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Warship Wednesday, Jan. 22, 2025: The 80 Eightballs

Here at LSOZI, we take off every Wednesday for a look at the old steam/diesel navies of the 1833-1954 period and will profile a different ship each week. These ships have a life, a tale all their own, which sometimes takes them to the strangest places.- Christopher Eger

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Warship Wednesday, Jan. 22, 2025: The 80 Eightballs

U.S. Naval History and Heritage Command Photograph. Catalog #: NH 50755

Above we see the Lapwing-class “Old Bird” USS Penguin (Minesweeper # 33) underway off Shanghai, China, circa the late 1920s, following conversion for river gunboat service. Note the sampan in the foreground. She rescued 24 shipwrecked Japanese sailors some 85 years ago this week.

The favor would not be repaid a year later.

The Lapwings

When a young upstart by the name of Franklin D. Roosevelt came to the Navy Department in 1913 as Assistant Secretary of the Navy, he helped engineer one of the largest naval build-ups in world history. By the time the U.S. entered World War I officially in 1917, it may have been Mr. Wilson’s name in the role of Commander in Chief, but it was Mr. Roosevelt’s fleet.

One of his passions was the concept of the Great North Sea Mine Barrage, a string of as many as 400,000 (planned) sea mines that would shut down the Kaiser’s access once and for all to the Atlantic and save Western Europe (and its overseas Allies) from the scourge of German U-boats. A British idea dating from late 1916, the U.S. Navy’s Admiral Sims thought it was a bullshit waste of time but it was FDR’s insistence to President Wilson in the scheme that ultimately won the day.

mines-anchors1North_Sea_Mine_Barrage_map_1918

While a fleet of converted steamships (and two old cruisers- USS San Francisco and USS Baltimore) started dropping mines in June 1918, they only managed to sow 70,177 by Armistice Day and accounted for a paltry two U-boats gesunken (although some estimates range as high as 8 counting unaccounted-for boats).

And the thing is, you don’t throw that many mines in international shipping lanes without having a plan to clean them up after the war (while having the bonus of using those mine countermeasures ships to sweep enemy-laid fields as well).

That’s where the 54 vessels of the Lapwing-class came in.

Review of the Atlantic Fleet Minesweeping Squadron, November 1919. USS Lapwing (AM-1) and other ships of the squadron anchored in the Hudson River, off New York City, while being reviewed by Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels on 24 November 1919, following their return to the United States after taking part in clearing the North Sea mine barrage. The other ships visible are: USS Lark (Minesweeper No. 21), with USS SC-208 alongside (at left); and USS Swan (Minesweeper No. 34) with USS SC-356 alongside (at right). Heron was there, but is not seen on the photo. U.S. Navy photo NH 44903

Review of the Atlantic Fleet Minesweeping Squadron, November 1919. USS Lapwing (AM-1) and other ships of the squadron anchored in the Hudson River, off New York City, while being reviewed by Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels on 24 November 1919, following their return to the United States after taking part in clearing the North Sea mine barrage. The other ships visible are USS Lark (Minesweeper No. 21), with USS SC-208 alongside (at left); and USS Swan (Minesweeper No. 34) with USS SC-356 alongside (at right). Heron was there but is not seen in the photo. U.S. Navy photo NH 44903. Note the crow’s nest for sighting floating mines.

Inspired by large seagoing New England fishing trawlers, these 187-foot-long ships were large enough, at 965 tons full, to carry a pair of economical reciprocating diesel engines (or two Scotch boilers and one VTE engine) with a decent enough range to make it across the Atlantic on their own (though with a blisteringly slow speed of just 14 knots when wide open on trials.)

Lapwing class 1944 profile USS Kingfisher AM-25 ATO-135

They could also use a sail rig to poke along at low speed with no engines, a useful trait for working in a minefield. Their two masts stood 73 feet high above the LWL.

Lapwing-class sister USS Falcon AM-28 in Pensacola Bay 1924 with the Atlantic submarine fleet. Note her rig

While primarily built to sweep mines, their battery amounted to a pair of 3″/50 singles with 20 ready rounds in the chest on her superstructure deck and 200 below deck. Capable of landing a squad ashore as needed, the standard small arms locker for a Lapwing class sweeper included a single Lewis light machine gun, 10 rifles (M1903s), and five revolvers (likely M1917s).

Their electrical system included two 25 kW generators as well as a smaller oscillator and radio generator which powered two 24-inch searchlights, a submarine signal apparatus, a radio outfit as well as her lights. Deck machinery included three stern hoisting winches for sweeping gear, an anchor hoist, and towing engine, and a capstan engine. Small boats amounted to a 30-foot motor launch, a 28-foot whaleboat, and a 16-foot dingy, allowing a total capacity of carrying 82 persons. Their onboard workshop included a lathe, a shaper, and a drill press along with assorted hand tools.

Crew amounted to four officers, six CPOs, and 40 ratings.

The class leader, Lapwing, designated Auxiliary Minesweeper #1 (AM-1), was laid down at Todd in New York in October 1917 and another 53 soon followed. While five were canceled in November 1918, the other 48 were eventually finished– even if they came to the war a little late.

This leads us to the hero of our tale, the humble Penguin.

Meet Penguin

Our subject is the second U.S. Navy ship to carry the name of the Antarctic flightless bird.

The first was a 155-foot screw steamer armed with a quartet of 32-pounders and a single 12-pounder that served with distinction on the North Atlantic Blockading Squadron and along the Gulf of Mexico during the Civil War.

Bombardment and Capture of Port Royal, South Carolina, 7 November 1861 Engraving published in “Harper’s Weekly”, July-December 1861. It depicts Federal warships, under Flag Officer Samuel F. DuPont, USN, bombarding Fort Beauregard (at right) and Fort Walker (at left). The Confederate squadron commanded by Commodore Josiah Tattnall is in the left-center distance. Subjects identified below the image bottom are (from left): tug Mercury, Fort Walker, USS Wabash (DuPont’s flagship), USS Susquehanna, CSS Huntsville, Commo. Tattnall, USS Bienville, USS Pembina, USS Seneca, USS Ottawa, USS Unadilla, USS Pawnee, USS Mohican, USS Isaac Smith, USS Curlew, USS Vandalia, USS Penguin, USS Pocahontas, USS Seminole, Fort Beauregard, USS R.B. Forbes and “Rebel Camp”.NH 59256

The second Penguin (Minesweeper No. 33) was laid down on 17 November 1917 at Elizabethport by the New Jersey Dry Dock & Transportation Co.; launched on 12 June 1918 and commissioned on 21 November 1918– just 10 days after the Armistice.

Sent to New York, she spent the next six months in minesweeping and salvage work for the Third Naval District.

USS Penguin (Minesweeper # 33) liberty party gathered on the ship’s stern, preparing to go ashore after reviewing the Fleet in New York Harbor, on 26 December 1918. NH 59647

Working the Barrage

Outfitted with “electrical protective devices,” Penguin set out for Scotland in late March 1919 to join the North Sea Minesweeping Detachment.

USS Penguin (Minesweeper # 33) underway near USS Scranton (ID # 3511), probably circa 28 March 1919. Photograph from the USS Scranton photo album kept by J.D. Bartar, one of her crew members. NH 99458

USS Penguin close astern of USS Scranton (ID # 3511), as a Chief Petty Officer, is putting the heaving line 60 ft. between the two ships, circa 28 March 1919. Note the line’s weight in the air above Penguin’s bow. Photograph from the USS Scranton photo album kept by J.D. Bartar, one of her crew members. NH 99450

Beginning operations in June 1919, Penguin was on hand near Scapa Flow when the 72 ships of RADM Ludwig von Reuter’s interned former German High Seas Fleet elected to scuttle rather than have their ships turned over to the Allies. She raced to the scene to help save what could be kept above the waves.

USS Penguin steaming at full speed for Scapa Flow, on 21 June 1919, during an unsuccessful effort to arrive in time to save some of the German warships, scuttled there on that day. Note the identification letters PD on her bow. Halftone reproduction of a photograph taken by DeLong, of USS Black Hawk, published in the cruise book Sweeping the North Sea Mine Barrage, 1919, page 38. Donation of Chief Storekeeper Charles A. Free. NH 99472

In all, Penguin would spend four months plumbing the depths of the North Sea for mines. This included picking up damage in two different explosions. One of these, a mine going off in her kite, resulted in three days in the yard for repair. The second caused more extensive destruction that required her to be repaired at Chatham for a month.

Three explosions between Lapwing and Penguin

USS Penguin (Minesweeper # 33), at left, and USS Lapwing (Minesweeper # 1) coming up to repass sweep gear, after exploding a mine during the sweeping of the North Sea Mine Barrage in 1919. Note the identification letters on the ships’ bows: PD on Penguin and W on Lapwing. Halftone reproduction of a photograph taken by DeLong, of USS Black Hawk, published in the cruise book Sweeping the North Sea Mine Barrage, 1919, page 59. Donation of Chief Storekeeper Charles A. Free. NH 99473

The Buoy Laying Division in Kirkwall Harbor From left to right, in the center: USS Osprey (Minesweeper # 29), USS Penguin (Minesweeper # 33), and USS Lapwing (Minesweeper # 1) moored together in Kirkwall Harbor, Orkney Islands, during the sweeping of the North Sea Mine Barrage, 1919. Note the identification letters on the ships’ bows: A on Osprey, PD on Penguin, and W on Lapwing. Halftone reproduction of a photograph taken by Kitress, of USS Swan, published in the cruise book Sweeping the North Sea Mine Barrage, 1919, page 63. Donation of Chief Storekeeper Charles A. Free. NH 99474

Her repairs at Chatham were completed, and she set off back across the Atlantic with the tug USS Concord on October 31, sailing via the Azores.

For her dangerous service in the Barrage between 5 June and 30 September 1919, Penguin earned a Great War Victory Medal

Peacetime service

Once returning stateside, Penguin was transferred to the Pacific and laid up at Pearl Harbor on 1 June 1922.

With a need for shallow draft gunboats in the Asiatic Fleet to work China’s civil war-torn inland waterways during the country’s Warlord Era, Penguin landed her sweeping gear and, recommissioned 13 October 1923 along with sister USS Pigeon (AM-47), would spend the next seven years on China station ala “The Sand Pebbles.”

USS Penguin (AM-47) in Chinese waters 1920s

As related by her XO at the time, LT (later VADM) Felix L. Johnson, Penguin made it from Pearl to Shanghai with the help of rigged auxiliary sails, which were good for nine knots. Once there, things often got hairy.

From his oral history:

We spent the next two years steaming up and down the Yangtze, protecting missionaries when they had a rough time and looking after American rights. We could only go as far as Ichang, the foot of the gorges, where we began to strike the rapids. We had two little gunboats, the USS Palos (PG-16) and Monocacy (PG-20), which did the run further up from Ichang to Chungking. Some bandits and Chinese were beginning to take cracks at us. We put an armed guard, eight enlisted men, and one officer, on each American merchant ship running the 200–300 miles to Chungking. I’ve made the run many times,the first time I was ever fired on.

Another anecdote from Johnson:

This was the time of the Chinese warlords, and we were always afraid that Chiang So Lin, the warlord of the north, was going to come down and knock everything off the river. Wo Pei Fu was the other warlord. As long as they were suspicious of each other they did not bother us much. One time, the American Consul got word that a group was going to try to take over the consulate. Our Herman Barker took about 40 men, marched from the Standard Oil dock up to the consulate, and spent the night. Just a few shots were fired, but the next day Barker had to march backward all the way, a mile and one half to the dock, because the Chinese were following. The captain fired off a couple of the ship’s 3-inch guns, just up in the air. We never had anybody killed. The objective of the bandits was plunder.

For her tense China service, between June and July 1925, Penguin, along with the destroyers and gunboats Edsall, Elcano, Hart, Isbel, MacLeish, McCormack, Noa, Parrott, Peary, Pillsbury, Pope, Preble, Sacramento, Stewart, and Truxtun earned the (Shanghai) Expeditionary Medal.

She was stationed at Kluklang (near Hankow, now Wuhan) starting in February 1927 for several months, as the sole foreign naval presence in the city during the conflict between the Guomindang army and warlord Sun Chuanfan.

For her 13-month period patrolling along the broad and often very wild banks of the Yangtze River, between 26 September 1926 and 21 October 1927, Penguin’s officers and men aboard during that frame earned the Yangtze Service Medal.

Lapwing class, 1929 janes

The “Old Duck” Lifesaver

Her China service was taken over by newer and more purpose-built gunboats, and Penguin was reassigned to work out of Guam as the territory’s guard ship around 1930. Nicknamed the “Old Duck,” the reports of the Asiatic Fleet from the 1930s frequently note minor problems and mechanical issues with the aging gunboat.

As the Navy had opened mess attendant and steward positions to CHamoru volunteers– with some 700 authorized by 1941 (12 were killed at Pearl Harbor) it made sense for four of Penguin’s crew to be drawn from the local population.

Penguin proved a godsend to many on the sea around Guam during this quiet decade, patrolling the new transpacific air routes and shipping lanes.

Among those plucked from the waves were the 24 mariners of the 91-foot wooden hulled Japanese fishing schooner Daichs Saiho Maru (Seiho Maru No. 1) which wrecked– in a restricted area– on a reef off Guam’s southeast tip on 15 January 1940. Not sure if a fishing schooner needs a 24-member crew, but hey…

A week later, after negotiations by the Navy governor of Guam, Penguin transferred these survivors to the passing Japanese Nippon Yusen Kaisha (NYK) liner Suwa Maru after the Imperial Navy refused access to land them on nearby Saipan itself. Not weird.

Drums of War

With the march towards open combat in the Pacific, the forces on Guam, under Navy Capt. George Johnson McMillin (USNA 1911) as military governor, was sparse.

In the summer of 1940, two .50 caliber water-cooled machine guns were fitted to each AM (Penguin included) and DM in the Pacific Fleet, and Admiral Kimmel, in his 1941 report, recommended additional guns. He also noted that portable depth charge racks- that didn’t interfere with sweeping– each carrying eight ash cans, were being provided to the Mine Divisions.

To help out Penguin, the Navy in October 1941 shipped two “Yippee” yard boats, USS YP-16 and YP-17 to the island as deck cargo aboard the oiler USS Ramapo (AO-12). These were recycled Prohibition-era USCG “six-bitters,” 75-foot wooden hulled patrol boats (ex-CG-267 and ex-CG-275, respectively), each armed with light machine guns and crewed by eight men commanded by a CBM, augmented by four Chamorros. Both of these craft, along with the rest of the island, were seriously damaged in a typhoon in November.

The territory’s station ship, the 4,800-ton freighter USS Gold Star (AK-12), with much of her crew made up of Chamorros, natives of Guam, was in the Philippines in December 1941 on a regular inter-islands cargo run. A small 5,380-ton tanker, USS Robert L. Barnes (SP-3088), had been a fixture in Apra Harbor since 1920 where she had been used as a stationary oil storage vessel, towed every few years to Cavite for maintenance.

That’s it for afloat assets.

Still, the Navy, in June 1941, ordered Penguin to patrol off the Harbor entrance each night, a responsibility only occasionally alternated with the YP boats after October. This order came with a new skipper, the Old Duck’s 16th and final, LT James William Haviland (USNA 1925).

Ashore, a coastal defense battery of 6-inch guns that had been installed in 1909 to defend the station had been withdrawn due to budget cuts in the 1930s along with a Marine aviation unit.

This left 274 Navy personnel (including Penguin’s crew) between the Naval Yard at Piti, the Hospital (which had 70 Medical Corps personnel including five female nurses), and the radio stations at Agana and Libugon. A force of 150 Marines, barracked at Sumay under Lt. Col. William K. McNulty, which was not a combat unit. The Marines had the primary mission to train the recently formed 240-member territorial militia (the Guam Insular Force Guard) which had only been established in April 1941 and the local civilian police force (the Guam Insular Patrol).

