The country's call to arms was answered by the flower of our youth, and among the eighteen-year-olds was James Fahey of Waltham, Massachusetts, who enlisted in the Navy in October 1942 and was assigned to the light cruiser Montpelier.
Contrary to regulations, Fahey assiduously kept a war diary and was fortunate in that he jotted down his thoughts without official interruption.
-S.E. Smith
From: The United States Navy in World War II
Preface to Part II: Chapter 10: Enlistment Days
by: Seaman 1/C James J. Fahey
Sunday, April 6, 2014
U.S.S. BORIE'S LAST BATTLE
In a black, windy night of October 1943, the U.S.S. Borie, an old destroyer numbered 215, was making 17 1/2 uncomfortable knots through the Atlantic seas. She had just sunk one submarine and was looking for another. It was 1:53 a.m.
A kind of electric shock hit the Borie's blacked-out bridge as a voice announced contact with an unidentified craft bearing 190˚, just west of south. That contact was the beginning of one of the strangest ship-to-ship contests in the history of fighting at sea.
The commanding officer of the Borie was standing just to the right of the helmsman in the wheelhouse. He was Lieut. Charles H. Hutchins, at 30 one of the youngest destroyer captains in the U.S. Navy and one of the very few in this war to be given charge of a destroyer while only a lieutenant. When he learned of the contact he lowered his head and raised his arm in a characteristic gesture–like a man with a club in his hand about to strike an adversary–and he shouted: "Flank speed!"
As the Borie gained speed she began to pitch and pound very hard. Destroyers are wet ships, and they are wettest at high speed. The waves that night ran 15 and 20 feet high, and by the time the Borie reached 27 knots, black water was knocking at the highest towers of the ship. So heavy was the sea's impact that four of the portholes on the bridge–30 feet above water level–were smashed. The portholes were of 3/4-in. glass, 15 inches in diameter. After that water splashed into the wheelhouse through the broken ports. The temperature of the water was 44˚ Fahrenheit, 12˚ above freezing.
In a short time the Borie lost surface contact with the target. Lieut. Hutchins at once assumed that the enemy had submerged. He ordered the sound apparatus–the device which hunts for underwater objects by means of echoing sound waves–turned on. Soundman Kent waited for a second echo before he roared: "Sound contact! Bearing one nine oh."
The Borie moved in slowly. Soundman Kent reported every twist in the submarine's bearing. The "talkers" on the bridge–men with power telephones to guns and engine rooms–quietly told the crew what was happening. All through the ship the men were excited. They had gone through dull months. After the first cruise escorting the converted merchantman carrier U.S.S. Card, some of the Borie's crew had hung a service flag for men transferred to other ships–indicating that they had finally gone to war.
As the old destroyer closed the range on her quarry, Chief Torpedoman Frank G. Cronin got the "ash cans" of TNT set on their racks aft. When the Borie got directly over her target, Lieut. Hutchins gave the order to drop an orthodox deep pattern. Instead of the usual small number for a pattern, depth charges began flying off the stern one after another in an almost endless procession. Something had gone wrong with the depth-charge-releasing mechanism. Soon Soundman Kent could hear the rumble of many underwater explosions in the sensitive sound stack. To mark the point of attack, Lieut. Hutchins ordered a floating flare to be dropped.
The depth-charge attack was not only on a grand scale: it was accurate. It forced the submarine to the surface. Lieut. Hutchins thought the submarine might surface on his right and behind him. But the wily German turned around underwater before surfacing. This was the first of a series of tricks on both sides which gave this duel its weird quality.
The first man to see the U-boat on the surface was Fire Controlman First Class Robert Maher. When the submarine popped up to port and astern, Maher forgot his formal naval vocabulary and screamed: "There it is–just to the right of the flare!" It was 400 yards away. It was huge and almost white.
As if by reflex, without a moment's thought, Lieut. Hutchins decided that he could swing his ship around faster than the gun crew could train their 4-inch guns around, so he put his head down, raised his right arm in his clubbing gesture and roared to his helmsman, Seaman Third Class James M. Aikenhead, to put the wheel hard right–away from rather than toward the submarine. Lieut. Hutchins ordered the searchlight turned on. This lit up the sleek gray target, but it also gave the German something to shoot at.
The Borie straightened out and went after the submarine, verging to the right so that as she caught up she would be broadside to the enemy. The submarine could make about 12 knots, and the Borie was now pounding out 27 again.
The gun duel was one-sided. The Germans never attempted to man their big deck gun, for the U-boat's deck was awash and great waves were breaking over the gun. In any case the second or third salvo from the Borie lifted that gun off the deck and threw it in the sea. Men of the Borie later said they saw the gun in midair.
Soon the destroyer began to pull up alongside the submarine, and Americans could see Germans clearly and close-to. The U-boat had apparently been surprised, because several Germans were obviously straight out of bed. They came out on the conning tower in nothing but underwear pants. Some were dressed in sweaters and shorts, others in dungarees. Many wore bandanas of green, yellow and red. The long hair of those without bandanas disgusted the Americans.
When the destroyers machine guns found the conning tower, the German guns fell silent and never fired again. As each German ran to a machine gun he would be horribly killed. There were times when no Germans were visible. Then, in response to long training to pick out some specific target, whether human or not, gun captains began screaming: "Bend up their guns: get those goddam guns bent up."
The U-boat commander, seeing himself out-gunned, tried to out maneuver Lieut. Hutchins. He swung left and aimed his stern, which carried the sting of torpedo tubes, at the destroyer. Lieut. Hutchins swung left too, at first gently, hoping to stay broadside to the U-boat on the outer of two parallel curves. But the German kept his stern aimed at the Borie and fired a torpedo, which missed. Then Lieut. Hutchins tricked the German. He had Aikenhead turn full left rudder. This made the German think the Borie was going to cut across the U-boat's stern and come up inside it's curve. Therefore the German straightened out. Lieut. Hutchins turned hard right again and the situation was just shat it had been a few moments before–the two ships running on roughly parallel straight courses, with the destroyer a little behind the U-boat but catching up.
For the next few minutes the Borie's guns drummed the submarine. The electric firing circuit of the forecastle gun stopped working. Gun Captain Kenneth J. Reynolds fired the gun once by pulling the lanyard, he began to trip the firing pin with his hand. He could not get his hand out of the way in time to beat the 25-in. recoil, so that his forearm and wrist were brutally pounded, and later swelled up to three times their normal size. All this time the heavy seas were breaking over the forecastle gun and a Negro mess attendant, Steward's Mate Second Class Ernest Gardner, twice grabbed and saved a man just as he was being washed overboard.
The Borie caught up with the German and began to pull ahead and it was time to ram. The men of the Borie had dreamed, as all destroyermen dream, of ripping into the side of a U-boat and putting it down. Many times, at the wheel, Helmsmen Aikenhead had talked of ramming. Just three days before, Lieut. Hutchins had jokingly taken a piece of chalk and drawn on the center porthole, directly in front of the helmsman's eyes, three concentric rings and two lines crossing at their center. He called it the Borie's ramming sight.
Now, therefore, Lieut. Hutchins put his head down and lifted his clubbing arm and shouted: "All right, Aikenhead, line her up. Get the sight on."
Aikenhead spun the wheel and in a few minutes said quietly: "All right sir, I got her on."
Lieut. Hutchins shouted an order to e passed on to the crew: "All stations stand by for ram!"
The talkers bent their heads and said in to their phones in the parroting, singsong voice of all talkers: "All stations stand by for ram."
The German seemed to be holding his course, as if unaware of his danger. It appeared that there would be a fine collision.
Men on the destroyer braced themselves for the pleasure and the shock. Lieut. Hutchins rushed out into the open on the left wing of the bridge and held tight to the windscreen there. Aikenhead embraced the wheel. Gunnery Officer Lieut. Walter H. Dietz Jr., topside on the director platform, fell in love with the range finder and hugged it tight. Everyone was set.
Then in the last few seconds the German swerved sharply left and a huge wave lifted the Borie.
These two things made the moment of impact a disappointment to all hands. There was no shock. No one could hear a crunching noise. The wave lifted the Bowie's bow high and put it gently on the deck of the submarine, just forward of the conning tower. Momentum and the 30˚ angle imposed by the German made the Borie's bow slide forward on the submarine's. There was scarcely any damage to either craft. In the Bowie's forward engine room no one even knew the ships had met until the order came down to stop all engines.
And so the two ships came to rest, bow over bow, at an angle, locked in a mortal V.
Disappointment at the collision at once gave way to a crazy elation when the men on the destroyer saw how they had the German pinned down. Lieut. Hutchins worked his clubbing arm as if beating someone's brains out and roared: "Fire! Fire! Open fire!" Then he just yelled: "Yipee!"–over and over. Men on the bridge threw their arms around each other and danced, shouting, "We've go the sonofabitch, we've got the sonofabitch!"
