I had decided at an early age to follow in the wakes of my father and grandfather, both of whom were officers in the Dutch merchant marine. When the time had come in the 1930s for me to begin realizing my ambition, prospects in the merchant navy were deplorable. During those years, the international political situation deteriorated to the point that the Dutch government—having neglected the Navy and the Army since 1918—decided at last to strengthen its defenses. I joined the Royal Netherlands Navy in 1936 as a midshipman.
In August 1939, just before World War II broke out, I was commissioned as a line officer and served some time in IJmuiden, the harbor on the seaside of the Noordzeekanacd that connects Amsterdam with the North Sea. As an investigation officer in a pilot boat off IJmuiden, I remember listening to Adolf Hitler making one of his ominous speeches on the radio just before he ascended to power.
Usually, newly commissioned officers were ordered to the Netherlands East Indies, where the Navy had its main task in those days, but the outbreak of the war kept us at home. During the “phony war,” however, things settled down somewhat and most of us were once again earmarked for service in the Far East. I was booked on a passenger liner to depart the end of April 1940. Although that month the Germans invaded Denmark and Norway, my orders did not change.
On 10 May, when my ship was crossing the Indian Ocean, our captain informed the crew and passengers that the Germans had invaded our country. When we arrived in Batavia (now Djakarta), Java, the Germans had already occupied Holland. I was directed to join the destroyer HNMS Banckert; I was 20 years old.
This part of the world was still comparatively quiet, but before long it became the stage of a tremendous struggle. The European war was far away, but our Navy was busy, nonetheless. We had to guard against German raiders and auxiliaries reported to be operating in the Indian Ocean and expected to pass through the archipelago to reach safe ports to the north, especially in Japan. We also had to try to catch merchant ships trying to slip through.
We often escorted our own ships engaged in inter-island trade, and did the same later for Dutch and Allied ships in the Western Pacific. Many reports proved false, so we sometimes covered great distances in vain. Incidents with German, Italian, and Vichy French vessels were few.
The situation in Europe gave the Japanese the opportunity to step up their efforts to create the “Greater East Asia CoProsperity Sphere.” The Netherlands East Indies was among their main candidates to play in this scheme.
HNMS Banckert was part of a task force commanded by Rear Admiral Karel Doorman that consisted of three light cruisers, six destroyers, and a number of submarines and naval aircraft. The different tasks allotted to our fleet compelled Admiral Doorman to divide his forces into small groups of varied composition that usually operated at great distances from each other. We had almost no opportunity to participate in large-scale exercises.
Not until March 1941 did two of our destroyers and one submarine participate in exercises with the Royal Navy off Singapore. During these operations, I underwent training in Asdic (sonar) at a shore establishment with a few other officers and enlisted men. As we had no knowledge about this type of equipment, the course was quite an eye-opener. The assignment was extremely hush-hush, and we had to wear civilian clothes.
I was the most junior line officer on board, and the captain and my colleagues saw to it that I earned my very modest pay. Of course, I stood my watches. Moreover, I was at the disposal of the gunnery officer and the navigator, and during free nights I was on standby for decoding secret messages. I commanded our landing party and took on several other minor tasks. I do not want to give the impression that I led a dog’s life, because I was quite happy. But they certainly kept me busy.
During the morning watch of 8 December 1941 a sailor called me with an urgent secret message. After decoding it, I woke my captain with the news that Japan had attacked Pearl Harbor and other U.S. and British possessions, and that both countries were at war with the Land of the Rising Sun. A few hours later, we heard that the Kingdom of the Netherlands had also declared war. The increased tension we had been living under was now more or less broken. This development was at the same time tragic, yet a sort of relief; we were not alone. The United States was with us now. British naval forces in the Far East had just been strengthened by the arrival in Singapore of HMS Prince of Wales and HMS Repulse.
The captain called all hands together and made a speech, stressing the importance of a sharp lookout: “He who sees first lives longest!” We had to rely on our number-two eyeballs, because radar was unknown to us.
During the next few weeks, the enemy was still far away. But that would change soon enough. Our morale was not bad at all, and we had more hope than seems reasonable, in retrospect. On 10 December, the Allies suffered a disastrous loss: Japanese bombers had sunk HMS Prince of Wales and HMS Repulse off Malaya. But we remained optimistic; we were counting on our new and powerful ally, the United States. We were not yet aware, however, of the extent to which the Japanese had inflicted damage on the U.S. Fleet at Pearl Harbor.
