some lucky souls.When the shell cooked off,seaman second class SamBluehadbeenstandingbythemount’s open side door, halfinside and half out. Theexplosion propelled him,unconscious, a fair distanceout into thewater.Hehit the

surfacehardenoughtotriggerthe CO2 cartridge on hisinflatable life belt. BillStovall was blasted off theship too, but not beforeinhaling a lungful of flamesand superheated air that lefthimscreaminginthewater.LittleSammy—thefifteen-

pound, short-haired, mixed-breedmascot of theRoberts,the Norfolk mutt turnedhonorary water tender—had

grown smart in the ways ofships. He could run up anddown the steep ladders andfindsafeplacestorideoutthelong rolls in typhoons. Hewasafraidoftheroardowninthe fireroom and had anuneasy relationship with theship’s two five-inch gunturrets.Butthedoghadneverbefore seen the likes of thepulverizing rain of shellfirenow smashing his ship allaround him. The explosions

and their bloody effects sentSammyintoafit.“Ifeltsorryfor him,” Copeland wrote.“He was running up anddown the deck with all theguns firing and the men heknewlyingdeadinbloodandgore.Heactuallywentoffhisbeam.”On the bridge, Copeland

felt the ship shake hard asanothershellstrucktheheavybase of the forty-millimeter

mount astern. Another toreinto the deckhouse to whichthe mount was bolted.Looking back, the skippercaught a glimpse of thebodies of men from the gunand the Mark 51 directormount hurtling through theair.Asthewindshovedasidea cloud of white smoke,which drifted heavily acrossthe fantail, Copelanddiscovered that the explosionhad blown away the entire

machine-gunmount andwithitassistantgunneryofficerLt.(jg) John LeClercq andtwelvecrewmen.Notracesofthe men or the large steelmountwereeverseenagain.The deck leading forward

to the ship’s triple-torpedomount lay tornaway, twistedand sagging. Anotherconcussion came asLieutenant Trowbridge’snumber-one engine room

took a direct hit. Normallythe eight-inch armor-piercingrounds punched through thehull spaces withoutdetonating.ThisonehitanI-beam supporting a largeswitchboard panel andexploded. The ensuingfireballleftonlyonesurvivorthere, a fireman namedHermanMetzger.With one screw disabled,

the Roberts had no more

speed than an escort carrierand a lot lessmaneuverability. Lt. BobRoberts did his best to carrythe ship through the deadlygauntlet, but its miraculousdry sprint through a drivingrainhadcometoanend.Thegunners on theKongo neverrelented. Now they tookadvantage of the woundedship’s critical loss of speed.ThreemassiveshellsfromtheJapanese battleship screamed

downward, struck aft, andexploded.A thunderous blast

knocked down everyone onthe bridge except CharlesCronin, a yeoman secondclass who happened to beholdingontotheleversoftheengine order telegraph. ToCopeland,“itseemedasifthewhole ship went out fromunder us.” From the forceinvolved he guessed that the

Japanesehadfinallywisedupand loaded high-explosiverounds. Thrown from thesteps leading from the open-air bridge to the pilothouse,the skipper slammed into apile with Lieutenant Robertsand Elbert Gentry. Thequartermaster lifted himselfup,bleedingfromthemouth,missingatooth.AsCopelanddustedhimselfoff,he lookedaround and felt an insaneimpulse to laugh at the sight

of several of his talkerssprawledacrossthegratingofthebridgewingwiththeirbigheadsets knocked askew andentangledinaludicrousmessof wires. Amazingly, no onethere was hurt. ButCopeland’s mood soberedwhen it dawned on him thathis ship was no longermoving. Looking forwardfrom the bridge, he mighthavewonderedwhy.

As far as I could see, theship was as nice as theday she left the shipyardbecause the damage hadbeendownbelowdeck,butfromthestackaftshewasa pretty sorry-lookingsight. There were twotwenty-millimeter guntubs, number six andnumber eight, with partsof human bodies hangingoutofthem;andtherewasthe deck of the deckhousewarped back like a pieceof linoleumrippedupandfrom there on aft nothingbut a yawning mass ofblackened metal as the

various thwartships andforeandaftbulkheadshadbeen twisted together andthe deck ripped off wherethatgunhaddisappeared.

There was no denying themortal wound the Robertshad taken. At the waterline,abouttwo-thirdsofthewaytothe stern on the port side,gapedacavernousholeseventotenfeethighandsomefiftyfeet long. The massiveopening would have neatly

garaged a semitrailer parkedsideways. The number-twoengine room was completelydemolished. When the afterfuel-oil tanks ruptured, theythrew flaming oileverywhere. The starboard“K-gun” depth-chargelauncher was hanging overthe side, and tar was oozingonto the deck from ruptureddepthcharges.Asiftoremindtheskipper

that life could get worse, atorpedo wake came bubblingintostarboard.Therewasnoway to avoid it. As the faintwhite wake came straight onamidships, Copeland grippedthe edge of the bridge wingand screamed, his voicecracking, “Stand by for tor—!” But one last miracleremained, it seemed. Thetorpedopassed justunder thedestroyer escort’s keel,missing, by the captain’s

estimation,bynomorethanafoot.Belowdecks the men still

hadachance.Intheaftlowerhandling room, GeorgeBray’s world had gone dark.Hefumbledthroughthevoid,looking for a way out. Hecircledbackthroughtheaftersteering room and heardwater rushing in fromsomewhere. Suddenly,through an open hatch

forward,watercameswirlingallaroundhim.Inthetorrent,mattresses floated by, likeraftsontheinflow,andemptyshellcasestoo.Theflowwasstrong enough to carry awayBray’slifebeltandleftshoe.Hehungontosomecablestosteadyhimself.Around this time Bob

Copeland got his last look atthe USS Johnston. WhenErnest Evans’s destroyer

passed close by the Roberts,and in the midst of his ownruin, Copeland washeartbroken to see up closewhat had become of theproud tin can. The image ofthe battered ship stayed withhimfortherestofhislife.

I can see her right now.She had taken a terrificbeating. Her bridge wasbattered and had beenabandoned.Her foremast,a steel tubular mast,comingupjustabaftofthe

bridgesuperstructure,hadbeen split from shellfreand then bent down overitself….It gave me a hurt

feeling to look at it. Hersearchlights had beenknocked off. One torpedomount was gone, and hernumber-three gun hadcompletely disappeared.As she went by—limpingalong at a pretty slowspeed—I sawher captain.He was a very big manwith coal-black hair; hisname was Evans. I hadmet him at some of those

conferences. He wasstanding on the fantailconninghisshipbycallingdown through an openscuttle hatch into thesteering engine room. Ican see himnow.Hewasstripped to the waist andwas covered with blood.Hislefthandwaswrappedinahandkerchief….As he went by—he

wasn’toverahundredfeetfromusashepassedusonour starboard side—heturned a little and wavedhishandatme.That’sthelastIsawofhim.

***

BOB COPELAND WAS STRUGGLING

with a decision he had notwanted to make until thegrotesque reality of hiswarship’s condition thrust ituponhim:shouldhegivetheorder to abandon ship? Hewas frankly in awe of theSammyB.’sruggednessunderduress. The Bureau of Shipsand the folks at BrownShipyard really knew their

trade. Lloyd Gurnett showedup on the bridge covered inthe remains of shell-blastedasbestos lagging. As firstlieutenant,heknewhisship’scompartments andpassageways and ladders andbulkheads intimately. Onthose raw scores, theSamuelB. Roberts had little left tooffer the U.S. Navy. Gurnetttold Copeland that the shipwassettlingbythestern.Thestarboard listwas tipping the

inclinometer at elevendegrees,hesaid.Bothengineroomswereoutof action, allcommunications and powergone. The only unansweredquestion pertained to thecondition of the ship’s maingunbatteries.Couldtheystillshoot at the enemy, andwasthere anything left in themagazines to shoot at them?Jack Moore was orderedforward to checkonGun51,andTomStevensonwas sent

aft to appraise Paul Carr’sgroup.Stevenson didn’t want to

do it. He wasn’t sure hecould. Ever since the aftforty-millimeter gun wascarried off, Tom Stevensonhad been terribly shaken up.The young officer incommand back there, JohnLeClercq,hadbeenoneofhisbest friends. Stevenson hadspoken with him over the

phones during the battle. Hewas impressedbyLeClercq’scalm as the young officerdirectedthefiringoftheafterguns.Hewasagoodkidanda good destroyerman for thesame reason: he was alwayslookingoutforsomeoneelse.At one point LeClercq hadhad the presence of mind totrain his forty-millimetermount on a spread oftorpedoes bubbling towardSprague’s carriers. Johnny

LeClercqwastheverypictureof wholesome blondAmerican innocence,considerate of the enlistedmen, devoted to the Navy,andmeticulous in his duties.He wrote home regularly tohis parents inDallas, signingthe letters “Sonny.” Evenfrom a hemisphere away, henever forgot his youngerbrother’s rites of passage—Bobby’s birthdays, the firstdays of school. Though the

twenty-three-year-oldcultivatedasuperstitiousside—hecarriedacarvedwoodenskunkforgoodluck—hekepta realistic attitude towarddeath. Informed by hismother of the passing of afriend in another theater ofbattle,hesatdownathisdesksixteen days before thedestruction of the USSSamuelB.Roberts andwrotethis:“IamsorrytohearaboutH. P. Inge. He was a swell

boy, and I guess that war iswhere brains alone won’tsaveyou,ashewouldstillbegoingnowifitwould….Tellhisfamily—chinupanddon’tworry.Everythingwill be allrightintheend.”Because he took this latter

assertionasanarticleoffaith,deathneverpreoccupiedhim.He was too busy enjoyinglife. He seemed to walkthrough his days on the

SamuelB.Robertsasiflitbya sunrise within. “The fewthings you saw him do andsay made you want to knowhim better,” a friendobserved. Two short hoursago Tom Stevenson hadshaken LeClercq’s hand,wishing him luck as thegeneral quarters gongscattered the crew to battlestations. Now Johnny, alongwith so many others, wasgone, truly gone, the

explosions so powerful as toerase them from the air.Othershaddiedtoo,buttheirbodies remained to becounted.The communications

department boss hadencountered death at seabefore. Before the war hisfamily earned their keepoperatingNorwegian-licensedcargoshipsoutofNewYorkHarbor. The chartered

merchantmen of T. J.Stevenson & Co. took avariety of cargoes on theirploddingnine-knotcruisesupand down the easternseaboard. They took lumberfrom St. John, NewBrunswick, carried it toJamaica, and brought sugarcaneon the return leg.Whenhe was sixteen TomStevenson went to sea,entering the family businessasadeckboy.Whenhelefton

his first voyage, his motherstuck a big bottle ofaftershavelotioninhisduffel.On his first night at sea hiscabinmate, a fortysomethingNorwegian steward whoseemed drunk all the time,stole the bottle and drank it.While Stevenson slept, theman rigged a makeshiftgallows and hung himselfbeneath the teenager’s bunk.The following morning thecaptain gave Stevenson one

of his first shipboard duties,ordering him to gather woodfrom the hold and make acoffin.It was all very unsettling,

but Stevenson had stayedaboardshipandinshortorderbecome a qualifiedhelmsman.After high schoolhe attended GeorgetownUniversity’s School ofForeignService.OneSundayafternoon during his junior

yearStevensonwaswatchinga Redskins football game atGriffith Stadium whensuddenly all of the admiralsand generals in the crowdwerecalledoutoftheirseats.A war was on, it seemed,although nobody seemed toknow exactly where thisplace, Pearl Harbor, was.Less than twoyears later, bywhich time Stevenson was acommissioned officer and aspecialist in naval

communications, the SamuelB. Roberts was ready forlaunchinginHouston.Though Tom Stevenson

had joined the Navy wellacquaintedwith death at sea,itdidnotpreparehimforthis.Nothing could have. A manhanging himself was onething. A seagoingslaughterhouse enabled byindustrial-age engines ofwarwasquiteanother.Unlikethe

armor-piercing rounds thathadpenetratedearlierwithoutexploding,thehigh-explosiveshells that hit the Robertsnow performed exactly asdesigned.Stevensonlookeddownthe

ladder from the bridge wingtothedeckatthedeadwhosebodiesremainedintact.Someof them appeared completelyuninjured. There was noblood,nomess.Theyjustlay

thereon thedeck,unscathed,locked intoposes that lookedridiculous, somehow vaguelyathletic. Down at the foot oftheladder,corpseslitteredthedeck. Stevenson decided hedidn’tneedtogodownthere.Therewasnoviablerouteaftinanyevent.Hecouldseethedeckhousebackthere,blastedall apart. The passagewaysalongtherailoneithersideofit were obstructed by sheetsof twisted, blackened metal

and bodies of a similardescription. The deck wasaflame with burning oil andsizzling chunks of depthcharge explosives. It wasplainenoughthatGun52wasno longer firing, though itsbarrelstillglowedcherry-red.Tom Stevenson went back

as far as he could, gave anexploratoryshout,andgettingno encouraging response,reportedthegrimnewstohis

captain. Gun 51 wasn’tworking either. Jack Moorecame back and said therewere still forty-two roundsleft in the magazine, but thegun had been jarred soseverely that it no longerrotatedonitsbase.The ship was quiet now.

Thegunsdidnotfire,andtheboilers no longer roared.There were no screamsanymore, just a peculiar

graveyard calm. The silencerevealed no new horrors. IfJapanese shells were stillrushingbyoverhead,crashingin columns of colorful brine,they failed tomake the sameimpression that they hadmadetwohoursbefore.Theydidn’t matter now. The deadwere so promiscuous, thedamage so profound, thattherewasnoterrorleftintheshells’descent.

Thirty-seven

In his final moments aboardtheHoel, CaptainKintbergerhelped Commander Thomasto the rail. The screencommander was severelywounded,withalargesectionofonearmtornout,fromthebiceps to mid-forearm. Theskipperguidedhimoverboard

andjumped.Thetwoofficershit the water and kicked outto steady themselves.Kintberger found a batteredlife raft whose woodenlatticeworkhadbeenchippedto pieces in the rain ofshrapnel. He pulled severalHoel crew from thesurrounding water into theraft’s sanctuary. As he wentup, over, and in, Thomasgritted his teeth and tried togrin,keepingupappearances.

Therewasacry frombehindthem, and George Driscollwas there. Someone grabbedthe mortally wounded chieftorpedo-man by the shirt andhauledhimaboard.Theworstoff were placed inside theraft, sheltered from theelements and stabilized sothey did not have to move.Those without wounds orslightly hurt treaded wateralongside, holding on to theraft’s outer shell. Going

overboard,MylesBarretthadlost most of his pants whenthey snagged on a grapplinghook.NowhetookoffhisT-shirt and used it to stopThomas’s bleeding.With hisshirt turned intoa tourniquet,he was left wearing only hisbelt,hisboxers,andthebackpocketsofhispants,flappinginthetide.Just minutes after the

Japanese drew first blood

from the Samuel B. Roberts,theUSSHoelrolledoverandsank.Ashercrewturnedandwatched, the destroyer got itover with quickly, rolling toport and going down by thestern. Her bow rising, awindy sucking sound washeard aswater rushed in andforced air out of the lowercompartments. Disappearingbelowthesurfaceinsequencewentthebridge,thenGun52,thenGun 51, then the neatly

trimmed bow. The seaswallowed her whole.Kintberger’s raft movedtoward the spot where theship sank, drawn by theinward tug of seawaterdisplaced as the ship passedintothedeep.LieutenantDix:

The sound of waterlappingattheraft,The voices of the otherstalkinglow,The strange unwelcomestillnessofthescene,Broughthomethedreadful

lonelinessandloss

Because their shipwas thefirst to go under, the battlepassedthemby,theAmericanships disappearing over thesouthern horizon. Theirsolitudelastedonlyforafewminutes. Soon enoughelements of the pursuingJapanesefleetappeared.JohnDix heard the deep thrum oflarge diesel engines and sawthe low form of an

approaching column ofdestroyers. Good God,haven’t they done enough tous today? he thought. Heassumed he and his menwould be butchered wherethey swam. The Japs woulddotothempreciselywhatthegunners and Marines aboardthe Hoel had done to someJapanese seven months ago,at Emirau. Most everybodyremembered the canoeincidentatEmirau,thoughno

one was eager to speak thename.InMarch, during thedrive

to bypass and isolate theJapanese stronghold atRabaul, the Fourth MarineDivisionhad taken the islandin the St. Matthias Group.The troops had met littleresistance, and theHoel andotherdestroyerspatrollingthesurrounding waters aimed tokeep it that way. They were

guarding against covertreinforcement by sea whenthey got their first up-closeglimpse of Japanese fightingmen. The destroyer cameupon a nativewar canoe andfound that it was filled withlocal kids, boys. It wasstrange, everyone thought.What were they doing in acombat zone? At least theytook them for kids—untilthey got closer, and a manstood up in the canoe and

startedshootingthem,onebyone. They were Japanesesoldiers.Theirleaderwasnotabout to let them get takenprisoner.Their audience aboard the

Hoel didn’t cotton to enemygunfireopeningupsoclosetothem.Theyfinishedwhat theJapanese commander started.The forward forties were thefirst to open up—poo-poom,poo-poom. As the destroyer

circled the skiff, the Marinedetachment added their riflefire to the fray. No one wasleftaliveonthatcanoe.Would the Japanese return

thefavornow?Dix expected the sound of

machine guns to rip the air.There was no hiding in theraft, yet there CommanderThomas and others were,crouching down inside as ifthey could conceal

themselves. Seeing thefutility of possum-playingandmorethanalittlecurioustoseethemenwhohaddonein his proud ship, Dixwatched the four destroyersapproach.Thefirstonestruckhim as absurdly huge. TheHoel must have looked thatway to the soldiers on thatcanoe.

Andsee themen,howtalltheyseem,howcleanAndneatly dressed, not like

we’ve heard they look.They’re not at battlestations anymore, Butkhaki uniforms—must bemarines. They’ve got alandingforceaboardtheseships. Look at ’em grinand point—they’rewavin’now. Duck down, duckdown—Okay—she’spassed on by. But there’sthesecond.Look!Herfishare gone. They fired thefish all right. Damn,here’s the third. Wait,she’s been hit. There, bythe bridge. But she’s Theonly one. The others allseem clean, Well-painted.

Hell, these ships aresmart.

As the last enemy tin canapproached, Dix feared hehad pressed his luck too farwith his rubbernecking. Heduckedunderwateragainandhidundertheraft.Somethingmust have told him this shipwould have the killer crew.The ship steamed by, and asthe raft rocked on the swellsabove his head, he raged athis powerlessness. Then,

lungs burning, heartthumping in his chest, hewentupagainforair.Myles Barrett saw them

linedupbytherail.Japanesesailors, whooping it up,having a grand old time astheir destroyer steamedtriumphantly by. The close-upencounterwith theenemywas like a throwback toanother era, when sailingships grappled and boarded

one another. Even gunneryhad once been conducted atsuch close range, yardarm toyardarm, thatone ship’smencouldheartheother’sshouts,prayers,songs,andpleas.Thekilling was more personal,but there also existed thepossibility of surrender,capture, and mercy. By themiddle of the twentiethcentury the reach of newweapons hadmade combat acold, long-distance business.

Warships didn’t surrender toone another any longer.Commanders were insulatedfrom their counterparts inclosed bridges,communicating by secretcodes and radio frequencies.Sea warfare becamethoroughlydepersonalized.This was personal. Myles

Barrett could see that theJapanese were holdingobjects in their hands. They

were lobbing them into thewater.Barrettthoughthewasa goner. The Japs arethrowing grenades at us.Then the absurd realitysettledin.They were potatoes. Just

potatoes.In time, theJapaneseships

were gone. No, just thedestroyersweregone.Captain Kintberger gave a

shout, Dix turned, and a

warship that made thedestroyers look like bathtubtoys was approaching themnow.Itsgirthandheight—allits dimensions—were onanotherscalealtogether.Steelwas piled and layered andcantilevered atop steel,capped by a wide-armedrangefinder seated atop thetowering pagodasuperstructure. Huge tripleturretsaimedoutoverthematsome distant point on the

horizon. The sight of thebattleship charging south inpursuitofTaffy3 tookDix’sbreath away. They had nobusiness being in the sameoceanwiththisleviathan.Thesoundofanairplane,a

TBM Avenger, broke thespell. It bore down on thatoutsize superstructure’sstarboard side, diving like ahornetagainstanoxasblackpuffs of flak littered the sky

all around it. The pilotreleased a bomb. As hestreaked overhead and away,the weapon struck the waterbeside the armored hull,raisingatallcolumnofwatershort of the ship. The hugeship sliced past the survivorsoftheHoel, seeming togloatin the pilot’s failure. Therewent her turrets, her giantmast, her bristling secondaryguns. “My God, look at thatthing!” someone said. “That

mustbetheYamato.”The Japanese too watched

their enemy with no smalldegreeof interest. “Passingafairly big dark red slick,”wrote Admiral Ugaki, “wecametoanareawhereenemysurvivors were clinging tocutters and strewn all over.What did they think of themagnificentsightofour fleetin pursuit? As we were theenemies, theymade no signs

asking for help, though theymusthavewantedto.”The survivors of theHoel

hadthefirstandlastup-closeglimpse any American sailorevergotof theIJNSYamato,the largest battleship on thehigh seas. All across herfighting tops, crewmen stooderect at battle stations, thevery image of readiness andinvincibility. Dix and theothers watched the

superstructure and stacksloomby, the signal flagsandpennantsflyingpast, thenthehuge rear turret followed byan endless stretch ofquarterdeck. The roaringwash of her wake seemed tocleanse the sea of heroverwhelmingpresence.Astern of theYamato, less

thanathousandfeetfromthebobbing Americandestroyermen, followed the

Nagato, slightly lessimposing, older, but no lessmajestic. There came thesound of another aircraftengine, then a high-pitchedscream as it entered into itsdive. Through the cloudsappearedaNavyF6FHellcat—the four jeeps of Taffy 1carried a few of the late-modelGrumman fighters.Asthe plane fell toward theJapanese ship, seaman firstclassGlenn Parkin could see

its six wing-mounted gunswinking. He was closeenough to hear the rattle ofthe bullets hitting thebattleship’s metalsuperstructure and hardwooddecks. The Japanese firedback, to no result. In aboutthirty seconds, the showwasover.TheHellcatdisappearedinto thegraywashofclouds.The Japanese battleshipsteamedon,unperturbed.

It made us bitter then towatchthatstrength,Tofeelourweaknessin

thisawfulhour,To see their flag so

boldlyflyingstill,To know we hadn’t

doneathingtothemNor held them back,

nor even slowed themdown.They’ve sunk the

carriers,theothercans!Now they’re re-

forming,gettingsettogoTo Leyte Gulf and

strikeourtransportships.

What’s happened?Lord, what’s happened toourfleet?

Thirty-eight

By the time the Hoel wentdown, four heavy cruisers,the Tone, the Chikuma, theHaguro, and the Chokai,damaged but hungrily inpursuit,hadturnedthecornerfrom a southerly to asouthwesterly course,following Sprague’s carriers

in their clockwise evasivepath. Having destroyed theHoel, crippled the GambierBay, ravaged the Johnston,and blasted the Samuel B.Roberts in a mismatchedduel, therewas little else forthe Japanese todobutpolishoff Sprague’s resilient jeeps,then charge toward LeyteGulf, crushing whatever elselayintheway.Shortlybeforenineo’clock

the tail-end Charlie in theJapanese heavy cruisercolumn,theChokai,absorbeda hard blow. There was notelling who fired the luckyshot. It is not easy todetermine whether it camefrom a Taffy 3 ship or aplane. Indeed, forstudentsofthe Pacific war, the exactcircumstancesoftheChokai’sdemise remain largely amystery. Sometime duringthewildrunningfighta five-

inch shell exploded near thecruiser’s after torpedo tubes.Torpedoes were foreign toU.S. heavy cruisers. Whilethe naval treaties prohibitedcruisers from carryingtorpedoes in any event,American designersconsidered the powerfulweapons too volatile anddangerous to install on shipsmeant to standand fight in abattle line. In breaking theWashington Naval Treaty,

Japanacceptedtherisks,bothpolitical and tactical. TheChokainowpaidtheprice.She had been closing on

the carriers for nearly twohours now, opening fire at7:05 and advancingimplacably on Taffy 3’s portquarter, chasing Spraguearoundacirclethatshecouldnever quite seem to close,owing to the unrelenting airattacks and the stout

resistanceofTaffy3’sscreen.Now,runningnearlyduewestunder spirited fire fromassailants hidden in smoke,the Chokai took a shellamidships on the starboardside. A larger blast followedit,afierysecondaryexplosionlikely caused by one of herowntorpedoes.Atthetimelookoutsonthe

Haguro reported that theChokai was “under

concentrated shellfire fromenemy main strength,receiving hits on starboardside amidships.” WhichAmerican ships the Haguroobservers considered “enemymain strength” is far fromclear. Most likely it was nottheSamuelB.Roberts.AtthetimeCaptainCopeland’sshipwasinthelastmomentsofitsdesperate duel with a cruiserpositively identified by herskipper as a Tone-class ship,

probably the Chikuma. TheHeermann too was engagedwiththeToneortheChikumawhentheChokaireceivedthefateful blow before nine A.M.AtthattimetheJohnstonwasintercepting AdmiralKimura’sdestroyer line;onlyafter nine did CaptainEvans’sshipbeginalternatingfire between the Japanesedestroyers and cruisers. Anditcouldn’thavebeentheHoeleither—Captain Kintberger’s

destroyerwasby thena ruin,her guns silent, her menleapingovertherail.Evidence suggests that the

Chokai was knocked out ofaction by the enterprisingpeashootercrewontheescortcarrierWhitePlains.IfitwastheWhite Plains’s gun crewthat earned the accolade“main enemy strength,” itwas a fine tribute to them—and not the only time during

the battle that the Japanesemisestimated their opponent.As likely as not, it was theWhitePlains’smarksmanshipthatsignaledthebeginningoftheendfortheproudimperialcruiser and a man-bites-dogshift in themomentumof thebattle.From11,700yardsthejeep

carrier’s gun crew put sixshells into the Chokai. ThedeadlyLongLancetorpedoes

that had littered the PacificOceanfloorwiththehulksofAmerican ships nowbackfired on one of theirown. There was a largeexplosion. Lookouts on theHaguro saw the Chokaisignal, “ENGINE OUT OF

COMMISSION.” The crippledcruiser sheered out of line toport and limped away to theeast,slowingandsettlingfast.

***

THROUGHOUT THE MORNING

AMERICAN pilots swarmedKurita’s ships inevergreaternumbers. The first planes tostrike from Taffy 3’ssquadrons, armed for othermissions,weresuitedonlyforharassment. Now the fliersfrom the other two Taffygroups weighed in. Taffy 1,farthest from Sprague, aboutfiftymiles south,was largelyoccupiedwiththequestionofits own survival as Japanese

Armybombersswarmedfrombases on Luzon. Still, anumber of planes from theNatomaBay and other Taffy1carriersgotintothefrayoffSamar. Meanwhile, mostlyfree of the immediate dangerof air attack and surfacegunfire,Taffy2’scarriershadmore time in which to armtheir planes for killing ships.Plane handlers andordnancemen workedthemselves to exhaustion

arming and launching planesthroughoutthemorning.Stump’s group had

launched one well-armedstrikeat7:45.Nowitssecondstrike—consisting of eightWildcats and sixteenAvengers—aloft by 8:44,vectored itself into the fray.Led by Cdr. Richard L.Fowler, commander of theKitkun Bay’s VC-5, thesepilots had the right weapons

for the job—torpedoes andfive-hundred-pound semi-armor-piercing bombs. Athree-plane element of TBMAvengers packed as muchpunchasadestroyerescort;afull squadron of the torpedobombers matched the hittingpower of a Fletcher-classdestroyer. Their well-orchestrated arrivalmarked anew phase of the battle. Thetin cans of Taffy 3 had heldtheline;nowtheplaneswere

comingtoturnthetide.Taffy3wouldnothavetocarrythehopeless fight alone anylonger.FourAvengers approached

the Chikuma from nearlyhead-on, two planes comingin at a fifteen-degree angleoffeithersideofthecruiser’sbow. Itwas a textbook anvilattack. If the targeted shipturned to starboard, thetorpedoes off the port bow

would hit her. A coursechange to portwould exposethe starboard side as theproverbial broad side of thebarn. Capt. Saiji Norimitsuturned his ship to starboard,giving the planes on the portside a large broadside to hit.At8:53atorpedofromoneofthese TBMs struck theChikumaontheportsidenearthe stern. According toobservers on her sister ship,theTone, “there was a burst

offlameandsimultaneouslyacolumn of water almost ashighas the lengthof theshipshot up into the air. [TheChikuma’s] afterdeck single-mountmachinegunandothergearwereseenblownintotheair. The after half of theafterdeck was apparentlyheavily damaged, and settledin the water.” Indeed, thedamagewasveryheavy.Thetorpedo explosion appears tohave severed a sixty-foot

section of the Chikuma’sstern. Under fire from theSamuel B. Roberts and thepeashooter crews of severalCVEs, the cruiser burnedfiercely. Now, with thejagged remains of hertruncatedquarterdeckcrackedand sagging, the Chikumaveered to the left, runningeastwardononepropellerandsignaling“RUDDERDISABLED” toher compeers. While hisengineersstruggled to restore

navigability, CaptainNorimitsu signaled AdmiralKuritaat9:20,“ONE PROPELLER,SPEEDEIGHTEENKNOTS,UNABLETOSTEER.”

The Gambier Bay isabandoned, the Hoel sunk,theSamuelB.Robertsdeadinthe water. The batteredJohnston, caught in acrossfire between enemydestroyersandheavycruisers,fights gamely on. The heavycruisers Tone and Hagurobear down on Sprague’scarriers.ButairattacksontheJapanese pursuers intensify:the heavy cruisers Chikuma

and Chokai take cripplingblows.The Chokai too was

nearing her end. Alreadydamaged by the inducedexplosion of one of her owntorpedoes, she took herhardest blow yet from thesky. Commander Fowler hadbeen airborne for more thantwo hours guiding theimprovised aerial assault ontheCenter Force.At 9:05 he

began maneuvering in orderto attack with the sun at hisback to blind the enemyantiaircraft gunners. OrbitingtheJapanesefleet threetimesbefore the path of his flightwas aligned to his liking, heled three otherAvengers andadozenWildcatsthroughtheclouds. Surprise wascomplete. No flak came hisway. Already limping, thecruiser, which Fowleridentified as Mogami-class

butmore than likelywas theChokai, ∗ The only twoMogami-class cruisers in thebattle, the Kumano and theSuzuya, were huddled far tothe north, out of the fight.Didn’t have a chance. Inthirty-five seconds the VC-5skipper, flying an unarmedplane, led Lieutenant Issitt,Lieutenant (junior grade)Globokar, and Lieutenant(junior grade) Turner downupon the unsuspecting ship.

The blows they landed werestaggering. Fowler reportedthat five five-hundred-poundbombs struck the Chokaiamidships,threemoreblastedthe bow, and another hitastern. Whether Fowler wasoverly optimistic or not, thecruiser was a shambles.According to Fowler, “heavysteam and black smoke roseto five hundred feet or moreduringaseriesofthreeheavyexplosions.” The pilot

watched the ship reel out ofcontrolforfivehundredyardsor so, then shake again fromaninternalblast.Capt. Kosaku Ariga, the

Chokai’s skipper, turned hiscruisersharplytotheright.At9:18observersontheYamatologged the the Chokaisignaling, “DIRECT BOMB HIT INFORWARD MACHINERY SPACES.ATTEMPTING TO REPAIR SAME.”AlthoughCommanderFowlerclaimedtheshipblewupand

sank within five minutes ofthis strike, triumphantlycalling out over the radio,“ScratchoneCA,”∗ In Navy parlance, “CA”indicates a heavy cruiser. itseems the foundering shipsurvived for the moment.Pilots from the Taffy 2 jeepMarcus Island reported that“the cruiser was seen tosmokeheavily,stop,andthenget under way slowly.”

Japanese records too suggestthat the Chokai got movingagain. The ship reportedlylimped northward until 9:40P.M., when, finallyunnavigable and settling, shewas scuttled by torpedoesfromthedestroyerFujinami.His lethal work done,

Fowlerrendezvousedwithhisfellow fliers and headed forTaffy2 to land.En route, hecould see two battleships

headed at high speed to thesoutheast—theKongoandtheHaruna— firing at extremerangeatTaffy2, thirtymilesto Taffy 3’s south. Fowlerradioed Admiral Stump onthe Natoma Bay, informinghim what was headed hisway.His timingwas perfect.At that moment the Taffy 2commanderwas readyingyetanother air strike. Thebattleshipswouldgetsomeofit.

***

BUT THE TIDE OF battle wouldnotturnwithoutcost.At9:07the stricken Gambier Bay,abandoned twenty minutesbefore, aloneandmercilesslybattered by the heavycruisers,finallysank.CaptainViewegwasamongthelasttoleave the ship. He stayed onthe bridge until he wassatisfied of the crew’sprogress, then descended the

superstructure. He couldn’tsee a thing. Smoke and hotgases were pouring upwardfromanunseenconflagrationbelow,blindinghim.Vieweg felt his way aft,

looking for the ladder downto the starboard catwalk. Inthe smoke and steam hemissed the ladder altogetherand plummeted into a void.The smokewas soblackandthe heat so intense that the

captain, thoroughlydisoriented, feared he hadfallen right into the mainexhaust stack. On a CVE itsyawning black chasm wasnearly flush with the flightdeck. Panicked, Vieweggrabbed the rim of the steelenclosure he lay in andhauledhimselfoutofit.Thenhe was falling again. Hebrokeintoclearair,fellaboutforty feet to the water, andwas nearly choked by the

strap on his battle helmetwhen he plunged in. Hesurfaced to find the carrier’sten-thousand-ton bulk rollingto starboard, threatening tocomedownontopofhim.Heswammadlytowardthesternand cleared the ship by thetime it finally turned turtle,exhaled the last of the staleair from its compartments,and entered the formidabledepthsofthePhilippineSea.

From the cockpit of hisWildcat,LarryBudnickoftheSt.Lo’sVC-65 saw a carrierlying there, its keel bared tothe sky. Wallowing upsidedown, the flat-bottomedcarrier looked to the aviatorlike a brand-new flight deck.Strangely, the Japanese shipswere still firing into theruined ship. He had neverimagined that this couldhappen. Carriers, no mattertheir size, were the queen

bees of the fleet. In nearlythree years of warfare allacross the Pacific, not onehadfallentoahostilesurfaceforce’s guns. Budnickwatched theGambier Bay inher final moments andwondered: How many morearegoingtogo?We’regoingtolosethewholegroup.

Thirty-nine

Having apparently repelledthe Yahagi and her fourdestroyerconsortsonlytoseethem double back andreengage, the Johnston wassurrounded by enemy ships.Evans’s hobbled destroyerfaced two cruisers to port,twomore straight ahead, and

severaldestroyersloiteringinthesmoketostarboard.ShellsfromKimura’sdestroyershaddemolished the coding room,the chart storagecompartment, and radiocontrol. Under the renewedbombardment the forty-millimeter ready servicemagazine started exploding.Then Gun 52, captained bygunner’s mate third classDonald A. Coleman, took ahitrightbythepointer’sseat.

Everyone in the mount waseither killed or criticallywounded. Fires broke out inthe magazine below, fillingtheupperhandlingroomwithsmokeandmakingthebridgeall but untenable. InsideGun55 Clint Carter didn’t knowwhat had happened, butthrough the sight door hecould see damage-controlcrews struggling to getaround the rolling pile ofempty brass powder casings

aroundhisgunmount.Below the port bridge

wing, empty shell casingsfromGun52hadpiledupsothickly that it could hardlyturnwithoutsendingthebrasscylinders rolling andclattering all over the deck.Menon the antiaircraft guns,having nothing to shoot at,occupiedthemselveswiththisminor hazard, slinging thespent shells, still hot to the

touch,overtheside,whentheshell hit. Several of the guncrew were blown out thehatchonthestarboardsideofthe mount. Bill Mercer laidseaman first class GlennHeriford on the deck alongthebulkheadunder thewing.“Merc, straighten my legout,” Heriford said. Therewasnothingtostraightenout.Hislegwaspracticallyblownoff.

The smoke from the firesforward flowed upward andengulfed the gun director.“The place was full ofsmoke,” Bob Hagen wrote,“our eyes were streaming,and we were coughing andchokingaswecarriedoutourduties. We were now in aposition where all the gutsand gallantry in the worldcouldn’tsaveus….Weknewwecouldnot survive,butwefigured that help for the

carriersmust be on the way,and every minute’s delaymightcount.”Where had everybody

gone? Ellsworth Welchwondered as his ship droveunder reddened washes ofwater that hissed into steamon decks made hot by firesraging below. The lieutenantreturned to the bridge andfound no one there. Henoticed that the classified

publications were gone. Hejoggedbacktothefantailandfound Captain Evans there,relaying his course changesthroughhistalker,JoeWoolf,whoshouteddownahatchtothemeninthesteeringengineroom. Evans’s only problemseemed to be a shortage ofrested crew to keep up withhis rapid pace. The work ofturning the wheel that drovethe rudder pump wasbackbreaking. Gunners from

uselessgunmountsandotherdisplaced crew gatheredastern to take their turns atthe pump wheel. But nosooner would they have therudder turning one way thanEvans would shout “Shiftyourrudder!”andtheywouldswingitbackaround.Chief boatswain’s mate

ClydeBurnetttookturnswithanother big man, JohnScheindele, cranking the

rudder, then went backtopside to help the captainpassorders.Somecredittheirsurvival to the erratic coursethat the manually steereddestroyermade.But now theJapanesepressedinclose,sixto ten thousand yards away,deliveringinnumerablehitsinthe long minutes after 9:10A.M.

For half an hour, theJohnstonhadalternatedfiringbetween the destroyers to

starboard and then thecruisers to port in a futileeffort to prevent both fromovertaking the carriers. ButnowtheAmericanshipcouldnolongerslowthem.AlreadytheHaguroandtheTone, theswiftestheavycruisersleft tothe Center Force, werepinching off Taffy 3’ssouthward flight andthreateningtopushSprague’sships toward the rockycoastline of Samar. The

carriers fled west with theirsmoke screen, helped alongby the light northeasterlybreeze.

***

With the Johnston out of the way,Kurita faced a clear path tohismissionobjectiveinLeyteGulf. Having weathered thegallant assault by AdmiralSprague’s screen—havingabsorbed and mostly

shrugged off the thirty-ninetorpedoes they had put intothe water ahead of him—hewas ready to make his long-plannedassaultonSanPedroBay.TheHeermannwasstillaround somewhere butwouldn’t makemuch troublewith its ten torpedoes gone.The destroyer escort JohnC.Butler, unable to form upwith its fellow DEs whenSprague ordered them toattack at 7:50, remained on

station making smoke asternthe carriers. Its three fishwouldnothavedonemuchtostop Kurita in any event.Admiral Stump’s Taffy 2,havingalreadybeenthetargetof ranging salvos from theHaruna,wouldbenextontheCenterForce’s listof targets:six jeep carriers with theirown seven-ship screen ofdestroyers and destroyerescorts. With Taffy 3’scarriers sunk and unable to

help Taffy 2, Stump’s taskunitwouldbealltheeasiertobrushaside.But Kurita did not yet

enjoy the clear vision ofhindsight. He had seen hisproudest ships battered andsunk by an American airassault. By continuing south,he would only beg for moreofit.HisstaffhadinterceptedamessagefromCapt.RichardF. Whitehead, the Seventh

Fleet’s Commander ofSupport Aircraft, inviting allorphanedjeepcarrierpilotstoland at Tacloban.Kuritawasworried about steaming tooclose to the aerial strikingpower that was surely nowgathering ashore. His ownpleasforairsupporthadgoneunanswered. The help heexpected from the ImperialArmy’sFirst andSecondAirFleets on Luzon—so centralto the planning of the Sho-1

plan to begin with—nevercame.Beneath unguarded skies

the mighty Musashi hadbecome a glorified targetbarge. Lack of air cover hadcost Kurita several valuableheavy cruisers, the fastestblades in his rack of swords.HehadleftBruneiwithtenofthem,andhewasdowntosixbefore he ever turned thecorner coming out of San

Bernardino Strait. Now hehad only two. The Chokai,theChikuma, and theSuzuyahad succumbed to theaudacious American airattacks. The Kumano wasunfit for pursuit after thetorpedo hit from theJohnston. Though themorning’s assaults did notcome in well-organizedwaves like those that hadstruck him the previousafternoon, they were

incessant and persistent, likeangry hornets. He did notcherish the idea of movingclosertotheirhive.Kuritawasn’t sure howhe

would re-form and enterLeyteGulf inanyevent.TheCenter Force was strung outand scattered across somethirty miles of ocean.Reassembling into battleformation would take timethatheprobablydidnothave.

From his expansive flagquarters aboard the Yamato,he did not know what hiscruiser skippers knew: thatthey opposed mere escortcarriers, and that they hadnearly succeeded in cuttingoff Sprague’s flight, forcingthe Americans toward shore,wheretheycouldbeencircledand destroyed in passing bythe rest of the Center Force.Their transmissions to himhad been short and cryptic.

Wisps of partial knowledge,they had offered little onwhich to base a well-informeddecision.Kurita was in no position

to know these things forhimself. The Yamato’semergency turn to avoid theHeermann’s torpedoes hadtaken the flagship northwardandlargelyoutofthebattleata critical juncture. Thefloatplanes he had catapulted

to reconnoiter the Americanforce had never been heardfrom again. Since he did notknowwhathisowntaskforcefaced, it is unsurprising thathe also did not know thatOzawa’s decoy force hadthoroughly succeeded infoolingHalsey.ForallKuritaknew, Halsey was right hereunder his guns. His apparentinability to overtake theAmericancarriersoweditself,he thought, to the fact that

they were none other thanthoseoftheswiftThirdFleet.Whatotherexplanationcouldthere be? He had loosed hisshipsintoageneralattack,anoceangoing foxhunt rollingover the Pacific swells. Hehad sought to destroy theirflightdecksandpreventthemfromlaunchingplanes.Inthathehadfailed.These anxieties preyed

upon a mind that was

thoroughly battle-fatigued.Kurita hadn’t slept in threedays, ever since the Atagohad been torpedoed out fromunder him in the PalawanPassage on October 23.Fished from the sea andrelocated to the Yamato, hehad witnessed on thefollowing afternoon thedestruction of Japan’sproudest dreadnought, theMusashi. He had struggledwiththedecisiontowithdraw

before sunset on the twenty-fourth, then turned aroundagain and by night threadedhis large formation throughthe perilous San BernardinoStrait. The next morning theunexpected windfall ofAmerican aircraft carrierscomingunderhisgunsfurthertaxed his powers of analysisandcommand.Noweventhatcoveted prize threatened toelude him, though he hadgotten reports claiming that

several U.S. flattops,including one of the“Enterprise class,” had beensunk along with two heavycruisersandsomedestroyers.But truth was cruelly atvariancewithKurita’swearysenses. As an Americanhistorian would wryly note,“Outfought by pygmies, heyetthoughthehadconqueredgiants.” Now Kurita had todecide whether he shouldpress his luck, gather his

scattered force, and enterLeyteGulf.He calculated that the

transports he was to sinkwere,inalllikelihood,emptyof their valuable cargoes.Onthe radio he had heardAdmiral Kinkaid’s plain-language calls for help. TheSeventh Fleet commander’s8:29 plea—“My situation iscritical. Fast battleships andsupport by air strike may be

able prevent enemy fromdestroying [escort carriers]and entering Leyte”— hadbeen retransmitted by Alliedradio units in the AdmiraltyIslandsandinterceptedbytheJapaneseonFormosaat9:05.ButKuritadidnotseethisasthe signalofopportunity thatit was. Like a defeated man,he perceived his enemy’severy act as evidence of itsstrength and ingenuity.Nishimura’s group had been

destroyed.Was his next? Hegrew anxious, expectingpowerful Americanreinforcements to rally toKinkaid’scallatanymoment.“Anxieties,” wrote Alfred

Thayer Mahan, “are the testandpenaltyofgreatness.”Onthe cusp of a smashingvictory, a commander mustkeep his nerve or failaltogether. According to thatgreat American naval

strategist, who had found anattentivereadershipinJapan:

Strenuous, unrelaxingpursuit is therefore asimperative after a battleas courage is during it.Great political resultsoften flow from correctmilitary action; a factwhich no militarycommanderisatlibertytoignore. He may very wellnot knowof those results;it is enough to know thatthey may happen, andnothing can excuse hislosing a point, which by

exertion he might havescored.

But further exertion wasbeyond Takeo Kurita. TheJapanese admiral had beenpressed to his physical andemotional limits. At 9:11 onthe morning of October 25,he took stock of everythinghe knew and did not knowand issued this order to hisfar-flungsquadron:

Rendezvous,mycoursenorth,speed20.

The commander of CruiserDivision 7 logged themessage as “All shipsreassemble.” The Haguro’ssignal department heard“Gradually reassemble.”Semanticsaside,therewasnomistaking the intent towithdraw.TheYamato turned to port

and headed north. AdmiralKimura received thewithdrawal order just as hisYahagi and accompanyingdestroyerswereagainbearingdown on the enemy carriers.Though the Johnston’sinterdiction was gallant, itwasKuritawhofinallysparedthe jeeps. For a second timeKimura’s destroyers heeledaround and headed north. At9:20 the Tone and theHaguro, nearly inposition to

eviscerateTaffy3frompoint-blankrange,turnedincolumnandfollowedsuit.At9:25theKongo stopped the hunt andtook her smoking fourteen-inch guns out of the battle.FiveminuteslatertheHarunabroke off her freelancingassault on Taffy 2’snorthernmostelements.

Rendezvous,mycoursenorth.

ThemightyCenterForcewasgoinghome.

Onthevergeofvictory,withtheSamuelB.Robertssinkingand theJohnston dead in thewater, Admiral Kurita loseshisnerveandordershisshipsto reassemble and withdraw.The threat to the U.S.beachhead in the Philippinesends.

Forty

The torpedo attack byKimura’s destroyers was thehalfhearted last gasp ofKurita’s beleaguered fleet.The torpedoes, fired at longrange from an angle wellabaft their targets’beam,hadbarely enough fuel to reachthe carriers. Still, the

Americans took no chanceswith them. Tex Waldrop ofVC-65 was returning to hiscarrier after a busy morningofglide-bombingandstrafingruns when he noticed a bigspread of torpedoes foamingtoward Taffy 3. Hisradioman, Roy McAnally,raised the carriers to warnthemoftheapproachingfish.Thoughhisplanehadathree-foot hole in its port wingfrom Japanese flak,Waldrop

swooped down and openedup with his two wing-mounted fifties on thebubbling wakes, while hiseighteen-year-old gunner,aviationordnancemansecondclassJohnCiolek,openedfirefrom the ball turret. Onetorpedo detonated in theKalininBay’s wake.Anotherexploded off the port quarterofWaldrop’sownhomeship,the St. Lo, whose peashootercrewclaimedathirdfish.The

dramatic sight of the torpedoexploding in midoceanspurred the crew to vigorouscheering. Machine-gunnerson the two carriers blazedaway at the remainingtorpedoes, very possiblypreventing a catastrophicreplay of the Liscome Baydisaster.The silhouettes of the

Center Force ships, whichhad been growing steadily

larger, darker, and moremenacing as the minutescrept by, now began torecede. Aboard the FanshawBay, Ziggy Sprague wasoccupied with avoiding theincoming Japanese torpedoeswhen, at 9:25, he heard asignalman shout, “God damnit, boys, they’re gettingaway!” It was beyondcomprehension. Sprague hadbegun the battle expecting tomake history as the

commander of the firstcarriers ever destroyed bynaval gunfire. Now he madehistory as the victor in themost unlikely win in U.S.navalhistory.“I could not believe my

eyes, but it looked as if thewhole Japanese fleet wasindeed retiring.” Spraguedidn’t accept the astonishingturn of events until severaldifferent pilots circling

overhead confirmed it forhim. Even then, Spraguewroteafterward, “I couldnotget the fact to soak into mybattle-numbed brain.At best,I had expected to beswimmingbythistime.”

