THE North Sea was a massive inferno of cold, black, raging torrents. Earlier a venomous German torpedo had broken our destroyer escort F. C. Davis in two, and the battle was on..

Gubser, Darwin E.

English

THE North Sea was a massive inferno of cold, black, raging torrents. Earlier a venomous German torpedo had broken our destroyer escort F. C. Davis in two, and the battle was on...</p

Gubser, Darwin

Digital Repository @ Iowa State University (ISU)

22 Sketch His eyes seem to harbor vague fears, And his back to be bowed with the burden of age, With his suffering and grief. He seems paying the wage Of some youthful sin which in his soul still sears. The Old, Old Man, Himself: I keep to myself as much as I can; And I try to stay off the street For the curious eyes of everyone Are worse than the Japs were to meet. They think that I'm drunk when I stagger, Yet the time was when I really could swagger In my dress blues; I sure 'nuff looked neat! But the Nips fixed me on Kwajalein. In an afternoon my black hair turned white, And a flame-thrower made of my face one scar. God, that was really a fight! And now I have quiet and peace and rest, Yet alone, still standing the endless test With these scars, one payment for triumph of right. Survivors in The North Sea Darwin E. Gubser THE North Sea was a massive inferno of cold, black, raging torrents. Earlier a venomous German torpedo had broken our destroyer escort F. C. Davis in two, and the battle was on. Frigid rain violently stung our faces as we manned our guns and March, 1946 23 peered into the intense darkness. We were just looking and waiting—waiting—for what, exactly, we didn't know. Johnnie Patten, my best gunner, tried competing with the screaming storm. "Chief—ya—should 'ave—heard—ole man—tell— Admir'l Hazelette—'bout—us—yesterday." "What?" I yelled at the top of my voice. "Said—his—boys—put—their—naked heart—into—battle. Reason —we—go t—damn'd—Jerries—on—run.'' It was just too difficult to try to talk, but I understood most of Johnnie's message. My heart warmed in spite of the terrific storm. All the ships of our forces were sticking long, quick, sensitive ears (sonars) into the wild world under the sea where the sub-marine lay. From the consoles poured sounds like those of a great city. "The production of sound is nearly as common among fish and Crustacea of the sea as among insects and other animals on land," says one of the Navy's books. As we listened breath-lessly for some evidence of the sub's location, we could hear the singing fish and drum fish gossiping, shrimp snapping and crack-ling like bacon frying, and the rush of porpoises and whales through the water producing a "hydrophone effect." The chorus was like the roar of a machine shop above the wailing winds. At 1150, wham! There was a crack, a hurtling, gasping sound, a splash, and the suck and sigh of missiles plunging down below the surface. Everything seemed to be in a whirl. I clung frantically to a piece of drifting beam. My arms were like bruised icicles, and as the aching became more severe, I thought they would surely break as the vicious waves brutally covered and uncovered me. I gasped for air. Through the black and white spray I saw the dim outline of a man's face and his outstretched arms groping frantically for something—anything. With considerable effort I maneuvered my legs into position; he grasped them and began clawing up along my body. It was good old Johnnie. "God—damned—Jerries," was all I could make out of what he tried to say. Men on all sides were struggling desperately to gain a hold on the debris. Some succeeding—some not. Only a few reached life boats in time. Something cracked painfully across my skull and back. I nearly lost my grip! It was a line from the S. S. Hayter. She had re-ceived our S.O.S. 

Survivors in The North Sea

https://dr.lib.iastate.edu/handle/20.500.12876/84840

Survivors in The North Sea

Abstract

Similar works

Full text

Available Versions

Digital Repository @ Iowa State University (ISU)