I had hoped for a release from our patrol station so that Tang could close Palau, but none came. Probably ComSubPac knew nothing of the status of Task Force 58, and would not, for radio silence would be maintained during the force’s withdrawal. So we twiddled our thumbs, sighting one large plane at dawn for April Fools’ Day, a flash and loom of searchlights toward Palau to start the 2d—and then came an Ultra!
4
The course was west by south, 260 degrees true. Just under 500 miles ahead lay Mindanao, the southernmost large island of the Philippines. Tang could reach it in a day but for two factors, our dwindling fuel supply and a most unusual part of our Ultra instructions.
North of New Britain, on April 18, 1943, Admiral Yamamoto, Commander-in-Chief Combined Fleet, had been shot down by our P-38s. This had proved a severe blow to Japan’s fortunes. Now, less than a year later, the Divine Wind had backed again, for according to our Ultra, the plane of Admiral Koga, the new fleet commander, was down in a small tropical storm. Tang, uninvited by the Japanese, was to join in the search.
An hour after midnight, we passed into the areas controlled by Commander Submarines Southwest Pacific (ComSubSoWesPac); he would be our operational commander even though we might not have occasion to communicate with him at Fremantle. Marking a spot might confuse the enemy’s search, so we lay to and proceeded again with the touchy business of converting our two reserve fuel oil tanks to normal ballast. Having men and tools down in the superstructure while on patrol made all hands uncomfortable, but the blanks bolted over the vent valve openings were quickly removed. We rinsed out our new ballast tanks, blowing them out with the turbos and flooding again till we were reasonably sure the oil slick would not trail along after us. Surprisingly, only 30 minutes had elapsed when we resumed our voyage. That was but half the time required when we were north of Truk, so there had been room for improvement.
Our search commenced at dawn and would continue all day as Tang plodded along at one-engine speed through the likely area. Only long-range bombers and submarines could bother us, and the latter faced the problem of keeping their scopes undetected on the glassy sea. Our regular watch could handle them both, but to insure that their routine search was not interrupted, extra lookouts went topside and on aloft. Again our shears looked more like a porcupine than a periscope support, but as long as the men could all get below, the more eyes the better. Just to be sure, we decided on a trial dive after the morning watch had relieved.
At 0807 came the expected “Clear the bridge! Clear the bridge!” and not until we had slipped under the sea did those of us below know that a Japanese bomber had added a touch of realism to our drill. With this incentive, Tang had dived in the usual time and without any strain. The plane was searching in a lazy S off over the horizon on our port bow and remained in sight for a half hour before disappearing to the west. Since it was covering that area, we’d continue the track that Fraz had laid down on the chart. Not often does an enemy receive best wishes, but should that patrol bomber spot something, its report could bring out a ship for our torpedoes. We wished it luck. If eyes straining through 7 × 50s and periscopes could have had their way, Koga would have been found; but only the usual bits of flotsam, a coconut, and an oil drum added momentary excitement to our search.
The conversation in the crew’s mess did not seem to carry on into the control room this evening, perhaps due to a general disappointment. It should not have been so, for this was just another day of patrol, except on this day the possibilities had been so great that we may have forgotten that our chances of finding the admiral were very small. Of one thing we were convinced: Koga had escaped to Davy Jones’s locker.
Fraz brought his chart down to the wardroom with our projected 2000 position on the track, and we started thinking about the next day. We would enter our new area at midnight and patrol east of Davao City. From there we would commence the real operations that had brought us farther west and had been detailed in the second half of the Ultra. Four Japanese cruisers had been sighted by an Australian coast watcher as they proceeded up Davao Gulf, an enormous bay extending up from the southeast tip of Mindanao. Tang would join forces with available submarines from Fremantle to intercept them. ComSubSoWesPac was closer to the scenes of current action than the command at Pearl. Less hampered by surrounding commands and staffs, he could seize upon this opportunity and issue some broad, flexible orders. The submarines would do the rest, and sink all of them.
A single rock-crusher moved Tang quietly into her area at midnight and on to its western boundary, still 120 miles short of Mindanao, at 0300 on April 4. The OOD stopped our ship as directed in the night orders and instigated the all-out search that had now become routine when our boat was lying to. As soon as Fraz and Jones had their stars on morning twilight’s first horizon, two blasts took us down.
Our trim dive was routine. We stayed down only till periscope visibility was good and then commenced our surface patrol. A good breakfast, another day, and new possibilities seemed to give us a lift. That apparently applied to everyone, for on his own, Jones came forward with our best chart of Davao Gulf. At my invitation, he joined us at the wardroom table; he had visited the gulf in S-boats before the war and was able to point out advantageous positions. That we did not have a large-scale chart did not bother us (I had navigated Wahoo into Wewak Harbor using a chart we had prepared from an Australian school geography). If we ran aground while traveling submerged, we could just back off the shallow spot; and if we proceeded slowly with decks awash while on the surface, we’d only have to start the turbos to be clear for backing.
