The Galloping Ghost Page 7
A great big empty room, and I the first arrival with lots of officers down below but only the governor, his wife, her grandmother and I above to start things off. However, they were very amiable and we had a few minutes chat to ourselves before the thundering horde arrived. Honestly, hon, I’m going to be the first to arrive at anything like that from now on, for it’s much nicer getting to know people like that before everything becomes a hurried formality. Between the rum punch and the Scotch, I passed the hour talking with the old lady who really was one of the most unbelievable characters I’ve ever met. To portray her, imagine a lively old lady about ninety in a wheelchair with an endless sparkle in her eyes, a joy in living, and a scotch and soda in her hand.
After the reception, Fluckey and his fellow officers adjourned to the hotel, where the orchestra off the New York and Wyoming battleships performed at a dance held at the hotel.
By the fall of 1939, with the S-boats continuing to troll the Caribbean, Germany’s invasion of Poland had triggered war in Europe. Japan, meanwhile, was consolidating its conquest of China while threatening to overrun Burma, Thailand, Indonesia, Indochina, and the Philippines, the territorial possessions of Britain, France, the Netherlands, Portugal, and the United States. Tokyo also began a massive buildup of its navy and its bases in the Mariana, Caroline, and the Marshall islands inherited from Germany by the peace terms of World War I. President Roosevelt and the Navy looked with alarm on these developments since the bases were like a strand of pearls strung along vital U.S. sea lanes linking Hawaii with the Philippines. The president retaliated by ordering the Fleet to shift its headquarters from West Coast ports to Pearl Harbor in order to bring the warships closer to the Philippines and hopefully dissuade Japan from further expansion. The administration also stiffened defenses in the Canal Zone, believing Japan might stage a surprise attack to put the canal out of commission.
The S-42 maintained its vigilance in the Caribbean through 1940 and the first half of 1941, with brief periods of liberty for the crew in Coco Solo. The boat was away for holidays, including Christmas and birthdays, the passage of which were marked in letters between Lieutenant Fluckey and his wife. By June 1941 Mrs. Fluckey and her daughter returned to New London to await Gene’s transfer back to the States, where he expected to assume command of his own submarine. Gene, along with his beloved Irish setter Penny, temporarily moved into a base dormitory and soon followed his family to New London—but not for long. Orders arrived for him to report as diving and engineering officer to the Bonita, one of the largest and most troublesome submarines in the undersea fleet.
War Fish
Beginning with its V-class, the U.S. Navy began a tradition of giving many subs the names of fighting fish. Thus, the first three became the Barracuda (V-1), Bass (V-2), and Bonita (V-3). The Navy thought it was naming the Bonita after a fish with a streamlined, silvery blue body that must swim continuously because it lacks an air bladder and is migratory, often traveling amazingly long distances—an ideal name for the original promise of the V-3 as a transoceanic submarine. But that fish is spelled “bonito.” As it turned out, “bonita” is a Spanish adjective meaning “beautiful.” That, too, seemed an apt description for the startlingly large vessel as seen on the surface with its bulbous nose sweeping upward from the bow, its smooth white skin, and its tapered teakwood deck. In actuality the boat—like the rest of the V-class—was a miserable failure. Even later “improved” versions—the V-8 (Cachalot) and V-9 (Cuttlefish)—were beset by so many problems that they were known to some as “Breakdown Division One.” The Navy had pinned its hopes on the V-class with its range of 10,000 miles without refueling and a design speed of 21 knots, fast enough to keep up with the Fleet anywhere it went. But the Vs never measured up. They were unable to go faster than 18.7 knots. They couldn’t meet the design goal of 9 knots submerged. And there were other problems. The fuel tanks often leaked, disclosing the sub’s location when diving. The main diesel engines and electric motors failed frequently. And the vessels were heavy forward, making navigation on the surface and maneuverability submerged difficult. With its new fleet-type boats coming along, the Navy decided to decommission the V-class in 1937. But when a national state of emergency was declared by President Roosevelt in the spring of 1941 as conditions deteriorated in both Europe and the Far East, every sub was needed. Thus, the V-boats were recommissioned.
