On the Road to Hungnam, North Korea

FIFTY-EIGHT

ONE

SEPTEMBER 1950

0845, September 27

Open Bridge

PF-5

Piedmont Pier

SRF Yokosuka, Japan

Lieutenant Commander Maxfield Julius Brown, 32, light brown hair, steel blue eyes, 6 feet 2 inches tall with scars on his forehead from not quite ducking low enough walking through Navy hatches, 193 pounds, fairly narrow but weathered face from many years on the bridge and clean shaven, USNR, stood on soon-to-be his Open Bridge and breathed deeply with satisfaction. In less than an hour, the Re-Commissioning Ceremonies would begin. When it was over, he would be in command of the USS Hoquiam PF-5. There was deep doubt if the Hoquiam would be able to leave the pier; none of the first five had made it as far as the Harbor submarine nets. That is, the admirals did not believe the Patrol Frigates would be useful in the war against the North Koreans.

He strolled around the Sonar Shack and leaned against the Signal Flag Bags. LCDR Brown still didn’t know all the names of his bridge crew. This Signalman smiled at him.

You ready, Captain? Everyone is beginning to Fall In on the 01-Deck for the Parade.

Don’t call me Captain, yet. Bad things could always happen, Flags, he said with a smile.

Ah, you’re right, Mr. Brown. So…Are you ready? He appreciated being addressed by the Signalmen’s nickname. Who’s going to raise the Commission Pennant, sir?

Mr. Brown looked at him. He’s that Radarman Second from Hoquiam, Washington. I was surprised, actually shocked to learn that we had a crew member from Hoquiam and that there are five sailors from Washington. He looked at his Elgin wrist watch. Time to go. He smiled again at the Signalman and began climbing briskly down to the 01-deck, making sure his brimmed hat was on firmly.

TWO

0900, September 27

Patrol Frigate, Hull Number 5

Piedmont Pier

SRF Yokosuka, Japan

Robert Smith QM3, 5 feet 9 inches tall, 203 pounds, nearly bald blond hair (what was left of it), round freckle-faced, USN, the duty Quartermaster, standing at his lectern behind the gangway to the USS Everett, hummed nervously examining what he had carefully printed as the initiating entry in the brand new Rough Log book. His habit of rocking side to side was more pronounced this morning.

PF-5 Officers, Chiefs, and men on parade, 01-deck amidships

Flag Officers present:

Commander, U.S. Naval Forces, Far East

Commander, U.S. Naval Fleet Activities, Yokosuka

Others present:

Commander, Escort Squadron Five

Commanding Officer U.S.S. Everett PF-8

Supervisor, SRF Re-commissioning Detail

(Japanese National)

Boiler No. One on line, cross-connected to both engines

Singled up, portside to U.S.S. Everett (PF-8) starboard side

There were no ink smears, erasures, or mistakes. Smith thought it looked pretty good, even though he had been continually jostled as more men squeezed by him hurrying aft to join their division formation.

Four—even three weeks ago—this vessel had been a grim, ugly, smelly bucket of rusty, battered nuts and bolts. The amount of work the crew accomplished and the Herculean tasks completed by the shipyard workers was unbelievable. PF-5, to be a small man-of-war, the United States Ship Hoquiam, whose namesake is the small town of Hoquiam, Washington, next to Aberdeen, at the mouth of the Hoquiam River, sparkled with fresh paint from stem to stern and from the keel up to the radar antenna. Fresh Haze Gray paint was on all vertical surfaces and outside overheads. Sanded Light Gray Deck paint was on all weather decks; unsanded Light Gray Deck paint was on other outside horizontal surfaces. Gleaming Black enamel paint covered the top-ring around the smokestack. The entire vertical length of the Galley stack—known as Charlie Noble—was encased in the same gleaming black paint.

Most of the Engineering Department had worked in shifts around the clock with the Ship Repair Facility Japanese civilians to get the two old three-cylinder reciprocating steam engines ready to answer bells. There was an odor of hot metal in the air, mixed with burned fuel oil. Heat was rising from the smokestack with a faint suggestion of light brown smoke—a good fuel-air mixture in the firebox of Boiler Number One. Boiler Number Two was still not ready.

PF-5 could not fly the National Colors yet. That was not permitted until the Rear Admiral, Commander, U.S. Navy Fleet Activities, Yokosuka, read his orders directing this vessel’s re-commissioning, and Lieutenant Commander Maxfield Julius Brown read his orders directing him to take command of the Tacoma class Patrol Frigate, United States Ship Hoquiam PF-5; a copy of the orders would be appended to the Rough Log.

