CHAPTER ELEVEN

UNDER WAY AGAIN

In San Francisco, Stan and March had two days for a little of the sightseeing they had looked forward to, but they both spent most of their time at other tasks. March passed several hours at a telephone stand trying to get through a call home.

When it finally went through he talked for five minutes with his mother and gave her his San Francisco address. She sounded cheerful and not at all worried, and asked him if he might see Scoot Bailey.

“Scoot’s address is San Francisco, too,” she said.

“I know,” March laughed, “and the address of quite a few thousands of other sailors and soldiers. I think he must have got out of Frisco before this, unless he was held up here for lack of transportation. I might as well try to find out, though.”

“Maybe you’ll see him out where you’re going,” his mother said.

“I doubt it very much,” March said. “Even though we did have a joke about how my submarine would probably have to save him from the Japs out there.”

When he finished talking to his mother, he decided he might as well try to find out if Scoot were still in town. He had probably arrived two or three weeks before. It wasn’t likely that he’d still be around, but sometimes men were held up that long.

“If Scootwereheld up that long,” March said to himself, “he’d be just about crazy. I think he’d start swimming to get out to his carrier or plane or base or wherever he’ll be.”

March spent most of the afternoon trying to find out about Scoot. Each office said it didn’t have the information or couldn’t give it to him, until he finally reached the right place and learned that Scoot had left San Francisco by plane for his “destination” twelve days before.

He met Stan for dinner, after which they went to a movie. The Skipper had given them leave until a few hours before they were due to sail.

After the movie Stan and March went back to their ship to find that Ray Corvin had suddenly been taken sick. Just as they came up, the ambulance was taking him away to the Naval Hospital.

“Burst appendix, I think,” Gray said. “And if that’s it, I don’t know what we’ll do. I’m hoping it’s nothing more than an acute indigestion that’ll pass in a day or two. But Sallini felt sure it was the appendix and so did the doc that came. That’s why they rushed him right off to the hospital.”

“Anything we can do?” March asked.

“No, just keep your fingers crossed,” Gray said. “Ray’s a mighty good man to have aboard a submarine.”

“Why, we couldn’t go without him, could we?” Stan asked.

“The Navy doesn’t wait around for an officer to get over appendicitis,” Larry said. “We’re scheduled to pull out of here at dawn day after tomorrow morning, and that’s when we’ll pull out, with or without Ray Corvin.”

“What about his family?” March asked. “Didn’t he say he lived near here?”

“Sure—about fifty miles away,” the Skipper replied. “He had just phoned them before he got this attack. I had to tell them he couldn’t come down as he’d planned. I got in touch with the Commandant here and he has sent a car down there for Ray’s wife and daughter. They’ll see him at the hospital.”

In the morning they learned that Corvin’s appendixhadburst and he had been operated on. Larry Gray had spent a good part of the night at the hospital.

“He’ll pull through all right,” he said wearily. “But it will be weeks before he’s up and around. We’re really lucky, I guess, that it didn’t happen when we were at sea. If it had to happen, it couldn’t have timed itself better. In port near a hospital—and not far from Ray’s home. He can go there to convalesce.”

“What about us?” Stan asked. “It’s a shame we can’t have him with us. He’s a swell guy.”

“And a fine officer,” Gray said. “He ought to have a command of his own, really. Well, I’m not sure what we’ll do. The Navy can probably find us another officer in a hurry if we demand it, though it’s not easy to find a good sub man just like that who isn’t already occupied.”

He shook his head as he turned to his quarters. “I’m not sure just what we’ll do,” he said, “except that we’ll get under way on schedule.”

At the door, he stopped. “March, will you and Stan help Mac oversee the loading? I’ve got to have a little rest.”

There wasn’t much to come aboard. Ammunition and torpedoes were still intact, so they had to take on only oil and water and food, plus some special medical supplies for use in tropical climates. Stan had ordered a few more spare parts for his engines and motors. With his little repair shop, he felt able then to take care of almost anything that might happen in his department.

It was late that afternoon that the Skipper called March to his quarters.

“Sit down, March,” he said. “I’ve decided what to do about another officer, but I think I ought to talk it over with the rest of you first to see if you agree.”

“Whatever you say is all right with the rest of us, Larry,” March said. “You know that.”

