The Work of a World War II Submarine Patrol

My grandfather's blow-by-blow account of the sinking of a Japanese battleship

The work of exquisite cursive handwriting (the author was a proud graduate of the 8th grade)

During a recent podcast conversation with my friend and fellow Substack writer Autonomous Truck(er)s , our discussion of fathers and grandfathers impelled me to return to the essential work of transcribing Grandfather Bateman’s World War II diary and complete it in advance of Memorial Day here in the USA. I've had these faded diary pages for decades but could never bring myself to fully transcribe them. Using AI to help decipher the worn handwriting, I was finally able to piece together my grandfather's story. What follows is a personal account of one submariner's experience with death and devastation in World War II, capturing the heroism as well as the hidden wounds that followed him home.

U.S.S. Sealion SS-315: Diary of a Patrol

By Thomas Bateman

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Diary Entries

October 31, 1944 - Pearl Harbor

We hauled anchor at 1:30 and are on our way to where, as yet we don't have any idea. We have aboard Bill Baldwin, a C.B.S. news reporter, who will write and receive first hand what a Submarine Patrol really is like, and which will later be broadcast and recorded over C.B.S. in New York. We do know first hand that this will be a hot run, for we will be in shallower water, which of course makes a hell of a lot different from the others. Considering the new large depth-charges the Japanese are using, which we found out the last time, when we operated around Formosa and off Hainan & ports on the China coast. That run having netted us fifty-two thousand tons of Japanese shipping (six ships) and 54 survivors, of which 17 died and were buried at sea (they were Aussies and Limeys) taken by the Japs at Singapore when that British possession was overrun.

Nothing much has happened as yet. We have set the clocks back one half hour, and are making a speed of 16 to 17 knots. I bumped my knee today and now I can hardly walk. It is now twelve midnite; I have just come off watch, had something to eat, and am ready to secure.

November 1, 1944

Went on watch this morning at 8, got off at 12 noon, read and slept 'til 5 this evening when I relieved the watch while they ate chow at 5:30, was relieved at which time I ate...

November 2, 1944

Sat up this morning, had chow, went on watch, then at 9:30 we dove again at 1100. After surfacing I saw some large whales spouting water 20 or 30 feet in the air. Off watch at noon, shaved, ate and hit the sack but not for long; at 2:30 we had a battle-surface, then dove again. Well, we had practice...I didn't get much...

Ate chow at 6:00 this evening, went on watch at 8:00 o'clock. But we had a fire in the maneuvering room at 7:10, but it wasn't much; had trouble with No 4 main engine, put in two new lines (old ones were cracked); also trouble today with some new planes. Our other sub with the "Kete" she has been on the surface all day and nite (about 275° course, range 6000 yds). The water is warm, the days are hot and the nites muggy. Off watch this evening — midnite — have just ate, am writing and listening to the Tokyo-graph. Leg feels a lot better.

November 3, 1944

Well we are still at sea, nothing has happened. We are still making dives and having clear-the-bridge drills. Will pull in at Midway in the morning. Am feeling fine. Was thinking of home today quite a bit. I suppose one does. Well, will turn in now.

November 4, 1944

Got in to Midway at 9:30 A.M. Had a beer party in the morning, had four nice warm bottles of beer as an eye opener. Am now in bed with an infected and abscessed leg, feeling bad, am off watches, back and arms are sore. Left Midway at 3:30 P.M. Met a Chief I knew — his was the old "Battlefield" (now it's a tincan). The base was the same as when I left it, only there are more concrete roads there now. Am still in my rack. S/S Baldwin here.

November 5, 1944

Still under way, am in my rack; sea is rough, feeling bad.

November 6, 1944

Still in my rack, leg swollen, very large. Sea still rough. Warning of typhoon ahead.

November 7, 1944

Had warning of a typhoon again; sea is very rough and rainy. Cloudy and overcast. Nothing new.

November 8, 1944

Hit typhoon, waves washing over the bridge, weather terrible, only was in one storm worse than this. Lot of guys seasick, retching, guts churning. Have special watch for airplanes. Still off duty. Doc is going to cut my leg tomorrow.

November 9, 1944

Got word one of our subs had three fish fired at her today 100 miles ahead of us on the same course. The "Kete" is still behind us on the port side. Steering the course. Doc cut my ankle today to get the abscess. It didn't hurt much. Weather is darn rough out, rainy like hell.

