From the Log:
Midnight, 21 March A double babygram: an 8 pound 7 ounce girl [Frances Ann] for Leonard F. Lehman, Electrician’s Mate First Class; and 6 pound Kari Jeanne for Richard Brown, also Electrician’s Mate First Class. Birth dates respectively 15th and 18th of March. Mother’s and Father’s copies of babygrams are duly delivered. Fathers are honor-bound to bring the one with the cupids home to their wives.
Wednesday, 23 March 1960 0834 Crossed International Date Line from west longitude to east longitude at latitude 10° –36’ North. As this significant milestone was achieved, a message arrived from King Neptune informing us that because of our highly satisfactory conduct on 24 February, when we first crossed the equator, all hands were automatically, without further examination, taken into The Royal Order of Golden Dragons and so recorded in his log. There will, however, be a severe price.
Thursday, 24 March, is dropped from our calendar. This day, a full day from the lives of all hands, has been exacted from us in tribute for crossing the date line [technically speaking we advanced all clocks twenty-four hours]. Additional penance consists of working the ship for 24 full 25-hour days before we will be home again, although it should be noted that a number of these 25-hour days have already been worked off enroute to this area.
Still from the Log:
1733 The gravity meter indicated a rise in the ocean floor. There is no indication from sonar for 5 minutes, until 1738, when sonar detects a ledge from dead ahead around to port to a bearing of south.
1834 Gravity meter and sonar together show a dropping away in the ocean floor.
1933 First trial on our hand-made fathometer transducer: Unsuccessful.
The new fathometer transducer, the product of much inspired work by the Electronics Technicians gang under “Whitey” Rubb, had at last been completed, and had passed a successful test. In the Electronics Technicians’ workshop, a sonar signal set into the transducer was clearly heard outside it, even though the frequency response was theoretically in the inaudible range. The thing was worked in reverse also and was proven sensitive to the reception of noise beamed at it by radio or tape recorder at an approximately correct frequency. The problem now was to find some means of getting this sound into the water and catching it on the return.
Steel is a good conductor of sound. Our theory was that if we could send out a sufficiently strong signal, it might pass through the steel of our pressure hull and carry to the ocean floor, there to be reflected, hopefully, in sufficient strength to be detected either on the transducer itself or on one of our external hydrophones.
Another of our problems was that the pressure hull was the inner of Triton’s two hulls. When Jones had gone to work with the sledge hammer, we hoped that the water between the two hulls would carry the signal. But this experiment had been completely unsuccessful; in order to get the maximum possible chance of success with our handmade fathometer transducer, we had to do better.
There was, fortunately, a way to reach the outer skin of the ship itself, through the forward trim tank. Located in the space between the pressure hull and the outer hull, the tank had been built to withstand full test pressure and to meet the highest specifications of shock resistance. It also was accessible through a manhole cover at the bottom of the torpedo storeroom.
Tom Thamm adjusted the trim of the ship so that all water normally carried in the forward trim tank could be pumped out of it and into the midships auxiliary tanks. (Balance fore and aft was maintained by pumping an equal weight of water to auxiliaries from the after trim tank.) Then the tank was opened and tested for gas. After it had been pronounced clear, Lieutenant “Whitey” Rubb and Machinist Phil Kinnie descended into the heretofore sealed space, carrying our jury-rigged transducer with them.
Placing the new mechanism carefully against the skin of the ship, alongside the internal keel, they quickly made a connection to a cable from the fathometer transmitter nearby. After all was in readiness, we began the first test.
For a moment, we were greatly encouraged. We actually heard a sharp click, as the outgoing signal sped through our handmade transducer. But there was no returning echo. Various combinations were tried, including partially reflooding the forward trim tank so as to submerge the transducer and thus increase its ability to transmit through the bottom of the trim tank and to the water outside. But in the end, we were completely disappointed. The effort was unsuccessful.
“Whitey” was dejected. “I’m satisfied this isn’t going to work, Captain,” he said. “But I’d like to keep trying.”
