Rusty smiled. “My apologies to the Army.”
“So where do we fit in, Coop?” Saunders asked.
The squadron commander pulled down a second map, which revealed Saipan. Eighty-five square miles. The second largest island in the Marianas after Guam.
He tapped a stretch of green on the island’s western side. “Mount Fina Susu. We believe a big coastal defense gun is here overlooking the western lagoon. A very big gun, the biggest they have. So big, they gave it a name. The Ryūsei, Jap for ‘meteor.’ Only twenty-eight of them built. Twenty-seven were mounted on the Three Kings, their Yamato-class battleships. The last stayed in storage as a replacement until some Jap had the bright idea to use it for coastal defense.”
A Type 94 naval gun, 46-centimeter bore, seventy feet long, 150 tons. It fired massive shells up to sixteen miles at 2,600 feet per second. A devastating weapon.
“Why can’t we just bomb it from the air?” Saunders wondered.
“The Japs put it in a bunker,” Cooper explained. “The only way to destroy it is demolitions, which is where the Scouts come in. Captain, you’ll insert Cotten’s team on the island. They’ll proceed to Fina Susu, blow the gun, and return for extraction.”
“IJN presence?”
“We don’t know. Could get crowded once the invasion starts. We think that, once the Mobile Fleet gets wind we’re coming, it could be their kantai kessen.”
Charlie perked up again. Kantai kessen. The final showdown. The decisive battle in which the IJN would try to destroy the American fleet.
“In other words, once the shooting starts, the Japs might throw their whole navy at us,” Saunders said.
“At which time, you can take a crack at any target that looks good to you. Just make sure it isn’t an American ship. And speaking of which, you know well enough to stay out of their way.”
“Just wanted to know if we’d get a chance to take the gloves off.”
Charlie smiled. He was beginning to like Saunders.
“The primary objective is delivering and extracting the Alamo team,” Cooper said. “That is top priority. If we destroy Ryūsei, we take the island with far fewer casualties. We take the island, and we break the Jap Empire’s inner defensive ring. We’ll be in striking distance of Taiwan, which will allow us to isolate the home islands. And we’ll have B-29 Superfortresses within striking distance of Tokyo.”
Area of operations. The Marianas.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SANDTIGER’S RETURN
Sandtiger bustled with activity. A train of sailors hauled boxes of food up the gangplank to be placed in every nook and cranny of the submarine. Trucks pumped fresh water and fuel into her tanks through long thick hoses. A massive torpedo dangled from a crane as it lowered into the forward weapons hatch.
Smokey raced from one group to the next taking inventory with his clipboard. Red-faced, Spike shouted at the greenhorns, whom he loudly claimed hadn’t learned anything at Submarine School.
From the bridge, Charlie and Rusty observed the crew’s progress with the loadout, which was proceeding slowly. Nixon was below, ensuring all provisions were stowed properly. No sign of the captain yet.
As for Percy, he marched up the gangplank with his sea bag and saluted. “Reporting for duty, Exec.”
Rusty smiled. “Welcome aboard.”
No Aloha shirt today. Showered, shaved and wearing freshly laundered khakis, the young officer offered an insolent smirk.
“Rusty’s taking over communications,” Charlie growled. “You’re taking over Jack’s spot as our new torpedo officer. See to it.”
“Aye, aye.”
“Did you have fun?”
Percy grinned. “I have been stewed, screwed and tattooed!”
“When I’m done with you, you will regret you did.”
If he wanted, he could have had Percy court-martialed and reduced to the rating of Seaman, Second Class. Or worse.
“No regrets here, Exec. If I buy the farm this time out, I won’t die wishing I’d done more trim calculations. I’ll wish I’d gotten more trim.”
Rusty laughed as Percy went below to stow his bag. “You know, you could learn a thing or two from him,” he said to Charlie.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny. Half the crew don’t have their dolphins, and the other half have gone soft.”
The Sandtiger, on the other hand, was ready for war. Displacing 1,500 tons, she lay 311 feet long and twenty-seven feet wide at the beam. The Navy yard at Mare Island had given her a new streamlined superstructure to reduce her profile. Decks painted black, vertical surfaces gray. Five-inch deck gun. Six forward tubes, four aft, with a complement of twenty-four torpedoes.
