Over the Hill: a novel of the Pacific War (Crash Dive Book 6)

by Craig DiLouie

  Together, Braddock and Charlie regarded the destruction of Hiroshima like pilgrims struck by a vision of an angry new god.

  The bombing of Hiroshima by the Enola Gay, which dropped the Little Boy atom bomb at 0815 on August 6, 1945. The bomb fell for 44 seconds before exploding some 2,000 feet above the earth. Within 1–1.5 miles around ground zero, marked by the interior contoured line, nearly nine in ten people were killed in an instant, and the blast and firestorm destroyed all buildings. From 1–2.5 miles around ground zero, marked by the exterior contoured line, about one in four were killed instantly, four in ten were wounded, and buildings were partly destroyed. Outside the second contoured line was ground at higher elevation, which sustained little damage.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  ATOMIC WAR

  Sitting in the wardroom with Captain McMahon, Charlie listened to a radio broadcast that was transmitted across the Pacific. His mug of coffee went cold as President Harry S. Truman described the awesome weapon that had obliterated Hiroshima. For the first time since his captivity, he’d lost his appetite.

  The president called it the “atomic bomb,” which harnessed the power of the sun. More explosive than 20,000 tons of TNT, it was 2,000 times more powerful than the British Grand Slam, previously the largest bomb ever used in war.

  “It was to spare the Japanese people from utter destruction that the ultimatum of July 26 was issued at Potsdam,” the president said. “Their leaders promptly rejected that ultimatum. If they do not now accept our terms, they may expect a rain of ruin from the air, the like of which has never been seen on this earth.”

  “This changes everything,” McMahon said.

  No response from the Japanese yet. Knowing Japan’s stubborn military leaders, they wouldn’t give up even now.

  So the atomic bomb hadn’t affected the Pacific War, at least not yet.

  “Behind this air attack will follow sea and land forces in such numbers and power as they have not yet seen and with the fighting skill of which they are already well aware.”

  “It changes war itself,” Charlie said.

  If necessity was the mother of invention, its father was war. The Hiroshima bomb was just a baby, the prototype of even more destructive weapons to come. In the future, the great powers would build arsenals of these things. Charlie had heard the Germans had developed a fearsome ballistic missile called the “V2 rocket,” a vengeance weapon that could deliver explosives from very long range. Combining the atomic bomb with rocketry gave rise to the possibility of submarines used as hidden, mobile platforms for firing atomic missiles at cities. A wolf pack loaded with such missiles could surface anywhere in the world and destroy a country in a day.

  The atomic bomb would help America win her war against Japan, but future wars that used them would have no victors.

  “We are now prepared to obliterate more rapidly and completely every productive enterprise the Japanese have above ground in any city. We shall destroy their docks, their factories, and their communications. Let there be no mistake; we shall completely destroy Japan’s power to make war.”

  Charlie said, “Any word from Pearl on the operation?”

  Since the attack, the Swordfish had cruised south to resume its Inland Sea patrol, but was still no closer to raiding Miyazaki.

  “They only said to hold station.” McMahon jittered with excitement. “Big things are happening. The whole war is coming to a head.”

  “All the more reason to get our guys out. Once word about the attack gets around, the Japs at the camp will take it out on the prisoners.”

  “I get it. But orders are orders.”

  “We could be doing it right now. Pearl just has to make it the priority.”

  “We don’t have the big picture.”

  Charlie vented his frustration with a sigh. “What am I doing here?”

  He needed the kind of medical care the pharmacist’s mate couldn’t give him aboard a submarine. While his mind and soul benefited from being here, his body needed examination and treatment by doctors who had the resources to heal him.

  Rest and proper nutrition had delivered partial recovery from beriberi and scurvy over the past few weeks, but he remained tired all the time. The slightest exertion still winded him. His feet tingled, and shooting pains made sleep difficult.

