Final Harbor (The Silent War Book 1)

by Harry Homewood

  “Pete, give the periscope to Nate Cohen, we won’t be using any sound bearing in this attack. You come up here and take over the After TBT station.” He waited until Simms had climbed to the Bridge.

  “Take station back there, Pete. If you have to, fire at will but let me know if you start shooting. There’s a lot of ships out there and I don’t want to waste fish.” He bent his head as the bridge speaker rasped.

  “Plotting Party is ready, Bridge,” Grilley reported and Hinman heard Nate Cohen feeding the Plotting Party a stream of bearings.

  He grinned to himself. It was like the other attack he had made in Makassar Strait on his second war patrol. Below him he could hear the voices of Nate Cohen rattling off ship bearings and Bob Edge repeating them as he fed the bearings into the TOC. Then he heard Cohen’s normally gentle voice sharpen slightly as he spoke to Lieut. Ronnie Bums, a new officer Mako had taken aboard in Brisbane.

  “Damn it, Lieutenant, don’t just stand there! It’s easier for me if you read the bearing ring when I give you a mark! The Old Man will tell you when to push that damned shooting key!” Captain Hinman bent to the hatch.

  “Belay that conversation down there! Start feeding me some data, damn it! I just can’t eyeball it up here, there’s too many damned targets!”

  The intricate terpsichorean ritual of death by torpedo had begun in Mako’s Conning Tower and Control Room. On the Bridge Captain Hinman fidgeted, waiting until the Plot brought him close enough to begin the attack.

  “Damned shame Mike isn’t here,” he said to himself. He eyed the enemy ships, black splotches against the dark background of the mountains of Mindanao. He searched the line of ships with his binoculars but could see no escort vessels. Maybe they felt safe, this close to Mindanao.

  “Bridge! Range to the leading ship in the convoy is now three zero zero zero! Angle on the bow is two zero port. We’ve got a constant shooting solution from now on, sir!”

  “All ahead full!” Hinman barked into the bridge transmitter. “Plot — I’ll close to one zero zero zero yards and then begin to shoot! Order of targets will be the first ship in the line and then the second. Then I’ll take the inboard ship in the brace of two that follow those first two. After that it’s going to be everyone for themselves! We’ll get what we can!” He felt Mako’s deck quiver under his feet as the ship picked up speed.

  “Here we go!” Hinman sang out. “The wolf among the sheep! Give me some ranges, God damn it!”

  “You can shoot, Captain!” Bob Edge’s voice was high.

  “Fire one!” Hinman yelled. He felt the shock under his feet as a fist of compressed air shoved the torpedo in Number One tube out. He counted down from six to one.

  “Fire two! Right five degrees rudder! Stand by ...

  “Fire three!”

  A mushroom of fire bloomed at the waist of the first ship in the line of enemy ships.

  “Hit! Hit on the first target! Give me more speed, damn it!

  “Fire four!

  “Right ten degrees rudder! More speed! Pour on the coal!”

  “Hit! Hit on the second target!” Simms’ scream came from the cigaret deck aft.

  “Meet your helm right there, damn it! Stand by forward!” Captain Hinman was braced in the small bridge structure, his binoculars clamped to his eyes. He lowered the glasses and let them hang by the neck strap and gripped the teak edge of the bridge rail.

  “Give me a set-up on the next target!” he yelled down the hatch. “We’re closing fast, damn it! Look alive down there! Meet that helm, damn you! Meet it right there!”

  “You’ve got a solution on the next target!” Lieutenant Edge’s voice from the Conning Tower was high, excited.

  “Fire five!

  “Belay the set-up on the fourth target, he’s too small! Right fifteen degrees rudder! I want to run down between the third and fourth targets, down the starboard side of that fourth target to the next two targets.”

  “Tin can! Tin can! The other side of this ship to our starboard!” The starboard lookout’s voice was a high yell. Hinman spun to his right in the small bridge, searching with his binoculars.

  He saw the high bridge of a Fubuki destroyer-leader on the far side of the small freighter whose bow was drawing even with Mako’s bow. The Fubuki and the freighter were on an opposite course to Mako and the small freighter was screening Mako from any gunfire from the Fubuki. He took a quick look ahead at the two ships he had picked out as his next targets. They were at least 1,500 yards distant, he had plenty of time to dive and run submerged under those two ships before the Fubuki could work its way clear of the two ships he had hit and the small freighter and get back to him.

