A Final Broadside

by Buddy Worrell

  Cho sprang from his chair and shouted, “You dare insult a general officer of the DPRK in his own office?”

  “Come, Comrade General,” Chin soothed. “You issued an insult, and if I had not responded in kind, you would have thought me weak.”

  Cho smiled and sat back down in his swivel chair. “Shall we return to business?” Cho offered.

  “I think that is entirely appropriate,” Chin replied.

  “My government requires one hundred shoulder-fired antiaircraft missiles—Stingers, I believed they are called. We also wish to obtain five hundred antitank weapons, a Marine Corps Hawk missile battery, and a quantity of weaponized anthrax spores. Sarin nerve gas would be a bonus for which we would be willing to pay a premium.”

  Chin made note of the order in a small notebook. “Is there anything else, Comrade General?”

  “Of course, any quantity of high-grade U-235 will fetch a premium.”

  Chin continued writing in his notebook, and as he finished, he put the small notebook back in his jacket pocket. “I believe I have your order, but first we must discuss an overdue payment.”

  Cho feigned bewilderment and scanned some papers on his desk. DPRK payments were notoriously late and short, and Cho knew this. “I find nothing out of order on this list of invoices,” Cho barked.

  “You are correct on these invoices, but I find you in debt on another issue,” Chin responded firmly.

  “What issue?” Cho demanded. “I grow weary of your conversation. Unless you have something else to offer, I suggest we arrive at a price and the terms of payment. I have other appointments today, and I do not wish to waste my time with some young criminal wanting to make a sale!”

  Dr. Chin reached into his coat pocket as if to retrieve the small notebook again but withdrew from a shoulder holster a Walther PPK 9mm automatic pistol with a silencer already attached. He leveled the pistol at General Cho’s forehead and racked the slide, placing the first of twelve 9mm cartridges into the chamber.

  Cho’s eyes narrowed. “You have no chance of leaving here with your life. You are a mere child, playing in an adult playground. I have dealt with the likes of you throughout my career, and I will do so again.”

  “No,” Dr. Chin replied. “You have never dealt with the likes of me.”

  “Guards … guards!” Cho barked. But no guards entered the office.

  “Your guards are on a break. I bought them with a carton of Camels and one thousand American dollars. That is what you are worth today.”

  Cho reached for his Chinese sidearm, only to receive a muffled shot from the Walther PPK, which broke his wrist and sent the sidearm flying.

  Dr. Chin threw his handkerchief to Cho to wrap the spreading wound. “That was stupid!” he said as the atmosphere began to thicken. “About fifteen years ago, you shot a young officer in the head for not abandoning his new wife and child. Do you remember?”

  Cho thought for a moment and then answered, “Yes, I remember disciplining a junior officer who got entangled with a Cambodian whore. She was pregnant, and he actually wanted to marry her and claim the bastard as his own.”

  “I am the bastard that you ordered thrown into the river and drowned. I was five years old at the time, but I remember every detail of our encounter.” With this, Chin fired a shot into General Cho’s right knee, causing the overweight bureaucrat to crash to the floor, writhing in pain. Cho screamed in agony, only to receive another 9mm round into his left knee.

  Chin continued calmly speaking. “You could have let them escape or immigrate to Thailand, but you chose a harder path.”

  Cho pulled himself up to a sitting position and shouted, spraying saliva and blood, “You will die because of this affront to the DPRK!”

  Dr. Chin stepped forward toward General Cho and replied, “I don’t think so,” firing two rounds into the general’s forehead.

  Cho’s eyes rolled upward at the impact and then settled into a half-open death gaze, pupils fixed and dilated. Chin stepped forward and delivered a single kick to the head of the dead general, snapping his neck.

  Chin turned toward the guard at the entrance of the office and asked, “Are you ready for your new life in Switzerland?”

  The soldier nodded nervously and opened the office door to the outside and the waiting staff car. He followed Chin and opened the door to the backseat. Once both were inside, the staff car headed toward the military airport and the waiting Gulfstream. On board, Chin saw that his catering order of champagne and sweetbreads had arrived, and he seated himself with a glass and a tray of the delights. The Gulfstream rumbled down the runway, and as it lifted into the sky, Chin retrieved a Zippo lighter and asked the closest Korean guard, “Can I trouble you for a Camel?”

