Against the Tide Imperial: The Struggle for Ceylon (The Usurper's War: An Alternative World War II B, James Young [best management books of all time TXT] 📗

Nick gave the junior officer a look while reminding himself to, as his mother would say, ‘be kind to those less intelligent.’

“I’m reasonably certain he’d be on one of those big new battlewagons intelligence keeps going on and on about,” Nick replied. “Sure we’d be crazy enough to attack her still, but probably would have taken more than one fish.”

“Strange that we only got one hit out of three. I thought for sure we had a good set up.”

Well, that’s a conversation for another day. Probably not with you, either.

Emerson, having conducted four patrols, was keeping track of how many of their torpedoes seemed to either miss or, worse, just bounce off the target. Nick’s predecessor had gone stark raving mad in part because Emerson’s attack on a destroyer had seen just such a dud. Rather than diving, Emerson had coolly remained at periscope depth and fired two more torpedoes down the throat. One of those had worked, blowing the enemy vessel’s bow off.

Too bad Plunger hadn’t stuck round to finish her off. Of course, hanging around within aerial distance of Truk was probably ill-advised in any case.

“Sir, I have two sets of screws moving off,” the sound man reported.

“Hmm,” Emerson said, then double-checked the plot. “Well, I counted three cans when we opened this dance. Let’s increase speed to four knots, starboard sixty degrees.”

“Starboard sixty degrees, aye aye,” the helmsman answered. The acceleration to four knots was hardly noticeable as Eric shifted over to the other side of the plot.

“Read my mind, XO,” Emerson said quietly. Nick looked down at the plot, noting that they were at least thirty miles from land in water that had a reported depth of four hundred feet.

“You’re seeing if there’s a destroyer that is now sitting silent just waiting for us to surface,” Nick said. “By turning from our current path, we’re going to figure out two things. One, if we’re leaking strong enough for them to see it on the surface, he’s not going to stay stationary long. Two, if that last run was cover for him to get into position, taking us to starboard hopefully opens up the range far enough for us to come to periscope depth and take a shot at him.”

Emerson’s grin broadened.

“We’ll make a submarine commander of you yet, Lieutenant Cobb,” Emerson said. “Starting today. You have the conn.”

Wait, what?! Despite his sudden panic, Nick kept his facial features expressionless.

“Aye aye, sir.” Turning to look at the plot one more time, Nick tried to visualize where the enemy destroyer might be.

He wouldn’t want to be too close to where he’d think we might come up, Nick mused. Be too hard to depress the guns to give us a broadside and even destroyers don’t accelerate that rapidly from a standing start.

“Sound, how fast did it sound like those tin cans were moving away?” Nick asked.

“About the same as their runs, sir,” the sonar technician replied.

“Tell me when you don’t hear their screws anymore,” Nick stated, then turned to look at Griswold. “When that happens, Ensign Griswold, you start a stop watch. Tell me when twenty minutes has passed.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Griswold said.

Nick once more looked at the plot.

Don’t want to get too far away if he’s where I think he might be. Just close enough for the torps to arm.

“Set torpedo depth for three feet,” Nick ordered.

“Three feet, aye aye.”

Once more I am glad that Emerson took it upon himself to stop using the magnetic warheads. That decision had raised some eyebrows within the SUBPAC staff, but Rear Admiral Graham had backed it given the reports from the Philippines-based boats and his own submariners experience in the war.

Too bad that asshole down in Brisbane won’t let his boats do the same. He pulled his mind back to the present, realizing that the lack of oxygen was starting to make it hard to focus.

“Screws have faded, sir,” the sonarman said.

“Thank you,” Nick stated, noting the clock. “All stop.”

“All stop, aye aye,” the helmsman replied.

It was an incredibly long twenty minutes in the silent submarine. Nick spent the time running and rerunning through how he wanted to conduct the attack, if there was indeed one necessary. He resisted the urge to look to Commander Emerson for guidance.

The man wants me to run the attack, I’m going to run it. I just question the logic of having me earn my spurs against a destroyer.

“Time, sir,” Griswold said.

“Periscope depth,” Nick said.

He barely heard the planesmen’s acknowledgment, listening as the submarine’s compressors forced air into the water tanks. The Plunger lurched slightly as she began to rise, causing Nick to grab the edge of the plot table as he strode over to the periscope.

That would be my luck. Fall and hit my head on the damn edge of the table during my first attack run. Reaching the edge, he knelt down on the deck.

“Up periscope,” he ordered, extending his hands to catch the handles as the device rose. Putting his eyes to the scope, he rode it up as it extended to its full height. There was nothing but darkness initially, the Plunger still slowly making its way up from the depths. Nick heard the dive crew manipulating their controls, taking particular care not to broach the boat. Gradually, the waters began to lighten, then with a rush the Plunger’s periscope was through the surface into the dawn…and getting pounded by sheets of rain.

That might explain why they moved off. He quickly rotated the scope, noting that he could not see more than one thousand yards, at best. Spinning once more slowly, he did quick calculations in his head and considered the changed situation.

Weather forecast said there would be a front coming through our area today or tomorrow, Nick thought. Looks like it arrived early.

“Standby to surface,” Nick said, not taking his eyes off the periscope as he continued to swivel. “Minimal bridge crew, keep the decks awash.