Submarine! Read online

  Wahoo’s plan is to lie a little off the track of the two ships, and fire at both almost at once in a single attack, so that torpedoes fired at the second ship will have nearly arrived before hits in the leading ship might give the second sufficient warning to maneuver to avoid. As the targets finally show up, however, Morton realizes that he is too close to the track to carry out his original intention of firing three of his six bow tubes at each ship. You must allow enough range for your fish to arm and reach running depth. So Mush regretfully reverses course, and now plans to shoot stern tubes. Since there are only four tubes aft, he will have to be content with two fish per ship, and consequently less certain of sinking them.

  Closer and closer come the two unsuspecting ships. Submarining is exactly like hunting, for you stalk your prey, lay a trap for him, and then wait for him to fall into it. Granted that merchant ships do not have an equal chance against a submarine, a skillfully handled ship can escape once the submarine has been detected, and an exceptionally well-handled one might even do damage to the undersea craft. Of course any submarine caught on the surface, by no matter what agency, is in trouble. So there is a definite element of danger in the hunt, and it is accentuated if defensive vessels, such as escort ships or aircraft, are about. Tension mounts as the game draws nigh. Periscope exposures become briefer but more frequent, to prevent a chance sighting as the firing point approaches. O’Kane is still doing the periscope work—excellent training for the skipper-to-be of USS Tang.

  Twenty degrees to go. Since the two ships are nearly in column and not far apart, it is planned to hit the first one just after he has passed astern of Wahoo, and immediately get the second just before he crosses her stern. Thus there will be the minimum interval between all fish, and it will be more like a single salvo.

  “Make ready the stem tubes! Set depth ten feet!”

  “Tubes ready aft! Depth set, ten feet!” The telephone talker repeats the report from the after torpedo room.

  “Match gyros aft!” The TDC operator cuts in the gyro regulator for the after torpedo room, and a quick telephone check is made to insure that the angle transmitted from the conning tower is actually being reproduced at the tubes. It is the third time this particular check has been made this morning, but this is the time you want it to count.

  “Standby aft!” Sound indicates there are only a few degrees to go. Plot and TDC indicate the same thing. O’Kane puts the ’scope back up.

  “Continuous bearings!” The periscope bearing reader commences a singsong chant:

  “One seven nine—one seven nine and a half—one eight oh—one eight oh and a half—one eight one . . .”

  “Set—set—set!” from Rog Paine on the TDC.

  Mush takes a final look at all dials, checks the bearings, and pronounces the word they have all carefully avoided saying until this moment:

  “Fire!” The first torpedo speeds on its way. Ten seconds later, “Fire!” again, and the second torpedo is ejected, to follow nearly in the path of the first.

  “Check fire! Shift targets!” Morton is taking no chances that an excited sailor might shoot off the last two torpedoes aft.

  At the same time, from O’Kane on the periscope, “Check fire! Shifting targets!” These two know each other’s thoughts, know exactly what is expected and desired. Dick spins his periscope a few degrees to the left, picks up the second target, a somewhat larger freighter.

  “On target! Bearing—mark! Continuous bearings!” And the chant resumes:

  “One six nine, one six nine and a half, one seven oh——”

  “Fire!” and, ten seconds later,

  “Fire!”

  Total time to fire all four torpedoes has been thirty-seven seconds.

  The skipper orders left full rudder and full speed in order to get the bow tubes around in case the stern tubes prove to have been not enough.

  Wahoo has barely started her swing to the left, when—

  “Whang!” and then, almost exactly ten seconds later,

  “Whang!” again. The first ship.

  O’Kane had lowered his periscope to avoid being seen. Knowing the approximate time required for the torpedoes to reach the first target, he now raises it just in time to see the two hits, one near the bow of the leading ship, the other in his stern. He swings to the second ship, and sees a thudding hit in the stern of that one also, an instant before the sound and shock wave of that explosion reaches Wahoo.

