Silent Running: a novel of the Pacific War (Crash Dive Book 2)

by Craig DiLouie

  All quite rational, but love isn’t rational.

  His friend Rusty had told him he needed something to fight for to get him through the hard times, not just something to fight against. As with many things, his friend had been right. During the long days of tedium and the periodic bouts with hell, thoughts of her had kept him going. After his first war patrol on the S-55, he’d written her a letter telling her he’d made a mistake. He wrote that he wanted her back and would make things right again if she’d let him.

  She’d written back. Sent the letter across the Pacific like a torpedo.

  The wind carried a snatch of song: Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest, yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! Charlie wasn’t alone on the beach. Probably a sailor walking off his booze. Drink and the devil had done for the rest, yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

  In her letter, Evie said she would always care about him but had accepted their breakup and moved on. A guy named Peter, whose 4F draft deferment thanks to flat feet kept him out of the war, had asked her to marry him.

  She wrote that she hadn’t decided yet, leaving the door open a crack.

  Why? For what? What could he do?

  Go AWOL, fly home, and talk her out of it, that’s what.

  The wet, salty wind washed over him. The waves lapped the beach. The moon blazed a road across the water.

  Hate lies close to love of gold, the sailor sang in the distance. Dead man’s secrets are tardily told!

  Did he have a right to interrupt her happiness? Was he being selfish because he realized, after deep-sixing her love for him, that he needed her?

  He needed to act fast if he truly wanted her back. Sabertooth was heading out to sea in a short time. He did want her back, he knew that, but he also wanted her to be happy. He didn’t know how to reconcile the two.

  Evie had said she was only considering the proposal, but she’d also said she’d moved on. She said she still cared about him but didn’t say she loved him.

  He was a man. Men were supposed to take the initiative. Take charge, make things right. That’s how he’d been taught things worked. How was he supposed to do that when he was more than 2,000 miles away?

  Charlie had proven his mettle in hellish battle with the Japanese, but when it came to love, he was a fish out of water. He felt like an idiot.

  He looked out at the black water again. The war plagued his nightmares, but he craved return to the sea and its dangers. Somehow, it would comfort him to be back out there in the big blue, hunted by and hunting the devil he knew.

  Out there, things were simple.

  He knew what he’d write now. The same as he once wrote on the eve of battle: I love you, Evie. I’m sorry. Be happy.

  And then he’d go back to the war.

  The singing grew louder. The sailor was coming Charlie’s way.

  Dead men only the secret shall keep! So bare the knife and plunge it deep!

  The big man emerged from the dark, swaying on his feet. “Yo-ho-ho, and a—” He barked a harsh laugh. “Ha! Look who it is. Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Hara-kiri-san.”

  Charlie gaped. “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you, sir,” said Machinist’s Mate John Braddock. “Making the most of my liberty before reporting for duty aboard Sabertooth.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LOADOUT

  The sun peered over the eastern mountains of Oahu while Sabertooth made ready to get underway. Her weep list had been checked off, all repairs completed.

  The sailors worked with cool efficiency under the glaring eyes of the chiefs, who bawled at the men to do it right, do it safe. They were a happy and loose crew after a month blowing off steam at the island’s beer halls and beaches.

  A crane loaded torpedoes into the forward weapons hatch, arming the boat for battle. After that, stores, water, fuel from trucks.

  A trio of fighter planes buzzed overhead on patrol. Their shadows flickered across the boat and her crew.

  Charlie watched it all with mounting excitement. Evie didn’t want him back, the captain seemed to resent his presence, and, to top it all off, the appearance of John Braddock promised a royal pain in his ass during the patrol.

  But there was the sea, calling to him, promising a fresh start.

  That, and the simplicities of war. During a depth charging, nothing mattered except staying alive. It gave a man perspective.

  “Excited, are you, sport?” Lewis asked him. Slouching, the executive officer became even shorter. His pinched face made him look older than he was. He smiled up at Charlie, a smile the young lieutenant couldn’t quite trust.

  “Well,” he began then reminded himself to always answer honestly. “Yes, I am.”

