Rising Sun

CHAPTER 1

LIEUTENANT TIM DANE, USNR, COULDN’T SLEEP. GOING TO WAR for the first time will do that to a man, he thought. Maybe it would happen every time. But then he hoped there wouldn’t be a second time. Jesus, what kind of a mess was he in?

Instead of tossing in his bunk, he got up and paced along the flight deck of the aircraft carrier Enterprise as she plowed her way through the Pacific swells toward her destiny near Midway Island.

Dane was a very junior member of Admiral Spruance’s staff on the carrier, so he was privy to the basic strategy. By this time, of course, so was every one of the two thousand men on the four-year-old, twenty-five-thousand-ton carrier. The Enterprise was like a small town in which there were few secrets. Nor was there any need to keep quiet. After all, who could you tell?

The Enterprise was accompanied by a second carrier, the Hornet. The two carriers were protected by six heavy cruisers, one light cruiser, and nine destroyers. These made up Task Force 16 under the command of Admiral Raymond Spruance. The six heavies were the Atlanta, Minneapolis, New Orleans, Pensacola, Northhampton, and Vincennes and constituted a powerful force by themselves. The light cruiser was the Atlanta.

Waiting for the arrival of the two carriers was TF 17, now off Midway with a third carrier, the Yorktown, and her escorts. These ships constituted almost all that was left of the United States Navy in the Pacific after the catastrophe at Pearl Harbor. One more carrier, the Saratoga, was reported to be undergoing repairs, probably in San Diego.

Prior to the attack on Pearl Harbor, many naval officers had stubbornly held onto the dogma that the battleship was the navy’s primary weapon, and that the carrier’s role was that of reconnaissance rather than battle. The attack on Pearl Harbor, in which eight U.S. battleships were either sunk or damaged by enemy airplanes launched from carriers, had done much to change that perception, but it had not totally gone away.

Part of the reason for this sense of nostalgia was because carriers weren’t lovely ships. Like all carriers, the Enterprise lacked the graceful, rakish silhouette of a cruiser or destroyer, or of the new battleships whose pictures Dane had seen on the wall of the wardroom. The Enterprise was frankly a floating block that carried about eighty planes.

Possibly because of a carrier’s lack of glamor or tradition, a number of very senior officers still considered the disaster at Pearl Harbor an aberration caused by the incompetence of those in command of the fleet. Guns would sink enemy ships. Always had, always would.

Since Pearl Harbor, the Enterprise had undergone modifications to enhance her ability to fight airplanes. A number of 20mm Oerlikon antiaircraft guns had been added to her arsenal.

TF 16 was on its way to Midway Island to rendezvous with the Yorktown in a desperate attempt to stop the Japanese from attacking and taking Midway and using it as a base for operations against Hawaii. Dane knew that not only would the three carriers and their escorts be outnumbered and outgunned by the Japanese, but they had to evade a picket line of Japanese submarines that highly classified intelligence said was going to be established in front of their approach. The enemy subs could either ruin the ambush by announcing their presence, or attack the carriers and possibly do great damage. The men of the Enterprise and Hornet were as ready as they could be, although many, like Dane, were half scared to death.

Tim Dane, however, did not feel he was ready at all. Like everyone else, he’d tried his hand at looking through binoculars for enemy subs and seen nothing. Enough, he thought. He decided to once more try to squeeze his frame into the small navy bunk he’d been allotted, and maybe he’d get at least a little sleep. He hoped the fleet and Spruance would be lucky and the enemy subs would be elsewhere. But every moment brought them closer to Midway and the Japanese fleet.

None of the hundreds of pairs of searching eyes could pierce the night and notice the slight feather of water made by the emergence of a periscope less than a mile away. With cruel luck, the Japanese sub had emerged in the middle of TF 16. She was an older boat, a Kaidai-class sub with six torpedo tubes in her bow, loaded and ready to kill, and eleven other torpedoes ready to replace the ones fired. She weighed in at just under three thousand tons, and had a crew of ninety-four officers and men. The oceangoing sub had a cruising range of fourteen thousand knots. This meant she could cruise far away from Japan and stay in position, waiting for her prey.

The Japanese sub and two others had arrived a day earlier than American intelligence anticipated. There had been confusion, perhaps even incompetence, among Japanese commanders regarding when the subs would depart and only these three had left on time. With equally cruel luck, the subs had placed themselves directly in the path of the American carriers that were on their way to a rendezvous at what had been incongruously named Point Luck. This night, however, luck was on the Japanese side.

