March Anson and Scoot Bailey of the U.S. Navy

by Marshall McClintock

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ATTACK!

  It was the cold water that brought Scoot to his senses, cold watercreeping up over his chest. When he felt it, he scrambled forward, butfell back in his seat at once. The arm he had reached out to pullhimself up with would not work. It hung limp at his side. He glanceddown and saw blood streaming from it.

  “Got to do something about that!” he muttered dazedly. “Anyway, itworked. He thought he hit me. I did a nice slow spinning dive. Hethought he’d got the pilot and the plane just went out of control, fellinto a natural slow spin. And did I keep it slow! He must have thoughtit was funny when I pulled out of it just over the water, but I didn’tmake it look too good. Couldn’t. But I’d slowed her down plenty, thenput her into a stall and let her flop back tail first.”

  The water was creeping higher as Scoot sat there thinking of what hadjust happened. Then he shook himself to clear his head, reached up withhis good arm and pulled himself forward. The door of the cockpit wasalready wrenched half off, so Scoot crawled out easily enough. But thenhe slipped and fell into the water.

  The shock revived him a little more so that he grabbed one pontoon.Slowly and painfully he pulled himself up on it. Then he looked up intothe sky. Far to the west he saw the dot that was the Jap pursuit shipheading back to its convoy. Scoot smiled weakly.

  “He thinks he’s killed an American flier,” he mumbled. “He doesn’t knowhow hard that is to do.”

  The plane was not sinking any further. Its tail and most of thefuselage were covered but the nose and wings and pontoons were abovethe surface.

  “Only one pontoon busted,” Scoot told himself. “The other’s holding usup—that and the wing tanks that are almost empty.”

  Then he saw his broken arm again. He had to stop that flow of blood. Hewriggled forward a little on the sloping pontoon so that he could wraphis legs around the brace leading from it to the plane’s fuselage. Thenhe used his good left arm to rip off most of one side of his shirt.Holding one end of the strip in his teeth, he wound the cloth aroundthe bad arm above the break, making it as tight as he could. It slippeda little as he tied it, but it was fairly tight. The flow of blood didnot stop, but it was greatly reduced.

  “Don’t know how much longer I can keep my strength,” he said tohimself. “Better make myself fast somehow.”

  _He Tied Himself to the Strut_]

  Slowly he struggled out of his trousers, after taking the waterproofpouch with the convoy information and putting it in his money belt.Next he tied himself to the strut with the legs of his trousers. Thenhe sat, looking eastward in the direction from which _Kamongo_ mustcome.

  “I’m not quite as far as I ought to be,” he thought, feelingconsciousness leaving him. “They’ll probably go right under me.”

  It was there that March found him. He had brought _Kamongo_ to thesurface a short distance before the spot agreed upon for the meeting.But there had been no sign of Scoot. Keeping steadily ahead on course,March had ordered all men to stay below at their stations except forhimself and the controlman on the bridge. They were riding the vents,with main ballast tanks open, and air vents at the top closed. Thewater rushed in to fill part of the tanks, but not all of them, becauseof the air trapped inside. That still allowed _Kamongo_ enough buoyancyto keep on the surface, but not at full speed. All that was needed fora dive was the opening of the air vents at the top of the ballasttanks. That might save twenty seconds in the diving operations andtwenty seconds might make all the difference in the world.

  March had looked frantically over the sea when they reached thedesignated spot. Still no sign of Scoot. And no report from the radio.

  “Something happened!” he muttered to himself. “Something happened!”

  So he continued on the surface—mile after mile beyond the assignedspot, in danger every minute from enemy planes that might sight him.Still no word over the radio.

  He was just about to give up and order the ship to submerge when he sawthe dot on the sea ahead. He was ready for a dive at any moment—but itmight be Scoot instead of an enemy craft. So he stayed on the surface,and looked, looked, looked as they came nearer. Then he saw it was aplane, crashed in a crazy position. He ordered main ballasts pumped andfull speed ahead. Next he ordered men up to man the guns in case thisshould prove some trick of the enemy’s.

  But long before they reached the plane they knew what it was. When theywere still some distance away, they saw the figure on one of thepontoons. As they neared the plane, men were ready with a collapsibleboat. Quickly they rowed to the plane, lifted Scoot into the rockingboat and took him back to the submarine. Lifting him up to the conningtower, they heard him mumble something. He reached the bridge just intime to have March lean close to his lips and hear, “Money belt—convoy.”

  In another minute Scoot was below in March’s bunk and Sallini washovering over him. And March was looking at the chart and theinformation about the big Jap convoy. He rushed to the interphone.

  “We’ve found it!” he called to all hands. “Scoot Bailey found it. We’reradioing headquarters, then going in to attack.”

  There was a whoop of joy throughout the ship. This was what they cameout in pigboats for—to find a flock of Jap ships and send them to thebottom!

  Quickly March gave details in code to Scotty at the radio and soon themessage was flashing out over the water. In a moment there would beaction on submarines, at airfields, in navy bases to the south and eastwhere the Americans were waiting for just this news.

  Then March took the ship down and they moved forward on a new course,planned to bring them to the convoy at the earliest possible moment.March figured it would take about two hours. By that time other shipsand subs would be on their way, and planes would be roaring overheadsoon after he reached the Jap ships.

  He went in to Scoot and found Sallini smiling.

