Clear the Bridge!

by Richard O'Kane

  We spoke of the enemy, too, of the apparent failure of the escorts and the brave attempt to retaliate. In the first instance, sending the leading patrol on a scouting mission without covering her station was an error. Most likely Tang’s camouflage, which was now dulled from 25,000 miles at sea and at its peak, had made the penetration possible, while the ensuing ineffectiveness of the escorts could be attributed to the very suddenness of the attack. The action of the transport led us to believe that she carried the convoy commander, who seized upon an opportunity that probably should have been assigned to an escort, though his effort had very nearly saved the freighter. So many times we had observed ships staying together following an initial attack, when scattering would have saved most of them. “Perhaps the constant possibility of a wolf pack has influenced them,” John injected, and this certainly could be one of the reasons. But attacking as had the transport was in the Japanese tradition. One thing we had clearly proved this night: Mark 18-1 torpedoes could be fired astern at any submarine speed.

  The wardroom clock read 0350, and there was no indication that the session would fold in a hurry. The same was not true of me, but a last turn topside was in order on such a night. Tiny was in the conning tower supervising the watch, and ever dependable Hank was on the bridge. They had just relieved and would have the watch through our dawn dive. The Quartermasters Notebook lay open on the chart desk, with its entries since the contact covering four pages. Our maneuvers until in position ahead of the convoy had taken an hour and 20 minutes. Dropping back and twisting to shoot required another ten minutes, while shooting and pulling clear added ten minutes more. Next came the 40-minute horseshoe sweep, and now a full hour’s run northward. On topside the night was moonless, and our wake seemed brighter than the stars. It told of our rush, but where were we going in such a hurry when the deeper waters of the East China Sea were less than 50 miles ahead?

  “Slow to standard speed, Hank. I’ll see that the navigator has the word.” Tang lost her excess way quickly and settled into the quiet, easy aspect of a submarine on the prowl.

  Duty Chief Hudson had apparently taken my turn topside as an indication that the bull sessions should close for the night. At least all below decks was as quiet as the bridge and seas topside. Nearly two hours slipped by, and then Chief Jones came forward to get Frank. After their morning stars, Frank would have Tiny or Hank, whichever was topside as the OOD, dive our ship for the day, and not many minutes later two blasts followed by a modest angle took Tang under.

  It would have been Hank with the deck and now with the dive, for he liked the smaller, steady angle. Not as spectacular as a steep one, but it never took our ship into a gallop and at least on the average was just as fast as dives with large angles and a lot more comfortable. The bacon had been fried before the dive so the hull ventilation would carry off any smoke. The odor invariably drove those on the bridge with the morning watch into near pains of hunger, and now with Tang submerged it lightly permeated the boat. No reveille was included in Frank’s Plan of the Day, and it would not have been necessary anyway.

  Just over one half of our torpedoes had been fired, and before our next attack all understudies would have exchanged places with those men scheduled for new-construction submarines. A drill at some time during the day seemed in order, specifically for the few who might not yet have stepped into their new roles. Frank brought me up to date on what had been going on below decks; our last four torpedoes had been fired by the party that would control Tang’s torpedoes on our next patrol, sometime after Christmas. With the results of last night, John’s remarks notwithstanding, we’d leave well enough alone. Since our evenings seemed destined to be busy, scheduling an afternoon movie was our big decision.

  The day provided good training of another sort, for shortly after daylight the first air patrol passed by, and breakfast was accompanied by the tune of distant echo-ranging. Frank returned to report that the search covered a very broad front, which showed that the enemy did not know our location or thought that there were several submarines. We would find out which, no doubt, before many hours could pass, and one scope concentrated on the broad arc off our starboard quarter.

