In Walrus we had decided that Rubinoffski, instead of Jim, would be 'periscope jockey,' thus leaving Jim free to ride herd on Keith and the other conning-tower personnel insure that things progressed as they ought, and back me up as Assistant Approach Officer.
'Bearing-Mark!' as I laid the vertical cross hair on Vixen's mast. 'Range-' my right hand fell to the range crank. I only saw the tops of Vixen, — the ends of her masts and a broad structure that was probably her bridge. Two other masts, other ships-one to left and one to right. They would be Falcon and Semmes. Vixen had two masts about equal in height; that was how I knew it was she.
'Use masthead height thirty feet,' I snapped, then repeated, 'Range-Mark.' At the word 'Mark' I had cranked the range knob around so that the target divided itself in two, and I laid the tip of the mast in one image alongside the squat structure which I took to be Vixen's bridge in the other. The total height from the tip of the mast to the water- line would be about sixty feet. Thirty feet would be a good guess for the height of the mast above the bridge.
Rubinoffski was studying the range dial on his side of the periscope. As I gave the — Mark' he swiftly read off the range opposite the thirty-foot masthead height marker.
'Eight-eight-double-oh,' he said.
'Down periscope.' I turned to the rear of the conning tower where Keith was still twisting dials on the TDC, inserting the latest bearing and range information.
Jim, on the other side of the compartment, somewhat closer to me, was setting up the Is-Was.
'Angle on the bow port forty,' I said.
Jim twisted the Is-Was dials. Keith gave one last turn lo the range knob of the TDC, adjusted the 'Target Course knob, leaned back a few inches. Jim and I crowded in to look at it.
'Not so good, skipper,' said Jim. 'We'll have to run like a rabbit to get over there.'
Keith nodded. 'Distance to the track is five thousand yards.'
'What's the normal approach course?' I asked. The normal approach courser steers the submarine toward an imaginary point ahead of the target such that the submarine will have the shortest possible distance to run-and the target the longest.
Jim spun the dials of the Is-Was, looked at it searchingly.
'One-seven-zero, ' he said.
'One-seven-zero, sir!' Keith corroborated from the TDC.
'Left to one-seven-zero,' I called to the helmsman at the other end Of the conning tower. 'All ahead full.'
The clink of the annunciators. 'Left to one-seven-zero.
Answered all ahead full, sir!' The battle-stations helmsman was a new man, a Quartermaster third by the name of Oregon who had been added to the old S-16 complement to build Walrus up to the seventy men required for her crew.
I waited half a minute, until the ship was swinging nicely.
'All ahead one third!' I ordered. We should not get too much way on the ship quite yet.
Another half-minute. 'Steady on one-seven-oh!' Oregon's nasal twang.
It was what I had been waiting for. 'Up periscope!' I swung it to the bearing. 'Bearing-Mark!'
'Zero-eight-two!' There was hardly a pause between my 'Mark' and Rubinoffski's reading of the azimuth circle, 'Range-Mark!'
'Eight-four-double-oh!'
'Down scope! All ahead full-control, one hundred feet!'
I turned to Jim and Keith. 'No zig yet. Angle on the bow about forty-five port.'
Crossing to the hatch leading below, I looked down on the top of Tom Schultz' balding head. 'We'll try her this way for another minute, Tom,' I told him. 'He's got to zig sometime!'
Tom looked up and nodded. 'One hundred feet, aye, aye!'
We could sense the increased throb of Walrus' propellers, and her deck inclined down by the bow.
Walrus could make nearly nine knots at full speed-though not for long, of course, because even her huge battery could only last about an hour at the high discharge rate required.
The question was how long to run before taking another look; and every look required slowing down, planing back up to periscope depth.
At nine knots the periscope would throw up a spray visible for miles. If we slowed down to make a periscope observation we would lose ground in our race to catch the Vixen. If we didn't look, a big zig might leave us in an even worse position.
I leaned over Keith's shoulder, watched the dials going around on the face of the TDC. One of the two biggest dials indicated our own ship's course, the other that of the target.
The six-inch line between their centers represented the line of sight down which I looked every time we used the periscope.
Other smaller dials placed symmetrically, showed target speed, our own speed, gyro angles, time elapsed, and various other bits of pertinent information. Beneath the face of the instrument were two rows, of cranks by which data could be inserted or changed.
One minute since the last observation. Perhaps a zig toward will have taken place since we last looked.
'Control, six-oh feet!'
'All ahead one third!' Almost a minute to wait, while Tom planed up and the ship slowed down. Finally…
'Up periscope!' The handles gently rose into my waiting hands. 'Bearing-Mark! Range-Mark! Down scope!'
'He's zigged, all right!' I spoke with feeling. 'Zigged away, that's what. Angle on the bow is port seventy!'
Keith spun the new data into the TDC. Jim, with a single twist, of his right hand, reoriented the Is-Was.
'Control! One hundred feet! All ahead full!' We felt the ship dip once again, and the communicated throb of our screws Jim stood behind me, studying the face of the TDC and occasionally glancing at his Is-Was. Captain Blunt, in deference to the crowded conditions in the conning tower, was making himself as small as possible in a comer of space between the two periscope hoist motors. Crowded in behind us, Hugh Adams bent over the track chart he had started on a tiny table top nestled into the after part of the conning tower.
Time moved with lead shoes while I looked at the slowly creeping 'own ship' and 'target' dials, and the speedometer- type distance counter ticking off the reduction in range as target and submarine ran for the same imaginary point.
'Dammit!' I muttered, under my breath. 'Where does he think he's going anyway!'
The timer on the TDC indicated two minutes since I had last looked through the periscope. We could hear a throbbing, almost a musical note, as Walrus tore through the water. A lifeline perhaps, or some excessive vibration in a stanchion or hand rail. I made a mental note to look into it and see if we could stop the noise. Jap sonar, so the first reports had commented, was better than we had anticipated, and it would be well not to make any avoidable noise.
Two and a half minutes. Jim broke the silence. 'Captain, do you think he knows where we are? He never got a chance to shine the light on us…'
It was true, and I had been thinking along the same lines.
The procedure for practice approaches specified that the target's initial base course should be the direction of the sub- marine from the target at the time the searchlight was extinguished. If Vixen had not happened to see us dive or had failed to make note of our true bearing during the moments just before we dived, it was quite possible that her skipper was actually in doubt as to what his base course ought to be.
'Dammit, anyway!' I said again. Three minutes came up.
We could not wait any longer. 'All ahead one third!' I ordered the helmsman.
Answered 'One third, sir' from Oregon after the annunciators clinked.
Quin was watching me gravely.
'Control-six-two feet,' I told him.
Quin relayed the word and in a moment I heard Tom acknowledge by calling up through the open batch.
It would take us a minute to slow down and there was nothing to do but chew our fingernails until Tom got us near enough to the surface and our speed had reduced that we could use the periscope.
Captain Blunt was looking at me as if about to say some- thing. 'Anything wrong up there, Rich?' The drawl in
