REMOTE CONTROL IN 1917----WAS THIS POSSIBLE?

In todays electronic world we don't give a turn of the head on the mention of 'Controling an Object' over 100's of miles....but did you ever wonder...."When did this all begin??...and by Whom??"

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During the war years many 'items' was controlled by some crudly remote-control device....since I wish this site to be related to naval subject matter....I'm going to just comment on the development of small remotely controlled vessels....and in so doing I think you'll find it most interesting on 'who, what and when."

Would you believe that an electrically controlled boat was used in experments conducted by the British torpedo ship Vernon as long ago as 1885....???  Yep....it sure was, but there just was no practical results.....mainly because there was no suitable motors available nor was there any means of the tranmission of electrical power.  So understandablely not a whole lot was gained.....but still they were playing around with it.

Nobody really gave this 'remote control' a whole lot of thought....other than the British fooling around with it...and Germany had there nose into it as well.  Over the decades the British more or less dropped their interest....but not the Germans, they continued their efforts....persistently and systematically, until they had come up with a product fit for what they considered "combat use."

Now the Germans had been messing around with the remote control of torpedoes, which had been going on in the Siemens plant from about 1906, onward.  The Germans had always tossed around the idea of the delivery of a 'payload' with some sort of remote controled device, and this is why the torpedo was of interest to them, but the 'payload' of explosive was too large or bulky...as well as complicated for a torpedo.  This is why the Germans switch their experiments and attention to a remote controlled surface craft and gave up on the remote controlled torpedo

What really was throwing a jinks into these pre-war experiments was the lack of motors, light and powerful enough to give the remotely controlled vessel sufficient speed, and reliable enough to operate for several hours in succession without supervision.  Yep, they certainly had their work cut out for them.  They needed a small high-boat....as well as the power plant to drive them.  They considered gliders...as well as hydroplanes....but soon dumped those...since their hard and jerky motion would damage the delicate control mechanism.

The Germans did get their act together to some extent.  They experimented with remote-control from land, ships, as well as airplanes, all using cables as well as radio waves.  Then around 1915, just before World War I started the Germans figured they had perfected the control by land, so twelve boats were ordered for coastal defense.  More was built later on....all told about 17 electrically controlled motorboats were built and used during the war.

They were of about 6 tons displacement.....42 ft. long with a beam of 6 ft.  These were mighty little buggers....equipped with twin gasoline engines with a total of about 400 horsepower...which could attain a speed of 28 to 30 knots.  They carried enough fuel capacity for about 6 hours at full speed, though their radius of action actually depended less on their fuel capacity than on the distance to which the boats were visible from the control station.  These mighty little rockets could carry some 300 to 450 pounds of high explosives, which was to detonate upon impact with the enemy, thus destroying the boat itself.  The boat did not carry any type of crew, it was being directed by means of electricity, which was being transmitted to it through an insulated single-core cable of somewhere between 30 and 50 miles in length.....that folks is one heck of alot of wire.

Well the Germans now had the idea of the boats, and the miles upon miles of cable to carry the power....how does one control this mighty rocket on water....brimming with high explosives???  The answer was....to build control stations, and that is what they set out to do at Zeebrugge, Kiel, Travemunde, and other places along the North Sea and Baltic coast.  So as the boats were being built they started to erect stations on 100 ft. towers.  Why so high you ask?.....well the Germans needed to see the boats to direct them ...and they figured with the high towers they could probably see those vessels at least 15 miles.

The first of the two boats was suppose to be ready by December 1915, but that didn't happen...when they did receive them....as well as others....they all had motor trouble, so the actual use of these new 'mighty remote control cigars' was not until about 1916.

All the while they (Germans) was working with this head pounding motor problem, but as they was dealing with one difficulty they did make some headway in doubling the control range of the vessel.  They used a seaplane equipped with a strong radio sender to overcome interference from the enemy....and protect this seaplane by a strong fighter escort.  The sea plane accompanied  the explosive-filled craft and signaled to the shore operator the direction to give it by means of the controlling cable.  Actually the signals were extremely simple....starboard, port, or steady.....not overly difficult.

Well the Germans kept working with this remote-control project until a destroyer was  equipped to take the small boat on board for more extensive trips and to control it in co-operation with the seaplane, thus eliminating the shore station and greatly increasing the radius of operation.  This all worked out fairly well, but they pushed on and eventually they eliminated the cable as well as any intermediaries.....and the boats were controlled by radio from the plane.....

So, by 1917 the Germans more or less crown there experiments with the remote controlled boats a success.  This new procedure, permitted the full utilization of the 200-mile radius of action which the boats possessed, and enabled them to be used offensively instead of purely as a means of coast defense.

The Germans stated to the press that these boats were envolved in a number of sinking of Allied vessels....but none of these so called sinkings could ever be substantiated by neither the Germans or the British offical reports.....  Now don't take this the wrong way.....there was a number of factors that could have been envolved in all of this....it took considerable amount of experience and practice to insure the proper team work between destroyer, seaplane, and land station.  Several of the small craft were lost during experimentation, and others had to be scuttled to prevent their capture.  Recurrent motor problems, as well as along the Flanders coast the use of the boats was hindered by the net barricades protecting the British ships and ports.  Yes, the light remote-control craft could slide over the net barricades, the problem being the light cables that was the controling 'arm' of the craft were easly damaged by the net....and making the boats useless.

This example was the cause of one failed attempt.  On September 11, 1916, the FL8 [ the "F" stands for "Fernlent" or remote control] proceeded from Ostende to attack a group of monitors.  Conditions were unusually favorable to the attacker.  Nevertheless, some 3,000 yards from its goal the boat stopped.  To save it from falling into British hands, the control plane alighted alongside the boat, the observer transferred to it and steered it back to is station.

All in all the British was not overly concerned about this 'new weapon' of the Germans.  Yes the remote-controlled boat was low in the water...somewhat hard to detect....but the 'feather' caused by traveling at high speed gave ample warning of their approach for protective measures.

Also the British had been forewarned of this somewhat "new weapon."  On March 1, 1917, the FL-7 struck the mole of Nieuport and, according to German accounts, blasted a hole of some 150 ft. in it.  Because a troublesome British observation post was thus eliminated, the Germans claim this as a success for their FL boats, although not many of the British Naval command believe that to be true.

In 1917.....the remote-controlled vessel more or less had it's best year.  Many attacks were made on monitors and destroyers.....Oh no they didn't do a whole heap of damage....but they did keep the British vessels farther away from the German-held coast.....which was an achievement in itself.  However there was one incident that an FL-12 did in fact do some damage.  On October 28th of 1917 the Erebus and other units was operating some 25 miles off Ostend when she was attack by the remote-controlled vessel.  The FL-12 was being directed by a plane overhead, and was manuvered right into the group of escorting destroyers, all the while enduring a heavy artillery barrage laid down by the British vessels....did in fact strike the slow monitor fair amidships.  Actually the explosion caused so little damage the vessel didn't even spring a leak....in fact in two weeks time it was repaired and back in the swing of battle.

