We now experienced something new in antisubmarine measures with the firing of 40-millimeter or similar automatic weapons from the beach. The fire was directed straight up, however, and we were quite content to let the enemy believe that our China-based planes were aloft. We did not laugh, however, and promptly headed down the coast to pass the two patrols between us and the area for the next day’s operations. Night orders at this time would be out of date before the ink was dry, so I recorded our two sinkings, which we knew could not change:
Diesel freighter 7,500 tons Lat 25° 12′ N.
Long. 121′ 10′ E.
Medium freighter (Aden Maru class) 5,824 tons Lat 25° 08′ N.
Long. 121′ 08′ E.
7
It was 2115, only a quarter of an hour after the attack, and already SJ had made contact on the two expected patrols. As we moved in an arc on approaching Pakusa Point to give these patrols a wide berth, an unexpected third pip appeared on the PPI. It was slightly more distant than the others, to seaward, and was obviously another patrol joining in a search. Reluctantly we secured the battery charge again and moved up to full power in making a wider sweep around the enemy. The late-arriving patrol must have been equipped with radar, for tracking soon had her on an intercepting course that she could not have figured out otherwise.
This patrol was turning out to be more than just a nuisance and from her advantageous point was closing on our port hand until we put her astern. Our new course, due west, opened the range, and tracking soon had the enemy turning back. The patrol had accomplished her mission in chasing us clear of the point and protecting her area. But we had business elsewhere and could get there almost as well by a jaunt toward the China coast and down to the middle of the strait.
We were still standing by for a specific lifeguard assignment for the next day, but if none came in on the Fox the choice of patrol stations was up to us. Already, Task Force 38 would be about 300 miles from Formosa, and though I did not know the details, air attacks on Kiirun, Taihoku, Takao, and the numerous airfield installations would certainly be made. We might do some good off the central coast, and I had left a selected position with Admiral Lockwood. Just the knowledge that a friendly submarine was waiting helped a pilot carry his bombs home. At least we were led to believe this after Truk, but it would be a much different problem here with no friendly air cover.
It was 2230 when the navigator recommended course 215, the route we would follow throughout the remainder of the night. The last 24 hours had been tiring, in part because we had not completely recovered from the typhoon, but mostly due to the duration of the last approach and attack. Every section had been involved in the tracking, and of course all hands in the attack, and frankly if the troops felt the same as I did, we’d all just as soon call off the war games for a day. In view of what had been happening, the enemy might just cooperate.
The wardroom was still buzzing, but after passing the Night Order Book around, everyone followed Larry’s lead in getting what sleep they could before we were into another day. Our ship was quiet, and even the chop had subsided, adding to the stillness. But it was all broken with “SJ contact bearing one zero, range nineteen thousand.” That would put it westward of Tang, 225 true, and I flipped the eavesdropping switch for any further information while locating my sand shoe. Topside, we already had masthead lights in view and came right to cross her bow and look her over from all around. First green and then green and red side lights came in view. Then halfway down her port side, a cargo light illuminated her white hull, a green stripe, and a large red cross.
We could find no fault with this properly identified hospital ship, and Larry, trying out his hand at navigating, recommended the course back to our track. Below, all was quiet again except for a conversation in control, which also reached my cabin since the special switch was still on. It probably expressed the sentiment of everyone embarked in Tang and was summarized in a single exclamation in Ballinger’s unmistakable voice, “Aw, the bastard’s probably transporting ten thousand troops, all with athlete’s foot!”
Frank and Jones put our ship in the selected spot off Tsusho. The 15 miles from shore should permit surfacing periodically or at least poking our antenna out for possible messages concerning downed aviators, and with luck, to intercept the airmen’s conversations. With first daylight, Basil’s welcome blasts sent our ship below for another day of intense search. Volunteers for the scopes were no problem, for all hands knew that at this very moment our planes would be over the mountains. They would be fighters to gain and then maintain control of the air, and hot on their heels would come the dive-bombers. It was all easy to picture after Truk and then listening to the airmen for three weeks afterward, and we somewhat regretted being so distant. This was no Truk, however, for the objectives were spread over 180 miles, and a combat air patrol to facilitate our surface operations would be impossible.