  “He’ll be fine,” the pharmacist said. “Broken right arm, bad jagged cutsevering the artery. But we’ve got the blood flow stopped now, got thewound clean and dressed. He’s had some blood plasma and I’ll keepgiving him more as long as he needs it. He lost plenty of blood, buthe’ll be okay fast.”

  “Nothing besides the arm?” March asked.

  “Just some cuts around the head and one leg,” Sallini said. “Nothingserious. And exhaustion, too, but we can pull him out of that fast. Heought to be talking in a few hours and walking in a few days.”

  “How’s the Skipper?” March asked.

  “Still unconscious. Fever high but receding a little bit. Maybe he’llmake it.”

  “Here I am going into battle with my Skipper and my best friend outcold!” March exclaimed.

  “You’ve got the whole crew with you, sir,” the pharmacist said. “Everyman of ’em. Let’s get in the middle of that bunch of Jap ships andblast the daylights out of ’em!”

  Tension began to rise in the boat as they neared the convoy, travelingat a hundred and fifty feet where no shadow of a sub would be likely tobe seen from the air. March got on the phone and told all hands theplan of attack, not minimizing the dangers.

  “We’re going into the middle,” March said. “Alone. It was the Skipper’splan. We’ll be the first there, and we’re to scatter them so the planeswill find easy pickings and the other subs can pick them off as theyscamper away. We’ll have all tubes ready to go at just about the sametime—six fore and four aft. Then we’ll duck for all we’re worth andwe’ll go mighty deep and lay low.”

  There was another shout through the ship and the men stood eagerly attheir posts. And then came waiting, tense waiting, as the ship movedforward. Men had a cup of coffee, smoked a cigarette, walked back andforth nervously. But they did little talking. They were waiting,listening.

  Finally the sound man picked up something.

  “Propellers,” he said, “plenty of them—ten degrees to port.”

  “Take her to two hundred feet,” March ordered, and then gave a slightchan
ge in course to the helmsman.

  “We’ll get right in their path and lay low without motors running. Thesound detectors on the advance destroyers won’t catch us, then. Whenthey’ve passed over we can pick up motors again because their ownpropellers will kill all the sound ours make. We’ll come up in aboutthe middle, pick our spot and let go. I’ll want the periscope up forjust about five seconds.”

  The boat leveled off at two hundred and fifty feet. Motors were shutoff. Soon the sound man reported the close approach of the propellers.March had judged right—they were passing overhead.

  “Destroyer a little to starboard, passing over,” the soundman reported.

  “Another to port,” he reported in a moment. Then, a little later,“Battleship.”

  “Boy, wouldn’t it be nice to get that?” murmured one of the men.

  “Nice, yes,” March replied. “But that wouldn’t do the job for the otherboys that we’re going to do. We’ll let one of the Forts get thatbattleship. We’ll just send it running.”

  The men nodded in agreement. They knew the Skipper’s plan was best.

  Ship after ship passed over as there was silence in the submarine. ThenMarch spoke.

  “Come up to seventy-five feet now. They can’t hear.”

  The motors whined again and the sub tilted up slightly. Everyonewatched the depth hand move to seventy-five and stay there. The soundman continued to report propellers overhead. March figured that theymust be getting near the center of the convoy.

  “Say, here’s something!” the sound man exclaimed. There was completesilence as he listened more intently. “That’s a carrier or I’m amonkey!”

  “This is our spot!” March said quietly. Then he spoke over the phone tothe entire ship. “We’ve found our spot. Right by a carrier.”

  There were a few cries of pleasure, but most of the men were tooexcited to shout. March gave the order to bring the boat up toperiscope depth, standing by the shaft ready to grab it.

  As the ship leveled off he cried, “Up ’scope” and the big shaft slidupward. March grabbed the handles and had his eyes in place in afraction of a second. All the others watched him intently. He swung the’scope a little to the left, then to the right. His voice came sharplythen, giving the target setting for the forward tubes—all six of them.The men knew that was for the carrier.

  Then March swung the ’scope clear around a hundred and eighty degreesand focused. “Troopship!” he called, and then gave the target settingto be relayed to the after torpedo room.

  “Down ’scope!” he called. “Stand by to fire!”

  The shaft slid down. Everyone in the boat knew that the periscope mighthave been seen even in those few seconds it was up, even though mostlookouts on the convoy were keeping their eyes chiefly on the seasbeyond the group of ships. The sound man would know if a destroyer cameracing toward them. But March was not going to wait.

  “Fire one!” McFee pressed the button that fired number one torpedo.

  “Fire two!” The second one shot from the bow.

  “Fire three! Fire four! Fire five! Fire six!”

  In rapid order the commands came, then everyone waited tensely. Marchlooked at his watch, counting off the seconds. Then it came—the roar,the shock of an explosion, and the mighty cheer that tore through thethroats of every man on _Kamongo_. The first torpedo had struck home,but at that moment March called out, “Fire seven! Fire eight! Firenine! Fire ten!” And during those commands the men heard furtherexplosions from the first torps that had gone streaking out.

  March had not been able to count how many had come, but he knew thatMcFee had done so. But now all were waiting for the first sounds fromthe aft tubes. In a moment it came—the first torpedo against thetroopship, and March waited no longer.

  “Take her down!” he cried. “Three hundred feet!”

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