Sentinels of Fire by P. T. Deutermann Page B

anchorage and headed back northwest. We were bound to a new vacant radar picket station, forty-five miles north and west, named Three-Dog. We had gone out in a modified general quarters condition, with all guns and CIC stations manned but the ship not yet buttoned up. As Okinawa’s smoking ridges subsided beneath the southeastern horizon, the captain summoned me out to the bridge.
    â€œWanted to debrief you on my call with Commodore McMichaels,” he said when I came out from Combat. Captain McMichaels was a senior four-striper, called commodore because he commanded a squadron of ships, in his case, the ships of Service Squadron Ten. The service squadrons had been one of Chester Nimitz’s brilliant operational ideas: Gather together as many repair ships, ammunition ships, refrigerated food freighters, oil tankers, gasoline tankers, bulk cargo ships, fleet salvage tugs, and hospital ships, plus all the utility boats, landing craft, floating dry docks, harbor patrol craft, barges, and any other kind of floating support asset that you could find, collect them into a relatively safe anchorage, and thereby create an instant naval base. Ideally they could find an anchorage that was distant enough to be safe from Jap bombers but close enough that damaged ships could get there, one way or another, get fixed, and get back into the fight. If anyone knew what was really going on with the current campaign, in this case, Okinawa, it was the commodore of the service squadron supporting the campaign. The only fly in the ointment for the floating base at Kerama Retto was the fact that they’d failed to stay out of range of Jap bombers. On the other hand, the Navy was discovering what it was going to be like when we hit the main islands of Japan.
    The captain told me that our losses were mounting, both out in the main fleet formations and, of course, on the picket line. From the carriers to the amphibious landing craft, the body count was climbing rapidly, all because of the kamikaze tactic. We’d seen that at close hand.
    I asked the captain if the big bosses were mad at us for trying to help Waltham.
    â€œI’m not sure they—and I’m talking about the flag officers at Spruance’s level—even know we exist,” the captain said. “Okinawa has turned into a meat grinder of the worst kind. The Japs know they can’t prevail, so they’re bent on killing as many Americans as they can before they themselves are all dead. He was telling me about incidents where the Japs had convinced local civilians that our soldiers were going to eat them, and then made them jump off of cliffs to avoid capture. Absolute insanity. They’re—”
    At that moment one of the lookouts called in from the bridge wing that something had happened behind us. As the captain and I went out to see what he was talking about, a deep rumble overtook the ship from the direction of Kerama Retto and we saw an enormous black cloud mushrooming up over the horizon. More fiery explosions followed beneath the initial cloud, pushing whitish yellow fireballs and smoke trails in every direction. It sounded, and looked, like a volcano was erupting behind us. The entire bridge watch team and the gun crews out on deck were all staring aft.
    â€œSomething got that ammo ship,” the captain said softly.
    â€œWhich we just passed at no more than five hundred yards,” I said. There was another, even bigger explosion, and now the entire southeastern horizon was being enveloped by smoke from the blast.
    â€œCombat reports ETA to picket station is ten fifteen,” a talker announced.
    â€œNot quite two hours,” I said, looking at my watch. “I think it’s time to button up and get ready for own brand of insanity.”
    â€œAir search working?”
    â€œYes, sir, better than before, actually. We don’t have any CAP assigned yet, but they should be up soon, unless of course, that”—I