Run Silent, Run Deep

5

The operational readiness inspection by Captain Blunt was the last item prior to our departure for the Pacific Ocean and Pearl Harbor. Ahead of us lay the necessary chores of fueling ship, cramming her with provisions, taking a full load of torpedoes and spares aboard-and saying good-by to families and friends.

We had a week to get ready. Five days before our scheduled departure Jim came to me with a rather unusual request. He wanted three days leave.

I couldn't help showing a little surprise. "What's up, Jim?"

I asked. "This is a pretty busy time."

Jim looked uncomfortable. "I know it, sir, but this is one of those things…." His voice trailed off and an intuitive flash told me that it concerned Laura.

It was true that Walrus had been under a steady grind for the past several weeks. Jim had home the brunt of it and had done an excellent job.

"Jim," I said slowly, "I don't see how we can spare you just now-there is all the work you have been supervising…"

Jim was ready for that one. "I've got everything all set, sir.

Everybody has his instructions and all the officers know their own jobs better than I do anyway. Things can get along pretty well without me for the next few days."

This wasn't quite true because an Executive Officer's work is never done so long as his skipper has things on his mind. But since we were leaving to go to war and would be gone a long time, perhaps we could make a special arrangement for him.

"OK, old man," I agreed, "figure to be back a couple of days before our scheduled departure."

Jim's countenance brightened. "Thanks, skipper." He bounded away almost with his old lightheartedness.

I mentally made a note to take over the supervisory functions of Jim's job during his absence, but found this unnecessary.

They were indeed, as he had said, well organized. My own duties I found to be rather more complicated, however, mainly because of a series of briefing and study sessions which apparently all departing skippers had to undergo. The most impressive of these to me was the one given two days before we were to leave, in which the full extent of the damage at Pearl Harbor on December seventh was made known. The briefing was specified as 'Secret' and Captain Blunt warned me about it before taking me in to see the Admiral command- ing the Atlantic submarine force.

"ComSubLant" was standing in a room fitted with a long table and several chairs, obviously used mainly for conferences.

On the table was a stack of papers and charts. His name was Smathers and he had been a submariner of repute years before.

"Richardson," said Admiral Smathers, greeting me, "I sup- pose you've heard most of the details of the Jap attack at Pearl Harbor?"

"I've heard a lot of stories about it."

"Well, that's the reason we've called you up here. We want you to know exactly the situation, not only in Pearl Harbor but also in the Philippines and in Malaya. This first pamphlet," he picked up a-loose-leaf bound portfolio of photographs-is a set of pictures taken immediately after the Pearl Harbor attack. And here," he picked up another pamphlet, "is a list of our forces in the Pacific and their general location. The rest of this will also be of interest. When you get through you will see why we've had to accelerate submarine construction so drastically-and why every boat we can fit out is going to the Pacific right away. Also you will appreciate why it has been imperative to keep word of the true conditions out there from getting back home or to the enemy. Come to my office if you have any questions." With that the Admiral shook hands again, strode to the door, and departed. Captain Blunt went with him.

I spent three hours alone going through the papers with growing consternation. We all knew things were tough in the Pacific, but I had not known they were this bad. Fighting a naval war in both oceans at the same time automatically reduced our available forces to shoestring size when it came to operations, and the losses we had suffered right at the outset made the situation look downright desperate.

The Admiral was wrong in one thing. There was another mimeographed pamphlet which was to me of even greater interest than the ones he had singled out. It listed our sub- marine forces to date and the losses we had sustained. I found the Octopus listed there, the Sea Lion at Cavite, the Shark, overdue in the Philippines, and the S-26, rammed and sunk by her own escorts off Panama. There were also two other losses I had not known about as yet, S-36, which had run aground in the Malay Archipelago, and Perch, overdue from patrol since March. In the section devoted to Dutch submarines the casualties were even higher.

When I had finished reading every word and looking at every chart and every photograph, I silently reassembled all the papers, said good-by to the Admiral's aide, and thought- fully made my way back to the Walrus.

