He dropped below.
"Rudder amidships-all ahead emergency!" I yelled to Oregon.
I aimed for the narrow space between the two flaming ships again. If we could get between them once more, I knew there was no escort vessel on that side, that would force the two destroyers to slow down and maneuver to avoid their own ships. That might be our chance.
I pushed the bridge speaker button for the general announcing system: "Maneuvering, give it everything you've got!"
They did, too. Clouds of blue-white smoke poured out of our exhaust. Our speed picked up perceptibly. Walrus arrowed for the hole, slipped through it, headed eastward at full speed leaving the wrecked ships behind and a cloud of diesel smoke to obscure our passage. The two destroyers, shadowy figures at fairly long range, were cut off, had to shoot over them. Both were firing continuously, the one from the convoy's rear particularly well. From his position that must be Bungo, and he was using salvo fire with methodical precision. The shells were still tearing overhead, closer, if anything, than before, despite the obstruction in the range. One or two dropped close alongside, kicked up great spouts of water. No question about it. Old Bungo was a good naval officer and ran a taut, tough ship. His destroyer-Akikaze class, all right-was shooting at least two to the other's one, and accurately, despite the weather.
I picked up the mike. "They're going to have to slow down because what's left of their convoy is in the way," I said. "Take a sweep around with the radar Another salvo from Bungo. I could see all four flashes from his guns. He would have to hold back on the next salvo or two, now, because of the ships in the way.
There was a blinding flash. The whole world turned kaleido- scopic. Stars and pinwheels and fireballs whirled about me, all emanating from a round, sunlike face emitting rays of white-hot fire-the face of Bungo Pete. He looked benign, friendly, despite the fireballs… surprisingly like Sammy Sams.
11
The wheels were still spinning when I opened my eyes.
I was lying in my own bunk, and there was the smell of medicine all around. Cecil Throop's bunk springs and mattress, which had been slung above mine, were gone. Jim and Keith were standing beside my bunk, smiling at me, bracing themselves, against the gentle heave of the ship.
"What happened?" I managed to say. "What about Bungo…?"
I gripped the sides of the bunk, tried to raise myself.
My whole right side shot excruciating pain through my body.
"Take it easy, skipper, everything's fine. We're through the Nanpo Shoto, and we're on our way back to Pearl Harbor. Right now it's broad daylight and we're riding on the surface on three engines, making excellent time. Now that you're feeling better, everything's Jake." Jim's face was wreathed in a happy grin.
"What happened?" I asked again.
"Nothing much. You just stopped a Jap four-inch shell all by yourself and have been out for three days, that's all. And your right leg's broken, so don't try to get up." I fumbled for it.
The cast felt as if it occupied half the bunk.
"How did I get down here?"
"We heard the shell hit, you were talking on the mike, remember? And you were still holding the button down after you were knocked out. Rubinoffski and I found you lying there, out cold. We hauled you down below and dived, and we've been running ever since. We had to lay you out on the wardroom table to set your leg and sew you up."
"How badly hurt am I?" I knew part of the answer without asking. The strain of what little talking I had already done was telling, and it was an effort to keep my voice from dropping to a whisper. Jim and Keith began to edge for the door.
"The Pharmacist's Mate says you'll be fine, skipper," said Keith. "You had a bad concussion and a couple of bad cuts besides the break, but nothing that won't mend in time."
A wave of pain hit me as the two lifted the green curtain and passed out into the passageway. I tried to call out, but couldn't. The bulkheads receded, wobbled, blended into a dull ivory from their original white and gray. Someone came through the curtain-I hardly noticed the jab of the needle.
Despite Jim's and Keith's assurances, and the number of smiling well-wishers who came to see me during the latter stages of our trip, I was far from being in good shape when we put in to Pearl. I don't remember much of the first part of the trip, or whether anything out of the ordinary happened during it. Once in a while, it seemed to me, we dived-whether for drill or for real I could not tell, and cared less. Later on there was a discussion of having a plane meet us near Midway to take me off.
I remember becoming violently upset at the idea, as well as the following suggestion, in a few days, that Walrus put in there to leave me. I became more lucid rapidly then and was able to think of some of the things lying ahead for all of us. One thing was obvious, though everyone avoided the subject until I brought it up. I was through as skipper of Walrus.
Two nice things happened before we got in to Pearclass="underline" A dispatch from ComSubPac, which Jim brought in with a smile shortly after I had regained my senses for the first time, and an AlNav a few days before our arrival.
The dispatch said: FOR WALRUS, X, PASS TO YOUR FINE SKIPPER OUR HEARTFELT WISHES FOR HIS SPEEDY RECOVERY AND CONGRATULATIONS ON AN OUTSTANDING PATROL, X, COMSUBPAC SENDS, X.
The AlNav was a promotion announcement. Jim was made Lieutenant Commander. Hugh and Dave became Lieutenants, and Jerry Cohen a Lieutenant, junior Grade.
There was another AlNav, which Jim showed me also. This one gave commanding officers of certain types of vessels, of which submarines were one, authority to promote deserving members of their crews. As a consequence, Jim prepared and I signed promotions for Quin, Oregon, Rubinoffski, Russo, and O'Brien. Kohler, Larto, and one or two others, already Chief Petty Officers, were at the top of the ladder and could not be promoted higher; so we did the next-best thing and sent papers recommending them for promotion to Warrant rank to the Bureau of Naval Personnel.
Once I was safely ensconced in the hospital at the Pearl Harbor Navy Yard, the events of the past few months seemed almost like a dream, and it took an effort to bring myself back to reality. To begin with, it was my shinbone or tibia, as the doctors called it, which had been broken, and it was decided that it was not healing properly. So the doctors broke it again and set some silver pegs into it, a most painful and inconvenient arrangement. It was hot in the hospital, and the Navy Yard noises were neither close enough to make out anything of interest from them, nor far enough away to be unbothersome.
Most of the time I lay in a foggy stupor, hardly aware of what was going on around me. The only times I felt at all normal were when one of my shipmates of the Walrus or some other old friend dropped in-a courtesy difficult to find the time for in their busy lives.
There were, of course, a few items of urgent business to clear up. The most important was brought up by Captain Blunt within a few days. "Rich," he said, "you know we've got to find; a new skipper for the Walrus." I had been expecting this one.
"Yes, sir." I had my own idea ready to spring when he gave me the opening.
"We've got two or three in mind. Since she's your ship I thought you might like to have something to say about it, unofficially, of course."
"Have you thought of giving her to Jim Bledsoe?"
"Why, no-he's pretty junior-um-" He sucked on the pipe. "Isn't Bledsoe the chap you weren't willing to turn the S-16 over to?"
"He sure is, Captain, and you know why I couldn't do it. But listen to this." I told Captain Blunt how Jim had made an approach all by himself, swinging to shoot the stern tubes on his own initiative so as to equalize our expenditure of torpedoes and I told him what a great fighting heart he had. I made quite a little speech out of it, winding up with the clincher that he, already was skipper of Walrus in fact, having assumed command upon my incapacity, and that the morale of the ship would inevitably suffer if someone were put over him who did not have equal or greater experience in submarine combat.