by M L Maki
Craig
“Woah.” He reads the letter again. “We probably have only eight months until ORSE. I’ll make sure we’re ready. With Klindt running it, I know it’ll be a ball breaker.”
There is a knock on the door. “Come in.” He folds and puts away the letters as Cumberland walks in.
“XO, here is a list of addresses for our crew. They need to write home.”
“Yes, sir. I and the COB will take care of it.”
“Good.” Cumberland hovers in the doorway, then, “Tell me about the sub.”
“Brown picked it up 45 miles away on the surface, right when we completed our sprint back into position. We sprinted closer, pulled a 180 and inspected it by periscope. We have good video. It’s one of the bigger subs designed to carry an aircraft. The hull number was 9. They spotted the feather from the mast and dived. In their dive, they turned north. We ran south to get range for the torpedo shot. They started pinging us. We got our nose on it and fired a ’48. They counter fired all six tubes. Sonar reported no bearing change, so I put them on the beam and drove for the surface. Either, they were unguided, or our knuckle fooled them. The fish passed astern. Once we know we were clear, we slowed, but still broached. A nearby helo, Easy Rider 31, confirmed our kill. Oil and debris.”
“You broached?
“Rather broach than eat a fish.”
“You could have dived, rather than climbed.”
“True, sir. I just believed diving at ahead flank would be a much more dangerous maneuver under the circumstances.”
“Okay. Something you should know. We have someone reporting the goings on to the Admirals.”
“I see. We shouldn’t have anything to hide.”
“Damn it. It rubs me wrong. I expect loyalty.”
“Yes, sir. What did they say, sir?”
“Halsey expects his commanders to train their crews. We need to do more training.”
“Yes, sir. I got a message from Admiral Klindt. He said to be ready for ORSE on schedule.”
“What? There is no Naval Reactors.”
“Admiral Klindt is being assigned as NAVSEA-08. He’s standing up the organization.”
“I see. That must be what Halsey was getting at. Okay. Do you know the man? I’ve never met him.”
“We served together on the Fulton. He’s a sharp operator. An ORSE from him will miss nothing at all.”
“Have you been writing him?”
“He’s been writing me. You don’t ignore correspondence from an Admiral, sir.”
“No, you don’t. Do you have those letters?”
“I didn’t keep them.”
“From now on, all correspondence to or from Admiral Klindt goes through me. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you the mole?”
“The mole, sir?”
“Never mind.” Cumberland leaves, closing the door behind him.
Once he’s gone, Morrison pulls out all the letters and rolls them up in a sock. He opens an access panel, reaches his arm through the hole and spins a bracket that pops loose a wall panel. The sock is carefully hidden in the wireway beyond. No one wants to touch someone’s happy sock. He puts everything back and gets ready for bed.
SPECIAL WEAPONS BUNKER, BRENDENMEYER NATO AIR BASE, GERMANY
1100, 6 January, 1942
Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering strolls around the bunker complex, his baton behind his back. The stench of fire is still strong. “Why did you ask me here Oberfuhrer?”
SS-Oberfuhrer Erik Von Bergan, “Mein Reichsmarschall, interrogations of captured enemy personnel indicate this was a special place. This is where the Americans kept their atomic devices.”
“There are no such devices here, Oberfuhrer.”
“No, but one aircraft successfully escaped from the base. The reports are that four devices were under its wings. Those devices came from here.”
“I am busy, Oberfuhrer. If they are gone you waste my time.”
“The aircraft went somewhere. The men who manned this facility went somewhere. May I draw aerial resources to find them?”
Goering waves his baton, “Keep it a reasonable effort and do not bother me with it again unless you gain results.”
Bergan snaps his heels together and salutes, “Heil Hitler.”
Goering returns the salute and goes to his staff car.
USS SAN FRANCISCO
0823, 7 January, 1942
Kichiro and Trindle finish the weekly test on a Mark-48. Trindle, “What’s with the captain?”
Kichiro, “He still hates me.”
“Does he? He told me I was doing a good job yesterday. I about fell over.”
“It all started after he went to the carrier. Do you suppose someone chewed his ass?”
“Kiche, all your seeing is the negative. He may have had an Epiphany.”
“Dude, do you even know what that word means?”
“Yeah, it’s like, you know, a good idea or something. I heard a nuke say it.”
“It means a life changing discovery or realization. It’s from the bible, man. When Jesus showed back up to the Apostles and stuff.”
“How do you know about it?”
“Dude, I went to Catholic schools as a kid. That, and I’m not as stupid as you’re acting.”
“So, you were learning to be a priest, or something?”
“No, dumbass. It’s where I went to middle school and high school. Religion was a required class.”
