Making the Big Time
When people back in the States opened the October 2,1944 edition of TIME magazine and turned to page 35 (click here to see the page) they saw a picture of USS LCI(G) 77 firing rockets during the invasion of Pelelieu. This U.S. Navy photograph distributed by the Associated Press also appeared in several newspapers accompanying reports on the Peleliu invasion. The photograph was included in an exhibit at the Smithsonian in the 1950s and was part of a display of World War II photography at the Naval War College in 1991. There have probably been other times and places where it has been used. This was truly the little ship’s 15 minutes of fame.
As with many photographs what you see at first is not necessarily what is actually taking place. What was photographed was not the normal launch of rockets but a minor disaster since all the rockets on the side of ship facing the camera went off at once. To help with the discussion this link will bring up good quality version of the photograph.
When we used our rockets during the assault on the morning of September 15, 1944, only 479 of 504 fired. A wiring problem caused all port launchers to fire together. We normally fire the rearmost launchers first, then the next row forward and so on. This is because the force created by the rocket blast would blow any rockets immediately behind them out of their launchers onto the deck. Thus, if everything worked normally the aft launchers would be empty when those in front fired.
An additional problem came from new launchers installed just weeks before this invasion. They were placed so close to the deck the fire of their rocket blast would ignite the paint. Since we didn’t have time to reinstall these launchers before the invasion we tried to prevent them from igniting the paint by putting a sheet of water on the decks from fire hoses with the valves opened just a bit. This didn’t work because the rocket blast from the misfiring launchers was so hot this sheet of water was instantly converted to steam, allowing the paint to catch fire anyway. The famous picture of the SEVENTY-SEVEN was taken at this very moment with the decks just bursting into flames and the cloud of steam rising to obscure the conning tower.
With the forward launchers firing before the rear one were empty about 25 rockets were blown out of their launchers and on to the deck; a deck which is now on fire. With the deck paint burning these rockets caught fire too as they rolled around in the flames.
During the rocket firing, all of us on deck would take cover in #3 compartment. We could not completely secure its watertight door because we had to leave a small space for the sound-powered telephone cable used to communicate with the bridge. When we were told the first range rockets were fired there was an extra loud noise and the ship jumped. I asked the talker to find out what had happened. He then told me the bridge reported that instead of a single ranging rocket a rocket had fired from every port launcher and they were continuing to fire. As the additional salvos went off, we noticed flames coming around the slightly open watertight door. When firing ceased, we rushed on deck. We couldn't believe what we saw. The crew grabbed the fire hoses, opened the valves all the way and began putting water on the fires. I got asbestos gloves from a 20mm gun mount to pick up burning rockets rolling around in the fire and throw them over the side. This was very exciting and made a great picture but was really an illustration of a very large dangerous mishap.
It could have been worse. In brackets on the bulkheads of the deckhouse were 504 additional rockets ready for reloading the launchers. The thinking (from on high) was having them close at hand would allow loading and firing a quick second salvo if needed. It was a great idea until one considers the possibility of the deck paint immediately below them catching fire. Luckily, we had the fire out before it spread that far.
It was probably taken as the third salvo fired. The first caught the photographer's attention. By the time he was focused, the second was in the air (you can clearly see the 16 rockets in flight forward and above ship). The third was just firing (some of these rockets can be seen just above the deck and their flames are reflected in the water). Examining the photo closely, on the horizon between the SEVENTY-SEVEN and the island a battleship is completing its pre-invasion bombardment. To the right of the SEVENTY-SEVEN, is the rest of LCI Group SEVEN. Just astern are the Marine small craft starting their run to the beach.
A Dry Spot in the Ocean
Compared to the previous operations the Peleliu invasion had more exciting moments in addition to burning rockets rolling around on deck. On September 4, 1944 LCI Group SEVEN left the Solomon Islands as part of Tractor Division One, a small part of “:Operation Stalemate II” the invasion of Pelelieu. This tractor division was the largest yet with 85 ships. Again these were LCIs, LSTs and other slow auxiliaries escorted by a single destroyer.
