Sailing into Harm’s Way at the Library

by Bill Peak

Robert Copeland was a newly-minted thirty-year-old lawyer when he was called up for active duty at the outset of World War II. In October of 1944, at Leyte Gulf, he would steer his outgunned destroyer escort into the teeth of an entire Japanese fleet. As they sailed toward the enemy, he told his crew: “A large Japanese fleet has been contacted. They are fifteen miles away and headed in our direction. They are believed to have four battleships, eight cruisers, and a number of destroyers. This will be a fight against overwhelming odds from which survival cannot be expected. We will do what damage we can.”

I first learned of this famous shipboard announcement from a book I checked out from the Talbot County Free Library just before Christmas, James D. Hornfischer’s The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors. And should any of my nieces or nephews find I’m a little late with their gifts this holiday season … well, they should register their complaint with Mr. Hornfischer.

The extraordinary American naval victory that would take place at Leyte in 1944 began with an equally extraordinary American blunder. In October, Chester Nimitz sent two flotillas to the Philippines to protect the sea approaches to Douglas MacArthur’s intended “I shall return” landing at Leyte: the 3^rd Fleet under Admiral “Bull” Halsey, and the 7th under Vice Admiral Thomas C. Kinkaid.

Kinkaid’s responsibility was to protect the southern flank of MacArthur’s invasion and Halsey’s was to protect the northern. But the Japanese, betting on the latter’s famously aggressive nature, dispatched a fleet of carriers south toward Halsey’s, and then, at the last moment, had it turn abruptly back toward Japan.

Halsey took the bait and, with all his capital ships in tow, raced after the decoy, leaving only a small force of light carriers and their escorts to guard the northern flank of MacArthur’s troop landings. It was into this relatively weak line of American ships that an Imperial Japanese fleet now sailed. That Japanese fleet—in addition to the usual complement of destroyers—contained five battleships (including the two largest battleships ever built), at least nine heavy cruisers, and two light cruisers.

It was understood by one and all that, should the Japanese break through the thin American defensive line, they would send most of the light carriers and their crews to the bottom, and decimate the tightly packed troop carriers arriving at Leyte Island.

To give you some idea of just how unequal a contest this would be, one of the Japanese super battleships, the Yamato, displaced 72,000 tons and could fire its 3,220 pound shells a distance of 26 miles. The three biggest American ships remaining to face the Japanese were destroyers, each of which displaced only 2,500 tons and could fire nothing bigger than a fifty-five pound shell a paltry 10 miles. It was like bringing a popgun to an artillery duel.

Cdr. Ernest E. Evans, at the commissioning of his destroyer, the USS Johnston, had promised his crew they would sail into harm’s way; and it was as Lt. Cdr. Copeland was making his famous announcement that Evans set about doing just that. Watching the Johnston turn and steam toward the Japanese fleet, an old salt on one of the light carriers told a young sailor, “Son, you are about to watch a destroyer commit suicide.”

As he advanced upon the enemy, Evans laid down smoke, which screened the light carriers behind him from the Japanese guns but pinpointed his position precisely for the men aiming those guns. The Japanese placed different colored dyes in their shells so that, as each round splashed into the water, they could judge from the color of the splash which set of coordinates had come closest to their target and adjust their next salvo accordingly.

Betting that adjustment would consistently move the Japanese guns away from those coordinates that had clearly missed, Evans now began to weave his vessel from one colorful splash to the next. In this way, despite being completely outmatched in terms of firepower, he managed to bring his vessel close enough to a Japanese heavy cruiser to blow its bow off with a torpedo.

During this, the first exchange of the battle, several shells from the Yamato struck the Johnston, one of which stripped Evans of his hat, shirt, and two fingers. Ignoring the wound, he told his corpsmen to care for the more seriously injured and, bare-chested, continued to fight his ship.

As the Japanese maneuvered to avoid Johnston’s fire, Evans next attacked the heavy cruiser Haguro and then the battleship Haruna. As his vessel took more damage, Evans ran out of torpedoes, but continued to bang away at his better-armored opponents with his 5-inch guns. Eventually, with his bridge out of action and all electrical power lost to ship’s comms and controls, Evans—still absent shirt, hat, and two fingers—was reduced to shouting his course corrections down through a hole in the deck to sailors turning the ship’s rudder … by hand.

After two and a half hours of intense fighting, Admiral Takeo Kurita, in overall command of the Japanese fleet, sent out a new order to his ships: “Rendezvous, my course north, speed 20”. The Japanese were withdrawing. A puny American force of destroyers and destroyer escorts had fooled a vastly superior Japanese force into believing they faced something much bigger.

Before the Japanese departed, one of Kurita’s ships drew alongside the Johnston, now dead in the water. The sailors on board the American ship feared they were about to be machine-gunned, but instead of 50 caliber shells, a Japanese sailor began tossing tins of vegetables down to them. Looking up in amazement at this unexpected charity, several American sailors saw an officer on the bridge of the Japanese ship turn toward them, come erect, and salute.

Lt. Cdr. Robert Copeland’s ship was sunk at Leyte, but he survived (after two and a half harrowing days in shark-infested waters) and received a Navy Cross for his actions during the battle. Surely more Navy Crosses were awarded after the Battle of Leyte Gulf than after any other naval engagement of the war.

The Johnston too eventually succumbed to her wounds, and took Cdr. Evans down with her. He was awarded the Medal of Honor.

The Navy is still naming ships after officers and seamen who fought at Leyte Gulf.