Our speed, which increased with a downhill sledding effect when the stern lifted, decreased abruptly when it turned into uphill. Al Dugan and I were alternately thrown backward against the periscope supports and forward against the bridge cowling-almost as though we were riding a balky horse in slow motion.
The bow disappeared in a welter of white foam as the succeeding wave came under and over our after parts. Nothing at all forward of the bridge, now. Nothing aft, either. Just buffeting, angry, noisy ocean. Our bridge was like a disembodied statue, the upper part of a submarine riding on an angry sea-cloud.
'Two thousand yards, bridge!' I would be able to see him soon. Al helped me wipe off the lens of the TBT binoculars.
We did a thorough job before I put my eyes to it.
'Fifteen hundred!' Through the flying spume and blackness I could make out the outline of a ship, a tall, stubby ship.
He was nearly broadside to and rolling violently in the furious sweep of the wind and sea; occasionally, as we neared, he steadied up for a moment under some vagary of the elements, perhaps a nullifying combination of them. These were the moments in which he would attempt to pick up Bungo and his men. Probably throw them ropes, haul them aboard one at a time. A fantastic attempt, but seamen had done more fantastic things-history is full of the tales. Normally our role would have been that of the helpful bystander, regardless of the nationality of the shipwrecked mariners. Shipwreck at sea has its own code, its own morality-a joined constant fight for life and survival against the implacable ocean, with its pitiless nether- world of death. But we were out of our normal role. There was a war, the basic immorality of which transcended temporarily the more lasting and better motives of peace. It was our job to try to prevent that rescue by sinking the rescuer.
'Twelve hundred yards!'
Of course, one did not have to think of it that way. We had the duty of sinking any Japanese ship we ran across, and this one was surely as much a ship-of-war as the biggest battleship, or the fastest aircraft carrier. Furthermore, it was a menace to our side, particularly to my own special segment of our side There never could be any argument, except on purely philosophical grounds, and war is the rejection of philosophy.
'One thousand yards!' This was the turning point we had decided on. We had to get close to give us the maneuvering room to turn around. They would find it hard to look into the scud upwind; we could reach one thousand yards from that direction with a fair degree of impunity. Even if they did see us, accurate gunfire from that pitching, rolling platform would be impossible. Only a real director system, with a gyroscopically controlled stabilized firing circuit, could handle these conditions.
Of course, there was always the chance of a lucky shot 'Right full rudder! Starboard stop! Starboard back full!' It would be a job even swinging into the wind. Eel started to swing nicely enough, got halfway around before the wind really hit her. I could feel the combined force of the wind and sea as our bow rose and exposed itself freely to the effects of both We stopped dead, as though we had hit a wall of mush. The gyro-compass repeater indicated that we had actually swung back a few degrees.
'Port ahead emergency!' With both screws racing, she would have greater force to push her around. Now I regretted having reversed the starboard propeller, for doing so had killed our forward progress and removed much of the effect of the rudder. And besides this, our straining engines were having all their exhaust fumes blown right down on the enemy ship. A keen nose would detect the characteristic odor of diesels, might just have the flexibility to do something about it.
Still no good. We gained a little, then lost it as the bow came up again.
'Control!' I thumbed the button for the speaker, spoke into it. 'Open bow buoyancy vent!' This would lessen the buoyancy of the bow, reduce the area the wind would have to work on.
If we could only keep the bow from coming up at all!
'All Go on down to the control room.' I had to cup my mouth and hold it close to his ear to make him get it all.
'Secure the engines and shut the main induction. Put the battery on propulsion. When I give you the word, open the forward group vents, hold them open for three seconds, and then shut them again!' I gave him a shove toward the hatch.
On diving, bow buoyancy vent and all the main ballast tank vents are opened and left open until the ship goes under. The main ballast tanks are handled as two groups, a forward group and an after group, with a set of controls for each.
Opening the forward group of vents for about three seconds would not permit all the air entrapped there to escape, but would vent off a large percentage of it. We would not dive because the after group would be still holding all its air in addition to what had not had a chance to whistle out of the forward group vents.
But much of our buoyancy forward would be destroyed, and our bow would sink deeper in the water. This would reduce the sail effect of the forward section of the ship-probably eliminate it alto-ether because we would inevitably ride under all the seas instead of only some of them.
Shutting off the main engines and going to the battery was merely precautionary, so that we could close the main induction valve under the cigarette deck. Otherwise we'd pull tons of water down the huge airpipe when the bridge went under.
I grabbed the mike. 'Keith, raise the night periscope and see if you can make out the target!' One of the scopes had a slightly bigger light path than the other and hence the name 'night periscope.' If Keith could see the enemy vessel through it, perhaps it would do to take bearing to shoot the torpedoes with, and I could repair below and do it from the relative safety of the conning tower. I waited a few seconds.
'No luck, skipper. Can't see a thing!' This might be because Watching the dials and instrumentsespecially the radar scope had cost him his night vision. We couldn't wait, however.
'All right, Keith. Station somebody in the bridge hatch ready to shut it if necessary.'
'Roger.'
'Bridget' Al Dugan, from the control room. 'Ready below!'
There was no more exhaust aft. I had not heard the main induction go shut, but it no doubt had.
My little microphone went only to the conning tower. I had to press the bridge speaker button firmly and yell into it to reach Al. 'Control! Open and shut the forward group vents!'
Instantly white spray whirred out from between our slotted forward deck, was blown, just as instantly, to nothingness. I counted three to myself. The spray stopped at 'four.' Nothing happened at first. We heaved up as before to a passing sea, rolling far over to port, losing the few degrees of turn we had managed to accumulate during the past several seconds.
Then we dropped, far down. The next sea swept across our deck as though there were no deck there, poured over the bridge side bulwarks, inundated the whole place, filled it with foam- topped green water.
Instinctively I had sought the leeward side, the port side.
And just as the roar of the approaching wave heralded its closest proximity, boiling up from beneath as well as overwhelming us from on top, I saw the hatch slam shut. Tons of water roared around me. Frantically I gripped the lookout guard rail, felt my feet swept from under me. Sick despair engulfed me. The bitter certainty filled my brain that with the lack of buoyancy forward and the heavy seas rushing at us we had driven completely under. If we did not come up soon I was done for, and Bungo Pete would have won again.
Somehow, buoyed up by the water, I managed to pull myself up a little higher on the lookout rail-my lungs felt as though they would burst if I couldn't get a breath of air, and then I was out of it. The water had rolled past and part of our bridge reappeared. The after TBT came up, mounted on its tripod legs, just abaft of the periscope shears. My mike was gone, lost, but there was a bridge speaker installed under the TBT. Floundering in the water, I struggled aft to it; standing hip-deep I put my eyes to the binoculars. It was blurred-I wiped it off with my fingers, sucking the salt from them first.
Still blurred. There was a piece of lens paper in my pocket, somehow only damp, not dripping-wiped it off with that.
'Captain! Are you all right!'
The speaker startled me, booming right into my chest. I pushed the button, twice.
I 'That did it! We're coming around! I'll steady up on course zero-eight-zero and slow down-all we need is the bearings, skipper!'
The last words were engulfed in another deluge of water.
This time I relaxed, twining my arms and legs into the TBT stanchions, waited for it to pass. Twice more the
