March Anson and Scoot Bailey of the U.S. NavyMcClintock, Marshall
History
March Anson and Scoot Bailey of the U.S. Navy
McClintock, Marshall
World War, 1939-1945 -- Juvenile fiction
First March and Stan saw the two racks of torpedoes along the walls.
The long cylinders, twenty-one inches in diameter and about twenty feet
from end to end, looked deadly. March noted the chain hoist by which
they could be swung from their racks into position for loading into the
tubes.
The tubes—there were four of them—stuck back into the room a little
way, and March and Stan knew they were about twenty-five feet long
altogether, their openings at each side just back of the bow of the
boat. The tight-fitting doors closed the tubes, and the sub was ready
to fire its charges at any moment.
“It must take a terrific blast of air to start these babies on their
way,” Stan said, running his hand along one of the big torpedoes.
“Yes, it does,” Sutherland replied. “But the air doesn’t have to move
it far. It just expels it from the tube, where there are trigger
catches which trip switches here on the torpedo to set its own
machinery going.”
“Wonderful piece of mechanism, aren’t they?” March mused.
“Yes, they’re really little submarines with an explosive charge instead
of a crew,” the executive officer agreed. “And the TNT takes up only a
small space, really. Half the length is compressed air to drive the
torp. It’s got to move pretty fast, you know, to get to the target
accurately. There’s about four hundred horsepower packed into that
little fellow there—from compressed air, heated by an alcohol flame,
blowing like fury against two trim little turbines turning the
propellers.”
“The aiming devices must be very accurate,” Stan said.
“Wonderful!” Sutherland exclaimed. “You probably know there’s a little
whirling gyroscope that keeps the torp on the course which can be set
by the operator in advance of firing. Then there’s the compensating
chamber and pendulum to keep it at its proper depth. It can’t very well
get off course.”
“But don’t you have to aim chiefly with the sub itself, sir?” March
asked. “I mean—doesn’t the sub have to be aimed right at the target for
the torpedo to get there?”
“Not at all,” Sutherland replied. “The sub doesn’t have to be any
closer than sixty degrees in facing its target. You set the proper
course on the torpedo itself and the automatic devices put it on that
course right away—and keep it there!”
“Then the important thing,” Stan said, “is for the skipper to get the
course right, not necessarily to line up the sub with his target.”
“That’s right,” the older officer agreed. “The skipper must determine
the course to his target and call it out. If he’s good, he gets his
ship.”
With a last look around the torpedo room they turned to go back to the
control room.
“Later,” Sutherland said to them as they stepped through the bulkhead
door, “you’ll have target practice with special torpedoes that don’t
blow up what you’re aiming at. As a matter of fact, there won’t be
anything you can’t do by the time we get through with you.”
[Illustration: _They Inspected the Torpedo Room_]
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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