***

AT 9:15 A.M., AS Kurita’sships were forming up toretreat, Bill Brooks, studyingthe sea through a hole in the

cloud cover, spied a smalldark speck trailing a thinwake of foam.He turned hisAvenger in its direction andbore on in. The speck grewsteadily larger, its boxyprofile readily recognizableasanAmericanCVE.Brooksclosed range with the ship,liningup topass alongside itwith his landing gear down,indicatinghisrequesttoland.A signal light flashed him a“prep Charlie,” granting his

request.Wheelingaroundinawide

counterclockwise circle,lininguponthestern,Brooksentered the landing patternand, with low fuel, was gladto catch an arrester wire onthe first pass. The ship thattook him aboard, the USSMarcus Island, was theadopted home of pilots fromfive different carriers. Amixed bag of aviators had

foundtheirwaytotheTaffy2carrier ahead of Brooks.Taken to separate debriefingrooms, they began draftingtheir action reports, thenwaited, endlessly waited,whiletheirplanesweretakendownintothehangardeckforrepairs and reloading. In thegathering of strangers,Brooks was happy to see afamiliar face, thatofhisVC-65 squadronmate, Tom VanBrunt. In light of what they

had seen that morning,neithermanhadmuchtosay.As the senior lieutenant in

the group, Van Brunt wastappedtoleadthenextstrike.Everyone was in a hyped-upstatewellbeforethesquadronstewards served the coffee.Brooks took some deepbreaths and said a few HailMarysashereflectedonwhathe had been through. “I hadreally done some deep

thinking as we were comingback.Itwassettlinginonmewhat was happening. WhatcanIdo?Ithought.Icametoarealization:Ididn’twant tomake a suicide run. A pilotwas always better off alivethan dead.” Still, Brookswasn’t sure what could bedone about the long oddsfacing them on the nextsortie. He had no idea whatthe status of the Japanesefleetwas.He knewonly that

it was big. The aviator toldhiscrewmen,JoeDownsandRay Travers, “I don’t expectwe’regoingtoseethesunset.So if you don’t care to joinme on this mission, you’vegotmyblessing.Idon’tthinkwe’re going to get out ofthis.” The offer was a non-starter. The two aircrewmenwouldn’t hear of it. Theywereallinthistogether.As the plane handlers,

armorers,aviationmachinists,and ord-nancemen on theMarcusIslandgassed,armed,and spotted theAvengers forlaunch, Tom Van Bruntdiagrammed the plan ofattack down in the readyroom. In his whole aviationcareer Van Brunt haddroppedjusttwelvetorpedoesinpractice.Onlytwoofthemhad run true. That thoughtgripped him now. He wasgoing out there for real,

against real ships firing realflak that would kill him forreal if his number came upand he took a hit. Howeverslight his preparation,however, this was what hewas there to do. He found aquiet place to pray for amoment and thought abouthis family—his older brotheraboardthelightcruiserReno;his younger brother Bernard,whom he’d just seen atSeeadler Harbor at Manus,

amid the huge gathering ofSeventh Fleet ships; and hiswife and first child, whosepicturesadornedhisdesk.Heprayed that somehow theywould be cared for if hedidn’treturn.That possibility loomed

large in his mind. He knewthatoncehewaslockedintoatorpedo run, evasive actionwas out of the question.Limitations on speed and

altitude and maneuverabilitymadethechancesofreturningnotterriblygood.Themenonthe ships of Taffy 3 werebound to their fate. Jumpingoverboard was pointless—there was nowhere to go inthe water—so they just wentalong and did their jobs.Aviators always retained theoption of escape. But theimpulse toescape seized fewif any of the CVE pilots inaction that day. The thought

never entered Van Brunt’smind.

Forty-one

The Samuel B. Roberts wasfinished.BobCopelandknewit when Lloyd Gurnettdeclaredtheshipagoner—noone would have wanted tohold on longer than the firstlieutenant. “I would advisethecaptain toabandonship,”he called up to the bridge.

Copeland then passed on theword. “Abandon ship, men.Well done.” Copeland nextordered the ship destructionbillcarriedout.Shell-shockedand half conscious but eagerto comply with the order todestroy sensitive equipmentanddocumentsthatmightfallinto enemy hands, ElbertGentrybeat the lensesoutofa pair of ordinary 7×50binoculars, then smashed theglass face of a gyro repeater

display. Howard Cayo, asoundman, was in betterconditiontodiscernwhatwastopsecretfromwhatwasnot.A trained acrobat,Cayo tookasledgehammerandgavethesonar machine a few well-aimedblows.Thenhe tookaTommygunandpepperedthecontraptionliberallywith.45-caliber slugs, nearly hittinghisskipper,BobRoberts,andGentry with the ricochets.Tom Stevenson and a

signalman third class namedCharles Natter ranbelowdecks on the steadilysettling ship. Thecommunications officer wasresponsiblefordestroyingthecodebooksandothersensitivepublications. Stevenson didhis duty, though the urgencywas largely lost on him.“Under fire, you’re thinkingabout your family. You’rethinking, This is the end.There was nothing else to

do.”Stevenson ran to the small

closet adjacent to the radioshack and bagged up themetal wheels from thedecoding machine, which hewouldthrowoverboard.Thenhewenttodestroythecodingmachine itself. Not findingthe grenade that wassupposed to be on hand forthis sad contingency, Natterused a submachine gun to

similareffect.That job done, Stevenson

and Natter headed below tofind the safe that containedsecret documents andpublications, including theLeyte Gulf invasion plans.With his way lit by battery-powered battle lanterns,Stevenson climbed through ahatch scuttle and found thesafe. Though the ship wasshakingfromhitsandthelist

seemed to increase, herememberedthecombination,and the safe door swungopen.He loadedwhat papershe could into severalweightedclothsacks.HeandNatter hauled the sackstopside and tossed themoverboard. Then Stevensonwent down again, alone. Hefetched some more bags andascendedtothemaindeck.DickRohdehadbeenonly

toohappytoheartheabandonshiporder.Sittingathisdeskwearinganinflatablelifebeltinstead of a bulky kapok lifevest, the radioman could feelthedeckplatingunderhisfeetgrowing frighteningly warm.Smoke stung his nostrils.When he tried to stand, hefound that his headset wasstill jacked into his radioconsole.Rohde came out on deck

and found himself standingnext to his chief radioman,Tullio Serafini. “All of asudden therewasanotherbigblast. I felt somethinghitmein the leg. And I looked atSerafini, and there was justblood all over the place. Itwas awful.” He couldn’t seehow Serafini was ever goingto make it. Half his leftshoulder had been blownaway, and he was bleedingseverely.Rohdelookeddown

athisown legand sawabighole in his dungarees.Underneath, the flesh lookedlike so much gristledhamburger. He had seenenough; no need to stare atthat awful mess, he thought.Numb, he put it out of hismind and somehow climbeddown the ladder from theradioshacktothemaindeck.Walking up to the rail, heremoved his shoes and laidthem neatly by the gunwale

alongside another pair thatbelonged to anotherswimmer. Then Rohde liftedhisgoodlegoverthelineandjumpedin.When he hit the water, he

bobbed up and down a fewtimes in the fuel oil anddiscovered that his life belthadbeentornbyshrapnelanddid not hold him. Then,remembering his training toswim away from a sinking

ship inorder toavoidgettingsucked under with it, hestruckout.Inthedirectioninwhich he swam, however, aJapanese warship loomed.Rohde was close enough tosee crewmen staring at thestricken American ship. I’mswimming thewrongway, hethought,realizingthatnooneelsewasaroundhim.Floating nearby was the

miniature life vest that Sam

Blue had fashioned forSammy, theship’scelebratedmascot. Rohde tucked itunderhisarmforalittleextrabuoyancy, then swam backaround the stern of the shipand joined a cluster ofsurvivors.The dog, too, swam to

momentary safety. SomehowSammy got off the ship and,without the benefit of hiscustom-tailored canine

flotation device, paddled outtoaraft.Hewasthereonlyashorttime,however,whenhedecided that he belongedback on the Samuel B.Roberts, his home. The dogjumpedofftheraftandswambacktowardthesinkingship.No one knew his fate forcertain, but that was the lastanyone saw of him. Sammyeither drowned during theswim orwent downwith hisship.

Though he hadcommanded the Samuel B.Roberts barely half a year,Copeland was bondedstronglyenoughtohisshiptoview her as a living thing, amachine with its own souland persona. Yet heunderstoodtootherealitythatthe source of any ship’s lifelay in the lives of thosewhocrewed her. When TomStevenson returned with asecond sackload of classified

publications, Bob Copelandwent in search of hiswounded to make sure theygotofftheship.First the skipper ducked

into his sea cabin andcollected his letters andpersonal effects—whateverhe could sweep together andcarry. Then he went to thebridge, where he and BobRoberts searched for andfound the ship’s muster list,

watch quarter, station bill,and other administrativedocuments.One of the bags Tom

Stevenson had thrownoverboardmustnothavebeenweighted. There it was,bobbing along on the swells.Copeland told Stevenson hehadbetterjumpinandweighit down, lest its sensitivecontents fall into the wronghands. Still wearing his

microphoned talker’s helmetandrealizingthatthiswashisskipper’s way of gettinganother man off the ship,Stevenson leaped off theamidships rail. When he hitthe surface, the helmetbecame a dragbrake, jerkinghis head upward while hisbody lurched downward. Hewasweighteddownbya.45-caliber pistol, which hediscarded.Hethrewawaythehelmet and a standard-issue

bandolier of pistolammunition around hiswaisttoo. He kept his supply ofmorphine syrettes. He andLloyd Gurnett found anexpiring crewman from theengine room, and they eachjabbed him with a needlefulofthenumbingpotion.Copeland turned to his

executive officer and said,“NowBob, Iwantyou togodown to the main deck and

hustle things a little bit, andthenIwantyoutogetintothewater and be out there tosupervisethemen.”“Captain,” Roberts said,

“I’m not leaving until youleave. Idon’twantyou tobea damn fool and get heroicandgodownwiththeship.”Copeland seemed to

appreciate the honor thatunderlay this particular kindof insubordination. “Now

look,Bob,”hesaid,“I’mnotintendingtogodownwiththeship. I don’t knowwhatwillhappen. We are still underfire.My duty is to stay hereuntilthemenareoff,andI’mgoing to do that. As soon aseverybody is off, if I’m stillalive, you can rest assuredthatI’mgettingoff.Ihaven’tany false sense of glory likethose old German naval seacaptainswhoputontheirbestuniformsandstooduponthe

bridge and went down withthe ship. But I am going towaituntilIgetmymenoff.”The executive officer

remainedunmoved.“Bob,” the captain said, “I

don’twant to get toughwithyou;youaremyexecandmygood friend, but remember,this is an order. I want aresponsible senior officer tobewiththesurvivors,andI’mordering you to leave the

ship.”“If that’s the way you put

it,Captain,I’llgo.”“That’s just the way I’m

putting it. I trust I’ll see youin the water, but in case Idon’t, Bob, it’s been swellbeing with you.” Copelandstuck out his hand. “You’vebeenaswellexec,andIwantyoutoknowthat.”“It’s been wonderful

serving with you, Captain. I

hopeyoumakeit;I’mleavingyouwithreluctance.”Thetwoofficerstooktheir.

45s and the bandoliers ofextra ammunition from theirwaists and with a minorceremonial flourish—“One,two, three”—flung theirweaponsintotheseafromtheflyingbridge.Atthat,Robertslefthisskippertogoovertheside.Copelandwalkedafttothe

rearsectionofthebridgeandsurveyedwhatwasleftofhisship. “It gaveme an awfullyhurt and crushed feeling tosee the men lying therewoundedanddeadandtoseeourship,onceasaliveas thepeople on her, battered andlifeless.”Butevenamongthedead therewere living.Amida tangle of human rubble onthe boat deck, Copeland sawmovement. There, reclinedagainst the ship’s stack in a

pool of blood, chiefelectrician’s mate CharlesStaubachwasstillalive.The captain hollered for

Frank Cantrell, the chiefquartermaster, and a coupleof radarmen to go look afterhim. As themen went up tocheckonStaubach,Copelandthought to check in on theCIC to make sure theclassified radar equipmenthad been destroyed. The

ship’s interior compartmentsweredark.Copeland found abattle lantern, but it did notlight. The nearest flashlightwas equally useless. Heretrieved from his pocket acigarettelighter,anditlit,andhelookedaroundtheCIC.Hewas satisfied to see that themachinery had beenthoroughly smashed. Hefound himself compelled tovisit his sea cabin again. Hewent there and looked at the

photos of his family that laybeneath a large rectangularsection of Plexiglas on hisdesk. For forty or fifty longseconds he stood therelooking at the pictures ofHarriet and the kids in theflickeringlight.Copelandwentback to the

main deck, wherepharmacist’smates first classOscar King and GeorgeSchaffer were tending to a

group of wounded. CharlesStaubach was there, crying,though Copeland was prettysure the thirty-five-year-oldelectrician had no idea howbadly he was hurt. “It reallymademesickatmystomachand sick at my heart when Isaw him because from hisbackbonecleararoundonhisleft sideallwasgone.”Fromwhat Copeland could tell,Staubachwasparalyzed.“Weripped blue chambray shirts

off six or eight dead men,wadded them up, and stuckthemintohis lungcavityandwrappedanother shirt aroundhim and tied him, but hedidn’tknowthedifference.”Staubachdidn’twanttoget

in the water. Sobbing, heaskedCopeland,“Captain,doyouthinkI’lllive?”“Ohsure,Staubach,getoff

the ship, and we’ll take careofyou.”

“I don’t want to die,Captain. I’ve never seen mybabyyet.”Copeland knew that about

two weeks before Staubachhadlearnedofthebirthofhisbaby boy. The skipperconsidered him a fine manand was heartbroken that hewould not live to see hisnewborn son. Staubach triedawfully hard. They got himintothewateraround9:30.

Copeland proceeded aloneto look for any remainingsurvivors on the ship. Thepassageway between thegalley and wardroom sectionand themain deckhouse wasobscuredby steamrollingupfrom the number-onefireroom. Holding his handover his mouth and nose toavoidtheheavystenchofthesteam, Copeland plowedthrough, making his way bymemory. He reached the

pointwhereheknewahatchto be, raised his right foot tostep over it, and brought itdownontopofsomekindofobstruction.When he lookedmore closely, he found hisfootplantedfirmlyinthefaceofadeadradioman.Hisbodydidn’tseemtohaveascratch,nor did the body of the boylying next to him, thoughCopeland figured thesesailors had to have beenblownafairdistanceinorder

todiewheretheylay:“Idon’tthinktherewasawholeboneinthem.Theywerejustlyingthere as placid and peacefulascouldbe.”Copeland became

unhingedatthesightofthoseboysandthelargerpictureofdestruction all around. Solongastherehadbeenafightto conduct, a captain couldoccupy himself with anynumber of details that

obscured the essential horrorofwhatwashappeningtohisship and hismen. Therewasthe steady patter ofinformation from the CICteam, the orders fromAdmiral Sprague over theTBS,sightingsfromlookouts,and reports from gunnerycontrol, fromdamageparties,and from the engine rooms.Hewasfreedofall thatnow,anddespaired:“Theshiphadbeen a very live thing—the

ship herself and the men onher. Now shewas a batteredpieceofjunk.”In a daze he walked the

length of the deck, stoppingat the motor whaleboatdangling from its davits. Itswoodenbottomhadbeenshotclean out. He stood on thedeck lookingstraight throughthe whaleboat’s busted hulland shuddered: “That onepicturesummedupthewhole

desolate destruction of aliving ship with living mencoming into an emptiness ofnothing.”He was alone on that side

of theship.Hemovedaft,sodistraught that he lost hisstep. His foot slipped outahead of him, he lurched outof balance, and he foundhimself sitting on the deck.He put down both of hishands, and when he picked

them up, they were coveredwith blood. It was drippingfrom above, right on top ofhim. A headless body washanging over the edge of aguntuboverhead.Thepuddlebeneath it was large enoughthattheseatofhiskhakisandhis loafers and socks werewet with blood. He got upandcontinueddownthedeck,not really caring what hefoundorwhathedidorwhatwould happen. “It had taken

all the heart out of me,” herecalled. “As I walked downtoward the fantail, I wasnearlydrownedbecausewhenIgotback towhere the threefourteen-inch shells hadripped into us and taken theside out, the main deck wasgonefromthereon,andIjustbarely caught myself fromdropping right into thewater.” Lt. Cdr. Robert W.Copelandcouldnotswim.

Finding no one in anycondition to save, anddoubtinghisabilitytodoitinany case,Copelandmadehisway back to the placewhereLloyd Gurnett and the otherofficershadgathered.HeandGurnett used their lastminutes on the ship lookingfor more survivors. Theyfound a man sprawledhalfway into the yeoman’soffice. He was still alive,though the nature of his

wounds made it difficult torecognize him. “He musthave had two thousandshrapnel holes in his face.When we touched him, theblood would ooze out likewater from a sponge. Weraisedhiseyelids,buthewasblind in both eyes. He wasunconscious.Hiseyeballs,hisirises,andhispupilshadbeenpenetratedbyfineshrapnel.”After some time they

figured out he was the chiefmachinist’s mate, CharlesSmith. “How he ever got upthere we’ll never know. Buthe was still alive thoughbarely so.”CopelandorderedKing and Schaffer to putSmith into a life jacket andgethimovertheside.AJapanesedestroyerstood

nearby, lobbing theoccasional shell into theSamuel B. Roberts’s ruined

mass. The ship took fourmore hits while the abandonship effort was under way.Water was lapping up overtheport sideof thedestroyerescort’s fantail whenmachinist’smatesecondclassChalmer Goheen went tocheck on Paul Henry Carr’sgang back in Gun 52. Thegunhadbeensilent since themuffled thud of the breechexplosion. Where the waterhadn’tyet reached, thedecks

were covered with burningoil.Goheencrossedthedeck,peered into the gun mount’sripped hatch, and found ahorrific scene. Most of themen inside had beenobliteratedby theblast.Theyhadgotten off 324 rounds ofthe325theshipcarriedinitsaftermagazine,firingthelastseven or eight shells withoutaworkinggasejectionlinetoclear the breech, until one ofthefinalroundsgotthem.

Looking into the mount,Goheendiscoveredwherethemagazine’s last roundwas. Itwas right there before him,cradled in the arms of PaulCarr himself. The man wasalive—though barely, tornfrom his neck to his groin.Carr was struggling to holdthe shell.He beggedGoheento help him load it into thewreckedbreechtray.Goheentooktheshellfrom

Carr’s arms and laid thegunner’smateonthefloorofhis mount. Then he tookseaman first class JamesGregory,whose leghadbeensevered near the hip, andcarried him out and set himon the deck. When Goheenreturned to the mount, Carrwas on his feet again, shellcradled weakly in his arms.Goheen took the shell fromCarr again, lifted him, andcarriedhimouttothedeck.

Paul Henry Carr ofChecotah, Oklahoma, proudmember of the FutureFarmers ofAmerica, footballand baseball letterman,brother to eight sisters, onlyson of Thomas and MinnieMae Carr, died there on thedeck of his battered, brokenwarship.

Forty-two

TheRobertswasgoingdownby the stern. Riding theswells, wearing a kapok lifejacket and an inflated rubberbelt, Bob Copeland, theskipper who couldn’t swim,turned to Lloyd Gurnett andasked,“Howdoyougoaboutgetting out of here?”Gurnett

responded, “Well, the bestway, Captain, is to roll overon your back and swim onyour back. Just work yourarms this way and kick yourlegs. You’ll get going.” Thecommanding officer of theSamuel B. Roberts got therhythm of it and inched hisway toward a life raft theyhad spotted a few hundredyardsaway.Where George Bray was

standing on the fantail, thewater was already lappingabove his knees. ChalmerGoheen had asked him tohelpgetsomeofthewoundedoverboard. Goheen broughtseaman first class WillardThurmond to Bray. Braycouldtellhewasagoner.Hehelped Thurmond to the rail,and themortally injuredmanjust held on there, obliviousto his wounds. Bray helpedsomeone else off the ship,

thenmadehiswaytowardthefantail. By the time hereached the depth chargeracks,thewaterwasuptohiswaist. He just sat down andstartedswimming.When they entered the

water, the survivors of theRoberts baptized themselvesintheirship’sownblood.Thesurface of the ocean wascovered with a three-inchlayer of oil. All around the

ruined ship bobbed blackfaces set with glaring whiteeyesandteeth.Thesubstancewas more a slippery kind offoam than a proper form ofoil. The sea’s gentle swellsanimated it like a slowlyundulatingblacktop.Copeland had been among

the last to leave—the honorofbeingtheverylastmanoffbelonged to George Schaffer—jumpingshipandjoininga

large group ofmenwho hadclambered over the port-siderail.Forward,wherethedecksloped upward—ever moresteeply,astheshipsettledbythe stern—there was aconsiderable jump to make.Off the port side, Copelandjoined a small group of menon a floater net, a largewebof nylon mesh woventhroughout with a bunch ofblackrubberdisksthatgaveitits buoyancy. Spotting a raft

some distance away, somesurvivors formed a humanchain,reachedouttoit,reeleditin,andtieditfasttothenet.Theraft,designedfortwenty-five men, soon wallowedunder the weight of fifty.Survivors were attracted tothe group as small bits ofinterstellar flotsamtoastar’sgravitational field. Theymoved the raft on top of thenettoincreaseitsbuoyancy.

Gathering by the life raftthat kept the group together,Dick Rohde heard someonewonderingwhether the depthchargeshadbeensetonsafe.ItwasVinceGoodrich’s job,andGodknewtherehadbeenpreciouslittletimetosticktoprocedure in themidstof thehellishfusilladesthattoretheseas around them. Thequestion, however, was ofmore than proceduralsignificance. A depth charge

that burst under waterproduced a wave of blastpressure that could blow amanapartfromtheinsideout.Sailorswere trained to covertheirbuttocks,orliftthemoutof the water, to avoid thepotentiallyfatalenemathatanunderwater explosion couldgivethem.OncemoreRohdewas on the move, paddlingandkickingtogetawayfromtheship.

WearingkhakipantsandaT-shirt, driftingwith a groupof survivors scattered acrossthewaterontheothersideofthe ship, Tom Stevensonwatched Japanese vesselsshooting at his sinking shipfrom all sides. Occasionally,an errant shell would landnearby and kick up a splash,sometimes disconcertinglyclose. He prayed for theRoberts to sink quickly, ifonly to deprive the Japanese

of the pleasure and thepractice.

***

SEAMAN FIRST CLASS BUD

Comet floated off the portquarter of the ship, rightbelow Gun 52, where agiganticshellfromtheKongohad struck, gutting that sideof the ship and opening itsmechanicalentrailstothesea.Thehugecavemouthopened

into an even larger voidinside, a gray steel cavernwhose unseen cornersreached deep into the ship.From its size Comet figuredtheholewastheproductofaJapanese shell that haddetonatedoncontact.Nearbyhe saw evidence of anothershell hit,muchmore benign:a neatly drilled hole that anarmor-piercing round hadmadeasitpassedthroughtheship without exploding. The

contrast was remarkable.Here was the differencebetween life and death,determined solely by thechoice of ordnance on thepart of a Japanese handlingroom crewman be-lowdeckson a ship many miles away.Backlitbyflameslickingatafar bulkhead, two objectsinside that caverncommanded Comet’sattention: a life raft, and thehuddledformofamaninside

ofit.Comet swam closer and

recognized the Roberts’schief boatswain’s mate,CullenWallace. Hewas stillconscious,kneelinginsidetheraft. Probably he had comedown a ladder and found theraftandsettledintoit,hopingsomehow that he couldpaddle his way out of theship.Buthewas stuck there,evidently trapped by the

inrush of seawater, armsbracedonthesidesoftheraft.Watching Comet swim hisway,thechiefholleredathimafewtimestocomehelphim.The oil-soaked sailor swamback to the ship, gingerlymoving past the jaggedthresholdofthetornhull,andgrabbed the raft. Then hepulled it clear of somewreckage into the pool ofwater thathadfilled thatpartof the Roberts and that rose

slowly and serenely as theship began to sink by thestern. Comet got theimpressionthatthechief,likehis captain, could not swim.He eased the raft across thesplinteredopeninginthehulland watched as EdwardWheaton, a radio technician,swamupandclimbedin.Comet paddled the raft

around to the stern of theship.Thedepthchargeracks,

lying over the fantail, weresubmergedalready.ThenameSAMUELB.ROBERTS,stenciledonthetransom,wasunderwatertoo.Blownapartlikeanappleon a tree stump were theremnantsof the steel shellofGun 52, Paul Carr’s mount,turned defiantly out to port,its barrel still aglow. Therewas a tangle of metal piledinto it from the side—theremains of the deckhousebeneath Johnny LeClercq’s

disintegrated forty-millimetermount.FromthesternCometheardashout.Itwasfromanofficer, hollering for help.When Comet saw him andstartedpaddlingtheraftinhisdirection,Wallacetoldhimtoleave him be: “Let himswim.”Thechiefdidn’twantthe burden of bringinganybodyelseaboardtheraft.But if Bud Comet

rememberedanythingthathis

father had told him at theWestVirginiatrainstationsixmonths earlier, he showed itby his actions now. Don’tdishonoryourmother….Thiscountry isworthdying for….A coward dies a thousandtimes…. Defying his chief’scommand,hepaddledtowardthefantailandpickedupEns.JackMoore.Oncethecrewhaddecided

to abandon the Roberts, it

was unbearable to watch theenemy continue to have itswaywithher.Foralltheyhaddone, some could not escapethinking: If only we hadstayed on and fought a littlelonger, we might haveprevented this final indignity.“We were the proudest shipin thefleet.Wereallywere,”Tom Stevenson said. “Wethought we were the cat’smeow.”

Shortly after ten o’clockthe Samuel B. Roberts rolledover on her beam ends andsank by the stern. Noexplosionfollowed theship’sdisappearance beneath thewaves.Theonlyreactionwasaswellofsadnessamongthecrewmen who watched hergo. Floating a quarter mileaway, Dick Rohde watchedthe Roberts sink. It tookabout an hour, but it seemedto take forever. She went

downgracefully,seemingnottomake a sound. Before shehad fully committed herselftothedeep,theRobertsstoodnearlyvertical.Stenciledwiththenumber413oneachside,the bow held high in the airfor a moment, standing likean oblique headstone. Thenthe ship slowly retracted intothe sea. “Boys, take off yourhats.Theregoesagoodship,”said boatswain’s mate firstclassRedHarrington.

The sight of it movedLloyd Gurnett to opensobbing. “As first lieutenanthe knew every welded seamin her,” Copelandwrote, “heknewwhereeveryfittingwasattached. Love of the shipwasverydeepinhisheart.”Once the ship was gone,

the culture of cynicaljocularity that hadcharacterized the wardroomseemed to disappear.Among

the men on Copeland’s raft,“It seemed as if the bottomhad dropped out of things….Now that she was gone,everyone felt low.” Thewhite-caps kicked up a bitnow. Then Staubach, thegrievously wounded chiefelectrician’s mate, lost hismind, raving and yellingdeliriously.Scanning the oil-slicked

waters for other survivors to

join, Dick Rohde found hisway to the raft with JackMoore, CullenWallace, JackYusen, Bud Comet, andothers.Themenhadfastenedtogether their life raft andfloater net into a self-contained survival pod thatkept everybody together.Wallace didn’twant to do it.He said he was concernedabout air attack and did notwant to concentrate the menin one big vulnerable group.

Healso felt that sucha largegroup would consume theraft’s limited provisions tooquickly. As the officer incharge of this group, Mooreoverrodehim,feelingthatthepriority should be rescuerather than avoidance of airattack.The wooden-latticed

bottom of the raft had beenshot up pretty well. Apharmacist’s mate

approached Rohde, who wassitting inside the raft, andtried to pour sulfa powderinto his gaping leg wound.Theradiomanwonderedwhatthe point was. When he gotback into thewater, itwouldjustwashthepowderaway.Not considering himself

toobadlyhurt,Rohdevaultedhimself overboard. Later,looking up at a dozen or somen perched comfortably on

the sideof the raft, includingLieutenant West and EnsignMoore, though both officersseemeduninjured,hedecidedtohoisthimselfupandtakeabreak from treading water.But when he tried to climbup,oneofthemenwoundupand slugged him hard in thehead, knocking him backdown. Rohdewas stunned athis first taste of theDarwinian imperative. Withnerves running hot on a

makeshift floating wagontrain loaded with twice asmany men as it was built tocarry, Jack Moore decided,“There was going to have toberationingwithdisciplinarybacking. Everyone wasalready at each other’sthroat.”

Forty-three

TheHoel had sunk first.TheGambier Bay went down at9:07. The Roberts followedan hour later. Now came theJohnston’sturn.Thefirstshipinto the fight was the last togo down. Her luck had beenthe improbable stuff of dimenovels or Hollywood

fantasies: the solo charge inthe battle’s opening minutes,firinggunsandtorpedoesintothe teeth of multiple enemybroadsides, wheeling underfire to escape, takingdevastating hits frombattleship shells,withdrawing, returning toaction against the destroyercolumn, and fending off thelast Japanese effort to sinkClifton Sprague’s carriers.Her finaldestructionwasnot

ensureduntilafterthefoeshehad suicidally charged hadturnedandrunforcover.Bob Deal knew the ship

wasagoner.“Watercolumnswere substantiallyhigher andshells overhead had adistinctlydifferentresonance.Came then an impact sosevere I thought we mighthave struck a marineobstruction. The shipshuddered, rolled hard port

and starboard, resumingcourse at a reduced speed.Going forward on thestarboard side, I learned wehad taken a hit in the engineroom.”Electrician’s mate first

class Allen Johnsonunderstood the fragile extenttowhichtheJohnstonheldonto life.His battle stationwasthe emergency generatorroom, tucked away on the

starboard side of the shipbetweentheforwardfireroomand the galley. Beforeenlistingin1942,thetwenty-five-year-oldpettyofficerhadworked for four and a halfyears at the BirminghamElectric Company, runningsubstations that broughtsteamandpowerintoDixie’sindustrial center. TheJohnston derived its vitalelectrical power fromgenerators located in the

engine rooms. Thegenerators, like the engines,were run by steam from theboilerroomattachedtothem.WithoneboilerroomalreadyoutandLt.JesseCochranandhismen struggling invain togain power from the other,the only source of power onthe Johnston was theemergency generator,powered not with steam butby a diesel motor. If theengine room generatorswere

knocked out, a pilot lightwentoff,arelayopened,andthe emergency generatorkickedonautomatically.When the Johnston was

first hit, Johnson had theterrible sensation of beinglifted from the ground andshaken violently. The hit tothe after engine roomknocked its electricalswitchboard dead. Instantlythe emergency generator in

the electrician’s mate’scramped compartment filledthe void, its three-cylinderdieselmotorcoughingtolife.But the motor bled too. Theshock of the multiple blastsbe-lowdecks broke thelubricationpipethatrantothemotor.Oil ran down into thecorner of Johnson’scompartment. With motormachinist’smatesecondclassRoger Gougeon, he scoopedtheoilfromthefloorbyhand

andslathered itback into thediesel motor. Johnson ran totheCICandgrabbedarollofthree-quarter-inch frictiontape.Itdidn’tstickwelltotheoily metal, but he usedenough of it to slow if notstop the diesel motor’sbleeding. His emergencystation would turn out someelectricity, but only for solong. The oil leakedeverywhere. They were ableto return only a portion of it

totheengine.From such mundane

mechanical causes do gallantships die. Without power,Bob Hollenbaugh would firehis state-of-the-art five-inchgun like a nineteenth-centuryartilleryman; the men in theammunition handling roomwould do the work of theirelectro-hydraulic hoists,passing shells by hand; lightwould come from battle

lanterns if at all; andvolunteerswouldturnthebigwheel on the rudder’ssteering pumps, struggling tokeepupwithCaptainEvans’scourse changes, shouteddown from above. Theywould do all these things,taking the place of theirequipment,ortheywoulddiealongwith everyone else thenext time a salvo found itsmark.

The endless salvos ofincoming shells passingoverhead,astern,offthebow,all around the ship. NowAllen Johnson felt one landcloseby.Whenthelargeshellstruck near his emergencygenerator compartment, “itfelt like a freight train’s coalbox was dropped on top ofme.” The bulkhead betweenhis compartment and thegalley was blown down flat.The only source of light he

had was a small sparkingelectrical fire that filled thecompartment with flickeringshadows. With a three-quarter-inch brass bolt headhaving ripped through hisback between the shoulderblade and spine, Johnsonpulledhimself tohisfeetandcalled out to Gougeon.Johnson couldn’t see him,and there cameno answer tohis call.Groping through thecompartment, he felt

Gougeon’s head andshoulders, but his torso waspinned under something—alarge mass of hot metal. Itwas the diesel engine. Itwastoo heavy to move, andhaving run steadily for wellover an hour, it was too hoteven to touch.With the bolthead throbbing in his rightchest cavity, Johnson wasbecoming numb with shock.He was sure, however, of atleast two things: his friend

was dead, and the time hadfinally come to get the helloffhisdyingship.

***

AT 9:40, WHEN“AN avalancheof shells” struck the ship,inflictingherfinalmeaningfuldamage, the Johnston’s two-and-a-half-hour sprintthroughhellended.Theshellthat sealed the destroyer’sfate struck the number-one

boiler room, cutting steam tothe forward turbine andstopping the starboard screw.The ship, powerless, begancoasting to its final restingplace.As thePacificcurrentstook over the work of theJohnston’s engines, CaptainEvans passed the order toabandonship.She was a vehicle now

suitableonlyforthedead.Onthedestroyer’smaindeck,on

the port side amidships, laywhatJesseCochrandescribedas “a pile of people—bodies—half alive, half dead.”Many survivors saw it, butnone seemed to fathomquitehow this stack of humancordwoodcouldhaveformed.Inpart, itwastheinscrutablearrangement chosen by theshock waves from heavyshells thathadpropelledmenand parts of men out ofinterior compartments and

into their final poses. Somesailors had been carried outand laid there by theirbuddies in the hope that, outin the open, they might getmedicalattention.Othershadstruggledoutundertheirownpower and lain down,exhaustedbeyondexhaustion,desperate for cooler air tobreathe.Ellsworth Welch went

forward repeating the

abandon ship order. Underthe abandon ship plan—rehearsed many times butwithout much belief in itsutility—Welchwas supposedto report to a life raft storedontheship’sportsidebythewardroom. By the timeWelch got there, sailors hadalready released the raft andjumpedintothewater.Welchfound coxswain Ed Blockstrugglinginvaintoputonalife jacket. The morphine

Welch had given him whenthe bridge was first hit hadmade him sluggish. So theofficer helped him slide intothe life jacket and eased himinto the water. Welch thentried to help another sailor,buttheseverityofhiswoundsmadetheeffortmoot.Dusty Rhodes andWarren

Williams climbed up on thedeckhouse by BobHollenbaugh’s Gun 54 and

tossed a nylon mesh floaternet into the water. “When Ijumped over,” Rhodesrecalled, “I had two thoughtsenter my mind, both silly.One,howdeepisthiswater,Iwonder if I’ll hit bottom?Number two,how far is it toland?” Robert Billie draggedhimself to the edge of thegunwale,crawlingandrollingwith his good left arm, thendropped down to the maindeckamidbodies,bodyparts,

and blood. On their waydown from the gun director,Bob Hagen and several fire-controlmen passed Billiewithout a second look.Billiecouldn’t speak—he couldscarcely move. He didn’tblame them for consigninghim to the dead. With onlyone good arm, he finallyhauled himself to the rail.Thoughhewasn’table to lifthimself over and into thewater, the enemy obliged

him.A salvo of shells struckthe ship near where he lay,and the impact—the thirdblast he absorbed that day—propelled him overboard. Hehad twenty shrapnel woundsand three useless limbs. Hedidn’t particularly like hischancesinthewater.Captain Evans left the

fantailandwalkedforwardtothe wardroom, where Lt.Robert Browne was busy

doing what he could for theliving. Evans tried topersuade the doctor toabandon ship, but Brownewouldn’t hear of it. Therewerewoundedwhoneededtobetendedtobeforetheyweregiven over to Neptune’smercy in the water. Thedoctor could do that workbetter aboard ship.Hewouldusewhattimehehadleft.Bob Hagen, consumed

with coordinating the ship’sgunfire from the directormount, was slow to get thenews that Evans had passedwordtoabandonship.

I peered out and couldn’tsee a living soul on thefo’c’sle. “What the hellare we doing here?” Isaid. “Let’s abandonship.” The last wordhardly was out of mymouth when the fivecrewmen in the gundirector with me dashedoutandran for the rail. I

was so surprised that Istoodstock-stillamoment,thenlitoutmyself.Imademy way to the fo’c’sle—Icouldn’t get aft withoutwalking over piles ofbodies—and,likeamanina dream, very carefullyand leisurely took off myshoesanddivedin.

In thewaterHagen lookedback at the ship and spottedhis friend, Doc Browne,carrying wounded from thewardroom to the deck.Browne had just left the rail

andheadedbackinsidewhentherewasawhistling rushofwind and an explosion, rightwhere Browne had entered.Hagenbrokedownandcried.The enormity of the

momentwas lostonmanyofthemenwhohadsurvived tothispointby attending to themyriad rote details of theirassignedduties.Theshipwasgone and their dutieswith it.Butmenstillfoundtrivialities

to occupy their minds.Leaving the ship from theport side amidships, BillMercer swam about ahundred yards off the portquarterwithanothersailor.“Irecall Marquard took hiscombfromhispocket,neatlycombed his hair, and thenthrewhiscombawaysaying,‘I don’t guess I’ll ever needthat again.’” With the samehabitual fastidiousness thatothers had exhibited,

EllsworthWelch tookoffhisshoes and set them neatlytogether on deck beforedivingintothesea.One of the first survivors

Bob Hagen encountered inthe water was torpedomanfirst class JimO’Gorek.Castafloat in four thousandfathoms of shark-infestedwaters,defeatedinbattlewithfriends lost forever,O’GorekswamovertoHagenandsaid

cheerfully, “Mr. Hagen, wegot off all ten of themtorpedoes, and they ran hot,straight, and normal!” Thosetorpedoes had made a realdifference, knocking theKumanooutofthefightearlyin the battle, before it couldclose to effective gun rangeofthecarriers.EllsworthWelchlookedup

and saw a Japanese cruiserfiring shells into the

destroyer’sruinedhulk.Iwouldwatch forbelchesof fire from the cruiser’sguns and time the salvosso I could duck under thewaterbeforetheshellshit.Butwearingthelifebelt,Iwas only able to get theupper part of my bodybelow the water. I musthave looked like a duckfeedingonfoodbelow.

Others saw the column ofdestroyers approach again.The ships that the Johnston

had forced into prematuretorpedo launches werecircling her like raidershuntingsettlersontheprairie.They fired directly into herwrecked hull, no longerdeterred by the spiritedworkof Bob Hollenbaugh orLieutenantHagenoranybodyelse in the gunnerydepartment.This was the Johnston’s

final service to Sprague’s

fleeing carriers: providing astatic target for frustratedJapanese gunners whodoubtlessly longed to sinksomething, anything,with anAmerican flag on it. Thoughtheyhadstraddledthecarriersrepeatedly, Japanese gunnershad claimed only theGambierBay.Thefiveothersseemed to possess luckworthy of ancient Japan’sSeven Lucky Godsthemselves—the legendary

Shichifukujin. The KalininBay had taken fifteen hitsfrom heavy cruiser mainbattery rounds and steamedonindefiance.But the Johnston’s

defiance was at an end. Shewould not get away. Thedecisions of her captain hadensured that she wouldn’t. Itwas not a pointless deathwish. The Johnston, like theHoel and the Samuel B.

Roberts before her, hadfulfilled her mission sothoroughly—had parried andriposted so well—that therewas nothing left for the shiptodobutpaythefinalprice.What fate befell the

Johnston’s legendary captainis the subject of continuingconjecture among the ship’ssurvivors. Bob Sochor wasamong the last to see him.The motor machinist’s mate,

having gone aft to take histurn cranking the rudderpump, returned forward tofight a fire. As he walkedtowardthebow,“therewasaterrible, blinding yellowflash”fromashellthatstruckthe port side near the cook’sgalley.Knockedunconscious,Sochorregainedhissensestofindhimselfcoveredinbloodfromhisownwoundsandhisdead shipmates surroundinghim. Realizing that the

abandon ship order had beenpassed,Sochorheadedforthefantail, where the jump intothe water was easier.“Everyone who was able toabandon ship had done so,”hewrote.“Theywereinraftsand nets and swimmingapproximately a quarter of amile away. I went aft asCaptainEvanswent forward.With neither one saying aword to the other,we passedby staring blankly at one

another.”Some claim to have seen

the Johnston’s skipperclimbing into the motorwhaleboatthathehadorderedreleased. Others were lessconfidentheevermadeitintotheboat.Obeyingtheordertorelease the small craft, AllenJohnson found that its pulleymechanism didn’t work. Theelectrician’smatereachedforaknifehekept inhispocket,

meaning to cut the lines thatkepttheboatsuspendedfromitsdavits,buthispantspockethad been torn away. Anofficerproducedabladefromhis boot and cut the lines.When the gig hit the water,Johnson thought it was ingood condition. He sawsomeone wearing a khakiuniform,anofficerorachief,jumpintothewater,climbin,start the engine, and haul awounded sailor aboard.

Around that time, accordingto Johnson, Captain Evansbegan walking toward thefan-tail.As if beckoninghimtosafety, thegigdriftedwithhim, down the length of theship.ButbythetimeJohnsonabandoned ship, diving intothe water under heavy fire,he, like the rest of the crewon record, had not seenwhether the skipper got intothewhaleboat.Ifhedid,inalllikelihood he didn’t go far.

The craft’s bottom, badlyholed in the Japanesebombardment, was not closetobeingseaworthy.It has beenwritten that so

muchoflifeispreparation,somuchisroutine,andsomuchis retrospect that the purestessence of anyone’s geniuscontracts itself to a preciousfew hours. The windowopened by circumstance onthe genius of Cdr. Ernest E.

Evans for two and a halfhours on the morning ofOctober 25, 1944, sobrilliantlylitfromwithin,wasonce again closed. The“Chief” of Annapolis, theCherokee warrior unhorsedbyenemygunfire,waslosttothe whirlwind, taken to aprivate oblivion that to thisday burnishes his mystiqueanddeepensthelegendofhislate, great destroyer and itsmagnificentcrew.

Forty-four

On orders from AdmiralKinkaid, Jesse Oldendorf’sold battleships had beenstanding by in Leyte Gulfawaitingtheirnextmoveinadesperate but uncertain navalchess game. Mindful of hisduty to guard MacArthur’stroops ashore, Kinkaid had

been keeping a wary eye onAdmiral Shima all morningas the remnants of theSouthern Force withdrew.Admiral Sprague’s plea forhelp was compelling. Still,KinkaidcouldnotbesurethatShima would not reversecourseand tryagain tobreakthrough into Leyte Gulf.From Kinkaid’s flagship, theWasatch, Spraguenevertheless received a voicemessage assuring him that

helpwasontheway.Though the Seventh Fleet

battleships’ magazines hadspent much of their high-explosive ammunition duringtheshorebombardment,andasignificant quantity of theirarmor-piercing rounds in thedestruction of Nishimura’sforce, their armor-piercingammunitionstocksweremorethan sufficient to deal withanother Japanese fleet. The

mostseriousdeficiencyoftheSeventh Fleet Bombardmentand Fire Support Group wasits destroyers, which hadspent their torpedoes atSurigao Strait andwould notbe reloaded until they couldtie up to a tender again.Despite Taffy 3’s perilousstraits, Kinkaid saw noalternative but to wait andsee.Shortly before ten A.M. the

waiting ended. Satisfied thattheSouthernForcewantednofurther part of him andfortifiedbythearrivaloftwofreshsquadronsofdestroyers,Kinkaid finally orderedOldendorf to take half hisforce and rally to the aid ofZiggy Sprague’s beleaguerednorthern Taffy group. IfKurita continued chargingsouthward, the Americanbattle line would greet himmemorably. But Kurita was

already in full flight north.No sooner had Oldendorfrelayed word to hiscommanders to prepare for anorthwardsprintthanKinkaidcountermanded the orderupon learning that Kurita’sfleetwasinretreat.

***

ABOARD THE JOHNSTON, ALL wasquiet except for the flames.High above the wreckage of

her silent decks, forty-eightstars still flew. HaroldBeresonsky thought the ship,flying Old Glory, lookedproudanddefiant.In the water, Bill Mercer

and J. B. Strickland foundthemselves sandwichedbetweentheirbeatenshipandaJapanesedestroyerstandingoff the Johnston’s portquarter firing into the ship’shull. “I toldStrick that Iwas

stickingclosetohimbecausehe owed me a hundreddollars. Strick said, ‘If wemake it, you’ll sure get yourhundred.’ I was only jokingbecauseneitherofusthoughtwe would make it.”Strickland had survived theBattle of Savo Island, adisastrous American defeatunder thegunsof a JapaneseflotillaledbynoneotherthantheChokai, late of the sameday.Mercer askedStrickland

how their presentpredicament compared toSavo Island. Strick said,“Kid, I have never seenanythinglikethis.”At about 10:10 the

Johnstonwentdown.“Weallwatched as our home for thepast year slowly slid belowthe surface,” Mercer wrote.Orin Vadnais swam awayfrom the ship, then turnedaround to see destroyers and

cruisers running in their halfcircle around the Johnston,blazing away with all guns.“As Iwatched, she started tosink. First one end wentdown, and she slippedbelowthesea.”Astheshiprolledoverand

went down by the bow,NeilDethlefs wondered whetherhewouldbehomeintimeforChristmas.Drifting along, hecame upon two seamen.One

washisfriend,soundmanfirstclass Wally Weigand. Theother sailor was holdingWeigand’sheadabovewater.Dethlefs could see thatWeigand had been scaldedbadly.“Theskinwashangingfromhisarmsandhands likea pair of long gloves.”WeigandaskedDethlefsifhewasburnedtoo.Dethlefssaidno. Weigand said, “Boy, Isuream.”

