Having already come to control on the assumption that we would dive, Larry came shoulders-high into the conning tower to report on conditions below. For once, the crew’s living spaces were better than either CPO quarters or wardroom country, for the troops who were up and about had simply wedged themselves on deck between the bunk tiers, and others had just hugged their bunk frames with both arms. So, not relying on a silly guardrail, none of them had fallen. Larry would take charge below.
We had long since forgone the option of diving, for our ballast tanks were divided port and starboard and had individual floods and vents. A short-lived loss of stability accompanied any dive, and with rolls such as we were experiencing, the down tanks would flood first and could capsize the boat. True, we might juggle the vents, but that was something we would not try for the first time under these conditions. There was but one option; we had to turn in front of the seas that had just knocked us down.
4
The maneuver would have to be fast; there could be no hesitating, lest we founder while broadside to the seas. Culp and the battle stations controllermen went aft to maneuvering; Welch took the wheel. Our ship had just reached a maximum roll of 45 degrees to port, then starboard, and was now down to 35 degrees, then 30. With fingers mentally crossed, I ordered, “All ahead standard.” De Lapp, by the inclinometer in control, sang out, “Twenty-five degrees,” and Jones raised the scope. A great wave was rolling in, but not so vicious; it would barely top the lens. The sea shook the periscope, blurring any further vision.
“All ahead full. Right full rudder.” Our stern started to port. The next great wave rolled up our starboard quarter, laying us over to port as it passed overhead but accelerating our turn. Tang rolled through the trough and took the next monster on the starboard bow. It knocked her nearly over, shook her, and buried her, but could not stop her swing. Frank called the new course, the reverse of that which we had been trying to steer.
“All ahead two-thirds. Ease the rudder to fifteen. Meet her. Steer two one zero.”
Though the typhoon would still dictate our course, no longer was it driving our ship into the Ryukyus, nor could it knock us down. Tang’s motion was, nevertheless, that of a wild, plunging roller coaster, and though it was midmorning, control reported that only a few hands had come to the messroom. For them, fortunately, baking had been completed before midnight, and our toasters were secured and could not get adrift. But the report of hot tea instead of coffee to go with the toast seemed a bit on the sissy side. Of more importance was Larson’s report of no injuries; it seemed impossible, but a submarine lies so deep in the sea that it does not have the dangerous whip of a surface ship. Not to be forgotten, however, was Frank’s continuing the inspection after I had fallen down the hatch, for a single piece of loose gear could easily have broken some bones.
Our best steersmen, working in pairs with one on the maneuvering room telegraphs, used their skill and our screws to keep Tang heading into the seas. For five taut hours, they kept Tang on course, coached by Frank, me, and the OODs on the scope, for the seas determined our headings. Quite suddenly the wicked seas changed to mountainous swells under torrential rains. The winds moderated, became confused. Were we at the eye of the typhoon, where we could now head into the safe semicircle? For a quick check we tried cracking the hatch to obtain a new barometer reading. It wouldn’t budge, held tight by increased atmospheric pressure. High-pressure air was bled into the boat, a full half inch, to free the hatch; the barometer read 28.4. The increase showed we had missed the center but were pulling out of the typhoon on what would now be the safe trailing side, or more accurately perhaps, the typhoon was leaving us behind.
Now able to choose the course, we came to 267, our original heading, and stationed the regular watch sections. This should be safe until the navigator could fix our position. At 1700, we fired two mains with the engine-air induction open only to the forward engine room. At worst, a slug of seawater would go to its bilges. With all under control, Frank and I went to the wardroom. I propped up my foot; the shoelaces, still as Chief Larson had tied them, were now loose. I had hardly noticed when the shot had worn off; there were more important things going on. Confident that the shoe had something to do with the decrease in the swelling, Walker had arrived with a smaller size, a 12 this time, and laced it up tight, apparently with the idea of squeezing my foot back to shape.