November 10, 1944

We are nearing the Bonin Islands; have been looking especially for planes, sea still rough. Leg feeling better, we are 300 miles from the Bonins. Getting sleepy.

November 11, 1944

Had battle-surface with two patrol boats off Bonins, 110 miles. First run fire killed the guncrew who were left. The other one started... Help. Am tired, going to bed.

November 12, 1944

Nothing new happening, sea rough, feeling good. Still talking about what happened yesterday. Still surfaced, we should see planes any day now. Will be on alert the 17th. Going to bed.

November 13, 1944

Still surfaced, nothing new, speed 14 knots. Feeling good, a little blue. Thinking of home again.

November 14, 1944

Got chased down by 4 planes today — today 3 times — came in close; stayed down all day; surfaced at 6 P.M. Came thru [Chi-?] pass this evening. Lots of islands; getting closer to [???]

November 15, 1944

Down all day from 6:30 A.M. till 2 P.M., saw one or two planes with periscope. Nothing happening; be on [unclear if word is "Namua" or "Namoa"] tomorrow, lots of islands.

November 16, 1944

Surfaced all day in 30 or 35 fathoms water. Getting damn close. At 3:30 A.M. we were after Jap convoy but missed it. The "Bait" got two hits on a Jap carrier with 7 destroyers for escort. Today they fired a fish out a tube, accidentally taking the outer door off. We should go in, but tonight there are islands every way. We are near the mouth of the Yangtze river at 12 midnite by Shanghai. Picked up a split skiff at 500 yds but didn't molest him. We are in about 25 fathoms of water now. Tired, will go to bed now. Go on duty again tomorrow.

November 17, 1944

Well, after I had hit the rack, we had the radar-tracking party called out, but all we had were two islands; had some more fishing boats all around. Dove at 6:30 P.M., ran at periscope depth, went down to 80 ft once when two fishing boats came directly over us (they were mostly Chinese junks). There were about 40 or 50 of them over us all day, fishing.

Surfaced at 6:30 P.M. — had to zig-zag like hell to miss the junks and sampans, their fishing all night. We're still off Shanghai, by the Yangtze. Just had radio report of 9 transports/carriers and 7 destroyers coming our way, are cruising around at 9 knots. (I heard the "Spadefish" sunk 1 carrier; looks as if we'll miss out, with better prospects for tomorrow.)

November 18, 1944

Dove at 6:30 A.M.; submerged all day, about 75 fishing boats around us, same came over us dragging their nets; put periscope up, saw only the side of a junk, only about 25...on what I don't know; I wish I did. I feel like getting that way too. Well I guess I'll turn in and see what happens next. Hell I hope we hit a convoy tonite; am securing.

November 19, 1944

Surfaced at 6:30 A.M., ate. Dove at 6:30 A.M., didn't go to bed last night, sat up all night, wasn't sleepy; ate breakfast, hit the rack, ate chow, hit rack; nothing new has happened. The air is getting foul, miasmal — will have to spread CO₂ for purification. Ate chow this evening, took a shower and shaved. Went on bridge; just like a late Sept evening back home...but with salt spray on face. This is one reason I love the sea — the cool breeze that blows in the evening. Am thinking all evening of trying to sign up for four more years of Navy life and traveling to China, Europe and S. America, the exotic beauty [illegible] of the Orient. Nothing has happened all evening; are passing hundreds of junks and sampans. Jap lighthouse off the port quarter flashing warnings of reefs and rocks (thanks to them). As yet no sight of a convoy, haven't sighted anything as yet; will hit the rack.

November 20, 1944

...false alarm, went back to bed again. Stayed surfaced till 10:30 A.M.; drove down by a plane, kept down all day, surfaced at 6:30 P.M. Weather is cool; going toward Formosa, northern part. Sea rough, dark as hell, no contacts as yet; bad word of convoy didn't materialize. Feel fine but sleepy. Will hit rack. Now 11:00 P.M. Good nite.

November 21, 1944: The Battle

Called out at 12:45 A.M.; midnight — have radar-tracking party out. Three pips on radar at 43,000 yds. I will try to describe the scene of this attack as it happens as well as possible. At 12:50 called the Captain...the radar-tracking party at 12:55. I am Tgy. Making 80–90 on all 4 mains.

