A match struck; a trace of cigarette smoke curled into her nostrils. Turning her head slightly, she saw a pair of starched white trousers and polished black shoes standing only four feet away.
Yawata.
She looked up, seeing him blow smoke nonchalantly, watching the dust-trail left by the captain's sedan.
She bent over the deck and scrubbed hard.
A foot scraped. He'd stepped closer, she knew. Cigarette smoke engulfed her. She looked up, her face as much a mask to Yawata as Carmen's was to Helen last night. Helen's dark glasses and scarf had been Amador's idea to throw off anyone who might have recognized her from the time before. And the rig covered her scars. But in a quick glimpse, she saw that it fired Yawata's imagination. Or maybe it was the thin dress, drenched with sweat, sticking to her hips and thighs that got him worked up.
Quickly, she looked from side to side. No one else around. They were inside, out of the sun, doing something. Carmen had assigned her to work out here where she would be easily visible when the truck drove up.
This time she heard him exhale. Another blue cloud swirled around her head. Helen shuddered. She bent as low as she could and scrubbed hard.
A perfect smoke ring drifted by. And he grunted, his feet within twelve inches of her head.
All right, you son of a bitch.
Helen looked up and ever so slightly, arched her right eyebrow. Then she turned and sat, letting her skirt fall off her knee, exposing her leg.
His youth betrayed him and Yawata looked away, startled.
Helen went back to her scrubbing.
Another smoke ring.
When she looked up this time, Yawata's gaze met hers. A thin smile unfolded across his lips. He called in Japanese over his shoulder.
With a grunt, the corporal rose, and shuffled down the gangway to the first deck.
As soon as the corporal's head disappeared below the main deck, Yawata's hand was under her elbow, pulling her up. Helen rose and shook herself free and it became clear he hadn't thought that far ahead about how to accomplish his conquest.
Good.
Helen arched her eyebrow again, then turned and slowly walked away, her mind racing. How am I going to do this?
Yawata called after her and began to catch up just as she turned the handle to the captain's stateroom. It was unlocked.
Thank you.
She walked in, leaving the door ajar for him. The place was a messy as before, books and papers stacked everywhere. But the safe was closed. Quickly her eyes darted over the desk, finding a letter opener. It'll have to do. She grabbed it and held it behind her back as Yawata rounded the corner, pushed the door wide open and leaned against the door jamb.
Helen backed toward the captain's pilot berth. From the corner of her eye she saw someone had made it up this morning.
Yawata watched for a moment, taking a long last drag on his cigarette. With thumb and middle finger, he flicked it away, then walked in and closed the door.
She smiled at him and sat on Fujimoto's berth, clutching the letter opener tightly. One chance, she figured. Jam it into his throat and twist like hell. Then grab the pouch, run off the barge and take her chances. Closer, you little bastard.
Yawata stood in the middle of the stateroom, gripping a floor to ceiling brass stanchion, unsure.
Helen kicked off her sandals and braced a foot on the side of the pilot berth, her dress falling off her knee, exposing her leg. For full effect, she leaned back on one hand, the other ready with the letter opener.
Yawata gasped, then started to pull his jumper over his head.
The door crashed open. “Damn truck here, bitch.”
Yawata spun, his mouth gaping open.
Carmen covered her mouth with her hand.
Yawata's lips trembled.
“Aiiieeeyahhhh!” Carmen's scream was as caustic as any Helen had ever heard.
Helen jumped to her feet and screamed with Carmen.
With all of her bulk, Carmen jumped nimbly aside as Yawata dashed out.
Helen stood speechless as Carmen stepped to the door and looked after Yawata. “Hurry up with that bag, bitch. Hapons come.”
Helen lifted the mattress. It was far heavier than she remembered and she had to strain hard to keep it up. Where is the damned thing? Maybe the Captain found it. Maybe that's why the safe is locked. Feet thumped outside.
“Hurry!” Carmen hissed.
There! The pouch! She grabbed it and stuffed it down her blouse, quickly pulling the scarf over her bosom.
She'd no sooner dropped the mattress when an officer in dress whites dashed in followed by the Army corporal.
Ignoring Helen, they shouted at Carmen in pigeon-Tagalog. Carmen shouted back.
Turning sideways, Helen eased her way behind Carmen and outside where she waited while they squabbled. She glanced at the dock. Carmen was right. A truck was parked at the gangway, a soldier behind the wheel.
