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with allowance for the torpedo to run only slightly deeper than set, this fish should pass right beneath the dazzle-painted Sagami Maru and explode magnetically under her keel.
    â€œBow tubes ready, depth set eighteen feet!” A young sailor standing in the forward part of the conning tower swiftly relays the telephoned report from the forward torpedo room.
    Fred Warder takes over the periscope. “Standby forward! . . . Standby ONE! . . . Up periscope. . . . Final observation and shoot!”
    The periscope comes up. “Bearing—MARK! Range—MARK! Standby!”
    â€œFIRE ONE!”
    With a hiss of air and the sudden whine of rapidly starting gears, the torpedo in number one tube is on its way. The whole ship recoils as the ton and a half is suddenly expelled. Immediately comes a confused burble of water back-flooding the tube and rushing in through the poppet valve, as the air bubble which would otherwise come to the surface is swallowed within the ship.
    Grimly determined, despite previous training and doctrine, to see the whole show, Warder now keeps the periscope up.An ever-lengthening path of fine bubbles streaks unerringly for the dappled side of the target. A mist of oil smoke rises from the water where the torpedo has passed, indicative of excessive oil—a minor matter, but annoying, for it will certainly attract the enemy’s attention.
    Straight as a die speeds the torpedo. The corners of Fred Warder’s mouth curl almost imperceptibly. “If that fish works the way it’s supposed to,” growls the skipper, “this ship is a goner. It should break him right in half!”
    All eyes are on Bill Deragon, who holds the stop watch. The seconds tick away with excruciating slowness. . . .
    Suddenly the captain lets out a yelp. “Camera! I nearly forgot! Standby for a picture!”
    Bill snatches the camera off a locker top and hands it to his skipper.
    Warder keeps his eyes at the ’scope eyepiece. “How much time, Bill?”
    â€œForty-seven seconds, Captain!”
    â€œDamn! Should be hitting right now!” The fervent comment echoes the thoughts of everyone in the conning tower.
    Suddenly Warder whips the camera toward the periscope eyepiece, feverishly fits it into place. Almost simultaneously the roar of a torpedo explosion fills the conning tower, and a moment later the sound of hoarse cheering wells up from the control room. “We’ve hit him! A hit with the first shot!”
    The skipper furiously quells the incipient jubilation. “Pipe down! That was not a hit! Fish passed under point of aim and exploded on the beach!”
    Dead silence.
    The skipper’s voice cuts through the gloom. “That torpedo was a Mark XIV. Deragon, see that the depth we set on that fish is logged and witnessed, and that the serial number and type are noted. This time we’ve got proof of what happened. This picture will show the torpedo track to the target and the explosion beyond it.”
    A smile plays around the corners of Warder’s mouth. “For the next torpedo, set depth eight feet and have that witnessed and logged also!” If he’s going to break specific instructions,Fred Warder is going to do it properly, with malice aforethought.
    â€œStandby TWO. . . . Range— mark! . . . Bearing— mark!
    â€œStanding by TWO, sir! Depth set, eight feet!”
    â€œFIRE TWO!” The cross hair of the periscope exactly bisects the single vertical stack of the target.
    Again the wait for the explosion, but this time it is not so long. As the impact of the explosion reaches the submarine, the skipper grins and motions to Deragon to take the ’scope for a look. “I think we really did hit him that time, Bill.”
    Through the tiny periscope eye can be seen a cloud of spray and mud thrown into the air, accompanied by what looks like pieces of debris. The ship rolls far over toward them, approximately thirty degrees, and