Read The Galloping Ghost Online
Authors: Carl P. LaVO
Waterman began to lose confidence, according to Weaver.
Captain was on the bridge. I could hear Gene talking to the crew down below in the control room since my station was in the conning tower on the phone. I heard the darndest commotion. It was Gene acting like a high school cheerleader, giving a pep talk to those around himâ“The
Barb
was going to strike tonight. It would no longer be a virgin.” I thought it was a bit strange as it was a time of tension. Gene then came through the conning tower on his way to the bridge, where I could hear the conversation with Captain Waterman. They concluded the target was a Q-ship and Captain didn't want to mess with him. But Gene said, “Johnny, you were the best torpedo shooter in Panama. Set the fish for three feet depth. We can't miss. Let's get him.”
I felt Gene coerced Captain into firing.
A few minutes before midnight the target stopped, giving the
Barb
an opening from 2,200 yards. Waterman fired three torpedoes from the bow tubes with very shallow depth-control settings. Within a minute the first hit aft. The second passed astern. The third hit under the smokestack with a loud explosion, breaking the ship in two. The stern sank in twenty seconds. The bow followed thirty seconds later. There was no doubt it was a Q-ship. Fluckey was ecstatic, as was Waterman and the rest of the crew. After more than two years patrolling both the Pacific and Atlantic, there was now no doubt that the
Barb
could claim officially it had sunk an enemy ship.
The sub resumed patrols of shipping lanes linking Manila and the east coast of Formosa. False radar contacts provoked searches for bogus targets for days to come. When a distant plane was sighted on 13 April, the
Barb
dived. Waterman kept the sub down for more than two hours, to Fluckey's great irritation. The skipper reasoned that the plane was an advance scout for an approaching convoy and that staying submerged put the sub in position to sink passing warships. When none appeared, the
Barb
surfaced just as a dozen planes turned toward the boat. Waterman ordered an emergency dive to 150 feet and stayed down for another hour though the planes did not attack and went on their way. For the next week the submarine encountered no targets, just a single plane, necessitating another lengthy dive. This time the captain stayed down for more than three hours, using the time for torpedo maintenance.
By 19 April the boat returned to Rasa. After dark the
Barb
exchanged recognition signals with the USS
Steelhead
(SS-280), which had just reconnoitered the phosphate operations. Both boats in a column a thousand yards apart simultaneously bombarded the docks and factory the following night. “The night was dark but clear and cloudless. Although the island and installations were clearly visible from the bridge, only a vague outline could be seen through gun telescopes,” Captain Waterman noted in the patrol log. “Closed to 3400 yards and commenced fire with the 4-inch gun. The first shot was a hit in the congested area of the island.
Steelhead
opened up with her 3-inch gun immediately and did some nice shooting. Continued closing to 2800 yards and opened up with our four 20 MM and two .50 Caliber guns.
Steelhead
joined with automatic guns and a respectable barrage resulted.”
Small fires erupted everywhere. Direct hits from deck guns toppled a large steel conveyor loading hoist. Another shell hit a chemical storage facility in the center of the island, throwing up a hundred-foot blue-white flare, followed by a tremendous explosion. Other shells fell on the warehouses, shattering them. The subs made another pass. Again the big deck guns shelled the plant, igniting volatile phosphorus that burned with blue-white intensity.
The
Barb
's 4-inch gun misfired during the attack. A shell casing with a live explosive was jammed in the barrel. “Captain Waterman wanted to conclude the exercise with the faulty round still in the gun. But Gene volunteered to go down on deck, get it ejected, and throw it over the side,” explained Weaver. Fluckey, as was his nature, was relentless in getting his way. The skipper gave in.
All except the gun captain cleared the deck and reentered the submarine as Fluckey dropped down from the bridge. He ordered the gun captain to eject the shell through the breech of the gun, where Fluckey caught it before it could hit the deck and pitched it overboard. Simultaneously for unknown reasons, Lieutenant Commander Waterman ordered the boat to accelerate. “For some reason he went ahead full, made a sharp turn while Gene was down there,” said Weaver. “Water came over the deck, Gene got soaked, and it was lucky he wasn't washed off the boat.”
