his voice was out of character for him.
'Yes, there is, sir,' I snapped, somehow irritated by his lack of concern. 'I don't know where this fool is going. Maybe he is running target for another submarine somewhere else.'
Blunt's drawl was even deeper. 'What d'ya expect? Are the Japs going to run right at you and make it easy?' Suddenly the familiar incisive note was back in his voice. 'Listen, Richardson, that is one of the things wrong around here. The big problem is to get in front of the target. Anybody ought to be able to hit him with a torpedo after that. Getting into attack position is ninety per cent of the job. Too many of our people seem to think the Japs are going to shine a search- light at them and zigzag happily down to where the submarine has been waiting.' Again that sardonic glitter.
'Nuts!' he said.
There was no contesting his point.
The ship's speed indicator located on the bulkhead near Oregon's steering wheel showed three and a fraction knots; giving me an opportunity to break away gracefully from Captain Blunt. The depth gauge showed sixty-two feet keel depth.
'Up periscope,' I ordered. A quick one this time: 'Bearing- Mark! Range-Mark! Down scope!' I turned back to the TDC where Keith was inserting the information as relayed by Rubinoffski.
'Target's angle on the bow, port ninety,' I said sarcastically.
'He zigged away again.'
Keith changed the target course by the requisite amount.
Jim did likewise with the Is-Was, then both turned to me.
'This is no good, skipper,' Jim said. 'He's not playing the same game we are.'
I wavered in indecision. Maybe we ought to abandon the approach and surface, signaling Vixen to start over again. It had been done before…
'Don't forget this fellow's a Jap,' I found myself saying.
Then to Oregon at the other end of the conning tower, 'All ahead, flank!' and to Tom, 'One hundred feet!'
At flank speed the Electrician's Mates poured everything the battery could give into the motors and the whole frame of the ship trembled with the added power. You could feel her accelerate like a living thing as she drove forward. She couldn't last long, not over a half-hour more at this speed.
This was all we could do-our maximum effort. But in- decision still gripped me. What if Vixen zigged. even farther away? What if we used up the whole battery in a fruitless chase? We might very well do this, all to no purpose. The dials on the TDC gave no comfort, either, for they now showed Walrus and Vixen running on parallel courses about five thou- sand yards apart. This could go on indefinitely, or until our battery gave out. If we turned toward the 'enemy,' Vixen would swiftly pass ahead, never once having come close to torpedo range, and we would be left with a hopeless stern chase. The only thing to do was to keep going and hope the next zig of the target would be in our direction.
The timer ticked off another minute and I bent over Hugh Adams' plotting sheet, shooting a fleeting look at old Blunt is I did so, hardly hoping for a suggestion and finding none in his customarily grim visage. Hugh's chart contained a paucity of information; merely the location of the two ships and lines showing their respective movements. I studied it carefully.
Somewhere in the back of my mind a forgotten idea was stirring.
I tried to wrest it from Hugh's plot without success. A look at the TDC, nearly blocked by Jim and Keith's shoulders.
Nothing unusual there. Back to the chart.
'What was the initial bearing of the target when we dived?'
I asked Hugh.
He silently indicated a lightly penciled line near the right- hand edge of the paper. 'This is about what it was, sir. I had to work backward a little after we figured out which way he was going 'Is this north?' I indicated the head of the paper.
Adams nodded.
Still the idea wouldn't come, and then suddenly it there, full grown. I looked for the Squadron Commander;- he was studying the dials and instruments alongside Oregon; our helmsman.
'Rubinoffski,' I muttered under my breath, 'where's the area chart?'
The Quartermaster reached under Adams' desk and pulled out a rolled up navigational chart of Long Island Sound.
'Didn't I see something about net-testing operations?' I asked him.
'Yes sir.' Rubinoffski's tapering forefinger indicated a freshly inked line about one inch long on the chart.
Another observation was due. 'All ahead, one third.' The singing note changed as the boat began to slow down.
'Hugh!' I said, pointing to the net-testing area on Rubinoffski's chart, 'transfer this line to your plotting sheet.
Also draw in the location of Little Gull Island, the mid-channel Whistle buoy, and that danger buoy we received notice of last week.'
I went back to the TDC and drew Jim aside to give him a few last-minute instructions. Jim was, among other things, in charge of our firing check-off list pasted in the overhead of the conning tower. We had so far accomplished only two of the half-dozen or so items listed thereon.
Walrus slowed and at the same time neared the newly ordered depth for the next periscope look. I had told Tom to bring her only to sixty-three feet-a foot deeper than the previous observation. This meant that with the periscope fully extended, only three and a half feet of it would project above the surface of the water. It was desirable to have less and less periscope visible, of course, during the latter stages of an approach.
The speed was just on three knots as the periscope came up.
I grasped the handles, started going around with it before it had stopped its upward motion, completed a full circle before it was fully raised.
'Down scope,' and the periscope dropped away. I turned to the TDC. 'Angle on the bow, point one hundred. Stand by for an observation.'
Keith pursed his lips, turned the target course knob slightly.
Jim, fiddling with the Is-Was, looked unhappy.
Hugh Adams in his corner was still busy, and Captain Blunt was watching gravely.
I motioned with my thumbs for the periscope. It slithered up into my hands.
'Bearing-Mark! Range-Mark! Down scope.
Jim held up a stop watch with a sidelong approving look for me to see as I turned toward him. It indicated seven and a half seconds-the time the periscope had been out of water.
As soon as Keith had finished setting in Rubinoffski's readings I gave him the angle on the bow. 'No change,' I said.
Adams stepped back from his table and I crowded over be- side him.
My hunch had been correct. The danger buoy, the whistle buoy, the net emplacement, and Little Gull Island all lay approximately in a row athwart our target's course. He had to come toward us. He could not go through them, and there was no other way for him to turn.
'We'll be shooting in a few minutes. Make the tubes ready forward, Jim,' I said.
Jim motioned to Quin. 'Tubes forward, flood tubes. Set depth thirty feet. Speed high.' He reached up with the pencil marked off an item on big check-off list.
'Right full rudder,' I told Oregon.
I could see the Squadron Commander lean forward taking it all in with a confused frown. This time he was going to get some of big own medicine.
Keith looked up at me puzzled. 'Did you say angle on the bow was port one hundred?'
'A little more if anything. Give him one-oh-five, port.'
With a look of disbelief Keith made the adjustment.
'What's the course to head for him?' I asked.
Keith reached up with his finger to aid in measuring the angle. Jim beat him to it from the Is-Wag. 'Two-
