December 7, 1941
Aboard USS Gridley
Location: 240 miles E-NE of Johnson Island
Course: East
Attached to: TF 406
Mission: Air combat
Ship's Status: No damage
Fuel: 525 (100%)
Orders: Return to Pearl Harbor
The destroyer had secured from dawn general quarters and the crew had been piped down to chow. Jake Reedy had finished his food and was shooting the breeze with several of his shipmates when rapid footsteps clattered down the inclined ladder leading up to the galley passageway. Morris Crenshaw, a skinny sailor, burst into the mess. His eyes were wide.
"Guys!" he gasped. "The Japs are attacking Pearl Harbor!" This announcement was greeted with cries of derision.
"Christ, Crenshaw," said one man, "when are you going to learn not to drink that stuff that Blackie makes?"
"Yeah, and the Germans are invading New York, right?" scoffed another. Crenshaw shook his head.
"It's the real deal!" he insisted. "I got it straight from Jenks, who was on the bridge!" Groans echoed through the room. "Marbles" Jenks was the biggest teller of tall tales on the ship. He once claimed that he would be the next king of Tonga because he had married a princess there.
Crenshaw paused as he considered the source of his information. Then he grinned sheepishly.
"Aw hell," he said, "he got me good, didn't he?"
"Don't feel bad," Reedy told him genially. "He once convinced me that basking sharks had pearls in their gizzards. Sit down and have some coffee." Before Crenshaw could say anything further the harsh klaxon of the general alarm began to sound.
Reedy gulped his last swallow of coffee and leaped to his feet. Men swarmed out of all four mess rooms and up the two ladders to the galley passageway, which ran transversely across the ship. They piled through the hatches at either end and out on deck, each heading for his station. Reedy jostled around a number of other men and arrived at his machine gun. His loader, Gus Becken, was already there. As Reedy unhooked his helmet and clapped it on his head Becken lifted the phone and reported the gun manned and ready.
"What's going on?" he asked Reedy as he replaced the phone. Reedy shrugged.
"Maybe the Japanese are attacking Pearl Harbor," he said, repeating the joke he had just heard at mess. Becken grinned. Any reply was cut off by the voice of Captain Stickney coming over the speakers.
"This is the Captain," Stickney said. His voice sounded hollow coming over the speakers but his tone was calm. "We are receiving reports that Pearl Harbor is under attack. No joke. I'll pass more information along when we get it. That is all." There was a click and then silence.
Reedy and Becken looked at each other. Becken swore softly, almost wonderingly.
"They couldn't...could they?" he asked.
"I don't know," said Reedy. "It might be some sort of mix-up somewhere." But a cold trickle of worry was beginning to creep into his thoughts.
A few moments later Becken nudged him and pointed. Across the water brightly colored pennants were being hoisted aloft by Enterprise. Both men read the message they displayed: "Prepare for Battle." Reedy's trickle of worry became a flood. Halsey probably had a lot more information than he had and the admiral was not given to jumping at shadows.
"That's it," he said. "We're at war."
Ship of Steel, Men of Valor - Cuttlefish (A) versus Cribtop (J)
Moderators: wdolson, MOD_War-in-the-Pacific-Admirals-Edition
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Cuttlefish
- Posts: 2454
- Joined: Wed Jan 24, 2007 5:03 am
- Location: Oregon, USA
RE: December 7, 1941
Great buildup.
Appear at places to which he must hasten; move swiftly where he does not expect you.
Sun Tzu
Sun Tzu
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Onime No Kyo
- Posts: 16846
- Joined: Wed Apr 28, 2004 5:55 am
RE: December 7, 1941
Awesome, CF! [&o]
"Mighty is the Thread! Great are its works and insane are its inhabitants!" -Brother Mynok
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Cuttlefish
- Posts: 2454
- Joined: Wed Jan 24, 2007 5:03 am
- Location: Oregon, USA
RE: December 8, 1941
December 8, 1941
USS West Virginia, Battleship Row, Pearl Harbor
On board West Virginia Bill Bonderman and a team of sailors were clearing smoldering wreckage out through gaping holes in the deck, one of several such crews that had been at work for hours. It was dirty, dangerous, and sickening work. Too many times the crews found men or bits of men, objects of horror that only a day ago had been friends and shipmates. And though the serious fires had been knocked down some areas still remained too hot to enter.
There had been no question of moving the big battleship. Her decks were awash and her keel was in the mud. Captain Bennion was dead, killed by bomb fragments that ripped through the bridge during yesterday's attack. Smoke still rose up here and there, as it did from other ships and from smoldering buildings around the harbor.
