The ocean turns red.

In spite of the pounding and the hollering, they all come in.

They rip you to pieces.

(GRAVE INSTRUMENTAL MUSIC PLAYING)

You know, by the end of that first dawn...

we lost 100 men.

I don't know how many sharks. Maybe 1,000.

I don't know how many men, they averaged six an hour.

On Thursday morning, I bumped into a friend of mine...

Herbie Robinson, from Cleveland.

Baseball player, bosun's mate.

I thought he was asleep. Reached over to wake him up.

He bobbed up and down in the water just like a kind of top.

Upended.

He'd been bitten in half, below the waist.

Noon the fifth day, a Lockheed Ventura saw us.

He swung in low and he saw us. He was a young pilot.

Younger than Mr. Hooper.

He saw us and he came in low, and three hours later...

a big fat PBY comes down and starts to pick us up.