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

by Craig DiLouie

  “We spotted a Jap battle group,” he blurted. “Two aircraft carriers.”

  “Okay.” Jane squinted at him. “Are you going to attack?”

  “We might.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “It’ll be very dangerous if we do.”

  “I figured it would be.”

  He eyed the children lying on the floor. “Maybe too dangerous.” He fixed his gaze on her. “Keep me posted if you need anything.”

  Charlie returned to his cabin and lay on his bunk. The tiny room’s walls began to press in on him. He closed his eyes and fought back.

  Not now, he thought. But of course it would be now.

  Somebody knocked on his doorframe. He sat up, rubbing his bearded face. “Come in.”

  The curtain pulled aside. Jane stepped inside the small room and closed it. She glared at him with her fists clenched, and he thought about how tough she was.

  He sat up. “Something wrong? What happened?”

  “We’ve been through hell,” she said.

  Charlie’s heart sank. “I know.”

  “Horror like you wouldn’t believe.”

  He could only nod. As much as he wanted to take a shot at Yosai, it could get innocent people killed.

  Things being what they were, his primary duty was to get these people home.

  She said, “What I’m trying to say is we’re tougher than you think.”

  Then she told him her story. The story of the Philippines occupation.

  December 1941.

  The Japanese had bombed the airfields around Manila, destroying the American air force on the ground. They flattened the Cavite Naval Base. The Americans declared Manila an open city to prevent its destruction.

  Japanese troops landed at several points on Luzon Island and rapidly advanced on the city, capturing it January 2. Commanded by General Douglas MacArthur, American and Filipino troops withdrew to the Bataan Peninsula on Manila Bay. They dug in and fought hard until April. Suffering daily losses from combat, disease, and starvation, they finally surrendered.

  For the survivors, their hell had only begun.

  “The Bataan Death March,” Jane said bitterly. “Eighty thousand men, weak from heat and hunger and disease, forced to march over 60 miles to a prison camp at Balanga in the north. They got little food and water. The soldiers beat anybody who couldn’t keep up. Bayoneted those who fell or drove trucks over them. To the Japanese, the prisoners weren’t human, just animals. Ten thousand died along the way. More died at Balanga.”

  President Roosevelt had ordered General MacArthur out of the country in March. Lt. General Jonathan Wainwright took command. He held the island of Corregidor, an island fortress at the mouth of Manila Bay, until May. After a month of constant shelling, the Japanese overran his position.

  Wainwright unconditionally surrendered all armed forces in the Philippines.

  “By then, we were on the run,” Jane said.

  The nurses had been evacuated from Corregidor during the bombardment. They hopped from one island to the next, one step ahead of the Japanese, until they reached Mindanao. There was nowhere else they could go. The Philippines belonged to Japan, all 7,000 islands.

  But the Filipino Army didn’t surrender. Instead, they melted into the hills and vowed to carry on the fight.

  “So we signed up,” Jane said. “Me, Doris, Mary, and a little Texan gal named Angela Lopez. We started with a guerilla unit, a mixed bag of USAFFE soldiers, missionaries, Filipino Scouts. Sometimes, they fought the Japanese, sometimes other guerilla groups. Then Colonel Fertig united everybody against the Japs. He’d order the men to give ground and scatter, which caused the Japs to break up into smaller groups to chase them. At that point, the guerillas would consolidate and punch back hard. It always worked.”

  The reprisals were often bloody and severe. Frustrated Japanese soldiers ran amok and burned villages. Looting and murder became increasingly common. Then the Japanese issued an ultimatum: Any Americans in the Philippines who didn’t surrender would be exterminated if caught.

  “For months, we fought, we suffered, and we hid. Hungry all the time, weak with dysentery, always on the go. I treated men with bullet wounds, bayonet wounds, tropical diseases that wasted them to skin and bone. But even then, the worst hadn’t happened yet. Not by a long shot.”