  The longer he delayed getting the care he needed, the greater the chance of relapse and further illness. He was okay with the risks because he wanted to be here, but it had to mean something. It had to have a purpose.

  He recalled Rusty and Percy bowing to him at the water spigot and wondered if they were still alive.

  “If it were up to me, we’d be down there right now,” the captain told him. “I want those prisoners out as bad as you.”

  “I know it.”

  “The priority, however, is to win the war.”

  Charlie scowled. He’d begun to suspect the rescue operation was more about public affairs than actually saving prisoners.

  Look at me, he thought. I’m starting to think like Braddock.

  McMahon said, “Hey, here’s an idea. Next target we run into, I’ll put you behind the scope the way Morton worked with O’Kane. Give you some action to take your mind off the wait. What do you say?”

  For weeks, Charlie had chafed at having nothing to do. He’d taken comfort in being in a familiar environment, watching familiar routines, but had felt like a passenger. He’d grown used to it, though. In many ways, the Swordfish was foreign turf, and he’d begun thinking about Tiburon with a growing longing.

  He’d done his duty for the war and had wanted to go on helping, but after witnessing Hiroshima’s destruction, it was over for him. Seeing the mushroom cloud rage to its awful height, all he could think about was the old woman who’d been kind to him and given him food when he needed it.

  The war required nothing more from him anyway. The bomb had rendered individual action almost meaningless.

  “It’d be an honor,” he said. “But I’m rusty. I’m of no use for anything right now. I just want to get my men home safe.”

  “It’s just as well. We’re only sinking sampans at this point. Even the Bathtub is drying up. We’ve got Japan good and blockaded now.”

  Whatever his suspicions, Charlie had to trust Admiral Lockwood would eventually give the go-ahead for the operation.

  He couldn’t go home without his crew. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t save them. This was his mission now. This was his war.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  THE EMPEROR

  Nine days later, Charlie, Braddock, and Cotten leaned against the bridge coaming while another Japanese city burned on the horizon. Matsuyama, about the size of Duluth.

  On August 8, the Soviets had finally declared war against Japan and steamrolled into Manchuria, smashing the vaunted Kwantung Army. On August 9, the second atomic bomb destroyed Nagasaki. All the while, Japan suffered continued bombings and blockades, her far-flung armies across the Pacific starving and low on ammunition.

  “Why don’t they just give up?” Cotten wondered.

  Given new orders, the Swordfish had ceased hostilities yesterday as peace talks progressed. Below decks, her crew stayed glued to the radio, which issued regular updates. The suspicion was that America and Japan might declare peace today, though that didn’t help the hapless souls of Matsuyama, bombed two days before.

  “I don’t know if they can,” Charlie said, remembering what he’d learned about the Japanese mentality from Lt. Tanaka. “If they even know how.”

  The Scout cupped his hands to light a Lucky Strike. The smoke swirled away on the sea wind. “They better learn quick. Or there won’t be anything left soon.”

  “The Japs’ leaders have been telling them for years, if we win, we’ll take their women and force their men into slavery.”

  Braddock snorted. “They might be half right.”

  “They also believe the legend that a divine wind will destroy any foreign army that trie
s to invade Japan. It’s where the word kamikaze comes from.”

  “If they believe that then they’re even bigger chumps than we are,” the chief said. “People need stories to get them through losing as much as winning.”

  Black smoke smeared the blue skies over Matsuyama. The misery Japan had inflicted on so many peoples had arrived at its own shores. The divine wind had come home. More karma. They’d lived by bushido, and they were dying by it.

  “As long as it has a happy ending for our side, I’m fine with it,” Cotten said.

  “We sold ourselves on this story of the war that we’d be brave and fight and there’d be a big climactic finish,” Braddock said. “Like a movie.”

  “The atom bomb ain’t climatic enough for you, Johnny?”

  “Look at you.” Braddock next gave Charlie a once-over. “And you, sir. This story doesn’t get a happy ending. Nobody lives happily ever after.”

