and into the comers of my mouth. I ran my hands ceaselessly through my moist hair, wiped them off on my trousers. Hugh Adams was bothered by sweat dropping off the end of his nose onto his carefully laid-out plot.
Through the periscope I could see the whole ship now, even her red waterline heaving in and out of the sea. I had directed Tom to run several feet deeper to reduce the amount of periscope exposed, leaving me just enough height to make observations between passing waves. The range had closed to about two miles when the target made another zig.
'Angle on the bow-starboard thirty-five,' I sang out, as the periscope descended. 'Keith, what's the distance to the track?'
'Two thousand yards, Captain.'
'Torpedo run?'
'Two-seven-double-oh.' Jim, detailed to the angle solver on firing, relayed this one for me.
'Are we ready to shoot, Jim?' Jim glanced upward at his check-off list. My eyes followed his. Every item on it but one — had been neatly checked off in grease pencil. 'We're ready to shoot, Captain, except that outer doors are still closed.'
According to the Pearl Harbor submarine base our torpedoes were prone to flood if left exposed in the torpedo tubes with the outer doors open for too long a period. It was advisable not to open them until just before firing.
I turned to Quin. 'Open the outer doors forward.'
'Open the outer doors forward,' he echoed into his tele- phone transmitter. Up forward at the command the torpedo- men would speedily crank- open the heavy bronze torpedo tube muzzle doors. This was the last act in the preparation of torpedoes for firing.
I nodded for the periscope, crouched before it till it came up, rode it to its full extension, spun it around, lowered it.
'We're inside the screen,' I said. 'The near escort will pass astern, well clear.' I failed to mention that the rear escort, a few hundred yards astern of the target, would lay no means pass clear. Within minutes after firing, he would be upon, us. No point in alerting or worrying our crew at this stage over something that could not be helped.
'We'll give him three torpedoes on a ninety track, or as near to it as we can!'
'Ninety track. Three fish spread!' echoed Jim.
'The next observation will be a shooting observation! Stand by forward!' My mind racing, I studied the slowly moving dials on the face of the TDC. We could already shoot at any time. It was only a matter of waiting until the situation was most favorable. The 'correct solution light,' a red F, was glow- ing brightly on the face of the angle- solver sector of the TDC.
The 'torpedo run' was well within maximum range of the torpedo. It would only be a few seconds longer.
I could feel the taut expectancy of the ship, this was to be our first kill. In the forward part of the conning tower O'Brien, the sonarman, had put the propeller beats on the laud-speaker.
We could hear the 'chug-a-chug, chug-a-chug, chug-a-chug, chug-a-chug,' as the enemies screws came closer and closer.
Less distinct was the lighter, high-pitched beat of the nearest escort. 'Thum, thum, thum, thum.' The sonarman switched from one to the other, kept them both coming in. It looked about time.
'This is a shooting observation,' I said again. 'Up periscope!' The periscope handles met my outstretched hands.
I snapped them down, put my eye to the eye guard. 'No change,' I said. 'Bearing-Mark!'
'Three-three-six.'
'Range', — I turned the range knob-'Mark!'
'One-eight-five-oh.'
'Shoot,' I said, snapping the handles up as the signal for the periscope to start down. Quin had turned around facing the firing panel, had turned the switch of Number One torpedo tube to 'On.'
'Fire!' shouted Jim. Quin leaned on the firing key. Walrus shuddered. Over the sonar loud-speaker I could hear the torpedo whine out of the tube. Jim made an adjustment to the face of the angle solver with his right hand, held a stop watch in his left, watched it intently. 'Fire Two!' he shouted.
Quin leaned on the firing key a second time.
Another adjustment by Jim, then 'Fire Three!' and Walrus jerked for the third time. I motioned for the periscope again, took a quick look. Our torpedoes were running nicely.
'Torpedo run?' I called out, as the periscope was on the way down.
'One-six-five-oh.' A quick calculation. A little over one minute to go. Up went the periscope again. I spun it around, dipped it, raised it again. One escort was passing astern. I hadn't given him much of an inspection before, he was an old type destroyer, Momo class as nearly as I could tell, with a well-deck forward of the bridge, and two stacks far apart.
The periscope dipped again and then went back up to the target. All still serene.
'How long?'
'Thirty seconds to go.' I swung around once more, then back to the target, just in time to catch sight of a white-clad figure racing out to the side of his bridge. Then a stream of vapor shot from his stack, evidently his whistle. Too late, however. There was now no chance of avoiding our torpedoes unless they were improperly aimed. I swung the periscope all the way around. The destroyer which had just crossed our stern was heeling over radically I away from us, starting to turn toward with hard-over rudder. A quick look on our port beam. The rear- most destroyer was coming directly at us, showing white-water all along his waterline.
There was no time to linger. 'Take her down!' I shouted.
There would still be a few seconds before the periscope went under, time, perhaps to see the torpedoes strike home.
I started to swing back toward the target, suddenly received a sharp blow on my head as the periscope yoke collar unex- pectedly descended upon it. I reeled backward, momentarily stunned, looked up to see Rubinoffski's consternation. He was squeezing the pickle, and the periscope base with the rubber, eye-pieces had already dropped out of sight into the periscope well. I could hear the rush of air in the control room as negative-tank flood valve was opened and Kohler yanked the tank vent. Negative would take in approximately nine tons of water, well forward of amidships, thus helping us to start down. I could feel Walrus' deck tilt forward gently. I rubbed my aching skull opened 'my mouth to curse at Rubinoffski, but never got the words out. Suddenly there was a tremendous stupefying roar.
Whrangg.
Our hull resounded like a tuning fork. The sensation could be likened to being inside a wash boiler and having a giant, beat on the outside with a sledge hammer. My ears rang.
Jim was shouting. 'We've hit him! It's a hit!' He slapped me on the back. 'You did it, skipper. You sunk the son-of-a-bitch!' Then he turned to Keith, pounded him on the back also.
'How about the other two fish?' I asked him.
Jim looked at his stop watch, shook his head regretfully.
'No luck there…' As he spoke, there came clearly a tinny, high-pitched Pwhyunng. I glanced, startled.
'That was timed for the third torpedo,' Jim said, punching the winding stem of his watch, showing me its face.
Walrus' deck was tilted down even farther by now and she was clawing for the depths.
'What do you think that noise could have been?' I asked.
Keith answered: 'Gosh, I don't know. Maybe an air flash, have you ever heard an air flash explode, Captain?' Jim and I both shook our heads. I would have discussed it more but a shout from O'Brien started a whole new train of thought.
'He's starting a run on us!' I leaped to his side, grabbed the extra pair of earphones. The enemy destroyer's 'pings' could clearly be heard, sounding just like our own destroyers.
They were coming in rapidly, too, and I could hear the 'thum, thum, thum,' of his propeller beats. The sonarman put his left hand on the gain control, ready to tune down the volume when the depth charges went off. I could see it shaking as he touched the knob.
