ASTORIA'S ORDEAL (9, August 1942)

I was awakened by the strident, rapid notes of the bugle blaring out of the loud-speaker in my cabin, and I thought: "G.Q. already?  Why, I just went to bed!"
     I was warm and relaxed and comfortable under the sheets, and I hesitated to get up; I never did for the routine pre-dawn General Quarters, anyway.
     The bugle ran on–it sounded perhaps a dozen notes, then smash!  The ship lurched violently under a crushing impact.
     TORPEDO!
     My head jerked of the pillow, with that thought.
     A vivid, yellow flare flashed through the openings of the green curtain over the door; almost simultaneously, the yellow flash lit the slats of the porthole.
     We're in action!  The Japs!
     Even as my bare feet hit the deck, I concentrated on the most rapid way to dress.  Pants first:  I pulled them off the chair, wiggled into them.  I reached for the flame-proof jacket, and as I pulled it over my head I suddenly "knew" something: I "knew" that I would get hurt.  I "Knew" something else, too: I "knew" that I would not get killed.  It was there, as vivid and clear as though someone had told me; it was so clear I grasped frantically t the thought: Where? But it was gone.  I had a vague hope, perhaps a prayer, that it might be around my hips, somewhere; that would be less likely to be a permanent injury.  The premonition accomplished something:  I was suddenly cool and calm: What is to be, is to be.
     I fumbled in the dark or my shoes–no time for socks.  As I pushed my feet into them, the ship lurched again.
     I stepped quickly out onto the deck and into the blinding glare of a searchlight.  Vaguely, I was conscious of bodies huddled on the deck, of an overtone of muffled sounds, like mumbled prayers.
     There was the crash of an exploding shell right around my ears, and the sudden rat-tat-tat of unseen fragments ricocheting all about me, like steel popcorn sprayed up against the inside walls of a cage.  I couldn't see them, but I could hear them whistling by and spattering off the overhead.
     I ducked instinctively, and realized how futile the gesture was.
     I must get my life jacket, and my steel helmet–but quickly.  I took the half-dozen steps to make the turn around the cabin and came to a dead stop–the Astoria was on fire, amidships!  Less than fifty feet away, the flames were leaping high; there was a fierce crackling; the outlines of the planes on the catapults, shrouded in flame.
     McKnight!  Where's Mac?  He'll know what to do . . .
     There were life jackets near by, I remembered, so I turned back.  The Jap ship had shifted her searchlight a few feet; its bright white flood of light was now slightly forward of the superstructure, playing on the No. 2 turret.  The searchlight was powerful, appeared to be perhaps a thirty-six-incher; behind it, I made out the dim lines of the enemy.  Her silhouette suggested a cruiser.  She was slightly forward of our starboard beam, at a distance about 5,000 yards, I judged.
     She fired again, just then, and the flames belched out of her guns; I wondered if my eyes were playing tricks: I thought I could actually see the shells in mid-air, red blocks wrapped in an aura of burning smoke, floating toward us.
     Our forward guns roared, and there was the earsplitting crash of the massive eight-inchers.
     The flames appeared bright yellow in the glare of the white searchlight; I realized that was what I saw in my cabin, our guns going off.
     The deck heaved from the concussion, and the acrid smoke of gunpowder filled my nostrils.  Behind me, I sensed, rather than heard, someone falling, I turned around to make out the shadowy form of a man on his knees, struggling to regain his feet on the heaving deck.
     Mac!
     I stepped over and grabbed his arm: "Mac, that you?"
     "No, it's me, Ray.  Ray Woods.
     "You hurt, kid?"
     "No, I'm all right."
     He was up on his feet now, and steady.  I shouted in his ear: "Where's Mac?"
     "I don't know, I haven't seen him."
     "I'm going in to get a life jacket.  Better come along."
     I walked quickly into the radio shack, caught a glimpse of a towering mass of flame just ahead of the Astoria; it seemed as though a gigantic matchbox had been ignited, and mushroomed into one vast ball of crimson flame.  I learned afterward that this was the Quincy, as a torpedo crashed into her ammunition hold.
     There was a half-dozen men where I was, and a young junior officer.  Johnny Datko was there, and I was glad.  The life jackets were strung up on the bulkhead, I noted with relief.  "Better get them down?"  I suggested to the officer.  "We might be needing them."
     He pulled out a jackknife and climbed up on the settee to reach the bundle.  We huddled in a group below, waiting for them.
     "Anybody hurt?"  Johnny asked.
     "Yeah, I think I got a scratch," one striker said quietly.
     Apparently Johnny didn't hear him, for he asked again: "Anybody hurt?"
     I nudged Johnny and pointed to the youngster.  The j.g. was still fumbling with the cords binding the life jackets.  Would he never get them down?
     Johnny pulled the striker's shirt down off his right arm, and pointed his flashlight.  A shiny bit of shrapnel reflected an angry little gleam of light, then the blood covered it up from sight.
     "Just a scratch, you'll be O.K."
     We jostled against each other, and I had the feeling the ship was wheeling to port; an explosion near by shook us up.  The j.g. was jarred off the settee, and the life jackets cascaded after him.
     Simultaneously our lights went out, and Johnny switched on his flashlight, gave cool, calm orders.  In a few minutes the lights went on again.  By that time we noticed that the Jap searchlight had penetrated into the room: the starboard porthole had been sprung by the concussion.
     As we struggled into the kapok jackets, the power failed again; once more the room was plunged into darkness.
     "Secure the watch on the equipment,"  Johnny ordered.  "It's failed."
     We were wedged in tightly, shoulder to shoulder, Datko on my left, Tommy on my right;  I was struggling into my life jacket when there was an earsplitting crash and the room filled with flying shrapnel.
     Tommy moaned.  I felt his ands jerking up to clutch at his back.  Johnny pointed his flashlight at the sound, and we caught the sailor as he started slipping to the deck, laid him out on the settee.  His eyes were glassy; through pain-tightened lips he gasped: "Kidneys—kidneys . . . "
     Pulling his shirts up out of his dungarees, we turned him on his stomach.  There was no blood, but his extreme pain told its own story.
     Six inched to the left, I thought, and it would have been me.
     Just then as I bent over Tommy, I felt some hot, flaky substance on the back of my neck; for a second or two it burned, then stopped abruptly.  Apprehensively, my hands went around my neck; I couldn't feel anything: "Flying bits of shattered tubes, probably."
     Johnny was busy with his flashlight: he found a cast-metal cover from a switch had blown off its mounting on the bulkhead when the shell exploded.  That undoubtedly was what had penetrated the sailor's back; its round, smooth contour explained why no blood had shown.
     "His ribs may be broken, though," Johnny whispered.
     "Lungs?"
     "Guess they're O.K.  He's quieted down considerably.  Let's try to get him to his feet."
     Tommy made it, wobbly, but indicating he could travel under his own power.  There was another casualty, but a minor one: a bit of shrapnel in a striker's arm, just above his shoulder.  The kid shrugged off attention: "I'll be O.K."
     A rapid glance told us what had happened: a shell had penetrated the steel bulkhead on the starboard side, completely wrecked the large chart desk, then continued on through the portside bulkhead.  It crossed my mind that some of us, in this group, might die; it was only by a miracle that we had survived, for the shell might have exploded in the room and wiped us all out.  The Japs were using hard-steel, high penetration shells which ripped through steel plates like cheese before exploding.  There was a gaping hole, large and terrible, where the shell had entered; through itt, we saw the darting flames of the fire raging on the gun deck below.
     "We'd better get out of here," I suggested to the j.g.
     "Where'll we go?" he retorted, his tome indicating that one place was just as good, or as bad, as another, considering the circumstances.
     I persisted: "Apparently they've got the range on the superstructure, so any other place can't be worse.  And it'll be easier to go over the side from the main deck, if we have to."
     We started moving in an orderly group, inching forward to the hole in the bulkhead, wary of possible explosions.  I wondered if we were trapped.  But nothing happened, so we squeezed through the hole left by the shell, the jagged opening still warm to the touch.  For some reason unknown even to himself, Datko crawled through the wreckage of the door, which was crumpled by the blast.
     Out on the deck again, we saw fires raging all about us, on the decks below.  Amidships, the Astoria was one mass of flame.
     A congestion developed on the ladder, and there were warnings: "Take it easy, now; take your time–no crowding."
     In the dark, we felt our way from one step down to the next; Johnny turned on his flashlight.
     "Turn out that light!" a voice yelled from below.  "Want to give the Japs a target?"
     "with the whole ship on fire," Johnny muttered, flicking his light out.
     There was little conversation, and that was carried on in low, disconnected whispers, as though even voices might attract Jap shells.  There was a little swearing, too.  I could make out Curley's low muttering over and over: "The Goddam Japs, the bastards!  The dirty bastards . . ."
      On the communications deck, at the foot of the ladder, a bottleneck developed as the sailors huddled close together in the shelter of the superstructure.  There was no place to go.
     Off our port quarter, a Jap warship had her searchlight playing on us, and her guns were flashing.  Geysers of water spouted where the shells fell short.  One of them was a vivid blue; somebody was using illumination charges.  Our heavy guns were answering, again and again, and the Astoria shook with the concussions.  The acrid smell of gunpowder was heavy; at times, I could hear the crackling of the flames amidships.
     A crimson string of tracers reached out from somewhere aft of our ship, and arched over the Japs–and another.  Then an answering rosary of death spurted from the enemy's decks.
     The Jap heavy guns continued firing–red flashes, followed, seconds later, by detonations, like the clap of thunder through closed walls.  Then the massive, shapeless blotches of crimson floating in mid-air, and again I wondered: was I actually seeing shells in mid-air?
     Directly in front of us, some men were on the move, to the forward part of the ship.  Davidson, the communications officer, came by, and paused directly in front of me, his eyes searching the superstructure.  I called to him, but he didn't hear me in the din, so I moved forward: "How's it look?"
     He answered something I couldn't hear, and moved off, forward.  I started back for the shelter of the superstructure, when I noticed a sailor on the edge of the communications deck kneeling: he was playing a hose on the gun deck below.  I moved forward and looked over his shoulder.
     A "ready box" was afire.  About the size of a steamer trunk, built of steel, and containing shells for the five-inch guns, it was covered with a rubber mat which was smoldering.  The sailor played the hose on the mat, but in a few minutes the stream grew feeble, stopped altogether; the power was off.  The sailor moved away with the hose, and I edged forward for a better view of the flaming gun deck below . . .
     There was a tremendous white flash–a huge sheet of flame–then crimson spurts flaring in all directions.  I herd the whir-whir of shrapnel on all sides . . . and suddenly I felt a hot, piercing stab of pain in my left eye . . . shooting stars sprayed in violent streaks.
     Perhaps I cried out, I don't know.  But in that instant I knew what had happened.  I was hurt–my eye.
     I stood there stolidly for a long moment, then I felt my hands slowly moving up to my face, hesitantly, for I was afraid to find out.
     My fingers felt the warm, sticky blood, and I wiped them down my cheek.  "I'll never see Hawaii again . . . "
     In that instant, I remembered the flying shrapnel, so I turned my back on it and walked unseeing ahead, reaching out with my arms towards the group I had just left.
     I felt my hands contacting the human wall, and fingers on my arms:  "Are you hurt? Who is it?"
     It was Datko's voice, and I was glad of that; we had been good friends.
     "It's me, Johnny, Custer."
     I realized my voice was a low whisper, for he bent his head down so that his ear brushed my lips; I repeated, more loudly: "Custer, Johnny. Think it's my eye."
     "Here, put your arms around me and hold on.  You'll be all right."
     It felt good to hold onto something firm, and I stood there inhaling deeply; I was still aware there might be another explosion, and kept my back toward the gun deck.  If it came, it would be easier to catch it in the back.  I was glad I'd picked up the kapok life jacket; that might stop some shrapnel.  But no helmet . . . I berated myself: "Serves you right, not having a helmet."  And I realized almost at once that a helmet would have done me no good, for the protection comes only part way down the forehead, does not cover the eyes.
     I stood there, and lost all track of time, with my arms of Datko's shoulders, apprehensively wondering if the shrapnel would strike again.  My thoughts began to wander:  "So this is how it feels to die . . ."  Angrily, I rebuked myself for being a sentimentalist: I knew that I wasn't going to get killed, I remembered; and as I recalled the premonition I grew calm again, steadied down.
     And I suddenly became angry and bitter: "That sonofabitch Hitler!" Instinctively, my resentment was against him: "That madman–paperhanger–murder!   The dead, the suffering all over the world–the sonofabitch!"
     There was a movement as the group surged forward a bit;  Johnny hissed over his shoulder: "Easy, take it easy; there's a man hurt here."  Immersed in my thoughts, I was only vaguely conscious of the undertone of queries and the answers:  "The reporter . . . eyes . . . "
     I began to wonder, then, about what lay ahead: how would I get around, when it came to going over the side?  Johnny seemed to read my thoughts: "How do your legs feel?" They felt strong, firm.  Physically, I felt all right; no dizziness, no nausea.  There was a rim of pain around my forehead, but it wasn't severe.  We continued to stand there in silence, waiting.  Then Datko spoke to the group: "We'd better figure on moving out of here pretty soon, fellows; the fires are dying sown a little."
     His voice was steady and reassuring; he took pains to tell me of every move in advance: "Think you can walk all right?  Fine.  We'll move forward, around the deck house, and try to get somewhere near the fo'c'sle.  Hold on to me, and take it easy.  Here, put your arms on my shoulders and move with me."
     Carefully, he shuffled backward, and I moved ahead, trying to form a mental picture of our position; behind me, I heard the scraping of feet as the seaman followed us.
