Sea of Death

by Richard P. Henrick

  One would have to look very close to tell these two vessels apart. Two-hundred and fifty-four feet in length, with a submerged displacement of 1,700 tons, the Bokken and the Katana had individual complements of fifty-six crewmembers each. As was the case on any ship of size, the morale of her sailors was directly influenced by the personality of their commanding officer.

  When Captain Hiroaki Sato was initially given command of the Bokken, he wasted no time implanting his personal style of leadership on his crew.

  A retired, twenty-year veteran of the Japanese Maritime SelfDefense Force, Sato prided himself as astrict no-nonsense disciplinarian. As far ashe was concerned, the Bokken was but an extension of his own being. While at sea, any jokes, horseplay, or small talk would not be tolerated. He viewed any such behavior as a wasteful diversion of his crew’s focus. He had learned long ago that the operation of a submarine was a dangerous, deadly serious business, requiring iron discipline and a shared spirit of seamanship.

  Much to his delight, his current employer allowed him to shape his crew’s mental outlook with a unique series of Zen-like meditation exercises: hours of intensive prayer and study combined with a simple vegetarian diet, to promote astringent martial philosophy, similar to that of the legendary Ninja.

  So successful was this program. Dr. Ishii ordered him to share it with his associate. Captain Satsugai Okura, the CO of the Katana.

  Sato had first met Okura over two decades ago, while both were cadets at Eta Jima, Japan’s naval academy. Several years later, they both sailed together on an Oyashio-class vessel, the first indigenously designed submarine in the postwar Japanese fleet. Eventually each man got his own command, and then they were reunited at Ishii Industries some twenty years later.

  As was the case in their early student days, the competitive spirit was still strong between them.

  Though they both shared the same political goals, Sato had to admit that he wasn’t all that disappointed upon receiving news of Okura’s latest failure.

  For now the Bokken had been called upon to rectify the Katana’s shortcoming.

  Anxious to prove his crew’s superiority, Sato hurriedly left the hushed confines of the Bokken’s control room. A narrow passageway, lined with snaking electrical cables and shining tubes of stainless steel pipe, led him to the forward torpedo room. It had been fifteen hours since they had left the protective confines of Takara Bay. The majority of this southerly transit had taken place submerged, at snorkel depth.

  Ashe entered the sub’s forwardmost compartment, he found it dominated by a large steel pallet on which the torpedo reloads were stored. Standing in front of this structure, beside the ladder leading up to the emergency hatch, were men dressed completely in black. Only the whites of their eyes showed through their masks as they bowed in silent greeting.

  Sato returned this gesture and, as always, found himself invigorated to be in this group’s presence.

  The mysterious teachings of the ancient Ninjitsu had always fascinated Sato. And here were five men who had selflessly devoted an entire lifetime to hard work and tireless discipline so that they could call themselves Ninja. Sato was thus extra careful to address them in a subdued, respectful tone.

  “We will be at our destination shortly. You have trained all your lives for this moment. Now is the time to become atone with the Way. Flow with the rhythm of the elementals. And above all, be patient.

  We must not fail like the others!”

  Doing his best to emphasize this last point, Sato added.

  “The Bokken will be waiting for you once you have delivered the death wind. Then we’ll be off for Kyushu, to strike the US naval installation at Sasebo. For the glory of the Emperor, let us restore the values that the Westerners have stripped from our people’s souls. As our glorious ancestors decreed in the not-so-distant past, revere the Emperor, and expel the barbarians!”

  No sooner were these rousing words out of his mouth than the boat’s intercom chimed twice.

  Knowing full well what this signal meant, Sato faced his silent audience and excused himself with a bow.

  Back in the control room, his XO, Lieutenant Kenji Miyazawa, was waiting for him beside the chart table.

  “We should be directly off Naha Point, Captain,” informed the XO.

  “Now we shall see how competent your navigational skills are, Lieutenant Miyazawa,” replied Sato ashe led his XO over to the periscope well.

  “Up scope!” ordered the Bokken’s captain.

