Thank You To Our Veterans

Group photo of all the surviving DARTER & DACE crew with both Capt McClintock and Capt. Claggett at the dedication of the Darter-Dace memorial in Marquette, Michigan. Taken in 2000.

 THANK YOU TO ALL OUR VETERANS AND THE GREATEST GENERATION

October 24, 1944: The Boat That Wouldn't Die

 The crew transfer was agonizingly slow. At approximately 0439, the last of the crew was safely aboard. And then, only then, did David McClintock reluctantly abandon his crippled ship with a heavy heart. Everyone was silent; nobody smiled.

Now the overcast sky was gray and lightening gradually, dawn was set for 0500 and approaching fast. Flashlights and lanterns were switched off, to save precious power they might need later. Everyone was facing the dawn horizon with a grim certainty that an attack would come, as Darter was sitting high and dry and they were no longer hidden in the protective safety of darkness. At 0442, Dace cut loose her moorings and started to reverse away from the doomed ship. Some men had tears in their eyes as they stood on deck and saluted their stricken vessel.

Some of the electricians had wired up the fifty-pound explosive charges at key places throughout the ship. The work was completed at 0420 and the timers were set for 35 minutes. The wiring was strung over pipes with all the charges hooked up in series. It led backward to the engine compartment and forward to the torpedo room, where the warhead of one of their last live torpedoes was wired as the booster charge that would ensure total demolition of the vessel. The fires aboard the ship were still burning, as they saw black columns of smoke were still billowing into the air from the open hatch and every vent opening. The men quietly hoped the intense heat from the fire wouldn't melt through the wires.

The crewmen and the Captain nervously stared at their wristwatches. It was 0449, less than a minute to go. Every second felt like forever and there was a dead, expectant silence. At 0450, the men shut their eyes and braced for the shock of the explosion, and none came. There was only a few unsatisfying “pop” noises, like a kid's toy gun. The sub was still there. A collective groan came up from the men. Faces drooped and spirits sank as men palmed their heads. The stubborn boat just wouldn't die. What went wrong? Were the charges defective?

It wasn't determined until some time later that the fire the men had started in the fore torpedo room, which had become hot enough to eat away the paint as far back as the officer's shower, had likely melted the wire insulation and fused it to the pipes it was wrapped around, thus grounding the current, shorting out the series circuit and making them useless. Many of the men aboard Darter felt a sick and empty feeling, knowing that their exposed sub was a target for bombers and gave away their position. A search would be started in the surrounding area by daylight, and they would be goners now for sure. Unless they could find another way to destroy her, the crew of both ships was doomed.

Tough submarine sailors that they were, these men were doggedly determined not to go down without a fight. Down below, Claggett sounded battle stations and ordered Dace's four remaining Mark-23 torpedoes loaded and readied to fire. In a sad twist of fate, these deadly fish intended for the Jap heavy cruiser which got away would now be trained on their own sister ship. No range finding or angle solution was necessary; they were firing almost point-blank. The torpedomen shoved the slender underwater missiles into their tubes, they slammed the hatches and spun the wheels. Skipper gave the command: “Fire tubes one through four!” They flipped the launch switches and one by one, the torpedoes were fired at their friendly target. They were just barely out of range to escape the shock of the impacts. The crew watched in horror as they hit the reef below the submarine, taking huge chunks out of it...but not harming the invincible Darter. The ship still wouldn't die.

Dace sped up past the reef and tried firing the torpedoes in the stern tubes. These also missed the sub, now high up out of the water as if she was in drydock. The men's faces fell so low their frowns were nearly in their shoes.

Claggett ordered the Dace deck crew to uncork and load the big four-inch deck gun. When it was ready and the sights trained on the hapless twin, the order was given. “OPEN FIRE!” they let 'er rip. Shell after shell pounded the craft, punching big holes in the outer hull. Still no orange fireballs. Maybe if they hadn't drained the fuel and oil tanks...

Figuring "what the heck," the guys on the machine guns opened up and raked the side of the boat, peppering it with tiny holes. A bucket brigade was formed within the Dace from the gun locker all the way to the hatch, as the men handed shell after shell up to the deck gunners. The deck became littered with so many hot shell casings that they had to be kicked over the side to avoid trip and fall hazards on the slippery topside of the craft. As the deck gun pounded away about a shell every few seconds, the surface crewmen cheered as they saw a fuel cell rupture and a large cloud of smoke rose up. There was some orange flame, then it fizzled out.

The men on watch urged them to hurry up, as an enemy airfield was less than fifty miles out. Aircraft would soon spot the pillars of black smoke and hear the gun blasts. Claggett shouted for the men idly standing around to man the anti-aircraft guns and sweep the gray sky. Sure enough, one of the watchmen poked the captain in the shoulder and said “aircraft sighted!”

The call echoed around the deck and down below. “Dive! Dive!” Ahooga! Ahooga! said the sub. The sound of rushing air from the ballast tanks coming up through the deck boards made the men frantically scramble to the hatch. The men fought each other and squeezed down the hatch two or three at a time. One man said he remembered standing there with a shell in his hands, and then the next he was down in the control room. He couldn't remember doing anything, and figured he was “just sucked down.”

A Japanese 'Betty' bomber zoomed in low and started his bombing run just as Dace slipped below the waters. He was targeting the beached whale of Darter instead! Two bombs fell on the abandoned ship, but they missed. The crew decided that the tough old boat had made up its mind: no explosive shell, tracer round, torpedo or Japanese bomb was going to destroy her that day. They had done the best they could. Dace had no choice but to leave the Darter behind.

 

At 0710 the bomber was still seen circling the Darter. Apparently puzzled at its inability to dive, they seemed to be scanning it for signs of life. The enemy pilots must know the ship was stranded and were no doubt going to radio their base about it. The Dace would have no choice but to leave and return to finish off her sister ship after dark. The idea was brought up of transferring the Dace demolition charges and TNT to the Darter.

