And there were other things which must be bothering the police, some of which Gundarsson had mentioned, and some he certainly had not.
Just as there were a lot of things bothering him, however hard he tried to put them out of his mind. In his case it was a matter of attitudes. But then, like the little schoolgirl, he had always given Linda the character and the attitude he wanted her to have. That she had taken the lead in lovemaking suited that character, and delighted him. That she had lost her virginity at college, had gone to bed with him with the least possible hesitation, had been prepared to commit adultery at his first invitation, had seemed unimportant aspects of that character, when he was desperately in love with her. So, as he had thought when being interviewed by the detectives, that she had assumed command of the situation with such determination — and such certainty of what had to be done — when he had been close to panic, had to be another extension of that so determined character. To suppose that she might have known of her husband’s weak heart and engineered a confrontation with that in mind was unthinkable; she had certainly been as surprised as himself by the appearance of the gun. Even more it was unthinkable that it was the idea of his money which had attracted her more than himself.
Yet things had only started to happen after he had told her how wealthy he was. He couldn’t get that out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried.
On the other hand, he couldn’t get the memory of her, of those legs and those breasts and the way she could wrap herself round him, out of his mind either. He was as desperately in love with her now as on that day at the bungalow.
Even if she had planned her husband’s death?
*
His crew realised that he had a lot to think about, and assumed it was to do with the coming action. And at last he found a way of psychoanalysing the whole affair out of his mind, at least for the time being. He sat down and wrote a letter. He so dearly wanted to share the burden with someone. The question was who. Father was out of the question in such a situation. He had no real intimates amongst his brother officers; he had long lost touch with men like Tom Rigby. And anyway, he didn’t want a come back; he just wanted to set it all down.
So he wrote to Clive. Clive was safely dead, so the letter need not even be mailed. But he could tell Clive, and see his brother’s face smiling at him across the desk as he wrote. He told Clive everything that had happened, and added everything he could think of about Linda and himself. When he had addressed the envelope to Lieutenant Clive McGann, DSC, Royal Navy, Australia, and sealed it, he felt a whole lot better. He tucked the envelope into the flap of his blotter; every time he looked at it he relaxed a little bit more — it was like a confessional.
And just in time. That evening they sighted the island of Guam, an American base before the war, taken by the Japanese in December 1941. Now it was coming home again.
On the other side of Guam was the Philippine Sea, and their allotted position.
*
‘You’ll be pleased to know,’ Admiral Mitscher told his captains, ‘that this morning, 15 June, General Smith landed his marines on Saipan. Resistance was fierce; there are some thirty five thousand Japanese troops reported to be on the island, but the bridgehead was secured, and will be expanded. Our job is to keep the marines there until the enemy have been eliminated.
‘Our reconnaissance indicates that the Japanese fleet intends to use every possible means of dislodging our people. So, gentlemen, we can hope to entertain the enemy in the next few days. Our objective is to destroy him. We outnumber him by something like two to one. There is only one aspect of the coming battle in which he may hope to have the advantage. This fleet lies between Saipan and the Philippines. The Japanese fleet will certainly be to the west of us. He will therefore intend to attack us with carrier borne planes from maximum range, deliver a strike, and have those planes fly on to Japanese held airfields in Saipan and Guam. There they will be refuelled and rearmed, to attack us again on their return flight to their carriers. This will obviously double his aircraft strike capability.’ The grim features relaxed into a smile. ‘Well, we wouldn’t want it too easy, would we? But there is only one answer to the problem: we must shoot down his planes, and sink his carriers. Good luck gentlemen, and good hunting.’
*
‘Submarines will proceed west until enemy fleet is sighted,’ said Telegrapher Cooper. ‘This fleet will be attacked. Your objectives are the five carriers known to be present. Good fortune.’
‘Go west, young man,’ Galt said.
‘And find ourselves a carrier,’ Walt agreed.
