The Galloping Ghost (24 page)

The
Barb
began its run before midnight, powering back to the coast and moving up the inland passage, following the track of the fishing fleet. Using radar and visual sightings, the boat maneuvered past several dozen darkened junks. On the bridge depth soundings were made every five minutes. The fathometer registered just forty feet. Lt. Richard Gibson, assistant gunnery officer who was standing on the bridge alongside the skipper, was worried. “It's the wrong place for a submarine to go,” he confided. Fluckey expressed confidence. “The odds are with us, believe me.”

Visibility lessened in a lowering overcast as the sub continued up the coast. Radar kept the boat from colliding with fishing boats as well as running aground. After forty-five minutes the radar operator reported a large smear that didn't correspond with the chart fifteen miles ahead. It was too large to be a single ship or even a couple of ships. Fluckey, Teeters, and Lehman, the operator, studied the oscilloscope and concurred the spiky images were typical of ships, in this case many ships! But doubt lingered. Never before had radar detected saturation pips at such long range.

The sub continued north toward Incog, seven small islands that stood in a circular group off a bottle-shaped bay that the Chinese knew as Nam Kwan. The smudge on the scope seemed to be located in that bay guarded by Incog and its darkened lighthouse. The boat's chart warned of “rocks awash,” “not surveyed,” “position doubtful,” and “unexplored” among its notations on access routes to the bay.

The boat slowed on the seaward side of Incog after contact was made with a destroyer patrolling the inland side to prevent any attempt to enter the harbor. Webster, on the bridge, tracked the destroyer as it began a turn to the south. “Let me know just before she disappears,” the captain said over the intercom to his exec. “We'll go ahead emergency and skin around Incog when she's on the other side of the island, shoot, and shove off.”

At 0300 Webster confirmed the frigate had gone behind the island. “All ahead emergency!” demanded Fluckey. The sub picked up speed and rounded Incog, where radar imaging quickly revealed what was in the harbor. The skipper, Teeters, and Lehman were astounded. A two-mile line of ships at anchor in three columns, five hundred yards apart, and other vessels closer to the shore between the columns. “The Japs don't have that
many ships!” Fluckey exclaimed, staring at the radar screen. But Teeters confirmed lots of ships, at least thirty by radar count. A torpedo attack couldn't possibly miss.

What the
Barb
had discovered was the overnight portage of two convoys—northbound Takao-Moji 38 and southbound Moji-Takao 32. The challenge for the
Barb
was two destroyers on patrol to the north of the anchorage.

“Okay,” announced the skipper, “it is now time to take one of our well-known calculated risks.”

Those who had been with Fluckey on previous patrols knew what that meant. “You know all the odds are against you and figure a way they won't happen,” explained Chief Gunner's Mate Paul “Swish” Saunders. “Ahead of us on the bow were small escort ships, like our destroyer escorts, and we know they have depth charges. We know the water is sixty feet deep or less, and we know the place is mined, three miles wide. But Gene has charts, and they show a couple of stretches marked ‘unexplored” and others ‘rocks awash at high tide,' and other places ‘rocks, position doubtful.' So the skipper says we'll make our attack and then retire to where it says ‘unexplored' and ‘rocks, position doubtful,' because probably the Nips won't follow us there. That's the calculated risk.”

Fluckey assumed that once torpedoes started exploding, all hell would break loose. “Inasmuch as our attack position will be six miles inside the 10-fathom curve and nineteen miles inside the 20-fathom curve, we will require an hour's run before being forced down,” noted the captain in his patrol log. “Consequently our attack must be a complete surprise and the force of our attack must be sufficient to completely throw the enemy off balance . . . a speedy, darting, knife thrust attack will increase the probability of success.”

The skipper assumed the Japanese would employ searchlights, gunfire, and hot pursuit by the destroyers in the counterattack. The boat would countermand that with its remaining torpedoes plus 40mm and automatic weapons from the gunnery crew on deck. The sub would use radar to scan for obstructions like rocks and the fishing fleet during the speedy retreat. By dashing between the anchored junks, the sub would avoid mines while using the fishing boats as a barrier to pursuit by the destroyers. The escape route also would pass through the “unexplored” area to further dissuade an escort. By the captain's calculation, the sub would take a direct route perpendicular to the harbor and to the twenty-fathom curve, a surface run at high speed that would take at least an hour.