It had been a long twenty-four hours. Everyone's nerves were frayed. Shots rang out at intervals from jittery sentries and occasionally an anti-aircraft gun would open fire at some imagined threat. The night just past had been the worst. Anyone moving around in the dark risked being shot. There were dozens of rumors and stories. Each was more wild than the last and no one knew what to believe.
Gliders and paratroops were supposed to have landed at Kaneohe. Japanese transports had been sighted off Barber's point. Japanese carrier forces were reported to both the north and south of Oahu. Spies and saboteurs were said to be everywhere, carrying out bold and fantastic acts of sabotage.
Bonderman wiped his forehead with the back of his filthy and soot-stained glove. The petty officer in charge told them to take five and the weary men slumped to the deck. Before they even had time to dig out smokes the air raid sirens began to wail.
It was quite a difference, from one day to the next, from peacetime to war. This time when the Japanese planes came no one was surprised, no one was frozen in disbelief. The anti-aircraft ammunition was out of the lockers and at the guns, all of which were manned. At Hickam, Bellows, and Wheeler airfields those Army fighters that could be salvaged from the wreckage were ready and their pilots were standing by.
The West Virginia men scrambled up and to their stations. Bonderman didn't head for the radio room this time - the radio room was a shattered wreck. Instead his work gang went to work passing ammunition to the port side anti-aircraft guns. He kept his head down and worked swiftly. Though very tired he was fueled by anger. This wasn't like the wild, drunken rages of the bar fights of his youth. This was a cold, burning, concentrated hate. So the bastards thought they'd come back and finish the job, did they? Well, take this! And this one!
The anti-aircraft gunners around the harbor did their job. Though they did not shoot down as many Japanese bombers as they claimed they kept up a heavy fire. More than thirty-five Tomahawks met the attackers as well. They accounted for several Zeroes, though they were heavily outnumbered by the Japanese fighters and many were lost. Trailing smoke from stricken aircraft on both sides added to the black clouds rising from the fires below.
West Virginia took another torpedo and two more bombs during the attack. With each hit the ship's fire slackened for a moment and then resumed. The battleship, already on the mud, couldn't sink much further. The danger now in the fires that broke out anew. Damage control teams raced to contain them despite the strafing and the bombs whistling down.
Finally the attack was over. The last Japanese planes departed. Bonderman could see that the already damaged battleships and port facilities had been hit hard, though not as hard as the day before. From somewhere on the other side of Ford Island a huge column of fire had roared into the air and he could still see heavy smoke in that direction.
No time to look around or even think, now. There was a ship to try and save. To the accompaniment of barked orders Bonderman and his exhausted, filthy shipmates went back to work.
USS West Virginia, Battleship Row, Pearl Harbor
On board West Virginia Bill Bonderman and a team of sailors were clearing smoldering wreckage out through gaping holes in the deck, one of several such crews that had been at work for hours. It was dirty, dangerous, and sickening work. Too many times the crews found men or bits of men, objects of horror that only a day ago had been friends and shipmates. And though the serious fires had been knocked down some areas still remained too hot to enter.
There had been no question of moving the big battleship. Her decks were awash and her keel was in the mud. Captain Bennion was dead, killed by bomb fragments that ripped through the bridge during yesterday's attack. Smoke still rose up here and there, as it did from other ships and from smoldering buildings around the harbor.
It had been a long twenty-four hours. Everyone's nerves were frayed. Shots rang out at intervals from jittery sentries and occasionally an anti-aircraft gun would open fire at some imagined threat. The night just past had been the worst. Anyone moving around in the dark risked being shot. There were dozens of rumors and stories. Each was more wild than the last and no one knew what to believe.
Gliders and paratroops were supposed to have landed at Kaneohe. Japanese transports had been sighted off Barber's point. Japanese carrier forces were reported to both the north and south of Oahu. Spies and saboteurs were said to be everywhere, carrying out bold and fantastic acts of sabotage.
Bonderman wiped his forehead with the back of his filthy and soot-stained glove. The petty officer in charge told them to take five and the weary men slumped to the deck. Before they even had time to dig out smokes the air raid sirens began to wail.
It was quite a difference, from one day to the next, from peacetime to war. This time when the Japanese planes came no one was surprised, no one was frozen in disbelief. The anti-aircraft ammunition was out of the lockers and at the guns, all of which were manned. At Hickam, Bellows, and Wheeler airfields those Army fighters that could be salvaged from the wreckage were ready and their pilots were standing by.