I don't have to tell you here that the Germans was extremely disappointed....a huge failure...and the German Navy demanded the cable-controlled boats be replaced by radio craft, but when this did take place, there were new difficulties, and before these were overcome the war had ended....so this whole remote-control boat issue more or less died.

But here we are in the year 2010....and just think, what we are playing with in todays military electronic world is not so far removed from what the Germans was thinking about back in the very early 1900's.  If you stop and give this all some serious thought, and do a "what if"...on this subject...the Germans just might have pulled off one heck of military weapon.  Just think, with a tad of luck, a better motor, and they could have developed complete radio control....."oh my...who knows just where all this would have gone.

Hope you enjoyed this 'tad' of history......  Sometimes it is the 'little things' that make you set back and say, "I didn't know that...wow!!!...now that is super interesting"

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Author: Bud Shortridge

cshortridge@comcast.net

WAR.....MEN....SHIPS AND MORE SHIPS....

ALONG CAME A WAR...THEN MEN TO FIGHT THE WAR....THEN SHIPS TO TAKE THE MEN TO THE FIGHT....AND SHIPS TO BRING THEM BACK HOME.

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THIS IS A STORY ABOUT THOSE SHIPS..."VICTORY SHIPS"

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The story actually begins in 1936.  National policy in Germany and Japan clearly pointed towards war.  Remembering the bitter lessons from the Great War, not even twenty years past, the United States knew it must be better prepared for the next one.  The American merchant fleet and the shipbuilding industry were in a slump.  Fed by a huge construction program that began very late in WW I and continued for several years after the war ended, the ports, harbors and rivers of the country were plugged with unneeded obsolete ships.

By 1936 some ninety-one percent of the American merchant fleet was at or near the twenty-year mark, most of them capable of doing 10 to 11 knots at best.  The need was for dry cargo ships and tankers - fast ships that in an emergency could be used as naval auxiliaries.  With President Franklin Roosevelt's strong support, Congress passed the Merchant Marine Act of 1936.

Creating the United States Maritime Commission, the main thrust of the Act was to develop overseas trade and serve it with a new, modern, efficient merchant marine.  The Maritime Commission started building cargo ships in 1937.  The long-range plan was for 500 ships with a total tonnage of four million, to be built over a ten-year period.  The new ships were to be fast tankers and three standard designs of high-speed cargo ships known as the "C" types.  These were the C1, C2 and C3 designs.[ The letter "C" represents "cargo" while the number refers to the length of the hull.  [ 1= up to 399-ft; 2= 400-449-ft; 3=450-499-ft] At the time, the design speed of 15 knots was noteworthy. (The modern standard is 20-25 knots)  The Challenge, one of the first C2s, reached a speed of 17 knots on her trials.  Her design speed was 15.5.  Most remarkable was the fact that new "C" type ships had the same fuel consumption as the 10-knot ships they replaced.

By 1939 it was clear that constructing fifty ships a year was not enough; the Maritime Commission doubled the scheduled to 100 ships a year, then to 200 a year in 1940.

In Europe, Germany was ruthlessly over-running country after country, while on the Atlantic her U-boats preyed on shipping without hindrance.  During the first nine months of the war, English losses totaled 150 ships, more than one million tons.  By the end of 1941, losses had reached a staggering 750 ships and three million tons.

In this crisis, the United States changed her shipbuilding policy from quality - well constructed, fast "C" ships - to quantity, producing ships as quickly as possible.   There was no time to design a new ship, but, providentially, an English design, which evolved out of a tramp ship design first conceived in England in 1879 and later modified, was available.  Initially dubbed the "Ocean" class, the ships were rated at 10,000 deadweight tons with a 2,500 horsepower engine that produced a speed of 10 knots.  The design was slow but it had the great advantage of relatively simple construction for both engine and hull.  Driven by a reciprocating engine with coal-burning fire tube boilers, it had already proven itself for decades in worldwide tramp service when speed was second to reliability.

The design was quickly modified for accelerated production and President Roosevelt announced construction of the new emergency class in February 1941 for a "bridge of ships" across the Atlantic.  This was the Liberty ship.  "Quantity" shipbuilding became an even more desperate necessity when, in the first half of 1942, more than six million tons of Allied shipping was lost.  Some 1,200 ship went to the bottom.  Old, established shipyards and new, emergency facilities worked on round-the-clock schedules.  Steel was turned into ships so quickly that ship years often outran their sources of supply.

Thus, "built by the mile and chopped off by the yard," over 2,700 Liberty ships were built from 1941 to 1944 in shipyards across the country, which tuned out nineteen million tons of ships.  Never in history had such a monumental construction effort been undertaken but the strategy of building ships faster than they could be sunk was an enormous success and 1943 was the turning point of the Battle of the Atlantic.

With the production corner turned, shipbuilding policy changed again.  There was still a need for a fast cargo ship, both as part of the war effort, and as a key to a strong merchant fleet after the war.  This need would be filled by the Victory ship.

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THE BIRTH OF THE VICTORY

As the nation began to plan for the coming peace, it had to decide how best to use the available resources.  There was concern about a possible shortage of steel.  The Liberty ships had served magnificently, but the need now was for ships that could operated faster and more efficiently.  Commercial ship operators wanted a ship that could compete in world markets.  The military services wanted fast, commercial-type ships for use as auxiliaries when needed.  Faster ships were less vulnerable to attack; they could elude submarines and convoys would no longer be necessary, so fewer ship would be needed.

It was clear from the start that the boxy hull and square lines of the Liberty wouldn't do for the new speedster.  In early 1942 an entirely new design, known as the AP1, was created.  Calling for a length of 445 feet and a beam of sixty-three feet, the guidelines for the nw ship required that it have about the same deadweight capacity as the Liberty and that the minimum speed be fifteen knots.  In these early stages of the Victory ship concept, the Maritime Commission planned on building 1,600 ships.  Bethlehem Steel of Quincy, Massachusetts was assigned the task of creating working drawings.  The Maritime Commission concentrated on stability calculations and other characteristics.

Production on the new ships should have started immediately.  But there were too many bureaucracies involved.  The Maritime Commission wanted to proceed with the new Victory-type ship.  The War Production Board (WPB), an agency set up to regulate and consolidate American shipbuilding, was against it.

The first difficulty was that many shipyards could not build a ship with a sixty-three foot beam. Their ways were too narrow.  But a sixty-two foot beam would just make it, so the design was changed.  Of course, with a change in beam design came a change in stability.  The ends of the waterline were "filled" to correct for the change.  There was an advantabe.  In the right weather conditions a fuller forebody created a drier ship.

