“He’s comin’ aft and he’s breathin’ fire!” he said into the telephone. “Start heavin’ around before he gets there!”
Mako dropped her pilot with a wave from Captain Hinman and turned north, her bull nose meeting the first deep swells of the sea, splitting the green water and sending a clean drift of spray out to either side as Mako settled down to the long run to her patrol area. In the days that followed Mako moved northward through the Coral Sea and then west past Cape York on the northeastern tip of Australia and into the Arafuro Sea. Then she pushed on through the southern edge of the Banda Sea, through the Flores Sea until finally she turned northward. Pete Simms came to the bridge and looked up at the moon, half-covered with clouds, and then walked back to the cigaret deck where Captain Hinman stood.
“We’re steady on course three four zero, Captain,” Simms said. “We should be abeam of Makassar to starboard in an hour.”
“Very well,” Hinman said. “When will we be off Balikpapan?”
“Day after tomorrow, roughly,” Simms said. “We should be running by on the surface at night. I’ll set the course as soon as you tell me how close you want to go into the land.”
“The Permit cleared the area three days ago,” Hinman said. “She’s been off the port for the last two weeks. Her Captain’s report that we picked up the other night said she’d made some good contacts but couldn’t close to fire.” He shook his head. “I can’t understand that; if they’re there you go after them!”
“The Permit isn’t the Mako!” Simms said jovially. “If they’re there we’ll shake ‘em up!”
“Depends,” Captain Hinman said. “Permit might have made them gun shy. I’m not going to waste any time off the port, just go on by. If something’s there we’ll attack but I want to get on to our patrol area. It should be a honey! Luzon Strait is the crossroad for everything going and coming to the Empire. You’re going to have to be damned careful with your navigation, Pete; the twenty-first parallel of latitude is the dividing line for the Pearl and the Australia boats. We have to be sure to stay well south of the parallel.”
“Got it marked with a double red line, sir,” Simms said. “Damn it, it’s good to be back at sea! Good to get away from all those civilians and those shore sailors!”
“Everything all settled on your legal problems?” Hinman said in a low voice.
“It’s over,” Simms said. “Over and done with and I’m glad. Never marry a civilian, sir. Civilian women don’t know anything about how to keep a house shipshape or how an officer’s lady should act.”
“I’m sorry it happened, Pete. Sorry for you. Sorry for her and I feel really sorry for your little girl.”
“I’m not,” Simms said in a thick voice. “From the way her mother acted I’m not sure the kid is even mine!”
Captain Hinman turned his back on Simms and raised his binoculars to his eyes and began to search the horizon to starboard. Simms stood there for a long moment and then he shrugged his shoulders and went forward to the bridge and down below decks. After he had gone Hinman lowered his binoculars and let them hang from the leather thong around his neck. He tipped his head up and watched the SD radar element making its slow circles on top of the radio mast.
He had argued for hours in Brisbane for a new radar, the SJ type, to be installed on Mako rather than an old SD type set. The SD was strictly an aircraft warning radar, useless against surface ships. The Staff Communications officer had listened to his arguments with a straight face and then had suddenly smiled at Hinman.
“Captain, you’ve already demonstrated that you can see ships at night! You don’t need this new equipment nearly as bad as some of our Captains who can’t seem to see ships in the daylight! Those are the people who need the SJ to convince them they can get into position to attack at night or in a fog. When you come back from this patrol I give you my word I’ll have a brand new SJ radar set here for you and we’ll install it. And by the way,” he paused and began to draw a series of circles on his desk pad with a pencil, “I ordered the sonar gear moved out of the Control Room and back up into the Conning Tower where it was designed to go. I can’t understand why the Navy Yard where the ship was built ever shifted that gear down into the Control Room.”
“They did it, sir, because I asked them to do it,” Captain Hinman said. “I convinced them the Conning Tower was too crowded for the gear up there, that it could be put in the Control Room where it would be close to the Plotting Party. With all respect, sir, I wish you had notified me you were going to do this.”