The searchlight bathed the conning tower and all guns which could bear opened up at a 30-foot range. For their part the Germans did not lack a mad courage. They kept coming up out of that conning-tower hatch trying to get to their guns, even in death agonies trying to man their hopeless guns. The sight was a horrible one. One German was hit squarely in the chest by a 20-mm. shell. His head and shoulders flew one way, his trunk another. Some shells took Germans and pitched them bodily overboard. One U-boatman stood there a second without a head.
The situation affected different men variously. Range Finder Operator Seaman First Class Carl Banks, ordinarily a shy, quiet, gentle boy, finding himself now with nothing to do since range had been reduced to zero, marched up and down the director platform shouting: "Kill the bastards! Kill 'em! Kill! Kill! Kill!" Other men were seated and laughed loudly and cracked jokes. Seaman Second Class Edward N. Malaney walked to the left wing of the bridge and, amazed at the size of the submarine, said: "My God, what's that? The Bremen?" Other men went quickly about their work. Chief Quartermaster William Shakerly kept taking thorough notes in his log, and in the chartroom Executive Officer Lieut. Philip Brown methodically completed his plot of the course of action.
Then in the middle of the bedlam Lieut. Brown went out on the bridge and reported to the captain. He saluted and said: "I've secured the plot, sir. The hell with charting this battle. All the essential facts are right underneath us." And Lieut. Brown went to the flag bags, where small arms were stowed, and picked himself out a tommy gun. Gunnery Officer Dietz looked down on him from the director platform a few minutes later. He saw his quiet-spoken friend standing there, with his rimless glasses on, waiting cooly until a German torso lifted itself on deck across the way, then raising his tommy gun like a professor raising a pointer at a blackboard, and pulling the trigger and killing another man.
All through the ship, men acted now on their own. The phrase "people's war" came into Lieut. Hutchins' mind as he watched his men. He gave very few orders. The men responded to the months of careful training Executive Officer Brown had given them, and to their own initiatives.
Everyone found something to do.
Standing on the galley deckhouse only about 15 feet away from the conning tower, Fireman First Class David F. Southwick pulled a five-inch knife out of its sheath and threw it at the German who was running for a gun. The knife hit the German in the stomach, and the German went overboard. Chief Boatswain's Mate Walter C. Kurz picked up an empty 4-inch shell case weighing nearly 10 pounds, waited for a German to climb out of the tower hatch, threw the shell case, hit the target squarely and had the satisfaction of seeing him fall into the sea. Chief Gunner's Mate Richard W. Wenz, the strongest man on the ship, who could pick up huge depth charges alone and set them in their racks, now could not be bothered to find the key to the small-arms locker, so he broke the wooden door down with his fist. He distributed .45-caliber pistols, 12-gauge shotguns, rifles and tommy guns to all free hands. Seaman Second Class Edward Malaney, unable to find any other weapon, fired a Very pistol whose signal flares could not kill but could burn nastily.
The gun crews worked as automatically as their weapons and with greater flexibility. Some machine guns should not have fired because they had steel splinter shields between them and the submarine. The crews, at great risk to their lives, fired the guns through the shields, tearing them open, and the guns thereafter had clear fields of fire. Loaders were injured by flying steel from the splinter shields. Negro Officers' Cook Christopher Columbus Shepard, first loader on No. 4 gun decided that ammunition was not coming to him fast enough, ran to the after deckhouse racks , grabbed a heavy shell, thrust it home, climbed into the seat of the firing pointer, who had been blinded, fired, climbed out, ran for another shell–and kept his gun going that way. Among all the 20-mm. machine guns there were only two jams during the whole battle, and each one was cleared in a matter of seconds.
–John Hersey
From: The United States Navy in World War II
Compiled and edited by: S.E. Smith
Part II: Chapter 9: U.S.S. Borie's Last Battle
A kind of electric shock hit the Borie's blacked-out bridge as a voice announced contact with an unidentified craft bearing 190˚, just west of south. That contact was the beginning of one of the strangest ship-to-ship contests in the history of fighting at sea.
The commanding officer of the Borie was standing just to the right of the helmsman in the wheelhouse. He was Lieut. Charles H. Hutchins, at 30 one of the youngest destroyer captains in the U.S. Navy and one of the very few in this war to be given charge of a destroyer while only a lieutenant. When he learned of the contact he lowered his head and raised his arm in a characteristic gesture–like a man with a club in his hand about to strike an adversary–and he shouted: "Flank speed!"
As the Borie gained speed she began to pitch and pound very hard. Destroyers are wet ships, and they are wettest at high speed. The waves that night ran 15 and 20 feet high, and by the time the Borie reached 27 knots, black water was knocking at the highest towers of the ship. So heavy was the sea's impact that four of the portholes on the bridge–30 feet above water level–were smashed. The portholes were of 3/4-in. glass, 15 inches in diameter. After that water splashed into the wheelhouse through the broken ports. The temperature of the water was 44˚ Fahrenheit, 12˚ above freezing.
In a short time the Borie lost surface contact with the target. Lieut. Hutchins at once assumed that the enemy had submerged. He ordered the sound apparatus–the device which hunts for underwater objects by means of echoing sound waves–turned on. Soundman Kent waited for a second echo before he roared: "Sound contact! Bearing one nine oh."
The Borie moved in slowly. Soundman Kent reported every twist in the submarine's bearing. The "talkers" on the bridge–men with power telephones to guns and engine rooms–quietly told the crew what was happening. All through the ship the men were excited. They had gone through dull months. After the first cruise escorting the converted merchantman carrier U.S.S. Card, some of the Borie's crew had hung a service flag for men transferred to other ships–indicating that they had finally gone to war.
As the old destroyer closed the range on her quarry, Chief Torpedoman Frank G. Cronin got the "ash cans" of TNT set on their racks aft. When the Borie got directly over her target, Lieut. Hutchins gave the order to drop an orthodox deep pattern. Instead of the usual small number for a pattern, depth charges began flying off the stern one after another in an almost endless procession. Something had gone wrong with the depth-charge-releasing mechanism. Soon Soundman Kent could hear the rumble of many underwater explosions in the sensitive sound stack. To mark the point of attack, Lieut. Hutchins ordered a floating flare to be dropped.
The depth-charge attack was not only on a grand scale: it was accurate. It forced the submarine to the surface. Lieut. Hutchins thought the submarine might surface on his right and behind him. But the wily German turned around underwater before surfacing. This was the first of a series of tricks on both sides which gave this duel its weird quality.
The first man to see the U-boat on the surface was Fire Controlman First Class Robert Maher. When the submarine popped up to port and astern, Maher forgot his formal naval vocabulary and screamed: "There it is–just to the right of the flare!" It was 400 yards away. It was huge and almost white.
As if by reflex, without a moment's thought, Lieut. Hutchins decided that he could swing his ship around faster than the gun crew could train their 4-inch guns around, so he put his head down, raised his right arm in his clubbing gesture and roared to his helmsman, Seaman Third Class James M. Aikenhead, to put the wheel hard right–away from rather than toward the submarine. Lieut. Hutchins ordered the searchlight turned on. This lit up the sleek gray target, but it also gave the German something to shoot at.
The Borie straightened out and went after the submarine, verging to the right so that as she caught up she would be broadside to the enemy. The submarine could make about 12 knots, and the Borie was now pounding out 27 again.
The gun duel was one-sided. The Germans never attempted to man their big deck gun, for the U-boat's deck was awash and great waves were breaking over the gun. In any case the second or third salvo from the Borie lifted that gun off the deck and threw it in the sea. Men of the Borie later said they saw the gun in midair.
Soon the destroyer began to pull up alongside the submarine, and Americans could see Germans clearly and close-to. The U-boat had apparently been surprised, because several Germans were obviously straight out of bed. They came out on the conning tower in nothing but underwear pants. Some were dressed in sweaters and shorts, others in dungarees. Many wore bandanas of green, yellow and red. The long hair of those without bandanas disgusted the Americans.
When the destroyers machine guns found the conning tower, the German guns fell silent and never fired again. As each German ran to a machine gun he would be horribly killed. There were times when no Germans were visible. Then, in response to long training to pick out some specific target, whether human or not, gun captains began screaming: "Bend up their guns: get those goddam guns bent up."
The U-boat commander, seeing himself out-gunned, tried to out maneuver Lieut. Hutchins. He swung left and aimed his stern, which carried the sting of torpedo tubes, at the destroyer. Lieut. Hutchins swung left too, at first gently, hoping to stay broadside to the U-boat on the outer of two parallel curves. But the German kept his stern aimed at the Borie and fired a torpedo, which missed. Then Lieut. Hutchins tricked the German. He had Aikenhead turn full left rudder. This made the German think the Borie was going to cut across the U-boat's stern and come up inside it's curve. Therefore the German straightened out. Lieut. Hutchins turned hard right again and the situation was just shat it had been a few moments before–the two ships running on roughly parallel straight courses, with the destroyer a little behind the U-boat but catching up.