She was lying at the berth in which all boats about to leave for the war zone were placed-the pier directly in front of the Submarine Base Commander's office, and she had it all to her- self. On either side of her, nested two to a pier, were other fleet boats, looking as much alike as so many peas in a pod, the only difference between them being that those built in the Navy Yard at Portsmouth, New Hampshire, had a slightly more angular silhouette than the Electric Boat Company version.

Electric Boat's schedule, I understood, called for twenty- eight to be delivered by the end of the year. Portsmouth was building almost as many, and, out in California, Mare Island Navy Yard also had a greatly increased quota. Alongside these sleek, streamlined monsters the older boats occupying the other docks looked like antiquated toys. Somehow, there was a studied deadliness about the smooth black shapes of these new ocean cruisers. They were built for war and they looked it. All other considerations had been subordinated to the requirements of war under the sea.

The bridge, set well forward of amidships because of the space taken by the two engine rooms and the four great engines in the after part, was slightly swept back and smoothly rounded, with glassed portholes in its forward covered section.

In its center rose the towerlike periscope support structure built of heavy steel framing and plated over for a sleek appearance. In its after part was the "cigarette deck," deriving its name from the now-outmoded requirement that men come topside if they wanted a smoke.

Directly beneath the bridge was the horizontal cylinder, eight feet in diameter and about fifteen feet long, which constituted the conning tower. When the ship was under way, access below decks could only be obtained by going from the bridge through the heavy bronze hatch and dawn a ladder in- to the conning tower, then climbing through another hatch and down another ladder into the control room.

On the main deck abaft the bridge Walrus and all her sisters carried a three-inch antiaircraft gun with waterproofed mechanisms, designed for rapid fire. Gun action, which required an ammunition supply from below, constituted one of the few occasions when a main deck hatch would be opened while under way. Otherwise, the only hatch ever opened, the only one needing to be closed for a quick dive, was the bridge hatch.

The boats on either side of Walrus bore numbers on their conning towers, and salt-streaked sides showed signs of their rugged training regimes. Our numbers had already been painted out along with the new paint job we had received, and the somber black exterior of the ship was now unrelieved by markings of any kind.

A provisions truck was leaving the dock as I walked up. The pile of crated and canned foodstuffs it had left was already melting away under the attentions of the working party Kohler had detailed to help Russo get the food stored below.

A feeling of tension ran through the ship. I could sense it; perhaps it must always be thus when ships and men go to war. It is the realization of what is faced, the risks one is going to run, and it is the gnawing thought, felt in the pit of your stomach, that maybe this is it, maybe this is the last time you will see this particular place again.

The other boats in various stages of incomplete readiness at the other docks, or those in from training periods under way, would not have quite the same atmosphere. But I had in- variably sensed when a ship was going to war and I sensed it now from Walrus as she lay there quietly moored to the dock. Her silent bulk seemed about to tremble at some secret fear, and as I stepped over the brow and returned the salute of the gangway watch I was struck by a sudden thought: "This ship will not survive the war."

Jim got back the next morning. We were at breakfast in the wardroom when he came, aboard and sat down to join us. He had, some sort of news, I could tell, and Keith broke the ice for him. Keith had an amusing name for each of us.

It was he who had dubbed Tom Schultz 'Father' or 'Dad.'

Jim, he occasionally called "Cobber"-probably because of a secret yearning Jim had once expressed to go to Australia.

So far as I could discern I had yet to be honored by his attention in this regard. But, of course, a skipper could never be sure.

"Father, Oh, Father," said Keith in mock plea to Tom, "Cobber's home with us at last and going to help us with the war after all. Dost thee think thou couldst make our gallant Executive tell us where he's been? Keith pronounced the last word as though it were spelled b-e-a-n.

Jim chuckled. "Hold, it, Sonny boy. If you'll give me a. chance, I'll tell you where I've bean." He drew a deep breath.

"Two days ago Laura and I were married. She came back with me to New London and is at the Mohican Hotel right now."

We all stared at him.

I could not begin to explain the peculiar sensation the news evoked in me. Certainly I had no right to be interested in Laura for myself. There was just that odd yearning for an indefinable something that never could have been that she, or the mention of her, always brought out. I forced a congratulatory smile.

"That's grand, Jim. We all hope you'll both be Very happy but what a shame you have so little time together!"

