Battle Stations: a novel of the Pacific War (Crash Dive Book 3) Page 5

  “None, unfortunately,” Cooper said. “Most of their merchant fleet appears to be allocated to the Pacific, running in and out of the big industrial cities on Honshu’s eastern coast. However, it stands to reason the western ports are used to ferry reinforcements into the fighting in China. Receive food and raw materials coming the other way. Your attack group will string north to south across likely shipping routes. You should see good hunting.”

  “Sold,” Moreau said. “How the hell do we get in there?”

  “Five straits lead into the sea.” He tapped the map. “Tartary and La Pérouse in the north, Tsugaru here, and Shimonoseki and Tsushima in the south. PT boats, planes, and ASW mines guard them all. Tsushima, we know, is heavily mined. The Tartar Strait is Russian territory. They’ve got DDs patrolling it at all times.”

  Moreau: “So which one gets the prize?”

  Another tap. “La Pérouse.”

  The strait served as a waterway between the islands of Sakhalin and Hokkaido. It separated the Sea of Okhotsk from the Sea of Japan. Cooper said the strait was twenty-five miles long and twenty-seven miles wide at its narrowest part. Between seventy and 130 feet deep. The water moved rapidly in a strong current.

  Across its length, the Japanese planted densely packed fields of mines at depths from forty to seventy feet. Others were placed at shallower depths as a threat to ships traveling on the surface.

  A deathtrap for submarines.

  Anchored to the sea bottom using steel cables, Japanese mines packed up to 2,500 pounds of explosive. Horns studded the metal sphere. Each horn contained a glass vial filled with acid. Upon contact with a ship’s hull, the vial shattered, freeing the acid to flow into a battery.

  The energized battery detonated the explosive and tore a hole in the hull.

  “Commander Voge, ComSubPac’s intelligence officer, found us a way through the minefields,” Cooper said. “The Japs designed a channel free of surface mines, which allows both its ships and neutral Soviet ships to pass through. All the lend-lease material we send the Russians goes through that strait.”

  The average draft of Japanese ships was thirty-five feet. Surface ships could travel safely along this safe channel. Submerged submarines couldn’t.

  “That’s our opening,” the squadron commander added. “Based on our intel, we have a rough idea of the route the channel takes. As a fallback, at night, the Russians switch on their running lights, which identifies the ship as being with a neutral power.”

  The Japanese defeated the Russians in 1905. In 1931, Japan invaded Manchuria. As a result, Japan gained control of southern Sakhalin Island, Manchuria, and Korea. After several bloody clashes along the Manchurian-Mongolian border in 1938 and ’39, the Soviet Union and the Empire of Japan signed a neutrality pact. This allowed the Soviets to focus on their fight with Germany, the Japanese on their expansion into Asia and the Pacific.

  Shelby chuckled. “We’re going to follow a Russian ship in there. On the surface. At night.”

  “Sold,” Moreau said.

  “Do the Russians know about this?” Shelby asked.

  “They do not,” Cooper said. “Otherwise, I can’t describe how we get our intel.”

  “Roger that.”

  “This will be a coordinated operation. Frank, you’re the senior officer. You’ll act as commander of the attack group.”

  “Very well,” Rickard said.

  “Rickard’s Raiders!” Shelby suggested.

  The captain shrugged. He didn’t care what they called themselves.

  “Better off doing our own thing,” Moreau growled. “We don’t need a leader. No offense, Frank.”

  Rickard, bemused: “None taken, Gil.”

  Cooper sighed. “This is the way it’s going to be. Remember, you only have four days. You’ll have to coordinate your attacks to make the most of it.”

  “Plenty of meat for everybody,” Shelby said.

  “Fine,” Moreau grunted. “When do we go?”

  “Three days,” Cooper said. “By then, you’ll be provisioned and have any repairs you need completed.”

  “I understand how we’re getting in,” Shelby said. “How are we getting out?”

  “Same way you got in. We’ll create a diversion at one of the Kurile Islands here.” The Kuriles were a volcanic archipelago of more than fifty islands that separated the Sea of Okhotsk from the Pacific. “By August 27, Dartfish will be on station off Matsuwa. At 0100, she’ll start shelling the Jap airfield. Be ready to exit the Japan Sea at that time.”