Five enlisted men were on special duty this morning. Two sailors stood at the bow with a folded Union Jack—a blue flag with 48 stars; one of them was Seaman Apprentice Lee Stewart, USN. Lee, 19, was slim, almost skinny at 6 feet 1 inch tall, 163 pounds, sort of a square face with a smattering of freckles, chicken pox scars, and the teen-aged variety of pimples. The other sailor was holding the folded flag snapped onto the halyard of the jackstaff; Stewart was holding the halyard up-haul, ready to hoist the Union Jack on signal. Two other sailors stood at the stern with a folded American Flag—the National Colors—snapped onto the halyard, ready to hoist. One more sailor stood amidships with the Commission Pennant snapped onto the halyard of the truck of the Foremast. (The truck is the highest point on the ship’s masts below radar antennas.)

The rest of the crew were in tight ranks in an open square surrounding Secondary Conn. Ninety-eight White Hats, in undress White (Baker) without jumper, were in ranks with their respective Chiefs or Leading Petty Officers, by department and division, facing inward. Seven officers and five chiefs were in their khakis without blouse or tie. The Operations Department personnel were farthest away from the ceremonies.

Most of the crew were facing inward where the senior officers stood waiting to begin the commissioning ceremony. But, if they had been facing aft looking beyond the fantail, they would have seen the two rows of the remaining twenty of the twenty-seven patrol frigates across the bay returned from the Soviet Russian Navy moored there, waiting for a decision of what to do with them.

Lieutenant Marston, the Prospective Executive Officer, stepped forward and blew into the microphone. Satisfied that it was ready, he leaned forward and called out,

Inaugural Crew, aaa ten chun! He paused until the noise settled down.

Commander, United States Naval Fleet Activities, Yokosuka, Japan, will read the orders. LT Marston looked over his shoulder at the Admiral and stepped aside, then stepped back as the Admiral stepped forward to the microphone. The Rear Admiral, USN, whose name has passed in history, was about 45, 5 feet 7 inches tall, squat in build, looked to be about 200 pounds, opened a notebook, looked around at the officers, chiefs, and enlisted men, cleared his throat and began to speak in a nasal drone.

His orders from the Chief of Naval Operations directed him to prepare the United States Ship Hoquiam, Patrol Frigate Number Five, then out of service and out of commission, then moored in Yokosuka Inner Harbor, for active duty in the United States Navy for urgent duty involving the hostilities in Korea. Lieutenant Commander Maxfield J. Brown, USNR, 1100/4, had been ordered by Bureau of Naval Personnel to the U.S.S. Hoquiam PF-5, as the Prospective Commanding Officer. The open mike picked up the flapping of the orders as the wind brought sounds of construction from around the Ship Repair Facility. It was difficult for the assembled crew to distinguish what he was saying. The Admiral paused, turned and recognized Lieutenant Commander Brown. He nodded to him, snapped his notebook shut and stepped back.

Prospective Commanding Officer Lieutenant Commander Maxfield Julius Brown, USNR, exchanged salutes with the Admiral. He stepped forward to the microphone and read his orders in a loud voice so all could hear over the wind. His orders directed him to assume command of the U.S.S. Hoquiam PF-5, and take possession of the vessel, its equipment, publications, and personnel. Pausing, the Lieutenant Commander looked around at the people assembled before him, then bellowed:

Admiral, I accept command of the Hoquiam. He saluted the Admiral, who walked over to the Captain, shook his hand, and stood beside him for photographs to record the event. Then, Captain Brown returned to the microphone.

Boatswain’s Mate, hoist the Commission Pennant, called the new (no longer prospective) Commanding Officer.

Aye aye, Captain.

The four men with the flags who could neither see nor hear any of this had had their ears cocked, waiting for Lieutenant Commander Brown to accept command. A Boatswain’s Mate Second Class (BM2), USNR, from Hoquiam, Washington, had the honor of raising the Commission Pennant. George Peavey, 28, 5 feet 11 inches, 195 pounds, squarish ruddy face, green eyes, and a raspy voice, pulled smoothly on the up-haul, two-blocking the Commission Pennant at the peak of the truck. The three-foot long, very narrow Commission Pennant consisted of a blue field containing seven white stars and a single red and white stripe. It spilled into the breeze and fluttered outward for a moment, and as the puff of wind passed, the ribbon pennant dropped limply below the Truck of the Foremast. This pennant would fly day and night until it was too worn to continue. Without ceremony, another would replace it.