Checkinghiswounds,BobSochor found that much ofthe blood staining his skinprobably belonged to othermen.During his swimout totheliferafts,Sochorhadmetupwithayoungpharmacist’smate, Ken Bowers. “He wasveryyoungandreligiousandalways carried a smallBible.He had on a life jacket,”Sochorsaid,“soIhungontohimtorestforafewminutes.Wewere now about halfway

between the sinking shipandtheraftsandnets.Hesaidhecould not swim and hethought his life jacket wouldnothold the twoofus. I toldhim I just wanted to rest aminuteorsoandthenIwouldleave. We were about one-eighth of a mile from thesinkingshipwhenIturnedtohimandsaid,‘Takeyourlastlook at the Johnston,’ as itdisappearedintothesea.”

Ellsworth Welch watchedthedestroyerturnoverslowlyand settle by the bow untilonly the fantail was abovewater. “Seeing my home godown, I feltmy eyeswellingwith tears. But I thought,Welch, you might need theliquid, so I ceased thisunseamanly display ofemotion.” Bobby Chastainfelt similarly. “I stillremember that helplessfeeling one gets while

watching your home burndown.”Bowers and another

pharmacist’s mate, ClaytonSchmuff, ministered to thewounded, injected morphine,tied tourniquets. As thesurvivors of the Johnstongathered themselves intogroups, a rare sight seizedtheir attention: the directapproach of an enemywarship.Formore than three

hours the ships hadmaneuvered under eachother’s fire, shooting byhaphazard sight throughsmoke and squalls or by theblind omniscience of radar.The range between the foeshad never been short enoughto see the individuals whooperated them. Point-blankrange in a modern navalbattlewas anything less thanthree miles. Now the enemyapproached so closely that

men could finally look uponothermen.Clint Carter saw the ship

coming before most of hisshipmatesdid. Itwasbearingdown on them fast. Judgingby the size of the bowwakethedestroyerwasthrowing,itwas at flank speed. Then,whentheshipwasjusthalfamileorsoaway,itslowed,itsbowfell, itswakedissipated,and it approached them

slowly,warily,ominously.The Americans weren’t

sure what to expect. JosephCheck, fearing the enemygunners would spray themwith bullets where theyswam,tookahardbreathandducked under the surface.Clint Carter thought that forthe Japanese killing theAmericanswithbulletswouldbe too labor intensive whenanother tool stood at their

disposal. His first thoughtwas:They’regoingtogiveusagiantenema.Asingledepthcharge laid into their midstwould have produced ashallowunderwaterexplosionstrong enough to blow theirbowels out. Watching thecrew play their automaticweapons over the waters,others braced for machine-gunfire.NeilDethlefsstartedto untie Wally Weigand’skapok so he could drag him

under water when themurderousrainfinallyfell.Thedestroyeredgedcloser

and closer. It made a slightcourse change that left ClintCarter drifting off herstarboardbeam.Hewastakenwith the ship’s gold-tasseledbattle pennant emblazonedwith a red rising sun. BobbyChastain,swimmingnomorethanfiftyfeetfromtheship’sportside,couldseethesailors

lined up by the rail, dressedsharplyinkhakisandbrightlypolished brown boots. “Theywere watching us as wewatchedthem.”It was then that Carter

realized what was going on.“Itappearedtomethateverymanonherdeckwasstandingat attention, like a muster,givingusonebigsalute.”Asthe Japanese warship slid bythem, a smartly dressed

officerwasonthewingofthebridge, standing erect and,indeed, saluting. “As sheeased by us,” Carter wrote,“I’msureofonething…sheappreciatedafightinglady…USSJohnston.”AnotherJapanesecrewman

was filming them with ahandheld movie camera.Another flippedhis thumb tohis nose and delivered araspberry.As theshippassed

onby,asailorstandingonthefantail tossed an object inCarter’s direction. Thecanister was too big to be agrenade and far too small tobe a depth charge. It was alarge canof tomatoes.Carterretrieved the offering,examined it, and noticed thelabel indicating it had beenpacked in Arkansas. “Threeyears of war and they werestill eating USA cannedtomatoes.”

The Japanese destroyerdisappeared,andtheJohnstondid too. A fewminutes laterthe underwater hulk of theJohnstondidtohercrewwhatthey feared its Japanesecounterpart would do. Therewere two great explosions inthe deep. Speculation flewthat the ship’s boilers hadblown. Others doubted theshattered machinery retainedenough pressure to explodeand assigned blame to

unsecured depth charges.Whateverthecause,theeffectwas breathtaking. The firstsensation the men felt was aconcussion to their stomachandabdomen,andasickeningthrust of pressure into theirrectums. “I thoughtmy bodyhad been blown in half,”wrote Charles Landreth.“What awonderful feeling itwas when I found out mybodywasstillintact.”

***

WITHDRAWING NORTHWARD WITH

HIS harried taskgroup,TakeoKurita was enjoyingconsiderably less peace ofmind.Hetoyedwiththeideaof turning around again andattempting to reenter LeyteGulf.But late inthemorninghe received a radio dispatchsent at 10:18 by the skipperofoneof theSouthernForcedestroyers,theluckyShigure:

“All ships except Shigurewentdownundergunfireandtorpedoattack.”So Nishimura was dead.

Kurita could see no purposein turning around and tryingagain to reach Leyte Gulf.TheSho-1planhadbecomeajawwithonemandible.

Forty-five

For two and a half hoursTakeo Kurita had been thehunter. Now, in flightnorthward, he became thehunted.Tom Van Brunt and four

Avengers from the MarcusIsland climbed above thecloudstoeightthousandfeet,

joined with another group ofWildcats and Avengers, andturned north in pursuit ofKurita’swithdrawing fleet. Itwasthethirdmajorstrikethatthe Taffy 2 carrier groupwould marshal against theCenterForcethatmorning.They needed less than

thirty minutes to find thewithdrawing Japanese force.Against flak that remindedVan Brunt of the light-show

one gets on an expresssubway train roaring througha local station, the St. Loaviator flew towithin twelvehundred feet of his target, aKongo-classbattleship,jerkedthe release lever, and felt hisplane heave from the changein gravity as the torpedoplungedintothewater.As he flew over the

Japanese ship, he felt theaircraft lurchagainasa shell

explodednear the rearof thefuselage. At once his leftruddercablewas limp.Therewas nothing there. He couldnotturnleft.Theexactextentof the damage he could notyet know.His radioman,LesFrederickson, was shaken upby a nearby shell explosionthat was dampened only bythe TBM’s thin skin. VanBrunt hugged the sea for amile or two, testing hiscontrols, and found that he

could navigate well enoughusingjustrightrudder.Ashelooped back and gainedaltitude for the return flight,he looked back at his targetand saw a wide trail of oilissuing from astern. VanBrunt guided his riddledaircraft toward home: thefriendly flightdeckof theSt.Lo.By some impossible

concatenation of independent

miracles, the carrier had nottaken a single hit during thebattle, even though she rodethe northern fringe of thecircular formation of escortcarriers, closest to Kurita’sships.Onlythreeofhercrewwere injured with superficialwounds from shrapnel.Meanwhile, the gunners onher tail-mounted five-inchgunhadacquitted themselveswell. The Battle off SamarwasnearlyoverfortheSt.Lo,

as shortly it would be forTomVanBrunt.The naval aviator hailed

the St. Lo’s landing signalofficerandinformedhimthathis left rudder was out.Normally landing approacheswere made in a descendingcounterclockwise circle, aflight path that allowedplanestoavoidthedangerouseddy of air trailing from thecarrier’s superstructure.

Without a left rudder, VanBrunt could not make theusual approach. He radioedthelandingsignalofficerthathe would come in on aclockwise circle. The LSOsaid, “Okay, we’ll try that,but let’s get everyone elseaboardfirst.”Climbing to fifteen

hundred feet, hewas circlingthe carrier at a distance,watching other planes land,

when a red streak flew pasthis greenhouse canopy. Thestartling appearance of aJapanese “meatball” insigniapaintedonawidewhitewingwas Van Brunt’s firstindication thatenemyaircraftwerenear.Healmostcollidedwith the Japanese plane as itdescendedtowardtheSt.Lo.Shortly before eleven A.M.

Taffy 3 came underwholesale kamikaze attack.

The Japanese Army AirCorps had debuted thishorrificnewmodeofwarfareearlierthatmorning,whensiximperialplanestookofffrombases onDavao and attackedThomas Sprague’s Taffy 1task unit. One struck theescort carrierSantee, startingahugeblazethatragedinthehangar deck for about tenminutes. Only the expertmarksmanship of gunnersaboard the Suwannee, the

Sangamon, and the PetrofBay let them avoid similarhits.At10:50fivemoreaircraft

flying from airdromes onLuzon arrived over Taffy 3and plummeted like ospreyon ships whose day offighting should rightly havebeen over. The Kitkun Baywas the first of Sprague’sjeeps to confront thehorrifyingnewtactic.AZero

fighter plane closed from theport side, crossed her bow,climbed, and dove at thebridge. Firing his machineguns as he came, the pilotguided his plane over thesmall island superstructure,glancedoffacatwalk,andhitthesea.Two more kamikazes

attacked the Fanshaw Bay.One approaching from asternwas knocked off its killing

pathbyafive-inchshellfiredby the flagship’s peashootercrew. Though that explosiontore off the plane’s leftwingand the aircraft struck thewater, where it disintegratedon impact, the bomb slungunder its wing explodedfifteen feet from the hull,showering the ship withshrapnel. Van Brunt saw thecarrier’s gunners shoot thesecondplaneoutofthesky.

FewmenaboardtheSt.Loever saw the plane that hittheirship.Afterthreehoursatgeneral quarters, half thecrew was still enjoying abreather. Capt. Francis J.McKenna had orderedCondition One Easy,allowingthemtosecurefromgeneral quarters and get along-awaitedcupofcoffee.IntheCICtheair-searchradar’sPPI scope was showingapproaching aircraft. Though

theplanesdidnottransmitanIdentification Friend or Foebeacon, everyone assumedthey were friendly. Radiotechnician Holly Crawforthhad other things on hismind—like how he was going torepair the St. Lo’s big whipantennas, shredded by theship’sowndefensivebursts—when the general quartersalarm sounded. Crawforthwas startled to hear thetwenty-millimeter guns

chattering. The crew hadlearned to dread the sound;whenever the twenties wereshooting, itmeant the enemywasclose.There—theycouldsee it. A plane wasapproaching from astern. Ahalf-mile downrange, thepilot was coming in straightand level as if lining up toland.The quartermaster told

Captain McKenna, “Sir,

that’s a Jap.” No sooner hadMcKenna thrown the shipinto a sharp evasive turn tostarboard than the Zerofighter, a bomb under eachwing, rose up, nosed over,and plunged into the flightdeck.Inaburstofflamesandsmoke, theengine tore loose,bounced the length of theflight deck, and skidded offthe bow.One or both bombswent off. The mangledfuselage penetrated the four-

inch wooden flight deck andexploded belowdecks.Captain McKenna’s firstimpressionwasthattheSt.Lohad suffered no seriousdamage. A few minutespassed, then the bulkheadsbegantocollapse.Ordnanceman John Getas

wasmuscling aTBMoff theport-sideelevatorandintothecavernous hangar deck whenhe heard a terrific crash. A

ball of fire smashed downthrough the flight deck, fellthrough thirty feet of spacebetween the underside of theflight deck and the steeldecking of the hangar, andlandedamideightplanesthatchief petty officer EarlRoberts and his ordnancegangwere arming for action.Piledaroundthespacewheretheir aircraft were beingworked on was enoughweaponry to blow a small

town out of existence: eighttorpedoes, six depth charges,fifteen 500-pound bombs,forty100-pounders,andsome1,400 rounds of .50-caliberammunition. Almost at oncethis orderly, carefullyorchestrated world ofordnance turned into ahellish,flamingmaelstrom.OhmyGod,Getas thought

as the ammo went up. Thefirst explosion shattered

several planes, spillingburningaviationfuelontothedeck. It flowed into a largepoolthatcoveredaquarterofthe cavernous hangar withflames two feet high. Theplane thatGetaswaspushingjumpedforwardsixfeetfromthe pressure wave of theblast. Another aircraft blewup, mowing down afirefighting team andknocking the bodies of thedeadandthelivingacrossthe

deck. Getas scrambled up aladder and found that theflight deck had buckledhorribly, black smokepouring upward into the sky.A chief petty officer lurchedbyhim inadaze.Everythingbuthisshortshadbeenblownoff. One arm hung by stripsof skin. Below, at theinferno’s ground zero, menshambled about, wreathed inflames. Firefighters tried togather, dragging big hoses,

only to be scattered to thespon-sons and catwalks bythepops andzingsofbakingmachine-gun rounds. In theshort half hour between theenemy plane’s insane plungethrough the flight deck andtheship’s finalsurrender, thecrew marked time by asequence of grievoussecondary explosions thatshooktheship.The third and fourth

explosions blew a hangardoor from its hinges,launched a one-hundred-footspan of the flight deck highinto the air, and rolled backanother swath of flight decklike the top of a sardine can.Theshipbeganlistingtoport.After the fifth explosion,

Tex Waldrop, the torpedo-bustingTBMpilot,litacigar,wrappedhis hands in rags toinsulatethemagainstfriction,

androdealinedownintothesea.Inthewaterhebrokehiscigar in twoandgavehalf toanother survivor. Then thetwomenwatched theirhometearitselftopieces.The sixth and seventh

blasts followed in mercilesssequence, ripping the shipapart,onefifty-footstretchofsteelatatime.Someofthemsailed as high as a thousandfeet into the air. John Getas

saw the seventh blast fromthewater, some twohundredfeet from the ship.As debrisslappedthesurfaceallaroundhim, he stripped himselfnaked for buoyancy andbackstroked away from theinferno.Cool and collected,

Captain McKenna directedthe orderly abandonmentfrom the forward part of theflightdeckandtheforecastle.

Havingseentotheevacuationof asmany crew as possible,he left the ship after theseventh explosion. Theskipper was the last man toridealinedowntothesea.The eighth blast was a

heavyone;McKennathoughtit might have been the mainbomb stowage going up. ItfinishedtheSt.Lo,tearingherso severely below thewaterline that her port list

abruptly reversed itself. Theshipreeledbacktostarboard,rolled over completely, liftedher bow from thewater, andbacked herself under. Shestoodthatwayforamoment,thenseemedtoacceptherfateand went down fast. The St.Lo’s final protest was thedetonation of her boilers, amuffled thump that created apressure wave that hit JohnGetas and created thesensation of a broom handle

beingshoveduphisrear.

***

HEARTSICK, TOM VAN BRUNT

watched from the air as hisruined ship disappeared. Heknew pilots who had landedon the ship. Now they wereverypossiblydead.Gone toowas the air operations crewhe had trusted with his life.Hedidn’twanttotryhislucklanding on another carrier—

youneverknewhowgooditslanding signal officer wouldbe.VanBrunthadseenLSOson other carriers who had totake their cues from thebridge. He didn’t need thatnow.He turned his damagedAvenger toward Dulag,twenty miles south ofTacloban, which by allaccountswas amess ofmudandwreckedairplanes.He got there, landed,

inspected his aircraft, andfound,asheexpected,thathisleft rudder cable had beensevered completely.What hewas less prepared to seewasthe condition of his elevatorcable. Only three of itssixteen strands were intact.One false pull on his stickwould have snapped it,plummeting him and his twocrewmenintothesea.Healsofound that his landing hookhad been shot off, without

which he would havecareened across a carrierflight deck right into theforward barrier, nearly asrecklessly as the kamikazethathadhittheSt.Lo.Dulag had its own

attractions. Van Brunt, alongwithLarryBud-nickand twoother pilots, spent that nightwith the Army. The wearypilots were given carbines,told to dig a foxhole, and

instructedtowatchoutfortheJapanese counterattack thatwasexpectedatanymoment.Theysleptsoundlyinspiteofeverything, and the assaultnevercame.

PartIII

AVANISHINGGRAVEYARD

Whengreatmenblunder,theycounttheirlossesinprideandreputationandglory.Theunderlings

counttheirlossesinblood.

—TheodoreC.Mason,BattleshipSailor(1982)

Forty-six

When a ship sinks, thebattlefield goes away.Currents move, thermallayers mix, and by the timethe surveyors and rescuersarrive, the water that borewitness to the slaughter isnowhere to be found. Thedeaddisappear,carriedunder

withtheirruinedvehicles.Nowreckage remains fortacticians to study.There areno corpses for stretcher-bearers to spirit away, noremains to shovel, bag, andbury. On the sea there is noplace to anchor a memorialflagpoleoraheadstone.Itisavanishinggraveyard.Thesuddensilencewasthe

first thingmany survivors ofthe Hoel, the Gambier Bay,

the Samuel B. Roberts, andthe Johnston noticed aftertheirshipshadbeensmashedandswallowed.Tomany,thequiet was unwelcome. Thenoise of battle—the roar ofmachinery, the shrieks andblastsof shells incomingandoutbound, the shouts andscreams of their buddies—had anesthetized fear. Nowthenoiseliftedlikeacurtain,unveiling the hidden innervistas of their grief and

shock.Whentheirshipssank,their duties went down withthem. Permanentlydischarged, the survivorswere left without thedistractionofworktodo.Thethings they had seen couldnow be contemplated. Thewounds they had sufferedbegan to ache, sting, andburn.The four groups of men

were scattered over roughly

thirty miles of ocean.Survivors of the Hoel, sunkfirst at 8:55, constituted thenorthernmost group. TheJapanesehadbeenintheheatofpursuitwhenthedestroyerwent down. The men of theHoel were then treated to afullfleetreviewastheCenterForce’s leviathans paradedpast them to the south.Afterthat,thesurvivorshadnoideawhat had become of theenemy—or of the rest of

Taffy3forthatmatter.Southof where the Hoel’s menswam were the survivors ofthe Gambier Bay. They hadthe distinction of serving onthe only American aircraftcarrierinhistoryeversunkbyenemynavalgunfire.Likethedestroyermen, they had seenthe enemy up close, had felttheheatofhismuzzlesfiring.Finally, farther south still,floated the men from theJohnston and the Samuel B.

Roberts,whose ships, havingfoughttothelast,sankwithina few minutes and a fewthousandyardsofeachother.Such descriptions of the

groups’ proximities, givenwith the benefit of abackward-looking bird’s eye,were unavailable to the menin that terrible moment. Thecurrents and wind took holdofthem,andfromtheirinitialentry into the water, there

was no telling how theymoved relative to oneanother. A thousand mendottedtheocean’sswells,castabout by the waters. Forsmall groups and individualsalike, however, theexperience of survival wasone of sudden, sinkingaloneness.The lazy swells of the

Philippine Sea raised andlowered the men at regular

intervals. At the top of aswell, if he was inclined, aman could take in his widesurroundings and look forother survivors to merge hisfortuneswith.Inthebottoms,surrounded by gentle slopesofseawaterlikethesidesofashallow bowl, he would belefttocontemplatehisprivatemisery. Land was but anabstraction; though the peaksof Samar were visible wherethe squalls and clouds

permitted, reaching up frombeneath the horizon, thebeachesthatlaybeneaththemwereoutofsight,somethirtymiles away. For a wounded,exhausted swimmer, itmightas well have been a wholeocean.Forthem,theworldexisted

onlyintwodimensions.Withtheir eyes at sea level, theyhad no vertical parallax bywhich togaugedistance.The

physical fact of the roundearth made height a tellingadvantageatsea.Lookoutsonthe ships with the tallestmasts could see farthest andspot the enemy soonest. TheYamatowasthefirstJapaneseship to fire not only becauseof her powerful guns butbecauseher lookoutsenjoyedtheloftiestaerieintheflotilla.When the survivors enteredthe water, however, thecircumference of their world

shrank like a contractedcameraaperture.Evenon theclearest day the Hoel’ssurvivors would have beenout of sight of theRoberts’ssurvivors.Anyimaginarylineconnecting them would havearced over the face of theearth far enough that thecurve of the world blockedtheirview.By sweeping his arms

together, George Bray

gathered up a foamy pile offuel oil and tried to splash itall away from him. But thestuff seemed to have a mindof its own. It floated back athim,stickingtoeverything.Itwouldnotgoaway.Hereandtheretheslickwasburninginthe lazymanner inwhich oilispronetoburn.BudCometpaddledhisraft

to Bray’s group and tied upfast to the small flotilla of

survivors. This group wassixty-odd strong,gatheredonand around a life raft whosewooden lattice bottom,suspended by ropes from theraft’s hard foam ring, hadbeen mostly shot out. Someseven feet long and four orfive feet wide, the raft wasmore like an oversizeddoughnut float than a properinflatableboat.Tieduptotheraft to form a littlearchipelagowasafloaternet,

a twenty-by-twenty-footexpanse of mesh nettingmadebuoyantbyhardrubberdisks linked together instrings of eight. JackMoore,Lt. Luther West, and chiefCullen Wallace were itsrankingmembers.Most of the men in this

group were in fair health.About half of them had noinjuriesatall.Themajorityoftheresthadwoundsthatwere

not immediately lifethreatening—holes throughflesh, gashes to limbs, oddburns and scrapes, bloodleaking from the ears.A fewwerefarworseoff,andthesemen, en route towhatwouldprobably be a slow death,were laid inside the ring ofthe raft. Jerry Osborne, awater tender in theRoberts’sdemolished forward boilerroom, had been scalded soseverely that he had third-

degree burns all over hisbody.Helapsedinandoutofconsciousness.Themidoceansilencewasnowandthencutthrough with his and others’long groans, at unpredictableintervals swelling intoscreams.Afewhundredyardsaway

fromthem,ontheirownraft-and-floater-net assemblage,driftedanothergroupofaboutfifty men, among them Bob

Copeland, Bob Roberts, BillBurton, Dudley Moy-lan,Tom Stevenson, LloydGurnett,andtwooftheship’sfour surviving chiefs, RudySkauandFrankCantrell.Somedistanceawayonthe

current, another group ofaboutseventeenorsoRobertssurvivors clung to a far lesssturdy contraption: a pair offourteen-foot-long woodenplanks that the deck division

had once used as ascaffolding for scraping andpainting the side of the hull.The structure wasn’tseaworthy, and a lot of themen clinging to it were inverybadshape.It was clear to Stevenson

and others that the woundedwould be better off withthem. Only seven could fitinside the raft, so the captainand pharmacist’s mate Oscar

Kingevaluatedtheirwoundedand decidedwhowould gaintenancy to this prime realestate. Everyone else floatedin the water around the raft,clutching the manila lines ofthefloaternettieduptoit.Tom Stevenson, Lloyd

Gurnett,soundmanthirdclassLouis Gould, and CharlesNatter,whowasaparticularlystrong swimmer, spent a fewhourson theafternoonof the

twenty-fifth trying to unitethe stragglers on thescaffolding with their group.They swam to it andstruggled to move the bulkystructure toward their ownraft andnet.When they tiredof the impossible task ofpropelling the sagging massof wood through the water,they tried to cajole thehealthier survivors to swimwith them. To theirfrustration, most of them

refused to leave thescaffolding—a bird in thehandandallthat.Stayingputbeat swimming an Olympicdistance through waters wellpopulated by large sharks.Ultimately, they settled forferryingback to the raftmenwhoweretooweaktomakeitthemselves and too shell-shockedtoresistrescue.Yelling deliriously, Bill

Stovall, Gun 52’s pointer,

was among several menpulled into Copeland’s raft.He had been blown from themount’s steel enclosure, hislungs scorched in the fieryblowback from the breech.He had lived long enough tosee the ship sink, but as hehollered on, it was clear thatthe only humane thing to dowas to avoid prolonging hisagony. Exchanging pained,knowing glances and solemnnods, the men eased Stovall

into thewater and allowed ittoswallowhim.

***

WHENTHEROBERTSSURVIVORSgottheir first glimpseof thedimgray triangles cutting thewater’s surface around them,the stinking oil that fouledtheir hair, faces, and eyesbegan to seem more ablessing than a curse. Thehigh-grade American fuel—

distinctive by smell fromJapan’s cruder Malaysiandistillate—coated themcompletely, masking theiridentities from one another.Thoughtheireyesstungfromitandtheycouldn’tseemuch,the oil proved to be aneffective shark repellent.Themen noticed the way itseemedtokeepthetallfinsata distance. George Brayscoopedupahandfulofblackfoamand smeared it all over

hisshoelessleftfoot.Thelastthing a guy needed was asharkmistakingawhite sockforanappetizer.The oil was an efficient

sunscreen too. Most of thesqualls had been warmedaway by the rising SouthPacific sun. It baked theirskinand reflectedoff the seato burn their undersides aswell. But the oil protectedtheir skin. Exposure to the

ocean’selementsdidn’tseemlike much of a threat at thetime.Theyknewhelpwasontheway.Looking up, Tom

Stevensoncouldseeaswarmof specks against the ceilingof the blue sky—planesoutbound on strike missionsof some kind. The aircraft—could they be from theTaffies?—were probably toohigh for their pilots to spot

the survivors. Optimismreignednonetheless.Figuringonapromptrescue,Copelandhad doled out most of theraft’s provisions. Each mangottwomaltedmilktablets,apiece of Spam, and a fewouncesofwater.Sureenough,agoodomen

sooncame.AroundthreeP.M.,outoftheblue,camethelow-throated growl of a Wrightradial engine, drowning out

thesoundofseawaterlappingagainst the raft. A TBMAvengerroaredby.Lowoverthe wave tops, the pilotbanked hard, circling thegroupandflashingathumbs-up sign through the longgreenhouse canopy. As theplane zoomed away, itsengine fading with the downDoppler, everyone wasjubilant. That was it,Stevenson thought. Theywere all but rescued. The

pilot would call in theirposition, and a ship or asubmarine would be sent togetthem.

Forty-seven

Swimming in the bloodiedwaters that had swallowedtheir ships, none of thesurvivors of the late, greatscreening vessels of Taffy 3were in a position todistinguish victory fromdefeat.TheJapanesemen-of-war that had sunk them had

charged blithely past,presumably to sweep awaytheremainsofTaffy3andtocharge throughTaffies 2 and1onthewayintoLeyteGulfitself.Whowasgoingtotellthem

what had really happened?And would they even havebelieved it? The men of thedestroyers and destroyerescorts had helped win avictory of the most

impossibly resounding kind.Their dashing skippers hadput themselves on the linefirst and started animprobable rout. Now BillBrooks and friends, theavenging angels from theescort carrier squadrons,wouldhelpfinishit.Launching from the

Marcus Island at 11:15 A.M.,

Brooks,thefirstTaffy3pilotto spot the Japanese fleet on

its way south, was nowamong the last to watch itflee.Hewas in the vanguardof the Taffies’ latest partinggift to the Japanese CenterForce: a fifty-six-plane strikewhose savagery andefficiency tended to supportKurita’s decision towithdraw. Pilots from thesixteen CVEs of the threeTaffiesformedpickupsquadson the wing. Brooks flewwith Ens. William Mc-

Cormick of the FanshawBay’s VC-68 and Lt. Cdr. TO. Murray, skipper of theMarcus Island’s residentsquadron,VC-21.Thatgroupof fourteen Avengers andeightWildcatsmergedwithagroup led by the KadashanBay’s skipper, Lt. Cdr. JohnDale, which in turn joinedplanesledbyLt.Cdr.RichardFowler, the resourcefulKitkun Bay air groupcommanderwho had taken a

breather aboard the Taffy 2jeep Manila Bay after hismorning exploits. Theyrequirednonavigationdatatofindtheirtargets.RagingfiresfromthestrickenChokaiandthe Chikuma produced twincolumns of smoke that werevisiblefromtheflightdeckofTaffy 2’s carriers. Thisgathering of planes, whichrendezvoused as green-dyedshell splashes from theHaruna were walking the

seas around Taffy 2’sdestroyer screen, was thefourth of six air strikes thatTaffy 2 would send againstKurita that day. They foundthe Japanese fleet aboutfifteen miles east of SamarIsland,offCebuBay.TheCVEpilotslearnedon

thewingtodowhatHalsey’sand Mitscher’s aviatorsprided themselves on doing.In thedays leadingup to the

Battle off Samar, severaljeep-carrier fighter pilots haddistinguished themselves inair-to-air combat againstbombers swarming the Leyteinvasion beachhead. Overallon the day, Wildcat pilotsfrom the three Taffy groupsdowned fifty-four Japaneseplanes and claimed twentymoreasprobables.Now,withan enemy fleet within theirgrasp, it was the Avengerpilots’turntoworkinthebig

leagues.Evenhad theCenterForce

commander not recalled hisshipsonthebrinkoftriumph,they still would have had tosurvive this angry swarm ofAmerican planes. Indeed,with such a surprisinggathering of strength arrayedagainst him, it remainsunclear what Kurita couldhave accomplished had hepressed south toward Leyte

Gulf. First, he would havedonesoalone.Hehadlearnedwhile withdrawing thatNishimura’s Southern Forcehadbeenwipedout thenightbefore.And he strongly (andcorrectly) suspected thatMacArthur’s transports hadlong since unloaded the lastof their troops, weapons,food,andsupplies.Theheavycruisers Tone and Haguro,havinggottenwithinfiveanda half miles (a short ten

thousand yards) of SpraguewhenKurita’sorderwentout,might have sunk a fewmoreCVEs, but they wouldn’thave gotten far against aerialoppositionsuchas this: fifty-six well-armed planes, andanother strike arming on theTaffy2carriersbehind them.Admiral Stump had orderedhisplanes tocrippleasmanyJapanese ships as possible—there was no senseadministering overkill with

Halseycomingback south toclean up any messes theymade.TheAmericanaviatorsmade as many of them asthey could. Kurita had morethanhecouldhandlekeepinghis fleet together in the faceof the blue hornets from theescortcarriers.Overtaking the

withdrawing ships swiftly,the pilots circled at eightthousand feet, the radio

frequenciesababelwithpilotsexcitedly reporting theircontacts. If radiocommunication was strained,the pilots now enjoyed therelativeluxuryofunpressuredtimeinwhichtochoosetheirtargets. As CommanderDale’s section took thestarboard side of theformation and Fowler’s theport, Bill Brooks, EnsignMcCormick,andCommanderMurray passed the Japanese

squadron and made a wideloopingturn.Whenthesignalwentout to strike, theycamein from the north, startingeight miles out and bearingdown on the enemy.According to CommanderMurray’s after-action report,“In a beautifully coordinatedattack, strafers led glidebombers followedby torpedoplanes which made theirdrops as the last bombs hit.”The Japanese ships turned

hardtoportastheAmericansswooped in. Murray pushedover into a steep right turn,following the ships, withMcCormick behind him andBrooks bringing up the rear.When flak began to pepperthe sky, the planes splitformation, with Brooks andMcCormick swinging toMurray’s right, lining up aNagato-classbattleshipwhileMcCormick lined up anAtogo-class heavy cruiser

straightahead.∗ The Chokai was the onlyAtago-class heavy cruiser inthis battle. “Now you’re onyour own,”Murray said.ButwhenMcCormickopenedhisweapons bay doors, historpedo fell out andplummetedtothesea.Withthebattleshipinview,

Brooks flew down to 900feet, liningupfifteendegreesoff the ship’s starboard bow

and entering the critical“needle-ball and airspeed”phase of his run. If he hadfigured right, hewould glidedown to 500 feet and drop,and the battleship’scounterclockwise turn,extrapolated to that point,would put it broadside to historpedointhelastsecondsofits bubbling approach. RayTravers, hunched over hisradar console’s A-scope,hollered out the range to the

target, first in miles, then inyardsastherangeclosed.JoeDowns was itching forsomething to shoot at. Helookedtostarboard,andtherelayabigJapanesecruiser.“I’m gonna take on this

cruiser, okay? It won’t spoilyour air-flight, will it?”DownsaskedBrooksovertheintercom. Cranking the flat-sided spherical greenhouse-glass turret out to the side

changed the plane’saerodynamics,whichwasnotalways helpful to a pilotconcentrating on making adelicate torpedo run. Thepilot told him not to worryabout it, so Downs wenthunting. The gunner cutloose, sending a hot spray oftracers, ball, and armor-piercing rounds popping andricocheting across the ship’ssuperstructure.

Joe Downs had nearlyexhausted his ammo canwhen, abruptly, the planelifted straight upwith a jerk.He thought the plane hadbeenhit.Intheexcitementhehadallbutforgottenthetwo-thousand-pound torpedopayload that Brooks had justreleased, creating quite achangeininertia.An endless series of

seconds passed—twenty or

thirty of them—while thetorpedocruisedthethousand-yard path to the ship. Seatedrearwardinthegunner’sseat,Downs watched the shipshrink in the distance, thenget swallowed in a flash offlame. Their torpedo struckforward of the bridge,producing a dirty geyser ofwater. The Nagato’s bulkymass heaved and shuddered,seeming to lift slightly, thendropbackintothesea.

“Ohman,yougother,yougot her!” Downs shouted.McCormick saw it too.Brookscircledtowatch, thensettledonacoursethatwouldtake him back toward hisadoptive home, the Taffy 3flagship, the Fanshaw Bay.He was by no means uniqueinthisregard,butitwouldbethethirdflightdeckBrooks’swheels touched during thatlongday.

At 12:40, about twentyminutes after Murray’s andBrooks’s attack, the KitkunBay’sRichardFowler ledhisgroup around a big cumuluscloud and dove down out ofthe sun. The loose enemyformationwasloopingaroundto the left, exposing itsstarboard flanks to Fowler’svengeful blue angels. Theskipper dropped his bombsover a battleship, hitting itjust aft of the bridge. His

wing-man’s bombs strucknearthemainmast,whiletwomore pilots scored near-misses astern. AnotherAvengerpilotreportedhittingthe Nagato with a torpedoamidships. A heavy cruiserjust inboard of the battleshipwasstruckbytwobombs.Just before touching down

on theFanshawBay, Fowlerpicked up a transmissionfromtheWaspairgroup,one

of Halsey’s squadrons,reporting the sighting of theretiring enemy fleet. ZiggySprague’s old ship, with therest of Adm. John S.McCain’s Task Group 38.2,was closing fast. The ThirdFleet’s contribution to theBattle off Samar was far toolittle, far too late. BecauseMcCain’sstrikewaslaunchedat extended range, thepilots’fuel reserveswere too lowtopermit deliberate target

selection and preparatorymaneuver. But their arrivaldid tend to underscore thepoint that had Kurita notwithdrawn, he would haverun smack into yet anotherpowerfulairgroup.At about 2:15 P.M. the

Chikuma, crippled earlier byWhite Plains fliers, hertopside charred by salvosfrom the Samuel B. Roberts,was finished off by planes

from the Taffy 2 jeepOmmaney Bay. Preceded byfourWildcatfightersthatspattwo thousand .50-caliberslugs into the cruiser, threeTBM Avengers, led by theVC-75commander,Lt.AllenW. Smith, swooped in lowandlayaspreadoftorpedoesinto her port side, justforward of amidships.Seawater rushed in, and thecruiser heeled and rocked afewtimes,thenrolledontoits

port side and sank in aboutfifteenminutes.Farther to the north, Taffy

3pilotswereinhotpursuitofanyother Japanese ships thatcould still make steam.TommyLupooftheFanshawBay’s VC-68, havingreholstered his pistol andreloaded with bombscommandeered from theArmy,hadtakenofffromtheairfieldatTaclobansometime

before. Heading north, hefound a Mogami-classcruiser,probablythestubbornKumano, limping towardSanBernardino Strait, her bowbroken in the battle’s earlyminutes.Glidingdownalone,Lupo overtook the cruiser,dove on her from herstarboard quarter, rode thebrightrailsoftheship’stracerbullets down to his bomb-release point, and walked abrace of bombs right up her

back. One of his 250-pounders appeared to droprightdowntheship’sexhauststack. A fountain of smokeand crud shot skyward fromamidships, and as he flewaway, orange tongues offlame could be seen lickingthroughthesmoke.Intermingling orphaned

pilots from Ziggy Sprague’stask unit with the squadronsofhisownsixcarriers,Taffy

2 commander AdmiralStump’s carriers mustered atotal of 204 sorties againstKurita, 117byAvengers and87 byWildcats, dropping 49torpedoesand286500-poundbombs,andfiring276rocketsand untold thousands ofrounds of machine-gunammunition. By the time thelast of his pilots returned toTaffy 2 at 6:25 P.M., justbefore nightfall made carrieroperations doubly hazardous,

Kurita’s force had beensmashed down to size.Limping north toward SanBernardino Strait went abattered and broken CenterForce, reportedly consistingof four battleships, just threeheavy cruisers, two lightcruisers, and sevendestroyers.Two of the battleships

trailed broad slicks of oil;three destroyers and one of

the light cruisers laggedbehind the main group; andone heavy cruiser appearedheavily damaged. Impossibleto catalog but probablysignificant nonetheless werethe assorted lessercatastrophes inflicted by theceaseless strafing, bombing,and battering by Americanfive-inch shells. Twenty-fouraircraftfromthejeepcarriershad fallen to Japaneseantiaircraft fire, with forty-

three pilots and aircrewmenlostormissinginaction.Some pilots survived by

the slimmest of margins.Richard Roby, the GambierBay Wildcat pilot, escortedFoster Dillard back toTaclobanafterastrikeontheJapanese fleet. SeeingDillard’s plane swerving onan unsteady course, its pilotwithout a helmet and nohatch, bareheaded to the

rushingwind,Robysuspectedimmediately that his VC-10squadronmate was “punchierthan a three-dollar bill.” Hecouldn’tkeepalevelheading,and if the young pilot couldscarcely manage level flight,how would he handle alanding on a muddy, pittedairstrip?Somehow Dillard reached

Tacloban,made a reasonablysteady approach, and eased

his Wildcat onto the muddyrunway. The plane taxieddown the tarmac, hit a softspot, and flipped forward,driving its propeller hub intothe ground. Roby pulledaround for another pass,givingthemenonthegroundtime to push the wreckedfighter plane out of theway.Then Roby made anotherapproach and landed. Whenhe found Dillard, thewounded pilot had taken so

muchshrapneltothefacethathe looked like a smallpoxpatient.ForthepilotsofVC-10, as for all the pilots ofTaffy 3, the morning ofOctober 25 had been a longone.The aviators from the

SeventhFleet’sescortcarriersfinished theBattle off SamarontheirtermsbecauseKuritahad declined to finish it onhis.

On whose terms thesurvivors in the water wouldend their ongoing struggleremainedverymuchanopenquestion.

Forty-eight

The impossible horror of thewar’s first kamikaze sinkinghad come upon themsuddenly and withoutwarning. Murderouslyeffective,theattackontheSt.LoandtheotherCVEssetthelookouts on Taffy 3’sremainingshipsonhighalert.

Though Ziggy Spragueworried about the possibilityof submarine attack—therehad been enough oddsightings of torpedo wakescomingathisshipsduringthemorning’s fighting to alerthim to the threat—hedetached what remained ofhisscreen,theHeermann,theDennis,theRaymond,andtheJohn C. Butler, from escortduty and ordered them torecover the survivors of the

St. Lo dotting the sea wherethe carrier had gone down.Expertly conned by herskipper, Sig Hansen, hernarrow hull draped in cargonets for survivors to climb,the Dennis moved throughthe St. Lo’s debris fieldretrieving survivors. Thehealthiest among themclambered aboard asking,“Hey, what’s for chow?”“What’s the movie tonight?”or“Wherethehellishaul-ass

Halsey?”Theworse-offwerepulledfromtheseaandgivenmorphine and a soft place tolie down. The Dennis’srescue effort, led by firstlieutenant Frank Tyrrell andchief boatswain’s mate JoeBarry, saved more than fourhundred survivors from theSt.Loandthirty-fivepilots.Retrieving the other

survivors would be a muchtaller order. The Avenger

pilot who sighted TomStevensonand the restof theRoberts survivors, understrict radio silence, made amental note of theircoordinates to pass along tothe Seventh Fleet after helanded. It seems his missionlasted longer than hismemory.Thecoordinatesthatwere given to AdmiralKinkaid were off by a widemargin. An attemptedcorrection offered little more

help. Admiral Stumpinformed the Seventh Fleetcommanderaround12:30P.M.

that hundreds of survivorswere adrift at 11°12′N,126°30′E, which was twentyto forty miles south of thevarious siteswhere theTaffy3shipshadgonedown.ThoughZiggySpraguewas

prompt in asking AdmiralKinkaid to launch a rescueoperation to save the

survivorsofTaffy3,owingtothe desperate nature of thefight against the continuingkamikaze attacks and thepreoccupation of the PBYCatalina patrol planes withrescuing downed fliers, itwasn’t until 3:30 P.M. that aserious rescue attempt wasmade. At that time AdmiralKinkaid ordered TommySprague to detach allavailable screening ships andbegin a search close to the

original erroneous position.Because it consisted of shipsunassisted by planes, therescue mission had a marginfor error much slimmer thantheerror itself.ThedestroyerescortsEversole andRichardS.Bullsteamednortheastandarrived at the specifiedcoordinates at 11:30 P.M.

Finding nothing, theyreturned to Taffy 1 empty-handedthatnight.

When Admiral Halseyfinally returned from chasingAdmiral Ozawa’s goose, hedetachedseveraldestroyerstosweep the area, looking forJapanese stragglers. Thoughthey passed close to wheresome Taffy 3 survivorsfloated,theywerelookingforthings considerably largerthan heads bobbing on thewaves. They failed to locatethemaswell.

***

AS THE AFTERNOON WORE on,Tom Stevenson, CharlesNatter,andLloydGurnetthadjust about given up theirattempts to bring back themen floating on the planks.The survivors who clung tothem,many badly hurt, wereexhibiting a dangerouscombination of recalcitranceandresignation.Theyrefusedto leave. The scaffolding

must have been justseaworthy enough to makethe reward of setting out foranother precarious refugeseemdubiousandtheoretical,even if their captain wassupposedlyinchargethere.Natter did his best to help

them. He was a capableswimmer,athleticandstrong.Adrenaline made up whatstrengthhehad lost from theshrapnelpepperedthroughhis

shoulders. But there werelimits to what the stoutsignalman could do. Menwere not made to outswimsharks.The predators were

gathering in growingnumbers.Fora time thepoolof fuel oil that surroundedthem seemed to keep thesharks at bay. But by lateafternoon enough blood hadleached into the water to

attractacrowd.Charles Natter was

catching a breather on thescaffolding when the sharksended the tease and acted ontheir nature. One of themcame up and pulled ThomasMazura, one of his friendsfrom the Sammy B.’s signaldivision, from his plank.Natter had little time tomourn.Likeaninvertedfang,anotherbigfinglided toward

him,andhewashauledundertoo.Seeingitallhappen,JohnConwaywasatlastpersuadedtotakehischancesswimmingfor Copeland’s raft. Thecoxswain tried to talk othersintojoininghim,buthurtandexhausted, they wanted nopart of it. Conway was theonly man from thescaffolding to reach BobCopeland’s raft and floaternetthatafternoon.

At one point Copelandcounted as many as fiftyshark fins cutting the surfacenear him. Thanks to the oilthat bathed the survivors inhis group, these predatorswere all swim and no bite.Butbecausenoone couldbetooconfidentofthat,themenfeared the worst whenever afin moved closer and thendisappearedunderwater.Thecaptain of theRoberts didn’twant to think about what

might have happened to hissignalman and the men hehadgallantlytriedtosave.Whether through

exhaustion, wounds, orwillpower, the men stayedquiet. Their stoicismimpressedBobCopeland.

I’ve read a lot of storiesabout how men on liferafts behave; they eithercurse—curse their luckand curse everybody—orthey get a big shot ofreligionandprayandsing

songs.Ourmen didn’t dothatat all….Theywereavery quiet group…. Theybore their suffering inalmost total silence….Wewerejustbeatentoapulp,that’sall.

The only outbursts onCopeland’sraftwerethefinalthrashesofthedying.CharlesStaubach, the grievouslywounded chief electrician’smate, lay motionless insidethe raft, tended tobyhealthysurvivors.

But around three thatafternoon he went out of hishead, ranting and ravingdeliriously beforesuccumbingtodeath.As the sun fell in the

western sky, optimism aboutaquickrescuewasturningtodiscouragement. Copelandnoticed that Bob Roberts’sstoutly girded calm wasgivingway to a very evidentdespair. “I tried to bargain

with God,” Roberts laterwrote. “I explained to Himthat my wife had just had ababy boy whom I had neverseen, and that though I wasreadyandwillingtodie,ifHewould allow it I would takecare of them as long as Ilived.” Copeland huddledprivately with his exec untilRoberts regained hiscomposure. “Hewas a towerofstrengthfromthereonin,”Copelandwrote.

Copeland asked Roberts,“Where do you think weare?” Roberts said, “Well,Captain,Idon’tknowexactlywhere we are, but I’d saywe’re roughly thirty mileseast of the island of Samarand about thirty miles northof its southern tip. That’s asclose as I can give you fromthelastnavigationalfixIhadbefore we went into battle.That’s close. We are withinfive miles one way or

another.”Thirty miles off Samar. If

theywerehighenoughabovethewater, in the crow’s nestof a battleship usingbinoculars, they might haveseen its shores.But from sealevel,where they floated, theline of sight to the horizonwas just fourteen miles.When the clouds and rainpermitted, all they could seewereitspeaks.

“Well,” Copeland said toRoberts, “you and I are theseniorofficers, andwebetterset a good example.” Theyeach took a paddle andclimbeduponthesideoftheraft and began stroking acourse west into the settingsun.

Forty-nine

The survivors from theJohnston were greater innumber than the Robertsgroup but were situatedsimilarly to the othersurvivors from Taffy 3’ssunken ships. Well over ahundred men drifted theravagedwaters on lengths of

plank and timber, on floaternets and life rafts, or wereheld afloat only by kapokvests or life preservers.Organized and calmed bytheirofficersandseniorpettyofficers, they decided to lettheir large group disperse onthe currents, each groupcentered on a life raft/floaternet ensemble, in order tomaximize their chances ofdetection.

The most seriouslywounded were gatheredinside the rafts. HowardCraven, from the electricaldepartment, had his throatslashedcleararoundtheneckby a large shard of shrapnel.Though few expected him tosurvive,hesurprisedthemallnot only by surviving but bysummoning the energy andSamaritan will to tend toJames Cooper and JackWalker,who had been badly

burned and lay shivering intheraft.Alargegroupthatincluded

BobHagen,EllsworthWelch,Ed Di-Gardi, Jack Bechdel,JesseCochran,MiltPehl,andHank Wilson was clusteredaroundtworaftsandapairoffloater nets strung togetherwithmanila line.Wilsonhadgottenbadlyburnedbyboilersteamwhenthefireroomwashit. Pharmacist’s mate

ClaytonSchmuffswamaboutmaking his rounds, puttingsulfa powder on burns andgiving morphine to the mostseriously wounded. JackBechdel, missing most of aleg, was so benumbed bymorphine that he found itwithinhimselftosing.Withavoicemellifluous and strong,he sang as if they weregatheredaroundacampfire.As the afternoon dragged

on,EllsworthWelchreflectedontheordealthattheyhadalljust experienced, thinkingtheir circumstances couldonlygetbetter.“Ourthoughtswere, 3,000 ships, 200,000men, thousands ofairplanes…. Itwon’t be longnow….Wewerejustacoupleof hundred miles from thegreatest naval armada everassembled on earth.” To amantheywereconvincedthatthe proximity of powerful

friendlyfleetsallbutensuredtheir rescue. Their admiralknew they were out there.Pilots had sighted them.Rescue would be the simpleproductoftime,patience,andfortitude.While they waited for

America’s overwhelmingmilitary power to come totheir assistance, they passedthe time struggling to keeptheir spirits up, wondering

aloud about the outcome ofthe battle and the fates ofparticular shipmates, tellingstories, passing cigarettes,and munching on hardtackbiscuitsandsaltywater.By midafternoon their

submerged doubts began tosurface, along with the firstsharks.BillMercerwatchedaparticularlylargeoneworkitswaytowardtheminawidelymeandering zigzag, finally

cruisingbycloseenoughthatthe men could extend theirlegsandkickatit.Facedwithsplashing and kicking life-forms, it elected not to harmthem. The men scanned thehorizon through360degrees,watching their hopes for aspeedy rescue diminish andvanish.

