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1 The USS Wichita Naval War in the North Atlantic Hvalfjordur, Iceland, December 1941. A few minutes before midnight, as the sixth of December passed into history, I scaled the familiar six ladders from my stateroom to "sky forward," the weatherbeaten compartment housing the antiaircraft director in Wichita, where I stood watch as gunnery control officer. Half the five-inch, 38-caliber antiaircraft (AA) gun crews were at full alert with ammunition at hand; the ship was closed up for battle with one-fourth ofher crew on watch. Scores of other ships lay at anchor, scattered around the vast fjord, blacked out and invisible. Only the low conversation of the watch, almost inaudible over the pelting rain, broke the stillness. Not for many hours yet would the "Day of Infamy" dawn on the other side of the world in Pearl Harbor. My 0000 to 0400 watch gave no hint of the dramatic events then rushing to a climax in the Pacific. At our secluded anchorage just below the Arctic Circle, the chance of a surprise attack was remote. Rain, sleet, and fog made flying impossible; the steep fifteen-hundredfoot mountains ringing the fjord on three sides barred surface action; stout submarine nets across the sea entrance prevented U-boat penetration . The ready watch was the normal routine into which the ship had grown since ordered to Iceland with the first contingent of U.S. forces five months before. As I searched the skies from my station seventy-five feet above the sea, wind-driven needles of rain found every crevice in my salt-stained parka, stiff and crinkly from long exposure to sea and wind. Thoughts of war in far-off climes succumbed to immediate personal misery. My somber mood was hardly typical, but then neither were the surroundings. Despite the subdued throb of a complex warship and its seven hundred souls far below me, I felt not only completely alone but terribly lonesome. Wichita, a new heavy cruiser, had been my home since graduation from the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis on 1 June 1939. She was a gorgeous sight at sea: 650 feet long and displacing 16,700 tons, her eight boilers drove her through the water at 33.5 knots, about 40 miles 2 Submarine Commander per hour. Mounting nine 8-inch guns in three heavily armored turrets and a dozen five-inch, 38-caliber dual purpose surface and AA guns in twin mounts, plus new 1.1-inch AA mounts, we felt we could outrun anything we couldn't outgun. Experience would soon teach all navies that the antiaircraft and antisubmarine armaments were woefully inadequate, but at least we had the best available. Flagship of Cruiser Division 7, "the Witch" had been operating out of Iceland on the edge of the European-Atlantic war for five months. The summer months were splendid while the ship was in port. Long hikes or mountain climbs amid spectacular scenery, trout fishing in virgin streams, an occasional ball game or beer bust on the beach all made for a healthy, interesting life. Missing were liberty and the bright lights of city life. The nearest city, Reykjavik, was about thirty-one miles away and could be reached only by an arduous seven-hour journey over rough, boulder-strewn country lanes, which until a few months before might never have seen a motor vehicle. A duty destroyer made the round trip by sea about twice a week, taking all who cared to go as passengers. At the first chance we were anxious to give it a try. From the wardroom, Donald J. O'Meara, Marvin D. "Doc" Norton, and I, fellow ensigns, classmates at the Naval Academy, and close friends, made the trip in high anticipation. All we were interested in was sightseeing, a bit of shopping, and a cold beer before the trip back to Hvalfjordur. Shopping was a total waste. Ladies' fur-lined gloves were well made and inexpensive, if one had a special friend who wore size ten. The beer was the biggest disappointment of all. Iceland had been prohibitionist for many years. Beer could be bought only at the two main hotels in town, only with a full meal, only if one had a ration card. In no way deterred, we finally succeeded in buying a round-and only one. The label certified it to be less than 1 percent alcohol; the taste suggested it was brewed from tree bark, and there were few trees in Iceland...

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