A CALL TO COLORS: A NOVEL OF THE BATTLE OF LEYTE GULF Read online

  Novels by John J. Gobbell

  A Call to Colors

  * * * * *

  (Todd Ingram Series)

  Edge of Valor

  The Neptune Strategy

  When Duty Whispers Low

  A Code for Tomorrow

  The Last Lieutenant

  * * * * *

  The Brutus Lie

  A CALL TO COLORS

  A novel by

  John J. Gobbell

  A Call to Colors is a work of fiction. Though some characters, incidents and dialogues are based on the historical record, the work as a whole is a product of the author’s imagination.

  A StarboardSide Productions publication

  Copyright © 2014 by John J. Gobbell, for StarboardSide Productions version

  Copyright © 2009 by John J. Gobbell, for Fusosha Publishers, Japan

  Copyright © 2006 by John J. Gobbell, for Random House/Ballantine version.

  Registered WGA (w): 1115860

  ISBN: 978-0-9839138-6-3

  This book is dedicated to the memory of

  Alvin P. Cluster, lieutenant commander, USN

  1919-2004

  A true American patriot and hero.

  Unselfishly and often without knowing,

  He shaped many lives to carry on.

  FORWARD

  The battle of Leyte Gulf enabled General Douglas MacArthur to fulfill his promise of “I shall return” to the Philippine people by landing 165,000 troops on Leyte island. Returning to the Philippines was not a frivolous exercise, as General MacArthur pointed out to President Franklin D. Roosevelt in the planning stages. Not only would this archipelago provide a powerful strategic base on the road to Japan, but its recapture had critical political implications as well, in that the United States would develop an important ally for generations to come. Additionally, MacArthur eloquently pointed out to FDR that bypassing the Philippines had sinister implications by saying, “Consigning them (the Filipinos) to the bayonets of an enraged army of occupation would be a blot on American honor.”

  This set the scene for the last great naval surface battle, far outweighing the battle of Jutland. Over eight hundred ships were committed, the largest naval engagement in the history of mankind.

  But the Japanese ingenuously challenged the U.S. Navy at Leyte through their battle plan SHO-GO victory operation. They engaged the Americans in four phases: the battle of the Sibuyan Sea, the battle of the Surigao Strait, the battle off Samar, and the battle off Cape Engaño. The battle off Samar was perhaps, the most critical phase, when Vice Admiral Takeo Kurita and his First Striking Force (Americans called it the Center Force) slipped through the San Bernardino Strait and arrived close the entrance to Leyte Gulf on the morning of October 25, 1944 with four battleships, nine cruisers, and eleven destroyers.

  Standing between Kurita and MacArthur’s unarmed amphibious ships and troops was an inferior carrier group code-named Taffy 3, consisting of just six slow (single- screw - eighteen knot) escort carriers, three destroyers, and four destroyer escorts. Two similar carrier groups, Taffy 2 and Taffy 1, lay farther south, but it was Taffy 3, under the vigilant command of Rear Admiral Clifton A. F. Sprague, that initially stood in Kurita’s way. The destroyers in Taffy 3, particularly the destroyers USS Johnston (DD 557) , USS Hoel (DD 533), USS Heermann (DD 532), the destroyer escort USS Samuel B. Roberts (DE 413) and the brave aviators of all the Taffy groups, opposed Kurita in the most unusual ways that will continue to be discussed in war colleges for generations to come.

  This work endeavors to provide an overview of the massive forces committed to Leyte by both sides, and focuses on events leading up to Samar and what happened there. However, there was no USS Matthew at Samar – the ship entirely fictitious. She is only on the scene to bring to life what happened off Samar that day and the unselfish bravery and commitment of the Sailors who fought there, particularly the courageous men of Taffy 3.

  *****

  This work, somewhat larger than my previous novels, is a composite of some very capable organizations, fine friends, and close family. In particular, I would like to thank Mike Amick, railroad engineer extraordinaire, for his friendship and compelling commentary on railroad operations; Dr. Robert L. Jones for his thoughtful and enthusiastic help in medical areas; my old friend Jim Dale, who was there when I needed him on questions about the Far East; and Michael R. Fisher, lieutenant commander, USN (ret), who rendered fantastic assistance in naval matters. Other friends making phenomenal repeat performances are: Dr. Frederick J. Milford, Dr. Russell J. Striff, MD, and George A. Wallace, Commander, USN (ret).