  The Japanese launched a major operation in Mindanao and got licked. Lopez stayed behind in a village to treat two wounded guerillas, one of them an American GI named Dave Mackey. They were sweet on each other, and she wouldn’t leave him behind. Then a Japanese platoon entered the village.

  “The lieutenant ordered his men to round up the entire village at bayonet point. He took out his samurai sword and started chopping heads until the villagers gave up the guerillas. They crucified Doug between two palm trees.” Her voice cracked. “They raped poor Angie. By the time they were done, she was half-dead, but they still weren’t through. That Jap lieutenant cut off her head with his sword. Chopped it off and left her in the dirt. She was my friend. I met her the first week of my posting. They raped and murdered her and left her to rot.”

  “My God,” Charlie breathed.

  Everybody knew what the Japanese did at Pearl Harbor. He’d heard all the propaganda about how evil they were, how they needed to be destroyed. But this wasn’t propaganda. This was history as Jane had experienced it.

  The propaganda didn’t even come close to describing these real horrors.

  “No matter how bad things got, they always got worse.” For the first time in her telling, her eyes leaked tears, which she wiped away angrily. “But you know something, Charlie? We never gave up. We never backed down.”

  “I’m sorry, Jane.” He didn’t know what else to say.

  “You want to know why I’m telling you all this? It’s so you know who we are. We all want to get home safe. But we’re at war. The harder you fight, the quicker it’ll all be over. So fight. Sink those carriers, Charlie. Kill them all.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  FOG OF WAR

  Charlie entered the crowded control room. Standing at their stations, the sailors glanced at him before returning to their duties. Again, that puzzled look, as if they weren’t sure whether the cavalry had arrived or a maniac had taken over their boat.

  Maybe both, he thought. History would judge which was actually the case.

  He went to the plotting table, where Bryant and Miller tracked the enemy flotilla. Cruising at twenty knots, Sabertooth raced the armada on a parallel course.

  Charlie thought, by now, the warships should be gaining on the boat. Time to adjust course. Steer the boat onto their track.

  He studied the lines on the plot and frowned. It didn’t add up.

  “This can’t be right,” Charlie said.

  “It is,” Bryant told him. “They slowed to five knots twenty minutes ago.”

  “What are they up to?”

  The engineering officer shrugged. “No idea. It’s like they’re waiting for us.”

  Or something else. The IJN feared nothing. If Sabertooth had been detected, the destroyers would have detached and raced to the attack.

  “Helm, come right to two-seven-oh,” Charlie said.

  “Come right to two-seven-oh, aye, sir,” the helmsman responded.

  Bryant asked, “You don’t think it’s a trap, Harrison?”

  “When was the last time you did a radar sweep?”

  Bryant checked his watch. “Four minutes ago. Are you going to answer my question?”

  “The plan is the same,” Charlie said. He didn’t owe the man anything else. “Sugar Jig, give me an automatic sweep on the PPI.”

  The SJ radar confirmed what Bryant had told him. The IJN warships maintained their heading but had slowed to five knots.

  Damned strange, Charlie thought.

  Then he smiled. He had the answer, or he thought he did.

  “Battle stations,” he said. “Torpedo attack.”

  The quartermaster
repeated over the loudspeakers: “Battle stations, torpedo.”

  The battle stations alarm bonged as hands rushed to stations across the boat. The lights extinguished, replaced by red lighting.

  God, things were getting exciting now. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Commanding a submarine, taking her into battle against a vastly superior force.

  Again, he had that sense he was playing a game with the greatest toy in the world. But this wasn’t a game, not when the stakes were life and death.

  He reminded himself not to get caught up in the pressure and excitement and forget routine but vital actions. Some skippers proved excellent at command until subjected to extreme stress. They forgot to look for airplanes when they raised the periscope, or they failed to do a 360 search make sure the entire area was clear. Small errors like that blew attacks and could easily get them all killed.

  The telephone talker said, “All compartments report battle stations manned.”

  His smiled faded. “Very well. Helm, come right to three-one-five.”