  Before lunch the first thin sticks, the topmasts of patrols, poked above the horizon. Larry would determine their track. Having him in our ship’s company was almost like having the second exec we had enjoyed when Mort was with us on the Yellow Sea patrol. Larry soon had the patrols crossing well astern and heading for the China coast, and our meal proceeded without interruption. Neither was our afternoon movie delayed, and we recalled early patrol reports wherein submarines had remained at battle stations under identical circumstances. Our comments were not in derision, for only the experience gained on those patrols permitted Tang’s methods of operation.

  With the enemy about to slip below the horizon and the movie going, I took a turn through the after compartments and did not attempt to conceal my pride in the men with whom I spoke and in our ship. The troops seemed to share my feelings, and I found further evidence in the messroom on returning forward, for Tang’s score had been brought up to date and underlined. As of the moment, she was undoubtedly leading the force in ships on the bottom, and the troops knew it. Also posted was a copy of the recommendations for awards covering our last patrol, which I had submitted at Pearl. The individuals knew, of course, but others, especially our new hands, might not. I glanced down the second page, where the men’s names were listed. Ed, Mel, and Ballinger would receive Silver Star medals; Gulp, Hudson, De Lapp, and Fraz were recommended for Bronze Star medals. Next came the Secretary of the Navy’s Letter of Commendation with ribbon: Fire Controlman Brincken, Torpedoman’s Mate Foster, Electrician’s Mate Kanagy, Radioman Schroeder, Radioman Bergman, and finally Motor Machinist’s Mate Zofcin. The subsequent sheets containing the individual citations were well-thumbed, and I thought of Fraz’s requesting the lesser award so that another might receive a Silver Star. Frank, and probably Ballinger also, were of course responsible for the posting, which not only added to each man’s prestige but also provided incentive for others. Since awards were pegged to ships on the bottom, Tang was very probably leading others in individual awards, too, but we would keep these things within the ship’s company.

  The sound screen returned in late afternoon, passing about the same distance astern, and pinged its way on toward Formosa. It was a curious maneuver the enemy had conducted, as if trying to sweep out the whole Formosa Strait well into the East China Sea, like sweeping out a barn. The patrols continued to lag well behind us, however, and we surfaced near the end of evening twilight onto a calm sea. Frank and Jones caught their round of stars, the evening routines upwind were completed, and then the quiet ended. The heat was still on, first with night air patrols and then air and surface patrols in combination, apparently the same surface patrols that had crossed eastward during the day. They were now on our starboard bow, however, and we bent on turns for deeper seas to avoid what at least had the appearance of a trap. It turned out to be a general harassment that lasted till near the end of the evening watch. With the action starting at 0030 on this October 23, it had been an exciting, long, and tiring day, but the hours till dawn brought needed rest. We were still not ready to seek out the enemy, though should he cross our path that would be another matter.

  Dick’s two blasts at 0600 took us down for a routine submerged patrol in a position 30 miles to the west of our last contact with the antisubmarine forces. It was not a likely spot for enemy shipping, but neither had we necessarily found the enemy in logical places. Low and high periscope searches lured no ships to this side of the horizon during the forenoon watch, but the hours were well used in routine ship’s work and a mild field day.

  After lunch Frank dropped by my cabin with the chart in hand so that I might decide on our patrol for the night. Before getting down to that business, we talked about our patrol to date. This quite understandably led to a discussion of command and specifically submarine command, for there w
as a difference. The surface ship commander in a task force operation had to await deployment orders and then even the order to commence firing on joining the enemy. Operating generally with others, his duty was to carry out orders even if they seemed to be in error, at least until they could be verified. And in battle, a confirmation became practically impossible. Such an incident had occurred in the Battle of Guadalcanal, when an inadvertent cease-fire was given while our ships were engaged. The respite permitted the enemy to inflict devastating destruction.