As the sub passed Incog, the captain announced on the intercom that the
Barb
had successfully entered Nam Kwan Harbor and the greatest target of the war was sitting dead ahead of the sub. “Make ready all tubes. I figure the odds are 10 to 1 in our favor. Man battle stations torpedoes!”

The gongs of the battle stations alarm brought cheers. But Fluckey had forgotten the order to put four cases of beer on ice. Gunner Saunders took care of that, ordering a couple of crewmen to ice down the beer to calm their nerves.

The boat steadily moved toward the anchorage, anticipation building. The outer doors of the torpedo tubes were opened. Everything stood in readiness. The men were going to either pull off the biggest sub raid of the war—or die trying. Saunders was breathless in the control room. “We creep in. You can't hear a thing but the fathometer pinging, and she says six fathoms. We could almost get out and walk. Everybody's heart is doing flip-flops. The pickles are all set.”

The boat neared its firing position undetected. Fluckey darted up the conning tower ladder to the bridge to assure the sub was not tossing up a phosphorescent wake. With binoculars he also gave a quick glance forward. He could make out the ghostly silhouettes of the ships. They overlapped each other. One side of the harbor to the other. The trick would be to widen the trajectories of the torpedoes so that each would strike a separate ship to maximize damage and surprise.

Fluckey ducked back into the conning tower for a final bearings check. Two minutes later, “Fire 1! Fire 2! Fire 3! Fire 4!”

The
Barb,
shuddering, heeled about with a right full rudder to bring the stern tubes to bear. It took sixty seconds.

“Fire 7! Fire 8! Fire 9! Fire 10! All ahead flank! Let's get out of here!”

The sub bolted away, all four diesels on line. A flash of light lit the night sky. Then a second. And a third. The loud rumble of explosions. Saunders described the scene. “A big freighter goes up, and another. Then an ammo ship blows and sets the whole harbor off like a string of firecrackers. What a show, what a show! Tracers, rockets, the works. Ship after ship catches fire. Searchlights are streaking the sky looking for bombers, because nobody figures a submarine got inside.”

Few noticed the
Barb
racing away. However, one of the destroyers patrolling northwest of the harbor got a bead on it from six thousand yards and took up the chase. Fluckey demanded more speed. The boat dashed for the area on the map marked “unexplored.” The frigate steadily gained, cutting the distance by a third. Fluckey passed the order to the after torpedo room
to load the boat's last four torpedoes and prepare for action. He also got on the squawk box. “Engine room, tell Chief [Franklin] Williams to crank up every revolution he can squeeze out. We must have more speed!”

The boat was flying—twenty knots. Was the frigate still narrowing the distance? Teeters got on the horn. “Thirty-six hundred yards, closing.”

Fluckey ordered the crew to start the low pressure blower and keep it going. The blower would keep water from leaking into ballast tanks, thus pushing the boat higher on the surface and reducing drag. “I need more speed!” the captain implored Williams in the engine room.

“Sir,” the chief replied, “the engines are at their top speed now. Any more and the governors will cut the engines out.”

“Well, tie down the governors and put 150 percent overload on all engines!” ordered the skipper.

There was no choice. The governors, designed to shut down the engines to protect them from overheating, had to be overridden. It was the only chance of escape.

Teeters reported the destroyer still closing at 3,200 yards. But at a slower rate. “We're making 23.5 knots—a record for submarines,” he added.

With urgency in his voice over the intercom, Williams reported the bearings were getting hot. “Let them melt, Jim!” came the retort from Captain Fluckey.

The skipper doubted the destroyer would open fire until it was within two thousand yards. He expected the ship to flip on its searchlights, at which time he would fire two stern torpedoes and turn in toward a rocky area, hoping the warship would wheel around for a broadside and go aground.

Teeters sounded an alarm. “Junks ahead nine hundred yards!”

“God help them!” the captain shouted. Teeters coached helmsman Bill Brooks on a serpentine course by radar through the fleet. “The
Barb
is now high balling it for the 20 fathom curve,” Fluckey noted in the patrol log. “Expect to see a junk piled up on the bow at any second.”

Startled fishermen waved as the sub flashed by.

