Submarine! by Edward L. Beach Page A

into the TDC. In a matter of seconds Wahoo is ready to fire with a third completely new setup.
    â€œSound bearings!” The command starts the chant of numbers from the sweating sound man.
    â€œThree two oh!—Three two five!—Three three oh!—Three four oh!—Three five three!—” It’s difficult to stay on a target going by at such close range and such relatively high speed, and the sound man has his troubles, but he does the best he can.
    â€œStandby forward. Standby one!”
    All is in readiness. All is quiet. The skipper nods to his exec. “Give us the bearings, Dick!”
    Up goes the periscope again. Firing torpedoes on sound bearings is not for Wahoo . To make your shots good, you must get the target’s exact bearing as shortly before shooting as possible. You take a chance on his sighting your periscope! If you really make them good, you won’t have to worry whether he sees it or not!
    â€œBearing—mark!”
    â€œThree five eight!”
    â€œSet!” The TDC operator reports that he is, at that precise instant, on the target.
    The clipped commands, the staccato syllables, are a natural result of the tension generated in the confines of the conning tower. About twelve feet long by eight in diameter, theconning tower is like a cylinder lying on its side, where, during general quarters, ten men must work.
    â€œFire!”
    â€œFire one!” repeats the firing key operator into his sound power telephones, as he presses the firing key.
    In the forward torpedo room, the torpedomen are standing anxiously by the tubes. The tube captain wears the telephones and stands between the two banks of torpedo tubes, his eyes glued to his gauge board, his hand poised to fire the torpedo by hand if the solenoid firing mechanism fails to function electrically. But everything operates as it should. The click of the solenoid and the rush of air into the firing valve sound unnaturally loud in the stillness. The whine of the torpedo engine starting is heard momentarily as it leaves the tube, and the ship lurches. The pressure gauge for number one tube impulse air flask dies rapidly down to zero, and just before it reaches the peg at the end of the dial there is a sudden rush of air into the bilges under the tube nest, followed immediately by a heavy stream of water.
    The Chief Torpedoman waits an agonizingly long time, then reaches up to a manifold of valves and levers and pulls one toward him. The roar of the water stops with a tremendous shuddering water hammer, and immediately a sailor, stripped to the waist, vigorously turns a large chromium-plated crank attached to number one tube, thus closing the outer torpedo tube door.
    Up in the conning tower, the firing key operator has been counting to himself as he holds down the firing key, but suddenly he is interrupted by a report in his earphones and sings out, “Number one tube fired electrically!” He then releases his firing key—actually a large brass knob fixed to the bulkhead beneath the ready-light and selector switch panel—reaches to the selector switch for number one tube, turns it to “Off,” and then, very precisely, turns the selector switch under the number “2” to “On.”
    Meanwhile the TDC operator, who is the ship’s Gunnery and Torpedo Officer, has been watching a stop watch and atthe same time turning a crank set low in the face of the director before him. This introduces “spread,” causing successive torpedoes to follow slightly diverging tracks. When his stop watch indicates ten seconds after the first fish has been fired, the TDC operator snaps, “Fire!”
    â€œFire two!” repeats the firing key operator into his phones, pressing his brass knob.
    â€œNumber two fired electrically!” reports the firing key man.
    Roger Paine, operating the TDC, waits until his stop watch again indicates ten seconds, and then repeats,