“They never tell us anything like that in these damned messages they send,” Hinman growled. “They’re quick as hell, though, to tell us that those ships you put on the bottom in that harbor aren’t sunk, that we quote and unquote may have damaged them!”
“To be expected!” the Major said cheerfully. “If the bloody rear echelon bastards don’t do it themselves they can’t see how others can do it. When I brought my Skipper out to Port Moresby, had to carry the poor fucker most of the way on my back and him shittin’ all down me all the while, the intelligence brain down in Sydney decided my report that I’d killed thirteen of the Japs on the way out was an error. He credited me with five, I think. Bastard sits there in a cushy office with beer and American cigs at hand and tells me what I did! You’d think there was a bounty on the head of the Jap and they didn’t want to pay the money!”
“Did you really kill thirteen of the Jap bastards, Major?” Pete Simms’ eyes were shining, his tongue flicking out to lick his lips. Struthers looked at Simms for a long moment.
“I stopped counting at thirteen, sonny,” he said. “I think it was probably double that. Really doesn’t make any difference, does it? You have to put down something so the fat-asses in the rear know it wasn’t all steak and eggs. Bloody war is a bloody war, right? If you don’t kill them they kill you. That’s progress, you know. Sign of an advanced state of civilization when you can kill your fellow man before he kills you. Look at this lovely ship of yours; beautiful piece of machinery! Bloody useless except for legalized murder.
“Look at me! Bloody professor, I am. Spent my years trying to teach students the mysteries of grammar and pronunciation. For what purpose? What I should have been doing is studying the habits and ambitions of my natural enemy, the Jap.
“If I kill enough of them and if I live and if we win this bloody war and those are all great fucking items.” He drew the word out, his sweeping mustache bobbing.
“Then, when it’s all over I’ll be de-mobbed and will go, hat in hand, and ask if I can have back my old school desk. And in twenty years some student will point me out as I go hobbling across the quad and tell his girl that I fought in the war. And she’ll say what war? And he’ll say the war against Japan. And she’ll say war against Japan, against our great friend and trading partner? So what’s the sense of it all?”
“There’s sense to it if you’re attacked!” Simms said.
“I grant you that,” the Major said. “The attack against your Pearl Harbor made no sense. The Jap should have invaded! If he did I Warrant he’d won that battle and where would you be now?”
“Where would Australia be?” Sirocco asked.
“Down the bloody toilet, mate, that’s where! Down the bloody head, as you call it!
“Make no mistake, we know we owe our existence to date to you chaps. Without you we’d long since been in Jap prison camps. Poor bloody Pommies can’t help us, they’ve got their hands full with Adolf. But none of that changes the fact that all war is for naught, as some old Greek once said. Forgot who said it.”
“How far are we from the new patrol area, Joe?” Hinman said pointedly, anxious to end the conversation and the direction it was moving. Sirocco pricked off the distance with his dividers.
“Less than two hundred miles, sir. We should be on station before midnight tomorrow.”
“I wonder why Rabaul?” Hinman said. “The message doesn’t tell us what to expect there.”
Another message came from Brisbane just before Mako dove on its patrol station off the harbor of Rabaul. The message said that Naval Intelligence believed the Japanese would make a strong effort to reinforce their garrisons at Guadalcanal and Tulagi, that Mako might encounter various types of small ships pressed into service as troop carriers. Mako should also expect these troop ships to be escorted. The message concluded, “Attacks will be made on troop-carrying ships rather than escorting warships unless necessary for survival.”
“Different commands, different orders,” Hinman said to Joe Sirocco in the Control Room. “In Pearl it’s ‘get the escort ships first and then go after the merchant ships or tankers.’ In this command it’s get the escort vessels last, if you can.”
“Probably the special circumstances,” Sirocco suggested gently. “The Marines must be hanging on by their toenails in Guadalcanal and Tulagi and if that message the Major heard was the real thing, and I’m inclined to think it was, the only thing that stands between an unopposed reinforcement of the Japanese garrisons on both those places is the submarine navy. Flying Fish is to the southeast of us and they’re moving others in, according to the messages, but we’re the first boy in the line.”
