Tang was on the last leg of the transit, on course 273 degrees true, and according to our navigators, Mikura Jima should loom up at midnight. A cheer carried forward from the crew’s mess; someone just going on watch or perhaps just relieved had won their pool. The time was 2359, and on a hunch, based in part on reports of possible nearby radar installations, Tang moved quietly 20 miles into her area, southwest to Inamba Jima. It is a small pinnacle, uninhabitable, and was thus even more suitable for checking our SJ. This would serve as a reference point for our submerged patrol at dawn.
3
Jones had plotted all of the available ship contacts in this immediate portion of the Nampo Shoto and had drawn in a median. It turned out to be a convenient north-south line about halfway between Inamba and Mikura Jima, and Tang would patrol along that track on this August 9 as she worked her way toward Honshu. The final checks of the SJ and TDC were completed, and two unhurried blasts sent our ship beneath the calm though slightly rolling seas.
Our chances of a good ship contact had, of course, been reduced by the Japanese loss of the Marianas in June. This very loss, however, increased the importance of the Bonins. Lying halfway between Japan and the Marianas, these islands were ideally situated as a base for interceptors that might then thwart any planned bombing raids coming to the Empire from Saipan or Guam. Building up the necessary facilities would require shipping, two-way shipping, and the previous day’s patrols might well indicate that some of this traffic was under way. In any case, this was a better spot to patrol than in the open sea between here and the central coast.
The day wore on but with willing hands standing by for turns on one of the scopes. Though on frequent searches the lenses were 26 feet above the surface, nothing but the two islands came in sight, not even a sampan. Still, it was turning out to be a good day for our new men and officers, for this was their first opportunity for full watches on the planes and with the dive. For each section, Tang’s plank-owners gave demonstrations in the art of slow-speed control on down to stopped and then balancing.
We had worked northward slowly, across a submerged mountain 300 fathoms down, good for a Fathometer test, when Basil sighted possible smoke to the west, beyond a small pinnacle and reef called Zeni Su. Fraz had searched with the same high scope by the time I reached the conning tower, and I followed. Neither of us could identify anything, but as we had long ago learned from reports from lookouts, no tentative sighting could be discounted. Three blasts sent us up into the fading light to investigate. Radar and 7 × 50s searching out into the night found only Zeni Su, a nice-sounding name but a treacherous shoal and pinnacle. The search had not taken us far off our track to the coast; we were unhurried, and nothing was lost.
As it turned out, the short jaunt to westward showed the desirability of continuing on the same heading so that we might then approach Honshu normal to the beachline, directly to an open bight west of Omae Saki. This position lay close to the middle of our two assigned patrol areas and seemed a good place for a starter. More important, shipping between Nagoya and Tokyo and from other ports would be visible for miles as it proceeded along this straight coastline, thus practically guaranteeing a successful submarine torpedo attack. Another feature, and perhaps of greater significance to the submariner, was the 100-fathom curve. In this vicinity only, it curves to within one mile of the ten-fathom curve and three miles from the beach. After an attack in this position, Tang should be able to reach deep submergence in 15 minutes, maybe less.
Of course the enemy knew all of these things, too, but there was only one way to find out what he had done about them. Even with our dogleg, there were only 70 miles to go. The battery charge was completed before midnight, and we moved in slowly, now heading due north. Not knowing what may lie ahead and having time to think about it is not a good combination, but we resisted our natural urge to close the bight during the dark night. An unsuspected patrol boat might then thwart the reconnaissance that was a part of our mission and a subsequent attack, too. Better that we continue closing slowly and dive for a daylight examination of the beach as well as patrols and shipping.
A quick SJ sweep and a single ping sounding checked Fraz’s position; Tang had passed the 300-fathom curve 15 miles west of Omae Saki and was now six miles from the shore. Just a semblance of gray showed in the east, and the coast of Honshu appeared only as a fuzzy line to northward. I followed Fraz below, and then came Charles’s “Clear the bridge,” the diving alarm, and the roar through the vents. We were on our way for a close-up of Hirohito’s main island and perhaps his shipping, too.
