The captains of the other ships turned on their radars and were surprised to see nothing within range of their guns. They maneuvered violently, some actually running into each other as they tried to avoid the onslaught. But the shells continued to fall. One by one, the ships and boats were hit.
Eventually flashes were appearing down three sides of the formation. Three of the small Taechong Class patrol boats broke off from the center of the Korean formation and began speeding toward the flashes on the side of the formation. Pushing their engines to maximum revolutions, the patrol boats weaved back and forth at over thirty knots as they pressed ever closer to new blips on their radar screens. They didn’t know what they were approaching; they just knew it was the enemy. On deck the men readied the boat’s 85mm and 57mm guns for action.
Aboard USS Rooks Commander Dandridge saw the approach of the boats. He turned to his Operations Officer in the CIC. “Signal USS Fox and Badger to engage these boats with us.”
Within two minutes the 5-inch shells from nine guns began falling around the patrol boats. The gun crews on the destroyers worked frantically to load and fire the guns while the fire control systems kept them on target. As the patrol boats got closer, the accuracy increased. The guns began making hits after only a minute of firing. The patrol boat on the left hand side suddenly had a flash and began dropping out of the North Korean line. A second round hit the same boat and a fire erupted on the boat’s deck. The right hand boat was next when one of USS Badger’s rounds exploded in a magazine. The fireball illuminated the final patrol boat making its way ever closer to the formation.
The patrol boat’s 85mm gun opened up adding its own destruction to the carnage surrounding them. Firing rapidly the gun maintained its fire despite the radical maneuvers to avoid being hit by the Americans. USS Rooks suddenly shuddered from a hit on its port side aft. The 85mm round hit the small hangar on the aft superstructure, causing no real damage, but enraging the ship’s gunners. The firing rate increased on Rooks’ guns. Suddenly the remaining patrol boat seemed to lift from the water as two of Rooks’ 5-inch rounds exploded within her. The main deck both forward and aft peeled back from the hull and flames erupted from the stricken vessel. The Rooks continued to fire for a few seconds after that, sending another round into the vessel, completing the destruction. Within a minute the fires of the patrol boat were extinguished as she sank beneath the surface. Rooks and her sister ships returned their attention to the remaining vessels.
For the North Korean fleet, the shells kept raining down. No matter where the small fleet turned, the shells fell. Even when the rest of the fleet turned on flank speed and headed back north, the shells followed. By the time they had reached the port of Wonsan, only ten very small patrol boats were still afloat.
Hustvedt ordered a cease fire and a turn to the south. They had maneuvered back and forth across the fleet until there was nothing but a mass of confusion. Then he sent his destroyers down each side to confine the ships into a restricted killing ground. The ships had maintained the fire for nearly an hour, chasing the remnants along the coast until nearing Wonsan.
Looking around his bridge he smiled at his crewmembers. Hustvedt spent most of the night in the Strike Center watching the progress and maneuvering his ships. Now all was quiet. The guns were secured and the ships steaming away from danger. A sudden feeling of exhaustion was overcoming him. He came to the bridge to fill his lungs with the cool night air. Inside the ship it smelled of paint and age. She seemed to have smells of her own, as if her body had matured and exerted itself. It wasn’t a bad smell, but a subtle one — almost alive and very pleasant.
The men were doing their jobs. They smiled at him as he passed them to climb into his chair on the bridge. He sat back and took another deep breath.
“Would you like some coffee, Captain?” asked the OOD.
“Sounds good. Can someone bring some up?”
“My pleasure, Captain.” The young man turned and called the Messenger of the Watch who scampered away to get a hot cup.
Hustvedt looked out the windows down on the guns below. The clouds had parted as the front passed over and the stars were now filling the sky. He could see men on the main deck checking fittings and skylarking. The ship gently rolled from side to side in the swells. Letting his mind wander, he could imagine what it was like the last time the North Carolina had steamed the seas. A much bigger war was on then, but he imagined the men acted much the same as the men on the deck now — finishing a job or simply having time to relax. There they all were, eating, sleeping, and working on a floating piece of steel. They were the ship’s arms and legs. They were the collaborative brain that took her new places and fought an enemy with her when necessary. They brought the great ship to life while she provided them with a warm home. And he was the one privileged to control this massive organism. As he thought about it, Hustvedt realized he was the happiest he had been in his entire life. This was where he should be — on this ship and with this crew. In many ways he wished he could sail her forever.
The young messenger appeared at his elbow. “Your coffee, Captain. Would you like some cream or sugar?”
“Yes, please, some cream and one teaspoon.” He told the boy. In less than a minute he was holding the steaming mug in his hand. He took a sip and savored the bitterness as it slid across his tongue. “Perfect,” he said to the young sailor. “Thanks.”
“No problem, Captain,” the young man beamed.
Hustvedt could almost see the smile on his face as he turned away. It almost surprised him that the men onboard had come together so quickly. He found himself wondering what it was that drew them into such a well-knit team. The conditions onboard were far from perfect. The ship was more than 70 years old. The bunks were still the old canvas racks or steel wires stretched across metal tubes. In some places the racks were five deep. Electric fans provided the only means of cooling below decks. The ventilators simply drew in clean air and spread it around. The heat from the engines and boilers kept the ship warm. During the day the sun beat down on the metal skin of the ship making it almost like an oven if the portholes were closed. But after the first couple of weeks, the crew didn’t seem to mind the heat. On these ships almost nothing was automatic. A lot of the work onboard was manual. It required a lot of people to do things that on a more modern ship would be done by a machine.
One good thing for the crew was their supply officer. He insisted that the men be fed only the best food and plenty of it. He personally selected the Chief Mess Specialist to be the ship’s cook. The Senior Chief once prepared meals in the Pentagon for the guys in the “E Ring.” From almost the start, the meals had been superb. Despite the worry that people might grow fat and not meet the Navy’s physical requirements, the work onboard kept the men slim and muscular.
He also made sure the “geedunk” was well stocked and operating. The refreshment stand was located at the rear of the mess decks. The supply officer repaired the old soda fountain and the guys got a kick out of watching the operators hand mix a soda or some other soft drink. Even the ice cream machine was kept operational so that a root beer float was a standard item. It was all advertised as a part of being in the “real Navy” and the crew ate it up, literally.
Before leaving Norfolk a couple of crewmen got in a fight at a club when they firmly told some sailors on one of the inoperative frigates they weren’t real sailors. During the Captain’s Mast he almost wanted to reward the men but had to set an example. From what he was hearing, it was almost the same on each of the old battleships. Something about these ships was alluring to the average sailor. Maybe it was just a “guy” thing.