On February 14, 1943, I was notified that I was to go aboard the USS Yorktown for duty. I left the Navy Medical Center at Bethesda, Maryland, where I had been training, and on the same day reported at Newport News Naval Base for temporary duty until the completion of construction of the Yorktown. I then got two weeks of leave at home, and came back to the ship on March 11. For the next two weeks I went aboard ship every day and explored the whole thing. It was a beautiful, brand-new, huge ship. I had been trained to be on a damage control party. If there is a crash on deck, we had to get out there and try and save the air crew.
We came back into port for a short time, and I got liberty. There were some other big ships anchored nearby. We finally got under way and made our way over to the Pacific through the Panama Canal. When we got to Pearl Harbor we had difficulty maneuvering in the harbor due to the remains of the sunken ships and the salvage operations.
We weren’t there long. One day we watched a lot of the ships in the harbor getting under way, and we figured something was on, since we knew they weren’t going back to the States. Finally we went to General Quarters the next morning for getting under way. When we were secured from General Quarters (about 9:30 A.M.) I went out on the fan-tail to watch Pearl Harbor, Honolulu, and Diamond Head slowly slipping out of sight. Then I went back up on the flight deck to watch the island of Oahu growing smaller and smaller until it disappeared.
We were in company with the Essex, Cowpens, and Independence. Next morning we went topside and saw a whole fleet of ships in formation. We were thirty-seven in number. There were six carriers. In addition to the three already mentioned, there was also the Yorktown, Lexington, and Belleau Wood, along with seven cruisers and twenty-four destroyers. Rumors, called scuttlebutt, were many and all different, but it was believed by most that we were headed for Wake Island, and finally we got the word confirming this. The message went out to all the crew, “We are to attack Wake Island October 5, 1943, at dawn.” I had to admit I was somewhat apprehensive. This was going to be our first action. We got word to cover all bedding, mattress and pillows, with fireproof covering. They told us to be ready for action in a minute’s notice. All hatches not absolutely necessary for passage were “dogged” watertight.
We sent our planes out, the ships bombarded the place, and I wondered if there was much left of the island when we were through with it. We didn’t have many problems with battle damage, and our damage control crew didn’t have to do anything. I felt this was lucky since I was expecting the worst. I was relieved when all the pilots got back okay.
We headed back to Pearl, and in mid-November 1943 we sortied out of the harbor again. Ships of every description—transports, LSTS, cargo ships, tankers, destroyers, battleships, and cruisers—filed out with us. We stood on the flight deck at parade rest, and the band played “Aloha Oe” and “Anchors Aweigh.” The mooring detail cast off the last line, and the tugs strained against the hull to help us maneuver out of the harbor. Finally we were under way again, and the Lexington followed us shortly thereafter.
After we secured from routine GQ, we saw several ships of the force of which we were a part. As usual we started guessing where we were going, but the late scuttlebutt said it was the Marshall and the Gilbert Islands. After three uneventful days of smooth sailing we were finally given the “Dope.” We were part of a force of 224 ships—consisting of carriers, battleships, cruisers, and destroyers—1,100 planes, 3,000 troops, and about 5,000 Seabees.
When we got deep into enemy waters, again all hands covered bedding with flameproof covers. “H” Division hands, me included, were entrusted to check all first-aid stations for any shortages. I helped check life belts throughout the ship. Preparations were being made for the worst.
The first islands we hit were Mili and Jaluit. We pounded these tiny islands all day and burned every building on Mili. Our pilots said they shot up the enemy aircraft before they got off the ground. They also said they knocked out several gun emplacements, one oil storage tank, and three oil trucks. On Jaluit they said they sank one medium tanker and blasted airfields and installations. We lost one plane, and the Lexington lost two.
Marines then landed on Tarawa. They were covered by a battleship and the Enterprise’s task force. Troops landed on Makin Atoll, and our aircraft bombed and strafed in support of that landing. Reports later in the day said our operation on Makin was successful with rather weak opposition. But we heard the Tarawa landing was heavily opposed.
Our task force kept the Japs from repairing their airstrips on Jaluit and Mili, and we patrolled a large area between Truk, which scuttlebutt said was the “Japanese Pearl Harbor,” and our landing operations. The other task forces had similar areas to patrol, and together we formed a complete blockade against any operations from Makin to Tarawa. We were in Jap submarine waters, and that was our most dangerous threat most of the time.
