Wahoo

by Richard O'Kane

  The holiday meal was moved to suppertime, when the crew’s watches and all hands would be assured of a hot meal. The corned beef had been boxed and frozen, the same as all our meats. The cabbage must have been canned, but of finest quality. Like the whole meal, the boiled potatoes were piping hot and done till they’d just fall in pieces when pierced with the fork. It is said that you can’t find real corned beef and cabbage outside of New York City. From personal experience, I’d add Durgin Park in Boston, and now the USS Wahoo. Cooks may not participate in the final mechanics of sinking an enemy ship, but I believe the final patrol results can well be proportional to the quality of their work.

  Our plan of completing the transit for an evening landfall had been thwarted by three geese that certainly resembled a formation of fighter-bombers on an intercepting course. Commander MacMillan’s two blasts had taken us down, and nearly an hour passed before a similar flight closed our periscope and we were sure. Another dash brought a horizon dotted with small masts, and below them our raised periscope watches called out the hulls of sampans, junks, and trawlers. On the latter, we could see antennas, which would probably crackle with messages if we ran through them on the surface, so our landfall was rescheduled for dawn.

  The commander was standing Chan’s watches while he worked with Buckley on our sick SJ, so he and Captain Morton bore the brunt of the tactics to avoid the fifty or so fishermen. We felt no thuds, so considered that their maneuvers had been successful. For sure, no submarine was ever conned through a fishing fleet by more rank or talent. The DRI should have taken into account all of their maneuvers, but I was just as happy that our track would clear the promontory to the northeast should we be ahead of our DR on the chart.

  Our dawn stars on March 18 showed Wahoo 19 miles northeast of the promontory (51 degrees to be exact), and Jack’s two blasts took us down for the day. Shortly, the morning haze turned to thick fog, and sound had to be our ears and eyes, for Chan and Buckley were still struggling with the SJ. The intermittent light screws of fishermen provided training for our new hands, and Sailing Directions provided training for me. Such fog was not usual this time of year in the Yellow Sea, so it must have been a local condition, and the captain picked Round Island light off Dairen as our next patrol spot. Lifting fog and successful SJ repairs came simultaneously in late afternoon and Wahoo was up and on her way.

  The captain and I had continued to vent our frustrations and help the adrenalin subside after actions by a game or two of cribbage. And for more friendly reasons, an evening game after he had written his Night Orders had become routine. I am told that I learned to count on our cribbage board, so all of the intricacies of the game, the value of hands, and scoring had become quite automatic. So this night, when Captain Morton dealt me three fives and the jack of the missing suit, I instantly realized that my chances were approximately one in forty of cutting the remaining five of spades for a perfect twenty-nine cribbage hand. I let out a whoop, calling, “This could be it!” Hands going forward to the movies filled the doorways to watch the cut, and all protocol was brushed aside for such an event. I cut, and this time it was their war whoop, for face up for all to see was the five of spades.

  Richie signed the five; the captain signed the jack; while Roger, Chan, and Jack signed the other fives. Wahoo being a cribbage-playing ship, we had constant visitors for a look, and later a repeat viewing after the movies. By then, remembering what we could from our math course in permutations and combinations, various odds—ranging from the hundred thousands to the low millions—filled our sheets of lined paper. The chief of the boat has singular authority in settling shipboard differences, and this time Pappy Rau produced a well-thumbed book of facts. Pappy read: “Some mathematicians figure the odds at one in a quarter million.”

  Twenty-nine cribbage hand held by Lieutenant Commander O’Kane and dealt by Captain Morton in the U.S.S. Wahoo ten miles north of Shantung Promontory at 2030, March 18, 1943. Mathematicians Cedric G. Larson and Dick Cornwell independently figured the odds against this hand at 216,580; against a 28 hand at 15,028.

