A Tale of Two Subs

by Jonathan J. McCullough

  His brother had coincidentally come back from service in the Marines, and the local hometown paper made a big deal of their return with a prominent story and photographs of the young Roceks, who appeared awkward and unaccustomed to such attention. Walking up and down the streets of his hometown brought back memories, though the war years had changed the place substantially. There were U.S. War Bond advertisements and war propaganda posters everywhere. The economy had picked up because of war-related industries, but that didn’t mean a new coat of paint on most people’s houses. The government had rationed nearly everything for the war effort, so now in addition to money you needed coupons to buy staples like butter, milk, eggs, and flour.

  Rocek likely walked past the lamppost where he’d gotten his nickname, “Moon.” As a kid, he hung out with a crowd of neighborhood kids who resembled those in the popular Hollywood film shorts Our Gang. Rocek had gotten a particularly close summertime haircut, and under the light of the lamppost one summer night, one of the kids remarked that his head glowed like the moon. Rocek was able to shake the nickname when he got into the Navy, but after receiving another close haircut on the Sculpin during the “crossing the line” ceremonies, one of the shipmates made the same observation and the childhood nickname stuck for life.

  Even though the Sculpin’s refit took much longer than expected, the leave time ended all too soon and the men found themselves in barracks near the dock. Some had detached for service in other subs or new construction, and new hands came in. The boat had quite a few alterations. They cut down the conning tower so that it would cast a smaller silhouette when running on the surface, moved the 3-inch deck gun forward of the conning tower, and added two machine gun supports onto the conning tower. They’d also added Kleinschmidt desalination stills, which would allow them to produce enough freshwater to have the occasional shower. The most important addition was something called SJ radar. Whereas the old SD-type radar could sense planes a few miles out it was neither directional nor terribly accurate. The new SJ radar could pinpoint ranges and bearings of ships, and most important it could “see” ships up to fifteen miles out in daylight and night, under any weather conditions. It would allow them to accurately obtain and track targets long before a lookout could see them, and also find navigational fixes like mountains and islands to confirm the sub’s position.

  After reaching Hawaii, the Sculpin initiated new crewmembers with practice drills directed by their division commander, John Cromwell. They also got a final crewmember, Lieutenant I. J. “Pete” Galantin as a PCO, or prospective commanding officer.* The Navy sent out PCOs on active war patrols so they could gain experience from seasoned skippers, and though he would stand watch and perform other functions, Galantin was not in the line of command. After Cromwell was satisfied that the Sculpin was ready for duty, Admiral Lockwood sent orders for the Sculpin to patrol Area 3, the so-called Empire Waters directly off the coast of Japan. Area 3 bristled with mines, antisubmarine escorts of all descriptions, Q-ships to lure unwary sub skippers, and land-based air patrols. There were also rumors that the Japanese were now using radar as well.

  Just a few days out from a refueling stop at Midway Island, Frank Alvis, the communications officer, was decoding radio messages from Pearl when he came across a message heading containing the word ULTRA. There was a certain protocol for such messages: They were to be decrypted on the top secret ECM, then further decoded only by the skipper, who used a one-time strip cipher to derive the ULTRA message. Lu Chappell went to his quarters with the message. By now the men on the boat had taken notice of these unusual events. Chief of the boat Weldon “Dinty” Moore, also known as “Magic Eyes” for his sharp vision on deck watches, was usually first among the enlisted men to know if something was afoot. Although the chief was not an officer, as one of the most experienced submariners on the boat and ombudsman for the enlisted men, he wielded a great deal of influence. Some chiefs were more than qualified for command, and in a few instances became skippers. George Rocek would come to call Moore an “express man,” because he often knew what was happening even before the officers—even back at Pearl.

