Submarine! by Edward L. Beach

the courage of your convictions to carry out this stunt! And you also have to have an exec in whom you have complete confidence, and who can so work with his skipper that the two think and act together as one. Fortunately Morton has such a man in Dick O’Kane. They have thoroughly discussed and planned how everything should be done in case a chance comes their way—and here it is!
    Battle stations submerged! The word is quietly passed through the ship. O’Kane and Morton have both been up in the conning tower of Wahoo for hours, looking over their quarry. Now O’Kane keeps the periscope, while Mush handles the rest of the attack details. The plan is to sneak up on the destroyer while he is still swinging around his hook, and to blast him right then and there. Wahoo will start shooting from about three thousand yards’ range. All is in readiness as the submarine creeps into position. Fully aware of the unprecedented risks they are taking, Wahoo’s crew tensely stand to their stations. The temperature inside the ship wavers around 100 degrees, for the air-conditioning plants have been shut down for some time to avoid unneccessary noise. As a concession to morale, however, and in the interestsof having at least a bearable atmosphere inside the boat, the ventilation blowers and fans have been kept running—but now even these are stopped. A ship with all auxiliaries stopped can be eerily quiet indeed, and it is with this unnatural, deadly silence that Wahoo works into position for her attack.
    â€œUp persicope! One more observation before we let him have it!” The voice is the skipper’s.
    Rising slowly from his haunches as he follows the ’scope up, his face pressed against the rubber eyepiece, O’Kane sees only greenish-yellow muddy water for a moment until the tip of the instrument breaks clear of the surface. Then bright sunlight strikes the objective lens of the periscope and reflects in multicolored hues as the tiny rivulets of water drain swiftly off the glass. O’Kane’s voice rasps out:
    â€œHe’s underway! Coming this way! Angle on the bow, ten port!”
    â€œRight full rudder! Port ahead full!” The skipper is almost instantaneous in the command. “Standby aft!” You have to be quick in this business, if you expect to be good, or if you simply hope to survive. Morton’s intentions are immediately obvious to everyone: swing around to the right, and let him have a salvo from the stem tubes as he goes by. Still no thought of avoiding action.
    â€œDick! What speed do you give him?” Mush has to have this information. “Sound! Get a turn count on the target’s screws as soon as you can!”
    The sound man, intently watching his bearing dials as though by divination they could give him the information sought, shakes his head even while, with one hand gently pounding his knee, he is attempting to count. O’Kane runs the ’scope down without comment, then speaks over his shoulder.
    â€œHe’s just got his anchor up, and he’s speeding up. Not a chance in hell of getting his speed!”
    â€œWell, try again! We’ve got to have some idea of it!”
    The ’scope starts up again. O’Kane’s voice: “He’s zigged! To his left! Crossing our bow! Bearing—mark!”
    â€œThree oh three!”—this from the sailor intently watching the scribe marks on the periphery of the azimuth ring overhead, as the etched hairline on the periscope barrel matches that relative bearing.
    â€œDown ’scope! Give him fifteen knots, Captain. That’s just a guess, though!”
    Mush Morton has not been idle during this periscope observation period. He has shifted preparations for firing torpedoes from the after room to the forward torpedo room. He has also made a swift approximation of enemy speed, from the meager information available. Quickly he supervises the insertion of the new situation