To seaward, especially, there remained a fair possibility of ship contacts, and we alternated the search sectors between the two scopes. Only enemy planes, mostly heading west, and an occasional surface patrol came in view. They interfered somewhat with our attempts to catch carrier plane transmissions, and nothing intelligible could be heard on the occasions when our VHF-UHF antennas were high in the air. The jammed transmissions and smoke rising from over the horizon left no doubt about the strike being in progress, however, and a general feeling of elation quickly went through the boat. The southern tip of Kyushu was only another 700 miles to the north, and certainly knowledgeable Japanese were aware that this attack was the beginning of the end.
Frank and Chief Jones were standing by with sextant and watch when three blasts sent Tang toward the surface. The order to start the turbos normally signified that the submarine would not be diving immediately, enemy willing, and the navigators bounded topside to get their round of stars on the fading horizon. An accurate position was always important but especially so this evening, for our destination was the focal point of two probable shipping routes from Formosa to China.
With a day for consideration, we had searched Sailing Directions, even an atlas, so the point for tomorrow’s patrol was not selected by ticktacktoe. The seas, the currents, and the shoals are just the same for all seafarers, and we considered Foochow a logical haven for enemy ships during Task Force 38’s continuing air strikes on Formosa. The routes we had worked out led from Takao and Kiirun, and there could be enemy ships along either one of them this moment, and more after dark. We were confident of finding the enemy, at least some stragglers, where the two routes converged, in the waters east of Turnabout Island. A single diesel was already pushing us along due north while the others charged the batteries. After Frank had his star fix he would plot it on the chart and then advance the point due north at our present speed. I’d see the chart in the wardroom when he was ready with the position accurate to the moment.
Remembering a captain who liked to lean over my shoulder, point with his finger, and utter sounds of disapproval, I went quickly below. The chart would follow just that much sooner, and we saved Frank’s place at the supper table accordingly. Rest is a relative thing, or so it appeared with our young officers, for this night a jollier bunch would be hard to find anywhere. Perhaps they had checked the menu or dropped by the galley, for Adams arrived with a platter of rare roast beef surrounded by roast potatoes. Whatever Walker had in the serving dishes was of little importance, and the same would undoubtedly be true aft, for we all had the same meals, the best.
Frank had changed course 4 degrees to 356, and reported that our one engine would suffice. As had become the custom when there was no urgency, he placed the chart atop the sideboard and enjoyed his beef while it was still hot. That taken care of, we considered our position, and Walker brought the Night Order Book. With the chart spread out, those around the wardroom table could read at a glance just where we were going and gain a fair appreciation of the prospects. For all, including Walker, our first visit to China since the Shantung Promon
tory would be another intriguing adventure.
Early in the midwatch, Paul reported the wind drawing to the east, and about an hour later, passing rain squalls. Our periodic sweeps with the SJ were increased, and toward the end of the watch an indistinct pip appeared on the screen. Tracked at the estimated speed and in the direction of the wind, its dark shape was soon identified by Hank as a particularly black, dense squall, almost the first one to so show since Saipan.
The morning watch relieved. Frank and Jones were waiting, hoping for a round of stars, when SJ reported a forest out ahead. Such numerous returns could only come from a fishing fleet, but especially on the A-scope their pips seemed too good. Two more engines closed the 14,000 yards to 5,000 before the gray of dawn sent us down, and we moved on in with a hand on the general alarm. Now in good daylight I spotted the first shape, a patrol passing from one squall to another. The steersman pulled the handle and the Bells of St. Mary’s held reveille this Friday the 13th.
