 Condition read. Condition read. Condition read. We had been six weeks crossing the Pacific, eternally on the alert, always on the watch for the enemy. But we had met no opposition and force until today. Then we received a report that a Japanese carrier was within 300 miles of us. A stone's throw as distances are measured in the Pacific, planes are taken off from the carrier of our own task force. Of which our destroyer, which I shall call the G, was a part. They would do back now and following them were sure to be Jap zeros bent on revenge. Condition read is an expression used to indicate that we're about to engage the enemy. Whenever it blared out on the ship radio, we ran to general quarters and prepared to greet the Tokyo Express or the zeros or Mitsubishi as soon as they came into view. Condition read. Condition read. Words at War presented by NBC in cooperation with the Council on Books and Wartime is bringing you another radio adaptation of an important war book, Condition read. The Story of Destroyer Action in the South Pacific, written by Captain Frederick J. Bell of the United States Navy. We moved in closer to our carrier, ready for action. Within the steel walls of our destroyer, the G, 300 officers men took a last-minute inventory of their tools of war. In the ward room, the surgeon opened out his equipment on the officer's dining table. On the bulkhead, he hung up a square canvas fitted with pockets and pouches for kits of medical hardware. He laid his bottles along the leather seats to cushion them against the shattering concussion of gunfire. Across from the radio shack in the cramped quarters of the coding room, the communications officer stuffed a sea bag with our secret books, waited the bag with fire bricks so that it could be thrown overboard if the ship had to be abandoned. Far below deck, the engineers cracked their valves wide open and the turbines sang in higher key. In all lower deck compartments, there were wooden shores and wedges ready to plug shell holes. The men of the repair parties waited to fight fire and explosion in the inrush of water. Everyone wore a steel helmet. The men topside were bundled in life jackets. Below decks in the fierce heat, the others kept their jackets with an easy reach. Unnecessary electric power and water supply were cut off. Wherever men were stationed, there was fresh drinking water handy, for battle action brings intolerable thirst. All these and a hundred other details were attended to almost subconsciously. Within two and a half minutes from the first alarm, every station was manned, manned by the men who fight this war. A board hour destroyer with a G, kids and young men, a journalist, a mining engineer, a manager of a textile mill, a cattle racer, a clothing merchant, a lawyer, a teacher of public speaking, a broker. Three hundred of them waited for the zeros to attack. Suddenly they were upon us. The first jet plane cut over a quarter less than two hundred feet above our decks. The pilot pulled slightly towards us. In the aftercock pit, the gunner leaned out and thumbed his nose. Seaman Robert Otto let the fingers of his left hand slide along the trigger of his 20 millimeter gun. And before that jab hit the water, Otto was firing on a new target. Then the jab dive bomber hit our carrier. We saw the dense cloud of gray-white smoke. Then the burst of flame. Another jab dive bomber overshot the carrier and loosed his bomb on the side of the G. The ocean soared up and fell on our deck, splitters of steel ripped into our hull. We could have hit him with a rock, but the gun crews, still wiping water from their faces, shaken by the bomb didn't see him. But chief gunners made hoppers saw him and yelled at the gun crew on the starboard side. They couldn't hear him in the noise of the battle. So hoppers reached down, ripped off one of his shoes and threw it at the nearest gun captain. It was a bullseye. The gun captain turned. Hoppers pointed frantically. His gun parked and the jab plane spun and tumbled into the sea. There was a lull. We checked up hurriedly on our formation. Everyone was accounted for. The carrier had put out its fire and stood ready to repel other jab planes. But they didn't come back. All stations stand easy. All stations stand easy. We are headed toward the enemy fleet to find our aviators. We are headed toward the enemy fleet to find our aviators. The ship will remain at general quarters until our duty is completed. The ship will remain at general quarters until our duty is completed. Captain, cause he has a mean chest wound, but he'll come