Silent Running: a novel of the Pacific War (Crash Dive Book 2)

by Craig DiLouie

  Coming from him, “sir” sounded like “asshole.”

  “I did, in fact—”

  “Works fine, fails fine, drains to the bilge,” the machinist said. An old Navy saying.

  “What?”

  “Your crapper, sir. I fixed it good.” Braddock gave him a quick once-over. “You going to war, Lieutenant?”

  He nodded. “We are. You and me.”

  The machinist’s expression soured as Charlie explained the mission.

  “Well, sir, you’ve cooked up a fine way to get us killed tonight.”

  “We’re going to take a look. If the guerillas are there, we’ll make contact. If they aren’t, we hightail it back.”

  “You may have nine lives, Lieutenant, but I’m pretty sure I’ve only got one.”

  With the fatalism characteristic of his breed, the big sailor picked the Browning Automatic Rifle from the locker. The light machine gun packed serious punch. Together, they’d be able to spray a lot of lead if the Japanese turned up.

  They went to the control room and climbed into the conning tower. The sailors watched them pass with wide eyes. Gibson opened the hatch.

  Sweet night air. The smell of jungle. The salty spray of the sea.

  Sabertooth lay at a depth that allowed only her sail to rise above the water, her decks awash. Three sailors had rigged the rubber inflatable boat, which was large enough to hold four men. Still, it felt crowded when Charlie climbed in with the big machinist.

  “Go with God, Mr. Harrison,” Gibson said. “You too, Braddock.”

  Charlie nodded and started paddling. Next to him, Braddock did the same, cutting the water in deep, clean strokes.

  He looked ahead. The shore was just a mile away. The prospect of reaching it terrified him. He put these feelings aside, saving them for later.

  Braddock said, “You keep getting me into the shit, Lieutenant, and I’ll end up with the same nickname as you.”

  “Maybe the Japs will shoot you and save you the embarrassment.”

  The strong current pulled them south. Not much could be done about it.

  “What you got against me, anyways?” Braddock asked.

  “You’re a royal pain in the ass. Otherwise, not a thing.”

  “I mean, why pick me for this shit detail? Trying to get me killed.”

  Charlie said, “You were good during the fight with the Mizukaze. You kept your head. You did the same when we were getting depth-charged. I know I can depend on you if we need to start shooting.”

  “No good deed goes unpunished, does it?”

  “Otherwise, I don’t care about you at all. If it’s any consolation.”

  Braddock smirked. “Fair enough.”

  “I’ll ask you the same thing. What do you have against me?”

  The man laughed. “Did it ever occur to you that you’re not the terrific guy you think you are, and I just don’t like you?”

  “I don’t get it. That’s it? We went through hell together on the 55.”

  “Yeah, you’re the guy who’s around when I’m almost killed. Every time.”

  Charlie shut up. There was no point.

  After a while, Braddock grinned and added, “Don’t take it so bad, Lieutenant. I don’t like anybody that much. The Navy’s full of assholes.”

  Charlie could only shake his head, too focused on maintaining their heading. They were still drifting off course. In fact, he estimated they were going to land a good mile and a half from the rendezvous point.

  He saw no sign of Sabertooth in the darkness. He hoped she’d be able to find them when they returned.

  When the men reached land, Charlie stepped into the knee-deep surf.

  Braddock hauled the boat onto the wet sand. “Now what?”

  A man shouted from the pitch-black jungle. They froze.

  The man shouted again. A challenge. The guerillas?

  “I’m pretty sure that’s Jap he’s talking,” the machinist muttered.

  A searchlight blazed across the beach to their left. The beam moved and washed over them.

  Charlie raised his Tommy gun and shot at the glaring disc.

  Braddock grunted in disgust and fired his BAR. The searchlight died with a tinkle of glass, plunging the beach back into darkness.

  “No offense, sir, but you can’t shoot for shit,” the man said.

  A screaming figure emerged from the jungle and pounded across the beach. As Charlie’s eyes re-adjusted to the moonlight, the figure became a uniformed Japanese soldier carrying a rifle fixed with a gleaming bayonet.

