Distant flashes showed that the Japs were firing back. Their shells, however, landed well short, although they did create mighty plumes of water. Without radar and in the dim light, the Japanese weren’t all that certain where the Americans were. The Americans fired a big gun salvo at the cruisers, and spotters reported they too were short. Oldendorf raged while adjustments were made. Dane thought he could see the faint shapes of the Japanese ships against the shoreline, and wondered if that was confusing the fire-control radar. The Japanese were beginning to move.
Another salvo and Dane watched incredulously as the glowing red shells, each the size of a small car, sped through the sky. False dawn was rising and with his binoculars he could indeed see the enemy ships just as the second salvo impacted.
A plane reported. “Hit! We got a hit on the Nachi.”
Japanese cruisers were big, but they couldn’t stand fourteen- and sixteen-inch shells ripping through them. The Nachi’s superstructure collapsed on her forward turrets as near misses sent columns of water higher than the ship.
Another plane reported. “Nachi’s on fire and the Maya’s trying to get underway.”
The Colorado turned violently to port. “What the hell?” asked Dane.
Greene laughed harshly. “Torpedo. Remember them? This one missed.”
A second torpedo didn’t, and the battleship shook as a plume of spray shot to the sky. A few moments later, damage control reported water, but that it could be contained. The Japs had teeth, but the battleships were not going to succumb to their bites.
Another report came in. “Nachi’s burning and slowing down. Maya’s hit, too.”
A bright light flared in the distance. After a minute it was reported that the light cruiser Tama had blown up and that the Abukuma had taken a hit that had blown one of her stern turrets completely off the ship. The spotter quickly added that the Maya had capsized.
On the Colorado, men were cheering, Dane among them. The rational part of his mind said he shouldn’t exult because men were dying. The emotional side, however, said they were Japs who’d invaded and massacred, and deserved what they were getting.
In a matter of moments, all four enemy cruisers had been destroyed. Oldendorf ordered the battleships to focus on the remaining Japanese destroyers. One of them was already burning, but so too was an American destroyer. The big guns of the Colorado and Mississippi turned on the surviving enemy ships with a vengeance. One Japanese destroyer managed to make it through the gauntlet of fire and out toward the ocean end of Cook Inlet.
The sun was up and the small city of Anchorage was in plain sight. The transports were huddled like sheep waiting to be slaughtered and Oldendorf accommodated them. The battleships cautiously moved through shallowing water to near point-blank range where their secondary batteries of five-inch guns ripped through the transports’ thin hulls. In short order, they too were exploding, burning, and sinking. Naval fire was then lifted to targets of opportunity, including trucks, buildings, and anything that looked like it might be useful to the Japanese. The recently offloaded supplies received special attention and were blown to pieces, including a half dozen Oscars that would never get off the ground.
Finally, the slaughter was over. A very satisfied Oldendorf had his victory, and the U.S. Navy had finally defeated a Japanese surface force. It didn’t take back the sting and shame of Pearl Harbor, Midway, the Philippines, and the Java Sea, but everyone in the task force was pleased, and the American public would rejoice once the news got out. Four Japanese cruisers and four destroyers had been sunk, along with half a dozen transports. One enemy destroyer might have escaped, but so what, was the consensus. One American destroyer was badly damaged and would be scuttled. It would be too time-consuming and dangerous to try and tow her all the way back to Puget Sound. Fifteen were dead aboard her, along with forty wounded. Apart from bumps and bruises, there were no other casualties on the other ships. The admiral announced that it was time to leave.
Motion was seen in the ruins of Anchorage. At first scores, and then hundreds of people could be seen running toward the shore, frantically waving their arms.
“What the hell is going on?” Oldendorf asked.
Dane had binoculars on the throng. “Those are civilians, sir. They want us to pick them up.”
Oldendorf shook his head grimly, “Can’t do it. We’ve stayed long enough.”
