Reveal

Even those providing a public good are targets in war.

Gunfire echos through the humid Mid-Atlantic August air, ricocheting off the craggy coastal rocks of Diamond Shoals in the outer banks of North Carolina.

“Fire Again!” I command to the deck-gun crew of U-140, my beautifully sleek U-Boat on its maiden voyage to the U.S. coast. We’ve found and immobilized a 3,000 ton American steamer, and are now working to finish her off. 

Below my feet the hatch to the conning tower comes alive as a head pops out.

“Sir,” Kritzburg calls from the hatch, “We just picked up a wireless transmission from a nearby ship. They are declaring they’ve heard gunfire and ships should avoid this area.”

Ah Hell, we just got here!

“Where is the transmission coming from?” I ask, hoping we can take out two ships before having to scurry away from this location.

“Not more than 4 Kilometers, Sir” Kritzburg replies excitedly.

Thats not far at all. We can hunt them down, then come back to sink this steamer later.

“Find me that ship, we’ll sink them too!” I order to both Kritzburg and the lookouts on deck.

“Hold Fire!” I command to the gun crew. Despite military discipline, their sense of disappointment is obvious.

They want the kill.

“We’ve been detected, and are going to hunt that ship before finishing this one off” I call out, knowing full well my explanation is not completely satisfying to them. 

It should be enough to keep them focused, and that’s all I need right now.

“Sir, the radio transmission states that it’s the lightship!” Kritzburg calls from the hatch.

“Great, lets hunt her down!” I call back.  

Turning from the steamer, I look toward the coastline to where moments ago a double set of light beacons blazed.  They’ve been put out now.

“Full speed, 30 degrees starboard” 

My boat’s engines rev up, churning the water behind us as we head toward Diamond Shoals, and its light ship.

“Be prepared to fire on my notice!” I order the deck-gun crew.  They immediately reload the gun with a renewed vigor.

I got them back.  They’re excited again.

“Get me my speaker.” I order Fuchs, one of the lookouts standing next to me in the warm night air.

That lightship probably has about five to eight men onboard.

“Sir, your speaker.” Fuchs offers, while handing me the megaphone we use to warn ships of their impending destruction.

I wait until we are within a kilometer of the lightship before raising the speaker up to my mouth. In perfect English I bellow “Lightship crew, this is Captain Waldemar Kophamel of Kriegsmarine U-140. Please abandon your ship. You will be sunk.”

As I’m saying this, the searchlight of my ship is centered on the lightship. It’s number, 71 shines brightly in white against the dark hull of the ship.  Huge white letters “Diamond” are written on its side.

“You speak English!” One of the lightship crew calls back.

“Yes, Please confirm you are abandoning your ship.  Do you need a boat?” I reply.

“No, we got one.” The crew-member calls back.

“You have five minutes until we open fire on your ship.”

No vocal reply comes from the lightship, but I can see men scurrying about, preparing the ships launch.

One man enters the launch, while two others carefully lower it into the water.  Then these two, along with two others, descend the ropes to the launch before turning toward my submarine.

I don’t want them on my ship when land is nearby.

Picking up the speaker again, I call out “Please make your way toward land. Do you need any food or water?”

“No thanks!” the curt reply comes back through the heavy air.

“Please get clear of the ship. Safe travels!” I call out after them as they row toward land.

My guys are ready to go.

Get clear of the ship!

They row slowly, but within two minutes are at least 20 meters from the lightship.

“Fire at will!” I order my anxious gun crew.

The deck gun immediately booms, followed by an almost instantaneous explosion below the water line of the lightship.

They fire again. 

The lightship starts listing.

Fire again.

Then again. 

One more time.

That’s enough, it’s going down.

“Hold Fire” I order.

The gun crew halts their actions just as they were about to load the chamber with one more round.

I wonder how long it will take this ship to settle on the bottom.

“1/3 spead, port 90 degrees” I order. “We’re going to finish off that steamer.”

The gun crew cheers.

I’ll let them have their joy.  This has been a good night.
 

On the night of August 6, 1918 U-140 chased the American Steamer Merak off of the coast of North Carolina, eventually catching up to it.  The crew of the steamer was taken off of the ship, and the submarine was in the process of sinking it when an astute radio operator on the submarine picked up the Diamond Shoals Lightship radio transmission warning ships to stay out of the area because a U-Boat was operating nearby.  Captain Waldemar Kophamel of U-140 ordered the submarine to find the source of the transmission. When they found out it was the lightship they headed toward it.  The lightship was not built for speed, so its crew knew they could not escape the submarine. The crew of the lightship was allowed to abandon the vessel before it was sunk by the submarine.  This was the U.S. Coast Guard’s only loss due to enemy action in World War I. The wreck of the lightship is still owned by the Coast Guard, and under agreement with National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, divers are documenting the wreck's physical remains. The plan is to nominate the site to the National Register of Historic Places, and to share with the community the story of the lightship for the 100th anniversary of its sinking in 2018.