Jim smiled ruefully. "Thanks," he said, "but it can't be helped. We might have had more time if certain things had worked out better, but we'll make out. Well even send all of you an announcement, after the war's over."

The deep-seated resentment was still there all right.

Two days later was Memorial Day, the day we were scheduled to leave New London en route to the Panama Canal.

We were to get under way at 14 30, 2:30 P m. and the morning was filled with last-minute preparations which belied the status of that day as a holiday. We started cleaning up the ship at ten-thirty and at eleven-thirty piped down dinner for the crew. At one-thirty we would have open gangway for relatives and friends of our ship's, company. Certain critical pieces of equipment had been covered over with paper or canvas so that our visitors could be permitted to go below in order actually to see and feel the places where their sons and husbands would be fighting the enemy.

At noon we had lunch in the wardroom. Tom brought his wife Cynthia; Dave Freeman his mother, a large matriarchal- looking woman who had journeyed up from Washington to see him off; and Jim, of course, was with Laura. It was a bit crowded with three extra people in the tiny eight-by-six- foot room, and the conversation ran in uneasy fits, with long lapses of silence.

Cynthia Schultz was a sweet-faced, pleasant woman about Tom's age. In their life together, no doubt, they had had many separations for various lengths of time, but this was a special one and no one knew how long it would last or what the outcome would be. She sat very close to him during the whole meal and hardly touched her food.

Mrs. Freeman, on the other hand, chatted gaily as though there was nothing whatsoever on her mind, or as if her son were not on the verge of entering the shooting war.

Laura, sitting next to Jim on my right, was quiet, like Cynthia, and also ate very little. I could not help noticing the plain gold band on her finger, unaccompanied by any- thing resembling an engagement ring. She fingered it nervously with her thumb, until she noticed me watching.

The three women brought home to me for the first time what war must mean to the thousands and millions of mothers, wives, and fiancees left behind. As we were waiting for dessert, even Mrs. Freeman fell silent, and I noticed her fumbling for Dave's hand under the table.

Then lunch was over and it was time to make preparations for getting under way. I had not had an opportunity to speak to Laura except to extend the usual wishes for future happiness. Keith, Hugh, and I went topside to set things in motion, while Tom, Jim, and Dave took the opportunity to show their guests through the ship. A small crowd had gathered on the dock and I noticed many of our men there also bidding their last good-byes. Some of the women were unashamedly sobbing, and there were many long embraces. A hard lump rose in my throat as I watched.

At 2:00 P.M., Hugh Adams, who had the duty, directed that all guests please leave the ship. A few minutes later the last few had struggled up from below and crossed the gang- way to the dock. Last were Mrs. Freeman, Laura, and Cynthia Schultz. We stood at the head of the gangway for a few moments speaking our formal good-byes.

Mrs. Freeman reached out a gloved hand. "Captain," she said, "take good care of your ship, and bring my boy back safe." Her eyes gave her away. Though there was not the suspicion of a tremor in her voice, the grip she gave me carried much more than a casual feeling with it.

Cynthia Schultz now pressed my hand in her turn, kissed Tom tenderly, murmured something I could not hear, and was gone.

Laura was last. The perfunctory pressure of her hand and the deep misery in her eyes spoke volumes of feeling I would never be able to appreciate. How she must hate me! She turned to Jim, hid her face against him for a moment. He clasped her tightly to him, kissed her longingly. Her lips moved against his as she raised her face and leaned against him. The lump in my throat tightened till it hurt. I swallowed several times, finally turned away, struggling to retain my composure.

I had never wanted anything belonging to anyone else until that moment.

"Hugh," I said to Adams, "have the crew fall in at quarters."

After muster on deck abaft the bridge, I delivered a short speech to the effect that once we had left New London be- hind us we would be on our own. The sea was populate with enemy submarines who would like nothing better than a U. S. submarine's scalp to hang on their belts. We had a long trip ahead of us, I told them, and constant alertness would be our only assurance of safety. I finished my speech simply with the words "Leave your quarters. Man your stations for getting under way," and walked forward.

