. . . On return to ship we took our station
for the job and went to work. One day I was ordered into
port for orders. A little odd.
On meeting the brass I was given maps, charts
and sailing instructions to escort an invasion force into
Okinawa. I had never heard of the place and was a bit shaken
when I located it well up the string of Japanese islands
just south of Japan. This was getting a little close.
Okinawa was the head center of communications
to the conquered islands and the Japanese fleet. Established
long before the war, the invading fleet and men took their
orders from Oki. It was most important that they hold it.
The usual process took place: we escorted
a convoy of troops. The water was swept for the bombardment
ships, then under fleet fire the areas to the beach were
swept. This time we came in outside our line ships. The
Japs were really firing back with heavy stuff; our planes
from the carriers were laying in the bombs and strafing.
There were dogfights all over the place since the enemy
had a good airbase and lots of planes just looking for a
struggle. On top of this their planes could fly in from
the islands north of us and even the homeland. It was the
most active landing I had seen. We unloaded our troops then
took off on patrol duty. There were a lot of bombs falling
around that day. Some made hits. These were the days of
the kamikaze, and exciting scenes if you're not an active
part of the duel.
The supply ships came in and unloaded. The
heavy ships left and we wee fellows took over the defense.
Day after day, bombers, fighters and submarines were around.
After a couple of days the Seid went to a
small lagoon harbor for a checkout on food, fuel, and minor
damage. Something had to be coming up. Well, we pulled in
and anchored near one of our brand new DEs. What a beauty:
four-inch turret guns, 40 millimeters and 20mm's; larger
in size, more speed, latest electronic equipment, and wonderful
design. We'd been out for over a year and looked like an
unwanted stepchild.
A few Japanese planes made a pass at the anchored
ships. Lots of firing. One flew across our stern. Since
it passed the new DE first they got the first crack and
missed.
The stupid pilot, not knowing he was near
the peewee David, continued across our stern. We got him.
The dreadful 1.1 worked perfectly and the two 20mm's laid
into him. Down he went in a long glide.
The new DE had kept firing and dern near hit
our men at the gun stations. I put in my claim for our kill;
it came back as ? plane. Our neighbor had laid a claim also.
I couldn't understand until I learned the skipper of the
new ship was named Franklin Delano Roosevelt, Jr.
There's a rather bad story about that lagoon.
Some of our heavier ships were there from damage or waiting
for a call to the firing line. One night a bunch of Japanese
frogmen swam out to two cruisers, climbed the anchor chains,
and began cutting throats. The number of 100 was spread
around but at that time it was set around 40. Of course,
it's a quiet operation, and when discovered the frogmen
were shot down on the spot. I doubt if they were told their
war rights, their civil rights, and advised to get an attorney
to spring them after a few years on the rock.
We topped off the fuel, checked the ship,
and added ammunition since we had done a little firing in
the last few days. Then we headed out for our new station
north of Okinawa, Holy cow that's in the direction of Japan.
I wanted to go to Guam and train submarines. We went north,
like it or not.
Our new patrol area was interesting. We were
a few miles off the beach, patrolling about 10 or 20 miles
across the area. Our duty was crazy, like a rabbit trying
to fight off a dozen hounds. Since the invasion had started,
four ships had gone down on our run; some from bombs, others
from torpedoes, and a couple of others ripped up by strafing.
I wanted to go hide, but our young tigers, still relishing
our one plane shot down, were boiling for action. Sometimes
dreams come true.
As soon as we took station the fun began.
As I mentioned before, planes came from the island just
north of Oki. Starting in the morning and continuing till
night, they flew over and we shot back. A few dropped warning
bombs. Sometimes during a break we used grappling hooks
and pulled dead pilots aboard and checked their clothes
for information. Then back in the drink. Some were badly
bloated and they all smelled bad.
The second day our sonar went out, so anti-submarine
was forgotten. Like the day before, we spent the day target
practicing. No hits but some close ones. The 3"/.50s were
firing "Buck Rogers" anti-aircraft shells, a fairly new
ammo that went off when near a target. It's old-fashioned
now but was a real breakthrough then. That afternoon we
reported that the sonar was out and that we were practically
out of "Buck Rogers."
Let me explain the battle stations. The captain
and gunnery officer were on the bridge along with the chief
boatswain, helmsman, two wing bridge lookouts, and the standby
helmsman. My spot was the captain's chair. It was raised
about five feet above the deck, so the Japanese would know
where to strafe. The view was nice from the chair. The exec
was down in the chartroom, which opened into the electronics
area. They read the machines and the exec passed them to
the bridge.