Dane was appalled at the answer. “Sir, those are the Americans the Japs have been torturing and using as slaves. Admiral, if you don’t save them, the Japs will likely kill them in retaliation for this disaster. Their commander, Colonel Yamasaki, is a real fanatic and he will want revenge for what we’ve done. He will have them all beheaded or shot, or maybe used for living bayonet practice.”
Oldendorf looked stunned. He nodded grimly and made his decision. “That will not happen on my watch. Get the destroyers in close and everyone launch boats. We’ll pick up every goddamned one of them.”
An hour later, a score of lifeboats had each made several trips to the shore, returning with as many civilians as they could find. Without exception, they were dressed in rags and showed signs of starvation. Multiple bruises were evidence of repeated beatings, and some looked maddened by their ordeal, especially the women. Many of them were nearly nude despite the worsening weather. Hundreds of helping hands lifted or carried them onto the warships and hardened sailors were moved to tears by what they saw. Finally, there was nobody else, only dead Japanese, although they could sense the angry survivors among the enemy invasion force glaring at them through the woods.
“Now it’s time,” Oldendorf said grimly. The sight and condition of the civilians had shaken him. “Let’s get the hell out of this place. But first, let’s lob a few shells into the woods and maybe we’ll get lucky and hit something Japanese.”
* * *
A few miles north and west of the fighting, the Shark remained submerged. As the morning brightened, Torelli could see smoke coming from the Anchorage area. He could also see a ship heading for him and racing at great speed.
He grinned. “Damn if it isn’t a Jap destroyer,” he announced after carefully checking his Jane’s. “And he’s running like a bat out of hell, which means we probably won the fight, and damned if we aren’t going to sink the fucker.”
“Want me to put that in the log, sir,” Crowley asked innocently. “I feel that using exact quotes are best for historical purposes.”
“Screw you, Mr. Crowley,” Torelli said amiably. “We will fire when she’s broadside to us. I don’t want any misses running toward any of our ships that might be coming out of the fight.”
He also added that, when the four torpedoes were fired from the Shark’s bow tubes, the boat should turn as quickly as possible so the stern torpedoes could be fired. Torelli had no confidence in his torpedoes and wanted to minimize the chance of a thoroughly pissed off Japanese destroyer commander running up the torpedoes’ wakes and depth-charging them. The Jap might be fleeing, but who knew how he might react if he thought he could sink an American sub.
They fired at a thousand yards. Four torpedoes streaked toward the destroyer and this time fate smiled on the men of the Shark. Two of them exploded against her hull, shattering her and breaking the destroyer in half. Both parts floated for a while and then slipped beneath the sea.
“No lifeboats,” Crowley said as he took his turn at the periscope, “and nobody swimming in the water. I guess that means no prisoners.”
Torelli recalled his conversations with Dane. “From what I hear, young Lieutenant, the sons of bitches would rather die than be taken prisoner.”
Crowley grinned. “Sounds good to me, Skipper.”
CHAPTER 11
JAP FLEET SUNK
REVENGE FOR MIDWAY—NINE JAP SHIPS DESTROYED
FINALLY! WE WIN A BIG ONE!
The headlines on the San Francisco and Oakland newspapers said it all. The United States Navy had won a major victory over the Japanese and the nation was exultant. The s
tring of agonizing defeats had ended and there would be more victories.
Amanda, Sandy, and Grace were not immune to the festive air as they walked down Funston Avenue near the Presidio in San Francisco on their way to the law offices of Goldman and Swartz. The articles following the headlines made for sparse reading, as it was obvious that the government wasn’t releasing much in the way of information. Nothing was said about which Japanese ships had been sunk, except to say that four were cruisers and five were destroyers. It was painfully evident that no Japanese carriers or battleships had been involved, which meant that the main Japanese battle fleet remained unscathed. Nor was anything said about what American ships were involved or where they’d been based, except to say that two battleships had done much of the work. The article also said that Japanese army shore installations had been pounded and destroyed, and that a large number of terribly mistreated American civilian refugees had been saved from Japanese clutches.