  Charlie wondered at that. He remembered his officers pressing him on what he’d do after the war. All he could say at that point was he’d take some time. The war had demanded so much that at the time it had been hard to imagine anything past its end. It had been hard to imagine the war ending at all.

  He’d signed up to find himself, and he had. Whatever his flaws, he’d discovered a capable man who tried his best and never backed down.

  The war had exacted a hell of a price for this discovery, however. At twenty-seven, he was even more battered and scarred than the Sandtiger on her final patrol.

  Happily ever after, he thought. Did Prince Charming scream in his sleep as he relived his fight against the dragon?

  He said, “You don’t think the war was worth fighting?”

  “I saw the propaganda machine close up and personal. Propaganda that made those people out to be yellow monkeys needing wholesale extermination. If you have to swallow a big lie to fight a war, what does that tell you?”

  “Okay, fine. Everything’s just a big sham. Why did you fight then?”

  “The Japs didn’t give us a choice. The Navy didn’t give me one neither.”

  “You joined the Navy thinking you’d never go to war?”

  “I never said I was smart, sir,” Braddock said. “I thought the isolationists would win out.”

  “The quartermaster was right about you.” Cotten flicked his cigarette into the foam. “You think too much.”

  “Somebody has to. All I’m saying is, aside from getting us out of harm’s way, winning don’t mean all that much for men like us. Either way, we have to live with what they did to us and what we did to them.”

  Winning meant something to Charlie. Despite its cost, the war had brought America together and made her a great power, a source of pride. For him, it had bared his soul and taught him about life and death. It had been worth fighting.

  He didn’t voice these thoughts aloud because he knew Braddock would ruin it.

  Cotten broke the silence. “I like my story better than yours.”

  “Don’t worry,” Braddock said. “You’ll get more of it. We’ll be fighting the Reds next. The only moral of the story is the more things change, the more they—”

  An exultant clamor boiled up from the control room. From every corner of the ship, wild cheering built and spread. Soon, the lookouts and the officer of the deck were all cheering, while the three veterans brooded.

  The war was over.

  Charlie checked his watch. It was 1309. And today was V-J Day.

  Everything had just changed, but Braddock was right, he didn’t feel anything. Just tremendous weariness. A yawning emptiness no amount of fanfare could fill.

  “I’ll tell you one thing, though,” Cotten said. “I’ll never understand why I survived Saipan and my team bit the dust.”

  For each American who’d fought, the end of the story came with the search for meaning.

  “You found your man, didn’t you?” Braddock said. “Fought your way across Saipan to do it. Everybody gets a chance at redemption.”

  “But few earn it.”

  The chief shook his head. “In my book, trying is more than most men would do. It’s enough.”

  Charlie gazed across the calm blue sea. How had he survived, when so many times he would have been killed if he’d stepped right instead of left, looked up instead of down, run instead of walked? What would have happened if his torpedo hadn’t circled back? Did hitting the Yamato or anything else he almost perished for really make a difference in the war? Why did Captain Kane die in the horrible midnight battle with the Mizukaze, while he’d survived? Why did Lt. Tanaka, who didn’t believe the war was worth fighting, sacrifice his life to kill one man?

  Would he ever forgive the Japanese? Would he ever be able to forget the worst of it all?

  He could spend the rest of his life pondering such questions and never come up with satisfying answers.

  In any case, his fight was over.

  “We’re going home, gents,” Braddock said.

  Captain McMahon mounted to the bridge. He shook hands with the officer on deck and each of the lookouts. Then he noticed the three veterans.

  He said, “I guess you heard.”

  Charlie extended his hand. “We did.”

  They shook hands warmly.

