It was a dark night, with long swells running. The U.S.S. Boise, knifing along at 25 knots, was part of a cruiser column, screened by destroyers, sent to head off a Jap landing force in the Solomons. Suddenly there were enemy ships to starboard.
Over the Boise's telephone jut-jawed Captain Edward J. ("Mike") Moron spoke to the spotter in No. 1 position: "How many ships have you spotted?"
"I have five in sight, sir."
"Pick out the biggest one and fire."
As the battered Boise came home for repairs last week, the U.S. people could add Mike Moran's seven words to the small and oft-repeated catalogue of their heroes' laconic battle phrases. They were better words, perhaps, than John Paul Jones's "I have not yet begun to fight," better, certainly, than Commodore George Dewey's pale and measured, "You may fire when you are ready, Gridley." They mirrored the tempo of 1942's savage fighting, they caught the spirit of a confident U.S.: the bigger they are the harder they fall.
One-Ship Fleet. The Boise was a tired ship as she nosed up the Delaware River to the Philadelphia Navy Yard. Patchwork covered a gaping hole in her hull, her tall mast was scorched by flame, great blisters of paint bulged from her stanchions. Hundreds of shell fragments had scarred and pocked her. But she moved proud and unfaltering through the early-morning haze. In the Solomons that terrible night in October, she had slugged it out with six Jap warships, had taken everything they threw at her, had lost 107 of her men and all of her beauty—but every one of the Jap ships is now at the bottom of the sea.
No human hero of World War II ever received a more rousing welcome. River boats tootled their greetings, sailors swarmed over the decks of adjoining ships to wave and yell at her, thousands of workmen set up a cheer. A bosun piped lean Admiral Ernest J. King, COMINCH, aboard; he grimly surveyed the damage, examined the six Japanese flags painted beneath her bridge. Said he: "Well done." Said grinning Captain Mike Moran: "She's a grand ship."
Twenty-seven Minutes of Hell. Mike Moran had always gone on the theory that a light cruiser like the Boise, when caught in heavy action, was expendable. Try to stay afloat for 15 minutes and do all the damage you can. The Navy's communique told how the Boise had done its damage:
"The Boise made out six enemy ships [the first spotter had missed one]. . . . Captain Moran laid his main batteries on the leading heavy ship . . . then he gave the order to fire. In a matter of seconds the first target was lit up. ... The Boise's guns hit her again & again for four minutes and she sank, going down by the bow with her screws still turning.
"In the meantime splashes from the Boise's lighter guns were observed on either side of a smaller ship. Shortly this ship could no longer be seen, although the shell splashes were still visible. . . . One minute later the Boise had her main batteries trained on a destroyer. This ship exploded and disappeared after one minute of the Boise's murderous fire.