The first plane of this area interrupted our speculation, providing the only topside activity for the day. Below, the troops were not idle. A general campaign for all hands to complete the course books for their next rate was under way. The executive officer had instigated the program when Tang reached her first patrol station, and the ball seemed to be rolling without coercion. The messroom looked like a schoolroom when I came forward from a midmorning turn through the boat. At only one table was an acey-deucey game going on. At the others, groups were working together, filling in the answers and getting ready for their tests. On patrol, this was something to see; at least these men were accomplishing something important.
We were concerned about our fuel, not that it wouldn’t get us home, but the high-speed chases that had been the making of Tang’s first patrol would not be possible too much longer. My concern was not shared by all. I was in no position to avoid overhearing a torpedo room conversation. The crew had stepped off the distance to Fremantle on their messroom chart and figured, should fuel become critical, Tang could have her refit down under. The stories from Fremantle had pretty well permeated the submarine force, especially that of a cooperative venture by the enlisted men of the staff and boats. Pooling resources, they had purchased an excellent thoroughbred prospect, employed a trainer, and raced their horse just once. At the last minute all of their money went on his nose through the trackside bookies. The tales of submarine bluejackets with fists full of pound notes were still reverberating.
And then the real motive behind an Australian refit unfolded. In any ship’s company there is always at least one adept gambler. Tang’s was Steward’s Mate Walker, apparently equally at home with cards or bones. Members of the crew had pooled their $10 stipends at Midway, and with this Walker had taken the civilian workmen to the cleaners. So the crew’s request for an early departure from Midway was not then purely flag waving or boredom with the gooneys, and had nothing to do with the lack of mast cases or trouble. It was just a sure way of getting the money off the island. What better place to spend it than Australia!
Fortunately, there is a regulation strictly forbidding financial dealings between officers and enlisted men. Certainly, interpreted broadly, this meant I should not become involved. It was my out, but I wondered just how much cash they had on board and where they’d stashed it away.
Another message finally came in on the Fox, an ope
rational change, but not the one we anticipated or wanted. Tang was moved in to the 100-mile position, another 20 miles closer to Davao City. The boats from Fremantle were similarly stationed; we were back to the circular screen, net, trap, or whatever one wanted to call it. I had my own name for it, but we had agreed to save our profanity for the enemy.
The air patrol was a couple of hours late on April 5, apparently covering our new position on a later pass. The following day it didn’t even show up. The 2100 Fox brought another message, directing us to return to area 10 W at Palau. Thoughts of continuing our patrol through the South China Sea and on to Australia were replaced by those of returning to a stagnant area over 450 miles to the east, not a happy exchange. More disturbing was the thought of four enemy cruisers probably steaming off to join their fleet, when they should have been attacked by the submarines assembled to do exactly that. The other participating submarines must surely have had identical sentiments.
Midway did not have all of the facilities necessary to convert Tang’s numbers 4A and 4B ballast tanks to additional reserve fuel oil tanks, as had recently been authorized. This would have added another 1,500 miles to the cruising range of the average boat and, the way we were operating, another 2,000 to Tang’s. Apparently SubPac’s staff engineer did not have a list of the boats with this conversion, or if so, staff operations hadn’t seen it. Already Archerfish had cried uncle and was creeping back to base low on fuel. Tang was still patrolling for four reasons: our early departure, which allowed a slower, more economical speed; our straight course, which saved a good ten percent over zigzagging; the extra fuel we had stowed wherever possible; and our singular method of patrolling when we didn’t have anyplace to go, lying to day or night. Now we would add a fifth.
The 500 KW auxiliary engine, 670 horsepower, was carrying the electric load and pushing us along at 4½ knots, sometimes up to 5 when the electric ranges were off and the auxiliary load was light. It seemed and sounded like an outboard motor, kerring away, but at least if and when we made contact, we’d have the wherewithal to run the bastard down, though we felt a little naked passing through unknown waters at this speed. This was especially true during the second and third days, when the seas were scattered with oil drums, probably the deck cargoes of sunken ships, extending on out to the horizon in all directions. An enemy’s scope would be difficult to spot, but we convinced ourselves that he would give us at least 6 knots in his angle solver, for no submarine traveled at 4½, and his torpedoes would miss ahead. Then too, our lookouts were thoroughly aware of the dangers and needed no prompting. There were always waiting volunteers, and sometimes I wondered if some of them just preferred to be topside when cruising like this.
We could look forward to more secure nights, with the advantage of our good SJ, but on the midafternoon test it went out of commission. Caverly’s concise report contained all the necessary information and a bit of sentiment, too: “The SJ’s just crapped out, Captain.” Ed Beaumont, Caverly, and Bergman started round-the-clock repairs. One thing that never crapped out was the vision the good Lord gave our lads, and two more lookouts went to the forward 20-millimeter gun platform. In the event of a dive, they would clear into the gun access trunk, whose lower hatch was already closed. I didn’t like it and they didn’t like it, but that’s the way things are sometimes.
Surely this short voyage was the modern wartime equivalent of a privateer caught in the doldrums, not knowing what might fetch up from where. Time did not drag, for the potential dangers and opportunities were so great, but keeping the adrenaline at a decent level must truly have tried nature’s mechanisms.