  Three hits for four torpedoes. Not bad shooting, Mush. Now let’s see if they sink, or if you have to polish these cripples off.

  Down periscope again. Wahoo continues her swing, to bring her bow tubes to bear. Shortly before the circle is complete, up goes the ’scope, and a sweep around is made, to take stock of the situation.

  Wonder of wonders! Now three ships are seen, instead of the original two! The newcomer is a large transport-type vessel, and troops can be seen crowding the decks. He must have been behind the larger freighter, hidden from the limited view of the periscope eye. So there are two damaged ships and one undamaged.

  “Standby forward!” Bow tubes are ready, outer doors opened. There is no time to track this new target—only time to make the tubes ready, put the bearing into the TDC, and shoot. The same speed as for the original targets is used, because there is no information indicating a difference in the transport’s speed, until this moment anyway.

  “Fire!” after ten seconds. “Fire!” and then “Fire!” for the third time. Three torpedoes flash out toward the transport, and the last two hit him, with the familiar tinny, high-pitched explosion. The sound of water pouring into his damaged hull comes clearly over the listening gear, and his screws can no longer be heard. That will hold him for a while. Now back to the other two ships!

  A quick look around shows that one is dead in the water, listed to starboard, and down by the stern. Nothing much to worry about there. He’s evidently on his way to Davy Jones’ Looker right now.

  But that second target is still underway, and has turned toward Wahoo. Give this Jap skipper credit for trying his best to fight his way out of the tough spot he is in. He has turned toward the place where the torpedoes came from, probably in the hope of ramming the submarine, or, at least, of interfering with further shots. He achieves his intention, too, for Wahoo is forced to fire two torpedoes quickly at him—another “down the throat” shot—in hopes of cooling off his combativeness. One hit, but even this doesn’t stop him. Closer and closer comes the wounded hulk, yawing slightly as the Jap skipper and helmsman try to keep on course. Too late to fire another fish. The range is too close to allow proper functioning, and it would simply be a torpedo wasted. Nothing to do except duck.

  “Flood negative! All ahead full!” The orders crack out like a whiplash. “Left full rudder! Take her down!”

  Down plunges Wahoo, to get out from in front of that tremendous bow on which O’Kane has been counting rivets for the past fraction of a minute. Eighty feet, by conning tower depth gauge, and everyone breathes easier. Nothing can reach you down here. And listen to what’s going on topside! Explosions, hangings, cracklings, water gurgles, a whirling and a thumping all over the place. Wahoo has certainly raised hell with this convoy!

  But this is not the time for compassion. The job now is to get the rest of those ships down, and quickly, before they can get help from somewhere. “Up periscope!” Though the submarine is below periscope depth, and the range of visibility under water is not very great, a quick look will tell O’Kane whether they are coming up under the dark hull of one of the ships up there.

  The periscope breaks surface to show nothing in sight, and Morton heaves an involuntary sigh of relief.

  Only two ships can be seen now, while a large area covered with dirt, coal dust, and debris marks the end of the first target. The freighter which had attempted to ram is still underway, but the transport is stopped dead in the water, his topsides boiling with soldiers. Wahoo bores in, lines him up, and shoots one torpedo.

  A bul
l’s-eye! The wake heads straight for the target, now looming big in the periscope field, and passes harmlessly beneath him. No explosion. Morton grimly orders another fish fired. It follows the path of the first, but this time the depth mechanism does its job, and the torpedo goes off right under the tall, sooty stack of the doomed vessel. A blast of water momentarily hides his amidships section from view, reaching up higher than the top of the stack itself. Then it subsides, showing the ship broken in half, sinking rapidly by the bow, with men clad in olive drab jumping off into the water, or trying desperately to lower the lifeboats they should have gotten ready long ago.

  Two down out of three, and time out is taken to get a few pictures. Besides, the remaining torpedoes have to be loaded into the tubes and checked, a job much better accomplished submerged than on the surface. It is now noon, and Wahoo’s crew is sent individually, as they can be spared, to get what food the harried cooks have been able to get up on short notice. In the conning tower, Morton and O’Kane continue to watch the fleeing ship, munching sandwiches and drinking coffee between looks.

