December 1943.
Truck Lagoon, Caroline Islands.
The submarine sat motionless at periscope depth 40 ft beneath the surface.
Inside USS Harter, 79 men held their breath.
The air was thick, stale, tasting of metal and sweat.
Commander Samuel Dy pressed his eye against the periscope lens.
What he saw should have made him retreat.
should have made him dive deep and run.
Three Japanese destroyers, all hunting, all closing on his position.
Behind them, anchored in the lagoon, sat the entire Japanese combined fleet, battleships, carriers, cruisers, over 60 warships, the largest concentration of naval power in the Pacific.
And Harter was alone.
One submarine, 18 torpedoes, no backup, no support.
The Japanese had set a trap.
They knew an American submarine was in the area.
They had deployed destroyers in a search pattern specifically designed to flush out and destroy submarines.
De had sailed straight into it.
His executive officer whispered, “Skipper, we need to run now.” Dele didn’t move.
His voice was calm, cold.
“We’re not running, sir.
Those destroyers.” Air exactly where I want them.
The exo stared at him.
De lowered the periscope.
He turned to face his crew.
His expression was unreadable.
They think they’re hunting us.
They’re wrong.
We’re hunting them.
It was insane.
Suicidal.
But Samuel Dei had built a reputation on doing the impossible.
And he was about to prove that tactics, not firepower, won battles.
By late 1943, the war in the Pacific had shifted.
The Japanese were retreating, but they were far from defeated.
Their fleet remained powerful, their defenses formidable.
Truck Lagoon was their Gibralar, a massive natural harbor in the Caroline Islands, protected by reefs, fortified islands, and constant patrols.
It served as the forward base for the Combined Fleet, the staging ground for operations across the Pacific.
American submarines had been ordered to penetrate trucks defenses, gather intelligence, and if possible, sink enemy ships, but truck was a death trap.
The approaches were shallow, heavily mined, and monitored by patrol aircraft and destroyers.
Submarines that ventured too close rarely returned.
Commander Samuel Dei, captain of USS Harter, had already earned a fearsome reputation.
He was 33 years old.
Anapapolis trained and utterly fearless.
He didn’t just sink ships.
He hunted them with a methodical, almost clinical precision.
His crew called him the destroyer killer.
In 6 months, he had sunk more Japanese destroyers than any other submarine captain in the Pacific.
14 ships, over 40,000 tons.
But what made De wasn’t aggression.
It was tactics.
Most submarine captains fired torpedoes from long range, hoping for a hit, then dove deep to escape.
De did the opposite.
He closed to point blank range, calculated firing solutions with brutal accuracy, and often fired directly at attacking destroyers instead of fleeing from them.
He had studied Japanese anti-submarine doctrine obsessively.
He knew how destroyers searched for submarines.
He knew their sonar patterns, their depth charge procedures, their blind spots, and he exploited every weakness.
Now Harder had been ordered to penetrate Trroo Lagoon itself, not to observe, not to report, to attack, to sink as many ships as possible and escape alive.
The odds were impossible.
Truck was a fortress.
Japanese naval strategists had designed its defenses to be impenetrable.
They had positioned destroyers in overlapping patrol zones.
They had established sonar nets.
They had placed lookout stations on every island and they believed no American submarine would be reckless enough to attempt a direct assault.
Detended to prove them wrong.
Harder had entered the outer approaches to truck at dawn, submerged, moving slowly to avoid detection.
By midday, sonar had detected three destroyers running a search pattern directly ahead.
The destroyers were moving in a coordinated sweep, pinging with active sonar, dropping random depth charges to force any lurking submarine to reveal itself.
It was a textbook anti-submarine operation and it should have worked.
But De had anticipated it.
He had studied the geometry of Japanese search patterns.
He knew they assumed submarines would try to evade to slip around the edges of the patrol zone to hide in blind spots.
So De did the opposite.
He drove harder straight toward the destroyers, not to evade, to attack.
His executive officer, Lieutenant Frank Lynch, was horrified.
Skipper, if we surface or make noise, all three will converge.
We’ll be boxed in.
I know.
Then why? Because they’re not expecting it, and that’s our advantage.
Ideally, turn to the torpedo officer.
Prepare tubes 1 through 4.
Set depth at 10 ft.
Magnetic detonators.
We’re going to kill the lead destroyer before the others know what’s happening.
The question wasn’t whether they would hit the destroyer.
The question was whether they’d survive long enough to escape the other two.
