Reluctant Warriors

by Jon Stafford

  Battle for Huon Gulf

  Those who go down to the sea in ships,

  Who do business on great waters;

  They have seen the works of the Lord,

  And His wonders in the deep.

  —King David, 1000 BC,

  Psalm 107:23-24

  New American Standard Bible

  Huon Gulf, off the coast of eastern New Guinea, September 16, 1943

  At 0430, in the predawn darkness, Captain Theodore R. Rodgers, Jr., came onto the bridge of Grand Rapids as he did every morning. He sat in his chair and took a cigarette from his inevitable package of Camels. Long years at sea had taken the boyish looks from the forty-year-old’s face. Somewhat weather-beaten, it was a sailor’s face, to be sure. It had other unmistakable qualities too. There was strength in it that spoke of a man of authority.

  But that was not why men followed him, jumped to his commands, and would die for what he wanted. He projected a goodness of heart and a sacrifice for others that won them over. Always, he would hear the views and complaints of a man, no matter his rank. He visited endlessly and effortlessly with any member of the crew. No one had ever heard him swear or even raise his voice against another. He forgave mistakes. He could take enormous amounts of pressure and act on great amounts of information without even looking busy.

  The heat of the tropics was not so evident at this early hour. The light wind reminded him of his youth in Mobile, when the sultry ocean breezes came in through the live oak trees and into the tiny bedroom he shared with his little sister. He recalled the oil lamps he so often cleaned, even after almost everyone else they knew had gotten electricity.

  The image of his mother came into his mind. He saw her standing in the kitchen, heard her voice in his head: Teddy, did school go well for you today? She would come to him and touch him lovingly on the check, the perfect mother. She had made a nurturing home for two children after their father had been killed.

  Since adulthood, the sea had been his home, one ship after another for nineteen years since graduating from Annapolis. It was not something he could explain, or even attempted to explain, even to his wife. She seemed to understand that he never tired of the sea, never wished leave, was really at home nowhere else.

  This particular ship, the fourteen-year-old Grand Rapids, was the oldest heavy cruiser in the US Navy and the sister ship of the famous Pensacola and Salt Lake City. She had captured his heart. Although he was to command fleets and entertain kings, no other assignment he was to have could compete with commanding her. She had such good manners in a bad sea, and her gentle sway at low speed had a simple magic that he never got over.

  She was like a voluptuous woman, with her two triple eight-inch gun turrets high out of the water on huge barbettes and her two two-gun turrets hugging the deck. Her armor was scant by later standards. But packed into her stubby 586 feet and 9,200 tons was gun power equal to that of any heavy cruiser in the world, and more than in most. To Rodgers, she represented the might and majesty of the country he had dedicated his life to defending, the odd combinations of raw power in a pretty package and austerity with charm. She remained in his mind every day of the rest of his life, proudly at anchor with her tall tripod mast. He never tired of the pleasure of seeing her lines, smelling her, loving her, his great love.

  It was a satisfying time in his life for many reasons. For one thing, he was the youngest captain of a major warship in the US Navy. He had captained Grand Rapids since coming off the injured list in March. The intervening months had seen them in the thick of the war, doing what they were made for, attacking Japanese targets along the coast of New Guinea that General Douglas MacArthur, Commander Southwest Pacific, was moving against.

  Rodgers’ eleven-month-old leg wound had mostly healed. His left femur bone had been badly fractured when he lost his first ship, and he had taken about thirty tiny bomb fragments in various parts of his body. He had gone back on active duty too soon, and for months each step had been an excruciating trial. But he had never let on, and the expression on his face had not given him away. As the embedded bomb fragments worked their way to the surface of his skin, he calmly pulled them out without comment and dropped them on the deck. He assured skeptical doctors, one after the other, that he was completely well and in no pain at all.

  The prize had been Grand Rapids. While he took pain better than almost any man, she had been his drug, intoxicating him. She was enough of a nurse that he had thrown overboard the pain pills prescribed for him. Looking about the ship in the predawn light, he pressed his left hand against the flesh where the break had been. His left eye twitched as he winced almost imperceptibly. But he was a man who did not need the sympathy of others, and he never said anything to anyone, not even his wife.

  In the growing light, Rodgers looked fore and aft at the other members of the little task group he commanded as it approached Dampier Strait, the narrow channel between the island of New Britain and the great island of New Guinea. The task force, designated 61.2, also contained the destroyers Winslow, commanded by Felix O’Bright, and Avery, commanded by David Trask. Right now Winslow was ahead of Grand Rapids, Avery astern.

  Rear Admiral Lakeland W. Wells, who was in ill health, was in command of the overall operation. It was a veteran force, with many of the crews having served together since before Pearl Harbor. All continued to remain quiet on the flagship as Rodgers sat in his chair, smoking his cigarettes. The sailors went about their business, oblivious to the fact that a powerful Japanese task group had been tracking them for the last twenty minutes.

