A 40-minute high-speed run got us clear and into darkness. With only the reefs to worry us, we rolled around Kuop Atoll, then to a spot six miles east of Feinif Island, located on the eastern reef. From there we commenced a zigzag search to the southwest, running a half hour on each leg and firing a green Very star every 15 minutes, one at each turn and one in the middle of each leg. These were not prearranged signals but ones we hoped an aviator would recognize and answer with any one of the pyrotechnics in his raft. It was a rough night for the navigator and not an entirely calm one for me, especially because we closed the reef hourly and my responsibilities brought me to the bridge. The only reply, sighted on some occasions, was a series of red or white flashing lights that changed bearing rapidly, as if flashed along a runway. We were not bothered by the enemy, probably because we used only the SJ, and that sparingly. Neither did we accomplish anything other than assuring ourselves that we had covered the area of the reported raft thoroughly and had given this night our best.
It was now 0330. Tang had worked well around the reef, so we headed out to a proper position for the second day of the strike, hoping to have another chance to find the lonely pilot and crew we must be leaving behind.
Engineering officer Bill Walsh used a 16-millimeter camera to record action during Tang’s rescues of navy fliers at Truk. Above: Three aviators are pulled aboard from a raft. Below: The 4-inch gun crew holds down opposition from enemy batteries on Ollan Island as Tang races toward another downed plane. U.S. NAVY PHOTOGRAPHS
Tang approaches Lieutenant (jg) J. A. Burns’s Kingfisher, from the battleship North Carolina. Burns has already picked up several other aviators, bringing them seaward for rescue, U.S. NAVY PHOTOGRAPH
Lines are thrown to the damaged floatplane to hold it alongside, and the aviators begin scrambling to safety, U.S. NAVY PHOTOGRAPHS
To prevent the Japanese from salvaging it, Burns’s plane is sunk by fire from Tang’s machine gun. U.S. NAVY PHOTOGRAPHS
From her 11,150-mile second patrol, Tang returns to Submarine Base, Pearl Harbor, with the rescued aviators aboard and is congratulated for a job well done. Off the reefs during Task Force 58’s strikes on Truk April 30-May 1, 1944, Tang picked up 22 fliers, the largest submarine rescue of naval airmen in the war. U.S. NAVY PHOTOGRAPHS
8
Radar interference from Task Force 58 waved across our SJ tube minutes after we left the reef. Perhaps it had been there for some time, but our concentration had been elsewhere. If we could note this radar from our low height, surely the Japanese installations atop Tol or Dublon islands had it, too, probably for some hours. The attack had seemed to achieve little surprise the day before; today the enemy would be thoroughly ready if he still had the wherewithal to strike back. With this in mind, we proceeded cautiously to the position we had selected and were stopped, lying to, at the crack of dawn. We were at a focal point of possible rescues, 13 miles closer to the reef than assigned on the first day but still nearly ten miles out. Here we were hull down from the highest points of the outlying islands, beyond their gunfire, but we would be able to watch them with raised periscopes as soon as it got light. We were searching with a half dozen pairs of 7 × 50s, the scopes, and sound as the gray in the east turned to pink. If this array failed to spot the enemy first, nothing would.
“Submarine conning tower bearing zero three five.” It was Ogden, Jones’s understudy, on the search scope. Both periscopes went down simultaneously. She had to be enemy; Tang was the only U.S. submarine assigned to this area. Another single look showed a narrow conning tower and a true bearing change of 4 degrees to the right. Tang could reach her submerged. The dive was quiet, as if the enemy might hear us, and Tang went to battle stations against a bona fide target for the first time in 48 days of patrol.
Our course was 080, nearly east, to close the enemy’s track, and we were moving at standard speed, for he would not be able to hear us above his own surface screw noises. At the end of ten minutes, we stopped our screws momentarily so that our soundmen could obtain a bearing. The enemy had drawn only 5 more degrees to the right; Tang would make it handily. Another short run and we should be close enough to call the angle on the bow.
“All ahead one-third.” The quartermaster called out our speed as we slowed, fully aware that in such an approach a periscope feather from too much speed could turn the hunter into the hunted. Our speed reached 3 knots, still dropping.
“Up scope.” Jones brought the handles to my hands and then followed me up from my squatting position.
“Bearing—mark! Down scope.” The angle on the bow was still sharp, difficult to call on a nearly circular conning tower. I said 15 starboard. Frank was doing a good job of analyzing on the TDC. The submarine was coming due south from Otta Pass and making 12 knots; the range generated on the data computer was 4,500 yards. In four minutes the range would be 3,000 and the angle on the bow 30. Our torpedo run would be 1,500 yards if we remained nearly stationary, but we would be closing. “All ahead two-thirds.” If we maintained this 6 knots for three minutes, the torpedo run at firing would be under 900 yards, just what we wanted.
“All ahead one-third.” Again the only one speaking was the quartermaster, calling our speed by the half knot as Tang slowed.
“Up scope.” Jones was bringing the handles to the level I indicated. The outer doors were open, ready to fire.
