MY STORY: MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH THE US NAVY

AN ARTIST'S RENDERING OF A SUBMERGED BALAO CLASS DIESEL SUBMARINE LIKE THE ATULE

By JOHN R. BAKER

CHAPTER EIGHT: THE SECOND WAR PATROL OF USS ATULE

14 January 1945.  Time 0900.  Underway from Saipan, fully refueled and restocked.  Accompanied by USS Spadefish (SS-411), USS Bang (SS-385) and USS Devilfish (SS-292).  Our patrol destination is the Yellow Sea and the East China Sea.  We will spend 30 days in this area with a total of 62 days patrol duration.  By this time our wolf pack has regrouped to include the USS Spearfish (SS-190), the USS Pompon (SS-267) and us.

Before we enter the Yellow Sea and the frigid action of our second patrol, perhaps I should explain the jobs I had as a radioman.  The radio shack itself is quite small; only room for two chairs side by side along with radio transmitters from refrigerator size down to some as small as a phone book; also two typewriters and the code machine along with special supplies and related equipment.  Two men at a time stood four hours together.  Basically, one copied “Fox” and the other guarded the VHF frequency that allowed short range conversation between boats in the wolf pack and occasionally aircraft.

Incidentally, the controversial part of this second radioman’s job was to operate the aircraft radar detection receiver.  This was used to detect enemy planes which were using radar and closing in.  The problem with this was that to cover the wide range of frequencies used by the enemy we had to have up to four banks of separate coils to insert into the receiver one after the other so that the enemy’s searching could be detected.  One time when the radioman was involved with the VHF radio, he wasn’t able to operate the detector, too, and when he could get back to it we were almost surprised.  By the next patrol the radar detector was located in the control room where it belonged.  A lookout could run it and we weren’t surprised again.

Enemy planes never hesitated to  drop their bombs if they got the chance, but lucky for us they weren’t accurate.  Aircraft had been a real problem while they still controlled the Philippines, and it seemed we were up and down all night long.  Poor Bongiorno, the baker, he had to bake at night and you can imagine what pressure changes did to his products!

The Fox schedule was the method used to  send our orders from NPM radio Pearl Harbor.  At pre-directed times (if we had to stay submerged, we could stick an antenna above the surface), we would copy those five letter Morse groups so that on decoding them we could receive Admiral Lockwood’s orders.  These non-sensical words were run through the code machine and came out on a long tape as perfect English.  This was an efficient way for all subs to receive their orders.

My job, if I had watch when we dove, was to pull the antenna connectors from their attachments in the “trunk” which was a heavy duty bucket-sized compartment set into the overhead and then to seal this shut with a stout door so that it was pressure-proof.  Next, if our aircraft radar mast was extended, I would step out into the control room and lower it quickly so that it was secured.  After that, I would hurry to the forward torpedo room to supervise the lookouts who would operate the JP sound detection gear all the while we were submerged.

Now on our way west, going through the East China Sea and prior to entering the Yellow Sea we passed by the great Chinese city of Shanghai at night.  The “lovely” Yangtze River flows into the sea at that point.  Stink!  This whole area was really putrid and we wanted to get out of there pronto.  I was certain the place was bad enough to corrode our beautiful boat!  How could people live in such a place?  To enter the Yellow Sea, which separate China and Korea, we got the word that we would be passing through an area heavily sewn with mines.  Here I discovered that it paid to be ignorant.  So many of us were greenhorns, we had never been around any mines before.  A few of the “old salts” had been.  (Average age on O’Toole was 23-years-old.  The oldest man was Marchand, at 40.  Captain Jack was 34.)  So, I guess that’s why youngsters make good “soldiers” — they’re too dumb to realize what’s happening; too dumb to really be scared.  But some of the older guys knew the score.  I noted that a few of them were a bit shaky during that passage.  But we made it.

This was about the middle of January 1945, and it was so cold for the next month that we often dove just to melt the heavy layer of ice that formed all over the topside area.  If the hydraulic vents atop the main ballast tanks froze hard enough we wouldn’t be able to dive.  Lookouts could only stay at their posts atop the periscope shears for just a few minutes at a time, even though they were wearing extra heavy gear, including face masks.  I knew I was darn cold on watch even when I sat right over the electric heater in the radio shack.

We weren’t the only seagoing types out there cruising in the ice cakes.  I’d like to introduce a little bit of our log — dated 23 January — to show how O’Toole dealt with small wooden fishing boats and sampans which seemed to be well-dispersed all around.

