“Aye, Captain, bringing the boat uplayman responded. “Reduce speed to five knots and come right to zero- zero-five degrees” Webb said softly.
II Reducing speed to five knots, coming right to zero-zero-five, aye”
The problem with submarines had always been communications. While they were submerged the only effective means of contacting them was through either the ELF (Extremely Low Frequency) or VLF (Very Low Frequency) systems. The former was based in Wisconsin and could transmit to submarines anywhere in the world, even subs that were as deep as a thousand feet. The problem with the system was its speed. It took fifteen minutes to transmit a single three-letter code group. And communications were only one way. With the VLF system, an updated C-135 aircraft flying at thirty thousand feet over a sub’s patrol station would trail an eight-mile-long wire antenna. But again communications were slow and only one way. The alternatives were communications buoys either sent up by the submarine, or dropped from a passing ship or aircraft, or for the submarine to come to periscope depth and raise her satellite antenna. The latter systems, however, exposed the submarine to detection. Lieutenant jg. Robert Hess, the ELINT (Electronic Intelligence) officer, popped his head around the corner from his cubicle. “Are we going upstairs, Skipper” Webb turned to him. “On our way up, Bob. Have you got something for us”
“Negative. But if we have the time, I’d like to put up the ECM mast. We can use the practice” The Electronic Counter Measures mast, like the boat’s two periscopes, could be raised or lowered. It contained three directional antennae and two omni-directional arrays. Anything transmitting electronic energy within a hundred miles of their position was detectable with the system. “Permission granted. But we’re not going to be long”
“Aye, aye, Skipper” Hess said, ducking back. It took another three minutes to reach periscope depth, where Layman leveled the boat, and the satellite antenna and ECM mast were raised. “We have an uplink”
the radioman reported. “Send our ready-to-receive” Webb ordered. “Aye, Captain” the radioman replied, and he activated the high-speed burst transmitter that sent the Indianapolis’s identification code, position information, and the ready for reception signal in less than a quarter of a second. One second later the complete message was received, and the printer chattered into life.
280301ZJUL TOP SECRET FM: COMSUBMED TO: USS INDIANAPOLIS A. LOOKUP TERMINATED AS OF DAY AND DATE. B. PROCEED COMSUBMED INST. 1733.4 AREA OF PATROL AS ASSIGNED ODRS. C. REPORT AS NECESSARY. xx EOM 280302ZJUL BREAKBREAK
“They could have said thanks, job well done, or something”
Layman said when he read the message. Webb smiled. “What’d you expect, Earl? Two more weeks we’ll be back in port. Not so Tough. Layman had to grin as well. “That’s what we’re out here for”
“Right” Webb said. “Lower the masts and take us down”
“Hold on a second, Skipper” Hess called from his cubicle. Webb turned and stepped around the corner. “Got something”
“I think so” Hess said. He was listening intently to a pair of earphones. “It sounds like … like a mayday, but very faint. Broken up.
Sometimes garbled”
“A long ways om. “No, sir” Hess said, looking up.
“Close” He turned a couple of knobs on his console. “My DF puts him a couple of hundred yards out”
“What else”
“Nothing, sir. Just the very faint SOS. Sounds like his batteries might be just about gone” The Indianapolis was equipped with the BQQ-5 passive/ active sonar suite. There had been no reason for them to go active in the past twenty-four hours. They had missed the target above, apparently because the boat was dead in the water. Back in the attack center Webb picked up the phone. “Sonar, conn”
“Aye, conn”
“We have a target on the surface, fairly close, and probably stationary.
Ping it once for range and bearing, give it five seconds and ping a second time for movement. “Aye, Skipper” A moment later everyone aboard the ship heard the lone pong as the sonar went active. “Range one hundred seventy-five yards. Relative bearing, 175 degrees”
The second pong sounded throughout the ship. “She’s dead in the water, Skipper”
“Search periscope” Webb said. The larger of the two periscopes rose up and broke the surface of the night sea. At first he couldn’t see much, so he dialed in the image intensifier and suddenly he could see the white tops on the waves. A small pleasure boat wallowed in the seas.
She showed no lights or any activity on deck. Webb made a quick 360degree sweep to check for any other ships or aircraft but there was nothing.
“Looks Re a small cabin cruiser” Webb said. “Dark. Nobody in sight” He flipped another switch on the periscope’s control panel and the image of the small boat appeared on a small television screen to the left. “Still getting that SOS, Bob”
“Yes, sir” Hess called out. “But it seems to be getting fainter. Her batteries are going fast now” The Indianapolis’s patrol station and her position at any given moment, like that of any other US. missile or attack submarine, was top secret. By surfacing now they would be giving themselves away. But then they could not simply ignore the code of the sea. Webb picked up the telephone. “Communications, conn. “Aye, conn”
“Get a message off immediately to COMSUBMED. Tell them we’ve detected an apparent SOS from a small private cabin cruiser. We’re surfacing now.
“Aye, Skipper”
“Surface the boat, Earl” Webb said. He punched another button on his phone. “Quartermaster, conn. “Aye, conn”
“We’re coming to the surface, Tony. Looks like we’re receiving an SOS from a small cabin cruiser. She’s showing no lights, no activity on deck. Get together a boarding party. Better bring Davidson with you”
“Aye, Skipper”
“And, Tony”
“Yes, sir”
“Take along your sidearms. “Yes, sir” Lieutenant jg. Tony D’Angelo, the boat’s quartermaster, said, “we’re on our way”
The seas were running only two or three feet so that the Indianapolis, whose main deck was barely on the surface, provided a stable platform. Quartermaster Tony D’Angelo, Medic Chief Petty Officer Robert Davidson, and Petty Officers Charles Markham and Don Gilmore scrambled out of one of the aft maintenance hatches. D’Angelo-a tough, beefy Italian from Brooklyn-raised binoculars to his eyes and searched the sea behind them, almost immediately picking out the cabin cruiser barely one hundred yards away now. She was long and sleek, more like fifty or fifty-five feet, he figured. Probably worth a half a million at least. A definite pussy wagon, like only the Italians knew how to build.
Markham and Gilmore had pulled out the rubber raft and it inflated with a noisy hiss as they tossed it over the side. “All right, lock it up”
D’Angelo said. Markham closed the access hatch and a seaman below dogged and sealed it. “You copy, Tony” D’Angelo’s walkie-talkie crackled. He looked up at the bridge on top of the sail. Webb and Layman were looking down at him. “Aye, aye, Skipper” he radioed back. “Watch yourself”
“Yes, sir” The night was warn, but the sky was overcast and the sea was very dark. The submarine showed no lights, and rowing away from her D’Angelo got the impression he was looking back at some prehistoric sea monster, which except for her lineage, she was. Twenty-five yards away from the cruiser, he was able to pick out her name on the stern. He radioed back to the Indianapolis. “I can see her name now, Skipper. The Zenzero, out of Naples. Means ginger, the spice. “Any damage evident”
“Negative. No sounds of machinery, no lights, nothing. She’s definitely dead in the water”
“Any signs of activity on deck, or through the windows”
“Negative, Skipper” D’Angelo radioed. “Wait just a minute, we’re going around to the port side” They came around the stern of the cruiser.
Markham was in the bow of the rubber raft. “The boarding ladder is down, Lieutenant” D’Angelo could see it.