On September 8 the unexpected happened. The destroyer made a radio transmission to all the ships in the convoy. Normal procedure was for every to keep the “talk-between-ships” radio on at all times but due to radio silence procedures it was never used in the war zone except in emergencies. This was an emergency because the destroyer has ordered every ship to turn to the left fifty degrees as quickly as possible. In a formation of dissimilar ships this is an order that is not issued without trepidation nor are the results of every one trying turn a quickly as their ship is capable a pretty sight. Just as some ships were completing this turn the destroyer ordered another emergency turn to left of thirty degrees.
Tractor Division One was no longer a formation but 85 ships occupying a very small part of the ocean each trying to head in the new direction without running into or being run over by any other ship. It took a couple hours to get everything settled down and the formation headed back in the correct direction. The reason for all this was an uncharted shallow spot in the ocean. The SEVENTY-SEVEN was on the right side of the formation so as she turned to the left she passed over where the larger ships were headed. The water suddenly turned a very light green, definitely shallow water.
An Even Dryer Spot in the Ocean
Following the invasion the SEVENTY-SEVEN patrolled around the southern end of the island supporting the troops ashore. On the evening of September 20 another exciting event occurred, the ship ran aground on the reef. The group was conducting a night patrol under the command of the Group Commander, regular navy Naval Academy graduate Lieutenant Commander. The ship was on the course ordered by the group commander and this officer was on the bridge of the SEVENTY-SEVEN as she patrolled along the shore. This officer was still on the bridge an hour and a half later when my father, the officer driving the ship, informed him he felt they were getting too close to shore. Before the group commander could assess the situation, he had apparently become distracted just prior to this, the ship hit the reef.
The skipper, Bob Miles, was on the bridge at once. He had been playing cards with some of the staff officers in their wardroom. On this lowest deck, they heard the coral's first contact. He ordered GQ because we were within a few hundred yards of territory occupied by the Japanese. We were at GQ for nearly two days. When the tide went out you could walk around the ship and not get wet. We had gone aground on the largest wave at the peak of high tide, almost going completely across into the lagoon. The guns were operated manually so we had no problem when we had to secure the generators at low tide. We were in radio contact with the destroyer just to seaward. She could have given us fire support if we had been attacked.
Getting a tow line aboard to pull us off was a considerable task. The USS HUDSON, the destroyed just off shore, found the sending of a small boat could prove to be a disaster. We quickly found an LCI not only did not have enough power its crew lacked the skill to get a line to us. When the tug showed up we knew it was now only a matter of time before we were back in deep water. They knew what they were doing and had the power, skill and equipment to do it. The only difficulty was how to secure the extra ordinarily large towline so it would take the strain properly. Jokingly, it was suggested we tie it around the entire deckhouse since our bits were way too small to accommodate this large line. We had to do almost that as it was manhandled through the bull-nose to the nearest bits, then astern to the next set, and so on until it was completely around the deckhouse. The feeling of being afloat was great. We had no holes in the bottom after the rough rides on the reef because it was green coral.
Here we are back at one of the first topics presented, how running a ship aground would have a negative effect on a naval officer’s career. And lets be clear, hard aground “high and dry” on a coral reef is the real going aground that mariners have feared for centuries. Since my father was driving the ship this had to have had some impact on his career? One of the former crewmembers, Mr. George Cerelli, who corresponded with me remembered this incident and thought for sure that my father would be in serious trouble because of it. About 45 days later on November 1 my father was reassigned as the Executive Officer (second in command) of the SEVENTY-SEVEN. Three months later on February 10, 1945 he was ordered to take over as the Commanding Officer. Since the group commander had to approve these assignments it is clear he was not holding my father responsible for the consequences of following his orders.