Time 0746 — Sighted first of three sampans that effectively sabotaged our periscope observations by closing to 3,000 yards during morning.  Avoided only to close two sailboats who spoiled the afternoon.

Time 1931 — Radar contact on sampan, range 4,150 yards.  Changed to evasion course.

Time 1944 — Picked up two more sampans.

Time 2105 — Lost contact with last of total of five fishing boats.

My memory of operations prevailing at that time was that if the enemy small craft had a machine gun or an antenna in sight they were legitimate targets.  Maybe so, but we never attacked a target so small.  Captain Maurer would avoid any close contact, every time, with any but real Japanese targets.  Never did we fire at a spit kit.

24 February 1945.  1500.  Yellow Sea first attack, second patrol.  Sighted medium sized merchant ship at 21,000 yards.  (2,000 yards equals 6,000 feet or approximately one nautical mile.)  At periscope depth kept tracking target through snow and used our stern tubes and our Mk 18 electric fish since they had greater depth control than our steam fish.  The target appeared to be a brand new engines-aft freighter.  Set the depth at three feet and fired four torpedoes.  The first fish struck abreast of his stack and the second near his after mast.  The ship rapidly settled stern first as the crew quickly manned two motor life boats (one on each side).  Just as the life boats cleared, the damaged rear section broke off, taking the engine room with it.  The forward half popped  up like a cork, floating higher than ever.

About this time I heard that one of our lookouts shouted “Look, they’re sending blinker signals to us.”  Captain Jack answered: “Signals, hell!  He’s firing at us with his 40 mm cannon!”  So we dove and fired a steam torpedo at him.  We missed.  (Torpedo went under his bow.)  We had had shells exploding on either side of us, so we hastily left the immediate area and withdrew to decide our next move.  

Surprisingly, even machine gun bullets can sink a submarine!  For instance, holes in the top of our ballast tanks (outside of the pressure hull)  are very dangerous.  These tanks are not nearly as thick-walled as our pressure hull.  Holes in our ballast tanks would let air out of the to just the same as if we had opened the main vents.  We would dive but we couldn’t rise again.  Also, anything that damaged us so that we couldn’t dive would make us goners; we’d never get out of enemy waters if we couldn’t submerge.  Anyway, you get the idea.

After dark we went to battle stations, gun action, planning to use our five inch gun.  The deck was covered with ice.  The gun crew had trouble with their footing.  Loading the gun was difficulty because it was so slippery.  At 6,000 yards the order was given to “Commence firing.”  One shot went right over the target.  The gun recoiled from the firing, but did not return forward to be reloaded.  What caused this failure?  The extreme cold must have been the indirect cause.  This upset Captain Maurer to say the least.  We had used too many fish already.  One more steam torpedo would have to be used.  At a 3 degree setting it bounced along like a porpoise, but went straight to MOT.  As we retired northward we could see that the bow was down and the rear was sticking up.  Up to that point the ship had had excellent watertight integrity.

Heavy snow and blizzard conditions for the next few days.  Bitter cold.  Wind 25 to 30 knots with snow flurries and spray ice all over the topside.  On one of our quick dives to clear off the ice we were pooped as we surfaced.  The bridge hatch was quickly re-shut, so not very much water got into the boat.  Nasty weather.

We received a call from Pompon reporting a convoy.  All four engines went on line so that we could intercept.  The moon was full with scattered clouds.

28 January 1945.  0032.  Pompon reports attacking convoy from starboard.  Spadefish also reports attacking from starboard.  Next we heard explosions and sighted a smoke column.  At 0255 we observed a terrific explosion with a column of water high in the air.  Time 0345.  We are chasing a medium transport that is trying to reach shoal water on a westward course. Unfortunately we are not able to overtake prior to dawn.  Exchanged calls with Spadefish as she was standing by her victim, a ship observed to be burning from bow to stern.

Next, we commence criss-crossing the known Shanghai to the Empire shipping routes.  Our time will be spent patrolling all areas where enemy shipping might be expected.

We are now en route to a patrol station east of Hangchow Bay (what a name) and sighted our first floating mine about 30 miles southwest of Socotro Rock. In short order we sink five mines with our 30 caliber machine gun.  The sixth mine detonates.  Contact mines are about five feet or so across and have several horns sticking out of their perimeters.  Theoretically, when a horn is struck and broken, the mine explodes its hundreds of pounds of explosives. These mines were usually moored too the bottom at pre-set depth at the end of a cable attached to an anchor.  The areas where they were sewn were very often just where submarines were likely to travel.  The U.S. has been able to determine that seven of the 52 boats lost were destroyed by mines.  Only eight men were survivors of the USS Flier (SS-250).  On all the other boats all hands were lost.