The only bright spot of the day was receipt of our fifth babygram. A boy, Donald, Jr., for Engineman First Class Donald R. Quick.
From the Log:
Sunday, 27 March 1960 1349 We will soon be passing through our nearest point of approach to the presumed location at which the first Triton (SS-201) was lost in action during World War II. As a matter of interest, this took place almost exactly seventeen years ago, and by a strange coincidence the first Triton departed on her last patrol from Brisbane, Australia, on the same day (16 February) as we, her namesake, departed from New London on this voyage. Triton I is presumed to have been lost as a result of depth charge attack by three Japanese destroyers on 15 March 1943, in a position almost exactly 800 miles due south of where we are now.
At that time I was engineer officer of Trigger, also lost in action later in the war, and LCDR R. S. Benson, USN, was skipper. On 15 March 1943, as it happened, we were on patrol in the same general vicinity as Triton I. Correlation between the known facts of Triton’s loss and Trigger’s report of the events of that date indicates that the two ships may have attacked the same convoy. Trigger believed she had sunk one ship and damaged a second, and Triton’s results were unknown. We were depth charged, though not severely. But afterwards we heard distant depth charges for approximately an hour. Japanese records indicate that the depth charging heard by Trigger most probably accounted for the loss of the old Triton. Their report of the action contains the notation that a large amount of oil came to the surface in the center of which floating objects were found bearing the label “Made in USA.”
It was Triton’s sixth patrol, but the first for her new commander, LCDR George K. McKenzie, Jr. Besides her skipper, she had on board an unusual array of talent in LCDR John Eichmann, Executive Officer, and LCDR Jack R. Crutchfield, who was, I believe, Engineer. Eichmann had been with the Triton since she was commissioned in 1940. His name is engraved upon Triton’s old commissioning plaque, presented to us last November 10 by Mrs. Lent, widow of the late Rear Admiral W. A. Lent, Triton I’s first skipper. The plaque is now mounted in the passageway outside our wardroom.
Without too much fact on which to base my supposition, I have always assumed that John Eichmann had been slated for transfer to his own command, possibly to be brought back to the States for a new construction submarine as was the custom for people who had spent a long time in the war zone [and later happened, in time, to me], and that he had either been pursuaded to remain for one additional patrol, or very likely had volunteered to do so in order to provide some kind of continuity for the new skipper.
I had met Eichmann in 1939 when, as an Ensign, I spent a day at sea with the S-25 to which he was attached. Without conscious intention I had kept track of his whereabouts ever since. A year after the loss of Triton, after I had been Executive Officer of the Trigger for some time, I also agreed to stay for one extra patrol because Trigger had unexpectedly received a new skipper. In my case, Trigger survived the most serious depth-charging of her career and returned triumphantly to Pearl Harbor. But all during the ordeal, I kept hearing the parting words of the chap who left Trigger in my place: “You’ll be sorry you didn’t go, Ned—you’ll be sorry—you’ll be sorry.” The Japanese depth charges’ “click—WHAM—swish” said the same, and I kept thinking of Jack Eichmann.
Lt. McDonald and I put considerable thought into preparation of the service. We decided that a version of the committal service wou
ld be most appropriate, although we could find no reference or description of exactly what we wanted. Improvisation is the order of the day in submarines at sea anyway.
The services were announced at 1340, with directions that all hands not on watch assemble in the crew’s mess, the air-control center or the officer’s wardroom. At 1345 the services were broadcast throughout the ship, begun by the playing of Tattoo. This was followed by the National Anthem and a scripture reading from Psalm 107.
Following the scripture reading, a short prayer similar to the committal service was read, followed by reading of the tribute, which could hardly be called a eulogy but which was an attempt to put the significance of the occasion into words for our own better inspiration and understanding: The sacrifice made by the first Triton, and all the sacrifices by all the people lost in all the wars of our country, sanctify the service of those who follow in their footsteps.
