Battle Stations: a novel of the Pacific War (Crash Dive Book 3)

by Craig DiLouie

  The thrash of propellers.

  The Asashios were coming.

  Sandtiger’s attack on the Fubuki-class destroyer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  RETALIATION

  Rigged for depth charge and silent running.

  Nothing to do but wait for the attack. And survive it.

  The captain dropped into his lawn chair. “I do believe I’ll have my cigar.”

  Moreau produced one of his foul-smelling stogies and lit up, producing a large cloud of smoke. The acrid smell mingled with the diesel stink.

  “Fast light screws, 300 yards and closing,” the soundman reported.

  Percy paled. “Here they come.”

  Officers and crew looked up at the bulkhead. Charlie wiped his sweating hands on his khaki shirt pants and took a firmer grip on his handhold.

  He hated this part. After experiencing his first depth charging the first time back on the 55, he’d wondered how any sane man could stay in the submarines.

  He still wondered that.

  “Fast light screws close aboard,” the soundman cried. “He’s making a run!”

  whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh

  The men gazed dully at nothing, avoiding eye contact with each other. A depth charging was a personal experience in which each confronted his mortality.

  “Splashes!”

  The depth charges tumbled through the water over their heads. Drums packed with 200 pounds of powerful explosive.

  If you heard the detonator click, you knew it was close.

  *click*

  WHAAAMMM, WHAAAMMM, WHAAAMMM

  Charlie held on as the Asashio dropped a string of seven depth charges. Deafening thunder invaded the boat, growing in volume until—

  Water hammer struck Sandtiger like a gong. The boat shook violently at the violent concussions. Corking and paint chips flew off the bulkheads and filled the air with choking dust. A light bulb shattered and sprayed glass across the deck.

  Then it was over. The men gasped and coughed in the aftermath.

  “Is that all you got?” the captain said.

  Charlie and Percy glanced at each other and exchanged taut smiles.

  “The other target is making a run,” the soundman said.

  The thrash of the destroyer’s screws flooded the conning tower.

  whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh

  “Splashes,” the soundman hissed.

  Charlie barely heard him, his ears still ringing from the blasts.

  click-WHAAAMMM

  click-WHAAAMMM

  click-WHAAAMMM

  click-WHAAAMMM

  Thunder rammed the submarine. The hull shuddered. Machines shook on their mountings. The deck lurched under their feet. The men moaned as Sandtiger rolled heavily to port.

  “Helm, left full rudder!” Moreau commanded. “All ahead flank!”

  The helmsman answered. Sandtiger twisted in the murk, keeping her stern to the destroyers. Fleeing as fast as she could.

  The destroyers switched to short-scale pinging, sniffing the deep for their quarry. The eerie echo filled the boat. The destroyers broadcast sonic energy, looking for a reflection from the American submarine’s hull.

  “Control, find me a thermal layer,” the captain growled.

  Somewhere to hide.

  ping … ping … ping

  The telephone talker sat up straight in his chair. “Captain! Control says—”

  A man emerged through the open hatch.

  Lieutenant Tanaka, wearing his IJA uniform.

  Charlie took a step forward and froze. The Japanese officer held Buster’s .45 in a tight grip. He clutched his sheaf of letters from home in the other. He kicked the hatch closed and stood on it.

  Moreau stood. “What the hell you think you’re doing, Mister?”

  ping … ping … ping

  Tanaka’s black eyes flickered across the stunned faces of the men in the conning tower. He licked his dry lips. “You are commander?”

  “If you hurt anybody with that gun, I’ll goddamn hang you!”

  “You are captain?”

  “If you think you can escape, we’re 300 feet underwater.”

  “I do not wish escape.” The man’s eyes were wild. “There is no escape.”

  ping … ping … ping

  “This is dishonorable, Lieutenant,” Charlie said. “You surrendered.”

  “Surrender not allowed.”

  “You don’t want to do this. I know you don’t. I can see it.”

  Tanka said to the captain, “You killed my men.”

