It was a very warm afternoon picnic down at the old family home on the Choptank, and we were having a family get together. We'd cooked out, and had a good feed, my kids were playing with my cousin Barry's kids running around down by the waters edge. It was late afternoon and the sun was easing down to the horizon with promise of a nice sunset.
My Uncle Mike was going down to the bench that grandad had put there so many years ago so he and grandmom could watch the sun set on the Chesapeake bay. They were both gone by this time, and Uncle Mike and his family had taken up living in the old house overlooking the mouth of the Choptank river. I went down and sat beside my Uncle as he took out his old navy issue Camillus stockman to scrape his pipe bowl. It was a worn old knife now, but as he closed it he would hold it in his hand a moment before putting it back in his pocket. I'd seen him do this my whole life and wondered what was going on.
This time was no execption, and when I asked him, he looked at me with his scared face and grinned his lopsided grin. He'd come home from the war in Europe with his face badly disfigured, and there was some nerve damage so that when he smiled, it was all on the left side. His right side face was bisected by a deep canyon of a scar from the outside corner of his eye to his chin. He never talked about it, and he fended off my questions good naturedly. But for reasons of his own, this night he decieded to tell me the whole tale.
He opened his hand and looked down on the worn old stockman, and slowly he began to speak.
------------------------------------------------
Lyme Bay, Early March 1944.
In the best of times the English Channel is a rough cold body of water. This night in early spring of 1944 it was cold, raining, and dark with very low visibility. For the men on the PT boat this meant a spray of cold salt water every few seconds as the boat plowed along on a south easter course across Lyme Bay. The PT boat, like many others, were given the mission of keeping the prying eyes of the German Navy E-boats out of Lyme Bay because of the practice staging for the impending invasion of Europe. As spring approached, the E-boats were making bolder and bolder scouting trips trying to gather intellegence for the German high command. The PT boats were to stop that. A worrysome tast considering the E-boats were almost twice the size and just as fast as the 70 foot Elco built boats. And in some cases, better armed.
All this was no matter to the young bosuns mate 1st class who manned the wheel of the PT boat on this dark rainy night. He was having the time of his life piloting the Elco across the water with the three 12 cylinder Packard engines putting out a mutted rumble. Raised in a fishing family on the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland he was used to being out in rough cold conditions, but with nothing as exiting as the powerfull and fast PT boat. To his left stood the boats comander, Lt J.G. Bryant, a product of the Navel Academy. The young officer loved the freedom of the PT's and the close knit relationship with his small crew. He looked over at his bosun's mate.
"Its a long way from a fishing boat, Mike." he said to the young man from Maryland.
"Yes sir, but in some ways its kind of similar. A boat you can feel the water in, and it responds fast to you, not like some lumbering big ship."
Just then a nevious young sailor poked his head up the companionway.
"Skipper, we got two contacts southwest of us and closing on us!"
Lt. J.G. Bryant glanced up at the small rotating radar antenna overhead. Only in the last month they had been installing them on the small PT boats trying to give them an edge in combating the German E-boat threat. Quietly he cursed under his breath, one on one they were up to thier chins in trouble taking on a E-boat, with two on one they had to avoid them.
"Mike, turn strait south and see if we can get behind them." he ordered. "Radio, get a message off that we have two of them out here, give our position and request some help. Engines to full."
With the three Packard 12 cylinders given the gas the mutted rumble became a deep roar, and the PT picked up speed till it was flying through the rough sea at top speed.
"Skipper!' the radar man yelled, "They've turned right into us! They must have radar too."
"Damm. Okay, Mike turn 90 degrees left rudder, lets engage the one to the sounthern and keep him between us and the other boat." Bryant ordered. There was no other thing to do, to try to run would mean the E-boats with their 20 cylinder Daimler Benz engines would run them down like greyhounds would a fox. Maybe help would get to them in time. The crew of the PT boat scambled to battle stations.
