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

by Craig DiLouie

  Charlie felt his guts sink into his feet. “Is there any way out of this?”

  “We only have two options. We take our chances with the chlorine gas, or we sink him.”

  Then he bent over and exploded vomit onto the ruins of the radio before collapsing to the deck.

  Charlie ran to the conning tower and shouted up the well, “Two hands to the control room!”

  As the crew hauled Liebold up into the open air, Charlie raised his Tommy gun to destroy the TDC and paused.

  If the Japanese were going to kill him, he could do something. They all could.

  They could …

  Charlie coughed. His lungs felt like they were on fire now. He climbed the ladder to the bridge and hunched behind the TBT, taking deep breaths of the fresh air.

  “What are you doing?” Hunter growled.

  “You know as well as I do the Japs are going to kill all of us.”

  “You want to go down fighting.”

  “I want to fight. Yes.”

  “You’re proposing a down-the-throat shot, Harrison. The worst odds there are. If we miss, and we almost certainly would, that Momo will blow us out of the water without mercy.”

  “We sank Yosai. We’re dead either way, Captain.”

  Hunter said, “We have got civilians aboard. As long as we don’t do anything hostile, the Japs might not kill them.”

  “Captain, there’s a chance we might all go home together. A fighting chance.”

  The captain rubbed his bearded face and watched the IJN destroyer grow steadily larger. The time was coming to abandon ship and open the hull apertures to scuttle her. That, or take his chances on a single shot.

  No doubt, he was trying to read the Japanese skipper’s mind. Would he treat them all as prisoners of war? If not, would he spare the civilians?

  Charlie, meanwhile, was wondering whether the captain was right about the civilians. Did his duty lie in risking everything, or giving the civilians their best chance?

  He knew what Jane would say: Sink that ship, Charlie. Kill them all.

  “I take it you didn’t destroy the TDC,” Hunter said.

  Charlie grinned. “No, Captain.”

  “How many fish do we have left in the forward nest?”

  “Two.”

  “All right. Call for volunteers. I want forward torpedo and the necessary control room stations manned for a torpedo attack.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain. I’ll go.”

  “Get somebody else. I’m not a hundred percent, Harrison. I’ll need you here on the bridge with me.”

  “Aye, aye.”

  Gibson spread the call for volunteers and then offered to operate the TDC himself. Despite their fear of chlorine gas, more than enough men among the crew were willing to return to their stations.

  “We’re going to have to shoot at five hundred yards,” Hunter said. “A very tight shave.”

  “Roger that,” Charlie said at the TBT. “Recommend setting depth at two feet. The fish have been running deeper than they’re supposed to.”

  One by one, the crew reported they were ready at their stations.

  “Maneuvering, Bridge,” Hunter said into the bridge microphone. “Reduce speed to one-third.”

  “Reduce speed to one-third, aye, Captain.”

  “Forward torpedo, make ready the tubes. The target is the Momo-class destroyer. Order of tubes is one, two. Depth, two feet. High speed.”

  Charlie watched the destroyer approach through the TBT binoculars. He was less than a thousand yards away now. His sharp-edged bow plowed the foam as he came on fast. Black smoke billowed from his stacks. Japanese sailors lined the deck, looking back at him with binoculars and pointing.

  “I hope one of them salutes,” he said, “and knocks himself overboard.”

  The captain smiled grimly and said into the mike, “Range, eight hundred yards. Speed, thirty knots. Angle on the bow, oh-one-five starboard. Final bearing, mark!”

  Charlie pressed the button, which transmitted the bearing to the TDC.

  “Set!” Gibson announced over the speaker. “Shoot anytime!”

  Charlie shouted down at the crew on the deck, “Everybody, wave! Wave at the nice Japs!” Anything to distract the Japanese.

  He kept the TBT centered on the destroyer’s bow as the outer doors opened with a thud.

  If he was going to survive this day, the Japanese couldn’t evade the torpedoes. The fish couldn’t miss the small target. They had to detonate. And they couldn’t run too deep against a ship with such a shallow draft.