Just forward of the bridge, waiting for me to finish, stood Admiral Smathers and Captain Blunt. On the dock near the gangway were the skippers o If the two boats next in line be- hind Walrus, soon to leave for the Pacific themselves, and Stocker Kane and his wife, Harriet, unwillingly known as "Hurry," a pretty, sandy-haired girl, almost as tall as he, which didn't, after all, make her very tall. Behind them a throng of relatives and well-wishers stood watching, waiting for us to get under way.

Admiral Smathers gripped my hand. "Good luck, Richardson, have a good trip. Watch out for German submarines."

My old commanding officer gave me a firm clasp. "Good hunting, Rich, I'll be seeing you out there soon, I hope."

The other two skippers reached across the gangway, shook hands, murmured their best, wishes. Stocker stood on the dock with "Hurry." He slipped his, arm around her, waist, hugged her to him.

"Congratulations, old-timer! I wish I could be going with you, but I'll be only a few weeks behind."

I hadn't heard about this, and looked at him with a question in my eyes.

He went on to explain. "I got my orders day before yester- day to the Nerka at Mare Island. I'm flying there tomorrow.

It will take you so long to go through the canal that I might be in Pearl Harbor nearly its soon as you."

Stocker's wife hugged his arm to her. "Isn't that wonderful, Rich?" she said. "I'll be leaving too in just a few days. Ever since you got the Walrus, Stocker's been just itching for his chance."

Deep in her eyes a shadow belied her cheery voice. Two people this much in love shouldn't have to face war, I thought.

But of course it was no different for them than it was for everyone in Walrus' crew, except that our time was at hand.

A main engine roared into life, throwing a cloud of water and smoke out of the exhaust port and under the dock opposite. Two or three people standing nearby hastily backed clear of the spray. Then an engine on the other side thundered Its defiance.

I saluted gravely as Smathers and Blunt stepped over the gangway. As I did so two more engines simultaneously bellowed their sixteen-cylinder starting song.

Hugh was now up on the bridge. "Single up," he shouted.

Our four lines were swiftly reduced from three strands to one each as the bights were taken aboard. The skippers of the other two boats stepped up on the gangway, briefly reached out to shake hands with me. "Good hunting, Rich, good luck." They drew back.

"Take in the gangway!" shouted Hugh.

Stocker and the two other skippers, disdaining to wait for the regular dock crew, grasped the gangway themselves and dragged it away from the ship.

I turned and mounted to the bridge.

"The ship is ready to get under way, Captain," said Hugh.

"Very well," acknowledging his salute. "Take her out on time." It was then within a minute of 2:30 P.M. As Hugh waited, I spoke quietly to Jim.

"Have you had the ship searched for stowaways?"

"Nobody I know would be wanting to make this trip with us, Captain. Anyway, I had Kohler go through the ship. We have no unauthorized people aboard, sir."

I nodded. It was hardly conceivable that anyone would, want to stow away, but it had happened to a Mare Island boat several weeks ago.

"Take in Two and Three!" Hugh was shouting to the men forward and aft of the bridge. "Stand by to answer bells," he said to the conning tower. A moment later, "Take in Four!"

Number Four line came snaking in. "Starboard back two thirds! Left full rudder!"

We slowly began to gather sternway. Hugh stood on the side of the bridge looking carefully at the dock and our motion alongside of it and at the Number One line taut to the cleat at its head.

"Slack One," Hugh said to Quin, standing with the ubiquitous telephone headset under the overhang of the bridge.

Quin spoke into the mouthpiece. Number One line sagged.

"Take in One," said Hugh. Quin spoke again. Number One line came aboard.

Adams reached for a toggle handle nearby, tugged on it A piercing foghorn blast roared out from beneath the bridge.

He held the toggle for several seconds then released it; the foghorn stopped abruptly.

A shrill whistle. Rubinoffski standing in the after part of the cigarette deck had a policeman's whistle clenched in his teeth. The colors, which had been flying from the flagstaff on our stern, were taken down by one of our men who had been standing there waiting for the signal. Likewise, up forward the Union Jack was taken down and furled.