Soon, all three walked out, still shouting, the officer banging the door shut. Then the officer walked to the wardroom and the guard stepped behind them.
Carmen yelled at Helen, “Ona truck, bitch. Whatchu waitin' for?”
The pouch slid to Helen’s belly and she pressed it with her right elbow as she gained the main deck, walked down the gangway, and climbed over the truck’s tailgate.
Thank you, Carmen. Thank you.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
20 October, 1942
U.S.S. Argonne (AG 31)
Noumea, New Caledonia
Tokyo Rose’s throaty voice drifted through the wardroom. “...and our greetings and congratulations go to Vice Admiral Bull Halsey, who arrived in Noumea just two days ago, to take command of all Allied Forces in the South Pacific. To Admiral Halsey, we plead with you to re-consider what you are doing to your men on Guadalcanal; sending them to be slaughtered by the Imperial Forces of his Emperor’s glorious army. Admiral Halsey. Please. Give up before it is too late. Before there is nothing left of your men but shattered bodies to send home...and now,” Rose’s voice became a seductive whisper, “in honor of Bull Halsey, we play that timeless favorite, I Surrender Dear.”
“Damned Japs are full of bull,” muttered Halsey, realizing Tokyo Rose knew no one called him ‘Bull’ to his face. He walked to the pantry window, drew a cup of coffee and said to Browning, “I’ve had enough of this Tokyo Rose crap. I’m going outside for a moment.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll call when we’re ready.” said Browning, as the stewards cleared breakfast dishes.
Halsey stepped out on the 02 deck, coffee cup and saucer in hand, and ambled forward. The sky was overcast, leaden, the ocean a similar iron-grey color. He spotted whitecaps outside the breakwater, his seaman’s eye telling him the wind speed in the open ocean was about twenty to twenty-five knots: good for launching planes off the decks of aircraft carriers.
That was the question: could he get by with just two aircraft carriers? He really didn’t have a choice, since two were all that was available right now. In fact, there were only two operational carriers in the entire Pacific, the rest undergoing repairs or...sunk, like the Wasp last month at Guadalcanal, or the Yorktown at Midway and Lexington in the Coral Sea. The Hornet, commissioned just a year ago, was in a battle group now on patrol east of the Santa Cruz Islands. In two to three days, she would be joined by the carrier Enterprise, now racing from Pearl Harbor. Patched up from a torpedo hit last August, Rear Admiral Thomas C. Kinkaid was aboard as Commander, Task Force 61. When formed, Kinkaid’s force would include the two carriers, the battleship South Dakota, six cruisers and fourteen destroyers. Halsey lit a cigarette and exhaled nervously. Will that be enough?
Hornet and Enterprise, back together again. Halsey ran a hand over his neck, trying not to scratch, remembering the dark days last April. He’d been aboard the Enterprise, leading the Hornet with her load of sixteen B-25s. They steamed to within 620 miles of Japan’s coast, the twin engine bombers forced to launch early after being spotted by a Japanese pi
cket boat. As soon as Jimmy Doolittle and his B-25s safely took off into the teeth of a near-gale, Halsey reversed course and made tracks for Pearl Harbor. The B-25s carried out their bombing assignments, but short of fuel, were not able to reach their air fields in China, the crews forced to ditch or parachute along the way. One B-25 diverted north after its bombing assignment and landed in Vladivostok, where the Soviets, strictly neutral and playing by the book, impounded the airplane, interning the crew for the war’s duration.
Halsey sipped and braced a foot on a railing. That had scared the hell out of the Japs. Now they knew they were vulnerable. Even better, their leaders were embarrassed before the people. There was no way around it. Men would be moved, equipment sacrificed to defend the homeland. That alone was worth it. Moreover, the morale lift in the U.S. was priceless. Immediately after the attack, President Roosevelt had gone on radio nation-wide, announcing a victory sorely needed by one hundred fifty million Americans.
Checking his watch, Halsey saw it was about time to begin his conference and turned to start back. Just then, Vice Admiral Ghormley stepped out wearing dress khakis. He walked up. “Plane's ready, so I’ll be shoving off, Bill. I hope--”
The 1MC squawked, a whistle blew, and the boatswain mate of the watch called in a tinny voice, “On deck. Attention to colors.”
