Under The Sea In Ships

The horror story of the Axis submarine campaign off the Atlantic coast was still being told last week by pallid, bearded men who had come through the prolonged agonies of thirst and sickness in open boats. The progress of the fight against the subs was told in a summary that was not so impressive.

The Navy announced that 28 Axis subs had been sunk and that 21 of them had gone down in the Atlantic. Knocking out such a fleet and its highly trained crews was a good performance. Yet it was not enough.

U.S. and Allied ships were being sunk at a disastrous rate, probably equal to the rate at which new ones were being commissioned (but far short of the rate the U.S. should reach this summer). Submarines had to be sunk faster than Adolf Hitler could turn them out, complete with trained crews.

The subs prowled daringly. One crew, drifting in a lifeboat, told of being followed for five days by a submarine, which surfaced at night and set off rocket signals to other U-boats. The castaways knew why they were being followed: the sub wanted to nail the ship that rescued them. They made no signal for help until the submarine began to lag behind. Then they hailed a passing freighter, which picked them up and made a getaway.

The subs worked close to shore. Off the southeastern coast, a U-boat slipped in shore and sank two barges and a tug with gunfire. She stood so close by that the barge crews could hear the commands of the officers on her deck.

Another sinking proved to the Navy's satisfaction that fifth columnists ashore were keeping in touch with U-boat crews. After the sinking of their small merchant ship; two crew members were picked up by a submarine, later released. The sailors found that the sub's commander knew about their port of departure, cargo and destination.

The most notable individual submarine foe was tight-lipped Donald Francis Mason, 28-year-old Navy enlisted pilot, who two months ago sent the now-famed message: "Sighted sub, sank same" (TIME, Feb. 9).

Upped to chief petty officer and decorated with the Distinguished Flying Cross, Donald Mason repeated the performance: a neat straddle on a surfaced sub that blew it to bits. Last week he got a Silver Star, equivalent of another D.F.C. He also made the biggest leap in a Navy man's career. He was commissioned an ensign, went out to prowl for more subs, more promotion.

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