Simultaneously, Rubinoffski reached down beside him, grasped a short flagstaff with a flag rolled around it, jammed, it into a socket at the end of the cigarette deck bulwark, unrolled it to the breeze.

Walrus backed nicely out into the Thames River, twisted to align herself with the channel, and started downstream. We were on our way to war at last; down the familiar, often traveled river; through the railroad bridge and the highway bridge which, side by side, had to open simultaneously for us; past the Electric Boat Company where Walrus had been con- ceived and born, and where the hulls of her sisters were taking shape; past the baroque old Griswold Hotel with its green-stained shutters and Victorian facade; past Southwest Ledge and New London Light; through the Race-that narrow channel between the eastern and western parts of Long Island Sound; past Cerebus Shoal buoy. Finally, late in the afternoon, with Montauk Point abeam to starboard, we set our course due south.

The manner in which we would make the southward passage from New London had been a matter of considerable thought and discussion. For the sake of a fast passage we would run all the way on the surface, except for occasional short dives for drills and once a day to check our computed trim. The big worry was the Possibility of encountering a German submarine on patrol off our East Coast. We were a new ship, in transit, more vulnerable than any surface vessel.

A submarine has so little buoyancy reserve on the surface- none at all submerged, of course-that it can never hope to survive a torpedo hit. But the main thing was that we were new, untried, and inexperienced; true, we had trained faith- fully, but any German we might meet would have the inestimable advantage of weeks of constant alertness off a hostile shore, perhaps the knowledge that he had already been tried in the crucible of war, certainly the superior position of being at leisure on a station through which we would have to pass hurriedly.

For maximum concealment at night the ship was kept completely blacked out topside. Our running lights had not only been turned out but entirely disconnected, their glass lenses removed. The exterior of the ship was a dull black all over, including the once-bright brass capstans and other stray bits of shiny metal which, by the slightest reflection from moon or stars, might betray us. The only light permitted top- side was a tiny red one in the gyro compass repeater for the Officer of the Deck, and the dim glow, also red, which came out of the open hatch at his feet.

Our topside watch consisted of four lookouts, one assigned to each of four sectors around the ship; the Quartermaster of the Watch, who normally stood on the after part of the bridge; and, of course, the Officer of the Deck. An six bridge watchers were equipped with binoculars. Instructions to all six were to use them constantly and to maintain the utmost vigilance for low-lying, dark hulls and suspicious streaks in the water which might be made by torpedoes. Of course we zigzagged, and, knowing that the best defense of a lone ship on the high seas is speed, we held our four sixteen- cylinder Winton diesel engines at maximum sustained power.

Only a few hours away from the safety and comfort of New London, everything now seemed entirely unreal. It was hard to believe that we had progressed so quickly from safety into mortal danger.

The first Might out was uneventful, but I could not sleep.

Ceaselessly I roamed the ship from forward torpedo room to after torpedo room, telling people off watch to be sure to get plenty of rest against the time when they would be needed, assuring myself that all was well with those who actually were on watch. Jim, I saw, was doing likewise. Evidently he could not sleep either, and by the time morning came we had succeeded in exhausting ourselves. It was a good thing the German submarine happened not to choose our first night at sea, or the day following, to make his attempt upon us.

Having had access to some of the reports of German — sub- marine exploits m the Atlantic, we were well aware of the danger they presented. They had been built for service in the narrower ocean, had a shorter cruising-range requirement, and were consequently smaller than our boats, lay lower in the water, and were harder to see. The German Type-7 boat, apparently their favorite for the transocean patrols, was hard- ly half the size of Walrus. But it had nearly equal speed and packed an equally lethal wallop, torpedo for torpedo-though, of course, less than half the total war load we could carry.

It was no doubt one of these which attacked us in the early morning of our third night out of New London. We were still running south, zigzagging and making full speed.

Tom Schultz had the watch on the bridge and I had just stepped below for a few minutes. It wag a dark night, without a moon. We were in the Gulf Stream and the weather was clear, still, warm, and muggy, with myriads of stars studding a pitch-black sky. A moderately heavy sea was running from astern and what wind there was also from the north.

The four exhaust plumes, two from either side, appeared to rise almost straight up, and the moist, incenselike odor of diesel fumes pervaded the bridge. The motion of the ship was gentle, a slight pitch and an occasional deep roll as a quartering sea came in.

