The Dead Alone (Empires Lost Book 3)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “Liberty Glo… Liberty Glo… this is US Navy Seahawk One-Zero-Niner…” the pilot’s words echoed loudly from large speakers mounted beneath the craft. “You are ordered to heave to immediately and drop anchor in preparation for boarding. Warships are enroute to your position as we speak. Failure to comply will result in your destruction…!”

  As an indication of their resolve, the door gunner fired a short burst straight over the ship’s bow and into the water beyond as warning, yellow tracer arcing right over Abukara’s head as he waited patiently there in the darkness below, aiming his own weapon.

  The chopper’s gunner never got another shot. At a range of less than a hundred yards, the well-lit helicopter was an easy target for Abukara as he rested the barrel on the railing once more and opened up with the Type-99. Thirty rounds hurtled away from the muzzle in less than three seconds, every fifth one a streak of red tracer that arced across the intervening distance like deadly fireworks.

  The thin aluminium skin and cockpit glass were no barrier at all to the powerful, rifle-calibre rounds as they punched through everything in their path, killing the flight crew instantly and sending the wrecked aircraft into a sudden, spiralling descent that saw it smash itself to pieces against the dark water seconds later. Abukara quickly discarded the empty magazine and loaded a fresh one, moving back to the very tip of the bow and laying down with the weapon’s bipod deployed. The helicopter was the first but he was certain it would not be the last. Their position would have been reported, and there was no doubt in his mind that more would come… and come quickly.

  The ship reached the Trinidad Turn a moment or two later, and as they rounded the islands to starboard, the bright lights of Gatun and the locks finally came into view, just three miles away. There was no need for the pilot now, so Sakamoto stepped forward and thrust him aside, pushing him toward the hatch without a moment’s hesitation.

  “Get out…!” He ordered coldly without turning around, slinging the MP2SD3 across his back and taking the wheel. As Sandoval hesitated at the doorway, cowering and expecting to be gunned down at any moment, he finally turned and bellowed in tense, frustrated Japanese: “You’re going to die anyway…get out…!”

  Rodolfo Sandoval may not have understood a word, but he understood the meaning well enough and didn’t need any further urging. Ducking quickly out through the hatchway, he made his way down to the main deck as fast as he was able, stomach lurching as he was forced to step over the bloodied bodies of the captain and several others, lying where they’d been tossed after the takeover of the bridge.

  Reaching the railing, he paused just long enough to look around once and steel his own nerves before vaulting over the side into the freezing water below. The cold might get him yet, he knew, but the nearest of the islands was not too far away and he was a strong swimmer: anything seemed a better alternative to remaining on that ship at that moment.

  With the pilot instantly forgotten, Sakamoto turned the wheel and brought Liberty Glo onto a direct course for the Gatun Locks, making the adjustment as gradual as possible so as to maintain as much speed as possible. His years of training with the Shipping Transport Command now came to the fore. He might not know the canal itself, but he knew how to pilot a ship, and with the primary target now in sight, it would be no difficult task for him to navigate between the last few moored ships ahead.

  Looking out across the bow, he could see the approach of a small, fast-moving vessel – no doubt a patrol boat or other small warship – with its navigation lights blinking against the backdrop of the locks and the town beyond. He shrugged. His was a simple, unarmoured freighter, and any warship could certainly do it serious damage, but it was a large freighter nevertheless that in itself could be a powerful weapon.

  With a tightening of his grim expression, Sakamoto adjusted the wheel slightly and made a course directly for the oncoming enemy as the Liberty Glo steamed on at full speed; an invisible juggernaut hurtling on between the buoy lights of the canal channel.

  Kennedy and his crew had heard the radio reports of an oncoming vessel from the Seahawk and seen tracer stream into the sky beyond the nearby islands a few seconds later. That the aircraft was no longer answering any call from base was telling indeed, and every man aboard was at their station as PT-101 roared forward at top speed, the bow high above the water as it surged on toward the Trinidad Turn.