Log of 30 January 1945.  The lucky O’Toole!  

0030.  Floating mine bounced disconcertingly down the port side of the ship, plainly heard by the bridge watch and officers seated in the wardroom.

5 February 1945.  In the interest of conserving our rapidly depleting supply of ammunition, since we have already dealt with 14 mines, we are approaching closer than the suggested 300 yards, so as to be more accurate.  We’re starting to recover shrapnel from our deck.  A photograph with this chapter shows what an “exploder” looks like.  The extreme acreage of floaters is believed to be the direct result of heavy seas we’ve been experiencing for the past several days.

Regarding the mine we hit on 30 January 1945: Thankfully this was another dud Japanese mine.  Not all of them exploded when they were “disturbed.”

Log of 6 February 1945:

0812.  Dived from “Emily” plane gliding at us from a position 3 miles away to 500 feet astern.  Received one distant bomb as we passed 90 feet.  He managed to break through a low overcast before we spotted him.  We surfaced in heavy snow squall and cleared the area for a reconnaissance of Korean coastal traffic.

Same day:

2032.  Commenced repairs to #4 main engine outboard exhaust valve.  Found valve disc  retaining pin had backed out permitting disc to drop off the operating arm into the bottom of the casing.  

[Note — I didn’t see it in the log but I seem to recall that MoMMC “Handsome John” Stringer did the welding over the side, in the dark of night, with welding flashes lighting up the whole area.]

We continued onward.  7 February 1945.  Surface patrol off southwest Korean coast.

0710.  Trim dive off OTO TO.

0751.  Nine depth charges in quick succession dropped by an unseen antagonist.  These were not close enough to really bother us, but weren’t so far as to have been directed at anyone else.

8 February 1945.

1115.  Made trim drive.  Enjoyed our noon meal on plates instead of laps. Continuing patrol.

12 February 1945:

1456.  Quartermaster-lookout sights either a fighter or dive-bomber in on starboard bow.  (Cloud cover was low and broken.  At this time we had double aircraft lookouts posted.)  We then made one of our snappiest four engine dives to date, so we must have been under in less than 30 seconds! Took two well-placed bombs, one at 75 feet and the second at 125 feet on his next pass.  We had been aware of an escort vessel — possibly a destroyer — out about 16,000 yards.  he had been acting suspiciously.  Now we could hear echo ranging closing our point of dive.  The whole thing appeared to be a well-coordinated “man and boy” combination so we upped to 2/3 speed and took evasive action.

Next the following occurred:

1812.  Five charges, none close.  echo ranging has disappeared.

1830.  Four charges.

1852.  Five charges.

1911.  Surfaced.  Aircraft radar signal at 155 mcs.

1935.  Signal very strong.  Dived.

1942.  Two explosions.  Not close.  Hoe he bombed  his own surface ship.

1956.  Surfaced.  Hurried to close the Korean Coast.

16 February 1945:

We are headed north on four engines towards reported battleship group.

18 February 1945:

En route Daikokuzan at best speed to intercept new battleship position. Next, and this was almost bad.  Struck mine with a jar that turned out a good percentage of ship’s complement.  It first hit near the stem, then it bounced several times down the side, busily exploring our limber holes with its horns. 

[Note — At the Albuquerque convention our captain told the wives they should appreciate having us.  Guess you’d have to ask them.)

18 February 1945 (continued):

1857.  We had covered 850  miles during our futile, almost fatal, chase of this elusive battleship task group.

20 February 1945:

Received instructions from ComSubPac to proceed to rest camp at Midway after putting in at Saipan for diesel fuel.

