Rising Sun

CHAPTER 10

DANE STEPPED OUT OF HIS STAFF CAR AND WALKED ACROSS THE field to the ruins of what had once been a very long freight train. Now it was little more then piles of charred wood and metal. Blackened train wheels stuck out of the debris, incongruous and looking totally and pathetically out of place. So too did a number of tanks, their guns pointing uselessly in all directions.

FBI agent Roy Harris waved him over to a section of track. Dane had to walk past a locomotive that lay on its side like some mortally wounded animal, an iron whale that had washed up on an unfriendly shore. He could see where the boiler had exploded, ripping the guts out of it.

“This is where it happened,” Harris said. “Right here is where the son of a bitch placed the charge that blew the track and sent the train down the hill. Along with destroying all that material and equipment, he also killed four people and injured two others. The engineer and fireman in that locomotive you walked by were killed, scalded to death when the boiler exploded. I hope to hell they died quickly because their bodies were pretty damn awful to look at. The other engineer and fireman got out although they were injured.”

Dane looked up and down the tracks which had been ripped up for quite a ways. “And you’re certain this is the place?”

“Never doubt the FBI, Dane, we know everything. Seriously, kindly note that while other rails are damaged, none are twisted quite as sharply as this one, and that none of the rails ahead of the train are in any way disturbed. Ergo, this is the spot. We also found dynamite traces and pieces of what he used as a detonator.”

Dane looked down the tracks at the chaos. A number of small fires continued to smolder and there was the smell of ash in the air. Four dead wasn’t a large number in the middle of a war, but they were civilians who were supposed to be alive, even protected by the military. It was like the execution of the customs agents.

“Well,” said Dane, “we were waiting for him or them to do something and now he has. You’re going to tell me this is only the beginning, aren’t you?”

“Yep. And it also means we’re going to have to expend manpower to try to prevent it from happening again. The army is going to start patrolling the train lines as well as looking under bridges and along roads. Sad part is, we have no idea who or what we’re looking for. Some people saw vehicles leaving the area, but nothing of note, just the usual litany of Fords and Chevrolets, with the odd Hudson or Packard thrown in. Assuming the obvious, that he or they drove here, and I think it’s likely more than one man, they’re using a nondescript vehicle.”

“Like a Ford or a Chevy.”

“Exactly, and that narrows the field down to a few hundred thousand cars.”

“Would they need a truck to carry the explosives?”

Harris smiled. “Good question, and the answer is no. It’s shockingly easy to derail a train, and only a little bit of dynamite would be needed to blow up a track and set the whole calamity in motion. It could all be carried in a suitcase with plenty of room left over to stuff in some underwear and socks.”

“So what now?”

“Since they’ve started up, we can assume two things. One, they’ll do it again, which means stepped-up security and patrols, and that means your navy as well as the army. We don’t know if these guys have access to any military bases or not, or whether they’ll strike closer to San Diego or farther away. In short, we don’t know much at all.”

Dane shrugged. “What else is new? Knowing little is standard with the navy.”

“Same goes where I work. However, Dane, we must also assume that someone’s in charge and has to report his successes back to the Reich so they can inform the Japanese, if he is indeed trying to help out the little sons of Nippon. In order to report, he must be using the mail, telephone, or telegraph, or shortwave radio. Mail’s too slow and telegrams can be monitored. International mail can be opened, too, but don’t tell anybody that. We can have operators listen in on international phone calls, although we haven’t been paying all that much attention to calls from the U.S. to other countries.”

“Obviously, that’s going to change.”

“Absolutely. Therefore, we think he will start to use shortwave. If he stays on the air long enough, we can locate him, but odds are he won’t. He could set up a transmitter, broadcast for a minute or two at a prearranged time, and shut down quickly without us being able to find him.”

“What if he uses messengers, couriers, to go back and forth across the border and send their reports from Mexico?”

Harris paused thoughtfully. “Another good question, but I don’t think so. My gut says that would take too long, and also leave him or his messenger open to getting caught.”

“You paint a depressing picture, Agent Harris.”

“Indeed I do, Commander Dane. So far, we’ve told the public that this was a tragic accident that we are routinely investigating because of interstate commerce implications and all that bull-crap. If he strikes again, like at a civilian installation, and if the public realizes it’s sabotage, we could have a genuine panic on our hands.”