Three hours passed, and the bomber flew off. The Dace stayed hidden, and it was a smart choice. Another tin can was approaching on the radar.  A Japanese submarine was sent to investigate. Claggett and McClintock watched through the periscope from a good distance away. The sub fired the guns at the Darter for about three minutes, and then pulled up alongside the reef and moored to her. Tiny figures were seen climbing up on to her deck, and some went below. Darter had been boarded by the enemy, and her twin didn't want to stick around. As they sped away on full power, Clagg rotated the periscope and watched the tiny men climb back out on the deck, get down into their sub and it pulled away. They weren't aboard long. They had apparently found nothing of serious value and left. 

 

At least the gallant crew of Darter had done their job. They made sure the ruined sub would be useless to the enemy except as scrap metal.

 

10-24-1944 - The Rescue Operation Begins

 At 0245 hours, the men cheered as their sister sub Dace was in sight and she was closing to within 50 yards. McClintock warned the Dace to keep her distance; there were many submerged rocks and parts of the reef were hidden. Undaunted, the Dace kept moving and closed enough to throw a line over. He had known the Darter was unaware she was on a reef until she grounded, so the safest way to approach her was from the stern. When they were close enough, the Dace crew tossed over a mooring rope. Claggett ordered reverse full engines to fight the current that was drawing them closer to the reef.

It should be noted here that US submarines had orders from the Admiral to leave their mooring ropes in port. Both Skippers had disobeyed those orders and kept them aboard, for emergencies. This was a classic example of ship captains using their better judgment in spite of orders for the sake of their crew. So these thick, sturdy and illegal ropes were brought topside and it made the rescue operation much easier. The entire operation might have failed if these ropes were not in their possession.

Once this line was secure, about fifteen minutes later the Dace's rubber raft was inflated and put over the side, and the crew transfer began. It was very slow work, as a rubber dinghy could only hold two men. But it helped that they could use Darter's as well, so men were able to get off the sub in half the amount of time. The crew gathered at the very back of the boat called the turtleback, where the stern tapered off between the propellers. By now the high tide was long gone; it was about a 20-foot drop from the stern to the water and the life rafts were bobbing up and down with the swells, as the sea was rough. A rope was knotted and lowered down to five or six feet from the highest swell. The men took turns clambering down this rope and waiting for the raft to rise up to a level they could let go.

 

 It was a harrowing experience and even with both the Dace's and Darter's rubber rafts, the crew transfer took more than two hours.

 

10-24-1944 - Darter Tries to Break Free

Darter on Bombay Shoal
October 24, 1944
Approximately 1:00am Pacific Time

Captain McClintock quickly weighed the options in his head. If they stayed there helpless on the reef, they were goners for sure. If a plane came along and dropped a bomb or strafed the boat, they'd be history. If they continued to signal for help, the Japs might intercept the message and bring the entire fleet down on their heads. If the Dace was still in the area, there might be a possibility of rescue. But could a submarine designed to accommodate eighty men hold double that? For weeks at a time? If they wanted to affect a rescue, they'd better do it before daylight. It seemed better than his best alternative, which was to abandon ship and jump into the water with life vests.

High tide was in just an hour or so. Should everyone stay with the stricken vessel and try to free her? Just how bad was the damage? Could damage to the outer hull and ballast tanks cause her to sink beyond any chance of rescue? Should they scuttle the ship and abandon it; take their chances on the high sea without any lifeboats? They only had one rubber boat, it held two men and no more. So many questions.

McClintock had made up his mind. They had to try to free Darter from the shoal with the coming high tide; failing that, they would have no choice but to scuttle her. But before doing so, they would have to render the sub so incapable of operation that nothing on board the ship would be of any use to the enemy if she were captured. They could rig up the explosive charges; they could light a fire below decks and burn the whole thing up from the inside out. They could disassemble the secret equipment and toss the parts overboard. Or maybe Dace could finish her off with her four-inch deck gun, or a few well- aimed torpedoes. Whatever they chose, time was running out. He was determined not to abandon ship and place the crew in danger until all other possible options had been exhausted.

The Dace had been contacted and confirmed on radar. She was 11,000 yards and closing on them. So if they had to abandon Darter and scuttle her, the crew would be recovered.

A good four or five hours remained until dawn; the darkness was still concealing their vulnerable sub from unwelcome eyes.

At 0146 hours, high tide commenced. The crew began a desperate attempt to free the mired submarine. The diesel engines would not start; the intakes were clogged with rock and bits of coral. The captain ordered reverse full on batteries. He ordered all the men to run to the back of the ship, to try and tip her off the reef. Then he had everyone run towards the fore torpedo room and back again, while the electric motors were tried in forward and reverse at full power. After three minutes of trying to see-saw the sub off the rocks, it had still not budged an inch.

With his careful supervision, the crew then set to work trying to lighten the ship any way they could.

The men's orders were to toss everything they couldn't carry with them overboard. Classified electronic gear, toolboxes, soup cans, meat, dry goods... anything not bolted down and on fire. They raided the galley first. Then the crew sleeping areas and officer's quarters.

The men hastily gathered whatever they could carry, and in their rush they left many things behind they would grow to regret later. Some sailors left loads of money from gambling winnings and their paychecks aboard the ship, and did not realize it until later. One man had two wallets; he grabbed the empty one by mistake and left six hundred dollars in cash behind. Some of the sailors, when they ran out of life preservers, began tying knots in their extra pairs of pants for use as flotation. It was a hopeless formality, with the shark-infested and freezing waters they wouldn't stand much of a chance. (Miracle in the Pacific)

 

The garbage that was piling up in the trash compactor was emptied. The ballast tanks were blown and drained away. Everything that could fit in the torpedo tubes was flushed out. Commissary Officer Skorupsky had on board a wardrobe of fine tailored dress suits, which he pulled off the hangers and tossed into a duffel bag to be passed up the ladder out the hatch. The men on deck said “Sure, we can take those,” took the bag and immediately heaved it overboard, then asked if he had any more. He gave up a few more cases of belongings and these too went over the side. Then the man came up and said “Hey, where are all my clothes?” The men pointed at the water, and he looked down and saw the fins of sharks swimming around. Then they pointed to the ship's one tiny rubber boat. He understood and kept his mouth shut from then on. (Cruisers or Breakfast)

 

The food and meat being thrown overboard attracted sharks to the floating wreckage. The officers on deck warned the men to stay out of the water, as those above prayed silently for signs of their sister sub, supposedly come to rescue them. To some of these men it appeared they were finally free as water was seen rushing past the sides of the ship, but these were only currents spinning the propellers.

