My Troubles With Time (14 page)

He swam to it, looked up at me and shouted something, which I could not hear. I doubted it was anything pleasant. As I ran to the bridge, I looked at my watch. The time was 7:35. The Japanese would attack in a matter of minutes.

The bridge was deserted except for one sailor.

“Quick, where’s the battle stations’ alarm?” I shouted, still winded from my run.

He pointed to it and I pushed the alarm. The noise of the klaxon was as loud as it had been in my fantasy. In seconds the ship was alive with sailors racing to their posts. The bridge filled quickly, with the new arrivals looking around in bewilderment. A senior petty officer approached me.

“Did you see who gave the alarm for battle stations, sir?” he asked as he saluted.

“I did,” I said, trying to sound decisive. “Japanese planes are attacking Pearl Harbor. We have to get the
Nevada
to sea to avoid being sunk.”

The petty officer stared unblinking at me, then turned to look around us. He turned back to me. “Begging the Lieutenant’s pardon,” he said, “But I don’t see any Japanese planes. Are you certain we are under attack?”

“That’s because Mr. …?”

“Barr, sir.”

He stared at me, a puzzled look on his face. I recalled with horror something I had once read to the effect that in the navy a senior petty officer was addressed as “Chief” rather than as Mr.”

“That’s because, Chief,” I went on as though I had not committed any blunder, “the Japanese planes are attacking the Army planes at Wheeler Field. And that’s very fortunate for us, because it gives us a few more minutes to try and get the
Nevada
to sea before they turn us into a pile of twisted metal on the bottom of Pearl Harbor.”

“Yes sir. Have you informed Commander Travis of the attack?”

“No. Commander Travis is not on the ship. He asked me to take over for him this morning while he went ashore for a few minutes.”

Barr looked like he wished to continue quizzing me. Fortunately, he gave way to a new arrival on the bridge. The newcomer, a baby-faced ensign saluted and said, “I’m Bob Stevens, sir. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Thanks, Stevens,” I said in a voice loud enough for everyone on the bridge to hear. “I’m Maynard Snodgrass. I reported on board last night. Japanese aircraft are bombing Wheeler Field and will hit Battleship Row next. Commander Travis has gone ashore. As senior officer, I have made the decision to take the
Nevada
to sea to escape the Japanese attack.

“What would you like me to do, sir?”

“Go down to the deck and make all preparations to cut the moorings. I’m going to tell the engine room to get up steam as rapidly as possible.”

Stevens saluted and left. I wondered what the proper procedure was for relaying my orders. My problem was solved when a sailor holding a microphone and wearing earphones approached. “Are you the senior officer?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Tyler, sir, captain’s talker,” he said, taking up his post on my right.

“Tyler,” I ordered, “Have each department report to me its readiness level. Get the engine room first. I want to speak to the senior man there.”

With my binoculars I anxiously searched the horizon. There was still no sign of the Japanese attack. The crews on the neighboring warships must have heard our klaxon alarm signal, but were going about their normal activities. From one battleship, I heard the strains of the National Anthem being played as the flag was raised.

“Here’s the engine room for you sir,” Tyler told me. I took the phone he handed me.

“This is Ensign Hunter”. The voice was crisp, displaying no emotion. I’m the senior officer in the engine room.”

“Glad to meet you, Hunter,” I answered. “I’m Lieutenant Snodgrass. I reported to the ship last night. The Japanese are attacking Pearl Harbor. As senior officer, I am taking the
Nevada
to sea. How soon can you get steam up?”

“Normally, sir, it takes at least three hours. I’ll do what I can.”

“Please do Ensign. If we don’t get out of here immediately, we’re going to be sunk.”

“It can damage the engines if I try to hurry things.”

“That can’t be helped,” I said. “I’ll take full responsibility. We have to get the under way within 30 minutes.”

“Yes sir.” He sounded doubtful. I wasn’t surprised. I looked at my watch. It was just after 8 a.m. In a few minutes, the Japanese planes would begin attacking Battleship Row.

