Clear the Bridge!

by Richard O'Kane

  As we slowed for Larry’s trim, Caverly picked up the enemy’s prop and for some seconds switched the noise to the speaker. It was the hefty thump-thump-thump of a single-screw ship and batting out 140 turns by metronome. Though the sound bearing checked closely with TDC’s, at least showing no major change, remaining blind at such a crucial time tried our nerves. My reply to Larry’s “Satisfied with the trim” was an immediate “Bring her up to forty-five feet,” to expose our SJ reflector. Bergman’s single SJ range of 4,500 yards and bearing 150 showed a zig toward shore. At standard speed we followed suit while easing back down to periscope depth.

  Firing would come in less than ten minutes, and the torpedo rooms made ready tubes 1, 2, and 3 forward, and should there be a wide zig to the left, tubes 7, 8, and 9 aft. Four minutes into the run I ordered, “All stop.” Jones raised the scope when Welch called, “Five knots,” but Caverly beat us with a bearing. His 140 was a good guide, and now the enemy’s silhouette was sharp in the scope. I could see a good half ship’s length, but that was still just a 30-degree angle on the bow, so I called it to go with Jones’s relative bearing of 135. Standard speed closed the track. After Tang’s run to the firing point, the torpedo run would not be over 1,500 yards, and much less should the enemy zig towards. Another three minutes passed and we slowed just enough to get a vibrating look. I called, “Port sixty,” and then in succession, “Port forty-five, port twenty, port thirty.” I would guess that new members of Tang’s fire control party figured that the Old Man had one hell of a time making up his mind, but the plank-owners knew we had the enemy in the middle of a zig and probably with a new steersman who had swung past the ordered course. He would never zig again, not horizontally anyway, for this was the firing leg.

  “Open the outer doors forward.”

  “The course for zero gyros and a ninety track is one two five, Captain.”

  “Make it so.”

  Frank was forgetting no details in readying the ship and providing his part of the necessary information. I’d see if I could match him on the scope. Two quick setups checked. This big freighter, with raked bow and squat stack, was so heavily loaded she had little more freeboard than a tanker.

  “Any time, Captain.”

  “Range eight hundred.”

  “Stand by for constant bearings. Up scope.” Jones had the handles in my hands with the scope practically on.

  “Constant bearing—mark!” The wire was on her well deck aft.

  “Set!” came from Mel. Her 14 knots brought her stern on quickly.

  “Fire!” Frank hit the plunger and instantly came the slight shudder, the momentary pressure from the poppet valve, and then the whine as our first torpedo went on its way. The next two, aimed amidships and forward, seemed to leave the tubes automatically. Frank read from the prepared card opposite a torpedo run of 670 yards and announced the listed time of 47 seconds. Already 30 seconds had passed since he first hit the plunger. Caverly switched on the speaker again and trained from the freighter’s prop to the high-pitched whine of the torpedoes and back again until they all blended together. We forgot the counting, but the exploders didn’t, the first two detonating with instantaneous fury. In seconds, when the cloud of smoke had blown clear, only the tilted bow was in sight, seeming to back down into Davy Jones’s locker.

  Without advance preparations, three blasts took us to the surface. Those closest to the hatch grabbed available binoculars and substituted for the regular lookouts, following me and John to the bridge. We conned Tang in among the flotsam, but there were no survivors. Amid the wreckage, however, were several half-swamped, empty landing craft. Could the enemy be moving war materials north? Now with ballast tanks nearly dry and four engines purring, we headed southwest down the coast while working up to full power. The time was 0455, and the normal watch section relieved. They could take Tang down just as fast as the battle stations team, and now two-thirds of the ship’s company could catch its breath.

  In the wardroom I openly congratulated Frank since this was the first sinking in which he had participated as executive officer. Reserve officers hold commission dates that fix their seniority among all officers in the navy and are in all respects equals. Our most senior reserves were still about a year away from command, and Frank was among them. He would make lieutenant commander upon our return from patrol and most assuredly deserved the qualification for command that also would be waiting.