Halsey set his coffee cup aside, and the admirals automatically drew to attention, faced aft, and saluted the national ensign as it was raised at the stern rail. Officers and men on every Navy ship followed suit, while a Marine band played the national anthem on the Argonne’s quarterdeck. When it was done, the boatswain on the 1MC called “Ready--to!”
Halsey turned. “I’m sorry about all this, Bob. I’m sure Chester will take good care of you.”
“I’m sure he will.” Ghormley took a deep breath and looked around Noumea Harbor. Just then the destroyer Porter sounded a strident prolonged blast of her horn and began to back clear of a nest of destroyers alongside the repair ship Vestal. Within seconds, the Porter gave another three short blasts as she gained sternway toward a turning basin. Ghormley’s voice was barely a whisper. “God, I love that sound.”
Another destroyer, the Shaw, blew her own prolonged blast, and began backing clear of the Vestal. Water foamed beneath her screw guards as she too, cranked out three short blasts. Soon, both destroyers twisted on their engines, then began moving ahead, forming a column, the Porter in the lead, as they shaped course for the harbor entrance.
Ghormley asked, “You sending them north?”
“Giving Kinkaid everything we got. There’s a hell of a fight going on now.” Having surrounded Guadalcanal’s Henderson Field to within mortar range, Major General Kiyotake Kawaguchi’s troops were locked in a bloody battle, attempting to re-take the airbase. In support, Vice Admiral Nobutake Kondo was the officer in tactical command of two large naval forces. One was the Imperial Second Fleet, an advance force consisting of one attack carrier, the Junyo, where Kondo flew his flag, and supported by twenty-one warships. The Imperial Third Fleet, the striking force, was commanded by Vice Admiral Chuchi Nagumo, and consisted of Nineteen capital ships supporting three attack carriers: Shokaku, Zuikaku, and Zuiho. Kondo's Second and Third Fleets had been steaming north of the Stewart Islands for the past two weeks, waiting for the moment to pounce. The idea was for Kondo to launch all his fighters and bombers just as soon as Kawaguchi’s troops re-took Henderson field. The planes were to fly into the airbase and, turning the table on the U.S. Marines, use it to bomb the Americans off Guadalcanal and Tulagi.
Ghormley nodded, and for a moment watched, as a destroyer nearby weighed anchor, men standing on her fo’c’sle, hosing mud off the anchor chain as it clanked up through the hawsepipe.
“I like the lines of those new Fletcher class cans. Which one is she?”
“Howell.”
For a moment, they watched as the Howell gathered way and took the number three position behind Porter and Shaw, nearing the harbor entrance.
Halsey grinned. “Yeah, the Howell. Who is that crazy sonofabitch for her captain?”
“Jerry Landa.”
Halsey snapped his fingers. “Yeah. ‘Boom Boom’ Landa. Heard him do the funniest gig on farting in the Guantanamo ‘O’ club one night. Damn good man.”
“That’s him. You should have seen what he did to Bob Jessup.” Ghormley explained what happened at the skipper’s conference. “Landa told those farting stories when he was a junior officer. Everyone called him ‘Boom Boom.’ It stuck and now that he’s grown up, so to speak, he hates the name.”
“Hell, I’ll trade him ‘Boom Boom’ for ‘Bull.’“
Ghormley’s eyes twinkled. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with that one, Bill.”
“Afraid so.” Halsey pawed at the deck for a moment with his toe. “About Bob Jessup. I don’t think I have a spot for him out here.”
Ghormley nodded. “I figured that. So I’ve manifested him on the plane with me. And when we land in Pearl, I’m going to stick him on the next ship for Washington D.C..”
“A slow one. Send it around Cape Horn.”
“Consider it done.” At length Ghormley said, “This is a tough job they’ve given you, Bill.”
“I damn well know it. Anything I can do for you?”
Ghormley extended a hand, shaking with his successor. “No thanks. Take off in thirty minutes. We’ll be in Pearl in three days. Anything you want me to tell Chester?”
“I’m fine, Bob.” Halsey smiled hoping that he didn’t show he felt awkward.
Ghormley took a last look around Noumea. He chuckled, “too bad those cans make so much noise.”
Halsey looked at Ghormley, his heavy eyebrows knit together.
