Quote:
mtcfish - 9/6/2007 12:37 PM
PT109 had gas motors
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Really?
I wrote and posted this some time ago (in Dockside Chat). It's part of a project that I'm working on:
November 1942, Tulagi, Solomon Islands:
Bull Junior awoke sometime after midnight, to the ominous rumble of thunder. At least, he
thought it was thunder, as he lay awake in his bunk. A gentle, warm breeze wafted through the open windows, ruffling the mosquito net that encircled him, and served to carry the sound to his ears, yet again.
He then noticed a soft glow, just outside his quarters, growing in intensity as it approached. A lantern, he thought, just as the urgent knocking began at his door. “Mr. Stephenson! Mr. Stephenson! Wake up, sir! The Japs are at it again. They’re pounding the hell out of Henderson field, and we’ve finally got orders to do something about it!” Bull didn’t even have time to answer, as whoever it was ran to the next hut in line and beat a tattoo against Pat O’Keefe’s door.
Bull Junior wasted no time getting dressed, grabbing his helmet as he ran out into the compound, where Ensign Bryant and Lieutenant Anderson joined him. “What’s the scoop?” he asked Bryant. “I probably know less then you, but it seems that the Japs sent a task force down the slot to shell Guadalcanal, and they’ve somehow managed to slip past the coast watchers. The boys at Henderson are screaming for help, and we’re the only ones in a position to do anything about.” Lieutenant Anderson spoke next “I suggest that you gentlemen get to your boats immediately and make ready to get under way. I’m sure our crews are there by now, so, let’s stop wasting time.”
Bull ran out onto the finger pier that led to his boat, the 143, and Anderson’s boat, the 121. He noticed that the crews of both vessels were already aboard, and wearing their vests and helmets. Just then, a red glow flashed briefly over the horizon, followed moments later by an ominous, low, rumble. Bull stopped momentarily to watch. “Looks to be heavy stuff, skipper. 14 inchers, maybe even 15s. I’d say we’ve got at least one battlewagon out there, and a couple of light cruisers. You can tell them by the quick, orange flash when they fire.” Bull turned to see the ape-like figure of Chief Barber standing next to him, the ever-present unlit stogie stuck in the corner of his mouth. “Looks like as if we have our work cut out for us, chief.” “Yes sir,” Barber replied, “I’d say we do. For our sakes, let’s hope the Japs are short on escorts, tonight.”
The orders to cast off came soon enough, and Bull guided the PT-143 out into the lagoon, following the dim stern light of Lieutenant Anderson’s 121 through the narrow Tulagi channel. Bull didn’t trust himself to run the channel at night yet, knowing that jagged coral heads stood nearby, ready to impale a boat like so-many cruel spears. They were soon clear of the reef, and as they passed the last channel marking the end of the channel (and open water), Bull throttled the boat onto plane, making perhaps 30 knots, the triple Packard engines humming along smoothly.
Their plan was to follow Lieutenant Powell’s radar-equipped 146, staying close until they penetrated the destroyer screen that undoubtedly surrounded the capital ships. Afterwords, each boat was to operate independently, ideally attacking from the same direction so as not to interfere with each other’s torpedo run.
On board the 146, the radar operator hunched over his unit, studying the yellow phosphor screen, noting the position of each target as the beam swept over them. He counted eleven returns, spread out over two nautical miles of ocean, in a rough, elongated diamond pattern. There appeared to be three escorts arrayed on either side of the formation, plus one at the lead end, and one in trail. Inside of the destroyer screen, there were three larger blips, probably two cruisers and a battleship, judging by their relative size. The formation was cruising along at about ten knots, except for the trailing destroyer, which was sweeping back and forth from one side of the formation to the other in excess of eighteen knots, as it had the widest area to patrol. The operator reported his observation to Lieutenant Powell, who decided to approach the task force from astern, carefully plotting his penetration of the destroyer screen to coincide with the trailing escort’s sweep.
Bull watched in awe as they neared the formation, almost flinching as the battleship’s 14-inch guns lit up the night with billowing red flames, followed by the short, white flashes from the 4.7-inch guns of the secondary batteries. Just as chief Barber had said, the 6-inch main guns on the two light cruiser’s coughed brief, orange flames as they fired.