  It was Miyazawa who depressed the lever that sent the scope hissing up from its storage well. Sato peered into the eyepiece and initiated a hasty 360-degree scan. With the night sea slapping up against the scope’s lens, he spotted the blinking red strobe of a channel buoy barely a hundred yards distant. Most satisfied with this sighting, Sato backed away from the eyepiece and beckoned his XO to have a look.

  “So, your time spent at the American sub school was not wasted after all,” observed the captain. He then watched as Miyazawa bent over the scope and carefully adjusted its focus.

  Halfway through his sweep of the horizon, the XO halted his scan.

  “Captain, I think you’d better take a look at this,” he suggested worriedly.

  Quick to replace him at the scope, Sato was forced to readjust the focus. Once this was accomplished, he closed in on the flashing red light of the channel marker, when much to his horror, the black night suddenly became like day. Unexpectedly illuminated by the powerful spotlight of a hovering helicopter, the sea filled with a pair of patrol boats and a sleek frigate.

  “Down scope! Emergency descent!” he forcefully ordered.

  This directive was closely followed by the shrill voice of the Bokken’s sonar operator.

  “Captain, sonar reports a variety of surface traffic topside! Bearing two-two-zero and rapidly closing.”

  As the hull of the Bokken began angling sharply downward, the loud, hollow ping of an active sonar search sounded inside the control room. The XO was among those whose eyes instinctively went to the compartment’s ceiling, as if to search out the source of this terrifying racket.

  “They must have been just sitting up there waiting for us!” he frantically observed.

  Sato sensed the fear that undercut his second in command’s tone, and reacted firmly.

  “Get ahold of yourself. Lieutenant! This is no time to panic. The Bokken is still the fox, and it’s we who have the advantage.”

  “Something has just entered the water directly above us, Captain!” cried out the sonar operator.

  This news provoked an instant response from Sato.

  “Rig for depthcharge attack!”

  This command had barely been voiced when the compartment filled with a deafening blast. Seconds later, a massive shock wave smacked into the sub’s hull. Tossed violently to and fro by this agitated wall of water, those not restrained by safety harnesses were thrown down to the control room deck, as was a lot of loose equipment. The sub’s captain ended up flat on his back beside the periscope well. As a geyser of water sprayed from a ruptured ceiling valve, Sato struggled to stand.

  “Someone get me a wrench!” he loudly ordered.

  The lights flickered and dimmed as a young seaman fought his way over to a bulkhead-mounted tool box. From it, the frightened sailor removed a wrench, which he proceeded to hand over to the captain.

  Bruised and soaked, Sato attacked the ruptured valve with this tool, and the flow of water abated.

  Not taking the time to celebrate, Sato turned toward the helm.

  “Quartermaster, get me a damage control report! Planesman, how does she respond?”

  The seated, harness-secured sailor responsible for steering the Bokken answered while hastily scanning the numerous dials and gauges mounted before him.

  “Sluggishly, sir. Yet I still show forward speed and hydraulic pressure remains constant.”

  This was followed by the deep voice of the quartermaster.

  “I’ve got numerous reports
of minor leaks and injuries throughout the boat, sir. Yet the hull is intact and the engine room remains online.”

  “So this old fox still has some life left in her,” reflected Sato with a satisfied grin.

  “Helm, bring us around hard to course three-three-zero, and make your depth eighty feet.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” replied the planes man.

  The angle of the deck canted sharply to the left, and the assorted equipment jarred loose by the exploding depth charge slid toward the port bulkhead.

  Doing his best to avoid this debris, the XO returned to the chart table.

  “Captain, are you aware that the chart shows numerous reefs in the channel due north of us?” he questioned.

  “That’s exactly why that route offers us our only salvation,” replied Sato.

  “If there’s an opening in this trap, that’s where we’ll find it.”

  The Bokken’s commanding officer appeared calm and collected as the angle of the deck leveled out.

  His composure held even when another depth charge exploded. This blast and the ensuing shock wave were far less violent than the previous ones, and the Bokken rode them out with case.