At 0230 hours, the last attempt to free her was ceased. The electric motors were shut down for the last time, the fuel and lube oil tanks were emptied and the batteries were drained.

Darter was dead, but at least her crew was still alive.

 

 

10-24-1944: Darter Is Aground

October 24 1944 - 1:05 am Pacific

The radar scope confirmed the Takao was not a goner yet. She was still burning, but hadn't gone under and the engines still seemed to be driving. They had started to leave the area as the day drew to a close, at around 2200 hours, but McClintock was determined not to let the target escape. He figured they were there, it was the chance of a lifetime; so might as well go back and finish the job. Everyone's nerves were frazzled from the danger they had already been in. He ordered them to make  an  'end  around'  and  start  to  pursue  the  fleet  again,  maybe  hoping  to  use  up  the  last  of  their torpedoes in a stealthy night attack, and give the Japs another pounding for good measure.

An 'end around' was the term Navy commanders liked to use for turning to make a head-on attack, making the hunted into the hunter. It was used only in desperate situations. Turning around when pursued by an enemy vessel to make a last ditch, all-out attack was no longer considered a suicide tactic by 1941. It was thought of as honorable and courageous, darned near heroic. This was a military that honored bravery and defiance in the face of danger, and nobody was about to leave the ring before the knockout punch and the final bell.

No sooner had the crew obediently begun to turn the ship around, steeling themselves for the final blow...and something happened nobody ever could have expected. They heard a sickening crunch.
The ship jolted with a sudden impact, tilted up about twenty degrees, and the men lurched backward. The sound of shrieking, scraping metal being crumpled was heard beneath their feet. It sounded almost like the ship was being dragged across asphalt. The entire sub shook and vibrated from the impact. Dishes fell from the cabinets in the galley as their doors banged open; their shattering jolted everyone alert. Cups of coffee hit the floor, or spilled into men's laps. After sliding along something hard and bumpy, the ship settled back at a three-degree angle, but it still listed to starboard. Everyone's voice exclaimed almost in unison.

“WHAT WAS THAT?”

We must have hit something! A rock outcropping? Or a reef?  McClintock gave the command, echoed up from the control room.   “We've run aground. All engines stop! Shut all watertight doors, check for leaks!” The orders echoed back to the engine room, and the grease monkeys tending the turbines yanked the stop lever. The sub immediately fell silent.

A shout came from up from the control room. “We can't be Cap'n! The nearest land is nineteen miles away!” One thought entered Hugh's head. Then we must be off course. Way off course. When was the last time anybody took a sun or a star bearing for latitude? The navigator knew that knowledge of the currents was essential. If these estimates were off by a quarter of a knot, for example, the disparity would send the boat over nine miles off its course in just 36 hours. (Cruisers for Breakfast - Mansfield)

Darter had run aground. She was stranded now and they were a sitting duck for Japanese planes. They knew a distress signal had to be sent to inform Capt Claggett and the Dace what happened. But to send any transmission via radio would be picked up by enemy ears and it would broadcast their location. Luckily, the Darter's SJ radio dish could be pointed in one direction to send focused pulses that could be picked up only by another SJ radar. This was the best course of action, McClintock concurred.

The radar operator's hand moved for the code key, and tapped the following message:

 

.-- . / .- .-. . / .- --. .-. --- ..- -. -.. .-.-.-

W-E A-R-E A-G-R-O-U-N-D

 

On board the Dace, the radar operator saw Darter's radar return blink on and off.

 

Now, all they could do was wait.

 

To confirm everyone's suspicion, McClintock dared to open the conning tower hatch and go topside to have a look around. The periscope showed only sky. The boat was still tilted at an angle upward and to starboard, and they were definitely resting on something solid.

 

Men scrambled to grab the ladder up to the main hatch, to go up and look at the damage. The Skipper had to almost beat them away with both hands. McClintock was going up by himself.

 

A couple minutes later, the Captain came back down the ladder, and ordered the hatch closed. He still had a look of disbelief on his face, as he blurted out the immortal words. An ironically poetic statement that summed up Darter's situation better than anyone else could.

 

“Good grief...we're on a reef.”

 

Though they were not aware at the time, those six words would live forever in the minds of the crew as they sealed the Darter's fate.

 

 

Darter War Patrol Log: 10-23-44

 

Monday, 23 Oct. ’44.

0000 H Speaking to DACE; planning remainder of coordinated patrol.

0016 H Radar contact 131 degrees T, operator says “probably rain.” 

0017 H By megaphone to DACE: “We have radar contact. Let’s go”

0020 H Bearing changed to left. Operator says it is ships. Both subs closing at full power. Come to normal approach course, 040 degrees T.  Targets headed up to PALAWAN PASSAGE.

Between now and dawn sent out 3 contact reports to CTF-71, giving final estimate that ships were a task force of 11 heavy ships.  This based on their high speed and long radar ranges obtained (34,000 yards maximum); also many sweeping radars were detected.  Tracking party said that gaining attack position was hopeless due to high target speed (initial estimate 22 knots)  Blew negative, safety, ran #10 blow every 30 minutes.  Managed to average about 19 knots.  Estimates of enemy speed began to drop until finally it was 15 knots. We had them now! Enemy course 39 degrees. DARTER was to attack left flank column first, at dawn, with DACE about 5 miles up the track in position to attack starboard column.  Did not attack in darkness, as it was considered vital to see and identify the force which was probably on its way to interfere with the Leyte landing.  It was felt that there could be no radical dawn zig due to size of force and narrowness of PALAWAN PASSAGE. Targets did not zig during night.

0425 H 20,000 yards dead ahead of port column of heavy ships. Slowed to 15 knots. Biggest pip in port column was last ship. Picked it as target.

0452 H Manned battle stations.

0500 H Targets spread by up to 16 knots.

0509 H Reversed course, headed towards port column, and submerged. (DACE had just passed us to dive to Northeast)  DARTER planned to attack from West in half light at dawn at 0540.

