by M L Maki
Cumberland studies the table. A cargo ship is steaming across them heading for the harbor. “The tramp above us will mask the noise. Open doors on 1 and 2. Match bearings. Tube 1 for Sierra 1. Tube 2 fore Sierra 2.”
A moment, “Bearings matched and cross checked.”
“Conn, Torpedo. Doors are open.”
Cumberland, “Very well. Ensigns, come here.”
They look at each other and walk over, “Vaught, when I tell you, push this button for tube 1.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Harvey, when I say, push this button for tube 2.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cumberland, “Fire tube 1.” There’s a thud, whoosh. “Fire tube 2.” Thud, whoosh.
“Conn, Torpedo. Tube 1 and 2 fired electrically.”
“Very well.”
“Conn, Sonar. Both torpedoes running hot, straight, and normal.”
“Very well.”
I-62, JAPANES SUBMARINE SOUTH OF SYDNEY
Sonar, “Torpedoes in the water. Two torpedoes.”
Kobayashi, “Calm. He could not hit us from where he is positioned.”
Sonar, “One is turning, sir. Bearing is constant.”
Kobayashi, “Emergency blow. Standby the diesels.”
They flip the chicken switches and air is expelled into the ballast tanks, forcing the boat to surface. They break the surface in broad daylight within sight of the coast.
A sailor on the M/V Devine, a crossing merchant ship, grabs his camera and takes pictures of the Japanese submarine. The torpedo does not care that its target is now on the surface. It just switches from submarine target mode to surface target mode. It drives under the keel at the center of the submarine, and detonates.
The sailor clicks off photo after photo as water shoots up both sides of the Japanese sub. The center of the sub raises up on the bubble of the explosion, then it drops, breaking the sub in two.
He sees the patrol boat turn toward the sinking sub.
I-65, JAPANESE SUBMARINE SOUTHEAST OF SYDNEY
Hearing the torpedoes pings against the hull, LCDR Harada Hakue orders his boat down to near the bottom. The torpedo acquires its target. The ground clutter doesn’t confuse it. It explodes right against the hull. A bubble of super-hot, high pressure gas crushes the hull, rapidly increasing the pressure throughout the sub. The sailors die in an instant.
CHAPTER 21
USS SAN FRANCISCO
0551, 23, February, 1942
Morrison watches the two new ensigns as the torpedoes make their run. Sonar reports the progress of the torpedoes and the OOD counts down the time to impact. At the first hit, they flinch. At the second, they pale. Morrison, “Harvey, Vaught, could you come forward with me?”
Cumberland, “Congratulations, men, you’re blooded.”
Vaught, “Thank you, sir.”
Harvey, “Th…thank you, sir.”
Morrison leads them forward to his stateroom. “Do you need the bathroom before we talk?”
Harvey, “Yes, sir.”
“Go ahead. Remember how to use the toilets.”
“Yes, sir.” Harvey disappears.
Morrison sits, but Vaught stays standing. “Sit.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Speak freely, Vaught. Share your thoughts.”
“Sir, why did he do that?”
“He was taking your measure. We’re a warship. We engage the enemy and destroy them.”
“But, sir, we didn’t even understand what was going on.”
“You knew you were firing the weapons, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you ever killed before? Hunted an animal? Shot a squirrel?”
“I’m from Long Island, sir.”
“Okay. Killing is a hard business. There are men who simply cannot not do it. In all likelihood, they’re better souls than we who can. Do you understand what I mean?”
“No, sir.”
There’s a knock and Harvey, face still damp, enters and sits down.
Morrison, “Are you okay?”
Harvey, “How many people did I just kill?”
“We just killed about one hundred, maybe one fifty. It’s part of the job.”
Vaught, “I get it, sir. On the carrier, we probably killed thousands between PI and Tokyo. It sucks, but war should suck.”
Harvey, “I’ve never, myself, with the push of a button killed someone. They all died, right?”
HMAS BALLARAT, J-184
LCDR James Roberts, on the bridge wing, studies the sea with his glass as they approach the first destroyed submarine. There are over a dozen Japanese sailors clinging to each other and debris. Roberts sees a fin slice through the water, “Johnson, fire on the shark.” As the sailor machine guns the shark, several Japanese dive below the water. Roberts launches a boat to recover the sailors, but many have already committed suicide.
I-68, JAPANESE SUBMARINE NORTH OF SYDNEY
Sonarman Hiro Sato, “Commander, two torpedoes. Two hits. I am certain of this. One hit the I-62. It blew ballast to confuse the torpedo, yet the torpedo hit it. The other, I believe, hit the I-65. It was very deep.”
