However, the destroyer’s own furious rush plays him false, too, for he is unable to regain the contact, now that the submarine is at deep submergence and evading. He remains in the vicinity for half an hour, listening carefully, while Cavalla, in turn, silences every bit of machinery except that absolutely necessary for submerged control.
Then he disappears, leaving Herman Kossler a sadder and wiser man, and a bit angry too. But you can’t blame the Jap exactly; he’s done a beautiful job of protecting his convoy.
One hour after the near brush with the tin can, Cavalla is on the surface, attempting to retain contact, send a contact report, and pursue in the direction of the convoy’s original course until late that afternoon. With the speed the Japs were making, plus a possible increase because of the brush with a submarine, not to mention a possible change of course, the chances of regaining contact are small. Three aircraft contacts during the course of the day are no help either, since in each case Herman is forced to submerge to avoid detection.
Nevertheless, Cavalla moves along after the convoy, hoping somehow to sight it again, until 2000 when finally the welcome cry, “Radar contact!” electrifies all hands. A few moments’ observations suffice to prove that this is not the same bunch at all. On the contrary, it is a much bigger, much faster outfit.
Cavalla maneuvers into position. It doesn’t take long this time: the contact has been made with the submarine nearly dead ahead of the enemy ships. It isn’t long, either, before Herman realizes that he is really on the track of something important. He had been put in this area, so his operation order stated, to warn of the approach of enemy task forces and to intercept. Unlike Albacore’s orders, Cavalla’s very specifically stated that warning of the approach of large enemy task forces was of greater importance than a successful attack on even a major unit. Until now, Herman knew, there had been no information of the approach of such a task force. Our carriers and planes were lambasting the stuffing out of Guam and Saipan, and some kind of retaliation was certain to be expected.
Cavalla’s contact tracks at 19 knots, and as the range closes many ships begin to be picked up on the radar, in addition to the several large ones first seen. Obviously this is some kind of task force, and from its course and speed it is heading from the Philippines to Guam. This information is vital to our forces engaged there, but Herman resolves to continue the approach until he is certain of his contact. Perhaps it isn’t a carrier task force at all, in which case he’ll be free to attack. It must be admitted that by this time Kossler is hoping that the ships prove to be almost anything except carriers.
But at 2030 Herman can make out one large carrier, several cruisers, and many destroyers through his periscope as he closes the range. And remaining submerged, his crew at battle stations, he passes right through the whole formation without firing a shot, counting the number and types of vessels in it! It is not until he is almost clear of the task force that two of the escorts begin to be suspicious of his presence, and for an hour they search the area, forcing Cavalla to take evasive action until they tire. And finally, with the skipper in a cold fury, the submarine manages to surface and get the all-important contact report off by radio.
Herm Kossler has good reason for being angry with the two little fellows who kept Cavalla down that extra hour. By so doing they have almost surely prevented her from catching up with the task force again. For the second time in twenty-four hours the sub chases at full speed, hoping to regain contact, knowing well that there is precious little chance of it.
All day long, that June 18, as Cavalla dashed in pursuit, her skipper was a prey to doubts as to whether he had done the right thing. After all, the submariner’s creed is to attack whenever you have the chance. Maybe he should have taken the flattop when the Jap went across in front of his torpedo tubes — how would he ever he able to explain his action to his fellows?
But what Herman didn’t know, couldn’t have known, was the effect of this message and the change it made in the plans of the high command at that important juncture. Since we had a pretty good idea of the composition of the Jap forces, and since Herman had been so careful to detail the exact composition of the particular group he saw, our planners were enabled to make some rather shrewd estimates of the disposition of the enemy’s forces and the remainder of his plans. Within a few hours of the receipt of Cavalla’s contact message, orders went out to every submarine in the vicinity to shift patrol stations according to a carefully laid out plot. One of these boats was Albacore and another was Cavalla herself.
Shortly after midnight on the morning of June 19 Herman broke off the chase and headed for his newly-assigned patrol station — assigned, although he did not know it — as a result of his own contact report of some twenty-eight hours previous. By this time he was racked with disappointment, and completely exhausted from having been on his feet for nearly forty-eight hours. Some sleep was possible now, although it was broken three times in the next nine hours by plane contacts which forced Cavalla to submerge.
At 1039, as the submarine is preparing to surface after the last dunking, Herman sights four small planes circling in the distance. A few minutes later the sound operator reports some peculiar water noises in the same direction. All thoughts of immediate surfacing are now forgotten, as a careful watch is kept on the planes. They are too small to be patrol planes, so maybe something of interest will come of the contact.
Sure enough! Masts are sighted directly under the planes, and screws of other ships are heard on the sound gear. Once again the musical chimes resound through Cavalla’s steel hull, calling her crew to battle stations for the third time in two days. Once again men race through the ship, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, hurriedly throwing on some clothes as they go, wordlessly taking their stations as they wonder what fate has in store for them this time, and hope that Cavalla will be able to sink her fangs into something.
“Up ’scope!” Herman spins it around once. “Down ’scope!”
“One carrier, two cruisers, one destroyer! Angle on the bow, starboard two five.” The bearing and range have already been set in. There are four ships in sight. The two cruisers are on the carrier’s port bow and the destroyer is on his starboard beam about one thousand yards distant. This is bad, because Cavalla is on the carrier’s starboard bow, and the situation indicates that she’ll have to fire from the starboard beam — in other words — from right beneath the destroyer. So Kossler will either have to let his fish go a little sooner than he would like to — which won’t prevent the escort from immediately letting go with a most effective counterattack — or try to outmaneuver the destroyer and shoot after he has gone by. The latter is perhaps the safer tactic, but it is also fraught with the unthinkable possibility of losing the target entirely.
Without further ado Kossler makes the decision to press home his attack on the carrier without regard for the destroyer. Perhaps he’ll fire a little early, in order to make sure of getting his fish off, but that’s the only concession he’ll make.
Target speed is tracked at 25 knots. He is making a large bow wave as he plows steadily through the water, pitching slightly to the seas. The planes originally sighted are in the landing circle, and Herman has a close view of Japanese carrier landing tactics during his quick periscope observations. He notices that the forward end of the flight deck is crowded with aircraft, and that there are only one or two planes left in the air, one of which appears to be coming around for his landing approach.