     A few minutes later, Johnny halted: "Right before us is a big crack in the deck, about a foot wide.  Be careful to step clear over it, you could twist an ankle."
     I had an idea: "Wait a minute."  While he held me, I put my head down and with both hands tried opening the eyelids of my right eye: briefly, I caught a glimpse of a jagged tear in the deck.  I shut my eyes again, and with Johnny holding me by the elbow, cleared the crack with one long step.  We moved on, a few more feet, then Johnny stopped again and backed me around:  "Sit down here.  You're directly behind the No. 2 turret, almost under it."  It felt good to rest my back against the heavy steel.  I was conscious of a vast relief, too: I had seen with my right eye . . . perhaps everything was all right . . . everything would be all right.
     I was conscious, too, that the ship had not stopped shuddering; explosion after explosion rocked the Astoria, there was a constant shock of concussion.  I couldn't tell if our guns were firing, or if we were being still pummeled by Jap shells.  The air was heavy with gunpowder fumes, and it became increasingly more difficult to breathe.  In the background, I could hear the roar and crackling of fire on the ship.
     "I'm going to leave you for a few minutes,"  Johnny said.  "They're trying to cut down some life rafts, and I'll give them a hand.  Be right back."
     I felt he came close to adding, "Don't go away," but checked himself.
     He wasn't away very long, and he brought news: "There's a lot of activity on the main deck below, around the No. 1 turret.  They're bringing the wounded down around there, and I think it'll be better for you.  Here, let me help you up.  We'll try it."
     A moment later, he told me we were going down the side. "There's a boom right here, under your feet.  Feel it?  We'll climb down on it."  He placed my feet on the bar.  "Now, take it easy, I'll hold on to you."  The boom slanted at a steep angle, but by carefully sliding one foot after the other, I made it without difficulty.  We stood still a moment to get our bearings; I felt movement around me, of men brushing by.  "Look out for my leg," a voice said, near by; the words were tense, filed with pain.  Johnny whispered to me to be careful going past the sailor sitting immediately before us; I pried my eyelids open again to gauge the steps, and saw a tubby, round-faced sailor in dungarees sitting on the deck, his bare legs stretched out before him–the right leg hung by shreds, below the knee; his dungarees were blood-soaked.
     My stomach turned within me; I shut my eyes, and Johnny steered me carefully, shuffling along.  We made a turn to the left–and there was a sudden crushing explosion right over us.  We held on to each other tightly, as the deck heaved and shuddered under our feet.  I thought we were going down, but Johnny tightened his grip on me, and we remained upright, swaying.  There was a ringing in my ears, a vibration that pulsed in painful waves.  We waited fearfully for another blast.
     None came, and we resumed our slow shuffling.  Johnny backed me into a sitting position, and I felt my back resting against a heavy chain; a few minutes later, he prodded me forward and slipped something that felt like a pillow between my backbone and the anchor chain.
     "I thought we were goners, that time," he said.  "Guess the No. 2 turret fired, just as we were right under the barrel.  Boy, I couldn't see a thing, and I couldn't hear a thing.  My ears are still ringing."
     As I opened my eyes the panorama before me appeared in pantomime, soundless at first with the ringing in my ears, but gradually the boom! boom! of gunfire began to penetrate again.  The Japs were still firing, and I wondered if the shells would come our way.  Tracers hung from our fantail to the Jap, and back again; star shells exploded spasmodically–the big guns belched flames, again and again.
     I wondered if the Japs would rake our fo'c'sle, and I wondered how it would feel to have my head torn off, sitting there and not seeing Death come roaring through the darkness.  If I have to go, I thought, let it b like that–quickly. . . . Feeling that this might be the end, I recalled that that was the time your life was supposed to pass before you in swift retrospect, and so I prompted my imagination; but all I could grasp was a vague mental picture of the palm trees and the beach at Waikiki–nothing else seemed to register, nothing more clear-cut–and I abandoned the attempt.  More strongly than ever, I had the feeling that everything was going to be all right.  I felt that it had to end sometime, and that was a comforting thought.  "That's right–it has to end sometime, it can't go on forever."
     There was constant movement about me, and occasionally I pried my eyelids open for brief glimpses.  The fo'c'sle was jammed with men, many of them lying on their backs.  Occasionally, someone moaned, but more often there was a quiet reminder: "Look out, take it easy–this man's hurt."
     A gun roared somewhere.  Suddenly, the Jap searchlight went out and the sea was black again where it had been bright in the spotlight and the lightning of gunfire.  In the new darkness, the flames from amidships leaped high, and I caught glimpses of them licking the superstructure.
     I wondered if the after part of the Astoria had been shot away, and that reminded me of the superstructure and the bridge: could there be anyone alive up there?  It was silent and ominous; what about the skipper?
     Voice near by: "There's no water pressure, sir; we've tried all the valves.  Fire mains must be out."
     Then the Captian's voice, out of the darkness of the bridge: "Will you officers down below get some rescue crews organized at once!  Go down to the Captain's cabin and remove the wounded!  Remove them before the before the fire spreads down there!"
     His voice was shrill, anxious; but it was comforting to hear him, to know the skipper was alive!
     There were hurried orders about us, and the shuffling of feet.  Johnny whispered: "I'm going down to help; be back as soon as I can."
     The Captain's voice again: "Some of you officers organize fire brigades, and help check these fires!  The water mains are out!"
     Again hurried orders, the clattering of feet.  I sat back, and the absence of gunfire somehow made everything seem more cheerful, the bustling of men, more hopeful.  I wondered how long the battle had raged.  A half-hour?  I had no idea;  I was just thankful it was over.
     I had the uneasy thought that perhaps the Japs were even then maneuvering to close in on us, to come alongside and shell at point-blank range.
     Then I began to realize that I was aching all over; I felt hot and cold in turn. The acrid smell was deep in my nostrils, I began to feel nauseated.  As Johnny returned, I grabbed his arm.  "I'm gonna get sick to my stomach.  Get me over to the rail, quick!"
     "You can't move," Johnny said.  "There isn't a square foot of space anywhere around here–all jammed with wounded.  Here, get to your feet.  Open your mouth.  Take a deep breath.  Another one.  Again . . . "
     I stood gulping and gasping, and the choking in my throat subsided although the air was foul and heavy with gunpowder and burning paint.
     "The flames are under control around the fo'c'sle."  Johnny said.  "We used buckets and helmets and everything else we could lay hands on.  And you should have seen the helmets!  I saw three that were so badly smashed up they had no shape at all.  One guy told me he was knocked cold, and his helmet twisted all out of shape, by a chunk of shrapnel or something–but it saved his life.  All the rafts are shot away.  Every gun I saw is in shambles, the five-inchers, too."
     On his way below to help with the wounded, the decks were so hot he could barely stand it, and he wondered how the injured could hold up.  In the Captain's cabin the smoke was thick, and he had to stick his head out the door and gulp in fresh air before he could duck inside; some of the men were wearing gas masks.
     "I stumbled onto a cot with a wounded man on it; he seemed to be unconscious.  Somebody said he had a badly injured back.  Both his hands were badly burned, the top layers of skin peeled off . . ."
     Johnny motioned to a couple of sailors for help, and they picked up the cot and headed for the door; but it was too narrow: "We had to stop and take out the end sticks; the man came to, and the pain must have been terrific–he kept waving his arms as though he wanted us to hurry, hurry!  Or maybe he wanted to help get the cot through, but of course he couldn't.  God, he must have been in awful pain!"
     After what seemed like ages, they made it up the narrow iron passageway, out to the fo'c'sle, and deposited the cot there.
     "There's a destroyer coming alongside," Johnny interrupted his story. "Probably to take the wounded off.  Here, let's get going.  I'll get you aboard."
     He moved me cautiously backward, step by step, and I felt the railing against my back.  But the destroyer left:  "Came alongside, and started to tie up, then suddenly went off.  Maybe they think we'll blowup and take 'em with us."
     That was something else to think about: the ammunition depot for the No. 1 turret was almost directly beneath us.  So was the paint locker; a fire there could blow off the whole bow.  The word was passed: "The smoking lamp is out."  It meant nothing to me–I had no desire for a cigarette.
     "We may have to swim for it," Johnny observed.  "Think you could make it?"
     "Where's the nearest land?"
     He turned me about-face, and I opened my eyes for a moment perhaps three miles away, the outline of land was dimly discernible.  Guadalcanal?  Johnny thought it might be, although he wasn't certain.  I thought I could make it; my legs felt strong, my hear clear.
     But it was a dismal prospect:  sharks—perhaps Japs mopping up.  Whose ships were those vague forms moving about in the darkness?  No telling friend from foe.  And yet we couldn't stay on the burning ship . . .
     "Don't you worry about anything,"  Johnny advised.  "I'll stick right with you in the water.  Here, let's see if your life jacket is on tight."
     His investigation revealed that I had put my jacket on backward:  the "horse-collar" was inside.  Patiently, he untied the strings, and I put it on correctly.
     By this time it was raining, a cold, driving rain.  I opened my mouth and let the water run down my face and on my tongue, cool and refreshing.  I recalled the saying that it generally rains after a battle:  the concussions of the big guns disturb elements in the atmosphere much as thunder and lightning.  Whatever the cause, the downpour was welcome, for it provided hope that the fires might be quenched aboard the Astoria.  For about an hour, it rained, and it did help controlling the fires topside.  It grew steadily colder, too, and I found myself shivering and chilled.
     Johnny had left to help with the bucket brigade and first-aid groups, and returned with a corps man who was treating the wounded on the fo'c'sle, with the aid of a flashlight.  The corps man swabbed my eye with iodine; it stung briefly.
     "The Bagley will come alongside pretty soon," he said. "Get them to put a bandage on when you go aboard.  You're all right for now."
     I leaned back against the railing and relaxed.  The Bagley: it was a grand and glorious thought, comforting.  I had been apprehensive about going over the side, into the shark-infested waters.
     Johnny was off again.  I wondered what time it was, and someone near by asked:  "How long before daylight?"  And I recognized the voice of Lieutenant Bates.  "Oh, three-four hours, maybe."  There was a calmness in his voice, a cheerfulness that instilled confidence.  Things could be much worse.
     Johnny returned in a little while: "The Bagley's coming alongside.  Get ready."
     The destroyer pulled up on our starboard bow, almost directly beneath us.  Sailors began helping the wounded to their feet, or carrying them in their cots.
     There were several dozen before me, and I told Johnny to help with them; I was O.K. on my feet.  The destroyer was completely blacked out, men on her deck flashing a light briefly to get bearings on each patient, then working swiftly by touch to complete the transfer.  Johnny came back, panting: "Damn near fell in the drink; lost my footing.  Well, let's get going."
     We went over the side, and he handed me down to waiting hands below.  A marine held me as I stumbled onto the Bagley's deck:  "Here, this notebook fell out of your pocket."  That was a surprise; it was the first I knew that I had a notebook in my flame jacket.  He crammed it into his pocket.
     I wanted a drink of water.  The Marine pulled my arm around his waist, and we started moving down the deck.  I heard Greenman's voice again, from the Astoria's bridge, far above:  "Able-bodied men stay aboard—not abandoning ship!"  A spontaneous cheer went up.
     The Marine and I made our way back toward the Bagley's fantail, and then into the seamen's mess hall, converted into a first aid station.  The corps man examined me, applied more iodine, tied a bandage around my forehead, over my left eye.
     "Here, drink this," he said, mixing something into a thick coffee cup.  "This'll settle your stomach."
     It had an evil smell and taste, but I downed it in a gulp.  My guide put his arm around my waist, and we started forward; but as we hit the fresh air the concoction came up in my throat; I leaned over the rail . . . I felt much better, after that.
     We stopped to see the doctor, in the officers' wardroom, converted into a sick bay.  Charley Gorman, the Marine, opened the door, and I took one look inside: it was like a butcher shop: naked and partially naked bodies, the red flesh and bone showing where the blood had been washed away.  The doctor was bending over a man on the table.  One look was enough: an emergency operation, no time to be bothering the doctor.  We backed out quietly.
     "I'll get you a bunk in the CPO quarters," my guide said.  As we went below, Gorman said that the Bagley had thrown four torpedoes at the Japs.
     Below the bunks were filled with wounded; red splotches seeped through some of the sheets.  I went into the CPO wardroom and sat on a bench, while Gorman disappeared to search for an empty bunk.
     Some burn cases were sitting around, their flesh black and lumpy with the thick applications of jelly patted there by corps men.  They sat silently, smoking cigarettes, and I realized that I had yet to hear anyone complain, or so much as moan.  Some of the more able-bodied managed to smile occasionally.  Two buddies, reunited, one as patient and the other as nurse, kidded: "What the hell, you're not hurt!  Have you good as new in no time, you old so-an'-so."
     Datko came in, tired and pale.
     "You look pretty good." he said.  "How about some chow?  I'm starved.  All right if I raid your icebox?"  he asked aloud.
     The Bagley men waved their invitations. Datko poked around, came to the long table with bowl of canned tomatoes, crackers, butter, and coffee, and ate ravenously: "I don't know when I've tasted anything more delicious."
     Gorman returned: "Found a bunk for you."  It was an upper; I kicked off my shoes, and discovered I hadn't tied my shoelaces, those eons ago when I put them on aboard the Astoria.  I fell into a sound, dreamless sleep before my head touched the pillow.