Equally important, Commander Travis was still presumably bobbing around in the water near the ship. I couldn’t afford to risk someone on the
Nevada
seeing him and hauling him on board.

Turning to Tyler I said, “Instruct the deck crew to cut the moorings.” He gave me a puzzled look, then relayed my command. The men on the bridge were equally concerned. Without any power from the engines, the
Nevada
was the equivalent of a floating hulk, a menace to herself and to anything near her.

“Pass the word to Ensign Stevens,” I told Tyler, “That until we get the engines up, I’m counting on him to keep a close eye on where the ship is in relation to anything else. He’s to relay commands to the bridge to give to the helmsman.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Meanwhile, the various departments were reporting their readiness level. The only negative report came from the senior rating in the communications department. “Everything is fine,” he told me, “except for the radio. We can’t transmit or receive.”

“Good God!” I said, “What’s the matter?”

“We don’t know, sir. Everything checks out but it just doesn’t work. Lieutenant Wilson thinks it may be the tubes. He is supposed to bring replacements with him when he comes back to the ship this morning.”

“Do what you can to get them working,” I said. “Notify me of any change in the situation.”

So much, I thought for my plans to have the radio broadcasts of the attack from the Honolulu stations carried on the ship’s loudspeakers. I found Stevens on the deck. His men had just cut the forward mooring.

Free of its moorings, the
Nevada
was swung by the current dangerously close to the dock. For a moment I thought we would hit; only Stevens’ directions to the helmsman enabled us to narrowly miss hitting first the dock and then the
Arizona.
As ignorant as I was about seamanship, it was clear to me that the baby-faced ensign was performing magnificently.

“Get the engine room for me,” I told Tyler. When Hunter got on the line I explained our predicament to him. “You’ve got to get me some power on the engines,” I insisted.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “I’ll give it a try. I think I can get enough to give you a few knots.”

“Thanks. Anything will help.”

I passed the order to keep me informed as to our speed. I could feel the engines begin to throb. “We’re making two knots,” I was told. Gradually, our speed increased. In a few minutes we were up to four knots, slightly more than the speed of the tidal currents.

“Have Ensign Stevens report to the bridge!” I ordered. When he arrived I congratulated him on his fine work. He grinned in appreciation at the praise.

I looked at my watch again. It was 8:10 a.m. I couldn’t understand why no Japanese planes were in sight. Either I had misread the timing of the attack in my reading at the library or the watch I had purchased at the pawnshop was running fast. In either event, I had to get the
Nevada
into the open sea soon or we stood a serious risk of being sunk.

I turned to Stevens again. “We’re up to six knots,” I said. “We can’t afford to wait any longer. I’m going to head into the channel and make for the ocean. Keep close track of our location and give instructions as needed to the helmsman!”

Under Steven’s expert direction, the
Nevada
moved away from Battleship Row and toward the channel. As we passed the Naval District Headquarters the lookout reported signal flags being raised.

“It’s to the
Nevada
,” I was told. “They’re asking where are we going.”

I realized now that it was fortunate our radio was not receiving. Otherwise, I would have had the problem of explaining to the crew why I was taking the
Nevada
to sea without orders.

“They’re afraid the Japanese may block the channel by sinking us in it,” I said in a confident voice to men on the bridge. The
Nevada
has not suffered even a scratch and our speed is up to eight knots. I think we can make it to the open sea.”

“Have the flag man signal the Naval District Headquarters,” I ordered Tyler. “Ask them to repeat the signal.” With luck, I thought, by the time our flag signal was read and a response ordered, we would be far enough away that the headquarters’ flags would not be visible from the ship.

As the
Nevada
left Pearl Harbor and entered the open ocean, I breathed a sigh of relief. The first and most difficult part of my plan had been implemented successfully. I had managed to take command of the battleship and bring it unscathed into the relative safety of the Pacific. The remainder of my plan, attacking and sinking the Japanese aircraft carriers that had launched the attack should, I thought, be easy.

