Submarine!

by Edward L. Beach

  Wonder what that escort commander told Tojo?

  On July 20, 1943, USS Wahoo completed her overhaul in Mare Island Navy Yard, and departed for Pearl Harbor, carrying her skipper, Mush Morton, into his last action with the enemy and to his final resting place somewhere in the Sea of Japan. But before Wahoo left, her Executive Officer, whom Morton had once characterized as “the bravest man I know,” was detached and given command of the uncompleted Tang, then building at Mare Island. The two men separated with visions of meeting in the not-too-distant future—perhaps to carry out combined operations together. Less than three months later Mush Morton and his Wahoo were dead.

  Now, O’Kane was not an oversentimental man, and he was as ready as the next to accept the trials of war and the losses that inevitably must come with them. But only one who has experienced the extinction of a whole unit of comrades without trace can fully appreciate the icy fingers which must have clutched around his heart when he received the grim news back in the temporary safety of Mare Island. The effect, perhaps, was not fully evident, since he simply went on with his preparations to ready Tang for war. Only O’Kane himself—and perhaps even he did not fully realize how deeply the iron had entered into his soul—could have given a hint of his dedication. For Tang and Dick O’Kane had a mission of vengeance to carry out.

  They finally headed for Pearl Harbor, impatient to complete their training, and on January 22, 1944, six months after O’Kane had bid farewell to Wahoo, three months since that ship had become overdue, Tang set her prow westward to seek revenge.

  Tang had only one skipper and her whole life was encompassed within the short span of one year—1944. During this period Tang and O’Kane reached the top of the Submarine Force Roll of Honor, and the most outstanding record of damage and destruction to enemy shipping ever credited to one submarine was established. The Joint Army-Navy Assessment Committee has the officially documented and incontestable proof of twenty-four vessels sunk. It is well known that Tang’s total score was much higher than even that imposing figure, and that a round sum total of thirty would be nearer the truth, for the Japanese tendency to save face resulted in concealing or minimizing many losses, and the confusion into which their merchant marine was thrown by the continuous depredations of United States submarines upset their whole accounting system, until they themselves had not the slightest idea which of their ships remained afloat.

  It is early morning, February 17, and Tang draws her first blood. Radar contact! Man tracking stations! Tang stops zigzagging, steadies on course at constant speed while the well-trained though as yet unseasoned plotting parties go to work.

  The problem has been gone over many times in drill after drill, and O’Kane’s insistence for perfection now bears its first fruit. Within a matter of minutes, Plot has the answer: enemy course, 100, speed 8, zigzagging about forty degrees every ten minutes. This is all that is needed for the moment. All ahead full! Obediently the electrician’s mates on watch in Maneuvering signal to the engine rooms to start the two idle diesels and at the same time increase the loading of the two diesel-generator sets already in operation. Tang’s easily turning propellers increase their beat as the rheostats are turned up, and soon she is making full speed for the two engines. When the ready signal for the other two engines is received, the electrician’s mates bend over their main control board and pull and push the control levers back and forth in rapid succession—seemingly haphazardly but actually in strict accordance with certain rules of procedure—for what they are doing is simply bringing two more generators up to voltage, paralleling them with those already on the line, and then increasing the loading on all four to the maximum rated power output. Sounds simple, but an error might result in burning out one or more motors, or arcing sufficient to cause a bad fire—and there goes your submarine! The nonchalance of these young men—most just boys in their early twenties, some still in their teens—as they unconcernedly race through the motions they have learned, belies the significance of the whole thing.

  Plot tells the anxious skipper that their calculations show they will get in front of the convoy well before daylight and have plenty of time for several night attacks.

