War Beneath the Waves (25 page)

The other key players in the drama below the Makassar Strait that Armistice Day went about their business as well. Amazingly, no one ever spoke of the events of that night, of what really happened. Or at least not to anyone in a position to do something about it.

That is the Navy way, of course. And especially the submariner’s way. They lived. They made it back to home port. The skipper, the XO, and the other officer who “cracked” moved to other duty and performed well, defending their country. No need to talk about it.

Besides, if the truth came out, it would reflect negatively on submarines and submariners. There was no need for that.

But one thing nagged at Charlie Rush, even as he excelled in life after
Billfish
and after the Navy. The men who helped him save the boat that night, because of their silence and loyalty, had never been properly recognized for what they had done. Still, he was not sure how to reopen the incident without reopening an old wound at the same time.

He decided to let it lie.

Jump forward fifty-eight years, to the new millennium. It was over Mexican food and beers and a conversation with an old friend that the wheels were set in motion, not only for three heroes to be honored but for this remarkable story of their courage to come to light.

Charlie Rush was visiting an old Navy buddy and Annapolis classmate in California one night, swapping sea stories. For one of the few times since it occurred, Rush told someone else the basics of the tale.

The “buddy” was John E. “Jack” Bennett, another hero of World War II. Bennett was a young officer aboard USS
San Francisco
(CA-38), a heavy cruiser that was involved in what Fleet Admiral Ernest J. King described as “the most vicious sea battle fought in history.” In that clash off Guadalcanal in November 1942, eighteen hundred American sailors—including two admirals—died and six U.S. ships were sunk, most by battleships and Japanese dive-bombers. Four men received the Medal of Honor—two of them posthumously—for their actions in that battle. Twenty-nine others—twenty of them posthumously—received the Navy Cross.

Bennett was one of the Navy Cross recipients, and many of the other honors were the result of citations he wrote and submitted. And most of those citations were based on the courageous actions he witnessed firsthand on the burning decks of the
San Francisco
. Bennett was determined that men receive the recognition due them for their actions in battle.

Still, despite all he had seen in war, he was amazed at the
Billfish
story. Amazed and intrigued about it to the point that he soon became just as determined as Charlie Rush to see that the right thing was finally done.

As it happened, John Rendernick resided in a town in California not far from where Bennett lived. Rush suggested his friend give Rendernick a call and talk with him about the incident. He did, and the more he heard, the more Rendernick’s version of the story backed up Rush’s, the more Bennett was convinced that these men deserved proper recognition. However, Bennett also felt strongly that any acknowledgment include his classmate and friend Charlie Rush.

He e-mailed Rush: “Charlie, I think you deserve the Medal of Honor, but after all this time, I think we would be unwise to go that route. I am going to turn in a citation for you for a Navy Cross.”

Rush, who wanted nothing to get in the way of a medal for Rendernick and a citation for Charley Odom, protested, but Bennett went ahead anyway. Meanwhile, Rush wrote a citation for Chief Rendernick to receive a Silver Star. That and the one Bennett prepared for Rush were submitted jointly.

Now it was the Navy red tape that stalled the telling of a wonderful story and the long-overdue recognition for a couple of bona fide heroes. In the Navy’s rules that govern how citations are to be awarded, Rule 1A requires that the actions of the person who is to receive a reward must be witnessed by a senior officer. While Rush was Rendernick’s senior officer, the captain and the other two senior men aboard
Billfish
who oversaw Rush had since passed away. There was no one left to vouch for what Charlie Rush had done in those hours of peril.

He did not hesitate.

“Just withdraw the joint citation and let’s resubmit for Chief Rendernick,” he told Bennett. So that was what they did.

But somewhere in the depths of the Office of the Chief of Naval Operations, an active-duty naval aviator named Jeffery Campbell had been watching the joint citation wend its way through channels. He was shocked when a technicality appeared to be about to sink a most deserving award. Campbell had on his desk a detailed statement from John Rendernick, another from the engineman, Charley Odom, and a third from the chief of the boat, Emmett Carpenter. To Campbell’s way of thinking, the statements of three chief petty officers equaled at least one statement from a senior officer.

Rush would later hear that Campbell was about to retire from the Navy, and he told his colleagues that he intended to do something about this injustice right before he went out. Even though it violated Rule 1A, Campbell revived Charlie Rush’s Navy Cross citation and pushed it through.

In January 2002, President George W. Bush awarded Charlie Rush the Navy Cross. Rush did not actually receive the medal until April. Rear Admiral Paul F. Sullivan, director of the Submarine Warfare Division, represented Secretary of the Navy Gordon England in a ceremony held at Memorial Hall at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis. On one wall was a huge banner with Captain James Lawrence’s famous dying command from the War of 1812, “Don’t give up the ship.”

The text of the citation that accompanied Rush’s Navy Cross was read aloud to those assembled there. Near the end, it said, “Captain Rush’s inspiring and exceptional performance of duty under the worst imaginable conditions and in the face of seemingly certain death were directly responsible for saving BILLFISH and all hands from loss and for restoring the shattered confidence of the crew. By his courageous actions, superb leadership, and loyal dedication to duty, Captain Rush reflected great credit upon himself and upheld the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.”

Fittingly, the award recognized the courage and ingenuity of Rush and his shipmates, not the shortcomings of others. The words were carefully chosen in the citation. Rush would have it no other way. “When an extremely severe depth charge attack incapacitated the Captain and all officers senior to Captain Rush [then Lieutenant Rush], with cool courage and outstanding professionalism he directed the damage control efforts directly responsible for saving the ship.”

During the ceremony, Rush looked out over the audience and saw the faces of several of his Academy classmates. He also saw a few of the surviving crew members who were aboard
Billfish
that horrible night. Indeed, there are only a few of them left.

