“Bridge, radar, aircraft contact; bearing two-six-niner, course one-eight-niner, speed one-niner-zero, distance three-seven miles.”
The talker told the OOD, who informed the Captain.
“OOD, sound General Quarters, repel aircraft from two-six-niner, have the AGAR informed, we’re going to thirty-five knots in three minutes, and open our distance to two miles.”
“All stations report manned and ready, sir.”
“Very well,” the OOD turned toward the Captain and repeated the report. “Sir, where did those planes come from?”
Captain Lanner responded as the OOD “Unknown; I would have to guess an airbase somewhere along the enemy line of advancement.”
Captain Christopher Lanner stepped through the starboard hatch, unto the small wing. He scanned the skies to the west, where the aircraft spotted by radar should be.
Moving back to the hatch, he yelled, “Where are those planes supposed to be?”
The OOD called radar with the same question. When the answer came back, he moved to the Captain, still standing in the hatch. “Sir, those planes have dropped to three thousand feet, still at two-s-niner.”
“Very well. Helm, hard right rudder, bring her about smartly.”
“Helmsman, mind the clinometer, we don’t want to roll.”
“Aye, sir, minding the clinometer.”
Mr. Hamilton said, “Bo’ sun, 1MC, all hands brace for extreme maneuvers.”
The Bo’ sun passed the order as the ship heeled sharply to the left.
“OOD, have the main battery open fire when those planes come into range.”
“Aye, sir,” the OOD grabbed the IC phone with one hand, while the other tightly held onto a railing. The OOD passed the word. As the ship came out of her hard turn, the Fire Control director settled to the west, with the two forward mounts slaved to the director, they followed suit. Seconds later, a verbal warning was transmitted by the Fire Control Officer over the 1MC. It came none too soon, as the two forward five-inch guns barked. Those on deck clamped their hands over their ears, just as the sharp crack of the five-inch guns quaked the air about the bow of the destroyer.
When the enemy planes came within the range of the secondary battery, they too opened fire. The first plane to dive on the ship was a Mitsubishi A6M, Allied code name, Zero for white Navy, or Zeke for the green Army version. The pilot had his plane in a three-hundred-mile an hour dive. He opened fire with two seven-point-seven-millimeter cowl-mounted machine guns.
The twin stream of thirty-caliber bullets marched toward the HALLIS, raked the ship, then the plane disappeared in the blink of an eye. Behind the attacker, seven men lay wounded, one seriously. Bullets damaged several pieces of equipment, including a motor whaleboat.
Another round split apart upon striking the reinforced corner of the after deckhouse. One half ricocheted over the side. The other sliced through the bottom of a loop of a fuel line for the boats. Although not pressurized, the line contained over two gallons of flammable fuel, which ran unchecked over the deck.
Another A6M pushed over and dived into a large building-sized cloud. The aircraft’s speed approached three-hundred-miles an-hour, and the pilot throttled back to keep from exceeding the aircraft’s structural limitations.
As the plane exploded from the darker base of the cloud, the pilot turned to port a few degrees, bringing the plane in line with the American destroyer.
The Japanese Flight Ensign turned on the power to the two cowl-mounted machine guns. Twin streams of seven-point-seven-millimeter bullets screamed toward the dodging destroyer. The pilot slightly pulled back the stick, bringing the tail down, thus making the dive shallower. The bullets reached the stern of the ship and began ricocheting downwards. Pulling back on the stick leveled out the plane, further causing the heavy shells of the two wing cannons to slam into the deck where they exploded and ricocheted about the deck in unpredictable directions. Several men lay injured by both direct and indirect fire.
At the same time, another Zero dove from the clouds a mile off the forward port quarter. The port lookout called in his report, his voice higher than normal, “Enemy fighter at three-zero-three-true, one-mile out, high-speed, altitude three hundred feet.”
“Helm turn to three-zero-three-degrees, smartly. Lee helm, increase speed to all ahead flank, thirty-five knots.”
“Aye, sir,” a chorus of calls responded.