  “So, they’ve lost us already,” said Sato, who turned toward his XO and added.

  “Empty your mind of all doubt and fear. Surrender your flow to the one void. And the Way shall lead you homeward like along-lost pilgrim. Lieutenant Miyazawa, have you already forgotten that—” These words were cut short by a gut-wrenching concussion, as the Bokken slammed into a submerged reef. Of an even greater intensity than the initial depthcharge attack, this forceful impact once more sent the crew crashing to the deck. The overhead lights completely failed, while dozens of valves burst open, engulfing the compartment in an icy shower of seawater.

  It took several frantic minutes for the stunned XO to regain his footing and locate an emergency battle lantern. This dim red light illuminated a scene of utter devastation. Numerous dead bodies lay in the gathering water, including that of Captain Hiroaki Sato.

  “Helm, blow emergency ballast and get us topside at once!” ordered Miyazawa, who readily assumed the responsibility of command.

  Only the continued roar of spraying water met this frantic directive, and the XO staggered over to the diving console to carryout this order himself. The extreme angle on the bow indicated that the Bokken was in the midst of a steep, uncontrolled dive, and it took a supreme effort on the XO’s part just to remain upright.

  Miyazawa passed the unconscious helmsman and noted that the shattered depth gauge showed them rapidly approaching the sub’s crush threshold. Doing his best to control the rising panic that left him increasingly chilled and breathless, he fought his way to the console that regulated Bokken’s trim. With shaking hand, he reached out and pulled down the elongated red and white striped lever beside the trim indicator. In response, a roaring blast of venting ballast filled the control room with blessed sound. And the last thing the XO was aware of, before dropping to the deck in a state of shock-induced unconsciousness, was that the direction of the depth gauge had miraculously reversed itself.

  “This little baby is what our ambush off Okinawa netted,” said Vice Admiral Henry Walker ashe pointed toward the screen, on which a slide of a surfaced submarine was projected.

  From the darkened confines of the Enterprise’s Flag Quarters, Captain Steven Webster and Dr.

  Miriam Kromer listened intently as the distinguished Director of Naval Intelligence added, “She’s called the Bokken. Translated from Japanese that’s the bamboo sword used in the martial art of kendo. The Bokken is one of two vessels of this class purchased from the People’s Republic of China by Ishii Industries, for the proposed purpose of mining underseamineral deposits.”

  Walker addressed the remote-control unit that he held in his hand, and the screen filled with a map of the Ryukyu Islands. He then utilized a pointer to highlight a tiny island in this chain, located approximately halfway between Okinawa and the Japanese island of Kyushu.

  “Both the Bokken and her sister ship, the Katana, whose name refers to yet another type of martial-arts sword, are based here, on Takara Island. This is the home of Ishii Industries.”

  A slide showing an immense bayside industrial complex replaced the map, and Walker continued.

  “Ishii Industries is a private, multibillion yen company specializing in the manufacture of ocean-synthesized pharmaceuticals. Other subsidiaries are supposedly involved in the extraction of various minerals from the seabed, as well as the use of ocean-harvested organisms in the treatment of diseases such as cancer.”

  Next, the screen filled with the photograph of a white-haired Oriental gentleman immaculately attired in a stylish business suit. This elder’s intense green stare and full Fu Manchu mustache gave him a menacing appearance. Walker proceeded to reveal his identity.

  “This is Dr. Yukio Ishii, the firm’s founder and current CEO. Though he is a private man, our file on him is thick. Ishii is the reputed leader of the Black Dragon Society, aright wing organization, whose aim is to restore a strong, militaristic Japan, free from all foreign influence.”

  Yet another slide showed Ishii decked out in a white martial-arts costume, a slender sword held high overhead.

  “Ishii is also a self-avowed samurai and the holder of a fifth dan in kendo,” revealed Walker.

  “He has published several volumes of Zen poetry — and a fascinating history of the Ninja.”

  As the screen filled with an overhead view of Ishii Industries and the adjoining bay. Walker’s tone intensified.

