Final Harbor

Chapter 30

Shortly before midnight Mako’s stern lookout drew in his breath in a gasp that was audible down on the cigaret deck. Captain Hinman looked upward.

“Light back there bearing one seven zero, Bridge! The light is blinking on and off, looks like he’s sending code!”

“Sound General Quarters!” Hinman barked. “Open doors on all torpedo tubes! Quartermaster, get up in the shears and see if you can read him. He might be a Jap ship and if it is he might think we’re one of his navy!”

He heard the rush of feet below decks as Mako’s crew went to their Battle Stations and then the voice of Pete Simms came up through the hatch.

“All Battle Stations manned, Bridge. All torpedo tube doors open. Request depth settings for torpedoes, Bridge.”

“Set depth two feet on all tubes,” Hinman ordered. He was watching the quartermaster squeeze in beside the stern lookout.

“He’s sending code, sir. Wait a minute… he’s saying Mako over and over, sir!”

“Bridge, get a signal gun up here on the double,” Captain Hinman ordered. He waited until the signal gun was handed up from the Conning Tower and passed to the quartermaster.

“Give him an acknowledgment that you read him,” Hinman said. “Ask him who he is.” He listened to the quartermaster clicking off the code signals with the trigger of the signal gun. The light on the ship aft of them began blinking slowly.

“R… E… Q… request… P… E… R… permission to… come… along… side… signed… Mike. He sent ‘request permission to come alongside’ and signed it ‘Mike,’ sir.”

“My God, it’s the Eelfish!” Hinman cried. “Tell him to close, quartermaster, close on our starboard side. Bridge, make turns for one-third speed.” Hinman raised his voice.

“All lookouts, keep a very sharp watch in your sectors!” He strained his eyes searching for the dark bulk of the other submarine and then he saw it, a dim shadowy bulk against the dark horizon.

“Submarine in sight, bearing one six zero, Bridge,” the stem lookout said.

“You’re not very sharp up there,” Hinman snapped. “I saw him thirty seconds ago. Keep your eyes open!”

The Eelfish closed rapidly as Mako slowed and then slid up alongside Mako, barely 50 yards off Mako’s starboard beam. Mike Brannon, leaning both hands on the cigaret rail, took a deep breath and yelled.

“Mako, ahoy! Is Captain Hinman on the Bridge?”

“I’m here!” Hinman yelled. He turned to the OOD. “Don, take me in closer, I can’t yell that far, damn it!” The Mako wallowed and began to edge to starboard and then straightened out parallel to the Eelfish and a scant 30 feet away. Hinman could see Mike Brannon clearly in the dim moonlight.

“Damned good to see you, Mike! How’s everything?”

“Fine, sir. Family is fine, I’ve got a good ship and a good crew. Congratulations on your marriage. I have a proposition to make to you, sir.”

“Go ahead,” Hinman said, “but before you do let’s get to the important things. They gave us Klim back there in Brisbane instead of ice cream powder. Can you spare us some ice cream powder?”

“Sure thing,” Brannon said. The two Captains watched as crew members of the two ships exchanged a heaving line and hauled two 10-pound cans of ice cream powder mix over to the Mako.

“How about a fair exchange?” Brannon yelled. “Got any good boogie-woogie records?”

“Nope,” Hinman replied. “Now what’s your proposition?”

“I’d like to run north with you, if I may,” Brannon said. “If we see anything we could attack in tandem. Like we used to talk about in your Wardroom, the first two war patrols, sir.”

“Roger,” Hinman said. “I’d love to do that.”

“I’ve got a new SJ Radar,” Brannon said. “Picked you up way back there. You’re senior, sir, but if I may suggest, I could take the van and use my SJ. If we pick anything up you give the orders.”

“Agreed,” Hinman said. “Take position on my starboard bow, distance one thousand yards. Make turns for fifteen knots. Course will be three five five for the present. When we dive I’ll drop back to three thousand yards. Make two knots submerged. We’ll surface tonight thirty minutes after full dark. Okay with you, Mike?”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Brannon replied. “We’ll take position one thousand yards ahead on your starboard bow. Course three five five. Make turns for fifteen knots. You’ll drop back to three thousand yards when we dive. Make turns for two knots submerge. Surface thirty minutes after dark, sir.”