My nightly peregrinations had taken the form of periodic inspections below decks, with the rest of the time on the bridge ready for whatever action circumstances might bring forth. I had already made two such inspections and had barely reached the control room on my third descent when suddenly that sort of sixth sense which somehow grows within all ship captains twanged a warning note to my brain. Perhaps 'it was that the rudder went to full right and remained there, not easing off shortly as the zigzag plan would normally have required. It might have been the change from 'full' speed to "flank," although it was my later impression that Tom had not yet called for more speed. At any rate, I had leaped to the conning tower and was halfway through it when the collision alarm sounded.

There is nothing more eerie at sea on a black, unfriendly night than to have the collision alarm sound unexpectedly.

Somewhere out in the dark someone is trying to put the finger on you. He has seen you first-may already have killed you, only you don't know it yet. The collision alarm, in a vessel at war, is like a ship screaming in fright.

I don't consciously remember pulling myself up to the bridge, but I was there beside Tom before the alarm had stopped ringing, just before the hatch to the bridge went closed. Below decks the watertight doors were banging shut and everyone below knew this time it was no drill. It was like one fairly drawn-out simultaneous bang. The collision alarm could not have been silent for more than fifteen seconds be- fore a rapid voice on the bridge speaker announced, "Ship rigged for collision!"

Tom pointed off on our port beam. "There he is," he whispered. "He was broad on the bow when I saw him!"

I raised my binoculars still hung around, my neck, looked long and hard in the direction Tom pointed-nothing. Even though the control room had been "redded" out, that is, darkened, with only dim red lights for visibility-I had reduced my night vision by going there, even if for only a second.

"I can't see him, Tom." For no particular reason I also whispered.

"I can all right! Can't see much of him though. We are fine on his bow."

I was subconsciously swinging my binoculars aft, trying to keep in the same line of vision as Walrus turned under us.

"Put our stern right on him, Tom," I said.

"Aye aye, sir!"

I kept trying to see and suddenly there he was, surprisingly near, and surprisingly small. A little gray boat plunging deep in the sea; a square shadowy conning tower rising amidships.

About the size of the S-16, I would have guessed, although it was hard to compare.

"Wonder if he's seen us?" I muttered. "N6 telling that "God!" Tom grasped my arm so hard it hurt. He pointed to, the water alongside and to starboard. Not fifty feet away a white streak suddenly appeared on the surface of the water parallel to our course. Swiftly it came alongside and passed ahead. I leaped to the other side of the bridge, leaped back again.

"Do you see any more?"

Tom did not answer.

I ran to the other side once again, looked once more.

There came a scream from the forward starboard lookout.

"Torpedo wake!" he yelled.

Startled, I looked up, followed his outstretched arm with my eyes. It was the wake Tom and I had just seen.

"Torpedo!" The after starboard lookout was screaming, too, pointing farther aft. I swung around quickly, hoping my night vision was coming back. Nothing there. Merely the waves and wind slicks on the water.

I had been unconscious of the weather, except for its slight oppressiveness. Now suddenly it intruded itself upon my mind. The sea was neither calm nor rough but in that betwixt- and-between condition that is bard on small vessels and, not even an annoyance to large ones. The wind, because of our radical course change, now came from our starboard bow, sweeping across our decks and whistling in our ears. The now rolled slowly and heavily, farther to port than to star- board, and occasional seas swept over our after deck. It was dark-a good night for murder. I looked back at the German submarine. She was still there, closer, if anything.

"What do you think, Tom?" I tried to speak calmly, but my voice must have betrayed the racing beat of my heart "Do you think he is chasing — us?"

Tom might have been about to answer when there came a loud cry from the port after lookout.

"TORPEDO, PORT QUARTER!"

This time there was no doubt. Another torpedo coming up on the other side. Close.

"Right full rudder!" shouted Tom.

"Belay that!" I screamed, right on his heels. The bridge rudder angle indicator wavered, then remained as it was.

"Tom," I said savagely, "nothing doing. That's what he wants us to do. As soon as we are broadside to him," I let that thought finish itself.

