Attack of the Greyhounds

by H. Nelson Freeman

  “Did it work?” The throttleman, Orville Jamison, asked.

  “No, not at all. I had Ensign Jacob Mendenhall sitting next to me, and he introduced himself to me.’

  “He whispered, “I’m called Jake, and I have a few things to pass on about the order of things here.”

  “Thanks, Jake,” I said, “There is little doubt I’m way behind the power curve on this.”

  Jake laughed, “Everyone feels that way at first. About halfway through the supper, the Air Wing Commander will introduce you to the wing. Speak up because the vents give this space poor acoustics.”

  “I thanked him, and he went on. He asked where I was from, and I told him my family owned a farm in Iowa.”

  “I hear that’s pretty conservative country,” the officer, Lieutenant JG Roberts, said.

  “That it is, everyone is firmly anchored in Christianity. And they are the nicest people you would ever care to meet.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Mendenhall said.

  “Well, true to his warning, the Air Wing Commander had me stand and introduce myself. I pulled the format from memory and laid out who I was, from where my education and my good luck for being allowed to be among them.”

  “Then he up and says, “I’m thinking about a call sign for you, what were you called in training?” he asked.”

  “I had to tell him the truth, Farmer, sir, just Farmer.”

  “Perfect, ‘Farmer’ it is.

  “So, that’s how I got permanently stuck with my call sign.”

  “He went on and said, “Commander Hodges will get you set up in the squadron. By the way, how many hours of actual flying have you logged?”

  “Eight-hundred-twenty-five sir, which includes my flight time.”

  “You have an aircraft?”

  “Yes, sir, a Jenny biplane. I winced thinking, ‘I am a farm boy, I shouldn’t have shot my mouth off about have a Jenny, a backward farm toy compared to today's high-speed fighters.’

  “Now that’s a fun ride. I enjoyed my time in the Jenny’s at training. How did you come by her?” he asked.

  “I saved up every penny I could and purchased her from World War I surplus. She was still in the crate when I got her when I was sixteen.”

  “Outstanding, son, I expect good flying from you while you’re here.”

  “Yes sir,” was all I could say, being a boot ensign.”

  “That’s when I met my roommate. When I got to my stateroom, I found the door unlocked. I knew I had locked it when he left. Inside I found a man nearly my height, and about twenty-five pounds heavier and senior to me by five or six years.

  “Excuse me, sir, I said. “I’m Ensign Lanner; I was assigned as your roommate.”

  “He didn’t respond; for the most part, he ignored me. I could see he was besieged with issues and badly withdrawn. Being forewarned, I took it in stride and went about my business. I took the time to write home, making sure the family knew I was safe. I was careful to avoid anything that could be considered a security breach. The censors would return the letter if I wrote anything that would cause concern. By the time I was through, I was beat and ready for sleep when the 1MC called Taps. The Lieutenant was still doing paperwork when I fell into a good sleep.”

  ****

  The annunciator bells began ringing as the speed demands changed, and the ship began heeling to starboard. “Looks like TOJO has arrived,” said Williams, ending the storytelling.

  On the bridge, The Captain waited until the Japanese Zeke was committed to his dive before he went into his planned radical jinks to throw the pilots’ aim off and, at the same time, provide maximum exposure to the ship’s firepower.

  The Captain had the conn. “Helm hard left rudder, bring the port engine to back one-third, slowly, starboard to flank. We can’t afford to lose an engine now. OOD, all batteries commence firing.”

  The talker in Main Control said into his phone, “All spaces, were flank on the starboard shaft, after engine and boiler rooms, bring the port shaft to back one-third slowly to avoid damage.” Just as the annunciator went back one-third, the ship began to grumble and bounce at the stresses placed on her. Her single rudder was hard over, and the port shaft was slowly picking up speed astern.

  “Helm ease you rudder, let your experience and the wheel guide you to determine the amount of correction needed.”

  “Aye, sir, easing rudder.” On the helm was Quartermaster Second Class Evenson, his face a picture of concentration on the actions of the ship. The heel relaxed a little, pulling away from the red mark on the clinometer.

