Rising Sun

CHAPTER 20

AMANDA DIDN’T KNOW WHETHER TO BE ANGRY OR AMUSED. Perhaps a little of both was in order. She had made an offhand comment to Tim about doing more to help the war effort and here she was, in a skimpy two-piece bathing suit, sitting on a beach blanket with the ocean in the background as Captain Merchant took a picture of her and Gunther Krause, who was also in swim trunks and enjoying himself hugely.

Thankfully, Tim had the good grace to look uncomfortable. Both he and Merchant were also in trunks and if any of the handful of people in the area were watching they all looked innocent and innocuous. Just a group of friends enjoying a pleasant day, they would conclude. They were where she and Tim had frolicked not so long ago, only now the beach was almost deserted.

Merchant took another moment to focus the camera. He’d taken several pictures already. “Amanda, smile a little more warmly and try to give the impression that you actually like Krause.”

Krause laughed. “I actually am very likeable once you get to know me.”

“Shut up and snuggle,” Merchant said and Tim glared.

Amanda put her head on Krause’s shoulder and he put his arm around her waist. Tim seethed. If his hand got too close to her breast he was going to break it. He had noticed that the Nazi was peering down the front of Amanda’s too-loose top. Damn it.

One of Krause’s contacts in Mexico had informed them that the Japs wanted to know just who the source inside the U.S. Navy was. Specifically, who had provided the information on the carriers’ location? When Tim had mentioned the problem to Amanda over lunch, she had suggested it be a fictitious person in Nimitz’s staff, a civilian and a woman, and someone who’d been having an affair with Krause. The idea made sense and it had been a short leap to getting Amanda to volunteer. Yes, she wanted to help her country defeat the Japs, but did she have to do it with a Nazi’s hand around her body and with Tim breathing fire out of each nostril?

She took a deep breath and smiled at the camera. She realized that her objections were idiotic. What she was doing was nothing in comparison with what soldiers, sailors, and Marines were doing in actual combat. How could being pawed and leered at by a Nazi prisoner compare with being shot? She had made Merchant agree to the caveat that her real name would not be used and he had agreed. A letter would go down to Mexico from Krause telling his friend that he was engaged to the lovely Patricia Barkley, photos attached, and that he was a lucky man. The note would casually mention that Patricia Barkley worked for some admiral. It was hoped that this would more than satisfy any doubters and be of no interest to anyone reading it.

“Enough,” said Merchant. The camera and film went into a container. The film would be developed immediately and the letter and photos would go out this afternoon.

Krause helped Amanda to her feet. Tim noticed that his hand brushed her bottom and her eyes widened slightly. Krause never saw the punch coming. It hit him in the pit of the stomach and he doubled over, gasping and vomiting lunch. The second punch struck him on the side of the head and dropped him to the sand where he spit out blood and something white that might have been part of a tooth. He rolled onto his side and got up groggily.

“Once again, my hero,” said Amanda, smiling sweetly.

Merchant shook his head. “That’s going to screw up German-American relations, you know, and maybe leave a mark on this asshole.”

Krause managed to straighten up and shook his head. “No, it won’t. I deserved it, but I have no regrets.”

Amanda glared at him. “And I need a swim. Nothing personal, Herr Krause, but I feel just a little dirty and want to clean up. Tim, come with me.”

The water was a little on the cool side, but comfortable enough. “Tim, you have been very good and I want to be just a little bit bad. I did what I thought was right in having those pictures taken, and have no regrets. I just can’t stand remembering him touching me. Only you get to do that.”

Tim grinned. “Does that mean we’re going behind the raft again?”

“Indeed it does, sailor boy.”

Toki and Masao were beside themselves with joy, as was the entire crew of the Kaga. The carrier’s skipper, Rear Admiral Jisaku Okada, had just used the loudspeaker and made the formal announcement on behalf of Admiral Nagumo who was en route from meeting with Yamamoto. The Imperial Japanese Navy would strike hard at the two American carriers now in the Gulf of California. All the rumors were now confirmed as facts.