-Joe James Custer
From: The United States Navy in World War II
Compiled and Edited by: S.E. Smith
Part IV: Chapter 3:  Astoria's Ordeal

THE FIRST OF THE BLOODY SEA BATTLES ... (9, August 1942)

The first of the bloody sea battles occurred on the night of 9 August in Savo Sound–the narrow body of water between Guadalcanal and Tulagi–and was the worst defeat ever inflicted upon the United States Navy.  Determined to oust the invaders, Rear Admiral Gunichi Mikawa, Commander Outer South Seas Force, brought down a task force of five heavy cruisers, two light cruisers and a destroyer from Rabaul, his mighty base near the headwaters of the Solomons.  Simultaneously, all available aircraft of the 25th Air Flotilla were sent off for repeated air strikes.

     Mikawa took two days to make the voyage, emerging from The Slot into Savo Sound shortly before midnight of the 9th.  The American transport George F. Elliot, which had been struck by bombs and prematurely abandoned by her merchant crew, provided an excellent beacon for the enemy task force.  Aided by its glow and by countless American communication failures, Mikawa's expert gunners turned-to with a vengence.  The Allied warships were at Condition II (generally, half the crews at Battle Stations), patrolling in a boxlike formation at the approaches to the Sound.  Undetected, Mikawa alternately took on our Southern and Northern forces, shattering our cruisers with torpedoes and simultaneously with a terrific volume of fire that sank heavy cruisers HMAS Canberra, as well as Astoria, Quincy and Vincennes.  More than one thousand seamen went to their deaths.  Caught by surprise, the ships never had a chance.  After opening fire on the Southern Group, during which he torpedoed Chicago and turned HMAS Canberra (this warship and Astoria lingered a few hours) into the floating pyre, Mikawa engaged the unsuspecting Northern Force and his gunnery was equally effective.

     We have two narratives of the savage battle; by United Press war correspondent Joe James Custer, who was aboard the ill-fated Astoria, and by newspaperman Richard Newcomb, who gives a dramatic account of the events aboard Vincennes and Astoria.

–S.E. Smith
From: The United States Navy in World War II
Preface to Part IV: Chapter 3:  Astoria's ordeal

----------------------------------------------------

Savo Sound- 

Ironbottom Sound photographed on August 7, 1942 the day Allied forces landed on Guadalcanal and Tulagi. In the center is Savo Island with Guadalcanal at far left.

Map of the location of shipwrecks in the Ironbottom Sound

"Ironbottom Sound" (alternatively Iron Bottom Sound or Ironbottomed Sound) is the name given by Allied sailors to Savo Sound, the stretch of water at the southern end of The Slot between Guadalcanal, Savo Island, and Florida Island of the Solomon Islands, because of the dozens of ships and planes that sank there during the Battle of Guadalcanal in 1942-43. Prior to the war, it was called Sealark Channel. Every year on the battle's anniversary, a US ship in the area cruises into the waters and drops a wreath to commemorate those who lost their lives. For many Navy sailors, and those who served in the area during that time, the waters in this area are considered sacred, and strict silence is observed as ships cruise through.

