Topside, Jack and his four lookouts, all equipped with 7 × 50s, were peering out into the still-starlit night with the concentration of hunters, which indeed they were. In the conning tower again, Chan had our position plotted well within the circle that the captain had drawn on the chart. Yesterday we had seen ships during daylight; but none, we were certain, had passed during the night. Being prudent mariners, they would not pass close to Chopekki Point, or inside the Daisei group during darkness, and so would have planned their passage accordingly. With good visibility we could spot a ship before she sighted us, and with our SJ the same would hold in the frequent morning haze. But here there could be shore lookouts on the point just 4 miles distant, and we dived during morning twilight when our period of periscope blindness would last only a few minutes. After Jack had reported the horizon clear, I took the scope to find Chopekki Point right where it was supposed to be as we headed into the current.
On my way to the wardroom, I noted that the captain was awake, reading. I reported the situation above as all quiet, only to have it contradicted by Jack’s excited voice over the IMC: “Ship on the horizon! Angle on the bow thirty starboard,” and the Bells of St. Mary’s tumbled the remainder of the ship’s company out of their bunks. Wahoo was already swinging to intercept the enemy when I took the scope from Jack. His call was correct, as I expected, for he had worked with me on angles since Brisbane. Another call was not necessary, only the range of 7,000 yards, our distance to the horizon; but in support of Jack and his efforts, I called a true 30 starboard too.
The captain conned his submarine to the normal approach course while Chief Ware and his electricians poured in the juice, bringing Wahoo to standard speed. We would close handily if she did not zig away, and that did not seem likely if she intended to hug the coastline northward. To be sure, the captain stopped our screws so Buckley could grab a sound bearing of the enemy. It did not check with TDC; her bearing had drawn to the left, and the following periscope observation showed why. With a 60-degree zig, she now presented a 30 port angle, halving the firing range. With a simple turn, the captain was assured of a better position than even hoped for.
I had now seen the details and called them after the scope was lowered. She was another mast-funnel-mast ship similar to, but longer than, the Tottori Maru: There were king posts with long booms just forward and aft of her long superstructure. She could best be classed as a passenger freighter. Pharmacist Kohl received the information from Lindhe’s former perch, and then dropped below to the books. In minutes he reported the probable ship’s masthead height and her length. That was all I needed for accurate ranges and a stadimeter check on the angles after I had called them; the name of the selected ship could wait.
Our approach to the firing point moved swiftly, in part because the enemy ship was cruising at 11 knots, and because of our compensating speed. Again, the captain selected a 120 track. That meant Wahoo’s torpedoes would strike from 30 degrees abaft her beam, and I made a mental note for the future to accept any broad track and hit before another zig. Two more observations checked with Chan and Richie; then word came up from Kohl that the ship was a 7,210 tonner. Morton ordered three torpedoes spaced along the length of the ship—to stern, bow, and amidships. With any error at all, two of them would hit.
We slowed for the firing, and I mentally sighed with relief when Buckley’s bearing checked with the TDC: she had not zigged. Morton confidently said those welcome words, “Any time, Dick.”
“Bearing-Mark,” read by Krause, “Set,” by Richie, and my “Fire” had the three torpedoes on their way as directed within 23 seconds. Chan was calling the seconds till our torpedoes should hit, a total of 104. We had been too accurate: the first torpedo of the spread missed astern, the second was ahead (unless they were duds), but the third hit exactly as aimed. The torpex crack, whack, and wallop gave the freighter an almost instant down angle that increased with the passing seconds. With the captain’s nod, I passed the scope to Richie, who described the sinking for the battle telephone talkers. It did not take long, for she dived to Davy Jones’s locker 4½ minutes after the detonation. There were about 30 survivors amongst the flotsam, one of whom had already made a raft out of the wreckage and climbed clear of the sea. Others would do likewise, and being in full view from the point, would undoubtedly be rescued. A patrol could be on its way, and Simonetti brought our head to 225 degrees, the ordered course of southwest.