Lookouts on the Enterprise didn’t notice the disturbances in the water made by the first of the six torpedoes until they were less than a quarter mile away and approaching at nearly fifty land miles an hour. Screams and alarms were almost useless. Four of the six Type 94 torpedoes fired from the sub hit the carrier. One after another they slammed into her hull and exploded, sending plumes of water and debris high above the flight deck, with much of it landing on the deck. Men were injured and a few swept overboard to their deaths by the sudden assault.

The mighty Enterprise shuddered like a large, wounded animal and immediately began to lose speed. Secondary explosions soon followed as fuel and ammo ignited, further damaging the ship and causing large numbers of casualties. Fires raged while valiant sailors braved the flames to contain them.

Dane had been in his skivvies and sitting on the edge of his bunk when the first torpedo slammed into the carrier, hurling him face-first onto the deck. He lay there for a stunned second and then quickly checked himself out. His lip was split and there was something wrong with the top of his head. It was wet and sticky with blood. He was bruised and shaken, but otherwise he thought he was okay.

Dane’s first reaction as he picked himself up was to run and hide, but he quickly calmed himself and tried to gauge what had just happened. And besides, where the hell do you hide on a ship? As a new and minor member of Admiral Spruance’s staff, he really didn’t have any set place to go in an emergency. But he had to do something, he thought as he threw on some clothes. He would be damned if he would run up to the flight deck in his skivvies.

Cramped passageways were filled with men either hastening to their duty stations or fleeing the greasy black smoke that was beginning to clog everything. The smoke was burning eyes and choking throats. Dane grabbed a life jacket and put it on. He would go to the flight deck, then try to climb up to the flag bridge where Spruance would be, which was as close as he could come to having a duty station. He was also horribly conscious of the fact that the carrier had begun listing to port.

Dane had just made it to the flight deck when a series of explosions knocked him down again. This time, the fuel from the planes parked on the stern of the ship was exploding and detonating ammunition, sending more billowing clouds of smoke and debris over the great, terribly wounded ship. A wave of searing heat blew over him. He screamed and covered his face with his hands. His hair and clothes began to smoke. He rolled across the deck to where an abandoned fire hose was thrashing like a snake and spewing water, and put out the flames by rolling in puddles.

Scores of men lay prone on the deck, either dead or wounded, while others were being brought up from below. A priest was going from one mangled body to another, administering last rites. To Tim, the carnage was a scene from hell. Dane’s hands and clothes were covered with something sticky and he saw that it was blood, and that rivulets of the stuff were flowing across the flight deck and over the side.

Sailors with fire hoses tried valiantly to stem the flames, but were in danger of becoming overwhelmed by the size and intensity of the conflagration. Tim saw one man hit by flying debris and fall, leaving a wildly bucking hose understaffed. He grabbed on to help the remaining men who were fighting to keep control of the wild beast.

A sailor glanced at his rank and grinned. “Thanks, sir, it’s appreciated.”

“Just tell me what to do.”

“Hang on!”

Dane anchored the hose while the real firemen played water on the flames. After a few moments, a grimy lieutenant commander replaced him with another sailor. “Nothing personal and thanks anyway, Dane, but you don’t know what the hell you’re doing.”

Dane didn’t argue the point. He gratefully handed the hose to a grim-faced seaman and turned to the other officer. His name was Mickey Greene and he’d befriended the bewildered Dane when he’d first come aboard.

“We gonna make it, Commander?”

Greene shook his head, “Beats the hell out of me, Tim. We took at least three torpedoes and water’s still coming in. We’ve got the flooded areas pretty well sealed off, but a lot of things are burning, even though we’re throwing tons of water on the fires. The bad news is that all that water coupled with the torpedo holes is causing us to list, and that means we’re helpless if Jap planes show up because the list prevents us from launching our planes.”

“Christ.”

“Yeah, and if you haven’t noticed, the Hornet’s also been badly hit.”

Stunned by that piece of news, Dane looked out across the waves and saw that the other carrier was also burning furiously. The cruisers Atlanta and Pensacola were alongside her and using their hoses to pour water on her, while destroyers frantically searched for the enemy sub. The New Orleans and Minneapolis were cautiously approaching the Enterprise, and water from their hoses began arching over and onto the wounded carrier. Jesus, he thought, most of what remained of the American Navy after the massacre at Pearl Harbor was being destroyed before his eyes. Two carriers with just under two hundred planes were probably going to sink along with God only knew how many pilots and crewmen. And maybe Tim Dane would be among them. Well, not if he could help it, he thought angrily.

Making things even worse, the smoke from the burning ships would be a beacon for the Japanese ships and planes that must surely be homing in on the carnage.

Jochi Shigata was the captain of the Japanese submarine whose torpedoes had hit the Enterprise. He knew that he and his sub were doomed and relished the fact as the culmination of his destiny. He would die as a warrior. He and his comrades had severely damaged two American carriers and, with a little luck, at least one of them would sink.

