Satisfied, Morton conned his submarine to the west when visibility through the scopes faded, and she surfaced into the rain and diminishing seas. The duty chiefs rotated the watch regularly, from wheel to radar to sound and then lookout. It rested the eyes between billets and brought the lookout in his wet rain clothes to the warmth below. Lucky indeed were hands with the laundry detail, which had become a popular watch.
Fishermen had apparently sought cover, and perhaps larger ships were waiting in the shelter of the Tsugaru Strait, mindful of the extra fuel the wind and remaining seas would consume. For these reasons, or just by chance, no ships rounded Oga Hanto on the evening watch, for the SJ would have spotted them. Hiram and Don assumed the midwatch, taking turns topside, and when in the conning tower keeping Wahoo in position with minor changes of course and propeller turns.
The musical chairs of rotating the watch had taken the usual 10 minutes or so, when Yeoman White, as if it were routine, reported an SJ pip to the north. The clock read 0214 on this October 9 when the Bells of St. Mary’s bonged throughout the submarine.
Don cranked the initial range of 13,000 yards and the bearing into the TDC, setting the target dial for a zero angle before turning on the machine. Richie’s school was paying off, for a new range and bearing, after battle stations had been manned, gave an initial solution. Bill had plotted both setups on the navigational chart and picked off a similar course and speed—a course of almost due south and the initial 8 knots that had been intentionally left set in the TDC. Bill’s plot was more meaningful to the captain, however, for he could see that the enemy would pass well off Oga Hanto.
Morton kept Wahoo on the enemy’s projected track, and ordered three tubes made ready forward and aft. It was not until the range had closed to 5,000 yards that Verne could make her out in the blowing rain, and he had the wind to his back. At 4,000 yards the captain followed his plan by keeping the stern to the enemy, firing to seaward as required by the op-order, already being on an evasion course, while keeping her lookouts peering into the southwest wind and spume.
Verne called bearings only, for even as the angle opened, TDCs target dial would be better. He could see enough, however, to identify the enemy as another freighter, similar to the Kanko Maru, but about twice her size. His wire was drawing close to astern when the captain gave his, “Any time, Verne.”
Verne’s rapid constant bearings sent stern torpedoes to the mainmast, midships, and left to the foremast. The shudder, zing, poppet pressure, and whine for each torpedo seemed normal.
“All back emergency! Wild torpedo to starboard!” blared from the conning tower speaker. Instantly, Simonetti twisted the maneuvering telegraphs and Morton bounded up the hatch, swinging the collision alarm on the way. The sirens would be wailing in each compartment. All doors dogged shut, and the ventilation clapper valves would seal each room, giving it the strength of the pressure hull. Within seconds, talkers reported, “Secured for collision.” Morton could see the circling, porpoising torpedo abeam and curving towards Wahoo. Only the 5 million watts pulling the boat astern could save her. A final right rudder to throw the bow clear of the onrushing torpedo offered the only chance, and the captain called, “Blow safety! Blow negative! Brace yourselves!”
A violent, deep detonation shook Wahoo, raising her as would the sea of a typhoon, and then plunged her foredeck deep into the seas.
Two sharp detonations marked the end of the freighter after a 1-minute torpedo run, but it brought little cheer. By their sound-powered phones, the talkers checked in from aft forward. Remarkably, few serious injuries had been sustained, probably due to Morton’s last instruction.
As expected, from the forward torpedo room there could be no reply, but other doors and clapper valves were opened and the crew went about resetting circuit breakers and getting their ship in order.
The captain had blown bow buoyancy, raising the foredeck a little, and slowed to regain rudder control. Simonetti could now keep the boat’s stern on due west as she sought the relative sanctuary beyond the coastal shipping and patrols. Knowing that Wahoo could not dive and surface again in her present condition, Morton sought a secure route for a dash through La Perouse Strait. This would depend on success in raising the bow. The alternatives of scuttling, not in Walloon makeup, or seeking asylum with internment at Vladivostok would not be considered while there existed any chance of returning the Mark-18s to prevent another such accident. Verne, completing a turn aft, fully agreed, and had figures to show that if the bow could be raised, Wahoo could dive, and surface stern first if on soundings of less than 20 fathoms.
