Silent Sea

CHAPTER 14

Captain Mealey bent over the chart on the Wardroom table. Mike Brannon and John Olsen sat across the table from him. Mealey’s long forefinger traced a line out of Manila Harbor.

“If I were commanding that task force I’d take them out of Manila Harbor, come inside of Lubang Island, and then go through this passage between Luzon and Mindoro, across the Sibuyan Sea to Ragay Gulf, down to San Bernardino Strait and out to the Pacific. From there down the east coast of Mindanao Island to Davao Gulf and to Davao. The Japs have a big base at Davao. That’s the most practical route.” He looked at Brannon and Olsen.

“Anything else means more sea miles, more time. Do you gentlemen agree?”

“There is an alternative,” Olsen said quietly. “They could go outside of Lubang Island, to the west, and then go down the west coast of Mindoro Island and east to San Bernardino Strait.”

“Too far,” Mealey said flatly. “Too far. No. I’ll gamble they’re going to take the shortest route. The Ultra people said the Japanese message they intercepted which formed this task force carried a ‘most urgent’ on it. They’re in a hurry. They’ll take the shortest route.” He rubbed his nose with the bowl of his pipe.

“Our problem is where do we choose to meet them, where do we attack? I want deep water if I can get it. I want sea room if I can get it. But if I can’t have both or one we’ll attack anyway.”

Mike Brannon touched a small space on the chart between the northern tip of Mindoro Island and the southern tip of Luzon. “That’s a pretty narrow strait there, isn’t it, sir?” Mealey measured with the dividers.

“Two miles, little less. Would you attack there?”

“No, sir,” Brannon replied. “But I was thinking. You’ve got a mix of ship captains in this task force, some Merchant Marine and some Japanese Navy captains. I think that when they come to go through that strait, it’s so narrow, they’ll string their task force out like a bunch of elephants in a circus parade, one ship following another. That would give them maximum sea room for navigational or maneuvering errors. I wouldn’t attack there. We wouldn’t have much room for maneuvering ourselves. I’d hit them a little east of the narrow gut, just after they go through it.”

“I agree,” Mealey said. “We can wait until they re-form their convoy so we’ll know what we’ve got to shoot at, where they position the carrier.” He touched the chart with the sharp points of the dividers.

“If we station Sea Chub here and Hatchet Fish here, to the east of our position, one of them a little north of the convoy course the other a little south, they’ll be in position to pick up anyone who tries to run away from our attack. I can’t see any of those Japanese ship captains risking a reversal of course and a return through that narrow gut.” He looked at the Ultra message, picked up a pencil, and did some rapid figuring.

“If the Ultra people are accurate about the time they are to get under way, if we allow a couple of hours for them to form up in a convoy leaving Manila Bay, if they follow the course I think they will follow, they should he clear of that narrow gut about forty-one hours from now.” He looked at the clock on the bulkhead.

“It’s zero seven hundred, Tuesday,” he said. “I figure they should be in a position where we can best attack about midnight tomorrow night. We’ll have a quarter moon at about that time. It will help us see but it won’t help them see us. A submariner’s moon.”

“How about target priorities, sir?” Brannon asked.

“Difficult,” Mealey said. He stuffed his pipe with tobacco and then laid it in an ashtray.

“An invasion force, any invasion force, must control the sea and the air. If it does not, its landing craft, its support vessels are all sitting ducks. So I’d say the aircraft carrier is the number one priority. But the two troop transports are also high on the list. The more Japanese troops there are to oppose the landings the more costly the invasion becomes.

“The tankers are important. They’ll be carrying fuel for aircraft and for the tanks and other vehicles already there. I presume the freighters will be loaded with ammunition and stores, and they’re important.” He picked up his pipe and lit it, his eyes looking at Mike Brannon through a cloud of pungent smoke.

“Our problem is that we have too many high-priority targets and only three submarines. I confess that if that heavy cruiser comes across our bow I would set up and shoot at it just because it’s a cruiser!” He picked up a pencil and pulled the chart in front of him.

“One thing we can be sure of: Admiral Christie will be sending every submarine he’s got within steaming range of Davao Gulf in that direction. The concept of a wolf pack is going to be tested, damned hard, too! We’re the first fist to hit at this convoy, and we’ve got to smash them, sink every damned ship we can. I don’t want to give the submarines that Christie sends to Davao Gulf anything more than one or two crumbs.” He made three small marks on the chart.

“John, these two marks to the east are where I want Sea Chub and Hatchet Fish to take station. Sea Chub will take the northernmost station of the two. This other mark, to the west, is Eelfish.