See also[edit]

Battles[edit]

• Battle of Savo Island, 9 August 1942
• Battle of Cape Esperance, 11–12 October 1942
• Naval Battle of Guadalcanal, 13–15 November 1942
• Battle of Tassafaronga, 30 November 1942
• Operation I-Go, 1–16 April 1943

Sunken ships[edit]

Allied[edit]

• Aaron Ward (US Gleaves-class destroyer)
• Astoria (US New Orleans-class cruiser)
• Atlanta (US Atlanta-class anti-aircraft cruiser)
• Barton (US Benson-class destroyer)
• Blue (US Bagley-class destroyer)
• Canberra (Australian Kent-class cruiser)
• Colhoun (US Wickes-class destroyer)
• Cushing (US Mahan-class destroyer)
• De Haven (US Fletcher-class destroyer)
• Duncan (US Gleaves-class destroyer)
• George F. Elliot (US Heywood-class attack transport)
• Gregory (US Wickes-class destroyer)
• Jarvis (US Bagley-class destroyer)
• John Penn (US attack transport)
• Kanawha (US Kanawha/Cuyama-class fleet oiler)
• Laffey (US Benson-class destroyer)
• Little (US Wickes-class destroyer)
• Moa (New Zealand Bird-class corvette)
• Monssen (US Gleaves-class destroyer)
• Northampton (US Northampton-class heavy cruiser)
• Preston (US Mahan-class destroyer)
• PT-37 (US PT boat)
• PT-44 (US PT boat)
• PT-111 (US PT boat)
• PT-112 (US PT boat)
• PT-123 (US PT boat)
• Quincy (US New Orleans-class cruiser)
• Seminole (US Navajo-class oceangoing tug)
• Serpens (United States Coast Guard-manned Liberty ship)
• Vincennes (US New Orleans-class cruiser)
• Walke (US Sims-class destroyer)
• YP-284 (US Yard Patrol craft)

Japanese[edit]

• Akatsuki (Japanese Akatsuki-class destroyer)
• Ayanami (Japanese Fubuki-class destroyer)
• Fubuki (Japanese Fubuki-class destroyer)
• Furutaka (Japanese Furutaka-class cruiser)
• Hiei (Japanese Kongō-class battleship)
• Hirokawa Maru (Japanese military transport)
• Kasi Maru (Japanese freighter)
• Kinugawa Maru (Japanese military transport)
• Kirishima (Japanese Kongō-class battleship)
• Makigumo (Japanese Yūgumo-class destroyer)
• Takanami (Japanese Yūgumo-class destroyer)
• Teruzuki (Japanese Akizuki-class destroyer)
• Toa Maru (Japanese military transport)
• Yudachi (Japanese Shiratsuyu-class destroyer)

Guadalcanal- 

Guadalcanal

Native name: Isatabu
Guadalcanal's position (inset) and main towns.
Geography
Location	Pacific Ocean
Coordinates	9°37′S 160°11′E
Archipelago	Solomon Islands
Area	5,302 km2 (2,047 sq mi)
Highest elevation	2,449 m (8,035 ft)[1]
Highest point	Mount Popomanaseu
Country
Solomon Islands
Province	Guadalcanal Province
Largest city	Honiara (pop. 54,600 (2003 est.))
Demographics
Population	109,382 (as of 1999)
Density	20.4 /km2 (52.8 /sq mi)
Ethnic groups	Melanesian 93%,Polynesian 4%, Micronesian 1.5%,European 0.8%, Chinese0.3%, other 0.4%

Guadalcanal (indigenous name: Isatabu) is the principal island in Guadalcanal Province of the nation of Solomon Islands in the South-Western Pacific. It was discovered by the Spanish expedition of Álvaro de Mendaña in 1568. The name comes from Guadalcanal, a village in the province of Seville, inAndalusia, Spain, birthplace of Pedro de Ortega Valencia, a member of Mendaña's expedition.

During 1942–43 it was the scene of bitter fighting between Japanese and Allied troops; the Allies were ultimately victorious.

At the end of the war, Honiara, on the north coast of Guadalcanal, became the new capital of the British Solomon Islands Protectorate. Guadalcanal is mainly covered in dense tropical rainforest and it has a mountainous interior. The population in 1998 was around 85,000.

The Second World War[edit]

Main article: Guadalcanal Campaign

In the months following the attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941, the Japanese drove the Americans out of thePhilippines, the British out of British Malaya, and the Dutch out of the East Indies. The Japanese then began to expand into the Western Pacific, occupying many islands in an attempt to build a defensive ring around their conquests and threaten the lines of communication from the United States to Australia and New Zealand. The Japanese reached Guadalcanal in May 1942.

When an allied reconnaissance mission spotted construction of a Japanese airfield at Lunga Point on the north coast of Guadalcanal, the situation became critical.^[3] This new Japanese airfield represented a threat to Australia itself, and so the United States as a matter of urgency, despite not being adequately prepared, conducted the first amphibious landing of the war. The initial landings of US Marines on 7 August 1942 secured the airfield without too much difficulty, but holding the airfield for the next six months was one of the most hotly contested campaigns in the entire war for the control of ground, sea and skies. Guadalcanal became a major turning point in the war as it stopped Japanese expansion. After six months of fighting the Japanese ceased contesting the control of the island. They finally evacuated the island at Cape Esperance on the north west coast in February 1943.^[4]

Immediately after landing on the island, the allies began finishing the airfield begun by the Japanese. It was then namedHenderson Field after a Marine aviator killed in combat during the Battle of Midway. Aircraft operating from Henderson Field during the campaign were a hodgepodge of Marine, Army, Navy and allied aircraft that became known as the Cactus Air Force. They defended the airfield and threatened any Japanese ships that ventured into the vicinity during daylight hours. However, at night, Japanese naval forces were able to shell the airfield and deliver troops with supplies, retiring before daylight. The Japanese used fast ships to make these runs, and this became known as the Tokyo Express. So many ships from both sides were sunk in the many engagements in and around the Solomon Island chain that the nearby waters were referred to as Ironbottom Sound.

Guadalcanal American Memorial

The Battle of Cape Esperance was fought on 11 October 1942 off the northwest coast of Guadalcanal. In the battle, United States Navy ships intercepted and defeated a Japanese formation of ships on their way down 'the Slot' to reinforce and resupply troops on the island, but suffered losses as well. The Naval Battle of Guadalcanal in November marked the turning point in which Allied Naval forces took on the extremely experienced Japanese surface forces at night and forced them to withdraw after sharp action. Some Japanese viewpoints consider these engagements, and the improving Allied surface capability to challenge their surface ships at night, to be just as significant as the Battle of Midway in turning the tide against them.

After six months of hard combat in and around Guadalcanal and dealing with jungle diseases that took a heavy toll of troops on both sides, Allied forces managed to halt the Japanese advance and dissuade them from contesting the control of the island by finally driving the last of the Japanese troops into the sea on 15 January 1943. American authorities declared Guadalcanal secure on 9 February 1943.

Two US Navy ships have been named for the battle:

• USS Guadalcanal (CVE-60), a World War II escort carrier.
• USS Guadalcanal (LPH-7), an amphibious assault ship.

To date, the only Coast Guardsman recipient of the Medal of Honor is Signalman 1st Class Douglas Albert Munro, awarded posthumously for his extraordinary heroism on 27 September 1942 at Point Cruz, Guadalcanal. Munro provided a shield and covering fire, and helped evacuate 500 besieged Marines from a beach at Point Cruz; he was killed during the evacuation.

During the Battle for Guadalcanal, the Medal of Honor was also awarded to John Basilone who later perished on Iwo Jima.

Tulagi- 

Tulagi
Rainbow over Tulagi Island
Location in the Nggela Islands
Tulagi Tulagi is north of Guadalcanal Island
Coordinates: 09°06′S 160°09′E
Country	Solomon Islands
Province	Central
Island group	Nggela (Florida) Islands
Population (2009 census)
• Total	1,251

Tulagi, less commonly known as Tulaghi, is a small island (5.5 km by 1 km) in Solomon Islands, just off the south coast of Ngella Sule. The town of the same name on the island (pop. 1,750) was the capital of theBritish Solomon Islands Protectorate from 1896 to 1942, and is today the capital of the Central Province. The capital of what is now the state of Solomon Islands moved to Honiara, Guadalcanal after World War II.

The island was originally chosen by the British as a comparatively isolated and healthier alternative to the disease-ridden larger islands of the Solomon Islands archipelago.

World War II[edit]

The Japanese occupied Tulagi on May 3, 1942, with the intention of establishing a seaplane base nearby (see Japanese Tulagi landing). The ships in Tulagi harbor were raided by planes from USS Yorktown the following day in a prelude to theBattle of the Coral Sea.

U.S. forces, primarily the 1st Marine Raiders, landed on August 7 and captured Tulagi as part of Operation Watchtowerafter a day of hard fighting.

After its capture by Naval and Marine forces, the island hosted a fleet of PT boats for a year which included John F. Kennedy's PT-109, as well as other ancillary facilities.

A small 20-bed dispensary was operated on Tulagi until its closure in 1946. The island also formed part of Purvis Bay, which hosted many US Navy ships during 1942 and 1943.

Mikawa,  Gunichi, Rear Admiral- 

Gunichi Mikawa
Born	August 29, 1888 Hiroshima Prefecture, Japan
Died	February 25, 1981 (aged 92)
Allegiance	Empire of Japan
Service/branch	Imperial Japanese Navy
Years of service	1910-1945
Rank	Vice Admiral
Commands held	Aoba, Chōkai, Kirishima 3rd NGS Division Mobilization, 3rd Battleship Division, 8th Fleet, 2nd Southern Expeditionary Fleet, 13th Air Fleet, South Western Area Fleet, 3rd Southern Expeditionary Fleet [1]
Battles/wars	World War II Attack on Pearl Harbor Indian Ocean Raid Battle of Midway Battle of Savo Island Naval Battle of Guadalcanal
Awards	Order of the Rising Sun (3rd class) Order of the Rising Sun (4th class) Order of the Sacred Treasure(2nd class)[2]

In this Japanese name, the family name is "Mikawa".

Gunichi Mikawa (三川 軍一 Mikawa Gun'ichi^?, 29 August 1888 – 25 February 1981) was a Vice-Admiral in the Imperial Japanese Navy (IJN) during World War II.

Mikawa was the commander of a heavy cruiser force that carried out a spectacular IJN victory over the U.S. Navy and the Royal Australian Navy at the Battle of Savo Island in Ironbottom Sound on the night of August 1942. In this battle, his squadron of cruisers, plus one destroyer, sank three USN cruisers, plus the RAN heavy cruiser HMAS Canberra; Mikawa's force suffered no losses in the actual battle, although heavy cruiser Kako was sunk by the undetected American submarine S-44 on the return to their base near Rabaul in the Bismarck Archipelago. However, his later career was of mixed success, and he was reassigned to lesser posts after the loss of a troop convoy destined for New Guinea.

Mikawa survived the war, and he retired back to Japan, where he died in 1981 at the age of 92.

World War II[edit]

At the time of the attack on Pearl Harbor, Mikawa was in command of Battleship Division 3 (BatDiv 3). He personally led the first section of his division as part of the screening force for the Pearl Harbor attack force, while the remaining battleships were sent south to cover the landings of Japanese troops in Malaya. Mikawa likewise led from the front during the Indian Ocean Raid and the Battle of Midway.

