Battle Stations: a novel of the Pacific War (Crash Dive Book 3) by Craig DiLouie

Author:Craig DiLouie [DiLouie, Craig]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ZING Communications, Inc.
Published: 2016-10-27T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

WOLF PACK

Charlie jammed his binoculars into the target-bearing transmitter bracket. Mounted on a swivel base, the TBT sent bearing information directly to the TDC. Using it, submarine commanders could direct surface attacks from the bridge.

The leading troopships steamed dead ahead. Big black shapes on a dark gray sea. Small bow wakes. The lead escort prowled far off the starboard bow.

“Conn, Bridge,” Moreau barked. “Give me a range on the lead transports.”

“Three thousand!” Nixon replied over the intercom.

“Stay on the ship in their starboard column. Keep the ranges coming.”

Overhead, the radar antenna spun on its mast, updating the conning tower.

“I’ve got the TBT on that ship,” Charlie said. “Angle on the bow is port ten and opening. Speed, ten knots. He’s a big ocean liner.”

“That’s our bow shot. We’ll fire a spread of four fish. We’ll hit his running buddy with another four from the stern tubes.”

Charlie described the ship in as much detail as possible. The high freeboard, large single smokestack, tall masts. It stood tall and proud on the water, a regal ship. Moving at reduced speed so the convoy’s slower ships could keep up.

“Hikawa Maru class,” the captain said. “Twelve thousand tons. Used to run the Japan-Seattle line before he got turned into a troop ferry.”

Nixon: “Range, two-nine-double-oh.”

Charlie turned the TBT toward the other lead ship, which had a taller prow and bridge castle. Angle on the bow, starboard ten and widening as the range closed. Moreau had aimed Sandtiger almost directly between the convoy’s columns.

“Terukuni Maru class,” the captain said. “Twelve thousand tons. This is quite the operation the Japs have goin’ on. Conn, Bridge! Reduce speed to one-third. Nixon, where’s dat tin can to starboard?”

“Range, three-five-double-oh, Captain.”

The old Momi destroyer steamed on, oblivious. For nearly two years, the Sea of Japan had been safe from the threat of American ships.

For the Japanese, tonight was just another routine ferry run.

“Forward room, make ready the tubes,” Moreau said. “Order is one, two, three, four. Set depth at fourteen feet. High speed. Stand by on five and six.”

A slight tremor vibrated through the hull as the outer torpedo doors opened.

Liebold had told the captain the Mark 14 torpedoes ran ten to fifteen feet deeper than their rating. The liners steamed with a deep draft, even deeper while fully loaded. At fourteen feet, Moreau could hit the hull under the waterline with seven to twelve feet to spare.

Nixon: “Two-five-double-oh!”

The time, 0120.

“At what range do you plan to shoot, Captain?” Charlie asked.

“When I can see the whites of their eyes. I’m gonna get as close as possible and hit ’em with everything we got. Nixon! Call for battle stations, gun action.”

The alarm sounded below. Helmeted sailors poured out the gun hatch. The crew unlimbered the powerful five-inch deck gun under Smokey’s direction. Others mounted the 50-caliber and 40-mm Bofors anti-aircraft guns.

Just the captain’s style. The captain planned to meet the first two ships with torpedoes. Then steam directly down the column, shooting at anything that moved. The weapons of choice being torpedoes, deck guns, and good old-fashioned terror.

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