For the next few minutes the Borie's guns drummed the submarine. The electric firing circuit of the forecastle gun stopped working. Gun Captain Kenneth J. Reynolds fired the gun once by pulling the lanyard, he began to trip the firing pin with his hand. He could not get his hand out of the way in time to beat the 25-in. recoil, so that his forearm and wrist were brutally pounded, and later swelled up to three times their normal size. All this time the heavy seas were breaking over the forecastle gun and a Negro mess attendant, Steward's Mate Second Class Ernest Gardner, twice grabbed and saved a man just as he was being washed overboard.
The Borie caught up with the German and began to pull ahead and it was time to ram. The men of the Borie had dreamed, as all destroyermen dream, of ripping into the side of a U-boat and putting it down. Many times, at the wheel, Helmsmen Aikenhead had talked of ramming. Just three days before, Lieut. Hutchins had jokingly taken a piece of chalk and drawn on the center porthole, directly in front of the helmsman's eyes, three concentric rings and two lines crossing at their center. He called it the Borie's ramming sight.
Now, therefore, Lieut. Hutchins put his head down and lifted his clubbing arm and shouted: "All right, Aikenhead, line her up. Get the sight on."
Aikenhead spun the wheel and in a few minutes said quietly: "All right sir, I got her on."
Lieut. Hutchins shouted an order to e passed on to the crew: "All stations stand by for ram!"
The talkers bent their heads and said in to their phones in the parroting, singsong voice of all talkers: "All stations stand by for ram."
The German seemed to be holding his course, as if unaware of his danger. It appeared that there would be a fine collision.
Men on the destroyer braced themselves for the pleasure and the shock. Lieut. Hutchins rushed out into the open on the left wing of the bridge and held tight to the windscreen there. Aikenhead embraced the wheel. Gunnery Officer Lieut. Walter H. Dietz Jr., topside on the director platform, fell in love with the range finder and hugged it tight. Everyone was set.
Then in the last few seconds the German swerved sharply left and a huge wave lifted the Borie.
These two things made the moment of impact a disappointment to all hands. There was no shock. No one could hear a crunching noise. The wave lifted the Bowie's bow high and put it gently on the deck of the submarine, just forward of the conning tower. Momentum and the 30˚ angle imposed by the German made the Borie's bow slide forward on the submarine's. There was scarcely any damage to either craft. In the Bowie's forward engine room no one even knew the ships had met until the order came down to stop all engines.
And so the two ships came to rest, bow over bow, at an angle, locked in a mortal V.
Disappointment at the collision at once gave way to a crazy elation when the men on the destroyer saw how they had the German pinned down. Lieut. Hutchins worked his clubbing arm as if beating someone's brains out and roared: "Fire! Fire! Open fire!" Then he just yelled: "Yipee!"–over and over. Men on the bridge threw their arms around each other and danced, shouting, "We've go the sonofabitch, we've got the sonofabitch!"
The searchlight bathed the conning tower and all guns which could bear opened up at a 30-foot range. For their part the Germans did not lack a mad courage. They kept coming up out of that conning-tower hatch trying to get to their guns, even in death agonies trying to man their hopeless guns. The sight was a horrible one. One German was hit squarely in the chest by a 20-mm. shell. His head and shoulders flew one way, his trunk another. Some shells took Germans and pitched them bodily overboard. One U-boatman stood there a second without a head.
The situation affected different men variously. Range Finder Operator Seaman First Class Carl Banks, ordinarily a shy, quiet, gentle boy, finding himself now with nothing to do since range had been reduced to zero, marched up and down the director platform shouting: "Kill the bastards! Kill 'em! Kill! Kill! Kill!" Other men were seated and laughed loudly and cracked jokes. Seaman Second Class Edward N. Malaney walked to the left wing of the bridge and, amazed at the size of the submarine, said: "My God, what's that? The Bremen?" Other men went quickly about their work. Chief Quartermaster William Shakerly kept taking thorough notes in his log, and in the chartroom Executive Officer Lieut. Philip Brown methodically completed his plot of the course of action.
Then in the middle of the bedlam Lieut. Brown went out on the bridge and reported to the captain. He saluted and said: "I've secured the plot, sir. The hell with charting this battle. All the essential facts are right underneath us." And Lieut. Brown went to the flag bags, where small arms were stowed, and picked himself out a tommy gun. Gunnery Officer Dietz looked down on him from the director platform a few minutes later. He saw his quiet-spoken friend standing there, with his rimless glasses on, waiting cooly until a German torso lifted itself on deck across the way, then raising his tommy gun like a professor raising a pointer at a blackboard, and pulling the trigger and killing another man.
All through the ship, men acted now on their own. The phrase "people's war" came into Lieut. Hutchins' mind as he watched his men. He gave very few orders. The men responded to the months of careful training Executive Officer Brown had given them, and to their own initiatives.
Everyone found something to do.
Standing on the galley deckhouse only about 15 feet away from the conning tower, Fireman First Class David F. Southwick pulled a five-inch knife out of its sheath and threw it at the German who was running for a gun. The knife hit the German in the stomach, and the German went overboard. Chief Boatswain's Mate Walter C. Kurz picked up an empty 4-inch shell case weighing nearly 10 pounds, waited for a German to climb out of the tower hatch, threw the shell case, hit the target squarely and had the satisfaction of seeing him fall into the sea. Chief Gunner's Mate Richard W. Wenz, the strongest man on the ship, who could pick up huge depth charges alone and set them in their racks, now could not be bothered to find the key to the small-arms locker, so he broke the wooden door down with his fist. He distributed .45-caliber pistols, 12-gauge shotguns, rifles and tommy guns to all free hands. Seaman Second Class Edward Malaney, unable to find any other weapon, fired a Very pistol whose signal flares could not kill but could burn nastily.
The gun crews worked as automatically as their weapons and with greater flexibility. Some machine guns should not have fired because they had steel splinter shields between them and the submarine. The crews, at great risk to their lives, fired the guns through the shields, tearing them open, and the guns thereafter had clear fields of fire. Loaders were injured by flying steel from the splinter shields. Negro Officers' Cook Christopher Columbus Shepard, first loader on No. 4 gun decided that ammunition was not coming to him fast enough, ran to the after deckhouse racks , grabbed a heavy shell, thrust it home, climbed into the seat of the firing pointer, who had been blinded, fired, climbed out, ran for another shell–and kept his gun going that way. Among all the 20-mm. machine guns there were only two jams during the whole battle, and each one was cleared in a matter of seconds.
Gunnery officer Dietz–who at the drop of a hat will quote Nelson: "No captain can do very wrong if he lays his ship alongside that of an enemy"–had trained a boarding party, and he was eager to board the submarine. But Lieut. Hutchins passed the word: "We will not board, we will not board."
He had a reason for this order. The fight above decks was going very well. At least 35 Germans had been killed. Nobody had been killed on the Borie. But serious reports were coming up to the bridge talkers from the bowels of the ship. The engine rooms were flooding.
The German enemy had not done this to the Borie: the weather had. The high seas had twisted the two ships, had reduced the V until the enemies lay nearly parallel, and had banged the two hulls together. The submarine, built to withstand tremendous underwater pressures, was better able to survive the grinding than the destroyer whose skin was only 3/16 of an inch thick. Water began pouring into both engine rooms. In the after one, a damage control party was able to stuff the leaks enough so that the pumps could keep the water down. But the forward engine room became hopelessly flooded.
There the water crept up, first to the men's knees, then to their waists, and finally to their chests. Since the engines were steam tight from within, they were, of course, watertight from outside, and they kept going even when submerged. As the ship rolled and pitched, the water tore every mobile thing free, and soon the men were being sloshed around the room along with floor plates, gratings, small casks and other debris. Machinist's Mate Second Class Edd M. Schockley and FIreman First Class Mario J. Pagnotta crawled and floated in behind some live steam pipes dragging mattresses behind them, to try to plug the holes; but their efforts washed out. Chief Engineer Lieut. Morrison R. Brown ordered everyone to leave. He stayed alone to do what he could.
Finally, 10 minutes after the ramming, the two ships worked free of each other. The incredible contest of wit and maneuver began again.
The submarine pulled ahead and out to the left. Lieut. Hutchins could see that the enemy intended to get his tail on the destroyer again, and fire more torpedoes. That made Lieut. Hutchins decide to fire torpedoes of his own. He ordered the tubes manned. Torpedo Officer Ensign Lawrence S. Quinn made the proper calculations and fired. But a heavy sea threw the aim off. The torpedo missed.
The U-Boat went into a tight left circle and the Borie did too. But the submarines turning radius was smaller than the destroyer's and the two ships traveled in concentric circles. Most of the time the U-boat had it's threatening tail aimed straight at the destroyer. A good 4-inch hit on the submarine's starboard Diesel exhaust may have penetrated to the torpedo room and prevented the firing of any more torpedoes.
Lieut. Hutchins felt frustrated by his ship's inability to turn shorter than the enemy. He kept having the illusion that his ship was going in a straight line, while the submarine was turning away. He did not want to lose his victim at this late hour. He kept beating the air with his right arm and shouted over and over: "All right, Aikenhead, bring her left, dammit, bring her left."