What happened in the next few minutes Bosuns mate Mike Devlin would report as feeling like a fox cought by vicious hounds. The E-boats came out of the darkness with startling speed, and as they opened fire on the two E-boats with the two Browning machine guns on the PT, they could feel heavy thumping in the hull as the Germans opened up with both 20mm and the 40mm Bofors guns. The bridge seemed to disintigrate from around them and something hit bosuns mate Devlin in the side of his face sending him sprawling on the deck. He could hear screaming, and he saw Bryant go down clutching his leg with blood dark in the night welling between his fingers. When he tried to stand up, he noticed they were dead in the water. Flames were springing up from the torn openings in the after deck. The reek of gasoline was thick. The Germans knew their buisness and had concentrated the fire from their 20mm and 40mm bofors cannons on the PT's mid section and aft.
"Devlin, get the men off, she's burning!" ordered Bryant, still laying on the deck with his whole pants leg blood soaked.
Devlin yelled for the crew to abandon ship, and then he thought of the life raft secured to the fordeck. Even as he crawled over the remains of the bridge, he could feel the boat listing heavy to port, worse by the second. But more of a worry was the half load of gasoline still in the tanks. With the nights patrol only half over there was still about 1500 gallons of gas still there in the burning aft section. Reaching the life raft on the fordeck he struggled with the spray wet canvas straps, then reached in his pocket for his knife. He'd gotten the knife from supply at base and he kept it in his pants pocket. Now pulling open the main blade of the Camillus stockman he cut the straps holding the rigid kapoke life raft. Then the world blew up.
He was aware of a hot force hitting him and he felt weightless as he flew off the fordeck of the boat. It seemed like everything was lit up by a lurid orange flash that left a huge ball of flame, and then he hit the coldest water he'd ever felt. Green salty stinking water filled his mouth, and he struggled to the surface to find himself floating in the channel with no PT boat in sight. Amazingly the pocket knife was still gripped in his right hand, so he brushed it closed agaist his wool peacoat and stuck it down in the coat pocket. The orange life raft was bobbing nearby, and as he pulled himself into it he heard a cry for help. And then another.
In the next few minutes he pulled Bryant, and then the young seaman named Mathews from the cold water. When Mathews saw Devlins face he said "Christ Mike, your face is open to the cheek bone." Only the three of then survived. They yelled and looked for the others, but there was nothing but some burning timbers and planks floating on the water. Lt. Bryant was still bleeding badly from his leg, and Mike dug into his soaked coat and got out the pocket knife. With cold trembling fingers he opened up the knife again and slit open Bryants pants, exposing a large bullet hole clear through the thigh. Mike cut off the pant leg and made a compress to bind up the wound the best he could, and Mathews kept up presure with his hands. Then Mike tied a bandana around his face like he had a toothache, to try to close the gaping tear. Bryant opened his eyes and looked up at him.
"How many got off, Mike?" he asked his young bosun.
"Just us sir. "
Bryant closed his eyes again and let out a long sigh. "I lost my boat and my crew. I guess I really screwed up big time!"
"Nothing you could do about it sir, they had us two to one and they had a 40mm that cut us in half. "
Bryant seemed not to hear him and they let him lay. The sat and shivered in the wet cloths, but Mike Devlin's experiance on the Chesapeake told him that the wool coats and the wool sweaters under them would keep them from freeing. It was then he heard the engines.
Out of the darkness a long black hull slid up to them. It was an E-boat, one of the two that had sunk them. A young blond officer looked down at them.
"Are you in need of med-i-cal help?" he asked in broken English. He slowly pronounced the words like he was unsure of his language.
"We could use some battle dressings if you please." responded an amazed Mike Devlin. Bryant was still out and Mathews looked too terrified to speak.
The young German officer fired off some rapid orders and a medical kit was brought. The officer tossed down some dressings.
"I am sorry about your boat, but it is war, Ja?" he said. "I cannot linger long or take you aboard. Your other boats are comming now. "
" Sure, its war. You blow us out of the water and then give us aid. Don't think I'm not gratefull, but is this some sort of Nazi bull crap?"
The young blond German officer straitened up indignantly.
"No! No Nazi's on this boat, we are Krigsmarine, German navy. No Nazi's on this boat." he replied a bit angrey. "We are sailors just like you. Anyway, you will be resqued very soon."
A sailor ran up to the officer and rattled off something in German and Mike could tell they were a bit worried.
"We must go now. Several of your boats are comming. Goot luck. " He gave them a wave and then the E-boat took off in a half circle with the deep throuted roar of powerfull diesel engines, and made off at high speed to the southeast toward the German base on Gurnsey.
