Closer and closer come the two unsuspecting ships. Submarining is exactly like hunting, for you stalk your prey, lay a trap for him, and then wait for him to fall into it. Granted that merchant ships do not have an equal chance against a submarine, a skillfully handled ship can escape once the submarine has been detected, and an exceptionally well-handled one might even do damage to the undersea craft. Of course any submarine caught on the surface, by no matter what agency, is in trouble. So there is a definite element of danger in the hunt, and it is accentuated if defensive vessels, such as escort ships or aircraft, are about. Tension mounts as the game draws nigh. Periscope exposures become briefer but more frequent, to prevent a chance sighting as the firing point approaches. O’Kane is still doing the periscope work — excellent training for the skipper-to-be of USS Tang.
Twenty degrees to go. Since the two ships are nearly in column and not far apart, it is planned to hit the first one just after he has passed astern of Wahoo, and immediately get the second just before he crosses her stern. Thus there will be the minimum interval between all fish, and it will be more like a single salvo.
“Make ready the stem tubes! Set depth ten feet!”
“Tubes ready aft! Depth set, ten feet!” The telephone talker repeats the report from the after torpedo room.
“Match gyros aft!” The TDC operator cuts in the gyro regulator for the after torpedo room, and a quick telephone check is made to insure that the angle transmitted from the conning tower is actually being reproduced at the tubes. It is the third time this particular check has been made this morning, but this is the time you want it to count.
“Standby aft!” Sound indicates there are only a few degrees to go. Plot and TDC indicate the same thing. O’Kane puts the ’scope back up.
“Continuous bearings!” The periscope bearing reader commences a singsong chant:
“One seven nine — one seven nine and a half — one eight oh — one eight oh and a half — one eight one…”
“Set — set — set!” from Rog Paine on the TDC.
Mush takes a final look at all dials, checks the bearings, and pronounces the word they have all carefully avoided saying until this moment:
“Fire!” The first torpedo speeds on its way. Ten seconds later, “Fire!” again, and the second torpedo is ejected, to follow nearly in the path of the first.
“Check fire! Shift targets!” Morton is taking no chances that an excited sailor might shoot off the last two torpedoes aft.
At the same time, from O’Kane on the periscope, “Check fire! Shifting targets!” These two know each other’s thoughts, know exactly what is expected and desired. Dick spins his periscope a few degrees to the left, picks up the second target, a somewhat larger freighter.
“On target! Bearing — mark! Continuous bearings!” And the chant resumes:
“One six nine, one six nine and a half, one seven oh—”
“Fire!” and, ten seconds later,
“Fire!”
Total time to fire all four torpedoes has been thirty-seven seconds.
The skipper orders left full rudder and full speed in order to get the bow tubes around in case the stern tubes prove to have been not enough.
Wahoo has barely started her swing to the left, when—
“Whang!” and then, almost exactly ten seconds later,
“Whang!” again. The first ship.
O’Kane had lowered his periscope to avoid being seen. Knowing the approximate time required for the torpedoes to reach the first target, he now raises it just in time to see the two hits, one near the bow of the leading ship, the other in his stern. He swings to the second ship, and sees a thudding hit in the stern of that one also, an instant before the sound and shock wave of that explosion reaches Wahoo.
Three hits for four torpedoes. Not bad shooting, Mush. Now let’s see if they sink, or if you have to polish these cripples off.
Down periscope again. Wahoo continues her swing, to bring her bow tubes to bear. Shortly before the circle is complete, up goes the ’scope, and a sweep around is made, to take stock of the situation.
Wonder of wonders! Now three ships are seen, instead of the original two! The newcomer is a large transport-type vessel, and troops can be seen crowding the decks. He must have been behind the larger freighter, hidden from the limited view of the periscope eye. So there are two damaged ships and one undamaged.
“Standby forward!” Bow tubes are ready, outer doors opened. There is no time to track this new target — only time to make the tubes ready, put the bearing into the TDC, and shoot. The same speed as for the original targets is used, because there is no information indicating a difference in the transport’s speed, until this moment anyway.
“Fire!” after ten seconds. “Fire!” and then “Fire!” for the third time. Three torpedoes flash out toward the transport, and the last two hit him, with the familiar tinny, high-pitched explosion. The sound of water pouring into his damaged hull comes clearly over the listening gear, and his screws can no longer be heard. That will hold him for a while. Now back to the other two ships!
A quick look around shows that one is dead in the water, listed to starboard, and down by the stern. Nothing much to worry about there. He’s evidently on his way to Davy Jones’ Looker right now.
But that second target is still underway, and has turned toward Wahoo. Give this Jap skipper credit for trying his best to fight his way out of the tough spot he is in. He has turned toward the place where the torpedoes came from, probably in the hope of ramming the submarine, or, at least, of interfering with further shots. He achieves his intention, too, for Wahoo is forced to fire two torpedoes quickly at him — another “down the throat” shot — in hopes of cooling off his combativeness. One hit, but even this doesn’t stop him. Closer and closer comes the wounded hulk, yawing slightly as the Jap skipper and helmsman try to keep on course. Too late to fire another fish. The range is too close to allow proper functioning, and it would simply be a torpedo wasted. Nothing to do except duck.
“Flood negative! All ahead full!” The orders crack out like a whiplash. “Left full rudder! Take her down!”
Down plunges Wahoo, to get out from in front of that tremendous bow on which O’Kane has been counting rivets for the past fraction of a minute. Eighty feet, by conning tower depth gauge, and everyone breathes easier. Nothing can reach you down here. And listen to what’s going on topside! Explosions, hangings, cracklings, water gurgles, a whirling and a thumping all over the place. Wahoo has certainly raised hell with this convoy!
But this is not the time for compassion. The job now is to get the rest of those ships down, and quickly, before they can get help from somewhere. “Up periscope!” Though the submarine is below periscope depth, and the range of visibility under water is not very great, a quick look will tell O’Kane whether they are coming up under the dark hull of one of the ships up there.
The periscope breaks surface to show nothing in sight, and Morton heaves an involuntary sigh of relief.
Only two ships can be seen now, while a large area covered with dirt, coal dust, and debris marks the end of the first target. The freighter which had attempted to ram is still underway, but the transport is stopped dead in the water, his topsides boiling with soldiers. Wahoo bores in, lines him up, and shoots one torpedo.