Originally the Navy intended, by terms of a secret agreement with England, to send the Bonita, Bass, and Barracuda plus twenty-two S-boats to Europe to operate under British command against German U-boats. Navy Capt. Ralph Christie was selected to command the squadron. In order to train the crews, he began sending the boats on patrols to Navy bases in Bermuda, the Virgin Islands, and Guantanamo Bay. The performance of the Vs appalled Christie, who changed his mind and sent them back to Panama to help guard the canal.
In the summer of 1941 there was good reason for the Navy to worry about security in the Canal Zone. The Japanese had developed enormous Jensen-class cruiser submarines that could easily cross the Pacific. These I-subs were 373 feet long, could make 23 knots on the surface, carried 114 officers and crew, and had a range of more than 16,000 miles without refueling. Each carried a sealed hangar aft or forward of the bridge that housed as many as four catapult-launched planes or a midget submarine. It seemed to the Navy that the I-subs had been built with one purpose in mind—to attack American naval bases and especially to bomb the Panama Canal and stop the flow of war materiel once hostilities broke out. Another concern was the presence of German U-boats in the Caribbean. An alliance between Germany and Japan could imperil both ends of the canal.
Initially Fluckey was surprised to learn of his Bonita assignment. After serving so much time in S-42 in Panama, he had hoped for command of one of the old O- or R-boats operating out of New London. Instead, his orders were to become engineering and diving officer in the Bonita, which he joined in Bermuda on 11 June 1941 as a (j.g.) lieutenant.
Captain Christie considered the sub the worst of the V-boats. Even Fluckey had to concede he was right after reporting aboard. “I was shocked,” he recalled on reading the old ship’s orders: “This submarine goes totally out of control if she has over a 2 degree down angle. Diving time is five minutes 45 seconds.” In sub school, instructors drilled into the young officers the necessity of getting submerged in about sixty seconds. Any boat on the surface longer than 60 seconds risked being spotted by a plane and being sunk. To Fluckey, the risk was unacceptable. “As we prepared for my first dive aboard Bonita,” he recalled sardonically, “I told the skipper that when war comes, we will be sunk by a plane whose pilot is still in the ready room when we start to dive.”
Just as startling as the diving characteristics was the average age of submariners aboard. Fluckey, twenty-six, looked at his chief petty officers and saw men in their sixties. Because of all the problems in the Bonita, the Navy had recruited volunteers from the original crew that put the sub into commission in 1925. “The average age of my chiefs was sixty-two,” said a chagrined Fluckey, who would in the coming months retire his chief electrician at age sixty-five.
Fluckey approached the Bonita like he did everything in life—with boundless curiosity as to how things worked and innovativeness in devising ways to solve problems. He didn’t take “no” for an answer. Just as he had conquered his eyesight problem at the academy when doctors said it was impossible, he applied himself to solving the ills of the boat. He knew how important it was for the big submarine to dive quickly. So he soon came up with a unique solution: steepen the descent to twenty degrees while pumping water aft into ballast tanks to counterbalance the force on the bow going under. It would save time and bring the boat to level once fully submerged. It took precise calibrations, but the technique worked; the Bonita made the benchmark of achieving submergence in less than a minute.
With enthusiasm and goodwill, Fluckey was relentless, constantly pressing crewmen, the executive officer, and even the skipper for new ways to d
o what had become routine. In some ways this was annoying for those plodding along in the comfort of normal operations. Fluckey’s modus operandi was well known to fellow officers in Coco Solo. In a poll among his squadron skippers, he was voted the officer least likely to succeed because he “rocked the boat” with too many new ideas. Nevertheless, the lieutenant pushed ahead, unfazed, realizing improvements could mean the difference between life and death, success or failure, in a coming war.
Until October 1941 the Bonita operated along the Pacific coast of Panama in search of Japanese submarines. Sometimes that would take the sub seven hundred miles offshore to check out Japanese tuna fleets. Unfortunately, as was the case with other V-boats, the sub left a telltale stream of oil from leaky tanks, making its presence known wherever it went. That was one problem Fluckey couldn’t overcome; there was no way to get to the tanks without returning to a shipyard for a major overhaul.
The hunt for the enemy turned up nothing. Days at sea led to spells of boredom. Fluckey sat in on poker games in the wardroom, studying the skills of the skipper and the executive officer, making mental notes on how to beat them. As the boat’s censor, he also read all the enlisted men’s mail to remove anything that might disclose the submarine’s location, tactics, and mission. His longing to be reunited with his family intensified with each and every letter.