Over coffee, Frank and I spoke of the Ultra that had put us in the predicament. One of two things had obviously taken place. Perhaps intelligence had incorrectly broken the enemy’s message, which could have been reporting the position of the typhoon at a specified time along its projected path rather than the position of the weather ship itself. This seemed likely. Another possibility involved the advantage that accrues if you know your enemy has broken certain codes. We had evidence of the Japanese using this in an attempt to save their naval tanker west of Saipan. If this message had been designed to sucker a submarine into a typhoon, those involved were undoubtedly sitting around a bottle of saki, laughing at the predicament they might be causing their enemy. Still, if offered the same opportunity, we would surely coin a comparable dispatch. There would be only one difference: We’d be laughing over a bottle of beer. Nature might have taken care of the enemy ship, but it was difficult to conceive of a weather ship being caught in a typhoon, especially one from such a seagoing nation.
On the more serious side, we talked of our fourth patrol, when our ship had taken the best the enemy could throw at her and had shaken it off, going about her business. Now she had taken the worst that nature, even with the aid of bungling humans, could hand out and had shrugged that off, too. Surely the whole ship’s company, including our new shipmates, considered with me that Tang was the toughest ship in the world.
Dawn of October 7 broke, still with great swells and occasional confused chop. The normal watch manned the bridge, giving the SJ and the scopes a rest, but the seas held our ship to two-engine speed. Finally the scudding clouds broke away, conveniently in time for the navigator’s evening stars. I watched Frank and Jones with a bit of envy, though there was nothing to prevent me from taking a round of stars if I wished. Jones’s competence made me wonder if my introduction to navigating might not have been more pleasant had I enjoyed an assistant with his experience.
Frank brought down the chart with his position run up to 2000. The typhoon had carried us 60 miles from the position shown on our DRI, and we thanked our lucky stars that the encounter had taken place well clear of the Ryukyus. I recalled an experience at sea with a hurricane packing 100-knot winds and spoke conservatively when I estimated that the winds of this typhoon had half again the speed. In the height of the seas, there was no comparison. We were not just guessing, for in the Quartermaster’s Notebook were recorded various periods during which the scope had been completely buried, the longest being 14 seconds. Sketching the wave crests in their most modest form, and arriving at their speed from the recorded frequency, Tang’s junior officers calculated that on occasions a minimum of 40 feet of sea had rolled above the lens of our scope. I would not dispute their figure nor would Frank, we had seen the waves, and 95 feet from crest to trough seemed conservative.
We came left 15 degrees, for the typhoon had pushed us from south of the track to north of it. This course would put Tang back on the line by dawn, and I penned the first regular night orders since the Ultra. They were overdue.
Proceeding at 80/90 on engines 3 and 4. Our course is 252 degrees true, and I anticipate no course changes throughout the night. We can now encounter surface patrols, however, and it is your job to spot them first. If the enemy is sighted, put him astern or dive and then call me. Air patrols are possible at dawn, and the duty chief will caution all oncoming lookouts accordingly. We have come 4,600 miles, but the next 500 are as important as all of the miles behind us. At 0600, or on advice of the navigator, change course to 267. Keep me completely informed in accordance with the standing night orders.
Adams t
ook the night orders aft, and the sound of movies from forward indicated that all was well with Tang. Most remarkably, none of the ship’s company had received more than a bump or scrape during the wild gyrations; they were apparently as tough as our ship. The pegs on the cribbage board had not been greased for some time now, and I found a more than willing opponent in Frank. Having observed his predecessor, the executive officer probably assumed that this was one of his informal collateral duties, and if so he was absolutely correct. Frank pegged out on the rubber game, but more important was our formulation of plans for our initial days in the Formosa Strait.
October 8 saw moderating seas, and a third engine went on the line. A torpedo fire control drill speeded the morning, leaving the afternoon for a ropeyarn Sunday, while extra lookouts searched for planes. They were possible at any time now, for Okinawa Jima lay only 200 miles to the northwest, but no patrol challenged our passage. Three diesels drove Tang on into another day when a firm “Clear the bridge!” and two blasts sent us down. I searched carefully on the bearing of the patrol plane and could not be sure; it seemed to flap its wings. But I decided to keep that to myself, for the speed of clearing the bridge and the dive were excellent. A last drill in the afternoon showed no rough spots. The next time we heard the general alarm, we would have an enemy ship in sight.