  PING-PING

  The .45 roared with a blinding flash. Then again. Blood misted the air as the slugs ripped through the captain’s body.

  Moreau stumbled backward with a pained grunt. “Damn you, boy.” He fell into his lawn chair, eyes glassy. Tendrils of smoke rose from his chest.

  whoosh whoosh whoosh whoosh

  Charlie stepped forward again. Tanaka shifted his aim and stopped him in his tracks.

  “I’m going to help him. Unless you’re planning to kill me too.”

  The Japanese officer’s face had frozen in a rictus of terror and regret. “Gomen'nasai.”

  Splashes.

  Smokey launched himself against the man and body slammed him against the radar console. The radarman fell out of his chair with a cry and scrambled away as the gun cracked again. The loud reports flattened Charlie’s eardrums.

  He ran forward—

  *click*

  WHAAAMMM, WHAAAMMM, WHAAAMMM

  Sandtiger bucked at the shock waves. The jolt hurled Charlie against the plotting table. He rose painfully to take in the scene:

  The quartermaster pinning Tanaka with his knees. Rearing back, he delivered a devastating punch to the man’s face. The lieutenant’s head snapped to the side, blood spraying from his mouth.

  WHAAAMMM

  The boat shook violently then became still. The hatch flipped open. Spike and his sailors poured out and piled onto the prisoner.

  “Secure the weapon!” Charlie said. “Smokey, that’s enough for now. Take the prisoner forward. Tie him up and put a double guard on him. We’ll deal with him later.” He turned to the telephone talker. “Get the pharmacist’s mate up here on the double. Tell him the captain’s been shot.”

  Percy hugged the captain to shield his body from falling dust and glass. Liebold rushed to press his hands against the captain’s wounds. “Tell Doc to hurry his ass! The Old Man’s alive!”

  “Helm, right full rudder!” Charlie ordered.

  The helmsman stared back at him like a deer in headlights. Then he snapped out of it. “Right full rudder, aye!”

  Charlie said to Spike, “Are your guys okay, Chief?”

  “We’re fine, Exec!” Spike hung his head. “I’m sorry, sir. He undogged the door and walked straight to the ladder. We didn’t have time to react.”

  “We’ll deal with that later. Return to stations. Keep an eye on the bathythermograph.”

  “Aye, aye!” Spike disappeared back into the control room.

  “Harrison!” Percy called. “He wants you.”

  Charlie knelt in front of the captain. “Hang in there, sir. You’ll be all right.”

  Moreau winced at the pain. “Boat’s yours, boy.”

  The deck around him glistened with blood, diesel oil, or both. Depth charges exploded far away in the deep, making the boat tremble.

  “I’ll get us out of this, sir.”

  “Swear,” the captain murmured.

  Charlie gripped the man’s hand. “I swear.”

  “No.” Moreau glared at him. “Kill ’em all. Swear it.”

  “I—I swear it, Captain. We’ll kill ’em all.”

  Moreau didn’t hear Charlie’s oath. He was already dead, his face frozen in a final grimace of rage and horror.

  Percy pulled himself away from the captain and openly wept, the front of his uniform stained black with blood. Nixon gaped at the captain, chest heaving. Doc arrived with his medi
cal bag, but there was nothing to be done. Charlie looked up at the bulkhead, holding his breath.

  The pinging had stopped.

  “Fast screws on bearing oh-one-five,” the soundman said. “They’re moving away from us.”

  They destroyers had lost track of their prey.

  “We’re in a cold layer, Exec!” Spike yelled from the control room.

  “Very well, Chief.”

  “Screws fading to the north,” the soundman confirmed.

  “Maintain this heading,” Charlie said. “Reduce speed to one-third. Secure from depth charge. Secure from silent running. It’s over.”

  Down in the control room, the bathythermograph had begun scratching a downward line. By a stroke of fortune, Sandtiger’s right turn had moved her into a colder layer of water, confusing the enemy sonar.

  Sometimes, you got lucky.

  Charlie reached and closed the captain’s eyelids. “Rest now, sir.”

