“I know my Irish nose is too big,” Brannon said mournfully, “so I’ll stick it in some more. You’re not only my Captain, I consider you to be my friend, and this damned exploder business has me worried!”
Hinman reached out in the dark to put his hand on Brannon’s shoulder and then he thought better of it and pulled his hand back.
“I know how you feel, Mike. We both know there’s something wrong with the design of that Mark Six exploder. We both know it’s never been properly tested. But the BuOrd people and the Staff at Pearl are going to keep on saying that the submarine captains are missing the targets rather than admit they’ve given us a defective weapon. Every captain who has complained about the exploders has had his ass chewed out! Hell, Donaho in Flying Fish damned near got a General Court for telling those dummies at Pearl what he thought of their exploders — and what he thought of them!” He drew a deep breath.
“I intend to follow my orders to the letter. I will observe the shipping in the harbor and report what I see. And then, by God, I intend to carry out a sentence in the patrol orders you seem to have forgotten. It reads, quote and unquote, no attack on enemy shipping will be carried out unless conditions are most favorable and the chance of enemy reprisal minimal.
“If there is enemy shipping to be attacked then the conditions are going to be favorable! If Chief Rhodes is right about what’s wrong with those exploders and if he and Ginty have corrected that error, then by God, we’re going to end this exploder controversy once and for all!”
Brannon turned toward the bridge. “Very well, sir. We should be about three miles due east of the harbor when we dive.”
“Not ‘about three miles due east,’ Brannon. My night orders say we will dive exactly three miles due east of the harbor mouth.”
Brannon was busy at his chart in the Control Room, sliding a set of parallel rulers across the harbor mouth of Balikpapan when Chief Torpedoman Gordon “Dusty” Rhodes stopped beside him.
“I gave him the word, Chief,” Brannon said in a low voice. “I told him that he had laid himself, you and Ginty open to a court-martial but he says it doesn’t make any difference. He’s going to shoot all the fish we have and if we get hits he feels this will end the argument about the Mark Six exploder, that they’ll have to modify the exploders.”
“I didn’t think we’d be doing much shooting this patrol,” Rhodes said. “I thought we were on a search and observe patrol.”
Brannon tapped the chart with his dividers, touching the port of Balikpapan. “The Dutch, to be precise, the Royal Shell Petroleum Company, built a big oil refinery here, back in eighteen ninety-nine. The whole area is full of oil — they say it’s almost pure stuff. The people who were running the refinery tried to sabotage it when the Japs moved in, that would be last January, but they didn’t do much of a job of sabotage. The Japs have got the refinery in operation. Japan lives on oil, you know. This is one of their biggest sources of supply.
“Which means that they are going to protect it, protect the oil tankers that leave here for Japan. I think we’re going to find as many destroyers in that harbor as there are tankers. I’ve tried to talk to the Old Man about the possibility of tanker convoys under strong escort but he just ignores me. He used to be willing to talk about everything with me. Now he only tells me what he has to tell me. He’s changed a lot since the ship was put in commission.”
“He’s got more reasons than most of us to change,” Rhodes said. “He’s lost more than any of us.”
“His wife? Yes, that’s a reason, Chief. But that’s behind him now. The ship comes first. This patrol isn’t going to be any picnic. The Japanese are getting damned good at anti-submarine warfare and they’re going to get a lot better!”
“How would we know how good they are?” Rhodes said. His eyes were veiled, his face without expression.
“Chief,” Brannon said slowly, “you and every other Chief of the Boat hold a position found only in submarines. You aren’t one of the officers and you aren’t really one of the crew. You sort of float in between both. So I’m going to tell you something for your ears alone, understand?
“We lost the Perch a little while back, in March. She survived a number of attacks before they got her and her Captain got off several messages before the Japs got the ship. From what he said the Japanese anti-submarine attacks were extremely well coordinated, they have sonar equipment much better than we ever realized and they used it with great skill. He tried every evasive maneuver he had been taught and none of it worked! He said in one message that they were so sure of him that they played with him like a cat with a mouse!
