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" "I don't want to be remembered as "Bull" Halsey, who was going to ride the White Horse. "Bull" is a tag the newspapers tied to me. I was named for my father, so I started out as "Young Bill"; then I became plain "Bill"; and more recently I suppose it is inevitable for my juniors to think of me, a fleet admiral and five times a grandfather, as "Old Bill." Now that I am sitting down to my autobiography, it is Bill Halsey whom I want to get on paper, not the fake, flamboyant "Bull."
Correction: This will not be an autobiography, but a report. Reports are the only thing I know how to write, since half my time in the Navy has gone to preparing them. Although I intend for this once to throw in as many stories as I like, rattle some skeletons, and offer some apologies and second guesses- amusements which official reports discourage- I don't intend to discard the official form completely. This report will be as clear and true as I can make it; it will contain all the pertinent facts I can remember, whether they're to my credit or not; it will avoid fields like philosophy or politics, where I am easily lost; and it will be consecutive, beginning with my ancestors and ending with my retirement from active duty.
Fleet Admiral William Frederick Halsey, Jr., GBE (October 30, 1882 – August 16, 1959) (commonly referred to as "Bill" or "Bull" Halsey), was an American Fleet Admiral in the United States Navy. He commanded the South Pacific Area during the early stages of the Pacific War against Japan. Later he was commander of the Third Fleet through the duration of hostilities.
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As the day passed, the lookouts' jitters became worse. Finally I sent this signal to the task force:
IF ALL THE TORPEDO WAKES REPORTED ARE FACTUAL, JAPANESE SUBMARINES WILL SOON HAVE TO RETURN TO BASE FOR A RELOAD, AND WE WILL HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR X IN ADDITION, WE ARE WASTING TOO MANY DEPTH CHARGES ON NEUTRAL FISH X TAKE ACTION ACCORDINGLY.
This rebuke was not intended for our patrols, who were less excitable but equally alert. Next day, indeed, they spotted three enemy subs. One dived before she could be bombed, but the second was classed as "damaged," and the third sank vertically, leaving for of her deck crew struggling in the water.
This same day, the Enterprises radar failed temporarily, just as our lookouts reported the approach of a large flight of planes. We were on the point of opening fire and repeating one of the most painful features of December 7 when the planes were recognized as part of our inner air patrol.
Miles Browning, Paul Putnam, and I were still the only ones who knew our destination, so my order burst on the task force like a thousand-pounder. My operations officer, Comdr. William H. Buracker, brought it to me and asked incredulously, "Admiral, did you authorize this thing?" "Yes." "Do you realize that this means war?" "Yes." Bill protested, "Goddamnit, Admiral, you can't start a private war on your own! Who's going to take responsibility?" I replied, "I'll take it! If anything gets in my way, we'll shoot first and argue afterwards."
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My first thought at the great news was, "Victory!" My second was, "God be thanked, I'll never have to order another man out to die!" And my next was, "I am grateful for the honor of being in command of the Third Fleet on this day." Then plain joy took over. I yelled, "Yippee!" and pounded the shoulders of everybody within reach.