“Perhaps,” Larry replied with a smile. “But this involves a little more work for everybody and I want you all to agree that it’s best. You see, I think we’ve got a good crew here—men and officers alike. We get along. We know our business. Getting along together is mighty important in this work, and I don’t know how another officer would fit in even if we could get one.”

“I know,” March agreed. “You can never tell until you’ve lived in each other’s laps for a while, as we have.”

“So I want to skip getting—or trying to get—another officer to replace Ray,” the Skipper went on. “Plenty of subs this size have operated with four officers and so can we. But we’ll have to split up Ray’s work.”

“Okay with me,” March said at once. “What can I take on?”

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you alone first,” Gray said. “I wantyouto take over Ray’s job, really.”

“You mean as diving officer,” March said, with a thrill.

“Yes, and as executive officer, too,” Larry said.

March started to say something, and then he realized exactly what Gray had said. On his first real patrol, he was asked to serve as second in command of a new submarine! It was unbelievable!

“But—Larry,” he said. “Do you think I can handle it?”

“Ifyouthink so,” the Skipper said with a smile, “then I think you can, too. I think you can handle just about anything on a submarine that you want to handle.”

“What about McFee?” March asked. “He’s been out before—been with you before. He’s had more experience.”

“No—not McFee,” Larry said. “Mac’s a wonder at his job, and he could take over just about any other submarine job in an emergency. But—well, Mac knows this as well as I do—he’s just not quite enough of an executive to handle this. I know that he just wouldn’t want the job. He doesn’t like to tell people what to do. He wouldn’t like to be a general manager, and that’s what an executive officer is, really.”

“Well, you know him well,” March said, “but won’t he feel a little funny about having a raw recruit, so to speak, put over him?”

“Not Mac,” Larry answered. “He’s not like that. Anyway, how about it?”

“Well—I’m mighty pleased that you’ve got enough confidence in me to ask me,” March said. “And I surely ought to have as much confidence in myself as someone else has. Okay, Skipper, you’re on.”

“Swell, March,” Gray said with a broad smile. “I don’t feel so bad about not having Ray now. We’re going to do a job inKamongo.”

“I just hope I can navigate and dive and exec,” March said, “all at the same time.”

“I Want You to Take Over Ray’s Job!”

“Well, I never did think a navigating officer had enough to do just navigating,” Gray said, laughing. “And you’re never busy navigating when you have to dive. As for being an exec, a well-run sub with a good crew doesn’t need much general managing, you’ll find. Anyway, Mac and Stan will help you out in that department if you need any help. And don’t forget that there is, after all, still a Skipper on the boat who ought to do a little work once in a while.”

Later, in the wardroom with Stan and Mac, Larry told them all the new setup, and March was happy to see how obviously pleased with the arrangement McFee and Stan were.

“I was worried,” McFee said. “I was afraid you’d get another officer and he’d turn out to be a guy who pulled puns or was a bridge fiend or something terrible like that. And we wouldn’t have time to find it out before we got under way, so we’d have to drown him at sea.”

“Well, I’d better go report to the Commandant and tell him the arrangement,” Larry said. “The Navy likes to know about these things, even if they do leave most decisions up to a ship’s captain.”

After Gray left, March stepped into the control room. Scotty rushed up to him and shook his hand vigorously.

“Congratulations, Lieutenant!” the radioman cried. “Gee, it’s swell!”

“Thanks, Scotty,” March grinned. “But how on earth did the crew ever learn this so fast?”

“Didn’t you ever hear that the crew always knows the important things before the officers on a sub?” Scott said with a laugh.

“It must be, it must be,” March replied, with a shake of his head.

When Larry Gray returned from seeing the Commandant, March thought he noticed a sparkle in his eyes and a smile on his face that he was trying not to show.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Larry replied, looking a little embarrassed. “I just reported and he said okay. Everything set for dawn?”

“Everything set,” March replied.

“Oh, by the way,” Larry said, as if trying to change the subject. “You move your stuff into Ray’s quarters. Then you and Stan can both have a little more room to move around in.”

“Okay, Skipper,” March answered. “Could we see Ray before we leave?”

“No, no more visitors,” Larry said. “His family is there, and they let me see him for a minute to say goodbye and good luck from all of us. He’s feeling pretty lousy with drainage tubes in him, and worse than that because he can’t go along with us. If they’dlet him, he’d try to get up and come along right now. He says he could recuperate faster in a sub, anyway, than on dry land. He highly approved of your appointment, by the way.”

