Clear the Bridge!

by Richard O'Kane

  Since Trigger would not be entering her area until April 14, we moved south after our battery charge was completed. Our new position, off Toagel Mlungui, would cover both areas a little better, but just to be sure, our submerged track took us two miles off the channel entrance. This seemed a little cramped, so we spent most of the day two miles farther out. One four-motored flying boat, which landed in the lagoon, was our only sighting in two days. Time was not lost, however, for Frank and Mel completed the rigid requirements for qualification except for an exercise torpedo shoot. If our patrol should come by, we might just let Frank simulate a firing; but the Japanese did not oblige.

  In midafternoon a mild cheer came down from the conning tower. Five days of struggle had put the radar back on its feet. The pile of useless condensers, resistors, and tubes would fill a couple of white hats, and that did not count two modulator units that had leaked their oil. We all liked this higher powered SJ when it was working, but would gladly have swapped it for the previous model, which the older boats had. Though that one didn’t have the zip, the bugs had been taken out and it was more reliable. The present trouble seemed to be mostly a matter of heat, and better ways of dissipating it would have to be devised.

  After looking over the channels and the reefs, it was apparent that they would not be used after dark. Quietly we withdrew farther to the northwest, where we could use our SJ, and resumed our usual night patrol routine.

  “Radar interference bearing zero five zero, Captain.” I thanked the messenger and gave my head a quick shake to chase away the cobwebs. I liked patrolling without emitting any radar or other signals but would have to admit that sleeping was better with the SJ in shape. Frank was in the wardroom putting the finishing touches on the drawings in his qualification notebook. It was 0155, so he would have been at it since coming off watch at midnight. I knew that some considered me a stickler in adhering to this peacetime requirement, but Frank’s qualification for command would follow quickly. At that time he should know the boat more thoroughly than any of his juniors, and it looked as if he would. After a cup of coffee, we both went topside, pausing in the conning tower. Fraz was there ahead of us, now keying the radar transmitter. The reply was a simple short period of interference, a long one, and a short one again. It was an R, or Roger, and could only come from Trigger. Three-quarters of an hour went by before we had a pip at 18,000 yards. That augured well for future simple secure communications, probably out to 20 miles.

  We closed rapidly, and our combined speeds brought Trigger and Tang together in less than a half hour. I had been dubious about the new camouflage submarine paint jobs—decks black, sides a light gray haze, and all voids in white—but this rendezvous convinced all of us topside. Without 7 × 50s we could not see Trigger lying to at 500 yards, and we would have missed her with binoculars except for the seas pouring out of the limber holes where the superstructure met the ballast tanks.

  Trigger needed spare parts to repair her damaged equipment, but there wasn’t time before dawn to put over a rubber boat. By blinker gun we settled on preliminary arrangements for covering the area and established communications by sound pings for possible future use. She was not in shape to patrol in close, so we headed in to Toagel Mlungui Pass, with another rendezvous set up for after dark. With Trigger to handle offshore shipping, we could move in closer. Tang dived and crept to a position two miles off the channel entrance. Nothing stirred inside the large lagoon during the long morning.

  At lunch Hank sent down word of squalls moving in from the northwest. Fraz went up to take a look. Soon the sound of rain beating on the surface of the sea set up a dull roar below. By 1400 we were surrounded by heavy rain, with visibility no more than a mile. Should a ship appear, there would be insufficient distance to track her, and torpedo firing would be as from the hip. To prevent this, and lest a ship slip by in the reduced visibility after all these hours of waiting, we surfaced and took a new position, six miles from the channel. Here our SJ would make timely contact and Tang would have maneuvering room for attack. Still the enemy did not move, and at dark we headed out to find Trigger.

