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In November 1943, Charlie Rush, a young officer, drew duty on USS Billfish, a submarine in the Pacific. While on war patrol in the Makassar Strait off Borneo, the Japanese spotted the sub and launched such a vicious depth charge attack that no vessel could possibly survive…
Rush, as diving officer, ordered the ship to dive, despite the confusion and hesitation of his captain. As he oversaw damage control, thundering depth charge explosions wracked the submarine during fifteen hours of hell under the sea. When he was finally able to seek out the captain, Rush found no one at the helm. The skipper and two senior officers were all incapacitated—by either fear or lack of breathable air. Billfish was dead in the water.
Boldly assuming command of the submarine—and summarily relieving his commanding officer—Rush led key members of the crew in an impossible effort to keep their boat intact as they tried to escape. Through his extraordinary heroism and cool-headed judgment, the young officer saved the crew of the Billfish from certain death.
It was sixty years later before this remarkable story became known, and even then only after Charlie Rush initiated action to get recognition for his shipmates for what they did that night. But it also led to Rush receiving the Navy Cross in 2003. Now, in War Beneath the Waves by author Don Keith, this intense story can finally be told in all its gripping detail. It is an inspiring story of one man’s heroism and courage under fire, and of the remarkable efforts of a submarine crew to do their duty and save their ship.
See a TV feature about Charley Odom, one of the heroes of WAR BENEATH THE WAVES by clicking HERE
"I don't see how you could have told this story any better without being there. Fantastic! Thank you!"
--Captain (Ret.) Charles Rush
"Riveting. That's the best word to describe the white-knuckle tension and drama that Don Keith delivers in WAR BENEATH THE WAVES. (He) writes in an engaging, you-are-there style calculated to bring the reader to the edge of his seat."
--John Sledge, Mobile (Alabama) Press-Register
"A seasoned chronicler of submariners' exploits now tells the tale of a heroic feat of endurance in the fall of 1943...dealing equally with the hardware and the interpersonal dynamics of WWII submarining, Keith will inform and please both the rank newcomer to the subject and the well-read expert on it. Invaluable for the WWII submarine annals."
“A never before told story of courage and integrity under fire. Action packed and told in Don Keith’s easy reading style, this is both a highly entertaining submarine tale and a deeply soul-searching study of men under the ultimate stress of war.”
--George Wallace, Commander USN (Ret.), co-author, national bestseller FINAL BEARING
"A story of extraordinary courage and valor...Don Keith has done yeoman's work setting the stage and detailing (the) story."
-- Florida Times-Union
"...a real page turner...a fantastic job of relating the story...this book is among the best. I give it a solid, unqualified thumbs-up!"
-- War on Terror News
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Excerpt from WAR BENEATH THE WAVES
Copyright 2010 by Don Keith
Submariners who have survived an enemy’s depth charge attack say it is almost impossible to describe to anyone else what the experience is like. Still, they feel obligated to try.
One sub sailor who lived through several poundings says, “It’s like being somewhere south of hell with Old Scratch himself throwing bombs at you.”
Some say the worst part is the sounds—the noises made by the warships above and by the charges themselves, and that does not just mean the explosions.
Those sounds can be clearly heard sometimes, even through the thick steel hull of a submarine, especially when the vessel is rigged for silent running. Water propagates sounds very well. Too well sometimes. There is almost always the clacking of the enemy destroyer’s screws as he crisscrosses the trail above, the Grim Reaper wielding his scythe, zigzagging relentlessly, honing in to claim his victims.
Then there is the nerve-racking ping . . . ping . . . ping as his sonar constantly, insistently probes the seabed below, looking for an echo back from his quarry that will tell him exactly where to drop his death.
Next, almost inevitably, there is the telltale kerchug! of the depth-charge barrels as they hit the water in a circle around where the enemy captain believes the submarine to be. That is followed at once by the increased frequency of the clack and whine of his screws as he pulls away to avoid the blow of his own ordnance.
Then a sharp click!—so much like the pop of a nearby lightning strike—that indicates the charge’s fuse has reached the depth where it was instructed to detonate the ash can’s powerful explosives.
There are sounds inside the submarine, too. Sounds that the sailors never forget.
The ragged breathing of a shipmate in the dim, dark quiet inside the boat—lights low to save precious battery power—as everyone nervously counts the time between click! and the inevitable explosion. Just as with the duration between lightning flash and thunder, the more time that passes, the better.
Then there is a noise described by some submariners as half a heartbeat. Maybe even an interrupted heartbeat. An odd sound that comes an instant before the deafening, bone-jarring whoomp! of the charge’s detonation.
