PART 1: THE ASSAULT ON THE LIBERTY

JAMES M. ENNES JR.

 ASSAULT ON THE LIBERTY 

The True Story of the Israeli Attack 

on an American Intelligence Ship 

Of the events of the war, I have not ventured to speak from any chance information, nor according to any notion of my own; I have described nothing but what I either saw myself, or learned from others of whom I made the most careful and particular inquiry. The task was a laborious one • • • 

Thucydides, History of the Peloponnesian War, i.c. (404 B.C.) 

Foreword 

by Thomas H. Moorer, Admiral, 

U.S. Navy (Ret.) 

This fifth edition of Assault on the Liberty should be read by all Americans even though it has now been eighteen years since Israeli warplanes and torpedo boats attacked for several hours a ship of the United States Navy. The ship was clearly identified, not only by its unique configuration but by a very large U.S. flag that was flown at the time. The weather was calm and the visibility was excellent. During this unprovoked attack 34 U.S. Navy men were killed and 171 wounded. Nevertheless, to this day the American public does not know why the attack took place and who was involved overall. 

In my opinion, the United States government and the Israeli government must share responsibility for this cover-up. I cannot accept the claim by the Israelis that this was a case of mistaken identity. I have flown for years in both peace and war on surveillance flights over the ocean, and my opinion is supported by a full career of locating and identifying ships at sea. Based on the way this tragedy was handled both in the United States and in Israel, one must conclude that there is much information that has not been made available to the public. 

The U.S. Fleet, positioned nearby, received a distress call from the U.S.S. Liberty, and one carrier dispatched a squadron to go to the defense of the disabled ship. Before the aircraft reached the Liberty, they received orders from Washington directing their return to their ship. Who issued such orders? So far, no one knows. In the United States all the information available to the U.S. government indicating those who participated in controlling this operation from Washington, together with the exact text of orders transmitted to the Mediterranean Fleet, has never been made public.[In the next post on this blog,a review of a new book on this subject,you will be given the answer to the question of who gave the order to turn back and why D.C.] 

I urge all those who read this very interesting book to call on the Congress to once and for all clear the uncertainties, speculation, and unanswered questions surrounding this tragedy.

Prologue 

The history of a battle is not unlike the history of a ball. Some individuals may recollect all the little events of which the great result is the battle won or lost; but no individual can recollect the order in which, or the exact moment at which, they occurred, which makes all the difference ••• But if a true history is written, what will become of the reputation of half of those who have acquired reputations, and who deserve it for their gallantry, but who, if their mistakes and casual misconduct were made public, would not be so well thought of? 

Wellington, Letter to a historian, August 8, 1815 

United States Technical Research Ship Liberty sailed from Norfolk May 2, 1967, on a routine patrol of the African coast. Five weeks later she was suddenly and overwhelmingly attacked in international waters by the air and naval forces of Israel. Her decks were strafed with machine-gun fire and scorched by napalm; she was crippled by rocket and torpedo damage; her life rafts, readied for survivors, were machine-gunned in the water. Thirty-four of her crew died; scores were seriously wounded. 

Even before the wounded were evacuated, a news lid went down over the entire episode. This story was not to be told. The Navy's own failures were never exposed or acknowledged, and Israel's fragile alibi was nurtured and protected. Israel claimed that the ship was at fault for being near the coast, for "trying to escape" after being fired upon by jets, and for not informing the Israeli government of her location; and our government tolerantly kept those assertions from public knowledge. Israel claimed that the attack resulted from mistaken identity, and our government quietly accepted that excuse. 

Three weeks after the attack, the Pentagon released the lengthy Summary of Proceedings of the Navy Court of Inquiry, but the report added little to the public knowledge and it failed to fix blame. 

Complaints came from everywhere. 

"The published [report] leaves a good many questions unanswered," said the New York Times. 1 

"This naval inquiry is not good enough," said the Washington Post 2 

"They must have known ... that Liberty was an American ship," said the Washington Star. 3 

" ... the action was planned in advance," said Drew Pearson and Jack Anderson.4 

"Only the blind--or the trigger happy-could have made such a mistake," said The National Observer. 5 

" ... the attack ... was deliberate," said California Congressman Craig Hosmer. "Those responsible should be court-martialed on charges of murder ... "6 

"How can this be treated so lightly? What complaint have we registered?" demanded Mississippi's Thomas O. Abernethy.7 

"The story has been hushed up," said Louisiana's John R. Rarick. 8 

Despite the outcry, the public affairs apparatus of the Defense Department succeeded in keeping most Liberty crewmen away from the press. Without witnesses to interview, the press had no story to tell. 

"These errors do occur," said Secretary of Defense McNamara in a report that neatly summed up the position of the Department of Defense. Senator Bourke B. Hickenlooper of Iowa pressed McNamara for a better explanation during a Senate Foreign Relations Committee hearing, but got nowhere. The attack was an "inexcusable error of judgment and professional tactics," the Secretary conceded, but he insisted that it was an understandable wartime error. 9 

Little more was printed anywhere about the Liberty affair. The crew soon dispersed and the ship was deactivated. I began taking notes, interviewing and corresponding with other survivors of the attack, and piecing together this story of what really happened on and around June 8, 1967. 

1. The New York Times, July 1, 1967. 

2. The Washington Post, June 30, 1967. 

3. The Washington Star. June 30, 1967. 

4. The Washington Post, June 16, 1967. 

5. The National Observer. July 3, 1967. 

6. Congressional Record-House, June 29, 1967, p. 17893. 

7. Ibid., pp. 17894-5. 

8. Ibid., September 19, 1967, pp. 12170-6.

9. Senate Foreign Relations Committee hearing, July 14, 1967. 

Chapter 1 

AFRICA 

SUDDEN ORDERS AND A PROPHECY 

The fear of spies seems to be endemic in every crisis in every military campaign. 