“Lost his screws, Captain!” It was the dreaded report from Caverly on sound. Jones brought the scope up smartly, right on the generated bearing that Frank called. The enemy had dived! We could not fire on the fly without first engaging the depth-setting spindles on each torpedo, and then what was the enemy submarine’s depth? A quick sweep and I had the probable reason for our misfortune: Coming in were flights of our own bombers and fighters, maybe a hundred of them. That was the probable reason, but not necessarily the only one. We had quickly passed into that doubtful area of who is attacking whom, aptly compared to a duel in a pitch-black cellar.
We quickly rigged for silent running, for defense as well as to give our soundmen every possible break in regaining contact. Simultaneously, Tang was slithering down to 150 feet; we could fire just as well from there, and at least should the enemy make an educated guess that we were at periscope depth, he would be wrong. Sound could hear nothing, though we stopped our screws frequently while proceeding along the enemy’s last course. Periscope depth again did no better, and now as in our tussle with the destroyer, we had to disclose our presence first. Our lifeguard job could not be delayed. We turned away, made a short standard-speed run, and hit the surface at full power on the battery. The diesels fired, and we rolled toward the reported position of the previous night’s life-raft for another try.
The submarine, identified as an RO class, had been heading for Task Force 58. Mel hurried with our contact report, which gave the time and position of diving, her course, and probable submerged speed. On the advice of Lieutenant Scammell, our largest colors were lashed flat on the deck, one forward and one aft of the conning tower. If an aviator thought his fellow airmen would be prone to attack any submarine as a result of our contact report, who were we to argue! The job was barely completed when our AIC made its first report. The time was 0828, and they had been guarding both the VHF tactical frequency, piped in from radio, and 4475 on the Hallicrafter, and had Tang on the way 15 minutes before the official report of a raft was received from the flagship.
The downed airmen were two and a half miles off our favorite Ollan Island. Though it was a short run, we rolled in at emergency speed to find what at first looked like a mess but turned out to be a blessing. A floatplane had half capsized in the crosschop while attempting a rescue, but another Kingfisher floatplane had made a precarious landing and on our arrival was towing both his fellow pilot and the raft clear of the island. This action and that of the nearby fighters who were strafing the island greatly speeded up the rescue attempt. Much to its disgust, our gun crew didn’t get to shoot as on the night before, instead pulling
aboard Lieutenant (jg) R. Kanze and his crewman, Second Class Aviation Radioman R. E. Hill. This was the crew whose raft we hadn’t been able to reach on the previous afternoon. Their night of paddling toward the Southern Cross had carried them beyond the reef and made the rescue possible. Back aft, Lieutenant J. J. Dowdle, his Kingfisher wrecked, scrambled aboard. The other Kingfisher had somehow gotten into the air, so our forward 20-millimeter gun crew proceeded with the business of sinking Dowdle’s plane.
A cry from aloft brought our attention to one of our torpedo bombers, smoking in a long glide across the lagoon toward our reef. We rang up flank and pleaded for more speed. Then our hearts sank; the plane would surely plunge into shallow water far short of an area we could reach. Our gun crew got its chance as we passed Ollan. The Japanese had cut down the trees during the night, apparently to keep our point-detonating shells from bursting overhead, but in so doing they further exposed their gun emplacements, especially to Frank, who went aloft to spot from our crow’s nest. When the plane seemed about to hit, it suddenly climbed sharply with a dying burst of power and glided over the reef into the sea, tail down, in what I supposed was a perfect ditching. In another 20 minutes, Scotty and his men were snaking Commander A. R. Matter plus his crewmen, Second Class Aviation Radioman J. J. Lenahan and Second Class Aviation Ordnanceman H. A. Thompson, onto Tang’s forward deck. It appeared that the life raft was only a bridge from the bomber to our boat, and they were wet only up to their knees. I was too busy to do more than simply welcome them and offer my cabin to the commander.
Tang could not dally, for she had another job off the eastern reef. Our AIC now had talent that would be the envy of any carrier or staff. They knew all the pilots by name—and most of them just by the sound of their voices—and were intercepting the reports and replying by voice over 4475, which was clear of the cluttered tactical VHF communications. They had essentially taken over from the big staff, running way ahead of any directives, and so was Tang as she raced for three more rafts. Our AIC was as good for us as for our attacking planes. At the moment we were entering the area of our dawn submarine contact and would have to cross it to round Kuop by the most direct route. Our mission, especially with airmen awaiting, certainly did not allow for the delay of zigzagging or following a circuitous route. Our AIC fixed everything by calling in planes that were returning after their bombing runs. In minutes they had an air cover for us, and never was a submarine better escorted.
Tang was high in the water, with negative, safety, and of course the converted fuel group dry, and with the Fairbanks Morse laying down a mild smoke screen with their overload. There was one more trick, good for an extra knot and a half; maybe we could squeeze it to 2. We had proved it in Wahoo, running both ways over a five-mile course in Moreton Bay, near the mouth of the Brisbane River. It required only that one of the turbo blowers be kept running continuously. The low-pressure air kept the ballast tanks dry clear down to the flood openings and sent a constant stream of bubbles up around the hull. This shield of bubbles apparently reduced the skin resistance of the submarine as she slid through the water. Never had a submarine gone faster, and should the turbo burn up, we still had another, like the duplicate machinery throughout the boat. In short order we had passed through the danger area, and if the enemy submarine was still there, she had but a fleeting look.