“I thought sure we’d see something coming out of that harbor last night,” Hinman said. “Place was black as pitch all night long, not a light anywhere. That would mean to me that the Marines still hold the airfield at Guadalcanal and Rabaul is afraid of air raids.” He yawned hugely. “I’m going to sack out. If we don’t see anything moving today I want to patrol closer in to the harbor tonight. Make the patrol courses two miles from the harbor mouth.”
Mako surfaced after full dark and began running back and forth across the harbor lanes. It was Grabnas’ sharp eyes that picked up the sudden blacking out of a star by a ship’s masts. Captain Hinman scrambled up into the lookout stand beside the gangling seaman.
“Nice going, Grabby,” he said softly as he leveled his binoculars. He stared for a long moment, moving the binoculars back and forth.
“I see four of them, do you?” he said to Grabnas.
“Yes, sir, three small ships and what looks like a tin can way out ahead there. It was his mast I saw cut through the starlight.”
Hinman dropped back down to the Bridge. “Control!” he said into the speaker. “Get the Executive Officer to the Conning Tower!” Sirocco’s voice came up through the hatch.
“I’m here, Bridge. What’s cooking?”
“Run the search scope up, Joe,” Hinman called down the hatch. “Bearing two seven zero and sweep aft about twenty degrees. Tell me if you see something. We’ve got ships out there!”
He watched the thick-necked search periscope ascend and begin its search. Then Sirocco’s voice came up the hatch, an edge of excitement in his tones.
“I’ve got four of them, sir! Looks like a destroyer escort out in front and then three small ships behind in a line.”
“Sound General Quarters!” Hinman snapped. As the gong began to sound throughout Mako Hinman clapped Nate Cohen on the shoulder. “I’ll take the deck, Nate.” He leaned over the hatch to the Conning Tower.
“Plotting Party will work in the Conning Tower,” he called down. “Joe, I want a course to close on the last ship in the line. Then put me on a parallel course to the convoy, make the course seven hundred yards to the convoy’s starboard side. I’m going to run along beside these ships for a while, I don’t think they can make too much speed, they look too small. We’ll see what the escort up ahead does. If he doesn’t pick us up we’ll set up to shoot at the last ship in the line. Set torpedo depth two feet. Repeat two feet.” He waited while Sirocco worked out the plot and then grabbed at the bridge rail as Mako went into a sharp turn that would bring it parallel to the line of ships.
“Moon’s coming up,” he called down the hatch. “In our favor! The targets are between us and the moon! Another five minutes and you should be able to get a real good look through the periscope.”
“Bearing ... Mark!” Sirocco’s voice came up through the hatch to the Bridge clearly in the quiet of the night.
“Target bears three three zero, Bridge. That’s the last ship in the line, the one closest to us. Destroyer up ahead bears zero five zero. Range to the last ship is estimated at nine hundred yards. Target has very stubby mast, hard to figure height. Range to the destroyer is seven thousand yards. Convoy speed estimated to be eight knots. Parallel course to the convoy is one three eight, sir. We can come right to one three eight now and we’ll be seven hundred yards away.�
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“Very well” Hinman said. “Steer course one three eight. Make turns for nine knots. We’ll overhaul and see what the escort does. Keep an eye on him, Joe.”
Mako moved silently through the calm sea, pacing her speed to the speed of the convoy that was ahead of her and off her port bow. The moon crept higher in the sky and Hinman could see the outlines of the three ships clearly and the destroyer escort out ahead of its flock.
“Destroyer has started a turn to starboard, Bridge! Joe Sirocco’s voice was urgent. Hinman leaned his elbows on the teak bridge rail and studied the destroyer. It was turning, showing a small feather of white at its bow.
“Range to the destroyer is six thousand yards, Bridge. Angle on the bow now nine zero starboard. He’s in a definite turn! Sound reports twin screws picking up speed, Nate thinks it must be the destroyer, sir!”