Besides the revolver-equipped Insular Patrol, the Insular Guard was armed with just three Lewis guns, four Thompson submachine guns, six BARs, and 85 Springfield M1903 rifles which may have been just for drill purposes (perhaps early low-number ’03s that had been withdrawn by the War Department as unsafe) as several reportedly bore labels that said “Do not shoot. For training only.” There were no mortars, artillery pieces, or heavy machine guns available to the ashore forces. Nothing in a larger caliber than .30-06.

Guam Insular Force Guard parade, displaying of Guam Flag, 1941. Note the Navy whites and turned down “Donald Ducks.” Guam Public Library System Collection

The improvements in the outlying U.S. Navy outposts around the Hawaiian islands from ADM Kimmel’s summer 1941 report, covering Palmyra Reef, Johnston Island, Wake, American Samoa, and Guam, painted a hopeful picture so long as the war could be put off until after 1943: 

With war warnings ramping up, the base evacuated its 104 civilian dependents aboard the steamer SS Henderson to San Francisco in October.

On 5 December 1941, the Navy signaled Capt. McMillin to begin burning his classified materials. At the same time, ADM Thomas C. Hart, the commander of the Asiatic Fleet, ordered Guam’s station ship, Gold Star, to delay sailing back to her homeport and instead remain in the Philippines.

It was clear no one expected Guam to hold if things went hot, and no one was coming in the short term to help them.

War!

As detailed post-war by Capt. McMillin:

0545, 8 December [local] 1941, a message was received which had been originated by the Commander in Chief, Asiatic fleet, to the effect that Japan had commenced hostilities by attacking Pearl Harbor, prior to a declaration of war.

This kickstarted the local plans which included standing up the Insular Guard, arresting known Japanese nationals (including three of eight infiltrators who recently arrived from Saipan), shutting down the navigational lights and beacons, and evacuating local civilians away from potential military targets.

Immediately post-Pearl Harbor, a group of 24 local American civilians on Guam, 17 of which were retired military, mustered into their own group and volunteered to help defend their home. Fighting with the Insular Guard, at least two would go on to perish in Japanese POW camps.

As Penguin, which was out on her regular nightly patrol, had a broken radio (!), one of the Yippie boats was sent out to warn them that a war was on but the minesweeper was already heading back in, with a third of the crew already departed the Old Duck on their way to Recreation Beach to make initial preparations for an afternoon beach party.

As told by a member of her crew, CBM Robert William O’Brien:

The beach had been frantically trying to radio us since early morning, but naturally, they couldn’t reach us, as we had no means of communication. We were still without it and would be until the end because our one and only radioman was in that first boatload of men already ashore. He had gone after spare parts.

Well, you can imagine our consternation. There we were, moored to a buoy right in the middle of the harbor with our boilers dead, as we had doused them upon arrival as we could see the repair barge on the way out from the little Navy Yard in Piti.

Raising steam and getting underway with a reduced crew and no radio, the scratch-and-dent Penguin broke out the ammo for her two water-cooled .50 cals and her two 3-inchers and was as ready as she could be when the first wave of Japanese bombers from Saipan arrived overhead at 0827.

At least one Japanese plane would turn back from Penguin, smoking, while Ensign Robert White, head of one of the gun crews, was killed. A trio of bombs landed so close as to open her seams. Soon, LT Haviland, her skipper, wounded, ordered the men to take to the boats and pull the plug on the Old Duck in 200 fathoms of water so that she couldn’t be salvaged.

“The ship was gallantly fought, but was soon in a sinking condition,” reported McMillian. “The ship was abandoned in a sinking condition and sank in deep water off Orote Point. There several men were injured, but all of the crew succeeded in getting ashore on life rafts, bringing Ensign White’s body with them.”

Then came the fight ashore. Penguin’s men– most of which had lost their shoes in the swim ashore– joined with the under-armed Marines, Insular Guards, and self-mobilized civilians to resist a force of Japanese that, unknown to them, would amount to nearly 6,000 infantry and Naval Special Landing Force members.

A Japanese illustration of the main landing on Guam by the 144th Infantry Regiment, South Seas Detachment. Painting by Kohei Ezaki.

Weapons were scarce.

“I shared a .45 with seven other men,” said Chief O’Brian, who had caught shrapnel in the sinking of Penguin. “If I got it, number two took the gun; if he got it, number three took the gun, and so on.”

The ground combat, which began on the morning of the 10th, was sharp but soon over. Seven further Navy men– six from Penguin— were killed, with the men lost from the minesweeper executed on the beach they were defending.

From Chief O’Brien:

We were waiting for them when they approached Agana, and they had to give themselves away for a group of our Penguin men, six in all, had been established at the power plant. The power plant was on the beach and when they saw the Japanese moving up on the beach, instead of falling back to the Plaza a half mile inland, as had been their orders, they decided to attack the Japanese. They did, and the initial surprise worked well for a few minutes. They had one BAR with them and they moved down a good number. However…in moments they recovered from their surprise and killed all six of our boys quickly.

The Japanese showed their later-to-be-learned attitude by butchering these six so they were beyond recognition. Later one of the Fathers was permitted to take some CHamorus and bury them, and none could be identified, they were so badly mutilated.

The six Minemen killed on the beach:

  • Ernst, Robert Walter, SM3c, 3812969, USN, USS Penguin
  • Fraser, Rollin George, BM1c, 3110965, USN, USS Penguin
  • Hurd, Seba Guarland, SM3c, 3371486, USN, USS Penguin
  • O’Neill, Frank James, BM1c, 3282372, USN, USS Penguin
  • Pineault, Leo Joseph, Cox, 2044461, USN, USS Penguin
  • Schweighhart, John, GM1c, 2282954, USN, USS Penguin

Penguin altogether had 22 of her crew wounded in action– almost half her complement– between the attacks on their ship on the 8th, Japanese air attacks on Guam on the 9th, and the ground combat on the 10th.

Seven Navy bluejackets evaded initial capture and escaped into the jungle: four from the Agana Radio station– RM1c Albert Joseph Tyson and George Ray Tweed, YM1c Adolphe Yablonsky, and Chief Aerographer Luther Wilbur Jones; one from the Piti Naval Yard– CMM Malvern Hill Smoot; and two from Penguin, Chief Motor Machinist’s Mate Michael L. Krump and MM1c Clarence Bruce Johnston. All but Tweed were found during the Japanese occupation and beheaded, with Krump and Johnston holding out until October 1942, an amazing 10 months behind enemy lines.

The Insular Guard lost four killed and 22 wounded, almost all in the short 10 December ground battle.

MacNulty, the 49-year-old Marine barracks commander, was a fighter, having earned a Silver Sar in the Argonne in 1918 and the Navy Cross in Nicaragua in 1926. He lost a full one-third of his men (13 dead and 37 wounded) as casualties and probably would have gone down swinging an empty rifle if Capt. McMillin hadn’t ordered the surrender.

“I was captured in the Reception Room of my quarters about twenty minutes after the cease-firing signal. The leader of the squad of Japanese who entered my quarters required me to remove my jacket and trousers before marching me into the Plaza, where officers and men were being assembled, covered by machine guns,” said McMillin.

Forced to run a gauntlet of rifle butts, the surrendered Americans were forced to strip and lay face up in the sun until noon when they were herded indoors.

They had a whole new war ahead of them.

The POW chapter

Penguin, sunk in deep waters, escaped the Japanese as did Gold Star, which would survive the war carrying precious cargo throughout the South Pacific.

The old tanker Barnes, left strafed and abandoned, was pressed into Japanese service and, recovered at war’s end, was taken into British merchant service until 1949.

The Yippies, YP-16, and YP-17 were strafed by the Japanese and set to the torch by their crews.

In all, 487 people were taken prisoner of war on Guam in December 1941, according to research by Roger Mansell. They were shipped to Japan on 10 January 1942 aboard the transport Argentina Maru. This included not only the legitimate American military POWs but also 13 local Catholic clergy (two of whom were Spanish citizens), 11 Pan-American Airways employees, and six civilian sea cable employees.

At least 19 of the Guam POWs would perish over the next 3.5 years in captivity.

A handful (the nurses, Spanish clergy, a military wife, and her newborn baby) were repatriated in 1942.

The officers, medical corps POWs, and senior NCOs were largely sent at first to the Zentsuji “model camp” which was shown off to the International Red Cross.

Group portrait of POWs from Zentsuji Camp at Shikoku, Osaka, Japan. Identified are Ensign Walter Senchuk, United States (US) Navy Reserve, and USS Penguin (extreme right), the other men are unidentified. Most of the men in the camp were Allied officers captured in the early battles of 1941. The camp was a ‘show camp’ used by the Japanese for propaganda purposes, but after 1942 conditions worsened.

Group portrait of prisoners of war (POWs) from Zentsuji Camp at Shikoku, Osaka, Japan. Identified, left to right: Lieutenant (Lt) James W Haviland, United States Navy, USS Penguin; Lt John L Nestor, US Navy, USS R L Barnes; Major G V Porter, US Army; Mr H P Havenor, US Bureau of the Budget; and Lt Arnold J Carlson, US Navy, Supply. Most of the men in the camp were Allied officers captured in the early battles of 1941. The camp was a ‘show camp’ used by the Japanese for propaganda purposes, but after 1942 conditions worsened.

Group portrait of prisoners of war (POWs) from Zentsuji Camp at Shikoku, Osaka, Japan. Identified, left to right: unidentified; Ensign Edwin Wood, United States (US) Navy, USS Penguin; Ensign Hugh Mellon, US Navy Reserve (USNR); Ensign Joseph Martin Jnr, USNR; and Warrant Officer Robert C Haun, US Navy, Supply. Most of the men in the camp were Allied officers captured in the early battles of 1941. The camp was a ‘show camp’ used by the Japanese for propaganda purposes, but after 1942 conditions worsened.

A group of about 80 prisoners (at least 65 of which had been captured on Guam), considered by the Japanese to be hard cases, were made to work as stevedores on the docks at Osaka Camp No.1 “until they gave the guards so much trouble that they shipped them to a new camp at Hirohata in August 1943 where they acquired the nickname ‘The 80 Eightballs.”

These Eightballs included several men from Penguin.

Of the 55 men from Penguin that Mansell noted as surviving the Battle of Guam and becoming POWs, Capt. Sidney E. Seid, the captured U.S. Army Medical Corps officer at Hirohata, treated at least 10 of Penguin’s crew while at Hirohata for various ailments and injuries. One member of her crew, SK3c Robert Brown MacLean, died of pneumonia in 1944 while a POW.

In total, of the four officers and 60 enlisted among Penguin’s pre-war crew, including regulars, reservists, and Chamorro, 10 were killed in action, died in prison camps, or were executed by the Japanese. Those who survived– 22 of them wounded in action– earned every grain of their POW medals, spending even longer under the Empire’s locks than even the “Battling Bastards of Bataan.” At least one of the ship’s POWs, a young seaman, would suffer a complete mental breakdown and spend the rest of his long life in VA hospitals.

Chief O’Brien, who weighed 175 pounds going into the war, was down to 120 at the end of it.

During the last summer there, the ill effects of living on dried sweet potato vines and dock sweepings finally commenced showing up in a big way. Everyone seemed to be sick at once. The Japanese felt the same way about human beings as they did about their work animals; if sick, cut down the food. If they died… oh, well.

Penguin’s skipper, LT Haviland, was held at the Rokuroshi camp outside of Osaka. Liberated post-war, he was advanced to Captain and presented with a Silver Star. He retired as a rear admiral and passed in 1960 aged 55.

Both Capt. McMillin, the Naval Governor of Guam, and Marine Lt. Col MacNulty would survive the war in the camps as well. McMillin, liberated in August 1945 by Soviet paratroopers at Mukden in Manchuria, would go on to retire as a rear admiral in 1949, then go on to work as a postmaster before passing in 1983, aged 93. MacNulty, also held at the Rokuroshi, retired as a brigadier general in 1946 and passed in 1964, aged 72.

Epilogue

The Marines, with help from the Navy and Coast Guard, returned to liberate Guam in July 1944. RM1c George Tweed emerged from his cave, having evaded capture for 31 months.

The Navy recycled the name “Penguin” during WWII for the lead ship (ASR-12) of a class of submarine rescue and salvage vessels. Commissioned 29 May 1944. She spent a lengthy career working out of New London with the Second Fleet and Rota with the Sixth and, while she conducted hundreds of drills and dozens of tows, she gratefully was never called on to conduct rescue operations for an actual submarine disaster. She decommissioned in 1970.

USS Penguin (ASR-12) photographed on 21 June 1953. NH 105502

Sadly, the Navy has been without a “Penguin” on the Navy List for the past half-century, and neither Haviland, McMillin, nor MacNulty have had a ship named in their honor. That should change.

Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive


Ships are more than steel
and wood
And heart of burning coal,
For those who sail upon
them know
That some ships have a
soul.


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Warship Wednesday, Jan. 15, 2025: Go Long

Here at LSOZI, we take off every Wednesday for a look at the old steam/diesel navies of the 1833-1954 period and will profile a different ship each week. These ships have a life, a tale all their own, which sometimes takes them to the strangest places.- Christopher Eger

If you enjoy my always ad-free Warship Wednesday content, you can support it by buying me a cup of joe at https://buymeacoffee.com/lsozi

Warship Wednesday, Jan. 15, 2025: Go Long

Naval History and Heritage Command photo NH 51351

Above we see the Clemson-class “flush decker” USS Long (Destroyer No. 209), taking water over the bow, during her squadron’s experimental Alaska cruise, in 1937.

Don’t let her Great War-era good looks fool you, Long would go on to earn nine battle stars in the Pacific in WWII and be lost some 80 years ago this month.

The Clemsons

One of the massive fleets of 156 Clemson-class flush-decker destroyers, like most of her sisters, Long came too late to help lick the Kaiser. An expansion of the almost identical Wickes-class destroyers with a third more fuel capacity to enable them to escort a convoy across the Atlantic without refueling, the Clemsons were sorely needed to combat the pressing German submarine threat of the Great War.

At 1,200 tons and with a top speed of 35 knots, they were brisk vessels ready for the task.

Inboard and outboard profiles for a U.S. Navy Clemson-class destroyer, in this case, USS Doyen (DD-280)

Meet Long

Our subject is the only warship named for the Secretary of the Navy during the Spanish-American War, John Davis Long, one of the fathers of the “New American Navy.”

Laid down by William Cramp & Sons at Philadelphia on 23 September 1918– just Pershing’s Doughboys came out on top in the Battle of Saint-Mihiel– Long was just too late for the Great War. Launched on 26 April 1919, she was commissioned on 20 October 1919.

Of note, Long was a bit different from the rest of her Clemson-class sisters. While they were mostly completed with four single 4″/50s as a main battery, Long and her sister USS Hovey (DD 208) were completed with four twin 4″/50 mounts, doubling their guns.

Besides Long and Hovey, only the old (Caldwell-class) destroyer USS Stockton (DD 73) carried this Mk 14 mount, and she only did as a single experimental model mounted forward.

Stockton with her twin 4″/50 Mk 14

Hovey and Long carried four of these mounts, one forward and aft and two amidships.