around. Good. How was it below, chief? Not bad, captain. Got up to 140 degrees in the engine room. We didn't have any trouble. It kind of looked like nice shooting. It looked like nice shooting. That was one of our jokes. The engineers never saw a shot fired. They tended their engines. They didn't have any steam and answered the calls for speed, but never witnessed an action. Sir, there's a nice little bomb hole at frame 30 starboard, but we put in a temporary patch and she's not taking any water. Good, Ross. What's the matter with you? Nothing, sir. You're all covered with blood. Well, I got that from helping some of the gun crews below, sir. Oh. Sir, did you happen to see the jab that thumbed his nose at us? Yes, I did, Ross. I thought you'd like to know. We got him, sir. Good work, Ross. Gentlemen, suppose we order up some coffee. We settled down to a good speed course north. There remained an hour of daylight as we advanced toward the retiring fleet of the enemy. All in all, it had been a most highly satisfactory afternoon. I'm writing about just one destroyer, which I've called a G. I can't tell you what's real name and I'm glad I can't because the Navy permits us to use actual names only if ships had been sunk and the G hasn't been sunk so far. But this is not just the story of the G. It's the story of all destroyers, the hottest, coldest, fastest, rough-riding ships in the world. They're uncomfortable and wet. They have a hull so thin you could break through it with a hammer. They have the horsepower of a battleship and less armor than our newest bombing planes. They carry 300 officers and men packed in a slender, streamlined form that's designed to strike hard and fast. Gun for gun, they're the fightingest things afloat. The destroyer is a triple threat weapon designed to carry the offensive against submarines, aircraft, or surface vessels. Its guns are double purpose, high angle for planes, and hard hitting flat trajectory for surface work. Its torpedoes make it the most dangerous ship in the fleet for its size. Now on a large ship, a man can be reasonably certain of things. Certain days bring certain drills, certain hours are taken up with previously prescribed duties. Things go according to plan. Not so on a destroyer. There can be no such adherence to plan. Destroyer duty is hard duty and yet men swear by these rugged rough riders of the sea. They might find the going a little tough at first but if they've got the stuff that destroyer men are made of, they'll fit in. Ensign Wood reporting, sir. How are you Wood? Glad to have you aboard. Thank you, sir. Take you long to catch up with us? Yes, it did, sir. I've been three months on the way. Come by freighter and plane and battleship. We're hard to catch, Wood. I'll have someone show you around. Thank you, sir. Ross? Yes, sir. Ross's Ensign Wood has just joined us. Will you show him around? Yes, sir. Glad to meet you, Wood. Glad to be here. Take him in hand, Ross. Yes, sir. Will you come along, Wood? It's a good-looking ship. It's pretty good. You've seen some action. A little. Ever served on a destroyer before? I haven't served on anything. Just another 90-day wonder. Oh, well, don't let that bother you. So am I. Are there many regular Navy officers besides the captain? Three others. All the rest are reserves. 90-day wonders like you and me. They're good, too. Well, gee, gee, I hope I make good. I think the chances are that brand-new Ensign Wood will make good. I'm constantly amazed at the way these reserves learn their jobs. The 90-day wonder, so-called because he's commissioned after a three-month course, has brought a new breath of life to the service. He requires more supervision than your Naval Academy graduate. He makes mistakes, and for a time he does weird things to the language of the sea. He calls the bow of the ship that part of the boat up front and describes anything that he doesn't know exactly as a gadget. But he falls in with Naval routine so readily that after he's been on board a month, I never know or care whether he's a regular or a reserve. We're put on our medal to train him, but it's easy to train a man who wants to learn. And the so-called 90-day wonder with his varied civilian accomplishments brings a fresh and inspiring atmosphere to shipboard routine. Here's where you bunk, Wood. I'll leave you here now and let you get organized. All right. Thanks a lot. You're welcome. Anything else you want to know right now? No, no, I guess not. Thanks. Not right now. You'll be all right, Wood. But at first it may be a little tough. Oh, I expect that