“Open tube outer doors,” Hinman sang out. “If he comes for us we’ll give him four down the throat! Start the plot on the destroyer! I want to swing my bow five degrees to starboard if he comes at us head on and take him with a spread of four fish running across his track!” He felt light-headed. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through him like a big surge of power, the same sense of elation he had felt in his first and only surface engagement with the enemy in Makassar Strait. As he shivered in anticipation he realized that what he was feeling now he had felt when he made love to Joan. He shook his head.
“Let me have some information, damn it, Plot! Keep feeding me!”
“Range to the destroyer is four zero zero zero yards, sir. Angle on the bow is zero! He’s coming right at us. All torpedo tube outer doors are open, depth set two feet, spindles disengaged. Target speed is sixteen knots and increasing slowly ... Range to the target is three five zero zero... speed seventeen knots.”
“Give me a solution for shooting at twelve hundred yards range to the target,” Hinman said. “We’ll shoot a spread of four from the forward tubes and then swing ship to bring the after tubes to bear in case we need them.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Sirocco said. “Angle on the bow of the target is still zero zero zero. Range is two five zero zero yards. Speed is eighteen knots. He is shooting!”
Hinman saw the flash of a gun on the dark bulk of the destroyer’s foredeck as Sirocco shouted. The shell screamed by, far overhead. There was another flash and the shell passed by above them and to one side.
“He’s trying to drive us down,” Hinman shouted. “How do we look, Plot!”
“Coming up to a solution, sir. Recommend we swing five degrees to starboard now ... range one five zero zero yards!”
“Stand by Forward!” Hinman shouted. “Give me a solution!”
“You can shoot!” Sirocco called out.
“Fire one!” Hinman counted down from six to zero.
“Fire two!
“Fire three!
“Fire four!
“Right full rudder! All ahead flank! Stand by aft!”
Mako’s first torpedo ran ahead of the target. The second slammed into the destroyer’s bow and the third, six seconds behind, exploded with a huge roar at the destroyers’ engine rooms.
“Joe!” Hinman screamed. “Get up here! Confirm this!”
Sirocco scrambled up the ladder to the bridge and saw the bow of the destroyer, torn apart by the first torpedo, sticking out of the water. The stern reared high out of the water, seemed to reach higher and then began to slide under the sea.
“One down!” Hinman yelled. “Now we’ll take those other three! It’s going to be like shooting fish in a barrel! I want a torpedo track of seven hundred yards, Joe. Bring me up so I can run head on to the targets and shoot. One fish for each one should be enough!” Sirocco nodded and dropped down the hatch.
Mako raced after the ship closest to it, a long, lean shark coursing after its prey. The range closed and Mako turned to deliver the death blow to the target.
“You can shoot, Bridge!”
“Fire five!”
Captain Hinman felt the slight jolt under his feet as the fist of compressed air hurled the torpedo out of the tube. At 700 yards the torpedo run to the target would be less than 30 seconds.
“Torpedo is running hot, straight and normal,” Nate Cohen’s voice floated up to the bridge. “Torpedo has run through the target bearing! It’s still running!”
“You’ve got a solution, Bridge!”
“Fire six!”
Hinman watched, counting down slowly. The target was trying to zigzag but it had insufficient speed to make the maneuver effective.
“Torpedo is running through the target bearing!” Cohen called out. “It’s still running!”
“Bridge!” Sirocco’s voice was loud in the night. “Suggest the fish are running underneath the target!”
“Bring me around for a set-up on the after tubes!” Hinman yelled down the hatch. “Set torpedoes at zero depth! Repeat, zero feet depth!”
Mako heeled over as the rudder was put hard right and Hinman waited for Sirocco to tell him the torpedo problem was solved. “You can shoot, Bridge!”
“Fire seven!”
He watched from the side of the bridge, straining to see the torpedo as it ran. There was no sign.
“Torpedo is running through the target bearing,” Cohen’s voice was faint. “It’s still running!”
