Upon reaching the bay, they submerged and started to fight the currents that were trying to push them out to the ocean. All the men, Holland included, were nauseous and drenched with sweat. Holland checked his watch to estimate the distance they’d traveled, then he ordered them back to the surface, where he gazed through the small windows of the conning tower and tried to fathom where he was. If his calculations were even remotely correct, he had at least two more miles to go before he would be among the German ships and within firing range.
The submarine had one advantage that Holland hadn’t told Hobson about. The Whitehead torpedo was the standard torpedo in use in most navies. It had been invented about thirty years previously. The current version carried a 220-pound warhead at a speed of twenty-eight knots and had a range of half a mile. TheHolland carried two of them. But the one in the single torpedo tube-and this was John Holland’s secret-was an experimental model, developed by two gentlemen named Bliss and Leavitt. It sacrificed warhead for range and could cruise for more than two miles. That is, if it worked.
After a while, John Holland decided he had closed the distance enough and ordered the submarine to submerge. Periodically, the sub raised itself enough for him to get a rough bearing by looking through the small, heavy glass windows of the conning tower. It was frustrating, and it defeated the purpose of being submerged. Holland thought there had to be a way to view the surface from underwater. A periscope would work if only he could figure out a way to retract it so it wouldn’t be destroyed by waves and current.
The tiny sub-it was only fifty-three feet long and displaced seventy-four tons-continued its up-and-down journey until Holland again looked at his watch and saw it was only a few minutes until four. Wherever he actually was would have to do.
“Please surface, Lieutenant.”
The actual crew consisted of one officer and six enlisted men. Technically, John Holland was a supernumerary, but the regular commander had recently been transferred and another young graduate of the naval academy was temporarily assigned as her captain. Although the lieutenant was eager enough and surprisingly experienced for his age-he had actually seen action during the Spanish war-he knew nothing about the sub. There was no other option; Holland had to command the vessel.
The ship bobbed to the surface. Holland opened the hatch and stuck his head and shoulders out to behold an incredible sight. To his left was the Statue of Liberty and, behind it, the squat bulk of Ellis Island. To his right lay Governors Island and the borough of Brooklyn; immediately to his front was the tip of Manhattan. Lovely though these sights were, the most exciting scene was the rows of brightly lighted German ships. All he had to do was pick one.
Holland was like a child turned loose in a toy store. Which should he choose?
“Mr. Holland, what do you see?” asked the ship’s officer.
“An absolute abundance of targets, Lieutenant King. Please come and help me.”
The young officer squeezed through the hatch and stood on the bobbing deck of the sub. “Absolutely amazing, sir. Not at all like Ohio.” Ernest King had been born in Lorain, Ohio, twenty-three years prior and, until a few hours ago, deeply regretted the impulse that made him volunteer for duty in the navy’s first and only submarine, despite the promotion from ensign. Now his dull world promised to be wonderfully exciting. He selected what appeared to be a large cruiser or even a battleship about a mile away. As he understood the orders given to Holland, the submarine was to attack warships. If they were successful, the rest of Hobson’s command could concentrate on the vulnerable transports. “Even if we miss her, we ought to be able to hit one of those big freighters anchored behind her.”
Holland peered at the target ships and agreed. The cruiser was a generous side shot, and the freighters were anchored together in a curious cluster behind her. Although he would certainly prefer a warship, the freighters were large, rode low in the water-which told him they were fully loaded-and, judging by the way they were secured away from the others, quite important.
The sub’s position was adjusted for aiming. King gave the order and the torpedo surged from the tube with a splash that Holland feared would attract the attention of the entire German navy. It was not so. Quiet returned and the only sounds were the grunts and cursing of the men laboring below to load a second torpedo.
Holland squinted at his stopwatch and counted down the seconds. With only a mile to travel, the torpedo should take about two minutes to reach its target, perhaps less. As the count neared the two-minute mark, Holland ’s anxiety grew. As it reached two, he began to worry. When the seconds continued past two minutes, he had to accept the fact that he’d missed. He asked how soon the second torpedo would be ready and was told a couple of minutes more. Then he realized that he was out of range for a normal Whitehead torpedo and would have to get much closer to a target.
He was just about to order Lieutenant King below and the sub to get under way when a flash of light by one of the clustered freighters caught his attention.
As he watched spellbound, the flash grew into an explosion that fed itself into a monster, turning night into day as it started to roar to the heavens. Seconds later, the shock wave hit the submarine and hurled John Holland into the rear of the hatch, crushing his skull and snapping his spine into a dozen pieces. Lieutenant King, who had been on the deck, was hurled into the sky and down into the foaming black water. Then theHolland, its plates ruptured everywhere, settled into the muck of the Upper Bay.
In the Kill Van Kull, Capt. Richmond Hobson looked on incredulously. It was a few minutes past four and his little flotilla was barely under way. Ammunition ships, he realized. Holland has blown up ammunition ships. “Brace yourselves,” he hollered and heard it repeated down the line of ships.
By the time the shock wave reached him, its force had dissipated substantially. Even so, it rocked him and he heard cries as several of the crew were flung to the deck. When the roar and the shock had ended, he looked toward Manhattan and beheld a sight he never could have imagined. Ships were on fire everywhere, and some of those not burning had been capsized. Exploding ammunition from a multitude of sources popped off like giant firecrackers and sent shells in all directions. It was glorious! He had no idea how theHolland had managed it, but what a wonderful event!
“Mr. Blaine, signal the boats forward. Nothing has changed. We will attack according to plan.”
Behind him, the eleven other torpedo boat destroyers began to surge forward. They would attack in pairs, each married to a ship with corresponding speed and size. As the engines roared, Hobson allowed himself a moment of pride. These torpedo boats, often called destroyers, were considered obsolete, since they had virtually no oceangoing capability and little range. Already there were designs about for ships that were many times the size of his, which would also be called destroyers. Until the larger ships were built, however, the smaller torpedo boats would continue to be used as they were being used tonight.
As Hobson’s flagship, theAlvin, accelerated to its maximum speed of nearly thirty knots, and its mate, theFarragut, ranged alongside, he thought of how difficult it had been to have all these boats shipped by rail and still retain secrecy.
TheAlvin was one of the largest destroyers, at just over two hundred feet, and it displaced 280 tons. It had a crew of three officers and fifty-three enlisted men but only two precious torpedoes. Hobson thought she was overlarge for this small a payload. The smallest destroyer was theTalbot, which was only ninety-nine feet long, had a crew of fifteen, and chugged along at a mere twenty-one knots, although she too had a pair of torpedoes. The disparity in sizes reflected the confusion in the Navy Department as to exactly what the so-called destroyers were supposed to do. Tonight, their task was quite simple. They were to sink German ships.