Run Silent, Run Deep - Страница 32

She was a submarine all right, with that ungainly, broken silhouette which could only spell Japanese. Jim had been right from the beginning. We need not have waited for a reply td our message. Had we only approached close enough we could have identified her by sight. No other ship, but a Jap sub of the, large ocean-cruiser I-class would look like this. She was a big ship, bigger than the Walrus, and not nearly so trim. I was about to ask for another range, it would have been the last one-when I realized she must have seen us. We were already abaft her beam, but even as I watched, her length shortened still further. I found myself looking at her stern.

"We're all ready below, Captain," from Jim. "Shoot any time, sir!"

Heavy with disappointment, I had to give him the answer.

"Don't shoot, Jim. Belay everything. Angle on the bow is now one-eight-zero."

The enemy submarine was harder to see, end on, just the silhouetted cut-up shape of her conning tower and bridge structure as she mounted the succeeding seas ahead, its reduction almost out of sight as she pitched into the hollows- and then I was looking only at the ocean. The gray-black silhouette had not remounted the next slow swell.

Hugh Adams noticed it a moment later. "He's gone, Captain! He must have dived!"

"That's right, Hugh," I said, still looking. Walrus ran on nearly half a minute before I caught on, and my hair lifted along the back of my neck. "Right full rudder!" I shouted into the conning tower. "All ahead flank!"'

The rudder went over to full right, the diesels roared as the annunciators went all the way up against the stops, and our stern commenced to scud across the undulating Pacific swells.

Walrus heeled to port, driving the port-side engine mufflers under water. They spluttered and splashed, threw a shower of spray into the air.

"What's the matter, Captain?" asked Hugh Adams.

Furious at the trap, I snarled back at him. "Why do you think he dived? He's ready for us now. He hopes we'll keep coming."

Adams stared, wide-eyed. "You mean…"

"Precisely!" I spat the word out. "He's looking at us this very minute. He's probably turned around and headed our way. We were almost close enough to shoot, remember, and so is he." I felt myself trembling with the reaction. From being the pursuer we had suddenly been converted into the pursued, and I had blundered right into it. If only we had carried out Jim's original impulse, gotten close enough to attack immediately, we might have carried off a quick surprise.

Now, only failure! The Jap had been more alert than we.

He had seen us soon enough, at sufficiently long range, turned immediately and dived, thus instantly taking the initiative right out of our hands.

We steadied Walrus on course northeast, almost directly away from where our attack had gone awry, ran on a good hour before daring to turn again toward the west. I felt sick at heart. It had been my first view of the enemy, and our first brush was hardly a drawn battle.

And, of course, there was the question of what to tell Com- SubPac.

Three days later we entered Midway Lagoon. We fueled ship, topping off our fuel tanks once more after the twelve- hundred-mile trip from Pearl Harbor, and we delivered. an even dozen sacks of mail to the eager Midway population.

When we departed that same day I had also made my first acquaintance with the large, foolish-looking "gooney bird' for which Midway had already become well known. The Lay- san albatross, as the gooney bird is ornithologically called, is a most graceful lovely bird at sea or in the air, but on land it is an ungainly, clumsy creature, the butt of jokes and the product of ninety per cent of the entertainment on Midway. This was the albatross which the Ancient Mariner had shot, I reflected, but it wasn't until we had left Midway over the horizon and one of them came gliding effortlessly in the ocean breezes, swooping and spiraling above us, circling ahead and astern, all without the slightest movement of its wings, that I could really understand the reverence in which the mariners of the old days held them.

Now began Walrus' first war patrol in earnest. It would take us twelve more days to reach Japan according to Jim's calculations, based upon running most of the distance upon the surface and spending the last few days en route submerged during daylight. We had approximately sixty full days at sea, two months to look forward to.

We passed through the Nanpo Shoto submerged on the ninth day, within sight of Sofu Gan, or Lot's Wife-a desolate rock rising straight out of the sea-and at approximately noon of the twelfth day the hazy outline of the coast of Kyushu could be seen dead ahead through the periscope, bearing due west.

We had yet to see an enemy plane, ship, or other kind of enemy activity since the submarine off Oahu. Somehow, I think, we had expected to find AREA SEVEN teeming with ships, crisscrossing, going in all directions, but such was not the case.