To go with breakfast, we had ONI-208J flagged to the page of our target. There could be no mistake; we had sunk another ship of the Seiwa Maru class.
The 3-knot southerly current would take Wahoo dangerously close to the Daisei group, but the westerly component of our own 4-knot speed would keep us well clear while leaving the attack scene at close to 7 knots. At the captain’s request, I had Krause bring the area chart to the wardroom after breakfast. There he planned the rest of the day and night to follow. First, we would continue with the current, slowing after an hour to conserve our battery. Then, after dark, Wahoo would head across the sea again to the Shantung Promontory. Thus we might convince the enemy that there were at least two submarines patrolling in this area. He would then have to guess where a submarine might strike next, or spread his antisubmarine forces unacceptably thin.
With breakfast and the grand strategy decisions finished, the captain reached for the cribbage board. The first two hands were relaxing, and then Morton dealt again. I picked up my cards to find four fives. That’s not too rare, counting the two discards as extra chances, but it was the makings of a twenty-eight cribbage hand, needing only the cutting of any face card or a ten. We had a quorum watching as I cut a jack for the captain, allowing him to peg two, while my twenty-eight hand ran out the rubber game. Captain Morton exploded, “Why, I’ll never play another game with you,” and tore the remaining cards into bits, pitching them through the pantry window.
“Oh well,” he continued, again in his calm, friendly manner, “it’s time for another ship anyway. I’m going to the conning tower.” Pushing back his chair, he had only half risen when the Bells of St. Mary’s rang out for the second time on this fifth day of spring. The clock read 0930.
The commander had a ship, still partially hull-down, with an estimated angle of 5 starboard. The periscope stadimeter range read 13,000 yards or 6½ miles. This checked closely with our distance to the horizon tables, so she would indeed close to a firing position in a half hour. The ship came on zigging mildly or steering poorly. With my periodic stadimeter ranges, both Chan and Richie had her clocked at 10 knots. This should be a precise firing.
Captain Morton had made ready forward and after tubes, and now waited on the enemy’s projected track, pulling off to the east when the range closed to 4,000 yards. The enemy would thus present a starboard track when she passed us to seaward, with little likelihood that she would zig in our direction towards shoal water.
Her angle had opened rapidly, keeping Krause and me busy with water-lapping looks across a flat sea. Now visible was her typical mast-funnel-mast and midships superstructure. Our confidence grew with quiet “Checks” from Richie. The angle was 45, and then 60, changing rapidly for the range was short; Hunter read 800 as the scope lowered. Perhaps this time the captain would shoot early.
“Any time, Dick.” We were clicking.
Richie called the TDC’s generated bearing; Hunter twisted the tube so the scope came up already on the freighter. It had taken no more than 3 seconds and was better than a synchro mechanism, for ours had anticipation. The “Bearing-Mark,” “Set,” and “Fire” were repeated for the captain three times, and his palm on the plunger sent torpedoes that should hit under her stack, mainmast, and foremast at 10-second intervals.
We had felt and heard the sounds of firing but welcomed Buckley’s report of all hot, straight and normal. A few men were physically urging them on with a left jab or right cross; this must certainly be true in the after torpedo room, for this was their only firing since the first unsuccessful attack
of this patrol.
Chan was counting down for the 52-second torpedo run, but his final seconds were smothered by two devastating detonations under the ship’s bridge and mainmast. Our camera bugs were already manning the search scope when she slid under the sea, timed by Chan at 3 minutes and 10 seconds after the torpedoing. A sweep-around showed two junks closing the scene, and Morton immediately ordered preparations for a battle surface. Shifting stations, with many hands coming to and through the control room and then breaking out ammunition, took extra time. The battle surface itself was fast, but so were the junks, which we found fleeing towards the nearest shoals. A quick plot showed that their engines would win the race to the 10-fathom curve on our chart, so reversing course headed Wahoo to the scene of the sinking.