  Fifteen minutes after going into his quarters, Chappell showed the orders to the exec, Al Bontier, and burned the paper cipher strips. Stepping into the control room, he ordered a change of course and speed, and started to look at charts on the plotting table. They would be gunning at top speed to get into position somewhere, presumably for a rendezvous. All around the control room the men exchanged glances and wondered what could be so important. A few hours later, the radarman detected a ship at about 4,000 yards; one of the lookouts caught a glimpse of the ship at the same time, flashing a light in the gloom of the night. Uncharacteristically, Chappell continued, not even stopping to check to see whether the small ship might develop into a convoy. This happened again at half past six in the morning, but Chappell ran the Sculpin on the surface well past dawn. They spotted another ship at ten in the morning, but maintained their course. After tracking it for half an hour, they submerged and continued along the path to their rendezvous.

  All seemed quiet the next day when they were apparently where they were supposed to be, about 300 miles southeast of Tokyo harbor. But Chappell raised the boat in broad daylight twice to get a fix on the sun for navigation, and surfaced for good at about half past eight in the evening. They patrolled back and forth along an eight-mile line in anticipation of their meeting, which came so quickly at midnight that they hardly had a chance to react. On first sight, Lieutenant Galantin’s knees were knocking so hard he could hardly stand up.

  In seas so calm that a pebble would make ripples for miles, what appeared to be three mountains glided silently along the horizon. They were two aircraft carriers—one of which was probably the Hiyo, as well as a cruiser. George Brown had the watch and immediately called the skipper to the deck. The radarman detected the ships at just about the same time and gave the range as 11,500 yards on a bearing of 190 degrees true. Chappell sounded general quarters while peering through his binoculars at the massive ships. Mendy was getting the bearings and ranges to put into the TDC so they could determine a course change. Chappell asked Mendy for the ships’ speed and the approach bearing they should take to get as close as possible for a good shot.

  “Twenty-two knots, sir, two-four-two degrees.”

  “Come to course two-four-two. All ahead flank.”

  “Coming to course two-four-two, sir. All ahead flank, sir.”

  “Make ready the tubes. We’ll fire four from the bow and turn around for another four.”

  The carriers were clipping along so fast, and they were so far away, that within minutes the Sculpin was soon as close as it could come to them before the range would start to widen. They were 7,000 yards away, and if they fired torpedoes now, the torpedo track would be a full 7,850 yards. It was a long shot, but Chappell decided that even a long shot at targets this important was worth the effort.

  “Set torpedo speed to slow.”

  “Torpedo speed set to slow, sir.”

  “Take a final bearing.”

  Mendy called over the battle phones: “Set!”

  “Fire one!”

  Quartermaster Billy Cooper clicked a stopwatch as the surge of air punched the torpedo out of the boat and started up its motor. Twelve seconds later, Chappell called out again, “Fire two!” then, “Fire three!”

  No sooner were the words out of his mouth than there was a massive explosion nearby. One of the torpedoes—probably the first—had prematured. Everyone slumped. How could this be? Surely the lookouts on the carriers had heard and seen the massive explosion. Chappell fired the fourth and final torpedo, then changed course for a stern shot. The men on the deck watched impassively, muttering profane Rosaries of malediction to high heaven against the Bureau of Ordnance as they waited to see the inevitably poor results. After several minutes they heard explosions and watched as the carriers, untouched, flashed blinker signals back and forth as they pulled farther and farther aw
ay from the Sculpin. They were now so far away that Chappell decided not to try the stern shot, and he wheeled around once more to give chase. But they’d likely picked up speed and, within minutes, they slid away into the inky night. Soon the radar could no longer make them out.

  Hoping that the distant explosions had been a torpedo hit, Chappell followed the carriers in case there was a cripple waiting to be sunk, but nothing developed, and he could only conclude that he may have hit one and caused some damage. They would learn later from ULTRA radio decrypts at Pearl Harbor that they had not even accomplished that. Chappell transmitted a message, while the carriers went along their path. One of the carriers was the Hiyo, and the next day it would meet the USS Trigger’s underwhelming torpedo attack, leading to Nimitz’s order to deactivate the magnetic exploders.

