The Passion and the Glory

by Christopher Nicole

  Walt was writing up the Log, just after four in the afternoon, when he heard Platt call, ‘Smoke, bearing two zero three.’

  Walt put down his pen and ran up the ladder, levelled his glasses. There was quite a lot of smoke. And from that direction, south west, it could only be made by Japanese ships. It was also approaching at some speed.

  ‘Make to Leyte,’ he said. ‘Japanese squadron proceeding north east, north of Palawan. Will inform number and composition as soon as possible.’

  ‘You taking her down?’ Galt asked. ‘Those guys are going to hear that transmission.’

  ‘We’re too far away for them to spot right now. It’ll be dark in an hour, and we’re against the evening sky. I want to make out who they are.’

  ‘Big ships, I’d say. Now where the hell can they be going?’

  ‘I’ll give you one guess,’ Walt replied.

  ‘But … without air cover?’

  ‘We don’t know that yet,’ Walt said. ‘Supposing they are making for Leyte, what’s the quickest route?’

  They went down to the chartroom. ‘For big ships, either Surigao or San Bernardino,’ Galt said.

  ‘But if they’re already north of Palawan, it’ll have to be the San Bernardino,’ Walt said. ‘Okay, Mr Galt, steer three five five.’

  That was virtually due north, to cross the top of the approaching squadron. Walt returned to the conning tower, and gazed at the oncoming ships. The sun was now setting behind them, and it was going to be well into the night before they got within torpedo range. But that wasn’t a bad thing, and now at last he could make out the individual silhouettes. ‘Make to Leyte,’ he told the telegrapher. ‘At least twenty ships in enemy force. Including one, three, five battleships. This has got to be the force from Singapore. Oh, boy. Two of them are very large. And there are at least six heavy cruisers. The rest are destroyers, I would say. Make that total more likely thirty.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The telegrapher went down, and Galt came up.

  ‘Two very large ones?’ he queried. ‘You don’t mean … ’

  ‘I reckon it’s Yamato and Mushashi, all right.’

  ‘Then they have to mean business.’

  ‘Yeah. Well, Halsey will know about it by now. But I tell you something, Joe: I mean to get amongst that lot.’

  ‘Heck,’ Galt said. ‘To sink Mushashi, or Yamato … that’d be something.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Walt said. ‘Oh, yes.’

  He levelled his glasses again. Effortlessly, majestically, creamy white bones in their teeth, the warships steamed to the north east. Walt knew both Darter and Dace, behind him, would have heard his transmission and also be preparing to go into action. While the Japanese did not seem to suspect the possible presence of submarines in these waters, were holding their courses as if there was no other ship in the sea.

  Darkness fell with tropical suddenness, and as the ships were blacked out, they disappeared too; there was no moon, and the night was like pitch.

  ‘Where the hell are the bastards,’ Walt growled, after several aimless sweeps with his glasses.

  ‘There,’ Foy said. ‘I think.’

  Binoculars were levelled, and the dark shape of the battleships could just be made out.

  ‘Range ten thousand yards,’ Galt called up.

  ‘The rats! They must’ve altered course as soon as the sun went.’

  ‘Maybe they did hear our transmission, after all.’

  ‘Maybe. Full speed ahead, Chief Ramos,’ Walt shouted into the intercom. ‘Course is zero two four, Mr Galt. We have to get back into contention.’

  For the Japanese were very nearly level with them, and of course the battleships and cruisers had much greater speed than even a surfaced submarine.

  Sea Lion ploughed into the waves, but it was a terribly slow business, and all the time the Japanese squadron was drawing across their bows. Yet the range was closing. ‘Eight thousand,’ Galt called. ‘Six thousand.’

  ‘Stand by bow tubes,’ Walt said.

  Platt gave him a startled glance; he had never fired his torpedoes from the surface. Then he slid down the ladder.

  ‘Action stations, Mr Foy,’ Walt said.

  The ensign also went down.

  ‘You staying up there, skipper?’ Galt asked, politely.

  ‘Just for a while,’ Walt told him. He didn’t intend to sacrifice any speed until he had to.

  ‘Four thousand yards. I reckon they can see our wake.’

  ‘If they’re looking,’ Walt said. Because the Japanese ships, now clearly visible, were not altering course. He took his sights on the closest of the very big ships. ‘Fire all, forward.’

