He had tried not to think of her at all once they left Pearl, fearful that the hope of seeing her soon might cloud his judgment. Now, he could not stop thinking of her. The mission did not seem to make sense any more. Forget the
Kurita, forget the Japanese, forget the war. Seeing her again was all that mattered to him.
In the cold dark silence of the conning tower, Tremain reached a decision. Tomorrow, he would turn the Mackerel eastward and head for home.
Chapter 24
Mackerel's sonar monitored while the Japanese patrol boats continued to search Kii Suido for the rest of the day and late into the night. The fact that they were out there was reason enough to stay submerged. Tremain saw no point in coming up to the surface. The fog was still around, but Mackerel had no radar. It would be too risky.
No other ships came down the channel that night, at least none that they could hear. In fact, the channel was unusually quiet. The lack of activity concerned Tremain. It made him even more certain that the Japanese knew they were here or at least suspected it. He did not expect any more Japanese ships would pass through the area until it had been cleared by anti-submarine forces. He considered that the fog might be the only thing protecting Mackerel now. As soon as the fog cleared, and daylight came, bomb-laden aircraft would hover in swarms over Kii Suido, waiting for the moment Mackerel showed herself. Once they saw anything, a periscope, a dark shape in the water, or even a surge of bubbles, they would drop their explosives. Soon after, the destroyers would come to finish the job. Mackerel would not be able to escape a combined attack from aircraft and destroyers. She would be sunk, her crew would die a lonely death, and the Kurita would come out of the Inland Sea only a week late, surviving to eventually wreak havoc on American ships. When all was said and done, ComSubPac would have traded one submarine for one Japanese patrol boat. It was not exactly the way to win a war.
When midmorning came, the channel was quiet again. The patrol boats had faded off into the distant ocean noise. Tremain ordered Mackerel up to periscope depth for a look around. He prayed that the fog was still heavy enough to hide them from any enemy planes lurking overhead.
“Stand by to take her down fast. We might need to,” Tremain ordered as he flipped down the periscope handles and pressed his face to the eyepiece.
He had to squint at the bright light as the water quickly drizzled off the lens. The fog had started to dissipate and was now a thin sheet of white mist that seemed to intensify the sunlight.
“We’re losing our fog cover, XO,” he said, not taking his eye from the scope. “I put visibility at one thousand yards. That’s quite a change from this morning.”
“Bad for us, sir,” Cazanavette replied.
Tremain turned the left handle to angle the lens upward. He could not see any blue through the white sheet above. The fog was still thick enough to hide the scope from any aircraft, but not for long.
Tremain slapped up the handles.
“Down scope.”
He breathed a long sigh and moved over to the chart desk, where Cazanavette stood.
“What d’you think, sir?” Cazanavette asked.
“I think we’ve done what we could, XO. Once the fog clears, enemy aircraft will be all over the place. Night time won’t be much better, with no radar and no moon. I’ve thought it through, and I’m calling off the mission. We’re going home.”
“Bad luck, sir,” Cazanavette said.
Tremain’s eyes shot back at Cazanavette. He could not tell how he had meant the comment. The XO’s tone left it open to interpretation. Perhaps he did not share Tremain’s opinion about their present situation. But it did not matter. He had made his decision. He could not risk their lives and the ship on such feeble odds.
“Plot a course for Midway, XO. Let’s get out of here.”
The conning tower fell suddenly silent. Everyone in the room had heard the order. They stood at their stations avoiding eye contact with him, almost as if they were ashamed.
“Aye, Captain,” Cazanavette finally said.
“We’ll pull in there and change out our fish. Maybe Sub-Pac will give us orders for another quick patrol.” Tremain said it to try to bolster them with some kind of consolation, but it appeared to do no good.
Cazanavette acknowledged this change of plans weakly, then turned his attention to the chart desk and began laying out the new course for their retreat.
Tremain was stunned at the men’s behavior. He had turned them into submarine warriors and damned good ones, but surely they could see that continuing the mission was suicide. Surely they realized that their chances were dismal at best.
Was he wrong about this? he asked himself. Was he making the right decision or was he allowing his hopes of returning to Judy to affect his judgment?
Cazanavette made a few measurements with a parallel ruler and stoically reported. “One three zero is a good course to open Kii Suido, sir.”
“Very well, XO. Helm, left fifteen degrees rudder. Steady one three zero. All ahead two thirds.”
The helmsman acknowledged and Mackerel conducted a slow turn to the left and steadied on the southeasterly course, placing Kii Suido and the Japanese homeland behind her. Her batteries hummed along as she increased speed and steadied at five knots.
As Mackerel cruised toward the open sea, Tremain felt strangely out of place on his own ship. The men around him stared blankly at their panels or at the deck. They did not converse. They did not celebrate or joke with each other. There were no smiles at the thought of going home. It seemed that only he had lost faith in the mission.
He had to leave the room. Go to his stateroom, or somewhere, anywhere but there. If he did not, he might decide to change his mind and turn the ship around.
“You have the conn, XO,” he said, then jumped down the ladder and proceeded to his cabin, leaving the conning tower in its tomblike silence.
Wright walked aft through the forward engine room. The word had just reached him about returning to port. The news should have excited him, but he still had a one-track mind. He could not get his loathsome feelings for Tee out of his head.
Wright would not come on watch for another three hours, but he could not sleep. He had decided to go to one of the engine rooms to work on his qualifications. He might get kicked out of the service when they returned, but he was going to make damn sure that he went out wearing his gold dolphins. He had worked too hard and spent too many hours with his head in the books not to get them now.
The large diesel rooms were always a good place to get away from people whenever the ship was submerged. The sleeping diesels required no attention. He found a small nook on the starboard side between two lockers and cracked open the oil-stained technical manual for the ship’s 500-kilowatt auxiliary generator. It was a dry read, but it was something he needed to know for his qualification board.
Just then, he noticed the aft watertight door open. Tee emerged and shut the door behind him. He had a clipboard in hand and was obviously carrying out some of his divisional duties. He did not notice Wright at first. Not until he was only a few feet away did he realize that Wright was in the room. He stopped and stared at Wright with the same smirk that had been on his face in the wardroom.
They were the only two in the room. Wright knew that he should ignore him. He should let him go on by and not say a word, but he could not. His hatred of Tee got the best of him. He had to settle this once and for all, he decided, regardless of what it might mean to his career.