It was an hour later that March learned the reason for the Skipper’s hidden smile and slightly embarrassed look. Noticing a new large sheet of paper on the bulletin board in the crew’s quarters he paused to look at it.

“Scuttlebutt Special!!!!” it read. “The brass hats have seen the light at last and promoted our Old Man to Lieutenant Commander! It’s about time!”

March walked quickly back to the wardroom where he found Larry Gray and McFee smoking and talking.

“Well, I was told that the crew knew everything important before the officers,” he said. “But why did you want to keep it secret?”

Larry almost blushed.

“Oh, so you found out?”

“It’s on the bulletin board!” March exclaimed.

“Oh, my golly! These sub crews!” Larry exclaimed. “They can even read your thoughts!”

“Say, what’s all this about?” Mac cried. “Let me in on it!”

“Go read it for yourself,” March said. “The Skipper made me find it out the hard way.”

As Mac squeezed out from behind the little table and hurried down the companionway, March put out his hand and shook Larry’s.

“Congratulations, Skipper,” he said.

“Thanks, March,” Gray said. “Some of the crew on shore liberty must’ve run into it up at headquarters somehow. They don’t miss a thing.”

They not only missed nothing, but they did not miss a chance to do something about it. After mess a delegation from the crew appeared and asked for an audience with the Skipper. He sensed what was coming and met them in the control room.

Pete Kalinsky, Chief Petty Officer in the torpedo room, was the spokesman.

“Lieutenant Commander Gray, sir,” he said. “Your crew is very happy to see you gettin’ up where you belong, though they’ve got to come through a few more times before it’s okay with us. We knew you wouldn’t bother about such things, but theKamongo’scaptain ought to do himself proud, so on behalf of the crew I give you these.”

He coughed, acted as if he were about to add something else, then said “Sir,” lamely, and backed up.

Larry took the small packages Pete had handed him and undid them with fingers that shook slightly. First came a set of three gold stripes, two wide and one narrow, for his blue uniform. Then the same in black for his work uniform. Then shoulder insignia and finally two gold oak-leaves for pinning on his shirt collars.

March, who stood behind Larry, felt a lump in his throat. He knew how Larry must be feeling and wondered how he could keep the tears out of his eyes. There was a long silence, and March knew that Larry was waiting for his voice to get under control before he spoke. Everyone was looking at him as he fingered the marks of his new rank which had been presented to him by his crew. Not only had they got the news almost as soon as it had happened, but somebody had taken up a collection and rushed downtown, during his last hours of shore leave, to buy these things for him.

“You know, men,” Larry spoke quietly, “it’s naturally very pleasant to get a promotion. But when you’re about to set out in a pigboat to sink as many Jap ships as possible, it doesn’t seem very important. And certainly gold braid and pretty gold leaves aren’t important at all. But I’ll tell you what reallyisimportant, what reallydoescount for a lot when you’re about to get under way for enemy waters. That is the knowledge that I have a crew like mine! I’ve got a crew that is proud of its boat, proud of its Skipper, proud of itself. A crew that’ll do something—like this—like what you’ve just done—well, it just can’t be licked, that’s all.”

VISIT TO WAKE ISLAND

They went all the way to Pearl Harbor on the surface. They had beautiful clear weather each day. Jap ships and subs and planes had been cleared from the entire area so effectively that American submarines did not need to fear being mistaken by their own patrols for Jap subs. They made good time, and the crew and officers alike were happy, in the highest of spirits.

March laughed, one day, as he looked down from the bridge and saw clothes drying on the line, put there by the crew who took the first opportunity to give their things a good sunning.

“This doesn’t look much like war,” he mused. “Very domestic scene, really. And some of the men have been on deck enough to get a little sunburn. Not the usual picture of the submariner, pale and dehydrated, after his long days beneath the waters of the deep.”

But he knew there would be plenty of that life ahead of them. He was happy that this part of the trip was so pleasant. It meant a lot to the crew, who were inclined sometimes to be superstitious, despite all protestations to the contrary. They felt that everything would go well with them since the start of their real patrol had been so auspicious.

The Skipper had opened his orders twelve hours out from San Francisco. They were no great surprise to anyone. They were to go by way of Pearl Harbor to a submarine base in the southwest Pacific, a tiny island where a sub tender nursed its brood of pigboats, fed them oil and torpedoes and supplies before sending them out to break up the Jap shipping lines.