0517 H Now light enough to see shapes through ‘scope. We were dead ahead of port flank column of heavy ships.  Could not yet identify ships. Visibility better to east where battleships and cruisers could be seen several thousand yards away.  Two destroyers noted to east. Both drawing left. There was no echo ranging.

0525 H Making ready 11 tubes, depth 10 feet.

0527 H C/c right to parallel column to be able to fire all ten tubes. Still looked like “down the throat” shots.  First four ships in column identified as heavy cruisers. Fifth one is probably a battleship.

0528 H Range 2880 yards to first cruiser in column. Angle on the bow still small.

Monday, 23 Oct. ’44 Cont’d.

0530 H Targets zigged in a “ships left” to course 350 deg. T. Got new setup.

0532 H Commenced firing bow tubes at leading cruiser. Using periscope spread to cover 150 degrees of length.  Average range 980, gyros 35-70 right, track 92-130 starboard.  After firing two into him and one spread ahead, target was rearing by so close that we couldn’t miss so spread the remainder inside his length. Swing hard left to bring stern tubes to bear while getting setup on second cruiser.

0533 H Torpedoes started hitting first cruiser.  Five hits. Commenced firing stern tubes at second cruiser; average range 1525, gyros 50 to 60 degrees (130 deg. Left to 120 deg. Left)  Track 90-100 degrees starboard. Spread torpedoes over center 3 quarters of his length since hits in first one showed the dope was good. Whipped periscope back to the first target to see the sight of a lifetime: cruiser was so close that all of her could not be seen at once with periscope in high power. She was a mass of billowing black smoke from number one turret to the stern. No superstructure could be seen. Bright orange flames shot out from the side along the main deck from the bow to the after turret.  Cruiser was already going down by the bow, which was dipping under.  #1 turret was at water level.  She was definitely finished. Five hits had her sinking and in flames. It is estimated that there were few if any survivors.

0534 H Started deep. Evaded on base course 220 deg. T.

0534 H+ Four hits in second cruiser. Felt certain that four hits would sink this one too.  The fourth hit was 25 seconds later than it should have been. This fourth one may have hit the third cruiser, since they were now in line of bearing formation.  Attack position: Lat. 09-23N; Long. 117-11E.

0539 H Depth charge attack began. Four Dog Dogs were echo ranging and milling about overhead.  The hits, and the screws of many heavy ships probably confound the sound situation for the enemy, since the attack was not accurate.

0540 H Commenced hearing breaking up noises on sound gear on a broad bearing (roughly 340 T) where our targets should be stopped. Noises could be heard through hull in all compartments. These increased in intensity until they seemed to be right overhead and shook the ship violently. (Bearings of bucking and crunching noises only could be obtained. Heavy rumbling and explosions were too violent to get sound bearings on.)

0550 H Heard four distant torpedo explosions in rapid succession. Probably DACE firing. The Japs must think our submarines are everywhere at once. From 0600 to 0604 there were tremendous explosions. Probably magazines. It is estimated that from 0600 on, our target’s breaking up noises combined with those of DACE’s target.

0605 H Depth charges began again. Probably meant for DACE this time A total of about 36 overall were heard from this time on more distant breaking up noises and distant rattling explosions (not depth charges) could be heard until about 0625)

0630 H Last of depth charges. Four destroyers could be heard echo ranging. Estimated composition of the task force as follows: left flank column: four ATAGO class CA’s plus one possible BB. Right flank column: 2 CA’s, one BB.  Asterna nd right flank, 2 CA’s or CL’s and one CV or BB. In addition estimate six DD(only four seen). Total 11 heavy ships, 6 DD.

0820 H At periscope depth: One Atago class cruiser sighted bearing 019 deg. T, range 12,000 yards, at our attack position, listing slightly to starboard and dead in the water. No steam up. Three destroyers were near him and three planes circled the vicinity. No smoke coming from cruiser. (This cruiser was of the CA 9 and 10 stage class with catapult forward of mainmast)

The following in conenction with the damage inflicted on this attack is submitted:

1. Leading cruiser was seen to be afire and sinking with 5 hits.

2.4 more hits were obtained, at least 3 in second cruiser; the 4^th hit was 25 seconds late. Timed about right for #3 cruiser.

3.Before returning to periscope depth we were convinced we had sunk two.

4.DACE saw two cruisers burning before she attacked her column.

5.Our cripple was NOT afire at 0820. It is believed that large oil fires could not be put out in 2 1/2 hours.

  6.Three hits should sink our second cruiser.

  7.Conclusion: There is a possibility that two were sunk and one damaged. As stated this is only a possibility, yet the idea is submitted; because, unless Jap cruisers can take more punishment than ours, it is the logical explanation of the above.

0900 H Secured from battle stations, feeding crew, and making reload preparatory to attacking again.

0930 H One destroyer shoved off to North. It is believed he had been picking up survivors.

1100 H Started in towards cruiser.

1200 H Battle stations, rigged for depth charge.

1300 H Range to cruiser 8000 yards. Coming in on 90 port track. Two destroyers patrolling on beam at range 4000 yards from target, the maximum range at which we could fire.  Four planes circling overhead. Decided we would never get to fire from beam with DDs where they were, so commenced working around to bow for small track.

1430 H Range 7000 yards to cruiser. Coming in on port bow of target for small track when destroyers both headed towards us. When range about 3500 yards on closest DD, and still coming in went deep and evaded. Could not attack destroyers since our six torpedoes were for the cruiser. Decided to wait until tonight when combined attacks of DARTER & DACE would outlast the destroyer. (It should be remarked here that we were twice today well within the low power (Mk 14) torpedo range of the stopped, 657 foot target; but these are no longer manufactured in quantities sufficient to give more than a partial load to any boat.)

NOTE: LOW POWER TORPEDOES DEFINITELY WOULD HAVE MEANT ONE MORE HEAVY CRUISER ON THE BOTTOM.

1500 H Cruiser seen hoisting out a boat. He must have some steam now.

Sunset Too close to cruiser to surface for star sights.