“I didn’t think it was necessary to do that,” the Staff Communications officer said. “The blueprints show the sonar gear should be in the Conning Tower. I didn’t want to bother you on your R and R time for something so trivial.”
Lieut. Nathan Cohen shrugged his shoulders when Captain Hinman told him that his sonar gear and dials would be in the Conning Tower. Cohen made some measurements and then took his stool to the ship’s carpenter on the submarine tender and had the man cut several inches off each leg of the stool and fasten a battery-powered light to the stool seat so that he could see his dials if a depth charge attack shattered the lights in the Conning Tower, as had happened during the attack on the battleship at Truk.
Captain Hinman walked over to the port side of the cigaret deck and looked forward, seeing the long stretch of water that was now flooded with moonlight. Somewhere out there ahead was the area where he and Mako had made their first contact with the enemy. He smiled to himself. The chances he had taken! Altering the sacred torpedo exploders, making a night attack on the surface, broadcasting his defiance of Staff orders to the submarines in the area. He shook his head, smiling gently to himself. He had been bold, almost too bold. But he was still taking chances, the exploders on the torpedoes he carried on this trip had all been modified on his orders. Chief Ginty would have to put them back the way they had been if there were any still left aboard when the war patrol was over. But the risk was worth taking, he felt confident that the exploders would work, he was sure he would have targets. He relaxed, yawning, his hip resting comfortably against the cigaret deck railing as he watched the play of the moonlight on the calm water, listening with half an ear to the muffled conversation between the Officer of the Deck and the quartermaster.
Forty miles astern of the U.S.S. Mako the U.S.S. Eelfish was plowing northward on almost the same course. Captain Mike Brannon was standing on the cigaret deck, his binoculars hanging from a leather strap around his neck. His Executive Officer, a tall, lean man whose pale blond hair and bright blue eyes marked him as of Swedish descent came back to him.
“What do you have on Mako’s position?” Brannon asked.
“We should have them on radar before we dive, sir. We can overhaul and speak to them not long after we surface tonight.”
“Thank you, John,” Brannon said. “Mako’s a fine ship.”
“You were Exec in her, weren’t you?” Lieutenant Olsen said.
“Yes, under Art Hinman. They detached both of us after her second run. I was sent to take over our ship and Captain Hinman went on a tour selling war bonds. When that was over they gave the Mako back to him. I understand she was in a hell of a shape after Arv Mealey took her against that battleship and the destroyers.”
“I talked to a guy in Perth who was aboard,” John Olsen said. “Old mustang named Botts. He said he couldn’t figure out yet how the ship stood up to the depth charging she took. Told me that the depth charges blew the after gun right off the ship and that the attack periscope was bent down at right angles with the lens down near the main deck. Must have been a hell of a thing to go through.”
“She’s a hell of a good ship,” Brannon said. “The people who built her and our ship did a good job.” He smiled broadly in the dark. “I wonder what Captain Hinman will say when we speak to him tonight!”
“I hope he doesn’t set up and shoot at us!” Olsen said. “I’d better go below now, got some work to do.” Brannon nodded and lounged
against the quadruple 1.1 pom-pom gun that had been mounted on the Eelfish’s cigaret deck in place of the 20-mm gun most submarines carried. The 20-mm gun was now mounted on a small bulbous swelling out in front of the bridge and below it. Brannon rubbed his chin. If Hinman agreed perhaps the two ships could run in tandem up to the point where each had to split off to go to their respective patrol areas. If they came across any targets they could mount a twin attack, the sort of thing he and Captain Hinman had spent hours talking about during their first two war patrols. The Germans were very efficient in their use of submarine wolf attacks but the Staff Commanders in Australia and Pearl Harbor had not yet decided whether it was an acceptable form of attack. If he and Hinman could work together on such an attack maybe it would jar the Staff commands into action. He took a deep breath of the humid night air and smelled the faint trace of land in the offshore breeze that was just beginning to ruffle the surface of the ocean. He smiled in the dark as he heard the punch line of a long, very dirty story that the quartermaster was telling to the Officer of the Deck. Eelfish was his ship, a good ship with a fine crew. He’d driven them without mercy in the few short weeks he’d had after the ship was commissioned and on the long haul from the East Coast through the Panama Canal and out to Western Australia. In those weeks of endless drills he’d seen the crew change from a group of inexperienced men into a close-knit group of team players, each man knowing his own job and the job of those around him. He was satisfied they could respond to any demand he could make of them, any crisis the enemy could bring. He relaxed against the gun mount, turning his head slightly as he heard the mewling cry of a lone sea bird.