  Helpful also have been you, my readers, who, over the years, have sent great feedback and encouragement. I’ve learned a lot from you and look forward to continued exchanges via my website at www.johnjgobbell.com or through email at [email protected].

  If you are still in the mood for this genera, please consider my Todd Ingram novels of World War II, Pacific Theater. The most recent in this stand alone series, EDGE OF VALOR, will be released next month via the U.S. Naval Institute Press. The others are all available on Kindle and can be found via my website.

  Finally, to my wife, Janine, who has been there through this one, plus six others plus raising a fine family, my love and appreciation.

  John J. Gobbell

  Newport Beach, California

  July 15, 2014

  A CALL TO COLORS

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  U.S. Navy

  Forces Afloat

  USS Matthew (DD 548), Call sign - Monkey Wrench

  Commander Michael T. “Mike” Donovan, commanding officer

  Commander Mario Rossi, (deceased), previous commanding officer

  Lieutenant Commander Richard (n) Kruger, executive officer, navigator

  Lieutenant Burt T. Hammond, operations officer

  Lieutenant Alberto G. “Al” Corodini, engineering officer

  Lieutenant Clifford M. “Cliff” Merryweather, gunnery officer

  Lieutenant (jg) Howard T. Sloan, supply officer

  Lieutenant (jg) Jack (n) Kelso, first lieutenant

  Ensign Jonathan M. “Johnnie Hollywood” Peete, torpedo officer

  Ensign Rudy J, Kubichek, communication officer, radio officer

  Ensign Kenneth L. Muir, III, Second Division Officer

  Ensign Steve V. Flannigan, Second Division officer to replace Muir

  Potter, Lucien B, yeoman first class, captain’s bridge talker

  USS Tampa (CA 40)

  Ensign Alexander T. “Tiny” Sabovik, John Sabovik’s younger brother

  Other U.S. Navy

  Admiral Chester W. Nimitz, commander in chief, Pacific Fleet and commander Pacific Ocean Areas (CinCPac)

  Lieutenant Arthur H. Lamar, flag secretary to Admiral Nimitz

  Admiral William F. Halsey, Jr., commander, Third Fleet

  Commodore Arleigh A. Burke, chief of staff to Vice Admiral Marc Mitscher, commander, Task force 38

  Rear Admiral John P. “Cactus Jack” Egan, deputy commander Twelfth Naval District, special appointee by Ernest King, chief of naval operations

  Lieutenant Commander John P. Sabovik. Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI) attached Twelfth Naval District

  Captain Alexander (n) “Nitro” Collins, USMC, Deputy to LCDR Sabovik, explosives expert

  U.S. Army

  General Douglas A. MacArthur, commander forces Southwest Pacific Area (SOWESPAC)

  Lieutenant General Richard K. Sutherland, chief of staff to General MacArthur

  Major General Charles Willoughby, intelligence chief to General MacArthur

  Lieutenant C
olonel Owen Reynolds, intelligence aide to General Charles Willoughby and General MacArthur

  Civilians

  Franklin D. Roosevelt, president of the United States, commander in chief of armed forces

  Diane Logan, M.D., intern, Roseville Community Hospital, Roseville, California

  Walter Logan, Diane’s father, dispatcher, Southern Pacific Railroad, Roseville, California.