USS Hovey (DD-208) view looking down from the foremast, showing the twin 4/50 gun mounts atop her midships deckhouse, along with a loading practice machine (in the lower left), ready service ammunition stowage, and three of the ship’s smokestacks. Taken during the mid-1930s. Collection of Rear Admiral Elmer E. Duval, Sr., who was Hovey’s Commanding Officer at the time. NH 99573

Postbellum service and a decade-long nap

While she didn’t get a chance to fire her guns in anger during the war itself, Long was nonetheless sent “Over There” following her East Coast shakedown cruise, assigned to DesDiv 26, she was assigned to the war-torn Adriatic and Mediterranean in the tense post-war era and served in the region as a station ship.

USS Long (DD-209) dressed in her glad rags next to one of her sisters in the Mediterranean, and two other dressed warships to the rear, circa 1919-1920. Courtesy of Jack Howland, 1982. NH 93979

Remaining overseas, she was sent to the exotic climes of the Asiatic Fleet in late 1920, based at Cavite.

USS Long (DD-209) and another destroyer of the Asiatic Fleet, c 1920s. Note the local vessel traffic– junks etc.– and extensive awning fits, common in the Pacific inter-war. Courtesy of Capt. G. F. Swainson, USN, 1969 NH 67244

Ordered back home after her globetrotting overseas service, Long was mothballed due to peacetime budget cuts– the Navy shrank from 752 ships in 1919 to just 379 by the end of 1922.

With that, Long decommissioned at San Diego on 30 December 1922, but she was kept on emergency standby if needed.

The 62 mothballed Clemsons at San Diego in the 1920s were, under Special Plan Orange (a Pacific war against the Empire of Japan), considered able to reactivate within 30 days as Category B assets after receiving an officer and 13 men from as a “nucleus” crew from an active duty sister– Long would get hers from USS Henshaw (DD 278) while Hovey would get her baker’s dozen from USS Moody (DD 277).
 
Another 21 rates would come from the Fleet Reserve pool. The balance of the recommissioning crew, 3 officers and 80 men, would be recalled reservists in the Third Naval District (New York). In all, this would give these tin cans an authorized 4 officers and 114 men, a force that could be fleshed out by a truckload of new recruits right from the depot if it fell short. 
The rates drawn for the nucleus crew and Fleet Reserve:

Thirty-four mothballed destroyers of the U.S. Navy decommissioned in 1921 and tied up at the San Diego Naval Base, being hauled from their berths by tugs to replace ships of the 11th and 12th squadrons that were being laid up. USS Long (DD-209) can be seen as tugs prepare to move her out, on 21 September 1929. Courtesy of the San Francisco Maritime Museum, San Francisco, California, 1969. NH 69123

Salad days

Between 1930-31, 60 Navy high mileage active duty flush-deckers with worn-out Yarrow boilers were decommissioned and disposed of– it was cheaper to scrap them than rebuild them. This required a dip into the reserve fleet to reactivate 60 of the low-mileage tin cans that had been growing algae on their hulls to take their place.

That meant Long, which recommissioned at San Diego on 29 March 1930, had her hull cleaned and was brought back to life, this time assigned to the Pacific Fleet.

A circa 1930s photo of USS Long, note her giant hull numbers, which were typical of the period. NARA 80-G-1025957

She maintained the standard peacetime operational tempo common to the fleet in the 1930s, alternating between training cruises and large fleet problems.

Battleship USS Maryland (BB-46) and escorting destroyers USS Hovey (DD-208), and USS Long (DD-209) (ships listed left to right) In the Miraflores Locks, while transiting the Panama Canal during the annual inter-ocean movement of the U.S. Fleet, 24 April 1931. Note the distinctive twin 4″/50 Mk 14 gun mountings carried by Hovey and Long. 80-G-455918

Part of the combined U.S. fleet moored in Balboa harbor on 25 October 1934. Ships present include two battleships at dock, three cruisers, while the leviathan destroyer tenders USS Whitney (AD-4) and Dobbin (AD-3) nurse more than 40 destroyers. Among the latter are McFarland (DD-237), Goff (DD-247), and Long (DD-209). 80-G-455966

In the summers of 1936 and 1937, the Navy sent destroyer squadrons (along with the carrier USS Ranger) into Alaskan waters to get a feel for fleet operations in that increasingly valuable territory. As Alaska was far removed from the CONUS, and its Aleutians chain rather close to Northern Japan– with Attu island just 1,300 miles from Hokkaido while some 2,800 miles from Seattle– the writing was on the wall that the territory could find itself a difficult battleground should war come between the U.S. and the Empire.

Following these deployments, at the urging of a report by RADM Arthur J. Hepburn’s board, the Navy in 1938 recommended the construction of a naval base on sprawling Amaknak Island, at Dutch Harbor, with the first troops arriving there in June 1941.

Long and her direct sister Hovey, accompanied by half-sisters USS Dallas (DD-199), Wasmuth (DD-338), Zane (DD-337), and Trever (DD-339), made the 1937 sortie.

The photos from the cruise show an idyllic window into what would be an interbellum period.

Talk about a recruiting poster! USS Long (DD-209) underway during an Alaskan cruise, circa 1937. Note her twin 4/50 gun mountings. She was one of two ships of her class to carry these weapons and would trade them in during WWII for a quartet of 3″/50s. NH 63243

Destroyers USS Long (DD-209) and USS Wasmuth (DD-338) in Chelkate Inlet with the Kakuhau Range Mountains in the background during an Alaska cruise, 1937. NH 109579

USS Long (DD-209) leading USS Wasmuth (DD338), during the Alaskan cruise of 1937. NH 51845

Clemson class destroyers maneuvering at sea during an Alaska cruise. Left to right: USS Wasmuth (DD-338), Long (DD-209), USS Zane (DD-337), and USS Trever (DD-339), 1937. NH 109560

Destroyers in Wrangell Narrows, after view of USS Dallas (DD-199), USS Wasmuth (DD-338), and USS Long (DD-209) following North Flat South end lights in Wrangell Narrows during an Alaska cruise, 1937. NH 109578

Destroyers USS Long (DD-209) in front with USS Trever (DD339) and USS Zane (DD-337) in the rear during an Alaska cruise, 1937. NH 109581

Destroyers USS Wasmuth (DD-338) and USS Long (DD-209) maneuvering while flying their flag signals during an Alaska cruise, 1937. NH 109582

During the 1937 Alaska cruise, destroyer USS Dallas (DD-199) noses her bow toward the city of Juneau, the capital of the Alaska Territory, situated on the Gastineau Channel with a population of about 4,500 people. USS Long (DD-209) and USS Wasmuth (DD-338) are already docked in the foreground, with a 250-foot Lake class Coast Guard cutter of the Bering Sea Patrol to the right. NH 109568

Now that is MWR! Sailors from USS Dallas, Long, and Wasmuth fishing in Auan Creep Hump Back Bay, Alaska NH 118928

Destroyers docked at Skagway, Alaska: USS Dallas (DD-199), USS Long (DD-209), and USS Wasmuth (DD-338) as they dock side by side at Skagway, Alaska, with snow-covered mountains in the background, 1937. NH 109565

The cruise would also see some dramatic images captured, with Long leading the pack of greyhounds.

USS Long (DD-209) leading other destroyers in a change of course, during the Alaska cruise, in 1937. NH 51353

USS Long (DD-209) leading sister USS Wasmuth (DD 338) through Fitzhugh Sound, British Columbia, during the Alaskan cruise of 1937. NH 51847

Long rolling, during the Alaska cruise, in 1937. NH 51350

Destroyer tender USS Dixie (AD-14), was photographed in early 1940 with USS Long (DD-209) alongside. NH 89401

DMS Conversion

With the class having so many hulls, and the Navy steadily building more advanced classes of destroyers, the Clemsons saw many of these aging greyhounds converted to other uses including as “green dragon” fast troop transports (ADP) able to put a battalion ashore via davit-carried LCVPs, fast minelayers (DMs) carrying 80 mines, small seaplane tenders (AVD) capable of supporting a squadron of flying boats such as PBYs, and fast minesweepers (DMS).

In late 1940, nine of the class– Chandler, Southard, Hovey, Hopkins, Zane, Wasmuth, Trever, Perry, and Long, became ersatz minesweepers. Long became DMS-12 on 19 November 1940.

The DMS conversion meant the installation of mechanical sweep gear, primarily a pair of paravane cranes on the stern (port and starboard), along with large deck-mounted cable winches, and space for four vanes and kites.

They still had their depth charge racks (repositioned forward and angled outboard), guns (which were downgraded), and two Y-gun depth charge throwers to continue to work as escorts, as well as (eventually) an SC radar. Gone were the torpedo tubes and, as they didn’t need to be too fast, they landed the No.4 boiler and had their exhaust vented into three shortened funnels, with the fourth removed. Generator sets were upgraded to provide 120kw vs the original 75kw. This still allowed a 25-knot speed.

From Long’s 29 October 1943 plans at Mare Island, detailing her crew at the time as well as her battery (four 3″50 Mk 20 DPs, five 20mm Oerlikons) and powerplant:

Her profile, 29 October 1943, as DMS-12, note the shadow of her original four tall stacks now replaced by three smaller ones:

Compare the difference between her 1930s four-piper profile and the one seen during WWII:

NH 67630 compared to NH 81358

It was in this configuration that Long found herself when Pearl Harbor was attacked.

War!

Based at Pearl Harbor with several of her sisters as part of Mine Squadron 2, Long escaped the Japanese attack on 7 December 1941 due to the fact she and four DMS sisters were at sea as escort for the heavy cruiser USS Indianapolis (CA‑35) at the time some 800 miles southwest conducting a simulated naval bombardment of remote Johnson Island.

From Indy’s War Diary:

Returning to Pearl with the cruiser-DMS force on 9 December, Long steamed into the still-smoking harbor, then soon after began a series of antisubmarine patrols around the islands.

Long alternated this duty over the past six months with running coastal escorts among the Hawaiian Islands and with runs to Midway, Palmyra, and far-off Canton, where the Navy was building an airstrip.

Then came a stint in Alaskan waters following the Japanese attack on Dutch Harbor and the occupation of Attu and Kiska. Serving in the familiar old territory for the next 15 months, she narrowly avoided destruction in a collision with the destroyer USS Monaghan (DD‑354) in heavy fog, and fired her first shots in anger, on 31 January 1943 against Japanese air attacks on Amchitka’s Constantine Harbor with three fellow Clemsons.

In May 1943, she was assigned to TG 51.3 of RADM Francis Rockwell’s TF 51, the Attu Assault Force. Standing out of Cold Harbor as part of the screen for Rockwell’s flag on the battlewagon USS Pennsylvania on 4 May, seven days later she and the fellow fast minesweepers USS Elliot (DMS-4) and USS Chandler (DMS 9) broke off from the main force and swept the lanes to the landing beaches on Japanese-held Attu.

The 12th saw a repeat, this time in Massacre Bay.

The rest of the month saw Long revert back to her destroyer DNA and provide escort and ASW patrol around the island, including the spirited pursuit of a sonar contact on the 15th.

While there were known Japanese midget submarines based in the Aleutians, and larger subs passing through, post-war records didn’t support a “kill” claim for this incident.

Then came the Kiska and Adak operations until, finally, Long was dispatched back to Pearl Harbor in September 1943 for some warmer service.

USS Long (DMS-12) photographed during World War II. Courtesy of D. M. McPherson, 1974. NH 81358

Following a refit and escort and patrol operations in Hawaiian waters, Long was dispatched to the Southwest Pacific to join in the New Guinea operations in February 1944. Operating as part of TF 76, she supported the landings there and in the Admiralties and Hollandia, (Operations Reckless and Persecution) both sweeping mines and escorting.

It was at Humboldt Bay on 22 April 1944 that she was able to both run her paravanes and get hits on shore targets, firing 253 rounds of 3″/50 and 660 of 20mm on the landing beaches of Cape Tjeweri, Cape Djar, and Cape Kassoe, just prior to the LVTs and LSTs carrying the 162nd and 186th Regiments of the 41st “Jungleers” Division hitting the beach.

Switching gears and sailing north to the Marianas, Long was on hand for the occupation of Saipan in June and the liberation of Guam in July, in each cases conducting preinvasion mine sweeps to clear lanes, then providing radar picket and guard ship duties, followed by convoy work.

Similar operations in the Palaus in September and October included a very hectic week during the landings during which Long, Hovey, and fellow DMS vessels were zapping mines left and right. In all, Long destroyed at least 45 Japanese mines during the Palau operation, all via 3-inch gunfire– some as close as 100 yards– following sweeping.

A sample day: 

This brought Long into the drive to liberate the Philippines after nearly three years of Japanese occupation.

Sailing under orders with Minesweeping Unit 1 in early October, she spearheaded the invasion of the PI at Leyte Gulf, successfully clearing Japanese mines off Dinagat and Hibuson, as well as in the Dulag‑Tacloban approach channel and the soon-to-be-infamous Surigao Strait, all while fighting off Japanese air attacks.

A sample of these operations, that of 19 October 1944:

She spent the Battle of the Surigao Strait guarding empty transports bound in convoy for Manus, narrowly avoiding contact with the Japanese surface.

Late December saw her return to the PI to sweep for the landings at Lingayen Gulf. Just after the New Year, while in the Mindanao Sea, she survived a series of furious Japanese air attacks, continuing her yeoman job of sweeping.

Long’s luck ran out on 6 January.

Two Japanese Zeke 52s approached from low over the beach, dropping down to just 25 feet of the deck, with one strafing and crashing into (DD-232/APD-10) and the other coming fast at Long broadside on her port side. Although LT Stanley David Caplan, Long’s 16th and final skipper, rang up 25 knots and ordered everything on board to fire on the incoming planes. Despite three 3″/50s and three 20mm Oerlikons opening up and hits being observed, it was already over.

As detailed in an 11-page report by Caplan, who survived the maelstrom:

Her old twin, Hovey, was on hand and immediately stood by to help, as did her sister Chandler, and the fleet tug USS Apache (AT-67).

Caplan observed a five-foot hole in Long’s side, penetrating to the officer’s wardroom and the forward living compartment, with fire observed just over the No. 1. magazine. Nonetheless, 26 men responded to Caplan’s call for volunteers to attempt to reboard and save their faithful old tin can.

While organizing the return from Apache’s deck, disaster struck.

Waiting overnight, by the next morning, Long’s main deck, just after the forecastle about midships, was underwater, while her screws were showing on the stern. Her back was broken. There was nothing left to save. Landing on the sinking ship with 12 volunteers to make sure the ship’s sensitive gear was wrecked, Caplan and party soon departed after just five minutes, leaving just “30 seconds to a minute to the good” before the destroyer capsized then went down in two pieces at 1115 on 7 January.

Six men were killed in the attack on Long, with two others later passing from their injuries.

Sadly, Hovey would perish a few hours before her sister took her final dive, hit by a Japanese Kate torpedo bomber, carrying a fish, around 0455 on the 7th. By dawn, she was lost, and the men she had taken off Long, some 120 survivors, went back into the water. The Chandler and Apache moved in to make their second extended rescue in 24 hours.

Some 35 bluejackets injured in Long’s initial kamikaze strike and another 28 from her that picked up wounds while on Hovey were transferred to the large sick bay on the battleships USS California and USS West Virginia. Two dozen men from Brooks and Long who were aboard Hovey when she sank were never found.

Both Hovey and Long earned Navy Unit Commendations for their service, both for action at Palau.

Besides the NUC, Long earned at least night battle stars during her WWII service including:

  • 11 May 43 – 31 May 43 Attu occupation
  • 2 Feb 44 – 8 Feb 44 Western New Guinea operations
  • 29 Feb 44 – 4 Mar 44 and 7 Mar 44 – 11 Mar 44 Admiralty Island landings
  • 18 Apr 44 – 25 Apr 44 and 2 May 44 Hollandia operation (Aitape Humbolt Bay-Tanahmerah Bay)
  • 13 Jun 44 – 18 Jul 44 Capture and Occupation of Saipan
  • 12 Jul 44 – 25 Jul 44 Capture and Occupation of Guam
  • 6 Sep 44 – 14 Oct 44 Capture and occupation of southern Palau Islands
  • 12 Oct 44 – 20 Oct 44 Leyte landings (as well as 4 Jan 45 – 18 Jan 45), and Battle of Surigao Strait

Epilogue

Long’s war diaries are in the National Archives along with her circa 1943 plans. 

