Wahoo
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A prolonged blast from our whistle warned that Wahoo was backing from her slip. The line handlers on the dock paused in their work, first with their fingers in their ears and then, perhaps following the lead of Commander Watkins, remaining at attention till our ship headed out the channel. It was an emotional moment, deepened by the captain’s serious words at quarters and my announcement of our destination. The remaining men who had not seen the devastation were at quarters on the forecastle as the captain conned his ship through the harbor. Below, rigging ship for dive was already in progress, for we had one last submerged operation before proceeding on patrol. Turning west at the sea buoy, Wahoo headed for her PC escort; Roger took the conn, and the first section relieved the special sea detail. Our following trim dive served an additional purpose when the PC gave us two indoctrinal depth charges, primarily for our new shipmates. On the surface again, the steersman steadied on 257 degrees, the initial course to our patrol area, and rang up standard speed. The maneuvering room would adjust our propeller turns for 14 knots. A thousand yards ahead, the escort patrolled across our bow and would stay with us till dusk. The time was 1000 (ten-hundred) this August 23, just 1 hour after getting underway, and Wahoo was on patrol.
On the conning tower chart, for all to see, was the track we would follow. It had three long legs that passed through points designated in our operation order. More important to us, however, were Taongi Atoll 90 miles to the west of the second leg, Ponape Island to the southeast of the third leg, then Namonuito and Hall Islands. Passing between these two, Wahoo would enter her patrol area.
The Nampo Shoto, the Bonins, and the Marianas leading south from Tokyo form an interrupted corridor. Along this route, surface and air patrols could offer considerable protection to Empire shipping to and from the Carolines, a loose line of islands, reefs, and atolls extending from Palau, near the Philippines, eastward over 2,000 miles to the Gilberts. Near the center of this chain lies a small group of volcanic islands with about 1,500-foot peaks and extensive, deep anchorages. Well fortified, they are surrounded by a continuous ring of low islands and reefs. Averaging 30 miles across and with only four navigable passes, this ring made the anchorages immune to gunfire. The atoll, as an enemy naval base, had made possible the control of the Marianas and support of their conquest of the Solomons, about 900 miles southeastward. Sometimes called the Gibraltar of the Pacific, this atoll was labeled Truk on our chart. Wahoo would patrol its western approaches and the important Piaanu Pass into the atoll.
Morning-and noon-latitude sun lines crossed conveniently on our track, and I delivered the 1200 position slip to the captain on the bridge. As before, he thanked me, but then said:
Dick, I am going to require two officers on watch when we are on patrol, so if you will stand the four-to-eights, your quartermaster can bring your sextant topside for your morning and evening stars, and since you’ll be relieved by a quarter of the hour in accordance with naval custom, that will give you ample time to work up your stars and have the position slip to me by 0800 and 2000. The noon position slip, of course, offers no problem.
This additional duty, leaving Wahoo without an effective executive officer during these critical hours, had implications that could undermine Wahoo’s potential fighting ability. These thoughts were whirling in my mind, but ours was a ship at war and my answer was, “Aye, aye, Sir.”
In addition to radio time checks, Krause would now be responsible for recording the exact difference between the gimbal-mounted ship’s chronometer and the comparing watch, essential to the later computation of the Greenwich Civil Time (GCT) of each star sight.
The PC turned back at sunset, sending Godspeed and receiving our “Well-done.” The SJ radar now searched ahead; its range greatly exceeding the visibility, and our SD was secured for the night. With the first stars of evening twilight, we took our sights using the same lucky stars that had served us well for the Litchfield rendezvous. Then came the wait of nearly 2 hours before we would know if our fix was good, and with the fading horizon, no chance of another round of stars for a precise position.
Promptly at 1945, George and Ira came to the bridge. Chan turned over the watch, while I dropped below to the ship’s office, which sported the only white light. Our first lines crossed far from the dead-reckoning position, but a simple correction to the GCT set all aright. Though some minutes late, the captain received the position slip in the usual courteous manner, and I sat down to a warmed-over supper.
