ANOTHER RUNNING GUN BATTLE TODAY CONVOY FIVE AK ONE AO LAT FOUR DASH FIFTEEN NORTH LONG ONE FORTY DASH THIRTY EAST COURSE ONE FOUR SIX SPEED NINE WAHOO RUNNIN DESTROYER GUNNIN
For sure, the captain had not lost his flair, and exact translation or not, a copy would be tacked to the white-painted cork insulation in the crew’s mess; they’d love it.
Our dive off the depth gauge had served another purpose, for it confirmed that our new TBT installation by Sperry was indeed watertight. It had a selsyn-type electrical transmitter forward and aft on our bridge, so we could fire torpedoes at night while already on an evasion course. This was a big improvement over my simple mechanical one, which had worked well in sighting Tol Island and for initial bearings of the ship we had sunk; it was replaced by the Sub Base with an electrical system that flooded during the deep evasion at Bougainville. The cable, acting as a hose, had even flooded the conning tower receiving unit. But any doubts concerning our new system had now been set aside.
10
Thursday, January 28 had arrived, and we dived at the gentlemanly hour of 0850 on the circle 10 miles from the center of Fais Island. While closing at 4 knots, our regular soundman took single-ping soundings at 10-minute intervals as coached by Simonetti. If there were a listening station, as had been reported, the enemy’s operator would consider the pings as just another fish noise, and so also the occasional single-ping echo range toward the charted reefs. On soundings, these echo ranges produced bottom reverberations, so would tell little unless a reef were truly close, but knowing of a close reef is what we wanted. The soundings and periscope observations of landmarks checked with those on our chart, so we went about the rest of our reconnaissance confidently.
We saw no evidence of the sound listening post, but the trading station was just as shown. Proceeding around the southwestern end of the island at 1½ miles from the beach, the phosphorite works, with its warehouses and refinery, came in full view. Immediately, Morton proposed his plan for shelling it under moonlight. I expressed my full agreement, especially with the moonlight feature, and we withdrew to the selected firing point to make preparations and to avoid the chance of being sighted.
Now free from possible periscope sighting, the crew queued up for a look at the island and snapshots for our photographers. Ten seconds apiece kept the line moving, and it was Fireman Anders who sighted the tops of a ship heading for the island. The line unqueued as we conducted a fire control drill on the ship, now identified as an interisland freighter. We watched her moor. Broadside she displayed two efficient-looking guns. Her crew quickly installed canvas gun covers and started lacing them in place, but stopped after one or two grommets. We waited; if they laced the covers further, the guns could be inoperative for several minutes, depending upon the type of lacing. This offered a possibility, but perhaps fortunately, the canvas covers remained at the ready. Recalling that this ship was similar to, though longer than, the Q-ship (antisubmarine decoy) reported by Gudgeon and could have additional surprise armament clinched the decision to leave well enough alone. The idea of an across-the-island bombardment lingered, but our remaining ammunition could do little damage. So we settled on picture shooting with the Kodak Medalist that would give Intelligence a negative large enough to play with.
At 1800, well clear of the island, three blasts sent Wahoo to the surface. There was now one priority, to reach the Submarine Base safely. Rather than a letdown, there would be concentration, and three dieseis were doing their part as we set course for Pearl Harbor. Below, there could not have been a happier ship’s company. We were proud of our captain, of Wahoo, of our shipmates, and believing that I can speak for all, proud of ourselves.
There would be a change for morning stars as George and Hunter had relieved Krause and me. Since George would likely have orders as an executive officer and navigator, the experience of navigating to Pearl Harbor would be advantageous. The captain had an ulterior motive, however, for this would give me time to work on the patrol report. The real winner would be Krause, for he would head the quartermasters’ watch list.