Tanabe is silent, thinking.
Sato, “We detected an enemy submarine. The sound of flooding ballast was distinct. Less than two hours and we lose two submarines to torpedoes. Sir, what does it mean?”
Tanabe, “We know an American aircraft carrier came from the future. We are here to kill it. Lieutenant Okamoto, what capabilities would you expect from a future submarine? One built thirty or forty years from now?”
Okamoto, his XO, says, “Their sonar would be far superior. What we use is very new.”
“I agree. That means it would be very good at listening. We must be quiet. They must also be faster to deploy with a carrier group.”
Sate, “Captain, the submarine I heard had one screw. I am not certain, but I think the screw was large and it turned slowly. It has more than four blades. I think an odd number. Perhaps five.”
Tanabe, “Very good. We operate with the assumption that it is superior to our vessel in every way except our minds and our heart. The current is southward. We will move north and make our vessel as quiet as possible.”
Okamoto, “But sir, that moves us further from the harbor.”
“Yes, and further from the American.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
Morrison walks back in and straight to the chart table. Backes joins him, “The captain is in his stateroom for his after-kill jerk.”
Morrison, “Greg, you don’t know that’s what he’s doing.
“He’s not sewing a quilt.”
“We’ve sunk three surface ships and nine subs. We’ve killed, who knows how many people. You don’t know what he’s doing. We need to focus on finding any other subs out here. Why are we still heading south?”
“Because, wank-o-matic hasn’t given us a new course.”
Morrison, “Come to new course, 075. When we reach the hundred fathom curve, deploy the tail. At one fifty, turn north. Steer 020 for that leg.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When we get about twenty miles north of the harbor mouth, we’ll turn a westward leg, then another southerly leg. We should box the mouth again and again.”
“Do we think they could be further afield?”
“Diesel-electric subs like we are facing had very limited underwater range and endurance. They can’t know where the fleet is going. They’ll want to be fairly close.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s load tubes 1 through 4. Leave them dry for now.”
“What if we need missiles?”
“We’re looking for submarines. If the Japanese are this close with surface ships, we let the air force deal with it.”
“Roger that, sir.”
Morrison goes forward to the captain’s cabin and knocks.
“Just a second.” After a moment, “Enter.”
Cumberland is washing his hands in his sink.
Morri
son lays out the search plan.
Cumberland, “How good are our charts?”
“Pretty good, sir. They’re based on Royal Navy surveys in the late 1970’s.”
“Okay. I suspect there are at least one more, maybe two, and there may be more inbound. The Japs have to know how important the carrier is. If they’re out there, we need to find them.”
I-68, JAPANES SUBMARINE, 65 MILES NORTH EAST OF SYDNEY HARBOR
2310, 23 February, 1942
They surface and start the diesel generators. Tanabe studies the chart, “Lieutenant, one screw only. We want to sound like a fishing vessel.”
“Yes, captain.”
“Do ten-mile legs, turn east a mile, then another, until we are charged up. I’ll be in my cabin.”
“Yes, Captain.”
CONTROL, USS SAN FRANCISCO, 30 MILES EAST OF SYDNEY HARBOR
0315, 24 February, 1942
Master Chief Godoy and the helmsman are quietly talking. BM3 Bill Jackson asks, “Master Chief, did you find an in-port girlfriend?”
“Godoy, “No. In my heart I’m still married with kids.”
Jackson, “Do you have any great port visit stories?”
Godoy, “Not really. I enjoyed the garden and went fishing with a family from Clontarf. It was nice.”
“Catch anything?”
“I caught a couple of salmon. We ate some of it, and they smoked and canned the rest for me.”
“Did they have a daughter?”
“Two. One was twelve and the other ten.”
Lt. Henry Thoreau goes into sonar, “Gordon, what do we have?”
“Nothing new, sir. Way out to the east I’m still hearing the cacophony that’s supposed to be convoy 2-18. There are some fishing boats around, but nothing else.”
I-68, 30 MILES NORTH OF SYDNEY HARBOR
0400, 24 February, 1942
Tanabe watches from the sail as his sailors man the windlass forward, “I want five fathoms out.”
“Yes, sir.” They roll out the anchor, then stop it, and lock it in place.
“Now, men, tie that chaff gear very carefully. Our future rides on it.”
He watches as they follow his orders, making sure the anchor chain is secure and chaffing gear is locked down. “Good, it is time.” In fifteen minutes, they sink beneath the surface using the current to work their way toward Sydney.
USS SAN FRANCISCO
“Conn, Sonar. One of the fishing boats dropped anchor and shut off its engines.”