Dane thought of Amanda and her friends coming down to San Diego from San Francisco. A well-placed bomb could destroy a passenger train and all its occupants as easily as a freight train. Where the hell was she, and why didn’t she make it down to him? And what was so important about her journey to California that she couldn’t tell him?

Lieutenant Commander Lou Torelli’s new sub was a Salmon-class boat built in 1939. Named the U.S.S. Shark after a sub of the same name that had been lost earlier in the year, she carried a crew of ninety, and was larger and faster than his previous sub. She carried twenty-four torpedoes, which could be fired from eight tubes, with four each located at the bow and stern. The Shark had a three-inch gun on her deck and four machine guns to fight off enemy aircraft. Torelli, however, had no intention of being on the surface long enough so that enemy planes could either find or attack him. He’d learned that lesson transporting people from Hawaii to San Diego. He’d been lucky once. He would not count on luck again.

Like most smaller warships, the Shark had no radar, which many still considered unreliable anyhow. Until radar was perfected, most sailors preferred a wide-open eyeball to unproven technology. Torelli was reasonably confident that no Japanese ships or planes carried radar either, although there were rumors that the Japs did have knowledge of it and were building sets. It was yet another blow to Anglo-American egos. The Japanese were too primitive to understand radar, it had been thought. Another stupid miscalculation, he thought ruefully.

Even though fairly new, the Salmon-class subs were already being outclassed by newer categories of subs that were being built by the dozen. Soon, it was joked, subs would have to be outfitted with old tires on their hulls because there would be so many of them they’d be bumping into each other while underwater.

He had the dismal feeling that this patrol was his punishment for complaining about the quality of U.S. torpedoes. The powers in the navy’s Bureau of Ordnance in Washington had accused him and other sub captains of incompetence or cowardice and insisted there was nothing wrong with their damn torpedoes. It was a debate that now raged far above his pay grade.

Perhaps in order to get him out of the sight of BuOrd, his patrol area included the waters off the Cook Inlet and the Gulf of Alaska to its south. Rear Admiral Charles Lockwood had recently arrived from Australia to head up the submarine force in place of the ailing Admiral Thomas England. Torelli and other submariners felt that Lockwood was a stern fire-breather, but a man who would be sympathetic to the needs of submariners and would fight hard for them.

The Shark was at periscope depth and creeping along to keep any wake from the periscope to a minimum. The day was gray and bleak with pockets of fog obscuring their view. Torelli wished he did have radar. In the lousy weather, the Japs could be a few hundred yards away and nobody’d know. Of course, the Japs wouldn’t either, but he was not going to risk running on the surface just so he might be able to see a little better.

Torelli had turned the periscope over to his XO, Lieutenant Crowley, who was peering intently through it. “What do you make, Ron?” Torelli asked genially.

“Visitors for Anchorage, Skipper. I make two Jap heavy cruisers and six destroyers all escorting at least half a dozen transports.”

They’d spotted the enemy force a half hour earlier as gray shapes moving through the intermittent fog. The Japanese ships were well out of range and Torelli was torn between the need to try an attack and his duty to inform the brass of his discovery. He decided to do both. Catching up to the convoy was out of the question. They had too much of a head start. He would wait until they were out of sight, surface, and send off a message. After that there might be the opportunity to seek out and hit the Japs where it hurt. Right now, the Japanese commander was skillfully keeping his convoy against the shore with the warships protecting their port flank.

Torelli did not entirely agree with Crowley. “Not only am I better looking than you, my eyes are sharper, young Lieutenant. I make two heavy cruisers and one light along with five destroyers. No, change that. I see another light cruiser. If my math is correct, that makes nine of the fuckers heading straight for Anchorage.”

Crowley whistled softly. According to his latest copy of Jane’s, a Japanese heavy cruiser generally carried eight-inch guns. “Lord, Skipper, one of them would look great on our trophy rack, although we’d need a helluva big trophy rack.”

