No sooner thought than tried. The four murmuring diesels of the hunter lift their voices, and the submarine slips away through the water, seeking another position from which to launch her deadly missiles. But by this time, of course, the target has passed beyond Batfish, and in order to regain firing position it will be necessary to execute an end around.
Jake Fyfe has elected to remain on the surface for the whole attack, crediting to his superior radar the fact that he had been alerted before the Jap; and trusting to his belief that he could keep the enemy from detecting him. His plan is to get up ahead of the other submarine, and to head in toward him while the unsuspecting Nip is pounding along in nearly the opposite direction. Thus the range would close rapidly, and the amount of warning the other submarine could expect before torpedo junction would be very little. It was surprising that the Jap sub gave no indication of being aware he had been shot at. Whereas Fyfe had expected only one chance at him, he now finds another. “Obviously the fellow isn’t as good as I gave him credit for!” And concurrent with this came the resolution to get in closer the next time, play his luck a little harder. If he could only sight the enemy, and fire on optical bearings instead of radar bearings, he would have a much neater solution to his fire-control problem — and thus greater certainty of hitting.
And besides, although Jake was morally certain the ship he was stalking was another submarine — and therefore Japanese, for he knew positively there were no friendly submarines in that area — he naturally wanted very badly to see him, just by way of confirming things. He had thought that visibility was good enough to see 2000 yards — a mile — and therefore had settled on about eighteen hundred yards for firing range. Events had proved him too optimistic, and he had not been able to see him at that range. This time he would get a look!
All the while, Batfish is racing through the black night at full speed. She has pulled off abeam of her quarry, just within maximum radar range in order to be outside range of the less-efficient radar carried by the enemy, and she is rapidly overhauling him. Jake is still very careful with his own radar, searching all around and getting a radar range and bearing on the enemy as frequently as he dares, but he is not going to take a chance on being detected. All this time, of course, the radar emanations from the Jap have been coming in regularly, and their unchanged characteristics add proof that he is still sound asleep.
The skipper stands on the bridge of his ship during the whole of the new approach, for the situation could change so radically and so quickly that he must remain where he can take immediate action. So he must trust the coordination of everything below decks to Sprinkle.
Batfish has worked up somewhat ahead of the enemy’s beam. Fyfe is trying to visualize the chart of the channel, for if he remembers rightly, some kind of a change is going to have to be made at the rate they are covering ground. The sea is fairly smooth, as it so often is in these southern waters, and hardly any solid water comes over Batfish’s main deck, although considerable spray is whipped across it by the wind of her passing. It is an absolutely pitch-black night. No distinction can be seen between sky and water — the horizon simply doesn’t exist. All about is warm, dank, murky grayness, broken only by the white water boiling along your side. It is as though Batfish were standing still, dipping and rising slightly, and occasionally shaking herself free from the angry sea which froths and splashes beneath her.
In a moment Clark Sprinkle’s voice is heard on the interior communication system: “Plot says target is changing course. They’ll let us know for sure in a minute.”
The skipper presses a large heavy button on the bulkhead beside him and leans forward to speak into the bridge speaker: “Fine! As soon as you’re sure, we’ll change too.”
About a minute later a speaker mounted to the overhead of the conning tower squawks: “This is Plot. Target has changed course to the right. New course, zero one five.”
“I’ve got the same, Sprink,” says the TDC operator. “New course about zero two zero, though.”
Sprinkle pulls a portable microphone toward him, presses the button. “Bridge, Plot and TDC have the target on new course between zero one five and zero two zero. Suggest we come to zero two zero.”
“Right full rudder! Come right to new course zero two zero!” The order to the helm is sufficient acknowledgment.
“Rudder is right full, sir! Coming to zero two zero!” the helmsman shouts up the hatch.
Batfish heels to port as she whips around. Her white wake astern shows nearly a sharp right-angle turn as her stern slides across the seas.
Several more minutes pass. Fyfe is on the point of asking for more information, when again the bridge speaker blares its muffled version of Sprinkle’s voice: “Captain, we’ve got him on zero two zero, making fourteen knots. Range is seven oh double oh, and distance to the track is two five double oh. This looks pretty good to me. Recommend we come left and let him have it!”
“Okay, Sprink. Give me a course to come to.” The captain’s voice has assumed a grim finality, a flat quality of emotionless decision. This is always a big hurdle; until now you really have the option of fighting or not fighting — of risking your neck or not — that is, if you can remain undetected. But when you start in, you are committed. You go in with the bow of your ship pointed directly at the enemy; you get well inside his visibility range, and radar range, too, for that matter; and you depend upon the quickness with which the attack develops to give you the opportunity to get it off. Keeping your bow on him gives him less to look at, a very important factor in the night surface attack; but if you change your mind and try to pull out of there you’ve got to change course, give him your broadside — and set yourself up for a beautiful counterattack on his part. Destroyers are supposed to be able to get a half-salvo in the air within seconds after having been alerted; submarines always carry one or two torpedoes at the ready, which can be fired instantly from the bridge. Small wonder that starting in is a crucial decision!
“Left full rudder!” Fyfe’s command whips down the conning tower hatch to the helmsman.
“Rudder is left full, sir!”
“All ahead two thirds!” Fyfe has waited a moment before slowing, in order to make the turn faster.
“Answered all ahead two thirds!” Maneuvering room has matched annunciators with the conning tower, thus indicating that they have the word.
Sprinkle has been following things closely from the conning tower — checking bearings, ranges, courses, and speeds. He performs a rapid mathematical computation, drawing arrows this way and that, and measuring angles. Then he speaks into his little mike: “Captain, if we steady up on two four oh we’ll have him ten degrees on our port bow, going across. His angle on the bow is now starboard forty.”
“Steady on new course two four oh!” The ship has about thirty degrees more to swing, and the helmsman eases the rudder upon receipt of the command from the bridge.
“Steady on two four oh, sir!”
The exec speaks again. “Captain, he is on course zero two oh, making fourteen knots. Angle on the bow is starboard forty-five, and he now bears five degrees on our port bow. The distance to the track is two three double oh. Range, five oh double oh.”
No answer from the bridge, but that doesn’t bother Sprinkle. He knows he will hear quickly if the skipper isn’t satisfied with the way things are going or the reports he is getting.
A few more tense moments pass. Again the speaker near the skipper’s left elbow reproduces Sprinkle’s familiar voice. “He’s crossing our bow now. Range, four oh double oh.”