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 