Fighting Her Father's War: The FIghting Tomcats

by M. L. Maki

  “Negative, Long Beach.”

  “Okay, Bird 621, can you drop a passive sono-buoy near the subs track and attempt to identify?”

  “Long Beach, Bird 621, will do.”

  USS DOLPHIN, SS-169, CONTROL ROOM

  The air in the sub is already feeling close. The smell of sweaty men permeates everything. Lt. Rainer says, “Right full rudder, come to periscope depth, ahead slow.” The OOD repeats the order, and the deck of the sub tilts in a tight right turn. Then, “Sonar, range to target.”

  ST2 Bagley says, “12 miles, sir, they are slowing.”

  “Any idea what it is?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Two screws, propulsion noises I don’t understand, and one of the engines is louder than the other. I’ve never heard it before, Skipper. Something just dropped in the water ahead, portside.”

  “Torpedo?”

  “No, sir. No screws. Surface contact is 10 miles, bearing 010 and changing as we turn.”

  The OOD says, “Sir, we are at periscope depth.”

  “Okay, up scope.”

  The periscope slides up, Rainer flips down the handles and starts a quick circle, “Mark.”

  Rector says, “112.”

  Continuing the circle, he stops, “Mark.”

  “225.”

  Then, “Mark.”

  “002.”

  Rainer stays a moment, studying the superstructure of the approaching ship. The huge box is baffling. “It must be Japanese, we have nothing like it. The other two bearings are aircraft, down scope. Left full rudder.”

  EIGHTBALLER 416

  Lt. JG James ‘Smooth’ Lowandowski, Cargo Britches co-pilot says, “Periscope. I saw a periscope. The sub is turning right.”

  CB says, “Okay, Smooth.” Then on radio, “Long Beach, Eightballer 416, we have a periscope sighting. Sierra 2 is turning left.”

  Tenzar answers, “Thank you, Eightballer 416.”

  LONG BEACH CIC

  Tenzar hooks the mike into its holder and goes to the anti-submarine warfare data plotter. The ASW plot is a large glass screen on a table that projects data from below, allowing the sonar technicians to keep the plot up to date. He says to himself, “Oh no, you don’t.” Pushing the squawk button, “Bridge, right full rudder, back full on number one engine, ahead full on two.”

  LONG BEACH ENGINE ROOM

  Number one engine slows to a stop, as MM1 Parker, the GQ main engine watch, runs to the reduction gear to monitor thrust. The engine starts spinning backwards, and as the rotation speeds up, the whole engine room starts to shake. The distilling watch, MM3 Joh Hart, runs over as the whole room starts moving, the steam pipes shaking the hardest. Hart says, “Oh shit. Oh shit. The whole thing is gonna blow.”

  Parker looks up, “This is normal, John. If it don’t move, then get scared.”

  USS DOLPHIN, CONTROL ROOM

  ST2Bagley says, “Skipper, the target is making a lot of noise.” The sound of the thrashing screws can be faintly heard through the hull.

  Rainer says, “Rudder amidships, up periscope.” He walks the scope around, “Mark.”

  Rector says, “112.”

  “Mark.”

  “209.”

  “Mark.”

  “347.”

  Rainer lingers on the scope, “The bastard is turning.” He spins the scope to 112, “How is it possible? The plane is pacing us? No airplane can go four knots and fly. Down scope, make our depth 250 feet. What’s the range to target?”

  “Sir, she is 9 miles.”

  “Left full rudder, ahead full.”

  LONG BEACH, PORT BRIDGE WING

  BMSN Guiles feels his heart race. His mouth is dry. His eyes to the binoculars, he sees the periscope. He pushes the sound powered phone without wiggling his binocs. Voice cracking, “Bridge, port lookout, periscope at 290, range nine miles.”

  The XO, CDR Arron Grey, trains his binoculars on the bearing as the OOD acknowledges the lookout. Seeing the periscope retract, “Captain, periscope sighting 290 at nine miles.”

  “Understood, left full rudder. Ahead full on number one engine. Back one third on number two.”

  CHAPTER 31

  BIRD 621 ORBITING BEHIND THE CONTACT

  “Bird 621, Long Beach, you have a buoy in the water. What’s he doin?”

  “Long Beach, Bird 621, he appears to be maneuvering toward you. It’s hard to tell with all the racket you’re making.”

