Gus N Gikas Colonel, USAF, Retired 5445 Government Street, Apt. 2ll Baton Rouge, LA. 70806 13 July 2011 MY EXPERIENCE IN THE SINKING OF HMT ROHNA I was a 22 year old First Lieutenant, United States Army Air Corps, with 18 months of total service, nine of which were as an Enlisted Man. I had taken business courses in high school and my main hobby was amateur radio. I was an unpaid apprentice in a radio repair business where I learned to repair any radio equipment the Army had, and my code speed was 35 words per minute. Promotions came rapidly. After six months I was in Officer Candidate School and was commissioned in April 1943. My wife and I married in August of the same year and I had orders to go overseas from Kelly Field, Texas. At the Port of Embarkation, I was in a group of nine communications officers all going to India. Five of us were assigned to a group of 234 Enlisted Men and the unit was designated Transit Unit AI-826-A. By that time, I had received promotion to First Lieutenant, was ranking officer of that unit and was designated Commanding Officer. Two other Officers were notified later of their promotions and ranked me, but the Army deemed it too late to change our orders. We left the Port of Embarkation in September 1943 on a Liberty Ship, the SS William S. Rawle, converted to haul troops. That ship joined with other cargo vessels to form a convoy which crossed the Atlantic Ocean and put into Oran, Algeria where we remained until 24 November 1943. At that time, we boarded a British merchant vessel, His Majesty s Transport Rohna, (HMT Rohna). That ship joined Convoy KMF-26, which had originated in England, and with other ships that joined at Oran, the convoy consisted of 22 vessels. Our enlisted men slept in hammocks and were quartered in the 3 rd level below the main deck, close to the bow. The ranking US Army Officer was Alexander Froelich, Lieutenant Colonel, Corps of Engineers. There were about one thousand Enlisted Men in his own Command, the 853 rd Aviation Engineering Battalion, and they were quartered amidships where they were least likely to get seasick. It was a beautiful day on 26 November 1943 and I was posted on lookout duty on the fan tail, just below the ships guns. My station was on the port side. We were looking for enemy aircraft. The lookout on the starboard side spotted aircraft approaching from the North and yelled, Unknown aircraft approaching from the North. The First Mate who was manning the bridge identified them as enemies and ordered Battle Stations. All passengers who did not have duties topside were ordered below to their assigned sleeping holds. The air raid began at about 3:30pm with the bombing of our escort ships, mainly the USS Pioneer, a minesweeper. At about 4:30pm, I noticed that this German aircraft, later identified as a Heinkel He 177, was on a parallel course to that of the Rohna. I watched as the bomb it was carrying caught fire. When released, it gathered speed and soon shot forward ahead of the aircraft. It was released approximately a mile from the
ship, out of range of our guns and as it accelerated, it turned so that it was on a collision course with HMT Rohna. The bomb struck the vessel amidships just above the water line on the port side. It went through the galley, where some of my men were on kitchen police (kp) duty, and continued through the engine room where fuel tanks were ruptured and engines disabled. It left the ship on the starboard side just below the water line and then it was heard to explode. I feel to this day, that had the bomb detonated inside the vessel, the damage would have been greater and the number of casualties would have also been greater. That bomb was later identified as a Henkel 293, an airborne product of the dreaded V2 program. It was a rocket powered missile, radio controlled by the plane s bombardier. The ship s master had, by this time, returned to the bridge and gave the order to abandon ship. HMT Rohna was dead in the water and sinking was certain. I immediately went below to see to my men and was told by the deck officer that all of my men had been evacuated, with no casualties. That was not true. About 15 men were on a hatch cover, writing letters, reading, conversing or playing cards when the hatch cover imploded, taking them down into the ballast. Some found their way to a funnel which had a ladder inside and they came up to the main deck. The fire, by that time, was burning below decks and was consuming the interior of the ship. I yelled down into the open hold and got no answer. I returned to the main deck where two of my Officers, 2 nd Lieutenant Carlos P. Gust, of Laredo, Texas, and 2 nd Lieutenant Andrew J. Hook of Eutaw, Alabama met me. Gust appeared to be uninjured physically, but was fearful of entering the water since he did not know how to swim. I spent about 20 minutes explaining that the critical part of getting off the ship would be for us to climb