12:57 have battle stations, night attack.
01:00 battle stations manned. We are doing 18 knots on bearing 362°, the pips are on 172°.
01:05 getting close, still making run.
01:08 targets making about 17 knots. Setting fish at 8 ft, fwd and aft.
01:15 now have 2 large, 0 medium and two small targets: 2 B.B., 2 cruisers, 2 destroyers.
01:30 everything normal, still making run.
01:33 making 3 mins blow on low-pressure blowers.
01:38 secured blowers, still running...
02:25 making approach.
02:27 range 7000 yds.
02:28 tubes flooded.
02:55 outer doors open.
02:56 stand-by, fire!
02:59 firing order is 6-5-4-3-2-1. Fire! All ahead flank right full; rudder lined up aft. 03:02 aft firing order is — 10-9-7; no. 8 out of commission.
03:03 all ahead flank, getting away on surface, dark as hell.
03:06 three hits on B.B.; hell of an explosion; starting reload forward.
03:07 another hit from aft on another B.B.
03:10 big explosions in no. 1 battleship, fire everywhere, more steel debt charging like hell past...and furious. Were doing 18 knots getting away. We were in to 3400 yds from the battleships but only 1000 yds from destroyer No. 1. B.B. stopped for a few minutes, then moves on at 18 knots, fire and explosions in her.
03:20 all tubes re-loaded; B.B. dropping behind.
03:41 going in for second attack on B.B. Range now 10,000 yds; B.B. has two destroyers staying with her.
04:06 still closing in cautiously, all tubes ready. (Have sent message to P.H. SubPac of this task force.) B.B. now slowed to 6 knots...closing in for the kill (still dark as hell). Lots of strain on motors and M-eng.
05:26 depth set at five ft; closing in now 6000 yds; getting ready.
05:28 explosions break out all over B.B. —- three terrific concussions all over our boat; all that is left is a lot of burning oil and debris. We keep on ahead now for the main task force, including 1 B.B., 2 cruisers and 2 more destroyers. We're racing the hell out of ourselves to beat the other B.B. off and stick her. Range is 30,000 yds.
06:06 still trying to get a good fired shot; don't know if we can make it...

...submerged attack, in daylight and that's not good (I know with them big five-egg depth-charges dropping all round us, it's hell all right).
07:20 still at battle-stations, water coming down hatch, rough as hell, still chasing them, daylight now, they are leaving us.
07:45 been on battle stations almost 8 hrs, getting tired. (I wonder why?)
07:50 All communication out, water down the main induction and hatch drowned out P.P. system. Diving-well phones, diving-alarm out of order.
07:55 submerged all...mopping up water.
08:00 Battle stations secured. Time to go on watch now. Am hungry. Phones will be manned till V.P. system is dryed out. All's clear, going on watch now from 8 till 12 — noon. War is hell, isn't it, or would you know.

November 22, 1944

Submerged this morning at 07:00. Planes overhead all day. The U.S. fleet has word of us sinking a B.B. and damaging another. We are the first U.S. Submarine to ever sink a B.B....[page ends]...nice scalp for the big shots at P. Harbor. Sleepy, will hit the rack.

November 23, 1944

Submerged at 06:30, down all day, spread CO₂, a few planes overhead now and then. Nothing new. Tried to pick up survivors from the B.B. this evening after surfacing, but all we could find were oil everywhere. Surfaced at 18:30. Nothing new, will hit the rack, have 11 fish left.

November 24, 1944

Dove at 11:30, two Jap planes circling overhead signalling to us, meant of that we were a Jap sub; then when we dove they stayed over us. It's a wonder they didn't drop bombs, but they tried to get us; they dropped a buoy and a bag of dye, the buoy for a marker and the dye to stick on us and leave a trail. I was scared for a while, but finally went to sleep. But none of their schemes worked; they stayed up there and called other planes, but we must be away from there in a hurry, then came up to take a look thru the periscope; they were still there. Well we surfaced at 18:30 all clear. Sleepy now, will hit the rack.

November 25, 1944

Dove at 06:30, down all day. Surfaced at 18:00 all clear, got word of convoy this evening that didn't materialize. Heading for a harbor of Formosa to wait for 3 Jap B.B.'s and 7 carriers and 7 destroyers. We were ten miles from the harbor.

