“The deck is full of our people,” cried one of the pilots. Vasiley felt awful. Nothing prepared him for this. “I know. First section, follow me down,” he ordered.
Vasiley pushed over into a shallow dive. The great ship was moving, trying to maneuver away. He intentionally dipped slightly so that his bomb would strike the water on the side of the ship away from the rafts and boats. When he pulled up and away, he saw the explosion a good twenty yards from the ship. He could always blame his miss on the ship’s maneuvering. The second aircraft did the same. Not so the third.
The first two bombs went off with a deafening roar, sending showers of seawater cascading over the deck and causing the men to dive for what cover they could. The third hit the deckhouse just aft of turret three, blasting the small metal structure to pieces and sending bits of metal and teak flying.
Danner had thrown himself over two of the sailors still on the fantail. He felt something burn into his buttocks. Damn, he thought. Leave it to the priest to get shot in the ass. After another explosion in the water, he got to his feet and got the sailors moving again. Unfortunately, there were a number of people not moving. Despite his wound, Danner tried to get to the men on deck.
The after hatch sprung open again and people climbed out to help. Danner made his way, one by one, calling attention to those still alive. He came upon one young man propped up against the turret three barbette. He waved at Danner as he approached.
Danner looked down at the young man. He was still in his battle gear, but there was a pool of blood under him. The name ‘Flannigan’ was on his uniform. “We need to get you inside, Flannigan,” he said cheerfully as he reached for him.
The boy stopped him. “Father, don’t touch me. I can’t feel my legs. I think my back is broken,” he said.
Danner smiled at him. “Then we need to save the rest of you,” he said. “I’ll help get you down below,” he said as he removed the boy’s helmet.
Someone yelled to Danner, “There’s more incoming! Father Danner, you need to get below!”
“I’ll be okay,” Danner yelled back. He turned to the boy again and reached down to pick him up.
Once again, the boy stopped him. “Father Danner, please, it hurts so bad when I try to move. Besides, you need to get the rest of these people out of here,” he said. Flannigan looked up at Danner. A trickle of blood came from his lips. “Father, I haven’t been to Mass in a long time. Matter of fact, I guess you’d say I’ve not been such a saintly guy lately. Is it too late for me?” he asked with sincerity. There were almost tears in his eyes.
Danner smiled down at the boy. “Nah, it’s never too late.” He reached into his pocket and took out a small kit. Opening it, he pulled out a stole, kissed it, and placed the purple side up over his neck. Taking out a small bottle of Holy Oil, he clumsily wet his thumb with it before making a thick sign of the cross on the young man’s forehead. There were more tears in the boy’s eyes now as Danner patted him on the shoulder and said, “Let us pray.”
The second flight of planes began their run. By now, the ship was doing nearly twenty knots and maneuvering radically. Once again, two of the bombs missed. The third struck the side of turret three doing nothing to the turret but showering the area with shrapnel.
The final flight was making its run when they exploded in midair. The bridge crew looked out to see Royal Navy Lightnings zoom overhead. Calling a cease fire, the bridge crew saw the lead fighter wag its wings at them as it circled by. Rhodes appeared on the bridge to see the spectacle.
“They are from the HMS Queen Elizabeth,” Rhodes said. “Thank God for the British. Now let’s get back to pick up the rest of our people,” he ordered.
They stopped as they heard an explosion through the hull of the ship. It wasn’t close, but a far-away sounding noise. One of the lookouts shouted, “Explosion in the water bearing 297 degrees!”
Everyone on the bridge peered at the area with their binoculars. Several saw a froth in the water where something had just happened. It appeared to be around five miles away.
“Sir, there’s a submarine surfacing on our port side!” shouted another lookout.
Rhodes saw the black shape of a conning tower rise slowly above the surface of the water. It was only a few hundred yards away and Rhodes was about to have his secondary battery open up on it when he saw the flashing light from the small shape. He could hear signalmen rushing across the deck above and the clatter of the signal light shutters. In just a minute the signalman rushed down to Rhodes and handed him the hand written message.
CO TO CO,
HI DAD. JUST SANK A KILO TRYING TO GET IN TO YOU. THE AREA IS NOW CLEAR.
LANDRIDGE, CO, USS IOWA
Rhodes looked at the message and then at the submarine. There was a man waving from the conning station. Rhodes raised his hand in salute. He called the signalman over. Gathering a blank pad, he wrote:
CO TO CO,
THANKS SON. I’M BUYING THE FIRST BEER.
RHODES, CO, USS IOWA
The signalmen murmured “Cool,” then rushed to his signal lamp and snapped out the message. Rhodes then picked up the 1MC mike and pressed the button. “This is the Captain, speaking. For those who want to see our offspring, USS Iowa, SSN-797, is cruising off our port side. That explosion you heard was her taking out a Russian sub trying to get to us. Why don’t you come up and say hello.”
The doors and hatches on the port side of the ship opened and men began coming out to have a look. They waved at the small black shape as it moved along the side of the ship. The men on top waved back franticly.
In the middle of the celebration, one of the phone talkers called out. “Captain, the Damage Control Assistant says you need to get to the fantail. He says it’s urgent,” the young man reported.
“On my way,” said Rhodes as he turned to make his way aft.
Rhodes walked out of the after hatch on the port side and saw a small crowd beside the turret three barbette. The crowd was quiet and parted as he approached. Some appeared to be crying.
Lying at the base of turret three were the bodies of Father Danner and Seaman Flannigan. The bomb blast had gone off nearby and had slammed Danner over onto Flannigan. They lay just inches apart. The look on both faces was one of peaceful contentment. Danner’s right arm was flung over the boy. The purple stole had been blown partially off his shoulders and was draped over both men. The sign of the cross on Flannigan’s forehead was caked with dust, and the mirror image of the same sign was also on Danner’s forehead. The bomb had slammed their heads together in this one act of grace.
Rhodes looked down at his priest. He got down on his knee and said a prayer. The others joined him. After a moment, he stood and turned to the Damage Control Assistant. “Leave them be,” he said. “Take care of the others first. Let the good Father remain with the young man he saved.” That was when he noticed Flannigan’s hair through the dust. A slight smile crossed his face. “Thank God for the redheads,” he mumbled before turning and heading aft toward where Patnaude was waving him over.
The Iowa slowed as she neared the small flotilla of boats and rafts. As she came to a stop, Rhodes was amazed. The boats and rafts were filled with men. He waved to them and amazingly most of the men waved back.
As one of the utility boats neared the accommodation ladder, Rhodes called down, “Did you get them all?”
The Boatswain smiled and yelled back, “Every last one, Captain,”