  By contrast, our actions were guided only by the broad directives issued in our Operation Order, with rare exceptions such as our redeployment for lifeguard or to Davao Gulf, and the orders issued to Don Weiss in the East China Sea. Even in our wolf packs, though better designated as group patrols, the senior only assigned sectors. The freedom to devise our own strategy and employ the tactics best suited to the situation and the submarine’s particular capability carried also a deep responsibility. For each attack, it approached the wing commander’s action we had witnessed at Truk, when the bombers headed down through the hole in the clouds into the flak. But we had the advantage of being able to turn back and do it over if all was not going well, or even of using our weapons elsewhere when the odds became prohibitive.

  We had each requested submarine duty, as have all submariners, and by that very request had probably, though unwittingly, marked ourselves as candidates for that category of men who would likely put aside humane and human considerations of an enemy in carrying out attacks. Evaluation of my abilities had continued during four years of peacetime submarine operations, through qualification and then qualification for command. Frank’s qualification for command had come quickly, for he could be judged in the face of the enemy. Frank and I checked off the commanders of leading boats whom we knew personally, Slade Cutter, Dusty Dornin, Eli Reich, and the list went on. Not one of them, in our opinion, would waver, have doubts, or let the inevitable holocaust deter him from operating with the judicious daring that put the enemy on the bottom.

  It was time to get on with our business, and we first reviewed the enemy’s actions till just before midnight. We had considered previously that the patrols might be driving us toward the minefields detailed in the JICPOA supplement to our Operation Order, but I had discounted that, for no field could withstand a typhoon that even approached the intensity of the one we had encountered. Further, the sea, though shallow, was much too deep for magnetic mines. The patrolling did show that submarine presence was at least expected along this central shipping route. Surely enemy ships would avoid the area of our last attack and passage on down the strait, and that left only the shallow waters of the China coast for their transit. Move they must, for the Leyte campaign would surely bring out forces of the Imperial fleet, with their vast support requirements.

  Frank drew a line from our present position to the south of Turnabout Island, directly to the location of our original patrol there, which still showed on the chart. Perhaps we had just been too early on our first visit. Frank read the course from the compass rose and at my nod picked up the phone and ordered the OOD to steer 257 degrees true.

  13

  The lookouts were in the conning tower, the vents were closed, and Paul had reported Tang ready for surfacing. A sweep with the search scope verified Jones’s calculated time for the midpoint of evening twilight, but it also showed the top of a thin mast broad on our port bow. The next true bearing was slightly greater as the ship drew to the right, and while Paul and Frank tracked her movement, I attended to the night orders.

  Again they were brief, couching in general terms what we might expect this night and concluding with a caution that was probably unnecessary. The tracking continued, and I turned back to the left-hand page where I had listed the sinkings of the last convoy. Identification had made a good attempt by questioning lookouts and others who had been topside during that flail. After recording details and narrowing the choices, they had confronted the individuals with the corresponding pictures from ONI-208J, similar to police with mug shots. It was a good approach but had proved inconclusive, and I read again their frank results as I had recorded them:

  3 large tankers 30,000 tons Lat. 24° 58′ N.

  Long. 120° 31′ E.

  1 medium transport 7,500 tons Lat. 24° 58′ N.

  Long. 120° 31′ E.

  1 large freighter 7,500 tons Lat. 24° 58′ N.

  Long. 120° 31′ E.

  The patrol had continued slowly across our track and was lost in the night at the end of evening twilight. Her passage at this time was convenient, for otherwise we could well have intercepted her on the surface. Now with the SJ warmed up, we eased up for a sweep. The patrol was out at 9,000 yards on our starboard bow, and a few more ranges showed her continuing slowly on her way. We had lost the escort handily, but so had the navigator lost his sharp horizon when three blasts finally sent Tang up into a quiet night with the first-quarter moon to the west.

  The battery charge came first, three engines for the initial rate, while the fourth drove us along the selected track at a satisfactory speed. We were not rushed, for our destination was but a few hours away even at this speed. With the charge now starting at 2015, we would regulate our advance so as to arrive off the coast on its completion in about four hours.

