The first torpedo had slammed into our stern, damaging one prop and knocking out steering control. The other torpedoes in the spread went wide, giving us a momentary reprieve at best. The Emerald Bay was a former passenger liner, converted in ’42 to a troop transport. She was fast, but no fighter. We relied on our escorts for protection, but the typhoon had scattered our convoy across the Pacific. We were under strict radio silence, for all that mattered. Any cry for help would have been just as likely to bring wolves as shepherds.
Unfortunately a wolf had still found us. We weren’t a prize catch for a Japanese sub, not like a carrier or battleship would have been. That wouldn't keep them from doing their best to blow us to kingdom come. The Japanese knew the invasion of Okinawa was imminent, and every soldier they killed on the open sea was one less they would have to fight on land.
Alone and already crippled, we had no way of striking back. Everyone on board still frantically searched the waters for any sign of the submarine. I suppose it was only natural we wanted to see our executioners. They made their presence known as not only a periscope but the entire boat broke through the surface off our port bow. Their captain must have decided not to expend any more of his precious torpedoes. Through my binoculars I could see the Japanese sailors preparing their deck gun. The single 5.5” barrel was more than formidable enough to finish us off.
There was an orange flash from their deck, and almost instantly a huge column of water shot into the air just yards in front of us. The next two shells were also off-target, but their gunners soon found the range. Explosion after explosion ripped through the Emerald Bay. She was a big ship suffering a slow death, within no one to save her or the men she carried.
A thunderous crashing came from astern, and I wondered if a shell had found the main fuel tanks. That wouldn’t explain the sudden, frantic activity on the deck of the Japanese sub, though. The sailors there were running for the hatch, not even bothering to secure the deck gun. The sudden cheers ringing out through the bridge strengthened my rising hopes.
I swung the binoculars around to the most beautiful scene imaginable. An American destroyer was steaming towards us, her every gun spitting death at our attacker. The submarine captain’s decision to surface proved fatal as his boat was ripped to pieces. The battle was over in minutes, the only sign remaining of the submarine a spreading oil slick and a few pieces of floating debris. The destroyer pulled up alongside us, her semaphore flags flashing. I didn’t recognize her designation number, so I had to rely on our signalman to tell me the name of the ship that had just saved our lives. It was the Butler.
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Borrowing a phrase from Hollywood, this story was “inspired by actual events”, so it’s almost entirely fictional. The Butler was a U.S. Navy destroyer that served in both theaters of WWII, including the invasion of Okinawa. USS Butler history