Richard R. Johnston
Date: Sun, 25 Apr 2004
Subject: Operation Sandstone
From: RRJohnson rrj.esd@adelphia.net
To: Keith Whittle
MY YEAR IN OPERATION SANDSTONE
BY RICHARD R. JOHNSON, ET 3/C
I guess that a good starting point for my story is graduating from the
Senior ET School at Great Lakes followed by a long train ride to San
Francisco to the Yerba Buena (T.I.) OGU. I signed up for destroyer (DD) duty
which meant nothing to the Navy. Instead I was put on a Martin Mars flying
boat after being pumped full of 6 shots and a new vaccination. (I made the
mistake of telling the corpsman that ³they donıt take on me² ---- his
did!!!!). It took about 13 hours to fly from Alameda to Pearl Harbor, which
seemed like an eternity to this boy with the throbbing arms. In the morning
I walked forward to find a head and when I parted the curtains there was a
man in his skivvies standing next to a full-sized four-poster bed! The dark
blue dress uniform with the four gold stripes of a navy captain hanging next
to the bed told me that I was not supposed to be there, so I backed out and
looked for the head in the rear (aft) section of the boat.
At Pearl I was given the usual outgoing unit (OGU) chores like watering palm
trees with a fire hose in the middle of a tropical downpour before being
loaded onto a 2 1/2 ton Army truck and driven to Schofield Barracks (Sp??).
There were a few other Navy ETıs (Electronic Technicians) in the barracks,
but none of us had the slightest idea of why we were there or where we were
going except for broad hints about a secret operation that we couldnıt write
home about. We were also told that our orders had been cut placing us on
detached service with the US Army Signal Corps, effective immediately, and
if we had any camera with us, they should be mailed home immediately. From
there, it was another truck ride back to Pearl Harbor and onto the LST 219.
The ship had been sunk in WWII off, I believe, Iwo Jima and had been
salvaged and put back into service after minimal refurbishment. We then
sailed out of Pearl in a convoy of about 20 ships to a still unknown
destination. After 3 or 4 days we were mustered on deck and told what our
mission was, although I donıt recall hearing the term ³Operation Sandstone²
at that time. We were cautioned about maintaining radio silence and not
putting anything in our letters home that could compromise our mission. We
were also told that Russian subs might be trying to follow us to find out
what we were up to.
Life on the 219 as a passenger started out to be a drag. Our quarters were
in the long row of compartments that ran fore and aft on either side of the
large center compartment that contained all the rolling stock that the LST
was to deliver to Eniwetok. The hatch on either end of each compartment was
open and you could look through all of them almost the full length of the
ship. That gave you a weird feeling, especially if the sea state increased
above dead calm. You could clearly see the bending or flexing of the ship as
we went over each swell, which was unexpected. There was no air
conditioning, which made it quite unbearable as we got closer and closer to
the Equator. After one wet (from sweat) sleepless night I took a blanket and
pillow up and slept on the deck; a procedure I followed for the rest of the
trip. Another advantage was that the noise of the swells hitting the bow
doors and the ramp behind them was much less on deck. We also enjoyed
looking over the bow as it cut through the ocean and stimulated the
fluorescence of microscopic sea life. A more spectacular display of sea life
occurred during the day. That was the ³flight² of Flying Fish that
occasionally ended with the fish landing on the deck. I think we just tossed
them back into the Pacific when that happened.
There was a small eating/relaxing area on the deck at the other end of the
ship (stern). It was made moderately uncomfortable by these same swells. It
seems that every time the stern lifted, caused by the bow going over and
down a swell the screws came out of the water (at least partially) and the
resultant vibration and noise could rattle your teeth. The surface of the
coffee in your cup would break up into a whole series of droplets that
jumped up about a half to one inch.
The Chief Boatswains (Boısuns) Mate decided to make use of all the free
labor available to him by supplying the Navy ETs chipping hammers,
paintbrushes, and paint to complete the refurbishment that the ship had
undergone. On one of my first blows against the deck the chipping hammer
went right through it!! It suggested to me that there had to be a more
productive assignment that the other ETıs and I could be given (and also
caused me to question the integrity of the shipıs hull). I begged off the
work detail for a few minutes and went up to the bridge and asked the OD if
there was any electronic equipment on board that might be in need of repair,
explaining that there were 19 or 20 ETıs on board as passengers. I thought
he was going to kiss me on both cheeks! He said, ³---- nothing electronic on
this ship works and all we have is a Radioman to try and keep everything
going². (Radiomen after WWII were not trained to repair electronic
equipment, only to operate radio gear). Well, like the Pied Piper, I led our
band of ETıs to the radio shack, etc., and we began to repair everything.
