Final Harbor (The Silent War Book 1)

by Harry Homewood

  The Mako had been on the surface for three hours when the stern lookout cleared his throat.

  “Running lights bearing one seven zero, Bridge! I’ve got a white masthead light and a red port running light in sight! Moving from our port to starboard.”

  “Running lights?” Captain Hinman snapped from his place on the cigaret deck. “Running lights? You sure?”

  “Yes sir, Captain,” the lookout called down. “Now I can see another set of running lights behind the first one. There’s two ships back there!”

  “Who’s up there on stern lookout?” Hinman asked.

  “Grabnas, sir,” the lookout answered. Hinman’s mind flicked over the roster of his crew. Grabnas, Andrew, Seaman First Class. Enlisted in Florida. Worked on his uncle’s shrimp trawler from the time he was a child, a born seaman. He reached upward and grabbed a railing and hauled himself up beside Grabnas. He focused his binoculars and saw the running lights.

  “Third ship standing out behind the other two, sir,” Grabnas said. “Now there’s someone sending blinker signals, sir.”

  “Very good,” Hinman said. He dropped down to the cigaret deck. “Bridge, ask Mr. Brannon to come up here.”

  Hinman pointed astern at the lights, visible now from the cigaret deck.

  “Mike, get the Plot going. Use the search ‘scope to get your bearings. I’m going to stay on the surface for a while.”

  “Do you want Battle Stations, Captain?”

  “I’ll tell you when I want Battle Stations,” Hinman said. “Get the Plot team going right now!”

  “Ships are making a left turn, Captain,” Grabnas called.

  “Mako your reports to the Officer of the Deck, not to me!” Captain Hinman grated. He heard Brannon leave and focused his glasses on the lights astern. The convoy was probably three ships. He hoped they were oil tankers, some of those he had seen in the harbor that appeared to be loaded. Now the problem that had to be solved was how best could he attack the convoy, granting that the Fubuki and the other three destroyers would be escorting the ships?

  He stood at the after rail of the cigaret deck, his square hands gripping the rail. One convoy formation, he reasoned, would be to form up the three ships in a single line. He rejected that idea. Three ships in a line would be too difficult to guard with four escorts. No, the more logical formation would be two of the ships abreast of each other, a thousand yards apart. The third ship astern another thousand yards. The big Fubuki with its superior speed could range out ahead of the convoy to search for enemy submarines.

  Where would the Fubuki commander position his other three destroyers? He reasoned out the problem; one destroyer would have to be kept astern of the convoy. There was no danger from the land side so the other two destroyers could be put on the sea side of the convoy. He put his glasses to his eyes and studied the lights of the ships. They had all turned left and were approaching Mako. He looked upward and saw the broad viewing lens of the search periscope turning slowly. Mike Brannon’s voice came up through the bridge hatch, asking for permission to come to the Bridge.

  “We’ve got a formation on the convoy, sir,” Brannon said to Hinman. “It looks like there are two ships in line and one astern. We’ve lost sight of the Fubuki. Last time I saw it the ship was out ahead of the first two ships. They’re tankers from the look of them, best as I can see. We have one destroyer aft of the convoy. We assume the other two destroyers are on the sea side of the convoy.”

  “That’s what I figured they would do,” Hinman said. “As the Executive Officer, second in command, what should our next move be?”

  “I’ve worked out a problem, sir,” Brannon said. His voice was eager. “We can stay on this course until the convoy passes. Then we can cross the convoy’s track astern and swing out beyond them and make flank speed, pull off an end-around and get ahead of them and submerge and make a night periscope attack, take them as they come to us! We can do that even if they increase speed to ten knots. The convoy speed now is seven knots, sir.”

  “You’re wrong!” Hinman said bluntly. “Once that Fubuki skipper has made a couple of sweeps up ahead he’s going to have that convoy making every turn in its screws! That’s what I’d do if I were sitting in that Fubuki skipper’s bridge chair and thank God I’m not! Try working out your problem if the convoy makes fourteen knots. We’d never get position ahead of them!”

  Brannon stood, silent.

