War Beneath the Waves (14 page)

Despite the big guns trained on the strait from each side, Lucas decided to make the run through Lombok on the surface. He waited for the slight sliver of moon to set behind the mountainous island to their port side. Only then did he order them to the surface and ask for eighteen knots at a heading of almost due north. That left a few knots in reserve should they need it, but the skipper figured the additional speed would make little difference. If the submarine was spotted running on the surface, the Japanese cannon could lay down a deadly gauntlet of fire that would be impossible to outrun. The only option would be to submerge, to hide and hope they could get out of the area before shore-based patrol craft rushed to the scene to give them a migraine, or the treacherous current dragged them to shallow, dangerous water.

Charley Odom liked to joke that a clean bottom made the boat go faster. Not a clean bottom on the crew members. With no way to shower or even get a decent spit bath, that was a lost cause. No, the barnacles and other gunk that attached itself to the underside of the submarine’s hull could actually slow the boat down enough that a destroyer, pursuing at a typical top speed of twenty knots, could catch a submarine that was designed to have a surface speed of twenty-one knots.

Typically, and especially in enemy-controlled waters, there were only five or six men topside when the submarine was on the surface. More could be brought up from below to man the deck gun or perform damage control if needed. But in most cases, there were three men on the bridge itself—the quartermaster of the watch, the officer of the deck, and a senior officer, often the captain. There were also lookouts in the shears—the small platform and nest of antennas and periscope supports above the bridge—men who clung tightly to their perch and, while negotiating those narrow straits, kept a nervous watch on the dark outline of shore in each direction. There were usually three lookouts. At the first flash of an artillery shot, they would scream the message, and the boat would be diving before they even heard the boom. Better to take their chances with the rushing water below than the hail of artillery on the surface.

Skippers liked to put their youngest men in the shears as lookouts, reasoning that the younger they were, the better their eyesight was. They needed to be quick, too. If the captain ordered an all-out dive and sounded the dive Klaxon twice, those men were the farthest from the hatch that led down from the bridge to the conning tower below. The second short burst of the dive Klaxon meant that the dive was already under way.

It took a
Balao
-class boat only about thirty-five seconds to go from surface running to having seawater splashing over the conning tower hatch. The boat would be sixty-five feet deep at the keel—so only the top of the periscope was above the surface—in less than a minute. By the time water reached the topmost hatch on the boat, the one from the bridge to the conning tower, everyone who had been topside had to be down the hatch and the cover closed and dogged against the sea.

The watertight hatch from the submarine’s bridge led down a short ladder to a compartment called the “conning tower.” This small room was where the officer of the deck (OOD) controlled the boat anytime they were submerged. It contained controls for the basic navigation of the ship, including her steering, motor speed, and the like. There was more intercom equipment here as well as the “annunciator,” the device that was used to indicate speed and direction to the maneuvering room, a compartment located below the conning tower and toward the boat’s stern.

There were also torpedo controls, the torpedo data computer and firing console, as well as both periscopes (one for attack and one for general observation), and the very important radar and sonar equipment. While submerged at periscope depth, about sixty feet, the submarine could effectively be controlled from the conning tower while the captain or senior officer raised and lowered the periscope to take a look around.

The officer of the deck (OOD) was the man in charge on the bridge when they were on the surface. He was the last man down the chute. Meanwhile, the diving officer assumed control of the dive itself, usually from the control room, giving the orders to the men to go to the depth and speed as ordered. Another member of the crew who was on watch in the conning tower below the bridge—usually the yeoman—had the job of reaching back up the hatch after the OOD got down the ladder, spinning the locking mechanism on the bottom side of the hatch cover, and keeping seawater from flooding the compartment. He and the OOD often got wet.

If anyone stumbled and fell on the slippery ladder coming down from the shears, was wounded, or simply did not make it to the hatch in time, there was no choice. The hatch had to be closed and locked before the water engulfed them. Any hesitation and the ship could be lost.

In nonbattle conditions, the crew might be able to stop the dive in time and the man or men left topside could be rescued. If the boat was under attack, that was not an option. Another watertight hatch led down from the conning tower downward into the control room. There was a steep vertical ladder that allowed passage between the two compartments. The “control room” is exactly what its name implies. This is the place where the boat is controlled while submerged. Various equipment typically installed here during World War II included the submergence light panel, which was popularly called the “Christmas tree” because of its display of red and green lights. Those colorful indicators let the crew see at a glance the status of various systems. Also in the control room were the bow planes and stern planes, the controls that allowed the crew to dive and surface smoothly and not too quickly. A slip here, a dive that takes too sharp a downward angle, could have sent the submarine hurtling to the bottom, out of control.

Men manning the planes, as well as the diving officer, kept an eye on the inclinometer, a device similar to a carpenter’s level that told them how well they were doing in taking the boat up or down. They typically would want to remain level at a specific depth, too, and the inclinometer would allow them to do so, by “maintaining a steady bubble.”

Another important device in the control room was the depth gauge. Water pressure increases one atmosphere every thirty-three feet. Descending too far could be fatal. Running too close to the surface meant the shears protruded above the wave tops, where the enemy could see them or their wake. It was crucial that submariners knew how deep they were at all times.

There was other important equipment in the control room, too, such as the ship’s gyrocompasses and another type of specialized radar.

The radio room was only a few steps away. Directly below the control room, and accessed by removing deck plates, was a marvelously complicated collection of pumps, compressors, generators, piping, and blowers—the systems for keeping the boat operational and comfortable. This compartment was called the “pump room.”

In the early morning hours of November 9, everyone aboard the submarine breathed easier when they emerged at the north end of Lombok Strait without incident. They could then duck beneath the cover of the Java Sea and essentially disappear.