During periods like Okinawa I slept strapped
in the captain's chair and the crew slept at their battle
stations. As much hot food was served as possible to help
break the sandwich diet. Coffee was more than plentiful.
The next morning was one of those great days
you see only in the Pacific, sunshine and blue water. Our
visitors came early and in larger numbers than usual. We
fired away. About noon it became obvious we were a target.
The Seid had been throwing a lot of steel, some close, and
we had been condemned to disappear from the seas.
We were under heavy bombing attack, some very
close. Torpedo planes came in with their guns going.
From the shore some silly bastard called,
"Romance, do you need help?" Then came Pete's southern drawl:
"We shuah could use a little."
No help came. By 2 p.m. we were out of Buck
Rogers and using armor-piercing bombardment shells in the
3"/.50s. A dead hit or no hit at all.
By 5 p.m. we had shot down four torpedo planes.
This was only a small percentage of the torpedo attacks
launched at us. We were well-trained dodgers. We'd swing
and some would go alongside as close as 10 feet. They look
so much better going by than coming at you, like a giant
silver fish. I wonder where they got the nickname "fish"?
As you realize, torpedo planes make a dive
then glide as they release. They are not too far from the
target. Since the two 3"/.50s were useless for this type
of action (though they kept firing), the much-maligned 1.1
and the 20mm's did the job. All attacks came from the north.
At times the crews forgot and fired at a departing plane,
when we were only interested in incoming. One Indian gunner
was almost replaced for wasting ammunition. His thumb seemed
to stick on the trigger.* Chris was in charge of the 1.1
and did a great job.
The attack on us stopped and all hands were
feeling better; they had proved that they were fighters.
About 5:30 a bogie was reported off our port,
then from the bridge with glasses. All guns were trained
on it. So help me it was a kamikaze skimming the water directly
toward the Seid. We opened fire.
Kamikazes are frightening: You have to get
him or he'll get you. They never pull out.
I had started a left turn into him but there
wasn't enough time. Of course, the guns were going like
crazy, and from my perch in the captain's chair I thought
he would hit right under me.
Suddenly the plane was blasted. The engine
broke free and ricocheted into the ship. A piece of metal
flew up and hit me on the leg. If it had hit a little harder
I could have gotten the Purple Heart. Some of us are just
not lucky.
The plane had been hit practically head-on
by an armor-piercing shell from #2 3"/.50, an almost impossible
happening.
We called in our score to the beach brass
and reported again that our sonar was out, "Buck Rogers"
was gone, and other ammunition was dangerously low.
Nothing happened; we spent the night and next
day patrolling. It seemed incredible, my crew was tired.
About 2 p.m. a DE reported on station and relieved us. Some
stupe on the beach had forgotten to tell us. We took off
like a rocket (all 17 knots), reached the lagoon and anchored
for the night. We kept a minimum watch and the ship's personnel
slept like logs. The next day we took off for home (Apra
Harbor, Guam). No matter how tired we were, someone had
painted five and a half planes on both sides of the bridge.
* * * * * *
* Allow me to add some data here. Since
I've created this website and have been in touch with some
Seid vets, I've heard a couple of additional remarks about
this "Indian gunner." I talked on the phone one
day with Howard Sample, who was the helmsman on the Seid.
We were talking about the kamikaze and I told him that
I wondered who had shot him down. "I know who shot
him down," he said. "Rainbow." He said Rainbow
was an Indian from Oklahoma, and had been the only one who
had stood up to that plane, which was zig-zagging and stafing
as it came in.
I also heard from Paul Epperson, who had been
an officer with my dad on the Seid. Paul wrote that
Rainbow was a Rosebud Indian from eastern Montana, and that
it was he who had been the man overboard they had gone back
to pick up. (This was prior to Okinawa.) Epperson
said it turned out well to have him back because at
Okinawa he was a 20 mm gunner and got one of the torpoedo
bombers that had dropped a torpedo and then flown over the
ship. He said Rainbow followed it all the
way over and splashed it not too far beyond the ship with
him still shooting.
Anyway . . . it seems "that Indian gunner"
deserves our thanks. In fact, if Howard Sample is
correct, I owe him a personal thanks for saving my dad's
life. So wherever you are Rainbow . . . thank you.
Scott Craft, June 2005.
