Submarine! (12 page)

When
Seawolf
stood out to sea again, refurbished inwardly and outwardly, she immediately proceeded to demonstrate that she was still the same
Wolf
as of yore. Her first war patrol under Gross lasted twenty-six days in all, from Midway to Midway. Its high point was an eleven-hour battle with a large escorted freighter, as a result of which the freighter's
bow was blown off—he sank a few hours later—and Gross learned to his dismay that there was still plenty of room for improvement in torpedoes.

A few days later a damaged ship was encountered, in the tow of a tug, and escorted by a single destroyer. Gross decided that the escort was by far the more valuable target, and attacked him first in hopes of getting up on the surface later and sinking the towed vessel by gunfire. This plan was foiled by the approach of yet another destroyer after the submarine had expended all her torpedoes, but
Seawolf
carried away a series of photographs, later widely publicized, showing the last moments of H.I.J.M.S,
Patrol Boat #39
. And then Roy Gross brought his veteran submarine back to Midway for a fast refit and some more torpedoes.

Googy's second patrol produced only one hit for sixteen torpedoes fired, with the majority of blame definitely going to the recalcitrant fish. Nevertheless, that one hit sank a ship, which is illustrative of what might have been done by our submarines had they had dependable armament. The situation was improving, although at this point no one in
Seawolf
could have been criticized for thinking otherwise.

On her tenth patrol, Gross's third, came the first indications of a new deal for the old
Wolf
. In her assigned area for but five days, she spent the entire time working over a single convoy, sinking three ships in all; and she then attacked and sank two reconnaissance sampans with her deck guns. On her first attack, submerged between two columns of freighters, she fired her bow tubes at the largest ship in the left-hand column, and immediately afterward fired her stern tubes at the largest ship in the right-hand column. Both ships sank. Surfacing after a depth charging, she pursued the convoy, overtook it, made another submerged attack, and fired four torpedoes, none of which hit. Nothing daunted, she resumed the pursuit, made a night surface attack, and obtained one hit in the largest remaining ship, leaving him dead in the water. With four torpedoes left,
Seawolf
bored in on the surface to finish him off, disregarding the salvoes of gunfire with which he sought to dissuade her. She fired
each of her precious remaining torpedoes independently and carefully—and got two dud hits and two erratic runs. That left her without any torpedoes; so Gross manned the deck guns, closing the enemy slowly, firing deliberately, feeling him out. With the return fire, originally erratic, to be sure, now entirely silent,
Seawolf
continued to close the range. After approximately one hour of target practice, the enemy vessel, hit by more than seventy rounds from the submarine's three-inch gun, rolled over and sank within sight of her gun crews.

The torpedoes were still not perfect, but they were improving, and skill and persistence were still paying off.

Patrol number eleven again saw Gross bringing his ship back to port with no torpedoes remaining, leaving two enemy vessels at the bottom of the China Sea and damaging a third which in all probability also sank, though not seen to do so. Torpedo malfunction had again robbed the
Wolf
of at least one and possibly two more targets, but it was now obvious from other patrol reports that the problem was finally on its way to a solution. Reports of other submarines were indicating a larger proportion of successful attacks, and Skipper Gross was at a loss to explain the heartbreaking misses on his last few attacks. In his self-criticism he failed to appreciate what every other submariner had long since seen.
Only once had Gross brought back torpedoes!
Every submarine skipper was highly respectful of the man who could consistently average two ships per patrol, and that was exactly what Googy Gross had done so far.

On December 22, 1943, the
Wolf
got under way from the submarine base at Pearl Harbor for her twelfth war patrol. Lasting only thirty-six days, it topped all the superlatives earned by that fighting submarine and her amazingly aggressive skipper. Fred Warder had a worthy successor.

On January 7, 1944,
Seawolf
passed through the Nansei Shoto chain, and on January 10 she began a forty-eight-hour battle with a Japanese convoy. Torpedoes expended—seventeen; hits—nine certain and four possible; ships sunk—three. The wheel had finally come around full for
Seawolf
.