The Navy never saw fit to recycle the name, despite her nine battlestars and NUC. The same goes for Hovey.

The twins rest somewhere in the Lingayen Gulf, very close to each other, near position 16º12’N, 120º11’E.

LT Caplan, born in 1915 in Elmira, New York, and commissioned via ROTC in 1940, had already survived Pearl Harbor with a commendation for his actions that day. He likewise survived the war and passed in 1999 on dry land in Florida, aged 84.

There are no Clemsons preserved. No less than 16 sisters in addition to Long and Hovey were lost during WWII.

For more information on the Clemsons and their like, read CDR John Alden’s book, “Flush Decks and Four Pipes” and/or check out the Destroyer History Foundation’s section on Flushdeckers. 

Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive


Ships are more than steel
and wood
And heart of burning coal,
For those who sail upon
them know
That some ships have a
soul.


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A ‘full-fledged D-E sailor’

Short Cruise on a Destroyer Escort, By Ernie Pyle:

“So now I’m a D-E sailor. Full-fledged one. Drenched from head to foot with salt water. Sleep with a leg crooked around your rack so you won’t fall out. Put wet bread under your dinner tray to keep it from sliding.

They are rough-and-tumble little ships. Their afterdecks are laden with depth charges. They can turn in half the space of a Destroyer. Their forward guns can seldom be used, because waves are breaking over them.

They roll and they plunge. They buck and they twist. They shudder and they fall through space. Their sailors say they should have flight pay and sub pay both — they’re in the air half the time, underwater half the time. Their men are accustomed to being wet and think nothing of it.

I came back from the northern waters on a D-E. When a wave comes over and you get soaked and a sailor laughs and says, ‘Now you’re a D-E sailor,’ it makes you feel kind of proud.”

Destroyer Escort, WGT (Butler) type, plows into heavy seas, during operations in support of the Lingayen Gulf invasion, 12 January 1945. USS Colorado (BB-45) is steaming in the distance. Photographed from the escort carrier USS Makin Island (CVE-93) 80-G-301255

Warship Wednesday, Jan. 8, 2025: Frozen Comanche

Here at LSOZI, we take off every Wednesday to look at the old steam/diesel navies of the 1833-1954 period, and we will profile a different ship each week. These ships have a life, a tale all their own, which sometimes takes them to the strangest places.- Christopher Eger

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Warship Wednesday, Jan. 8, 2025: Frozen Comanche

USCG image.

Above we see the 165-foot (A) Algonquin-class U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Comanche (WPG 76) with her warpaint on, circa 1942, while part of the oft-forgotten Greenland Patrol during WWII. With Greenland and its defense in the news right now, it is worth revisiting the ship that started the whole discussion, so to speak.

The Algonquins

In 1934, the Coast Guard moved to construct a half dozen new ice-strengthened patrol gunboats (by Navy standards). These were based on the successful circa 1915 165-foot ice-breaking cutter Ossipee (WPG 50) but constructed with a reinforced belt at the waterline and a cutaway forefoot, features that, combined with their geared turbine drives– the first for the USCG– were thought capable of breaking up to two feet of sea ice.

USCGC Ossipee, view taken circa 1916, shortly after her completion. NH 89751

Coast Guard 165-foot cutter Ossipee, Boston Navy Yard, April 1932. Note her 3-inch guns forward. Boston Public Library, Leslie Jones Collection

As noted by Scheina:

The plating doubled around the bow, the cutaway forefoot, short length, and medium draft made these cutters good ice boats. They had a heavy steel belt around the vessel at the waterline and relatively short bilge keels, so in a seaway they had a tendency to roll considerably.

Built for a total of just under $3 million in Public Works Administration construction allotments, three of these new cutters– Algonquin (WPG-75), Comanche, and Mohawk (WPG-78) — were awarded on 14 October 1934 with Pusey & Jones Company of Wilmington, Delaware while a week later on 23 October a second trio– USCGC Escanaba (WPG-77), Onondaga (WPG-79) and Tahoma (WPG-80)-– were contracted with Defoe on the Great Lakes at Bay City, Michigan.

Using a pair of side-by-side Foster-Wheeler high-pressure boilers to feed a centerline 1,500shp Westinghouse double-reduction geared turbine mated to a single screw, the Algonquins could make a paint-peeling 12.8 knots at full RPMs or a more economical 9.4 knots, with the latter allowing a 5,000nm range– long enough legs to wallow across the Atlantic if need be or pull far-off Bering Sea and International Ice Patrols.

Algonquin on trials in the Delaware River, 1934

A peacetime crew of six officers and 56 men could handle the cutter and a main battery of two 3″/50 guns, curiously arranged abreast of each other on the foc’sle, backed up by a pair of two quaint old 6-pounders off the bridge wings, provided a top-side armament. Typical of Coast Guard cutters for the time, the 3-inchers were almost always well greased up and covered, only fired on annual gunnery exercises, while the 6-pounders were used more liberally for law enforcement, saluting, line-throwing, and signaling. Typical peacetime allowances per cutter included 55 service rounds and 110 “Navy” blanks per 6-pounder and 60 service rounds per 3-incher.

There were also enough small arms to send a light platoon-sized (30-man) landing force ashore, arranged in a six-man HQ team, two eight-man rifle squads, and an eight-man machine gun detachment. The 1938 small arms allowance for cutters of this size was for 40 M1903 Springfield rifles with bayonets and slings, 15 M1911 pistols with two magazines apiece, two M1917 Lewis guns, and at least one Thompson sub gun, all fed by 2,400 rounds of .30 caliber ball for the Lewis guns and rifles and a whopping 6,000 of .45 ACP for the pistols and Tommy guns. A full 38 sets of “landing force gear”, including a FAK, mess kit, canteen, web belt with pouches, haversack, and pack carrier, were stored for such use.

Coast Guard cutter crew made up in landing force kit. Note the M1903 Springfield rifles. USCG Historian’s Office, CG-09231220211-G-G0000-025

These cutters also had magazines for legacy 238-pound guncotton or smaller new 150-pound TNT electrically detonated “wrecking mines” used in destroying derelicts– or in reducing hazardous icebergs and blasting paths in the ice sheet.

Coast Guard destroying a derelict with TNT mines. March 1927. An explosion on the water throws lumber through the air. In the foreground is the railing of a Coast Guard ship with the American flag flying. The caption reads, “Destroying a derelict with TNT mines. The Coast Guard destroys or removes from the path of navigation hundreds of such derelicts each year.” NARA 26-G-03-21-27(1)

As detailed by a 1935 Yachtsman article, these cutters typically carried a 36-foot motor launch with a 20hp engine, two 26-foot Monomoy-type surf boats, and a 19-foot surf boat, the latter three vessels oar-powered.

Electrified, these cutters had an extensive radio suite (three transmitters and four receivers) with the vessel’s radio call letters prominently displayed for overhead aircraft, interior and topside lighting, refrigerators and reefers sufficient for length patrols, and a pair of remote-controlled 12-inch incandescent searchlights on the flying bridge overhead.

Meet Comanche

Our cutter is the second to carry the name of the fierce Native American tribe in the USCG.

The first, a 170-foot vessel which was the service’s first attempt at a “modern” steam cutter in 1897, originally commissioned as the USRC Windom and, after serving during the Spanish-American War and the Great War, policed against rumrunners in the Gulf of Mexico during Prohibition before she was disposed of in 1930.

The original USCGC Comanche, formerly USRC Windom, seen in 1920. CG Historian’s Photo.

Our Comanche, laid down at Pusey & Jones in late 1933, was launched in September 1934 and commissioned in December.

Comanche seen on 26 November 1934, post-delivery but before commissioning in a rare period color photo. Note she does not have her Navy-owned main and secondary batteries fitted yet but does have her gleaming white hull, buff stack and masts, and black cap.

The Coast Guard has never been overstaffed, and the plankowners of her first crew were transferred hot from the old cutter Gresham, which was being decommissioned for the first time and was co-located at Wilmington. As Gresham still had stores aboard while Comanche did not, her crew had to walk back to their old cutter for meals for the first several days.

Her 1934 deck log for commissioning, detailing her initial five officers and four men transferred from the USCG inspector office at the builder’s yard, while 43 other men came from Gresham:

One of her enlisted inherited from Gresham, 44-year-old S1c Maurice D. Jester, listed above, had volunteered for the service in 1917 as a surfman. A chief boatswain mate by 1941, Jester was given a temporary lieutenant’s commission post-Pearl Harbor and, in command of the 165-foot USCGC Icarus (WPC-110), would sink one of the first U-boats (U-352) by an American ship in WWII, earning a Navy Cross in the process.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves.

Comanche was stationed at Stapleton, New York, on Staten Island, and carried out the typical varied missions of the Coast Guard, often deploying to Florida for patrols and naval training exercises in the summer.

CGC Comanche in service, 1930s. Note that she has her armament installed

A page covering a typical day while on one such stint deployed to the Sunshine State:

Having an ice-cruncher bow, she also pulled down the additional task of light ice-breaking on the Hudson River in winter.

Comanche Hudson River ice patrol, Saugerties, 1938

Comanche Hudson River Ice Patrol, 1939

March 1936. “This image depicts the Coast Guard cutter Comanche, which found the pictured vessels stuck fast in the ice off Poughkeepsie, N.Y., and broke the ice to free them.” NARA 26-G-04-27-36(8)

War! (In Denmark)

Despite being neutral, Denmark was invaded by Germany on 9 April 1940.

German Linienschiff Schleswig-Holstein off Denmark on April 9, 1940, sending landing forces ashore

This led to a tense occupation that, for the first three years or so, still “allowed” the Danes to keep their military, so long as it remained in skeletal format, hiding in its garrisons and ports.

The majority of the ships of the Royal Danish Navy would be immolated or drowned by their faithful crews in August 1943 when the Germans moved to capture them once the veil of civility was removed from the occupation. Despite being almost totally disarmed and de-fueled to comply with German armistice requirements, a handful of vessels managed to make it across the Oresund to neutral Sweden or were lost trying.

A few vessels outside of metropolitan Denmark- such as the two armed Icelandic Coast Guard cutters Aegir and Odinn and two smaller vessels in Greenland waters, which we will get to- escaped German custody or destruction to prevent such custody. A beautiful 212-foot three-masted schoolship, the Danmark, filled with Danish merchant marine and naval cadets, was on an extended visit to America in 1940 and would end up clocking in after Pearl Harbor, crew included, to train over 5,000 USCG and USMM officer cadets during the war as USCGC Danmark (WIX-283).

Meanwhile, in giant colonial Greenland, the world’s largest island, the entire armed Danish military presence in April 1940 amounted to the Royal Danish Navy inspektionsskip Maagen and opmålingsskib (survey ship) Ternen. Small shallow draft sailing cutters with auxiliary diesels had an 11-member crew, a single ancient low-angle 3-pounder (37mm) M/84 cannon, and some small arms. Four larger corvette/frigate-sized inspection ships existed– Besytteren, Islands Falk, Hvidbjornen, and Ingolf— but were in Denmark getting ready for their summer patrols and thus were trapped there under German occupation.

The Royal Danish Navy’s opmålingsskib (survey ship) Ternen, left, and inspektionsskip Maagen, right, wintered in Greenland waters and thus were there in April 1940, escaping German capture. They were small cutters, at about 70 feet oal and 100 tons displacement, good for about 8 knots on their single diesel engine.

Other than the two cutters, the only other armed body in Greenland was the police under their inspector (Politiinspektør for Østkysten), the multi-hatted Danish polar explorer Ejnar Mikkelsen– who was back in Denmark at the time. The force had two stations (politistationer), at Eskimonæs (to cover the Norddistriktet) and Ella Ø (to cover the Syddistriktet), with just two officers at each location. This was to enforce the law over a territory about three times larger than Texas. Even this token group was only created in 1933 to answer the dispute with Norway over what was called Erik Raudes Land in north-east Greenland, with the League of Nations arbitrating that if Denmark wanted to continue to claim all Greenland as its territory, it had to maintain a permanent presence.

Although Norse settlements went back to the 9th Century, the island’s population in 1940 was still just hovering around 18,000, and the four police officers and 22 navy personnel described above were all that was needed for its constabulary purposes.

Worse, there were some serious German efforts to win the hearts and minds of the locals via a “religious mission” in Nuuk, which sent emissaries out to isolated settlements along the coast. 

From a post-war report by Danish journalist Ole Vinding

a small group of Greenlandic Nazi sympathizers in Sisimiut, where anti-Danish sentiment is said to have been particularly pronounced among parts of the Greenlandic population. Based on eyewitness accounts, Vinding reports on the practices and symbols of the Nazi movement, whose followers are said to have saluted with arms on Adolf Hitler’s birthday, taught children the “Sieg Heil” at school, adapted their sealskin boots (kamikker) to look like military boots, and adopted the German salute. Last but not least, the members of the group are said to have worn swastika armbands decorated with an upright polar bear outside the white circle. According to Vinding, two catechists trained in Nuuk are said to have spread the gospel of National Socialism in the North Greenland colony. In Nuuk, the friendliness towards Germany was notorious at times and even divided Danish officials on this issue. However, the friendly attitude towards Nazi Germany in the Greenlandic administrative capital did not [according to Vinding] turn into “pure Nazism”.

Meanwhile, the U.S. military had long bumped along the Greenland coast, including the Navy visiting it during the Polaris expedition of 1871–1873, the Juniata and Jeannette expeditions in 1873 and 1879-81, the Greely Relief Expedition in 1884, and the well-known Peary Arctic Expedition in 1898-1901.

This continued into the 20th Century.

The U.S. Army Air Corps, which embarked on a record circumnavigation of the globe via floatplane in 1924, made sure to photograph elements of Greenland’s southern coastline on the pass.

In 1928, the 125-foot USCGC Marion carried out two full months of extensive oceanographic and iceberg studies of the region, fleshing out charts and adding to the general knowledge of the 450,000 sq. miles of the Davis Strait, with copies forwarded to the Danish Hydrographic Office. Her skipper was LT Edward Hanson “Iceberg” Smith, a polar ice nerd who had attended MIT before joining the Revenue Cutter Service in 1910, loved working the International Ice Patrol, and went on to attain a Ph.D. in oceanography from Harvard.

USCGC Marion alongside a glacier in Baffin Bay, Canada. August 1928. The Active-class patrol boat, built for the Rum War, would go on to serve through WWII and was only disposed of in 1962. NH 46401

In 1933, the American Geographical Society wrapped up a trip to nearly all the fjords in Greenland between 72°30’ and 74°North latitude, including photogrammetric mapping of the valleys, glaciers, and mountains, and depth charting the fjords with echo-sounding equipment. Five years later, American meteorologist Clifford MacGregor conducted a groundbreaking study on the formation of polar air masses over Greenland.

To complicate things, the chief industry in Greenland in 1940 was an immense and strategically important cryolite mine at Ivittuut (Invigtut, also seen as Ivigtut)– a vital mineral used at the time to smelt aluminum. The largest known natural deposit of cryolite in the world was at Ivittuut, where about 150 mostly Canadian and Scandinavian miners toiled in the pits for the rare substance under the employ of the Kryolith Mine-og Handelsselskabet A/S.