  ‘One gone, Two gone, Three gone, Four gone, Five gone, Six gone,’ Platt chanted.

  ‘Dive, dive, dive,’ Walt shouted, and slid down the ladder, closing the hatch behind him. Sea Lion plunged into the depths.

  ‘It’s not too deep around here,’ Galt warned. ‘Maybe two hundred feet.’

  ‘So aim to sit a while,’ Walt told him, and cocked his head as there came a distant explosion. ‘We got something.’

  ‘And we have company.’

  Propellers whirred overhead, but the Japanese did not have any idea where the torpedoes had come from.

  ‘Stop engines and let her sink, Mr Galt,’ Walt said.

  Silently the submarine went down. They heard distant bangs and suffered some vibration, but no damage. Then, with a kind of sigh, Sea Lion settled on the bottom.

  ‘You know what?’ Galt asked. ‘I think we’re getting better, as time goes by.’

  ‘Um,’ Walt grunted. He was anxious to discover just what they had hit. But the destroyers raced to and fro above them for over an hour, and it was nearly midnight before they cautiously felt their way back to periscope depths. ‘Not a God damned thing,’ Walt said. ‘Of all the shitting luck.’

  ‘But we must’ve hit something,’ Galt argued. ‘We heard the bang.’

  ‘Maybe it went down already,’ Platt suggested.

  ‘Not possible. There’d be some activity.’

  ‘So where are the enemy?’ Galt asked.

  ‘Probably fifty miles away, by now. Take her up. We’ll give chase.’

  But it was blind, into the darkness. Sea Lion raced through the calm sea, while Walt prayed for dawn. It came at last, and showed the smoke of the enemy fleet on their north eastern horizon, as expected. And not as far away as Walt had feared. ‘We’ll catch them yet,’ he shouted.

  As he spoke, there were a series of explosions from in front of him. ‘Great guns in the morning,’ he yelled. ‘One, two … three of the bastards.’

  ‘Darter,’ Galt exulted, joining him.

  ‘And Dace. They must’ve sailed slap into them.’

  ‘And those are big fires. Oh, those lucky devils.’

  ‘Three cruisers in fifteen minutes,’ Walt said. ‘I wonder what the bastards will do now.’

  But, covered by their destroyers, which buzzed to and fro dropping depth charges, the Japanese fleet continued to steam north east.

  *

  ‘Message from flagship, sir,’ said Lieutenant Garcia, and handed Lew the paper.

  Lew read it aloud to Fisher. ‘Large enemy squadron reported approaching Mindoro. Five battleships, including Yamato and Mushashi. Mushashi believed damaged by torpedo from submarine Sea Lion. Cruisers Atago, Maya and Takeo sunk by submarines Darter and Dace.’

  ‘Good old submarines,’ Fisher said. ‘And Sea Lion. Isn’t she Walt’s ship?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lew said. He had to swallow before he could read on. ‘Enemy still proceeding in an easterly direction. Destination believed San Bernardino Strait. Will attack with aircraft but battleships required in position at mouth of strait, to oppose exit.’

  ‘Yippee,’ Fisher shouted. ‘Real action at last.’

  All was orderly bustle as the great vessel prepared for battle, while all six of the battleships moved away to the north, leaving Leyte, to take up a position north of Samar, where the San<
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  Bernardino Strait emerged into the Philippine Sea. They were in position by mid afternoon, but by then the situation had changed dramatically. Reports came in that Admiral Halsey’s Third Fleet had been attacked by carrier borne aircraft from the north, and that one of his light carriers, Princeton, had been badly damaged.

  ‘From the north,’ Lew muttered, gazing at the chart with Fisher.

  ‘That can only be Ozawa’s carrier fleet,’ Fisher said. ‘Out of Japan itself.’

  ‘Hells bells,’ Lew said. ‘This could be a big one.’

  ‘Message from flagship, sir,’ Garcia said.

  Lew read: ‘Successful air strikes made on force approaching San Bernardino. Battleship identified as Mushashi sunk by combined attack of bombs and torpedoes.’

  The officers gazed at each other. Mushashi, all seventy thousand tons of her, sent to the bottom by aircraft!