The West Virginia men scrambled up and to their stations. Bonderman didn't head for the radio room this time - the radio room was a shattered wreck. Instead his work gang went to work passing ammunition to the port side anti-aircraft guns. He kept his head down and worked swiftly. Though very tired he was fueled by anger. This wasn't like the wild, drunken rages of the bar fights of his youth. This was a cold, burning, concentrated hate. So the bastards thought they'd come back and finish the job, did they? Well, take this! And this one!
The anti-aircraft gunners around the harbor did their job. Though they did not shoot down as many Japanese bombers as they claimed they kept up a heavy fire. More than thirty-five Tomahawks met the attackers as well. They accounted for several Zeroes, though they were heavily outnumbered by the Japanese fighters and many were lost. Trailing smoke from stricken aircraft on both sides added to the black clouds rising from the fires below.
West Virginia took another torpedo and two more bombs during the attack. With each hit the ship's fire slackened for a moment and then resumed. The battleship, already on the mud, couldn't sink much further. The danger now in the fires that broke out anew. Damage control teams raced to contain them despite the strafing and the bombs whistling down.
Finally the attack was over. The last Japanese planes departed. Bonderman could see that the already damaged battleships and port facilities had been hit hard, though not as hard as the day before. From somewhere on the other side of Ford Island a huge column of fire had roared into the air and he could still see heavy smoke in that direction.
No time to look around or even think, now. There was a ship to try and save. To the accompaniment of barked orders Bonderman and his exhausted, filthy shipmates went back to work.
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Cuttlefish
- Posts: 2454
- Joined: Wed Jan 24, 2007 5:03 am
- Location: Oregon, USA
RE: December 8, 1941
December 8, 1941
A farm near Rudyard, Michigan
Joe Beaumont stepped into the living room of the old farmhouse. His mother was sitting in her favorite chair, the one with the faded teal upholstery, her sewing basket on the little table beside her. Joe just stood there for a moment and when his mother finished mending the tear in the shirt she was repairing she looked up.
"Do something for you, Joe?" she said. Joe took a deep breath.
"Mother," he said simply, "I got to go."
His mother looked at him for a moment. She was a small woman, scarcely over five feet tall, but she dominated her brood of large sons with quiet authority. Now she looked Joe in the eye for a long moment. Joe held her gaze and after a moment she nodded.
"I know you do," she said. "I'll drive you into the Soo in the morning. Army?" Joe answered yes.
"It's going to be hard on you, and Gus and Jer," Joe said, referring to his two younger brothers. He spoke slowly, groping for words. "I feel bad about that. It's hard enough to run the farm even with me here"
"You do what you have to do," said his mother. "And we will too. Everyone will have to, now. Besides," she said practically, "you will be taking care of us. Don't know that keeping this place going will do us much good if we lose the war. I'll hire Ned Beamish back as a hand, he knows his way around the place."
"Old Man Beamish?" Joe asked. He had worked around the farm off and on back when his father was still alive but he was an old man now. Real old, Joe figured, probably over sixty.
"He'll manage," his mother said. "Now you go tell your brothers. I got a pile of work to do if I'm going to take you into town tomorrow." She spoke briskly but Joe had a suspicion that she bent back quickly to her sewing to hide tears in her eyes. He wanted to say something further but he never was much good at finding the right words. So after a moment he turned and left, leaving her in the room alone.
A farm near Rudyard, Michigan
Joe Beaumont stepped into the living room of the old farmhouse. His mother was sitting in her favorite chair, the one with the faded teal upholstery, her sewing basket on the little table beside her. Joe just stood there for a moment and when his mother finished mending the tear in the shirt she was repairing she looked up.
"Do something for you, Joe?" she said. Joe took a deep breath.
"Mother," he said simply, "I got to go."
His mother looked at him for a moment. She was a small woman, scarcely over five feet tall, but she dominated her brood of large sons with quiet authority. Now she looked Joe in the eye for a long moment. Joe held her gaze and after a moment she nodded.
"I know you do," she said. "I'll drive you into the Soo in the morning. Army?" Joe answered yes.
"It's going to be hard on you, and Gus and Jer," Joe said, referring to his two younger brothers. He spoke slowly, groping for words. "I feel bad about that. It's hard enough to run the farm even with me here"
"You do what you have to do," said his mother. "And we will too. Everyone will have to, now. Besides," she said practically, "you will be taking care of us. Don't know that keeping this place going will do us much good if we lose the war. I'll hire Ned Beamish back as a hand, he knows his way around the place."
