Rising Sun

by Robert Conroy

  The third PBY had gone down a couple of miles south of Anchorage and in dense woods. The plane was burning when they got there, but the wind was blowing a smoke plume low and away from the town. Ruby hoped the Japs couldn’t see it, at least not for a while.

  When Ruby and the others arrived at the scene after some hard hiking, the Japanese hadn’t yet shown up. The plane, however, was a charred and smoldering skeleton, and the stench of burning flesh was heavy in the air. The surrounding trees had been scorched, but it had rained heavily recently, and a forest fire had not developed.

  Two living crewmen had been pulled out by other quickly arriving civilians and were stretched out on the ground. Each appeared to have multiple fractures and cuts. Caring for them would be well beyond their capabilities, which didn’t go much past first aid. People were very self-sufficient in Alaska, but they couldn’t perform major surgery. Broken arms and legs would be splinted and cuts stitched, but anything more serious would be beyond them.

  Ruby decided they would pack the two men onto makeshift litters and take them to the small fishing village of Valdez, a hundred miles south on Prince William Sound. From there, maybe they could find a boat that could take them south to Juneau, or perhaps even a plane could land on the small strip that served Valdez. Taking the road from Anchorage inland to the larger city of Fairbanks was doubtless a bad idea. The Japanese had likely already cut it.

  She had a thought. If the Japs had the road, would they move inland to Fairbanks? It was less than three hundred miles between the two cities. After this raid, she didn’t think they’d sit still and wait to be clobbered again. The Japs didn’t look like they were ready to move out just yet, but that could change at any time.

  The two wounded men were secured onto the litters and a small group of local men and women said they’d transport the men to Valdez. It would be a rough trip and the men would have to be carried. They were unconscious and she hoped they’d stay that way. She wondered if they’d survive.

  After the bearers left, Ruby’s group returned to a lookout point from which they could see into Anchorage. A large number of Japanese soldiers was milling around an undamaged school building. She surmised that the American prisoners were being held inside and being interrogated. Having seen what the Japanese did to other prisoners, she pitied them. She wasn’t a particularly religious person, but this time she prayed for them. If nothing else, she wanted them to have a quick and merciful death, even though she didn’t think it would happen.

  The Japanese would want revenge for the surprise bombing attack. What looked like a couple of hundred heavily guarded American civilians were also gathered to see Japanese justice. Closer inspection showed that the men in the crowd had been beaten and many of the women’s clothing had been ripped and torn leaving them in a state of semi-nudity. It was an obvious indication that they’d been sexually assaulted. Once again, Ruby was thankful that she’d decided to flee rather than run the risk of being a prisoner of the Japanese.

  After about an hour, the door opened and a half dozen Americans were dragged outside and forced to kneel while an officer seemed to be screaming at them.

  “He really looks pissed,” Perkins said.

  “Shut up and keep taking pictures.”

  Perkins was using a telescopic lens and Ruby was watching through a fine set of German binoculars her uncle had brought back as a souvenir of World War I. Ruby had the terrible feeling that she was going to regret that the picture they provided was so clear and so vivid.

  The Japanese officer finished his harangue. She thought he might be the commander of all the Japanese forces from the way others deferred to him, but she had no way of being certain. She groaned when he unsheathed the long curved sword that officers carried. He waved it around in the air and his men cheered him, the sound carrying up to them.

  The officer waved it a couple more times and then sent it slashing down on the neck of a kneeling American. The prisoner’s head was sent flying and blood gushed from the man’s trunk. His body continued to kneel for a second and then toppled slowly forward while the soldiers laughed and the civilians moaned.

  “Fuckers,” Perkins said.

  Ruby forced herself to be calm even though she wanted to both kill and vomit. “Pictures, keep taking the damned pictures.”

  The Japanese officer walked slowly down the short line of kneeling men and repeated the process five more times, each to the loud cheers of the gathered soldiers and the further groans of the civilians. When they were done, the heads and bodies were tossed into the inlet.

  “Ruby, you think they know we’re up here?”

  “They’ve got to know somebody’s likely watching them from the trees and they don’t care. That was a lesson. Now the Japs’ll use the civilians as hostages and probably have them working for them, repairing roads and maybe building an airstrip.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  Damn good question, she thought. “First, we get to the radio and tell them all about these latest bullshit murders. Then we head inland to Fairbanks. Three hundred miles is a long ways to walk, but maybe we can commandeer a car. I’ve got a feeling that Fairbanks is where all the action is going to be. Hopefully, we can find an airplane there and get your pictures south to somebody who’ll publish them and let the world know what first-class pricks the Japanese are.”

  “Ruby?”

  “Yes?”

  “Is commandeering the same as stealing?”

  * * *

  On his return to San Diego, Dane was informed that the brass wanted his opinion of the PBY raid. He’d been deposited at Vancouver by Tuller and stuffed into the back seat of a Douglas Dauntless scout plane. They took off immediately and, after refueling at San Francisco, arrived at the base. Dane was so exhausted and drained that he’d managed to fall asleep in the Dauntless.