Alon Moorhetld, Gallipoli, 1956 

Liberty was a different sort of ship. A "Technical Research Ship," she operated alone, far from the rest of the fleet. The Navy said her task was to conduct research into electromagnetic phenomena, radio wave propagation and the like. Newsmen called her a "spy ship." [The Truth,but beside the point that it was attacked by a so called ally DC]

Hastily built for World War Two freighter duty, Liberty's keel was laid on February 23, 1945, by Oregon Shipbuilding Corporation, Portland, Oregon. Launched just forty-two days later, the ship was delivered to the Maritime Commission on May 4, 1945. As SS Simmons Victory, she was chartered under general agency agreement by Coastwise (Pacific Far East) Line, San Francisco, for service during the closing months of the war; after the war she performed routine supply duty for States Marine Lines, serving in both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. 

During the Korean War, Simmons Victory crossed the Pacific Ocean eighteen times to supply and support American forces fighting in Korea, and during the same period made countless shorter trips throughout the Far East, usually unloading her cargo at Suyong Bay, Pusan, Korea. Finally, in 1958, weary and streaked with rust, she was placed in the national reserve fleet in Puget Sound at Olympia, Washington. 

The Navy, though, had special plans for SS Simmons Victory. Technical Research Ships were being developed as part of an ambitious program of seaborne intelligence-collection platforms. First chosen for this duty were three old Liberty hull freighters, which in 1963 became Technical Research Ships USS Oxford, USS Georgetown and USS Jamestown. 

Next selected were two Victory hulls, eventually to become USS Belmont and USS Liberty. Acquired by the Navy from the Maritime Commission in February 1963, Simmons Victory was delivered to Willamette Iron and Steel Corporation, Portland, Oregon, for conversion to a Technical Research Ship. And it was no small task: the work required twenty-two months and cost twenty million dollars even before the installation of specialized equipment for the new role. 

The government has never revealed the mission of Technical Research Ships beyond an official statement that reads: "The mission of this ship is to conduct technical research operations in support of U.S. Navy electronic research projects which include electromagnetic propagation studies and advanced communications systems." 

Jane's Fighting Ships (the standard reference for such things) called the ships mobile bases "for research in communications and electromagnetic radiation," and added that they were "considered electronic intelligence ships." Indeed, despite the official double talk, Liberty and her sister ships were widely and openly known for what they really were. Merchants, bar girls and other ships' sailors called Liberty a "spook ship." Liberty sailors were called "spooks." And the compartment aboard ship where the "spooks" worked became known by non-spooks as "the spook shop." 

"Spooks," however, seldom acknowledged that there was anything special or different about their work, claiming instead to have quite ordinary, humdrum jobs. Even today, Liberty sailors are bound by stringent oaths of secrecy that severely restrict their freedom to discuss the ship's "technical research" mission. 

Technical Research Ships were named after American cities and towns. In 1963 America had sixteen cities and towns named Liberty, plus a number of burgs, villages, hamlets, comers and similar places; Liberty was named after all of them-and was the fourth ship of the line to carry that name. 

On April 1, 1964, Liberty was classified AGTR-5 (an auxiliary or noncombatant vessel of general or miscellaneous type assigned to technical research duty-the fifth U.S. naval vessel so classified); and on December 30, 1964, she was commissioned at Bremerton, Washington, Commander Daniel T. Wieland, Jr., in command. 1 

After sea trials and acceptance by the Navy, she was eventually assigned to Africa, where she would crawl endlessly along the coastline from Dakar to Cape Town and back to Dakar. Every few weeks she would stop for fuel and supplies, and on these occasions her crew would be permitted two or three days ashore at Monrovia or Luanda or Abidjan or occasionally further north at Las Palmas; but for the most part duty aboard Liberty was unexciting. 

Technical Research Ship duty was, however, considered "career enhancing," an appraisal that ensured ample volunteers from among those careerists willing to endure the isolation and family separation; and so, early in 1967, I called upon two friends, Lieutenant James G. "Jim" O'Connor and Lieutenant Commander David E. "Dave" Lewis, to see if there was a job for me in the ship's research ("spook") department. Family separation was not attractive to me, but career enhancement was appealing after a year of staff duty. 

I was impressed with the ship from the beginning. The quarterdeck watch was sharp-looking, alert, courteous and helpful. The ship was spotlessly clean in spite of being in a repair yard at the time. The crew was busy, friendly and good-natured. This was a happy ship, and I had the impression it was a good ship for duty. 

After an hour or so, O'Connor and I prepared to go ashore. "Oh, Mr. O'Connor," called the petty officer of the watch as we crossed the quarterdeck, "the executive officer would like you and your guest to stop by his stateroom before you leave." 

Lieutenant Commander Philip McCutcheon Armstrong met us at the door to his stateroom with his hand outstretched. "Hi, Jim," he said. "Call me Phil. What are you drinking?" 

Drinking? Drinking aboard ship was a serious offense. The ancient Navy prohibition of liquor aboard ship was violated by an occasional alcoholic or a particularly brave sailor, but casual drinking aboard ship was something new to me. Drinking by the executive officer was unheard of. 

"Lock the door," he warned. "Scotch?" 

No quick, warm shot from a contraband bottle for Philip. He drank only Johnny Walker Red Label scotch. Like a good host, he also offered bourbon, gin, a variety of mixes and fresh ice from an insulated bucket. And to assure that the ice didn't melt quickly in warm shipboard water, a personal water spigot dispensed ice-cold water piped in from a water cooler in the passageway outside. 

