Submarine!

SUBMARINE!

COMMANDER EDWARD L. BEACH

UNITED STATES NAVY

BLUEJACKET BOOKS

Naval Institute Press
Annapolis, Maryland

This book has been brought to publication with the generous assistance of Marguerite and Gerry Lenfest.

This book has been brought to publication by the generous assistance of Marguerite and Gerry Lenfest.

Naval Institute Press
291 Wood Road
Annapolis, MD 21402

© 1946, 1947, 1948, 1949, 1950, 1952 by Edward L. Beach

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

First Bluejacket Books printing, 2003

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Beach, Edward Latimer, 1918–

Submarine / Edward L. Beach.

p. cm.—(Bluejacket books)

Originally published: New York: Holt, 1952.

ISBN 978-1-61251-289-1 (alk. paper)

1. Beach, Edward Latimer, 1918–2. World War, 1939–1945—Personal narratives, American. 3. United States. Navy—Officers—Biography. 4. World War, 1939-1945—Naval operations, American. 5. World War, 1939–1945—Naval operations—Submarine. I. Title. II. Series. D811.B39 A3
940.54'51—dc21

2002075389

To the two
Triggers
— the old and the new

Aside from the thousands of officers and enlisted men of the United States Navy and the United States Submarine Forces, I am indebted to:

Captain Edward L. Beach, USN, my father, who many years ago also wrote about the Navy;

Donald Kennicott, forty years with
Blue Book
, who first put me in print and kept me there—as he has so many others;

Helen Grey, editor and adviser, who helped make this book a reality;

Henry Sell, of
Town
&
Country
, who provided the spark;

Jonathan Leff, editor at Henry Holt & Company; and

Ingrid, my wife, who would still like a ride in a submarine.

Commander Edward L. Beach, in SUBMARINE!, tells a story which not many men survived to tell. All too often the careers of our most daring submarines and submariners were terminated, after weeks of prayerful watching and waiting back at ComSubPac's operating base, by the issuance of that fateful message, “Overdue, presumed lost.” Thus were written the epitaphs of
Trigger, Wahoo, Seawolf, Harder, Albacore, Tang
, and some twoscore more of those silent gray ships which carried the war to the enemy and held the line while the Fleet licked its wounds, and shipyards beat pruning hooks and plowshares into replacements for Pearl Harbor losses. Three hundred seventy-four officers and three thousand one hundred thirty-one enlisted men gave their lives in a submarine offensive that finally swept enemy shipping from the Pacific, yet Ned Beach, veteran of twelve war patrols, providentially was spared to recapture for us the moments of triumph, desperation, quiet humor, and numbing fear which were the daily portion of those devoted warriors.

Serving the apprenticeship of his deadly trade in
Trigger
and
Tirante
under such daredevils as Roy Benson, Dusty Dornin, Fritz Harlfinger, and George Street, he early experienced the wild elation of hearing torpedoes explode against enemy hulls, the stomach-fluttering thrills of night surface battles, the spine-chilling sound of enemy depth charges, and the frustrated fury caused by “dud” and “premature” torpedoes. He felt the sorrow which every true seaman feels in his heart as he watches fine, sturdy ships—even though enemy ships—take the last, despairing plunge to their graves.

Finally, in recognition of excellent service and outstanding ability, Ned was given command of the brand-new
Piper
. He had achieved the ambition of every submariner—command of his own boat in a hot war area. Deep below the surface, guided by equipment as fabulous as any ever dreamed by Jules Verne, Ned snaked his way through row upon row of mines into that last enemy stronghold, the Sea of Japan.

There the war ended and mothballs took over.

Now Ned has a new command, the brand-new
Trigger
, named for that gallant ship whose story he has so ably told. It is most fitting that this honor should be accorded him. I know that I speak for his shipmates, living and dead, when I wish Ned Beach and
Trigger
“Good luck and good hunting.”

Charles A. Lockwood

VICE-ADMIRAL, USN (BET.)

1
Trigger

2
Seawolf

3
Trigger

4
Wahoo

5
Trigger

6
Seawolf

7
Trigger

8
Harder

9
Trigger

10
Archerfish

11
Trigger

12
Tang

13
Trigger

14
Albacore and Cavalla

15
Trigger

16
Batfish

17
Tirante

18
Piper

I'M THE GALLOPING GHOST OF THE JAPANESE COAST

by Constantine Guiness, MoMM1/c, United States Navy, 1943

I'm the Galloping Ghost of the Japanese coast,
You don't hear of me or my crew—

But just ask any man off the coast of Japan
If he knows of the
Trigger Maru
.

I look sleek and slender alongside my tender,
With others like me at my side,

But we'll tell you a story of battle and glory,
As enemy waters we ride.

I've been stuck on a rock, felt the depth charges' shock,
Been north to a place called Attu,

And I've sunk me two freighters atop the equator—
Hot work, but the sea was cold blue.

I've cruised close inshore and carried the war
To the Empire island Honshu;

While they wired Yokohama I could see Fujiyama,
So I stayed—to admire the view.

When we rigged to run silently, deeply I dived,
And within me the heat was terrific—

My men pouring with sweat, silent and yet
Cursed me and the whole damned Pacific.

Then destroyers came sounding and depth charges pounding;
My submarine crew took the test.

For in that far-off land there are no friends on hand
To answer a call of distress.

I was blasted and shaken—some damage I've taken;
My hull bleeds and pipe lines do, too;

I've come in from out there for machinery repair,
And a rest for me and my crew.

I got by on cool nerve and in silence I served,
Though I took some hard knocks in return—

One propeller shaft sprung and my battery's done—
But the enemy ships I saw burn!

I'm the Galloping Ghost of the Japanese coast,
You don't hear of me or my crew—

But just ask any man off the coast of Japan
If he knows of the
Trigger Maru
.

My story begins on January 1, 1942. Two and a half years out of the Naval Academy, and fresh out of Submarine School, I reported to Mare Island Navy Yard for “duty in connection with fitting out USS
Trigger
(SS237), and on board when commissioned.” Before presenting myself at the office of the Commandant I drove down to the submarine outfitting docks looking for my future home. There she was, a great black conning tower sticking up over the edge of the dock, with a huge white 237 painted on her side. A swarm of dusty nondescript men were buzzing around her, and wood scaffolding, welding lines, hoses, temporary ventilation lines, and other miscellaneous gear hung haphazardly about.

“There's my new home,” I thought, “wonder if I'm looking at my coffin.” To me, she certainly wasn't impressive, beautiful, or anything at all but an ugly chunk of steel. “No life, no spirit, no character,” I thought.

I remembered my old “four piper” destroyer, which I had left three months before after two years of steaming up and down and across the Atlantic on Neutrality Patrol. She was old—launched within a week of the day I was born—and ungainly, but she was a lovely thing to me. I knew and loved every part of her. I'd cussed at, slaved over, and stolen for her, and when orders arrived for me to report to Submarine School I'd sent back a dispatch saying I wished to remain where I was. But the Bureau of Navigation had insufficient applications for Submarine School and had decided to draft a few. One of the draftees was Ensign Beach, and here I was.