November
US strife seemed to be neverending. Failing to conquer Newfoundland by conventional means, US submarines backed up with AOF reinforcements began a sealane interdiction campaign against the British Merchant Fleet. During the month of November, British convoy losses across their entire empire doubled, creating serious problems for the Channel Pact: Both Germany and the United Kingdom were dependant on the vast British convoy fleet, which transported over 80% of all vital goods and apparel used in the Channel Pact war industry.
The following events occured June 20, 1945, Pacific Ocean
(mk11) - Michael
USS Tiru
14`20 N, 169`31 W (roughly 250 km south of Johnston Atoll)
20 Jun 1945
It was 03h00 outside, and the sea remained inkily black and quiet. The dull lighting of the sonar glowed in the face of the sonar officer, Ensign Mel Balpend.
“Ping…ping…ping…”
“Ensign,” asked Captain John Philip Cromwell, perched in his chair. He was a Medal of Honor winner from the recon mission to the Cap Verde Islands, having rammed his sub into the British destroyer HMS Quail to protect the secret orders it contained. He and his crew had swam to or been washed ashore and would have been lost or captured, had the Americans not taken the island from the Brits in 1943.
The sonar remained blank.
“Still nothing sir.”
The Tiru, along with two other Balao-class submarines, had been ordered to the Central Line Island gap, between Johnston and Palmyra Atolls, to hunt Channel Pact shipping.
Cromwell fingered his orders, though he had already read through them a dozen times.
4630 NAV ENCRYPT 345
To USS Tiru, USS Scalpin, USS Piper (TF Toenail)
STOP
Orders follow STOP
Proceed to Central Line Islands STOP
Commence convoy raiding operations as of 10 18h00 Jun 1945 STOP
Continue mission until relieved by TF Bootstrap STOP
Actions upon major fleet discovery: radio contact and disengage if able STOP
Commander’s Intent STOP
Sinking Britain’s merchant marine will put a stranglehold on the expansion CP forces, and keep her from supplying an army in the Americas. STOP
Intel states British convoys for Pacific garrisons run west, through the Atlantic and around the southern tip of South America, giving Alliance forces plenty of opportunity for intercept. STOP
Good Luck and Happy Hunting END
0353 NAV ENCRYPT 456
Cromwell lost himself in his thoughts. “Stalking convoys has been very profitable, our wolfpack having sunk two vessels in the last week. From the intercepted and decoded radio traffic, we’re really putting a crimp in those limey bastards plans. We just might be able to win–”
“Contact sir, bearing 175 degrees. They thought they could ditch us by travelling in our wake but we got ‘em!” chirped in Balpend, his enthusiasm cracking his voice.
Several objects had appeared on the sonar aft of the sub.
“All hands, this is the captain speaking. Man your posts, battlestations”
From the pattern on the sonar, it appeared that the convoy was unescorted.
“Come about,” declared Cromwell to his helmsman. ‘Let’s go hunting.”
14`20 N, 169`31 W (roughly 250 km south of Johnston Atoll)
15h15 GMT
20 Jun 1945
“Range one-point-niner kilos,” shouted Balpend.
‘What the hell are they thinking, bringing unescorted transports out like this?’ thought Cromwell. ‘Do the limeys want us to sink them? If so, fine by me.’
“We’re lead, let the others take the flanks,” Cromwell announced as the Sculpin and Piper took positions to port and starboard of the Tiru respectively
“Fish one and two away!” The weapons non-com, Petty Officer Second-class Arlen Graber’s voice cracked through the ships' intercom system.
The torpedoes sped gracefully through the water away from the Tiru, snaking after the transports.
The Scalpin and the Piper also released two torpedoes, creating a wide spread into the fleeing mass of transports,
The torpedoes silently snaking through the water to deal death to whomever or whatever crossed their path.
------------
“Incoming!”
Ordinary Rank Driscoll barely had time to raise his head to the verbal alarm when here was a dull thud against the hull beneath his feet.
“Whew”, he thought. “A mite close that one was.”
He thanked God for the dud rate of American torpedoes, which remained stunningly high. Driscoll wasn’t going to argue with it though, given that that singular feature was probably the greatest reason any Royal Navy convoys were still on the seven seas. Continuing to scan for torpedoes, or for the telltale periscopes of the craft that launched them, the murky darkness hid them from his sight, but not for long.
For a moment the area lit up like daylight just before an explosion picked him up and threw him against the deck.
“Holy shite!” Driscoll looked up as the Terra Nova, an oil tanker, blew sky high.
He lurched upright and continued scanning, sincerely wishing for the rest of the convoy to pass unharmed.
---------
“Hit! There’s a hit!”
Cheers erupted on the bridge of the Tiru.
The plume of fire shot upwards, arcing into the night, before dying down to a dull glow.
The remaining convoys scattered, leaving the stricken ship to die alone.
“Sir, I see men in the drink. Should we pick them up?” asked his green, XO Jimmy Carter, straight out of the US Naval Academy at Annapolis.
“Nah, fuck the Pactists, let ‘em swim to shore. It’s only what, 250 klicks to dry land?”
“But sir, the waters are shark-infested and-"
“-that’ll make things interesting, I know.”
The Tiru’s wolfpack disappeared into the night, taking with it another kill.