It was just after midnight on 19 June, and Sea Lion was on the surface, rolling gently in the Pacific swell. Thus far they had seen no enemy ships, but they had had to dive the previous afternoon when they had sighted planes flying east, obviously searching for the American fleet. The direction from whence the planes had been coming had indicated that there were carriers to the west of them, and that assumption had now been confirmed by the orders just received. Walt told Chief Ramos to work up full speed on his diesels, and laid a course due west. Soon Sea Lion was ploughing through the shallow waves, which broke across her foredeck and sent warm spray flying over the conning tower. Now at last he could truly forget Linda and concentrate on the coming battle.
*
‘All aircraft stand by,’ was the order from the flagship.
‘And all anti-aircraft batteries as well,’ Lew told Fisher.
He knew they had been spotted by Japanese reconnaissance machines the previous evening, and the American reconnaissance planes had not yet located the position of the Japanese fleet. Therefore it was a case of accepting the first blow before being able to hit back. Now it was just dawn on 19 June, and they could only wait.
Lew knew they would do that with complete confidence. In the eighteen months he had commanded Florida he had seen his crew develop into a first rate fighting unit. There had been rotten apples, but these had been weeded out quickly enough once they had seen action — the battleship had twice been damaged by bombs, although neither occasion had been very serious — and now he had total confidence in every man on board. As he hoped they had an equal confidence in him. Thus he sent his crew to breakfast, but ate himself in his chair on the bridge, gazing at the western sky. It remained empty, and it was mid morning before Lieutenant Garcia remarked, quietly, ‘Enemy aircraft bearing zero nine seven.’
Heads turned the other way, and the alarm jangled.
‘Out of Guam,’ Fisher suggested.
The carriers had observed the approaching formation as well, and immediately the fighters rose from their decks, gaining height long before the Japanese could reach the huge assembly of ships, which covered several square miles of water; their position was about a hundred miles east of Saipan — no land was visible.
‘Christ, look at that,’ Fisher muttered.
The Japanese were being annihilated as the Hellcats tore into them, guns blazing. Vapour trails and tracer streams splashed the sky, accompanied by the smoke from burning and exploding engines. The battle lasted only a few minutes, and then the Americans were returning to their carriers; the attackers had disappeared.
‘You’d think they’d have more sense,’ Fisher commented.
Lew said nothing. He knew that men who could take on such suicidal missions still had to have a lot of fight left in them.
‘Enemy aircraft bearing two six six,’ came the observer’s voice.
They looked to the west, and saw wave after wave of Japanese planes appearing over the horizon.
‘Ozawa’s trying to pull a Midway,’ Lew said. ‘Prepare to fire.’
If the planes from Guam had indeed been a decoy, to lure the American fighters to battle and enable the carrier strike force to reach the enemy fleet while it was refuelling its aircraft, as had happened, inadvertently, to Nagumo at Midway, it had been only partially successful: the fighters went up again soon enough. Yet the Japanese planes continued to come in successive attac
ks, and quite a few reached the warships themselves. Guns exploded, black smoke rose into the sky, bombs, and crashing planes, turned the calm sea into a maelstrom.
There were so many American ships, relatively close to each other, that it was impossible to take evasive action. It was a matter of throwing up every bit of anti-aircraft fire possible, and ignoring the chances of being hit. The noise was deafening as the pompoms chattered and the aircraft engines snarled and roared. Lew gazed at one enemy machine which flew across Florida’s, foredeck actually below bridge level, its pilot clearly visible as he fought the controls while smoke rose from his engine. He struck the sea just on the other side of the battleship, the plane disintegrating as it entered the water.
‘Never did like flying,’ Fisher commented.
‘South Dakota’s taken a hit,’ Lieutenant Garcia observed.
Glasses were levelled, and they saw the smoke rising from their sister ship. But in only a few minutes the flames were under control.
Still the Japanese came, and still they were shot down, either by the fighters or the anti-aircraft batteries.
‘Heck, it’s like shooting turkeys,’ Fisher said.
