It was entirely a violently forced, highly immedia…
It was entirely a violently forced, highly immediate accident of pure survival.
A highly violent, completely split-second reaction to an incredibly aggressive, rapidly closing escort that simply got far too close to their periscope and directly threatened to end their combat patrol entirely and permanently.
Inside the deeply cramped, highly claustrophobic conning tower of the submarine, there is absolutely no extra time, no excess oxygen, and no emotional bandwidth available to pause and celebrate the sudden destruction of a highly famous Japanese warship.
The stagnant air inside the small, enclosed compartment is incredibly thick with the heavy, sour smell of nervous human sweat, completely overheated hot hydraulic fluid, the sharp, metallic tang of electrical ozone from the TDC, and the deeply severe tactical reality now completely pressing down on the trapped submarine is incredibly, dangerously severe.
The primary, high-value strategic target, the massive, deeply laden, heavily riding oil tanker that specifically drew them into this highly dangerous, completely shallow water in the very first place is currently still entirely afloat on the surface.
It is still moving actively forward, its massive, heavy marine diesel engines pounding rhythmically and pushing it steadily, persistently further along the heavily defended Malayan coast.
It’s deeply vital, incredibly strategic cargo of highly volatile aviation fuel remaining completely untouched and securely stored inside its massive, thick internal steel hull.
And while the completely alert remaining Japanese escorts are momentarily and heavily occupied pulling the deeply shivering, completely traumatized, highly oil-soaked survivors of the destroyed destroyer from the toxic surface water, they are now fully, aggressively, and dangerously alert to the exact, immediate American presence in their sector.
They know exactly, mathematically, where the submerged Blackfin was located when it violently fired its heavy weapons.
The completely vital, absolutely essential tactical element of complete surprise, the incredibly fragile submarine’s absolute greatest offensive weapon, and its single primary defense mechanism against heavily armed surface warships, is completely, permanently, and entirely gone.
Commander Laird is currently still physically, deeply trapped in the incredibly shallow, completely unforgiving, incredibly clear waters of the Gulf of Siam.
He absolutely cannot simply order the heavy submarine to violently dive deep into the protective blackness to easily escape the inevitably incoming, probing sonar pulses because there is absolutely no deep water available beneath his keel to safely hide in.
He completely cannot simply quietly rig the entire submarine for ultra-silent running and quickly disappear completely beneath a dense, protective, completely impenetrable thermal temperature layer because the shallow Gulf water simply does not possess one.
If he still actively, aggressively wants to successfully sink the fleeing, highly valuable tanker, he must now immediately maneuver a fully submerged, completely sluggish, deeply battery-reliant, and heavily physically restricted submarine through a tight body of water rapidly teeming with highly alert, heavily armed warships whose angry, focused sonar operators are actively highly, aggressively hunting specifically for the metallic, telling scrape of his outer steel hull.
>> The entire complex mathematical of the underwater battle has completely, violently inverted in the brief span of merely 3 minutes.
The heavy protective screen shield of the Japanese convoy has been violently, completely shattered by high explosives.
But the highly strategic, incredibly vital prize is rapidly escaping the immediate area.
And the formerly unseen, aggressive American hunter has now violently and immediately become the desperately, completely trapped, hunted.
The forward torpedo tubes of the USS Blackfin are empty, their bronze doors shut while crews frantically manhandle reloads into the steel breaches.
In the shallow Gulf of Siam, this mechanical delay is a critical vulnerability.
The element of surprise, the submarine’s only true armor, evaporated the moment its first torpedo struck the Shikoku.
The standard procedure for a fleet boat that has just revealed its position in 150 ft of water is immediate disengagement.
>> The textbook move is to retract the periscope, rig for silent running, creep away on battery power, and pray enemy operators lose acoustic contact in the shallow clutter.
But Commander George Laird refuses to yield the battle space.
Through the optics, the primary target, the heavily laden oil tanker is still pushing forward.
Its diesels accelerating to pull its cargo of aviation fuel out of the ambush zone.
Laird makes a calculated, dangerous decision.
He chooses to stay in the fight.
>> To do so, he must alter the geometry of the engagement.
He barks a sequence of orders.
The Blackfin’s rudder is put over hard.
The 311-foot submarine banks, executing a tight submerged turn beneath the churning surface.
This radical change in direction is not a panicked attempt to flee.
It is a deliberate maneuver to bring a fresh battery of weapons to bear.
By swinging the submarine’s aft section toward the fleeing convoy, Laird aligns his four loaded stern tubes with the target.