  Chappell sent out a disappointing contact report and chugged north to their original patrol area off the northeast coast of Japan’s main island of Honshu. As they made their way north, the temperature gradually became cooler. The waters and weather in this area were peculiar, especially for a submarine. Warm water currents flowing up from the south mixed here with cold water currents coming down from the north. Rather than mixing into a happy median temperature, there were interlocking fingers of cold and warm water layers. The varying densities of the intermingling waters made for turbulence, and the Sculpin’s diving crew struggled to maintain control, especially at periscope depth. Another phenomenon was that the varying layers created a sort of underwater muffler; the sound waves bounced around and dissipated in the confused water. This would be useful when trying to evade a pinging escort, but a disadvantage to getting a sound bearing on ships up above. The weird water also created strange unsettling fog patterns, where visibility ranged from zero to 5,000 yards over the course of a few seconds. When they got to the patrol area, the temperature had plunged to the mid-40s and the air was moist. Running around on the surface was like traveling through clouds. Since it was so cold they couldn’t run the air-conditioners, and the moist air created condensation on the electrical parts. Soon the radar set—their best hope of peering through the weird, cloudy gloom—began to short out. However, neither Chappell nor other skippers liked to use the radar too much when they were this close to enemy shores; the radarman could sense “radar interference” when the Japanese were using their own radar, which could give away the Sculpin’s location.

  They patrolled for a few days, occasionally sighting small fishing boats and sampans. They also frequently heard depth charges or other underwater explosions, but without seeing any ships. Chappell suspected that freighters and cargo ships were crawling up and down the coast near the shore, well beyond the hundred fathom line: 600 feet. Chappell couldn’t cross that line; in the event that the sub sank in salvageable waters, the Japanese might discover codebooks and technology such as their ECM encryption/decryption machine.

  One night at dusk about twelve miles northeast of Kinkasan Island, a promontory they’d been using for navigational fixes, Joe Defrees spotted a medium-size transport and four smaller ships: a tanker, two cargo ships, and an escort. They were crawling up the coast near the shoreline, and Chappell inched in as close as he dared while Galantin watched closely. Mendenhall was tracking the convoy at a speed of 10 knots and a range of 9,000 yards. Chappell had plenty of time to set up before they neared. “Battle stations, torpedo,” he ordered. “Make ready tubes five through eight”—the stern tubes.

  The men repeated his orders and brought the boat around as Chappell gave bearings and ranges from the periscope. Pete Galantin and Al Bontier took turns looking through the scope, wheeling around the conning tower like a cat swishing its tail as they looked for planes or other escorts, before focusing again on the transport, taking a reading, and dipping the attack scope down again. When the torpedomen in the after torpedo room had loaded the fish and Mendenhall had a solution, Chappell came back up with the periscope and started firing.

  “Fire five!”

  The fire controlman pushed the plunger; the ship shuddered, and the men’s ears popped as a huge swoosh of high-pressure air entered the boat.

  “Five’s away, sir.”

  The quartermaster Bill Cooper clicked his stopwatch.

  The soundman reported: “Torpedo running hot, straight, and—”

  Once again, the first torpedo exploded after traveling only about one boat length. The boat shook violently, catching some men off guard as they struggled to stay upright. Dinner plates in the mess jolted free and fell onto the deck, breaking noisily.

  “Goddamn it! Another premature!” said Chappell. The men were stunned. It was absolutely quiet throughout the entire boat. Though the skipper was still peering through the periscope, the crew didn’t dare sneak glances at one another but stared solemnly at the switches and gauges at their stations. They’d never, ever heard the skipper like this. “FIRE SIX! FIRE SEVEN! FIRE EIGHT!” he yelled, watching as the torpedoes went along their way. “Full speed! Hard-a-port! Make ready tubes one through four!” Chappell was coming around for a bow shot.

  The men on the transport had seen the torpedo explode and were running around on the deck. The ship started to turn toward the Sculpin—the officer in the wheelhouse was watching the torpedo wakes make their way toward his ship, and he was trying to run up between the torpedoes before they hit. The other ships in the convoy turned toward the shore as the escort made a beeline for the transport. Chappell saw one of the torpedoes explode slightly forward of the middle of the transport, but no one heard it due to the strange thermal layers.

