Sister Act 2 Subtitles
Marianna
The Squalus was now in her natural element, though the waters of the Piscataqua River were still a far cry from the ocean depths. It was a good beginning, but there was a lot yet to be done on the fledgling boat. Straining tugboats towed Squalus to a fitting-out pier where diesel engines, electric motors, and other critical components would be duly installed.
The USS Sculpin (SS-191) was undergoing a similar fitting out at a nearby dock. Sculpin, launched only three months earlier, was identical to Squalus. As only one of two submarines launched in Kittery that year, Sculpin could claim kinship in both design and place of birth. Normally such boats would go their separate ways, but in this case fate decided otherwise. Over the next four years, Squalus and Sculpin and their crews would be drawn together in a common, irony-tinged destiny.
Once they were internally complete, the two boats were commissioned, the Sculpin on January 16, 1939, and the Squalus on March 1, 1939. Both would then have to undergo a series of vigorous sea trials before being assigned to regular duty. Sculpin, having been launched earlier, completed her trials first and was duly certified to join the Pacific Fleet.
Submarines of the 1930s and 1940s had a dual propulsion system. On the surface, four diesel engines supplied the power that indirectly turned the propellers. When Squalus submerged, the diesels would be shut down, replaced by two 126 lead acid-cell batteries. The diesels required a large intake of air while operating, which was supplied by twin pipes known as the main inductions. The main inductions joined a larger pipe that poked its way through the superstructure to the surface. A smaller steel tube nearby was connected to a latticework of air pipes that supplied ventilation to the boat when she ran on the surface. When a submarine dived, a steel plate known as a high induction valve hydraulically slid over the pipes to prevent seawater from flooding the vessel.
The Squalus finally hit bottom, landing on the muddy ocean floor 240 feet beneath the surface of the Atlantic. The boat had landed upright, the bow slightly tilted upward at an angle of about 11 degrees. The plunge had been traumatic, but the actual impact with the ocean floor had been surprisingly gentle. There was no power, and even the emergency lights winked out. There was also no heat, and the water temperature at this depth was just above freezing.
A small flotilla assembled at the site, including the tugs Penacook and Wandank and a number of Coast Guard vessels. Once Admiral Cole arrived on the scene, he made the Sculpin his command post in the developing rescue effort. The admiral and Commander Momsen conferred aboard Sculpin, reviewing their options, which narrowed down to three. The first was to pump out the flooded sections of Squalus, which was risky. The trapped crew could use their Momsen lungs, but they were numb with cold and aching with fatigue. Besides, the lungs had only been tested for a maximum depth of 207 feet.
The diving bell was deployed, and for the next six hours 25 survivors were brought to the surface in three trips. The fourth trip was really touch and go, since the bell developed some problems with tangled cables. After some heart-stopping moments, the bell successfully made it to the surface just after midnight on May 25. Among the last to be taken up was Captain Naquin, following a time-honored tradition.
A decision was made to salvage the Squalus, a dangerous and time-consuming operation that lasted three months. Hampered by rough seas and bouts of nitrogen narcosis, courageous Navy divers passed cables underneath the hull and attached pontoons on either side. The operation was so risky the divers received the Medal of Honor for their Herculean efforts.
Her rescue and recovery chores successfully completed, Sculpin proceeded to the Philippines to join the Asiatic Fleet, Submarines. Sailfish joined her a few months later, arriving in early 1941. Both submarines were in the Philippines when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941 (December 8 local Manila time). Sculpin and Sailfish made their first war patrols while in the Philippines; faulty torpedoes made these debuts decidedly inauspicious.
Submarines would play a vital support role in the operation, their primary task to prevent any Japanese naval forces from aiding beleaguered garrisons in the Gilberts. The Japanese suspected an offensive was imminent but did not know where the blow would fall. The main Japanese base in the Central Pacific was Truk, 1,400 miles southwest of the Gilberts, and it was logical to assume that any sorties would come from there. Truk and its immediate environs remained a primary focus for U.S. submarines.