He had radioed his location and his successes and had received an acknowledgment. His life could now be measured in minutes as American destroyers were converging on him like sharks to blood. He laughed. “Sharks to blood” was a wonderful phrase considering all the American blood he’d spilled today. With each hit, his crew had shouted banzai until they were now hoarse. He could ask for no better companions to die with. Two American carriers were either dead or badly wounded thanks to his efforts and those of the other two subs who had also attacked. Planes from the Japanese carrier force would soon find the wounded carriers and kill the American ships if they hadn’t already sunk by the time they arrived. By that time it would be too late for him.

Depth charges exploded nearby and the sub shook violently. Glass on dials broke and small leaks spouted high pressure darts of water. Crewmen tumbled and fell, sometimes unable to stifle the screams and groans caused by their broken bones. There was no way they could escape their fate.

“Surface,” Shigata ordered. “I have no wish to die skulking underwater.”

Once he’d had doubts about Emperor Hirohito, a man who seemed more interested in marine biology than the ways of the warrior, but the God-Emperor had proven himself. He had taken Japan on the road to victory. “Now we will die for our emperor!”

His ninety-odd men cheered as he said that. There was no greater honor for a Japanese warrior. The sub surged upward, broaching and exploding onto the surface. She slammed back onto the water, raising a huge wave.

Astonished sailors from American destroyers watched incredulously as the sub’s deck gun was quickly crewed and opened fire on the surrounding ships. At the same time, the sub launched her fresh load of torpedoes in the general direction of the American ships.

The destroyers returned fire, killing the gunners and sweeping their bodies into the sea. More shells shredded the conning tower and pierced the sub’s hull with multiple hits. Moments later, the sub exploded and broke in two as a shell from a destroyer hit a remaining torpedo. The pieces rolled over and sank. There were no survivors. None of the Japanese wished to survive. Therefore, none of the dying Japanese were able to see that one of the indiscriminately fired torpedoes had struck the badly damaged Enterprise, killing any chance of saving her.

Once again, Dane found himself prone and stunned on the gore-covered flight deck. He lurched to his feet. There was something wrong with his left leg. It hurt like hell and it was difficult to stand. He looked for his friend Greene for guidance, but couldn’t find him. Many of the men of the damage control parties who’d been trying to douse the flames were also strewn about. Unmanned hoses whipped and snapped, sometimes hitting and injuring sailors who were trying to grab them. Most of the sailors lying on the deck weren’t moving, and some of the bodies were smoldering. He assumed one of the bodies was Greene’s and others were the sailors he’d been working with just a moment before. He felt sick as he realized the flames were going to win.

Another violent shudder and the ship listed farther to port. We’re going over, Dane thought. What do I do now? Men were hollering, “Abandon ship!” But was this an order or were the sailors panicking? Hell, he was panicking. Someone yelled that Captain Murray was dead and that it was every man for himself.

An older man with blood streaming down his face grabbed Tim’s arm in a strong grip. “Help me,” he said.

Dane was shocked. It was Admiral Spruance. He grabbed the admiral’s arm to steady him. Spruance’s eyes were glazed and he stared intently at Dane. “I know you,” he said with a slurred voice. “You’re on my staff.”

Still another shudder rumbled from an explosion below the deck, and Dane had to hold up the admiral who was quite likely concussed. “Admiral, I think we’ve got to get out of here.”

Spruance mumbled something, but didn’t protest as Dane took charge and guided him. The list was so pronounced that people and planes were tumbling off the flight deck like so many toys, falling into the ocean that was, while still quite a drop, much closer than it had been.

“Hang on,” Dane said as he half pushed Spruance off the deck and into the sea, hoping that they wouldn’t land on anything or that nothing would fall on top of them.

Dane had been holding the admiral’s arm, but the impact drove him under water and separated them for a moment. He came up spluttering and choking from spilled oil, but only a few feet away from the now even more thoroughly shaken and confused Spruance. Oil was burning on the water and they had to get away before they were burned alive. Dane’s leg hurt and the salt water stung the cuts and burns in his scalp, face, and hands.

Dane grabbed the admiral. He started to look around for a life-raft or even some debris. He flailed his arms frantically until he realized his life jacket would not let him sink, at least not for a while. Other swimmers were doing the same thing as the Enterprise, now almost on her side, slowly and mindlessly plowed on, propelled by the energy produced from her dying engines, and escorted by the cruisers who were still pouring water on the fires. He was horribly aware that there were very few men swimming in the water, although a number floated lifelessly. He reminded himself that the carrier had a crew of more than two thousand. Where were they?