John Campbell and Chief McGill, the best in the boat, set about the problem of expelling the seas from the forward torpedo room, which could have become a great ballast tank. There would be insufficient air from the banks, but couldn’t the detonation have ruptured one of the torpedo room’s inside ballast tanks, whose outer wall, like a letter b or d, is a part of the pressure hull? The test would be easy—just start the turbos. The captain was more than ready, for though it may have been the better view in daylight, more of the forward deck seemed undersea, as when flooding the forward group to launch a rubber boat from on deck.
The screeching hyenas came up to speed, and McGill, by chance at his battle station, opened the gate stop valve. One after another, bubbles reached the surface above and forward of the flood openings, except to starboard forward. That ballast tank had indeed been ruptured into the torpedo room; the great volume of low-pressure air must be rising in the torpedo room and forcing the sea out of the rupture.
A half-hour blow brought the bullnose above the sea, and there it would remain until the auxiliarymen could install a sheet-metal dutchman to stop the air to the after ballast tanks so as to gain full 12-pounds pressure forward. The bow was high enough, however, for Morton to order, “All ahead two-thirds, reverse course,” to continue seaward. The rain cooperated, providing security; the turbos raised her bow steadily, and then two more engines went on the line. So Wahoo could reach La Perouse Strait within 2 days, for a foul-weather passage, or at night if clear.
To the north, 2 days before, on October 7, Sawfish had dived on sighting a floatplane and received one bomb, not close. In succession, the plane was relieved by two light bombers, who kept Sawfish down till dark. Entering La Perouse Strait at 0030 on October 9, she outran the first patrol and avoided two others, the silhouette of the larger resembling a destroyer.
Verne ordered the tank compass moved from control to the conning tower and then plotted the route to pass well south of 0 Shima, site of the first sinking, and from there due north, on past Rebun Jima until Wahoo could head for La Perouse Strait from the west. Within the strait, the track had been laid down well north of Cape Soya, close to the 20-fathom line. Early sighting by the continuous watch manning both periscopes had permitted maneuvers to avoid the few masts sighted. At night the lookouts’ 7 × 50s did the same. But on nearing the strait, thin masts disclosed patrols astern, forcing Morton to accept the more dangerous daytime passage. So early in the morning watch of October 11, 10 days ahead of her schedule, Wahoo was passing the 20-mile-wide Cape Soya Strait. Morning twilight had shown her cruising under an overcast, too low and heavy for planes, but permitting the navigator to check the position with sextant angles between landmarks shown on the chart, and use of the three-arm protractor.
By the forenoon watch, the overcast had become lighter, and lookouts then searched their sectors continuously from the horizon to sky. The violent, shaking clap from an artillery shell close overhead, and the whack, then swish-swish-swish from its splash and ricochet shocked the lookouts, but not the OOD, who cleared the bridge, nor Morton, engaged in conning his submarine away from the giant smoke ring rolling out to seaward from the nearest promontory, Soya Misaki. Before another salvo, Wahoo would be presenting a minimum target to the enemy. The advantage was brief, for the next salvo came even closer. Staying on the surface was wasting critical time, for the enemy would already have requeste
d antisubmarine forces, and Wahoo should be moving as far away as possible from the attack area. Confidently, Morton ordered, “Take her down.” Wahoo dived with an up angle, leveling off on the bottom, and proceeded eastward to clear the area of the artillery attack and La Perouse Strait.
The coast artillery battery had been installed during September of 1941, mounting type 96, 4m by 15cm guns, the equivalent of our 6-inch, 26-caliber guns. The battery commander had asked for a plane from the Ominato Air Fleet, flying out of Wakkani, northern Hokkaido. For clarity, the report is arranged chronologically, showing the time of drops or arrival.
