Hey, this thing still on? Quarantine living sees me return to SHIV, running FOTRSU. A little older, a little wiser and (courtesy of Cold Waters) with a much better understanding of hydroacoustics. Boy did it show, an absolute hell of a start of a career in the USS Skate.
Jan 11th, 1944 - Ordered to depart Midway UT, USA to partake in anti-shipping operations for period of 5 days in East China Sea.
Relatively uneventful crossing, engaged and destroyed a Japanese-flagged crab vessel just off the Ryuku Islands on January 25th.
On station January 26th. Didn't have to wait long for contact, 5 on radar scope, small convoy of some sort. We come for them at night, January 27th. Fired a spread, hit two of them, only sunk one. Wounded one took a bow hit and didn't seem to mind one bit. Good thermal layer at 180 feet. Escorts none the wiser. Second and third attacks: simply atrocious. Can feel eyebrows on the ratings arching. Skipper obviously has to shake off some rust, some introspection brought the conclusion that he was being an absolute ninny over AOB. Accuracy went up remarkably after that.
Chance to redeem himself arrived on January 31st, an unescorted oiler. Set up for a stern attack and once again came for her in the night. Three fired, three hits! Outstanding. She breaks up quickly. Surface and knife past the many survivors; they're too shellshocked to do more than glower at us. We rammed a lifeboat too damned fool enough to get out of our way, though I'm not inclined to be sympathetic.
The sinking of the oiler coincided with the end of our time on station. A belly full of reloads and plenty of fuel left meant a request for further orders and COMSUBPAC delivered. Off to just beyond the Luzon Straits for a further 5 days.
Patrol zone would prove largely a bust. Chased a few phantom convoys from naval 'intelligence' but ultimately nothing to show for our efforts save a few Rising-Sun flagged crabbers.
Yet another zone given, this time in the Sulu Sea. First though, and against better judgment, we chased another report from intelligence.
Proving that miracles do happen, this one turned out to be accurate. Radar contact rapidly turned into visual contact after a gutsy day-time surface run.
No escorts. Told the boys to dust off the shot and we maneuvered to come up on their stern, by the time the sluggish merchants had started turning to get their bow mounts on, both were as good as sunk.
Sulu Sea patrol zone would itself prove to be another nothing burger. Atrocious weather throughout the time there. When it wasn't raining, we were getting heavy swells and fog. For the best in all likelihood, as we were down to three torps and no reloads.
This was because the trip in was a bonanza. First, traveling through the Mindoro strait when hydrophone picked up a merchant contact, all alone. Two torps fired astern, and she was gone.
A few days later, as we hugged the edge of the Palawan littoral, radar picked up several contacts traveling in a small convoy. The stalking party got to work, counting fingers and toes, and soon we had worked out an intercept. A few hours later, in moderate swells and a moonless early morning, we came for them. Running on the surface, four torps fired, two a piece for our intended targets; a large whaler and a freighter. The glow-in-the-dark geysers of impacts denoting hits. The whaler rolled quickly and sank slowly, the freighter infuriatingly struggled on with a heavy port list. We turned to starboard and dived, the surface all searchlights, starshells and distress flares. The escort was all bark and no bite, ultimately. Though, she must've had an inkling, as she came uncomfortably close several times and got that freighter out of there. Attack called off after several frustrating hours trying to dodge the slim thing.
Fine piece of work, frankly. Stalking party got pats on the back all around.
Trip home uneventful despite some rude interludes from snooping planes. Went through the many seas of the Philippines, and used what little ammo we had left on fishing vessels unfortunate enough to be flying the meatball ensign. Bofors got some licks in when we did a daytime periscope sweep and spotted a pair of the unfortunates.
Home on March 11, 1944. 61 days and richly rewarded for it; no one talked about the incident with the lifeboat and I wasn't inclined to jog their memories.