A Quartermaster blew a police whistle as loud as he could. That meant Shift Colors. Aft on the fantail, the Color Guard raised the American flag for the first time since World War Two when the U.S. Coast Guard manned her. Forward at the bow, another pair of sailors raised the Union Jack for the first time since World War Two. Smith, the Quartermaster, whistle still clenched in his teeth, noted the time on his wristwatch, 0915 Item, and leaned over his log. He made the last entry in the old rough log of the Out-Of-Service, Out-Of-Commission PF5.

0915 U.S.S. Hoquiam (PF-5) formally re-commissioned.

Lieutenant Commander Maxfield Julius Brown, USNR, commanding.

He closed that cloth bound book and re-opened the brand new logbook, cracking the spine, repeating the same information as the first entry in the new logbook. This was the new rough log of the U.S.S. HOQUIAM (PF-5), now In Service, In Commission, as a member of Escort Squadron Five (CortRon Five) and U.S. Navy, Cruiser Destroyer Forces, Pacific Fleet (CruDesPac). Temporarily, the Hoquiam would report to Commander, U.S. Navy Fleet Activities Yokosuka, Underway Training Element (ComFltAct Yoko UTE), for shakedown and training. Following an abbreviated training schedule, the Hoquiam would report to a tactical unit, as yet undetermined. Commander, U.S. Naval Forces, Far East (ComNavFE) was uncertain any of the PF’s would fulfill useful wartime duties. The five PF’s already re-commissioned had broken down, unable to steam most of their short re-commissioned life.

THREE

0925, September 27

USS Hoquiam PF-5

Piedmont Pier

SRF Yokosuka, Japan

Lieutenant Commander Brown, Commanding Officer, U.S.S. Hoquiam, turned to his Executive Officer.

Mr. Marston, set the inport watch. LT Marston saluted the Captain.

Aye aye, Captain.

He about-faced to the Ship’s Company Department Heads.

Department Heads take charge. Mr. Morgan, you are Command Duty Officer. Set the inport watch. Section One has the duty. Commence normal routine.

Aye aye, sir.

Questions? Each shook his head.

Relieve your quarters.

The five Department Heads saluted and marched off to where their respective department officers stood in formation. Department Heads repeated the first orders of the day as though their junior officers had not heard. The Operations Officer instructed his three division officers who saluted and marched off to tell their men, who had also heard some of everything twice.

Dingding dingding dingding dingding

Commander, U.S. Naval Forces Far East departing.

Dingding dingding dingding.

Commander, Fleet Activities Yokosuka departing.

Dingding dingding

Commander, Escort Squadron Five departing.

Dingding

Everett departing.

Dingding

Hoquiam departing.

In this one instance, ComNavFE and ComFltActs Yoko decided to dispense with the honor of Side Boys. In the olden days of sail, the number of side boys called to the side of the ship to haul the visitor aboard in the Bosun’s Chair was determined by the girth of the visiting gentleman. Usually, girth and seniority compared nicely.

On the Hoquiam Signal Bridge, the duty signalman had waited at the flag bag, ready to haul down the senior Admiral’s three-star pennant, the junior Admiral’s two-star pennant and the Squadron Commander’s pennant from the yardarm halyards. As each title was announced, that pennant was yanked down. When the Captain departed, the Signalman jerked on another down-haul and watched as the Captain’s Absentee pennant broke open, for the first time, at the top where it had been folded, tied and pre-positioned. Anyone intending to visit the Commanding Officer would turn away upon sighting that white-black-white Absentee pennant.

Commanding Officers and Senior Officers received sets of two bells according to their rank. Commanding Officers up through Commander received one set of two bells. A Captain received two sets of two bells. Admirals, generals, and high officials received more sets of two bells according to the established pecking order. General of the Army Douglas A. MacArthur would receive seven sets of bells with the announcement United States Commander in Chief, Far East arriving (crossing or departing).

FOUR

0930, September 27

01-Deck outside of the Radio Shack

U.S.S. Hoquiam (PF-5)

Piedmont Pier, SRF Yokosuka, Japan

Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Roger Forsythe marched up to C Division. Leading Petty Officer Jimmy Bob James, USNR, Radioman First Class (RM1), watching out of the corner of his eye, called out (as though they couldn’t see him).

