Keane was considering giving up, turning the ship around, and escaping through the minefield. There was little more that could be done. He was about to give the order when the sound of a distant explosion reverberated through the hull. At first, Keane thought the destroyer had dropped a depth charge, but then Jansen reported that the enemy warship’s screw noise had suddenly stopped, and this prompted Keane to risk a peek at the world above. And when he did, he saw that the tables had turned once again in the Wolffish’s favor. The Japanese destroyer had struck a mine and was masked in black smoke. She appeared to be down for the count. In high magnification, between breaks in the smoke, he saw a frenzy of white-jacketed sailors on her decks, lugging fire hoses and discharging streams of white water onto the encroaching flames. They were too busy trying to save their ship to bother with an enemy submarine – surfaced or submerged. Both escorts were now out of the picture, and this changed the situation entirely. He swung the periscope back to the Kenan Maru. The freighter appeared well aware of her change in fortune. She was moving at a speed much faster than prudence would dictate, her screws churning the seas white behind her in a desperate attempt to get away.
Keane purged any thoughts of withdrawal from his mind. How could he run, when the only thing that stood between the Wolffish and her target was four thousand yards of water? He had made his decision. They would sink her the old way. They would sink her with gunfire. The order had been given, and now men shuffled into the control room below in preparation for manning the submarine’s seldom-used surface weaponry.
“Down scope!” Keane called. He moved over to the plot table to stand beside Ficarelli. “I’ll need you to guide me when I’m up there, XO. I intend to pursue the freighter until it’s destroyed. Let me worry about the target. You concentrate on keeping us inside the channel. Let me know if I’m about to run over a mine. The scope is all yours for taking nav fixes.”
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Ficarelli said with an encouraging grin, any trace of doubt now gone from his face. “I’ll keep you out of trouble.”
Keane gave him a slap on the shoulder and then moved over to the hatch in the deck. He knelt to look down on the press of helmeted men in the control room below. Some were draped with belts of machine gun ammunition, while others toted shells and magazines for the larger guns. A few looked nervous, but most looked eager. Like a platoon of marines crammed into a landing craft, they were ready to flood out onto the decks the moment the submarine broke the surface.
“Your target is the freighter, gentlemen,” Keane called down to them. “Aim for her rudder and steering gear. If we can get that big son-of-a-bitch to run over a mine, we’ll be on our way home that much sooner. Use armor piercing rounds. Open up with everything you’ve got, and don’t stop firing until I give the word. Understood? Good luck!”
Among the crowd of upturned faces, Keane noticed Radioman Clark nodding back at him in acknowledgement. Clark fidgeted with each roll of the deck. He appeared no more anxious than the others, and no less ready to give the Japs hell.
For some reason he could not explain, Keane wondered at that moment if the young man’s anger toward Greenberg had abated. He wondered if the disgruntled sailor had made his peace yet with Lieutenant Trott, as Ficarelli had ordered him to do under threat of Captain’s Mast. But, that did not matter now. Combat had a way of cleaning the slate, and Keane was sure the whole thing would be cleared up by the time the Wolffish reached Midway.
“Ready to surface, Captain!” Alexander finally called up from the control room. The diving control party was ready. At Keane’s command, a long blast of pressurized air would be released into the ballast tanks, pushing the water out, shedding the weight, and instantly transforming the submerged submarine into a surfaced gunboat.
The moment had come, Keane thought as he donned the rain jacket handed to him and looped the binoculars around his neck. The XO was right. There were many risks. But they had come here to do a job, and there was only one way to see it done. He took a deep breath, and then gave the order that would set all of their fates in motion.
“Battle surface!”
CHAPTER XXII
Nagata struggled to his feet after somewhat recovering from the initial shock and concussion of the explosion. The air on the bridge was thick with the smell of smoke and gunpowder, but it began to clear rapidly in the stiff wind. He managed to grope his way to the railing, straining his eyes to look down onto the Yokaze’s bow as the stiff wind carried the smoke away. When it finally cleared, and he could see the extent of the devastation, he was stunned. The mine had detonated just under the port bow, and it was evident that the force of the blast had ruptured the chain locker, sending giant steel links upward through the deck to devastate everything in their path. The forward gun mount was destroyed, its twin steel barrels now twisted and bent at odd angles. The enclosure housing the gun’s crew looked like a perforated tin can. White smoke spewed from a dozen jagged holes, and Nagata could see a dark liquid streaming from its base to pool on the deck below. Whether it was hydraulic oil, or the blood of the pulverized men inside, Nagata could not tell from this distance, but it was clear that none of the gun’s crew could have survived.
Links of the anchor chain lay everywhere, some still connected, some torn free, like so much scrap metal. A few of the smaller chards had struck the superstructure, leaving serrated gaps in the bridge railing. Several men that had been standing only a few paces away from Nagata now lay wounded and writhing on the deck. They were burned and mangled from the chest up, where they had taken the brunt of the blast. Others were even less fortunate. One body lay on the deck perfectly erect, as if at attention, and by all appearances undamaged, except that it had no head. Nagata recognized the uniform as that of the communications lieutenant. The flying steel had decapitated the officer in the blink of an eye. On the far side of the bridge, another sailor screamed frantically as his comrades tightened a tourniquet to stem the bleeding from his shattered arm.
