James A. Michener
4 August 1944 - At 0845 I was awakened gently but firmly out of my "sack", and was told that I was going on the first strike. This was a change from the planning of the day before, as I was not to take off until the second strike, which was at about 1400. After a quick briefing and a damn small breakfast (coffee and one piece of toast), we manned our planes. Proceeding to kill some more time sitting in the cockpit, we finally took off at 1000. Getting on course and starting to climb steadily, we were off in a cloud of mouse milk. The weather wasn't exactly CAVU, but it could have been worse. After about an hour and twenty minutes, the target came into view. It was a very innocent looking little island "somewhere west of Hawaii."We started in to attack. The ack-ack wasn't too bad to start with, but as we got closer, it got thicker, and I mean thick! It was a hell of a time to be thinking of a song, but that verse of "I Want To Go Home" that goes:
"Time says that ack-ack's a beautiful sight, Life paints a picture of tracers at night, But this stuff we see here is real, Up close it loses appeal" -kept running through my mind. Well, about the time I got to that line, it was pushover point. Banker broke off to the left, and I thought he was diving on the field, but right about then he turned right. Damned if I know what he was after. I saw what looked like a "Betty" below me on the edge of the runway, so I aimed my bomb at it.
Right about then things started happening pretty fast. At about 6500 feet, a nice big black puff of smoke appeared right in front of me. I don't know whether it was 40 mm or bigger, but I didn't feel anything hit the plane. I released at about 2500 feet and started to get the hell out of the local area, which about that time was getting rather crowded, especially with those nice black puffs.
All this time Harvey. who is my rear seat man and is the best as far as I'm concerned, was getting a rear view of this whole action. From his comments later, it was interesting, to say the least - especially because we could hear that stuff go off.
Quickly I started hunting for Banker. He was right off my starboard wing about 2 miles, so I started toward him to join up. Just about then Harvey said he was going to take some pictures of the damage we had done. (I think I hit something that burned, because there was quite a column of smoke when I glanced back.)
Harvey had no sooner mentioned the camera than all hell broke loose in the engine. Smoke started pouring from under the cowl, and the engine started running very rough. I eased the throttle back to 30 inches and cut the RPMs down to 2100. Up to then I had been carrying about "40 to 45" and 2400 RPMs after coming out of my dive. My cylinder head temperature had jumped to 290 degrees. About this time I noticed my windshield was well covered with oil, and my oil pressure had dropped to about 15 to 20 lbs. It suddenly dawned on me that we had been hit, and that our chances of ending up in the briny deep were damn good. Just as I was telling Harvey to prepare for a water landing and to get the raft out, I saw one of our SB2Cs go in. When I saw him he was at about 1000 feet and going straight down. There was nothing but a big splash and explosion. Nothing else. (When I returned to Pearl Harbor I found out that it was Majors and Albini that I had seen.)
By this time we were still losing power and altitude. At about 300 feet, she began to hold her own at 110 knots. This was when I found time enough to call Banker and tell him what was the matter. He said for me to join up on him, and me barely making 110 knots! I also noticed that two fighters were covering me by this time - mighty nice of them. I had had hopes she would keep flying, but just as I came into what I thought was the wind, she started to freeze up for good, so down we went. While all this was going on, I had managed to get out of my parachute harness and tighten my shoulder straps good. There was quite a splash when we hit, but not too much of a bump. I had also managed to get my flaps down.
By the time I got out, Harvey had the raft out and was starting to inflate it - a damn good job on his part. Harvey was yelling at me to get in the raft by then, but I was trying to get the small raft in the front seat out. I finally gave that up as a bad job and dove off the trailing edge of the port wing. By this time the raft had drifted 30 or 40 feet from the plane, and was moving fast. I reached it easily by swimming, but was rather worn out. That gear we wear weighs plenty - too much in fact.
With Harvey's help I got my gear off and into the raft, and managed to drag myself in, too. Along about then both of us were pretty well worn out, and the nervous reaction was beginning to take effect on us. This consisted mostly of what is commonly known as the "dry heaves".
We put a dye marker in the water immediately and waved at the planes circling us to let them know we were OK. We then settled down to the routine of bailing water out of the raft and getting sick. This routine went on until we were picked up at about 1445. We had been in the water about three hours then. Harvey and I both must have dozed off, as the time seemed to pass very quickly. Our chances of getting picked up were almost 100%, so I guess we didn't worry too much, or maybe we were too tired to give a damn.
Our first sign that we were about to be picked up came when some fighters started buzzing us. They dropped a couple of smoke lights to mark us, and we threw dye marker around like mad, me getting most of it on myself. The sub finally came into view, and what a beautiful sight it was! Harvey and I almost fell overboard trying to wave at it. After a little trouble we got aboard OK, and what a comfortable feeling that is!
So help me, these sub boys are the tops. Nothing is too good for you when you come aboard under our circumstances. We got a hot shower, clean dry clothes, cigarettes, coffee, hot soup, etc. All we had to do was name it, and we could have it. After being introduced all around and trying to put something in my stomach (which wouldn't stay), I hit the sack. Harvey did the same aft in the men's quarters. When I woke up it was time for chow, so I tried it again, and it stayed down this time. By the way, their food is the tops. After having a little more bull session, the topics being planes and subs, I hit the sack for good that night, winding up what I would call a "rather full day".
