The Waterbury Democrat., 1942-10-02
COME ABOARD A LUXURY YACHT TO GO HUNTING AXIS U-BOATS
nH TnNF WOLF

By TOM WOLF l I(NKA Service stan Correspondent) Aboard . Q. s. Navy Escort ves- eel, Oct. 2--(Delayed) When they drew up the plans for this ship, they never thought shed wind up as a naval escort for merchant convoyS along the Eastern Sea Frontier.
 She was built as a yacht, for pleasure cruising in summer and ] placid southern waters in winter. Only her lines are yacht-like now az she rides gently at anchor of an east coast port, ready to join the vessels that today will guard a northbound convoy.
 1 she's painted war gray; from 1 her decks small arsenal of guns pokeS warning fingers into the pfe-dawn sky; the depth charge racks on her fantail are stuffed with "asl1 cans" SKIPPER CHECKS COURSE THROUGH MINED CHANNEL
 Tn her once-luxurious cabin, now the wardroom for the hand- ful of young reserve officers who fight her, her skipper is studying the briefing of today's run. It's still hours before dawn. All is quiet save for the monotonous rhythmic breathing of the never silent blowers that force fresh air into the ships innards.
 The captain checks the zig-zag course of the channel through the anchorage's protecting mine fields. Mine sweepers have already brushed this channel, securing 1t for possible drifter mines.
 The skipper, a reserve 1ieuten- ant whose youthful face bellies his years of pre-war yachting expe- rience, studies the latest intelli- Rence reports. A submarine was reported yesterday in. the area we'll patrol today. He mods grim- Nv. Last winter a submarine sur- laced and shot his tiny, helpless patrol ship right out from under him. He's waiting to settle this personal score. Today? We'll soon know.
 The skipper climbs to the bridge. Engines snap to life, and we start slowly for the rendezvous.
 The merchant ships burst out of the gray mists like a movie fade an-diaphanous and ghost-like at first, they suddenly materialize. They take on multitude of shapes; sleek, new U. s. Liberty ships; sturdy old freighters; vet eran merchantmen.
 CONVOY ROUTE
 BLIMP PROTECTS
 The escort vessels, in addition Go U. s. Navy craft, include sea- scared British trawlers and tiny U. s. Coast Guard vessels which san out to become specks bobbing on the horizon.
 Blinker lights on ship and shore park sudden, silent challenges as the ship steam single file through the narrow channel. Our blinker f1ickers reassuring code reply.
 Outside the channel, the mer- chant ships start falling into con- voy ranks. The superchargers on our Diesel engines whinel ike pea nut whistles as we charge up and down the convoyy's forming ranks, like . sheep dog nipping at the heels of strays.
 Then, with all ships in position, we take our place-wel forward on the conveys seaward flank. Ping ping {. ping. Our listen- ing gear searches the sea, ahead, abeam, astern.
 With dawn, blimp floats out of the west. All day long she'll hover overhead, criss-crossing back and forth over the ships and out to sea beyond them. Every few min- utes land based planes dart out to help her-Navy bombers, wheel ing over the convoy and then peeling of to box the compass around it; Army bombers, flashing along the crests of the sea- small Civil Air Patrol planes, taking their turns with the service veterans.
 The morning stretches monoto- nolisly towards noon Tension in creases as the convoy hears spot the crew has nicknamed Tor pedo Junction. Masts of sub- merged merchantmen sticking above the waves tell you why. Ping 7. /. ping ping. The sound gears rhythm continues. The monontony returns, heightened by the incessant .x,I.A avqyan nf fho bIauynrC
 ~OTHER GUYS HAVE
 ALL THE LUCK"
 Early in tle afternoon the radio room reports hearing that "con- tact'' has been made long a dif- ferent convoy route. On the bridge, the young ensign on watch inter rupts a story of sailing race on Lake Erie to curse our luck. Why do the other guys always have to spot the subs?"
 It isn't always ''the other guys" This crew saw action only few days ago. "You ought to see the geysers those depth charges throw up. They shook us around plenty, too. And what a mess of fish we killed. Every time we dropped an ash can, we blew up another catch of fish. The subj We didn't see Oil.s
 Afternoon slides into evening Still no contacts. A radioman tells about hearing convoy -sub- marine fight one night. ''It was jucs like hearing a football game, only you never heard the final score"
 The sea is kicking up now and the barometer promises storm Clouds distort the setting sun uressinR its sides into an oval 4