"Is the captain as loose and easygoing as the XO?" I asked Jim later. 

"No, not at all. Captain McGonagle is stiff and proper, and seems not to know that the XO drinks. The XO does about what he wants. He's the one that really holds the ship together." 

"Does he often drink in his stateroom?" I asked, although I thought I knew the answer. 

"Most of the time," Jim said. "During the day, while the ship is underway, he'll usually have a cold drink hidden in a drawer or under his hat on the desk. He says he always had a taste for booze, especially scotch, and claims he made a fortune at the Naval Academy selling booze by the drink to his classmates." 

"The Old Man is straight?" 

"Like an arrow." 

It was with some misgivings that I asked the Bureau of Naval Personnel to terminate my plush staff assignment in the Second Fleet flagship, heavy cruiser USS Newport News, and to transfer me to USS Liberty. At the same time, a Liberty officer asked for an early transfer, and my friends in Liberty asked the Bureau to approve my request. Weeks later I received orders to report for duty in time for the ship's summer deployment to Africa. And on May 1, just one day before her scheduled sailing from Norfolk, I relieved Lieutenant John Gidusko, Liberty's electronic material officer, to find myself in charge of the ship's division of electronic maintenance technicians. 

**************

Our Norfolk departure was delayed by a defective hydraulic line, which caused purple hydraulic fluid to leak down an antenna mast and allover a large section of deck. Shipyard technicians, known as "yardbirds" to my men, had been working for weeks to install new high-pressure piping. During the night the yardbirds had pronounced the work completed and walked off the job-all without the concurrence of anyone in authority and without testing the system under pressure. Now, when tested, the system leaked. 

The commanding officer, forty-two-year-old Commander William L. McGonagle,2 was already on the bridge preparing to get underway when I brought him the news. Mooring lines were singled up and we were only moments away from sailing when I asked him to remain in port for another few hours so that I could recall the workmen and seal the leaks. He was not pleased, but he agreed to stay. 

While the men worked, McGonagle summoned me to his cabin. "Now, this time," he told me, "I don't want any elaborate testing. I don't want any testing at all. If the leaks are not repaired this time, they are not going to be repaired until September, when we come back to Norfolk." 

McGonagle, it turned out, was what sailors call a "steamer"-a sailor who wanted always to be underway, "to steam." He longed for the sea and was noticeably restless in port. He simply would not tolerate being delayed by machinery that was not vital to the operation of the ship. No matter that the use and evaluation of the antenna system was an important part of our mission. 

The workmen left shortly before 1500, and Liberty was underway fifteen minutes later. As directed, I did not test the system until we were well away from Norfolk, and when I did check I was not surprised to find that it still leaked. These leaks seemed minor, though, and we were hopeful that we could control them ourselves. 

After several days of being tossed about in the stormy Atlantic, we reached the African coast and turned toward the ship's first scheduled port call at Abidjan, capital of the Ivory Coast. Liberty slowed to four knots, the lowest speed at which she could easily answer her rudder, and crawled south. 

Arriving at Abidjan, all of the officers and most of the men soon gravitated to the expensive but comfortable Ivorian Hotel, which we found to be a haven of hospitality in a grim and inhospitable city. Elsewhere in Abidjan we were either snubbed by arrogant Frenchmen or stared at by destitute native Ivorian's, but here we felt at home. Besides, the hotel boasted the only American-style hamburgers in Africa, and we took special pride in these, even at $3.50 each, since the hotel chefs had learned the art of American hamburger making from our own ship's cooks. In return for cooking lessons, the hotel offered modest discounts to Liberty sailors. 

On our second day in Abidjan, I returned alone about midnight from a dinner party held for Liberty officers by the American air attache. Leaving the taxi at the end of the dark pier, I walked toward the distant island of light that held the ship. From far down the pier I could see perhaps a dozen people clustered under a streetlight near the gangway. The air was still and heavy with moisture as the temperature hovered in the nineties. As I came closer I could see that . most of the visitors were young Ivorian women in Western dress, who stood about cajoling our sailors in fractured English. One very pregnant girl with a huge black escort stood apart from the rest and carefully surveyed each returning sailor. 

"What's going on?" I asked the petty officer of the watch as I came on board. A husky boatswain's mate, he wore a .45 caliber pistol in a holster at his belt. 

"Not much, sir," he said, pausing to chuckle at the scene ashore. "The pregnant one over there," he said as he pointed toward the quiet couple, "says one of our sailors knocked her up when we were here last trip. She's waiting for him so she can announce the good news. Says he'll marry her and make her an American." 

"Uh-huh." I nodded. "And where is the proud father?" 

"He's hiding in the compartment. We told her he went ashore; he's not about to go out there." 

"And the others are local business girls?" 

"Yes, sir. They do it standing up behind the packing crates for five packs of cigarettes when they can get customers. Our men just talk to them and tease them a little, but no one will go with them." 

*****************

In Washington, meanwhile, Lieutenant Commander Birchard "Bud" Fossett wrestled with the scheduling of Technical Research Ships. The political situation in the Middle East was getting dangerous, and Fossett's seniors in the Department of Defense wanted to move a Technical Research Ship into the eastern Mediterranean Sea, near the area of tension. Fossett sought out Lieutenant John "Terry" McTighe, who was a staff liaison officer recently moved to Washington after a tour of duty in Liberty's sister ship, USS Oxford. 

"I think it would be easy to do," said McTighe. "Liberty is in port in Abidjan." After some quick calculations, he added: "She could be in the eastern Med in about two weeks, if we could get the move approved quickly." 

