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Stories of
American Heroes -
Brought to you from the "Home of Heroes" - Pueblo, Colorado |
The Brotherhood of Soldiers At War
The Sullivan Brothers
George, Frank, Red, Matt & Al
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| Thursday, November 12, 1942 The war in the Pacific was not going well.
Despite the "moral victory" of Jimmy Doolittle's bombing raid on Tokyo in April
and the victory at Midway in June, the Japanese seemed almost invincible. The
Philippine Islands had fallen, and the one thread of hope rested with the battle-weary
Marines who clung tenuously to a small Pacific Island called Guadalcanal. Though the
Marines controlled most of the island, the Japanese still ruled the surrounding seas and
rained nightly death from their heavy guns on warriors who had suffered too much for
too long. On this night a Japanese fleet of twenty ships formed in two columns began
a run through the narrow passage called "the slot", from which they could
bombard the Marines on Guadalcanal.
Rear Admiral Daniel Callaghan sailed out to meet
them on his flagship cruiser USS San Francisco. His outnumbered, out gunned
force consisted of two heavy cruisers, three light cruisers, and eight destroyers.
Shortly before 2 A.M. on Friday the 13th the two forces met. Rear Admiral Callaghan
did the unthinkable, forging his way up the middle of the two enemy columns, his ships
firing in both directions. The half-hour battle was unlike any in Naval history,
close quarters with friend and foe nearly ramming each other in the darkness, the skies
exploding in brilliant flashes that could be seen by war-weary Marines in their muddy fox
holes on Guadalcanal. Then, as silence fell once again upon the South Pacific, the
Americans assessed the damage. The USS San Francisco was badly damaged,
Admiral Callaghan killed in action. Below deck Captain Cassin Young, one of only
five living Medal of Honor recipients from the Pearl Harbor attack, was also wounded and
later died. Four of the eight destroyers had fallen to the enemy guns, a fifth left
limping towards safety. Of the five cruisers, four were badly damaged, among them
the USS Juneau.
As daylight dawned the Juneau joined the
floundering San Francisco, the cruiser Helena, and destroyers Sterett,
Fletcher, and O'Bannon. Save for the floundering Portland
and the destroyer Aaron Ward which was being towed to refuge, they were
the only survivors of the battle.
Aboard the Juneau the wounded were being
tended, George Sullivan among them. Below deck a torpedo hit had killed as many as
twenty sailors and badly crippled the cruiser. Daylight revealed the Juneau
sitting about 4 feet lower in the water and Captain Swenson was concerned that the keel
might have broken. Three pharmacists mates were exchanged to the more badly damaged
San Francisco to tend the wounded. George Sullivan, his injury treated, returned to
duty near the depth charge racks. Below deck his brothers went about their jobs, Al
and Matt in the loading room and Frank and Red in damage control parties. Death,
fear, and the smell of leaking fuel filled the broken body of the Juneau.
Anxious eyes watched the skies for enemy planes.
But the real threat lay below the surface, where Commander Minoru Yokota of the
Japanese submarine I-26 scanned the San Francisco through his periscope.
The heavy cruiser was a prime target, an easy kill. At 11 A.M. on that Friday
morning he issued the command to launch two torpedoes. Alert lookouts aboard the San
Francisco noticed the wake of the underwater warheads and the San Francisco began a turn.
Both barely missed the cruiser and continued on. The first ran out of steam,
broke water, and then sank to the bottom of the ocean. The second continued its
course, on a direct line with the Juneau. Less than a minute later it
struck the Sullivan Brother's ship and exploded. The Juneau didn't sink.... |
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It Vaporized!
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George Sullivan slowly began to realize where
he was, what had happened. The Juneau no longer rode the swells of the
South Pacific, only the debris of that once proud Naval cruiser. So intense had been
the explosion that ripped apart the Juneau, witnesses to the disaster aboard the San
Francisco were certain there had been no survivors. Crippled beyond defense,
aware of the danger from the submarine that had destroyed Juneau, and convinced
there were no living sailors to rescue, the battered convoy faded on the horizon in search
of safety.
Amazingly, there had been survivors, perhaps
more than one hundred out of the 700 man crew. The violence of the explosion that
had severed a 5-inch gun turret and hurled it more than half a mile, had catapulted the
bodies of the sailors on deck through the air and into the ocean. Slowly they bobbed
to the surface, breaking through a black layer of oil several inches thick to grab
floating nets and other debris to cling too. Almost all were severely wounded,
broken limbs with bones protruding, deep lacerations, and deadly internal injuries
abounded. Across the waters could be heard the cries of pain, moans of despair, and
shrieks of fear. Amid the cacophony of an unbelievable hell rose the voice of George
Sullivan. "Al! Are you there? Red..... where are you?
Frank....Matt....please answer me."
