Mackerel’s huge diesel engines coughed to life and the familiar smell of diesel exhaust filled the nostrils of everyone topside. The noise seemed loud on the quiet waters of the strait, and Tremain had to remind himself that they were still miles away from land. He was comforted by the fact that another ship’s crew would not likely be able to discern Mackerel’s noise over that of its own engines, but it was only a small comfort.
There were also shore-based radars to consider. Tremain was banking on Mackerel’s low profile to keep it from popping up on the Japanese radar screens. He was operating on a lot of gambles, but that was always necessary on a mission like this one.
The strait remained devoid of activity for several hours, as the powerful diesels generated electricity and charged up the depleted batteries. The gentle tidal current, flowing in and out of the channel, slowly pushed Mackerel from one side of the channel to the other. Periodically the officer of the deck ordered some speed to position the ship back in the center of the strait.
Tremain remained on the bridge the entire time. The gun crews rotated out, but he remained, unable to force himself to go below.
In the early morning hours, the serenity of the night was broken by the squawk of the speaker box.
“Bridge, radar. Sir, the channel appears to be cluttered with multiple large contacts, around bearing three five zero. Range is now seven miles and closing. It looks like they’re coming out.”
Tremain’s heart skipped a beat. This is it, he thought. The Kurita and her escorts were coming out right on schedule.
“Radar, bridge,” Tremain spoke into the box. “Any of those returns look big enough to be a battleship?”
“Hard to tell, sir. They’re still distant. It’s possible.” Cazanavette came up the ladder and joined him on the bridge.
“I looked at the radar scope, Captain. He’s right. There are several large contacts in the channel heading for the open sea. They’re on a constant bearing heading in our direction.” Tremain checked his watch.
“We still have four hours of darkness left,” he said. “Conditions are as ideal as they can get for a surface attack. I just wish we had a little more room to maneuver.” “Yes, sir. I counted at least seven contacts. It’s going to get pretty tight when they pass by us. I sure hope they don’t have radar.”
Tremain nodded. “Go below and start plotting, XO. Let me know when you have a good solution. And have Mr. Olander secure his battery charge.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Cazanavette disappeared down the hatch.
Tremain lifted the binoculars to his eyes and pointed them up the dark channel. He knew he would not be able to see the approaching ships. It was still pitch-black. They were out there, though, and headed this way. Cazanavette would have a better picture watching the radar screen.
A few minutes later, Cazanavette’s voice squawked, “Bridge, conning tower. We now have eight discernible radar contacts, constant bearing three five five. Good solution is course one seven five, speed ten knots. Range to the lead ship is four miles and closing. Impossible to tell which return is the Kurita, sir. Also, sonar reports high-speed screws on the same bearing. Impossible to tell how many.” Destroyers, Tremain thought. But something wasn’t right. Why would the battleship and her escorts be traveling at a mere ten knots? Especially when passing through the narrow strait. All intelligence reports indicated that she was capable of much more.
“XO, bridge.” Tremain keyed the box. “Does sonar hear any echo ranging?”
There was a brief pause.
“Bridge, XO. Very little, sir. Sounds more like a fathometer than active sonar pulses.”
That made sense, Tremain thought. The Japanese heavy ships would be using their fathometers to avoid running onto any shoals. But why weren’t the destroyers pinging away at the water? That was standard procedure for Japanese destroyers escorting heavy warships. Maybe this was not the Kurita, after all. Maybe these escorts were protecting a large convoy of slow-moving merchants. That would explain the lack of active sonar. The escorts would be listening, not pinging.
“XO, bridge. What’s the range now?”
“Bridge, conning tower. Just under six thousand yards, sir. Still closing at ten knots. We’ll be inside their formation in fifteen minutes.”
Tremain had to make the decision. Attack or dive. It was now or never.
“Mr. Hubley.” Tremain grabbed Hubley’s arm in the darkness. “Stow the guns and clear the decks. Get the men below, and hurry.”
“Sir?”
“Do it, now! We don’t have time to talk about it.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Hubley began barking orders. The gun crews jumped from their positions and started passing the broken-out ammunition back to the storage lockers.
Tremain keyed the call box. “XO, bridge. Prepare to dive the boat.”
Cazanavette’s voice came back. “Sir, if this is the Kurita…”
“Understood, XO. Get ready to dive. This is not the Kurita!”
It took several minutes for the gun crews to rig the weapons for submergence and then get below themselves. Then Hubley ordered the lookouts below and checked the deck for any person who might have been left behind. The range to the oncoming ships closed to three thousand yards as the klaxon rang out two blasts. Mackerel’s diesels shut down and water rushed into her main ballast tanks with a loud hiss. Moments later, she disappeared beneath the waves, leaving only a frothy disturbance on the surface to mark her presence.
“Take her down to one-hundred-twenty feet,” Tremain ordered. “Rig for silent running.”
All of the compartments throughout the ship fell silent as the procession of ships approached overhead. Salisbury manned the sonar headset, and reported as the ships drew closer, “Multiple contacts closing, sir. Multiple low-speed screws.”
“Are they warships or merchants?” Tremain asked.
Salisbury raised one hand and closed his eyes as he listened intently.
“Well?” Tremain said, impatiently.
Salisbury opened his eyes and gave a small smile. “Sounds like merchant ships, Captain.”
Tremain breathed a sigh of relief as he exchanged glances with Cazanavette.
Within minutes the low churning screw noise was audible through the hull. It grew louder until it reverberated through the whole ship. Salisbury’s sensitive ears counted ten different ships, including one escort. It took a good twenty minutes for the entire column to pass overhead. Mackerel’s crew stared at the bulkheads, trying not to breathe too heavily, whispering to communicate. It was absurd to think that the Japanese sonar men could hear them if they spoke normally, but whispering felt like the right thing to do.
Stillsen stood in the back of the conning tower, watching Tremain as the screw noises began to fade.
“What if that was the Kurita?” he asked, then added, “If it was, the mission is a failure.”
Tremain did not respond. He wanted Stillsen to know that he was still a visitor, and his comments were not welcome. He glanced at Cazanavette and smiled.
“If it was the Kurita, Commander,” Cazanavette answered for him, “then she was traveling with a bunch of merchant ships, and an extremely light escort.”
“Either way we’ll know for sure when they make their turn,” Tremain added.
If Kurita were in the convoy, it would turn left once they reached the open sea and the screw noises would track off to the east. That was the direction to Yokosuka. If it were simply a convoy of merchants, they would almost certainly head west or continue on a southerly course toward one of the Empire’s island garrisons out in the Pacific.