  Dick O’Kane and Murray Frazee, his Executive Officer, have made night attacks many times before in other submarines. It should be old stuff to them, of course, but it isn’t. In the first place, both have been rather a long time away from the war, and the unspoken worry crosses their minds that they may have lost their touch, that the life of ease and safety they have been leading back in the States may have softened them up—that, in short, they may have lost their nerve. Besides, this is Dick’s first command. He is burning with the desire to make good, and he wonders whether he really has what it takes, or whether the test will prove that Mush Morton was carrying him along. Likewise, Murray has never been an exec before. Although he has complete confidence in his skipper, and shows it in every move, he, too, has his small secret worry. And Tang herself, what about her? Is she not a neophyte? Is she not also burning with the desire to prove herself, to join the ranks of the Dragon Slayers? Or will she join the unhappy company of tired ships, who somehow never found the war?

  The symphony of four roaring diesels has a hypnotic effect, to which is added the song of the waves gurgling in the superstructure and the moan of the wind sweeping across Tang’s narrow bridge. The vibration communicated to the soles of your feet sets your pulses jumping and your heart beating faster, and it all adds up to the anthem of the chase, which drums in your mind, growing ever louder and more powerful, beating in an ever-rising tympanic crescendo which drugs your senses and drives you beyond normal capabilities, which takes possession of you, wipes out all external considerations, and makes itself the undisputed master of your soul. On and on you run, an irresistible juggernaut which even you could not turn back, if you would. And as they proceed with the chase, both O’Kane and Frazee realize that things have not changed for them, and that it will always be thus.

  0200. The convoy has been pretty well identified as consisting of eight ships: two large ones, a medium-sized one which might be a destroyer, and five smaller vessels, probably small anti-submarine patrols. Tang is almost in position ahead, and O’Kane is about to give the order to start in for attack, when suddenly one of the flanking escorts appears out of the night, closing rapidly. Only one thing to do—dive!

  Ah-ooh-gah! Ah-ooh-gah!—The automobile horn blasts of the diving alarm resound twice throughout the submarine. Alert men in the control room swiftly open the hydraulically operated vent valves, thus releasing the air entrapped in the main ballast tanks. The lookouts tumble down from the bridge. One of them presses the button which causes the bow planes—housed against the superstructure while on the surface—to rig out, and stands by to operate the planes the instant the indicator light glows. Another takes over the stern planes, places them immediately on full dive.

  In the maneuvering room, a lever in the overhead of the compartment has been pushed, causing all four engines to stop immediately by action of compressed air on the governors, and the “ampere hounds” quickly rearrange their control switches and levers to put the ship’s main storage battery on propulsion in place of the generators.

  In the engine rooms the four straining engines are shut down by hand, individually, upon the first notes of the diving alarm. There is always rivalry between the machinist’s mates and the electrician’s mates as to just who caused the engines to stop in any given instance, and of course there is no answer which either side will accept. But the engines stop, and the engine crew races around the two engine room compartments, shutting outboard exhaust valves, inboard exhaust valves, and inboard air induction flapper valves. Circulating water lines and such lesser openings which do not communicate directly with the interior of the ship may be left for a moment or two, but they, too, are closed quickly.

  Meanwhile the Chief of the Watch in the control room has been watching the engine indicator lights closely, and as soon as all four go g
reen, indicating that the engines are no longer pumping air overboard through their exhaust lines, he pulls toward him a handle which operates the main air induction valve, thirty-six inches in diameter—non-closure of which was responsible for the loss of USS Squalus in 1939—and closes it hydraulically with a sharp thump. He also has been watching the depth gauge, and would have closed the valve before it went under even if there were still an engine running, on the theory—considered incontestable in informed submarine circles—that an insufficiency of air is much more to be desired than a superabundance of water.

  All this while men have been jumping down below from the bridge of the submarine. The last man down is the Officer of the Deck, who is responsible for the proper closing of the upper conning tower hatch and for seeing that no one is left languishing topside. As he leaves the bridge, water is already lapping over the main deck, and he mentally checks off the thump of the main induction as he and the quartermaster of the watch dog the hatch down and inspect it.