  6

  We hoped to reach Pakusa Point, where we would have an unobstructed view up and down the coast, but would move beyond to deeper water if the sky and sea remained clear. The mountains that had foiled Frank’s plan to have the ship laid down within the circle now gave us a few extra minutes of grace in a delayed sunrise. Pakusa Point was already on our port quarter when the lookout guarding that sector spotted the first plane. It was distant, perhaps over land, but Dick’s answer was two blasts. Our ship slid down quietly to patrol submerged throughout the long day.

  As was often the case after a night of it, all hands were hungry, and Ballinger’s request to go ahead with breakfast was readily granted. The good breakfast seemed to substitute for the lack of sleep, and the wardroom conversation revolved about our fortunes in making this early contact and attack. Of equal importance were the apparently exact fire control solution and the torpedo performance. The first two hits were right under the points of aim, and as had frequently been the case in the past, there was nothing left for the last torpedo. The patrol was young, but Tang was clicking; Frank knew it, too, and brought the discussion to the extremely short sinking time.

  “She had only a few feet of freeboard,” I volunteered, “and our torpedoes exploded at six feet below the waterline. They just plain blew out her side and the tops of her cargo holds and engine spaces, too.” Then, for Paul and John’s benefit, we reviewed the previous torpedo troubles we had experienced, primarily in depth keeping, and why we set ours to hit a few feet below the waterline along the ship’s side. Having watched sinking times change from hours to minutes, even seconds, as Wahoo commenced setting torpedoes shallow, I could speak of the finality of blowing a ship’s side out.

  The conversation would go on, but Frank and I decided to take a periscope view of our area and the coast of Formosa just to see what it all looked like in broad daylight. Mel’s previous reports of planes over land or close inshore had changed my mind concerning a patrol off Pakusa Point. It was no Miki Saki or Nigishima Saki as far as depth of water went; in fact, we would have to move out over ten miles to gain a depth greater than 30 fathoms. Horizontal distance from the scene of our attack seemed best, and we were continuing on course 225 down the coast.

  The sight of four planes on one low-power sweep rather surprised me, though closer examination in high power showed them to be landing and taking off from several airfields. I intentionally made no comment and handed the scope to Frank. He took the sight in stride, as if he’d expected it, and proceeded in attempting to identify the somewhat indistinct points along the low, nearly straight shore. Welch recorded the bearings and our ship’s heading so as to convert each bearing to true for plotting. While the navigator was going about the task of identifying the points and plotting, I raised the search scope for a careful study of the land, one that I might remember. Mel and one of the watch section lookouts took turns on the attack scope so that my search could be uninterrupted, and I followed the coast slowly. Another sweep with the prism raised a bit covered inland to the mountaintops, and the land I saw looked as fertile as the Sacramento Valley. The view brought home the importance of this great island to the enemy as both a strategic frontier and a rice bowl. It suddenly became all the more evident that every torpedo must count.

  No surface patrols were sighted as we proceeded southwest at 3 knots. Could it be that they believed we were still north of Pakusa Point, off Puki Kaku? It did not seem likely, for we knew the enemy’s quick response. A considerably greater possibility was the failure of anyone to note or at least to report the atta
ck. It was all over so quickly that now only the discovery of the flotsam would tell the enemy of a disaster. Our faith in this theory was shaken a bit at midmorning when enemy planes commenced passing over our vicinity. Frank was getting some necessary and ordered shut-eye, so I tried out my new sand shoe in checking this out and found that I could walk on my heel with little pain. Land-based bombers were aloft, and we tracked them on to shore, directly into the wind, which had backed around to the east.

  I went to the conning tower again just before noon. The watch had relieved and Hank was just lowering the scope after a normal search. “It’s all clear, Captain,” he reported. “I’ve just completed a sweep.” I had come up primarily to observe the seas for myself, but the fast sweep and careful search were still automatic. Satisfied, I swung back to the coast, for this stretch of shoreline was new and I might distinguish a landmark or two.

