Sabertooth waited directly in their track.
“Up scope,” Charlie said.
He crouched and rose with the periscope. He rotated twice and settled on the target bearing. The fog shrouded the moon and made the darkness thick and murky. The sea an inky black.
A tiny blob of light winked in the dark. Another.
Blinker lights. The Japanese signaled each other in the fog.
Then black shapes coalesced in the mist. The steel hulks of giant warships. More winking lights.
“Helm, come right to three-two-oh.”
“Come right to three-two-oh, aye, sir.”
“Meet her. Nothing to the right.”
“Aye, sir. New heading, three-two-oh.”
“Keep her so.”
The black hulks grew larger. As he expected, the heavy cruisers and destroyer escorts surrounded the carriers in a defensive perimeter. The middle of the formation would pass directly over Sabertooth.
They have no idea we’re here, Charlie thought. He reminded himself he should keep it that way. “Down scope. Planes, 200 feet.”
The scope retracted into its mounting. The planesmen heaved at their wheels. Charlie turned and regarded Bryant and Liebold with a crazed smile. They returned it, their eyes fierce. Whatever reservations they had about the attack, they’d put them aside. They were ready to fight.
The darkness, the fog, the total surprise—they just might pull this off.
“Sound, Control,” he said. “Stay on the heavy screws to starboard.”
“The big carrier, sir?”
“That’s right,” Charlie said. “Yosai. Report when he reaches a relative bearing of oh-three-oh.”
“Aye, aye, Mr. Harrison.”
whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh
The men froze at the ominous sound. Destroyers were passing Sabertooth on both sides. If they detected the American submarine, the game was up. They’d pound the boat until she sank.
A minute passed. Then another.
WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH
The men barely breathed now, listening to the steady propeller beats. Sabertooth cruised at the center of the IJN armada, surrounded by 100,000 tons of steel plowing the surface.
“Control, Sound. Heavy screws, relative bearing oh-three-oh.”
Charlie said, “Helm, hard right rudder. Come right to oh-four-five.”
“Come right to oh-four-five, aye, sir.”
“All compartments, rig to surface.”
“Why?” Bryant demanded. “We’ve got them—”
Charlie glared at him. Bryant clammed up.
“You’ll be going topside with me,” he told Gibson. “I need your eyes.”
“Aye, aye, Mr. Harrison.”
The telephone talker said, “Maneuvering, stand by to switch from motors to diesels.” He turned and said to Charlie, “All compartments report ready to surface in every respect, Mr. Harrison.”
“Very well,” Charlie said.
Sailors glanced at him. He hadn’t followed up his acknowledgment with an order to surface. The details of the attack surged at him, demanding review. He shoved them aside. He knew he could second-guess himself into failure.
The die had been cast. “Surface.”
The surfacing alarm blared. The main ballast tanks blew.
Charlie led the quartermaster to the conning tower. He grabbed hold of the ladder and turned. “If I’m unable to perform my duties, you know what to do.”
The engineering officer opened his mouth but closed it. Then he smiled. As Charlie climbed the ladder, he heard the man say, “Good hunting, Harrison.”
He and the hulking engineering officer would never be friends, but Charlie knew he could rely on him.
Gibson waited at the top of the conning tower with the lookouts. They made room for Charlie. The quartermaster readied his mallet as the boat angled up, broke the surface, and settled on an even keel.
“You all right, sir?” Gibson asked him.
Charlie could only nod glumly. He felt drained already.
“Open the hatch anytime,” Bryant called from below.
He nodded again to Gibson, who grinned and pounded the dogs open. Built-up pressure equalized with a roar of venting air.
“Time to finish what we started, sir,” the quartermaster said.
Charlie mounted to the bridge. He scanned the surrounding darkness while the cool night air dried the sweat on his skin. After his time in the boats, he was now used to switching from hot to cold temperature and high to low air pressure.
The fog hung close aboard, obscuring his view.
“Lookouts to the bridge,” he hissed.
The men took their positions.