It was 0530, ten minutes into the run to close the enemy, when we slowed for an observation. Our 6 knots should have reduced the range to about 3,000 yards, but Caverly had only light high-speed screws ahead, though they spread from bow to bow. At my four-finger sign, four tubes forward and aft were readied, and we sneaked a look into nothing but squalls. Two-thirds speed for five minutes should have the range down to 2,000 yards, and we slowed again. Sound now had light screws on various bearings, and it seemed that someone must be loose with the shaving brush in the forward torpedo room. Jones had the scope ready at deck level, however, and when Welch called 4 knots, I rode it on up for a water-lapping low-power sweep.
Seven different marks caused some confusion within the fire control party, and that is exactly what we had topside, a confusion of patrols. Our destination had been a possible focal point for enemy shipping, and by all appearance the enemy had chosen that very location for his patrols to wait out the strike. The bearings were on those that were fairly close, but there were others in view to the west and possibly several more beyond the squalls.
This was no target for any submarine, and we sneaked off to the east to a safe position for periodic radar sweeps. The patrols remained in a large, scattered group with no other pips coming into view, and after an hour we decided that our appraisal that they were waiting out the strike was indeed correct. Some of our searches had been with decks awash, and on the last occasion three blasts completed the surfacing. Frank gave 150 degrees as the course for Taihoku, or more accurately the mouth of the river leading to the city, and two engines drove Tang back toward Formosa.
Tamsui Mountain, rising 3,675 feet and located about ten miles inland from the northern tip of Formosa, rose above the horizon at midmorning. The coast was still 30 miles distant, but in clearing weather we could no longer be caught by a plane out of the clouds so we continued the run on the surface. It took but another hour to reach a reasonable search position and, prompted by smoke and flames ashore from the continuing strike, we pulled the plug. It seemed prudent on two accounts: We would likely be detected if we continued on the surface, and with no positive identification, we could be surprised by one of our own planes.
No planes of any sort, or ships, even sampans, came in view of the scopes as we closed the island and turned right to follow the shoreline to the south. When we surfaced at dusk, the fires ashore seemed to cover the airfields, or at least the general areas where we had observed planes landing. There could be little doubt about the thoroughness of the strike, but it had also cleared the seas. Our searches along enemy retirement tracks remained futile but offered a gratifying display, for fires burned furiously day and night.
We spoke of the stagnant areas west of Palau following that strike, but knew that here it would be different. The enemy would have to resupply Formosa and his forces in the Philippines, too. It was just a matter of time, and any submarine could outwait the enemy. Task Force 38 had departed after the morning strike of the 14th, and Tang headed west. The enemy would surely seek the extra protection of remote shipping lanes along the China coast.
8
It was with some disappointment that Formosa was left astern, for we should have been able to contribute in some way to the success of the strike. During the three days of the operation many airmen must have been shot down, for we knew by our observations of enemy air activity before the 12th that he was not going to be surprised. It now appeared that our first two attacks were on merchantmen hustled out of Takao, on the southwest coast of the island; this port had over 2,000 departures a year and was the shipping point for almost all of the rice and sugar. We had gathered this and other information about Formosa before leaving Pearl. The Monograph of the Japanese Empire, which was on the allowance of large ships and staffs, was one source, but Thomas Philip Terry’s Guide to the Japanese Empire, 1933 edition, had the facts we really needed—Formosa’s seasonal weather, her history as a group of feudal states, her subjugation by the Chinese, Dutch, Spanish, French, and then Chinese again. The high point as far as we were concerned was the acquisition of the island by the Japanese as a part of the settlement of the Sino-Japanese War in 1895, marking the first venture of the Japanese as an imperial power. As of the date of our reference material, the Japanese had more or less contained the head-hunting tribes that still lived in remote areas in the mountains but had not subjugated them, and we wondered if these savages might not stand in our stead and befriend some of our airmen who could be escaping to the mountains.