5 August 1944 - I wandered around the ship wondering what all the gadgets were. I got the word on the general run of the ship from one of the officers who took me on a sightseeing tour. We had to make several dives that day and night, just because some "fly-fly boy" (the sub boys' pet name for us) forgot his "trigger". We were still playing lifeguard and went hunting for one of our planes that was forced down - no luck, though.
The chow on these boats amazed me more every time we ate. I was up on the bridge for a few minutes and later had my first look through a periscope. We had to make a couple of fast dives that night - bogies, I guess. I hit the sack about 10 PM to wind up my first full day aboard one of Uncle Sam's subs on patrol.
6 August 1944 - I woke up about 0700, just in time to have breakfast with the Skipper, who, by the way, is one hell of a swell guy. After that I went up in the conning tower to see what was going on. They let me take the helm for about a half hour, but that's enough said about that, because the wake, after I got through, looked like the trail of a snake with a broken back. I then had a long look through the periscope at "my island". For some reason, it still looked rather innocent. My thoughts about its innocence had another rough jolt when right in the middle of lunch a couple of Hamps or Zeros slipped up close on us before we saw them. Our lookouts saw them in time, however, for us to get pretty well below the surface with a fast dive before they could drop their depth charges. They dropped them just the same, though. Three of them went off - WHAM! (pause) WHAM! WHAM! It happened so fast it was over before I realized what had happened. There was no damage, however, and it didn't seem to impress anybody very much. I don't mean that these guys like to get dropped on, but I guess one can get accustomed to most anything. Not five minutes after this happened, somebody suggested a poker game, so I joined all the officers who were not on duty and got wound up in the pasteboards. I proceeded, as per my usual game, to lose $6.50. This broke up before chow, so this gave me time to wash up and shave (?) I shaved for my first beard that day. It was only a few days gone, but it promised to look pretty sharp in about a month.
Back to this subject of chow - that word "chow" is a masterpiece of understatement. It's like eating at your favorite restaurant every meal.
That night we had roast chicken, mashed potatoes, carrots and peas, gravy, olives, coffee, and, last but not least, the best ice cream I'd had since I left the states. Pineapple was the flavor, and was it good! After dinner we went to "darken ship". That means that all white lights are turned out and there is nothing but red ones on. This is done so they won't be blind when they go up on the bridge for their watch.
I've noticed a few little things. First, the uniform - it's great - shorts and a "T" shirt. That's it for everybody, from the Skipper to the lowest rated man in the crew. Second, sleeping - there doesn't seem to be any regular hours for it. Everybody seems to sleep when there isn't anything else to do or when they are not on watch.
7 August 1944 - I woke up about 0700 to start a very quiet day. It was getting so that I woke up automatically at this time every morning, just in time for breakfast. I sort of had to get up, though, because my sack was just about one-half of all the seats in the wardroom. After breakfast the Skipper and I played a game of Gin Rummy. I managed to win from him, too. I had a very close look at one of the Japs' "unsinkable" aircraft carriers through the periscope. If there had been any Jap wahinies on the beach we would have been able to see them. We sure as hell were close enough. This was the first day since I had been aboard that they hadn't been looking for some more "zooms" like me to fish aboard. We were strictly on the hunt that day. After noon chow (which was good as usual), I hit the sack for a couple of hours since there was nothing much else to do. We submerged about 0230, and at about 1900 we surfaced. At 2230 I was up on the bridge. I noted: "There is almost a full moon and the sky is as clear as a bell. Our course right this minute is right up the moon path. There's a slight breeze which makes it just about perfect. (Perfect is right, just about right for one of those little bastards to slip up on us.) I think the general opinion is that it's a hell of a night to fight a war. It's about time I hit the hay for a little shuteye."
8 August 1944 - One of the Japs' fly-boys pulled a very dirty and unethical trick. It was strictly not according to Hoyle. The Japs, being very cagey and observing, noticed that when one of our flyers is floating in his little rubber boat in this big ocean at night, he proceeds to let anybody know where he is by shooting a certain color flare. Well, the (ethnic slur deleted!) figured this was a good chance to get a shot at one of our subs or anybody who came around hoping he can do his good deed for the day by dragging some poor devil out of the drink. So they dropped a few flares from a plane every now and then and then moved off a little way and waited developments. This is just what happened. Naturally, when our lookouts spotted the flare, we started towards it, knowing full well it could be a trick, but that didn't seem to bother these sub-boys. I guess they figured there just as well could be somebody out there, and they were going to find out if there was - and if not, who in hell was yelling "wolf"? Well, a Jap plane jumped us, but we dove away from him with no trouble, except that the diving horn woke me up. "Tsk, tsk - no manners, these Japs". The Skipper also has his own name for them. To quote, "(censored)", unquote!
NOTE: The above was written aboard the USS Shark. After spending a month aboard, plus a wonderful two weeks leave with the crew of the U.S.S. Shark at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, arranged by the Skipper, I never saw them again. The U.S.S. Shark II (SS-314) was reported overdue and presumed lost with all hands as of 24 October 1944.