At dawn, Sakishima Gunto was beyond the horizon off our starboard bow. Our landfall would be on Ishigaki Shima, about 150 miles east of northern Formosa, or on Formosa itself, which would come up dead ahead. Chiefs Ballinger and Leibold consulted with Jones, then came to a proper decision: The official landfall would be on Formosa, not Ishigaki. It was well for the troops to settle such things in advance, for I presumed it had something to do with their pool.
The 11,000- to 13,000-foot mountains of Formosa loomed up dead ahead at noon, officially 1158, while Ishigaki never did show. A fourth engine went on the line, and we built up to full power to insure our transit into the strait during darkness. A bearing on Iriomote Jima, just west of Ishigaki and now abaft our beam, cut in well with two peaks ahead. After plotting, Frank recommended the new course, 320.
“Make it so,” I said, and the navigator gave the necessary order to Basil with the deck. Our new track would pass between Yonaguni Jima, now in view to starboard, and the northeast coast of Formosa, a handsome 60-mile-wide passage.
Dusk came and there was no challenge from the enemy. But technically Tang was still in the Pacific, or as printed on our chart, the Philippine Sea. We came to 340 to give the headlands more room before rounding the northern promontories. There was time for coffee, and I dropped below only to hear the control room speaker: “SJ contact broad on starboard bow. Range eleven thousand yards.”
5
By the time I climbed to the conning tower, Frank and the OOD had slowed and put Tang on a converging course with that of the enemy ship, which could be heading from the Sakishima Gunto to the strait. It was a likely path for a freighter, but not for an unescorted one. Her speed was further discouraging, for plot’s first estimate of 12 knots would be high when compared with the cargomen we had encountered. Still, in this vicinity ships were making the long haul between the Empire and the southwest, and faster vessels would be employed.
The guessing stopped at 7,000 yards when the low hull became more than just a blurp. Masts or goalposts were not yet visible, so we continued closing cautiously, and then the outlines firmed. We had not seen the goalposts because there were none, but the compact superstructure located about a third of a ship’s length from the bow confirmed our suspicion. Left 15 degrees rudder put an enemy patrol astern, and a third engine took us on our way.
Looking aft, Frank and I recalled the incident following our first attack in the East China Sea when we were at full speed closing a destroyer escort only to find out that she was taking the same action. It had been a truly frightening experience and could have happened again right here had we not used caution in our approach. Perhaps our ship had matured a bit. We were, of course, disappointed that this had not turned out to be a suitable target, but in the past patrols had meant ships, and this would be an area to investigate further in the coming days. For the present, the best place for finding worthy targets lay ahead, and our interest, especially the navigator’s, shifted from the fading shape astern to the points on our port bow. According to the contour lines on our chart, the 5,000-foot mountains about 30 miles inland sloped down abruptly, and starting about ten miles from the coast the land lay near sea level. This could be confusing at sea, even in daylight, for the land might be hull down with only a structure or beacon to show the land’s end. At night, when navigating in part by radar, the small single structures might not reflect the impulse. I shared a bit of Frank’s concern and readily agreed to soundings rather than slowing as cautious navigation would dictate.
There were 80 fathoms under our keel, which showed that we were not shoreward of the selected track, and Tang barreled on through the night. Kiirun, a large, well-protected, deepwater harbor, came abeam to port at midnight. Larry and John, with the midwatch, would take us around the northern tip of Formosa in another hour. We would then slow and head to the southwest down the coast and into the strait. Only a single-line night order was necessary, for the navigator would be about.