at first. I expect that it'll be a little tough at first. And how it won't be a picnic for young Ensign Wood. On a big ship, it's possible that a few men out of the thousands aboard can slide by on a minimum of effort. They can stand their watches, man their battle stations, but contribute little to their general welfare. On a destroyer, there can be no dead heads. A man pays his freight, does his job, and more besides, or pretty soon he finds himself at the gangway, waiting with bag and hammock for transfer to another ship. But if a young officer takes to responsibility and proves that he can work hard, if he can do a little more than is expected of him, he'll get along. And if, in addition to that, he has a personality that makes officers work with him and his men work for him, if he can be reasonably cheerful after six months of day in, day out cruising, if he can keep his eyes open after 72 hours without sleep, then he'll be welcome aboard any destroyer in the fleet. But if he's just a little better than run of the mind, if he figures at the end of the day means the end of work, and if he's not the type to whom men will come without troubles in their personal triumphs, well, then it won't be long before his face is missing around the wardroom table. Lack of training in a new officer is expected. We'll train him. Intellectual shortcomings are capable of adjustment. We'll find a place for him. But lack of effort? Well, that's something we just can't accept aboard a destroyer. There's no room for it. Following a battle with the jet planes, the G slid through the Solomon Seas with oil enough for just 24 more hours sloshing in her tanks. The doctor reported the wounded in good condition, even causey, whose chest wound had worried me. The decks had been scrubbed down, and they were cleaned of the bloody reminders of the battle. We'd gotten a little sleep by the next morning, which dawned bright as a chamber of commerce booklet. There was a refreshing nip in the air, and the sea was a pale blue carpet. The walking wounded came topside to bask in the sun, and in the admiration of their comrades. They wore a joint of air, but they'd had a scare, all right. You can't collect a bullet or a fragment of hot steel without thinking. Gee, supposing it had been just a half inch to the right. Supposing I'd been picking up a shell just then. Supposing... Well, it leaves you a little weak. Things were very calm that beautiful morning, when suddenly... Zale hole 1.4 to starboard beams. Looks like a carrier. Right-standard rudder. Get a bearing on that ship. Aye, sir. We put our glasses to starboard. Yes, it was a carrier, all right. A flat outline of the flight deck under the island's superstructure. Funny, we hadn't picked her up while she was still hauled down. But no one's eyes were much good this morning. After all, you had to sleep sometimes. I stepped at the plurus to get a bearing and check our course. Telecom and all, we have the carrier in sight, and we're headed for an owl. Aye, aye, sir. I squinted through the veins and moved the bearing circle to the right, paralleling the horizon. But... nothing appeared. We couldn't be that blind. I grabbed for my binoculars and looked again. There was nothing. No carrier, no ship, nothing. Sir, it seems to be... it seems to be gone. Gone, but where could it go? Well, I beg your pardon, sir, but could it be that the... That was no carrier. That was a dirty stinker zap. Is this submarines, sir? Submarines, she submerged. Yes, the realization came to us all at once. It was a submarine, a Jap submarine. General quarters. General quarters. Stations for sub-attack. Stations for sub-attack. Set depth charges. Set depth charges. All ahead, flank. All ahead, flank. Into action. This was her special business getting a submarine. The gun crew swung the muzzles of their main battery down toward the sea. The depth charges were made ready, and the sound man came into his own. Let me tell you about the sound man on the destroyer. He sits at a listening device hour after hour, day after day. He descends over and over again to the ping of an electric impulse sent out by a projector under our water line. If these impulses strike the hull of another ship or a submarine, the ping bounces back to the sound man with an echo of a different note. From the intensity of this returning ping, the sound man and the plotting officers are able to chart the position of the ship or sub with reasonable accuracy. And that's what we set out to do now, to find this Jap sub, which was somewhere below the surface, not far from