Captain Warder sent the Wolf plunging forward with every ounce of power we could muster. Twenty-four hours later found us at the entrance of the Lombok Straits, struggling in some of the most dangerous and unpredictable water currents in the world. We dove at daylight, and through the long hours the Wolf fought to maintain her course submerged. Depth control and navigation were extremely difficult. Every inch was a battle. The waters were shallow, and vicious cross currents made them treacherous. Sometimes we moved for six hours in one direction, only to learn that we had not gained a foot, actually, but had even been forced backward. The crew was tense. No matter how dangerous surface waters may be, there are always guides—sun, stars, shore points—by which you can set your course. But under the sea everything must depend upon the navigator and his estimate of the ship’s position, and upon what sound tells him: how far, how fast, and in what direction the underwater currents may be taking the ship off her course.
As we laboriously maneuvered with Bali on our left and Lombok on our right, we heard more news. None of it was good.
Now the Japs were bringing their offensive to pinpoint focus. They were concentrating a tremendous force on one assault, to take the Bali airfield. They might even attempt a landing on Bali, under our nose. Captain Warder picked the most logical place for the Nips to attempt such a landing, and we kept that under close observation. A British submarine, we learned, was posted at the northern entrance of the straits. One of our older S submarines was assigned to the central area; and we were given the southern entrance. We patrolled carefully, day and night, awaiting the Japs. Then came a message from the High Command: urgent orders must pull the S boat elsewhere and we’d have to take over her area. Now our job was doubled. We lengthened our patrol. During the day the Wolf was alert within the straits, covering every point she could; at dusk she stole out through the southern entrance, surfaced, charged batteries, and ran the patrol back and forth in front of the entrance.
On the seventh night came another urgent message: the Jap force had been sighted. An armada of Jap men-of-war and transports was racing full speed for the Lombok Straits. The Seawolf was ordered to meet it head on. We halted our battery charge and at terrific speed knifed our way on the surface northward for the straits, plunged into them, and did not ease our Diesels until the dull mass of Nusa Besar, a small island in the middle of the channel, came into sight. We waited, watched, waited…
“Something one point on the starboard bow, sir!” It was the bow lookout. The time was 2 a.m.
“Clear the bridge! Stand by to dive!”
Wang! went the klaxon horn signal. Men tumbled down the ladder, the hatch was swiggled tight, we crash dived and leveled off.
Now, on sound, I heard pinging all around. We’d gotten into a hornet’s nest, all right. We didn’t realize it then, but we had penetrated through the outer screen of Japanese destroyers—their first defense, specifically set up to intercept any enemy force—and were in the middle of the Jap task force.
Captain Warder upped his periscope carefully. “It’s pitch black up here,” he said. “I can’t see a damn thing… not a damn thing.”
But in the sound shack, phones pressed against my ears, I heard the chorus of beating screws. Maley, who’d been dozing just before the diving alarm sounded, joined me. His long nose seemed even longer.
“Jesus,” he said soberly, “I hear we’re really in it.”
“You’re not kidding,” I said. “We’ve got a whole nest of them up there.”
He pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lit it. “I understand from the talk that we’re heading right in,” he said, staring at the red tip of his cigarette. “The old man’s waiting until it comes light so he can see what he’s doing. He’s not interested in these destroyers, anyway. He wants the troop ships.”
Overhead the Jap screws churned the sea. Their sound came down through the water and penetrated the ship’s hull. Everyone heard it.
Maley inhaled deeply. The subdued light of the radio shack etched the hollows under his cheekbones. “It’s going to be a long day,” he said.
I said, “Yes, it looks like we’re going to have quite a time.”
Maley puffed again, suddenly ground out his cigarette, stood up impatiently, pulled at his ear, and wanted to know if I didn’t want coffee. “I’ll take over for a while,” he said.
I looked at my watch: 5 a.m. I still had three hours to go. I recognized Paul’s symptoms. He wanted to sit down and hear for himself. He wanted to size things up himself.
“Okay,” I said. I gave him the phones and ambled aft into the mess hall. Half a dozen men were there, sipping coffee and complaining about it. The coffee was the first made from a batch of Javanese coffee we’d taken on at Surabaya, and though we knew it was supposed to be the best coffee in the world, we didn’t like it. We thought it reeked.
“What we got up there?” someone asked. “Does it look like we’re going to get it, Eck?”
I shrugged my shoulders. No use kidding ourselves. “The way I get it,” I said, “we’re in a whole damn swarm of ships. We got four or five Nip destroyers rushing around up there.”
I was certain that eight or ten more were patrolling the entrance of the straits. We were in here tight, all right. I took my coffee back into the sound shack.
Maley gave me the phones with a tired smile. “They don’t sound like they’d want to play games up there,” he said. Then he went off to finish sleeping. At dawn the Skipper brought us up to periscope depth. He scanned the sea. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “What do you think of that? Down periscope.” Then, to Ensign Mercer: “Jim, there’s nothing up there now. Nothing at all. Let me see those charts.” It was evident that the destroyers had spread out and were running an entrance patrol, completely unaware that we were already inside. I was right. We were locked in the straits.