The attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 brought U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s "Arsenal of Democracy" into full play against the Axis Powers. From 1942-1945 U.S. forces relentlessly drove the Japanese eastward across the expanse of the Pacific Ocean. Though the victories themselves and the commanders were well-publicized at the time, more detailed accounts of the hard work, endurance and sacrifices of "ordinary" service personnel were only brought to light at a much later date. E. J. Jernigan, a young man from Chattahoochee, Florida, serving as a sailor on board the destroyer "USS Saufley", found himself locked in a grueling high-tech struggle with a fanatical foe who more often preferred death to surrender.
Source: E. J. Jernigan. "Tin Can Man", Arlington, Va., Vandamere Press 1993; pp. 120-131; 137-141: 144-145: 157-160: 180-184.
When a full General Quarters was in effect, everyone was at their battle stations with all watertight doors closed and battened down as tightly as possible. The Captain was on the bridge, with control of every action taken by anyone aboard. All Units were connected to the battle talker who relayed the Captain's orders to all stations. The engine rooms and firerooms were given their orders by a special signal on an indicator, which showed the various speeds to be used, such as one-third flank, or full. It also could signal to hack down and stop. These signals were all used to throw off the accuracy of the enemy. For example, if a plane was diving at us, we might go to Hank speed, hard right or left turn. If we had damage, we would go to a full stop since water flows in faster through a hole when a ship is moving. Pilots get distracted when you are moving and the guns are all throwing up a blizzard of steel. With a good crew operating in this way, it is very hard for a lone plane to get you. We once went from Hank speed to a hard right to stop to flank speed again and hard left while laying the cold hand on three Japanese Planes diving at us, all in a matter of nine minutes.
Looking back over 20 months of action in the Solomons, I could see that we had all changed. I was both physically and mentally tough, working out every day. I ran around the deck like it was a track, punched my timing bag incessantly, and carried a tilted chip on my shoulder.
I was assigned a battle station briefly in the steering engine room and the throttle board, but 99 percent of my time was on the lower—level forward engine room. The temperatures endured in the firerooms and engine rooms were a constant 100°F or more. Everyone below decks had heat rash and jungle rot, especially those who worked in the engine room and fireroom. Jo give you an example of how safe it was, I had one of the stations nearest the bottom of the ship. The deaerated feed tank (DFT) was located a hove me with 800 gallons to 1000 gallons of feed, that is, water made from condensed steam, ready to be pumped back to tile boilers, reheated, and used again. Steam lines were all about and, if they were ruptured, you could cook in about a second. The main condenser, main turbine, and auxiliary turbines were maintained at a vacuum of close to 29 inches. A hit on the main condenser would cause an implosion due to the vacuum. At the same time, steam at 600°F to 800°F could cook you, explosions could blast you, and water could drown you. thus, if you received a hit of any kind, tile engine room was more dangerous than the shell, torpedo, or bomb that did the original damage. And you still had to contend with the seawater coming in on you.
‘[‘he after steering room contained the pumps and motors that hydraulically moved tile rudders to steer the ship. This room was located aft of the number 5 gun mount and below the after 20-mm and 40-mm machine guns. It was directly above both the ship’s propellers and tile two rudders on tile outside of the hull just aft of tile propellers. A machinist’s mate and electrician’s mate were stationed in the after steering room during battle conditions to take over steering the ship in case the bridge was hit and steering control was lost by the helms— man on the bridge. These stations were as close to hell as a man could get in this world. The men would rush to the after steering room when the General Quarters alarm sounded, dog the watertight door down, and close the topside escape hatch. One of the men would doll tile earphones. Then, all hell would explode. The number 5 gun mount would start to shake things up. Tile 20-mm and 40-mm guns would start to fire, dumping several hundred shell cases per minute on the quarter—inch deck plate. When tile ship’s propellers would speed up, the vibration would shake everything The propel- ler shafts wouId start making a warping sound as if they wanted to leave the shaft mounts. The rudders and hydraulic lines would moan in their labors, and underwater explosions would hit tile hull just outside. If you were there, your skivvies would be just a little damp where you almost wet yourself. Later, when battle stations were secured, stinking salty sweat would cover your whole body like a warm, wet rag. You would have just played a passive part in a fight at sea. Electrician’s Mate First Class Keith Rossiter was my partner in this battle station.
