But if the admiral knew what was going on, why would he allow his light carriers to steam right into the IJN’s path?
None of it made sense, unless you assumed the worst.
“I don’t see any other ships,” Charlie said. “There’s nothing to stop the Japanese. I’m telling you, they didn’t get our message.”
Around him, the crew hunched at their stations, the atmosphere now thick with mounting tension and horror as what was happening out there sank in.
Everything was at risk. The transports, the beachhead on Leyte. The Japanese would easily eliminate the slower jeep carriers. In three hours, they’d smash their way into the gulf and blow the American invasion shipping out of the water.
Wait—the carriers were turning. He zeroed in on one that was launching planes into the wind, an act of necessity. Caught by utter surprise, the task force’s commander knew he was in trouble. East was his only escape route.
The sea around the carrier erupted in bright colors.
Dye-colored shells. One of the Japanese battleships had fired a spotting salvo upon which the enemy squadrons could determine the range.
Charlie swung the periscope, and there the Japanese ships were, just coming over the horizon. They’d fired with precision from a range of over ten miles. The heavy ships steamed in column, smoke billowing from their large stacks.
The destroyers and light cruisers raced from the flanks like the horns of a bull, already reaching out to gore the surprised Americans.
CHAPTER THIRTY
COMMAND DECISION
Charlie watched in horror as the Japanese juggernaut closed on the American ships. The sailors around him flinched at the boom of the guns, which reverberated through the Sandtiger’s hull.
“Tell us what’s happening,” Rusty begged.
“The Japanese just delivered a spotting salvo like a textbook example of good gunnery. The carriers are making a run for it.”
Another salvo straddled the carrier, which lurched, damaged by the blasts. Its planes continued to take off in frantic lunges. As the tropical sun spilled across the open sea, more carriers came into view. At least a dozen, all lumbering east and billowing heavy smoke from their stacks to camouflage themselves.
The Japanese were firing regularly now, rumbling like thunder.
“The tin cans are laying smoke,” he said. “I count only seven in the screen. The carriers are getting every plane they have off their backs. The northernmost are moving into a rainsquall to hide. I still don’t see any help coming.”
Percy was sending a desperate report to Pearl.
The Japanese fire tapered as they lost visibility of their prey. They continued to advance, their foe’s destruction temporarily delayed. The Japanese fleet were faster than the American carriers. It was only a matter of time.
With each passing minute, they closed the distance. With each salvo, improved their accuracy.
Charlie swung the periscope toward the IJN ships. The two giants, the biggest battleships in the world, cruised in his view. One flew the admiral’s flag. The armada’s flagship.
That ship could only be the Yamato.
He turned from the scope. “Helm, come right to one-eight-oh.”
The helmsman: “Come right to one-eight-oh, aye, Captain.”
The men stared at him, their faces pale in the conning tower’s electric lighting.
Rusty said, “What are you thinking, Skipper?”
He wiped the sheen of sweat from his forehead. “I don’t know. I don’t know what we can do. But I know we can’t do a damned thing sitting here. We’re going to get a little closer and see if any options present themselves.”
He returned to the scope. The American DDs were still firing smoke shells. The smokescreen thickened on the water, covering the carriers that continued to crawl east toward safety.
But not fast enough. The horns of the Japanese bull were already corralling the carriers, pushing them south toward Leyte Gulf where they’d be destroyed.
Or, just as bad, caught in the pincer and swept into the path of the oncoming battleships.
Charlie would have a front row seat to a massacre, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
He started in surprise. “One of our DDs is attacking. He’s charging the Japanese battle line by himself.”
The men didn’t cheer. They kept working in silence, hanging on Charlie’s every word. A single destroyer going up against an IJN fleet, against the likes of the Yamato, was suicidal. He doubted it would buy much time for the carriers to escape.
“The DD’s firing with his five-inch guns. He hit a heavy cruiser!”
This time, the crew let out a brief cheer.
