The youth had said it in a demanding, almost accusatory manner, and Nagata held back his instinct to give the young fool an upbraiding. He thought of admitting that, yes, he had indeed embellished the letter, as he had all of the letters to the families of the fallen. He thought of telling this boy, that if he really wanted the respect of the veterans, he would have to earn it, just like his brother did. Nagata came very close to saying all of these things, but he did not have to. The next moment, the communications officer was there, snapping at Ito to be about his business, and to never again bother the captain on the bridge.
Nagata chuckled inwardly as he turned away to lean on the railing. Perhaps by the time the Yokaze reached Japan, he would find some excuse to kick young Ito out of the navy and send him back to his grief-stricken parents where he belonged.
Gazing out at the waters off the starboard beam, Nagata imagined the rows and rows of mines sitting just beneath the surface. By all appearances, this patch of ocean was as empty as any other. There was no indication that the hundreds of barbed, ship-killers were even there, and that was good. That meant they were all still tied to their tethers. Trying to avoid a loose, floating mine in this narrow channel was something he would rather not think about.
At that moment, something caught Nagata’s eye, something amongst the scattering of spindrift a thousand yards off the starboard quarter, a mass of effervescence that seemed out of place. Nagata’s first thought was that one of the mines had a tether that was too long and that the disturbance was caused by the mine plunging in and out of the seas as the swells moved past it. But then, it became evident that the patches of bubbles were not stationary. They moved with a steady speed, and though it made no sense to Nagata how they could be originating from the middle of a dense minefield, it was starkly clear to him what they were.
“Torpedoes!” he shouted. “Torpedoes off the starboard quarter! Man battlestations! Break radio silence! Alert the other ships in the convoy!”
The alarm sounded, and the Yokaze’s crew ran to their posts, donning helmets and toting boxes of ammunition as guns were uncovered and swiveled outboard. Nagata mentally worked out the trajectory of the incoming weapons as he watched their paths grow more discernable with each passing second. The two long, finger-like streaks were easy to see now. It was evident they would pass well astern of the Yokaze, but that was because the destroyer was not their target. The torpedoes were on a perfect course to intercept the Kenan Maru, and it seemed there was no possible way they could miss. Now alerted to the danger, and unable to evade right or left with minefields on both sides, the big freighter reversed her screws, straining every frame of her bulky, ten thousand-ton hull, but it was clear she would not be able to slow in time.
“All batteries commence firing at those wakes!” Nagata commanded, though he knew it would be several more minutes before the guns could be manned, loaded, and trained aft. A few machine gun mounts opened fire, tearing up the sea, but they were probably missing the undersea weapons which, depending on their depth, could be dozens of meters ahead of their visible wakes. Nagata felt helpless, like a man watching a time bomb countdown before his eyes. There was nothing he could do but watch as the ship he had been ordered to protect met her doom.
Then, a shape emerged from behind the freighter. It was the Kiku! The little escort was moving up the freighter’s starboard side, rapidly overtaking her. He engines must have been in overboost, because she drove at flank speed, her stacks belching out black smoke and swirling embers as her bows knifed through the waters with the urgency of a mother bear protecting her cub. Captain Yamasuki had obviously ordered his ship into the path of the oncoming torpedoes.
“Brave Kiku,” Nagata muttered as he watched the event unfold with painful foreboding. “Valiant Yamasuki.”
Moments later, both torpedoes struck the Kiku squarely amidships. The escort’s superstructure instantly disintegrated amidst two towering columns of fire and spray, as if a volcano had suddenly erupted beneath her. Two seconds later, the massive concussion waves reached the Yokaze, pressing firmly against the face and ears of every man watching the horrifying spectacle. A rumble reverberated across the water as steam thundered from the escort’s ruptured boilers, like the dying roar of an angry dragon. By the time the water and debris had settled, the escort had broken into two halves. The two sections bobbed amongst the waves for a few moments, then rapidly filled with water and slipped beneath the waves. Nothing remained of the once proud Kiku but a cluster of flotsam, a few patches of burning oil, and the feeble cries of the dying.