“Very well,” Hinman yelled across the water. “Where you going to, Mike? We’re headed for Luzon Strait. I’m going up the eastern coast of the Philippines.”

“We’re going to Leyte Gulf,” Brannon answered. “Talk to you some more tonight. Nice to see you again, sir.”

Captain Hinman watched as Eelfish dropped astern of Mako and then swung off to starboard and began to pick up speed. He moved to the speaker on the bridge and pressed the transmit button.

“This is the Captain,” he said. “We have the Eelfish on our starboard bow. She’ll travel with us for a few days. Her skipper, for all of you Mako plank owners, is Mike Brannon.” He paused for a moment. “Secure from General Quarters. Close tube outer doors. Resume Normal watch standing.” He punched Don Grilley lightly on the arm and went back to the cigaret deck.

The two submarines moved northward through the Makassar Strait and then angled eastward across the Celebes Sea. They saw no targets. Eelfish’s radar twice picked up medium-sized fishing boats as the tow ships entered the Celebes Sea and the two submarines had changed course to avoid on Captain Hinman’s orders — despite Pete Simms’ pointed suggestion that they should go alongside one of the fishermen and board, on the off chance that the boat could be harboring a Japanese naval officer with a powerful radio set who just might be reporting the passage of American submarines.

Five days after the two ships joined forces they passed the southern tip of Mindanao and began a passage north along the east coast of that island. On the night of the fifth day, shortly after the two ships had surfaced, the Eelfish requested permission to drop back near Mako.

“I have to break off now, Captain.” Mike Brannon yelled. “My orders are to proceed through Surigao Strait to my patrol area. Best of luck and good hunting!”

Hinman made the appropriate reply and watched as Eelfish dropped astern and then turned to port and was lost to view.

“Alone again, Don,” he said to Grilley, who had the deck watch. “Kind of nice thing, having Mike close by for a few days.” He went back to the cigaret deck and stood by the after rail, staring out to the port side. Somewhere out there Mike Brannon was making his approach to enter Surigao Strait and go on up to the waters of Leyte Gulf. An hour later the port lookout spoke.

“Ship! Bearing three five zero, Bridge! I can see more than one ship out there!”

Hinman swung himself up into the periscope shears and leveled his binoculars. He jumped back to the cigaret deck and ran forward to the Bridge.

“Sound General Quarters! Plotting Party to the Control Room. Open torpedo tube outer doors and set depth on all torpedoes at two feet! Executive Officer to the search periscope! We’ve got a convoy out there! Mr. Cohen, get a message off to Eelfish that we’ve picked up a convoy of at least seven ships and invite him to join the party!” He listened to the reports coming up to the Bridge in response to his orders. Pete Simms’ voice came up through the hatch.

“Bridge! I have the targets! Five, six, no by God, eight ships out there! There’s two in line and then two abreast and two more abreast and looks like two more in line back of those ships! Look like small freighters to me, sir. Estimated range is four zero zero zero yards!”

“Very well,” Captain Hinman said. “Don, go below, I’ll take over the bridge. Take charge of the Plot in the Control Room. I’m going to go in on the surface.” He turned and bent toward the hatch to the Conning Tower.

“Pete, give the periscope to Nate Cohen, we won’t be using any sound bearing in this attack. You come up here and take over the After TBT station.” He waited until Simms had climbed to the Bridge.

“Take station back there, Pete. If you have to, fire at will but let me know if you start shooting. There’s a lot of ships out there and I don’t want to waste fish.” He bent his head as the bridge speaker rasped.

“Plotting Party is ready, Bridge,” Grilley reported and Hinman heard Nate Cohen feeding the Plotting Party a stream of bearings.

He grinned to himself. It was like the other attack he had made in Makassar Strait on his second war patrol. Below him he could hear the voices of Nate Cohen rattling off ship bearings and Bob Edge repeating them as he fed the bearings into the TOC. Then he heard Cohen’s normally gentle voice sharpen slightly as he spoke to Lieut. Ronnie Bums, a new officer Mako had taken aboard in Brisbane.