The Kaga’s crew had responded to the good news with jubilation. Cheers resounded throughout the ship and men slapped each other on the back in un-Japanese shows of exuberance. Even the most hardened of NCOs were seen to be smiling, however briefly. Bottles of sake were brought out and they all talked about the implications of the coming assault. Shouts of “banzai” were heard throughout the ship. This would be a day of celebration. Tomorrow they would sail off to war.

“This is a magnificent opportunity to end this war,” Masao said.

Toki laughed. “I thought you were a warrior who wanted it to go on forever. Don’t tell me you’ve had your fill?”

“At least for a while,” Masao admitted. “I would like to go home, see my family, walk the earth, smell the flowers, and convince my sister that you are a complete and utter fool.”

“But it won’t happen for a while,” Toki said. “Too many people have plans for us once we’ve destroyed the Americans.”

“You are very confident that they will be destroyed. How many of our carriers will be sent against the two Americans? My guess would be four or five.”

Toki grinned and then turned somber. “All of them. We have eight carriers ready to use and we will overwhelm the Americans. Sadly, it will mean that we will lose men and planes. The Americans will doubtless defend their ships with desperation.”

“Carriers at anchor and under repair cannot launch planes,” Masao said.

Toki took a long swallow from the bottle in his hand. “Which means that the Americans will have taken the planes off their ships and will launch them from ground strips. It may also mean that other planes will be at ground bases and will protect their carriers. Of course, Yamamoto will distract them and hopefully stop that from occurring.”

“How will he do that?”

Toki smiled smugly. “Kurita’s battleships and a couple of smaller carriers will first attack San Diego and Los Angeles. It will cause the Americans to hold back their planes and attack Kurita’s ships. We may lose some old battleships, but their day is over anyhow. It is now the time of the carrier. When the battle is over, we can get on with consolidating our hold in the Pacific.”

Somehow a pair of fresh bottles had appeared in their hands and they swallowed happily. “And how will we do that?” Masao asked.

“The plans for after our victory are simple but elegant. We will finally occupy the island of Oahu, which will probably surrender without a fight when they finally see how hopeless their situation has become. Then we will land more army troops to take back Alaska, and a large force will be sent against the Panama Canal. The Americans will squeal like pigs being castrated.”

“Excellent,” Masao said. He thought his voice sounded funny and concluded that he was getting a little drunk.

“And finally, we will land an army on Australia and end that nuisance. With total control of the seas, we might just decide to bypass MacArthur’s forces now fighting ours on New Guinea and force Australia to surrender without an invasion. Don’t you think it would be wonderful if MacArthur lost yet another army like he did in the Philippines? Of course, he would become our prisoner, which would further shame the Americans.”

Masao thought it all sounded wonderful. He also thought he was going to have a terrible headache in the morning. He sincerely hoped he would not be required to fly for at least a little while.

Merchant smiled. “Admiral Spruance would like to borrow your brain for a little while. He promises to return it reasonably intact.”

Tim wondered what this was all about as he walked down the hall to Spruance’s office. To his surprise, Admiral Nimitz was also present. He started to report formally, but Nimitz told him to relax and take a seat.

Spruance began. “Once upon a time, we didn’t have enough intelligence about Japan. Now we may just have too much. Everybody and his brother now has ideas as to what the Japs are going to do. The ONI is inundating us with contradictory data, which means we have no clear indication or consensus regarding Japanese intentions. So, since you are our resident expert on Japan and since you are just down the hall, what the devil do you think Yamamoto would do, and don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking of it.”

Dane managed a smile. “It’s on everyone’s mind, Admiral, and yes, I have been giving it a lot of thought. I think Yamamoto will hit us with everything he has, and that includes carriers and battleships and anything that floats. The Japanese have been hoping for what they refer to as a decisive battle to knock us out of the war, or at least win a victory for them that will make us think about negotiating. They know they cannot fight a war of attrition with us. They may have sunk more ships and knocked down more planes of ours than we have of theirs, but they cannot replace their losses while we can easily replace ours. Therefore, Yamamoto will see this as a golden opportunity to inflict a major and decisive defeat on us. Frankly, sir, I don’t think he has a choice.”

“A banzai attack?” asked Nimitz.

“Yes, sir, a full-bore hell-for-leather banzai attack, but with ships and not infantry.”