An hour later, the two men lay awkwardly and alone on a damaged liferaft that was half filled with water. Dane was afraid that the raft would disintegrate, leaving them with nothing but their life jackets. Getting onto it had proven extremely difficult. Dane’s leg wasn’t responding and he wondered if it was broken, and the shocked and stunned admiral was little help. Still, they somehow managed.

Far in the distance, the Enterprise lay on her side, while the Hornet burned furiously and began to settle by the bow. American cruisers and destroyers raced around, plucking sailors from the water. As yet, they hadn’t found Dane and his high-ranking companion even though he’d waved his arms in a fruitless attempt to get attention.

A shrieking sound and a plane flew low overhead, bullets spitting from its guns. It was a Japanese Zero and a host of other enemy fighters and bombers followed. The Japanese carriers had found them.

Bombs exploded on and about the helpless and ruined carrier hulks, while still more planes attacked the escorting destroyers and cruisers. It was a massacre. Some enemy pilots amused themselves by strafing sailors in the water. Bullets kicked up spray a few feet from Dane and Spruance, but none hit them.

“Do you have a gun?” Spruance’s eyes were clearing, but his voice was still a little slurred.

“No, sir.”

Spruance shook his head in an attempt to focus his thoughts. “Of course not. Carrying a heavy sidearm into the ocean is a dumb idea. Forget I asked. Do you have a weapon of any kind?”

“A pocket knife,” Dane answered, wondering just what the hell Spruance had in mind.

“Don’t lose it. If it becomes necessary, I want you to kill me with it.”

“What?”

“You heard me and that’s an order. If it looks like we’re going to be taken prisoner, you must kill me. If it’s a small knife, you’ll have to slice my throat. I’ll resist instinctively, but you are doubtless stronger and must prevail. I know too many things that would endanger our country’s security. Whatever happens, you must kill me. Do you acknowledge that order?”

Dane gulped. This couldn’t be happening. Was Spruance even sane or had the blow to his head made him crazy? “I understand and I will obey, but tell me, sir, did you ever read Ben Hur or see the movie with Bushman and Navarro?”

“I’ve done both, Lieutenant, but what the devil does that have to do with our predicament?” Spruance asked, even as understanding dawned. “Of course, there was a scene where Ben Hur and the Roman admiral were adrift in the sea, and the admiral wanted to die because he was shamed by what he wrongfully believed was a defeat. Nice thought, Dane, but I am not suicidal because I’m ashamed of a defeat. No, I want to live to get another crack at them; I simply know too much to be taken prisoner. They would torture me until I told them everything I know and that would be terrible for the United States.”

Spruance looked away. He didn’t want the young lieutenant to see the anguish in his eyes. He was fifty-six years old and the Midway battle was his first major command, and he’d botched it horribly. His two carriers were destroyed and only God knew how many other ships damaged or sunk and, Jesus, how many young men were dead or wounded? Surely the butcher’s bill would eclipse that of the attack on Pearl Harbor. On a purely personal and selfish note, he wondered if he would ever get another command even if he did survive.

He shook his head. He had to think clearly. A new command was the least of his worries. He could not be captured. He did not want to die, but he could not live as a prisoner of the Japanese. He understood full well just how brutal interrogations could ultimately break anyone. He had no illusions regarding his ability to resist torture. Sooner or later and after untold agonies, he would break.

Aside from the sound of the waves slapping against their raft, there was silence. The Japanese planes were gone. A couple of American destroyers and the light cruiser Atlanta were burning furiously on the horizon. Worse, all the surviving ships were moving farther away. Dane and Spruance were truly alone in the vast Pacific. There was no drinking water in their damaged raft and their enemy would now be thirst, which Dane was feeling already, thanks to the salt water he’d swallowed. Unless the Japanese fleet arrived and plucked them from the sea they were doomed to die an agonizing death from thirst.

Dane understood what Spruance had said and realized that the admiral was both sane and correct. Word of Japanese atrocities against prisoners was spreading. He didn’t want to be taken alive either, but could he kill himself after killing Spruance? He doubted it. Not only did he consider suicide morally wrong, but he simply wanted to live. Could it get any worse, Dane wondered?

Spruance grabbed Tim’s arm. “Dane, is that a periscope or am I losing what’s left of my mind?”

Dane turned in the direction the admiral was staring. A submarine’s periscope peered at them from a distance of maybe a hundred yards. It looked like a one-eyed sea monster, which, Dane decided, was exactly what it was, but whose? He pulled the pocket knife from his pants pocket and opened it. Spruance looked at it sadly and nodded.

There was a rush of water and the submarine surfaced.

“I can’t see too well, Lieutenant. Whose is it, ours or theirs?”

Dane rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. Damned salt water made it difficult to see. He squinted and caught the name. She was the Nautilus. He smiled. “Ours.”