Wahoo

by Richard O'Kane

  With the new hands, and perhaps a bit rusty ourselves, we went through all of the emergency drills. As before, with seasoned hands to coach, the drills went well, but another round on another day would make each procedure automatic. We then conducted drills that were new in Wahoo: old-fashioned gunnery drills for the crews of our deck gun, the 20mm machine gun, and Browning automatic rifles. This was manning, loading, and pointer drill, not firing; that last would come when we spotted a suitable target.

  George and his engineers were now ready to fire off their refurbished engine: The detached lube oil pumps had brought the pressure up to normal; the lever was thrown to admit high-pressure air from the starting bottles into four cylinders, and the engine started to roll. Then the starting lever admitted diesel fuel to the injectors of the other cylinders. They fired and then all cylinders fired; the customary blue smoke from the excess lube oil ceased, but a black smoke followed. The upper and lower crankshafts were slightly out of phase or the fuel injection was out of time, and our engineers rolled up their sleeves again.

  Wahoo’s progress through January 19 had been good, but not good enough to suit the captain, so after battery charging, the three good engines went on propulsion with the 500-kw diesel generator carrying the auxiliary load. En route south, no one had dreamed of suggesting ceremonies on crossing the equator. None the less, the whole crew considered themselves shellbacks. There were exceptions, the bona fide shellbacks, including me, who had been properly initiated. But we were in such minority that the despicable pollywogs scoffed at our threats. On the next morning trim dive, Morton privately passed the command to me, “temporarily,” he said, and expected by none but the shellbacks, the ceremony commenced with the captain first to be initiated. Meekly, the pollywogs in the crew followed—how could they do otherwise?—but in truth, they loved the captain for it.

  Back on the surface in a bit over an hour, Wahoo was on her way, and, counting the 4 knots while submerged, had dropped only 10 miles off her schedule. None of George’s leading engineers would be needed, so we proceeded with another, and meaningful gunnery drill, the battle surface. First were the directions and then a dry run: The deck gun crew will man through the conning tower’s after door, firing ready ammunition until otherwise supplied. The ammunition will be supplied through the mess-room hatch. We then went through the orders that they would hear addressed to the diving officer, who would be holding the boat at 64 feet: “Blow safety,” and the diving officer would hold her down with planes and speed against the increasing buoyancy; “Battle surface,” when the boat had started to rise; and then “Blow main ballast,” and the diving officer would shift his planes to hard rise. Wahoo would almost bounce to the surface. The captain will then order, “Man your gun,” and “Commence firing.” When safe, you will hear, “Open the mess-room hatch,” and the ammunition train will keep the supply moving. After the order, “Cease fire,” you will be directed to strike ammunition below or to clear the deck.

  The crews went through the procedure including casting the gun free and passing the ammunition, with the gun pointers getting some practice in chasing the horizon as we rolled in a modest sea. The next time, they could get their feet wet, for stepping out into ankle-deep sea is not unknown. When trained, the time from 64 feet to the first shot could be less than 2 minutes, so repeated drills would be needed.

  The engineers were ready for another try by late afternoon, and this time there was no black smoke. The captain increased the load on three engines to 80/90, and the refurbished No. 2 engine continued to perform satisfactorily, but he was advised by Chief Lenox not to try more on this engine unless it was an emergency. Morton did him one better, deciding to leave well enough alone, for we could do everything planned with our other mains and the auxiliary.

  4

  By dawn, Wahoo had entered that “no-man’s-sea” where she was fair game for friend or foe. Australian bombers could not identify us, nor could they afford to let a surfaced enemy submarine have a free passage. So, as always, we were responsible for our own safety, but also had the additional restriction of remaining submerged during daylight. Certainly, no one was going to check on us out here, and for practical reasons we could steal a couple of extra hours at dawn and before dusk since bombers couldn’t be here. That meant an extra 40 miles a day towards possible shipping lanes, Wewak, and Palau.