By the time the evening twilight had drawn to a close and it was nearly time to surface for the night, the coast of Japan was plainly in sight, low-lying on the western horizon. I had already come to the conclusion that the Japanese were aware of the possibility of American submarines off their coast, and were holding-their ships in port.

We began to make preparation for surfacing. We would not, of course, come up until it was dark enough to do so with minimum danger of being seen by any Japanese aviator fisher- man, or other craft which might happen to be in the vicinity.

At the same time, the sooner we came up the better horizon would there be for Jim to get his evening star sights. It was important to have our position accurate, after having been un- able to, navigate for fifteen hours or so, and it was also impor- tant to get our battery charge started as soon as possible in case it would be needed later. And finally, during a long day submerged, a crew of seventy men and six officers-seventy-six human machines breathing oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide could greatly reduce the livability of the atmosphere inside the ship. True, we carried carbon dioxide absorbent, hermetically sealed in shiny, metal canisters, and we carried oxygen in bottles for air revitalization, but these were needed for emergencies.

The resolution of the conflicting requirements was to juggle the various pros and cons and to surface as soon as possible, Today, our first day within, sight of the Japanese coast, we waited a few minutes longer before surfacing, and when — we, finally started up nothing more could be seen through the periscope. I had donned red goggles twenty minutes before and was standing underneath the hatch leading to the bridge as I told Rubinoffski to sound three blasts on the diving alarm.

The third blast of the klaxon horn had not yet died away when I felt the jolt of high-pressure. air blasting into our ballast tanks, blowing water out. Walrus gave a convulsive shudder, inclined upward by the bow, and in a few moments we could hear the splashing and gurgling of water draining off the bridge.

Keith Leone was handling the surfacing procedure from the control room and now he commenced to shout depths up to me. "Four-oh feet,"-he sang out. "Three-five feet, three-oh feet."

"Crack the hatch," I said to Rubinoffski.

The Quartermaster leaped two steps up the bridge ladder, rapidly undogged the hatch hand wheel. Air commenced to blow out through the slightly open hatch rim and a few drops of water splattered in.

"Pressure one-half inch," came up from Keith, This meant that our barometer indicated one-half inch more pressure inside the ship than had been the case on diving. Barring great atmospheric fluctuation "topside," this would be approximately the pressure differential existing now.

"Two-six feet, sir. Holding steady," from Keith again.

"Open the hatch." I was right behind Rubinoffski as he completed undogging the hatch and snapped open the safety latch. The heavy bronze hatch cover, counterbalanced by a large coil spring, flung itself open with a huge rush of air as Rubinoffski released the latch, banging the side of the bridge and latching itself open with a loud bell-like thud. The two of us, carrying binoculars, were on the bridge less than a second later. By prearrangement Rubinoffski ran aft to survey the after one hundred and eighty degrees sector, while I concentrated on the forward half of the ocean.

Slowly, intently, I scanned the horizon; then the water between us and the rapidly fading demarcation between sea and sky; then the sky above, where a few stars glittered stonily from between the clouds. I heard Rubinoffski report, "All clear aft."

"All clear forward," I muttered, half to myself, then raising my voice, "Open the main induction; lookouts to the bridge. Start the low-pressure blow." The main-induction valve, just below the cigarette deck, opened with a thump.

Four lookouts, all previously prepared with adequate clothing to stand watch up in the wind-and-rain-swept periscope shears, and having become at least partially night adapted by wearing red goggles for some time beforehand, came dashing up on the bridge and took their places. Immediately behind them came Keith, similarly attired, and then Oregon, who, as Quartermaster of the Watch, went back aft to relieve Rubinoffski.

"Ready to relieve you, Captain," said Keith after a few minutes, making a hand motion that might have passed for a salute.

I gave him the customary turnover: course, speed, and the various other details of the watch. As I did so an, almost human screech came from below decks. One would have said that a wild animal was being tortured and was in mortal pain; its cry of agony, an undulating, wavering, high-pitched scream, piercing through the bowels of the ship. "There goes the turbo blow," I said. "Run it for five minutes. That will be plenty."