Ammunition handling rooms, located deep inside the ship, were crowded, hot, and noisy. We had five. When we were firing all out (22 rounds per minute), extended action would work you so hard that, when you had a chance to rest, you would just sink to the deck where you were. in one three-week period, we laid out 4100 rounds of 5-inch 38 shells and thousands of rounds of 20-mm and 40-mm fire. One seaman, Carl Watts of North Carolina, refused to go back to the handling room after he was wounded during an air attack when stacked ammunition fell on his legs, injuring him. The way Carl tells it, the ammunition was stacked against the bulkhead and held up by brackets bolted to the bulkhead. The rack he was using was partially undone and the ship was at flank speed and turning. When the plane hit nearby during this high-speed turn, 5-inch 38 shells flew out of the rack and hit him, knocking him down and partially covering his legs and body. Carl knew the shells could blow up, and he said the handling room closed in on him until it was no larger than a shoebox. He told the doctor and gunnery officer he couldn’t go back there any more; they gave him a battle station topside.
The gunners also suffered from the same lack of protection. Their gun turrets were only splinter shields made of three-eighths inch steel plate like the rest of the ship. The 20-mm and 40-mm gunners had even less protection than the 5-inch 38s. No matter what happened, they had to stay the course of the fight. if they ran, they ensured their own destruction. Besides, if they did run and survive, they still had to face their shipmates who might kill them. The ammunition-handlers were stuck in the real hot spot of the ship; no one had to tell them it could blow. So you see, each man felt safe in his own little gateway to hell and sorrow for his shipmates in other dangerous spots.
June 19, 1943, we attacked our first submarine. ‘We escorted a group of cruisers on a night bombardment up the "Slot." On our return trip, cruiser Columbus picked up a surface target about 15 miles to our port side. Saufley received orders to attack. The engines revved up to flank speed, and we headed straight for him. At about 1½ miles, we opened fire with our 5-inch 38s and missed him. Our radar operators were new at using the radar, and our failure to use flares during night attacks caused us to miss until the radar men became better trained for night fights. When the submarine dived, we made three depth charge attacks and then lost him on the sonar. After the war was over, the Japanese said they had lost a submarine in the area of our attack but the Navy awarded the kill to another ship.
Our only form of air-conditioning was fresh air from one 3-inch line in the engineer’s quarters, port and starboard. It didn’t work well because everyone had cut holes in it by their bunks and put pasteboard deflectors in each hole. The ones nearest the intake had air while the others had none. It didn’t matter much because the air itself was 100°F or more at all times. A steam bath would have seemed just as cooling.
Most of us slept topside to beat the heat. We slept on the decks and life rafts, under the gun mounts, or anywhere we could. One man slept in a hammock slung under the search light platform. I don’t remember his name, but I still worry about his falling. The general consensus around the ship was that he had to be crazy. I laid on a Navy blanket on the deck with my shoes as a pillow. I always wore my uniform shirt and dungarees so I’d be ready to go to General Quarters at all times. It was most shocking to be sleeping on the deck and have the firing start before the battle alarm sounded. Tracers from the 20-mm and 40-mm guns lit up the sky. The sharp, loud sound from the 5-inch 38s overpowered everything except the battle alarm. Waves of concussion from the fast-firing guns pulled at your clothes as if they were trying to undress you. Your balance was off because of the roll of the ship and blast of the shells. You had to put your shoes on before entering the engine room because the steel ladders and hot floor plates would either cut or burn your feet. The old-timers were used to this routine, but the new boots were confused the first time the battle alarm sounded. They would be run down by sailors going hell-for-leather for their battle stations.
Once while we were on a night run up the "Slot," Jim Fagan and I were sitting on the fantail life raft. It was cloudy with a low ceiling. When a Japanese bomber came over the clear patch of sky, we could have hit him with a baseball he was so close. I thought we were the only ones to see him. We ran to report it and were told that radar had him in sight. "Couldn’t we see the gun mounts follow him in and out?" We had orders not to shoot at lone planes that night. It made us wonder how often this kind of thing happened. We would find out soon enough.