  In the between hours, we were trying out our new periscope search procedure and policy: After the initial all-around horizontal and elevated sweeps, the scope could remain up as long as someone was searching. This was practical, since a plane would be sighted while distant, long before it could disappear above the elevation of our scopes, and ships could be sighted earlier too. Further, unless conditions dictated against its use, a second scope clearly enhanced Wahoo’s chances of an early acquisition. To this, we would add periodic high-periscope searches as appropriate. So it was Simonetti on one of these searches who spotted some flotsam that included one large piece of wreckage as it raised atop the modest swell.

  A suitable target was just what Roger, Richie, and Carr were hoping for. Morton ordered the word that went out over the 1MC, “Stand by for Battle Surface.”

  This was the crew’s show in the firing of a converted four-pipe destroyer gun. Now I had spent 2½ years with these guns, two of them as gunnery officer and pointer on the officer’s string on our cited “E” gun. So I had talked to Carr about the pointer’s (elevation) cranking towards the horizon as the submarine rolled, and kicking off (firing) at the moment of steadiness at the top and bottom of each roll. Boatswain’s Mate Rogers, my gun director and “E” gun pointer, had shown me, and I believe that alone had convinced Carr. With Richie, who would be spotting the shell splashes to hit, I had spoken of the “hecto-yard” method of spotting (leaving the zeros off), and saying simply, “Up-two,” instead of the clumsy, “Up-two double-O.” Then I mentioned the necessity of spotting down immediately till a short (splash) was seen, and then up to hit. This had been my total contribution.

  The gun crews and ammunition train were lined up immediately, with the captain’s specified ten rounds in their cans. To avoid a traffic jam, the 20mm crew would man through the conning tower. The procedure was followed precisely, with George giving at least three times the normal high-pressure blow, for using our screeching hyenas to bring the decks up from awash would have been too slow and would have blanked out orders to those below. Wahoo hit the surface on a nearly even keel and settled a bit, but with her decks above the sea. Roger was on the bridge with the captain who gave, “Commence Fire!” Richie would be spotting from the lookout platform, but otherwise, Gunner’s Mate Carr was in complete charge.

  I watched a creditable performance through the search periscope. The initial range came from Carter on the SJ; the pointer fired at the moment of steadiness; and Richie followed the spotting doctrine that we had discussed (he may have known it anyway). The vibration of the scope had steadied by the time the projectiles splashed in about 3 seconds, and I watched the large chunk of wreckage as it was reduced in size by at least three hits. The gun’s trainer (in azimuth) had been on at the instant of firing too.

  We closed the flotsam for the 20mm and Brownings’ firing. Not to be outdone, they reduced the remaining chunk to the size of the other flotsam. The captain liked what he had seen; the crew loved it. Where had the men found time for the training that must have preceded this shoot? While I was calling angles seemed the only answer.

  The guns were quickly secured and the brass cases, except for a couple that had been kicked over the side, were returned to their cans and struck below. The brass would be welcomed by the next tender or base foundry. In the security of night, the guns would be cleaned and greased. We would probably not be using our guns in this manner, but rather after considering a target from long range and then closing in cautiously. But this was one of the capabilities we might be called upon to use, and besides, it was a lot of fun.

  Our evening star fix, plotted and run
ahead to 2000, showed that we had dropped behind our DR position by a good 12 miles. We looked over the chart as usual in the wardroom, and rather than increasing speed, the captain decided on another 2-hour dash after dawn. The first hour passed; another hour would have us back on schedule, but we were now closing in on the enemy’s fly ways. Pappy cautioned each lookout, having them look at the chart on their way to the bridge. That view would impress them more than could any words. I was in the conning tower prior to the expected dive when the cry came from above, a blood curdling, “Clear the bridge! Clear the bridge!”

  The diving alarm sounded; lookouts were tumbling below, while over the squawk box from control came, “SD contact 4 miles closing,” and then, “It’s a Mitsubishi bomber with its bomb bays open coming out of the sun.”

