Editor's note: The "Neighbors share war time stories" article in the December 3 issue inspired the writer to send his own military tale, which he wrote in September 2000.

The cruise from hell
by Richard B. Blankfield

Six days after I reported aboard the USS Bayonne PF-21 in Japan, we cleared Yokosuka harbor on our way to Ocean Station Victor and began our own version of "Men Against the Sea" by heading out into the teeth of a gale. It got worse three days later when, according to the deck log, "We experienced 12 continuous hours of whole gale winds (40-50 knots) with mountainous waves and suffered a considerable amount of non critical damage." As a non-swimmer, I considered the loss of our life rafts very critical.

After a short respite, we faced 17 more days of almost continuous gale force winds with high and sometimes mountainous waves. Additional equipment and the motor whaleboat were smashed. Seawater was coming into the armory. The Damage Control Party found a crack in the ship's skin. A temporary steel plate was welded over the crack.

The seas began to fall. Large, breaking waves replaced by 10 to 15 feet swells. The sun was finally visible. We congratulated ourselves. The ship had survived and the crew escaped with only scrapes and bruises. Our celebration was premature.

R.J. Washington was carried off into the sea by a rogue wave while inspecting the main deck for damage. He was floating on his back, clowning around and spouting water - seemingly unhurt. The Officer of the Deck attempted to position the ship so that R.J. would drift into the fantail where the freeboard was low. Instead, he met the ship under the flared bow where he was injured by a wave that banged him into the bow cavity. Rescue swimmers suffered bruises and abrasions while saving the (now) injured Washington.

While all of this was going on, we received a message that two Japanese ships were floundering abut 20 hours away; too far for us to be of assistance. I never heard the outcome of those rescue efforts. On a more placid note: Two days later, (January 9, 1951) during the 0800-1200 watch, we experienced the oddity of a 360-degree wind shift. But that wasn't the last of our odd events.

It was a sunny day with light winds. Five-foot swells from the starboard side gave the ship a gentle roll. The starboard lookout reported that a torpedo was sticking in our hull below the water line. It looked like a steel cylinder about 6 feet long sticking straight out from the hull about 9 or 10 feet below the waterline. General Quarters! General Quarters! Anti-submarine battle stations were manned.

Sonar reported no contacts. Radar reported no aircraft in the sea. Damage Control personnel went below and reported no flooding. A diver was sent over the side to investigate. He reported to the Captain that our 'torpedo' was the forward bitter end of our own bilge keel (a 20 ft. long; 16" wide; 2" thick steel flange welded along both sides of the hull to dampen the ship's rolling action). It had been peeled back by the storms, forming a right angle with the hull.

Seven days later we tied up at Yokosuka.

Although the Bayonne and I were in the Korean shooting war after our weather station duty, no other 45 consecutive days matched the excitement of my first month-and-a-half aboard her - an odyssey which I came to think of as, "The Cruise From Hell!"