“Skipper, what’s going on?” An ensign called from the back of the room.
“To be honest, I don’t know, boys. But what I do know is they are shoving the tanks overboard and we are on alert status.”
“Where are we headed?” Kid asked.
“We are to take station at 60 degrees north by 60 degrees west.”
Kid walked to the chart pinned to the wall in the front of the ready room. It was used to track the ship’s position as they moved around the globe. He drew a line from their present position off of Greenland to the Lat/Long.
“Newfoundland? We going to war with Canada?”
“I doubt that,” Stutz managed a smile. “They’re breaking out the depth bombs and the ASW boys looked very uptight.”
“A rogue submarine?”
“If I had to guess, yes. Apparently someone didn’t get the message or doesn’t care that the war is over.”
14:18 Local, 19 August, 1945 (04:18 GMT, 19AUG)
North Pacific
Spike and his staff were crammed into the tight navigator’s station. The tension was electric. Everyone was read in and knew the score. Most of all the ASW team. They wore expressions of defeat that Spike clearly read.
“I know we don’t have much, Avery, but we must succeed. Understand? Okay, Lieutenant, it’s your show.”
Lieutenant Avery spread a nautical depth chart over Jeff’s plots and then referenced both possible routes. “Okay, if they go north out of Bellot, we have serious problems. But I don’t think they will. With the ice on that route, it is ten to twelve days to be in position. We know they have to launch by 1 September, the official surrender is 2 September. If they go south, they make it in eight days. Shorter route and they get out of the ice sooner.”
Avery then flipped the chart and touched the southern route. “I’ve taken the liberty of assigning the Canadian Corvettes two stations, here and here.” He pointed to the mouth of the Hudson Bay and the northeast corner of the Foxe Basin, just east of the Fury and Hecla Strait. “They have sortied out of Cape Dorset, just south of the Foxe Basin.”
“Explain that,” Spike said.
“From the southern point of the Hudson Bay, I-403 would be in a launch position, 700 nautical miles from New York City.”
Avery let that sink in for a moment. “My plan is to break off two Corvettes and have them go active to keep I-403 from moving into the Bay.” He drew three blue lines from Fury and Hecla Strait southeast and had them expand like a pitchfork. “If we miss them at the strait, then we go active and pound the bottom with sonar driving them down the Hudson Strait toward the Labrador Sea.” He drew another blue line at the end of the strait. “Our submarine should be in place by then and waiting for him. That gives us a total of three prosecution points: Fury and Hecla Strait, at the mouth of Hudson Bay, and at the end of Hudson Strait.”
Spike studied the chart and positions. “What if he goes north through Lancaster Sound into Baffin Bay?”
“I don’t think he can due to ice, and even if he tried, submerged he wouldn’t have enough battery time.”
“And if he does? We were very wrong about his fuel range.”
“We will have time to seal the bay at Davis Strait. Also the Suwannee will be on station.” Spike nodded and turned to Irish.
“What about air assets?”
“We’ve got everything coming north, but again they will probably miss the fight. I’ve got ten B-29s out of the training squadron headed to Fort Churchill’s Army Air Corp Field. They’re carrying a max load out of depth bombs.” Irish pointed to the airfield located on the western edge of the Hudson Bay. “Ten more will be loading up at Naval Air Station Bangor and standing by there. And that’s the problem.”
“What’s the problem?” Spike asked.
“We don’t have depth bombs at Fort Churchill. Any re-arming will have to be at Bangor.”
“Time on station?”
“It will take two and a half to three hours to put bombs on top.” Spike looked again at the chart and mumbled to no one in particular.
“Any good news?” Irish jumped on the statement.
“Yes, the Suwannee’s air wing has nine TBM-3L Avengers, the ASW version. They also have twenty-four F6F-5N Hellcats, the night fighter version with radar.”
“All right, gentlemen. It’s got to be good enough to get the job done. Let’s initiate the plan: code name Execute Infamy.”
