Monthly Archives: November 2014

ESCAPE FROM THE DEEP – AN EXTRACT

Steichin-42

The Tang was soon moving away at full speed, around 23 knots, partially hidden by a cloud of exhaust fumes.
Other captains might now have plotted a new course and not looked back. Not Dick O’Kane. At 10,000 yards from the convoy, he slowed the Tang. He was going back for more—to finish off the transport he’d seen dead in the water.
O’Kane ordered his torpedo mechanics to pull the last two torpedoes from their tubes and examine them. With so few left, he wanted to make sure there would be no mistakes. Pete Narowanski, Hayes Trukke, and the other torpedo mechanics carefully checked the Tang ’s last two fish. They then loaded them into forward tubes numbered five and six.
Thirty minutes later, Tang was ready to deliver the coup de grâce to the stricken transport…. The Tang moved forward at six knots, her bow pointing at the transport. There were no escorts in sight.
Floyd Caverly looked at the screen of his SJ radar in the conning tower.
“Range: fifteen hundred yards,” said Caverly.
The submarine crept slowly closer.
Nine hundred yards from the target, O’Kane was ready with his remaining two torpedoes—for all he knew, they were the last he might fire in combat during the war.
“Stand by below,” O’Kane ordered.
“Ready below, captain,” replied Springer.
“Fire!”
A small jolt was felt throughout the boat as the next-to-last torpedo was fired….
Now just one torpedo was left. Once it had been fired, the Tang could head back to safety, having completed one of the most destructive patrols of the war.
O’Kane called for a time check. It was 2:30 A.M. on October 25, 1944.
“Set!”
In the conning tower, [Lieutenant] Larry Savadkin operated the torpedo data computer. He pressed a button which set the final firing angle of Tang ’s last torpedo.
“Fire!” ordered O’Kane.
Frank Springer stood a few feet from Savadkin in the conning tower. He pressed the firing plunger. Again, a jolting whoosh as the last torpedo, Number 24, left the Tang. The submarine shuddered as compressed air forced the torpedo from its tube and seawater flooded back into the tube.
In the forward torpedo room, Pete Narowanski slammed his fist into the palm of his left hand.
“Hot dog, course zero nine zero,” he cried. “Heading for the Golden Gate!”
“Let’s head for the barn,” someone else shouted.
There was a massive explosion as Number 23 torpedo hit its target, sending flames and debris shooting into the sky….
On the bridge, Bill Leibold scanned the waters with his binoculars. He stood next to O’Kane. Suddenly, he saw the last torpedo, Number 24, broach and then begin to porpoise, phosphorescence trailing it. A few seconds later, it made a sharp turn to port and then, unbelievably, began to come about.
“There goes that one! Erratic!” shouted O’Kane.
The last torpedo was now heading like a boomerang, back to its firing point…back toward the Tang. Something had gone terribly wrong. Perhaps its rudder had jammed or the gyroscope in its steering engine had malfunctioned.
“Emergency speed!” cried O’Kane.
Below, twenty-year-old Motor Machinist’s Mate Jesse DaSilva had just left his post in the engine room, having decided to get a cup of coffee. He was standing with one foot in the mess. Over the intercom, he could hear the bridge crew react as the torpedo headed back toward the Tang.
“Captain, that’s a circular run!” he heard Leibold say.
“All ahead emergency!” shouted O’Kane. “Right full rudder!”
“Bend them on,” added O’Kane. “Control, just bend them on.”
In the engine room, Chief Electrician’s Mate James Culp did his best to comply, knowing the Tang needed all the power she could get if there was to be a chance of saving lives.
The torpedo was now making straight for the 300-foot submarine. The men on the bridge stood, transfixed, their eyes “popping out of their sockets.” The Tang was moving at about 6 knots, 20 less than her final torpedo.
“Left full rudder!” ordered O’Kane.
Bill Leibold watched in stricken silence as the torpedo headed right at them, coming dead-on toward the Tang. Then he lost sight of it as it continued down the port side.
Maybe it will miss. Maybe it will veer away and begin another erratic circle. Maybe the Tang will evade just in time….