From 14 July 1942 to 1 April 1943, Mikawa commanded the newly formed IJN 8th Fleet in the South Pacific Ocean, based primarily at the major bases at Rabaul on the island of New Britain and Kavieng on New Ireland. During that time, he led Japanese naval forces involved in the Guadalcanal Campaign and the Solomon Islands Campaign. On the night of the 8 to 9 August 1942, Mikawa commanded a force of heavy cruisers, plus one destroyer, that heavily defeated the U.S. Navywarship force, plus one Royal Australian Navy cruiser, in the Battle of Savo Island in Ironbottom Sound off Guadalcanal.

However, Mikawa was somewhat criticized by his superiors for his failure to aggressively follow up on his victory. He could have pursued to the south and attacked the fleet of unarmed American cargo transports that were at anchor, waiting until daybreak when they could continue delivering ammunition and supplies to the American 1st Marine Division, which had landed on Guadalcanal on 8 August 1942. Instead, Mikawa decided to turn northward and retire back to the safety of his base at Rabaul. Mikawa's only ship that was sunk or badly damaged was the cruiser Kako, which was torpedoed and sunk by the U.S. Navy submarine S-44 on their voyage back to Rabaul.

On the night of 13 to 14 November 1942, Mikawa led a cruiser force that heavily bombarded the critical American air baseof Henderson Field on Guadalcanal during the Naval Battle of Guadalcanal. Throughout the campaign for Guadalcanal, Tanaka often commanded the runs of the "Tokyo Express", fast warships that delivered soldiers and supplies to Japanese Army force on Guadalcanal. However, Tanaka's attempt to land Japanese reinforcements to the base of Lae on New Guinea turned into the disastrous (for the Japanese) Battle of the Bismarck Sea, one that involved only Japanese surface ships versus American and Royal Australian Air Force land-based airplanes.

Mikawa was soon forced to take responsibility for the loss of most of the Solomon Islands, and he was reassigned to rear areas, such as the Philippines. Admiral Mikawa also stated to the High Command of the IJN that fighting the Americans for the Solomon Islands was simply pouring Japanese soldiers, sailor, airmen, and ships into a "black hole". Mikawa was correct about this, but his superiors in the IJN, and the generals of the Japanese Army refused to listen to him.

Mikawa had Naval General Staff and other shore posts in Japan from April to September 1943. From 3 September 1943 to 18 June 1944, Mikawa commanded the 2nd Southern Expeditionary Fleet in the Philippines. Afterwards, he commanded the very small "Southwest Area Fleet" and the very depleted "13th Air Fleet" from 18 June to 1 November 1944, also in the Philippines.^[7] By this time, the writing was on the wall that Japan faced on defeat after defeat until it was forced to surrender. Reassigned to shore duty in Japan following the Battle of Leyte Gulf in October 1944, Mikawa retired from active duty with the IJN in May 1945.^[4]

After the war, Admiral Mikawa lived a long and rather quiet life in Japan, dying in 1981 at the age of 92. Thus, Mikawa outlived most of the top American commanders of World War II, including Chester Nimitz, Ernest J. King, Douglas MacArthur, William F. Halsey, Jr., Dwight D. Eisenhower, Hap Arnold, George C. Marshall, George S. Patton, and Raymond Spruance.

Mikawa and the Long Lance torpedo were commemorated in 1992 by a commemorative postage stamp issued by theRepublic of the Marshall Islands. Mikawa's character also appeared in the 1970 American/Japanese war film Tora! Tora! Tora!, where he was portrayed by the Japanese actor Fujio Suga.

Rabaul-

Rabaul
Rabaul
Coordinates: 4°12′S 152°11′E
Country	Papua New Guinea
Province	East New Britain
LLG	Rabaul Urban LLG
Established	1878[1]
Population
• Total	3,885 (17,044 1,990)
Languages
• Main languages	Tok Pisin, Kuanua,English
• Traditional language	Kuanua
Time zone	AEST (UTC+10)
Postcode	611

Rabaul is a township in East New Britain province, Papua New Guinea. The town was the provincial capital and most important settlement in the province until it was destroyed in 1994 by falling ash of a volcanic eruption. During the eruption, ash was sent thousands of metres into the air and the subsequent rain of ash caused 80% of the buildings in Rabaul to collapse. After the eruption the capital was moved to Kokopo, about 20 kilometres (12 mi) away. Rabaul is continually threatened by volcanic activity due to having been built on the edge of Rabaul caldera, a flooded caldera of a large pyroclastic shield.

World War II[edit]

Aircraft of the USAAF 3rd Bomb Group attack Japanese ships in Simpson Harbor, 2 November 1943. The heavy cruiser Haguro is in the foreground. She had been damaged during the battle of Empress Augusta Bay the previous night. The burning transport at right appears to be one of the Hakone Maru class, of which Hakone Maru, Hakozaki Maru and Hakusan Maru were still afloat at the time. The ship in the left distance, partially hidden by smoke, appears to be the submarine tender Chogei or Jingei.

Lieutenant General Harukichi Hyakutake in front of HQ Rabaul

World War II Japanese landing barges in tunnels near Rabaul

By the time the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor it was apparent they would soon attack Rabaul. So, by December 1941, women and children (except for Chinese and the local indigenous) were evacuated. In January 1942 Rabaul was heavily bombed, on 23 January the Battle of Rabaul began and Rabaul was captured shortly thereafter^[6] with the landing of thousands of Japanese naval landing forces.

During their occupation the Japanese developed Rabaul into a much more powerful base than the Australians had planned after the 1937 volcanic eruptions, with long term consequences for the town in the post-war period. The Japanese army dug many kilometres of tunnels as shelter from the Allied air attacks, such as the bombing of Rabaul (November 1943). They also expanded the facilities by constructing army barracks and support structures. By 1943 there were about 110,000 Japanese troops based in Rabaul.

On 18 April 1943, Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, the architect of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, was shot down and killed by a United States P-38 Lightning over south Bougainville after taking off from Rabaul on an inspection tour. Japanese communications giving Yamamoto's flight itinerary were decrypted by United States Navy cryptographers, who passed on the information to operational units.^[7] Sixteen United States Army Air Forces P-38 Lightning fighters took off from Guadalcanal and intercepted and destroyed the two bombers of the Yamamoto flight and damaged some of the escorting Japanese fighters.

Instead of capturing Rabaul during their advance towards the Japanese Home islands, the Allied forces decided to bypass it by establishing a ring of airfields and naval bases on the islands around it. Cut off from re-supply and under continual air attacks as part of Operation Cartwheel, the base became useless. The Pacification of Rabaul took until the end of the war and was only completed following the Japanese surrender in August 1945.

USS George F. Elliot- 

Career (US)
Name:	War Haven (1918) Victorious (1918) City of Havre (1931) City of Los Angeles (1938) Charles F. Elliott (1941)[1][2]
Namesake:	USMC Commandant George F. Elliott (1846–1931)
Ordered:	as SS War Haven
Laid down:	1918
Launched:	4 July 1918 as Victorious
Acquired:	19 October 1918 30 October 1940
Commissioned:	USS George F Elliott (AP-13), 10 January 1941
Struck:	2 October 1942
Identification:	O/N 217060
Fate:	Lost to enemy action, 8 August 1942
General characteristics
Displacement:	7,630 t.(lt) 16,400 t.(fl)
Length:	as ID-3514 – 440 ft 0.5 in (134.1 m) as AP-13 – 507 ft (155 m)
Beam:	56 ft (17 m)
Draft:	29 ft 9 in (9.07 m)
Propulsion:	(as built) Geared steam turbines developing about 3,000 shaft horsepower (as modified) Four Babcock and Wilcox header-type boilers; one De Laval Steam Turbine, gearedturbine drive; single propeller; designated shaft horsepower 9,500
Speed:	10.5 knots (19 km/h).
Capacity:	150,000 cu. ft., 2,900 t.
Complement:	as ID-3514 – 97 as AP-13 – 350
Armament:	one single 5"/38 dual purpose gun mount; four single 3"/50 dual purpose gun mounts; eight .50 cal machine guns

USS George F. Elliott (AP-13) was a Heywood-class transport acquired by the U.S. Navy during World War I and then reacquired by the Navy for service as a troop carrier during World War II. In 1942 she was attacked off Guadalcanal by Japanese planes and sank shortly thereafter.

Construction and pre-World War II history[edit]

The ship was laid down in 1918 as SS War Haven at Bethlehem Steel Company's (Union Iron Works into 1917), Alameda, California yard as hull # 163A for the British Shipping Controller, London, requisitioned during construction and completed by the United States Shipping Board(USSB).^[1][2] The ship was launched 4 July 1918 as Victorious, completed in October and assigned official number 217060.^[1][3]Installed propulsion was by geared steam turbines developing about 3,000 shaft horsepower for a speed of about 11 knots.^[4]

Victorious was acquired by the US Navy and commissioned USS Victorious (ID-3514), 19 October 1918.^[5] The ship was operated by theNaval Overseas Transportation Service (NOTS) the ship made one trip, after the armistice ended the war, from the United States West Coast to New York from which departed after Christmas 1918 on a voyage to London with arrival on 14 January 1919 with a load of flour.^[5] Victoriousdeparted London 30 January loaded with 2,300 tons of steel billets and 200 steel rails with arrival in New York on 13 February.^[5] Subsequently, she was decommissioned and simultaneously struck from the Naval Register, 25 February 1919, at New York and returned to the United States Shipping Board for disposal.^[5]

Victorious was one of five ships acquired by the Baltimore Mail S.S. Co. in 1930 from the USSB for its North Atlantic service with Victorious being renamed SS City of Havre.^{[4][6][note 1]} The ship was lengthened another 50 feet (15 m) with bow and stern lines modified according to designs by Gibbs and Cox, Inc., of New York City with propulsion machinery replaced by De Laval cross compound, double reduction gear turbines developing 9,500 shaft horsepower at 95 rpm on the shaft for a speed of better than 16 knots.^{[4][note 2]} Steam was provided by four Babcock and Wilson oil fired water tube boilers.^[4] Accommodations for 63 passengers were added with final dimensions of 506 feet (154.2 m) length over all (LOA), 486 feet 7.5 inches (148.3 m) length between perpendiculars (LBP), 56 feet (17.1 m) molded beam, a normal draft of 24 feet (7.3 m) and of 8,424 GRT.^[4] All five of the ships acquired by Baltimore Mail had new short and medium wave radio equipment and radio direction finders installed.^[6]

