A swim at the second reef was shortened by the arrival of Comdr. Eugene Sands, skipper of the Sawfish and a classmate of Morton’s. Tall, sandy haired, and pleasant, he more than welcomed the copy of Wahoo’s patrol report brought for him, though he was warned that much could have changed. To avoid a traffic bypass, like Plunger’s, they would share the whole sea, guard 4155 KCS, and keep the rendezvous 10 miles west of 0 Shima.
The watch sections returning to the boat told of meeting former marine and heavyweight boxing champion Gene Tunney, who was now a Navy commander. In subsequent reports, the novelty changed to apprehension when the crew learned that Commander Tunney had been appointed by President Roosevelt to conduct a study of the physical fitness of naval personnel on the shore establishments. Like the Pearl Harbor Commission, he had found the Royal to his liking. Soon, he had let it be known that he could condone the first night’s revelry by crews returning from patrol, but on subsequent days there should be an early reveille and calisthenics before breakfast, and midmorning roadwork. For the afternoons, he had relented, proposing organized softball and volleyball tournaments between the boats. On returning to Wahoo, Yeoman Sterling had summed it up with two words, “Oh brother;” but all of this would be left behind, for the exec had already reported, “All hands aboard and departments ready for patrol.”
Captain Morton returned from his departure visit at headquarters accompanied by the acting force commander, Capt. John H. Brown, and Commander Tunney. While they were below for coffee, a mess steward came aboard with a B-4 bag. Wahoo’s catchy name had again hit pay dirt—the luggage telling that Commander Tunney would be supercargo as far as Midway.
2
The prolonged blast from Wahoo’s whistle brought those topside on nearby boats or on the piers to an immediate attention. So they remained until the submarine’s propellers headed her out the channel, for there were few who did not have a friend on other boats. Amongst the section at quarters were the new officers and hands, except for Bill Burgan, who was standing his first watch aboard. Also on the bridge was the commander, for Captain Morton, having been apprised at headquarters of Tunney’s pending recommendations, had agreed to show him some of the other side of a submariner’s life.
No crewman could ever consider the passage through the harbor as routine; he just had learned to give the wrecks to port and starboard a fleeting glance. Following Lt. Hiram Greene’s orders of “About face,” to those at quarters, Commander Tunney faced each ship or wreck with them and did not attempt to hide the handkerchief he had pulled from his hip pocket.
Turning right upon clearing the swept channel, Verne directed the course for the PC escort to the south of Barbers Point and advised the captain, who had gone below with the commander. Carr reported, “Ship rigged for dive,” and a half hour later, he relayed the information to the captain that Wahoo was approaching the PC. Suggesting the control room as the best spot to observe the dive, Morton left the commander and went up the ladder to the conning tower. Two blasts and down she went. Any dive appears to be somewhat of a slam-bang procedure, especially to the uninitiated, but with the troops’ cooperation, this one would have shaken many a seasoned submariner.
In the conning tower for indoctrinal depth charging, Morton explained keeping both scopes up for the PC to see so the depth charges wouldn’t be dropped too close. He had told no one aboard, except Verne, that he had suggested a shorter distance for this demonstration. All four were tooth shakers, and with a straight face, the captain explained that we had to do this lest new hands fly off the handle when receiving charges that were close, and that the effect increased inversely with the cube of the distance.
Thus started 2 days of drills for the crew and indoctrination for the commander. At first shocked to see men in their bunks during the middle of the day, after nearly being mowed down by hands manning battle stations and at other drills, he had found sanctuaries and eventually his own top bunk in the captain’s cabin. And by the time Wahoo turned north on Sunday, September 12, to thread the slot through the reef, the commander had become a friend and shipmate of the whole ship’s company.
Other than topping off, a chance for new hands to get about the island, and for anyone to drop a ten spot or so, two important things took place at Midway: Morton visited the Sperry’s captain to learn of any findings concerning Wahoo’s ten torpedoes, and Wahoo received the latest mail flown from Pearl by PBY. In it was the list for Advanced Yeoman’s School, which included Forest J. Sterling. With this school on his record, he could count on making yeoman first class, and he would have to complete it before making chief. Abandoning all else, Sterling headed for the Sperry and found Y2c William T. White. The two of them found their respective skippers in conference, and waiting until just the right time, White’s transfer to Wahoo and Sterling’s to school were approved by their captains.
Fueling was completed by noon; Verne made his report; and at 1300 Sterling, taking in the last line from the submarine that had embraced his war effort during the past year, watched until her tops disappeared below the horizon.
The endorsements to Wahoo’s patrol report were similar to the oral comments. Distributed shortly after her departure, they would surely be considered by many as a whitewash for the torpedoes at the expense of the leading skipper with the highest percentage of hits. Doubts came with Tinosa’s revelation, and the truth on Plunger’s success with Sperry’s unaltered warheads. There could be no doubt: the much-maligned magnetic exploder had sunk practically all ships to date; the Base had removed it, and Wahoo had been sent to the Sea of Japan with a complete load of duds.
