Ghost Carrier: They Died to Fight Another Day Read Free Page B

astern, could see men jumping overboard. Many right into flaming oil slicks floating on the ocean surface. Suddenly they saw the Liscome list down to stern as the bow rose out of the water burning furiously, sending sparks and flaming debris skyward. Then they heard Liscome’s death gurgle. The ship went down quietly with only a loud hissing sound as hot iron hit the cooler sea. A cloud of steam obliterated the view as the Liscome sank beneath Pacific waves. It was over in little more than twenty horrifying minutes.
    “She’s gone!” someone shouted, “She’s gone!” Some men were crying, slowly turning away. Some stood frozen staring at where the ship had been. Others hugged each other. Hundreds of crewmen had friends on the Liscome Bay, and they had just watched their buddies die.
    There were scattered small oil slicks still burning. There were a few life rafts out picking up pale, shivering survivors, hauling them in from the forty-five degree water. One sailor, Aerographer John Sidy, was standing on the Maury just 5,000 yards astern. He squinted at the horizon. It was just past 0530 hours and the dim November sun was brightening the skies in the east. Something faint, however, seemed to be obscuring the horizon line. It was a shape. A translucent shape of something Sidy could not quite make out. He shook his head, closed his eyes, then opened them again, staring hard. Movement he caught from the corner of his eye caused him to shift his gaze. He caught sight of other men down to his right at the edge of the deck pointing in the direction of the horizon and waving other men over. Sailors crowded the rails and appeared to be looking at something.
    Sidy whipped his eyes back to the horizon. There was no mistaking it this time. Floating on the horizon was the outline of a ship, a Casablanca-Class American Aircraft Carrier, the Liscome Bay.

Chapter 4

    USS LISCOME BAY
MAKIN ISLAND, CENTRAL PACIFIC 23 NOV 1943
    0505 Hours
    Joe Rusk jolted awake in his bunk to the PA echoing down the steel corridors of the Carrier. “General Quarters. General Quarters. This is not a drill. All hands man your battle stations!”
    “What the hell?”
    His buddies Lonny Cartwright and Sam Fine in the two bunks below him were already up. Lonny was at his locker pulling on a shirt. Sam stared at Joe in frozen silence.
    Joe momentarily stared back.
    “Guys, you comin’? We gotta go!” Lonny shouted to them.
    “Yeah, we’re coming.” Then Joe slid out of his top bunk.
    Sam remained silent and Joe saw he was trembling slightly.
    “We’re coming, we’re coming!” Joe shouted to Lonny.
    Lonny shook his head in disgust and headed out the cabin door.
    Joe pulled on his dungarees as Sam spoke, “Joe, we were hit. We went down.”
    “Sam, I know. I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but we gotta get topside.”
    He took Sam by the shoulder, and they headed up the steel ladder with a few other men to the flight deck. Other sailors were hurrying to their stations with uncertain, fearful faces.
    Joe’s group was met by Petty Officer Ronald Dawkins as they emerged on the flight deck.
    “You men get to your battle stations! Right now!” he shouted.
    “What’s going on?” Joe shouted back.
    “The New Mexico’s been hit by a Jap torpedo,” pointing his finger in the direction of the crippled battleship off the port bow.
    Joe and the sailors who had followed him turned and saw the listing ship 1500 yards away engulfed in flames. A third of its stern was already under water as sailors scrambled to jump overboard.
    Joe’s eyes filled with horror, “No, no, that can’t be. That can’t be!”
    “Now get to your damn battle stations before I put you all on report!” Dawkins screamed.
    The sailors quickly moved to the hatch and descended the ladder.
    “Joe, we were hit! We went down!” Joe’s friend Al Cunningham said leaning close in to him.
    “I know, I know, Al,” as he motioned him to keep his voice down.
    “I gotta