Wahoo

by Richard O'Kane

  There was still time for final clampdowns, and for sneaking the last weighted sacks of trash and garbage over the side, before continuing between the Brothers and up San Pablo Bay. About a mile short of the Carquinez Bridge across the Sacramento River, we turned left, and keeping red buoys to starboard, entered the Napa River. The flags and Old Glory streamed beautifully in the north wind, and above them all awaited the captain’s project, to be unfurled when abreast our mooring.

  Mare Island’s waterfront was packed like football bleachers—man for man or ton for ton, no ship could have had a greater reception. Wahoo headed slightly towards the waterfront so the wind and current moved her very slowly to her mooring. While still in the stream for all to see, Morton gave a nod and Simonetti pulled the line that broke an enormous pennant free. In minutes we were alongside, brows came over fore and aft, and I stepped ashore to embrace my beautiful family. Close at hand was Admiral Friedell, the Navy Yard commandant, who had been my first Sub Force commander. With her lorgnette, his wife was examining the pennant, asking, “What does it say, Admiral, what does it say?”

  “Madame,” he replied, “that reads, ‘Shoot the Sons of Bitches!’ “

  Part Seven

  THE SIXTH AND SEVENTH PATROLS

  The Sea of Japan

  Sixth Patrol

  1

  While en route to Mare Island, Sterling had made out leave papers for all hands who would be continuing to patrol in Wahoo. The crew was allowed to choose the first or second 3-week-leave period, ironing out any differences amongst themselves prior to Sterling’s dating the papers. With money drawn at Pearl, the first leave section evaporated in minutes; the captain and Mrs. Morton went on to a luncheon; and we drove to our home across from Hamilton Field, 22 miles away.

  At the arrival conference on the following morning, the Navy Yard readily agreed to our outstanding repairs and to the routine overhaul of our main engines. Included also would be an upgrade of Wahoo’s equipment so she would depart nearly on a par with new construction. Back aboard, the captain asked me to take good care of Wahoo, and when he left his ship, to send every last man that I could spare on leave.

  Within the hour, I had Wahoo underway, and with the assistance of tugs, we put her in dry dock. This was necessary for pulling our port shaft, which had a persistent squeal at evasion speeds; and the dockside cranes would be right there at hand for removing and installing battery cells. There would be no more wardroom or mess room coffee, for already the tin knockers were dismantling the forward-and after-battery living spaces. And if that weren’t enough, our battery emergency disconnect switches had been thrown. Wahoo was cold iron, and would soon have two square openings through her pressure hull above the battery wells for removing the individual battery cells.

  All of the foregoing and the Navy Yard’s cooperative attitude at the conference provided an idea of how to carry out the captain’s request concerning leave. It worked—the Navy Yard readily agreed to take over the watches for welding, usually a ship’s job, and for below-decks security. That left only the deck watch and supervisors for our engines. We had them in Chiefs Lenox and Keeter, plus hands going to new boats here.

  I could not recall telling anyone of a new leave plan, so some hand must have overheard Morton’s final words to me at the gangway. In any case, all of our equipage had been moved to the provided storerooms within a couple of days and we had extra men waiting around. Andy Lenox took care of that by passing the word to get their leave papers and bring them by for signing. We had been provided an office close at hand where the line formed immediately, and in short order the second leave party had disappeared.

  Soon the first battery cells were being lifted through the holes in Wahoo’s hull and lowered into special shipping crates atop railroad flat-cars. We could only watch and admire the accuracy of the operators. Not so another change, the removal of our conning tower’s after door. This vertical oblong door, fitted into the circular convex bulkhead, had distorted on some boats during depth charge with leaks and near rupture. Not essential to our operations, it was being removed. I watched the shipfitters find the bulkhead’s center and then inscribe a circle that included the door and frame. This would then be burned out and another dish of the same curvature would be welded in its place. To my objection, I was assured that the result would be just as strong as a new bulkhead. The constructor who arrived was less convincing, and conceded when I pointed out that my captain and his crew wouldn’t believe it. So Wahoo received a brand-new bulkhead and not a patched one.

