Neptune's Inferno_ The U.S. Navy at Guadalcanal - James D. Hornfischer [181]
The man who had captained the Monssen at the start of the Guadalcanal campaign, Commander Roland Smoot, had fallen ill and was hospitalized at Nouméa. When Smoot’s replacement was killed in a plane crash en route to the theater, fortune arranged for Lieutenant Commander McCombs, Smoot’s exec, to ascend to command. McCombs might have pondered this conspiracy of fate as he stood in the midst of the blaze on his bridge, his escape aft blocked by fires eating up the passageway, and his route out and down blocked by the sudden absence of ladders, torn from the bulkheads by the gunfire. With all of officers’ country afire, with the ship’s power dead, all guns silent, all fire mains without pressure, both battle dressing stations hit, and virtually every soul on the ship, including McCombs, wounded by shrapnel or worse, the captain passed the order to abandon ship. A torpedo, a white track lit by star shell light, broached and porpoised fifty yards ahead. Two more passed underneath the ship. A fourth buzzed astern on the surface, its propeller kicking up a spray.
As the Monssen slowed and settled, the Fletcher passed her to port. By the time the Fletcher, the last ship in Callaghan’s column, entered battle, the outcome had been decided, the worst damage inflicted. The destroyer’s executive officer, Joseph Wylie, could hear metal fragments from the Barton raining down on the deck as he watched the SG radar in the chart house aft of the bridge. His skipper, Commander William Cole, appreciated the value of the advanced equipment even if Admiral Callaghan hadn’t. Cole broke with traditional practice by putting his senior subordinate, Wylie, in the chart house instead of in the after control station. Wylie was sketching the radar readings, but the effort was superfluous now that the principal opposing ships had spent themselves and were looking to regroup and withdraw. Cole conned the Fletcher to a southerly course toward Guadalcanal, then swung east to run parallel to shore. The destroyer was near Lunga Point when lookouts spied a large ship shooting at something in the north. Recognizing an enemy vessel, Cole turned to unmask his torpedo batteries and launched a spread. Seeing explosions, he claimed several hits on the distant target. Wylie and his captain had been speaking through a ventilation port in the bulkhead between the chart house and the bridge. Through it now, Cole hollered to Wylie, “Hey, Joe, aren’t you glad our wives don’t know where we are right now?”
32
Among the Shadows
GUN BARRELS COOLED AS THE NIGHT PULLED ITS CURTAIN CLOSED again, leaving the world dark, quiet, and small. The senses of men throughout the task force had withstood a ferocious assault. But the peace had a wounded character, and men found it discouraging. As the Helena continued along, heading toward Savo Island, Gil Hoover worried that he had heard nothing from the San Francisco. The Portland checked in, requesting a tow, but Hoover decided now was not the time for that. The flagship had gone off the air at the height of the engagement, shortly after the base units met. Where had she gone?
It was around 2:30 a.m. when Hoover decided, in the apparent absence of Callaghan and Scott, that he had in all likelihood ascended to officer in tactical command. His first task was to contact surviving ships and arrange a rendezvous. From the Helena’s navigation bridge, he called all ships over the TBS. “Form 18. Course 092. Speed 18. Don’t answer.” The message instructed the task force to head east at eighteen knots. Hoover didn’t want everyone to break radio silence now, but over the TBS came a voice from the O’Bannon, asking him to repeat the course heading. Hoover did so, adding, “Unable raise other big boys.” In the indeterminate distance, he saw ships believed to be Japanese firing at each other.
There came a cry as a lookout spotted