1915 H Surfaced. Cruiser in sight on radar. Proceeding to rendezvous with DACE. Sent contact report on stopped CA and estimated composition of remainder of force.

2100 H Cancelled rendezvous with DACE not yet sighted. And reduced visibility rendering immediate attack appear favorable. DACE ordered to take attack position 10 miles bearing 150 deg. T from cruiser. DARTER 10 miles bearing 050 deg. T from cruiser. (Thought DDs would attempt tow cruiser in our direction towards PALAWAN BARRIER REEF)

2200 H Cruiser underway, course about 220 deg. T. Speed varied from 4 to 5 knots; course was erratic as though target was steering with screws. One DD patrolling on each beam.

2245 H Started in for surface attack in very poor visibility. Planned to attack from Stbd. Quarter, coming in last mile slowly on battery. Told DACE we would attack in 90 minutes and to sink him if we were forced down.

2306 H Radar detector picked up two radars sweeping. Decided against surface attack. Told DACE to attack when ready, DARTER ending around to starboard for attack at radar depth. Ending around at range 15000 yards on target.

2310 H We now began running through heavy fuel oil slick from the morning attacks. Slick seen and heavy fumes noted for next 45 minutes.

2400 H About one hour to run to gain attack position ahead. Range to cruiser about 18000 yards. Making 17 knots. (Had no sights for 30 hours.)

10-23-1944 - The Fleet Counterattacks

 

October 23, 1944 ~0540 Hours

The men anxiously pleaded for a look in the periscope, but McClintock chose to describe what he saw instead. He said the whole first cruiser was on fire and trailing dense billows of black smoke from the forward turret to the stern. It looked like a fireworks show coming out of the boiler smokestack. The cruiser was driving fast as if they were escaping, but it was plowing beneath the water and the bow was already submerged, the first turret was going under. He wondered if its engines would keep propelling it straight to the bottom.

A call came from the forward torpedo room. “Five hits out of six!” The sub echoed with shouts and war whoops. Men were slapping each other on the back in congratulation. The Skipper came over and personally thanked the radar crew for the contact that led to the hunt of a lifetime.

 

Darter had done her job, and a spectacular job at that. Now it was Dace's turn.

 

What followed was the sound of more explosions as the Dace scored her hits on the fleet ships, which were now turned and high-tailing it out of there. The crew heard a crinkling sound through the hull, like beer cans being crumpled in a trash compactor. Over the next few minutes it grew to a staggering volume, so loud the men had to cover their ears. 

 

These were the sounds of the doomed ships breaking up and being crushed as they went down. Veterans would describe it as a horrible shrieking, tearing sound, like fingernails on a chalkboard magnified a hundred times. Muffled thuds were heard as some softer objects fell on the sub from above, no one wanted to talk about what those were. Then there were shock waves from more explosions that rocked their tiny boat. These must have been the fires lighting the ammo magazines.

 

Hugh peered into his radar scope, the only link to the outside world available to him, as he watched a big blip on the screen disappear when the ship went under. The Skipper at the 'scope wouldn't describe the huge fireballs that he saw, but he mentioned that the enemy ships must be shooting in all directions in a panic. The tracers from shells were flying out like sparks, and the destroyer turrets were firing at the open sea, trying to scare away the unseen attackers as the cruisers drew in closer to the main force. They knew it was only a matter of seconds until the depth charges would be rolled out.

 

...Surely enough, it began. They heard the unmistakable muffled splashes of heavy metal drums hitting the water, and then silence. The sonar picked them up, and started to ping. The sound wave returns became closer and closer together, and men all over the sub visibly began to sweat. They were close.

Depth charges were another terrifying matter altogether, because nothing is more helpless than being trapped in a closed steel tube with metal drums of explosives raining down on your fragile boat. Direct hits were unnecessary; the force from the shock waves alone could shake a sub apart or turn the men inside into mincemeat.

 

After a few long seconds of eternity...the first rupture. This one was muffled. The next one burst just a bit closer, and louder. A few more bursts in quick succession, these sounded almost like knocks. The angel of death was knocking on the outer hull. A young sailor, in a panicked voice, said “For the love of God, somebody let that man in!!” Everybody jumped as each one grew louder than the next.

 

For the next few minutes, the tiny vessel felt like it was inside a giant paint mixer. The vibration from the shock of the bursts was almost continuous. The men lost count, but it had to be around thirty charges strung together. About one explosion every two or three seconds.

 

One cannot imagine the utter Hell that occurred inside the sub. Men were tossed about, rebounding off walls like rubber squash balls. Lights flickered and bulbs shattered. Leaks sprang up. The lights and gauges on the instrument panel couldn't be made out, the boat shook so violently. A few glass dials shattered, sending splinters of glass flying. 

 

The men shut their eyes, gritted their teeth and rode it out. Showers of sparks sprayed out of the control panels. All they could do was hold on to something for dear life. The hull of the sub seemed to bend and twist. The men's hearts were pounding like the depth charges relentlessly pounding on the hull.

Another minute or two of the devil's grip trying to break the helpless boat in half, and then it abruptly stopped. It was over. The sub was tilted slightly from the shock of a last close one, then it righted itself.

Dave ordered ahead full on batteries, and they outran the last of the depth charges and sped away silently. He told everyone to sound off, to make sure no one was seriously hurt. He heard 79 voices say their last names. Nobody was unconscious. Amazingly, they were all still alive. Well, what a small price to pay for having sunk one ship and crippled another.

 

Nobody on the sub knew it yet, but they had sunk the cruiser Atago, and most of its crew was on their way to the bottom. Admiral Kurita was picked up by one of his own ships a few hours after dawn. He was alive, but very cold and wet and was none too happy. The cruiser Takao, heavily damaged and smoking, was limping on with the rest of the fleet as sailors tried to get her boilers going and her deck fires under control, and Darter knew she would have to go back and finish off her prey.

 

But the Dace and Darter had fulfilled their mission, and started the most epic sea battle in history with a shot heard around the Pacific.