  ‘You know something,’ Fisher commented. ‘I reckon we are rapidly becoming obsolete.’

  ‘You can say that again.’ Lew read on. ‘Enemy squadron now turning about and withdrawing. Battleships of Seventh Fleet may stand down from battle stations and return to position off Leyte. Third Fleet and Task Force 38 will now proceed north to engage second enemy fleet.’

  ‘Oh, heck,’ Fisher said. ‘Some guys have all the luck.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Lew agreed. ‘Stand the gun crews down, Mr Fisher. Course will be one seven two.’

  He stared out at the calm sea, and the other battleships, falling into line ahead. Fisher’s words, spoken as a joke, were roaming round his head. Because it wasn’t a joke. These magnificent ships were redundant, in an age when one never got close enough to an enemy fleet actually to see his ships. He had had that feeling for more than a year now. On one occasion Florida had exchanged shots with an enemy battleship, but it had been very brief, and neither vessel had hit each other before they had to worry about enemy aircraft attacks. The same thing had happened now. And to think that a ship like Mushashi could be sent to the bottom by air attack alone … that made a nonsense of the tactical and strategic thinking which dictated that enormous amounts of money should be spent on battleship design and construction, and large numbers of men and munitions accumulated in one hull — to be destroyed at will by opposing aircraft. They had become, in effect, a floating battery, to be used in softening up enemy positions on land, and to be protected wherever possible from actual combat.

  The tremendous activity that was Leyte Gulf was in sight again, and speed had been reduced, when the telegrapher appeared on the bridge. Lew frowned as he read the message: ‘Enemy squadron containing battleships sighted south of Bohol Island steering for Surigao Strait. This squadron will proceed immediately to position athwart strait to prevent further progress.’

  ‘Holy hell!’ Fisher commented. ‘Another enemy squadron? How many of the damned things does he have? You don’t suppose it’s the same one turned back from San Bernardino this afternoon?’

  ‘If it is, the Japs have discovered some way of enabling their battleships to jump some three hundred miles across mostly land in three hours,’ Lew told him. ‘Admiral Oldendorf has added a note to the end of this message: the planes have gone north, boys; this one is all ours.’ The adrenalin began to flow; perhaps he had been unduly pessimistic that afternoon. ‘Let’s go, Mr Fisher. We’ve been waiting the whole war for this moment.’

  *

  Hashimoto marched up and down his office, waiting for reports about the battle, telephoning, demanding … it was dusk before Oshiwa could bring them up to date.

  ‘Everything is proceeding according to plan, your excellency,’ he said. ‘Admiral Kurita commenced to force the passage south of Mindoro early this morning, but suffered heavy casualties and turned back.’

  ‘Turned back?’ Hashimoto shouted. ‘How can he have turned back? Heavy casualties? What heavy casualties?’

  ‘Well, your excellency, Mushashi has been sunk.’

  ‘Mushashi? I do not believe it. Mushashi is unsinkable.’

  ‘The report says she was struck by eleven torpedoes and nineteen bombs, and went down. Yamato and Nagato were also struck by bombs, but are not seriously damaged. However, Admiral Kurita reports that he had earlier lost three heavy cruisers to submarine attacks.’

  ‘But that is catastrophic. And you stand there and tell me that everything is going according to plan? Are you a fool?’

  ‘If you would permit me to finish, your excellency,’ Oshiwa said, patiently.

  ‘Well, go on. Go on.’

  ‘Admiral Kurita was attacked by aircraft from Mitscher’s Task Force 38. But while these attacks were being carried out, Halsey’s Third Fleet was attacked by Admiral Ozawa’s planes. As we had anticipated, Halsey, as soon as he had ascertained that Admiral Kurita’s fleet was withdrawing to the west, recalled all his aircraft and set off to find Admiral Ozawa. There are only light carriers and battleships left to guard Leyte.’

  ‘As we planned,’ Hashimoto said. ‘And Kurita has turned back. What a disaster. He is a disgrace to my name.’

  ‘No, your excellency,’ Oshiwa said. ‘Admiral Kurita has not abandoned his campaign. He turned back, because to continue in daylight under such fierce air attack might have endangered his entire fleet. Now that it is dark, he is resuming his advance on San Bernardino.’

  Hashimoto raised his head. ‘The man is a genius. And you say there are only light carriers to stop him? But what of Oldendorf’s battleships?’

