by M L Maki
Cumberland, “They found it?”
Morrison, “And they’re leaving it to us.”
“Hmm. Backes, work up a track. Load tube 2.” Cumberland leaves.
Backes, “They probably figure we’ve been humiliated enough.”
Morrison, “There are a lot of rocks and outcroppings out here. An ASROC has a good chance of missing, and no captain wants to dance close enough to engage with ship-mounted torpedoes.”
Backes, “They have their helo’s, too.”
“True.” He pushes the button, “Sonar, what is Sierra 4 doing?”
I-74, IMPERIAL JAPANESE KAIDAI-TYPE SUBMARINE
LCDR Reo Wakasugi studies the chart, “Make our course 235. Bring us to periscope depth.”
His XO, Lt. Yuuto Sahashi, “Sir, the sonar stopped.”
“Do you presume they did not find us?”
Sahashi, “Why would they stop?”
“Would you go into a hole after a dragon? They will coordinate an attack. It is why we must move.”
The Conning Officer, “We are at periscope depth.”
Wakasugi raises the scope and does a quick 360. “Nothing. We surface and start the diesels.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
“Conn, Sonar. Sierra 4 is surfacing.”
“Conn, Torpedo. Tube 2 is loaded.”
Morrison, “They’re clearing datum as fast as they can.”
Cumberland, “It’s unlike the Japanese to run away. Flood tube 2.”
“Yes, sir, but in this shallow water they must know they’re vulnerable. They’re probably hoping to ambush the fleet on the other side.”
“Conn, Sonar. Sierra 4 has started diesels.”
Cumberland, “Range?”
“Eleven miles, sir.”
Morrison, “Sir, if we hit them in this deeper area, they won’t become a hazard to navigation.”
Cumberland nods, studying the chart.
“Five miles, sir.”
Cumberland, “Open tube 2. Chief Barton, would you like the honor?”
Barton gets up from his station, “If you like, sir.”
“Tube 2 doors are open.”
Cumberland, “Go ahead, Chief.”
Barton looks the captain in the eyes and pushes the button, “Eighty people dead, sir.” He returns to his panel.
“Conn, Torpedo. Tube 2 fired electrically.”
“Conn, Sonar. Fish is hot, straight, and normal.”
Backes, “Very well.”
The Japanese submarine does not react.
JAPANESE SUBMARINE I-74
Over the noise of their diesels, sonar on the Japanese submarine cannot hear the incoming torpedo. On the sail, Lt. Sahashi is searching a slow 360 around his sub. He sees nothing out of the ordinary. Modern torpedoes do not make a tale-tell line of white bubbles that WWII torpedoes did. Sahashi cannot even hear the high-pitched pings of the torpedo’s sonar.
He feels the deck sharply lift and sees massive columns of water rise up on each side of the submarine. A rush of air comes out of the open hatch, then the deck drops, hard. Holding onto the bridge coaming, he looks aft and sees the stern moving separately from the bow. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What weapon does this?”
The crew scramble up and out of the hatch of the doomed vessel.
USS SAN FRANCISCO
Cumberland watches the sinking sub on the monitor. Under his breath, “Damn, that was easy. No fun at all.”
Morrison, on the attack periscope, says, “Sir, there are survivors. Can I call Fife to pick them up?”
“Do so. If need be, surface the boat.” Cumberland leaves control.
“Yes, sir.” Morrison picks up the VHF, “Fife. Fife. Fife. This is San Francisco.”
“San Francisco, Ghost Rider 333. We’re in contact with Fife. Go ahead.”
“Ghost Rider, San Francisco. We just sank another Japanese submarine. There are survivors. Can Fife send it’s helo’s?”
“San Francisco, Carrier Group 2. Do not stop. Fife will take care of the survivors.”
Morrison, “Carrier Group 2, San Francisco. Roger.” He sends the coordinates. “Left rudder.”
“Left rudder. No new course given.”
Backes on the search scope, “Holy shit.” He watches the stern sink. The bow is at ninety degrees vertical as it slips beneath the waves.
Morrison, “Right rudder. Resume course.”
The helm repeats.
JAPANESE SUBMARINE I-74
Sahashi watches his boat slip away, leaving barely a ripple on the water. Then he sees two periscopes looking at him as the enemy submarine slides by. He, and the six other men who survived, won’t last long in the cold water.
Minutes later, he hears the rhythmic beat of a helicopter. He watches the strange aircraft hover over them. A man in a sling comes down. He is hoisted into the machine and a sailor zip ties his hands. Forty minutes later, he and his men are let out in a field. They are greeted by two police officers and a posse of farmers with rifles and shotguns.
CHAPTER 23
WASHINGTON NATIONAL AIRPORT
1418, 27 February, 1942
The C-47 bounces once on the landing and taxies to the terminal. Lt. Kichiro looks out the window. His mood matches the rainy weather. The engines finally stop and he gets up and walks forward. “Guys, thanks for the ride.”