  Still monitoring the stopwatch, Bill Cooper reported, “They should have got there by now, Captain.”

  The escort—a little antisubmarine patrol craft—had changed course again, this time toward the Sculpin—and was only about 500 yards away.

  “Take her down!” Chappell ordered. “Two-five-oh feet.”

  Tiktik bang! Tiktik bang!

  “Two-five-oh feet, aye aye, sir.”

  Tiktik BANG!

  “Passing one-oh-oh feet, sir.”

  Tik BANG!

  “One-five-oh feet.”

  Tiktik bang!

  They waited in the depths for more depth charges, but the first five turned out to be the last five, and though unnerving, after twenty-five minutes Chappell was back at periscope depth, making observations. Unfortunately, the convoy had been able to slip away while the Sculpin evaded the escort.

  The faulty torpedoes nagged at Chappell. The torpedo shops had tried to finesse the magnetic warheads so that they were more sensitive; now they seemed to him too sensitive, exploding just after they armed. They were demoralizing, and he’d have liked nothing better than to deactivate the magnetic influence warheads. Some of the skippers were doing that already, but the staffies had grown wise and started painting over the screws to indicate whether the torpedomen were tampering with their beloved design. Not to be outdone, the devious skippers countered by sending out their torpedomen to shake down the torpedo shops for the different colors of paint so they could cover their tracks. All against orders of course.

  The weather continued foggy with occasional patches of visibility out to 5,000 feet. The radarman got interference on his set from Honshu, indicating that the Japanese were also using radar; Sculpin would have to use their radar sparingly so close to the enemy lest they give their position away. The soundman also picked up the ghostly sounds of screws out in the distance, but since the water was troubled they were unable to get a good fix on what was out there in the billowing, cloudlike fog.

  Chappell decided to take a few days to make an exhaustive review of their remaining torpedoes. During that time they ran into several fishing boats and picket vessels too small for their torpedoes, and Chappell chose to surface and attack one with a nighttime gun action. Joe Defrees went up with his gun crew and readied the 3-inch deck gun as well as the two machine guns. Crewmen passed shells from a watertight locker to the breech on the gun as it blasted away at the hapless vess
el, the gunpowder’s smoky vinegar smell lingering in their nostrils and at the backs of their throats. The gunnies got a solid hit on the fourth shell and continued the volley for half an hour, eventually shooting the machine guns at the burning wreck. Satisfied that at least their deck gun worked if their torpedoes didn’t, they left the sinking sampan and submerged at daybreak.

  Sinking the sampan up close and personal seemed to buck up the crew a bit. While submerged the next day, they saw another, smaller, wooden sampan that was bristling with radio antennae. Clearly this was a picket boat used to report on subs like the Sculpin rather than an innocuous fishing boat. Chappell decided to play the pirate once again, this time during broad daylight, and he called his men in again for deck gun action.

  Chappell surfaced the Sculpin in the midst of a huge cloud of fog and closed on their target. The men on the rickety wooden sampan saw the terrible, silent apparition looming out of the fog bank, the deck gun leveled on them. Within minutes the ship was ablaze and sinking. The Sculpin drew up with a boarding party consisting of Lieutenants George Brown and Joe Defrees, and three enlisted men. As they drew near, they saw men bobbing in the water, hiding behind the boat, clutching the floating wood debris. George Brown boarded first, followed by the three enlisted men. Other enlisted men started shooting at the sailors in the water. Joe Defrees misstepped on his way over the gunwale of the sampan and landed in the water. The bullets were flying now and he bobbed up, yelling, “Don’t shoot me! Don’t shoot me!” Corwin Mendenhall ordered the men to stop shooting at the sailors, while Pete Galantin stared in horror at the mess of blood, mangled limbs, and sightless eyes of two Japanese sailors sprawled on the deck:

  How different, how personal was war when the target was flesh and blood instead of steel. The stained water sloshing over their firm flesh, tiny purple craters erupting where machine gun bullets had swiftly ended their involvement in a war not of their making. I recall thinking how firm and strong their bodies were, even though they ate mainly fish and rice.