Ah, rest camp.  We’re certainly ready for it.  The ship we sank in the Yellow Sea assured that we would be credited as having had a “successful patrol.”  This patrol we had destroyed a total of 28 mines.  We were lucky with that last one.  Now is a good time to reminisce about our daily existence aboard the good old Atule while we were on war patrol.  I certainly can’t say I ever got blase about life on a submarine, especially after only two patrols.  All of us tended to adapt to the routine as day after day we stood our watches.  Four hours on duty and then eight hours off.  Now, this didn’t mean that we were as free as a breeze when off watch.  Oh, no.  My own watch was from 8 a.m. to 12 p.m. and then 8 p.m. to midnight.  Always at noon we had field day.  This meant that most of us had  to “turn to” on a specific part of the ship so that each section was bright and shiny and ready for inspection daily.  I can still recall the order.  At 12 noon we would hear the click of the IMC (the ship-wide announcing system) as the switch was depressed.  Always the same, those memorable words: “All hands.  Turn to and clean up the ship.”  My daily section was the passageway in the control room next to the radio room.  After that we could get our lunch.  At least on the first run there was plenty to do on the rest of our “off watch.”

Art Credit:

Submerged submarine artwork (subsim.com)

MY STORY: MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH THE US NAVY

THE SAILING LIST FOR THE FIRST WAR PATROL OF THE USS ATULE (OCTOBER 1944)

MS ASAMA MARU WAS A JAPANESE OCEAN LINER BUILT IN 1929 FOR THE NYK (NIPPON YUSEN KAISHA) LINE. THE SHIP WAS CONVERTED TO A TRANSPORT FOR WORLD WAR II. IT WAS THE FIRST SHIP SUNK BY THE ATULE.

 

 

 

SITE OF THE SINKING OF THE MS ASAMA MARU IN THE SOUTH CHINA SEA. THE SHIP WAS SUNK ABOUT 270 MILES SOUTHEAST OF HONG KONG AND ABOUT 100 MILES SOUTH OF THE ISLAND OF PRATAS

By JOHN R. BAKER

CHAPTER SIX: OUR FIRST WAR PATROL

It is now late summer of 1944.  We have at last traversed the Panama Canal and finally realize that the war in the Pacific against the Imperial Japanese Navy is the next item on our agenda.  All the way to the Hawaiian Islands area we trained steadily, in company with the USS Jallao (SS-368).  Drills pertaining to flooding, fires and other emergencies.  We practiced over and over the things we planned to do for real once we were in enemy waters.  These tests were ordered night and day by our skipper.  Special emphasis was made on our diving procedure due to the inexperience of most of our officers.  We practiced night surface, radar depth, submerged attacks constantly.  Lookouts got a lot of practice in sighting periscopes as we took turns practicing with Jallao.  The tracking party, i.e. those who would actually send our torpedoes into the enemy, got to be very good, and it paid off, because later on our torpedoes were dependable and accurate!

By mid-September of 1944, O’Toole reached Sub-base Pearl and reported to Com Sub Pac Vice Admiral Charles Lockwood, known as Uncle Charlie, but not by enlisted men.  More training close to the islands and last minute improvements to the boat itself made us at last ready in all respects for action.  On October 9, 1944, we left Pearl and headed for our first war patrol.  We were headed for the South China sea area in company with USS Jallao and USS Pintado (SS-387).  We were a wolfpack of three.  (One of our crew put the first initials of the boat’s names together and got J. A. P.)  Add the word “PATROL” and that’s what we were.  The wolfpack tactic was a skillfully contrived German concept whereby a group of submarines, operating mainly on  the surface, reinforced one another both by scouting the enemy and coordinating attacks.  This maneuver covered many more square miles of ocean, and even though our boats weren’t in sight of one another, we kept in close  touch using the newer VHF radio. 

Early during the war, U.S. Submarines successfully employed this plan for the test of the war.  The American invasion of the Philippines began while we were headed West, and we soon found ourselves involved.  Many Japanese warships and transporters were in the area as the enemy desperately tried to repel the American landings.  Atule was able to spot a Japanese light cruiser and notified the rest of  our pack.  Jallao drew first blood!  She sank the light cruiser.  A few days later our turn arrived.  On Halloween night, 1944, while we were on the surface, we sank a large troop transport that was headed to Leyte Gulf.  She was the Asama Maru, a former ocean passenger liner.  Several escorts accompanied the victim, so we promptly submerged.  Soon they started depth charging, to the detriment of the swimming survivors, I’m sure, but they never came very close to us.  Incidentally, in later attacks we always fired our torpedoes while we were surfaced,  and we never dived as part of the attack.  We thought of ourselves as a Navy ship which could fight on the surface and had the ability to submerge if necessary.  The enemy ship probably carried 3,000 to 5,000 troops, and the sound of that huge ship breaking us as she sank into the depths will never be forgotten.

