...
Show More
This is a story about men. I usually prefer high-level, big picture histories that give you the strategic view, but this book did not let me off with that. It forced me into the berths and battle stations of the men of escort carriers and destroyers, the second string of the second string of the US Navy who were forced to bear the terrible onslaught of the first string of the Japanese navy.
The first part discusses the background and training of the men of Taffy 3. Many were just reservists, all were ordinary men. The second part, taking up the lion’s share of the narrative, involves these men’s “crowded hour.” Six grueling hours off Samar, in which a Japanese battleship task force engaged an American escort group in a running battle. Metaphorically, it was as if a giant were swinging a sledgehammer to kill a group of gnats. The gnats are fast and light, but heaven help them if the sledgehammer makes contact.
Ironically though, armor-piercing shells are not the best means of sinking unarmored “tin cans”, the affectionate name for destroyers. Most of the 14, 16, and 18 inch shells passed directly through Johnston, Hoel, and Samuel Roberts. But even a non-fatal hit on paper can be devastating for the men at battle stations. History doesn’t record in detail the fates of men scalded to death in an instant by super-heated steam and boiler water, or men so badly burned their flesh flakes off in the hands of their shipmates at hand to rescue them.
This is a story about men. Men at the 5 inch guns still plinking away at the enemy even when all their electronics and communications go dead. Men at the anti-aircraft guns later to be recognized only by their sopping bits of flesh hanging from the gun tubs. Men in the engine rooms and fire rooms below decks, who pushed away all thoughts of their own safety and served their posts until their world was drenched in burning oil and seawater and everlasting night.
The ones who dive into the sea when their ship is no more than a burning hulk, shuffling beneath the waves, their ordeal is not over. This is the third part of the narrative, the story of men who, after facing the most harrowing of modern naval combat, must fend off sharks and madness in the briny deep. Most of them are rescued… after two days.
The fourth part of the narrative describes the quiet lives of men who lived through more horror in 48 hours than most of us will experience in all our lives. This part is short, terse, fitting the humble stature of WWII veterans, the generation of dusty old men who are now all but extinguished. The ones who remain all seem to be mechanics and truck drivers, but they were the peers and equals of men of iron nerves and humility.
James Hornfischer, the late and great, as always displays his florid pen in what is probably his best book. Highly recommended.
The first part discusses the background and training of the men of Taffy 3. Many were just reservists, all were ordinary men. The second part, taking up the lion’s share of the narrative, involves these men’s “crowded hour.” Six grueling hours off Samar, in which a Japanese battleship task force engaged an American escort group in a running battle. Metaphorically, it was as if a giant were swinging a sledgehammer to kill a group of gnats. The gnats are fast and light, but heaven help them if the sledgehammer makes contact.
Ironically though, armor-piercing shells are not the best means of sinking unarmored “tin cans”, the affectionate name for destroyers. Most of the 14, 16, and 18 inch shells passed directly through Johnston, Hoel, and Samuel Roberts. But even a non-fatal hit on paper can be devastating for the men at battle stations. History doesn’t record in detail the fates of men scalded to death in an instant by super-heated steam and boiler water, or men so badly burned their flesh flakes off in the hands of their shipmates at hand to rescue them.
This is a story about men. Men at the 5 inch guns still plinking away at the enemy even when all their electronics and communications go dead. Men at the anti-aircraft guns later to be recognized only by their sopping bits of flesh hanging from the gun tubs. Men in the engine rooms and fire rooms below decks, who pushed away all thoughts of their own safety and served their posts until their world was drenched in burning oil and seawater and everlasting night.
The ones who dive into the sea when their ship is no more than a burning hulk, shuffling beneath the waves, their ordeal is not over. This is the third part of the narrative, the story of men who, after facing the most harrowing of modern naval combat, must fend off sharks and madness in the briny deep. Most of them are rescued… after two days.
The fourth part of the narrative describes the quiet lives of men who lived through more horror in 48 hours than most of us will experience in all our lives. This part is short, terse, fitting the humble stature of WWII veterans, the generation of dusty old men who are now all but extinguished. The ones who remain all seem to be mechanics and truck drivers, but they were the peers and equals of men of iron nerves and humility.
James Hornfischer, the late and great, as always displays his florid pen in what is probably his best book. Highly recommended.