“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 don’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.
“Sir!” the Control Room talker said. “Mr. Cohen reports two sets of screws bearing one two zero and one two four. Both sets of screws seem to be moving away from us slowly.”
“They’re searching, the other two destroyers,” Hinman said. “Searching out to the east!”
“Another set of screws, twin screws, very heavy sound!” the talker said. “Bearing two five zero. Big ship. Coming very fast and picking up speed! Mr. Cohen says the ship is closing on us, sir!”