Everyone throughout the ship readied themselves for more harsh maneuvers. In the engineering spaces, the engineers checked and rechecked all the gages, readings, and fluid levels on the machinery. The crew grasped handholds where they could as the ship went into its turn, causing the decks to tilt to starboard.
As the bow approached the ordered course, the plane was clearly in view, and the two forward main guns were firing as fast as the crew could load them. The twenty-millimeter cannons that had a clean shot at the plane opened up with their rapid ripple of loud discharges. Their three-quarter-inch shells were invisible in the air unless they hit the plane. Sparks or puffs, a rare panel or part would fly off, would be the only indication of a hit. The exception was, of course, the tracers, which allowed the gunners to adjust their aim, could be seen hitting the Zero. A solid hit, causing an engine to burst into smoke or flames, sometimes brought forth a cry from the gunners.
The Ensign felt his plane taking repeated hits and knew his end was near. He lightly tapped first one rudder pedal, then the other, causing the nose to swing to and fro, to spray deadly rounds in a path across` the width of the ship. He righted his plane and pulled into a hard climb turning away from the murderous antiaircraft fire from the ship.
His rounds harmlessly ricochet off the steel ship and forward turrets. Then the cowl guns sprayed two dozen deadly rounds across the bridge windshields, punching holes with each bullet. Every man on the bridge took at least one or several rounds
Captain Lanner took two hits. One passed through the windshield and punched through his shoulder. Two factors saved his life; first, the pilot fired from nearly the maximum range, and it passed through a steel splinter shield, then the windshield. The second wound came from a splinter from a ricochet into his thigh. He fell back into his chair and drew from his reserve strength to pull himself into the seat. He knew he lost his cap but wasn’t concerned. The OOD, Mr. Hamilton, lay on the deck, blood pooling beneath his body. A bullet entered his right shoulder and stopped against his left shoulder socket after passing through his lungs and heart.
A round hit the top of the talker’s head, leaving a bloody furrow across the top of his head, and destroying his helmet and headset. He laid across the dead OOD’s legs unconscious, but not seriously wounded. The Messenger, Seaman Second, was standing, but in shock from a large wound to his side.
QM3 Joel Kemptford suffered a puncture in his chest from a shard of glass from the shattered windshield, along with a jagged piece from a slug. He regained his post and continued to keep the ship away from others that were dodging attacking aircraft.
Lee Helmsman Seaman first Darren Olds lay against the after bulkhead, with a fatal head wound. The duty Bo ‘sun was holding his shattered right arm while trying to get to the IC box to call for help.
The Captain forced himself to get to his feet, fighting off the waves of dizziness and nausea. He got upright by holding the mounted fixtures and grabbed the IC phone. Flipping on the switch to Operations, when answered, he almost yelled, “This is the Captain, send the XO to the bridge, right away.”
Seconds later, the XO rushed into the mayhem on the bridge.
“Jeez Captain, what happened?”
“We got hit by that last strafing attack; you need to get the medics up here and replacements.”
“On it, sir,” the XO swung into action, calling for the medical attention needed. Then he contacted the First and Second Division heads to provide a new bridge team and clean up the debris.
“XO, those weren’t Zekes, they and the rest are carrier-based aircraft. Get a message
to Darwin and Brisbane, a possible carrier force in the Timor Sea area.”
Captain Lanner crawled back into his chair.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Medics completed their initial treatment and sent those to sickbay for further treatment. The Captain was treated in his cabin while the XO and Lieutenant JG Charles Flagg assumed the GQ OOD billet. Quartermaster Third Kemptford was treated for his minor wounds at his post, refusing to leave it.
The XO looked over the new GQ roster, now consisting of:
CO Lieutenant Commander Christopher Lanner
OOD Lieutenant JG Charles Flagg
BM Julian Worthington
Helm QM3 Joel Kemptford
Lee Helm SN2 Norman Butters
Messenger SN2 Arnold Newton
Talker SN2Avery Simon
The Captain returned to the bridge, looking like he hadn’t received a scratch. The ship’s physician, Lieutenant Aubrey Elliot, treated his wounds and sewed up his shoulder. He also gave him an injection of vitamins to ward off fatigue.