  A host of omens concerning ships and the seas has accumulated over the ages. Once taken seriously, most are given but a smile today. But if the greetings I received from a fair portion of the crew—the rubbing of their palms together at chin height, like a crapshooter—were an indication, they believed this twenty-nine hand was a good omen, portending success for our ship.

  When Krause called me for morning stars, Jayson had a Sílex of friendly coffee ready. (He and Manalesay now took turns at this.) With mug in hand, I had started aft when the Bells of St. Mary’s chimed in earnest for the second time on this patrol. A glance at the clock on the bulkhead read 0422 on this March 19, and we raced for the conning tower to avoid the rush to battle stations that would follow.

  Topside, George Misch and his lookouts had the silhouette of a fine freighter, and he had taken the immediate action required—to get ahead of the enemy. Already, our battle station engineers were pouring on the coal, and it was none too soon, for the crack of dawn was only 20 minutes away. Wahoo raced, now approaching full speed and laying down a trail of smoke. My TBT bearings and the SJ fixed our relative positions, and encouraging word came up from below: we would reach a good attack position.

  At 0440 the first gray of dawn showed to the east, and fortunately helped to silhouette the enemy, not us. Her angle was now sharpening, and we surely must be close enough to her track for a submerged approach. I had advised only that it was getting pretty light topside. But Morton was set on gaining a position from which he could attack even if the enemy made a dawn course change.

  At 0455 it was light enough to see through the scope, and finally two blasts took us down, pausing while a final radar range and periscope bearing fixed her position. Both Chan and Richie agreed on an enemy speed of 9 knots instead of 10. Captain Morton had readied two tubes forward and aft, and now ordered the forward doors opened; it would be a bow shot. Her port angle was opening as it should. I heard Richie advise, “750 yards from the track,” as I called 90 port.

  The captain waited for an approximate 120 track, the aspect that would allow maximum enemy maneuvers and still insure that our torpedoes would hit, and then said, “Any time, Dick. Fire just one torpedo.”

  “Stand by for a constant bearing,” and the scope came up to my hands.

  “Constant bearing-Mark!” Hunter read the bearing.

  “Set,” came from Richie. Her stack amidships touched the wire.

  “Fire,” and the captain hit the plunger simultaneously. The time was 0515. The shudder, the zing, and the slight pressure on our ears were followed by Buckley’s, “Hot, straight and normal.” Chan was calling off the seconds since firing. For the 750-yard torpedo run, it should hit in 49 seconds. It did with a crack, whack, and wallop such as none of us had heard, for the warhead contained the new explosive called torpex.

  The freighter’s midships and stern disintegrated, and Chief McGill, who had long awaited his turn, saw only the bow at a sharp angle and then flotsam as the steam and smoke blew clear. Chan timed the sinking at 2 minutes and 26 seconds. Three blasts sent Wahoo up and through the bits of flotsam. Our camera bugs had the first priority, but the smashed bottom of a small boat and surrounding debris were the only objects for snapshots. Just a few were taken since everyone found the finality of the destruction without possibility of survivors too sobering. A salty, “Sail ho,” from the after port lookout sent the photographers below, and 5 minutes later we dived for another approach. First sighted in the morning haze, the target developed into a classic junk that proved to be more popular with our photographers anyway, and convenient since she was sailing towards Round Island too.

  Rowls had seen the light and we all had breakfast early upon securing from battle stations. A ship down with two torpedoes fired instead of our one miss was infinitely better both mathematically and mentally, and it showed on every face. That every new hand would be on the list to receive the coveted s
ubmarine combat pin, and others would add a star designating another successful patrol, had its part in the general elation. And a few skeptics might have second thoughts about such omens as a perfect cribbage hand.

  The singular wallop of the torpex warhead remained the main topic of conversation, but was soon replaced by ONI-208J. Pharmacist Kohl and party had flagged the pages of possible ships with numbered slips indicating the priority of their choices. I was surprised that they had even been able to do this from the meager information provided. Before I had a chance to look at the party’s choices, the captain bent the slips over each of the four pages so I could not see the numbers on the slips. I quickly chose the Nanka Maru of 4,065 tons as the class most closely resembling what I had seen. It was the party’s choice too, confirming their value, my continuing luck, or perhaps both.