  “You should be. Sabertooth’s the best boat in the fleet.”

  “Then I’m in the right place,” Charlie said, his eyes on the sailors lugging boxes aboard like a line of worker ants.

  “But something else is on your mind, young Charles. Something bugging you. Spit it out.”

  Evie was very much on his mind, but he couldn’t tell the exec that.

  Instead, he said, “I noticed we’re taking a heavy load.”

  A surprising number of boxes went down the hatch. Plenty of food, medicine, radios, small arms ammunition. Finding room for it all would be a challenge for the submarine, a crowded world even in the best of circumstances. The extra provisions had to be stowed somewhere. Stowed expertly so that they didn’t affect the boat’s trim.

  “We are, indeed. Ninety tons, in fact.” Lewis chuckled. “Curious, aren’t you?”

  He was. Extra provisions might mean a long patrol, but they were taking the normal load of water, and they still only carried enough fuel for seventy-five days at sea.

  He made an educated guess. “We’re taking this stuff somewhere.” Charlie warmed to the problem. He had it, but not all of it. Because of their size, submarines didn’t run supply missions. Unless: “Behind or through enemy lines.”

  “That’s a very good guess. You know what I think?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t think, young Charles. As you know, the mission orders are sealed. The captain opens them when the boat reaches the open sea. And then he’ll tell us what we need to know.”

  Charlie’s excitement switched to professional sullen. “Roger that.”

  “Let the Old Man do the thinking. He’s good at it.”

  “Aye, aye.”

  Lewis squinted at him. “Actually, I was wondering if you were thinking old Bob was a little rough on you the other night.”

  “I don’t think anything, sir.”

  The man laughed. “Fast learner. The captain helped you out. Kept you from having any unrealistic expectations on this patrol.”

  Charlie couldn’t help but sigh. “I just want to do my part.”

  “See, that’s the problem. We lost Tom Benning, whose place you took. Him, and eighteen seasoned hands, all drafted to new boats coming off the line. In exchange, we received eighteen gung-ho young gentlemen fresh from Submarine School. And you, a big hero with one war patrol under his belt. Liebold and Bryant are JGs. If the captain and I are taken out, you’re the next line officer to assume command. A good crew is like a finely tuned orchestra. What part are you going to play, exactly?”

  “I’m not sure what you want me to do.”

  “Two things, son. First thing, learn your job inside and out. You’ve obviously got some courage. Uncle Charlie, in his infinite wisdom, promoted you for it.”

  Admiral Charles Lockwood, commander of the submarines in the Southwest Pacific. The submariners called him “Uncle Charlie” for the extreme care he gave them. Generous R&R, the best chow in the Navy.

  “But in the submarines, we judge a man more heavily based on aptitude and experience,” Lewis added. “Willing and able. Whatever you think you know, leave it on the gangplank. You’re going to get the full firehose treatment. Unlike an orchestra, a submariner has to know how to play every instrument.”

  When a
green ensign joined the crew, the officers subjected him to grueling duties across the boat until he learned every task. Reynolds had given him the same rough treatment aboard the 55. He could handle it. He knew he had a lot to learn. It meant a week or two of hell, but he’d learn it all. He nodded.

  Lewis said, “The captain’s a good man who’s had some bad luck. It’s my job to make sure that when he goes into combat, everybody’s playing his tune.”

  “Understood.” Charlie started as he caught sight of Braddock lugging a box toward the boat. The sailor winked at him. “What’s the second thing?”

  The executive officer smiled. “For your own sake, keep your mouth shut about your daring exploits, and stay out of the Old Man’s way.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  UNDERWAY

  On the dock, a small band played a tinny rendition of, “Anchors Aweigh.”

  Charlie climbed Sabertooth’s metal “sail” as the four big diesel engines fired in sequence. The exhaust manifolds blew smoke from both sides of the afterdeck. The boat trembled like a bull straining for release from its pen. He smiled at the powerful forces under his feet. Home at last.

  As plotting officer, Charlie had to get below to join the piloting party. Conning a boat out of the harbor and into the open sea was no simple thing. It required good navigation that relied on accurate bearings and plotting.

