sub offshore shelling his brother's boat.”
“Did he sound coherent?” replied the ship's bearded, heavyset commander in a skeptical tone.
“Yes, sir. Said he didn't see the sub because of the fog but got a radio call from his brother on another fishing boat. He heard a couple of shots fired from a big gun, then lost contact with his brother. I received a call from another boat confirming the sound of gunfire.”
“Did they provide a fix on the location?”
“Yes, sir. Nine miles southwest of Cape Flattery.”
“Very well. Contact the Madison and tell her we are headed out of the strait to investigate a reported enemy contact, then provide a location fix to Navigation. Mr. Baker,” he continued, turning to a tall lieutenant standing at his side, “let's go to General Quarters.”
As an alarm bell rang throughout the ship, the crew of the USS Theodore Knight scrambled to their battle stations, adorning helmets and kapoks as they ran. It wasn't the first time the Farragut-class destroyer had seen action. Launched in 1931 at the Bath Iron Works shipyard in Maine, the Theodore Knight had an active service duty garnering North Atlantic convoy duty in the early stages of the war. After dodging several U-boat attacks while escorting the merchant fleets, the 341-foot-long destroyer was sent back for patrol and escort duty off the West Coast, sailing the waters from San Diego to Alaska.
Trailing three miles behind, in the Strait of Juan de Fuca, was the Liberty Ship Madison, bound for San Francisco with a cargo of lumber and tinned salmon. Leaving the assigned cargo ship in its wake, the Theodore Knight broached the mouth of the Pacific as its captain, Lieutenant Commander Roy Baxter, ordered flank speed. The ship's twin diesel turbines churned the sleek gray ship through the water like a hound chasing a rabbit. The crew, accustomed to quiet, routine patrols, was at an unusually heightened sense of readiness at the prospect of facing the enemy.
Even Baxter felt his heart beat a little faster. A twenty-year Navy man, he had seen action in the Atlantic but had grown bored with his recent assignment on the home shores. He relished the thought of tasting battle again, though remained skeptical about the radio report. Japanese subs had not been seen off the coast for over a year, he knew, and the Imperial Navy was now clearly on the defensive. “Radar?” he demanded loudly.
“Sir, I have three small vessels approaching the channel, two from the north and one from the west,” replied the radarman without taking his eyes off his monitor. “I have another indefinite target that appears to be stationary lying to the southwest.”
“Take us to the southern mark,” Baxter barked. “And have the forward batteries stand by for action.” The commander had to suppress a grin of excitement as he issued the orders. Maybe we'll earn our pay today, he thought while strapping on his helmet.
Unlike their American counterparts, most Japanese submarines in World War II were not equipped with radar. The early-warning technology was only first deployed on Imperial submarines in mid-1944, and then installed only on selected vessels. Most Japanese submarines instead relied upon sound-detection equipment to reveal a distant enemy. Although more limited in range than radar, sound detection could be utilized underwater, and aided many a sub in avoiding a fatal rendezvous with depth charges.
Absent a radar unit, it was the I-403^ sound operator who first became aware of the destroyer bearing down on them.
“Vessel approaching ahead ... sound intensity one,” he reported at the first registering on his equipment.
On deck, both of the aircraft had been moved out of their hangars, where the wings and pontoons were affixed, while repairs continued. It was the situation Ogawa feared most. With both planes assembled but neither ready for flight, they would have to be sacrificed should the submarine have to make an emergency dive.
“Deck gun at the ready,” he ordered, hoping the unwelcome intruder was yet another fishing boat.
“Sound intensity two and increasing,” the sound operator relayed calmly. “It's a ship,” he added, to no one's surprise.
“Secure all aircraft and clear the aviation deck,” Ogawa ordered an ensign, who sprinted down the large deck shouting at the mechanics and pilots as he ran. Tying down the two airplanes, the aviation crew quickly grabbed their work tools and scurried to the hangar. The watertight doors of the hangar were closed and sealed; then the men dropped down another hatch into the secure body of the submarine.