During July 1943, Destroyer Squadron 22 was looking for trouble up the "Slot." We were steaming fast on the lookout for the "Tokyo Express." Our General Quarters crew for the director consisted of Lieutenant Marshal, Seaman First Class Art Cyr, Seaman First Class Saddler, and Fire Controlman Second Class John J. Larned. Our observer was Chief Torpedoman Howard Owen. One of the lookouts spotted a plane coming in low and fast on our starboard side. The 20-mm guns were the only ones to fire, but they were not effective. Larned could hear everything on the phone circuit to the bridge, guns, and control room. Joe Dowling, a young helmsman, saw the torpedo drop and grabbed Captain Brown’s shoulder saying, "Captain Brown, he’s dropped a damn torpedo on our deck." Captain Brown’s voice came in clear and cold: "So I see, son." The torpedo was going to hit us between the forward engine room or just below the bridge. Calm as could be, Captain Brown came on the open phone circuit with an order to the helmsman to change course. Lamed said the torpedo ran deep under the ship. The angel in our rigging had saved us all for another day, with the help of calm Captain Brown!
Red Cotter was captain of number 1 gun mount. Once, when the hot-shell man was missing and there was a misfire set to explode, Jim Fagan came running by, took the hot shell, threw it overboard, and kept running to his battle station! He would help a man in trouble anywhere at any time.
Suddenly everyone started to point and yell. The guns swung around and started to fire as fast as they could. I got full concussion from at least four rounds. Before I could move out, the submarine had surfaced and looked as big as Saufley. We were hitting the submarine with a steady stream of 20-mm, 40-mm, and 5-inch 38 shells, all placed right in his conning tower. At the same time, a damn PBY (number 41 from VP 23) came in so close that it’s a wonder our shells didn’t get him too. The PBY dropped a bomb right where we were shooting. Everyone started to cuss; it looked like that son of a bitch was trying to steal our submarine. The Japanese submarine RO-103 was destroyed with no survivors; Lieutenant Commander Fujisawa and all his crew were gone before I could get my pants up and buckle my belt. Captain Brown felt we should have received full credit for the kill, but the PBY was given half credit.
We carried out a series of bombardments all the way up the "Slot." We went into Empress Augusta Bay in conjunction with the PT boats, which made spot attacks close to shore, while we shot heavier shells over their heads. Our crew had become so adept at handling this 2050 tons of three-eighths inch plate that it was like riding in a speedboat. Also, luck hung around our necks like a fine necklace.
Our war in the Solomons was small compared to the war in Europe, but our fights were for all the marbles. It was as if we were lost with only the string of islands to cling to. All of us went through moods and mind changes. You would be playing checkers with a friend one day, and the next day you couldn’t stand him. Th avoid a fuss, you just stayed clear of him that day. The engineers would gather in the machine shop at night and shoot the breeze, including Shaw, Newby, Berry, Stoneham, Pappy Deer, Fagan, Swan, DeGuiseppe, Dalland, Norman, O’Reilly, and more. The names changed but the stories were the same each night: home, girls, shore leave, food, ice cream, different ships we served on, things that had happened, things yet to happen, but most of all, home. One thing we talked about was how to pick up girls. Combat ribbons were the thing most of us thought would attract the girls. I never got to wear mine. When we finally went to San Francisco for six weeks, I bought mine and lost them all on the first liberty. The girls seemed to know who had seen combat without any ribbons. I found out later the combat veterans hardly ever wore their ribbons, and the dance-hall heroes all had quite a few to wear.
The most hateful watch of all was the 4 AM to 8 AM morning watch. I would leave the engine room with sweat over my body like sugar on a glazed donut, hurry back to the washroom, bathe, wash my clothes, put clean dungarees on, and hang the ones I washed to dry. Other people would be in the chow line only half-awake and tired from the nighttime calls to General Quarters and the heat that drained you of all energy. The morning sun would be looking like a bloody bubble in a peapot. The chow line formed and went down to the chow hall where the food was kept hot on steam tables. The humidity was almost unbearable. A typical breakfast would be scrambled, powdered eggs (always watery), soggy toast, Spam (fried on one side and raw on the other), and coffee that made you hotter or powdered lemonade that made you sick. The thing that hurt most of all was the sight of mess boys going by with sunny-side-up eggs, cinnamon rolls, bacon, and orange juice for the officers’ mess.
The officers and chiefs had their own special messes. Although the chiefs’ mess had its own cook, they cooked and ate out of our sight. But the officers had mess boys, who cooked food like ham, bacon, eggs, and nice steaks in our galley. The officers also enjoyed ice cream, strawberries, fresh vegetables, lettuce, and tomatoes. Even though the mess boys could have gone to the officers’ mess up the starboard side, they went up the port side along the full length of our chow line. It was a constant, nagging reminder that we were first-class citizens caught in a third-class situation; the officers’ mess boys quietly rubbed it in with every meal. This situation caused resentment among the enlisted men and the theft of lots of the officers’ food.