 

--Miracle In The Pacific, by J.D. Batt. 2012

 

references:

-Battle Stations Submerged by R.C. Benitez

-Cruisers for Breakfast: War Patrols of the USS Darter and USS Dace by John G. Mansfield. 1981

-4th War Patrol Logbook of Darter SS-227 transcribed by Hugh Siegel

-Silent Service: Two Davids and Goliath. California National Presentation, 1952 film

10-23-1944 - The Attack Begins

 

October 23, 1944 - Balabac Strait, Philippines

Aboard USS Darter

Ship's time: 0510 hours. It was very close to daylight now. Darter battened down the hatches, went below the surface again, and rigged for silent running. The chase had begun.

Darter would strike first. Her shots would spread out into a fan pattern that would decimate the unsuspecting left side, and then as the right side altered course to evade, they would swing right into the crosshairs of Dace. It was a perfect trap, and there was no escape for their prey. They called these submarine teams wolf packs for a reason. The excitement in the control room was approaching a fever pitch. Captain McClintock was visibly excited. “We've got them now!” His emphatic statement only echoed the thoughts of the vigilant and superbly trained crew around him, his brothers and shipmates.

The hunted had just become the hunters. Darter and Dace were going to war by themselves...to save the Allied Philippines invasion effort. It was a harebrained idea, but that was the genius of it. Who would suspect such a suicidal attack by two tiny subs? Alone, unsupported and hopelessly outgunned by the largest, most heavily armed Navy ships in the history of the world? It was David McClintock against Goliath.

According to the navigator, the weather was clear. The wind was blowing at 55 degrees bearing at three miles an hour, the ocean was very calm, 40 kilometers visibility. 3 Sunrise was set for 0559, and it was getting brighter already. The Skipper described the view of the fleet spread out in front of them through the 'scope as "like a grey city on the horizon.” 

 

They were spread so far, he had to swivel the periscope to look at them all. They were getting close enough he could make out battleships, cruisers and destroyers, they appeared to be zigzagging a bit judging by their wakes. The enemy must know they are being followed. Still no depth charges yet. Everyone aboard could only imagine the fear and anxiety of the sailors on those ships. Every piece of floating debris probably looked like a periscope to the deck watchmen. As it was, the hairs on the backs of the men aboard the Darter were sticking up, everyone had a prickly sensation down their spine. The air was electrified by tension.

 

McClintock kept the intercom from the conning tower open, so everyone below could hear how it was going. “Angle on the bow increasing...55....60. 65. Range, under one thousand yards. Shooting bearing...Mark! FIRE ONE!”

 

The torpedo gunner pushed the first fire button, which lit up red to indicate it was away, but everyone on board knew it. The ship lurched back and forth, and a loud buzzing was heard that decreased in pitch and faded away as the deadly 'fish' sped away toward its target. They waited a few seconds and then launched another five torpedoes, in quick succession. Six sleek and deadly missiles were whirring away into the murky sea.

 

He shouted that the first cruiser appeared to be turning away, so they targeted the second one. Range, fifteen hundred yards, the command came echoing back. The dials on the mechanical computer spun and the numbers matched up, they had their fix. They fired another two fish. Now they had caught up, they were traveling perfectly parallel to the fleet's direction of travel, and were right in the middle of the cluster of ships.

 

McClintock ordered “Rudder hard to Starboard! Fire stern tube number one!” The ship lurched again, tossing everyone about as loud explosions reverberated through the tiny sub. “Depth charges!” shouted a panicked voice from somewhere. Dave shouted over the roar. “Depth charges, hell! Torpedoes!” They were so loud and close to the ship, it indeed sounded like depth charges were raining down on them.

The gunnery torpedo officer must have been punching one torpedo button after another and jumping up and down excitedly as he heard each hit. They heard the sound of his boots stamping on the conning tower floor above their heads. The sounds over the radio from Dace were excited as well, he thought he heard cheers and applause. He marked the time: 0532 hours.

 

Darter had fired the first shots. The Battle of Leyte Gulf had begun.

 

--Miracle In The Pacific, by J.D. Batt, 2012

references:

-Battle Stations Submerged by R.C. Benitez

-Cruisers for Breakfast: War Patrols of the USS Darter and USS Dace by John G. Mansfield. 1981

-4th War Patrol Logbook of Darter SS-227 transcribed by Hugh Siegel

-Silent Service: Two Davids and Goliath. California National Present#dartermonth2022

Darter War Patrol Log 10-23-1944

 

Just after midnight on October 23rd, the Darter located the rear destroyer escorts of the entire Japanese fleet bound for Leyte. #dartermonth2022

Official USS Darter War Patrol Log

Monday, 23 Oct. ’44.

0016 H Radar contact 131 degrees T, operator says “probably rain.”

0017 H By megaphone to DACE: “We have radar contact. Let’s go”

0020 H Bearing changed to left. Operator says it is ships. Both subs closing at full power. Come to normal approach course, 040 degrees T. Targets headed up to PALAWAN PASSAGE.

Between now and dawn sent out 3 contact reports to CTF-71, giving final estimate that ships were a task force of 11 heavy ships. This based on their high speed and long radar ranges obtained (34,000 yards maximum); also many sweeping radars were detected. Tracking party said that gaining attack position was hopeless due to high target speed (initial estimate 22 knots) Blew negative, safety, ran #10 blow every 30 minutes. Managed to average about 19 knots. Estimates of enemy speed began to drop until finally it was 15 knots. We had them now! Enemy course 39 degrees. DARTER was to attack left flank column first, at dawn, with DACE about 5 miles up the track in position to attack starboard column. Did not attack in darkness, as it was considered vital to see and identify the force which was probably on its way to interfere with the Leyte landing. It was felt that there could be no radical dawn zig due to size of force and narrowness of PALAWAN PASSAGE. Targets did not zig during night.

0425 H 20,000 yards dead ahead of port column of heavy ships. Slowed to 15 knots. Biggest pip in port column was last ship. Picked it as target.

0452 H Manned battle stations.

Darter War Patrol Log - Oct 21, 1944

Saturday, 21 Oct ’44.

0000 H Picked up news broadcast on Phillippines invasion.

Immediately headed for BALABAC STRAIT to watch for heavy units since SINGAPORE-BALABAC-MINDANAO SEA is shortest route for any part of Jap fleet which might head for LEYTE.

