In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Starting in the 1990s, Tim Woodham spearheaded the collection of survivor statements from his shipmates—statements that proved crucial to me in telling this story. Leonard Bohm took my manuscript to the 2002 reunion of Liscome Bay’s survivors in Hannibal, Missouri, and shepherded their review of its pages. Francis Daily, Don Cruse, and James Beasley had the foresight to put their experiences down on paper in memoirs of remarkable detail, insight, and candor. Their accounts formed the backbone of my manuscript, which was in turn ®eshed out by the military records held by the National Archives and the Naval Historical Center. Robert Cressman of the Naval Historical Center kindly reviewed my manuscript and played an essential role in whipping it into shape. He also helped me with the biography of Liscome Bay’s executive of¤cer, Commander Finley Hall, and assisted me in identifying medals awarded to members of the crew. Jeffrey Barlow, also of the Naval Historical Center , generously reviewed my manuscript and provided invaluable assistance . Sarah Churchill of the United States Naval Academy provided copies of Lucky Bag yearbook entries for many of the academy graduates who served on the Liscome Bay. In Birmingham, Kara Till read the manuscript in its earliest stages and provided valuable encouragement. The same can be said for my father , James Noles Sr., former brigadier general, U.S. Army, who reviewed the manuscript and offered incisive and helpful critiques. Thanks are also due to General Alfred Sanelli and Amy Tennison at the Valley Forge Military Academy, who provided me with the photographs of the academy’s stained-glass windows, and to David Ireland, of the Friends of Borderlands, who provided the photograph of Lieutenant Commander Oliver Ames. I also owe debts of gratitude to Cheryl Belding, who placed me in touch with Maxsy Homec, and especially to Ronald Wiltsie and Ronald Wiltsie Jr., U.S. Navy veterans themselves and the sons of Captain Irving Wiltsie. They provided, among other items, the photographs of Irving Wiltsie. I have credited all sources of the photographs in this book, but I still want to emphatically thank everyone who helped me obtain them. Of course, all of this work would have been in vain had it not been for the staff and editorial board of the University of Alabama Press, who xvi / Preface believed in this project and in the need to tell the story of Liscome Bay and her crew. As always, thanks to my wife, Elizabeth, who endured an unkempt lawn, unwashed cars, and my long nights at the keyboard as I worked to complete my manuscript. Nevertheless, she remained a rock of faith and a font of good nature throughout the entire project. And thanks to young James as well, who quietly and good-naturedly sat in his “pack-nplay ” and high chair beside my desk throughout much of this project. Preface / xvii Prologue: Unbehagen’s Dream The hands on Seaman First Class James C. Beasley’s wristwatch showed midnight. It was time for the midwatch on the quiet American escort carrier Liscome Bay (CVE-56)—midnight to 4 a.m. in civilian time, 0000 to 0400 in military time. Leaving the darkened crew quarters, Beasley joined shipmate Signalman ’s Mate Third Class Peter E. Unbehagen and headed above decks. Both men, still shy of their twentieth birthdays, were signalmen assigned to Liscome Bay. Beasley hailed from North Carolina, where he had left his ¤rst year of college to join the navy, and Unbehagen was a native of Louisiana. Despite their different backgrounds, the two young men had become good friends. That was typical of the ship’s signal shop. Led by capable of¤cers, it was a taut, happy out¤t. The signal shack was located on the carrier’s island, near the bridge. Once inside, Beasley and Unbehagen noted appreciatively that a fresh pot of coffee was brewing for them. They relieved the two sailors standing watch before them and signed in on the watch’s log. Beasley and Unbehagen dated their signatures November 22, 1943, and settled in for what they hoped would be a quiet watch. As signalmen, they had been in a better position than most of the other enlisted men on board to follow the unfolding events of Operation Galvanic—the American invasion of the Gilbert Islands. As Beasley and Unbehagen stood watch, they knew the marines were still locked in a vicious struggle ashore at Tarawa, where the outcome was still in doubt, and that the...

Share