There had been long-standing instructions to retrieve a copy of the Japanese Merchant Marine Code, and as we approached two overturned lifeboats there were indeed books afloat amidst the other flotsam. The skies and horizon were clear, the seas flat calm, and we had not sighted a single plane in the area, so I was not surprised when the captain called for life rings, lines, and Wahoo’s best swimmers. A good third of the crew responded, but Chief Lane wisely allowed only a dozen topside including the line handlers.
The scene that followed surely was unique in modern submarine warfare, and rather resembling swimming call. Morton had but to point, and one or two hands would dive in to retrieve the object. I bent my efforts in getting the swimmers back aboard, getting the upper hand but not before we had a pile of flotsam to strike below. In the pile were books, one of which might indeed be the code, but souvenirs for shipmates predominated, with three notable exceptions: two great house flags of the steamship’s line and a large life preserver with the ship’s name in both Japanese and English block letters spelling Nitu Maru.
There were several survivors who showed their desire not to be rescued by ducking under the overturned boats, so we cleared the area at full speed, to the southwest for deception, and then slowing, commenced a surface patrol en route again to the Shantung Promontory.
6
Simonetti’s entry in the Quartermaster’s Notebook showed 1138 as the time we had left the scene of the last sinking. Now, an hour later, including our dogleg route, the dividers showed Wahoo 15 miles from the action. Whenever possible, surface runs would be our evasion until we reached deep seas. When the enemy found two more ships overdue, they might well mount a respectable antisubmarine effort. This might already be underway, spurred by the previous losses, so both high-periscope and regular lookouts were searching.
In all of the patrol reports I had read, no submarine had put four ships on the bottom while still having half her torpedoes remaining. If we had no further torpedo failures, this could become the leading patrol of the war even if the Tottori Maru did not sink. Our crew knew this, and certainly in a wartime submarine, enemy ships on the bottom was one of the keys to a happy ship. Even between the torpedo rooms—which had the same batting average—the bickering had stopped, at least for the moment.
While the captain was about the ship congratulating his crew, our PCO and I relaxed with a game of cribbage. It extended to three, the commander winning the rubber, and then he went over my figuring of the odds against holding a twenty-eight hand. In this, only the four specific cards, the fives, are required, and to go with them any face card or ten. There being sixteen of those versus the one specific card required for the twenty-nine hand, I had just divided Pappy’s figure by 16 giving 1 in 15,625. And the commander agreed that it should be close enough for submarine use. I made a duplicate of the odds and called Manalesay, who took the sheet aft to be typed and to go with the signed hand that was on display in the control room. Even the noncribbage players would see those figures, and coupled with the previous hand, might join the ranks of those who heeded omens.
Movies are never started until the captain arrives or has indicated that he will not attend. Morton seldom did, but this night, by way of celebrating the patrol’s halfway mark (and perhaps to keep his word about cribbage), he surprised the messenger and went forward. In surface ships, where there is room, the officers and crew always stand when the captain arrives and until he is seated. In submarines, this isn’t practical, but those attending recognize him by holding their conversations and nodding. This night, for the first time in nearly 9 years of sea duty, I heard the captain greeted by a spontaneous cheer and glad hand.
Patrolling off the promontory brought no ships, but did allow all hands to return to normal after the actions off Chopekki Point. And there was a more important development: One of our main motors had developed noises that could be the warning signal of major trouble. During one of our short dives, Chief Pruett and his electricians quickly traced the noise to a loose carbon brush and repaired it on the spot. It did not seem like much, but had it fallen off we could have been without that motor for the remainder of the patrol.
Wahoo was in the enviable position of having a skipper who had traveled this area in peacetime, so on March 22 our surface patrol continued towards the Laotiehshan Promontory that juts out just to the west of Port Arthur into the broad entrance to the Gulf of Pohai. In that vicinity, we should find shipping to or from Chinwangtao, which lies at the gulf’s western extremity. Our progress was hindered by two power sampans that turned out to be trawlers. They were not worth torpedoes brought 5,000 miles for a bigger job, and we avoided them.