  I recognized Chief Lenox’s voice, sometimes quite expressive, but this time it was straight from the shoulder. It was not of much help, for Wahoo was charging down as steeply as she ever had. Any larger angle would merely keep our stern closer to the surface longer, and our angle was increasing. At this, Morton, who had taken the conn, backed down—backing screws will always make a submarine squat—and ordered George to blow bow buoyancy. The trouble—our stern planes jammed on hard dive—had just been remedied by Chief Lenox, who pushed the circuit breaker’s reset button. The planes shifted to rise with the combined effect of sending Wahoo into a sharp up angle. The backing screws would make that worse, so they were stopped, but our submarine charged on up and broached before submerging bodily like a foundering hulk. We had not forgotten about the bombs or depth charges that had been expected, so when broaching was imminent, the captain grabbed one scope and I the other. We searched around and up and down, but saw not a trace of the Mitsubishi.

  We had done the unusual on this transit while neglecting fundamentals, so after Wahoo had settled down to periscope depth and was headed along our route, we spent the day in changing depth, shifting to hand on ship controls, and learning the location of the overload reset buttons. Instead of being perturbed, the captain learned them too, and so did I.

  The Japanese undoubtedly had good charts of New Guinea’s northeast coast, but if so, they had not shared them with the rest of the world. Our chart simply showed a somewhat ragged coastline, with bays, islands, and reefs, without even the name Wewak appearing. Air reconnaissance had reported considerable shipping there and had provided the latitude and longitude of 4° south and 144° east. That might be all right for a view from the air, but a square 60 miles on a side, or even a circle with a 30-mile radius is hardly suitable for coastal piloting. The Sailing Directions, a series of books giving detailed information on most coasts and harbors, did little to locate Wewak; it just assumed that you had a suitable chart or wouldn’t be at sea.

  The captain was sitting down with Krause and me, while thumbing through the Directions for a possible clue, when Pappy Rau appeared at the wardroom’s after door and reported that the crew had a possible solution. Specifically, it was Motor Machinist’s Mate (MoMM1c) Dalton C. Keeter who might help, and Pappy ushered him in. In Keeter’s hand was an Australian school atlas he had purchased to take home to his children. It contained a large, foldout map of northeastern Australia and southeastern New Guinea. There on the latter lay Wewak with good harbor and island outlines.

  The outline of Wewak was much too small, but if we could draw an accurate enlargement, we might find where it fitted on our chart. George came to our rescue with his Graflex camera. We kept continuous tracings of our movements in patrol areas, so had the best tracing paper at hand. While Simonetti and Krause copied the map accurately, George set up his camera as a projector, pointing down between two separated wardroom table leaves. Raised by a book on either side, it focused perfectly on the deck as viewed on the ground glass. A careful tracing took less than an hour, and when taped in place of a film, with the Aldis lamp for light, they had a perfect projection. Hunter and Keeter shifted the chart around on the deck until they found the location, then George raised the camera with pages of two other books until the image was the right size. The lines of the projection were traced on the chart; Wahoo was in business, and all hands knew where she was heading.

  At dawn of January 23, we were deep in the Solomon Sea and approaching the Vitiaz Strait. Off our starboard bow lay New Britain with its Japanese airfields only 30 miles away. Normal prudence called for submerged cruising, but the situation was not normal. We needed an extra 30 miles along our track for a full day’s reconnaissance at Wewak. The captain’s answer was two more lookouts, one of them with binoculars fitted with protective lenses, to guard in the vicinity of the sun. George had assumed the forenoon watch as usual, and after an hour sent for his sunglasses. Another hour passed, and Wahoo was now about 20 miles from the airfields. This time the request came down for his suntan lotion, and still we continued on. However, Morton checked the chart, and after another 15 minutes for insurance, called, “All right, George, you can go ahead and take her down now.” Two blasts practically punctuated the captain’s statement, and Wahoo slipped quietly under the sea.