Slowly the survivors began to pull the debris
together, three donut shaped life rafts and assorted floating nets. Wounded sailors
desperately swam to join their fellows, and George continued to call out in agony,
searching each face for the features of one of his brothers. Among the floating
debris he had found rolls of toilet tissue and quickly stripped away the oil-covered outer
layers. It was a pitiful sight as he moved from raft to raft, net to net, slowly
wiping the black oil from the faces of stunned and wounded sailors and peering into blank,
frightened eyes for any sign of recognition. He was the oldest, the "big
brother", and he had to find and help his younger brothers. They had to be
there....somewhere. And so, despite his own wounds, he continued his fruitless
search.
Throughout the day many sailors died of their
wounds. Others, too tired to find within themselves any reason to go on, slipped
away from the nets and sank beneath the black ocean swells to meet their former shipmates.
As night fell, fewer than a hundred survivors remained. Throughout the night
men died, at least one an hour. And throughout that long, cold night, all could hear
the voice of George Sullivan continuing to cry out: "Al, Matt, Red, Frank?
Where are my brothers?"
The breaking sunrise on the morning of
November 14th brought some relief. Slowly the layer of oil began to thin and move
away. The men crowded into the donut shaped life rafts had stood in three feet of
water through out the night, their legs now swollen and their bodies chilled. Others
sat on the edges of the crowded rings, dangling their legs over the edges. But as
the water cleared, new dangers were revealed. Slowly the sharks moved in, hesitant
at first. Then came screams as first one, then another sailor, was dragged from the
nets and shredded by the predators of the deep. Some men were "fortunate"
to lose only an arm or leg to the new enemy, others were dragged screaming completely
beneath the surface to be devoured. New panic set it. George Sullivan
continued to search for his brothers. He had to find them before the sharks did,
offer the protection of a "big brother". To no avail he searched and
searched.
Towards noon a patrol plane appeared and
dropped an inflatable raft. Seaman Joseph Hartney and Jimmy Fitzgerald braved
the sharks in a desperate swim for the precious bundle. Amazingly they survived and
returned to load the more severely wounded into the dry bottom of the new raft. The
appearance of the plane provided more however than the raft, it signaled hope of rescue.
But as the day dragged on the hot tropical sun became yet another enemy, frying the
flesh of men whose clothing had been literally ripped from their bodies by the explosion
that destroyed the Juneau. Before nightfall Hartney, Fitzgerald, and a
badly injured officer left the group of survivors in a desperate effort to find land and
mount a rescue effort.
By the fall of darkness on the second night,
hope was vanishing for survival. Without food or fresh water, men began
drinking salt water and becoming delirious. Into the night the cries of despair
continued, and even through that second night with all hope seemingly gone, George
Sullivan continued to call out for his missing brothers. When dawn arrived on the
third morning, it brought no relief. The pitiful remnant of the Juneau had to choose
between a blistering sun that left their flesh, as if it had been "shaved with a
razor", or sharks that moved in with razor sharp teeth.
Finally the survivors chose to split into
three groups. Lieutenant John Blodgett, one of only three surviving Juneau
officers, set out with 7 of the strongest survivors on one raft. Nineteen other
survivors set out in a second raft. The third carried almost a dozen survivors
including George Sullivan and Allen Heyn. By the fourth day George Sullivan became
more and more delirious. He continued to cry out for his brothers to no avail, but
his voice became weaker, his cries less frequent. As darkness fell over the South
Pacific he turned to Allen Heyn and said he was going to swim to shore and take a bath.
Quickly he stripped off his clothes and plunged into the darkness of the ocean,
swimming desperately for an imaginary shoreline. From a distance Allen Heyn could
only watch helplessly the desperate struggle of George Sullivan against the elements.
Then screams as the sharks moved in, the sound of thrashing in the water.
Then....silence. In the depths of the South Pacific, George finally found his
brothers...........
The story of the Sullivans is
more than a true story about five brothers, it is the story of the courage and patriotism
of an entire family. Despite the pain of their own tragic loss, Tom and Alleta
Sullivan endured the invasion of their personal grief by a sympathetic Nation to promote
the war effort. In April, 1943 sister Genevieve herself, enlisted in the Navy's
WAVES. A year after the death of the Sullivan Brothers President Franklin D.
Roosevelt ordered the launch of a new destroyer called "The Sullivans".
Christened by the first mother since the Civil War to loose FIVE sons in defense of
freedom, The Sullivans served in World War II and Korea, and is now on
display in Buffalo, NY.
In 1995 a new Aegis Destroyer
named USS The Sullivans was christened. It was commissioned two years later
on Saturday, April 19, 1997. Among those in attendance was Lester Zook, one of
Juneau's ten survivors. Three years later on November 12, 1998 (almost 56 years to
the day after the sinking of the Juneau), Mr. Zook was tragically killed in an
automobile accident.