A somber stillness fell upon the Yokaze’s bridge. Very few of the Kiku’s crew could have survived her violent destruction, and those that had were now being burned alive or struggling against the suction forces trying to pull them under. Yamasuki, half a dozen officers, and one hundred fifty men – all gone. Images of Yamasuki’s youthful face filled Nagata’s thoughts along with the memory of the many bouts of drinking they had shared in port together. Within a week, he would hardly remember Yamasuki had ever existed. Yet another name to add to the list of lost friends.
The oil burned fiercely, spreading a pall of black smoke that obscured the seas astern, but Nagata soon felt a small shred of solace when he saw the wide bow of the Kenan Maru emerge from the billowing barrier. She appeared to be unscathed. The Kiku’s sacrifice had not been in vain. Now, the freighter was attempting to build up speed again, endeavoring to traverse the channel as quickly as possible and put as much distance between her and the submarine.
Nagata still puzzled over the apparent origin of the enemy torpedoes. Based on the torpedo wakes, they had been fired from a point inside the minefield. But how could an enemy submarine manage to accomplish that? The enemy was either very brave or very lucky. Either way, the freighter was still in danger. She had fallen far astern of the Yokaze and it would take her some time to regain her speed. During that time, she would be a sitting duck. Her current four knots would not be enough to outrun a salvo of torpedoes travelling at ten times that speed. Undoubtedly, the submarine would strike again. But to do that, the enemy captain would need to calculate a new firing solution.
“Sonar, concentrate your search on the starboard quarter! Full power!” Nagata commanded to the phone man, then shouted to the lookouts above. “Find the periscope! Find it, damn it!”
“I see it, Captain!” a sailor in the perch behind the bridge cried almost immediately. He pointed excitedly. “Bearing one two zero, sir! Range, two thousand meters!”
After wiping the spray from his own binoculars, Nagata found it, too. The small, stick-like object protruded from the surface, leaving a white feather of spray whenever the sea surged past it.
The gunnery officer, wearing his own phone set, now stood on the bridge anticipating his captain’s next order. At a nod from Nagata, he gave the command. “All batteries, aim for the periscope and commence firing!”
An instant later the aft 12.7-centimeter batteries erupted, their long-barreled guns spewing forth white smoke. The machine guns fired, too, and soon the ocean around the enemy periscope was alive with geysers of every size. Nagata waited one full minute, allowing every gun that could bear enough time to get off several shots, before he gave his next order. “Cease fire!”
The gunnery officer appeared confused at this, but complied. The order was transmitted over the phone circuit, and soon every gun along the destroyer’s length fell silent. Nagata could feel the anxious eyes of the men on him, the questioning glances, but what they did not realize was that the very tumult stirred up by the Yokaze’s barrage would mask the wakes of any subsequent torpedoes.
As the agitation subsided, Nagata scanned for the periscope, but it was nowhere to be found. Neither was the mass of bubbles and oil one might expect had the submarine been dealt a fatal blow. He became more and more convinced that the enemy would fire again any moment, and that he had to act now, were he to protect the freighter which was still nearly two thousand meters astern.
“Navigator, Captain,” he called into the bridge voice tube. “Prepare to make a hard turn to starboard. We will reverse course in the channel.”
“I advise against it, Captain,” the navigator’s hesitant voice replied after a long pause. “Many of our navigation aids are obscured by the rain. I have not been able to take a three-point fix in over six minutes. Recommend waiting until I have properly ascertained our position in the channel.”
A glance at Hibuson Island confirmed the navigator’s apprehensions. Both ends of the island were completely obscured by squalls, and the low clouds along the land to the south was equally patchy, leaving few distinct points from which to triangulate the Yokaze’s position. But there was no time. The submarine might unleash another salvo at any moment.
“Navigator, Captain. Take the best fixes you can every fifteen seconds, and monitor our position through the turn!”
“The current is strong, Captain,” the navigator protested. “It is setting us to the east. If we turn around now, I may not be able to accurately account for our set and drift.”
“We are going back for the Kenan Maru, damn you!” Nagata snapped, more out of frustration over the turn of events than out of any annoyance with his navigator, who he fully understood was only doing his duty. Nagata then turned to the gunnery officer. “Train all guns to port. Once we’ve completed the turn, you will open fire again.”
“I understand, Captain.”