By the fall Marjorie and daughter Barbara were preparing to return to Panama from New London now that Gene had secured housing at Coco Solo. Finding family quarters on the base had always been difficult, as housing was parceled out according to seniority. Arrangements had been made for a Navy transport to bring Fluckey’s family, though Marjorie worried about being sunk en route because of war in Europe. Gene had urged her not to worry. “Keep your chin up and stop letting things upset you. Sailing in the Atlantic is still very safe and I pray your transportation won’t be canceled. However, if it does become dangerous, the Navy Department undoubtedly will cancel all transportation.”
On 25 November 1941 Fluckey wrote of his excitement that the family would be together for the holidays. “Tomorrow morning I’ll order the Christmas tree. I could kick myself for not bringing the ornaments with me. As usual my heart is ticking off the seconds until you get here. Sweetheart, ’till you arrive I’ll be singing ‘Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly.’ It cheers me knowing we’ll be together for Christmas, then ‘Joy to the World.’”
In New London Marjorie had all the family’s belongings crated and stored for shipment, then learned the date for embarkation was to be 31 December, dashing any hopes of spending Christmas and New Year’s with her husband. In a stroke of good luck, however, Fluckey’s brother, Snowden, was able to secure passage for the family on an American Presidents luxury liner, due to cast off on 14 December.
Unaware of any of this on 6 December, Fluckey again wrote from Coco Solo: “Right now the best Christmas present I could possibly get would be to have you with me. For all I know, and if perchance the Gods have heard my prayers, you may be on your way down already. Please, God, make it so.”
The next day—7 December 1941—the whole world changed as the Bonita docked at Coco Solo. Japanese dive bombers and fighter planes dealt a devastating surprise attack on the Navy base at Pearl Harbor as well as a crippling bombardment of Manila and the big Navy base at Cavite in Manila Bay. At 1900 on 7 December the Bonita received an encoded message that a state of war existed between Japan and the United States. Lieutenant Fluckey and those on the sub hurriedly prepared for their first war patrol in the Pacific.
The big sub cast off at 1345 on 10 December, bound for Balboa at the Pacific egress from the Panama Canal. A three-week patrol of shipping lanes leading to the canal was planned. Lt. Cdr. Stanley G. Nichols orders were to interdict Japanese submarines and warships and report any enemy aircraft. Arriving on station on 13 December, the sub assumed a routine of sailing to the west from daybreak until noon, then east from noon to darkness. The boat lay to at night to save fuel. There were no sightings of any ships or submarines. Aircraft contacts all turned out to be Navy.
On 31 December the Bonita headed in through the canal en route to Coco Solo to end the patrol. The pilot of a patrol boat who came aboard announced that all transportation from the States had been canceled and that dependents in Coco Solo were being evacuated. Fluckey could only wonder if his family had arrived, only to be shipped back home. Letters from Marjorie awaiting him, however, disclosed the shock of the Japanese attack back home, the fact that her departure had been canceled, and how worried she was about her husband. “Most of the boys from the old Coco Solo S-boats have written the girls telling them to go home,” she noted. “Sweet, I don’t know how I’m going to stand this being away from you and specially not knowing how long it is going to be. Why, oh why did we have to get Coco Solo at this time? . . . Are you alright and is there any great danger in your vicinity? I’m so terrified at the merest chance of anything happening to you.”
Fluckey was crestfallen. “I tried to sit down and write you a letter calmly accepting the situation, yet my eyes would fill and a lump rose up in my throat at every thought of you,” he wrote back. “Sweetheart, our present situation is one which we can’t avoid and lack the power to do anything about it. As much as I passionately desire you, as much as I long for the sight of you, I feel that your being in New London is for the best—it’s so much safer there and you’re free from the cause of jitters the families down here seem to have had lately since being sandbagged and blacked out.”
