Four unexpected detonations drove us deep, perhaps unnecessarily so, but with the sight of planes had come the thought of bombs. We talked this over for about 2 minutes and were back at periscope depth. The XAV was reversing course and firing her gun away from us. We tracked the ship with stadimeter ranges and periscope bearings. Though listing about 5 degrees, she was still making 11 knots and heading back towards the western side of the Kurils. Had our failing battery permitted, Wahoo would have followed, but gaining a position for a later attack all in daylight on an alerted ship that could outgun us was a bit too much even for Wahoo.
In the wardroom, we looked over MacAlman’s book. What we had seen and he had recorded identified the ship as of the Kamikawa class capable of 21 knots, so surely she must have sustained considerable damage or she would not be retiring at such a low speed.
After continuing eastward to clear the floes, we surfaced and headed southwest to investigate Hitukappu Wan on the short south coast of Etorofu. Again, floes prevented entering the bay, so we continued normal patrolling of the Kurils through May 6. A damaged ship, which should have been sunk, was all we had to show from these islands.
The intervening days held one memorable event, at least for Krause and me. We had missed the almost-daily flying fish in the temperate zones, so noting fish on deck after the next morning’s trim dive, Eugene had sent for Manalesay, who proudly brought two handfuls of squid to the ship’s office. When I inquired if he knew how to cook them, he replied, “Yes, Sir,” and scurried aft, presumably to prepare one batch for us and the other handful for himself and Jay son. We had anticipated something crisp and fried, but they were boiled and had a peculiar, sour taste. After two of them, I inquired. “Oh, you have to boil this kind in vinegar to take out the poison,” Manalesay explained. We could hardly wait until he had stepped forward so we could give the remainder the deep-six.
4
Our operation order had specified dawn of May 7 as the time Wahoo could enter our new area on the northeast coast of Honshu. That would not leave time to close the coast and so would mean a wasted day. Surmising that the northern part would have been vacated (friendly submariners cooperate), we continued past Hokkaido during the night and across the hundred-mile bay that led to Honshu. This let us cross the imaginary boundary and, closing the coast at full speed, to dive at dawn (0420) 12 miles from the coast off Benten Zaki. Within the hour, Richie and Kemp had two freighters and their Chidori-type escort in sight but far out of attack range. A third lonely freighter passed, but with our half battery, high speed with its quadruple battery drain would have left little capacity for attack and next to none for evasion.
The crew took this more lightly than did we, probably because of their confidence in the captain and his demonstrated ability to find ships. He did not let them down, for 2 hours later George and Simonetti had two ships coming up the coast. They did not bother with messengers or phone and at 1049 called us all with the general alarm, the Bells of St. Mary’s. The leading ship was a midsized freighter; the other, about half her size, was painted slate gray and sported gun mounts. She was apparently escorting as well as carrying cargo. My angles and Kemp’s bearings and stadimeter ranges flowed to TDC and plot. Quickly, Chan and Richie agreed on an enemy course of 350; it couldn’t have been much to the left without the ships going aground. The speed checked at 9 knots, which frankly could be applied for any midsized coastal freighter.
Their solution was timely, for I had called 90 starboard and Captain Morton had given his nod.
“Constant bearing-Mark!” “Set.” “Fire!”
The captain hit the plunger before I had completed the firing order, or so it seemed, and the first torpedo was speeding to hit below the leading ship’s mainmast, the second to her foremast. We then shifted to the escort ship, firing a spread of four. During this firing, our first torpedo, a torpexer, broke the back of the larger freighter, but the escort threaded our spread and we rigged for depth charge.
A burst of speed during the surface confusion, followed by silent running at ever-increasing depth, cleared the initial depth charges. Those to follow seemed less severe, though should a person laugh at any of them it would surely be a sign that he was going off his rocker. Back at periscope depth before lunch, we cautiously watched the enemy planes and distant antisubmarine vessels giving the fish a bad time as we cleared the area by heading south.