Torelli didn’t respond. He had some decisions to make. If he decided that the transports were the more valuable targets; he’d have to shoot his way past the cruisers and destroyers to get at the transports. He wondered what important materiel the transports carried to make them worthy of such a strong convoy. Planes, artillery, more troops, supplies, and all of the above came to mind, and there was no way he could close the distance in time. He swore. So much materiel would soon be landed to reinforce the invasion of Alaska before he could do anything about it.

As soon as he could he surfaced and sent a detailed message. He stayed on the surface to recharge his batteries. Torelli had the nagging feeling he was going to need them fully charged soon. Bad torpedoes or not, he wanted to strike back at the Japs.

A couple of hours later, he got the response. The Shark was to stay and observe, but not attack, at least for the time being. The message didn’t quite say it, but Torelli felt that something nasty was being planned for the Japanese. He fervently hoped he could help out.

Japanese ships on patrol off the American coast could not see through the persistent fog, and they could not get too close to the hostile shoreline when the gray shapes of American ships slipped out of Puget Sound and headed north a week earlier. Hugging the shore, they’d made it to Yakutat Bay, south of Anchorage, where Alaska became a finger of land running alongside the border with Canada. The bay was dominated by Mount Hood and Mount Hubbard, and, if the weather was right, they could see the mountains and glaciers farther up where Yakutat Bay changed its name to what the sailors of the American force thought was the wonderfully appropriately named Disenchantment Bay.

There was a town called Yakutat, but none of the crew showed any inclination for shore leave in such a dismal-looking place, even if liberty would be permitted.

Admiral Jesse Oldendorf had recently arrived from a command in the Atlantic. It was rumored that he would take over from Admiral Pye, who was under severe criticism for his handling of his part of the fleet after Pearl Harbor. The criticism might not be deserved, but scapegoats were needed, and Pye had pulled his ships back from reinforcing Wake Island. Wake had subsequently fallen after heroic fighting and Pye had been blamed for not making a strong enough effort to help. Cooler heads said Pye’s efforts would have been doomed, but Pye would still be sacrificed.

Oldendorf’s command consisted of two of Pye’s old battleships, the Mississippi and the Colorado, along with four destroyers. The admiral flew his flag in the Colorado, in part because her eight sixteen-inch guns mounted in four turrets were larger than the Mississippi’s twelve fourteen-inch guns. Bigger is always better, the admiral had said with a smile.

Their presence in Yakutat Bay was in the hope that the Japanese would do exactly what the Shark had reported, make a reinforcement run to Anchorage, and they had been waiting anxiously for several days. The two battleships, however old, were much more powerful than three Japanese cruisers and a handful of destroyers. Better, both the Colorado and Mississippi had recently been equipped with radar. The Japanese were supposed to be superior at night fighting, but how well could they fight in a fog? Truth be told, Oldendorf wanted very much to see the enemy face to face, but it would be just as nice, he thought, to be able to sneak up on the sons of bitches before they had a chance to react. “Never give a sucker an even break” was his motto, adopted after hearing the line in a movie.

In single file, with the two radar-equipped battleships leading, Oldendorf’s ships slipped out of Yakutat Bay and said farewell to the thoroughly disenchanting Disenchantment Bay. They headed north, again hugging the coastline.

Naval intelligence insisted that there were no other major Japanese warships in the area. All carrier and battleship units were well to the south, they said, and concentrated in two roughly equivalent forces, one off San Francisco and one off San Diego.

On the flag bridge behind Oldendorf, Tim Dane shivered, and not just from the cold. He hadn’t had time to draw cold-weather gear before being sent up north, and the jacket he wore was too thin.

“Tell me again how I got here,” Dane asked.

Lieutenant Commander Mickey Greene smiled benignly. His face was a mass of red and healing scars and, like Tim’s, his head had been shaved, but he was upbeat. Perhaps the thought of striking back at the Japanese helped.

“Because Oldendorf asked for you after I told him you could speak Japanese. Nobody else in the squadron can perform that trick.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“He was also impressed that you’d saved Spruance and had led that raid on Anchorage, which means you know a little about the area.”

“Damn little and I didn’t lead any raid. I just flew along as a spectator and was as useless as when I was on the Enterprise. We flew over the Jap base at a hundred miles an hour and at a height of only a few feet. It was just a blur of trees and people shooting at us.”

Greene chuckled. “Well, that still puts you miles ahead of anybody else.”