  Milo Lattimer, conductor, Southern Pacific Railroad

  Benjamin “Soda Whiskers” Sodawski, engineer, freight train X 4293, Southern Pacific Railroad

  Carmen Rossi, commander Mario Rossi”s widow

  Vicky Kruger, wife of Richard Kruger

  Japanese

  Forces Afloat, Imperial Japanese Navy (IJN)

  At Lingga Roads (Singapore)

  Vice Admiral Takeo Kurita, commander, Central Force, aboard cruiser IJN Atago

  Commander Yuzura Noyama, favored aide to Kurita, aboard IJN Atago

  Rear Admiral Seiichi Abe, chief of staff to Admiral Kurita

  Vice Admiral Matamo Ugaki, commander, Battleship Division One, aboard superbattleship IJN Yamato

  Minoru Onishi, petty officer third class, Ugaki’s valet

  Captain Senjuro Koketsu, MD, fleet surgeon, Kurita’s physician

  At Beppu Bay (Kyushu, Oita prefecture, Home Islands)

  Vice Admiral Shoji Nishimura, commander Southern Force aboard battleship IJN Yamashiro

  Vice Admiral Kiyohide Shima, commander Supplementary Southern Force aboard heavy cruiser IJN Nachi.

  Vice Admiral Jisaburo Ozawa, commander Northern (decoy) force aboard attack carrier IJN Zuikaku.

  Forces Ashore

  Tokyo, Japan

  Admiral Soemu Toyoda, commander in chief, Imperial Japanese Navy

  Ensign Hiroshi Noyama, IJN, Yuzura Noyama’s younger brother, member of the newly formed Tokubetsu Kougeki Tai (kamikaze corps)

  Civilians

  Masao Noyama, father of Yuzura and Hiroshi Noyama

  Mishoko Noyama, mother of Yuzura and Hiroshi Noyama

  PROLOGUE

  The suffering, humiliation and mental torture that you have endured since the barbarous, unprovoked and treacherous attack upon the Philippines nearly three long years ago have aroused in the hearts of the American people a righteous anger, a stern determination to punish the guilty and a fixed resolve to restore peace and order and decency to an outraged world...

  Franklin D. Roosevelt to the Philippine people

  New York Times, 21 October 1944

  PROLOGUE

  17 July, 1944

  SS Quinalt Victory

  Pier 6, U.S. Naval Magazine

  Port Chicago, California

  Wendell Hamm, third assistant engineer of the SS Quinalt Victory, quickly thumped down the gangway beneath a moonless night sky. It was almost ten o’clock, and he’d been delayed for a couple of hours by a meeting with Martin Tuttle, Quinalt Victory’s chief engineer. He had a date with Gloria over in Oakland, and now, Wendell was terribly late. On the phone just a minute ago, Gloria had said she could wait at Currie’s Ice Cream Parlor until it closed at eleven. If he didn’t show up, then she would have to go home. With that in mind, Wendell splurged and called for a cab to meet him at the main gate, a mile and a half away.

  Six months out of the maritime academy, Wendell Hamm had become part of the crew of the brand-new 7,212-ton EC-2 Liberty ship when she was being fitted out in the Kaiser Shipyards. And now, she was ready for her maiden voyage to the South Pacific. The cargo: five thousand tons of munitions, which included eighteen hundred tons of high explosives. Blackout conditions kept the pier dimly lit, as a squinting Wendell stepped around six-foot high pallets of ammunition stacked beside haze-gray boxcars. Steam whistles ripped at the night, often masking the sound of forklifts as they growled past, their drivers yelling and tooting their horns. Wendell jumped off the rail siding as a twelve-ton diesel locomotive emerged from the gloom, pulling six more boxcars stuffed with ammunition. Blue-dungareed chief petty officers shouted and blew whistles while shirtless men cursed and sweated, setting up the pallets to be loaded aboard the Quinalt Victory, starting at midnight.

  Across the pier, a pallet load of torpedo warheads swung aboard a sister ship, the SS E. A Bryan. The Bryan’s loading was just about complete, and tomorrow morning she was to sail for a newly conquered island called Guam in the Marianas. If the crews loading the Bryan kept their round-the-clock pace, the Quinalt Victory would get underway in four days. Their destination was also Guam, smack-dab in the middle of a war zone. Wendell knew he should be afraid, but he was anxious to get out there; to see how the Marines had thrown the Japanese out. Chief Tuttle had said the Nips were still in the hills, that Marines went up after them for sport.

  Lost in thought, Wendell left the ships and pier behind and headed down a darkened lonely road, the faint gleam of railroad tracks as his guide. Under the watchful eye of Tuttle, Hamm had supervised throttle operations in the engine room when they’d docked earlier this evening. As a reward, Tuttle had given the twenty-two-year-old Hamm a nip out of his hip flask. Later, he had more during the planning conference. And now the buzz continued as Hamm picked up the pace for the main gate.