Spruance nodded while Nimitz remained impassive.

Tim continued. “Latest intelligence says they have eight or nine carriers available, although some of them are of the small, escort variety. We want to lure as many of them as possible to the Baja and we might just get all of them. They could hit our decoy fleet with as many as five or six hundred planes. Since they don’t fear a carrier attack from us, I don’t think they’ll leave very many planes behind to cover the carriers.”

“What will they do with their battleships?” Nimitz asked.

Tim took a deep breath. This line of questioning was far more than he’d expected, but he had an answer. “Apparently, and based on what they did at Midway, the Japs like fairly complex battle plans to keep us off balance and confused as to their true intentions. When we were fighting off Midway, a Jap force split off from the main force and bombed Dutch Harbor in Alaska as a distraction. I think they will do the same thing with their battleships this time. I believe they will bombard San Diego and maybe a few other places in an attempt to draw our planes off from protecting what they believe are our carriers. They may even support the bombardment force with planes from their smaller carriers.”

Nimitz stood and Dane started to as well, but was waved back to his seat while the senior admiral paced. “I agree that they will attack with a major portion of their forces, but I disagree as to using their battleships and cruisers as bombardment forces. We believe they will hold those back to protect their carriers from our inevitable counterattack, as well as keeping some aircraft to protect them as well. Or am I thinking too much like an American and not like a Japanese, Commander Dane?” Nimitz laughed. “You don’t have to answer that, Commander.”

Tim was thanked for his thoughts and left. Nimitz looked at his friend and fellow admiral. “He pretty well nailed it, didn’t he?”

Both men were among those who had access to the Ultra intercepts detailing what the Japanese were up to. The fact that the Japanese military codes were largely broken was one of America’s most closely held secrets. As long as the Japanese suspected nothing, the U.S. held a major trump card.

Spruance grimaced. “Of course, knowing what the Japs are going to do and doing something about it are two different things. At Midway we knew what they were up to and still lost.”

“We cannot let them know or even suspect a thing,” said Nimitz. “But I am concerned about such a large concentration of carriers and planes, as well as their plans to bombard cities. Dane was only half right. Yes, they will shell San Diego, but Los Angeles will be hit as well. Morally, we must warn the people, but if we do that and the cities are evacuated, the information will get back to the Japs. We cannot be certain that all enemy spies have been gathered up, or that some consular staffer from a neutral country might spill the beans about his being sent away to safety, with the result being that the info is somehow relayed to Japan. We must do nothing until the last minute, even though many innocent people will die as a result.”

Both men thought for a moment about the rumors they’d heard regarding the German bombing of Coventry, England. Rumors that said that Churchill knew about it through their codebreaking efforts, but had to let it go forward without interruption lest the Nazis figure out that their mail was being read. As a result, more than a thousand British civilians had died. Both men wondered if their silence would be worth it. Would it help end the war? Only time would tell.

Spruance sighed. “Radar will give us several hours warning of the approach of their surface fleet.”

Radar towers, like those that lined the English Channel, had been constructed on high ground overlooking the Baja, San Diego, Los Angeles, and other cities. They could spot ships and planes up to two hundred miles out. That would mean a number of hours for battleships, but less than an hour for airplanes.

“There will be chaos when the sirens sound,” Spruance said. “There still aren’t anywhere near enough bomb shelters, and I don’t know what can protect anyone against a fourteen-inch shell. People will literally try to run for the hills and there will be a stampede. People will die. God, I hope this is worth it. We will do everything we can, but we simply cannot let the Japs stop the attack on the decoys. We will not have enough ships and planes to halt them.”

“The Japs will probably focus on attacking military installations, but who knows where the shells will land. I know it’s futile, but I wish we hadn’t sent the Midway survivors, the cruisers and destroyers, to Pearl Harbor instead of here.”

Nimitz looked out a window where he could see the bay. Two heavy cruisers and four light ones, along with a handful of destroyers, were all that the navy possessed at San Diego. There were other ships in San Francisco and Puget Sound, but they would have been inadequate in the first place, and likely would have been sunk if they’d attempted to move them south to San Diego.

