SEARCH FOR SUBMARINE
NEW ZEALAND SHIP’S QUEST (Official War Correspondent N.Z.E.F.) Solomon Islands. It is 8.30 p.m., and we are steaming in pitch darkness from a forward base to a Japanese-occupied harbour We are looking for a submarine. All day long the job of our small New Zealand ship was that of screening; steaming interminably up and down, a few miles off-shore, while merchantmen, at anchor inside our screen against submarine attack, unloaded materials of war. Fat prizes, these, which must be protected every hour of the day. During the afternoon tea a messenger appeared at the wardroom. “First Lieutenant, please. Cap’n’s compliments, sir, and he would like to see you on the bridge.” Then came a message for the Navigator. The ship was leaving the screen, and the beat of the engines had changed to a more urgent tempo. Came the “buzz”: A plane had sighted a submarine crash-diving about ten miles away. “ Time to get the head down for a bit,” said the officer who had just come off watcli. He disappeared until “Action Stations” bells called him from his napUndisturbed, the routine of the ship went on. Then came the snarling, insistent call of the alarm bells, continuous and thus indicating surface or submerged stations. Earlier in the day they had rung in short staccato bursts and in one minute the guns had been manned for anti-aircraft fire. A plane had acted oddly. Now, below decks, the routine was again broken by the pattering of hurrying feet. From various directions the crew erupted on to the boat deck, trotted to stations, and in a minute the ship was ready to open fire. We were approaching the spot where the submarine had dived. On the “bandstand” in the forecastle the 4in. gun’s crew were on their toes, every man in place, poised against the gentle roll of the ship, alert like keen fieldsmen in a cricket match. Round the ship the Oerliken gunners were leaning back against the harness which straps them into the half-circular shoulder pads of the guns. They were tentatively swinging the slim, ugly barrels of the guns in short, graceful arcs, as a batsman gets the feel of a bat before going to the crease. Their ammunition numbers were busy with extra magazines. Light-machine-gunners leaned pensively on the rail, scanning the ocean. Signalmen were gathered round the deckhouse and also peering speculatively at the sea. Aft, a depth-charge crew quietly checked lashings and stood easily at their posts. Alert sailors wearing head-phones had bobbed up at various parts of the ship, and stood tensely watching the forebridge, where the Commander, the Navigator, and the Officer of the Watch moved about calmly, always with at least one of them scanning the seas through binoculars. At various points, members of the watch were tense, watching. The First Lieutenant moved quietly round the ship, checking up. Through the soft “Skurr—Whoosh!” of seas against the bows came the quiet chatter of the crews. “A bash would finish this month off nicely.” “If they let the depth charges go they’ll surface her. Sure thing.” “Hell! I left my rum. Those triple-dyed depth charges will spill it.”
The little ship turned, circled, turned another way, questing like an eager hound searching for a scent. A flying-boat passed overhead, exchanged brief signals, flew on landwards. The First Lieutenant came strolling along. “Half the crews to supper,” he said. “The other half will remain closed up.” And then, as half the men moved below, “I think a cold beer would go well.”
We went below. Presently supper was ready. With extra officers on duty we were a depleted wardroom, but a happy crowd. We are always a happy crowd, with arguments and personalities flying, but to-night there was a difference. There was an air of cheery anticipation; we were like a football team travelling to a longawaited match. Then word came that we were searching further afield, heading for the submarine’s most likely destination. They say the Japs have sin guns there. But this little ship has waited a long time for a crack at a sub., and we might run into a Jap barge or two as well. Time to go up on top again. We have just challenged P.T. boats overtaking us and bound for our destination. They will patrol outside us.
At 9.30 p.m. the gun crews were still closed up, sleeping- around their guns; “Second condition of readiness.” The night began to drag as we patrolled the hostile coast. A supporting plane circled for a while, then droned off. We glimpsed a P.T. boat. Ashore there was darkness and silence. Rain squalls developed into a heavy downpour. Came midnight, and later the order: “Secure.” Soaking wet gun crews-. 4 rose from behind such scanty shelter as they had found on deck and moved, wraithlike in the darkness, to dry hammocks below.
The flap is over. A disappointment. But to-morrow the big merchant ships will continue their unloading behind our screen. And to-morrow, and the next day, and the next, our little ships will storm protectingly, hopefully, on the flanks of the advance that drives northward to Japan.
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Bibliographic details
Te Awamutu Courier, Volume 68, Issue 5945, 19 May 1944, Page 2
Word Count
859SEARCH FOR SUBMARINE Te Awamutu Courier, Volume 68, Issue 5945, 19 May 1944, Page 2
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