Late that night we surfaced, and then all night we dodged the same brilliant moon that harassed us the night before. We had to remain approximately fifteen miles off shore. The crew was in fine fettle. We were doing all right. We actually skipped sleep to take turns crowding about the conning tower ladder to breathe the fresh air and gloat over the damage we’d done. In Kelly’s Pool Room the men were tired but jubilant. Gus Wright was sitting at a table, a cup at his side, his brows knit, and I would have sworn he was rolling a cigarette. Where did he get the tobacco and paper? I looked closer. The paper was toilet tissue. The tobacco…
“Coffee grounds,” said Gus seriously. “I’ve been drying them in the oven.” He held the paper in his left hand, sprinkled the black grounds into it from the cup, smoothed them out with a practiced hand, rolled it, flicked it across his tongue—and he had a cigarette. He lit it up and began to smoke. “Had to do this once when I ran a sheep drive up to Oregon,” he said, and winked.
I like my cigarettes, but not that bad. I’d got my fresh air. I went forward and hit the sack for a fifteen-minute nap.
When the moon went down that morning, the Wolf turned toward the island again. It was about 2 a.m. We were making slow speed. Slowly we drove toward the enemy. It would take us until dawn to get to the point at which the Captain wanted to be. At 4 a.m. we had reached a spot eleven miles from shore, when suddenly:
“Clear the bridge! Stand by to dive!” It was Lieutenant Syverson on the bridge.
Captain Warder, in his pajamas, raced into the control room. The diving alarm sounded. We were under in a matter of seconds. By the time we leveled off, I knew we had spotted a ship on the port quarter. We didn’t think he’d seen us. I took over sound and located him in one minute. Through the intercom Captain Warder said, “They’re really looking for us if they’re this far out. What do you hear, sound?”
“I’ve got him. Captain,” I said. “He’s over on the port beam now. Not making much speed.”
Captain Warder upped periscope. It was dawn. “I see him,” he said a moment later. The Jap couldn’t see our periscope. We were very careful now. We were running out of torpedoes. We had only a couple of attacks left in us. “I’ll be damned!” came the Skipper’s voice at the periscope. “This cruiser is similar to the one we hit yesterday.” He peered again. “And damned if they haven’t a command pennant flying.” He chuckled. “Boys, did we shift that Admiral around, or are they trying to trick us?”
Finally, we attacked. We fired at 5:13 a.m.
“Can you hear them run, Eckberg?” came the familiar question.
Their whine was clear under the steady beating of the Jap’s screws. What I wanted to hear was that explosion, and the sudden silencing of those screws.
“Yes, sir, I hear them. I hear them, all right.”
“I believe they’re heading straight for the target,” the Skipper said.
Suddenly the Wolf jarred.
“We smacked her!” exclaimed the Skipper. “Let’s go.”
I heard the death rattle of the Jap ship in my phones. It is an unmistakable symphony of death you hear as a torpedoed ship slowly sinks at sea. First, a series of sharp reports, like a string of firecrackers set off—her ammunition exploding. Then two muffled explosions, almost simultaneously—the cold water has reached her steam boilers, and they have blown up. With that, the sudden halting of the steady whish—sh… whish—sh… whish—sh of the screws, broken off sharply, like a voice suddenly choked off. Now fugitive crackling, splintering little explosions—the ship’s pipes breaking up, her plates buckling and twisting off, and all this time, a slow, hollow gurgling like a man dying… A few seconds of complete silence. Then the final Whoomph!—the ship’s hull caving in like an eggshell between pile drivers as she reaches a depth where the water pressure is overwhelming. In that final Whoomph! everything gives way at once.
“She’s gone, Captain,” I said.
“Good!” said the Skipper. He trained his periscope on the sea where the ship had been. “I don’t see a damn thing,” he said. “No debris. Nothing at all. Are you sure you heard the screws stop, Eckberg?”
“Yes, sir. I heard her blow up, Captain.”
“You’re probably right,” he said. “I can’t see a trace of her up here. I think we really smacked her in the right place. I don’t think there are any survivors from this one.”
I glanced at my watch: 5:17 a.m.
The ship with all hands had gone down in little more than three minutes flat.
Captain Warder spoke directly to the torpedo room. “Thank you, boys. Nice work, after torpedo room. Nice work on those bearings, sound.”
Five minutes later I picked up a set of high-speed screws. I reported it.
“Oh, yes,” said the Captain. “Sure, they’ll be along to see what happened to their buddies. They’re going to be awfully baffled. Let’s see…” He looked through the periscope again. “Yes, here they are. I can see them using their searchlights. They won’t find anything. Down periscope. I don’t want those big searchlights to swing around and spot us.”
The Jap destroyers paid their respects with two mild depth charges. We scarcely noticed them. We secured battle stations and returned to Flying Fish Cove.
As the morning went on, we spotted a few ships. The crew was still on the alert. Nothing happened. Toward noon, the Skipper took another periscope observation near the cove entrance.
“Ah,” he said. “They’re getting ready to leave. Yes, the Nips are engaged in some very intense anti-submarine patrols. Here are destroyers patrolling…” His voice rose. “Here is a cruiser launching a plane. Boy, they really are looking for us. Down periscope. Dammit, I’d like to get in that water right at the cove mouth, but it’s as flat as a pancake, and they’d pick me up. There’s no doubt they’re getting ready to leave. I can see the transports moving around inside the cove. What they’re probably doing is sweeping for us right now. Do you hear them pinging, Eckberg?”
“Yes, sir,” I sang out. “Three or four pingers, sir, all over the place.”
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “They’re worried and want to get out. They’re a bit scared about leading those transports out. That means the cruisers and cans will sweep this place thoroughly before any mass movement begins. I did see one cruiser angling over this way, though.… If he would keep coming we might get in this last attack.” His voice suddenly changed. “Thompson, have them make ready that last torpedo and let me know when that’s done.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” came Thompson’s voice.
“Sound, do you hear anything new?”
“About the same, Captain,” I reported. “That cruiser you spotted is still coming this way. Pretty steady bearing, too.”
“Is that so?” commented the Skipper. “Well, let’s take a look. Thompson, as soon as that fish is ready, have them open the outer doors.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” came Thompson’s voice promptly.
“Up periscope,” said the Captain. “Ummmmm. Yes, here he is. We can’t close with him, though. If he’d zig this way a little… No, he’s going to get by us, dammit! I certainly would like to take a crack at him. Wait a minute… He is zigging—and this way, too! Put this down… Bearing, mark!”
“Two six five,” came Rudy’s voice.
Captain Warder looked at his azimuth. “Three two zero,” he said. “Estimated range, 3,000. Angle on the bow, ninety starboard. Give me a normal approach in a hurry. Is that fish ready, Thompson?”