As with his impression of the Enterprise, Dane was overwhelmed by the size of the Colorado and her monstrous sixteen-inch guns. At just under forty thousand tons, the battleship was much larger than any carrier in the U.S. Navy, including the Enterprise. More than two thousand men were on her and they all seemed to have a job and know what they were doing, which, once again, was more than Dane could say.

Dane had to admit that battleships, however obsolescent they might be, looked more like warships than carriers. Greene concurred.

“Oldendorf’s a big-gun man,” Greene said, “but he ain’t no fool. The days of the battleship are numbered and he knows it. It’s just that we have a chance to strike back at the Japs and we don’t have any carriers to play with anyhow. I guess the Sara’s too valuable to risk right now, wherever the hell she is.”

Greene reminded Dane that the U.S. Navy hadn’t won a surface battle since the Spanish-American War, and that the only time they’d tried it in this war, it had met with defeat in the Java Sea. Dane wondered if this coming fight would be the last naval battle that didn’t involve carriers.

Greene continued. “Don’t forget that these are old ships, at least two decades old. Yeah, they’ve been updated, but they are still at least a generation behind the newer battleships in technology and, most important, in fuel efficiency. These two battleships are real pigs when it comes to guzzling fuel and they have to provide fuel for short-legged ships like destroyers. New battlewagons like the Washington are not only far more fuel-efficient, but a helluva lot faster and better armed. It’s too bad, but this is likely the last ride for these old warriors. Oldendorff wants to make it a ride to remember.”

Dane had briefly met Oldendorf, who asked him to confirm that he indeed spoke Japanese and then told him to stick close to Greene. Dane’s job would be to listen to Japanese radio transmissions and try to figure out if they had any idea what was going to hit them. The admiral was in his mid-fifties and this was his first combat command. He had a craggy face that made him look tougher than he was, but Greene had told Dane that this was probably Oldendorf’s last hurrah as well as his first.

“But two battleships against four heavy cruisers and one light? Isn’t that overkill?” Dane said.

Greene smiled and rubbed the scars on his cheeks. He’d said he was glad to go to sea so he wouldn’t scare little kids until he got better. Dane wondered if he would be so calm about life and his future if he’d been burned like that.

“The admiral said it would be wonderful if a couple of arthritic old battleships could give the Japs a bloody nose. Besides, my friend, the odds aren’t so well stacked in our favor. Heavy cruisers still pack a helluva kick.”

Dane thought about the bloated and mangled bodies he’d seen floating around the dying Enterprise. “I’d like to give them more than a bloody nose.”

Oldendorf planned the attack for four AM, a time when it was believed that people were drowsiest and least on their guard. The American force moved in single file, again with the two radar-equipped battleships slowly leading the way up Cook Inlet.

American observers near Anchorage had reported that the transports were unloading cargo while the warships were arrayed in a loose defensive perimeter. Ominously, their cargo was confirmed as disassembled airplanes, and were the Type 43 fighter code-named “Oscar” by the Americans. The Oscar had a range of a thousand miles and could carry a pair of two-hundred-fifty-pound bombs. The Oscars would be able to blunt future bomber attacks and hinder naval assaults like the one coming down the inlet.

Dane was able to listen to radio chatter between the various Japanese ships and quickly confirmed that nothing unusual was happening. Chatter was in the clear and not encoded, which was normal for talk between ships. It took time to encode a message and more time to decode one; since most message traffic concerned mundane matters such as supplies and mail, very few messages were coded.

Dane turned to Greene. “Tell the admiral that it’s the middle of the night and the radio operators are simply killing time. They think it’s funny that Admiral Hosogaya asked Colonel Yamasaki if there were any decent restaurants in Anchorage. Apparently, he inquired before actually seeing the place. One can only imagine his disappointment.”

Greene nodded and reported to Oldendorf, who laughed harshly.

Spotters on the hills overlooking the town reported that the transports were clustered near the limited docking space and struggling to unload their cargoes. The space was so cramped that only one transport could unload at a time and then with great difficulty. Large ships were infrequent visitors to Anchorage.

The destroyers were farthest out and the cruisers about a mile offshore. Two destroyers were patrolling while the rest of the flotilla was at anchor.