The time was 0441, and now we would go through a period of blindness until there was sufficient light for the scopes. With two scopes, one of them could certainly have been designed for better light transmission. The British had long had such a scope, but our construction had followed the ideas of submarine warfare as visualized in the Geneva Convention, of a submergible raider that would bring an enemy ship to and then sink it only after all hands were safe in the boats. Of course, this could only be done in daylight. It was a nice thought, put forth after the “war to end all wars,” and none of us would have objected if it was in any way practical. That was the basis for our temporary blindness, but the solution was now at hand due to the development of a radar scope. It had more generous optics and was consequently an excellent light-catcher. We’d make another try for one at Pearl.
“Bearing—mark! Range—mark!” came from Frank on the search scope, trying out his new qualification. Fraz called the bearing, 55 degrees, and Ogden, ducking under him, read the stadimeter range of 12,000 yards as the scope went down.
“It’s a PC type, Captain, nearly hull down. The angle is forty port.”
I liked Frank’s positive report; he did not hem and haw but made his one estimate. As in answering a true-false quiz, the first estimate of an angle was generally the best. There was no action to be taken, for the patrol was crossing from starboard to port, except to see if a ship might be following. This was asking too much in such a short time since our dive, but now both scopes were busy, one searching to the east and the other following the PC type escort off to the west and checking relative bearings with sound. The range had actually been closer, for Ogden had read the stadimeter opposite a 100-foot masthead height, which was our practice until a ship was at least partially identified. This patrol probably had a height of 70, and that would have to be reduced to the height above the horizon.
Walker brought coffee to the conning tower, but Fraz and I decided to have an early breakfast to go with it. Now with Frank at the con, this might be our only chance in what could be a busy day.
“I think we should have moved in closer, Fraz. It’s the same old thing, two of us on the bridge and we get too cautious,” I commented halfway through a plate of bacon and eggs.
“Speaking as the navigator, I like just what we’re doing. We could have been right underfoot, and that PC could have spoiled our whole day. We’re not rushed.”
We were cooperative but frank, almost a must in joining the enemy. Already, even before breakfast, we knew there would be shipping. That PC was not out here pleasure cruising, and we had the time to wait for the big ones. The hours might be a little wearing, and some shifting of the watch would be necessary, especially as we closed the ten-fathom curve, where we could afford no mistakes. Fraz, Frank, and Ballinger would take care of this, with my stipulation that our two new officers would take the dive with one of our experienced officers and, not known to them, would have the backing of our most experienced petty officers when in the conning tower.
The morning watch had been relieved a full hour when the 1MC hummed in wardroom country, followed instantly by “Captain to the conning tower!” This use of the 1MC indicated a contact or an emergency, and I was on my way up the ladder. The contact was there, but the emergency had passed; Tang was on the beam of a large engine-aft ship, which was passing unbelievably close to the beach. Her escorts were three patrolling bombers, but they made
little difference, for at 6,000 yards we were hopelessly out of position.
Battle stations had been sounded automatically, and now we tracked the ship on down the coast, not losing sight of her until the TDC’s generated range had passed 13,000. She was making 12 knots, and had we first spotted her at that range, Tang could handily have reached an attack position. The responsibility was still mine, and in all fairness, tracking a ship until it disappeared was quite a different thing from making a first sighting, especially under these circumstances.
This forenoon drill led to a discussion in the wardroom, while Fraz took the con and Ballinger assumed the dive. Obviously, Ed felt guilty, but that was squared away in a hurry. None of us could say that we would have sighted this ship earlier, but we could go over carefully all of the things to look for in spotting a distant enemy ship that was close inshore. The puff of smoke or light brown haze, of course, but the mast, canted or straight, that did not match with the trees, and the relative movement, or lack of it, between trees and poles as the submarine moved parallel to the beach were the items to discern. An inconsistency might disclose the masts of a ship, and even a hunch was worthy of reexamination, witness the Yamaoka Maru. I still knew no better way of describing the required effort than by saying, “Just put your eyeball on the beach, up the coast to the horizon, and squeeze until it hurts. Then switch eyes for a sweep around and another high-power search.”
