Code Name: Infamy (Aviator Book 4)

by Shanle, Leland

  “The war will end very soon …”

  “I should think the millions of Japanese digging in on the mainland might take issue with your analysis.”

  “Trust me. I can’t say more than I have.”

  Irish set his fork down and pushed away from the table. Swirling his wine, he then sampled it and nodded his approval to Kate. She tried to suppress a smile but couldn’t. She knew he was up to something.

  “So, then, the Germans were not the only ones messing around with God’s order of the universe?”

  Spike said nothing as the dinner party all turned to face him. That alone spoke volumes.

  “How much time, Spike? I mean to get into position?”

  “Five or six weeks, max.”

  Irish let out a low whistle. “Not much time, Spy.”

  Swagger was returning to his damaged Celtic soul. “Where?”

  “Okinawa.”

  “Still pretty damn hot, isn’t it?”

  “You getting soft on me old man?”

  “Hardly,” rebuffed Irish.

  Kate stood up rolling her eyes. “Shall I have the maps sent in?”

  “Charts, my dear,” JT chided her playfully.

  “By the way, I got married in Chile,” said Irish.

  Kate sat back down as JT spewed wine all over the fine linen tablecloth. JT and Kate stared for a five count and then JT spoke. “Yeah, sure, Irish …”

  “Ask the spy; he was the best man.” They both turned to Spike.

  “Yes, it is true. I was pressed into service after Irish threatened to shoot me dead in the middle of the National Cathedral of Chile.”

  “I did not say I would shoot you.”

  “Okay, it was implied.”

  “True.” Irish shrugged.

  “And neither Kate nor I got an invite?”

  Irish cleared his throat. “It was kind of impromptu.”

  Kate put both elbows on the table and leaned forward, resting her chin in cupped hands. “Do tell!”

  CHAPTER 18

  12:14 Local, 25 June, 1945 (12:14 GMT, 25JUN)

  Beckwith Manor, England

  For three days, they plotted their return to war. Courses, times, fuel burns, and stops were all set. Irish suddenly looked up and asked JT, “Hey, where is the Hass-man?”

  “He should be on Iwo by now. After VE Day they were shipped out immediately for the Pacific.”

  “No rest for the weary,” said Irish.

  “Iwo Jima?” asked Spike.

  “Yep.”

  “Perfect.”

  “How so?”

  “He can escort us into Okinawa quietly. No attention.”

  21:18 Local, 25 June, 1945 (12:18 GMT, 25JUN)

  USS Suwannee, Philippine Sea

  Robbie banged into the ready room and flopped into his chair next to Kid like a bag of potatoes. He let out a large exaggerated sigh.

  “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s wrong with you?”

  “The bridesmaid cruise continues, Kid, that’s what’s wrong! You would think after we saved the day in Leyte Gulf—”

  “Fine with me; I’ve had enough,” Kid muttered.

  “Wait, the Lone Ranger has had enough vengeance?” Robbie regretted the statement before it left his mouth. He knew about Kid’s father and brother and that they were involved in some secret project called 7 Alpha, and that it had been led by none other than JT Dobbs. Kid took no offense; he had been driven by blind vengeance and revenge. But not anymore. His rage had turned to horror, and now he was fighting just to survive so he could go home and hold his own wife and son. He had no intention of riding a five-inch shell to Davy Jones’ Locker.

  Kid patted Robbie on the knee. “Hey, don’t worry. With all the Fast Carriers off the coast of Japan, we will get to sweep the skies of Borneo.”

  “So you already knew. Well, then, you also know that Intel says there is nothing to sweep.”

  Kid laughed. “Don’t worry. There will be plenty of action over mainland Japan once we invade.”

  07:19 Local, 27 June, 1945 (13:19 GMT, 27JUN)

  OSS Head Quarters, Navy Hill, Washington DC

  A large steel door opened with an almost imperceptible whoosh. The change in air pressure in the sealed space caused its inhabitants to look up. Irish, Billy, Jeff, and Hans watched Spike approach the long table around which they were gathered. He dropped a manila envelope stamped Top Secret in large red letters on the table.