You can’t begin to understand what it was like to do without fresh food, ice cream, steak, fresh eggs, and bacon. Even cigarettes could not be obtained at times. What we considered fresh food was Spam and dehydrated potatoes and eggs. All of our mutton and beef came from Australia. I know for a fact that in Sydney they had good steaks and mutton, but none of it was ever shipped to us. Many times I saw the cooks deep-six halves of beef and mutton that were too tough to eat. When we got an availability alongside a destroyer tender, we could get candy, real cold drinks that fizzed, writing materials, and spare parts of all kinds. If you had a friend aboard the tender, you could eat in the crew’s mess. I had one friend on Whitney who worked in the ice machines and gave me all the ice cream I could eat.
Right after breakfast, the line at sick bay would form. The pharmacist’s mate would sit in a chair and hold sick call. About 90 percent of sick call problems involved skin trouble.
One morning I was in line for sick call just behind J. R. Berry. He jumped all over Harold Wright, the duty pharmacist's mate, talking real nasty to him about a wart on the crown of his head. Berry was tough; he had been a great high-school wrestler. It was the first time I had ever seen him mad. Wright was tall and thin, regular Navy, and had completed a hitch or two in service before the war. He had volunteered to serve with the Marines ashore and had been wounded two or three times. He worked out with me with the gloves. He was also tough, weighing about 150 pounds, and not afraid of anyone. I figured a fight was coming, and a good one! Wright was calm as could be. When Berry reached him, he looked all around for a good five minutes and came up with a small brown bottle. Opening the bottle, he used an eye dropper to put a drop on Berry’s wart. Once open, the bottle started to smoke, so Wright shut it quickly. The wart turned white and started to smoke like a phosphorus shell. Berry got a shocked look on his face, wheeled
and ran like a deer to the shower room, pushed someone to the side, and jumped in the shower, clothes and all. The wart went away and never came back. Old Wright smiled and kept on treating us. His treatment was very effective.
I would sit and watch the people who were married and engaged, how their faces would light up when they got their mail. Einhorn, Elliott, and Englehardt always got letters from their girls, which they would open up right where they stood, their faces as happy as a five-year-old at Christmas. I watched my Italian friends closely because, whenever they received a care package from home, they always shared it with me. A care package from an Italian Mom was just like a visit from an angel. I especially watched Paul DeRosa whose wife was named Rosa. He received the best packages of all.
I could also tell when one received bad news in the mail. I didn’t know which hurt the most: death news or "Dear Johns." At times, I hurt for them when they cried. At the same time, I would be glad that all my friends were aboard ship; no love letter or no "Dear Johns" for me. We were just shipmates with a war to fight.
The evaporators were above my duty station in the engine room. Their main function was to make fresh water from seawater. The man on watch had a gauge that showed the varying degrees of salinity. If the indicator was in the green, everything was OK. But if it started going to the red area, there was hell to pay as saltwater was going into what fresh water we already had in the tanks.
One of our shipmates fell overboard, just at dusk. He was leaning against the lifeline cables strung around the ship when one of them parted. He fell right into the sea. Fortunately, the ship wasn’t going too fast or he would have been sucked into one of the screws. Captain Cochran did something then that I admired him for. He put the ship and the lives of every man on board at risk when he stopped in a war zone, searched for the man, even turning the searchlights on when it got darker, until we found him. Many commanders wouldn’t do this knowing that Captain McVey, the commanding officer of cruiser Indianapolis, was court-martialed when his cruiser was sunk by a submarine between Saipan and the Philippines. They said he was at fault for not running a zig-zag course. Captain Cochran would have really been in trouble had we been sunk while dead in the water looking for one lonely little seaman who had gone overboard. It was a great act of courage on his part.
Late in 1943, we were getting new men, ships, and material in greater amounts, and we were on the offensive. The enemy never knew where we would hit them next.
