by Carl P. LaVO
Rethinking his options, the skipper decided on a submerged attack to steady the torpedo. As the diving alarm sounded, the skipper and Weaver went below. Neal Sever, a second-class signalman, lowered the hatch cover and prepared to set the watertight seal with a handwheel as the boat descended. Unbeknownst to anyone, however, Lt. (j.g.) Dave Teeters, the boat’s electronics officer, was still up in the periscope shears. He had gone to the bridge earlier to watch the sinking. This was his third patrol in the Barb and he had never seen battle action before. With nothing else to do, he had slipped topside past the skipper and Tuck without notice. In the darkness and the commotion, he was enjoying the spectacle when the Barb began venting compressed air to dive. He looked down on an empty bridge with the deck hatch closing over the red glow from lights inside the conning tower. As the sea swirled up over the deck and rose against the conning tower, Teeters dropped down and hit the intercom button.
“Hey!” he yelled. “Let me in!”
Sever pushed the hatch back open and with a grin looked up at the officer. “Do you want to come in too, Mr. Teeters?” Water splashed down behind the lieutenant as he bounded down the ladder in a single motion while Sever closed and dogged the hatch.
The sub resumed its descent, and at periscope depth Lieutenant Commander Lander, the boat’s PCO, fired a third torpedo at Fluckey’s direction into the side of the ship from 1,400 yards. The Gokoku finally rolled over and sank.
The submarine surfaced and sped away as the belated destroyer arrived. At dawn Japanese aircraft and more destroyers swarmed the area, plastering the ocean with more than three hundred bombs and depth charges intended for the submarine—all for naught.
Throughout the next day the Barb remained submerged, the crew resting until orders arrived from Loughlin for the two wolf packs to join up for lifeguard duty during a B-29 bombing strike on Kyushu from a new base deep inside China. The six subs repositioned themselves before dawn on 11 November at forty-mile intervals along the flight path of the bombers over the East China Sea. Dozens of enemy aircraft crisscrossed the sky above the clouds on the lookout for American aircraft while oblivious to the submarines below. An hour before noon the silver bodies of the high-flying bombers appeared in the sky en route to Kyushu. The pilots exchanged recognition signals with the Barb as they thrummed past. For the submariners it was a particularly thrilling moment. Said watch officer Lt. Richard Gibson, “What a beautiful sight! It’s good to see something American besides a submarine so close to Japan.”
The raid was so intense that the thump of explosions was audible in the ocean beneath the boat. After a few hours the B-29s passed over on the return to China. One crashed, however, 170 miles to the southwest, close enough for the Barb to speed to the scene.
As Fluckey got under way, a coded message arrived from the Queenfish. Loughlin had attacked a large convoy, had damaged one ship, and had taken a terrific beating from depth charges from a pair of frigates working in tandem. Since the convoy was roughly in the same direction as the downed B-29, Fluckey set an intercept course. Two hours later an enemy plane dropped out of the clouds in an attack dive. The Barb got under in one minute, diving to two hundred feet—just thirty feet from the bottom—as a bomb exploded. The sub moved off unscathed, though the detonation sent a knife flying in the galley, slicing the forearm of the ship’s baker while pots of boiling water toppled over, scalding his hand. When the boat surfaced in the later afternoon, wind velocity approached forty knots from the west, throwing up towering waves. Fluckey knew the impending action would be exceedingly difficult—and risky. Sea depth of only two hundred feet—two-thirds the length of the boat—would give the submarine little room for evasive maneuvers. Five hours later, in total darkness, radar revealed the approaching convoy. It took another hour for the boat to complete an end-around in force 6 seas. With no moon and a tumultuous ocean, the boat moved in unseen. Visual contact was established at midnight with a formation of ten ships in three columns with four destroyers patrolling the edges. With Captain Fluckey, PCO Lander, and the lookouts lashed to the bridge to keep from being washed overboard, the Barb skidded down mountainous seas in a path of foam two hundred yards wide to the head of the convoy. The plan of attack was to fire all six bow torpedo tubes and four stern tubes as the sub moved into the middle of the formation. Erratic ship movements in the heaving seas forced the fire control party in the conning tower to constantly readjust targeting data. With a destroyer edging up alongside the convoy on a collision course with the sub, Fluckey could wait no longer. In a three-minute span, six torpedoes exited the boat, two each for three ships. Multiple hits on the targets resulted in chaos, the destroyers wheeling about to find the yet unseen intruder. The Barb crossed ahead of one of the warships at a range of eight hundred yards to fire two stern torpedoes at a large freighter beyond. Another hit, this time sinking the 4,823-ton Naruo Maru.