Perhaps I should mention that our last contact with America was always the island of Saipan where we would rendezvous with the anchored submarine tender USS Fulton (AS-11).  Here we conducted refueling, either preparatory to heading out to the fighting zone or on our way back on our way to rest camp.  We would get three weeks between patrols.  Our first visit to Tanapag Harbor and  to Saipan October 21, 1944 was an eye-opener to the effects of battle for most of us.  The initial  Marine landings had been made  in June of 1944 on the 71 square mile island following the strategy of  occupying “stepping stones” towards the home  islands of Japan.  While Atule was refueling and loading last-minute stores the crew all got to go ashore for a beer party.  All of us loaded into small boats and accompanied by armed Marines we headed to solid ground.  That sandy beach was unbelievable.  Not a tree left in sight, just shattered stumps, none over about three feet high.  Trash of all kinds, especially a myriad of sake bottles — thousands of sake bottles — as well as all of the smashed and wrecked military junk you could imagine.  I even saw a chromed bread toaster amongst all that stuff!  We were given strict orders not to collect any souvenirs because of the possibility of booby traps.

And now, a word about our beer.  I may be giving away a military secret, but during the D-Day landings in June 1944, some of the small landing crafts were loaded with G.I. issue canned beer.  Some of them hadn’t made the beach and scuba divers had to go down to collect the olive-drab cans in gunny sacks.  Yep, our ration of two cans was starting to rust and were all coated with sand.  I’ll never forget the brand — Fishbach — because I was immediately hit with the worst headache I’ve ever had before or since.  The blinding sun and G.I. beer, after two weeks inside a dark submarine, was more than my delicate nature could stand.

Saipan still was not secure, quite a few of the enemy were still above us on the hillside, in caves.  It was here that I saw my first-ever helicopter patrolling along the beach, and also Navy fighter planes firing rockets into the caves.  Later on, we saw that those same uplands had been made into an American cemetery.  When you look at 4,000 white crosses you will always be able to realize the meaning of casualties.  Two of my Marine cousins from Minnesota, whom I had never met, are in that place.

But now we are well into our patrol and having success.  Statistically, our first patrol lasted 63 days, and Atule recorded 11 hits from the 22 torpedoes fired during four separate attacks resulting in  the sinking of five major enemy ships.

At this time I should mention that not all of the torpedoes fired during an attack are expected to connect.  No,  the idea is to fire a spread, usually four to six torpedoes, depending on the target’s size, so there is an overlap.  The first and the last shot may miss at the bow or the stern, but at least one torpedo should strike M.O.T. (Middle of Target) for the most  productive damage.  Eleven out of 22 is considered pretty good.  Of the six fired at Asama Maru, two and possibly three struck the enemy.  At least she went down in about four minutes.  With a well trained tracking party, one of the overlaps just might collect an escort even if it missed the main target.  Our tracking was pretty good, and later on we did just that! 

Our second successful attack occurred on November 20, 1944.   At about 3:30 a.m. our SJ radar picked up a good pip at about six miles.  After determining that it was an enemy ship, we commenced tracking.  Enemy was identified as a destroyer.  At around 5 a.m. we fired four fish from our stern tubes.  The first struck with a terrific explosion at about his forward stack.  Two and one-half minutes later his stern reared straight up and he slid under.  His depth charges kept going off as he plunged deeper and deeper into the depths.  No survivors. 

The very next evening one of the lookouts spotted the lights of a properly marked hospital ship.  Had him in sight for quite awhile.  He was probably headed for Singapore and was making  about 12 knots.  Of course, he never knew we were in the vicinity and  had a close eye on him.

Up until now, on this patrol, we had had over 20 aircraft contacts.  Some very close.  We avoided many of them and didn’t always dive, but those planes from the Philippines had radar so consequently we frequently did have to submerge as they keyed on us.  We even had some of their planes covering our VHF wolfpack frequencies and asking us in good English to “Come in please.”

