Clear the Bridge!

by Richard O'Kane

  We glanced back at our ship’s washed-out paint job, running rust by the exhausts. Grudgingly, I admitted that she needed sprucing up. When we would next see her, she would be a camouflage haze gray with white beneath, the color of a gull.

  Part IV

  Third Patrol

  TO THE YELLOW SEA

  1

  Not one but two divided highways now led from Pearl Harbor to Honolulu. They were filled with fast late-afternoon traffic, and I thought with some nostalgia of the simple, black, two-lane road that had served so nicely in the late 1930s. The change was necessary, of course, for Oahu was the hub of our expanding Pacific war effort. Unchanged, however, were the Royal Hawaiian Hotel and its magnificent grounds, but a few minutes farther on. The sentry waved us through with a salute, and Fraz completed his first solo in four months.

  In minutes we were moved into our suite on the second deck, by chance a deluxe one. A rotunda with powder room had bedroom suites to right and left, each facing the ocean. Straight ahead was the living room, which opened to a spacious lanai. On the back of the rotunda’s closet door was a white card stating among other things that the charges were $100 a day. Of course that would have included all of the luxurious furnishings, but some of those had been replaced with items more sailor-proof. It was really better that way, for we’d not have to be over concerned about a dropped butt or a spilled drink. I am not sure who engineered the lease of the Royal Hawaiian as a submarine rest camp, but it was certainly advantageous to both the owners and the navy. The real winners were the submariners.

  The division engineer, who handled diverse tasks for the commander, had our mail waiting on the large lanai table. It was all in chronological order, except that the latest postmarked letter had been placed on top before the bundle was secured. Obviously, he had patrolled, too. One letter, one beer from the cooler under the table, and we set out to find Frank, Mel, and the others. As expected, they were at the first reef, where the water was deep enough for swimming without hitting bottom but still suitable for lolling around. The sun was about an hour from setting, and this was the time to start regaining our tans along with limbering up our arms and legs. There was no rush about this, or for dinner, since it would be served continuously, something that even the hotel’s prewar guests could not enjoy. Suddenly, the trials and frustrations of our second patrol, and even the satisfaction of Tang’s final task, were all a thousand miles away.

  Responsibility for a ship, even in upkeep, could never be completely delegated. The officer in charge of the relief crew could not possibly know a captain’s desires as would one of the regular department heads. At Midway this had been of no particular consequence, for none of us was ever more than a half mile away. Here, the 15 miles between the base and the hotel, with no travel after curfew, could have posed a problem except for one thing; Scotty and Bill, together with four leading petty officers, were holding down the fort. Scotty had orders to the submarine base and would take his time at the Royal after we had departed on patrol. Bill had orders to postgraduate school for engineering studies and, like the four petty officers, who were going to new boats, would take his recuperation time in the States. In the meantime, they were available to look out for Tang’s interest as the backlog of small alterations was completed. They would call Fraz or me as appropriate.

  The first call came at midmorning of the fourth day, relayed by Walker, who found me at the second reef. Fraz had some personnel matters to discuss with the staff, so he joined me in the car that Scotty had sent. Tang was still a washed-out, rusty black, but an alteration scheduled but unknown to us, was much blacker. In an attempt to insure good short-range VHF and UHF communications with the surface forces, two new antennas were being installed. Each would stick above the shears to afford all-around performance without blank sectors. Sticking anything unretractable at such a height was bad enough, but the alteration called for their installation plate and angle-iron brackets to be welded to port and starboard of the shears. This structure and the pipe carrying the coaxial cable would make access to our crow’s nest practically impossible. Further, the complete array could cause an unacceptable turbulence when we were at periscope depth and making anything above one-third speed, which would be just one more telltale for an alert enemy plane. It certainly appeared that our primary mission had been forgotten, so the next task was to find the base repair officer.

  It was not difficult; Commander W. D. Irvin was looking for me. Someone had apparently already told him that I had stopped the antenna work. We met about halfway between Tang and the base repair office. He was bristling.

  “What’s this about your stopping the VHF-UHF installation?” he demanded.

  “Not stopping, Commander, just delaying until we arrive at the installation best suited for Tang,” I replied, maintaining a level tone. It was not too difficult; he was senior to me and I’d had years of practice.

  “Well, what’s so damned special about you and the Tang that the antennas can’t be installed exactly as on the other boats?”

  Now, that remark didn’t seem exactly called for, but since he had asked, I described our crow’s nest, its all-around visibility and our means of access to it. Then I expressed my particular intent to maintain our streamlined silhouette, the best in the force, and to avoid the extra submerged turbulence that would be caused by structures hung out to port and starboard. Commander Irvin calmed down a bit, for like most others he obviously had never heard of a submarine with a crow’s nest. But he remained unbending.

  “Only the force commander can authorize any change!” was his closing remark.

  Where had I heard those words before, and would Admiral Lockwood be as cooperative as Admiral Mitscher? I had no choice but to find out, for the alternative would entail redoing the job at sea while en route to our next patrol station. Still, Admiral Lockwood had commanded submarines and might well understand the importance of this to Tang. He should not be bothered with this, but big men delegate tasks to subordinates and have more time for what seem to be small things than one might expect. The first part of my brief conversation with him concerned an appointment to discuss future task force-submarine operations, but as I was taking my leave I brought up the immediate problem.

