Run Silent, Run Deep - Страница 56

Clearly there was something highly erratic about the manner in Which this part of the mechanism functioned. It could be blamed for nonexplosion of the underruns and the premature explosion of others.

Another section of the exploding mechanism was intended to cause the torpedo to go off upon hitting the side of a ship.

One report in this part of the file was circled in red crayon and bore evidence of considerable handling. It detailed the experience of one skipper who happened to cripple and stop a large tanker on the open sea. There were no escorts, and no air cover, but he couldn't surface because the tanker had manned its guns. Conditions otherwise were ideal-weather sunny and calm. And he had sat there, firing torpedo after torpedo in single shots, as though he were shooting torpedo proving shots in Newport Harbor. And not one of them had gone off. He had fired fifteen all together, eight under the most ideal setup imaginable, and except for the initial salvo there was not the slightest question but that every torpedo hit the target. Yet the only detonation out of the whole bunch was one of the initial salvo which just happened to strike in the vicinity of the propellers.

And of the underruns themselves: why did torpedoes set to, run at a depth of ten feet beneath the surface sometimes pass under ships which must draw twenty feet or more? One or two submarine skippers had theorized, early in the war, that Japanese vessels must have extraordinarily shallow draft, but this could not be the answer. I came upon reports of some experimental firings in Brisbane in which practice torpedoes were fired through nets. When the nets were hauled in it was found that the holes made by the torpedoes were considerably deeper than expected. A full report had been sent in to Washington, of course, but as yet nothing remedial had been done about it.

My interview with Admiral Small was nearly a repetition of the talk with his Chief of Staff. This was going to be his personal project, he told me. What he wanted me for was to be Project Officer, to follow through for him and render reports as to what had been discovered. One comment he made was to the effect that he was tired of sending torpedoes all the way to Japan to find out that they wouldn't work. "We'll try them out right here, with regulation warheads on them!" he said.

That was why, within a few days, I found myself poring over large-scale charts of the Hawaiian Islands, trying to select a spot for what the Admiral had in mind. With the topography the Islands, the place was not difficult to find: a sheer rock cliff, with deep water right up to the rock. Plenty of room for submarine to approach and fire into the rock, and for a torpedo to make a normal run without danger of hitting the bottom. A sandy bottom, to make later recovery of the torpedoes practicable.

And not long after about two weeks, and I still needed the Cane, I stood on the bridge of the Skipjack as she fired a deliberate salvo of warshots into the cliff. One out of four went off. The other three were duds. Then the divers went to work, and for the next several days there was the tedious job of looking over each fish to find out what had happened.

Similarly, we fired numbers of torpedoes down a torpedo range through a series of nets, marking and calibrating exactly at what depth each fish was actually running for each net position.

We built up great experience tabulations, based on the net shots and the explosion tests. To get more data for our tables, the sub base strung guy wire's to a building, slid torpedo war- heads down them-loaded with a mixture of sand and sawdust to the right weight, however, instead of TNT to collide with a section of steel plate on the ground. We used several guy wires so as to simulate various angles of impact, and the heights were carefully calibrated to produce the proper speeds.

The results of all our tests, when Admiral Small finally gave them his approval, were conclusive. The magnetic feature was so delicate and intricate-a marvel of design and ingenuity but totally undependable in service-that it might as well be for- gotten. The mechanical part of the exploder, which should in- variably go off upon impact, was also too delicate and at the same time too heavily constructed. Its inertia was so great that upon impact the firing pin, key to the whole thing, would be deformed or bent before it had a chance to do its job. And the torpedoes habitually ran as much as twenty feet deeper than they were supposed to. Like everything else about them, how- ever, the depth was erratic; they wobbled down the course like a sine wave, alternately deep and shallow. It was just luck what part of the curve the target happened to be on.

The more we got into the problem, the madder everyone got.