Except for zigzagging during daylight, which required 10% more speed to maintain the required advance, Wahoo had enjoyed routine surface cruising with a trim dive on the third day, and the always puzzling “sailing into tomorrow” as our boat crossed the international date line. A reported distant plane on the morning watch (the four-to-eight) seemed unlikely with Taongi Atoll still 400 miles away, but on the following day, August 29, we proceeded submerged while passing the atoll. Bona fide patrol planes kept us down while passing Ponape, so the captain, who had spent nearly all surfaced hours on the bridge or in the conning tower, had some real rest in his cabin. I hoped that this would become routine in our patrol area, for in Argonaut my captain had found it necessary as well as delegating many responsibilities.
Clear of Ponape, we enjoyed surface running in storms, diving at dawn on September 3 between Hall and Namonuito Islands. From there, Wahoo would proceed southwest 40 miles into the assigned area. The wind and seas moderated throughout the morning with the overcast lifting at noon. Though without star fixes, we were confident of our position, especially since the dead-reckoning indicator agreed with our DR position on the chart. We would not see the islands, even using maximum periscope (with shears still submerged) of 17 feet. Passing into our area, and now with 3-foot exposures ordered, any sightings would be of enemy planes or ships.
The very fact that Wahoo was now patrolling her assigned area over 3,000 miles from Pearl Harbor added pride and determination to our task. But throughout the day only seabirds came into view during cautious sweeps every half hour, and only fish noises were heard on sound. Just as on our previous submerged days, however, time was not wasted. On surfacing late in evening twilight we headed for a point 15 miles off Piaanu Pass. Krause and I raced in bringing the stars down to a fading horizon and rather surprised ourselves with a good fix. Only a modest change of course to 185 degrees and slowing to two-thirds speed would put us on station before morning twilight.
We had two officers in each watch section in Argonaut, one serving as operations officer in the conning tower or the control room as the situation required. He took the dive when she submerged. In our boat, with radar and sonar to be interpreted in the conning tower, we should have the same, and I was considering such a recommendation to the captain. While at the Submarine Base, however, he had had a metal bunk installed in the conning tower that folded up against the TDC. Presumably, it would be the counterpart of an emergency cabin in surface warships where the captain could rest or sleep near the bridge in pending battle or emergency. Still, in submarines, the captain’s cabin was already as close as their emergency cabin. I had the answer when I came off watch: the bunk was made up for the captain this night, and my recommendation would be out of order.
The days of cruising, with routine dives and drills, showed their effect below. Those going on watch or shifting assignments did so with quiet confidence, no longer needing instructions. The battery charge had been in progress since surfacing and would be completed before midnight. Ira had just given permission to dump trash and garbage. In less than a minute the weighted sacks would be passed through the mess-room hatch, and all secured again. Following patrol instructions, the sacks would contain the patrol reports we had been studying, thus insuring that they could not fall to the enemy. Though not covering our area, they contained the lessons of other boats, their successes and failures, and we learned much from them. They had been my only reading since sailing and most certainly superseded many peacetime instructions.
At this speed, our screws would not appreciably interfere with the supersonic listening sound head (JK), so sound was manned. Buckley, our best soundman, came on watch with us, both as an operator and instructor. Though the chance of hearing the props before seeing a ship was slight in this visibility and with our radar coverage, the ever-present possibility of an enemy submarine outweighed all other considerations, for we could be her target! At 0430, Buckley’s report of fast screws sent us down, and I’ll never be sure whether the captain or Chan initiated the dive. We searched with the scopes on the reported bearings as they crossed our bow and finally faded in the direction of Piaanu Pass, but saw nothing. However, diving first and asking questions later was correct, so I complimented Chan on his instant reaction. Now with dawn less than an hour away, we continued on submerged.
Krause was busy totalling the daily runs from the chart when the first rays of the rising sun framed Tol with a beautiful corona. I passed the scope to him for a few seconds before pressing the lowering button. “That confirms it,” he said, “3,110 miles from Pearl and we’re right in our spot.” Actually, the confirmation would come on sighting the 70-foot palm trees of the perimeter islands as shown on our chart. Even now, their tops in the sun should be visible from a dozen miles, but my search, interrupted by the arrival of the captain, had shown they were still beyond the horizon.