0920 Floatplane #19, having arrived in about an hour, found an oil slick some 5 meters wide and 10 meters long (apparently from Wahoo’s No. 1 fuel tank abreast the wardroom and next to the Mark-18 detonation). Circling, the pilot could identify a black
0945 conning tower and, after summoning more aircraft, dropped one bomb on what he described as a black hull with a white wake, and a second bomb, which brought up bubbles and oil.
Aircraft #2 arrived and dropped four small-type bombs, which brought up oil.
1025 Floatplane #19 investigated the spot and dropped another bomb, but saw no oil.
1034 Just-arrived Aircraft #20 investigated the same location, dropping another bomb without raising any oil.
1135 Floatplane #19 guided Submarine Chaser #15 to the area of the attack. This ship, in the Fifth Fleet, closed the area on receipt
1203 of an aircraft report, and dropped nine depth charges. Four minutes
1207 later, 200 meters to the northwest, she dropped seven more charges. In the great column of sea and spume above the detonations, a large piece of bright metal was seen and identified as part of a propeller blade.
1218 Submarine Chaser #15 dropped one more depth charge.
1221 Submarine Chaser #43 dropped six depth charges.
1321 Aircraft #6 arrived and dropped two bombs.
1330 Auxiliary Minesweeper #18 arrived.
1350 Searching aircraft reported that neither the submarine nor her wake was visible.
If Wahoo had had both screws after these recorded attacks, she might have surfaced after dark. An axiom of antisubmarine warfare, however, is to stay with the enemy, for one never knows the extent of troubles that may exist below. The Japanese had gone further, enlisting assistance from all available forces in an overwhelming attack. A total of sixty-three depth charges or large bombs and forty smaller bombs had been dropped. The expanding oil slick, which continued moving eastward, had steadied by nightfall. It was then about 60 meters wide and 3 nautical miles long, with air bubbles breaking its surface. An early sample showed the slick to be of high-grade diesel fuel.
Sadly, there could be no doubt. Our beloved Wahoo had indeed gone on down to Davy Jones’s locker, where the angels must have wept as they received her brave crew and their most courageous captain, who had done so much for their country and had come so close to success in Wahoo’s greatest mission, to save our submarines from Mark-18 disasters. Had Wahoo not been sighted, Morton would undoubtedly have succeeded in his valiant mission to bring her home, so other boats would be spared a like fate.
EPILOGUE
As noted before, Time magazine of October 18, 1943, reported a Tokyo broadcast that a steamer had been torpedoed in the Tsushima Strait, sinking in seconds with the loss of 544 nationals. It was Wahoo’s transport, Konron Maru, of 9,000 tons, loaded with troops and heading for the battle zones. In order, the others were: Taiko, Masaki, and Kanko Maru, 1,288 tons; and Kanko Maru, 2,962 tons, as shown in ONI-208J below.
Cutouts from archives’ duplicates formed the following proposed citation, apparently little if at all known within the Submarine Force.
MORTON, Dudley W. Comdr. USN
U.S.S. WAHOO Pacific
Recommended for MEDAL OF HONOR by Sub.Bd. of Awds Ltr FB-5-102/P15 Serial 0085 SECRET ltr dated 2 Dec. 1943. Rec’d. Bd. D&M 3-27-44
Awarded: NAVY CROSS—5 April 1944 Bd.Awds.Mtg.
“For extraordinary heroism above and beyond the call of duty and conspicuous intrepidity as commanding officer of a submarine in action against enemy vessels in patrolled enemy waters. With great courage, aggressiveness and submarine warfare efficiency, he entered dangerous, confined and shallow waters where he sank at least one important enemy vessel. This feat alone ranks with the most daring operations of any submarine exploit of World Navies to date. Other successes in this area are unknown since his submarine failed to return from this patrol and it is presumed that he gave his life and his ship to the service of his country. His courage, initiative, resourcefulness, and inspiring leadership combined with excellent judgment and skill during this and three previous patrols have served as an inspiration to all submarine personnel. His conduct on this, as well as on all his previous patrols, is in keeping with the highest traditions of the Naval Service.”
