by Deborah Burst
As decades fade away, we often long to find our roots and pay homage to those who came before us, to honor the men and women who fought to save our freedoms. Many veterans politely tuck away the tragedies of war—to protect their families, to maintain their sanity, or perhaps as a social grace to move the country forward. The postwar traumas of World War II, horrific flashbacks of Vietnam, the violations of 9/11, and the murderous terrorism in the Middle East have forced many of our veterans to retreat, holding back treasured stories of courage. But as our WW II heroes slip into their golden years, some brave souls are starting to share intimate details of how they survived war’s most tragic battles.
I grew up in a military family, a navy brat until my teen years. I have a special appreciation for anyone who serves our country, but my father-in-law, Walter Burst, touches my heart like no other. He and many men like him have an incomparable modesty: They considered it an honor to serve their country, refusing medals and special recognitions. “It was our job; we all risked our lives,” says Burst. “Why should I be singled out when many of my friends died next to me?”
My husband and I tried many times to break his silence, requesting interviews for our children’s school projects. We gathered bits of history, but never saw the raw emotion of war. And then one day, the warmth of a lifelong friend melted the heart of Walter Burst, and the 60-year-old secret began to unfold.
Burst recalls his lifetime friend, Johnny Johnson, and their years growing up in New Orleans playing along the river, climbing the oak trees, just being boys. “Me and Johnny, we went through 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th at St. Henry. We grew up on Napoleon and Magazine, friends since five years old. He and I was best buddies.”
Both men now live in Mandeville. Johnson fondly remembers his childhood friend, and, perhaps in a desire to leave a legacy of truth, broke decades of silence to reveal an extraordinary war story. “I’ll do it for Walter, if that’s what he wants. I love that man,” says Johnson.
They were inseparable from boyhood to manhood, playing and learning. At the age of 17, they joined the navy, getting special permission from their fathers just months after the brutal attack of Pearl Harbor. “Nobody thought anything different,” says Burst. “Everyone wanted to go fight for their country. It’s just what we did.”
Burst recalls how they had target practice at boot camp, and he was proud of his results. “I came the closest to the target, but didn’t realize it would mean I’d be behind a gun.” They trained together in Great Lakes, Illinois, but were separated when Burst joined a destroyer and Johnson a fleet tug.
Assigned to 20-millimeter machine guns, Burst was a seaman first class on the Aaron Ward, a Bristol Class destroyer. Reflecting back on the battle years, he recalls the times the ship would ride monster waves like a roller coaster, sending all the men to the nearest bathroom. “I never got seasick, not once. I just got to eat more Spam.” There were days when the ship would run low on supplies and food would be scarce. But many times, there wasn’t time to eat, and their bodies ran on pure adrenaline. “A lot of guys were scared, not knowing when you’re going to go,” recalls Burst. “I was never afraid. Bullets whizzing by my head, I saw fear all around me, but I never knew fear. I always knew someone would take care of me.”
Then why the 60 years of silence? Burst recounts the horror of the Ward’s final battle. On April 7, 1943, the Ward sighted a dog fight over Savo Island and tracked a course south over Tulagi. Japanese bombers littered the sky, diving in close, spraying bullets across a deck full of American sailors. The Ward fought back, opening with her 20-and 40-mm guns and her five-inch battery. The enemy planes went straight for the jugular. Bombs rained down, tearing holes in the side of the ship, crippling the engine room and the guns.
Just four 20-mm guns stood between the Aaron Ward and the barrage of Japanese bombers. Burst feverishly emptied his shells, swinging in every direction as his gunner mates hovered around him delivering the belts of ammunition. He paused for a moment and shook his head, trying to empty it of the horror surrounding him. “I saw men drop dead all around me. One by one the planes would pick them off. I kept firing away, never knowing if I would be left alone.”
The skies were black with smoke, and the humming of enemy planes deafening. “There were so many of them. It seemed liked hundreds, when all we had was four—four guns,” says Burst. “It’s hard for me to talk about it—hard to defend ourselves against them.”
Another storm of bombs pelted the Ward, hitting her port side, destroying power to the rudder and disabling the navigation system. A wounded animal unable to move or fight, the Ward was helpless as a trio of enemy planes swarmed in for the kill, hurling their bombs on the defenseless destroyer.
And then the explosion! Like the Titanic, the deck tilted back, sinking in 160 feet of water. Chilling screams of terror flooded the air as men slid to their deaths while others jumped to the waters below, fighting to balance themselves on tiny pieces of debris. The explosion threw Burst overboard, rendering him unconscious and driving shrapnel deep inside his back. His nearly lifeless body floated atop a ragged piece of wood.
Two disabled ships sandwiched the Aaron Ward, adding to the chaos. Pieces of wartorn vessels lay scattered across the water, while hundreds of men bobbed up and down in a battlefield of hungry sharks. The nearby fleet tugs quickly launched their whale boats to rescue the floating sailors.
As they scanned the surface, they spied a body barely floating and called out, praying for a response. Rocking helplessly on the ocean waves, Burst tried to focus on the distant voices and the images spinning inside his head. And then he heard a piercing cry filled with panic, “Walter, Walter—hurry, get in fast.” Weakened with injuries, he struggled to open his eyes, not believing what he saw. It was an angel, an angel of mercy—Johnny Johnson!
“I tried to grab him, but he slipped through my hands,” says Johnson. Another mighty yank, and Burst flopped over the side into the boat. “There were men everywhere. We spent all night picking up survivors, all the way to daylight,” explains Johnson. Later, the Aaron Ward sank, stern first, in 40 fathoms of water, only 600 yards from the shore. She was awarded four battle stars for her World War II service.
Johnson visited Burst in the hospital, pleading that he go stateside. “You gotta go back to the states,” said Johnson.
“No, I’m not. I want back on a ship. I want to get on the Saufley.”
An officer learned of Burst’s request and cleared the way for him to finish his navy service aboard the USS Saufley. “It was the happiest day of my life,” says Burst. The Saufley was one of the most decorated destroyers of the war, with 16 battle stars.
The war ended, and the two buddies lost touch until some forty years later. Then Johnson, who was living in Abita Springs, visited a friend in Mandeville who took him across the street to meet a neighbor. Burst was out in the yard with his wife when he heard a voice. “That’s not Mr. Burst, that’s Walter,” exclaimed Johnson.
For the next couple of years, they stayed in touch, both attending each other’s fiftieth wedding anniversary celebration. After Johnson’s wife died, he moved away to Mississippi, but he has returned once more to live in Mandeville. Due to failing health, the men find it difficult to visit, relying on relatives for transportation. But they still hold the passion and energy their friendship brings as they both recount their love for each other.
“I love that man to death,” says Burst. “I think about him every day.”
“We were together all of our lives,” says Johnson. “I miss him a lot.”
|
Home | Advertising Information | Archive of Past Issues | Contact Us