  “Admiral, there is one thing you can do for Tang. We’re about to lose access to our crow’s nest unless the new VHF-UHF antennas are installed fore and aft of the shears. Will you authorize it?”

  The admiral was quite intrigued with Tang’s crow’s nest, though he did not delve into the details of how she happened to have one. The conversation revolved around limitations on radar usage, and lookouts, but not the antennas. Then he said simply, “Oh, yes, the antennas. It’s your boat, have them installed anywhere you want.”

  Surprisingly, Commander Irvin was quite agreeable.

  “Let’s go down and take a look,” he said. We were friends again, and that was somewhat important during a base overhaul.

  Having Bill and Scotty available during working hours, and this sometimes included most of the night, was not enough. Logically, their real interests were swinging to their coming assignments. There was a solution at hand, however. Our regular watch officers were spending more hours aboard following repair work than if they’d had a day’s duty. It would be no imposition to formalize this. Starting in the morning, we’d have an officer aboard who would be responsible for all repairs in our ship, one who would be going on patrol with work done by the submarine base.

  Fraz had worked out an excellent arrangement with force personnel. We could choose our replacements from the relief crew and could carry extra hands. For the most part, these officers and men were waiting on submarine billets. We would do what we could to select the best. I would reserve judgment about the antennas, but with everything now apparently under control, we headed back to the Royal, or more specifically, to the beach beyond the banyan trees.

  Several boats had returned from patrol, and that always made for an interesting evening. The conversati
ons were broad but always returned to patrol experiences. Just as at Midway, there was much to be learned, especially if one could listen and not talk. It was difficult. Slade Cutter and his Seahorse had been down at Satawan, to the south, during the Truk strike, and had piped all of our 4475 voice communications into their 1MC, so they heard it throughout the boat.

  “More exciting than any football broadcast ever thought of being,” he said, and that was from the man who had once kicked the field goal that was the only score in beating Army.

  “That’s the beauty of medium frequencies,” I commented. “They’re not temperamental and seem to get through; of course the enemy hears it, too, but that doesn’t always hurt anything.” Then I tipped them off concerning the new antenna installations that were in store. Commander Irvin might not remain a friend, but we would be long gone. Of more importance was the experience of one of the boats, which had been fired on while returning from patrol. When another boat said they would have fired torpedoes right down the wakes, it became clear that not everyone was aware of the prohibition against firing on another submarine, except in single-sub Empire areas, unless the submarine was positively identified as enemy. Perhaps a few Japanese submarines had gone free for a time because of this restriction, but that was better than sinking one of our own. So besides the pleasure of seeing old friends and participating in the bull sessions, we all learned a little more about fighting our submarines and of our common enemy as well.

  In the submarine force’s wartime organization, the division was generally an administrative unit, and though Tang like other boats had a permanent division assignment, in practice we reported to a commander present. The squadron commanders were usually training officers; some had patrol experience and all had had enough years in submarines to command our wholehearted respect. In patrol operations, however, our orders came directly from the force commander. Admiral Lockwood had an experienced staff to advise him and carry out his directives, but the staff was not in the chain of command. It was proper then, and frankly expected that I would see my boss in private if I had something on my mind, and that I did!

  I first discussed with the admiral our earlier operations at Truk, then at Palau and off Davao Gulf, giving our thoughts from on the scene of the inefficiency of the circular submarine disposition. Then I used my express-train example of what an individual submarine might expect.

  “That may be what happened to Tullibee,” Admiral Lockwood injected.

  That was my first knowledge of her failure to return. After a pause, I described our simplified operations with Trigger, in which both boats retained freedom of movement, and noted that in a similar situation, unknown to either submarine at the time, Tang and Sunfish might well have chased enemy ships to one another west of Saipan.

  “I’m glad to hear that, for it supports my intention for your next patrol, in the East China and Yellow seas. It will be with Sealion and Tinosa, all operating independently.”

  I expressed my complete satisfaction—who wouldn’t—and then paused again, for the final item I wished to bring up was a bit touchy. It took but a few sentences, however, to point out that if a senior submariner had been ordered to Admiral Mitscher’s staff, and if operational control of the submarines had passed to the task force commander for the strike on Palau, Tang and Trigger would not have been left guarding mined channels.

  This may have been the admiral’s first word of the mining; if so, it served to punctuate this recommendation. In any case, he thanked me for my frankness, and I left with the feeling that he was indeed an admiral for every one of us in the force.

  It was past time to resume our recreation, but one small task remained. I found Fraz at the officers’ club, and we took a quick turn through the boat for just one purpose, to find out how many extra bunks could be swung for extra hands. For the most part, these could be temporary, movable to the forward and after rooms when some torpedoes had been fired. A cursory look showed space for six; we might find more. That job was passed on to the duty officer, and we headed back to the Royal and the second reef, though already discussing the prospects for our coming patrol.

