My Troubles With Time (15 page)

In my fantasy, I had fallen asleep during the night on a cot on the
Arizona’s
bridge. Little did I realize how uncomfortable a navy cot would be, let alone the difficulty in ignoring the routine sounds on the bridge. Possibly, I was overwrought from my experiences during the previous twenty-four hours; possibly it was apprehension over what the next day might bring.

In any event, I was unable to sleep. About 2:30 in the morning, I jumped up from the cot, a new idea in mind. As romantic as it might be to attack the Japanese carriers at dawn, coming from the east out of the rising sun, it was not practical. Without visual sightings, which I could not risk, I had no accurate idea of the location of the Japanese. Even if I was successful in find them, the carriers might well have altered their course so that when I found them, it would not be possible for the
Nevada
to launch its attack from the east.

“Stevens,” I said, joining him. “We’re going to attack them now. I pushed the alarm button and was rewarded with the blasts of the klaxon calling the crew to battle stations. As the bridge quickly filled with sailors, I located Tyler. “Pass the word,” I ordered. “All lights are to be extinguished immediately! I want this vessel completely blacked out!”

The men on the bridge stared at me bewildered. Stevens shook his head. “I never heard of a sea battle beginning in the middle of the night.”

“The Japanese haven’t either. That’s why we’re going to do it. Head straight for the Japanese fleet!”

As Stevens worked out the new course for intersecting the Japanese carriers, I had Tyler get me Hunter in the engine room. “I’m counting on you to give me maximum power,” I said.

“You can count on us,” came back the confidant reply.

In response to Stevens’ new course headings the
Nevada
veered sharply and headed at maximum speed for the spot we believed the Japanese to be. It was a dark night and visibility was poor. I increased the number of lookouts in the hope of spotting the Japanese.

Minutes seemed like hours, as the
Nevada
plunged ahead through the darkness without any sign of the Japanese fleet. Increasingly nervous, I took up my binoculars and began scanning the horizon myself for some sign of the enemy.

I was under no illusions over what my reception at Pearl Harbor would be if I returned without sinking the Japanese carriers. Any gratitude that the Naval Command might have that I had saved the
Nevada
from destruction in the attack on Battleship Row would be more than balanced by anger that I had commandeered the battleship without authorization. I would be fortunate to escape imprisonment. It seemed ironic that I had made so much progress in achieving my goal only to wind up as much of a loser as ever.

Suddenly, my straining eyes detected lights on the horizon. I wondered if it was only my imagination. After what seemed to be an eternity, but which was no more than a few seconds, cries from the lookouts confirmed my sighting. Not just the lights of one ship, they reported, but of a line of vessels, a fleet!

I turned to Stevens. “They seem to be sailing in an easterly direction. Do you agree?”

“Yes, sir. I would estimate their speed to be about eight knots. It seems strange they would still be heading east after attacking Pearl Harbor.”

I thought so, too. “Probably hoping to recover some missing aircraft,” I theorized.

“Have the helmsman steer for the last ship in the line. When we get within close range, I want to have the
Nevada
make a ninety-degree turn to port to sail parallel to the Japanese vessels. We’ll open fire as we come abreast of the first carrier.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

The distance between the
Nevada
and the line of Japanese ships rapidly decreased. It was clear from the number of lights that the carriers were accompanied by numerous escort vessels and supply ships. The clusters of lights made it easy to distinguish the carriers from the smaller ships. I had Tyler contact fire control and carefully explained to the senior petty officer in charge my plans.

“You are to concentrate all fire on the first carrier we come to,” I said slowly and distinctly, “And to continue firing at it until we are no longer in range or I give you orders to shift targets. Do you understand?” I then ordered him to repeat my orders. I was taking no chance of having them misunderstood.

At any moment I expected someone on a Japanese ship to see us and give the alarm. I turned the helmsman. “Hard to starboard!” I barked. In response to my order, the
Nevada
veered sharply until we were sailing parallel to the Japanese vessels. They seemed so close that you could almost reach out and touch them.

