In the flickering lantern light, Tremain caught a glimpse of Cazanavette making his way over to him.
“Are you all right, sir?”
Tremain nodded. “Go check the damage, XO.”
“Aye, sir.” Cazanavette reached for a battle lantern and headed down the control room hatch.
It took him several minutes to climb through the length of the ship, visiting every compartment. When he returned he was out of breath and covered with sweat and grease. “What’s the damage?” Tremain asked.
Cazanavette heaved. “Drain pump was knocked off its foundation, sir, so it’s out of commission. Most of the vital bus breakers tripped, that’s why we don’t have lights. We lost power to just about everything except propulsion. It’ll be a few minutes before the electricians can restore it. A couple torpedo harnesses broke in the forward room, leaving one torpedo slightly ajar in its rack. The torpedomen are rigging some chains to hold it temporarily. We’ve also got minor leaks from valve packing here and there, but nothing serious. The electric motors are fine, the batteries are fine. Mr. Turner is in charge of the damage control efforts with the Cob helping.”
Tremain nodded. It could have been much worse, he thought. They had gotten lucky this time.
“Any injuries?” he asked.
“Nothing major, sir. We may have a few broken bones down there, but they’re all alive.”
“Very well.” Tremain moved to the ladder well and called down to the control room, “Dive, how’s your depth?”
“We’re holding at four hundred feet, sir,” Olander replied confidently. The engineer seemed very relaxed under the circumstances. He was leaning against the ladder and casually holding a lantern on the diving control panel so that his planesmen could see their gauges.
Tremain and Cazanavette stepped over loose items on the deck as they moved over to the conning tower’s chart desk.
“I’m sure the Matsu isn’t finished with us yet and we can’t outrun her,” Tremain said, looking at the chart. He pointed to the last plotted position of the freighter. “Give me a good course to the freighter’s last position, XO.”
“Have you got an idea, Captain?” Cazanavette asked as he broke out the parallel ruler.
“No, XO,” Tremain said, smiling, “just an old trick. We’ll get as close as we can to that sinking freighter. There are bound to be survivors in the water. Then we’ll let the Matsu’s captain decide whether or not he wants to blow up his own people to get us.”
Cazanavette quickly laid down a new course on the plot and Tremain ordered the helmsman to steer for it.
“What count did you get?” Tremain asked Salisbury.
“I counted four depth charges, Captain.”
“I agree.”
“Well, a Matsu carries thirty-six.” Cazanavette said, flipping through the identification book. “We’ve just got thirty-two more to go.”
The lights came back on as Mackerel crept toward the spot where the freighter had been hit. The screw noises could no longer be heard through the hull, but Salisbury still tracked the lurking Matsu on his sound gear. As Mackerel neared the last known position of the freighter a monstrous creaking sound filled the water around them. It was a whiny eerie sound that lasted for several minutes then ended with several loud “Pop!”s in rapid succession. The veterans knew that sound well. Once a man heard a ship break up as it headed for the ocean floor, the sound stayed with him for the rest of his life. He never forgot it. There could be no doubting now that the freighter had sunk. As she had plunged to her watery grave her bulkheads had twisted and warped as the pressure increased. Finally the watertight compartments had collapsed and imploded. Anyone who had survived the torpedo explosions and found himself trapped below decks during those final terrifying seconds would have been killed at that moment.
“Scratch one freighter!” someone in the control room said excitedly. It must have been a green member of the crew, because no one else made a comment. The sounds of a ship breaking up were not very comforting to men who were themselves riding on the edge of their ship’s depth limits with a looming escort overhead.
Tremain waited in the succeeding silence. The air was getting thicker. Humidity was rising more rapidly due to the temporary power loss and carbon dioxide levels would be rising too.
“Here she comes again,” Salisbury whispered. “She’s off the port beam, bearing two four five. She’s going active again.”
Tremain could hear the distant echo ranging through the hull.
“Right full rudder,” he said calmly. “Steady on course zero five zero.”
Mackerel slowly came around, pointing her stern in the direction of the escort. Tremain wanted to minimize the chance of sonar reflections by presenting the smallest surface area to the Matsu’s hydrophones.
“Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!” The screw noise became audible again as the Matsu drew closer. Then the powerful sonar pulses shifted frequency and again they began to reflect off Mackerel's hull. The enemy had found them again.
Tremain closed his eyes. The escort captain was good. He had anticipated Tremain’s move and had changed his search pattern accordingly. Slowly and methodically, he was narrowing in on the submarine’s position.
The screw noise and pinging once again drowned out all other noise in the boat as the escort moved in to attack.
“Come on, damn you,” Tremain said with a mad grin on his face. “Give us your best shot.”
“Splashes, sir!” Salisbury exclaimed.
“Right full rudder!” Tremain ordered. He would be damned if they were just going to sit there and take the pounding. “All ahead full! Dive, make your depth four five zero feet!”
“Sir, that exceeds test depth!” Olander’s voice called up the ladder well in protest.
“Do it, damn it!” Tremain shouted. “And quickly, damn you!”
“Aye, sir!”
The deck lurched slightly as Mackerel propelled herself to seven knots and then angled downward to go deeper. Tremain watched the depth gauge as the needle passed the four hundred ten mark and kept descending. The depth charges were on their way down. Tremain was gambling that the Matsu’s captain had set them to explode at four hundred feet. Mackerel had to get away from that depth, and fast.
Four hundred twenty feet… four hundred thirty feet..
The hull creaked and popped as the sea pressure pushing in on it increased drastically. Some of the men had their eyes shut tight. Some clasped their hands in prayer. Others stared into space attempting to erase the ominous noises from their minds. Tremain allowed his own mind an instant away from the battle to think of Judy. He wondered if the thought would be his last.
Then the clicking noise sounded outside the hull again as the falling depth charges armed themselves. Half a second later, four distinct explosions shook the hull in all directions. Bodies and equipment flew across the compartment. The lights went out again. More yells and screams came from the blackness as Mackerel rocked uncontrollably.
Then, once again, all fell silent.
Tremain heard a few moans and coughs as the battle lanterns once again flicked on. He picked up a lantern near him and shined it on the faces of the men around him. They were dazed but none appeared seriously injured.