Attack of the Greyhounds

by H. Nelson Freeman

  “Gentlemen, what I’m about to tell you is very top secret. Nobody and I mean nobody, is to be told a word of what you will learn here. Has anyone ever heard of Unit 731?” Nobody acknowledged hearing about it.

  “Very well, Unit 731 is a secret biological and chemical testing unit. Men, women, and children are tested with a variety of chemicals, viruses, and bacteria. As far as we know, none have survived to this date. There is a lot of speculation on what goes on there, but no real knowledge or understanding.”

  “This mission is to capture a specific doctor who is conducting a lot of experiments. We want his disappearance to be both a secret and a mystery that will play on the superstitions of the rest of the people left at the island.”

  “A Coast Watcher was the first person to catch on to the strange things going on. He watched as guards put prisoners into cages. The males were kept separate from the females; they were then removed from time to time and taken into a large stilted hut. He heard men and women screaming. He did not see any live prisoners moved from the stilted hut to the cages. Later he saw what appeared to be unknown objects thrown into the water. He was in no position to see what the guards threw into the sea, but he noted a lot of sharks hanging around.”

  “I cannot emphasize enough on the importance of getting the commandoes and the prisoner back. Once again, this is top secret, and you will not share it with any member of your crew, or anyone else, ever. Questions?”

  One last thing, you must remember this man is extremely dangerous and never allow yourself to be with him unguarded. Are there any questions you may have? If not, were are finished; you have your orders.”

  Everyone stood, then Captain Gilford said, “Sir, we have a vacant junior officer’s quarters, we could make a quick holding facility where the guards could observe the prisoner on a twenty-four-hour basis. He would have his head facility there as well. It would be made to order for this mission.”

  “Good thinking, Captain, whatever you need to get, get it now, while the stores and munitions are available.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “When you’ve finished refueling, you will depart immediately on your mission.”

  With the briefing completed, the officers returned to their duties, with Lieutenant Commander Gilmore running plans through his head for the confinement of the Japanese doctor. When he arrived at his ship, he ordered the navigator to set up a course for our mission

  “Standing orders, upon completion of the replenishment, have the ship ready to get underway and set the Special Sea and Anchor detail.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Bo’ sun, have the Chief Engineer meet me in the wardroom.”

  “Aye, Sir.”

  The Captain headed to the Officer’s Wardroom, his head swirling with confinement ideas. In the wardroom, he laid out the information the engineer needed and where he proposed to house the prisoner. He left him with a final instruction, “You have two days to have it ready.”

  “Sir?”

  “I know, it’s a bit on the short side for notification, but you are the Master Magician here.” Smiling, he headed to his cabin to try an attempt to get some of the piles of paperwork done.

  Captain Trevor Ackerman of His Majesty’s Royal Australian Army, sat at the wardroom table with Lieutenant Byron Cockburn also from the Australian Army.

  Captain Tyson was about to return to the bridge when the Australian leader asked, “Sir, is there any way we could go over a few things here with our leading Sergeants?”

  Tyson checked his watch, then replied, “Certainly, the stewards will need to begin setting the supper before too long. Not to be a burden, Captain, could I impose on you to tell them to tell us to leave whenever they need it if we’re still here?”

  “Sure, I’ll take care of it. And how about some tea?”

  “I’ll owe you one on that, sir.”

  The captain stopped by the Stewards and asked them to take some tea to the men in the wardroom and let them know when you’re ready to set it up.”

  “I’ll take care of it right away, sir.”

  “Thanks.”

  The knock at the wardroom door was the two Sergeants.

  “There is some tea in the decanter, thanks to Captain Tyson. Have the men gotten settled in?”

  “Yes sir, they are going over their gear, making last-minute adjustments.” We have unused space next to their Chief Petty Officers Mess.

  Captain Ackerman went over the material from the briefing. Following a few questions, the officers decided they should move the briefing to where the men were set up. Once they found their way to the space, the four leaders set up their two teams according to their earlier plans.

  Two hours later, they were set in their operation, and the Captain told them, “Get what sleep you can, there is no telling when we’ll be able to sleep again.”

  ****

  A hundred-thirty-two-miles to the northwest Captain Masaji Kitoaji checked the speed indicator, a maddening five knots. It was late in the afternoon, and in a few short hours, he would be able to surface and recharge the batteries.

  Flipping up the switch for the engine room, he called “Engine room.” The engine room officer of the watch answered. “Yes, Sir?”

  “What is the percentage of the battery?”

  “Sir, we are at thirty-two percent.”

  “Hai.”

  “Helm, slow to two knots, and bring us to periscope depth.”

  “Slow to two knots, come to periscope depth. Hai.” He ordered the periscope up just enough to put about six inches above the surface. Looking three-hundred-sixty degrees, he saw nothing but water.

  “Raise the boat a meter.” As he watched, the water level fell away. On the horizon to the west green hills, not near mountains began to seem to rise from the water, Clouds misted about the tops, providing for shading and a greener appearance below them. A quick rotation failed to spot any ships within sight. Then a second, much slower rotation was started. But, still, no sign of any ships. It was still way too light to the surface, as such an act would be suicidal to a loitering American bomber or fighter.