The stop at Pearl Harbor was short, but March enjoyed it, remembering when he and Scoot had left thePlymouththere, heading back for the United States and their training in submarines and airplanes. Much to his surprise there was a letter for him. He had not thought anyone would have a chance to write since learning his San Francisco address. The envelope, a plain one with a typed address, gave him no clue:

It was from Scoot! Dated three weeks before, it said, “In case you come this way you’ll get this. I’m on the carrierBunker Hillheading for where all of us head when we get out here. Don’t forget to come and save me from those Japs when I holler for you!”

That was all, but it was good. It was just like Scoot and it made March feel fine to read it and to picture again his old friend. He showed the note to Larry when he went back toKamongo, and told him about Scoot Bailey.

“Sounds like a swell guy,” Larry said. “Why couldn’t he have gone into submarines, too?”

“No—he’s swell, but he’s not right for pigboats,” March said. “Too much of an individualist. He’ll take orders fine, do a swell job, but he’s best when he’s on his own. Flying a fighter plane off a carrier is just exactly right for Scoot.”

“Well, you never can tell—maybe we’ll run into him,” Larry said. “Stranger things have happened in wartime.”

They sailed from Pearl Harbor looking for action, but several days went by without a sign of ship or plane of any kind.

“We’ve got to run into something,” Larry said one day in the wardroom. “I’d hate to show up at the base with all my torpedoes intact, without a single Jap ship accounted for. Why, we’re going through about nine hundred miles of enemy waters and we’ve got to get something on the way.”

“The boys out here have been scaring them into their ratholes,” McFee said. “They don’t come out any more than they have to.”

“But that’s the point,” Larry said. “They’ve got to come out sometime. They’ve got garrisons on a lot of these islands, and garrisons need to be supplied.”

“Well, they’re just letting the garrisons on lots of those islands starve to death,” Stan said.

“Sure, in the Marshalls and a few other places where we’ve got ’em surrounded,” the Skipper said. “But they’re still supplying and reinforcing plenty of places around these parts. They lose some ships every day. I just want them to lose a couple to us, as we’re passing by on our way to more important things.”

“What about Wake Island?” March asked.

“Yes, they’re still supplying Wake,” Larry said. “We’re not too far away from it any more, but we haven’t got it really cut off. But our course isn’t very close to Wake.”

“Couldn’t we just edge over that way and have a look?” March asked.

“Well, now, maybe we could,” Larry said. “Nobody told us just what course to follow out here. When we get a bit further we’ve got to run submerged most of the time anyway. We just laid down the straightest route to our destination. But a little detour wouldn’t do any harm. Lieutenant Anson, carry us over near Wake.”

With a smile, March left the wardroom and went to the navigating desk. There he plotted the course for Wake Island, went up on the conning tower for a shot of the sun to check his course, and gave the new course to the helmsman. Then he went back to the wardroom.

“About six hundred Army-Navy time, courtesy of Whoozis watches,” he announced, “we shall sight Wake Island.”

“Hm, works out very nicely,” Larry said. “Tomorrow morning just after dawn. We can travel on the surface all night and submerge just before the approach.”

Everyone was up and about early the next morning, even those who had been on watch during the night. Breakfast was over and officers and men were at their stations before dawn.

“We may get nothing, of course,” Larry said. “We mustn’t get our hopes up.”

“Okay, Skipper,” McFee said. “We’re just dropping by for a look and if anything’s there we’ll try to take care of it.”

“Rig ship for diving,” the Skipper said, and the word was passed throughout the boat. One by one the departments reported back to March that everything was ready. The long slim boat slid under the water, the whine of the electric motors replacing the throbbing of the Diesels. As March handled the diving operations, he recalled the days when it had seemed to him such a complicated and difficult task. Now it was a simple straightforward job, especially when carried out by a crew that knew its job.

After about twenty minutes, March turned to Larry. “I think we ought to be able to have a look now,” he said.

“Up periscope,” Larry said, reaching forward to grab the adjusting handles as they rose into position.He adjusted the eyepiece and looked, focussing with the handles. March saw his mouth open slightly in a whispered exclamation.

“Have a look, March,” he said. “I think we’ve raised something.”