“I don’t see any Japs,” Gibson said, a pair of binoculars covering his eyes.
A horn boomed in the fog. Another boomed in answer astern.
They were out there, all right.
Sabertooth’s diesel engines pounded to life. Charlie smelled smoke in the salty air.
“Wait,” Gibson said. He pointed. “There, sir.”
An enormous warship was passing them, foghorn booming. Six football fields long, bristling with guns. A Myōkō-class heavy cruiser. Hanma, the Hammer.
Behind it, a giant shape loomed in the mist.
“Holy Mother of God,” muttered one of the lookouts.
Yosai.
They had the carrier in their sights at last. Submarine skippers dreamed about this kind of opportunity.
“Ship astern,” a sailor hissed from the lookout platform. He called out the range.
Charlie turned and glimpsed a vague shape steaming through the fog.
That would be Pachinko, the Slingshot.
He knew the names, had seen pictures of them in the enemy ship reference books. They were like creatures out of myth.
“We’re going to take a shot at both carriers,” he said. “Forward torpedo, make ready all tubes. The target is Yosai. Order of tubes is one, two, three, four, five, six. Set depth at four feet. High speed.”
Those ships may have been titans of the sea, but they weren’t invincible. Drilled with enough holes, they sank to the bottom like anything else that floated. Like so many American titans had at Pearl.
“After torpedo, make ready all tubes,” he went on. “The target is Pachinko. Order of tubes is seven, eight, nine, ten. Depth, four feet. High speed.”
Charlie crouched at the forward-bridge target-bearing transmitter (TBT). The TBT consisted of powerful night binoculars mounted on a swivel base.
He centered the crosshairs on Yosai’s black bulk. The aircraft carrier blasted its horn again.
“Control, Bridge. Range, 1,000 yards. Speed, five knots. Angle on the bow, oh-four-oh. Final bearing, mark!”
He pressed the button, which automatically transmitted bearing to the TDC operator in the control room.
“Set!” came the response from the speaker. The TDC transmitted the firing angles to the torpedo gyros.
“We’re going to shoot our entire wad at him.”
A target that size, from a thousand yards. Like shooting a barn.
The boat trembled as the outer doors opened.
“I don’t have eyes on the light carrier astern anymore, but he’s there. Make an automatic sweep on the SJ radar. After we shoot our wad at Yosai, shift targets. Bryant will direct fire. Shoot a spread of four fish from the stern tubes on the SJ bearings.”
“Aye, aye, Mr. Harrison,” the speaker blared. “Mr. Bryant says, ‘Thanks, and fire anytime.’”
“This is going to be some show,” the quartermaster said.
“It just might, Gibson.” As long as the torpedoes worked. As long as he hadn’t screwed up. “Forward torpedo, stand by.” Charlie kept the TBT centered on Yosai. The ship was coming on.
This was it. “Fire ONE!”
The boat shuddered as she spat a 3,000-pound torpedo into the ocean.
Gibson counted the seconds to ensure the shots were properly timed.
“Fire TWO! Fire THREE! F
ire FOUR! Fire FIVE! Fire SIX!” He yanked the binoculars from the TBT and ran to the after bridge. “Control, Bridge. Shift target to Pachinko. I still don’t have a visual. You may fire the stern tubes on radar bearings when ready.”
“All fish are on the way,” Control reported after another thirty seconds.
“Stay on them, Control.”
“All fish running hot, straight, and normal.”
He returned to the forward bridge and fixed his binoculars on Yosai’s hulking silhouette. Gibson was counting: time to impact.
“Forward torpedo, reload tubes one and two,” Charlie said. “After torpedo, reload all tubes—”
Then he frowned.
Something was wrong.
The torpedoes should have—
BOOM!
A column of spray erupted alongside Yosai, which rocked at the impact.
Charlie almost couldn’t believe it. A hit!
“Show time, Gibson.”
The quartermaster laughed. “Beautiful.”
Charlie said into the phone, “Control, Bridge. Solid hit on the target.”
A cheer erupted from the phone.