Increasing numbers of sampans and junks posed a problem this night. Often too small to show on our radar or to be seen at any distance against the dark background of the sea, we’d find them close aboard and sometimes underfoot. So far, our OOD’s had missed them all. Lookouts down on deck would seem to be the answer, but not when diving was so imminent. It became just that when a small ship came into sight presenting a sharp angle on the bow. The time was 0043 on March 23. We dived for an approach, only to lose our target in the haze and spend 2 hours in getting back to the surface without damaging our shears or radar.
After the watch had changed, just before 0400, we barely missed a rowboat and hand who was frantically rowing across our bow from starboard to port. The fisherman may owe his life to John Campbell’s instant, “Right full rudder!” Back on course again, we enjoyed a few minutes without sampans in sight, when Seaman Gerlacher, manning the SJ, reported a possible pip that had faded. Continuing to examine across the original bearing disclosed a pip that was unmistakably taller than the normal grassy line across the screen. Jack, as operations officer, called the relative bearing, and there she lay about two points on our starboard bow. We stopped, the radar range was closing, and Captain Morton took the conn.
Reversing course, we would run ahead of the ship for tracking, and then dive for a periscope firing at dawn. Once more, we threaded our way through the maze of fishing boats and again very nearly ran down the same rowboat, rowing frantically across our bow. What thoughts of monster demons must have been whirling in that fisherman’s head?
Richie and Chan quickly had the ship on a course that would clear the channel; she was smarter than we had been. We followed suit, crossing to her port bow where we should be completely clear of sampans. Again, the Bells of St. Mary’s held reveille, but truly no crewman would object to such an awakening. Minutes later, two blasts took us down as we continued to pull off her track. A convenient zig or change of course helped open the range, and the captain turned for a bow shot. This would save our remaining after torpedoes for a later attack when a stern shot might be required.
My angles would not be as good as those Chan and Richie could read from the chart and TDC. Hunter and I gave bearings only, and I remarked, “Her silhouette looks broad.” Richie announced, “Range 1,000-88 port track,” and the captain directed, “One torpedo any time, Dick.”
“Mark,” “Set,” and “Fire!” Morton hit the plunger, sending a torpedo with its new warhead to hit under her stack. It was 0443, and the run would take 65 seconds. Buckley called the bearings of the torpedo’s propellers
as Hunter read my bearings on her stack. The bearings were drawing together nicely. Both scopes were on the freighter when the warhead detonated under her stack, the explosion raising an enormous black cloud above her. She had been a collier, and now down by the stern, was sinking rapidly. We surfaced at 0457 and closed her position, but she had sunk while we were going up.
The first hint of dawn was showing to the east, and we raced for the area chosen for the day’s submerged patrol off the Laotiehshan Promontory. The place selected was northwest of the point, really in the Gulf of Pohai, and still 10 miles distant. In the increasing light, we found that weaving our way through the field of sampans was less difficult. Not one of them showed any activity, so we went unnoticed, but the same might not have been true if the promontory had lookouts, so we dived short of our selected area and moved on in submerged.
7
Richie, with his torpedo work done, had manned the search scope during the torpedo run and through the detonation. So the two of us now sat down with ONI-208J and rather quickly arrived at the class of the collier as the Katyosan Maru of 2,427 tons.
We were relaxing after breakfast when George reported smoke to the southeast. I went to the conning tower to investigate. The ship seemed to be milling around, and could be another of the captain’s pet Smoky Marus, for the bearing of her smoke changed little. Not too unexpectedly, the distant crack and rumble of a depth charge seemed to come from that general direction. Stepping to the chart, it became clear that the Maru was not far from where we had dived. The time of the depth charge was 1003, and it brought the captain to the conning tower. He immediately had a plan: Instead of remaining here, we could spend the day en route towards Chinwangtao. He sketched on our chart the lay of the piers at the harbor to show how we could blast the ships that were moored there. To this point, I had willingly gone along with all of his proposals—except that down-the-throater and there we had no option. But this was stretching it a bit too far; we were finding ships for our torpedoes right here, so why accept the extra hazard?
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