With so many of the senior petty officers killed or wounded, many of the ship's vital stations had to be quickly reorganized. Junior petty officers and nonrated men stepped up, instinctively taking charge at battle stations suddenly undermanned and without leaders. As watertight doors were being closed throughout the ship, 22-year-old Petty Officer 2nd Class Rick Russell found himself alone in the LST's forward pumping station. Discovering little damage in the forward section of the ship, Russell made contact with the bridge by sound-powered phone, reported in and stood by for orders. Almost 30 years later, Branin still gives his youthful shipmate credit for reversing Wesco's list by 'doing exactly as he was told.'

Subscribe Today

• Did you enjoy our article?
• Read more in Vietnam Magazine
• Subscribe online and save nearly 40%!!!
 

Miraculously, there was still electrical power to the pumps and, with Branin's damage control officer relaying precise instructions, Russell began the complex process of deballasting the forward starboard tanks. While the captain held his breath, instructions were passed, valves opened and pumps started. As water was forced from the tanks, the rate of list began to decrease. Groaning, Wesco straightened herself out and slowly started rolling back.

Because of the darkness and devastation, a detailed investigation of the ship's condition was still extremely difficult, but with an hour and a half before first light, damage control and rescue efforts continued. Soundings indicated that the flooding was being brought under control as compartments next to the devastated areas were sealed off.

Over the next half-hour the situation began to stabilize, but deep within Wesco's mangled second deck berthing compartments, hospital corpsman John Sullivan knew only that there were wounded men still trapped in the destruction around him. After feeling his way through the choking darkness of the senior petty officers' quarters, Sullivan finally located his injured shipmates. Sandwiched between the remains of their bunks and tons of tangled steel, two sailors lay pinned in the wreckage. Sullivan hollered for help and began first aid.

Without light to work by, the corpsman treated his patients by touch. One of the wounded men was still conscious; a large, metal support hook had been driven through his arm. The other sailor wasn't making any noise at all. Sullivan probed the top of the man's head — it was mushy, but he was still breathing. Both sailors had multiple injuries. After treating their wounds as best he could, Sullivan was able to pry the men free and, with the help of an impromptu rescue team, evacuated them to a higher deck. According to Sullivan: 'We didn't obey a whole lot of first-aid rules on moving victims. At the time, it was just a matter of getting them the hell out of there.'

Of the 11 men quartered in the first class petty officers' berthing area, three had been in other parts of the ship on watch; five were killed outright. Sullivan and his two wounded shipmates were the only sailors to emerge alive from the compartment after the explosions.

After evacuating the wounded men from the remains of the first class quarters, Sullivan headed for the bridge to find out where else he was needed. Along the way, the hospital corpsman realized that his leg was still bleeding and what clothing he had been wearing at the time of the explosions was long gone. Sullivan was able to find a pair of pants and a pair of shoes that fit, but his leg would have to wait.

By now, every crew member still able was hard at work. As soon as it became evident the ship was not under sustained attack, Captain Branin released nonvital men from their topside battle stations to assist with rescue and casualty evacuation. Until blowers could clear the lower decks of vaporized fuel, the use of cutting torches was out of the question. Chain falls, pry bars, come-alongs and screw jacks were used to free men trapped in the wreckage. Battle lanterns and portable lighting equipment provided illumination. On the ammunition-laden tank deck, an attentive fire party stood by with hoses at the ready while sailors gingerly went about the work of collecting damaged ammunition, gently setting it aside until it could be disposed of.

Help HistoryNet by bookmarking to