  The captain was finishing his bacon and eggs when the phone to his left buzzed. Our conversation stopped, and as he raised the receiver we could plainly hear, “Captain to the conning tower.” Glancing at the clock, which read 0755, he left with a “Here we go again,” and his usual friendly smile. In the conning tower, Richie already had Wahoo at standard speed on the normal approach course. The ship was another freighter, and it was already presenting such a broad starboard angle that gaining an attack position could be in doubt. Instead of slowing to confirm the situation, as some skippers would, Morton complimented Richie with a “Pretty good for a battleship sailor,” and then confirmed Richie’s judgment by increasing our speed to full.

  It would be a long chase, with only the tracking party and talkers required at their battle stations, though the others would probably be close at hand. The situation would not allow slowing for normal observations; two would have to suffice. If the enemy ship continued on course, Wahoo would just reach an attack position; if she zigged away, we would not. Watching her zig would not help. I found myself looking at the conning tower overhead in the direction of the enemy and mentally urging our submarine on, just as I had done at the races. No doubt others were doing the same, for this race made any other seem insignificant.

  At 0830 the captain stopped the screws for a possible sound bearing, and at his nod, I tried an observation. The scope was vibrating too much in the passing seas to permit details, but Hunter read my bearing at the middle of the blur. It checked with sound and was close to Chan’s plot. Wahoo was maintaining a nearly constant bearing; an attack would be assured if the enemy continued on course, and the Bells of St. Mary’s chimed for the second time this day. Simonetti had rung up full at the captain’s nod; compartments reported manned, and the log showed 10 knots.

  At 0905 we slowed and I reported her angle at starboard 30. When the angle opened to 45, I reported her visible details: She was a plumb-bow, mast-funnel-mast freighter, with long midships superstructure and high bridge forward. Kohl had head and shoulders through the hatch, so had the word. I watched for an exact 90 angle and called it when the forward face of her bridge came in line. Hunter read 2,000 yards a moment later.

  I expected the captain’s usual word, but he chose to close further for his favorite 120 degree track. The few minutes seemed to drag; the enemy might well be zigging, but finally Richie’s dials showed 120 and a range of 1,850. Apparently noting my impatience, Morton changed his usual wording to, “All right, Dick, any time,” but I still caught his usual smile as the scope came to my hands. This time there was no “Stand by.”

  “Constant bearing-Mark,” called by Hunter, was followed by a “Set,” from Richie, and my, “Fire!” Our captain hit the plunger, and the torpedo should hit under her stack. Buckley had called, “Hot, straight and normal,” but from my scope, the wake seemed to be leading the ship too much. The captain directed the outer door opened on the second tube. The wake did not lie, but the result was not too bad, as a whack, wallop, and shaking detonation tore her side out abreast the foremast. Within seconds, the next torpedo was on its way, similarly aimed, but with the ship’s speed at 7 knots instead of the previous 9 set in the TDC. This wake appeared to be leading the ship properly, now falling behind the foremast and then the bridge. It hit exactly as aimed, with a plume of water thrown upon the ship’s side by the exploding air flask. There was no detonation, but coinciding with this sight was Buckley’s report of the thud of the dud.

  Somewhat down by the bow, the ship turned away, so we could not confirm that she was sinking, but that would be the case if she did not have better-than-average athwartship bulkheads. We could not pursue her while submerged with our low battery, nor could we surface in the face of her large guns, but our torpedoes could and would reach her in less than 3 minutes. Two more went on their way; if she maneuvered to avoid the first, the second would have a broad target. The Japanese are good seamen, however, and her skipper conned his ship precisely, avoiding both of them. Then to discourage us, the after gun commenced shelling our scope. We obliged by dropping to 80 feet and clearing to the east. On the wardroom table were the pages from ONI-208J with our ships’ silhouettes:

  Ship similar to Tottori Maru reported by Japanese to have been sunk in same location.