The 1st Time

Still wet from the rainstorms through which we passed the night, the deck of the carrier undulates with the steep rise and fall of the churning Pacific Ocean.

I taxi my fighter across the deck toward the bow of the ship, taking my station facing the wind for maximum lift.

We’re going to take out the fleet!

When my turn arrives I max my engine while holding the breaks to await the next rise of the carrier’s deck with a steep wave.

This is it!

The deck rises.

The flag man drops his arms toward the sea.

Purring like a highly coiled cat ready to pounce, my engine’s full-throttle push against the breaks is relieved as I release the wheels.

Slowly, at first, then with great speed and power, I launch off the deck of the carrier into open ocean.

As I rise I can see our small destroyer escort and massive carriers fade in the distance.

They will never know what hit them!

Our flight of fighters and dive bombers heads toward Oahu, toward Pearl Harbor, towards destiny.

We are the vanguard of a new age!

We are going to catch them with their pants down!

As we approach Pearl Harbor from the north, a vast row of battleships reveals itself from behind the small chain of mountains separating the northern and southern parts of the island.

Scanning away from the battleships, I spot my targets, the orderly lined up planes on Hickam Field and Ford Island.

We did it, they are surprised!

I head my fighter toward Hickam, firing my machine guns to strafe the empty and idle fighters lined up there.

First flight heads toward battleship row, dropping their bombs on each of the ships parked in a beautiful line on the side of Ford Island.

There’s nothing to stop us from taking out the whole fleet and air arm.

What a day, the Pacific is ours!

Zeroing in on Ford Island, I run another pass to strafe even more fighters.

We’re going to take them all out!

No resistance, no idea we were coming, no defense!

As I run low on ammunition I signal to Second Flight, “Time to head home!”

We’ve done our job this day.

December 7th, 1941 was not the first time anyone conducted a successful aerial assault on U.S. forces based in Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. In fact, on Sunday February 7, 1932 a small force of two aircraft carriers and its destroyer escorts wiped out the United States fleet and all military air assets at Pearl Harbor in a war game designated “Fleet Problem #13”. 152 Fighters and dive bombers launched from a hidden carrier force, which had arrived off the coast of Oahu earlier that morning after hiding in a rain storm, dropped sandbags and flairs, figuratively sinking the ships at anchor in the harbor while also attacking the nearby aircraft. Initially deemed a win for the attacking force, the judges later rescinded the award because of complaints from the Navy the attack was unfair. Sunday was deemed an inappropriate day to attack the fleet at anchor. Rear Admiral Harry Yarnell, the qualified naval aviator who had led the attack force to such success, disagreed with the final ruling, claiming such an attack was exactly what a future enemy could do. The event was observed by those on Hawaii, including representatives of foreign consulates. It was also discussed in local reporting. Nine years later, the Japanese empire conducted the same attack, costing the United States many ships, thousands of men, and bringing the U.S. into the World War. Sometimes, what we may think is unfair is exactly what our opponent believes is needed.

In Touch

My puttee covered shins slip ever deeper into the muck as I fall back from the fire board into the slime strewn base of the trench.

Bloody Hell, I gotta get out of this!

Whistles blow, but instead of rising over the parapet, I’m sliding ever deeper down a quagmire from which I cannot extricate myself.

“What in hell are you doing?” Jennings yells to me over the din of our field artillery mixed with an explosion of a German trench mortar nearby.

What’s it look like I’m doing, becoming one with the bloody trench?

“Help me outa here!” I yell back, shifting my weight so that I can use the butt of my rifle as a crutch to hold me up against the moldy trench baseboards.

Jennings bends down, his kit falling forward on his back so that he almost topples on top of me.

Oaf!

“Damn it Hirsch, take my hand” he orders, reaching his right arm out to me.

“Kneel down, or we’ll both be stuck here.” 

He bends his left knee, firmly planting his right foot on the baseboard next to my rifle. Then, with his right hand, pulls me up, using his legs for the dead lift.

Yes, I’m free!

“Thanks Jennings!” I call out as my body ascends from the muck.

“Right-o mate, now let’s get some Jerry’s!” he blurts out as he continues lifting me so that my head pops up over the parapet.

I scramble up the muddy side of the trench, ending up on my belly as I make my way out toward our wire. Jennings is right behind me, having climbed out of the trench himself. We search for the white-taped opening our boys made in our wire for what seems like hours, but in reality must have been no more than five bullet whizzing by, explosions on top and around us, and blood curdling screams from dying men impregnated minutes.

