For the last several years, I had tried over and over to come to terms with the loss of the Oklahoma’s crew. Ensign Flaherty, who won the Medal of Honor and served directly under my command, stung me the most. The loss of such a bright and talented officer, who was properly honored as one of America’s greatest heroes, still hurts me to this day.
For most of the crew that was lost on the Okie, death came very slowly. The idea of being trapped inside the hull of a sinking ship filled me with the most acute terror. Let alone the fact of no food, water, or even light. They went to their deaths slowly, starved and thirsty, not knowing if there was ever a hope of rescue. For the most part, they didn’t even know who had attacked them.
While the latter didn’t apply to the men who were trapped several decks below me, most of the former certainly did.
The basic problems in getting them out were they were surrounded by either very thick armored bulkheads or a flammable mixture of seawater and fuel, not to mention several tons of high explosives.
The compartment above them was flooded to about five feet. The compartment to the starboard was exposed to the ocean. Forward and port were thick armored bulkheads. If we tried to cut through them using torches, we would have created a huge fire hazard, and they were in a room full of explosives. And it was probable that the fumes of cutting through something that thick would have killed them anyway, which was what happened to several of the crew from the Oklahoma when rescue attempts were made there.
The normal direction to exit that compartment was aft, and it was completely flooded. The efforts to pump it out were slow because there were still some major leaks around it that needed to be plugged.
Two things really added urgency. One was the total lack of ventilation to them. The other was the condition of the bulkhead. The one officer inside that compartment, Ensign Gomez, reported that the starboard bulkhead was bulged when the torpedo hit. It had some stress cracks and groaned from time to time but so far remained watertight. How long could they be able to hold out without fresh air? And how long would that bulkhead hold?
Just before sunset, Lieutenant Commander Schuller showed up on the bridge to give the report in person and get authority to reorganize the crew into different working parties to better cover periods of rest and work between the crew. The efforts to transfer solid weight inside the ship as a counterbalance to the floodwater had begun in earnest as well as the removal of flood water. The ship had leveled out to about twenty-seven degrees, and the freeboard on the starboard side had increased to about two and a half feet.
When he had finished his report, I asked him how the trapped crew was doing. The grim expression on his face told me he was expending every effort he could to get those men out, but he didn’t have a lot of hope. He said our first priority was to pump out the compartment above them and drill a hole through to provide some fresh air.
Any cutting was out of the question because of all of the oil and explosives. The only way they could be rescued was to pump out the compartment to the aft of them, but they were having some major difficulties finding the leaks. And although nobody was telling the crew trapped inside, the bulged bulkhead could give way at any time, and they had nothing to shore it up with.
As he filled me in, my mind went back over the men who were trapped inside the hull of the Oklahoma, and I reached a decision.
“Does the phone line to that compartment connect to my circuit here on the bridge?” I asked.
“No, sir, but with minimal effort and about fifteen minutes we could rig one up,” he replied.
“Very well, do so.” And he immediately set off to work.
If those men were going to die they would not do so thinking they were alone.
Before I knew it, the lieutenant commander was handing me a sound-powered phone set and telling me Ensign Gomez was waiting on the other end of the line.
“Ensign Gomez, how are you men holding up down there?” I asked.
“Well, sir,” a slightly nervous voice replied, “we’ve got some minor cuts and bruises, sir, but we are basically okay. We could use a deck of cards, some sandwiches, and some of the men have expressed the desire to have a cold beer as well.”
I laughed a little bit to lighten the atmosphere and replied, “I want you men to know we are doing everything we can to get you out of there and get you some sandwiches as well as some of the beer in the recreational stores.”
“We know that, sir,” he said. “The XO talked to us earlier and told me the admiral ordered the ship abandoned, and you are risking court-martial as well as your own lives to try to save us.”
I paused for a moment, unprepared, I didn’t know Commander Thompson had talked to them, and in the flurry of handling the emergency I hadn’t really had time to think about what I had actually done. The doing of it was just a sort of second nature to me.
“That’s right,” I said, shoving the sudden lump I felt in my throat back down, “but the ship is safe enough for now and don’t worry about my career. It’s the right decision and just part of being in command of a ship during war.”
“Sir, we appreciate that,” said the voice on the other end of the phone.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, ensign?” I asked.
“I just want to see my wife and little boy again, sir.”
“We all will, ensign, we all will,” I said, making a promise I knew I was powerless to keep as there were already several of my crew who, thanks to the Japs, would never see their families again. “But I want a promise from you, ensign.”
“Yes, sir.”
“As an officer, you are responsible for the men under your command, and as such, you are their leader. If you remain strong, they will remain strong and lend their strength back to you in return. No matter what happens, you must not lose your nerve. Do you understand me, ensign?”
“Yes, sir,” the voice on the other end of the phone replied with a little more vigor.
“Very well, ensign, that’s it for now. I’ll check in from time to time to see how you are doing. I’m going to put a listener on this circuit here on the bridge just in case you need something from me. Okay?”
“Okay, sir. Goodbye.”
I took off the sound powered phones and with a sudden feeling of anger and frustration turned to Lieutenant Commander Schuller and said, “You have twelve hours to get those men out of there, or I’ll relieve you and find someone who will.”
As I turned to walk away, I realized what I had just said and turned back.
“Alex,” I said putting my hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry. Just do the best you can, alright?”
He held his hand up toward me and said “I understand, captain. I’ll get those men out.”
“And when you do,” I said, “make sure they have plenty of beer from the recreational supplies. And make sure it’s cold.”
About two hours later, I was sitting in the dark on the bridge, unable to sleep. It got kind of quiet up there since we were under tow and the aft engines were still offline.
Out of the quiet, I heard the ship groan, somewhat like the Oklahoma did when it rolled over, and then I felt, rather than heard, a pop, rather faintly and from far below. The talker I assigned to watch that phone line sat up suddenly and shouted at me.
“Captain! There’s something going on down there!”
I grabbed the phone set away from him and put it on.
“…us! God help us!”
“Gomez, what’s happening?” I shouted into the mouthpiece.