Blunt nodded. “Estimated range?” he demanded.
“Using fifteen knots I’m reading one-oh-five-double-oh yards, Captain,” said Keith, “but all I’ve got is an estimate to start it on. Buck is taking over the TDC.”
Richardson was glad to see Keith also falling into the scenario.
“I’ll take a quick look around, then drop the ’scope on the bearing. When I run it up again we’ll go for a stadimeter range. Are you ready, Rich?”
“Ready,” said Rich and Buck almost simultaneously.
“Very well. Up periscope!”
The Old Man will have aching leg muscles tonight, thought Richardson, but he’s spinning that thing around just the way he used to. The thought warmed him, reinforced him in the correctness of his decision. He centered the periscope dead ahead as Blunt snapped the handles up, squatted on his heels before it as it went down, watched Blunt’s face. When he saw the command in the eyes under the shaggy eyebrows, he signaled abruptly for it to be stopped.
“I can see the top of his superstructure,” said Blunt. “Use masthead height forty feet, from the tip of his mast to the top of his stack.”
“Ready,” said Rich.
“Up ’scope,” said Blunt. “Bearing, mark! It’s a zig.” Swiftly he turned the range-finder wheel. “Range, mark!” Richardson followed the indicator dial with his eyes and his finger. The periscope handles were up. The ’scope was on its way down.
“Nine-six-double-oh!” said Rich.
“Left full rudder,” barked Blunt. “All ahead standard! A zig to his right. Angle on the bow is port thirty.”
“Distance to the track is forty-eight hundred,” said Rich. “You caught him right on the point of the zig.” He was turning the dials of the Is-Was as he spoke. “Normal approach course zero-six-one,” he said. “Target bears one-five-one. Recommend we split the difference and steady on one-zero-six. Looks like he really means to hug the coast. We can’t run long on this course. Neither can he, really!”
“Make your new course one-zero-six,” ordered Blunt in a very precise tone.
“One-zero-six, aye aye,” responded Cornelli, who had taken his station on the helm.
“Was that a good range, Captain?” asked Rich.
“Yes, good range.”
Buck said, “He’s either going faster, or the initial range was less. I’ve been using fifteen knots on the TDC.”
“I don’t think he’s making as much as fifteen knots. Probably the initial range estimate was too high,” Blunt said crisply. “Maybe it’s a smaller ship than we figured.”
“Using twelve knots then, sir. Recommend another observation at three minutes more for the first speed check.”
“Can’t do it,” said Rich; “we’re making too much speed.”
“I’ll take a look at six minutes,” said Blunt. “When should I take the speed off her?”
“We’ll have finished our turn, but we’ll only have been up to speed for about three minutes, Captain. If he zigs away again, that might put us out in left field,” said Rich, “but it’s not likely with him already so close to shore.” He had made the identical speech to Blunt many times during the practice approaches of years past.
“How long was he on the previous course?” asked Blunt.
“This was the first zig we’ve seen,” replied Rich. “About twelve minutes after first sighting.”
“Very well, I’ll run for nine minutes. I want to get on the track anyhow to be in shape for a stern tube shot. We’ll still be seven thousand yards off the beach. Tell the diving officer I will use a backing bell to get the way off her quickly.”
Richardson crossed to the control room hatch, squatted down, relayed the instructions to Al Dugan, who had mounted partway up the ladder. “No sweat,” said Al, “but don’t let speed drop below two knots, okay?… Is the commodore making the approach all the way in?” The last portion of his speech was made in a much lower tone, intended only for Richardson’s ears.
“Yes. He deserves it after all these years in the boats.” Rising, Richardson strode back to the after part of the conning tower, where Blunt had crowded in behind Buck and Keith. “Dugan has the word about backing down, sir,” said Rich; “he asks we not reduce speed below two knots so he won’t lose depth control.” Blunt, concentrating with absorbed interest upon the dials of the TDC, nodded shortly. “Should we pass the word to the ship’s company what’s going on, sir? Would you like to do it, or shall I?”
“You do it,” Blunt said, not taking his eyes away from the face of the TDC.
“Now hear this,” said Richardson into the general announcing system microphone. “We have a single ship up here with one escort. No sign of air coverage. Weather is calm, visibility excellent. Captain Blunt is making the approach, and we plan to shoot stern tubes if possible. He was my skipper on the old Octopus, which was lost just at the start of the war, and he was the man who qualified me in submarines. This is one for our old ship and our old shipmates.” He paused a moment, was about to hang the microphone back on its hook, changed his mind. “There is a single escort patrolling ahead. We will rig for depth charge, and probably go to silent running just before making the attack.” He replaced the microphone in its bracket, checked his watch as he rejoined the group behind the TDC.
“Five minutes since the last look,” said Buck. “We’re showing thirty-nine hundred yards to the track now.”
“What should the range be after nine minutes?”
Blunt was obviously making the calculations in his own head at the same time as he asked the questions. The lightning approximation of critical distances and angles was one of the most valued of submarine approach techniques, nurtured from years of practice. At the same time, one always demanded the answers from one’s approach party, partly for training and partly to guard against any possible error or misunderstanding. The two requirements had evolved into a habit cultivated by all submariners. Richardson could almost see the wheels turning inside the minds of both Buck and Keith as he also made the calculation. Nine minutes at six knots would be 1,800 yards for Eel, but since part of the time had been spent turning and speeding up, 1,400 yards would be a better estimate. Eel was making seven-tenths of that distance good toward the target: a thousand yards. At twelve knots the target had time to cover 3,600 yards, about 85 percent of it effective toward shortening the range. Say 3,100 yards, plus the thousand Eel would be traveling toward her. After nine minutes the range would be reduced by about 4,100 yards.
“About fifty-five hundred if he’s making twelve knots,” said Buck.
Keith nodded. “About the same,” he said.
“Fifty-six hundred by plot,” said Lasche.
A gratified look played about the corners of Blunt’s mouth. Richardson nodded also. “I’d make it fifty-seven hundred, Captain, allowing a little more for our maneuvers,” he said. “But not many old Jap freighters make twelve knots.”
“Well, the big ones can,” said Blunt, “and that convoy yesterday made seventeen. But you’re right. This fellow is medium size, and he’s sending up a lot of smoke. What will the range be if he’s making ten knots?”