Bunker Hill (CV 17) - Naval Cruise Book

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Odell, Torpedoman J. F. Ditzek, and Gunner Michael Dorn. Leading the petty 0f'f1CC1'S were Chief Fire Controlmen Al Boyce and Purcell Claunch, Chief Gunner's Mate L. O. Boles and Chief Torpedoman's Mate A. Dickens. Better known as the Marine Detachment, the Seventh Division was a forest-green ag- gregation of seventy-five men and three of- ficers, most of whom have frequently been accused of being refugees from Guadacanal, Tarawa, Guam, and, more recently Philippine foxholes. In spite of the fact that every sailor on the ship at one time or another characterizes them as the men with size sev- enteen collars and size four hats, the sea- going lads from the Halls of Montezuma gave a vigorous account of themselves, whether it was in hangar deck athletics or loading am- munition at some odd God-forsaken coral atoll. As the twenty millimeter gunners on the forward batteries, they formed a rather valuable part of the ship's defense plan. CaptainpRobert E. Brown, USMC, a grad- uate of Syracuse and adequately innoculated with the leatherneck potion, commanded the Marine Detachment aboard the Bunker Hill, succeeding Major W. S. CBattle Billj Mc- Laughlin early in 1944. Captain Brown first Went to sea in 1942, joining the U.S.S. Hornet which had already taken up a Pacihc Fleet mailing address, and he remained with her through her gallant, mortal stand at Santa Cruz Islands in October of that year. The Bunker Hill's Marine Detachment was first formed in March, 1943, at Portsmouth Virginia. Personnel was transferred to the Fargo Barracks, Boston, in April, where they remained until the ship went into commis- sion. Major McLaughlin, commandant at the time, was assisted by First Lieutenant Brown Qwho later became commandantj and First Lieutenant Gordon Stallings. Second Lieutenant Harry F eehan came aboard in jan- uary as the Major departed, and Second Lieutenant Frank Ponick was ordered to the ship in mid-summer, to fill the vacancy left by Lieutenant Stallings' death. Lieutenant 3 Stallings was killed in action in the air battle off Guam last june. Heading the list of non-commissioned offi- cers were hard-working Spencer P. judkins, first sergeant, D. DOHUCHY, .Irv SUUHCFY sergeant, Walter R. Hart, Jr., and Joe M. Stratton, platoon sergeants. Transferred earlier in the year were Francis J. Quinn, first sergeant, Jere L. Atchison, first sergeant, Mays Cox and Charles Hlinka, platoon ser- geants. .gr 95 THIS IS HGW IT LOOKED You're sitting there taking it easy and half- waiting, for you hear they may be out to get you today. The thing that impresses you most is the apparent impossibility of it all- the purest blue sky you ever saw, the Warm- est sun, the whitest clouds, and silence-the fiight has taken off and now rendezvous on the horizon to the West . . . and you're lazy enough not to think, but just to permit your stream of consciousness to course slowly , -iz 9094 tiff and freely over easy thoughts . . . Languor- ous air, you would call it . . . About all you know of the present are the voices over the flight deck-they're thin and far away, and the indigo waters just roll back ln a bitter-sweet monotony . . . Nothing can happen here . . . not this time . . . And YOU look at the sky again and squint,

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rug -rv-,vm E e 9 ii ,. ,. Q. a 5 fi if ci i Q 9. A fl S .enter Hight training in the summer of '43. Ensigns K. K. Hall and W. J. Nolan made up the supporting cast on the division oHicer's roster. Two Lieutenants, E. F. Brissie and K. C. Somers, who were Fourth Divisioners at the outset stepped up as Sixth and Second Division oliicers, respectively. Leading petty officer for the division was Ernie Laurent, BM1c, while P. McFarlane, GM2c, took care of the guns. . if N 'iff ,M THE FIFTH DIVISION LOOKGUTS Although its division ofiicer-Lieutenant Robert E. Thum-comes from the land of yawning canyons and singing cowboys, the Fifth Division doesn't particularly remind one of the West. Seeing the lookout experts lined up at quarters for muster is more likely to remind you of an Armistice Day parade in Brooklyn or an election day on Journal square in Jersey City. By and large they are Easterners-New York, New Jersey, New England, with a sprinkling of Pennsylvanians, Ohioans, Chicagoans and a few Southerners. They looked after the ship's boats, tended liferafts and helped rig transfer lines, but their main job was that of serving as sky and surface lookouts, As lookouts, they drew frequent praise for their excellence in air- craft recognition, taught by Lieutenant Cjgj Charles Simmer. The Division leader, Lieutenant Thum, was a veteran of 1942's Pacific battles, in which he participated while on board the original U.S.S. Hornet, and told occasional stories of Midway and Santa Cruz, the latter of which spelled the Hornet's death. During the period between duty on the Hornet and the Bunker Hill, Lieutenant Thum served on Admiral Halsey's staff at the famous commander's South Pacific headquarters. He hails from Rock Springs, Missouri. The division's two junior ofiicers were Lieu- tenant Cjgj Charles Simmer and Ensign C. C. Crandall. H. P. Vaughan, BMlc, was the division's leading petty officer. Fire Controlmen, the Gunner's Mates and Torpedomen comprised the Sixth Division personnel, not to mention a couple of Gun- nery Oflicer yeomen. It was their job to take care of and operate all the ship's fire control equipment, to maintain and take care of tor- pedoes, and to keep under strict surveillance the ship's magazines, which, for a fact, do not include Saturday Evening Post. When you brought these three units together, you had duties strung out from bow to stern, port to starboard, double bottoms to masttop. When you got the personnel of these units strung out, you were likely to have riots, tornadoes, horse races, rummage sales and some work done, too. Normal complement of the divi- sion was seventy-five men, most of whom were rated. Lieutenant Eugene Field Brissie, one of the first water-bound poets since John Masefield, who went down to the sea in ships, headed f ga . V 1 if -,V . xi. , V . , 1 Y' ' 1:-T if ' .-2 r f. ' . ' 2:33 f - .ef ..f .1 ' ,mf L 1 -3,131+-a, .-if . ff xy. ...-s,,...... . .I -we.. the list of Sixth Division officers. Coming to the Bunker Hill from the U.S.S. Arkan- sas-a ship whose fame flared up after he left, Lieutenant Brissie had behind him over a year of North Atlantic duty, including stays in the United Kingdom and Africa. He suc- ceeded Lieutenant W. H. Mack, USN, as division officer, Lieutenant Mack left the ship in 1944's mid-summer for further assignment. Also leading the Sixth Division were Lieu- tenants James Burgess, and Harry Hamm, Lieutenants Cjgjr A. M. Spore Qtorpedo ollicerj, and Charles G. Rodman, Ensigns A. L. Hage, and YV. L. Clary, Chief Gunner R. L.

