My Buddy had been burned to an unrecognizable chip and I was too sick with second degree burns to move, but I had to get out of that wardroom. I couldn't stand hearing him pray over and over that he wanted to die, so I went on deck.

Seaman First Class George Wanchick had been in number three turret aboard the destroyer-mine sweeper Macomb when a Japanese kamikaze plowed into the mount, igniting powder and spreading a sea of blazing gasoline everywhere. He got out somehow, but he was burned to a crisp. The only place the doctor could administer the plasma was through a small area on the soles of his feet that had been protected by heavy work shoes. The spreading gasoline caught me on the fantail and roasted me too.

I'd been able to stand the pain of the burns because morphine took care of that.

I was ven able to sew shrouds for the dead in the dim little shack amidships where they were waiting for sea burial. I wanted to do it. There was stout twine, big sailmaker's needles and leather palms for pushing the needles through the fireproof mattress covers that were the shrouds. We handled the bodies of our mates with reverence.

When we finished, I met a pharmacist's mate in the gangway. He took one look at my burns and sent me to the wardroom, and I could even stand the sight and smell of the wounded.

But I couldn't stand listening to my buddy's prayers for death to release him from pain. I stayed on deck until they pulled the white sheet over his body. It was May 3, 1945.

Until that day, the Macomb , affectionally known as the "Dipsy Doodle" was in many ways a lucky ship. She had seen action in Europe and at Okinawa and Kerama Retto in the Pacific without serious damage. We saw ships sunk only a couple of cable shots away. We swept mines and destroyed them with machine gun fire. We bombarded beaches and took bombardment in return without serious casualties. When the USS Laffey took it right behind us at one of the picket stations, we were unhurt and stood by as the Laffey's survivors threw the bodies of the buddies off the fantail. As I say, from the beginning, we had a charmed ship. We knew it couldn't last.

I guess you could say our luck started to run out shortly after dusk on April 1, 1945, when the Captain's voice boomed over the ship's PA system.

"Now hear this! We have been proceeding under sealed orders. I have just learned the contents of those orders. We are to perform sweep operations, and later on we are to participate in the invasion of Okinawa. We are out in front of the Third Fleet. From here on out we should be joining additional vessels all the time. I want to caution every man to be doubly alert during the days and nights ahead, and I'm sure that no man aboard the Macomb will fail in his duty."

We were at Ulithi at the time. Ulithi had been secured, and the harbor was filled with our ships as far as the eye could see. However, the enemy knew we were there and while waiting to shove off on the Okinawa strike we refueled and took on ammo and supplies under almost constant Japanese air attack. In addition to air attacks, we had to deal with the nuisance value of "Midnight Charlies" and stand to general quarters at sunset and dawn.

The Third Fleet was cleaning up Iwo and the Philippines and as that campaign progressed, ships were released to come forward and join us. Th eresult was that one morning I came on deck, and found as impressive an armada as I ever hope to see had slipped in the night before. There were BBs, Cruisers, DDs, AKAs, APSs, and just about every other naval type.

We rode more or less peacefully at anchor at Ulithi while the boys behind us cleaned up and secured Iwo. Then, one night, we shoved off: for the big strike at Okinawa. We were nearly a week ahead of the invasion force, sweeping ahead. We were to prepare the way for the big scale invasion of Okinawa. Our position and intention was well known to the enemy and in addition to isolated raids we were pounded by full Japanese air squadrons daily. The sea was rough but visibility good, and it was during this trip that the O'Brien and Dorsey became casualties.

Arriving off Okinawa we were ordered to perform a comprehensive mission: To sweep day and night around the island. When the time came for the all-out assault, American strategy called for two fleet operations against Okinawa. One was to be the real thing. The other, equally formidable, was to be a diversionary attack.

Once arriving, the main fleet was to wheel to the right, pound the island, and prepare for the Marine Invasion.

On the morning of the actual storming of Okinawa we not only had every American ship which could be spared in the area, but types were so diversified that only an expert in ship recognition could have identified them. The BBs and cruisers gave the island such a pounding that we thought they'd sink it. The Macomb and her sister ships, screening smaller sweeps, bore in close to the beach andwe cut loose with everything we had. I t was a real pleasure to watch ammo and gasoline dumps on shore blow up from this fire, although we took plenty of fire in return. However, on this sweep, we cut plenty of contact mines from their moorings, and detonated them with machine gun fire.

Several night later anchored in Kerama Retto harbor, I stood a four hour telephone watch on the fantail of the Macomb; and it turned out to be one of the most crawly experiences I had during the war. At night we were overrun with Jap suicide swimmers. These frogmen, swimming silently and for the most part underwater, shoved off from the beach and picked our vessels for their targets. They carried primitive but effective weapons-knives, grenades and demolition charges. Silently they would board a ship by climbing up the anchor chain. Moving like shadows, they were frequently successful in cutting the throat of the guys standing watch. Then they would make their way aft, toss grenades down into the living quarters of the ship, and then dive overboard.