Other improvements to the design plans included searchlights, gyro-compasses, larger cargo booms and more efficient winches (electric instead of steam) and davits. The latter were needed to handle landing craft for the military.

By March 1943 the drawings were complete.  The new ship type was given the designator EC2-S-AP1: "E" for emergency, "C" for cargo and "2" for waterline length (between 400 - 449 feet).  The letter "S" indicated a steam engine and the fact that there are no numbers with it meant the ship was single screw.  "AP1" referred to design and modification numbers.

The Maritime Commission thought the ship was ready to build.  In a speech a few weeks later, Admiral Emory Land, the chairman of that agency, first referred to the new ship as a Victory.

We have developed a new emergency ship - the Victory ship - to replace the Libertys.  The new ship is designed to permit use of the Lentz engine, turbines or diesels.  Its expected speed is fifteen to seventeen knots as against the Libertys' eleven knots, and it will be a good competition sip in post-war - which we cannot claim for the Liberty ship.

A problem with some early Liberty ships was hull fractures.  This design flaw as corrected and modification were made in teh Victory to prevent this.  Internal frames were spaced at thirty-six inches, rather than thirty inches, as in the Libertys.  This made the ship more flexible, allowing it to "give" in heavy seas.  The No. 1 hold deep tank was eliminated.  Its capacity was included in two deep tanks at No. 4 hatch.  These had the added versatility of being usable for fuel, water ballast or dry cargo.  In addition there were deep tanks in No. 5 hold which were used for fuel or water only.  The design enabled the ship to remain stable  even after damage or fartial flooding.  Unline the Liberty, the three forward holds of the Victorys were fitted with 'tween decks.  This feature gave the ship more versatility in cargo stowage.  Much of the auxiliary equipment such as pumps, steering gear and the anchor windlass was electric instead of steam.

Armament consisted of a 3-inch gun forward, a 5-inch aft, four 20mm mounts amidships, two 20mms on the forecastle and two 20mms on the poop deck house.

There was still one major problem. No one had an engine capable of producing fifteen knots in that type of hull.  Steam turbines were the obvious choice but there weren't enough available.  The new turbine facories set up by the Maritime Commission in 1941 were working full time to produce engines for the "C" type ships and some of the tankers.  There simply weren't enough extras to power a new class of 500 ships.  Even when design studies showed that only 5,600 horsepower was needed, it didn't help.  The only available choice was the steam reciprocating engine (the workhorse that powered the Liberty).

The concept of using a steam reciprocationg engine brought its own problems.  A test engine had to be designed and built before production could start.  This would take valuable time.  There was on the market the Skinner Uniflow single expansion steam reciprocating engine.  It had the right horsepower but turned at 160 RPM, much too fast for a single propeller.  Another alternative suggested was the Sun-Doxford diesel which was used with some success on the C-2s.  But this idea was dropped for a number of reasons, among them the lack of trained diesel engineers in the U.S. Merchant Marine.

Finally, the decision was made to use a German diesel engine [think about this for a minute...they actually thought of using an engine that was designed and built from the very enemy that we had been fighting in the war], the Lentz referred to by Admiral Land.  There was one difficulty.  No Lentz engine that size had ever been built in the United States.  The American Shipbuilding Company of Cleveland was the only company licensed to produce such an engine.  By November 1942 it was agreed that the new EC2-S-AP1 diesel engine would be rated at 5,500 horsepower and turn at 85 RPM with a 59-inch stroke.  A special company was created to do the drawings and in December the U.S. Navy agreed to test the first engine.

The AP3-type Victory ship would have 8,500 horsepower and be capable of a speed of 18 knots.  The Jefferson City Victory is recognizable as an AP3 by the protruding whistle housing on the stack---the only external difference between the AP3 and the AP2.

Other designers produced new plans, based on the Victory concept.  The designation EC2-S-AP2 was given to a variation of the basic design which used the 6,000 horsepower turbine from the C-2s.  When equipped with the turbine used on C-3s which was rated at 8,500 shaft horsepower, the designator became EC2-S-AP3.  AP4 was used to indicate diesel propulsion, but only one such ship was ever built.

On April 28, 1943 the ship's designator was officially changed from EC2 to VC2.  The Victory ship was born.  That same month, the first Victory contracts were give to the Oregon Ship Building Company in Portland, Oregon and the California Shipbuilding Company (CalShip) in Los Angeles.  They were to build the AP3 type with the 8,500 horsepower engine.  Contracts also went to Bethlehem-Fairfield in Baltimore, Maryland; Richmond (Permanente) Yards No.1 and No.2 in California; Delta Shipbuilding Company in New Orleans, Louisiana; the Houston Shipbuilding Corporation of Savannah, Georgia.  Each of these companies was to buile the AP1 powered by the Lentz engine.  

Meanwhile, production of the Lentz engine met one delay after another.  There were legal problems in producing an engine licensed by a company located in an enemy country.  The patents were under the control of the Allied Property Custodian.  The test engine didn't reach the Naval Boiler adn Turbine Laboratory at Philadelphia until September 1943.  After eighty-five hours of testing one of the castings failed.

Complicating the situation was the ongoing battle between the War Production Board and the Maritime Commission.  The War Production Board wanted fewer new types of ships.  It also wanted more standardization with the C2 serving as the model.  It advocated building more Liberty ships.  The Maritime Commission wanted to keep the number of designs at a minimum but at the same time build a variety of newer and faster ships.

In an attempt to end the conflict, the Combined Shipbuilding Committee (Standardization of Design) was set up in March of 1943.  Representatives of both groups were on the committee.  Teh dispute focused on two issues 1) Whether Victory ships should be built instead of more Libertys, and 2) Waht engines should be used for Victorys and /or C2s.

The Maritime Commission wanted to produce 524 Victorys during 1944, the first year of production; 347 AP1s and 177 AP3s.  The AP3s were planned because, suddenly, turbine manufacturers had more engiens than hulls to put them in.  They, too, had turned the corner of "building them faster than they could be sunk."  Production levels on the C2 engine were designed so as to create a surplus for AP2 construction.  It was thought the Lentz engine would produce 15.5 knots, the C2 turbine 16 knots and the C3 turbine 17 knots.

Meanwhile, the Combined Shipbuilding Committee continued its squabbling.  The Maritime Commission gave Victory ship parts its highest priority only to have the War Production Board refuse to authorize facilities or materials.

The situation eased somewhat when turbine builders agreed on mass production of a standard turbine.  With this development, the Commission agreed in June 1943 to forego the Lentz engine...[thank goodness!] providing enough turbines were available.  At the same time, the War Production Board agred to allow the Lentz engine if not enough turbines were produced.....[this group must of had a screw loose].  There was further agreement when the Maritime Commission agreed to drop C1 cargo ship constructiion in exchange for authorization for Victory construction.