  “They made it.”

  Irish pulled a series of 8x10 black and white glossy photos from the envelope. After examining one, he’d pass it to Hans, who also passed them around the table. Hans held a large magnifying glass over the last photo, moving it up and down and focusing intently on the details.

  “It’s them,” he declared.

  “Now how do we find our Uber-Nazi?” Jeff asked.

  “Well,” Irish said, “I can’t imagine there are that many six-foot, blond-haired, blue-eyed gents in an all-black ensemble walking around Tokyo.”

  “But where do we start?” asked Billy.

  “Right here.” Irish tossed a picture into the center of the table. “At Yokosuka Naval District, guarding the entrance of Tokyo Bay.”

  Spike nodded and then queried, “Do you mind if I ask how you know that?”

  Irish shrugged. “I’ve been there, Pan Am Clipper prior to the war. When do we leave?”

  “Immediately. The war will be over in a month.”

  “I don’t get it.” Billy spoke up. “If it’s going to be over, what is the point?”

  “Because—” Irish started but was cut off by Hans.

  “Wolf will stop at nothing. One war has already ended, and still he did not stop.”

  “Besides the last thing we want is the Russians to get a hold of them,” added Spike.

  “I thought they were our allies?” Billy continued to protest.

  “Yeah, for another month, Billy,” quipped Irish.

  23:08 Local, 27 June, 1945 (14:08 GMT, 27JUN)

  Yokosuka Naval District, Tokyo Japan

  Atsugi glared across the table at the impertinent geijing, thinking this arrogant German who thinks himself so superior is quite obviously inferior to any Samurai. This barbarian does not even understand the way of Bushido, the warrior code. Otherwise he would have detonated these weapons and himself among the advancing mongrel Americans.

  Wolf glowered in return; who is this Oriental with the nerve to hold the eyes of a member of the master race? So inferior he doesn’t even comprehend he is in the presence of someone who is not his equal.

  Admiral Hiroshi watched the silent exchange from the end of the table and then without warning slapped the cool Philippine mahogany tabletop to end it. Turning to his interpreter he asked, “Should we inform the German embassy?” He waited patiently for his interpreter to respond, even though he fully understood the simple response of “nein.”

  “Are all four weapons operational?” Again he waited for the response in Japanese. Hiroshi opened a file on the table stamped Divine Wind and reviewed its contents.

  “Atsugi, you will work with, this … geijing … to install the nuclear weapons in four of your Seiran aircraft. They are to be painted in American Air Force markings.”

  Atsugi looked up in surprise. After meeting the admiral’s eyes, however, he said nothing.

  “Two each in submarines I-403 and I-404; targets for I-404 are the American invasion fleet at Ulithi and the B-29 base on Tinian. I-403’s targets are New York City and Naval Base Norfolk. Each submarine will position at the midpoint between targets for a simultaneous launch and attack.”

  Hiroshi closed the file and then pushed it across the table to Atsugi. “All four missions are one way, Atsugi; pick the crews personally.”

  “Yes, Admiral-San.”

  Hiroshi saw confusion in Atsugi’s eyes and continued. “By destroying their invasion fleet and the B-29 base, we will end the immediate threat of an invasion on the homeland. The East Coast attack serves two purpose
s: First, destroying the biggest city in America will cause panic and a demand to end the war. Second, by destroying the East Coast fleet, we will cause the U.S. to divide the west and send half of it to cover the Atlantic. We can then negotiate for a status quo cease fire.”

  “Why not Pearl Harbor and Washington, Admiral-San?”

  “We must leave the command structure of the Navy and Civilian Command intact to issue the orders and negotiate. Time is critical, Atsugi. For coordination the I-403 must leave soon for the East Coast of America.”

  “And what of the geijing’s plan and demands?”

  “They are of no concern to me. The emperor and Japan are. Germany is gone. The geijing has presented us a gift. In return, we will allow him to live out his life among a civilized people.”

  Wolf sat stoically as the two men sealed his fate.