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Additional Documents

Personal Notes (Japanese Writing Practice)

Roman letters & Japanese:

THOMAS BATEMAN
トオマス バーツマン
(to-o-ma-su ba-a-tsu-ma-n)
("Thomas Bateman" – phonetic)

NATSUMORI CHON
ナツモリ チョン
(na-tsu-mo-ri cho-n)
("Natsumori Chon" – a Japanese personal name)

Membership and Service Documents

American Legion Membership Card, 1947
The American Legion 1947
Official Membership Card
This is to certify that Oliver T. Bateman
has paid dues for the year indicated hereon
1st U. S. Submarine Forcepost No 627
Located at San Francisco, California
(A 286641)
Not valid unless countersigned by the member

"Realm of the Golden Dragon" Initiation Card
Realm of the Golden Dragon
Know ye that THOMAS BATEMAN
on the 1st day of August 1944
aboard the SEALION, Latitude 180-00'E,
appeared at Our Royal Domain and,
having been duly inspected and found worthy,
was accepted into the Ancient and Sacred Order
of the Golden Dragon.

Domain of Neptunus Rex Certificate
Trusty Shellback certificate to THOMAS BATEMAN,
dated 10 July 1944 aboard SEALION, for crossing the Equator.

Official Documents

Presidential Unit Citation
THE SECRETARY OF THE NAVY
WASHINGTON

The President of the United States takes pleasure in
presenting the PRESIDENTIAL UNIT CITATION to the

UNITED STATES SHIP SEALION

for service as set forth in the following

CITATION:

"For extraordinary heroism in action during the Second and Third War Patrols against enemy Japanese surface forces in restricted waters of the Pacific. Operating dangerously in defiance of extremely strong air and surface opposition, the U.S.S. SEALION penetrated deep into hostile waters to maintain a steady offensive against ships vital to Japan's prosecution of the war. Consistently outnumbered and outgunned, she pursued her aggressive course in spite of formidable screens and severe anti-submarine measures to strike at every opportunity and, by her concentrated torpedo fire, delivered against convoys and combatant ships, sank thousands of tons of enemy shipping including one large battleship and a destroyer of a major hostile task force, and seriously damaged another battleship. Daring and skilled in carrying the fight to the enemy, the SEALION also braved the perils of a tropical typhoon to rescue fifty-four British and Australian prisoners of war, survivors of a hostile transport ship torpedoed and sunk while en route from Singapore to the Japanese Empire. Her meritorious record of achievement is evidence of her own readiness for combat and the gallantry and superb seamanship of the officers and men who brought her through unscathed."

For the President,
James Forrestal
Secretary of the Navy

Submarine School Certificate
The United States of America
Submarine School – Submarine Base, New London, Conn.

This Certificate is awarded by the Bureau of Naval Personnel
to OLIVER T. BATEMAN, Jr. F1c V-6SV, U.S.N., who has completed
Course(s) in SUBMARINE
SUBMARINE DIESEL with marks of 3.30 and 2.83, respectively

Awarded this 20th day of MARCH 1944
B. E. Bacon, Jr., Commander, U.S.N.
Officer in Charge Submarine School

Japanese Occupation Currency
Japanese 50-sen military script note
日本銀行券 五拾銭
(Bank of Japan note, fifty sen)

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Appendix: Understanding the USS Sealion and My Grandfather's Service

By Oliver Bateman

When I first read my grandfather's diary, I was struck by how matter-of-fact he was about what turned out to be one of the most significant submarine actions of World War II. Thomas Bateman, or "Oliver T. Bateman Jr."¹ as his official records show, was aboard USS Sealion (SS-315) during her third war patrol when they made history on November 21, 1944. That night, Sealion became the only American submarine to sink an enemy battleship during World War II.

The USS Sealion (SS-315)

The USS Sealion was actually the second submarine to bear that name. The first Sealion (SS-195) was destroyed by Japanese bombs at the Cavite Navy Yard in the Philippines just days after Pearl Harbor, the first U.S. submarine lost in the war. When they built the new Sealion in 1943, her first captain, Lieutenant Commander Eli Thomas Reich, was a survivor from that first boat. When Sealion fired her torpedoes at the battleship Kongō, four of them bore the names Foster, O'Connell, Paul, and Ogilvie — the four men killed when the first Sealion was bombed.

The crew. Grandfather Bateman is in the back row, third from the right, and one of the few men aboard ship with a moustache (and the only one with a Chaplin-style short moustache)

Sealion was a Balao-class submarine, an improvement over the earlier Gato class. These boats were 311 feet long and could dive to 400 feet, quite a bit deeper than their predecessors. They carried a crew of about 80 men, all volunteers who had passed rigorous physical and psychological screening. During the war, Sealion completed six patrols and earned five battle stars plus a Presidential Unit Citation, the highest award a submarine could receive.