The young lieutenant commander shrugged off the incident, very satisfied at the aggressiveness that the
Barb
had shown off Rasa. The crew was electric, certain the bombardment had put the plant out of operation for months to come.
Low on fuel, the
Barb
headed for Midway, where Fluckey had every expectation of finally getting his own boat. Hopefully it would be Waterman's boat, or, as Gene put it, “I looked forward to the captain's promise being fulfilled.”
But plans had changed.
The
Barb
arrived at Midway to a rousing welcome from high-ranking officers who came aboard to extend congratulations for action that only they and those in the undersea Navy fully understood. Though the submarine offensive was beginning to isolate Japan, little was known publicly about the submarine offensive.
Waterman had returned triumphant due to the successful sinking of the Q-ship and the bombardment of the phosphate factory. His reward was orders to take command of a submarine division. For the skipper, the risk of war patrols finally had ended. Still, there was the matter of living up to the promise made to Eugene Fluckey at Pearl Harbor. When Waterman presented a letter recommending him as the next skipper of the
Barb,
however, the officers looked perplexed. They had no idea that he was aboard as prospective commanding officer. In fact, another manâLt. Cmdr. Jake
Fyfeâwas waiting to take over. It was an awkward situation, to say the least. “My heart plummeted,” Fluckey later said.
Waterman coaxed the squadron commander to send a radio dispatch to Admiral Lockwood in Hawaii to see if the orders could be switched. The following day, a change order arrived, giving Fyfe command of the USS
Batfish
(SS-310). The
Barb
now passed to Lt. Cdr. Eugene Fluckey. It was made official on 28 April, when Waterman quickly arranged for a formal transfer of command. The new captain had finally achieved his dream and was eager to test his theories of submarine combat with a crew that he hoped would share his passion for dynamic action. He wanted to make a good impression right away at a muster of crewmen on deck. In his hand, he held up the captain's mast book. Carefully maintained by Captain Waterman on previous patrols according to Navy protocol, the book noted infractions by enlisted men and what the punishments were. With a heave, Fluckey threw it into Midway Harbor. There would be no captain's mast on his boat, he announced. Rather, he expected all hands to perform to the utmost of their ability. He would trust them, demand all their skills, be creative in finding new and better ways to do their jobs, and press the attack on the enemy and sink ships.
Preparations began at once for the
Barb
's upcoming mission. Twenty-four torpedoes were packed aboard, fourteen forward and ten aft. Provisions to feed nine officers and seventy-five enlisted men for two months were stored. All systems were checked out. Test dives and practice attacks got under way.
During the refit, crewmen on liberty took rides aloft, courtesy of Marine pilots. In return, the submariners invited the aviators to take a ride in the
Barb
. Fluckey decided to give them something memorable below three hundred feet, where immense water pressure squeezed the hull, causing it to groan threateningly. One of the pilots was in the conning tower when a packing gland broke loose. Seawater exploded overhead, thoroughly soaking Lt. John Glenn, who thought he was a goner before a crewman quickly stemmed the leak. Glenn would never again ride a submarine. However, he would one day become the first American to orbit the earth.
By mid-May, as the
Barb
prepared to cast off, Admiral Lockwood radioed Midway that he would fly to the island. He wanted to talk to the thirty-year-old skipper. Had Lockwood reconsidered his elevation to command? Fluckey was worried.
The admiral arrived on 19 May. With a stern expression, he headed for the dock, where the skipper was standing on the sub's deck. Both exchanged salutes. “Good morning, Admiral,” smiled the captain with boyish good
nature. Lockwood was terse. He wanted to know how confident the captain was on the eve of a very dangerous mission to the little known Okhotsk Sea, a frigid, 18,000-foot-deep ocean shaped like a teacup north of Japan. The sea spanned four hundred miles between Japan's Kurile Islands to the east and Sakhalin Island hugging the coast of Siberia to the west. Fluckey said he was eager to get going. “How many ships do you want me to sink, Admiral?” Lockwood, his countenance lifting, wondered how many this young upstart thought he could sink.
