I want to try to stay on the surface, and if we have to we'll take our chances with any of the other escorts. But if they make us dive, that fellow astern will come on up and take over, and we can figure on having a hell of a time!'
My voice was clipped and short. Jim didn't bother to question further. 'I've got it,' he breathed.
'Just as soon as they zig once more and give us an angle on either bow, we'll swing with them and go on in. We'll need full power, so as to have plenty of speed for maneuvering if we get into a tight spot.'
'Aye, aye, sir!' Jim disappeared.
'Hugh,' I said, 'did you get all that?'
'Yessir! ' in a taut voice.
'We might be getting gunfire on the bridge. If I order every- one below, you go too. You can be the last one down, but if we have to dive, you're our last hope. We can't take a chance on your being knocked out.'
'Yessir! ' again.
'All right. Now, have all the bridge guns mounted. Get all the twenty millimeters up, with two extra men to man each mount, and all four of the bridge fifties. Get plenty of ammunition, too.'
Hugh leaned- to the hatch to give the orders. 'Bring up both BAR's also. You and I might as well have something to shoot too.'
In a few moments a veritable arsenal was handed up the bridge hatch and the lookouts busied themselves setting the guns in place. The 20's, stowed in pressure-proof containers, had to be lifted out and placed in their mounts. The 50's came up from below, were set in their sockets, and the BAR's we leaned in an out-of-the-way corner. Near each gun we made a neat pile of extra ammunition, belts for the 50's, bandoliers of clips for the BAR'S, and a half-dozen round magazines for each of the 20-millimeters. If we should have to dive it would all be lost, but that didn't matter.
Two of the extra men were detailed forward of the OOD's platform for the forward mount, the other two aft on the cigarette deck. The 50's could be handled by the lookouts, one to each, with Hugh and me helping with the ammunition belts and firing our own BAR's in between. Preparations were completed just about the time the enemy convoy zigged again.
'Zig, to his right! Angle on the bow, port thirty-five!' Jim's voice in the bridge speaker. It was time to make our move.
Right full rudder! All ahead flank!' The diesels groaned with the suddenly increased load. Their exhaust spewed forth with doubled vigor. The ship leaned to port, the two port mufflers choking and splashing, and our stern skidded across the sea, half under and half over the water. Big waves leaped high on to our decks, spraying great patterns of shredded white clouds to half-conceal our stern. A semitransparent mist rose over the deck, whipped by the wind into the cloud pouring out of the starboard muffler pipes, trailed off to starboard and aft, lying low in the tossing, dirty sea.
It was dark, lampblack dark. Only the faintest hint of gray above the water and in the sky. No telling where the horizon was-it all combined into the same dullness, the sea rising right up into the sky. It had stopped raining and the atmosphere felt oppressive, warm, humid. I could smell the odor of sweat mixed with salt spray.
A sea mounted our bow, came straight aft, smothered the gun, and broke in a tall shower at the base of the bridge. Hugh and I ducked, got only a bucketful or two on our backs. The two men standing by the forward 20 were drenched, water streaming down from their hair and off their faces.
'Come on back here!' I yelled. Gratefully they climbed over the bulwark separating us. 'Stay here until you're needed,' I told them.
'Bridge! Recommend course three-one-zero!' That was Jim.
I cupped my hands over the bridge gyro repeater, took a careful look, had to wipe out the accumulation of water before I could read it. We were already nearing due west, two-seven-oh.
'Steady on three-one-zero!' I shouted down the hatch. The rudder began to come off, and Walrus straightened up.
Now her speed increased even more, and she pitched and bucked like a wild thing. The wind whistled in my hair, the salt droplets battered my face. No longer rising to the sea, she simply disregarded it, smashed through it. Great clouds of spray were thrown to either side, rising to bridge height as we raced by. Sea after sea rolled over her bullnose, pounded against our bridge front beneath the 20-millimeter gun with a repetitious drumming hollowness, cast more spume and water into the air.
It started to rain again. The fresh water felt good, washing some of the salt from my face and out of my eyes. It and the spray were bad for the binoculars, though, for the droplets would mar our vision. 'Hugh!' I said urgently, 'Lens paper!
Lots of it!'
Hugh handed me a wadded-up hunk, leaned to the hatch to call for more.
'Range!' I shouted into the mike.
'Five thousand, leading ship!'
'Where's the nearest tincan!'
'Four thousand, thirty degrees on our port bow!' answered Jim.
'How about the other one on this side?'
'Sixty-five hundred yards, sixty relative!'
Jim had gotten us into the best position possible. We were going in astern of the leading escort, which was maintaining station more or less dead ahead of the convoy, and were well clear and ahead of the port-flanking tincan.
'How much farther to go?'
'I figure to start shooting at two thousand. They're all pretty well bunched. We'll shoot a spread of six fish forward, then swing for the stern tubes, shoot them, and in the meantime reload the four torpedoes left forward. Then if we get a chance we can let go with those four. That will leave us only one fish, in the after torpedo room.'
'Good,' I said into the mike. 'What's the range now?'
'Four thousand! We're all ready, except for opening the outer doors. We'll start opening them at three thousand yards!'
I felt curiously detached and emotionless. The die had been cast the moment I directed the rudder be put right. Now it was merely the matter of riding it on out to a finish. The reload would be a problem, because of the motion on the ship, and I was glad that back in New London Keith had insisted on the installation of special pad- eyes for extra securing tackle. We had also carried out special reload drill while on the surface, against just such an eventuality as was now before us.
The ship, of course, carried only twenty-four torpedoes in all, sixteen in the forward torpedo room and eight in the after room. Having attacked with three fish twice out of the forward tube nest and once out of the after nest, we had fifteen fish left: ten forward and five aft. It would be worthwhile to reload the four left after the first salvo forward and try to get them off, but hardly so for the single left aft.
'What's the range now?' I had been searching for the targets, was still unable to see them. We were racing to destroy some men and some ships I had never seen. Perhaps I never would see them, I could tell their approximate bearing by looking up at the angle swept by the parabolic radar reflector whenever, from the motion of the mast behind me, I knew it was taking a bearing. They had been slightly on the starboard bow; now the leading ship bore several degrees on the port bow.
'Three-three-double-oh! Recommend change course to two- nine-oh! We're starting to open outer doors now, with this speed it may take us a little time!'
The newer boats had hydraulically operated outer torpedo tube doors, but not Walrus, already outdated. Ours had to be cranked open by hand, one by one, against the water pressure built up by our speed.
'Left to two-nine-zero!'
The rudder indicator went left a little, came back to center, Oregon's voice: 'Steady on two-nine-oh!'
Out of nothing they popped into view. 'Targets!' I bawled.
I flung my binoculars into the TBT bracket, twisted it violently both ways, taking it all in. A solid mass of ships, dead ahead and to starboard. Well to port, a single smaller vessel, the leading escort. No need to worry about him. To starboard, far to star- board, a single tiny shape-the port flanker. He would be a problem soon.
But the ships ahead, we couldn't miss! There must be columns at least, solid black against a lowering
