The night air in the Formosa Strait felt like a lid pressed down on the sea. Clouds hung so low they nearly brushed the masthead light of anything tall enough to carry one. Rain drifted in and out as if the sky could not decide whether to spit or swallow. The water was rough, the wind stiff, and visibility sat so close to zero that even the best eyes in the Pacific Fleet would have been useless. It was the kind of place where battleships felt safe and submarines felt blind. The Japanese believed the strait offered shelter, with shallow water to limit diving, strong currents to confuse sonar, and the comfort of home waters after the chaos of Leyte Gulf. They had every reason to believe the night belonged to them.
Patrol Reports 