  “Close torpedo tube outer doors!” Hinman yelled the order down the hatch to the Conning Tower. He waited calmly, gauging Mako’s speed and the speed of the small freighter that was now almost abeam of Mako and barely 50 yards away. He gasped in disbelief as he saw the starboard side of the freighter suddenly blossom into flame as a dozen or more heavy machine guns opened fire. Above him a lookout called out and then moaned as a hail of machine gun fire swept through Mako’s bridge structure. Hinman felt a heavy fist slam into his right shoulder and then another fist drove him back from the bridge rail. Instinctively, he slammed his left hand down on the diving alarm and then hit the alarm a second time. Another jolting blow savaged his rib cage and he lurched to one side as the quartermaster’s body fell against him. He tried to draw a deep breath to yell the order to clear the bridge but something was blocking his throat. He opened his mouth and tasted the blood that filled his throat and mouth. As he sagged he reached for the latch that held the hatch to the Conning Tower open and tripped it. The weight of his body forced the hatch closed.

  The gunfire that riddled Mako’s bridge echoed in the Conning Tower and was heard in the Control Room. When the diving alarm went off Chief Mike DeLucia reacted, yanking the lever on the hydraulic manifold that opened the vent on bow buoyancy tank and then pulling the levers that vented the main ballast tanks. Lieut. Don Grilley moved over from the plotting desk on top of the gyro compass to stand back of the bow and stern planesmen.

  “Hard dive!” he said. “There’s trouble up there, get her down fast!” He heard a voice yelling faintly over the bridge speaker as Mako sliced downward under the sea. He took a quick look at the men in front of him and at DeLucia and then he moved back to the chart table and swiftly marked in Mako’s position at the time of diving. That done, he moved back to the bow and stern planes.

  “Sir,” Dick Smalley on the bow planes half turned toward Grilley. “Sir, what depth do you want?” Grilley suddenly realized that no order had been passed down for a depth. He looked at the depth gauge in front of Smalley. The long black needle was passing 200 feet.

  “Ease to a five-degree down bubble,” he ordered and went up the Conning Tower ladder until his head and shoulders were in the Conning Tower, bracing himself on the ladder against Mako’s diving angle. He saw Nate Cohen standing at the periscope, running the long tube downward. Cohen turned to face him and Grilley saw that Cohen’s normally dark face was ashen.

  “Where’s the Skipper?” Grilley asked.

  “No one got off the bridge before we dove!” Cohen said, his voice almost a whisper. “Someone up there started shooting at us. It sounded like they got a lot of hits on the bridge. I heard someone yell and then the diving alarm went off and the hatch was closed from topside. When we went under, when the bridge went under water, the hatch started to leak. Chief Maxwell went up the ladder and found that the hatch was only caught by its latch, it wasn’t dogged down. When he tried to turn the hand wheel I had to hold him on the ladder so he could use both hands. That’s why I was late in getting the periscope down.”

  “I think someone was laying on top of the hatch, sir, on top of the hand wheel on the other side of the hatch.” Maxwell said. “At least that’s what it felt like, sir.”

  “Sir,” Mike DeLucia’s voice from the Control Room was insistent. “S
ir, we’re passing three hundred feet with a five-degree down angle and going all ahead full!”

  “Level off at four hundred feet, all ahead one third,” Grilley called down to DeLucia. He looked at Cohen.

  “Did you hear the Skipper give the order to clear the bridge, Nate?”

  “No, sir,” Cohen said. “We heard a lookout yell that he saw a tin can, a destroyer, and then the gunfire started. We were awful close to that one small ship on the starboard side. I had the ‘scope turned in that direction and I could see a big destroyer beyond the small ship right next to us. The next thing that happened was the diving alarm went off and there was an awful lot of gunfire and then the hatch closed. And then the other ...” his voice trailed off.

  “What other?” Grilley asked.

  “When I was holding the Chief so he could dog down the hatch Pete Simms yelled into the bridge transmitter.”

  “What did he say?” Grilley’s voice was patient.