“Do we have any other ships in the area?” Dane asked.

“A sub’s been spotting for us as well, but she should be well to our north and west and lying low so she doesn’t get mistaken for a bad guy.” Greene reached into his pocket and pulled out a small package. “Here, have some ear plugs. You’re going to need them when the big guns fire, unless you want to wind up deaf for the rest of your life. And, by the way, hang on to something sturdy. The blast could also knock you silly.”

Dane paused. The tone of Japanese radio communications had changed. Now there was the sound of worry. One of the patrolling destroyers had reported strange ships approaching through the light fog.

“Are we in range?” Dane asked.

“Of the destroyers that spotted us, yes,” Greene answered. “So put in the damned ear plugs.”

Dane complied and, seconds later, the forward guns of both battleships opened fire, violently shaking the ship and, despite warnings, almost causing Dane to fall. Even with the ear plugs, the sound was deafening.

A moment later, someone yelled that the shells were short. Corrections were made and another salvo was fired, and one of the destroyers simply disappeared. One moment she was a blip on the radar, the next, nothing. The second destroyer was racing at high speed toward the rest of the squadron.

The cruisers were the battleships’ primary targets, while the American destroyers streaked in to rake the Japanese destroyers with gunfire and torpedoes. Each battleship carried three floatplanes and these had been launched to aid in targeting.

The heavy cruisers had been identified as the Nachi and Maya, and the light cruisers as the Tama and Abukuma. Dane wondered how they knew that for certain. Greene told him that observers all along Cook Inlet had confirmed it. He added that some were retired navy and even had their own copies of Jane’s.

Distant flashes showed that the Japs were firing back. Their shells, however, landed well short, although they did create mighty plumes of water. Without radar and in the dim light, the Japanese weren’t all that certain where the Americans were. The Americans fired a big gun salvo at the cruisers, and spotters reported they too were short. Oldendorf raged while adjustments were made. Dane thought he could see the faint shapes of the Japanese ships against the shoreline, and wondered if that was confusing the fire-control radar. The Japanese were beginning to move.

Another salvo and Dane watched incredulously as the glowing red shells, each the size of a small car, sped through the sky. False dawn was rising and with his binoculars he could indeed see the enemy ships just as the second salvo impacted.

A plane reported. “Hit! We got a hit on the Nachi.”

Japanese cruisers were big, but they couldn’t stand fourteen- and sixteen-inch shells ripping through them. The Nachi’s superstructure collapsed on her forward turrets as near misses sent columns of water higher than the ship.

Another plane reported. “Nachi’s on fire and the Maya’s trying to get underway.”

The Colorado turned violently to port. “What the hell?” asked Dane.

Greene laughed harshly. “Torpedo. Remember them? This one missed.”

A second torpedo didn’t, and the battleship shook as a plume of spray shot to the sky. A few moments later, damage control reported water, but that it could be contained. The Japs had teeth, but the battleships were not going to succumb to their bites.

Another report came in. “Nachi’s burning and slowing down. Maya’s hit, too.”

A bright light flared in the distance. After a minute it was reported that the light cruiser Tama had blown up and that the Abukuma had taken a hit that had blown one of her stern turrets completely off the ship. The spotter quickly added that the Maya had capsized.

On the Colorado, men were cheering, Dane among them. The rational part of his mind said he shouldn’t exult because men were dying. The emotional side, however, said they were Japs who’d invaded and massacred, and deserved what they were getting.

In a matter of moments, all four enemy cruisers had been destroyed. Oldendorf ordered the battleships to focus on the remaining Japanese destroyers. One of them was already burning, but so too was an American destroyer. The big guns of the Colorado and Mississippi turned on the surviving enemy ships with a vengeance. One Japanese destroyer managed to make it through the gauntlet of fire and out toward the ocean end of Cook Inlet.

The sun was up and the small city of Anchorage was in plain sight. The transports were huddled like sheep waiting to be slaughtered and Oldendorf accommodated them. The battleships cautiously moved through shallowing water to near point-blank range where their secondary batteries of five-inch guns ripped through the transports’ thin hulls. In short order, they too were exploding, burning, and sinking. Naval fire was then lifted to targets of opportunity, including trucks, buildings, and anything that looked like it might be useful to the Japanese. The recently offloaded supplies received special attention and were blown to pieces, including a half dozen Oscars that would never get off the ground.

