Submarine! (8 page)

The dials of the TDC whirl around: 1,400 yards' range!—1,350 yards!—1,300!—1,250!

As the range reaches 1,200 yards, the Captain's lips part at last, and a roar bursts from him, as if pent up within him until there is no containing it.

“FIRE!”

Wahoo's
fifth torpedo starts its trip toward the rapidly approaching enemy. The men in their cylindrical steel prison feel a tightening of the suspense; the tension under which they are all laboring rises to a nearly unbearable pitch. But O'Kane is still giving bearings, and the TDC dials are still racing. Torpedo run for that fifth fish should be about thirty-two seconds. Morton waits a full ten seconds.

“FIRE!”

The sixth and last torpedo leaves its tube.

Dick O'Kane continues to watch at the periscope. A curious feeling of relief, of actual detachment from the whole situation, wells up within him. He now has the role of spectator, and there is nothing he or anyone else can do to change the outcome of events. He makes a mental reservation to pull the 'scope down if the torpedoes miss, so that the destroyer will not break it off passing overhead.

Two white streaks almost merged into one in the murky water, swiftly draw themselves toward the onrushing Jap. Twenty seconds since the first one was fired. Dick notices much activity on the bridge of the destroyer. He starts to heel to port, as his rudder is evidently put hard a-starboard. The first white streak is almost there now—is there, and goes on beyond, evidently a miss by a hairbreadth. But the second white chalkline is a little to the left of the first—it is almost there now—it is there. My God, we've missed! What?—WHAM! A geyser of dirty water rises right in the middle of the destroyer, breaks him exactly in half, holds him suspended there like a huge inverted V, his bow slanted down to the right. The white-clad figures crowded all over his top-sides are tumbling ridiculously into the water, arms and legs helplessly flailing the air. A cloud of mingled smoke and steam billows out of the broken portion of the stricken hull, rises hundreds of feet into the air, a continuation of the original geyser. Then, swiftly, the halves separate, and each slides drunkenly beneath the once-smooth surface of Wewak Harbor, now roiled up by the force of the explosion and the splashes from hundreds of particles of metal and other pieces of gear from the doomed vessel.

Within
Wahoo's
thick steel hull the force of the explosion is terrific, something like a very close depth charge, as heavy a blow as if the destroyer had actually succeeded in completing his run upon her. Some of the crew, in fact, do believe they have received the first of a series of such depth charges. But in the conning tower there is wild exultation. Always kept ready for an opportunity such as this, the cam
era is broken out, and several pictures are made of the bow of the enemy vessel which, for a moment, remains to be photographed.

Then, and not until then,
Wahoo
goes to deep submergence—obviously not very deep in an anchorage—and starts for the entrance of the harbor more than nine miles away. The trip out is punctuated by numerous shell splashes on the surface of the water, sporadic bombing, and the patter of several distant machine guns. No doubt the Japs in the shore batteries would like to cause the undersea raider to lie “doggo” on the bottom until some anti-submarine forces, perhaps the two patrol ships sighted in the early morning, can get to the area. But
Wahoo
doesn't scare worth a damn, and late that evening she surfaces well clear of the harbor.

When asked later how he had managed to keep his nerve in the face of the attacking destroyer, Morton is reputed to have answered: “Why do you think I made O'Kane look at him? He's the bravest man I know!”

So it was that
Wahoo
gave the submarine force her first lesson on one way to dispose of enemy destroyers. Needless to say, that method was seldom sought deliberately, even by the more successful sub skippers, but it is worthy of note that Sam Dealey in
Harder
, Roy Benson in
Trigger
, and Gene Fluckey in
Barb
at one time or another attempted similar shots.

Three days after Wewak,
Wahoo's
lookouts sighted smoke on the horizon. This was to be a red-letter day.

The minute smoke is sighted, or radar contact made at night, it is necessary to determine the approximate direction of movement of the contact. Otherwise, the submarine might track in the wrong direction, lose contact, and never regain it. So Wahoo's bow is swung toward the smoke, and several successive bearings are taken. This takes time, for it is not easy to determine the direction of motion of a wind-blown cloud of smoke when the ship making it is not visible. You don't want it to be visible, either, for that might enable an alert lookout to sight you.

The smoke resolves itself into two freighters on a steady course, no zigzag—which makes the problem easier. Shortly before 0900
Wahoo
dives with the two vessels “coming over the hill,” masts in line. Then she lies in ambush, her crew at battle stations, torpedoes ready except for the final operations, always delayed until the last possible moment before firing.

Wahoo's
plan is to lie a little off the track of the two ships, and fire at both almost at once in a single attack, so that torpedoes fired at the second ship will have nearly arrived before hits in the leading ship might give the second sufficient warning to maneuver to avoid. As the targets finally show up, however, Morton realizes that he is too close to the track to carry out his original intention of firing three of his six bow tubes at each ship. You must allow enough range for your fish to arm and reach running depth. So Mush regretfully reverses course, and now plans to shoot stern tubes. Since there are only four tubes aft, he will have to be content with two fish per ship, and consequently less certain of sinking them.

Closer and closer come the two unsuspecting ships. Submarining is exactly like hunting, for you stalk your prey, lay a trap for him, and then wait for him to fall into it. Granted that merchant ships do not have an equal chance against a submarine, a skillfully handled ship can escape once the submarine has been detected, and an exceptionally well-handled one might even do damage to the undersea craft. Of course any submarine caught on the surface, by no matter what agency, is in trouble. So there is a definite element of danger in the hunt, and it is accentuated if defensive vessels, such as escort ships or aircraft, are about. Tension mounts as the game draws nigh. Periscope exposures become briefer but more frequent, to prevent a chance sighting as the firing point approaches. O'Kane is still doing the periscope work—excellent training for the skipper-to-be of USS
Tang
.