MacAlman brought ONI-208J to the wardroom, his party having written down the bits of information they had overheard. It had been insufficient to do more than flag the book. This proved to be all that was necessary, for by then I had acquired firsthand training in remembering ship’s details. We quickly narrowed the choice to a Yuki Maru class freighter of 5,704 tons.
The day had not been lost, even though hits in the escort would have simplified things. Like their predecessors, our new hands would get their submarine combat pins or bronze stars to fit in the holes if they already had the pin. Then too, everyone in our ship’s company was up to date in their indoctrinal depth charges. Frankly, it seemed to me that the troops enjoyed the hits, while in the wardroom we mused over the misses; that is, until someone broke out the cribbage board.
Captain Morton came across the narrow passageway late in the afternoon and sat down on my bunk. I started to get up from the desk, but he motioned me down. There’s really not room for standing anyway.
“Dick,” he said, “I’ve been thinking about this morning, our diving 12 miles out. When the two of us get involved it’s like a committee decision. We are each tempered by our thought of what the other is considering, and we don’t come down with the quick aggressive decision either of us would make if alone. After thinking it over, I realize that you had wanted to make a dash for the coast. Now as navigator, you have to be up there anyway, so starting in the morning, I want you to take Wahoo in and plunk her down, and then call me when you’ve got a ship.”
The captain had rather concisely reflected my own thoughts, and had added a solution that called only for my, “Aye Aye, Sir.” I followed him to the wardroom, sitting down to a four-handed game before surfacing.
All was clear, and a round of stars fixed our position so I could lay down the route that the captain had desired for the night—to Kobe Saki farther down the coast. The following hours were normal for our submarines on patrol—good meals on time, the movies, the battery charge on the finishing rate with the smoking lamp out, the hot rolls and bread coming from the ovens—and all because one-third of the crew was alert and competent on watch.
Krause and I were customarily up and about before dawn, so my added responsibility was not an extra chore, but rather a challenge that should have been the navigator’s task. After skirting a fishing fleet, I conned Wahoo towards Kobe Saki while searching with 7 × 50s until the gray light of dawn was sufficient for our search periscope, and dived when a mile and a half off the promontory. For sure, nothing would pass inshore of Wahoo on this May 8. The test came promptly at 0512, when Johnny Moore spotted a small ship coming up the coast. The bells held reveille and we had a tracking exercise as the ship turned into every cove, while remaining no more than 1,500 yards from the beach. As she drew near, we could see that she was too small for a torpedo, so our cooks put down early breakfast instead.
I liked the way our new procedure had worked: the captain arriving apparently refreshed, sizing up the situation, and then returning to his cabin or the wardroom. There would be more targets, undoubtedly well-escorted ones, for it seemed that Whale had heated up this area for us. Under Morton, Wahoo had been a fast-moving boat and had left the antisubmarine forces far behind or guessing. Many of our newer hands had probably volunteered for Wahoo because Morton filled the criteria for the best wartime skipper—one who would lead his crew into battle and swiftly get them out. But now this had been made more difficult by a high ratio of escorts, our failing battery, and a very confining final area.
It was early afternoon, 1432 to be exact, when the next ships hove in sigh
t coming down the coast. Three in number and zigzagging, they were soon identified as a large auxiliary and two freighter-type escorts, and the bells bonged for the second time this day. Buckley was able to call their zigs by the momentary change in cadence of the screw sounds, and these were followed by new angles on the bow of the auxiliary. Between looks, I kept the captain apprised of the escort disposition and MacAlman of the ship details as I could recall them. Richie and Chan had no trouble in arriving at a similar speed solution of 10 knots, and Chan, who was plotting the actual positions down the coast, could provide the skipper with the enemy’s changing base courses, and more. From the enemy’s track on the chart, it was evident that he was staying about 1,500 yards from the beach, and Wahoo could remain at least a like distance farther to seaward and still be assured of an attack.