“We’ve lost seven submarines this year and the war isn’t nine months old! I try to talk to the Old Man about evasive tactics and things like that but he doesn’t seem to want to talk. I’d just like to know what’s got into him, why he’s changed.”
“We notice it,” Chief Rhodes said. “He used to be an easy Skipper, easy to live with. Hard if you didn’t know your job but easy if you did. Now he’s easy one day, hard the next. He doesn’t stop and shoot the shit with the crew like he used to do. They notice things like that. Some of the people wonder if the lousy luck we had the first patrol has made him afraid, nervous.”
“He’s not afraid, Chief. Not that! If anything I’m afraid that he’s not afraid at all! But I guess we’ve all changed a little. If you’re going aft will you ask the baker to give me a cup of hot coffee and a couple of doughnuts?” He watched Rhodes’ broad back move toward the After Battery Compartment. The rest of us might change, he thought to himself, but the Chief of the Boat won’t change. He’ll always be what he always has been, a solid rock of a man, an invaluable link between the Wardroom and the crew, governing the enlisted men with a shrewd practical psychology backed with the unspoken threat of sudden physical violence if his orders were not obeyed to the letter. He turned to his chart and went back to work.
“Coffee’s coming up,” Rhodes said to him a few minutes later. “No doughnuts this morning, sweet rolls. The baker will split a couple and fix ‘em with butter for you.”
“That canned butter!” Brannon made a face.
“Soaks in real quick, doesn’t taste too bad,” Rhodes said with a chuckle. He went forward through the Forward Battery Compartment where the officers and chief petty officers slept and into the Forward Torpedo Room. “Ginch” Ginty, the Mako’s leading torpedoman, was sprawled in a folding canvas chair in front of the shiny brass doors of the six torpedo tubes. He stood up as he saw Rhodes approaching, balancing his massive weight on his toes.
“Old Man get the word on the exploders, Chief?”
“The Exec told him. They must have talked a lot about it. The Exec is worried that if we turn any fish in to the Base at Pearl we’ll all get a General Court for modifying the exploders. The Old Man says not to worry, he’s going to shoot all the fish!”
“Hot damn!” Ginty said. “Sounds good!” He sat down in the canvas chair.
“It won’t sound so good if those exploders don’t work,” Rhodes said.
“They got to work!” Ginty rumbled. “Once these babies are armed, once this warhead hits anything with four pounds of impact force, that exploder is gonna work! You’re gonna hear the biggest fucking noise you ever heard!” He reached up and patted the dull bronze 600-pound warhead that loomed over him. “This baby will make the biggest noise in the world if the Old Man can find anything to shoot it at and if he can hit it!”
“He isn’t a bad shot,” Rhodes said. “He made some nice approaches on those targets on the first patrol. And we got hits with those two fish that were set for two feet. He said he saw the fish hit the side of the ship and then bounce up in the air and fall away without exploding.”
“He says he saw that,” Ginty snorted. “Wasn’t no one but him lookin’ through the periscope!”
“Lieutenant Cohen was on the sound gear,” Rhodes said. “He said he tracked the fish right into the target.”
“Him!” Ginty said derisively. �
��What the fuck does he know? Fucking Reserve feather merchant! He ain’t a sailor! What was he in civilian life, some sort of preacher?”
“He was studying to be a Rabbi,” Rhodes answered.
“Rabbi? That’s a Jew preacher, ain’t it? So what does he know about torpedoes and submarines? You know what that silly fuck told me one day? He said he could hear shrimp on the sound gear! How the hell can you hear shrimp? They can’t swim! What do they do, talk to him in Jew talk?”
“They click their tails when they move along the bottom,” Rhodes said. His voice sharpened a trifle. “And lay off using that word ‘Jew.’ It isn’t polite. People can be sensitive about things like that.”
“I’ve got a sensitive ass,” Ginty growled. “And I’d like to get off my ass and open these outer doors and shoot these babies!”
“I think you’re going to get your wish,” Rhodes said slowly. “In fact, I’d bet money on it. Just keep your fingers crossed that the exploders work!”
