Submarine! Read Free Page A

close this unwary fellow, went to battle stations, and soon made out the silhouette of a moderate-sized freighter. Although he was darkened, Captain Benson and I could see him plainly from the bridge at about four thousand yards’ range. He was steaming along steadily, puffing out a fair-sized cloud of dense black smoke, with not so much as a hint of a zigzag, or of having sighted us.
    Here was one of the reasons for American supremacy over the Jap whenever they met. Undeniably, our low black hull was harder to see than the lofty-sided merchantman, but nevertheless he was so plainly visible that his inability to see us was then, and continued to be, astounding. We turned Triggers bow toward him, and ghosted in, presenting at all times the minimum possible silhouette.
    He sees nothing, steams blindly and confidently along. Closer and closer we draw. Make ready the bow tubes! Estimated range, 1,500 yards. Track, ninety starboard. Gyro angle, five left. Standby! He’s coming on—coming on— Fire One! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Fire Two!
    Two white streaks leave the bow and, diverging slightly, arrow for the point ahead of the freighter where our calculations say he will be at the instant the torpedoes get there. This is the longest minute in the world. Depending on the range, of course, the torpedoes must travel about a minute before they reach a target, and during that minute a target making 15 knots goes 500 yards, or a quarter of a nautical mile. Few ships are as long as 150 yards.
    So we watched our two white streaks of bubbles. “Torpedoes running all right, looks good!” Suddenly we are galvanized into action. If those torpedoes stop the target, on our present course we will run right into him! If they miss, he’ll be sure to see us passing so close under his stern and make a follow-up shot immeasurably more difficult by radicalmaneuvers, to say the least. Besides, he might happen to have a well-trained armed guard aboard.
    Left full rudder! All ahead full! Trigger’s bow commences to swing left as she gathers speed. The ship is just crossing in front of the torpedo wakes now. Will they get there or will he skin by? All hands on the Triggers bridge watch tensely. Let’s go—what’s wrong with those torpedoes?
    Wham! . . . Wham! Two perfect geysers of water rise alongside the freighter’s bow. Almost immediately he slows down, his bow sinks deep, his stern rises. Lights flash on and off about the decks. A cloud of smoke and escaping steam envelops his bridge and center section. Some hardy soul finally unlimbers a gun on the stern and shoots about wildly.
    Trigger slid past the now-stopped and crazily canted stem, at a distance of about two hundred yards, and that’s when I heard her snarl. All right, it was just the rumble of the hydraulic plant, or the echo of the diesel exhaust returning from the hull alongside—so say you land lovers. I know better. She snarled a message of hatred for all things Japanese, and a warning that this was but the beginning.
    We circled slowly about half a mile away, waiting for our victim to sink, debating the advisability of hitting him again. Morning twilight began to seep in from the east, softening the darkness into a musty, unhealthy greenishness, tinged with the dampness of the unhappy sea. Two lifeboats were in the water, long oars sticking out in every direction, the round black heads of their crews bobbing jerkily back and forth as they frantically plied their oars—and caught innumerable crabs.
    They were ludicrous and pathetic, but we felt no pity. Only twenty miles from land, these fellows would probably cause trouble for us when they got ashore. Besides, well we knew what had happened to certain of our people who had fallen into the clutches of the Jap. Why shouldn’t we sink the two boats and make sure there was no one to tell the tale? But of course, we couldn’t.
    So we circled,