At Vella Lavella, Solomon islands, we had some very rough fights. By late 1943, the Japanese were through with any thoughts of victory and just wanted to get their men off the islands. The American troops began landing at Vella Lavella on August 15, 1943. Saufley was the screening ship for the LCIs and assisted in repelling enemy air attacks that night. We were rocked by six underwater explosions that dimmed the lights. With radical maneuvering of the ship and the blasting of guns, you had to grab something and hold on. The bilge water rushed from side to side. Loose articles moved about on the deck plates only to come back from the opposite side when high-speed maneuvering caused the ship to lean in a different direction.
Everyone sweated during combat. Sweat during battle had an odor much stronger than regular sweat. You could see it on foreheads and lips. It also seemed that the ship’s sides sweated more when maneuvering at high speed with all the guns firing. If you were below decks, you could tell when the fight moved in closer by the type of gunfire. First the 5-inch, then the 40-mm, and then the 20-mm would cut loose. When the 20-mm fired all 60 shots and stopped for a second to reload, you could tell the fight was close and getting closer. There was nothing to do except suck up your gut and, in my case, I would recite my own little motto from boyhood: "I don’t give a damn if I do die, do die; just so I see a little juice fly, juice fly." I hadn’t died yet at this point, and I had seen a lot of juice fly all over the Solomons. I always got a high during a fight.
One day, we had escorted three LSTs loaded to the waterline with supplies for tile Seabees at Vella Lavella where they were building an airbase. The LSTs were beached and in the process of unloading when Chief Hastings called me to the top of the ladder. He warned me that we had picked up 40 to 60 planes on our radar at a distance of 80 miles and then lost them. He told me to check everything on the lower level. We only had two other destroyers with us, and I was worried an air attack would sink us all. The boys in the forward fireroom put the superheaters on line, going to 800°F steam. At flank speed, our turbines came up to a high-pitched whine. We began maneuvering, but the guns were silent. I became very curious about what was going on and climbed a vertical ladder on the starboard side to the upper deck. From there, I climbed another vertical ladder to a small hatch used as an emergency exit. Spinning the wheel in the center, I threw the hatch up and stuck my head and shoulders out. Just at that moment, every gun on the ship opened up to the starboard side at four dive bombers releasing bombs. Cork and cordite were flying everywhere. The blast of the guns nearly took my eyeballs, eyelids, and ears off. I went back to the lower level faster than a prairie dog can get in a hole. For the next 10 minutes, every gun kept up a steady fire. The planes attacked in groups of four but did not score a single hit because of our intense fire and luck. in a 10-day period, we were attacked nine times but sustained no damage. We shot down four planes in the first attack alone. Captain Brown received a Silver Star for this operation, which happened between August 1 and 16, 1943.
Burial at sea is sad because it is so casual, brutal, beautiful, and final. No one wanted to be the main actor. When the doctors pronounced a man dead and we were near a base, the dead man was put in the refrigerator room. At sea, loving hands prepared him for burial. Canvas from the boatswain’s locker was cut and sewn shut at the bottom. Two 5-inch shells were put inside the canvas to make it sink. A small hole at the top allowed the air to escape and the body to sink. The boatswain, or someone he appointed, sewed the body into the canvas. The canvas bag was placed on the side of the ship at the fantail. A prayer was said, taps were blown, and a gun salute fired. The board on which the man rested was tilted until the body went feet first into the sea, leaving only the covering flag. Many tears fell as the deceased started the long fall to the bottomless deep on a ride that lasts forever, a most final and solemn act.
During all this action, the cooks served sandwiches with coffee to all hands. The reason we ate at battle stations was pure and simple—survival. Since most of the cooks and bakers had battle stations, only a few were left for galley work. Messengers would draw rations and bring them back for all men at battle stations. If someone had to go to the head, he would be relieved by the messenger. Sometimes, the chief on duty would release us so we could go topside to see the fighting or get some release from the close, hemmed-in feeling of the hot engine room during a fight. Chiefs Curley and Hastings were good about this and took their time going topside also. Chief Hastings had just made his rating and was an example to all the younger sailors.