"Old Man Beamish?" Joe asked. He had worked around the farm off and on back when his father was still alive but he was an old man now. Real old, Joe figured, probably over sixty.
"He'll manage," his mother said. "Now you go tell your brothers. I got a pile of work to do if I'm going to take you into town tomorrow." She spoke briskly but Joe had a suspicion that she bent back quickly to her sewing to hide tears in her eyes. He wanted to say something further but he never was much good at finding the right words. So after a moment he turned and left, leaving her in the room alone.
RE: December 8, 1941
That was so good!
Appear at places to which he must hasten; move swiftly where he does not expect you.
Sun Tzu
Sun Tzu
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Cuttlefish
- Posts: 2454
- Joined: Wed Jan 24, 2007 5:03 am
- Location: Oregon, USA
RE: December 8, 1941
December 8, 1941
Aboard USS Gridley
Location: 400 miles SE of Johnson Island
Course: East
Attached to: TF 406
Mission: Air combat
Ship's Status: No damage
Fuel: 482 (91%)
Orders: Evade Japanese carriers, return to Pearl Harbor
Lieutenant Commander Fred Russell Stickney, Gridley's captain, strolled to the fantail and stood looking out at the destroyer's long, slightly curved wake, hands clasped behind his back. He was not the whippet he had been when he ran track at Annapolis - he was in the class of '25 - but he still had something of a runner's build, long and lean.
His habitual expression was stern and reserved. His eyes were intelligent and piercing under arched brows and a prominent nose lent strength to his pleasant, regular features. Only his friends, those privileged to refer to him as "Stick," usually ever saw the smile that could blunt the sternness with warmth and charm. Among his men he had the reputation of being extremely intelligent and, though a strict disciplinarian, always fair.
Right now, however, it was he who was gauging the temper of his men. He had walked about the ship, speaking briefly to this man or that, getting a feel for how his crew was reacting to being at war. And he wanted to reassure them, via his calm demeanor, that all was well and that their officers were on the ball and knew what was going on.
It was unnerving, having the feeling that one's superiors had no real idea what was going on or what about what do it. Stickney appreciated that, appreciated it very well.
After the attack at Pearl on the 7th Halsey had turned the task force to the south. He apparently had information that the Japanese attack had come from that direction and he intended to find them and strike back. Late in the day, when it became clear that the Japanese had struck from the north, Halsey turned his ships in that direction. But then orders had come in directing the admiral to turn back south and link up with the Yorktown group, avoiding contact with the Japanese.
Stickney was willing to bet that Halsey wasn't too happy about that. He also thought, privately, that it was a good idea. While he still had no clear idea about what had happened at Pearl it seemed clear that hundreds of Japanese planes had been involved in the attack. Enterprise had about seventy planes. Stickney could figure the odds involved about as well as anybody.
This was all pretty clear. Everything else, though, was chaos. What information they were getting was tinged with hysteria. The second Japanese attack, earlier today, had only made things worse. And then they had received news from Indianapolis that the cruiser had been torpedoed less than 150 miles from their position and was sinking. It was still hard to believe that the Japanese could strike as hard as they had, and as suddenly. Stickney knew that a few men in the task force still didn't really believe it. But he did. What had really convinced him, more than the dramatic declarations of air raids or anything else, were the urgent calls his signals section had picked up requesting that all medical personnel report to the naval hospital at Pearl, and requesting all available anesthetics as well.
The captain turned and looked back forward at his ship. The men would do, he thought. They were well-trained and though they seemed sobered by events he could tell they were eager for a fight. They would get one, he figured, and maybe soon. And it would be his job to lead them in and, if possible, to bring them back
He had held this, his first destroyer command, for less than a month. And now it was a wartime command. The men wouldn't let him down; well, he wouldn't let them down either.
He made his way forward as Gridley surged ahead, a bone in her teeth, racing towards a future obscured by the shadows of war.
Aboard USS Gridley
Location: 400 miles SE of Johnson Island
Course: East
Attached to: TF 406
Mission: Air combat
Ship's Status: No damage
Fuel: 482 (91%)
Orders: Evade Japanese carriers, return to Pearl Harbor
Lieutenant Commander Fred Russell Stickney, Gridley's captain, strolled to the fantail and stood looking out at the destroyer's long, slightly curved wake, hands clasped behind his back. He was not the whippet he had been when he ran track at Annapolis - he was in the class of '25 - but he still had something of a runner's build, long and lean.