The fire control party recalculates the shifting battle space.
It is a difficult, over-the-shoulder shot.
The target is moving away at maximum speed, and the submarine is pointing in the opposite direction.
The torpedo data computer grinds out updated intercept angles.
Laird verifies the reverse geometry, keeping the periscope raised just long enough to confirm the bearing.
The command is given.
High-pressure air blasts the aft torpedoes from the stern tubes.
Their turbines whining loudly as they bite into the water and streak backward toward the transport.
Inside the cramped conning tower, the crew waits through agonizing seconds of silence.
Then, a heavy concussive shockwave punches through the hull.
A torpedo has found the tanker.
Through the periscope, a pillar of blackened water and smoke erupts against the transport’s flank.
Destroying a heavily compartmentalized tanker with a single aft shot is a difficult proposition.
The vessel [clears throat] shudders, its speed dropping as the sea rushes into its ruptured side, but its internal buoyancy holds.
It does not immediately slip beneath the waves.
The blast instantly shatters the momentary pause of the Japanese rescue operation.
The detonation draws the absolute fury of the remaining escort vessels.
One of the surviving guards breaks off its rescue pattern, abandoning the Shigure survivors in the water.
The Japanese commander recognizes the severe threat.
The American submarine has not fled.
It is still actively hunting the prize.
The escort’s sharp bow swings toward the origin point of the new torpedo wakes.
Its engines surge to maximum output, charging the Blackfin’s position.
The tactical reality for Laird compresses once again.
The gamble of staying in the shallow ambush zone to finish the job has drawn an immediate retaliation.
Lingering at periscope depth to observe the damaged tanker is no longer an option.
The Blackfin’s objective shifts from strategic offense to desperate survival.
The submarine has successfully put ordinance into both a legendary warship and a vital transport, but the ocean directly above their fragile steel hull is about to explode.
Heavy surface fire erupts almost immediately, shattering the tension of the underwater ambush.
The Japanese escort captain does not wait for a confirmed sonar lock.
Using the churning white wakes of the American stern torpedoes as a visible bearing, he orders his forward heavy gun mounts to open up.
Towering geysers of seawater violently erupt around the Blackfin’s exposed periscope shears as armor-piercing shells tear into the ocean surface.
Commander George Laird holds his position a fraction of a second longer to assess the crippled tanker.
Through shaking optics, he sees the transport is heavily damaged and listing, but still making way toward the coastal shelf.
He wants to finish the job and needs a stabilized firing solution for his remaining tubes.
However, the incoming Japanese escort is rapidly closing the gap.
It’s bow wave expanding into a white wall in the periscope lens.
The first depth charges roll off the escort’s stern racks.
Concussive thuds reverberate through the Blackfin’s hull, shaking the deck plates beneath the crew’s feet.
Laird is balancing the ultimate strategic prize against the immediate physical survival of his boat.
Then, the tactical equation irrevocably shatters.
As Laird rapidly rotates the periscope for one final assessment of the surface, a fast-moving shadow passes over the lens.
Sweeping in low over the horizon, its twin engines roaring above the surface chop, is a Japanese patrol aircraft.
The arrival of enemy aviation instantly alters the reality of the ambush.
While an escort ship must blindly hunt through the water using narrow acoustic sonar beams, an aircraft looking straight down possesses a terrifying optical advantage.
>> In the clear sunlight waters of the Gulf of Siam, a low-flying pilot can easily spot the 300-ft dark silhouette of a submerged fleet boat, starkly contrasted against the light sandy bottom of the shallow seabed.
The American submarine is suddenly caught in a suffocating three-dimensional trap.
The aircraft banks sharply, entering a tight orbit directly over the Blackfin.
Acting as an unblinking eye in the sky, it drops chemical smoke markers onto the waves, precisely vectoring the furious surface escorts right onto the American submarine.
Laird has run out of time.
>> The order is shouted through the conning tower.
Down periscope.
Crash dive.
But a crash dive in the Gulf of Siam is a highly delicate mechanical maneuver.
In the deep central Pacific, a commander would simply order the dive planes hard over and let the heavy boat plunge to three or 400 ft to find the cover of a thermal layer.
Here, the ocean floor is a rigid, unforgiving wall of mud and sand just 150 ft below.
The diving officer must flood the ballast tanks to rapidly drag the boat under the gunfire, but instantly arrest the steep descent before the submarine’s immense forward momentum drives its steel nose straight into the seabed.
Inside the control room, the crew holds their breath as the depth gauge needles spin with terrifying speed.
60 ft, 80 ft, 100 ft.
