“This changes everything,” said Rich as the periscope descended into its housing. “Right full rudder! All ahead full!” He turned to Buck. “Starboard sixty! Give me a course for a thirty gyro, bow tubes, on the leading ship, one-twenty starboard track. We’ll shoot three each at the first and second ships and try to get the stern tubes off at the third ship!”
“Course for thirty right gyros, one-twenty starboard track, bow tubes: two-two-zero!” said Buck, figuring swiftly with his fingers on the dials on the face of his TDC.
“Make your new course two-two-zero!” ordered Rich. He waited to hear Cornelli’s acknowledgment from the forward end of the control room, then spoke swiftly to Keith. “So far, the near escort has shown no signs of detecting us, but he may pass very nearly overhead. The reason for not swinging farther is to give us a chance to get around for a stern tube shot afterward.”
“Right! Where’s the escort now?”
“He’s over on our port bow with a starboard angle,” answered Richardson. “But we’re speeding up and closing him.” Richardson turned, quickly stepped forward to the sonar again. “Stafford,” he said, “keep your gear on that near escort. What’s he bear now?”
“Two-one-zero,” responded Stafford, obediently swinging the sonar head dial to the left.
“Very well. Keep your bearings on that fellow coming in. I want him to pass ahead.”
“Aye aye,” said Stafford. “Bearing two-one-zero.”
“Steady on two-two-zero,” sang out Cornelli.
“What’s the range now?” said Richardson, stepping quickly aft again.
“Twenty-five hundred yards TDC,” said Buck. “Distance to the track fifteen hundred yards. Gyros right ten, increasing.”
“All ahead one-third!”
“Speed through water, four and a half knots,” said Keith.
“Escort bears two-one-five,” said Stafford.
“Keith, finish the rig for silent running except for the torpedo rooms. Secure the ventilation. Rig all compartments for depth charge, but leave the hatch to the control room open for the time being.” He swung back to Buck. “What’s the speed through water now?” he said.
“Four knots.”
Still too fast to put the periscope up. The feather it would make splashing through the seas would surely be detected by the escort, now close aboard and coming nearly directly for them. He would have to wait for Eel to slow down a little more. On the other hand, he was nearly at the firing point. Things were moving rapidly. He cocked his head as if he could visually appraise the situation going on on the surface of the sea above. The main target would now be nearly broadside on, and in perfect position for firing. The three ships in column astern would by now have reached the turning point. Each in succession would have made its turn onto the new course. The near escort, close on the port bow, was closing in even more, but might pass ahead.
“Escort bearing two-one-five,” said Stafford again.
This was bad. The escort was patrolling his own station back and forth, superimposing a random zigzag plan upon the more formal zigzag plan being carried out by the convoy. Two successive sonar bearings of the same value indicated that he was now heading directly toward Eel. Possibly his sonar operator had detected something suspicious in the water.
“Escort bearing two-one-four,” from Stafford.
“Speed through water?” he said to Buck. He could read it almost as well himself, but it helped to have someone else do it for him.
“Three and a half knots.”
“Keith, I’m going to make one more observation, and then we’ll be shooting. Also, I’ve got to try to find that aircraft again. This is not a shooting observation, but open the outer doors forward anyway.”
“Open outer doors forward, aye aye,” said Keith. “We’re ready to shoot in all respects, Captain, as soon as we get the outer doors open.”
“Up periscope,” said Richardson. The scope came up. As before, he rode it up, swung it all around rapidly, steadied it on the port bow for a second. “Bearing, mark!” he said. “Down ’scope.”
“Two-three-oh,” said Keith. “No range. Did you get a range?”
“No range,” said Richardson. “That was the main target. The aircraft is clear to starboard. The escort is about thirty degrees to the left. He’ll be passing overhead very soon.”
“Escort bearing two-one-four,” said Stafford.
“Outer doors are open forward, Captain,” said Keith.
“Be sure all periscopes are all the way down,” said Richardson. “The tincan will pass overhead in a few seconds.”
All inside the conning tower could feel the tension which had suffused the air. With the securing of the blowers the noise level had dropped perceptibly. The air suddenly felt dead. The temperature rose. People spoke in lower voices simply in reaction to the atmosphere in which they moved.
“Escort bears two-one-five,” said Stafford, his voice sounding unusually loud in the sudden stillness. “Still pinging the same. He’s close aboard now.”
He had not detected them. That was good. Everyone in the conning tower could hear the propellers resounding through the water. The Eel was nearly broadside to his approach. An alert sonar watch perhaps should have recognized a return echo. A change in his ping rate or his propeller speed would betray his interest.
“He’s pinging steadily, long range,” said Stafford. “No change in rpm.”
Thum, thum, thum, thum, from the propellers. Growing louder, ever louder. This was Eel’s time of greatest danger. No doubt depth charges were carried at the ready, and even now, if a submarine were detected only a few hundred yards ahead, a devastating blow could be dealt her.
Thum, thum, thum, went the propellers. Louder and louder. Thum-thum-thum! Close aboard now. THUM-THUM-THUM-THUM-THUM-THUM-THUM-THUM!
“Tincan passing overhead!” said Stafford.
There was a swish of water through Eel’s superstructure. The submarine rocked gently in the destroyer’s wake. The escort had passed, after all, not more than a few feet away from where they stood.
In the sudden stillness in the conning tower Blunt was staring from the forward starboard corner where he had stationed himself, still gripping the lanyard to the hatch. His face was beaded with sweat. Richardson tossed him a quick smile. Except for the fact that this was very much for real, Blunt had experienced it many times. “He’s gone by,” Rich said. “This is a shooting observation. Stand by forward.”
“Shooting observation. Stand by forward,” echoed Keith. Quin repeated the same in the telephone, giving emphasis to his voice as he transmitted the order.
“Range fifteen hundred, gyros thirty right, torpedo run eighteen-fifty,” said Buck.
“Up periscope,” said Richardson. He laid the vertical cross hair of the periscope directly between the stacks of his target. He was a complete automaton, and yet his mind encompassed the fact that the ship was crowded with people — soldiers, from the general olive-drab appearance — and was heavily laden. Millions of Japanese yen and untold hours of Herculean labor had gone into building her. She was obviously a new ship, probably completed after the beginning of the war. She had recently been repainted. She was a thing of pride to her skipper. She was doomed. Explosion, fire, drowning lay in the cross hair that he carefully, coldly, placed upon her.
“Mark!” he said.
“Zero-two-three-a-half,” said Keith.
“Set,” said Buck.