Helmsman Aikenhead, who weighed only 130 pounds and was very tired from the stiffness of the Borie's wheel, kept saying in a pleading voice: "But, Captain, I am left, I am left."
Lieut. Hutchins would not believe Aikenhead until he looked at the compass which was moving around very fast. Hutchins did not know how many times the two ships made that dizzy circle. All the times he had in the back of his mind his planned rendezvous next morning with the Card and her other destroyers, the Goff and the Barry. He did not want to lose his position, so it was a relief, and the Borie turned in those merry-go-round circles, to catch glimpses of his original floating flare. The ships had made many convolutions but had not moved far.
The circling was of no advantage to the Borie, so Lieut. Hutchins tricked the submarine again. He turned out his light, hoping that the U-boat would count on shaking the destroyer by sneaking out of that tight circle and away. The submarine did just that. Leiut. Hutchins snapped on the light again and soon found the glistening U-boat streaking off in a northeasterly direction. Range was 400 yards. The Borie pursued.
All through the battle so far the Borie had been to the right of its adversary. Lieut. Hutchins decided to break through to the other side, so while he chased the enemy he pulled left. And now he gave an order which helped to win the battle. He ordered depth charges set shallow. Aikenhead was about to collapse at the wheel, so the Captain ordered the helmsman relieved.
In spite of the failure of the first ramming, sinking the enemy by crashing into him was still an obsession aboard the Borie. The destroyer pulled up to the left of the U-boat. Lieut. Hutchins ordered a collision course. The submarine again held its course until the last moment. This time, instead of turning sharply away as he had the first time, the German turned sharply toward the Borie.
This brought up something entirely unexpected: the U-boat captain had decided to pull the temple pillars down and ram the destroyer. With her thin skin the Borie stood to lose everything by being rammed.
Lieut. Hutchins had one of his instantaneous flashes of combat genius. To everyone's puzzlement on the bridge, he ordered the new helmsman to turn hard left, and he ordered the starboard engine stopped, the port engine backed full. This had the effect of throwing the ship into a skidding stop, with the stern end swinging to the right toward the oncoming submarine. At precisely the correct moment Lieut. Hutchins lowered his head and raised his non-existent club and shouted to his Depth Charge Officer Ensign Lawrence Quinn: "Okay, Larry, give 'em the starboard battery."
Ensign Quinn flicked three switches. Three round shapes arched into the wind and fell within feet of the submarine–two on one side and one on the other. They went off shallow. The submarine lurched out of the water like a hurt mammal and came to a stop very close to the Borie's flank. Men on deck said that if there had been another coat of paint on either ship that there would have been a collision.
Somehow the German submarine managed to start up again. It was like a dying animal–like a good Spanish bull that refuses to admit that he is dying. It slipped around astern of the Borie and shot off at an angle.
By this time the Americans, though for the most part unhurt, were dazed by the stubbornness of the enemy. The oficers on the bridge have a very hazy memory of what happened next. There were various zigs and zags. Apparently the Borie closed in to a convenient range. Now at least the U-boat captain seemed to realize he was beaten. He sent up distress signals–white, green and red Very flares. A moment later Lieut. Hutchins saw an answering signal from the horizon. He went right to the compass and checked the bearing of this other enemy-220˚.
The 4-inch gunners gave the U-boat its final crippling blow. They hit the starboard Diesel exhaust again. The submarine dropped to four knots. The Borie got in real close.
The Germans seemed to be trying to abandon ship. They huddled on the conning tower. In a compassion which he later did not quite understand, Lieut. Hutchins ordered all guns to cease firing. But before the order reached all stations Gun Captain Kenneth Reynolds, who was still firing his gun painfuly by hand, got off one last round. It blew the bridge structure, with all it's occupants, right off the U-boat.
Water from the hole by the exhaust poured into the submarine. Its bow lifted dripping out of the rough sea. THe ship slipped under the waves and exploded horribly underwater. After one hour and four minutes of admirably tenacious fighting, the submarine sank.
At once Lieut. Hutchins turned his ship away. He and the Borie had had enough fighting for one night.
The Borie was in serious trouble. Only one engine would run. Her maximum speed was now 10 knots, which a surfaced submarine could easily exceed. The ship was still taking water forward. The generators were out. The water condensers were impaired so that the turbines were not getting the absolute pure, saltless steam they needed. Lieut. Hutchins reported by radio to the Card: "Just sank number two in combined depth-charge attack, gun battle and ramming. May have to abandon ship."
Lieut. Hutchins tried desperately to get the ship to the rendezvous, which was set for just after dawn. He gave the order to lighten ship. Everything that could be was thrown over the side: both anchors and their chains, ammunition, machine guns, torpedoes, and their huge mounts, depth charges, the searchlight, range finder, fire detector and hundreds of smaller things. A hole was cut in the lifeboat and it was let over the side to sink–for it had the number 215 on it, and if left afloat it might identify the Borie to the enemy. During this process a conscientious storekeeper first class named Joseph San Philip came to the bridge holding the Title B Book in his hand. This book contains a list of things aboard ship for which the captain has had to sign his personal responsibility. Storekeeper Philip said: "Sir, who's going to take the responsibility for all this Title B stuff we're throwing away?"
Without saying a word Lieut. Hutchins took the Title B Book from the storekeeper's hands and dropped it, too, in the sea.
Dawn broke overcast: the Card's planes would have a hard time finding the Borie. The emergency gasoline generator for the radio had used up its fuel so that the Borie was now silent.
The officers sat around the radio room, wondering what to do. Someone took out a cigarette and lit it with a lighter. Lieut. Robert H. Lord remembered having seen some lighter fluid on another officer's desk. Word was passed through the ship to send all lighter fluid to the radio shack. The generator worked long enough on these contributions for Radio Operator Cameron G. Gresh to send: "Can steam another two hours. Commencing to sink."
At 9 a.m. so much salt had built up in the turbines that the blades locked and the destroyer went dead in the water.
The only hope now was that planes form the Card would find the Borie. If the Borie could send out radio signals the chances of their doing so would be much better. Someone thought of the alcohol in sick bay. After being cut with kerosene it worked the generator all right. Radioman Gresh sent: "Getting bad." Then he sat tapping out three dots and a dash–the letter which all Allied lands had come to stand for Victory. And a plane rode that letter in and found the Borie.
The Card, the Barry and the Goff steamed up at about noon. The Card inquired by signal light how things were going. Lieut. Hutchins replied: "I want to save this bucket if I can. Give me a few hours." But things went from bad to worse. Executive Officer Brown inspected the ship. This took as much courage as the battle itself. He forced himself into most of the ship's compartments, never knowing which hatch would be the last he opened. His report indicated that it would be hopeless to try to save the ship.
Toward dusk the Card and her escorts returned. It was too rough for a rescue ship to go alongside the Borie, and there would not be time for men to be transferred by breeches buoy. There was nothing to do but have them get into the bitterly cold water and cling to rafts.
After his men were off, Lieut. Hutchins went to his room and found a flashlight. And then the young captain went, anone and miserable, through the various deserted compartments of his first ship–into the firerooms and engine rooms, the commissary stores and messing compartments, into officers' country and the wardroom, and finally back to his own domain, the skipper's cabin. The ship was all dark and silent. All hands had abandoned her. So the captain went out on deck and, with the battle flag of the U.S.S. Borie under his arm, slipped over the side into the water only 12˚ above freezing.
It was not the fight but in that water that 27 men were lost. For those who were lost it must have been much as it was for Gunnery Officer Dietz, who was very nearly lost. A slender man, he had never thought himself strong. When he first hit that breath-taking water, he thought it would kill him. But he managed to cling to a rat until the Goff drifted down on it. He grabbed a life-line and pulled himself up so that his hands held the edge of the deck and of safety. But his hands were so so cold that he could not hold on. He fell back into the water. He slipped along the side of the ship, held up by his life belt– a mere rubber tube under his arms. Life lines caught at his throat. The Goff's framelike propeller guards hit him in the head and pushed him under. He thought: "I must get away from this and wait." He pushed away from the ship. But when he tried to paddle back his arms would barely move. His mind refused to admit defeat but kept shielding him from fear. "They will come after me," he kept saying to himself. He fainted. Luckily for him his head fell backward instead of forward. A few minutes later hands pulled him aboard the Barry.
The margin of luck was not quite so wide for the 27 who were lost. Ensign Richard E. St. John had pulled himself halfway up a life line into the Goff when he dropped back into the water to help four men who were too far gone to help themselves. They made it. Ensign St. John was caught under the destroyer and drowned. Engineering Officer Lieut. Brown, who had tried bravely and alone to keep the engines going in water up to his neck, was lost. So was Ensign Lord, who had probably saved the ship by thinking of lighter fluid for the radio. The enlisted men who were lost were: Alford, Blane, Blouch, Bonfiglio, Cituk, Concha, Demaid, Duke, Fields, Francis, Kiszka, Lombardi, Long, McKervey, Medved, Mulligan, Pouzar, Purneda, Shakerly, Swan, Tull, Tyree, Wallace, Winn.