Fluckey looked around for another target but couldn’t find one as the ships fell out of formation and zigzagged in “utter confusion,” as he described it. At Lander’s suggestions, the Barb pulled away to reload the torpedo tubes, await the convoy reforming, and then go in for a second attack. It was a difficult rearm. Corkscrew motions and severe battering by cresting fifteen-foot waves made footing very difficult for crewmen using hoists and their own strength to maneuver eight 3,154-pound torpedoes off their storage skids and into the firing tubes.
An hour later the Barb regained attack position and submerged ahead of the convoy. Spindrift reduced visibility through the periscope. Deep troughs between waves also made it difficult for the skipper to keep the targets in view until a freighter loomed only four hundred yards distant. As the Barb crossed its bow, Fluckey walked the periscope back and forth in order to view the entire ship, from bow to stern. Noticing a lagging second ship overlapping the target, the captain relayed targeting data in a continuing stream to the fire control party. The assistant approach officer called out bearings as fast as he could. The distance to the lead target narrowed. “She must be a lot closer,” muttered the torpedo data computer (TDC) operator. “A whole lot closer,” thought the skipper, who had overhead him. “But we control the situation. Gyros are racing toward zero. We can’t miss.”
Fluckey, still at the periscope, bellowed, “Fire 8!”
“Fire 7!”
“Fire 10!”
In the span of a few breaths, the first torpedo exploded against the hull of the freighter and “right in my face,” noted the captain. In the after torpedo room, the crew thought it was a depth charge. Fluckey ordered silent running. The boat fell quiet as crewmen shut down all equipment that might reveal their location. Parts of the doomed 5,396-ton Gyokuyo Maru rattled off the Barb’s superstructure as the submarine slid past on low motor propulsion to escape. At 185 feet the sub was unable to maintain depth and was at a slight up angle. The worry was that its twin propellers might strike the ocean floor at two hundred feet, damaging them. The captain had two choices: rev up the motors to control the depth, or blow the ballast tanks to lift the sub slightly. Either way, the noise would be noticed by destroyers overhead.
Fluckey chose a quick blow, leveling the boat at 190 feet. On cue the warships charged for the kill. “Screws of one escort could be heard through the hull above us,” Fluckey noted in the ship’s log. “A hush descended on all hands. . . . Escort has shifted to short scale pinging. . . . Commenced evasive turns. . . . The escorts have us sandwiched. . . . Pings are ringing off our sides.”
The splash of the first depth charge was audible. It exploded at 150 feet. Close. A minute later, another splash and another explosion—this time at the same level as the boat. Very close. Several more splashes. The sub hung near the bottom. Would this be the coup de grace? Everyone braced, staring at the overhead. This time the bombs landed in the mud on the ocean bottom without detonating. The fuses were set too deep.
The Barb floated motionless. So did the destroyers, pinging to relocate the sub. More splashes could be heard. Three bombs went
off close.
Then all was quiet. An hour passed.
The destroyers had returned to the convoy. The Barb surfaced just before dawn. Fluckey briefly considered making another foray but decided to leave the follow-up attack to the Urchins.
When the search for the downed bomber crew proved to be futile, Fluckey set a course for Quelpart, a large island off the southern tip of Korea. Fluckey thought overcast conditions would be ideal for a little gun action.
Like most American submariners, those in the Barb were motivated by a desire for unconditional surrender and complete victory over the enemy. The sneak attack on Pearl Harbor and stories of atrocities against Allied prisoners inflamed them. In a letter earlier to his wife, Fluckey wrote of what the war had done to him. “So now I’m a veteran of the greatest game there is. And what a pleasure it is to eliminate Japs. Funny thing, I seem to be the most bloodthirsty one of the bunch and I never could steel my heart enough to kill a rabbit—but these slant eyes aren’t man nor beast, so it’s a different matter. Does make life out here seem kind of cheap though. So cheap I could stick a pistol in a Jap’s ear and pull the trigger without a qualm.”