Fossett and McTighe discussed the shift with McTighe's civilian boss, Francis A. "Frank" Raven. Then they gathered some other staff members and met with Raven's boss, the deputy section head. After long discussion, the group-except for Raven-agreed that Liberty should be moved. Raven insisted that the plan was unwise.[If I recall correctly Raven was NSA D.C] 

"The ship will be defenseless out there," Raven argued. "If war breaks out, she'll be alone and vulnerable. Either side might start shooting at her. The only way she would be safe would be to set up a special defense and intelligence system just to protect Liberty, and that wouldn't be practical. I say the ship should be left where it is."3 

Raven might have prevailed, but he was interrupted by a summons to a meeting elsewhere. The system churned on without him, and with no further objection the group agreed to recommend that the ship be moved. Final approval was sought from the section head, John E. Morrison, Jr., an Air Force brigadier general. Morrison asked many questions before consenting, but finally he agreed that the move was necessary and proper. Because the matter was urgent, he agreed to ask the Joint Chiefs of Staff to assume direct control of the ship. 

McTighe drafted the message. He assigned it "Flash" precedence, a speed-of-handling indicator usually reserved for enemy contact reports-and delivered it to supervisor Jane Brewer, who released it for transmission. 

**************

I poured a cup of coffee and stood talking with the men on watch. Time passed slowly as the ship's officers and most of the men straggled aboard. First came Captain McGonagle, who arrived alone and ramrod straight at about 1230, followed over the next half-hour by the remaining Liberty officers who piled out of mini-taxis in groups of three and four to negotiate the one hundred yards or so of pier, each in his own way. 

All the officers were aboard now, but I resolved to remain awake until most of the men had returned and the assembly on the pier had broken up 

"There's been a lot of heavy drinking lately," said the boatswain's mate. "Before our last trip there was an article in the paper by that woman prophet up in Washington-what's her name?" 

"Dixon? Jeane Dixon?" 

"Yeah, that's her, Jeane Dixon. Well, it was in the paper in Norfolk that Jeane Dixon said the USS Liberty was going to sink. That was before our last trip, and nothing happened, but a lot of guys were scared all trip. The night before we got to Monrovia last February it was really bad. A lot of guys slept on the main deck 'cause they were too scared to sleep below."4 

"They thought that was the night the ship would sink?" 

"Yeah, and they didn't feel any better when we didn't. A lot of guys think the ship is doomed. One guy in the deck force-they call him 'Greek' -is taking notes for a book he's gonna write, called The Last Trip of the USS Liberty or something like that." 

"And all this just because of one newspaper article?" 

"Well, after the article, everything that happens reminds people of the prediction. Like today, a steam pipe burst in the generator room and a lot of steam came out and there was a lot of noise. It was a while before the valve could be shut off because it was so hot and you couldn't see through the steam, but finally LeMay got it turned off,Bill LeMay, the second-class electrician. He was in sick bay, just had an appendix operation and wasn't supposed to be out of bed yet, but he went down there and got it shut off. Well, after it was all over I heard two guys talking. One guy says, 'We were lucky. I thought for a while that was the one that would sink us,' and the other guy says, 'Yeah!' So you can see a lot of guys are nervous." 

Traffic on the pier thinned out as we talked. Occasionally a lone sailor would come aboard, but mostly the area was quiet as the several Ivorian women and the one man stood silently watching the ship. A prostitute attempted to open shop in the shadow of the ship's truck parked near the gangway, but she was put out of business when the truck was moved under a streetlight. Finally, by four o'clock in the morning, most of our three hundred sailors were aboard and the girls were gone. The mid watch had been relieved by the morning watch. The pregnant girl was still standing her silent and rather sad vigil with her husky friend when I decided to turn in. 

I climbed the short ladder to the 01 level, one deck above the main deck, to the room I now shared with Jim O'Connor. Jim was the duty officer and had been the only officer aboard for most of the day. He was asleep now, and on call. My self-imposed long watch on the quarterdeck was quite unnecessary, I told myself as I lay in bed waiting to fall asleep. 

Suddenly the room filled with light from the connecting passageway as a sailor entered with a message for the command duty officer. Jim woke quickly, held the message in the red glow of a Navy flashlight, and then swore softly as he climbed out of his upper bunk and pulled on his trousers. The duty officer was often called for high-precedence messages or for other matters of ship's business, but it was relatively unusual for him to dash around in the middle of the night. 

"What's going on?" I asked. 

"You might as well get up," Jim said, ignoring my question. Snapping the bright room light on, he added, "We're going to sea," as he left the room to show the message to the executive officer. 

Still hoping that whatever the message said was less momentous than Jim seemed to think, I lay on my back with my eyes closed, trying to ignore the lights that Jim had left on and hating him for leaving them on. 

In a few minutes I heard the executive officer giving some sort of hurried instruction to someone. I couldn't hear the conversation, but the tone was urgent. As doors opened and closed and plumbing made gurgling noises where there had been only nighttime ship's machinery sounds, it became clear that something unusual was happening. 

As I groped sleepily for my shoes, Jim returned. "I thought you'd be up," he said. 

"I thought you'd tell me what's wrong, What's all the excitement about?" 

"It was a message from the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Whoever heard of JCS taking direct control of a ship? We're to get underway as soon as possible and make our best speed for Rota, Spain." 

"What for?" 

"God only knows. They didn't say. They just said that we'd get further orders at Rota." 

"When are we leaving?" 

"The captain expects to sail at 0700, less than three hours from now, and he expects to do it with all the crew aboard and fresh groceries too. It will be a busy three hours, but Captain Magoo usually gets his way."

Reveille sounded over the ship's general announcing system as I finished dressing. It was not yet 0430. 