With the operation set, all they could do was wait. Spike glanced over at the sonar chief who bit his lip repeatedly and jiggled his leg under the table. It was apparent he wasn’t confident. Well, who is? Spike wondered.
CHAPTER 28
03:08 Local, 19 August, 1945 (13:08 GMT, 19AUG)
Naval Air Station Adak, Alaska
Rolling on smoothly, the B-29 fast taxied all the way to base ops. Spike and his staff were out of the aircraft as soon as it shut down. A Navy intelligence officer ran up with a large envelope.
“Major Shanower?”
“That’s me.”
“Messages have been coming in for you for hours. One is marked most urgent.”
Spike tore open the envelope and read the message. He sucked in his breath and said, “Lieutenant, take me to your communication center.”
“It’s not much of a center, sir, just an office.”
Spike ignored him and turned to the rest of his group. “Gentlemen, we are setting up shop here. It is time for Execute Infamy.”
Irish set up in the base operations flight planning room. The comm office was more of a closet than an office. He had access to HF radio and two telephones. Charts of the operation area covered the walls, and the main plotting chart was taped to a large planning desk in the middle of the room. Spike came through the door and tossed the envelope on the table.
“Listen up, we’ve got a time and a location. Fort Ross at the eastern edge of Bellot Strait observed a snorkel and periscope twelve hours ago. It turned south.”
Spike nodded to Lieutenant Avery. Jeff plotted the position of I-403 and the assumed route to Fury and Hecla Strait. As he was plotting the Navy intel officer came running in.
“Major, a message from CINCLANT himself!”
Spike grabbed it and scanned it quickly. “Bingo! We’ve got him. Thirty-two minutes ago a bush pilot spotted a snorkel exiting Fury and Hecla Strait. Irish, where is the first wave of those bombers?”
“Standby.” Irish had ordered a duty officer at Fort Churchill to keep the line open, and now he picked up one of the phones. “Standby,” he said into the receiver as Jeff plotted an assumed point and passed the Lat/Long to him to pass to the duty officer who radioed it to the crews. They set up for a bombing grid centered on the Lat/Long. After a moment, Irish looked up.
“Forty minutes out.”
09:48 Local, 19 August, 1945 (14:48 GMT, 19AUG)
I-403, Foxe Basin
I-403 was running full speed at periscope depth. Tsukuba was at the periscope sweeping the horizon at maximum magnification. The Foxe Basin was extremely desolate. Even so he couldn’t take chances and kept a vigilant watch. Behind him a sailor spoke.
“Captain-San, the radar detection gear we took off of the German submarine shows multiple radars approaching rapidly.”
He slapped up the periscope handles and issued immediate orders. “Down periscope, get the snorkel stowed. Blow the main ballast, shift to battery power, secure the diesels, helmsman crash dive.”
Slipping deeper into the ocean, Tsukuba changed course immediately 90 degrees. Atsugi and Wolf rushed to the bridge.
“Level off at 100 meters,” Tsukuba ordered. Time slipped by as the submarine raced for safety. The chill from the icy water permeated the ship. Its heaters could not keep up. Tsukuba moved to the plotting table and set a course for the small island of Igloolik. Silence was shattered as depth bombs erupted off the starboard bow. Immediately and without being ordered, the crew went to GQ. Frigid water shot into the bridge.
“I knew they would find u
s!” shouted Wolf.
“They have not found us, General. They are looking for us. If you listen, you can hear the bombs in the distance. This is a grid assault.”
“Infamy is compromised,” Wolf shouted as another depth bomb exploded. Tsukuba remained calm.
“Even here, the ocean is large and we have many places to hide. Nothing is compromised except your composure.”
Wolf glared at the captain, incensed at the insult. Then he stood erect and crossed his arms as the next depth bomb shook the submarine. Its shock was less severe than the first few.
“Navigator, set course south, run close to the western shore of the basin.”
04:52 Local, 19 August, 1945 (14:52 GMT, 19AUG)
Naval Air Station Adak, Alaska
Spike waited patiently for the battle damage assessment. He looked at the charted position of the Corvettes; they were still too far south to get in the fight. Avery had ordered them to go active on their sonar and press north.