Fluckey urged his wife to approach the future as a series of stepping stones. “You know, as well as I, that [the war] will be over on Barbara’s birthday [March 19]—that’s our first date to look forward to—let’s keep that date in mind.” But that date came and passed with no end in sight to World War II. After three consecutive war patrols in the Pacific zone, Fluckey was discouraged, assigned as he was to one of the worst boats in the fleet and stuck in Panama, where there was no action, no sign of the enemy. The only thing to preoccupy him were the perennial breakdowns. On the second patrol, the bow planes became unreliable, followed by the stern planes jamming when the boat dove at a seventeen-and-a-half-degree down angle. That was solved only by going to hand operation. The upside for Fluckey was his promotion to full lieutenant just before the Bonita cast off on 9 January. April and May passed with two more war patrols—the boat’s fourth and fifth. Still no sightings of any enemy aircraft, warships, or submarines. On the fifth patrol, more mechanical problems afflicted the boat, this time a failure of the starboard generator engine.
Fluckey was frustrated as others got promoted to new boats back in the States despite his ability to keep the Bonita functioning. With no promotion in sight, he applied for postgraduate studies in design engineering, a three-year regimen beginning with one year at the academy and the final two at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. “I’ve stayed awake so many nights lately arguing the pros and cons over and over again and wondering what was the right thing to do,” the lieutenant wrote his wife. “I must be hypersensitive about any thing that would even look like I was trying to avoid the war. I looked up all the submarine people who had taken [the course] and almost all of them now command submarines. All that and the thought of being with you for three years finally brought about my decision.”
Still, Fluckey clung to the hope of commanding one of the new fleet submarines. “I’m going to do my damnedest to get in a new boat,” he vowed to his wife at the end of his fifth patrol. “At least then I’ll get a chance to be with you for awhile and afterward I’ll be heading someplace with a purpose and an opportunity to polish or rather help polish off this whole mess [the war].”
In June good news arrived. The Navy granted Fluckey’s wish for graduate school. On 21 June 1942 he left Coco Solo for New London for a well-deserved thirty-day leave, after which he and his family would move to Annapolis, where he would begin his studies. But he would return to the war sooner than he envisioned on a boat that seemed to
be jinxed.
The Boat from Scotland
Gene Fluckey’s arrival in Annapolis in midsummer of 1942 coincided with a low point in the submarine war against Japan. After the debacle at Pearl Harbor, the Navy had hoped to strike back convincingly with its growing and vastly improved undersea fleet. Many naval experts considered the faster, more durable, deep-running fleet-style boats the best in the world. Intended for operations in the tropics, they were air-conditioned to cut down on electrical short circuits caused by humidity. They could dive quickly to three hundred feet or more, safely below typical blasts from enemy depth charges. They were equipped with targeting computers, the first use of such devices that made attacks more effective. They had ten torpedo firing tubes, six forward and four aft, and could carry as many as twenty-four advanced Mark 14 torpedoes. Most persuasive of all, the weapons were tipped with Mark 6 magnetic exploders. The existence of the exploders was a highly classified secret that very few in the Navy knew about. No longer did a torpedo have to depend on impact with a ship’s hull before detonating. Naval engineers had come up with a triggering mechanism that detonated the explosive when the torpedo entered the target’s magnetic field. Since all iron ships generate such a field, the new weapon seemed foolproof in laboratory tests, though they had not been tested at sea for cost-cutting reasons. Nevertheless, the Navy was convinced the exploders would be decisive in combat. In fact, Capt. John Wilkes, commander of U.S. submarines in Manila on the eve of war, had predicted “amazing results.” Then just about everything that could go wrong did.
It became apparent early on that too many subs were commanded by older skippers who were less than aggressive. They were steeped in a 1930s naval tradition of very cautious tactics. In those prewar years, the fleet subs were intended as scouts for the battleships, cruisers, and aircraft carriers. The plan was for the boats to speed ahead of the battle line, then submerge when in the area of possible targets and await opportunity. Submerged attacks were time-consuming and often ineffective compared to surfacing and attacking slow-moving transport ships. Many older skippers also were convinced that Japanese sonar was so sophisticated that once it detected a submerged submarine, there would be little chance of escape. Division commanders reinforced that sense of caution after hostilities began, exemplified by Manila Cdr. Stuart “Sunshine” Murray, who, at a muster of skippers after news arrived of the attack on Pearl Harbor, impressed on them the need for caution. “Don’t try to go out there and win the Congressional Medal of Honor in one day,” he told them. “The submarines are all we have left. Your crews are more valuable than anything else. Bring them back.”