“I want you to determine exact latitude and longitude for those positions and have that information encoded before we surface tonight. Captain Brannon, I want you to draw up our plan of attack as we have talked about it here and have it encoded. We’ll send that message tonight when we surface

“If Mr. Olsen is right and the task force goes down the west side of Mindoro, we’ll be close enough to take up the chase. Include that possibility in your message. If that is what happens we will then dispatch Sea Chub and Hatchet Fish south to ambush the task force when it turns east to run for San Bernardino Strait.

“I don’t expect that to happen, but I want it included in the message as a contingency. Emphasize that the carrier is the number one priority. Then the troop transports, the oil tankers, the freighters, in that order.

“The code word we will broadcast to let Sea Chub and Hatchet Fish know that we have started the attack will be …” He paused and thought a long moment.

“How does ‘Mealey is mauling’ sound to you?”

“Succinct, sir,” Olsen said with a wide grin. “I can just hear some Jap radio officer telling his skipper that ‘Meary is mauring.’ It isn’t going to be easy for them.”

Mealey’s smile came and went. He pushed the chart toward Olsen and turned to Brannon.

“I’d suggest, Captain, that we take a tour through the ship, let the crew know what we’re planning. I have learned that when a ship’s company is taken into the Wardroom’s confidence, morale is increased and we are likely to get a better standard of performance.”

Steve Petreshock had finished topping off the charge in the air flask of a reload torpedo and was struggling to coil the copper charging line when Captain Mealey and Mike Brannon came into the torpedo room.

“Have to anneal this bastard again,” Petreshock said to Jim Rice. “The fucking thing is getting as stiff as a damned board.” He sensed the presence of someone else in his torpedo room and turned and saw the two officers.

“Sorry, sir,” he said.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Mealey said. “I know how troublesome a stiff copper charging line can be. You’re Petreshock?” The torpedoman nodded, and Brannon saw the muscles in his shoulders bunch slightly.

“The man over there behind all that beard is Jim Rice, Captain,” Brannon said. Rice nodded, his eyes on Mealey.

“I’d like to talk to both of you,” Mealey said. Jim Rice moved over next to Petreshock.

“We’ve been diverted from the patrol area Captain Brannon announced when we left Exmouth Gulf,” Captain Mealey said. “A Japanese task force consisting of an aircraft carrier, a heavy cruiser, two oil tankers, two troop transports, some freighters, and a number of destroyers is under way going south.

“We intend to intercept them tomorrow, about midnight. We will attack on the surface.” He heard the stir in the bunks as men who had stood the night watches, eaten breakfast, and then turned in leaned over the bunk rails to listen.

“Eelfish will have the first crack at the task force,” Mealey continued. “We face a problem. We will be attacking at night on the surface. There will be numerous targets. I will require that reloading of fired torpedo tubes begin as soon as those tubes are fired. A faster reload than you have ever attempted, I believe.” He paused a moment and turned his head as he caught a murmured “Dear Jesus!” from one of the bunks.

“When I had the Mako at Truk we had a torpedoman in the Forward Room who was named Ginty,” Mealey said. “Did either of you know him?”

“I knew Ginty when I was on the Asiatic Station,” Petreshock said. “Before the war, sir. Big brute of a man. A real good torpedoman.”

Mealey nodded. “He was all of that and more. When I started shooting from the Forward Room, Ginty started the reload. What I want to know is can you do that?”

“Captain, sir,” Petreshock said. “I’ve drilled my people who work in this room and the reload crew harder and longer than any other torpedo room in the whole fleet except for our own After Room.” Mike Brannon saw that Petreshock had assumed an almost belligerent stance, his legs braced, his head thrust forward, fists knotted at his sides.

“Soon as you or Captain Brannon start shooting, sir,” Petreshock said in a flat, hard voice, “soon’s you start shooting we’ll start a reload. Don’t worry about a fish gettin’ away if you have to dive sudden. We know our jobs, sir.” The last word came out bitten off, sharp.

“Very well,” Captain Mealey said. “I did not mean to imply you don’t know your job. I wanted you to be perfectly clear on the problems the Bridge will face in this action. We will have lots of targets. Some of those targets are more important than others, the carrier for example. We won’t have time to pick and choose so we’re going after the most important target of the lot and then just keep shooting until we have no more torpedoes. Once we’re in the middle of that task force I won’t be able to wait until someone untangles a block and tackle.”

“I understand, sir,” Petreshock said. “We’ll give you two reloads on Tubes One, Two, Three, and Four. No sense in trying to reload Five and Six if you’re in a hurry because we have to take up the deck plates to get at those reload torpedoes. That gives you fourteen fish up here and all you or Captain Brannon’s got to do is tell us when. Ginty was one hell of a man, but he wasn’t any better than my people.”