  These were the items, mostly small ones, that we were following. All was going well when a letter from Sub Ad, Submarine Administration Mare Island, ordered Wahoo to supply six mess cooks. Other hands with priority orders going to new construction boats had already been sent on their way, and we were down to a total of twelve, with only one of them even eating at the barracks. Since the letter was by direction and signed by a warrant officer, I called on him at Sub Ad, explaining the situation. He seemed satisfied and I returned to the office.

  Before opening the door, I could hear the phone ringing. Commander Submarine Administration (ComSubAd), Capt. J. B. Griggs, our Jack’s father, wanted to see me immediately.

  “What’s this I hear about your sending everyone on leave?” he demanded.

  “Sir, not everyone, just those we didn’t need after the Navy Yard had agreed to take over security below decks and all fire watches. Wahoo is cold iron, in dry dock, and we have a continuous deck watch and duty officer,” I replied.

  “Why, if that dry dock flooded you wouldn’t have a leg to stand on,” the captain retorted.

  “Nothing is going to happen, Sir,” was my assurance, while thinking that in such a flooding there would now be fewer hands drowned.

  “There better not be,” was his final word, and I was not invited for coffee.

  Most of the married officers’ and petty officers’ families had remained in the general area after Wahoo’s commissioning, so there was much going on besides the shipyard work. The most important involved Chan Jackson, for his pretty Wave, lona, was waiting and they were married at Mare Island’s historic chapel. Following the late-afternoon ceremony, they came by our home for a reception, and were greeted by fellow officers who had raced ahead. Rationing did not permit a sumptuous meal, but crisp salads, fresh from the garden, exactly hit the spot as far as the submariners were concerned. They continued raiding the garden to build more until Chan and lona had gone on to San Francisco.

  Official temporary additional duty orders for Chief Andy Lenox came from ComSubAd. He was to go to Hollywood as a technical advisor for the production of the movie Destination Tokyo. This put a crimp in our watch list, but that was soon squared away by hands returning from leave. This was well, for there had been no dallying by the Navy Yard.

  All scheduled work had essentially been completed when the captain returned refreshed, jolly, and finding his ship right where he had left her. Within a few days, the remainder of the crew reported, except for Chief Andy Lenox. This had come about through an appeal by the film company direct to the Navy Department, and Lenox’s orders were extended until the completion of the film. So the captain’s plan to keep key personnel had retained only one of the three, Chief Keeter. Also, eighteen of the crew who had made Wahoo’s fifth patrol had gone to new boats, but their replacements were already reporting aboard. And Jack Griggs had returned from his patrol in Seal. The turnover in personnel per patrol had probably been no more than many other boats, but Wahoo had completed her last three in record time. As expected, Morton made no complaints.

  Following a final lunch in Wahoo, I again walked along the waterfront, this time towards my own submarine still on the ways. Under my arm was a beautiful, oblong, silver cigarette box, engraved from the officers and crew. I turned and waved, but saw them through misty eyes.

  Note from the Author

  To continue the authentic writing of Wahoo’s true story, I have relied on the account of Rev.
Chandler Jackson and Capt. J. B. Griggs for the period until her departure on patrol. For the sixth patrol, the secret operation order for Wahoo and her companion submarine, Plunger, are at hand, together with their patrol reports, Wahoo’s containing a page for each torpedo and a day-by-day diary, plus the comments of the reviewing seniors. An additional source is Forest Sterling’s excellent book, Wake of the Wahoo, and a personal account by Captain Griggs.

  2

  Morton’s influence at Mare Island was phenomenal. During the few days before underway trials, the shipyard changed Wahoo’s topside configuration to nearly that of a Tang class. Gone was the bulky bridge cowl forward. Aft, the conning tower fairwater had been trimmed down to the height of the bridge deck. Now, when her conning tower was hull-down to another ship, her bridge from any angle would look like the deckhouse of a trawler. Below, she sported an auxiliary gyro compass in the control room, and forward, in the torpedo room, a new sound-listening device, the JP. Its listening elements were at either end of a crossbar atop a vertical shaft extending through the torpedo room’s overhead, and provided amplified listening in the sonic range even if the boat were on the bottom. Radar training exactly like sound’s finished the list.