  It was Myers, the man with by far the most canal experience, who first spotted the ship, picking out nothing more than the blankness of her silhouette as it obscured the channel buoys behind it. He cried out a sharp warning, turning the wheel to port and veering the sixty-ton PT boat away at the last moment as the thirteen thousand ton freighter’s bow loomed over them out of the darkness.

  Even then, it was almost too late at a combined convergent speed of fifty-five knots. The PT boat lurched upward across the side of the ship’s huge bow wave, almost becoming airborne for a second or two before it’s side smashed against the freighter’s hull, screeching against it for a few dozen yards and throwing to the deck every crew member not strapped into a weapon mount.

  It was a miracle that PT-101 didn’t just capsize there and then, overturned by the bulk of the huge ship as it thundered on, but the little Elco boat somehow righted itself once more, stalled but amazingly only slightly the worse for wear as it slipped away to stern in Liberty Glo’s wake.

  “Weapons free! Fire… fire…!” Kennedy bellowed angrily, working with Myers to restart the engines as the freighter began to draw away.

  The PT boat’s rear-mounted Bofors gun opened up instantly, the roar deafening as it sent round after round of high-explosive shells into the freighter’s stern. Small explosions erupted from her hull and rear deck, debris spraying skyward under the impacts at point blank range, yet still the freighter steamed on, its bulk far too great to be seriously damaged by something so small as a 40mm cannon.

  “Go… go… go…!” Kennedy shouted as the engines fired once more, pounding Myers on the shoulder in encouragement as the crew chief swung the boat around and it surged forward once more in hot pursuit. “Tubes one and three, prepare to fire…” he ordered, eyes narrowing as they moved out to port to give the boat more firing room and they began to haul back their quarry.

  “Abe…! Astern…! I need you aft…!” Sakamoto howled, sticking his head out through the open bridge hatch just long enough to get his junior officer’s attention.

  The man waved an acknowledgement and immediately began running down the port side of the main deck, heading aft to obtain a firing position on the enemy patrol boat. Halfway along, he spotted the PT boat once more and set up across the railing as he had earlier. This time however the range was out to three hundred yards or more, and the target was a fast-moving warship rather than a conveniently-hovering helicopter. He sent one full magazine out in their direction, then a second, the tracer streaking away across the dark ocean but having far less of an effect.

  Possibly a dozen rounds or so peppered PT-101’s bow from the second burst, but it was all to no great result other than to alert the forward gunner to his presence. Lining up on the muzzle flash of the Type-99, it was a far simpler task for the man controlling the boat’s bow-mounted rotary cannon to open up with a long burst of several hundred round, walking his fire along the line of the deck and shredding huge sections of it with 25mm shells. By the time the burst was over, there was nothing left of Abukara Katsuo to identify.

  Sakamoto felt the fire strike the ship, the entire vessel vibrating with the impacts as it ploughed on regardless. He wondered for a moment if Abukara had survived, but that was of little consequence in the long run: if he had died, then it was a warrior’s death; one of honour and sacrifice of which his family and his ancestors could be proud.

  He returned his attention to controlling the ship. The helm had become distinctly unresponsive following the initial bust of cannon fire that had struck the stern, and he suspected there’d been some damage to her rudders or steering
gear. Every manoeuver took longer, and he was forced to exert far more force on the wheel to make any adjustment to course. Again, it mattered little. Out through the bridge windows, slightly to the left, he could see the lights now of the Gatun Dam – the great wall of stone and concrete that held back the Chagres River, creating the huge lake he was now on.

  The dark silhouetted of a small island loomed up between the dam and the ship, warning lights flashing red at each end of the landmass, and he knew already that once he was past that point, their objective was finally in sight. In all probability, it was already too late for the Americans to stop them, but he wanted to make certain it was a success. Orders were orders, and Sakamoto intended to see them carried out to the letter.

  “What are you doing…?” Kennedy demanded as Myers swung the boat back to starboard, slewing it in behind the freighter on which they were quickly gaining and back out to the other side. “The firing angle’s no good from here… we need a bigger target.”