Her opening angle kept pace with that shown on the target dial of the TDC. We had an excellent solution, and at my call of “Port 90” came Captain Morton’s, “Any time, Dick.” The time was 1503, and using our exact procedure, torpedoes went to her midships, the mainmast, and foremast. She was a dead duck.
The first torpedo detonated at 52 seconds, approximately halfway to the large auxiliary. The second torpedo, running down nearly the same track as the first, was evidently deflected by the premature and failed to explode. The third torpedo hit the point of aim and threw a column of water about 10 feet into the air as the air flask apparently ruptured. Both Buckley and Carter’s report of the thud of the dud had coincided with the water plume, and Wahoo, already turning to north, followed a quarter helix down to test depth while rigging for depth charge.
One or both of the escorts would now be running down the last torpedo wake. The remnants of the first two wakes would intercept it at a narrow angle marking the firing point. The torpedo run of 1,500 yards was favorable; it would take the escort at least 5 minutes to reach that point, and by then our speed up to 10 knots would have us a good four ship lengths away. Propellers could not cavitate (form bubbles that collapse, making propeller noise) when so deep, so Buckley was able to give good bearings, while confirming that there was just one escort heading our way. Chan plotted the bearing, their trend indicating that the escort would pass astern of Wahoo. The first of a series of depth charges commenced detonating at 1510, and it was the captain’s initial burst of speed that had placed them well astern. Though shakers, they did not seem too bad, but that was in part due to Buckley’s ears that had told us they would miss. Within the hour, we made the long climb to periscope depth. All was clear, and upon surfacing in evening twilight, Morton ordered the course for Kone Saki.
5
After such a day, some relaxation in the wardroom seemed in order, but I arrived in the midst of a torpedo argument between Jack and George. Both turned to me, not to settle the dispute, but for information. They could hardly believe that nearly all peacetime fish had run hot, straight and normal in Argonaut, and had had the same controls as those we had been firing. Two things had happened, however. The Geneva Convention had outlawed firing at merchantmen, and since warships would be our targets, authorities thought we needed a torpedo that would detonate under a battleship, for their blisters and armor plate would protect their sides, or so they thought. So influence features, which were supposed to be activated by a ship’s magnetic signature, were added to our simple inertia exploders, secretly as far as the operating forces were aware. There were two results: the new, heavier exploder made our torpedoes run about 10 feet deeper than the running depth set on the torpedo; many then ran too deeply for their exploders to be triggered by a ship. Also, ships proved to have irregular magnetic signatures that would trigger the exploder before it reached the ship, or more frequently, not at all. In this last instance, the inertia feature of the magnetic exploder should have detonated the warhead, but it also had proven unreliable.
All of this had led to the firing of large salvos when a single, reliable torpedo and exploder would have sufficed. Such salvos had exhausted our supply of prewar Naval Torpedo Station handcrafted torpedoes. They were now assembled from parts made by dozens of subcontractors, many of whom were probably unaware of the vital function of their products.
For the last two patrols, Wahoo had carried this combination of unpredictable exploders and unreliable torpedoes, and as we all knew, our captain had obtained results by hammering away with what we had.
Krause and I had punched out a round of stars on the night horizon, correcting the dead reckoning position and slightly modifying the course for tomorrow’s position off Kone Saki up the coast. Before dawn I would close it, just as we had Kobe Zaki. Although Krause had made SM1c, he would hold the same billets until his expected transfer. That way, Kemp, who would be staying in Wahoo, could continue heading the quartermasters watch list and be the periscope assistant as the captain had desired.
My assistant called me early for our landfall, having as usual put in his own call ahead of mine. It was 0230 on Tuesday, May 9, according to the wardroom clock and the calendar over the sideboard, and still waking-up, I took my coffee to the conning tower. Torpedoman’s Mate McSpadden, from Argonaut, had Kone Saki as a dancing pip on the SJ. The Japanese Current could account for our early arrival, but the radar contact at 18,000 yards was in part responsible for my early call.
