This is a story I wrote many
years ago for a Navy publication. I get it out from time to time to
reflect on that time and those events described here. Anyway, it's that
time of year again.
March 19, 1945
The Japanese
delusion of the people and islands of the Pacific living under the flag
of the rising sun is becoming a nightmare. The battle for the Coral Sea
is already in the record books as the first ever naval engagement to be
fought and won entirely by aircraft launched from ships out of sight of
the enemy. Iwo Jima was taken in a blood bath that left an unparalleled
legacy of heroism and tragedy on both sides of the battle. At Tarawa,
Corregidor, Leyte Gulf, Rabaul, Eniwetok, Tulagi, Guadalcanal and other
far places with now familiar names the account is the same: blood,
death, and US victory. Japan has seen her early successes in this war
slip away.
But on this day the war rages, still
the skies are
sullied with smoke, still the soldiers and sailors die. The machinery
of
war has become more efficient, more deadly, more terrible. The Japanese
usher in the desperate Kamikaze, the divine wind while the Americans
offer the Tiny Tim rocket, designed to deliver 500 pounds of explosives
with precision not achieved by gravity bombs. The Kamikaze is
guaranteed
to kill even if only the pilot but the Tiny Tim is a disappointment. It
will become a deadly disappointment this day.
7:00 am: With Admiral Mark
Mitscher's fleet off the coast
of Japan
Aboard
the aircraft carrier Bunker Hill, Admiral Mitscher has ordered the
second launch of the day of his carrier-based aircraft. The plan is to
attack the Japanese mainland at Kure and Kyushu. Fuel and bomb
laden craft struggle down the deck and rise slowly into the sky where
they form up and head for their targets. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to
Mitscher, the quarry has turned hunter. Flying under radar coverage,
Japanese bombers streak low across the sea toward Mitscher's carrier
fleet. They easily locate the fleet and begin the carnage.
With
only a handful of aircraft launched the big ships have to rely on deck
guns for defense, but against a determined enemy cloaked in
a haze-obscured sky no effective defense is possible. In a flash
an attacker sends a bomb crashing through her deck to explode well into
the belly of the carrier Wasp. A second bomber attacks the carrier
Ben Franklin, "Big Ben" to her crew. Two bombs scream down onto and
though the Franklin's wooden flight deck, penetrating to the hangar
deck
before exploding. Big Ben's guts are blown completely to hell. Armed
and
fueled aircraft are engulfed in flame and hissing phosphorous. Bombs
and
fuel tanks explode with unearthly, resounding rhythm. All is chaos
and confusion when, unbelievably, Tiny Tim rockets begin
launching themselves, screaming through the scorched air, caroming off
bulkheads and dying aircraft before taking themselves and everything
nearby out of the war.
In the confined area below decks,
surrounded by enough firepower to level a modern city, men with axes
and
hoses fight against flames and explosives for the survival or death of
their ship. The engine room gang, caught well below the mayhem,
struggle
to the flight deck and clear air but there is no sanctuary to be found
here as flying debris and exploding bombs beneath their feet send them
reeling. Breathing is still nearly impossible. Tiny Tim rockets spray
up
through gaping holes in the flight deck. All able hands fall
immediately
to the job of controlling the conflagration that is eating away at the
heart of the ship. Only the dead, the dying, and the gunners ignore the
flames; the gunners are spitting fire of their own against the still
attacking Japanese aircraft, and no gun is quiet as the battle for the
ship rages on. Shoulder arms are fired recklessly into an uncaring sky
and not without success. In the hearts of the Franklin's men there is
nothing one-sided about this battle.
Around the ship damage
control crews battle the inferno on and below the flight deck. Ragged
plumes of metal rip at the shirtless bodies. Men drag writhing fire
hoses across the steaming deck to play failing streams onto the glowing
metal and festering explosives. Airedales push serviceable aircraft
from
the deck into the sea to prevent the flames from consuming them and
their load of bombs. The scream of Imperial Japanese aircraft go
unheard
as these crewmen struggle, working with a seaman's pride and love of
ship against all that has befallen them. Assessing the damage from the
Bunker Hill, Admiral Mitscher offers his permission to Captain Leslie
Gehres to abandon Big Ben. Gehres replies angrily "Hell, we're still
afloat!" If more was exchanged it is lost to history. What followed is
the Navy's finest hour.
All that can ever be expected of
fighting
sailors can be found in all quarters of the Franklin and they are a
credit to military seamen on any ocean. Back below decks the black gang
is back at station manning every working boiler, bringing up steam
pressure, keeping the pumps working, doing what is needed to save their
ship. Without benefit of orders, every able man is doing what sailors
must when their ship is hurt and they are fighting for her life with
little regard for their own. History will justly record their valor.
The
Franklin has taken a 13 degree list and beyond hope, she is righted.
She
was dead in the water and taken under tow but somehow there is now
steam
for 2 knots, 3 knots, 4, then 5 knots. The rudder responds and then the
impossible happens. She is turned to and makes under her own power,
Ulithi island, a speck of land near no place on earth. They bring her
to
that far port under conditions that defy all odds. There, with the ship
closed off to all but her crew, they call together in a solemn
gathering
to pay last respects to lost shipmates and to render their ship
immortal. After, as testimony to courage, she steams under her own
power
to New York. She is now but a war-torn derelict, but she is home and
home is everything to a sailor long at sea.
December 7, 1991
What
they didn't know then, those who died immediately and after, what the
survivors of this ship may still not know today, or even deny is they
were and are to a man, heroes. They are all that is noble and valiant
in
fighting sailors and they continue to stand for the very pride and
spirit of America. Today they are known as the 704 club, an
organization
that is the product of the bonding by fire they experienced that day in
the far western Pacific so long ago. Can we all take a moment to
reflect
on the courage, pride of seamanship, and love of ship, shipmate, and
country shown by the remarkable and courageous men of the United States
Aircraft Carrier Ben Franklin, and let us raise our awareness to the
living spirit of the fighting Navy of the United States of America. All
America owes her that hand on the heart. And to the men of the 704 Club
- thank you.
dp (copyrighted material)
You may visit Dennis at his Website