Captain Mealey and Brannon worked their way aft, stopping in each compartment to explain the attack they were going to make. The crew accepted the news with almost a total lack of concern. There were a few guarded attempts at wisecracks, which Mealey pretended not to hear. When they were back in the Wardroom Mealey looked at Brannon.

“I like the mood of the crew, Mike. They’re confident. That’s a good sign. They’ll perform. But I touched a nerve in that man Petreshock, up forward.”

“You did, sir,” Brannon said. “I served with Ginty when I was in Mako. He put the ship in commission, as I did. Petreshock isn’t as large as Ginty was, few men are, but he’s every bit as good a torpedoman as Ginty was. Steve is a fussbudget, a perfectionist. So is Fred Nelson, back aft.”

“One other thing,” Mealey said. “When I went in on the battleship at Truk I sent the Chief of the Boat to the Forward Room and the Torpedo Officer to the After Room to supervise the reloads. What do you think of that idea?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Brannon said. “But I’m short one officer as you know. The Chief of the Boat is the Assistant Diving Officer and in charge of the Control Room during General Quarters. Mr. Lee, the Gunnery Officer, is the number two man on the plot under John Olsen. He takes over the plot if I use John Olsen on the bridge.”

“Understood,” Mealey said. “Forget it.” He thanked Pete Mahaffey for the fresh cups of coffee, reached for the chart on the table, and unfolded it. Olsen had drawn the projected course of the task force as Mealey had said he thought it would be. He had also drawn in the alternate course, down Mindoro Island’s west coast.

“Your Executive Officer is a careful man,” Mealey said as he studied the chart. “I think they’ll come to us.”

Eelfish surfaced an hour after dark and circled slowly south of Lubang Island, waiting for Hatchet Fish and Sea Chub to join up. An hour later all three submarines were close together. The coded message was sent informing each of the other Commanding Officers of the battle plan and their positions. Captain Mealey stood on the cigaret deck as the other two submarines disappeared in the dark, heading east.

“Now all we have to do is wait until they think about the message and see if they have any objections,” Mealey said.

“I don’t see why there would be,” Brannon said, picking his words carefully. “It’s a very large task force. There’s enough to go around for everyone.”

“They’ll have to exercise initiative,” Mealey snapped. He turned and moved closer to Brannon, so closely that he was standing shoulder to shoulder with him. When he spoke his voice was so low that only Brannon could hear him.

“Tell me, sir,” Mealey said. “Do you ever feel fear?”

The sudden question, the intensity in the low-pitched voice, caught Mike Brannon off guard. He hesitated a moment and then said, in a very low voice, “Yes, sir, I do. Every time we go to General Quarters. I used to worry about that. I still do, even though once Captain Hinman told me that he felt the same way. He said that before a wrestling match — he was a champion middleweight wrestler at the Academy — before a wrestling match he would be so afraid he’d throw up. I guess fear is normal.”

“It is normal,” Mealey said. “Admitting you are afraid is a bit abnormal. The man who does not fear takes unnecessary risks. The man who is afraid to admit his fear often takes even worse risks, just to prove he is not afraid. Both of those types get themselves killed.

“There are no heroes, you know, not in this day and age. It was different in the old days. The mothers of the Spartan warriors told their sons to come back carrying their shields or borne on them, dead.

“All we can hope for today is to have superbly disciplined men who will do what they have to do when they have to do it, regardless of the consequences.

“We have to understand that the people we command are afraid, that they feel fear as we do. That is one of the burdens of being a leader.”

He turned his back on Brannon, went to the other side of the cigaret deck, and began to study the horizon with his night binoculars. Brannon kept his distance, wondering what had moved this strange and distant man to talk about fear. Captain Mealey had been awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor after his attack on the battleship at Truk. Everyone Brannon knew believed he had earned that honor. And yet, without reason or cause, he had spoken about fear. Brannon shrugged. If Captain Mealey was afraid going into action, then that made two of them.

The next night and day passed slowly. In the two torpedo rooms Petreshock and Nelson routined each torpedo, making sure that it would run properly when fired. The reload crews were summoned to go through simulated drills of a fast reload, working in the dim light of battle lanterns to simulate the loss of lights during a depth-charge attack.

Captain Mealey sat with the officers of the Eelfish after dinner, six hours before he estimated that the attack would begin. Mike Brannon, sitting at his right hand, realized that the atmosphere in the small Wardroom had subtly changed. Without a word being spoken, full command had slipped from him to Captain Mealey.

“Here is how we will operate, gentlemen,” Mealey said. “The Battle Station assignments you are familiar with are not altered, with one exception.