In the middle of the afternoon one day, we heard on the ship’s PA system, “All hands to battle stations. Prepare to repel air attack.” We lost no time getting to our stations. Then the loudspeaker said that enemy planes were only sixty-five miles away—Zeros and bombers.
At this particular time the Lexington had the interceptor patrol up, and we and the Cowpens immediately launched fighter aircraft. A few minutes later the Jap planes were reported at forty miles away and coming in. At thirty-five miles away Lexington fighters intercepted them and shot down about nineteen of the forty with the loss of only one plane. The enemy planes were running the other way before our fighters got to the scene.
I was on damage control party duty, and for an hour or two we sat around reading, alternating on the headphones, or walking around to keep awake. About 6:30 Jim came up to relieve me from the damage control party, and a fellow walked up asking for something for a toothache. I had to go down to sick bay for duty then anyway, so I took him down into the dental office. I gave him something for his toothache and he left the office. Overhead, F4F Wildcats from another carrier were circling. In the low weather they had lost their way and requested permission to land, and we had said yes.
The last F4F came in for what appeared to be a beautiful landing, but for some unknown reason its tail hook never caught a landing cable. It bounced over both barriers and into the planes spotted forward and then burst into flames as her gas tanks exploded. This scattered liquid fire over several men and threatened every plane spotted on the flight deck— and maybe the whole ship. It was pretty dark by this time. TBFS and SBDS, probably thirty in all, were in the danger zone. Those planes had full gas tanks and 500- or 1,000-pound bombs. Firefighters were on the alert for such things and were throwing water, CO2, and Fomite in the area almost as soon as it was hit. Our flight deck was afire, we were in easy range of Jap planes, and our .50 caliber ammunition started exploding.
I heard about all this later, of course, since I was below decks. As I left the dental office I was aware of an unusual stir around the sick bay and hurried back there. A seaman bearing an unconscious figure came down the ladder area into the dressing room where Dr. Gard had him placed on a portable table. His eyes were bulging out and the veins of his forehead were distended. I recognized him as a former stretcher-bearer from my dressing station crew. It is doubtful he knew what was going on, but he was making a last subconscious struggle for air. Dr. Gard pulled his tongue out and lifted his chin while Turner gave him a couple of strokes of artificial respiration. I went for the resuscitator and stood by to assist. His neck was half again its normal size, and the swollen tissue was filled with fluid from ruptured blood vessels. We used the resuscitator, but he died shortly afterwards. The machine worked fine, but oxygen is of no help if the heart ceases to beat. It turned out the man’s neck was broken.
I went back to the dressing room to see if I could help out there. The first thing I saw was four dead bodies. One man had a mangled arm and chest—apparently he had died instantly. Two were burned beyond all recognition. A tattoo, recognized by his buddies, was the only means of identifying one. The other we identified by blood type. This proved to be comparatively easy since his blood group was relatively rare, and the process of elimination matching with surviving crew members led to his identification.
This one accident proved to be deadly. There were a total of five men killed, and fifteen to twenty had injuries of various degrees of seriousness. Four planes were shoved overboard, having been burned and warped until they were of no further use but just in the way.
I had spent several minutes finding men to help identify the others, and trying to keep those who were just curious out of sick bay. Then the GQ sounded and over the PA we heard, “Repel air attack.” I was upset, and since I had been on duty in sick bay, as far as I knew the flight deck was burning, making us a perfect target and unable to launch aircraft for fighter support. However, they had put the fire out in two minutes flat, and the air attack never matured.
Next day I heard many intimate stories of just what took place on the flight deck that night, stories from men who were in the midst of it all and, by fate, remained uninjured, and stories from men who saw their buddies burned to death and were unable to help. According to his buddies, one fellow, the worst burned, had a money belt around his waist containing $8oo. No trace of it was found.
But back at Pearl, for the second time since we came to the Pacific, Yorktown was picked by the admiral as a place for the reading of several citations. We all went up to the flight deck in our best whites with new haircuts and shoeshines and stood at attention while the awards were handed out. Last but not least of those awards was the Distinguished Service Cross awarded to our skipper, Captain J. J. (Jocko) Clark, for meritorious execution of orders in carrying out attacks on a number of islands. The Yorktown had been in all but one carrier action since August, and we’d never been hit by the enemy. Our planes had scored very high, and we were considered the number-one carrier out there. The Essex and the Lexington were a month or so senior to us, but we all went into action together. The Enterprise and Saratoga were good; they were veterans of the entire war to that point. They pioneered carrier warfare out there and deserved a lot of credit. But we were still number one, and it was great being part of that crew!