Mike Brannon studied the chart. “Sir,” he said. “We are going to be west of where we had intended to be, and that puts Hatchet Fish and Sea Chub farther east of us than before. Do you think we should move them in a little, say two or three miles?”
Mealey looked at the chart a moment and then nodded his head. He turned to Jim Michaels.
“Are we close enough together for voice communication?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell Mauler One and Mauler Two to shift position. Mr. Olsen will give you the exact coordinates.” He waited until Olsen had worked out the precise positions and given them to Michaels.
“How long until the music begins, John?” Mealey asked. Olsen worked at his plotting board.
“We’ll be on station in thirty minutes, sir. The task force should be on our port bow at that time, moving to cross ahead of our bow about ten minutes after we are on station.”
“Inform Mauler One and Mauler Two that the music will begin in forty minutes,” Mealey said to Michaels. “Tell them that once the music begins there will be dancing and we’ll ask them to the ball.” He leaned down and picked up the canvas bag that held the two steel helmets he had brought aboard. He gave one to Mike Brannon. He fitted the other on his head and buckled the chin strap. He went to the ladder and began to climb to the bridge, followed by Mike Brannon.
“Clear the bridge, Mr. Gold,” Mealey ordered. He waited until only he and Brannon stood in the bridge, and then he bent to the bridge transmitter.
“Sound General Quarters!”
Eelfish waited.
CHAPTER 16
Mike Brannon, standing on the port side of the bridge, turned to speak to Captain Mealey and saw that the older man was standing head bowed, his hands clasped in front of him. He lifted his head and raised his binoculars to his eyes.
“Captain Brannon, take the After TBT, please. As soon as the radar gives us the disposition of the task force we can plan how we’ll go in among them.” He bent to the bridge speaker.
“Radar check, Control.”
“Bearing on the biggest target is three five five. Repeat. Three five five. Here is the disposition as we see it, sir.
“There are two smaller pips one thousand yards in front of the mass of ships, sir. We take those to be destroyers sweeping out ahead.
“One thousand yards astern of those two contacts there is a very large pip. Very large. We take that to be the aircraft carrier. Then we have two more ships abreast, one thousand yards astern of the large pip. Two more ships back of those two, range about seven hundred fifty yards aft of the first two.
“There are three other ships back of those five and they are maneuvering. Mr. Olsen assumes they are forming up after coming out of that narrow gut. Far back of this mass of ships there is one large pip. Mr. Olsen assumes this to be the cruiser.
“There is one small pip on the starboard after quarter of the convoy. We assume that to be a destroyer. Range to that destroyer is five zero zero zero yards. Repeat. Five thousand yards.
“Range to the largest ship in the task force is two zero zero zero yards. Repeat. Two thousand yards, sir. Bearing on that ship is three five seven. Repeat. Three five seven. On the far side of the task force there are several small pips maneuvering. Assume these to be destroyers, sir.”
“Open all torpedo-tube outer doors,” Mealey said. “Set depth all torpedoes four feet. Repeat. Four feet. Light off numbers three and four diesels. Make the following message to Maulers One and Two.
“Mealey is mauling!”
The word came up from below. All torpedo-tube outer doors open. Depth set all torpedoes four feet. Making turns for full speed.
“All ahead flank! Stand by to shoot at the largest target. We have him in plain sight. That’s a carrier, by God!”
Eelfish shuddered as Chief Ed Morris threw all the power generated by the four big diesel engines into the generators that drove the big electric motors. In the Forward Torpedo Room Steve Petreshock eased between the two banks of torpedo tubes, his hand hovering over the safety bar for Number One tube’s firing key.
“Olsen, start the problem on that big target,” Mealey rasped. John Olsen flicked the focus handle on the battle periscope and steadied the periscope on the target. Brosmer sang out the bearing to Arbuckle. John Wilkes Booth, the Chief Yeoman, settled himself on his stool next to Paul Blake, at the sonar, and prepared to take down in his notebook every word that was said.
“Request desired shooting range, Bridge,” Arbuckle called out.
“One thousand yards,” Mealey answered. “The escort back on the task force starboard beam still hasn’t seen us. Angle on the bow of the first target is zero six zero, starboard. Here we go!” He stood in the center of the small bridge, his fierce eyes glaring at the dark bulk of the aircraft carrier that was sharp on his port bow.
“Range to the first target is now eleven hundred yards, Bridge.” Michaels’s voice floated up to the bridge. In the Conning Tower Arbuckle cranked in the range on the TDC. He spoke softly into the battle telephone that hung around his neck. “Stand by forward…”
“You have a shooting solution, Bridge,” Arbuckle sang out.
“Fire one!” Captain Mealey yelled. He felt the thumping jolt in his legs and feet as a fist of compressed air and water hurled the 3,000-pound torpedo in Number One tube down the length of the tube, its steam engines screaming into life as it passed through the tube. Mealey counted down from six to one
“Fire two!” He felt the second torpedo leave.
“Fire three! Begin the reload forward!”
“All torpedoes running hot, straight, and normal, Bridge,” Paul Blake called out from the Conning Tower.
A booming roar echoed across the surface of the water, and then another explosion shattered the night. Mealey saw two orange and red explosions against the dark bulk of the target. A siren began to wail in the night.
“Two hits!” Mealey yelled. “Two hits in the first target!”
Brannon’s voice came from the after end of the cigaret deck. “Escort on our port quarter has a bone in its teeth. He’s seen us!”
“Very well,” Mealey said. “Left fifteen degrees rudder.” Eelfish heeled over into the turn, its bow swinging away from the stricken aircraft carrier. Mealey glanced briefly at the target and saw a huge explosion of flame gush out of the carrier’s midsection.
“Meet your helm right there!” Mealey yelled. “Steady on that heading, Plot. Next target is the ship on my port hand. Angle on the bow is twenty port. Target is beginning a turn away. Make that angle on the bow thirty port. Give me a solution!” He heard Olsen’s voice calling out the bearing and Michaels giving the range.
“Solution!” Arbuckle yelled.
“Fire four!” Mealey counted down carefully, watching the ship out to starboard beginning to turn away from him.
“Fire five!”
“We’re getting company.” Michaels’s voice over the bridge speaker was calmer than it had been. “The escort vessels out ahead of the task force are now coming this way.”
“Fire six!” Mealey roared.
“Torpedoes running hot, straight, and normal,” Blake reported. On the cigaret deck aft of the bridge Mike Brannon crouched over the TBT, lining up the pointer on the TBT with a destroyer that was plunging toward them.
“Escort astern is coming up on us fast,” he yelled.