us. We were going to find it and then try to destroy it with our depth charges, our ash cans. Perhaps you'll get a better idea if I put it this way. Imagine you're leaning over the roof of a 20-story building with a fistful of grenades in your hand. You're trying to hit an automobile that's cruising around a large parking lot below at about 25 miles an hour. You keep a careful watch on the car. It's moving at a steady rate and in a straight line. You look at the moving car below and estimate the distance it will advance while your grenade is falling. It tosses one over. But the driver's watching you too. And as he spots the grenade, he twists the wheel sharply. When your grenade explodes, he's 100 yards away, waiting to dodge the next one. That's the way it is when a destroyer goes after a sub, except that sound takes the place of sight. You can hear the sub and the sub can hear you. Yes, now the soundman, the kettle drummer of our orchestra has a chance to be heard. More than that, he has a solo number. Behind him in the chart house are the other members of the attack team. The executive officer poised over a chart, pencil and dividers in hand, and the sound officer who was in the role of conductor of the orchestra. I stood in the doorway between the pilot house and the chart house where I could be with an arms reach of the helmsman and the engine telegraphs, and equally close to the sound officer. He's pulling left. He's going pretty fast. Left rudder, steer 245. Steer 245, sir. The range is closing. Left standard rudder. Stand by. Stand by, sir. Drop one. One down. Drop two. Two dropped. Drop three. Drop four. One down. I hadn't heard him. The Jap sub was making radical maneuvers at the expense of his batteries, but he couldn't continue them for long. We picked him up on the sound gear again for the second run. That run was better, but the Jap dived deep in his hole and our charges exploded above him. He's going to run down his batteries if he keeps up that speed. Yeah, unless he runs us out of ash cans first. Fan tail reports both racks reloaded, sir. Very good. Starting the run. Pick him up as soon as you can. All ahead standard. Contact range 240. Steering 315. The third run was no good, but the fourth one did the Jap some damage. There were plain indications that he was trying to surface. We swung around for our fifth attack to help him make up his mind, praying that our oil would hold out. Task Force Commander to the G, do you still have contact with the submarine? Still have contact. Sending two destroyers deep to tanker. We needed oil all right, but we had found this Jap sub. We'd softened him up, and by golly we were going to finish him ourselves without any help from our sister destroyers. We had depth charges remaining for just two more runs. Come on, let's get this guy. Make it good, make it good. He must have been one whale of a submarine. We knew that when we mistook him for a carrier. Our next attack punished him some more. He was groggy, but still in there fighting. And then we had just one more chance, a handful of ash cans left. And the two destroyers from the Task Force now in sight, coming up fast, eager to begin on the kiln. We wanted this sub for ourselves. We wheeled and started in for our last run. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. Make this one good, make this one good. Drop one over him and laid a pattern of those deadly ash cans on his deck. He started going down. Our sound instruments followed him down and down. And then slowly the churning of the water subsided. And the afternoon breeze drew a featherly line of whitecaps over the spot where our late enemy rested a thousand fathoms below. Our sister destroyers plowed up to the spot, but there was nothing for them to do. We were out of depth charges, almost out of oil, but we had finished that Jap sub. In the sailor's language, there's no higher praise. The attack team relaxed over coffee and cigarettes. The torpedo man came to the bridge to receive our pat on the back. The sound man who had been bored to death a few hours before was fairly bursting. He was the kettle drummer of our orchestra, and the kettle drummer seldom gets a chance to solo. But when he does, you can hear him all over the house. And this had been the sound man's day. More coffee, Wood? Thanks, man. I never drank so much coffee in all my life. Oh, shucks. Yeah, I've had more than six or seven cups. Well, how do you like it so far? It's great. Boy, that was some action before. Yeah, I like it great. That's good. Well, is there anything you want to