He walked over to Hershey, who sat, mild and uninterested, and stuck his finger almost into his face:
“I’m not much of a flag-waver, squirt. I’ve been out in this country a hell of a lot longer than most of you, and I know those hissers. They’re smart. They’re the best little sneaks in the world. We’ll be fighting these Japs a hell of a long time from now, and when it’s over we’ll know we’ve been in one hell of a fight.”
John Street pushed in. “I got the book here,” he said mildly. “Let’s look at the figures. We’ve sunk…”
“Oh, Jesus,” someone groaned. “Street and his figures!”
“We’ve sunk a hell of a lot of Jap ships,” Street said, unruffled, but Zerk wasn’t listening.
“You know what the Japs sunk?” he demanded.
Sousa, who hadn’t taken any part so far, leaned over. “Hey, Zerk,” he said in that voice of his that sounded like a foghorn, “is it true you put in for a transfer to a Japanese sub?”
Zerk kicked his chair away. “Goddamn if I know why I waste my time talking to you dumb bastards,” he exclaimed and stalked away.
The Seawolf moved steadily north. We were on a time schedule with our valuable cargo. We dared not waste too much time snooping around for trouble. But one night when the periscope was upped for a look, the sudden cry came, “Down periscope. Call the Captain!” Enemy ships had been sighted.
Captain Warder at the periscope described them. “One, two, three, four. It’s a Jap task force: three or four big cruisers, a dozen destroyers, seven transports, a whole fleet of ’em! Here’s a cruiser… Seems to be head man here. He’s using a searchlight. They’re probably heading for a rendezvous… Maybe I could get in and attack here. Must be another invasion force… Well, now, what the hell am I supposed to do here? I’m carrying a whole load of stuff up to the Rock. My orders state that my prime mission is to deliver same. Here are some ships, and I’ve got only four fish forward and four fish aft, and that’s all…”
In the sound room Maley and I looked at each other. If we attacked, a hundred to one we’d be depth-charged, and with these explosives…
Captain Warder finally decided the all-important thing was to get the ammunition through. We moved on. But a few minutes later he came into the sound shack.
“Eck,” he said, “here’s the rough draft of an urgent dispatch. Send it as soon as we surface.”
It was a message to the American Submarine High Command, revealing where we’d seen the Jap ships, their estimated course, their estimated speed. I sent it the moment we surfaced, and felt better thinking that we’d set up a welcome party for the Japs farther down the line.
We were gliding along on the surface that night when, about 2 a.m., off the port beam and not farther away than 1,000 yards, a huge dark shape loomed up making terrific speed. In a minute or two the lookouts yelled, “It’s a Jap destroyer!” She was probably late for the rendezvous to which we saw the others racing. It seemed impossible that she hadn’t seen us. We were already starting a crash dive. In almost less time than it takes to tell, we were down to a safe distance under the water. Only seconds later the destroyer’s propellers roared overhead, but apparently she had not seen us, because nothing happened. After we heard her screws die away, we eased up, looked around, saw the sea was clear, and surfaced and continued on our way. It was one of our narrowest escapes, and we got out of it probably because the destroyer was concentrating so intently upon reaching the rendezvous that she completely overlooked us.
I’ve often thought what would have happened had that destroyer suddenly veered hard left and headed for us. It would have been touch and go. With the ammunition aboard, that might have been the attack and the Seawolf’s end.
Hour by hour we came nearer beleaguered Corregidor. The Jap blockade was heavier than ever. We left the Sulu Sea, and entered the South China Sea and set our course directly for the Rock. This time the Japs were everywhere. Their planes swarmed over the place. The Skipper saw them, and smiled grimly, and lowered his periscope, and the Wolf moved on, hour after hour, nursing her tons of hot lead waiting to be hurled against the Jap invaders.
We made it into Corregidor without being detected. During the night we were again escorted in by a PT boat. Again we slowly passed through the heavy mine field. Our lines were no sooner fast to the dock than we were sweating away unloading our ammunition. It was impossible to unload so enormous a cargo in one night. We dared not remain tied to the dock during daylight. Before dawn we eased out into deep water, submerged, and lay on the bottom until nightfall. Dusk came, then darkness. We surfaced. We stole back into the dock, and finished unloading. Then, at last, some of us had an opportunity to go ashore and see what was going on.
In the midst of a brilliant starlit night, I walked over the gangplank and stepped upon the same wooden dock I had been upon four weeks before. Our men now were making the bravest kind of a stand that a man can make: they were fighting off an enemy who grew stronger every hour. As I breathed slowly, grateful for the fresh air, I heard the distant thunder of the Jap guns on Bataan, twenty miles away. There was activity all around me, but it was weirdly silent. Soldiers hurried by, struggling with the ammunition we’d piled on the dock. Men were standing about in small groups. They watched and said nothing. As I stood there, the wind veered and the most nauseating stench I ever smelled hit me. I needed a cigarette bad. I dug into my pocket for one and was about to strike a match when a voice sounded at my elbow.
“I wouldn’t light that if I were you, buddy,” it said.
I turned. It was a soldier. The moonlight glinted off the Tommy gun he had slung over his shoulder. “No lights allowed anywhere,” he said. “We’re under blackout conditions.” I threw my cigarette away. His face was hardly visible, but he looked young. “They pushing you around much up here?” I asked. His reply was typical of the 31st Infantry, and I think it represented what was in the minds of the men on Corregidor then. Yes, things were tough, but they were holding out. After all, this was the end of January; they did not capitulate until May. As for Jap successes—“Naw,” he said, with contempt. “We’re averaging better than fifty to one against those little bastards. Sure, we’re having trouble, but the Japs aren’t the cause of it.”
Food bothered them, he said. Rice, and more rice. They were sick of it. They were eating only twice a day now, and mostly rice. Typhoid was breaking out. About the only exercise they got was at noon when the Jap planes came over and the men ran for shelter. The Nip bombers, he said, came over every day. “You can set your watch by them. But we’re knocking ’em out of the sky like clay pigeons. The other day one of our three-inch anti-aircraft set a world record. Knocked down eight planes in one day. We figure more than 80 percent of their bombs fall into the water.”
At that moment the wind veered again.
“What is that?” I demanded. “Christ, what is that smell?”
“Yeah,” said the soldier, “I know. It’s Japs. Those are dead Japs you’re smelling. We got thousands of them laying around these hills. They’re not burying them and—well, when the wind’s right…”
That was it. The stench of death hung sickeningly over Corregidor. In these waters about us, in these hills vaguely etched against the horizon, lay bloated, mutilated bodies. During the day that fierce equatorial sun beat down on them, and at night the smell of death was overpowering. But the soldier was talking again. How long were we staying? I didn’t know, I said. All I knew was, they needed ammunition and we brought it to them.