  “We got an island coming up, sir,” the CPO replied quickly, never taking his eyes from the water ahead. “We’re gonna run aground soon if we don’t get outta there. Gotta bring us back around to the other side to get you a shot…”

  “Ready tubes two and four, Goddamnit…!” The lieutenant howled in frustration as PT-101 opened out again on the freighter’s starboard side. “We’re gonna give her all four, just to be sure…”

  “Tubes ready, sir…!” The call came back seconds later.

  “Match target and fire all tubes…” Kennedy ordered coldly, hanging onto the frame of the open wheelhouse for stability. “Alternating sequence: narrow spread…”

  One by one, all four of PT-101’s Mark-8 torpedoes slid from their tubes with the pop of propelling powder charges and struck the water, disappearing beneath and surging away at 36 knots. Myers immediately hauled back on the throttles, slowing the boat considerably and allowing the torpedoes to clear forward before veering away off to starboard to allow the rear gunner another chance to open fire.

  As Liberty Glo slid past the northern end of the passing island, Sakamoto hauled the wheel over and began the arduous task of turning the huge ship to port, aiming its nose directly at the wall of the Gatun Dam, now little more than fire hundred yards away. The road bridge that crossed the top of the spillways was clearly lit and served as a perfect aiming point as he secured the wheel, signalled down to the engine room for ‘all stop’ and abandoned the bridge. They were close enough for momentum alone to take the vessel the rest of the way, and his first priority now was to get down to the hold as quickly as possible.

  Sakamoto entered the main cargo hold at the moment the first torpedo slammed into the stern, its 400-pound warhead blasting off one of the ships screws and allowing seawater to instantly flood into the ship through the shattered propeller shaft housing. He was thrown heavily to the deck, injuring his shoulder against a pile of brand new farm machinery that would never see a day’s use, and proceeded to receive a savage cut across his temple from that same equipment as a second torpedo hit a few seconds later, this one against below the waterline near the stern.

  The torpedoes weren’t powerful by modern standards, but they were enough to punch holes through the ship’s hull, and Liberty Glo quickly began to slow and settle as hundreds of tons of seawater began to flood into her rear compartments. Isaki Akitaka and the last few of her crew were killed by the explosion, and by the seawater that followed as the engine room flooded immediately after that second blast. Some lived long enough to realise what was happening, however none would make it out of that room alive.

  Sakamoto was holding tightly to the huge, lead-lined crate they’d brought with them as Liberty Glo finally slammed into the wall of the dam. The impact was actually relatively tame for all that – the loss of speed and the huge flood of water inside her had slowed the ship dramatically in that last quarter-mile or so. Back in 1919, the ship had struck a sea mine off the coast of Terschelling in the Netherlands and had completely lost her bow in the resultant blast, sheared off right back as far as the bridge itself. Her captain at the time however had miraculously managed not only to save the ship but she was eventually returned to port without a single casualty, to be rebuilt and continue operations as a merchant vessel throughout the post-WWI period.

  That replacement bow crumpled and warped now, the ship veering away to one side as it crushed up against the concrete and came to a complete halt almost parallel to the broad curve of the dam wall. She was listing badly now, and without anyone to close compartments or control the flooding, it was only a matter of time before she sunk. The wall itself fared reasonably well out of the incident, with just a few minor cracks near the top. It had been built to hold back the waters of the largest man-made lake on the planet, and something so minor as a low-level collision from some beat-up old Hog Islander wasn’t likely to cause any lasting damage.

  Blood dripping into his vision and staining his hachimaki, Sakamoto worked as quickly as his injured shoulder would allow. Water was already lapping at his feet on the increasingly tilted deck as he removed the cover from the device’s control panel and went through the short arming procedure as he’d trained so many times for in simulation, on his voyage across the Pacific to Ensenada.