  Suddenly, a pair of heavy masts is sighted over the horizon. This is beginning to look like old-home week for the Japs—and for Davy Jones, too, if the instantly laid plans of Wahoo bear fruit. This fellow looks like a warship. So much the better!

  There are a few more torpedoes left, and his name is on one of them.

  Wahoo proceeds at maximum sustained submerged speed in the direction of the unidentified vessel. Unfortunately, she has so badly depleted her storage battery during the morning’s action that she cannot chase at high speed, and hence cannot get into position to attack the new arrival. In the meantime, the crippled freighter has been staggering away from the scene as rapidly as his engines can drive his battered hull. The plotting parties check his speed at about six knots, quite respectable for a ship with two torpedoes in him. You really have to hand it to that Jap skipper.

  It is soon obvious that Wahoo cannot hope to catch either vessel. She continues to watch through the periscope, and sees the newcomer revealed as a large tanker, instead of a warship. He joins up with the cripple, and the two proceed away at the maximum speed of the latter, black smoke pouring from stacks of both ships. All this time the undersea raider watches helplessly, too far away to interfere and too low in battery power to give chase.

  There is a hasty council in the conning tower. Morton, O’Kane, and Paine do some rapid figuring. Then, their computations completed, Wahoo changes course and proceeds directly away from the fleeing ships as rapidly as her waning battery power will permit. A continuous watch is kept on the quarry until finally the tops of their masts have disappeared over the horizon. Then Wahoo commences some maneuvers which are rather strange for a submarine anxious to avoid detection in enemy waters.

  The periscope rises higher and higher out of the water as the submerged vessel comes closer to the surface. As the height of the tip of the periscope increases above the surface of the sea, O’Kane and Morton can see farther over the horizon, and sight is thus kept on the escaping ships as long as possible. Finally, with the hull of the submarine only a few feet below the water and the periscope extending a full fifteen feet into the air, contact is finally lost. The periscope twirls around rapidly, scanning the horizon and the skies for any sign of other enemy activity. Then, swiftly, it starts down.

  There is a moment’s hiatus, and suddenly a long black shadow, visible beneath the waves, becomes sharper and more distinct. A moment later a sharp bow breaks the surface of the water at a large angle, plowing ahead through the waves like the forehead of some prehistoric monster, and within about ten seconds the whole low dark hull, cascading water from her decks and through freeing ports along the sides, has appeared.

  Up on the bridge there is sudden activity. The crash of metal on metal is heard as the conning tower hatch is flung open. The head and shoulders of a man appear, shortly to be joined by another.

  Morton’s robust voice: “Open the main induction!”

  There is a loud clang as hydraulic mechanism opens the huge engine air-induction valve. Instantly the exhaust roar of a diesel engine starting explodes into the stillness. Simultaneously, a small cloud of gray smoke pours from a half-submerged opening in the after part of the hull. This process is repeated three times, at rapid intervals, until four streams of exhaust vapor, two from each side, are sputtering and splashing the water which attempts to flow back into the half-submerged exhaust pipes. The speed of the submarine increases through the water. A high-pitched screaming sound can be heard distinctly over all the other noises, as though a hundred cats had caught their tails in a wringer simultaneously. This noise is made by the low-pressure air blower, which is pumping atmospheric air into the ballast tanks, completing the emptying job which had been started submerged by high-pressure air.

  All this time Wahoo’s speed through the water has been increasing as the diesel engines take the place of the battery for propulsion, and she rises higher and higher out of water as the ballast tanks go dry. Soon she is making a respectable 17 knots—considering that one engine must be used to recharge the nearly empty storage battery so that Wahoo will be ready for further action submerged if necessary—which, of course, is exactly Mush Morton’s intention.