Now for the first time this day we had a chance to really observe the continuing attack. This was no 10,000-foot stuff; our dive-bombers were peeling off at about 3,500 feet and carrying their bombs home. With clear skies, the attacks were coming in from different sectors. The flak was more spread out than it had been on the first day, giving the impression that antiaircraft fire might have been greatly reduced. Time and again, it seemed that the dive-bombers would not be able to pull out, but they did, almost all that had not been hit, and some of those that had and were trailing smoke. The obvious devotion of these men, pushing danger aside in carrying out their task, made all of us proud to be a small part of the same navy.
Our AIC now reported that Lieutenant (jg) J. A. Burns had again landed his floatplane from the battleship North Carolina, this time off the eastern reef in the vicinity of the three rafts we were heading for, so we requested that he attempt to tow the rafts clear. He was a big jump ahead of us, however, having taken some of the men onto his float and towing the rest to seaward. Since they were now in no immediate danger, we followed our escorting planes to a raft off Mesegon Island, in the bight between Truk Atoll and Kuop. We thoroughly expected to be driven down, so Boatswain’s Mate Leibold slipped the towing bridle over the SD mast and secured a life ring and long line to it. We could now tow a raft, plane, or swimmer clear while submerged. Our escorts did such a fine job of strafing that again the Japanese could not man their guns, somewhat to the dismay of our own gun crew, which was standing by below. After another routine man-overboard maneuver, Hank’s men pulled Lieutenant H. E. Hill aboard, and Tang was off instantly for a swimmer just off the eastern reef of Kuop, about five miles to the south of us. Hill had seen our Very stars but dared not answer.
It was 1330 when we got there, and fortunately a plane had dropped a rubber boat to the pilot, who was already too weak to do more than get half his body over the side. But the rest of him in the water was acting as a sea anchor, preventing the wind from driving him ashore. Fortunately, submarines have a tendency to back upwind. We rigged in our sound heads so as not to break them off on the coral and stuck Tang’s bow very nearly ashore. The proper approach upwind was impossible, so a swimmer with line was standing by should the raft drift clear of our bow. But the human sea anchor did the job, and this pilot was pulled aboard as limp as he was wet.
It was 1410, and Tang was backing emergency, not because of the beach now drawing away from our bow, but to get on to the loaded Kingfisher floatplane and raft. We were barely up to speed when Chief Pharmacist’s Mate Rowell reported that our newest guest, Lieutenant (jg) J. G. Cole, was coming around but might do better with some depth-charge medicine. The brandy was locked up, and we were all busy, so I suggested some diluted grain alcohol, a small quantity of which Rowell kept and accounted for outside of the locked supply. This was what he probably had in mind anyway, and I’m not sure that Cole was the sole recipient.
The Kingfisher was down by the stern with a bashed tail from the seas, so Tang came alongside not worrying about crunching a wing. The pilots and crewmen, all nine of them, came over like a pack of hounds let out of a kennel. Tang’s new aviators were Lieutenant R. S. Nelson, Lieutenant (jg) R. Barbor, Lieutenant (jg) J. A. Burns, Ensign C. L. Farrell, First Class Aviation Radioman J. Livingston, Second Class Aviation Machinist’s Mate R. W. Gniebel, Second Class Aviation Radioman J. Hranek, Second Class Aviation Machinist’s Mate O. F. Tabrun, and Second Class Aviation Radioman A. J. Gill—and a happier bunch you’ve never seen.
Burns’s Kingfisher could not have been gotten into the air, so to prevent the Japanese from salvaging it, our after 20-millimeter gun crew took over. Somehow they managed to expend four pans of ammunition before sinking it, perhaps so that each of the crew would have a chance at firing, but I chose to attribute the performance to our moving out of range while working up to full power. It was 1515, and we had to round Kuop, go along the south reef of Truk Atoll, and on to the southwest of Ollan Island. There was the last reported raft. Fraz stepped off our half-hourly positions along this track. It was not encouraging, especially when all planes were recalled, for we could not reach the raft’s position till dark, and that would be exactly when we’d need assistance in the inevitable search. The chances would be even worse in the morning after the raft had drifted throughout the night and with the enemy back on top of us.
I dropped below to see what our aviators had to say about it, for they knew what it was like to be adrift in a rubber raft.
“Of course there are the new night fighters,” advised Lieutenant Barbor.
“Only the task force commander could authorize that,” injected Commander Ma
tter. I didn’t even know that night fighters were on the books, much less that such were on the line. That was the complete answer. Our AIC had Admiral Marc A. Mitscher on voice in seconds.
“We’ll need two night fighters to locate the last raft, Admiral.”
“You’ll have three,” was his reply. I believe that Commander Matter was a little taken aback that we hadn’t followed the chain of command, perhaps he considered himself in it, but the admiral seemed to like the way Tang did things.
Clear the Bridge! Page 19