With our more rapid speed, we had passed the two vessels at the rear of the line of ships and were coming alongside of the third, a large aircraft carrier. There was no reason to delay.

“All turrets are to commence firing immediately at the Japanese carrier,” I passed the order to fire control.

Almost immediately, there was a deafening explosion. The
Nevada
rolled from the recoil and the air hung heavy with the smell of cordite. A second and third salvo from our guns followed.

I scrutinized the carrier with my binoculars, searching for signs that we were damaging the carrier. There was none. I considered reducing the
Nevada’s
speed to match that of the carrier in order to continue pummeling her.

Suddenly, flames enveloped the carrier’s entire flight deck. The night sky was illuminated as though by the sun. Spontaneous cheers came from the men on the bridge.

The carrier shuddered and its forward movement fell off sharply. As we left her behind, I ordered fire control to shift all fire to the next carrier in line.

Our new prey veered to port in a futile effort to evade the
Nevada’s
onslaught. It was already too late. Our first salvo had found its mark. There was a massive explosion on the carrier’s stern and its course became irregular. Two more salvos and we were racing past her, bearing down on the third carrier in line.

My order to fire control to shift all fire to the next target had just left my lips when a petty officer standing next to be shouted with alarm, “Sir, there’s a large Japanese vessel on our starboard bow!”

“Is it a heavy cruiser?” I asked.

“Hell, no!” came the reply. “It’s a battleship!”

I peered ahead with my binoculars. I had no experience in distinguishing between the silhouette of a battleship from that of a cruiser, but there was no doubt that the enemy craft racing toward us was large. As I watched, it launched a salvo in our direction.

Instinctively, I ducked down below the bridge window, although I knew rationally that the thin metal shield would be inadequate to protect me from one of the battleship’s shells. “Hard to port!” I yelled to the helmsman. Then to Stevens, I said, ”Can you steer us between the carriers?”

“I don’t know if there’s enough space. Sir,” he answered doubtfully.

“Let’s try it!” I decided. “I don’t see any purpose to slugging it out with another battleship.”

The Ensign thought for a moment. Then he rapidly gave a new course heading to the helmsman. The
Nevada
veered sharply to the left and raced toward its rapidly changing target, the small space between the two carriers.

Stevens altered our bearing several times to adjust to the speed and bearing of the carriers. I breathed a sigh of relief as we narrowly squeezed between the carriers. Suddenly, there was a loud explosion and the
Nevada
rolled sharply, throwing me to the deck.

Dazed, I managed to stand. I did not feel any pain. Looking around nobody on the bridge appeared hurt.

“What’s happened?” I demanded.

“We were hit by the last salvo from the battleship,” Stevens yelled at me. “It knocked number three turret out of action.”

I followed his gaze toward the
Nevada’s
stern. Smoke was pouring from number three turret and its guns were awry. Damage control personnel appeared to be successfully extinguishing a fire on our stern.

Stevens said something to me, which I could not hear. I signaled him to repeat it. Instead he pointed. The
Nevada
was bearing down on a second line of Japanese ships! The fleet was double the size I had anticipated!

“Hard to starboard,” I ordered. “I think we’re best off sailing between the two lines of Japanese ships.”

The
Nevada’s
new course was bringing us alongside the third carrier. I was about to order gun control to resume firing at the carrier when a roll of our ship registered the fact that we were doing just that.

I was congratulating myself at having for the moment evaded the Japanese battleship when a lookout shouted, “Battleship on our port bow!”

“How could that battleship have managed to pass through the line of ships and get ahead of us?” I asked Stevens.

“That’s a second Japanese battleship, sir!”

“Hard to port! I ordered the helmsman. “Stevens,” I said, fearful of what his response would be, “Can you get us through the second line of Japanese ships?”

“I’ll try, sir.” His voice was emotionless. I realized what a responsibility I was placing on the young Ensign.

Once again, he gave directions to the helmsman. Horrified, I watched the Japanese battleship racing toward us. I heard its salvo. This time I managed to retain my feet as its shells hit home. Number one turret disappeared in smoke and flame.

“Sir,” I was told, “Number one turret is out of action.”