The course change left to 245, leaving Kahei Sho to starboard, and slowing to one-engine speed were reported on schedule. An hour later Tang was off the Tamsui River, which leads inland to Taihoku, the capital of Formosa. Now sheltered from the Pacific, the seas were calm. It was a welcome change, for in the quiet we could concentrate on seeking out the enemy. I toyed with the idea of getting up and about and switched on the light to double-check the luminous figures on the clock. It was coming up 0400. A moment later the duty chiefs messenger stepped into my cabin and whispered as if afraid of awakening others.
“We’ve got a ship, Captain.”
Two hours into an area till the first ship contact must have been some kind of a record, but it would become meaningful only if the ship was put on the bottom. In the conning tower, Torpedoman’s Mate Foster called, “Range seventeen thousand, closing,” the direction undoubtedly added for my benefit. The section steersman pulled the knob and swung the handle for the general alarm.
Our position relative to the coast was ideal. Now four miles off Puki Kaku, we were practically assured of an attack as the enemy came up the coast from Pakusa Point. Lacking a radar periscope, we had two options: We could continue closing and fire from the surface, or we could run with the enemy and fire submerged after dawn. To keep our options open and to give more time for tracking, we reversed course, prompted a bit by the first speed check on our enemy of 14 knots. Though the considerations had taken only a minute or so, our combined range rate of 24 knots, 800 yards per minute, had already reduced the range to under 15,000 yards and would have brought on the attack within another 15 to 17 minutes.
While Frank and I examined the chart, tracking took advantage of the additional time to verify the enemy’s speed, which at least raised the possibility that the ship might indeed be a large patrol. Shallow soundings to shoreward of the enemy’s projected track practically dictated an attack from seaward. On the surface, we would not then have the advantage of the dark land background, and for a truly short-range shot, the enemy would have a fair chance of sighting Tang. Thus on this ship, the best chances of a sinking would follow a submerged approach, wherein a range well inside of 1,000 yards could be sought.
As a daily part of normal navigating, Jones had already figured the time of morning twilight. Frank plotted the enemy’s position for that time; the waters were good, with at least 20 fathoms unless the base course was altered shoreward. Frank then picked up his compass and spun a circle with a half mile radius about the point, and I do believe he expected that Tang would lay the ship down in its center.
Without further interference, Ed on plot quickly confirmed TDC’s estimate that we had a good-sized ship chasing us. This was based primarily
on the timing of the zigs but was backed up by Bergman’s view of the pip on the A-scope. We would know for sure shortly; we slowed to drop back on the enemy’s port bow. Chief Leibold accompanied me topside to the after TBT, and we commenced searching a narrow sector on the starboard quarter. With the advantage of a known bearing and not having to cover a whole sector, Boats had the blurp ahead of the lookouts but only whispered the sighting so as not to interfere with the pool.
She was low and chunky, as a sharp angle aspect should look, and my visual bearings were being read from the repeater below whenever I sounded the TBT’s buzzer. The angle was now opening and I called port 15 then turned the TBT over to Boats while conferring with Frank. We had a cargoman, apparently diesel, for there had not been any smoke. There was no time for extra conversation, as the navigator must con Tang onto the enemy’s track. I continued to call bearings, then an enemy zig to starboard, but not angles on the bow since either TDC or plot would now be more accurate. The silhouette sharpened to zero, which I did call below.
“Any time, Captain.” Frank now had Tang in position to dive. Boats went below, and I stopped a moment with John, our battle stations OOD, just to tell him to go ahead with a normal dive when I was clear and to assure myself that he knew all but his four lookouts would then be below. The pause was fortunate, for the expected first inkling of gray that marks the start of morning twilight was not yet noticeable. Jones did not make mistakes, but we had all neglected to consider the mountain range only 35 miles to the east with peaks up to 9,000 feet high. It was acting like a curtain drawn up from a sill and would delay the time when the scope would first be usable. A full ten minutes passed while we ran with the enemy, but fortunately the setup was a relative one and we still enjoyed the situation originally sought, though transposed three miles up the coast. Johns “Clear the bridge!” was firm and unexcited, the two blasts methodical, and Tang slid under the sea.
Clear the Bridge! Page 44