Free Down to the Sea by Bruce Henderson

composition.
    Only five ships in Burke’s squadron were operational; Foote and Thatcher were on their way stateside for major repairs, and Stanley was alongside a tender undergoing needed work. That left Charles Ausburne, Dyson, Claxton, Converse, and Spence —and Burke hadn’t been sure about Spence due to problems with one of her four boilers, which was unable to generate steam. Burke’s point-blank question to Armstrong before departing was whether Spence ’s skipper wanted to come along on the mission or stay behind and have the boiler fixed. “Please, Arleigh, we want to go!” Armstrong had pleaded, promising that by cross-connecting his propulsion plant Spence would lose no more than 3 or 4 knots of speed.
    Burke well knew that Armstrong was suggesting a violation of regulations, which specified that a ship in combat should have her propulsionsystem “split” so that if one half was knocked out, the other half could still power the ship. But with the squadron already shorthanded, Burke agreed.
    En route to Bougainville, Burke was asked by Halsey’s headquarters for his location and speed. In his answering radio message, Burke reported a speed of 31 knots, which seemed odd to Halsey’s staff since Fletcher -class destroyers were capable of reaching 35 knots. The next message from Halsey’s command—written by Halsey’s operations officer, Captain Harry R. Thurber—was addressed to “31-Knot Burke,” which was a “gentle reproach” to Burke from his old friend (and onetime squadron mate) for proceeding on an urgent mission at something less than top speed. For better or worse, “31-Knot Burke” was a sobriquet that would famously stick with Arleigh Burke all his life, and one that the press and public would long and erroneously assume was a tribute to his blazing speed rather than a “sardonic rib” for his slowness.
    Arriving 55 miles off the west coast of Bougainville two hours before midnight, Burke, “with true instinct for the chase,” decided there was a better chance of intercepting the Japanese ships if he patrolled farther to the northwest. Under overcast skies and frequent showers, Burke proceeded with his destroyers into hostile waters and airspace nearer Rabaul than “any Allied surface craft had penetrated since the Japanese had seized that port.”
    At 1:42 A.M. , approximately 50 miles southeast of New Ireland’s Cape St. George, Spence reported a surface radar contact ahead at 22,000 yards. It was the initial contact with what would turn out to be a column of five enemy destroyers en route from Buka to Rabaul on the evacuation mission. Betting that the enemy was not yet aware of his presence—most Japanese warships did not yet have radar, and although their crews were experts in nighttime gunnery, they faced “a foe with long-range vision”—Burke allowed the distance to close over the next fifteen minutes. He then ordered his ships into position for a torpedo attack and launched fifteen deadly “fish.” The torpedoes had an estimated run time of nearly five minutes to target—“a wait that stretched suspense to the limit of endurance.” Right on cue, “detonations boomed” and “orange flamespouted against the sky.” The destroyers Onami and Makinami, screening for a column of three other destroyers astern, were caught completely by surprise and set afire. Burke sent Spence and Converse to finish off Onami and Makinami while he went “in hot pursuit” with the rest of the Little Beavers for the other column, now running desperately for the sanctuary of Rabaul.
    In a stern chase, the pursuers normally can bring only their forward guns into play, as the rear guns cannot fire past a ship’s superstructure at a target off the bow. Burke, however, fishtailed his ships several times—sacrificing forward speed for firepower—in order