Submarine! (31 page)

However, the destroyer's own furious rush plays him false, too, for he is unable to regain the contact, now that the submarine is at deep submergence and evading. He remains in the vicinity for half an hour, listening carefully, while
Cavalla
, in turn, silences every bit of machinery except that absolutely necessary for submerged control.

Then he disappears, leaving Herman Kossler a sadder and wiser man, and a bit angry too. But you can't blame the Jap exactly; he's done a beautiful job of protecting his convoy.

One hour after the near brush with the tin can,
Cavalla
is on the surface, attempting to retain contact, send a contact report, and pursue in the direction of the convoy's original course until late that afternoon. With the speed the Japs were making, plus a possible increase because of the brush with a submarine, not to mention a possible change of course, the chances of regaining contact are small. Three aircraft contacts during the course of the day are no help either, since in each case Herman is forced to submerge to avoid detection.

Nevertheless,
Cavalla
moves along after the convoy, hoping somehow to sight it again, until 2000 when finally the welcome cry, “Radar contact!” electrifies all hands. A few moments' observations suffice to prove that this is not the same bunch at all. On the contrary, it is a much bigger, much faster outfit.

Cavalla
maneuvers into position. It doesn't take long this time: the contact has been made with the submarine nearly dead ahead of the enemy ships. It isn't long, either, before Herman realizes that he is really on the track of something important. He had been put in this area, so his operation order stated, to warn of the approach of enemy task forces and to intercept. Unlike
Albacore's
orders,
Cavalla's
very specifically stated that warning of the approach of large enemy task forces was of greater importance than a successful attack on even a major unit. Until now, Herman knew, there had been no information of the approach of such a task force. Our carriers and planes were lambasting the stuffing out of Guam and Saipan, and some kind of retaliation was certain to be expected.

Cavalla's
contact tracks at 19 knots, and as the range closes many ships begin to be picked up on the radar, in addition to the several large ones first seen. Obviously this is some kind of task force, and from its course and speed it is heading from the Philippines to Guam. This information is vital to our forces engaged there, but Herman resolves to continue the approach until he is certain of his contact. Perhaps it isn't a carrier task force at all, in which case he'll be free to attack. It must be admitted that by this time Kossler is hoping
that the ships prove to be almost anything except carriers.

But at 2030 Herman can make out one large carrier, several cruisers, and many destroyers through his periscope as he closes the range. And remaining submerged, his crew at battle stations, he passes right through the whole formation without firing a shot, counting the number and types of vessels in it! It is not until he is almost clear of the task force that two of the escorts begin to be suspicious of his presence, and for an hour they search the area, forcing
Cavalla
to take evasive action until they tire. And finally, with the skipper in a cold fury, the submarine manages to surface and get the all-important contact report off by radio.

Herm Kossler has good reason for being angry with the two little fellows who kept
Cavalla
down that extra hour. By so doing they have almost surely prevented her from catching up with the task force again. For the second time in twenty-four hours the sub chases at full speed, hoping to regain contact, knowing well that there is precious little chance of it.

All day long, that June 18, as
Cavalla
dashed in pursuit, her skipper was a prey to doubts as to whether he had done the right thing. After all, the submariner's creed is to attack whenever you have the chance. Maybe he should have taken the flattop when the Jap went across in front of his torpedo tubes—how would he ever he able to explain his action to his fellows?

But what Herman didn't know, couldn't have known, was the effect of this message and the change it made in the plans of the high command at that important juncture. Since we had a pretty good idea of the composition of the Jap forces, and since Herman had been so careful to detail the exact composition of the particular group he saw, our planners were enabled to make some rather shrewd estimates of the disposition of the enemy's forces and the remainder of his plans. Within a few hours of the receipt of
Cavalla's
contact message, orders went out to every submarine in the vicinity to shift patrol stations according to a carefully laid out plot.
One of these boats was
Albacore
and another was
Cavalla
herself.

Shortly after midnight on the morning of June 19 Herman broke off the chase and headed for his newly-assigned patrol station—assigned, although he did not know it—as a result of his own contact report of some twenty-eight hours previous. By this time he was racked with disappointment, and completely exhausted from having been on his feet for nearly forty-eight hours. Some sleep was possible now, although it was broken three times in the next nine hours by plane contacts which forced
Cavalla
to submerge.

At 1039, as the submarine is preparing to surface after the last dunking, Herman sights four small planes circling in the distance. A few minutes later the sound operator reports some peculiar water noises in the same direction. All thoughts of immediate surfacing are now forgotten, as a careful watch is kept on the planes. They are too small to be patrol planes, so maybe something of interest will come of the contact.

Sure enough! Masts are sighted directly under the planes, and screws of other ships are heard on the sound gear. Once again the musical chimes resound through
Cavalla's
steel hull, calling her crew to battle stations for the third time in two days. Once again men race through the ship, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, hurriedly throwing on some clothes as they go, wordlessly taking their stations as they wonder what fate has in store for them this time, and hope that
Cavalla
will be able to sink her fangs into something.

“Up 'scope!” Herman spins it around once. “Down 'scope!”

“One carrier, two cruisers, one destroyer! Angle on the bow, starboard two five.” The bearing and range have already been set in. There are four ships in sight. The two cruisers are on the carrier's port bow and the destroyer is on his starboard beam about one thousand yards distant. This is bad, because
Cavalla
is on the carrier's starboard bow, and the situation indicates that she'll have to fire from the starboard beam—in other words—from right beneath the destroyer. So Kossler will either have to let his fish go a little
sooner than he would like to—which won't prevent the escort from immediately letting go with a most effective counterattack—or try to outmaneuver the destroyer and shoot after he has gone by. The latter is perhaps the safer tactic, but it is also fraught with the unthinkable possibility of losing the target entirely.