  The captain was right. The odds weren’t in their favor. In fact, they were—

  Hunter: “Fire one!”

  “Firing one!” Gibson replied.

  The boat jolted as the torpedo swished out of its tube and swam toward the approaching destroyer at a speed of forty-six knots.

  “Fire two!”

  “Firing two!”

  Twin trails of bubbles reached out for the enemy warship.

  “Both fish running hot, straight, and normal,” Gibson reported.

  Hunter’s eyes remained glued to his binoculars. “He doesn’t see them yet.”

  Soon, it’d be too late to evade. The destroyer was going too fast. The distance was too short.

  A Japanese sailor looked down at the water as the torpedo approached his ship. Charlie heard him scream a warning. The destroyer began to veer to starboard.

  “The first fish missed,” Hunter said with disgust. “By a—”

  BOOM

  The world turned into the sun.

  Charlie saw yellow, then red, struck by a vision of fire filling the sky. The thump vibrated through his chest before the expanding roar flattened his eardrums. He staggered back at the force of the blast, gaping as the destroyer’s bow disintegrated and flew apart in a ball of fire, debris, and bodies. The force picked up the first torpedo, still unexploded, and flung it far over the sea. Smoking hull shards sang twisted notes as they punched the water.

  “My God,” Hunter said.

  The destroyer bucked wildly in the shock waves before plunging forward and down. His stern aimed straight up in the air.

  He went down fast in a violent rush of foam.

  Nobody cheered. The crew watched the ship die in a subdued silence.

  “Remember Pearl!” somebody called out, his voice cracking with emotion.

  “I can’t believe it,” Hunter said. “A shot like that.”

  Charlie sagged against the gunwale. “Sometimes you get lucky.”

  “Lucky, hell,” Hunter said. “We shoved that fish down his throat. It’s a goddamn miracle. I think you’re proof God’s on our side, Harrison.”

  “It was your shot, Captain.”

  “The poor bastards. Not one of them made it off alive.”

  They stayed like that for a long time, all of them, sailors and civilians alike. Together, they watched the sea settle where the destroyer had been. Nothing marked its grave except floating debris and an expanding oil slick.

  Destroying it had been both beautiful and horrible.

  A thought struck Charlie. The date was the twenty-fourth.

  “Merry Christmas, Captain,” he said.

  He caught sight of Jane in the crowd. She was crying.

  An apparition pulled itself up out of the hatch. A man wearing a diving suit.

  The sailor pulled off his helmet and grinned at them.

  John Braddock.

  “I fixed your boat for you, sir,” the machinist’s mate said and winked at Charlie. “Mr. Bryant says she’ll be ready to dive in about twenty minutes.”

  As usual, he made “sir” sound like “asshole.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  HOMECOMING

  Sabertooth cruised into Pearl Harbor with Old Glory waving on the shears. New battle flags dangled on the clothesline between the bow and the periscope supports, one of them a black flag with skull and crossbones. Sabertooth was officially a buccaneering vessel now.

  Captain
Hunter conned the boat to the Submarine Base and warped her alongside the designated pier, where a Navy band and small cheering crowd waited. Sailors on the dock took in the scarred and battered hull with wide eyes. The crew waved back at the well-wishers, happy to be back in the U.S.A.

  The crew tied off the boat and threw down the gangplank, prompting the band to strike up, “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Normally, the wounded went ashore first, but Sabertooth had stopped in Darwin to leave the civilians and the sick and wounded crewmen. Lieutenant Walter Lewis and Electrician’s Mate Donald Friesen, who’d been killed during the fight with the enemy plane, had been reverently committed to the deep.

  While the crew greeted family, received mail, and devoured buckets of fresh Hawaiian fruit, Captain Hunter hopped in a jeep to hand-deliver his patrol report to ComSubPac and also Admiral Lockwood, who was at Pearl on Navy business. Singly and in groups, they drifted off to enjoy their two weeks of liberty while the relief crew posted a watch.

  The patrol was over.