The big aircraft carrier trembled at the impact but otherwise didn’t seem to notice. He kept coming. Then he began to accelerate.
A blinding flash, illuminating shards of metal flying across a massive smoke cloud.
BOOM! BOOM!
“Three solid hits.” Charlie’s heart pounded like a drum in his ears. “Jack, you’re a genius!”
BOOM!
“Make that four,” Gibson said. “I think the other two missed.”
Every Japanese ship honked its horn, sounding the alarm.
Control: “Reload completed on number one tube!”
Charlie cried: “Helm, hard left rudder!”
Yosai was on fire and listing. But they weren’t done yet.
Sabertooth began to turn clockwise as enemy searchlights frantically combed the water for the predator in their midst.
Most of the ships cast their lights outside the formation. Charlie glimpsed distant flashes as two ships fired blindly into the fog. Some of the torpedoes had overshot Yosai and detonated in the open water. The destroyers must have heard the blasts and assumed they were prematures, that the enemy sub was on their flank.
He jumped at the sound of another explosion from behind.
Gibson was laughing. “Christmas just came early. We’re hitting Pachinko.”
“Remember Pearl Harbor,” Charlie said and hunched behind the TBT. Hanma was veering right. “He’s turning to starboard. We’ll hit him broadside.”
The submarine kept turning. Her bow aligned with the heavy cruiser amidships.
“Bridge, Control! Reload completed on number two tube!”
Charlie pressed the button. “Final bearing, mark!”
“Set!”
“Fire ONE!”
Gibson counted off the seconds.
“Fire TWO!”
“Both fish running hot, straight, and normal!”
Gibson restarted his count as the torpedoes streaked toward the distant cruiser.
“Control, Bridge. Put another two into Yosai from the stern tubes as we turn.”
“Aye, sir!”
BOOM!
A hit on Hanma. Then the cruiser disappeared into the fog, dropping random depth charges that exploded from the sea in colossal sprays.
Sabertooth kept turning. Pachinko listed little to port but continued steaming out of the area.
“I should have saved those two bow torpedoes for the light carrier,” Charlie said disgustedly.
“It would have been nice to put him down for good, sir,” Gibson agreed.
By now, the stern tubes had fired another two torpedoes at Yosai. He heard a single explosion; one of the fish had hit. The carrier was coming into view as the boat circled back to where she started.
“My God,” Gibson breathed.
Drilled by five torpedoes, the colossus groaned in the water, on fire and listing heavily to starboard, its screws stopped. Charlie could see the entire deck. The planes broke free of their cables and smashed into each other. Zeros and torpedo bombers and recon planes, seventy aircraft in all. The avalanche of metal crashed down and splashed into the water among screaming sailors.
The titan was going down, 36,000 tons of boat and planes and men.
Behind him, he heard a crash followed by a long metallic scream.
Gibson started at the noise. “What was that?”
“No way to find out,” Charlie said. “We’d better get out of here.”
The element of surprise was quickly diminishing. If Sabertooth were discovered, they were in for it. Searchlights flashed across the sea as the destroyer escorts closed in.
“Helm—”
BOOM
Yosai jumped in the sea and buckled as an internal explosion rocked the great warship. Its boiler had gone up. A mortal blow. The giant’s back was broken.
It was incredible. Amazing. Cathartic. Almost beautiful.
And horrible, yes, horrible.
The carrier sank quickly into the foam, taking 1,600 souls to the bottom.
“Helm,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Rudder amidships. All ahead full. Get us out of here.”
Sabertooth made tracks at twenty knots, fleeing the battle as the destroyers closed in with their searchlights.
Charlie went up to the lookout platform and stared into the fog. The fires, searchlights, and horn blasts faded astern.
They’d done it. They’d killed Yosai.
The entire attack had taken eight minutes.
Battle of the Celebes Sea, December 21, 1942.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
FLIGHT
Charlie took the ladder too fast and landed hard, the shock tingling up his ankles. He limped out of the way as Gibson slammed to the deck after him.
He looked up to see the entire control room smiling at him.