  Soon, Sabertooth’s bow would be pointing directly at the IJN warships.

  “Bridge, Control,” he said. “Keep a sharp eye north by northwest. Scan carefully. Tell me what you see.”

  Nature might have handed him an opportunity. He reached up and gripped a pipe as a handhold, hoping his anxiety didn’t show.

  Moments later, Gibson’s voice blared over the speaker: “We’re a ways from it, but it might be fog, Mr. Harrison. Covering the horizon to the northwest.”

  “Very well, Mr. Gibson,” Charlie said.

  Bryant stared at him. “That changes things.”

  “It certainly does.”

  Advection fog, also called sea fog: Moist air cooled as it moved across the sea toward colder waters. The waves kicked salt into the air, which formed nuclei for condensation. The resulting mist could become a thick fog.

  Which explained why the Japanese warships were moving so slowly.

  He’d guessed that was the case. Had been hoping it was true. It changed everything. Sabertooth had radar, but as far as anybody knew, the IJN didn’t.

  “Helm, all ahead full,” Charlie said. “Steady as she goes.”

  The telephone talker said, “Mr. Liebold reports another torpedo completed in the after torpedo room. That’s five total in the after torpedo compartment and eight in the forward compartment.”

  “Very well,” Charlie said. “Please ask him to report to Control and assume his duties at the TDC.”

  “Aye, aye, Mr. Harrison.”

  He ran his hand through his long hair, and it came away wet with sweat.

  Bryant squinted at him. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Charlie flashed him a smile. That made two of them.

  He said, “Sugar Jig, give me another sweep.”

  Miller marked the positions based on the enemy’s bearing and range. The armada held steady on the same course.

  Gibson reported over the speaker: “Control, Bridge. Fog, close aboard. Visibility reduced to a thousand yards.”

  “Very well,” Charlie said. Perfect, in fact.

  He went to the plotting table and leaned against it, studying Miller’s work. An exercise in geometry.

  The men watched him, wondering.

  “Steady as she goes,” he said.

  Kill them all, Jane had said.

  We’re going to try, he thought. It’s time for a little payback.

  Liebold entered the control room and took his station near the TDC, rubbing his tired eyes. Large sweat stains darkened his wrinkled khaki shirt.

  “You did good, Jack,” Charlie said. “Thanks for that.”

  Liebold shook his head. “Don’t thank me yet. What’s the play?”

  “You’re starting to cut things close,” Bryant said.

  Charlie said, “All compartments, rig for dive.”

  He gazed at Bryant. The engineering officer was supposed to act as his diving officer. The man took the hint and keyed the 1MC call box. “Rig for dive. Clear the topsides.”

  The lookouts flew down the ladder, and their feet slammed the deck. Gibson called out that the hatch was secured before descending himself.

  Bryant said into the 1MC, “Dive, dive, dive!”

  The klaxon blasted.

  Charlie said to Gibson, “Get me six fresh lookouts. Your best. Have them assemble in the conning tower.”

  “Aye, aye, Mr. Harrison.”

  “Maneuvering, Control,” Bryant said. “Stop the main engines. Switch to battery power. Manifold, close the main induction.”

  The new lookouts entered the control room and climbed up to the conning tower. Charlie glanced at the Christmas tree with alarm.

  Bryant said, “Red light on the board. She’s going to leak again. We can’t dive; the compartment will flood out.”

  “Get a repair party in there on the double!”

  The engineering officer picked up a phone and requested an emergency repair party to repair the leak.

  “We’re a sitting duck here,” the man said when he hung up.

  “I know that,” Charlie shot back.

  They couldn’t dive without water gushing into the boat. Best case, they’d dive and wait out the IJN battle group passing overhead at a leisurely five knots. They’d have to run silent and, therefore, couldn’t operate the pumps. The compartment might even flood, weighing the boat down. The leak was near the aft battery. If it sustained damage from seawater, it would emit deadly chlorine gas.