  03:58 Local, 28 June, 1945 (19:58 GMT, 27JUN)

  USS Suwannee, Java Sea

  An orange streak arced toward the ocean; the source burned white hot. At its core, Kid knew two men were being incinerated. He watched it plunge through the sky from a great distance; Robbie had scored. He turned his Hellcat away to reset his CAP station. Out of the turn he noticed an orange light blossoming on the ocean surface. It was strangely shaped, almost a perfect triangle. He stared at it thinking it must be a ship with more men being cremated. More lives lost; which country seemed almost inconsequential now. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it as it seemed to change its form. He was so engrossed he missed a radio call. Its transformation became so dramatic it caused alarm. Suddenly, the object took a defined and recognizable form. The half moon rose rapidly out of the refracting atmosphere in the eastern sky. Kid knew it was already shining brightly over Hawaii. He thought of his wife and child under its light and felt a loneliness he had not known since learning of the loss of his father and brother.

  23:08 Local, 27 June, 1945

  Midwestern United States (04:08 GMT, 28JUN)

  The Double Wasp R-2800-51 engines churned, and the three-bladed Hamilton Standard propellers hummed in perfect synchronicity. Irish, glancing down, tweaked their levers to keep them that way. The journey ahead was long, but the panorama of stars above their C-46 Commando stretched to infinity, a vastness Irish struggled to wrap his mind around.

  A thunderstorm percolated to the north, slashing at itself with daggers of lightning. Below, the city of St. Louis marked the western edge of the Mississippi River. Irish thought of the last time he had crossed it, flying with young David Brennan. It seemed a lifetime ago that David, or Kid, as he was now known, had charged off to war, seeking vengeance. It had only been a couple years, yet the entire world had changed.

  “You ever get tired of this?” Spike asked from behind him.

  Irish pointed a finger to the windscreen as a shooting star flared in the atmosphere. It burned furiously, leaving a long green trail.

  “No. No, I don’t.”

  CHAPTER 19

  23:08 Local, 28 June, 1945 (09:08 GMT, 29JUN)

  Midway Island

  A pair of lights danced across the runway, zigging and zagging. They were attached to a U.S. Navy jeep. Irish flipped on the Commando’s landing lights, adding to the show.

  “Is he drunk?” asked Jimmy from the right seat.

  “No, he’s scaring off the gooney birds.”

  “Well, he better get out of the way or we’re gonna land on him.”

  As if on cue, the jeep veered off the side of the runway into the darkness. Irish landed the C-46 as the birds floated back down on the runway behind it. Spike jumped out of the aircraft and headed toward the comm-center. He returned an hour later and found Irish and Jeff hunched over the chart table at the navigator’s station.

  “How far?” asked Spike, looking over their shoulders.

  “Two thousand, two hundred and seventeen miles,” Irish responded with a smirk.

  “In time?”

  “Just shy of fifteen hours, Major,” Jeff said.

  “We will be there about ten o’clock local.”

  “Did you shake Hass-man’s tree yet?”

  Spike smiled and handed Irish a copy of the message he sent.

  TOP SECRET

  To: EYES ONLY CO VF 422

  From: Midway

  Subject: Visit

  Text: Irishman en route with your favorite roomie from Kate's Manor.

  Meet arrival.

  Spike sends.

  TOP SECRET

  18:43 Local, 29 June, 1945 (09:43 GMT, 29JUN)

  Iwo Jima

  Lieutenant Colonel Mark “Hass-man” Hass read the message and laughed out loud, further perplexing the radioman. Behind him the wing commander rushed up in a huff. Great, now I’ve got to deal with this idiot, thought Hass-man.

  “Sergeant, I heard a TS logged in.” The man spoke with great authority.

  “Yes, sir, an eyes only for Colonel Hass.”

  “Really? What’s the subject line?” he demanded. Hass-man folded the message in half and handed it back to the sergeant.

  “Burn it.”

  “As you were, Sergeant! Lieutenant Colonel Hass, you are under my command—”

  “Negative, sir. Actually I am directly under Seventh Air Force.” As he spoke, Hass-man took the message from the sergeant with a wink, pulled out his Zippo lighter, and flipped it open it with a snap. Touching the flame to the paper, he let the message slip from his fingers. It was consumed before it hit the ground.