Lieutenant George Golden, the ship's engineer officer, stood half dressed in the passageway outside his stateroom, lecturing the other officers. "Okay, you college pukes!" he cried as sleepy young officers passed by carrying towels and shaving kits. "I told you smart-ass college pukes we were going to war. This uneducated Smoky Mountain Jew is the only one here who knows what the hell is going on." 

Golden would not soon let anyone forget that he had been the first to foresee a Mediterranean cruise for Liberty. He knew from news reports that the Middle East was about to boil over, and he knew from having been aboard for three years that Liberty tended to go where the action was. "We're going to see the Pyramids," he had announced at breakfast. 

Forty-two years old, George Golden saw the world from a Navy destroyer before most Liberty sailors were born. He served in a dozen ships, saw more than two dozen major battles of World War Two, and was eventually commissioned directly from the enlisted ranks in 1960. Golden was not the oldest man aboard, but he had spent the most time at sea and was considered the "saltiest." Whenever Liberty crossed the equator, it was Golden who presided as King Neptune over the traditional crossing ceremony. Now he indulged in a favorite pastime, called "Harass the College Pukes." 

Soon the ship was alive with weary men who had expected to be allowed to sleep late and so were even less prepared than usual for middle-of-the-night reveille. But awaken they did. Most of them. Golden had gone back to bed. He and several enlisted men could not be roused, and they were allowed to sleep; but fully 95 percent of the crew were awake, dressed and ready for work ten minutes after reveille sounded. 

A few early risers were startled to see McGonagle on the quarterdeck, barefoot and in his underwear, orchestrating the many details of getting the ship underway. He paced about, barking orders, making telephone calls, and summoning officers and chiefs as though unaware of his appearance. There was much to be done. 

Our late-returning sailors had to be found. Philip Armstrong obtained the cooperation of the Ivorian police, then personally headed into town with the ship's truck and some sailors who knew the late-night haunts. Even in a city of 180,000 people, American sailors remain conspicuous. The last man was aboard within an hour. 

Fresh groceries had been scheduled for delivery late in the day through an arrangement with the American embassy. McGonagle called the embassy, and the groceries arrived before 0600, accompanied by an embassy representative to help with any other problems that might arise. Within a few minutes working parties were organized, groceries were carried below and stowed, the ship's vehicles were hoisted aboard and secured for sea, and all the lines were singled up, ready to be cast off.

Meanwhile, the ship's engines were lighted off and pressure was built up in the boilers to prepare the engineering plant for getting underway. At 0650, when the civilian pilot came aboard to guide us out of the tricky Abidjan harbor, the crew was at special sea detail and ready for sea. It was still dark as we cast off. The pier was empty. The pregnant Ivorian girl was not in sight.

***************** 

Few of the officers saw the message until we were at sea and gathered around the wardroom table for a late breakfast. Although relayed by and ostensibly "from" Commander Service Squadron Eight (COMSERVRON EIGHT), our "operational commander" in Norfolk, it was clear from the text and from other messages that this order came from the Joint Chiefs of Staff: 

MAKE IMMEDIATE PREPARATIONS TO GET UNDERWAY. WHEN READY FOR SEA ASAP DEPART PORT ABIDJAN AND PROCEED BEST POSSIBLE SPEED TO ROTA SPAIN TO LOAD TECHNICAL SUPPORT MATERIAL AND SUPPLIES. WHEN READY FOR SEA PROCEED TO OPERATING AREA OFF PORT SAID. SPECIFIC AREAS WILL FOLLOW.5 

Rota, 3,000 miles to the north, would require eight days of hard, full-speed-ahead steaming. 

Golden's lucky guess looked like a good one. Egypt and Israel had been scrapping for years; border clashes were routine; both sides were becoming increasingly belligerent as chances for peaceful settlement faded. Our station off Port Said would put us about a hundred miles from the Israeli /Egyptian border. 

Soon, however, we received further orders placing us even closer to the developing conflict. After leaving Rota, we were to proceed, again at "best speed," to the eastern shore of the Mediterranean, where we were to patrol a prescribed dogleg pattern just thirteen miles off the hotly contested Gaza Strip. From the beginning there was great fear among the crew that these orders were unwise, that tempers were too hot to permit a lightly armed, neutral intelligence vessel to patrol casually within sight of what could very soon develop into full-scale war. Officers tried to reassure the chiefs, chiefs tried to reassure the men, and we all tried to reassure each other, but everyone was uneasy about this assignment. 

Typical was Chief Petty Officer Raymond Linn. Chief Linn, due to retire that month after thirty years of service, loved the Navy and enjoyed the ship and didn't want to leave. In Norfolk he had begged for "just one more trip, one more liberty port," and somehow it was decided that he could return to the United States on one of the embassy flights in time to make his scheduled retirement date. So Chief Linn was still with us, and now even this old salt was concerned. 

We drank strong Navy coffee from oversized mugs in the communication center as he told me the story. The Navy was this man's life. He had been a sailor before Pearl Harbor and he had survived World War Two, but this mission was different. 

"I've never seen anything like this," he told me as he sat at his desk, checking messages for errors. "It's crazy to send an unprotected ship on an intelligence mission in a war zone. Spies just don't prance around like that in broad daylight near the front lines." 

"I'll bet the Joint Chiefs will pull us back if a war starts," I said. "If shooting breaks out, we should get a change of orders within two hours." 

"I hope so," he said, "but I wouldn't bet on it. I keep thinking that we will be a sitting duck, just begging to get our ass shot off, and I wouldn't even be here if I hadn't cried about how I wanted one more trip. I'd be home taking rocking-chair lessons. Wouldn't it be ironic if I got killed out here?" 

Chapter 2 

SPAIN 

Nothing is so unmanageable as a sailor, except by his own officers. 