  “Go back down to Plot,” Hinman said. “Give me an intercept course and speed to close to six hundred yards on the tanker that’s closest to us. Send the crew to Battle Stations. I’m going to attack on the surface! The first target will be the tanker closest to us. Second target the tanker astern. Third target will be the tanker outboard of us. If we live that long!”

  He heard the Battle Stations’ alarm gong ringing and the soft rush of feet below him. Brannon’s voice was tinny over the bridge speaker, reporting that all hands were at Battle Stations. Hinman moved to the bridge speaker and took a deep breath.

  “This is the Captain,” he said slowly. “We have three oil tankers up here that are carrying oil to Japan. They are escorted by four destroyers.

  “We are going to attack on the surface, go right in among them! That is something no American submarine has ever done, so far as I know. The Germans do it all the time in the Atlantic and we’re as good as the damned Germans!

  “I expect the Japanese destroyer captains to respond to our attack. I expect the response to be very heavy. We are going to need every bit of skill we have to drive this attack home and then make our escape. Now let’s go get ‘em!” He heard the sound of cheering coming from below and he smiled grimly to himself and then turned as Mike Brannon’s voice came through the speaker.

  “Course to the first target is zero three zero. Repeat. Zero three zero. Speed required to close to six hundred yards is fifteen repeat fifteen knots, Bridge.”

  “Very well,” Captain Hinman said. “Come right to zero three zero. Make turns for fifteen knots. Mr. Brannon, turn the Plot over to Mr. Grilley and come to the bridge.” He turned to the Officer of the Deck.

  “Mr. Simms,” his voice was loud enough to be heard by all three lookouts above the bridge. “I want each lookout to keep his eyes in his sector only. No matter what happens no lookout is to turn his eyes away from his own sector! There are four destroyers out there and I will not be surprised by one of them coming up on us because a lookout was not doing his duty!” He waited until the OOD had relayed his orders.

  “Very well, Mr. Simms. You can go below and stand by to take the dive if we have to dunk. I’ll take the deck.”

  He leaned his elbows on the bridge rail and studied the dark bulk of the enemy convoy through his binoculars. No doubt of it, these were tankers and heavily loaded. He heard Mike Brannon come up the hatch.

  “Making turns for fifteen knots, Captain,” Brannon said. His voice held an undertone of excitement.

  “Very well,” Captain Hinman said. “Take the cigaret deck, Mike. Cover my stern. If you see anything, any danger, any target back there my orders are that you set up with the After TBT and shoot from the after tubes.” He bent down to the bridge speaker.

  “Stand by to open tube doors fore and aft,” he said. “I’ll slow down before I give the order so you people in the Forward Room won’t break your back on those Y-wrenches! Set depth on all torpedoes at four feet. Repeat. Four feet!”

  Mako rushed onward through the night toward a point on the black water where her course and that of the closest oil tanker would cross. Captain Hinman stood quietly, his mind sorting out the factors of the battle that was about to begin.

  The torpedoes had to run 425 yards before the tiny propeller in each warhead would arm the exploder for action. If he began firing at his first target at 600 yards he could shoot two fish at that target and then swing right and shoot two more at the tanker trailing behind. If he got hits on both ships he could increase speed and head between the two ships for a set-up on the third s
hip.

  What would the enemy destroyers be doing while all that was going on? He tried to put himself in the place of the other ship captains. The Fubuki, once alerted by hits on the tankers or by radio, would come rushing back to its charges. But that would take some time. The two destroyers on the far side of the convoy were another matter. Their captains would face a problem: should they interpose themselves between the attacking submarine and their charges? It would be a difficult decision to make and the two destroyer captains could be expected to delay a few minutes until they had made a decision. He needed those few minutes.

  “Depth set four feet all torpedoes,” the bridge speaker said.

  “Very well,” Hinman said. He went back to his problem. The captain of the destroyer guarding the stern of the convoy faced no problems at all. He could attack as soon as he saw the Mako. That would be Mike’s problem if he were still occupied with the oil tankers. The speaker rasped.

  “You will have a firing solution in five minutes, sir, allowing for time to slow down and open the tube outer doors.”

  “Very well,” Hinman said. “Control Room: All stop on all engines. Open tube outer doors both rooms. Resume speed as soon as the doors in the Forward Room are open. Give me a countdown from fifteen seconds to firing solution.”