Depending on how close and where the explosion is in relation to the submarine, the hunted vessel might buck, sway, and slide violently sideways or tilt its nose downward or upward. Lightbulbs pop. Meter faces shatter into spiderwebs. Pipes tear loose from their clamps. Personal items and tools slide along the deck or spring from shelves. Dust and cork shower down from overhead like flour from a sifter. Leaks spray seawater all over a compartment with a high-pitched hiss. Water starts to seep in from myriad unseen places.
Sometimes, if the blast is especially vicious, the hull of the submarine might pull apart at a seam for an instant, just long enough to allow cold ocean to spew its way inside before the intense pressure of that same water closes the rent again.
Or at least, the crew prays it closes. Prays out loud or silently. It is hard to tell, because the blast leaves their ears deafened, ringing. Their murmured prayers add to the sounds, the awful sounds.
The crew tries to remain quiet, no matter how badly they want to yell and plead to God, or to the Japanese above, for it to stop. No screams or shouts in response are proper. Only mumbled prayers. Whispered orders. A quiet undertone of jokes as shipmates whistle past the graveyard.
Even the slip of a wrench on a bolt or the squeak of a tightening pipe valve as the crewmen try to stem the inflow of the flood might be picked up by the attentive enemy above. That would be more than enough to give them a hint of where the submarine is, to allow them to drop the next batch of deadly charges closer, deeper.
Some submarine sailors say the thing they most remember of those attacks is the pungent gumbo of smells. And the longer they remain imprisoned beneath the waves, the more that mixture simmers, the more a man has to struggle to suck enough breathable air into his lungs to stay lucid. To even stay conscious.
Sweat, diesel fuel, bilge fumes, acid from the batteries, foul air, oil, spilled food, human excrement and urine from the heads that vent inside while they are submerged, getting pounded. Then the prickly odor of a different recipe of gas when leaking seawater reaches and reacts with the chemical in the batteries.
And fear. Fear has a stench. Ask a man who has smelled it.
He may not want to talk about it, though. He always smells it on himself first.
Within about eight hours after diving, the atmosphere inside a World War II submarine begins to become difficult to breathe. Longer and it becomes toxic, even explosive. Precious air becomes just as much a hazard to the men as the depth charges beating and boiling the sea around them.
All men are wired together differently. Some hold up better under such an attack than others. It is impossible to tell ahead of time which ones can function through it all and which ones cannot.
Most do not learn until the very first time it happens. And fortunately, most come through fine, concentrate on their jobs, do what they have to do to get them through and to safety. Even though they may fear they will crack, or they simply do not know how they will do, they perform admirably, shining brightly in a dark, desperate situation.
Others do not. They realize at the worst possible time that they simply cannot take it. No matter the simulations, the drills, it is simply more than they can stand.
There is no quiz or Rorschach test to verify ahead of time which man cracks, which man quietly does his job, which man steps ups and leads. It takes the real thing to do that, and by then, it may well be too late.
Submarine duty has always been and remains a volunteer service. Some, when faced with such terror, decide to serve their country in other ways. Others do not survive to make the move off the boats.
The success of the submarine navy in World War II verifies that most submariners shrugged off claustrophobia, misery, heat, choking air, gashes and bruises, and constant, cloying fear. They knew these things would almost certainly happen when they signed on.
In a crisis, like a depth charging, they simply do the jobs they trained to do. There is no choice. Each man on board has a place to be—a station while on watch—and a duty to perform anytime he is there. If a man is hurt or overcome or cracks, another is supposed to be able to step into his station and take over. If they do their jobs correctly, they have a considerably better chance to survive the attack, even if they are deaf from the explosions, weak from fear, fatigued from struggling for breath, and bleeding and bruised from the tossing about the attack has caused.
Most try not to show that they are afraid, even when they accidentally piss themselves, inadvertently pray aloud, or whisper for their mothers when there is an especially close blast. Personalities change. Tough guys become weak. Meek men stand up and do heroic things.
Exceptional men assume command and lead the others.
They are all afraid, every last one of them. They are human. In most cases, they try not to judge those who do not hold up well during the attacks. Men who face death understand how small a distance it is from hero to coward. They are more tolerant of one another than someone who has not experienced it would be.
Deep below the surface of the ocean, they depend on one another when the depth charges fall and drift closer and closer to their hull.
All of them—officer and enlisted man alike—hope the destroyer captain up there runs out of charges or patience before the submarine runs out of luck.