  It was past midnight when we finally located her, for again our SJ was on the verge of giving up the ghost, and as luck would have it, so was Triggers. It had been the plan to transfer spare parts this night by rubber boat, but with the seas kicked up by heavy squalls, “‘tweren’t fittin’ fer low’rin’.” Instead we resorted to the line throwing gun-tin can method, and sent over the information about the area, our ideas for covering it with two submarines, and a list of simple tactics with signals. Fritz Harlfinger, commanding Trigger, sent back some compatible ideas. We all saw eye to eye and now needed only some moderate weather for transferring the spares and some enemy ships to work on.

  The Japanese did not cooperate, but the weather did. After another full day off Toagel Mlungui, with a morning flying boat and an afternoon bomber as highlights, we found Trigger again. Through 7 × 50s we were watching as she got her rubber boat ready in the usual place forward of the conning tower. All of a sudden we heard the whoosh of air as she unexpectedly opened her forward group vents. Down went her bow, half under water, and the boat crew paddled off as if from a sloping beach.

  It was not unusual to read in a patrol report, “Contacted the U.S.S. so-and-so to exchange information concerning shipping in the area.” In submarine language that also meant that the boats exchanged movie programs. This night was no exception. The sopped cans were struck below, where willing hands used up a fair amount of Chief Pharmacist’s Mate Rowell’s gauze and cotton in wiping the salt water from the film. There was no record of the film having been damaged by this; in fact, the submariners claimed that the salt water just fixed the emulsion a little better.

  On the return trip, Trigger took the required spares, compressor valves and cages, radar tubes, and our spare battery ventilation motor. Fortunately, this could replace her burned-up sound training motor. If they flushed the salt water out and dried it in one of the galley ovens, it should work fine. There was no need to tell Trigger this; her crew had been through these things before.

  Though there had been no ships yet, the other activities of April 15 seemed to give all hands a lift. Maybe it was just the change, but of course the new movies were not to be overlooked. On the following day, Tang varied her routine with an all-day submerged search down along the reef to investigate the lower lagoon and the western entrance to Malakal Harbor. Staying in close to the reef without adequate charts kept Fraz and Jones on their toes. In this kind of situation an experienced soundman was indispensable as he noted changes in the intensity and bearing of the noise created by the seas passing over the reefs. The navigation was excellent, but the harbor was empty. Still, the Japanese would not likely leave their ships in exposed roadsteads when small fjords were at hand among the various steep islands. Like many a submarine on patrol, we clung to the hope that sooner or later the enemy would send his ships out If he didn’t, the war was essentially over.

  The 17th brought one flying boat, but that night our board deciphered a message in which Tang and Trigger were information addressees. Fraz and I read it somewhat flabbergasted. Sunfish would be indefinitely delayed in reaching area 10 E. That was the eastern side of Palau, where Gar had been on lifeguard during Desecrate. She had long since departed. We could surmise only that it was Archerfish who had relieved Gar, but she, too, had left for lack of fuel while we were en route to Davao Gulf. No submarine was now off Malakal Pass, and the Japanese were probably running their ships through it and on to the Empire unmolested.

  Because of the total lack of shipping, Fraz and I had become pretty well convinced that Toagel Mlungui and the lesser passes had been mined by our aircraft during Desecrate. But we still couldn’t quite bring ourselves to believe that Tang would be left guarding mined channels, and the arrival of Trigger had somewhat allayed our apprehensions. Now, having two of us in essentially the same area to the west and no submarine to the east showed that lack of kno
wledge or confusion existed in ComSubPac’s staff, maybe both. There had been a comparable situation at Wake soon after the war began. Tambor was put in Tritons area to the north of the atoll instead of the vacant area to the south. Triton broke radio silence, announcing that there was an unidentified submarine in her area, and if it was there on the succeeding day she was going to torpedo it. The operational-urgent messages that hit the schedules that night were something to decode. But over two years had passed since then; by now we should have learned to put the round pegs in the round holes, and even the square ones in the square holes, too.

  We decided to sit on the information until we made the next scheduled rendezvous with Trigger after our usual submerged patrol. Maybe the following Fox would contain a message to us clarifying the situation and with some area reassignments to properly cover the shipping lanes to these islands. Frank had the complete story of this side of the atoll and could present our views to Captain Harlfinger and come back with his. This was something that just couldn’t be done by blinker gun or any of the secure means of communication.