On the afternoon of November 24, 1944, Atule detected echo ranging  on  a bearing of 200 degrees True.  By  1400 we had four ships in sight and we went to battle stations torpedo.  This would be our third attack on this  patrol.  Tracking showed this group  of four ships to consist of a large transport with a  destroyer covering the starboard bow, a patrol  craft on the port bow and another destroyer trailing astern.  A group of small islands was nearby, and if they could  zig-zag through them until daylight, we would be snookered.  It was now or never!  We eased in or the starboard flank jockeying for a good set-up at the transport and the destroyer.  Flat, calm water for a change, and still they didn’t spot us!  After more  careful tracking, Captain Maurer announced : “The near D.D. (destroyer) and the transport overlap.  Commence shooting.”  As the bow torpedoes headed towards the target,  Atule swung about so our stern tubes would bear.  By timing with a stopwatch, the order of hits could be calculated.  Torpedoes three and four hit the destroyer, which literally exploded into a funeral pyre.  Nothing was left but fuel oil burning on the water.  A few more seconds and # two hit the big transport followed by # seven.  The transport stopped dead in the water mortally wounded and then went  under in  less than 10 minutes.  This was a classic shot, i.e., two successive targets destroyed in one barrage.  The remaining Japanese escorts made a rapid search, fired a sporadic burst of gunfire, then dropped several depth charges, but in the wrong area.  As it turned out, we weren’t able to get a shot at them,  so as soon as we lost radar contact we secured from battle stations.  I felt elated, for on  our very first patrol we seemed to be having great success.

Our final attack on this patrol was a bit different from what I imagined was a practical tactic.  On November 27, 1944, after midnight, we made a good radar contact and went to battle stations.  We were close to two small  islands.  When we approached, we identified a ship anchored at the northern end of the channel  between the islands.  Four shots remained in the bow tubes on this patrol and we would not be denied.  Morning light would soon be coming and w didn’t want to wait much longer.  Captain Maurer ordered everything made ready with four  torpedoes set at 0 degree angle, i.e., all to track straight ahead.  Our helmsman, Russell Miller, Gunners Mate Third Class, would direct the fish by swinging our bow across the target from left to right as the torpedoes left their tubes.  Thus, each torpedo was sent on a different bearing along the enemy hull.  Conditions were perfect and all torpedoes hit, one after another, and a gigantic fire erupted.  She was aflame from bow to stern and heeled over as the stern settled to the bottom.  We turned 180 degrees and headed away at full speed.  Oh,  did I mention that there were a couple of escorts in the vicinity?  Our reversing maneuver got us out of there in a hurry, and, as we had fired all our fish, we couldn’t go after them.  Using our five inch deck gun was a possibility, but not a good one as the odds were against us.  The target burned for over an hour and lit up the sky with explosions on six different occasions.  Finally, when we were about 18 miles away came the last and most brilliant explosion which blew the charred remains to bits.  I was one of the crew allowed to come to the bridge one at a time to take a look at our accomplishment.

About a half hour later the # two main engine  went  out of service with a sheared lock plate on the vertical drive.  We had no spares for repair, but Atule had three more main engines plus a “dinky” for additional battery charging power.  We were okay for now.  On December 2, 1944, we moored alongside the USS Fulton at Saipan and commenced  refueling.  Next day our executive officer, LCDR R. Bowers, was detached to become a PCO (Prospective Commanding Officer) and was replaced by LCDR Paul Schratz.  We headed out of Saipan that same morning on our way to our first rest camp — Majuro Atoll.  Looking at the charts we found Majuro was a circle of islands surrounding a deep harbor.  A whole Naval Fleet had been assembled there earlier before the attack on Saipan, but the ships were all gone now.  We had our very own island.  The natives had all been moved to their own island and we never saw them.  We went back and forth to the sub tender in whale boats; there were no permanent dock installations on the island.

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DECORATIONS AWARDED FOR THE  FIRST PATROL

The Atule departed station with four ships sunk and one completely destroyed with a grand total of 26,700 tons of enemy shipping destroyed.

The following  awards were presented for this First War Patrol:

NAVY CROSS — Commander John H. MAURER, USN, NW Washington, DC

SILVER STAR — Lieut. Comdr. Richard H. BOWERS, USN, Annapolis, MD; Lieut. Hollis F. CHURCH, Jr., USNR, South Windsor, CT; Burdell R. CARTER, TM1c, SS, USN, Chicago, IL

BRONZE STAR — Lieut. Jack _. Hudson, USNR, Marfa, TX; Lt. (jg) Charles W. PETTIT, USNR, Bloomfield, IA; Norman L. FREEMAN, CRM, USN; John S. STRINGER, CMo__, USN, Sand, TX

LETTERS OF COMMENDATION WITH RIBBON — Lt (jg) Glenn O. OLSON, USNR, Armarillo, TX; Lt (jg) Frederick A. OYHUS, USNR, Akron, OH; Davis M. McLANE, CEM, USN, San Diego, CA; Grant T. Humphrey, T_1c, USN, Long Island City, NY; Thomas E. COREY, MoMM1c, USN, lEWISTON, ME; Harold G. HALM, QM2c(T), USNR, Salem, OR; Estel E. LUDLOW, TME3c, USNR, Alexandria, IN

SUBMARINE COMBAT INSIGNIA — To all officers and men.