“I was not alone the night of the depth-charge attack,” he said. “And I’m not alone today.”

However, one shipmate—and a major player in the incident—was conspicuously missing from the audience in Annapolis that day.

Chief John Rendernick had died—gone on “eternal patrol,” as the submariners say—the previous December. He knew he was to receive the Silver Star, but he did not live to actually touch it, to show it to his family and friends.

The citation that accompanied his Silver Star described the extraordinary actions Rendernick took to save the boat. It concluded by saying, “By his cool and courageous actions, exceptional initiative, and loyal dedication to duty, Chief Petty Officer Rendernick reflected great credit upon himself and upheld the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.”

The Silver Star is the third-highest military decoration that can be awarded to a member of the Armed Forces, and is typically given for gallantry in action.

In June 2002, Chief Engineman Charley Odom received from Admiral Sullivan a special commendation recognizing his actions during the depth-charge attack.

After a brief account of the miracles he worked on
Billfish
, Odom’s commendation says, “Chief Odom’s courageous actions and loyal dedication to duty reflected great credit upon himself and upheld the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.”

In August 2004, in a special ceremony held at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, Chief Rendernick received another significant recognition. The Damage Control Wet Trainer facility was renamed in his honor.

Admiral Sullivan was there for that ceremony as well and said, “This is a great occasion to honor a man of courage and a true patriot, and really exemplifies what a chief petty officer is all about.”

Master Chief Michael Benko proudly represented chief petty officers at the ceremony and said, “It is the officers that take the ship into battle, but it is the chief petty officers that run the ship. We are witnesses today to Chief Rendernick and his efforts to lead his men in saving USS
Billfish
.”

It took almost sixty years, but some of the heroes of
Billfish
finally received their due. It is unclear whether this is the first time a Navy Cross, a Silver Star, and a rear admiral’s citation have ever been awarded for actions that, according to the official patrol report, never happened.

The author has been unable to find any other citations that have been awarded for actions that occurred so long before.

However, one thing is for sure. Their story has finally been told.

—Kahlil Gibran

W
ar inevitably gives men and women the opportunity to demonstrate courage. Whether it is in a foxhole, on a beach, in the air over enemy territory, aboard a ship, or in a submarine, routine bravery occurs often. Exceptional bravery is sometimes recognized, sometimes not.

The highest award for courage in the U.S. military is the Congressional Medal of Honor—established originally to recognize valor among members of the U.S. Navy—and more than thirty-four hundred men have received it. So has one woman, Mary Walker, for action at Bull Run on July 21, 1861.

Other medals, usually service-specific, are also awarded for those who demonstrate exceptional valor, above and beyond the call of duty. This includes the Navy Cross, the second-highest recognition, the equivalent of the Army’s Distinguished Service Cross and the Air Force Cross. As of this writing, and since its inception in 1919, just over 6,375 men have been awarded the Navy Cross.

The Silver Star is the third-highest award, and can be awarded to a member of any branch of the American Armed Forces. Since Congress created it in 1918, more than one hundred thousand of these medals have been given, but that number may be misleading. Colonel David Hackworth received ten of them himself for service in Korea and Vietnam. Still, considering the number of men and women who have served, it is a prestigious and notable honor.

There is a corollary, though, to the statement about war giving individuals the chance to demonstrate bravery. It also exposes those who are not up to the task.

Who among us would have shown the bravery and clearheadedness of Charles Rush when he took the conn of
Billfish
and successfully guided her from beneath those who so determinedly hunted her? Would we have performed as John D. Rendernick did when he took charge of the damage control party and led them to extraordinary measures to keep their submarine functioning? And could any of us say we would have been able to ignore the thunder of almost continual depth charges—knowing the next blast could let loose the flood of inrushing seawater—and perform our jobs the way Chief Charley T. Odom did? The way practically all the rest of the crew of the submarine did in November 1943?

Or would we have cracked?

In 2002, about the time the real story of that day aboard
Billfish
finally emerged, a reporter asked Charlie Rush a loaded question. Why did the captain’s official patrol report covering those awful hours tell a story so different from what actually happened? I have asked him the same question.

Even then, nearly six decades later, Rush was hesitant to talk about it.

“There’s no need to get into that,” he told the reporter. “The citation says the senior officers were incapacitated. Why get into anything more?”

In an article he wrote for
Polaris
, a publication dedicated to World War II submarine history, Charley Odom says, “In combat, there are many surprises. Personality traits come to the fore. One’s own behavior might bring unexpected bravery or unexpected fear. Men who had been shipmates for years found it almost impossible to believe one reacted in a specific manner. Cover was stripped away. Some hard rock toughs wilted temporarily while meeker shipmates might become leaders. Men who face death together are more tolerant of each other. We were thankful that we had control over fear and rage.”

We will never know how John Rendernick felt about it. At the ceremony at Pearl Harbor at which the training facility received his name, his daughter, Mary Kay Rendernick, said her father spoke little of his submarine experiences, and certainly never said anything about the depth-charge attack.

“He was a very secretive man in his day,” she said. “He did not talk about being in the military too often.”

She was surprised when she got the call from the Navy that he was to be honored with the naming of the training facility at Pearl Harbor and that she was invited to be there. She knew nothing about the events of that night or her father’s heroism in the Makassar Strait.

“I am amazed that he was chosen. If he were alive today, he would be overwhelmed. He said the submarine force is unique, unlike any other job. He called the old submarines ‘cigars under the sea.’ ”

Odom still is reluctant to talk about the specifics. He points out that he was back in the aft torpedo room, in the maneuvering room, working the whole time. He knew little of what was going on in the control room or conning tower.