Nice link, Jeff. Some of those kits got me drooling like a puppy ....
BTW - Here's that Johnston story I wrote if anyone is interested. You might want to cut and paste it into a Word file to read it easier.
Native American Medal of Honor Heroes
Cherokee warrior saves the fleet
By Bob Rosenburgh
The chronicles of war throughout history are filled with the exploits of heroes who risked it all for the cause. From those ranks of great warriors only a select few have not only played a key part in winning the battle, but also saved most of their comrades in arms from annihilation. One such great man was Cdr. Ernest Edwin Evans, a Cherokee Indian from Pawnee, Oklahoma, who commanded a destroyer named the U.S.S. Johnston in the battle off Samar Island on Oct. 25, 1944.
Evans was commissioned from the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, Md. in 1931 and during his early career served aboard a variety of ships, including the battleship Colorado and the cruiser Pensacola. When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in December of 1941, he was serving on the destroyer U.S.S. Alden and was made its commander in March of 1942.
Evans did well as Skipper, earning battle stars and respect with his crew, so he was rewarded with command of a brand-new destroyer fitting out at the Seattle-Tacoma Shipbuilding Corporation on Washington’s Puget Sound. The U.S.S. Johnston was a sleek, Fletcher-Class ship displacing 2,100 tons. Armed with a main battery of five 5-inch radar-controlled guns and ten 21-inch torpedo tubes, the 376-foot-long ship also had six 40 mm and 11 20-mm anti-aircraft guns and a suite of depth charges.
The day he took command when the Johnston was commissioned, Evan’s told his new crew, “This is going to be a fighting ship. I intend to go in harm’s way and anyone who doesn’t want to go along better get off now!” History bears out the truth in his words.
The Johnston wasted no time joining the fray and earned battle stars for the Marshall Islands campaign, where she bombarded the beaches and fought kamikaze planes in the invasions of Kwajelien and Eniwetok, then provided fire support to troops fighting in the Solomons. Under Evans’ steady hand, she went up a river at Bougainville to take her guns closer to troops needing her firepower. The Johnston also sent the Japanese submarine I-16 to the bottom off Bougainville. She wrapped up the Marshall campaign by joining the battleship Pennsylvania in bombardment of Guam, throwing more than 4,000 5-inch projectiles down the enemy’s throat.
Then came the Battle of Leyte Gulf, a key element in the drive for liberation of the Philippines. Johnston and two other destroyers were assigned to protect convoys and small escort carriers tasked with invasion and capture of the Palau islands.
It was only three days short of a year that the Johnston was commissioned and Evans took command that they found themselves suddenly thrust into an impossible fight.
Following two major engagements in Surigao Straight and Leyte Gulf, Admiral James Halsey turned the bulk of his battle group to the north, presumably to intercept the main body of the Japanese battleship and carrier force heading for the Philippines.
That left three destroyers and four destroyer escorts, code named “Taffy III,” protecting the Leyte invasion force packed on lightly-armed transports and backed by auxiliary support vessels and just six “baby flattop” escort carriers with very small numbers of planes.
On the morning of October 24, as they sat East of Samar Island off San Bernardino Strait, a patrol plane frantically reported four battleships, seven cruisers and at least nine destroyers coming down the strait and right for the invasion fleet. And one of the battleships was Yamato, the largest dreadnaught ever built and mounting nine monstrous 18” guns.
The nearest help was 30 to 80 miles away and the American heavies, Admiral Halsey’s battle group, was far to the north chasing a diversionary force. The huge Japanese task force had only the seven small warships of Taffy III to keep them from wiping out the American fleet. But Taffy III was in the command of a Cherokee Indian warrior, Cdr. Evans aboard the Johnston.
Within ten seconds of the pilot’s report, Evan’s was on the bridge and in charge, even grinning as crewmembers later testified.