The proposed citation was both weak and premature. Had it been submitted a year later, the Secretary of the Navy would have returned it, directing that it be resubmitted after the close of hostilities, when more specific information might be available. This is the action taken in my own case. Only now, with the Japanese report of the final encounter just received during this writing, does Morton’s valiant action become irrefutable. I therefore will continue pressing for the elevation of this Navy Cross (the award for sinking three ships) to the Medal of Honor, with an authority who will follow the awards policy existing at that time, and which appears early in this book. From the same authority, I will seek a Second Presidential Unit Citation for Wahoo’s fourth patrol. The nine ships made this the second highest patrol in the 1,560 U.S. total, and the second citation was not recommended at the time since action was still in progress on her first such award. She was also uncited for her fourth through seventh patrols, in which she sank seventeen ships, more than any other submarine receiving the PUC for multiple patrols and twice the number of sinkings of several boats that were so awarded, including one for her second such award. No one deliberately set aside just awards; further information had come slowly, Wahoo had been lost, and until now, time had just passed her by.
Starting with 39 fleet submarines and 12 S-boats for the whole Pacific, 207 more had been commissioned during the war. Nearly all made anti-shipping patrols or carried out one or more very taut special missions. Though exploders and torpedoes gave trouble during periods, we were not alone with torpedo problems, and other nations had solved theirs. Our submarines, however, were the best in the world, with a single-salvo firepower for conventional weapons that has not been equaled by submarines since.
Our submarines sank over 1,300 merchantmen, half again the number sunk by all other forces combined. Over 200 warships were sunk, which exceeded even the number sunk by U.S. Naval Air; and, in addition, there were 300 special missions. All of this was accomplished by a force manned by only 2% of the United States Navy’s personnel. After the war, Japanese admirals and generals alike placed U.S. submarine operations first in the factors leading to the fall of the Empire.
These results were not achieved without the most severe penalties: Sealion, bombed at Cavite in the Philippines with all but four surviving, was our first loss. Three hands were saved from S-26, lost en route to patrol. R-12, lost in training, had twenty-four survivors. Eight crewmen from Flier eventually reached shore. From four groundings on patrol, all hands were miraculously saved. Tang and Tullibee, sunk by their own Mark-18 torpedoes, had nine and one survive, respectively, who were repatriated with 158 prisoners from seven other boats. Sadly, from thirty-seven other submarines, bringing the total to fifty-two, there were no survivors, and their brave stories, except for Wahoo’s, we shall never know.
With 3,505 shipmates still on patrol, our submariners had the highest casualty rate in the armed forces, six times that in surface ships, for boats engaged the enemy continuously throughout the war, except for about 3 weeks between the 2-month patrols. And yet, they were all volunteers, many of whom volunteered again for
billets in leading boats.
Sadly, the following Wahoo shipmates were lost in their subsequent submarines:
Jesse L. Appel Stephen Kohut
John W. Clary Fertig B. Krause, Jr.
Jack E. Clough John A. Moore
William E. Coultas Cecil C. Robertson
Helmit O. Dietrich Earl C. Schrier
Oakley R. Frash Charles A. Zimmerman
Commander Kennedy did receive the Silver Star medal, and then another in his subsequent destroyer command. Commander MacMillan sank eleven ships with Thresher, receiving two Navy Crosses and the Legion of Merit. Commander Moore in Gray back sank ten ships, receiving two Navy Crosses. And so, a bit of Morton and Wahoo had accompanied each of them, including George Grider’s seven ships and two Navy Crosses when commanding Flasher.
Though her life was short, her sinkings placed Wahoo within the first four boats, and Morton tied for second place among the skippers. For best patrol, he was again in second place in the 1,560 U.S. total. But these are just numbers, and submariners will remember the captain who shook off the shackles and set the pace, Mush Morton.
THE SECRETARY OF THE NAVY
WASHINGTON
The President of the United States takes pleasure in presenting the PRESIDENTIAL UNIT CITATION to the
Wahoo Page 32