“Very well,” Brannon said. He turned to Lee. “Keep the lookouts sharp. We should be seeing whatever is out there in a little while.” He raised his night binoculars as he felt the Eelfish slow down.
The minutes crept by. Olsen’s voice came out of the bridge speaker.
“We’re going to make the second radar sweep, Bridge.”
“Very well,” Brannon said. He walked forward to the bridge and stood beside Lee. Above them the radar antenna was making short, jerky sweeps.
“Targets bear zero five seven, Bridge,” Olsen’s voice said from below. “Range to the targets is now nine five zero zero yards. Repeat, ninety-five hundred yards. Target course is one eight zero, dead south. Target speed is one zero, repeat, ten knots. Distance to the target track is now four one zero zero yards, repeat, forty-one hundred yards.
“We’ve got several targets out there, Bridge. Suggest we come right to course zero zero zero. Request permission for another radar sweep to determine disposition of the ships in the convoy, sir.”
“Very well,” Brannon said. “Execute course change. Let’s make this next radar sweep a solid one, Control. Is Mr. Michaels at the radar?”
“Yes, sir,” Olsen answered. “Mr. Michaels and Rafferty are manning the radar. Plot is running, sir.”
“Very well,” Brannon said. Olsen was showing no signs of excitement, Brannon reflected. He was doing his job calmly, plotting the problem, figuring the courses and speeds to bring Eelfish into contact with the enemy as Brannon wanted that contact to be made. He braced himself as the Eelfish heeled as it came to the new course.
“We have a good idea of what’s out there, Bridge,” Olsen said through the bridge speaker. “We make it a convoy led by one small ship, probably a small escort vessel.
“Back of that escort there are two larger pips. They are running abreast of each other one thousand yards back of the escort in the van. These two ships are eight hundred yards apart. Then we have two more ships. These pips are even larger. These two are aft of the first two ships at a distance of one thousand yards. They are following in the wakes of the ships in front of them. There is one more ship, a smaller pip, dead astern of the second line of ships. We assume that ship is an escort. It is one thousand yards astern of the second line of ships. We have also picked up one small pip abeam of both sides of the convoy at a distance of five hundred yards from each side of the convoy. Assume them to be small escort vessels, sir. The entire convoy is spread out along course one eight zero over three thousand yards of ocean, sir.”
“Very well,” Brannon said. He stood at one side of the bridge, his mind sorting out the information given to him, figuring out the plan of attack he would make.
The classic, the approved manner of attack on a convoy would be to reverse his course and run out ahead of the convoy. He had enough speed to be able to do that. Then he could submerge Eelfish and wait for the convoy to come to him. Once they did so he would open fire.
The classic approach was a good one, Brannon thought. What it didn’t allow for was that the water was too shallow, only 180 feet deep. That wasn’t deep enough to give him the room to maneuver away from a determined depth-charge attack. Once he started shooting from ahead of the convoy it was certain that the escort in the van and the two on each beam would rush to the attack. The escort astern would likely herd his sheep off to safety while the other escorts pinned down the submarine. Brannon turned the problem over in his mind, his face somber in the starlight.
“I have ships!” the starboard lookout called out. “I got several ships bearing zero four zero, Bridge.”
“Very well,” Lee said. He looked at his Captain.
“Very well,” Brannon said. He bent his head to the bridge transmitter.
“Plot, give me a range to the target’s course line.”
“Range to the target track is four zero zero zero, repeat four thousand yards, sir.”
“Very well,” Brannon answered. “Plot, here’s what I want: We’ll run on this course at this distance from the enemy track until the last ship in the convoy is to our beam to starboard. Then I want to come right and run to the enemy’s course and come right again so that we’ll be dead astern of the convoy. We’ll attack on the surface.”
He waited a moment so the plotting party down below could make notes. Then, his voice calm, Brannon said: “Set all torpedoes for two feet depth. Repeat two feet. Gun crews to the Control Room in red night goggles. Sound General Quarters.”
He heard the muted clanging of the General Quarters alarm and the rush of feet down below as the crew raced to their battle stations.
He listened as the reports poured in from each compartment of the ship. All battle stations were manned. Depth set all torpedoes two feet. All torpedo tube outer doors were closed. Course is zero zero zero. Speed is ten knots. Plotting party standing by. Brannon nodded to Lee and steadied his elbows on the teak bridge rail and raised his binoculars to his eyes. He could see the targets plainly, one small ship out ahead of the others and then two lines of ships. He bent to the transmitter.
“Radar. Are you sure there’s a small ship abeam to starboard in the convoy? I can’t see him at all. Take a look through the periscope to verify.”
Brannon heard the search periscope sliding upward above him and then the voice of Lieutenant Perry Arbuckle, the Assistant Engineering Officer who manned the Torpedo Data Computer in the Conning Tower, said, “Bridge, confirm a small ship close aboard the second ship in the line. He’s very close to that ship, sir.”
“Very well,” Brannon said. “Plot, give me a time at this speed when we will be abeam of that last ship in the convoy.”
“Twelve minutes, sir. One two minutes.”
“Plot a course to the enemy track, John,” Brannon said, “then turn the plot over to Mr. Lee and come up here. I need you up here for this action.”
Olsen climbed out of the hatch, his lean face beaming. “We’ve got a lot of ships out there, Skipper. All of them waltzing down the garden path just as nice as can be. How are we going to hit them?”
“I’m going to fall in behind the convoy,” Brannon said.
“I’ll give Plot time to give me a shooting setup on that Tail End Charlie back there, the last ship in the convoy. He might be an escort, and I want to get rid of him before anything else. Then I’ll set up to take the ship that will be on our port side as we go in, the second line of ships.”
“Gun crews are standing by, sir,” Olsen said.
“Good. If the convoy breaks up and scatters, as I think it will, we can add to their confusion by opening fire with the deck guns. They might discourage the escorts from getting nasty while we’re working in the middle of the convoy. Pass the word below to break out extra ammunition for the deck guns and have the ammunition party standing by to pass it topside if we call for it. This thing could get a little hairy, John, just a little bit hairy before we get through.”
“Could get a little hairy?” Olsen said to himself as he went forward to the hatch to pass the word about the ammunition party. “By my late Swedish father’s ass it could get hairy!”
“Last ship in the convoy will be abeam to starboard in ten minutes, Bridge,” Lee said from down below. “Suggest we come right to course zero nine five and make turns for flank speed, sir, twenty knots. When we reach a point astern of the convoy, sir, that will be in five minutes and twenty seconds, we can come right to course one eight zero. At that time the last ship in the convoy will be two two zero zero, repeat twenty-two hundred yards dead ahead of our position.”