Chief Barber came bounding out of the 143’s radio room. “Skipper, Lieutenant Powell says to make ready, he’s leading us in through the screen as soon as the last can in the formation moves away from us.” “OK, chief. Get the tubes cranked out into firing position. Cal, muffle us down.”
They were soon past the tail end Charlie, and sneaking up on a cruiser. Every time it opened fire, Bull cringed, worrying that the muzzle flashes would reveal his boat to the spotters on the cruiser’s bridge. He gritted his teeth as he made his approach, deciding not to launch his torpedoes until he was inside of 1500 yards, and half expecting to be greeted by hail of 4.7 inch and 40 mm from the cruiser’s secondary battery well before then.
That’s when a searchlight snapped on, and began probing the night, a long luminous finger seeking to pin them down, like a bug on table. As its beam swept towards the 143's side, everyone aboard the diminutive warship held their breath. The beam passed just ahead of them, and Bull found himself fighting the impulse to duck down below the splinter shield. Instead, he stared with morbid fascination at the moving circle of light, taking note of how it turned the water a bright, clear green. Then, the searchlight snapped off, just after passing it passed 143’s bow. Someone on the cruiser had gotten nervous; perhaps they imagined that they’d seen something….
At about that time, Lieutenant Powell on the 146 was just starting his torpedo run, choosing the nearest capital ship, a light cruiser, as his target. Powell was amazed at how cocky the Japanese were, oozing along in a straight line at less then ten knots, setting themselves up as perfect, easy targets. They probably think that there isn’t a US Navy unit within a thousand miles of here, he thought. He was going to prove them wrong.
Powell had closed to just inside of 1500 yards when he gave the order, firing two fish from the forward tubes, and then following them up with another brace of Mark Elevens. Powell then spun the wheel hard over and attempted to get the hell out of Dodge. His efforts were rewarded when he heard “Whump Whump!”, as two of his torpedoes slammed into the cruiser’s starboard side. Powell sped off unmolested, making his way back towards Tulagi.
Bull was just about ready to give the order to fire when two geysers erupted from the cruiser’s starboard side. She seemed to stagger momentarily, like a boxer reeling from a punch, with smoke streaming from amidships. He fired his first two fish at 2,000 yards, just as the cruiser’s siren began wailing, veering off as soon as they hit water, deciding to save his last two torps for the next vessel in line.
By now, the escorts had heard the first few torpedo detonations, and were riled up and charging about, searchlights ablaze, and ready to exact revenge on their unseen assailants.
Bull’s next target loomed out of the darkness, a huge mass that was occasionally back-lit by the searchlights of its escorts. He had no doubt that he was looking at a battlewagon, probably a Kongo class battle cruiser of 36,000 tons displacement, with eight 14” main guns. Even as he approached, the battlewagon began slowly accelerating. Bull steered the 143 to intercept, and was forced to advance the throttles to 18 knots. He had closed inside of 1500 yards, when he suddenly found himself bathed in the blinding glare of a searchlight. “Skipper, Jap can closing from the starboard quarter!” The 143’s starboard .50 caliber mount opened up before Bull could react, the gunner centering his sights on the searchlight. He was joined a moment later by the 143’s 20 mm Oerlikon cannon. Bull turned and gave the order to fire, sending his last two torpedoes steaming through the night at a range of less than 1000 yards. “Fire up the smoke screen generator!” He yelled, as he swung the wheel hard to port and jammed the three throttles up against their stops. He was just in the nick of time; The Japanese destroyer decided to open up with its forward main mount, and a 4.7 inch shell struck the water less then 30 yards to starboard, sending shrapnel whizzing through the air.
He chanced a glance sternward, making sure that the smoke screen generator was working, when he heard the deep rumble of a double explosion. At least one of his fish must have found its mark. A dazzling white light loomed suddenly through the smoke. The Jap can wasn’t far behind.
