Guam (CB 2) - Naval Cruise Book

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--R0 ClSl18ltiCS, slight damage. To us, the spectators, this was wonderful, incredible news. A sliipniate was heard to exclaim, Boy, do we build ships or do we build ships! A piece of the Jap pilofs body was found in the remnants of wreckage. lt was buried today with full military honors. . The second Betty was blasted in mid-air off the fantail of the GUAM a few minutes ,following the crash into the MISSOURI. It is believed that the GU.-tM'S after five-inch turret scored the hit- it is listed as one of our probables. There has been considerable discussion exchanged between below deck and above deck watchstanders as to the comparative merits of their battle stations while under attack. As one who has been.privi- leged to experience battle action from a dozen different stations aboard the GUAM, I have always preferred topside which affords an unobstructed view of what goes on. I think, in a way, this is easier on a person's nerves. My sympathies and admiration have always been with the engineering crew far below decks who, it seems to me, must take a terrific mental drubbing when they hear our guns thumping far above without knowing that the target is probably five or six miles distant and attacking another ship. Under air attack, topside stations are considered more hazardous by vet- erans who have experienced strafing runs and torpedo bombings, but on the other hand, the bluejackets below always live with the idea buried in their minds that at any minute of the day or night, a submarine torpedo might drop in to say hello. All evidence considered, I was still a topsider', when the GUAM began her first evening of night attack. Before it was over, I felt like I wanted to secure myself in a bilge for the duration. Night action above decks inherits all the disadvantages and none of the advantages of both below and topside battle stations. You can't see what's coming, but you are convinced that the invisible enemy overhead can see you. The feeling that grips you must be something like standing naked in Times Square at high noon. Add to this the psychological factor of a mantle of pitch blackness which is continually and irregularly being split down the middle by blind- ing flashes of gunfire and you have a situation universally unpopular with man-o'-wars men. When a five-inch gun is fired at night, it blinds you for a matter of seconds. By the time your eyes have adjusted themselves to the point where you can grope around without stepping on your ship- mates, it goes off again. It,s like being blindfolded in a room full of zooming sky-rockets. Then, as suddenly as it begins, it ends. Cease Firing is ordered, total blackness closes in and the quiet of death. Your ship glides slowly and silently-slowly so that no tell-tale wake will guide a bomber above. But the final test of nerves is the flares. Like Christmas tree lights they materialize from no- where, dropped by unseen, unheard, bombers above. For minutes that seem like hours, they dangle in mid-air, illuminating the ocean area below like the grand opening of a Hollywood fish market. It is then that you begin to pray for our night fighters I0 take OVCY- But there is a factor on our side even then, a factor the Japs would like to know about. At 1931, after 29 minutes of silence as .lip flares crept steadily closer, seeking us out, the GUAM suddenly opened up. She was firing in total darkness at a target six miles E T 0 RY- Continued away!-An-invisible speck in the sky. In exactly four minutes that speck plunged fiaming into the sea! Abruptly, the guns were quiet as we waited for another to close in. And somewhere, cruising high above, our deadly night fighters waited too. The ,laps have found the combination hard to beat. Five minutes following this bull's-eye, secure was sounded and a tired crew filed below for a supper four hours overdue. We had been at general quarters since 1340 that afternoon. Talking over battle action with shipmates below who have heard much but seen nothing, is always the outlet that breaks battle tension when topsiders come down from their battle stations. Last night, however, there was a difference. The eye-witness accounts of daylight action were one thing, but trying to give an eye-witnessn account of a nightmare was another. Evening chow was a dull affair. By way of a check on myself, I had asked Raymond E. Dumaine, a storekeeper, third class, who divides his service afloat between adding figures in the ship's Disbursing Office and acting as a loader on a 20mm AA gun, to set down his story of the night's events. Here is what he wrote: It is just dusk and I am tired and wet and hungry. We've been at GQ since 1340 and we haven't had a dull moment since. The sea has been running heavy today and whenever we make a sharp turn, the starboard waves bury us and our guns. I 've changed clothes twice at my station, but it,s impossible to keep dry. The oujit I am now wearing was made for a man 250 pounds or better and it hangs on me, a dripping sack. The pockets are full of water. Boy, am I miserable! - A few'minutes ago we received word that Jap planes are again in our area. Ifs almost dark now and we cannot see them, but they can see us, or can they? I have a terrible dread of what darkness may bring. Aboutfve miles away I can see gunfire from one of our night fighters. He has picked up a ,lap plane . . . suddenly the Jap bursts into a billow of orange flame and heading straight for us. Now I am really scared. The plane keeps coming, illuminating the sky like a comet. Our heavier AA guns have opened up on it and now I am trying to dig afoxhole in this steel deck. If this plane is not stopped . . . but it is! Our firing is accurate, we stopped it in mid-air, it is diving into the water. M y clothes are almost dry now. A couple more close calls like that one and they will be completely dried out. Yeah, I 'm nervous in the service, this night action is the bunkf, Dumaineis story was the tale of all of us unused to this strange blind', fighting, but we're feeling better today. Something happened again at 0151 this morning-that factor mentioned before which is beginning to build confidence, dispel doubts. Most of us had hit the sack and were in sound sleep when GQ sounded. As we raced, half-dressed to our battle stations, our five-inchers opened up. By the time we arrived topside, they had stopped. But the result of their brief handiwork was visible, a flaming arc on the horizon . . . one ,lap plane who had forgotten to go home. Yes, the Lieutenant was right, night attack is the toughest, but it's not too tough. It's an amazing trick, blasting a ,lap plane out of the sky, miles distant and in the dead of night. It's a good trick if you can do it-we canfthe ,laps can't.

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