I climb to the bridge, where I can savor the responsibility of being acting commander of a battleship. How quiet it seems, with only a handful of men on watch. It is about 7:30 a.m.
To the north, I glimpse in the distance what appears to be a large formation of aircraft. This is odd; it is not normal to hold practice maneuvers on a Sunday morning. A pair of binoculars is handy. I take it and find the lead aircraft.
Can it be? The aircraft is bearing the rising sun of Japan. On my flight yesterday to Pearl Harbor, the San Francisco newspaper that I read reported that negotiations were under way in Washington between the Secretary of State and the Special Emissary of the Emperor of Japan.
The only logical explanation is that the negotiations have collapsed and the Japanese are attacking Pearl Harbor! Explosions from the vicinity of Wheeler Air Base confirm my conclusion.
Without reflecting, I press the alarm button. The sound of the klaxon is ear-shattering. Interposed between the piercing blasts of the horn are verbal commands for the crew to take battle stations. Almost instantaneously, a horde of sailors disgorges from the innards of the ship, racing to take their stations. Many are only partially dressed; all wear life jackets and metal helmets.
I turn on the ship’s loud-speaker system.
“This is no drill!” my voice reverberates from speakers throughout the ship. “Japanese aircraft are attacking Pearl Harbor! This is the acting captain, Ensign Maynard Snodgrass, speaking.”
The bridge, virtually deserted before the alarm, now is fully staffed.
“Get the engine room for me!” I order sharply. “Have the deck crew raise the anchor. If we don’t get under way immediately and reach the open sea, we’ll be sunk.”
The personnel on the bridge gaze at me in amazement. Then they rush to carry out my instructions. I wait straining to see some sign that the engines have gotten up sufficient steam to get under way. After what seems an eternity, the engine room signals the ship can get under way.
Slowly, like a majestic swan, the mighty Arizona begins to move through the harbor. It is not a moment too soon. Flights of Japanese planes descend on Battleship Row. The cascade of falling bombs does not miss its mark. Explosions rock the other battleships, all of them still at anchor. Fire and smoke engulf the vessels.
Several Japanese planes veer off from their attack on the other battleships and head toward the Arizona. The ship’s engines, capable of propelling the battleship at 21 knots, are not yet at full power and our speed seems agonizingly slow. The bombs narrowly miss the ship. Fortunately, the fire from the Arizona’s guns is accurate. Two of the attacking planes are hit and crash into the sea. The crew cheers when the remaining aircraft head back to bomb easier targets.
As we approach the open sea, a lookout reports a sailboat is crossing our path. One of the senior petty officers on the bridge turns to me.
“You know, sir,” he says, “The sail boat has the right of way. Shall I cut our speed?”
“We can’t risk it,” I say decisively. “If we slow down, we’ll be sitting ducks for the Japanese planes. Sound the collision horn! Hopefully, the sail boat will get out of our way.”
The alarm horn is as earsplitting in its own way as the call to battle stations was. Confidant that the Arizona will heave too, the sailboat ignores our collision horn and sails on across our path. I see the men on the bridge staring at me. Some of them gasp. One crosses himself.
They wait for me to give the orders to avoid a collision.
I refuse to do so. I must get the Arizona safely out into the open sea.
At the last moment, the sailboat realizes that we are not going to stop and veers off, nearly capsizing. I see one of the boat’s crew shaking his fist at me and cursing. Whispering, the helmsman tells another crewman that I must have ice in my veins to have taken such a risk. He has no way of knowing that it was not only for my skill on the football field and my success with the ladies that I was dubbed the “Iron Duke” by my envious classmates at the Naval Academy.
Once on the open ocean, the island of Oahu fading into the distance, I dismiss the crew from battle stations. The signal room informs me that they can hear on Honolulu’s commercial radio stations news reports about the attack on Pearl Harbor. I order that the radio broadcasts be piped through the ship’s loudspeaker system so that the crew can hear the latest news.
Many of the sailors have friends or family living ashore near the naval base. It hurts me to see their concern.
