Reluctant Warriors (25 page)

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?”

“Admiral, I would be surprised if she could make more than twenty-eight knots to
our thirty-three. In two hours, we should we able to force our way past, demolish
her with our broadsides, and move on to the beachhead. The fact that their planes
are not already hounding us means we are undetected until now. I am certain they
are reporting our presence, but surely it will be some hours before they can mount
a strike against us. By that time, we will be destroying their invasion force and
saving New Guinea. The Americans will be set back for years.”

“Yes! You may proceed.”

The Citadel ensign, pilot of the one working scout plane on the
Grand Rapids
, reported
to the bridge. Rodgers looked at him as he approached. He thought:
This young kid
with no battle experience, a mere child, is our only chance to not be blasted off
the map in the next couple of hours.

“What's your name, son?” Rodgers asked.

“Clark, sir, Manning C.”

“Oh yeah. Where you from?”

“Camden, South Carolina, sir.”

“I should have remembered! I didn't tell you that I served with a guy from there
when I was just out of the Academy. His name was Fortner, Jed Fortner. A nice guy.”

Ensign Clark shook his head. “I didn't know him, sir.”

“You've probably heard we are going to have a battle here in a few minutes.”

“Yes, sir!”

“You think you can get off with that plane?”

“Yes, sir!”

“How many launches do you have from a ship?”

“Well, none, sir,” Clark answered sheepishly. “But I've trained a lot.”

“I'm sure you have. How much fuel you got? How many hours' duration?”

“Nine hours, sir.”

“Hm. Well, I dearly hope you get to use it up. I want you to get off before we start
firing, which will be in about five minutes. You need us to head into the wind?”

“No, sir.”

“How high are you supposed to spot from?”

“Five thousand feet, sir.”

“If you flew over us at that height, we'd blow the stuffing out of you, so don't
do that. Fly at, ah, seven thousand. If they shoot at you, go up to eight. I doubt
they'll shoot at you that high.”

Rodgers looked at the boy very seriously.

“We are depending on you. These people are going to overpower us unless you can help
us out. If they have any spotter planes, I doubt they
will interfere with you. You
spot our guns, as you have been trained to do. Nothing else. Don't get yourself killed.
Got it?”

“Yes, sir.” Clark looked a little shaken, the weight of responsibility clinging to
him.

“Stay away from those destroyers,” Rodgers continued. “We might as well give you
the best chance we can, so wait until we turn into the wind and give you the signal.
Go!”

The young man ran off the bridge and down the ladder.

In a few minutes, the little Curtiss “Seagull” float biplane got off from its amidships
launching track. As the two fleets drew parallel, running at high speed toward the
southeast at 0712,
Grand Rapids
opened fire at more than fourteen miles range. The
Japanese followed at 0731, but the range was too great for either side to score for
more than an hour. Slowly, the Japanese pulled ahead with their speed advantage.

“Ask Chief Clark to come up here,” Rodgers said finally. In less than five minutes,
the gray-haired engineering chief reported to the bridge.

Rodgers stood and took the cigarette from his mouth. “Chief, you're going to have
to give me more turns on the propeller shafts.”

The chief seemed taken aback. “I assure you that the engines are at maximum revolutions
right now.”

Rodgers tried not to let his irritation show. He spoke calmly but insistently. “I
know that. But I need at least half a knot more.”

“Sir, these old Babcock turbines can't take much more abuse.”

“Well, it's not going to make much difference,” Rodgers confided, in a lower voice.
“At this speed they're going to cross in front of us and sink us in the next hour
with their broadsides.”

The old chief looked alarmed. “They're in front of us, sir?”

“Yes,” Rodgers said placidly. “They're about to get in front of us and mop us up
on their way to that beachhead at Lae to murder our invasion force. Chief, if you
have any old tricks up your sleeve, this is the time for them.”

“I'll do what I can, sir.”

“I know you will, Frank.”

The chief hurried off. Shortly afterward, Rodgers felt a faint grinding and
shuddering
coming up through the deck plating as the 107,000 horsepower turbines brought the
old American cruiser up two-thirds of a knot. They were now traveling at a shade
over 31.5 knots.