With the dawn Batfish sighted much oil, bits of wood and paper, debris of various kinds, all newly in the water and quite evidently from the sunken submarine. No Japanese were seen, however — dead or alive. It appeared that once again there was to be nothing tangible to reward Jake Fyfe for his brilliant achievement, but finally a small wooden box recovered from the water was found to contain the Jap navigator’s workbook and navigational instruments. Evidently he had just brought it topside, perhaps preparatory to taking a sight or two despite the not-too-favorable weather, but had not yet opened it.
Because the Japanese use Arabic numerals for navigational purposes, there was no difficulty in reading the workbook. Apparently the Jap departed Nagoya for Formosa, and had left there for Luzon — where he never arrived.
Batfish left her area for Guam three days later, and on February 21 she moored alongside the submarine tender Apollo in Apra Harbor, Guam.
To say that Jake Fyfe was received with open arms by the submarine brethren is putting it mildly. Though no public announcement of his magnificent feat could be made, owing to the well-laid policy of cloaking our submarine activities in anonymity, it instantly became known and broadcast throughout the submarine force. Here was another patrol nearly on a par with Sam Dealey’s famous five-destroyers cruise. Here was additional proof that the spirit of the submarine force, so beautifully exemplified by Dealey and O’Kane and Morton, was still going strong, and that those who came after had not lost the touch of their predecessors.
There was, however, an even more important and far-reaching effect. To a nation like the United States, with its far-flung merchant marine, the submarine is perhaps the greatest menace to successful prosecution of war. That is to say, if and when we should get into another war our backs will immediately be up against the wall if the powers arrayed against us have a powerful submarine force. Witness what the Germans did to Great Britain in two world wars, and to us in World War II. In both instances the Allies won, but only by the narrowest of margins.
However, born of the imminence of defeat, a new type of submarine was developed in the closing days of World War II by the Germans. True, they did not invent anything extraordinary, but they put together several known but unused ideas to develop the high-speed snorkel submarine, and it may safely be said that this vessel has revolutionized previous concepts of anti-submarine warfare. It is virtually immune to the countermeasures we used so successfully against German and Japanese submersibles, and its efficiency in attack is trebled.
Fortunately, our military leaders have not neglected the challenge laid down by the fast submarine, A tremendous amount of thought has gone into the problem of how to get enemy subs before they can wreak their threatened damage upon our commerce — our lifeblood, so to speak. And every time the discussion in the halls of the Navy Department or the Pentagon — or even in the White House — has waxed long and earnestly, someone is sure to come up with a reference to Jake Fyfe and the fact that Batfish sank three enemy submarines within the space of four days with no damage and very little danger to herself. Why not set a submarine to kill a submarine?
The idea has grown until now, seven years after Fyfe’s exploit, something is being done about it. It is obvious that the submarine will enjoy, in relation to another submersible, those same advantages which all subs always have had. That is, surprise, the ability of concealment, and so on. With one difference: since the hunt is to take place in the natural environment of the submarine, either one may become the hunter and either the hunted. Prior detection will assume much greater importance than ever before — if that is possible. There is no question but that it will still be a nerve-racking occupation.
17
Tirante
From: The Commander, Submarine Force, Pacific Fleet
To: Lieutenant Edward L. Beach, Jr., U.S. Navy
Via: The Commanding Officer, U.S.S. TRIGGER (SS 237)
Subject: Change of duty
1. In accordance with a dispatch from the Bureau of Naval Personnel dated 16 May 1944, which cannot be quoted herein, when directed by the Commanding Officer, U.S.S. TRIGGER, you will consider yourself detached from duty on board the U.S.S. TRIGGER, and from such other duties as may have been assigned you; will report to the Commandant Fourteenth Naval District for first available government transportation, including air, to a port on the West Coast of the United States. Upon arrival, proceed and report to the Commandant, Navy Yard, Portsmouth, New Hampshire, for temporary duty in connection with the fitting out of the U.S.S. TIRANTE (SS 420), and for duty on board that vessel when commissioned…
There was a lot more to my orders, including the fact that the Secretary of the Navy had determined this employment on shore duty was “required by the public interests,” and in early June, 1944, wearing brand-new lieutenant commander’s stripes, and accompanied by my bride of one month, I arrived in Portsmouth.
Memories of the Trigger were strong. Only a few weeks earlier, as I was packing shortly before midnight to catch an early-morning plane for San Francisco, one by one members of her crew had come forward to say good-by. And as I had walked alone down the dock, I looked back at her, lying low and gray in the dim moonlight, splotched with rust and peeled-off paint, and knew she was no longer mine.
Now I had a new ship, as yet uncompleted, and a new skipper, and there was everything to do all over again. Tirante was to have the latest devices, the strongest hull American engineering skill could devise, the most powerful engines, and an enlarged torpedo-carrying capacity. She would be an improved instrument for the art of underwater warfare, and should be able to outdo anything old Trigger had done. Yet I wondered whether she would possess that same flair, that same capacity for finding action and bringing it to a successful conclusion.
There was only one answer to this, and many were the discussions with the new skipper — himself in his first command — as to how to imbue our new ship with the fighting spirit and derring-do we wanted. I came to admire George Street more and more as time went on, for he seemed to combine the qualities of thorough preparation with a certain amount of respect for the ideas of others, and, when convinced, an intelligently directed follow-through.
It took about eight months from the time Tirante’s keel was laid until we broke her commission pennant on November 6, 1944—about three months from the time her crew arrived — and nearly another month passed before we had her at sea.
Our first step was to practice with the equipment and learn its uses, starting with the easiest operations and building up to the more intricate ones — all in the safe confines of the navy yard. Drill after drill we forced ourselves to perform alongside the dock, and before we took Tirante out for her first dive we were confident that every piece of gear operated as designed, and that every man knew his job.
Late in November the new ship stood out to sea. Her engines ran throatily, her stem breasted the waves daintily, her sleek length droned effortlessly on the cold, restless sea. Only the less-than-perfectly-ordered bustle of her crew below decks betrayed her newness as time drew near for her first dive.