Much as I would like to console them, there is no time. I am the only officer on board and must take care of the navigation myself. Hearing the radio reports of the massive damage inflicted on the military installations at Pearl Harbor reminds me that I ought to inform the Pacific Fleet Headquarters of my intentions.
I order the signal room to send word that I have taken the Arizona to sea to evade the Japanese attack. Unless instructed to return to Pearl Harbor, I add, I intend to seek out and attack the Japanese task force that launched the attack.
A surge of pride overcomes me as I identify myself as “Ensign Maynard Snodgrass, duty officer and acting captain.”
It occurs to me that I might be hasty. Is the Arizona capable of undertaking the hazardous mission I have chosen for us? I summon the senior rating in each department to join me on the bridge. They come, seasoned petty officers, many of them more twice my age. Because of I reported on board late last night, none of them have seen me before.
Introducing myself, I ask them to report on the ready status of their departments. Their answers please me. We have the necessary minimum of crew on board, as well as adequate stores of fuel, ammunition and food.
“Good, gentlemen,” I tell them. “We will seek out and attack the Japanese carrier task force that launched the strike against Pearl Harbor.” They look dubious but do not question my decision.
Because I am the only officer on board, I must handle the navigation, too. I plot a course, which I believe will take us to the location of the Japanese fleet. I am exhausted, but I cannot leave the bridge. I order a cot made ready and try to rest.
As night falls, a lookout reports ships on the far horizon. We have located the Japanese! Fortunately, they have not seen the Arizona! I decide to hang back and attack the task force at dawn, coming from the east out of the rising sun. Watch succeeds watch as I alternately walk the bridge and rest on the cot.
What is this? Someone is shaking me. It is a senior petty officer.
I am instantly awake and leap from the cot. “Is something is wrong?” I ask.
“No sir,” he says, handing me a cup of hot coffee. “Sunrise is 30 minutes away. We decided to let you sleep a bit. I hope you don’t mind. You seemed exhausted.”
I am touched by his solicitude, I nod and drink the coffee. It is strong and refreshes me. “Thanks,” I say. “I really needed that. Now, order the crew to battle stations, if you please!”
Even though I now expect the sound of the klaxon horn, I involuntarily jump when the piercing alarm begins. Quickly the crew members race to their battle stations. The interval between the Arizona and the Japanese fleet closes as we race forward at full throttle.
Fortunately, I do not have to handle the gun control personally; the senior rating in that department has told me that he is capable of doing so. I have instructed him to direct all fire from the Arizona’s three turrets against the first Japanese carrier in line until I order otherwise. We near the carrier. Our main armament, the three gun turrets, each with four 14-inch guns, are trained on the target.
As acting captain, I should say something inspirational to the crew. “Men,” I say, the ship’s loudspeaker system blearing my words, “In a moment we will inflict retribution on the Japanese vessels that so treacherously attacked Honolulu. This is your opportunity to pay them back for the death and destruction they have inflicted on our country. I am confident you will do your duty. Just remember Pearl Harbor!”
We are now within range of the Japanese carrier, but I have dela
yed giving the order until they identify us as an enemy ship. Scrutinizing the carrier through my binoculars, I see officers on the bridge of the carrier pointing toward us and members of the crew scurrying to battle stations. It is time to give gun control the order to fire.
I am glad that the carrier has finally detected us. I have maintained radio silence to avoid letting the Japanese become aware of our location. Now I order the signal room to inform Pearl Harbor that the Arizona has found the Japanese carrier task force and is about to engage.
As we plunge forward, I realize I have forgotten to raise the battle flag. My orders to do so are swiftly carried out. I gaze at the huge flag, feeling a surge of patriotism.
A sudden roar almost shatters my eardrums. All three of our turrets have fired simultaneously. The Arizona rolls from the recoil. To avoid the embarrassment of falling on my face from the shock I grab a railing.
Thick smoke envelops the carrier. Then there is the sound of a massive explosion. Debris hurtles through the air. When the smoke clears, there is only wreckage, where the giant Japanese carrier had been only seconds before. One of our shots must have struck the vessel at a vital spot.