It was like a cloud lifting. The litany of defeats had come to a screeching halt. Now the United States would continue to strike back; at least, that was the prevailing hope and thought. There was, however, the nagging sense that the Japanese would seek revenge for the slaughter.
Even reading between the lines, it did not look like something Tim Dane would be involved in, and for that Amanda was thankful. Captain Harding had dropped by that morning with copies of their nursing credentials, which meant they could get a job, and gasoline ration coupons that would enable them to drive to San Diego in the ’38 Buick they’d purchased.
The law firm of Goldman and Swartz consisted of one person, Richard Goldman, Swartz having died several years earlier. The offices were on the second floor of a nondescript building that had a men’s clothing store on the first floor. Goldman was a small, frail man in his sixties and the women had asked for an appointment with him because Mack had suggested him.
“I’m sorry to hear of Mack’s passing,” Goldman said. “I’ve known him for a very long time, and yes, he did do some very questionable things when he was young and aggressive, but nothing that would have put him on the wrong side of the law. I think what you heard was his conscience speaking. He felt responsible when he made money while others lost theirs. Perhaps it was best that he wound up on a beach in Hawaii. Maybe I’ll go there myself someday.” He sighed. “Of course, I’d look like the devil in a bathing suit, so perhaps it’s best I don’t.”
Goldman took the envelope containing Mack’s will. “Alleged will” is how the lawyer phrased it.
“We have to prove its authenticity and, unfortunately, the only ones who witnessed it are the supposed heirs, you people, which is an obvious conflict of interest. You shouldn’t be witnessing something that will reward you; however, I don’t know what else you could have done. Also, we’ll have to prove that Mack is actually dead, and, since you are the witnesses as well as the heirs, the police might want to talk to you about the possibility that you killed him for his money. Again, however, since any alleged crime took place on the high seas, and likely out of anyone’s jurisdiction, that would be an uphill fight for the cops unless one of you wanted to confess, of course. If one of you would kindly implicate the others, I’ll get whoever confesses first a light sentence.”
“I didn’t kill him, I loved him,” lamented Grace.
“And I’m joking,” said Goldman. “Unfortunately, it was a bad joke.”
“I’m confused,” said Amanda. “Are you implying there’s enough money involved for someone to want to murder him?”
Goldman shrugged. “Who knows? He apparently cashed out all, or at least most, of his investments and put whatever he got into the safe-deposit boxes for which you have the keys. What’s in them we won’t know until and if they are opened.”
“Do you think it’s worth the effort?” Amanda pressed.
“I’d say probably. By the way, the legal effort will include someone, me, locating any of his living relatives who might file a claim that the will is invalid as well as dealing with the State of California, who might also say that the will is invalid and the contents of the boxes belong to the oppressed citizens of the state. What they’ll probably do is negotiate a percentage if it looks like you might prevail in court. By the way, we haven’t discussed my fee.”
Amanda sighed. “And how much will that be when you consider that we don’t have all that much money?” She decided not to mention the cash “refund” they’d recovered from Mack.
“Normally, I charge twenty-five percent of the proceeds. But, since you’re Mack’s friends, I’ll only charge a third.”
“What!” said Amanda.
Goldman laughed. “Glad to see you’re paying attention and understand basic math. Twenty-five percent is my fee.”
They agreed, signed a contract and some other forms, and left. It was time to go to San Diego and start earning a living. Goldman had a relative named Zuckerman in San Diego and they would communicate through him. Zuckerman was an attorney as well as an investor in real estate.
“I hope we’re doing the right thing,” Sandra mused as they waited for the ferry that would take them across the bay to Oakland and their car, “but I don’t know what the wrong thing could be.”
Amanda was about to answer when air-raid sirens went off. They looked about and scanned the skies along with thousands of other people who were staring skyward, puzzled and confused.
“There,” Grace shrieked and pointed. Hundreds of tiny dots were approaching from the south and heading over the Bay.
The Japanese were striking back.
