Free Submarine! by Edward L. Beach

in the transport’s speed, until this moment anyway.
    â€œFire!” after ten seconds. “Fire!” and then “Fire!” for the third time. Three torpedoes flash out toward the transport, and the last two hit him, with the familiar tinny, high-pitchedexplosion. The sound of water pouring into his damaged hull comes clearly over the listening gear, and his screws can no longer be heard. That will hold him for a while. Now back to the other two ships!
    A quick look around shows that one is dead in the water, listed to starboard, and down by the stern. Nothing much to worry about there. He’s evidently on his way to Davy Jones’ Looker right now.
    But that second target is still underway, and has turned toward Wahoo . Give this Jap skipper credit for trying his best to fight his way out of the tough spot he is in. He has turned toward the place where the torpedoes came from, probably in the hope of ramming the submarine, or, at least, of interfering with further shots. He achieves his intention, too, for Wahoo is forced to fire two torpedoes quickly at him—another “down the throat” shot—in hopes of cooling off his combativeness. One hit, but even this doesn’t stop him. Closer and closer comes the wounded hulk, yawing slightly as the Jap skipper and helmsman try to keep on course. Too late to fire another fish. The range is too close to allow proper functioning, and it would simply be a torpedo wasted. Nothing to do except duck.
    â€œFlood negative! All ahead full!” The orders crack out like a whiplash. “Left full rudder! Take her down!”
    Down plunges Wahoo , to get out from in front of that tremendous bow on which O’Kane has been counting rivets for the past fraction of a minute. Eighty feet, by conning tower depth gauge, and everyone breathes easier. Nothing can reach you down here. And listen to what’s going on topside! Explosions, hangings, cracklings, water gurgles, a whirling and a thumping all over the place. Wahoo has certainly raised hell with this convoy!
    But this is not the time for compassion. The job now is to get the rest of those ships down, and quickly, before they can get help from somewhere. “Up periscope!” Though the submarine is below periscope depth, and the range of visibility under water is not very great, a quick look will tell O’Kanewhether they are coming up under the dark hull of one of the ships up there.
    The periscope breaks surface to show nothing in sight, and Morton heaves an involuntary sigh of relief.
    Only two ships can be seen now, while a large area covered with dirt, coal dust, and debris marks the end of the first target. The freighter which had attempted to ram is still underway, but the transport is stopped dead in the water, his topsides boiling with soldiers. Wahoo bores in, lines him up, and shoots one torpedo.
    A bull’s-eye! The wake heads straight for the target, now looming big in the periscope field, and passes harmlessly beneath him. No explosion. Morton grimly orders another fish fired. It follows the path of the first, but this time the depth mechanism does its job, and the torpedo goes off right under the tall, sooty stack of the doomed vessel. A blast of water momentarily hides his amidships section from view, reaching up higher than the top of the stack itself. Then it subsides, showing the ship broken in half, sinking rapidly by the bow, with men clad in olive drab jumping off into the water, or trying desperately to lower the lifeboats they should have gotten ready long ago.
    Two down out of three, and time out is taken to get a few pictures. Besides, the remaining torpedoes have to be loaded into the tubes and checked, a job much better accomplished submerged than on the surface. It is now noon, and Wahoo’s crew is sent individually, as they can be spared, to get what food the harried cooks have been able to get up on short notice. In the conning tower, Morton and