In the conning tower, Floyd Caverly waited like the other men for the inevitable.
Surely there is enough time to get out of the way—to get the hell out of here? Surely?
Speed. Speed is all we need…just enough to get out of the way. If only the Tang would just set by the stern and set off like a speedboat.
But the Tang was not a speedboat. She could not avoid the charging torpedo. It hit the Tang ’s stern with a massive explosion somewhere between the maneuvering room and the after torpedo room, killing as many as half the crew instantly and flooding all aft compartments as far forward as the crew’s quarters, midway along the boat.
Caverly was standing looking at a radarscope when it happened. He…thought that the Tang had been snapped in two. The waves of concussion from the explosion made him feel as if he were experiencing a massive earthquake. He did not know which way to step to catch his balance. The deck plates rattled and shook. Lightbulbs went out.
In the conning tower, there was chaos.
“We’ve been hit!” cried Executive Officer Frank Springer.
In the forward torpedo room, Pete Narowanski found himself flat on his back from the huge explosion. He picked himself up. What happened? There had been no alarm. One moment he had been rejoicing, looking forward to carousing in San Francisco. Now he could feel the Tang sinking. Had the Tang been hit by a Japanese shell?
…[Narowanski] and the other men in the forward torpedo room remained calm. They were well trained and had many years’ experience between them. As they tried to figure out what exactly had happened to the Tang, they scanned the compartment for damage. There was surprisingly little. Then, their training kicked in. They closed the watertight door leading to the next compartment. One of the men, who was still wearing headphones, tried to contact other compartments but without success. Someone else turned on the emergency lights.
[They] were lucky. Unlike men trapped in other compartments, the torpedomen knew they had a way out from theirs—they were a few feet from one of only two escape trunks on the Tang. The other was in the after torpedo room, which was flooded, its occupants either killed instantly by the explosion or now drowned….
On the bridge, Bill Leibold saw a cloud of what looked like black smoke. In fact it was water thrown up from the explosion. He and other men on the bridge felt the boat being wrenched, as if it were being split in half.
A few feet from Leibold, Dick O’Kane watched, aghast, as the tops of the after ballast tanks blew into the air. Water washed across the wooden main decking, around the five-inch main gun, and then toward the aft cigarette deck where Tang’s 40mm gun was positioned, several feet from where O’Kane now stood on the bridge.
“Do we have propulsion?” he then asked, speaking into his bridge phone.
There was no answer.
O’Kane again shouted into the bridge phone.
The men in the conning tower below could hear him. But O’Kane received no reply. The explosion had knocked out the microphone on his bridge phone.
“Radar!” shouted O’Kane. “I want to know how far it is to the closest destroyer and what the course is on that destroyer.”
Caverly picked up his microphone in the conning tower.
“The radar is out of commission,” said Caverly. “I have no bearing or range right now.”
“Radar,” barked O’Kane, “I’m asking for information and I want it now!”
Caverly realized that O’Kane’s microphone was out of action so he stepped over to the hatch and called up: “The radar is out of commission.”
Caverly then gave the Tang ’s last bearing and range, but O’Kane did not hear him. He had stepped away from the hatch.
“I want information, radar!” O’Kane shouted again, desperately.
Frank Springer grabbed Caverly by the nape of the neck and seat of his pants and began to shove him up the hatch.
“Get up there and talk to the skipper!” said Springer.
Caverly climbed up the ladder to the bridge [and]…stepped over toward O’Kane, who was a few feet from Bill Leibold…. Water started to rise up toward the bridge. It had soon covered the aft third of the submarine.
“Close the hatch!” cried O’Kane.
But it was too late. The Tang began to sink, tons of water pouring into the conning tower. The after section of the submarine had flooded….
Caverly knew it was now time for every man to look after himself.