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and you feel an insatiable desire to fall lazily into another world---something like an ice show you saw at the Centre Theatre two years ago, or an afternoon at the Strato- sphere in the Spring . . . Everything is far away . . . The lirst word that they're actually on their way strikes you as being out-of-kilter- probably a mistake somewhere. You've never seen Zekes and Vals and Kates before, though on several occasions you've waited for them. Now you hear that they're coming . . . you're at first tensed up, and then rather glad . . . The Murder-Murder! sound of torpedo defense on the bugle breaks you com- pletely out of your lethargy . . . You rush head-long for your battle station . . . The air has turned hotter . . . and you see the men hurrying to put on their helmets, you hear the purring of power-dives, and you watch the five-inchers point their muzzles higher and higher into the air . . . There's nothing there-there couldn't be, you can't see a thing but the same blue sky and lazy clouds . . . The not-seeing is a terrible moment of activity for though you read of this and that in time of action, you can't seem to get it through your head that they'll be there, that you'll see airplanes diving for split minutes, then gone-or burning in the water, all that belongs to another world, not this thought . . . Now you hear that they're only fifteen miles away, doing 200 knots and flying at 18,000 feet-who knows this? who said so? it's still probably a mistake . . . Buzzing in your ears are words, hot words, words that don't make sense because they're giving out directions and ranges and bear- ings . . . You think everything is God- awfully confused-it's just your mind, you tell yourself . . . The telephone circuit stops its ceaseless buzzing for a moment . . . Then one phrase comes in clear, unbelievably clear . . . There they are-high, three o'clock to the sun! Dive bombers . . . And there they are, thirty-three of them standing out as tiny black specks against that same blue sky, their sleek backs glistening in the sun- light when they dip wings to force a closer formation. One huge V of V's. But they're not all alone, you hear a word that the fighters are tangling with another formation out on the beam, out of the corner of your eye you see three spirals of smoke trailing toward the water out on the horizon . . . but you're fascinated by these specks- they're growing and you can see them more clearly now . . . going for the sun . . . A thunderous noise from behind, and you jump as the five-inch shells start singing out over your head, black puffs appear in the midst of the tiny specks, but you don't know what happened up there . . . Now they're pointed toward you, diving before they reach the sun . . . first one, then another, the tail- chasing madmen have begun. . . . The hard- est thing for you to do is to get it through your head that they're trying to kill you, sink your ship, burn you alive . . . -It's hell and smoke and noise now, and your guns are roaring in staccato barks be- tween the deep-chested fivers and the rattling din of smaller stuff . . . VVaves of red tracers, interrupted by puffs of black bursts, rise in the face of the hell-bent attackers . . . A splash beside your gun mount-in the water so close you could have touched it, and you didn't see it . . . The Fools! Number two rolls over on his back smoking, and a puff of white unfolds in space-a parachute starts down--Still they're coming . . . Still your guns are roaring--perhaps even you are yell- ing at the diabolic machines that cut madly through space, heedless of the fire and brim- stone . . . just fools, damn' fools . . . The last one is pulling out high, streaking for cloud cover far astern . . . Everything gets incredibly quiet in almost as short a time as it took to get noisy . . . You're still strain- ing your eyes toward the sun, now somewhat dimmed by the umbrella of black smoke that has taken shape over the surface force . . . For the first time you notice that you're jerky and nervous, your strength has been spent and you'er exhausted . . .