Commander Ernest E. Evans' Last Stand at Leyte Gulf

Feb 04 , 2026

Commander Ernest E. Evans' Last Stand at Leyte Gulf

Kamikaze planes screaming overhead. Hell bent on annihilating a skeleton task force off Samar. The tiny destroyer USS Evarts snarled back, but it was the USS Samuel B. Roberts—a frigate masquerading as a destroyer—that wrenched the moment from despair. At the wheel was Commander Ernest E. Evans. His ship was a dart—small, thirsty, bleeding—but his heart was a hammer.

Background & Faith

Ernest Edwin Evans was forged in Iowa soil, born July 13, 1908. He rose through the U.S. Navy ranks with a distinctly hard edge—driven, direct, unyielding. Aggressive to the point of recklessness, but never without purpose.

His faith, quiet but steady, was his backbone. No public sermons, but those who sailed with him knew: Evans believed in the cause beyond the kill. His code was ironclad—duty, sacrifice, honor, and the protection of his crew. Like a Psalm etched into his bones, “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9).

He was the storm held in reserve, a man who gambled everything on grit and grit alone.

The Battle That Defined Him

October 25, 1944. Leyte Gulf—the Pacific’s bloodiest sea battle. Evans commanded the USS Samuel B. Roberts (DE-413), a destroyer escort, originally designed for convoy duty, not a goddamn brawl with the Imperial Japanese Navy’s Center Force. But when the call came, he ran full throttle into hell.

Facing battleships and cruisers whose firepower dwarfed his own, Evans chose audacity. Not retreat. The Roberts launched torpedoes, closed the range at breakneck speed, and plastered enemy vessels with her 5-inch guns—guns no match for battleship armor but still enough to sow chaos.

One of the boldest moments: Evans rammed Kurita’s heavy cruiser—steel-armored giants made of flesh and blood. His ship took hits that shredded her hull and peppered the bridge. Yet Evans stayed on the bridge, bloody and battered, directing the fight until the last breath.

“He was fearless...a man who fought like a cornered tiger,” recalled crewmember Grant Keyes. Evans bought time. He saved carriers lurking beyond the horizon, shields made of his men’s courage.

Recognition

Posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor, Evans’ citation reads like a litany of pure valor. He engaged a vastly superior force, pressed attack with such intensity it disoriented the enemy, and sacrificed his life when the Roberts was lost.

“Though mortally wounded and dying...he continued to command and direct his ship’s fire. His gallantry and intrepidity in action under fire reflect the highest credit upon Commander Evans and the United States Naval Service.” —Medal of Honor Citation[1]

Vice Admiral Clifton A.F. Sprague, who commanded the task unit, said of Evans, “His aggressive spirit and leadership inspired not only his own men but others nearby; his fight was one of the finest exemplars of Navy courage under fire.” This was a man who refused to blink in the face of annihilation. The Navy remembers him as “The Destroyer Escort Who Fought Like a Destroyer”[2].

Legacy & Lessons

Evans’ legacy is raw and immediate. Not polished heroism, but the grit behind the legend—a testament to how a single man’s will can shape history.

He teaches that courage isn’t perfect. It’s ugly, painful, and costly. It’s a choice to stand and bleed when running would be easier.

His sacrifice saved lives. It bought others time to live and fight another day.

There’s a Scripture that echoes Evans’ final stand:

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13)

For veterans now, his story hardens resolve and softens the heart. For the civilians, it’s a stark reminder that freedom’s price is etched in scars and blood—never free.

Ernest E. Evans waged a last, brutal war not just with guns but with gut. His ship may have founder’d beneath the surface, but his spirit roams eternal on bloodied waves.

“I don’t deserve a Medal of Honor,” he once said, “but someone has to keep their head in the storm.” That was the bone-deep truth. He held the line for all of us.

Sources

[1] Naval History and Heritage Command, Medal of Honor Citation for Ernest E. Evans [2] Samuel B. Roberts Association, “The Destroyer Escort Who Fought Like a Destroyer”