  He stood, his elbows braced on the bridge rail, his binoculars at his eyes, studying the first target. The deck under him shuddered slightly as the Mako resumed speed, her bow wave crisp and clean in the starlight.

  “All tube doors open, Bridge. Torpedo depth set four feet!”

  “Very well.” Captain Hinman marveled; it was a wonder some lynx-eyed lookout on one of the Jap ships hadn’t seen Mako’s bow wave by now. He felt that somehow he was detached, a spectator in a drama that he had dreamed. Lieut. Don Grilley’s voice came up the hatch.

  “Fifteen seconds to a shooting solution, sir.”

  “Very well.” Hinman stood, legs braced against the Mako’s plunging movement, his eyes glued to his binoculars.

  “All hands! Keep a sharp lookout! Here we go!”

  “Ten seconds!” the metallic voice in the speaker said. “Nine ... eight ... seven ... six ... five ... four ... three ... two ... one ...”

  “Fire one!”

  Captain Hinman’s voice was a sharp bark.

  “Right five degrees rudder!” He felt the thumping shock in his legs as the 3,000-pound torpedo hurtled out of Number One tube, driven by a giant fist of compressed air, its steam engines screaming into life as it passed through the torpedo tube. He counted to himself methodically.

  “Fire two!

  “Right fifteen degrees rudder! More speed, Control, give me more speed! Stand by ... stand by ...

  “Fire three! Give me more speed, God damn it!

  “Fire four!”

  A booming roar echoed over the ocean as a torpedo slammed home into the waist of the first tanker. A giant sheet of flame erupted and towered high into the dark night as the second torpedo blew the stern of the tanker apart with a smashing roar.

  “Two hits on the first target!” Hinman screamed into the bridge microphone. “Meet your helm right there, damn it! Give me ten degrees left rudder!” His voice was drowned out in another booming roar as the second tanker exploded in fire.

  “Hit on the second target!” Hinman yelled. He heard a voice above him screaming.

  “Destroyer astern coming this way!” The stern lookout’s voice was a thin wail above the noise of the exploding oil tankers. “Son of a bitch has got us bore-sighted! Comin’ fast as hell!”

  The captain of the Japanese destroyer guarding the sea astern of the convoy was on his ship’s bridge, waiting for the order from the convoy commander in the Fubuki up ahead to increase convoy speed to 15 knots. He gasped in disbelief as he heard and saw the first tanker erupt in a gout of flame and then he saw the submarine, low down in the water, turning. He saw the wakes of the torpedoes streaming toward the second tanker and screamed in rage as the second ship exploded with a great roar. He howled orders for emergency speed and slammed his fist into the alarm button to alert the depth charge crews on the squat fantail of his slim, deadly ship. To lose two of his tankers to such an attack! His ship’s bow reared upward and then came down as the ship’s engines roared into full speed. He had the American submarine boxed between the two burning tankers. If the submarine tried to dive he would be over him before he could escape and his depth charges would shatter the submarine. If the submarine commander chose to stay on the surface he would ram, slice the submarine in two with his bow.

  A lookout yelled a wordless warning and he saw the bubbling wake of a torpedo racing across his bow. He hesitated a long moment, deciding if he should change course. The lookout cried out again, agony in his voice, and the destroyer captain saw a lengthening finger of bubbles pointing at his ship’s side, reaching for him.

  Mike Brannon saw the wake of the first torpedo he fired pass ahead of the Japanese destroyer. He saw the wake of the second torpedo heading straight for the side of the destroyer’s bow. Then the wake ended at the ship’s side and for a long second there was nothing. Then with a shattering roar the entire bow of the Japanese destroyer disintegrated in a massive explosion that sheared off the ship back to its bridge. The destroyer’s engines, still turning the ship’s screws at maximum speed, drove the stricken ship under the surface of the sea. Brannon turned away, conscious that his stomach was suddenly roiling. He winced and realized that the second tanker, afire from bow to stern, was close by on the starboard side of Mako. He could feel the furnace blast of the fire’s heat on his hands and face. Above him the lookouts were trying vainly to shield their faces from the scorching blast of heat.