  “Lower the scope, dive to seventy meters, all hands not on watch, turn in, silence throughout the boat.”

  The OOD looked alarmed, “What is it, sir? A ship or plane?”

  “I do not know OOD, but I can feel the enemy out there, somewhere, looking for us.”

  Nobody questioned the Captain about his feelings; they had saved the boat several times over the past year.

  ****

  Just over a mile to the east, an American S-class submarine was doing three knots at one-five-zero feet. The soundman was honed in on man-made sounds at two-zero-five true. It was a relatively high-pitch sound.

  “Sir, I’m holding a moderate-to-high pitch metallic sound at two-zero-five true. Possible bearing failure. Now I’m getting gurgling sounds, sir, a possible submarine in a dive on that bearing.”

  ****

  The RO’s Captain ordered, “Helm, steer two-zero-five, silence throughout the boat.” The word was passed from mouth to ear, from bow to stern. Automatically those not needed at a station, moved to their bunks to remain silent. The air vents were secured, causing the already warm ambient air temperature to rise. Nobody talked, but when the occasion came up, it was a low whisper.

  ****

  Lieutenant Commander Jason Amesbury turned to the OOD,

  “There are too many ships in this confined area. One itchy finger could bring about a disaster. Let’s get this boat out of here. Come about to one-four-zero, make your depth one-hundred-fifty-feet, all quiet about the boat, speed eight knots.”

  The orders were repeated back as they were put into action. The boat leaned to starboard as the deck tilted down at the bow, clawing her way to the ordered depth. The new heading took them out of the immediate combat zone toward the southeast.

  ****

  Every passing moment provided increased opportunity for the HALLIS to get a clear shot at the ene
my submarine.

  “Maintain your prosecution, Mr. Bennett.” The Captain said.

  “Aye sir, the submarine is a mile off our starboard bow, on a parallel course, doing nine-knots.”

  “How far away is the S-boat now?”

  “She is out of the immediate area of any combat now, over two miles southwest and on course one-four-zero.”

  “The S-boat Skipper is giving us room to deal with the other sub without endangering himself. Let’s turn the heat up on Tojo. Prepare for a depth charge attack, Mr. Bennett. Let’s get the latest intel on the enemy boat.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Two minutes later, the talker said, “It's sound sir, the Japanese boat is still off our starboard bow, but has been slowly descending, now believed to be approaching two-hundred feet, maintaining course three-zero-zero.”

  “Any indication of speed?”

  “I inquired, sir, and sound said less than ten knots.”

  “How deep is it here?”

  “Sir, we’re over the Santa Isabel Trough; it’s five-thousand- feet to the bottom.”

  “What are you going to do, Lieutenant JG Orman Bennett?”

  “Well, sir, that was my next question for you.”

  “Mr. Bennett, you have the Captain’s chair; this is your ship. You are less than a mile behind an enemy submarine who is diving right in front of you. Either you kill him or he will kill you. And, if you do survive, you will have to write over three-hundred letters of condolence to dead sailor’s families. Now, do your job or go play with your guns.”

  It wasn’t vails of fear that passed before the 1st Lieutenant’s eyes. It was more of the birth of a trained combat sailor. Even his voice changed, “Helm five degrees starboard rudder then ease your rudder to fall into his wake. Bo’sun, pass the word all hands prepare for a depth charge attack, set all depth charges to three-hundred feet, on the double.”

  Looking about the now clear-minded Lieutenant called out in a calm, distinct, yet deadly voice, “Talker, get an update from sound. And tell Main Control we’re going to twenty-five knots.”

  The young sailor, his mouth agape at the notable change in the officer, responded and called the sound shack. Seconds later, “Sir, the sub is directly beneath our bow, heading and speed unchanged.”

  The officer pulled his tight combat smile across his teeth, “Commence firing, Ripple-fire two patterns. Helm all ahead full. Bo’sun, to all hands, standby for a depth charge attack.”

  The ship went through the two attacks, causing broiling mounds behind her from the deep explosions. Then the HALLIS pulled off a short distance, waiting for the depth-charge induced bubbles to dissipate from the water. The soundmen listened intently while the lookouts studiously search the area of the violence, looking for debris or oil.

  ****

  Captain Masaji Kitoaji of the RO class submarine ran one scenario after another through his head. He even played dead to no avail. The Americans just sat off his port side, cruising at a leisurely eight knots. Perhaps they were waiting to see if I would surrender. I could never force a man to commit seppuku, as I do not believe in it myself.

  The soundman called just above a whisper, “American depth charges.”

  The Captain called, “All hands secure the boat for depth charges. Hard right rudder.”

  It was too late; the grey painted depth charges reached three-hundred-feet, causing the explosive chain to begin. When the primers flared into the main charge cavity, the resulting explosion created an expanding bubble of gas that was a hammer of uncompressed pressured water that slammed into the hull of the submarine. One, two, three, then two at once was more than the propeller shaft seals could contain. They blew inward like a shotgun blast, followed by an unrestrainable shaft of seawater and spray. The engine room quickly flooded and began dragging the submarine backward toward the bottom, still over forty-five hundred feet below them.