“Good shooting,” I congratulate the crew via the loudspeaker. Now it is the unhappy lot of the next Japanese carrier in line to become the target of the Arizona’s mighty broadsides.
The second carrier takes much longer to sink than the first. Salvo after salvo from our turrets hit the vessel. The damage they inflict is obvious; it shudders after each broadside hits and smoke is rising skyward from some half-dozen fires. Still it refuses to sink.
We are losing precious time! The two remaining carriers are fleeing as a swarm of escort vessels heads towards us. Finally, the carrier’s prow rises as it sinks by the stern. Not a moment too soon!
I order gun control to shift fire to the third carrier. Its stern is to us, affording a minimum target. Several of our salvos bracket it, but it is not hit.
The lookouts report a Japanese destroyer will cross our path, hoping to force the Arizona to veer off from its pursuit of the carrier. I can’t permit our prey to escape!
“Steer full ahead!” I order grimly.
We hit the destroyer amidships. There is a loud crashing sound. The Arizona shudders for a second, then continues on. We have cut the destroyer in two. Damage control reports we have sustained some damage to our prow and are taking water.
Should I break off our attack before the Arizona takes further blows? I decide not. Hopefully, the ship’s pumps and temporary measures will hold the leakage at bay until we destroy the two remaining carriers. We press on with the attack.
Our salvos are beginning to hit the third Japanese carrier. It has lost speed and smoke is coming from its stern. Only a few minutes more and the Arizona’s guns should send it to the bottom.
A new danger appears on the scene! The lookouts report that a Japanese heavy cruiser is rushing towards us, its guns blazing. It is tempting to shift our fire to the new target, but I resist the temptation. That would be what the enemy wants. The carrier would take the opportunity to escape.
Anxiously peering through my binoculars at the carrier, I see flames erupting from a new fire near its bridge. It has virtually stopped all forward movement and is settling in the water. Thank God! I can temporarily shift the Arizona’s broadsides to dispose of the Japanese cruiser.
It is not a second too soon. Fire from the cruiser has knocked our number three turret out of action. Its guns are absurdly awry and the survivors of the turret crew are desperately fighting the fire. If the flames reach the ammunition, the resulting explosion will sink the Arizona.
Several broadsides are enough to turn the heavy cruiser into a sinking wreck. We must now catch up with the last remaining carrier and destroy it. Our speed has been reduced by the damage to our prow. Despite warning from damage control that it will increase the rate of flow of the leak, I order full maximum speed.
With a start, I realize that Fleet Headquarters in Honolulu should be brought up to date on the course of the engagement. I order communications to inform Pearl Harbor that the Arizona has sunk three Japanese aircraft carriers, a heavy cruiser and a destroyer.
Our 14-inch guns have sufficient range to hit the fourth carrier. It seems to take forever, but our salvos are beginning to take effect. The carrier slows, smoke coming from its superstructure.
My jubilation is short-lived. Another Japanese heavy cruiser is speeding towards us, its guns blazing. I cannot risk allowing it to shell us unopposed.
Reluctantly, I order number one turret to shift its fire to the cruiser, while number two turret continues firing at the carrier.
Firing at close quarters, the cruiser’s guns inflict severe damage on the Arizona. We are hulled several times. I see dead and wounded members of our crew lying where they have fallen on the deck.
Then we suffer the most serious blow. There is a massive explosion in number one turret. When the smoke dissipates, I see it, too, has been put out of action.
Now I face a most difficult choice, whether to shift number two turret’s fire to the cruiser or to continue to have it pound the badly damaged fourth carrier. As I consider my options, there is a mighty crash and I am knocked to the desk by an invisible hand.
Dazed, I struggle to my feet. My left arm aches; I touch it and find it bleeding. Debris litters the deck. About me, some of the men on the bridge are attempting to stand. Others are dead or wounded.
I realize one of the cruiser’s shells has hit the bridge. Members of the crew rush to the bridge to assist us. I order one to replace the helmsman, who is dead. It takes me several seconds as I stare out at the damage on the deck before I realize that number two turret has been hit and is also out of action.
