LOSS OF THE USS PERCH (SS-176)
The fleet-type submarine Perch was first hexed by the Japanese while making a night surface attack on a large, unescorted merchant ship off the southeastern reaches of Celebes Island on 25 February 1942. To insure a kill, the submarine was closing to point-blank range. Just as Lieutenant Commander David A. Hurt, the commanding officer, gave the order, “Stand by to fire,” the merchantman opened up with a well-concealed deck gun. The first round fell short, but the second, a direct hit, ripped through the conning tower fairwater to rupture the main antenna trunk, sever some electrical leads, and wreck the gyro compass. Instantly, Hurt pulled the plug and dove to safety, unable to fire torpedoes.
The men of the Perch were maddened at losing such a fat target, but thankful the shell had not punctured the pressure hull. There were other fish to be taken, scores of them. Japanese invasion fleets were reported poised for an imminent assault on Java. Exactly where landings would occur was not yet determined, and the Perch was ordered to take station in the Java Sea south of Bawean Island to await developments.
Although no targets of opportunity ventured into the Perch’s area, not many miles away, on 27 February 1942, a small Allied fleet of American, British, Dutch, and Australian fighting ships, in a suicidal gamble to prevent the fall of Java, engaged a superior Japanese force, and lost disastrously. News of the Allied defeat in the Battle of the Java Sea did not reach Lieutenant Commander Hurt until the Perch surfaced on the night of 28 February.
Coupled with the destruction of Allied air forces in the Netherlands East Indies, the loss of all major warships in Asian waters permitted the Japanese to land unopposed wherever they chose. With the island of Java now doomed, members of the Allied (ABDA) high command scrambled frantically to get out of Java. Coincident with the pandemonium ashore, communications went into a flat spin. The last radio contact the Perch had with Allied headquarters occurred on the night of 28 February, when the submarine was ordered to attack transports at a landing point a few miles east of Surabaja. This irrational directive was probably tossed out by some distraught officer about to run for his life, for that portion of the Java Sea was much too shallow to permit effective submarine operations. Though keenly aware of the dangers ahead, Hurt kept his fears to himself and grimly headed the Perch for the enemy.
Twenty miles north of Surabaja, on 1 March 1942, the Perch surfaced at dusk to recharge batteries and move into attack position. Ninety minutes later, two Japanese destroyers came into view. Although a dim moon was positioned in the Perch’s favor, the enemy tin cans somehow got wind of her and changed course to attack. Flabbergasted at having been sighted, Hurt quickly dove the boat to periscope depth and watched as the destroyers passed well astern. They continued on, then, just as it seemed a dangerous situation had been averted, one of them abruptly reversed course. If the destroyer held that course, she would pass about 600 yards astern, and Hurt decided to fight. He would sink the “can” with stern tube torpedoes. The range closed rapidly. On board the submarine all was in readiness. The order to fire was only moments away when the destroyer suddenly turned and, instead of presenting a broadside target, knifed head-on toward the Perch.
Charts of the area indicated a depth of 200 feet, and Hurt immediately ordered a dive to 180. At 100 feet the ominous pounding of propellers reverberated overhead. Seconds later six awesome explosions were felt. Fortunately, they were well off target and did no damage. But in reaching for the safety of deeper water, the Perch slammed into the muddy bottom of the Java Sea at 140 feet, and abruptly stopped. Desperate to break free, Hurt backed down full, but the mud would not release its grip.
Quick on the heels of the first attack came the second. This time the stranded boat was not so lucky. Depth charges exploding almost on top of the boat sent giant shock waves coursing throughout its length. The lights dimmed weirdly, and glass could be heard shattering everywhere on the deck. When the fury of the explosions subsided, damage was assessed. Ninety per cent of the engine room gauges were jammed or broken beyond repair. Only the auxiliary gauges on the thwartship boards were intact and working. The hull ventilation supply stop was frozen closed. High-pressure air banks in the after battery tank were leaking badly. Both batteries showed a full ground. The hull in the after battery compartment on the starboard side had been pushed in more than 2 inches over an area 6 feet long by 1 foot wide. The crew’s toilet bowl was shattered.
Unable to take evasive action, Hurt stopped all engines in the hope of fooling the Japanese into believing the Perch had been done in. But the persistent enemy dropped another string of punishing depth charges for good measure. This time most of the damage and shock occurred amidships. In the control room the hull exhaust duct section flooded, soaking the fire control panel. All depth gauges except that of the bow planeman and the one in the commanding officer’s stateroom were ruptured. The conning tower was dangerously compressed above the chart desk to a depth of 2 inches over an area about 3 feet by 1 foot, and all dials in the conning tower were shattered. Number 2 periscope was frozen. Number 1 could be raised, but required four men to turn it. The engine room hatch, conning tower hatch, and conning tower door gaskets were crimped and leaking steadily. More water was pouring into the boat where the air compressor water cooling supply flanges had cracked at the weld. Without air-conditioning, the boat became hotter than the hinges of hell, and the stench from sweating bodies made each breath an ugly experience.