Captain Lanner sat in his chair with a cup of coffee, receiving updates on the condition of the ship and crew. The XO made his report, then left for his station.
“Bo’ sun, give me ship wide on the 1MC.”
“Aye, sir,” he flipped the appropriate switches and handed the Captain the handset.
“This is the Captain. We have completed a dangerous mission which, resulted in the successful recovery of an Australian commando unit. The unexpected run-in with Japanese naval air assets resulted in some damage to our ship, and we have some wounded men. I am saddened to report we also lost a fine officer, Lieutenant JG Wayne Hamilton. We also lost some of our finest men, Gunner’s Mate Second Class Adam Goddard, Seaman First Class Tom Mathers, and Seaman Second Class Darrian Olds. We can honor these men by doing our best at all times and keeping them in our prayers and hearts all our days. You, the men who make this a fighting ship, have a reputation that doesn’t take second place. The Australian commanders expressed their thanks for our service but said the AGAR and us are the most fearsome pair of destroyers they have seen. Our ship will be repaired, and we will go back and do our part in winning this war. Our next stop is Brisbane. Captain out.”
“Good speech, Captain,” Mr. Flagg said.
“Thank you, Mr. Flagg; I meant every word of it.”
“May I ask something?”
“Certainly.”
“Did the Australians call us fearsome?”
“Yes, they did. I was surprised by their accolades, but it’s true.”
“The reason I asked, the Aussies are quite conservative, and they haven’t been as open to praise as we have.”
“I wouldn’t see it as a result of being conservative; I think it’s more along the line of a matter of perception. But, I will say the Australians appreciation is sincere.”
“They are good allies to have, the whole UK is a good ally.”
“Yes, they are. Have the XO provide an update on our condition, particularly air defense for the eight o’clock reports.”
“Aye, sir.”
Later that evening, the bridge sounded eight bells and passed the word: “Now lay before the mast all eight-o’clock reports.”
The XO and department heads met each evening at twenty-hundred hours, or eight PM. Each department outlined the status of their department and the extent of battle damage and or casualties.
In this case, the Captain expressed concern with the ship’s ability to protect itself from any further air attacks. The forty-millimeter guns were down again from battle-damaged sustained in the last battle. The saving grace was the ships were sailing south, and opening the distance from any potential enemy carrier forces.
“Captain,” the XO said, “The damage to the after deckhouse is too severe for the ship’s crew to repair, and the forties are out of action.”
“Very well, XO, I expected that. We got ripped pretty bad in that last attack. The best report came from the Engineering Department, at least we still have a sound hull and good boilers and engines. By the way, I received a message the yard will be rebricking all four boilers during this overhaul.”
“We should punch the tubes, as well.”
“I agree,” the Captain said, “I’ll get with Mr. Reagan and plug it into the job requests.”
The ships finished their transit with no further contact with enemy units. As they approached Moreton Bay, the harbor pilot’s boat came alongside to transfer the pilot. His job was to safely guide the ship through the protective minefield, then to their assigned mooring location.
Following the mooring procedure, the Captain authorized the engineers to cross-connect the plants and keep one boiler in operation until the ship’s schedule is clarified. In the meantime, a fuel barge pulled alongside to begin fueling the ship, while the crew loaded provisions.
Captain Lanner’s phone squawked, “Captain,” he answered.
“Sir, an officer from the Naval Office, is at the quarterdeck.”
“Very well, I’ll be right down.”
At the quarterdeck, the Captain greeted Michael Connelly, one of the American Naval Support Staff on the base. He introduced himself to the Captain, and Captain Lanner asked him to accompany him to the wardroom.
“Grab a seat, Lieutenant, want some coffee?”
“Yes, sir, I get too much tea around here, and a good cup of Navy coffee is like gold.”