  “Bird 621, Long Beach, understood. Stand by.”

  Splash says, “What the fuck does that hot dog think he’s doing? He’s playing cat and mouse with a Jap and he’s gonna regret it.”

  Knucklhead asks, “Sir, how do you know it’s a Jap?”

  “Because it’s moving in to attack. If it wasn’t a Jap, it wouldn’t do that.”

  LONG BEACH, CIC

  Tenzar looks at the ASW plot table, “Okay, it’s time, sonar. Yankee search.”

  ST1 Todd Calvin says, “Aye, sir,” and activates the search function of the hull mounted sonar. A loud pulse sounds through the boat and the water. It’s a directed pulse, rather than the ping of earlier sonar. The AN/SQS-23 makes a boo-waa sound. In a few seconds, sonar says, “Sir, sierra 2 is 345 at 8 miles. She’s turning left and diving.”

  Tenzar pushes the squawk button, “Bridge, steady as she goes. Ahead two thirds.” Then to sonar, “Let me know when his bearing is reciprocal. I want to keep him on my port beam.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Tenzar asks, “Does anybody know the submerged endurance and design depth of a WWII sub?”

  All he gets is blank stares. The intelligence officer says, “I might find it in the library.”

  “Don’t worry, I know someone who will know.” He keys the radio, “Gold Eagle, Long Beach actual, is Gold Eagle actual available?”

  “Hello, Long Beach, this is Gold Eagle actual, go ahead.”

  “Has your brain trust given you the performance stats for old subs?”

  Johnson says, “Stand by.”

  Sonar says, “Sir, she’s coming abeam.”

  “Bridge, back one third, maintain heading,” and to sonar, “How far?”

  “About one mile, she’s starting to turn toward us.”

  “Bridge, left full rudder, ahead full one engine, back one third two engine.”

  “Long Beach, Gold Eagle actual, Lt. Jackson is coming on line.”

  Tenzar says, “Standing by.” Then to the bridge, “All stop, steady as she goes.”

  Thud Jackson comes up on the radio, “Sir, it depends on whose boat and how new the batteries. All of them are pretty shallow, about 250 feet. The endur…”

  “Hold on,” Tenzar cuts him off as sonar says, “Sir, she’s trying to back up.”

  “Bridge, left full rudder, ahead two thirds,” and on radio, “Okay, son, continue.”

  Thud says, “The endurance is no more that sixteen hours or so. Less if they do a lot of maneuvering. I heard it was on the surface. Did we get the hull number?”

  “Yes, we did, 169. Mean anything to you?” To the bridge, “All stop, hold the rudder over.”

  Thud says, “I’ll have to look it up, sir. I’ll get back to you in a minute.”

  “Okay, thank you, Lieutenant Jackson.” Then to the TAO, “I’m hoping he has noticed that we are not attacking.” Then to sonar, “ST1, do you think he’s done yet?”

  Calvin says, “Sir, he’s still trying to back up.”

  Tenzar asks, “Okay, where do we keep the Gertrude.”

  The TAO says, “Above the ASW plotter, right side, sir.”

  “Thanks,” and picks up the underwater phone, “Unidentified submarine beneath this vessel, I can play cat and mouse all day. Why don’t we talk.”

  Sulu says, “Sir, I doubt a Japanese sub will respond.”

  “I agree, but an American one will.”

  “Long Beach, this is Lt. Jackson.”

  “Go ahead, Jackson.”

  “Sir, if it is an American boat, it is the Dolphin, a ‘V’ c
lass sub; 319 feet, test depth of 250 feet.”

  “Stay on the line, Jackson. I’m talking to her now.”

  A garbled message comes back over the phones, “Vessel authentication bravo, bravo, delta one.”

  “Excellent, a forty-nine year old pass word.” He answers, “USS Dolphin, we’re new in this theater and haven’t received the codes yet. I’m will to offer ice cream and coffee as a bribe, though.”

  “What vessel?”

  “We are the USS Long Beach, CGN 9. By the number on your conning tower, you are the USS Dolphin, V class boat. Oh, another thing, if it makes you feel better, you’re welcome to take a pot shot at us, if you must. Your torpedoes won’t work.”

  CONTROL ROOM, USS DOLPHIN

  Rainer sets down the phone, “What the hell is happening? They know who we are. Have you even heard of the Long Beach?” To the OOD, “All stop. No sense wasting battery. We’ll need it later.”