“We play the cards we were dealt,” Nimitz said grimly. “But if they actually do hit us here with all the planes that their carriers have, we are in trouble.”

“Then we’d better start shuffling planes down here from up north as soon as possible,” Spruance added.

“Are we ready for that?” Nimitz asked.

“Do we have a choice?”

Down the hall, Merchant asked Tim how it went. “I gave them my frank opinion and said that the Japs were going to hit us with everything, and including the kitchen sink. Only thing, I don’t think they quite believed it. Nimitz asked if I thought he was thinking too much like an American and not like a Jap. He told me not to answer that, so my career’s intact, although, if he’d pushed, that’s exactly what I would have said. Unless we start thinking like Yamamoto, he’s going to keep beating us.”

Lieutenant Harry Hogg, USAAF, had been called Piggy since the day he was born. Mom said he’d been a chubby baby and the name had stuck, even though Hogg was a slight and slender young man of twenty-three. When he was younger, he thought he’d like to kill dear old mom, but then realized that the nickname was inevitable given his last name.

Hogg stood by his twin-tailed P38 fighter and looked around at the Mexican terrain. The land was barren and rugged, but, somehow, engineers had managed to lay out a number of airfields scratched into the hard surfce of the earth. His landing had been scary as his plane used a lot of runway and this dirt field had all of about six inches leeway. Taking off was going to be a joy as well. He and the other P38 pilots were safe for the moment and damned glad to be down on mother Earth.

Some people he knew went on vacation to Mexico. This, however, was not going to be a vacation. An NCO had directed him to a series of tents where there were cots set up for the pilots and mechanics. There was food, and it was neither plentiful nor good. When asked how long they’d be at this abomination, Piggy and his fellow pilots were told they’d be there as long as the Army Air Force or the United States Navy said they should. That was another thing. Army and navy pilots were intermingled and more and more planes of all types were coming in, including P39, P40, and P47 army fighters and navy Wildcats. Hogg had seen many others fly overhead and on to other fields that were out of sight. Quietly, they were told they shouldn’t be in Mexico for more than a few days. Sure, they all thought. The word “soon” to the military could mean an eternity.

Everyone felt that something big was up, but nobody was quite certain what. There were what appeared to be a couple of carriers out in the bay, but they looked way too small, even misshapen.

Fuel had been brought in, but not all that much of it. To Piggy, this meant that the facility truly was temporary and that suited him just fine. It looked as if there was only enough fuel for two or three full flights of thirteen hundred miles each, which was the P38’s range. He’d only recently completed training and, while anxious to take on either the Germans or the Japanese, knew he was good but had doubts as to whether he was good enough to duel with an experienced enemy pilot. From what he and the others had heard about the Japanese, they flew their Zeros with consummate skill. Piggy loved his twin-tailed fighter and looked forward to using it against the enemy, just not any time real soon. Some of the twin-tailed planes had been stationed in Alaska, but they’d been withdrawn after the Midway debacle.

Senior officers quickly informed all the pilots that there would be no training or orientation flights. They wanted to minimize the chance that the planes would be seen by unfriendly eyes although, obviously, they might have been spotted flying in. Hogg and the other pilots all looked at each other. The need for secrecy meant that the Japs were coming and they were going to try and spring a trap on the dirty yellow bastards.

When asked if they would have some time to go into town, the pilots were informed that there was no town. They were also told not to drink any water that hadn’t been boiled or any food that had been cooked in local water. The same held true for the local booze. Montezuma’s Revenge was spelled out in great detail and Hogg decided he would take no chance on having a case of the raging shits while trapped in the cockpit of his plane. Even if he and the plane made it back, he was told that both would have to be hosed down.

A ragged cheer told him that the tent designated as the mess hall had opened for business. Piggy was a healthy young man and he hadn’t eaten since morning.

He entered the tent and grabbed a metal tray. “What’s today’s main course?” he asked one of his fellow pilots.

“Shit on a shingle. What else?”

“If I asked you to leave San Diego, would you?” Tim asked.

Amanda smiled tenderly and patted him on the cheek. “No.”

“I didn’t think you would.” They were seated on a park bench and had a view of the bay. It was almost empty of warships.

