“I see what you mean, sir,” the Fubuki commander said as he looked at the plot. “The target is behaving as our targets used to act in your school. He’s predictable. He turned toward the attacking ship’s track to avoid the spread from the Y-guns and continued his turn full circle to get away from the charges dropped in the attacking ship’s wake.” He shrugged.
“Maybe he is not very experienced,” he said slowly.
“Would an inexperienced submarine captain carry out such a bold attack on the surface? I find that hard to believe.” The professor shook his bald head.
“A number of American submarines have attacked on the surface in recent weeks,” the Fubuki commander said. “Our intelligence reports show that. Perhaps it is now one of their new techniques.”
“We’ll see,” the Professor said. He picked up a pencil and drew three lines on the plot.
“There: Eagle’s Feather One will come down here, on this side of the target. The target, if he acts as he has done, will follow this line and we will be here. We will not fire the Y-guns but we will drop two charges and then slow to listen. If he turns into the first attacking ship’s track and continues his turn, as he has done before, then we will come,” his finger snapped down against the paper. “We will come here, turning with him and intercept him!” He grinned at the younger man.
“Now, let’s get a solid bearing on this fellow and we’ll see if this tactic works!”
Nate Cohen pushed his left earphone pad up on his temple and listened as Mako’s hull rang under a barrage of sonar searching beams. He leaned toward the Control Room hatch.
“Two ships doing all that pinging, Captain. I’d bet a bagel with lots of lox and cream cheese that we’re going to catch a good one!”
“Very well,” Grilley said. He turned to DeLucia.
“When Nate gives us the word the attack run has started take me down to five hundred feet. They know by now that we’ve been steady at four hundred, so now we’ll mess up their depth charge settings.” He stood at the chart table, looking at the plot, wishing that Captain Mealey — or Captain Hinman — were there.
“Here they come!” Cohen’s voice carried from the Conning Tower.
“Five hundred feet! Ten degree down bubble!” DeLucia said.
“First ship is coming up our starboard side!” Cohen said. “Coming fast! Second ship is astern of the first one and oft to our starboard.”
“Right full rudder!” Grilley ordered. Mako banked slightly as she turned and drove deeper under the sea. A depth charge exploded with a shattering roar, breaking light bulbs and showering the interior of the ship with shattered cork insulation. Another depth charge crashed and Mako shook violently.
“Six hundred feet!” Grilley ordered. He held on to the chart table with both hands as Mako shuddered under a string of heavy explosions that seemed to be all around the ship. He looked down at the plot and then let go with one hand to sweep the bits of cork from the paper.
“Left full rudder!” Grilley said suddenly. “We turned full circle the first time. This time we’ll only go half way. Steer course one seven zero, helm.”
“Second ship is starting its run, Control! Coming like a bat out of hell!” Grilley looked upward as the distant drum of the Fubuki’s twin screws cut through the turbulence left by the depth charges.
“He’s dropping!” Cohen said. “I think he’s off the track, Control, he’s out to starboard!” A series of explosions shook Mako but not as violently as the others had done. Grilley swiftly drew in the lines on the plot.
“Steady on course one seven zero, sir,” the helmsman said.
“Very well,” Grilley said. He smiled inwardly. How easy the jargon of command came to his lips! If only the ability to outwit a destroyer commander would come as easily. He sighed and stared down at the plot.
“He fooled us!” the Professor said. “He did not complete his turn as he had done before!”
“You sound almost pleased!” the Fubuki commander said.
“Not pleased, but maybe a little gratified. We are true professionals. It does us no honor to defeat an amateur!”
“Contact!” The telephone talker on Eagle’s bridge sang out. “Eagle’s Feather One has the target bearing two four five, depth six hundred feet, sir.”
The Professor bent over the plot, his pencil darting. “This and then this, do you see? Form our ships up so, and so, and then…”
The sound of the depth charging was clearly heard on the bridge of the Eelfish as she raced toward the action.
“Secure the radar,” Brannon ordered. “I don’t want one of their radio operators to pick it up.” He braced his elbows on the bridge rail and held his binoculars to his eyes. Up above him the port lookout spoke.
“Bridge! I’ve got two ships, dead ahead! I can see a lot of white water shooting up, too!” The sullen roar of exploding depth charges rolled across the black water.
“Plot!” Brannon barked. “Give me a set-up on those two ships dead ahead. Conning Tower, give me a range!”
“Range is five zero zero zero yards to the nearest of the two ships, Captain.”
“Clear the bridge!” Brannon shouted. He stood to one side as the lookouts and then his Executive Officer plunged down through the hatch. He took one last look at the two ships ahead of him, dark shapes against the rising moon. He punched the diving alarm twice and dropped through the hatch. Eelfish slanted downward.
“I want to run right in on them, John,” he called down the hatch to Olsen. “They’re busy as hell giving Mako a working over. I’ll give them something to think about!” He stepped over to the periscope and waited until Eelfish had leveled off at periscope depth. He caught the handles of the periscope as it rose and snapped them outward.
“Sixty-five feet,” he called down the hatch. He steadied the cross hairs in the periscope on the two ships.
“Mark!”
“Bearing three five zero,” the assistant TDC officer said.
“Range is four zero zero zero yards,” Brannon said. He looked toward the hatch.
“Give me a course to the target bearing,” he said calmly. “Open all torpedo tube outer doors. Set depth on all torpedoes at two feet. Repeat: two feet.” He put his eye to the lens again.
“All tube doors open. Depth set at two feet on all fish, sir.”
“Very well. Let’s start the shooting run, Plot. Stand by… Mark! Range is three five zero zero. How does it look?”
“What range do you want to shoot, sir?” the TDC officer looked at him.
“One thousand yards,” Brannon said. “I want to be sure of hitting the bastards!”
“If the targets don’t move away we’ll be in shooting position in twenty-two minutes, sir.”
“They’ll move,” Brannon said dryly. “They’re maneuvering all over the damned ocean out there. Stand easy, they’re about to start another run on Mako. Plot, let’s go to full speed for a few minutes, I want to close the range and be ready for them when they form up for the next run on Mako.” He felt the deck vibrate under him as the screws bit into the water.
The young officer at the TDC was deadly serious. “At this speed now, sir, you should be able to shoot in thirteen minutes.”