Captain Archer, “No problem. We wish you the best.”
The cargo master has the door open and is unloading the mail and packages. Kichiro grabs his bags and climbs out of the plane. He trudges through the rain into the terminal. On one side there’s an empty desk. He looks around and sees a few people waiting in the lounge area.
He hears a gravelly voice, “You Kichiro?”
He looks over and immediately recognizes Rickover. He freezes. Rickover founded the naval nuclear program and died in 1986, a retired four-star admiral. Kichiro sees the three stripes of a full commander and relaxes, a little bit. “Yes, sir.”
“Come on.” Rickover turns and walks away. Once they’re in a Navy Ford, he says, “I was told you would probably recognize me. Tell me about your submarine.”
“No, sir. I recognize you, sir, but until I’m told by Admiral Klindt what you are authorized to know, I ain’t telling you shit.”
“Good. You shouldn’t. I was told you were sharp. We’re on the way to see the admiral now.”
About a half hour later, they arrive at Admiral Klindt’s building. Rickover parks and they go in. They show ID to a sentry, then walk into an office full of manned desks. Vice Admiral Klindt is on the phone, his back to them and looking out a window. “Yes, Senator, but we need approval this week. Good day.” He hangs up, “Kichiro, good to see you.” He offers a hand, and Kichiro takes it. “What have you shared with Commander Rickover?”
“Nothing, sir. I don’t know what he’s cleared for.”
“Good. He’s cleared all the way, for everything you know, including operations. You two will be working together off and on. He sits my chair for propulsion. You’ll sit my chair for weapons. I’ll give you about a week to get up to speed, then you’re going to be bouncing between Keyport, Washington, and Newport, Rhode Island, sorting out our fucked-up torpedoes. Rickover, set him up with a room.” He turns away, “David, could I talk you into a cup of joe? Commander Holloway, has Groton gotten back to you? Warren, what the hell is going on at PSNS?”
Rickover and Kichiro leave.
USS SAN FRANCISCO, 200 MILES NORTH OF THE DESOLATION ISLANDS
1400, 1 March, 1942
Morrison looks at the message, “Miller, we’ve been cut loose to search the Cape of Good Hope.”
“Yes, sir. Speed change?”
“I’ll talk to the boss.” He walks forward to the CO’s cabin and knocks, “Sir, we’ve been cut loose to search the Cape.”
Cumberland opens the door, “Ahead full. Sprint and listen. Once you’ve sorted out the watch team, come back.”
“Yes, sir.” A few minutes later, he knocks and enters, “S
ir?”
“Okay, I’ve been looking at the chart. Where do you think the German or Japanese subs are likely to be?”
“Sir, it’s hard to say. Most of the continental shelf is deep enough for a diesel boat.”
Cumberland, “I would put a picket line across the sea lanes. They’re so slow, they pretty much have to be where the fleet is steaming.”
Morrison, “Does the Royal Navy have a presence in Cape Town?”
“I don’t know. They have no subs, that’s for certain. We’ll get in the shallows east of Cape Town and head south. Well short of the ice, we’ll head west a hundred miles and repeat. If there is anything there, we should find it.”
“Yes, sir.”
TIRPITZ, TRONDHEIM, NORWAY
2010, 1 March, 1942
Oberleutnant zur See Gunter Schmitt is standing conning officer. Binoculars to his eyes, he is studying the water around them. Kapitan zur See Karl Topp, “Oberleutnant, we want to moor against that cliff. Do you see the concrete dolphin?”
“Yes, Herre Kapitan. Right standard rudder.”
“Right standard rudder. Rudder is right. No new course given.”
Schmitt, “Sir, why did we withdraw?”
“Oberleutnant, our mission is to sink convoys and threaten to sink convoys. We cannot afford to be damaged. The King George V is a fine vessel. They would damage us, if we persisted. We cannot threaten anyone from the shipyard. We bled them, and they will remember. It is enough for now.”
SHIPYARD, COCKATOO ISLAND, SYDNEY HARBOR
1628, 02 March, 1942
Amy clocks out of work with her friends. Her face is filthy, except where she was wearing her respirator. Sharon Tinkler says, “Hey Amy, the girls are going out tonight. Wanna come?”
“No, hun. Have fun.”
“Come with us, Amy. It ain’t like we’re planning a pub crawl. We’re not trolling for blokes. Come have a beer.”
“No, Sharon, I’m married. Married women don’t hang out in pubs.”
Mary Burns says, “Shar, let her be.”
Debby, “Your sailor is half a world away, and he might not survive.”
Amy turns on Debby, “Don’t you dare talk like that!”
Debby, “It’s true. In your heart, you know it. You’re turning yourself into a nun for nothing.”
Amy, “Debby, what about Gary’s friend, Karl? I thought you two were engaged.”
