Ernest E. Evans' Last Stand on USS Samuel B. Roberts

Jan 18 , 2026

Ernest E. Evans' Last Stand on USS Samuel B. Roberts

Ernest E. Evans stood alone at the bridge of USS Samuel B. Roberts. Smoke choked the skies. Enemy shells ripped the sea around him. His destroyer was a nail dangling on the edge of annihilation. But he wasn’t backing down. Not today.

“Hit ‘em where it hurts.” That was his battle cry. Against a far superior Japanese fleet, Evans drove forward into hellfire, knowing every moment might be his last.

Blood and Honor: A Warrior’s Foundation

Born in Pawnee, Oklahoma, Ernest Edwin Evans was forged by America’s heartland—the kind of place where grit and duty run deep in the marrow. A Naval Academy graduate, he carried something rare in every fiber beyond rank or orders: a warrior’s faith and resolve.

His unwavering belief in a higher purpose anchored him in chaos. Reports and letters speak of a man who carried scripture quietly but firmly. He lived by a strict code—all for the men under his command, all for duty.

Philippians 1:21 echoed in his veins:

“For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”

That faith never wavered when steel screamed or gunpowder burned.

Into the Maelstrom: The Battle Off Samar, October 25, 1944

The Leyte Gulf was a crucible.

Task Unit 77.4.3, known as “Taffy 3,” was a flotilla of escort carriers, destroyers, and destroyer escorts—lightfooted, lightly armed. Not a fleet meant to stare down the Imperial Japanese Navy’s Center Force, including heavy cruisers and battleships led by Vice Admiral Takeo Kurita.

Evans commanded USS Samuel B. Roberts (DE-413), a John C. Butler-class destroyer escort. Under his leadership, the tiny warship stood as a formidable David against a Goliath lashing out with 18-inch guns and squadrons of torpedo boats.

The orders were simple: protect the escort carriers at all costs.

Evans’s tactic was brutal and swift. He slugged it out with heavy cruisers Chokai, Kumano, and SuZUYA, and a battleship, Haruna, defying logic and survival odds. His ship dodged shells, traded blows, and launched torpedoes in desperate counterstrikes.

Despite Samuel B. Roberts taking crippling damage, Evans pressed forward—ramming a cruiser and firing until his ship’s bow was nearly severed. He died at his post, thrown into the sea by a catastrophic explosion.

He faced death head-on as others fled.

“Although mortally wounded, Commander Evans courageously refused to withdraw from the battle and continued to direct the defense of his task unit” – Medal of Honor citation.

Honors Born in Fire

For his valor, Ernest E. Evans was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor.

His citation reads with blunt reverence:

“His intrepid actions and consummate dedication to duty contributed essentially to the protection of the escort carriers and the salvation of the entire task unit.”

Survivors recalled his fearless leadership. Captain Harold C. “Mike” Fitton of escort carrier Gambier Bay said:

“Evans was the driving force. Under his command, Roberts was a demon ship. He burned brighter than any torpedo in that hellstorm.”

His sacrifice—leading a squadron’s desperate stand against overwhelming force—saved countless lives and preserved the strike capability of the invasion fleet.

Legacy in the Wake of War

Ernest Evans’s story is blood and fire made eternal in the Navy’s halls. His spirit embodies courage when the world screams retreat. A reminder that one man’s resolve can alter tides.

Battle scars are not just wounds—they are badges of faith in something larger than self.

Evans’s example forces us to confront what real leadership sacrifices look like: no glory without risk, no victory without cost.

In the darkest hours, his voice whispers a fierce command: stand your ground. Fight with honor. Leave no man behind.

“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

The Samuel B. Roberts, called “the destroyer escort that fought like a battleship,” sails forever in memory. So does the man who chose certain death for a slim chance at salvation—not just of ships, but of souls.

He gave the final measure of devotion. Not in desire, but necessity. Not for medals or fame, but because it was right.

Ernest E. Evans—warrior, hero, redeemer in the storm—calls every warrior still alive to live by that fire. To lead fearlessly. To fight for the brother next to you, even when all hope is lost.

Because some battles are not about winning. They’re about being willing.

Sources

1. Naval History and Heritage Command, Medal of Honor Citation and Action Report for Ernest E. Evans 2. Morison, Samuel Eliot. History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, Volume XII: Leyte 3. Hornfischer, James D. The Last Stand of the Tin Can Sailors: The Extraordinary World War II Story of the U.S. Navy’s Finest Hour