When they heard no sounds from the ocean depths, the Japanese apparently concluded they had sunk the submarine and steamed away. When he was absolutely certain it was safe, Hurt started the motors. After several vigorous attempts, the Perch broke free of the mud to surface at 0300 on 2 March.
Crewmen came out on deck in the fresh predawn air to find it littered with depth-charge strips. They cursed to discover the damage topside. The antenna was down, and the blinker light smashed flat. That, however, was the least of their troubles. Number 1 main engine ran away on starting and had to be shut down. Number 2 started, and was immediately put to charging batteries. With only number 3 main engine available for propulsion, Hurt headed his crippled boat north to find quiet, shallow water where the submarine could safely rest on the bottom while interior damage was repaired.
The Perch had been on the surface only a few minutes when lookouts shouted the alarming news—two Japanese destroyers were heading their way. Hurt immediately dove the Perch for the bottom, figuring their only chance to elude the enemy was by lying still with all machinery stopped. But the Japanese had sighted the Perch just before she dove.
Like foxhounds, the destroyers dashed to the spot where the submarine went down. The first string of six depth charges exploded off target and did no damage to the Perch, resting on the bottom at 200 feet. The second attack with five ash cans was murderous. One after another, violent explosions pounded the Perch. Main ballast tanks 1 and 3 ruptured and lost their air. Leaks they had repaired in the air compressor opened again. A nasty leak in the antenna trunk rendered the transmitter inoperative. Throughout the boat high pressure air and water lines were leaking. The submarine was taking a terrible beating, but like a punch-drunk fighter she refused to go down for the count. Everyone wondered just how much more she could withstand.
Further attacks ceased with the second round of depth charges, although the destroyers still circled overhead. Convinced they were biding their time until sunup to make certain their efforts had succeeded, Hurt decided to try sneaking out of the area. To his dismay, the Perch would not move. Once again the mucky sea bottom, like a fist clenched in death, held the submarine fast. Not daring to make full-power efforts to break free and probably alert the enemy, Hurt ordered the motors shut down.
Soon after the hour of sunrise, the destroyers were heard moving to attack again. With the Perch lying helpless in the mud, all hands waited and prayed their battered boat would stand up under all the enemy had to offer. The first string of five depth charges, laid along the length of the Perch, exploded close aboard with such murderous force that torpedoes in tubes 1 and 2 made hot runs. Fearful that the heat might detonate the warheads in the tubes, the trapped men sweated it out until the propulsion units ran their course. This time the bow planes, set on a 20 degree rise, were so violently rigged in by the shock waves that the bow plane rigging panel was burned up. The JK sonar sound head and receiver were knocked out, and more leaks opened up in all compartments.
Quick on the heels of the first series, the enemy laid a string of four more depth charges parallel to the Perch. These caused the support studs on the bow plane tilting motor to elongate, and a coupling shin to fall out. From then on, bow planes would have to be operated by hand. The remaining toilet bowls shattered, and it seemed as though only the steel shell of the submarine itself was left to be damaged beyond repair.
At 0830, the fifth and worst attack of all occurred. Only three depth charges were dropped, but each had a terrifying personality all its own. The rugged submariners on board the Perch had endured long, torturous hours of punishment without going mad, but these horrendous explosions practically on top of the boat sounded as though the end of the world had come. Shock waves of monstrous intensity caused the Perch to jerk and vibrate violently. Men were slammed into machinery and against bulkheads. Along the length of the submarine, steel plates twisted and groaned, threatening to rip asunder at the seams. The lights went out briefly, and blue flames snapping from short circuits spooked the darkness like torches of the devil.
One gigantic blast caused the depth gauge to jump suddenly from 200 feet to 230 feet, and generated the haunting fear that they had been entombed on the mucky bottom of the Java Sea. Water was now streaming in from warped hatches. Fuel and lube tanks ruptured. Most gauge lines for temperature, pressure, oil, and water were broken. Electric alarm systems and all telephone circuits were dead, their cables cut by instruments torn from bulkheads.
On the engine room deck the supporting stanchions between the overhead and the deck were fractured at the hull weld. Dents everywhere attested to how perilously close the hull had come to being crushed. One in the overhead of an officer’s stateroom bulged inward over a 2-foot by 5-foot area. High bilge water flooded from number 2 generator, and numerous battery cells were cracked. The proud Perch, like her courageous crew, was close to the end of the line. With one more such attack, they would all be dead.
The USS Perch (SS-176). Seriously damaged and unable to submerge, she was scuttled in the Java Sea on 3 March 1942 to prevent capture by the enemy. James C. Fahey Collection, U.S. Naval Institute
Praise the Lord, the attacks ceased. Either the destroyers were out of depth charges, or the oil and air bubbling to the surface convinced the enemy that one Yankee submarine had been silenced forever. When it became obvious the enemy cans had gone, tensions eased somewhat, but there was extensive damage to be repaired before trying to take the Perch to the surface. Water pouring into the boat made constant pumping necessary to keep the motors from flooding. One monumental question haunted all hands—could the Perch break free of the mud? But that question could not be answered until after dark, for she dared not surface in daylight.