Two days later, still patrolling her area north of Formosa, but with only three torpedoes remaining on board,
Seawolf
again sights smoke. This time it is four freighters and two destroyers.

Again
Seawolf
leaps in pursuit. Again the call for the plotting parties, the tedious tracking, the meticulous positioning of targets.

This time Roy Gross is in a dilemma. He cannot hope to do much damage with only three torpedoes, but the convoy is in his area and he cannot let it go by. The only answer is to get help, and quickly. Hastily a contact message is sent out, addressed to any and all submarines in the vicinity. Another message is sent to ComSubPac, in Pearl Harbor.

And all the while
Seawolf
continues tracking. Once again Googy decides on a night attack. He figures he will try to get in submerged just at dusk—and if necessary re-attack on the surface a little later.

No luck on the submerged attack. With the convoy well in sight, the situation progressing nicely, a sudden zig away puts
Seawolf
far out in left field. Gross might have tried a long-range shot, but not with only three precious torpedoes left. Gritting his teeth, he lets them go—but surfaces eight miles astern.

Overtaking on the starboard flank, flying in at full speed in her attempt to complete the surface attack before moon-rise the
Wolf is
forced to cross astern of the starboard flank destroyer at excessively close range. A precarious situation for a moment, but she is not detected; the ships of the convoy line up for what appears to be a perfect shot—when suddenly they zig away. The combination of circumstances, with
Seawolf
at close range nearly ready to shoot, puts her virtually in the convoy directly astern of the last ship.

Holding his breath, Gross settles down to act like a Jap, hoping that the herding destroyers are not in the habit of looking their sheep over too closely. He closes in a bit more. Lagging too far astern will only attract attention. Furthermore, if you are a little closer there will be a better chance of picking up a chance shot.

Calmly Roy Gross waits his chance, all the while narrowly watching the destroyers patrolling on either beam. They give no indication of noticing anything untoward, and finally a sharp left zig puts one of the target vessels nearly broadside to
Seawolf's
bow tubes.

A quick setup. Range and bearing by radar, bearing checked by TBT. Angle on the bow estimated from the bridge, checked by plot, verified by TDC. In a matter of seconds comes the welcome word from the conning tower:

“Set below, Captain!”

“Standby forward!” Another quick bearing from the Target Bearing Transmitter . . . another quick radar setup. . . .

“Set!”

“Fire!”
Seawolf's
last three torpedoes race out into the night, trailing their streams of bubbles. They diverge slightly as their fan-shaped spread reaches out for the left freighter in the starboard column.

Suddenly the forward part of the target bursts into incandescence! A brilliant flame flashes into the sky with straight, streaked fury, razor-edged disaster roaring into the heavens.

Seconds later the after part of the ship also bursts into holocaust. In the brilliant flame which lights up the stricken vessel the fascinated watchers on
Seawolf's
bridge see a mast topple to one side, the single stack to the other, and then all is blotted out in a screaming, searing flame which guts the entire ship in a single white-hot second.

The noise of the explosion reaches
Seawolf
, drowned in the insanely triumphant uproar of the forces she has released. At the limiting peak of the inferno a black boiling cloud of smoke billows hundreds of feet into the sky.

On the surface of the sea it might well be day. The perpetrator of the outrage and the white faces on her bridge are brilliantly silhouetted in the funeral flames of her victim.

The skipper recovers first. “Right full rudder! All ahead flank!” He shouts the orders down the open hatch at his feet.

A stream of troubled white water flows aft from
Seawolf's
stern, angling sharply off to starboard under the impetus of
the suddenly accelerated propellers and the full rudder. The yammering of the diesels comfortingly reaches the ears of the bridge personnel, and careening to port, the white water glaring and foaming between the wooden deck slats, the
Wolf
dashes away.

Ten depth charges are heard a few minutes later—a good sign—and the submarine checks her headlong rush some five miles away. The thing on Gross's mind now is the remainder of the convoy.

