“LIGHTS! SHOOT!”

Evening Star, Issue 18714, 16 August 1924, Page 12

“LIGHTS! SHOOT!”

!N THE TURRET OF A BATTLESHIP. HOW THE BIG GUNS PRACTISE. Down Wow, in a space full of humming machinery and heat, a blue-clad engineman tamed away from his dials and ' indicators. “Well, when do we 'shoot?” he inquired of a fellow-engineman, as he wiped his sweating face with a piece of oily waste.

“Damfino; we’re making eighteen knots now,” came the reply. They were preparing, they and the other 1,000 odd' men and officers on the ship, for big-gun target practice. Within the space of a few minutes, with , tons of steel sent screaming from the big guns in the turrets above, the test would be made of a year’s training on one of the battleships of the American navy. , Actual warfare could hardly cause mors tension and excitement. Sometimes there is tragedy, too. Three officers and forty-five men lost their lives, and scores were injured, in an explosion in a turret on the battleship Mississippi at target practice off the coast of Southern California on June 14. The tragedy was one of the most frightful ever experienced by the American navy in peace time, and official inquiry is now on to determine the. facts and fix tho responsibility. Considering tho tension, the demand for speed in firing, however, as described by mi officer aboard one of the ships under test, it may seem strange to tho layman that such tragedies are not of more frequent occurrence. Ensign Harry, P. Smith, aboard the Tennessee, which was with the Mississippi in the recent mameuvres. tells in outline tho story of the firing aboard his own ship, and the Baltimore ‘ Sun ’ publishes his dramatic account. From the engine-room he turns to the steering-room, where

An electrician walked around watching I a clanking little motor that would spin a j few times and then reverse itself in obedi- j ence to the will of the helmsman at the j conn above. Two large motors went . quietly about their business of handling , the rudder, with the assistance of their | noisy little brother, A group of seamen sat 'in one corner near a controller. _ One j had a telephone on, and was watching a compass close at hand. " Officers call’ sounded on a loud-speaker overhead. All jumped up, and their eyes brightened. “Five minutes, and the tiring point.’’ | said the man with the telephone, and an- i other remarked that he'd be glad when j they secured. I “Aw, pipe down; don't you know we j arc going to lire this time?” was all he j got for his pains. In the conning tower no one said a word. The captain moved around, squinting continually through the tiny slits at the flagship ahead, on which the signal to open fire was flying. The navigator busied i himself with a plotting-sheet, and the, I helmsman kept his eyes glued on the com- j pass. The fire control booth was equally | dlent. Several men, wearing head phones, 1 stood around, and the gunnery officer watched, through a periscope, that signal i on the. next ship. The plotting room was crowded with j men, some busy at their instruments, j others merely watching the observers. The 1 plotting room officer scribbled away at a | theet working a “ ballistic.” and two other | officers leaned over large boards on which ! some men were plotting ranges. From time to time one would look up and say “Five eight,” or “Five five,” and a man sent the cryptic message over a phone- and an indicator. Two more officers leaned over large box-liko machines covered with dials, and one kept telling the other the ranges. On the bulkhead four lights showed, and someone said: “Signal is dying.” It teemed as though one could feel the tenseness as the same man called: “Stand hyl” The officer giving the ranges j straightened up. “Give it another 50 I and let her go,” and lie held his breath. A group in the top were set and waiting. The spotter had his eyes on that little red flag 600yds away; the trainer and director-operator were watching the target through their telescopes. On the bridge up ahead a man raised his arms to the halyard,, and almost as he did so the jpotler shouted “Execute” over the phone. Back came the order “Commence firing,” and an indicator that had been reading “Cease” snapped to “Fire.” At last it had come, that order “ Commence firing 1” Hundreds of limes in drill it bad come, sometimes hurriedly, sometimes loudly, but never before' so coolly nor so pcnetratingly. “ Commence firing!" 'For six weary months of drills all hands had been wailing for that order. They had patiently and painstakingly ; drilled, sometimes in not such a good i humor, hut always with the one idea in 1 mind—to be ready when the time came. And now the time had come, and the j watches began ticking off the seconds. “ Shoot!” from spot one. Two lights | blinked in the buzzer circuit. Another light—a flame and a roar shot from each i gun. “Spot one fired” came over the phone. “Switchboard fired.” “D.C. i one-o-nine-fm.” “Plot check.” Twelve 1 shells were whining as They sped toward the far-off target, while the men in the turrets were working as they never worked 1 before in an effort ,to got another load ready that the second salvo might not he held up while the first landed. j Hardly had the guns slid back into posi- i lion after the recoil when the open breach : •was up in front, of the loading tray. Down went the tny, reaching far into the gun, I as one of the crew called; “Bore clear!” With a whir of gears and a grind of a chain a long arm of the rammer shot out 1 behind the shell, and away it went, sliding down the tray and in the gun. A clank of the powder car, and almost as the rammer head was backed clear it i started to push home two bags of powder j that had been dumped in front of it. | Once agajn did it drive in the powder, and j the gun captain closed his breech. .Down into-the pit it went ns the pointer elevated, and all hands jumped clear. Then—"“Lights! Shoot!” A pause, and another flame and roar as 1 the snip trembled from the shock. On all stations absolute quiet prevailed, except t for Hie neecssary orders or information. | “Control spot, right-o-one!” and the third salvo was ready. Away it went, and after it, others followed until the guns had roared for the last time, and the “ Cease fire ” gongs had rung. 1 The first query on all lips was: “What’s the time?” And when the word came, “ Time, three minute,? and twenty-one seconds,” all were happy. They all had been confident they could do it, and now it was done —a world record. From the Tnen on the range finders, whose accurate \nd careful work had put the first salvo jn, through the turrets’ crews, whose speed in loading had made possible the rapid fire, and the plotting room, where men fiad worked with precision, to the tops where the actual firing had taken place, spread a general smile of satisfaction..

And with a flatter of signal flags a message came: “Unofficial,” to Captain M'Namee, from Admiral Wiley, “you are a fast worker.” But that “you” did act mean Captain M‘.Names alone; it meant hundreds of men who at long and tiresome drills had worked that the three minutes and twenty seconds’ time might he possible. It meant a large group of officers who had faithfully and conscientiously prepared themselves, their men, and their material that they might not be found wanting when their time came. It meant a gunnery officer who, through a great discouragement and doubtful prospects, had held his head high, and with a commendation here or a cautioning there had led his men on to success. But above all things that “you” meant the Tennessee, not the ship alone nor the men alone, hut the ship and men and their spirit, ilivun a chance, the three came* through, and tlwy came through with a hang.