  “For God’s sake, Captain!” Brannon yelled. “We’ll burn up!” Hinman didn’t reply and Brannon ran forward to the bridge to repeat his warning and then he stopped dead, a cold tremor shaking him. Captain Hinman stood, crouched in the bridge, staring at him, his face set in a ghastly grin, his eyes glittering in the red glare of the burning ship.

  “How much water have we got under us, Mister?”

  “Water?” Brannon’s voice faltered.

  “Water, damn you! I want to dive this ship! I can’t outrun that bastard out there!” Hinman’s arm swept out to one side and Brannon’s eyes followed it and saw the Fubuki in the distance, its bow throwing up a great sheet of water as it raced toward the burning ships. He heard the scream of a shell overhead and a crumping explosion as the ship beyond them took the shell in its burning superstructure.

  “Two hundred feet under the keel, Bridge. Repeat. Two zero zero feet under the keel.” Chief Rhodes’ voice over the bridge speaker was calm.

  “Clear the bridge!” Hinman shouted. As the lookouts slammed past him on their way below decks he turned to look at the oncoming Fubuki. The other ship’s lookouts had picked up Mako’s outline against the burning tankers. The shell fire proved that. He hit the button of the diving alarm twice with his hand and dropped through the hatch, twisting to one side as the quartermaster lunged upward and grabbed the hatch lanyard and slammed the hatch closed. The Mako knifed downward, driven by her speed and the hard dive angle on the bow and stern planes. Captain Hinman stood in the Conning Tower, watching the depth gauge.

  “Twenty-degree down angle until we pass one hundred feet!” he snapped. “Level off at one five zero feet! Do it smartly! I don’t want to hit bottom! Left full rudder!”

  The Mako rolled like an aircraft in a shallow bank and Hinman grabbed at the bridge ladder for support. He clung there, watching the helmsman’s gyro repeater.

  “Rudder amidships,” he ordered. Mako eased upright and Mike Brannon came up the steps to the Conning Tower and stood on the ladder, his face above the hatch.

  “Give me a course back to where we started the attack,” Captain Hinman ordered. “He’ll think we’ll try to clear the area. There’s not enough water here to get away from him if he finds us. Make turns for dead slow. Pass the word for silent running. I d
on’t want to hear a sound! Shift to manual power on bow and stern planes and the rudder. Manual power on the sound heads. I want continual reports from sound, Mr. Cohen.” He stared down at Mike Brannon’s face.

  “They’ll know that Mako was here!” he said.

  Chapter 4

  The Control Room telephone talker bobbed his head at Mike Brannon, who held a finger to his lips to caution the talker to keep his voice low.

  “Sound reports hearing sounds like a cigar box breaking up, like it was being stepped on,” the talker said. “That’s what Mr. Cohen says.”

  “That’s one of our targets breaking up as it sinks.” Captain Hinman stepped from the Conning Tower ladder and walked over to the chart table on top of the gyro compass. He studied the attack plot Brannon had drawn in on the maneuvering board. His stubby forefinger traced Mako’s course from the start of the attack to the deadly insertion into the tanker convoy. He looked at Brannon.

  “Now the guessing game begins,” Captain Hinman said softly. “He guesses what we’ll do, we guess what he’ll do.” He looked at Mike Brannon.

  “My guess is that he doesn’t know if there’s one submarine or two that hit his convoy. Or three. If I were the Fubuki captain I’d figure there were at least two submarines. If I figured that,” he paused and rubbed his chin and then looked down at the chart, “if I figured that, I’d be more interested in getting my other tanker out of here in a hurry, before another attack. But if he guesses there’s only one submarine then he’ll begin a search and if he finds us he’ll call in at least one of the other two destroyers.” He bent lower and looked at the depth figures on the chart. “We’d have to run for deeper water, to the east. So we’ll do the opposite. Mike, get us back on a course to where we started the attack run. Let’s see what happens. Mr. Simms, one hundred fifty feet. Make turns for two knots. Pass the word absolute silence about the decks.”

  The silence within Mako was eerie. All the ventilation fans had been turned off. Men moved very quietly and softly when they moved. The heat began to build within the ship. Mike Brannon mopped his plump face as he saw a drop of sweat fall on to his chart.