  On deck, the five-inch guns began lobbing AA Common shell at the enemy plane, which began exploding at the dwindling altitude of the plane, each looking like dark-colored popcorn. The two twin forties began their distinct ‘pom-pom-pom, with the twenties and a couple of fifty caliber machine guns chattering away at the Zeke. The plane started firing his twenty-millimeter cannons, but after three rounds from each, they fell silent. Half a dozen twenty millimeter and fifty caliber shells tore the plane apart, starting at the cockpit and working toward the tail. The pilotless wreck began to flat spin and flopped into the broiling wake of the ship, which completed its destruction. The plane sank immediately as a tangled pile of light metal.

  Another Zeke peeled off to take revenge for his lost comrade, and the guns began to zero in on him as well.

  “Hard right rudder, port engine to flank speed, starboard engine back one-third slowly.” The annunciator rang at the commands, this time bringing the forward engine and boiler rooms under stress. True to her nature, the ship grumbled again as she shook herself into the tight turn.

  On deck, the guns swiveled to the incoming threat, and once again began blasting out death and destruction. This time the plane’s pilot began firing earlier, and both twenty-millimeter and its two seven-point-seven machine guns rattle out a stream of point-three-zero-three-bullets. The lighter bullets hit two men, one, a forty gunner. The bullet hit him in the left side and exited just as fast without serious injury to the sailor. He ground his teeth, and his anger flared as he resumed firing. Others ricocheted off the deck, bulkheads, and mount shields, going in every direction, one claiming another man. Two twenty- millimeter shells penetrated the shell of the after deckhouse and exploded in empty compartments. The Zeke was over the ship and gone in an instant. When the laughing pilot pulled up, the forties and three twenty-millimeter rounds ripped the plane open, but the pilot was able to fly off to the northwest, toward the Munda airfield on the southeastern edge of New Georgia trailing smoke.

  Captain Tyson brought the ship back on their base course toward Tulagi. Then he went to the port wing of the bridge and watched the horizontal bombers approach. Off to his left, AGAR was under attack from another Zeke. The plane dropped a hundred-twenty-five-pound bomb, which took out the number fifty-four five-inch mount.

  Tyson watched the bombers, waiting for the little black specks to detach from Betty’s open bomb bay. As soon as they appeared, he yelled, “Right full rudder, starboard engine back one-third. Helm mind your rudder.”

  “Aye, sir, right full rudder, starboard engine back one third.”

  Again, the ship heeled to port, as she turned away from the track that would lead to death and destruction.

  Captain Tyson looked all about, thankfully spotting no “Val” dive bombers in the area. Although classified obsolete, the Aichi D3A is an Imperial Japanese Navy Carrier dive bomber that is very effective and accurate.

  With everyone watching the fighter aircraft, nobody saw the mottled camouflage Betty coming in with an island behind him. The pilot was so intent on his approach, he was too close, and when launched, the torpedo failed to arm before it buried its nose into the after-engine room of the HALLIS.

  Everyone sprawled into unnatural positions from the impact. The Lieutenant and Williams were thrown across the upper level, winding up in a two-man entanglement. The throttleman had his hands on the main throttles and was able to hold on to the thro
ttle and maintain his position.

  The messenger was in the process of taking temperature readings on the main bearings; He was catapulted across the engine room, landing upside down on the opposite side of the main high-pressure turbine. His head hung in an abnormal position from a broken neck. On the lower level, the pump man was pinned against the bulkhead by a twisted metal railing, part of which slashed open his side. He was unconscious and bleeding profusely.

  A couple of feet from him was the damaged body of a Type 91 torpedo; its black nose thoroughly jammed into the base of the reduction gears. It hadn’t damaged the lower structure of the multi-million-dollar double-locked train reduction gear from the base, as it was still running normally. Now they had almost five-hundred-thirty-pounds of unexploded high explosives sitting under the main reduction gears and no knowledge of the state of its firing mechanism. That amount of explosives would severely damage or blow the ship in two in the blink of an eye, should it detonate.