Laughing, the Captain said, “I know what you mean. How long have you been in Brisbane?”
“Since the war started. I was sent down under, as the locals lovingly call Australia, to help set up a repair station and negotiate with the civilians for repairs to our ships. We’re still only to do a little better than the tender moored in the bay.”
“The rep in Darwin determined our battle damage was too severe for Brisbane; we have orders to sail to Pearl.
“I saw the report, and we thought the ship could be repaired here, rather than sailing all that distance to Pearl.”
“I rather you didn’t pursue that course, my crew wouldn’t take kindly to it.”
“Sir?”
“Everyone is planning on being overhauled in Pearl, and many of our crew have families there.”
“Is your family at Pearl, sir?”
“My wife is, but we’re not yet a family.”
“I understand, sir. On the other hand, it is my professional opinion that the damage to both ships is greater than what our limited facilities can handle, with the war and other matters. If you could provide me with a list of what you may need, I will make arrangements for the earliest replenishment and refueling.” He said with a smile.
“That’s very kind of you, Lieutenant; you’re very perceptive. I’m sure my crew will appreciate your efforts.”
“You’re welcome; we’ll get you on your way as soon as possible.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
“Good luck, sir, my best to you and your wife.” The meeting ended, and the Lieutenant took him to the quarterdeck.
The Captain had the quarterdeck call for the XO to meet him in the wardroom. Five minutes later, the XO arrived.
“How are we doing on refueling and loading provisions?”
“The fuel tanks are full, and the provisions are aboard, and we will be ready to get underway when everyone says we can.”
“Good,” answered the Captain. Tell Engineering to light the plant off for getting underway; I have a call to make.”
Captain Lanner called the naval office on the base, and the duty officer told him he could get underway at his discretion.
It took an hour to get the plant ready, the short time for full pressure was due to the plant still being near operating temperature when the lighting off orders came down to Main Control.
It wasn’t long, and the harbor pilot arrived for the ship’s departure. The ships untied one at a time, and the pilots took control. Half an hour later, the pilot left the ship at the mouth of the harbor, and the two Gleaves were ste
aming toward Pearl Harbor, forty-six-hundred miles away on course zero-four-two. A planned stop to top off their fuel tanks at Vanuatu took a couple of hours; then, they set sail again.
****
Lieutenant Commander Marie Maggie Lanner sat at her desk, reviewing the latest batch of evaluations the senior nurses completed on their subordinates. With yet a full three weeks before the deadline of submission, the Commander was taking care to ensure each evaluation was fair.
Her phone gave off its muted ring, which normally sounded like a dinner bell across the entire floor. “This is Commander Lanner, may I help you?”
“Maggie, this is Joy, have you heard from Chris yet?”
“I received a letter a week ago, but I can only surmise the HALLIS is spending a lot of time at sea. They only left a couple of months ago. Can you tell me what intelligence says?”
“No, you know no such information is allowed on the phone.”
“Tell you what, Joy, you owe me lunch, how about meeting me here, and we’ll buy a good hospital meal.”
“Eleven-thirty?”
“I’ll meet you at the east door; it’s stuffy in here today.”
“See ya, then girl.”
Maggie felt a twist in her stomach; ‘something was wrong. Joy, being an analyst for Naval Intelligence, had its advantages, but there are those times she means well, and says things that increase tension.’
At lunch, their conversation began with routine chit-chat. Maggie couldn’t withhold her burning questions. “What’s going on with my husband’s ship?
Joy looked right, then left, for imaginary eavesdroppers. “A message came through for the repair station to receive both the HALLIS and AGAR scheduled for repair, upkeep, and updating. The initial list of repairs describes enemy gunfire damage, but nothing more.”
Joy hesitated, again looking around her, took a breath, and said, “There was a list of killed and wounded.” Her eyes gave away her churning emotions.
Maggie steeled herself from the terrifying thoughts looming up before her.
“Chris’ name is on the wounded list, Maggie.”
Attack of the Greyhounds Page 25