  “Shit!” Charlie shouted and fired the Tommy. The soldier appeared to do a jig before collapsing on the sand. Charlie recoiled, filled with elation and horror.

  “Much better, sir,” Braddock said.

  “BANZAI!”

  Black shapes streamed from the jungle while Charlie struggled to load a fresh magazine. Braddock blazed away at them with the BAR. The shapes crumpled under the withering fire.

  “Reloading!” Braddock said.

  More soldiers charged from the trees. Primal screams rent the air and froze the blood in Charlie’s veins. He shouldered the Tommy and cut them down.

  A machine gun opened up from the right, muzzle flashing. Tracers streamed past. Bullets snapped through the air. They had no cover here. Totally exposed.

  “Back to the raft!” Charlie cried.

  Time to abort this mission and get the hell out of here.

  Charlie and Braddock dove into the raft. They paddled frantically against the rollers while the MG rattled and slugs tore the air south of them.

  “Now you know,” Braddock huffed, “why I don’t like you.”

  The MG stopped firing. They’d made it nearly a mile from shore.

  Where was Bryant? Did he hold station?

  A flare shot into the sky. Moments later, an artillery piece boomed. A hundred yards to the north, a geyser shot up from the sea.

  They were exposed with no idea where Sabertooth was. Soon, the Japanese would zero in with their artillery.

  “This just gets better and better,” the machinist muttered.

  BOOM.

  Charlie’s heart leaped as the sea lit up ahead of them, exposing Sabertooth’s sail and deck gun. The long barrel exhaled a stream of smoke.

  “Make for the boat!”

  Already paddling like a madman, Braddock didn’t need to be told.

  The three-inch gun crashed again, launching another salvo toward the shore. Charlie glanced over his shoulder in time to see a flash of flame in the jungle.

  Sailors helped them out of the raft and onto the deck. The gun crew was already securing the deck gun for diving. Gibson stabbed the inflatable with a knife and let it sink.

  Captain Hunter stood on the bridge, watching the shoreline with his binoculars. “Clear the topsides!” He lowered the binoculars and glared at Charlie. “You about done fucking up my mission, Harrison?”

  Then he barked: “Helm, come left to oh-nine-oh!”

  They made for the relative safety of the open sea.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  PAYING THE PIPER

  “Invading the Philippines in a raft!” the captain fumed in his stateroom. “God almighty, Harrison, what were you thinking?”

  Standing at attention, Charlie glanced at his commander to make sure the question wasn’t rhetorical. The man glared at him, expecting an answer. A dimple winked above his big jaw; he was grinding his teeth.

  Charlie said, “The guerillas gave the signal, but they didn’t show, Captain. I suspected we might be falling into a trap.”

  “Uh-huh. And?”

  “So I reconnoitered the beach. I figured if it were a trap, I’d spring it.”

  “You personally,” Hunter said. “While you were in command.”

  “I figured I couldn’t ask anybody to do something I wouldn’t do, sir.”

  “God almighty,” Hunter said, quieter this time. “I got some bad news for you, Harrison. You’re not that expendable. We happen t
o need you.”

  Charlie wasn’t sure what to say, so he said, “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I allowed you to con the boat while I recovered myself. I didn’t ask you to become a one-many navy. You let the Japs know we’re here while accomplishing nothing. This coast is too hot now; we’ve got radar contacts of patrol boats coming in. The mission is in jeopardy. I should confine you to quarters. With you around, it’s like carrying a hot torpedo.”

  Charlie kept his mouth shut. Hunter opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out his bottle of brandy. He poured two fingers into a glass.

  The captain caught Charlie’s glance. “It’s not for me,” he said. “It’s for you. You’re shaking, and I have an idea it’s not out of fear of me.”

  Charlie downed the brandy, which filled his chest with heat. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Killed some Japs out there, did you?”

  “I did,” Charlie said. “It was …” He couldn’t describe how he felt, the joy and loathing of combat.