  It has taken Tang less than a minute to dive completely beneath the surface of the water, but she doesn’t stop there. If the escort has sighted her, he must mean business, and the thing to do is to put as much black water between the sub and his keel as possible. Tang is still in a headlong dive for the friendly depths when the first depth charge goes off, to be followed closely by four more.

  But evidently this fellow is not sure of his contact, because he drops his five half-hearted depth charges and goes on his way—fatal error. The moment Sound reports the screws going away, up comes Tang. Free of further disturbance by this little man, she bores surely in to firing range, remaining submerged to periscope depth to avoid detection.

  0300. The medium-sized ship is positively identified as a destroyer, as he moves unsuspectingly across the bow of the submerged sub. Dick withholds fire, much as he’d like to get this one, for the heavily laden freighter not far astern of him looks like the more valuable target. With so many escort vessels running around, O’Kane feels that his chances of getting off more than one shot are not too good, and his chances of getting an immediate depth charging excellent. The convoy is in rather loose formation, and the ships are too far apart for a simultaneous shot at more than one. That was one of Wahoo’s favorite stunts, and how O’Kane would have liked to start Tang off with a double bang. But wisely he figures that a sure sinking is far better than two possibles. Tang’s first salvo is going to be cold, deadly, and calculated.

  0330. The leading freighter lumbers into view. Tang has already fired forty-three torpedoes in drill and the efficiency of her fire-control party has been proved. But this time every man on board feels a tightening of nerves, a tenseness of atmosphere, a feeling that these, of all fish, must be good. The range is 1,500 yards; the TDC shows that torpedoes fired now will strike the target exactly broadside on—a perfect setup. Everything is ready.

  Here’s the first one, Mush.

  “Standby aft!”

  The men in the after torpedo room watch closely the gauges and instruments for number-seven tube, and prepare to fire it by hand if the electrical firing mechanism fails. In the control room, the diving officer motions for the chief on the vent manifold to open the vents so that any gases from a depth charge going off directly beneath would pass right through the ballast tanks, rather than being entrapped therein. It is hard enough to keep from surfacing after the sudden loss of weight when a salvo of fish are fired, without adding an entirely unpredictable factor to the problem.

  “Bearing—mark!”

  “Zero one three!” calls out the quartermaster.

  “Set!” from the TDC operator.

  “FIRE!” The word lashes out from Dick O’Kane’s lips. Tang’s first war shot is on the way.

  The TDC operator takes over the remainder of the salvo. He waits ten seconds, sings out, “FIRE!” Then ten seconds, “FIRE!” and again, “FIRE!”

  Now comes the wait. One minute. Can something have gone wrong? Can we have made some mistake? O’Kane watches anxiously through the ’scope. A lot depends on this, Tang’s first target!

  “WHANG!” The first torpedo explodes exactly at the point of aim, the target’s screws. A flash of light momentarily blocks the vision and swiftly subsides to show a large column of dirty water flung high above the poop deck of the hapless vessel, falling heavily all about his afterparts.

  “WHANG!” The second fish strikes home, about one third of the way forward. Another flash of light, and another column of water. The speed of the stricken ship already becomes perceptibly slower, as the sudden braking effect of two jagged holes in his once-smooth skin, as well as the loss of his propeller, destroy his forward motion. He has sunk lower in the water already, in the ten seconds between explosions, and has begun to list.

  “WHANG!” A third hit from the pitiless torpedoes. This one is fairly far forward, in the bow of the ship, and it decisively completes the job. His forward motion now completely disrupted, he slithers agonizingly to a stop, and the fourth torpedo, which Tang had aimed at his bow, misses ahead.

  A quick turn about with the periscope shows the submarine skipper that he is clear of escorting vessels and can spare a moment or so to verify the sinking. The stern single eye of the Tang swings back to the doomed Japanese freighter. There is not the slightest doubt that this ship is a goner, but it has been a long time since Dick O’Kane stood at Wahoo’s periscope and saw one of her victims go down; besides, this is his—and Tang’s—first, the start of his plans for a long vendetta.