Fraz gave us an unrehearsed but nicely timed demonstration. Before we had finished our coffee, I was wanted in the conning tower again. He had a patrol coming up the coast, perhaps the same one we had seen at dawn. Avoiding her was no problem, and we continued toward the shore. Ed took back the con and let us get as far as control before sounding the general alarm for battle stations. The Bells of St. Mary’s left no doubt; our man of action had four bombers in sight, and back of their patrolling pattern came an old type loaded tanker. She was also close in and heading for Omae Saki and Tokyo.
Jones read 352, I called 55 starboard, and Tang was off and running with 15 degrees right rudder. Fraz and Frank would come down with the course to intercept before we had swung past, and the moderate rudder would not greatly affect our acceleration. Jones had read the stadimeter range before lowering the scope on down into the well. With this 8,000 yards and an assumed enemy speed of 10 knots, the problem plotted essentially as an equilateral triangle. We each had to traverse a leg toward the eastern apex, but Tang held an advantage, for her torpedoes at 46 knots would take over for the last thousand yards.
“Ease her down to eighty feet, Larry.” With this command he would not put more than 2 or 3 degrees down-angle on the boat and would thus keep our propellers from momentarily rising as Tang pivoted down about her center of buoyancy. It was just another precaution to insure that the bombers overhead would not sight a slick or swirl about our props in the flat, calm sea.
We were settled on course 050, on what might be our only leg of this approach. This was a new situation for most of the crew, since the enemy could not zig away and an attack was virtually a certainty. There were disadvantages, too, for time would not permit the frequent observations that made for precise tracking. The hour was now 1020, ten minutes into the approach, and we slowed for a sound bearing and possible look. Caverly called 345 true; we had gained a little but could not afford the delay of an observation. Better that we save a few moments for quick checks before firing. Standard speed rolled us on.
It was 1030, another ten minutes into the run, and as we slowed Larry brought us up to periscope depth. Caverly called the bearing, no change. Welch called our speed, 4 knots. Jones awaited my nod and brought the scope up smartly; I rode it on up till the lens was clear of the surface. The enemy was coming on big and fat, completely black, and with an ungainly tall stack aft.
“Bearing—mark!” Jones read 315 relative.
“Range—mark!” He read the stadimeter on the way down, 1,300 yards; Caverly’s echo range corrected it to 1,200. There were three minutes to go. The outer doors were open forward. Another periscope bearing and echo range checked with the TDC’s presentation. Tang was steady on course. The clock read 1034.
“Five degrees to go,” Fraz warned. Jones had the scope’s handles at deck level. I glanced at the depth gauge, right on at 64 feet, and held my hands at waist height; the handles rode up into them.
“Constant bearing—mark!” She was racing across the steady wire.
“Set!” Frank called. Her stern came on.
“Fire!” Fraz hit the plunger—he considered this his prerogative—and our first torpedo was on its way with a healthy zing. The second and third fish went to the tanker’s middle and at her bow. A quick sweep showed three bombers still out ahead, the fourth was not in sight. I did not search.
“Right full rudder. All ahead standard. Get a sounding, Caverly.” We would be turning toward deep water during the torpedo run. Fraz checked the prepared card opposite 1,200 yards for the time and read 58.8 seconds. We would not worry about the tenths, just the whole 35 seconds to go—and the sea bottom, for Caverly had just reported two fathoms under our keel. With but 12 feet for vertical maneuvering in any evasion, we might as well stay at periscope depth, at least until the torpedoes had time to do their work. The 58 seconds for the first torpedo had passed, and now an additional 15 seconds for the next two. There were no explosions.