“Okay. I thought Guamanians worshipped, like totem poles, or something.”
“When the Spanish took us over hundreds of years ago, the islands converted to Christianity.”
Trindle, “Okay. Have you written your family?”
“Have you?”
“Yeah. Just kind of a hi thing.”
Kiche, “You didn’t use a crayon, right?”
“No, dude. It was a good letter. What about you?”
“Where does my family live?”
“Guam, right?”
“Yeah. Who’s running Guam right now?”
“A governor or something, right?”
“No. The Japanese hold the islands.”
“Oh shit, man. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll manage. I tell you. Someone chewed the captain’s ass and he’s going to unwind.”
USS SAN FRANCISCO
1000, 14 January, 1942
Cumberland is in control as Backes runs his watch team and a drill set is going on in the engine room. Morrison walks in and straight to Sonar, “How are we doing, Brown?”
“It’s quiet, sir. Reverb from the fleet in our baffles. Biologics. That’s about it.”
Morrison puts a hand on Brown’s shoulder, “Good. As we get closer to Japan, we’re all going to get a little more jumpy.”
“Fair enough, sir.”
Morrison joins Cumberland and studies the chart, “About sixty miles before they plan to launch.”
Cumberland, “Morrison, I have an idea for a new fire drill. Could you run it back to Miller and go over it with him?”
“Yes, sir.” Morrison takes the papers and heads aft.”
Once Morrison is gone, Cumberland walks forward and into the XO’s stateroom. Other than the small safe, nothing is locked. He goes straight to the safe and opens it. There are just the code books and papers that are supposed to be there. Next, he quickly opens the drawers of the desk, carefully running through the stuff in the drawers. There is a stack of letters in a desk cubby. He lays them out on the desk and sorts through them. All but two are unopened and they are all from his wife or mom. “Fuck.” He looks in the coffin locker under the bed. Nothing. He puts down the locker and lifts the mattress. He is straightening the covers when he hears, “Captain to control.”
Rushing out of Morrison’s stateroom, he almost runs over the supply officer, Lt. Ed Cameron.
Cameron, “Sorry, sir.”
“Yeah.” Cumberland turns aft for control.
“What’s g
oing on, sir?”
“Don’t worry about it, Lieutenant.” A few more steps and Cumberland is in control, “Report.”
Backes, “Sonar reports a single screw surface vessel at 354. Designated Tango 19.”
“Okay. Work up a firing solution and maneuver us astern.” He walks into Sonar, “Report.”
Brown, “Sir, from the change of bearing it’s about thirty or so miles away. One fast screw, so it’s unlikely to be a sub or warship.”
“Okay. Um, good job.”
When Cumberland gets back into control, he sees Morrison studying the table. “Sir, we ought to make an approach on her starboard beam. If we approach a fishing boat from the rear, we may foul in her gear.”
Cumberland works his lip for a moment, “It’s a point. Backes, approach the contact from the rear starboard quarter. Don’t get fouled in its gear.”
“Yes, sir.” Backes passes the order.
Cumberland, “Let’s get the tracking party team in here. Even if it’s just a fishing boat, it’s still good training.”
“Tracking party to Control.”
Morrison, “Sir, should we report it?”
“After we know what it is.”
“Yes, sir.”
In twenty minutes, they are coming up close to the contact at periscope depth.”
“Conn, Sonar. The fleet is only 20 miles away.”
Cumberland, “Up scope.”
Morrison, “Understood, sonar.”
Cumberland does a quick spin and settles on the contact, “Fishing boat. About 60 feet. Shit, it has a radio mast. Turn on the VHS.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Carrier Group 2, Sierra November. There is a fishing boat with an aerial at your 038.”
“Sierra November, Group 2. Acknowledge. Why didn’t you sink it?”
“Conn, Sonar. A cruiser just kicked it in the ass.”
“Group 2, we need positive ID to engage.”
“Understood. We are taking it under fire.”
“Roger. Clearing datum.” He hangs up the mic. “Crash dive. Make our depth 600 feet. Ahead flank. Right full rudder. Make our course 290.”
Watch repeats and the sub’s screws churn the water in a steep dive.
JAPANESE PICKET BOAT
The lookout shouts, “Captain, a submarine!”
The boat’s commander sees the periscope slip beneath the waves, then a churned froth where screws near the surface. He turns to his radio operator, “They have a large powerful submarine out here. Call it in.”
The first salvo from the USS San Francisco CA-38 lands close. The radioman is thrown out of his chair as the boat rocks from the near miss and water cascades down on them. He gets back to his console and starts to type as the Salt Lake City gets a direct hit with its first salvo. The shells pass right through the light-skinned vessel and explode under it, blowing the boat to pieces and killing all hands.