“Hara-kiri,” Bryant said.
“Hara-kiri,” one of the manifold men added.
Then they were all saying it, grinning like maniacs.
“Hara-kiri! Hara-kiri!”
His nickname had taken on a whole new meaning. One of outright reverence.
Jack Liebold shook his hand. “Looks like you pulled it off, Charlie.”
“We all did,” Charlie said. “The torpedoes worked just fine, thanks to you.”
Gibson shook his hand next. Then Bryant.
“We just sank Yosai,” the engineering officer beamed. “I still can’t believe it.”
“I’ve been in the boats a long time, sir,” the quartermaster said, “and I ain’t ever seen anything like what just happened up there.”
“I fouled up on Pachinko,” Charlie said. “We could have sunk him.”
Bryant laughed and said, “We just sank the Fortress, Harrison.”
Charlie allowed a smile at that. “We did. We sank him good.”
“Wait ’til they read about this back home!”
They felt like giant killers. Today, there was buccaneering on Sabertooth.
“We’re going to ruin Tojo’s breakfast,” Charlie said. “What’s your report?”
“We’re steaming at twenty knots with a heading of three-two-oh. I just did a sweep with the SJ radar and got a fix on the targets. Yosai is a confirmed sinking. Pachinko is still afloat and moving. The heavy cruisers’ screws have stopped. They’re right next to each other, and they aren’t moving.”
“Very well.” Charlie went to the 1MC call box and pulled down the microphone. “Attention. This Lieutenant Harrison. Scratch one Jap aircraft carrier. We also damaged the light carrier and a heavy cruiser. You did a perfect job. Thank you. Captain Hunter will be proud. That is all.”
He was still furious at himself for blowing the attack on Pachinko. He’d gotten full of himself, and it had made him greedy. He’d lost his head in the heat of battle.
“Lookouts report the fog is thinning,” the telephone t
alker said.
Charlie glanced at his watch. The sun was rising.
Time to hide in the deep before their luck ran out.
“Very well,” he said. “All compartments, rig for dive.”
The smiles faded as the men returned to work. They weren’t out of this yet, and they knew it. The Japanese were rallying right now, and they were out for blood. They’d hunt Sabertooth until she made Darwin.
Bryant didn’t miss a beat. He keyed the 1MC and said, “Rig for dive. Clear the topsides.”
The lookouts shot down the ladder, calling out the hatch was secured.
Bryant: “Dive, dive, dive!”
The klaxon blasted twice.
The engineering officer ordered the main engines stopped and propulsion switched to battery power. The main induction clanged shut.
The officers stared at the Christmas tree, willing the lights to turn green.
To their immense relief, they did.
Bryant grinned. “Pressure in the boat! Green board.”
“Very well,” Charlie said. Their luck was holding, thank God.
“All compartments report ready to dive,” the telephone talker said.
“Planes, 200 feet.”
Sabertooth performed beautifully. She sank into the foam in thirty seconds and angled into the deep.
Distant thunder vibrated against the hull. Metal grinding and chewing. Yosai’s death throes as he sank to the bottom. The sea’s intense pressures were ripping him apart.
The men grinned again, enjoying this moment of payback.
“Control, Sound,” the soundman said. “I’m picking up sounds of another ship sinking.”
Charlie, puzzled: “Pachinko?”
The quartermaster frowned in thought. “It might be one of the other ships.”
“We only scored one hit on Hanma. I’m not even sure we pierced his armor.”
Gibson chuckled now. “Remember that crash we heard?”
“Of course. You mean—”
“I think Hanma accidentally rammed another ship in the fog. The only ship near him was the other heavy cruiser.”
Charlie hesitated as that sank in. “Sometimes, you get lucky.”
The man chuckled at that. “Sometimes, you get very lucky.”
Scratch one aircraft carrier and one heavy cruiser.
“Sound, Control. Any signs of pursuit?”
“No, sir. They’re circling the combat zone.”
Silent Running: a novel of the Pacific War (Crash Dive Book 2) Page 13