know? Oh, lots of things. Oh, I see. You want facts. All right, then. Stem to stern, the G measures 348 feet. She's 36 feet across the broadest part of a beam. She's built for speed, and she doesn't waste an inch of space. Have you bumped your head yet? I did. How'd you know? There's exactly 18 inches of headroom in your bunk. Till you remember that, you're going to keep on bumping your head. Yeah? Do you figure on raising a beard? Well, I hadn't thought of it, but maybe I'll try. Don't do it. Against regulations? Navy regulations say it's all right for a man to raise a beard if it isn't grotesque. Our skipper considers any form of facial fuzz or foliage most grotesque. No beard. Okay, no beard. Destroyers aren't, well, they aren't dress-up ships, as you may have noticed. Sometimes we're out so long that our trousers start growing of fringe, and our shoes get to looking like they belong to a cotton picker with sore feet. Last time out, we were gone so long, only one man had as much as two pairs of entire socks. We call him the dude. The dude? Yeah. This is a good eating ship. It's fine. This morning, I... This morning, you had fruit, cereal, ham and eggs and coffee. That's right. Tomorrow morning, you'll have cream-chip beef or hotcakes and syrup and coffee. Noontime, you eat your big meal. Soup, two or three vegetables, pork chops or roast beef or chicken, dessert and coffee. Well, say, how about some more coffee? No, no, really. Come on, give me a cup. It's good for you. Okay. This is not any conducted tour, as you may have surmised. Now, on the battleships and cruisers, oh, they have a gay old time. Well, here's your coffee. Thanks. But we haven't got any room for deck tennis or a shuffleboard on the destroyer. You like ice cream? Sure, I like it. Now, you're gonna just adore ice cream on this ship, because we haven't got any. No room. Well, once in a while, when we latch on to a big ship, refueling, why, they'll send us over a cup of cans of ice cream. It'll be the best ice cream you ever tasted. But try to get it out of your mind in the meantime. I'll try. You will learn to have a new respect for fresh water, Mr. Wood. We've got enough, but you don't go wasting it. When you take a shower, turn off the water while you're soaking. Right. And, Mr. Wood? Yes, sir. Please arrange not to be caught in the shower when General Quarters is sounded. You will find it most embarrassing to man your gun station wearing nothing but lab. I'll try to watch that, sir. That'll be a good idea. Sometimes, although we do not guarantee this, we will come into port. On such occasions, Mr. Wood, you are expected to conduct yourself as an officer and a gentleman. You will not exhibit yourself in public places, except under the most favorable circumstances. Privately, you may enjoy a friendly little glass with your comrades. Well, thank you, sir. Escort proper young ladies to the cinema, and you are even permitted to raise your voice in song of a decorous nature. No, I think I have that straight, Mr. Ross. Hmm. Summing up, Mr. Wood, may I say that you have made yourself a part of the darnedest ship ever invented? You don't say. The toughest, most uncomfortable ship ever to come out of a designer's nightmare. They are simply impossible. And you love them. Yeah, sure. One final word. Do you enjoy sleeping? Sleeping? Yes, very much. Please try to break yourself of this most unfortunate habit. I'll do my best. On destroyers, sleep is something we prefer not to discuss. Until you can forget it for 72 or 96 hours at a stretch, you will be a very unhappy ensign in the U.S. Navy. I see. Now, there's one thing more, and then I'll show you the... Condition red. Hey, what's the matter? Shut up. Condition red. Stand by to repel air attack. Come on, man. Let's go. Right behind you, Ross. Condition red. You have heard another program in the series Words at War. Tonight, a dramatization of Condition Red by Captain Frederick J. Bell of the United States Navy. The adaptation was by Gerald Holland. The production was under the direction with music by William Meader. Alan Bruntz was heard as Captain Frederick J. Bell and others in the cast were Jerry Macy, Jack Lloyd, and Jeffrey Bryant. Next week, you will hear White Brigade by Robert Goffin. A true story of the Belgian Underground. Next week, White Brigade by Robert Goffin. A true story of the Belgian Underground. Words at War is presented each Tuesday evening at this time by the National Broadcasting Company and its affiliated independent stations in cooperation with the Council on Books in Wartime. This is the...