  To the northwest, a Japanese force led by heavy cruisers Niitaka and Zukaku had glimpsed the American ships by binocular. On the bridge of the Japanese flagship, Zukaku, Rear Admiral Tokira Osukawa talked over plans with Captain Mosudi Satsuma.

  “Ah,” he nodded, “the Americans have appeared in exactly the wrong place, barring our way to the beachhead. Is this Admiral Crutchley’s force?”

  “We think not, sir,” Satsuma replied. “Army scout planes saw him leave Milne Bay with his cruisers on the twelfth and pass here heading north two days ago.”

  “Then who is this?”

  “We do not know, Admiral, but it looks like three ships, one a cruiser.”

  “What kind of a cruiser?”

  “We will have to wait until the light gets stronger.”

  At 0643, as Grand Rapids was steaming at fourteen knots on the northern leg of its patrol pattern, a signalman rushed toward Captain Rodgers.

  “What is it, Billy?” Rodgers asked.

  The excited eighteen-year-old blurted out, “Sir, radar has a contact! Bearing north-northwest, sir, about eighteen miles.”

  Rodgers turned to the communications officer. “Boots and Saddles, Mr. Ware.”

  The klaxon sounded throughout the ship, bringing the crew to General Quarters. The two destroyers followed.

  On the radar screen, the contact soon multiplied into two large blips and two small ones. The light was not yet full, and the contacts could not be brought out by the inferior American binoculars on the bridge, but as their direction made them enemy ships, Battle Stations was sounded, bringing Rear Admiral Wells to the bridge. Rodgers sat calmly as others scurried about the bridge, the admiral standing next to him.


  “What you got?” the admiral asked.

  “Four enemy ships. Looks like two cruisers.”

  “Well,” the admiral said cautiously, “I hope they’re light cruisers.”

  At 0701, the bridge identified the larger ships as Sendai-class light cruisers, along with two destroyers. A moment later, word came down from “Guns” that the destroyers were the huge heavy cruisers of the Myoko class.

  “Damn!” Wells snapped, on hearing the news. “They’ve never brought big ships into these waters. How the hell did they get here, past air patrol?”

  Both Wells and Rodgers took binoculars and looked to the northwest.

  “I have no idea, sir,” Rodgers responded. “They couldn’t have come from Rabaul to the east, or our planes would have spotted them. And they couldn’t have come from the west, or they would have run into Crutchley’s ships. So I guess they must have come south from Truk. But that lead ship’s a Myoko for sure.”

  The two men retreated toward the back of the bridge and consulted in muffled voices. Soon they were joined by the Executive Officer Commander Harold Springer and Captain Thomas E. Ransom, assistant chief of Naval Operations Southwest Pacific, who happened to be on board.

  “Well,” the admiral finally suggested, “we could run for it. Each of those Amazons has about four thousand tons on us and the same ten-gun power.”

  “We can’t do that,” Rodgers objected. “They’re headed to the beachhead at Lae. Those men and supply ships will be sitting ducks.” He handed his binoculars to a nearby sailor.

  “Maybe they’re headed somewhere else,” the admiral said.

  “I don’t know,” Rodgers said, thinking aloud. “They’ve seen us for sure. Wherever we go, they’re likely to follow us just to polish us off. Besides, if we head away from the beachhead, they’d have a free shot at it. There’s not much help to be had either. Crutchley is bombarding Madang 150 miles north of here, and I think the Air Force has got a big strike on for Rabaul.”

  “How far are we from the beachhead?” the admiral asked.

  Springer answered. “I figure about sixty-five miles. Two-plus hours steaming time.”

  On Zukaku, Captain Satsuma returned to the bridge to make his report. “Sir, it is one of the Pensacola-class heavy cruisers.”

  The admiral was surprised. “But we believe Pensacola was sunk at Guadalcanal last year, and Salt Lake City was either sunk or badly damaged six months ago at the Kormandorski Islands battle.”

  “Perhaps they have repaired Salt Lake City.”

  “I would be very surprised, Captain. As you know, I was there, commanding Maya. All of us thought she must have gone down, although we had to withdraw with American planes on the way and did not actually see her sink. But there is a third.”

  “Yes, Grand Rapids.”

  “So, this is Grand Rapids!”

  “Yes, perhaps so. But, Admiral, it makes no difference. We have twice the power of the enemy. Our ships are newer, faster, and have more armor protection. She will not hold us up for an hour. Then we can go on to attack the beachhead at Lae.”

  The admiral looked far away. “I do not know, Choshi.” Choshi was the nickname he had called Satsuma since their days as instructor and student at the Imperial Japanese Naval Academy at Tsukiji, near Tokyo. “I learned at the Kormandorski battle to never underestimate the Americans. Let us see if they offer battle.”