In the second half of 1941, some of our ships were equipped with sonars. Being one of the few “experts” in this new kind of antisubmarine warfare, I was ordered to leave the Banckert. The day after Christmas, when we were fueling in Surabaja, I joined HNMS Van Ghent, another destroyer. While taking a bath, I watched through a porthole as the old Banckert departed with several other ships for another operation against the enemy. It was a sad moment.
In the Van Ghent, I was again junior and still second gunner. But I also had my own department: ASW. My equally green operators and myself had little opportunity for exercises with a submarine near Surabaja. They were so keen and had so many “possibles” that they kept me awake almost the whole time they used the sonar. Once when they called me, I fell asleep climbing out of my upper berth and landed on the edge of the desk, cutting my eyebrow. It bled a lot, but it was the only war wound I would incur.
Our duties gradually became more warlike. In January 1942 we cooperated with the U.S. destroyer John Paul Jones (DD-230) in towing a torpedoed Army transport that had been abandoned by her crew from Lombok Strait. Because the ship was sinking slowly, we put her ashore on the north coast of Bali to save the cargo. The only creature we encountered on board was a cat.
Together with other ships, we convoyed tankers and merchant vessels from Surabaja, either to the Indian Ocean or Balikpapan on the southeast coast of Borneo, one of the main sources of oil in the Netherlands East Indies. On the last of these trips we had to return to Java, because the installations in Balikpapan had been destroyed. We expected the Japanese soon.
On 3 February, Admiral Doorman took command of a Combined Striking Force that consisted of U.S., Dutch, and later, British cruisers and destroyers. His aircraft had been shifted to the ABDA (American, British, Dutch, Australian) Air Command. The Van Ghent joined this force, concentrated southeast of Madura, with the intention of attacking Japanese forces in Makassar Strait by night. By then, the enemy had taken several of our airfields and commenced bombing targets on Java, especially Surabaja. When sailing east during daylight, the striking force met several waves of Japanese bombers coming from Kendari airfield on southern Celebes. They were bound for Java but considered us a welcome target. For several hours they bombed our ships. All were maneuvering violently to avoid being hit. Each ship in the force fired at the attackers, but only the U.S. cruiser Marblehead (CL-12) shot one down. I saw the plane crash and later noticed the debris in the water. The attacks were concentrated mainly on the cruisers. The two Dutch vessels, the flagship De Ruyter and the Tromp, took no direct hits, but the Marblehead sustained two and the Houston (CA-30), one.
Without air cover and with two cruisers damaged severely, the admiral considered it inadvisable to pursue the action. The Combined Striking Force sailed through Lombok Strait and entered the port of Tjilatjap on Java’s southern coast, where it refueled. I was sent to the Houston to offer condolences to the captain, who suffered 46 men killed and substantial damage to his ship. The Marblehead lost 15 crewmen. Both ships were repaired provisionally.
After refueling, we left for Oosthaven, a small port in Lampong Bay, southeast Sumatra, where Admiral Doorman had assembled three Dutch cruisers and four Dutch, four U.S., and two British destroyers. We departed the next day from Oosthaven, intending to go north and attack a Japanese invasion fleet west of Borneo.
Our impressive force crossed the Java Sea during the night in a broad formation, with the Van Ghent stationed on the far starboard side. It was a rough night; visibility was poor in rain squalls. Just before dawn, we ran aground on a coral reef at 17 knots, through Gaspar Strait, between Bangka and Belitung. The Banckert, in line astern, managed to remain in deeper water, but we sustained oil leaks and a few small explosions. We had no choice but to abandon ship.
Most of the crew went to my old ship, which remained with us while the other ships continued north. Our captain stayed on board with a small party to save as much as we could of the valuable equipment. I was able to salvage quite a bit of the sonar equipment below, but the captain ordered me to quit when a fire broke out in the adjoining boiler room. I finished the job with a sledgehammer.
This took the entire day, under weather that earlier had contributed to our bad luck. It was so rainy and hazy that the enemy could not have discovered us. When we were finished, we blew up the remains of our ship. Leaving the scene at high speed, we saw a huge column of fire and smoke. We were not the only ones to see it, for nine Japanese aircraft appeared and bombed the wreck. Apparently, they were fascinated by the spectacle and paid no attention to our departing destroyer. In the meantime, the Japanese had found the remaining ships of the force and attacked continuously for about eight hours. The ships suffered little damage, but they could not carry out their intended mission. During the entire operation, Admiral Doorman never had fighters available for air cover.
We arrived at Surabaja on the evening of 15 February and lodged in a barracks ship. That was a memorable day, not only for us, but for the world: Singapore had capitulated. Many of our surface ships, submarines, and aircraft— some of them under British command—had been busy defending Malaya and convoying ships with troops and equipment bound for Singapore, which was considered the most important stronghold in our part of the world. Its loss was a great shock.