Sprucing up our ship proved to be no problem, for hands turned to as if they were working on their hot rod at home. Already, the best from our freezer room had been segregated for consumption, and for that we had the whole ship’s company as volunteers. Roger and Richie had turned in their reports on torpedo and gunnery attacks, including that of the gun casualty. George had long since submitted his on the engine, and all of these came to me typed by Sterling. He was now typing the stencils as I turned in my sections upon their completion. Should anyone feel rushed, there would be two Tuesdays, each February 2, as we crossed the international date line, and I would enjoy the unique experience of two birthdays.
I was on the homestretch as I proofread the captain’s narrative of the patrol. I had been reading patrol reports for almost exactly a year, and Morton’s narrative was the first that devoted a separate paragraph to his officers and men, the senior by name. But he was a new breed of captain to us, one who exercised the adage of reprimand in private, commend in public. Because we felt the same of him, and my pride in his words, I include the exact paragraph from the patrol report here:
The conduct and discipline of the officers and men of this ship while under fire were superb. They enjoyed nothing better than a good fight. I commend them all for a job well done, especially Lieutenant R. H. O’Kane the Executive Officer, who is cool and deliberate under fire. O’Kane is the fightingest naval officer I have ever seen and is worthy of the highest of praise. I commend Lieutenant O’Kane for being an inspiration to the ship.
Our rendezvous with Litchfield was set for 0730 Sunday, February 7, with mooring an hour later. But George and Hunter, who had seemed a bit disdainful of our midnight stars and such, had Wahoo on a track that had missed the escort altogether. Yet we could hardly miss Oahu, whose mountains showed high above the horizon. With seaman’s eye, the captain conned his submarine towards the channel while Jack tried desperately to get off a message stating that we were proceeding independently. Unescorted, we were fair game for a fledgling aviator, so Morton told Jack to use a higher priority. Inadvertently, Jack had then used the Operational Emergency designation reserved for enemy threat and the like, and in return had received a bawling out by CinCPac’s communications supervisor, who considered that this error took precedence over the message. Jack had returned topside to find Wahoo entering the channel and Litchfield boiling up astern. She had undoubtedly been through this before and was taking pains to see that we were not embarrassed.
On rounding ten-ten dock, we saw the Base crowded with people, very much like a peacetime Navy Day, and on closing, we found Pier 1 reserved for dignitaries and the press with the band drawn up across the shoreward end. The crew had not had time to make up a flag or pennant decorated with red meatballs or rising suns to designate merchantmen or warships sunk. But some prophetic hand had borrowed one of the large Australian brooms used to sweep the dock, and the captain had Lindhe tape it to the very top of the attack scope with bristles up. It told the whole story—a clean sweep—and raised high above restricted radar and such, it quickly became the most photographed broom in the world, all to a deafening rendition of the “Hawaiian War Chant.”
Third patrol, first attack: in Wewak harbor, Asashio destroyer broken in two by a “down the throat” torpedo. (White spots at top of the mast are Japanese sailors.)
Giving food, water, and chart to starving Malayans fleeing the Japanese.
Transport stopped by two torpedoes, listing to port and sinking after taking a third hit just aft of the bridge.
Returning from third patrol: O’Kane and Morton upon mooring at Pearl Harbor.
Mail call after third patrol.
Fourth patrol: Seiwa Maru sinking at dawn.
Nitu Maru heading for Davey Jones’s locker.
Wahoo makes deck gun attack on Sinsei Maru, afire and sinking after 90 rounds.
Hadachi Maru on fire and sinking after taking 80 fo
ur-inch rounds.
Clearing the area after the two gun-attacks.
Trawler stopped with 11 four-inch rounds, now under attack by Wahoo’s “Commandos.”
Midway refit after fourth patrol. The sign on Gooneyville Lodge reads, “The Best Submariners in the World Recuperate Here.”
Mare Island’s greeting to Wahoo on arrival from fifth patrol.
Admiral Friedell congratulates Captain “Mush” Morton, flanked by his father and wife Harriet.
Lieutenant Commander O’Kane greets family.