Frank had taken a departure on Taiko Point and recommended a course of 316. It would take Tang diagonally across the strait to a position well south of Turnabout Island. We believed there was good logic behind this selection, for we would be able to move slowly with the current during a good part of our submerged patrol and would be in an excellent position to intercept any shipping from the north that rounded the island. And round Turnabout it must, for the shallow waters to shoreward would only accommodate ships of 5,000 tons or less, and that surely with a local pilot.
The strait was calm for a change, and we surfaced with a quarter of our voyage behind us and only 60 miles to go. If I had dared to dream, I might have considered this area a somewhat shorter though wider Long Island Sound, and lest others might be lulled by similar thoughts, I penned specific night orders covering our patrol in the middle of the strait until 0300, and then moving on to the mainland.
The night passed quietly and so did the day, though even the diehards in the engineers came to the conning tower for a squint at China. Frank and Jones kept busy identifying islands and correcting the chart; backed up by an occasional sounding, they were confident that we could lie close to this treacherous area throughout the coming darkness. They were right, but it did not make for a restful night, since no navigational lights were burning, not even dimmed ones.
Only an occasional sampan had come in view of our scopes during daylight, and surely the enemy merchantmen would require some navigational aids at night. These considerations and blustering weather dictated moving away from the dangerous shoals, and Pakusa Point lay only a few hours to the east. We would have moved in another day or so anyway, for it was just our guess that the Japanese would hug the China coast. There was also the possibility that they had interpreted the three-day strike as a prelude to a further assault and landing. Even we had been fooled by our forces’ previously unannounced island-hopping, and the Japanese might be bolstering Formosa for such an attack. If so, their ships would undoubtedly follow the more direct routes to the island.
Tang moved slowly east after surfacing just in case some unconventional convoy commander decided to take his ships right down the middle of the strait. We were in no hurry, for the total run was only 60 miles. John reported our status in accordance with the night orders, and the smell of freshly baked bread made further dozing off impossible. It was not bread but hot rolls, and Adams was just taking them out of the oven. Hank and Paul, who had just come off the evening watch, were ahead of me, but there were enough for ever
yone. A moment later the duty chiefs messenger came to the wardroom.
“We’ve got an Ultra, Captain,” he reported. “It’s still coming in.” And then he hustled forward to wake the coding officer. A minute later Basil raced aft still buttoning up his pants, and I wondered if others’ hearts had picked up a beat, too.
Waiting for the decoding of an Ultra was akin to waiting for the torpedoes to hit, and on this early morning the minutes dragged. That the decoding took longer was no one’s fault, for Basil and Mel, who had gone aft to help, were using the old-fashioned strip cipher. There was nothing unusual about this, since boats operating in salvageable waters were frequently ordered to leave the electric coding machines at their bases. No one else went aft or otherwise interfered, so after a few minutes Basil came forward with the message printed out in continuous block letters. Vertical lines separated them into words, and the first group spelled CARRIER. The following words threw a sizable monkey wrench into the possibilities, for the complete message, less the padding, read quite simply:
CARRIER ANCHORED APPROXIMATE
CENTER FORMOSA BANKS
Frank was standing by with the chart spread out on the wardroom table and with parallel rulers read our new course, 230. Flank speed put four engines on the line. Tang was on her way, but just how she was supposed to reach the enemy remained a big question mark. In fact the padding, or additional random words to make the message more difficult to break, could well have included GOOD LUCK, for the banks run 60 miles from northeast to southwest and average 30 miles across. In some inlets we could dive, but elsewhere approach, attack, and evasion would all have to be on the surface.
The mission seemed a bit taut, but Ultras were not sent out lightly, and Tang was the only and the action addressee. There was little use in fussing over it, for the center of the banks still lay 180 miles to the southwest. Even with an all-day submerged run at our best sustained speed, it would be on toward midnight before we could attack, and the remaining dark hours of this night were meant for rest.
Clear the Bridge! Page 46