Final Patrol by Don Keith Page A

of a big cargo ship in the predawn mist. But there was another vessel out there, too. It was a smaller blip on the radarscope but one that was far more ominous than the others. An escort vessel. A destroyer. And they were about to steer their submarine to a position somewhere right in between them. “We’ll line up for a stern shot at the escort craft and a bow shot at the convoy. Stand by for a bearing, but Lord knows, if we shoot in that direction, we’ll have to hit something that floats.”
    They were going to try to get several of the enemy vessels at the same time, including the nearest destroyer that rode along as protection for the convoy—try, and pray they could pull it off.
    Quickly, before the ships could drive out of range, the Cod worked her way closer, to within a distance where a spray of torpedoes would be most likely to find targets among the herd of ships. Tension mounted in the conning tower as the captain moved the periscope in an arc, “dancing with the fat lady,” intently watching. The boat’s executive officer stood opposite him, on the other side of the periscope, calling out bearings he read from the marker on the scope’s base. Those numbers were entered into the torpedo data computer, a mechanical device that calculated the information the torpedomen at the rear of the boat needed to set the run parameters for their weapons. They were taking aim, getting ready to fire.
    â€œXO, make a note. That’s Karukaya nearest us. Think the boss would buy us a beer if we took her down?”
    The Japanese destroyer would indeed be a nice target. Besides, that would be one less vessel that would be dropping depth charges on their heads once the attack was over and they were fleeing the scene.
    The instant they were lined up to his satisfaction, Dempsey did not hesitate to give the command, even if it would reveal their position to everyone within miles. They would all know that the submarine was there and precisely where.
    â€œAfter torpedo room, fire one! Fire two! Fire four!”
    Everyone aboard the Cod felt the pronounced nudges as each of the three big torpedoes whooshed from its tube and began its run toward the enemy destroyer. The call of “Torpedoes away, running true!” confirmed it.
    But even as those fish swam quickly away from their tubes and began the run toward their targets, the skipper swung the scope back around to peer the other way, toward the bow of his vessel.
    â€œForward torpedo room, fire one when ready!”
    There was another noticeable kick. Then, one after the other, Dempsey quickly proceeded to order all six torpedoes sent on their way from the nose of the boat. As soon as he had felt each of them being launched, heard the confirmation from the torpedomen, and saw the trails of the weapons pointing away from them on the surface of the sea, he quickly swung back around to look at the Karukaya , the destroyer. She was still steaming along, flanking the convoy she was supposed to be protecting, still oblivious to the Cod ’s presence at their party.
    The skipper could hear the man designated as the timer as he counted out loud the seconds that had elapsed since the launch of the first torpedoes, those headed toward the warship. It seemed a long, long time since the kick of their departure.
    But then, as Dempsey watched through the crosshatched periscope, there was a sudden and awful explosion along the ship’s side, at water level, directly below the destroyer’s bridge. The Cod ’s aim had been perfect. They had hit a moving target from over a mile away exactly where they intended to. And it was clear that she was mortally wounded.
    Almost immediately, both smokestacks on the IJN warship collapsed like they were cut off at the knees. Human beings could clearly be seen tumbling and flying, tossed high into the pinkish morning sky by the detonation and the sudden lurch of the ship beneath them. The vessel seemed to