His habitual expression was stern and reserved. His eyes were intelligent and piercing under arched brows and a prominent nose lent strength to his pleasant, regular features. Only his friends, those privileged to refer to him as "Stick," usually ever saw the smile that could blunt the sternness with warmth and charm. Among his men he had the reputation of being extremely intelligent and, though a strict disciplinarian, always fair.
Right now, however, it was he who was gauging the temper of his men. He had walked about the ship, speaking briefly to this man or that, getting a feel for how his crew was reacting to being at war. And he wanted to reassure them, via his calm demeanor, that all was well and that their officers were on the ball and knew what was going on.
It was unnerving, having the feeling that one's superiors had no real idea what was going on or what about what do it. Stickney appreciated that, appreciated it very well.
After the attack at Pearl on the 7th Halsey had turned the task force to the south. He apparently had information that the Japanese attack had come from that direction and he intended to find them and strike back. Late in the day, when it became clear that the Japanese had struck from the north, Halsey turned his ships in that direction. But then orders had come in directing the admiral to turn back south and link up with the Yorktown group, avoiding contact with the Japanese.
Stickney was willing to bet that Halsey wasn't too happy about that. He also thought, privately, that it was a good idea. While he still had no clear idea about what had happened at Pearl it seemed clear that hundreds of Japanese planes had been involved in the attack. Enterprise had about seventy planes. Stickney could figure the odds involved about as well as anybody.
This was all pretty clear. Everything else, though, was chaos. What information they were getting was tinged with hysteria. The second Japanese attack, earlier today, had only made things worse. And then they had received news from Indianapolis that the cruiser had been torpedoed less than 150 miles from their position and was sinking. It was still hard to believe that the Japanese could strike as hard as they had, and as suddenly. Stickney knew that a few men in the task force still didn't really believe it. But he did. What had really convinced him, more than the dramatic declarations of air raids or anything else, were the urgent calls his signals section had picked up requesting that all medical personnel report to the naval hospital at Pearl, and requesting all available anesthetics as well.
The captain turned and looked back forward at his ship. The men would do, he thought. They were well-trained and though they seemed sobered by events he could tell they were eager for a fight. They would get one, he figured, and maybe soon. And it would be his job to lead them in and, if possible, to bring them back
He had held this, his first destroyer command, for less than a month. And now it was a wartime command. The men wouldn't let him down; well, he wouldn't let them down either.
He made his way forward as Gridley surged ahead, a bone in her teeth, racing towards a future obscured by the shadows of war.
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Speedysteve
- Posts: 15974
- Joined: Tue Sep 11, 2001 8:00 am
- Location: Reading, England
RE: December 8, 1941
I remember, in the Vanilla WitP days, an AAR about a single Japanese Destroyer and maybe scoffing at the idea a little. At that point I was more interested in the 'grand game'; the moves of titans. I also had little time, sneaking a schoolboy's-naughty-glance at the AAR boards during work, like it was a saucy magazine hidden in my homework (damn you mailmarshal - unlike teacher you never slept!)
However, I had a change of circumstance that allowed me more time, and there was no marshal to stop me whittling away the hours on the boards.
It was then that I returned to your Hibiki AAR, which by that time was about 130 pages long. I can relate just how marvellous it was to find such a gem. I read the whole thing through like it was an unfolding novel.
Sensational.
And here I am, lucky this time to know to be in at the beginning. Cuttlefish, you write concisely and you convey your ideas without the need for over-embellishment, your characters stand so well, drawing the reader into investing emotion in their journey. That is the art of story telling. I'll try to read the story as it unfolds without cluttering it with any more chaff. Thanks for investing the time again.
However, I had a change of circumstance that allowed me more time, and there was no marshal to stop me whittling away the hours on the boards.
It was then that I returned to your Hibiki AAR, which by that time was about 130 pages long. I can relate just how marvellous it was to find such a gem. I read the whole thing through like it was an unfolding novel.
Sensational.
And here I am, lucky this time to know to be in at the beginning. Cuttlefish, you write concisely and you convey your ideas without the need for over-embellishment, your characters stand so well, drawing the reader into investing emotion in their journey. That is the art of story telling. I'll try to read the story as it unfolds without cluttering it with any more chaff. Thanks for investing the time again.