Letter by unknown British Army officer, 

Walcheren expedition, 1809 

On June 1 we arrived at the U.S. Naval Station at Rota, intending to remain only long enough to take on fuel and stores. Liberty tied up quickly near the permanently stationed submarine repair ship, USS Canopus, and settled down to business. 

Waiting on the pier to meet us were three enlisted Marines and three civilian technicians, all sent to Liberty on temporary duty for her new assignment. Civilian Allen Blue from Rockville, Maryland, was quite unhappy about being here. "I got back from my last trip," he explained, "just in time to take my wife to the hospital to have a baby. She's still there. As soon as the baby was born I got called away on this trip. Hardly had time to say goodbye. Jesus! If I'd known working for the government would be like this, I'd have gone to work for General Motors." 

Soon fuel lines were connected to the pier. Trucks arrived, were unloaded and were replaced by more trucks. Long lines of perspiring sailors carried food and supplies below. 

Captain McGonagle was anxious, as usual, to get our business taken care of and get underway, so it was only reluctantly that he agreed to stay a few hours longer while the submarine repair crews helped stop another hydraulic leak in our new antenna system. This was the same apparatus that delayed our departure from Norfolk, and it had kept several of my men busy ever since. The temperamental contraption had been aboard for nearly a year and had never worked for more than a few hours at a time, so it was understandable that McGonagle had no patience with it. 

Purple fluid dripped from several hydraulic piping connectors. Any repair would be temporary, the submarine repair crews told us, because the shipyard had used low-pressure fittings that were never intended for our high-pressure system. Eventually, all the fittings would have to be replaced. Meanwhile, the men thought they could make some repairs that would get the system back in operation, if only for the time being. 

The antenna served an experimental communication system known by the acronym TRSSCOMM, for Technical Research Ship Special Communication System. Elaborate sensors, complex computers, sensitive hydraulic systems and a television camera with a powerful zoom lens all worked together to keep a sixteen-foot antenna dish aimed in the right direction on a moving platform that pitched and rolled unpredictably. Pronounced "triss-comm," the system beamed a 10,000 watt microwave signal to the earth's natural moon and bounced it back from the moon to a receiving station on earth. The highly directional signal would not give away the ship's position and would not interfere with incoming radio signals, as conventional radio transmitters would. But it was not dependable. We could communicate beautifully with Cheltenham, Maryland, whenever the system was in operation and both stations could see the moon; unfortunately, these conditions were seldom satisfied all at the same time.1

When it became clear that repair would be an all-night job, men were allowed ashore until midnight-a privilege known in the Navy as "Cinderella liberty." Over two hundred sailors streamed off the ship, most of them crowding into the small enlisted men's club operated by the Naval Station. 

As command duty officer this day, I soon became the only officer on board a quiet ship. The few men on board were mostly either on watch or catching up on sleep lost during previous watches. Even the men who had been working with TRSSCOMM were able to rest while replacement parts were machined on the submarine tender.

***************** 

Philip Armstrong, anticipating a long, dry summer, organized a "booze run" to one of the larger local liquor stores. Four officers squeezed into a tiny Spanish taxi for the short trip to town, and quickly bought four cases of whiskey. Lieutenant Lloyd C. Painter and the ship's doctor, Lieutenant Richard F. "Dick" Kiepfer, arrived in separate taxis in time to chuckle at the spectacle of Philip stuffing a final case of Johnny Walker Red Label scotch into an already overburdened cab, and watched the cab vanish in traffic as it headed back toward the Naval Station. 

Lloyd Painter and the doctor, reflecting a peculiar hunger, ordered two cases of Spanish Terry brandy, several cases of scotch and bourbon, and an assortment of wines, brandies and liqueurs, and waited while the proprietor brought the huge order in from the back of the store. While they waited, a man entered from the street and stood quietly by the cash register. He was a tall, lean man, conservatively dressed. Painter took him for an American. 

The proprietor returned with a loaded dolly and quoted a price in Spanish pesetas. Painter asked if he would accept dollars and the man said that he would. 

"He can't take dollars!" announced the heretofore silent stranger as the proprietor disappeared into the back of the store with the dollars that Painter gave him. "He can't take any American money," the man insisted. 

Painter, shorter than the intruder but broader and stronger, was in no mood to trifle with busybodies or pranksters, and chose to ignore him. 

The stranger became louder when the proprietor returned with the change, in pesetas, and began counting it into Painter's palm. It was obvious now that the man had been drinking. He must be drunker than he looks, or else he's crazy, they decided as they helped the liquor dealer push the loaded dolly toward the street. 

"No!" the man cried. "You can't take that! Look!" he said, flashing an official-looking ID card and badge. "I'm a U.S. government agent. You can't spend American money in this country. I'll have to place you under arrest!" 

Certain now that the man was a lunatic, and a half-drunk lunatic at that, the two officers ignored him as they continued to load the waiting cabs. There was scarcely room left for passengers as they climbed in. Painter was cramped and uncomfortable. Kiepfer's six and-a-half-foot frame didn't fit the tiny Spanish taxi under the best of conditions, and it took care and some pain for him to squeeze in among the cargo. 

They were astonished to see their antagonist standing in front of the store, waving his arms and yelling in a loud and nearly hysterical voice: "Help! Help! Call the police! Arrest these men! Help! Policel" 

"This guy is nuts," Painter called to the doctor. 

"He's drawing a crowd," said Kiepfer. 

"Back to the ship," said Painter to his driver. 

"Follow that cab," said Kiepfer in Spanish to his driver. 

As the cars started to move, the man stepped into the street in front of Painter's car, forcing the driver to stop. Then he threw himself across the hood of the tiny car and resumed his frantic call for police. Painter's driver, reserved up to this point, began waving his arms and yelling in Spanish. 