“Mr. Olsen will run the plot until just before we go to the attack. Then he will go to the Conning Tower and man the battle periscope. At that time Mr. Lee will take over the plot. Mr. Arbuckle will run the TDC. Mr. Michaels will handle radar and sonar. Mr. Gold will stand by to dive.” He looked at Jerry Gold.

“You will have your work cut out for you, sir. I intend to fire every torpedo we have in the tubes and to begin a reload as soon as we begin firing.

“We will be attacking on the surface. If we have to dive it will be a crash dive. I want a safe trim on this ship.

“Bear in mind, Mr. Gold, that during a hasty reload operation a good torpedoman is not likely to wait until he has blown his fired tube down to the WRT tank and vented off the tube before opening the inner door and beginning the reload. He will, I am sure, stop blowing, vent, and open the inner door while there is still considerable water in the tube. That water will go into the forward bilge, and it will affect your compensation for a good trim. You are going to have to be very sharp, sir.”

“I talked about that with both torpedo rooms, sir,” Gold said, his voice a slow drawl. “I’ve got a fairly good idea of how quick they’re going to be opening those inner doors, about how much water they’re going to take in the rooms.” He tapped a leather-covered notebook in his shirt pocket. “Got nearly every contingency you can think about all worked out here. We’ll make it, sir.” Captain Mealey stared at Jerry Gold for a long moment. Gold grinned back at him and Mealey turned to Lieutenant Perry Arbuckle.

“Captain Brannon and I will be on the bridge. Captain Brannon will have the after TBT. Mr. Olsen will be with you in the Conning Tower. Once we go into action you are going to be literally swamped with bearings from me, from Captain Brannon, from Mr. Olsen, and with bearings and ranges from radar and sonar. There will be a lot of confusion. That can’t be avoided. There will be noise, too. You’ll have to keep a clear head.”

“No sweat, sir,” Arbuckle said. A smile spread across his full lips and crinkled around his dark brown eyes. “As long as the gears in that TDC don’t burn out, sir, we’ll give you solutions just as fast as we can.”

Mealey turned to Jim Michaels. “We are going to use your radar sparingly until we get into action. Then I want you to range on everything you see. Keep feeding the information to the Conning Tower and to me. It is vital that you give only accurate information.”

“Understood, sir,” Michaels said. His serious young face was flushed, and he was shifting slightly in his chair with the excitement he felt.

“Any questions?” Mealey asked.

“One, sir,” Olsen said. “Bridge complement. Who will be on the bridge. We have some trained Battle Surface lookouts, sir.”

“Captain Brannon and I will be alone on the bridge,” Mealey said. He reached over beyond the end of the table and picked up a bulky canvas bag that made a clinking sound. He opened it and took out two metal helmets, the type used by the Marine Corps.

“I took the trouble to find out your hat size, Mike,” he said. “This one is yours. We’ll wear these topside in case the Jap begins throwing shot at us. Mr. Michaels, see to it that the galley has plenty of hot coffee and sandwiches. If we get driven down — there are a number of destroyers in that task force — if we are driven down we may be down for a very long time.” He turned to Brannon. “I’m going to lie down for a while, Mike. Call me in two hours. No sense in not getting some rest before the music starts to play.”

Sitting in the Wardroom after Mealey had gone to his stateroom, Olsen looked at Brannon.

“What did he say? ‘Before the music starts to play’? Some concert!”

“It’s going to be one hell of an operation if he pulls it off,” Brannon said. “No one has ever seen a task force this big. No submarine has ever seen one. That attack we made on that baby convoy in Leyte Gulf, that was peanuts compared to this operation. He’s going to pull a first.”

“He’s done things like this before,” Olsen said. “No one had ever tried to get at a battleship guarded by a dozen destroyers with aircraft overhead. He did it. Did it damned well, too.”

Lying in his bunk Captain Mealey composed himself for sleep. So far everything had gone well, he reflected. Everything except the one mistake he had made. It had been a mistake to talk to Mike Brannon about fear. There was only one person that he should talk to about things like that, his wife. He remembered that after he had brought Mako home from Truk he had told her how scared he had been during the long, long hours of depth charging. She had looked at him with a smile.

“We are all afraid of what we don’t know,” she had said. “And often more afraid of what we think we know.

“When young Arvin was born, when he was due to be born, I was paralyzed with fright. You were gone, on that awful little S-boat. All I could remember, all I could hang on to, was what you had once told me, that a good sailor does what he has to do when he has to do it and that nothing else matters.

“Well, young Arvin didn’t give me any choice. He decided it was time to be born, and when it was over I remembered that I’d been afraid but that once it was over it didn’t matter.”

He wriggled in his bunk, trying to get comfortable, and then, suddenly, he drifted off to sleep, thinking again that it had been a mistake to talk to Brannon about being afraid.