March looked and saw the low-lying atolls where the Marines had for so long battled the Japs against great odds. It would do his heart good to kill a few Japs at Wake, entirely apart from the excellence of the idea in general. He located the harbor and then saw two dark blobs in it.

“There’s something there, all right,” he said. “Can’t be sure what they are yet, though.”

“Down ’scope,” Larry said. “We’ll get a little closer and have another look.”

There was almost nothing said as the boat moved silently forward under the water, until Larry ordered the periscope up again. Then he exclaimed aloud at what he saw.

“Three of ’em!” he cried. “Looks as if they just got here themselves, probably came in under cover of darkness. Lighters are just tying up to them to unload.”

“What are they?” March asked. “Can you make out?”

“One’s a troopship,” Larry replied, “loaded to the gunwales! The men’ll go ashore in the lighters. They haven’t even started yet. Must be relief for the garrison—old ones will be going back.”

He Adjusted the Eyepiece and Looked

“Oh, no they won’t,” March said. “Not yet, anyway, because their relief is going to be cut down in number right soon now.”

“Here, March, have a look,” Larry said. “I think one’s a tanker, one an ammunition ship, or a freighter with the supplies.”

March stepped to the periscope and looked carefully.

“Tanker and troopship are certain,” he said. “Can’t be sure about the other, though. How many do you think we can get?”

“Not more than two,” Larry said. “They’ll get planes after us that fast. We’ll have to get away after two, maybe after one. Can’t tell until we’re in the middle of it. But what about all the reefs around here? Can we get in position to fire?”

“If we’re good we can,” March said. “Come on, I’ll show you. I’ve been studying the Wake Island chart, and we know it’s right.”

Larry followed March to the navigation desk, where they both studied the chart of Wake Island.

“We have to go west first,” March said. “Then cut back sharply in a hairpin turn—go in about four hundred yards, turn about thirty degrees to starboard without going forward too much, fire and then back away. Backing will be slow, but we can’t turn her for a couple of hundred yards. Think we can make it?”

“Deep water out here?” Larry asked, pointing to a point about a mile off shore.

“Plenty deep,” March replied.

“Then I think we can do it,” Larry said. “Those ships are worth the chance, anyway. If we’re slow getting the first one, we’ll cut and run.”

“Which one first?” March asked.

“The tanker,” Larry said. “Most important. Planes can’t fly without the gas and oil it carries.”

“Not the troopship?”

“No, too many of the men will be able to swim or get ashore some way,” Larry said. “We could count on about fifty percent casualties there. But the tanker—that’ll be all gone, and maybe set fire to a few other things. Tanker first, then troopship.”

The Skipper gave orders to move the boat to the west around the reefs as March had indicated. March stood close by the soundman, who could tell at every instant just how far they were from the rocky shoals that might trap them.

Slowly the boat moved forward and then, when March gave the word, it turned and moved in toward the island.

“I hope I’m right,” March said to himself. “There’s not very much room here, though if those ships got through, we surely can.”

The sound man picked up reefs to the right and then to the left—nothing ahead, and March breathed more deeply. They went forward for a few moments, still moving slowly.

“About now, March?” Larry asked quietly.

“Yes, this ought to be it,” March replied. He saw Scotty at the soundman’s side, the other crew members standing by their levers and valves. They were all calm and quiet, but with just a touch of excited expectancy in their manner.

The Skipper gave the order for the turn to starboard, for the cutting of motors. Then he called for the periscope. As it rose from its well in the deck he crouched and grabbed it. Then March realized why Larry was a good Skipper. In just about two seconds he had seen everything there was to see. He called out the course settings for the torpedoes, first for two to go into the sides of the tanker, then for two to go into the sides of the transport.

The settings were called back to him, and he called, without a moment’s hesitation—“Fire one! Fire two!” He waited a moment, glancing at his watch. “Fire three! Fire four!”

Stepping away from the eyepiece he called, “Down periscope!” and followed it immediately with “Reverse motors!”

As the whine of the motors started and the boat slid backwards in the water, he kept his eyes on his watch, finger in the air as if counting. He lifted his eyes and—thud! The submarine trembled and shookfrom the explosion of a torpedo against the side of a ship. There was a wild cry throughout the pigboat as the crew whooped with glee, so loud that it almost drowned out the roar of the second torpedo hitting home against the tanker.