  He took one last look at the piers and cranes and buildings of the submarine base. A last glimpse at the white beaches and palm trees and lush distant mountains. It would be his last view of America for a while.

  Maneuvering reported to the bridge that shore power and phone cabling had been disconnected. The engines bore full loading. All hands were aboard. The boat was ready to get underway.

  Captain Hunter said, “Very well.” Then he barked, “Lieutenant Harrison!”

  Charlie paused in the hatch. “Sir?”

  “You may take us out. Bryant has the plotting covered.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Charlie took his position on the bridge. He looked at the sailors who manned the lines tethering the sleek boat’s 1,500 tons to the pier. It was something of an honor for him to con the boat out of the harbor. This was no honor, though. It was a test.

  The captain remained a mystery to him. The crew loved him, but they also clearly felt the captain was failing to take down his share of Japanese shipping. It didn’t add up. On top of that, the man seemed to have it in for him. Charlie looked at the captain and wondered if he were being set up to fail.

  “Any time,” Hunter grinned, his eyes as hard as a shark’s.

  Charlie swallowed hard and focused. Sabertooth lay moored with her bow facing land. She’d have to be backed away from the pier until surrounded by enough open water to allow maneuvering.

  He’d never done this before. He struggled to remember what he’d learned at Submarine School.

  “Cast off—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, his face burning. He filled his lungs with air and bellowed, “Cast off, one, two, and three!”

  Sailors on the pier removed the lines and dropped them into the water. Sabertooth drifted free of her mooring, tethered now by a single line. Crewmen pulled the other lines onto the boat.

  The boat was singled up and ready to release.

  “Take in the gangway!” Charlie added into the bridge microphone, “Helm, bridge. Starboard engine back one-third.”

  “Starboard engine back one-third, aye, sir,” came the reply.

  The captain cleared his throat.

  “Port engine ahead one-third,” Charlie quickly added.

  “Careful with my boat, Harrison,” Hunter growled.

  On stern propulsion, Sabertooth pulled and pivoted away from the pier. Streaming in the breeze, her battle flag depicted an angry fish with razor sharp teeth and wearing a sailor hat. Three patches bragged of ships sunk.

  “Helm, all stop.”

  “All stop, aye, sir.”

  “Cast off, line four!”

  The sailors on the pier removed the last line from its cleat and let it fall. They waved to wish the boat good hunting.

  One of Sabertooth’s sailors waved and called back, “Hey, Don! Say ‘hi’ to your wife and my kids for me!”

  While the men laughed, Charlie glanced at his hand, which was shaking. A strange thing. He’d endured the terrors of depth charging, bullets snapping past his ears, massive shells whistling overhead. He’d stayed calm throughout. More important, he’d retained the ability to think and act.

  It was one thing to do one’s part for the crew. Quite another to be responsible for their safety. Even small mistakes got people killed.

  For the commander of the boat, every patrol was like one big test dive. Going deeper and deeper with each patrol, subjecting the steel hull to the enormous pressures of the sea. No wonder Admiral English—commander of all submarine forces in the Pacific theater, or ComSubPac—pulled captains off the line after five missions.

  Charlie clenched his hand into a fist. This was basic navigation. A challenge for a green junior officer, but doable. Captains had junior officers do it all the time. No need to overthink it. The exec’s warning had made him think Hunter might have it in for him in some way, but that didn’t matter. He was conning the boat.

  He opened his hand. No tremor.

  “Carry on, Harrison,” the captain said. “I do not wish to see my boat beached today.”

  Charlie said into the microphone, “Helm, bridge. All back one-third.”

  “All back one-third, aye, sir,” came the reply from the control room.

  Sabertooth’s whistle shrieked loud and long across the harbor. Then again, several short bursts.

  Charlie blew a short sigh of relief. The pier fell away.

  He felt a rush of excitement now as the boat and her crew responded smoothly to his orders. Piloting the boat came with a lot of pressure, yes, but he wanted it. He wanted to be tested. He’d seen what he was made of in combat. He wondered if he had the right stuff for command.

