“Up periscope.” The handles were up quickly this time, since the periscope had been stopped before it had reached the bottom of the well. It rose up…
“Range!” shouted Rogers. The ’scope started down. Richardson stepped clear.
“Eight-seven-five-oh. Good range,” said Rogers.
Buck was twirling one of the control cranks on the front of the TDC. “That was down four hundred yards,” he said, “but I was right on in bearing.”
“Good. No zig yet. Angle on the bow is starboard thirty-five.”
“Should be starboard thirty-four,” said Buck. “Four hundred yards’ range difference in eight minutes. That’s about one and a half knots. That puts the speed up to sixteen knots.” Carefully he turned a third knob on the TDC controls.
“Distance to the track?”
“Four thousand three hundred. Ten minutes since the last zig.”
Another interminable wait. “Three minutes since the last look,” said Williams.
“We’ll make a very fast observation this time, just to check things,” decided Richardson. “Fast procedure again.… Ready?” Nods of assent. “Up ’scope!”
The ’scope came up. “Range!” shouted Rogers.
“Zig toward!” barked Richardson. It slithered away, the hoist rod knob on the side of the periscope yoke barely grazing his forehead. He would have to be a little more agile next time, or risk a lump on his head.
“Seven thousand yards!”
“Three-zero-zero!”
“They’ve just zigged,” said Richardson. “Only the leading ship has turned. Angle on the bow is starboard fifteen.”
“Starboard fifteen,” repeated Buck, cranking another one of the handles. “That was about a twenty-five-degree zig to his right. Range was down another hundred. That gives us seventeen knots. Maybe they’ve increased speed. These guys are really pouring on the coal!” Again, he carefully and precisely adjusted his “target speed” control knob.
“I can’t see the water line yet, but it does seem to me they’re making pretty good speed.” Richardson turned to the radar operator. “Think we can go a little deeper, Rogers?”
“Yes, sir, that was a real good pip, that time.”
“Control, make your depth six-oh feet.” Quin relayed the word by telephone.
A few seconds later Al Dugan’s voice came up the hatch. “We’re at six-oh feet, Conn.”
A good approach officer always keeps his fire control party advised of the situation topside, including the reasons for his own maneuvers and his intentions for the future. Richardson waited a few moments. Keith would be back shortly — was back, a small smoke-smudged card in his hand.
“Here’s the bathythermograph card, Skipper,” said Keith. “It’s isothermal all the way down. I guess that’s what it had to be with this current. It’s just like the one we got this morning.” He flicked his eyes briefly to the forward part of the conning tower, where Blunt stood under the closed hatch leading to the bridge, idly holding its wire lanyard. Keith turned his eyes back to Rich, nodded ever so slightly.
“I was afraid of that,” said Richardson, acknowledging with his eyes the nearly imperceptible signal. He raised his voice so that Blunt could also hear. “The water is isothermal all the way, Commodore. No layer. When sighted, the target was on course approximately north, running close to the coast of Korea. It’s a four-ship convoy, ships in column, with escorts ahead, astern, and on both flanks. Also, there’s an aircraft patrolling overhead. I figured the convoy for a zig to his left, which he did shortly after we sighted him. Approximately twelve minutes after that he zigged again, but this time to his right, which I really didn’t expect, because that keeps him really close in to the beach. If he’s zigging every ten to twelve minutes, there’ll probably be one more zig before we get to the firing point. Most likely away, to his left, but we can’t be sure. The starboard flanking escort and the astern escort will be the ones to give us trouble. I figure to shoot right after the near escort has passed; stern tubes with a fairly large track on the leading ship, then swing around for bow tubes with a sharper track on the last three. As soon as we shoot the stern tubes, the after room will start a reload just as fast as they can, because we may need those torpedoes back there. The same with bow tubes, but the ones I’m really going to depend on immediately are the stern tubes.” He was really speaking for everyone’s benefit, pointed with emphasis at Quin, who, once again relieved from the periscope control by Scott, nodded his understanding that he was to relay this information to all stations.
“There are four big ships in column, and four escorts. The three leading escorts are all the same type tincan. They look new. My guess is they’re the new Mikura class. They might be the same three that got the Chicolar. Anyway, they’re in about the same pattern, one ahead and one on each beam of the leading ship. They’re patrolling back and forth on station as well as following the zigzag. I can’t make out the astern escort as well. He looks a little bigger, probably an old destroyer. I’ve been making all observations on the leading ship, which is a two-stack passenger-cargo ship between eight thousand and ten thousand tons. The other three ships are ordinary freighters, somewhat smaller than the leading one. We’ll shoot three fish aft at the leading ship, depth set ten feet. The fourth torpedo aft we’ll keep in reserve with a depth setting of four feet. Then we’ll swing hard right for a quick shot, two fish each, at the last three ships. Set depth of all torpedoes forward ten feet!”
The small audience nodded its understanding. Quin pressed the button on the top of his telephone mouthpiece, spoke into it at some length.
“Quin,” said Richardson when the yeoman had finished, “tell the people in the forward and after torpedo rooms there are to be no torpedoes unsecured at any time, even while they’re loading them. We’ll try to keep from taking sudden angles, but the chances of a quick counterattack are pretty good, and we may have to go deep in a hurry after we shoot. I want all the special securing lines rigged on the torpedoes just as though we were reloading them on surface, and if we order silent running again, they are to stop dead and hold everything right where they are.”
Quin nodded his alert appreciation. “All fish to be reloaded with surface reload procedure and never to be unsecured in case we get depth charged and have to take a steep angle. Hold everything if silent running is ordered,” he said. Again he pressed the button on the top of his mouthpiece, relayed the word to the torpedo rooms and, of course, simultaneously throughout the ship.
“How long since the last look?” said Rich.
“Two and a half minutes. Don’t forget that aircraft!”
“Observation,” said Rich. “Radar periscope; then we’ll switch to number two at the deck, and I’ll try for a masthead height.” He glanced about the conning tower, motioned with his thumbs to Scott. “Regular procedure,” he barked. The periscope came up. He grabbed the handles, rose with it, reached a fully standing position. “Mark!” he said.
“One-nine-two-a-half, true,” said Keith.
“Range!” said Rogers. The periscope started down.
“Range was five-four-double-oh,” said Rogers. Richardson stepped behind number two periscope, motioned with his thumbs for it to be raised. Behind him he could hear Buck Williams making the new insets in the TDC. “He might be going a bit faster yet,” said Buck.
“No more than seventeen knots,” said Richardson. He was again on his knees, stooped as low as he could get. The periscope handles on the attack ’scope came into view. He grabbed them, snapped them down. The periscope was facing the wrong direction. With a quick jerk he spun it quickly, sighted on the target, turned the range crank. Keith was also on his knees on the other side of it, fingers on the dial. “Mark!” said Richardson. “Down ’scope!” He banged up the handles. The periscope started down. Both he and Keith had to throw themselves out of the way of the descending yoke to avoid being struck on the head.