Twenty Four Hours to Live

Twenty Four Hours to Live

Suzanne Marsh

December 7th, 1941

8 AM

A bugle blared over the PA system: “Man the antiaircraft batteries.” Came a nervous voice. Silence for several moments, then a harsh voice boomed throughout Oklahoma: “All hands, man your battle stations.”

A very excited voice shouted: “All hands, man your battle stations!!! On the double!! This is no

drill!!! Get going—they are real bombs!!!!” ‘Dear God, has the world gone crazy?’ I was stationed aboard the USS Oklahoma. She was a good ship. My battle station was Turret Three. The Oklahoma shuddered; she was hit by a torpedo.

Another torpedo hit, another shudder from the ship; how many torpedoes before she sank?

An Ensign was in charge of our turret; his initial reaction was: “Stay below, men.” The fourteen-inch guns were useless against planes. We could see the bright orange circle on the planes; the Japanese were bombing our ships! Admiral Husband Kimmel, thinking the battleships would be safer on battleship row, ordered the captains to cluster the ships together for safety's sake. He may have saved lives, but the battleships that were targeted by the Japanese, and the loss of life on the USS Arizona and USS Oklahoma, were devastating.

My heart raced as I ran toward turret three and my battle station. My mind could not accept that we were being attacked. I tried to climb the ladder to the next deck above. Men were attempting to escape the carnage as Oklahoma’s huge shells, weighing a ton apiece, broke loose from their moorings. The shells rolled wildly down the slanting decks, knocking sailors off their feet. There was no escape for the men on deck.

The one phrase that every sailor dreads came over the loudspeaker: “ABANDON SHIP! ABANDON SHIP!” I felt the hair at the base of my neck rising in fear. I was barely able to stay on my feet, as more torpedoes struck the Oklahoma. Oklahoma began to list quickly, until it seemed she was lying on her side. I knew now that our ship was sinking with most of the crew on board. The Oklahoma lurched, and the deck went out from my feet. She rolled over; her mast was touching the bottom of the harbor. Dark waters began to close over the remaining crew. I thought: “Dear God, this is it, we are going to drown. We are belly up, I prayed that there would be rescue attempts once the Japanese bombers left.

Men were dying all around me; I heard a man crying, “Help! I can not swim!” I thought of asking him if he did not know how to swim, why did he join the Navy, but that seemed inappropriate at the time. The situation seemed hopeless for all of us; her hull was 13.5 to 8.0 inches thick belt armor to protect the engines. The hull was high-strength structural steel; it could take hours just to get through the keel and hull. We did not have the time; we were in total darkness. I felt disoriented, floating in the water, not knowing if it was day or night. I began to think of Oklahoma as a steel tomb.

Time stood still for those of us awaiting rescue. The sickening stench of fuel oil made it worse for us. There were twenty men left,t but none of us panicked. There was no time; the main thing was to keep our heads above water. Hours passed, and the water level grew higher. Fear was not an option; we were all in this together, shipmates to the end. I wasn’t ready to relinquish my life to the sea, not until I was sure there would be no rescue. Wisecracks were the order of the day, the only one I really remember: “Join the Navy and see the world! The world from the bottom of Pearl Harbor.” Dark humor, but it released some of the tension we were all feeling in our iron tomb.

The silence was deafening until one of the men trapped with us, a Boson’s Mate, remembered there was an escape hatch located in the area we were trapped in. It was narrow, went down thirty feet to the main deck. I had a terrible time orienting myself up was now down. I cleared my mind, waiting and wondering if anyone would attempt it. I was not sure I could hold my breath that long underwater. Once again, things became complicated for our group of men. The hatch was just big enough for a small man to fit through. The water continued to rise in the compartment we were in.

Sound has a way of carrying; shots were being fired above us, they sounded strange coming down through water into the depths of darkness and despair. The Japanese caught us with our pants down; the thought that our Navy was in jeopardy was horrifying. There was not much for us to do except wait it out, hope that help arrived soon. I wondered where help would come from, if it came at all.

The compartment we were trapped in was quickly filling; we were going to have to move. The question was where in the ship would there be another pocket of air. The Bonson’s Mate thought for several seconds: “The ship’s lost and found is right next to this compartment; it may be drier there. The lost and found compartment went nowhere where but there were mattresses and old peacoats that we could lie on. We shone a small flashlight around, no leaks, it seemed more comfortable, perhaps things would begin to get better now.

Minutes turned into hours as we waited for help to arrive. As the hours passed, we prayed and hoped. One of the men cocked his ear: “I heard something, metal hitting metal, sounds like a rescue team is here.” Others of us thought he was hearing things, delusional from being trapped in this iron tomb. Were people actually trying to save them?

I strained my ears listening; it was an eternity before we heard more sounds from the rescuers. The noise was recognizable; an automatic tool. The sound stopped once again, which scared all of us in the compartment. What if they could not find a way to get us out of this sunken, upside-down ship?

My heart began to pound, and we found a dog wrench and began to hammer on the steel bulkhead. Three dots – three dashes – three dots SOS (save our ship). A pneumatic air hammer, that had to be what the rescuers were using. Again, one of the men tapped out SOS. The rescuers were attempting to get us out of our iron tomb. We started with thirty men that morning, and we were down to ten who survived. We had no idea of time or space; it seemed to us we had been there forever and a day. The men in the next compartment heard the noises also, then silence. The men in the other compartment were finally freed; we were waiting impatiently.

A voice from somewhere above shouted, “Can you stand a small hole? We will drill one through.” That was all any of the ten of us needed to hear: Yes, go ahead and drill!” A small hole appeared a little more than halfway up the bulkhead. There was a loud hissing noise as the air pressure within the ship and without equalized. Water began to pour in as the ten of us began to panic. A gentle Hawaiian voice spoke: “Stay calm, fellows, we are going to get you out!” Progress was slow but sure. The compartment was quickly filling with water. A cutting tool began to cut a hole in the bulkhead. There were three cuts, then a large hand bent it out.

We were free, and the faces of the Hawaiian rescuers and Navy sailors were smiling at us. One of the Hawaiian men had me climb on his back, I was hand up until I saw a blue sky. The time was now 09:00 hours on December 8. I stood on the hull and, with a sinking feeling, saw the damage the Japanese had raught upon the United States Navy. I had survived the sinking of the Oklahoma.

**Author’s notes**

December 7, 1941, was a day that lived in infamy. Oklahoma lost 429 men. Arizona, Tennessee, and West Virginia were sunk. Arizona lies at the bottom of Pearl Harbor. The Tennessee and West Virginia were both raised, re-floated, and returned to sea.