Fleet Admiral Nimitz, himself a submariner, immediately concurred with the plan to test two warheads against the cliffs of Kahoolawe, an uninhabited island used for target purposes. The warheads, attached to proven exercise torpedoes, were fired where they could be recovered. Neither of them detonated, and upon recovery, the exploder mechanism had been so mangled by the impact that the reasons for their failure could not be determined. The very fact of the crumbling was a clue, however.
At the Navy Yard, an exploder without booster was fitted into a dummy warhead attached to a dummy torpedo used to test tubes. Able to vary the impact speed by dropping the torpedo from various heights into a drydock, the mystery began to unfold: the exploder had a firing pin that traveled at right angle to the motion of the torpedo. Made of steel, the pin’s inertia, when the torpedo hit, had made it hang up against the wall of its guide. The pin thus hit with insufficient speed to fire the detonator.
Fortunately, the remedy was right at hand in the Sub Base machine shop, by the manufacture of light-alloy firing pins with reduced inertia as replacements. With the original pins, the exploder could work when dropped on its side, so boats carrying them were advised to fire on sharp tracks. (They should have been ordered to return.)
Note from the Author
Through the sixth patrol, this history is fully documented and eyewitnessed. The seventh patrol was written without an American eyewitness. So, from Sterling’s view of Wahoo’s shears disappearing below the horizon until the next eyewitness, the writing concerning Wahoo will be italicized. Following is a detailed explanation that shows how this writing was possible.
For the seventh patrol, the secret operation orders for Wahoo and her companion submarine, Sawfish, were used, including the latter’s very complete patrol report. Wahoo’s patrol routes were derived through plotting from the meticulous “Report of the Japanese Imperial Navy,” which shows the date, name, ship type, tonnage, and position of each ship Wahoo sank. For her near disaster, I have my Mark-18 circular run from forward, which became deadly aft, with identical results verified by postwar circular running Mark-18 test firings; the fact that no other casualty fits all the criteria; and my submarine knowledge acquired on eleven war patrols, and twenty years with the boats.
In the continuing narrative, I have relied on my thorough knowledge of Morton, gained as his co-approach officer during three patrols, to judge
the tactics he would have used in approach, attack, evasion, and other crucial situations. And for Wahoo’s final encounter, I have the detailed Japanese report of the prolonged action. So to every extent possible, this is authentic history, with only some variations in tactics, which would have brought about the same known results.
3
Wahoo continued west, retracing the dogleg that had cleared Kure Reef on the return voyage. Conveniently, the fine No. 4 pencil track leading to the great circle course still remained on the chart, but at this intersection, the captain ordered a deviation from the route repeated in the operation order. Too many submarines had followed this shortest track, which from the start had been a natural for an enemy submarine patrol. Quick calculations by Verne showed that a track 50 miles to the north would add less than 40 miles to the voyage. Morton replied with his customary, “Make it so.”
Bill Burgan had taken over plot, Don Brown was manning the angle solver, and Hiram Greene was Wahoo’s new battle stations diving officer. Morning emergency drills soon satisfied Verne and the captain, but an afternoon torpedo fire control problem became routine. It was not boring, however, for Wahoo had a wealth of recorded time versus bearing exercises. Even the actual periscope procedure was involved as Verne and Kemp provided the recorded bearings on time, while giving an occasional approximate range.
Increasing seas called for another engine, while the accompanying rain and overcast permitted another surface passage through Etorofu Strait and on to the diving point for La Perouse. The night transit was unchallenged. Had the Otoris been assigned to escorting, now that Plunger had sunk three, for a total of six ships, along the direct trade routes? Wahoo would find out as she headed for Rebun Jima and a submerged daylight patrol towards the Tsugaru Strait. No tops came over the spotty horizon, nor SJ pips on high searches, but Wahoo’s new diving officers were learning how to handle her at various depths. After 2 days of this, Verne set course 195 for the point 10 miles west of O Shima as the captain had ordered. Two blasts took her down in morning twilight, heading east, searching.
The sea through the periscope seemed unusually calm this September 25, and served as a reminder that tried and proven periscope procedure would always have its place. The captain joined in the periscope search towards the tiny islands of O Shima and Ko Shima, lying about 15 and 5 miles, respectively, off the 10-fathom line at the entrance to Tsugaru Strait. Ships had proceeded on their way in this vicinity during the sixth patrol, so more should pass between the islands at any time.
Bill Burgan and George Misch had inherited George Grider’s lucky forenoon and evening watches. Customarily, these would continue throughout a patrol. That way, the captain, by glancing at his cabin clock, would know which two men were on watch. The team, for they exchanged the dive for OOD a couple of times each watch, had established a reputation similar to that of Grider’s. In part, this was due to their particular watch, but early on George Misch had learned to concentrate on the scope (until it seems as if your eyeballs are out on the horizon) and Bill had followed suit. So, with nothing sighted before the eight-to-twelve, it was almost presumed that Bill and George would luck out again.
Careful sweeps followed by 17-foot searches up the coast, beyond O Shima, and towards the strait disclosed only sampans and an occasional trawler. After a trick at diving, Don Brown took the conn and promptly had mast tops nearly in line. Having just come over the horizon, the ship below them had to be heading towards nearby O Shima, and the Bells of St. Mary’s rang out in earnest for the first time on Wahoo’s seventh patrol.