German U-boats were directed from the land, a somewhat impractical method given the vastness of the Pacific. To solve this problem, Lockwood decided that immediate tactical control would be given to an on-scene squadron commander. This commander would be a passenger aboard one of the wolfpack subs. When a Japanese convoy was sighted, the squadron commander could alert the other subs in his wolfpack and help coordinate attacks.
The American wolfpack plan looked good on paper, but early trials were considered a failure. Undeterred, Lockwood decided to try again, and that is why he had summoned Cromwell to his office. He was going to be squadron commander of a wolfpack, and as Lockwood personally briefed the commander, he strongly emphasized the need for complete secrecy. COMSUBPAC had every confidence in his abilities; Cromwell was already party to Ultra, the Allied intelligence source derived from the decryption of enemy ciphers.
Though fate had granted Sculpin a temporary reprieve, the crew was too busy trying to seal leaks and bail collecting water to take much of a breather. After about nine hours the air was growing foul and the heat unbearable, with temperatures reaching upward of 115 degrees Fahrenheit. Instruments were broken and battered, and the all-important depth gauge was so damaged it was unreliable. Connaway ordered the boat to go to periscope depth.
Connaway disagreed, and his decision sealed the fate of the boat and all aboard her. Sculpin surfaced at 1:30 in the afternoon, the sailors scrambling on its water-slick deck to man the 3-inch deck gun and the 20mm batteries. Sculpin managed to fire two rounds at the Yamagumo, but there was little doubt as to who would win the unequal contest. The destroyer opened up with its 5-inch guns, the first salvo bracketing the sub in towering geysers of water. A shot scored a direct hit on the conning tower, killing Connaway and several other officers. It was followed in rapid succession by a 5-inch shell that pierced the forward torpedo room, killing several men in the process. Parts of the Sculpin were now a twisted wreck, the dead and wounded in bloody heaps.
The Sculpin survivors, now POWs, faced their own harrowing ordeal. The Japanese treated the men with obscene brutality, denying them water and even basic medical treatment. They were taken to Truk, where they endured ceaseless interrogations and ill treatment. There was a bitter irony in the loss of Sculpin, because Cromwell had been right. The Yamagumo had only three depth charges left in its rack.
When the Japanese were finally convinced the Sculpin crew had nothing to tell them, it was decided they would be shipped to Japan. The surviving crewmen were divided into two groups; one party was placed aboard the escort carrier Chuyo, the other aboard the carrier Unyo. Besides these two vessels, the convoy included the large carrier Zuiho, the cruiser Maya, and two destroyers. Their ultimate destination was Yokohama, 2,000 miles away.
Over the past four years, the fates of sister ships Sculpin and Squalus/Sailfish had been bound together. Now, for a final time, destiny would link the two ships and their respective crews. On the night of December 3, 1943, the Japanese convoy bearing the Sculpin prisoners back to Japan and captivity encountered a severe typhoon. Howling winds whipped the sea into towering waves, and as conditions deteriorated the Japanese ceased evasive maneuvers. After all, what submarine would attack under such extreme conditions?
The Sculpin survivors had to endure the all-too-typical horrors of Japanese captivity. Sickness, hunger, and constant beatings were a daily occurrence. While the Sculpin crew and their fellow submariners struggled to survive, Sailfish continued to successfully sink Japanese ships.
It was her sister's love for the subs that inspired Smith late last month to make a Hail Mary request. Janusz died unexpectedly and Smith wanted to serve Goldcoast subs at the funeral in her sister's honor.
Although the funeral fell on a regularly scheduled off day for the restaurant, Goldcoast's manager put in extra time to prepare and hand-deliver subs to Janusz's funeral on April 24 at St. Martin of Tours Catholic Church in Franklin.
The familiar taste Janusz found at Goldcoast was no accident. Waters worked as a regional manager at Suburpia so he knew what went into the classic seasoning recipe there. Before opening Goldcoast, he spent years working with seasoning companies to develop a taste similar to Suburpia's that he could call his own.
- The Van Velzen Sisters Karen Bouwer