Without further ado Kossler makes the decision to press home his attack on the carrier without regard for the destroyer. Perhaps he'll fire a little early, in order to make sure of getting his fish off, but that's the only concession he'll make.

Target speed is tracked at 25 knots. He is making a large bow wave as he plows steadily through the water, pitching slightly to the seas. The planes originally sighted are in the landing circle, and Herman has a close view of Japanese carrier landing tactics during his quick periscope observations. He notices that the forward end of the flight deck is crowded with aircraft, and that there are only one or two planes left in the air, one of which appears to be coming around for his landing approach.

It won't be long now! Kossler motions to Tom Denegre, his Executive Officer. “You make the next look!” Herman had previously decided to let two other officers also look at important targets, partly for their own indoctrination, but principally for identification purposes.

“Up periscope!” Number two squats before it, goes up with it, makes a quick look, shoots it down again. “
Shokaku
class, Captain! I'm sure of it!”

“I think so, too, Tommy. Just remember what you saw, so we can pick him out when we go through the silhouette identification book!” The skipper answers shortly, then speaks to the torpedo officer, who up to now has been running the TDC. “Take a look, Jug!”

Up goes the periscope once more, just long enough for Jug Casler to photograph the unforgettable scene in his mind. The carrier is one of the largest class with a flight deck extending almost, but not quite, from the bow to the stern. The island is rather smaller than is customary on contemporary
American ships and located farther forward. The smokestack is subordinated to the rest of the island structure, and dominating the whole thing is a large “bedspring” type radar rotating slowly on top of the single mast.

“Up 'scope for a setup! Bearing—mark! . . . Range—mark! Down 'scope!”

“Angle on the bow, starboard forty! Make ready all tubes!”

“Set!” from Casler on the TDC. “Perfect setup, Captain.”

“All tubes ready forward,” from the telephone talker. “All tubes ready aft!”

“Normal order, speed high, set depth fifteen feet!” Herman is echoed by the telephone talker.

“This will be a bow shot!” orders the skipper. “One more observation—up 'scope! Down 'scope!”

Herman has taken the opportunity to snatch a quick look at the destroyer on the carrier's starboard beam, and what he sees heightens the urgency in his voice. “Angle on the bow, starboard five five! The destroyer is heading right for us, about one oh double oh yards away. We've got to shoot right now!”

“Standby forward!” This is the culmination of the approach.

“Check bearing method!” to the TDC. This simply means that the skipper plans to get one or more check bearings during the firing.

“Up 'scope! . . . Final bearing and shoot! . . . Bearing—
mark!
”

“Three four two,” snaps Denegre, as the periscope starts down.

“Set! . . . FIRE!” from Casler, and all hands feel the torpedo leave the tube.

Then numbers two, three, four, and five. The moment number-five torpedo has been fired, Kossler shouts down the hatch, “Take her down!” Then, to Casler, “Let the sixth one go on time!”

All the while
Cavalla
has been firing, Herman has been ticking away in his mind the yards yet separating her from
the onrushing Jap destroyer. There has been no time to look at him, but he will surely spot the telltale torpedo wakes in the water and begin an immediate harassing attack.

As
Cavalla
lowers her periscope and starts for deep submergence, the racing beat of the enemy propellers can be heard, rapidly becoming louder, in the sound operator's earphones. With maddening slowness the submarine tilts downward.

“All ahead flank!” Herman is anxious to put as many feet of protective water between him and the surface as possible, and with
Cavalla's
nose once pointed down, he gives her the gun.

“Rig for depth charge!” This is where the veteran submariners among the crew show their worth, and where the initiative assiduously cultivated among them begins to pay off.

Slowly, all too slowly, the depth gauges creep around. The propeller beat of the enemy destroyer becomes more and more audible.

“WHANG! . . . WHANG! . . . WHANG!” Three rather tinny metal-crashing explosions are heard throughout
Cavalla's
straining hull. Three hits! Nothing in the world sounds the same as the noise of your torpedoes going off. Nothing in the world equals the thrill of hearing them. A subdued cheer echoes in the submarine's confined hull and a grim smile of satisfaction appears for a moment on the skipper's face.

One hundred fifty feet, by
Cavalla's
depth gauges. Hang on to your hats, boys!

“Left full rudder!” Herman is hoping to alter course a bit and thus throw the Jap destroyer off, but there is hardly time for the change to take effect before the first four depth charges arrive.

For the next three hours 106 depth charges are dropped on
Cavalla
, and things grow progressively worse for the submarine. This Jap is no novice. Since
Cavalla
is a new boat, and consequently not yet depth charge proved, seams leak water here and there. The propeller shaft packing is apparently
not properly set up and, under the double effect of the deep depth and the series of trip-hammer shocks received from the depth charge explosions—luckily none quite within lethal range—sea water pours into the motor room bilges at an alarming rate. Shortly after the depth charging begins there is a loud hissing heard in the galley overhead. No water comes into the ship, but she immediately becomes heavy aft and starts to sink deeper. It is believed that the main induction piping outside the pressure hull must have been flooded, probably through rupture of the line somewhere. An immediate test is made by opening some of the main induction drains, and sure enough, a steady stream of water spurts out under full sea pressure. The combination of this, plus the water taken into the motor room, forces the submarine to increase speed and run with an up angle in order to maintain her depth.