Charlie couldn’t wait to take her out. He gazed past the boat at the busy harbor beyond. Already, the submarine seemed crowded and boxed in, much bigger than she was. He itched to get to sea and become a speck in a vast ocean. Out there, you could both find and lose yourself.
A dungareed gorilla trudged past hauling a box of frozen vegetables on his shoulder. He stopped and winked up at Charlie.
“Good to see you again, Braddock,” Rusty said.
“He got you too,” the machinist said. “I thought he just had it in for me.”
“Oh, I volunteered.”
“You’re wasted on a repair crew,” Charlie said. “We need you.”
“Well, ain’t that touching.”
“I didn’t say ‘want.’”
The big sailor grinned and patted the box, reminding them he had a job to do. “I’ll be seeing you. Sir.”
“He seems happy enough with his new posting,” Rusty said after he’d left.
Charlie sighed. “When Braddock winks at you, he’s promising to make your life as difficult as possible for the duration.”
“Hey, you asked for him,” Rusty said. “Big favor.”
“I’m going to recommend he get a medal.”
His friend laughed again. “God, I missed this part of the service. Why?”
“Because he keeps saving my ass every time I’m on a boat with him, but he’s never gotten any credit for it. A guy who turns a wrench at just the right time is a hero. Isn’t that what you told me on the 55?”
“Hey, I do sound smart sometimes. I also told you most heroes are still assholes. Ponder that deeper wisdom.”
Charlie sighed again and turned away. He didn’t want to talk about Braddock. He watched a twenty-foot-long torpedo lower into the weapons hatch. The new Mark 18, weighing 3,000 pounds and carrying 575 pounds of Torpex.
Wakeless, it was able to swim up to 4,000 yards without a telltale line of bubbles leading back to the submarine. It used a contact instead of a magnetic exploder, eliminating premature detonations. And it swam at the depth you wanted.
The Mark 14’s problems had been solved. Still, the Mark 18 wasn’t perfect. It swam slower than the Mark 14. It required a lot of maintenance, including regularly taking it out of its tube for battery recharging. The fish had a tendency to fishtail and, like the Mark 14, had no mechanism to prevent circular runs. Theoretically, a submarine skipper could fire one and sink himself.
Without Liebold, if Sandtiger’s crew suffered torpedo problems on this patrol, they’d have to either live with it or figure it out for themselves.
“Here come the Alamo Scouts,” Rusty said.
Led by Lt. Cotten, the squad of six soldiers hauled duffel bags heavy with gear across the gangplank. They carried themselves onto the submarine as if they owned it, ignoring the protocol of asking permission to board.
“I tried to find out about them,” Charlie said. “All anybody would tell me is they’re an ad-hoc unit. Lots of missions in New Guinea. Killed a lot of Japs.”
“I heard they know ten ways to kill you with their bare hands. The training they get is unbelievable. Nothing like the average grunt gets. Some of them are American Indians. See that big fella with the black hair? He’s Cherokee. His name is Walsh, but his Cherokee name is Ahuli.”
Charli
e wondered what they’d done and seen during the war.
Cotten caught sight of Charlie and waved. “Where you want us?”
“Out of the way,” he answered. “We’ll get you boarded after loadout. Some of you will bunk with the chiefs, the rest will be quartered in the forward torpedo room. Lt. Percy will see to it.”
“Aye, aye,” the Scout said pointedly, as if speaking a foreign language.
The crew loaded the final provisions. The truck crews disconnected the hoses. Charlie ordered shore power and phone cabling disconnected. The Scouts went below. Sailors ran up Sandtiger’s battle flag — covered in meatball patches bragging of ships sunk — along the clothesline between the bow and periscope supports. After that, the Jolly Roger.
He checked his watch: 1415. The chiefs had pulled off a miracle. They might be able to take the boat out on time. All they needed was their captain.
