The Saga of the USS Franklin

The log of a ship is her personal diary. Every happening, no matter how trivial, is committed in detail to its pages, and it becomes the official record of her every movement. The story of the Franklin can best be told by glancing through the pages of her log. There is recorded her gala days and her sad ones. The intimate details of the men who sailed and fought her. When she left San Francisco in February '45, the Franklin was a battle-scarred veteran. She had just been refitted at one of the yards where the Navy proudly licks its wounds and they are healed. The Franklin was going back to the Western Pacific, where she should appear as a ghost ship to the enemy. They claim to have sunk her at least three times. Let's review a few highlights of her career. She joined the Pacific Fleet in July 1944, and what a list of calls she made. Iwo Jima, Guam, Rota, Yap, Peleliu, Okinawa, the Philippines, Formosa, Leyte. This girl had been around. The first combat mission had thundered down the Franklin's flight deck on July 4th, 1944. The target, Iwo Jima. Other fleet units were slugging it out. This was a softening up process to prepare the way for our amphibious landing forces. Organized Kamikaze attacks by the suicide boys had not yet started, but watch this one crash on the ship. [ __ ] pilots could twist and turn with the greatest of ease, but once lined up in the sights of an air group 13 plane from the Franklin, it was usually scratch one meatball. Rocket-equipped planes played havoc with [ __ ] shipping. They struck like lightning and seldom was there need for any more working over. Planes by the hundred and ships by the score were accounted for by the task force of which the Franklin was a part. Now the Kamikaze boys were in earnest. They were deliberately trying to crash on any ship they could. They got plenty of assistance in crashing. But they were persistent and kept boring in. Often they were too close for comfort. >> One day four of them started at once. Two were shot down, the third just missed, but the fourth kept coming. Coming at 300 miles an hour and finally crashed on the flight deck. This sent the Franklin back to the states for major repairs. And just four months later, we pick up our saga as she draws up to Ford Island at Pearl Harbor. She didn't create much fuss. Only one small band played Aloha. The real welcome was tendered by a party of 50 waves, a glee club by the way, who were shown around the ship. They stayed for the awarding of combat decorations to a returning air group. The presentation was made by Vice Admiral Murray, commander of aircraft in the Pacific. The air groups 75 and 35 came aboard for refresher exercises in the Hawaiian area. These combat teams and our own air group number five needed some sharpening up, and they were going to get it. The deck of a carrier is roughly divided in thirds. At the bow is fly one, center fly two, and fly three at the stern. Fly officer one signals takeoffs. Look out there, if you step on those brakes too hard, you'll wind up on your nose. And this signal means rev it up, more speed. Distance changes the towering bulk of a carrier to a slim graceful ship streaking through the water at 28 knots. The greater her speed, the easier she launches her planes. The white diamond on the wings and tail surfaces identifies the plane as belonging to the Franklin. When coming in for a landing, that carrier deck, 80 by 800 ft, looks like a very small postage stamp on a very big ocean. Setting a fighter plane on a carrier deck is a trick not learned overnight. It takes at least two men, the pilot and the LSO, the landing signal officer. He's a veteran pilot who knows both the plane and his ship. When the approach is not to his liking, he says, "Keep going and try again sometime." The LSO actually nurses every one of those planes down to a perfect landing with body English, a few prayers, and the mandatory signal with the right-hand paddle, "Cut your engine." to a perfect landing as the arresting gear grabs the tail hook. His opinion of some approaches would blister the ears off the pilot concerned if he could hear it. Cut. Put up on her nose into the barrier and a new propeller needed. Exercises over, we were on our way back to Pearl. The air dales, which is navy slang for flyers, had little to do but sunbathe. That night there was a party aboard. The guest of honor at the executive table was fortunate enough to pull the brass ring on the merry-go-round of flying carrier-based planes and make the 9,000th landing on the deck of the Franklin. Ensign Graf was to make many more fast takeoffs and hurried landings before the story of the Franklin was committed to its log. Morning quarters on a flat top flight deck is a colorful sight. The flight crews wear loud colored jerseys for quick identification with their jobs. Red shirts are fueling crews. Yellow shirts are plane directors. And blue shirts, armorers who load the planes, guns, and bombs. The minute the ship left port, neckties were