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Authors: Alex Kershaw
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trunk, urging him to join the attempt.
“No, no,” Zofcin said.
“Come on, let’s get our asses outta here, George,” said Decker.
“No, no, Clay, you go ahead and go with this wave.”
“Why George? Come on, go with us.”
“No. No . . . I’ve got a confession to make.”
“Confessions? What the hell are we talking about? We’ve got to get our butts off of this boat.”
“Clay, I can’t swim.”
Decker was dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe it. How could Zofcin not swim? If there was one thing every submariner could do, it was swim.
Back in Hawaii, before setting out on the Tang ’s last patrol, Decker and Zofcin had shared a room at the Royal Hawaiian for two weeks; they had visited Waikiki beach in their swimsuits several times. Zofcin had never gone into the water.
Decker said it didn’t matter whether Zofcin could swim or not.
“Look, George,” added Decker, pointing to his Momsen Lung. “You can use it as a life preserver. . . . You can also hang on to the buoy that’s at the end of the line.” 9
Zofcin was not convinced.
“Clay, you go now,” he said. “I’ll go with the next wave.” 10
Decker felt torn. He didn’t want to leave Zofcin behind. How would he explain to Zofcin’s young wife, Martha, that he had made it but Zofcin had been too afraid to try?
But time was running out if he was to follow Ballinger into the escape trunk and stand a chance of surviving and seeing his own family again. Reluctantly, Decker turned away and climbed up the ladder leading to the escape trunk.
Hank Flanagan was standing nearby. He watched Decker get into the trunk. He also saw Zofcin walk over to a bunk and crawl into it, apparently resigned to dying in the Tang .
Zofcin soon appeared to fall asleep. He was one of several men who were now so terrified of the escape procedure and so drained by exhaustion and the increasing heat and toxic fumes that they were unwilling to save themselves. 11
A few seconds later, Decker, Ballinger, Flanagan, and Pearce were squeezed together in the escape trunk. It was around 4:15 a.m. when the trunk was sealed from below. “It was a small space,” recalled Decker. “There was battery lighting in the escape chamber itself. It wasn’t very bright but we could see what we were doing. The four of us were standing almost nose-to-nose. There was a fathometer, which showed 180 feet, and a pressure gauge that showed the external pressure outside the hull.” 12
The men started to fill the trunk with water. It was soon up to their shins. When it reached above their waists, Ballinger and Decker tested their Momsen Lungs by ducking under the water briefly. The pressure became more intense the higher the water rose. The men began to lose their senses. The pressure was soon so high—ninety pounds per square inch—that they could barely hear each other; normal air pressure is six times less at fifteen pounds per square inch. When they spoke, their voices squeaked, as if they had gulped helium rather than oxygen from their Momsen Lungs.
In the forward torpedo room below the escape trunk, men again waited impatiently. There was no means of communication with the men in the escape trunk other than by tapping on the bulkhead—a major design flaw in the escape system.
Back in the escape trunk, aches and pains stabbed the men’s ears. Eventually, the water was up to their chests. Because Decker was shorter then the others, the water actually reached his neck. 13
The men’s heads were in an air bubble. They then bled compressed air into the air bubble and, in agony and close to passing out, watched until a gauge showed that the pressure in the trunk exceeded the sea pressure outside by five pounds. That would, in theory, enable them to open the hatch with no strain, just like opening a door to a room in a house.
Clay Decker had long since resigned himself to the inevitability of dying if the Tang sank. “Every night you laid your head on your pillow,” recalled
“No, no,” Zofcin said.
“Come on, let’s get our asses outta here, George,” said Decker.
“No, no, Clay, you go ahead and go with this wave.”
“Why George? Come on, go with us.”
“No. No . . . I’ve got a confession to make.”
“Confessions? What the hell are we talking about? We’ve got to get our butts off of this boat.”
“Clay, I can’t swim.”
Decker was dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe it. How could Zofcin not swim? If there was one thing every submariner could do, it was swim.
Back in Hawaii, before setting out on the Tang ’s last patrol, Decker and Zofcin had shared a room at the Royal Hawaiian for two weeks; they had visited Waikiki beach in their swimsuits several times. Zofcin had never gone into the water.
Decker said it didn’t matter whether Zofcin could swim or not.
“Look, George,” added Decker, pointing to his Momsen Lung. “You can use it as a life preserver. . . . You can also hang on to the buoy that’s at the end of the line.” 9
Zofcin was not convinced.
“Clay, you go now,” he said. “I’ll go with the next wave.” 10
Decker felt torn. He didn’t want to leave Zofcin behind. How would he explain to Zofcin’s young wife, Martha, that he had made it but Zofcin had been too afraid to try?
But time was running out if he was to follow Ballinger into the escape trunk and stand a chance of surviving and seeing his own family again. Reluctantly, Decker turned away and climbed up the ladder leading to the escape trunk.
Hank Flanagan was standing nearby. He watched Decker get into the trunk. He also saw Zofcin walk over to a bunk and crawl into it, apparently resigned to dying in the Tang .
Zofcin soon appeared to fall asleep. He was one of several men who were now so terrified of the escape procedure and so drained by exhaustion and the increasing heat and toxic fumes that they were unwilling to save themselves. 11
A few seconds later, Decker, Ballinger, Flanagan, and Pearce were squeezed together in the escape trunk. It was around 4:15 a.m. when the trunk was sealed from below. “It was a small space,” recalled Decker. “There was battery lighting in the escape chamber itself. It wasn’t very bright but we could see what we were doing. The four of us were standing almost nose-to-nose. There was a fathometer, which showed 180 feet, and a pressure gauge that showed the external pressure outside the hull.” 12
The men started to fill the trunk with water. It was soon up to their shins. When it reached above their waists, Ballinger and Decker tested their Momsen Lungs by ducking under the water briefly. The pressure became more intense the higher the water rose. The men began to lose their senses. The pressure was soon so high—ninety pounds per square inch—that they could barely hear each other; normal air pressure is six times less at fifteen pounds per square inch. When they spoke, their voices squeaked, as if they had gulped helium rather than oxygen from their Momsen Lungs.
In the forward torpedo room below the escape trunk, men again waited impatiently. There was no means of communication with the men in the escape trunk other than by tapping on the bulkhead—a major design flaw in the escape system.
Back in the escape trunk, aches and pains stabbed the men’s ears. Eventually, the water was up to their chests. Because Decker was shorter then the others, the water actually reached his neck. 13
The men’s heads were in an air bubble. They then bled compressed air into the air bubble and, in agony and close to passing out, watched until a gauge showed that the pressure in the trunk exceeded the sea pressure outside by five pounds. That would, in theory, enable them to open the hatch with no strain, just like opening a door to a room in a house.
Clay Decker had long since resigned himself to the inevitability of dying if the Tang sank. “Every night you laid your head on your pillow,” recalled
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