“All hands to general quarters,” he bellowed into the intercom as his jet-black hair waved in the night breeze. “Prepare to attack major portion of the Japanese fleet!” He ordered full speed, smokescreen and told the crew to stand by for torpedo attack. “Left full rudder,” and they were off.
Within a minute, the sleek destroyer was fast underway and made a long zigzag smoke screen to block the enemy’s guns and give the fleet a chance to withdraw. The other ships in Taffy III followed suit and also took their lead from Evans when Johnston opened fire at maximum range. Pressing in closer, they launched a spread of torpedoes in a wild hope of scoring hits, but more so to force the enemy to maneuver and lose speed.
As Taffy III closed on the enemy fleet, the bigger ships were out of their range and they could only engage the destroyer screen, but the big guns of the battleships and cruisers were already reaching out to find the Americans. Colored splashes marked with dye enabled the Japanese gunners to tell where each ship’s gunfire was landing, but around the destroyers the variegated columns of water created a surreal scene of beauty and death. Slowly the enemy got the range and Taffy started feeling the power of the enemy’s cannons.
By then, the escort carriers had their meager flight of aircraft in the air and the American pilots joined the lopsided battle, scoring bomb and machinegun hits, but failing to deter the Japanese force. All through the battle the Johnston, nicknamed “GQ Johnny” because they were at general quarters so often, was out in front and nearest the enemy, leading the pack to sure destruction and glory. It was a desperate gamble, but they were ready to sacrifice themselves to save the tens of thousands of troops in the invasion fleet.
Despite their massive preponderance of firepower – one salvo from Yamato was 18,000 pounds against a 275-pound broadside from Johnston – the enemy gunners were lousy shots. What hits they scored were by sheer saturation of shells and the destroyers in Taffy III were able to penetrate much closer to the heavy units behind the destroyer screen.
But the little ships were starting to feel their wounds and Evans knew they couldn’t keep it up much longer. The Johnston was losing engine power, communications were gone and guns were fighting independently, using optics for targeting.
In one last, desperate attempt to delay the Japanese, he ordered a final torpedo attack on a 12,000-ton cruiser. As Johnston bore in for the strike, no less than four cruisers concentrated their fire on the valiant little destroyer who still managed to get off over 200 more shots and return the punishment in kind.
“Fire torpedoes,” screamed Evans and ten deadly fish streaked off to meet the big cruiser. Heeling about, Evans ordered up more smoke and laid a screen to mask the other destroyers as Johnston pulled away. Behind them, torpedoes found their mark deep in the bowels of the cruiser, plus a bonus hit when one that missed continued on to damage a battleship to the rear. When Johnston broke through the smokescreen and looked back, they saw the cruiser engulfed in flames. It later sank.
But time had run out for the Johnston. Three 14-inch shells from a battleship found their mark, followed by a set of 6-inchers from another cruiser. The little ship lost one engine and most of its power … and still the hits came.
Evans stood on the deck surveying his ship, ripped into scrap and dead crewman everywhere. With no helmet and bare-chested, he continued to issue orders, refusing medical help despite his head wounds, several fingers shot away and shrapnel wounds on his face and neck.
“Don’t bother me now,” he told the doctor, “Help those men who are really hurt.” A quick survey of the ship told him the main batteries could still fire manually, and the ship could be steered by hand, so he rejoined the battle. Just then, a quick rainstorm came up and the Johnston was able to limp into it for cover, sending another 100 rounds into a cruiser and the enemy’s lead destroyer as they did so.
The rest of Taffy III was still fairly intact, although they took their share of hits, too. But, when the American admiral ordered another torpedo attack, they rushed in without hesitation.
The Johnston had done its part and was out of torpedoes … they could have limped away and still be covered with honor for their gallant actions … but Evans wasn’t through with the Japanese yet.