Finally, we find the tape and the opening in our wire.  Pieces of dead men lay strewn about, as if tossed by some giant carelessly discarding partially chomped pieces of human flesh as he makes his way through a bowl while watching a football match.

These chaps didn’t even make it past our wire.

“Best get a move on then, we’ve gotta catch up!” Jennings calls out as he leads us through the hole in the wire.

I start running behind him, but can’t stop myself from looking to my left toward one poor sap laying there with an open stomach wound.  His hands are scrambling at his mid section as he tries to put pieces of intestine and other organs back inside his torn body.

“Stretcher Bearer!  Stretcher Bearer!” I scream out, “This man needs attention!”

He looks up at me with a pale face.

I can’t!

Without looking him in the eyes, I turn so that I can see where Jennings has run off.

I just have to keep going forward. No turning!

Jennings is directly in front of me, making his way over the shell strewn pock-marked, shell-hole covered ground of no-man’s land.  I fall in directly behind him, hoping to follow his steps across the broken landscape.

Just run, that’s all you have to do is run!

Sounds of bullets rip by me, breaking through the almost constant pitch of explosions not too far away.

Run, keep running!

As we approach the German wire I can see bodies caught up in it.  Some of them are still moving limbs, occasionally calling out “Help me mate!”  

Before me is the upper half of a man pulling himself forward with his arms, helmet still on his head.  His lower body has completely disappeared.  As he moves forward he leaves behind an expanding pool of black mass, possibly charred remains of what were once organs.

Run! Damn you Run! Stay up with Jennings!

I cannot stop.

I MUSTN’T STOP!

Over the German wire we run, using the decaying prone body of a dead German as a foot board.  

Just Run!

Jennings jumps feet first into the German advanced trench.  I follow, not timing my jump right so that instead of landing feet first, I tumble in, my kit rolling me over.

I made it! I made it to the other side!

“Bloody clod!” Jennings calls out.

Just as he finishes saying that a mortar round lands within two yards of us, exploding on the far side of Jennings blasting through my skull a high pitch ricochets from ear to ear and back again.

I open my eyes, not recognizing where I am.  

The ground looks different.  

Where is Jennings?

Pulling myself to my feet, I look around.

Where is Jennings?

I can’t see anything I recognize.

Walk, start walking, you’ll find Jennings.

Without telling my body to do so, my legs start moving.  A tingle descends down my right arm.  I brush the hand against my trousers, hoping to wipe off whatever was on me.

Why is this so unfamiliar?

Carrying on, I pick up my rifle from the ground before making my way into a communication trench connected to the front-line trench.

I can’t help but continue feeling this tingling in my arm.  I brush it against my trouser leg again before looking down at my blood and flesh covered lower body.

From behind me I hear “You use some help lad?”

Turning to see who said that, I realize I am surrounded by fellow Brits.

My body stops, but not to a standstill.  Instead it starts swaying in place.

“Yes, I can’t get this blood off my arm.” I say, softly letting the words fall out.

One of the soldiers approaches me, comes around my front, and stares me up and down.

Why are you looking at me like that?

“Call the stretcher bearer.” He orders one of his mates.

“I don’t need a stretcher, just a moment to breath.” I reply.

Stop looking at me.

Another soldier catches my elbow, preventing me from falling.

I didn’t even realize I was falling.

When I wake up I’m on a stretcher.  Raising my head to look around I realize I’ve ended up at a field hospital.  A rushed nurse comes by.

“Ms., Ms. Please!” I call out.

She approaches me with a rush in her step that betrays a sense of both urgency and anxiety.

“Yes dear” she says to me as she stairs at my forehead for a moment rather than looking me in the eyes.

“Ms, why am I here?” I ask.

“Well dear, you appear to be shot four times, and suffered a concussion.” She replies.

I was shot?!?

“Four times, but where?”

She looks at me, eye to eye this time.  “In the neck, hand, and back.”

I never felt like I was shot!

Is Jennings shot too?

“Is Jennings here?”

“Who dear?”

“Jennings, is he here?”

“Sorry dear, I haven’t seen a Jennings.”

“We were together.”

“I understand dear.  Lay back, and get some rest.  I'll see if there is a Jennings about.”

“Thank you!” I whisper as I close my eyes.

He’s probably right nearby.

Many soldiers become desensitized to their own bodies when in combat.  They keep pushing forward to stay true to their buddies, to carry on the mission, to simply survive.  With what they see, feel, hear, taste, and touch, their brains disconnect input from feeling.  This often leads to men carrying through despite severe injury.  Remember this next time you think of war. Wars are people disconnecting from reality in order to make it through.  How much of that can we have in humanity before there is no more reality?