  Moreau leaned to his side and murmured, “What you think, boy?”

  Charlie considered his answer. Lockwood had rolled the dice on something big. Big rewards and even bigger risks. The rewards were speculative. The risks were known, and they were enormous.

  The entry through shallow waters bristling with mines. How little they knew about the territory. The limited time they’d have to sink any ships.

  And if the wolf pack got lucky and sank some ships, the Japanese would mobilize everything they had. Sweep the water with radar and planes. Block the exits and starve the submarines out.

  Charlie had learned to keep his opinions to himself around a superior officer unless asked a direct question. When asked, he always answered honestly.

  “It’s a one-way trip,” he said.

  The captain’s face broke into a broad grin. “Probably.”

  Moreau was right about one thing.

  He, Rickard, and Shelby were maniacs.

  The five major straits leading into the Sea of Japan.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SUICIDE MISSION

  A thousand miles out from Hawaii, sudden squalls churned up swells. Sandtiger bobbed across the whitecaps. Below decks, Charlie felt the boat’s rhythmic pitch as he finished his daily inspection of the departments.

  Another 500 miles, Sandtiger would reach Midway and top up their tanks. Ten days after that, she’d make landfall at the Kuriles.

  Beyond, La Pérouse Strait.

  The chiefs reported no problems with the boat. As XO, Charlie enjoyed the view behind the curtain. No, not just a view. Now he was one of the men pulling the levers to keep the magic show going.

  As Charlie finished his inspection, he made sure to check the pulse of an essential part of the boat’s machinery: the temper of the crew. The captain had read the operations order over the 1MC. Whatever fears they might have, the sailors trusted Uncle Charlie, and they had faith in Moreau. Many seemed downright excited at the prospect of adventure. They were taking the fight straight to the Japanese on their own turf.

  Sandtiger, named for a cousin of the great white shark, itched for a fight.

  Charlie paused to watch a few dozen sailors finish their meals around the four tables bolted to the mess deck. In the galley, coffee brewed by the gallon. The rest of the crew manned their stations or lounged in their berths, playing Acey-Deucey and reading cheap paperbacks. “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition,” a crew favorite, piped over the loudspeakers. The pharmacist’s mate hustled past on his rounds, handing out vitamins to the sun-starved sailors.

  There was just one thing missing. Machinist’s Mate John Braddock.

  Charlie smiled. The boat felt a lot roomier without Braddock around.

  Satisfied with Sandtiger’s morale and efficiency, he headed to the wardroom for coffee. Liebold and Nixon played cribbage at the table. Percy sat on one of the chairs wearing a loud Aloha shirt and picking at a banjo. A lit cigarette burned in an ashtray next to him.

  “Hey, Harrison, dig this.” He plucked the fifth string and produced a lingering G note. Waited four seconds, plucked it again.

  Charlie poured himself a mug and grabbed a chair. “What is that?”

  “Wait for it.” The communications officer grinned and hit another G. Then another—

  “Sonar,” Nixon said. He cut the pack of cards and flipped one over. “Ha, ‘His Heels’! I peg two points for that.”

  “Good for you,” Liebold said in
a sulky tone.

  Charlie frowned. Liebold had been sour ever since Mare Island. He’d rebuffed every attempt Charlie had made at real conversation.

  “Yeah, good one, showoff,” Percy said. “You shouldn’t play cards with him, Liebold. He’s a human computer.” He pounded out a first-string D, D, D, D, D—

  “Battle stations,” Charlie guessed.

  “Of course, Harrison gets that one.” He played fourth-string D, fifth-string G, third-string G—

  “Dive, dive, dive,” Nixon said and put down a card. “Thirty-one, Jack.”

  “Ah-oo-gah,” Percy said and played it again as chords. “So what do you make of our little mission to the Bathtub, Harrison?”

  Charlie sipped his joe. “ComSubPac knows what he’s doing.”

  “It’s a suicide mission,” Liebold said.

  Percy laughed. “Friend, every patrol the captain drags us along on is a suicide mission.” He grinned at Charlie. “Why do you think I drink so goddamned hard whenever I can? The Old Man taught me to live each day as if it’s my last.”