  Charlie, Liebold, and Bryant walked together on the dock.

  “Royal Hawaiian Hotel for us this time,” Bryant gloated. “The entire crew! ComSubPac is pretty darn happy with us right now.”

  “I wonder if the boat will get a citation,” Liebold said.

  “Hell, there might be a Navy Cross in it for guys like us.” Bryant grinned at Charlie. “Especially you, hotshot.” The engineering officer stuck out his hand. “Pleasure serving with you, Hara-kiri. First round’s on me at the club.”

  Charlie smiled as they shook. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Next it was Liebold’s turn. “Thanks, Charlie. We took the big risk and got the big rewards on this one.”

  “We couldn’t have done it without you, Jack. None of it. You got in the game exactly as you’d wanted.”

  Liebold blanched a little at that. Charlie could tell the man had enjoyed all the excitement he could stand, at least for now.

  He left the men and walked along the beach holding his parcel of mail. A stack of letters from friends and family back in Tiburon. Two letters from Rusty Grady. And a single letter from Evie. He brought it to his nose and caught a wisp of her perfume, which delivered a brief moment of vertigo.

  He checked in to his billet at the Royal Hawaiian and gave himself a thorough scrubbing in a hot bath. The water turned black. No matter how much he scrubbed, he knew he’d still smell like diesel for a while. It ran in his veins now.

  He emptied the tub, refilled it, and lay in it until he dozed. Strange and satisfying to be alone after being on the crowded boat for so long. The silence in the room was jarring without the constant hum of engines and machinery. He shaved in front of the mirror and combed his long hair into place. Then he put on a fresh pair of service khakis and headed down to the officers’ club.

  There, he read Evie’s letter while sipping a glass of scotch.

  She asked him if some things were meant to be.

  She’d hated seeing him go off to war, knowing he might be gone a year, many years, before they could be together again. She’d hated him after he’d broken things off so he could focus on his fight. She’d hated herself because a part of her had been relieved. She didn’t think she could bear waiting for a man who might never come home, who might come home a different person than the one she loved. The waiting. The not knowing. It had threatened to tear her apart.

  Evie had found a man closer to home. A man who was reliable, understandable, persistent. Perfect for her needs. But she didn’t really love him. So she didn’t marry him.

  His stomach flipped.

  “Because, dear Charlie, I still have feelings for you. I’m not saying we should just pick up things where we left them. I don’t want that. Too much has changed, and it’s been too long. Sadly, I don’t really know what I want. I’m just writing to explain myself so you understand. It wasn’t all you. It was me too. But in the end, I learned something from it—that I still care about you. In your last letter, you said as much to me. You know the saying, can’t live with us, and can’t live without us? Well, mister, that goes both ways.

  “Maybe there’s still a future for us, Charlie. I don’t know. I wish we could see each other and find out. I wish this war had never happened. I find myself wishing so many things, but things are what they are. I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m open to it. The door is open. I’m open to a future with you.”

  He sipped his whiskey and carefully folded the letter, feeling homesick and lonely. All this time, Charlie had thought she wanted to hold onto him while he needed to be free to find his destiny in the war. He’d never guessed that she might feel the same way about their long separation with its enormous uncertainties. That she had her own immediate aspirations and needs.

  But still, there it was. She still cared about him. She was still open to them being together, though she didn’t know exactly what that would look like.

  He still cared about her too. But did he still love her?

  Thinking of Jane, Charlie smiled at the memory of her leaving Sabertooth with the other riders. He’d never gotten that kiss; instead, she blew him one from the gangplank back in Brisbane. Before her departure, he’d asked her if they’d ever see each other again. She said it would happen or it wouldn’t. In war, the future wasn’t worth talking about because it was too uncertain. The only thing that mattered was now.

  And everything else was just a dream.

  “Mind if I join you, brother?”

  Charlie started at the familiar voice. He looked up to see his old friend Rusty Grady smiling down at him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  FINAL RECKONING

  Rusty took a seat, ordered a drink, and filled Charlie in on his doings. He’d graduated from PXO School and quickly received a posting to Scissortail under Lieutenant-Commander Jim Burns.