  McMahon held up a piece of paper. “From ComSubPac. ‘The long-awaited day has come, and ceasefire has been sounded. As force commander, I desire to congratulate each and every officer and man of the Submarine Force upon a job superbly well done. My admiration for your daring skill, initiative, determination, and loyalty cannot be adequately expressed. Whether you fought in enemy waters or whether you sweated at bases or in tenders, you have all contributed to the end, which has this day been achieved.’” He paused, choking a little on the words. “‘You have deserved the lasting peace, which we all hope has been won for future generations. May God rest the gallant souls of those missing, presumed lost.’”

  “Well put,” Braddock said.

  Charlie agreed. He and his comrades in the boats had been lucky to have Lockwood as force commander. The admiral truly cared about his men. “What’s next for us, Captain?”

  McMahon grinned. “Now we go get your guys, Commander.”

  Charlie blew a sigh of relief. His heart lightened as four years of tension drained from him in an instant. His war wasn’t over yet. He still had one last thing to do.

  And even then, he knew, the story would go on.

  His was a story that wasn’t ending, but rather getting ready to carry on from a new beginning.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  RETURN TO MIYAZAKI

  The Swordfish cruised off the eastern coast of Kyushu. Captain McMahon scanned the shore. To the north, Miyazaki offered easy landing at its beaches, but McMahon didn’t want to risk it.

  The war was over. The emperor had ordered his subjects to lay down arms. Nonetheless, the captain wasn’t taking chances.

  The submarine rounded a point and approached a geographical feature McMahon identified as the Horikiri Pass. According to naval intelligence, the prison camp was a half-mile inland from there.

  Charlie studied the rollers lapping the rocky coastline, grateful he didn’t have to scale a plunging basalt cliff again as he had on Saipan.

  “It still won’t be easy,” Cotten said. “Lines of rocks jut from the water about 200 feet from the coast. Beautiful to look at but deadly for rafts. We’re going in nice and careful.”

  “Fine.” Charlie didn’t care because, for the first time since the Sandtiger, he felt useful. For the first time since the brutal camp, he had something to fight.

  And finally, he’d fulfill his duty to his men by bringing them home. His stomach flipped in anticipation and anxiety. He hoped he’d find them alive and in good health. Then he cursed himself for hoping.

  Braddock mounted to the bridge carrying a BAR and bag bulging with ammo. “Just like old times, huh, sir?” He punned, “Once more onto the beach.”

  “Third time’s a charm, Chief,” Charl
ie said.

  “Oh, I feel real lucky, sir.”

  “I know this is the part where I say I’m glad you’re here and then you bitch I’m leading you to certain death, but I’ll say it anyway. I’m glad to have you with me.”

  Braddock appraised him as if deciding how hard to slam him with a nice, juicy barb. Then he shrugged. “I’m actually glad to be here too.”

  Charlie smirked. “Now there’s a first.”

  Cotten shook his head. “You two. Like an old married couple.”

  The submarine ascended until her main deck was awash, ideal for launching rafts toward shore. Bristling with weapons, the squad of eight Scouts and the Swordfish’s pharmacist’s mate piled gear and supplies into theirs and started paddling. The sailors pumped carbon dioxide into another raft, which inflated with a loud crack. Three minutes later, Cotten and Braddock climbed in and helped Charlie, who hated that he still needed assistance to do basic submarining.

  “Good luck to you men,” McMahon called from the bridge. “Keep in radio contact. You run into trouble, we’ll send help.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Charlie said.

  “Godspeed, Commander. I hope you find your men safe and sound.”

  “Boys,” the Scout said with a grin, “we’re wearing the first American boots to step onto the Japanese home islands since the start of the war.” He glanced at Charlie. “Not counting, uh, prisoners. You sure you don’t want a gun?”

  Charlie settled into the raft and adjusted his Mae West. “I’m sure.”

  He wasn’t in any condition for hard combat. He hadn’t said anything, but while his health was stable, he wasn’t getting stronger. The only thing holding him together, he suspected, was his mission to rescue his friends from captivity. Raw will and determination.