The freighter shuddered under the impact. The stern was partially obscured by the cloud of mist, though there was no high-rising column of water such as some of the patrol reports had described-. I had an instantaneous impression of great force being contained within the sides of the ship, al- most as though the stern itself had been beaten in.
"WHRANNGG!" There was no mistaking this noise. It was a combination explosion, unlike a depth charge, for it in- cluded the smashed sheet-metal sound of crushed and crumpled steel.
"It's a hit! We've hit him!" Jim's excitement was plain to hear. I braced myself for the blow over my shoulders. It did not come, however; instead there was Jim's voice again: "Can I have a look, sir?"
"Wait a minute," I growled. "How about the fourth fish?"
"Time right now-mark!"
It should go right into the area under the stack, like the first one. I looked for the wake, found it. It terminated just forward of the stack, between the stack and the bridge structure.
It, too, looked exactly like a drill torpedo, set to run under.
But it made no difference for as I watched in astonishment the bow of the ship suddenly swooped into the air. The stern had already disappeared under water, and the weight of the submerged portion had lifted the bow of the freighter right out of the water. It could not have taken ten more seconds before the ship was vertical, straight up and down; She had gone so fast that I was certain I could still see some forward momentum to the up-and-down hulk. Things, gear, debris of all kinds, fell from the bridge into the sea in a cascade of junk. At least two items were human, and they moved as they fell.
"Let me see, please!" Jim was beside himself with eagerness, almost pushing against me.
"Here!" I relinquished the periscope.
"Stand by to surface. Surface!" I shouted. The whistle of air, the upward heave of Walrus hull, and she started up.
A shout from Jim. "She's sinking! God-look at her go!"
Keith had slipped away from his TDC, was standing alongside Jim. With the conning, tower darkened for better periscope visibility I could not see his expression, but his very stance communicated eagerness to see, too, I gave Jim a gentle above. "Here, let Keith look too."
"She's going fast!" Keith spoke rapidly, echoing Jim.
Suddenly he jerked-back, grabbed Quin by the arm, propelled him to the periscope. "Take a look, quick!" The Yeoman jammed his face to the eye-piece. Keith gave him a few seconds, pushed him away, turned the instrument over to Rubinoffski who was hovering eagerly nearby. Jerry Cohen was next, and even O'Brien, the sonarman, received a split-second glimpse.
In the meantime the familiar sounds of coming to the surface could be heard, and finally the voice of the Diving Officer started shouting out the depths from his control-room depth gauges. "Twenty-six and holding!", He called at last.
"Open the hatch!" I rasped at Rubinoffski. Instantly he whirled the hatch hand wheel, snapped the latch back with almost the same motion. The heavy bronze hatch slammed out of his hands, crashed against the side of the bridge. released air inside the boat howled out, firing four torpedoes builds up a not-inconsiderable air pressure-and the Quarter- master was lifted bodily off his feet and began to sail up the open hatch. Years ago the old Salmon had lost a man over- board in just this manner. It was at night, too, and they had never found him. I barely managed to grasp Rubinoffski around one ankle as he went by, hung on for dear life with my other hand and my own toes hooked under the ladder rungs.
Bits of debris, dirt, cork chunks from behind some of our instruments, pieces of paper, and even someone's carelessly stowed white hat went shooting by past us, and then the storm of wind subsided. We leaped up the remaining ladder rungs, got our binoculars to our eyes within seconds.
There was nothing to be seen. Fearful that I had somehow gotten disoriented, I swung the glasses all around through a full circle, but there was still nothing.
"Nothing in sight, Captain! I can't see him, sir!" It was less than two minutes of the time that our torpedo had struck.
Our lookouts boiled up to the bridge, followed by Tom and Jim. "Where is he? Where is that son-of-a-bitch?" The excitement of battle was in Jim's voice. I tried to make my own calm and dispassionate: "Gone, Jim. He's already sunk!"
Jim was bubbling over. "How about that!" he shouted, pacing around the confines of the undamaged part of our bridge, staring over our port bow, which was the last observed bearing of the vanished ship.
A cry from the port forward lookout. "Something in the water, sir!" He pointed.
In the intermittent hollows of the shallow sea could be seen several dark masses clustered together. Wreckage, perhaps a boat or raft or two. "Where are they?" Jim rushed forward, aimed his own glasses briefly in the indicated direction, dashed below. In a moment he had reappeared with a bandolier of ammunition slung around his shoulder and one of the ship's two Browning automatic rifles clutched in his hands.
"Just in case we need it," he explained carefully. He drew one of the previously prepared twenty-cartridge clips from the bandolier, fitted it to the magazine of the gun.
Walrus wallowed in the ocean, making barely steerageway, the turbo-blowers just beginning their whining lift to seaworthiness. A few hundred yards away the group of wreckage could now be more clearly seen, still black and essentially formless. One boat, maybe another, were distinguishable. I thought I could make out movement in the Stygian mass and Jim, Tom, and I leveled our glasses at it.
Afterward I found it hard to explain why we did not leave forthwith, for there was no advantage to be gained from looking over the unhappy victims of our success, only possibly trouble if one of them happened to have a gun and in defiance chose to use it. Nor was it chivalry, for we could not help them, and they were certainly close enough to Palau to make their way there without excessive difficulty. It must have been a subconscious force within us, some insatiable need or curiosity or motive of vengeance.
"Left full rudder," I ordered. With our slow speed this would put us a little closer. Two boats now could be made out clearly, plus some dark objects which were most probably life rafts, and miscellaneous pieces of floating debris.
"Rudder amidships!" I could bear the groan of the hydraulic mechanism. From the pump room beneath the control room came the thump as the hydraulic accumulator replenished itself and cut off, and the screaming of the blowers welled out of the hatch in a never-ceasing wail. We coasted gently closer. Now people could be distinguished in the life rafts, sitting motionless, crouched over, faces turned toward us.
There were many bobbing beads still in the water, hanging on to a barrel or hatch cover, or to the ropes lining the sides of the rafts. In the lifeboats no one could be seen, though the dark interior seemed to be solid with a crawling, jostling life- movement.
A wave of passion shook me. This filthy, spineless, crawling thing was the enemy! This, the perpetrator of the Pearl Harbor crime! This the killer of innocent women and children in the Chinese war, and now again in the Philippines! I could feel the savage lust for revenge. I had never hated the Japanese so much as now, now that I could kill them, crash them, smash them to small bits, ram their fragile boats with my ship, grind them beneath her ribs of steel…
"Yaaaah! You Jap bastards! How do you like it now! Go back and tell your stinking emperor and his buddy Tojo about this!" Jim cupped his hands, was screaming at the top of his lungs in the general direction of the enemy survivor group as they slowly came alongside.
There was no movement, no answering hail, no indication of having heard, much less-understood. Suddenly Jim reached for the automatic rifle, really a portable machine gun, raised it to his shoulder before anyone could stop him. He pulled back the bolt, aimed into the middle of the nearest lifeboat.