Just before I joined the ship, the crew of the Van Ghent had been shifted from the destroyer Witte de With. During an overhaul at the naval dockyard in Surabaja, she had been fitted with sonar. We worked arduously to make her ready for sea again, but we were handicapped by daily air attacks.
Within a few days, we were ready to use our 7.5-cm antiaircraft gun. During an attack, we hit the line of the steam whistle, which began to work. Through my binoculars I saw what had happened. But the gun crew did not, and hit the deck. We all did the same thing every time I saw the bombs being released. On one occasion we had a near miss—very near—and heard bomb fragments hit the steel plate where we crouched for protection. That piece of steel had been fixed only the day before. One day, we endured six such air raids.
Back in the striking force, we were detailed to attack Japanese forces near Bali, but we were called back three times. Meanwhile, the enemy had made spectacular progress and was expected to land on Java any day. Admiral Doorman’s task was to stem the invasion. Near Surabaja he had five cruisers and nine destroyers: the Dutch cruisers De Ruyter and Jam; the USS Houston; HMS Exeter; the Australian cruiser Perth; the Dutch destroyers Witte de With and Kortenaer; the British destroyers HMS Jupiter, Electra, and Encounter; and the gallant U.S. four-stackers John D. Edwards (DD-216), Alden (DD-211), John D. Ford (DD-228), and John Paul Jones. During the last few nights before the Battle of the Java Sea, we patrolled along the north coast of Java and Madura, spending the days in Surabajan roads, where we refueled and coped with incessant air attacks. The cat we had saved was still with us.
The Combined Striking Force left Surabaja for the last time late on the afternoon of 26 February. Although no special restrictions had been in place concerning shore leave during the previous few weeks, our crew and the crews of the other ships were complete. During those hectic days it would have been easy for the native enlisted men to go absent without leave, but they did not. One sailor ordered ashore by the medical officer for health reasons joined his ship on the sly.
The force carried out reconnaissance to the north of Madura and Java on an easterly course by day and a westerly course after midnight. We never sighted enemy forces. One early morning the Exeter made radar contact with Japanese planes, and later we heard aircraft above us. Once again, the force had no air cover. About 0900 the destroyer HMS Jupiter was bombed but not damaged. The Houston fired at the attackers, chasing them into the clouds.
At 0930 we changed course to the east again. Unknown to us, several tardy messages about sightings of Japanese forces in the Java Sea had reached Admiral Doorman, but he had little information about the enemy’s whereabouts and certainly no recent intelligence.
The operations of the previous few days had been extremely exhausting. The crews of the destroyers in particular needed rest badly; quite a few were on the verge of collapse. We also were short on fuel. While the ships steamed through one of the safe channels in the minefields at the northern entrance to Surabaja on 27 February, Admiral Doorman at last received a current message about sightings of Japanese forces near the island of Bawean and immediately ordered his ships to turn about. Once at sea again, we took a northwesterly course at speeds up to 25 knots. As far as I know, the Dutch destroyers were supposed to join the British ones in the vanguard, but the Kortenaer had only two of her three boilers available and was unable to make more than 25 knots. We had been the first ships to enter port; now, we were “tail-end Charlies.” Since the group had to stay together, we were unable to take up our designated position and steamed instead along the port side of the cruiser line.
Around us we could see and hear several Japanese reconnaissance aircraft. At 1530 a few bombs fell but caused no damage. The Houston and the Exeter fired at the attackers, apparently also without result. During the air attack, the ships maneuvered independently, so the formation was scattered. By about 1550, however, it was more or less restored.
At 1615 we spotted enemy ships coming from the north- northwest, but we were unable to identify them. A few minutes later, they opened fire. The admiral changed course to avoid the enemy’s crossing our tee. The heavy cruisers Houston and Exeter soon answered the enemy fire. The U.S. ship was missing one of her gun turrets, which the air attack on the 4th had put out of action. Because the range was too great for the 15-cm guns in the light cruisers, the admiral gradually changed course to starboard. As soon they could, the light cruisers returned fire, before one or two British destroyers joined in with a few shots.
From my battle station on the upper bridge, I could see that the enemy was scoring few direct hits. The flagship—clearly their prime target—did suffer substantial damage from an unexploded 20-cm shell. The De Ruyter and the Houston had an exceedingly high rate of fire. After about a half-hour of battle, we saw a heavy column of smoke from the direction of the enemy. The captain supposed that a Japanese cruiser had blown up and ordered me to pass the news through the speaking tube to the fire-direction personnel below. They cheered heartily when they received this glad tiding. We had the feeling that, on the whole, we were doing rather well.