“Damn it, Lieutenant, don’t just stand there! It’s easier for me if you read the bearing ring when I give you a mark! The Old Man will tell you when to push that damned shooting key!” Captain Hinman bent to the hatch.

“Belay that conversation down there! Start feeding me some data, damn it! I just can’t eyeball it up here, there’s too many damned targets!”

The intricate terpsichorean ritual of death by torpedo had begun in Mako’s Conning Tower and Control Room. On the Bridge Captain Hinman fidgeted, waiting until the Plot brought him close enough to begin the attack.

“Damned shame Mike isn’t here,” he said to himself. He eyed the enemy ships, black splotches against the dark background of the mountains of Mindanao. He searched the line of ships with his binoculars but could see no escort vessels. Maybe they felt safe, this close to Mindanao.

“Bridge! Range to the leading ship in the convoy is now three zero zero zero! Angle on the bow is two zero port. We’ve got a constant shooting solution from now on, sir!”

“All ahead full!” Hinman barked into the bridge transmitter. “Plot — I’ll close to one zero zero zero yards and then begin to shoot! Order of targets will be the first ship in the line and then the second. Then I’ll take the inboard ship in the brace of two that follow those first two. After that it’s going to be everyone for themselves! We’ll get what we can!” He felt Mako’s deck quiver under his feet as the ship picked up speed.

“Here we go!” Hinman sang out. “The wolf among the sheep! Give me some ranges, God damn it!”

“You can shoot, Captain!” Bob Edge’s voice was high.

“Fire one!” Hinman yelled. He felt the shock under his feet as a fist of compressed air shoved the torpedo in Number One tube out. He counted down from six to one.

“Fire two! Right five degrees rudder! Stand by…

“Fire three!”

A mushroom of fire bloomed at the waist of the first ship in the line of enemy ships.

“Hit! Hit on the first target! Give me more speed, damn it!

“Fire four!

“Right ten degrees rudder! More speed! Pour on the coal!”

“Hit! Hit on the second target!” Simms’ scream came from the cigaret deck aft.

“Meet your helm right there, damn it! Stand by forward!” Captain Hinman was braced in the small bridge structure, his binoculars clamped to his eyes. He lowered the glasses and let them hang by the neck strap and gripped the teak edge of the bridge rail.

“Give me a set-up on the next target!” he yelled down the hatch. “We’re closing fast, damn it! Look alive down there! Meet that helm, damn you! Meet it right there!”

“You’ve got a solution on the next target!” Lieutenant Edge’s voice from the Conning Tower was high, excited.

“Fire five!

“Belay the set-up on the fourth target, he’s too small! Right fifteen degrees rudder! I want to run down between the third and fourth targets, down the starboard side of that fourth target to the next two targets.”

“Tin can! Tin can! The other side of this ship to our starboard!” The starboard lookout’s voice was a high yell. Hinman spun to his right in the small bridge, searching with his binoculars.

He saw the high bridge of a Fubuki destroyer-leader on the far side of the small freighter whose bow was drawing even with Mako’s bow. The Fubuki and the freighter were on an opposite course to Mako and the small freighter was screening Mako from any gunfire from the Fubuki. He took a quick look ahead at the two ships he had picked out as his next targets. They were at least 1,500 yards distant, he had plenty of time to dive and run submerged under those two ships before the Fubuki could work its way clear of the two ships he had hit and the small freighter and get back to him.

“Close torpedo tube outer doors!” Hinman yelled the order down the hatch to the Conning Tower. He waited calmly, gauging Mako’s speed and the speed of the small freighter that was now almost abeam of Mako and barely 50 yards away. He gasped in disbelief as he saw the starboard side of the freighter suddenly blossom into flame as a dozen or more heavy machine guns opened fire. Above him a lookout called out and then moaned as a hail of machine gun fire swept through Mako’s bridge structure. Hinman felt a heavy fist slam into his right shoulder and then another fist drove him back from the bridge rail. Instinctively, he slammed his left hand down on the diving alarm and then hit the alarm a second time. Another jolting blow savaged his rib cage and he lurched to one side as the quartermaster’s body fell against him. He tried to draw a deep breath to yell the order to clear the bridge but something was blocking his throat. He opened his mouth and tasted the blood that filled his throat and mouth. As he sagged he reached for the latch that held the hatch to the Conning Tower open and tripped it. The weight of his body forced the hatch closed.