  “Bearing—mark!”

  Hank read 282, not quite smothering a goddammit. It shouldn’t have happened to our most conscientious OOD, but the masts of a ship put aside other considerations. The steersman had called our ship’s head, and we laid down the true bearing line through the enemy’s position.

  “Head for him, Hank.”

  Letting him close the enemy might bolster his prestige, and until we found out which way the enemy was heading no other action was required. Hank steadied our ship on 147, and I went down for lunch. It might be my only chance. White, with the chief’s watch, had had an ear to the hatch and knew we had a ship in sight. So, of course, would everyone aft, and I decided to see how long it took the grapevine to reach the wardroom; it might take Hank’s call reporting the bearing change to the right or left. But I had forgotten Walker and his trips back to the galley.

  “We goin’ to get this one, too, Captain?” he asked, obviously enjoying the moment. The phone buzzed, and Hank reported the enemy ship drawing left.

  “Come left to zero four five and go ahead two-thirds, Hank,” I ordered, having cheated a bit in mentally figuring the reciprocal of our former course ahead of time.

  The time was 1220, still October 11, and Tang was off on a long chase. We had another option, for using our best sustained submerged speed, we could undoubtedly intercept the enemy by midafternoon. A glance at the chart showed that the enemy ship would continue inside the ten-fathom curve in following the coast. Our attack from seaward of 12 to 15 fathoms should be successful, but Tang would then face a shallow-water evasion with a near flat can. It was a combination we could not accept as long as there were other possibilities.

  By 1300 the increasing winds had churned the shallow waters till nice depth control at 60 feet was becoming difficult. Section tracking already had a reasonable speed estimate based primarily on true bearings of the enemy ship, which essentially fixed her position along the coast. There was no reason to fight the seas at periscope depth, and in fact we might make a bit better speed below the swells. On order, Dick eased Tang down to 80 feet, where we would cruise between observations.

  Since the ship was following the slightly concave coast in this area, even a reversal of course would not take her out of view, and irregularly spaced trips to periscope depth provided tracking with all of the information needed. The ship was zigging at odd times and making 8 knots over the ground. It was sufficient to gain bearing on us in spite of her longer route along the coast. Frank plotted our two tracks ahead, and the enemy could indeed be out of reach before dark by heading into Taihoku. It was 1400, and as a compromise, we added turns to bring our speed up to 7 knots.

  On the very next observation the bearing rate had decreased, but our extra turns were only in part responsible. Now coming to our aid were the seas kicked up by the opposing wind and current, for the enemy had cleared the lee of the shore and must now be bucking the waves from nearly dead ahead. Our tracks were converging slowly and another hour passed before we could truly make the ship out. Though identification might have been hastened by bringing the books to the conning tower on this one occasion, since not manning battle stations gave us plenty of room, the identification party preferred to work below from the details as they became available. The mast-funnel-mast silhouette had been furnished for an hour before the tall stack and forward superstructure were identified. Now we had the plumb bow and lower superstructure about the stack with apparent lifeboats atop. It was a game, but not until an hour before sunset could the OOD provide the clinching details of an after deckhouse and counter stern. They had the ship, an Aden Maru class freighter, constructed right after World War I, and one of about 50 in the class. Each member of the party took a look at the real ship and surely must have gained enthusiasm for his task.

  A possible shot before sunset was foiled by planes apparently heading home from their daytime patrol, but such an attack had not been uppermost anyway, and we did not go to battle stations. At suppertime she passed directly overhead, her single screw beating out 70 turns through our hull, or at least that was the wardroom count. For the first time, Tang was trailing this ship; but there was no better way of determining course, speed, and zigzag plan when attack did not have to be immediate. Frank spoke of the similar situation in the Yellow Sea, perhaps for the benefit of those officers who had not then been in our ship, but this night I contemplated a variation in the attack.