Rendering of proper honors gave considerable occasion for thought, and it finally was decided that the only salute a submarine can fire is actually the most appropriate one anyway. Upon command, Triton’s course was changed to due south and the Officer of the Deck was directed to stop all engines. The entire ship’s company was then brought to attention, and all were directed to face forward. This was, of course, possible even at their regular watch stations. Then, with the entire crew silently at attention, the forward torpedo tubes were fired three times in rapid succession.
We could hear the resounding echo of the water-ram and feel the fluctuation of air pressure on our eardrums. Three times the harsh war-like note traveled through the ship; and as the last air fluctuation died away, the clear notes of Taps sounded in proud and thoughtful tribute.
The moment of reverence was a real one, truly caught. Everyone on board felt it; and though their response was by command, their personal participation sprang from deep within themselves and was given willingly.
When the memorial services were completed, we resumed our base course and speed. Next day, we were to pass between Guam and Rota islands in the Marianas.
During the trip across the Pacific, Triton employed two sets of navigators. The regular team, consisting of Executive Officer Will Adams and Chief Quartermaster William J. Marshall, was backed up by team number two: Operations Officer Bob Bulmer and First Class Quartermaster Curtis K. Beacham. Will, I hoped, would soon have his own command, while Bob was preparing for a chance at nuclear training. We would be bound to lose one of the two officers and possibly one of the quartermasters besides. It was just as well to be ready to make a shift in assignment.
As a consequence, the landfall on Guam was made by the combined efforts of both navigating teams, and at 0726, on the twenty-eighth of March, with the whole day ahead of us for a careful reconnaissance of this once-beleaguered Pacific bastion, Triton came to periscope depth. Guam was dead ahead and Rota lay due north. It was another perfect landfall after sixty-seven hundred miles of submerged travel.
We planned to work our photographic reconnaissance for the northwestern coast of Guam as closely as we could. We would have no problem with the three-mile limit, for Guam was a US possession. Nevertheless, so far as we knew, none of the American authorities on Guam were aware of Triton’s trip, and from our point of view it would be as embarrassing to be detected by our own personnel as by any other nationality.
We had two complete photographic teams. Team One consisted of Commander Joseph Roberts, USNR, helped by Photographer’s Mate First Class Earnest R. Meadows, who were specially attached to Triton for the voyage. Team Two consisted of Lieutenant Dick Harris and Chief William R. Hadley. Though the teams naturally competed with each other, both had full access to the special skills and techniques which Joe Roberts had developed during a lifetime in the business. In addition to everything else, Joe had been assigned as “pool press photographer,” which meant that all his pictures would be equally available to the entire newspaper and magazine media of the country.
As the water shoaled, while we were working into position, we had an opportunity to test our latest, do-it-yourself fathometer in relatively shallow water. By this time we had two homemade fathometer heads, or transducers as they are technically called. One had been built from scratch and very neatly finished off by Phil Kinnie and Chief Engineman Alfred Abel, both of them accomplished stainless-steel welders—which is, by the way, one of the most difficult phases of the welder’s art. Commandeering one of Jim Stark’s stainless-steel medical containers, they had cut it down and welded it around the entire jury-transducer which Electronics Technician’s Mates Docker, Simpson, and Blaede had manufactured under “Whitey” Rubb’s direction; it looked like a most professional job. The second transducer was a conversion from one of our regular announcing-system speakers, waterproofed as well as we were able. While not so rugged as the stainless-steel one just described, it had the theoretical advantage of being superior in frequency response.
But as ingenious as the new heads were, they still could not transmit a signal with enough strength to pierce the outer hull and return to the ship. Our efforts, again, were a complete failure.
However, there was one way, short of cutting a hole through the bottom of the hull of the ship, to project our transducer directly into the sea and by-pass the rugged steel plating. This was through our garbage ejector. If we could operate it with the inner door closed and the outer door open, the signal would at least have an unimpeded path through water. Whether we would be able to hear an answering echo on our sonar receivers, which were located quite some distance forward of the garbage ejector, was a matter for conjecture. And whether we could devise some means of getting electrical energy into the transducer through the closed breech of the garbage ejector was a technical hurdle as yet uncrossed. But the idea was at least worth a try.