City of Havre was one of the five "City" ships acquired by Panama Pacific Lines from Baltimore Mail for its inter-coastal service in 1938 and renamed SS City of Los Angeles.^{[4][note 3]} At the time of transfer the ship had accumulated 68 trips and 544,000 miles in the Atlantic.^[4]

World War II[edit]

As World War II approached City of Los Angeles was acquired by the Navy on 30 October 1940, converted to a Naval Transport, and commissioned USS George F. Elliott (AP-13) on 10 January 1941 with Captain H. G. Patrick in command.^[7]

North Atlantic operations[edit]

George F. Elliott sailed for Norfolk, Virginia, 16 January 1941 and for the next year carried units of the 1st Marine Brigade to the Caribbean for training exercises and operated out of Norfolk before departing New York 19 February 1942 with over 1,100 men bound for Europe. After joining a convoy off Halifax, Nova Scotia, she reached Belfast, Northern Ireland, 3 March to debark her passengers and subsequently returned to New York 25 March.^[7] The men aboard the Elliott on the February 1942 trip were members of the 107th Combat Engineer Battalion from Michigan.^[8]

Pacific Theatre[edit]

After embarking 1,229 fighting men, the ship got underway 9 April with a convoy bound for Tongatapu, arriving 1 month later and debarking her troops. George F. Elliott sailed 19 May and arrived San Francisco, California, 5 June for repairs.^[7]

Soon ready for sea, she embarked 1,300 men of the 2d Battalion, 1st Marines, and stood out under the Golden Gate bridge22 June in convoy, reaching Wellington, New Zealand, 11 July where combat gear and stores were loaded. As part of Task Force 62 she departed 22 July for the 1st Marine Division's amphibious assault on Guadalcanal. After conducting landing maneuvers in the Fiji Islands, she proceeded to Guadalcanal.

Sinking

Closing Lunga Point on D-day, 7 August, George F. Elliott sent her boats away at 0733 hrs. and simultaneously began discharging cargo. Despite enemy air attacks she continued to work far into the night, ceasing unloading only when the beach head became too congested.^[7]

Morning on 8 August found the Elliott and her crew still awaiting the order to resume sending the balance of her cargo ashore when radar screens on the US Destroyer pickets began to show an approaching flight of Japanese planes heading straight for the landing group. Weighing anchor and raising steam to get underway shortly before 1100 hrs. the Elliottmoved out of the landing area into the open waters of Ironbottom Sound and her crew readied their weapons to meet the inbound Mitsubishi G4M 'Betty' bombers coming over Florida Island. Making her 10.5 knot top speed and weaving between US Destroyers and other transports as they avoided and fired on the Japanese torpedo bombers skimming mere feet above the waters surface, the gunners on the Elliott sighted a 'Betty' closing on their Starboard side, only 30 feet (9.1 m) off the water. Taking the plane under concentrated fire and scoring several hits, the gun crews were unable to down the Japanese bomber before it suddenly popped up and slammed into the ship, just aft of the superstructure on the Starboard side.

George F. Elliott burning off Guadalcanal.

Though the lightly armored 'Betty' disintegrated on impact with the hull of the Elliott, wreckage and burning gasoline showered the deck and its engines were able to punch through the unarmored hull into the rear cargo hold, severing the ships rearfire main in the process. A massive fire broke out onboard both topside and deep within the hull, where supplies destined for shore now fed the flames which the crew raced to contain. Fires below deck quickly grew out of control and forced the engine room crew to abandon their stations, bringing the George F. Elliott to a stop in the middle of Ironbottom Sound. Using a bucket brigade and whatever means they could to fight the fires, the crew made a valiant stand against the advancing flames as the continuing Japanese attack kept nearby ships from providing any assistance to the burning transport. By the time the remnants of the Japanese bomber force had departed the area it was too late for the Elliott, as the intense flames caused a damaged bulkhead to fail, releasingbunker fuel into the rear hold and turning a massive fire into an inferno. Shortly after 1300 hrs., the crew was ordered to abandon ship.

The George F. Elliott, burning beyond control, was sunk on the evening of 8 August by the USS Hull.^[9][10]

George F. Elliott was struck from the Navy List 2 October 1942 and was awarded one battle star for World War II service.^[7]

The Pacific, HBO miniseries[edit]

The Pacific is based in part upon Helmet for My Pillow, the memoir of Robert Leckie, a member of the 1st Marines who sailed from San Francisco to Guadalcanal aboard the Elliott.

HMAS Canberra- 

Canberra at Kings Wharf, Wellington, New Zealand, ca. 1930s
Career (Australia)
Namesake:	City of Canberra
Builder:	John Brown & Company, Clydebank
Yard number:	513
Laid down:	9 September 1925
Launched:	31 May 1927
Completed:	10 July 1928
Commissioned:	9 July 1928
Motto:	Pro Rege, Lege et Grege Latin: "For the King, the Law, and the People"
Honours and awards:	Battle honours: East Indies 1940–41 Pacific 1941–42 Guadacanal 1942 Savo Island 1942
Fate:	Sunk following battle, 9 August 1942
General characteristics
Class & type:	County class cruiser Kent sub-class
Displacement:	9,850 tons (light) 10,000 tons (standard)
Length:	590 ft (180 m) between perpendiculars 630 ft 1 in (192.05 m) overall
Beam:	68.25 ft (20.80 m)
Draught:	21 ft 4 in (6.50 m) (maximum)
Propulsion:	8 Yarrow boilers, 4 shaft Brown-Curtis geared turbines, 80,000 shp
Speed:	31.5 knots (58.3 km/h; 36.2 mph) (maximum) 12 knots (22 km/h; 14 mph) (cruising)
Range:	2,870 nautical miles (5,320 km; 3,300 mi) at 31.5 knots (58.3 km/h; 36.2 mph) 13,200 nautical miles (24,400 km) at 12 knots (22 km/h; 14 mph)
Complement:	Pre-war: 690 standard 710 as flagship Wartime: 751 standard 819 at loss
Armament:	4 × 2 – 8-inch guns (4 twin turrets) 4 × 1 – 4-inch anti-aircraft guns 4 × 1 – 2-pounder quadruple pom-poms 4 × 1 – 3-pounder saluting guns 12–16 .303-inch machine guns 2 × 4 – 21-inch torpedo tubes 4 × multiple pom-poms (installed 1942) 5 × 1 – 20 mm Oerlikon guns
Armour:	1.5 to 3 inches (38 to 76 mm) armour deck over machinery spaces and magazines up to 2 inches (51 mm) over turrets up to 3 inches (76 mm) on conning tower Anti-torpedo bulges
Aircraft carried:	1 amphibious aircraft (initiallySeagull III, later Walrus)

HMAS Canberra (I33/D33), named after the Australian capital city ofCanberra, was a Royal Australian Navy (RAN) heavy cruiser of the Kentsubclass of County class cruisers. Constructed in Scotland during the mid-1920s, the ship was commissioned in 1928, and spent the first part of her career primarily operating in Australian waters, with some deployments to the China Station.

At the start of World War II, Canberra was initially used for patrols and convoy escort around Australia. In July 1940, she was reassigned as a convoy escort between Western Australia, Sri Lanka, and South Africa. During this deployment, which ended in mid-1941, Canberra was involved in the hunt for several German auxiliary cruisers. The cruiser resumed operations in Australian waters, but when Japan entered the war, she was quickly reassigned to convoy duties around New Guinea, interspersed with operations in Malaysian and Javanese waters.Canberra later joined Task Force 44, and was involved in theGuadalcanal Campaign and the Tulagi landings.

On 9 August 1942, Canberra was struck by the opening Japanese shots of the Battle of Savo Island, and was quickly damaged. Unable to propel herself, the cruiser was evacuated and sunk in Ironbottom Sound by two American destroyers. The United States Navy Baltimore class cruiserUSS Canberra was named in honour of the Australian ship, and is the only American warship named for either a foreign warship or a foreign capital city.

During the afternoon of 8 August, a Japanese task force commanded by Vice Admiral Gunichi Mikawa and consisting of five cruisers and a destroyer began to approach the south of Savo Island, with the intention to attack the naval force supporting the landing at Guadalcanal, then those at Tulagi.^[22] Anticipating a naval attack following several assaults by land-based Japanese aircraft, the Allied commander of the naval forces, British Rear Admiral Victor Crutchley, split his forces around Savo Island: Crutchley aboard HMAS Australia led Canberra, USS Chicago, and the destroyersUSS Patterson and USS Bagley on patrol of the southern waters.^[22] At 20:45, Crutchley was recalled to meet urgently with US Admiral Richmond K. Turner, overall commander of the amphibious landings.^[22] Although Chicago was the senior ship after Australia departed, Canberra, which had been following Australia, found herself at point.^[22][23] Around 01:00 on 9 August, the engines of scoutplanes from Mikawa's ships were heard, but as no warning came from the other groups, it was assumed they were friendly.^[22]

At 01:45, Patterson detected Mikawa's ships and alerted the Allied force.^[24] The Japanese scout planes dropped flares to silhouette Canberra and Chicago.^[23] The Australian cruiser was able to avoid the Japanese torpedoes fired at the start of the engagement, but was on the receiving end of the Japanese cruisers' gunfire.^[24] The first two salvos killed or wounded several senior officers, disabled both engine rooms, damaged the bridge and 4-inch gun platform and forced the flooding of her 8-inch magazines.^[12][24] Within two minutes, the cruiser had been hit 24 times; she was immobilised, without power, and listing to starboard, with multiple internal fires and at least a fifth of her personnel dead or wounded.^[25] At least one torpedo strike was reported during the Japanese attack, although none of the 19 torpedoes fired at Canberra by the Japanese cruisers were recorded as hitting their target.^[24] Several personnel from Canberra believe that USS Bagley inadvertently torpedoed the cruiser.^[24][26] From the 819-strong ship's company, 84 were killed (74 during the battle, 10 dying later from wounds), and another 109 were wounded.^[12][27]

American destroyers rescuing the surviving crew from HMAS Canberraafter the Battle of Savo Island. In the billowing smoke, USS Patterson is approaching Canberra from astern.