The first destroyer was closing fast.
Range 4,000 yards.
Speed 20 knots.
Sonar pinging aggressively.
De watched through the periscope.
The destroyer’s bow cut through the water.
White foam churning at its stem.
He could see sailors on deck lookout scanning with binoculars.
They hadn’t spotted harder yet, but they would soon.
Lynch stood beside him, voice tight.
Range 3,000 yards.
She’s zigzagging.
Depth charges are armed.
If she gets any closer, she won’t.
De was calculating.
Angle on the bow.
Target speed.
Time to intercept.
He fed the data to the torpedo data computer.
The machine hummed, gears clicking.
Solution locked.
Range.
2500 yd.
Too far.
At that range, the destroyer could evade.
Dei needed to wait.
Needed to let it close.
2,000 yd.
The destroyer’s sonar pinged louder.
The sound echoed through Harter’s hull, a sharp metallic ping that rattled the crew’s nerves.
1,500 yd.
The sonar operator whispered.
They’ve got a contact.
They’re tracking something.
Eyes at us.
Can’t tell.
Could be a false return.
Could be.
The destroyer altered course.
It turned directly toward Harter.
Lynch’s face went white.
Skipper, they’ve locked onto us.
We need to dive now.
De.
He was staring through the periscope, watching the destroyer’s angle shift.
1,000 yards.
Fire one.
The submarine shuddered.
The torpedo launched with a hiss of compressed air.
Fire two.
Another shutter.
Fire three.
The torpedoes raced through the water.
30 knots streaking toward the destroyer.
De slammed the periscope down.
Hard right rudder.
All a headful dived to 200 f feet.
Harder turned sharply and dove.
The deck tilted.
Men grabbed onto railings above them.
The torpedoes closed the distance.
40 seconds.
30.
The first torpedo struck the destroyer amid ships.
The explosion was massive.
It tore through the hole, ruptured fuel tanks, ignited magazines.
Fire erupted across the deck.
The second torpedo hit near the bow.
The destroyer’s forward section disintegrated.
The ship broke in half.
It sank in 90 seconds.
But the other two destroyers had heard the explosion.
They turned immediately, charging toward Harter’s last known position.
Sonar pings hammered through the water.
Louder, faster, more aggressive.
Lynch shouted over the noise.
Two destroyers inbound bearing 090 and 1 12 0.
Range 1,800 yd accelerating.
De stood in the control room, arms crossed, face expressionless, level off at 200 ft.
All stop.
rigged for silent running.
The submarine went quiet, engines off, ventilation off.
The only sound was the faint hum of electrical systems and the crews shallow breathing above them.
The destroyers circled, searching, listening.
Depth charges began to fall.
The first barriage detonated 300 yd away.
The shockwave slammed into harder.
Light bulbs shattered.
Pipes rattled.
A gauge cracked.
The second barriage was closer.
200 yd.
The submarine shook violently.
Cork insulation rained from the ceiling.
A valve burst, spraying water.
The crew worked frantically to seal the leak.
Dele remained motionless.
Waiting.
The destroyers were running a standard search pattern, circular, overlapping, dropping charges at intervals.
But they were guessing.
They didn’t know where Harter was.
Not exactly.
De was counting on that.
He turned to Lynch.
How long until they give up? They won’t.
Not with a confirmed kill.
They’ll search for hours.
Then we make them give up.
Lynch stared at him.
How was the second destroyer? Sir, we’re at 200 ft.
Silent running.
We can’t maneuver.
We can’t fire.
If we move, we won’t move.
They will.
De walked to the sonar station.
He studied the display.
The two destroyers were circling, pinging, dropping charges, but one of them was moving in a predictable pattern.
It was sweeping in a tight arc, passing directly over Harder’s position every 3 minutes.
De smiled, a cold, predatory smile.
Next time that destroyer passes overhead, we fire straight up.
Point blank range.
He’ll never see it coming.
The crew stared at him in stunned silence.
Fire upward at a destroyer directly above them while at depth.
It was insane, but it was also brilliant.
The tactic DIY was about to employ had never been attempted before.
Submarines were trained to fire torpedoes horizontally, targeting ships on the surface from a distance.
Firing vertically at a destroyer passing overhead violated every principle of submarine warfare.
But Dei had realized something Japanese naval strategists hadn’t.
Destroyers searching for submarines always looked outward.
They scanned the horizon.
They dropped depth charges in expanding circles.