The captain raised the periscope and went through the search procedure—a quick sweep in low power to be sure all was clear, and then the high-power search. All was quiet until he came on Tol Island, when he fairly burst out, “You’ll have us aground!” and changed course to the northwest. Without words, Krause and I gathered that we did not enjoy the captain’s full confidence.
By the second day of patrol, we had shelved emergency drills in favor of torpedo fire control. Wahoo’s course and speed are fed into the torpedo data computer automatically. The enemy ship’s relative position is set from the bearing and range called by the periscope assistant, and the target’s course is set from the captain’s all-important call of angle on the bow. To port or starboard to 180 degrees, this is the angle formed by the longitudinal axis of a ship and the line of sight intercepting her. Through a series of observations, while the submarine is closing to a firing range, the TDC operator determines the target’s speed. If she is zigging, the base course and confirming speed will come from the navigational plot. All the while, the TDC’s angle-solver section sets the hitting angle on the torpedoes’ gyros.
Fortunately, the TDC, with manual inputs, could generate approach and attack problems. Roger and Richie had composed a goodly number, all in a folder and needing only a stopwatch and caller. So our drills, including those directly involved, were realistic, approaching a game. The total party, starting forward and then clockwise, were: Simonetti on the wheel, Chan on plot, Buckley at sound, Roger manning the TDC, Richie at the angle solver to apply torpedo spreads, Krause keeping the log and manning the firing panel, Hunter as periscope assistant, and myself as assistant approach officer, with an ISWAS, a slide rule with azimuth scales, to give desired tracks and distances for the captain, to see that tubes were readied, torpedo running depth set, to compare plot with TDC, and to follow up on any orders from the captain.
The first of the two preceding diagrams shows a submarine during an approach with the elements discussed above. The second shows the attack from stern tubes with small right gyro angles on the torpedoes, the enemy having zigged or changed base course to the right.
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Under a glassy sea, our search throughout the day was by sound at 90 feet, coming up for 3-foot periscope observations every half hour. A brief study of the chart showed that ships coming from the western Carolines might very well proceed from Gray Feather or Mogami Banks to Namonuito before proceeding on to Truk. If Ulul Island in the Namonuito group had an airfield, as the Japanese monograph surmised, this route would be very likely, and our search would be along their continuing route to Piaanu Pass. I passed this information to Pappy Rau so it would be spread through the watches. The hopes of everyone remained high throughout the day. After surfacing, the SJ more than doubled the distance we had been able to see with 3 feet of periscope, so we were actually searching four times the area this night.
Turning back after the battery charge was completed at 2300, we patrolled back to the vicinity of Truk. This called for stars on the earliest morning horizon. Passing through the conning tower, I noted that we now had two men manning the SJ. Its hand wheel, with shafts and gears, to rotate the SJ had become increasingly hard to turn. At night, our auxiliary men had climbed the shears with grease gun in hand, thoroughly lubricating each bearing on the long, vertical shaft, but it did not help. A misalignment seemed evident, and for the present we would overcome it with manpower. Two on the job could be advantageous, though right at the foot of the captain’s bunk, they would have to speak in lowest whispers.
Routinely, Chan and I relieved the watch; the stars came down to a moonlit horizon sharpened by the first sign of twilight, and Chan’s two blasts sent Wahoo under a calm sea. We searched with both scopes; dawn broke, and in its first light, Krause steadied on an enemy ship. I called battle stations-battle stations over the IMC; Krause swung down the handle on the general alarm switch, and the electrically generated bell-like notes, called the Bells of St. Mary’s, sounded in true earnest for the first time at 0525, Sunday, September 6.
Sitting on the horizon, heading southeasterly, was a modest-sized freighter coming our way. When the captain reached the conning tower, Wahoo was steady on an intercepting course that lay at right angles to the bearing of the freighter. This was the action that any skipper would expect. Called the normal approach course (where normal means perpendicular), it would insure reaching an attack position if such was possible.