  And then they’d have to surface and evacuate the boat, leaving them defenseless.

  Nothing to do but wait. Charlie cursed his lousy luck. His first time at command, and he’d conned his boat right in front of an IJN battle group. She’d make nice target practice for their destroyers. They’d blow Sabertooth out of the water with ease.

  Hara-kiri, indeed. He’d become a legend.

  And all these people for whom he was responsible would die.

  The minutes ticked past. Necks clenched with tension, the men performed their duties at their stations. Charlie stared at the red light, willing it to change.

  “Come on,” he hissed. “Come on.”

  “They’ve almost got it!” Bryant said and returned to the phone.

  Charlie ordered another sweep on the SJ radar. The IJN ships were bearing down on them.

  Time to get out of here.

  “Helm, all back full!”

  The light blinked several times before glowing green.

  “All back full, aye—”

  “Belay that order!” Charlie snapped.

  “Pressure in the boat,” Bryant said and sagged. “Green board.”

  “Jesus,” Liebold breathed.

  “All compartments report ready to dive!” the telephone talker said, his voice cracking with stress.

  “Planes, sixty-five feet!”

  “Manifold, open all main vents,” Bryant said.

  The deck tilted as Sabertooth slid into the sea and made for the depths.

  “Passing forty feet,” the engineering officer said. “Close all vents.”

  Charlie stared at the green light. You knew the boat had taken damaged and was prone to heavy leakage at that hull opening, he told himself. But you wanted to attack anyway.

  “Passing fifty feet,” Bryant intoned. “Blow negative.”

  All it takes it one little thing to go wrong. One thing broken. One thing forgotten. One minute too long.

  “Passing sixty feet,” Bryant said. “Manifold, two-degree up bubble. Planes, twenty-degree rise. Final depth, sixty-five feet. Open bulkhead flappers. Start the ventilation.”

  “How’s our trim?” Charlie asked him.

  “Good. Speed, three knots.”

  “Very well. Sound, Control. Report.”

  “Control, Sound. Contact, bearing one-three-five, range 5,000 yards.”

  Cutting it close, indeed.

  He reached up and keyed the 1MC.

  “Attention,” he said, u
ncertain at first. He cleared his throat and added in a firm voice: “Attention, all hands. This is Lieutenant Harrison. We’re making our approach on the same carrier battle group that gave us a beating a while back. One of the carriers that attacked Pearl. Now it’s time for some payback.”

  He paused to let that sink in. “Those of you we picked up in the Philippines, we’re about to rig for silent running before we go into combat. That means absolute quiet. Any unnecessary noise could put us all in serious danger. I’ll be honest; this attack has some big risks. I know you want to get home. But this is how we all go home. We sink every Jap ship we find. That is all.”

  Charlie returned the microphone to its holder. “All compartments, rig for silent running.”

  Silent running. A standard procedure used to make a submarine as undetectable as possible. The IJN ships weren’t pinging. That made noise, and they didn’t want to call attention to their presence. They were counting on the fog to conceal them until they passed through it. However, the ships likely had deployed hydrophones in the water. They were listening.

  The only way a submarine could stay undetectable was noise discipline. The ventilation blowers and refrigerator motors turned off. Helm and planes were put on manual operation. Nonessential crew went to their bunks. Nobody talked unless it was necessary. Speed was reduced to minimize propeller noise.

  “All compartments report rigged for silent running,” the telephone talker said.

  “Very well. Quartermaster, I want strong hands to relieve the planesmen every ten minutes while we’re in quiet operation.”

  “Aye, aye, Mr. Harrison,” Gibson said.

  The officers stared at the bulkhead above as a distant ghostly pulse approached.

  Heavy screws, churning the water ahead.

  Again, Charlie felt like he was making the right move but wondered if he was missing something. The time to find out had passed. He was committed.

  “Here they come,” Bryant said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  BATTLE OF THE CELEBES SEA

  The sound grew louder. An entire IJN carrier battle group’s propellers thrashing the water.