Finally, the slaughter was over. A very satisfied Oldendorf had his victory, and the U.S. Navy had finally defeated a Japanese surface force. It didn’t take back the sting and shame of Pearl Harbor, Midway, the Philippines, and the Java Sea, but everyone in the task force was pleased, and the American public would rejoice once the news got out. Four Japanese cruisers and four destroyers had been sunk, along with half a dozen transports. One enemy destroyer might have escaped, but so what, was the consensus. One American destroyer was badly damaged and would be scuttled. It would be too time-consuming and dangerous to try and tow her all the way back to Puget Sound. Fifteen were dead aboard her, along with forty wounded. Apart from bumps and bruises, there were no other casualties on the other ships. The admiral announced that it was time to leave.

Motion was seen in the ruins of Anchorage. At first scores, and then hundreds of people could be seen running toward the shore, frantically waving their arms.

“What the hell is going on?” Oldendorf asked.

Dane had binoculars on the throng. “Those are civilians, sir. They want us to pick them up.”

Oldendorf shook his head grimly, “Can’t do it. We’ve stayed long enough.”

Dane was appalled at the answer. “Sir, those are the Americans the Japs have been torturing and using as slaves. Admiral, if you don’t save them, the Japs will likely kill them in retaliation for this disaster. Their commander, Colonel Yamasaki, is a real fanatic and he will want revenge for what we’ve done. He will have them all beheaded or shot, or maybe used for living bayonet practice.”

Oldendorf looked stunned. He nodded grimly and made his decision. “That will not happen on my watch. Get the destroyers in close and everyone launch boats. We’ll pick up every goddamned one of them.”

An hour later, a score of lifeboats had each made several trips to the shore, returning with as many civilians as they could find. Without exception, they were dressed in rags and showed signs of starvation. Multiple bruises were evidence of repeated beatings, and some looked maddened by their ordeal, especially the women. Many of them were nearly nude despite the worsening weather. Hundreds of helping hands lifted or carried them onto the warships and hardened sailors were moved to tears by what they saw. Finally, there was nobody else, only dead Japanese, although they could sense the angry survivors among the enemy invasion force glaring at them through the woods.

“Now it’s time,” Oldendorf said grimly. The sight and condition of the civilians had shaken him. “Let’s get the hell out of this place. But first, let’s lob a few shells into the woods and maybe we’ll get lucky and hit something Japanese.”

A few miles north and west of the fighting, the Shark remained submerged. As the morning brightened, Torelli could see smoke coming from the Anchorage area. He could also see a ship heading for him and racing at great speed.

He grinned. “Damn if it isn’t a Jap destroyer,” he announced after carefully checking his Jane’s. “And he’s running like a bat out of hell, which means we probably won the fight, and damned if we aren’t going to sink the fucker.”

“Want me to put that in the log, sir,” Crowley asked innocently. “I feel that using exact quotes are best for historical purposes.”

“Screw you, Mr. Crowley,” Torelli said amiably. “We will fire when she’s broadside to us. I don’t want any misses running toward any of our ships that might be coming out of the fight.”

He also added that, when the four torpedoes were fired from the Shark’s bow tubes, the boat should turn as quickly as possible so the stern torpedoes could be fired. Torelli had no confidence in his torpedoes and wanted to minimize the chance of a thoroughly pissed off Japanese destroyer commander running up the torpedoes’ wakes and depth-charging them. The Jap might be fleeing, but who knew how he might react if he thought he could sink an American sub.

They fired at a thousand yards. Four torpedoes streaked toward the destroyer and this time fate smiled on the men of the Shark. Two of them exploded against her hull, shattering her and breaking the destroyer in half. Both parts floated for a while and then slipped beneath the sea.

“No lifeboats,” Crowley said as he took his turn at the periscope, “and nobody swimming in the water. I guess that means no prisoners.”

Torelli recalled his conversations with Dane. “From what I hear, young Lieutenant, the sons of bitches would rather die than be taken prisoner.”

Crowley grinned. “Sounds good to me, Skipper.”