Men danced and jigged, but not for a moment did they take their hands from their levers or wheels, or their eyes from the dials they watched.

“You can turn now, Skipper,” March said quietly, and Larry gave the order for the ship to turn and dive deep as it cleared the reefs.

The words were not out of his mouth when another roar sent a tremble through the submarine and another shout arose. It was a short roar because the men stopped to listen for the second torpedo that had been sent against the troopship. But nothing came, and it was Larry who broke the silence.

“A miss, men,” he said. “Only one got through.”

“Well, what can you expect?” Scotty demanded. “After all, the position we were in!”

“Are still in!” Larry exclaimed. “Only a hundred feet! Take her to two-fifty!”

Everybody adjusted his body to the slope of the boat as it slid rapidly down in the water. In a few minutes, they knew, depth charges would be dropped in an attempt to locate them. Certainly planes would be in the air and perhaps fast small boats something like our own PT-boats would be dashing out of the harbor after them.

Larry grabbed the phone from the interphone orderly and spoke into it.

“You heard the blasts,” he said, knowing that men all over the boat would hear him. “Two into a Jap tanker. One into a troopship. Second one there was a dud. You can expect some depth charges, but I think we’ll be down away from them. Later we’ll go up for a look and I’ll tell you what we did.”

March knew that all the men appreciated that. They were tense and excited and they wanted to know exactly what was going on. Their Skipper didn’t keep them waiting long. They were part of this just as much as he was.

They leveled off at two hundred and fifty feet just as they felt the first bumping rattle of a depth charge explosion. But it was far away and hardly bothered them. In two minutes another came a little closer. Everyone gripped the nearest solid support and held on. March said to himself, “You’re going through a depth bombing. This was the one thing they couldn’t simulate at New London. Well, how do you like it?”

And he answered himself, “It’s not so bad.”

He looked around at the men in the crew. They held on and they listened, but they did not look frightened. Larry grinned at him.

“Lousy aim they’ve got,” he said. “They’re not coming very close.”

“What about a little zigzagging?” March asked.

“No, we might zig or zag into something,” Larry said. “They obviously haven’t located us and are just dropping at random. Also, we’re deep enough to be below the explosions. After all, the biggest force of the blow is above the exploding charge. We’ll just keep sliding along the way we’re going. They’ll give up after a while.”

The charges exploded regularly, but not for long. Soon they hardly felt a jar when one went off.

“They think we’re hanging around back there for a look,” Larry said. “They don’t know how safe we play. I’m not going back for my look for two hours. So just keep going.”

They did keep going, and for two hours. By the time they circled around and came back toward the island there were no more depth charges. About a mile away they surfaced quickly and the Skipper took a quick look. Then the ’scope went down and March ordered another dive.

“Sorry you couldn’t have had a look, March,” Larry said, “but I didn’t—”

He was interrupted by a shaking roar that almost spilled him off his feet. March, who had one hand against the bulkhead, grabbed him.

“As I was saying,” Larry went on with a smile, “I didn’t want to keep the ’scope up any longer than I had to. They spotted it pretty fast, didn’t they?”

Another roar was the answer, followed by another and another, and half a dozen more. They were bad shocks, worse than those they had experienced at first, but the sub had got down fast enough to get away from the worst effects.

“What did you see?” March asked between blasts.

“Listen,” Larry said. He took the interphone and gave his news to the whole ship. “Tanker down—only the bow showing, oil-covered water blazing over the entire bay. Total loss for the Nips on that one. Troopship looks half busted in two, but still afloat, though listing badly. No men on her. Plenty of bodies in the water. Lots got ashore, I’m sure, but plenty got burned in the oil trying to make it.”

A loud cheer rose through the ship as Larry handed the phone back to the orderly.

“Well, anyway,” he said. “It was certainly worth four torpedoes!”

As theKamongoslid down through the dark waters, the depth charges grew less intense. Finally they got away from them entirely, and resumed the course for their southwest Pacific base.

“Don’t let that fool you,” Larry said, as they sat in the wardroom having a cup of coffee. “There weren’t any sound detectors there, so we got away pretty easily. When the destroyers are after you, theyfollowyou—and their depth charges are bigger. This was a setup!”

SCOOT MEETS TWO ZEROS

Scoot Bailey lounged in the ready room of the aircraft carrierBunker Hillas the big ship plunged through heavy seas at top speed. They had been at sea for some weeks now, in company with a cruiser and three destroyers, heading southwest from Pearl Harbor for scenes of battle. For the last two days the five ships had put on full steam, and everyone aboard knew that something was up.