  Other times, you didn’t.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  HEALING WOUNDS

  Charlie learned most of what he knew about submarine tactics from Captain Gilbert Moreau. What to do. What could be tried.

  And, just as important, what not to do. What lines should not be crossed.

  He didn’t love the commander, but he’d respected him. Charlie would miss his steady presence in the conning tower. His leadership in combat. The entire Navy would suffer the tragedy of his death.

  Sandtiger felt his loss immediately.

  In the wardroom, Charlie regarded his shocked officers. “I’ve taken command. Our next task is to get out of the trap.”

  Percy wiped his eyes. “I can’t believe it. The Old Man’s gone.”

  The crew needed Moreau’s command skills to get them out of the Sea of Japan alive, and he was dead.

  The depth charging had given Tanaka his opportunity. While the blasts rattled the boat, he’d snapped Ando Eiji’s neck. When Buster came to investigate, the lieutenant jumped and disarmed him.

  Charlie marveled at the will that it had taken to murder his countryman.

  Armed with the .45, Tanaka forced the torpedomen to tie each other up. From there, a short walk through the officers’ quarters to the control room. He undogged the door and asked where the captain was. Nobody told him, but their eyes flickered to the ladder leading up to the conning tower.

  “We’ll mourn the captain,” Charlie said. “He deserves it. But first, we have to look to ourselves.”

  Percy lit a cigarette with trembling fingers. “I want justice. Why is that Jap son of a bitch still alive?”

  “The articles of war. He’ll have his trial. You’ll be his judges.”

  Liebold grit his teeth. “We know he’s guilty. I say shoot the bastard out the bow tubes now and be done with it.”

  “We’ll follow the articles of war. The trial has to wait, though. Our immediate concern is how to getting of the Sea of Japan alive.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “We’ll stay hidden here until we complete repairs. The boat took a severe beating. Nixon?”

  The engineering officer counted off the systems damaged during the depth charging. The stern firing control and tubes. The radio. The air conditioning. And the hull itself. Sandtiger ran about three tons heavy, waterlogged from multiple leaks and the water she’d absorbed by firing torpedoes. Ten inches of brackish water covered the main deck.

  To make things worse, Tanaka’s stray rounds had punched two holes in the TDC. The radar and sonar techs were pulling it apart, but Liebold didn’t hold much hope for its repair.

  “We can live without everything but a leaking boat,” Charlie said. “Nixon, can you and your A-gangers repair the leaks by sunset?”

  “Maybe,” the engineering officer said. He caught Charlie’s stern expression. “Probably. Yes. We’ll do it.”

  “Dartfish will attack the Matsuwa airfield tonight at 0100,” Charlie said. “It’s our best shot at getting out. We have to be ready to cross the strait by then.”

  Liebold ran his hand through his greasy hair. “What if it’s guarded?”

  “Then we’ll have to fight our way out.”

  Liebold sagged. “Without the TDC.”

  “If you can’t repair it, we’ll have to do it old school,” Charlie told him.

  The torpedo data computer had given America an edge in submarine warfare. The 1,500-ton machine automatically tracked targets and produced firing angles for torpedoes using trigonometry. The boat’s radar, active sonar, torpedo rooms, bridge TBTs, and gyrocompass all linked to it.

  The “old school” method, which submariners used in WWI, relied on two circular slide-rule instruments called the IsWas and Banjo. The IsWas helped determine the best course to gain a good firing position against a moving target, based on where it is and was. The Banjo was a basic angle solver for generating firing solutions. Slow and inaccurate, but it was something.

  “Fighting destroyers with a Banjo,” Liebold said. “Just great.”

  “Do or die, Jack.”

  Moreau had attacked a destroyer and sunk him. He might have bagged the two Asashios as well if they’d shown up just minutes later than they did. The captain proved it could be done.

  “I can repair the boat,” Nixon said. “I can’t guarantee she can take another beating like she got, though.”

  “One thing at a time. Let’s focus on the repairs first. Get those leaks sealed tight and the boat pumped out. Jack, see what you can do with the TDC. Percy, same with the radio. Before that, splice the mainbrace. I think we need it.”

