Free Clear the Bridge! by Richard O'Kane Page A

not be a limiting factor terminating this patrol. This very minute she was proceeding to her area at two-engine speed instead of three to make up for the diesel oil she had consumed during the false start. In the following days, when in our patrol area,
Tang’s
routine would also be patterned accordingly. Our first priority, however, was to reach the Carolines. Just before 0400, I was awakened by a slightly more severe voice than usual coming through the control room door.Some have called it submarine ears, but any change in the normal sounds wakens you instantly, especially if you’re in a position of responsibility. You can then either get up immediately or, if you are cool, lie there and await developments. I had a better solution for such occasions—an eavesdropping switch on the commercial Voycall intercom, which served the bridge, conning tower, control room, and my cabin. I flicked the switch at the head of my bunk and listened to Chief Ballinger. He was lecturing the on-going lookouts concerning their responsibilities and the added dangers with coming dawn, when an enemy submarine tracking us could have dived ahead.
    I sent for my Night Order Book and checked the time of morning twilight, then entered:
Make trim dive at 0520
.
    Tang
was on the surface again at a quarter of the hour, moving over a calm sea with a crisp horizon all around. On such a day, a single light puff of smoke or the rising haze from diesel engines of any ship would be visible even though the ship herself might be many miles beyond the horizon. Such visibility was a two-way affair, however, and called for a sun lookout. His sole duty was to examine the sun through protective lenses and the area in its vicinity with clear binoculars. Only from this area could a plane have a chance of attacking, but with an alert sun lookout even that was minimal.
    The morning was uneventful, the noon meal satisfying, and then came the shout, “Clear the bridge! Clear the bridge!” punctuated with two blasts on the diving alarm. The other sounds of diving were normal, but the excitement in the OOD’s voice had told half the story; the starboard lookout told the rest: There was a distant plane a point on our bow.
Tang
was passing 60 feet when we blew negative to level off at 80. That was a comfortable depth, giving some room to steady down should our trim not be too good or our planesmen a bit excited. We then went up to 64 feet for a periscope observation, cautious as always, for we could never know what might have transpired on the surface.
    The executive officer gave the relative bearing, and I had the plane in sight on the first high-power observation. A Japanese patrol, probably a Betty, heading to the southeast. A few true bearings till the plane finally disappeared confirmed the direction in which it was heading, perhaps to Ponape, about 300 miles east of Truk. After another ten minutes, with the horizon clear all around,
Tang
surfaced and proceeded toward her area. The remainder of the day was uneventful, though possibly a bit more taut, and darkness was welcome.
    The evening Fox schedule contained another message with our call sign, and Mel completed the decoding in a hurry. The submarine
Guardfish
would be passing close to our track and might be sighted the following day. Fraz suspected that the crew had a sighting pool, which was all right with both of us. In fact we would have liked a chance ourselves. If there was a pool, the crew member with the 15-minute slip won, for at 1315 on February 8,
Guardfish’s
periscope shears came over the horizon. We continued to close, and then unexpectedly
Guardfish
dived.
    Was it
Guardfish?
Had she received the message? Though the answer was very probably yes in each case, a submerged submarine, friendly or not, was nothing to fool around with.
Tang
cranked on two more engines and gave the diving position a wide berth, well beyond any possible approach and torpedo range.
    At midafternoon
Tang
entered her patrol