Run Silent, Run Deep

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"Why, you lucky dog, you," I said. "That's all you've been thinking of ever since the war started. How did you manage it?"

"Just kept talking it up. I guess they needed a volunteer about the time I got there, and so we got the nod."

"They say it's wonderful country and has wonderful people "Especially the wonderful people," Jim agreed. The grin was a bit self-conscious as he said it.

Walrus had hardly been gone a day when Joe Blunt showed up suddenly, unannounced as before. I had already started to sink back into lethargy, hadn't even shaved that morning, and looked like hell in general, which is not the way for any junior to receive a senior, even if he is sick in bed. I pulled myself together.

"Rich, did you or Jim write this patrol report?"

"I did, most of it. I was keeping it up as we went along."

"Good. You mentioned that Tokyo Rose called the Walrus by name, did you hear her?"

"Yes, I sure did!"

"Well, as you know, we've been wondering where they got their dope. One other boat, before you, also heard Tokyo Rose call them by name, and of course old Bungo Pete apparently makes a point of showing us that he knows the names of all the boats which operate in AREA SEVEN. But this time something strange has happened. It's the first time he's missed like this, too. Another one of those intelligence reports I told you about arrived this morning, and it mentions the Japs as knowing Walrus had been in the area, but goes on to say that the old Octopus also made an attack on a convoy, and was sunk by shellfire from the destroyer Akikaze. Can you account for that? — What's so Goddamned funny!"

For I was laughing helplessly, pounding the bed in my mirth and relief, rolling my head from side to side with tears coming to my eyes: Gasping, I finally recovered myself sufficiently to tell him of my suspicions and of the garbage stunt. Old Blunt's eyes narrowed as I told him of my deductions regarding the security of ComSubPac, but 'when I told him about the Octopus and the garbage, he burst into a roar of laughter.

"Well, I'll be switched So that's how Bungo gets his dope.

The old son-of-a-bitch paws over our garbage! Why, he probably makes a business of picking it up!" Blunt joined in my renewed guffaws. "Wait until I tell the Admiral about this. This will relieve his mind greatly, and we'll pass it on to the boats.

That wily old bastard doesn't miss a trick, does he?"

"Old bastard," I repeated. "Do you know who he is?"

"Sure, we know who he is! His name is Tateo Nakame, and he's a Captain in the Japanese Navy. He was a submariner and was known for being a mean old cookie, too. I guess they had to be pretty hard-boiled in those days, but anyway, not many people liked him." So my deduction had been right! "The Akikaze, is that his ship, is that the one which landed me here? Why did he quit chasing us, then?"

Blunt chuckled. "You guess. I've been guessing three hours trying to figure out this Octopus brainstorm of yours." He waited. "How many destroyers were there in that convoy?" he asked.

"Four, counting Bungo."

"Right, and you sank one of them. Then there were three."

"Yes."

"And how many submarines were there?"

"Only us."

"Guess again. There were two, the Walrus and the Octopus.

From the hell you raised in that convoy he was certain there must have been two subs attacking. When he saw the shell explode on your bridge he figured he had done for one of them especially when Walrus dived immediately afterward. All the rest of the night, and next day too, I think, he collected what was left of his outfit and waited for the other submarine to show up again." Old Blunt's grin threatened to split his face right in two. "This makes twice you've outsmarted him, Rich.

He knows the Walrus by now, and unless I miss my guess by a mile he knows you also by name. He'd like nothing quite so much as to have your scalp to hang on his belt. He was a mean one in the Jap Navy, remember, and that was during peace- time."

"I'll remember," I promised. But a sickbed and a traction splint in the Pearl Harbor Navy Yard Hospital seemed a million miles away from Tateo Nakame and His Imperial Japanese Majesty's ship Akikaze.

Lying in the hospital, I lost all track of time. The hot days came and went. So did the nights. I got a few letters, finally got up the energy to answer them. Hurry Kane wrote me a nice long letter, wishing me quick recovery. She had heard from Stocker in Australia, and expected to get another series of letters any time now. Laura had written her from New Haven and was fine.

A couple of newsy letters from Mother every month or so about finished it.

