Captain Hinman walked over to the port side of the cigaret deck and looked forward, seeing the long stretch of water that was now flooded with moonlight. Somewhere out there ahead was the area where he and Mako had made their first contact with the enemy. He smiled to himself. The chances he had taken! Altering the sacred torpedo exploders, making a night attack on the surface, broadcasting his defiance of Staff orders to the submarines in the area. He shook his head, smiling gently to himself. He had been bold, almost too bold. But he was still taking chances, the exploders on the torpedoes he carried on this trip had all been modified on his orders. Chief Ginty would have to put them back the way they had been if there were any still left aboard when the war patrol was over. But the risk was worth taking, he felt confident that the exploders would work, he was sure he would have targets. He relaxed, yawning, his hip resting comfortably against the cigaret deck railing as he watched the play of the moonlight on the calm water, listening with half an ear to the muffled conversation between the Officer of the Deck and the quartermaster.
Forty miles astern of the U.S.S. Mako the U.S.S. Eelfish was plowing northward on almost the same course. Captain Mike Brannon was standing on the cigaret deck, his binoculars hanging from a leather strap around his neck. His Executive Officer, a tall, lean man whose pale blond hair and bright blue eyes marked him as of Swedish descent came back to him.
“What do you have on Mako’s position?” Brannon asked.
“We should have them on radar before we dive, sir. We can overhaul and speak to them not long after we surface tonight.”
“Thank you, John,” Brannon said. “Mako’s a fine ship.”
“You were Exec in her, weren’t you?” Lieutenant Olsen said.
“Yes, under Art Hinman. They detached both of us after her second run. I was sent to take over our ship and Captain Hinman went on a tour selling war bonds. When that was over they gave the Mako back to him. I understand she was in a hell of a shape after Arv Mealey took her against that battleship and the destroyers.”
“I talked to a guy in Perth who was aboard,” John Olsen said. “Old mustang named Botts. He said he couldn’t figure out yet how the ship stood up to the depth charging she took. Told me that the depth charges blew the after gun right off the ship and that the attack periscope was bent down at right angles with the lens down near the main deck. Must have been a hell of a thing to go through.”
“She’s a hell of a good ship,” Brannon said. “The people who built her and our ship did a good job.” He smiled broadly in the dark. “I wonder what Captain Hinman will say when we speak to him tonight!”
“I hope he doesn’t set up and shoot at us!” Olsen said. “I’d better go below now, got some work to do.” Brannon nodded and lounged against the quadruple 1.1 pom-pom gun that had been mounted on the Eelfish’s cigaret deck in place of the 20-mm gun most submarines carried. The 20-mm gun was now mounted on a small bulbous swelling out in front of the bridge and below it. Brannon rubbed his chin. If Hinman agreed perhaps the two ships could run in tandem up to the point where each had to split off to go to their respective patrol areas. If they came across any targets they could mount a twin attack, the sort of thing he and Captain Hinman had spent hours talking about during their first two war patrols. The Germans were very efficient in their use of submarine wolf attacks but the Staff Commanders in Australia and Pearl Harbor had not yet decided whether it was an acceptable form of attack. If he and Hinman could work together on such an attack maybe it would jar the Staff commands into action. He took a deep breath of the humid night air and smelled the faint trace of land in the offshore breeze that was just beginning to ruffle the surface of the ocean. He smiled in the dark as he heard the punch line of a long, very dirty story that the quartermaster was telling to the Officer of the Deck. Eelfish was his ship, a good ship with a fine crew. He’d driven them without mercy in the few short weeks he’d had after the ship was commissioned and on the long haul from the East Coast through the Panama Canal and out to Western Australia. In those weeks of endless drills he’d seen the crew change from a group of inexperienced men into a close-knit group of team players, each man knowing his own job and the job of those around him. He was satisfied they could respond to any demand he could make of them, any crisis the enemy could bring. He relaxed against the gun mount, turning his head slightly as he heard the mewling cry of a lone sea bird.
Chapter 30
Shortly before midnight Mako’s stern lookout drew in his breath in a gasp that was audible down on the cigaret deck. Captain Hinman looked upward.
“Light back there bearing one seven zero, Bridge! The light is blinking on and off, looks like he’s sending code!”
“Sound General Quarters!” Hinman barked. “Open doors on all torpedo tubes! Quartermaster, get up in the shears and see if you can read him. He might be a Jap ship and if it is he might think we’re one of his navy!”
He heard the rush of feet below decks as Mako’s crew went to their Battle Stations and then the voice of Pete Simms came up through the hatch.
“All Battle Stations manned, Bridge. All torpedo tube doors open. Request depth settings for torpedoes, Bridge.”
“Set depth two feet on all tubes,” Hinman ordered. He was watching the quartermaster squeeze in beside the stern lookout.
“He’s sending code, sir. Wait a minute… he’s saying Mako over and over, sir!”
“Bridge, get a signal gun up here on the double,” Captain Hinman ordered. He waited until the signal gun was handed up from the Conning Tower and passed to the quartermaster.
“Give him an acknowledgment that you read him,” Hinman said. “Ask him who he is.” He listened to the quartermaster clicking off the code signals with the trigger of the signal gun. The light on the ship aft of them began blinking slowly.
“R… E… Q… request… P… E… R… permission to… come… along… side… signed… Mike. He sent ‘request permission to come alongside’ and signed it ‘Mike,’ sir.”
“My God, it’s the Eelfish!” Hinman cried. “Tell him to close, quartermaster, close on our starboard side. Bridge, make turns for one-third speed.” Hinman raised his voice.
“All lookouts, keep a very sharp watch in your sectors!” He strained his eyes searching for the dark bulk of the other submarine and then he saw it, a dim shadowy bulk against the dark horizon.
“Submarine in sight, bearing one six zero, Bridge,” the stem lookout said.
“You’re not very sharp up there,” Hinman snapped. “I saw him thirty seconds ago. Keep your eyes open!”
The Eelfish closed rapidly as Mako slowed and then slid up alongside Mako, barely 50 yards off Mako’s starboard beam. Mike Brannon, leaning both hands on the cigaret rail, took a deep breath and yelled.
“Mako, ahoy! Is Captain Hinman on the Bridge?”
“I’m here!” Hinman yelled. He turned to the OOD. “Don, take me in closer, I can’t yell that far, damn it!” The Mako wallowed and began to edge to starboard and then straightened out parallel to the Eelfish and a scant 30 feet away. Hinman could see Mike Brannon clearly in the dim moonlight.