Final Patrol by Don Keith Page B

survive.
    Not until later would the crew learn that this had actually been the third time an appendectomy was performed aboard a submarine. This particular one would catch the attention of the nation, though. The story appeared in major newspapers and would eventually be reenacted in the movie Destination Tokyo and featured in an episode of The Silent Service television series. It was a great morale builder, both for those fighting the war and for the folks back home. It made a great conversation starter for the crew on the next liberty, too!
    As soon as he could, the captain brought the Silversides to the surface for fresh air and a battery charge. But almost immediately, the lookouts spotted what they thought to be a Japanese submarine. The boat was sent to battle stations and two torpedoes were launched from the stern tubes. With the fish away, Burlingame hurriedly took the boat back down, out of sight.
    Suddenly, the sub was shaken hard by a thunderous explosion and the entire ship bucked as if shaken by some mighty hand. Apparently, one of their own torpedoes detonated only a short distance from the launch tube, maybe as a result of the disturbance of the Silversides’ own wake. Whatever caused it, the detonation rocked them hard, knocking sailors to the deck and dislodging objects from their resting places. Leaks sprung up and down the length of the sub. Damage teams quickly determined that there were apparently no major problems.
    â€œThis [explosion] blew the stern out of the water and us out of our wits,” Burlingame would later dryly recount in the patrol report.
    To make matters worse, the target turned out to not be a sub at all. It was an angry destroyer, hungry to bag the American submarine that had almost blown herself up. The warship circled overhead for hours, dropping depth charges, watching for an oil slick or debris that would indicate they had done their job. The haggard crew of the Silversides remained under far longer than was comfortable.
    Finally, at about dawn, it grew quiet on the surface above them. There were no more signs of the irritated destroyer. The captain decided he had to poke his head up and confirm whether their tormentor was gone at last.
    But as soon as they came to periscope depth and he poked the scope above the surface, another terrible explosion threw the boat violently sideways, followed almost immediately by two more blasts that were, if anything, even more vicious. Up and down the length of the Silversides , men who were lying down to conserve air were thrown from their bunks. That included George Platter, still under the influence of Tom Moore’s makeshift anesthesia. Lightbulbs shattered, pipes ruptured, and gauge covers spidered from the intensity of the concussion.
    â€œIn a year of being depth charged, we had never had one so close,” the skipper would later write. “I thought the conning tower was being wrenched loose. . . .”
    â€œDive! Dive!” Burlingame shouted, and he felt the boat immediately assume a sharp downward angle beneath his feet.
    Much too sharp, the skipper noted.
    The bow planes were frozen, likely damaged from the sudden attack, and the Silversides plummeted dangerously, heading much too fast toward the distant, cold bottom of the sea.
    Before they knew it, they were quickly past test depth, about as deep as they could safely go, yet they were still hurtling toward what submariners term “crush depth.” That’s the point where the weight of water can squash the thick steel hull of a vessel—even one as well designed and built as the Silversides —as if it were made of balsa wood.
    Somehow the crew members were able to fight the dive and pull her out, balancing the water and compressed air in her ballast tanks and wrestling with the balky dive planes. But they were too deep for the gauges to accurately measure. The hull that protected them from the pressure of the seawater groaned and creaked as if in