  The Lieutenant called Main Control on the IC box, “We have been struck by a torpedo which is hung up beneath the reduction gear. We have one KIA, our messenger. The lower level watch is trapped and injured, he is unconscious, and we are attempting to stem blood loss. We need replacements and medical as soon as possible. The plant appears to be unaffected at this time.”

  “Help is on the way, so is the Chief Engineer, and the XO will be down shortly.”

  “Copy that.”

  Just then, the annunciator rang, dropping the speed to fifteen knots. The throttleman called out, “The Captain is slowing down to reduce the pressure on that torpedo, keep an eye on it.”

  Back on deck, the guns continued to fire, this time concentrating on the Betty. The plane’s tail was shattered and ripped to shreds; then, one wing lost about three to four feet, causing a loss of lift. Surprisingly, the pilot managed to make a rather soft pancake on the quiet waters, allowing the crew to exit the craft and climb onto the port wing.

  Then they made their worst mistake; the pilot ordered the men to open fire with their handguns at the destroyer. “OOD, get some guns on that plane before they hurt someone.” The Captain had to yell loud enough to be heard over the din of the gunfire.

  The talker in the Fire Control mount passed on the order, and a fifty-caliber machinegun and twenty-millimeter cannon opened fire on the plane. The three men died in a hail of shells that ripped the plane open, and it quickly sunk out of sight. Only a foamy spot in the sea, mixed with the red of blood, remained. Soon the ever-hungry sharks would have their fill.

  “Too bad we couldn’t save those men,” the OOD said.

  “I doubt the officer there would allow it; he seemed determined to die in combat against an enemy. That’s not uncommon with those men who hold strong attachments with the Emperor.”

  “I will note, sir, that was a dumb thing to do.”

  “Yeah, not a smart move to open fire with handguns on an enemy destroyer. Have we received any damage control reports yet?”

  “Just coming in, sir,” the talker said. “The after-engine room has an unexploded torpedo jammed under the reduction gear, and they report engine is still running normally.”

  “Very well, OOD, check with gunnery to see if there is anyone with Japanese weapon experience or training. In the meantime, reduce speed to fifteen knots. Signal,” the Captain called.

  “Sir, you sent for Signal?”

  “Yes, signal AGAR, proceed at best speed to Tulagi, we have an unexploded fish in after engine room.”

  “Aye, sir,” and the signalman hurried to make his transmission.

  “Sir,” the talker called out to the OOD, “There is one casualty and another injured and pinned in the after-engine room.”

  “Very well, get the XO down there; I want a report as soon as possible.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Three minutes later, the XO dropped into the engine room. Lieutenant Lanner quickly filled him in on the events, damage, potential damage, and injuries.

  “Sorry about your messenger, is Main Control getting you a replacement?”

  “Already here, sir. The medics are working on Fireman First Class Foreman. Their initial report is he will be all right, but he needs to be removed to sickbay as soon as possible.”

  “How about ship fitters? Can they extract him without further injury?”

  “They are already working on it. The flooding is at a minimum, but the explosive expert from Gunnery said the detonator is either faulty or didn’t arm before the fish hit. He believes it is the latter because the torpedo was dropped very close and probably did not arm before it hit. It’s solidly wedged under the reduction gear and will need additional help to remove it. The crews at Tulagi can probably do it and put a temporary patch over the hole. It will take a yard with a drydock to permanently repair it.”

  “Good job Lieutenant, I’ll report it to the Captain, if you need anything just call it in, I suspect we’ll maintain this speed to Tulagi.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The attacking force turned about and headed back toward their base at Buin on Bougainville Island. The ship’s crew started to relax a little. The AGAR was rapidly nearing the horizon, as she skipped across the water.

  On the bridge, the XO made his report. The Captain called for a radioman for an urgent message. In a minute, a sailor from communications was admitted to the bridge. “Send the following to Cactus as urgent. Have taken IJN aerial torpedo into port side, after engine room. One injured, one KIA, plus three injured in a strafing attack. Reduced speed to fifteen knots. Get our position fix from the navigator then get it off immediately.”