“Sound intensity three, off our bow. May be a destroyer,” the operator reported, correctly identifying the churning sound of the tin can's twin propellers.
As if on cue, the gray ship materialized out of the fog a half mile away, the apparition of a steel wraith charging across the moor. White foam burst off the bow in angry torrents while wisps of dark smoke billowed from the funnel. The lean ship drove straight at the sub, an attacking lancer not to be denied.
In an instant, the I-403's deck gun boomed as the submarine's experienced gun crew attempted to halt the oncoming dervish. The slim, head-on profile of the destroyer made for a difficult target, however, and the shell passed harmlessly to one side. Hurriedly, the gun crew took aim and fired again.
Once identifying the ship as a destroyer, Ogawa recognized the futility of a surface duel with a superior vessel and immediately ordered a crash dive. The mission would have to be sacrificed for the safety of the ship and crew, he reasoned, if it wasn't already too late.
As the dive alarm sounded, the gun crew fired off a last desperate shot before scrambling belowdecks to safety. The gunner's accuracy was nearly dead-on, but he overcompensated the approaching speed of the destroyer. The shell splashed into the water fifty feet directly ahead of the American ship's bow, blasting a spray of water onto its deck but causing no damage.
The two forward batteries of the Theodore Knight ax last came to life, lobbing five-inch shells in succession toward the Japanese sub. The inexperienced and adrenaline-fortified gun crew fired high, however, placing the destroyer's shells harmlessly beyond the now-accelerating submarine.
On the exterior bridge of the I-403, Ogawa hesitated momentarily before dropping down the hatch, taking a final glance at his approaching stalker. Movement caught his eye on the forward deck, where he was surprised to see a crewman striding toward one of the airplanes. It was a pilot, ignoring the dive command and climbing into his plane. In the spirit of the kamikaze, the pilot could not bear the thought of losing his aircraft and was willing to die with it instead. Ogawa cursed his foolish bravery, then ducked down into the bridge below.
The ballast tanks were opened and a rush of seawater began flooding in to weigh the submarine down. The huge hull of the I-403 was a liability in this situation, requiring a notoriously long time to submerge. As Ogawa waited for the sub to make its agonizingly slow descent, he played one more card.
“Prepare to fire torpedoes!” he commanded.
It was a gamble, but a calculated one at that. With the destroyer directly ahead, Ogawa could let go a shot in the face of the ship and make the hunter fall prey to the victim.
“Tubes loaded,” the torpedo officer reported.
“Stand by tubes number one and number two,” Ogawa ordered.
The destroyer was barely two hundred yards away and still belching fire from its five-inch guns. Amazingly, the destroyer's guns continued to miss their mark. The point-blank target of the sub slowly began to diminish as the nose of the undersea craft dipped beneath the waves and a wash of seawater gradually flooded over the forward deck.
“Fire one!” Ogawa shouted. Counting off three seconds silently, he paused, then ordered, “Fire two!”
With a blast of compressed air, the two torpedoes burst out of the forward tubes on a deadly streak toward the advancing destroyer. Each packing an 890-pound lethal warhead, the twenty-three-foot-long, oxygen-powered torpedoes accelerated quickly, racing toward the Theodore Knight at better than 45 knots.
An ensign standing on the bridge wing of the destroyer noticed a seam of white trails under the water's surface burrowing toward the ship.
“Torpedoes off the port and starboard bow!” he shouted, though his body remained frozen in rapt fascination as he watched the speeding explosives approach.
In an instant, the torpedoes were on them. But either by miscalculation, divine intervention, or just plain luck, the two deadly fish somehow missed their target. The immobile ensign watched in amazement as the two torpedoes skimmed past both sides of the destroyer's bow, then raced down the length of the ship no more than ten feet from either side of the hull before disappearing beyond the stern.
“She's diving, sir,” noted the destroyer's helmsman as he watched the waves slosh over the bow of the