A jeep bounced along the pier and came to a stop among the usual crowd of tender sailors and well-wishers. Captain Saunders and Captain Squadron Commander Cooper climbed out as the Navy band struck up, “The Stars and Stripes Forever.”
The officers exchanged a few words and shook hands. Looking lost, Saunders crossed the gangplank. For the first time, Charlie noticed the man had a limp.
Rusty shook his head. “He’s forty pounds heavier than his last patrol.”
“He was on his back for months. The war gave him a huge bill, and he paid it in full. I admire him. Not all heroes are assholes.”
“You’re right. I just hope he doesn’t cost us anything.”
“If you know something you’re not telling, spit it out.”
“All right,” said Rusty. “Just before the briefing, he asked to have you and the other officers replaced. He wanted to pick his own men.”
Charlie’s stomach dropped. “I see.”
“Cooper wouldn’t allow it, of course. At the next meeting, Saunders was singing your praises and saying how glad he was to have you.”
One more mission. After that, he would take command. He just had to tough it out. Do his duty and make it back in one piece.
He descended to the main deck and saluted. “Welcome aboard, Captain. The loadout is complete. All hands present.”
Fifty-four enlisted men, five officers.
“Very well.”
“Shall I have the men muster on deck?”
Saunders’ expression darkened. “Why?”
The crew had been idle for seven months. The last man they followed into combat had been killed in action. And Saunders was new to the crew.
Charlie said, “I thought the crew might appreciate a word or two from you.”
“We can’t afford the delay.” The captain glanced at his watch. “Take us out on time, Number Two.”
“Aye, aye,” Charlie said and bawled, “Start the engines! Station the maneuvering watch!”
Sandtiger’s big diesels roared to life, overwhelming the music played by the band, which switched to, “Anchors Aweigh.”
“Stand by to single up! Take in the gangway!” He turned to Saunders. “Engines have full loading, Captain. We’re ready to get underway, sir.”
“Very well! Take us out. And Mr. Harrison?”
“Captain?”
“You’re doing a terrific job. Keep it up.”
“Thank you, sir,” Charlie deadpanned. Then he glanced at Rusty, who shook his head in wonder.
The diesels pulsed. Sandtiger strained at her leash, snorting puffs of white smoke from her exhaust vents. Chest purring with the vibrations, Charlie ordered the lines taken in. He was going back to sea. He put it all out of his mind — Cooper passing him over, the captain’s contradictions, Percy taking off, Braddock’s wink, the past. None of it mattered now. Soon, it would just be him and the big blue.
Him and the devil he’d come to know so well.
He was going to a place where a man lived in the moment.
Percy blew a whistle, and sailors lowered and removed the colors. The foghorn blasted like an angry beast. Screws churning, the submarine pivoted from the pier on stern propulsion. The crowd on the dock waved and cheered.
The legendary submarine, made famous by her captain who’d died in battle, was finally returning to the war.
CHAPTER NINE
THE MISSION
Sandtiger’s diesel engines pushed her westward from Oahu. Her PT boat escort flashed signals before veering home. She was now on her own.
Below decks, Saunders laid a map and a handful of aerial recon photos on the wardroom table. “Saipan.”
Charlie, Rusty, Percy, and Cotten crowded the small table for a look. Eighty-five square miles packed with Japanese troops. The recon photos showed towns, jungles, and checkerboard patterns of sugarcane fields. Fifty-four miles of coastline, most of it cliffs. Fourteen miles of beaches.
“We have a simple job to do,” the captain said. “Drop the Scouts on Saipan and then extract them.”
Green from hangover, Percy grinned at the prospect of a relatively safe patrol. A simple taxi ride. “Sounds easy, Captain.”
“Easy, Mr. Percy? Saipan’s a fortress. And we’ll be sitting ducks in its shadow while we offload the commandos. Nothing easy about it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“After that, Fifth Fleet will enter our AO for the invasion, which may draw in the Jap Mobile Fleet for Armageddon! We’ll be right in the thick of it.”
Percy turned even greener. Rusty nodded with satisfaction. Charlie’s pulse quickened as he pictured the great fleets roaring on the open sea. The skies booming with dogfights. And Sandtiger in action.
