“Tell ‘em, fuckhead!” he gasped at the telephone talker. As the talker reported, Ginty hoisted himself up to the deck, his big chest heaving as he fought for air, hearing the talker finish his report with “Green board. Forward, Bridge!”
“After Room?” Ginty gasped.
“Reporting now, we beat ‘em!”
“Fuckin’ ay we beat ‘em! Six tubes to four and we beat ‘em!” He took up a position between the two vertical banks of torpedo tubes, his meaty hand resting lightly on the brass metal guard over the manual firing key of Number One tube.
“Eighty feet!” the telephone talkers whispered. “The periscope’s going up!”
As the periscope rose out of its well Captain Mealey grabbed the handles and rode it upward until he was standing, crouched slightly, staring through the lens as it cut through the water below the surface.
“Watch your depth!” he snapped. “Lens is breaking water! Bring me up to sixty-five feet!” Sirocco heard Captain Mealey’s breath go out in a mighty whoosh.
“Mark!” Mealey snapped.
“Bearing — three five zero!” Botts said to Edge, who cranked the information in to the TDC.
“Range…” Mealey’s finger found the range knob. “Range to the target is seven zero zero! Angle on the bow is zero nine zero!”
“You can begin shooting in ten seconds, sir,” Edge said.
“My God!” Captain Mealey’s voice held a note of awe. “He fills the whole field of vision! There are men on the foc’sle, anchor detail, I think!”
“Stand by, Forward!” Sirocco said quietly into his telephone.
Two thousand feet above the water the pilot of a VAL dive bomber banked his aircraft slightly to get a better look at the battleship. His eyes widened as he saw the dark shape of Mako ahead of him. He tipped his plane over in a shallow dive and then he saw the tiny feather of white foam midway down the dark shape and identified it for what it was, the periscope of a submarine. He yelled into his throat microphone and tipped his VAL over in a nearly vertical dive, centering the cross hairs on the plastic windshield on the tiny feather of foam beneath him.
Chapter 18
“Fire one!” Captain Mealey barked.
Ensign Botts pressed the firing key in the Conning Tower and repeated Mealey’s order into the telephone that hung around his neck. Ginty jammed two thick fingers down on the manual firing key a split second after the impulse firing air roared into the flooded torpedo tube at 600 pounds pressure to the square inch, kicking the torpedo forward, tripping the torpedo’s firing latch and starting the torpedo’s steam engine into screaming life.
“Number One fired electrically!” Ginty bellowed at his telephone talker. “Standing by Number Two!” He reached up and back with a long arm and yanked open the poppet valve lever for Number One tube. The sea water rushing into the empty torpedo tube pushed the impulse firing air backward and down through the poppet valve vent line into the bilge, thus avoiding any telltale bubble of air outside the ship that could betray its position.
“Fire two!” Captain Mealey was counting to himself, allowing six seconds between each shot.
“My God, he’s a big one!” Mealey said. “Stand by Three!”
“Number Two fired electrically!” Ginty yelled and moved out from between the torpedo tubes as Johnny Paul ducked in to take his place. A frenzied ballet of strength, agility and cooperation had begun in the Forward Torpedo Room.
Once a torpedo has been fired and the firing air has been gulped back into the ship through the poppet valves, those valves must be closed and the outer tube door closed. Then a series of drain valves must be opened, air pressure put on the tube and the sea water that filled the torpedo tube after firing blown down into a special holding tank called the WRT, the Water ‘Round Torpedo tank. Then the air has to be shut off, the valves closed, the tube vented of all pressure and the inner door opened so that the torpedo tube can be reloaded. The torpedo is pulled into the tube with a block and tackle (the “tagle”) positioned precisely in the tube, the inner door closed and locked and if the torpedo is to be made ready for firing again valves must be opened, air pressure put on the WRT tank and the tube vented and water blown up around the torpedo and the impulse air tank which fires the torpedo out of the tube charged. After which the outer door must be opened and the gyro spindle engaged through the side of the torpedo tube into the torpedo.
To do all of this precisely and swiftly requires long and arduous training. To do it under battle conditions, to fire all six torpedo tubes and start a reload before the last tube has been fired requires a degree of cooperation, exquisite timing and enormous physical strength from a group of men that is seldom seen anywhere outside of the submarine service.
“Number Three fired electrically!” Johnny Paul yelled.
The VAL dive bomber’s two bombs, released a fraction of a second too late, missed Mako’s periscope and landed just above the Forward Torpedo Room with a booming crash, driving Ginty to his knees and throwing the reload crew around the room like rag dolls. Ginty hauled himself upright, his big hand reaching for the poppet valve lever of Number Three tube.
Dusty Rhodes had wrestled the inner door open on Number One tube. He turned to yell at the reload crew.
“Unstrap that fish and get it moving, you bastards!”
“We’re being depth charged!” a man yelled. He turned and started for the closed water-tight door at the end of the Torpedo Room. Rhodes was on him in three long strides, catching the man’s shoulders in his powerful hands, his mouth close to the man’s ear.
“Don’t panic!” he half-whispered. “It’s all right! A little noise! The Old Man’s still shooting! He’s depending on us! Just keep your eyes open, your ears open, watch me, listen to me!” He released the man and spun back to his position, noticing that Ginty was closing the outer door to Number Two tube with one hand, spinning the big Y-wrench as if it were a toy. The torpedo was sliding into the Number One tube and as its screws passed the set of rollers on a heavy stand in back of the tube, Rhodes raised his hand to stop the reload crew heaving on the tagle. He took the tagle off the torpedo.
“Lay out that tagle for Number Two,” Rhodes barked. He turned and put his big hands carefully on the exhaust pipe of the torpedo, braced his back against the rollers and pushed the torpedo the rest of the way into the tube with sheer strength, moving it gently until he felt it come up against the stop bolt. He grabbed the brass propeller safety guard from the torpedo and stuck it in his pocket and closed the inner door. Automatically, he reached over and adjusted the tail bumper stop in the center of the inner door. Moving swiftly and surely, he blew water up around the torpedo from the WRT tank, closed the valves, vented off the tube, charged the impulse tank and opened the outer door and made way for Ginty, who was closing the outer door on Number Three.
“Engage the gyro on Number One!” Rhodes barked at Johnny Paul.
“Fire four!” Captain Mealey’s voice was vibrant with emotion. The target was visible again, the huge sheet of water thrown up by the exploding bombs had subsided. He saw two aircraft above the battleship, streaking toward him. He counted down slowly. Mako and Captain Mealey were committed. The firing would go on, one torpedo every six seconds until all the torpedoes had been fired or the target had sunk.
“First two fish running hot, straight and normal!” Cohen’s voice sang out. “Can’t hear Number Three running. Number Four is running hot, straight and normal!”
‘A hit!” Mealey yelled. “Just abaft his bow! There’s another hit! Farther aft! There’s smoke over his bow!”