"Sorry, skipper," Tom muttered.

Seconds ticked by. Tom spoke again: "Maybe if we manned the gun and opened fire…"

"No. Too risky down there on deck." Then I had an idea, pressed the bridge speaker button. "Control," I called, "load and fire three green flares." Perhaps if the flares went up close alongside the German, or overhead, the glare might blind him to our position or scare him or otherwise dissuade his pursuit.

The torpedo coming up on the port side looked even closer than the first one, but, since we were stern to, it had to run parallel to us.

"Lookouts," I shouted. "The only torpedoes that can hurt us are the ones that come right up the stern. Keep a sharp lookout."

I had not given much thought to how they would be able to distinguish a torpedo wake in the wash of our propellers but perhaps they might, especially from the advantage of their height. Another idea struck me.

Tom, I'm going up on top of the periscope shears. Tell control not to raise either of the periscopes. Listen for me from there."

I climbed swiftly up to the top of the periscope support!

Three successive pops of high-pressure air came from same- where below as I climbed up, and when I reached there Tom called up, "Captain, three green flares away." Swinging my leg over the top of the steel towerlike structure I bestrode the top of the periscope shears like a man backward on horseback just in front of me was the bronze-lined bearing for the after periscope and immediately behind me was the round hole through which the forward periscope would pass.

Should the control room by accident raise either periscope I would find myself in a most uncomfortable position, if not indeed impaled by the blunt end of the instrument. In my exposed perch the wind whistled and tore at my clothes, and I was flung from side to side as the ship pitched and rolled. I grasped the periscope supports with my knees. Back aft four plumes of exhaust smoke spewed forth with a shower of spray, spattering water over our dock and onto the heaving black sea which would periodically rise up to submerge them.

I raised my binoculars. There he was, all right. I could see more of him from my high location. No doubt he was chasing us but we were making full speed, and were, fresh out of dry dock. We should be able to outrun him, although so far there seemed to be little indication that we were doing so.

Less than a mile away, nearer to fifteen hundred yards, the sharp-angled gray shape, low, broad, and sinister, plunged along in our wake throwing a cloud of spray and spume to either side. I could only see his deck in flashes as he plowed along, but the squat, square structure of his conning tower remained visible all the time.

The main thing, of course, was the possibility of more torpedoes and I searched the water between us. Running directly away from the German we presented a very difficult target.

Nevertheless there was always the possibility that a lucky shot might come our way. Two he had already fired, if one discounted the possibility of others we had not seen. He would not be likely to waste more without a better chance of a hit.

Conceivably we could fire one at him, though with no greater chance. It. looked like a stalemate. The German was hanging on, hoping, no doubt, that we might make a false move. If we were to submerge, he could be practically on top of us for an easy shot during the minute it would take us to get under. if we turned either way and presented our broadside, a torpedo would be coming instantly. Time crawled painfully while I clung with one hand and both legs to my precarious perch. The wind seemed laden with salty moisture and my dampened shirt clung around my ribs. My right hand ached from holding up the binoculars and my left one was numb from holding onto the ship. Walrus swayed drunkenly from side to side, reaching me now far over to starboard, now even farther over the water to port.

More time dragged on. Surely; a minute must have passed since Tom gave me the word that the flares had been fired!

It was supposed to take them one minute to function after being ejected, surely they all could not have failed to function, and then I saw it: a brilliant green star burst directly above and in front of the German submarine, lighting up the surrounding water and reflecting the gray sides of the German boat with an almost dead-white color. The flare descended slowly, brilliant beyond all measure. Then there were two of them, and before the first flare has touched the water the third had exploded in the air so that three brilliantly lighted green stars in echelon formation were suspended above the enemy submarine.

I had thought of turning away or diving, or both, when our flares went off, but neither action was necessary. I could, see the enemy boat clearly, every detail etched sharply against the black water, and as I watched she seemed to slow down; then her bow dipped and she was no longer there.

I climbed down to the bridge again, rejoining Tom.

"We'll keep going on this course for at least an hour, I said, "then turn south again. He can't catch us submerged."

Then the reaction set in and I found my hands shaking.