About the Author
Richard O'Kane was acknowledged as the top submarine skipper of World War II. His personal decorations include three Navy Crosses and the Congressional Medal of Honor. He retired as a rear admiral from his command of the Submarine School, rounding out twenty years with the boats. He was the author of Clear the Bridge!: The War Patrols of the U.S.S. Tang and Wahoo: The Patrols of America's Most Famous WWII Submarine.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1
From the dock, Wahoo appeared ready for sea, but the coming and going of Navy Yard workmen at a hurried pace told that there was much still to be done aboard. That was not yet my business, but the officers and enlisted men who would man her were my concern, so I walked to Wahoo’s dockside office across the quay. Looking back, I could see her sleek upper hull, longer than a football field, and thoughts of Argonaut faded.
Lt. George W. Grider and Lt. (jg) Roger W. Paine, Jr. greeted me, and over coffee, we brought each other up to date. George, two classes junior to me, had also served in destroyers, and after sub school, in the newer submarine, Skipjack. Sandy haired, lean, and with a pleasing southern manner, he would be a fine shipmate. His seniority marked George as our engineering officer, a billet he had already assumed. Roger, 5 years my junior, was similarly lean, but with dark hair and a more serious smile. After attending submarine school, he had served in the Pompano, which had a torpedo data computer (TDC). Knowing how to manipulate this machine, which would direct Wahoo’s torpedoes, had assured his assignment as torpedo and gunnery officer, and like George, Roger would be an asset to any wardroom.
Chief Torpedoman’s Mate (CTM) Russel H. Rau, from New London, had also served in Pompano, where he had been chief of the boat, the key enlisted submarine billet, and had two supporters in Roger and George for the same assignment in Wahoo. Short, stocky, and muscular with receding hair gave Chief Rau an authoritative, fatherly appearance. If there had been any question, the Watch Quarter and Station Bill he was already preparing would have settled it, for the bill already showed the assignments of many crewmen.
Factually, over half of our complement had already reported to Submarine Administration (SubAd), Commander Submarine Force Pacific’s facility at Mare Island. The men had come from other submarines, submarine school, or other schools pertinent to their rate. A few had come directly from surface ships, or from cities and farms via boot camp. Most important during these final stages of construction were the senior petty officers who had been attending schools at the manufactories of Wahoo’s major machinery.
Hand in hand with the billeting at Sub Ad went the facility’s practical schools for lower rates and non-rated men. Training devices, similar to shipboard installations, provided the actual experience men would need to stand supervised watches in their submarine underway. Wahoo’s senior petty officers were either instructing or drawing machinery spare parts for temporary stowage adjacent to the office.
Everyone was busy, so I followed suit with my own school, heading for the after torpedo room. There were four tubes, carried loaded, their inner doors secured by heavy bronze bayonet locking rings. Just forward were skids to hold four reloads, and sandwiched with these were twelve pullout bunks. Forward to starboard lay the boatswain’s storeroom opposite an enclosed head with outside scuttlebutt (drinking fountain). It was a complete fighting unit, with Torpedoman’s Mate, First Class (TM1c) Johnson, who had greeted me, already in charge.
Forward in the small maneuvering room, Chief Electrician’s Mate (CEM) Norman Ware introduced himself. This must have been planned and was appreciated. The heart of maneuvering was the encaged control cubicle with operating levers extending aft and rheostats controlling the fields. Here, electricians would direct the electrical output of all diesel generators to the four main motors, two to each propeller shaft through reduction gears, or to the two great batteries when charging. Similarly they would direct the batteries’ output to the main motors when submerged. All of this was completely flexible. It was here that all maneuvering bells would be answered, with the electricians calling for more engines as required when surfaced.
Though I would have preferred continuing through the boat, my call on the captain of the Navy Yard took precedence. While there, I learned that Comdr. Duncan C. MacMillan was expected as Wahoo’s captain. Back at the office, the reporting of Lt. (jg) Chandler C. Jackson had solved the problem of a communication and commissary officer. A University of Wisconsin and sub school graduate, commissioned in the V7 officer program, he could take these jobs, which included underwater sound, in stride. Tall, lanky, brown haired, and with a bit of a wry smile, he’d fit in well, and I left the Navy Yard with the feeling that we surely must be receiving the best officers and chief petty officers.