Other frogmen teams worked more subtly. Instead of boarding a vessel, they would swim to her after end and tie explosive charges to her screws or shafts. The next morning, when the screws started to turn over, the charges would be detonated and the vessel would at least be crippled if her whole bottom was not ripped out.

While I was on watch an LST moored just ahead of us and was attacked by Jap frogmen. The silent yellow figures swarmed aboard, slaughtered the sentries, and then placed heavy demolition charges in the living quarters of the vessel. Naturally, in the circumstances, I was as alert as I could be, but that didn't help too much. I think it was the darkest night ever built in this world. There were three of us on the fantail and we weren't more than ten feet apart, but we couldn't see each other or anything else. My party was armed with BARs, Thompson guns, and we had a box of grenades lying open where we could get at them. During the latter portion of the watch I heard a noise overside. We turned a powerful battle lantern on the area, and saw what looked like an empty wooden box floating near the stern. Naturally, the Japs often used to refuse and debris of this type to cover their heads, so we cut loose at the box. I had never fired a BAR before, and I didn't realize that the weapon must be fired in bursts. The result was that I gave it the business in one long stream. I was aiming at the box when i first pulled the trigger, but when I finished firing, my tracers were going all over the place.

After the Okinawa invasion, we were ordered back on radar picket duty. It was during this duty April 7,while we were manning station Roger Peter Two that we received "Flash Red; Control Yellow"- the n "Flash Red; Control Green". Almost simultaneously at about 1900, we picked up a message from the DD USS Gregory, on Roger Peter Three: "Am under attack by three Japs". The Gregory managed to splash two of the attackers but the third one pasted her. We were some 40-50 miles away, but we immediately headed to relieve the Gregory arriving during the night and standing by until 0700 the next morning when she was able to get underway and limp toward a safe berth. I was unusually interested in the Gregory because my brother Earl, was on board her. She had many casualties, but before the two ships parted in the morning my captain was able to get word that Earl was not among them.

It was at 1830 on May 3 that Macomb got it. There were many kamikazes on our radar screen, and I believe every man aboard sensed that we were in for the fight of our life. The first Nip swooped in low off our starboard bow. We were on target, all guns were on automatic, and the gunnery officer gave the orders to commence firing. Ahead of us was the USS Bache, and simultaneously with our fire she opened up with her five inch mounts. The Jap seemed intent on getting the Bache, but as he approached, he was streaming flame and smoke and wobbling in the air. His final attempt at a suicide crash landed him in the ocean between the Bache and Macomb.

Another plane approched on our starboard beam. Before our guns ccould be trained, it was upon us. The aircraft bore directly down for the bridge superstructure. Seemingly nothing could stop it.

In a flash the plane banked sharply and crashed into number three gun mount....Wanchick's station. A terrific jar went through the ship. The whole after deck house was a blazing hell.

That's when concussion knocked me to the deck. Many men, more or less fortunately, were blown overside, away from the flames. The bomb did not detonate on board, but demolished the hot water heater for the crew's showers and covered the washroom and number three ammunition handling room with scalding water and steel fraqments. One of the men in the shower space was killed instantly.

The suddenness and power of the attack was stupefying. I was standing near the after deckhouse when the Jap hit, and I started to run toward the fantail. There were eight or ten men on the fantail, but I would have run right off the ship had not Bos'n mate Stremski grabbed me, and slapped me hard into some semblance of normal thinking.

Not only were my clothes afire, but blazing hunks of rubber from the self sealing gasoline tanks of the plane had lodged in my hair where they burned. As a matter of fact, the ship's doctor had to cut the stuff out of my head the next day. There were perhaps a dozen of us hopelessly trapped on the fantail. The deckhouse forward of us was burning, and a tremendous curtain of flame bridged the ship from rail to rail around number three gun mount. There was nothing we could do. There was nowhere we could run.

Lt Arve Saarnijoki from Boston took charge of what was left of the gun crew and formed a fire and damage control party to work at the forward face of the fire. Knowing our shipmates forward were doing there best to rescue us, we checked the magazine of number three mount, and the living compartments to which we could gain access.

Finally the fire fighting party brought the blaze under control. We immeiately checked the deck house, and were sickened to find the youngest kid on the ship lying dead inside.

Meanwhile, despite our own distress, the skipper had received an urgent call for aid from the destroyer Aaron Ward, which had been hit by five kamikaze planes.

In our condition, we could only respond to the Ward's appeal for aid. We were still rescuing our own men who had been washed overside. We finally got underway for Okinawa.

Meanwhile, a fellow named Rogers helped me get a stretcher from forward, and we were able to get Wanchick down to the wardroom.

After sewing the burial shrouds for several of my shipmates, they took me there, too, and thats when I heard Wanchick pray for death, a prayer I'll never forget.

When i couldn't stand it anymore, I went out on deck and I knew the luck had run out. And I knew it had cost us plenty.