27 Destroyers Chased Him — He Turned Around, Massacred 27 Ships Instead

January 30th, 1944. In the cold, murky depths of the Pacific, the USS Seahorse lay submerged beneath the surface, its crew exhausted after more than three days of tracking a Japanese convoy. The convoy, made up of three freighters, seven escort destroyers, and thousands of Japanese troops, had been the target of Lieutenant Commander Slade Cutter’s relentless pursuit. But as Cutter and his men closed in on their prey, they didn’t expect to find themselves in a fight that would push them to the edge of survival.

Cutter, leading one of the most skilled submarines in the Pacific fleet, knew exactly what was at stake. The convoy was carrying critical reinforcements for Japan’s rapidly weakening position in the Pacific. Cutter’s mission was clear: sink the convoy, disrupt Japan’s supply lines, and delay the reinforcement of their garrisons. But the odds were overwhelmingly against him.

With only eight torpedoes remaining and his submarine’s batteries at 40%, Cutter’s crew was exhausted, and the destroyers closing in on their position were moving fast. Their maximum speed was far superior to Seahorse’s sluggish submerged pace of just nine knots. The math was simple: if Cutter didn’t act quickly, he and his crew were doomed.

The destroyers were closing in, their sonar-equipped warships scanning the waters for any signs of the enemy. Seahorse had nowhere to hide. Standard submarine tactics would dictate that Cutter submerge deeper and wait for the destroyers to pass, praying for a small window of opportunity. But Slade Cutter was never one to follow the standard doctrine.

Instead of fleeing, he made a decision that would define his career and change the course of submarine warfare forever. Cutter turned the Seahorse directly toward the lead destroyer and ordered flank speed. In doing so, he was charging straight into a trap, with seven destroyers converging on his position, ready to unleash 504 depth charges—each one capable of destroying the submarine in a single hit.

Cutter’s gamble was audacious. It was a calculated risk that most submariners would never take. But Cutter wasn’t just any commander—he was a man who understood that in war, hesitation could mean death. His philosophy was simple: “Aggressive action executed perfectly is safer than cautious hesitation.” It was a mantra he lived by. Cutter’s football background, where he had thrived under immense pressure, had taught him that facing down danger head-on often resulted in the greatest success.

What followed in the next 48 hours became one of the most legendary feats in the history of submarine warfare.

After firing three torpedoes that sank the first ship in the convoy, Cutter’s position was immediately compromised. The Japanese destroyers, now aware of his location, began charging at Seahorse from all directions. The depth charges rained down, one after another, as Cutter steered Seahorse to its maximum depth. The crew was rocked by violent blasts that reverberated through the hull. The first explosion sent men tumbling across the deck, the second burst shredded pipes, flooding the submarine’s engine room with oil. The Seahorse was being battered, but Cutter held his nerve, refusing to retreat.

“Play football in front of 79,000 people in ankle-deep mud,” Cutter would later say, “and a few depth charges don’t seem that bad.” He kept calm as the explosions continued. The Seahorse dodged death time and time again, evading the relentless depth charges launched by the destroyers. Cutter knew that they would only stop dropping bombs when they thought Seahorse had been destroyed. But Cutter was ready. He’d been through worse before. He knew the worst moment wasn’t when you were surrounded; it was when you hesitated.

At hour 32 of the chase, Cutter made a bold decision. He surfaced the submarine in the dead of night, just 200 meters away from the enemy destroyers. He needed to recharge the submarine’s batteries. Surfacing in such close proximity to seven destroyers was suicide, but Cutter understood the importance of taking action when the opportunity presented itself. In the darkness, as the enemy destroyers searched blindly for him, Cutter recharged his batteries and prepared for the next phase of the assault.

By hour 48, Cutter was ready. With the remaining torpedoes in his arsenal, he launched another round of attacks. This time, his targets were more elusive, the remaining freighters in the convoy. He fired eight torpedoes, missing all of them, but then fired two more from Seahorse’s stern tubes. Both hit. The Tolli Maru, a 4,000-ton freighter, was destroyed in seconds. The second freighter, though damaged, limped away, but Cutter’s relentless pursuit had already set the stage for one of the most devastating attacks of the war.

The destroyers, after four hours of dropping depth charges and searching for Cutter, made a fatal mistake. They assumed the Seahorse was dead. They broke off and moved to rejoin the convoy, giving Cutter the opening he needed. At hour 80 of the chase—after three days and eight hours of continuous pursuit—Cutter broke contact with the convoy, his torpedoes spent, his crew battered and exhausted.

The Seahorse limped back to Pearl Harbor, her hull scarred but her spirit unbroken. The submarine had survived 127 depth charge detonations, and Cutter had sunk five enemy ships in 53 days—two more than any other submarine commander in the Pacific.

Cutter’s courage and tactical brilliance were acknowledged by Admiral Charles Lockwood, who met him upon his return. “How the hell are you still alive?” Lockwood asked, his voice incredulous. Cutter shrugged nonchalantly and responded, “They kept missing.” The Navy awarded Cutter his second Navy Cross for extraordinary heroism, but Cutter, ever humble, simply filed the award away and got back to work.

As the war raged on, Cutter’s reputation grew. His tactics became a textbook example of aggressive submarine warfare, and he soon became the model for a new generation of submarine commanders. His ability to create opportunities in the most dangerous of situations was unmatched. But Cutter’s success wasn’t just about tactical brilliance—it was about the psychology of warfare. He understood that in the heat of battle, hesitation could be deadly. He wasn’t fearless; he was disciplined, calculated, and methodical.

By the end of the war, Cutter had sunk 19 ships, totaling more than 100,000 tons, cementing his place as one of the most successful submarine commanders in history. But his achievements went beyond the number of ships he sank. Cutter’s leadership and innovation in the face of overwhelming odds helped turn the tide of the war in the Pacific, particularly during the Battle of the Philippine Sea, where his intelligence report helped the U.S. Navy deliver a crushing blow to the Japanese fleet.

When Cutter was reassigned to command the USS Requin in 1945, it was clear that his time in the Pacific had come to an end. The war was winding down, and Japan would soon surrender. Cutter, however, was never one to rest on his laurels. He went on to serve in a variety of important roles in the U.S. Navy, including as the athletic director at the Naval Academy, where his football legacy continued to shape future generations.

Slade Cutter retired in 1965 with the rank of Captain, having never been promoted to Admiral, likely because he refused to play the political games that so often accompany advancement in the military. He moved to Annapolis, Maryland, and lived quietly, away from the spotlight. Cutter died on June 9th, 2005, at the age of 93, of heart failure.

Today, Slade Cutter’s story lives on as a testament to the power of strategic thinking, the importance of seizing opportunities, and the ability to turn the tables in the most impossible of circumstances. His story is one of courage and ingenuity, a reminder that sometimes the difference between victory and defeat lies in how we choose to face the challenges before us.

In the annals of military history, Cutter’s name is immortalized not just for his remarkable achievements, but for his understanding of what it takes to win in the face of overwhelming odds. Whether it was football, submarine warfare, or life itself, Slade Cutter knew one thing: aggressive action executed with precision is safer than cautious hesitation. And in the battle for the Pacific, that philosophy made all the difference.