Twenty degrees to go. Since the two ships are nearly in column and not far apart, it is planned to hit the first one just after he has passed astern of
Wahoo
, and immediately get
the second just before he crosses her stern. Thus there will be the minimum interval between all fish, and it will be more like a single salvo.

“Make ready the stem tubes! Set depth ten feet!”

“Tubes ready aft! Depth set, ten feet!” The telephone talker repeats the report from the after torpedo room.

“Match gyros aft!” The TDC operator cuts in the gyro regulator for the after torpedo room, and a quick telephone check is made to insure that the angle transmitted from the conning tower is actually being reproduced at the tubes. It is the third time this particular check has been made this morning, but this is the time you want it to count.

“Standby aft!” Sound indicates there are only a few degrees to go. Plot and TDC indicate the same thing. O'Kane puts the 'scope back up.

“Continuous bearings!” The periscope bearing reader commences a singsong chant:

“One seven nine—one seven nine and a half—one eight oh—one eight oh and a half—one eight one . . .”

“Set—set—set!” from Rog Paine on the TDC.

Mush takes a final look at all dials, checks the bearings, and pronounces the word they have all carefully avoided saying until this moment:

“Fire!”
The first torpedo speeds on its way. Ten seconds later, “Fire!” again, and the second torpedo is ejected, to follow nearly in the path of the first.

“Check fire! Shift targets!” Morton is taking no chances that an excited sailor might shoot off the last two torpedoes aft.

At the same time, from O'Kane on the periscope, “Check fire! Shifting targets!” These two know each other's thoughts, know exactly what is expected and desired. Dick spins his periscope a few degrees to the left, picks up the second target, a somewhat larger freighter.

“On target! Bearing—mark! Continuous bearings!” And the chant resumes:

“One six nine, one six nine and a half, one seven oh——”

“Fire!” and, ten seconds later,

“Fire!”

Total time to fire all four torpedoes has been thirty-seven seconds.

The skipper orders left full rudder and full speed in order to get the bow tubes around in case the stern tubes prove to have been not enough.

Wahoo
has barely started her swing to the left, when—

“Whang!” and then, almost exactly ten seconds later,

“Whang!” again. The first ship.

O'Kane had lowered his periscope to avoid being seen. Knowing the approximate time required for the torpedoes to reach the first target, he now raises it just in time to see the two hits, one near the bow of the leading ship, the other in his stern. He swings to the second ship, and sees a thudding hit in the stern of that one also, an instant before the sound and shock wave of that explosion reaches
Wahoo
.

Three hits for four torpedoes. Not bad shooting, Mush. Now let's see if they sink, or if you have to polish these cripples off.

Down periscope again.
Wahoo
continues her swing, to bring her bow tubes to bear. Shortly before the circle is complete, up goes the 'scope, and a sweep around is made, to take stock of the situation.

Wonder of wonders! Now three ships are seen, instead of the original two! The newcomer is a large transport-type vessel, and troops can be seen crowding the decks. He must have been behind the larger freighter, hidden from the limited
view
of the periscope eye. So there are two damaged ships and one undamaged.

“Standby forward!” Bow tubes are ready, outer doors opened. There is no time to track this new target—only time to make the tubes ready, put the bearing into the TDC, and shoot. The same speed as for the original targets is used, because there is no information indicating a difference in the transport's speed, until this moment anyway.

“Fire!” after ten seconds. “Fire!” and then “Fire!” for the third time. Three torpedoes flash out toward the transport, and the last two hit him, with the familiar tinny, high-pitched
explosion. The sound of water pouring into his damaged hull comes clearly over the listening gear, and his screws can no longer be heard. That will hold
him
for a while. Now back to the other two ships!

A quick look around shows that one is dead in the water, listed to starboard, and down by the stern. Nothing much to worry about there. He's evidently on his way to Davy Jones' Looker right now.

But that second target is still underway, and has turned toward
Wahoo
. Give this Jap skipper credit for trying his best to fight his way out of the tough spot he is in. He has turned toward the place where the torpedoes came from, probably in the hope of ramming the submarine, or, at least, of interfering with further shots. He achieves his intention, too, for
Wahoo
is forced to fire two torpedoes quickly at him—another “down the throat” shot—in hopes of cooling off his combativeness. One hit, but even this doesn't stop him. Closer and closer comes the wounded hulk, yawing slightly as the Jap skipper and helmsman try to keep on course. Too late to fire another fish. The range is too close to allow proper functioning, and it would simply be a torpedo wasted. Nothing to do except duck.

“Flood negative! All ahead full!” The orders crack out like a whiplash. “Left full rudder!
Take her down!”

Down plunges
Wahoo
, to get out from in front of that tremendous bow on which O'Kane has been counting rivets for the past fraction of a minute. Eighty feet, by conning tower depth gauge, and everyone breathes easier. Nothing can reach you down here. And listen to what's going on topside! Explosions, hangings, cracklings, water gurgles, a whirling and a thumping all over the place.
Wahoo
has certainly raised hell with this convoy!

But this is not the time for compassion. The job now is to get the rest of those ships down, and quickly, before they can get help from somewhere. “Up periscope!” Though the submarine is below periscope depth, and the range of visibility under water is not very great, a quick look will tell O'Kane
whether they are coming up under the dark hull of one of the ships up there.

The periscope breaks surface to show nothing in sight, and Morton heaves an involuntary sigh of relief.

Only two ships can be seen now, while a large area covered with dirt, coal dust, and debris marks the end of the first target. The freighter which had attempted to ram is still underway, but the transport is stopped dead in the water, his topsides boiling with soldiers.
Wahoo
bores in, lines him up, and shoots one torpedo.