They assumed the submarine was fleeing, hiding, trying to escape.
They never considered that the submarine might be directly beneath them, and they never imagined a submarine would fire torpedoes straight up.
De had calculated the geometry.
If harder fired torpedoes at a shallow angle while the destroyer was directly overhead, the torpedoes would rise, arm themselves, and strike the destroyer’s keel before the crew even realized they were under attack.
It required perfect timing, perfect positioning, and nerves of steel.
But if it worked, the destroyer would sink before it could transmit a warning.
De ordered the torpedo tubes reloaded.
He waited, watching the sonar display, listening to the destroyer’s screws.
The destroyer made another pass closer this time.
Directly overhead, de waited.
The sound of the destroyer’s engines grew louder.
A grinding, churning roar 100 yards, 50 directly above.
Fire four, fire five.
Two torpedoes launched.
They shot upward through the water, climbing rapidly.
10 seconds.
Five.
Both torpedoes struck the destroyer’s keel simultaneously.
The explosions were catastrophic.
The destroyer’s hole split open.
Water flooded every compartment.
The ship capsized and sank within 60 seconds.
The third destroyer heard the explosion.
It stopped moving.
Its captain was confused.
Terrified.
Two destroyers had just been destroyed.
By a submarine no one could see.
Using tactics no one had anticipated, the third destroyer turned and fled.
De raised the periscope.
He watched the destroyer retreat, engines screaming, smoke pouring from its stacks.
He lowered the periscope.
All ahead slow.
Come to course 270.
We’re going into the lagoon.
Lynch stared at him.
Sir, we just sank two destroyers.
Every ship in truck knows we’re here.
They’ll be waiting.
I know.
Then why? because they think we’re one submarine and one submarine can’t destroy an entire fleet.
Dele’s smile was cold.
They’re about to learn they’re wrong.
Well, for the next 3 days, harder proud truck lagoon like a ghost.
De used every trick, every tactic, every psychological advantage he could exploit.
He attacked at dawn when lookouts were tired.
He attacked during shift changes when communication was poorest.
He attacked from positions Japanese strategists had deemed impossible.
He sank a cruiser anchored near the main harbor.
He torpedoed a supply ship in broad daylight.
He ambushed a third destroyer as it left port.
The Japanese response was panicked.
They deployed every available patrol boat.
They launched aircraft.
They dropped thousands of depth charges.
But they couldn’t find harder.
Because Dei never stayed in one place.
He moved constantly.
He studied enemy patterns.
He anticipated their responses.
And every time they thought they had him cornered, he struck from a completely unexpected direction.
By the fourth day, Japanese naval command was in chaos.
They had lost five destroyers, two cruisers, and a supply ship, all to a single submarine.
Morale collapsed.
Captains refused to leave port.
Convoys delayed departure.
The combined fleet, the most powerful naval force in the Pacific, was paralyzed by one man.
On the fifth day, Harter slipped out of Trrook Lagoon undetected.
She surfaced 50 miles offshore, recharged her batteries, and began the journey back to Pearl Harbor.
Dei stood on the bridge watching the sunrise.
He didn’t smile.
He didn’t celebrate.
He had done what he came to do.
He had proven that tactics, intelligence, and audacity were more powerful than numbers.
USS Harter returned to Pearl Harbor on January 3rd, 1944.
Dei was awarded the Navy Cross.
His crew was celebrated as heroes.
But the real victory wasn’t the medals.
It was the psychological impact.
[snorts] Japanese naval strategists had believed their defenses were impenetrable.
They had designed doctrine around predictable submarine behavior.
Dei shattered that doctrine.
He forced them to question every assumption to second guessess every decision and in war doubt is more destructive than any weapon.
Commander Samuel Dy would continue his patrols.
He would sink 16 more ships.
He would become the most decorated submarine captain in US Navy history, but he would not survive the war.
In August 1944, Harter was sunk by depth charges off the coast of the Philippines.
All hands were lost, but his legacy endured.
His tactics were studied, his methods were adopted, and his refusal to accept defeat became the standard for every submarine captain who followed.
Samuel de proved that the most dangerous weapon in naval warfare is not steel or explosives.
It’s the mind of a captain who refuses to fight by the enemy’s rules.
Would you have had the courage to fire torpedoes upward at a destroyer passing overhead, betting everything on a tactic no one had ever tried? Subscribe for more untold stories of the warriors who rewrote the rules of combat when survival demanded pure tactical genius.
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