  “He was saying ‘No! No! No!’ ” Cohen whispered. “Just that, over and over!” He looked at Grilley.

  “I think you’re the senior officer aboard, sir,” Cohen said softly. “You’re the Captain!”

  “Come on down in the Control Room, Nate,” Grilley said. He waited beside the plotting table until Cohen joined him.

  “I’d like to go back up and see if we can pick up our people,” Grilley said. He looked at the plot.

  “There’s a destroyer up there, Captain,” Cohen said. “I saw the destroyer. Big ship. I don’t imagine we’d have much of a chance if we stick our head out up there.” He hesitated, eyeing Grilley.

  “You’re the Number Two man in the Wardroom after me,” Grilley said softly. “I value your thoughts, Nate.” He picked up the phone and dialed the selector switch so he could speak to all compartments.

  “Now hear this,” he said calmly. “This is Lieutenant Grilley speaking.

  “We were attacked by heavy gunfire while we were on the surface, a few moments ago. Captain Hinman sounded the diving alarm and we believe he closed the hatch in the bridge. We don’t know because none of the people topside got down below.” He waited, listening to the dead silence in the ship.

  “I’d like to tell you that we’re going to go back up there and get our people back,” he said slowly. “But I cannot. There is a big destroyer up there, it was seen by a lookout and Lieutenant Cohen also saw it through the search periscope. We believe the destroyer was the ship that opened fire on us. If we went up there now, it might ... it probably would ... mean the end of the Mako and the death of all hands!

  “We don’t know if the gunfire hit any of our people or not. I have to assume that some people were hit. Mr. Cohen heard some yelling that indicated someone was hit. All our people topside have on Mae West life jackets and as soon as we can shake this destroyer, or as soon as we can get into a position where we can attack it and sink it we’ll go up and start searching for our people.

  “Until we have further information, as senior officer aboard I am assuming the duties of the Commanding Officer. Mr. Cohen, as the second senior officer, will act as the Executive Officer.” He paused and lifted his thumb from the transmit button and turned to Nate Cohen.

  “Did you get the message off to Eelfish that we had sighted this convoy?”

  “Yes, Captain. We got an acknowledgment that he had the message and that he was coming at top speed to join the attack.” Grilley nodded and pressed the transmit button again.

  “Mr. Cohen has just told me that Captain Hinman’s message to Eelfish that we had a convoy in sight was received and that Mike Brannon, the captain of Eelfish answered that he was coming at top speed to help in the attack. So let’s all do our duty and if Eelfish gets here within the hour, as it should, we can have some revenge!”

  Cohen stood with his head bowed for a moment and then he looked at Grilley.

  “Do you want me on the sonar gear, Captain, or do you want to put Aaron on the gear?”

  “I’d rather have your ears, Nate, if you don’t mind,” Grilley said. Cohen nodded and climbed the ladder into the Conning Tower.

  “Four hundred feet, Captain,” Chief DeLucia said. His calm brown eyes looked at Grilley.

  “Do you want me to go through the ship, sir, talk to the people?”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary, Chief. I appreciate the offer.” He turned his face toward the Conning Tower hatch.

  “Mr. Cohen, give me all the bearings you can get, please.” He stood at the plotting chart, marking in the bearings that Cohen fed down to him.

  “That single-screw stuff, the slow ships we shot at, are breaking off in all directions, sir.” Cohen said. “Here’s what I’ve got.” He rattled off a half-dozen bearings.

  “There’s a solid twin-screw bearing that I think is the destroyer the lookout sighted and I saw,” Cohen said. “It now bears two seven five and I’ve picked up one other twin-screw beat. It’s up ahead of us and it bears three five zero, sir. I think that we have two destroyers — repeat two destroyers up there!”

  Grilley marked in the bearings on the plot, chewing his lip reflectively. Apparently the Japs had sent the convoy down the coast of Samar with the escort vessels trailing, hiding astern of the small convoy, inviting an attack.

  “The twin-screw ship bearing three five zero is picking up speed, sir!”

  A metallic ping rang through Mako’s hull and then a series of pings hit Mako’s hull.

  “Ship bearing two seven five is pinging on us, Captain!” Cohen’s voice was calm.

