Bunker Hill (CV 17) - Naval Cruise Book

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Th e Battl X1'y7' R.-,gl K ..,4 ..,, .. fl A' A' ' ,I ' H - ., I r:fr.,f,L,,.:,r,? S P, 3,4117 2, fu fm 5f,:,7,l377unC6J in the ff if itf1?iCof2r, war lize ' 'vlfvfll 1 r T 'isa' V-4: x F. 1 4 i'?fsf fi if lftc' ,ffffgo .fm iii Sqyzzzzffrofm. t was the rare privilege, too, of the U.S.S. Bunker Hill to operate during a transitional period that saw the growth of America's might on the seas. Her initial operations were characterized by au- dacity and courage of Naval leadership. With but a few ships and a sound attack, the fight was carried to the enemy. In unbelievably short months the result of a war-spurred America was seen in the tremendous growth of her fleet. A veritable juggernaut took over the Pacific, drove the enemy from its positions, and O swept in conquest from Rabaul to the Philip- pines. The dawn of 1944 saw the U.S.S. Bunker Hill charging to Kavieng-the most daring thrust into Jap-con trolled waters of the war. Through the Gilberts, the Marshalls, against the bastion of Truk, theuunsinkable carriers of the Carolines, this ship sailed and fought and won. We hit the enemy hard and often. This is the story of one ship's part in that conquest, not the story of a Task Force, but possibly typical of the path that many carriers took in the Fight for the Pacific. Emi: M, iw' T 'ig . galiffzi.f,nxe.r,4f-,xwxmafimxsaxaoaaoc

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RABAUL Dawn-November 11, 1943: the longest day of our life. It all comes back in the form of mental flashes drawn from a brain file of vivid plc- tures that now yellow in an ash-heapnof memory. We won't forget it. In AmCr1C9- Armistice bands played for holiday parades, and strings of confetti fell like well-wishes from Heaven. A cold wind swept the streets of Chicago, and a brilliant, warmish sun lay close to the heart of Texas, the lemon light of East Forty-Second Street was hardly enough to ward off chill winds that swept up from the man-made canyons of Lower Manhattan, and in Georgia the last locks of cotton were being packed into burlap bags by husky Negroes who sang about Glory and Hallelujah as they worked. That was back home. You have forgotten it by now. This was out here: a small force of carriers and destroyers streaked northward and west- ward through warm, tropical waters, their greyish stacks shimmering in the diffused light of a bright moon that sifted its way through a white skein of clouds. It was an hour before sunrise and you could hardly discern where the moonlight ended and the bluish twilight began. Sailors were going to their battle stations, pilots were climbing into their planes, the bell muzzles of dozens of ready guns pointed solemnly into the winey air of a tropical dawn. Everywhere there was an electrical current flowing and ebbing through the blood of a new crew that waited to light a new ship. Through the minds of these 3,000 men there ran a human movietone of mystery and excitement, they were waiting to meet an enemy they had never seen, an enemy they had sailed thousands of miles to face. Today was the first day, it was the beginning of time, it was the epitome of fanfare and trum- pets, of startling noises and sickening smells, of man's roaring mechanics made to fend off his enemies, of a small kid's willingness to pray-even after he becomes a grown man,