___________________________________________________________                             

1.     The USS Atule — THE SUBMARINE COMBAT INSIGNIA has been awarded the Navy Unit Commendation for service during the following period(s): 9 October to 11 December 1944.

2.     In accordance with reference (a) the following men, by virtue of their service in this unit during one or more of the above periods, are hereby authorized to wear the Navy Unit Commendation Ribbon transmitted herewith:

CREW OF U.S.S. ATULE (SS-403)

3.     This authorization has been made a part of the official record of the personnel concerned.

By direction of Chief of Naval Personnel

__________________________________________________________

SUBMARINE FORCE, PACIFIC FLEET

6 January 1945

FF12-10/A16-3(15) — Serial: 060 — Care of Fleet Post Office — San Francisco, CA — CONFIDENTIAL — THIS REPORT WILL BE DESTROYED PRIOR TO ENTERING  PATROL AREA — THIRD ENDORSEMENT to Atule Report of First War Patrol — COMSUBPAC PATROL REPORT NO. 620 — U.S.S. ATULE — FIRST WAR PATROL

From: The Commander Submarine Force, Pacific Fleet; To: The Commander in Chief, United States Fleet; Via: The Commander in Chief, U.S. Pacific Fleet

Subject: USS Atule (SS-403) — Report of First War Patrol (9 October to 11 December 1944)

1.     The first war patrol of the ATULE, under the command of Commander John H. Maurer, U.S. Navy, was conducted in the Luzon Straits — South China Sea Area.  The ATULE along with USS JALLAO (SS-368) and the USS PINTADO (SS-387), formed a coordinated attack group with the Commanding Officer of the PINTADO as the group commander.

2.     During this outstanding patrol, the first for the ATULE, excellent area coverage was maintained, and numerous valuable targets were contacted.  Enemy anti-submarine measures, particularly radar equipped night flying planes were intense.  The ATULE, however, displayed a cool aggressiveness worthy of a veteran submarine in developing contacts and delivering four successful torpedo attacks which resulted in five enemy ships being sent to the bottom.

3.     Award of Submarine Combat Insignia for this patrol is authorized.

4.     The Commander Force, Pacific Fleet, congratulates the Commanding Officer, Officers, and crew for this outstanding first patrol.  The ATULE is credited with having inflicted the following damage upon the enemy during this patrol:

SUNK

1 Large AP (EU) — 10,000 tons (Attack No. 1); 1 DD (HATSUHARU Type)(EC) — 1,400 tons (Attack No. 2); 1 Large AP (EU) — 10,000 tons (Attack No. 3); 1 DD (MUTSUKI Type)(EC) — 1,300 tons (Attack No. 3); 1 Medium AK (EU) — 4,000 tons (Attack No. 4) — TOTAL SUNK: 26,000 tons.

s/ C. A. LOCKWOOD, Jr.

Distribution and authentication on following sheet; THE ENTIRE REPORT CONTAINED HEREIN DOWNGRADED TO UNCLASSIFIED.  AUTH: DOD 52009 (9-2)

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Photo Credits:

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MY STORY: MY LOVE AFFAIR WITH THE US NAVY

AN MK40 (5 INCH, 25 CALIBER) DECK GUN ON THE TOPSIDE OF THE USS ATULE (SS-403)

By JOHN R. BAKER

 

CHAPTER FOUR: AND NOW, ATULE’S FIRST DIVE . . .

Before being commissioned on June  21, 1944, the boat had to pass all her  pre-commissioning tests, including that all-important first dive.  Going out the channel that morning was certainly a pre-quel to one of the most important, memorable events of my life.  I’m sure all of you who have ever participated on a first dive will agree it’s a never-to-be forgotten experience.  Think  about it.

Who could be absolutely sure another disaster like Squalus wouldn’t be about to happen?

The sound-powered phones were manned in all compartments and everyone enjoined to keep a sharp eye on developments.  When we reached our diving  area (not too deep, I’m sure) all the watertight doors throughout the boat were sealed tightly and the air conditioning flapper valves were made fast.  Our safety and negative tanks were full and trim tanks were calculated to be topped off correctly.  Everything was checked one  more time.