Debby, “Yeah, but who knows if he’ll come back. Come out with us. He’ll never know.”
Amy, “I’ll know. No. Period. I won’t betray my vows. If you don’t care about Karl, write and tell him.”
Sharon, “Wow. You’ve become a stick in the mud.”
Debby, “No. He was fun, and who knows.”
Amy sighs, “I hope you have fun. I will never, ever go to a pub without my husband.”
Sharon, “Okay. Sorry.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO, 80 MILES OFF THE COAST, NW OF CAPE TOWN
1613, 2 March, 1942
Cumberland, “I thought for certain the Germans would guard the Cape.”
Morrison, “I did as well.”
“Conn, Sonar. Multiple vessels to the north west. Range is distant.”
They look at each other and Cumberland smiles, “A convoy. That’s where they are.”
“It’ll have escorts, sir.”
Cumberland shrugs, “World War II destroyers, child’s play.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I brought it up for consideration. The German subs will know there are escorts as well. It will impact their tactics.”
“Did the Kriegsmarine fear Allied destroyers?”
Thoreau, “I’ve read about that, sir. They respected them, but did not fear them.”
Cumberland, “Right. Take us to 600 feet. We get ahead of the convoy and give it a free escort north. No contact with the escort, unless it’s unavoidable.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Carry on.” Cumberland leaves.
PIRBRIGHT ARMY TRAINING CENTER, SURREY, ENGLAND
0800, 3 March, 1942
Captain Louis Mossberg, USMC, sits at a table. He is not manacled and he has a glass of water. Colonel Albright sits across from him, “Let’s go over this again.”
Mossberg, “Enough man. Have you contacted my embassy?”
“In due time.”
Mossberg leans forward, “Colonel, that time passed weeks ago. Both of us know you and your organization are in violation of a cubic shit ton of laws. We’re supposed to be allies.”
“What was so important about your aircraft?”
“Don’t go back there. We’ve already plowed that ground.”
“What kind of aircraft were you flying?”
“It was a Lamborghini Countach, model F. U. Does the Corps even know I’m here?”
“Come, come, Captain, you’re an African officer. Your precious Marine Corps does not give one wit about you. Your best choice is to cooperate with us.”
Mossberg laughs, “For an intelligence operative, you’re a horrible liar. You know nothing about the corps.”
“Then educate me.”
“You all have Gurkhas in your army, right?”
“Of course.”
“And, they are famous for being kick ass warriors. Disciplined, professional, little bundles of fucking whoop ass, right?”
“Colorfully put, but accurate.”
“In Belleau Wood the Germans were more afraid of the U.S. Marines than they were your Gurkhas. Marines get the corps lore with every fucking push up, and every Marine is a rifleman first. You best understand, Colonel, the only reason I’m still here is because I want to be, and the only reason you’re alive right now, is because I want you to be. When I rejoin with my beloved corps, they’ll welcome me with open arms, because I’m a United States Marine and I bleed red like any other Marine. Now, can we fucking talk about something I might, I say, I just might be willing to help you with?”
The colonel looks Mossberg in the eyes. The black man’s face is still and calm, but his eyes…his eyes are on fire. “Please, we can discuss this thing.”
“Okay, it’s obvious that you guys have no answer to the German jet I saw yesterday. If you had an answer, I would have heard it. Do you want to know something about the jet you’re facing?”
“I would.”
“It is the MiG-29. It’s a Russian jet that was sold to the East Germans before the wall fell. It’s a solid gen four jet that’s as agile as hell, but it does have some issues. First, it has really short legs. It has a combat radius of about 400 miles. Less, if they expect to dog fight. It can only fit heat-seeking and medium range guided missiles. Also, it runs like an Italian sports car.”
“I’ll need some clarification. First, how do you know so much about them?”
“I was at Brendenmeyer to fly against them. A couple of months ago, I was sitting in the cockpit of one. Oh, that’s something else. It’s instruments suck. They’re not at all intuitive to use.”
“What type of aircraft do you fly?”
“Don’t make me kick your ass. I call it an Italian sports car because it is beautiful and drives like a mother fucker, but it requires a great deal of care to keep it in the air.”
“It must have been a fighter if you meant to fly against the German jet.”
“Okay, we’re done, Colonel. Get ahold of my embassy before I walk in myself and say hi.”
“I’ll see what may be done.”
“I know pretty close right where it is. You know, I wonder what the American press will make of my treatment.”
“Your own people treat Africans much worse.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s like two brothers picking on each other. They can be absolutely terrible to each other, but if someone else picks on one of them, the other will defend his brother with his life.”
“Perhaps, I’ll see what I can do. It would be easier if you were more cooperative.”
“I might be more coo
perative once I communicated with higher and received guidance as to what we are sharing, and what we are not. Until then, you are demanding that I break my oath, and that ain’t gonna happen.”
