And of course the Jap, probably alerted and nervous — maybe he has heard of the failure of one of his brother subs to get through this same area two nights ago — has no target to see or detect by radar, unless you consider a few little odd-shaped pieces of pipe a target.
So on he comes, making 12 knots now, fairly confident that he has managed to avoid the sub which had stalked him a couple of hours ago. He doesn’t even notice or pay any attention to the curious structure in the water a few hundred yards off his starboard beam — for Jake Fyfe has resolved to get as close as possible — and four deadly fish streak his way out of the dark night.
Mercifully, most of the Nip crew probably never knew what hit them. The first torpedo detonated amidships with a thunderous explosion, virtually blowing the ill-fated ship apart. As the two halves each upended and commenced to sink swiftly amid horrible gurgles of water and foaming of released air and fuel oil, the second and third torpedoes also struck home. Their explosions were slightly muffled, however, as though they might have struck some stray piece of metal and gone off mostly in water; but they served to in crease the probability that none of the enemy crew had survived the initial attack.
Three minutes later Fyfe logged two more blasts from deep beneath his ship, evidently some kind of internal explosions in the broken hulk of the sinking submarine. Eight minutes later one terrifically loud explosion rocked Batfish. First thought to be an aircraft bomb, the explosion was finally put down to part of the swan song of the Nipponese sub. All during this period, and for some time later, Sound heard the usual noises of a sinking submarine — mainly small internal explosions and escaping air.
This time Jake Fyfe was prevented from trying to rescue any of the possible survivors of the catastrophe by the presence of a plane, which was detected just as Batfish was getting ready to surface. It is highly doubtful, however, that there could have been any survivors, in view of the triple-barreled blow the submarine had received.
Shortly after midnight, some twenty-four hours later, one of the more irrepressible members of Batfish’s crew was heard to mutter, “What, again? Ho hum; here we lose another night’s sleep playing tag with these slant-eyed submarines!”—as Captain Jake Fyfe rushed past en route to the conning tower.
For the third time in four days the radar operator has called his skipper — unfortunately the patrol reports of our submarines do not usually list the names of the crew, nor their stations — it would be interesting to know whether the same man spotted the enemy each time. From the times of the three contacts, however, 2210, 1915, and 0155, it would appear that one contact was made by each of the three watch sections, and that therefore the three men standing the radar watches each can lay claim to one Nip sub.
Naturally, the particular peculiarity in the appearance of the radar scope which had first served to alert Batfish had been carefully explained to all radar watchers, and they all knew what to look for. In this case, as in the last, the operator simply pointed to his scope and stated flatly, “There’s another one of those Jap subs, Captain!”
One look at the screen, and Jake Fyfe raps out the command to sound the general alarm.
This time Fyfe himself gets on the ship’s interior announcing system. “It looks like another Nip submarine, boys,” he says. “We ought to be written right into their operation orders by this time. Let’s see if we can’t help him along the same road as the other two!”
Fyfe and his tracking party are pretty fine hands by this time, and it only takes a short while before the Jap is picked up for sure on the radar; and his course and speed are known. The United States submariners are fairly certain he will either be on the northerly course of the first sub, or the southeasterly one of the second. It proves to be the latter — course one two zero, speed 7. Batfish heads to intercept, playing it cagily, as always, but a little more self-confident this time. Somehow these Japs don’t seem to have as good equipment as our own — we can thank the home front for that — and they surely are not using what they have to the best advantage — for which we can thank them. And we will — in our own unique fashion.
But with the range still quite long, and before Batfish is able to get into attack position, the Japanese sub dives. Just why he does, no one knows. Possibly he detected an aircraft, or thought he did — although Batfish sees no planes on her radar — or perhaps he got a momentary contact on Batfish through some unexplained vagary of his radar equipment. The most probable explanation is that he has heard of the failure of two other boats to get through this particular stretch, and is attempting to make pursuit more difficult by diving occasionally.
But Jake Fyfe has the answer for this one cold. Last night qualified him in its implementation. He heads, despite this new development, to the spot originally selected for attack position. Then, instead of diving, he proceeds down the track at 4 knots, sound gear rigged out, radar sweeping steadily and deliberately, lookouts alerted and tensely watching.
Half an hour after the Jap dived, Batfish’s radar once again picks up the faint, shimmering emanations of the Nip radar. He’s back up again, though this time no blowing of tanks has been heard. Fyfe, Sprinkle, and the tracking party start the same old approach game.
The first thing to do is to get actual radar contact; this wobble in the scope is no good for tracking, even though it does give a vague indication of the enemy’s bearing. So Batfish heads for the source of what her radar operators now term the “wobbly,” expecting to get contact momentarily. Several thousand yards are covered in this manner, with no result, except that the wobbly is getting stronger. Fyfe and his exec become worried over this development. They know the Jap is surfaced — or can he have thought of the same dodge they themselves used only last night? Suppose the Jap is even then in the process of making the same type of approach on Batfish! An unpleasant thought to entertain. The lookouts redouble their vigilance, especially directing their search at the water surface within half a mile around them. At the skipper’s order everything else in the ship is subordinated to the sound watch. Fans and blowers are secured. Unnecessary gear throughout the ship is turned off. Most important, the diesel engines are secured and propulsion shifted to the battery. Silently, eerily, Batfish glides through the water, peering and listening for the telltale swoosh of a torpedo coming at her. If the Jap is very smart indeed, he will silence also, and will get so close before shooting that Batfish will not have a chance of avoiding the torpedoes, even though she might actually hear them on the way.
The lapping of the water alongside is excruciatingly loud in the unnatural stillness. The very air seems stifling and oppressive on the bridge, as it most certainly is down below, with all blowers turned off. Your breath seems to stop, and your heart beats with a muffled thump. The tiny blower motor in the radar gear whines insistently in the conning tower; impossible to shut it down because it keeps the radar tubes from overheating. Sprinkle makes a mental note to have it pulled out and overhauled at the first opportunity.
Down below everyone talks in whispers, not that whispering could do any good, but in tacit recognition of the deadly desperateness of the situation. The Jap sub, submerged, possibly making an approach, and themselves still on the surface!