The unseen ship’s engine grew louder, then constant. Tremain was sure that it was close enough to hit with a stone’s throw.
One of the lookouts gently slapped his hand against the periscope shears to get Tremain’s attention and then pointed into the fog aft of the starboard beam.
Tremain saw the shadow of a mast form in the fog. The fog high above the water was thinner than that hugging the surface. Soon after, a large shadow appeared beneath the mast and Tremain immediately recognized the unmistakable short, squatty silhouette of a Japanese patrol boat.
Though only half of Mackerel's size, Tremain knew from experience that these little boats carried quite a punch. He could see the long dark shapes protruding from the boat’s fore and after decks. He knew that the shapes were twenty- and forty-millimeter guns, and that the vessel probably carried a three-inch gun as well.
The patrol boat was obviously conducting routine guard boat duty. It was probably cruising along in the fog at a low speed to avoid hitting any other shipping that might be in the channel. The fact that the craft was traveling slowly was a good indication that Mackerel was still undetected.
Tremain could safely assume that the patrol boat was not equipped with radar, although the Japanese boat would not need it to spoil Mackerel's mission. All the patrol boat needed to do was radio his base that an enemy submarine had been spotted in the area and the Kurita would not come out for weeks. The mission would be a failure, and, worse, the enemy would send out destroyers to find them.
Tremain glanced at the gunners. Their barrels were trained at the shape in the fog, now less than fifty yards away. They were ready, Tremain thought, if it came to a fight. He guessed that the enemy had not sighted them yet, because the craft’s low superstructure sat lower in the fog than Mackerel's bridge.
As the enemy shape became more distinct, it was clear to Tremain that he was looking at the patrol craft’s port beam. If the patrol craft stayed on its present course, there was a good chance that it would pass by without seeing Mackerel.
All on deck watched intently as the patrol boat cruised quietly along, crossing the submarine’s stern. Mackerel's guns trained around, following its every move. The patrol boat did not change course, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief when it finally disappeared into the fog off the port quarter.
“That was too close, sir,” Hubley whispered, smiling.
Tremain nodded and rubbed the sweat from his temple. He had been mere seconds away from ordering the gun crews to open fire on the unsuspecting patrol boat.
“I hope the bastards have no more out there, Mr. Hub-ley,” he said.
Hubley started to say something in reply but Tremain quickly motioned for him to stop.
Something was not right, Tremain thought, as he listened. The sound of the patrol boat’s diesel engine had been fading before, but now it was growing louder. The patrol boat had turned around.
Tremain looked up in time to see the lookout point into the fog off the port quarter.
“It’s coming back, sir. Bow on, this time.”
Could the patrol boat have seen them? Tremain thought. It would have fired by now. It must have reached the end of its run and simply turned around to go back up the channel. But it was headed straight for Mackerel.
Tremain sucked in a deep breath. He had no choice. The patrol boat would see them within seconds. He had to keep it from sending any radio transmissions.
He reached for the phone talker’s arm.
“To all gun crews, when I give the order, target the patrol boat’s mast and superstructure.”
The nervous sailor relayed Tremain’s order into his handset, and Mackerel’s guns quickly leveled toward the port quarter.
Tremain waited as the dark shape once again emerged from the fog, heading directly towards Mackerel’s port beam. The distance between the vessels closed to sixty yards.. then fifty yards … then forty.. then thirty….
A solitary voice came out of the fog speaking in Japanese. It sounded amplified, as if the enemy officer was speaking through a megaphone.
Several of Mackerel's sailors looked up at Tremain as if they expected him to respond. The patrol boat was obviously hailing Mackerel, and apparently still unaware that the shadowy vessel off its bows was an American submarine. Tremain scowled and each man quickly turned back to his post.
After several hails, the distance between the two vessels closed to mere yards and a searchlight clicked on from the Japanese craft.
Tremain held his breath as the long beam of light cut through the fog and steadied on Mackerel's bridge. Almost instantaneously a Japanese voice shouted an exclamation and the light shut off. Tremain could hear the boat’s diesels suddenly cough to life in an apparent attempt to gain speed.
“Commence firing!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.
Mackerel's weapons broke open the quiet night, erupting in a crescendo of rattling automatic weapons. Bright tracer rounds from the 40-millimeter gun walked across the small space of water, creating tall geysers. The gun quickly found its target and settled on the patrol boat’s pilothouse, pounding it into pieces with shell after shell. Another searchlight came on but was instantly blown apart by a .50-caliber machine gun burst. Tongues of flame spewed forth in staccato fashion from every gun on Mackerel’s deck. Water spouts and debris filled the air around the patrol boat as flying shells repeatedly pulverized it.
Mackerel’s hull shook as the five-inch gun fired its first round. The shell missed and splashed into the water well beyond the patrol craft.
With the enemy’s pilothouse and mast virtually destroyed, Tremain prayed silently that the Japanese captain had not had time to send a message. The patrol boat had been taken completely by surprise and now he had to sink her, and fast.
“Tell the five-inch gun to aim for the waterline!” he shouted to the phone talker over the noise.
Moments later, the five-inch gun erupted again and its large shell slammed into the patrol boat’s bow, sending metal splinters flying in all directions.
By now, the Japanese boat was close enough that its deck was completely visible, and Mackerel’s guns were chopping it to pieces, as it came. Tremain could see that the entire vessel was already riddled with holes. It was fast becoming a wreck, as ammunition began exploding on deck, and anything that was flammable caught fire. The Japanese helmsman had obviously been killed in the first few seconds, because the boat continued to head straight for Mackerel’s side.
Tremain saw one large-caliber machine gun still operational on the boat’s stern. Two skivvy-clad Japanese sailors appeared to be the only life left onboard as they struggled to load an ammunition belt into the gun’s chamber. With their own boat burning around them, they rotated the gun toward the submarine and prepared to fire.
Tremain grabbed the arm of the sailor manning the .50-caliber machine gun on the bridge.
“Take out those two gunners!” he shouted.
The sailor swiveled his .50-caliber around and aimed it at the Japanese sailors. His first burst ricocheted off the deck and kicked up sparks near the sailors’ feet. Before he could fire again, the Japanese sailors opened up with their machine gun. The ensuing onslaught of projectiles peppered Mackerel’s bridge railing, holing it in several places.