Submarine! (17 page)

Two hits for three fish. Dealey smiles a tight smile of exultation. That's one son of heaven who won't be bothering anyone for a while.

But there is no time to indulge in backslapping.
Harder
has reached only eighty feet in her plunge downward and is passing right beneath the destroyer. This is an excellent move, for it will confuse and interfere with the author of that other set of propellers. However, Dealey has not reckoned with the tremendous effect of his torpedoes. Just as the submarine arrives beneath the enemy ship there is the most deafening, prolonged series of rumblings and explosions anyone on board has ever heard. Either the enemy's boilers or his magazines have exploded. In fact, the noise and shock are so terrific that quite possibly both boilers and magazines have gone off together.

But this merry afternoon is just starting, for the other set of propeller beats now joins in the game and proceeds to hand out a goodly barrage of depth charges as
Harder
still seeks the shelter of deep depths. He has evidently radioed for help also, and it isn't long before Sam Dealey is able to distinguish a different sort of explosion amid the rain of depth charges. Aircraft! And soon after, two more ships also join the fray. For a couple of hours numerous depth
charges and bombs were heard and felt, but, in the words of
Harder
's skipper, “no one was interested in numerical accuracy at that time.”

Some hours later, after darkness had set in, the submarine surfaced. In the distance astern a single lighted buoy burned, marking the location where the fifth Japanese destroyer in four days had been sunk by this one sharpshooting submarine.

Of the beating he had taken, Sam Dealey, characteristically, said very little. One paragraph in his patrol report merely stated: “It is amazing that the ship could have gone through such a terrific pounding and jolting around with such minor damage. Our fervent thanks go out to the Electric Boat Company for building such a fine ship.”

However laconic and matter-of-fact Sam Dealey may have been about the patrol just completed, our own Submarine Force Commander and indeed the Supreme Commander of Allied Forces in the area recognized an outstanding job when they saw one. They had one advantage over Dealey, in addition to the latter's natural unassuming modesty. They had been sitting on the side lines, reading the dispatches and noting the Japanese reaction. Reports had come from all sides, wondering what the Americans had turned loose off Tawi Tawi. The Jap radio had blared unceasingly that a submarine task force of unprecedented magnitude had been operating off that fleet base, that several submarines had been sunk, but that they had, of course, themselves sustained some losses. Each time a submarine sinking had been claimed, Admiral Christy and his staff had mentally crossed their fingers; each time events proved that
Harder
was still very much alive, they had sighed with relief. And finally, when Sam Dealey had reported “mission accomplished” and started for home, their jubilation knew no bounds.

A huge delegation met
Harder
on the dock when she arrived: Admiral Christy, the submarine force commander in that area, himself coming to Darwin to do honor to this ship, and embark for the trip back to Fremantle. The ship
was met in Australia by another delegation, including General Douglas MacArthur, who awarded Captain Dealey the Army Distinguished Service Cross on the spot.

The officers and crew were also subsequently recognized by suitable decorations, and when the news arrived in the United States, accompanied by the unanimous recommendations of all responsible officers, President Roosevelt awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor to Sam Dealey and the Presidential Unit Citation to
Harder
herself. Frank Lynch was promoted to command of his own boat, and Sam Logan moved up to the post of executive officer.

But although
Harder
and her skipper survived the deeds for which this recognition was accorded, the awards themselves were made posthumously. Sam Dealey's widow received the Medal of Honor in his name, and the United States Submarine Force reverently accepted the Presidential Unit Citation in trust for the day when another ship shall be built bearing the name
Harder
.

For neither survived the next patrol.

Usually when a submarine fails to return from patrol, there are surmises, rumors, wild theories, sometimes a Japanese claim of a sinking, but rarely anything concrete to explain what happened. Sometimes survivors returned from the unspeakable brutalities of Jap prison camps after the war to tell what caused the losses of their ships, but these cases were very few in number.
Harder
was an exception, for she operated in a wolfpack during her sixth and last patrol, and another vessel actually witnessed and reported the circumstances of her loss.

On the morning of August 24, 1944,
Harder
dived off the west coast of Luzon, in company with USS
Hake
. Being the senior skipper, Dealey had decided to make a reconnaissance in this area in hopes that it might yield results comparable to those he had achieved only three days before when, as commander of a five-boat pack, he had engaged two convoys in a fierce, close-range battle, sinking in all ten ships, and driving the rest into harbor where they huddled
for protection from the subs ranging back and forth before the entrance.

Shortly after daybreak on the fateful August 24, echo ranging was heard, and two escort-type vessels of about one thousand tons each were sighted. Both submarines immediately commenced approaching for an attack. However, the larger of the two ships suddenly zigged away and entered Dasel Bay. The other stayed outside, and at this time
Hake
broke off the attack, feeling the remaining target was hardly worth the torpedoes it would take to sink him.
Harder
, however, held on, and
Hake
sighted her periscope crossing in front, passing between
Hake
and the enemy vessel.
Hake
by this time had commenced evasive maneuvers, for the Jap was echo ranging loudly and steadily in her direction. Exactly what was in Sam Dealey's mind is, of course, not known; his previous record indicated that he would have had no hesitancy in tangling with this chap if he thought it worth while. Furthermore, he had more or less got
Hake
into this spot, and may have felt that he owed it to the other submarine to get her out again. But, whatever his motives, he maneuvered
Harder
between the other two vessels with the result that the Jap, naturally enough, took off after him instead of after
Hake
. According to the latter's report, the enemy vessel showed some confusion, probably because of the two targets where he had suspected no more than one.