Astern, gunfire could be heard from the direction of the destroyer. The warship's radar couldn't distinguish between the sub and the fishing boats. “Some poor junk's getting it,” noted the captain. The keeper of the lighthouse turned on a beacon. The illumination allowed the sub to steer clear of rocks and shoals in the unexplored area.

The destroyer, in hot pursuit for thirty minutes, finally gave up. The submarine pulled away. Soon Fluckey slowed to seventeen knots and motor macs unstrapped the governors, permitting the bearings to cool down. A half hour
later the
Barb
crossed the twenty-fathom curve into deep water. In the patrol log, Fluckey jotted his appreciation. “The Galloping Ghost of the China Coast crossed the 20-fathom curve with a sigh. Never realized how much water that was before. However, life begins at forty (fathoms). Kept going.”

At dawn on 24 January Fluckey radioed the
Picuda
to report the
Barb
's successful attack and escape. The captain also sent a message to China Air to acknowledge the intelligence on dredging Haitan Straits: “YOUR LATEST INFO RESULTED EIGHT HITS IN POT OF GOLD X FOUND YOUR CONVOY PLUS OTHERS AND POSSIBLE LARGE WARSHIPS ANCHORED AT NAM KWAN HARBOR LAST NIGHT X THREE SHIPS KNOWN SUNK X TERRIFIC EXPLOSION.”

Fluckey ordered his officers and crew to stand down and extended congratulations. “Be proud of a night none of us will ever forget.
Barb
did it and will live it forever.” The submarine dived for six hours to give exhausted crewmen a chance to rest, after which the captain announced they would break open the beer to celebrate.

For the next five days the wolf pack resumed its patrol of the coast, the
Barb
looking for a chance to expend its last four torpedoes before returning home. It got its chance at dawn on 29 January, when one large and one medium-sized cargo ship led by a destroyer came within radar contact. Heavy rain and seas obscured the convoy as the
Barb
moved in for a stern attack. From a range of 2,010 yards, Fluckey fired his last torpedoes. All apparently missed. The convoy proceeded on course, unaffected.

Out of torpedoes, the
Barb
and the
Picuda
set a course for Midway. The
Barb
arrived on 9 February to find the harbor closed for the night. The boat had to linger off the entrance channel to the atoll, risking attack by Japanese submarines known to patrol close to U.S. bases. The next day the boat entered the harbor to a hero's welcome. On 11 February it headed for Pearl Harbor and the completion of its 59-day, 16,509-mile mission. No one was at liberty to discuss the attack on Nam Kwan Harbor or any other action. And no one except Fluckey could have guessed the boat would become a ballistic missile submarine and sink a train on its next mission to Japan.

News of the Nam Kwan Harbor attack would be withheld from the public for months. Fluckey could only hint about it, as he did in a quick letter he airmailed to his wife from Hawaii. The
Barb
was there only briefly, shoving
off for its long-awaited overhaul at Mare Island. “To sum our run up succinctly, the Japs are stercoricolous. Dropping my cloak of modesty, I believe we've hung up a record that no one will ever beat with the same number of torpedoes.”

Arriving off the coast of California on the afternoon of 27 February 1945, Gene Fluckey's boat passed the Farallone Islands heading for San Francisco Bay. Soon the Golden Gate Bridge appeared like a mirage, hanging in the Pacific mist in orange splendor. Hundreds of motorists on the span pulled over and honked, waved, and cheered, bringing traffic to a complete halt as the sub passed beneath with its dark blue battle flag fluttering mightily from the periscope shears. Outbound ships, including a convoy, whistled triumphantly, sailors crowding the rails for a glimpse of the
Barb
as it entered the bay.

By the time the sub tied up at Mare Island, the Silent Service was electric with the news of the sub's eleventh war patrol. For the attack in Nam Kwam Harbor, the Navy credited Fluckey with sinking or damaging nearly ninety thousand tons of enemy shipping, a record for a single mission. President Roosevelt, who was in declining health, received the news, as did English Prime Minister Winston Churchill, who sent word that he intended to award a medal to the
Barb
for the rescue of British and Aussie prisoners in the South China Sea. Accolades poured in—“one of the finest fighting submarines this war has ever known” . . . “this patrol should be studied in detail by submarine personnel” . . . “history-making” . . . “remarkable accomplishment” . . . “devastating losses to the enemy” . . . “the all time all timer” . . . “one of the great stories to come out of this war when it can be told.”