But tonight they were completely safe. Eel had no torpedoes, and Whitefish would not attack at night. He sat on Stafford’s vacant stool, folded his arms on his knees, leaned his head on them.
He could not have been totally asleep, for he remained aware of the muted comings and goings of the conning tower crew, Keith’s occasional advice to the Officer of the Deck, the radar reports to plot, and even the request to dump a sack of garbage. But the brownout of fatigue was claiming its due. His senses dulled, his perceptions began to drift. He was back aboard the Walrus, had just felt the depth charges of Bungo Pete for the first time, was in love with Laura, despised Joan because (he assumed) she was causing Jim to be unfaithful to Laura. But this could not be entirely Joan’s fault, for Jim had been unfaithful in Australia as well, and Rich, in his turn, had also found relief from reality in Joan’s arms. Now Rich had killed Bungo Pete, and he had been disloyal to his idealized thoughts of Laura. Bungo had returned in the person of Moonface, to claim his vengeance. He hated Moonface, but not Bungo Pete.
Joe Blunt too. He was Tateo Nakame — Bungo Pete — in American guise. The idea of the older warriors supporting the younger ones whom they had trained, who now carried the load of the combat. Now it was reversed. Now Blunt needed help, needed the support of those who had once looked to him for wisdom, skill, and judgment. Ships were everywhere, some sinking, some flying. Bungo’s Akikaze, with Blunt in command, had opened fire on Eel from the bottom of the sea. Eel could not hit her with torpedoes, for she was too deep. And now there was the escort destroyer he had just sunk, the one that had given him the black eye.
“Morning twilight, Captain. Morning twilight, Captain. Morning twilight, Captain.…” There was a hand on his shoulder shaking him. A disembodied hand. “Morning twilight, Captain.” Someone had lifted his head gently, was slapping his cheeks. “Here, drink this.” It was a mug of coffee. The steam warmed his nose and cheeks, reflected from his eyelids. Keith was in command of the Eel and he was in love with Joan and he was holding the cup of coffee and slapping his face.
Slow dawning. Understanding. “What is it? Did I doze off?”
“You sure did, Skipper. We don’t see how you stood it so long, as it was. Here, drink this coffee. It’s morning twilight, and the Whitefish has just dived to attack.”
“Where’s the convoy?”
“Twelve miles astern. We’re tracking them at fourteen knots, and I’ve slowed to maintain the range constant.”
Groggily Richardson wrenched to his feet. Eel lurched. He stumbled, put out his hand to steady himself. It slipped on the slick steel periscope barrel. He nearly fell, grabbed one of its hoist rods. He gulped down the coffee, then the fried egg sandwich which Keith suddenly produced from a hidden corner. It was still hot. So! His sleep, and now his awakening, had been part of a prearranged operation! Damn them all anyway! They needn’t think they could control him! His mind cleared slowly as he studied the radar ’scope. Three ships in column, the smallest the escort, leading.
“They haven’t been zigzagging,” said Keith. “Maybe they’ll start at dawn. Anyway, it looks like they’ll pass right over Whitefish. We had her right here when she dived.” He laid a pencil on a spot about halfway between the center of the ’scope and the small pip indicating the escort. “He should be shooting in about twenty minutes more.”
“Any aircraft contacts?”
“Negative. We’re watching the APR, though. Maybe somebody will come out at dawn.”
Richardson nodded. The pieces were falling into place. Whitefish had reported six torpedoes remaining, three forward and three aft. She would get only one salvo off, would have another salvo left in the other end of the ship. At best, only one of the three ships would be hit. Whatever else, it had better be one of the troopships! His efforts of the day before had largely been wasted, except that now there was only a single escort. It would have been far better had Eel somehow pressed home herself into the convoy to put her last two fish into a primary target! He had forgotten the aircraft patrol, that the plane had prevented him from submerging in an attack position, that had not Eel forced the convoy to head again to the westward it would at this moment be within the shelter of the Korean archipelago, with no further opportunity for any submarine to attack.
Richardson and Leone were still watching the radar when they realized the formation had lost its cohesiveness. The distance between the last two ships began to increase. Then the small pip which was the escort pulled aside, dropped back with the lagging large pip.
“Whitefish has attacked,” observed Blunt. He had come to the conning tower without their being aware of it.
“Yes, and the escort is looking for him. We may hear some depth charging soon.”
“The second ship in column is still heading this way,” said Keith.
“We’ll have to turn him around.” Richardson’s numbed brain was working with the details. “What’s the weather like topside?” he asked.
“Same as yesterday: cold, with a light chop.”
“Good. Call all hands, Keith. Pass the word to stand by for surface action.”
“What are you going to do, Rich?” asked Blunt.
“This transport skipper may still think the only submarine around is behind him. If the remaining escort stays with the ship Whitey has just torpedoed and the undamaged troopship comes on alone, we might have a chance to sink him with gunfire. If the tincan is with him, the tincan will head for us and the transport will reverse course. That may give Whitey a fourth crack at him.”
Richardson spoke rapidly. His voice was not normal. The weariness was showing through, even though the few hours of near-sleep in the conning tower had mightily rejuvenated him. He yawned rapidly several times. The adrenalin was beginning to pop through his veins, but his system needed extra oxygen to make up for accumulated fatigue. Deliberately he forced himself to take several deep breaths. He began to explain to Keith that it was vital he be kept informed of any change in the disposition of the three ships, then broke off. Keith knew this. No point in wasting the effort. Carrying a second mug of coffee, he made his way to the bridge.
The destroyer escort skipper must have been discouraged at losing his consort and two of his convoy, but that didn’t stop him from doing his duty. Very soon, Eel’s radar showed only two ships, one large and one small. Plot quickly confirmed that they were continuing their course to the east. And as the brilliant edge of the sun came over the eastern horizon, burning away the remaining shadows with long streamers of light leaping from wave crest to wave crest, to the consternation of the two Japanese skippers a surfaced submarine lay limned exactly against the crescent-shaped, rapidly growing orb. Moments before, there had been nothing there. Both Japanese captains had thought their erstwhile attacker to be by this time several miles astern, but the new apparition, clearly a submarine, revealed unmistakable hostile intent by opening fire with two large guns, landing one solid hit on the troopship’s forecastle and several near-misses in the water alongside.
The Mikura-class frigate dashed toward the submarine, which dived, and the merchant skipper, frantically reversing course, was happy to hear several loud depth charges astern. These signified that the escort at last had contact and was working over their antagonist. Under such conditions, he had been thoroughly and frequently briefed, a sub’s ability to assume the offensive was nil; so, as he came again in sight of the crowded lifeboats and rafts from his companion, well aware both of the risk he took and of the importance of the soldiers in the water, he disobeyed his orders by slowing to pick up the survivors. For an hour he remained in the vicinity, not without trepidation, in case the submarine being depth charged should fight its way clear and come back, while the surviving troops climbed up his cargo nets. Finally, his ship seriously overcrowded, he took up a northerly course, gave a wide berth to the area where depth charging was continuing, and once again, this time without incident, turned eastward.