Masao Ikeda piloted his Zero with the consummate skill of an experienced Japanese pilot, the best in the world. He and close to two hundred others flying both Zeros and the Nakajima B5N2 two-man carrier-based bombers had approached from the south of San Francisco because senior officers said that American radar likely did not extend that far. So they had circled behind where they thought radar would be, and apparently they were right. Radar was only dimly understood by the average pilot, and Japanese planes and most ships did not have it yet.
The waves of Japanese planes had flown at very low levels, well below what the experts also said were the limits of the radar devices that could identify a flying plane that could not be seen by the human eye. They had flown only a hundred feet above the ground and had been more concerned about trees and power lines than American warplanes. By coming from the south, it looked as if they’d also managed to avoid being spotted by any patrolling planes and ships.
The flight was both stressful and intoxicating. The terrain south of San Francisco surprised Ikeda. Unlike Japan, where cities were jammed with teeming multitudes, there was so much empty space and room for growth. He idly thought that he would like to visit the place some time. Perhaps after the successful conclusion of the war, where he would be treated as a conqueror and take his pick of white-skinned American women.
Today, though, he and his comrades would take revenge on the Americans for their disgraceful ambush of the Japanese convoy in what was a massacre unworthy of warriors. The planes from four carriers were taking part in this raid that saw them sweep unmolested over the rugged terrain south of San Francisco. Their knowledge of the area was minimal and they’d been reduced to reading road maps and magazine maps from sources like automobile clubs and National Geographic. Even so, it was impossible to miss the coastline and San Francisco Bay. Once over the bay, they turned north and east and headed toward the naval base at Mare Island. The bombers, referred to by the Americans as “Kates,” would drop their loads while the hundred and fifty Zeros dueled with American defenders. The Japanese did not think they could destroy the massive base with the fifty bombers and their relatively small loads. The purpose of the attack was to show the arrogant Americans that Imperial Japan could and would strike their home cities at will.
Ikeda had another hope. He was still a virgin when it came to enemy kills, and he was sick and tired of the teasing from his comrades. He would not even think of discu
ssing the fact that he was a virgin when it came to women as well.
“Many enemy fighters!” came shrilly over his radio. “All directions.”
Ikeda looked around. Yes, American planes were swarming like angry bees from a hive. He exulted. There was no way he would not emerge with a kill; perhaps several enemy planes would fall to his guns. Another order sent the Kates back toward San Francisco, their secondary target. There were far too many American planes between them and Mare Island for the Kates to force entry. Now they were to bomb the city itself and then return to their carriers.
A shape flew across his nose. It was gone too quickly to fire at and Ikeda again cursed his luck. There! An American P47 was in his sights. He fired a burst and his tracers showed that the shells had fallen short. He fired again and the American plane lurched as pieces fell off. It began to smoke and headed toward the ground.
A kill, a kill! He howled with pleasure. He got his Zero on the tail of another P40 and blew it apart. A third plane, another P47, fell to his 20mm guns. He had to be careful, now. He didn’t want to run out of ammunition while surrounded by enemy wasps. He looked down and saw a number of parachutes. He thought about strafing the cowardly American pilots, but that would be a waste of ammunition.
“Break off. Return home.”
He snarled at the order, but it had to be done. A flash to his left and he saw a Zero explode. He fired a last burst at a P47, saw the shells hit but not kill the plane. Rumors said that the American plane was sturdy and the rumors, he thought ruefully, were correct. A flaming Zero fell from above him. He looked around and saw many, many American planes. The far fewer Japanese planes were all headed out to sea.
The Americans would chase the Japanese planes far to where the carriers waited along with the planes left behind to ambush any pursuit force. Ikeda tried to count the Japanese planes now flying west with him. He presumed that almost all the Kates had left the area and flown to safety, which meant there should be close to a hundred and fifty Zeros left. But where were they? Ikeda roughly counted much less than a hundred. Could the Americans have shot down so many? Nonsense, he thought. They must be scattered or following farther behind. Japan had won another great victory by bombing an American city and shooting down scores of enemy planes.
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