  A slight smile flickered across the communication officer’s face. “Aye, aye.”

  “Now let’s get to work.”

  The captain had taught Charlie that with enough daring, even the biggest gambles might pay off.

  Though he was dead, Moreau might get them home yet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  HONOR BOUND

  Lieutenant Tanaka sat slumped on the deck in nearly a foot of filthy seawater.

  Charlie acknowledged the watch with a nod and crouched in front of his prisoner. “How are you, Lieutenant?”

  “I am alive,” the man said. “Why am I still alive?”

  Strong rope pinned his hands behind his back. His uniform torn, his cap gone. Bruises discolored his face. Dried blood crusted the sides of his mouth. One of his eyes had swollen almost shut.

  “You murdered two men,” Charlie said. “You will be tried under the articles of war.”

  “Ah. With proper form. It is good.”

  “The tribunal will find you guilty. The penalty is death.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then how is it good from where you sit?”

  “Trial shows respect. Not shoot me like a dog. We will do same for you. When you are captured and held accountable for war crimes.”

  “You want to die? Is that what you were trying to accomplish?”

  Tanaka turned away. “Dead already.”

  Disgraced by surrender, he believed he could never go home. As far as his country and family were concerned, he’d died in the water with his platoon.

  A living ghost.

  The lieutenant’s head lolled as his consciousness slipped away.

  Charlie grabbed a handful of his black hair. “We’re not done. Wake up. My turn to ask you why.”

  “More interrogation,” Tanaka murmured.

  Charlie splashed water in his face. “Listen to me. Why did you kill them?”

  The lieutenant’s good eye glared at him. “I heard explosions. Thought boat being destroyed by our Navy. Had to act before I died. Killed Ando so I could take weapon from guard. Saved bullets for captain. He killed my men in water. And you. You took me from sea and brought shame on me.”

  “Ando was your countryman.”

  “He was nothing. He was traitor.”

  Putting on a brave face, though it was clear the act had sickened him. Clear he was terrified to die.

  Charlie ha
d taken a strange liking to the lieutenant during their conversations. In his mind, he’d built up the Japanese as arch villains with superhuman capabilities. He and Tanaka had a lot in common. The lieutenant was just a typical young man doing his duty to his country, right or wrong.

  In the end, however, whatever mutual understanding they’d achieved meant nothing. They remained trapped in the parts they played in this war. They never stopped being enemies.

  “Can I make request?” Tanaka asked. “My letters …”

  “Lost,” Charlie said.

  “Ah. Then I will die alone.”

  Charlie wanted to understand. “I thought you hated all this. You were happy to be done fighting.”

  “Hate this war. Yes. I did not want to kill anymore. I do not want to die. But I am soldier. Swore oath to Emperor. Surrender not allowed. No choice in matter. You will never understand.”

  “I suppose I won’t.”

  “Just as I had to try to kill you, though I did not hate you.”

  Charlie stood, disgusted at the waste. “I didn’t hate you either, Lieutenant. But soon, I will watch you die for what you’ve done.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  FORTUNES OF WAR

  Exhausted by nearly constant combat. Depressed by their captain’s murder. Sweltering as the temperature climbed steadily to ninety degrees. The crew moved sluggishly through the funeral atmosphere infecting Sandtiger.

  Charlie worked among them, exhorting, applauding, demanding. If they wanted to survive the next twenty-four hours, they needed to push harder. If they hoped ever to see home and loved ones again, they needed to give their all.

  Nixon mounted to the conning tower covered in grease, followed by Percy. “Repairs completed on the leaks, Exec.”

  “Well done, Nixon,” Charlie said coolly, trying not to show his immense relief. He checked the clock with its shattered glass face. “Sunset in thirty minutes.”

  Once they reached the surface, they could pump their bilges.

  “We found our problem,” Liebold said from the plotting table, where he and the radar techs had laid out the TDC’s metal components. He held up a battered part. “The resolver is damaged. And two differentials.”