  Alerted as we were, there was no doubt that Wahoo could have dived before any plane could have attacked, and only the element of surprise for our coming operation was in jeopardy. However, such surface running was new to all of us, and we welcomed the security below.

  5

  The submerged run at 6 knots, followed by one and then three engines on surfacing, put Wahoo off Wewak at 0300, Sunday, January 24, one week after leaving Patterson. A half hour later, we dived 2½ miles north of Kairiru Island and proceeded around its western end to investigate Victoria Bay. Sufficient light for our periscope disclosed a small tug with a lighter alongside, and then smoke near the low rocks of the right-hand promontory at the entrance to the mile-wide bay. The tug had passed clear and I gave the scope to the captain.

  “That’s a Jap coast watcher cooking his breakfast on that rock,” he announced, and then called Pappy up from below to take a look. Hunter raised the scope; Pappy grabbed the handles, took one look, and ordered, “Down scope!”

  “Captain,” he said, “that may look like a coast watcher to you, but it looks like two Chidoris to me!” We had seen these midsized antisubmarine destroyers in pictures only, but already in patrol reports they had gained a nasty reputation. It was not Pappy’s good vision versus our poor; he had just remembered to twist the left handle shifting the scope to high power for his look—a bit embarrassing to both of us. The Bells of St. Mary’s bonged throughout Wahoo.

  At the captain’s nod, I took the periscope for the following water-lapping angle calls as Morton conned Wahoo clear of their track. At the entrance to Victoria Bay, the Chidoris turned right towards the very position where Wahoo would have been had the captain not made our mad dash. Only then would the captain take the proffered scope to watch them go. I believed it was his way of showing confidence in me, and I would not let him down.

  Chan had been cutting in our position regularly, leaving the bearing lines on the chart to identify the landmarks for our return. Buckley, on sound, had been providing bearings where swells rolled onto the beaches, and these too Chan plotted as we went around the southwest tip of Kairiru to observe the strait between this island and Mushu Island, a foul-weather anchorage. The final u was quickly removed from the latter island’s name.

  There were no ships in the anchorage, but the tops of a heavy tripod mast showed on or beyond Karsu Island at the other side of the anchorage. A tug or patrol prevented our direct investigation at the time, so Morton conned Wahoo westward, hoping to round still another island, Unei, which is connected to Karsu by a reef. That should let us observe the masts from the mainland side of these islands. Swells from the sea increased steadily, and after a half-hour’s run I could see a reef with seas breaking over it that would completely block our way.

  Another try through the anchorage seemed the only approach, and the captain reversed course slowly to help George, since depth control had become diffic
ult in the swells. Chan’s permanent marks on the chart received their first test and worked beautifully, both those on land and Buckley’s on the beach, as we retraced our route. Back at the foul-weather anchorage, the tug or patrol had disappeared, which was good, but the heavy tripod masts were no longer in sight. We continued on, and in another mile forgot the masts when a distant object resembling the bridge structure of a ship came into the field of my scope. On the chart, the periscope bearing, converted to true, placed it in the bight of Mush Island, a good 5 miles farther into the harbor.

  The time was 1318. We had been standing easy at battle stations, with normal meals for most having been served in groups as they could be spared. Rowls reported only a few stragglers at the mess tables, so they were given 20 minutes. In half that time all battle stations were reported manned.

  Wahoo no longer had ready tubes with the attendant prolonged flooding of torpedoes. Instead, the torpedomen’s watch schedule was so arranged that there would always be an available torpedoman in each room. So the captain simply ordered all tubes made ready for firing on what now appeared to be a tender with small ships alongside.

  I continued to provide Chan with bearings of peaks and other promontories of the islands as he requested; Buckley gave bearings of the beach noises whenever they were prominent; and a glance at the track Chan had plotted was reassuring indeed. We would not leave a telltale periscope feather at our approach speed of 3 knots, but on each observation, water was lapping the lens of the scope.