One after another, by rooms, battle stations were reported manned. Terrel, now a quartermaster, third class and conning tower talker, kept track on his fingers and signaled stations manned before Chief Carr’s report. The upper works were now in sight, and Verne called the configuration following his initial angle. He had a mast-funnel-mast freighter, and with the island limiting her course, an almost-assured firing position inside of a thousand yards. Buckley called a propeller beat of seventy-two turns, the count that had shown a speed of 7½ knots before. Richie had her speed at 8 knots; it was close enough. MacAlman and his new assistant, White, had arrived at a Taiko Maru class car goman, with a listing of 2,958 gross tons. He held the opened manual above the lower hatch so Verne could take a glance. He nodded, but the masthead height of 95 feet that they had given orally was of immediate importance. Now with accurate periscope stadimeter ranges, Bill Burgan’s plot and Richie’s TDC had the same solution.
Captain Morton had ordered two tubes made ready forward and aft with torpedoes set to run at 6-foot depth, and when Verne called 80 starboard, Morton gave his assuring, “Any time, Verne.”
Verne marked a constant bearing on her stack. “Set,” came from Richie. The mainmast touched the wire, bringing an instant, “Fire!” Morton hit the plunger and the first torpedo left with a whine to hit under the freighter’s mainmast. Marked on her bow, the second fish went to her foremast. Burgan was counting, and at approximately half the speed of a Mark-14, the run seemed endless. But accuracy, not speed, is the name of the torpedo game, and two violent detonations exactly as aimed obliterated the freighter. The time was 1715, still Saturday, the twenty-fifth.
4
Wahoo continued on submerged, slowly circling the position of the sinking. As expected after such a violent explosion, only flotsam marked the area. Inhabitants of O Shima must have heard or seen the explosion, so it would be only a matter of time before some antisubmarine ship or plane would arrive, and the captain ordered the course for Tonjoson Wan. It lay across the Sea of Japan; Verne read the course, and steersman Wach steadied on 255. This was Morton’s hit-and-run tactic, which left the enemy far behind, but there could be more.
The crossing required 5 days, for north-south shipping sent the crew to battle stations day and night. Unfortunately for Wahoo, the ships were Russian, and fortunately for them, their identification flags and lights were in order. Unknowingly, the Russians provided a target service heretofore omitted—that of a ship on a straight course. This at first had nearly stumped the new fire control party, who were sure they had missed a zig.
When Wahoo approached Tonjoson Wan, winds from the southeast brought rain and accompanying reduced visibility. So it was Carter and Lindeman under instruction on the SJ who made the first enemy contact. With dusk coming on, it was too late for a periscope attack, but not for a submerged observation from her quarter. With their ONI-208J opened on the chart desk, MacAlman and White made their own observations, arriving at Masaki Maru class car goman listed at 1,238 tons.
An end-around would not be required; opening the range until dark and then moving up to a bow position would assure a TBT surface attack.
A routine surfacing and maneuvers to a bow position were simple, almost too simple. The bells called hands to stations; Morton ordered three forward tubes readied, all torpedoes set to run at 6 feet, and conned Wahoo to the normal course (perpendicular to the enemy’s track). Verne, manning the forward TBT, had the cargoman’s indistinct shape in sight and commenced calling bearings. The freighter’s lookouts, peering into the blowing rain, had no chance of spotting a submarine’s small silhouette blending into the dark sea. The range counter on the TDC read 800 yards; the angle on the target dial read 75. Captain Morton advised, “Any time, Verne,” and a constant bearing directed a single torpedo to the freighter’s midships.
As prearranged, if this torpedo failed, a spread of two would follow. Bill had figured the divider for the Mark-18, 15 yards per second, and his count of 52 was smothered by the crack, whack, and rumble of the detonation. Verne reported the freighter broken in two and sunk; the torpedo hit 1 second early, added Bill. It was just past 1700 on October 2; the first sitting was starting chow, and a continuous movie would commence forward. This was like “days of yore”—a rubber of cribbage followed the evening meal, and then the captain went aft to seek out and thank every crewman.
Sawfish had cleared the strait at 0230 on September 23,
and turned right to search along the Sakhalin coast and to investigate the coaling station at Esutoru. En route early the next day she had attacked a small freighter. The first Mark-18 torpedo hit Sawfish’s bow and didn’t run; the second ran astern of the enemy. The coaling station was inactive, and Sawfish next patrolled south of Rebun Suido, the passage between the island and Hokkaido.
Though hugging the coast and covering the passes, Sawfish’s next opportunity did not come until September 28, with distant smoke and then two freighters passing Motsuta Misaki light. Able to close only one, Sands sent a spread of three Mark-18s. Again, the first hit Sawfish’s bow, and sound tracked the others beyond the target.
Three days later, while operating on the surface, Sawfish sighted smoke, raced ahead, and dived to attack a medium-sized passenger freighter. One of the first two Mark-18s hit Sawfish’s bow and apparently sank; the other was followed by sound astern of the target. A third torpedo was fired and also ran astern.
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