  A few minutes later, the answer came through.

  Maintain speed and destination.

  Motor Torpedo Boats in route for an escort to Tulagi.

  Trying to round up air cover in daylight.

  Cactus 2 sends.

  “OOD, double the lookouts, our maximum speed is fifteen knots; it may be a little fast, but get the sound people actively looking, we don’t need another torpedo in our side. In the event of another torpedo attack on us, turn away to parallel their course until they clear, then resume base course. We will not engage unless we have no choice.”

  All topside personnel began scanning the horizon, sea, and air for any sign of the enemy.

  The Captain called the sound shack, “Can you get anything at this speed?”

  “Yes sir, the calm waters are helping, is there an island off to our starboard side?”

  The Captain looked but didn’t see anything, then brought his binoculars to his eyes. Sure enough, there was a small beach like ribbon just above the surface, not wide enough to dry out from wave action. Beyond it, about three miles was a small islet, and beyond it, the large volcanic island of Kolombangara.

  “Sound, it looks like a sliver of beach almost two miles to the south than an islet and beyond it, Kolombangara.”

  “Aye, sir, then we can hear out that far for certain. The water must be exceptionally calm.”

  “Like a mirror, keep your ears sharp, especially to the northern sectors, at least until we’re past New Georgia.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The Captain got hold of the navigator and showed him the nearly invisible sliver of sand. “Does that show up on any of our maps?”

  After checking four maps, he returned to the Captain, “No, sir, nothing to indicate it’s there.”

  “Get an accurate plot on that bar, it might be the top of a growing islet, but for now it’s a serious navigation hazard. Mark it out charts and get a good position on for division and Cactus. In the night, it will rip a hull open in an instant.”

  “Right away, sir, it’s a bad hazard.”

  “I want you to make a note of it in your daily log, and we will put it in ours. OOD, have you been listening?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Make sure you pass it on to the next watch. I have an idea on how we may be able to use it down the line.”

  An hour later, the radar
shack reported, “Bridge, radar, three small boats inbound bearing one-zero-five, course two-niner-five, speed forty knots.”

  The talker responded and repeated it to the OOD.

  “That must be the PT boats Cactus sent.”

  “I would say so, but keep the topside lookouts sharp, I doubt the Japanese Navy has anything that fast and size down here, but I won’t take any chances. Talker, have radio monitor the PT frequencies, we need confirmation of who they are.”

  “Bridge, radar, air contact, about twenty aircraft are coming in from Munda at six thousand feet, bearing two-four-zero, course zero-six-zero.”

  “Damn,” exclaimed OOD. Bo’sun pass, ‘Prepare to repel aircraft from two-four-zero true. Set condition one. The modified condition one ended, and men tied up their vests and donned the tin pots. All the mounts swung to the southwest, with the Fire Control radar searching for the enemy flight.

  In the after-engine room, Lieutenant Lanner said, “Martin check the packing we put around that torpedo and see if we can seal up the entrance hole some.”

  A ship fitter and explosive expert, along with the Chief Torpedoman, were climbing the ladder from the lower level when they were ordered back to check the hull where the torpedo crashed through.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Bridge, radar, we’re seeing a flight of about twenty aircraft bearing one-two-five, course three-zero-five, they’re at eight thousand and moving fast.”

  “That sounds like our air cover, they are fast, and I love it.”

  “You can say that again, OOD,” the Captain said.

  The OOD turned to the talker. “To all guns, friendly aircraft in the area, make sure of your targets before firing. Bo’sun repeat the information on the 1MC just to make sure everyone knows.

  “Aye, sir.” The two men said together.

  In the after-engine room, the ship fitter and Chief Torpedoman Lee Mandrake stepped up to Lieutenant Lanner. “Sir, we came up with a plan to cut the tail of the torpedo away and seal the hole. It will take a lot of coordination, but we can weld a patch over the hole and secure the torpedo so that it won’t move.”