The gunfire that riddled Mako’s bridge echoed in the Conning Tower and was heard in the Control Room. When the diving alarm went off Chief Mike DeLucia reacted, yanking the lever on the hydraulic manifold that opened the vent on bow buoyancy tank and then pulling the levers that vented the main ballast tanks. Lieut. Don Grilley moved over from the plotting desk on top of the gyro compass to stand back of the bow and stern planesmen.

“Hard dive!” he said. “There’s trouble up there, get her down fast!” He heard a voice yelling faintly over the bridge speaker as Mako sliced downward under the sea. He took a quick look at the men in front of him and at DeLucia and then he moved back to the chart table and swiftly marked in Mako’s position at the time of diving. That done, he moved back to the bow and stern planes.

“Sir,” Dick Smalley on the bow planes half turned toward Grilley. “Sir, what depth do you want?” Grilley suddenly realized that no order had been passed down for a depth. He looked at the depth gauge in front of Smalley. The long black needle was passing 200 feet.

“Ease to a five-degree down bubble,” he ordered and went up the Conning Tower ladder until his head and shoulders were in the Conning Tower, bracing himself on the ladder against Mako’s diving angle. He saw Nate Cohen standing at the periscope, running the long tube downward. Cohen turned to face him and Grilley saw that Cohen’s normally dark face was ashen.

“Where’s the Skipper?” Grilley asked.

“No one got off the bridge before we dove!” Cohen said, his voice almost a whisper. “Someone up there started shooting at us. It sounded like they got a lot of hits on the bridge. I heard someone yell and then the diving alarm went off and the hatch was closed from topside. When we went under, when the bridge went under water, the hatch started to leak. Chief Maxwell went up the ladder and found that the hatch was only caught by its latch, it wasn’t dogged down. When he tried to turn the hand wheel I had to hold him on the ladder so he could use both hands. That’s why I was late in getting the periscope down.”

“I think someone was laying on top of the hatch, sir, on top of the hand wheel on the other side of the hatch.” Maxwell said. “At least that’s what it felt like, sir.”

“Sir,” Mike DeLucia’s voice from the Control Room was insistent. “Sir, we’re passing three hundred feet with a five-degree down angle and going all ahead full!”

“Level off at four hundred feet, all ahead one third,” Grilley called down to DeLucia. He looked at Cohen.

“Did you hear the Skipper give the order to clear the bridge, Nate?”

“No, sir,” Cohen said. “We heard a lookout yell that he saw a tin can, a destroyer, and then the gunfire started. We were awful close to that one small ship on the starboard side. I had the ‘scope turned in that direction and I could see a big destroyer beyond the small ship right next to us. The next thing that happened was the diving alarm went off and there was an awful lot of gunfire and then the hatch closed. And then the other…” his voice trailed off.

“What other?” Grilley asked.

“When I was holding the Chief so he could dog down the hatch Pete Simms yelled into the bridge transmitter.”

“What did he say?” Grilley’s voice was patient.

“He was saying ‘No! No! No!’ ” Cohen whispered. “Just that, over and over!” He looked at Grilley.

“I think you’re the senior officer aboard, sir,” Cohen said softly. “You’re the Captain!”

“Come on down in the Control Room, Nate,” Grilley said. He waited beside the plotting table until Cohen joined him.

“I’d like to go back up and see if we can pick up our people,” Grilley said. He looked at the plot.

“There’s a destroyer up there, Captain,” Cohen said. “I saw the destroyer. Big ship. I don’t imagine we’d have much of a chance if we stick our head out up there.” He hesitated, eyeing Grilley.

“You’re the Number Two man in the Wardroom after me,” Grilley said softly. “I value your thoughts, Nate.” He picked up the phone and dialed the selector switch so he could speak to all compartments.