“Now he’s wheeling. He’s heading back into the smoke. Wait. The cruiser’s on fire. The DD hit him with torpedoes!”
Another cheer, this one louder, more confident. Charlie had served on a destroyer and knew what they could do. While the smallest of the major surface vessels, they could deliver more punch per ton than any other ship type.
The heroic destroyer came out of the smoke again and immediately took a terrible pounding. Debris flew off the superstructure as the ship suffered multiple hits. But it stayed afloat, defiant, guns blazing.
The IJN had made a mistake. Expecting to fight battleships and big aircraft carriers, they were firing armor-piercing rounds, which passed straight through the destroyer’s thin armor without exploding.
Having sustained significant damage, the destroyer limped into a rainsquall. Guns flashed in the murk as it continued to engage multiple targets.
And that was that. So much for resistance.
Then the other two destroyers and four destroyer escorts barreled from the smokescreen, launching salvos.
“All the tin cans are in the fight now,” Charlie told his excited crew. “They’re putting up a hell of a fight.”
After several minutes, the first destroyer came out of the squall to attack again. He knew right then what he had to do.
“Down scope.”
The crewmen glanced at him in wonder. They didn’t want to attack, knowing it would likely end in their sinking. They also couldn’t walk away.
He moved to the plotting table, where Percy was tracking the IJN fleet. The other officers gathered around. Whatever action the Sandtiger would take, it was his decision alone. Whatever happened, it was his responsibility.
A thin line separated caution and cowardice, heroism and insanity. In Charlie’s mind, these lines disappeared. There was only his duty.
He said, “We’re going to attack.”
If there was any chance of delaying the Japanese long enough for the carriers to escape, for Kinkaid and Halsey to bring up their ships, they had to take it. The prospect terrified him, but he had no choice.
Rusty turned green. This wasn’t David versus Goliath. This was more like David fighting Goliath’s entire hometown. Charlie expected him to protest, but he didn’t.
“Sometimes,” the exec said, “you have to pick your battles.”
And sometimes, to be a good commander, you had to order the death of that which you loved.
“We have to go in on the surface, but we’ll be coming in behind the enemy’s DD screen, so we’ll still have the element of surprise. There are a lot of planes in the air, so we’ll run up our colors and pray those flyboys we rescued don’t bomb us again. We’re going to go in fast, hit them hard, and dive.”
“Great,” Percy said with a wince.
“What’s the target, Captain?” Morrison said.
“We’re going after their flagship. We’re going to attack the Yamato.”
The officers stirred at the idea. If they damaged the enemy’s flagship, the attack might stall. It was their best chance to make a difference in the battle’s outcome.
The torpedo officer grinned. “Aye, aye.”
“Rusty, you’ll direct the helm from the topside. Conn us to a ninety-degree track and as close as you can. Morrison, you and your gun cr
ew will have the job of keeping their tin cans away from us. Percy, you’ll be diving officer. Nixon, you’re going to make sure this old girl does what we ask her to do. Is everybody clear?”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” they murmured.
“Then get to your stations.” He keyed the 1MC and said, “This is the captain.”
His voice blared over speakers throughout the boat.
“By now, you know the Japs are pushing toward Leyte Gulf, and our boys are in big trouble. The tin cans are putting up one hell of a fight, and now it’s our turn. We’re going in. We can’t walk away from this. Today, we’re going to make history. Today, we’re going to sink the Yamato.”
He returned the microphone and said, “Call the men to general quarters. Battle stations, surface attack! Battle stations, gun action!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THE HORNET’S NEST
The helmsman gripped the general alarm handle and pulled it out and down. The alarm gonged throughout the boat. All hands rushed to stations.
Charlie mounted to the bridge on trembling legs. He’d always been able to think in a crisis, but right now he was too terrified.
No time for fear. Fear would get him and his crew killed. Half the job of being a good captain was acting the part, even if it meant fooling himself.
