When USS Rasher (SS-269) limped back into Fremantle on June 23, 1944, she looked like a boat that had given the war everything she had to offer. Her paint was worn, her machinery tired, and her crew bone-weary after the fourth war patrol. Fremantle was one of those places where submariners knew they would find a few weeks of peace. There were cold beers, hot meals, and the company of people who appreciated that these young men were daily gambling their lives under the sea. But more importantly, Fremantle was where submarines were put back together again.
Podcast: Rashers Legendary Night: August 18, 1944
Rasher tied up alongside the pier, and the Submarine Repair Unit swarmed aboard like ants on spilled sugar. They pulled engines apart, rewired circuits, and replaced piping that had been strained one too many times. The work was not cosmetic. A submarine that sailed without being refitted was one that might not come home at all. The Navy knew it, and the sailors knew it.
The crew got two weeks’ leave. Some went inland, taking in the strange beauty of the Australian countryside. Others stayed close to town, enjoying what little normalcy wartime allowed. But even as they enjoyed their time off, the men knew that Rasher was being transformed. When they returned on July 7, the boat they came back to was familiar yet altered. Two of the main engines had been completely rebuilt. A new radar set, equipped with the latest Plan Position Indicator, gave them the ability to see ships painted in green light against a dark screen, even in the middle of the night. New sonar gear was installed, and a fresh ballast pump gave them quicker dives.
The submarine force had learned hard lessons in the first years of the Pacific war. Early torpedoes had been unreliable. Sonar and radar were primitive compared to what they would become. But by the summer of 1944, the boats of the Silent Service were turning into hunters with teeth sharpened by experience. Rasher’s crew sensed it. They were going back to sea with better tools and a boat that was tighter, faster, and deadlier than before.
There was one more change before they sailed. Command passed from Lieutenant Commander Willard Laughon to Commander Henry Munson. In the tight quarters of a submarine, a change of skipper could feel like a change in the air itself. Laughon had guided Rasher through earlier fights, but Munson now carried the responsibility of leading the crew into the heart of Japanese waters. Those who served under him later recalled that he was calm, deliberate, and carried a quiet authority. That was exactly what they needed.
Training began in earnest on July 10. Day and night, the crew drilled approaches, firing exercises, and convoy attacks. Men learned to recognize the sound of a periscope slicing water, to track pings from a searching escort, to calculate torpedo spreads under pressure. These drills were not games. They were rehearsals for survival. A crew that had practiced enough would react as one body when the real thing came. By the time training ended, the sailors believed in themselves and in their boat.
On July 22, Rasher departed Fremantle. Her orders were clear. She was to proceed in company with USS Bluefish, pass through Lombok Strait and Sibutu Passage, and patrol off the western coast of Luzon as part of a coordinated wolf pack. That area, codenamed “Whitewash,” was a lifeline for Japanese convoys. Oil, troops, and supplies flowed through it toward the homeland. American submarines were there to cut that artery.
The trip north began with exercises alongside Bluefish and Flier. They practiced under the watchful eye of a British ship, HMS Holmes, acting as a mock convoy. The training was broken by a tense moment on July 24, when Rasher’s lookouts spotted a Japanese periscope. For a heartbeat, no one knew whether it was friend or foe. Munson cleared the area at high speed, sending warnings to Bluefish. It turned out to be enemy. For the crew, it was a reminder that this patrol was going to be very real.
By late July, Rasher was approaching Lombok Strait, a narrow and dangerous passage. Japanese patrol boats prowled the waters, and aircraft scouted overhead. The new radar proved its worth, painting the shorelines and islands with a precision that gave Munson confidence as he threaded the strait at night. Lookouts spotted sailboats and trawlers, some suspected of being armed. Munson let them pass. The boat was not there for trawlers. She was heading for bigger game.
Once through, Rasher slipped into her assigned area off Luzon. The early patrol days were marked by sightings of small craft, luggers and sampans clinging to the coastline, and occasional patrol planes sweeping the skies. More ominously, there were signs of coordinated Japanese anti-submarine tactics. Fishing boats loitered with radios, ready to call in aircraft. Patrol craft moved in predictable patterns, daring a submarine to strike and reveal itself. It was a cat-and-mouse game, and Munson was not about to play by their rules.
Then came the night of August 2. Rasher’s radar picked up a large contact. Closing in, the crew identified a Japanese tanker with escorts. Tankers were prime targets. Without fuel, the Japanese fleet could not sail. Munson set up his attack carefully. When the range was right, Rasher loosed a spread of torpedoes. The explosions came quickly, followed by the unmistakable sounds of a ship breaking apart. The escorts charged, depth charges pounded the sea, but Rasher was already slipping away. The first major sinking of the patrol was in the bag.
For the next two weeks, the boat patrolled her sector, sometimes with Bluefish and sometimes alone. She acted as lifeguard for airstrikes, always ready to pick up downed pilots, though no rescues came. A broken arm aboard forced a rendezvous with USS Hoe to transfer the injured sailor. Such moments reminded everyone that submarines were not only fighting platforms but also cramped villages at sea, where accidents happened alongside battles.
Everything changed on the night of August 18.