Fifteen minutes later, McSpadden had two more and somewhat smaller pips at slightly lesser range. Johnny Moore arrived in the conning tower, and I concluded that many of his calls were matching mine. We stopped and killed Wahoo’s headway to check on the movement of the new pips. They were closing, and we had headed for the coast to stay ahead of them when Captain Morton answered his call to the bridge.
Tracking had arrived; the captain took the conn and, asking for the time of morning twilight, he closed the enemy to identify the ships. We had a large tanker and freighter, without escort, attempting the night run between bays. Tracking now had them on an average course of 210, the slant of the coastline, and steaming at ten knots. With Wahoo’s full power available, since the battery charge had been completed, Morton could choose any position for the attack. The best would be their position at dawn, and Wahoo headed for the “X” Chan had marked on the chart.
The enemy came on hugging the coast. At 0330 we held reveille so the crew could have coffee too before battle stations. Fifteen minutes later, the Bells of St. Mary’s made battle stations formal, and we dived to radar depth still 5 miles ahead of the enemy. Tracking continued with radar bearings and ranges. At 3 miles, in the first light of dawn, I could make out the ships through the search scope, their angles opening. The captain had conned his submarine to a position 1,000 yards off the enemy’s track, and had then turned to bring our bow tubes to bear.
The forward torpedo room reported tubes ready, outer doors open, and running depth set on 18 feet. After a last radar range, we moved on down to 60 feet. When the angle had opened to 90, the captain gave his customary, “Any time, Dick,” and, not varying our procedure, three torpedoes went to the tanker, leading, and three more to the large freighter.
As the fifth torpedo was firing, the first hit the tanker amidships, sighted by Johnny Moore on the other scope. The fourth, a torpexer, hit the freighter under the bridge, and the fifth hit her aft. Both ships had broken in two, the tanker going down in flames and the freighter following to Davy Jones’s locker minutes later. We cleared the area to the east.
We heard distant depth charges throughout the day, and one echo-ranging antisubmarine vessel passed close to Wahoo on one occasion. Our bathythermograph, which had shown a 2-degree temperature gradient as we passed 170 feet, gave us extra confidence at our 300-foot cruising depth; and acey-deucey, cribbage, or a good book replaced the Plan of the Day. In the wardroom, however, Johnny Moore and I, as the ones who had seen the two ships in daylight, had another task. We had little trouble in arriving at a Huzisan Maru class tanker of 9,527 tons and a Hawaii Maru class freighter of 9,467 tons; then we turned to cribbage.
Distant explosions and echo ra
nging were still heard on sound, and the detonations sometimes through our hull when we surfaced into a black night. It rather appeared that the coast would be heated up for the next few days, and with only half a battery, submarine seamanship called for a four-sided area, one in which we could evade in any direction. Morton picked the position where Pickerel had reported the small group of fast enemy ships, the contact that had set this whole game of musical chairs in motion, and at 2020 we headed for it.
Two engines were on charge, two on propulsion. It seemed good to be cruising, and the enemy might indeed send shipping offshore in view of torpedoes, even the frightening prematures, along the coast. Even if we found no ships, the change would provide all hands some needed rest. This included the captain, for though he apparently thrived on action, not for a minute did he neglect his command responsibility, which in itself had become too much for our first captain.
Wahoo patrolled the Tokyo-Paramushiru route for 2 days, with only a trawler providing interest to the crew. Legitimately fishing and carrying normal antennas, we avoided her. Also of interest, especially to me, was the Fox schedule on May 10. It contained my orders to report to Mare Island for fitting out and command of the new submarine Tang. The advantage of serving in a small force was evident, for in the assignment, the detail office had obviously picked a boat close to my family.
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