Alone again on the water, the life raft bobbed up and down, and the men in it sat and shivered from the cold that penitrated their wet clothes. Mike couldn't tear open the heavy waxed paper of the battle dressings, so he dug out the pocket knife from his wet peacoat and slit open the packets so he could bandage his leuitenants leg. Then again engines were heard.
"Christ, their comming back to fiinish us off. They changed their minds" Mathews said.
But Mike listened hard. It sounded different. "No. those are Packards. Listen you idiot."
And sure enough, out of the faint grey light of dawn came four PT boats in formation. In fast order they were taken aboard and wet clothes removed, hot coffee mugs in shivering hands. The medic had Bryant laid out on the wardroom table and was working on him, and another sailor was trying to use a battle dressing on Mike's face. A sailor was scooping up the wet discarded clothing on the deck when a clunk made him look down. The Camillus stockman knife had fallen out of the pocket of Mikes sodden peacoat.
"STOP!" yelled Mike, "Give me that knife!"
"Okay buddy, okay. Here ya go. relax its just a pocket knife."
Mike Devlin looked down and thought how he'd cut the life raft free, opened battle dressings in a cold wet life raft.
"No, you're wrong fella. Not just a pocket knife. Not after a night like this." and his hand closed around the knife.
----------------------------------------------------
The house On the Choptank.
Uncle Mike stopped talking and took the last swig of his beer, emptying the brown bottle. He looked down at the knife in his hand, and held it for a moment, then put it back into his pocket.
"So ya see lad" he said to me, "When I hold it in my hand, I think of my 9 good pals on that boat that never made it back that night. We were a tight crew, went on liberty together, even Bryant. Only three of us came back that night." he paused, "Story telling is thirsty work and I'm out of beer. "
He started to get up and I put my hand on the old mans shoulder and told him to sit, I'd get him a cold one. I left him there on the bench watching the last golden rays of the sun over the bay, and I dug around in the big plastic tub of ice and water up on the back porch. I found one at the bottom that the label was half soaked off and I hoped it was the coldest one in the tub. After a story like that, Uncle Mike deserved the coldest one I could find.
My Uncle Mike was going down to the bench that grandad had put there so many years ago so he and grandmom could watch the sun set on the Chesapeake bay. They were both gone by this time, and Uncle Mike and his family had taken up living in the old house overlooking the mouth of the Choptank river. I went down and sat beside my Uncle as he took out his old navy issue Camillus stockman to scrape his pipe bowl. It was a worn old knife now, but as he closed it he would hold it in his hand a moment before putting it back in his pocket. I'd seen him do this my whole life and wondered what was going on.
This time was no execption, and when I asked him, he looked at me with his scared face and grinned his lopsided grin. He'd come home from the war in Europe with his face badly disfigured, and there was some nerve damage so that when he smiled, it was all on the left side. His right side face was bisected by a deep canyon of a scar from the outside corner of his eye to his chin. He never talked about it, and he fended off my questions good naturedly. But for reasons of his own, this night he decieded to tell me the whole tale.
He opened his hand and looked down on the worn old stockman, and slowly he began to speak.
------------------------------------------------
Lyme Bay, Early March 1944.
In the best of times the English Channel is a rough cold body of water. This night in early spring of 1944 it was cold, raining, and dark with very low visibility. For the men on the PT boat this meant a spray of cold salt water every few seconds as the boat plowed along on a south easter course across Lyme Bay. The PT boat, like many others, were given the mission of keeping the prying eyes of the German Navy E-boats out of Lyme Bay because of the practice staging for the impending invasion of Europe. As spring approached, the E-boats were making bolder and bolder scouting trips trying to gather intellegence for the German high command. The PT boats were to stop that. A worrysome tast considering the E-boats were almost twice the size and just as fast as the 70 foot Elco built boats. And in some cases, better armed.
All this was no matter to the young bosuns mate 1st class who manned the wheel of the PT boat on this dark rainy night. He was having the time of his life piloting the Elco across the water with the three 12 cylinder Packard engines putting out a mutted rumble. Raised in a fishing family on the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland he was used to being out in rough cold conditions, but with nothing as exiting as the powerfull and fast PT boat. To his left stood the boats comander, Lt J.G. Bryant, a product of the Navel Academy. The young officer loved the freedom of the PT's and the close knit relationship with his small crew. He looked over at his bosun's mate.