Life Aboard a World War II Submarine

Reading Grandfather Bateman’s diary, you get glimpses of what daily life was like: the watches, the meals ("chow"), the mechanical problems, the rough seas. But research helps fill in what he didn't write about. Life on a Balao-class submarine was incredibly challenging. Eighty men were crammed into a space about the size of a house, along with torpedoes, diesel engines, batteries, and provisions for 75-day patrols. Each man had only about one cubic foot of personal storage space.

The air quality was a constant concern. When submerged, with no ventilation and 80 men breathing, the oxygen levels would drop so low that cigarettes wouldn't light properly. The boat would heat up terribly. Engine room temperatures could exceed 100 degrees Fahrenheit. The submarine had to stay submerged during daylight hours when within 500 miles of Japanese airfields, which in late 1944 meant almost everywhere they operated. Many crews "went into reversa," flipping their schedules to conduct normal activities at night when they could surface.

Despite these hardships, these submariners usually got the best food in the Navy and even had an ice cream maker aboard, small comforts that helped morale during those long, dangerous patrols. But nothing could fully compensate for the stress of being depth-charged or the knowledge that if something went wrong at depth, there was no escape.

The Night of November 21, 1944

My grandfather's diary provides a remarkable minute-by-minute account of one of World War II’s most consequential submarine battles. At 12:45 AM, radar picked up what turned out to be a major Japanese task force — battleships Kongō, Haruna, and Nagato, along with cruisers and destroyers. This was Admiral Kurita's First Strike Force, trying to get back to Japan after the Battle of Leyte Gulf.

Captain Reich made as bold decision to attack on the surface at night. As Grandfather Bateman recorded, they fired six torpedoes at Kongō at 2:56 AM, then three more at Nagato. They scored three hits on Kongō and inadvertently sank the destroyer Urakaze. Then came hours of cat-and-mouse as Sealion reloaded and stalked the damaged battleship. At 5:28 AM, Kongō exploded and sank, taking with her over 1,200 men.

What strikes me is how he describes the strain — "been on battle stations almost 8 hrs, getting tired. (I wonder why?)"² — and his sardonic comment at the end: "War is hell, isn't it, or would you know."

Sealion's success that night was part of the larger submarine campaign that helped strangle Japan. American submarines, though only 2% of the U.S. Navy, sank about 30% of the Japanese Navy and 60% of their merchant marine. Of the 263 submarines that made war patrols, 52 were lost with all hands. This amounts to a casualty rate of nearly 20%, the highest of any branch of the U.S. military.

The Rakuyo Maru Tragedy

What my grandfather's diary briefly alludes to at the beginning and what haunted him for the rest of his life happened two months before the battleship sinking. On September 12, 1944, during Sealion's third patrol, they attacked what they thought was just another Japanese convoy. The submarine wolfpack, including Sealion, Growler, and Pampanito, had been directed to intercept the convoy by naval intelligence. What that intelligence didn't know was that two of the ships, the Rakuyo Maru and Kachidoki Maru, were carrying 2,217 Allied prisoners of war.

Sealion torpedoed the Rakuyo Maru in the early morning hours. Of the 1,317 POWs aboard — all British and Australian soldiers who had survived the horrors of the Burma-Thailand "Death Railway" — 1,159 died. Most were killed in the sinking or drowned in the oil-covered waters when Japanese escorts abandoned them.

Three days later, American submarines returned to the area and found survivors still clinging to debris. Sealion rescued 54 men, all covered in crude oil, suffering from malaria, pellagra, beriberi, and exposure. Four died before the submarine reached port. The Presidential Unit Citation mentions this rescue, praising how Sealion "braved the perils of a tropical typhoon to rescue fifty-four British and Australian prisoners of war."

Decades later, Joan and Clay Blair wrote a book (which you can download here) about this incident, Return from the River Kwai. Grandfather Bateman was interviewed by the authors in the tiny Mon Valley flophouse where he was residing at the time. It later became a feature film starring Timothy Bottoms and George Takei. Grandfather Bateman was again interviewed and received a couple bucks (he never passed up easy money; that money bought plenty of lawnmower beers) for his work as one of many "technical advisors" on the film.

The Weight of "Friendly Fire"

This incident broke my grandfather in ways that wouldn't fully manifest until years later. The Navy praised them for sinking enemy ships and rescuing POWs, but he couldn't reconcile receiving honors for an action that killed nearly 1,200 Allied soldiers — men who themselves had already endured years of brutal captivity (what a way to go). The terrible irony was that they were being lauded as heroes for partially cleaning up a tragedy they had unknowingly caused. "Man’s inhumanity to man and yet they gave us medals for this. Don’t that beat all?" he wrote in another, later-life diary entry.