Rusty understood as well. He took a deep breath as he joined Charlie on the bridge then set his jaw.
A mild northeasterly wind blew at six knots. Charlie was grateful for the air and space. On the main deck below him, Morrison and his helmeted crew emerged from the gun hatch and unlimbered the five-inch gun, which would be the Sandtiger’s only real protection until they got close enough to shoot torpedoes.
“Bridge, Conn,” Nixon said over the bridge speaker. “All compartments report battle stations manned. The crew is at general quarters.”
On the main deck, Morrison’s crew crouched by the five-inch gun. No morale issues there. The torpedo officer had enthusiasm enough for all of them. Additional sailors mounted the 50-caliber and 40-mm Bofors anti-aircraft guns.
“The crew is at general quarters, Captain,” Rusty said.
“Very well.”
Confident his crew was ready for action, Charlie trained his binoculars ahead. The Japanese ships sprawled on the horizon, steaming south. AA fire filled the sky overhead with tracers and bursts, multicolored like their gun shells to distinguish fire from different ships and help the gunners’ accuracy. Hellcats, Helldivers, and Avengers buzzed like hornets, releasing bombs and diving for strafing runs. The bombs they carried were intended to be dropped on ground targets and were far less effective against surface ships, but they fought hard with what they had.
Rusty got a fix on the Yamato and corrected their course. Racing in from the flank, the Sandtiger still had the element of surprise. They could do this.
Still…
“Conn, Bridge. Have the yeoman report to me on the bridge.”
The sailor popped from the hatch and handed him, Rusty, and the quartermaster flak jackets. “You wanted me, Captain?”
“Yeo, I want you to get all the ship’s documents ready to deep six.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“And do it quietly.”
If there was a probability of capture, it was his duty to destroy any important documents that would prove useful to the Japanese.
“Do you think this might be a one-way trip?” Rusty said after the yeoman disappeared down the main hatch.
His friend was no doubt thinking about his wife and son.
Charlie put on the flak jacket over his Mae West. “We’re going to shoot our entire wad at the Yamato. Then we’re going to dive. The odds aren’t as bad as they look.”
“No choice anyway, is there?”
Charlie knew, if Rusty were in command, he wouldn’t walk away either. He might survive the war only to be unable to live with himself. He wouldn’t ask Charlie to walk away now.
“No choice,” Charlie agreed.
“Dumb idea, both of us being on the same boat. Your letter to Evie is in my pocket. I’ve been carrying it around these last two patrols.”
“We wrote them when we were together on the 55. And we both made it home. Remember, I’m your good luck charm.”
“Yeah,” said Rusty, no doubt now wondering if he’d been right about that. “You know, just in case, I should say…” The man searched for the right words.
“Save it for after the fight. We’re going to get out of this.” He called down to Morrison, “Choose your own targets. And keep it hot!”
Morrison grinned. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
The din of the battle vibrated in his chest. The ships grew larger with each passing minute. Off the port bow, enemy tin cans fired broadsides into a crippled American DD. The destroyer flew apart under the blows, but kept firing.
Beyond, a squadron of Avengers howled through a wall of flak. One disintegrated and flamed into the sea. A heavy cruiser rocked as bombs exploded on its deck. Another shuddered as a torpedo blast geysered above its hull.
Charlie pointed. “Rusty, conn us into that squall there.”
“Aye, aye.”
“Morrison! Stand by on the gun! Target to port! Fire at will!”
“Aye, aye!”
The Sandtiger knifed into the squall. Rain pounded the deck. In the murk, the bright flashes of cannon fire.
A Japanese light cruiser materialized in the gloom. Rusty swore and shouted orders to the helmsman to avoid collision. They were so close Charlie clearly saw Japanese sailors run across the decks, pointing. One raised a rifle and fired. The round pinged off the conning tower, too close for comfort.