At this stage in my fantasy, I released the crew of the
Arizona
from battle stations and called a meeting of the senior rating in each department to ascertain the ship’s readiness for combat. Upon receiving assurances that there was sufficient fuel and ammunition on board and that the senior petty officer in the fire control department could handle that job, I announced my intention to seek out and attack the Japanese carrier fleet that had launched the attack against Pearl Harbor.

Reviewing that scenario, I concluded it would be foolish for me to attempt to duplicate it in real life on the
Nevada
. The doubts about me exhibited by Barr made me fear a collective meeting with the ship’s senior petty officers, particularly as they had not seen with their own eyes the effects of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. There was too much danger that their doubts would reinforce one another and they would refuse to accept my orders to attack the Japanese fleet.

Under the existing circumstances, it seemed wiser to modify my plan. After releasing the crew from battle stations, I asked Stevens to join me in examining the nautical charts. As we did so, I cautiously revealed to him my intention to attack the Japanese carrier task force that had attacked Pearl Harbor.

He seemed dubious that we should carry out the attack without orders. I tried another tack. Noticing that he was wearing an Annapolis class ring, I asked him when he had graduated from the Naval Academy,

“Class of 1941,” he responded proudly.

“Just ten years after I graduated,” I said, pointing to the class ring I had purchased in the pawnshop.

His entire demeanor changed. “Do you really think we can carry it off, sir?” he asked.

“The magnificent way this crew has pulled together,” I answered, “Makes me confident we can. I’m sure Fleet Command would order us to do so,” I went on, “If only our radio were in working order.”

“Then I’m with you, sir! Let’s give it a try!”

To avoid my meeting with the ship’s petty officers, I ordered Stevens to contact them individually. Without informing them of my intention, he was to make certain the
Nevada
had the necessary, fuel, ammunition and personnel to carry out the attack. He did so and returned to me with a smile on his face.

“We can do it, sir,” he said confidently.

Returning to the charts, I showed Stevens the location where I expected to find the Japanese fleet. With the ensign taking the lead, we worked out the proper course for the
Nevada
to intersect the Japanese at nightfall. After giving the helmsman the course to steer, I told Stevens to take a rest so that he could relieve me on the bridge when the watch changed.

The presence on board of another deck officer on whom I could depend, especially one as able as Stevens, made my task of command much easier than I expected. I felt sorry for poor Hunter, with no one to share his duties in the engine room.

In an effort to buck up his spirits, I had Tyler contact Hunter. I complimented him on his performance and stressed to the ensign how much the ship’s escape from Pearl Harbor had been due to his efforts.

At 3 p.m., with Stevens having taken the bridge from me and the
Nevada
steaming ahead at 20 knots, I took the opportunity to go down to the engine room to meet Hunter in person. I found him wearing a set of khakis stained with oil from his labors of starting the engines. Although the ensign insisted he was not tired and could continue to run the engine room himself, I ordered him to turn the watch over to the senior petty officer and take a rest.

“I want you in top form tomorrow,” I said, without going into detail. As I watched him head back to his cabin, I concluded I had made the correct decision.

Returning to the bridge, I found myself enjoying the exercise of command. I wondered if perhaps I had not made a mistake when I graduated from high school in not seeking an appointment to the Naval Academy instead of going off to major in physics at the state university.

My reverie was interrupted by a shout from the lookout that there was smoke on the horizon. I rushed to the window and pointed my binoculars in the direction he had given. There was no doubt. A ship was on the horizon! In fact, several ships! We had come upon the Japanese fleet two hours earlier than planned. Either they had moved to a location further to the east than indicated in the accounts of the attack on Pearl Harbor or my recollection of the location had been faulty.

There was no sign that the Japanese had spotted the
Nevada
, but I could not be sure. Hoping that we had escaped detection, I quickly ordered Stevens to move the ship away from the Japanese carriers, to reduce our speed to theirs, and to follow a parallel course.

As darkness fell, I had little choice but to maintain our course and speed, hoping that the Japanese were doing the same. If they altered course or speed during the night, I knew my chance of finding the carriers again on the broad expanses of the Pacific was minimal.