Kryolitminen, Ivigtut, Greenland, 1937. The ships are the Danish patrol gunboat Hvidbjørnen (right) and the mines tender, the 1,200-ton coaster SS Julius Thomsen. Hvidbjørnen, trapped in Denmark in 1940, was scuttled by her crew during the war, while Thomsen, taken over by the British, survived and kept up a regular transit between Canada and America and the mine during the war. THM-18645

With all this in mind, the two Danish Landsfogeder (governors) of Greenland, Eske Brun and Aksel Svane, invoked a 1925 emergency clause that allowed the colony to govern itself in the event of war. Moving forward, the Landsfogeder coordinated with the Danish ambassador in Washington, Henrik Kauffmann, to act as a sovereign nation per the Monroe Doctrine for the U.S. to protect Greenland and keep it neutral.

Kauffmann met with his American counterparts in D.C. on 10 April 1940, the day after the Germans rolled into Denmark. The response was warm.

But first, there needed to be a U.S. presence in Greenland.

Comanche to the rescue!

With the State Department in high gear to recognize the new (if temporary) independent government in Greenland and with the blessing of the island’s local administrative councils, Comanche, then in New York City’s Pier 18, made ready to sail in early May 1940. This shortcutted the planned British “Force X” being organized in Canada to seize the island.

Comanche took aboard Consul James K. Penfield and Vice-consul George L. West on State Department orders. Also sailing on the cutter would be Maurice R. Reddy, the assistant director of the American Red Cross, tasked with assessing Greenland’s need for supplies as the last ship from Denmark had arrived the previous October. She also carried a detachment of five spare Coast Guard radiomen, which would be landed to operate the infant consulate’s radio station and provide security.

Every nook and cranny of the 165-foot cutter was packed with extra provisions, heavy on canned goods, salted meats, and tinned fish. The crew was issued heavy sheepskin coats and purchased commercial in the city’s garment district. Also included as cargo, as detailed by the New York Times, was a “complete outfit of office furniture for the consulate,” and a “fairly large quantity of lumber fastened down on the forward deck. It was supplied to the Red Cross and will be used to build sheds to shelter supplies sent later.”

As detailed by Penfield in the American Foreign Service Journal:

The poor little 165-foot Comanche was so loaded down (thanks largely to the superhuman efforts of the Despatch Agent, Mr. Fyfe) that even the Captain’s shower was stuffed with boxes of books, skis, snowshoes, rubber boots and duffle bags full of parkas, woolen underwear and heavy socks. But in spite of its load it pitched and rolled its way to St. Johns with such gusto that we thought we’d never know the meaning of the word horizontal again, except in the very unsatisfactory relative sense of a body in a bunk (when it wasn’t pitched out onto the deck).

Leaving NYC on 10 May 1940– the same day Germany invaded neutral Luxembourg, Belgium, and the Netherlands on his sweep through the Lowlands while the British preemptively occupied Iceland for the Allies– the little overseas mission arrived at Godthab (now Nuuk), on Greenland’s west coast, on 20 May.

A thrilled-looking U.S. Consul James K. Penfield (right) and Vice Consul George L. West Jr. (left) arrive in Greenland aboard Cutter Comanche. (Acme News Pictures Inc. 1940).

Discharging her cargo and passengers, Comanche proceeded 200nm down the coast to become a station ship at Arsuk Fjord, directly adjacent to the cryolite mining concern.

Soon, 14 Coastguardsmen recently “discharged” from the service took up newly established positions as uniformed security guards on the staff of the Invigtut cryolite mine, paid a hefty $125 per month (the average non-rate in the USCG made about $50 a month) for the next 12 months with a $225 bonus for completing the contract, all paid by the local Greenland government. The funds to pay these guards, as well as to buy a “surplus” 3″/50 gun, eight Lewis guns, and 55 M1903 rifles landed via USCG cutter, along with shells and bullets for said ordnance, came from a $1 million cash deal from Uncle Sam for local goods negotiated by Brun in a delegation carried back to America by the USCGC Campbell.

This original detachment was soon joined by a 15th man, late from the interned training ship Danmark. A replacement shift of 20 similarly recruited “newly civilianized” USCG men would arrive in July 1941 and guard the mine until May 1942, when the U.S. Army took over the watch.

Comanche at Shipshaven, Ivigtut Greenland 1941

Besides Comanche, two larger cutters soon followed: the 327-foot Treasury class cutters Campbell (June 1940) and Duane (August), with both of the 5-inch gunned twin-screwed cutters suffering issues in the ice. By 10 September, both the 327s were sent back to the U.S. The icebreaking USCG Northland also arrived in August and would operate on the wild east coast of Greenland, where a plan was made with local officials to clear the remote Northeast coastline of its 20-odd inhabitants with the assistance of the Free Norwegian Navy gunboat Fridtjof Nansen.

Comanche was relieved at Ivittuut on 4 September 1940 by the 250-foot Lake class cutter Cayuga. By January 1941, Northland and Cayuga had returned to the U.S. for the worst of the winter, leaving behind the 15 guards at the mine and five radiomen at the consulate to hold down the island until April 1941, when Cayuga and Northland would return.

Meet the Greenland Patrol

On the first anniversary of Germany’s occupation of Denmark, 9 April 1941, the U.S. and Greenland entered into a formal defense agreement.

With a special U.S. survey team carried by Cayuga to Greenland, working from Ternen and the local Greenland administration’s motorboat JP Koch, coupled with Northland’s J2F Duck, efforts were made to map the coast. The 240-foot USCGC Modoc (WPG-46) arrived in May and joined the efforts– coming uncomfortably close to the running fight against the German battleship Bismarck and the Royal Navy in the process.

On 1 June 1941, the South Greenland Patrol, under USCG LCDR H.G. Beford, was established around Modoc (flag) Comanche, the 110-foot icebreaking harbor tug USCGC Raritan (WYT-93), and the famed polar schooner Bowdoin (commissioned in the Navy on 16 June as IX-50).

A week later, the sister organization, the Northeast Greenland Patrol, was formed in Boston around Northland, USCGC North Star, and the 70-year-old retired cutter Bear, the latter recommissioned in naval service as USS Bear (AG-29). The force would be led by now-LCDR Iceberg Smith, USCG.

With the two patrols consolidating in Greenland waters by mid-July, by early August, the first PBY flying boats were arriving, the first maritime aircraft based year-round on the island. The PBYs would eventually be operated by a dedicated unit, Patrol Squadron Six (VP-6 CG) as an all-Coast Guard outfit home-based at Narsarssuak (Narsarsuaq), Greenland, a base soon coded as Bluie West One (BW-1).

By early September, Comanche, with an Army survey team aboard, was back in local waters making reconnaissance patrols of the Southeast Greenland fjords. She would later go on to establish the lce Cap Station at Igtip Kangertiva, a bay on Greenland’s southeast coast that went on to be dubbed “Comanche Bay” for obvious reasons, as well as Weather Station Able (later Bluie West 7) at Gronne Dal (Grønnedal).

The survey work by these cutters and aircraft resulted in the 178-page volume “Greenland Pilot & Sailing Directions” by 1941.

Quietly, the entire Coast Guard was transferred to the Department of the Navy on 1 November 1941, by Executive Order 8929, although it should be noted that, under E.O. 8767 of June 1941, the USCG was authorized to operate as a part of the Navy.

USN ONI 56 Escanaba class 165As, including Comanche and Onondaga

Eventually, there were upwards of 25 Allied– primarily American– bases in Greenland during WWII.

At its height, some 5,500 military personnel were based on the island.

(Note Comanche Bay)

In 1942 alone, 86,000 tons of cryolite were shipped to the U.S. and Canada for use in aluminum production.

Meanwhile, on 26 June 1942, the first large-scale trans-Atlantic ferry flights of Allied military aircraft to Britain using Greenland and Iceland began. Comanche was there, as noted by her XO in a post-war interview, serving as the visual aide and radio beacon at the fjord entrance to the main airbase, Narsarsuak, for the first USAAF trans-Atlantic flight of B-17s. The ship logged the arrival of 26 B-17s on that first day, from 2:40 am to 10:30 pm.

The so-called North Atlantic Route saw three fields in Greenland– Narsarssuak (BW-1), Angmagssalik (Bluie East 2), and Sondrestrom (BW-8)– used as a stopover between Maine/Newfoundland and Iceland, trans-shipping as many as 300-400 aircraft per month, primarily B-17, B-24, and B-25 bombers, to Europe.

B-17s ferry flight through Greenland, Jan 1945 U.S. Air Force Number 122001AC 342-FH_000017

War comes to the Greenland Patrol.

Comanche was tied up at Ivigtut on 7 December 1941, a dry Sunday that saw local temperatures hovering around 34 degrees. By that point, she had spent most of the previous 19 months in the Danish colony’s waters.

While I can’t find that the Germans ever attempted a serious move against the cryolite mine at Invigtut, they did come to Greenland in search of something else.

As early as 11 September 1941, the cutter North Star, visiting Eskimonaes, had a report from local hunters of a flagless two-masted steamer poking around Young Sound. Chased down the next day, the steamer was the 105-foot Norwegian sealer Buskoewhich had delivered a German agent– Jacob R. Bradley– and meteorological personnel ashore.

With a need to help forecast the weather in Europe and the Atlantic, and being cut off from meteorological reports from Canada in 1939 and America in 1941, the Germans needed weather stations in the Arctic. This led to somewhat disjointed efforts by the German Army, Luftwaffe, and Kriegsmarine weather services to establish their own. Even the Abwehr got involved with their own hybrid weather/listening stations.

The Kriegsmarine sowed the icy Barents and Greenland Seas with at least 15 unmanned Wetterfunkgerät See (WFS) radio-transmitting weather buoys. While their employment would seem ideal, these 33-foot-tall buoys were not well-liked by the U-boat crews tasked with deploying them as they took nearly two hours of assembly on the surface in calm seas with the boat’s torpedo crane as muscle– and that’s if everything went right. Plus, they had a planned lifespan of 10 weeks once deployed, but most of them went dark well short of that.

Most of the 15 assorted manned stations were established in Svalbard (Spitzbergen) while one (Schatzgräber) was set up off Russia’s arctic coast on Franz Josef Land. An unmanned station was even set up (and only found decades later) on the coast of Labrador!

As part of this, the Kriegsmarine moved to establish no less than four fixed (Edelweiss I and II, Holzauge, and Bassgeiger) as well as one migratory (Zugvogel, on sea ice) weather station in Greenland during the war.

The counter to this was Greenland’s first and only army, the locally-recruited Nordøstgrønlands Slædepatrulje (Northeast Greenland Sledge Patrol), which blended Danish police officers and Danish, Greenlandic and Norwegian fur trappers into an irregular force, almost devoid of military training, that would get into at least two firefights with German weather troops along the 700-mile stretch of Greenland’s most rugged coastline.

The Northeast Greenland Sledge Patrol would grow to 27 members during WWII. Armed with their own hunting rifles and a few short M1889 Danish Krag engineer carbines (ingeniørkarabin) and uniformed only with an armband, one member of the patrol would perish in a fight with weather station Holzauge personnel.

The Germans, for their part, sometimes went on the offensive, with their own patrols burning down half of Greenland’s police stations, when they attacked the Eskimonæs station (BE-5) in March 1943, driving off the two Danes in residence at the time. While destroying radio and weather equipment, they were good enough to leave a storage shed with food largely untouched and the post’s Danish flag unceremoniously stuffed into a box

The station was attacked by a German force on the night of March 23-24, 1943. The Germans burned the main building but first took down the flag and left it in a box. Note the kennels of the sled patrol.

It was in this atmosphere that the Greenland Patrol carried on its war.

Original caption: White Phantoms of the Northern Seas. The breathless beauty of an iceberg floating from the Arctic holds the gaze of Coast Guardsmen, lining the rail of a combat cutter. Frequently, the sturdy Coast Guard Cutters on the Greenland Patrol encounter these floating islands of glistening ice – dazzling to look upon but hazardous to the ships that pass over the northern lanes.

Coast Guard in Greenland: USCG crew on a water-cooled .50 caliber Browning mans their gun on patrol. 17 October 1942. NARA 26-G-10-17-42(2) 205580166

Kungnat Bay, Greenland. Coast Guard sentry keeps watch as the armed trawler USCGC Arundel (WYT-90) lends assistance to a freighter in the middle distance, 1 February 1943. 26-G-3491

The ensuing so-called “Weather War” saw well-armed and J2F-4 amphibian-equipped USCG combat icebreakers round up 60 German POWs, smashing two weather stations in the process while capturing a third that was recently evacuated, and chasing down three armed Kriegsmarine trawlers– Kehdingen, Coburg, and Externsteine, taking the last as a prize in October 1944.

This image depicts a Coast Guardsman on watch aboard a vessel in Greenland, painted by Coast Guard Combat Artist Norman Millet Thomas, in February 1943. NARA 26-G-02-06-43(1)

This image depicts a USCG landing party from the cutter Northland (WPG-49) gathering captured German remote radio-weather station equipment that had been parachuted in on Northeast Greenland, in September 1943. Note the M1903 Springfields, shaggy dog, and the mixture of blue, grey, and OD Navy and Army gear. NARA 26-G-3501

German POWs on deck of the USCGC Northland (WPG-49) in 1944 as part of the Weather War off Greenland. These may be from the Cape Sussie weather station (Unternehmen Bassgeige), taken down in late July 1944, and landed by the German trawler Coburg.

Comanche at times also served as a floating kennel, running sled dogs from location to location in addition to her work clearing paths through the ice, standing guard at the cryolite mine, and escorting convoys.

From her July 1943 deck log:

Fighting Arctic Wolves

Besides the defense of the cryolite mine and the skirmishes of the Weather War already mentioned, it should be pointed out that the fight against German U-boats, even in these frozen waters off Greenland, was very real.

On 4 September 1941– three full months before Pearl Harbor, the destroyer USS Greer (DD-145) narrowly missed a torpedo fired by U-652 in Greenlandic waters while en route to Iceland.

Comanche served on numerous convoys (SG-19, SG-29, SG-30, SG-37, SG-52, SG-74, GS-27, GS-34, GS-39 et.al.) running ships from Newfoundland to Greenland and back, often tossing ash cans and Mousetrap rockets on suspect underwater contacts.

Comanche, still in her peacetime scheme, escorting SS Munago, 1941, South Greenland, Peary Museum

Comanche in her wartime outfit. She carried a QCL-2 sonar, SF radar, had her 6-pounders replaced with 20mm Orelikons, mounted two depth charge racks, carried four “Y” gun projectors (with allowance for 14 depth charges) had two 7.2-inch Moustrap ASW rocket devices installed.

The report from one such brush with a sonar contact incident:

She also had to pick up the pieces.

Such as in the rescue of freighter USAT Nevada in December 1943. The 950-ton cargo ship, part of Convoy 5G-36, en route from St. John’s to Narsarssuak, became separated in 20-foot high seas and 60-mile-per-hour winds, with snow squalls that ended with her holds flooded.

Comanche was the closest to her and went to work, catching up to her while still about 200 miles south of Greenland.

From her deck log :

Steamship Nevada (American Freighter, built 1915) photographed from the deck of the USCGC Comanche (WPG-76) as Nevada was foundering in the North Atlantic, circa 15-18 December 1943. Comanche was able to rescue twenty-nine of those on board Nevada, but thirty-four lost their lives during the abandonment of the storm-crippled ship. In 1918-1919 Nevada had briefly served as USS Rogday (ID # 3583). NH 66258

Her most famous rescue came during the sinking of the 5,649-ton USAT Dorchester, a pre-war M&MT cruise ship built for 314 passengers that had been turned into a 750-space troopship. On Dorchester’s fifth convoy run (third to Greenland), leaving outbound on 29 January 1943, she was assigned to SG-19 out of St. Johns bound for Narsarssuak with a complement of seven officers, 123 crewmen, 23 Navy armed guards, 16 USCG, 597 Army personnel, and 155 civilian passengers.