  “Our analysis of the contents of several sealed tanks discovered on the Bokken proved them to contain active anthrax spores. These spores are believed to have originated in a clandestine biological warfare laboratory located somewhere in this complex.

  I have been ordered to destroy this lab at once.

  We’ve already dismissed a surgical airstrike or a cruise-missile attack as being too risky. Hundreds of civilians work at this complex, and we’d like to limit the damage to the BW lab if humanly possible.”

  “Why not utilize a submarine to penetrate the bay, and then land a SEAL team?” suggested Steven Webster.

  Walker slyly grinned, and used the remote control unit to return to the slide of the surfaced submarine.

  “My thoughts exactly. Captain,” concurred Walker.

  “Yet because of the likely presence of hydrophones and CAPTOR mines in those confined waters, what do you think about using the enemy’s very own submarine to accomplish this task? The Bokken’s radio transmitter was completely destroyed when they hit that reef, and as far as Ishii knows, the boat is still operational.”

  “Is the Bokken seaworthy?” Dr. Kromer asked.

  Walker met the toxicologist’s intense glance and confidently replied.

  “Even as we speak, we’ve got her in drydock, pounding out the dents. So far, we’ve found nothing that can’t be repaired in the time allotted.

  Since her hold was filled with enough supplies for a two-week deployment, and contingency plans were found for a strike at our naval installation at Sasebo, I’d say they’re not expected back for agood ten days yet.”

  “May I ask who’s going to drive her?” questioned Webster, ever the skeptic.

  Walker addressed his reply directly to the carrier’s commanding officer.

  “I’ve decided to pull selected crewmembers off the USS Hawkbill. They’ll be asked to volunteer, and then be temporarily placed out of active service.”

  “But they’re nukes,” returned Webster.

  “What do they know about running a diesel-electric submarine sporting technology that was outdated before they were even born?”

  Once again, Henry Walker’s distinguished face was distorted by a sly grin.

  “Good point. Captain. And to get our boys acclimatized, I’ll be calling in some very special naval consultants, who happen to know this particular class of submarine from stem to stern.

  If we�
��re living right, perhaps we can even convince them to go along for the ride.”

  Still not satisfied, Webster probed further.

  “And if they manage to get the sub into that bay in one piece, how are our SEALs ever going to find the right lab? That place looks like amaze

  Before responding to this query, Admiral Walker took along look at the redheaded civilian seated beside the Enterprise’s CO.

  “Dr. Kromer, I was hoping we could tap your unique expertise one more time. Could you find that lab if it indeed exists?”

  The lexicologist answered after only a moment’s hesitation.

  “Such a facility would demand specialized venting equipment and biohazard level-Four work spaces. It shouldn’t be too difficult to locate.”

  “Good,” replied Walker with a furtive wink.

  “Then you won’t mind going along, and showing our boys just where their explosives will do the most damage.”

  Six

  The winds blew in from the Gulf of Mexico in warm, humid gusts. Bill Brown pointed the blunt bow of his twenty-foot sloop to the north, and watched as the mainsail was extended by the stiff breeze. He was reaching, or sailing with the wind abeam, and in response, his Falmouth Cutter plunged through the sparkling blue waters of Sarasota Bay at a crisp fifteen knots.

  Only after he was completely satisfied with the trim of the jib and the staysail did Brown reach out for the thermos and refill his mug with black coffee. He leaned back against the plastic-covered cushions that lined the boat’s square stern, and listened as the spirited sounds of Victory at Sea projected from the cabin.

  Richard Rodger’s superb soundtrack was one of his very favorite recordings, and Brown correctly identified the haunting piece currently playing as “The Song of the High Seas.”

  With this tune as a fitting accompaniment, the sixty-seven-year-old, retired US Navy veteran sipped his piping-hot coffee. Dreamily, he looked to his right, where the Gothic outlines of the Ringling Mansion could be seen on the nearby shore. Built in the 1920’s by John Ringling of circus fame, the mansion was now open to the public. On its spacious, palm tree-lined grounds was an art and circus museum, and an exact replica of England’s Globe Theatre.