Image courtesy of Divepac
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Capt. Harlock
- Posts: 5379
- Joined: Sat Sep 15, 2001 8:00 am
- Location: Los Angeles
- Contact:
RE: December 8, 1941
Lieutenant Commander Fred Russell Stickney, Gridley's captain
If my research is correct, the Gridley was actually captained by one CDR Stuart T. Hotchkiss at the time of Pearl Harbor. (From http://www.navsource.org/archives/05/380.htm) Is Stickney the captain assigned by AE?
BTW, Captain Stickney will be assigned to a Fletcher-class DD in 1943. Hibiki stayed with one skipper over the course of your last AAR -- it will be interesting to see if there is a change aboard the Gridley, and how the men react.
Civil war? What does that mean? Is there any foreign war? Isn't every war fought between men, between brothers?
--Victor Hugo
--Victor Hugo
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Cuttlefish
- Posts: 2454
- Joined: Wed Jan 24, 2007 5:03 am
- Location: Oregon, USA
RE: December 8, 1941
ORIGINAL: Capt. Harlock
Lieutenant Commander Fred Russell Stickney, Gridley's captain
If my research is correct, the Gridley was actually captained by one CDR Stuart T. Hotchkiss at the time of Pearl Harbor. (From http://www.navsource.org/archives/05/380.htm) Is Stickney the captain assigned by AE?
BTW, Captain Stickney will be assigned to a Fletcher-class DD in 1943. Hibiki stayed with one skipper over the course of your last AAR -- it will be interesting to see if there is a change aboard the Gridley, and how the men react.
Your research is correct. But in AE Stickney does indeed begin in command. The designers seem to have assigned ship captains based at least partly on who served at the post the longest, or who served the most prominently, instead of relying strictly on chronology.
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Cuttlefish
- Posts: 2454
- Joined: Wed Jan 24, 2007 5:03 am
- Location: Oregon, USA
RE: December 9, 1941
December 9, 1941
Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan
Sault Ste. Marie, known as "the Soo" by the locals, was not actually much of a place. But it was "town" to the residents of the eastern end of Michigan's Upper Peninsula. There was an old army fort, Fort Brady, on the hill overlooking the St. Mary's River. And of course there were the locks, three on the American side of the river and a fourth on the Canadian side, the main reason for the town's existence.
Joe Beaumont stood on Portage Avenue, where once French fur trappers and missionaries had carried their canoes around the rapids, and looked across the street at the locks. He had not expected the frantic activity he now saw taking place. Soldiers in long coats, looking important with their big rifles, were patrolling everywhere. Men were placing sandbags around machine guns and in a couple of places other men were moving big searchlights into position.
Joe watched as a woman in a red coat and wearing a little red hat tried to cross the street. A soldier stopped her and informed her politely but sternly that civilians could no longer approach the locks.
"But my brother is coming!" said the woman. She pointed upriver, where the superstructure of an ore freighter could be glimpsed through the skeletal trees. It was moving with ponderous slowness towards the locks. It was late in the season for a ship to be downbound, Joe knew, but there were always a few laggards, racing to bring in one last load of iron ore before ice closed the shipping lanes for the season.
"I always wave to him," the woman continued. "I've done it for years! He's the second mate," she added proudly.
"Sorry, ma'am," said the soldier. Joe thought he seemed proud and nervous all at the same time. "We have orders. No one goes near the locks."
"Well, I think that's silly," the woman said.
"Silly!" said the soldier. "Do you know that ninety percent of our iron ore comes down through these locks? A couple of bombs in the right place and there goes the war! This place is one of the Jap's main targets, ma'am, you'd better believe it!"
Joe moved on, leaving the woman to continue her argument. The National Guard Armory was a few blocks downriver and he had heard that was where the Army had opened a recruiting station. He trudged along, his boots making crunching sounds when he hit an icy spot. There were a lot of people out, many watching the activity by the locks, and many were talking. The only topic was the war. Joe caught snatches of conversation as he passed.
"If Tojo wants a fight, he's got one. We're going to smash those sneaky..."
"Well, what I head is that Jap battleships are off San Diego..."
"...but you're wrong about the West Coast, there's no way to stop them there. I just hope we can hold them at the Rockies..."
After Joe had gone about a block all other sounds were momentarily dominated by a short blast from a ship's whistle. It was the freighter, preparing to enter one of the locks. Joe turned and could now clearly see its prow. He had heard such whistles before, on other visits to the Soo, as the big ore carriers talked to one another out on the river. But for some reason this time the sound halted him. Halted him and shivered down his bones.