  Our troops seemed to have been pretty well swallowed up by Honolulu or the sea off Waikiki during daylight hours. Curfew in town came at dark, and if some strayed the MPs apparently delivered them quietly to the gate. There were more recreational facilities and more organized functions than at Midway. We had all been organized enough, however, and missed the spontaneous sport of our first upkeep. Still, there had been no troubles that we knew of, no mast cases were pending, and already our time ashore was drawing to a close. Fraz, Frank, and I were congratulating the crew and each other over a couple of beers when a messenger brought a sealed letter from the force medical officer, my friend Commander Walt Welham. The doctor had just been informed that the master at arms force at the Royal had confiscated the remains of a tin of alcohol from Tang’s wing, and he pointed out that undiluted it could be deadly. This alcohol was supposedly strictly controlled and issued in small quantities for cleaning and drying electrical machinery and optics.

  Leave it to a bluejacket, or their combined ingenuity, and they’ll figure a way. Getting a five-gallon tin out from under lock and key and then off the base seemed impossible, and then I thought of Walker; his winnings might have been of assistance in finding a way. Frank left to find Ballinger, not to locate any alcohol that remained—that would be impossible—but to insure that it was cut twice. Even then it would be 50 proof. The troops had certainly done better at getting the hard stuff than had the officers and chiefs, who had divided the leftover depth-charge medicine.

  Two weeks and a day had passed quickly, but that was all the time it had taken the base to complete the work requests and alterations. We could stay at the Royal another week, but to do so would mean following Sealion and Tinosa into the East China and Yellow seas. We would then be entering a stirred-up area, when we would like to at least have a chance to hit the enemy first. Ballinger concurred for the troops, though he would not yet tell them why lest word leak to the other two boats. To pacify some, including myself, we would retain our wing at the Royal during the training and readiness period. There was one other reason for returning to our ship early. On board were two new ship’s officers and 12 enlisted men. They would have to become accustomed to Tang’s way of operating, and we all had to get back into the groove of making real exercise torpedoes pass under real targets.

  We started, as usual, with simulated attacks, the tracking parties using problems that had been generated in the TDC and recorded against time. This offered one variation not available with a real target at sea, for when there was confusion, both time and the TDC could be stopped until the doubts were clarified. While this was going on, Hank, Mel, and their torpedomen were loading the exercise fish that we would fire during the next three days. Aft of the conning tower, men not otherwise busy were passing the commissary stores across the deck and down the messroom hatch like a bucket brigade. Almost unnoticed were the engineers, topping off 4A and 4B ballast tanks, now converted to reserve fuel oil tanks. There were no idle hands, and at dusk the executive officer reported the ship ready for sea and our training period.

  Our new officers and crew members were not entirely unfamiliar with Tang, for as arranged, they had been selected from the relief crew. Only one was thrown into a position of immediate responsibility, Lieutenant Lawrence Savadkin, from Easton, Pennsylvania, our new engineering officer. A dark-haired, wiry, knowledgeable gentleman, he gave every indication of measuring up to his task as he took Tang down on the first dive. It was a careful dive, on soundings of less than our test depth, for the alterations to the main ballast tanks warranted a post-shipyard procedure. An extra half hour was involved, but it was certainly not wasted, for it gave Larry an opportunity to get the feel of the boat.

  During three days and two nights, Tang again went through her paces, with all of the normal emergency drills conducted between practice approaches. Exercise torpedoes we
re fired on the first afternoon and during the following two mornings. The routine was rigorous, but no more so than during comparable periods when we had been in pursuit of the enemy. In preparation for a long patrol, our OOD and assistant, with section tracking parties, carried the ball, while Fraz shared my responsibilities in overall direction up to the attack position. This would spare us many hours of waiting at battle stations. Our training officer, Captain C. B. Momsen, known for the escape lung and called Swede by his contemporaries, found no escape in his task. He tried to take in everything and as a result was hanging on the ropes. This was a switch, for not entirely in jest, most boats sighed in relief when they got out from under the training officer and on to the relative peace and quiet of patrol against the real enemy.

  I called a temporary halt to our operations at noon of the third day. For the benefit of our new hands, I had scheduled an exercise known to no one aboard except Captain Momsen, Fraz, and me. As we went below for lunch, I routinely ordered the OOD to stop and then maneuver on the battery should we pick up any particular roll. Dessert was being served when two blasts took us down, and word came quickly that we had screws on sound bearing 195 degrees true. The OOD was putting them astern and had ordered 200 feet as we paused in the control room. Fraz proceeded to the conning tower and brought us back to periscope depth. The propellers were those of a friendly submarine that had been operating in the area south of us and was trying to close for a simulated attack. As prearranged, we both surfaced. The radar range was 4,800 yards, within reach of steam torpedoes but hardly a distance at which a hit, even on an unalerted enemy, could be expected. Our belief in the advantage of a stationary patrol when a submarine had no particular place to go was bolstered again, though Captain Momsen did not seem to share our confidence completely. As far as Fraz and I knew, Tang was the only boat to stop and lie to on patrol, and even we admitted it took some getting used to.