***

WHENDARKNESSFELL,THEsharks

grew more assertive. In thepitch-blackPacificnight,theyrevealed themselves byproxy. Moving through theplankton-rich waters,disturbing the photosensitiveplant life, the sharks ignitedaneeriephosphorescencethatformed a faint glowing pathtoward the men in the rafts.There was splashing andcursing.Shrillvoicesroseandthen were gone. Someonesaidsomethingaboutspotting

a ship. Someone elseproduced a Very pistol, andseveral flares lofted skyward—red, white, and green—burning arcs of colorfulbrilliance through the night.When there was no responsein kind from the rescuer, themenfearedtheyhadalertedaJapanese ship. Their panicbecame quieter if no lessdesperate.Drifting toward a fatal

sleep, the men decided tofasten themselves togetherwith their CO2 inflatable lifebelts, assigned each othernumbers, and counted off atintervals to indicate theirphysicalandmentalpresence.ClintCarterhad just finishedsecuring himself to ChuckCampbell when someoneyelled “Shark!” and the menstarted climbing atop oneanother toward the stars. In

the zero-sum equation ofsaltwater buoyancy, oneman’s success was anotherman’s sudden dunking.Something bumped Carterheavily in the back, and hefelt a wrenching force. Hescreamed, put both hands onCampbell’s shoulders, andliftedhimselfoutofthewateras a shark’s bear-trap jawstore away a chunk of hiskapok, along with a smallbloody piece of his side. As

Carter rose up, his weightplungedCampbellunder.Theshark let goofCarter,Carterlet go of Campbell, andCampbell surfaced sputteringand gasping. Then the sharktastedCarter again, andoncemorehedunkedCampbell inhisbidfortheraft.Thesharklet go of Carter, Campbellsurfaced, and regaining hisbreath, he helped lay Carter,bleedingbadly,intotheraft.

Chiefgunner’smateHarryHensongotbitteninthethighhard enough to crush bone.Joe Taromino took bites inthe left arm and shoulder,VinceScafogliointheareaofhisleftkidney.In the night, despite the

ministrations of theirshipmate with the slashedthroat, Cooper and Walkerpassed away. Someoneoffered a few solemnwords,

theirlifejacketsandlifebeltswere removed for someoneelse’s benefit, their dog tagswere collected, and theirbodies were released andallowed to sink. Watchingthem go under, Bill Mercerfeltlike“aneighteen-year-oldboygoingonforty.”As the night deepened,

hopelessness set in for thewounded who could nolonger endure the glacial

passage of time. Before EdHaubrich died of his severeleg wounds, he asked DustyRhodes, the cook in thechief’smess, fora sandwich.A Johnston sailor who hadsuffered a deep shark bite tothe abdomen asked to be putout of hismisery. For nearlyan hour he begged for hisshipmates’ mercy, moaning,screaming, and crying. Hefinally received it whensomeone pulled out a

revolver, misfired it, thenproduced a knife and cut histhroat.

***

“WHYDON’TWEALLsing?”Thesurvivors in Jack Moore’sgroup made a halfheartedattempt to render a familiartune.“OldMacDonaldHadaFarm.” “The Swanee River.”“DeepintheHeartofTexas.”“I’ve Been Working on the

Railroad.” But they hadsuffered toomuch to indulgein musical reverie. Theirhearts weren’t in it. “Iremember a few peoplestarted singing,”DickRohdesaid, “and then it just sort ofdied out. Nobody reallywanted to sing. It didn’t goovertoowell.”Thoughtheystayedmostly

quiet, the arrival of sharkstriggered their survival

instincts, and desperatespasmsof fightingbrokeout,themenclimbingoneanotherlike ladders, frantic to leavethe water. They pushed oneanother down, clutching andgrabbing with death-gripstrength. They swallowedseawater,gagged,and lungedupward, coughing andswinging fists. George BrayandChalmerGoheen tried toquell the panic, but it had alife of its own. Finally, after

themenhadwornthemselvesout,itstoppedbyitself.When quiet settled in

again, the men laid theirheadson thesidesof the raftand on the coarse ropemeshof the floater net. GeorgeBray struggled to remainalert.Hewasstartingtothinkthe sharks might be toyingwiththem.Hehadseenthemswimming in slow circlesbelow.Thoughitwashardto

gauge precisely how largethey were, he knew theyweren’t small. The last raysofdaylighthadrevealedsomebig ones down there: ten,twelve feet long, he thought.There had been smaller fishpresentwith them—hundredsof them hovering together instationary schools. Possiblybarracuda. In months pastBray and the others hadoccasionally seen sharksfollowing the Roberts near

dusk, gorging themselves asthe garbage was thrownoverboard. The sharkspatrolling the waters offSamaronOctober25,havingenduredthecacophonyofthebloody morning, would findricher fare in the ensuingdays.Eventually George Bray

stopped worrying too muchabout what might be in thewaters beneath him. By the

time the sunwasdippingoutof sight to the west, fear ofthe big predators yielded towary acceptance. Mostly hejust stopped looking down.Mostly he started worryingabout what might—or mightnot—be coming for themfromoverthehorizon.

Fifty

WhennoshipcametorescuethesurvivorsoftheSamuelB.Roberts during the night,Tom Stevenson feared theJapanese had won the battle.The big force of Jap cruisersand battleships, he thought,had incinerated the otherships of Taffy 3 and pressed

on to the Leyte beachhead.What other conclusion couldbe drawn? If any of theAmericanshipshadsurvived,wouldn’ttheybecombingtheoceanswheretheRobertsandthe others had gone down,pullingalongsideandhaulingthem aboard to safety? TheSammy B.’s sacrifice, itseemed,hadbeeninvain.Untold hours into the

deepening night, Stevenson

heard a shout. The voicesounded American. Withothers, he called hoarsely inreply, and echoing oneanother, ranging by sound,the source of the shoutingfinally found them. It was aman,swimmingalone.Soundman Howard Cayo,

theformercircusacrobat,hadbeen with the men on thescaffolding. He was one ofjustafewtheretosurvivethe

shark attacks—saved, itseemed, by his litheness andstrength. Cayo joined thegroup, relating the horriblestory of what had happenedonthescaffolding.The fear was with them

already,butnowitworsened.They kicked and splashed atphantoms. Clutching thefloater net hitched toCopeland’s raft, kickingfutilely in the direction of

landwhileCopelandandBobRobertspaddledfromtheraft,Stevenson prayed silently,God,ifyougetmeoutofthis,I’mgoing tobecome thebesthusband and raise a greatfamily.That’sallI’mgoingtoask.

***

THE NIGHTTIME SKY, IMPASSIVE

and immobile, betrayed nosign of the passage of time.

To Jack Moore “it seemedverymuchlikeanentireweekof darkness.” The firstindication of change thattouchedGeorgeBray’ssensescame to him after midnight:the rich scent of land. Thepure ocean air cleansed thenasal cavities so thoroughlythat there was no mistakingthe sweet effluvium of theSamar jungle. Its rich, warmsmell came wafting over thewaters, borne to them on

shiftingwinds.Theoceancurrentsortides

orwhatever other inscrutableforces pushed them throughthe waters were shifting too.When the survivors tried toswim toward shore, thecurrents defied them.With amanstraddlingtheringoftheraft on each side, theypaddled to exhaustion butmadelittleapparentheadway.Butoncethemensurrendered

to the current, the tidesseemed to relent and even tocooperate.When Bray heard the

sound of breakers hissing ontheunseenbeach,heguessedthat his group couldn’t havebeen more than a mile fromland.Theyresumedpaddling.But a nagging thought madethem hesitate. Samar wasJapaneseheld.Youdidn’tjustgo ashore by night without

doing a little reconnoitering.The dark island was famousfor danger. Discovered byFerdinandMagellan in 1521,Samar was five thousandsquare miles of oozingmalarial swamps fringingmajestic forested mountains.The terrain was liberallysoaked with the blood ofinsurgents, saturated with amyth of violence. From the1901 Balangiga massacre, inwhich fifty-nine U.S. troops

wereambushedandkilledbyFilipino guerrillas, provokingBrig. Gen. Jacob Smith todeclarethatallFilipinosoverthe ageof tenmust bekilledand “the interior of Samarmust be made a howlingwilderness,” to thenightmarecampaign waged by thepulajan insurgency againstthe Manila Constabulary in1904-05, in which rebelsburned fifty-three villages ina two-month period, it had

fairly earned the nickname“the bloody island.” Samarhad seldom known peace,evenlessnowthatitsforeignoccupierswereasbrutalasitsnativeinsurgents.The clouds shrouded the

moon; where squalls fell tothe sea, they looked likeforests of trees on land.Without knowing theirgeographical bearings, themen could not knowwhat to

do. In the pitch dark, in thesafe distance, Jack Moorespottedapatrolboatofsomekind, its searchlight playingover the dark waters in theirvicinity but failing todiscoverthem.GeorgeBrayandtheothers

stopped paddling and lay torest, trying to orientthemselvesbythepositionofthemoon. But like the tides,that too was a shifting

variable.It layhiddenbehindthickclouds.Theyfellasleepone by one, and when theyawoke again and found theirbearingsby theearly lightofdaybreak, they discoveredthat they had drifted fartherouttosea.

***

ASHIPSTEAMEDTOWARDtheminthe night, its head-onsilhouette materializing tall

and black against thebacklighting moon. A fewsurvivors of the Johnstonshouted out, desperate thatthe ship not miss them. Butwhenitcamecloserandthenturned broadside to them,everyone suddenly wentquiet.Itspagoda-shapedmastwas all too apparent.EllsworthWelch identified itas a Terutsuki-classdestroyer. It was probablysearching for survivors from

one of the imperial cruiserssunk in the battle. Thepresence of a larger predatorcompelled men who werekicking at sharks to floatmotionless,loathtobreakthesurface with an out-of-placesplash thatmight reveal theirpresence. Men who weresinging abruptly stopped.“Whathadbeenaverynoisygroup became as silent as agraveyard,” Harold Bereson-skyrecalled.Whentheship’s

searchlight beam swept theseas near them, the silencewasbrokenbysoftprayers.The random strikes of the

sharks terrified the menthrough the night. Onemoment a kid was there,quietly treading water. Thenext moment he wasscreaming, and seconds laterhe was gone. Quiet. Thenscreaming. Then gone. Justlikethat.EllsworthWelchfelt

something grab the back ofhislifebelt,ripitoff,andtearhis pants and shorts. “Thiswas a situation for which Iwasn’t prepared,” he wrote.“My contract with the Navywas to fight the enemy, notsharks.” Robert Billie,woundedbythefirstJapanesesalvo that struck theJohnston’s bridge, swung inand out of consciousnessthrough much of the night.Someone tied him up to an

unwounded shipmate whohelped keep his face out ofthe water. Thanks to hisshipmate’s kindness, Billiewould survive. Before thenight was over, though, hisunhurt benefactor wouldhimself be grabbed andhauledunderbyashark.

Fifty-one

At about ten A.M. on thesecond day at sea, thereappearance of Samar’smountain peaks boosted thespirits of Bob Copeland’smen. In celebration, theskipper broke out the last ofthe emergency rations.Hoisting himself up to sit on

the doughnut raft’s ring,Copeland rubbed his fingersonhis trousers to clean themof oil and ordered each manto swim up to him,whereupon he dispensed thelast of the malted milktablets, three apiece, and thelast remnants of Spam andsomestalefreshwater.The experience helped

Copeland see a certainegalitarian nobility to his

crew and officers. “On thatraft we were just forty-nineverywretchedhumanbeings,entirely dependent uponourselves and one another inanefforttosustainlife.Underthose conditions it made nodifference to us whether aman’s parents had been richor poor; whether he wasCatholic, Protestant, or Jew;whether his skin was black,brown, or white; or whetherhis ancestry was English,

Spanish,Italian,orsomethingelse.” During their secondday at sea, the oil mostlydissolved and washed awayfrom their skin, revealingthosethingsthatCopelandnolongerfeltmatteredanymore.Paddling gamely toward

shore,HowardCayoandTomStevenson straddled theoverloaded raft on oppositesides. While they werelaboring,strainingtopushthe

impossible weight of theircraft through the low swells,a seagull began circlingoverhead. Seeing a potentialmeal, Cayo stood shakily,gathered his weight behindhis paddle, and swung itupward in a wide arc. Hemissed the bird but caughtTom Stevenson full in thehead on the follow-through,knockingthedazedlieutenantintothesea.

Around midafternoon,whileStevensonwas shakingoff the effects of the blow,easier pickings came theirway.ThemenonCopeland’sraft spied a wooden cratefloating some distance awayfromthem.Cayoandfiremanfirst class John Kudelchuktook off after it and,retrievingitfortheircaptain’sinspection,discoveredittobestamped with Japanesecharacters. They pulled it

open and discovered it wasfull of dried onions, morethan150of them.Theywerepassed around, and the menstarted devouring them,stopping only when theyrealized the extent to whichthe onions intensified theirthirst. From that point ondehydration and exposure tosun and sea threatened thesurvivors’ lives as surely asdidthesharks.

Some of the menquestioned Copeland’sdecision to paddle towardshore.With thepossibilityofrescue shrinkingby thehour,theyreasoned,shouldn’t theybe conserving their strengthrather than expending it?Worn down by the multiplepressures of combat, injury,andtheagonyofwatchingsomanyofhiscrewdieandhisshipbesmasheddownaroundhim, the skipper himselfwas

beginning to lose his edge.There was only so much hecould endure. In timeCopeland started to feel, asdid quite a few others, thattheyshouldriskswimmingtoshore under the cover ofdarkness and make contactwithFilipinoguerrillas.Butasthesunbegantoset,

they were drifting by theirbest dead reckoning somefour miles from the Samar

coast—“toofarawaytomakeitinbynightandtooclosetopaddle very much farther indaylight without the dangerof being detected in themorning,” Copeland feared.While the sun set on theirsecond day at sea, theyelected to stay put and taketheir chances with thecurrents.

***

AFTER ANOTHER DAY OF ridingthe gentle swells, exhaustionset in, and men whose livesdepended on their alertnessbegan nodding off to sleep.At first, the problemcorrected itself; when theirfaces hit the water, it servedas a sort of self-activatingwake-up call. But as theirfatigue deepened,compounding the stress theyhadsufferedintwoandahalfhoursofbattle,thecomfortof

the tropical waters was likemorphine, a quiet way to agentledeath.Themenpairedoff,takingturnsholdingeachother’sfacesoutof thewatersotheothercouldsleep.The water’s evident

warmth masked its life-threateningnature.Thoughitstemperature was worthy ofthetropics,inthemid-eighty-degree Fahrenheit range, itwas well below mean body

temperature and thus wascold enough to sap the bodyof a significant amount ofheat. The speed at which abody loses heat depends onthe density of the mediumsurroundingit.Sincewaterisdenser than air, it has acorrespondingly greatercapacity to drawheat from abody. And so over time, theten- to fifteen-degreedifferential between bodytemperature and the

temperatureoftheseasappedthe survivors’ energy,exposing them tohypothermia. In the quiet ofthetropicalnight, teethcouldbeheardchattering.Themenhuddled close to gather oneanother’swarmth.At about ten-thirty on the

second night, the Robertssurvivors in Copeland’sgroup spied a flashing whitelightonthewater.Awarethat

other ships of Taffy 3 hadgone down too, they wereanxious to unite with theirsurvivors and combineresources. But what if theywereJapanese?Copelandhadnoweapon.Therehadbeena.45-caliber pistol on the raft,but it had been tossedoverboard owing to itsweight.Theironlyothertoolswere a pair of sheath knivesandtwoflashlights.Copelandflipped on the light in the

direction of the mysteriousflareand flashedMorsecodefor AA—Navy code for“Who are you?” He thenflashed the Samuel B.Roberts’s call sign, VICTORY

DOG 1-4-1-3, hoping hiscorrespondent would realizewho theywereandwhy theywerethere.Inreply, thelightblinked some Morse-likesignals that neither Copelandnor anyone else could makesense of. Then the lights

stopped altogether. Had hebeencommunicatingwiththeJapanese?Someonereportedseeinga

green flare like the ones theVery pistols fired. Othersreported lights that none oftheotherscouldsee.Withtheweaker among thembeginningtohallucinatefromfatigue and ingesting saltwater, possibly the vastmajority of the lights they

reported were phantasms.Copeland sawmore lights: ared one, a green one, severalmorewhiteones. Itwashardto tell what was real, andharder to determine how faraway they were. Copelandandhisofficerslatersurmisedthat an ocean current hadcarried them into a harbor,and the lights they had seenwere on channel buoys anddocks.Itseems,however,thatwhat they really saw were

flares fired by another groupofTaffy3survivors.Whentheyheardthegrowl

ofdieselenginesapproachingand spied the dark silhouetteof a small patrol craft,perhaps half the size of theRoberts, Copeland began tosuspect they were closer toland than he had thoughtbefore. Though they did notknowit,theywereprobablyamere five hundred to a

thousand yards from thebeach. Some of Copeland’smenwantedtomakearuckusand hail the ship, but theskipper dissuaded them. Theship, blacked out, passedwithin a hundred feet of themen.About an hour before

midnight, Copeland’sexhaustion overcame him.His thoughts became vagueand befuddled. He lost

physical control over hishands and his head. Hecouldn’tholdhisheadupoutof thewater, andhe couldn’thold on to the tailing ropedanglingfromtheliferaft.Copeland retained enough

mental acuity to appreciatehisuselessnesstohismen.HearguedwithBobRobertsthatthey should just let him slipaway into the deep. But thetough exec won that

argument. He lifted hiscaptain from the water,placedhimonthesideof theraft,andheldhimaroundthewaist from midnight tilldawn. Copeland quietlywithdrew into himself,surrenderingcommandof thegrouptohissubordinate.With the exhaustion

traveleds its darker twin,delirium. It was the productoffatigueandofthecreeping

effectsof ingestedsaltwater,apoisonthattendedtohaveaphantasmagoric effect on thebrain.ThoughitdidnotseizeholdofCopeland, it afflictedmost of themen at one timeor another during the secondnight.For two days themen had

hadnothingtodrinksavethebrackish water in the five-gallonwaterbreakersthattheraft carried for just this

purpose. But soon enough afar preferable alternativepresented itself. TomStevensonwasdelightednowto discover a freshwatersource that no one had seenbefore—why hadn’t anyonenoticed it? The lieutenantbecameconvincedthatifonlyhecouldmakeitdowntothefirst deck of the ship, ascuttlebutt full of coolfreshwaterwasrightthereforhis pleasure. Right below

him: a fountain … Rightbelowhim:acool,cleararchof water. Its bubbling gurgleechoedinhismind.Ifonlyhecould get below, his thirstwould be slaked. The shipwas right down there, forchrissake, hovering therebelow him. There’s waterdown there, fellas. I’ll bebackinaminute.Fortunately for Stevenson,

he had the good manners to

speakhisplanaloud.Hearingthe young officer’s suicidalbrainstorm, Bob Roberts andLloyd Gurnett grabbed holdofhimandtiedhimfasttothefloaternet.Asthenightworeon, it was clear that thementally sound wereoutnumberedandoutlastedbythedelirious.Allofasuddenthe night was filled with thesiren songs of fresh drinkingwater,hotcoffee,nativegirls,andwarmhomecooking.Bob

Roberts himself was notimmune.Anofficerswamupto the exec, saluted, andrequested “permission to gobelow.” Roberts granted itand the officer swamoff.Asthe currents propelled thesurvivors westward throughthenight,Robertsdiscernedapoint of land thatwas dottedwith fine homes. A galadinner partywas in progress,tuxedoedmen and gloriouslybegownedwomenenjoyinga

high time by the sea. Thedelirium was not limited tothe men on Copeland’s raft.Dick Rohde left Moore’sgroup and swam aroundlooking for a hole in the seathroughwhichhemightcrawlto gain access to thefreshwater scuttlebutt.Charles Cronin, a yeomansecond class, retrieved him,but at the first opportunityRohde was swimming away,looking foraholecontaining

lemonade. After Cronin hadsaved him again, theradioman realized that thePhilippines weren’t all thatfar from India. His olderbrotherwasoverthere,flyingsupplies over the famous“hump.” Surely his brothercouldhelphim.Through the nightmost of

the men had dalliances withmadness.OnCopeland’sraft,Lloyd Gurnett removed his

life jacket and said he wasgoingdown to thewardroomfor a cup of coffee. Thoughalert shipmates snapped himmomentarilytohissenses,hedid it again every fifteenminutes, until finally theyrestrained him for goodwitha well-knotted length ofmanila line.At one point thestrong and able FrankCantrelldeclaredinfullbassoprofundo, “Object ho!” BobCopelandliftedhisheadwith

his hands. “What is it,Cantrell?”thecaptainasked.“I see a big white cottage

on the beach with greenshutters,” his chiefquartermaster said. He tookno small amount of umbrageto the derisive laughter thatgreetedhisannouncement.But there were just as

many men whosederangement arrived withoutannouncement. When they

decided to leave the raft inthedarkofnightwithoutanywordtofriends,nooneknewto intervene, and they wereneverseenagain.Tom Stevenson, having

imagined himself swimmingintoaJapanese-heldharbortosteal a small boat, found hisway back to clarity and sawthatdisciplinewaseroding.Itwasevidentintheglazedcastof his shipmates’ eyes. They

reflected no visiblerecognition of the commonpredicament. The menseemedtoshrinkastheygrewconcerned with their ownsurvival.Twelvehoursbeforeeveryone had lined up in anorderly fashion and comebefore Captain Copeland toreceive survivors’communion: a few maltedmilktablets,someSpam,anda swig of brackish water.Now the men were doing

whatever the hell theywanted. They argued withphantoms, rantedat thenightsky. When no one waslooking, some of themslippedawayinsearchofthatscuttlebutt and its bubblingarchoffreshwater.Fireman first class Eugene

Wagner moaned miserablyinto the night, sufferingmightily, possibly fromingesting seawater. As his

pain and delirium escalated,Wagnerwentoutofhishead,cussing out Copeland—“Fucking captain’s nogood. Fucking captain’s nogood.” Lying in the floaternet,heabruptlydeclared thathe wanted to go home and,cursing his skipper all theway, attempted to climb intothe water. Copeland orderedsomeone to hold his armsbehindhisbackandsomeoneelsetoknocksomesenseinto

thedelirioussailor.Theorderwas executed, and BillKatsur,nexttoWagner,heardthecrunchoffistonjaw.Thefireman was groggy butfound it within himself tocontinue the blue streak ofobscenity. “Hit him again,”Copeland ordered. Anotherblow fell. Wagner wentsilent. When morning came,hewasgonefromtheraft.

Fifty-two

Astheseconddaybecamethesecondnight, the sea took itstoll on the Johnston’s men,from within and without.Even those who had goneunwounded from shrapnel orsharks suffered: severesunburntotheface,head,andshoulders, lips swollen from

brineandsun,eyesbloodshotfrom exhaustion andexposure, skin softened byseawater and rubbed raw bywetclothing.Ken Bowers, the

pharmacist’s mate, swamaround doing what he couldfor the wounded. But agrowing number of survivorswerebeyond the reachofhismodest ministrations. Whatthesunhaddonetotheirskin,

the salt water in theirstomachs was doing to theirminds. Even men who hadcome through the battlewithoutascratchsurrenderedto madness. Some of themgave up their strugglesaltogether, let go of the nets,anddisappeared.Otherslivedrich fantasies, mingling withtheir shipmates as if theywere back in San Francisco,guests at a cocktail party.Luther Libby, the chief

machinist’s mate, left hisgroup several times, sayinghe was going to get a drink.Charles Landreth, DustyRhodes, and others lookedafter him, several timesstoppinghimfromswimmingtooblivion.Late during the second

night Libby turned toLandrethandsaid,aproposofnothing,“I’llbuyyouabeer.”Landreth said, “Chief, don’t

talk like that.There isn’tanybeeroranythingelsetodrinkexceptseawater,andthatwillkill you.” Libby’s eyes wereglassy ashepushedoff fromthenet.Landrethgrabbedforhim as he and others haddone several times. But nowhis will to wander exceededtheirabilitytokeephimsafe.Landreth did not have thestrength to hold on. Libbyslipped away and was neverseenagain.

Machinist’s mate DonStarks, who had had twoships shot out from underhim, including the battleshipArizona, before he cameaboard the Johnston, sawvisions of land and housesand people waving at himfrom a distance. He wavedback and on one occasionswam in their direction for atime before he realized theyexisted only in his head.Natives paddling out to

rescue them, riding canoesladen with fruits, vegetables,freshwater, and Filipinoprincesses. A whale-boat,towing them to shore—let’sjust get this engine started.No,it’snotawhaleboat—it’sa destroyer. There: Cap’nEvansisuponthatmountainover there. I’m going to gomeethim.No,thecaptainjustsailed by us on a ship. Saidhe’s going to come back topickusallup.

Most of these deliriousdeclarations found at least afew credulous takers. “Webelieved it,” wrote JohnMostowy. “Who caredanymore?”

***

BYNIGHTGEORGEBRAYandhisRoberts shipmates paddled,guidedbythebrilliantfieldofstars, chasing them west intheir flight over the horizon.

Around midnight, on thedarkenedhorizon,theyfinallysaw the lights.From thewaythey moved, the mendeterminedthelightstobeonland,notsea.Theyseemedtobe moving to and fro, likelazyfireflies.SuspectingtheymightbeJapanesetroops,themen ceased paddling. Theyfloated motionless andconsidered their options.They decided that theypreferred the certainty of the

dangers they knew to theunknownterrorsashore.Theycould make their movetoward land—if suchamovehadtobemade—bydaylight,when they could better sortthrough the risks and theopportunities.But after a night of

fractured sleep andfragmentarydreams, themenof George Bray’s groupawoke to a discouraging

sight. The shore was gone.The currents had toyed withthe sleeping men. At first,aided by the east-by-northeasterly wind, they hadflowed west, supporting themen’s exhausted efforts topaddle for the beach. Butthen, as they slept, thecurrents seemed to shift, andthe men drifted back out tosea so far that Bray didn’tknow if they would everreach land. All they could

makeoutwereSamar’ssharpmountain peaks poking upfrom below the horizon.Seeingnosignofrescue—noships,noplanes—themenontheraftresumedpaddling.Their kapok life vests,

good only for about twentyhours, were no longer muchuse. Soaked through withseawater, the flotationdevices had less buoyancythan the humans they were

meant to save.Themen tookthemoffandgotridofthem.The floater net too had itsbest days behind it. Its hardrubber disks had sponged uptoomuchwatertofloat.Asaresult, the net hoveredbeneath the ocean’s surface,weighted down by itssurvivors. They decided tokeep it, however. At least itheldthegrouptogether.The weariest and weakest

of them had resignedthemselves to death now.Where delirium took hold,tiredminds spun fantasies ofrest, recreation, and rescue.Five of the healthiest amongthem, George Bray, MelDent, Chalmer Goheen, andtwo others, decided to taketheir chances swimming toshore. There was no greatsend-off; the others hadretreated into their privatemiseries.Sothefivemenjust

startedswimming.They had gone west

perhaps a mile or so, therising sun behind themlightingtheirway,whentheyspotted a dark shape on thehorizon. There was nogauging distance from sealevel, but Bray thought thespot was getting bigger. If itwas a ship, it seemed to beapproaching them. And sureenough,itwasaship.Itcame

closerandcloseruntiltheflagfluttering from its mainmastcameintopartialfocus.Itwasred and white, streaked withbright red lines. The risingsun of Imperial Japan washeadedtheirway.

***

WITH RESCUE SHIPS SEEMINGLY

absent, the survivorscontemplated their bestalternative to rescue by

American forces. Like theJapanesesurvivorsdrifting inSurigao Strait three nightsbefore,BobCopelandandhismenwouldratherdiethanbepickedupby their enemy. Inview of what they had beenthrough,afewofthem—BobRoberts,HowardCayo,RudySkau, and JohnKudelchuk—were in excellent shape. Butfor the most part, thesurvivors’ physical andmental condition was low

enough tomake the prospectofcaptureandinternmentinapoorly supplied Japaneseprison camp seem lessdesirable than a clean, quickdeath.Thatnight theyhad stayed

quiet while a ship passedthem in the dark. Nowanother vessel approached.RudySkau,thechieftorpedo-man, had the sharpesteyesightinthebunch.“Skau,

take a good look at that shipand tell me what she is,”Copelandsaid.“Captain, I don’t know

whatthehellsheis.IthinkanAmerican flag is flying fromher. I can see red and whitestripes.”Copeland pointed out that

Japanese battle pennants hadredandwhitestripestoo.Butafteranotherfewmomentsofscrutiny, Skau was

convinced. “Captain, I knowshe’sanAmericanship.Iseea little blue corner in theflag.”Copeland asked Bob

Robertstoverifythesighting.The executive officer hoistedhimselfupon the sideof theraft and peered through themorning light. “Well,Captain,”hesaid,“Ican’tbesure,butIthinkthere’sabluecornerinthatflag.”

They watched the shipapproach them, about twomilesoff the coast ofSamar.Some of them wanted toshout out and hail the ship.Copeland feared the worstshouldhistrustedtorpedomanprove wrong, but he alsorecognizedtheurgencytogethis badly wounded men tosafety. Jackson McCaskill,thedeckforcerejectwhohadacquitted himself soheroically in the fireroom

before the Roberts sank, layhelpless inside the raft, withthe flesh burned from thebottom of his feet. TullioSerafini, the old radiodepartment chief, was insevere shock, with bonesprotrudingthroughtheskinofhis torn legs and leftshoulder.“Okay, Skau,” Copeland

said,“areyoudeadcertain?”“Yes, Captain, I’ll stake

mylifeonit.”“All right, up you go.”

Copeland found the strengthtohelpSkauhopuponto theraft.Steadyinghimselfonthefoam doughnut, Skauremovedhisoil-soakedkhakishirt, tied it to the end of apaddle, and began waving itbackandforth.“He hadn’t waved it more

than four times when,suddenly, a great blast of

antiaircraft firewentupfromsome twenty- or forty-millimeters,andwecouldseethe ship paying around andheading toward us,”Copelandrecalled.When the ship reached the

raft—itwasanLCI,alandingcraftfromMacArthur’sNavy—a crewman in greencoveralls, concerned thatthese sailors in blackfacemight be Japanese, shouted

down the challenge, “Whowon the World Series?”Receiving the correct reply—“St. Louis, God damnit!”—the crew of the landingcraft tossed a Jacob’s ladderover the side. The strongersurvivorsclimbed itswoodensteps on their own power,while a stretcherwas thrownovertobringupthewounded.Tullio Serafini, delirious

with pain,was too heavy for

the light twenty-one-threadline they used to haul up thefirst three stretchers. Whenthe ship reached him, BobCopeland felt a wave ofenergy surge through hisbody—enoughenergytowaxindignantwhenaboatswain’smate on the landing craftasked him if he needed anyhelptyingabowlinewiththethree-inch manila line hetosseddowntothemtosecuretheir wounded chief

radioman.

***

GEORGE BRAY AND HIS fourswimming buddies looked atthe ship approaching themanddecided that if theyweregoing to die, they might aswellgodownwiththerestoftheir shipmates. So theyturned around and swam attheir best speed back towardtheraft.

Back at the raft JackMoore, watching the strangeship approach, turned to hisshipmates and said, “Men, itlooksas ifwe’regoing tobepickedupbytheJaps.We’recovered with fuel oil, andthey won’t be able to tellwe’re Americans until theyget right upon us. Theymayfireuponus.Iftheydo,actasif you’ve been hit quickly.”Thesuperstructureslookedallwrong for anAmerican ship;

they sloped to the rear “likeanairflowChrysler.”By the time George Bray

and his entourage finallyreturned to Moore’s group,the small ship nearly uponthem, they were resigned tocapture, torture, and death.Whipping smartly in thewind, the ship’s flag, theycould now see, was partiallywrapped around its mast, itsblue field of white stars

invisible. Like the survivorsfrom Copeland’s group, theydidnottrusttheireyes.Ithadlooked to them like anImperialNavybattlepennant.But as the shipeasedup, theOld Glory flying from itsmast was plain to see. Thevessel coming toward themwas a patrol craft from theSeventhFleet.FromthedeckofthePC,a

strong voice called down the

same challenge to establishtheir nationality thatCopeland’s group hadreceived, querying them onthe recent outcome of theAmerican national pastime’schampionshipseries.Mel Dent, who followed

the major leagues with near-religious fervor, repliedwithout hesitation, “The St.Louis Cardinals.” Someoneelseadded,“Nowgetmeout

ofthewater,youSOB!”Satisfiedthattheoil-fouled

survivorswereAmerican,thecrew of PC-623 dropped aJacob’s ladder over the sideand coaxed the survivorstoward it. Crewmendescended to themand, armsstretched out below, hauledthesurvivorsfromtheSamuelB. Roberts aboard its soliddecks, which were alreadycrowded with men from the

Gambier Bay, the Hoel, andother weary heroes of Taffy3.The “hilarious happiness”

Jack Moore felt as hisrescuers approached did notlast long. Someone hollered,“I believe Osborne’s dead.”Moorewenttohim,feltforapulse, and thought hedetected a slight murmur.Then he swam for the PC.When he reached hailing

distance, he hollered to thecrew that his man neededemergency help. They threwMoore a line, and the ensigntied it to the stretcher thatbore Osborne aboard. Mooreswamtotheship,climbedtheJacob’s ladder, then wentbelow for a shave. His skinproved to be far too raw forthe task, so he sought out aplacetorest.Beforehecouldfind a bunk, word reachedhim that barely five minutes

afterbeinghauledaboard theship that had rescued him,JerryOsbornehaddiedonitsdeck from his wounds andexposure.It was about nine A.M. on

NavyDay,October27.

Fifty-three

Thevesselsthatrescuedthemwerepartofaseven-shiptaskgroup organized by thecommander of the Leyteamphibious landing force,RearAdm.DanielE.Barbey.Under Lt. Cdr. James A.Baxter, skipper of PC-623,thegrouphadleftLeyte’sSan

PedroBayat4:06 P.M.on theday of the battle. Pickingtheir way through the sea atten knots, aligned in asweeping, mile-wide searchformation that Baxter ledwest from a designatedstarting point, moving withthecurrent, toward the islandof Samar,Baxter’s ships hadonly empty oil slicks and asingle Japanese survivor toshow for their efforts when,at 10:29 P.M., Lt. Allison M.

Levy,PC-623’sofficerofthedeck, saw red, white, andgreen Very flares abouttwentymilesaheadtoport.Risking shelling from a

nearby Japanese-held island,whichwassaidtoboasteight-inch shore batteries, Levyordered Captain Baxterawakened and asked hisskipper for permission tobreak formation andinvestigatethecontact.Twice

denied, Levy took mattersintohisownhands,turningtothe helmsman and ordering“All ahead flank” and “Leftfull rudder.” Baxter rantopside,holleredatLevy thathehaddisobeyedorders, andordered the helmsman toresumetheoriginalcourse.“Iinformedtheskipperand

the helmsman that I had notbeen properly relieved of thedeck,”Levywrote, “and that

I would not accept CaptainBaxter’s order to relieve meforanotherfifteenminutessothat his eyes could becomeadjusted to the totaldarkness.”As the ship continued

toward the flares, Baxter’seyes adjusted, he saw theflares, and the argumentbecame moot. Baxter setaside any issue ofinsubordination and agreed

that the flares were probablyAmerican.Spottinga raft,heorderedtherestofhisshipstoinvestigatewithhim.Theyhita Samaritan’s jackpot. Frommidnight to 3:35 A.M. onOctober 27, the crews of theseven rescue ships busiedthemselves retrievingsurvivorsoftheGambierBayfrom the sea. Its deckscrowded with almost twohundred exhausted andwounded sailors, PC-1119

was ordered back to Leytewhile the others continuedsearching. At 7:45 A.M.

another raft was found, andmen from the Roberts werebrought aboard.About forty-five minutes later they werejoined in safety by survivorsfrom the Johnston and theHoelaswell.Noonecouldhaveguessed

howclose toone another thefour ships’ survivors had

drifted. The southwesterlycurrentsand theirownfeeblemovements over the waterhadsweptthemintothesamequadrant of ocean. WhenJames Baxter’s flotillaarrived, pulling them out ofthe water was quick,concentratedwork.By 10:19 A.M. on the

twenty-seventh, when therescuers set course to returnto Leyte, Captain Baxter’s

task group had saved about1,150 survivors of theGambier Bay, the Hoel, theJohnston, and the Samuel B.Roberts.Becauseofthedelayinrescue,some116menhaddied at sea.The task group’sflagship, PC-623, carried somany Taffy 3 survivors thatBaxter had to order fivethousand gallons of fuelpumped into the sea to keephis ship from foundering onthewaybacktoLeyte.

***

CREWMENFROMTHEPATROLcraftcutGeorgeBray’sblue jeansfrom his brine-softened legs,removed his denim jacket,and lathered his skin withrags soaked in diesel fuel todissolve the residue of blackoil that clung to him. ThePC’snarrowdeck,coveredina brown-black ooze of bloodand fuel oil,was so crowdedwith survivors that a man

couldscarcelywalkacrossit.Bray was given a shot ofwhiskey, then taken to thechow hall for a few bites ofoatmeal, which he promptlyvomitedup.Needingaplacetocollapse

buthavingseenthetightreal-estate market topside, Braywalked forward from themess hall and descended aladder throughahatch to thecrew’s sleeping quarters. He

poked his head into the firstcompartment he found andsaw a sailor reclined on abunk. The sailor askedBray,“Whatareyoulookingfor?”“Justaplacetolaydown,”

hesaid.The sailor, registering

Bray’s weathered condition,got up from his bunk, patteditdown,andsaid,“Here,takemine.”The Roberts survivor hit

the sack and was asleep forwhatseemedaboutseventeenseconds when the clatter ofgunfire roused him. SeveralwavesofJapaneseplaneshadswoopedover the small ship,strafing, drawing vigorousfire in return.Thecacophonywas enough to interrupt hissleep,butitdidnotbringhimfully to his senses. He hadendured forty-eight hours atsea, surrounded by sharks,barracuda, and creeping

madness. No punk Jap pilotwas going to come betweenGeorgeBrayofMontgomery,Alabama,andsomehard-wonrest.

***

THE OFFICERS AND TWO dozensailors on the boat that hadhauled aboard Copeland’sfour dozen men wereoverwhelmed by thework ofcaring for them. But they

didn’tmind it a bit.Most ofthem were already bare-chested, having given theirshirts to Gambier Baysurvivors. Weeks ago, enroute to Leyte with SixthArmy troops aboard, theirship had been filled withmen. Now its hull brimmedwith life again, in a missionofmercyinsteadofassault.Liketherestofhisofficers,

Bob Copeland did not wear

insignia on his shirt, thebetter to avoid torture in theevent of their capture. Amidthesprawlofgaunthumanityontheship’sdecks,itwasallthe harder to discernCopeland’s rank. Covered inoil, mostly naked, he lookedlike any of the other half-wastedTaffy3survivors.Theboysonthelandingcraftgavehim a rag and a bucket ofdieseloilandencouragedhimtowipehimselfclean.“Itook

about three swipes andfainted—fell right off thebenchonthedeck,”Copelandwrote. He felt someone lifthim up and plant him in aseated position. It was Earle“Pop” Stewart, a radarmanthirdclass,givinghiscaptaina bath. Stewart had hisexhausted skipper about halfcleanwhentheship’sgeneralalarmbegantolling.Japaneseplanes had found them too.AstheLCI’screwscrambled

for their machine guns, theGambier Bay and Robertssurvivors scurried for cover.TheZerofighterplanesmadeseveral passes, reduced innumber each time, Copelandthought, owing to the sharpaimofthecrew.A young sailor dragging a

heavy canister of forty-millimeter ammunition foundBob Copeland lying acrossthe portside passageway he

needed to cross. The kidkickedtheskipperinthebutt,saying, “Get the hell out ofthe way.” Copeland rolledinto the scuppers and let thegunner proceed.The gunnerswere Dead-Eye Dicks,downing three Zeros.Miraculously, no one on theLCIwashitbytheangryrainof shells spitting the otherway.When the remaining

Japanese planes flew off, thesurvivors were taken below,forty squeezed into acompartment meant for halfthat number. Men who werehealthyenoughtohustlegotapipe berth suspended inthrees from the ceiling. Therest flopped on the deck.“TheplacewasliketheBlackHole of Calcutta,” Copelandwrote. “We were all starknaked and utterly exhausted.We resembled reptiles far

morethanhumanbeings.”The crew stripped the

GambierBaysurvivorstotheminimum in order toaccommodate the bedragglednewcomers from the SamuelB.Roberts.Lyingonthesteeldeck, Copeland was givensomewornkhakitrousersandan old dungaree jumperwithout buttons. One of hismenofferedhimabunk,andCopeland took it. Two hours

later, desperately thirsty, heawoke. Too weak to get up,herolledoverandfellsharplytothedeck,landingonkneesandelbows.Tooexhaustedtorise,hecrawledoverhismen,getting cussed as he pressedhis elbows into theirstomachsandfaces.Hemadeittoaladder,climbedupwardinsearchofacolddrink,andfoundagrating to theengineroom, out of which waftedcomforting warm air. Beside

the grating was a whiteporcelain bowl from thecrew’s mess filled withfreshwater. He gulped itdown, lay there for a while,then crawled back down theladder and got back into hisbunk.Twicemoreduring thenight, after stretches of fitfulsleep, Copeland struggledtopside,findingeachtimethesame white bowl filled withcleanwater,whichheeagerlyguzzled. After his third long

drink that night, around fourA.M., Copeland was easinghimself down the ladder tohissleepingquarterswhenheheard one of the LCI’s crewenterthecompartmentbehindhim.“MyGod,”hesaid,“thatdog has drank a lot ofwatertonight.”

Fifty-four

CaptainBaxter’s ships didn’trescueeverybody.On his second day in the

water Neil Dethlefs of theJohnston was stung byjellyfish severely enough toscramble his mind. Thequartermaster hallucinated,fading out of awareness and

then back into it again. Hewasadriftwithanothersailor,radarman third class JosephDotson, who evidently hadenough strength to keepDethlefs from drowning,though Dotson himself didnot survive. Swimming anddrifting, wearing nothing buthis dungarees, Dethlefs wasconscious of islands nearby.He did not know how faraway they were, but he hadthe notion to wait till dark

and then try swimming forthe beach. If he could makeit, hemight rest ondry land,then swim bymorning southalong the shore and berescuedinLeyteGulf,thoughhecouldnotbesurehiswildplan—or the island itself—wasn’t just another phantasmbroughtonbyexhaustion,saltwater, and the seeping toxinsfromthejellyfish.In the afternoon Dethlefs

found a standard-issue Navypeacoatdriftingontheswells.He collected it and held ituntilnightfall, thenput iton,enjoying its heavy, wetembrace. Passing in and outof consciousness, he awokeonce to find that the peacoathaddisappeared.Andhewasstanding on the bridge of avessel; the abandon shiporder had been given. Hisperceptions cleared, and herealizedhewaspullingoffhis

dungarees as if preparing tojump from the deck into thewater. He saw that he wasalready in the water, thoughhe couldn’t rememberjumping, and so he pulledthem back on. When herealized that his lifebeltwaslosing its buoyancy, heremovedhisdungareesagain,tying the legs inorder tousethemforflotation.Butalongripintheseatkeptthemfromholdingair.Dethlefsresumed

swimming for the island. Hethought he heard the distantsoundofadieselengine,likethoseusedonPTboats.Next he was aware of a

dizzying vertigo. He wasstanding on his head,spinning in the water. Herighted himself, feltsomething sharp and roughunder his feet, then it wasgone as another breakertwisted him back around

toward the beach.He gaspedforair,andwaterwashedintohis mouth again as anotherwave shoved him sidewaysandupsidedown.Hegrabbedfor a hold, finding it on thesharp coral. Then blacknessdescended as he passed out,waking only when heperceived voices shouting athim. He sat waist deep inwater, naked, disoriented. “Ithought the whole JapaneseNavy was coming down on

me,”Dethlefsrecalled.“I was sitting on a coral

reef,andIcouldseeacrowdof Filipinos on the beachyelling at me.” One of thegroup came running acrossthecoral,pickedDethlefsup,and headed back to shore.TheAmericanprotested,“Putmedown.Icanwalk.”Sohiscarrier obliged. Dethlefsslumped to the ground,realizing that his behind had

been chopped up likehamburger from sitting oncoral. Large saltwater sorescovered his groin. He couldnotwalk.Sotheycarriedhim.Therestofthedaywasablurofmotionandvoices.Hewasawarethatpeopleweretakinghim somewhere, but therewasnotellingwhere.He perceived that he was

inside a cabin in the jungle.Hands rubbed a soft

substance on his sores—cocoabutter.He awokeonceto drops of water falling onhis face.Lookingup,he sawthe wide brown face of aFilipino woman, crying, thetears falling down onto hisface. “Hello,Mama,”he saidto her. The Filipino womanhad once beenmarried to anAmericanmilitaryman.“Sheadopted me on the spot,”Dethlefsrecalled.

They told him he was onthe island of Andeau, aboutthreemilesoffSamar.Hedidnot know how long he wasthere.Thedaysbledtogether.He was lifted and carried tothe beach and placed in adugout canoe. Men coveredhim with mats to concealhim,theysaid,fromJapanesepatrolling a bridge nearby.ThatnightDethlefswastakentoasettlementofsomekind.

“It was like a scene fromTerry and the Pirates,” hewrote. Natives in loinclothsand head-wraps, torches inhand and submachine gunsstrapped to their backs, tookDethlefs from the canoe andintoathree-roomhouseinthejungle. Five families seemedtobe living there.Theygavehim a chaise longue to sleepin, fitted him with a pair ofshorts, and generally treatedhim like a guest of honor.

“The Filipino natives camefrommilesaroundtoseeme.Somewouldstandoutsidemywindow and play guitar andsing for my entertainment. Iwatched one man sit besideanopenfireturningapigonaspit for most of the day,”Dethlefs recalled. But hecouldn’t eat the delectablenative cuisine.Baked rawbysunburn and salt water, theskin around his mouthcracked whenever he opened

it to chew, smile, or speak.Hishostsfixedhimaglassofwarm cane-sugared watermixedwith lime juice.Whena large sunburn blister burstonhisback, theybathedhimand treated the wound. Theysummoned a doctor to applytinctureofpomegranatetohiscuts.As Dethlefs regained his

strength,atallfigurecametothe house. It was an

American who went by thenameCaptainSmith.Hewasin fact an Army Air Forcesergeant who had fled to thehills and joined the Filipinoresistancewhen the Japanesehad seized the airfield towhichhehadbeen stationed.Evidently he had promotedhimself to captain in thereassignment. Smith beratedthe Filipinos for haulingDethlefs “through everycarabaowallow in the area,”

then asked the woundedAmericanifhecarriedagun.The sailor said no, and soSmith produced a revolverthat looked toDethlefs likeanaval rifle—probably a. 44Magnum, he thought—andgaveittohim.Dethlefs’s odyssey had

brought him to the junglehomeofJuanBocar,aManilaattorney and former Samarnational representative who

became a leader in theFilipino guerrilla resistance.Bocar’s guerrillaheadquarterswasapparentlyanexus for American militarypersonnel separated fromtheir units in the forbiddingterrain of Samar. In his careDethlefs was introduced to aNavy dive-bomber gunner,Joe Tropp, from the ThirdFleet carrier USS Hancock.His plane had been downedbyaJapaneseship,killinghis

pilot.Tropp gave Dethlefs his

shoes, then the pair, escortedbyaFilipinoguide,embarkedon a long walk through thejungle to the shore and to asheltered covewhere anotherAmerican, a Texan namedColonel Davis, had a smallboat. Davis told Dethlefs hewould take him offshore bynight, where a submarine orPTboatwouldcomeforhim.