  The XO, Lt. JG Brian Porter, says, “No, sir. It beats the hell out of me. Ask him what’s wrong with our torpedoes.”

  “Right,” and on the Gertrude, “USS Long Beach, what’s wrong with our torpedoes?”

  “Dolphin, Long Beach, the mark 14 torpedoes you carry have faulty magnetic detonators. Why don’t you come up for a chat?”

  Rainer slams down the phone and shouts, “You bastard! My first damn patrol and I run into this son of a bitch. He seems so sure of himself.” Putting both hands on the chart table, he steadies himself, “Ready torpedoes 1 and 2.”

  Porter asks, “What if he is American.”

  “Then we won’t blast the bastard to hell.”

  “Will we have coffee with him?”

  “No, it has to be a trick.” To the OOD, “Ahead two thirds on starboard shaft, back one third on port shaft, left full rudder, blow ballast, 10 degree up angle. Are the torpedoes ready?”

  TM1 Dundale says, “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, flood and open doors.”

  Bagley says, “They’re on our port side, about one half mile.”

  The OOD says, “180 feet.”

  “Very well.”

  “150 feet.”

  The Gertrude message is garbled, and all they hear is, “Thank you.”

  Rainer says, “You’re going to get welcomed.”

  “125 feet.”

  “Very well, all stop.”

  Bagley says, “Captain, our bow is coming around. They are staying in place.”

  “Very well.”

  “100 feet……75 feet.”

  “Up scope.” He orients the scope toward the Long Beach and waits for it to break the water. “Set the torpedoes for 25 feet, 5 degree spread.”

  EIGHTBALLER 416 ABOVE THE DOLPHIN

  Cargo Britches says, “Shit, the bastard is lining up a shot.” On radio, “Long Beach, kick it in the ass. He’s tricked you.”

  LONG BEACH, CIC

  Tenzar says, “Emergency ahead flank, left full rudder.” On radio, “Eightballer 416, what’s he doing?”

  CB replies, “He used his bubbles to hide a turn. He’s oriented toward the rear quarter of your boat.”

  “Understood,” the Long Beach shaking as she picks up speed.

  “Bridge, port lookout, periscope in the water one half mile abaft the port beam.”

  Tenzar says, “Orient torpedo tubes out. Weapons tight, again weapons tight, people. He’s a confused American.”

  Sulu says, “More like an angry American, sir.”

  Tenzar picks up the Gertrude, “Knock it off, knock it off, we’re friendly.”

  USS DOLPHIN, CONTROL ROOM

  Lt. Rainer gets a good look at the huge vessel, it’s stern digging down as it accelerates. Then, he sees the main mast sticking up from the huge box, and there’s the American flag. The ships movement and wind open up the stars and stripes, and there is no doubt. “Shut the tube doors. Safe the fish.”

  TM1 Dundale says, “Yes, sir,” then the sub surfaces, rolling the seas.

  Rainer says to Porter, “Want to join me topside to take a look at the Long Beach?” On the sail, they look up at the strange cruiser, and Rainer says, “Where are the stacks?”

  Porters answer is drowned out by the rhythmic thumping of an approaching helicopter. They shield their eyes from the spray as the aircraft settles lower and closer to the sail. They can clearly see the pilot at the controls maneuvering closer to their side. The wind and spray are nearly painful. Then the side door slides open and a crewman throws a rope in the water. The helicopter moves closer and closer, adjusting to the motion of the sub. The crewman shouts, “You want a ride to the Long Beach?”

  “How?”

  AW2 Paul ‘Yogi’ Chatman pushes out the winch and lowers the harness to the sail. When Rainer grabs it, Chatman pantomimes putting it on, and Rainer struggles into the harness. As he gets squared away, Porter points away from the cruiser; the battle group is approaching. The carrier catches Rainer’s gaze, it’s huge, and before he can take it all in, he feels the harness tighten and he’s lifted up and away from his boat. Disoriented as he spins, all of a sudden someone grabs him and he’s pulled into the helicopter.

  EIGHTBALLER 416

  Yogi removes the harness, “Welcome to Eightballer 416, sir,” then on intercom, “He’s inside, ma’am.”

  “Ma’am?” asks Rainer. Looking into the cockpit he’s two pilots, but they are in helmets. Yogi folds open a jump seat and sits Rainer down, strapping him in.