“Get our B-29 aircraft commander in here,” Spike told Irish. He turned to Avery. “Time to read in our Canadian friends, don’t you think?”
He nodded in agreement. Spike turned to the Navy intel officer.
“Intel … what is your name?”
“Jones, sir.”
“Okay Jonesy, I need you to send an eyes only to the Commodore of the Corvette squadron, tell him his target is a rogue Japanese submarine carrying nuclear weapons. Prosecute and destroy.”
Avery handed him the command message address.
“Got that?”
Stunned, Jones just nodded in reply as the B-29 aircraft commander entered.
“Sir, we are fueled and ready—”
“We won’t be needing the aircraft captain, but we will need your B-29 expertise. Have a seat. We are going to fight the most important battle of the war from right here.” Spike raised his voice, declaring the last sentence authoritatively. Silence fell over the room. All eyes were on him.
“Gentlemen, make no mistake. If we fail, millions of Americans will die.” They turned back to their work, and Spike called out to Irish for BDA.
“No effect, Spike, no sign of the sub.”
“Avery, let’s get the Canadians into the fight.”
10:08 Local, 19 August, 1945 (15:08 GMT, 19AUG)
RCN Kamsack, Foxe Basin
Commodore Howe stood on the bridge of RCN Kamsack, observing his squadron’s maneuvering. RCN Kamloops and Hepatica detached to cover the entrance to the Hudson Bay. Camrose and Brandon took position on his ship and formed a line abreast.
“Sir, an eyes only from the Americans.”
Howe unfolded the message and read it twice. He looked up at the radioman who was visibly shaken. Obviously he had read it, and after recent events in Japan, everyone knew what a nuclear weapon could do.
“Thank you, Petty Officer, tell them we are on the hunt.” He turned to the OOD. “Officer of the Deck, signal the squadron to go to general quarters, and active on the sonar. My standing order is to engage and kill all subsurface targets.”
All hands on the bridge turned to the commodore.
“It seems one of our Japanese adversaries has chosen to fight on. We shall give him the opportunity to die for his emperor.”
06:12 Local, 19 August, 1945 (16:12 GMT, 19AUG)
Naval Air Station Adak, Alaska
Execute Infamy’s staff had the pilot operations room converted to a war room. Spike stood behind them as they finished the master plot, reading the constant reports Lieutenant Jones fed him. He glanced over at Irish, who was barking orders into two phones. Spike smiled and then shook a cigarette out of a crumpled pack. He lit it, adding to the heavy cloak of smoke that hung in the room.
“Talk to me, boys. ASW?”
“Major, we have the Canadian Corvettes designated Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie in a line abreast. They’re currently at the southern end of Foxe Basin, spaced by thirty miles, heading north at 16 knots.”
“Weapons?”
“Each Corvette has one four-inch gun and two Mark II depth charge throwers, forty depth charges per ship. They are equipped with radar and type 12DV sonar.”
Chief Stenstrum, the sonar tech, eased up behind Spike and whispered, “Ship is a stretch, Boss. That Jap sub at 400 feet is twice as long as those Corvettes.”
Spike nodded. He knew it was going to be a fight.
“Air?” Irish told both men on the other end of the phones to stand by. “Eight B-29s inbound with extensive loiter time. I took the liberty of mining the back and side doors.”
“Explain.”
“I loaded two B-29s with mines and had them seal off Fury and Hecla as well as Ross Channel a back way into the Hudson. There is nowhere to go but down the Hudson Strait and out into the Labrador Sea.”
“Where is our sub?”
“Bullhead, SS-332, is on station here,” Chief Stenstrum answered and then pointed to the circled number 332 just off Resolution Island. The sub was lying in wait. Spike took in the entire chart and then started asking direct questions.
“What does our enemy have besides the nukes?”
Chief Stenstrum picked up the INTEL report on the I-series submarines, hastily prepared before they left Yokosuka.
