“Damned good to see you, Mike! How’s everything?”
“Fine, sir. Family is fine, I’ve got a good ship and a good crew. Congratulations on your marriage. I have a proposition to make to you, sir.”
“Go ahead,” Hinman said, “but before you do let’s get to the important things. They gave us Klim back there in Brisbane instead of ice cream powder. Can you spare us some ice cream powder?”
“Sure thing,” Brannon said. The two Captains watched as crew members of the two ships exchanged a heaving line and hauled two 10-pound cans of ice cream powder mix over to the Mako.
“How about a fair exchange?” Brannon yelled. “Got any good boogie-woogie records?”
“Nope,” Hinman replied. “Now what’s your proposition?”
“I’d like to run north with you, if I may,” Brannon said. “If we see anything we could attack in tandem. Like we used to talk about in your Wardroom, the first two war patrols, sir.”
“Roger,” Hinman said. “I’d love to do that.”
“I’ve got a new SJ Radar,” Brannon said. “Picked you up way back there. You’re senior, sir, but if I may suggest, I could take the van and use my SJ. If we pick anything up you give the orders.”
“Agreed,” Hinman said. “Take position on my starboard bow, distance one thousand yards. Make turns for fifteen knots. Course will be three five five for the present. When we dive I’ll drop back to three thousand yards. Make two knots submerged. We’ll surface tonight thirty minutes after full dark. Okay with you, Mike?”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Brannon replied. “We’ll take position one thousand yards ahead on your starboard bow. Course three five five. Make turns for fifteen knots. You’ll drop back to three thousand yards when we dive. Make turns for two knots submerge. Surface thirty minutes after dark, sir.”
“Very well,” Hinman yelled across the water. “Where you going to, Mike? We’re headed for Luzon Strait. I’m going up the eastern coast of the Philippines.”
“We’re going to Leyte Gulf,” Brannon answered. “Talk to you some more tonight. Nice to see you again, sir.”
Captain Hinman watched as Eelfish dropped astern of Mako and then swung off to starboard and began to pick up speed. He moved to the speaker on the bridge and pressed the transmit button.
“This is the Captain,” he said. “We have the Eelfish on our starboard bow. She’ll travel with us for a few days. Her skipper, for all of you Mako plank owners, is Mike Brannon.” He paused for a moment. “Secure from General Quarters. Close tube outer doors. Resume Normal watch standing.” He punched Don Grilley lightly on the arm and went back to the cigaret deck.
The two submarines moved northward through the Makassar Strait and then angled eastward across the Celebes Sea. They saw no targets. Eelfish’s radar twice picked up medium-sized fishing boats as the tow ships entered the Celebes Sea and the two submarines had changed course to avoid on Captain Hinman’s orders — despite Pete Simms’ pointed suggestion that they should go alongside one of the fishermen and board, on the off chance that the boat could be harboring a Japanese naval officer with a powerful radio set who just might be reporting the passage of American submarines.
Five days after the two ships joined forces they passed the southern tip of Mindanao and began a passage north along the east coast of that island. On the night of the fifth day, shortly after the two ships had surfaced, the Eelfish requested permission to drop back near Mako.
“I have to break off now, Captain.” Mike Brannon yelled. “My orders are to proceed through Surigao Strait to my patrol area. Best of luck and good hunting!”
Hinman made the appropriate reply and watched as Eelfish dropped astern and then turned to port and was lost to view.
“Alone again, Don,” he said to Grilley, who had the deck watch. “Kind of nice thing, having Mike close by for a few days.” He went back to the cigaret deck and stood by the after rail, staring out to the port side. Somewhere out there Mike Brannon was making his approach to enter Surigao Strait and go on up to the waters of Leyte Gulf. An hour later the port lookout spoke.
“Ship! Bearing three five zero, Bridge! I can see more than one ship out there!”
Hinman swung himself up into the periscope shears and leveled his binoculars. He jumped back to the cigaret deck and ran forward to the Bridge.
“Sound General Quarters! Plotting Party to the Control Room. Open torpedo tube outer doors and set depth on all torpedoes at two feet! Executive Officer to the search periscope! We’ve got a convoy out there! Mr. Cohen, get a message off to Eelfish that we’ve picked up a convoy of at least seven ships and invite him to join the party!” He listened to the reports coming up to the Bridge in response to his orders. Pete Simms’ voice came up through the hatch.
“Bridge! I have the targets! Five, six, no by God, eight ships out there! There’s two in line and then two abreast and two more abreast and looks like two more in line back of those ships! Look like small freighters to me, sir. Estimated range is four zero zero zero yards!”
“Very well,” Captain Hinman said. “Don, go below, I’ll take over the bridge. Take charge of the Plot in the Control Room. I’m going to go in on the surface.” He turned and bent toward the hatch to the Conning Tower.
“Pete, give the periscope to Nate Cohen, we won’t be using any sound bearing in this attack. You come up here and take over the After TBT station.” He waited until Simms had climbed to the Bridge.
“Take station back there, Pete. If you have to, fire at will but let me know if you start shooting. There’s a lot of ships out there and I don’t want to waste fish.” He bent his head as the bridge speaker rasped.
“Plotting Party is ready, Bridge,” Grilley reported and Hinman heard Nate Cohen feeding the Plotting Party a stream of bearings.
He grinned to himself. It was like the other attack he had made in Makassar Strait on his second war patrol. Below him he could hear the voices of Nate Cohen rattling off ship bearings and Bob Edge repeating them as he fed the bearings into the TOC. Then he heard Cohen’s normally gentle voice sharpen slightly as he spoke to Lieut. Ronnie Bums, a new officer Mako had taken aboard in Brisbane.
“Damn it, Lieutenant, don’t just stand there! It’s easier for me if you read the bearing ring when I give you a mark! The Old Man will tell you when to push that damned shooting key!” Captain Hinman bent to the hatch.
“Belay that conversation down there! Start feeding me some data, damn it! I just can’t eyeball it up here, there’s too many damned targets!”
The intricate terpsichorean ritual of death by torpedo had begun in Mako’s Conning Tower and Control Room. On the Bridge Captain Hinman fidgeted, waiting until the Plot brought him close enough to begin the attack.
“Damned shame Mike isn’t here,” he said to himself. He eyed the enemy ships, black splotches against the dark background of the mountains of Mindanao. He searched the line of ships with his binoculars but could see no escort vessels. Maybe they felt safe, this close to Mindanao.
“Bridge! Range to the leading ship in the convoy is now three zero zero zero! Angle on the bow is two zero port. We’ve got a constant shooting solution from now on, sir!”
“All ahead full!” Hinman barked into the bridge transmitter. “Plot — I’ll close to one zero zero zero yards and then begin to shoot! Order of targets will be the first ship in the line and then the second. Then I’ll take the inboard ship in the brace of two that follow those first two. After that it’s going to be everyone for themselves! We’ll get what we can!” He felt Mako’s deck quiver under his feet as the ship picked up speed.