wave. Your head is then out of the water—that’s when you take a breath of air.”
Caverly followed Leibold’s advice.
“Hey, that works pretty damn good,” said Caverly. “Are you doing it?”
“No. But now that I’ve explained it to you, and it works, I think I’ll do it too.” 4
Leibold and Caverly stuck close together, helping each other. Every now and then, Caverly swallowed a mouthful of water and then spat it out. Both felt increasingly cold. They knew they were losing precious body heat when they began to shiver. The first stages of hypothermia were setting in. The water was probably no more than fifty degrees Fahrenheit in this part of the Formosa Strait in late October. Men had been known to die in as little as three to four hours in similar conditions.
This time it was Caverly who had the smart idea: He told Leibold they should turn into the current and then urinate. Their urine would warm them. Caverly was right. It wasn’t long before they were urinating regularly to fend off the cold. 5
Leibold and Caverly decided to wait until daylight and then try to get to the exposed bow of one of the ships sunk by the Tang . There was bound to be something there that they could latch onto, and then they could use the current to wash them toward an island or the coast of China. Just before the Tang had gone down, Caverly had gotten a range reading—the nearest land had been an island off the coast of China called Fouchow, some twenty thousand yards away.
Dawn was nigh. Light soon streaked the sky. As day broke, Leibold and Caverly spotted what they thought was land. When they looked again, they realized it had been a mirage—it was only a cloud.
IN THE Tang ’s forward torpedo room 180 feet below, Hank Flanagan, the last remaining officer, decided to take charge of a second escape attempt. It was around 4:15 a.m. when he started to organize the next party. This time, the rubber boat would be jettisoned to make room for a fourth man. 6
Determined to try again, Bill Ballinger asked for volunteers to join him and Flanagan.
“I’m going to go,” said Ballinger. “I need volunteers.”
Clay Decker stepped forward. He knew Ballinger was the most experienced submariner among the survivors. He had completed six runs on the USS Tunney before he had come aboard the Tang for her first patrol, and had been the main conduit between O’Kane and the crew. More than any other man still alive, he had a natural authority that inspired confidence.
Ballinger also had a salty sense of humor. He cursed royally, drove the crew hard, but could also be great fun when he was relaxing, which was rare given his responsibilities on the Tang . He had grown up in California. About five foot ten inches, with “dark hair and strong features,” Ballinger had earned the crew’s respect as chief of the boat but also as the Tang ’s leading torpedoman, responsible for the men in both forward and after torpedo rooms.
Already, at least half of the mostly teenage boys under his charge were dead: Phillip Anderson from Grand Rapids; Fred Bisogno, an Italian from Brooklyn; Wilfred Boucher from Rhode Island; John Foster from Detroit; Texan William Galloway; and Charles Wadsworth from California. At least none of them had been married.
Decker stepped toward Ballinger.
I’m going to get on his shirttail, thought Decker. He knows where he’s going.
“I’m with you, Bill,” said Decker. 7
Soon, five men had gathered at the steps leading to the trunk: Ensign Basil Pearce from Florida, Bill Ballinger, Hank Flanagan, Leland Weekley, and Clay Decker. 8
Decker picked up his Momsen Lung and ripped open its celluloid packaging. His close friend, George Zofcin, helped him put on the lung. In the flickering light, Zofcin noticed that the clip on the lung’s discharge valve was still attached. He removed it, not knowing then that this simple action probably saved Decker’s life.
Decker hustled Zofcin toward the escape
Caverly followed Leibold’s advice.
“Hey, that works pretty damn good,” said Caverly. “Are you doing it?”
“No. But now that I’ve explained it to you, and it works, I think I’ll do it too.” 4
Leibold and Caverly stuck close together, helping each other. Every now and then, Caverly swallowed a mouthful of water and then spat it out. Both felt increasingly cold. They knew they were losing precious body heat when they began to shiver. The first stages of hypothermia were setting in. The water was probably no more than fifty degrees Fahrenheit in this part of the Formosa Strait in late October. Men had been known to die in as little as three to four hours in similar conditions.
This time it was Caverly who had the smart idea: He told Leibold they should turn into the current and then urinate. Their urine would warm them. Caverly was right. It wasn’t long before they were urinating regularly to fend off the cold. 5
Leibold and Caverly decided to wait until daylight and then try to get to the exposed bow of one of the ships sunk by the Tang . There was bound to be something there that they could latch onto, and then they could use the current to wash them toward an island or the coast of China. Just before the Tang had gone down, Caverly had gotten a range reading—the nearest land had been an island off the coast of China called Fouchow, some twenty thousand yards away.
Dawn was nigh. Light soon streaked the sky. As day broke, Leibold and Caverly spotted what they thought was land. When they looked again, they realized it had been a mirage—it was only a cloud.
IN THE Tang ’s forward torpedo room 180 feet below, Hank Flanagan, the last remaining officer, decided to take charge of a second escape attempt. It was around 4:15 a.m. when he started to organize the next party. This time, the rubber boat would be jettisoned to make room for a fourth man. 6
Determined to try again, Bill Ballinger asked for volunteers to join him and Flanagan.
“I’m going to go,” said Ballinger. “I need volunteers.”
Clay Decker stepped forward. He knew Ballinger was the most experienced submariner among the survivors. He had completed six runs on the USS Tunney before he had come aboard the Tang for her first patrol, and had been the main conduit between O’Kane and the crew. More than any other man still alive, he had a natural authority that inspired confidence.
Ballinger also had a salty sense of humor. He cursed royally, drove the crew hard, but could also be great fun when he was relaxing, which was rare given his responsibilities on the Tang . He had grown up in California. About five foot ten inches, with “dark hair and strong features,” Ballinger had earned the crew’s respect as chief of the boat but also as the Tang ’s leading torpedoman, responsible for the men in both forward and after torpedo rooms.
Already, at least half of the mostly teenage boys under his charge were dead: Phillip Anderson from Grand Rapids; Fred Bisogno, an Italian from Brooklyn; Wilfred Boucher from Rhode Island; John Foster from Detroit; Texan William Galloway; and Charles Wadsworth from California. At least none of them had been married.
Decker stepped toward Ballinger.
I’m going to get on his shirttail, thought Decker. He knows where he’s going.
“I’m with you, Bill,” said Decker. 7
Soon, five men had gathered at the steps leading to the trunk: Ensign Basil Pearce from Florida, Bill Ballinger, Hank Flanagan, Leland Weekley, and Clay Decker. 8
Decker picked up his Momsen Lung and ripped open its celluloid packaging. His close friend, George Zofcin, helped him put on the lung. In the flickering light, Zofcin noticed that the clip on the lung’s discharge valve was still attached. He removed it, not knowing then that this simple action probably saved Decker’s life.
Decker hustled Zofcin toward the escape
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