Everything we had discovered should have been found out on the proof ranges long ago, before the war in most cases. The design failures should have been discovered by proper tests be. fore the torpedoes ever got to the proof ranges. And there was no excuse for our not receiving the correct depth-running data, no more than for the refusal of the torpedo designers to accept, or at least investigate, our earlier findings that the torpedoes ran deeper than set. When the Admiral took off for Washington this time, he was loaded.

When he returned, not many days later, there was a glint of cold fury in his eyes. Captain Blunt and I met him at the air- field. By this time I had given back the cane, though the leg still bothered me. "They believe us at last," he growled, "but they're not doing a thing about it. The new exploder will be the answer to everything, when it's ready." He snorted. "Ready! Hell!

Maybe next year, it might be ready! They haven't even built one yet!"

Blunt turned to me. "Tell him your idea, Rich," he commanded.

The idea was simply stated. "I've been looking over the exploder," I said, "and of course if we could make it work the way it ought to, that would be the best answer of all. It occurred to me that perhaps if we could rebuild the mechanical firing gadget with lighter parts and completely disconnect the magnetic part of the exploder, we might get acceptable results. far as the depth settings on the torpedoes are concerned, which is an entirely separate problem, at least we know what's wrong and can make allowances for it."

Admiral Small's reaction was characteristic. "Hop to it, Rich!" was all he said, but I found doors opening for me wherever went. More weeks of work followed, and I had the heady feeling that we were at last getting somewhere. Our research, if it could be called that, now had a definite goal: a firing-pin mechanism strong enough and light enough to complete the necessary motion upon impact with the target before the crushing force of the impact itself bent it all out of shape. We were working with split seconds, and the answer, when it was finally found, was unbelievably simple. Airplane propellers had to be very light and very strong. We collected all the damaged propellers we could find and cut the required parts from the hard, light metal.

"Better use for a busted prop," the Army Major at Hickam Field told me, "could not be found anywhere!"

From then on the problem became one of production, for the Admiral insisted that he would hold a submarine back from patrol, if necessary, before letting her go without previously having seen to it that every exploder she carried in her torpedoes had the modification. Every available machine shop in the submarine base was pressed into service to make the new parts.

A rigid inspection system was set up, too, for Admiral Small was adamant on this score.

The reports from the first few boats which took the modified exploiters to sea were jubilant. Where previously torpedoes had been fired with the hope they would function properly if they hit, they were now fired with the certainty that they would. The only problem remaining was the only one we should have had to worry about from the beginning: hitting the target.

My duties were changed also, for with the final solution of the torpedo problem and the setting up of the production and inspection lines, there was nothing left for me to do. Blunt refused to give me another submarine; I would have to wait a while longer, he said, and I found myself detailed, instead, as Officer in Charge of the Attack Teacher.

This was virtually the same gadget which Walrus' crew had trained on during our precommissioning days in New London, with one difference: the trainees here would within weeks be doing it for real. Some days we were extra busy, and for weeks at a time I would have to allot appointments just as a doctor might, trying to give most to those who needed it most. And there were slack periods when nobody seemed to want our synthetic attack training. During those times, to keep the small crew of the Attack Teacher from growing stale and at the same time to keep my own hand in, I used to run off attacks on my- own, sometimes taking the part of the submarine skipper, some- times for variety that of the tar get. On these occasions it be- came a sort of no-holds-barred competition and our favorite cast of characters was to pit the destroyer against the submarine, one of each, with the destroyer, to make it even, aware of the sub's presence, though perhaps not exactly where. The Attack Teacher included a sonar-attack section also, so this was integrated into the game.

The men loved it; especially whenever one of them got me, as make-believe submarine skipper, into a box from which, try as I might, I could not escape. More than once my theoretical submarine was rammed by the destroyer; and much more frequently I was driven below periscope depth, after which the whole group would repair to the sonar rooms and with high. hilarity try to knock me out with depth charges. Part of the time the submarine won the fight, too, and when it was my turn to shoot torpedoes at the destroyer, I always pretended, in my own mind at least, that I was shooting them at Bungo Pete.