“She’s coming in closer, Captain, much clos—”
Captain Warder broke in. “Let’s go deep!” he shouted. The Wolf plunged down, down…
The first charge came. It was far to our port side, and the boat shook as if a chill were running down her spine. More followed, fifteen seconds apart. They were still far from the target. Paul took off his earphones and wiggled his finger in his ear.
“Looks like they’re arming all those tramps with charges,” he said, annoyed. “What the hell won’t they think of next!”
Gus Wright ducked into the shack for a minute. He had his apron on, and his hands were white with flour. “Think it’s a decoy?” he asked. “Get busy there, boys.” He grinned and vanished.
Several more charges went off. From her screws I knew she was zigzagging all over the place. Finally her screws died out.
She had vanished, most probably into Dili Harbor which the Japs were using. What had happened up there? What sent us down so fast? I left Paul on sound and stepped out into the control room to investigate. Gunner Bennett, who had the watch at the Christmas Tree, waved me over.
“Hear what happened?” he asked. “That sure was a close one.”
“Close one?” I didn’t get it. From the sound gear, she hadn’t sounded that dangerous. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, “there we were up, on the bridge, watching this damn tramp, when all of a sudden there’s a big flash and something goes singing over my head.”
“You mean they were shooting at us?” I asked, astonished.
Gunner rubbed his knee and looked at me. “It wasn’t the ship’s cook throwing potatoes,” he said dryly. “The shrapnel pock-marked the conning tower.”
It was the first time Jap bullets ever hit the Wolf. When we thought of the Wolf being marked up like that—the finest sub in the Navy—we were burned up.
Whatever the case, we had to move fast now. That Jap tramp certainly must have sent out the alarm. The Japs knew we were around here now. Captain Warder pushed on. We were on the offensive now. We reached a point outside the harbor, and maneuvered in close to the beach, taking the utmost care in the mined entrance. The water was shallow. The crew waited tensely.
Captain Warder upped his periscope and gave us a running account.
“See several masts in the harbor—all sailing schooners. Here’s the town. White steeple, church… Wonder if the Dutch are still fighting. Here’s the airport. No activity. Seems to be a radio station here—I see the radio tower. I could shell this place at night… yet the Japs may have shore artillery.”
We set a new course. About halfway to our destination, Ensign Mercer, at the periscope, spoke up. “Here’s some smoke,” he said. “Zero one zero. Down periscope. Tell the Captain we’ve sighted smoke.”
From his stateroom Captain Warder sent word, “Keep your eye on the smoke, Jim.”
After two or three five-minute observations, Ensign Mercer upped the periscope again. “Mark the bearing… He’s coming this way. Call the Captain!”
Captain Warder hurried up into the conning tower and took over.
“I can’t make out any part of her yet, she’s too far away,” he said. Then there was a silence for nearly five minutes. “I can make out her mast… Bearing 008… Range 10,000. Set a course to intercept. Down periscope.” Three minutes later he stole another look. “Hmmmm, this is a beautiful ship,” he said slowly. “Looks like one of those silk carriers.”
You knew he was eager to get her. I had her screws in my phones.
“Battle stations!” he ordered. “Tell the boys we have a big ship up here all alone, unescorted. At least I don’t see any escorts. Sound, pick him up yet?”
“I got him, Captain,” I reported. “Sounds like a Diesel job.”
“Looks like Diesel, Eckberg,” he said. “Modern ship… four-goal poster. Looks like a fast freighter. Length about 450 feet. Two masts. Raked funnel. Two passenger decks. Number on stack, can’t make it out. Speed, about twelve knots. Straight course. Probably bound for Dili. Loaded, probably. Down periscope. Normal approach course.”
Before he fired, Captain Warder made sure of everything. His commands were crisp and precise. He was determined to get this ship, and he and Ensign Mercer checked and double checked every figure.
Finally, “Fire!”
His eyes on their wake, Captain Warder followed the progress of the torpedoes through the water. I heard them run to the target.
Suddenly, an angry exclamation: “What the hell is this?”
Captain Warder’s voice echoed through the boat. “They missed the target. Dammit to hell, what is wrong? One fish climbed right up her side. What’s wrong here? Here she comes heading for us. Let’s get out of here!”
We went down. Captain Warder took his favorite seat outside the radio room. The depth charges came. Luckily, they were mild. Captain Warder sat there resting his chin in the palm of one hand, the perspiration dripping from him, impervious to the crash and trembling of the Wolf as the charges exploded.
He sent word down for Langford, and Squeaky hurried up, looking miserable. With him came Lieutenant Syverson, equally unhappy.
“When did we service those torpedoes?” Captain Warder asked quietly.
“Only last night, sir,” said Langford. Lieutenant Syverson added, “I checked them myself last night, Captain. Those fish were perfect.”
“I don’t understand it,” said the Skipper. “Two perfect attacks, and two complete misses. This must stop.”
He rose. He was the picture of dejection as he went forward to his room.
All of us felt the same. The supreme disappointment for a submarine crew is to line up a perfect target, aim the fish correctly, and have them miss—and then be followed by your target, all full of vim and vigor and dropping depth charges all around you.
In the control room half a dozen fellows were sitting around the conning-tower ladder. Nobody said anything for a moment. Squeaky leaned against the ladder and growled.
“Jinx, that’s what it is—a damn no-good son-of-a-bitch of a jinx.”
No one contradicted him. We weren’t too superstitious, but this wasn’t funny anymore.
We reversed our course and overhauled the ship. We kept her in position that night. The Skipper was determined to get her.
We surfaced in late afternoon. There was no sleeping now. Every man was alert. We stalked our prey all night. We wanted to attack at dawn. The Skipper upped his periscope at 4 a.m. and studied the sea for a long time.
“Well, now… I should have expected something like this. That’s a blinker light off there on the portside. The alarm’s out for us, all right. Down periscope.”
At 4:10 a.m., I caught the beat of screws. We were in for it. Every Jap ship within a hundred miles was on the alert for us. And, one ship or ten, at false dawn we attacked.
The Wolf practically tiptoed in for this one. Not a sound in the ship as we waited the order to fire. Overhead the Jap was calmly steaming along. Finally the order came:
“Stand by to fire… Fire!”
I could picture the excitement in the torpedo room. Be jerk, his blue eyes alight, his face flushed, slamming the firing knob, slapping the first torpedo-tube door, and yelling as the fish left the Wolf: “Go get him, baby! Head for that bastard’s belly.”
I caught the whine of the fish as they tore through the water.
Squeaky Langford must be nearly berserk now, screaming, cautioning, everywhere at once: “Watch this… Take it easy, dammit. Get going, you guys… Move that son-of-a-bitch, will you!”
If ever a sub wanted to sink an enemy ship, this was it. But nothing helped. The Captain’s voice came over the intercom.