The common-sense approach was not to last.  The question became how many shipyards should build Victorys and at what rate.  The real issue was which agency had the greater authority - the War Production Board or the Maritime Commission.  The WPB decided to stop production of C2 turbines with the idea of using Victory ship turbines on C2s.  They argued that vuilding two similar turbines in war time when one was far cheaper couldn't be justified.  They issues orders canceling turbine production.  The Maritime Commission issued counter-orders calling for not only production, but increase production.

Finally, the Joint Chiefs of Staff stepped in and forced a settlement.  The battle between the two groups was detrimental to the war effort.  Their finding were that there would not be a bottleneck in shipping in the near future because of the urgent need for the production of other types of war material.  Building large numbers of Liberty ships was no longer necessary and the Commission's program of a great number of faster ships would better meet the strategic requirements for 1944 than would any of the alternatives offered by the WPB.

The overall effect of the long feud between the Maritime Commission and the War Production Board was that fewer Victorys were built than intended. The contracts to the Southern states were canceled.  The yards on the West Coast that were building Libertys didn't launch their first Victory until January of 1944.  The Spare turbines for the C3 program (for use on the AP3) were finished before the ships were ready and had to be stored.

On January 12, 1944 the first of the new ships, the United Victory, was launched by the Oregon Ship Building Corporation.  She made her inaugural voyage the following month.  While it was a beginning, production was slow.  By May of 1944 only fifteen ships were ready, eleven from Oregon Ship Building and four from CalShip.  Gradually, other shipbuilders eased out of Liberty ship construction and into Victory ships.  Eventually, Victory ships were built by Bethlehem-Fairfield in Baltimore, Permanente Metals Corporation in Richmond, California and Kaiser in Vancouver, Washington.  All the Kaiser ships were modified to attack transports.

A total of 531 Victory ships were built during WW II.  Of these 414 were cargo ships and 117 were transports.  The cargo ships included 272 of the AP2 type.  The attack transports were designated AP5s.  Three ships were redesigned and delivered in 1947 to the Alcoa Steamship Company, Inc. of New York.  Bearing the modification number AP7, they brought the total number of Victory hulls produced to 534.

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cshortridge@comcast.net

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BENJAMIN STODDER - THE QUASI-WAR WITH FRANCE

When the infant U.S. Navy embarked on its war with France in 1798, it had little more than courage in abundance.  Secretary of the Navy Benjamin Stoddert knew that in order to achieve victories like that of the Constellation over the L'Insurgente, below, the Navy needed an efficient logistical infrastructure.

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As French maritime depredations escalated into an undeclared naval war in spring 1798, the United States responded by creating an independent Navy Department to protect commerce off the nation's coasts and throughout the Caribbean.  As the first Secretary of the Navy, Georgetown merchant Benjamin Stodder found himself thrust into a war with few assets, few precedents, and the formidable task of procuring ships, outfitting them, and supporting them beyond home waters.

As the Navy scrambled to create a fleet beyond the original three frigates built by the War Department, it benefitted from administrative changes that streamlined procedures.  Unlike the War Department's ships, which depended upon the unreliable Treasure for genral procurement, this important power now lay within the Navy's hands. The creation of the fleet itself, however, was only the beginning of the Navy's problems.

On the local level, Stoddert continued the War Department's dependence on agents.  Nearly all agents came from a mercantile background and had been recommended by colleagues or revenue collectors in each port.  During the Quasi-War, nearly ever major port city had an agent, but the office varied from being very task-specific (for instance, overseeing the construction or outfitting of a specific vessel) to handling all naval business within a port.  In all, 22 men served as agents in 17 locations.

Agents were the Navy's eyes and ears.  In addition to outfitting and provisioning ships or refitting returning vessels, they investigated local manufactures and entered contracts.  For their efforts, they received no salary, but instead received a 2% commission on all funds that passed through their office.  Later, Stoddert reduced the payroll commission to 0.5%, once he realized that in Boston alone, over $300,000 in wages passed through the agent's hands.

Stoddert and his agents quickly created a fleet to meet congressional guidelines through different means.  For example, of the Navy's 28 warships, both complete or under construction by December 1798, eight had been built under agents' supervision, four by private contract, six purchased outright, nine pledged by coastal communities, and one prize had been brough into American service.  Throughout the war 42 vessels passed through Stoddert's control, and after removing unfit ships from the rolls the Navy reached an operational peak of 32 warships in mid-1800.

In creating this force, Stoddert revealed an extremely decentralized style.  Agents had direct responsibility for procurement rather than operating through the department.  The Navy provided only the copper components, cannon, and military stores, but encouraged agents to find these as well.  Stoddert ignored technical details.  On early ship contacts, he simply stated the number of guns, rough dimensions, and his desire that it be launched quickly.

Initially, the United States faced a cannon shortage, but a sympathetic Britain allowed the United States to purchase weapons-filling in the void between American needs and productive capacities.  Between 1798 and 1801, the U.S. Navy imported between 300 and 400 naval guns, accounting for between one-third and one-half of its naval armament.

But cannon and their accoutrements were just a small portion of the seemingly endless list of goods needed to outfit ships.  Navigation aids, spare stores, cabin furniture and utensils, from serving spoons to chamber pots, tinder boxes to rat traps...all filled the list.

Providing ships with adequate food for extended voyages was also a major task, for unlike an army which could forage off the countryside, a ship at sea had to be self-sufficient.  Daily rations included one pound of bread and a pound of more of salt beef, pork, or fish, rounded out with servings fo beans, peas, rice, cheese, butter, potatoes or turnips, and rum.  In this context, 44-gun frigate's crew consumed more than 50 tons of meat and bread on a six month cruise.

Certain regions developed reputations for better quality goods.  Norfolk became a major center for procuring high-quality bread, and ships from northern ports stocked up en route to their stations.  Similarly, New York developed a reputation for better meats.

Experience showed that food quality and preservation techniques were far from perfect.   Potatoes, fish, butter, and cheese spoiled rapidly in cramped holds and warm climates, forceing agents to make substitutions. Ships' logs recorded barrels short of supplies, "indigestible" bread, and meat "stinking, rotten, and unfit for men to eat."

Ideally, departing vessels carried six month's provisions, but many smaller vessels carried less -- forcing them to shorten their voyages or borrow from the larger vessels. To increase stowage, most captains reduced the amount of water carried to just enough to reach their stations where water was available in British or neutral ports.

On board, many officers shared responsibility for maitaining provisions and stores, but the purser had the greatest responsibilities: keeping the ship's accounts, maintaining muster rolls, issuing provisions and slops, and purchasing extra supplies and fresh provisions in port.  On returning vessels, accurate reports from purser, sailing master, carpenter, and other warrant officers accounted for expended provisions and expedited refitting.