From the Log:
During the approach to Guam, we have remained at periscope depth and have observed considerable activity on shore. Several aircraft are landing or taking off and a helicopter can be seen hovering over the airfield. We can see the planes being maneuvered about the hangar and people walking on the roads, cars driving back and forth, and other signs of activity. There is one housing area which is very clear indeed on top of a near hill with slope toward the sea. We can see the green grass plots, and brown areas where walkways and driveways have been carved out. The houses are white or creamed stucco, surrounded in most cases by flowers and shrubs.
As we prepare for our reconnaissance our vision is occasionally obscured by a succession of torrential downpours which come marching in from the north. At times the rain is so heavy that it is impossible to see more than a few hundred yards in any direction. Our photographic efforts therefore are under an unusual difficulty—that of predicting the showers so that the part of the island we wish to photograph is for the time being clear. During one period there were as many as three localized thunderstorms on different bearings, with clear visibility between.
Today is a big day, too, for Edward C. Carbullido, SD2 (SS), USN. Carbullido was born on Guam and has youthful memories of the period of Japanese occupation during the war. Subsequently, when old enough, he enlisted in the US Navy and has been in the Navy for 14 years, during which he has never returned to his home island. Today is, in fact, the closest he has ever been. We wish it were possible to let him go ashore for a few days, and we shall do as much as we can for him.
Carbullido’s father is a Chief Quartermaster in the Navy, now retired and living here. He has recently built a new home in the town of Agat, just to the southward of Orote peninsula, around the point of land from Apra Harbor and Agana, the main city of Guam.
Many a father would like to have a son like our Carbullido. During the Japanese Occupation, the father was away. This was good luck, of a sort, but during this period there was no support for his family. Edward Carbullido, the oldest, worked for the Japanese to support his mother and the younger children. After the war, as soon as old enough, he joined the Navy, and during the subsequent 14 years
he has sent home every cent he could spare, a total of several thousand dollars, to help pay for a new house and the education of his brothers and sisters. Carbullido’s ambition is to return to Guam after completing 20 years of service, 6 years from now. One can hardly believe that he is actually well into his 30’s; he looks 10 years younger.
We spread a map of Guam on the wardroom table and ask Carbullido to pinpoint, as accurately as he can, the exact spot where his parents’ house is. In “The Skipper’s Corner” I have explained that today, after we have carried out our scheduled drill photographing the Island of Guam, we shall expend a few hours giving Carbullido the best possible look we can through the periscope at his home town. This seems to suit everyone.
After we finish photographing the town of Agana, we go through the same procedure at Apra Harbor. Behind the breakwater we can see a floating dry dock, a Navy barracks ship or barge, and what looks like a small seaplane tender. We then pass close around the tip of Orote peninsula, periscope raised, looking very carefully at the signal station out on the end of the point. We don’t want to be detected; therefore it receives a searching investigation. The place is deserted.
1445 We have rounded Orote Point and changed course toward Agat. The water is deep and the sea calm, although large rollers are sweeping down past Orote Point. They do not affect us in the lee of the land.
Carbullido is ready a full hour early in the Conning Tower, wearing a clean suit of dungarees and grinning self-consciously. As we approach Agat, he gets his turn with the periscope alternately with the Executive Officer and myself. His eagerness is evident as we approach closer and closer, and the objects on shore become clearer to him.
During our times at the periscope Will Adams takes navigational cuts, and I am constantly sweeping the near shore against any possibility that someone might be there by chance looking out to seaward. People ashore rarely look to sea, however, and I doubt, even if there were anyone, that there would be much chance of their seeing our periscope. Nevertheless, we are cautious with it, exposing only a few inches for brief seconds.
Around the World Submerged Page 21