At 03:30, Patterson came alongside and relayed orders from Rear Admiral Turner: ifCanberra could not achieve mobility by 06:30, she would be abandoned and sunk.^[27] The destroyer began to recover the Australian survivors, but at 04:30,Patterson detected an approaching ship.^[27] The destroyer moved to investigate, at which point the unknown ship opened fire, and Patterson retaliated.^[27] It was quickly realised that the attacker was USS Chicago, which had mistaken Canberra for a damaged Japanese vessel, and both ships ceased fire.^[27] Patterson returned to continue the evacuation, and was aided by sister ship USS Blue.^[28]

Canberra's engines could not be repaired, and she was to be scuttled.^[28] She was torpedoed by the destroyer USS Ellet at 08:00, after 263 5-inch shells and four other torpedoes fired by USS Selfridge failed to do the job, and sank at9°12′29″S 159°54′46″ECoordinates: 9°12′29″S 159°54′46″E.^[28][29] She was one of the first ships to be sunk in what was eventually named "Ironbottom Sound".^[30] Three US cruisers were also destroyed during the battle, and a US destroyer was damaged.

USS Astoria-

USS Astoria undergoing training off Hawaii, circa 8 July 1942
Career
Name:	USS Astoria
Namesake:	Astoria, Oregon
Operator:	USA United States Navy
Builder:	Puget Sound Naval Shipyard
Laid down:	1 September 1930
Launched:	16 December 1933
Christened:	16 December 1933
Commissioned:	28 April 1934
Nickname:	Nasty Asty
Fate:	Sunk, Battle of Savo Island 9 August 1942
General characteristics
Class & type:	New Orleans class heavy cruiser
Displacement:	9,950 tons
Length:	588 ft (179 m)
Beam:	61 ft 9 in (18.82 m)
Draft:	19 ft 5 in (5.92 m)
Speed:	32.7 kn (37.6 mph; 60.6 km/h)
Complement:	899 officers and enlisted
Armament:	9 × 8 in (200 mm)/55 cal guns (3x3) 8 × 5 in (130 mm)/25 cal guns[1] 2 × 3-pounders (37 mm (1.5 in)) 8 × .50 in (12.7 mm) machine guns

The second USS Astoria (CA-34) was a United States Navy New Orleans class heavy cruiser that participated in both the Battle of the Coral Sea and the Battle of Midway, but was then sunk in August 1942 at the Battle of Savo Island. Originally, Astoria was the lead ship of theAstoria-class as she was the first ship of that class to be laid down but received a later hull number higher than New Orleans because she was launched second. Early in 1943, after the Astoria had been sunk, the remaining ships of this class were refit and reclassified.

Immediately following the Guadalcanal Campaign the remaining ships of the class would go through major overhauls to lessen top-heaviness due to new electrical and radar systems and advanced anti-aircraft weaponry. In doing so the ships took on a new appearance, most notably in the bridge, becoming known as the New Orleans-class.

The Solomons (Battle of Savo Island)[edit]

USS Astoria on 8 August 1942.

By the beginning of August, Astoria had been reassigned to Task Group 62.3 (TG 62.3), Fire Support Group L, to cover the Guadalcanal-Tulagi landings. Early on the morning of 7 August, the heavy cruiser entered the waters between Guadalcanal and Florida Islands in the southern Solomons. Throughout the day, she supported the Marines as they landed on Guadalcanal and several smaller islands nearby. The Japanese launched air counterattacks on the 7th–8th, and Astoria helped to defend the transports from those attacks.

On the night of 8/9 August, a Japanese force of seven cruisers and a destroyer under Rear Admiral Gunichi Mikawa sneaked by Savo Island and attacked the American ships. At the time, Astoria had been patrolling to the east of Savo Island in column behind Vincennes and Quincy. The Japanese came through the channel to the west of Savo Island and opened fire on Chicago — HMAS Canberra force first at about 0140 on the morning of the 9th, hitting both cruisers with torpedoes and shells. They then divided – inadvertently – into two separate groups and turned generally northeast, passing on either side of Astoria and her two consorts. The enemy cruisers began firing on that force at about 0150, and the heavy cruiser began return fire immediately. She ceased fire briefly because her commanding officer temporarily mistook the Japanese force for friendly ships but soon resumed shooting. Astoria took no hits in the first four Japanese salvoes, but the fifth ripped into her superstructure turning her into an inferno amidships. In quick succession, enemy shells put her No. 1 turret out of action and started a serious fire in the plane hangar that burned brightly and provided the enemy with a self-illuminated target.

From that moment on, deadly accurate Japanese gunfire pounded her unmercifully, and she began to lose speed. Turning to the right to avoid Quincy's fire at about 0201, Astoria reeled as a succession of enemy shells struck her aft of the foremast. Soon thereafter, Quincy veered across Astoria's bow, blazing fiercely from bow to stern. Astoria put her rudder over hard left and avoided a collision while her battered sister ship passed aft, to starboard. As the warship turned,Kinugasa's searchlight illuminated her, and men on deck passed the order to No. 2 turret to shoot out the offending light. When the turret responded with Astoria's 12th and final salvo, the shells missed Kinugasa but struck the No. 1 turret ofChōkai.

Astoria lost steering control on the bridge at about 0225, shifted control to central station, and began steering a zig-zag course south. Before she made much progress, though, the heavy cruiser lost all power. Fortunately, the Japanese chose that exact instant to withdraw. By 0300, nearly 400 men, including about 70 wounded and many dead, were assembled on the forecastle deck.

Suffering from the effects of at least 65 hits, Astoria fought for her life. A bucket brigade battled the blaze on the gun deck and the starboard passage forward from that deck, and the wounded were moved to the captain's cabin where doctors and corpsmen proceeded with their care. Eventually, however, the deck beneath grew hot and forced the wounded back to the forecastle. The bucket brigade made steady headway, driving the fire aft on the starboard side of the gun deck, while a gasoline handy-billy rigged over the side pumped a small stream into the wardroom passage below.

Bagley came alongside Astoria's starboard bow and, by 0445, took all of the wounded off the heavy cruiser's forecastle. At that point, a small light flashed from Astoria's stern, indicating survivors on that part of the ship. Signaling the men on the heavy cruiser's stern that they had been seen, Bagley got underway and rescued men on rafts – some Vincennes survivors – and men who had been driven overboard by the fires blazing aboard Astoria.

With daylight, Bagley returned to the heavy cruiser and came alongside her starboard quarter. Since it appeared that the ship could be saved, a salvage crew of about 325 able-bodied men went back aboard Astoria, Another bucket brigade attacked the fires while the ship's first lieutenant investigated all accessible lower decks. A party of men collected the dead and prepared them for burial. Hopkins came up to assist in the salvage effort at about 0700. After securing a towline,Hopkins proceeded ahead, swinging Astoria around in an effort to tow her to the shallow water off Guadalcanal. A second gasoline powered handy-billy, transferred from Hopkins, promptly joined the struggle against the fires. Wilson soon arrived on the scene, coming alongside the cruiser at about 0900 to pump water into the fire forward. Called away at 1000, Hopkinsand Wilson departed, but the heavy cruiser received word that Buchanan was on the way to assist in battling the fires and that Alchiba was coming to tow the ship.

Sinking[edit]

Nevertheless, the fire below decks increased steadily in intensity, and those topside could hear explosions. Her list increased, first to 10° and then 15°. Her stern lowered in the dark waters, and her bow was distinctivley rising. All attempts to shore the shell holes – by then below the waterline due to the increasing list – proved ineffective, and the list increased still more. Buchanan arrived at 11:30, but could not approach due to the heavy port list. Directed to stand off the starboard quarter, she stood by while all hands assembled on the stern, which was now wet with seawater. With the port waterway awash at noon, Commodore William G. Greenman gave the order to abandon ship.

Astoria turned over on her port beam, rolled slowly, and settled by the stern, disappearing completely by 12:16. Buchananlowered two motor whaleboats and, although interrupted by a fruitless hunt for a submarine, came back and assisted the men in the water. Alchiba, which arrived on the scene just before Astoria sank, rescued 32 men. Not one man from the salvage crew lost his life. Officially, 219 men were reported missing or killed.

USS Quincy- 

USS Quincy underway in 1937
Career (United States)
Name:	USS Quincy
Builder:	Bethlehem Shipbuilding Corporation, Quincy, Massachusetts
Laid down:	15 November 1933
Launched:	19 June 1935
Commissioned:	9 June 1936
Fate:	Sunk, Battle of Savo Island 9 August 1942
General characteristics
Class & type:	New Orleans class heavy cruiser
Displacement:	9,375 tons
Length:	588 ft 2 in (179.27 m)
Beam:	61 ft 10 in (18.85 m)
Draft:	19 ft 5 in (5.92 m)
Speed:	32 kn (37 mph; 59 km/h)
Complement:	807 officers and enlisted
Armament:	9 × 8 in (200 mm)/55 cal. guns(3×3) 8 × 5 in (130 mm)/25 cal. guns,[1] 8 × .50 in (12.7 mm) machine guns

USS Quincy (CA-39) was a United States Navy New Orleans classheavy cruiser sunk at the Battle of Savo Island in 1942.

Quincy, the second ship to carry the name, was laid down by theBethlehem Shipbuilding Company, Quincy, Massachusetts on 15 November 1933, launched on 19 June 1935, sponsored by Mrs. Henry S. Morgan, and commissioned at Boston on 9 June 1936, CaptainWilliam Faulkner Amsden in command.

Loss at the Battle of Savo Island[edit]

While on patrol in the channel between Florida Island and Savo Island, in the early hours of 9 August, Quincy was attacked by a large Japanese naval force during the Battle of Savo Island. Quincy, along with sister ships USS Astoria (CA-34) andUSS Vincennes (CA-44), had seen aircraft flares dropped over other ships in the task force, and had just sounded general quarters and was coming alert when the searchlights from the Japanese column came on. Quincy’s captain, Samuel N. Moore, gave the order to commence firing, but the gun crews were not ready. Within a few minutes, Quincy was caught in a crossfire between Aoba, Furutaka, and Tenryū, and was hit heavily and set afire. Quincy’s captain ordered his cruiser to charge towards the eastern Japanese column, but as she turned to do so Quincy was hit by two torpedoes from Tenryū, causing severe damage. Quincy managed to fire a few main gun salvos, one of which hit Chōkai’s chart room 6 meters (20 ft) from Admiral Mikawa and killed or wounded 36 men, although Mikawa was not injured. At 02:10, incoming shells killed or wounded almost all of Quincy’s bridge crew, including the captain. At 02:16, the cruiser was hit by a torpedo fromAoba, and the ship's remaining guns were silenced. Quincy’s assistant gunnery officer, sent to the bridge to ask for instructions, reported on what he found:

"When I reached the bridge level, I found it a shambles of dead bodies with only three or four people still standing. In the Pilot House itself the only person standing was the signalman at the wheel who was vainly endeavoring to check the ship's swing to starboard to bring her to port. On questioning him I found out that the Captain, who at that time was laying [sic] near the wheel, had instructed him to beach the ship and he was trying to head for Savo Island, distant some four miles (6 km) on the port quarter. I stepped to the port side of the Pilot House, and looked out to find the island and noted that the ship was heeling rapidly to port, sinking by the bow. At that instant the Captain straightened up and fell back, apparently dead, without having uttered any sound other than a moan."