  In the cockpit, Smooth points at a light, “High transmission temp, it’s time to find a home.” With only one transmission to translate the engine power and control inputs to the main rotor, they can’t even auto-gyro if it goes out.

  Cargo Britches says, “Long Beach, I’m declaring an emergency. I have high transmission temp, approaching now.” To the crew, “Coming in fast, guys.”

  “Roger, Eightballer 416, the flight deck is clear for your approach.”

  She makes the approach from the port side so she has to crab right to get a clear view of the boat. Because of her speed, she has to apply the collective and flare at just the right moment to allow her bird to come to a hover over the deck. Once in hover, she quickly settles her bird to the deck and yells, “Chock and chain, Yogi.”

  Yogi shoves open the door and jumps out, holding his arms forward, palms down in fists with thumbs pointed together, moving them back and forth in the signal to chock. Sailors run out with orange chocks, ducking their heads as they pass under the rotor. Then, others run out and chain her to the deck. Yogi runs around the bird, checking the tie downs, then stands in front, right hand at chest height, index finger pointing down and turning in a circle, only then does Cargo Britches shut down the engines.

  Yogi returns to help Rainer out of the bird and finds him struggling with his seatbelt. He helps him out and holding his head down, they run out from under the still spinning rotor. As they run, the ship tilts, bringing the rotors close to them, then it tilts back.

  On the outboard side of the Tomahawk launcher are two men in khakis. Yogi takes Rainer to them, past the fire crew in exposure suits standing with their hoses. A tall thin, black-haired man steps forward, “Hello, Lieutenant. I’m Captain Tenzar and this is my XO CDR Arron Grey. Welcome to the USS Long Beach, CGN 9. Lieutenant, you didn’t fall down the rabbit hole, we did.”

  Rainer salutes, “Thank you, sir. What is this vessel?”

  “She’s a light cruiser, armed with missiles, and powered by the atom.”

  “Atom, sir? But from where? How? I’ve never heard of it?”

  “I promised you a cup of coffee and goodies for your crew. Let’s retire to the wardroom to talk. By the way, Lieutenant, what’s your name?”

  “Lt. Rainer, sir, Gordon Rainer.”

  Lt. Sandra Douglas runs over to them as the rotors slow to a stop and removes her helmet. She salutes, “Captain, could we get some help pushing our bird closer to the Tomahawk launchers so we can land another helicopter with techs and parts?”

  “Of course, plea
se see to it, Arron.” He grins, “Welcome aboard, Lieutenant. That was some nice flying.”

  “Thank you, sir, and sir, you absolutely kicked ass maneuvering your boat into position.” Rainer blatantly stares at her. She turns to him, “That was a smart maneuver using your bubbles to mask a turn. I’ll remember that.”

  “Yet, you figured it out, how?”

  “The orientation of your bubbles changed, and when you hit about 80 feet, I could see you because the water was fairly calm. Fixed wing might have missed it, but I can linger and really look.”

  Rainer points to the helo, “What kind of aircraft is that? It looks like a gyrocopter.”

  “Close, a helicopter, it can hover, making it a great ASW platform.” She turns and salutes Tenzar, “By your leave, sir?”

  “Of course, Lieutenant. Now, Lieutenant, how about a brief tour on your way to that cup of coffee?”

  CHAPTER 32

  USS CARL VINSON, AIRCRAFT ENGINE SHOP, 1100, 27 DECEMBER, 1941

  Lt. John ‘Book’ Carleton walks into the shop and spots Joe ‘Mouth’ Cervella, “Get your people together, I want to talk to them.”

  “What about, you’re not even in the squadron anymore.”

  “Just do it. We need to talk about Hunt,” looking around the enlisted crewmen working on engines. “I know how hard it must be taking orders from a woman.”

  Joe looks startled, “Excuse me, sir? What’s this about?”

  “I just know you’ve had a tough time having to deal with a woman boss. It’s bound to be better, now.”

  “Sir, did you ever have a mama?”

  “Sure, what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Well, sir, when she told you to take out the trash, or clean your room, did you tell her to fuck herself?”

  “Petty Officer Cervella, you’re out of line.”

  Joe steps forward, “No, sir, you’re out of line, and you see my point. All of us obeyed orders from a woman, so what’s the big diff?”

  “She ain’t your mama, and sure as hell, she ain’t mine.”