Air patrols had kept our bow and stern planes limbered up on the odd days, and now one hour into the 10th, as we neared Palau, the Japanese changed their’ schedule. At dawn we were shielded by a nice overcast, but a steadily decreasing SD radar range was disturbing until it commenced opening up, at five miles. At breakfast, a plane that would spot us if it broke through the low clouds drove us down till its pip disappeared. The following hour passed routinely, and then a calm, loud “Clear the bridge! Clear the bridge!” and two precise blasts sent us down again. We knew by Hank’s voice that this was no plane, but neither was it a ship for us. The single stick and deckhouse of a patrol boat poked over the horizon. We tried to close, but she was heading off to the northeast at over 15 knots and out of range. We wondered if she, too, had been searching day after day after day. Tang was now less than 50 miles from Palau. We would continue on submerged to close the island undetected. The navigator laid down our track to a point five miles off Toagel Mlungui Pass.
5
It was late afternoon when Bill reported the lower slopes of Babelthuap Mountain, our first landfall since Pagan Island, over three weeks earlier. The summit was obscured in the overcast, and nowhere on the green inclines were there sharp, known projections for bearings to fix our position. Seaman’s eye agreed with our dead reckoning, however, and Tang’s position was good enough to intercept shipping headed for Toagel Mlungui Pass into Palau. After more than 2,000 miles since last sighting land, not knowing exactly where we were seemed excusable. This is but one of the advantages a submarine holds over aircraft; when there is doubt about her position, she can just stop. Besides, closing the reef submerged this day would entail turning right around before dark to reach a secure location for our battery charge. I decided to leave well enough alone. Tang poked along at periscope depth, with an occasional high search, and surfaced well into evening twilight.
The night would provide a new experience for a good part of our ship’s company, for we would not be using radar. As far as the SJ went, we had no option, since its transmitter was still undergoing a rebuilding job. The SD would not be fired off because at this range from an enemy base its longer wavelength signal could be picked up by direction finders, and bombers would be vectored out along the bearing that the shore installation had obtained. Some might not come too close, as they would not know our distance from the island, but for others we would have to dive. In either case, our presence would be known, and any ships would be routed clear of us. Being without radar would take a little getting used to, even for those of us who were patrolling that way when the war started. There would be other differences and areas of emphasis. After we had surfaced, I included them in the night orders.
Lying to, approximately 15 miles west of Toagel Mlungui Pass, charging batteries. We will not be using radar, so be sure each lookout is completely night-adapted before assuming his watch and understands our status. Sound is manned and may be our major defense. Hold any maneuvering on the battery to lowest speeds and maintain quiet.
The duty chief will assure himself that all trash sacks are well secured and weighted, as we want no telltales in this area at dawn. Our low silhouette gives us the advantage, but only if all lookouts do their best. A patrol or ship can come from any direction.
Keep me completely informed. Call me at any time. If in doubt, dive!
We will dive early into morning twilight, and patrol submerged.
It had been a quiet, serious night, blessed by clearing skies. With Tang now submerged, Fraz and Jones were working up their morning stars, and the duty steward had just brought hot coffee to the conning tower. On the dispatch board was a message from Trigger to ComSubPac that radio had intercepted. She would be four days late in moving into the southern half of area 10 W due to a convoy encounter en route and some damage. Maybe with her help we could stir something up. There was definitely something to be said for this old-fashioned patrol routine, for the tension of the night was gone and we were in a secure position, ready to attack. Scotty was on the scope, and I had complete confidence in him as an OOD, but I wished he had more interest in the machinery that surrounded us. He would have to master it all before qualification.
The spot we had selected for the day’s patrol was ten miles west of Ngaruangl Passage. From there we would be able to intercept any shipping that came through this pass or around Velasco Reef heading for Toa
gel Mlungui. Later, we could spot and trail for night attack any outbound ships. It looked like a natural, the first likely place to intercept the enemy in our entire four weeks and 5,000 miles of patrol. Tang moved in cautiously, for the enemy must come to her as he steamed through either pass or around the reef. Everything depended upon remaining undetected, even unsuspected. Each search would start with minimum scope, and only occasionally would we come up to examine the lagoon and the seas to the west.
The first call came during breakfast, distant echo-ranging. Bergman had just returned to his radar repairs and took the sound watch. Then he flipped on the speaker above the receivers so that the rest of us in the conning tower could hear. The report had been good, but the hollow pings lacked the cadence of an automatic man-made signal and contained a varying inflection. We had some distant porpoises, but even their talk was better than nothing, for it had served to liven things up a bit. The porpoises, the grinding of groupers’ teeth, and the other varied noises near the reef were our only sound contacts. The periscope did no better. Tang should have joined the Audubon Society, however, for seabirds were in sight almost continuously. They seemed to delight in hanging around the scope, as if above a school of fish, which might just have been the case. We headed northwest an hour before sunset so as to surface farther at sea but still close enough to sight any ship through 7 × 50s. Nothing moved.
Clear the Bridge! Page 16