dropped along with many other formalities of dress and behavior. The enlisted men wore dungarees and the traditional white hats were dyed blue. However informal the dress, the standards of smartness and cleanliness were still high. Any man who stood inspection needing a haircut got his orders fast and the haircut, too. When the executive officer was satisfied that things were shipshape, the tour ended and everyone off to his station. The refresher exercises were coming to an end. When we were within a few hours of Pearl Harbor, air groups 35 and 75 were ordered to their shore fields. They took off a lot more smartly than they did when we first joined up together. Now they were flying teams, integrated, used to each other and to our ship. They saw Diamond Head long before we did and headed for the naval air station at Kaneohe. Supplies and stores had to be taken aboard, the thousands of varied items needed to stock a floating airfield for weeks to come. The facilities available for rest and recreation in the Hawaiian Islands have long been world famous and our flyers took proper advantage of them. The wonderful surf bathing at Waikiki and shooting the beach on mile-long rollers in native outrigger canoes. Finally, when all supplies were aboard, everyone packed his gear and leaves for all hands were ended. The Franklin was on her way again to rejoin Task Force 58. With escort vessels alongside and her own planes overhead to spot any trouble or interference, she was steaming to Ulithi. Ulithi. Not too long ago, these protected waters were filled with the Imperial Japanese Navy. Now, it was America's secret weapon of the Pacific War. An anchorage large enough to hold the most powerful armada of warships in history. The fleet that had come to stay. The spearhead of our Pacific strategy was implemented with these fleet units. Formed into task groups, they had prepared for and covered all our island landings. And now are ready to sortie to the very door of the Japanese home islands. We were to be part of that task force. Anchored closely by was the carrier Hancock. She too was to join with us in a raid on shore installations on the Japanese island of Honshu. The main Japanese islands were four days journey from Ulithi. We were on our way. At 3 minutes before 7:00 on March 19th, less than 100 miles from Honshu, the Franklin's planes took off into a heavily overcast sky. We were making 24 knots. A sixth of the crew was at breakfast when we got a message from the Hancock that they saw a twin-engine [ __ ] medium bomber. Our plane started looking for him, but he slipped down out of a cloud and laid two 500 lb bombs on our flight deck. >> 45 of our planes were aloft, but there were 31 on the flight deck and 22 on the hangar deck fully gassed and armed. The first heavy vapor explosion enveloped the stern in flames. We turned into the wind to keep the fire and smoke astern. The [ __ ] bomber had pulled up from his bomb run and was streaking for home when the leader of air group five got him and shot him down. The plight of the Franklin was probably best described by one of our returning flyers. >> I was with the first squadron. Just before we got over the target, my oil line let go. So, I had to nurse a crippled plane back home. I tried to stay in the clouds cuz I couldn't outfly a Zeke. When I broke through the overcast, I saw flames shoot hundreds of feet above the Franklin and a 2,000 ft column of smoke. It looked awful bad, but she still had some headway. I got permission for an emergency landing on the Hancock. >> The fire raged as bombs, rockets, and small caliber ammunition continued to explode with increasing violence. The conflagration station was wrecked by the first blast and its personnel knocked out. So, the fire fighting had to be taken up by emergency parties. Water pressure was good for a while, but fires on the hangar deck soon severed the line. Smoke and burning gas fumes were responsible for a great many casualties. Hospital corpsmen and first aid crews were as busy as those fighting the fire. With both elevators knocked out, first aid stations had to be set up on the forward area of the flight deck. In this scene of chaos, when the instinct for self-preservation should have been uppermost, dozens of selfless heroes were born. The Franklin's crew was writing a magnificent page in the history book of naval disaster. The first explosions blasted members of the flight deck crew overboard. One crewman tells this story. >> I had just finished breakfast and come up on deck. That's all I remember till I found myself in the water swimming, and I didn't have any uniform on. Couldn't see my ship for smoke. She seemed to be blowing herself to pieces. >> The amount of water poured on the fire caused a decided list to starboard. We knew that news of our trouble would soon reach the enemy. So, gun crews were at stations for all available weapons. We didn't have long to wait. Even though we were flanked by our own ships, the Franklin was a sitting duck. And here's what