When you have been underway and in battle for a week or so with only enough time to take on ammunition, food, and fuel oil, you get very tired and worn out. You are prone to forget everything, except the companionship of a woman, sleep, food, the beauty of a sunset or a sunrise, your hatred of the enemy, or the good earthy smell of the farm. Most of all at these times, I would remember my mother’s love when I was young. She would rub my hair in her own loving way and make trouble go away. A mother always goes to war with her son, even if she is physically half a world away.
troops on Saufley worked in close to the shore with assigned targets in the same way that the PT boats had worked with us at Empress Augusta Bay. The firing went on all hours of the day and night. With targets visible everywhere we had a chance to see what we were accomplishing for the first time. It was good. We could see the Marines moving as if in broken order drill: forward, kneel, fire, move on. We could see flame-throwers, tanks, and individual Marines getting after the enemy, The Japanese called the Marines "devils in yellow leggings." We could smell the dead. Big, blue-tailed tiles were everywhere, grown fat on human flesh. Bodies in the water floated by like strollers in Central Park on Sunday afternoon. The cruisers were in line behind us. Their shells came Over our heads like freight trains with the fabled Casey Jones at the throttle. Like Casey Jones, they created one hell of a blast when they landed. At night, the tracers weaved intricate patterns in the sky and 14-inch, 8-inch, 6-inch, and 5-inch shells from the great battleships behind us each sang a different tune as they delivered their messages. They might come from the same gun, but each came with a different set of noises as they followed each other’s Slipstream. It was beautiful, yet solemn as a burial at sea.
During the period from June 16 through July 24, 1944, Lieutenant Martin, our gunnery officer, was so busy that he lost 20 pounds. I know that he was worried over the deaths of the women and children who were killed and wounded by the thousands.
Our days at Saipan consisted of laying to in the water and firing at specific targets designated by the Marines and the Army, firing at any planes that came in, keeping a look out for submarines, and trying to act normal. You couldn’t act normal because there was shooting all day and night, and you couldn’t sleep. The most often asked question was, "What did you say?" The guns going off had affected everyone’s hearing. The damage lasts for some today. The worst tiling about Saipan was tile huge number of big, green flies. While eating a sandwich under the downdraft in the engine room, one man saw a fly come down the blower and land right on his sandwich. I think that was probably tile end of his meals for that day.
Saufley was attacked by planes on June 17. We fired on two lonys overhead but had no results. On tile next day, we fired on three lonys out of a group of twelve and chased them into several of our own fighters who shot down at least six of them. On June 19, one Zero took off from Tinian and attacked Saufley but our machine gun fire drove him off. A Hellcat finally got him. I would like to think that we were their designated target because of the damage we were doing to them. On June 26, our main battery set fire to a Betty, but I’m not sure if he was shot down.
One day, we picked up two Japanese soldiers who had swum out to sea. Someone wanted them brought ashore. Our new men tried to act humanely to them, but most of the old hands would like to have seen them terminated. When a small Navy craft with two Marines came out to pick them tip, they bowed down to tile Marines. One Marine said, "You son of a bitch, if you try to escape before we get ashore, I’ll shoot you right in the mouth, you bastard.’’ Hell, some of us wanted to deep-six them right where they were.
On another day, we were 200 yards or more from the beach to the right of Grapan Town. Everything was in shambles along the beach with snipers still shooting at the Marines. When one sniper was flushed out, he tried to run across a wide, flat area with no place to hide. One of our fighter aircraft was strafing him. The bullets kicked up little, dusty footsteps that quickly caught him and kicked him into the heavenly realm thc Emperor gods had made for him.
Much has been written about the dead at Saipan’s Suicide Cliffs. The cliffs were on a high point at the north end of the island called Maripa Point. There were many hiding places along the cliffs for the military and civilian populations. If the entrance to the caves was in our line of fire, we could get to them. Otherwise, the Marines had to go in and mop up. I watched a Marine one day on a rock above some Japanese holed up in a cave. Our 20s and 40s were ineffective in this situation because of tile angle of tile cave’s opening. The Marine tried dropping hand grenades, but they rolled downhill. Finally, he tied a rope to) some explosives, swung it far out, and snatched it back into the cave, the Marines call this a satchel charge. I decided it was effective when he descended and tired into) the opening.
Finally, Japanese soldiers and civilians started jumping from the cliffs into the sea and onto tile rocks below. Whole families were killed or thrown over; some joined hands and jumped. High tides gathered the bodies from the rocks and swept them out to sea.
We were in close to Suicide Cliffs and could see the Japanese as they jumped to the rocks below. They also killed themselves with hand grenades, knives, or whatever was at hand. It would break your heart to watch. Whole families jumped and washed out with the tide. The hands and arms of the newly dead seemed to wave when they rose and fell with the waves. The girls’ hair, all black and shining in the sun, made you think of home and of your sisters and brothers, and how the Japanese military would treat them if the situation were reversed. You remembered how their military had acted in China, Singapore, the Dutch East Indies, the Philippines, Wake Island, and Pearl Harbor as they made fun of the ones they were killing and Haunted the rules of the Geneva Convention.