  The SJ appeared hot, for Bergman continued to report the patrol, now back at 18,000 yards. An early contact on Turnabout would verify our position, but Jones and Frank came to the cigarette deck with sextant, stopwatch, and shielded penlight nonetheless. Apparently the challenge of obtaining position lines on a dark horizon had caught Frank’s fancy, too.

  The ballast tanks were dry, safety and negative flooded, and Hudson reported our ship ready for diving below. We were ready topside, but diving would be a purely defensive measure, for then our only means of attack on a night like this would be on broad sound bearings. But we would cross that bridge when we came to it. Our immediate task was to find the enemy, preferably after the engineers and electricians had stored away a goodly supply of juice. The lookouts—and, as I went below, the whole watch—seemed exceptionally intent.

  Within the hour, SJ made contact at 50,000 yards on what was most likely a distant mountaintop giving a pesky second pulse return. Ed went to the conning tower to check it out and to try for the first time his private alteration to our SJ, which varied the pulse rate. In no more than a minute he had checked this contact as being real, and the navigator confirmed it as Turnabout. The radar performance augered well for Tang this night should the enemy dare to move, and show he might, for in courage the Japanese were not lacking.

  Our track joined the China coast obliquely, with the prevailing current on our port bow. At our low speed, the component toward the coast was considerable and soon brought the lesser islands within range of the SJ. A bit at a time the land contours became clear as they might in an irregular facsimile transmission, but Frank was the navigator and insuring that our ship was heading for the spot was his task.

  Below decks, the battery ventilation blowers had been speeded up as the charge progressed. Kanagy, emerging from the battery well through the oval hatch in the passageway, extended five fingers. Five more points in specific gravity would bring it to the finishing rate. All was going according to plan, and I followed my own instructions by trying to get some rest.

  Only the report of reaching the finishing rate disturbed the following hour. The final gravity of each pilot cell was gratifying. It was the same as that which we had reached on our shakedown. I thought of the contrast to Wahoo’s battery on her fifth patrol, when we were sent to the Kurils and down to the main islands of the Empire with only half of our battery capacity remaining. It made for taut patrolling, as did the low fog bank slowly surrounding us in the Sea of Okhotsk that turned out to be floe ice. A rush in the passageway brought me back to the present.

  “We’ve got another convoy, Captain, range thirty-five thousand, and the navigator says there’s no hurry.”

>   The messenger went forward as before, and for the first time my foot slipped into its own sand shoe. Maneuvering bells were followed by a phone call from Frank to report coming to course 260 and going ahead standard. The change would put our ship well ahead on the enemy’s projected track. He had not only taken the correct action but knew where to reach me while I had my cup of coffee.

  In the conning tower, the chart showed our DR positions marked out ahead at ten-minute intervals and the enemy’s track extending from the northwest toward Turnabout Island. The convoy’s present position lay near the inscribed routing from Foochow to this turning point and as close to the smaller islands as any prudent navigation would permit.

  Gunner’s Mate Rector was manning the SJ during his normal rotation of billets within the four-hour watch. The very exact spacing of the distant pips had been the key to his differentiating them from the numerous islands. Consequently, we would have ample time to plan an approach to the best possible scene for attack, and that was the thanks the Japanese captains would receive for their excellent station-keeping.

  It was now only 2242 and we would close the range for an expanded SJ view before even guessing at the composition of the enemy convoy, but three things we already knew: The ships were enemy, they were coming our way, and there were lots of them. For the moment there might be nothing required that our section tracking could not handle adequately, and it was too early to call all the troops to battle stations. But a convoy such as now appeared on the radar screen deserved the best, and individual members of the battle stations tracking party were called quietly.

  The time was 2300, and a third engine added its horses in accelerating Tang’s movement to the convoy’s projected track. It was a move to counter the remote possibility of the enemy’s turning shoreward after rounding the island to hole up in protected shallow waters during the remainder of the night and then to proceed southward inshore of the coastal islands during daylight.