  “Once again, I don’t get a chance to clean up,” Dane lamented jokingly.

  Merchant laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “I believe the admirals think you dress like a slob all the time. By the way, once again Nimitz is going to be there as well. We’ve issued a press release telling the world how the navy has struck back at the Japs who dared to invade Alaska. All the boys on those planes are heroes. Now all we have to do is figure out what they accomplished.”

  Before Tim could make the scathing comment that was on the tip of his tongue, he was ushered into a conference room where Nimitz and Spruance were holding a meeting with others who wore stars on their shoulders. “Congratulations on making it back safely,” said Nimitz. “Spruance says you have a habit of doing that.”

  “A damn good habit, if you ask me,” added Spruance. “Now, what can you tell us about the raid? And don’t pull punches.”

  Dane turned to Nimitz. He was the senior man in the room. “Sir, if you wanted a public relations coup, you got one. We came in low and they didn’t notice us until we were just about on top of them. We dropped our bombs and started to fly away. At that point, things began to fall apart. We were so low that we began to take a lot of small-arms fire, and the Catalina is far from bulletproof. Three of our planes went down for certain, and we have to assume that the crews are all dead or captured.”

  “But what damage did we do to them?” asked Spruance.

  “Sir, we bombed a field full of tents. I saw a lot of Japs running, and bombs exploding, but I doubt very much if we did any substantial damage. We didn’t have all that many bombs and they were small ones anyway. That, and I’ve been told that bombing a field doesn’t cause all that much damage.”

  Merchant interrupted. “Spotters on the ground say that at least twenty Japs were killed. They determined that by counting graves dug the next day, and they don’t know how many were wounded. They also say that at least six crewmen were captured, and beheaded by this Colonel Yamasaki, or some other Jap officer.”

  Nimitz’s face turned red. Normally mild mannered, the admiral was outraged. “That bastard’s going to burn in hell.”

 
; Dane continued. “We sent in twelve planes and three were shot down. Every other plane was damaged in some manner, and there were wounded on several others. The PBY I was flying was fortunate. We only had two men lightly wounded, although I did count at least thirty bullet holes in the fuselage.”

  Spruance shook his head. “So we just about traded casualties with the Japs, but we lost three valuable planes destroyed and nine others damaged. If we put the raid in that context, we lost.”

  “However,” said Nimitz, “morale has jumped with the announcement. Just like Doolittle’s bombing of Tokyo, the price was high, but we showed the Japs that we could and would strike back. Dane, what’s your opinion of using the PBYs for a repeat raid, and be blunt.”

  Dane was not in the mood for candy-coating a report for admirals under any circumstances. “It’d be a disaster. The Japs will be ready next time and they will have some kind of an early warning system in place. Our planes would be cut to pieces. The PBY is simply not a fighter or bomber. A regular bomber could hit them from higher up, fly faster and hit them with more bombs, and make them squeal. In my opinion, it’d be murder to send PBYs again. Like it or not, we should wait until the field at Vancouver is ready.”

  “Even then we’d need an interim field for them to refuel,” said Nimitz. “We’re developing runways at Juneau and Fairbanks. When those are ready, the army’ll hit the Japs hard from the air. In the meantime, you’re right. No more PBY raids.”

  With that, Dane and Merchant were dismissed. Dane went to his desk and sat down wearily. His body still ached from all the hours in the PBY and then in the cramped Dauntless. At least he could move around a little in the Catalina. Even the kid lieutenant who’d flown him in the Dauntless teased him about being too big for a fighter cockpit. Maybe he should go to the gym and work out, maybe get some kinks out of his body. Maybe he should have a couple of drinks and take a nap. That sounded like a much better idea. On leaving the meeting, Merchant had as much as told him that the war would get along fine without him until the next morning.

  A young sailor Dane recognized as being from the mail room walked up with a puzzled look on his face and a letter in his hand. “Sir, this has been kicking around a bit, but we think it’s for you since there aren’t that many Danes around. Whoever wrote it didn’t know your correct address here and had your rank wrong.”

  Puzzled, Dane thanked the kid and took the envelope. Whoever it was indeed had the right name but had his rank wrong. It was amazing that the navy figured out that it might be for him. He opened it and gasped in shock and pleasure. It was from Amanda.

  Dear Tim,

  Obviously we arrived safely in California and I’d love to fill you in on the details, but I can’t at this time. I’ll explain later, I hope. “We” consists of two other nurses named Sandy and Grace along with yours truly. Let it suffice that we are all weary, hungry, sunburned, and know a lot more about the ocean and ourselves than we ever thought possible. Or ever even cared to know. Otherwise, we are fine and nothing that a few good meals and a little rest won’t cure. For a variety of reasons, my hair is cut shorter than the average marine’s and I’m even thinner than I was before. I didn’t put a return address on the envelope because we are going to be moving soon and I don’t know exactly where we’ll wind up. I just hope this letter finds you and that you too are well. A very nice marine captain and his wife helped track you down. I hope.