Ironically, my next order concerns our battle flag. It has fallen to the deck. I fear, irrationally, that the Japanese cruiser may interpret that as a surrender signal. I order that the ripped and tattered ensign be raised again.
With all of the Arizona’s primary armament out of action, I have no choice but to order the helmsman to execute a 180-degree turn and steer for Pearl Harbor. I doubt we can make it. Damage control reports that the pumps are unable to handle the flow of water cascading into our mangled prow.
To further worsen the situation, damage to our engines has reduced our maximum speed to seven knots. I realize that under pounding from the cruiser’s guns, the Arizona has only a few minutes more afloat.
A host of Japanese destroyers are rushing to assist the cruiser. I order communications to send a last signal to Pearl Harbor before destroying our code books lest they fall into Japanese hands. I learn that the cruiser’s last salvo destroyed the Arizona’s radio antenna, limiting our range to a few miles.
Another officer would give the order to scuttle the Arizona. I refuse to do so. It is not for nothing that my classmates at the Naval Academy dubbed me “the Iron Duke.”
Fortune aids me. The fire that had been burning on the cruiser intensifies. Japanese sailors are climbing into their lifeboats. It is about to sink! Turning to the fourth carrier, I see that it, too, is sinking by the stern.
Our mission of revenging Pearl Harbor is accomplished. If the Arizona can evade the Japanese destroyers, we have a fair chance of reaching home safely. A sudden squall comes to my aid. I order the helmsman to steer the battleship into its midst. Providentially, a dense fog engulfs the Arizona, concealing us from the Japanese destroyers.
Under cover of the fog, I order the helmsman to execute several sharp turns at random intervals. When we emerge from the squall, I see we have been fortunate. We are on an empty ocean. The Japanese destroyers are nowhere to be seen.
For the first time since upping anchor, I leave the bridge to inspect the damage to the ship. Going down into the bow to see for myself the amount of water we are taking in, I am pleased to see that our slower speed has enabled the pumps to keep the water level from rising further.
I recall some experimental techniques I had heard
mention in one of my classes at the Naval Academy and instruct the men seeking to staunch the leak how to implement them. The sailors are initially dubious; then impressed when they work.
On my way back to the bridge, I stop at sickbay to see how the wounded are getting on. The Arizona left Pearl Harbor with our doctors still ashore, but the enlisted medical corpsmen are doing a heroic job substituting for them.
The senior corpsman catches sight of my injured left arm and says he will dress the wound. I resist until he assures me that all of the other wounded have already been treated. He advises me that I am lucky; it is only a flesh wound. Nonetheless, he bandages it and puts it in a sling.
Returning to the bridge, I gratefully accept a cold sandwich and a cup of steaming coffee from a mess steward. I sit down on the cot, but resist the urge to sleep. Late in the afternoon, the engine room reports that temporary repairs to the engines will permit some increase in our maximum speed.
At nightfall, I relax. We have spotted no ships and seem to have evaded the Japanese fleet. The crew is exhausted. I give orders that all but the most essential personnel rest. Those that can go down to their berths do so. After giving orders that I be awakened if necessary, I permit myself to take short catnaps on the cot.
Late in the afternoon of the following day, the lookout spots an aircraft approaching. I am about to order battle stations when he identifies it as a navy PBY observation plane. Communications report that it has been unsuccessful in contacting the plane. The pilot, however, recognizes the Arizona. He circles the ship and dips his wings to signal he is informing Pearl Harbor of our location.
The crewmen cheer when I inform them over the loudspeaker that we have caught sight of Oahu in the distance. As we draw near to the entrance to Pearl Harbor, a navy tug comes out to meet us. It bears signs of battle damage suffered during the Japanese attack.
Using signal flags, the tug skipper asks if we can use assistance. I proudly tell the signalman to reply that the Arizona can make it on its own. We pass into Pearl Harbor, the navy tug following us behind at a respectful distance.
My Troubles With Time Page 8