  Hunter sighed. “Well? Anything to say in your defense?”

  “With all due respect, Captain, we gained valuable intelligence. The Japs were camped in strength just a mile and a half south of the rendezvous point.”

  “How much strength are we talking?”

  “I can’t be sure. At least a platoon.”

  “So you think it was a trap then.”

  He thought about it. “I can’t say, sir. I can say the boat was at serious risk.”

  “Maybe that’s why the guerillas didn’t come out. Maybe they know what they’re doing. They’ve been doing it long enough. Did you think of that?”

  Charlie thought about it some more and nodded. It made sense. They could have held station and watched how things developed. Maybe Liebold had been right after all.

  Hunter said, “Next time, think before you act, Harrison. Now get the hell out of my sight. Dismissed.”

  He left the captain and headed back to the control room. With the hum of the diesel engines vibrating through the hull and the rush of the sea outside, he knew Sabertooth cruised the surface on all four mains.

  Sailors caught sight of him as he passed and nudged each other.

  “Hara-kiri,” he heard one say.

  The tone wasn’t quite derisive, not this time. Now the men looked at him with wonder, as if they weren’t sure if he were right in the head.

  “—killed ten Japs,” another hissed.

  “Crazy,” Charlie heard the first man say.

  It had been more like five, but he saw no point in correction. If the crew feared him a little, so be it. He had bigger things on his mind.

  It was dawning on him that he’d blown his first shot at command. Think before you act, the captain had lectured him.

  But he had. That was the problem. He went over the logic of his decisions and remained sure he’d chosen a practical plan of action. The end result had proven him right.

  Still, he felt shaken. Hunter was also right; there was another course he could have taken that would have protected both the boat and the mission. And he shouldn’t have gone himself. Sure, he’d gained a fierce reputation among the crew, but that didn’t really matter. He didn’t have anything to prove.

  After his first taste of command, Charlie had to ask himself again if he wanted it for himself one day. The answer was still yes. He wanted it bad.

  Maybe Hunter was right, and a man got second chances.

  Quit your moping, he told himself. Learn from your mistakes.

  Liebold caught his eye in the control room. “Everything all right?”

  “Right as rain,” Charlie said and headed for the radio shack.

  He established contact with Pearl and reported the rendezvous was compromised by nearby Japanese troops. He requested new orders for the boat.

  Then he went to the plotting table and pretended to study nautical charts while he processed the battle. Despite the bracing effects of the brandy, his body trembled as shock set in.

  The Japanese soldiers had toppled when he’d shot them. Knocked over like bowling pins. The wounded howled where they’d fallen. Charlie remembered the horror he’d felt knowing they wanted to stab him with their bayonets. The elation that, though they’d wanted to take his life, he’d killed them first.

  Now that it was over, he just felt remorse.

  He hated the Japanese for what they did at Pearl, but it was hard to hate those soldiers. It was like their skirmish hadn’t been about Pearl, or domination of the Pacific, or the clash of nations. It had been strangely personal. Like a horrible misunderstanding.

  The radarman called out contacts. Two Japanese patrol boats, heading toward Kayupo Kling Beach. Hunter was right about one thing. That stretch of coast would be hot for the next few days. The entire operation was in jeopardy.

  Bryant appeared next to him. He leaned against the table, pretending to study the same chart. After a while, he said, “You did all right, Harrison.”

  “Thanks,” Charlie said absently.

  “There’s no right or wrong until what happens in the end. Until the end result comes through, there’s only different levels of risk and reward.”

  Charlie shot him a look. “If Hunter hadn’t taken command, you would have been there waiting for us once the shooting started, right?”

  The engineering officer laughed.

  Before he could answer, the radioman reported a flash message from Pearl.

  The message read simply:

  FOR SABERTOOTH X WAIT 3 DAYS AND REATTEMPT X COMSUBPAC SENDS X

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  FERTIG’S GUERILLAS

  Sabertooth kept her distance while Japanese patrol boats steamed along the coast for two days. Then they left, no doubt puzzled by the strange invasion.