(The Navy has a wonderful way of carrying almost all of the spare parts
needed to perform these repairs). We didnıt do much testing involving
radiating a signal because of the radio silence requirement, but we worked
around that as best we could using dummy loads, etc.
To try and bring the ship under control when steering was lost (and to slow
it down) the captain ordered the port engine/screw to full speed astern. Iım
not sure what happened next, but I think that the port engine died. (This
problem will resurface later in my story). Well, we are now in control of
our steering, one engine is dead, and the convoy is fast disappearing over
the horizon! The 219 can make, with strong helping winds and both engines
working after a fashion, almost 6 knots. With one engine we were down to 4
knots and all hope of catching up to a convoy moving at about 5 knots was
lost. I didnıt see it, but I understand that there was a lot of yelling and
cursing at engines and motormacs to get things going again. After several
hours we got the port engine running again at something less than normal
power, and we slowly caught up to the convoy.
While we were doing the electronic repair work, we discovered that the first
class Quartermaster (QM 1/C) on the ship did not know how to navigate!! What
was even worse was the fact that none of the three officers on the ship
could navigate! The cause of this is something that only you guys who have
been in the service can understand. The 219, while in Pearl Harbor, had a
very competent Motor Mac 2/C who was overdue for promotion to 1/C. However,
the changing post-war billets didnıt allow that position on an LST, so the
Captain (or Exec) decided to put the paperwork through to make the Motor Mac
a first class Quartermaster, his only open first class billet. The thinking
was that since the ship had a Chief Quartermaster, they didnıt really need
the 1/C billet. Well, immediately after the promotion went through, BuShips
(BuPers?) eliminated the Chief Quartermaster billet from LSTıs, and the
Chief (the only man on the ship that could navigate) was instantly removed,
just as we left for Eniwetok. What the Motor Mac/Quartermaster was able to
do amazingly well (and quickly) was learn how to use the light with the
shutter mechanism to signal other ships in the convoy to obtain position
fixes for our charts. He also learned how to take Sextant readings, although
what to do with those readings was a mystery to him. Two of the other ETıs
(Don McDonough and John Osborne) and I decided to work with the QM 1/C and
learn together how to translate his ³readings² into positional information.
The math was quite mundane and, with his manual dexterity with the flasher
and the sextant, we were soon getting data that came fairly close to info
obtained from the other ships. He still checked every position with the
other ships, but the errors grew progressively smaller and smaller. Well,
after about 26 days we arrived off Eniwetok at about 0300 hours. The atoll,
part of the Marshall Islands group, is a roughly circular group of coral
islands about 21 miles in diameter, located 11° north of the equator. As you
all know, the channels into the lagoon are quite narrow so it was decided to
wait for full daylight to enter. We were loitering about 5 or 6 miles off
Eniwetok when the Quartermaster took his morning shots of the sun and
retired to compute our ³position², unaided. He came out and announced to the
Captain that we were ³200 nautical miles due north of Eniwetok². The Captain
didnıt say anything ---- he just pointed at the low silhouette of Eniwetok
or Parry on the horizon. We steamed into the lagoon about 1000 hours and
dropped anchor a couple of miles off Eniwetok.
The first thing that occurred after dropping anchor was a muster of all
personnel (shipıs crew and passengers) on deck. A head count was made and
the same chipping hammer chief boatswainıs mate started to talk to us. His
message was simple ---- ³No swimming off the ship!² To illustrate his point,
he took a piece of fatty meat about the size of a nice pot roast, impaled it
on one tine of a three-pronged grappling hook attached to a one inch line
and tossed it over the side of the ship. Before he finished the talk, the
line snapped taunt and he and a seaman pulled up a hooked shark. It was
small, maybe 3 1/2 to 4 feet long, but as it lay there flipping around on
the deck, everyone got the message ---- No swimming off the ship! Momma
and poppa shark couldnıt be too far away! Another thing that the chief
demonstrated was how deep the water was. He took a can of Chocolate Milk
(?), peeled off the paper and punched some big holes in the top and bottom.
He then tossed it over the side and those of us nearest the rail were able
to see it flash as it tumbled all the way to the bottom of the lagoon, about
300 feet where we were anchored! That was some clear water; deep too.