After four or five days off Saipan, we could see ditches above Grapan Town cut by the Seabees using bulldozers, filled with the dead and then covered over. The flies got bigger, and the dead smelled worse. We used DDT for the first time to kill the flies and found it very effective. The dead were a horror to see. Many were mothers and children, which gave one a foreboding feeling. Only God knows how many people died; I don’t believe the Japanese even knew. In my heart, I felt sorry for tile women and kids and hated the Japanese military more than ever. It was stupid of the Japanese not to surrender. As long as they were armed, they could kill; we had to go on showing no quarter until they surrendered. We stayed in this area until it was finally secured. We were at Modified General Quarters. In this way, half the crew could rest. We changed duty every four hours.
We left Saipan on July 19 and went to Guam where we screened the lleavy units during the initial landings on Guam Island. By tills time, our 5-inch shells were turning over and over in the air because the rifling in the 5-inch barrels was so worn down you couldn’t see it. We couldn't shoot well with guns that had no rifling. Our shells must have sounded like a crippled turkey flying. The whole crew was nervous and ready for a rest at this point. Everything aboard ship was about worn out, and we weren’t worth a damn in the battle zone.
During our campaign in the Philippines, battleship Maryland was hit by a torpedo and we were assigned to move Admiral T. D. Ruddock’s staff off the battleship. I was off-watch on the torpedo deck, but I observed every move as we went alongside, tied up, and piped the admiral and his staff aboard. Everything was precise and business-like, and I observed all these goings-on with great pride. I don’t know who was the most grateful—the admiral or his staff, but they were very happy when they came aboard. I was also on watch when they left. Admiral Ruddock sent us a well-done message after the transfer.
As the war wound down, I became more and more aware of being away from my loved ones. Most of all, I wanted to be close to Mom and Dad and my two sisters and brothers. For the first time, I realized how much I wanted the intimacy of home and family and the loving touch of a girl friend. Mom had been a hugger, and the rest of the family was just as loving. I started to wonder if the wall between us would ever be removed. One question was always foremost in my mind:
Would I ever again adjust to life as it had been before December 7, 1941?
We were in full contact with the enemy at all times around Christmas of 1944; yet, this holiday was one of our best since we were whipping the enemy every time we met him. The Japanese were reduced to suicide tactics at sea, in tile air, and on the ground. Japan itself was also being bombed to rubble daily by our B-29 bombers in ever-increasing numbers. Whole Japanese armies were stripped of their honor as they died most painfully; their generals and admirals self-destructed as their fighting men sought death in final charges. Many Japanese civilians wanted the fighting to end; yet, they were powerless to stop the war until the Emperor told the military fanatics it was over. The atomic bomb was tile clincher that finally ended their glory days.
We sailed alone to Hollandia in New Guinea on January 1, 1945, where we picked up intelligence photographs and joined the Lingayen attack forces. On the way to Lingayen Gulf on January 8, 1945, our convoy was attacked by eight planes that were later shot down by Army planes. One Val on our port side came under fire by all batteries. He went into) a high—speed dive and circled our stern at an angle. At that point, we had to cease fire to keep from hitting our transports. The Japanese plane crashed astern of the nearest transport. Both Saufley and the transports had been firing at the plane, but we were given a sure assist in shooting it down because of our heavier, more accurate fire.
On January 6, 1945, starting at 11:00 AM in Lingayen Gulf and ending at 5:34 PM, a total of 32 Japanese suicide planes made contact with our force. The totals were: 12 hit tile ships they dove on, 7 were near misses, and 13 were either shot down or crashed without doing any damage. These suicide planes or kamikazes were demoralizing to our fleet that was one of the largest ever assembled and staffed by many officers and men who had never heard a shot fired in anger. When we went into the Philippine waters, we expected the usual air attacks. We were accustomed to the Japanese idea, ‘‘No surrender, only death with honor." We knew how the Japanese civilians committed mass suicide at Saipan—babies, girls, boys men, and women. These people were afraid to die, vet they were so frightened they did not want to live. In their last seconds on earth, these dedicated Japanese did tap dances through our anti-aircraft fire and maneuvered for position to try to harm us fatally. I believe our 20-mm. and 40-mm. guns did the most damage to their planes. At long range, it was tile 5-inch 38 shells with proximity fuses set to explode near the plane Speed a and well-timed maneuvers were our best protection from their suicide missions. I imagine a suicide dive was like shooting fish in tile water: something one had to learn to do. The suicide pilot had only one chance to do it in this world, which was a good thing for us. Actually, self-sacrifice is not illogical in the heat of battle; many of our Medal of Honor winners made that same sacrifice of self. Planned mass suicide, however, is not logical.