happened to one attacker. The Santa Fe came alongside pouring all the water she could pump. We managed to get some of our wounded transferred. The Franklin was now dead in the water because engine spaces had to be evacuated on account of smoke, and the only power we had was from one forward emergency diesel generator unit. The destroyer Hughes stood by the stern and took special cases off the fantail. These men had been marooned below the burning flight deck for about 4 hours. Several decks below the waterline is an emergency steering station. Here's a report of what happened there. I was the quartermaster on watch. We realized from the time of the first explosion that our ship was hurt. Maybe finished. Soon we were trapped by water pouring down. We had one phone line to the bridge. That's how we steered the ship. They told us to hang on. They would get us out somehow. They did. 18 hours later. With compartments flooded to even her keel, a tow line was passed to the Pittsburgh. 12 hours after the tow began, the Franklin started under her own power. She'd been hurt by the enemy and buffeted by fate. She had drifted a hulk and wreck incapable of movement to within a few miles of the Japanese coast, but now she was steaming under her own power, manned by her own crew. As soon as decks could be cleaned, the survivors met in prayer for those less fortunate. >> A few days later we anchored near the hospital ship Mercy. A number of the Franklin's crew, some of them still on litters, were ferried over to the Mercy. There, with quiet efficiency, the Navy's medical department took over tasks for which the Franklin's sick bay was never designed. In such a hell as the men of the Franklin lived through, more than flesh can be seared. There are sights to be forgotten, experiences which must be erased from the memory. These are the things a chaplain must help them to accomplish. At 10:30 on March 25th, within sight of the hospital ship Mercy, a Thanksgiving and memorial service was held on the flight deck for the full ship's company. The skipper, Captain Gallery, concluded the memorial ceremonies with a short talk which added up to well done. A survey party began to evaluate the extent of the damage and make plans for the repairs which would be needed. The flight deck after the forward elevator was completely demolished. It had sagged and buckled from the heat and the force of explosions from above and below. The wood planking was charred. These gun mounts tell their own story. Under escort, we were on our way back to Pearl Harbor. From certain angles, the old girl didn't look bad. Her masts were askew, but she knifed through the water with some of her old spirit. All the while debris was being jettisoned. Anything that could be moved was given the heave-ho. Pearl Harbor again. It's hard to remember that we entered this same channel only 2 months ago. We were on our way west then. Again, we were greeted by the same group of waves. Her banner was canted and it waved over more rust than paint, but it was still there. She sailed 102,000 combat miles and by all the rules they use in this game, she should be sleeping on the bottom off the coast of Japan. But some people don't believe in all the rules. 10 days later on the 9th of April, the Franklin entered the Panama Canal. >> Needless to say, there were decorations and citations to be given out, but the Purple Heart awards had to be delayed until the Franklin reached the Canal Zone. The supply at Pearl Harbor was not large enough to go around. Journey's end. 704 men sailed her 13,000 mi, the most heavily damaged warship ever to reach port under her own power. In New York Bay, the whistle brigade from deep-throated liners to the family motorboats screeched a welcome to one of the Navy's great fighting ladies in all her rusty and battered dignity. The final presentation of medals and awards was held on what was left of the flight deck. This was probably the most decorated crew that ever sailed a Navy ship. Every military honor within the power of a grateful people to bestow was worn by these men. If you ever meet a crewman of the Franklin, you'll know he belonged to that band of heroes who brought a lost ship back to port. >> Months passed and in one of the huge hospitals where the Navy's hurt ships go, a transformation is wrought which proves beyond all doubt how tough and durable are the vessels that guard our ramparts. Rehabilitated from her broad bows to her broader stern, from her keel to the towering top of her fighting island amidships, the Franklin rides proud and whole once more. A fierce phoenix risen from her ashes, her guns and machinery sealed against inaction, but ready on short notice to defend the peace they so gallantly won through war. Probably Admiral Halsey was thinking of the Franklin when he said, "We who had the privilege of serving in and with the flat tops of our Navy and knew the men who fought and lived them shall forever honor their bravery and achievements. A ship that won't be sunk can't be sunk."