“Something’s cooking up ahead,” Scoot said to Turk Bottomley, who sat next to him, legs stretched out on a straightback in front of him.

“Obviously, my friend,” Turk said. “Something’s been cooking in this part of the world almost all the time lately.”

“I thought we’d be heading for the Marshalls and the Carolines,” Scoot said, “to get in on the fighting there. But I guess they’ve got things well in hand in those parts. We’re well past them now, and to the south.”

“No flying for two days now,” Turk said. “That’s what’s been bothering me. Before we got off once in a while for a look around, anyway. I want to fly, that’s all. I won’t worry about where. Let the Admirals send me where they want me, but let me fly and fight when I get there—and, if possible, on the way, too.”

“Gee, I thought I loved flying,” Scoot said, with a laugh, “but I never held a candle to you.”

“Yeah, I even resent walkin’,” Turk said. “Seems like I should’ve had wings instead of legs—just for gettin’ around short distances. I’d still want that Grumman Hellcat for longer jumps.”

“They’re sweet ships, all right,” Scoot said. “I used to dream of flying a Wildcat—thought there just couldn’t be anything better than that. And I still thought so when I finally flew one off the training carrier. She was an old one, but still a Wildcat. Then when I get here on theBunker Hill, I find the brand new F6F’s—and Hellcat is the right name. They’re what a Wildcat pilot dreams up as impossibly perfect when he thinks about what kind of plane he’ll have in Heaven.”

“Poetic, now, aren’t you, Scoot?” Turk said. “I can’t put words together that way, but it sounds nice when you talk about planes. Sometimes, when you get real excited, you almost talk the way I feel.”

Suddenly they sat up, as did the four or five others in the large room. Other pilots began to pile into the room followed by most of the big-shot officers on the ship.

“Oh-oh—here it comes!” Scoot said. “Now we’ll find out. It looks like a briefing.”

There were fighter pilots, the pilots, gunners and observers of torpedo and scout dive bombers, and the squadron leaders of each group, accompanied by the particular vice-admiral in command of the force now racing across the Pacific. This rugged, beetle-browed gentleman lost little time in getting down to business. Addressing the flying officers before him while other officers hung a huge map on the wall behind, he quickly gave them the information they wanted.

“You’ve all known we’ve been heading for something as fast as we could get there,” he said, in clipped tones. “Now I can tell you, because we’ve made speed and are not far away. Within a few hours we should contact other carriers and ships going to the same objective. That objective is the Jap Naval base at Truk.”

There was a gasp of surprise throughout the room as the Admiral paused for a second.

“There’s a mighty fine batch of ships in Truk Harbor,” he said, “and, we have reason to believe, not too much protection. Carriers—and there’ll be six of them—will go in close enough to launch all planes. Battleships, cruisers, and destroyers will go in closer.”

Turk Bottomley was sitting on the edge of his chair, as if he would bound from the room and race to his plane in a second, but the Admiral continued.

“The time is now about 1600. We shall rendezvous with the others of the task force at about 2030. You will take off on a schedule your squadron commanders will give you beginning at 0430, arriving over Truk about dawn—the first wave, that is. All scout and torpedo planes will go to Truk, one-half the fighters will remain as protection with or near the carrier. Your squadron commanders will go over all necessary details with you now. That is all.”

The Admiral stalked from the room, and the commanders prepared to go over all details. They launched at once into detailed descriptions of the objective, the schedule of flights.

“If we’ve figured right,” one of them said, “we’ll stick around two days, throwing in wave after wave. We must meet our schedule because it ties in precisely with the schedules of the other carriers in the group. We’ll not give them a minute to catch their breath. There’ll be planes coming at them continuously.”

For two hours the briefing session continued. Photographs and maps were shown, man after man asked questions. Finally every flier felt that he knew Truk and its environs as he knew his own home town. Then came the announcement of the fliers who would remain with the carrier instead of going to the attack on Truk and there were groans about the room as men heard their names called.

“One minute,” the fighter squadron commander called. “I think the Old Man gave a wrong impression. The names I’m calling won’t stay with the carrier both days. They’ll stay behind the first day but go on to the attack the second day, while the first group remains with the carrier.”