  The sun had set, and we trailed till the end of evening twilight. With lookouts ready in rain clothes in view of the threatening weather, three blasts sent us toward the surface. De Lapp did not save the high-pressure air, and a healthy blow had our decks well clear before the turbos roared. A spin of the SJ showed the enemy just over 4,000 yards dead ahead, but before we closed, the weighted sacks of trash and garbage came up through the conning tower and over the side, for the seas precluded opening the messroom hatch. With that done and sanitaries blown, we sheared out to pass the enemy 2,000 yards abeam. The stern chase would be a long one, especially since two mains were needed for battery charge. But that would hold only during the starting rate, and then the auxiliary could replace one of them. We had not rushed so far this day, and we would not do so now.

  Our hope for another unescorted ship vanished when radar raised two pips along with that of our target. They would undoubtedly be patrols escorting this freighter around Pakusa Point, or at least that was our wish. We came further left in order to pass the group at a more comfortable 4,000 yards, and since things could happen quickly when patrols were about, the Bells of St. Mary’s chimed for the second time this day. The torpedomen had partially withdrawn four torpedoes from the forward and after tubes during the afternoon. The specific gravity had been checked, the batteries ventilated, and all were now in place waiting for the tubes to be readied. Frank gave the order immediately after Ballinger’s “Battle stations manned.”

  It was good, for Tang was now abeam of the enemy, who was just visible through the spume on this dark night. We had used the SJ sparingly, but the information Caverly and Bergman provided was excellent. Especially the last report, that the escorts were falling astern. It was almost too good to be true, but such things could happen when ships were escorted only past extra dangerous areas. There could be no better opportunity, and Frank secured the charge and conned us in toward the enemy track as we had agreed. The seas rolled down our decks, but these were nothing Tang could not take in stride. Forward was John’s business, and right now mine was on the after TBT. Through the spume, angles on the bow would be only a guess, but bearings of the enemy would satisfy TDC and plot. The shape of the enemy narrowed, and then came the expected report from Frank.

  “We’re on her track, Captain, and steadied on zero six zero.”

  “Slow to one-third, Frank, and come left when the range is two thousand.”

  The bow of the freighter showed up big and black, as if coming out of a squall, and I had to tell myself that she was still over a mile away. It was not much over the 2,000 yards, for almost immediately came the word that we were coming left with 5 degrees rudder. I would mark bearings on her bri
dge as soon as her angle opened, and Frank would keep our stern pointed right down that bearing. Getting off the track seemed interminably slow and must have appeared so on the true plot, for Frank went ahead two-thirds.

  “The solution checks, Captain, still zero six zero and eight knots.”

  The angle on the bow was now opening rapidly, and I called port 45 with the next bearing. Our stern was now pulling ahead of the enemy’s bow; Frank would be bringing Tang to a heading for minimum gyros with torpedoes to hit on a 75 track. Even after the first torpedo hit, a good setup for further firing would obtain. The 400-foot ship looked enormous as she started across our stern, mainly due to her proximity but perhaps amplified by this somewhat eerie, stormy night.

  “Ten degrees to go, range five hundred, outer doors open.”

  Frank’s words were like a starter finally raising his gun. One more bearing was buzzed, and then came the “Any time, Captain.” The TBT was already trained on her foremast, waiting.

  “Constant bearing—mark!”

  “Set!” called Mel.

  Her bridge came on the wire, followed by the open space, and then the tall stack dead amidships.

  “Fire!” and a single torpedo raced from aft to intercept the enemy. Frank called up the time for the torpedo run of 450 yards, 30 seconds, 20 seconds to go. I marked a bearing on the ship’s stack should this single torpedo not do the job, for we could still fire a spread of three more. A terrific explosion made this unnecessary. Her boilers had apparently exploded with the torpex, sending a pillar of fire and illuminated steam skyward. It was the fire control party’s turn to come topside, but few of them saw much of the ship, for she sank almost immediately.