The dive planes are violently reversed.
Electric motors whine in protest as the heavy submarine levels off with barely 40 ft of clearance remaining beneath its keel.
Depth charges immediately begin to fall with devastating accuracy.
The Japanese pilots above visually guide the escorts dropping their own aerial ordnance to bracket the trapped submarine.
Successive explosive shock waves batter the Blackfin.
Thick flakes of cork insulation snow down from overhead pipes and fine dust fills the stale air.
The submarine is entirely boxed in.
Above them is a lethal umbrella of aviation and surface warships dropping heavy explosives.
Below them is solid earth.
The geographic reality is also deteriorating.
The convoy was already hugging the coastline and the high-speed chase has pushed the engagement further south driving the submerged submarine directly toward the heavily mined, dangerously shallow coastal approaches to Singapore.
The environment itself has vetoed further offensive action.
Laird cannot maneuver laterally, surface, or go deep.
If he attempts to maintain contact with the damaged tanker, the tightening geographical vice will inevitably crush his boat.
The final decision is no longer a matter of tactical aggression.
It is dictated entirely by the uncompromising physics of the shallow seabed.
The American commander makes the only logical call remaining and abandons pursuit.
The order is passed in hushed tones to rig for ultra-silent running.
The Blackfin’s electric motors are reduced to a bare crawling minimum.
They will not fight their way out.
They will inch away blindly through the mud, absorbing the punishing depth charge barrage, leaving the remnants of the convoy behind.
The punishing depth charge barrage continues for hours, but the Japanese escorts, deprived of their aircraft’s visual guidance as evening approaches, are dropping heavy explosives blindly into the mud.
Beneath them, Commander George Laird strictly maintains ultra-silent running.
The Blackfin crawls agonizingly across the shallow seabed, inching away from the lethal perimeter.
By the time the final distant concussive thuds fade into the acoustic background of the ocean, the tactical window has permanently closed.
Laird officially breaks off the pursuit.
It is a bitter decision for an aggressive American crew, but it is dictated entirely by the uncompromising environment of the battle space, not by a lack of torpedoes or a failure of nerve.
The damaged Japanese oil tanker is already miles away, dragging its remaining vital fuel into the heavily mined, heavily patrolled coastal shallows approaching Singapore.
To chase it now, through water barely deep enough to cover the conning tower while actively hunted by enemy aviation, would not be a calculated tactical risk.
It would be guaranteed suicide.
In the unforgiving reality of the Pacific submarine war, surviving a compromised ambush often means accepting that the primary strategic job must be left unfinished.
The USS Blackfin did not wipe out the convoy.
It did not score a flawless strategic victory.
The American crew simply fought their way out of a collapsing trap, surviving an environment that actively conspired to pin them against the ocean floor.
But in the violent process of that chaotic escape, they inadvertently ended the career of the most famous surviving warship in the Imperial Japanese Navy.
As the Blackfin slowly navigates toward deeper waters, a massive slick of thick black bunker oil drifts aimlessly on the surface of the Gulf of Siam, marking the final resting place of the destroyer Shigure.
The destruction of this particular vessel completely severs a powerful psychological lifeline for the struggling Japanese fleet.
For years, the Shigure had been revered as an untouchable phantom, a uniquely blessed ship insulated by a supernatural aura of absolute luck.
But the reality of its demise completely strips away that comforting mythology.
When we examine the precise tactical geometry of January 24th, 1945, the truth of naval combat becomes starkly clear.
The Shigure did not suddenly sink because its legendary luck finally ran dry, or because the fates of war arbitrarily turned against it.
It was destroyed by the exact same cold mechanical calculus that governed every other violent encounter in the Pacific.
It survived the apocalyptic fires of Vella Gulf because a single American torpedo detonator critically failed to function.
It survived the catastrophic battleship crossfire at Surigao Strait through sheer physical distance and desperate manual steering.
But here, in the shallow waters off the Malayan coast, the geometry was fatally inverted.
The Shigure died precisely because it executed a flawless textbook defensive maneuver to protect a vulnerable transport.
By aggressively charging an unseen acoustic threat at high speed, the veteran destroyer rapidly closed the distance and forced an American submarine commander into a binary choice of survival.
The legendary ship did not succumb to a failing destiny.
In the mathematically ruthless arena of underwater warfare, the Shigure sank simply because it placed itself perfectly and inescapably in the direct line of fire.
The ultimate survivor never fell in a glorious clash.
It died doing its job too well, forcing Blackfin to shoot the shield instead of the target.