M&MT passenger steamer S.S. Dorchester (1926-1943) photographed during 1942 as a USAT SC-290583

Riding shotgun on SG-19 was Comanche and her sister USCGC Escanaba (WPG 77), as well as the larger 240-foot cutter USCGC Tampa (WPG-48). Also in the convoy were the Norwegian steam merchants Biscaya and Lutz, whose holds were full of cargo and building materials to construct bases.

Six days out, in heavy seas and rough weather while 150 miles southwest of Greenland’s Cape Farewell, U-223 (Kptnlt Karl-Jürg Wächter) crept in close enough at 0102 in the predawn of 3 February to fire five torpedoes at the largest vessel in the little arctic convoy– Dorchester— and the transport soon went down. While Tampa moved to shepherd Biscaya and Lutz to nearby Skovfjord (Tunulliarfik) on Greenland’s southern tip, Comanche and Escanaba stood by in the dark and frigid waters to pick up survivors.

Using the “rescue retriever” technique for the first time– which amounted to a rubber-suited volunteer on a line dropping overboard and coming back up with a person– Escabana scooped up 81 survivors from the water and rafts and 51 from one lifeboat. Lacking the same protective suits as used on her sister, nonetheless, three officers and nine enlisted men of Comanche personally picked up 41 survivors from another lifeboat and 57 from rafts and the freezing water. 

After the Dorchester slipped beneath the waves on 3 February 1943, the USCGC Comanche and Escanaba rescued dozens of survivors from the doomed Army troopship. (Painting by Robert Lavin, via U.S. Coast Guard History Office)

Dorchester Torpedoed by Perry Stirling, showing Escanaba and Comanche picking up survivors (USCG painting)

Of the more than 900 souls aboard Dorchester, the sea claimed 674, largely due to hyperthermia, with men succumbing to the cold within minutes of hitting the water. The sinking of Dorchester is regarded by the Navy as the “heaviest loss of personnel suffered in any U.S. convoy during the war.”

Among those lost to Poseidon were four Army clergy members, all lieutenants– Methodist minister George L. Fox, Reformed Church in America minister Clark V. Poling, Catholic Church priest John P. Washington, and Rabbi Alexander B. Goode– who voluntarily gave up their own life jackets when the supply ran out then reportedly joined arms, said prayers, and sang hymns as they went down with the transport.

They are well-remembered as the “Immortal Chaplains” and were posthumously granted the Chaplain’s Medal for Heroism in 1961.

Speaking of heroism, one of Comanche’s fearless retrievers, STM 1c Charles Walter David, Jr., 25, suffering from hypothermia and pneumonia, died in a hospital ashore in Greenland after the rescue operation, and he was interred in the permafrost. In addition to saving Dorchester survivors, he is also credited with bringing Comanche’s XO, a fellow retriever, back after the officer was suffering exposure.

His widow, Kathleen W. David, and newborn son, a young son, Neil Adrian David, were presented with his Navy and Marine Corps Medal, posthumously.

Further illustrating the danger of the waters around Greenland during the war, Escanaba was lost on the early morning of 13 June 1943 in an explosion off Ivigtut, with the official conclusion that she was struck by either a torpedo or a mine. Only two of her crew survived. Another smaller cutter, the converted trawler Natsek (WYP-170) would vanish without a trace in December 1942 while out of Narsarssuak bound for Boston. Meanwhile, Northland sighted and attacked a U-boat in the Davis Strait on 18 June 1942 reportedly almost catching a German torpedo for her trouble.

All in all, nearly 50 American warships served on the Greenland Patrol during the conflict, almost all of these Coast Guard assets. Of those cutters, four of Comanche’s five Algonquin class sisters clocked in, with the only exception being USCGC Onondaga (WPG-79), which spent the war fighting the Japanese in Alaskan waters.

Upwards of 300,000 U.S. military aircraft were produced during the war, with the rare mineral harvested from the Greenland shale a big part in making that happen.

Post-war service

VE Day found Comanche at the USCG Yard at Curtis Bay, Maryland, undergoing a much-needed 30-day overhaul that she entered on 17 March 1945. Once she emerged, she received orders to proceed to Iceland for air-sea rescue duties from June through September 1945.

Once the Coast Guard transferred back to the Treasury Department from the Navy on New Year’s Day 1946, Comanche had her wartime armament removed, and her homeport shifted to Norfolk. However, the service, flush with very new ships (13 255-foot Owasco class cutters were commissioned in 1945-46) shoehorned into a peacetime budget, soon put all the remaining Algonquins into storage in an “in commission, in reserve” status, with reduced crews.

Comanche decommissioned 29 July 1947. Cleared for disposal, she was sold on 10 November 1948 to the Virginia Pilots Association, who used her as a floating office and barracks boat until 1984, when the 50-year-old historical cutter was donated to the Patriots Point Museum in Charleston, South Carolina, for use as a floating museum.

The nuclear-powered freighter NS Savannah, the retired 327-foot Treasury-class cutter USCGC Ingham (WPG 35), and the former USCGC Comanche, all the way to the right, are almost unrecognizable after 35 years as a pilot boat, at Charleston’s Patriots Point Naval Museum in the late 1980s. Savannah has been in Baltimore since 2008, and Ingham is now at Key West.

Comanche’s career as a museum ship was short-lived, being seriously damaged by Hurricane Hugo in 1989 and closed.

This led to her donation to the South Carolina DNR for use as a reef in 1992.

She is located 22.5 miles North of Charleston Harbor at a depth of 110-120 feet and is a popular wreck dive.

Epilogue

Comanche’s war diaries are digitized in the National Archives, although she is sometimes listed incorrectly as USS Comanche.

A few stirring interviews with her wartime crew remain. One of these is with EM 2c Richard N. Swanson, one of the volunteer retrievers on the Dorchester rescue, who earned his Navy and Marine Corps Medal the hard way.

Patriot’s Park saved some of the relics still aboard the Comanche in 1992 and has them at the park. They also donated one of her wartime 2,100-pound anchors to the Florence Veterans Park ashore in SC.

The cutter’s 1934-marked bell has been at the Arlington, Virginia, barracks of the Coast Guard Ceremonial Honor Guard since at least 1999, where it is used in annual remembrances and individual “ringing out” ceremonies.

The Honor Guard was established in 1962 and performs an average of 1,200 ceremonies each year across the United States. It is housed in the Coast Guard’s old Washington Radio Station in Alexandria, and Comanche’s well-polished bell is on its quarterdeck.

The service recycled the name for a third Comanche.

The Coast Guard acquired the former Navy 142-foot Sotoyomo-class auxiliary ocean tug USS Wampanoag (ATA-202) and placed her in commission as the medium endurance cutter Comanche (WMEC-202) in February 1959. Based in California except for a two-year stint in Corpus Christi, Texas, she was involved in several high-profile blue water rescues across a 21-year second career.

The third Comanche (ex-Wampanoag) is preserved as a floating museum in the Seattle area.

On 16 November 2013, the Coast Guard officially commissioned the USCGC Charles David Jr (WPC 1107) in honor of Comanche’s lost Dorchester retriever. His body had been reinterred at Long Island National Cemetery post-war.

His granddaughter was the ship’s sponsor.

Rear Adm. Jake Korn, Coast Guard Seventh District commander; Sharon David, granddaughter of the cutter’s namesake and sponsor of the Coast Guard Cutter Charles David Jr; and Chris Bollinger, president of Bollinger Shipyards, look at information about Charles W. David Jr. before the commissioning ceremony. Steward’s Mate 1st Class Charles David Jr. was posthumously awarded the Navy and Marine Corps Medal for his part in saving the lives of nearly 100 U.S. Army soldiers and members of his own crew during World War II. U.S. Coast Guard photo by Petty Officer 3rd Class Mark Barney.

Likewise, former Comanche plank owner, the sub-busting LCDR Maurice Jester, has his name on a sistership of David, USCGC Maurice Jester (WPC-1152).

As for Greenland, despite a short (1946-50) hiatus, the Danish Navy’s elite sled patrol is still a thing, dubbed Slædepatruljen SIRIUS, with two bases and 65 supply huts, and was recently promised to be bolstered by the government in Copenhagen.

In 1951, the Danish Naval Station Grønnedal was established as a year-round home for Greenland Command, since 2012 the Arktisk Kommando, which has a permanent staff of 36 civilians and military personnel in a big blue building in Nuuk.

Arktisk Kommandos hovedkvarter in Nuuk

In the summer, a force of three modern 1,700-ton Knud Rasmussen class OPVs, augmented by another four 3,500 Thetis-class OPFs, roam the Greenlandic littoral.

Danish patrol vessel HDMS Knud Rasmussen (P570) ice-breaking in Greenland waters, December 2022, around Narsaq, Narsarsuaq, and Qassiarsuk

The Greenland Police is still seen as a district of the Danish state police, numbering 300 members. There is no local territorial defense force. 

The Danish Home Guard (Hjemmeværnet), which numbers some 44,000 volunteers in Denmark, has activated small groups to support operations in exercises in Greenland in recent years, but doesn’t have HJV units among Greenland’s cities and towns.

However, a new six-month Arktisk basisuddannelse (Arctic Basic Education) civil defense/auxiliary police style course, based in Kangerlussuaq, Greenland, and staffed with a dozen instructors and support personnel, has been stood up.

The six-month Arktisk Basisuddannelse course, open only to Greenlanders, mimics the Danish military basic training course and blends field and classroom instruction

The program has been recruiting youth from among 13 towns and settlements across Greenland and graduated its first 19 students in November 2024. 

Arktisk basisuddannelse (Arctic Basic Education) students, Greenland’s first “home guard” style class. While many may go on to join the Arktisk Kommando or Greenland police and fire agencies, it isn’t a requirement. 

When it comes to U.S. bases, the Americans pulled out of most of the BW/BE stations by 1947 with a few exceptions: BW-1 (Narsarsuaq) closed in 1958 and Stromfjord (BW-8) in 1992, while Pituffik Space Base (formerly Thule AB, formerly BW-8) is still very much a thing, supported by the USCG, MSC, and Canadian Coast Guard and operated by the Space Force. The Army had Camp Century (including a novel underground nuclear reactor) there in the 1960s. The USAF also had four unmanned DEW stations in Greenland between 1960 and 1990.

The Coast Guard, meanwhile, still frequently gets to Greenland waters where they continue to work with local and Danish forces.

USCGC Campbell transited south along the west coast of Greenland overnight with the Royal Danish Navy vessel HDMS Knud Rasmussen and rendezvoused in a position just offshore of Evighedsfjorden (Eternity Fjord). CGC Campbell received HDMS Knud Rasmussen’s Executive Officer, Commander Bo Ougaard, on board to serve as an ice pilot and provide local knowledge to assist CGC Campbell in safely entering and transiting Evighedsfjorden. Once inside Eternity Fjord, CGC Campbell launched their MH-65 Dolphin aircraft and proceeded up the fjord to the head where the glacier begins. U.S. Coast Guard photo by Seaman Kate Kilroy DVIDS 200907-G-NJ244-002

Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive


Ships are more than steel
and wood
And heart of burning coal,
For those who sail upon
them know
That some ships have a
soul.


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Carrier Gunnery

How about these great shots, taken 7 August 1976 over NAS North Island, California, of the new class-leading big deck phib USS Tarawa (LHA 1), and the carriers USS Coral Sea (CV-43) and USS Constellation (CV-64).

An aerial view of ships moored at Naval Air Station, North Island. They are, from left to right, the amphibious assault ship USS TARAWA (LHA 1), the aircraft carrier US CORAL SEA (CV 43), and the aircraft carrier USS CONSTELLATION (CV 64). (Substandard image)

These show good details– to include a mix of guns– on the Midway-class Coral Sea and Tarawa. Constellation, as a circa 1960s Kitty Hawk class flattop, was the first class of American fleet carriers going back to USS Langley (CV-1) in 1920, to not mount a single 5-incher.

The Midway class was originally designed to carry 18 long-barreled 5″/54 Mk 16 guns— originally designed for the Montana class battleships– along with a slew of 40mm (21 quad) and 20mm (28 twin) guns.

Coral Sea was seen with her 1947-57 14-gun 5-inch fit, via USS Coral Sea assoc. https://www.usscoralsea.net/shipsweapons.php

They subsequently downgraded by 1960 to just 10 5″/54s, four on the port side and six on the starboard side, while their smaller guns had been replaced by 11 twin-3-inch mountings in place of the former quadruple 40 mm mountings. This was dropped to just six 5″/54s by January 1960 and only three after 1966. Coral Sea and Midway lost their last 5-inchers in 1979/80 to pick up CIWS while middle sister FDR had already been retired by then.

For the record, the first Langley carried four 5″/51s in open mounts during her “covered wagon” period of carrier ops, the mighty USS Lexington (CV-2) and Saratoga (CV-3) toted eight heavy cruiser-worthy 8″/55 guns along with dozen 5″/25s, Ranger (CV-4) had eight 5″/25s, the three Yorktowns and the one-off USS Wasp (CV-7) had eight 5″/38 DPs, and the 24 Essex class fleet carriers had eight 5″/38s in twin turrets and another four in single open mounts.

USS Lexington (CV-2) showing off just a portion of her impressive gun fit. Both Lex and Sara would land their 8-inchers in 1942, with the Army going on to use them for coastal defense around Hawaii

While the Independence and Saipan-class light carriers had to make do with smaller guns, every one of the assorted escort carrier classes (Long Island, Charger, Bogue, Sangamon, Casablanca, and Commencement Bay) carried at least one or two 5-inch guns, with USS Kalinin Bay and White Plains credited with scoring hits on pursuing Japanese heavy cruisers off Samar in October 1944.

Testing 5-inch guns on the escort carrier USS Manila Bay (CVE 61) 3 November 1943. Note fuzed ready shells. 80-G-372778

So it made sense in the 1950s that the new Forrestal-class supercarriers carried eight new style Mk.42 5″/54 caliber mounts, the same style guns as in the Navy’s new DD and FF classes throughout the Cold War.

McDonnell F3H Demon on Forrestal-class USS Saratoga. Not the Mk 42 5 inch gun and S-2 Tracker.

A-3B Skywarrior coming aboard USS Independence note 5-inch guns on carrier

USS Ranger (CVA-61) test firing two of her eight 5-inch 54 Mark 42 guns during a practice drill in 1961.

Check out these 1960 profiles of Midway and Forrestal:

Of course, the Forrestals later had their troublesome 5-inchers removed in later updates, as did Midway and Coral Sea.

Coupled with the retirement of the Essexes (Oriskany still had two 5″/38s aboard when she was decommissioned in 1976), Tarawa and her sisters, which carried three 5″/54 Mk 45s in bow and starboard aft sponsons, were the last American “flattops” to carry such heavy seagoing artillery.

USS Tarawa with her bow 5-inch MK45 guns.

Even these were removed by 1997 to allow for better topside aircraft operations.

It was a good 77-year run.

SBDs of the Republic

Some 80 years ago today.

Between December 13 and 31, 1944 – Cognac (Charente). Maintenance and inspection of a Douglas SBD-5 Dauntless dive bomber belonging to the 4e flottille de bombardement (4e FB) of the French Navy.

Ref.: MARINE 389-7165, ECPAD

Ed Heinemann’s Douglas SBD Dauntless dive-bomber was famous in U.S. Naval service, doing everything from bombing Vichy French tanks during the Torch Landings in Algeria to the day the update went back at Midway to “scratch four flattops” from the Empire of Japan’s lineup.