Thoreau, “Very well. Mark its location. Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
I-68, 2 MILES EAST AND 1 MILES SOUTH OF THE MOUTH OF SYDNEY HARBOR
1422, 24 February, 1942
Tanabe, “Right ten degrees rudder. Ahead slow.” The submarine slowly makes the turn. “Now, we need to let water into our trim tanks very slowly.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“The bottom is likely rocky. Be careful with the water.”
A few minutes later, “Rudder amidships. All stop.” They hear a crunch, then the thud of the anchor hitting bottom. The submarine weather vanes in the current and stays put.
SAN FRANCISCO
Thorsen straightens up, “Conn, Sonar. Transient at 285.”
Miller, “What do you make of it?”
“Sir, it sounded like something heavy hitting the bottom.”
“Is it coming from inside the harbor?”
“I don’t think so, sir. This came direct, before any reverberations.”
Miller walks into sonar, “Do we have anything at that bearing?”
“Sir, I’ve been going over the trace. I think this might be something, but it’s faint.”
“What is it?”
“Sir, with the sound, there was the rattle of an anchor chain. But we don’t have anything on the surface.”
“Okay, good job. Focus on that area and figure it out. Thank you, Thorsen.” He walks back into control and pushes a button, “Captain, possible contact near the harbor mouth.”
The fire control tech, “Sir, I’ve cross bearings from the dome and tail for the transient.”
Miller studies the tracks on the chart. They intersect south east of the harbor. Morrison, then Cumberland, come in and straight to the chart table. Miller, “Sonar picked up a transient that sounded like a dropped anchor. We triangulated using the tail and dome. It’s about three miles south east of the harbor.”
Cumberland, “Could it be an echo from our previous kills?”
Morrison, “Wrong placement, sir. What do we have on the surface?”
Miller, “Nothing.”
Cumberland, “It could be a sail boat. Wind up the tail and get us closer. Bring us up to periscope depth slowly and call me before we raise the scope.” Cumberland leaves.
Miller issues the new orders, then, “Wouldn’t we hear a sail boat?”
Morrison, “Subs have been fooled by sailboats before. It would have to be one hell of a sail boat. The chart has the depth at 180 feet. There are no charted wrecks in the area, either.”
Miller, “This is a 1970’s chart. Could there be an uncharted wreck?”
Morrison, “Wrecks accumulate. They don’t disappear. 180 feet down that wreck would not be hazard to navigation. It isn’t a wreck.”
Miller, “Debris?”
“With a chain?” Morrison walks into sonar, “I need to listen to it.” Thorsen plays it for him. “That isn’t a lot of chain, but I agree that it sounds like an anchor.”
Thorsen, “Sir, I’ve been trying to clean up the sounds from before. Listen to this.”
Morrison listens. There is a rhythmic creak with a very faint slow thrum. “What do you think?”
“Listen to it speeded up.” The creak becomes obviously repetitive and the faint thrum becomes screw noises.
Morrison, “Wow. Good job, Thurman. It’s definitely a vessel.”
“Yes, sir. A twin-screw vessel with three-bladed screws.”
“Right, a sub. Try to find out where it is now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Damn good job, Thurman.”
I-68
1610, 24 February, 1942
Two knots of current wash by the boat, keeping the bow pointed north. Everyone, except watch standers, are in their racks.”
A messenger quietly knocks on the captain’s door, “Sir, a group of vessels approach from the east.”
Tanabe, “Understood. It’s likely a convoy. If any of the vessels have more than two screws, let me know.”
“Yes, sir.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
1755, 24 February, 1942
The off-watch officers are eating dinner. Morrison, “The transient we heard is worrying me.”
Cumberland, “We need to check it to be certain, but it’s probably some uncharted junk on the bottom.”
Morrison, “Miller, has Thorsen heard anything new?”
“No, I agree with him, it’s likely a sub, but it’s become a hole in the ocean.”
Cumberland, “It might have drifted south on the current.”
They hear, “Captain, we’re at periscope depth within ten miles of the excursion.”
Morrison and Cumberland put their trays on the scullery board and go into control. Cumberland, “Traffic?”
“Several freighters from a convoy to the north.”
Cumberland, “Up scope.” Morrison goes to the starboard panel and watches the periscope view from the camera. Cumberland spins it and orders, “Mark.”
“348.”
“Mark.”
“011.”
“Down scope. The two sightings are cargo ships.”
Morrison, “Tango 27 and Tango 28.”
“Agreed.”
Morrison, “Sir, can we rig for silent?”
Cumberland tilts his head, a question in his eyes, “Thoreau, rig for silent.”