He turned back and his eye was caught by a large poster in the window beside him. It showed a sailor in a sparkling white outfit using a wrench on something. Joe didn't know what the something was, but he was encouraged. He knew how to use a wrench. The sailor was very handsome, like a movie star, but Joe thought he looked a little distracted, like maybe he was thinking about baseball, or a girl.
"Arise, Americans," said the large text beneath. "Your Country and Your Liberty are in grave danger...Protect them now by joining the United States Navy or the U.S. Naval Reserve."
There were other posters, too, and a sign announcing that this was now a Navy recruiting station. Joe looked over his shoulder at the ship, now giving the illusion of sinking slowly into the ground as the lock lowered it twenty-one feet from the level of Lake Superior to the level of Lake Huron. In his mind he heard once again the sound of the ship's whistle.
He nodded once, to himself, then turned back and pushed open the door to the navy recruiting center.
***
Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan
Sault Ste. Marie, known as "the Soo" by the locals, was not actually much of a place. But it was "town" to the residents of the eastern end of Michigan's Upper Peninsula. There was an old army fort, Fort Brady, on the hill overlooking the St. Mary's River. And of course there were the locks, three on the American side of the river and a fourth on the Canadian side, the main reason for the town's existence.
Joe Beaumont stood on Portage Avenue, where once French fur trappers and missionaries had carried their canoes around the rapids, and looked across the street at the locks. He had not expected the frantic activity he now saw taking place. Soldiers in long coats, looking important with their big rifles, were patrolling everywhere. Men were placing sandbags around machine guns and in a couple of places other men were moving big searchlights into position.
Joe watched as a woman in a red coat and wearing a little red hat tried to cross the street. A soldier stopped her and informed her politely but sternly that civilians could no longer approach the locks.
"But my brother is coming!" said the woman. She pointed upriver, where the superstructure of an ore freighter could be glimpsed through the skeletal trees. It was moving with ponderous slowness towards the locks. It was late in the season for a ship to be downbound, Joe knew, but there were always a few laggards, racing to bring in one last load of iron ore before ice closed the shipping lanes for the season.
"I always wave to him," the woman continued. "I've done it for years! He's the second mate," she added proudly.
"Sorry, ma'am," said the soldier. Joe thought he seemed proud and nervous all at the same time. "We have orders. No one goes near the locks."
"Well, I think that's silly," the woman said.
"Silly!" said the soldier. "Do you know that ninety percent of our iron ore comes down through these locks? A couple of bombs in the right place and there goes the war! This place is one of the Jap's main targets, ma'am, you'd better believe it!"
Joe moved on, leaving the woman to continue her argument. The National Guard Armory was a few blocks downriver and he had heard that was where the Army had opened a recruiting station. He trudged along, his boots making crunching sounds when he hit an icy spot. There were a lot of people out, many watching the activity by the locks, and many were talking. The only topic was the war. Joe caught snatches of conversation as he passed.
"If Tojo wants a fight, he's got one. We're going to smash those sneaky..."
"Well, what I head is that Jap battleships are off San Diego..."
"...but you're wrong about the West Coast, there's no way to stop them there. I just hope we can hold them at the Rockies..."
After Joe had gone about a block all other sounds were momentarily dominated by a short blast from a ship's whistle. It was the freighter, preparing to enter one of the locks. Joe turned and could now clearly see its prow. He had heard such whistles before, on other visits to the Soo, as the big ore carriers talked to one another out on the river. But for some reason this time the sound halted him. Halted him and shivered down his bones.
He turned back and his eye was caught by a large poster in the window beside him. It showed a sailor in a sparkling white outfit using a wrench on something. Joe didn't know what the something was, but he was encouraged. He knew how to use a wrench. The sailor was very handsome, like a movie star, but Joe thought he looked a little distracted, like maybe he was thinking about baseball, or a girl.
"Arise, Americans," said the large text beneath. "Your Country and Your Liberty are in grave danger...Protect them now by joining the United States Navy or the U.S. Naval Reserve."
There were other posters, too, and a sign announcing that this was now a Navy recruiting station. Joe looked over his shoulder at the ship, now giving the illusion of sinking slowly into the ground as the lock lowered it twenty-one feet from the level of Lake Superior to the level of Lake Huron. In his mind he heard once again the sound of the ship's whistle.
He nodded once, to himself, then turned back and pushed open the door to the navy recruiting center.
***
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RE: December 9, 1941
I'm along for this fabulous ride as well Sir. Looking forward to enjoying your hard work.
Member: Treaty, Reluctant Admiral and Between the Storms Mod Team.
