Thunder Below! by Eugene B. Fluckey

Author:Eugene B. Fluckey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: University of Illinois Press

Part IV The Eleventh War Patrol of the USS Barb in the East China Sea, Formosa Straits, along the China Coast to Wenzhou, 20 December 1944–15 February 1945

Chapter 17 A Jewel for Christmas

19 December. Time 1430. All aboard, the Barb took off through a hailstorm of coins thrown by our own gooney crewmen for a safe return. Once clear of the Midway channel, I called down for my shorts and sandals and stripped off my formal attire. Awaiting my shorts, bare assed, I watched Midway recede. I cocked my head when I heard Novak, the port lookout, stage whisper to Arthur on the starboard side. “Psst—the Old Man's a real ginger, isn't he?”

“Knock it off, Novak! You're up there to look for periscopes.” Snickers. “And no further remarks about that either.” Such characters made me feel like Gypsy Rose Lee.

As I sat on the upper-bridge platform with one foot on the bridge rail, the Barb swayed on the swells following the course clock. This was a new gadget. Setting base course southwest, we could program either a zig plan or a constant helm plan into the clock. The helmsman thus stayed on the mark southwest, or 225°, yet the ship wandered back and forth across this course on a timed sequence. It was most convenient, for the navigator would know precisely what actual speed was being made along the base course line of advance, dependent upon the zig plan input.

The twentieth of December was a dead loss. Navigator Jim and his assistant, Quartermaster Higgins, simply wiped it off the calendar as we crossed the International Date Line. Because we would follow a holiday routine on Christmas, we had only five days to hone the Barb to maximum combat sharpness before we arrived at Guam to sortie with the Loopers.

Daily dives, battle surfaces for gun shoots, tracking and fire control party drills, anticipated casualties of every conceivable nature consumed our waking moments as well as our sleeping ones. (That surprised our eight new unqualified men, who imagined the night was made for sleeping.) The gongs, a-oo-gas, drills for chlorine gas and electrical and oil fires, and rigging for depth charge, silent running, and collision startled them awake. Practices even included evading enemy torpedoes, or our own circular runs, and being illuminated or shot at with guns. If a man in an essential position was eliminated, his substitute was ready to step in. No one was indispensable except the Barb herself. Tom King's boarding party had been well trained by the Marines at Midway and was ready.

During the various stages of training, I wandered around from room to room, observing the verve and seriousness with which instruction was being given. Each man realized his one mistake could sink us all. Better ways to accomplish things and good ideas could come from bottom to top. No enmity, no professional jealousy, no incompatibility existed; the Barb melded all into one proud team. Even after a second advanced base refit, and in spite of a long siege of shallow-water combat operations, this team was captivating.

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