‘They’re pulling out,’ Garcia said.
The Japanese had had enough. Now they were streaking away towards Guam, chased by the American fighters.
‘Damage report,’ Lew said.
The reply came back almost immediately. ‘No hits sustained, no casualties, sir.’
‘Now that’s the way to fight a battle,’ Fisher said.
‘This one isn’t over yet,’ Lew reminded him.
‘Message from flagship, sir,’ said the telegrapher.
Lew took the paper, read it, and grinned. ‘Seems the admiral had the same thoughts as you, Fish.’ He himself picked up the tannoy and spoke to his crew. ‘Admiral Mitscher has asked me to tell you that that was the Great Marianas Turkey Shoot, and wishes me to congratulate you all. Now all we have to do is find those Jap carriers and finish the job. Let’s get to it.’
*
‘Smoke,’ Galt said.
‘Dive, dive, dive,’ Walt commanded.
The men on the conning tower slid down the ladder, and he followed them, taking a last look at the smudges on the horizon. There were quite a few ships out there.
He pulled the hatch shut above him, secured the valves, dropped into the control room. ‘Periscope depths, Mr Galt.’
‘Periscope depths it is, sir.’
Walt stared through the eye piece. The Japanese fleet was steering north east, and thus their courses were converging. He counted the five carriers, could see that their decks were clear of aircraft; they had already sent off a strike. He licked his lips as he made out the huge shapes of the battleships Yamato and Mushashi, the largest fighting ships ever built. Between Sea Lion and those tempting targets was a flotilla of destroyers. But they had been sent here to fight; he did not think even Waite could have wriggled out of attacking this time.
He calculated the distance to the destroyers. He had to get inside them to do any effective work. ‘Take her down, Mr Galt,’ he said. ‘One hundred feet. Steer three one two.’
He lowered the periscope, then busied himself at the chart table, laying off courses and distances. ‘One hour should do it,’ he said.
The submarine slipped onwards, hearing nothing save the hum of the electric motors for some forty minutes. Then gradually another sound crept through the sea; the whirring of propellers.
‘Nice navigating, sir,’ Galt said.
‘Another fifteen minutes,’ Walt told him.
The words were barely out of his mouth when there was an enormous bang. Captain and lieutenant stared at each other. It had certainly not been a depth charge. In fact, it had been a long way away. It could only have been a torpedo striking a target.
‘God damn,’ Galt said. ‘We have company.’
‘I should think so too,’ Walt agreed. The order to close the enemy fleet had been issued to every submarine in the vicinity. He listened; the noise of the propellers had increased in intensity, but was diminishing in volume as the destroyers raced off to find the attacker. ‘Periscope depths, Mr Galt.’
Sea Lion rose, and Walt sent up the periscope. For a moment he had empty sea, then he saw the Japanese ships again, and one of the carriers on fire. It looked a serious blaze. ‘Must’ve struck a fuel line,’ he muttered.
The destroyers had hurried across, some to the aid of the stricken carrier, others laying down a depth charge pattern — presumably someone had sighted a periscope. Certainly for the moment he had an unobstructed field of vision.
‘Steer three four two,’ he said. ‘Range eight thousand yards.’ He stared at the carrier nearest to him. She was turning even more towards him, accompanied in her every movement by two cruisers. They could well obstruct his shot. ‘Steer three five one,’ he said. ‘Range six thousand yards. Stand by, Mr Platt.’
The carriers were clearly setting up a zigzag, but a shallow one, holding their basically north easterly course, and Walt guessed they were waiting for their planes to return. Now they were zigging back again, leaving their burning companion astern.
‘Course three four seven,’ Walt said. ‘Range four thousand yards.’ They were perfectly placed, with three ships directly in front of them — but he wanted the carrier. Well, he’d just have to shoot the cruiser out from between them.
‘Course three five zero. Steady now, steady. Fire all, Mr Platt.’