“Eight torpedo tubes all in the bow, they shoot the gyro stabilized—Type 93.”
“In English?”
“It’s a nasty fish that can be shot out of the forward tube but target behind them. It has a huge warhead, very effective, especially against small vessels.”
Spike was reading Stenstrum loud and clear … this could turn ugly. He thought for a while and then asked a final question.
“What can’t we control?”
Lieutenant Avery read from a list. “Ice, weather—”
“I-403,” stated Stenstrum.
“What do you mean, Chief?”
“Major, that’s probably the best sub commander they have. What if he doesn’t cooperate? There’s a lot of water out there to hide in.”
“Understood, however he is running out of time. And he knows we’re hunting him now.”
“Yes, sir. All the more reason not to underestimate him.”
CHAPTER 29
14:08 Local, 19 August, 1945 (19:08 GMT, 19AUG)
I-403, Foxe Basin
Captain Tsukuba looked at his watch and then checked the chart to get a fix on their position. They had been running south as fast as they could on battery power. He glanced at his watch again and then ordered the submarine to periscope depth. He took a long scan of the water and shoreline. No sign of anything human. Better yet the weather was moving in, a low ceiling had formed.
“Snorkel up,” he commanded. “Get the diesels on line at 100%. I want a detailed damage report on the hour.”
An hour later Tsukuba went over the damage report with his engineering officer. All batteries were back on line and charging, and the other damage was insignificant. Tsukuba nodded to his engineer, signifying a job well done. He bowed in return and went back to the engine room.
“Captain-San, sonar detects active sonar to our south. It is still distant.”
He nodded as if he had expected it and then waved his navigator to the chart table. Pointing to Cape Wilson, he ordered the navigator to get as close as he could to the Cape and give him an estimated arrival.
“Twenty-seven minutes to Cape Wilson, sir.”
The OOD was keeping watch through the periscope as the large sub began to heave. He reported heavy seas and worsening weather.
“Perfect, we shall hide on the bottom and let them pass.”
Atsugi stepped forward to protest. “But Captain-San, surely they will detect us.”
Tsukuba smiled and then spoke patiently. “We have an anechoic covering—a mixture of gum, asbestos, and other adhesives. It covers the top of our submarine. By sitting on the bottom, I assure you we won’t be detected.”
09:22 Local, 19 August, 1945 (19:22 GMT, 19AUG)
Naval Air Station Adak, Alaska
>
Pressure was building to a palpable level in the small space. Beads of sweat from closeness and stress began to appear on foreheads, the foul smell of failure mixed with the swirling smoke of cigarettes. Each man sensed it, as the clock taunted them from the wall.
“How long since last contact?” demanded Spike.
“Six hours, forty-six minutes,” Jeff replied immediately.
“Where is he?” Spike asked in frustration. There was no reply. Only silence. Spike was a man of action; he could not just sit and wait. He also knew they must drive the situation. They must become the stroke and set the pace.
“I want fifteen-minute SITREPs from all players to include position and status of equipment and arms, starting now.”
His staff sent out the requirements and then charted the responses using small arrows to depict the status of weapons and platforms. Each Corvette had two small arrows next to every plot as did the circling B-29s.
“All air assets up and ready for a fight, Spike,” Irish called from his corner.
“Corvettes and submarine up and ready,” added Avery.
Time between each hollow update stretched as I-403 remained undetected.
18:28 Local, 19 August, 1945 (23:28 GMT, 19AUG)
I-403, Foxe Basin
Relentless electronic pounding built to a crescendo as Corvette Alpha lashed at the bottom of the Foxe Basin hunting for I-403. There had been no need for sonar listening gear for over half an hour as the pulsing increased to an ear-splitting level. Silent beads of sweat dripped down ashen faces as each Japanese sailor’s breath synced with the rhythmic hammering. Hands covered ears, and all eyes looked up in anticipation of death floating down to them.
Code Name: Infamy (Aviator Book 4) Page 17