Then, a morbid thought suddenly entered Nagata’s head. Instinctively and as if in a panic, he fervently began looking around the debris-strewn bridge for Seaman Ito. Eventually, he found Ito among those tending to the wounded. The young sailor’s face and uniform were blackened with soot, but he appeared to be unharmed. Quite involuntarily, Nagata let out a heavy sigh of relief. As Nagata gathered his senses, he was quite puzzled by his own reaction. Perhaps it was the stupor brought on by the concussion, or perhaps the years of combat had finally caught up with him. Whatever the reason, for that brief, terrifying moment, the dread of writing yet another letter to Ito’s parents had taken hold of his thoughts, and he had cared for nothing else – not the Yokaze, not the mission. The possibility that he had deprived a family of two sons had almost been more than his personal honor could bear.
Alarm bells rang, and the tilt of the deck became more evident. Somewhere below, the Yokaze was taking on water. Nagata’s first thought was to get the way off of her, but a glance at the engine order telegraph told him the engine room had already ordered all engines reversed, without waiting for orders. Evidently, the quick-thinking chief engineer understood that a greater speed would only make the flooding worse and that any headway would very likely send the damaged destroyer onto another mine.
“Captain,” a voice called from the clearing mist. Nagata turned to see the first officer approaching, his face and uniform blackened. “Are you injured, sir?”
“I am fine.” Nagata shook his head. “Report.”
“We have taken severe damage, Captain,” the first officer said, out of breath. “The explosion punched a hole in the hull five meters below the waterline. There is much flooding up forward. I ordered the affected compartments sealed. I believe it is isolated. The biggest concern now is the fire in the forward boiler room. Shrapnel from the blast must have penetrated it and the forward fuel tanks. All of my damage control teams are there now, fighting the fire. There are many casualties.”
“Flood the forward m
agazine, as a precaution,” Nagata replied heavily. “If your men do not gain headway on the fire in the boiler room, abandon that compartment and have it flooded as well.”
“Yes, Captain. I also recommend jettisoning the torpedoes in the forward mount.”
Nagata nodded reluctantly, not wishing to lose the valuable weapons, but also fully comprehending the danger presented by a fire raging out of control near six warheads, each packed with 500 kilograms of high explosive. “What about propulsion?”
The first officer looked at him hesitantly. “The after engine room is undamaged. The chief engineer reports he can answer bells, but I advise against it, Captain. At least, not until we’re sure of the extent of the damage.”
“Understood, number one. I do not wish to hamper your efforts. I will use it only to keep the ship stationary against the current. Keep me informed.”
As the first officer scrambled off to rejoin the damage control teams, Nagata switched his focus to the seas around him. The crippled Yokaze had drifted well into the minefield, but the Kenan Maru still appeared undamaged. The freighter had passed the Yokaze’s position and was increasing speed as she continued on through the channel. Nagata judged her to be moving at nearly ten knots. It was dangerous, but Nagata would have done the same thing if he were the freighter’s captain. Now that the Yokaze was disabled, the enemy submarine could shoot at its leisure. The Kenan Maru’s only hope was to open the range before the sub unleashed another salvo of torpedoes. The freighter was still well inside the effective range of the weapons. The forty-five-knot, explosive-packed sharks would easily overtake her. If the sub fired a full spread, there was no way it could miss.
Nagata pounded the railing with his fist. The Kenan Maru was his responsibility. It was his task to see her through, and now he was impotent to help her. He could do nothing but wait for the enemy torpedo wakes appear and watch the freighter’s destruction.
He was about to pick up the phone to talk to his gunnery officer. Perhaps he could try to throw the torpedoes off course with a storm of metal from every surviving gun that could bear. But Nagata quickly put the phone down when several sailors nearby began pointing zealously out at the sea, three thousand meters away, where a mass of foam whitened the surface. As he watched, a black triangle broke through, followed soon after by the masts and conning tower of a submarine. While her decks still streamed with water, figures emerged from the structure and instantly began preparing the gun on her aft deck. Others appeared on the tower, uncovering large machine guns and mounting several smaller ones.
Nagata was initially perplexed. Why would the submarine surface when it had the advantage submerged? Then it suddenly came to him, and now he understood why the submarine had not fired any more torpedoes.
“The enemy sub is out of torpedoes!” Nagata said to no one in particular. “They must use their guns, or let the Kenan Maru escape!” He then noticed that the gunnery lieutenant now stood beside him on the bridge nodding in agreement. Evidently the officer had come down to the bridge to get a better view, since the fire director station, an enclosed, box-like platform above and aft of the bridge, was now shrouded in the smoke of the boiler room fire.