“Will five be enough?” replied the skipper. Did Lockwood want tankers, freighters, cruisers, destroyers, submarines, or maybe a battleship, an aircraft carrier? With a smile, the admiral said five of any type would be sufficient. Indeed, five would match the most sinkings of any submarine in the war.
The admiral came to the point of his visit.
The
Barb
would be sailing with the USS
Herring
(SS-233) and the USS
Golet
(SS-361). ComSubPac wanted all three to serve as a de facto wolf pack on arrival in the Okhotsk, coordinating attacks on any convoys encountered. The tactic, pioneered by Germany's U-boats, had been highly successful in the North Atlantic. The arrival of so many new American subs in the Pacific allowed Lockwood to employ similar tactics against Japan. The admiral's concern was that Lt. Cmdr. David Zabriskie Jr. in the
Herring
and Lt. Cmdr. James S. Clark in the
Golet
were, like Fluckey, making their first war patrols as a wolf pack. One of the skippers had to lead. Was Fluckey, the senior captain, ready for that? As wolf pack commander, he would call the boats together and plan strategy when a convoy was sighted. He would decide who would attack and in what sequence. If difficult decisions had to be made, he would make them.
Fluckey was more than ready to assume the role, adding, “You will have your ships.”
Satisfied with the response, Lockwood gave him a firm handshake and a slap on the back, wishing him well. The skipper was delighted with the vote of confidence. Yet he hardly could have predicted the outcome of the mission. Only one boat would return.
On 20 May 1944 the
Barb
cast off from its mooring pier to begin its eighth war patrol. Destination: the Kurile Islands. The next day, the
Herring
also embarked for the volcanic island chain stretching a thousand miles like a beaded necklace between northern Japan and the Soviet Union's Kamchatka Peninsula and separating the Pacific Ocean from the Okhotsk Sea.
A week later, the
Golet
followed, setting a course for the northeast coast of Japan's main island of Hokkaido, where the Kuriles begin.
Outbound, there were high expectations in the
Barb
. Fluckey began molding the crew into a cohesive force. He listened to them, got to know each on a personal level, and tutored them in all aspects of submarining. “He had a wonderful willingness to try new ideas,” recalled McNitt, the executive officer making his third patrol in the
Barb
. One of those nuances was shortening up the watch cycle for officers on the bridge. Fluckey had long noticed how exhausted the officers were. He wanted his men as rested and alert as possible. He coached all the lookouts on what to do when aircraft were spotted, as explained by “Tuck” Weaver, the officer of the deck.
His training on how to deal with airplanes was as follows. It is important to spot the plane while he is six or seven miles away. If he is closer, dive. When he is at a distance, observe him as he may not have seen us, and if he hasn't and doesn't approach, do not dive. If he turns toward us, dive, go to three hundred feet with left rudder. But always know the depth of the water under us since when near land or in a shallow sea, depth of the water is frequently less than three hundred feet and we do not want to strike bottom on a dive. Lastly, U.S. or Allied planes are at least as dangerous as Japanese planes, so if you encounter them, do not stay up and try to exchange recognition signals with them.
The captain popularized a special saying when the watch changed, said Weaver. “The officer being relieved would say âSLIPKEEP' and the one going on watch would repeat it. This was short for âone slip and it's for keeps.' It was a constant reminder to stay alert.”
Those aboard the
Barb
melded well with their new captain. “Gene Fluckey was a no-pain, no-strain, easy-on-the-nerves individual whose good-humored, upbeat personality was infectious,” said Weaver. “He had a unique and wonderful ability to make all of those around him feel good about life. He made them better than they really were.”
It took an uneventful seven days for the
Barb
to make the 1,800-mile transit between Midway and the lower Kuriles, where the sub passed into the Okhotsk through the wide Etorofu Strait. The sea, which freezes over in winter, was heavy with patchy fogs and ice floes in the spring of 1944. It was the beginning of the shipping season and numerous Japanese and Russian ships crisscrossed the sea. Enemy warships and aircraft from bases all around the lower edge of the sea patrolled relentlessly. Hidden mines
guarded ports and waterways. The risk of being sunk was extremely high. Any man left adrift by a shipwreck would freeze quickly.