Quincy sustained many direct hits which left 370 men dead and 167 wounded. She sank, bow first, at 02:38, being the first ship sunk in the area which was later known as Ironbottom Sound.

USS Vincennes- 

Career (United States)
Name:	USS Vincennes
Laid down:	2 January 1934
Launched:	21 May 1936
Commissioned:	24 February 1937
Struck:	2 November 1942
Fate:	Sunk, Battle of Savo Island 9 August 1942
General characteristics
Class & type:	New Orleans class heavy cruiser
Displacement:	9,400 tons
Length:	588 ft (179 m)
Beam:	61 ft 10 in (18.85 m)
Draft:	18 ft 8 in (5.69 m)
Speed:	32.7 kn (37.6 mph; 60.6 km/h)
Complement:	952 officers and enlisted
Armament:	9 × 8 in (200 mm)/55 cal guns(3x3) 8 × 5 in (130 mm)/25 cal AA guns,[1] 2 × 3-pounder 37 mm (1.5 in) guns 8 × .50 in (12.7 mm) machine guns
Aircraft carried:	4 × floatplanes

USS Vincennes (CA-44) was a United States Navy New Orleans classheavy cruiser sunk at the Battle of Savo Island in 1942. She was the second ship to bear the name.

She was laid down on 2 January 1934 at Quincy, Massachusetts, by theBethlehem Shipbuilding Company's Fore River plant, launched on 21 May 1936, sponsored by Miss Harriet Virginia Kimmell (daughter ofJoseph Kimmell, mayor of Vincennes, Indiana), and commissioned on 24 February 1937, Captain Burton H. Green in command.

Loss at the Battle of Savo Island[edit]

At about midnight on 8 August, Riefkohl retired to his sea cabin, adjacent to the pilothouse, after having been on the bridge continuously since 0445 that morning. Turning in at 0050 on 9 August, he left his ship in the hands of the executive officer,Commander W. E. A. Mullan.

Nearly an hour later, at about 0145, lookouts spotted flares and star shells to the southward, accompanied by the low rumble of gunfire. The sound of the general quarters alarm soon rang throughout the ship and stirred her to action.Vincennes' lookouts were seeing the elimination of the southern escort group, based around HMAS Canberra and Chicago. Unbeknownst to the men manning the ships to the northward, a powerful enemy force was heading in their direction. Six cruisers and one destroyer under the command of Vice Admiral Gunichi Mikawa had turned north and were steaming directly towards Vincennes and her two sisters.

The first Japanese cruiser searchlight beams illuminated Vincennes's shortly after 0155, and the American cruiser opened fire with her main battery at the troublesome lights. Within a minute, however, Japanese shells bracketed the ship andVincennes shuddered under the impact of Japanese eight-inch armor-piercing shells. The bridge, carpenter shop, "battle II," and radio antenna trunks all were hit by the first salvos.

Altering course to port, Riefkohl, who had come to the bridge at the alarm, rang down for increased speed. With the ship and internal communications disrupted, it is doubtful that the order was received. Still moving at 19.5 kn (22.4 mph; 36.1 km/h), the heavy cruiser reeled under the impact of another group of direct hits.

Some of the shells in this group set fire to the volatile aircraft in Vincennes' hangar space, and the resultant flames became uncontrollable. A direct hit knocked the aft antiaircraft director overboard. At 0200, Vincennes heeled to starboard in an attempt to evade enemy gunfire, only to be hit by Japanese torpedoes. One or two "Long Lance" torpedoes ripped into the ship's number 4 fireroom and put it out of action. In moments the report came "Both engine rooms are black and dead."

Memorial to USS Vincennes inVincennes, Indiana

Having lost power and all steering control five minutes later, Vincennes was dead in the water within minutes. The glare of burning fires attracted additional incoming shells which quickly put the ship's own guns out of action. Vincennes shuddered to a halt. Hit at least 85 times by 8 in (200 mm) and 5 in (130 mm) shells, the ship gradually began to list.

At 0210, the Japanese retired, leaving Savo Island and the burning hulks of three American cruisers in their wakes. As Vincennes' list increased to port, Riefkohl issued the order to abandon ship at 0230. Serviceable life jackets and rafts were broken out, and the crew began abandoning ship. At 0240, the captain went down to the main deck and jumped into the tepid waters of what would come to be known asIronbottom Sound. 332 crewmen did not survive and are officially recorded as killed in action in the loss of the Vincennes.

Riefkohl subsequently wrote: "The magnificent Vincennes, which we were all so proud of, and which I had the honor to command since 23 April 1941, rolled over and then sank at about 0250, 9 August 1942, about 2½ miles east of Savo Island ... Solomons Group, in some 500 fathoms [910 m] of water." Naval Historian Samuel Eliot Morison later wrote that Riefkohl, "who had made about as many mistakes as a commanding officer could make," was broken in spirit by the loss of his ship.

USS Chicago- 

USS Chicago underway off New York City, during the fleet review on 31 May 1934.
Career (United States)
Name:	USS Chicago
Namesake:	City of Chicago
Laid down:	10 September 1928
Launched:	10 April 1930
Commissioned:	9 March 1931
Honors and awards:	Three battle stars
Fate:	Sunk during the Battle of Rennell Island, 30 January 1943
General characteristics
Class & type:	Northampton class heavy cruiser
Displacement:	9,200 tons
Length:	570 ft (170 m) (waterline); 600 ft 3 in (182.96 m) (overall)
Beam:	66 ft 1 in (20.14 m)
Draft:	16 ft 6 in (5.03 m) (mean); 23 ft (7.0 m) (maximum)
Propulsion:	4 × Parsons geared turbines, 8 × White-Forster boilers, 4 × shafts, 107,000 ihp (80,000 kW)
Speed:	32.7 kn (37.6 mph; 60.6 km/h)
Range:	13,000 nmi (15,000 mi; 24,000 km) @ 15 kn (17 mph; 28 km/h)
Capacity:	Fuel oil: 1,500 tons
Complement:	1,100 Officers: 105 Enlisted: 995[1]
Armament:	9 × 8 in (200 mm)/55 cal guns(3x3), 8 × 5 in (130 mm)/25 cal AAguns, 32 × 40 mm AA guns, 27 ×20 mm AA cannons
Armor:	Belt: 3 in (76 mm) Deck: 2 in (51 mm) + 1 in (25 mm) Gunhouses: 1.5 in (38 mm)
Aircraft carried:	4 × SOC Seagull scout-observationseaplanes
Aviation facilities:	2 × catapults

USS Chicago (CA-29) was a Northampton class heavy cruiser of theUnited States Navy that served in the Pacific Theater in the early years of World War II. She was the second US Navy ship to be named after the city of Chicago. After surviving a midget submarine attack at Sydney Harbour and serving in battle at the Coral Sea and Savo Island in 1942, she was sunk by Japanese aerial torpedoes in the Battle of Rennell Island, in the Solomon Islands, on 30 January 1943.

USS Chicago docked in Brisbane, March 1941

World War II[edit]

When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on 7 December 1941, Chicago was at sea with TF 12 and the Force immediately began a five-day sweep in the Oahu-Johnston-Palmyra triangle in an effort to intercept the enemy. The Force returned to Pearl Harbor on 12 December; from 14–27 December, Chicago operated with TF 11 on patrol and search missions.

On 2 February 1942, Chicago departed Pearl Harbor for Suva Bay where she joined the newly formed ANZAC Squadron, later redesignated as Task Force 44. During March and April, the cruiser operated off the Louisiade Archipelago, covering the attacks on Lae and Salamaua, New Guinea. In a position to intercept enemy surface units which attempted to attack Port Moresby, Chicago also provided cover for the arrival of American troops on New Caledonia.

On 1 May, Chicago was ordered from Nouméa to join Commander, Southwest Pacific, and on the 4th she supportedYorktown in her strike against the Japanese on Tulagi, Solomon Islands during the Battle of the Coral Sea. On 7 May, she proceeded, with the Support Group, to intercept and attack the Japanese Port Moresby invasion group. The following day, the group underwent several Japanese air attacks, during which Chicago suffered several casualties from strafing, but drove off the planes and proceeded ahead until it was clear that the Japanese force had been turned back.

On the night of 31 May – 1 June, while in port in Sydney Harbour, Australia, Chicago fired on an attacking Japanese midget submarine. Chicago's captain, Howard D. Bode, was ashore when his ship opened fire. After coming back aboard on his gig, he initially accused all the officers of being drunk. Shortly afterwards, the presence of the submarine was confirmed.^[3]Three Japanese midget submarines had attacked Sydney Harbour. One became entangled in an anti-submarine boom net, and two were able to pass through. One was then disabled by depth charges, but the other managed to fire two torpedoes at Chicago. One torpedo passed near Chicago and destroyed another vessel nearby, while the second torpedo failed to detonate, and skidded ashore onto Garden Island.^[4]

During June and July 1942, Chicago continued to operate in the Southwest Pacific. From 7–9 August, she supported the initial landings on Guadalcanal and others of the Solomon Islands, beginning the US counter-offensive against Japan. On 9 August, she engaged in the Battle of Savo Island. Early in the engagement a hit from a Japanese cruiser's torpedo caused minor damage to the ship's bow. Chicago rapidly lost contact with the enemy and played no further part in the battle. Capt. Bode's actions during the engagement were questioned in a subsequent inquiry headed by Admiral Hepburn. Though the report was not intended to be made public, Bode himself learned of its implications and shot himself on 19 April 1943, dying the following day.^[5]

After Savo Island, Chicago was repaired at Nouméa, Sydney, and San Francisco, where she arrived 13 October.

Newcomb, Richard- Richard F. Newcomb, a graduate of Rutgers College, served as a wartime naval correspondent during World War II and received a Purple Heart. He is a retired news editor of the Associated Press and the author of six books, including Abandon Ship!, Savo, and Iwo Jima. He has been called "one of the pioneers of narrative nonfiction."