A simple one-letter signal on the wolfpack administration frequency brought an immediate response from the Whitefish. The message obviously was in her radio room awaiting the calclass="underline" ATTACKED ESCORTED FREIGHTER COURSE WEST SPEED FIFTEEN POSITION GERTRUDE 43 TIME 1950 SUBMERGED STERN TUBES DURING TWILIGHT FOUR TORPEDOES EXPENDED SIXTEEN REMAIN X CLOSE DEPTH CHARGE ATTACK POSSIBLE DAMAGE RETIRING TO AREA CENTER FOR EVALUATION X
“Maybe we had better do the same,” said the wolfpack commander in a thoughtful tone. “The Japs know there is a submarine in the Maikotsu Suido. They probably won’t send anything through here for a while.”
Richardson had his answer ready. “They’ve got to send their ships somewhere. Those they can send into port, or keep there, they will. A number are probably already en route, however, and so tomorrow they’ll saturate the area with air and surface patrols. The plane that bombed us proves they’ve also got night air patrols out. He’s probably already radioed in his report, giving our position and our course as south at slow speed, so if we’re lucky they may think we’re planning to stay in this vicinity. It makes sense, because that’s where we found the ships. Tomorrow, when they get no sign of us, they’ll think we’re lying low, probably heading west.”
“So why don’t we head west right now, before another plane comes out and makes us dive again?”
“Because that’s just what they’ll expect us to do. That’s where the night patrol planes will concentrate. For sure, they won’t send any convoys of ships outside the Maikotsu. Don’t forget, Whitefish got that freighter outside the island yesterday. They’ll stop what ships they can, but the rest they’ll run as close to the coast as possible, and under maximum protection.”
“What are you figuring to do? They must by now realize there is more than one submarine here.”
“They’ll concentrate all available forces here, and that means there’ll be less available for other areas. The chart we got from that patrol boat shows a place up to the north where, for a short distance, they have to round a point of land. At that spot there are no more inshore islands to run behind. It will take all the speed we have to get there, if we’re lucky enough to stay on the surface until dawn, and we’ll have to finish the run submerged in the morning. The current will be a big help.…” He let the sentence trail off.
Indefinably, he began to feel a surge of confidence as he spoke. Blunt was listening. There was a weariness in Blunt’s face and around his eyes, combined with something else — relief; he did not have to think; the operation of a single submarine was strictly the responsibility of its captain, so long as it remained compatible with the larger responsibilities of the wolfpack. It would be easy to let Richardson have his way. To make any speed submerged — to get the most benefit from the helping current — would require remaining well below periscope depth: a morning free from worries, free for a good long sleep. Blunt’s face showed the struggle for decisiveness. The normally bright lights in the wardroom had been turned down. The resulting shadows reflected the play in his sagging jowels. “All right,” he said.
Carefully, Rich kept his own face expressionless. “Aye aye, sir,” he replied. Too much enthusiasm might still cause Blunt to reverse the assent just given. Worse, it might jeopardize the second part of the idea he had been mulling over. Whatever convoy-control organization the enemy had would hardly permit convoys to move for the next several days, but single ships might be handled differently. They might not even be under centralized control at all. If Eel could get far enough away from the carnage of the previous day, she might find small-scale local traffic still moving, as yet unaware of the sinkings to the south. This would be the chance to restore Blunt. Richardson had convinced himself that the crux of Blunt’s problem was lack of confidence, based on never having commanded a submarine in combat. This he could, just conceivably, do something about. The total reversal in Blunt that very day, when in desperation Rich had given him the periscope, had been the clue. It would not, after all, be much different from letting Keith Leone or Al Dugan bring Eel alongside a dock, or make a submerged approach during training.
It would take careful planning, the right arguments to make to the commodore, and a considerable degree of luck to bring it off. It made no demands on anyone, except himself and Blunt, and required only a little cooperation from the enemy. It was worth a try.
Eel dived before dawn, with the outline of a peninsula and the relatively large island directly to the west of it clear on the radar. Keith had not had time for his customary morning star sights, but these were unnecessary since the radar range on land provided an accurate position. There was still some distance to go before Eel could reach the position selected: in the center and deepest portion of a small body of water, roughly defined by the peninsula to the north, the outlying island to the northwest, the coast of Korea on the eastern side and, far to the south, the northernmost island of the chain demarking the Maikotsu Suido.
Richardson had gambled on his certainty that Blunt could not resist the bait if offered in the right way. Finally, a conditional acceptance in his grasp, he had managed to talk Blunt into turning in. In a short time he, too, would lie down and seek a couple of hours’ rest. It had been an exhausting night with an exhausting day preceding. His knees and thigh muscles ached from the combined effect of the bruises inflicted by Moonface and his own rigorous stint on the periscope less than twelve hours before. There was still blood in his urine, and the yellow, blue, and purple bruises all over his body were still as vivid as ever. He gave careful instructions to Keith, Al, and Buck for running toward the selected spot and, once there, setting a periscope watch. Then at last he sat on his bunk, removed his shoes, lay back with a sigh of relaxation.
Someone was pounding on the aluminum bulkhead of his stateroom alongside the green baize curtain. “You’re wanted in the conning tower, Captain,” said the messenger. “Smoke on the horizon!”
He hadn’t expected it this soon. He was instantly wide awake, yawning nevertheless, glanced at the clock on the bulkhead. Both hands stood straight up and down. He had been asleep — or rather, totally unconscious — for at least five hours! It was good of Keith to let him rest so long. Swiftly he pulled on his shoes, knotted the strings, stepped into the passageway, through the watertight door, around the control room table, and up the ladder into the conning tower.
“What is it, Keith?” he said, as his head came up through the hatch.
“Smoke, bearing southeast,” said the executive officer. “It’s coming this way, I think.”
A quick look through the periscope showed a faint brown smudge in the indicated direction. Rich spun the periscope around rapidly, settled back to inspect the smoke one more time. Alongside him Keith said, “We’re running at sixty-five feet, with only about a foot and a half of periscope out. It’s almost a flat calm out here, as you can see. And so far this morning, we’ve seen the same airplane three times.”
Rich lowered the periscope. “What bearing?” he asked.
“To the south. Some distance away. It’s patrolling, I think.”
“Good,” said Rich. “If they’re patrolling south of us, it means they don’t think we’ve come this far north.”