Sam Dealey was perfectly capable of an act of self-abnegation such as his maneuver appears to have been. It must be pointed out, however, that the enemy vessel was a small anti-submarine type, and that Dealey had several times previously come off victorious in encounters with much more formidable ships. Of the two submarines,
Harder
was doubtless the better trained and equipped to come to grips with this particular enemy. It was simply the fortunes of war that, in this case, Fate dealt two pat hands—and Sam's wasn't good enough.

With
Hake
a fascinated spectator, the Jap made his run. Possibly
Harder
fired at him, though
Hake
heard no
torpedo on her sound gear. The enemy came on over Sam Dealey, and suddenly dropped fifteen depth charges.
Harder
's periscope was never seen after that, nor were her screws heard again.

According to the Japanese report of the incident, the periscope of a submarine was sighted at about two thousand yards, and a depth charge attack was immediately delivered. After this single attack, a huge fountain of oil bubbled to the surface, and considerable quantities of bits of wood, cork, and other debris came up and floated in the slick.

So perished a gallant ship, a gallant captain, and a gallant crew. All of Sam Dealey's skill and daring could avail him not one iota against the monstrous fact that the enemy's first depth charge attack, by some unhappy stroke of fate, was a bull's-eye.

Trigger
made her name with a rush. She began her career as a night fighter, and it was on the surface at night, retaining the initiative with speed and mobility, that her rapier-like thrusts wrought the greatest damage upon the enemy. In her ensuing four patrols she sank a total of nineteen ships and damaged four. Six times, single-handed, she engaged enemy convoys far outmatching her in escort vessels. By this time I was the only officer left of the original commissioning gang, and
Trigger
and I understood each other pretty well, although frequently she surprised me.

We didn't have long to wait before Dusty Dornin took
Trigger
into action. On September 8, 1943, we left Pearl
Harbor bound for Formosa, and maintained full speed all the way, not even submerging when passing Wake Island. Dusty's philosophy was to carry the battle to the enemy at all times; make him show how good he was before we pulled the plug. And on September 23, having just arrived in our area, we sighted a fat target.

We are submerged off Formosa, patrolling what our calculations indicate should be a Jap shipping lane. For two days we have been here, and nary a sign of ships have we seen. Maybe we've guessed wrong. But not this time, for at about 1600 of the second day smoke is sighted. A convoy, running for Japan.

Battle stations submerged! We start the approach. This time, however, we are not lucky, for we are so far off the base course of the ships that we are forced to watch helplessly while they steam by well out of range. But we take a good look; six ships in two columns; in the near column three big fat tankers, the leader a new modern 10,000 tonner; in the far column three average-size freighters. What a plum! Never mind the plane we see buzzing above the convoy. These birds are our meat! We secure from battle stations, but follow at maximum sustained submerged speed, keeping our quarry in sight as long as possible, waiting for dark.

With the last rays of the setting sun we are on the surface, all ahead full on four engines, running down the track after the vanished convoy. No engines to spare for a battery charge. Give them all to the screws. Put the auxiliaries on the battery. You can't get anywhere by halves in this business.

The chase is tense and thrilling. We have an estimate of target course and speed, but if he's smart he'll change radically at dark. Our game is to dash up and regain contact quickly, before he gets very far from his original track. If we miss him, we suspect he'll have turned to his left, but that's just a guess, and cuts down our chances 50 per cent. Best bet is to go like hell, which we do.

It pays off, too, for this particular son of heaven didn't even bother to change course. We pick him up dead ahead,
right on his old track—and he's stopped zigzagging. This is murder.

And so it proves. We draw up on the starboard bow of the convoy, out of sight, then stealthily creep in. Slowly the biggest tanker lumbers into our sights. Angle on the bow, starboard seventy-five. Range, 1,500 yards. Bearing, 335. Target speed checks perfectly, at 7 knots. Surely this big
Nippon Maru
class tanker can do better than 7 knots. The Japs have tied him down with a bunch of slow boys—too bad for him! On he comes, filling our binoculars with his huge, heavily laden bulk. Looks good—looks perfect! We plan to fire three fish at the first tanker, three at the second, then spin on our tail and shoot four at the third one. They won't know what hit them.

Standby forward! He's coming on. Bearing—mark! We're keeping the sights on him now—a few more degrees. Come on—come on—Fire ONE! . . . Fire TWO! . . . Fire THREE! . . . Check fire! Shifting targets—second ship. Bearing—mark—set—Fire FOUR! . . . Fire FIVE! . . . Fire SIX! . . .

Left full rudder! All ahead full! Standby aft!

Trigger
leaps ahead, swings steadily left. She has nearly one hundred eighty degrees to swing, and it takes a long time. She is only halfway around, broadside to broadside with the leading tanker, range about one thousand yards heading in opposite directions, when suddenly, cataclysmically, the darkness of the night is thunderously shattered with light. A sheet of brilliant white flame shoots 1000 feet into the air! The leading tanker must have had a load of aviation gasoline, for he has burst into incandescence.

Momentarily blinded by the terrific fire, we recover to see the whole scene as bright as day. On the deck of the doomed tanker scores of little white-clad figures rush helplessly across his decks to the bow, where the fire has not yet reached. It must be awfully hot over there. We shift our eyes to the second tanker and see a torpedo hit with a flash of flame right amidships. A fire starts, but he steers around the brilliantly blazing pyre of his leader and continues on
his course. The second ship in the far column is hit with a soundless catastrophe. He folds in the middle into a big V and starts down. Evidently he caught a torpedo which missed the first or second tanker. We had figured on that, hoped it would happen. Three ships hit, two down for sure, in the first salvo!