Chapter 30
Shortly before midnight Mako’s stern lookout drew in his breath in a gasp that was audible down on the cigaret deck. Captain Hinman looked upward.
“Light back there bearing one seven zero, Bridge! The light is blinking on and off, looks like he’s sending code!”
“Sound General Quarters!” Hinman barked. “Open doors on all torpedo tubes! Quartermaster, get up in the shears and see if you can read him. He might be a Jap ship and if it is he might think we’re one of his navy!”
He heard the rush of feet below decks as Mako’s crew went to their Battle Stations and then the voice of Pete Simms came up through the hatch.
“All Battle Stations manned, Bridge. All torpedo tube doors open. Request depth settings for torpedoes, Bridge.”
“Set depth two feet on all tubes,” Hinman ordered. He was watching the quartermaster squeeze in beside the stern lookout.
“He’s sending code, sir. Wait a minute ... he’s saying Mako over and over, sir!”
“Bridge, get a signal gun up here on the double,” Captain Hinman ordered. He waited until the signal gun was handed up from the Conning Tower and passed to the quartermaster.
“Give him an acknowledgment that you read him,” Hinman said. “Ask him who he is.” He listened to the quartermaster clicking off the code signals with the trigger of the signal gun. The light on the ship aft of them began blinking slowly.
“R ... E ... Q ... request ... P ... E ... R ... permission to ... come ... along ... side ... signed ... Mike. He sent ‘request permission to come alongside’ and signed it ‘Mike,’ sir.”
“My God, it’s the Eelfish!” Hinman cried. “Tell him to close, quartermaster, close on our starboard side. Bridge, make turns for one-third speed.” Hinman raised his voice.
“All lookouts, keep a very sharp watch in your sectors!” He strained his eyes searching for the dark bulk of the other submarine and then he saw it, a dim shadowy bulk against the dark horizon.
“Submarine in sight, bearing one six zero, Bridge,” the stem lookout said.
“You’re not very sharp up there,” Hinman snapped. “I saw him thirty seconds ago. Keep your eyes open!”
The Eelfish closed rapidly as Mako slowed and then slid up alongside Mako, barely 50 yards off Mako’s starboard beam. Mike Brannon, leaning both hands on the cigaret rail, took a deep breath and yelled.
“Mako, ahoy! Is Captain Hinman on the Bridge?”
“I’m here!” Hinman yelled. He turned to the OOD. “Don, take me in closer, I can’t yell that far, damn it!” The Mako wallowed and began to edge to starboard and then straightened out parallel to the Eelfish and a scant 30 feet away. Hinman could see Mike Brannon clearly in the dim moonlight.
“Damned good to see you, Mike! How’s everything?”
“Fine, sir. Family is fine, I’ve got a good ship and a good crew. Congratulations on your marriage. I have a proposition to make to you, sir.”
“Go ahead,” Hinman said, “but before you do let’s get to the important things. They gave us Klim back there in Brisbane instead of ice cream powder. Can you spare us some ice cream powder?”
“Sure thing,” Brannon said. The two Captains watched as crew members of the two ships exchanged a heaving line and hauled two 10-pound cans of ice cream powder mix over to the Mako.
“How about a fair exchange?” Brannon yelled. “Got any good boogie-woogie records?”
“Nope,” Hinman replied. “Now what’s your proposition?”
“I’d like to run north with you, if I may,” Brannon said. “If we see anything we could attack in tandem. Like we used to talk about in your Wardroom, the first two war patrols, sir.”