  To only a few men is the opportunity given to watch a big ship sink, and there is a certain sadness, combined with a sort of fierce, unholy joy and glee, in watching one which you yourself are responsible for.

  Another quick look around with Tang’s periscope shows that one of the escorts is headed in her general direction, and the sound man reports that he can hear pinging from that direction. Obviously, the Nip is trying the natural and logical tactic of running down the torpedo wakes in hopes of picking up their source. No sense in the source hanging around any longer. Besides, there is no chance of getting the other freighter, for he never had been close enough for a shot, and he is now headed directly away from the area as quickly as he can. So the periscope is pulled down all the way, and the boat is secured for deep depth and depth charging. This promises to be an all-around day for Tang: Her first depth charges have already been received, her first attack has been carried out successfully, her first ship has been seen to sink, and now she is due for another working over.

  But this Nip destroyer doesn’t have his heart in his work, either, and he merely unloads a few charges and goes on his way. Tang chalks up practically a free ride, and is back on the surface an hour and a half later, as dawn breaks.

  By the time O’Kane was ready to return to port he had added four more scalps to Tang’s belt—one a huge naval tanker carrying a crew estimated at more than three hundred men. When she arrived at Midway after that first run, the Submarine Force, Pacific Fleet, knew that spiritually as well as actually it had received the replacement for Wahoo. Not only was Dick O’Kane the logical man to inherit Morton’s crown as the most successful submariner—he had also earned it. At least he was well on the way to earning it, if he could only keep up his record.

  In passing, it is a curious. commentary on O’Kane to note that not once in any of his patrol reports did he capitalize the word “Jap” or “Nip.” To him they were “japs,” “nips,” and “other debris,” if he bothered to mention them at all.

  On her second run, no enemy vessels were sunk, for the simple reason that none were sighted, despite Tang’s utmost efforts. About the only thing worthy of note in that line was her meeting with Trigger off Palau, during the latter’s ninth patrol, and supplying her with necessary spare parts after a terrific beating absorbed a few days before. This fortunate encounter was instrumental in Trigger’s being able to remain on station and finally discover a large convoy which she all but wiped out. Though gratifying, however, this
was not doing any ship sinking herself, and O’Kane might have been excused for being a bit peeved. However, a chance for action of another kind came, with orders to the Truk area to perform lifeguard duties for an air attack scheduled for that enemy base.

  It was a characteristic of O’Kane—as well as of Morton before him—that the most thorough and meticulous preparation was always made for any mission, and this one was no exception. Employing daring tactics, using to the fullest extent all available assistance such as search planes, special radio circuits, and the like, and bombarding the shore batteries whenever he found (or made) the opportunity—usually during the height of an air raid, thus confounding the enemy all the more—Tang proceeded to the rescue of twenty-two aviators who had been forced to land in the water. For this most remarkable feat, performed in seven different pickups close to the reef at Truk, usually under enemy gunfire, Tang and her skipper won the plaudits of the whole Submarine Force, and the heartfelt gratitude of the carrier task force. This was one of the rare instances in which a sub returning from patrol with no scalps to add to her belt needed no excuses, and actually added to her reputation.

  And on her third run Tang sank ten ships, for a total of fifteen. O’Kane still seemed to be possessed of a fierce driving urge to sink more Japanese ships, his mission of vengeance not yet accomplished, his search for perfection not yet satisfied. By the time Tang’s third patrol was completed, however, the lure of the chase seemed uppermost in O’Kane’s mind, and the desire for revenge, and the dedication of all victims to the old Wahoo, was no longer the primary motivation. In other words, Tang was now working for herself.

  While she sank only two ships on her fourth patrol, this was the toughest one to date, for Tang was bothered with excellent anti-submarine forces and poor torpedo performance. Shades of poor old Mush Morton! But the trouble was not so serious as Wahoo had experienced, and effective results were achieved in spite of it.