Reluctant Warriors (24 page)

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

A
t 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.”