Last photograph of Wahoo, as she departs for sixth patrol. Note cut-down bridge and conning tower fairwater.
Part Five
FOURTH PATROL
The East China and Yellow Seas
1
The Base had provided brows for forward and aft of the conning tower fairwater, so the admirals and captains came aboard and departed as though they had gone through a receiving line. Waiting sedans whisked them away except for Capt. John H. Brown, the senior squadron commander and acting ComSubPac. Over a quick cup of coffee, he broke the sad news that Admiral English and senior members of his staff had been killed in a plane crash near San Francisco. Adm. Charles A. Lock-wood, who had been relieved as Commander Submarine Forces Southwest Pacific Fleet (ComSubSoWesPac), was en route from western Australia and would take over in a few days.
Mindful that the wardroom would be needed as a disbursing office, and because of a briefing at the commander-in-chief’s conference room, Morton took Captain Brown on a quick tour through the boat. Even if late, he would not have let the crew’s work in polishing their ship go unnoticed. I was to attend also, so promptly turned over to George the business of getting the troops off to the Royal. It would be no great imposition, since he would be at hand for testing his engine before its dismantling. Topside, the press and our crew were having a field day with photographs ranging from Glinski’s foot to Keeter’s baptism before donning his chief’s hat, and more photographs below had been specially authorized.
Friends and onlookers had taken over the dock, and the band played on as we left for Captain Brown’s sedan. Altogether, it seemed that Wahoo had put a crack in the silence of the “silent service.” This was not lessened upon seeing those in attendance at the conference; I believe every type commander or his deputy was among those present, and several wore dolphins.
The captain touched briefly on the highlights of the patrol and raised an eyebrow among some submariners when explaining why he had me on the scope or TBT and firing the torpedoes. Only a nod followed his description of destroying the Japanese boats, but a vice admiral, commander service forces, I believe, asked pointedly, “When Wahoo was traveling at high speed astern, what would you have done if you had to dive?” Without hesitation, Morton replied, “Oh, we already had our battle station’s bow planesman on the stern planes and vice versa, Admiral.” The reply had been so matter-of-fact that the admiral didn’t ask if we had ever tried it. For sure, in the space of about 20 minutes, they had learned of unexpected submarine capabilities when under a truly strong command.
The captain was going on to lunch, and though I was invited, appropriately I had to return to Wahoo, for this was Morton’s day. On board, George had taken charge handily, for only he, Chan, Sterling, and Lenox from our ship’s company remained aboard. The relief crew, skippered by a salty warrant officer, had taken over with extra enthusiasm since some of them would join our regular ship’s company. It was the way to get the best performance from the relief crew and to get the best of them to fill our vacancies.
The captain had already signed the forwarding page of the patrol report, and now Chan and I checked the stencils against the typed, green pages. Sterling was standing by for any corrections, and understandably seemed a bit smug when we could find none. All three of us were the winners. In addition to the patrol report stencils and the usual tracing of the submarine’s track to small scale, our package included the detailed, inked charts covering the actions against the convoy. One of them contained the complete legend from the Quartermaster’s Notebook, showing the exact times. The first chart, showing the initial firings, did not correctly show Krause’s torpedo or the two subsequent ones that hit the transport. His should have been about 20 degrees off to the right, and the hits should have been shown where the torpedoes crossed the transport’s continuing turn below. A glance at the notebook gave the answer; there were no entries during this confusion, and Hunter had put it together as best he could. There was an advantage as it was shown, however, for this way the captain would not be faced with saying ill of any member of his crew, something that he would not do. Sterling left with the complete package for the division commander’s office.
Chan and I left too, picking up Sterling on the way, and arrived at the Royal in about a half hour. Asking for accommodations in the captain’s name, as he had suggested, I received an emphatic, “Yes, Sir,” and we had a suite. A small rotunda, reception room, two bedrooms, and a lanai to seaward seemed like a mansion after our cramped living spaces, and we put the lanai to work as soon as our packets of mail had been delivered. The refrigerator had been left stocked with beer by the last tenant, and we would do the same on leaving. So, with bottles in one hand, the latest letters in the other, and feet propped up on the lanai table, we were at peace with the world. But soon, assured that all was well at home and at Mare Island, we sought our shipmates in the surf.