Stoddert figured that a returning vessel could refit, recruit replacements,and make necessary repairs withing two weeks.  As the war progressed, however, he experienced first hand Clausewitzian "friction," the numerous unpredictable difficulties that differentiated war on paper from way in reality.  Ships that returned early or returned to ports other than the ones assigned to them, caught agents unaware.  Quarantines, fevers, slow recruiting and the propensity of captains to make unauthorized repairs and alterations kept the ships in port longer than expected.  During the summer of 1799, Stoddert expected at least a dozen ships at sea when he had only five available.  He forbad unsanctioned repairs and alterations and urges his officers to sail with smaller crews.

One way Stoddert avoided delays was extending the cruise lengths.  Given the one-year enlistments, a ship was lucky to complete two 4- to 6-month cruises, but by lengthening cruises to a full year, he eliminated potentially lengthy turnarounds.  However, he needed to develop the means to keep them resupplied.

Overall, the decentralized system Stoddert created functioned well throughout the conflict.  By eliminating much of the department's oversight function, he streamlined procedures that enabled ships to get to sea quickly.  However, it created an accounting nightmare with literally hundreds of thousands of dollars flowing out to the agents monthly while waiting for them to file prompt, accurate returns.  Only with the appointment of a competent accountant in 1800 would the final element of the system be in place.

ON STATION
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The U.S. Navy in the Caribbean, 1798 - 1801.  The Quasi-War was America's first foreign war, and it demanded the creation of an overseas supply network for the Navy.

In planning his deployments, Stoddert knew the Royal Navy kept the French fleet botled up in Europe and has substantial forces in the Caribbean.  American and British forces cooperated throughout the conflict, the British allowing the Americans access to their colonies and bases, sharing intelligence, and convoying merchantmen.

Although often referred to as squadrons, American vessels nevr operated as concentrated units.  Ships arrived and departed at various times, keeping a constant presence, and Stoddert urged even the smallest of American vessels to curise singly.

During the summer of 1798 American ships cruised only along the coasts, for they were few in number.  In home waters logistics were not a problem.  The first trip into the Caribbean came in August when Constellation escorted merchantmen to Havana, which did not tax the frigate's suply capabilities.

By December Stoddert had enough ships as his disposal to maintain a larger, more permanent presence in teh West Indies.  He formed four squadrons, which with some modifications remained the basic deployments throughout the conflict.  He stationed ships off Havana, in the Windward Passage between Santo Domingo and Cuba, around the French island stronghold of Guadeloupe, and along the South American coast.

Havan presented the United States with a delicate diplomatic situation, for France and Spain were allies.  Fortunately, the war's undeclared status and Cuba's dependence upon American trade allowed the American consuls there to ast as de facto agents, providing captains with fresh provisions, intelligence, storing supplies, and sharing knowledge of local customs and regulations.

Although Stoddert initially assigned ships to the Windward Passage, Santo Domingo played an increasingly larger role in American deployments, making it one of the two largest stations.  Anglo-American intervention suppoeting former slave and regel leader Toussaint L'Ouverture opened some of the island's ports.  Americans referred to Santo Domingo as the Cap Francois station.  In March 1799, Stoddert appointed Nathaniel Levy as agent for the squadron, for which he received 5% commission.

Aside from Cap Francois, the St Kitts station became the other major deployment area.  Originally divided into two zones, north and south of the French privater base on Guadeloupe, the two were consolidated by myd-1799.  Stoddert appointed agents on British Dominica, south of Guadeloupe, but the main center of American activity was at St. Christopher's, popularly known as St. Kitts.  Thomas Truxtun, the first station commander, appointed Matthew Clarkson, an American living in St. Kitts port city of Basseterre Roads as his squadron's agent.  Although Stoddert had made his own arrangements for an agent, he accepted Clarkson's appointment, extending him the same terms offered Levy.

By mid-1799 American vessels extended their cruising areas to include sections of the South American coast, sometimes referred to as the Surinam Station.  Never more than a few ships, they drew on the American consuls on the Dutch island colony of Curacao and Parimaribo, Dutch Guyana, but depended on St. Kitts for replenishment.

Although Stoddert hoped his vesels could operate with minimal assistance, he realized that his forces could not maintain a continuous presence without supplementary supplies.  In early 1799, he bagan chartering merchant vessels to transport extra provisions.  The agent withing a particular city received the request with the desired vessel's size, destination, and cargo, and the agents hired the vessel and stocked it with items either on hand, purchased, or transferred from another agent.  Overall, 11 storeships sailed to St. Kitts, Cap Francois, and occasionally Havana.

How ell did the system function?  Although American warships suffered some shortaes, operations were never hindered by supply problems.  To stretch supplies further, returning vessels left surplus provisions on station, an in emergency, ships lived hand to mough off provisions agents provided.

Repairs also created difficulties since the Americans lacked permanent facilities.  Some repairs taxed the squadron's abilities and limited materials on hand.  Although the British opened their bases, one captain found a replaced mast substandard, and the British turned away Truxtun's battle-damaged Constellation after her brush with La Vengeance, forcing her to return to the United States.

Despite these shortcomings, the United States maintained a sizable portion of its fleet as sea throughout the Quasi-War.  Through improvisation and experimentation, Stoddert established a system that would remain the basis for supporting ships on distant stations for decades to come.

CREATING A PERMANENT FOUNDATION
---------------------------------------------------------------------
While naval historians have focused on the Mahanian aspects within Stoddert's strategic arguments, his attention to the weaknesses in American naval industries reveals a keen understanding of its limitations and the finite nature of shipbuilding resources.  In 1798, the nation would provide for all its naval needs except for canvas, hemp, copper, and cannon, but the secretary felt that "proper public encouragement" and guaranteed markets would make these industries flourish.  While initially costs would be higher than imports, the country would benefit from being freed from unreliable European supplies.

Stoddert achieved some succes with cannon and copper.  After generous advances, American cannon manufactures had perfected boring technology and could meet Navy demands.  With the nation heavily dependent upon Britain for copper bolts, nails, and sheathing, Stoddert encouraged several manufacturers, particularly Boston's Paul Revere, to perfect the necessary technologies.  He made the decision noe too soon, for by 1799 Britain halted copper exports to the United States.

Although the Navy's efforts to develop manufacturing were generally successful, the efforts to encourage hemp production and canvas manufacturing were not.  Stoddert could not overcome bias against American products or persuade a reluctant Congress to fund such ventures.

As the war progressed, Stoddert no longer stressed the value of an existent battle fleet, but upon having the means to rapidly construct one from stockpiled stores - thus eliminating high maintenance costs.  Although he persuaded Congress to allocate funds for purchasing live oak timber reserves, threatened by the Southern cotton boom, Congress balked at stockkpiling additional cut timber.