“And don’t even think of asking. I’m a nurse and I’ll stay here and do my duty just like you will.”

Tim thought there was a big difference between a naval officer and a civilian nurse, but prudently kept his opinion to himself.

She squeezed his hand. “The big battle’s going to come and very soon, isn’t it? And it’s going to take place around here, right?”

“That’s the rumor.”

“Tim, you know more than that.”

“Not really. A lot of people think that there will be fighting around here, and, yes, I’m one of them, which is why I had hoped you would consider leaving.”

“Well, I’m not going. Do you really think the Japs are going to target civilian areas and places like hospitals? I don’t think they did that when they attacked Pearl and Honolulu.”

“Civilians were killed, weren’t they? I seem to recall hiding in a shelter with a beautiful but frightened nurse while everything exploded around us.”

“I wasn’t frightened, I was terrified. But you’ll be here, too, won’t you?”

“No.”

“What?” she said. She was shocked. “Where are they sending you now?”

Tim took a deep breath. He’d hated the thought of telling her and had been putting it off. “Spruance is going to take over from Halsey. It seems that Bull has gotten another attack of his skin infection and, while it’s still mild, Nimitz can’t take the chance of his being incapacitated during the middle of a battle.”

“So let me guess, he’s taking you along with him.”

Tim nodded solemnly. “Yes, and some other personnel, including Merchant. Seems he wants at least some of his regular staff with him, and that makes sense. Who knows, maybe he’ll want me to translate surrender terms to Yamamoto.”

“That’s not funny and it doesn’t make sense,” she said, wiping away a tear. “Jesus, Tim, how many battles have you been in? Haven’t you done enough?”

“I can think of a lot of guys who’ve done a lot more, so no, I haven’t done enough. I’m not being noble and I’m scared to death for the both of us, but the curse of the military is that you can’t let down your comrades, your buddies.”

Which was why Amanda knew she couldn’t leave San Diego when others remained behind. “When will you be leaving?”

“Two or three days. Why?”

She stood and pulled him to his feet. “Then we’ll have to act quickly, won’t we?”

“This, Skipper, is a torpedo.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I would never have known.”

Crowley ignored Torelli. “And this is a torpedo without its clothes.”

He lifted off the metal sheath covering the warhead. “And this is the part of the torpedo that we are to never ever touch or change under penalty of death or something worse.”

Torelli looked at the torpedo’s innards. There it was, the mechanism that was supposed to guide the weapon under the hull of an enemy ship and, in response to the enemy ship’s magnetic field, detonate the torpedo, thus breaking the back of a supposedly doomed vessel. Problem was, it frequently didn’t work even though the bastards at BuOrd said it did and that any problems were caused by submariners who were too stupid to follow instructions.

The same problems continued even if the electronic widget was disconnected and the torpedo used as an old-fashioned impact weapon. All too frequently that didn’t work either, as they’d found out in highly unauthorized tests against Japanese merchant shipping. The damned torpedoes just weren’t dependable and couldn’t be counted on. Using the torpedo as originally configured often resulted in the fish disappearing. The consensus was that the torpedo was running low, but why? When used as an impact weapon, they’d literally heard the torpedo clanging against the hull of an enemy ship, but without a resulting explosion.

Crowley pointed to the impact trigger. “Based on my highly unscientific knowledge of engineering I think I see the problem.”

Torelli grunted. Crowley had a degree in engineering. “I know all about problems, young Lieutenant. What’s the solution?”

“I think the trigger mechanism is too weak and needs to be strengthened. I can’t prove it without seeing a torpedo that’s failed after hitting, and there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of that happening out here, but I think the trigger mechanism is too fragile and probably collapses instead of causing a detonation. If we strengthen it, we might correct the problem.”

“We could also get court-martialed,” Torelli said.

Crowley glared at him. “We’d have to survive in order for that to happen, and what do you think our chances of that would be when we’re told to stop staring at Jap ships and begin trying to kill them?”

Torelli eyeballed the offending mechanism, looked up and smiled grimly. “At any rate and assuming our survival, I’ll bet we could arrive back at San Diego without any altered torpedoes left, couldn’t we?”