0815 H Submerged in western approach to BALABAC STRAIT.

1824 H Surfaced. Patrolling tonight covering southwest approaches to BALABAC STRAIT.

2350 H Radar contact 26,000 yards, 261 degrees T(3 targets) 0100 target position 07-31N; Long. 115-22E.

 

2352 H At battle stations; making full power. Sent contact report to DACE and CTF-71 on 3 probable heavy cruisers. Targets tracked at speed 23 knots, base course 020 degrees T, headed through the Dangerous Ground. We were only 29 degrees forward of targets from beam on contact, and never had a chance to gain position. Held on at full power (18.8 knots) through Dangerous Ground until after daylight with view (1) possible zig toward us (2) to send out contact reports to coach DACE onto track (3) to attempt to sight targets at dawn for identification. Sent total of two contact reports to CTF-71 and 11 to DACE. DACE was in position for possible interception.

10-20-1944 - Invasion of Leyte Began

 

On October 20 1944, the sailors heard on the radio that the invasion of the Philippines had begun. General MacArthur had landed his Marines on Leyte Island. It was only at this point that the crew of the Darter and her sister boat the Dace learned why they were on patrol in this area. They carried out their orders silently and never questioned why. If Sub Command told them to go somewhere, they went. Being isolated and alone on the open sea, it was easy to forget that there was a war going on as each man was fighting his own private war against boredom, fear and anxiety, with the endless routine of diving and surfacing and false alarms.

The role of Task Force 'M' was now clear. Their mission was to patrol the Palawan Passage in an area known as the "Dangerous Ground", and set a trap for Japanese ships passing through on their way to interfere with the Leyte landings. They were trying to 'interfere with the interference', as it were. Just two mice setting a trap for an elephant. Sounded simple on paper. But this was easier said than done.

The area they had to patrol was huge; hundreds of square miles of open sea, and they were just two tiny subs. They would be considered the forward picket line. If the Japanese fleet passed through, both submarine crews knew they would have the best chance at getting the first shot and strike a decisive blow that could start an epic battle in the Southwest Pacific. But there was also a constant fear the fleet would spot them first, all it took was one airplane and they would be in trouble. Due to the secrecy of submarine operations, no one else knew where they were. They were not allowed to contact their own fleet. They were alone and no help would come.

Which boat would be the lucky one to spot the enemy first? Only time would tell...

Darter in Palawan Passage - "The Dangerous Ground"

 

The area of the South China Sea off the coast of Mindanao, between Brunei Bay and Palawan Island is named the Balabac Strait, otherwise known as the Palawan Passage. On nautical charts during the war, this was referred to as the Dangerous Ground. This is where the USS Darter found herself on her fourth war patrol as she lay in wait for the Japanese fleet to arrive, the week of October 20th in 1944 .

Photocopy of a nautical chart of the Philippines, including known seafloor depths and currents

Overview of the Leyte Gulf area showing US and Japan strike forces on October 23-25, 1944.

This was not a frequented area of the South China Sea due to its many hazards. The only nautical charts of this region were British, and they looked so antiquated the Darter & Dace navigators wondered if they were from the turn of the century. (They probably were; likely the ones used by the Royal Navy when they blockaded the Phillippines during the Boxer Rebellion some fifty years earlier).

All these islands in the Philippines had offshore reefs, sandbars and outcroppings of sharp rocks, with breakers up to twelve miles from the shore. The rocks were easily misidentified as ships from a distance, because of the 'wakes' they left when waves broke over them. Many of the area's obstacles to surface boats could not be seen from the air, as they were submerged beneath choppy waves. Accurate depth soundings had never been taken in many areas. The reefs and rocks caused unpredictable currents. Tropical storms, typhoons and rain squalls had been known to blow up without warning, all of which spelled doom for many ships.

Even submerged, the thin and highly maneuverable subs were not safe. Huge coral reefs of irregular shapes also filled the area, some just below the surface, and radar at the time only detected moving objects, not stationary ones. All these factors made sea travel through this area very perilous.

Grandpa's hand drawn map of the region with latitude and longitude lines helped me locate the final resting place of the Darter on satellite images that I will repost later.

Hugh's Service Log 10-12-1944

 

Service log 1O/12/44: "Attacked a large convoy, but could not get in position to fire correctly. Finally had to fire long range shots. Fired four fish and believed to have gotten four hits, each on different ships, the firing was over 6,000 yards. Considering the distance, this was good shooting. Received seven aerial bombs, but continued to chase the convoy for another day, but finally gave up. Found out that we sank one ship, and damaged the other two." - From Hugh's typewritten service diaries

I imagine it looked sort of like the painting he kept in his living room.

10-3-1944 - Darter Under Friendly Fire

On Darter's 4th and final war patrol, one notable incident in the first week of October was on 10/3/44 around 1500 hours when several friendly aircraft almost strafed the boat.

 

  The book "Cruisers For Breakfast" (written by John G Mansfield, 1981) elaborates on the incident from veteran interviews and was mentioned in my 2014 story "Miracle in the Pacific"...

"On the 3rd of October '44, the Darter and Dace were to cover the Western approach to Balabac Strait. They patrolled submerged at almost all times, due to an incident where the Darter was surfaced and a passing American plane almost bombed them. The men saw a plane with US markings, they hoped it would keep going but it turned around and came back at them. The men panicked and scrambled to get below deck as they heard the engines whine, it was diving. Someone got the bright idea of signaling with the emergency flares, using the launch tubes at the tip and the stern of the boat. But the flares were faulty and did not launch.

One of them exploded in the tube when the cord was pulled, this blew Capt McClintock off his feet and knocked him on his rear end, almost deafening another crew member standing by. The brass signal letters meant to be laid on the decks to spell messages to aircraft also pitched off the deck and were lost overboard in the rough sea. Attempts to hail the plane by radio and code were unsuccessful, and finally the American flag was brought out on deck attached to a length of pipe and waved around. The bomber was waved off at last. The radio op said the planes were talking on 2716 kilocycles. He heard them say ““...It may be an American sub...” Skipper said “You tell them you're damn right it's an American sub, and to go away, they make us nervous.”