"Its a long way from a fishing boat, Mike." he said to the young man from Maryland.
"Yes sir, but in some ways its kind of similar. A boat you can feel the water in, and it responds fast to you, not like some lumbering big ship."
Just then a nevious young sailor poked his head up the companionway.
"Skipper, we got two contacts southwest of us and closing on us!"
Lt. J.G. Bryant glanced up at the small rotating radar antenna overhead. Only in the last month they had been installing them on the small PT boats trying to give them an edge in combating the German E-boat threat. Quietly he cursed under his breath, one on one they were up to thier chins in trouble taking on a E-boat, with two on one they had to avoid them.
"Mike, turn strait south and see if we can get behind them." he ordered. "Radio, get a message off that we have two of them out here, give our position and request some help. Engines to full."
With the three Packard 12 cylinders given the gas the mutted rumble became a deep roar, and the PT picked up speed till it was flying through the rough sea at top speed.
"Skipper!' the radar man yelled, "They've turned right into us! They must have radar too."
"Damm. Okay, Mike turn 90 degrees left rudder, lets engage the one to the sounthern and keep him between us and the other boat." Bryant ordered. There was no other thing to do, to try to run would mean the E-boats with their 20 cylinder Daimler Benz engines would run them down like greyhounds would a fox. Maybe help would get to them in time. The crew of the PT boat scambled to battle stations.
What happened in the next few minutes Bosuns mate Mike Devlin would report as feeling like a fox cought by vicious hounds. The E-boats came out of the darkness with startling speed, and as they opened fire on the two E-boats with the two Browning machine guns on the PT, they could feel heavy thumping in the hull as the Germans opened up with both 20mm and the 40mm Bofors guns. The bridge seemed to disintigrate from around them and something hit bosuns mate Devlin in the side of his face sending him sprawling on the deck. He could hear screaming, and he saw Bryant go down clutching his leg with blood dark in the night welling between his fingers. When he tried to stand up, he noticed they were dead in the water. Flames were springing up from the torn openings in the after deck. The reek of gasoline was thick. The Germans knew their buisness and had concentrated the fire from their 20mm and 40mm bofors cannons on the PT's mid section and aft.
"Devlin, get the men off, she's burning!" ordered Bryant, still laying on the deck with his whole pants leg blood soaked.
Devlin yelled for the crew to abandon ship, and then he thought of the life raft secured to the fordeck. Even as he crawled over the remains of the bridge, he could feel the boat listing heavy to port, worse by the second. But more of a worry was the half load of gasoline still in the tanks. With the nights patrol only half over there was still about 1500 gallons of gas still there in the burning aft section. Reaching the life raft on the fordeck he struggled with the spray wet canvas straps, then reached in his pocket for his knife. He'd gotten the knife from supply at base and he kept it in his pants pocket. Now pulling open the main blade of the Camillus stockman he cut the straps holding the rigid kapoke life raft. Then the world blew up.
He was aware of a hot force hitting him and he felt weightless as he flew off the fordeck of the boat. It seemed like everything was lit up by a lurid orange flash that left a huge ball of flame, and then he hit the coldest water he'd ever felt. Green salty stinking water filled his mouth, and he struggled to the surface to find himself floating in the channel with no PT boat in sight. Amazingly the pocket knife was still gripped in his right hand, so he brushed it closed agaist his wool peacoat and stuck it down in the coat pocket. The orange life raft was bobbing nearby, and as he pulled himself into it he heard a cry for help. And then another.
In the next few minutes he pulled Bryant, and then the young seaman named Mathews from the cold water. When Mathews saw Devlins face he said "Christ Mike, your face is open to the cheek bone." Only the three of then survived. They yelled and looked for the others, but there was nothing but some burning timbers and planks floating on the water. Lt. Bryant was still bleeding badly from his leg, and Mike dug into his soaked coat and got out the pocket knife. With cold trembling fingers he opened up the knife again and slit open Bryants pants, exposing a large bullet hole clear through the thigh. Mike cut off the pant leg and made a compress to bind up the wound the best he could, and Mathews kept up presure with his hands. Then Mike tied a bandana around his face like he had a toothache, to try to close the gaping tear. Bryant opened his eyes and looked up at him.