  “I’m going to see that your career is over at the cessation of hostilities.”

  Hass-man laughed out loud, further infuriating the wing commander.

  “Well, sir, it will be a race, between you and me. We have a couple of combat missions tonight, Colonel; shall I pencil you in?”

  “You know I have a bad back.”

  “Oh, yes. I had forgotten.”

  17:50 Local, 30 June, 1945 (08:50 GMT, 30JUN)

  Yokosuka Naval District, Tokyo Japan

  Admiral Hiroshi stalked into Submarine Pen 1, moving with a determined purpose toward the group standing mid dock. He was furious at being summoned. Atsugi stood frozen to the side.

  “What is this, Atsugi?” he demanded. Lieutenant Commander Atsugi bowed his head slightly toward Generalleutnant von Bassenheim. An SS captain immediately ripped away a tarp, revealing a strange cylinder. A gas-powered generator chugged loudly in the background. Cables led from it to the device on the dock. A lone cable trailed to a handle in Wolf’s hand. He looked at the admiral and snapped it closed. A whirring noise could be heard emanating from the device, building in frequency and volume.

  “What this is,” began Wolf in perfect Japanese, “is a nuclear weapon that has just been fully charged and armed.” Both Japanese officers tried to cover their surprise at not only their predicament, but at Wolf’s command of their language. “This is a dead man’s switch—if I release it, the weapon will detonate. And this is a message.” He snapped his fingers, and an SS Trooper delivered a written message to the admiral while another came forward with a large radio and plugged it into the generator’s panel.

  18:38 Local, 30 June, 1945 (09:38 GMT, 30JUN)

  Iwo Jima

  Spike’s entire staff, along with a group from VF-422, were submerged to their chins in mineral water. It was heated to perfection by the thermally active island. Each held a cold beer away from the hot water. In the background, Tokyo Rose played swing music and taunted the Americans. Ineffective, the troops were amused by her.

  “Hass-man this is great!”

  “Isn’t it, Irish? I need one at home.” A song suddenly ended mid play.

  “I have a special message from the emperor,” Tokyo Rose said. “He has given sanctuary to the Nazi government in exile and will not rest until they are back in their fatherland. All your efforts were for nothing, boys.”

  The music started again, and they all looked at each other.

  “What was that about?” Hass-man asked. Spike, Irish, and Hans all responded in unison. “Wo
lf!”

  18:39 Local, 30 June, 1945 (09:39 GMT, 30JUN)

  Yokosuka Naval District, Tokyo Japan

  Wolf gave a single curt nod, and the radio was turned off. He moved to the nuclear bomb, opened a large access panel and after ten minutes of configuring elements in it, turned and declared the weapon safe. “You see, Atsugi, you have underestimated me,” he said in Japanese. “I am quite willing to die for the fatherland. However, it will be to restore it, not in a futile act of seppuku. Perhaps now that your emperor has pledged his support, we can work together.”

  Hiroshi and Atsugi each gave a slight bow; their eyes locked onto Wolf’s. He ordered the generator secured. Annoyed at the continuing noise he snapped at his man.

  “It is off, Herr General,” the soldier responded. A loud drone continued to fill the sub pen, but it was different and growing ever louder. Atsugi suddenly understood. Running to the giant steel doors, he smashed the button with his palm. Slowly the doors opened to reveal a skyline ablaze. He looked up to see another wave of B-29s in the half moon. With aviator’s eyes, he could see the black dots fall toward his home, the city of Yokohama. Concerned, he turned to the admiral.

  “Go to your family, Atsugi,” Hiroshi said.

  CHAPTER 20

  19:29 30 June, 1945 (10:29 GMT, 30JUN)

  Yokohama, Japan

  An endless stream of bombers thundered overhead, dark specters against the moonlit sky as their blunt noses slipped through the atmosphere like a stiletto between ribs. Incendiaries dropped like hail, raining down on a city made of wood and paper as each bomber released a wave of hell. Yokohama was already an inferno, but still the firebombs kept falling.