For two nights they waitedoffshore, but neither a boatnor a sub showed itself.When a Japanese floatplanespotted them, Colonel Davisdecided not to wait anylonger.Theywouldtaketheirchances navigating theshoreline, paddling south forLeyteGulf. The routewouldtakethempastJapaneseshorebatteries atop a cliffoverlooking the channel theyhad to cross. Davis was a

tough customer, butDethlefscouldsensehisconcern.Afterdarktheyslippedinto

the boat andmade their waysilently past the cliffs. Theenemy took no notice. Thenextmorningtheyweresouthof Samar, approaching theislandofDinagat.Theyraisedthe American flag on theircraft and navigated aroundthe island until they spottedan American LCI, then

flagged it down, usingsemaphore to indicate theywere survivors in need ofhelp.ThatnightDethlefsandJoeTroppwereembarkedona troop ship inLeyte harbor.Theyspentthefollowingdaywatchingairstrikesflyingouttowardanenemywhosetime,thanksinparttotheirefforts,wassoonenoughtocome.At least four other sailors

fromTaffy 3, Bill Shaw and

Orin Vad-nais of theJohnston and two survivorsfromtheHoel,madeitashoreand into Juan Bocar’ssanctuary. In thecompanyoftwo downed fliers andanother man, Shaw andVadnais too missed twoplanned rendezvous withfriendly ships. Like Dethlefsand Tropp, however, theyfound their way to safetywithout taking too manychances with the Japanese.

An American LCI happenedto be delivering supplies totheguerrillaswhiletheywereawaiting rescue. The menhopped aboard and rode toLeyte.

***

TWENTY-SEVEN HOURS AFTER

GATHERING in the Taffy 3survivorsatsea, theguardianangels masquerading as thesevenshipsofJamesBaxter’s

task unit entered San PedroBay, delivering the men oftheRoberts,theJohnston,theHoel,andtheGambierBaytothe sanctuary of Leyte Gulf.In the predawn darkness ofOctober 28, solemnly andwithout fanfare, their crewstransferred thesurvivorsontohospital ships and largetransports. With them wentthe remains of the dead andthe personal effects salvagedfrom men buried at sea. As

theyfinishedthatdelicatejob,the morning watch wasbeginning anew for the shipsof the Seventh and ThirdFleets.Theawfulaftermathofthe

Battle off Samar had ended.The catastrophe had run itscourse. Focused ontomorrow, relieved of thetasks that constituted theirdaily routine, the survivorstook their first steps on the

uncertain journey of the restoftheiryounglives.

PartIV

HIGHESTTRADITIONS

IwantyoutoknowIthinkyouwrotethemost

gloriouspageinAmericannavalhistorythatday.

—FleetAdm.WilliamF.Halsey,commenttoRear

Adm.CliftonA.F.Sprague,atUlithi,May

1945

Fifty-five

As the survivors of theSamuel B. Roberts, theJohnston, the Hoel, theGambierBay, and the St. Lowere being triaged at LeyteGulf for transfer to hospitalshipsandtransit toHollandiainNewGuinea,Brisbane,andother points east, the Battle

off Samar was receding intohistory. It was the Battle ofLeyte Gulf’s penultimatechapter and the last large-scale engagement betweenopposing navies that theworld would ever see. As itwas ending aroundmidmorning on October 25,AdmiralHalsey’sThirdFleetplanes were falling onAdmiral Ozawa’s decoyNorthern Force in whatwould become known as the

Battle of Cape Engaño,Leyte’s final naval action.With Leyte won, Manilawould soon fall. The Navymoved on, preparing to landMarines on Japanese soil forthe first time at Iwo Jima.Journalists and historianslingered behind, evaluatingthe battle whose truedimensions were onlybeginningtoemerge.The war correspondent

Fletcher Prattwrote ofLeytein 1946, “thiswas Trafalgar;it was Tsushima and LaHogue andAegospotami andSalamis and all the otherutterly crushing victories,after which an entire war ischanged. Seldom enough inhistory before had an entirenavybeenbroughttoasinglebattle. Never before had anentire navy lost so great aproportion of its strength astheJapshaddone.”

The three-day series ofmeleesaroundthePhilippinesin October 1944 was bymultiple measures the mostsprawling, spectacular, andhorrible naval battle inhistory. If it was not asdecisive, intheword’spurestsense, as the victory atMidway, it was the greatestnaval battle ever fought forthe distances it spanned, forthetonnageofshipssunk,forthe duration of the duels

between surface ships, andfor the terrible losses ofhuman life—some 13,000sailors, airmen, and officers,including perhaps 10,000 onthe Japanese side alone, andabout850fromTaffy3.“Ourdefeat at Leyte wastantamount to the loss of thePhilippines,” said Japan’snavy minister, Adm.Mitsumasa Yonai. “WhenyoutookthePhilippines, thatwas the end of our

resources.”TheBattleoffSamarwasa

battleoffirsts:thefirsttimeaU.S. aircraft carrier wasdestroyed by surface gunfire;thefirsttimeashipwassunkby a suicide plane; the firsttime the mightiest battleshipafloat fired on enemywarships.And itwasabattleoflasts:thelastmassedship-versus-ship action in navalhistory; the last time a

battleship fired its mainbatteriesatanenemy;thelasttimesmalldestroyerschargedanopposingbattleline.If Samar had never

happened—ifHalseyhad leftbehind Task Force 34 tobutchertheCenterForceasitsailed through SanBernardino Strait—LeyteGulf would probably havegonedowninnavalhistoryasa major mop-up operation

and a bloody one-wayslaughter. As catastrophic asitwas,Taffy 3’s historic laststand at Samar conferred tothe bloody campaign anaspect of transcendence. ThevictoryatLeyteGulfwastheproduct of Allied planning,savvy, and panache, to besure.ButonlySamarshowedthe world something else:how Americans handlehaving their backs pushed tothe wall. As Herman Wouk

wrote in War andRemembrance,“ThevisionofSprague’s three destroyers—the Johnston, the Hoel, andtheHeermann—chargingoutof the smoke and the rainstraight toward the mainbatteries of Kurita’sbattleships and cruisers, canendureasapictureofthewayAmericans fight when theydon’t have superiority. Ourschoolchildren should knowabout that incident, and our

enemiesshouldponderit.”According to Admiral

Nimitz, “The history of theUnited States Navy recordsno more glorious two hoursof resolution, sacrifice, andsuccess.” Though in the sixmonths immediately aheadAmerican troops, sailors, andairmenwould suffer bloodilyin the invasions of Iwo Jimaand Okinawa, the Japanese,with their naval and air-

power broken, would neveragaintrulychallengetheU.S.advance toward Tokyo.Accompanied by anotherveteran of Samar, the lightcruiser Yahagi, the Yamatowouldmakeafinaldesperatesortie against the AmericansduringtheOkinawainvasion.But just like her sister ship,the Musashi, sunk byHalsey’s swarming fliers onOctober 24, the Yamatowould be destroyed by

American carrier planesbeforeshereachedhergoal.The judgments of

historiansandstrategistswerefar removed from theimmediate concerns of Taffy3’s survivors as they rodeslow boats to rear areas forrest, replenishment, andrecovery.Likemostveterans,they would continue theirlives saying that the truestheroeswerethemenwhodid

not come back. Of the deadthere were far too many.Among Taffy 3’s ships theHoelhadsufferedworst,with267 dead out of a crew of325. The Johnston lost 184out of 329, the Samuel B.Roberts had 90 dead out of224, and the Gambier Baylost 131 men out of about900. The St. Lo’s losses of114 out of a 900-mancomplement seemdisproportionate to thehorror

theshipexperienced,eruptinginto a towering thunderheadof smokeand flameafter thekamikazehit.The prompt rescue of the

St. Lo’s survivors was thefruitofZiggySprague’sriskydecision to detach theHeermann and his threeremaining destroyer escortsfrom screening his carriers,even though his four jeepshad all been damaged by

kamikazeattacksandstoodtosuffer more. None too eagerto strip his CVEs of theirprotection, Sprague didn’tmind, in his official actionreport,takinganindirectshotat Admiral Kinkaid for thepredicament: “This desperateexpedientwhichlefttheTaskUnit without any screen forthe next eight hours wasmade necessary by theabsence of any rescue effortfromothersources.”

Sprague’sgamblepaidoff:that afternoon nearly eighthundredmenoftheSt.Loandits air group, VC-65, weresaved. The Dennis, theHeermann, the John C.Butler, and the Raymondstayed behind retrievingswimmers from the lostcarrier well past dark, asSprague retired to thesoutheast to rendezvous withTaffy 1 and ultimately setcourse for rear areas. The

Dennis alone hauled aboardmorethanfourhundredSt.Losurvivors, a soaked andwoundedmobnearlytwiceasnumerous as the destroyerescort’sowncrew.Theordealofthesurvivors

from Taffy 3’s four othersunkenshipswasthebitterestandsaddestofmemories,notmuchlesssoforSpraguethanfor the men themselves. Themistakes of the naval high

command had started theeventsofOctober25,andthemistakes of the naval highcommand influenced howthey ended. Though it wasnot his way to air dirtylaundry, Sprague privatelyblamed the delayed rescueeffort on the commander ofthe Seventh Fleet, AdmiralKinkaid.Spraguehadagoodtrackrecordof takingcareofhis men. Having seen to theprompt rescue of the closest

victims at hand when thefightingwounddown,hehadreliedonhisfleetcommanderto pick up his task unit’sremainingpieces.Thepickuphappened, but not before anestimated 116 men diedduring the three-day, two-night ordeal at sea. In themargins of his copy of C.VannWoodward’s1947bookThe Battle of Leyte Gulf,Sprague wrote, “This was adisgrace,andIblameKinkaid

who promised rescue shipsuponmydemand.”That Kinkaid initially

received incorrect rescuecoordinates might be due totheinevitabilityoferroramidthe confusion of war. Thatseveralhourspassedbetweenthe Seventh Fleetcommander’s discovery ofthe inaccurate coordinatesand his ordering a newsearch, which was based on

coordinates nearly as farastray as the first oneswere,seems attributable tocommunications breakdownswithin the Seventh Fleet.Pilotshadbeenwaggingtheirwings at Taffy 3 survivorsthroughoutthefirstafternoon.Whether they broke radiosilenceandcalled in sightingreports, and what became ofthereportsiftheyweremade,isunknown.

***

AT SAN PEDRO BAY in LeyteGulf, Bob Copeland and thesurvivors of the Samuel B.Roberts were parceled out todifferent ships depending ontheir health status.Theworstoff were taken to theevacuation transport Tryon,themoderatelywoundedwereloaded aboard an LST, andthe mostly healthy weretransferred to a PC. Though

themenwerewell cared for,mistakeshappened.SomehowTullio Serafini got loadedaboard a PC along with hisskipper and other lightlyinjured survivors. Shortlyafter being taken aboard, aRoberts survivor crawledover to Copeland’s bunk—even the uninjured were tooexhausted to walk—andinformed him that Serafiniwas dying. Lying on a cotnear the fantail, the chief

radioman, who even hiscaptainsaidwas“thekindofmanIwouldhavebeenproudto call my father,” passedaway with his tearfulshipmates gathered aroundhim.The survivors of Taffy 3

made their meandering waysto rear areas for rest andrecuperation. After attendinga somber memorial for thefourFanshawBaymenkilled

during the battle, ZiggySprague took his carriers toWoendi, New Guinea, forrefueling, then on to Manusfor six days of rest. OnNovember7Sprague’scarriergroup set course for SanDiego,arrivingonNovember27. The Heermann and theDennis,floodedforwardfromshell hits, limped to KossolPassage for repairs, then toPearlHarbor.

Bob Copeland andsurvivors from the Robertsand other ships were takenaboard the hospital shipComfort, which took azigzaggingcoursetotheU.S.anchorage at Hollandia,arriving there on November3. Copeland pulled somestrings and arranged for theavailableRobertssurvivorstoreturnstatesideaboardtheSSLurline, a passenger linercommandeered for wartime

transport. In the unexpectedluxury of passenger-shipstaterooms, and with longhours to spend staring at thesea,thesurvivorshadtimetoreflect on their experiences,to take account of the lovedones they missed, and toponder the changes theymightmaketotheirlivesnowthatGodhadenteredthem.Aboard the Heermann,

during its long trip from

Kossol Passage to PearlHarbor, Lt. Jules Steinbergengaged in a livelytheological discussion withhis fellows in the CIC.Someone noted thatthroughoutthetwoandahalfhours of battle, the twelve-man crew assigned to watchthe surface radar had keptintensely busy, fixed to theirscopes,plots,andvoicetubes,relaying critical data to thebridge and the torpedo crew.

Meanwhile, the twelve menintheair-searchsection,withnoairattacksthreatening,hadnothing to do. An argumentdevelopedastowhodeservedcredit for theship’sexcellentperformance: the surface-search team and othersaboardtheshipforefficientlydoing their jobs, or their air-searchcounterparts andotheridlers for sitting quietly andprayingwithsuchspectacularresults.“Ihad toadmit that I

didn’t know the answer,”Steinberg wrote. “If I wereasked today, though, I’d saythat God helps those whohelpthemselves.”Ziggy Sprague had no

troublegivingcreditwhere itwasdue.Inhisofficialactionreport he wrote, “Insummation, the failure of theenemy main body andencircling light forces tocompletely wipe out all

vesselsof thisTaskUnit canbeattributedtooursuccessfulsmoke screen, our torpedocounterattack, continuousharassment of enemy bybomb, torpedo, and strafingairattacks,timelymaneuvers,and the definite partiality ofAlmightyGod.”Taking the Heermann to

rear areas for rest andreplenishmentafterthebattle,Captain Hathaway, who had

beenas toughonhiscrewasany commander ever hadbeen, got on the PA anddeclared, “You are awonderful crew, and I amhappy to have served withyou. By God, you all didsomething. Maybe what youdid was right, and maybe itwas wrong, but we camethrough because byGod youalldidsomething.”Regardless of the

improbablesequenceofcauseand effect that brought thesurvivorshome,theirfamiliespatiently awaited news oftheir fate. Harriet Copeland,at home in Tacoma, knewsomething had gone wrongwhen her husband’s lettersabruptlystoppedarriving.Forthreeweeks thepostmanwasempty-handed. Despite thework of Navy censors, BobCopeland had up until thenslipped enough subtle hints

intohiscorrespondencetotellHarriet roughly where theRoberts had been operating.When the fighting in thePhilippines began todominate the headlines, shehad a fair idea hewas there.“Iknew therewere somebigbattles going on, and I knewif he had hisway he’d be inthe middle of it,” she said.Growing more apprehensiveby the day—“It’s the longsilences that you worry

about”—sheheardaknockatthe door one evening, wellafter the mailman had madehislastdelivery.Hewasbackagain, holding an envelopethathadarrivedat thestationwhilehewasonhisafternoonroute. He said, “I found thisletter for you after I wentbacktothepostoffice.Ithinkit’s from your husband. Iknew you’d be anxious tohaveit.”

Theletter,probablywrittenaboard the Comfort,contained a brief, matter-of-fact recounting of the battle,along with the news that hewould be coming home, toSan Francisco, to behospitalizedforexposureandwounds. He stayed in thenavalhospitaltherefornearlythree weeks, finally gettinghis release on December 19.Harriet picked him up, andthecoupleretreatedtotheSt.

Francis Hotel, where he hadproposedtoher.“It was a sort of

homecoming,” Harriet said.“We just sat down together,and I said, ‘Well now, whathappened?’ And he juststartedtotellme.“He wasn’t emotional

about it. He was prettypragmatic. He just told methe story in great detail.Andhe toldmeall the things that

happened to themwhen theywerehangingontothenets—nottheliferaft,butthenets—and somebody would swimout and stretch the nets outand they lost some men tosharks.AndBobdidn’tswima stroke.… It was a thrillingtime and a scary time andeverything. I was awfullyrelieved to have him backafter I heard what they wentthrough.”

Bob Copeland spentChristmas in Tacoma, wherehe would ultimately resumehis legal career, beforereporting to the Naval WarCollege in Newport, RhodeIsland. Tacticians weredoubtlesslyeager tomeet theskipper of the redoubtableSamuel B. Roberts. Perhapshefounditeasiertosharehisexperiences with them thanwith his own family.Copeland’schildren,Suzanne

and Rob, heard stories fromtheir mother about how thewar had affected their dad.Copeland’s daughter,Suzanne Hartley, said, “Iknow things were differentwhenhecamehomefromthewar. I think theywere for somany people. I know that[Mother]saidhewasjustnotthesameperson.AndIdon’tseehowyoucouldbe.Ithinktherewasacertainamountofreclusiveness. It’s probably a

very private thing.… I don’tknow if it’s the pain of loss,ortheanxietyofthestageonwhich they fought. It wouldhavetochangepeople.”Withoutdoubtitdid.Some

wounds were physical. Asoftenasnot,thosewerebornein silence. One of theestimated forty shells thatstruck the USS Hoelpeppered Myles Barrett’sback with pieces of shrapnel

the diameter of pencil lead.After the war, whenever oneofthesmallwoundsbegantofester, his wife Elizabethwouldtakeapairoftweezersand extract the tiny steelfleck. Barrett never saw adoctor.Itwasabouttwoyearsbefore Elizabeth picked hisbackclean.Earl “Blue” Archer, the

Kalinin Bay VC-3 Avengerpilot who suffered a serious

back injury amid thebrambles of flak overKurita’sfleet,wenthomeandkeptquietabouthisinfirmity.He soon realized he had achoicetomake:hecouldtakean eighty or ninety percentdisability benefit fromUncleSam and begin a life ofinactivity, or he could takethree or four aspirin twice aday and continue flyingplanesinthenavalreserve.“Isaid forget it. I can make a

living. I don’t need yourdisability.” Bragging aboutbeingtheonlypilottogetsixhits on a Japanese battleshipwith a .38-caliber revolverwas not enough for Archer.He continued flying in thereserves, got a desk job as astockbroker,andhadtoforgobowling or playing golf. Hisbackbothershim to thisday,but not much else seems to,solongasLouisianaStatehasawinningfootballteam.

When Tommy Lupo, theFanshaw Bay VC-68Avengerpilot,returnedhometo New Orleans just beforeChristmasin1944,hearrivedone day behind a December22 Western Union telegramfrom the chief of navalpersonnel informing hisparentsthathewasmissinginaction. The flier had beenretrievedfromTaclobanafterthe battle and flown safelyback to his carrier. But

somehow the news did notreach the Bureau ofPersonnel. His return curedtheir heartache in an instant.Nothing but the passage oftime,however,wouldhealhisown scars. For months afterthe war, like so many otherveterans, he would jump upin bed during the middle ofthe night, startled awake bysubconscious replays of thehorrible things he had seen:his roommate on the

Fanshaw Bay runningdecapitatedacross thehangardeckduring theairattackoffSaipan.Leonard Moser’s postwar

life began with anencouraging sign that scarredandbrokencombatants couldbe brought back whole. Oneday during operations offOkinawa, after the FanshawBayhadbeenpatchedupandreturned to action, the

aviationmachinist’smatehadwatched as aWildcat fighterplanecamein toohighonitslanding approach,missed thelast arrester cable, andbeganan uncontrolled, bouncingskiddowntheflightdeckthatendedwhenithittheforwardemergency barrier, flippedover, and landed with acrunch of metal and glassatoptwootherplanes.Forthenexttwoweeks,on

orders from the engineeringofficer, Moser’s sole dutywas to set up shop on thehangar deck and try torecover at least one workingaircraftoutofthemess.Witha hand-picked assistant, helabored around the clock.Starting with a reasonablyintact fuselage, they attachedthelandinggearfromanotherplane, then cannibalizedinstruments,guns,wingroots,control surfaces, and so on,

struggling, weld by weld, tobuild something flight-worthy. As they worked,pilots started gatheringaround the two airedales.Wouldtheybeabletogetthework done before the nextoperation began? And wouldthis Frankenstein really fly?Within ten days Moser andhis helper had made a planerise from the ashes. Theydeclaredvictory.

But who would flight-testthe thing? The plane lookedflyable. Mechanics hadchecked her from propellerhub to rudder and foundnothing wrong. Still no pilotvolunteered to fly the navyblue phoenix, risen from thehangar deck to the catapultand poised to take to the airagain. “I guess they didn’ttrustourwork,”Moserwrote.Finally, a pilot stepped

forward and said he wouldgivetheplaneawhirl.Mosertoldhimitwasasgoodasanyother bird the Fanshaw Bayhad.EvidentlyMoser’swordcounted.Theengineroaredtolife, and the reconstitutedWildcat,with the largewhitedesignation J-5 stenciled onits fuselage, roared into theair.“He really rung it out,”

MoserwrotetoHaroldKight.

“He did dives, stalls, rolls,loops, and everything hecould think of.He really putonashowforaboutahalfanhourorso,andcameinforaperfect landing.” Moserjumpedupontothewingandasked if there had been anysqueaks or otherirregularities. The pilot toldhim the only problem withthe plane was all the metalscrewsandshavings thathadbeen left on the floor of the

cockpit. When he rolled theplane,he’dgottenafacefull.Otherwise it was a warbirdworthyoftheFanshawBay’sbattle-testedaerie.About a year later,

promoted to chief anddischarged at San Francisco,Moser and his wife werereunited and drivinghomeward to Nebraska.Eastbound on the freeway,they noticed a freight train

cruisingontherailroadtracksalongsidethem.Itappearedtohave a military cargo.Looking closer, Moser sawthat several of the train’sflatcars carried aircraft,Wildcatsamongthem.Moserscanned the line of planesbumping along on their ownride home, and damned if hedidn’tseeafuselagestenciledwith J-5 and a familiarsquadron insignia. It was thesame aircraft he had rebuilt

aboard the Fanshaw Bay ayearorsobefore.“Wedrovealong beside it for severalmiles. It sort of gave me afunny but wonderful feelingtotellmywifethattherewasthe plane we rebuilt. Sheremembers that day. I guessthewonderfulfeelingwasthefactthatIwasn’tintheNavyanymore.”Not in the Navy anymore.

The war was over. The job

had been done. And so thereservists went back to theirfamilies, searching for newways todefine themselvesascitizens of a nation at peace.Leonard Moser’s roadsideencounter with Wildcat J-5seemed to open up the hopethat if scarred and brokenmachinescouldbepatchedupand brought home, scarredandbrokenmencouldbetoo.

Fifty-six

Rear Adm. Clifton Sprague,the unconquered hero,returned to Philadelphia torejoin his family after thewar. His daughter Patriciawas shocked when she sawhim get out of the car. Hestoodthereinhiskhaki-greenuniform,lookingasifhehad

come straight from a streetfight. In a manner ofspeaking, of course, he had.“He had two black eyes. Helooked as tired as I’ve everseen him,” she said.“Remarkably enough, he didnot talk much about thebattle.Itwasjusthisduty,hedid it, and that was all heexpected.”With his retirement in

1951, Ziggy Sprague ended

histhirty-seven-yearcareerinnaval aviation. With theexception of an article hewrotefortheApril1945issueofAmerican magazine and afew scribbledmarginal notesin his copy of C. VannWoodward’s book on LeyteGulf, Clifton Sprague neverwrote about the events offSamar;nordidhe ever sharewith his wife, Annabel, ortheir two girls his memoriesof the fateful battle. “The

Navyyearswereoverfor theSprague daughters as well,”Patricia wrote, “and busywithgrowingfamilies,wedidnot think to ask him toreminisce.” The retiredadmiral threw himself intohome improvement projects,followed the stock market,and watched boxingmatchesand baseball games on TV.From the timeWorldWar IIended until his death fromheart failure on April 11,

1955, Clifton A. F. Sprague,pioneer of naval aviation,never flew in an airplaneagain.Like their commander, the

shipsofTaffy3didnotseemto meet the challenge ofendinglifeasdramaticallyastheyhadlivedit.Mostoftheescort carriers weredecommissioned, placed inreserve status, and sold asscrap metal after the war.

Although their veterans liketo joke today that their shipswerecuttopieces,senttothesmelter, and reincarnated asToyotas, that seems unlikely,insofar as Sprague’s foursurviving carriers were sold,in the late forties and fifties,to U.S.-basedmachinery andsteel concerns. Of all theTaffy 3 ships, only theHeermannmettheironicendof steaming under a foreignflag. After serving with

distinctionthroughtheendofthe Pacific war, AmosHathaway’s patched-up tincan was decommissioned in1946, moth-balled in thereserves, and sold to theArgentine navy in 1961,whereitservedastheBrown.That a gaudily decorated

ship such as the Heermanncould be traded away to aforeign fleetmaysuggest thedegree of institutional

amnesiaorennuithatgrippedtheNavyasmemoriesof thewardulledandgathereddust.For years afterward theveterans of Taffy 3 werecontent to leave thosememories buried. Manysurvivors seethed in quietrageatthewaytheyorothersweretreatedduringtheirtimestranded on the rafts. Someblamed Admiral Sprague forfailing to rescue them. MostwereangryatAdmiralHalsey

for leaving them vulnerablein the first place. Theygenerally kept such emotionspent up, seldom if everspeaking of them with theirspousesorchildren.They corresponded with

shipmates they had grownclosestto.JohnnyLeClercq’smother was the recipient, atherhomeonLiveOakStreetin Dallas, of a series ofmoving letters from Samuel

B. Roberts survivors.DudleyMoylan,TomStevenson,andotherswrotetoher,atfirsttogivepersonaltestimonytothecircumstances of Johnny’sdeath, and later to assure herthathismemorywasstillwiththem.“Noone sufferedpain,nor were there any mangledbodies;theywereallkilledbythe terrible blast,” Stevensonwrote her on December 1,1944. “John died a hero’sdeath….Yes,youcanrightly

beproudofyourson.Iknowthat I am proud to have hadhimasafriend.”Thedetailsmusthavebeen

hard to take.Butwith John’sofficial status as missing inaction, most likely Mrs.LeClercq was glad to havethe uncertainty of his fatedispelled. It must havebroughtadegreeofclosuretobe informed by shipmate J.M.Reid,“Iholdnohopethat

heisalive,noneatall.”Onthetenthanniversaryof

the battle, on October 25,1954, longafter the shockofthe Western Union telegramhadsubsided,DudleyMoylanwroteMrs.LeClercqtosay:

It is very easy for me tothink of the Roberts andher men as still sailingsomewhere, only I amrudely not with them. Imiss themboth, the livingand the dead, andsometimes I can’t

remember inwhich groupafriendbelongs.Theystayalive and they stay youngwhile I grow old. Youngand carefree, young allover, young and smilinglike Johnny. It is a goodwaytorememberthem.

MOSTLY THEY GOT ON withtheir lives. The fleetcommanders had been quickto send words ofcongratulations and praise,and official citations andawards came their way too.

Chester Nimitz greeted thefour surviving Taffy 3carriers on their return toPearlHarborwith amessagethat read in part, “Yoursuccessful fight against greatodds will live as one of themost stirring tales of navalhistory.… As long as ourcountry has men with yourheart, courage, skill, andstrength,sheneednotfearforher future.” Ziggy Spraguelobbiedsuccessfullytogetall

thirteen ships of Task Unit77.4.3awardedaPresidentialUnit Citation. Ernest Evanswas Taffy 3’s sole recipientof the Congressional Medalof Honor. Sprague receivedthe Navy Cross, as did BobCopeland, Leon Kintberger,AmosHathaway, and severalpilots, includingBill Brooks,Tom Van Brunt, TexWaldrop, Richard Fowler,and Edward Huxtable.Sprague’s Navy Cross

citation read like the rest ofthem,inpart:

Fordistinguishinghimselfby extraordinary heroisminactionagainstanenemyof the United States….Admiral Sprague’spersonal courage anddetermination in the faceof overwhelming enemysurface gunfire and airattack were in keepingwith thehighest traditionsof theNavy of theUnitedStates.

But strangely, for all the

honorshandedout, theBattleoffSamarwas for a time thevictorywhosenametheNavydarednotspeak.Tocelebrateit too vigorously, AdmiralNimitz felt, wouldunavoidably be to criticizethe Navy’s most spectacularoldlion.AfterthewarNimitztried to quash officialcriticism of Admiral Halsey,fearing the public relationsdamage it might do to theNavy. The wartime public

was in the thrall of BullHalsey’s spark-plug personaand quotable wit. Withbudgetbattlestobefoughtinthe postwar period, it riskedtoo much to allow hisreputation to suffer. ThoughNimitz believed Halsey hadblunderedatLeyte—“Itneveroccurred to me that Halsey,knowing the composition ofthe ships in theSibuyanSea,would leave San BernardinoStraitunguarded,”hewrotein

a personal letter to Adm.Ernest J. King, who washimselfoutragedbyHalsey’sdecision—he suppressedopencriticismofHalsey.When one of Nimitz’s

staffers included a pointedrebukeofHalseyinadraftofthe Commander in Chief,Pacific Fleet’s official reporton Leyte, Nimitz ordered arewrite, scrawling on thereport, “What are you trying

to do … start anotherSampson-Schleycontroversy? Tone thisdown.” Evoking thememoryof themorale-shattering feudbetween two admirals duringthe Spanish-American War,Nimitz held true to an earlycareer vowhe’dmade, neverto let public controversycloud the Navy’sachievementsagain.Halseyhimselfseemedless

sheepish, maneuvering toreceive credit for asmuchofthe Leyte victory as possiblewhile deflecting fallout fromtheneardisasteratSamar.AsTaffy 3’s survivors werehunkeringdownfortheirfirstnight at sea, Halsey radioedNimitz,“Itcanbeannouncedwith assurance that theJapanese Navy has beenbeaten,routed,andbrokenbytheThirdandSeventhfleets.”As Halsey must have

anticipated, PresidentRooseveltreadthedispatchtothe Washington press corps,atsixP.M.ESTonOctober25.A naval historian observed,“Though he participated inonlyportionsof thefar-flungbattle, Halsey upstaged hisfellow commanders andannounced the victoriousnews as thoughhis had beenthe directing hand.” In his1947 autobiography Halseysustained his defensive

stance, torpedoing his closefriendship with Kinkaid witha single sentence: “Iwondered how Kinkaid hadlet ‘Ziggy’ Sprague getcaughtlikethis.”Forhispart,ZiggySprague

had faith that Taffy 3’sexploits would one dayreceivetheirdue.“OurNavy,for reasons that are clear tome and possibly to you too,has never played up this

action to any extent,” hewrote in a personal letter tothe superintendent ofAnnapolis, Vice Adm.AubreyFitch, in1947,“butIam convinced that historywill accord the proper placefor it in the decisive actionsof thewar, probably a half acentury or more after I havepassedon.”After the Leyte

contretempsHalseydulledhis

fivestarsstillfurtherwhenhechose to steam his fleetthrough major typhoons inDecember 1944 and July1945,with significant lossoflife. Halsey became apolarizing figure. Mostsailors loved him, as did thepublic.Butby theendof thewar a powerful undercurrentof disenchantment began toemerge. As a possibleindicator of the Navy’sambivalence about Halsey’s

legacy, no class of ship wasnamed for him. A class ofsupercarriers was named forAdmiralNimitz.Asleeknewbreed of destroyer honoredHalsey’s less-famouscontemporary, Adm.RaymondSpruance.Halsey’sname would grace onlyindividual ships. The guidedmissile cruiser USS Halsey(CG-23) was commissionedin 1963 and deactivated in1994. A new Arleigh Burke-

class destroyer of the samename (DDG-97) will becompletedin2005.The rank and file ofTaffy

3 would content themselveswithquieteraccolades.WhenBud Comet, discharged inSeattle, arrived back at hisparents’coalcompany-ownedhouse in West Virginia, anenvelope awaited him.Bearing a return address totheWhiteHouse,itcontained

aletterfromHarryTruman,aPresidential Unit Citation, aBronze Star, and a letter ofcommendation formeritorious conduct.His dadasked Bud what thedecorations meant. All theSamuel B. Roberts survivorcould say in reply was theymeant that he had notdishonored his mother. Theelder Comet looked at himintentlyandnoddedhishead,then asked whether the

awards had any monetaryvalue.Budsaidno,hedidn’tthink so. His father said thatif they didn’t have anymonetary value, then whatBud had done was for hisown satisfaction. “You’vedonewell.Butdon’tdwellonit.Youcanthrowthisstuffinthe fireplace and burn it. Ithas no value from this pointon. Knowing in your heartthat you did well is all thesatisfactionthatyouneed.”

“Hislogicwasgood,”Budsaid. “But my wife didn’tthrow nothing in thefireplace.Shekeptit.”Over theyearsBudComet

has kept quiet about a lot ofthings. There are certainaspects of his ship’s finalhours and their horribleaftermaththathejustdoesnotwant to discuss. But forotherstheicebegantobreak,and the memories began to

thaw, when the survivors’reunions began in the 1970s.Though Ziggy Sprague, Cdr.William Thomas, and agathering of men fromindividual ships had heldsmall “Taffy 3 reunions” forseveral years beginning inOctober 1946, the survivorsof theGambierBaywere thefirst to organize, in 1969.Eight years later the groupsponsored a “Philippinespilgrimage” that would

enablethemtokeeptheirvowto honor their dead, toacknowledge and dignifytheir sacrifice with a properburialceremonyatthesiteofthe sinking. Led by theironetime executive officer,RearAdm.RichardBallinger,and their chaplain, Rev.Verner Carlsen, theGambierBay group set out on anadventureofremembrance.They took a Philippines

Airlines flight to Honolulu,leapfrogged to Guam, thenflew over Saipan and Tinianand through a rainsquall thattold them it was October inthe southwestern Pacificagain.TheylandedinManila,greeted by VIPs from theU.S. and Philippine navies;visited theU.S.navalbaseatSubic Bay; stood by theshrine toDouglasMacArthurat Red Beach on Leyte; andtoured the sacred ground

whereGIs fell atBataan andCorregidor.OnOctober24,1977, they

boarded a Philippine navyship out ofManila. Screenedbyleapingporpoises,theRPSMt. Samat navigated SanBernardino Strait andsteamed into the waters offSamar where the GambierBay had gone down. Atyphoon loomed somewhereover the horizon, raising

whitecaps and long, rollingswells. “They’re telling usthattheyknowwe’rehere,”ashipmate said. “They’rekicking up the sea frombelow.”AsChaplainCarlsenbegan

reading the eulogy, theirvoices hushed, and all thatcould be heard was the slapof swells against the ship’scoldhull.ThehistorianoftheGambier Bay/VC-10

Association, TonyPotochniak, tossed overboardacylindricalcapsulestenciledwiththenameoftheshipandcontaining the personaleffects of the dead andAmerican and Philippineflags. “We now commit thiscapsuletothedeep,inlovingmemoryofyou,ourkilled inaction and deceasedshipmates,” he said. As thenamesofthedeadwerecalledout, wives of the survivors

took turns tossing a redcarnation into the sea as theFilipino honor guard fired asinglerifleshot.

***

A TREMENDOUS AMOUNT OF

unwritten and untranslatedhistory remains to beunearthed on the Japaneseside. One wonders how orwhether their veteranscommemorate the battle.

Certainly not many of themremain. The Japanese lossesduring the Sho-1 operationcan only be guessed at, butthey are sure to have beendisastrous. Of the ten heavycruisers that leftBrunei,onlythree, the Tone, theHaguro,and the Kumano, made itback throughSanBernardinoStrait. Total Japanese lossesare estimated to be aroundeleventhousandmen.

Admiral Kurita’sreputation lay in tattersfollowing his timidperformance on the brink ofvictory off Samar. Owing inpart to the endlessinscrutability of his motives—he was exhausted andconfused in his thinking; hewasunclearthathisobjectivecould be achieved; he fearedtoo many U.S. planes weregathering at Tacloban;Kinkaid’s pleas had spooked

him into believing powerfulreinforcements were on theway; hewas low on fuel; hewas regrouping to attackanother American fleet—hehas never been given thebenefit of the doubt. In thenovel War andRemembrance,whichfeaturesan extensive and vividnarration of the Battle offSamar, Herman Wouk put aparticularly harsh assessmentin the mouth of one of his

characters: “Kurita’s role atLeyte had elements of thenobleandthepathetic,beforehiscollapseintoimbecility.”Aproblemthatplaguedthe

Japanese side throughout thebattle was fundamentalconfusionaboutthenatureofthe enemy who opposedthem.Innosmallpartduetothe smoke roiling from thestacks and sterns of the U.S.ships, the Japanese were

nearly unanimous inmistaking Ziggy Sprague’stask unit for somethingconsiderably more powerfulthan it really was. KuritawoulddescribeTaffy3inhisown action report as a“gigantic enemy task forceincludingsixorsevencarriersaccompanied by manycruisersanddestroyers.”Watching his first salvos

roaroffjustbeforesevenA.M.

—the first time the mightyYamato had ever fired on anenemy ship—BattleshipDivision 1’s Admiral Ugakisaw an American vesselsmoking and believed thebattleship’s openingbroadsidehadsunkher.Afterthe air raids started, theJapaneseperceived“salvosofmedium-caliber guns” hittingneartheYamato.Thatnoshipin Sprague’s fleet boastedmedium-caliber weaponry—

as thesix-oreight-inchgunsof cruisers were generallycalled—revealedtheextentofKurita’s bewilderment. In alandscape of tropical squallsandenemysmoke,hewasnotatallcertainwhattomakeofthefleetthathadmaterializedunexpectedlyon the southernhorizon.Clearly by late 1944,

however,hardexperiencehadequippedboth theAmericans

and the Japanese toappreciate the new rules ofnaval combat in the aircraft-carrier age. By the time thejeep carriers of Taffy 2musteredtheirairgroupsandbegan launching big strikesagainsttheCenterForceaftereight A.M., and onceTacloban’s airstrip had beenorganized as a makeshiftstaging ground, Kurita wasfacingairassaults frommorethan a dozen escort carriers,

or the rough equivalent offouror five fleetcarriers.Nomatter how overmatched theAmericanswereatSamar,nomatter how dashing theirscreening ships were ininterceptingthesuperiorforceduringthecriticalfirstninetyminutesoftheunlikelybattle,thestrengthoftheU.S.forcesthat Kurita confronted wasmore formidable than manyanalystshaveallowed.Itdoesnothing todiminish thevalor

of the tin can sailors aboardTaffy 3’s destroyers anddestroyer escorts, or of thegallant aviators and airedaleswho flewon that day, to saythatKurita’s ultimate victorywasbynomeansassured,andthat withdrawing in the faceof continuous and savage airassault was perhaps theprudentthingtodo.An assessment offered by

ZiggySpraguehasthebeauty

and inescapable merit ofsimplicity: of Kurita’sdecision to withdraw, hewrote to Admiral Fitch in1947,“I…stated[toAdmiralNimitz] that themain reasonthey turned north was thattheywerereceivingtoomuchdamage tocontinueandIamstill of that opinion and coldanalysis will eventuallyconfirmit.”After postwar interviews

with Japanese commanderswere completed by the U.S.Strategic Bombing Surveyand by the historian SamuelEliot Morison and his staff,and after the accounts ofAdmirals Ugaki, Koyanagi,and others were published,Japanese voiceswere seldomheardinthehistorybooks.In1984 Hank Pyzdrowski, theVC-10 Avenger pilot andexecutive director of theGambier Bay’s Heritage

Foundation, received a letterwith a Japanese postmark.“DearSirs,”itbegan,

I have the honor to writethe Men of the GambierBay as the ex-Commanding Officer oftheTone,heavycruiserofthe Imperial JapaneseNavy, who fought againstbravest shipmates of theGambier Bay in theUnited States Navy, offSamar island in themorning of October 25,1944.

The correspondent, Capt.Haruo Mayuzumi, in neatcursive script blocked off ongraphpaper,recitedhisnavalcurriculum vitae, then, ratherthandiscussthebattlefromapersonalstandpoint,launchedintoa technicaldiscussionofJapanese naval gunnery. Itseemed strange, a chillydisquisition thatwouldwarmonlyagunner’smate’sheart:after explaining, completewith charts, graphs, and

diagrams, how the caps ofJapanese shells wereengineered to break away soas to maximize their killingeffect while traveling underwater, he wrote, “I am verygratefulwhenIreadTheMenof the Gambier Bay [byEdwin P. Hoyt] and knewsome effect of 8” 91-A.P. ofmyship.”But Mayuzumi was more

thanatechnician.Heshowed

flashes of mercy andhumanity too. He recalledthat while firing on thesinkingGambierBay,

my fire controlofficerdidneverdirecthisgunfiretothe spot in which manymenwerewaitingtocomedown by Jacob’s ladders.My young midshipman…was whole-heartedlysending fire to theoutsideof the engine room.Suddenly many crew andpassengers gathered nearlife boats near engine

room. I immediatelyordered “Ceasefire.” Themidshipman soon orderedto aim [at] the forecastlewherenopersoncouldbeseen…. I saw you bravemen, under gunfire andthe flame, calmly waitedthe turn to go down byJacob’s ladders.… I noweagerlypraygood luck toall brave men of theGambierBay

Thesurvivors’groupstookit upon themselves toremember their dead and

celebratetheirvictory,inpartbecausenooneelsewoulddoit for them, least of all, for atime, the U.S. Navy. Butultimately it was the Navy’sdecisiontocommissionashipin their own skipper’s honorthat brought the Samuel B.Roberts survivors togetherand catalyzed their firstefforts toholda reunion.Forthirty-eight years they hadtried to suppress the painfulmemories of the war. But in

1982 the christening of anOliver Hazard Perry-classfrigate in Bob Copeland’sname helped show them thebenefitsofremembrance.The son of Roberts

survivor Jack Yusen, anattorney inWashington state,saw it announced in the barassociation newsletter thatBob Copeland, the Tacomaattorney and naval reserverear admiral who had passed

away in August 1973 at theage of sixty-three, would behonored with a namesakewarship. The younger Yusencalled his father and said,“Dad, wait till you see whatI’vegottoshowyou!”Jack Yusen, a charismatic

organizer and leader, andothersbegancollectingnamesand addresses and trackingdown Samuel B. Robertssurvivors, as the men of the

GambierBayandothershipshadbeendoingforyears.TheUSSCopeland(FFG-25)wascommissioned on August 7,1982.TheSamuelB.RobertsSurvivors Association’s firstformalreunionwasthatsameyear, thirty-eight years sincethey had last gathered as acrew. The year before,unknown to them, anotherPerry-class frigate, the USSClifton Sprague (FFG-16),had been commissioned. But

that ceremony had beenattended only by Sprague’sfamily. Three years later, in1985, more officialrecognition followed when afrigate, the USSCarr (FFG-52), was named for theRoberts’s heroic gunner’smate.The Taffy 3 reunions take

place annually now,manyofthem in late October tocoincide with the battle’s

anniversary, others in May,over the Memorial Dayholiday. The survivors fromthe destroyers, destroyerescorts, jeep carriers, andcomposite squadrons areproudofwhattheydid.WhenFanshawBaysurvivorHaroldKight undertook to gather anoral history of his wartimehome, a shipmate wrote tohim, “I think themore of usthat get together, the morehistory may come to

remembrance.Alotofhistoryain’tsetdownyet.”They’re a generation of

optimists. The newsletter ofthe Roberts Associationfeatures a regular sectiontitled, “Our family keeps ongrowing!” It is filled withnews from shipmates andtheir families, from long-lostsurvivors found six decadesafterthebattle.Ofcourse,thefamily’s first generation is

not growing. It is shrinking,as it must. The Taffy 3associations will not bearound forever. Though theyare formidable negotiators,their reunion coordinatorsexert slowly diminishingbargaining power over hoteland conference centermanagers every year. Theescortcarrierassociationsgeta robust turnoutowing to thelarger complement of theirships.TheSamuelB.Roberts

SurvivorsAssociation,ontheother hand, now holds itsreunions jointly with theJohnston survivors and thetiny group from the Hoel.Perhaps the children andgrandchildren who appear ingrowing numbers at theannualeventswillsustainthereunions beyond the passingof the last survivor. Onehopesthattheywill.To see the three groups of

tin can sailors together attheir joint reunion is likewatching three tightly knitfraternitiesmingle, eachwithits own traditions, full ofpride, but vaguely uncertainabout the other groups.Though they have absolutelyeverything in common, theydon’tseemtomixverymuch.While they show a cautiouscuriosity and no shortage ofcollegiality, there is not a lotof mingling and sharing of

experiences. Maybeeverything that can be saidhasbeensaid.Maybethey’veheard all the stories already.Ormaybetheexperiencesaretoopainfulstill. Ifso,clearlytheyalwayswillbe.The Hoel guys, mindful

thattheirshipwasthefirsttosink and with the heaviestlossof life, seem leeryof alltheattentiontheJohnstonhasgotten. Historians have been

understandably drawn toErnestEvans’sdashingsortieagainst the Japanese fleet, toBob Hagen’s vivid anddetailedofficialactionreport,and to his gripping personalaccountpublishedintheMay26, 1945, issue of TheSaturdayEveningPost.Noneof that ever kept the oldskipper Amos Hath-awayfrom griping at reunions,often in mixed ships’company, that Ernest Evans

had run off ahead of ordersandfoughthisownwar.To men from the other

ships, a lot of the talk hassounded like bragging. Ofcourse, there is a fine linebetween bragging and pride.The Roberts guys appear towalk it well. Just as BobCopeland used to insist, theydress sharply. There’s ameasure of solemnity andseriousness to them,but they

haveanunmistakablespark—the irreducible pluck of thedestroyer escort sailor.Nevertheless, in thehospitality room, when allthree groups are together,thereisapalpablefeelingthatpeople are afraid to say thewrong thing, to inadvertentlyput down the contribution ofanothership.Themenbondedwitheach

other at an age when bonds

harden like epoxy, in theirlate teenage years and earlytwenties.Testedby traumaticexperience,thebondsbecameall the more enduring.Through the years thedynamicshavestayed largelythe same. Joe Downs, in hisseventies, still seems toregard Bill Brooks, in hiseighties,thewayaseventeen-year-old enlisted aircrewmanregards a twenty-four-year-old commissioned pilot who

holds the younger boy’s lifeinhishands,which is tosay,as nearly a superhero. “Ohman,Ilikethatguy,”hesaid.“Ahellofahunkofaman.”They see each other as theydidsixdecadesago.Pictureablack-and-white photo ofyoungJackKennedy,skipperof PT-109, having cheateddeathandwithhiswhole lifein front of him. This is howthey see each other, but inlivingcolor.Brooks’sVC-65

squadronmate Tom VanBrunt joked, “At this time inmy life, one of my greatestpleasures is finding myglasses before I forget whyI’m looking for them.” Butthey see each other just fine.This time-travel magic doesnot seem toworkoutside theimmediate naval fraternity.When a survivor meetssomeone from another ship,it’s understandable that thenatural bond isn’t always

there:heseesnotaneighteen-year-oldbutanoldman.At the 2001 joint reunion

of the Samuel B. Roberts,Johnston, and Hoelassociations in Albuquerque,the banquet speaker told astory that punched a sizablehole in this barrier of time.Capt. Paul X. Rinn, a fifty-five-year-old New Yorkerwhoprickleswithsmarts,wastheskipperofthethirdshipto

bear the name Samuel B.Roberts, a Perry-classguided-missile frigate, FFG-58. On April 14, 1988,escorting Kuwaiti oil tankersthrough the Persian Gulf inthemidstoftheIran-Iraqwar,the Roberts entered aminefield. Captain Rinnbacked her down gingerly,but the ship struck a minenonetheless, reeling from amonstrousblastthatliftedtheship so high that when she

fell back to sea her bowplunged under water. Theexplosionfracturedtheship’skeel, blew eight-thousand-pound gas turbine enginesfrom their mounts, andopened a twenty-eight-foothole in her side.The volumeof inrushing water was sogreat that in less than aminute, according to Rinn,theRoberts“wentfrombeinga 4,000-ton ship to a 6,000-tonship.”Shewassinkingat

a rate of a foot every fifteenminutes. Flames were rising150 feet above her, nicelysilhouettingthefrigateforthemissile-armed Iranian patrolplaneandfastattackboatthatwereclosingin.“We took care of the

Iranians, and they wentaway,” Rinn told theAlbuquerque reuniongathering, “but there was nodoubtitwasnotgoingtobea

goodnight.Andat onepointaboutanhourandahalf intothis, after I’ve thought, I’mnot sure we can save thisship,butwe’vegottotryourdamnedest—do youremember the film Titanic,when the lights start toflicker, then go out?—well,we had our Titanic moment.The lights flickered—andthen they went on. And Iremember standing on thebridge thinking, Idon’tknow

how that happened, but Godis good. Let’s see what wecandotosavethisship.”CaptainRinn then told his

elder tin can sailors thereason his ship survived. Ithad todowith the teamworkandcourageofanentire214-man crew—and in particulartheenterpriseof twoenlistedmen, a fireman named JimTilley and a third class pettyofficer named George Carr.