down the cargo net, which a Red Cross Man, Mr. Jeff Sparks found fastened to the port rail and it was lowered so that it reached the sea. We had to wait for a wave to come up to us, then turn loose of the net to ride that wave and kick our way clear of the ship. Gust finally appeared to have grasped my instructions. I made sure all three of our life belts were inflated and in position under our arms. The three of us began our climb toward the bottom of the net. The ship had no power and the waves created by heavy winds that day, caused the ship to pitch back and forth and sideways, sometimes exposing the bottom of the vessel. As we were climbing down the net I was slammed against the hot hull of the ship and my left arm was injured. The three of us climbed down to the bottom of the net. As the wave came up, Hook and I turned loose and floated clear of the ship. I approached Hook, whose head was down in the water, straightened him, repositioned his belt up under his arms and saw that he had a serious head injury, believed to have been inflicted inside the stateroom when the missile hit the ship. A metal bunk had broken loose and struck him on his left temple. I felt for a pulse several times and found none. I had no choice but to abandon Hook and turned to find Gust still holding onto the net. I yelled to him, Carlos, when the water comes up, you must turn loose of the net and the water will float you away. As the wave came up to him, he paused to cross himself, then turned loose. However, his timing was bad and he fell into a trough and the ship came down on top of him. In the space of a very few minutes, I had lost two of my best friends.
As for the enlisted men, Lieutenant Robert Brewer gathered as many as he could find and sent them down the cargo net into the sea, while I was examining the hold where they had been. The ship was equipped with adequate life boats and life rafts for all passengers and crew. Little did we know that the davits needed to lower the boats had been rusted and painted over so that they were not operable. As the ship listed as much as 20 degrees while sinking and taking on water, none of the lifeboats on the port side could be lowered. Only two or three of all on the starboard side were able to be launched successfully, the rest could not be lowered. The Lascar (East Indian) crew members threw life rafts overboard and dived off the fan tail into the water hoping to float away on them. Lieutenant William P. Hitchcock remained on deck to try to help the wounded get off the ship. There were some who refused to leave. The Master of the Ship and his mates managed to launch one of the boats and departed after they felt everyone who wanted to go had left. Some of the men tried getting off the ship on the starboard side, and were sucked back into the ship through the big hole in the vessel. They then had to find their way topside through the funnel. We had no way of knowing where each man died that remained aboard when it was sinking. There were many brave soldiers that day that could not swim and had difficulty deciding whether to take their chances on the ship staying afloat so they could ride it out, or to enter the dreaded sea and let the current take them to the rescue vessel, which was standing by approximately a mile away, with orders to pick up survivors. One of my men stayed with me as we floated and swam to the rescue ship, the USS Pioneer, a Minesweeper. As we approached the ship on the port side, an overturned lifeboat was tied to the hull and two men at a time climbed on it to reach the ship s rail where sailors helped them aboard. When it was my turn to get on that lifeboat, the current caught me and I was not able to make any headway swimming against that current with my injured arm. I was carried around the bow of the ship and being taken rapidly out to sea. I was in great terror, as I thought I would not be rescued. Suddenly, I noticed a sailor standing in the bow of the rescue vessel, watching some of us floating away. I yelled at him, Don t stand there with your teeth in your mouth, Joe, toss me a line. He turned, picked up a hailing line and threw it so that it accurately fell across me. It felt quite inadequate and tiny, but as I gingerly pulled myself along the line I was guided to a Jacob s ladder on the starboard side, where I was able to climb to the top rung, and two large sailors helped me aboard, to safety. That hailing line was ¼ inch woven rope, quite adequate for saving over a dozen men at a time. When I got on deck, I was directed to the wardroom where I was given coffee and found a place to stand. There was no place to sit by that time. After my coffee was gone, I handed my cup to another man and went out on deck and found a place out of the wind where I dried off. The sailors knew what they were doing and I helped them most by staying out of their way. As men were rescued, I took the injured to the wardroom where Jeff Sparks and the ship s medic did what they could for them. The injured were on tables, on benches and lying on the floor. The sailors brought blankets from their quarters for those that were hurt. At about 4:00am, the ship was carrying 606 survivors and six casualties and received orders to take them to Phillipeville Harbor, Algeria. Altogether, 1,149 casualties were lost