  At 2130, after another fruitless day with only the usual flying boat, Frank and Leibold paddled out toward Trigger, barely visible though but 400 yards away. Our rubber boat was quickly swallowed up in the darkness, but we could soon tell by the activity on Trigger’s deck that it had reached there safely. With them were more compressor parts and a spare radar modulation network for exchange. Maybe Triggers would work for us and vice versa. It was worth a try.

  The conference went on while we stood on one foot and then the other, expecting the rubber boat to heave in sight momentarily. Finally it was alongside, with Ed assisting from on deck. I believe he really just wanted to get his hands on the modulation network, but I did see him help pull Frank up. Frank’s report was brief. Though Trigger was in full agreement that something had to be done, she wanted to stick together for another day or so while she completed repairs to the damage from her drubbing by the convoy’s escorts.

  Tang spent the next three days patrolling close in during the day and then withdrawing to charge the batteries and to give room for a radar run on any inbound convoy. A daily flying boat or bomber over the atoll was our only reward. On April 22, however, activity picked up with a flight of five bombers just before noon, a single at 1300, and five more at midafternoon. Though we saw no explosions, we believed the planes were ours, flying up from New Guinea. On the first Fox that night was a message addressed for action to Tang.

  6

  The sea was crisp, the kind that seems to kick the flying fish into their long glides. Two had landed on deck during the night, and a third had bashed into the conning tower, their whitish-blue shapes just visible in the dim predawn light. Mel sent for the duty steward, and in three shakes Adams was scurrying around on deck retrieving them. He was just as excited over the one large fish as if he’d caught it himself, and in a sense he had, for it was still flipping. A submarine is not a democracy, and I chose the large one for breakfast. They are bony things, but if you’ve been brought up on the New England coast handling that is no problem.

  It was a new day, and Tang was heading for a new area with a new mission. Most of this we liked, but it was not without problems. The area west of Palau was dead and in our opinion would remain so indefinitely. Now heading east, we had a greater chance of intercepting the enemy. At this moment, 60 miles east of Palau, we could be crossing the track of a ship heading in from Yap. By morning our present speed would put us on a line connecting Yap with Woleai, and so it would go as Tang passed through the Carolines right back to Truk. Among the problems was the 1,200 miles to get there. If there had been any doubt before concerning the staff’s lack of knowledge of fuel capacities, this dispelled it. It also accounted for our one-engine speed. If time were not a factor, we’d be back on the auxiliary now, and in all truth that little engine might have to go on propulsion yet. Still, this was a challenge of a sort. Unlike steam plants, a diesel’s injectors measure an exact amount of fuel. There are no tricks such as running on back pressure; only reduced speed and auxiliary load will help. Tang would see what she could get along without and at the same time not get torpedoed. Another part of the dispatch that we did not like was the list of exact positions we were to occupy. Again, here were directives from Pearl to cover an operation 3,000 miles away. This time, however, Tang had an out, for she would be the only submarine at Truk for the continuing strikes by our Liberators from the Marshalls and for the second carrier air strike. We’d go to the assigned positions—we had to start from somewhere—and then we’d go wherever necessary and do whatever we had to in rescuing downed aviators. Lifeguard was our mission.

  The complete operation would not be new to us, for though we had not been called upon at Wake for any rescue when we were there during our first patrol, all hands had given it considerable thought and some preparations had been made. The bridle for towing a floatplane clear was still aboard and might be used even if just in towing a raft. At Desecrate, we had been aghast when ComSubPac moved Tunny from close in to Toagel Mlungui Pass out to 30 miles for her lifeguard services. Presumably, that was to permit her to remain on the surface to receive reports of downed aviators and then to effect rescue. It was our expectation to move in as soon as our identification was established and to be off the reef, or at least at a close-in focal point. Involved with dive-bombers, fighters, and capital ships, the Japanese would surely not be diverting any of their air to attack a single submarine. But there could be opposition from shore batteries, so at midafternoon we would commence preparations to counter that.