We slowed, steadied on due south, and sneaked a look. The tanker was still proceeding, but a few seconds later, two minutes after our firing, she reversed course to the left. We pulled in our neck, rigged in our sound heads, grabbed another sounding, and started deep, now thoroughly expecting a bomb or aerial depth-charge attack. Our surprise came when we rolled on the bottom, but our submarine was tough and could take things like this. At least all hands now knew that we were getting them into the safety of the deep as fast as possible.
There would be no more hunting in this vicinity today, at least not of the kind we wanted, so after reaching 400 feet we came right to course 250. This would keep Tang outside the 100-fathom curve for a time while we caught our breath and still parallel the coast for possible later contact. Nothing stirred.
“Would you like to go over the firing data now, Captain?” Fraz inquired after we had reached the wardroom. It was certainly a good time, here in the quiet with nothing likely to disturb us, but it was too soon after the attack. The excitement and frustrations of the morning would need an hour to subside, and then we would be able to examine our failure more logically. The morning was not a total loss, however, for we now knew of one place to intercept ships that were plying between Tokyo and the many ports to the west. That the enemy would continue sending ships along this flat stretch of coastline without the proper surface escorts seemed doubtful indeed. Still, this was a part of the game, and while the Japanese worried about the Omae Saki area, we would attack elsewhere.
An hour after the firing, with no screws, pings, or other sounds on the JK or JP, we started the climb to periscope depth. Our ascent was cautious, leveling off at 80 feet while Larry adjusted the trim. The quick low-power periscope sweep and the careful high-power search disclosed nothing except the shoreline to the north, not even a plane. A sounding showed us across the 100-fathom curve, a little farther to the north than expected but on the line for an afternoon patrol off the Irago Suido, the strait leading to Ise Wan, the large, shallow bay below Nagoya.
After lunch, Frank and the battle stations tracking party reran the complete approach through the TDC. Again the Quartermasters Notebook was invaluable. Between the information from it and the true, or navigational, plot, the whole situation was recreated and run through to its conclusion. Frank, Mel, and Dick brought the results down to the wardroom. In addition, they had made a large-scale plot of the firing, which showed the torpedo tracks and that of the enemy. We should have had hits, at least two of them; with an average torpedo track of 110 degrees—torpedoes coming in on the target from 20 degrees abaft the beam—large variations in the enemy’s c
ourse would result in practically the same lead angle. We could have had some speed error since firing just 24 minutes after first sighting was something akin to shooting from the hip. Still, the final setups included accurate echo ranges to go with exact periscope bearings, and these positively fixed the tanker’s position and checked the speed determination.
It would be easier if we could find a simple error, something that we could correct before the next firing, but now we were considering the torpedoes themselves. We had heard zings as they left the tubes, but our own screw noise had blanked them out as we turned toward deep water. The planes had not sighted their wakes, which would have led right to our firing position, or surely we would have been attacked. Still, something alerted the enemy about one minute after the torpedoes should have hit. We were in part guessing, but there seemed only one conclusion: The hard bottom off Honshu had not been as kind to our torpedoes and their warheads as had the mud at Amma To, and this could also account for their not exploding on the beach 2,000 yards beyond the tanker.
I do not believe that any one of us was sure that we had arrived at the correct answer, but we were most certainly not trying to blame the torpedoes. A miss was a miss regardless of the cause, but on subsequent attacks we would try to fire from deeper water if possible. Distant depth charges brought the discussion to a close. Sound located the detonations in a broad band across our stern, and we were quite satisfied not to be able to see the enemy during a single search with 20 feet of scope. It was 1500, and we changed course to the southwest to keep well clear of Daio Saki. The four hours to dark passed routinely, giving most hands an opportunity to rest up. The time was 1920, and three blasts sent us toward the surface to continue our search for the enemy.
Clear the Bridge! Page 34