Michael Lister - Soldier 02 - The Big Beyond by Michael Lister Page B
Authors: Michael Lister
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out later, was that the four-hundred-foot cargo ship was filled with ten thousand tons of fuel oil. Too heavy to anchor in St. Andrew Bay, the weight of the ship also forced it to venture beyond the ten-fathom curve considered safe from the unseen U-boats under the surface of the Gulf waters.
Because German U-boats had put some five hundred million tons of Allied shipping on the bottom of the ocean floor, leading to a critical shortage of cargo ships needed to keep the Allied war effort going, the U.S. Maritime Commission chose sixteen sites, including Brunswick, Georgia, where this one was built, to quickly construct the Liberty ships.
Using sixteen thousand workers, the JA Jones Construction Company quickly and steadily built Liberty ships that were 441 1/2 feet long and 57 feet wide, with a draft of nearly 28 feet, and capable of hauling ten thousand tons across vast ocean distances. Having had two full decks running the length of the vessel and seven watertight bulkheads rising to the upper deck, the Liberty allowed for five cargo holds located forward and aft of the central engine room. In these immense holds, it carried weapons, ammunition, food, tools, hardware, vehicles, even at times troops— anything and everything that might be needed for the war effort all around the world. This particular one had been fitted to carry fuel. Two one-and-a-half-ton torpedoes struck the port side—one about midship, the other near the stern—and suddenly most of the thirty-five sailors awoke in hell.
“Do you have a boat?” I yelled.
No one answered.
“Do you have a boat?” I said again.
I looked around, scanning the area. In the distance, I could see a small marina and a forty-foot cruiser.
“Whose is that?” I asked. “The cruiser. Whose is it?”
“Not ours,” Bunko said.
“We’re gonna borrow it,” I said. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Neither man moved.
“We’ve got to get out there as soon as possible,” I said. “Let’s go. Now.”
The two men looked at Bunko. She nodded.
“You turn them in and I’ll have you killed,” she said to me.
“Find a phone,” I yelled as I ran toward the car. “Call and report it.”
T en minutes later, we were in a rickety wooden cruiser heading as fast as it would go into a lake of fire.
This brought to mind a poetic phrase I’d heard somewhere, though I couldn’t remember where or what it was from: Their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.
The rain continued to fall, but it had no visible impact on the fire.
The Liberty ship, adrift now in ever-expanding concentric circles of flame, blazed before us, spreading its fuel and fire across the surface of the Gulf.
The inferno we were entering was so intense, so unimaginably hot, we could only navigate the edges.
The falling rain, the whining wind, the undulating sea, even the rolling, echoing thunder would not drown out the screams of the men shrieking in pain as their flesh melted from their bodies.
From within the ship came the horrific cries of the damned—tortured souls whose last moments were spent in unmitigated agony of apocalyptic proportions.
On deck, sailors caught fire as they ran toward lifeboats, leaping into the lake of fire below before realizing what they were doing.
One man was stuck in a porthole, his bottom half on fire, yelling for his mama with the unadorned abandon of a small, scared, suffering child.
We watched helplessly as the ropes holding a lifeboat burned in two, plunging sailors into the searing sea below.
“Circle around the perimeter,” I yelled at the small Japanese man piloting the cruiser. “Get as close as you can.”
We slowly trolled the waters, wiping rain from our eyes as we searched the burning, boiling Gulf for bodies.
The night was cold, the wind and rain adding to the low, miserable temperature, but nothing was a match for the intensity of the heat radiating from the hellish holocaust in front of us. I
Because German U-boats had put some five hundred million tons of Allied shipping on the bottom of the ocean floor, leading to a critical shortage of cargo ships needed to keep the Allied war effort going, the U.S. Maritime Commission chose sixteen sites, including Brunswick, Georgia, where this one was built, to quickly construct the Liberty ships.
Using sixteen thousand workers, the JA Jones Construction Company quickly and steadily built Liberty ships that were 441 1/2 feet long and 57 feet wide, with a draft of nearly 28 feet, and capable of hauling ten thousand tons across vast ocean distances. Having had two full decks running the length of the vessel and seven watertight bulkheads rising to the upper deck, the Liberty allowed for five cargo holds located forward and aft of the central engine room. In these immense holds, it carried weapons, ammunition, food, tools, hardware, vehicles, even at times troops— anything and everything that might be needed for the war effort all around the world. This particular one had been fitted to carry fuel. Two one-and-a-half-ton torpedoes struck the port side—one about midship, the other near the stern—and suddenly most of the thirty-five sailors awoke in hell.
“Do you have a boat?” I yelled.
No one answered.
“Do you have a boat?” I said again.
I looked around, scanning the area. In the distance, I could see a small marina and a forty-foot cruiser.
“Whose is that?” I asked. “The cruiser. Whose is it?”
“Not ours,” Bunko said.
“We’re gonna borrow it,” I said. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Neither man moved.
“We’ve got to get out there as soon as possible,” I said. “Let’s go. Now.”
The two men looked at Bunko. She nodded.
“You turn them in and I’ll have you killed,” she said to me.
“Find a phone,” I yelled as I ran toward the car. “Call and report it.”
T en minutes later, we were in a rickety wooden cruiser heading as fast as it would go into a lake of fire.
This brought to mind a poetic phrase I’d heard somewhere, though I couldn’t remember where or what it was from: Their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.
The rain continued to fall, but it had no visible impact on the fire.
The Liberty ship, adrift now in ever-expanding concentric circles of flame, blazed before us, spreading its fuel and fire across the surface of the Gulf.
The inferno we were entering was so intense, so unimaginably hot, we could only navigate the edges.
The falling rain, the whining wind, the undulating sea, even the rolling, echoing thunder would not drown out the screams of the men shrieking in pain as their flesh melted from their bodies.
From within the ship came the horrific cries of the damned—tortured souls whose last moments were spent in unmitigated agony of apocalyptic proportions.
On deck, sailors caught fire as they ran toward lifeboats, leaping into the lake of fire below before realizing what they were doing.
One man was stuck in a porthole, his bottom half on fire, yelling for his mama with the unadorned abandon of a small, scared, suffering child.
We watched helplessly as the ropes holding a lifeboat burned in two, plunging sailors into the searing sea below.
“Circle around the perimeter,” I yelled at the small Japanese man piloting the cruiser. “Get as close as you can.”
We slowly trolled the waters, wiping rain from our eyes as we searched the burning, boiling Gulf for bodies.
The night was cold, the wind and rain adding to the low, miserable temperature, but nothing was a match for the intensity of the heat radiating from the hellish holocaust in front of us. I
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