Chapter Three - War Games

CHAPTER THREE

War Games

WHEN WORLD WAR II broke out, L. Ron Hubbard saw it as an opportunity. Not just to serve, but to prove he was the kind of man he always claimed to be.

He joined the U.S. Navy in 1941. And according to him, his service was legendary. He said he commanded destroyers. He claimed he was wounded in combat. He told people he had been blinded and healed himself using the mental techniques he would later formalize in Dianetics. He spoke of top-secret missions, daring raids, and confidential commendations.

None of it was true.

The Navy’s records show something else entirely. Hubbard bounced between minor assignments and desk roles. He briefly commanded a submarine chaser, the USS PC-815, but was relieved of duty after a bizarre incident off the coast of Oregon. Hubbard became convinced that enemy submarines were lurking beneath the surface and opened fire for over two days. After dropping dozens of depth charges, he claimed to have sunk a Japanese sub. No evidence ever surfaced that anything was there. His superiors said he had been “overzealous” and “lacked the proper temperament for command.”

Later, he ordered live fire exercises off the coast of Mexico, without permission, and shelled an island that didn’t belong to the United States. He was pulled from command again.

Hubbard spent time in military hospitals, but there’s no record of combat injuries. His most persistent health problems were ulcers and arthritis. Still, after the war, he told people he was a decorated combat veteran who had survived deadly missions, overcome battlefield injuries, and discovered the secret to healing through the power of the mind.

He wrote letters to the Veterans Administration asking for benefits, describing himself as completely disabled. At the same time, he was telling friends and colleagues that he had developed breakthrough techniques to overcome injury and psychological trauma. He was building a story. One where he had conquered both the body and the mind.

The gap between his service record and his personal myth didn’t bother him. He didn’t see it as lying. He saw it as crafting a better version of the truth. And if the official record didn’t match, then the official record must be wrong.

To Hubbard, the facts didn’t matter unless they served the narrative.

And his next narrative was already taking shape.