  ‘They are where they should be, your excellency, taking up their position across the Surigao Strait, to block the approach of Admiral Nashimura and Admiral Shiwa. They will be fully occupied all night.’

  ‘While Kurita destroys the Leyte army and transports. That is magnificent news, Oshiwa. Magnificent.’ He grinned at a stricken Joan. ‘Magnificent.’

  *

  It was utterly dark in the Surigao Strait, and yet, because of their greatly improved radar, the American ships knew exactly where they were, as they would know where the enemy was too, once he appeared from behind the islands. The squadron steamed slowly to and fro in line across the mouth of the strait, between Leyte itself and Dinagat, the battleships in the centre, with the cruisers on each flank. The strait stretched south of them for some ten miles, and was reasonably uncluttered. The destroyers were advanced into the strait itself, and the MTB’s had been sent south of Dinagat, both to supply advanced warning of the Japanese approach, and to act as a first strike.

  Lew had all hands piped to dinner, and then allowed the watch below to sleep, if they could. No one had any idea when the Japanese would appear. Only a quarter of a century ago, in the first war, Lew remembered, there would have been some anxiety; should the Japanese come in darkness, they might well break through, while should they not show themselves until dawn, the American ships would stand clear against the rising sun, while the enemy would still be concealed by the western darkness. But with radar, it made no odds when they came.

  Yet waiting for battle was always tensing, however confident one might be about the result; he could not help but remember the total confidence with which the British Grand Fleet had steamed into action on the afternoon of 31 May, 1916, and the chaos of a few minutes later when two battlecruisers had been sunk without trace. He dozed off himself from time to time, as the ship’s bell struck eight times to signal midnight.

  Only five minutes later the signal came: ‘Enemy approaching Binit Point.’

  ‘Sound action stations, Mr Fisher,’ Lew said.

  The alarm blared, and sleepy men tumbled out of their bunks. Ammunition hoists went to work and the anti-aircraft batteries commenced to rotate, just in case there were planes about. Lew peered into the radar. To either side, the solid mass of land showed clearly, as did the heavy units of the American squadron, still cruising slowly to and fro. Farther off he could make out the clutter of the destroyers. No MTB’s were visible; they would still be lurking in the shadow of Dinagat. And no Japanese were visible either, as yet.
But they were coming.

  The minutes ticked away, and then the radar Petty Officer said, ‘Here they come.’

  Lew returned to the set, saw a cluster of new blips appearing round the most distant land on the starboard hand, which was Binit Point itself.

  ‘And there are the MTB’s,’ Fisher said, as what looked like a scattered rain cloud moved across the screen from the lower left hand corner.

  They all levelled their glasses. There was nothing to be seen, visually, for several seconds. Then there were a succession of flashes, easily identifiable as gunfire, but no explosions to suggest that the torpedo boats had scored any hits.

  ‘Round One to them,’ Fisher growled.

  The Japanese stood on, apparently undamaged.

  ‘There go the destroyers,’ Garcia commented.

  Now the entire strait lit up with bright lights, the quick darts of the guns being overtaken by a brighter, sustained red glow. Dimly the noise of explosions came up to them.

  ‘Someone got hit that time,’ Garcia said.

  It was impossible to tell which ship from the radar, but that it was a battleship could be decided: one of the larger blips had stopped moving.

  ‘Here come the others,’ Fisher exulted.

  There was, however, only one battleship remaining — they learned later that this was Yamashiro and that Fuso had been the ship hit by the destroyers’ torpedoes — accompanied by three heavy cruisers.

  ‘Holy Jesus Christ,’ Garcia muttered. ‘Talk about committing suicide.’

  Lew knew he was right: one battleship and three cruisers taking on six battleships and eight cruisers!

  ‘Squadron will open fire,’ came the order.

  ‘As you bear, Mr Laughton,’ Lew said through the intercom to his gunnery control lieutenant commander.

  A moment later the sixteen-inch guns exploded, from all the battleships together. It was like the Battle of Jutland all over again, Lew thought. Only this time the two fleets were much closer together than had ever happened in the North Sea, and this time the Americans were in position to carry out the most classical of all naval manoeuvres: they did not have to cross the enemy’s tee — they were already there.