Ghost Carrier: They Died to Fight Another Day (3 page)

The urgent voice echoed down the ship’s corridors.

Men leapt from their bunks and began pulling on shirts and dungarees.

Joe was already scrambling up the ladder from deck five. He was headed two levels up and back toward the hanger deck where he served as a parachute rigger. His body pumped with adrenalin.

0513 Hours

The passageways were crowded as sailors raced in every direction, each assigned to a specific task. Joe was nearly to the hatch of the hanger deck when he was thrown backwards by a violent concussive force. A tremendous blast had erupted from several decks below toward the bow of the ship. Unhurt, Joe picked himself up as emergency lights illuminated the passageways. He heard the roar of multiple explosions below him.
Jesus Christ! The bomb bay
.

General Quarters no longer sounded. It was replaced by men’s screams. Joe turned and moved toward the front of the ship, but the passage was blocked. Hundreds of men were yelling, “We’re going down! We’re going down!”

Joe’s only thought, shared by hundreds of other sailors, was to get topside. But he could barely move. He remembered an airshaft near where he was trapped. He turned back and worked his way in that direction. Then he heard men shrieking in pain as he hit a wall of intense heat. He saw a man climbing a steel ladder that was glowing hot. He saw others following, shoeless, and as their bare feet hit the steps, they cried out in agony. As Joe looked at their hands, a sickening smell registered. Burning flesh. Searing heat from the rails burned men’s fingers as if they were gripping a red-hot charcoal grill. The sailors didn’t stop though. They continued to climb and scream. He had to find another way out.

He turned back toward the front of the ship. The way was partially clear until he hit a thick wall of oily, acrid, pitch-black smoke. He heard men ahead of him crying out, “We’re gonna die! We’re all gonna die!” and he knew they were right.

The men on the surrounding task force ships could not believe the horror that was unfolding before their eyes as they crowded topside rails. Fifteen hundred yards away from the
Liscome
, sailors on the
New Mexico
were sent scattering as oil particles, burning pieces of the deck, molten metal, and bits of clothing and human flesh showered their deck. The flames from
Liscome Bay
were so intense they lit up the sea around the task group. They heard later that the flames were seen by the battleship
Pennsylvania
16 miles away near Makin Atoll. Men stared in disbelief. There was nothing they could do.

Sailors from the destroyer
Maury
, just 5,000 yards 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 figure this out. What the hell is going on?”

“Joe, I mean I hate to say it, but we’re all dead.”

The two stopped at the bottom of the stairs and let the other sailors heading to their battle stations slide past. One of the passing young sailors stopped and looked back with reddening eyes. “I was near the bridge topside. Part of the radio antenna fell on me. I couldn’t move. I watched myself burn to death.” Then the sailor turned and headed down the passageway.

“Al, don’t say anything to anybody. I know we got hit. I know we went down and you know we went down, but I don’t think everybody on this ship knows,” pointing up toward the flight deck and the Petty Officer they had just encountered. “Get to your station. I’ll meet up with you later.”

Al turned and ran down the passageway.

Joe ran back to his berth to put on a shirt over his T-shirt.

He entered the vacant cabin, grabbed a shirt out of his green steel locker and started for the door. But then he stopped and headed to his bunk. He reached up to the small shelf just above his bed and felt for his son’s picture. His fingers could not find it. He crawled up into the bunk and ran his hand along the shelf then pulled up the mattress. Then he pulled back the covers. Nothing.

He jumped down to the second bunk thinking the photo had slid down. He pulled back the covers on the lower bunk. Looked down the side. Nothing.

He hopped down to the bottom bunk pulled off the sheets and even looked under the bunk itself, still nothing.

His son’s photo had completely vanished.

Joe made his way to the hanger deck to perform his battle station duties. He went about his work silently. He saw several agitated, red-faced men talking in pairs. He knew what they were discussing.

Just after 0930 hours, he returned to his cabin. Lonny was already there, playing a game of solitaire on his bunk.

“Can’t figure it out. I got back here and my bunk was all messed up. Yours too, Joe.”

Joe winced, “Sorry, that was me, Lonny. I was looking for something.”

“Well, you should have put it back right.”

Joe held out both hands calming him, “Whoa, whoa, fella, relax. Won’t happen again.” Then Joe moved to his locker and began to take off his sweaty shirt. As he did he felt Lonny’s eyes follow him.

“So what were you lookin’ for? Maybe I seen it.”

Joe turned back to him as he pulled his arm out of a sleeve, “Oh, just that picture of my son. I had it last night.”

Lonny frowned at Joe. “What picture of your son?”

“You know the one that Franny sent a couple weeks ago. The one I stare at just about every night. You’ve seen it.”

Lonny shook his head slowly side to side. “Joe, I never seen nothing. You don’t have a son.”

“What do you mean I don’t have a son?” Joe said alarmed. “He was born two months ago. His picture’s gotta be around here someplace,” Joe said looking around, “and I’m going to find it.”

“You’re completely off your rocker, Rusk. You ain’t even married. Don’t you remember you told me that when we brought those girls back to the base at San Diego right before we shipped out? You said it was our going away party.”

“What girls?”

“I don’t remember their names, but I do remember you was pretty angry. You wanted the blond and I snagged her first.”

Joe stood open-mouth staring at Lonny.

“And besides you ain’t never worn no wedding ring.”

“What you mean?” Joe raised his left hand, “I never take it…off.” His voice trailing away as he examined his unadorned ring finger.

“Com’on, Joe, are you sick or something? You’re scaring me.”

Chapter 5

FRANK AND KATE’S HOUSE

“Katie, I’ve had it. Had it! I’m done with the sessions.” Frank got up from the dinner table and headed toward the living room.

Katie followed, “You haven’t even given it a chance.”

“Five weeks? Five weeks isn’t giving it a chance?”

Katie frowned.

“Every week it’s the same old ‘
Why do you think this is happening, Frank? And why do you feel so abandoned by your father, Frank’
He’s the psychiatrist He’s supposed to tell me! And I don’t feel abandoned. I tell you, Katie, I should have gone into psychology. It’s a complete crock of horseshit that makes people a lot of money.”

“Oh, Frank.”

“No, I mean it. I’m done. And a lighter wallet is all I’ve got to show for it.”

Frank dropped on the couch picked up the remote clicked on ESPN’s
Sportscenter
and settled back.

“So that’s what you’re going to do. Sit there and watch sports?”

“It’s therapeutic.”

“And tonight you’re going to wake up again in cold sweats screaming.”

“What do you want me to do? Therapy didn’t help.”

“I want you – I want
us
to get some help. This hasn’t been easy on me either you know.”

“What? What do you want me to do? Tell me. I’ll do anything.”

Katie looked down, gathering her courage, “Frank, you think you’re seeing what happened to your Dad on that ship, right?”

“I know I’m seeing what happened to my Dad on that ship.”

“All right, you
know.
Well, there’s a way you can contact him. We could find a psychic. Maybe he’s trying to send you a message from the other side.”

Frank put down the remote and looked up at Katie, ready to shoot down her idea. Then the vision of his father in the flames of the cake candles, screaming his name, entered his mind.