A target bearing transmitter (TBT) to send binocular bearings to the conning tower might have brought an attack on the destroyers at Midway. So our senior radioman, James Buckley, RM1c and I set about making one. Lean and dark haired, his southern voice disguised an eagerness of a Yankee, for he soon had a bronze azimuth circle and boat stuffing box from scrap. A Monel shaft with slotted fitting above to receive binocular hinge pins and a pointer below completed the mechanical installation. The optical shop installed a vertical reticle in two pairs of binoculars, and Wahoo was now ready for a night surface attack.
Continuing my school below, I met our senior Chief Machinist’s Mate (CMM) Andy Lenox as I entered the after engine room. He had just returned from school at Fairbanks Morse, where all of Wahoo’s engines had been built. Dark haired, and with about 10 years’ more service, he took obvious pleasure in explaining our four nine-cylinder, opposed-piston, supercharged main engine generators. Each was rated at 1,600 horsepower, but could generate volts and amperes the equivalent of 2,000. At the time, we only glanced down to the lower flats at the 500-and 300-kw diesel auxiliaries. On leaving the forward room, we looked over two Kleinschmidt stills, which would supply all of the freshwater needs regardless of the duration of a patrol.
Our TBT and my initial familiarization with the boat had been completed just in time, for Lt. Comdr. Marvin G. Kennedy reported as prospective commanding officer (PCO). He came from staff duty preceded by executive officer of Narwhal SS N1, one of our three large submarines, and enjoyed an excellent reputation in torpedo fire control and tactics. Tall, lean, and with a complexion befitting his name, he was quite gentlemanly, but more formal than my previous small-ship captains. He also had his own projects to be completed. First came the installation of tanks to save the air conditioning condensate. Next came an extra set of 8½-by-11-inch card holders in each compartment for close-up pictures of Japanese ships. Chief Rau, now called “Pappy” by his contemporaries, then procured six large cases of ruby-red light bulbs to shorten the time for the eyes of those with topside watches to adapt to the dark. Unlike other boats, all of Wahoo’s lights would be red. Since red-marked danger sectors and such on the charts would not be visible, I was allowed a white light in the ship’s office, but with a switch that turned it off when the door opened. Finally came a bucket for each stateroom and several for the crew’s living spaces, for doing our laundry and taking sponge baths with the condensate, the showers and washing machine being too wasteful. Heretofore, such restrictions were unheard-of in modern boats.
Our major machinery had now been tested at dockside, including the firing of dummy torpedoes. A docking to cut the previously marked flood openings in our ballast tanks had been completed, and the time had come when the responsibility for Wahoo’s completion should pass to the PCO. In a ceremony with crew and officers assembled, Lieutenant Commander Kennedy read his orders; Signalman Hunter broke the commission pennant from the main, the jack and national ensign were flown, and on this June 15, 1942, Wahoo became a unit of the U.S. Pacific Fleet.
During the following weeks of underway testing, Mare Island inspectors rode with our crew. They attended to their particular machinery together with our responsible officers and petty officers. Those not involved organized their divisions into three watch sections of comparable abilities, and helped the chief of the boat in fitting the names into the Watch Quarter and Station Bill. Measuring about 2 by 3 feet and posted in the crew’s mess, this bill would show the watch section, battle station, and duty for each emergency drill for every hand. On getting underway and returning to port, however, experienced men from each section, who took the watch, were known as the special sea detail, a semipermanent and prestigious assignment.
To obtain a satisfactory trim on diving, the diving officer can order pumping from auxiliary (amidships) to sea, or between forward and after trim in any combination including flooding from sea. George had demonstrated during our first dive up the bay when Wahoo had fired her first torpedoes, and again on our dive to test depth of 312 feet at sea. Then, however, the Navy Yard had rigged overlapping battens to check the hull’s deflection. It was normal, requiring the expected pumping to sea to compensate for the reduced displacement. Commencing with our shakedown to San Diego, the officer of the deck (OOD) would go on down and take the dive.
The final loading was completed and at 1700 on Wednesday, July 15, I reported to the captain, “All hands are aboard and Wahoo is ready for sea and shakedown, Sir.” He thanked me, and I saw him ashore.