The commander of the Barb would have no mercy as he came upon two Japanese schooners on the morning of 14 November. Sailors on the two vessels saw the sub coming. One schooner turned as if to ram, an action Fluckey termed “real courage.” In doing so, the two vessels separated, giving the gunners on the sub the opportunity to fire port and starboard broadsides. “I knew the crew would enjoy this, so we easily slipped in between them,” noted the captain, who observed dummy wooden guns mounted aft of the two schooners. Forty rounds of 40mm gunfire and 4-inch shelling dispatched both vessels. A half hour later the submarine encountered a third schooner and sank it as well. No regrets.
Later in the day, as the skipper relaxed in his cabin, Chief Pharmacist’s Mate Donnelly interrupted. Lanier, the executive officer (XO), had suffered a heart attack. Fluckey couldn’t believe it; the XO was only in his mid-twenties. As Donnelly explained it, Lanier had been taking star sights on the bridge when he felt tightness in his chest, shortness of breath, and pain in his neck and shoulder. Donnelly accurately diagnosed a case of angina pectoris and treated him with nitroglycerin tablets. Fluckey contemplated returning at once to Saipan. But Donnelly assured the captain that his XO was resting comfortably and if the symptoms lessened, there would be no need to return. There was plenty of nitroglycerin aboard to handle the situation. He recommended Lanier stay in his bunk for the time being and remain in the officers’ quarters at all times. By all means, he must avoid climbing ladders and through hatches, and no battle stations.
Fluckey asked Max Duncan to assume Lanier’s duties. Later the captain discussed the situation with his exec, who came to tears. Fluckey bucked him up, saying that he and the other officers would come to him for advice during the rest of the patrol. Besides, he said, the boat only had seven torpedoes left; any action would be limited.
The following afternoon the distant rumble of numerous explosions in the direction of the Queenfish’s patrol sector indicated a convoy had been encountered. At dusk a report radioed from Loughlin’s boat revealed the Queenfish had put two torpedoes into one of two carriers, sinking it. The rest had fled in the Barb’s direction. Three hours later the sub made radar contact while racing forward on the surface and knifing through gigantic waves. Columns of spray lofted high into the air made Fluckey fearful the boat might be sighted. He slowed to standard speed, lowering the spray but causing it to drench the bridge watch instead.
Three, possibly four, destroyers guarding a carrier soon appeared. With the convoy’s zig pattern mapped out, Fluckey decided to attack the carrier with five bow tubes. At thirty-seven minutes to midnight the skipper gave the order at a range of 2,580 yards. The first torpedo hit the stern but the others missed when the carrier Jinyo zigged to avoid. The ship slowed to twelve knots as the destroyers threw up a defensive screen of depth charges to keep the Barb away.
Fluckey got off a report to all other subs in the two wolf packs and began an end-around for another attack. But before he could get in position, the carrier suddenly accelerated to nineteen knots. The Barb attempted to close, notching up to more than twenty knots. The sub gained slowly but could not make up the distance before morning light. After a three-hour pursuit Captain Fluckey called off the chase.
As it turned out, the Jinyo was doomed anyway. Two days later—17 November—Lt. Cdr. Gordon Underwood in the Spadefish intercepted the wounded carrier and sank it.
With only two torpedoes left, both in the stern tubes, the Barb patrolled off Noma Misaki, the southern cape of Kyushu. About noon lookouts spotted two small ships skirting the coast. Fluckey moved in close to the beach for a stern shot, aiming one torpedo at each ship. Both missed.
Out of torpedoes, the submarine departed its patrol sector and set a course across the Pacific to Midway and the end of a nine thousand-mile, thirty-six-day war patrol in which the boat sank a light cruiser and two freighters and damaged an aircraft carrier. At Midway a refit and turnaround would send the Barb to the coast of China, where Eugene Fluckey and his submarine would make history.