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THE LONGEST WINTER – AN EXCERPT

19-bulge-gi-city-wall

The platoon again opened fire as the Germans got to the fence. This time, it was Private First Class Milosevich who let rip with the .50-caliber jeep-mounted machine gun. The armor-piercing bullets, employed by rear gunners on B-17s to bring down fighters, blew holes a foot wide in the German soldiers. But the .50 caliber’s field of fire was too narrow, and the gun was not easy to maneuver from its fixed position in the jeep. Milosevich tried to take it off its stand but burned his hand because it had become so hot. He wrapped a handkerchief over the burn and again picked up the gun so he could better traverse the pasture.

Suddenly, Milosevich saw a German paratrooper to his left only yards from Lyle Bouck’s dugout. He fired and the German fell.

The enemy fire suddenly became particularly fierce. Milosevich decided to make for his dugout. A German appeared a few yards away, wielding a “potato-masher” grenade. Milosevich let rip, cutting the German in two.80 Milosevich made it back to his dugout and began to fire again. He screamed for Slape, who dived into the dugout, bruising his ribs.

The Germans kept coming.

Slape took over on the .50-caliber machine gun.

“Shoot in bursts of three!” shouted Milosevich, knowing the gun would overheat and they would be out of ammunition if Slape kept firing away without pausing.

“I can’t!” shouted Slape. “There’s too many of them!”

Slape continued to fire, hitting dozens of men with a sweeping arc. Milosevich saw the unwieldly gun start to pour off smoke. When he looked down the hillside, it seemed that they were outnumbered by at least a hundred to one, and the Germans just kept coming.

In their dugout on the extreme right side of the position, Sam Jenkins and Robert Preston had by now run out of ammunition for their BAR and were using their M-1s. Jenkins couldn’t understand why the Germans were attacking again without artillery support. If they brought just one tank into play, they would all be quickly blown off the hill.83 He fired again and again, knowing it was vital to hit the Germans before they got close enough to throw a grenade through the hole’s firing slit.

Nearby, Private Louis Kalil suddenly noticed that some of the Germans were fanning out and trying to infiltrate through the position’s flanks. A few feet from Kalil, Sergeant George Redmond was squinting through the sights of his M-1.

To the left of the dugout, a German paratrooper crawled along the rock-hard ground. He got to within thirty yards of Kalil and Redmond and then quickly aimed his rifle, loaded with a grenade, and fired. It was a superb shot. The grenade entered the dugout through its eighteen-inch slit and hit Kalil square in the jaw.

But it did not explode. Instead, it knocked Kalil across the dugout to Redmond’s side. Kalil was half-stunned as he lay sprawled on the base of the dugout. Redmond dropped his rifle, grabbed some snow, and rubbed it in Kalil’s face. Blood gushed from Kalil’s jaw. The force of the impact had forced his lower teeth into the roof of his mouth, where several were now deeply embedded. His jaw was fractured in three places.

Redmond sprinkled sulfa powder on the wound and then pulled gauze out of both their first aid kits and started to wrap Kalil’s face. There was no morphine in the kits to kill the pain. Once the shock wore off, Kalil would be in agony.

“How bad is it?” asked Kalil.

“Oh, it’s not too bad, Louis,” said Redmond.

“But I’ve got blood all over myself. It can’t be very nice.”

“It’s not too bad.”

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it.”

Kalil knew Redmond was trying to make the wound sound a lot less severe than it really was. He could feel the teeth embedded in the roof of his mouth cutting into his tongue.

The battle still raged. Small-arms fire sounded like radio static during an electrical storm, a constant ear-piercing crackle. Redmond’s fingers did not shake despite his fear as he wrapped the last of the gauze around Kalil’s jaw. He knew the Germans could penetrate their position any moment. If they were to stand a chance, they would need to return to firing as soon as possible.

Redmond tied the last gauze bandage and met Kalil’s gaze.

“Don’t worry about it,” reassured Redmond.

“If things get to where you can take off, then take off,” Kalil replied. Redmond looked at Kalil fiercely.

“We’re staying here—together.”

“All right.”

Redmond grabbed his M-1 and began to fire. Kalil was now in terrible pain but did the same, aiming with the use of just one eye at the figures that still approached up the bloodied hillside. It was so cold in the dugout that Kalil could feel blood freezing to his face, stemming the flow from the wound. The damned cold had been good for one thing at least. In the desert, he would surely have bled to death.