  PART THREE

  BB-55, “The Showboat”

  A Brief History

  1937–1962

  CHAPTER 29

  Brooklyn, New York, 1941

  It was cold and snowing lightly in New York City on a January morning in 1941. The alarm clock went off at 0500, and Ensign Ken Hager sprang out of bed and hit the deck of his Brooklyn apartment. Most of the rest of the world was at war with the Axis powers, but the United States was still officially neutral.

  His new wife, Sara, rolled over, hoping for a few more minutes of sleep before joining him in their tiny kitchen for breakfast. The junior apartment was all they could afford on the navy living allowance, but Ken was close to the Brooklyn Shipyards, where his current billet was located.

  After a quick breakfast and a nickel ride on the subway, Ken was at work. He and a senior officer were assigned to act as naval representatives and advisors to the shipyard, which was currently building the newest ship in the US fleet, the USS North Carolina. Her keel had been laid on October 27, 1937, and she had spent the next three years under construction. In early 1941, Ensign Hager’s first assignment after his commissioning was to work with Commander Darby O’Reilly on the finishing details of the ship and to ensure she met all specifications.

  Commander O’Reilly was an experienced dreadnought sailor, having served on the Arizona and other heavy “ships of the line” for several years and being an expert on the new sixteen-inch forty-five-caliber Mark 6 main batteries. It was easy to see the love—Ken knew no other word to describe it—that O’Reilly had for these huge behemoths of the sea. “Now, ensign, pay close heed to the turret mechanism,” he would say. “If these are slow or stodgy, men will die!”

  O’Reilly also was extraordinarily interested in the ship’s propulsion system. The North Carolina boasted eight Babcock & Wilcox boilers, which generated steam for four sets of General Electric turbines, producing over 120,000 horsepower to the four 4-blade propellers. This battlewagon would run with the greyhounds of the fleet!

  O’Reilly and Hager took their job seriously and inspected and re-inspected every aspect of the big ship’s construction. Once completed and launched, she would undergo many months of “shakedown” cruises to expose any flaw or defect before a crew was put on her decks and sent to war. Ken really wanted to be a part of the exercises, but one Friday afternoon in February of 1941, Commander O’Reilly approached him as he was testing the projectile hoist mechanisms in turret 1.

  Ken snapped to attention and saluted the commander. “Good afternoon, sir.”

  Commander O’Reilly returned the salute and told Ken to relax. “I have your orders, ensign,” he said as he handed an official-looking envelope to Ken.

  “New orders, sir? I’m not being transferred, am I?” Ken questioned earnestly.

  As Ken fumbled with the envelope, O’Reilly said, “This is a great honor, ensign. You are to be transferred to Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, where you will report to the commanding officer, US Pacific Fleet, for duty on board the USS Arizona as officer and crew chief of turret 1. Congratulations, son!” O’Reilly boomed, clapping Ken on the shoulders. “The job comes with a promoti
on to lieutenant junior grade.”

  “But sir, how did this promotion come through so fast?” Ken was almost whispering, breathing quickly, and close to hyperventilating.

  “Sit down, Ken,” O’Reilly ordered. “Don’t pass out on me, boy!”

  Ken consciously slowed his breathing and lowered his shoulders in an attempt to relax. “Thank you, sir. This is just a bit overwhelming!”

  “Ken, you are aware of the shitty situation the world is in at present.”

  Ken nodded in agreement.

  “That asshole Hitler has pretty much taken all of Europe, and Britain is holding on by its fingernails. Japan is pulling all kinds of crap in Korea, China, and Southeast Asia, and it won’t stop until someone shoots the sumbitches dead in their tracks. This country and this navy are going to need all the bright young officers they can find, and they are going to need them quickly!”

  In the months that Ken had worked with commander, he had never heard him utter a word of profanity. O’Reilly continued, “I believe we will be at war in a matter of months, and I petitioned for your transfer and promotion. Did I make a mistake?” he thundered.