C Division Attention! and saluted LTjg Forsythe, USNR, 25, 5 feet 8 inches tall, 175 pounds, brown eyes, reddish-brown wavy hair, round faced with a bristly red mustache much like the typical RAF pilot of WW2, . had a clear tenor voice and mostly a pleasant disposition.

Good Morning, Mr. Forsythe, sir. C Division present or accounted for. Have you any news for us, sir? asked James, tongue firmly in cheek.

Yes, James, I surely have, Mr. Forsythe replied, returning James’s salute with a big smile on his face. He turned to face his division of radiomen. We finally made it. First thing we do is check into Harbor Common, CW and Voice. The second thing we do is officially begin to copy George Fox and maintain all message traffic records. The third thing we do is take our own Communications Guard from the Base Comm Center. Any questions? He looked at each man with a question in his eyes.

Very well, relieve your quarters, he said and received their salutes.

James, I want to see you and Stewart in my stateroom in ten minutes. Understood? Stewart’s head snapped around and his belly tightened.

Hey, wait a minute, what kind of shit is this?

James’s eyes flicked back and forth between Mr. Forsythe and Stewart, as Stewart’s face contorted in dismay. The other radiomen looked back and forth at all three. Stewart’s gut was getting that feeling again. In misery, Stewart nodded to James.

We’ll be there, sir, just as soon as the watch is set, said James. LTjg Forsythe turned and rapidly joined the Operations Officer, while Stewart stared after him. Stewart started to say something to James, just as James asked,

Stew, you in some kinda shit I don’t know about?

James, I ain’t done nothing. But I got this bad feeling in my gut that says Chief Billons is about to shanghai me into the Deck force after all. His belly was aching with the thought.

Nah, Stew, that can’t be it. We’ll find out shortly. Let’s get cranked up. You can show your stuff. Load Harbor Common on the TDE and check in. You still gotta teach those Radar guys how to handle that voice circuit, so they can take over Harbor Common after noon chow. Jimmy Bob James had his happy face on again. Besides, they had been waiting to check into the net since they started listening a week ago.

Stewart pushed the TDE transmitter red ON button, waited for the transmitter tubes’ filaments to glow, and for all the meter needles to come up in their proper ranges. He pushed the microphone into the transmitter’s jack. Then he sat down in Comm Position #1, listened to Harbor Common (V) on the speaker for a moment to make sure the net was free, then reached up to the RBB receiver and twisted the OPERATE STANDBY switch to STANDBY. Stewart pressed the mike transmit button and checked the needles. He held the microphone about two finger widths from his lips and spoke softly.

NAN DOG TARE THIS IS NAN ZEBRA CHARLIE YOKE OVER

Stewart was a little nervous and still thinking of the meeting in a minute or two. He almost forgot to twist the receiver STANDBY OPERATE switch back to OPERATE.

…ZEBRA CHARLIE YOKE THIS IS NAN DOG TARE OVER

Navy Radio Yokosuka was loud and clear. Stewart saw Mr. Forsythe out of the corner of his eye in the open doorway frowning at him. Stewart twisted the receiver’s OPERATE STANDBY switch to STANDBY and pressed the mike button again. Working the transmitter in Local was a pain in the ass. However, without having a remote phone unit in the Radio Shack, this was the only way they could operate on a local voice net.

THIS IS NAN ZEBRA CHARLIE YOKE CHECKING INTO THE NET DEFERRED OVER

Stewart looked up at the clock and quickly typed those entries into the Harbor Common Log, as he waited.

THIS IS NAN DOG TARE SEND YOUR MESSAGE OVER

THIS IS NAN ZEBRA CHARLIE YOKE

DEFERRED

270042Z

FROM USS HOQUIAM PF5

TO COMNAVFE COMFLTACTS YOKOSUKA

GR19

BT

USS HOQUIAM RE-COMMISSIONED 270015Z X REPORTING FOR ADMINISTRATION ACCORDANCE CINCPACFLT MESSAGE X FOR COMFLTACT YOKO X REPORTING FOR TRAINING

BT OVER

THIS IS NAN DOG TARE ROGER OUT

The radio circuit fell silent, except for faint crashes of lightning static in the distance. Until they checked out of this net after leaving port, they were responsible to receive all messages sent to them on that net. Stewart drew a very large plus sign on the message form and noted four things, one in each quadrant. He printed TOD for Time of Delivery in one quadrant, the actual TOD, 0045Z in the opposite quadrant, noted the message was transmitted over Harbor Common (Voice) in the third quadrant, and scribbled his sign — LS — in the final quadrant.