  As the sub became vertical, none of the crew were able to hang from valve wheels, or other potentials holds. The boat shook and rattled, and as the after compartments dropped below three-hundred-fifty feet, they began to collapse from the immense pressure on the hull. Then the compartment forward of the engine room collapsed, and the rushing water became a ram, compressing the air before it. Compressed air heats according to the pressure developed. In this case, sufficient to incinerate all flesh, and the pressure blasts turn the brittle bone to dust. No identifiable members of the crew remained within the crushed hull of the boat.

  In the forward torpedo room, the shock of the explosion threw the three-thousand-pound torpedoes about like matchsticks. The heavy warhead of one punctured an oil reservoir attached to a bulkhead, spraying the oily liquid about the torpedo room. At the same time, the charging hose for the liquid oxygen slammed into the oily water, splashing it about even more. The filling nozzle was knocked open, discharging a full pressure stream of liquid oxygen into the air. Oil molecules floated throughout the area of the space, not flooded. When washed with pure oxygen, the oil exploded.

  With the almost instant follow-on explosions accompanied by exploding eight-hundred-ninety-three-pound warheads of the eight remaining torpedoes the entire forward third of the submarine disappeared in a mammoth explosion never before heard in the New Georgia Sound, before or since,

  ****

  “Bridge, sound, “The following words were drowned out with a massive ripple blast from the gravesite of the submarine. From even the depth of where the sub was, a column of seawater shot over a hundred feet into the air. The two ships shook like dog toys in the jaws of a Great Dane.

  Both ships reported several injured men. There was no warning of the blast or its intensity. That would provide coffee clutch topics of conversation for days to come.

  The two destroyers searched the area, it took a little while, and then debris began to surface, along with the smell of diesel fuel. The debris field had increased as it bubbled up from the depths. Partially due to the underwater currents distributing the rising debris along its path. Sufficient material was recovered to identify the vessel as a Japanese submarine. Human remains recovered and examined by the doctor confirmed the nationality of the submarine. The identification of the submarine was unable to be made.

  Captain Tyson made his report to Cactus. He received a response less than ten minutes later.

  KJOB and XCCE, carry out your orders. Time is essential.

  Cactus 1

  “Navigator, adjust our speed to arrive at deployment station at the provided time.”

  “Aye, sir…set speed to twenty-six knots.”

  “OOD, go to twenty-six knots, notify AGAR.”

  “Aye, sir.” The bridge personnel all heard the OOD’s orders. The Lee-Helm rang up ahead full, then set the RPM indicator for twenty-six knots upon receiving the orders from the OOD. Behind the bridge, everyone could hear the forced draft blowers spool up, pouring vast amounts of warm, humid air into the boiler casings.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Special operations troops work at any hour of the day and night. Time was particularly short in this operation, an extremely dangerous attribute to throw into the mix.

  Captain Ackerman impressed on the men to commit to memory the primary landing/pickup point and direction/distance. He was even more committed to the men’s memorizing the alternative pickup point. In the event unforeseen events forced going to ground, they would call off the pickup and try for twenty-four hours later.

  The two officers retreated to their temporary lodging in a spare officer cabin for two. “How much do you wager they don’t sleep a wink?”

  “I’ll take a fiver,” Cockburn said. Then both laid five Australian pounds under a book on the shelf.

  The two Gleaves made their run ten miles off the coast of New Georgia and Kolombangara with a close eye on the radar and closely monitored lookouts. Their luck was following them as they veered north to slip around Vella Lavella on the northern side.

  The Two Australian Officers stepped into the tempora
ry compartment used by the men. They were up and finishing up the last-minute details before going over the side into the quietest motor whaleboat the ship had.

  The Lieutenant asked, “Have you men been up all this way from Tulagi?”

  “Yes sir,” said Staff Sergeant Warren. We have memorized every bit of information regarding the mission before us, including frequencies to be used and monitored.”

  “Staff Sergeant, you’re going to make a fine officer if you would only accept the offer.”

  “Sir, that I have been seriously thinking about, and with two little ones at home, me and the Mrs. have decided to accept your kind offer when we return to post.”

  “We’ll get the papers started immediately upon arrival, we are way too short of good men like yourself, and you will make the most knowledgeable candidate ever submitted.”

  “Thank you for your fine words, sir. Of course, you know I will do my very best.”

  “I never thought otherwise. Now, let’s get the men on deck and ready to deploy.”

  Zero-one-hundred is normally dark anywhere in the world. In the New Georgia Sound, with the high overcast blotting out the stars, a man wouldn’t be able to see his hand two inches away. There was no outline created by the landmass that would normally block horizon level stars.

  The only means of telling any direction was by a compass and a small, weak light with a red lens cover. The Navy issue compass in the hands of a quartermaster who was assigned to navigate for the coxswain gave him all the information he was going to get, other than by dead reckoning and time.