Around the World Submerged: The Voyage of the Triton

One of the things which has impressed me from the beginning of this episode is the consideration and kindness of the rest of the crew and the conning tower personnel for their shipmate. So far, at every landfall we have made, there has always been a number of men wanting to come up for a look; off Cape Horn and Easter Island there had been a determined effort to get as many people as possible to the periscopes so that they could say that they had seen them. In this instance, not a soul has asked for permission to come up and take any of Carbullido’s periscope time; and if he had been the Captain of the ship himself, he could not have received more attention or assistance from the quartermasters with regard to focusing the periscope, aiming it in the right direction, setting his bearings, etc. As Carbullido’s grateful face vanishes below the conning tower hatch to the control room, Chief Quartermaster Bill Marshall puts into words the thought which has occurred to all of us: “Wouldn’t it be great if we could figure out some way to get him to Guam for a real leave? Fourteen years away from home is a long time.” We have already been gone a long time, too; a month and a half. To Marshall’s words, there is general nodding assent.

A few hours later, I went Marshall one better and categorically promised Carbullido that some way, somehow, we would get him to Guam. It was a reckless promise, but I felt a way would turn up to make it good.

So far as we could tell, we had passed close aboard the island of Guam, had held the periscope up for a lengthy period, and had even spent considerable time in Agat harbor with the periscope going up and down almost continuously without stirring any noticeable reaction on shore. That night, however, I suddenly was not so sure. We had been at periscope depth for a short time, to make our normal celestial observations and ventilate the ship, when flashing red and green lights were detected on a bearing northeast by east, in the general direction of Guam, approximate altitude 30°, closing on us with a steady bearing.

I snatched the periscope when the report was given and made a long, searching inspection. There was no doubt about it. Lights were flashing red and green, and the bearings did not change. It must be an aircraft heading for us.

“Down scope,” I barked. “Secure ventilation. Take her deep.”

If it was indeed an aircraft coming right for us, possibly inspecting the surface of the water for want of anything more interesting to look at, we didn’t want to show the white froth of our propeller wake which would reveal the fact that something unusual had been there in the sea. I waited a perceptible time before giving the next order. “All ahead two-thirds.”

I could feel Triton angle downward gently and our speed begin to increase. Deliberately, I waited until the depth gauges showed there was a concealing cover of water over our screws before ordering, “All ahead full.”

Down we went into the friendly depths, on our way toward the Philippine Islands. I was somewhat disturbed that the aircraft had showed no signs of flying by, instead it had zeroed directly in on us.

From the Log:

Tuesday, 29 March 1943 Coming to periscope depth for routine night evolutions including ventilating and celestial observations.

1946 Aircraft contact bearing 070° true. Flashing red and green lights. Two nights in succession; maybe we have been detected. Who could be so persistent? Has he figured out our routine? Only a submariner could do that—maybe Admiral Benson, my ex-skipper and now ComSubPac, is playing games with us; or maybe the fliers in Guam have some extra gasoline to expend. Possibly they suspect a non-US submarine.

Two weeks before, we had received a message informing us that my old wartime skipper in USS Trigger, Commander (now Rear Admiral) Roy S. Benson, had taken over as ComSubPac. Our acquaintance had dated from my midshipman days, when he had been my instructor in seamanship and navigation, and well did I remember his propensity, as both instructor and skipper, for an occasional witticism at the expense of one of his less alert students or subordinates. There never was a sting to any of Admiral Benson’s humor, and usually there was a lesson to be learned. There was, for example, the day I navigated the old Trigger directly under the sun.