Let's get this started
although its not the best start, to be sure.
First Patrol Part 1- Ebb and Flow
Key Personnel
Note all times are base time.
June 7th, 1943
We had received a real warm welcome to Pearl, alright. "Welcome Eugene, why don't you take your green self right to Hokkaido and put a little old agent in for us."
It immediately soured my mood and gave me a sinus-like headache. The mission was high-risk and, as far as I was concerned, low reward. We hadn't even put to sea and I was already feeling the pressure. Irvin trying to mitigate by saying it was a sign the Squadron commander had faith in us did nothing to help. It only made the burden all the weightier. Our orders, in summary: Move to vicinity of Akkeshi, island of Hokkaido, avoid contact and insert friendly agent at the provided co-ordinates. Depart no later than 1300 hours June 7, 1943.
And so we did. With a band bombastically playing 'Anchors Aweigh' I conned the sub right down the channel, past the shattered hulks that could not be salvaged, and to sea.
June 10th, 1943
The trip to Midway was thankfully routine, we had finished topping up by early evening on the 10th. I could not help but notice just how much more robust Midway appeared to be since the last time I saw it. It was a hive of activity and I imagine it will stand on its own as a submarine base soon enough. Indeed, it appeared a few boats were permanently deployed there already, as one of the watch crew pointed out a Gato swinging alongside a quay.
It was here we met up with the agent, a Captain in the OSS. Didn't give me his name, naturally, how damned dramatic. Asides from the usual spook tropes he was not how I imagined him. Built like an Ox (aren't they meant to be discrete?) and with a jock's sense of humour. The men liked him and I could see why. I tried to act aloof and annoyed, I didn't like having guests. Don't think the fellow bought it.
We soon put out to open waters and Midway faded into the west. The attack periscope and the SD radar antenna were both lifted to maximum elevation and the Watch Crew reminded we were in it to win it, now. Nothing less than utmost attention would do. I was mindful to remind all Watch Officers of how important it was to avoid contact and not to get complacent just because we had an SJ set. The SJ was there to supplement them, I said, not the other way around.
June 18th, 1943
The bridge watch proved themselves not long after my warning to remain alert. Sails were reported on the horizon, to the south, at 0938 hours. SJ hadn't picked up a thing yet, too small was the target even in the current atmospheric conditions. We didn't hang around long enough to get solid eyes on whatever the ship was. With an OSS agent on board it wasn't the time or place to investigate and sink. At any rate we were in the final approach to the projected insertion point and I expected to be just off the coast later that afternoon. We therefore duly changed our course to 310 true and hoped whoever was on that boat wasn't as keen-eyed as ourselves.
Luck was with us. Just as we were preparing the trim to dive and await nightfall a fog bank, followed by a warm tropical rain, set in and enveloped the boat.
'I'm worth a try if you are' our guest said.
'What if the fog lifts as you're coming ashore? You won't have any cover, fella.'
'You let me worry about that, fella' came the cheery response. Crazy bastard.
So we went in, at general quarters, drifting the last stretch towards the Hokkaido coast. The quiet lap of water against the sides of the boat matching the gentle sound of
tink-tink-tink of rain against the hull. All the deck weaponry was manned and I ordered the .50s and the BARs brought up as well. I was confident SJ would give us a warning of a corvette or destroyer knifing through the fog towards us, but we could never discount something smaller getting the drop on us. Of course, detection meant failure. I didn't intend it to mean death as well.
As it happened, our luck held out. Swearing and sweating a bit as the waves bumped our VIP's raft against the hull a few times, we were able to lower him into the water and see him off. I told Irvin to put 'Insertion at 144'59E, 42'58N' in the order book and we reversed course, creeping out at ahead slow for a while. By the time the sun had set we were more than 100 nautical miles away and the Japanese, as far as I knew, none the wiser. I imagine I will never be told what becomes of our guest. Above my paygrade, no doubt.
June 19th 1943
I snapped quite a few pencil tips trying to write this. Our first attack and it was an absolutely inauspicious start.
We had radioed in late the previous evening and had received the terse response:
Proceed to AREA 4 and engage AS ops off Home Is x Remain on station 5 days x Maintain radio silence for period x
Which found us roughly heading at a course of 205 down the coast of Honshu when, at 1648, sonar reported merchant-type screws. The distance appeared to be opening and it was just off our port side. We changed our course by around thirty degrees to try and get a more accurate course reading and as we did so, the SJ began to get solid returns on the ship. Now we were in business. Ryan, myself and Ensign Zabriskie - the midwatch Navigator - all crammed around the plotting chart, occasionally bumping heads. We began to track the target over the next few minutes based on SJ and Sonar's timely reports.
By 1704 we had a picture: Course 45(T), speed 4.5 knots estimated. I plotted a standard 1 hour intercept and then handed the Conn back to the officer of the deck. Removing myself to a corner of the conning tower and responding with the standard, aloof, 'very well' to updates. Trying desperately to project an aura of calm when inside I was salivating like a particularly dumb dog.
We had visual on the target at 1720 and stalked it - it looked like a Momoyama-type freighter. Things progressed swiftly then. Twenty minutes later we were at periscope depth, moving fast and using sonar to set up an attack. By 1824 the freighter was within range and we had a good solution - or so I bloody thought! The first spread all passed aft, the freighter blissfully unaware. 'Goddamnits' muttered throughout the conning tower. 'Alright lets up the speed half a knot and plug it into the solution, Eugene' suggested Irvin. Right enough - half a knot. 1831 saw us fire off a Mark 18 with - mercifully - an impact two minutes later and a fire all along the fore superstructure. It certainly looked fatal.
Looked.
'Mr. Merton you have the conn, match its course. We'll monitor the merchant and see if it doesn't need more encouragement.'
It needed more encouragement. A periscope sweep at 1851 showed the fire was under control and, though a bit heavier by the bow, the merchant was making good speed. The deck was crawling with merchant sailors running to and fro. We gave her a stern tube salvo of 3 Mark 14s and....all passed fore. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, came the sound of shattering glass. I felt a heat spreading across my face. Any pretense of godlike aloofness was, for the time being, dead. It appears only Irvin noticed me privately losing my mind, thank God, because he shot me a concerned look as I said, through gritted teeth, 'Bearing...mark.' Then, leaning back from the periscope and resisting the urge to smash my head into it in sheer frustration... 'Firing point procedure, gyro 0, tube 10 on my command.'
The satisfying water spout a minute later of a second impact. Surely now...? No, the stubborn beast began to heel, ponderously, to starboard and began firing wildly in our periscope's direction. I was now beyond anger. I was even beyond credulity at the merchant's co-dependency with buoyancy. As it put its stern on us I roared down to the Chief Engineer to blow ballast and for Chief Madley to assemble a gun crew.
We 'battle surfaced' and a robust stern chase developed, with the water all around the bow frothing with fire from cannon and machineguns, coming at us from this ship full of suicidal madmen. I took the conn from the bridge, bellowing variations of 'rudder to port, hard to starboard hard over, hard over' and feeling more like a Destroyer leader than a sub skipper. Eventually, the freighter's captain realized he could not outpace us and began to ponderously turn to bring his frontal cannon to bear. This move, however, simply allowed Madley's gun crew to rake the starboard waterline with 4 inch fire. Finally, at 2121 hours, the ship lurched to a stop, on fire yet again. As I ordered 'all stop' and glided through the water we could see merchant sailors lowering boats, or sliding down the deck as their ship slowly capsized and sank.
We set a course 45nm to the west, to get away from what we were sure was airpower and patrol ships already steaming our way, and stood down from General Quarters.
I need a damned coffee.
To be continued...