Once while we were at General Quarters after the first Japanese suicide planes started hitting our ships, I was sitting on my clothes bucket on the lower level of the engine room between checks of the main engine and pumps A big pipe wrench, about 24 inches long, fell very noisily to the grating behind me and scared me half to death. Everyone on the tipper level was looking real serious; there was no smiling or joking. When I went up and asked who had thrown the pipe wrench down, no one admitted it. I finally concluded that the wrench must have been left on one of the upper level beams in the engine room and just fell off.
Saufley participated in the invasion of the Lingayen Gulf, Luzon Island, on January 9, 1945. We screened the initial landings at Lingayen Gulf and, shortly afterwards, we fired on two planes. There were no results. Early on the morning of January 9, a Val came over our port bow, circled the ship, and made a suicide dive from the port beam. Our machine guns scored many hits that caused him to crash into the water close to) the starboard. I had left the engine room to go to the head, and the Japanese plane crashed just as I walked out of the head. It gave me an eerie feeling to know that the pilot would actually kill himself to get me. Our people were all a bit nervous about this. Eabon wouId actually tell you that they were just after him and then he’d laugh. He was kind of crazy anyway and ready to fight at any time. I His nose seemed to change positions from right to left each time lie went ashore. You knew that this man would stick until the end when he was Oil the gull. Eabon was just an example of the many good men we had on every gun. Because he was close to the forward engine room, I could run forward and watch him in action when I got topside during a fight.
On January 12, Saufley fired at two Japanese planes but with no results. After departing Lingayen to Leyte Gulf as a screening ships for the transports, we picked up one survivor from a suicide crash on USS Zeilin. This man was so badly burned that his flesh was falling away. His face looked like an overcooked marshmallow that had turned black. One of our men who saw him later had a breakdown. We had worked with USS Zeilin in other places and felt this as a personal loss. After joining a convoy to Morotai and then back to Leyte Gulf, we escorted the Coast Guard cutter, Ingram, to the Subic Bay beachhead. We arrived on January 31 and proceeded to Nasugbu landing, acting again as a screening vessel. On February 1, 1945, we sank an attacking suicide boat loaded with explosives. Later that day, we laid the cold hand on a pocket of Japanese with the 5-inch gun. We then took eight Philippine soldiers, who had been wounded in an attack on a Japanese gun nest, to Mindoro. While attacking a machine gun nest, they had butchered the Japanese with bolo knives. Shot through the legs and hips and still on a battlefield high, the Philippinos were happy describing the attack like men on a drunk.
On February 12, 1945, Lieutenant Commander F. W. Silk relieved our Captain Dale Eugene Cochran. A sad day for us as Captain Cochran had continued the tradition of our beloved Captain Brown and was one of the best destroyer skippers in the U.S. Navy. The new Captain, Lieutenant Commander Silk, came from staff’ duty a and was all spit and polish. He wanted us to muster every time we had an alert, and he wanted dress-white inspections instead of battle drills. Battle drills paid off but spit and polish made you tired. We had lost so much sleep that many of us just didn’t go to inspections. When Silk left the ship once to go to a meeting, all the men topside cheered to see him go. Bursting with pride and thinking the cheers were for him, Silk raised both his hands above his head in a Churchill salute. I for one would have deep-sixed him quicker than a K-bar bites. Later, during the Vietnam War, I read of young soldiers fragging their officers. I wondered what kind of unfair treatment could cause this to happen, but then I knew when I remembered Silk.
In one case, after Commander Silk took command, he treated one of the black steward’s mates so badly that the man often served wardroom coffee to that little tyrant with a generous portion of urine or spit. Even the other officers hated him and once had to stop one of their fellow officers from using a .45 gun on him. Captain Bligh of the Bounty was saintly compared to Silk.