Dust on the Sea (50 page)

Eel
had been trimmed so that her main deck was virtually at the water's edge. Anyone approaching from a little distance would see only the submarine's bridge, dominated by the closely spaced periscope supports and, lower down, apparently standing in the water, two bulky structures from each of which protruded a stubby, evil-looking gun barrel. The submarine's main deck, 300 feet of it lying flat on the water, would not be visible until one came right upon it. The only evidence of its presence would be a strange continuity of flatness superimposed on the gently undulating, uneasy sea.

Two vitally important objects had been achieved by flooding down. First was a great reduction in silhouette, a change in the entire outward configuration of the ship. The second was that should
Eel
unexpectedly drift upon a mud flat, it would be a simple matter, by blowing tanks, to decrease her draft as much as six feet aft and ten feet forward, thus freeing her of the bottom and permitting her to be driven immediately into deeper water without even the necessity of starting engines. The instant power of her batteries, always available, was something no surface ship could match.

It was 1 o'clock in the morning of a moonless night, and the Yellow Sea was overcast with its customary haze.
Eel
had surfaced close in to shore and crammed a rapid charge into her batteries. Then, with every sense alert, the fathometer taking occasional “single ping” soundings of the bottom, she had slowly moved in to shallow water. Conversation on the bridge was desultory, in low voices clipped short, as though someone might hear them from the shore if they talked too loudly or too long.

“This is the third night in a row we've been here. I wonder what's holding up those transports?”

“Maybe the Kwantung Army is slower embarking its troops than ComSubPac figures. They must be bringing a lot of equipment with them.”

“Maybe they know we're here. Maybe they mean to wait till we have to leave station.”

“Then they'll have a long wait, Commodore. The second message
said to remain here until further orders, or until the ships come out. Before we left Pearl, Admiral Small told us this was the main reason for the wolfpack. It's up to us to stop them, no matter how long we have to stay. If we need to, we can stretch our provisions for another month.”

Blunt, Leone, and Richardson had congregated by themselves around the starboard TBT, were leaning their elbows on the bridge bulwarks, holding their binoculars to their eyes, speaking softly so their voices would not carry to the others on the bridge. Williams and Scott, sensing their exclusion, had taken the other corner, near the port TBT. The lookouts, several feet above on their platforms, were likewise out of earshot.

“Dammit, Rich, I shouldn't have let you shoot off all your fish the way you did. Those two you have left aft aren't enough for this sort of a donnybrook!”

“When he briefed us, the admiral didn't know when the Kwantung Army would move these divisions, or even if they would at all. This is the first word about them he's sent us, and we're the only U.S. forces within five hundred miles. There's twelve torpedoes between us and the
Whitefish
, and he expects us to make good use of them.” Richardson's reply was direct because the whole topic had already been covered in detail.

“A week ago the radio skeds had a message saying the
Sawfish
and
Piper
were en route to patrol stations off Iwo Jima,” said Keith, “and the
Pike
and
Whale
are off Okinawa. They're the nearest boats.”

“That's right, Commodore, and that makes four new patrol stations ComSubPac has to fill. That could be why he never sent a replacement for
Chicolar
.” It was perhaps unnecessary to bring up the lost submarine again, but Blunt must be headed off before he suddenly reversed his previous approval of Richardson's scheme.

He wondered whether the latest message also might have been originated by Joan—most likely by the entire team of which Mrs. Elliott and Cordelia Wood were also a part. The essential data must have been translated from intercepted Japanese messages. He also puzzled why the transports intended to exit Tsingtao during darkness; this was directly contrary to the habit of years. Ordinarily Japanese convoys sortied from harbor during daylight, when any submarines blockading the port would have to be submerged and could be immobilized by aircraft and antisub craft. The only explanation must be that this particular convoy, because of its enormous value, intended to change the pattern. Obviously it wished to get well clear of the harbor before dawn, before a ubiquitous Chinese coast watcher could report
it. At top speed, the Yellow Sea could be crossed in less than twenty-four hours, involving a single daylight period. A high-speed run, begun an hour before daybreak, would bring the ships to the sheltered coast of Korea shortly after nightfall. Only one day would be spent exposed to submarines submerged in the middle of the sea; with any luck at all, none would have been able to position themselves in their path.

Unfortunately, there had been no information as to which direction the ships would go once they left Tsingtao. Rich and Keith had theorized that they would turn sharply left and proceed to the northeast along the coast of the Shantung Peninsula. At dawn, they argued, the Japanese would turn east or even southeast. Remaining close to the shore line would render them immune to radar detection from any submarine patrolling off the harbor entrance and thus prevent, or reduce, the opportunity for such a sub to position itself along their daylight track later on.

But there was no assurance this was correct. The convoy might head directly east upon clearing the harbor—this was, after all, the quickest way across the Yellow Sea. If so, they would be detected by Whitey Everett's surface search radar as soon as the ships were clear from land return. From his patrol station seven miles out, Whitey would have the option of making a night surface attack or following them from ahead to attack submerged after daybreak.

Eel
's inshore position had been chosen because she was virtually out of torpedoes. Unable directly to damage the enemy, she could at least track them, so stationing herself that the large troop ships, drawing twenty-five feet or more, would have to pass to seaward of her. With land only a mile away, no enemy radar could detect
Eel
against the clutter. The convoy's escorts logically would patrol on its seaward side during this initial phase of the passage.

Eel
's presence very close to shore would be least anticipated by the enemy, and at the same time safest from detection. But Richardson could not help noticing his own quickened pulse, and he knew his must not be the only one. A submarine's sole protection—her entire capability of surviving in enemy waters—was her ability to dive when detected or attacked. This he had given up. More, he had argued the wolfpack commander into reluctant acquiescence. Were his calculations to be wrong, were his estimate of enemy intentions and capabilities incorrect,
Eel
might be caught on the surface with no way out except a running gun battle while she dashed for deep water.