In record time, Pappy reported battle stations manned, and then the captain slowed for his first observation. His bearing, angle on the bow, and Hunter’s range flowed to Roger on the TDC and to Chan on plot. This and subsequent setups showed the approach progressing well, though I found myself mentally urging more speed. But providing the captain with true courses, readying the tubes, and checking plot against TDC kept me busy, so I was surprised when we reached an attack position of 1,450 yards in less than a half hour. Roger reported a good TDC solution; the captain announced, “Standby,” and then, “Fire 1,” “Fire 2,” and “Fire 3” at about 6-second intervals. As previously ordered, Richie, on the TDC’s angle solver, applied no deflection to the first torpedo, so it should hit amidships. With the deflection knob, he sent the second torpedo to pass under the stern and the third under the bow. But it was Krause who had the fun of whacking the firing plunger with his palm on each firing command.
A slight shudder forward, the healthy zing of the props, and the momentary pressure on our ears as the poppet valve vented residual air back into the boat showed that each torpedo was on its way. Then came Buckley’s report from sound, “All hot, straight and normal.” We waited as Hunter called off the 60 seconds till the torpedoes should hit, at least two of them: “Forty-five, Fifty, Fifty-five, Sixty,” and so the count continued without explosions. The freighter had turned towards, perhaps just a zig, but with a plane beyond her, glassy seas, and the proximity of airfields, the captain ordered 90 feet. Though no longer counting, Hunter had kept his stopwatch in hand and so timed two unexpected detonations 2 minutes after our firing. Could we have had a range error that great, or had the magnetic exploder mechanism been activated by a field other than that of the ship
? Loss of her screw noises would indicate the former, and her possible sinking, but heading northwest, away from the scene and not coming up for an observation, we’d never know.
The initial novelty of living under red lights, with red mashed potatoes, black vegetables, and other unearthly colored foods, had worn off even before reaching Pearl Harbor. There, it had served as a conversation piece, but now, 3 weeks later, I believed it was one of the factors affecting Wahoo’s morale. Sinking this first ship would have given a tremendous boost, overshadowing unnecessary restrictions. As it was, the exceptional quiet by those resuming their regular watches reflected disappointment, and these hands, coming from throughout the boat, that of our whole ship’s company.
I had read every available patrol report and could remember none in which an enemy ship had been attacked by the second day; in most it would be the second week. Here, we had had an easy setup, far simpler than the destroyer escorts (DE’s) at San Diego, but had muffed it. Could it be that individually we were overtrained, so intent on being precise that we had missed the boat, overlooking something obvious?
The hour before returning to periscope depth had provided Krause and me with time to work up our 0800 position; so promptly on George’s taking the watch, I dropped below, pausing to talk with Chief Pruett and “Doc” Lindhe who were sharing the watch, before delivering the position slip to the captain on time. Resting in his bunk and reading a Western, he thanked me, looked it over, and slipped it between the pages. On the wardroom table to go with my breakfast was ONI-208J, Japanese Merchant Ship Recognition Manual. It had already been flagged to by the captain, where he had checked the modest-size tanker, Hoyogo Maru, as resembling our target; but ours had one stack aft instead of the two, side by side, as shown in the drawing. Chan joined me, and with his long reach, retrieved a pair of dividers from the sideboard. The scale drawing of the ship showed a length of 252 feet. To the same scale, her mast would be about 85 feet, close to the figure the captain had penciled on the page. Perhaps influenced by reports of ships having removed their topmasts to reduce the range at which they might be sighted, the captain had specified using a masthead height of 50 feet in determining the range. Unfortunately this had led to an enemy speed error on both the TDC and plot, unnoted since each had the same 10-knot enemy speed solution. But making the dangerous run for Piaanu Pass, she would surely be running at her maximum speed, which was listed at 13 knots. To be meaningful, the manual’s information must be available during an approach. I passed the problem to Lindhe, whose battle station was in the control room.