It took only minutes to locate them; they were the swimmers with white skins from two patrols and with little chance for sun at Brisbane. Just as after Wahoo’s first patrol, they had congregated on the shoreside of the second reef. It was a secure area for relaxing; the sun was too low for burning, so I floated in the varied positions with my head back and lungs nearly filled, letting the ocean currents take me where they wished. This, and swimming to the outer reefs, had been an almost daily enjoyment when Argonaut was in port, for we had lived only a few streets back from the beach. Since the seas, the reefs, and the beach would remain the same, I wondered if similar times could return.
Meals were still served almost continuously; there was no hurry, but the thought of fresh vegetables and green salads brought us ashore.
We had anticipated exchanging patrol experiences, but copies of all the dispatches, paraphrased so as not to compromise a code or our tactics, had been posted for all to read. There was no exaggeration in our answers to the almost continuous questions, nor did I withhold some opinions: Down the throat is certainly not a tactic to be sought, but is rather a desperation shot. And as for entering harbors, unless there is a compelling reason to do so, choose a likely spot well off a harbor entrance where there is maneuvering room. If the enemy doesn’t come out, you’ve stopped his commerce while you’re there.
Until this time, when discussing patrols with contemporaries, primarily we had learned what not to do. This discussion was different: Morton had demonstrated, in one patrol, the very tactics some of us had been urging. While a few other boats had used some of these tactics, it was Wahoo under Morton that had turned the corner completely from the prewar submerged vessel of opportunity to an aggressive raider, even on the surface when conditions would permit. In round figures, we had been submerged over 500 hours on the second patrol, and just under 50 hours on our third. This would never be the norm for submarine patrolling, but it should demonstrate to any boat that at times she can surface close to the enemy for a good, high-periscope search, and then dive again.
The captain did not join us until the second day, and even then his schedule was dotted with official commitments. However, he did relax with us at cribbage and we joined the others in the surf. So within a week we all were physically and mentally ready for another patrol. Wahoo’s engine had been repaired by replacing the slightly distorted vertical shaft, so it would now carry a full load. All other work was nearing completion, and then, just days before departing, came George’s orders to Pollack as executive officer. Wahoo would miss him, but other boats were lo
sing officers too, and we had been fortunate in keeping our original watch officers this long.
Prompted by this transfer, the captain started a program that would retain certain key men during his expected command of Wahoo. Already, Chiefs Lenox and Lindhe were departing for the States on leave and would rejoin Wahoo before her fifth patrol, when two others would go on leave. Though it was not the best time to lose leading engineers, the reporting of Comdr. Duncan C. MacMillan as a PCO eased that a bit. He had completed graduate studies in diesel engineering, and his advice would be available.
Our third patrol had been the shortest on record, 24 days including the training period, and so also had been our refit, completed in 8 days. Wahoo’s readiness for sea had been set for Wednesday, February 17, so loading of torpedoes, ammunition, and provisions commenced immediately. Four days of underway training, especially for the six new hands and our PCO, were followed by an emergency docking to repair a sticky shutter of No. 5 torpedo tube. Of almost equal importance was the opportunity to scrub and paint bottom, most of this being done by the shipyard with high-pressure hoses and then paint guns. But our hands welcomed the opportunity to man punts and scrub off spots as the water receded, for the new paint would give us an extra half knot on Wahoo’s coming voyage. Undocking before dark gave all hands a full day to catch up on loose ends, and befitted Washington’s Birthday. At 2200 that night, a half hour after the Base movie, I was able to report, “All hands aboard and ready for patrol, Captain.”
Wahoo Page 17