What most historians view as Stoddert's most far reaching achievement, the acquisition of permanent naval yards, also took place within the context of building the 74s.  As early as September 1798, he considered building a naval yard in the new nation's capital.  By December, however, he advocated yards in "several different places" to access regional recources, provided they were near a "commercial" city, secure from weather and enemy attack.  He also stressed the need for drydocks to simplify repairs. When Congress appropriated mone for the docks, but not the yards, Stoddert proceeded to obtain them anyway, seeing them as a necessity for building the six 74s Congress authorized.  After surveying potential sites, the Navy purchased ground in Gosport, Virginia; Washington, D.C.; Philadelphia; New York; Charlestown, Massachusetts; and Kittery, Maine.  Unfortunately, John Adams; political defeat and news of a preliminary peace with France prevented the full development of any of the yards and postponed the docks, but it presented the incoming Republican administration a fait accompli.

END

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cshortridge@comcast.net

THE DAY SEALION SANK THE BATTLESHIP 'KONGO'

To SEALION (SS-315) skipper Eli Reich it was a lucky shot - to the U.S. Navy it was the first Japanese battleship known to be sunk by a submarine's torpedoes - but to all it was an extreme example of a lone captain's courage under fire.

In darkened conning tower of the submarine Sealion II, prowling the East China Sea on war patrol, the yellow blob of light flickering at the extreme upper right corner of the radar set puzzled Radioman 1/c Jim Mathias.  The pip was too big for a Jap convoy, too distant for the coast of Formosa.

"Something's nuts with this JC set, Lieutenant Bates!"  The sailor growled into the hole.  "I keep getting land."

Immediately Joe Bates climbed down from the black, overcast topsides.  Squeezing into the tight knot of submarinesers standing their watches in the conning tower, the OOD squinted long moments at the strange impulse before asking the radioman if the set otherwise checked out.  Land, Bates said, was 40 miles away.

"Yes, sir, Lieutenant,"  Mathias nodded vigorously.  "Every once in a while this bastard shows me ghosts.  But not tonight."

"Check it out once more."  Mathias complied, methodically, taking a screwdriver to the aximuth scale and then pulling the antenna. Ater another moment, he pulled the picture tube and jammed it on the test meter.  Nothing.  Finally the set was reassembled and warmed, but as before the pip was still there holding its own. Bates shrugged.  Then swiveling around to the messenger of the watch, a signalman striker, he snapped:

"Better wake the captain, Ski.  Maybe he can figure it out."

Nodding curtly, the sailor slid down the ladder and hurried forward.  In his cabin, Cmdr. Eli T. Reich [bottom-left] was sleeping off a hard day at the periscope.  A rugged, good looking New Yorker (P.S. 69), Sealion II's 34-yr-old skipper was among those charged with hunting down Jap warships fleeing from Leyte Gulf.  Reich's eyes were open on the messenger's first rap.

"What's up?"

"Lieutenant Bates wants you in the tower, Captain.  Funny pip up there.  Looks like Formosa, Sir."

"Right there."

Bounding out of the sack, Reigh, still in pajamas, sprinted aft into the control room and grabbed the ladder.  In a few seconds he was staring at the distant yellow impulse and asking himself how the hell can this be?  Should the coast come up at these ranges?  Reich thundered up the ladder - to the bridge where Bates was waiting.  "What do you think, Captain?"

"Beats me.  No Jap convoy ever looked like that.  It has to be the coast......"

The two men stared off in the general direction of the contact.  In the shears, four lookouts were silent, Reich, freezing in pajamas, twisted around to the ladder.  But he stopped dead as the voice of Radioman Baker grated incisively through the hole:

"Two targets of battleship proportions and two large cruiser-size! Course 060!  Speed 16-knots! Not zigging!"

The New Yorker, grinning from ear to ear, dropped like a stone into the tower and leaped toward Mathias, surrounded by the entire watch section and pointing at the impulse.  Reich slammed the bluejackets' back elatedly. "Stick with it!" he roared.  "Keep me posted!"

Then he scrambled down the ladder and raced to his cabin, there to slip into khakis and splash a handful of water on his face.  Elsewhere in the boat, even before Battle Stations officially sent the crew into action, the officers of the plotting party converged on the control room with charts and dividers.  Scuttlebutt surged through the tiny compartments of the submarine like a plague....the Old Man's chasing a big one...the whole damn Jap fleet...what the hell are we waiting for....let's go!

As the general alarm sounded and speed was upped to flank on four mains, Sealion II's skipper returned to the bridge.  Bates had twisted her onto an end-around course, a course designed to have the sub first catch up with the convoy and then greyhound ahead into attack position.  Nice theory, but a tall, tall order.

"Code a contact report to COMSUBPAC," Reich told the OOD, who was also the submarine's communications officer.  "Tell him we're chasing the jackpot.  Distance of target at least 40 miles.  Amplifier follows."  "Yes, sir!" Bates beamed.

Relinguishing the deck to Lt. Jim Bryant, the exec, who'd arrived topsides with the sounding of the gong, Bates quickly went below to the wardroom and his coding board.

In the shack, the chief radioman was grinding the transmitter to full peak load.  In the periscope shears, the four lookouts were straining against a visibility of 1500 years.  On the bridge, the urgent throbbing of the diesels pounding up through the soles of sandals spelled out the precise meaning of this fateful night: attack.

"Jim" Reich wheeled around to his exec.  "lay below and tell Hagen (Lt.[jg] Harold Hagen, engineer) to wind those rheostats.  And check the maneuvering room while you're there - I need knots.!"

In silent compliance, the exec plummeted through the hatch and raced aft.  Reich remained on deck a few minutes longer, going over in his mind the impossible mision he'd tackled.  Radar alone would proved the sub with eyes and Reich, like any other experienced underseas veteran, didn't especially thrill to the idea of an all-electronic approach.  Too much could go wrong - a picture tube - a condenser - some lousy little twist of the dials inadvertently - a great sea busting over the bridge and deluging the radar recorder in the tower - or simpy a Jap admiral deciding to zigzag onto a new track which would put Sealion II too far off the base course for an intercept.

Eli Reich braced himself for the worst.

Ltieutenant Clayton Brelsford, diving officer, poked his head through the hatch.  To Bryant he said formally: "Request permission to come to the bridge, sir..."

"Permission granted," the exec snapped.

Reich, hearing the diving officer's voice, wheeled.

"You're a mind reader, boy," he said evenly.  "I was on my way down to tell you to pump everything.  I want this bucket dry and moving."

"Negative's been blown, Captain," the diving officer said.  "And the 600-lb manifold's on the line right now.  Anything else?"

"Not at the monent."  Then Reich added: "Did Hagen tell you what he's getting since we upped to flank?"

"Twenty-one, Captain.  He says the rheos are so would up they'll probably begin sparking any minute..."