Lieut. Hutchins could not stand up when he was taken onto the Goff in the darkening evening. Later he took a hot shower and shook under the steam. Then he had a rubdown, some hot chocolate, a sip of brandy and a little exercise. He spent most of that night on the bridge, waiting for dawn and a glimpse of his ship.
At sunrise the Goff made a last sweep for survivors. She found 10 men face down in their preservers. Then she went to the Borie. The destroyer had drifted about 20 miles and had settled badly.
Lieut, Hutchins stood on a strange bridge and watched his ship as a Grumman Avenger attacked with a heavy bomb and missed. A second plane hit her amidships. A third holed her again, badly. The Borie, her back broken, lifted her protesting bow and then settled fast.
–John Hersey
From: The United States Navy in World War II
Compiled and edited by: S.E. Smith
Part II: Chapter 9: U.S.S. Borie's Last Battle
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| Karl Dönitz | |
|---|---|
 | |
| Großadmiral Karl Dönitz, later Reichspräsidentof Germany | |
| President of Germany | |
| In office 30 April – 23 May 1945 | |
| Chancellor | Joseph Goebbels Lutz Graf Schwerin von Krosigk (Leading Minister) |
| Preceded by | Adolf Hitler (as Führer) Paul von Hindenburg (in title) |
| Succeeded by | Theodor Heuss (as Bundespräsident) Wilhelm Pieck (as Staatspräsident) |
| Personal details | |
| Born | 16 September 1891 Grünau, German Empire |
| Died | 24 December 1980 (aged 89) Aumühle, West Germany |
| Nationality | German |
| Political party | National Socialist German Workers' Party (NSDAP) (1944–1945)[1] |
| Spouse(s) | Ingeborg Weber |
| Children | 3 |
| Religion | Protestant |
| Signature |  |
| Military service | |
| Nickname(s) | Der Löwe (The Lion) |
| Allegiance |  German Empire (1910–1918) Weimar Republic (1920–1933) Nazi Germany (1933–1945) |
| Service/branch |  Kaiserliche Marine Reichsmarine Kriegsmarine |
| Years of service | 1910–1945 |
| Rank | Großadmiral |
| Commands | SM UC-25 (February–September 1918) SM UB-68 (September–October 1918) Torpedo Boats (1920s) Emden (1934–1935) 1st U-boat Flotilla (1935–1936) FdU (1936–1939) BdU (1939–1943) OBdM (1943–1945) Supreme Commander of theWehrmacht (April–May 1945) |
| Battles/wars | World War I |
| Awards | U-boat War Badge with Diamonds World War I U-Boat War Badge 1939 Clasp to the 1914 Iron Cross 1st Class Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross with Oak Leaves |
Karl Dönitz (German: [ˈdøːnɪts] (
); 16 September 1891 – 24 December 1980) was a German naval commander who played a major role in the Naval history of World War II. He started his career in the German Navy (Kaiserliche Marine, or "Imperial Navy") beforeWorld War I. In 1918, while he was in command of UB-68, the submarine was sunk by British forces and Dönitz was taken prisoner. While in a prisoner of war camp, he formulated what he later called Rudeltaktik[2] ("pack tactic", commonly called "wolfpack"). At the start of World War II, he was the senior submarine officer in the German Navy. In January 1943, Dönitz achieved the rank of Großadmiral (Grand Admiral) and replaced Grand Admiral Erich Raeder as Commander-in-Chief of the German Navy (Oberbefehlshaber der Kriegsmarine).
); 16 September 1891 – 24 December 1980) was a German naval commander who played a major role in the Naval history of World War II. He started his career in the German Navy (Kaiserliche Marine, or "Imperial Navy") beforeWorld War I. In 1918, while he was in command of UB-68, the submarine was sunk by British forces and Dönitz was taken prisoner. While in a prisoner of war camp, he formulated what he later called Rudeltaktik[2] ("pack tactic", commonly called "wolfpack"). At the start of World War II, he was the senior submarine officer in the German Navy. In January 1943, Dönitz achieved the rank of Großadmiral (Grand Admiral) and replaced Grand Admiral Erich Raeder as Commander-in-Chief of the German Navy (Oberbefehlshaber der Kriegsmarine).
On 30 April 1945, after the death of Adolf Hitler and in accordance with Hitler's last will and testament, Dönitz was named Hitler's successor as Staatsoberhaupt (Head of State), with the title of Reichspräsident (President) and Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces. On 7 May 1945, he ordered Alfred Jodl to sign the German instruments of surrender inRheims, France.[3] Dönitz remained as head of the Flensburg Government, as it became known, until it was dissolved by the Allied powers on 23 May.
By the end of 1942, the production of Type VII U-boats had increased to the point where Dönitz was finally able to conduct mass attacks by groups of submarines, a tactic he called "Rudel" (group or pack) and became known as "wolfpack" in English. Allied shipping losses shot up tremendously, and there was serious concern for a while about the state of British fuel supplies.
During 1943 the war in the Atlantic turned against the Germans, but Dönitz continued to push for increased U-boat construction and entertained the notion that further technological developments would tip the war once more in Germany's favour, briefing the Führer to that effect.[10] At the end of the war the German submarine fleet was by far the most advanced in the world, and late-war examples such as the Type XXI U-boat served as models for Soviet and American construction after the war. The Schnorchel (snorkel) and Type XXI boats appeared late in the war because of Dönitz's personal indifference, at times even hostility, to new technology he perceived as disruptive to the production process.[11] His opposition to the larger Type IX was not unique; Admiral Thomas C. Hart, commander of the United States Asiatic Fleet in the Philippines at the outbreak of the Pacific War, opposed fleet boats like the Gato and Balaoclasses as "too luxurious".[12]
Dönitz was deeply involved in the daily operations of his boats, often contacting them up to seventy times a day with questions such as their position, fuel supply and other "minutiae". This incessant questioning hastened the compromise of his ciphers by giving the Allies more messages to work with. Furthermore, replies from the boats enabled the Allies to use direction finding (HF/DF, called "Huff-Duff") to locate a U-boat using its radio, track it and attack it (often with aircraft able to sink it with impunity).
Dönitz wore on his uniform the special grade of the U-Boat War Badge with diamonds, his U-Boat War badge from World War I and his World War I Iron Cross 1st Class with World War II clasp.
Commander-in-chief and Grand Admiral[edit]
On 30 January 1943, Dönitz replaced Erich Raeder as Commander-in-Chief of the Navy (Oberbefehlshaber der Kriegsmarine) and Grand Admiral (Großadmiral) of the Naval High Command (Oberkommando der Marine). His deputy, Eberhard Godt, took over the operational command of the U-boat force[13] It was Dönitz who was able to convince Hitler not to scrap the remaining ships of the surface fleet. Despite hoping to continue to use them as a fleet in being, the Kriegsmarine continued to lose what few capital ships it had. In September, the battleship Tirpitz was put out of action for months by a British midget submarine, and was sunk a year later by RAF bombers at anchor in Norway. In December, he ordered the battleship Scharnhorst (under Konteradmiral Erich Bey) to attack Soviet-bound convoys, after reconsidering her success in the early years of the war with sister shipGneisenau, but she was sunk in the resulting encounter with superior British forces led by the battleship HMS Duke of York.
| Jonas Howard Ingram | |
|---|---|
 | |
| Born | October 15, 1886 Jeffersonville, Indiana |
| Died | September 9, 1952 (aged 65) San Diego, California |
| Allegiance |  United States of America |
| Service/branch |  United States Navy |
| Years of service | 1907-1947 |
| Rank |  Admiral |
| Battles/wars | |
| Awards | |
Admiral Jonas Howard Ingram (October 15, 1886 – September 9, 1952) was an officer in the United States Navy during World War I and World War II. He commanded the United States Atlantic Fleet during World War II and was a recipient of the Medal of Honor for his actions in 1914 in Veracruz, Mexico.
In the early years of World War II, Ingram was promoted to Rear Admiral on January 10, 1941 and served as Commander Task Force Three prior to his designation in September 1942 as Commander South Atlantic Force, U.S. Atlantic Fleet, with the rank of Vice Admiral. This force, with headquarters in Brazil, guarded shipping in the coastal waters south of the Equator and throughout the United States zone of responsibility in the South Atlantic. Admiral Ingram's command included air and surface units of Brazil which were brought to a high state of efficiency through his leadership and coordinating efforts. The ability to develop and maintain harmony and close cooperation with Brazilian naval forces contributed to the control of the South Atlantic achieved by the Allies. He assumed personal responsibility for properly equipping and training the Brazilian Navy and for their combat operations against U-Boats and German raiders and later for the important task of maintaining the air and sea rescue patrol for ultimate deployment in the Pacific. For his services in these important commands, he was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal and a gold award star in lieu of a second.