“Wake up the Frogs. You know, they have a spy network here. Tell the Japs everything. Half the time, I would hear about ship movements from Tokyo Rose before the report landed on my desk.” Ghormley explained that since Noumea was French, she was supposedly under rule by the Vichy Government, the puppet government of the Nazis who were Axis partners with the Japanese and Italians. But the Free French Government, under Charles De Gaulle in London, also claimed sovereignty over Noumea. That had made it convenient for the Allies to occupy the town, using it as a major staging and repair area. But to curry favor, the Vichy supporters in Noumea blatantly radioed Allied ship movements to the Japanese.
Halsey grinned and they shook again, “we’ll clean ‘em out. Good luck, Bob.”
“You, too, Bill.”
The two admirals parted: Halsey heading for a staff meeting on how to thwart Yamamoto’s plans to reconquer Guadalcanal; Ghormley walking to the shiny gig that would take him to Nimitz’s four engine Coronado; and Hawaii; and blessed relief from a mind-numbing job.
On Guadalcanal, the United States Marines hung on, throwing back banzai-charge after bloody banzai-charge; well past October 22nd, a day originally designated as 'Y' day when General Kawaguchi had promised to retake Henderson Field.
On October 25th, a PBY Catalina out of Espiritu Santo spotted two carriers of the Imperial Japanese Navy about 120 miles north of the Stewart Islands. It was around noon, with the ships steaming on a southerly course. Kinkaid in Enterprise, having joined Hornet, launched a search as soon as he received the report, but found nothing, unaware Kondo had turned north after being spotted. That night, Kondo, impatient and low on fuel after two weeks of waiting for General Kawaguchi's past due 'Y' Day, once again reversed course and ran south.
At eleven minutes after midnight, on the 26th of October, another PBY sighted Nagumo’s Third Fleet also near the Stewart Islands. The ‘Dumbo’ as they were called, reported a force of three carriers, two battleships, five cruisers and fifteen destroyers. After sending her contact report, the ‘Dumbo’, low on fuel, turned for its base at Espiritu Santo. Unfortunately, the plane missed Kondo's group hidden nearby in a rain squall, the Imperial Japanese Second Fleet consisting of yet another carrier, two battleships, five cruisers and fourteen destroyers.
&nb
sp; At 0310, another PBY, having been vectored to datum, found a group of ships and sent another contact report. But that PBY had only found Nagumo and his Third Fleet of three carriers; Kondo in the Junyo, and his Second Fleet was again missed.
“...Admiral, can you hear me?”
“Huh?” Instantly, Halsey’s eyes flipped open. He sat up and switched on the little reading light beside his bed. A look at his clock told him it was 0325. “Miles?”
Captain Miles Browning said, “Yes, Sir. Sorry to wake you. We’ve got a Dumbo report.”
“Okay.” Halsey extended a hand and read the PBY sighting. “Damn.” He rose and sat on the edge of his bed to get his bearings rubbing sleep from his eyes. Then he read the 0310 contact report again while Browning took a seat, still dressed in skivvies.
There was a soft knock at the door and Major Julian Brown, the staff intelligence officer, padded in, wearing slippers and robe.
Halsey stroked his chin while pondering the message. Then he looked at Brown. “Better order coffee, Julian. This may take a while.”
While they waited, Halsey put on a robe, flipped off the lights and walked over to the port hole. Drawing the little blackout curtains aside, he looked out. Noumea’s blacked-out Petite Rade Harbor was, as usual, crammed with ships. The town was also blacked-out obscuring white stuccoed buildings splayed over low hills. Atop the ridge stood a massive cathedral, its twin towers silhouetted in half moonlight, giving Noumea a European look. He thought about Vichy French spies somewhere on the hill; maybe even now one was tapping his telegraph key, sending coded messages to the Japanese. He rubbed his chin. “You think the Frogs gave them the last destroyer movements?”
Browning said, “Without a doubt, Bill. But I don’t think Kondo knows the Enterprise is back.”
“Yeah, maybe not.” Halsey closed the port and swished the blackout curtain shut. “I think you’re right.” He flipped on a desk light, lit a cigarette, and exhaled, blue smoke swirling around the bulb. “Yamamoto and Kondo will be betting on our having just one carrier, not two.” Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, Commander of the Combined Fleet, was based in Truk where he directed all offensive operations against Guadalcanal, including Kondo’s ships and Kawaguchi’s troops, still locked in hand-to-hand fighting around Henderson Field.
A CODE FOR TOMORROW: A Ingram Novel (The Todd Ingram Series Book 2) Page 30