Morrison opened fire at close range, scoring hits as the submarine barreled past. The gunnery officer danced and whooped as the five-inch gun pounded out shells that smashed into the cruiser in clouds of debris. The Bofors and Oerlikon guns banged away, sweeping the main deck.
The surprised cruiser poured on speed and veered off. The Sandtiger passed the American destroyer the IJN ship had been fighting. It was the Johnston, hammered beyond recognition and ablaze, its mast crumpled over the superstructure.
The bloodied crew raised their firsts and cheered as the Sandtiger cruised past, Old Glory waving from her shears. Charlie saluted them, struck by the incredible bravery of these men who knew they weren’t going home but refused to give up.
Robert E. Lee’s quote again. To be a good soldier, you must love the army. He might have added, enough to die for it.
Then the squall swallowed them, and nothing was visible astern except for another round of gun flashes as the Japanese closed in. The boat trembled at the deep concussions of the artillery around them.
The Sandtiger emerged from the squall in time to see another American destroyer punching a battleship seven times its size. They disappeared together in rain and mist. Beyond, a wave of planes dropped from the gray clouds to deliver their payloads onto the Japanese ships.
Three heavy cruisers were on fire, one limping away from the battle, the other two listing and blasting their horns as they sank. The destroyers’ maniacal defense, coupled with the smokescreens, scattered rainsqualls, and constant harassment from the air, were confounding the Japanese. Their formation had broken up, resulting in piecemeal action.
But it wasn’t enough to stop them. The northernmost escort carriers were already under attack, hitting back with their single five-inch guns. Three destroyer escorts launched torpedoes at a cruiser before veering off toward the carriers, fighting their bitter rearguard action.
The Yamato continued to close in, its mighty guns roaring. Charlie gasped at a massive explosion to the south, though he couldn’t see what got hit. His ears popped as the pressure wave rolled over the boat.
Morrison fired his gun a second before the lookouts began calling out contacts.
Japanese destroyers streamed toward the Sandtiger from all directions, intent on protecting the Yamato.
The submarine had been spott
ed, the element of surprise gone.
Now it was a race to shoot her torpedoes before the enemy destroyers surrounded her and rained hell.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
DANCE WITH DEATH
Charlie affixed his binoculars to the target-bearing transmitter mounted on the bridge. “This will be a bow shot. Forward Torpedo, make ready the tubes. Order is one, two, three, four, five, six. Set depth at fourteen feet, high speed.”
The Sandtiger trembled as the outer doors opened and seawater flooded the tubes.
He repeated the command for the aft torpedo tubes, setting the depth at two feet. He’d use them against the enemy destroyers.
“Hook, I want you on the aft TBT,” Charlie told the quartermaster.
“Aye, Captain.”
“At what range do you want to shoot?” Rusty said.
“We need to get close enough the Yamato can’t evade our fish. If we miss, this is all for nothing. Maybe 1,500 yards, but I’ll take what I can—”
The sea erupted as a shell struck the water close aboard. The Sandtiger jumped at the shock. Shrapnel pinged off the hull.
A Japanese destroyer had barreled in off the starboard beam and fired. Another hill of water rose from the sea off the port quarter, spraying across the deck.
Charlie wheeled. Four destroyers were circling him like sharks, darting in to fire their bow gun before wheeling away to shoot again with their stern gun. Morrison banged away at them with the deck gun. Rusty shouted a constant stream of orders to fishtail the boat and keep her stern aimed at the nearest enemy, a delicate dance in which one false step could result in their destruction.
The destroyers could take multiple solid hits. The Sandtiger, with her neutral buoyancy, likely only one. Both ship types had speed on their side, but the submarine had the advantage of being compact and low profile. As long as she kept moving, she was hard to hit, especially when she was firing back.
Which went both ways. He and Hooker fired both of the boat’s remaining stern torpedoes, but the nimble destroyers evaded them easily. That was okay. It bought him the breathing room he needed to make his run at the Yamato.
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