  Roger had become Wahoo’s executive officer, a jump of 5 years in only 1, but what a year it had been. In general administration—especially with a good yeoman, Sterling, and Carr as chief of the boat—Wahoo would practically run herself, thus permitting Roger’s required concentration on training the new crew members. Cooperation was not lacking, for the next patrol loomed just 3 weeks ahead. A 10-day underway training and post repair trial showed Wahoo in all respects ready; Capt. John B. Griggs presented awards on July 20, and Wednesday, the following day, Wahoo departed for Pearl, with Ensign Campbell her engineer.

  The course of 285 degrees led to point A, but instead of following the alphabet, a great circle course would be laid down from there to point B and thence to the rendezvous. Along the track, a submarine need only remain within a rectangle moving at the prescribed speed, thus permitting dives, drills, and other variations en route. Calm summer seas were welcomed by the new hands, and also by the captain and Roger, because they would permit higher speed and consequent time for drills within the moving rectangle. At the moment, Wahoo was providing target services to both sea and air escorts, a new twist in making their task more meaningful. To add realism, the plane simulated an attack from 4 miles, with Wahoo diving barely in time, and receiving their “Well done” upon release.

  No wartime passage is routine, but in near-yachting weather, with Rennels’s baked goods rousing the oncoming midwatch, this came close, until Roger developed signs of appendicitis. The dawn rendezvous with Litchfield had already been scheduled when Pharmacist MacAlman put the exec on the binnacle list. So Chan’s first turn as navigator would be the most exacting. He more than welcomed it, for in the dispatches brought aboard before sailing were his orders to a new boat, and by his seniority, as executive officer. With the thought of rejoining his bride, he quickly forgave Jack for not having read the messages before sailing.

  Roger was transferred to the hospital immediately after mooring on July 29. An additional fumigation had proven necessary, and although done by a professional agency, Chief Carr became ill during the subsequent ventilation, and he too was hustled off to the hospital. Fortunately, Chief Boatswain’s Mate Lane, who had made Wahoo’s third and fourth patrols, returned as chief of the boat. From ComSubPac’s staff, while awaiting his exec’s billet, Lt. Comdr. Verne L. Skjonsby, in the class of ‘34, reported as Wahoo’s executive officer. Sandy haired, medium tall, and with Nordic features, he had stood near the top of his Naval Academy class, and had completed postgraduate studies in ordnance including torpedoes.

  Captain Morton scheduled a 3-day underway training period to include ship’s drills and torpedo firing to familiarize Verne with Wahoo’s method. On the last three firings, the torpedoes had run hot, straight and normal; Litchfield observed all of them passing under her keel, and in turn each torpedo surfaced properly at the end of its run when its low-pressure flask valve operated, blowing the water from the yellow exercise head. This had been the expected normal peacetime performance, and its overall result was noticeable throughout the ship’s company. Immediately upon mooring, Morton visited Roger and Chief Carr, who were recovering from potentially critical situations. Richie, with Johnson and McSpadden, had completed witnessing the final adjustments to Wahoo’s last torpedoes at the Base shop, and they would be loaded within the hour. Other loading for patrol was on schedule for a 1300 departure on the following day, Monday, August 2.

  3

  Before lunch Verne had reported all hands aboard and Wahoo ready for patrol, receiving the captain’s, “Very good.” An hour later, two dieseis had already fired when Morton welcomed Admiral Lockwood aboard for the traditional cup of submarine coffee. This time, there was an additional reason, for armed with Morton’s firsthand report on erratic magnetic exploder performance, Lockwood might obtain the concurrence of ComSubSoWesPac in the elimination of this feature. Wahoo’s present torpedoes, as suspected, had only an inertia feature. Morton saw the admiral to the pier, and Verne backed Wahoo clear. As had become customary in the boats, the new hands were at quarters, facing our devastated ships till clear of the harbor, while below, the boat was rigged for dive.