The captain directed developments from the conning tower and spoke over the 1-MC.  “Everybody ready?  Here we go,” he said.  COB Pyle checked the Christmas Tree carefully — making sure all the red and green signal lights were indicating correctly.  “Open the main ballast vents!”  A person can hear those vents cycle clear through the hull.  You can even hear the rush of air out of the tank tops as salt water pours into voids on the tank bottoms.  “Close the vents.”  This after we were technically still on the surface.  “All compartments report!”  Up until that moment I had imagined we’d just “pull the plug” and let her rip and hope for the bet.  This way might not be so bad, after all.  All reports were favorable, so the order was repeated.  “Open the vents!”  This drill went on, a few feet at a time, until we were completely submerged and Captain Maurer could use the periscope.  All told, it took almost a half hour to get completely under.  Any problems with the boat must have been minor, at least that’s how I remember, and we headed back to the yard.  All in all, it hadn’t been too bad a day.  After that momentous occasion we went out day after day to test all the many things we had to know about O’Toole.  Things such as speed on the surface and submerged, the proper operation of all our pumps, controls, gauges, etc.  In  other words, check out everything so as to give us complete trust in our boat  and in our ability as a crew to master her operation.

Oh yes, we still looked forward to the very important “DEEP DIVE.”  That’s when we must drop to our maximum depth.  This was sort of in the nature of an aftermath.  But, by the time we got to that test I know I for one  wasn’t as concerned about my immediate future as I had been on that FIRST DIVE . . .

Commissioning day finally arrived.  As previously mentioned, this was June 21, 1944.  The entire crew, dressed in their dress blue uniforms fell into two rows facing each other on the narrow deck behind the conning tower.  (They call that the sail now.)  When the traditional ceremony was over we were all forever plank-owners on this USS Atule.  Training went on constantly until it was time to head south.  Our next stop was at Newport, Rhode Island, where we took on a load of torpedoes before continuing on to New London Sub Base.  All manner of stores were put aboard here. 

Somewhere along the way we took on one of the new MK40 deck guns that had been developed for submarines.  It had a stainless steel barrel and didn’t have to be sealed every time we went under.

Another interesting thing happened when at last we cleared New London.  Our complement called for two stewards mates to take care of the wardroom and  the officers’ needs.  Stewards were usually black and until Truman made changes they were the only blacks in a Navy crew.  Ellis (ex Golden Glove champ) had served on other boats, but Griffith was brand new, and except for boot camp had no Navy training, certainly not submarine school.  Anyhow, on our first after leaving New London (remember, we had put on a lot of stores, fuel, etc.) the unnamed diving officer apparently had not allowed for 12 tons of water ballast in our bow buoyancy tank.  We went down  shall I say head first.  I know the forward bulkhead in the radio shack became the deck and I was standing on our main radio transmitter.  If I’ve got this correct, Mr. Bowers, our executive officer, who happened to be in the control room, took over the dive, and by judicious tank-tank blowing and full motor reversal we leveled off before we struck bottom.  Bear in  mind, a submarine in that condition is like a train running down a steep grade — it goes faster and faster until the crash. 

We were a little shook by this caper, but imagine  how Griffith felt  This was his very first dive!  I heard that he fled into the wardroom pantry and pulled the curtain down over himself.  If this was the way it was going to be he wanted off and right now!  He did recover and soon became a popular member of the crew.

A big Navy school operated at Key West and new boats heading  south were called in from time to time to operate with the school.  By chance, we were chosen and soon we headed toward the same pier the boat we were relieving was vacating.  We were now very close.  The other boat had her lines singled up and their brow was still over.  Just then, over a low knoll,  came a motor scooter with two riders, hell bent for the pier.  I swear, everyone on the submarine bridge was urging the motor scooter to hurry.  The two guys ran up to the brow, dragged the scooter aboard and around behind the conning tower.  Next, over the knoll came a shore patrol jeep with two irate cops.  Too late.  The boat left quickly and Atule rapidly moved in to occupy the vacated space. 

Our week at Key West Base was an enjoyable interlude.  I believe Sally Rand and her girls were appearing ? there. 

When we crossed the Caribbean Sea I was intrigued by the beautiful light blue color of the water.  We were on our way to Panama and the canal and we tried to be very alert.  Possible German U-Boats.  Going through the canal was enjoyable and we went through lock after lock and even had swim call in one of the lakes.  Captain Jack had a machine gunner on the bridge protecting swimmers from sharks.  No casualties.

Photo Credit:

MK40 deck gun photo provided by Richard Sanger