“Right full rudder!” Hinman screamed. “The fish is running wild! Close the tube doors!”
“Fish is running well aft of us, Bridge!” Hinman looked upward and saw Grabby Grabnas, the seaman who had grown up in the Southern Florida shrimp fleet, clinging to the periscope shears like a big monkey, his eyes on the porpoising torpedo.
“Bridge! We’re gonna be pooped!” Grabnas’ voice was a high scream.
“Rig for dive! Close the main induction!” Hinman’s bellow was a split second behind Grabnas’ warning as he looked aft and saw what every seaman dreads, a great wave towering over the stern of his ship, running at the ship with hundreds of thousands of tons of water.
“Hang on!” Hinman yelled and slammed the hatch to the Conning Tower closed and flung himself down on it, twisting at the hand wheel to dog it tightly closed.
The wave, inexorable, unstoppable, overtook Mako, burying the periscope shears and the bridge under 20 feet of solid green water. The ship staggered sluggishly under the great weight and then, with all four main electrical motors driving the screws full astern on Sirocco’s order, Mako began to back out of the wave.
Captain Hinman was conscious of bodies on top of his own as he was flattened against the hatch cover. He held on to the hand wheel on top of the hatch, holding his breath, trying to stem the panic that rose within him, waiting for the upward surge of the ship under him that would tell him that Mako had recovered from the over-run of the great wave. The weight on him eased and he felt the ship surging upward. He opened his eyes and then gulped in air and scrambled to his feet.
“The lookout!” he croaked. He looked upward and saw Grabnas, his arms and legs wrapped around the periscope shears.
“Get down from there, you damned fool!” Hinman yelled.
“Bridge!” Sirocco’s voice over the bridge speaker was tinny. “We’re going all full astern on the motors! You all right up there?”
“Open the hatch,” Hinman ordered and the quartermaster squatted and spun the hand wheel and opened the hatch. Sirocco came up the ladder until his broad shoulders were in the bridge itself.
“We’ll have to come around again if you want to get another crack at them,” Sirocco said. “We’re on the motors, sir, going all full astern.”
“Very well,” Hinman said. “They get the main induction closed in time?”
“Checking now, sir,” Sirocco said. He looked down as a hand plucked at his leg.
“Main induction is dry, Bridge,” Pete Simms said from the Conning Tower.
“Rig for surface,” Hinman ordered. “All ahead two-thirds. How do we look on the plot, Joe?”
“We’re turned around, sir,” Sirocco answered. “We’ll have to start over to get a position.”
“Get me a bearing and range on the periscope,” Hinman ordered. Sirocco dropped down the hatch into the Conning Tower. Hinman looked around and then called down to Sirocco.
“We’re coming up on the crest of a big one, keep your eyes open, you might be able to get a good look.”
“I’ve got his smoke, Bridge,” Sirocco called out. “Bearing is one eight five. Looks like he’s headed away from us.”
“Aircraft! Broad on the port beam! Low down!” Grabnas’ immersion had not hurt his voice.
Hinman took one quick look and saw the dark shape to port.
“Clear the bridge!” he shouted and squeezed to one side as the lookouts and the quartermaster plunged down the ladder into the Conning Tower. He looked again to port and slammed the heel of his hand against the diving alarm.
“Dive! Dive! Dive!” He yelled as he went down the hatch, pulling on the hatch lanyard to close it.
“Three hundred feet!” Hinman ordered as he stood in the Conning Tower. “I don’t think he can get anywhere near us. He’s coming across that wind and he’ll never be able to hold a fix on where we were.” He cocked his head as two dull explosions rocked Mako slightly.
At 300 feet Mako was still at the mercy of the great waves that rolled by overhead. The needle on the depth gauge gyrated wildly, showing 260 feet one minute and then dipping below 300 feet as Mako rolled heavily in the seas. Captain Hinman dropped down the ladder to the Control Room and studied the chart.
“Joe,” he said to Sirocco, “let’s get back on course to the patrol area. Where’s Don Grilley? Don, I’d like a reload of those two empty tubes forward if you think it can be done.”
“I think we can do it,” Grilley said. “But if Ginty says he doesn’t want to try it maybe we’d better hold off a while.”
“I’ll go up and help out,” Hinman said. “I don’t want those two tubes empty any longer than they have to be. Joe, we’ll stay at General Quarters until the reload is completed and then we’ll secure and eat the noon meal.”
“You gave me bad torpedoes,” Captain Hinman said to Ginty as he walked into the Forward Room. “Mr. Cohen said the first fish ran out of the tube and then I saw it jump out of the water and start a circular nm. I saw the second one come straight up out of the water and then do a nose dive!”
Ginty flushed, his face angry. “Sir,” he said in a cold voice, “them fish went out of the tubes and they both ran hot, straight and normal, Mr. Cohen said that! You can’t fire torpedoes in seas that big! Fish runnin’ at forty-five knots starts up the slope of a big wave and it’ll get airborne and when it comes down it can go in any direction! The gyro in the fish tumbles and the depth mechanisms get all messed up!” His eyes were hot, his face stern and set.
“It was my fault then, Ginty,” Hinman said with a broad smile. “I had to kid you a little fella! I want to reload those two empty tubes if you think it can be done. She’s not a very steady platform, not even down this deep.”
“I can do it,” Ginty said evenly. “All’s I need is for the officers to get out of the way because this ain’t no place for an observer if the Divin’ Officer don’t keep the ship’s bow up and a fish starts to run into the tube too fast.”
“I thought you might need some muscles on the tagle,” Captain Hinman said. He grinned at the big torpedoman.
“Sir,” Ginty said, his voice still cold, “I think you’d better let these here people I’ve trained do that work.” He turned away and vented Number One tube and opened the inner door. He touched the telephone talker on the shoulder.
“Tell the Divin’ Officer we’re about to start a reload on Number One,” he said. “And say please when you ask him to try to give us a half degree up bubble if he can.” He walked back along the length of the torpedo, still held in its rack by a heavy metal strap fastened with a large brass nut and bolt.
“If you don’t mind, Captain, Mr. Grilley,” he said evenly, “I need some room to work. I got to get a snubbin’ line on the tail of this fish so it can’t go out through the outer door if we take a big down angle.” He caught at the torpedo skid with one hand as Mako rolled and nosed downward. “Like now!” His big, deft hands threw a bowline knot into the end of a piece of stout line and he made a noose and slipped it around the torpedo’s tail. He handed the end of the line to Johnny Paul.
“Take a turn around the end of the skid,” he growled. “We take another one of them down angles and if you lose this fish don’t let go of the line. Go out the fuckin’ outer door with the fish because you’ll be safer out there in the water than in here with me!” He picked up a wrench and carefully loosened the nut that held the belly strap tight around the torpedo.