My next memory is off-loading the small boats that the 219 had on its deck.
The LST did not have cranes to lift off the LCVPıs stowed on its deck, so we
were advised to move alongside the LSD 19 (Comstock) to permit their big
cranes to lift and place the small boats. I happened to be near the bridge
area and saw part of the action I am about to describe. The remainder was
told to me by ships personnel that I had confidence in. There was a Rear
Admiral in charge of off loading all the ships in our convoy who purportedly
boarded the LSD 19 and ³relieved the Captain of his command² and took
personal charge of the operation of the ship. As he moved the LSD into a new
position he ordered the bow anchor to be dropped, and the ship came to a
stop with normal slack in its anchor chain. (I was told that the normal
procedure is to continue backing up the ship while letting out bow anchor
chain and then drop the stern anchor. Then you are supposed to take up slack
in the bow anchor chain until the ship is held about midway between the two
anchors in a reasonably stable position). Now our ship, the LST 219, slowly
maneuvered to approach the LSD 19 from aft, nearly tangent to it. There was
no more than 2 or 3° between the hulls. The next thing that happened was
that the untethered LSD was caught by one of the strong currents that flow
through the lagoon and it swung across the path of the approaching LST 219.
We were close to the desired fore-aft position so Boatswains on both ships
ordered lines tossed between the ships. Unfortunately the new position of
the LSD 19 made a collision unavoidable. The Captain of the LST tried to
turn to the starboard with the turning LSD but it was too late. The port
anchor of the 219 sliced into the hull of the 19 just like a can opener. The
Captain of the LST 219 then ordered the mooring lines to be tossed and
ordered us to slowly proceed on by. Tragically, the ³Captain² of the LSD did
not order their lines to be cast off and one big hawser pulled up tight and
parted. When a 9² hawser snaps it becomes a force to be reckoned with. Iım
told it ripped across the deck of the LSD about 3 feet high and broke the
legs of the Chief Boatswains Mate of the Comstock. I think there were others
hit, but I do not recall those details. At that moment the shipıs radioman
received a terse message, ³A nice piece of seamanship Captain². This,
incidentally, was the first break in our ³radio silence².
Our next approach was more successful and we had our small boats lifted off
without any problems. After that we waited our turn to beach the LST at a
small concrete platform built before we arrived. Ideally, when you beach an
LST you approach the beach at nearly high tide and drop the stern anchor X
yards out from the beach. Then when the keel touches the bottom you rev up
both engines and push the ship into a more or less stable position. Well,
our approach was dead on to the concrete pad but when the captain ordered
the engines to come up to some higher power level for the final push, the
port engine did its thing and again died. The result was that the ship
turned the bow about 8 feet to port which left about half of the loading
ramp hanging out over the water instead of the concrete pad. By the time it
was recognized that we couldnıt drive off the LST the tide had lowered
enough to keep the LST beached. In addition, pulling back out with most of
the cargo still on board would require high tide and maximum thrust from
both engines as well as a major pull on the stern anchor. Since the port
engine was inoperative, extraction was impossible. What I saw next was
shocking to me. The ³Admiral² directed that cargo from a previous ship
sitting just off the ramp/roadway area be bulldozed into the water and
covered over with cement bags and coral rock and sand. I saw at least two
brand new 75KW diesel motor-generator sets destroyed in that move. (See page
13 in ³Operation Sandstone² for a clear picture of these M-G sets). Maybe
the pressure of time justified that, I do not know. The result was a bumpy
but useable ramp over which we drove all of the vehicles in the cargo deck
of the LST. Sailors and soldiers jumped into vehicles and Iım sure that some
had never driven anything larger than a ı37 Ford coupe before then. One
young man tried to back out a massive tow truck and while backing and
turning caught the right front tire on the foot high metal curb that runs
all along the cargo deck. Well, no one had told him to keep his thumbs out
of the steering wheel and trucks in those days did not have power steering.
The immediate result was one severely broken thumb and one badly bruised
thumb, and a new driver to get the truck out of the LST. As more and more
vehicles disgorged from the LST, the coral dust from the primitive road
began to kick up and almost blind the drivers. Another ³order² was issued. A
large tank truck (Iım guessing it at 10,000 gallons) filled with high grade
motor oil for the motor poolıs future use was pulling out of the ship when
the driver was told to open the petcocks and drive back and forth over the
road bed until he ran out of oil. The result was some diminishment of the
dust, but huge globs of oil and powdered coral were flying all over,
particularly onto the windshields of following vehicles. Windshield wipers
only spread the glop all over making it nearly impossible for the drivers to
see.