  “No … oh God, no.” Ken gasped as he broke into a wide grin and began shaking the commander’s hand furiously. “This is great, sir. This is freaking outstanding!” Ken was almost shouting now. “Thank you, sir. Thanks so much!” Ken said, continuing to pump the commander’s hand.

  O’Reilly extracted his hand, straightened his uniform, and spoke in a normal tone. “I am glad you approve. Now get yourself back to your apartment and tell that new bride of yours that she is going to Hawaii. Pack quickly because you have one month to get there before they declare you AWOL … One last thing, Lieutenant,” he said, emphasizing the rank, “make me proud.”

  Ken backed up, moved to attention, snapped a salute, and said in a firm voice, “Aye aye, sir!”

  Commander O’Reilly turned and walked away from the turret, leaving Ken with his head spinning and thoughts flying through his brain.

  Before leaving, Ken reached up to pat the breech of the massive sixteen-inch gun and received a momentary electric tingle in his hand. “Saying good-bye, big girl? Maybe we will see each other again.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Months later, in the summer of 1942, as the battleship USS North Carolina steamed into Pearl Harbor, the officers and men of the crew could see remaining wreckage of what once had been Battleship Row.

  The Japanese surprise attack of December 7, 1941, had been devastating to the Pacific Fleet, and the damage was still fresh even though a massive cleanup and repair operation had been underway for months.

  The sleek battlewagon North Carolina was the newest and most powerful ship in the navy’s inventory and the only one operational in the Pacific theater. Only weeks before, she had squeezed through the locks of the Panama Canal on her way to the Port of San Pedro, California, and then on to San Francisco. The passage to Pearl Harbor was a quick one because not only was she new; she was also fast. The class of ships that followed her were all known as “fast” battleships. As the North Carolina reached Pearl Harbor, nearly all of the 2,000-man crew piled on deck to see what was left of the Pacific Fleet. Their first view was one of utter carnage. They saw the wrecks of ships, damaged or destroyed where they were moored and others that had been intentionally grounded to keep the harbor open. There were also signs of recovery: several damaged and even sunken vessels were being refloated and repaired. Men were everywhere, moving debris, running heavy cranes and equipment, and repairing ships.

  When the North Carolina made the last turn to enter the harbor, sailors on ships and shore sent up a cheer. Flags were raised and lowered in quick succession to salute this new arrival. Some men laughed at the sight of her while others wept tears of joy and relief. Here was the first of what would be many powerful dreadnoughts to enter the fray. She was strong, she was fast, and she was ready for a fight.

  Unlike many of her predecessors, the North Carolina bristled with guns—including an antiaircraft battery of sixty 40mms in quad mounts and thirty-six 20mm mounts that, when fired at once, issued a veritable wall of lead toward attacking aircraft. Her secondary battery consisted of twenty 5-inch guns in twin mounts that would throw a fifty-four-pound projectile over 18,000 yards. The five-inch guns also fired an antiaircraft shell up to 37,000 feet into the sky, adding serious punch to the already formidable antiaircraft battery.

  As an added feature, the North Carolina was one of only fourteen ships to be outfitted with the early version of the RCA CXAM-1 radar, giving her an extended view of attacking planes from far over the horizon. But the most obvious and principal weapons were the big guns. The North Carolina fielded nine sixteen-inch forty-five-caliber rifles, mounted in three 3-gun turrets—two forward and one aft. Each of the Mark 6 guns could fire an explosive or armor-piercing projectile over 36,000 yards, or twenty-one miles, downrange. Each turret housing the Mark 6 guns required thirty sailors to man and operate. As the North Carolina eased into her anchorage, a great multitude of sailors and other servicemen came running to see and cheer what the Japanese would soon learn to fear: the Showboat.

  The North Carolina would fulfill two main duties in the Pacific Fleet. First, she would act as a screen for the fast aircraft carriers, protecting them from aerial marauders with her thicket of antiaircraft capabilities, and second, the big ship would soften up land targets with her sixteen-inch guns, in preparation for island-hopping assaults by the Marine Corps.

