Two days later we trapped another single ship not far from where we had sunk the first, this time shortly after we had surfaced for the night. The approach was entirely by radar, for it was so dark that we did not see the target until just before firing. He never knew what hit him, either. We fired three torpedoes at short range, and all three exploded with thunderous detonations, one forward, one amidships, one at the stern.
The ship went down like a rock, still on an even keel, leaving at least three boatloads of survivors. They must have been living in the lifeboats This was when Jim had an idea and, acting upon it, we ran south at full speed the rest of the night, moved close in to the coast in a totally new spot by next morning. Two ships sunk in the same vicinity would be sure to bring trouble instead of more targets, as he put it, and if we could move closer to where our victims came from-they had both been heading north-we might nab one before he was diverted.
He was right, too, for the very next day a small tanker happened by. I told Jim that this was entirely his own ship, that he had found it, and that therefore he had the right to do it the necessary honors while I took over his job as backer-upper and general understudy.
Jim needed no urging or second suggestion. He grabbed the, periscope eagerly, took over command as though born to it, and,, the conduct of the approach was beyond criticism. He even swung at the last minute to use the stern tubes instead of bow tubes, thus equalizing our torpedo expenditure; and there was that same unholy exhilaration in his face as he gave the final command, 'Shoot!' I wished old Blunt could have seen it, in any event I would see that he heard about it.
The only criticism I might have made was that instead of lowering the periscope after firing and getting it back up in time to see his torpedoes hit, Jim left it up the whole time the torpedoes ran toward the target, and watched the doomed ship's hopeless last-minute efforts to evade with positive glee..
It took it twenty minutes to sink, with one torpedo amid. ships which blew part of his side off. Jim gave everyone in the conning tower and several from the control room a chance to get a look at the death agonies.
Three ships in four days, and not a depth charge in return!
We felt pretty cocky as we stood out into the center Of AREA SEVEN to let our 'hot spots' cool off a little. We had not even experienced much trouble with our torpedoes, though one of the odd 'pawhyunng' noises had been reported during each of the first and last attacks. After a day we moved into one of our old positions on an enemy probable course line drawn from the mouth of the Bungo Suido.
Another week went by. We changed our position several times, went close into the coast once more, then back out to the original position again, all to no avail. The Japanese were simply refusing to cooperate, we decided.
And then one night, after the surfaced routine for the night had become well established, Kohler rushed to the bridge hatch, called up to me: 'Captain! They're calling us on the radio!'
There was something strange about this, I felt, as I hastily put on a pair of red goggles and climbed below. Kohler preceded me down the ladder, but he went right by the radio room, led me into the crew's mess compartment immediately aft of it. A crowd of our men were gathered around the entertainment radio mounted above one of the mess tables. Several were hastily clothed, some merely in their underwear, one man, I saw, half- shaven with lather drying on his face. Dave was there, looking grave, and so was Pat Donnelly. A woman's voice was coming over the loud-speaker.
American submarine sailors,' she was saying, 'we regret to have to do this to you, but you have brought it upon yourselves. Japan did not make war upon you; you brought killing and wanton destruction to us. You have violated our waters, killed our toilers on the sea whose only crime is that they sought to travel our own home waters, which you have unjustly invaded. For this you have merited death, and death you shall have.' Her voice lilting, she kept on: 'While you are awaiting your last moments, perhaps this recording from home may make the thought of the future easier to face with equanimity.' The melodious voice stopped and the strains of a popular dance tune filled the crowded compartment.
'Who the hell is that?' I interjected angrily.
Dave turned, seeing me for the first time. 'Haven't you heard her before, Captain? The men call her 'Tokyo Rose.''
Kohler nodded. 'Yes sir, we've had her on a couple of times before this. Usually she just plays music and hands out a load of baloney. Tonight, though, she was different.'
'Dammit, Kohler!' I blazed, 'I don't want anyone to listen to her again! I'll have the radio disconnected until we leave the area if you do!' Her words had been disturbing enough to me; who knew what their effect could be on some of our less experienced sailors?
'But she called us by name, Captain!'
'What!'
'That's what I tried to you tell you, sir! She was telling that to us-to the Walrus!'
Dave nodded. 'I heard it too, sir. She said she had a special message for the crew of the U. S. submarine Walrus. She said she knew we were here, not far from the Bungo Suido, and that we had sunk some ships, but those were the last ones we'd ever sink.' Several solemn faces nodded in corroboration.
The music stopped. 'Men of the Walrus,' the limpid voice said sweetly, 'enjoy yourselves while you can, for eternity is a long, long time. Think of your loved ones, but don't bother to write because you'll never be able to mail the letters. just think of all the thoughts they will be wasting on you, and the un- answered letters your wives and sweethearts will write-those who do think of you, and who do write!' She ended in a loud titter, almost a giggle. I had never heard anything quite so evil in my life.
'Turn that Goddamned radio off! Kohler, remember what I told you!' I stamped furiously away and climbed back on the bridge, more upset in mind than I could admit anyone to see.
I needed to think.
No one on Midway, for that matter no one in the ship, either, except Jim, had known of our destination until after we had left the island out of sight. But somehow the Japanese propaganda ministry had full knowledge that Walrus was the sub- marine currently off Kyushu. Captain Blunt already had hinted that he was worried about some of the uncannily accurate information Bungo Pete seemed to possess; now I could see why.
There could be only one explanation: espionage at Pearl Harbor!
For that matter, only Captain Blunt, ComSubPac himself, and one or two others on his staff knew where we had been sent, and even if others had guessed, how could they have predicted our movements so accurately? It had to be more specific than guesswork. No, unless some rational explanation presented itself, there must be a security leak back in Pearl. It was a horrid conclusion, yet inescapable. Then another thought presented itself: We had not yet gotten to the bottom of the torpedo troubles. Could there, somehow, be some connection?
Could those, also, be the result of sabotage or espionage? I paced back and forth on the cigarette deck, puzzling over the few facts at my disposal, feeling the cool breeze of the night on my forehead, feeling anything but cool inside.
Despite premonitions I could not put down, nothing of note occurred the rest of the night, nor during the next day, but I had done some heavy thinking. When next we surfaced there was one significant change in our routine. Our garbage contained several carefully prepared scraps of paper bearing the name USS Octopus, some official in appearance, some apparently from personal mail. Quin, entering into the spirit of it, had even made, by hand, a very creditable reproduction of a large rubber stamp of the name. And all vestiges of the name Walrus had been carefully removed.
The garbage sacks were thrown overboard as usual, and as usual they floated aft into our wake, slowly becoming water- logged. As I had suspected, and found to be so upon investigation, some of them were not so well weighted as others.
There was, a good possibility that some of them might remain afloat for an appreciable time.
There was no longer a submarine in our navy named the Octopus. Choice of that name for our stratagem had been made for that reason, and out of pure sentiment. It was a good joke through the ship that the skipper had decided to change the name of Walrus to that of his first boat, the old Octopus.
And I told no one that my regular nightly visits to- the radio room, which became a habit at about this time, were for the sole purpose of plugging a pair of earphones into the extra receiver and surreptitiously listening to Tokyo Rose's program.
She several times made me speechless with rage, but she never mentioned the Octopus, nor, for that matter, did she refer to the Walrus again. The whole thing began to look like a great waste of time and effort, for our men had to go over everything they put into the garbage very carefully, and every day Quin had to prepare more natural-