War Beneath the Waves (26 page)

When pressed by the reporter back in 2002—and by this author later—Charlie Rush finally elaborated. I suspect it was the reminder we both gave him, that today’s young sailor or soldier should know the entire story of what happened to the men who went before them when they marched, flew, or steamed off to war.

“He cracked,” Rush ultimately said, in his forceful, direct manner. “The skipper simply lost it. The third officer required sedation. Men crack. The XO was exhausted, burned-out. We were running out of air. Each of these men went on to service elsewhere and served with honor.”

Then he told me, “When a man assumes command of other men, you do not crack. But men are only human beings.”

When I speak with other submariners and talk about the
Billfish
, I get a reaction very similar to Rush’s. It is almost as if talking about any lack of get-it-done tenacity, letting the world know about any demonstrated lack of courage, is not allowed in a service that thrives on silence. One that is such a closed brotherhood that watches over its own against any NQPs—“nonqualified personnel,” those who have not been baptized and confirmed, “qualified in submarines,” and allowed to wear the dolphins.

Rush as much as admits it.

“When we got back to Fremantle, I certainly would have been justified in filing charges of cowardice in the face of the enemy on two of my brother submariners. But after spending a few weeks in Adelaide, resting, walking on the beach, I came to a conclusion. Why file charges? Who would it help? Would it help win the war? Would it help the ship? The men? Me? No. I let it go. When I got back, the captain had moved on. Not a man on the crew ever said a word. That is how the Navy works.”

The Navy and the submarine service.

When asked specifically about how he now views his captain, Charlie Rush says, “There was never any bad blood between us. I felt sympathy for his having been thrust into a position he really was not capable of handling. I certainly did not dislike him.”

Indeed, Rush blames the higher brass in the U.S. Navy for placing men who were unprepared or ill trained at the helms of submarines that were destined for war.

Politics? Lack of foresight? Desperation? Whatever it was, it put men into situations where they were more likely to fail, and if they did, it could have cost good men their lives.

“I found it inexcusable that they would put officers—not just one but several—in command of submarines when they were not qualified for the job. That may have been understandable at the start of the war, when we were shorthanded and had few qualified commanders. But after two years? There were many battle-tested officers who should have commanded submarines. That bothered me the most. Men’s lives were at stake.”

It is not the duty of a sailor to question the leadership, knowledge, or skill of his superior officers, though. It is the sailor’s duty to obey orders and do what he was trained to do. That is one point Captain Rush always tries to make when he is speaking of the submarine service. It is not the boats; it is the men on those boats who do the job.

In 2002, Rush was in Hawaii for a special ceremony at a most historic spot. He was there to see his portrait added to the others that hang on the wall of the Clean Sweep Bar and Skippers’ Lounge at Lockwood Hall, in the bachelor officers’ quarters at Pearl Harbor. The room was a gathering place for submarine commanders to meet, relax, tell sea stories, and share details of their latest patrols and maneuvers. Rush’s World War II-vintage photo was about to join those already on the wall. In so doing, he was about to share wall space with men like Admiral Charles Lockwood, Edward Beach, Dick O’Kane, and “Mush” Morton, men who were his heroes and role models as a young officer.

He told the assembled crowd, “When
Billfish
went through that long and difficult experience, I came to understand some things. The crew of the
Billfish
made that submarine.”

But during his part of the ceremony, Rear Admiral John B. Padgett III, commander of the submarine force, U.S. Pacific fleet, best summed up what it meant to finally have the whole story of
Billfish
and her crew told.

“It is important that today’s young officers and the wonderful young men they lead on those submarines understand the strength, the humility, and the courage of the men upon whose shoulders we all stand,” Admiral Padgett said. “That legacy is profound. That legacy is what sustains us when times get tough today. The elements of courage that Captain Rush demonstrated as a young officer many years ago are those same elements we try to instill in our officers and the men they lead on our ships today.”

Courage. Dedication. Pride.

Those were the hallmarks of the men who took the 286 boat to somewhere south of hell, and then brought her back again.

Just as Admiral Padgett noted, that is why it is so important that their story—the real story—can now be shared, not just for us but for those who go in harm’s way on our behalf.

World War II lasted 1,347 days. During that time, 465 different submarine skippers took 263 different boats to battle on 1,736 war patrols. Approximately 16,000 men were riding along on those runs.

Over 4,000 merchant ships flying the Japanese flag were attacked, using almost 15,000 torpedoes. The American submarines sank nearly 1,200 of those merchantmen. They also sank over 200 naval vessels.

Of the 263 U.S. Navy submarines that went to war, 52 were lost. And with them, more than 3,600 men were dispatched on “eternal patrol.”

A force that comprised less than 2 percent of the U.S. Navy during World War II was responsible for 55 percent of Japan’s maritime losses. At the same time, with a casualty rate of over 20 percent, the submarine service had the highest mortality rate of any branch of the U.S. armed forces during the war.

When President Franklin Roosevelt saw the success and the heavy price paid by submariners, he said, “I can only echo the words of Winston Churchill. Never have so many owed so much to so few.”