  On the third day, she crept closer to the shore and raised her periscopes. After some searching, the captain found two sheets strung between coconut palms.

  “We’re still in the game,” Hunter said. “Now we wait for sunset. Harrison, take first watch. Don’t raise the scope more than once per hour.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Charlie said.

  “I’ll take first watch,” a voice rasped.

  Walt Lewis entered the control room, moving slowly. The man looked terrible. His face was still bruised, and he squinted as if his head still hurt. Scrawny to begin with, he’d lost some weight. He looked pale even for a submariner.

  Even so, the men grinned at the sight of him.

  Hunter said, “Great to see you back on your feet, Walt. You all right?”

  “I’m fit for duty, Skipper. Short of a direct order, I’m doing my job.”

  “It’s good to have you back.”

  “It’s good to be back.” The exec eyed Charlie. “I hear I missed a ruckus.”

  “You did. Mr. Harrison invaded the Philippines single-handed.”

  “What did I say about buccaneering, young Charles?”

  Charlie said glumly, “No buccaneering on Sabertooth.”

  Lewis snorted. “You appear to enjoy killing Japs. I’ll give you that.” He switched his gaze to the captain. “What about you? Are you all right?”

  Hunter frowned and looked away. “I’m fine.”

  Charlie felt relieved to have the captain and the exec back. They’d taken the burden of command and, with it, the intense pressure. Though he already missed it.

  The captain called a meeting with Charlie, Liebold, and Bryant in the wardroom. They planned the operation. Lewis would remain in the control room. Bryant would lead the security detail in case the guerillas turned out to be Japanese soldiers. Liebold would run the gun crew.

  And Charlie? Charlie would manage the supplies offload and the refugee boarding. “Aye, aye, sir,” he said, though he didn’t relish the prospect of babysitting civilians.

  “Everybody, keep a sharp eye,” Hunter told them. “We could be attacked from the boats, by sea, and by air. We’ll be a sitting duck until it’s over.”

  The m
en nodded.

  “That’s why your job is so important, Harrison,” the captain continued. “Get those civilians aboard as fast as you can. Think you can handle it?”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Captain to Control,” Gibson’s voice blared over the 1MC.

  Hunter glanced at his watch and stood. “It’s show time. Let’s do it right.”

  The officers rushed to the control room.

  “Activity on the beach, Skipper,” the exec reported. “Men putting out boats. Bancas and outriggers. Some of them are armed.”

  “Let’s take a look, Walt.” The captain took over the scope. “One boat’s got what appears to be a little American flag flying from the mast.”

  “That’s a good sign,” Lewis said.

  “We’re not taking any chances. Security detail, stand by. Gun crew, stand by. Lookouts to the conning tower. All compartments, rig to surface.”

  The general alarm blared. Across the boat, sailors hustled to action stations. The security detail took rifles and Tommy guns from the small-arms locker. The gun crew assembled in their life jackets and bulky steel helmets. The men were tense; they knew if enemy planes or ships appeared, the hatch would slam shut, and they’d be forced to jump overboard.

  “Forward engine room, secure ventilation,” Lewis said. “All compartments, shut the bulkhead flappers.”

  “They’re getting close,” Hunter said, his face still pressed against the scope’s eyepiece. “They’re dropping sail.”

  The telephone talker said, “Ready to surface in every respect, Captain.”

  “Very well. Stand by.” Then he grinned. “I see Americans! They spotted our scope. They’re pointing at it and cheering. Let’s give ’em a show. Surface.”

  Lewis smiled. “Aye, sir.”

  The surfacing alarm sounded throughout the boat. The manifoldmen blew the main ballast tanks.

  The telephone talker said into the phone, “Maneuvering room, stand by to switch from motors to diesels. On surfacing, answer bells on all main engines.”

  The boat tilted toward the surface and rose.

  What a sight we must be, Charlie thought. The black bow of the submarine breaking the sea in a rush of foam.