But the report was erroneous. The Japanese had light aircraft in the air, acting as spotters. After about an hour, they again laid heavy smoke screens and turned to starboard. Our flagship did likewise, followed by the other cruisers. The Dutch destroyers continued trying to join the British, but we gained very little. Suddenly, we received fire from the west as well. I had the impression that our cruisers then turned to port in order to avoid being caught between two Japanese forces, but later I understood that the maneuver was a reaction to a massive torpedo attack from Japanese destroyers.
The Dutch destroyers continued on a westerly course and came into the vicinity of the Java. When we turned to port, the Kortenaer, astern of us, took a hit from a torpedo and broke in two. We saw both parts of the ship, covered with survivors, sink slowly. After her loss, our ship increased speed and began to zigzag. Later, the crew of HMS Encounter rescued survivors from the Kortenaer. Several torpedoes exploded around us, having reached the end of their runs. I saw one pass under the ship. The U.S. destroyers were nearby at this point, and they commenced laying heavy smoke screens around our cruisers. We joined them. After a while, we were in such a thick fog that we could hardly see any other ships. Next, we received orders from the admiral to escort the Exeter to Surabaja, because the ship had been hit and her speed was low. When we found her, she was smoking heavily. To our west, Japanese and British destroyers were doing battle. One of the enemy ships apparently succeeded in breaking through and approached us, probably intent on torpedoing the Exeter.
My duty as second gunner was to observe the target and estimate its course and speed. I passed these and other data through the tube to our fire-direction personnel, who fed them into an instrument that determined angles for the pointing our four 12-cm guns. Through my binoculars I saw our first salvo score a hit. The enemy returned fire immediately with great accuracy. We heard and saw some shells passing and exploding in the water, but we did not sustain any more damage than a shot-down antenna. The Exeter did not fire.
After eight of our salvos, which resulted in at least one more direct hit, the Japanese destroyer turned away. During our short battle, the Witte de With zigzagged violently, washing two depth charges overboard. Although they were not supposed to be activated, one of them exploded close to the ship, which caused a turbo generator to stop; the crew soon started a diesel generator. We discovered later that our own firing had caused some damage, because it had been done at an awkward angle, almost astern. The result was that the starboard propeller shaft vibrated heavily. A few of our men were caught unaware and thrown to the deck. I stood as far as possible to starboard on the open upper bridge and had some difficulty staying on board.
After the Japanese destroyer had left, we tried to get the Exeter to follow us. At first she did not react to our signals and persisted on her southerly course. When we at last succeeded in making contact, we had to steer northeast in order to find the entrance to the safe channel through the mine field. As our compasses were no longer in working order all of this took some time. Not long after our fight with the enemy destroyer, we saw the remaining four cruisers appear in the haze and turn toward the Japanese ships. The time was about 1830, growing dusk. After dark, we saw the flashes of the continuing battle astern. We also observed several green-and-white flares in the air, seemingly following us.
Because of the explosions around us, we thought Japanese submarines were taking part in the battle. We did not know that the enemy had exceedingly long-range torpedoes, a great number of which had been launched by the surface ships. Because of our high speed, my precious sonar had not played a part so far, but in my capacity as ASW officer, I asked the captain for permission to launch a few depth charges at random. Our telephone system was out of order, so I went down and launched them myself. As we know now, no Japanese submarines were present, so I only disturbed the peace of mind of our own people and the Exeter’s. That ship could make only 15 knots. After the Witte de With slowed down, I put my sonar on. At about 2100 we were in the minefield, and at midnight in Surabaja.
Although utterly exhausted, our crew had performed admirably. The loss of the Kortenaer did, of course, have an effect, but that did not last. A missing Javanese steward, thought to have been washed overboard, was found sleeping tranquilly in his bunk.
In Surabaja we topped up again and underwent some minor repairs. In the course of the following day, we received orders to depart, but they were canceled. We heard about what had happened to the other ships of the Combined Striking Force. Some survivors were bought ashore, and I met a classmate from the Kortenaer. There was some talk about our going into dry dock to look after the damaged propeller shaft, but we were under almost continuous air attack. During one of those raids, the Witte de With took a direct hit forward. Her bow sank, and that was the end. We were told to take our personal belongings off the ship and report at the Surabajan railway station at 1800. The cat had survived the loss of her third ship, but this time she chose not to stay in our company.