The submarine trembled to the release of compressed air. ‘Number One, gone. Number Two, gone. Number Three, gone. Number Four, gone, Number Five, gone. Number Six, gone.’
‘Reload,’ Walt commanded, still staring through the periscope. ‘Damnation.’
At the precise moment he had fired the three ships had zagged, and the first two torpedoes sped harmlessly between the carrier and one of the cruisers. But the sight of the white streaks had alarmed the Japanese, and they immediately altered course again, an unlucky reflex action, for the cruiser nearest them swung into the path of the next two torpedoes. There was a huge explosion, followed immediately by another. Metal and smoke and flame reached skywards, and the ship sagged in the water, all power gone.
‘A hit,’ Galt said.
‘On the wrong damned ship,’ Walt growled, for the last two torpedoes had also missed. But there was nothing he could do until his bow tubes were reloaded, and he could see destroyers coming at him. ‘Take her down, Mr Galt. Dive, dive, dive.’
The deck tilted as Sea Lion made for the depths. As they did so, they heard another distant explosion.
‘Somebody else got something,’ Walt said.
‘One hundred feet,’ Galt said.
Now the electric motors were drowned by the sound of propellers above them.
‘One hundred and twenty five feet.’
The sea exploded, and Sea Lion bucked and rolled. The lights went out.
‘Emergency lighting,’ Walt said quietly. ‘Damage report.’
‘One hundred and fifty feet.’
‘Small leak forward,’ Lieutenant Platt said.
‘Aft?’
‘Nothing, sir,’ Foy said.
‘One hundred and seventy-five feet.’
‘Casualties.’
Before anyone could reply there was another tremendous explosion. This time the emergency lights went as well, and the submarine rocked and shuddered.
Someone screamed. ‘Water. Pouring in. Water!’
‘Be quiet, that man,’ Walt told him. ‘Flashlights.’ The voice had come from aft. ‘Aft to that leak, smartly. We need light, Chief.’
‘Working on it, sir.’
‘Two hundred feet,’ Galt said; his gauge carried a phosphorescent light.
‘Keep going,’ Walt told him.
The lights came on again, and then went off again as yet another explosion rocked the ship.
‘Must be half the God damn Jap navy dropping those things,’ Galt grumbled. ‘Two twenty-five.’
&n
bsp; ‘Keep her going,’ Walt said again, and himself went aft with a flashlight to inspect the damage. It wasn’t good. Water was spurting into the after torpedo compartment and the repair crew weren’t stopping it. Now it was seeping through into the after engine compartment as well.
‘I don’t think we’re going to make this one, sir,’ said Petty Officer Bright.
Walt chewed his lip.
‘Two hundred and fifty,’ Galt said.
‘We gotta go up,’ said one of the ratings. ‘We gotta go up.’
‘You go forward and find Doctor Matthews. Tell him to give you a sedative,’ Walt said. ‘Off you go.’ But the situation was undoubtedly serious, aggravated by the increasing pressure. He gazed at Foy in the semi darkness, and the boy — he was a year younger than Walt himself — licked his lips.
There were two more explosions from directly above them. Again the sub trembled. But there was no further immediate damage. Yet to go up would mean destruction, Walt had no doubt about that.
‘All hands out of here,’ he said.
The repair crew, still trying to staunch the flow of water, gazed at him in consternation.
‘Everybody out,’ Walt told them.
They picked up their tools and filed into the engine room. Foy remained. ‘Are we done, sir?’
‘Like hell we are. Out you go.’
Walt himself closed the watertight bulkhead, and shut the valves. As he did so, the emergency lighting glowed again.
‘Well done, Chief,’ he said. ‘Now I want you to get some air into that aft compartment, and let’s see if we can’t hold the water level.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the Chief agreed, and then asked, nonchalantly. ‘How long you figure on staying down here, sir?’
Walt grinned at him. ‘As long as we have to, Chief.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Ramos said again.
Because there was only so much air available.
The Passion and the Glory Page 32