  We are planning on picking up the pieces of our nursing careers and have collectively decided that San Diego would be a good place to be, what with all those good-looking sailors hanging around in seedy bars. I hope that meets with your approval. Because of paperwork, it could be a couple of weeks before we get there. We have some money, so we’ve been able to get some new clothing and I’ve even bought some new glasses. Mine were lost in the journey.

  I just realized I’m being presumptuous in assuming that you even want to see me at all. I thought we started something very interesting and special back in Honolulu a thousand years ago, and I hope you would like to continue it as well. If not, I’ll understand.

  In the meantime, like it or not and ready or not, I’m coming down, and I’m bringing the other two musketeers with me. Know any other good-looking sailors?

  Love and aloha,

  Amanda

  Tim put down the letter. His hands shook and he felt emotions he hadn’t felt since he was a kid. He felt his eyes start to moisten. Amanda was safe.

  Merchant stepped by and looked down. “What’s the problem, Tim?”

  He took a deep breath and regained control. He remembered a rule that said “thou shalt not cry in front of a senior officer.” “No problem, sir, far from it. Remember the young lady I told you about? The one I met in Honolulu? Well, she somehow made it to San Francisco.”

  Merchant laughed and slapped him on the back. “Fantastic. You’ve been moping like a lost dog since you got here what with your worrying about her.”

  “Was it that obvious?”

  “Worse. Now, fill me in.”

  Tim did, at least as much as he knew. “She’s going to be coming here and it’s such a big location, I don’t know how we’ll find each other when she does.”

  “You’re an intelligence officer, right? Well, just use your damn intelligence, and figure it out. Or, hell, if she could make it across the Pacific, I’m reasonably certain she could find you in San Diego.”

  * * *

  Wilhelm Braun was frustrated and angry. He had made a mistake. In fact, he had made several of them and he was not used to that. It did not behoove a field-grade officer in the SS to make so many errors. At least, he thought ruefully, there was no one senior to him around to notice.

  First, he had underestimated the complexity of the situation confronting him. The American buildup around San Diego was truly massive and security was surprisingly tight the closer to the more tempting targets. It rapidly became evident that he was not going to be able to blow up ammunition depots, fuel storage facilities, or ships. Nor would he be allowed to get close to senior military and civilian personnel in the area without committing suicide, and that still was not on his agenda. He was willing to die for the Reich, but not in a futile gesture.

  He laughed harshly. Let their little Jap allies do that.

  Doing it all alone was also no longer practicable, if it ever had been. He would need help. He sent a signal to Gunther Krause, the embassy aide he’d thought could come north and meet him should the need arise. Krause was a senior sergeant who’d been masquerading as a low-level clerk in the embassy, and would be an invaluable help. He would also provide muscle and was more than willing to kill for the Reich. Braun was as well, but two men with guns were much better than one.

  When Krause arrived at the bus station in San Diego after crossing without incident from Tijuana, he was dressed in a combination of clothes that made him look like a refugee. At least his hair was long enough to not look military. Even to Braun it was clear that Krause would need help in becoming inconspicuous.

  “My dear Sergeant, I am delighted to see you,” Braun said as they drove away, “but there are a number of changes that we will have to make.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  Braun wondered if he did. Braun knew that Krause wasn’t well educated formally, but he was surprisingly intelligent and, somehow, had become fluent in English along with Spanish. Apparently the man had a feel for languages.

  “First, Sergeant, we will get you some American clothes. You stand out in what you are wearing. All of your clothing, including underwear and socks, will be of American make.”

  Krause nodded. It made good sense.

  “Second, you and I will speak only English, and that includes when the two of us believe we are alone. Anyone speaking a foreign tongue will attract attention, and that is something we don’t need. I’m sure we’ll both make slips and people will surely notice your accent, but we must fight against them. The accent can be explained because your identification say
s that you are Swedish, which practically nobody speaks, while German is a fairly common language.

  “Further, you and I will not speak loudly as that, obviously, will attract unwanted attention. Nor will we whisper as that will make people lean forward to try and eavesdrop. Human nature, I’m afraid.”

  Krause laughed. “People are nosy and gossipy, sir. May I ask how you will explain me?”

  “Good question. Quite simply, you are my assistant in my engineering business. May I assume you know nothing about engineering?”

  “I know how to blow up a bridge, but not build one. Does that count?”

  “Actually, it does. However, if anyone asks, and I doubt that they will, you are my wife’s nephew and I had to take you despite your shortcomings. You are my clerk and assistant and you are definitely not an engineer. I’m not either, but I believe I can fool people for long enough to get out of trouble.”

  “Understood, Colonel. Is that it? I would like to go shopping and get out of these rags.”

  “Not quite. I want you to never refer to me as sir or colonel again and I will never call you sergeant. We are civilians in the United States, and we must act and speak like they do, however uncomfortable that might make us at first. Therefore, you will refer to me as Bill, and not sir or colonel, and I will call you Gunther. I used the name of Brown when I crossed the border, which turned out to be unnecessary, but now I’m using Swenson as my last name. Americans are far less formal than we are, and civilians almost uniformly, and despite differences in their hierarchy, refer to each other by their first names. It would be especially so for two people working together. Such social intimacies would be normal.”