  Lieut. Don Grilley stood at the chart table, staring down at the plot he had drawn. This is where Captain Mealey had stood when the Japanese destroyers attacked Mako at Truk. This is what they meant when they taught you in Officer’s Candidate School that command is the loneliest job in the world. It was up to him to make the decisions that would result in Mako’s outwitting and escaping the enemy or being overcome. There was no one to turn to for advice. The ship, the lives of almost seventy men, rested on his shoulders.

  He looked at his wrist watch. It would be at least forty to forty-five minutes before Eelfish could reach their area. Cohen’s voice came down through the hatch.

  “The two ships out ahead of us are beginning to increase speed, Captain. I think this is an attack run!”

  “Rig ship for depth charge attack,” Don Grilley said to Chief DeLucia.

  Mako waited.

  Chapter 31

  Captain Mike Brannon leaned over the chart in the Control Room of Eelfish and looked at the plot his Executive Officer had drawn in.

  “I think we left him too damned soon John,” Brannon said. “Art Hinman always did have luck! How far are we from him?”

  “Twenty-one miles, sir,” Lieutenant Olsen said. “An hour and five minutes if we push it.” He pointed at the chart. “We can cut across the corner, sir. Plenty of water out here. This is the edge of the Philippine Trench. There’s over fifty-five hundred fathoms of water in this area.”

  “We’ll push it,” Brannon said. “Damn it, I don’t want to miss out on the fun! Let’s send the crew to General Quarters now.” Olsen pushed the General Quarters alarm button and Brannon waited until the gong had stopped ringing and the reports had come in that the crew was at Battle Stations. He picked up the telephone.

  “This is the Captain speaking,” he said. “Our friends on the Mako waited until we’d left and then they picked up a convoy! They were good enough to tell us about it and we’re going over and join their party. It will be an hour or so before we get there so stand easy on Battle Stations. The galley can serve coffee in the next fifteen minutes and all hands cross their fingers and toes and hope that Captain Hinman doesn’t sink all the ships before we get there!” Brannon turned to John Olsen.

  “Set the course and let’s get going,” he said. “Doggone that Art Hinman, he always was a lucky sucker! I’m going topside, John. When you’ve got the plotting party organized come on up. If I know Art Hinman he’s going to attack on the
surface and we’ll do the same. I’ll need you on the After TBT. We might be able to knock off one or two of the convoy if they’re running from the attack.”

  Captain Brannon climbed up to the bridge and repeated what he had said on the telephone to the bridge watch and the lookouts. As he went back to the cigaret deck he glanced upward and saw the SJ Radar turning above him.

  “Fifty-five hundred fathoms, you said?” Brannon said to Olsen. “God, that’s deep! Wonder if you’d have any layers in water like that?”

  “I doubt it,” Olsen said. “The chart shows a strong current running there.”

  “I wonder what that convoy’s doing, running without escorts,” Brannon mused. “Seems odd.”

  “They’re pretty close to our patrol area, Leyte Gulf,” Olsen said. “Maybe they felt safe this close to a major port.”

  A half hour went by and then the port lookout spoke up. “Bridge! I can see a flickering red light bearing three five zero! Looks like a little fire, sort of!”

  “Try and get a radar bearing!” Brannon said. He turned his head upward and saw the radar settle on the lookout’s bearing.

  “No contact, Bridge,” the radar operator sang out. “Maybe the ship is below the horizon or maybe it’s too small to pick up at this range, sir.”

  “Very well,” Brannon said. “Keep trying.” He walked back and forth across the small cigaret deck, waiting.

  “Got me another little flickering light!” the port lookout called out. “Two flickering lights, Bridge!”

  “Radar contact bearing three five zero!”

  “All ahead flank!” Brannon ordered. He went to the bridge and bent his head to the bridge transmitter.

  “All hands, this is the Captain. We’ve got two ships up ahead of us that appear to be on fire and we’ve got radar contact. Mako must have hit some targets. Now it’s our turn! We’re going to go in and get ‘em! All hands stand by for a surface attack with torpedoes! I’ll slow down to let you open the outer doors when the time comes.”

  “Plot is running, Bridge,” the voice came up through the Bridge speaker. “We’re on an intercept course with the contacts.”