He hoped to take a crack at a battleship. He pictured the Yamato flying under his crosshairs. The Imperial Navy’s biggest battleship, the king of the sea, 70,000 tons, bristling with guns—
Rusty nudged him and tilted his head toward the map. Charlie wiped the foolish grin off his face and paid attention.
“Mr. Grady, this is your and MacArthur’s baby,” Saunders said. “I’ll let you take over from here.”
“Thank you, Captain,” said Rusty. “Aerial recon tells us the main Jap strength is up here in the northern half of the island. Fifth Fleet will feint by launching landing craft there. Meanwhile, two Marine divisions will land along the west-side beaches in the south between Mutcho Point and Agingan Point.”
“How many Japs are on the island?” Percy said.
Rusty and Cotten exchanged a glance.
“Intelligence estimates maybe 15,000,” Rusty said.
“Damn,” Percy said, no doubt glad he’d joined the Navy. Once joined, the battle would be a bloodbath.
“Most of them will be concentrated near the beach,” Cotten said. “That’s how the Japs operate. They put everything on the front line with little in reserve.”
Rusty pointed. “The Scouts’ mission is to destroy a big coastal defense gun here at the top of Mount Fina Susu. It could play hell with the landings. To take it out, the Scouts have to land somewhere undetected. The western side of the island, where most of the beaches are, is a no-go. Heavily defended. These shoals on the western side of the island also make navigation tricky.”
Charlie studied the map. He couldn’t see a solution. “Then where?”
Rusty tapped the map with his finger. Magicienne Bay on the eastern side of the island. Cotten’s team would go ashore between Tsutsurran and Aslito Airfield while it received a pounding by American bombers.
“That’s all cliffs there,” Percy said.
“Exactly. The Japs won’t be watching the cliffs.”
“The Scouts are supposed to climb?”
Cotten shrugged. “It’s what we do.”
Rusty said, “The big gun on Fina Susu is the objective. As an extra incentive for climbing it, the words apparently mean ‘big boob’ in Chamorro. You’ll be the first Americans to conquer that sucker.”
The men grinned. Charlie shot the Alamo Scout a wondering glance. Cotten and his men were like warriors from myth. Modern-day Spartans with
rifles instead of spears. The six-man team would scale the cliffs, sneak across an island thick with Japanese infantry, and assault a fortified coastal gun. Then return.
From the way Cotten acted, they’d done this sort of thing before.
“I’m just glad you’re on our side,” Percy said.
“We drop Cotten’s people June tenth and extract them June twelfth,” Rusty said. “Spruance’s Fifth Fleet starts shelling on the thirteenth, and then it’s D-Day. Our boys take the island, we start bombing Tokyo, and the war might be over by Christmas.”
The men stirred. Again, that atmosphere of excitement. History in the making. The tide had turned in this vast conflict, which at times back in ’42 seemed unwinnable. The war won, they could all finally go home.
“But first, kantai kessen,” said the captain. “The final battle. If the Japs come, it’ll be one hell of a show. And we’ll be right there in the middle of it.”
If the Japanese committed their Mobile Fleet to battle, Fifth Fleet would be able to bring more than 100 warships to bear, including seven battleships and seven fleet carriers carrying nearly 1,000 airplanes. Charlie wondered how many warships the Japanese had at this point. They’d been reserving their strength for the final battle. While the American Navy had grown over the past two years, the IJN remained a formidable and dangerous enemy.
The war seemed winnable now, but it would be no easy feat. With the Imperial Navy still afloat, victory hung in the balance.
“Wonderful,” Percy muttered.
“The Jap Navy will probably come from the west,” the captain said. “My money’s on the Philippines. We’ll go out there and get on their tail. Kick them in the ass while Admiral Spruance bloodies their nose!”
Saunders grinned at Charlie, who smiled back. Aye, sir. On that, we can agree.
This patrol wouldn’t just be a ferry ride. If Sandtiger found the Japanese Mobile Fleet, she could play an important part in what might just be the last great naval battle of the war.
Like Rusty, Charlie wanted to be there at the end.
Contact!: a novel of the Pacific War Page 4