“We’ll go in with the destroyers and provide fire support,” he boomed at his remaining crewmen and they yelled “Aye, aye, Sir,” and turned to the task at hand. Stoking the boilers to their maximum capacity so the one engine could do it’s best, Johnston was able to move in and cover the torpedo attack and scored another ten hits on a big cruiser. Taffy III delivered their torpedoes and turned away and it looked like the Johnston might just have pulled it off too. But when they broke out of the smoke screen again, the USS Heerman was headed straight for them and only frantic maneuvering avoided a collision. The two ships passed within ten feet.
Getting back underway, the Johnston’s crew peered through the smoke and rain for targets and only fired when they were sure it was an enemy ship in their sights. Then, out of the gloom and only 7,000 yards off … spitting range at sea … came the unmistakable pagoda-bridge of a Kongo-class battleship. Johnston’s gunners slammed abut forty rounds into the ship before darting back into the smokescreen and the battleship, slow to respond, missed them completely with the few rounds they got off.
The Johnston was soon in a position between the enemy destroyer and cruiser force when Evans saw that a very large cruiser was busy trying to sink the escort carrier Gambier Bay.
Turning to his gunnery officer, Lt. Robert C. Hagen, Evans ordered, “Commence firing on that cruiser, Hagen. Draw her fire on us and away from the Gambier Bay.”
In an unbelievable David-and-Goliath duel, the battered little tin can turned into the cruiser and came within 6,000 yards, firing their modest guns all the way in. But the cruisers commander, who could have sunk the destroyer with his secondary batteries and still sink the carrier, ignored the Johnston and allowed it to slip away without a single hit.
It was a fatal error for the Japanese, because Evans then saw the Japanese moving in for a torpedo attack on the fleet. So the relentless Cdr. Evans turned his tiny, but mighty ship against the Japanese destroyers.
Nearly all of Taffy III was now in flames … the Johnston stood alone.
Despite being outnumbered, running on one engine and severely damaged, Johnston engaged and scored twelve hits on the lead ship, which fled the scene in retreat. They scored five hits on the next one and then, before the other six could close in for the kill, the entire Japanese destroyer force turned around and ran off in retreat.
“Now I’ve seen everything,” Evans shouted in absolute glee.
The celebration was short-lived, though, because the rest of the Japanese ships were warming up their guns on the carriers. Gambier Bay was lost, burning and sinking, and the enemy was after the other ships, so battered and bleeding, Evans went back to work. Only the Johnston and Heerman were left to carry the fight to the enemy. Eventually, the bridge was so battered that Evans had to shift his command to the fantail where he shouted steering orders to the crews below. Round after round went out to smash at the enemy, but even more came back to savage the Johnston. Soon, she was dead in the water and the Japanese cruisers took their aim and battered the stricken ship at their leisure.
With no way left to fight, Evans finally gave the order to abandon ship. The surviving crew scrambled over the sides and into life rafts and, at 1010 hours, she rolled over and began to sink. A Japanese destroyer pulled alongside and put one more shot into her to make sure. Crewmen in the water reported that the enemy captain saluted as the Johnston slid under the waves.
Johnston was gone, but by then the Japanese had enough and retreated in disarray, turning their crippled ships back up San Bernardino Strait and running for safety. The little ships of Taffy III and a handful of aircraft had beaten a major Japanese battle group and saved the Leyte invasion fleet from annihilation!
But the Johnston and her crew paid a severe price for their gallantry.
When the Johnston first turned into the enemy fleet to engage it in battle, 327 men were at their battle stations on board the gallant destroyer. About 50 of them died in the ensuing battle, but another 45 died of their wounds floating in rafts for two days after the battle before they were rescued. Another 92, including Evans, were alive in the water when Johnston went down, but were never seen again.
The ship, its crew and the rest of Taffy III were subsequently awarded a Presidential Unit Citation for their roles in the Battle Off Samar Island. Evans earned a posthumous award of the Congressional Medal of Honor. The Cherokee warrior had come a long way from Pawnee, Oklahoma