The Seawolf, SS-197 was not so lucky. It was sunk in the same passage by an American destroyer, the USS Rowell earlier that day and went down with all hands aboard.

Decommissioning the USS Darter (SSN-576)

My Grandfather was part of the 'DECOM' crew that decommissioned the 2nd submarine USS Darter (SS-576) in 1989. This is video taken inside the vessel as it was making its final voyage out to sea.



The boat was named after the SS-227 Darter, which Grandpa sailed on. (For those new to this blog, Darter was the diesel-electric sub in World War II that was famous for a daring surprise attack on the Japanese fleet in the Philippines. On the night before the Battle of Leyte Gulf in October 1944, the boat ran aground after its daring attack, and was stranded overnight until it was rescued by the sister sub USS Dace.) Hugh was personally involved in the rescue of Darter's crew, and he was decorated for valor. Hugh served proudly in the Navy until 1953.  He attended many boat commissionings, sailor memorials and Navy Sub Vets reunions thru the 1980s and early 1990s until his death in 1995.

As one of the surviving crew of the SS-227, Hugh received a special invitation to aid in retiring the SS-576 on its final day of service, 30 years after he had seen her commissioned in 1956. This is camcorder video taken inside the control room as SS-576 went out to sea for the last time. Later in the tape, WWII veterans (some of them Hugh's former crewmates) are sharing stories in the officer's galley. As stated before, this video dates from 1989.

All the WWII veterans on this tape are now deceased. Thanks for watching and salute to our United States Navy veterans and submariners, past and present!

Some information about SS-576:
(source: https://designed4submariners.com/USS_Darter__SS-576_.html)

Grandpa's SS-576 Decom Crew hat.

 USS Darter (SS-576)

Overview

USS Darter (SS-576), was a unique submarine based on the Tang Class, but incorporating many improvements, she was the second ship of the United States Navy to be named for the darter, a type of small American fresh-water fish closely related to the perch.

The keel for Darter was laid down on 10 November 1954. She was launched on 28 May 1956 sponsored by Mrs. G.L. Russell, and commissioned on 20 October 1956, with Lieutenant Commander Ralph R. Blaine in command.

Darter was used to experiment with numerous innovations including a three-man helmsman-planesman station using aircraft-style stick controls.

Service history

Designed with sophisticated acoustic, electronic and fire control gear, Darter was intended to serve as a new generation of post-war ASW submarines, similar to Tang (SS-563). Upon commissioning Darter operated on various training exercises in the Atlantic, both locally from her home port of Newport, R.I. and on cruises to the West Indies or to Europe for NATO operations. Following an overhaul at Portsmouth, N.H., in 1959 she changed home port to Charleston, S.C., on 1 August 1959) and began training missions in support of the newly commissioned fleet ballistic submarines, providing ASW services for surface units in the West Indies and off Key West and serving as a platform for various CNO projects. In between these regular operations, Darter deployed to the Mediterranean for cruises in 1963 and 1967. She also received a major modernization overhaul in 1965, receiving a 16-foot hull extension, new engines, new safety gear and better electronic gear.

In September 1985, Darter was involved in a collision with the merchant ship Kansas Getty which disabled her.

Darter was decommissioned on 1 December 1989 and struck from the Navel Vessel Register on 17 January 1990. On 7 January 1992, ex-Darter was sunk as a target by Tautog off Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.

The History of the USS Delaware (SSN-791): Video

Construction & Launching of the SSN-791 USS Delaware:

The arrival of the SSN-791 in Wilmington:

State of Delaware Commissions New Nuclear Sub - Apr 2, 2022

 Today I had the privilege to (virtually) witness a commissioning of a new nuclear submarine called the USS Delaware in my home city. The ceremony was attended by Senator Tom Carper, Governor John Carney, County Executive Chris Coons, the Secretary of the Navy, President Joseph R. Biden and First Lady Jill Biden.



The last time the United States Navy had a vessel called USS Delaware was more than a hundred years ago.  The last USS Delaware (BB-28) was a Dreadnought class battleship that served in World War 1. She was launched in 1910 and decommissioned in 1924. There were a few other USS Delaware ships, one that defended the Delaware River in 1776, another that replaced her after she was sunk a year or so later. One that served in the Civil War launched in 1861, another in 1868.  The 1861 vessel was built and launched by the Harlan & Hollingsworth steamship company right here in Wilmington. Her other namesakes served with distinction in the Navy of their time.

The previous USS Delaware.

Amusingly enough, it was a librarian who chose the name. A local librarian in Newark was a scholar of naval history and he saw that no ship had sailed named after Delaware for almost a century. So he wrote letters to the Secretary of the Navy, to Senator Tom Carper and First Lady Jill Biden asking if one of a series of new nuclear attack submarines under construction could bear the name. After a few months, the librarian's request was obliged.

The commissioning ceremony was originally scheduled for April 2020. The event was an mainly invitation for government officials and the crew's families. Only a limited number of public tickets were available. I wanted to attend in Hugh's memory, but sadly I learned about it a month after the tickets sold out. I started writing a letter to the authorities asking for an appeal to attend, but received no reply. As it turned out, it was canceled due to the Coronavirus pandemic. The Delaware received her true commissioning at sea, while she was submerged. A first in Navy history.

I wanted to be present for this ceremony because my Grandpa attended several boat commissions in his life. He was an honorary guest when the SS-576 boat was dedicated in 1956, named Darter after his diesel boat from WWII. And he was on the crew that decommissioned her, thirty years later. (One of these days I will get around to uploading the video he had inside the control room as they were taking her out to sea one last time)

I know if he were still alive today, he would have come down here to see them off. And I hope he would be proud of me for wanting to be there.

This USS Delaware was built by General Dynamics and the Electric Boat Company, which has been building submarines since World War II.

As soon as a decent video of the live webcast is posted to Youtube, I will embed the video in this blog post.

They couldn't have picked a better day to do it. It was a beautiful sunny day here in Wilmington, with a clear blue sky and a warm breeze.  Fair winds and following seas, to the crew of the SS-791!