  An excited Hamm checked his watch as he walked past a dimly lit barrack: 2217. The blackout here was far more effective than on the pier. He could hardly see ten feet ahead. Squinting, he made out the gate ahead. And yes! The taxi he’d ordered was just outside, its engine ticking over. Gonna make it.

  Even so, Wendell was a little nervous about seeing Gloria. More and more she’d been talking about marriage and–

  – white light illuminated the sky, and suddenly Wendell Hamm saw foothills clearly outlined in the distance. With a loud Crack, a pressure wave smacked into Wendell. He was thrown against the barrack. Blinking and unsure of his footing, Wendell rose, bracing himself against the wall. Men cursed inside, stepping on broken glass. Someone was–

  –Another white light flooded the area brighter than Wendell had ever seen. Again, a concussion threw him to the ground, pinning him there for four long seconds. Then it went black, and the sound of the blast mixed with that of screeching metal, screams, crackling fires, and shattering glass.

  A Marine sergeant rushed outside as Wendell again picked himself up. They looked up to a roiling cloud of fire and smoke and steam rising thousands of feet above them. “Jesus Christ, the Japs have hit!” screamed the Sergeant.

  “Hell, yeah,” Wendell managed.

  “Come on,” roared the sergeant. Grabbing Wendell’s lapel, they ran toward a station wagon parked behind the berm.

  Other men poured out of the barracks and gaped up at the cloud. The sergeant pointed at four Marines standing on the landing, wearing t-shirts and shorts. “You men, grab your shoes and get in. We gotta go help.”

  Shoving Wendell toward the passenger door, the sergeant jumped in, started the car, and backed clear. The others jumped in, carrying boots, shirts, and pants. They struggled into their clothes as the sergeant jammed the gearshift into low and roared off.

  Two minutes later he stopped.

  “What the hell’s wrong?” yelled Wendell. “Keep going!”

  The sergeant who’d been so loud was now quiet, his face as white as the dials on the instrument panel. “Cain’t. Ain’t nothin’ there,” he gasped.

  Leaning forward, Wendell saw it was true. The two seventy-four hundred ton ships were gone. Locomotives and boxcars were gone. The dock facility buildings were gone. Hundreds of men were gone. The whole pier had disappeared. Water lapped before them just twenty feet away. There wasn’t even any smoke.

  “My God,” gasped Wendell.

  PART ONE

  Across the sea, corpses in the water;

  Across the mountain, corpses in the field;

  I shall die only for the Emperor

  I shall never look back.

  From Umi Yukaba, Japanese martial song

  CHAPTER ONE

  20 July, 1944
r />   USS McDermott (DD 505)

  En-route Pearl Harbor

  Pacific Ocean

  Tiny’s scream echoed from inside the eight-inch turret. Mingled with other screams, Tiny’s was especially loud, ululating, coming right from the depths of his gut. Another powder case cooked off inside the turret, the low-order explosion rumbling. Orange-red flames and smoke belched through the hatches and into the night, lighting up the Tampa’s fantail in eerie detail. Tiny’s brother, John, stood before Donovan, nose to nose, his gritted white teeth in a stark contrast with his smoke-blackened face. John pointed to the turret and yelled, “Get out of my way, Mike.” His voice thick with smoke and menace.

  “Nobody goes in there!”

  “Outta my way or I’m going to–”

  –The flashlight flicked over Donovan’s eyes. In the dimness, he made out the heavy outline of Rafferty, a boatswain’s mate first class. His accent was thick Deep South. “Sir, Mr. Donovan, I’m sorry to wake you. You left orders when to--”

  Donovan sat bolt upright in his bunk and yelled, “What is it?” He looked around blinking. Wearing just skivvies, he wiped sweat from his forehead. And it wasn’t from the humidity. Rafferty was in here for a wake-up call. Guilt swept over Donovan for snapping at the man. Rafferty was only doing his job. But that damn nightmare. It kept coming back. More and more. And the doc’s pills weren’t helping.