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THE ENVOY – AN EXCERPT

A RIGHTEOUS MAN

Alice Breuer, photographed in Stockholm, 2009, by John Snowdon

Alice Breuer, photographed in Stockholm, 2009, by John Snowdon

An excerpt from my book The Envoy about Raoul Wallenberg’s rescue of thousands of Jews in Budapest in late 1944

…The winter night was bitterly cold. Soon, Alice and Erwin and the others found themselves at the entrance to the Maria Teresa barracks. They were herded down narrow wooden stairs to a basement. A teenaged, red-haired Arrow Cross soldier was sleeping on the floor, a submachine gun on his chest. The youth woke up.
“Take them to the Danube,” he murmured to other Arrow Cross youths, and then fell back to sleep.

Alice and Erwin and the others were soon out on the street, marching again with hands above their heads, toward the local Arrow Cross headquarters, at 41 Ferenz Ring. On its first floor, they were pushed against a wall and their coats taken away. “We stood in our shirtsleeves,” recalled Erwin. “We knew that eventually we would have to shed the rest of our clothing, all but the underwear. Soon, but not yet. Questions were being asked by one of the Arrow Cross soldiers, who was seated behind a small table. A search for more valuables, and more abuse.”

Erwin was now close to collapsing from exhaustion. He stared at Alice. She, too, looked like she was “a hundred years old.” Fatigue had left deep lines on her face; her thin, pointed nose was now prominent. “A narrow, barely blue blood vessel arched up under her pale skin on the side of her neck, and where her jawbone protruded, a fine but visibly rapid, fluttering pulse betrayed her frightful expectation at parting so abruptly from her young life.”

Alice turned to face Erwin.

He would never be able to forget what she said next.

“I’m pregnant.”

Erwin held her close.

Then they were on the move again.

The Arrow Cross told them they were going to shoot them all and dump their bodies in the Danube.

Meanwhile, back on the fourth floor of Ulloi Street, Victor Aitay, who operated the telephone switchboard, called a secret number and managed to get a message to someone working on Wallenberg’s staff at Section C.

In the breast pocket of Erwin Koranyi’s jacket was half a cigarette. But the jacket had been taken away. It was all he could think about as he faced the Arrow Cross executioners.

Mortars landed in nearby streets.

Erwin wanted it all to end.

What if I jump into the Danube before the Arrow Cross opens fire? Would I stand a chance? Maybe it’s better to get it over with…

Erwin was “impatient” to die.

Alice then saw a large American car pull up nearby. A man in a darkblue suit, wearing a fedora, stepped out of the car. He was holding up a megaphone.

Alice stared at Wallenberg. He was unarmed, shouting that he wanted his Jews back. They did not belong to the Arrow Cross. They were his. “It was extraordinary because everybody could kill him,” Alice recalled. “Why not kill him? Killing was everywhere.”

It was around 2 a.m. as Alice and the others watched, barely able to believe what they were seeing.

“These are Swedish citizens! Release them immediately and return their belongings to them!”

To Alice, it seemed as if God had answered her prayers. “For an instant,” she recalled, “I thought: ‘God has come to save us.’ To our astonishment, the executioners obeyed Wallenberg. He seemed very tall indeed—and strong. He radiated power and dignity. There was truly a kind of divine aura about him on that night.”

Erwin saw several policemen, who were clearly working for Wallenberg. “The policemen were talking to the Arrow Cross commander. What was happening? One of the high-ranking police officers was Pal Szalai, with whom Wallenberg used to deal.” The police were armed. They began to take guns from the Arrow Cross youths. Among the policemen was a man in a leather coat, Karoly Szabo, whom Erwin recognized. Then some of the policemen told Alice and Erwin and the others to form a line and walk back to the Ulloi Street building….

Erwin Koranyi’s sister, Marta, spotted Erwin and Alice among the returning Jews. She cried as she kissed her brother and Alice.

All the returnees were given some bread.

Someone struck a match and the stump of a cigarette was lit. Erwin took it, filled his lungs with nicotine, and exhaled.

It was hard to believe, but he was still alive.

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Dear Mr.Kershaw
I am the author of Drawing D - Day an Artist's Journey Through War. Is it possible to be in touch? Maxine Giannini
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