  After a few weeks in Pearl Harbor, during which the ship took on additional munitions, supplies, and crew, the USS North Carolina departed Pearl Harbor on July 15, 1942, in a task force consisting of the carrier Enterprise, the heavy cruiser Portland, the light cruiser Atlanta, and a screening flotilla of eight destroyers. They were headed for the Fiji Islands and for practice drills for amphibious landings on little-known islands named Guadalcanal and Tulagi. The North Carolina would be an active player in every major combat operation in the Pacific.

  CHAPTER 31

  Gunner’s mate Paul Hodge scanned the horizon as the sun rose out of the Pacific. He always loved this first watch and treasured the experience of the still and mostly silent ship slipping through the azure waters of the Pacific. Reveille would sound soon, but for now, it was as if he alone commanded the most powerful ship in the Pacific Fleet.

  The sun was hot, and the air was steamy even at dawn, but the cool breeze passing as the battlewagon slid through the waves at twenty knots was cool and refreshing. Hodge retrieved a cleaning cloth to wipe the sea spray off his binoculars and resumed his scan. Nothing but sky, sea, and a rising sun lay before him, with the task force ships following behind him. Two of the screening destroyers were scouting forward about twenty miles, and even though they were out of sight, intermittent radio contact was being maintained.

  Only weeks before, the North Carolina had been off the coast of Guadalcanal with all of the heavy batteries firing into the Japanese fortifications. Every thirty seconds, the ship would fire a broadside from her sixteen-inch guns, delivering a 2,200-pound explosive shell onshore. Four 5-inch twin batteries fired independently at a rate of fifteen rounds per minute. This, combined with the firing power of five additional surface ships, would hopefully “soften up” the Japanese defenders in preparation for the amphibious assault by the marines.

  Gunner’s mate Hodge had watched as the young marines loaded onto their landing craft and shoved off toward the island. Even after days of blistering bombardment of the island’s defenses, the ground fire meeting the amphibious landing craft was withering. Thousands of US marines would die taking the island. Tens of thousands of Japanese defenders would also perish.

  But the mission this day was to seek out Japanese carriers and thwart any possible reinforcement of Guadalcanal. Suddenly, Hodge heard some activity in the radar room, followed by a call. “Battle stations! … Battle stations! … This is not a drill.
Repeat! This is not a drill!”

  In an instant, over 2,000 sailors were running across the deck, struggling with life jackets and strapping on battle helmets.

  Gunner’s mate Hodge did a short sprint and leapt into the gunner’s seat of his assigned quad 40mm antiaircraft battery. His life jacket and helmet were soon secured, and he cranked his turret toward the horizon and the rising sun. Within seconds, four loaders were on station, with hundreds of rounds of 40mm antiaircraft rounds. Each two-pound shell could be fired up to 11,000 feet downrange at an altitude of 23,000 feet. The loaders fed two hoppers that fed shells to the barrels, and the gun could maintain a rate of fire as fast as the shells could be loaded. Hodge’s job was to stop enemy aircraft that had already penetrated the flak fire from the five-inch guns and were only seconds from being able to fire on the North Carolina or the carriers she was protecting.

  Hodge was peering upward through his fixed sight and continuing to rotate and elevate the 40mm gun barrels. “Load!” he shouted, and the four hoppers were filled with the explosive rounds. He would need no further commands because the loaders would continue keeping the hoppers full until the order came to cease fire. He noticed that the three carriers, Enterprise, Saratoga, and Wasp, had broken out of formation and were turning into the wind to launch initial air strikes. Hodge figured the scout destroyers had found something to shoot at, and seeing no enemy aircraft in sight, he also surmised that the carrier planes were attacking first. His action would begin when the Japanese counterstrike began. “Bring it on!” he shouted.

  “Oh, hell yeah!” answered his gun crew.

  As he waited for the oncoming battle, Hodge thought back to how he had gotten here. He had graduated from Tech High School in Charlotte, North Carolina, in spring of 1941, and on his eighteenth birthday, he had enlisted in the navy over the strenuous objections of his parents.