  Admiral Wells continued the discussion. “Maybe General Kenney and his Fifth Air Force know all about this and are coming to pulverize that force right now. Let’s pull out southwest, retreat before them and play for time.”

  Rodgers shook his head.

  “If you leave me in command, sir,” he said, “I can tell you right now that I’m not going to do that. If the Air Force does show up, that’s great. In the meantime, these people,” as he always called the enemy, “have maybe three knots’ speed on us, depending on their last overhaul. If we pull out and retreat before them, in two hours they can come up on us pretty good. I can see one on each of our flanks, putting holes all over us. They might get in a lucky shot, polish us off, and go on to the beachhead without us even hurting them. I don’t think we have any choice but to set up right here.”

  The three officers present looked toward the admiral to see how he would respond. Wells paused a moment. Well, he thought to himself, this is why I fought with Halsey for this guy. I have to let him command. Also, I have to make it perfectly clear for the record that Ransom and Springer understand this.

  “Kip, you’re in command,” the admiral said, his voice firm. “I just hate for you to lose your ship.”

  “Sir, let’s make them put us in the water. That’s why we’re here.”

  Here goes my career, Wells thought. Looks as though I’ve lost after all. This will be like being shot at in a fish bowl. But he responded, “Okay, do it!”

  Rodgers was ready. He moved back to the center of the bridge, the admiral and the others standing behind him. “Mike,” Rodgers said to the helmsman, “come to, ah, 125. Ring up flank speed,” he said to another. “Tell the engine room chief what’s going on, and that we need all he can give us as soon as possible.”

  He turned to another sailor. “Get on the horn to Trask and O’Bright.”

  There was a wait of about twenty seconds before contact was established.

  “Felix? David?” Rodgers called.

  The two commanders responded: “Yes, sir?”

  “Listen, we intend to offer battle right here.”

  Trask sounded surprised when he answered. “Two Myokos, sir? Can we hold out against them?”

  “Well, we sure hope so. But we haven’t much choice. We think they intend to attack the beachhead at Lae.”

  O’Bright chimed in. “How could they have reacted so quickly after our invasion?”

  “We have no idea,” Rodgers replied. “There’s no use thinking about that now. You two conform to my movements as best you can, fronting me from those destroyers. Get about a thousand yards to port of me.”

  O’Bright interrupted. “Sir, we could run a torpedo attack in on them and you could get away.”

  “No, don’t worry about that. We want you to keep those destroyers off us and out of torpedo range as long as you can. Listen carefully, just in case we live through this and they want to court-martial me. If this goes against Grand Rapids, then I want you to attack these people with torpedoes until they sink you. Clear?”

  The very slight remains of his Southern accent struck both men. Both responded in the affirmative.

  Rodgers continued. “We’re about ten minutes from opening fire now. Good luck to you both.”

  He set the phone back in the hanger and gazed slowly and carefully at the men on the bridge, knowing he was putting their lives on the line. The chance of battle is always with us, he thought.

  He turned away from the others for a moment. Though his facial expression never changed, he prayed silently: Heavenly Father, be with us today as we engage the enemy of our country. Excuse us the sin of taking their lives. Guide me that I do not waste the lives of those entrusted to me. Should their lives be taken
, may they stand before You this day in Paradise.

  He paused a little longer, and then turned back to the men on the bridge. “Get that little Citadel ensign up here.” He frowned at not being able to recall the man’s name. “Also, get off this plain language message to Post Moresby:

  “We are engaging a superior enemy surface force in Dampier Strait. Request immediate air support!

  “Then get Lieutenant Cashion on the phone.”

  In seconds, the young gunnery officer, sitting two levels directly above, was on the line. “Sam, what’s the range?” Rodgers asked.

  “Very close to thirty-four thousand yards, sir.”

  “Okay. We plan to fight right here.”

  “Sir, ah . . .”

  “Yes, I know. We want you to open fire at extreme range. What would that be? Thirty thousand?”

  “Yes, about.”

  “Can you hit anything at that range?”

  “Perhaps, sir.”

  “Well, it doesn’t make any difference. We’re further out of the water with those big ‘B’ and ‘X’ triple gun turrets than they are. That must give us a tiny range advantage. We need to play for time, Sam. Keep them off of us for as long as you can. Maybe we can get a break. For now, put three of your four turrets in against that lead ship.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes, Captain?” Admiral Osukawa asked, as Satsuma approached.

  “Admiral, Grand Rapids is paralleling us, showing no intention of withdrawing. She will offer battle.”

  Assuming he was facing an American admiral instead of a captain, Osukawa said, “Ah, so we will see what this American admiral is made of. I tell you, I am wary of the Americans, but the success of our mission depends on the enemy air force. We need to defeat Grand Rapids as soon as possible and move on. What is your plan against the old cruiser?”