“Now hear this,” he said calmly. “This is Lieutenant Grilley speaking.

“We were attacked by heavy gunfire while we were on the surface, a few moments ago. Captain Hinman sounded the diving alarm and we believe he closed the hatch in the bridge. We don’t know because none of the people topside got down below.” He waited, listening to the dead silence in the ship.

“I’d like to tell you that we’re going to go back up there and get our people back,” he said slowly. “But I cannot. There is a big destroyer up there, it was seen by a lookout and Lieutenant Cohen also saw it through the search periscope. We believe the destroyer was the ship that opened fire on us. If we went up there now, it might… it probably would… mean the end of the Mako and the death of all hands!

“We don’t know if the gunfire hit any of our people or not. I have to assume that some people were hit. Mr. Cohen heard some yelling that indicated someone was hit. All our people topside have on Mae West life jackets and as soon as we can shake this destroyer, or as soon as we can get into a position where we can attack it and sink it we’ll go up and start searching for our people.

“Until we have further information, as senior officer aboard I am assuming the duties of the Commanding Officer. Mr. Cohen, as the second senior officer, will act as the Executive Officer.” He paused and lifted his thumb from the transmit button and turned to Nate Cohen.

“Did you get the message off to Eelfish that we had sighted this convoy?”

“Yes, Captain. We got an acknowledgment that he had the message and that he was coming at top speed to join the attack.” Grilley nodded and pressed the transmit button again.

“Mr. Cohen has just told me that Captain Hinman’s message to Eelfish that we had a convoy in sight was received and that Mike Brannon, the captain of Eelfish answered that he was coming at top speed to help in the attack. So let’s all do our duty and if Eelfish gets here within the hour, as it should, we can have some revenge!”

Cohen stood with his head bowed for a moment and then he looked at Grilley.

“Do you want me on the sonar gear, Captain, or do you want to put Aaron on the gear?”

“I’d rather have your ears, Nate, if you don’t mind,” Grilley said. Cohen nodded and climbed the ladder into the Conning Tower.

“Four hundred feet, Captain,” Chief DeLucia said. His calm brown eyes looked at Grilley.

“Do you want me to go through the ship, sir, talk to the people?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Chief. I appreciate the offer.” He turned his face toward the Conning Tower hatch.

“Mr. Cohen, give me all the bearings you can get, please.” He stood at the plotting chart, marking in the bearings that Cohen fed down to him.

“That single-screw stuff, the slow ships we shot at, are breaking off in all directions, sir.” Cohen said. “Here’s what I’ve got.” He rattled off a half-dozen bearings.

“There’s a solid twin-screw bearing that I think is the destroyer the lookout sighted and I saw,” Cohen said. “It now bears two seven five and I’ve picked up one other twin-screw beat. It’s up ahead of us and it bears three five zero, sir. I think that we have two destroyers — repeat two destroyers up there!”

Grilley marked in the bearings on the plot, chewing his lip reflectively. Apparently the Japs had sent the convoy down the coast of Samar with the escort vessels trailing, hiding astern of the small convoy, inviting an attack.

“The twin-screw ship bearing three five zero is picking up speed, sir!”

A metallic ping rang through Mako’s hull and then a series of pings hit Mako’s hull.

“Ship bearing two seven five is pinging on us, Captain!” Cohen’s voice was calm.

Lieut. Don Grilley stood at the chart table, staring down at the plot he had drawn. This is where Captain Mealey had stood when the Japanese destroyers attacked Mako at Truk. This is what they meant when they taught you in Officer’s Candidate School that command is the loneliest job in the world. It was up to him to make the decisions that would result in Mako’s outwitting and escaping the enemy or being overcome. There was no one to turn to for advice. The ship, the lives of almost seventy men, rested on his shoulders.

He looked at his wrist watch. It would be at least forty to forty-five minutes before Eelfish could reach their area. Cohen’s voice came down through the hatch.

“The two ships out ahead of us are beginning to increase speed, Captain. I think this is an attack run!”

“Rig ship for depth charge attack,” Don Grilley said to Chief DeLucia.

Mako waited.