As the Blairs note in their book, more Allied prisoners died on Japanese "hell ships" from friendly fire than perished building the Burma-Thailand Railway depicted in glorious widescreen by British director David Lean. Grandfather Bateman had played his part in that grim statistic.

Reflections on a Life After War

My grandfather was 28 years old during this patrol, which was ancient by submarine standards where most sailors were barely out of their teens. He wasn't supposed to be there at all. He'd ended up in the Navy because it was that or jail. Around the time of Pearl Harbor, he'd abandoned his wife during major marital problems and, upon a later-in-time arrest when he was found "shacked up" with another woman, been given a stark choice by the authorities: military service or jail. He chose the submarine service, somehow passing the physical and psychological requirements despite his "advanced" age.

According to researcher Chace Howland, who interviewed surviving Sealion crew members as recently as the early 2020s, my grandfather was legendary aboard ship. Despite being nearly a decade older than most of his shipmates, he was known for his "olympic speed" and extraordinary physical and mental condition, at least when he was sober. That caveat suggests the drinking problems that would consume his later life had already begun.

In his diary, you can still see his youthful enthusiasm: the excitement about seeing the world, his plans to re-enlist for "four more years of Navy life and traveling to China, Europe and S. America." He wrote about the "beauties of the Orient" he hoped to see, although the precise meaning of that phrase remains unclear.³ These weren't the dreams of a kid but of a man trying to escape whatever had driven him to abandon his first marriage and nearly land in prison.

But those dreams died when he came home. His harridan of a wife, who had fallen from the good-German middle class after falling for his slick moves at a roller skating rink, demanded stability and insisted he take a job with U.S. Steel back in Pittsburgh — a job he hated but that paid well. He spent his days in the mills instead of on the ocean he loved, trapped in a landlocked life when his heart remained at sea. In any event, the marriage didn't survive and she would later die in a drunk-driving accident, a sad story that you can read about here.

The PTSD manifested in violence and emotional distance. The man who found poetry in salt spray and evening breezes, who could outrun men half his age, became someone his family struggled to recognize. He descended deeper into alcoholism, eventually living above bars in suites with shared bathrooms, perhaps the only places where other veterans might understand why you'd drink to forget the faces of the men you couldn't save, or worse, the ones you knowingly or unknowingly killed.

When he wrote "War is hell, isn't it, or would you know," there's an obvious edge to it. He knew exactly what hell looked like: it looked like oil-covered Allied soldiers drowning in the South China Sea because American torpedoes found their mark too well. It looked like being decorated for a tragedy. It looked like coming home to a country that couldn't understand why their heroes were broken.

My grandfather's diary captures a man at a crossroads, already running from one failed life, finding a degree of purpose in submarine service, still dreaming of adventures to come. But it also documents his participation in events that would haunt him forever. The man with olympic speed who'd chosen submarines over prison, who'd found a kind of redemption in military service…that man effectively died in the waters off Hainan along with those POWs. The man who came home was someone else entirely, carrying invisible wounds that would never heal.

When I read his matter-of-fact account of sinking the Kongō, I understood the flat tone. By November 1944, he'd already seen too much. The excitement of battle recorded in military time was just another day in hell, meticulously documented because what else was there to do? The real story, the one he could never write down, was how 28-year-old Thomas Bateman from Brownsville, Pennsylvania, who had been working for the Civilian Conservation Corps as a teenager in order to send money home to his bitterly poor family, escaped one kind of prison only to build himself another from survivor's guilt and trauma.

His diary ends abruptly after November 25, 1944. There was nothing left to say except good-bye to all that.

Huge thanks to Hal Gill, our third paid founding subscriber!

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Raw diary images: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1KjBZlDFA0wtWEeBIWpXbnLpS5w5Vs509
OCR transcription: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_mZ_Ug2OmVXQwqU-Xai6VDcn0oDnoZeHSg-_i3WG_8g/edit?usp=sharing

1. I am the fourth one of us to be saddled with that name, which is suddenly quite popular with the parents of all these little kiddos.

2. Seemingly a joke — he’s obviously tired because he’s been hard at it for eight straight hours.

3. Much clearer if you knew what the man liked to do in his copious spare time.