"How many got off, Mike?" he asked his young bosun.
"Just us sir. "
Bryant closed his eyes again and let out a long sigh. "I lost my boat and my crew. I guess I really screwed up big time!"
"Nothing you could do about it sir, they had us two to one and they had a 40mm that cut us in half. "
Bryant seemed not to hear him and they let him lay. The sat and shivered in the wet cloths, but Mike Devlin's experiance on the Chesapeake told him that the wool coats and the wool sweaters under them would keep them from freeing. It was then he heard the engines.
Out of the darkness a long black hull slid up to them. It was an E-boat, one of the two that had sunk them. A young blond officer looked down at them.
"Are you in need of med-i-cal help?" he asked in broken English. He slowly pronounced the words like he was unsure of his language.
"We could use some battle dressings if you please." responded an amazed Mike Devlin. Bryant was still out and Mathews looked too terrified to speak.
The young German officer fired off some rapid orders and a medical kit was brought. The officer tossed down some dressings.
"I am sorry about your boat, but it is war, Ja?" he said. "I cannot linger long or take you aboard. Your other boats are comming now. "
" Sure, its war. You blow us out of the water and then give us aid. Don't think I'm not gratefull, but is this some sort of Nazi bull crap?"
The young blond German officer straitened up indignantly.
"No! No Nazi's on this boat, we are Krigsmarine, German navy. No Nazi's on this boat." he replied a bit angrey. "We are sailors just like you. Anyway, you will be resqued very soon."
A sailor ran up to the officer and rattled off something in German and Mike could tell they were a bit worried.
"We must go now. Several of your boats are comming. Goot luck. " He gave them a wave and then the E-boat took off in a half circle with the deep throuted roar of powerfull diesel engines, and made off at high speed to the southeast toward the German base on Gurnsey.
Alone again on the water, the life raft bobbed up and down, and the men in it sat and shivered from the cold that penitrated their wet clothes. Mike couldn't tear open the heavy waxed paper of the battle dressings, so he dug out the pocket knife from his wet peacoat and slit open the packets so he could bandage his leuitenants leg. Then again engines were heard.
"Christ, their comming back to fiinish us off. They changed their minds" Mathews said.
But Mike listened hard. It sounded different. "No. those are Packards. Listen you idiot."
And sure enough, out of the faint grey light of dawn came four PT boats in formation. In fast order they were taken aboard and wet clothes removed, hot coffee mugs in shivering hands. The medic had Bryant laid out on the wardroom table and was working on him, and another sailor was trying to use a battle dressing on Mike's face. A sailor was scooping up the wet discarded clothing on the deck when a clunk made him look down. The Camillus stockman knife had fallen out of the pocket of Mikes sodden peacoat.
"STOP!" yelled Mike, "Give me that knife!"
"Okay buddy, okay. Here ya go. relax its just a pocket knife."
Mike Devlin looked down and thought how he'd cut the life raft free, opened battle dressings in a cold wet life raft.
"No, you're wrong fella. Not just a pocket knife. Not after a night like this." and his hand closed around the knife.
----------------------------------------------------
The house On the Choptank.
Uncle Mike stopped talking and took the last swig of his beer, emptying the brown bottle. He looked down at the knife in his hand, and held it for a moment, then put it back into his pocket.
"So ya see lad" he said to me, "When I hold it in my hand, I think of my 9 good pals on that boat that never made it back that night. We were a tight crew, went on liberty together, even Bryant. Only three of us came back that night." he paused, "Story telling is thirsty work and I'm out of beer. "
He started to get up and I put my hand on the old mans shoulder and told him to sit, I'd get him a cold one. I left him there on the bench watching the last golden rays of the sun over the bay, and I dug around in the big plastic tub of ice and water up on the back porch. I found one at the bottom that the label was half soaked off and I hoped it was the coldest one in the tub. After a story like that, Uncle Mike deserved the coldest one I could find.
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). I would like to get your permission first and possibly put your real name on it. If you would like to talk to me about it, please email me. I would have emailed you, but your email is blocked. Thank you for your consideration.