Dick Kiepfer remained in his cramped position overlooking the scene as Painter extricated himself from the besieged lead taxi. The stranger unfolded himself from the hood of the car as Painter approached with a shrug and a disarming look of apology. 

"Look, mister, we don't want to cause any trouble," he said as his knee came up hard into the man's groin. The stranger's eyes rolled back in his head as he fell unconscious on the sidewalk. 

"Let's go!" Painter yelled, ignoring the crowd that was rapidly gathering. 

"Wait!" insisted Kiepfer. "He could be hurt." Kiepfer was out of the cab now, fumbling with the man's belt with one hand while checking his pulse with the other. 

"He's okay. Now help me get his pants down," Kiepfer ordered as the astonished crowd murmured. Down came the stranger's trousers, revealing an enormously swollen scrotum that somehow assured the doctor that the man was not seriously injured. 

"He'll live," said the doctor. "Let's go!" Most of the populace of Rota seemed to be standing on that sidewalk as the men re-boarded the taxis and again ordered the drivers to drive.

**************** 

I finished a quiet dinner alone in the wardroom and was preparing to watch an ancient movie with the duty steward when a messenger came to announce in a ceremonial tone that "the officer of the deck requests your presence on the quarterdeck." 

A chief petty officer from the Naval Station stood on the quarterdeck talking with Chief Joseph A. Benkert, our officer of the deck. "Sir, I must ask you to recall your men," he said. "They're all crowded into the one little club. They're getting out of control. It's hot. There have been fights, and now they're throwing beer bottles. I'm afraid there will be real trouble if you don't pack them all back aboard." 

After talking with the chief for a few minutes, I told him that I couldn't recall the crew just because some of the men were difficult to handle. I explained that the men were restless after a long period at sea, and were apprehensive about the uncertainty ahead. Arbitrary recall now would be explosive, I told him. When he remained unconvinced, I offered to send men from the ship's duty section to supplement the already-beef ed-up shore patrol, and assured him that I would certainly abide by any orders from higher authority requiring the recall of our men. He finally agreed to return only individual offenders, and accepted my offer of four husky sailors to further supplement the shore patrol contingent. 

While we talked, Painter and Kiepfer drove onto the pier in their two overloaded cabs, where the presence of the shore patrol car alerted them to the gathering on the quarterdeck. Certain that the incident in town had preceded them to the ship, Painter walked back to Kiepfer's cab where the two officers discussed their predicament. 

In a few minutes they saw me leave the quarterdeck. 

"He'll not return. He's going back to see the rest of the movie," Kiepfer guessed correctly. 

A few minutes later they saw the shore patrol chief leave the ship with the four additional shore patrolmen that I had provided. Never one to miss an opportunity, Kiepfer approached the shore patrol chief. 

"Trouble with the liberty party, chief" 

"Yes, sir, a little trouble at the club. Nothing we can't handle." 

"Well," said Kiepfer, assured now that the shore patrol was not looking for him, "before you leave I'd like to borrow your men for a few minutes. We just got back with some of the ship's welfare and recreation liquor and need some help stowing it below." 

So Kiepfer turned apparent adversity to advantage. The shore patrol party carried two carloads of contraband liquor aboard ship and stowed it while the command duty officer watched a movie. 2 

***************

For the next few hours, weary, bloodied and beer-soaked sailors stumbled back aboard, many in the custody of the shore patrol, loudly profane and insistent that they were being abused. Our usually well-behaved crew seemed to be going crazy. 

Soon there were more signs of discontent. At about ten o'clock the messenger brought another urgent call for me to come to the quarterdeck. Chief Benkert was still on duty. 

"Big trouble, Mr. Ennes," Benkert announced. "Some nut is loose in the deck-force sleeping compartment with a loaded gun. He says he'll shoot anyone who comes near." 

Benkert and I inched our way into the darkened compartment to find a young black sailor cowering in a comer, frightened and unarmed. After some coaxing, he told us of being tormented by a group of bullies, and he surrendered the .22 caliber snub-nosed revolver he had hidden under some bedding, far from his reach. 

I promised to investigate the bullying charge, and offered to ask the captain for leniency if the man had been bullied as he claimed.Benkert arranged for a place for him to sleep, well away from his tormentors. 3 

An hour later I was called to the quarterdeck again as the shore patrol chief returned another batch of unruly sailors. He complained to me that sailors were now systematically throwing their beer glasses and bottles at the walls of the club as they finished each drink. Again I advised him to collar any troublemakers, but refused to order a wholesale recall of the crew. 

Men were coming aboard in groups of ten and twenty now. Many of the younger sailors were ill, arrogant and itching to fight. They were barely restrained by the more experienced men. The officer of the deck, with the help of his assistants, was keeping fairly good order under the circumstances as I watched from a distance. Suddenly someone cursed; pandemonium broke loose. Like a waterfront riot scene, nearly fifty men launched wild attacks upon whoever happened to be standing nearest. 

The ship's officers, led by the executive officer, arrived at this moment in two taxis. Lieutenant Commander Armstrong-yelling, "Wade into them! Hit 'em! Slug the sons of bitches!"-launched an attack through the center of the struggling mass. This counteroffensive by nearly a dozen relatively sober officers so shocked the men that they abruptly stopped fighting. Men stood in silence for a moment, confused and frustrated, and then sullenly made their way off the quarterdeck and down toward their sleeping compartments on the second deck. 

The XO and I stood alone a few feet from the quarterdeck. He leaned on a railing and stared out across the pier as though in deep thought. Finally he said, "You have to hit 'em. You have to wade in and just pound the crap out of 'em. It doesn't do any good to tell people to stop fighting. You have to knock them senseless." 

