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

Captain Warder sat back on his stool and looked about. “That was a close one,” he said with a grim smile. “I guess he’s going out to meet someone.”

We began to dive again. We waited and listened, and then went into deeper water. We surfaced at dusk and dove as usual at dawn, to re-enter the harbor. Shallow water or not, mines or no mines, we still had work to do. I heard surf breaking on the beach, the water crashing and clashing over shoals and reefs. But the Skipper brought the Wolf into that harbor as daintily as a ballet dancer.

All through the morning and into the afternoon we inched our way forward, gathering information. Lieutenant Holden was at the periscope and began to describe what he saw.

“I see a lot of houses over there,” he said. “Now I see trees… there’s a big clump. Now what’s this? Looks like a radio antenna.” Pause. “Battle stations!… Call the Captain!… Left rudder, Rudy! All ahead full!”

The Wolf leaped forward. We were in shallow water. This was doubly dangerous. Something was up. Holden’s voice:

“I was busy scanning, Captain, and I took a look behind us; and there, almost on our port beam, is a big tanker and an escort. I think we can get them.”

The Skipper took over the periscope. He whistled.

“She certainly is a big one… Too bad she didn’t come in before… That’s our friend of yesterday coming in with her. O.K.,” he said. “Down periscope. We’ll try and get in.” We plowed at full speed into even shallower water. Then we cut our speed, and Captain Warder upped his periscope. “Damn it, she’s drawing away from us,” he said. “Nothing we can do. Secure battle stations. We’ll trail her in and see if we can get a shot.”

We followed that ship right into the mouth of a fresh-water river. The Captain tried every trick he knew stalking her, but she was too far ahead of us.

Captain Warder would have preferred to wait outside the harbor and catch the tanker, but our schedule called for a change. Reluctantly we gave up the hunt and continued up the coast.

On the way the conning officer picked up a smudge of black smoke. It looked like a fat freighter. We went through several maneuvers, were annoyed by a series of brief rain squalls, and finally, about five hours later, we caught up with our target. It turned out to be a seagoing tug!

We were several days without sighting anything of importance. At times the Skipper, who was getting ship hungry, took the Wolf so close to shore we would have been able to swim in. The night of the fourth day, Lieutenant Deragon, dropping in to chat, told me where we were heading.

“And from there?” I asked. He smiled noncommittally. I knew we would learn soon enough. Next day the word had gotten around to the crew, and all kinds of rumors flew about. First we were going to Brisbane, then Pearl Harbor, then Dutch Harbor, and finally Midway. Something told me we were on our way home. It was now many months since we had left Cavite. We had already been out a long time on this patrol.

Home seemed so far away that night. How would my son greet me? I put my hands behind my head and looked up at their photographs—Marjorie and Spike. Well, they’d waited a long, long time. For months now, in our letters, we had been planning what our first night would be like. We’d settled on dinner in some quiet little restaurant, candles on the table, a full-course meal, topped off by a bottle of expensive wine that had to rest in a bucket of ice. We wouldn’t discuss the war. Marjorie wouldn’t talk to me about the Wolf . No questions about the ships we sunk, or the escapes we had. We would talk about ourselves and about Spike, and about the home we intended to build after the war.

That house had been started one quiet night in the sound shack when I was writing a letter to Marjorie. I talked about a house—a dream house. I even included a few sketches. In the next batch of mail, Marjorie included a number of suggestions. She had ideas about the location of the kitchen. Spike’s room should be here. We’d have a sunroom there. Throughout the long months at sea in every letter I wrote I carried the plans a bit further. Finally between us, we had it finished, just as we wanted it. The last time I saw Spike he was twenty-six days old. I wondered about my brother Roy. He owns a bar in ’Frisco. I promised myself a terrific binge there. Angela, his wife, would top off the evening with her specialty—a spaghetti dinner with all the trimmings. Toward dawn I fell asleep, and it seemed only a few minutes before Lamby was shaking me, telling me it was time for my watch.

We arrived at the new patrol area in midafternoon, and things began to pop at once. It began when Lieutenant Mercer, at the periscope, summoned the Captain. He had spotted a ship—a two-mast affair.

“You’re right,” observed Captain Warder. “Here are the masts, now… Battle stations!”

Our approach was perfect. We fired a few moments later, and the whine of the fish heading straight for the Jap was music in my ears. This time there was no miss. I began to report it.

“They’re going…” I wasn’t able to complete the sentence. A terrific explosion rocked the Wolf . It was the concussion from our torpedo; we must have struck a munitions carrier. It was as terrific and deafening as a depth charge. I tore off the earphones and held my splitting head. My ears were ringing. Maley was shouting, but I couldn’t make out his words. He pointed to the intercom system. I leaned over and pressed my ear against it and heard the Captain giving a blow-by-blow description of the sinking ship. His voice sounded as if he were at the end of a bad telephone connection.

“Christ, boys,” he was yelling. “We knocked the lifeboats right off her… There go the smokestacks… Some damn fool is trying to blow the whistle, steam is coming out of there. There go the Nips jumping over like rats. There’s a second explosion. She’s going down already. She’s breaking apart.” He paused and called to Lieutenant Mercer: “Jim, hurry up if you want a picture of this. Only the stern is showing now.”

Ensign Mercer clipped his camera to the eyepiece. “Got her, sir,” he said.

A moment later Captain Warder, back at the periscope, announced, “There she goes… Good-by!”

My ears still rang from the first blast, but I replaced my phones and listened. A few minutes later I heard the underseas roar that meant her boilers had exploded.

Paul took off his headset. He leaned over and yelled in my ear.

“That’s one Jap bastard that won’t do any damage, Eck!”

The Captain, still scanning the surface, kept up a running description. I put my ear against the intercom again.

“Congratulations, forward room and sound,” he was saying. “Good work, everybody. Wait a minute: There are lifeboats up there. Men are swarming over the sides. Damn it, this sinking can be seen from the beach very easily. I can’t take any chances. We’ll have to take prisoners rather than let them hit the beach and spread the alarm.”

His voice dropped. “I don’t understand that… Wait a minute, though… Yes, I do! We blew the oars right out of the boat. I’ve been wondering why they weren’t rowing. There must have been plenty of men on that ship… I’m figuring on going into that Gulf, and I don’t want those men to spread the alarm. We’ll track them until dark. If conditions permit, we’ll take prisoners.” He kept his eye to the periscope. Men were swimming aimlessly about; others were clinging to spars and debris. Every piece of wreckage had a figure clinging to it. “Those lifeboats are crowded to the rims now,” he went on. “There’s a lot of people swimming around up there yet. All right Jim, mark this lifeboat, zero… zero… five… Look out for signs of activity. Let me know at once if anything shows up.”