That evening, Rasher picked up radar contact on a large formation. It was no ordinary convoy. This was one of the most important Japanese supply efforts of the war, bound for the Philippines with troops and materiel. The convoy stretched in multiple columns, bristling with escorts, and covered by aircraft. To the American submarines waiting in the area, it was the opportunity of a lifetime. To the Japanese, it was a last chance to reinforce a crumbling position.
The weather could not have been better for the submariners. Rain lashed the sea, the night was pitch black, and clouds blotted out the moon. It was the perfect cover for surface attack. Munson brought Rasher in, running on the surface, weaving among the rain squalls. The new radar painted the targets, while sonar picked up the escorts pinging away. The convoy was big, well-protected, and moving fast. That only made the prize sweeter.
At just after nine o’clock, Munson gave the order. Torpedoes shot from Rasher’s forward tubes, racing into the night. Seconds later, explosions ripped through the darkness. A tanker erupted into flames, lighting the sky. Another ship staggered under the impact of torpedoes. The escorts reacted instantly, turning on searchlights, firing blindly into the night, and charging to attack. In the confusion, some even fired at each other. Depth charges rolled into the sea, shaking Rasher as she pulled away.
Munson was not done. He brought the boat back around, using the stern tubes this time. More torpedoes were loosed into the convoy. Again the results were devastating. Another ship broke apart, fires burning so hot they painted the rain red and orange. Oil slicks spread across the sea, carrying the smell of fuel and the cries of survivors.
The night turned into a vision of hell. From Rasher’s bridge, sailors saw columns of flame rising into the storm, escorts charging in all directions, and tracer fire slicing through the rain. At one point, two Japanese ships appeared to be dueling with each other, each convinced the other was a submarine. The scene was so surreal that sailors later described it as almost dreamlike, the sea itself on fire.
Rasher’s torpedoes claimed multiple victims that night. Among them were the tanker Teiyo Maru, the transport Teia Maru, and the passenger-cargo liner Nankai Maru. Other ships were left crippled, burning, or abandoned. Working with Bluefish and Spadefish, Rasher had helped deliver a blow that broke the back of the convoy.
By dawn, the evidence was everywhere. Oil slicks miles wide, lifeboats drifting aimlessly, wreckage scattered across the sea. The Japanese had lost thousands of tons of shipping and could not afford to replace them. For Rasher’s crew, the sense of triumph was mixed with exhaustion. They had spent a night racing through fire, dodging gunfire, slipping away from escorts, and firing nearly every torpedo they had. They were alive, and their enemy was not.
The days after the great battle felt almost anticlimactic. Rasher continued her patrol, but there was little left to strike. She evaded aircraft, slipped past trawlers, and watched the sea carry the debris of her victories. The submarine force had achieved what it set out to do. The arteries of Japanese supply were being cut, and Rasher had been the knife.
On September 3, 1944, Rasher returned to Pearl Harbor. The Fifth War Patrol was over.
The results spoke loudly. Rasher had sunk or crippled multiple ships, including vital tankers and transports. Her tonnage total placed her among the most successful submarines of the war. For the crew, it was a reminder of what training, leadership, and courage could accomplish. For the Japanese, it was another nail in the coffin of their ability to fight a modern war.
The Fifth Patrol of USS Rasher became a legend in the Silent Service. It showed what American submarines could do when preparation, technology, and sheer audacity came together. It was the night the sea lit up with fire, the night when escorts rained shells and depth charges into the black water, and the night when one American submarine and her crew proved that victory at sea was often decided not by great fleets, but by a few men in a steel tube, fighting in silence beneath the waves.
National Archives at College Park (Still Pictures), USS Rasher (SS-269) Fifth War Patrol Report, 22 July–3 September 1944, National Archives Catalog, NARA ID 139,738,842. Accessed August 17, 2025. https://catalog.archives.gov/id/139738842 Narrative by David Ray Bowman, FTB1(SS), 08.17.2025
Roscoe, Theodore. United States Submarine Operations in World War II. Written for the Bureau of Naval Personnel from material prepared by R. G. Voge, W. J. Holmes, W. H. Hazzard, D. S. Graham, and H. J. Kuehn. Designed and illustrated by Fred Freeman. Annapolis, MD: United States Naval Institute, 1949. ISBN 0-87021-731-3.Pages 384-386
Blair, Clay Jr. Silent Victory: The U.S. Submarine War Against Japan. Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1975. ISBN 0-397-00753-1 (Standard Edition), ISBN 0-397-01089-3 (Deluxe Edition). Pages 703-704
NavSource Naval History – Submarine Photo Index
NavSource Naval History. “Submarine Photo Index – Rasher (SS-269).” NavSource Naval History, accessed August 17, 2025. https://www.navsource.net/archives/08/08269.htm
Wikipedia – USS Rasher (SS-269)
Wikipedia. “USS Rasher (SS / SSR / AGSS / IXSS-269).” Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia. Accessed August 17, 2025. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Rasher
Naval History and Heritage Command – USS Rasher (SS-269)
Naval History and Heritage Command. “Rasher (SS-269).” Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Navy.mil. Last updated July 9, 2025. Accessed August 17, 2025. https://www.history.navy.mil/browse-by-topic/ships/submarines/rasher-ss-269.html
PigBoats.COM – Commanding Officers of U.S. Submarines
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