Fortunately, the blows we had suffered had not seriously damaged the
Nevada’s
hull or diminished her speed. Somehow, Stevens succeeded in steering us through the narrow interval in the middle of the second line of Japanese ships between a fourth Japanese carrier and a tanker.

“Hard to starboard,” I ordered the helmsman. “Stevens,” I said, “That was the most brilliant seamanship I have ever witnessed! Congratulations! Now chart us a course back home to Pearl Harbor!”

As darkness swallowed the lights of the Japanese fleet behind us, I prayed that my good luck would continue and that we would be successful in evading any Japanese pursuers. In retrospect, it was obvious to me that if I had not followed my hunch and had launched the attack at dawn, as I had originally intended, the
Nevada
would have been sunk by the Japanese battleships.

After about half an hour with no further sighting of the Japanese, I felt safe enough to dismiss the crew from battle stations. As I did so, I used the loud speaker to congratulate them on their exemplary performance.

“Every American is proud of you today,” I told them. “We have avenged the treacherous Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.”

With Stevens handling the bridge, I felt relaxed for the first time since I had taken command of the
Nevada
. The navy cot seemed almost comfortable. My appetite returned; I felt famished.

Turning to one of the men on the bridge, I asked him if he could order something hot brought up for me to eat. In a few minutes, I was digging into a plate of hot ham and eggs and fried potatoes served by a mess steward.

When I finished my meal, I took over the bridge from Stevens, sending the young Ensign to his cabin for a well-deserved rest. Before leaving the bridge, he filled me in on the damage the
Nevada
had suffered during the engagement. Structural damage to the vessel had been largely confined to the number one and number three turrets and to the fire-blackened area of the stern.

Our personnel losses troubled me more, thirty-eight crewmen dead and seventy-nine wounded. Some dozen of the wounded were so seriously hurt that the medics doubted they would live. As with the structural damage, most of the dead and wounded had been the stationed in the destroyed gun turrets.

Seeing my obvious concern, Stevens tried to cheer me up, commenting that the number of casualties was remarkably low, given the damage we had inflicted on the Japanese fleet. I found little comfort in this, nor in the realization that our losses were insignificant compared to the thousands of Americans killed the day earlier at Pearl Harbor.

It occurred to me that as the acting commander of the
Nevada
, the next thing I should do was to prepare a report to the fleet commander on what ensued since the vessel set sail. I was mentally drafting my report when the lookouts spotted an aircraft approaching us. The latest bearings indicated we were within sixty miles of Pearl Harbor. I doubted that any Japanese plane was in the vicinity, but it was foolish to take any chances.

I was about to call the crew to battle stations when the lookout confirmed that the aircraft was a navy PBY observation plane. It circled the
Nevada
, then headed back in the direction of Pearl Harbor. The pilot would obviously report his spotting of us instantly to fleet command. I found this reassuring, as it would ensure that the necessary preparations for our reception would be completed prior to our arrival.

Some two hours later, the lookouts reported another sighting: smoke off the starboard bow. My initial thought was that it was most probably a merchant ship or conceivably a naval vessel patrolling the approaches to Pearl Harbor in the wake of the Japanese attack. My composure was shattered, by the next report, “It looks like a large warship… I think a battleship!”

I knew that all of the battleships in Pearl Harbor had been sunk or badly damaged in December 7
^th
attack. If the sighting was indeed that of a battleship, it had to be Japanese. It was conceivable, I knew, that one of the battleships accompanying the carriers had correctly anticipated our intentions and managed to overtake us.

With only one turret still in operation, the
Nevada
was in no condition to fight a battleship. I considered altering our course in an attempt to flee when the lookouts reported a sighting off our port bow – another battleship! From their bearings, it was clear that both of the battleships were racing toward us!

Instinctively, I pressed the alarm, calling the crew to battle stations. Even as they responded to the call, I realized any effort to resist would be futile. Caught between the two Japanese battleships, the damaged
Nevada
could not hope to escape. Nor could we fight. Enemy salvos would turn the badly crippled
Nevada
into a twisted mass of wreckage within minutes.