The submariners say it even more succinctly.

“Bravo Zulu.”

“Job well-done.”

I
ntelling this remarkable story, I have necessarily relied on the memories of men who are in their eighties, men who are recounting details of events that occurred more than sixty years ago, and who are attempting to recall experiences that happened under the most intense conditions anyone could possibly endure. Still, I am reasonably confident that these details are as accurate as I can make them and that the sources’ recollections are true.

I say this because other research I have been able to obtain confirms their versions of events. I especially want to thank those who were so generous with their time and effort to assist in this project. That includes John Crouse, museum manager, St. Marys Submarine Museum in St. Marys, Georgia, who supplied excellent supporting documentation from their wonderful archives. Much of this material is now available online for anyone to access at the Historic Naval Ships Association’s exceptional Web site at:
http://www.hnsa.org/doc/subreports.htm
.

My everlasting thanks as well go to Jon Jaques, submarine historian and archivist, a former submariner himself, and an officer in the United States Submarine Veterans organization. It was Jon who first told me the basics of this story. I’m a storyteller, and I was hooked immediately.

There is another connection here. Jon, my literary agent, Bob Robison, and I were in a car together en route to Arlington National Cemetery for the memorial service for Captain William R. Anderson. Bill was the man who took USS
Nautilus
to the North Pole in 1958 and with whom I cowrote an account of that remarkable voyage. He also made eleven World War II submarine patrols. Little did I know at the time that there would be a personal link between a diesel-powered submarine named
Billfish
and the amazing feat accomplished by the world’s first nuclear-powered vessel. Only in my interviews with Captain Rush later did I learn of his early involvement in that historical event.

Jon, who is an accountant, has compiled a very precise history of World War II submarine captains, and I continue to rely on his work for fact-checking and other research.

Practically any work on World War II submarine warfare has to make use of the book
Silent Victory
by Clay Blair Jr. This one is no exception. Mr. Blair’s exhaustive account of the various boats and patrols, captains and crew members, records and maneuverings, is an invaluable source. That applies not only to facts but also to personal accounts, anecdotes, and observations he culled from myriad sources in completing this amazing resource.

Some material in this book came from various newspaper articles, many of which appeared when the awards and citations were finally given to the key players in the story. That includes several articles by Navy personnel and in various base publications and some quotes from a story by Paul Reid of the
Palm Beach Post.
All of this material was later confirmed and expanded upon by Captain Charles Rush and others, in interviews I conducted with them or through other sources.

More details and quotes are based on an oral history given by Captain Rush to
Proceedings
, a publication of the Naval Institute, and an extensive oral history recorded by Chief Charley T. Odom for the University of Tennessee in Knoxville.

Thank you to both Charlie Rush and Charley Odom for leaving articles and oral histories so that the events of World War II can be preserved for future generations. The estimate is that we lose over a thousand World War II veterans a day. That represents a lot of history and many wonderful stories that we will never have documented.

I especially want to express my deepest appreciation to Charlie Rush for both his time and his infinite patience during his telephone interviews with me, and for his willingness to share this story with all of us.

Now, let me say that, with this book, I steam into shoaling waters on at least two courses.

First, and necessarily, I present as fact many details of events that are now almost sixty-five years old, but, as noted, I have tried to be as accurate as possible. In the course of telling the story, I also assign personality traits to and put words in the mouths of real men, most of whom have long since departed on “eternal patrol.” Again, I have done my best to portray those men the way I believe they really were and not misrepresent them, their personalities, their words, or their actions in any way. Wherever possible, I wanted them to tell their story.

Second, I present in what might be considered an unflattering way several men who play important roles in this story. There was no way around it. As nearly as I can determine, this was very close to the way it happened. In every case, these were people who otherwise served their country well when they found themselves elsewhere besides on a submarine being pummeled by depth charges. I do not in any way want to diminish their contributions to the victory in World War II, nor what they did to preserve the peace afterward.

I am aware that these men have families, shipmates, and friends who will not necessarily appreciate the way they are depicted here. Again, I have tried to be as accurate and evenhanded in that portrayal as I could.

I also make the point in the narrative—and I am backed up by several of those who were there or who observed similar situations, as well as a consensus of historians—that many of these men were in the midst of something that few of us could have withstood. In addition, they were there through no fault of their own. Yes, they volunteered if they were in submarines. Still, they did not necessarily know there would be a war or that we would fight it the way this one was fought.

Usually, it was the higher-ups who made the bad decisions, placing the wrong men into positions of leadership. Then they were often too slow in correcting those questionable personnel moves.

It was those who faltered, though, who gave men like Charlie Rush, John Rendernick, Charley Odom, and the rest of the crew of
Billfish
the opportunity to show how brave men can be when they are thrust into such horrible, desperate situations.

This book is not about those who fell short. It is about those who excelled, who showed remarkable ingenuity and stirring bravery more than six hundred feet below the surface of a depth-charge-churned sea on Armistice Day 1943.

I dedicate this book to all of them and to the memories of those who are now gone.

Their courage and sacrifice should inspire us all. It certainly did me.