Tilley was not the mostshipshapesailor.Hehadbeena regular defendant atCaptain’s Mast, where Rinn,againsttherepeatedadviceofhisseniorchief,alwaysendedup giving the kid anotherchance.WhentheRobertshitthemine,Tilleywasmanningauxiliary machinery roomnumber one, a belowdeckscompartment that wassupposed to have beenevacuatedowingtothethreat

of mines in the area.SomethingtoldTilleythattheship might need emergencypower, and so he doggeddownthehatchandstayedathisstation.Trapped belowdecks by

ladders and bulkheads thathad collapsed on top of hisstation, Tilley brought theauxiliary diesel on line withthe generator, a job thatusuallyrequiredthreepeople,

trippedinthegearconnectionusing an emergencytechnique known as a“suicide start” for thepossibly destructiveconsequences of amalfunction,andrestartedtheflow of electricity thatpowered the lights and thepumps fighting the flooding.Tilley singlehandedly kepttheRobertsfromsuccumbingtoits“Titanicmoment.”

From that point on, pettyofficer George Carr—whoshares a surname but nofamily heritage with pettyofficer Paul Henry Carr,insofar as George is black—kept the pumps running in acritical aft compartment forabout thirty-six hoursstraight.Awarethatoperatinga finicky pump even for justan hour was no minor feat,Rinn was amazed—andpuzzled. He couldn’t

remember Carr ever havinggone to P-250 school, wherethe Navy taught the kind ofadvanced pump maintenancethat Carrwould have neededto know to do what he did.WhenRinn asked, the thirty-one-year-old petty officersaid no, he never went to P-250 school. “Captain, you’vegotta understand somethingaboutme:Ican’tswimalick.I saw those sharksand I sawthose snakes in the waters

around here, and I decidedthere was no way thosepumpswerestopping.”Captain Rinn had made a

large bronze plaquedisplaying the image of oldDE-413and thenamesof allher crew,mounting it on thebulkhead in the amidshipspassageway leading to thequarterdeck. The plaque wasalways a focal point duringthe initiation of new crew

members. Now it foundanother use. “It sent a chillthrough me on the night ofthe mining, as we werefighting to save the ship, tosee crew members passingthe plaque and reaching outand touching it, not just oneor two guys but seeminglyeveryone who passed it.Clearly they were bondingwiththeheroismofthepast.”Here, then, beyond

citations and medals andnewspaper articles andunexercised bragging rights,isthetruelegacyoftheBattleoff Samar. It gave substanceto a living tradition. Thestory, the history, of Navymeninextremisanimatestheidea that Americans can doanythingwhenitisnecessaryand when it counts. AsCaptainRinnputit:

Legend, tradition, historycandriveacommitmentto

excellence that raisespeople and has themperform at a level aboveanything they everdreamed they could do.And it makes all of usrealize the potential thateverybodyhaswhoservesforyouandgoestoseaonships.

The veterans should becelebrated for thedistinguished citizens theyhavebecome.Buttheyshouldbe remembered too as theyremember themselves: as

kids,frozenintime.“I’mstill trying to impress

my dad,” Bud Comet said.“I’m still trying to tell him,‘Hey, I’ve been a good son.I’ve honored you and I’vehonored Mom, and I hopethatyou’repleased.Ihope,ifyou’ve been watching overmealltheseyears,thatyou’repleased with the way I’veconductedmyself.’”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am proud to acknowledge thecooperationandfriendshipthatsomanyveteransoftheBattleoffSamarofferedto me during the several years ofresearchandwriting thatproduced thisbook. Unfailingly gracious andgenerous, they made it possible to

breathe life into events nearly sixtyyears old. Without their support, thisbookcouldn’thavebeenwritten.

I owe a particular debt to RoyceHall, Bill Hewson, Harold Kight,Thomas Lupo, EldenMcClintock, andBill Murry of the USS FanshawBay/VC-68 Survivors Association; toHank Pyzdrowski of the HeritageFoundation of the USS GambierBay/VC-10Association;toEdwinBebband Harold Whitney of the USSHeermann Survivors Association; toMylesBarrett andPaulMirandaof theUSS Hoel Association; to BobChastain, BobHagen, andBillMercerof the USS Johnston Association; toTom Glenn and Owen Hilton of the

USS Kalinin Bay/VC-3 SurvivorsAssociation; toDeanBaughmanof theUSSKitkunBaySurvivorsAssociation;to George Bray, Dick Rohde, TomStevenson,andJackYusenof theUSSSamuel B. Roberts SurvivorsAssociation; and to Bill Brooks, LarryBudnick,HollyCrawforth,JoeDowns,JohnIbe,andLesShodooftheUSSSt.Lo/VC-65Association.

In addition to the many survivorswho allowed me to interview them(they are listed in the Bibliography),manyveteransandfamilymemberssentme valuable written records, accounts,andotherdocumentsaswordspreadofmy project. Thanks to Myles Barrett,Michelle Bedard,Marvin Cave, Jackie

Weaver Dennison, Bob De-Spain, EdDiGardi,JohnDowns,BobHeflin,DonHeric, Owen Hilton, John N. Hines,BobHollenbaugh,JohnKaiser,WilliamKatsur, John Land, Robert LeClercq,Bill Long, Donald E. Mackay, MikeMcKenna, Vernon Miller, JamesMurphy, Sam Palermo, Sr., TonyPotochniak, Paul Rinn, Brad Scholz,Art, A.J., and JoAnn Sosa, RonVaughn, Ellsworth Welch, David C.Wright,andZacharyZink.

BecauseBantamBookssenioreditorTracyDevinewasmyfriendbeforeshebecame my editor, I know her betterthan to think that the careful attentionshe gave to this book was anythingotherthanherprofessionalorderof the

day. In ways large and small, Tracy’ssmarts and good sense touched andimproved almost every page of themanuscript.

I am grateful to Bantam publisherand president Irwyn Applebaum anddeputypublisherNitaTaublib for theirbeliefinandfaithfulsponsorshipofthisproject; to assistant editor MicahlynWhitt for professionally and creativelyoverseeing maps and illustrations; tocopy editor Janet Biehl for her manygood saves and suggestions; and todesigner Glen Edelstein for his finevisual aesthetic. Frank Weimann, myliterary agent, creates opportunities forwriterseveryworkingday.Iamgladhehelped create this one forme. John F.

Wukovits deserves thanks for hisgenerosity with his research materialson Taffy 3. Ron Powers offeredvaluablecommentsonportionsofearlydrafts.

Forassistancewithresearch, thankstoEllenHolzmanatTraditionsMilitaryVideo, Jane Yates, Director of theCitadel Archives & Museum, CharlesKahler and Cynthia Nunez at Ft.Rosecrans National Cemetery, MikeandCyndyGilley and RayGourlay atDo You Graphics, Shelley Shelstad atHistoryonCD-ROM,JaneaMilburnattheNavalHistoricalCenter,andPatrickR. Osborne at the National Archivesand Records Administration. Specialthanks to Elsa Hornfischer for help in

transcribinginterviewswithsurvivors.Andlastandforemostofall,thanks

toSharonHornfischer,forthevitalandmany-facetedsupportthatonlyaspousecanprovide.

MENOFTASKUNIT77.4.3KILLED

INACTION,OCTOBER25–28,1944

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Computer.” www.warships1.com/W-Tech/tech-056.htm, May 29, 2000; lastvisitedbyauthorFeb.12,2003.“Roll, Pitch and Yaw: Fire ControlProblems and Mark 1/1A Solutions.”www.warships1.com/W-Tech/tech-074.htm,July6,2000;lastvisitedbyauthorFeb.12,2003.Sprague,RearAdm.C.A.F., as told toLt.PhilipH.Gustafson.“TheJapsHadUsontheRopes.”American,Apr.1945,p.40.Tully,AnthonyP.“ShellGameatSurigao:The Entangled Fates of Battleships Fusoand Yamashiro.”www.combinedfleet.com/atully06.htm.PostedJun.15,1999;lastvisitedbyauthorApr.24,2003.“Solving Some Mysteries of Leyte Gulf:FateoftheChikumaandChokai.”WarshipInternational,no.3,2000,p.248.

USSSt.Lo/VC-65Association. “HistoryofComposite Squadron 65 (VC-65).”www.stlomidway6365.org/squadron/history.htmllastvisitedbyauthorMay6,2001.Welch, Stuart. “1200 Survivors of U.S.Carrier ‘Gambier Bay,’ Sunk inPhilippines,Arrive inS.F.”SanFranciscoChronicle, Dec. 2, 1944, p. 3. Courtesy ofGeorgeBray.Whitney,HaroldE.“TheBattleofSamar.”OurNavy,Nov.1,1946,p.12.“World Battlefronts” (news summary ontheLeytecampaign).Time,Nov.6,1944,p.26.Wright, David Curtis. “Ensigns H. L.Jensen,WC.Brooks,andtheBeginningofthe Battle off Samar, 25 October 1944.”Unpublished manuscript. Courtesy ofDavid Curtis Wright, University ofCalgary,March2003.

EyewitnessAccounts—UnpublishedorPrivatelyPublished[IndividualsareidentifiedbytheirrankorratingasofOct.25,1944.]Bedard, C. K. [AMM3, USSKitkun Bay].Excerpt from journal, Oct. 14-31, 1944.CourtesyofMichelleBedard.Brown, Joseph [USS Gambier Bay].“Account of Joseph Brown.”www.ussgambierbay-vc10.com/leytegulf_reports/survivors.htm;lastvisitedbyauthorDec.30,2001.Budnick,Larry,andWayneHammett[Lts.(jg),VC-65,USSSt.Lo].“S-Q-U-A-D-R-O-N” [narrativehistoryofpilot trainingandVC-65]. Undated. Courtesy ofWilliam C.Brooks,Jr.

Carlsen, Verner [Chaplain, USS GambierBay]. “Account of Verner Carlsen.”www.ussgambierbay-vc10.com/leytegulf_reports/survivors.htm;lastvisitedbyauthorDec.30,2001.Ciolek, John S. [AOM2, VC-65, USS St.Lo]. “What Did YouDoDuring theWar,Daddy?” Undated narrative. Courtesy ofLesShodo.Copeland, Robert W, Rear Adm., USNR[Lt. Cdr., USS Samuel B. Roberts], withJackE.O’NeillandRichardK.Rohde,eds.The Spirit of the Sammy B. 1950. USSSamuel B. Roberts Survivors Association,2000.Cordner,WilliamF.[Lt.(jg),USSGambierBay]. www.ussgambierbay-vc10.com/leytegulf_reports/survivors.htm;lastvisitedbyauthorDec.30,2001.DeSpain, Bob [S1, USS Hoel]. Personal

narrative.Undated.Dix,JohnC.W[Lt.,USSHoel].MissingoffSamar.1949,reissuedbyPocahontasPress,2000.Farris, JamesW“TheSt. Lo—AStory ofSurvival.” Undated. Courtesy of WilliamC.Brooks,Jr.Fetridge,ArthurE.[Lt.Cdr.,USSKalininBay]. “To the Men on the Kalinin Bay.”Oct.30,1944.Fluke, R.W [AOM3, USSFanshawBay],rewritten by C. L.Wright. “The FightingFannyBee” [prose poem].Courtesy ofM.RoyceHall.Frenn,Willard[GM1,USSHoel].Personalnarrative.Undated.Gibson, W R. “VC-65 Personnel History,Before and After October 25, 1944.”Undated. Courtesy of William C. Brooks,Jr.

Goheen, Leo Carl [S1, USS St. Lo]. “TheSinking of the USS St. Lo, CVE-63.”Undated. Courtesy of William C. Brooks,Jr.Green, Maurice Fred [Lt., USS Hoel].“Fred Green Report.” www.ussjohnston-hoel.bigstep.com/generic.html?pid=31; lastvisitedbyauthorFeb.16,2003.Harrington, Joe. [USS Fanshaw Bay].“TurnOntheLights,”personalnarrative.Undated. From the collection of Elden L.McClintock.Hobbs, Bishop [Air Dept., USS GambierBay]. “Account of Bishop Hobbs.”www.ussgambierbay-vc10.com/leytegulf_reports/survivors.htm;lastvisitedbyauthorDec.30,2001.Holloway,JamesL.,III[Lt.,USSBennion].“TheBattleofSurigaoStraits.”Addresstothe Naval Historical Foundation’s Leyte

Gulf Symposium, Oct. 22, 1999.www.navyhistory.org/whats_new/holloway.htmlastvisitedbyauthorMar.4,2003.Kanaskie, Adam [Electrical Dept., USSGambier Bay]. “Account of AdamKanaskie.” www.ussgambierbay-vc10.com/leytegulf_reports/survivors.htm;lastvisitedbyauthorDec.30,2001.Katsur, William [F1, USS Samuel B.Roberts]. Untitled narrative. Undated (c.1994).Keeler, George H., Jr. [Lt., USS KalininBay]. “Memories of the USS Kalinin Bay(CVE 68).” Jun. 17, 1988.www.bosamar.com/keeler.html;lastvisitedbyauthorJan.19,2001.Lamar,Hal.ISawStars:SomeMemoriesofCommander Hal Lamar, Fleet AdmiralNimitz’sFlagLieutenant,1941-45.AdmiralNimitzFoundation,1985.

Lewis,DavidA. “Life in theNavyDuringWorld War II, 1942 through 1945.”Undated.CourtesyofDavidA.Lewis.Lewis,DavidA.“RestinPeace,Eddie”[onthedeathofEddieThrasher,AMM2,USSFanshawBay]. Nov. 12, 2001.Courtesy ofDavidA.Lewis.Mackay, Donald E. [Lt. (jg), USS St. Lo].Letter to Michael F. McKenna. May 20,1982.CourtesyofDonaldE.Mackay.Mallgrave, Fred J. [Ens., USS GambierBay]. “Account of F. J. Mallgrave.”www.ussgambierbay-vc10.com/leytegulf_reports/survivors.htm;lastvisitedbyauthorDec.30,2001.McClintock, Elden L. [Ship’s Historian,USSFanshawBay].“Turnon theLights.”Undated narrative. Courtesy of Elden L.McClintock.McKay, Keith, ed.At Rest 4,000 Fathoms

Under the Waves, USS Hoel, DD 533[collecting many survivors’ narratives].USSJohnston/HoelAssociation,1990.McKenna, Capt. Francis J., USN [Capt.,USS St. Lo]. “Narrative of EventsConcerningLossofUSSSt.Lo(CVE63).”www.bosamar.com/slloss.html; last visitedbyauthorFeb.16,2003.Mercer, Bill [S1, USS Johnston]. “GQJohnny: A Very Short Story.” Undatednarrative.CourtesyofBillMercer.Mercer, Bill, and Bob Chastain, eds. TheFighting andSinking of theUSS Johnston(DD-557) as Told by Her Crew [collectingmany survivors’ narratives]. USSJohnston/HoelAssociation,1991.Moore, Jack [Ens., USS Samuel B.Roberts]. “A Japanese Admiral’s DreamComeTrue.”Nov.1944.Murphy, James [Lt. j.g., VC-3, USS

Kalinin Bay]. “I Remember,” Spinning aYarn (USS Kalinin Bay/VC-3 Associationnewsletter).March1999,p.14.Nickless, F. P. [QM, USS St. Lo]. “TheBattle off Samar Four Days Later—OneMan’s Story.” Oct. 29, 1944. Courtesy ofWilliamC.Brooks,Jr.Parkin, Glenn H. [S1, USS Hoel].“Historical Account of Glenn H. Parkin.”www.ussjohnston-hoel.bigstep.com/generic.html?pid=48; lastvisitedbyauthorFeb.15,2003.Phillips,D.H.[Chaplain,USSHeermann].God Rode Destroyer ‘X.’ Privatelypublished,1956.Pierson, Verling W. [Lt., USS FanshawBay].“FightingFannyBee.”Oct.27,1944.CourtesyofRobertC.Hagen.Rabenstein,Maynard [RM2,USSDennis].“Invasion of the Philippine Islands

(Leyte).”www.bosamar.com/rabenstein.html; lastvisitedbyauthorFeb.17,2003.Raynor, Gilbert S. [AGM2, VC-5, USSKitkunBay]. “Notes onBattle off Samar.”www.bosamar.com/account.html; lastvisitedbyauthorJan.19,2001.Roberts, Everett E. [Lt., USS Samuel B.Roberts]. Autobiographical narrative(unabbreviated version). Feb. 15, 1995.CourtesyofWilliamKatsur.Shodo,Leslie[AMM2,VC-65,USSSt.Lo].“Diary of Leslie Shodo.” Oct. 1-Nov. 29,1944.CourtesyofLesShodo.Short,WinstonB. [SM3,USSSt. Lo] “St.Lo Experience—Memories of Oct. 25,1944.”Undated narrative (ca. June 2003).CourtesyofWinstonB.Short.Sisul, Joe [GM1, USS Fanshaw Bay].“Navy Days.” 2001. Courtesy of Elden L.

McClintock.Sochor, Bob [S1, USS Johnston]. “ComeHell and High Water.” Apr. 14, 1991.www.bosamar.com/sochor.html; lastvisitedbyauthorJan.19,2001.Sprague, Clifton A. F. [Rear Adm., TaskUnit 77.4.3 (Taffy 3)]. Handwrittenmarginalia in his copy of The Battle forLeyteGulfbyC. VannWoodward. Courtesy of John F.Wukovits.Urbanski, Stanley R., ed. [S1, USSHeermann]. History of USS Heermann,1943-46, ‘Destroyer X’ [collecting manysurvivors’ narratives]. USS HeermannSurvivorsAssociation,1988.USS Gambier Bay & VC-10 survivors’accounts. www.ussgambierbay-vc10.com/leytegulf_reports/survivors.htm.Includes accounts by Earl Bagley, James

Ball, Joseph Brown, Verner Carlsen,William Cordner, Wayne Galey, CharlesHeinl, Bishop Hobbs, Andy Judd, AdamKanaskie,William Kroger, W. E. Lynch, WilliamMcClendon, F. J. Mallgrave, Marshall L.Mitchell, Donald Topczewski, MichaelTowstick, Louis Vilmer. Last visited byauthorFeb.16,2003.USSSt.LoAssociation.AttackontheSt.Lo[featuringtheartworkofJohnM.Downs].USSSt.LoCVE-63/VC-65Association.VanBrunt,ThomasB.[Lt.,VC-65,USSSt.Lo]. “October 25, 1944: A Day toRemember.”Undated.CourtesyofWilliamC.Brooks,Jr.“A Bird’s-Eye View of History’s GreatestNaval Battle: The Battle for Leyte Gulf,October24and25,1944.”Speechgiventothe Rotary Club of Tallahassee, Florida,

Aug.30,1995.CourtesyofThomasB.VanBrunt.Welch,Ellsworth [Lt. (jg),USSJohnston].Untitled Memorial Day address. May 30,1994.CourtesyofEllsworthWelch.Whitney, Harold [CY, USS Heermann].Untitled narrative. Jan. 7, 2003. CourtesyofHaroldWhitney.Wood, Russell [Lt. (jg), VC-4, USSWhitePlains]. “Memoir of Battle.”www.bosamar.com/vc4bat.html; lastvisitedbyauthorFeb.21,2003.

Videotapes“Destroyer Escorts of the 1940s and1950s.”TraditionsMilitaryVideo.“GreatLakesNavalTrainingCenter:NavyBoot Camp in the 1940s.” TraditionsMilitaryVideo.

“Leyte Gulf Battle—Veterans.” Courtesyof Hank Pyzdrowski, USS Gambier BaySurvivorsAssociation,1977.“Navy Man in the 1940s.” TraditionsMilitaryVideo.“ShowdownatLeyteGulf”[documentary].A&EHomeVideo,1993.“Taffy 3 Remembered” [footage of thededicationof theTaffy3Memorial inSanDiego, with cut-ins of battle footage].TraditionsMilitaryVideo.“USSKalinin Bay CVE-68/VC-3 Pilots &More” [interviews with personnel fromComposite Squadron Three]. Courtesy ofElmerTGlenn,USSKalininBaySurvivorsAssociation.

InterviewsArcher, Earl “Blue,” Lt. (jg), VC-3, USS

KalininBay,Nov.10,2001.Barrett,Myles,Lt.(jg),USSHoel,Jan.30,2002.Bassett, Burt, Lt., VC-10, USS GambierBay,Mar.16,2001.Bebb,Edwin,Lt.,USSHeermann,May27,2002.Branham,Bill,S1,USSSamuelB.Roberts,Mar.16,2001.Bray,George, S1,USSSamuelB.Roberts,Apr.13-14,2001.Breeding, Ed, Ens., VC-65, USS St. Lo,Apr.16,2001.Brooks,Bill,Ens.,VC-65,USSSt.Lo,Mar.18,27-28,2001;Mar.11,2002.Budnick, Larry, Lt. (jg), VC-65, USS St.Lo,Apr.4,2001.Carter, Clint, GM2, USS Johnston, Sept.18,2001.

Chastain, Bob, S1, USS Johnston, Oct. 1,2001.Chastain, Bob, interview by Ronald E.Marcello, University of North Texas OralHistory Collection, Aug. 2, 1994.TranscriptcourtesyofBobChastain.Cochran, Jesse, Lt. (jg), USS Johnston,Nov.6,2001.Comet, Bud, S1, USS Samuel B. Roberts,Jan.15,2002.Copeland, Harriet, widow of Lt. Cdr.Robert W. Copeland, USS Samuel B.Roberts,Feb.12,2001.Correll,Jim,GM1,USSJohnston,Oct.25,2001.Crawforth, Holly, RT2, USS St. Lo, Mar.27,2001.Cuming,Bill,Ens.,USSGambierBay,Dec.30,2001.DiGardi, Ed, Lt. (jg), USS Johnston, Apr.

17-18,2001.Dodd, Peggy Carr, sister of Paul HenryCarr,GM3,USSSamuel B. Roberts, Apr.10,2002.Downs, Joe, AOM3, VC-65, USS St. Lo,Apr.27,2001.Durfee, Bud, USS Kalinin Bay, May 24,2001.Getas, John,AOM3,USSSt. Lo, Apr. 18,2001.Gifford, Earl, ARM1, VC-68, USSFanshawBay,Jul.13,2002.Goodrich, Vince, SOM3, USS Samuel B.Roberts,Jan.29,2002.Hagen,RobertC,Lt.,USSJohnston,May22,2001.Hall, M. Royce, AOM1, VC-68, USSFanshawBay,May2,2002.Hammett,Wayne,Lt. (jg),VC-65,USSSt.

Lo,Apr.11,2001.Hartley, Suzanne, daughter of Lt. Cdr.Robert W. Copeland, USS Samuel B.Roberts,Feb.12,2002.Heric, E. Don, SM2, USS Gambier Bay,Sept.14,2001.Hippe, Kenneth, Lt. (jg), VC-3, USSKalininBay,May26,2001.Hollenbaugh,Robert,BM1,USSJohnston,Oct.14,2001.Hood,Clarence,QM3,USSHoel, Jan. 21,2002.Johnson, Allen, EM1, USS Johnston, Oct.31,2001.Katsur, William, F1, USS Samuel B.Roberts,Mar.11,2003.Kight,HaroldL.,SC3,USSFanshawBay,May26,2001.Lewis,Steve,sonofDaveLewis,GM2,USS

Johnston,Sept.12,2001.Lucas,Sam,S1,USSHoel,Jan.31,2002.Lupo, Thomas J., Lt (jg), VC-68, USSFanshawBay,Sept.29,2001.Mercer,William,S1,USSJohnston,Apr.1,2001.Mostowy, John,Cox,USS Johnston, Sept.12,2001.Moylan, Dudley, Ens., USS Samuel B.Roberts,Jul.25,2002.Murry, William, MaM3, USS FanshawBay,Oct.8,2001.Pace, John E., Lt. Cdr., USS John C.Butler, interview by John F. Wukovits.Nov.15,1993.TranscriptcourtesyofJohnF.Wukovits.Pehl,Milt,USSJohnston,Oct.8,2001.Randles, Dale,MM1,USS Johnston, Sept.6,2001.

Reneau, Patricia Sprague, daughter ofRear Adm. Clifton A. F. Sprague,interviewed in “Taffy 3 Remembered”videotape,Oct.24,1996.Rhodes, Harold “Dusty,” S1, USSJohnston,Oct.30,2001.Roby, Richard, Lt., VC-10, USSGambierBay,Feb.28,2002.Rogers, Richard S., Lt. Cdr., VC-68,interview by John F. Wukovits. 1993.TranscriptcourtesyofJohnF.Wukovits.Rohde, Richard, RM2, USS Samuel B.Roberts,Mar.15,2001.Steinberg, Julius,Lt. (jg),USSHeermann,Apr.16,2001.Stevenson,Thomas,Lt.(jg),USS Samuel B. Roberts, Mar. 16, 2001.Thompson,Derrill, CRM,USSHoel, Feb.2, 2002. Turner, Morris, S1, USS KalininBay,May24,2001.VanBrunt,ThomasB.,Lt., VC-65, USS St. Lo, Mar. 15, 2001.

Welch, Ellsworth, Lt. (jg), USS Johnston,Oct. 31, 2001.Whitney, Harold, CY, USSHeermann,Jan.31,2003.Yusen,Jack,S2,USSSamuelB.Roberts,Jan.13-15,2002.

CorrespondenceArcher,E.L.(“Blue”)[Lt.(jg),VC-3,USSKalininBay].LettertoWilliamLong,USSKalinin Bay Survivors Association, April2001.CourtesyofBlueArcher.Bacon,Betty[widowofRobertBacon,USSJohnston].Lettertoauthor,Sept.15,2001.Beagle, Clayton [USS John C. Butler].Lettertoauthor,Mar.18,2001.Bray,George[S2,USSSamuelB.Roberts].Correspondencewithshipmates,responsestoBattle off Samarquestionnaire, variousdates,1984.Brooks, William C, Jr. [VC-65, USS St.

Lo].Lettersande-mailstoauthor,variousdates.Budnick, Larry [Lt. (jg), VC-65, USS St.Lo].E-mailstoauthor,variousdates.Canter,SheltonCarl.Letter toMrs. JohnS. LeClercq, Dec. 22, 1945. From thecollectionofRobertLeClercq.Carew, Robert E. [SM1 (flag), USSFanshaw Bay]. Letter to Harold Kight,Mar.14,1986.CourtesyofHaroldKight.Chambers, Ray [USS Samuel B. Roberts].Letter toGerogeBray,undated (probably1984). See Bray Correspondence withshipmatesabove.CourtesyofGeorgeBray.Copeland,RobertW[Lt.Cdr.,USSSamuelB. Roberts]. Letters to William Katsur,Apr.24,1945,andDec.27,1945.Downs,JosephA.[AOM3,VC-65,USSSt.Lo].Lettertoauthor,Apr.20,2001.Follmer,Frank[CM1,USSFanshawBay].

Letters to Harold Kight, Mar. 11, 1986,andApr.10,1986.Getas,John[AOM3,USSSt.Lo].Lettertoauthor,Apr.23,2001.Glenn,ElmerT.[USSKalininBay]. Lettertoauthor,Apr.23,2001.Glocheski, Virgil [Lt. (jg), USS FanshawBay]. Letters to Harold Kight, Jun. 14,1986,andSept.6,1986.CourtesyofHaroldKight.Hagen, Robert C. [Lt., USS Johnston].Lettertoauthor,May1,2001.Letter toNavalHistorymagazine,Dec. 28,1999.Hall, M. Royce [AOM1, VC-68, USSFanshaw Bay]. Letters and e-mails toauthor,variousdates.Letter to Henry A. Pyzdrowski, Jan. 14,1988; published inHeritage, newsletter ofthe Heritage Foundation of the USS

GambierBayandVC-10,Oct.1988,p.17.Letter to James H. Flatley, Jul. 1997.CourtesyofRoyceHall.Harrington, Joe C. [USS Fanshaw Bay].Letter to Harold Kight, Mar. 10, 1986.CourtesyofHaroldKight.Harrington, Red [BM1, USS Samuel B.Roberts]. Letter to George Bray, receivedMay22,1984.CourtesyofGeorgeBray.Jacobs,ViceAdm.Randall,WesternUnionTelegram to Mr. and Mrs. John S.LeClercq.Nov.19,1944.Kight, Harold [SC3, USS Fanshaw Bay].Correspondence with shipmates, inresponsetoBattleoffSamarquestionnaire,various dates, Mar.-Dec. 1986. From thecollectionofHaroldKight.LeClercq,JohnS.,II[Lt.(jg),USSSamuelB. Roberts]. Letters home. Various dates,Aug.-Oct. 1944. From the collection of

RobertLeClercq.Lupo, Thomas J. [Lt. (jg), VC-68, USSFanshawBay]. Letter to author, May 17,2002.Mackay, Donald E. [Lt. (jg), USS St. Lo].Lettertoauthor,Nov.7,2001.Mayuzumi, Haruo [Capt., IJN Tone].Letter to Henry A. Pyzdrowski, July 23,1984.CourtesyofHenryA.Pyzdrowski.McClintock, Elden L. [Ship’s Historian,USSFanshaw Bay]. Correspondence withvariousshipmates.Mercer, Bill [S1, USS Johnston]. Lettersande-mailstoauthor,variousdates.Michiels,Larry [shipmate ofCox. SamuelBookerRoberts].Letter toLloydGurnett,Sept.7,1984.CourtesyofGeorgeBray.Miller,Vernon [WT1,USSFanshawBay].Letters to Harold Kight, Mar. 14, 1986,and Apr. 12, 1986. Courtesy of Harold

Kight.Mittendorff,William.Letter toMrs. JohnS. LeClercq and narrative titled “JohnnyWasLikeThat.”Undated,circaMar.1947.FromthecollectionofRobertLeClercq.Moser, Leonard [AMM1, USS FanshawBay]. Letter to Harold Kight, Apr. 25,1986.CourtesyofHaroldKight.Moylan, J. Dudley [Ens., USS Samuel B.Roberts]. Letter to Mr. andMrs. John S.LeClercq, Oct. 25, 1954. From thecollectionofRobertLeClercq.Letter to George Bray, May 27, 1984.CourtesyofGeorgeBray.Orgill,DaleV.[AMM3,USSSt.Lo].Lettertoauthor,Feb.9,2002.Philipps, Ernest [AOM, USS FanshawBay]. Letters to Harold Kight, Jun. 1986and Aug. 18, 1986. Courtesy of HaroldKight.

Pyzdrowski, Henry A. [Lt. (jg), VC-10,USSGambierBay].Letter to author,Mar.15,2001.Reid,J.M.[USSSamuelB.Roberts].Letterto Mrs. John S. LeClercq, Sr., Jan. 16,1945. From the collection of RobertLeClercq.Rhodes,Dusty[S1,USSJohnston].Letterstoauthor,Sept.13,2001,andNov.6,2001.Rinn, Paul X. [Capt., USS Samuel B.Roberts,FFG-58].E-mailtoauthor,Dec.3,2002.Roberts, Everett E. [Lt., USS Samuel B.Roberts]. Letters to William Katsur, Feb.15,1995,andFeb.16,1996.Rohde, Dick [RM3, USS Samuel B.Roberts]. Letters and e-mails to author,variousdates.Rutter, Robert [Lt. (jg), USSHeermann].Lettertoauthor,June22,2002.

Saunders, Gene [VOC-2 (observationcomposite squadron), USS Fanshaw Bay].Letter to Harold Kight, Dec. 12, 1986.FromthecollectionofHaroldKight.Skau, Rudolph H. [CTM, USS Samuel B.Roberts]. Letter to George Bray, undated(probablyMay 1984). Courtesy ofGeorgeBray.Steinberg,Julius[Lt.(jg),USSHeermann].Lettertoauthor,Apr.5,2001.Stevenson, Tom [Lt. (jg), USS Samuel B.Roberts].Letter toMrs.JohnS.LeClercq,Sr., Dec. 1, 1944. From the collection ofRobertLeClercq.Lettertoauthor,Mar.30,2001.Letter to Mark G. Pond, Oct. 25, 1982.CourtesyofTomStevenson.Turner,Bob [AMM1,USSFanshawBay].Letter to Harold Kight, Dec. 1986.CourtesyofHaroldKight.

VanBrunt,Tom [Lt.VC-65,USSSt. Lo].Lettertoauthor,Mar.17,2001.Vaughan, Courtney Sprague [daughter ofRear Adm. Clifton A. F. Sprague]. Lettertoauthor,Oct.15,2001.Welch,Ellsworth.[Lt.(jg),USSJohnston].Lettertoauthor,Nov.7,2001.

InternetSitesUSS Gambier Bay/VC-10 SurvivorsAssociation website: www.ussgambierbay-vc10.comUSS Johnston/USS Hoel SurvivorsAssociation website: www.ussjohnston-hoel.bigstep.comUSS St. Lo (CVE-63)/VC-65 Associationwebsite:www.stlomidway6365.orgUSS Samuel B. Roberts SurvivorsAssociationwebsite:www.de413.org

Battle off Samar website (by Robert JonCox):www.bosamar.com

SourceNotes

The account of Admiral Kurita’spassage that begins and ends theopening section draws from Cutler,Battle of Leyte Gulf, 219-21; Field,Japanese, 76, 86-87, 98; Prados,Combined Fleet, 662-67; Toland,Rising Sun, 682, 702; Ugaki, Fading

Victory, 492; and Woodward, Battle,87-88. The depiction of midwatchaboardtheSamuelB.Robertsisbasedon Copeland, Spirit, and George Brayand Tom Stevenson interviews.“Douglas, where do we go fromhere?” …“Leyte, Mr. President…,”Morison, History, vol. 12, 7. “ThePresident… I shall return,”Manchester, American Caesar, 292-311; Potter, Nimitz, 385. MacArthurReturns toPhilippines… [headline],DallasMorningNews,Oct.20,1944,1;MacArthur on the beach, Toland,Rising Sun, 676-77; Morison, vol. 12,136-37; Prados, 401. “Skunk 184Degrees…” and other TBStransmissionspresumablyoverheardontheRoberts duringmidwatch are taken

fromtheradiologsandactionreportsoftheDaly,Boise,andWestVirginia.Theship had rolled so sharply…, VinceGoodrich interview. As ever, sailorslearned …, Ernie Pyle, unpublisheddispatch,www.de220.com/Life%20on%20a%20DE/DE-Life.htm. “Hey, Captain…” “That’snotastorm…,”Brayinterview.

Chapter1“Mayshebeasoundship…,”BrownVictory Dispatch, Nov. 25, 1944, 1.Train ride to Houston, George Bray,Vince Goodrich, Dudley Moylan,Richard Rohde, and Jack Yuseninterviews.“I knowwhat it’s like foryouguys…,”Rohdeinterview.

Chapter2Construction and commissioning ofthe Samuel B. Roberts, Copeland,Spirit, Tom Stevenson and RichardRohde interviews. Bob Copeland’schildhood,HarrietCopelandinterview.“He stood onhis own…,”Copeland,3. “Lloyd knew his navy …,”Copeland, 3.Samuel Booker Robertson Guadalcanal, Gismo [Robertsship’s newsletter], Aug. 4, 1944;Program, Dedication of the Taffy 3Memorial Monument, Oct. 23, 1996;Copeland,Spirit,5.“Iflaunchingmaybelikenedtobirth…,”E.B.Hopper,foreword toShips of theUnited StatesNavy(Dept.oftheNavy,NavalHistoryDivision, 1975). Commissioning

ceremony,www.history.navy.mil/faqs/faq108.htm.“I thinkIoverdid it…”and“There’san old saying …,” Copeland, 17;Harriet Copeland interview. “JackRoberts hadmade his ownway…,”Copeland,9.Whataship! and “Whatareyouguyslookingat?”JackYuseninterview. In a stained-glasswindow,Dudley Moylan interview. “We wereshort of destroyers,” Copeland, 29.“They are rough and tumble littleships …,” Ernie Pyle,www.de220.com/Life%20on%20a%20DE/DE-Life.htm. Destroyers escorts (DEs)wereeverybittheequalofdestroyers…, see data in Friedman, Destroyers,412, 421.Roberts ’s collision with awhale, Stevenson, Rohde, and Yusen

interviews; Copeland, 11. “I wasbelowdecks when there was a greatshock …,” Gene Wallace quoted inBrownVictoryDispatch,Jan.13,1945,2. “It is legendary in the Navy …,”Copeland, 11. “My dad figured …”and “I want to talk to you…,” BudComet interview. Background onEverettE.Roberts,EverettE.Roberts,autobiographical narrative. “As fast asasliderule…,”Copeland,6.“AslongasIhavetheconfidenceandtrust…,”John LeClercq, letter to his mother,Aug. 31, 1944, 4. Bringing the dogSammy aboard: In Spirit (12)Copeland credited himself and LloydGurnett for bringing Sammy aboardship; George Bray said some enlistedmen did it. Speculation flew in The

Gismo…,Gismo,Aug.4,1944.

Chapter3ThisaccountoftheRoberts’scrossing-the-line ceremony is from Copeland,Spirit, 19-26, andVinceGoodrich andRichardRohdeinterviews.

Chapter4History of the destroyer, Friedman,Destroyers, 7, 11, 111, 167-68. “Thehunting dogs of the fleet,” Urbanski,Heermann, 1943-46, n.p. The USSHoel’swardroom, Myles Barrett andClarence Hood interviews. “Nelsontouch,” in Mahan, Mahan on NavalWarfare, 201-2. Amos Hathaway’sphotographic memory, HaroldWhitneyinterview.“Hewasasonofabitch,” Julius Steinberg interview.Bebb feared his skipper wouldresent…, Edwin Bebb interview. Ahandful of marbles …, Steinberginterview. “This is going to be afighting ship…,” Hagen, “We askedfortheJapFleet,”9-10.Accountofthe

Johnston during the Marshallsinvasion,JesseCochran,RobertHagen,Robert Hollenbaugh, and EllsworthWelch interviews; accountsbyEdwardBlock,MiltPehl, andothers inMercerandChastain,TheFightingandSinkingof the USS Johnston. “Damn it, theyneedfiresupport,”Cochraninterview.“The captain put the make on him…,” Hagen interview. “The gun bosscould fire a hundred shots …” and“We were all so green …,” Hageninterview.Anaveragerateof fire fora five-inch/38-caliber crew, Roscoe,Destroyer Operations, 18. “You maynow bring on the Japanese fleet,”Hagen, “We asked for the Jap Fleet,”10. “Mr. Hagen, that was very goodshooting,”JimCorrellinterview.

Chapter5Ziggy Sprague, “tousled hair swingingfore and aft,” “clever in nearly everysport,”LuckyBaginReneau,Remembered,

following p. 152;Wukovits,Devotion,14. Sprague in Rockport,Massachusetts, Reneau, 7; Wukovits,3. “Fleet aviationmust be developed…” and “the advantage will lie …,”Spector, At War at Sea, 138.“Instrument face,” Reneau, 36;Wukovits, 29. Pensacola aviationfatalities, Wukovits, 25. “Aviation isessentially and fundamentally …,”Spector, 146. “Just a lot of noise,”Wukovits, 26. Sprague and Annabel

Fitzgerald, Wukovits, 39-41. “We’renotprepared…,”Wukovits, 48.TheTangieratPearlHarbor,Reneau,87-88. “I was eating, drinking, andbreathing aviation,” Halsey andBryan,Admiral,52.Sprague“cameinquietly …,” Wukovits, 83; “took averygreencrew,”Wukovits,86.“Theair group is the only reason …,”Wukovits, 84. “You can train a pilotfor $50,000…,” Taylor,Magnificent,236;Reneau,130;ArleighA.BurkeinWooldridge,Carrier, 169. “When hewas promoted from Captain toAdmiral,” Reneau, 118. Capt.DouglassP.Johnsonof theFanshawBay , William Murry interview. “Pisson them then,” Fantails [USSFanshawBaynewsletter],Jul.25,1986,

3. “The commanders of all fleets …patriotism, and subordination,”www.history.navy.mil/faqs/faq59-7.htm. Bogan was a “first-classhorse’s rear end,” Joe Harrington,“Turn On the Lights.” “The entirecrew [of the Fanshaw Bay] wasincompetent”and“theworstshipI’dever seen…,”Y’Blood,Little Giants,171; Wukovits, 113. “For the firsttime … hadn’t received an Essex -class command,” Christopher W. M.Carson, undated letter to CliftonSprague, quoted in Reneau, 200. “Aconglomeration of farmers …,”LeonardMoser, supplement to letter toHaroldKight,Apr.25,1986,2.“Activemen need …,” “Planning the menu…,” Cook Book of the United States

Navy, 1944, 3. “Hey, we had goodchow…,”HaroldKight interview. [A]largemessserving1,000men…,CookBook,13.SinkingoftheLiscomeBay,Y’Blood, 1-9; Dix, Missing, 11. “Ajeep carrier bears the same relation… not wholly successful results,”Fletcher Pratt, “Jeep Carrier at Best aMakeshift Affair,” Boston Globe andOverseas Press Service, 1944.Historyof CVE development,www.usmm.org/peary.html; Y’Blood,34-35; Vice Adm. Fitzhugh Lee, inWooldridge, Carrier, 204;www.aws.org/about/blockbuster.html.“Boy,Ithoughtwe’dboughtthefarm…,” Vernon Miller, letter to HaroldKight,Apr. 12,1986,10-11.FanshawBay damaged off Saipan, Joe Sisul,

“NavyDays;”LeonardMoser, letter toHarold Kight; Thomas Lupo interviewandlettertoauthor.

Chapter6Background on World War II–erapilot training: Bill Brooks, LarryBudnick, Joe Downs, Earl Gifford,RoyceHall,WayneHammett, ThomasLupo, and Thomas B. Van Bruntinterviews. “Damn Navy …,” VanBrunt, “A Bird’s-Eye View.” In somedivisionsontheSt.Lo,asmanyas90percent of the men requestedtransfers,DonaldE.Mackay, letter toMichael F. McKenna, May 20, 1982,17. “We respected their view …,”Brooks interview. Pilots could seesubmarine silhouettes, Downsinterview. Sinking of USS Seawolf ,Brooks and Downs interviews;Morison, History, vol. 12, 27-28;

Wukovits,Devotion, 113-14; Y’Blood,Little Giants, 107-8. Aircraftproduction and pilot recruitment,Spector,AtWaratSea,148;ViceAdm.HerbertD.Riley,“FillingthePipeline,”in Wooldridge, Carrier, 102; LawsonandTillman,CarrierAirWar, 152-57.“Likegettingintoashoebox,”Brooksinterview. Like “a Hollywoodpremiere, Chinese New Year’s andFourth of July rolled into one,”Morison, vol. 8, 302; “I heard pilotsexpress the opinion …,” Rear Adm.James D. Ramage, “Turn On theLights,” in Wooldridge, 180-81. Lt.Cdr. Ralph Jones’s “big glom,”Brooks interview. “We razzed thetorpedo pilots a lot…,” Budnickinterview.Background on aerial ops

over Leyte, Earl Archer, Bill Brooks,Joe Downs, Earl Gifford, ThomasLupo, Richard Roby, and Thomas B.Van Brunt interviews. “Hey coxswain…,”VanBruntinterview.“LandingonhalfablockofMainStreet…,”ErniePyle, in David Nichols, ed., Ernie’sWar, 395. “They came out likesausages …,” Rear Adm. Herbert D.Riley,inWooldridge,102.

Chapter7DiscussionoftheShoplanisbasedonPrados, Combined, 586-87, 606, 608.Halsey’s strikes on Formosa,Morison, History, vol. 12, 92-95;Prados, 608-9. “… nothing but somany eggs thrown…,”Morison, vol.12, 93. Activation of Sho-1 plan,Morison, vol. 12, 91; Prados, 621;Field,Japanese,23-39.Ozawa’s forcecomposition is based on Prados, 644–47;Morison,vol.12,320-23.Halsey’sorders to “cover and support”MacArthur“inorder toassist in theseizure … of the CentralPhilippines,”Morison,vol.12,58.“…large scale logistic preparations …”Prados,615.

Chapter8“Likeelaboratereligious scrolls” and“Thesebattleshipswillbeasuseful…as a samurai sword,” Prados,Combined Fleet, 126-27. Japanesedissent to the Sho plan, Koyanagi,“The Battle of Leyte Gulf,” inO’connor, The Japanese Navy, 109;Prados, 588. “To intercept anddestroy … in a Decisive Battle,”Prados, 587. “Please give theCombined Fleet the chance …,”Cutler,BattleofLeyteGulf,67.U.S.airstrikes on Nishimura, Morison,History, vol. 12, 190; Prados, 629;Tully, 2. “Skunk 184 degrees, 18miles,” TBS radio log, in USS WestVirginiaactionreport;Morison,vol.12,

213.ThewordingvariesslightlyinUSSBoise’sTBSLogSheet.