on HMT Rohna. As soon as the ship took on fuel and necessary replenishment supplies, she rejoined the convoy and encountered another air raid near Crete where no ships were lost and there were no casualties. That convoy eventually made it safely to India. After we were put ashore, we were all marched to a British and Canadian camp where tents had been erected for us and each man was given a blanket and food. Those who needed clothing received British Army uniforms and shoes. The wounded were taken to a British military hospital where they were treated until they were well enough to rejoin their units. While at the camp, a British doctor came and examined all of the survivors. When he came to me he asked, You don t seem to be using your left arm lad, let s ave a look. Ah yes, you have a fractured collar bone. Not really much we can do for that, it should heal itself nicely if you favor it a bit. Those injured did receive medical records and were able to get purple hearts, after they arrived at their permanent stations. I had no way of proving my injury so never bothered with it, I was too busy getting tents, supplies, blankets, and cots so my men could sleep out of the weather at night, and preparing payrolls so the men could be paid. Most had lost every cent they had in the sinking. After two weeks, Hitchcock joined us and Brewer came a week later. They had been rescued by different vessels, put ashore in different ports, and recuperated in different hospitals. I had to be very careful, rounding up my injured men who were in several hospitals up and down the coast, since General Patton was looking for men well enough to join his push into Italy. At one point I came in just after he had been, where the famous slapping incident took place. I was afraid I would be in his Army if he found me. Two of my men were there and I spirited them out the back door and took them to our camp. There were other ships, among them HMS Clan Campbell a Merchantman, and a frigate, Mindful, and they had rescued some 300 more survivors and put them ashore at other coastal ports. We remained in Bizerte for about six weeks. Many of my men had bad dreams at night and woke up screaming for help. I too had the dreams, but was working until exhaustion set in and I slept better when I got to bed. Life began to be more normal for us and the highlight of our stay there was when the USS Pioneer put into Bizerte for fuel and provisions. Some of my men were at Army Headquarters in town and ran across the ship and sailors stretching their legs on the shore. They were immediately invited to come out to our camp and several of the sailors and one of their officers came and shared Christmas dinner with us. Our trip to India continued on HMT Takliwa, a sister ship of HMT Rohna. When I approached the vessel and realized it was an exact copy of the lost ship, I did not want to board that ship. However, I knew that if I declined to board, I would be court-martialed and stripped of everything I had worked so hard to obtain. And my men might follow my lead and decline also. I turned to my First Sergeant and said, Sergeant Smith, have the men follow me aboard. I picked up my bedroll and walked up the gangplank. Then saluted the bridge and requested permission to come aboard. All of my men followed me aboard. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do.
AI-826-A was disbanded when we arrived at Bombay, India and my men and I parted there as they were assigned to replace soldiers who had served their tours of duty and were ready to return to the Zone of Interior. My new duties took me all over unoccupied China, Burma and most of Eastern India as I directed the installation of radio equipment at new air fields, as they were being built. The work was, thankfully, very demanding and the dreams of disaster were seldom encountered, but they never went away. I thought I had learned to live with them. For the last year, after my wife of 66 years died, I have been thinking of the Rohna again, and losing sleep over it. I have been advised to seek help for the condition and have made an appointment with my primary care physician as a first step. My wife had suffered her last 12 years with Alzheimer s disease which eventually took her life. For the last five years, we have been living in a retirement community near where my son and his family live. I understand that this condition happens often to persons who have experienced stressful situations, and I would appreciate getting some help for it. Gus N Gikas Colonel, USAF (Ret d)