Chapter 2
The blast of the diving klaxon sent the Mako sliding down under the sea before the first light of the false dawn. Captain Hinman stood in the Conning Tower, waiting until the diving officer had leveled the ship off at 63 feet. Then he cautiously raised the periscope and began a methodical search of the horizon. As he finished, Mike Brannon’s voice came up to him through the hatch.
“Crew is at Battle Stations, sir. Torpedo tube doors are closed. Repeat closed. We should be at the approach to the harbor entrance in twenty minutes. Sunrise should be in twenty-four minutes. When the headland on our starboard hand bears zero five zero, sir, we’ll have to make a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn to port and proceed on the reverse course. We should have time to run in, run out and run in again before the sun gets too high to blind anyone looking for our periscope.”
“Very well,” Captain Hinman said.
The Mako slid silently through the water. As the ship neared the mouth of the harbor, Captain Hinman, searching the area to his stern, flinched at the blaze of the rising sun in the lens of the periscope.
“The sun is up now, Control. Bring me up another ten feet. Slowly! I don’t want to broach!” He nodded at Chief Yeoman John Maxwell who stood in the after end of the Conning Tower with a notebook and pencil ready.
“Stand by, John. Take down everything I say.” He swung the periscope through another complete turn, examining the sea and the sky. Then he steadied the lens on the harbor. Maxwell saw the muscles of Hinman’s shoulders bunch under his thin khaki shirt.
“I see one ... three ... six, seven ... nine ... eleven oil tankers in the harbor!” Hinman’s voice was crisp. “Five of those ships are in the center of the harbor. I can’t tell from this distance and angle whether they are moored or anchored. Estimated tonnage of those five ships ranges from five to eight thousand tons.
“There are two ships at docks at the far end of the harbor. These are much larger ships, look to be twice the size of those in the middle of the harbor. The five tankers in the middle of the harbor appear to be fully loaded.
“There are four destroyers underway in the harbor! One of the destroyers is very large, estimate it to be a Fubuki destroyer leader.” He pulled the periscope around. “Headland now bears zero five zero, Control. Commence your turn to port.” He swung the periscope back to the harbor.
“The four destroyers have formed up and are now standing this way, coming toward the harbor mouth! The Fubuki is in the lead!” He began to turn the periscope to the right as the Mako began to turn left.
“I’ll stay at this depth for two more minutes,” he said to the Control Room. “When I give you the word take me back down to sixty-three feet. Here we go again, Chief. I see four ships deep in the harbor, this is in addition to the others recorded. These ships are either anchored or moored. All appear to be some sort of freighters, I cannot estimate tonnages from here. There are several warships, destroyers or destroyer leaders moored in a nest. I count six destroyers in that nest.
“The Japanese destroyers are now nearing the mouth of the harbor. Range to the lead destroyer is four zero zero zero yards! Open the outer doors on all torpedo tubes! Take me down to sixty-five feet! Fast!” He slammed the handles on the search periscope into the up position and jammed his thumb against the button that lowered the periscope.
“Left fifteen degrees rudder!” He thumbed the control button to raise the attack periscope, a thin-necked tube with a small viewing lens that left very little wake at slow speeds.
“Sound reports screws bearing two one zero, sir,” Brannon reported.
“Very well,” Hinman said. He handed the periscope control to the quartermaster. “Up slowly, I’ll ride her up.” He crouched down on the deck and as the periscope rose out of its well he snapped the handles down and clamped his face against the rubber eyepiece and rode the periscope upward. The quartermaster watched him carefully, his thumb on the button that would stop the upward travel of the periscope. Hinman saw the solid green water in the lens break into foam and daylight.
“Stop!” Hinman snapped.
“Lead destroyer now bearing zero zero zero! Range is two five zero zero! Helm amidships! Meet her head right there! By God, I don’t think they know we’re here!” He watched the big Fubuki, its high knife-like bow cleaving the water as it passed directly in front of Mako, followed by the three smaller ships.
“They’re going so fast they can’t hear anything on their sound gear,” Hinman said. “Take a fathometer reading, Mike. I want to know how much water we’ve got under our keel over here.”