USS SAN FRANCISCO
Kichiro slides out from under the torpedo racks where he was cleaning the floor rails with a vacuum. He can hear the thunder against the hull. The whole ship is shaking, “What the fuck?”
TMC Kennedy, “It isn’t depth charges. Nothing is close enough to drop them.”
Cumberland on the 1MC, “The explosions you heard was our surface fleet engaging a Japanese picket boat that we located for them. We are clearing datum and getting back on station. That is all.”
Morrison walks into his stateroom with a thousand things on his mind. As soon as the door shuts, he freezes. His letters from Lisa and his mom are scattered over his desk. “That sonofabitch.”
He carefully checks each one. All the ones he hasn’t opened are still sealed. He looks around. It’s obvious his room has been tossed. After decades at sea, he has specified spots for everything. “Obviously, he didn’t believe me. I wonder if he put a camcorder in here.” He searches exhaustively for more than an hour and restows his things to their proper places. Then, he sits down and writes a letter to Van Zandt. When he’s done, he checks the sock and stows the new letter with the others until it can be sent.
USS SAN FRANCISCO
1212, 14 January, 1942
Morrison studies the chart. They are arriving back on station 60 miles northwest of the fleet at 300 feet and 1/3rd. “Conn, Sonar. Possible submarine on the surface at 281. Designate Sierra 7.”
Miller pushes the button, “Very well.” He pushes another button, “Captain, possible surfaced sub at 281.”
“Let me know when you have range, bearing, and blade count.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Conn, Sonar. The Long Beach just went to ahead flank.”
Miller pushes the button, “Roger, sonar.”
Morrison, “Call for the tracking party.”
“Conn, Sonar. The Fife just went to ahead flank. The Jarrett is also accelerating. The other ships are keeping station.”
Miller, “Roger, sonar.” He asks Morrison, “What do you think they are doing, sir?”
“Conn, Sonar. Long Beach has slowed. It looks like they changed their position in the battlegroup.”
Morrison, “Roger, sonar. Be prepared for some loud noises.”
“Yes, sir.”
Morrison, “They’re unmasking their batteries.”
Miller, “A drill?”
The tracking party enters and takes their station. Morrison shakes his head, “Not this close to Japan.”
Miller, “Jap fighters and bombers don’t stand a chance.”
Morrison nods, “You would think so, but we just bombed the shit out of their home.”
“Conn, Sonar. Sierra 7 has just changed course toward the fleet. The screws are three-bladed.”
Wankowski, “Sir, we have position, course, and speed.”
Miller calls Cumberland.
Morrison, “Load and make ready a Mark-48 in tube 4.”
“Load and make ready tube 4, aye.”
Cumberland walks and goes directly to sonar. When he’s back into control, he asks, “Status of tube 4?”
FC1 Anthony Walters, “Loading, sir.”
“God damn it.” Cumberland pushes a button, “Kichiro, get the lead out of your ass. I want it flooded and ready. Come on!” He turns to Miller, “Take us to periscope depth. I want to see it.”
“Yes, sir.” He passes the order. They wait while the range narrows. Submarine warfare is a patient game. TMC Kennedy, on the box, “Conn, Torpedo. Flooding tube 4.”
Cumberland, “About time.”
IMPERIAL JAPANESE SUBMARINE, I-57
Lieutenant Nakamura is on the bridge with two ratings. All three are studying the sky. Nakamura, “Be observant. They tell us the new aircraft are extremely fast and hard to see.”
Petty Officer Sato asks, “Wouldn’t the noise give them away?”
“I am told they fly faster than their noise.”
Sato, “Then the pilot wouldn’t hear himself fart.”
They all chuckle.
CHAPTER 7
USS SAN FRANCISCO
1322, 14 January, 1942
Kichiro, “Chief, one of the lights are out.”
“Check the bulbs.”
“I did.” He pushed the bulb test button and they all come on.
Kennedy, “Load tube 1.” On the box, “Conn, Torpedo. Tube 4 is down. Loading tube 1.”
Trindle at the rear of the torpedo, “Locking the bridging rails. Bridging rails are locked. Extending the bridging rails. Stay clear forward.”
Kichiro in its front, is preparing the Amphenol. He checks the spacing, “Stay clear aft.”
Trindle extends the hydraulic rails that bridge the space behind tube 1. He installs the pushing arm onto the rear of the torpedo, unlocks the torpedo from its cradle, and cranks a handle to raise it for moving forward. “Raised from the surface.”
Kichiro inspects the tube. “Aye. Motion.” He pushes the lever that moves the torpedo over the extended rails in front of the tube.
Cumberland materializes in Torpedo, “Wh
at the fuck is going on?”