On November 15, 1944, he was appointed Commander-in-Chief, U.S. Atlantic Fleet, with the rank of Admiral. In this command he played a major role in assuring the steady flow of troops and materials to Europe across the Atlantic during the later phases of World War II. He also directed Atlantic Fleet efforts in containing and destroying the German U-Boat fleet. For exceptionally meritorious service during his command, he was awarded a gold award star in lieu of a third Distinguished Service Medal.
| Fourth Fleet | |
|---|---|
 | |
| Active | 1943–1950 2008–present |
| Country | United States of America |
| Branch | United States Navy |
| Type | Fleet Command |
| Role | Direct Fleet Operations |
| Part of | U.S. Naval Forces Southern Command U.S. Southern Command(USSOUTHCOM) |
| Garrison/HQ | Naval Station Mayport |
| Commanders | |
| Current commander | Rear Admiral Sinclair M. Harris |
U.S. Fourth Fleet is a United States Navy command operating the Navy component command of U.S. Southern Command (USSOUTHCOM). Fourth Fleet is headquartered on Naval Station Mayport in Jacksonville, Florida and is responsible for U.S. Navy ships, aircraft and submarines operating in theCaribbean, and Atlantic and Pacific Oceans around Central and South America.
U.S. Fourth Fleet was a major U.S. Navy command in the South Atlantic Ocean during World War II. It was originally established in 1943 to protect the U.S. against raiders, blockade runners and enemy submarines. In 1950, the Fourth Fleet was disestablished when its responsibilities were taken over by U.S. Second Fleet.
| G7e torpedo | |
|---|---|
German G7e torpedo in the middle
| |
| Type | Heavyweight homing torpedo |
| Place of origin | Nazi Germany |
| Service history | |
| Used by | Kriegsmarine |
| Wars | World War II |
| Production history | |
| Variants | G7e/T2 G7e/T3 G7e/T4 Falke |
| Specifications | |
| Length | 7.16 metres (23.5 ft) |
| Diameter | 533 millimetres (21.0 in) |
| Engine | Electric Lead-acid batteries |
Launch
platform | Submarines |
The G7e or more appropriately the G7e/T2, G7e/T3, and G7e/T4 Falketorpedoes were, with the exception of the T4 model, the standard torpedoes forGermany during World War II. All of the G7e models shared standardized dimensions for all German torpedoes designed for use by U-boats during World War II, they measured 53.3 cm (21 inches) in diameter, 7.16 m in length, and carried a Schießwolle 36[1] (a mixture of explosives) warhead of 280 kg. All were powered by 100 hp (75 kW) electric motors and lead-acid batteries which needed constant maintenance to maintain their reliability. Additionally, the batteries of these torpedoes needed to be preheated to a temperature of 30 °C (85 °F) to operate with maximum speed and range, though generally this was a non-issue as U-boats had the element of surprise and often had the advantage of firing the first shot.
Most sources indicate that the Germans' first combat success with the Zaunkönig (GNAT) did not occur until September 1943. While the Allies became aware in September 1943 that the Germans had brought GNAT into operational service, it was not until the capture of U-505 in June 1944 that they obtained reliable data on the German homing torpedo.
U-91–
| Career (Nazi Germany) |  |
|---|---|
| Name: | U-91 |
| Ordered: | 25 January 1939 |
| Builder: | Flender Werke, Lübeck |
| Yard number: | 295 |
| Laid down: | 12 November 1940 |
| Launched: | 30 November 1941 |
| Commissioned: | 28 January 1942 |
| Fate: | Sunk 26 February 1944 in the Northern Atlantic by British warships |
| General characteristics | |
| Type: | Type VIIC submarine |
| Displacement: | 769 tonnes (757 long tons) surfaced 871 t (857 long tons) submerged |
| Length: | 67.1 m (220 ft 2 in) o/a 50.5 m (165 ft 8 in) pressure hull |
| Beam: | 6.2 m (20 ft 4 in) o/a 4.7 m (15 ft 5 in) pressure hull |
| Draft: | 4.74 m (15 ft 7 in) |
| Propulsion: | 2 × supercharged Germaniawerft 6-cylinder 4-stroke F46 diesel engines, totalling 2,800–3,200 bhp (2,100–2,400 kW). Max rpm: 470-490 2 × Brown, Boveri & Cie. electric motors, totalling 750 shp (560 kW) and max rpm: 296 |
| Speed: | 17.7 knots (32.8 km/h; 20.4 mph) surfaced 7.6 knots (14.1 km/h; 8.7 mph) submerged |
| Range: | 8,500 nautical miles (15,700 km; 9,800 mi) at 10 knots (19 km/h; 12 mph) surfaced 80 km (43 nmi) at 4 knots (7.4 km/h; 4.6 mph) submerged |
| Test depth: | 230 m (750 ft) Crush depth: 250–295 m (820–968 ft) |
| Complement: | 44–52 officers and ratings |
| Armament: | 5 × 53.3 cm (21 in) torpedo tubes (four bow, one stern) 14 × G7e torpedoes or 26 TMA mines 1 × 8.8 cm (3.46 in) deck gun (220 rounds) Various AA guns |
| Service record | |
| Part of: | Kriegsmarine: 5th U-boat Flotilla 9th U-boat Flotilla |
| Commanders: | Kptlt. Heinz Walkerling (28 January–31 August 1942) Kptlt. Heinz Hungerhausen (1 September 1942–26 February 1944) |
| Operations: | Six 1st patrol: 15 August–6 October 1942 2nd patrol: 1 November– 26 December 1942 3rd patrol: 11 February–29 March 1943 4th patrol: 29 April–7 June 1943 5th patrol: 21 September–22 November 1943 6th patrol: 25 January–26 February 1944 |
| Victories: | Four ships sunk for a total of 26,194 gross register tons (GRT); one warship sunk of 1,375 tons |
She was laid down at the Flender Werke in Lübeck as 'werk' 295, launched on 30 November 1941 and commissioned on 28 January 1942 withKapitänleutnant Heinz Walkerling as commanding officer. Command was transferred to Kapitänleutnant Heinz Hungershausen on 20 April 1943.
She was a fairly successful boat, sinking over 26,000 tons of Allied shipping in a career lasting just 14 months and six patrols. She was a member of fifteenwolfpacks. After training with the 5th U-boat Flotilla, U-91 was assigned to the9th flotilla on 1 September 1942 for operations.
U-91 was attacked by a B-24 Liberator of No. 10 Squadron RCAF on 26 October 1943. The undamaged U-boat had been searching forU-584 to supply her with fuel. The Liberator's assault was thought to have sunk U-420. A few days later, (on the 31st), having found U-584, she commenced the re-fuelling operation, but the two boats were spotted by aircraft from the escort carrier Card. In the ensuing mayhem, U-91 escaped without damage after diving; U-584 was not so lucky, she was sunk.
USS Block Island–
_leaving_Norfolk,_October_15,_1943.jpg) USS Block Island underway with a deckload of aircraft. | |
| Career (United States) |  |
|---|---|
| Name: | USS Block Island |
| Namesake: | Block Island Sound |
| Builder: | Seattle-Tacoma Shipbuilding Corporation |
| Laid down: | 19 January 1942 |
| Launched: | 1 May 1942 |
| Sponsored by: | Mrs. H. B. Hutchinson |
| Commissioned: | 8 March 1943 |
| Honors and awards: | 2 Battle Stars |
| Fate: | Torpedoed by U-549, scuttled by escort screen; 29 May 1944 |
| General characteristics | |
| Class & type: | Bogue-class escort carrier |
| Displacement: | 7,800 long tons (7,900 t) |
| Length: | 495.66 ft (151.08 m) |
| Beam: | 111 ft 6 in (33.99 m) |
| Draft: | 26 ft (7.9 m) |
| Installed power: | 8,500 shp (6,300 kW) |
| Propulsion: | 1 × Allis-Chalmers geared steam turbine 1 × shaft |
| Speed: | 18 kn (21 mph; 33 km/h) |
| Complement: | 890 officers and men |
| Armament: | 2 × 5 in (130 mm)/38 cal dual purpose guns |
| Aircraft carried: | 24 |
| Aviation facilities: | 2 × elevators |
USS Block Island (CVE-21/AVG-21/ACV-21) was a Bogue-class escort carrierfor the United States Navy during World War II. She was the first of two escort carriers named after Block Island Sound off Rhode Island. Block Island was launched on 6 June 1942 by Seattle-Tacoma Shipbuilding Corporation ofSeattle, Washington, under a Maritime Commission contract; sponsored by Mrs. H. B. Hutchinson, wife of Commander Hutchinson; transferred to theUnited States Navy on 1 May 1942; and commissioned on 8 March 1943,Captain Logan C. Ramsey in command. Originally classified AVG-21, she became ACV-21 on 20 August 1942, and CVE-21 on 15 July 1943.
Departing San Diego, California in May 1943, Block Island steamed to Norfolk, Virginia, to join the Atlantic Fleet. After two trips from New York City toBelfast, United Kingdom, during the summer of 1943 with cargoes of Armyfighters, she operated as part of a hunter-killer group. During her four anti-submarine cruises, Block Island′s planes sank two submarines: U-220 in48°53′N 33°30′W on 28 October 1943 and U-1059 in 13°10′N 33°44′W on 19 March 1944. She shared credit with destroyer Corry and destroyer escortBronstein for the sinking of U-801 in 16°42′N 30°20′W on 17 March 1944 and with Buckley for U-66 sunk on 6 May 1944 in 17°17′N 32°29′W. Thomas,Bostwick, Borie and Bronstein sank U-709 on 1 March 1943 and the same dayBronstein got U-603.