Chapter9Morison’s chapter inHistory, vol. 12,198-241, is the most gripping andauthoritative account of the Battle ofSurigao Strait to date. Toland’saccount in Rising Sun, 697-703, isbasedonmanyJapanesesources.Inhisvaluable article, “Shell Game atSurigao,”Tullytracesthediscrepanciesand dispels much of the confusionsurroundingtheaction.Asheexplains,some authors, including Cutler, Field,and Woodward, relied on an errantJapanese source and in so doingtransposed the identities of the Fusoand Yamashiro. “Too beautiful toserve ourpurpose,” USSDaly actionreport, 2. The ships up the strait

hearda tremendousracketand“I’vegot a big one in sight…,” Holloway,“Battle of Surigao Straits.” Like“animalsinacage,”Morison,History,vol. 12, 215. A “huge, red-hot ironplunged into the water,” ShigeruNishino, skipper of Shigure, quoted inToland, 699. “Notify your maximumspeed,”Tully. “Each explosionwas around ball…” and “The ship whichwashit…,”USSDalyactionreport,4.“Two faint [explosions] and a loudsnap” and “Flames reaching abovethe mastheads,” Tully. The WestVirginia’s gunnery officer laughedaloud…,Woodward,Battle, 114.Thedevastating accuracy of this gunfire…,Morison, vol. 12, 228. “It seemedasifeveryship…,”Oldendorfquoted

inAstor,Crisis,385-86.It seems thatthe Shigure’s skipper mistookNishimura’s own ship for theFuso ,Tully, citing the Naval War Collegeanalysisofthebattle.Aprojectile-man…brokehis lefthand…:USSBoiseaction report, Executive Officer’sReport, 2, identifies this man as S1Clayton M. Boone. “We have arrivedatbattlesite,”ShimaquotedinToland,701. “Burning like a city block,”Morison, vol. 12, 236. “I HAVERUDDER DIFFICULTIES,” Falk,Decision, 163. “If we continueddashing,”Falk,164.“Inthepalepre-dawn twilight…,” Holloway. Atdaylight seven heavy pillars …, USSDalyactionreport,6.“Allsurvivors inwater are Nips …” and “Let them

sink,” USS Daly action report,EnclosureC,VoiceRadioLog,5.

Chapter10“The fact that I survived…,” Hara,Japanese, 4. “Large target…,” USSDenvertoOldendorfat0421hours,perUSSWestVirginia action report, TBSLogSheet.“Keep track of enemy…,”Berkey toMcManes at 0333 hours, inUSSBoise action report, 7. “We haveonedeadinthewater…,”McManestoBerkey at 0348, in USS Boise actionreport, 8. “We have quite a fewsurvivors in the water,” Cdr. M. H.Hubbard to Oldendorf at 0557, USSDaly action report,EnclosureC,VoiceRadioLog,5.“Pickthemup…,”Capt.TF.ConleytoskippersofDesDiv112at 0611, USS Daly, Enclosure C, 5.“Take three destroyers…,”Oldendorf

to Hayler at 0636, USS Boise actionreport,12.“ByGod,Ithinkwefinallygot’em,”TomStevensoninterview.

Chapter11“We do not mind death,” Ito, End,100. “I know that many of you arestrongly opposed …,” Prados,CombinedFleet, 631; Ito, 100. “Afterthe spray and smoke haddisappeared…,”Morison,History,vol.12,172.“ThegiantsofJapan’sNavy…,” Ito, 11. The construction of theYamatoisdiscussedinSpurr,Glorious,24-27; Japan’s overall shipbuildingstrategy isdiscussed in Ito,11,12,15-18. “Strike! Repeat: Strike! …,”Halsey and Bryan, Admiral, 214.Thedestruction of the Musashi is fromCutler, Battle of Leyte Gulf, 146-53;Field, Japanese, 66-69; Lawson andTillman, Carrier Air War, 131-33;

Prados, 639-42; Toland, Rising Sun,686-94; and Ugaki, Fading, 488-91.“Damn fool! My responsibility is sogreat…,”Toland,691-92.“probabilityisgreat…,”Ito,108.

Chapter12IF WE CONTINUE WITH OURPRESENTCOURSE…,ITO,END,108.WITH CONFIDENCE IN HEAVENLYGUIDANCE …,” Prados, Combined,641; a slightly different translationappears in Morison, History, vol. 12,189.BackgroundonViceAdm.WillisLeeisfromHalseyandBryan,Admiral,257. Discussion of Halsey’s missionorders is from Potter, Nimitz, 416.Halsey’s decision to attack Ozawa’sdecoy force is discussed in Potter,Halsey, 417, and in Morison, vol. 12,193-96.Thereports that thecarriersAmagi and Katsuragi had joinedOzawa, erroneously circulated byJICPOA, are discussed in Prados, 649.

“Beforewe’re throughwith ’em…,”Morison,vol.3,212.

Chapter13This account of Taffy 3’s morningactivitiesistakenfromBillBrooksandJoe Downs interviews; the actionreports of CTU 77.4.3 (Rear AdmiralSprague) and CTU 77.4.2 (RearAdmiral Stump); action reports of theSt. Lo andVC-65; Sprague, “The JapsHad Us on the Ropes;” and ThomasVan Brunt, “Bird’s-Eye View.”We’renever going to see daylight , Brooksinterview. “Enemy surface force offour battleships …,” St Lo actionreport, 2; Sprague, “The Japs,” quotesthis sighting report slightly differently.Now there’s some screwy youngaviator…,Sprague,40.“Airplot, tellhim to check his identification,”

Sprague, 40. “I can see the pagodamasts …,” Van Brunt, “A Bird’s-EyeView,” 3. “Question: Is TF 34guarding San Bernardino Strait?”Cox, Battle, 48; Falk, Decision, 172;Cutler,BattleofLeyteGulf,216;Potter,Bull Halsey, 300-1. In discussing thesystem for routing communiquésbetween the Third and Seventh FleetsthroughManus,Potter (inBullHalsey,290, 300) points out that Kinkaid hadthe means to broadcast his querydirectly to Halsey aboard the NewJersey, had Halsey’s flagship beenassigned the right frequency. “My gutfeelingwas…,”Brooksinterview.ItisunclearinofficialrecordswhichofthetwogallantensignsspottedKuritafirst,BillBrooksofVC-65orHansJensenof

VC-20. Morison is unhelpful, havingapparentlyconfusedJensenandBrooks(see vol. 12, 246; see also Sprague,“TheJaps”).DavidC.Wrighthasusedtheweightofcircumstantialevidencetoconcludeinanas-yet-unpublishedstudythatJensenwasfirst.TheTaffy2flier’sNavy Cross citation credits him withbeing the first pilot to detect, sight,report, and attack Kurita’s force offSamar. Toland and Y’Blood agree,though the action report of Jensen’sown squadron doesn’t support theconclusion. It’s abundantly evident inany case that the professionalism andenterprise of both pilots wereinstrumental to the timely recognitionof the Japanese force. “Anybodyhurtback there?” and “a live pilot rather

thanadeadhero,”Brooksinterview.

PartIIInnoengagement in itsentirehistory…,Morison,History,vol.12,275.

The battle narrative in Part II isdrawn almost exclusively fromeyewitness accounts of participants.This has been a blessing, for the richlode of personal narratives found,among other places, in the valuablecrew memory books of the destroyersHoel,Johnston,andHeermann,andthevivid memoir of Captain Copeland ofthe Samuel B. Roberts, has not beenthoroughlymined by previous authors.Butithasalsobeenacurse,forsomeofthe eyewitness accounts, written andoral alike, have been compromised by

thepassageofyears.Thoughmemoriesare long, they are vulnerable toinfluence by things one has read orheard secondhand. Generally I usedonly what the witnesses saw andexperienced. I have tried to steer clearofhearsayandsecondhandobservation.

Citationsofthecrewmemorybooksareabbreviatedasfollows:

“Hoel” = KeithMcKay, ed.,AtRest 4,000 Fathoms Under theWaves;USSHoel,DD-533,USSJohnston/Hoel Association,1990.

“Johnston” = Bill Mercer andBobChastain,eds.,TheFightingandSinkingoftheUSSJohnston,DD-557, as Told by Her Crew,USS Johnston/Hoel Association,1991.

“Heermann” = Stanley R.Urbanski, ed., History of USSHeermann, 1943-46, ‘DestroyerX,’ USS Heermann SurvivorsAssociation,1998.

Chapter14“How about some bacon … ?”Mercer, “GQ Johnny,” 23, and inJohnston, 128. “I thought someonewas joking…,” Burnett, in Johnston,27.“OurCombatAirPatrol…,” and“I’mdrawingfire….Thebastards…,”Dix, Missing Off Samar, 14. “Wherethe hell is Halsey?” Robert Rutter,letter to author; EdDiGardi interview.“Designed to jar the brain …,” andMaybe it’s just a false alarm…,Dix,16. “Surface radar reports …,”“Well, there’s a storm …,” and“Objectonthehorizon…,”Copeland,Spirit, 35-36. “If you’re interested…,” Tom Stevenson interview.LeClercq and Stevenson, Tom

Stevenson, letter toMrs.LeClercq. “Alarge Japanese fleet…,” Moore, “AJapaneseAdmiral’s,”2.“Thiswillbeafightagainstoverwhelmingodds…,”USS Samuel B. Roberts action report,PartVI.Tullio Ser-afini background,Copeland, 8, 69; Moore, 1-2. “Be agood, stout boy …,” “Ser-afini’sentrance…,”and“Whataretheodds…?”Moore,2.

Chapter15The Center Force’s opening movesarefromPrados,CombinedFleet, 670-71andField,Japanese,98-101.“Eachunit seemed very slow …,” Ugaki,Fading Victory, 492. “I feared thespirit of all-out attack …,” Ugaki,493. “Cruiser divisions attack!”Prados, 672. “WEAREENGAGINGENEMY …,” Prados, 671. “BYHEAVEN-SENT OPPORTUNITY…,”Cox,BattleoffSamar,63.

Chapter16This is an impossible situation …,Robert Hagen interview.All hands togeneralquarters…,andWhydidn’t Ithink of that? Ellsworth Welch, inJohnston, 181. “That was the onlytime …,” Robert Billie, in Johnston,12. “Please, sir, let us not go down…,”Hageninterview.“Acaptainwhocould strike…” and “I can see himnow…,” Hagen, “We Asked for theJap Fleet,” 10. “But we are notmaking smoke” and “Iwant a smokescreen …,” Charles Landreth, inJohnston,120;JesseCochraninterview;Cochran, in Johnston, 63. “We weremakingsmoke…,” JohnMostowy, inJohnston, 137. “This is fun,” Bill

Mercer, in Johnston, 128. Evans’s“heartgrinning,”Hagen10.

Chapter17“I wouldn’t say it was like…,” and“Neither could such dream stuff…,”Sprague, “The Japs Had Us on theRopes,” 41. Development of theYamato’sguns was so secret, Kurita,USSBSinterrogation,5.“Ithought,wemightaswellgivethem…,”Sprague,112. “I wanted to pull the enemyout…,” and “If we were going toexpend ourselves …,” Sprague, 114.“Signal execute on receipt…” andother TBS commands are from CTU77.4.3 (C.A.F. Sprague) action report,TBS Log Sheet, Enclosure G, 2, andUSSWhitePlains action report,RadioLog,EnclosureB, 1. “Come in please…,” CTU 77.4.3 action report,

Enclosure G, 2. “To any or all…,”CTU77.4.2actionreport,14.“Don’tbealarmed,Ziggy…,”Morison,History,vol.12,252.“Goafterthem…,”CTU77.4.2(Stump)actionreport,14.“…noorders were received…” and “usingthe initiative…,” CTU 77.4.2 actionreport, 30. Sprague played golf in ahurry,Wukovits,Devotion,38.

Chapter18“Sir,what’sthat?”and“Well,itlookslike somebody’s shooting …,” EdBreeding interview. “Tell uswhat thehell…,”HollyCrawforthinterview.Letmethehelloffthisthingand“I’moverhere …,” Larry Budnick interview.“Hey, Guns, what’s going on?” and“Ohhell, some SOB…,”RoyceHallinterview.“Myfirst thoughtwas…,”Royce Hall, letter to The CVE Piper.“Hewasnotinclinedtoexerthimself…” Lewis, “Life in the Navy duringWorld War II,” 15. “A futile gesture…,” Verling Pierson, “Fighting FannyBee.”“Whatareyoudoing…,”“Iamgoing to check …,” and “He got in,starteditup…,”LeonardMoser,letter

to Harold Kight, 8, and addendum, 3;per the VC-68 action report, this pilotmayhavebeenLt.WJ.“Lucky”Slone.Lord, please don’t let me die sittinghere … and background on Archer,EarlArcherinterview.

Chapter19“This salvomeasured the carrier…,USS White Plains action report,Enclosure A, 2; see also engineeringreport, Enclosure J. Japaneserecognition books, Prados, CombinedFleet,676.Lookouts on theKumano,Prados, 672. “At this point it did notappear…,” CTU 77.4.3 (Rear Adm.C.A.F. Sprague) action report,EnclosureC,1.“Standby to formtwotorpedogroups…,”CTU77.4.32(RearAdmiral Of-stie), Enclosure F (KitkunBayLogSheet),1;the7:16A.M.timeispertheUSSRaymondactionreportandMorison,History,vol.12.However,theCTU 77.4.32 action report puts thisorder later, at 7:35. This later time is

questionable, insofar as the Hoel foronewasalready inboundandhadbeenseverelyhitonthewayinatabout7:25.“Admiral Halsey is shooting at us,”ClintCarter interview.“AllthistimeIhad been completely, sickeninglyimpotent,”Hagen, “WeAsked for theJap Fleet,” 72.Mark 1A fire-controlcomputer,NavyDepartment,GunnersMate 2c Training Course, vol. 2, 184,191; Robert Hagen interview. “Lookslike somebody’s mad at us,” Hagen,“We Asked for the Jap Fleet,” 72.Johnston’s pummeling of Kumano,USS Johnston action report, 3; Hagenand Bob Chastain interviews. “I wasnever as scared …” Clint Carter, inJohnston, 41. “What are you up tonow?” and “Hey, take that ship over

there,”Hageninterview.

Chapter20“Fire torpedoes!” Hagen, “We Askedfor the Jap Fleet,” 72. Johnston’storpedo attack, USS Johnston actionreport, diagram of torpedo attack;Thomas Sullivan, in Johnston, 172;RobertHagen interview.Torpedohitson Kumano , Kurita, USSBSinterrogation, 5; USS Johnston actionreport,3;EllsworthWelch,inJohnston,182; Morison, History, vol. 12, 256.Welch described seeing “one of the[torpedoes] hit the fantail” (182);Prados (Combined Fleet, 675) wrotethattheKumanowashit“forwardofthenumber ten frame,” which blew awayherbow.

Chapter21This chapter is based on eyewitnessaccounts of the VC-10, VC-65, andVC-68 pilots and aircrew, includingaccounts by Edward Huxtable, BurtBassett, BermanDillard, J. F. Lischer,and William Shroyer in VC-10 actionreportNo.2-B;LouisVilmer’spersonalnarrative at www.ussgambierbay-vc10.com; Larry Budnick and RoyceHall interviews; and Y’Blood, LittleGiants, 164-66. The concert violinistsets considerable store …, NavyDepartment, Gunnery Sense, 8-9;Royce Hall interview; Royce Hall,letter to CVE Piper, 3. Roby pulledalongside Fowler’s Avenger …,Richard Roby interview. “The rate of

hits was quite good …,” Ugaki,Fading Victory, 495. Kurita wasdoubtless frustrated …, Kurita,USSBS interrogation, 5. “They wereshooting the craziest combinations…,”Robyinterview.

Chapter22“It seemed to take a long time …,”Sam Lucas, in Hoel, 44. You standtherewaiting…and“Rightfullrudder.Meet her…,” Dix, 24-25. “He didn’tdesignate a target…,” “It just didn’tseem right tome…,” and “Taffy 33,thisisJuggernaut…”Copeland,Spirit,39. “Well, Sis on you, pister. Let’sgo!”Copeland,40-41.

Chapter23“It was like a puppy being smackedbyatruck,”Hagen,“WeAskedfortheJap Fleet,” 72. Johnston’s damage,USS Johnston action report, “Damageto the USS Johnston,” 1-2. Justseconds before impact…, EllsworthWelch, in Johnston, 182. “Block isalive,”EdwardBlock, inJohnston, 19.“Don’t bothermenow,”Hagen, “WeAsked for the Jap Fleet,” 74.Johnston’s bridge casualties: toBechdelperWelch,inJohnston,182;toPliskaperMercer,inJohnston,129; toFoxandEvansperHagen,“WeAskedfor the Jap Fleet,” 74; to Dixon perEdward DiGardi, in Johnston, 86.“Stand by below …,” Mercer, in

Johnston, 129. “… clean andprofessional, without thecomplications…,”Spector,AtWar atSea, 24.Data on Japanese ordnance isfrom “Japanese Naval Guns,”www.warships1.com/Weapons/WNJAP_main.htmupdatedSept.10,2002.“Iwaslookingout of the director…,” Hagen, “WeAsked for the Jap Fleet,” 72; USSJohnston action report, 6. “TheJohnstonwas amess…,”Hagen, 72.“All stations—Control testing!”Hagen,74.“Gun54declared its ownwar …,” Bob Hollenbaugh, inJohnston,105.

Chapter24ENEMY FORCES ATTACKINGOUR FORCES… Prados,CombinedFleet,679-80.“Itjustoperatedalldaylong…,” Prados, 678. “NEGATIVE.TASK FORCE 34 IS WITHCARRIERGROUPS…,”Potter,BullHalsey, 301. “Request Lee proceed attop speed…,” Morison, History, vol.12, 294. “Fast battleships urgentlyneeded…,” and “My situation iscritical…,” Prados, 682. “TURKEYTROTS TO WATER GG WHEREIS…,” Falk,Decision, 202-3; Cutler,Battle of Leyte Gulf, 251; Wukovits,Devotion, 177. “Stop it! What thehell’s the matter …,” Halsey andBryan,Admiral,220.

Chapter25“By now the topside of the Johnston…,” Robert Billie, in Johnston, 13.Damage control efforts aboard theJohnston,USS Johnston action report,“Damage to the USS Johnston,” 1-2;Jesse Cochran and Dusty Rhodesinterviews;JesseCochran,inJohnston,64.DeathofMarleyPolk,Hagen,“WeAsked for the Jap Fleet,” 74. “Tryingto climb out was a fireman by thename of West…” “It was an awfulsighttosee…,”and“With littlehelpfrom our battle lantern …,” BobSochor, in Johnston, 163-64. “It wasthe first time in my life…,” Hagen,“We Asked for the Jap Fleet,” 74. “Ihad heard all along that destroyers

were expendable …,” Everett Lin-dorff, in Hoel, 38. Kight looked onawestruck as the destroyers fell intoline…,HaroldKightinterview.

Chapter26Thischapterandthenext,coveringtheHoel’s torpedo sortie and devastatingfirst hits, are drawn mostly from thewritten accounts of survivors in theHoel’s crew memory book, the ship’sactionreport,LieutenantDix’sMissingOff Samar, and interviews withMylesBarrett, Clarence Hood, Sam Lucas,and Derrill Thompson.Bridge, this isCombat… Gunnery Control, this isCombat…, andDamn it was good tohear them…, Dix, 27. They haven’thitusyet,Dix,28.Oh,Jesus,thisisit!Dix, 28. The blast spattered theHoel’s passageways …,” BobDeSpain, personal narrative. “Cruiserobserved blowing up and sinking,”

Morison,History, vol. 12, 258; Field,Japanese, 102. “We’ll go in with thedestroyers…,”Hagen,“WeAskedforthe Jap Fleet,” 74.Owing to steeringdifficulties, the destroyer made acomplete circle …, Robert Hageninterview.Oh,dearLord,I’minforaswim,Hagen,74.

Chapter27“Tube One—” “One aye!” Dix, 29.“Guys were piling out of therescreaming,”JimNorris,inHoel,56-56.“Stuffjustflewalloverus…,”HughCoffelt, in Hoel, 7. Per Dix, 31, theHoel was locked into a port turn; theship’s action report states that itwas astarboard turn, but that paragraph hasbeen hand-annotated, “Delete.” “Getsettofire…”and“TubeTwo—trainout to port…,” Dix, 31. “Too muchwashappeningtostand…,”Dix, 31.Morison identifies the target of theHoel’s second torpedo spread as theHaguro. Though one disagrees with agrandmaster only at his grave peril, Ihave departed here from Morison’s

narrative,whichhastheHaguroleadingthe Japanese cruiser column and thusbeing the Hoel’s victim. The Hoel’saction report states that the torpedoesstrucktheleadheavycruiser,butmakesnoclaimastoitsclass.Field’saccount(Japanese, 103-7) has the Tone in theleadand theHaguro third in a columnof four.However, there is no evidencethateithertheHaguroortheTonetookatorpedohitinthisaction—seePrados,Combined Fleet, 673-76. At 7:57Haguro lookouts spotted two torpedotrackspassingastern;Prados,676.Oneof the photo sections of this bookfeaturesahandsomeshotoftheHagurowithdrawingatflankspeed,unimpeded,at about 10:50. The authors of theaction report of the Hoel—and of the

Johnston,SamuelB.Roberts,andotherlost ships—may be excused for anyambiguity: They wrote them severaldays after the battle, after extendedtrauma, andwithout the aid of logs orother records cast adrift in thePhilippine Sea. As with many otherparticularsof thisaction, the truthmayliebeyondour reach. “Put the sun onyourportbeam,”FredGreen,inHoel,24.

Chapter28“The Japs would fire their big guns…” Harold Kight interview. “Theyoughta fire that thing underwater…,”“Justholdonalittle longer…,”and“The Japswerenow firing at usfrom three sides …,” Sprague, “TheJaps Had Us on the Ropes,” 114. “Imust admit admiration …,”Koyanagi, in O’connor, 114. PilotswerecautionednottohittheinboundAmerican ships, VC-10 action report,No. 2-B, Lt. J. R. Jackson narrative.VC-3’sexploitsareperY’Blood,LittleGiants, 170; the VC-3 action report;Murphy, “I Remember,” and EarlArcher interview. “This is 81 Georgia…”ThomasVanBrunt,“ABird’s-Eye

View.” “How those Japs could shootso many guns …,” Murphy, 15.Damage to Kalinin Bay is from theUSSKalininBay action report;Keeler,“Memories;”CTU77.4.3actionreport;and Morris Turner interview. “Butabove all others we could hear menscreaming,”Keeler.TheWildcatpilotswere given a free hand to strafe…,Sprague, “The Japs Had Us on theRopes,” 116. “The attackwas almostincessant…,”Field,Japanese,102.

Chapter29Lt. (j.g.) Thomas Lupo backgroundandnarrative are fromThomas Lupointerview.Hisaccountof theTaclobanincidentwasconfirmedbyhisgunnerinan Earl Gifford interview. “Likechunks of vanilla ice cream in asarsaparillasoda,”Falk,Decision,185(unattributed). “Like a flight of birdsatthefirstcrackofashotgun,”“Navyplanes, Navy planes …,” Hubbard,“ScrubTeam atTacloban,” 10-11. SeealsoFarris,“Tacloban.”

Chapter30The Heermann’s 7:54 A.M. torpedoattack was directed at a Tone-classcruiser,“theleadingshipinacolumnoffour large ships,” USS Heermannactionreport,9.Mori-sonassertsthatitwas theHaguro—seeHistory, vol. 12,259—butmore likely it was theTone.TheUSSHeermann action report laterstates, “We … fired at one heavycruiserpositivelyidentifiedastheToneclass.Seventorpedoeswerefiredatthiscruiserwithunknownresults” (17).“Itwas an odd day—one moment thesun was shining…,”Whitney, “Battleof Samar,” 13. “…illuminated theentire ocean …,” USS Heermannaction report, Enclosure B, gunnery

officer’s report, 2. Hathaway “wish[he] had a periscope” and“Everything looked rosy …,” USSHeermann action report, 5. “The gunsof the leading Jap blazed …,”Whitney, “Battle of Samar,” 13. “Myexercise is completed. Over,” CTU77.4.3 (C.A.F. Sprague) action report,Enclosure G, TBS Log Sheet, 4.“WATCH OUT FOR TORPEDOTRACKS!” Prados, Combined Fleet,676. “… it felt like amonth tome,”Ugaki,FadingVictory,493.“All smallboysgoinandlaunchtorpedoattack,”CTU 77.4.3 action report, TBS LogSheet, 3. “Admiral, somedaysomebody is going to forget we’reboys …,” Copeland, Spirit, 30.“Captain,mayIopenfire?”and“God

damn it, Mr. Burton…,” Copeland,41. “Wegot her!” Copeland, 42. Cox(Battle off Samar) states theRoberts’svictim was the Chokai. The USSSamuel B. Roberts action reportindicatesanAoba classcruiser, thoughno such ships were with Kurita offSamar. “All engines back full,” EdDiGardi, in Johnston, 86. “Our sterndugdeep…,”BobDeal, in Johnston,70.“Icouldhavethrownapotatoandhit that kid …,” Harold Whitneyinterview.“Wehavebeenstraddledforthe last half hour…,” CTU 77.4.2(Stump)actionreport,15.

Chapter31“The ship felt like it was shakingapart,”CharlesLandreth, in Johnston,120-21.“Iwassurethenextsalvowascoming into the pilothouse,” NeilDethlefs, in Johnston, 75. “It didn’tappear we would be alive muchlonger”and“Icouldtellbylookingathim…,”Landreth,120-21.Youheardthe whistling whine … Dix, MissingOffSamar,32.“Themenwerecomingout mortally scalded …,” RobertPrater, in Hoel, 69-70. Cdr. A. F.Beyer,Jr., spottedanAmericanshiptakingaterrificbeating…a“curtainof flashes,” USS Raymond actionreport,EnclosureA,2;Beyer’ssightingoccurredbetween7:56and8:14,asthe

Hoel was being hit repeatedly. TheDennis spotted a U.S. destroyer beinghit at 8:02; USS Dennis, Deck Log,409. “Lying on the deck, I lookeddown at myself…,” Bob DeSpain,personal narrative. “He looked uptoward the bridge as if to say …,”Dix,33-34.“Theytooknolifejackets,left raftsandnets…,”Dix, 35. “Theforce of the explosion was sogreat…,” Roy Lozano, in Hoel, 42.“Money was fluttering everywhere…,”Myles Barrett interview. “Well, Isureashellcanseethat”and“Asfaras accomplishing anything decisive…,” Hagen, “We Asked for the JapFleet,”74.

Chapter32Gambier Bay’s plight, USS GambierBayactionreport;contactwithTaffy2destroyers, E. Don Heric interview;CTU 77.4.2 action report, 15; Naylor,Rangefinder, 172; DesDiv 94,CombinedTBSLog,Oct. 25, 1944. “Iheard flight leaders from the otherCVE group …,” VC-10 air actionreportNo.2-B.Huxtablenarrative.Thevolumeof ordnance flying the ship’sway…,BillCuminginterview.Lostatsea, age 19 years, Hoyt, 201-2. “I’mruined, I’m ruined,” “When are wegonna see some real action?” and“Well, buddy, is this enough actionfor you?” Hoyt,Men of the GambierBay,203.“Smallboysonmystarboard

quarter, intercept …,” CTU 77.4.3action report, TBS Log Sheet,Enclosure G, 4. “ONLY ONEENGINE X NO GYRO X NORADARS,” USS Heermann actionreport, 9. “As I listened, it becameevident…,”Hathaway,“TheBattleasISaw It,” 41. Each time a new salvolanded near, she was doused in adifferent color, Harold Whitney,“Battle of Samar;” USS Heermannaction report,22.Roundafter roundItakefrom[Ralph]Sacco…,Urbanski,inHeermann,n.p.“God,letmeseemywife and son…,”RobertRutter letterto the author, June22, 2003;Whitney,“BattleofSamar,”14;Hathaway,116.“Suddenlyallthoughtwaslost…”and“Heermann is smashing through the

sea…,”Urbanski, inHeermann. “Wewere so far down by the head …,”Hathaway, 116. Litter of cigarettecartons and toilet paper …, Rutter,letter.“Justputmoreshoringinthere…,”Whitney, 3.Thenavigator…asif he had been maimed with ashotgun blast, Phillips, God RodeDestroyer ‘X,’ 35. “Continue whatyou’re doing …,” Whitney, 2. “I’lltake it,” Whitney interview; Whitney,“Battle of Samar,” 14. “The mostcourageous order I’ve ever heard,”and “Commerce firing on thatcruiser, Hagen.” Hagen, “We Askedfor the Jap Fleet,” 74. “A mostamazing thing happened …,” USSJohnston action report, 4. “Theyweresleek, streamlined …,” Hagen, 74.

“Moreshells!Moreshells!”and“I’msure glad there ain’t no Japs fromTexas,” Hagen, 74; Clint Carter, inJohnston, 41. “Commander Evans,feelingliketheskipperofabattleship…,” Hagen, 74. DesRon 10 had“accomplished the great feat ofsinking …,” Ugaki, Fading Victory,495.

Chapter33“Cruiser blows up and sinks,”Field,Japanese, 107. Lieutenant Sanderscaught up in the rigging, and “Theword was to abandon ship,” WillardFrenn, personal narrative. 2. “Theywereburnedbeyondbelief!”RichardSantos, inHoel,75.“ThenextthingIknew, Iwas lying…,” PaulMiranda,inHoel, 52. “I could see that hewasseriouslywounded…,”JohnOracz,inHoel, 60;Oracz remembersLieutenantStreuter’s body going overboard, butMiranda recalls it resting against theportside rail. “The ship was listingseverely to port…,” L. E. Walton, inHoel,82.WhenIwokeupIwasstillintheCIC…, Everett Lindorff, inHoel,

38-39. “The compartment was filledwith the smell of burnt gunpowder…,”There were quite a few of us bythe gun mount…, and “Somehow Iknewtheywereabandoning theship…,”BobWilson, inHoel, 88-89. “Welost many of our shipmates to thatone salvo…,”Jack Creamer, in Hoel,15.OnthatsideIhadachancetoseeso many more of the men dead…,HughCoffelt, inHoel,7-8.“Thatwasthe last we saw of friendly ships,”Dix, Missing off Samar, 33. Hoel’sfinal minutes …, “one of thosedisheartening things …”We had topassherby…,Copeland,Spirit,44.

Chapter34“Look at that little DE committingsuicide,” Pierson, “Fighting FannyBee.”Whoeverwasoutontheadvanceflank…,Copeland,Spirit,45.“Icamea little bit left, and when the rangewas closed …,” Copeland, 43. Theaccount of the Roberts ’s duel withtheChikuma and the exploits ofGun52 is from Copeland, 43-50. Carr’ssquad in Gun 52 popped off 324rounds,USSSamuelB.Robertsactionreport; the ship fired a total of 608roundsduring thebattle. “Wehad theJap cruiser on fire from the start ofher bridge …,” Copeland, 45; USSSamuelB.Robertsactionreport;Burtonamplifyingreport,2.

Chapter35Pyzdrowski wondered whether theJapanese might try to board, Hoyt,MenoftheGambierBay,206.“Needadrink?” and “Better get these guysreadytogo,”Hoyt, 207.Backgroundon Japanese battleship gunnery andTone’sfiring onGambierBay,HaruoMayuzumi, letter to Henry A.Pyzdrowski.

Chapter36“Captain, there’s fourteen-inchsplashes…,”Copeland,Spirit,45.“Allenginesbackfull!”“Thatwastheonetime…,” and “She just kind of laydown…,”Copeland, 46.Katsur “feltas though I were a bedsheet on aclothesline …” Bill Katsur, untitlednarrative,5.“Anabsolute flopon thedeck force,” Copeland, 48; GeorgeBray and Tom Stevenson interviews.“Mr.Roberts,wouldyouplease takethe wheel …,” Copeland, 49-50.Destruction of Gun 52, Brayinterview; Bray disagrees withCopeland’s account of these events,which the captain did not witness. “Ifelt sorry for him. He was running

…,”Copeland, 56;Bray interview. “Itseemed as if the whole ship …,”Copeland, 50. “As far as I could see,theshipwasasnice…,”Copeland,51;Bray interview and correspondence.“Standbyfortor—!”DudleyMoylaninterview.Icanseeherrightnow.Shehad taken a terrific beating …,Copeland, 51. “I am sorry to hearaboutH.P. Inge…,” JohnLeClercq,lettertohismother,Oct.9,1944.“Thefew things you saw him do and say…,” Mittendorff, letter to Mrs.LeClercq. Tom Stevensonbackground,Stevensoninterview.

Chapter37Hoel’s final moments, Myles Barrett,ClarenceHood,SamLucas,andDerrillThompsoninterviews;Dix,MissingOffSamar.Thesoundofwaterlappingattheraft…andGoodGod,haven’ttheydone enough to us today? Dix, 38.Hoel’s Emi-rau incident, Hoodinterview;Dix, 39.And see the men,how tall they seem…, Dix, 39.TheJaps are throwing grenades at us,Barrett interview. “My God, look atthat thing!” Glenn Parkin, “HistoricalAccount.” “Passing a fairly big darkred slick…,” Ugaki, Fading Victory,495.Hellcat attacks, Parkin. It madeusbitterthentowatchthatstrength,Dix,41.

Chapter38Triangulating from the sourcematerialto determine who was shooting atwhom at any given point during thisbattlehasbeenoneofthechallengesofwriting this narrative. Taking the nextstep and drawing causal links betweenhits claimed and damage suffered isdoubly difficult. In untangling thethicket of evidence concerning thecruisersChokai and Chikuma, Tully’sanalysisin“SolvingSomeMysteriesofLeyte Gulf” has been helpful.“ENGINE OUT OFCOMMISSION,”Tully,citingHaguroactionreport;Morison,History,vol.12,266, 284;Ugaki,FadingVictory, 494-95. The account of the U.S. air

attacksisfromUSSKitkunBay actionreport,EnclosureI(VC-5actionreport)and CTU 77.4.2 action report, 15.“There was a burst of flame andsimultaneously a column of water…,”CruDiv7WarDiary,asquotedinTully,Solving,249–50.onepropeller,speed eighteen knots, unable toSTEER,”Prados,CombinedFleet,675.“Heavy steam and black smoke roseto five hundred feet…,” Kitkun Bayactionreport,EnclosureI,3.“DIRECTBOMB HIT IN FORWARDMACHINERY SPACES…,” Tully,“Solving,”255.“ScratchoneCA,”VC-21 action reportNo. 66. “The cruiserwasseentosmokeheavily…,”VC-21action reportNo.66;Tully,“Solving,”255.SinkingoftheGambierBay,USS

Gambier Bay action report; Viewegnarrative.Howmanymorearegoingtogo?LarryBudnickinterview.

Chapter39“Merc, straighten my leg out,” BillMercer, in Johnston, 129. “The placewas full of smoke …,” Hagen, “WeAsked for the JapFleet,” 74.Kurita’sstate of mind and evaluation ofcircumstances is fromKurita,USSBSinterrogation; Field, Japanese, 109,116,123-26;Morison,History,vol.12,296-300; and Ugaki, Fading Victory,497. Herman Wouk’s well-researchedanalysis in his novel War andRemembrance is also of note.“Outfought by pygmies …,” Field,126. “My situation is critical …”Prados, Combined Fleet, 682.“Anxietiesarethetestandpenaltyofgreatness …” and Strenuous,

unrelaxing pursuit…, Mahan, MahanonNavalWarfare,80.Rendezvous,mycoursenorth, speed20,Yamato actionreport, perMorison, vol. 12, 297. “Allships reassemble” and “Graduallyreassemble,” Morison, vol. 12, 297 n.15.

Chapter40TexWaldrop intercepting torpedoes,Ciolek, “WhatDidYouDo,” 11;USSSt. Lo action report, 4. “Goddamn it,boys, they’re getting away!” and “Icould not believe my eyes …,”Sprague, “The Japs Had Us on theRopes,”116.“Ihadreallydonesomedeepthinking…”and“Idon’texpectwe’regoingtoseethesunset…,”BillBrooks interview. He found a quietplace to pray …, Van Brunt, “ABird’s-EyeView,”4.

Chapter41“I would advise the captain toabandon ship,” Moore, “A JapaneseAdmiral’s narrative,” 4. “Abandonship, men. Well done.” Moore, 5.“Under fire, you’re thinking aboutyour family …,” Tom Stevensoninterview. In Spirit Bob Copeland hasStevenson going belowdecks withGeorge Schaffer to carry out the shipdestruction bill; Stevenson remembersthat it was Charles Natter. “All of asudden there was another bigblast…,” Richard Rohde interview.Sammy’s disappearance is fromCopeland, 56, and George Brayinterview. “Now, Bob, I want you togo down…,” and “Captain, I’m not

leavinguntilyouleave,”Copeland,53.“It gave me an awfully hurt andcrushedfeeling…,”Copeland,53.“Itreally made me sick at my stomach…” and “We ripped blue chambrayshirts…,”Copeland,53-54.“Captain,doyou think I’ll live?”Copeland,54.“Idon’tthinktherewasawholeboneinthem,”“The shiphadbeen a verylivething…,”and“That onepicture…,” Copeland, 54. “It had taken allthe heart out of me,” Copeland, 55.ThedeathofPaulHenryCarr isperCopeland, 55, and George Brayinterview.

Chapter42“Howdoyougoaboutgettingoutofhere?”Copeland,Spirit,57.TherestoftheaccountoftheSamuelB.RobertsisfromGeorge Bray, Bud Comet, VinceGoodrich, Dudley Moylan, RichardRohde,TomStevenson,andJackYuseninterviews. “We were the proudestshipinthefleet,”Stevensoninterview.“Boys, take off your hats …,” RayChambless, letter toGerogeBray. “Asfirst lieutenant he knew…” and “Itseemedasifthebottomhaddroppedout…,” Copeland, 58. “There wasgoing to have to be rationing …,”Moore, “A Japanese Admiral’snarrative,”6.

Chapter43“Water columns were substantiallyhigher…,”BobDeal,inJohnston, 70.“It felt likea freight train’scoalbox…,” Allen Johnson, in Johnston, 115.“An avalanche of shells,” USSJohnston action report, 4. “When Ijumpedover,Ihadtwothoughts…,”Dusty Rhodes, in Johnston, 155. Ipeered out and couldn’t see a livingsoul…,Hagen,“WeAsked for the JapFleet,” 74. “I recall Marquard tookhiscomb…,”BillMercer,inJohnston,130. “Mr. Hagen, we got off all ten…,” Hagen, 74. I would watch forbelchesoffire…,EllsworthWelch, inJohnston, 183. “Therewas a terrible,blindingyellowflash”and“Everyone

who was able to abandon ship …,”Bob Sochor, in Johnston, 165. In hisessay “Experience” Ralph WaldoEmersonwrote,“Somuchofourtimeis preparation, so much is routine,andsomuchretrospectthatthepithofeach man’s genius contracts itself toveryfewhours.”

Chapter44Sprague received a voice messageassuringhimhelpwason theway isfromSprague’smarginalia in his copyof Woodward, Battle for Leyte Gulf,171.SeealsoMorison,History,vol.12,294-96. “I told Strick that I wassticking close …” and “Kid, I havenever seen anything like this,” BillMercer, in Johnston, 130. “As Iwatched,shestartedtosink…,”OrinVadnais, in Johnston, 179. “The skinwas hanging from his arms andhands…”and“Boy,Isuream,”NeilDethlefs, in Johnston, 77. “He wasvery young and religious” and ‘Takeyour last lookat theJohnston, ’BobSochor, in Johnston, 165. “Seeingmy

home go down…,”EllsworthWelch,in Johnston, 184. “I still rememberthat helpless feeling …,” BobChastain, in Johnston, 48. A giantenema, Clint Carter, in Johnston, 42.“They were watching us …,”Chastain,48.“Itappearedtomethatevery man on her deck …,” Carter,42. Japanese saluting, Dethlefs, 77.“As she eased by us…” and “Threeyears of war and they were stilleating…,”Carter, 42. “I thoughtmybodyhadbeenblowninhalf,”CharlesLandreth, in Johnston, 122. All shipsexcept Shigure went down …,Morison,vol.12,238.

Chapter45“Okay, we’ll try that…,” Van Bruntinterview. “Sir, that’s a Jap,”Crawforth interview.KamikazehitonSt. Lo, McKenna, “Narrative ofEvents;” USS St. Lo action report;Morison, History, vol. 12, 302;Reynolds et al., “America’s GreatestNaval Battle,” Jan. 27, 1945, 70, 72;and Larry Budnick, Holly Crawforth,JohnGetas, andThomasB.VanBruntinterviews.

PartIII

Chapter46ThisaccountoftheRobertssurvivorsinthewater isbasedonCopeland,Spirit,and on George Bray, Bud Comet,Richard Rohde, Tom Stevenson, andJackYuseninterviews.

Chapter47This narrative of the air attack on thedeparting Center Force is drawn fromtheactionreportsofCTU77.4.2,VC-5(EnclosuresHandI in theUSSKitkunBayactionreport),VC-20,VC-21,VC-65,VC-68,andVC-75,aswellasfromY’Blood, Little Giants, 237-41, andWilliam Brooks, Joseph Downs,Thomas Lupo, Richard Roby, andThomasB.VanBrunt interviews. “Ohman, you got her, you got her!”Downsinterview.

Chapter48“Hey, what’s for chow?” Arnold,“ComeOnBoys,”123-24.Itseemshismission lasted longer than hismemory: TomStevenson toldme thathemetthispilotataTaffy3reunioninCharlestonseveralyearsago.Thepilot,unable to land on his CVE after thebattle, had been diverted to an airfieldonLeyte.Bythetimehelanded,hehadforgotten the coordinates of thesurvivors.“Iwastryingtosurvivetoo,”the flier said to Stevenson at the time.Death of Charles Natter: BobCopelandlearnedthedetailsofNatter’sdemisefromJohnConwayafterthewar(Copeland,Spirit,59).Fiftysharkfinscuttingthesurface,andI’vereadalot

of stories …, Copeland, 59.Copeland’s conversation with BobRobertsisfromCopeland,60.

Chapter49“Ourthoughtswere,3,000ships…Itwon’tbe longnow,”EllsworthWelch,in Johnston, 184.Like “an eighteen-year-old boy going on forty,” BillMercer, in Johnston, 131.AJohnstonsailor… asked to be put out of hismisery…,MiltPehlinterview;seealsoPehl, inJohnston, 149,whichdoesnotdescribeamercykillingbutstatesonlythat the sailor “succumbed and wasfinally at peace.” “Why don’t we allsing? … I remember a few peoplestarted singing …” Richard Rohdeinterview.

Chapter50God,ifyougetmeoutofthis…,TomStevenson interview. “It seemed verymuch like an entire week ofdarkness,” Moore, “A JapaneseAdmiral’s narrative,” 7. “The interiorof Samar must be made a howlingwilderness,” “RememberingBalangiga,” in Jim Zwick, ed.,Sentanaryo/Centennial: The PhilippineRevolution and Philippine-AmericanWar,www.boondocksnet.com/centennial/balangiga.htmlThe pulajan insurgency… “thebloodyisland,”Hurley, JunglePatrol.“What had been a very noisy group…,”HaroldBeresonsky,inJohnston,9.“My contract with the Navy was to

fight the enemy, not sharks,”EllsworthWelch,inJohnston,184.

Chapter51“Onthatraftwewerejustforty-ninevery wretched human beings …,”Copeland,Spirit,61.“Toofarawaytomake it in by night,” Copeland, 62.Requested“permission togobelow,”Everett Roberts, autobiographicalnarrative,2.“Objectho!…Whatisit,Cantrell?…Iseeabigwhitecottage…,”Copeland,63.“Fuckingcaptain’snogood…,”WilliamKatsurinterview;Katsur narrative, 9; Copeland refers tothisincidentobliquely(59).

Chapter52“I’ll buy you a beer,” CharlesLandreth, in Johnston, 123. Otherincidents of madness among theJohnston’screwarefromtheaccountsof Clyde Burnett, Jesse Cochran, JohnMostowy,andDonStarks inJohnston.“Skau,takeagoodlookatthatship,”Copeland, Spirit, 63. “Who won theWorld Series? … St. Louis, Goddamn it!” Wukovits, Devotion, 186;Levy,“USSPC623Crewman,”Yuseninterview. “Men, it looks as if we’regoingtobepickedupbytheJaps…,”Moore, 10. “Hilarious happiness,”Moore,10.

Chapter53Rescue mission of PC-623: Levy,“USSPC623Crewman,”PC623WarDiaryandDeckLog;Morison,History,vol. 12, 313-16. “I informed theskipperandthehelmsmanthatIhadnot been properly relieved of thedeck and that I would not acceptCaptain Baxter’s order …,” Levy.“Whatareyou looking for?” “Just aplace to lay down,” George Brayinterview. “I took about three swipesand fainted,” Copeland, Spirit, 67.“Get the hell out of the way,”Copeland, 67-68. “Theplacewas liketheBlackHoleofCalcutta”and“MyGod, that dog has drank a lot ofwater…,”Copeland,68.

Chapter54This account of Neil Dethlefsswimming ashore is from Dethlefs’sown account in Johnston, 73-82. TheordealofBillShawandOrinVadnaisisrecountedinVadnais,Johnston,178-80,andin“BronxYouthand3RescuedAfter Epic Escape off Samar,” NewYorkWorldTelegram,Nov.17,1944.

PartIVIwantyou toknowI thinkyouwrotethe most glorious page…,” Halsey’swords are from Sprague’s letter to hiswife, May 1945, quoted in Reneau,Remembered,171.InthatletterSpraguereferred to Halsey as “The gentlemanwhofailedtokeephisappointmentlastOctober.” He continued: “He [Halsey]then went on and was so flattering itwas embarrassing.All I couldmumblewas ‘I hope your praise is deserved.’”Reneau,171.

Chapter55“ThiswasTrafalgar;itwasTsushima…” Pratt, Fleet Against Japan, 242.“Our defeat at Leyte wastantamount…,”Morison,History, vol.12, 338. “The vision of Sprague’sthreedestroyers…,”Wouk,War andRemembrance, 1285. “The history ofthe United States Navy records…,”Cox, Battle off Samar, 165. “Thisdesperate expedient…,” CTU 77.4.3action report, Enclosure C, 3. “Thiswasadisgrace,andIblameKinkaid…,”Sprague,marginaliainhiscopyofWoodward,Battle for LeyteGulf, 216.“ThekindofmanIwouldhavebeenproud to call my father,” Copeland,Spirit, 69. “I had to admit that I

didn’t know the answer …,” JuliusSteinberg, Heermann, n.p. “Insummation, the failure of the enemymain body …” CTU 77.4.3 actionreport, Enclosure B, 2. “You are awonderful crew …,” Hath-away asquotedinHaroldWhitney,Jan.7,2003narrative,3.“Iknewthereweresomebig battles going on …,” “It was asort of homecoming …,” HarrietCopeland interview. “I know thingswere different when he came home…,”SuzanneHartleyinterview.“Isaidforgetit.Icanmakealiving.Idon’tneed your disability,” Earl Archerinterview. “He really rung it out…,”LeonardMoser, letter toHaroldKight,Apr.25,1986,13-16.