“You must be right, sir!” the lieutenant said eagerly. “There is no other explanation for it. They have made a great blunder. Sir, the smoke has driven the men from our anti-aircraft guns, but our stern gun mounts are undamaged. They are manned and ready. Shall I commence firing with both batteries?”
Nagata hesitated, considering his options. The submarine had entered the channel and was now in full pursuit of the freighter. It would cross less than three thousand meters in front of the Yokaze’s bows, and since the destroyer could not maneuver for fear of hitting another mine, the submarine would not enter the firing zones of the Yokaze’s two stern gun mounts for several more minutes.
As the gunnery officer fidgeted impatiently, a jet of smoke spewed from the submarine’s deck gun. Several seconds later the accompanying report reached the bridge of the Yokaze at the same time that a small column of water dashed the sea one thousand meters short of the Kenan Maru’s stern. Soon after, a gun of lesser caliber flashed in rapid succession. Nagata could see the sporadic tracer rounds flying in low arcs, some splashing and ricocheting off the surface, some swallowed within the dark hull of the freighter. He guessed it to be a twin-barrel, 40-millimeter Bofors cannon. The rapid fire gun was primarily an anti-aircraft weapon and would be very lucky if it scored any vital hits on the freighter. The larger deck gun was more of a threat, but as Nagata watched, the next few shells also fell well short of the mark.
“The Americans are poor at gunnery,” the lieutenant commented bitterly.
“Listen to me.” Nagata turned to him. “It is imperative that your first shots are hits. Anything less, and the sub will dive and escape. If it gets away and reports the Kenan Maru’s position, the freighter will never make it to Japan. I want you to man the range-finder personally. Take your time and be sure of your shot. Do not rotate the gun mounts until the moment you are ready to fire. We do not wish to alert the Americans that we still pack a punch. Fire as soon as you are ready.”
“Yes, Captain,” the lieutenant replied assertively, then turned abruptly, scanned the men on the bridge and pointed to a seaman kneeling beside a bandaged man. “You! Run aft and alert the first officer that we will be firing the aft gun mounts.”
“Wait!” Nagata said quickly, not out of any disagreement with the order, for it was certainly a wise precaution to inform the damage control teams that the batteries would be firing, but because the sailor the lieutenant had chosen was Ito. After both men stared back at Nagata perplexedly, he finally put aside his instinct not to let the young sailor out of his sight, and acceded. “Do as the gunnery officer commands, Ito.”
After another questioning glance, Ito nodded and disappeared amidst the smoke wafting from the ladder well, and at that moment, Nagata knew that he had been in command too long. He was growing too attached to those he led, and focusing more on what might happen than what he must do. It was an unavoidable eventuality for any commanding officer, and one of the reasons the Imperial Navy, any navy, seldom allowed a captain to command the same ship for more than three years. Grow too attached, and you are useless.
“Captain,” the navigator’s voice came from the voice tube. “The current is setting us to the east at three knots. Recommend coming to course two seven zero. That will allow us to remain stationary with minimal use of propulsion.”
It was a reasonable request, and something Nagata would have already ordered himself, had this chance to sink the enemy submarine not presented itself. If he turned now, the American would surely see it and dive, not to mention the havoc such a turn would play on the aim of gunnery officer, who now peered through the sights of the range-finder above him. He would be ready to fire at any moment. The risk of not checking the destroyer’s motion against the current was clear – she was in the middle of a minefield and every meter of movement increased the chances she would strike another one.
The submarine fired again, this time scoring a hit, the flash of the shell’s detonation vivid against the freighter’s dark hull. And then Nagata saw it, a sheet of grayness moving swiftly across the seas from the east. It threatened to mask the submarine from the gunnery officer’s view in a matter of minutes. The question was academic now. There was no time to maneuver, no time to recalculate the range.
“Ready, Captain!” the gunnery officer called from the platform above.
“Rotate turrets, and fire!” Nagata said immediately.
The aft batteries were masked from the bridge by the smoke, but confirmation of his order came seconds later when the great 12.7-centimeter guns exploded into life, the force of their recoil rattling the deck plates beneath Nagata’s feet. He watched through his binoculars as the tracer rounds sailed on a nearly flat trajectory directly at the American submarine, covering the three thousand yards in several long seconds. All four shells detonated
nearly simultaneously. He saw two near misses, and two fireballs that seemed to envelope the conning tower and forward deck and visibly shake the submarine in the water. Before the mist had cleared from the first salvo, the second fired, but this was not as accurate as the first, landing some hundred yards beyond the enemy vessel. The next moment, the submarine disappeared from view and the thick rain moved in between the two vessels. The guns continued to fire, even as the rain began to fall on the Yokaze.
The gunnery officer cursed out loud as he lost sight of the enemy.
The squall would not last long, Nagata considered, but he now had a chance to stop the Yokaze’s drift, before she moved further through the minefield.
“Helm, right full rudder. Come to course two seven zero. Starboard engine back one third.”
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