“Helm, left full rudder.” Nagata shouted into the voice tube, assuming the conn.
The Yokaze quickly answered the deflection of her rudder and began swinging to the left. Nagata waited until the binnacle indicated she was forty-five degrees off of her original course, and then quickly commanded. “Helm, reverse your rudder! Stop starboard engine, port engine ahead full!”
The deck quickly heeled to the right as the Yokaze now turned sharply in the opposite direction. Nagata was putting the destroyer through a modified man-overboard turn, which was intended, under perfect conditions, to turn the ship around such that it traveled back over its own wake. It offered the best chance of staying inside the channel. But, without accurate fixes, there was no way to tell how far to the right or left of the channel the destroyer had been when it started the turn, so there was still a great deal of uncertainty.
As the destroyer drew a large circle of white foam behind it, Nagata kept his binoculars trained on the patch of ocean where the periscope had been sighted. There were still no torpedo wakes in sight, and that seemed inexplicable. The submarine was in perfect firing position. Surely, it would take no more than a few minutes to adjust its aim and fire a second salvo. Nagata dared to hope that the Yokaze’s gunnery barrage had sunk it, or at least damaged it to the extent that it could not launch torpedoes.
At that moment the navigator shouted with alarm. “Captain, recommend all back emergency immediately, sir!”
“All engines back emergency!” Nagata ordered without hesitation, for he understood by the navigator’s tone the reason for the urgent request, and one glance at Hibuson Island confirmed his suspicions. The island was no longer obscured by squalls, allowing the navigator to use it in triangulating the ship’s position. Undoubtedly, the navigator had determined that the destroyer was dangerously close to the edge of the channel. Either that, or…
“Navigator, report our position!”
“Sir, the last fix shows us two hundred meters outside the channel!” came the navigator’s anxious reply. “We are in the minefield, sir!”
A panic overtook the men on the bridge as each stopped searching for the submarine and instantly began scanning the waters near the hull for any of the deadly orbs. The ship rattled and shook from the sudden change in the screws’ rotation, but as much as her engines strained, and as rapidly as she slowed her speed of advance, it was not fast enough, and Nagata knew every movement further into the minefield further reduced her chances.
Suddenly, the intercom circuit came alive with shouts of alarm. A mine had been spotted off the port bow. Nagata quickly moved to the speed log and only had time to see that the Yokaze was still moving at five knots, before the sea near the bow exploded.
CHAPTER XXI
“Prepare to battle surface!”
Keane bit his lip to keep from adding a few expletives to the order. He had already vented his frustration quite thoroughly after watching the Wolffish’s torpedoes, which had been heading squarely for the Kenan Maru’s exposed starboard side, as if the freighter were a targeting sled, strike and obliterate the Japanese escort that had driven with suicidal speed into their path. Those Japs had gone to meet their ancestors, but they had done their job heroically. They had saved the Kenan Maru, which now increased speed as it continued on its way.
“Are you sure about this, skipper?” Ficarelli was at his ear, speaking in a low voice such that the others could not hear. “That Jap destroyer’s still up there.”
Keane fought the urge to snap at him. Yes, damn it. I have considered the risks, and the risks are acceptable! Our damn mission is to sink that damn freighter, and the only way to do that now is with our damn deck gun! Instead, Keane bit his tongue. Ficarelli surely understood all of that. Like any good XO, he was merely ensuring Keane had weighed all of the possibilities.
Squeezing the periscope handles, Keane rotated the lens ninety degrees to the right to take another look at the destroyer. It was as he had seen it moments before, dead in the water and gushing black smoke.
“She’s out of action, XO,” Keane answered. “She’s listing to port. That mine must have ruptured one of her fuel tanks. It looks like her front end is mangled, too. She’s not going anywhere.”
“She’s still got guns, sir,” Ficarelli said, but did not stick around to wait for a reply, instead returning to the plotting table to prepare for the flood of data he would receive once the bridge was manned. He had voiced his opinion, and now he was supporting his captain’s decision.
And it was Keane’s decision, ultimately, whether or not to take seriously the line in their special orders - sink at all hazards. The Kenan Maru was important to someone somewhere, and that someone was trusting this boat and crew to see it sunk, and Keane intended not to leave this spot until he had done just that.