Sinking[edit]
Block Island was torpedoed off the Canary Islands at 20:13 on 29 May 1944.U-549 had slipped undetected through her screen. The submarine put three torpedoes into the carrier before being sunk herself by Eugene E. Elmore andAhrens of the screen in 31°13′N 23°03′W. The carrier lost 6 men in the attack; the remaining 951 were picked up by the escort screen.
 USS Borie (DD-215), 1942. | |
| Career (US) | |
|---|---|
| Namesake: | Adolph E. Borie |
| Builder: | William Cramp and Sons |
| Laid down: | 30 April 1919 |
| Launched: | 4 October 1919 |
| Commissioned: | 24 March 1920 |
| Fate: | 2 November 1943, Sank following battle |
| General characteristics | |
| Class & type: | Clemson-class destroyer |
| Displacement: | 1,215 tons |
| Length: | 314 feet 4 inches (95.81 m) |
| Beam: | 31 feet 9 inches (9.68 m) |
| Draft: | 9 feet 10 inches (3 m) |
| Propulsion: | 26,500 shp (20 MW); geared turbines, 2 screws |
| Speed: | 35 knots (65 km/h) |
| Complement: | 122 officers and enlisted men |
| Armament: | Original (1920): 4 x 4 inch (102 mm), 1 x 3 inch (76 mm) AA, 6 x .30-cal. (7.62 mm) machine guns, 12 x 21" (533 mm) TT (4x3, beam mounted). After Refit (1943): 4 x 4 inch (102 mm), 1 x 3 inch (76 mm) AA, 2 x Oerlikon 20 mm AA guns, 2 x .30-cal. (7.62 mm) machine guns, 12 x 21" (533 mm) TT (4x3, beam mounted). |
USS Borie (DD-215) was a Clemson-class destroyer in the United States Navyduring World War II. She was the first ship named for Ulysses S. Grant'sSecretary of the Navy, Adolph E. Borie. She served in the Black Sea, the Asiatic Fleet and the Caribbean between the wars, and in the Battle of the Atlantic, the long campaign to protect Allied shipping from German U-boatsduring World War II. As part of the antisubmarine Hunter-killer Group unit Task Group 21.14, the crew earned a Presidential Unit Citation for its "extraordinary performance." Borie also earned distinction in her final battle with U-405 in November 1943, and was sunk by friendly forces due to damage sustained by ramming the U-boat and engaging her crew with small arms fire.
Returning to Norfolk in May, the three destroyers escorted convoy UGS-13 to Casablanca, French Morocco and on their return were assigned to hunter killer Task Group 21.14, escorting escort carrier Card under her Capt. Arnold J. Isbell.[1] On 26 June 1943, under the command of Lt. Cdr. Charles H. Hutchins, at the time the youngest destroyer commander in the Navy, the destroyer departed the Caribbean and on 30 July put to sea in the North Atlantic as a member of the antisubmarine group built around the Card. Boriecompleted three patrols with Card's group, providing valuable support for sister ships in the pursuit and sinking of German U-boats. The Presidential Unit Citation was awarded to Task Group 21.14 for actions during these three patrols:
For extraordinary performance during anti-submarine operations in mid-Atlantic from July 27 to October 25, 1943. At a time when continual flow of supplies along the United States–North Africa convoy route was essential to the maintenance of our established military supremacy and to the accumulation of reserves, the CARD, her embarked aircraft and her escorts pressed home a vigorous offensive which was largely responsible for the complete withdrawal of hostile U-boats from this vital supply area. Later, when submarines returned with deadlier weapons and augmented anti-aircraft defenses, this heroic Task Unit, by striking damaging blows at the onset of renewed campaigns, wrested the initiative from the enemy before actual inception of projected large-scale attacks. Its distinctive fulfillment of difficult and hazardous missions contributed materially to victorious achievements by our land forces.[2]
In late October 1943, TG 21.14 went out for a fourth patrol, searching for a reported refueling concentration of U-boats around aMilchkuhe (Milk Cow) tanker sub in the North Atlantic. The report was the result of the triangulation of bearings taken with high frequency radio direction finders (HFDF, nicknamed "huff-duff").[3]
Final battle with U-405[edit]
During her fourth patrol, Borie got a radar contact on U-256 shortly after 1943 hours, 31 October and closed in. The sub promptly crash dived. Two depth charge attacks forced her back to the surface, but she again submerged; after a third attack, a large oil slick was observed. Though U-256 made it home badly damaged, Hutchins believed the target to be sunk, and signalled the Card: "Scratch one pig boat; am searching for more."
Borie then got another radar contact about 26 miles (42 km) from the first, at 0153 hours on 1 November 1943, range 8000 yds. (7200 m) and charged in to engage.[4] At 2800 yd (2500 m) radar contact was lost, but sonar picked up the enemy sub at about the same time. Borie engaged U-405 (a Type VIIC U-boat) hours before dawn, at 49°00' N., 31°14' W.[4] There were 15-foot seas, with high winds and poor visibility. The destroyer initially launched depth charges, after which the submarine came (or was probably forced) to the surface. Borie then came about for another attack, engaging with 4 inch (102 mm) and 20 mm gunfire at a range of 400 yd (360 m)[4]
The sub's machine guns scored hits in the forward engine room and several scattered and harmless hits near the bridge, and her deck gun crew traversed their 88 mm (3.5 inch) gun and took aim for their first shot at Borie's waterline; but Borie's 20 mm gunfire wiped out every exposed member of the sub's crew topside, and a salvo of three 4 inch shells then blew off the sub's deck gun before it fired a round.[4] Borie then closed in and rammed U-405, but at the last moment, the submarine turned hard left and a huge wave lifted theBorie's bow onto the foredeck of the U-boat.[3]
After the ramming, Borie was high-centered on top of U-405, and until they separated, exchanges of small arms fire took place. This was a unique battle: unlike most other modern naval battles, it was decided by ramming and small arms fire at extremely close range.Borie's 24-inch spotlight kept the submarine illuminated throughout the following battle, except for brief periods when it was turned off for tactical reasons.
The two ships were initially almost perpendicular to one another; as the battle progressed, wave action and the efforts of both crews to dislodge from the enemy ship resulted in the two vessels becoming locked in a "V" for an extended fight, with the U-Boat along Borie'sport side. The two ships were locked together only 25–30° from parallel. The action of the seas began to open seams in Borie's hull forward and flood her forward engine room.[4] The submarine's hull, made of thicker steel and sturdier beams to withstand deep diving, was better able to handle the stress. Hutchins reported later, "We were impressed by the ruggedness and toughness of these boats."[5]
Normally, in a surface engagement the superior armament, speed and reserve buoyancy of the destroyer would have been decisive. But in this unusual case, the destroyer was unable to depress her 4 inch (102 mm) and 3 inch (76 mm) deck guns enough to hit the sub, while all of the submarine's machine gunscould be brought to bear. One or two 4 inch gun crews attempted to fire, but their shells passed harmlessly over the target. Borie's crew had a limited number of small arms, however, and the German deck mounts were completely open and had no protection. The executive officer had presented a virtually identical situation during drills on 27 October — a theoretical ramming by a U-boat on the port side — and as a result, after the ramming the Borie'screw took immediate action without orders.