"That's a crock of stuff! Reich grinned.  "That guy's always worrying about something!"

Two minutes later, Bates returned to the bridge.  The contact report to COMSUBPAC had been transmitted.  Reich said good, then turned to stare into a gradually rising sea.  One of the lookouts was curing the lousy visibility.  Reich though of the enlisted man, and of all his men wondering again how it would all turn out in the end.  He wondered about the effect of the contact on V/Adm. Charles N. Lockwood, the father confessor of the submarine force.  The three-star was doubtless bouncing out of bed and rushing down to his headquarters in the Pearl Navy Yard.

Reich though about the odds.  Not good, really, all things considered.  He thought, too, of his submarine's relieance exclusively upon radar.  And that was something else that brought nagging doubts.  He turned to the exec before doubling back on the radar recorder.

"Jim," he said softle, "I think we've got a chance - a good chance.  I'm going to take a turn around the boat."

The exec nodded.  Reich went below.  In the conning tower, standing beside the operator and Lt. (jg.) Dan Brooks, the submarine skipper watched the flickering yellow blob for a long moment.  Mathias offered:

"Every once in a while that pip breaks up, but you can't tell a damned thing yet."

"What was your last range?"

"Twenty miles, sir,"

"Convoy composition should be clear at 0100, Captain,"  Brooks said.  "We're five knots ahead of them and gaining all the time...."

Reich nodded and tok a step backward.  In the control room, the plotting party was hard at work.  Here, without saying much, he checked the calculations and made a few of his own.  He thumbed the intercom to the bridge.  "Jim, everthing checks out okay.  We've got this convoy cold turkey if he doesn't zig..."

Then the New Yorker made a quick tour, starting forward at the torpedo room where a chief was checking out the solenoid system in preparation to opening outer doors.  Here, as everywhere, the crew asked essentially the same questions: When do we shoot Captain?  Target's still up there, sir?  How big do you figure they are sir?  Is the radar set still perking, sir?

In the enginering spaces where the temperature now stood at nearly 100, the chief was shaking his head sadly and shouting a warning - disaster, sparking, a brush burnout, vibration....Reich, in the crew's quarters when Bates streamed back waving decoded message frm COMSUBPAC, read Lockwood's encouraging reply with one had gripping an overhead railing.  His sub, pitching and creaking down to her keel, was fighting head seas and rising winds - phenomena that could end this chase in a blank.

By now, Reich realized, his sub should actually be flanking the enemy task force and going ahead on the end-around.  And the picture on the screen should be up too, detailed, exact for firing bearings.  He glanced at his watch: 0200, two hours since Mathias first noticed the pip.  What gives up there? he growled in his mind.  Black thoughts croweded his mind, blacker with every step toward the control room.  But then, abruptly, the excited voice of the radar officer was booming over the intercom.

"Captain to the tower!  Captain to the tower!"  And Eli Thomas Reich came running.........

While the memorable 21 November 1944, would unquestionably have some bearing on the selection of the Navy's future Assistant Chief, Surface Missile Systems, a rank of rear admiral, Reich's combat days had actually begun long before the Philippines.

At Cavite Navy Yard when Jap bombers turned that area into a smoking shambles, Reich, a lieutenant, was attached to the first Sealion in the capacity of assistant engineering officer.  He was ashore in the Yard when enemy planes flew over and dropped a stick on his submarine, a veteran undersea boat of the Asiatic squadron.

When the smoke cleared, Sealion was ripped apart and settling fast in the shallow waters of Manchina Wharf - the first American sub casualty of WW II.  Fifteen days later, when the Navy abandoned the area, three charges were set off in Sealion's twisted wreckage and an unhappy scuttling was thus complete.

Few cases of poetic justic rival that of Eli Thomas Reich, the New York boy who was destined for Silent Service immortality.  Immediately after Sealion ceased to exist, he moved over to the staff of Commander Submarines, Asiatic Fleet, to serve briefly on Bataan until the evacuation fo that hotly contsted station.  Here, "in recognition of service" during the worst of that fighting, Reich earned an Army Distinguished Unit Badge, one of the few Navy men to receive the accolade.

Escaping from Corregidor and Bataan aboard the submarine Stingray, Reich served on boad as engineer and exec until September 1949, when he was detached in connection with the fitting out and commissioning of the LAPON.  Then came welcome orders - back to the States for the fitting out and commissioning of the second Sealion, his own command.

But is wasn't until 8 March 1944 that Reich's commission pennant was broken from the yard of this vessel and she proudly steamed off to the war in the Pacific.  After stopping off at Midway, Reich too Sealion II into a hot zone for a little torpedo retribution: Navy Cross for that first patrol, four enemby ships for a total of 19,600 tons.  A good blooding.

Then, war patrol two, and this capable career officer who was shaking an enviably hot set of dice tossed out another seven: Navy Cross for a 2300-ton destroyer, two large tankers and three large transports for a total of 51, 700 tons.  It was on this slam-bang sortie into enemy waters that Reich pickled, and rescued, 54 British and Aussie POW's from one of his sunken targets.

Thus affairs stood when the good-looking, rugged New Yorker came back to the barn for a torpedo reload and a long drink of fuel oil.  The dice were still incredibly hot and Eli Thomas Reich was of no mind to miss the third roll.

Out of R-boats, destroyers and a battleship (Texas), the kid from Newtown High (Annapolis 35), who'd joined "out of a love of adventure and desire to serve." was already something of a legend when COMSUBPAC sent him troubleshooting in the wake of the enemy's disaster at Leyte Gulf.  Admiral Kurita's Second Fleet was fleeing down Formosa Straits - destroyers, cruisers, battlewagons all seeking sanctuary in the IJN's moment of extremis.

This was where Eli Thomas Reich, 34, came in.  His third war patrol, and one which successive generations of U.S. submarines would study from many angles - tactical and poetic - found him directly in the track of Kurita's van.

It was strictly a radar shase in the early phase of the fateful 21st of November.  As Sealion II was closing an impossible range and doing her end-around act, Reich was in the conning tower squinting at a wondrous picture a few moments after an urgent summons from the officer in charge of this station.  The sea, wild and fighting the submarine every foot of the way, was no deterrent to Reich's ecstasy when the picture finally unfolded.

"That's it, Captain!"  Dan Brooks told him, standing away from the scope.  "Destroyers, cruisers, battlewagons - we're in!"  Reich was not so sure.

Staring at the screen, Sealion's skipper noted a perceptible change in the original pip.  Now, two hours after the chase had begun, the impulse had broken up into two distinct formations and the size of each individual impulse indicated - to a trained observer - an enemy task force, destroyers flanking battleships and cruisers.  It was a sight never to be forgotten, and crewmen and officers of the bridge-conning tower crew ganged around the screen oohing and aahing.