This was the reason for preparing the forty-millimeter guns for action, and for the warning given to the rest of the ship's company. The bridge twenty-millimeters and fifty-caliber machine guns also had
been rousted out of their stowages and mounted. Ammunition for all guns had been brought up and placed in readiness near each.

Below, ammunition for both five-inch guns had been taken out of the magazines and laid out on deck in the crew's dinette and in the control room under the gun access trunk. The two men detailed to the fifty-caliber machine gun from the forward torpedo room hatch were standing by, probably sitting on a bunk immediately beneath the lower trunk hatch. A third man with a telephone plugged into a phone jack inside the trunk—its wire led upward past the lower hatch—would be waiting with them. On orders from the bridge, all three would enter the trunk, pull up the loop of the telephone wire, and shut the lower hatch. On further orders they would fling open the top hatch and open fire in any ordered direction except astern. They had, however, been rigorously briefed that they were not to open the hatch until direct orders had been received from the bridge, which would not be given if an immediate dash toward deeper water was contemplated. In
Eel
's present condition, even with bow planes rigged out and given a slight upward inclination, there was still entirely too much chance that a burst of speed might drive the submarine's bow under.

Time was passing extraordinarily slowly, thought Richardson, for the third day in a row and the tenth time this particular night. As 2 o'clock approached, another fruitless vigil was becoming increasingly probable. Blunt had gone below. He, at least, was now sleeping regularly. Strange; his hypertension had been replaced by the opposite: almost a lethargy. After a while Richardson had sent Keith down also to try to get some rest. Morning twilight would begin about
6
o'clock. It was approximately an hour's run at high speed to seaward to reach water deep enough for diving. To allow a little margin, it had been decided to move out at 4:30, shortly after the change of the watch section.

If Japanese ships came out of harbor and turned up the coast line, as appeared their most likely course, it would be
Eel
's duty to provide sufficient information to permit
Whitefish
to parallel the Japanese ships from off shore, in deep water. When they turned to the east or southeast, as ultimately they would have to do,
Whitefish
would have been positioned to the best possible advantage for a submerged attack at daylight.

It had taken a great deal of persuasion to cause Captain Blunt to believe that he had given the final approval and the implementing order. Much effort had been expended in planting the idea and disposing of all others. The clinching argument, as it turned out, concerned the idea that
Eel
, with only two torpedoes remaining, both of them aft, might possibly be directed to return to base. In view of this, Richardson suggested,
Blunt might consider shifting over to the
Whitefish
. As wolfpack commander, with primary responsibility for the blockade of Tsingtao, he would of course wish to remain on the scene. The idea agitated Blunt, as Rich knew it would, and he vehemently refused to consider it. He also refused to entertain the proposal which Buck Williams, by prearrangement, then put forward: that the two submarines rendezvous and transfer some of
Whitefish
's torpedoes to
Eel
. The maneuver would of course require opening deck hatches, rigging booms, laboriously hoisting torpedoes out of
Whitefish
, dropping them in the water and then hoisting them aboard
Eel
. As Buck pointed out, the operation had been carried out innumerable times in peacetime exercises, and both
Whitefish
and
Eel
had the necessary equipment.

But it had never been done under wartime conditions, for a boat caught by aircraft with hatches open would be unable to submerge. Blunt had vetoed it on this ground, and also—Richardson had to admit this argument had some validity—that to deprive Whitey Everett of some of his ten torpedoes remaining would leave him also with empty torpedo tubes should he need to defend himself against antisubmarine craft.

The impasse had the effect of submerging the primary issue under two others of lesser substance. By the time the manner of
Eel
's employment came under discussion, Blunt interposed little further objection. After that it was only a matter of preventing him from again dwelling on his flagship's apparently vulnerable position.

“Permission to come on the bridge to relieve a lookout?” Every fifteen minutes one of the lookouts was relieved to go below to warm himself, drink a cup of coffee, and do a stint as a control-room messenger. This meant it must now be fifteen minutes after two.

For the past forty-five seconds Rich had been staring through his binoculars at the shadowy promontory which marked the entrance to the bay of Tsingtao. He opened his eyes wider, tried to will his pupils to expand even farther. Something had excited his interest in the shadows to the west. He tried all the tricks he had practiced since his first night watch, years ago, on the bridge of the
Octopus
: looking above the shadowy outline of the land, looking below it, swinging his glasses gently back and forth so as to notice any unusual discontinuity.

“Buck,” he said, “take a look over here on the starboard bow, just to the left of that point of land!” The point of land to which he referred was nearly invisible—it was the near side of the entrance to the bay—but for three days of periscope observation close in, and night surface operations closer yet, it had been one of their principal points of reference.

“I'm looking at it, Captain,” said Williams. “What do you see?”

“Don't know. Nothing, maybe.”

“Me too. It's awful dark over there.” Abruptly Williams thrust his head beneath the bridge overhang, extended it over the hatch to the conning tower. He spoke in a low, carrying tone, suited to the muted situation into which they had placed themselves. “Radar, take a real good check at the harbor entrance. Do you see anything moving?”

Close in to land, the shore return or “grass” on both radar scopes generally blotted out any pips on the land side, though not to seaward. It was this fact which alone made possible
Eel
's otherwise untenable position, and indeed had caused that position to be selected. During three nights of experimentation, Rogers had discovered, however, that by beaming the radar parallel to the coast and greatly reducing his receiver gain it was possible he might get some impression of a large object once it cleared the shore. He was already operating in this mode, concentrating of course on the Tsingtao harbor entrance. But it was far from a precise thing, and it would be easy to miss something.