On the bridge of the task force’s flagship, the Japanese admiral stood by the plotting table, shaking his head in admiration at the audacity and bravery of the American PT boat crews. He had underestimated them, and had believed the reports of his aviators that the American torpedo boat base had not yet been completed. Two mistakes he would never make again. Personally, he appreciated the tactical advantage of a night torpedo attack, and he had incessantly drilled his men in that very same tactic, until they were almost diabolically good at it. He cleared his throat to get the attention of his staff, and gave the order to cease fire and withdraw. After all, they had accomplished the mission they were sent to do, they’d pounded Henderson field for almost an hour before the torpedo boats had arrived, and they were running low of the high-explosive shells needed for bombardment against the unarmored facilities . A lieutenant appeared at his side snapped off a salute, and handed him a communiqué. One light cruiser hit by three torpedoes, heavily damaged and capable of only 14 knots. The battle cruiser Kirishima struck by two torpedoes, damaged, but able to make 25 knots. He sighed, and then made his decision. He’d have to leave at least one destroyer behind to escort the stricken cruiser, and at least two more to deal the torpedo boats. The rest would stay with the task force.
On Guadalcanal, the Marines and Seabees at Henderson field crawled out of their foxholes and shelters, thanking God for whomever or whatever had stopped the bombardment, unaware of the desperate battle that was taking place just a few miles offshore.
The PT-143’s smoke screen generator sputtered out the last few tendrils of its chemical smoke, and then quit. Bull craned his head around, and saw the bow of the Jap can emerge from the murk, closing fast. He couldn’t believe it, with all four of its fish gone, his boat was at least 6,000 pounds lighter, and undoubtedly capable of exceeding its usual “loaded” top speed of 39 knots, yet this destroyer was still gaining. It was in fact so close by now, that its gunners could not depress the barrels of their weapons enough to fire at him. Both twin .50s and the stern mounted 20 mm on the 143 were pounding away at the bow and forward superstructure of the Jap can, yet its captain seemed not to care. In fact, he seemed to be quite willing to subject his vessel to this level of punishment in exchange for the opportunity to run them down.
Bull needed to do something, fast. Then, it hit him. He’d remembered the stories that his father’s friend Paul Abruzzi had told him, of their rum running days, and how they’d managed to elude capture by dropping logs in the water, right in their pursuer’s path. He needed a “log”, and then smiled as the realization hit; he had the perfect substitute on board.
“Barber!” he yelled out to his chief, “I want you to set both depth charges for thirty feet, and drop them on my order.” Barber answered with a “Yes Sir!” and scrambled back to the stern, where both ash cans were mounted on roll-off mounts on either side of the smoke screen generator.
Each depth charge weighed 745 pounds, 600 of which consisted of an explosive charge of torpex. They also had a sink rate of approximately 8 feet per second. Bull realized that he was cutting it close setting the charges for minimum depth, risking blowing off his own boat’s stern in the process, but it was time for a desperate act.
Chief Barber signaled that he was ready, so Bull, saying a silent prayer, eased back on the throttles, calculating the distance as the destroyer closed the gap. He yelled “Drop one, now!”, and then slammed the throttles open. Chief Barber and Cal were barely able to stay on their feet as the 143 surged forward. “Drop two, now!” yelled Bull.
Barber started a silent count; “One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi! ” right after he reached the three count, he was rewarded with a watery “CRUMP!” as the first charge detonated, actually lifting the stern of the 143, causing its three wheels to momentarily grab air, the engines racing wildly until the props bit into clean water again.
The destroyer’s captain heard and felt the first charge go off a scant two hundred feet ahead of his bow. “Helmsman, rudder hard to starboard, now, damn you, now!” The words had barely escaped his mouth when the second charge detonated thirty feet off his port bow, lifting the bow of speeding destroyer partially out of the water, and badly wash-boarding the thin plating of its bottom. Crewmen in the forward compartments were suddenly accelerated upwards under the crushing force of almost a dozen g’s, some suffering broken ankles as the concussion traveled through the steel deck beneath their feet. The destroyer finally answered to the helmsman’s wheel, and veered off into the night, still traveling at over forty knots.
Early the next morning, a flight of USAAF B-25s encountered the limping cruiser, and sent her to the bottom.
The next evening, Lieutenant William Stephenson Junior listened to Tokyo Rose’s nightly broadcast. “Our forces were attacked by a pitiful collection of American torpedo boats last evening off Guadalcanal. They managed to sink one cruiser, but the gallant destroyers of the Imperial Japanese Fleet sunk twenty of the thirty torpedo boats that took part in the attack. There is now nothing standing between you and the Imperial Japanese Navy.”
Bull shook his head in disbelief. Attacked by thirty torpedo boats? It was more like three, you lying wench…
85' Center Console with 6200 HP 