  “If it was my last day, I’d crap my pants in terror,” Nixon noted.

  “I love the man, I really do. I’d say I’d follow him to hell and back, but I’ve already done it.”

  “We’ll be all right,” Charlie said, though he didn’t quite believe it. He’d taken enough chances to recognize very long odds.

  “We all got to go sometime,” Percy said. “Pretty soon, we’ll have been at war for two years. The jarheads aren’t even close to Japan. How long do you think it’s going to go on? Another two years? Five? Ten? Do you really any of us are going home?”

  “Don’t think like that,” Charlie told him. “It’ll drive you crazy.”

  “Or to drink. Mission accomplished.”

  “You have no idea how close you came to today being your last,” Liebold said. “The captain has me modifying the torpedoes two hours a day ever since we left Pearl. One of these days, I’m going to blow us all to hell.”

  “Is that why you’ve been so sore?” Charlie wanted to know. “You should be puffing your chest out. What you did allowed us to sink Yosai. Sink that destroyer with a down-the-throat shot. You did good.”

  Liebold threw his cards down. “Yeah. We sank Yosai. We did. And you got a medal for it. You got shipped off to PXO School by Uncle Charlie himself.”

  “Well, you—”

  “Me, I got kicked off Sabertooth. Once it got out I messed with torpedoes, nobody wanted me. I only got a posting on Warmouth because the exec was my roommate at the Academy. I barely passed my last medical because I stayed in the control room too long breathing in chlorine gas.” His face turned scarlet. “Now I’m back doing the dirty work so the heroes can earn glory or kill us all chasing it.”

  Charlie and Nixon stared at Liebold in a stunned silence.

  Percy said, “Well, you didn’t have to sugar-coat it.”

  Charlie sighed. “I don’t know what to say. I guess I’m sorry. But what you did shortened the war. Then you saved our lives when that destroyer showed up. The Navy may have come down on you, but all that has to count for something.”

  “It shortened the war. I’m sure it did. With a captain who’s as reckless as you, this mission is going to shorten it even more. I’m sure it’ll be a big victory in the end. I just don’t think any of us are going to live to see it.”

  “You’re the one who said he wanted to get in the war,” Charlie growled.

  Liebold stood. “You know what else? The torpedoes Hunter shot down that DD’s throat and sank him, they weren’t modified. Think about that.”

  “Come on, Jack,” Charlie called after him as he stormed out.

  “Um,” Nixon said to fill the awkward silence.

  “You make friends everywhere you go, Harrison,” Percy said.

  “Give it to me straight, fellas. Is the captain reckless?”

  “He fights like he plays poker,” Nixon said. “Close to the chest, then all-in.”

  “He gets results,” Percy added. “That’s all anybody cares about.” He strummed a random series of chords that settled into a Gene Autry tune. “Otherwise, nobody gives a damn what I think.”

  “He seems aggressive to me, but not reckless. You also made out the captain to be some kind of tyrant. So far, he hasn’t been the least bit disagreeable to me.”

  “Because nothing’s gone wrong yet,” Nixon said. “Watch out for the chiefs.”

  Charlie set down his coffee, which had gone cold. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are they running me down to the captain behind my back?”

  “They’re more scared of the captain than they are of the Japs,” the engineering officer said. “So if anybody screws up, they hide it. The exec always thinks everything is running like a top, but it isn’t. Any of those foul-ups affect us in combat, well, it’ll be your neck. Maybe mine next time, too.”

  “For God’s sake,” Charlie said. “I thought we were fighting the Japanese.”

  He stood and went to the control room. He put on oilskins, Mae West lifejacket, and sou’wester hat. Then he mounted to the bridge to breathe real air.

  The gray sky lay heavy on roiling seas. Waves boomed against the bow, flinging spray across the drenched lookouts. To the north, a line of thunderstorms chased the wind, pounding east toward Canada. Thunder boomed far away, like a remote naval battle. Lightning flashed in the murk.

  Charlie looked up at the Mae Wests hanging from the shears. Moreau dived the boat every morning for trim but otherwise kept to the surface at all times, zigging and zagging. The only other time he dived was if an enemy approached within six miles. Then he dived, and he dived in twenty-eight seconds flat. To do that, he reduced the number of lookouts to two and put up the Mae Wests. If anybody failed to get below in time, the captain left him behind and picked him up later.