In the extended and bitter fighting that ensued, dozens of German sailors were killed in desperate attempts to keep their machine guns manned. As each man emerged from the hatch and ran toward the guns, he was illuminated by Borie'sspotlight and met by a hail of gunfire. Borie's resourceful crew engaged the enemy with whatever was at hand: Tommy guns, rifles, pistols, shotguns intended for riot control, and even a Very pistol.[4] Borie's executive officer and a signalman fired effectively from the bridge with Tommy guns throughout the fight. One German sailor was hit in the chest with a Very flare. One of the Oerlikon 20 mm cannon was also able to continue firing, with devastating effect.[4]
Borie's crewmen could clearly see a polar bear insignia painted on the conning tower of the sub, and three numerals that had been obliterated by 20 mm gunfire. The bow of the sub had been badly damaged by the depth charges and she was probably unable to submerge. U-405's deck armament was extensive: in addition to the 88 mm gun, she also had six MG 42 machine guns, in one quadruple and two single mounts. These weapons would have been devastating if the sub's crewmen had been able to keep them manned. Occasionally, one of them would reach one of the MG 42 mounts, and open fire briefly before he was killed. Other German sailors kept up a sporadic small arms fire of their own from open hatchways.[3]
At a key moment in the fight, as Borie's port side crewmen were running out of 20 mm and small arms ammunition, two Germans broke from their protected position behind the bridge and approached the quad mount gun. A thrown sheath knife pierced a German crewman's abdomen and he fell overboard.[3] Unable to bring his gun to bear, one of the 4 inch gun captains threw an empty 4 inch shell casing at the other German sailor, and successfully knocked him overboard as well.[4]
Sinking of the U-405[edit]
Finally, U-405 and Borie separated and the two crews attempted to engage each other with torpedoes, to no effect.[4] At this point, about 35 of the German crew of 49 had been killed or lost overboard. Borie had been badly damaged and was moving at a reduced speed, while the sub was still capable of maneuvering at a similar speed. The U-405's tighter turning radius effectively prevented theBorie from bringing her superior broadside firepower to bear, and her skipper, Korvettenkapitän Rolf-Heinrich Hopmann, did a masterful job of maneuvering his badly-damaged boat with his remaining crew.[4]
Borie shut off her searchlight, with her crew hoping that U-405 would attempt to escape and provide a better target for gunfire. The submarine did attempt to speed away, and Borie switched her searchlight back on and turned to bring her broadside guns and a depth charge thrower to bear. The sub was bracketed by shallow-set depth charges and struck by a 4 inch shell, and came to a stop. Borie'screw observed about 14 sailors signalling their surrender and abandoning ship in yellow rubber rafts, and Hutchins gave the order to cease fire; several of them were apparently wounded, being loaded into the rafts in stretchers by their shipmates. The last to leave the stricken ship was wearing an officer's cap. U-405 sank slowly by the stern at 0257. She was seen to explode underwater, probably fromscuttling charges set by the last officer to leave.[5] Hutchins reported later,
When the submarine sank, there was a yell that went up from all hands — it probably could be heard in Berlin. The men were clasping each other and patting each other on the back, and all during the action, there were times when it was actually comical to observe the situation, particularly with the submarine pinned underneath ... heretofore their one dream had been to catch a submarine, depth charge him, bring him to the surface and then to sink him with gunfire, this particular action more than justified their hopes.[5]
The survivors were observed firing Very star shells: Borie's crew believed this to be a distress signal, and maneuvered in an attempt to recover them from their rubber rafts, as they approached 50-60 yards off the port bow. But as it turned out, the Germans were signalling another surfaced U-boat, which answered with a star shell of her own. A Borie lookout reported a torpedo passing close by from that U-boat, and Borie had no choice but to protect herself by sailing away. The Borie was forced to sail through the U-405 survivors' rafts as she turned away from the other U-boat, but the men on the rafts were observed firing another Very flare as the Borie steamed away in a radical zigzag pattern. No German survivors were ever recovered by either side; all 49 crewmen were lost.
A jubilant radio report of the sinking of the U-405 was sent to Card after the engagement, before the extent of the ship's damage was fully realized. Then her radio fell silent. Borie attempted to reach her scheduled rendezvous with the rest of the Card Task Group, planned for shortly after sunrise.
Sinking of the Borie[edit]
Because of the loss of electric power, the crew had to wait until daylight to fully assess the damage to their ship. First light brought a thick fog. Borie was too badly damaged by the collision to reach the rendezvous in time, or even be towed to port by her sister ships. She had sustained severe underwater damage along her entire port side, including both engine rooms, as the two ships were pounded together by the sea before separating. The stress of the wave action from the 15-foot waves, as Borie was pinned against the U-boat's hull, had caused damage to key operating systems throughout the ship.
The forward engine room and generators were completely flooded, and only the starboard engine was operating in the partially flooded aft engine room. Auxiliary power had been lost and speed was reduced. The most critical damage was the compromised hull; but steam and water lines had separated, and most of the fresh water for the boilers had been lost, compounding the drive system problems. As a result, Hutchins was forced to use salt water in the boilers: the reduction in steam pressure forcing him to further reduce speed to 10 knots, making her an easy target for U-boats.[5]
At about 1100, the communications officer restarted the Kohler emergency radio generator with a mixture of "Zippo" lighter fluid and alcohol from a torpedo; a distress call was sent, a homing beacon was set up and, after some delays due to poor visibility, Borie was spotted by a TBF Avenger from the Card.[3] Valiant efforts were made to save the ship. Kerosene battle lanterns had to be used for all work below decks. The crew formed a bucket brigade, and all available topweight was jettisoned, even the gun director. All remaining torpedoes were fired. The lifeboat, torpedo tubes, 20 mm guns and machine guns were removed and thrown over the side, along with the small arms used against the U-boat crew, tons of tools and equipment, and over 100 mattresses. Only enough 4 inch ammunition was kept for a final defensive action: 10 rounds per gun.[5]
But the ship continued to slowly settle into the water with all pumps running; trailing fuel oil from all portside fuel tanks, and an approaching storm front had been reported. It would have been necessary to bring out a tugboat to tow her into port; due to the poor visibility prevalent in the North Atlantic, Hutchins believed the chances of a tugboat finding the Borie were slim.[5] The nearest port,Horta, was about 690 miles away; Iceland, Ireland and Newfoundland were all about 900 miles away, and the task group was at the approximate center of five reported U-boat wolfpacks. By now there were 20-foot waves.
As nightfall approached at 1630, Hutchins reluctantly ordered his exhausted crew to abandon ship. The Card task force had taken a substantial risk by leaving the escort carrier unprotected in sub-infested waters. Card was 10 miles away, but Goff and Barry were close by as the crew abandoned Borie; on orders from the Task Group commander, the ship was not scuttled at that time. Despite the sporadic machine gun and small arms fire from U-405, none of Borie's crewmen had been killed during the engagement, although several were wounded. But due to 44°F. (6°C.) water, 20-foot waves, high winds and severe exhaustion, three officers and 24 enlisted men were lost during the rescue operation. Hutchins reported, "Many of the lost were just unable to get over the side" of the two rescuing destroyers.[5]
Still, the ship remained afloat through the night; Goff and Barry attempted to sink the wreck at first light, but torpedoes went astray in the heavy seas. One 4 inch shell from the Barry struck the bridge and started a small fire, but she still refused to sink.[3] The coup de grace was delivered on the morning of 2 November by a 500 lb (227 kg) bomb dropped by a TBF Avenger from the Card, piloted by Lt. (jg) Melvin H. Connley of VC-9.[5] Borie finally sank at 0955 on 2 November. The survivors were transferred to the more spacious accommodations of the Card for the journey home.
| John Hersey | |
|---|---|
John Hersey, 1958,
photographed by Carl Van Vechten | |
| Born | John Richard Hersey June 17, 1914 Tientsin, China |
| Died | March 24, 1993 (aged 78) Key West, Florida |
| Occupation | journalist, novelist, professor |
| Genres | Nonfiction, Essayist, Journalist, and Fiction |
| Notable award(s) | Pulitzer Prize for "A Bell for Adano" |
John Richard Hersey (June 17, 1914 – March 24, 1993) was a Pulitzer Prize-winning American writer and journalist considered one of the earliest practitioners of the so-calledNew Journalism, in which storytelling techniques of fiction are adapted to non-fiction reportage.[1] Hersey's account of the aftermath of the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, Japan, was adjudged the finest piece of American journalism of the 20th century by a 36-member panel associated with New York University's journalism department.
Born in Tientsin, China,[3] to Roscoe and Grace Baird Hersey (Protestant missionaries for the Young Men's Christian Association in Japan), John Hersey learned to speak Chinese before he spoke English (Hersey's 1985 novel, The Call, is based on the lives of his parents and several other missionaries of their generation).[4] John Hersey was a descendant of William Hersey (or Hercy, as the family name was spelled in Reading, Berkshire, England, the birthplace of William Hersey). William Hersey was one of the first settlers of Hingham, Massachusetts during 1635.[5]
Hersey returned to the United States with his family when he was ten years old. He attended public school in Briarcliff Manor, including Briarcliff High School for two years. At Briarcliff, he became his troop's first Eagle Scout.[6][7][8] Later he attended the Hotchkiss School, followed by Yale University, where he was a member of Skull and Bones Society.[9]:127 Hersey lettered in football at Yale, was coached by Ducky Pond, Greasy Neale and Gerald Ford, and was a teammate of Yale's two Heisman Trophy winners, Larry Kelley and Clint Frank.[10] He subsequently was a graduate student at the University of Cambridge as a Mellon Fellow. After his time at Cambridge, Hersey got a summer job as private secretary and driver for author Sinclair Lewis during 1937, but he chafed at his duties, and that autumn he began work for Time,[11] for which he was hired after writing an essay on the magazine's dismal quality.[12] Two years later he was transferred to Time's Chongqing bureau.
During World War II, newsweekly correspondent Hersey covered fighting in Europe as well as Asia, writing articles for Time as well asLife magazine. He accompanied Allied troops on their invasion of Sicily, survived four airplane crashes,[13] and was commended by theSecretary of the Navy for his role in helping evacuate wounded soldiers from Guadalcanal.[14]
After the war, during the winter of 1945–46, Hersey was in Japan, reporting for The New Yorker on the reconstruction of the devastated country, when he found a document written by a Jesuit missionary who had survived the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima. The journalist visited the missionary, who introduced him to other survivors.
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