SBD-5 Dauntless dive bombers Marine Scouting Squadron 3 VMS-3 Devilbirds Kodachrome. Note the distinctive grey-blue-white Atlantic Theater camouflage on the aircraft. NHHC 80-G-K-14310

Nearly 6,000 came off the assembly line during WWII and most went to serve in American hands across the Navy and Marines (SBD) and Army (as the A-24 Banshee). However, the Royal New Zealand Air Force fielded a whole squadron (No. 25) of SBDs and post-war Chile, Mexico, and Morrocco would keep the plane flying into the Cold War.

However, it may surprise you that the second most prolific user of the SBD, after Uncle Sam, was the Free French Air Force and Aeronavale.

The French Navy, whose sole aircraft carrier never really had any teeth in the form of a credible air wing, ordered 174 early SBD-3s in 1940 but the Republic fell before they could be delivered.

Nonetheless, between mid-1943 and June 1944, the Free French AF received as many as 50 A-24Bs, flown by I/17 Picardie and GC 1/18, while the Aeronavale picked up 32 SBD-5s. which would be flown by Flotilles 3FB (Lv Felix Ortolan) and 4FB (CC Raymond Béhic).

The French naval SBDs were placed under the initial command of U.S. Navy Fleet Air Wing 15 at NAS Port Lyautey.

French SBD Douglas SBD 5 dauntles de la 4F

SBD 5 of Flotilla 4.FB 166 and 174, GAN 2 Cognac winter 1944-45.

From providing air cover over the Dragoon landings to moving inland to support the Free French forces in the effort to liberate their country, the A-24s and SBDs were well used, with the Naval units, in particular, flying an average of three sorties a day per airframe towards the end of the war.

Battered French Douglas A24 crew pose with locals in the Auvergne-Rhône-Alpes region 1945

Flying together as Groupe d’aéronautique navale n°2, the two French Navy SBD squadrons spent lots of time dopping ordnance on German pockets left along the Atlantic Wall. It sort of made sense as most of these were port units garrisoned by the Kriegsmarine, which made it, in a way, a French Navy-on-German Navy fight, albeit all conducted on land– with donated American dive bombers famous for sinking Japan’s finest.

French Douglas SBD Dauntless 4FB and 3FB at Cognac, late 1944

French Douglas SBD Dauntless 162 of 4FB Cognac, late 1944

French Douglas SBD Dauntless 3FB Cognac, late 1944, Note the star and crescent tail insignia

Crew members of Douglas SDB-5 Dauntless dive bombers, belonging to the 3FB or 4FB flotilla of the No. 2 Naval Aviation Group, returning from a mission as part of the operations to liberate the Atlantic pockets, 1945. Note the Yank and RAF flying gear mix, including British Enfield holsters and USN “Mae Wests”.

Post-war, the French AF relegated their A-24s to use as trainers Meknès, Morocco, a role they retained as late as 1953.

At the same time, the Aeronavale took their SBD act on the road, flying from them via Flotille 4FB from the light carrier Arromanches (HMS Colossus, on loan) and 3FB from the escort carrier Dixmude (HMS Biter), over Indochina in the late 1940s, ironically making the French the last folks to fly the Dauntless in combat. They converted to SB2Cs in 1949. 

French Douglas SBD Dauntless of 3FB au dessus du porte-avions Arromanches.

French Douglas SBD Dauntless of 3FB on Dixmude

Dauntless de la 3.F sur le PA Dixmude en Indochine en 1947

Today, Flottille 4F, the most decorated squadron in the Aeronavale, flies Grumman E-2C Hawkeyes from the French Navy’s sole carrier, DeGaulle, and is the only non-USN carrier Hawkeye unit.

Meanwhile, Flottille 3F was dissolved in Hyères on 31 December 1954– 70 years ago today– after flying their SB2Cs danger-close at Dien Bien Phu.

And, keeping the Navy Air-Aeronavale connection in the same space, this is from yesterday’s DOD contracts, emphasis mine:

General Atomics, San Diego, California, is awarded a $41,572,260 firm-fixed-price, cost-plus-fixed-fee order (N0001925F0028) against a previously issued basic ordering agreement (N0001921G0014). This order provides for the advancement of the design of the future French carrier configuration of the Electromagnetic Aircraft Launch System and advanced arresting gear through the preliminary design review. Work will be performed in San Diego, California (91%); Lakehurst, New Jersey (5.6%); and Tupelo, Mississippi (3.5%), and is expected to be completed in January 2026. Foreign Military Sales customer funds in the amount of $41,572,260 will be obligated at the time of award, none of which will expire at the end of the current fiscal year. This order was not competed. Naval Air Systems Command, Patuxent River, Maryland, is the contracting activity.

Warship Wednesday on a Friday Dec. 27, 2024: Taking a Licking

Here at LSOZI, we take off every Wednesday for a look at the old steam/diesel navies of the 1833-1954 period and will profile a different ship each week. These ships have a life, a tale all their own, which sometimes takes them to the strangest places.- Christopher Eger

If you enjoy my always ad-free Warship Wednesday content, you can support it by buying me a cup of joe at https://buymeacoffee.com/lsozi

Warship Wednesday on a Friday, Dec. 27, 2024: Taking a Licking

Above we see the Balao-class fleet submarine USS Bergall (SS-320) upon her triumphal return to Freemantle, Australia, some 80 years ago this week, on 23 December 1944, on completion of her epic Second War Patrol. The path of a 278-pound 8-inch shell fired from the Japanese heavy cruiser Myoko is clearly marked, having passed from port to starboard through the sub’s pressure hull.

But you should see the other guy!

The Balaos

A member of the 180+-ship Balao class, she was one of the most mature U.S. Navy diesel designs of the World War Two era, constructed with knowledge gained from the earlier Gato class. U.S. subs, unlike those of many navies of the day, were “fleet” boats, capable of unsupported operations in deep water far from home. The Balao class was deeper diving (400 ft. test depth) than the Gato class (300 feet) due to the use of high-yield strength steel in the pressure hull.

Able to range 11,000 nautical miles on their reliable diesel engines, they could undertake 75 day patrols that could span the immensity of the Pacific. Carrying 24 (often unreliable) Mk 14 Torpedoes, these subs often sank anything short of a 5,000-ton Maru or warship by surfacing and using their deck guns. They also served as the firetrucks of the fleet, rescuing downed naval aviators from right under the noses of Japanese warships.

Some 311 feet long overall, they were all-welded construction to facilitate rapid building. Best yet, they could be made for the bargain price of about $7 million in 1944 dollars (just $100 million when adjusted for today’s inflation) and completed from keel laying to commissioning in about nine months.

An amazing 121 Balaos were completed through five yards at the same time, with the following pennant numbers completed by each:

  • Cramp: SS-292, 293, 295-303, 425, 426 (12 boats)
  • Electric Boat: 308-313, 315, 317-331, 332-352 (42)
  • Manitowoc on the Great Lakes: 362-368, 370, 372-378 (15)
  • Mare Island on the West Coast: 304, 305, 307, 411-416 (9)
  • Portsmouth Navy Yard: 285-288, 291, 381-410, 417-424 (43)

We have covered a number of this class before, such as the sub-killing USS Spikefish and USS Greenfish, the rocket mail-slinging USS Barbero, the carrier-slaying USS Archerfish, the long-serving USS Catfish, the U-boat scuttling USS Atule, the Busy Bug that was the USS Bugara, and the frogman Cadillac USS Perch —but don’t complain, they have lots of great stories.

Meet Bergall

Bergall was named for a small fish (Tautogolabrus adspersus) found along the East Coast.

Via the State of New York Forest, Fish, and Game Commission, 1901, painted by SF Denton.

Laid down on 13 May 1943 at Electric Boat in Groton, Bergall launched just nine months later and commissioned on 12 June 1944, her construction running just 396 days.

Electric Boat Company, Groton, Connecticut. Shipway where future USS Bergall (SS-320) is under construction, circa summer 1943. Two welders are at work in the foreground. 80-G-K-15063

Her plankowner skipper, T/CDR John Milton Hyde, USN, (USNA 1934), had already earned a Silver Star as executive officer of the Salmon-class submarine USS Swordfish (SS-193) across four Pacific war patrols that bagged 11 Japanese ships and commanded that sub’s sister, Snapper (SS-185) while the latter was under overhaul.

Bergall carried out shakedown operations off New England for three weeks then, following post-shakedown availability at New London, set out for the Pacific via the Caribbean and the Panama Canal, pausing to rescue the two fliers of a crashed Army training plane in the Mona Passage off Puerto Rico.

She arrived at Pearl Harbor on 13 August and was soon ready for battle.

War!

Made the flagship of SubRon 26’s SubDiv 262, Bergall departed from Pearl Harbor on 8 September 1944 on her First War Patrol, ordered to hunt in the South China Sea.

Arriving off Saipan on the 19th, she soon had her first encounter with the Empire’s fighting men:

Her first contact with the enemy came a day and a half west of Saipan when in the high periscope she sighted a small boat containing five Japanese infantrymen. Bergall closed, attempting rescue, but the efforts were abandoned when the Japanese made gestures that indicated that they wanted us to leave them alone and that we were the scum of the earth. The Americans marveled at the pride and insolent bearing of the enemy, admired their courage, and pitied their stupidity.

Continuing West, she damaged a small Japanese transport vessel with gunfire east of Nha Trang, French Indo-China on 3 October with an exchange of 5-inch (20 rounds) and 40mm (40 rounds) gunfire, and six days later sank a small (700-ton) Japanese cargo vessel just south of Cam Ranh Bay with a trio of Mark 14 torpedoes.

She followed up on that small fry on 13 October by stalking a small four-ship convoy off the coast of Vietnam and sent the tanker Shinshu Maru (4182 GRT) to the bottom via four Mk 23s– and survived a five-hour-long depth charging in retaliation.

On the 27th, she torpedoed and sank the big Japanese tanker Nippo Maru (10528 GRT) and damaged the Japanese tanker Itsukushima Maru (10007 GRT, built 1937) south-west of Balabac Strait, a heroic action seeing the two vessels were protected by a thick escort of four frigates.

On her way back to Freemantle on 2 November, she sank, via 420 rounds of 20mm, a small junk loaded with coconuts and chickens east of the Kangean Islands. Hyde noted in his patrol report “Regret the whole affair as picayune.”

Bergall’s very successful First War Patrol ended at Freemantle on 8 November 1944, covering 15,702 miles. Seventh Fleet authorized a Submarine Combat Insignia for the patrol and credited the boat with sinking 21,500 tons of Japanese shipping.

Not a bad first start!

Hyde would pick up his second Silver Star while the boat’s XO, LCDR Kimmel was awarded the Bronze Star Medal with Combat “V.”

Cruiser Shootout

On 2 December 1944, Bergall departed Fremantle for her Second War Patrol, ordered once again to hunt in the South China Sea.

On 13 December, nearing sunset, our boat spotted a large ship at 35,000 yards off Royalist Bank and made a plan to attack after dark.

Over the next couple of hours, running in just 12-to-14 fathoms of water, she fired six Mk 23s while on the surface and received gunfire back. It turned out she blew the stern off the heavy cruiser Myoko and left her dead in the water. In return, the surfaced submarine was bracketed by shells typically credited as being 8-inchers from Myoko but more likely 5-inch shells from the escorting Japanese destroyer Ushio. One of these zipped right through Bergall’s pressure hull, a disaster that kept the submarine from surfacing while floating some 1,200 miles inside Japanese territory.

Her patrol report on the attack:

While the shell impact left no personnel casualties, the sub was severely damaged and, with no welding capability, repairs consisted of a mix of brazed and bolted plates, plugged with pillows and mattresses:

With all guns manned, demolition charges set for scuttling, and her damage patched up as best as possible, Bergall headed for home and was grateful when, on the morning of 15 December, she rendezvoused with the Gato-class submarine USS Angler (SS-240).

Transferring 2/3rds of her crew (54 men and one officer, the junior ensign) to Angler, Hyde noted of the attempt to make the Karimata Strait:

“if mandatory we could dive in shallow water and sit on the bottom. With Angler near at hand the enterprise didn’t seem too bad for the skeleton crew and officers. To have scuttled our ship in itself seemed unthinkable and it wasn’t much further to deep water in the right direction that it was in the wrong. The weather was very much in our favor too. The sky was heavily overcast with rain storms coming from the west-northwest.”

The men who remained aboard, all volunteers, comprised eight officers and 21 crew, the latter including at least three chiefs. This allowed an underway watch bill with two officers on the bridge, two men (helm and radar) in the tower, three (Chief of Watch, Aux, and I.C.) in the control room, and one EM in the maneuvering room.

By the end of the 16th, Bergall and Angler cleared the Karimata Strait without incident.

By the 18th, they cleared the Lombok Strait– just skirting Japanese patrol boats in the dark.

Making Exmouth on the tip of Western Australia’s North West Cape on the 20th, Bergall was able to remove the lightly brazed plating from the torpedo loading hatch and had new plates arc welded in place, enabling her to make for Freemantle on the 23rd where she ended her abbreviated patrol.

Hyde would receive the Navy Cross for the patrol and three other officers received the Silver Star.

The patrol was later dramatized in an episode of The Silent Service coined, “The Bergall’s Dilemma.” Hyde appears at the end of the episode for a brief comment.

As for Myoko, arriving at Singapore via tow on Christmas day, she would never sail again under her own power and surrendered to the Royal Navy in September 1945.

Japanese Heavy Cruiser Myōkō in Singapore four days after surrendering to Royal Navy units, tied up alongside the submarines I-501 (ex U-181) and I-502 (ex U-862) – September 25, 1945 IWM – Trusler, C (Lt) Photographer IWM A 30701

Captain Power visits the damaged Japanese cruiser. 25 September 1945, Singapore. In May 1944, five ships of the Twenty-Sixth Destroyer Flotilla attached to the British East Indies fleet, led by HMS Saumarez, with Captain M L Power, CBE, OBE, DSO, and BAR, as Captain (D), sank the Japanese cruiser Haguro in one hours action at the entrance to the Malacca Strait. When Saumarez entered Singapore Naval Base, Captain Power with his staff officers, paid a visit to Myoko, the sister ship of Haguro, now lying there with her stern blown off after the Battle of the Philippines. Crossing to the deck of the Myoko via the conning tower of a German U-boat, Captain Power and his party were met by Japanese officers who took them on a comprehensive tour of the ship. Two British naval officers examine what is left of the Myoko’s stern. IWM A 30703

Cuties

Patched up and taking on a supply of diminutive new Mk 27 passive acoustic torpedoes– dubbed Cuties as they only went about half the size of Mk 14s and 23sBergall left Fremantle on 27 January 1945 for her Third War Patrol, ordered to scour the Lombok Strait of small Japanese escorts and move on to the South China Sea.

However, with a short range (just 5,000 yards), the shallow-water Cuties had to be used up close to work. Carrying a warhead with just 95 pounds of Torpex, they were meant for killing small escorts.

Between 27 January and 7 February, Bergall made five nighttime attack runs with Cuties while in the Lombok, each time allowing a single slow (12 knots) Mk 27 to swim out at ranges as close as 200 yards. The result was in sinking of the Japanese auxiliary minesweeper Wa 102 (174 tons)– picking up two survivors and making them POWs– and damaging the store ship Arasaki (920 GRT).

Moving toward the Philippines, Bergall sank the Japanese frigate Kaibokan 53 (745 tons) and damaged the tanker Toho Maru (10,238 GRT) off Cam Ranh Bay.

Then, on 13 February, working in conjunction with fellow subs USS Blower and Guitarro off Hainan island, she came across a ripe target for any submariner– a pair of Japanese battlewagons– the hybrid battleship/carriers Ise and Hyuga.