Chapter56“Hehad two black eyes…,” PatriciaSprague Reneau interview in “Taffy 3Remembered” videotape. “The Navyyears were over for the Spraguedaughters …,” Reneau, Remembered,221.Mostoftheescortcarriersweredecommissioned…andsoldasscrap:ships’ histories are fromDictionary ofAmerican Naval Fighting Ships,www.hazegray.org/danfs. “I hold nohope that he is alive…,” J.M.Reid,letter toMrs. LeClercq, Jan. 16, 1945.“Your successful fight against greatodds …,” Nimitz’s letter to thesurvivors is quoted in Ciolek, “WhatDid You Do.” For distinguishinghimself by extraordinary heroism,

Reneau,237.“Itneveroccurredtomethat Halsey…” and “What are youtryingtodo…?”Wukovits,Devotion,190. “It can be announced withassurancethattheJapaneseNavyhasbeen beaten …” and “Though heparticipated in only portions …,”Wukovits, 189. “I wondered howKinkaid had let ‘Ziggy’ Sprague getcaught like this,” Halsey and Bryan,Admiral,219.“OurNavy,forreasonsthat are clear to me …,” Sprague,lettertoFitch,Sept.26,1947,quotedinReneau, 185. “You’ve done well. Butdon’t dwell on it,” Bud Cometinterview.Taffy 3 reunions began in1946: Thanks to Myles Barrett for acopy of these early “Taffy ThreeReunion Notes.” Gambier Bay

veterans’ 1977 Philippinespilgrimage,videotapecourtesyofHankPyzdrowski. “They’re telling us thattheyknowwe’rehere,”quotedinOldShipmates, newsletter of the USSGambier Bay/VC-10 SurvivorsAssociation. (First Quarter 1978), 35.“Wenow commit this capsule to thedeep,” Old Shipmates (First Quarter1978),36.“Kurita’sroleatLeyte…,”Wouk,WarandRemembrance,1280.A“giganticenemytaskforce…,”Field,Japanese, 100. I have the honor towritetheMenoftheGambierBay…,Haruo Mayuzumi, letter to Henry A.Pyzdrowski,10,11,14.“Dad,waittillyouseewhatI’vegot…,” JackYuseninterview.“Ithinkthemoreofusthatgettogether…,”GeneSaunders,letter

to Harold Kight, 1. “Oh man, I likethat guy,” Joe Downs interview. “Atthis time in my life, one of mygreatestpleasures…,”VanBrunt,“ABird’s-Eye View,” Paul Rinn told ofFFG-58’s ordeal in a speech at the2001 joint reunion of the Samuel B.Roberts and Johnston/Hoel survivorsassociationsinAlbuquerque.Rinn,nowretired from the Navy, is a vicepresident at Whitney, Bradley andBrown.“I’mstilltryingtoimpressmydad…. the way I’ve conductedmyself,”BudCometinterview.

PhotoandArtCredits

TITLEPAGEWildcatsfromVC-5scrambleon theKitkun Bay (NationalArchives)

ENDPAPERSThe destroyer Heermann(foreground) and thedestroyer escort John C.Butlermakingsmoke(NationalArchives)

PARTOPENERSPartI:NationalArchivesPartII:NationalArchivesPartIII:©JohnDowns

Part IV: collection of DavidC.Wright

PORTRAITPHOTOGRAPHS OFHOELAND JOHNSTON CREWMEMBERS APPEARINGTHROUGHOUT© Bill Mercer, The Fightingand Sinking of the USSJohnstonDD-557AsToldbyHer Crew, Johnston/HoelAssociation, Sept. 1991; and

KeithMcKay,At Rest 4,000Fathoms Under the Waves,USSHoelDD-553:TheStoryof a Valiant Ship’s LastHoursandtheSurvivorsWhoManned Her to the End,Johnston/Hoel Association,1990.

PHOTOANDART INSERTI

PageOne

Background poster of FleetAdm. William F. Halsey(NavalHistoricalCenter)Inset photograph of FleetAdm. William F. Halsey(NationalArchives)Inset photograph of Gen.DouglasMacArthurandViceAdm. Thomas C. Kinkaid(NationalArchives)

PagesTwoandThreeBackground photograph of

the Center Force battleshipKongo (Naval HistoricalCenter) Backgroundphotograph of the CenterForceflagshipYamato(NavalHistorical Center) Insetphotograph of Vice Adm.Takeo Kurita (NavalHistoricalCenter)

PagesFourandFiveBackground photograph ofescort carrier riding heavy

seas(U.S.Navy)Inset photograph of escortcarrier riding heavy seas(U.S.Navy)Inset photograph of RearAdm.CliftonA.F.(“Ziggy”)Sprague(NationalArchives)Photograph of Ens. John S.LeClercq (courtesyofRobertLeClercq)

PagesSixandSeven

Annapolis portraitphotograph ofCdr. Ernest E.Evans(U.S.NavalAcademy)Background photograph ofthe Johnston’scommissioning ceremony(NavalHistoricalCenter)Inset photographs of Cmdr.Ernest E. Evans (NavalHistoricalCenter)Inset photograph of the USSJohnston (Naval HistoricalCenter)

PagesEightandNineBackground photograph ofthe USS Hoel (NationalArchives)Inset photographs of Cdr.LeonKintberger (courtesy ofMrs. Dora KintbergerSchleider)Inset photographs of PaulHenry Carr (courtesy ofPeggyCarrDodd)

PagesTenandElevenBackground photograph ofthe USS Samuel B. Roberts(Naval Historical Center)InsetphotographofLt.Cmdr.Robert W. Copeland (NavalHistorical Center) Insetphotograph of sailors on theFanshaw Bay (collection ofHaroldKight)

PagesTwelveandThirteenBackground art of FM-2

WildcatstrafingthebattleshipYamato (watercolor by JohnDowns)Inset photograph of Ens.William C. Brooks (courtesyofBillBrooks)Inset photograph of JackYusen (courtesy of JackYusen)Inset photograph of DickRohde (courtesy of DickRohde)

PagesFourteenandFifteenBackground photograph oftheUSSHeermann (NationalArchives)Inset photographs of Cdr.Amos T. Hathaway (U.S.Navy and U.S. NavalAcademy)Inset photograph of GunCaptain Clint Carter aboardtheUSSJohnston (collectionofWillCarter)Inset photograph of Lt. Tom

Stevenson (courtesy of TomStevenson)Inset photograph of Lt.RobertC.Hagen(courtesyofBobHagen)PageSixteenBackground photograph ofthe Gambier Bay under fire(NationalArchives)

PHOTOANDART INSERTII

PageOnePhotograph of Wildcats onthe Kitkun Bay (NationalArchives)Photograph of the destroyerHeermann and destroyerescortJohnC.Butlermakingsmoke(NationalArchives)Photograph of the GambierBay fleeing eastward(NationalArchives)Photograph of Taffy 3 jeepcarrier(collectionofDavidC.

Wright)

PagesTwoandThreeInset photograph of TBMAvengerpilotLt.Earl“Blue”Archer (courtesy of BlueArcher)Background photograph ofWildcat pilot Lt. RichardRoby(NationalArchives)Inset photograph of Cdr.Edward J. Huxtable with hiscrew(NationalArchives)

Photograph of FM-2Wildcatfighters from the WhitePlains(NationalArchives)BackgroundphotographofanAvenger torpedo bombertaking off from the MarcusIsland(U.S.Navy)Pilot’s-eye sketch of theJapanese pursuit (NationalArchives)

PagesFourandFive

BackgroundphotographofanAvenger torpedo bomberflyingovertheMarcusIsland(U.S.Navy)Inset photograph of guncamera photos (NationalArchives)Inset photograph of Lt. KenHippe(NationalArchives)Inset artist’s rendering of St.Lo Wildcats strafing theYamato (watercolor © JohnDowns)

Inset photograph of Lt. BurtBassett amd Cdr. EdwardHuxtable(NationalArchives)Inset photograph of a St. LoWildcat at the Taclobanairdrome on Leyte Island(NationalArchives)

PagesSixandSevenBackground photograph ofthe Nagato withdrawingfollowing Kurita’s order(U.S.Navy)

InsetphotographofaKongo-class battleship taken by aKadashanBay flier (NationalArchives)Inset photograph of theYamato narrowly avoiding atorpedo (collection of DavidC.Wright)Bottom left photograph ofJapanese cruiser fishtailing(NationalArchives)

PagesEightandNine

Background photograph ofthe Gambier Bay listing toport(NationalArchives)Inset photograph of thebattleships Nagato andYamato taken by KadashanBay airman (NationalArchives)Inset photograph of theChikuma as photographed bya Petrof Bay pilot (NationalArchives)Insetphotographoftheflight

deckcrewoftheWhitePlains(NationalArchives)Photograph of explosionsaboard the St. Lo (bottomleft)(NationalArchives)Inset of official declassifiedactionreportfortheBattleoffSamar(NationalArchives)Photograph of the ChikumaasphotographedbyaNatomaBayflier(NationalArchives)

PagesTenandEleven

Background photograph of awounded sailor (NationalArchives)Inset photograph of AdmiralSpragueawardingamedal toasailor(NationalArchives)Photograph of Lt. LarryBudnick (U.S. Navy,collectionofLarryBudnick)Photographof aburial at seaon theKalinin Bay (NationalArchives)

PagesTwelveandThirteenPresent day photographs ofTom Stevenson, DudleyMoylan, Bill Brooks, JoeDowns,AllenJohnson,LarryBudnick, Bill Mercer, PaulMirandaandDickSantos(theauthor) Photograph ofFanshaw Bay veterans(SharonHornfischer)

PagesFourteenandFifteenBackground photograph of

the Hoel/Roberts/Johnstonmonument at Ft. RosecransNationalCemetery (courtesy of theUSS St. Lo CVE-63/VC-65SurvivorsAssociation)Inset photograph of HankPyzdrowski (courtesy ofHankPyzdrowski)Inset photograph of JackYusen with Capt. Paul X.Rinn (collection of JackYusen)

PhotographofFFG-58©JeffCameron

PageSixteenPhotograph of the Taffy 3memorial at Ft. RosecransNational Cemetery (courtesyoftheUSSSt. Lo CVE-63/VC-65SurvivorsAssociation)

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

JAMESD.HORNFISCHERisawriter,literary agent, and former book editor.APhiBetaKappagraduateofColgateUniversity, he has graduate businessandlawdegreesfromtheUniversityofTexas at Austin. He lives in Austin,Texas, with his wife and their three

children.Contact the author atjim@hornfischerlit.com and visit theauthor’s website atwww.tincansailorsbook.com.

WatchforJamesD.Hornfischer’s

latestbookonWorldWarIIinthePacific

NEPTUNE’SINFERNOTheU.S.NavyatGuadalcanal

ComingSpring2011

Readaspecialpreviewbelow.

PROLOGUE

______

Eighty-twoShips

ON FRIDAY, AUGUST 7, 1942, EIGHTY-TWO U.S. NAVY SHIPS MANNED byforty thousand sailors,shepherdingaforceofsixteenthousand U.S. Marines,reached their destination in aremote southern ocean and

spent the next hundred daysimmersed in a curriculum ofcruelandtimelesslessons.Nofighting Navy had ever beenso speedily and explosivelyeducated. In the conflict thatrolledthroughtheendofthattrembling year, they and thethousandsmorewhofollowedthem learned that technologywas important, but that gutsandguilematteredmore.Thatswiftness was more deadlythan strength, and that well-

packaged surprise usuallybeat them both. That if itlooked like the enemy wascoming, the enemy probablywascomingandyououghttotell somebody, maybe eveneverybody. That theexperience of battle foreverdivides those who talk ofnothing else but its prospectfrom those who talk ofeverything else but itsmemory.

Sailors in the war zonelearnedthearcaneloreofbadluck and its manymanifestations,fromthesightof rats leaving a ship in port(asign thatshewillbesunk)to the act of whistling whileatsea(invitingviolentwinds)to the follies of opening firefirst on a Sunday orbeginning a voyage on aFriday (the consequences ofwhich were certain butnonspecific, and thus all the

morefrightful).They learned to tell the

red-orangeblossomsofshellshitting targets fromthefasterflashes of muzzles firing theother way. That hard steelburns.Thatanyshipcanlookshipshape, but if you reallywant to take her measure,check her turret alignments.That torpedoes, andsometimes radios, keep theirown fickle counsel about

when theywill work. That awartosecurelibertycouldbewaged passionately by menwho had none themselves,and that in death all sailorshaveanunmistakabledignity.Some of these were the

lessons of any war, truismsrelearned for the hundredthtime by the latest generationto face its trials. Victoryalways tended to flywith thefirst effective salvo. Others

were novel, the product ofuntested technologies andtactics, unique to thecircumstances of America’sfirst offensive in the Pacific:that you could win acampaign on the backs ofstevedoresexpertinthelethalcraftofcombat-loadingcargoships; that the little image ofan enemy ship on a radarscopewillflinchvisiblywhenheavily struck; that rapidpartial salvo fire from a

director-controlled mainbattery reduces the salvointerval period butcomplicates the correction ofrangesandspots.In the far South Pacific,

you were lucky if yoursighting report ever reachedits recipient. Even then, theplainest statement of factmight be subject to two ormore interpretations ofmeaning. You learned that

warships smashed and leftdead in the night couldresurrect themselves by therise of morning, thatcircumstances could conspireto make your enemy seemmuch shrewder than he everreally could be, and that asbad as things might seem inthe midst of combat, theymight well be far worse forhim. That you could learnfromyouropponent’ssuccessifyourpridepermittedit,and

that thebest courseof actionoften ran straight into thebarriers of your worst biasesand fears. That some of theworst thrashings you tookcould look like victoriestomorrow. That good wasnever good enough, and ifyouwantedNeptunetolaugh,all you had to do was showhimyouroperationsplan.Thisbooktellsthestoryof

how the U.S. Navy learned

theseandmanyother lessonsduring its first majorcampaign of the twentiethcentury: the struggle for thesouthern Solomon Islands in1942. The American fleetlanded its marines onGuadalcanal and Tulagi inearly August. The Japanesewere beaten by mid-November and evacuated inFebruary. What happened inbetween was a story of howAmerica gambles on the

grand scale, wings it, andwins. Top commanders onbothsideswereslaininbattleor perished afterward amidthe shame of inquiries andinterrogations.Amorelastingpain beset the living.Reputations were shattered,grudges nursed. The MarineCorps would compose arousing institutional anthemfrom the notion, partly true,that theNavyhadabandonedthem in the fight’s critical

earlygoing.Butthefullstoryofthecampaignturnsthetalein another direction, seldomappreciated.Soonenough,thefleetthrewitselffullyintothebreach, and by the end of itall, almost three sailors haddiedinbattleatseaforeveryinfantryman who fell ashore.TheCorps’ debt to theNavywasnevergreater.TheAmerican landings on

Guadalcanal developed into

the most sustained andvicious fight of the Pacificwar. Seven major navalactions were the result, fiveof them principally ship-versus-ship battles fought atnight, the other two decidedby aircraft by day. Thenickname the Americanscoined for the waters thathosted most of the carnage,“Ironbottom Sound,” suitedthe startling scale ofdestruction: The U.S. Navy

lost twenty-four majorwarships; the Japanese alsolost twenty-four. Aircraftlosses,too,werenearlyequal:America lost436,Japan440.The human toll was horrific.Ashore, U.S. Marine andArmy killed in actioncasualtieswere 1,592 (out of60,000 landed). The numberof Americans killed at seatopped five thousand.Japanese deaths set thebloodypacefortherestofthe

war,with20,800soldiersloston the island and probably4,000 sailors at sea. Throughthe end of 1942, the newsreportsofGuadalcanalspunanarrative whose twistsrequired no fictionalizing forhigh drama, though they didneed some careful parsingand management, or so theNavy thought at the time.Franklin Roosevelt competedwith “Tokyo Rose” to shapethe tale on the public

airwaves.In their trial against the

ImperialJapaneseNavy(IJN)inthewatersoffGuadalcanal,the Navy mastered a newkind of fight. Expeditionarywar was a new kind ofenterprise, and its scale atGuadalcanal was surpassedonly by its combatants’thoroughgoing deficits inmatériel, preparation, andunderstandingoftheirenemy.

Itwasthemostcriticalmajormilitary operation Americawould ever run on such athreadbare shoestring. As itsprincipalplayerswouldadmitafterward, the puzzle ofvictorywassolvedon theflyandonthecheap,intermsofresources if not lives. Thecampaign featured tightinterdependence amongwarriors of the air, land, andsea. For the infantry to seizeandholdtheisland,shipshad

tocontrol thesea.Fora fleetto control the sea, the pilotshad to fly from the island’sairfield. For the pilots to flyfromtheairfield, the infantryhad to hold the island. Thattripod stood only by thestrength of all three legs. Inthe end, though, it wasprincipallyaNavy’sbattle towin. And despite theostensiblelessonoftheBattleof Midway, which hadsupposedly crowned the

aircraftcarrierasqueenoftheseas, the combat sailors ofAmerica’ssurfacefleethadamore than incidentalvoice inwhowouldprevail. Formostofthecampaign,Guadalcanalwas a contest of equals,perhaps theonlymajorbattlein the Pacific where theUnited States and Japanfought from positions ofparity. Itsoutcomewasoftenindoubt.

This book develops thestory of the travails anddifficult triumphsof theU.S.Navyduringitsfirstoffensiveof World War II, as itnavigated a steeply cantedlearningcurve. It emphasizesthe human textures of thecampaign and looks anew atthe decisions andrelationships of thecommanderswhoguidedit.The novelist James

Michener wrote long ago,“They will live a long time,these men of the SouthPacific. They had anAmerican quality. They, liketheir victories, will beremembered as long as ourgeneration lives. After that,like the men of theConfederacy, they willbecomestrangers.Longerandlonger shadows will obscurethem, until theirGuadalcanalsoundsdistantontheear like

Shiloh and Valley Forge.”The founders of the U.S.Navy,havingfacedtheirownmoments of decision, fromJohn Paul Jones offFlamborough Head toStephen Decatur against theBarbary Pirates, would havefelt kinship with the men ofthe South Pacific Forces.There as everywhere,men inuniformfoughtlikeimpulsivehumans almost always have:stubbornly, viciously,

brilliantly, wastefully,earnestly, stupidly, gallantly.AtGuadalcanal,sodistantonthe ear, a naval legacycontinued, and by theirexample in that bittercampaign the long shadowsof their American qualityreach right on up to thepresent.

1_____

TripWire

TWOYEARSBEFORETHEWARBEGAN,AN OLD SPANISH PRIEST IN AFilipino village said to anAmerican journalist, “ThePacific: Of itself it may notbeeternity.Yetcertainlyyoucan find in it the scale, thepatternofthecomingdaysofman.TheMediterraneanwasthe sea of destiny of the

Ancient World; the Atlantic,of what you call the OldWorld. I have thought muchabout this, and I believe thePacific holds the destiny ofyour New World. Men nowliving will see the shape ofthe future rising from itswaters.”The vessel of that ocean

heldmorethanhalfthewateron earth, its expanse largerthanallthelandmassesofthe

world. Its beauty waselemental,itstimeofameterand its distances of amagnitude that Americanscould only begin toapprehend from theCalifornia, Oregon, andWashington coasts. It wasessential and different andcompelling and important,whether one measured it bygrid coordinates, assessed itby geopolitics and nationalinterests, or sought its

prospects above the clouds.And when war came, it wasplain to see that the shapeofthefuture,whateveritwastobe, was emerging from thattracklessbasinofbrine.Whose future it would be

remainedunsettledinthefirstsummer of the war. Theforces of distant nations,roaming over it, had clashedbriefly but had not yetcollided in away thatwould

test their wills and turnhistory. That collision wassoon to take place, and itwould happen, first andseriously and in earnest, onanislandcalledGuadalcanal.It was a single radio

transmission, a clandestinereport originating from thatisland’s interior wilderness,that set the powerful wheelsturning. The news thatreached U.S. Navy

headquarters in Washingtonon July 6, 1942,was routineon its face: The enemy hadarrived, was building anairstrip. This was notstaggering news at a timewhen Japanese conquest hadbeen proceeding smoothlyalong almost every axis ofmovement in the Asiantheater. Nonetheless, thisbroadcast,sentfromamodestteleradio transmitter in aSouth Pacific jungle to

Townsville, Australia, foundan attentive audience in theAmericancapital.The Cambridge-educated

agent of the British crownwho had sent it, MartinClemens, had until recentlybeen the administrator ofGuadalcanal.Whenitbecameclear, in February, that theJapanese were coming, therehadbeenageneralevacuationof the civilian populace.

Clemens stayed behind.Living off the land near thevillageofAola,thesiteoftheold district headquarters, theAustralian, tall and athletic,took what he needed fromgardens and livestock,depending on nativesympathies for everything.Thussustained,helaunchedasecond career as a covertagent and a “coastwatcher,”partofanetworkofsimilarlysituated men all through the

Solomons.Holed up at his station, he

had radioed word toTownsville on May 3 thatJapanese troops had landedon the smaller island ofTulagi across the sound. Amonth later, he reported thatthey were on Guadalcanal’snorthern shore, building awharf.Then fromhis junglehide,

Clemens saw a twelve-ship

convoy standing on thehorizon. Landing on thebeach that day came morethan two thousand Japaneseconstruction workers, fourhundred infantry, and severalboatloads of equipment—heavy tractors, road rollers,trucks, and generators.Clearly their purpose wassome sort of constructionproject. Having detectedClemens’s teleradiotransmissions to Australia,

the enemy sent their scoutsintothejungletofindhim.Asthe pressure onClemens andhis fellow Australian spiesincreased, he kept on themovetoeludethem,aidedbya cadre of native scouts,formidable and capablemen.Thestressofavoidingenemyreconnaissance planesoverheadworkedonhim.HereadShakespearetosettlehismind. “If I lose controleverything will be lost,” he

wroteinhisdiaryonJuly23.His radio batteries werenearlydepleted, andhis foodstoresthin,whenhespottedagravel-and-clayairstripunderconstruction on the island’snorth-coast plantation plainand reported it fromhis hideinahillsideminingclaim.Hehad sent many reports. Thisonewouldbringsalvation.When the commander in

chief of the U.S. Fleet,

Admiral Ernest J. King,learned from radio interceptsthat Japan had sent airfieldconstruction crews toGuadalcanal, a new impetusto action came. He and theArmy’schiefofstaff,GeneralGeorgeMarshall,hadalreadystruck a compromise thatwould send U.S. forces intothe South Pacific with theultimate objective of seizingRabaul, the great JapanesebaseinNewBritain.Thefirst

phaseofthatoperationwouldbe the seizure of Tulagi andadjacent positions. With thearrival of the news ofJapanese activity onGuadalcanal across thesound,however,thedesignofAmerica’s first majoroffensive of the war wasredrawn, set to begin onMartin Clemens’s forlornhideaway.It was as if Japan’s

expansion southeast fromRabaul had struck a hiddentripwire—thelinesdrawnonNavycharts tracing thepathsof sea communication acrosstheSouthPacifictoAustralia.As anyone could see bytaking a compass anddrawing a 250-mile radiuscentered on Guadalcanal’sairstrip, it would, whenoperational, enable Japaneseplanes to threaten the sea-lanes to Australia, whose

protection was along one ofthe Navy’s core missions.Construction of the airfieldmight have been low-orderbusiness for Japanese forcesspread thinly along a multi-continentaloceanicperimeter,but itsdiscoverywoulddrawthe fleet straight toGuadalcanal.The island, shaped like

Jamaica, with about half itsarea, had come to the

attention of Westerners longago. Explorers from the oldSpanish priest’s homeland,passingthroughtheSolomonsin1568,nameditafteratownin Andalusia, sixty milesnorth of Seville. WhenCaptain James Cook arrived220 years later, he claimedthe Solomons for GreatBritain, which hung on foranother 154 years, untilJapanese troops landed. Thenovelist Jack London visited

near the turn of the centuryand doubted his heart wascold enough to banish hisworst enemies to a place sodire, where “the air issaturated with a poison thatbites into every pore… andthat many strong men whoescape dying there return aswrecks to their owncountries.”A mountain range ran its

entire length like a spine,

with summits as high aseighty-threehundredfeet.Onthe southern coast, themountains fell steeply intothesea,makingthatshorelineabarrier to tradeand towar.The north coast’s tropicalplain wasmore inviting. Cutthroughwithriversandforestgrowth, it waswell suited toagriculture—and airfields.The narrow northern beach,guarded by palms andironwoods and covered in

kunai grass, stretched formiles, overlooked byscattered coral ridges, someof them five hundred feethigh.From the British

government outpost at AolatothesmallCatholicmissionsin the west, the humansettlements were small andprehistoric. The climate, theinsects, and the rampantdisease made the place hard

to tolerate. A coconutplantation owned by LeverBrothers, theworld’s largest,drew its employees from thenine thousand residentMelanesians, traditionallydivided by culture but nowjoined imperfectly by one ofthe few useful things thatBritain had brought there:pidginEnglish.The U.S. Navy would not

have greatly concerned itself

with the Solomons, with acensus roughly that ofTrenton and a populationdensity of ten people persquare mile, if not for theaccident of its geography,astride the sea-lanes toAustralia. Tulagi, the Britishadministrativecapital,hadthebest anchorage for hundredsof miles around. On thatrocky volcanic islet nestledagainst Florida Island, hugetrees and mangrove swamps

lined the shore where theyhadn’t been cut back toaccommodatethetrappingsofWestern empire: a golfcourse, a commissioner’soffice,abishop’sresidence,agovernmenthospital,apolicebarracks,acricketclub,andabar.Guadalcanal lay about

twentymilessouthofTulagi.Itmarkedthesouthernendofa broken and irregular inter-

island corridor thatmeandered northwestbetweentwoparallelcolumnsof islands and dead-ended,about375mileslater,intotheislandofBougainville.Astheprincipal route of Japanesereinforcement intoGuadalcanal,thiswaterypaththrough New Georgia Soundwould acquire an outsizedstrategicimportance.ItwouldbenicknamedtheSlot.

ADMIRALCHESTERW.NIMITZ,fifty-six,thegrandsonofaGermanhotelierfromtheHillCountryofcentralTexas,wasborntoa rare style of leadership:gentle but exacting, graciousbut hard and fearless, like amailed fist in a satin glove.Therewas no ruthlessness inhim unless one counted asruthless his willingness toburden the people he reliedon with his complete andunfaltering trust.Thatburden

fell heavily upon the menwhoworkedforhim,butoneof his gifts was an ability toturn theburden into a sourceof inspiration and uplift forthosewho shouldered it.TheU.S. Navy never needed aleaderofhiskindmorebadlythan in themonths followingthe treacheryofDecember7,shortly after which he tookcommandofthePacificFleet.Nimitz’s will was

ferocious, but held inwardand insulated by a kindlytemperament that made hisascent to high command asurprise to connoisseurs offour-star ambition. Hisintensitywasapparentonlyinhis close physical proximity,wheretheheatfromhiseyes,it was said, could be felt onthe skin. Nimitz was anunusually effectiveorganization man, stoic andcontrolled but demanding.

Ascending to theatercommandhadneverbeenhisambition, for ambitions, hefelt, were meant not forpersonal gain but to pursuecommon goals within theestablished order of a group.In 1941, a year beforecircumstances forced him toacceptit,hehadturneddownthe appointment to becomecommander in chief, PacificFleet (CINCPAC). He haddonesooutofrespectforthe

system, unwilling to vaultpast the twenty-eight officerswhowere senior to him.Butafter the attack on PearlHarbor his own commanderin chief gave him no choice.Franklin D. RooseveltpluckedNimitzfromhispostas theNavy’spersonnelbossandinstalledhimasleaderofthe most important navaltheater in theworld. Itwasacall to duty that allowed nohumble refusals. The

presidenttoldNavySecretaryFrankKnox, “Tell Nimitz toget the hell out to Pearl andstaytheretillthewariswon.”The Pacific war would beAmerica’s war. Running itwould be a lonely charge. Acommentator for Collier’smagazine would call thePacific “an unshared frontwhere America’s production,her strategy, her skill andvalormuststandtheacidtestalone.…Ournational feeling

with regard to the Pacificburnswithapurerflame.Weseem to realize that here isnot a war rooted in the age-old hatreds and grudges ofEurope.Here,rather,isawarto resolve new andinescapableproblems.”Thoseproblemswouldbemanyandtheir owner, as far as theNavy cared, was ChesterNimitz.Nimitz’s chief of staff,

RaymondA.Spruance,wouldcall him “one of the fewpeople I know who neverknew what it meant to beafraid of anything.” Hisduties were of the kind thatexhausted the conscientiousand the caring. After theOahu attack, he had to sortout its myriad administrativeconsequences—threethousand letters to send tobereaved families, untoldgatherings of men and

machinestoreassigntousefultasks.As head of theBureauofNavigation,whichhandledpersonnel issues, he hadtendered the applications ofthe ambitious and thevengeful,includingmorethanone U.S. congressman whophonedhimafterDecember7to lobby for an enlistment.Overwhelmed and sleepless,Nimitzwas said to have toldhiscongressionalsupplicants,“Go back and vote us

appropriations. We’re goingtoneedthem.”On December 19, Nimitz

lefthisofficeonConstitutionAvenue and returned to hisapartment on Q Street toshare the news of hisappointment with his wife.Sensing his reluctance,Catherine reminded him,“You always wanted tocommand the Pacific Fleet.You always thought that

wouldbetheheightofglory.”“Darling,” replied Nimitz,

“the fleet’s at the bottom ofthe sea. Nobody must knowthat here, but I’ve got to tellyou.”Hehadgrowntodreadthe

assignment, and would haveeven if it didn’t entailcommanding a woundedsquadron, the battleships ofTask Force 1, whoselifeblood, their oil, still

seeped in rainbow ribbonsfrom their broken hulls offFord Island. He would havedreaded it because he knewhispromotionwasazero-sumtransaction; it required thedemotion of someone else,and that person happened tobe one of Nimitz’s closestfriends,HusbandE.Kimmel.Pearl Harbor had burned onKimmel’s watch, so Kimmelpaidtheprice.Ifthechargeofnegligence failed by the

standard of a trial court, andif the proceeding that tarredhim was driven more bypolitical expediency than byexamination of a fuller truthconcerning who had whatlevelofwarningandwhen,itwas also the verdict that thecode of naval leadershiprequired. A captain wasexpectedtogodownwithhisship;whynotanadmiralwithhis base? The principle wasclean,simple,andpredictable

inoperation.ItwastheNavyway.Within a few short years

America’s fleet would bemore powerful and capablethan any before it. The samecould be said of Nimitz’ssuperior in Washington, theleading U.S. navalcommander of the day.Thoughheworkedinguardedisolation, giving subordinateslittledirectaccess,noadmiral

had ever wielded the samedegree of personal influenceonwartimepolicyasErnestJ.King. As the commander inchiefoftheU.S.Fleet(COM-INCH) and chief of navaloperations (CNO), he waspreeminent in both planningand command. His influenceand his formidable personalnature made him a figure tobe reckoned with within theNavy Departmentbureaucracy. Ensconced on

the front corridor of thefourth floorof“MainNavy,”the large headquartersbuilding on ConstitutionAvenue, he was memorablyunlike Nimitz.“Subconsciouslyhesoughttobeomnipotentandinfallible,”his biographer wrote. “Therewere few men whom heregarded as his equal as tobrains; he wouldacknowledge no mind assuperior tohisown.”Hewas

abruptandunyielding,visiblyintolerantofthosehedeemedfools. Though his first reflexwasalwaystorejecteventhebest advice, he did onceconcede to a staffer,“Sometimesmybarkisworsethanmybite.”King penalized caution

wherever it surfaced. InMarch, he was outraged tolearnthatoneofhisadmiralsin the South Pacific, Frank

JackFletcher,haddecided toreturn to base to refuel hiscarriersratherthanholdthemready to intercept enemyshipping gathering nearRabaul. During the Battle oftheCoralSeainMay,hetooka dim view of Fletcher’srefusal to release hisdestroyers to pursue theretreating Japanese carrierforce. When Nimitzsubsequently recommendedFletcherforbothapromotion

andamedal—takingpainstodefend his judgment to Kingby pointing out Fletcher’sshortage of destroyers toprotect his carriers—Kingrefusedtoapproveeither.King reduced all issues to

their impact on keeping hisfleet ready forwar.Nootherconsiderationscounted.WhenofficialsattheDepartmentofthe Interior’s Fish andWildlife Service informed

him in June that Navy unitswere targeting whales andothermarinemammalsduringgunnery exercises, Kingquickly put an end to it,writingNimitz,“Undoubtedlythese acts are committedlightheartedly by the crewswithout realizing that thekilling and injury of whalesresults in the destruction ofvaluable war materials ofwhich there is a whollyinadequatesupply.”Kingwas

indifferent to theconcernsofmarine biologists. To him itmattered only that his fleetneeded whale meal andlubricants, resources that theWest Coast whaling fleet,thinly drawn by a two-oceanwar’s demands on shipping,wasstrugglingtoprovide.Most people who crossed

King’spathcametofearhimforonereasonoranother,butthe New York Times war

correspondent Hanson W.Baldwin, no stranger to theCOMINCH’s high mercury,saw something else in hisbluster. “His greatestweaknessispersonalvanity,”Baldwin wrote. “He isterrifically sensitive and insome ways has many of theattributes of a woman.” Thisremark probably revealedmore about Baldwin thanabout King, whose virilitywas actually a mark against

him. Women avoided sittingnext to him at dinner partiesbecause, it was said, “hishandsweretoooftenbeneaththetable.”King’s personality was

famously and not flatteringlylikenedtoablowtorch.Somepeople turned that metaphorto his favor, saying he was“so tough he shaved with ablowtorch.” That nuancewouldhavebeenlostonhim,

for he was never willing topropel his career bycultivating people’s favor.After facingoffwithKingata meeting once, GeneralDwightD.Eisenhowerwrotein his diary, “One thing thatmighthelpwin thiswar is toget someone to shoot King.He’s the antithesis ofcooperation, a deliberatelyrude person, which meanshe’s a mental bully.” Kingliked his tough reputation.

When he was called toWashingtontoreplaceHaroldStark as CNO, Kingremarked, “When things gettough, they call for the sonsof bitches.” It marked thestyle of King’s intellect andindependence, and notnecessarilyforthebetter,thathemistrustedthejudgmentofanyonebuthimself.Thosehedeemedlessermindsincludedsome formidable figures,including General Marshall,

whom King deemedprovincially Eurocentric andignorantof seapowerand thePacificgenerally,andtheoneofficer who would prove tohavethekeenest judgmentofall the flag officers in theNavy: Chester W. Nimitz.King soon learned that hecould give his Pacific OceanArea chief some space tooperate,but in theearlydayshewasknowntotreatNimitzas he did other subordinates.

Of Nimitz he had once said,“If only I could keep himtight on what he’s supposedto do. Somebody gets aholdof him and I have tostraighten him out.”Apparently leery of Nimitz’saccommodating way, Kingsent him unsubtle signalsabout his expectations. Oncehe wrote to his Pacificcommander, “You arerequested to read the article,‘There IsOnlyOneMistake:

To Do Nothing,’ by CharlesF. Kettering in the March29th issue of SaturdayEveningPost and to see to itthat it is brought to theattention of all of yourprincipal subordinates andother key officers.” Sooverriding was his will toaction that for a time KingmadeapracticeofbypassingNimitzinoperationalmatters.If thiswasa testoffortitude,Nimitz passed. Finding the

discourtesy intolerable, heconfronted King during oneof their many meetings andtold him the state of affairshad to change. King letNimitz run the Pacific navalwar thenceforth with littleovertinterference.Fair, gentle, courtly, and

vigorous,Nimitzwasamatchfor any of the blustery egossurrounding him. He wouldemerge in timeas thePacific

war’s essential man, thefigure through whom alldecisions flowed, on whomall outcomes reflected, andwhose judgment wasrespectedfromMainNavyallthewaydowntheline.Helaylike a valley of humilitybetween two mountains ofconceit: Ernest King andGeneral Douglas MacArthur,the commander of theSouthwest Pacific Commandand the Navy’s stalwart

intramural rival. The dividedArmy-Navy commandwouldbe a continuing complicationin the war ahead. King andMacArthur had enoughweight of will to pull majorcommanders into their orbitsand hold them in place bytheirgravity.Nimitz, intime,becametheirfulcrum.Nimitz generally reserved

his thoughts for himself.Complaints he harbored that

had no bearing on plans,fruitless reprimands, secondand third guesses—he heldthem within. The emotionalpressure they created oftenleft him sleepless. Mostnights he awoke at 3 a.m.,readtill5:30,thenwentbackto bed. The pace of work atCINCPAC headquartersneeded just a few months toexhaust him utterly. Byspring 1942 his mind was aturmoil, his spirit gripped by

pessimism. The repair of thebattle fleet and thereconstitutionofPearlHarbornavalbaseweremovingmoreslowlythanmanywanted.Hefeared his supporters wereturningsour.“Iwillbeluckyto last six months,” helamented in a letter toCatherine.But the season of spring

was like a lifetime in thatwar. Though grievous

damage to the fleet was stillvisible at Pearl, the loss wasnever as great as it hadseemed. All but two of thebattleships were sent to theWest Coast for repair andmodernization and madeready forwarwithinmonths.The war, of course, did notwait for them. Reconstitutedaround its aircraft carriers,and under the leadership ofnewcommanders, thePacificFleet struck back in the

spring.The carrier fleet’s surging

esprit de corps, such anovelty for the batteredwarriors of Pearl Harbor,carried Chester Nimitzthroughthesixmonthshehadmost dreaded. The PacificFleet’s flattops, under ViceAdmiral William F. Halsey,Jr., ventured forth and strucktargets from the Gilberts allthe way to Japan’s home

islands.Ataskforcewiththecarriers Enterprise andHornet,thelatterplayinghostto a flight of strangers, twin-engined Army bombers,launched an audacious raidagainstTokyo.AfterColonelJimmyDoolittle’s B-25s haddone their work, theCombined Fleet’scommanderinchief,AdmiralIsoroku Yamamoto, pledgedto draw out and destroy thenuisance-making U.S. fleet

once and for all. He madeplans to seize Midway andthe Aleutian Islands, thentarget Hawaii itself. He alsocontinued the push fromRabaul south toward thestronghold of Port Moresby,New Guinea. He meant toisolate Australia, thencontinuesoutheasttothreatenU.S. bases as far away asSamoa.InearlyMay,acarriertask

force under Rear AdmiralFrank Jack Fletcherintercepted a Japaneseinvasion fleet bound for PortMoresby. In theBattleof theCoral Sea, the U.S. Navysank the Japanese carrierShoho, damaged a second,andturnedbacktheinvasion.Though the Lexington waslost and the Yorktowndamaged, American pilotsrelished their victory andsoon reformed for another

crack at theCombinedFleet.DuringthefirstweekofJune,after Nimitz’s codebreakersdetected an enemy plan toinvadeMidwayIsland,apairof carrier task forces underFletcherandSpruancespranganambush.Bythetimefliersfrom the Enterprise, Hornet,andhastilyrepairedYorktowncalled it a day on June 5,Japan’s thrust towardHawaiiwas parried, with losses thatincluded four frontline

aircraft carriers and 110pilots. The victory put theU.S.Navyinposition,forthefirsttime,tocarrythefighttotheenemy.The old plan for a Pacific

offensive envisioned paralleldrives toward Tokyo, onerunning from New Guineatoward the Philippines, theother through the CentralPacific to the Marianas.Which path received priority

for supply, equipment, andreinforcement would dependon the outcome of animportant battle yet to befought—between the U.S.Army and the U.S. Navy.General Douglas MacArthuradvocated the New Guinearoute, Nimitz and the Navythe Central Pacific. Thoughthe interservice rivalry waswellestablished,theoutbreakof war pitted them incompetition for scarce

weaponsandmatériel.Asthefirst American offensive ofthe war took shape, thewarriors in thePacificwouldbe constantly pleading theircausetothoseinWashingtonwho rationed the resources.As it happened, King’sambitions faced obstaclesfrom those who outrankedeven MacArthur. FDRhimself was said to favorEuropeanoperations.

AsKing saw it, the eventsof early June provided thelonged-for opening for aPacific offensive. While heknew his president wouldcherish sending his belovedfleet into action, King alsoknew what Roosevelt’soverriding aim was in thespring of 1941: helping theRussians. In aMay 6 memoto the Joint Chiefs of Staff,FDR wrote, “It must beconstantly reiterated that

Russian armies are killingmoreGermansanddestroyingmore Axis matériel than allthetwenty-fiveunitednationsput together. To helpRussia,therefore, is the primaryconsideration.” Despite herinfamy, Japan was anegligible threat, Rooseveltthought. With Germanyknocked out of the fight,Japan could not hold on, hebelieved. “The wholequestion of whether we win

or lose the war depends onthe Russians,” he wrote inJune. “We can defeat theJapanese insixweeks.”Kingdidn’t think the Navy’svictory at Midway hadregistered sufficiently withtheAlliedhighcommand.As FDR saw it, diverting

German forces from thecritical Eastern Front andpreventingaseparateRussiantruce with Hitler required a

bold American move inEurope. The plan Rooseveltliked best, OperationSledgehammer, would throwforty-eight divisions, morethan seven hundred thousandmen, across the EnglishChannel and into Francebefore the end of 1942. TheArmy’s ambitions wereconstrainedby thepessimismof the British and the U.S.Navy’s inarguable need to atleast hold on in the Pacific.

Giving resources to thatmodest goal, even if it weresimply a “maintenance ofpositions,” wouldcompromise Eisenhower’scross-channel plans. Analternative urged by theBritish, an invasion ofNorthAfrica, originally known asOperation Gymnast, thenOperation Torch, was lessrisky from Churchill’s pointof view, though it stillcompetedforAmerican time,

resources,andattention.From his work with the

British,Kingwasaware that,officially, a “Germany first”strategy was operative. Buthis close involvement innegotiations and personalrelationship with GeorgeMarshall enabled him tocreate the leeway to run thePacificashesawfit.Inmanycases he dealt exclusivelywith Marshall in designing

strategyinthePacific.Asfaras he was concerned, thestrategy all along was“Pacificfirst.”TheNavywasclearly most vested there.Fourofitsfiveheavyaircraftcarriers were in the Pacific,andtwenty-sevenofitsthirty-eightcruisers.“Isentanorderto Admiral Nimitz,” Kingwrote after the war, “sayingthat despite all other orders,large or small, the basicorders are that the Pacific

Fleet must, first, keep allmeans of communicationswith the West Coast and,second, but close to the firstorder, to keep all areasbetween Hawaii and Samoaclear of the Japanese andthen, as fast as it could,expand that area towardAustralia.” His mandate toNimitzreflectedtheclarityofthe Navy’s self-arrangeddestiny in the west. Kingconsidered “Germany first”

little more than a politicalcampaign slogan. Let theJoint Chiefs host theirdebating society with theBritish. King’s Navy had anoceantoconquer.For General Marshall, a

powerful voice on the JointChiefsofStaff, itwouldtakea fully concentrated effort tobeat the Axis decisively ineither hemisphere. On July13, he sent Eisenhower a

secrettelegramstatingthataninvasion of North Africawould be a fruitlessdispersion of force. “Wewould nowhere be actingdecisively against ourenemies,” he wrote. WithNorth Africa commandingmost of its attention, theArmy would have fewaircraft, socritical tovictory,availableintheSouthPacific.Winston Churchill pressedthe case for North Africa,

however. He candidlyregarded an amphibiousassaultagainstFrancein1942and even in 1943 as suicide.Marshall was publiclynoncommittal. Fearing acompromise that pleased noone, but wishing to strikeeffectively against the Axissomewhere, Marshallexpressed a willingness toentertain the Pacific-firstoffensive strategy thatAdmiral King envisioned.

Thegeneralsawtheprospectof a Navy offensive in thePacificasalevertobudgetheintransigent British. Iflandings in France could notbe made by early 1943,Marshall wrote toEisenhower,“Weshouldturnto the Pacific and strikedecisively against Japanwithfull strength and amplereserves, assuming adefensive attitude againstGermany except for air

operations.”As King wrote after the

war,hisideawasto“stoptheenemy as soon as we couldget the ships, planes andtroops tomakea standas farto the westward as possible.… I kept closewatch on thearea of Guadalcanal andfinally decided, whether ornot the J.C.S.would agree, Iwanted to make some realmove…. The Army still

insisted that the time wasn’tripe so I answered them,‘When will the time be ripesincewehavejustdefeatedamajor part of the enemy’sfleet[atMidway]?’”Knowing that he needed

King’s support in thecontinuing arguments withtheBritish,evenashefearedunilateral Navy initiatives,Marshall agreed to back aNavy-directed plan in the

South Pacific. If this was abluff to cow the Brits,Eisenhower strengthened itby relaying Marshall’ssuggestion to Roosevelt. Ike,too, thought that if a cross-channel invasion couldn’t belaunched fromEngland, thenAmerica should “turn ourbacks upon the EasternAtlantic and go, full out, asquickly as possible, againstJapan!”

The president doubted thevalue of seizing “a lot ofislandswhoseoccupationwillnot affect theworld situationthisyearornext.”Still,KingknewFDRwantedactionandbelieved he would not likelyblock a well-considered planto turn thefleet looseagainstthe Axis. As far back asMarch, King had urgedRoosevelt to approve “anintegrated, general plan ofoperations”basedontheidea

of holding six strongpointsthat spanned the SouthPacific from east to west:Samoa, Fiji, New Caledonia,Tongatabu, Efate, andFunafuti. From those basesthe Navy could protect thesea-lanes to Australia, thendrive northwest into theSolomonsandtheBismarcks.The opportunity to do thathadfinallycome.NeitherKing norMarshall

seemedtograspthedegreetowhich politics would compelRoosevelt to veto an expressPacific-first strategy. Forreasons of electoralcalculation—to preserve hisDemocratic majorities in acongressional midtermelection—Roosevelt wantedAmerican troops fightingGermans before the end ofthe year. “We failed to see,”Marshall would write, “thattheleaderinademocracyhas

to keep the peopleentertained. The peopledemandaction.”Public opinion was

increasingly in favor ofpursuing the fight in thePacific. In January 1942, aNewsweek editorialist wrote,“Congressmenarereceivingagrowing streamofmail fromconstituents condemning theconduct of the war. Thewritersdemand toknowwhy

Wake, Guam, and Midwaygarrisons were neitherreinforced or rescued, whythePhilippineswereleftwithonlyameagerforceoffighterplanes while hundreds weresenttoEurope,whytheNavyhas not laced into theJapanesefleet,etc.”The answer was the

political clout of America’sAtlantic ally. “King’s war isagainst the Japanese,” oneof

Churchill’s advisers hadwarned him. If London didnot commit to Eisenhower’sinvasion of France, theadviser wrote, “everythingpoints to a complete reversalofourpresentagreedstrategyand the withdrawal ofAmerica toawarofherownin the Pacific.” On hearingthis, Churchill reportedlyremarked, “Just because theAmericans can’t have amassacre inFrance this year,

theywanttosulkandbatheinthe Pacific.” That was adubious characterization ofwhat his Atlantic cousinsreally wanted. Because theJapanese had struck themdirectly, and Hitler hadn’t,what many Americans—orthe Navy at least—wantedwasamassacreinthePacific.The victory at Midwayopenedthecourse.The Navy would find its

war on the boundlessbattlefield of the westernocean.WhenMartinClemensturned on his teleradio inAola and tappedoutnewsofanairfield in themaking, thepattern of the coming daysbegan to take shape in themindofErnestKing.

Tothoseinperilonthesea

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TableofContents

TinCansLastStandAVanishingGraveyardHighestTraditionsAcknowledgmentsMenofTaskUnit77.4.3KilledinAction,October25-28,1944Bibliography

SourceNotesPhotoandArtCreditsAbouttheAuthorExcerpt from Neptune’sInferno