COMSUBPAC FROM SEA WOLF X URGENT X OPERATIONAL X CONTACT X CONVOY X THREE FREIGHTERS TWO DESTROYERS BASE COURSE ONE-FIVE-ZERO SPEED NINE POSIT BAKER FIVE FOUR YOKE TWO THREE X ALL TORPEDOES EXPENDED X TRAILING BT K

Captain Joe Grenfell, lately of the submarines
Gudgeon
and
Tunny
, now serving on the staff of ComSubPac, receives the decoded message. Day after day the officers on the staff of ComSubPac stand their watches hoping for just such a break. They have been bound to their desks by official orders and cannot get out in the boats, yet their hearts are out on the sea as they watch their friends coming and going. Here is one of the few chances a “staffie” gets to toss a couple of personal licks at the enemy. Grenfell does not neglect the opportunity.

Scanning the message, he rises from his desk where he has been working on next month's submarine dispositions and strides swiftly to the side of the room where a heavy curtain conceals the entire wall.

A two-handed pull on a pair of cords alongside, and the curtain slides back, revealing a huge chart of the Pacific. Studded here and there, concentrated chiefly about the home islands of Japan, are numerous tiny submarine silhouettes, each bearing a name. This is the Top Secret disposition chart.

With a long plastic ruler and an equally long pair of dividers, Grenfell carefully picks off a spot on the chart; draws a light circle about it with an arrow pointing southeast. He studies the area carefully, noting the locations of the submarines
in the vicinity. A three-ship convoy is a valuable prize, but not one to justify calling away all submarines in the general area. It is necessary to select one or two who can best reach the target from their present positions, considering the possible objective of the enemy.

Several hundred miles to the southwest of the convoy's plotted position is a single marker bearing the name
Whale
. To Grenfell's practiced eye there is little doubt that this is the ship which must fall heir to the job.

Again the ruler, measuring. Again the dividers, stepping off distances carefully. A few scribbled figures on a pad of paper. He checks the situation, goes over the distances and the computation a second time. More than one impossible mission has been generated right here. Satisfied, he lays aside the instruments, tears the piece of paper off the pad, draws the curtain back across the chart, and returns to his desk.

FOR WHALE FROM COMSUBPAC X CONVOY THREE SHIPS TWO ESCORTS SPEED NINE X POSIT BAKER FIFTY FOUR YOKE TWENTY THREE AT TWENTY HUNDRED ITEM X COURSE ONE FIVE ZERO X SEAWOLF TRAILING REPORTING X DEPART PRESENT STATION INTERCEPT X ACKNOWLEDGE X BT K

Off the coast of China, Fred Janney, Executive Officer of the USS
Whale
, decodes the message and immediately calls the skipper. The two pore over the charts of the area.

After several minutes Commander A. C. (Acey) Burrows lays down his pencil.

“Looks as if we can catch them on three engines, Fred.”

“Yessir, Captain,” replies Janney, “except that if we take a more northerly course on four engines we might intercept them earlier and be able to make a night attack. Besides, that would give us nearly twenty-four hours longer to work on them.”

“Guess you're right. Let's bend on four engines and try it.”

Whale
, until now patrolling leisurely in the traffic lanes south of Formosa, veers away from her accustomed circuit and speeds to the northeast.

In the meantime,
Seawolf
has been keeping contact astern of the convoy. It is now night, and over a period of several hours she has sent two more contact reports. The trouble with this kind of business is that you never know whether you are getting anywhere. It is up to someone else to perform; all you can do is wait. After the exciting action of the past few days the monotony becomes deadly and is felt throughout the whole ship. Finally the quartermaster of the watch turns to the Captain.

“Captain, sir, that ship, the one we blew up a while ago—maybe one of these has got a load of avgas too. Do you think maybe our gun might set it off if we tried it, sir?”

Gross stares unblinkingly at his interlocutor.