  5

  We had a quorum in the wardroom, including the commander, who was enthusiastic about the attacks but did not voice an opinion about the last two torpedoes. To me, they were the captain’s follow-through, the right cross after the left jab, and carried out his promise to the crew that Wahoo would go after every ship and do everything possible to put them on the bottom. I would not have had it otherwise.

  We were turning our attention to the ONI sheets when Electrician’s Mate Heiden, whom we would see frequently, pushed the wooden grill aside and emerged from the battery well abreast the wardroom. After closing its hatch, he presented the pilot cells’ gravity readings of 1,060 and 1,062 to Roger at our table. Morton considered the situation out loud: we could continue at our present 4 knots until dark, but not so if we made an approach on another ship. Our course of 075 leading back across the Yellow Sea to a position just north of Chopekki Point on the Korean coast might well intercept another ship, and the captain ordered 3 knots and intermittent high-periscope searching.

  Back to the ONI pages, we found the pictures poor but interesting. More useful were the accurate broadside drawings that contained all of the details to assist in identification and then the heights and lengths for use in the periscope stadimeter. One detail of Nanka Maru that I had not seen due to her sharper angles was her counter stern, which was clearly shown on the sketch. On Tottori Maru the same type stern must have been clearly visible, but I had failed to note and report it for Kohl. That type of stern almost marks a ship’s age. Both originally British ships, Nanka Maru was built in 1906, Tottori Maru in 1916. Of more importance was the 2-knot speed error that had appeared on both Chan’s plot and Richie’s TDC. Had the last target slowed just before our firing, or was the input from our Pit log in error? To find out, Roger would check our average propeller turns, then Chan and Richie would run a previously recorded problem on the TDC. Before the next ship, we must know the answer.

  If there had been a sailing junk astern, she would have passed us up, but for a change not even a fisherman came in sight. We must have been off the banks, for a single-ping sounding showed a comfortable 130 feet, leaving 70 feet below our keel. An 0310 sighting on March 20 served as an early star call for me and Krause, and we almost missed our sights during a half-hour approach on a trawler or patrol. A good position for our coming landfall took precedence over further investigation, so when clear we surfaced momentarily for stars. The fix showed that we would see the coastline by noon, giving a half day to observe any shipping and plan our operations for Sunday, March 21.

  Tracking smoke during the early afternoon, followed by mastheads and stacks later in the day, outlined our strategy for us. The shipping to and from the large Korean port of Chinnampo had to round Chopekki Point. On the chart, the noted local currents seemed formidable for a submerged submarine. Rather than avoid them, we decided to try them out durin
g the night with the thought of picking a dawn diving position where they could work to our advantage.

  Without Chan, Buckley, and Carter with their SJ and fathometer giving peak performance, we could not have prowled the bays and promontories. But before dawn we had found a spot that should insure an attack and a subsequent retreat with the current to open, if not deep, seas.

  Well cut in with bearings and ranges recorded on the chart, Wahoo would maintain station waiting for a ship till into morning twilight. Soon thereafter, we would dive, and if remaining in this location required an unacceptable drain from our batteries, we would move with the current and trust that our potential target would be affected similarly.

  In such a situation, the captain or navigator would normally be at hand in the conning tower or on the bridge. Our organization, with an operations officer acting as an assistant navigator and sharing the responsibility, eased that situation considerably. I was able to take catnaps of a half hour or so and remain refreshed. (The ability to fall into immediate deep sleep was one I had acquired in destroyers and then perfected in submarines.) I was routinely called by Krause for morning twilight whether we were to take stars or not; thus I had time to learn what was going on before the captain did.