Commander Ernest E. Evans and USS Johnston at the Battle off Samar

Nov 14 , 2025

Commander Ernest E. Evans and USS Johnston at the Battle off Samar

Flames tore the night as the USS Johnston charged headfirst into a storm of steel and fire. No backup. No retreat. Just a destroyer and a captain who refused to blink. Amid grating chaos, Commander Ernest E. Evans stood at the bridge, ragged and raw, wrestling the impossible. The enemy was a monster. Four Japanese battleships, escorted by cruisers and destroyers—hulking death machines with guns that could shatter whole decks. They came for the American carriers. Evans answered with every ounce of fury and grit he had left.

The Bloodied Birth of a Warrior

Ernest Edwin Evans wasn’t born into easy victories. From Iowa farmland to the grim decks of the USS Johnston (DD-557), the man bore scars no doc could stitch—scratches on his soul, earned in fire and sweat. Commissioned from the Naval Academy in 1928, he spent years honing a code carved from discipline and duty, a vow to never surrender ground or heart. Faith ran deep beneath the naval jacket—a strength no warship could substitute.

His faith, quiet but steady, grounded him. It kept him upright while the world cracked. He carried scripture in his pocket, Clad in humility, he lived by Micah 6:8:

“He has shown you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God?”

The Battle Off Samar: A David Among Goliaths

October 25, 1944. The Philippine Sea sucked dry by chaos. Task Unit 77.4.3, "Taffy 3," a ragtag escort carrier group with minimal air cover, met the Japanese Center Force led by Vice Admiral Takeo Kurita. Seven battleships, eight cruisers, a dozen destroyers—steel leviathans burning with intent to annihilate.

Evans' USS Johnston was the vanguard of last resort. With just five destroyers backing him, he ripped through the formation. Gunfire spattered like angry hornets, but Evans saw only one pathway: attack with everything you have.

The Johnston closed in within 4,000 yards—point-blank hell—launching torpedoes, laying down smoke, and trading hellish salvos against vessels three times her size. His destroyer absorbed eleven direct hits, losing rudder and communications. Yet, Evans pressed on. Each salvo was a razor’s edge between life and death.

“Go at them. Ram them if you have to,” he reportedly commanded, not as a reckless move, but a final gambit born of desperate necessity.

Despite crippling damage, Johnston’s last torpedo exploded inside the Japanese heavy cruiser Kumano, marking a rare and costly blow to the enemy's pride and momentum.[1]

When ordering evacuation as Johnston sank, Evans went down with his ship—an old warrior swallowed by the sea, clutching his honor tighter than the rail.

Recognition Forged in Fire

Posthumous Medal of Honor in hand, Evans became the embodiment of sacrificial leadership under fire. His citation reads:

“For conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity at the risk of his life above and beyond the call of duty as Commanding Officer of the USS Johnston during Action Against Enemy Japanese Forces off Samar, Philippine Islands, 25 October 1944. Despite overwhelming odds and severe damage to his ship, Commander Evans pressed home his torpedo attacks... This gallant and aggressive leadership contributed materially to the protection of the escort carrier task unit, enabling its aircraft to attack and finally to repel the enemy force.”

His peers reverberated with respect. Captain Harold C. Miller of the USS Gambier Bay said of Evans:

“There was no shortcut, no talking about what could go wrong. He saw the battle for what it was—and willed us to meet it full tilt.”

Enduring Legacy: Courage Beyond the Horizon

Evans’ sacrifice stands carved in naval history as a testament to courage when facing annihilation. His leadership embodies a truth every veteran knows—the fight isn’t about numbers or machines. It’s about heart, unyielding will, and the willingness to hold the line no matter the cost.

His name is etched into war memorials and whispered amongst sailors as a beacon. But his story—raw and eternal—is a reminder that courage dwells not in the absence of fear, but in the refusal to surrender to it.

The Johnston’s sinking was a death sentence to a ship, but Evans’ death was a birthright to honor and legacy.

In the darkest crucible, warriors find their truest selves. Evans did not seek fame. He sought only to protect the men beside him, to fulfill a mission greater than self. And in that sacrifice, he left a message louder than any gun blast: Faith, honor, and courage carve paths through hell.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” — Deuteronomy 31:6

His fight echoes still—fire not quenched by the passage of time, a call to every soul who faces impossible odds. To stand firm. To endure. To sacrifice.

Sources

1. Naval History and Heritage Command, Action at Samar, October 25, 1944 2. U.S. Navy Medal of Honor citation, Commander Ernest E. Evans 3. Morison, Samuel Eliot, History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, Volume 12: Leyte 4. Prados, John, Combined Fleet Decoded