Gerold Frank - U.S.S. Seawolf - Submarine Raider of the Pacific

When I woke, I still had no news.

Then, one morning, news did come. The Seawolf was coming in. She was O.K. I remember I had a handful of tools when I got the word. I turned and ran for the dock, tools in hand, and then I saw the black shape of the Wolf coming in. I’d recognize her in a thousand, and, seeing her, I knew that never again in my life would I be as happy as I was in those few dragging minutes as the Wolf decreased distance, and slowly came into full, clear focus from the beach. I looked at her, and then I dashed madly up to the Flag Office and asked a yeoman for my transfer papers.

“What transfer papers?” the yeoman wanted to know.

“My orders to go back to the Wolf ,” I said.

He shook his head. “I don’t know about that, Eckberg,” he said. “I heard some talk a while ago that you were headed for the Skipjack. ”

I stared at him. Go to another ship? I had been waiting all this time for the Wolf , I didn’t want any part of the Skipjack or any other boat. I wanted the Wolf . I wanted home. I tore out of the Flag Office and headed for the gangway. I was going to find my captain and tell him my story.

One of the first persons I saw was Captain Warder walking with several other officers up the dock. I disregarded naval etiquette, traditions, and everything else and rushed up to him.

“What’s the matter, Eckberg?” he greeted me. “You look upset.”

“I am upset, Captain,” I said. “They’re going to transfer me to the Skipjack .”

“Well.” He looked at me. “Well?”

“Well, hell, Captain,” I said. “I’ve been waiting for the Wolf , and it seems unfair that I go on another boat now.”

“So you really want to come home, eh, Eckberg?” he said with a smile. “Well, move your clothes aboard and forget about it.” With that he nodded pleasantly to me and walked on.

Did I want to come home? I could have thrown my arms around him.

“Yes, sir, Captain. Thank you, sir,” I said. And I was off for the Wolf like an Indian runner.

It was good climbing down the conning-tower ladder, into the control room, smelling the familiar odor of warm oil, digging through the boat and seeing all the boys again. It was Sully who finally corralled me and told me about the mission of the Wolf .

Evidently it was an easy one.

“You sure missed out on a good one,” he said. “We went through a couple of practice runs when we left port, and the old man took her up the coast heading north. We had a rendezvous there, topped off the fuel tanks, and headed for sea.

“We stayed around a patrol area for two days, and just as we were about to leave the second day the old man spotted a ship. Everything was in our favor,” said Sully. “We let loose at her. Damned if we didn’t miss.

“Well, the Skipper was gloomy as hell all that day. We headed for our next spot on the other side. We were halfway over, and the periscope officer spotted another ship. We went to battle stations. The old man let go another fish. There wasn’t any doubt about what we did to that dude—we blew him sky high. I didn’t hear any classification on him, but from the way the fellows were talking it must have been a tanker carrying high octane or an ammunition ship loaded down with powder. There wasn’t a trace left. The old man looked all over the place. Couldn’t find anything. No survivors, no debris, nothing at all.

“That was a real tonic for us. The old man was as chipper as anything after that hisser went up. Nothing much happened the next two days. We were hanging around when all of a sudden, there she is—another target. The old man went in on one of the best approaches he ever made. He maneuvered in to where a miss would have been impossible. The target didn’t know we were anywhere around. The Skipper let go and hit her. We didn’t sink her, though.” Sully paused. “Eck,” he said, “this is where you really missed out. This was the first chance since the war began that we really could look over something we’d put a fish into. I don’t remember the name of the ship, but I know she belonged to the English before the war. I think she was listed as a passenger freighter. Not very big, but clean and pretty.

“Well, d’you know what the Skipper did after he sent that fish into her? We drew up to within 300 feet of her, still at periscope depth. The Captain wanted to find out how deep that Nip was in the water. He was going to shoot another fish into her. But, when we get that close, he sees they were abandoning ship.

“So”—Sully grinned—“what do we do but surface!”

“Surface?” I demanded.

“Right. That Nip had no escorts. We surfaced, and I ran up on the bridge and saw Japs hanging onto rafts, boats, and life-belts. We got next to them, all of us trying to find the name of the ship. We finally got it, but not from them. Hell, Eck, you should have seen Sousa. The Captain wanted a life-ring that was floating around, and old Sousa leaped madly over the side, right into the water, and got it. He lost out because there wasn’t any name on it.

“Then one of the Nips grabbed our propeller guard and tried to get aboard. He was halfway up, yelling in Japanese. I guess he was trying to pull the I’m-dying-but-you’re-going-with-me act . Deragon ran down aft and pushed him back. The Jap made several lunges trying to drag Willie in, but Willie was too quick.

“Sousa kept yelling, ‘Speak English?’ but the Japs wouldn’t answer. We must have circled that ship for hours, watching her go down.

“Then we moved up to the Philippines. We patrolled there for about a while, but didn’t see a single ship. Then we headed back here.”

Sully stopped. He sat back and ran his hands through his hair.

“Now tell me what happened to you,” he said. “Get those tonsils out?”

I told him.

WE LEFT port soon afterward at 6 p.m. It felt good to shed that shoreside feeling. I’d had enough of land, streets, and people. My throat felt perfect. I wanted to get back into action. We all wanted action. And on this mission we were prepared to prove anything we claimed, too. Lieutenant Mercer had been experimenting taking photographs through the periscope with a 35-mm. camera and fixed it so that he could clip it to the eyepiece and in the conning tower snap a shot of anything we hit.

The first day out we found a notice posted on the bulletin board:

NOTICE TO ALL HANDS:

In case of capture by the enemy, under international law you are required to give the following information: (1) your name, (2) your service number, (3) your rating, (4) your home address. That is all. In case the Seawolf , through enemy action, is damaged to such an extent that you are captured, remember this—we are operating from an advance base, whose name is unknown to any member of the crew, and we are en route to Japan. Under no conditions are you to let any information out.

Well, that was clear enough.

We spent three or four days going up the Australian west coast. We made training dives, fired a few practice rounds of service ammunition, checked our gear, and readied the ship for action. Finally we reached our advance base and fueled to capacity. Then we headed north, entered our old picnic grounds, and headed right up for our first stopping point.

Our first days were uneventful, but the crew was on constant alert. These were some of the most dangerous waters in the Pacific. The sea bottom was treacherous, a crazy quilt of boulders, shoals, and menacing coral reefs. Some of it had never been charted. The fear of striking a reef was on my mind day and night. Maley and I stood an intense sound watch, each of us doing with less than six hours’ sleep out of the twenty-four.