“Close the outer tube doors!” Hinman snapped into the bridge microphone. “Plot! Bring me around so my port side is parallel to the target. I want six hundred yards range. Stand by to go to Battle Surface as soon as the outer doors are closed!” He heard Sirocco’s rapid orders to Bob Edge on the TDC and to the helmsman and the rush of feet passed the word to stand by for a battle surface action. Mako swung in a wide arc and began racing up a course parallel to the ship he had fired three torpedoes at and failed to hit.
“Battle Stations Surface!” Hinman yelled and stood to one side in the small bridge as the gun crews climbed out of the hatch and climbed down the side of the Conning Tower, racing to the two big deck guns.
“Range is now six zero zero yards, sir,” Sirocco called out “Deck guns manned! Breeches open! Standing by to load, Bridge!” Dusty Rhodes’ voice was loud from the deck. “Fifty calibers manned and loaded and locked!”
“Load deck guns!” Hinman shouted. “Pointers, set sights for range of six zero zero yards! I want to hull this bastard, gunners!”
“Ready fore and aft on deck, Bridge!”
“Commence firing!”
The forward 5.25-inch deck gun roared first and Hinman saw a gout of water soar skyward, short of the target. The after gun bellowed and another spurt of water went up, also short of the target. The second round from each gun would reach farther as the gun barrels heated up and the powder in the shells burned faster. The forward gun roared again and Hinman saw a bright red burst on the side of the target ship.
“Now pound that bastard!” he yelled as the after gun roared.
“Bridge!” Grabnas’ voice from the port lookout stand was almost lost in the roar of the deck guns. “Bridge! I can see a lot of people and looks like trucks on the deck of the ship!”
“Machine gunners open fire! Sweep the ship’s decks!”
Behind him on the cigaret deck the twin 20-mm guns began to pound viciously and Hinman watched the tracers reach out across the water, arcing lazily, tiny balls of fire that found the target ship and then probed upward on the hull and began to sweep across the target’s deck, a molten scythe of death. Below him on the deck the 50-caliber machine guns, mounted on special stanchions, were pounding the target’s bridge structure. There was a sudden burst of bright fire from the target’s main deck as the 20-mm shells found the gas tank on a truck and blew it up. There was a cheer from the forward deck gun as a sudden gout of white steam rose in the moonlight and the bright red flames of an explosion within the ship’s midsection.
“Cease fire!” Hinman yelled. “I think we got his boiler rooms! He’s sinking, he’s sinking! Plot! Put me on the next targe
t!”
“Bridge!” Rhodes’ voice from the deck was sharp. “Bridge, we need more ammunition on deck. Request below-decks ammunition party begin supply.”
“Very well, Chief,” Hinman passed the order down to the Conning Tower. “Damned good shooting, gunners, damped good!” Mako was turning, picking up speed, running down the second ship.
“Same setup!” Hinman yelled down the hatch. “Six hundred yards is a good range!” He looked at the target ship, now off his port bow. Down below him on the forward gun he heard the angry voice of Officers’ Cook, Thomas T. Thompson.
“Chief, I’m the first loader on this damned gun and ain’t no one else gonna be the first loader so leave me alone!” He listened, wondering what Thompson could be arguing about with Dusty Rhodes. The two men were good friends and Rhodes was not one to tolerate an argument in a Battle Stations situation or any other situation. He started to lean over the bridge rail and stopped as he heard Sirocco’s voice.
“On range now, sir!”
“Commence firing!” Hinman yelled. Both deck guns roared in unison. Hinman could feel the excitement mounting in him, the crazy feeling that time had run backward and that he was on the deck of a frigate with all sails set and the guns roaring out in broadsides and then crashing back against their restraining tackle. He could hear, somewhere in his mind, the yells of the sailors and the cries of the gunners as they sponged out their gun barrels, the yells of the gun captains as they pulled the guns back into position in the ports and then the long, rolling broadsides. This was the traditional way of warfare on the high seas, with guns roaring and the smell of cordite sharp in the nose, the yells of the gunners as they served their weapons.
Final Harbor (The Silent War Book 1) Page 32