April 14
0000 Approaching QUELPART ISLAND northwestern side.
0029 Radar contact. Patrol Boat. Went to tracking stations and worked around him. Sighted him at 4500 yards. No evidence of radar until we were nearly around. The patrol was suspicious for a short time; then went back to sleep. Continued working up to the anchorage.
It was something more than thirty miles up the channel between the coast of Quelpart and the mine field, and we had to make full speed all the way to carry out our schedule. Our radar continually swept to seaward to forewarn of the approach of enemy craft — in case the Japs had left a passage through the field for just this purpose — but concentrated ahead and astern. Most of the time I spent on the bridge, trying to compare our charts with what I could actually see, hoping to be able to spot hidden danger in time to avoid it. Chub stood at the TDC, assisting my navigation. George was ceaselessly climbing through the ship, talking to men in every compartment, explaining what we were up to, seeing for himself that every detail was in readiness.
For two hours we sped northeastward along the coast. The roar of our diesels came back to us from the dark hills. The night was pitch black. No moon. A thick overcast hung high over the silent land, stretching like a huge tent ahead, to port and astern, and the air had a musty tang with a suspicion of burning driftwood. There was a slight chop to the sea, but only an occasional wave broke high enough to dampen Tirante’s wood-slotted decks.
0223 Radar contact. Another patrol boat. Avoided by going close inshore. He was patrolling back and forth in front of the anchorage, had radar and was echo-ranging in the bargain. He also became suspicious, but our tactics of running inshore confused him, and he continued routine patrolling.
During the whole of the ensuing action, except when actually firing torpedoes, this patrol boat was kept on the TDC and both plots. He was always a mental hazard, and potentially a real one. The only chart of any use was the Jap “Zoomie” chart labelled “Japan Aviation Chart, SouthernMost Portion of CHOSEN (KOREA) No. V3-36.” No soundings inside the ten fathom curve in the harbor and approaches were shown. Hoped the place wasn’t mined and that none of the five shore-based radars reported on QUELPART were guarding the harbor.
George Street came to the bridge. “How about it, Ned? We think we have the harbor on the radar now. Too far to spot any ships, though. How well do you think you can see?”
I could see the shore line off to starboard, lighter in color than the hills which rose behind it, or the sky and water in other directions. Beyond that I could see nothing.
“About six miles to go. We’re all set below. How’s the time?” the skipper asked.
“We’re a bit ahead of schedule, but that’s all to the good, Captain. What’s this patrol boat doing?” I couldn’t help wondering about him, although in our planned division of responsibilities this was entirely the skipper’s worry, not mine.
“He’s patrolling to seaward of us, fairly well out. I don’t think he suspects anything. Chub has been following him ever since we picked him up.”
“That makes two tin cans patrolling off this harbor,” I mused. “Maybe there’s somebody in this one.”
“I’m beginning to think so too. These chaps don’t look like ocean-going escorts. If they patrol offshore, there ought to be something there.”
George leaned over the conning tower hatch and ordered the general alarm to be sounded.
0240 Battle Stations. Approached anchorage from the south along the ten fathom curve within 1200 yards of the shore line. Took fathometer soundings every 3 to 5 minutes. The smell of cattle from the beach was strong. Bridge could not see well enough to distinguish ships from the shore line in the harbor, though a couple of darker spots in the early morning mist looked promising — as did the presence of two patrolling escort vessels.
It was like poking your head into a cave on a dark night. Up ahead, where the harbor was, it seemed a little darker than elsewhere. The misty gray atmosphere of early morning seemed just a shade lighter than it had been. On our port bow I could see the bulky outline of the rocky island off the coast of Quelpart which formed the left side of the anchorage. Twice, dim on the port beam, I thought I could see a low-lying black shape. Dead ahead, where ships should be, if there were any, nothing could be seen. Radar could not be sure of ships, although there were certain outstanding possibilities among the confused jumble of the shore return. I could feel, rather than see, the presence of two or more dark spots in the atmosphere, with the suggestion of masts and stacks above them.
We pressed in more closely. The fathometer gave seven fathoms. Forty-two feet; not enough to cover the ship. Radar range to the islet was just over half a mile. Still no ships could be distinguished.
Doubts began to assail us. Maybe this whole thing was a wild-goose chase. Maybe this anchorage, like all the rest, was also empty. But if so, how explain two harbor patrols?
031 °Completed investigation this side of the anchorage from 1200 yards away. There may be ships here, but cannot see well enough to shoot. Started around the small island off the anchorage, staying as close as possible. The patrol vessel by this time was paralleling us 7000 yards offshore, still not overly suspicious, but annoying. Executive Officer on the bridge could see him now and then.
It was a relief to get into deeper water again. Non-divable water is murder, for it robs the submarine of her armor, her invisibility, and her haven all at once. We kept outside the ten-fathom curve going around the islet. We ran until we were due north of the harbor, then headed south.
0330 Having completed circuit of the small island, started in from northern side, cutting across ten fathom curve. At about
0340 Bridge made out the shapes of ships in the anchorage. Sound picked up a second “pinger”—this time in the harbor. Still too far—4500 yards and not sure of what we saw. Patrol heading this way. Sounding 11 fathoms. Current setting us on the beach. Decided to get in closer and have this over with. All ahead two thirds. Lieutenant Ted MARCUSE, radar officer, confirmed sharp pips of ships in the anchorage.
This is the first confirmation, other than my imagination, that there really are ships there. A load lightens. Whatever we manage to do about it, at least this has not been a wild-goose chase. Tirante glides into the harbor. Now we have the tall hills of Quelpart to port and the little island outside the anchorage to starboard. It is a bit lighter than before; the moon is now up. First light is still about an hour away.
Then, coming suddenly into view, I can see ships at last.
“Targets!” I bawl into the ship’s announcing system. I can feel Tirante draw herself up. Dead quiet from below decks. I can sense the rumble of the hydraulic plant accumulator, the hiss of high-pressure air as the torpedomen check their impulse bottles. Water laps gently alongside, and the ship rocks slightly in the onshore current. Back aft, the four diesels purr softly, idling, and a small stream of water spatters out of their four muffler exhaust pipes.
0350 Bridge could definitely see ships. For the first time put targets on TDC, with zero speed and TBT bearings. Radar commenced ranging on largest ship — very difficult to distinguish from the mass of shore pips, and gave range of 2500 yards. Sounding 9 fathoms. Still getting set on. Land loomed close aboard and on both sides. Patrol still not overly alerted, passing outboard of us about 6000 yards away, pinging loudly. The land background is our saving grace. Secured the fathometer. If those ships can get in there, so can we. Both 40 MM guns are all loaded and ready with gun crews. Since it is too shallow to dive, we will have to shoot our way out if boxed in.