For the next thirteen hellishly long hours the crew worked to ready the boat. It was rough, hard work made infinitely more difficult by the feverish, humid air that grew more foul with every breath. What little compressed air remained had to be used sparingly.
Finally, at 2000, damaged electric motors had been jury-rigged to provide power to both shafts, and the fateful try to surface commenced. A tomb-like stillness shrouded the submarine as Lieutenant Commander Hurt gave the order for maximum power on both shafts ahead. The Perch trembled as she strained to break free, the heavy churning of propellers echoing throughout the boat. She would not budge. Full astern produced the same result. Grim-faced, exhausted men stood by in silence while the propellers pounded first full ahead, then full astern. After almost an hour of anguished trying, with no noticeable results and with battery power waning, the hope of living to see another day also began to fade. Suddenly, there was a slight movement forward. Slowly, painfully the Perch inched ahead, then picked up speed. Smiles of hope spread over haggard faces.
Somehow, the Perch managed to rise from the depths to surface at 2100 on 2 March 1942. As hatches opened and cool, refreshing air flowed into the boat, rugged submariners, well aware of the tremendous odds they had overcome, readily conceded that their lives had been spared by nothing short of a miracle.
But serious problems lay ahead. The Perch had suffered so much damage that she was useless in offensive action and would be hard-pressed to defend herself. Only one of her four main engines could be started and, with this, she could make no more than 5 knots on the surface. The steering gear was so damaged that, with port rudder angle on, it could be shifted amidships only with great difficulty. Then, upon reaching the amidships position, it would jump to extreme starboard. Hull leaks were so bad that both trim and drain pumps had to be kept running at full capacity to prevent the bilges from flooding. Torpedoes could not be fired as all outer doors were frozen shut. This, coupled with the jamming of the deck gun training mechanism, rendered the Perch utterly defenseless.
All Hurt could do now was to head his submarine for the nearest exit from the Java Sea into the Indian Ocean and pray they could make Australia, 1,700 miles away. This would require another miracle, for the Perch could not survive another depth charge attack and would have to remain submerged during daylight. But the Perch was in no condition to submerge. With quarter-inch-square strips gouged out of gaskets in the forward escape trunk and conning tower doors, and gaskets on all hatches badly crimped and leaking, to dive could prove disastrous. In the four hours until dawn, exhausted crewmen strove to plug leaks and repair damage, hoping to make the boat capable at least of shallow dives during daylight. With enemy forces swarming over the Java Sea, this was a must for survival.
An hour before sunrise on 3 March 1942, Hurt decided to make a test dive to assess the submarine’s watertight condition. Sufficient water was pumped out of trim tanks to make her definitely light and, at one-third speed, Hurt slowly took the boat down by flooding the main ballast. As the Perch went under, sea water gushed in through the engine room and the conning tower hatches, which failed to seat. Nevertheless, Hurt continued the slow dive in the belief that the increased pressure would seal the hatches. It didn’t work. Flooded with water, the Perch grew sluggish and suddenly took a dangerous down angle. At once, the diving officer commenced blowing ballast tanks. Before the dive could be stopped, they were at periscope depth with the sea pouring into the engine room at a fearful rate. By the time the Perch clawed her way back to the surface, water in the engine room bilges was up to the generators. A few minutes more, and all would have been lost.
Because of heavy flooding in the after compartments, only the forward half of the deck floated free of the waves, and every available pump was kept running at maximum capacity to prevent the Perch from foundering. With no thought of quitting, determined men again worked to reseat the conning tower hatch and plug other leaks so they could submerge by dawn.
At dawn, the Perch was still on the surface unable to dive. As the sun loomed over the horizon, so did three Japanese destroyers, followed by two cruisers. The nearest destroyer opened fire with one gun, and the shell fell short by 300 yards. The second and third shells were also short, but in deflection and falling closer. Helpless to fight back and with the odds on their being blown to hell narrowing with every second, Hurt ordered the Perch scuttled and abandoned. Swiftly, the Perch’s nine officers and fifty-three men carried out their orders. Classified material, heavily weighted down, was given the deep-six and, as flood valves were opened, everyone went over the side. From a safe distance, the crew sadly watched as great volumes of water surged into her guts, and their beloved Perch vanished beneath the Java Sea.
Within an hour’s time, the destroyers had picked up the Perch’s entire crew and, for the next three and one-half years, these hapless men remained prisoners of the Japanese. Nine of the Perch’s crew died in Japanese prisoner-of-war camps from malnutrition and disease. The fifty-three others, including Lieutenant Commander David Hurt, who suffered incredible torture through his imprisonment, survived.*
*Final tragedy came when the courageous Captain Hurt was killed in a hunting accident two and one-half months after returning home.