  He conned the boat into open water. Now he had to turn her into the channel.

  “Helm, bridge,” he said. “Right ten degrees rudder.”

  Sabertooth turned. Not enough. Charlie glanced at the captain, but the man’s hard eyes told him nothing.

  “Increase your rudder,” Charlie told the helmsman. “Steady on two-five-oh.”

  “How’s your first taste of command, Harrison?”

  “My hat’s off to any man who can do it well, sir.”

  The captain nodded. The boat turned until Charlie had her squared away and ready to move down the channel center.

  “Helm, Bridge. All ahead, one third.”

  On her left, Sabertooth passed the shipyard and its soaring cranes. He spared a glance at the rows of destroyers and cruisers. Perched on the shears over Charlie’s head, the lookouts watched for hazards.

  They passed the wreck of the Arizona, which lay broken on the harbor bottom off Ford Island. Only her funnel remained visible above the oily water. A thousand men still lay entombed inside her, a macabre and sobering thought. Hunter called all hands on deck to attention. The men rendered passing honors.

  Charlie studied the path to the southern channel. Swarming with boats and ships, it would take Sabertooth out to the open sea. Land pushed out from both sides. He issued commands to the helmsman to conn the boat around the bends.

  He turned toward the captain as Sabertooth exited the harbor mouth. “We’re underway, Captain.”

  The captain nodded. “Very well.”

  Charlie sensed the man’s approval. The captain hadn’t been setting him up to fail. He’d been simply testing him. Charlie smiled.

  The man snarled, “What do you want, Harrison? Another Silver Star? Station the regular sea detail.” Then he shook his head in apparent wonder that Charlie had been qualified in the submarines.

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” Chagrined, Charlie keyed the 1MC, which allowed him to address the entire boat. “Set the normal watch. Sect
ion one, report to your stations.” Shortly after, he reported, “All details secured.”

  “Very well. Do you play Hearts, Harrison?”

  “I know how to play it, sir.”

  Hunter considered this and nodded. “Set a course for two-eight-oh.”

  Charlie hid his next smile. “Set a course for two-eight-oh, aye, Captain.”

  The sun was shining over Oahu, though the waters were choppy today. Northern squalls darkened the horizon. Rigged for surface running, Sabertooth made full on all four engines. She plowed the swells at a speed of twenty knots.

  Their escort, a small patrol boat, approached from the southwest. After sunset, they’d be on their own, officially on patrol.

  What a rush, indeed. Nothing like it. Conning the boat, the open air, and the view of the open sea made him forget his troubles and look ahead.

  Out there, across all that water, lay the prospect of danger and death.

  But also adventure, victory, and, perhaps most important, a young man’s next leap toward his destiny, be it good or bad.

  CHAPTER SIX

  MISSION ORDERS

  Sixty miles west of Hawaii, Sabertooth cruised at twenty knots across open sea. Charlie entered the wardroom and helped himself to a cup of coffee. Then he took his seat with the other officers. Bryant puffed on a Lucky Strike. Lewis lit a pipe that filled the room with fragrant cherry smoke. They all wore service khakis.

  Hunter laid a chart on the table. “Gentlemen, we are going to the Philippines.”

  Bryant and Liebold glanced at each other. Bryant whistled. The Philippines were only 1,600 nautical miles from the Japanese home islands.

  On this patrol, Sabertooth would be roaming in Japan’s supply lines.

  Lewis pulled the pipe from his mouth and smiled. “You don’t say. Are we bringing MacArthur in one of those crates?”

  General Douglas MacArthur commanded U.S. Army Forces in the Far East (USAFFE). Ten hours after the attack on Pearl, the Japanese pounded the Cavite naval base near Manila. Multiple landings forced the Americans and Filipinos into a strategic withdrawal across Luzon Island. They made their stand in the Bataan Peninsula and held fast over three long months of bitter fighting. When all seemed lost, the President ordered MacArthur to leave the Philippines. He escaped to Australia, where he famously declared, “I came through, and I shall return.”