Final Patrol Read Free Page A

boats’ crew members was less than twenty-five years old. The “old man,” the skipper, was rarely much over thirty.
    Their stories, if we take the time to listen to them, are dramatic, moving, and as fascinating today as they were over half a century ago. They are full of human drama and colorful characters. Many of these adventures have yet to be shared with the general public, however, and we are quickly losing the veterans who lived them, the ones who can tell them the best. That’s why it is so important that the boats be saved from the scrap heap or demolition, salvaged and preserved—and opened so we can visit them and learn more about them.
    And it is also why the memories recounted by their crew members must be preserved and passed on, so that these men and what they did and how they did it can be properly appreciated.
    Among the vessels so preserved is the USS Bowfin , dubbed “the Pearl Harbor Avenger.” She was put under construction only eight days after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, which took place on December 7, 1941. She went on to a brilliant patrol record, including a stint delivering medicine, radio transmitters, ammunition, and money to Philippine guerrillas in a daring, near-suicidal mission. Later, she was depth-charged to the point that the enemy was certain she was dead. They raked a grappling hook down her deck trying to snag her and drag her to the surface but could not grab her.
    It was the Bowfin ’s crew who had to recover from the guilt brought about by one of the war’s greatest tragedies. She sank what her crew believed was an enemy troop ship—only to discover later that the vessel carried nine hundred Japanese children who were being evacuated from an island that was about to come under attack from the Allies.
    Crew members of the USS Drum worked feverishly in water up to their knees after a vicious depth-charge attack. Even with their sub damaged, they loaded and launched torpedoes and finally sank the enemy aircraft carrier they had their sights on. With cold seawater pouring in around them, they cheered as their skipper reported what he was seeing as he watched their damaged target, listing so badly that her decks were clearly visible through his periscope.
    Some of the boats carried odd names. There was the Croaker , the Clamagore , the Requin , the Razorback . And there was the USS Becuna , affectionately called Becky by her crew.
    It was aboard the USS Silversides , nicknamed “the Lucky Boat” because of her many close scrapes with the enemy, that Pharmacist’s Mate Tom Moore successfully removed a shipmate’s gangrenous appendix—even though he had never performed any kind of surgery before and had to resort to using knives and dinner forks from the galley for surgical instruments.
    Then there was the USS Cod , whose skipper, Commander James Dempsey, had sunk the first Japanese destroyer of the war when he was captain of a tiny 1920s-era submarine. And it was the Cod that endured a vicious barrage of seventy Japanese depth charges in only fifteen minutes. Twelve hours later, the air inside the boat was so dank that the men couldn’t even get a match to strike so they could light their cigarettes; there simply wasn’t enough oxygen left. They finally surfaced—into the middle of a tropical thunderstorm. The boat’s sound operator was still so deafened from counting the explosions of the depth charges that he couldn’t hear the thunder, but he could certainly appreciate the sweet, fresh air that spilled down the open hatch once they were on the surface.
    It was the new skipper of the Batfish who drew curious stares from his crew when they learned his prior war history. Captain Wayne Merrill had already served as an officer aboard two previous boats in the Pacific. Only a few days after he shipped off each of them, the submarine and its crew were lost. The men assigned to his newly constructed sub