I donıt remember how we got there, but that evening I found myself and some
of the other ETıs in a Quonset hut which had some beds and mattresses in it.
There may even have been some crude sanitary facilities, but I think we only
stayed there for another day or so. After that we were mustered and
introduced Army Signal Corps Major Rogers. He indicated that he would be
giving us our assignments and attending to our needs, a commitment that he
diligently and competently executed. I was assigned to work in the
transmitter area located at the other end of the island, spitting distance
from Parry and what would become the enlisted menıs bar. Moving our gear
down there, we found a really nice Quonset just about 15 feet from the high
water mark. It had screened windows on both sides as well as working screen
doors at each end ---- ventilation was no problem! Right across the road was
a screened in 10 holer and about 100 feet down the road was a wooden floored
6 or 8 station shower. We began swimming almost immediately after stationing
a lookout on a small wooden tower next to the waterıs edge. He had an M-1
and was instructed to shoot at any sharks that might venture in to see what
all the splashing was all about. I think his real purpose was to warn us to
get out of the water. (I donıt recall him ever firing into the water). The
water was warm and crystal clear. When we got facemasks, we were usually
able to see between 6 and 12 different species of fish at any time. In
short, we had all the comforts of home!
In a day or so after getting settled in we met Master Sergeant Tucker, US
Army Signal Corps. He was already dressed for our new assignment ----
shorts, a tee shirt, and stout Army shoes. As nearly as we could tell, the
only portions of his body not covered by a massive dragon tattoo were his
face and hands. He had been in the Army forever and we quickly suspected
that he had been up and down the enlisted menıs ranks more than once. He was
one tough hombre. He brought us over to some Signal Corps boxes filled with
electricianıs tools and pole climbing gear and told us that our first job
was to erect a field of antennas for the 50 or 60 transmitters that we would
install. Now I can assure you that nothing in the Navy Electronics Training
program had prepared us to climb poles! I had only a vague memory of
electricians from the power company back home climbing poles after a
hurricane had come through the area. His instruction set consisted of
attaching a set of spikes to his feet/legs, donning a climberıs belt, and
running full tilt at an emplaced pole which he leaped at and planted one
spike about four feet off the ground and then took two more large steps
without using his hands, just giving up his forward momentum to keep him
moving towards the pole. He was already at the top of the 30 footer before
he used his hands to grip the pole! He descended almost as rapidly as in 5
or 6 giant steps. As you might have guessed, his physique was as incredible
as his tattoo, and he was determined to impress his new apprentices. His one
useful word of advice was, ³just keep your ass away from the pole!² Well, he
then turned to us and said itıs time to demonstrate our new found knowledge,
and with that he pointed to me and said, ³cut down that flat top antenna,
itıs the wrong length². I donned the gear, picked out a large pair of Klien
sidecutters, and walked over to the pole ---- none of that running at the
pole for me! The progress up the pole was much slower than our demo, but
reasonable considering that it was my first climb. I then put the leather
loop hanging from the belt around the pole, leaned back, and began to feel
somewhat secure. The antenna was near the top of the pole and was made of
three strand copper coated steel capable of taking a one ton preload.
(Actually, my experience with that wire led me to believe that each strand
could take the 2,000 pound tension). It was stretched between that pole and
another about 40 feet away, and each of the poles was guyed to the outside
to keep the tension in the antenna from pulling over the poles. I put that
new pair of pliers onto the cable and squeezed. Twang went one of the
strands. I squeezed again and another twang as strand two was cut through.
The third strand was then cut and my pole became a bucking bronco. It was
pulled outboard by the tension in the guy wire not balanced by the pull from
the antenna. I grabbed the pole and somehow remembered the admonition to
keep my ass away from the pole and rode out the activity. Actually, it was
all over in a second or two, but it did seem a lot longer 30 feet in the air
and looking down at those tiny spikes sticking into the pole as my total
support. Tucker almost fell on the ground laughing hysterically at my
plight. He had, as you might have guessed, a warped sense of humor.
Click here to continued to page two.
Richard R. Johnson
Email:rrj.esd@adelphia.net
Keith Whittle
April 25, 2004
[ Operation Sandstone ]