She ripple-fired six Mk 14s in a risky daylight periscope attack from 10,000 yards– without success.

She ended her patrol on 17 February at recently liberated Subic Bay, PI, having traveled 6,070 miles.

The “Cutie Patrol” would be immortalized in an episode of The Silent Service, “The Bergall’s Revenge.”

The hits keep coming

The boat’s uneventful Fourth War Patrol (5 March to 17 April) which included a special mission (typically code to land agents) and rescuing four USAAF B-25 aircrew from the water, ended at Freemantle.

Bergall then left Australia on 12 May 1945 on her Fifth Patrol, bound to haunt the coast of Indochina.

On the morning of the 18th, she battered a small Japanese coastal freighter in the Lombok Strait but didn’t get to see it sink as enemy aircraft were inbound.

Joining up with an American wolfpack in the Gulf of Siam including USS Bullhead (SS-332), Cobia (SS-245), Hawkbill (SS-366), and Kraken (SS-370), she sighted a small intercoastal convoy of tugs and barges in the predawn moonlight of 30 May, and sank same.

Then, on 13 June, she swept a mine the hard way while chasing an enemy convoy.

Ironically, the minefield, a mix of three dozen acoustic and magnetic-induction type mines, had been laid by Allied aircraft out of India in March and was unknown to the Seventh Fleet command. While the mine, which had at least a 490-pound explosive charge, was believed to be some 90 feet away from the hull when it went off, and Bergall’s hull retained integrity, it nonetheless rocked the boat severely.

From her damage report: 

The impact of the detonation jarred the entire ship. Personnel were knocked off their feet, tossed out of bunks, and in the maneuvering room were thrown up against the overhead. Lighting failed in the maneuvering and after torpedo rooms. The overspeed trips operated on Nos. 2 and 3 main Diesel engines, which were on propulsion, and No. 1 main Diesel engine, which was charging the batteries, causing all three engines to stop and thereby cutting off power to the main propulsion motors.

However, just 20 minutes after the explosion, Bergall had restarted her engines and was motoring away. While still capable of operations, her engineering suite was so loose and noisy it was thought she would be unable to remain operational and she was ordered to Subic, arriving there on 17 June.

Quick inspection at Subic found that the facility was unable to effect repairs and Bergall was ordered to shlep some 10,000 miles back to New London via Saipan, Pearl Harbor, and the Panama Canal.

Arriving at New London on 4 August 1945, she was there when the war ended.

Bergall earned four battle stars and a Navy Unit Commendation (for her 2nd patrol) for her World War II service. Her unconfirmed record at the end of the war included some 33,280 tons of enemy shipping sunk across five sunken warships and five merchantmen along with another 66,000 tons damaged.

Her WWII battle flag carried an upside-down horseshoe with the number “13” inside of it since so many incidents in her service had occurred on the 13th day of the month.

CDR Hyde, when he left the vessel in September 1945, was given a farewell watch by his crew. Engraved on its back was a large “13.”

As for Myoko, she towed to the Strait of Malacca in 1946 and scuttled off of Port Swettenham (Port Klang), Malaya.

Cold Warrior

Finishing her repair and overhaul– she picked up new sensors including an SV radar– Bergall rejoined the Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor in December 1945 and, as part of SubRon1, would spend the next five years stationed in Hawaii. This typically involved a series of reserve training dives, simulated war patrols and cruises between the West Coast and Hawaii, ASW exercises with the fleet, and acting as a tame sub for maritime patrol squadrons.

From December 1948 through February 1949, she roamed to the West Pac, visiting Australia and Japan for a bottom mapping exercise, a cruise that earned her a Navy Occupation Service Medal and a China Service Medal.

Bergall at Brisbane in December 1948, note she is still largely in her WWII configuration. Via Navsource. Photo courtesy of John Hummel, USN (Retired).

Transferring to the Atlantic Fleet in June 1950, she had her topside streamlined, landing her deck guns and receiving a new sail, then, between November 1951 and April 1952, received a Fleet Snorkel conversion at Philadelphia Navy Yard.

Bergall circa 1950, with her topside streamlined but before her snorkel conversion.

USS Bergall (SS-320), 22 July 1952. USN 479940

Bergall, in the spirit of her “lucky 13” nature, lost her periscope twice within five years during her peacetime service.

The first, in 1949, was to a passing Van Camp tuna boat off the California coast.

The second, during LANTFLEX on Halloween 1954, had her periscopes and radar masts where sliced through by the destroyer USS Norris (DDE-859)’s bow, luckily without any casualties.

Ironically, USS Angler, the same boat that stood by Bergall after she was holed in the fight against Myoko a decade prior, stood by her and escorted the sub into port.

Bergall (SS-320) as a causality on 2 November 1954. Photo and text i.d. courtesy of Mike Brood, bergall.org.

Repaired, she completed two Mediterranean cruises (9 Nov 1955-28 Jan 1956 and 31 Aug -6 Dec 1957), and, once she returned, was reassigned to Key West Naval Station for preparations to be handed over at military aid.

Bergall 1958, returning from Bermuda just before she was handed over to a NATO ally as military aid. Via Bergall.org

Turkish Guppy Days

Between May 1948 and August 1983, the Turkish Navy would receive no less than 23 second-hand U.S. Navy diesel submarines, all WWII-era (or immediately after) fleet boats.

These would include (in order of transfer): ex-USS Brill (SS 330), Blueback (SS 326), Boarfish (SS 327), Chub (SS 329), Blower (SS 325), Bumper (SS 333), Guitarro (SS 363), Hammerhead (SS 364), Bergall (SS 320), Mapiro (SS 376), Mero (SS 378), Seafox (SS 402), Razorback (SS 394), Thornback (SS 418), Caiman (SS 323), Entemedor (SS 340), Threadfin (SS 410), Trutta (SS 421), Pomfret (SS 391), Corporal (SS 346), Cobbler (SS 344), Tang (SS 563), and Gudgeon (SS 567).

Our Bergall would sail from Key West on 26 September 1958, bound for Izmir, Turkey, where she would arrive 19 days later.

On 17 October, she was decommissioned and handed over in a warm transfer to the Turkish Navy in a ceremony that saw her renamed Turgutreis (S-342), officially on a 15-year lease.

The highlights of the handover ceremony, in Turkish: 

Ex-Bergall/Turgutreis (S-342) in Turkish service. She would take part in the Cyprus War in 1974, among other operations with the Turkish fleet.

 

Turkey’s collection of Snorkel and GUPPY modified U.S. Navy fleet boats via the 1960 edition of Janes, to include Bergall/Turgutreis.

While in Turkish service, Bergall in the meantime had her name canceled from the Navy List in 1965 and was stricken from the USN’s inventory altogether in 1973, with ownership transferred to Istanbul.

Following the delivery of new Type 209 submarines from West Germany, Bergall/Turgutreis was no longer needed for fleet operations and in April 1983 she was decommissioned.

Renamed Ceryan Botu-6, she was relegated to pier side service at Golcuk Naval Shipyard for another 13 years, where she was stripped of parts to keep other American boats in operations while serving as a battery charging boat with a 15-man crew, primarily of electricians.

In June 1999, Ceryan Botu-6/Turgutreis/Bergall was pulled from service and sold for scrap the following year.

Turkey only retired its last two ex-USN “smoke boats,” Tang and Gudgeon, in 2004

Epilogue

Few lingering relics remain of Bergall.

Her War History and deck logs are in the National Archives. 

Her wartime skipper, John Milton Hyde (NSN: 0-73456), retired from the Navy following Korean War service as a captain with a Navy Cross and three Silver Stars on his salad bar. He passed in 1981, aged 71, and is buried in Arlington’s Section 25.

“The Old Man” completed 12 war patrols, five of them on Bergall.

The Navy recycled the name of its rough-and-tumble Balao for another vessel, SSN-667, a Sturgeon-class hunter-killer built, like her namesake, at EB, ordered on 9 March 1965.

USS Bergall (SSN-667) conducts an emergency surfacing test off the east coast, in September 1969. K-77428

Commissioned on 13 June 1969 (!) her ship’s crest carried five stars in a salute to the old Bergall’s five WWII Pacific war patrols. In another, less Navy-approved similarity to her namesake, she suffered a casualty-free peacetime collision with the submarine rescue vessel USS Kittiwake (ASR-13).

Notably, SSN-667 was the first submarine in the fleet to carry the Mk 48 heavy torpedo on deployment, as well as the first east coast-based submarine to carry a DSRV, and earned two Navy Unit Commendations. She decommissioned on 6 June 1996.

A vibrant veterans’ group saluting both Bergalls endures.

Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive


Ships are more than steel
and wood
And heart of burning coal,
For those who sail upon
them know
That some ships have a
soul.


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Christmas Eve 1944 off Sandy Hook

80 years ago today, the Cannon-class destroyer escort USS Straub (DE 181), was captured from an altitude of 300 feet, on Christmas Eve, 24 December 1944. She is clad in Measure 32, Design 3D, camouflage, as modified for Atlantic DEs.

U.S. Navy Photograph, 80-G-298101, now in the collections of the National Archives.

According to her War Diary, Straub spent the morning underway of Christmas Eve 1944 off Sandy Hook Bay, NJ, steaming to calibrate her DAQ and magnetic compass, tying up at Earle later that afternoon to load ammo before ending the day at Brooklyn Navy Yard.

The only ship named for LT (jg.) Walter Morris Straub, killed at Guadalcanal aboard the cruiser USS Atlanta (CL-51), DE-181 was built at the Federal Shipbuilding and Dry Dock Co., at Newark, launched by the widow of the escort’s namesake on 19 September 1943, and commissioned just five weeks later.

Straub spent her war in and around the Atlantic primarily as a screen for sub-hunting escort carriers including USS Mission Bay (CVE-59), Solomons (CVE-67), Tripoli (CVE-64), and Wake Island (CVE-65).

WWII ended as she was crossing through the Panama Canal to help finish off the Empire of Japan.

Decommissioned on 17 October 1947, she spent 26 years in mothballs before she was stricken from the NVR and later sold for scrapping in 1974. The government made $84,666.66 from her sale to the Boston Metals Co. of Baltimore, Maryland.

However, she went on to live forever, to a degree, as stock footage of her was used extensively in the 1960s and she made cameos in episodes of Wonder Woman, The Bionic Woman, and 12 O’Clock High.

Anzio Christmas

Original wartime caption: “25 December 1944, somewhere in the Pacific. Christmas night party, decorated tree, and presents aboard the escort carrrier USS Anzio (CVE-57).”

U.S. Navy photo in the National Archives. 80-G-380927. National Archives Identifier 148728638

The bluejackets above had good reason to celebrate. Anchored in Ulithi Atoll during the above image, just the week prior the ship had, as described in this week’s Warship Wednesday, fought through the heart of Typhoon Cobra and survived, albeit having two of her escorts demasted and a third of the planes in her air group damaged or swept overboard. Still, her crew swept up the flight deck and resumed flying operations as soon as the sea calmed.

Anzio still had eight long months of war ahead of her, including operations off Iwo Jima and Okinawa.

She group bagged five Japanese submarines, splashed 31 confirmed enemy aircraft in air-to-air combat, shot down another eight via her ship’s guns, and conducted over 6,000 traps, including hundreds of sorties reducing Japanese troop concentrations, gun emplacements, and shore installations. In all, Anzio steamed 156,518 miles within two years of her commissioning.

She earned nine battle stars for her Pacific War.

Returning home in 1946 after Magic Carpet service, she was soon laid up and, after more than a decade in mothballs, was unceremoniously sold for scrap.

Redfish Amok!

Some 80 years ago today, the Balao-class fleet submarine USS Redfish (SS-395), on only her Second War Patrol, under the command of T/CDR Louis Darby McGregor, Jr., torpedoed and sank the brand spanking new 20,000-ton Japanese carrier Unryu while about 200 miles south-east of Shanghai. The carrier was loaded with 30 spooky Kugisho MXY7 Ohka (Cherry Blossom) kamikaze rocket bombs and Kokusai Ku-8s of the 1st Glider Squadron (Kakkūhikō dai ichi sentai), ready to ruin the day of American ships operating in the Philippines.

Periscope shot of the newly-built IJN aircraft carrier Unryū 雲龍, (Cloud Dragon) sunk by the submarine USS Redfish on 19 December 1944.

Notably, Redfish, in conjunction with the submarines USS Sea Devil (SS-400) and Plaice (SS-390), just 10 days earlier, had pumped the 30,000-ton Japanese aircraft carrier Jun’yō full of torpedoes but the flattop had survived.

Japanese aircraft carrier Jun’yō after hits by torpedoes from submarines Sea Devil, Plaice, and Redfish early in the morning of 9 December 1944

McGregor, who had sent several Japanese transports and tankers to the bottom as skipper of USS Pike (SS-173) and on Redfish’s first war patrol, was determined to scratch a carrier all the way off the Emperor’s naval list.

Redfish’s report on Unryu:

As detailed by Combined Fleet:

  • 1635: The torpedo hit abreast the forward generator room on the Hold Deck and the Main Control Center on No.2 platform deck, approximately frame 98 close to the bulkhead aft. As a result, No.1 boiler room flooded, and because the bulkhead dividing them failed, so did No.2 boiler room to port. All boilers except No.8 lose pressure. A main steam line was fractured and UNRYU temporarily lost power and went dead in the water. A fire broke out in No.2 ready room, but is put out by closing firewalls. REDFISH – having expended stern tubes at 1642 trying to hit HINOKI – hastily re-loaded a stern tube while UNRYU Chief Engineer Capt. Saga Tetsuo’s engineers extinguished fires, brought online No.s 5, 6, and 7 boilers, and successfully replaced damaged pipes and restored power.
  • 1650: The carrier was just getting back underway when hit by second torpedo at starboard side, forward of the bridge. This was abreast the bomb and torpedo magazines. Induced explosions from them and the volatile cargo of Ohkas on the lower hangar deck exploded, devastating vessel. The bow began to settle rapidly and UNRYU list steeply to starboard. Captain Kaname ordered Abandon Ship. Carrier sank very quickly – about ten minutes or less.
  • 1657-1701: (Times vary slightly) UNRYU sank sharply upended with stern raised and nearly on her starboard side – with the loss of her captain Konishi Kaname, XO Capt. Aoki Tamon, Navigator LtCdr. Shinbori Masao, sixty officers and 1,172 petty officers and men and six known civilians. Only one officer, Assistant Navigator Morino Hiroshi (was also injured) and eighty-seven petty officers and men (7 injured); fifty-seven passengers, and one civilian employee survived for a total of only 146 saved. Among these survivors of the passengers there are only twelve of the 1st Glider cadre. MOMI moves in immediately to rescue while HINOKI and SHIGURE depth-charge REDFISH.

20 December 1944

  • 0938: With no more survivors in sight, all three destroyers are still hunting and occasionally depth charging the submarine. After this, MOMI and HINOKI leave the scene and SHIGURE remains still hunting REDFISH. The two-Matsu class proceed to Takao to off-load survivors. (MOMI rescued senior survivor Morino)

McGregor would be awarded his second of two Navy Crosses in command of Redfish for the sinking of Unryu, along with a previous Silver Star in command of Pike, and would retire as a rear admiral. 

Redfish finished the war with 123,000 tons listed on her tally sheet after just two patrols and earned two battle stars and a Presidential Unit Citation.

She later had a distinguished movie career as the fictional Nautilus in Disney’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea in 1954 and as Nerka in Run Silent, Run Deep in 1958, along with several appearances in the TV series The Silent Service. Her final reel, recorded by an S-2 in 1970, was a snuff film. 

USS Redfish attending the Rose Festival in Portland, postwar.

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