Losing the Wolffish’s last two forward torpedoes to a meager thousand-ton escort had been rotten luck, especially after the long hours of preparation involved in setting the ambush.
The Wolffish had arrived at the entrance to Surigao Strait that morning, cloaked under a shroud of rain. She had arrived long before the enemy convoy, allowing Keane to thoroughly survey the area and devise a plan of attack. It had not taken him long to realize that his original plan, to sit outside the strait and wait for the enemy convoy, was flawed. The convoy would surely hug the coastline, leaving only shallow water on its landward side. The shoals prevented any submerged submarine from operating there. Thus, the Wolffish would be forced to attack from the seaward side. The enemy escorts would almost certainly be positioned around the Kenan Maru with this in mind, denying any clear shot at the freighter.
So, Keane and Ficarelli had studied the chart to determine their options. A series of penciled hash lines showed a vast minefield guarding the eastern passage around Hibuson Island. ComSubPac had known about the minefield for over a year now and had published it’s suspected coordinates in the regular intelligence reports. The Wolffish’s quartermasters had dutifully annotated it on the charts whenever her patrol orders took her anywhere near the Philippines, but this was the first time she had ever come this close to it. As Keane ran his finger along the jagged coastline and the shallow depth markings in the narrow, four-mile-wide waterway between the coast and the island, he recalled an intelligence briefing he had attended several months ago in Pearl Harbor. The squadron intelligence officer had mentioned the minefield in the briefing, and that much of the information ComSubPac had on it came from local guerillas who had watched the Japanese plant it. These guerillas doubled as fishermen to fee
d their families and had claimed that the minefield was so dense that it had change the migration patterns of the fish they depended on for sustenance. Keane knew this to be an exaggeration, but the belief had led the locals to dub the passage Torpedo Pass – using the antiquated 19th century term for mines.
Certain that the Japanese convoy would use this protected pass, rather than the open water west of the island, Keane decided his best chance for hitting the Kenan Maru would come when the convoy entered the narrow channel that weaved through the mines. They would have to string out in single file, and thus the freighter would be exposed. The only problem was that the optimal firing position lay deep within the minefield, a problem that could be overcome using the advanced technology that had already proven so valuable on this patrol – the FM sonar. It was not without risk, and perhaps Keane was placing too much confidence in the new device. There was no telling what affect the heightened seas might have on its performance, not to mention a dozen other factors. But, despite all of these, despite Ficarelli’s whispered protests, despite the uncertain glances from the crew, Keane had ordered the Wolffish into the minefield.
As before, the submarine crept its way through the dangerous waters, Ensign Shelby calling out ranges and bearings to the deadly objects while Ficarelli plotted their locations. Once again, the Japanese propensity for meticulous organization worked in the Wolffish’s favor. Neat, orderly rows began to appear on the chart, and it only took a little interpolation to devise the layout of the entire minefield. It was much like entering an abandoned church in the middle of the night, with the light of only a single match to guide the way. One needed only to see the nearest pews, stretching off into the darkness, to ascertain the position of all the others.
After several hours of probing and plotting, they had found the channel, and a good position from which to ambush their prey. When the convoy arrived and filed into column, as expected, the whole thing seemed like duck soup. That is, until the enemy escort at the tail end of the convoy sprinted forward and intercepted the Wolffish’s torpedoes just short of their target. Keane watched in disbelief as the escort broke apart. Beyond its burning remnants, the unscathed freighter continued on as before. Then, the nightmare got even worse. The destroyer at the head of the convoy opened fire, rocking the Wolffish’s hull and tearing up the water around the periscope. Keane felt a hammer-like blow to his right eye that knocked him to the deck. The enemy gunfire had struck the periscope, and the impact of that hit had rippled down the long shaft, displacing the lens enough to smack him like a giant baseball bat. The periscope was ruined. Water streamed around the shiny cylinder, and when Keane put his throbbing eye back up to the lens, he saw only a dim blur. He did not even consider raising the navigation periscope, the Wolffish’s one remaining eye. If the enemy had sighted the slim attack periscope, then they would surely see the larger navigation periscope, which produced a feather of spray on the surface like that of a spouting whale.
Dive Beneath the Sun Page 19