The diving procedure on a submarine is a vital dance in which all participants must do their jobs correctly. An uncontrolled dive, because of either human error or equipment failure, can be the submarine’s last. Failing to get down quickly enough in wartime, or bobbing back to the surface if some function is not performed properly or there is a mechanical problem, allows the enemy to zero in on the boat’s location. That, too, can be fatal.

To begin the dive, two short blasts are sounded on the diving alarm or the officer in charge shouts, “Dive! Dive!” and the command is relayed throughout the boat. Note that three blasts on the Klaxon mean the order has been given to surface.

That simple signal sets in motion a precise series of events that the crew must perform in the proper order, and then confirm each. All engines are stopped and the boat is changed over to battery power. The doors to the engine rooms are opened even as all valves and hull ventilation are closed. Of course, the conning tower hatch is closed, too.

The bow planes—the winglike flappers on each side of the hull near the front of the submarine—are rigged for full dive so the bow of the boat will head downward, with the rest of the submarine following. The planesmen who man the stern planes must be careful to control their angle of dive. If they go too deep too fast, they could lose the ability to maintain a safe angle of attack and thus lose control of the boat.

All the while, the diving officer is barking commands, collecting reports, and keeping an eye on the status lights on the “Christmas tree.” A “green board”—all lights burning green and not red—meant that all openings to the sea were in the proper position for a safe dive.

At that point, water is rushing into the tanks, the boat is growing ever heavier, and air from the compressed air tanks is bleeding into the ship’s compartments for breathing. Many complicated and vital events occur at once, and the various gauges and indicators have to be monitored closely.

The goal of all submariners is to dive and surface the same number of times.

As the boat approaches its desired submergence depth, the diving officer gives the command to level off. On the surface, the crew has little concern about keeping the boat level, bow to stern. The sea does a good job of that. But as tanks are filled and emptied, as men move about the compartments, as the heavy torpedoes are fired, as diesel fuel is burned up, even as groceries are used up, the balance of the boat shifts—sometimes slowly over time, sometimes in seconds. Those on duty in the control room must be constantly vigilant to keep the boat level, to “maintain trim” or “keep an even bubble,” a reference to the inclinometer.

When the submarine reaches the ordered depth, the diving officer reports to the conning officer that condition, and also the crucial fact that “trim” is satisfactory.

Once through Lombok Strait,
Billfish
promptly dived and went to two hundred feet. They aimed their bow directly north, toward the next needle to be threaded, the mouth of the Makassar Strait.

Almost two years before, in January and February 1942, Makassar had been the site of the first American surface naval action of World War II. In an attempt to thwart the Japanese invasion of the East Indies, a group of Allied destroyers engaged the enemy in a series of brutal skirmishes in and around the strait. Historians later dubbed the action the Battle of Makassar Strait.

Enemy airpower—thirty-seven highly effective dive-bombers, to be exact—proved to be the difference in that battle. Despite the Allied ships’ success in slowing down their march, the Japanese did eventually control the area, including this vital passage through which
Billfish
hoped to safely transit.

Makassar Strait is 450 miles long and ranges from about 70 to 250 miles wide. Like Lombok Strait to the south, the exchange currents are treacherous and, for that reason, submarines also preferred making this run on the surface if possible. Regardless of that preference, the skippers were always one “Dive! Dive!” away from plunging to the depths if the sudden appearance of the enemy made it necessary.

Lucas and
Billfish
did some of both as they approached the southern end of the passageway to the Celebes Sea.

Early on the tenth, making fourteen knots on the surface of the Java Sea, a target popped up on the SD radar eight miles away. Lucas, still running this modern boat the same way the Navy taught him to run the old S-boats, felt his primary goal was to get through the strait undetected and without incident, and continue on to the South China Sea. That meant not engaging the enemy unless he was practically on a collision course with them.

“Rig for dive,” he commanded without hesitation. The officer at his arm there on the bridge frowned a bit but went about relaying the order. The captain knew what he was doing. And even if he did not, he
was
the captain.

“Ship rigged for dive,” came the response shortly after from below.

“Clear the bridge!”

Lucas was obvious in his intentions as well as his commands. He ordered them down to two hundred feet—well past periscope depth at sixty-five feet—obviously without even considering investigating any further the rather interesting blip that had popped up in the middle of their radar screen.

Two hours later, he brought them up just far enough for the radar antenna to break the surface and to have a quick, safe look through the periscope. Nothing was visible by either means, so he gave the command to take them on up. The bow of the boat pointed upward until they were once again floating on the surface, her decks drying quickly.

“Low-pressure blower secured,” the diving officer reported, then continued the litany. “All main ballast tanks dry. Safety and negative flooded. Conning tower hatch and main induction open.”

Lucas ordered the charge on the batteries topped off and that they assume a speed of fourteen knots, maintaining a course just east of north.

Later that afternoon, lookouts could see in the far distance what appeared to them to be native fishing vessels. Captain Lucas quickly steered them away from any possible contact, though they seemed to be harmless enough.

“In light of later events, there may be some ‘spotters’ in this group,” he wrote in the deck log. It was wise to be wary. The Japanese often used innocent-looking fishing craft as picket boats. They were equipped with communication and navigation equipment and immediately reported any American activity that came within their view.

By avoiding any contact with other vessels,
Billfish
was making good progress. Despite how well patrolled this strategic passage was, they had encountered nothing they could pinpoint as an enemy craft. So far, nothing that could be classified as a true, attackable target, either. Though Lucas had pointedly avoided a couple of possible encounters, there was no real reason to question his judgment in either instance.