  “I arrived in Pearl just four days ago,” Rusty said. “Burns bought me a drink and threw me to the wolves. A lot of work, but I already got my weep list sorted. Things we can get done, things we want to get done, things I will have to bribe and kill to get done.” He laughed. “Careful what you wish for, Charlie. It’s a thankless job, being the Number Two.”

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes, Rusty,” Charlie beamed at him. “I can’t believe we ran into each other like this.”

  “There’s a war on, we’re in the submarines, and this is the main submarine base. It was bound to happen, friend.”

  “Well, I’m glad it did. How’s Lucy and Rusty Junior?”

  “They’re great, thanks for asking,” his friend said, but he stopped smiling. He obviously missed his family. “What about you? How’d your patrol go?”

  Charlie told him everything while Rusty’s eyes got wider and his mouth fell open.

  “Jesus,” Rusty said. “I always said you were a go-getter, but Jesus. We’ll have to see whether Tyrone Power is busy so he can play you in the movie.”

  Charlie finished his drink and said, “I’m itching to see that one so I can find out how it ends. The captain’s with ComSubPac and Admiral Lockwood right now.”

  “Modifying your fish,” Rusty nodded sagely. “That’s trouble.”

  “The results speak for themselves, but you know the Navy.”

  “They’ll pin a medal on you just before they keel-haul you. Though they might skip the medal part.”

  “Right,” Charlie said, feeling even more drained by it all.

  “They’re a conservative bunch when it comes to the rules. Well, brother, whatever happens, you know what you did. You’re a little crazy, you know; you played long odds across the line. But what you accomplished did a lot of good.” He raised his glass. “I, for one, am grateful to you.”

  The faster the war ended, the faster they could all go home. Maybe that was the bright side to this. The Navy might yank him out of the boats and give him a desk job, maybe stateside. He might end up close to home. Close to Evie. Maybe a future with her could be a real thing.

  But
the idea of home made him long for the sea. To be back on patrol, fighting the Japanese. Out there, deep in enemy waters with his life on the line, he had begun to find himself, and he liked what he was becoming.

  Jane understood that man and wanted him. That man wanted her too.

  “I’d like to stay in the game,” he said.

  “Just make sure you don’t end up like Reynolds. When this war ends, and it will end—later than we’d like but sooner than we think—we’re all going home, Charlie. All of us, including you. Make sure you can. All of you.”

  A yeoman entered the bar and studied the patrons. Charlie waited to make eye contact. He knew why the man was here. Time to face the mast.

  “Lieutenant Charles Harrison?”

  Charlie was already paying for their drinks. “I’m Harrison.”

  “I’m here to take you to see Admiral Lockwood, sir.”

  “Aye, aye,” Charlie said.

  “Good luck, Charlie,” Rusty said. “We’ll be in dry dock until the end of the week. I’ll be busy as hell getting my boat ready for sea, but I’ll be around.”

  Charlie thought about the letter his friend kept in his breast pocket. A letter for Evie. If anything ever happened to him, Rusty would mail it. In it, Charlie said simply he loved her, he was sorry, and he wanted her to happy.

  He decided to let Rusty keep it. If anything happened to him, he figured Evie deserved to hear that much at least.

  “And Charlie?”

  “Yeah, Rusty?”

  “Happy New Year. It’s 1943. Maybe this is the year we win and go home.”

  He smiled. “As long as we win.”

  They shook hands, and Charlie went to face the music.

  The jeep dropped him off at SubPac headquarters. Inside, he announced himself to the yeoman seated behind his desk, “Lieutenant Charles Harrison, reporting to Admiral Lockwood as ordered.”

  “He’s expecting you,” the yeo said smartly. He opened an office door. “Lieutenant Harrison, Sabertooth.”

  Lockwood welcomed him with a curt handshake. “Grab a chair, Harrison. I have to say, this patrol report is quite a yarn.”