The weary days dragged on. It was a month before they would even let me sit in bed, another month before I could get out of it for any reason whatsoever. When I finally got so I could hobble around, life took on a little more interest. The big news was from Jim, or rather about him. He had entered Brisbane harbor flying a cockscomb of eight Jap flags, signifying eight ships sunk. The Admiral had finally allowed him six positives with two which had to be counted as only damaged, but that had not altered the impact of his arrival. He and every member of the Walrus crew had been lionized by the submariners and Brisbaners alike. Apparently all eight ships had been in a single convoy which he had chased halfway across the ocean and attacked repeatedly until he had wiped it out.

Jim, so the letter from Keith read, had been like a wild man, driving Walrus and himself relentlessly until all the enemy ships had been sunk. The more sedate official endorsement to his report of Walrus' fifth patrol said virtually the same thing in naval jargon: "This patrol must go down in submarine history as one of the most daringly conducted and persistently fought submarine actions of the war."

Jim, I knew, could now have anything in Australia for the asking.

The time finally came, nearly five months after my injury, when I was able to limp with a cane into Captain Blunt's office and ask for a job. I'd go crazy if he couldn't find some- thing for me to do, I told him. He looked at me thoughtfully.

"You can't go to sea for a long time yet, Rich."

"I'll be ready sooner than you think!"

"Maybe so. But while you're waiting-um." He drummed the table. "Rich, there is one way you could be very useful in- deed, though it might turn out to be pretty strenuous. But we need someone with your experience and interest."

"Try me," I begged. "What is it?"

"It's the torpedoes. What do you know about them?"

"They're lousy. Everyone knows that."

"You're not the only one who thinks so. Look at this!" Captain Blunt rose and opened a file-cabinet drawer. It was filled with papers. "This is only part of the file. Every paper here is someone's complaint or suggestion regarding our torpedoes."

"What are we doing about them, sir?"

"That's exactly it! Nothing! The Admiral has sent letter after letter to Washington about it. He's even made three trips back there to try to get some action. They say they're making a new exploder which will solve all the problems-and you know when they say we'll get it?" Blunt didn't wait for an answer.

"Next year, maybe! Ha!" He pointed the stem of the pipe at me like a pistol. "They don't even know what's wrong with the fish!"

"Then why don't we tell them?"

"That's exactly what we're fixing to do. Admiral Small is about ready to blow his stack, but he wants the clincher first. He wants to take on the project of finding out what the matter is right here in the submarine base, where it can be done under his direct supervision. And he wants a Project Officer who feels the way he does. That is, mad as hell I"

I had never seen Blunt worked up like this. It must have been an extremely sore subject among the whole staff. "I'm your man," I said quickly. "Let me try the job. As a matter of fact, I've had some ideas." I really hadn't, not recently, at any rate, though there had been some at one time. "Look," I said, laying down, the cane and getting to my feet. I wobbled across the room, turned and wobbled back. The weak leg throbbed. "See?

I'll be giving back the cane in a couple of weeks!"

"You're a liar, Rich!" Blunt was grinning at me. "I've already asked the doctors about you and they say you won't be rid of it for a month. But if you want the job, I'll see if I can talk the Admiral into letting you have it."

I could have whooped for the sheer pleasure of it.

The very same day I sat down to read through the pile of stuff written about the torpedoes. It was immediately evident that someone had already done a pretty good job of sorting and classifying. In general the complaints which occurred most often could be classified as three: Dud hits, that is, torpedoes known to have hit the target but which failed to explode; under- runs: torpedoes seen to pass harmlessly under the target; and prematures: explosions taking place before the fish reached the target.

The firing mechanism of the torpedo warhead contained a device-highly secret before the war-which was designed to cause detonation when passing into the magnetic field of a ship.

Torpedoes passing under a target's keel should therefore explode somewhere beneath, with devastating results. Some of them did. Perhaps the port-flanking escort, which had chased us and had been broken in two with our last torpedo aft, had been a casualty of this type. of explosion. And that also, of course, was why our circular torpedo during the patrol off Palau had gone off while passing overhead; and I remembered that it had actually made three passes at us before finally detonating.