  Maybe Moreau was reckless. This mission certainly felt reckless. One thing was for sure, the captain didn’t let anything stand in the way of killing the hated Japanese. If the boat experienced a failure in combat Charlie hadn’t anticipated, Moreau would see him as being in the way. And he’d crush him for it.

  Charlie had wanted to return to the war because things seemed far simpler out here.

  He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  The four major home islands of the Empire of Japan.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE STRAIT

  Two weeks later, Charlie stood on the bridge again, wearing muffler, coat, and boots. The Sea of Okhotsk lay cold and calm in the moonless night, barely visible through a veil of fog. The black shapes of the Kuriles loomed astern.

  The Kuriles reached 800 miles from Hokkaido to Kamchatka. Moving north-northwest, Sandtiger slipped through this first line of defense after sunset. She’d raced pell-mell between Iturup and Urup with her throttles wide open. She was now in Japanese waters, boxed in by hostile landmasses.

  Under cover of darkness, the submarine made way across the cold sea.

  “Conn, Bridge,” Captain Moreau said. “Come left to two-seven-oh.”

  “Come left to two-seven-oh, aye, Captain.”

  Sandtiger was first in line to go through the strait. The captain wouldn’t have it any other way. Somewhere astern, Warmouth followed in the fog. As the flagship, Redhorse went last.

  Percy scanned the dark with his binoculars. “Christ, it’s cold. Hey Skipper, don’t the Japs know it’s August?”

  “Lucky it’s summer,” the captain said. “La Pérouse freezes up a good part of the year.”

  Charlie stiffened. A tiny blob of light glimmered through the fog. “Ship, ahoy! On the starboard beam. He’s got his running lights on.”

  Moreau trained his binoculars on the light and grunted. “Looks like our good friends, the Reds.”

  The United States and the Soviet Union were currently allies against the Axis. Food, raw materials, and non-military goods flowed into the USSR via the Pacific Route. From West Coast ports riding up the Aleutians and down the Kurile
s. Then through La Pérouse to the port of Vladivostok.

  “The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Percy said, quoting an old proverb.

  Moreau: “Sugar Jig, make an automatic sweep on the PPI.”

  Overhead, the radar swiveled as it swept the sea.

  The blob of light grew larger. The submarine and the mystery ship were on a convergent course.

  “Ship contact, bearing two-four-five, double-oh-five on the starboard bow, range two miles,” the SJ radarman reported. “Second ship contact, bearing two-four-five, oh-one-oh on the starboard bow, 2,000 yards.”

  Damn it, that was close. Charlie zeroed in with his binoculars but didn’t see the second ship through the fog.

  “Helm, reduce speed to one-third,” Moreau snarled. He didn’t like surprises. He wanted to put a little distance between them.

  “Jap, you think?” Percy asked.

  “Maybe. Or maybe a Red captain too dumb to remember to turn his lights on. It don’t change a thing. We’re going in.”

  A freezing southerly blew over the water, disturbing its calm. Charlie rubbed his gloved hands over his numb face to warm it up. He returned the binoculars to his eyes. The blob of light crossed the starboard bow, shadowed by its companion.

  “Helm, Bridge,” Moreau barked. “All ahead full.”

  Sandtiger knifed the sea in hot pursuit of the two ships. One of the lookouts spotted another lighted ship off the starboard quarter.

  Moreau could wait and hitch a ride behind the new arrival, but he wanted to get through the strait by sunrise. Every minute counted.

  “Helm, come right to two-eight-five.”

  The hours rolled by. Charlie and Percy stomped their feet on the icy deck to get their blood pumping. Sandtiger made way at nineteen knots toward the strait.

  Ahead, the blob of light dimmed.

  “We’re losing him,” Charlie said.

  The fog was thickening.

  Ahead lay another danger, Nijogan Rock, largest among an islet group off Sakhalin. Just 500 feet long and 150 feet wide, it presented a hazard to ships traveling the strait. The Russians called it “Dangerous Rock” for obvious reasons. If Sandtiger ran aground, the rock would rip her hull wide open.