"Message from COMSUBPAC, Captain."  Bates pounded up from the shack, waving Lockwood's second reaction to the contact report.   Swiftly, Reich glanced at the decoded Urgent: "HANG ON X WE ARE ALL PULLING FOR YOU ELI X."

"Any reply, sir?"  "Not yet," Reich replied hesitantly.  "Let's see what develops with our picture."

Bates nodded and went below to tell radio to secure.  Reich, swiveling back to Sealion's plunging bow, silently cursed the opaqueness. On the bridge with the skipper were exec Jim Bryant, the OOD Francis Holt, a jg,, and Lt. Cmdr. Charles Putnam, the PCO (Prospective Commanding Officer), who would be Reich's successor after this patrol.  In the periscope shears about them were four lookouts.  At 0246, after incessant trips to the radar recorder in the tower, a sailor suddenly growled:  "Object bearing broad on the starboard bow. sir!"  Binoculars snapped up to grim faces.  Then from Reich: "Got it!  Looks like a can - that jibes with the picture radar is getting!  The can's ahead of a BB!"

Bryant stared wordlessly as his commanding officer, now wheeling around and calling into the tower for the telephone talker to tell forward room to stand by.  A moment later, Reich was back on his feet softly spewing orders to his exec.  This was the plan: Sealion II would fire six electric fish from the forward tubes and, time permitting, would spin about and let fly with four after jobs.  The target was the BB behind the can.  Next Reich passed the word for Bates to code his amplifying report, stating task force composition and the fact that he was nearing firing position.  The submarine taking white water over her plunging bow, now raced ahead as the word flashed down to open the outer doors.

"Still got the can?" Reich snapped at the lookout.  "Negative, Captain," came the grim reply, reflecting what amounted to utter misery. "Negative!"  "Search around - keep searching!"

Reich, dripping salt spray with sweat spanking down his foul-weather gear, plunged into the conning tower and raced to the recorder.  He was ahead of the Japanese task force.  His torpedoes would run along a 70-degree track.  He was 1800 yards ahead of the nearest destroyer, presumably the ship his lookout had seen, and the target was riding dead astern.

"Set forward for eight feet.  Set after for ten.  Generated run 3,000 yards.  Stand by!" he grated.

Time: 0256

In the control room, the plotting party reacted with swift adjustments as the dials of the Torpedo Data Computer whirled in the correct solution.  In all the compartments, men waited, breathing in short, sharp gulps.  In the forward torpedo room, a chief clasped in a tight icy grip the headphones connecting him with the tower.  Beside him a white-faced telephong talker pressed the button and hissed: "Forward room standing by....."

Reich sucked in his breath as a voice below barked the order for all engines to stop.

The destroyer was passing Sealion II on the screen and the impulse of the BB was coming up.  This was the moment, now - now!!!

"FIRE ONE!...FIRE TWO!...FIRE THREE!...FIRE FOUR!....FIRE FIVE!...FIRE SIX!"

From the forward room to the hot cramped tower: "All fist fired electrically....all fish away, sir!"

"Right full rudder, " snapped Reich.  The sub pirouetted around toward the second column. "FIRE SEVEN!....FIRE EIGHT!....FIRE NINE!....FIRE TEN!..."

Reich's eyes darted downward to his stopwatch; the deed was done, the electrics running...clawing through the turbulence....the screen pregnant with flickering yellow blobs of light....and in his mind a long prayer, the same prayer that was on the lips of 80 men.  On the darkened bridge where Bryant, Holt and Putman strained along with the lookouts on the precise bearing, there was only slience - loud, long silence lasting exactly 60 eternity-filled seconds.   Then: ....WRRANGG!  WRRANGG!  WRRANGG!

On the bridge seven pairs of eyes widened incredulously as a tremendous sheet of flame turned the blackness to bright yellow-orange.  In the tower, all hands blinked in amazement and disbelief as a smear of yellow flashed up from the angle of impulse.  Topside men were shouting ecstatically, but Eli Thomas Reich heard none of it clearly.  He was shouting furiously: "Course two seven zero - flank speed! Lets get the hell out of here!"

Sealion II, clawing her was against head seas, struggled to clear the area as Japanese destroyers combed the spot and loud, repeated explosions thundered in the direction of the Jap task force.  Across the sea, the smear of light burned itself out and those in the submarine could only guess about the outcome.  They had picked something - What?  Reich moved out for a reload and then whipped around again, speed decreased by head seas and sparking motors.

Reich moved onto the bridge, wondering how badly damaged his targets were.  Then, for two hours, as the Japs opened wide and he clawed for another end-around, came word from Brooks on the radar recorder:  "Column is breaking up, dispersing, Captain!"  "Range?"  "Seventeen-thousand yards, sir..."  "Stand by all tubes.  We're almost set here."

The submarine closed, speed falling, seas busting over the peak and deluging the men on the bridge.  Another 15 minutes...more seas shaking the boat like a terrier with a rat in its jaws...80 men wondering, praying, frantically asking compartment talkers to check with the tower - was the target still there?

On the bridge the silent knot of officers huddled together, gripping stanchions to keep from falling, watching the monstrous seas and the blackness beyond.  Then Eli Thomas Reich and his officers and the lookouts above saw a wondrous sight on the Stygian ocean.  Suddenly there was a flash - greater than before - and one clap of thunder - greater than before - and then the night turned to brightest noon in the direction of the targets.

"Something's happened up here!"  Reich boomed into the tube.  There was a long ten-second pause.  Then the skipper's voice again: "My God, our damaged battleship just blew up!"  The light smeared over the horizon, framing the milling task force, the battleship no longer in sight.

"All engines ahead flank! New course zero zero zero!"

But the chase of the enemy task force availed nothing more.  Throughout the submarine weary men ripped loose an asortment of wild, ecstatic cheers.

One battleship1 Scratch one battleship! and a destroyer definitely hit, maybe sinking!

Reich and company reluctantly broke off the chase and turned for the barn.  The weather, fast developing into a tropical storm, wrote finis to an epic chase.  It was over and Sealion II was still in one piece, tired but happy.

In Pearl Harbor, Reich received his third Navy Cross and there learned the idenity of his target: Kongo, 31,000 tons!  in the same shattering attack, destroyer Urakaze was put out of action.  There was the Presidential Unit Citation for a fighting submarine, then rest camp and a two-week hiatus in the torpedo war against the dying Empire.  Reich's patrols were all behind him forever.

The sinking of the Kongo, the only Japanese battleship acknowledged as a casualty of the war, catapulted the New Yorker into submarine limelight which has never dimmed.  Others had fired pickles and unquestionably dented enemy BB's, but Eli Thomas Reich was the only skipper to have his claim recognized....a case in point for the gods of vengeance.

END

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cshortridge@comcast.net