RE: December 9, 1941
Sorry Cuttlefish but as a Great lakes man I must correct the error. Lake Superior is higher than Huron. the ship would be descending not ascending. Was at Whitefish Point last summer watching the freighters go by. I knows of what I speak
"We have met the enemy and they are ours" - Commodore O.H. Perry
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Cuttlefish
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RE: December 9, 1941
ORIGINAL: vettim89
Sorry Cuttlefish but as a Great lakes man I must correct the error. Lake Superior is higher than Huron. the ship would be descending not ascending. Was at Whitefish Point last summer watching the freighters go by. I knows of what I speak
You are of course correct. And I knew that. I am, however, directionally dyslexic, and frequently flip these things around in my mind. I will correct the mistake!
For fun, here is a picture of the 702nd MP Battalion drilling in Michigan. This was the unit assigned to guard the locks early in '41 and it was their troops that Joe Beaumont probably saw. Security at the locks was taken very seriously indeed - by '43 there were 7000 troops there, with many AA guns, barrage balloons, the works. The main threat was believed to be German saboteurs reaching the area by landing undetected via submarine at Hudson Bay. The U.S. military rated the odds of an attack there as very low but American industry was concerned about the possibility almost to the point of hysteria.
It's not quite as ludicrous as it sounds, looking back on it all these years later. Almost all the steel we used in the war came down through those locks, and the shipping season was May through November. The Army Corps of Engineers, which administered the locks (they still do) estimated that a team of saboteurs could do enough damage in 30 minutes to put the locks out of action for months. Correctly timed, an attack could have crippled America's supply of steel for a year. It would have been suicide but the results might have made it worth a try.
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RE: December 9, 1941
Cuttlefish,
If you are taking those kind of little corrections (in case you cut & paste the whole thing later, yes?), then in an earlier post you mentioned that DD Gridley (I think in the CV Enterprise TF?) was maybe heading south to rendezvous with the Yorktown TF. Yorktown is off line at San Diego and arrives later. I think you meant CV Lexington?
If you are taking those kind of little corrections (in case you cut & paste the whole thing later, yes?), then in an earlier post you mentioned that DD Gridley (I think in the CV Enterprise TF?) was maybe heading south to rendezvous with the Yorktown TF. Yorktown is off line at San Diego and arrives later. I think you meant CV Lexington?
Intel Monkey: https://sites.google.com/view/staffmonkeys/home
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Cuttlefish
- Posts: 2454
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RE: December 9, 1941
ORIGINAL: witpqs
Cuttlefish,
If you are taking those kind of little corrections (in case you cut & paste the whole thing later, yes?), then in an earlier post you mentioned that DD Gridley (I think in the CV Enterprise TF?) was maybe heading south to rendezvous with the Yorktown TF. Yorktown is off line at San Diego and arrives later. I think you meant CV Lexington?
Actually what is going on is that both the Lexington and Enterprise TFs are trying to meet Saratoga, which is charging across the Pacific from San Diego. I don't know where I got Yorktown. Wishful thinking, maybe...
RE: December 9, 1941
ORIGINAL: Cuttlefish
ORIGINAL: witpqs
Cuttlefish,
If you are taking those kind of little corrections (in case you cut & paste the whole thing later, yes?), then in an earlier post you mentioned that DD Gridley (I think in the CV Enterprise TF?) was maybe heading south to rendezvous with the Yorktown TF. Yorktown is off line at San Diego and arrives later. I think you meant CV Lexington?
Actually what is going on is that both the Lexington and Enterprise TFs are trying to meet Saratoga, which is charging across the Pacific from San Diego. I don't know where I got Yorktown. Wishful thinking, maybe...
[:D]
Pax
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Onime No Kyo
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RE: December 9, 1941
ORIGINAL: Cuttlefish
ORIGINAL: witpqs
Cuttlefish,
If you are taking those kind of little corrections (in case you cut & paste the whole thing later, yes?), then in an earlier post you mentioned that DD Gridley (I think in the CV Enterprise TF?) was maybe heading south to rendezvous with the Yorktown TF. Yorktown is off line at San Diego and arrives later. I think you meant CV Lexington?
Actually what is going on is that both the Lexington and Enterprise TFs are trying to meet Saratoga, which is charging across the Pacific from San Diego. I don't know where I got Yorktown. Wishful thinking, maybe...
And by USS Enterprise I'm sure you meant the NCC-1701D. [:D]
"Mighty is the Thread! Great are its works and insane are its inhabitants!" -Brother Mynok