  While other members of the crew are relieved from their battle stations, there is no rest or relaxation for the plotting parties. But not one of them thinks of being relieved, nor would he accept relief were it offered. The plotting parties are busy with a problem which, by virtue of nearly incessant drill, has become second nature to them. You have a target trying to get away from you. You have his approximate bearing, and you have a good idea of his speed. Also, you have a lot more speed available than he has. Problem: Find him. Problem: Keep him from sighting you. Problem: Dive in front of him so that, despite his zigzags, he will run near enough to the spot you select to give you a shot!

  So Wahoo chases her prey from the moment of surfacing, shortly after noon, until nearly sunset. This is known as the “end around,” and is to become a classic maneuver in the Submarine Force. You run with your periscope up, barely maintaining sight of the tips of the enemy’s masts, so that he will not have a chance of spotting you, and you run completely around him, traveling several times as far as he does, in order to arrive at a point dead ahead of him.

  Half an hour before sunset Wahoo dives, once more on the convoy’s track. This approach is much more difficult than the previous one. The enemy remember only too vividly the fates which befell their two erstwhile comrades, and consequently are zigzagging wildly. Then, too, Wahoo wants to attack the tanker first, since he is as yet undamaged.

  Finally, one hour after diving, Wahoo sees the tanker limned in her periscope sights in perfect attack position. The old routine procedure is gone through. As always, there is still the same breathless hushed expectancy, the same fierce thrill of the chase successfully consummated, the same fear that, somehow, at the last possible moment, your prey will make some unexpected maneuver and frustrate your designs upon him. And you never forget that your life, as well as his, is in the scales.

  O’Kane is at the periscope . . . Paine is on the TDC . . . Morton is conducting the approach, as always, blind.

  Bearing! Range! Set—FIRE!

  And three torpedoes race out into the gathering dusk. One minute and twenty-two seconds later, “WHANG!”—a single hit. The tanker stops momentarily, then gets underway again, at reduced speed. Wahoo spins around for a shot at the crippled freighter, but that canny Jap has already started away from there, and his change of course has spoiled the setup.

  It is still fairly light, though too dark to see effectively through the periscope. There are only four torpedoes left in the ship, all aft. A moment’s reflection, and Morton gives the command to carry the fight to the enemy.

  “Surface!” Three blasts of the diving alarm, the traditional surfacing signal, sound raucously in the confined interior of the submarine. Up comes Wahoo, ready to try her luck
on the surface, under cover of what darkness there may be.

  In this she has the advantage of a much lower, darker hull, and, since there is as yet no moon, the shadows of night grow progressively thicker, concealing her more and more from the Japanese lookouts. Another advantage lies in the fact that the two damaged ships choose to stick together instead of separating. But having torpedoes in the after tubes only is a tremendous disadvantage in a night surface attack and Wahoo maneuvers unsuccessfully for two hours, trying to get lined up for a shot.

  In desperation Morton even tries to back into attack position, but is frustrated by the submarine’s poor maneuverability while going astern. So he must outguess the enemy, despite his radical zigzag plan. Wahoo gets directly behind the tanker, which in turn is behind the freighter. Then, as the two Japs zig to the right, Wahoo stays on the original course, and when they zig back to the left, the submarine is about a mile on the beam of the unfortunate tanker. Suddenly Wahoo’s rudder is put full left, and her port propeller is backed at full power, while her starboard screw is put at ahead full. In this manner Morton is able to twist his ship, get her end on to the broadside of the now-doomed Jap, and let fly two torpedoes.

  One hit amidships. The sound of the explosion cannot be heard, but its effects are spectacular. The vessel folds in the middle and plunges from sight almost instantly.

  “All ahead full!” Now for that freighter! Wahoo has played around with him long enough.

  But the skipper of the lone remaining Jap ship has other ideas. He keeps up a continuous fire with his guns and steams in even more radical and haphazard fashion than before. Now and then he sights the ominous shape of the sea wolf stalking him, and places a few well-aimed shells alongside, forcing her to turn away and once even forcing her to dive.