Secret Harbor (Eleventh Patrol)
Midway Island was a welcome relief from the high tension of the Barb’s tenth war patrol. As usual officers and crew had lost weight despite a plentiful, rich diet. The skipper, who weighed 180 pounds leaving Majuro, arrived on Midway at 160. Losing weight was a manifestation of the ardor of the patrols. The Navy worried about that. Psychologists had long concluded that four war patrols was enough for any skipper. And though there was a period of rest and relaxation between patrols, the skippers needed a much longer break, preferably back home. Admiral Lockwood and the high command in Hawaii had already decided that Fluckey could make just one more run, his fourth in command.
At dockside a Navy band, military brass, and a large entourage hailed the Barb’s arrival. It was a poignant moment for the captain, his officers, and his men, who believed that in the span of eight days they had sent five enemy freighters to the ocean bottom, damaged a large carrier, and crippled two cargo ships. The boat in three patrols had taken a toll on the enemy like no other Pacific submarine—fourteen ships sunk and four damaged. Fluckey’s success was remarkable by any measure. Still, those who met him for the first time were taken aback that this smiling, six-foot redhead could be the Silent Service’s ultimate warrior. As one put it, “He looks like the stub-toed boy of the magazine covers, the one with the homemade fishing pole and can of worms and the eighteen-inch trout.” Some in the Navy speculated that the Barb’s ability to sink ships was simple luck, that “Lucky Fluckey” had been in the right place at the right time. The skipper, however, knew success had little to do with luck. What gave the Barb its edge was ingenuity, the quality of its personnel, careful planning, tenacity, and avoiding undue risks. Above all the boat did the unexpected. The captain followed the “Law of Contraries,” as he put it when grilled by sub captains. He said his daughter, Barbara, taught it to him in a letter. From Annapolis, she wrote that she prayed for rain when she wanted a sunny day for a picnic because “you see, Daddy, that’s the law of contraries—pray for what you don’t want and you’ll get what you really want.” The Barb employed the Law of Contraries by never doing what the Japanese expected, thereby retaining the element of surprise.
For the boat’s upcoming patrol, Fluckey would have to do without two key officers. Lanier, his executive officer, had caught the first flight to Oahu for a complete physical and follow-up care at Aiea Hospital, where Donnelly’s diagnosis of a heart attack was confirmed. Also shipping out was Tuck Weaver, the dependable battle stations officer of the deck. In every surface engagement, he and the captain had manned the bridge, directing the battle action. Weaver, a veteran of four war patrols in the Barb and five in the S-30, had received orders to new submarine construction in Manitowoc, Wisconsin.
One week into the Barb’s layover, Captain Fluckey boarded a
cargo plane for Hawaii for a turnaround visit to ComSubPac. The only other passenger aboard was Weaver. Both men sat on a wooden bench reminiscing during the six-hour flight. Fluckey regretted losing Weaver, his “right arm” as he had put it in a toast at a farewell party on Midway. Tuck, he said, was a “rare gem,” among the greatest officers he had known for his dry wit to relieve tension at dire moments and his fearlessness in combat. He was also, as Fluckey reminded everyone, the only shipmate that had experienced a sub sinking, a reference to those harrowing hours aboard S-30 when a deep ocean shelf in the Pacific saved the boat from sinking to crush depth after being depth-charged.
After the two men parted on Oahu, Fluckey went to the hospital to check on Lanier, then visited ComSubPac headquarters, where he learned that Laughlin’s Loopers—the Barb, the Queenfish, and the Picuda—would be deployed to the Formosa Straits and South China Sea in December. The Navy expected the Japanese to rush reinforcements through the strait to the Philippines to blunt an American invasion of Luzon and Mindanao, now that Leyte had fallen. The mission of the Loopers was to bottle up the strait.
While at headquarters Fluckey met in private with Lockwood, who marveled at the Barb’s tenth war patrol. The admiral expected a solid eleventh, after which he wanted the commander to join his staff. He feared the Barb would be lost if Fluckey made a fifth run. The skipper begged him to change his mind, that he hoped to try all kinds of new tactics and deserved a follow-up “graduation” patrol unfettered by wolf pack duty. Lockwood agreed to consider it, but only after reviewing the results of the upcoming patrol and if Fluckey submitted to a complete physical.