As we accomplished the rig to rescue the casualty-plagued Sakawa, the weather became very clear and warm with the seas rising higher and bluer in hue. Occasionally a rogue wave would board us, sweeping along the alarmingly low freeboard caused by the flooding and counter-flooding we had done to keep Nagato upright and give her rudders purchase. We had to be constantly alert on the deck to ensure none of the Deck Force was swept overboard.
Both ships were now having trouble with electrical failures. The fuel tanks were yielding increasing quantities of salt water; first one ship and then the other would have to stop as the fires under the boilers were drowned out.
From the flood of messages flying between the battleship and the cruiser, it was evident that neither ship knew how much oil she had left, nor how much of that she could have got piped to the engine room. It still seemed possible that Nagato had enough fuel to make port at Bikini with Sakawa in tow. At least that was the situation as we understood it on the next brilliant dawn as Sakawa began to yaw widely and then went DIW- dead in the water- beam on to the sea.
At first she would not admit it was anything more serious that what had occurred before. We hovered around all morning, burning precious fuel, waiting for her to raise steam. Then she admitted she could go no further and we maneuvered to attempt to take her in tow again.
She picked up the small line attached to the float as planned, but the crew of Sakawa really did not want that tow. Somehow or other, their combined effort was insufficient to lift the eight-inch hawser on deck. A stalemate developed as daylight passed. We signaled her to cast off. She did so.
With that, Captain Whipple decided to walk right up to them and practically hand them the eight-inch line. Every man that could possibly be spared from his duty station was there to watch and assist. Up to that moment, Sakawa had seemed a small grey thing in the distance by day, and a cluster of peacetime running lights by night. As we approached we began to realize how big she really was and how heavily she tossed on the seas.
At times, we would see light under the first fifty feet of her bow and then her stern would rise out of the water, falling back down with an audible thud and spurts of white foam. As we came up from astern, the wind brought down the sound of the whine of her blowers. It was a tense moment as the Gunner stood up to put a shot-line across to her.
Every man aboard must have felt a thrill of terror. We were within two hundred feet of her when the gun banged. They got the line and then lost it. We circled and came in even closer, tossing them a line by hand. They lost that one, too. The third try we came very close. Sakawa’s bow was deflected toward us on the crest of a huge swell. For a moment it hung over our forecastle like a meat cleaver and I thought the cruise would end right there, but a swell heaved up in between the hulls, forcing the bows apart.
The next wave threw Sakawa’s stern our way and crushed into us amidships. Later, I dove to see the hole. You could have driven a truck through the mangled steel. We sank a little lower in the water and our starboard list increased from three to five degrees.
But Captain Whipple was putting a line aboard the Sakawa that day, damn the consequences. He came in again on a close approach. The crew of Sakawa may have had the impression that it was either get the line aboard or finish the voyage in Nagato. Anyway, they got it this time, and began to peel the towing wire from our side as planned.
Then, our difficulties really began.
The wire caught on obstructions from Nagato’s massive flank. Hairless Joe had a field day with the fire axe. Sailors, watching for their chance, clambered over the side to free the tow wire. They were held to the ship by light lines or perhaps only by one foot, waves dashing completely over them. Slowly we cleared the wire aft clear to the stern. Now came a new difficulty. Sakawa could not veer out to our port quarter to peel the line from our hull; she had to tug at it from dead astern. The Bo’sun with his fire axe was joined by the Shipfitter with an acetylene torch glowing white hot at the tip. They cut away obstructions one by one. It was slow but hopeful work. Perhaps we would succeed after all.
Then misfortunes overtook us. Sawaka bucked on the crest of a sea, the wire tightened, carrying away the rest of the helper lines, the bight amidships lashed high in the air to settle in a running knot on a pair of bits. It seemed impossible it could even be got off. Then we lost a boiler.
We were well and truly in a pickle, and we had no idea how to save the day. I called RM2 Herschler to the navigation bridge and told him to make radio contact with the Naval base in Enewetak, some 200 miles away and request assistance.
He did so, and reported that two Navy tugs would be dispatched to come to our aid. In the meantime, we were adrift on the wide blue ocean, helpless before the rolling waves.
Two hundred miles at 12 knots speed of advance meant that we would have almost a day to wait, and consider the majesty of the sea while we did it.
Copyright 2015 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
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