  I still did not feel that a deck gun, in this age, was of much value to an attack submarine. During construction I had argued to at least have our gun moved aft of the conning tower. If an enemy ship had comparable or greater speed, it was axiomatic that she’d be able to outgun us. Our own gun would be used for defense, shooting astern. With the gun mounted forward of the conning tower, we would have to change course in order to bring the gun to bear on a pursuer. That would not only present a broader target to the enemy but would also reduce the component of speed, not a nice situation when a sub couldn’t dive. On the other hand, if we had more speed, we could pick our position, and a gun aft was essentially as good. I may have won the argument, but the gun stayed forward. Now, however, with the prospect of using the gun against land-based forces, I might have to review a part of my thinking, and Frank had pointer and trainer drill set up at 1500.

  Fraz and I took turns on the bridge as Leibold pointed and Cacciola trained the 4-inch, 53-caliber deck gun. Their targets were obliging gooneys, skimming the waves. White, our gunner’s mate and gun captain, was in charge, slamming the breech and calling a realistic “Ready one!” Leibold was elevating or depressing against our roll and kicking off the simulated rounds as Tang momentarily steadied, while his trainer was apparently staying on in azimuth. Though these three had fired as a team only during our shakedown, a knowledgeable glance would indicate they were no novices. Frank, on the spotting scope, an additional eyepiece of the pointers scope, confirmed this. We secured until sunset, when a search plane would be unlikely to interrupt our further preparations.

  On schedule the OOD called, “Battle stations—gun!” The gun crew would fire as many rounds as necessary to establish the correlation between the sight bar range on the gun and the actual radar range. The operation was simple, something we should have done on our shakedown. No target was necessary, just the sharp horizon. At 2,000-yard sight bar increments, the gun crew fired seven careful shots, kicked off with the cross hair exactly on the horizon. Ed and Caverly recorded the radar range of the splashes, and surprisingly, knowing the exact bearing, were able to record all of them. The pointer and trainer remained topside with Frank to determine the limiting point of evening twilight for accurate sighting and then they, too, went below.

  The seas and night were quiet, but below decks things were buzzing a bit. We had altered course to the northeast, and the chart in
the crew’s mess told all hands that Fais Island lay ahead. Tang would dive short of the island about midmorning, then move in to reconnoiter. There was always the small chance of finding a freighter there, loading at the phosphorite plant, and it was no secret that failing this some target practice was assured.

  Fraz and Jones had a good round of morning stars and Tang was right on the track at our dead reckoning position. Ten hundred came; Mel’s unexcited “Clear the bridge” and two blasts sent us down to close the site of the refinery at a quiet 4 knots. First with high periscope and then with but two feet as we drew near, our search was careful and thorough. No ship was moored at the refinery, and to even things, new gun emplacements were plainly visible. They would be enough to keep any submarine that had ideas of bombarding the refinery off to seaward at a respectable distance.

  Tang’s plan was not original but contained refinements over a previous visit I had made in Wahoo. The first step had already been taken when Frank plotted the curve of radar versus sight bar ranges. Now we moved in cautiously to obtain the exact bearing line between the island’s lookout tower and the refinery. It was 128 degrees true. With this line drawn and the position of the other important-looking structures plotted, we came right and slowly proceeded around Fais until the lookout tower bore 308 degrees true. The sun had set when we stuck the SJ out for an accurate range. It was 7,300 yards, a respectable distance but one at which we knew the 4-inch gun could hit. Of more importance, Fais Island’s guns would not bear on us.

  The Bells of St. Mary’s were sounded in earnest, accompanied by “Stand by for battle surface!” It was a beautiful maneuver to watch. The gun crew and ammunition train were lined up to the gun access hatch. Everything was in readiness in the conning tower.

  “All ahead standard. Blow safety and hold her down with the planes, Bill.” Bill gave her a 5-degree down-angle, and we were swimming down with safety dry.