He heard the muted “ping” of the fathometer and then Mike Brannon’s voice came up through the hatch.
“Forty feet under the keel, sir. Repeat. Four zero feet.” Hinman shuddered. The Mako was in water far too shallow to do any evasive maneuvering. He looked at the line of destroyers again. The Fubuki was now well out of the harbor and picking up speed. He saw a burst of bright color at the Fubuki’s foremast yardman as the ship began a turn to the left, heading north. Similar bursts of color showed at the foremasts of the other three destroyers as they obeyed the turn signal. As the destroyers pulled away, the Mako slid toward the harbor.
“We’ll go right into the harbor mouth,” Hinman called down to the Control Room. “We’ll make a turn to starboard to come out, we know there’s plenty of water in the channel. John, stand by with your pencil. I’ll make another count of the ships.” He ran up the search periscope with its big viewing lens. His ship count was correct. He gave orders to reverse course and looked to the north. He could see the faint outlines of the destroyers, still heading northward.
“Close Torpedo Room outer doors,” he called down to the Control Room. “Mr. Simms, turn the dive over to the Chief of the Watch and come up here and take the deck. Close torpedo tube outer doors. Crew can stand easy on Battle Stations. Cooks can serve coffee now, breakfast later when I give the word. Maintain quiet about the decks. I’ll see Mr. Brannon in the Wardroom in five minutes with his charts. Smoking lamp is lighted.”
Captain Hinman sipped at a cup of black coffee as he studied the chart Brannon had laid out on the Wardroom table. Brannon spooned sugar into his coffee cup and poured canned milk into the cup.
“I want to set up a patrol course along the coast from the harbor north,” Hinman said. “As long as those tin cans are out of sight to the north we can risk fathometer readings as we go. We might need that information later.” He put his thick thumb on the chart. “I’d like to patrol from the harbor to about here, about ten miles up the coast and back again.”
“What do you think they’ll do?” Brannon’s eyes were innocent as he sipped his coffee.
“I saw five tankers in there loaded to their Plimosol marks,” Hinman said. “And a big Fubuki and three other tin cans came out of the harbor and went north. What do you think?”
“I’d say the tin cans are making an anti-submarine sweep, a search,” Brannon said. “That’s what I’d do if I was getting ready to put a c
onvoy out to sea. I’d search the area first.”
Hinman nodded, his face expressionless. “What else?”
“Well, if they don’t find anything and I don’t think they will because there’s not another submarine of ours within five hundred miles of here, they’re all well north of us, I’d say the tin cans will come back and escort some tankers out of the harbor.”
“When? Before or after dark?”
“After dark.” Brannon warmed to the questions he was being asked. “If I were on that Fubuki I’d come back with my other cans and make another sweep around the harbor mouth and then lead out my convoy, form them up and start north. I’d stay close to the land mass so the ship’s outlines couldn’t be picked up against the mountains. There’s good water, deep water all the way in to the beach according to this chart we have. That would be the safest thing for them to do, don’t you think?”
“I’m asking you what you think,” Hinman said. He stood up and stretched hugely.
“He’d be safe from observation from the sea,” Brannon said slowly. “But what he wouldn’t know is that we are in between his ships and the beach!” He looked up at Captain Hinman.
“Exactly!” Hinman said. “I’m going to get some sleep. Wake me if the periscope watch sees anything at all. Secure Battle Stations. Serve breakfast. Maintain quiet about the decks.” He left the Wardroom. Brannon watched him go. He hadn’t said anything about his battle plan. Or had he? Brannon sighed and looked at the chart.
Chapter 3
Mako surfaced after full dark, the water streaming from her superstructure and deck in a silver cascade. Her big diesel engines began hammering out a battery charge as she wallowed on a course close in to the land mass of Borneo. Captain Hinman had been awakened twice during the late afternoon, first with a report that the Fubuki and the other three destroyers had returned and the second time to hear that the four destroyers were conducting an antisubmarine search to the east and south of the harbor.
Final Harbor (The Silent War Book 1) Page 2