“Roger,” Hinman said. “I’d love to do that.”
“I’ve got a new SJ Radar,” Brannon said. “Picked you up way back there. You’re senior, sir, but if I may suggest, I could take the van and use my SJ. If we pick anything up you give the orders.”
“Agreed,” Hinman said. “Take position on my starboard bow, distance one thousand yards. Make turns for fifteen knots. Course will be three five five for the present. When we dive I’ll drop back to three thousand yards. Make two knots submerged. We’ll surface tonight thirty minutes after full dark. Okay with you, Mike?”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Brannon replied. “We’ll take position one thousand yards ahead on your starboard bow. Course three five five. Make turns for fifteen knots. You’ll drop back to three thousand yards when we dive. Make turns for two knots submerge. Surface thirty minutes after dark, sir.”
“Very well,” Hinman yelled across the water. “Where you going to, Mike? We’re headed for Luzon Strait. I’m going up the eastern coast of the Philippines.”
“We’re going to Leyte Gulf,” Brannon answered. “Talk to you some more tonight. Nice to see you again, sir.”
Captain Hinman watched as Eelfish dropped astern of Mako and then swung off to starboard and began to pick up speed. He moved to the speaker on the bridge and pressed the transmit button.
“This is the Captain,” he said. “We have the Eelfish on our starboard bow. She’ll travel with us for a few days. Her skipper, for all of you Mako plank owners, is Mike Brannon.” He paused for a moment. “Secure from General Quarters. Close tube outer doors. Resume Normal watch standing.” He punched Don Grilley lightly on the arm and went back to the cigaret deck.
The two submarines moved northward through the Makassar Strait and then angled eastward across the Celebes Sea. They saw no targets. Eelfish’s radar twice picked up medium-sized fishing boats as the tow ships entered the Celebes Sea and the two submarines had changed course to avoid on Captain Hinman’s orders — despite Pete Simms’ pointed suggestion that they should go alongside one of the fishermen and board, on the off chance that the boat could be harboring a Japanese naval officer with a powerful radio set who just might be reporting the passage of American submarines.
Five days after the two ships joined forces they passed the southern tip of Mindanao and began a passage north along the east coast of that island. On the night of the fifth day, shortly after the two ships had surfaced, the Eelfish requested permission to drop back near Mako.
“I have to break off now, Captain.” Mike Brannon yelled. “My orders are to proceed through Surigao Strait to my patrol area. Best of luck and good hunting!”
&n
bsp; Hinman made the appropriate reply and watched as Eelfish dropped astern and then turned to port and was lost to view.
“Alone again, Don,” he said to Grilley, who had the deck watch. “Kind of nice thing, having Mike close by for a few days.” He went back to the cigaret deck and stood by the after rail, staring out to the port side. Somewhere out there Mike Brannon was making his approach to enter Surigao Strait and go on up to the waters of Leyte Gulf. An hour later the port lookout spoke.
“Ship! Bearing three five zero, Bridge! I can see more than one ship out there!”
Hinman swung himself up into the periscope shears and leveled his binoculars. He jumped back to the cigaret deck and ran forward to the Bridge.
“Sound General Quarters! Plotting Party to the Control Room. Open torpedo tube outer doors and set depth on all torpedoes at two feet! Executive Officer to the search periscope! We’ve got a convoy out there! Mr. Cohen, get a message off to Eelfish that we’ve picked up a convoy of at least seven ships and invite him to join the party!” He listened to the reports coming up to the Bridge in response to his orders. Pete Simms’ voice came up through the hatch.
“Bridge! I have the targets! Five, six, no by God, eight ships out there! There’s two in line and then two abreast and two more abreast and looks like two more in line back of those ships! Look like small freighters to me, sir. Estimated range is four zero zero zero yards!”
“Very well,” Captain Hinman said. “Don, go below, I’ll take over the bridge. Take charge of the Plot in the Control Room. I’m going to go in on the surface.” He turned and bent toward the hatch to the Conning Tower.
Final Harbor (The Silent War Book 1) Page 37