  He ignored the timer function: he had no intention of retreat, and there was nowhere to run to anyway. Turning a large, red knob on the front face, he waited for a similarly-coloured light beside it to flash green before whispering one final, thankful prayer for his ancestors.

  “Banzai…!” He breathed softly, the traditional Japanese saying meaning ‘ten thousand years’, and with a deep, final breath of air to steady his nerves, Sakamoto Takasugi jammed his thumb down on a large, green button in the top, right corner of the panel.

  At the Gatun Locks, half a mile away, the last gates had just opened to release the brand new battleship USS Iowa. Finished a few months ahead of schedule, she’d been commissioned just four weeks earlier and had been given the opportunity to escort a large troop convoy to the Philippines as her shakedown cruise. Forty-five thousand tons of hardened steel, she was the first of her class and the most powerful battleship the United States had ever launched, with nine 16-inch guns in three turrets and a mass of light and medium anti-aircraft guns clustered about her central superstructure.

  As the lock gates opened, Iowa began to slowly make her way out with just a few inches to spare on either side, her captain looking forward to being in relatively open water again after a tense time being jammed inside those narrow locks on the way up to the level of the lake. Directly to his left as he looked out through the bridge side windows, the RMS Queen Mary was also finishing the final moments of her lift in the adjacent lock.

  There were few vessels that could tower over a battleship, but with a displacement almost twice as great as that of Iowa at full load, that huge liner was one of them. Aboard her decks, fifteen thousand men of an entire infantry division were housed in relative comfort for their long trip across the Pacific, bound for distant lands with the intent of defending American interests across the globe. In the approaches below, still waiting her turn, Queen Elizabeth was also present carrying another full division, along with a brace of attendant cruisers, destroyers and a quartet of fleet oilers in tow. The convoy had been delayed and all were in a hurry to get their ships through the locks and on into the Pacific for the journey west.

  Iowa’s captain had noted the short, rather one-sided battle between the PT boat and the errant freighter, having no idea whatsoever as to the reason behind it. He’d ordered his crew to battle stations anyway, despite the engagement proving to be over before they’d even cleared the last gates. He shrugged and ordered an ‘all clear’ once more, standing his crew down as he watched the old merchantman crash futilely into the dam wall in the distance and begin to settle in the water.

  Aboard PT-101, the Kennedy and his crew were equally at a loss to understand what possible purpose could have been served by such action as
the patrol boat circled near the sinking freighter at a distance of perhaps five hundred yards.

  “What the hell, Chief?” The lieutenant mused loudly, a frown on his face.

  “Dunno, sir.” Myers shrugged, no more enlightened than his commander. “They must’ve known an impact like that wouldn’t do any damage… not enough to crack the dam wall in any case…” He paused as he thought about it a little more deeply. “Why the hell would you wanna do that anyway?” He asked rhetorically. “That dam gives way, you’d flood the whole damn coastline down there… and maybe Coco Solo and Colón too.”

  “Well… it’s all over now anyway, hey chief…?”

  Those were the last words Lieutenant John Fitzgerald Kennedy would ever utter. In the next moment, a spherical charge of TNT within the hold of Liberty Glo detonated, imploding a four-inch sphere of Plutonium-239. The material collapsed in upon itself, reaching critical mass within microseconds and detonating in a massive fission blast equivalent to 25 kilotons of TNT – roughly five times larger than the initial bomb test carried out by the Nazis off the coast of Scotland several months earlier. As the blast was below the level of the lake at detonation, the resulting fireball formed a huge gas bubble that expanded outward through at supersonic speed (over 5,000 feet per second in water), vaporising PT-101 instantly and slamming into Iowa a fraction of a second later.

  Hardened battleship steel intended to withstand impacts from torpedoes and 16-inch, armour piercing shells was nowhere near strong enough to absorb the incredible hydrostatic force that struck the ship. Even as her superstructure was torn apart, much of her crew taken with it, her hull was crushed below the waterline. In the moments that followed she would roll over and sink, most of her crew already dead or dying from the radiation that was to come.