He turned with a happy look to James and said, One down, one to go, he grinned as he got up to retune the transmitter to the CW frequency. Mr. Forsythe stared at Stewart with a perplexed look on his face. Then, he said, James, I need to see you and Stewart right now.

Aye aye, sir, looking at Mr. Forsythe and back to Stewart, puzzled and frowning.

James pointed to Lloyd to take over. LTjg Forsythe turned abruptly and walked three steps to his stateroom door and waited for them. Stewart closed the Radio Shack door behind him, looked at its fresh, new AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY sign on the outside of the door, smiled and patted the sign.

Truly, we are in business now.

FIVE

0950, September 27

LTjg Forsythe’s Stateroom

U.S.S. Hoquiam (PF-5)

Piedmont Pier, SRF Yokosuka, Japan

There’s no way to make this easy, Stewart. You’re going to the Deck Department immediately, where you belong. That also means you have to move out of the Operations living compartment today. James, you pulled a fast one on Chief Billons and he’s out for your blood.

Flashes of hot and cold washed over Stewart. His stomach began churning.

Here comes that fickle finger again. Yeah, and the fucker’s still purple and bloody, too.

James looked at the overhead, shaking his head in exasperation, and glared at his division officer. His normally soft, happy voice was strident with anger.

That’s ridiculous, Mr. Forsythe. Stewart is the only one of us who knows current communication practices. We haven’t even figured out the new voice procedures that you just heard him use. Ours are over four years old, and rusty at that.

What can I say to convince him we have to have Stewart? Ah, that’s it!

Besides, Stewart is slated to give a class in voice radio procedure to the Radarmen in Combat after noon chow. He hasn’t been to Radioman A school yet but by God he sure is a Radioman striker otherwise.

Jimmy Bob was getting het up again. Mr. Forsythe looked at the sailors, raised both arms in mock surrender, and shook his head.

Hey, I’m on your side. Those are my orders, which means Stewart has to go.

Stewart decided he had nothing to lose.

"Mr. Forsythe, I want to request Captain’s Mast right away. This is vendetta bullshit. My Personnel Jacket shows I am a designated Radioman striker. I’ve worked hard trying to get the Shack in shape for today. I think I deserve a better chance. I’ve already been screwed twice in this Navy."

Lieutenant Marston had eased up behind Stewart without a sound and listened. Stewart was plenty mad, with tears glittering in his eyes, and fists clenched at his sides. Still within courteous bounds, he poured it out all over Mr. Forsythe about his Enlisted Volunteer enlistment that didn’t permit attending schools or advancement, loss of promised ET school, and still being Seaman Apprentice. He had shipped for six for something better than to be deck fodder. Stewart jumped when he heard a breath drawn in behind him.

Mr. Forsythe, my stateroom now, please. LT Marston, X.O. said crisply.

That was an order, not a request. Mr. Marston turned on his heel and went forward to his stateroom. LTjg Forsythe scrambled out of his chair and followed, motioning them to stay where they were. James stepped back into the Radio Shack, pulled out the wall phone from its holder and buzzed Combat. He wiped his straight blond hair out of his gray eyes while he waited for an answer. Stewart only heard one side of the terse conversation.

Parks, and hurry, please. His voice was urgent.

James fidgeted and played with the phone cord while he waited.

Parks, I need your help down here right now. Chief Billons is making a grab to get Stewart to the Deck force.—I agree—bring the Chief too, if you think he can do any good. Thanks.

James sorta swayed back and forth, tossing his head to clear his straight blond hair from his face, humming quietly to himself with hands laced across his belly as he waited for Parks to arrive. Stewart was silent, staring bitterly at the bulkhead across the passageway. Chief Quartermaster Swensen would be coming with Parks. When the Chief and Parks arrived, James explained what was going on. The Chief looked at Stewart.

Stewart, you been smartin’ off to Chief Billons? Stewart shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

Not at all, Chief. Last time I had anything to say to him at all was over those antenna corona shields, and that was about a week ago.

By this time, Stewart was breathing hard and really upset, rubbing sweaty hands on the seams of his dungarees. The Chief and Parks walked forward to the Executive Officer’s stateroom and tapped fingernails on the door. It opened and they stepped in, shutting it softly behind them. James and Stewart were still standing in Mr. Forsythe’s doorway when Chief Billons, Billy Boy