  The track Kemp had laid down on the chart passed through the Kauai Channel and thence north of the Hawaiian chain to Midway, as stipulated in the operation order, but then added a dogleg to the usual spot south of the channel. To a query, he told his new navigator why; they would get along well.

  Wahoo moored at Midway’s fuel dock routinely. While Ensign Campbell and Oil King Lemert were topping off, Morton talked with Lt. Comdr. Raymond “Benny” Bass, skipper of the Plunger and an Olympic champion gymnast who had retained his competitive spirit. Not before known, Plunger, Permit, and Lapon had made a 4-day feasibility probe into the Sea of Japan during July, sinking three ships (and quite possibly insuring some A.S. vessels for boats to follow, and they were to be Wahoo and Plunger). By the secret operation order, Wahoo was to precede, so she would sail after fueling. It had been agreed that Wahoo would patrol north of Tsugaru Strait, and Plunger, departing the next day, to the south. For a rendezvous in an emergency or for another urgent reason, a point 10 miles west of O Shima had been selected.

  Wahoo left the coral heads astern on passing through the slot in the reef, and upon clearing the island, steadied on course 315 degrees, the first leg of the great circle route to the Etorofu Strait through the Kurils, as prescribed in the operation order. Any other boat would be advised of the transit and routed clear. Fair winds and following seas increased the daily run until one more engine would cut a day from the transit, and Wahoo went to three-engine speed. Besides the 8 hours of watches, morning and afternoon drills filled a taut routine, but now, with both the exec and captain satisfied, a rope-yarn Sunday was followed by normal patrol cruising.

  Verne and Kemp’s stars had shown the strait only a day’s run ahead; seabirds added confirmation, and at 2147 on August 12, the SJ picked up land. The exact time was important, for some hand had won the pool. There would be no sighting, for dense fog surrounded Wahoo shortly after the radar report. Three hours later, she entered the Sea of Okhotsk without sighting land, and the navigator had been initiated.

  Verne had laid down the recommended route to La Perouse Strait, showing Wahoo’s dawn position at two-, three-, and four-engine speeds. As he had expected, with fuel to spare, Morton had chosen the last. From there, a short daylight dash and then submerged running at the new batteries’ sustainable speed would reach the desired position on the chart. It would insure a night passage through the strait.

  A small SJ pip reported by the AOOD, Lt. (jg) Eugene Fiedler, could not be seen from the bridge, but Kemp’s periscope sighting of an Otori patrol on the following day warned of what might lie ahead. The passage was routine, but left 150 miles to clear Russian shi
pping.

  4

  The new hands did not have long to wait, for immediately after the movie came a call for the tracking party. It was just smoke over the eastern moonlit horizon, but Wahoo was off with a bone in her teeth. The smoke, now three rather widely separated columns, was drawing to the right, and Morton accepted Verne’s recommendation of course 145, ordering two more engines on the line. The smoke soon became three freighters—two of medium size and one small. Tracking had their course as 205, steaming at 7 knots. Jack’s plot agreed, and the Bells of St. Mary’s chimed in earnest for the first time on Wahoo’s sixth patrol.

  The captain decided to sink the trailing, medium-sized ship first, since it might be attacked without the other two knowing what had taken place. Verne’s angles in the bright moonlight checked with Richie’s on the TDC. The leading ships were now crossing about 1,000 yards ahead; the target would be closer. With the rest of the night for more attacks, Morton decided on one torpedo under her stack. He announced, “Any time, Verne.” The exec swung the scope to the freighter’s bow, calling, “Constant bearing—Mark.” Kemp announced the bearing; “Set,” came from Richie. A few seconds passed before the stack touched the steady wire at 0035, bringing Verne’s, “Fire!” Morton’s whacking the plunger was simultaneous. The slight shudder, a healthy zing of the torpedo’s props, and the momentary poppet pressure all gave assurance, but the proof came with Buckley’s, “Hot, straight and normal.” Jack had picked up the count at 20 on the 35-second torpedo run for 900 yards, calling 25, 30, and then the last seconds, but there was no detonation.