On the surface up above the Eelfish the sonar operator on the Chidori destroyer looked at his Sonar Officer.
“Whatever it was making that funny noise has stopped, sir. Shall I begin a sonar search?” The officer nodded and the sonar man punched a button. A sonar beam began pulsing out into the ocean, searching in a circle. Suddenly the beam bounced back, ringing loudly in the Sonar Room of the destroyer.
“Target bears zero two zero, sir,” he said calmly “Range to the target is five hundred yards.” The Sonar Officer murmured into the telephone he wore, and the Chidori’s bow reared high and then settled down as its engines went to full speed.
The first depth charge exploded above the Forward Torpedo Room of the Eelfish, driving Petreshock to his knees in front of the torpedo tubes, lifting the upper bunks upward and out of their chain hooks to fall with a crash against reload torpedoes. In the Control Room the bow planesman saw the bubble in his inclinometer move sharply, and he began to strain against the big brass wheel to tilt the bow planes upward to compensate for the downward push of the depth charge.
The sudden slant down by the bow that was caused by the crushing force of the depth-charge explosion brought the torpedo sliding out of the tube as Flanagan yelled a warning. The torpedo, its tail cone belching a stream of burning hot exhaust gas, its turbines howling inside the afterbody, slid down the reload skid and crashed into the thin metal side of the Engineering Log cubicle and jammed there. A 24-inch thick stream of sea water driven by the 500-foot depth Eelfish was cruising at, burst into the torpedo room out of the tube, slamming against the warhead of the runaway torpedo. Flanagan ducked under the stream of water, grabbed the bottom edge of the tube’s inner door, and tried to close it. It moved easily and then it stopped, kept from closing by the warhead of the torpedo. He ducked back under the warhead and the rock-hard stream of water and realized that Nelson had shut down the torpedo’s engines.
“Clear the room!” Flanagan bellowed, his voice loud in the suddenly silent torpedo room. “All hands get out except Nelson. Close the watertight door. Maneuvering Room, open the salvage air valves, get a pressure in here soon’s these people get out and close the door!”
The electrician on watch with Chief Morris in the Maneuvering Room pulled the watertight door closed and dogged it tight as Chief Morris, standing on the padded bench seat, reached up and opened the salvage air valves. Air under a pressure of 225 pounds to the square inch roared into the sealed-off torpedo room. Lee pressed the talk button on his phones.
“Sorry about the noise, Captain,” he said calmly. “The torpedo is out of the tube. It’s jammed into the Log Room bulkhead. We can’t close the inner door on the tube because the warhead is in the way. The tube will be secured as soon as possible. Salvage air is being bled into the room to try and keep the water level down. Water is now knee deep and still coming.”
“Very well,” Brannon said into the phone Olsen had handed him. He gave the phone back and turned to the auxiliary-man at the high-pressure air manifold.
“As soon as that son of a bitch upstairs makes another run, as soon as you can hear his screws, blow Number Six Main Ballast tanks. All of them.” The auxiliaryman repeated the order and moved his wrench to the blow valve.
“That bastard up there isn’t going to have any trouble finding us,” Olsen said.
“He hasn’t had much trouble since that fish was fired in the tube,” Brannon said. He looked at the bubbles in the inclinometers in front of the bow and stern planesmen. The Eelfish was assuming a downward slant by the stern.
In the flooding After Torpedo Room Nelson had retrieved the block and tackle the reload crew had dropped into the water as they scrambled out of the room. He methodically untangled the wet lines and hooked one block over the horizontal surface of the torpedo’s tail fin. He carried the other block aft and hooked it into the skid. Flanagan joined him and took hold of the line.
“Take it easy on the haulin’,” Flanagan grunted. “We got a down angle by the stern. I don’t want this son of a bitch to hit the inner door and jam that fucker up.” The two men pulled carefully, and the torpedo slid out of the thin metal of the Log Room. Flanagan took the block off the tail and carried it to the nose of the torpedo. He pushed his hand and arm into the stream of water roaring out of the tube, wincing with pain as the water slammed into his flesh, and found the nose ring on the warhead. He got the hook in place and turned to Nelson.
“Get outboard of this fucker and when you’re set try to shove the ass end of the skid over far enough so the tail will clear the Log Room. Then we can pull the bastard back in the skid so’s we can get the inner door closed.” Nelson nodded and scrambled under the torpedo and braced his back against the hull. He put one big foot against the skid and pushed.
“Harder, Fred, harder!” Nelson heaved again and the skid moved another few inches. He scrambled toward the tail of the torpedo and explored the position of the skid and the edge of the Log Room bulkhead.
“She’s gonna clear,” he said, and ducked under the torpedo and took hold of the line on the block and tackle with Flanagan. The two men heaved mightily and then heaved again, fighting the downward angle Eelfish had assumed because of the increasing weight of the water pouring into the torpedo room. Lieutenant Lee heard Flanagan sob with effort and scrambled upward on the skid in the middle of the room, peering intently at the inner torpedo tube door and the warhead nose. The torpedo inched away from the inner door.
“That’s it!” Lee yelled. Flanagan came splashing forward and saw Lee’s white face in the eerie glow of the battle lanterns.
“This is what they give you that extra submarine pay for, Mr. Lee,” the Chief of the Boat said. He ducked under the stream of water and worked his body between the torpedo-tube inner door and the hull. Using his arms and legs he began to push his back against the inner door, narrowing the two-foot stream of water pouring out of the tube. He heard Nelson grunting as he scrambled under the warhead and eased his tall frame up beside Flanagan, who was straining, holding the door partially closed against the more than 200 pounds of pressure the stream of water was exerting.
“Lemme get a shoulder in next to you,” Nelson muttered. The two men pushed and the door gave a few inches. Nelson got his foot against the side of the ship’s hull, and with a loud grunt he heaved backward with all his strength. Lieutenant Lee, standing by with the door wrench, slipped it over the stud and threw every ounce of his 150 pounds downward. The bayonet ring caught and Nelson spun away from the warhead and grabbed the wrench from Lee and finished closing the bayonet ring. Lee thumbed the button on his phone set.
“Inner door on Number Seven tube is secured, Control. We’ve got about four feet of water in the room. Torpedo is now being strapped into the skid.”
Mike Brannon looked at the inclinometer bubble. The Eel-fish was sagging dangerously downward by the stern. He turned to Jerry Gold, the Battle Stations Diving Officer.
“Next time that guy up there speeds up to make a drop on us, as soon as he’s committed, start pumping the After Room through the drain lines.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Gold said. He spoke briefly into his telephone set, and in the After Room Lieutenant Lee relayed the message to Flanagan and Nelson. Nelson shrugged.
“Fucking sump stop valve to the drain line is under four foot of water. I’m so wet now it don’t make any real difference.” He ducked down under the water and emerged a half-minute later, water dripping from his hooked nose.