Not good, this, but Tang is not one to give up just because a little boat latches on to her. Surfacing and giving him a quick going over would not be advisable because of the gunboat which had been sighted earlier and the possible presence of planes. Apparently the motorboat is not positive about its contact, for no heavier anti-sub forces come out to help, so Tang nonchalantly keeps patrolling the area, although this little fellow is annoying.
Shortly before 1700 smoke is sighted. Tang starts the approach, and the smoke resolves itself into two heavily laden ships, escorted by the gunboat, and another escort. Both ships are running as close to the beach as they dare, and Tang goes right on in after them, followed by the ubiquitous motor-boat. The approach develops normally, and it is not long before O’Kane finds himself just where he wants to be, broad on the leading target’s beam, ready to shoot. Just then there is an excited report from the sound man:
“Fast screws, Captain! Bearing two one five!” The sound man has been obeying the standing order for torpedo approaches to search continually all around unless specifically directed otherwise. These screws are on the port quarter; the targets are on the port bow, coming up on the firing point.
O’Kane spins the periscope around for a quick look. Damn that motorboat anyway! He has evidently warned the gunboat, and that worthy is now charging down on Tang with a bone in his teeth and a look of fury suffusing his sleek hull. A minute and a half to get here. There is time — barely — to fire the fish.
Tang’s periscope turns back to the enemy. The situation has suddenly changed dramatically, for the worst! There may be just enough time to shoot the torpedoes, but, oh-h-h-h, are we going to catch it! Dick O’Kane is a marvel of concentration. Although the tension has suddenly leaped up to a terrific pitch he calmly goes through all the many motions associated with firing torpedoes. But his voice is clipped, short, and sharp. He expects every man to get it the first time, and no repeats.
“Standby forward!”
“Final setup!”
“Bearing. — mark!”
“Set!” From the TDC operator.
“Fire!” Three torpedoes, properly spaced, are fired at the leading ship.
“Shift targets! Second ship! Bearing—Mark!”
“Three four one!”
“Set!”
“FIRE!” Even before the second fish of this three-torpedo salvo is on its way, O’Kane turns back to the gunboat, JUST in time to see him charge across the stern at full speed. Evidently he had misjudged the sub’s direction of motion, which is a lucky break. Another minute free, at least. In the meantime, as soon as the last torpedo is fired, the word is passed through the ship: “Rig for depth charge!”
Back goes the periscope toward the targets. Many a man would have pulled his down in this juncture, but not O’Kane. He simply must see these targets sink! “Take her down!” he orders, but he keeps the scope up.
“Come on! Come on!” He has only a few seconds left to see the hit — he must see it — WHANG! Right in the middle. It must have caught his old-style boilers, for the ship virtually disintegrates. Dick has time to see the explosion, and the ship breaking into two pieces, before the periscope goes under as Tang seeks the shelter of the depths.
Two more explosions are heard. One of the members of the control party is assiduously logging the times and characteristics of all explosions — proper evaluation of results requires that some record be kept — and these are later identified as the fourth and fifth torpedoes striking into the second freighter. But the log of the attack merely lists two explosions, ten seconds apart, which “sounded like torpedoes.”
But this is by no means all for this merry afternoon. The Jap gunboat has quickly realized his mistake and has reversed course. Sound carefully keeps on him, and soon his bearing is steady. His screws slow down — he is listening and probing with his echo-ranging gear. The high-pitched ping of his sound gear coming in over Tang’s receiver—Peep — peep — peeeeeeep — peeeep—searches relentlessly this way and that, growing louder when he is on the bearing, diminishing when he is off.
There is a loud-speaker mounted near the sound console, but it is not used. The frenetic bleeps of the enemy apparatus are audible throughout the conning tower from the operator’s earphones. Since contact has been so recently lost, it does not take long to regain it, and soon the horrid “Peep, peep, peep!” noise is coming in regularly. It won’t be long now!
“Screws have speeded up!” suddenly reports Sound.
All at once it becomes obvious to everyone that the interval between successive pings has decreased. The sound man’s report—“Shifting to short scale!”—is totally unnecessary. As the enemy approaches, the time necessary for an echo to return from the submerged submarine of course decreases, its length determining the range. But as it decreases, it then becomes possible to send out more peeps, and thus get more echoes. The gunboat’s shifting to a more frequent ranging interval indicates that he has an excellent contact and that he is coming in for the attack.
“Standby! He’s starting a run!” The word is whispered over the ship’s sound-powered telephones, as though the use of full voice might help the enemy in locating the sub.
Tang has not been idle in the short time since the firing of the torpedoes. Preparations for receiving a beating are more or less standard among the submarine force, and it took less than a minute for the well-drilled crew to rig ship for depth charge attack.
The effect upon the various members of the crew would be revealing, were there any way to detect it. Some men secretly pray, as they go about their tasks. Others feel a sort of masochistic pleasure, secure in their own private fatalistic concepts of life and death. All essay a nervous little smile, and watch furtively to see how the others are taking it.
Up in the conning tower, Dick O’Kane has not been idle either. Evasion, like attack, is the skipper’s responsibility in a submarine. He has been twisting and turning, presenting the smallest possible target to the probing fingers of the enemy sound gear. At the same time he has been endeavoring to move away from the coast of Honshu, out to sea, where Tang will have deeper water and more room to maneuver.
But try as he may, the enemy gunboat has far too good a contact to be shaken so easily. The menacing propellers come ever closer, and their beat is speeded up gradually as the attack is developed. Tang has received depth charges before, but never from such a deliberate fellow.
Closer and closer come the malevolent screws, and the bleat of the echo-ranging signals are one continuous “Peep, peep, peep, peep, peep, peep, peep,” until it seems that the mind must reel. Beads of sweat roll down the forehead and cheeks of the concentrating sound man, curving into the corners of his mouth, and occasionally his nervous tongue licks at the salty taste thus produced. Murray Frazee once wipes off his forehead and the back of his neck, but Sound shakes his head uneasily, and the exec lets it go.
“Coming on the range now!” The report is muttered as though in meditation. “Coming on the range… He’s dropped the first one!” The sound man has caught the splash of the depth charge dropping into the water.
“How fast do Jap depth charges sink?” The question hangs pregnantly in mid-air. Frazee tries to remember his destroyer days: about ten feet a second—200 feet — that’s as deep as we can go — twenty seconds — hope he hasn’t got the depth set right…