Groans turned to laughter, but Turk Bottomley was furious. He was going out the first day, but he wanted to go out the second day, too. He made his feelings known in no uncertain terms.

“Never mind, Turk,” the commander laughed. “You can go up and fly around and around theBunker Hillall day!”

So it was that Turk flew off in the dark morning hours, while Scoot Bailey stayed behind envying those lucky men whose names had been opposite the odd numbers on the list instead of the even. As plane after plane rolled across the heaving deck of the flat-top and roared off into the overcast sky, Scoot muttered under his breath, wishing that each one might have been his.

Dawn came and there was no word. Scoot went up with half a dozen other fighters to keep eyes on the sea, to attack any Japanese craft that came through to get them. But for hours there was no sign of a plane—either of the enemy or of their own.

Then Scoot, just after he had landed again, heard them far away—the roar of many powerful engines. And in a moment he saw the tiny specks that racedso fast they soon became planes circling in mighty sweeps around the carrier. The first one came in as the signalman waved his paddles for a landing. Deck men and the fighter pilots who were not up in the air lined the edge of the deck, and officers crowded the bridge. As the first pilot scrambled from his plane, the deck crew grabbed it, folded its wings, and raced it back to the elevator so the next plane could land.

In a moment the pilot was talking—and in a few minutes he was joined by another, then another and another.

“We caught ’em with their pants down!” the first yelled. “Flatfooted. We caught ’em right on the airfields! They couldn’t get off.”

“And when the bombers came in,” cried the next, “they had a clear field. How those boys dove! Oil tanks blew up! Ships strewn all over the place, clogging up the harbor!”

One after another the pilots told their stories while mechanics checked their engines, filled the tanks with gas, the guns with ammunition. They all told of how the Japs had been taken by surprise, how plane after plane had been wrecked on the field, how torpedo planes and scout-dive bombers came in with little more than scattered antiaircraft fire to get in their way.

“We’ve hardly lost a plane so far!” one said. “And have we got planes around there! I haven’t seen so many planes since I was at Corpus Christi—but these are not trainers. Fighters, torpedo planes, bombers—coming in like flocks of wild geese. Why, I was just as worried trying not to bump into some of our own craft as by any opposition the Japs put up. The Old Man must be mighty happy. Has he got full reports?”

“He’s gettin’ ’em first-hand right this minute!” the executive officer of the carrier replied. “He’s up there himself in a scout, looking over the whole business. And you can bet your bottom dollar he’s the happiest man on earth!”

“What was prettiest,” another joined in, “was seeing the planes from the other carriers coming in. From every direction! We were in the first wave, and just as we pulled up and away, there they came—wave number two from the northeast, and a little farther away wave number three from the southeast. You had to hurry and do your job so you could get out of the way of the next batch coming along.”

“Where’s Turk Bottomley?” Scoot asked. “Did any of you see him?”

“I saw him circling around for another go at one of the airfields,” a torpedo-plane pilot said. “At least I think it was Turk’s Hellcat I saw. He was joining up with the second wave and going in again.”

“He ought to be back by now,” someone said. “All the other fighters are in—except Tommy Mixler. I saw him go down in the harbor. Ack-ack.”

There was a moment’s silence at this unwanted mention of a casualty, of a friend they’d see no more, and then—as if they were forcibly clearing their minds of any such thoughts—the pilots went on chattering again. Their planes were almost ready for them to take off again when they all saw a lone fighter circling the ship. Zooming his engine and doing a beautiful wing-over turn, the pilot brought his plane around into the wind for a landing on the heaving deck of the carrier.

“That’s Turk, all right,” Scoot said. “Home from the wars.”

And it was Turk, almost out of gas and completely out of ammunition. He had stayed around as long as he could, and now he wanted to be off again within five minutes. As soon as his plane was shoved out of the way where it could be checked and get its new supplies of gas and ammunition, the fighters who had come in earlier began to take off again. They were off on schedule, going in for their second attack on Japan’s Pearl Harbor of the Pacific!

All day long it went on, with Scoot and the others staying aloft, on the alert for the Jap planes that would surely come through to attack them. No matter how great the surprise, some planes would get off the airfields at Truk and others would race in from other Jap strongholds. They would go for the carriers first, of course, for the flat-tops were the big prizes. With the base ship gone, the planes would be lost without a “home” to return to.

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