Although I did not agree, this was not an argument that I could win. Our conversation shifted to the morale of the men, the fighting ashore and the fear that seemed to be behind these things. Here was a crew that until recently had been happy and hard-working. Almost overnight they had become insolent, angry and antagonistic. 

"They're scared," said the XO. "Once we leave Rota, we don't know when we'll get mail, liberty, groceries or anything else. And with orders to Israel on top of that crazy Dixon prophecy, half the crew is convinced we're going to sink." 

Suddenly we were interrupted by a sharp cry from a chief petty officer. "Hey! There's a riot below!" 

Quickly rounding up most of the officers and several chiefs, Philip Armstrong led an angry half-dressed "police force" into the Research Operations Department sleeping compartment. There we found nearly a hundred men surging toward their imagined enemy, the deck-force sailors who slept in a forward compartment. 

Sharply barked orders were ignored or lost in the din as the mob thundered through an empty mess hall. Somehow Philip got ahead of the men, blocked a door, and collared the ringleaders. Many were larger and stronger than Philip, but none was willing to defy the executive officer. 

Sullenly, the men retreated to their sleeping compartment, where they were rudely ordered to bed. As a few half-drunk officers and chiefs bounded about the compartment to keep a hundred mostly very drunk sailors at bay in their bunks, the scene made me think of a lion cage at a circus. 

Some of the officers, clearly surprised and impressed with their own authority under the circumstances, raged about, badgering the men. One officer moved through the compartment, hounding men who were slow to get undressed. "You," he would say, "snap it up there." 

"Sir," a man replied, "why don't you leave us alone so we can get some sleep?" 

"Shut up and get in your bunk!" said the officer. "You're on report!" 

Was this the ship that had impressed me so recently with its high morale? 

The excesses of some of the "policemen" led men to hurl brazen wisecracks about the room, and these served to increase the abuse. Hoping that silence and darkness would restore order where "discipline" had failed, I quietly turned out the lights and crossed my fingers. In a few minutes all was quiet and most of the men were sleeping.

The deck force, meanwhile, slept peacefully, unaware of the aborted assault. The battle had been a one-sided affair. 

Late the next morning I reported to Captain McGonagle that the men of the submarine tender had completed their task. Working all night, they had machined some new high-pressure fittings to repair our worst leaks. Although we still had several minor leaks, the system now held adequate pressure and operated satisfactorily. Until the remaining leaks got worse-which was inevitable-they could probably be controlled with drip cans and rags. 

Next
THE MEDITERRANEAN
 

footnotes Chapter 1

1. Commander Wieland took the ship through her conversion, outfitting, commissioning, shakedown, specialized training and two African deployments. On April 25, 1966, he relinquished command to Commander William L. McGonagle and went on to assume command of Mine Division 44

2. See Appendix J, page 250, for an official biography of Commander McGonagle.

3. Frank Raven is no ordinary bureaucrat. In 1941 (according to David Kahn, The Code Breakers [New York: Macmillan, 1967]) twenty-seven-year-old Navy Lieutenant (jg) Francis A. Raven recovered the key pattern of the Japanese "purple" code. Building upon earlier work by noted cryptologist William F. Friedman, who had recovered the basic purple key, Raven discovered how the key was formed-the key to the key. With this knowledge, cryptanalysts could rapidly decrypt most of the Japanese "purple" messages, even those encrypted in daily keys that had not previously been solved. 

4. The reported prophecy was widely discussed among Liberty sailors, some of whom report reading it in The National Enquirer. The newspaper, however, was unable to identify the article for me. Jeane Dixon, in a letter to me dated October 30, 1974, denies that she has ever made any prediction about USS Liberty. Nevertheless, the belief was widely held among the crew that a prophecy was made, and the belief contributed to a feeling of unrest in the ship.
5. COMSERVRON EIGHT message 240020Z May 1967. 

footnotes Chapter 2
1. TRSSCOMM was the brainchild of Navy Commander William C. White, the deputy director for logistics on a Washington-based Navy headquarters staff. Commander White conceived the idea of adapting for shipboard use a discarded Air Force moon-relay microwave system; the system itself had been in operation for years, but using land-based terminals. White arranged to take custody of the surplus transceivers, appeared personally before a congressional committee to appeal for installation and redesign money, and then coaxed the first shipboard system into operation on USS Oxford (AGTR-l) in February 1964, after two years of work. Commander White was eventually rewarded for his effort with a Navy Commendation Medal and an accompanying citation that concluded: "The magnitude of this unique and most significant accomplishment places it in the front rank of historic happenings in the annals of Naval Communications." Nevertheless, the system never worked well on any of the ships. Although the design and concept were sound, no hydraulic system seemed capable of handling the heavy antenna for more than a few hours without leaking. In 1969, when Technical Research Ships were taken out of service, TRSSCOMM was allowed to die. A Navy communicator who had access to the final cost and traffic volume figures calculated that the few messages passed by TRSSCOMM cost taxpayers about five dollars per word.
2. Welfare and recreation liquor is liquor purchased by the ship's welfare and recreation officer for official ship's parties, which are always held ashore. What the shore patrol helped carry was not welfare and recreation liquor. 
3. Years later I learned that this incident was not the isolated case of racial unrest that it seemed at the time. Liberty men told me that three disparate factions existed among the junior enlisted ranks: Chicanos, who for the most part had several years' service and consequently held relatively senior positions; Blacks, who were mostly younger than the Chicanos and junior to them; and Whites, who were spread throughout the structure and were a majority in numbers but not necessarily in power or influence. The incident I observed was simply one outward manifestation ofa struggle that was usually of lower key, and was usually kept from the knowledge of officers and chiefs.