“Captain, that action is within six miles, and we’re sailing in broad daylight. Recommend we submerge.”
“We’ll submerge after we spot the Jap fleet,” the captain growled.
“Then what about submarines? We’re not even zigzagging.”
Saunders turned and gave him the stink-eye. “You want to sit this out, Mr. Harrison? Miss the kantai kessen?”
“No, Captain.”
“Then stop suggesting we warm the bench.”
“Aye, aye.”
The captain was right. Getting in this game required risk. A big risk in this case, but for the ultimate reward. If this was the final, decisive battle, every effort helped. If they could knock out an aircraft carrier, it might change the battle’s outcome. If he was alive, Captain Moreau would agree with Saunders.
Saunders had called in every favor and used every bit of leverage to get this posting and have one more time at bat. Repeat the circumstances, and this time do it right. Especially today, especially this battle. He wasn’t sitting this out.
Still, Charlie couldn’t help but wonder about the circumstances Saunders wanted to repeat. A Japanese plane had strafed the Flagfin after the captain had taken a similar shortcut and exposed his boat in daylight.
That was the thing about big risks for big rewards. The risks were, well, big. For every hero who got his rewards, dozens failed and died. The storybooks told you about the knight who slew the dragon but never told the stories of all the dead knights who’d come before.
“Steady as she goes,” Saunders said, which finished the conversation.
Rusty glanced at him with wide eyes. He’d reached a similar conclusion about the captain. Charlie, however, had little fight in him. He gripped the gunwale, seized by a sudden bout of nausea.
“You all right, Charlie?”
He nodded and took a few deep breaths until it passed.
Rusty added, “You might want to sit this out.”
The captain lowered his binoculars and gave him a questioning look. Charlie steeled himself and shook his head. No way was he sitting this out.
“I’m all in,” he said.
“You’ll make a great captain of this boat,” Saunders told him. “Keep yourself together and your head in the game.”
“Bridge, Conn,” Percy said over the bridge speaker. “Sugar Dog has picked up another wave of planes approaching.”
“Thank you, Mr. Percy,” Captain Saunders said. “We’ve got eyes on them.”
Charlie raised his binoculars and spotted the massive wave of fighter planes. More than 100 Zeros and bombers. The Japanese were sending everything they had. Their objective was simple. Suppress the American fighters, sink aircraft carriers and capital ships, and sow confusion.
After that, the Imperial fleet would make its assault and finish it.
“Here come our flyboys,” Rusty said.
The air hummed as the formations collided. Flashes winked across the sky. Planes circled like angry hornets. Others burned in screaming descent. Two planes cracked into each other and locked wings before spiraling into the sea.
Dozens of Japanese planes fell to the sea. It was a massacre.
“You know how you wanted to be there at the end?” Charlie said to Rusty.
His friend turned. “Yeah?”
“This might be it.”
He gasped at fresh stabbing pains behind his eyes. He rubbed them. His upper lip felt wet. He wiped at it. His hand came away streaked with blood.
He wasn’t well. He knew that. But he couldn’t leave his post, not now.
“Plane, near,” one of the lookouts cried. “Bearing two-six-oh, elevation four-triple-oh!”
Charlie squinted at the blue sky laced with contrails. A black dot grew larger by the second, taking the terrifying shape of a plunging fighter plane.
“Captain,” he croaked. “Recommend we dive now!”
“Relax, Number Two.” Saunders studied the aircraft with his binoculars. “It’s one of ours.”
“Does he know we’re one of his?”
“If we dive, we’ll never get another chance!”
Sandtiger flashed recognition signals at the approaching plane. The lookouts waved frantically. The air filled with the high-pitched whine of propellers.
Charlie glared at the captain. He’d bucked the man once before and nearly lost not only his own crack at command, but his career in the submarines.
If he hadn’t, however, the Sandtiger might now be resting on the bottom of the sea, her crew on eternal patrol.
“He’s not breaking off,” Rusty said. “Captain!”
Saunders blinked. “Can’t he see we’re part of the fleet?”
“Captain!”
Charlie bawled, “Dive, dive, dive!”
The diving alarm sounded. The lookouts scrambled down the shears.
Saunders gaped at the Hellcat plunging screaming toward his submarine.
Charlie grabbed his arm and pulled. “Get below, sir! Now!”
The captain dropped into the hatch as the Hellcat’s fifty-caliber machine guns raked the Sandtiger stern to bow. Charlie threw himself to the deck as rounds thudded around him, spraying dust and bits of metal.
The plane’s shadow swept over him.
Rusty reached from the open hatch. “Come on!”
Sandtiger had begun to angle down for her dive, her decks already awash. Rusty had to close the hatch in seconds or risk killing them all.
Charlie lunged into the opening and dropped to the deck in a tumble. Above him, Rusty called out the hatch had been secured.
“Take us deep, emergency!” Captain Saunders shouted.
The crew hunched tense at their stations as the boat clawed for the depths.
“Three compartments reporting leaks, Captain,” Nixon said.
“Go!”
“Aye, aye!”
Charlie tried to stand but fell back again. The conning tower spun in his eyes. Rusty helped him to his feet.
“Captain Saunders,” he seethed.
The captain turned to him with wide eyes. Anger burning in his chest, Charlie started to speak but considered his words. He wanted to tell the captain he was fit to lead men into danger but no longer able to handle a crisis. That he could no longer manage the big risks required for big rewards. That he didn’t care what the captain said about him or did to him; the truth was the truth, and he wasn’t about to see himself or the men on this boat killed for a lie.
Saunders averted his gaze. In every aspect, a defeated man.
Charlie’s anger bled from his chest.
Captain Saunders had wanted to redeem himself by repeating the crisis that had broken him, and this time doing it right. He’d failed.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie said.
“Mr. Harrison, you are—”
The room spun again as Charlie crumpled to the deck. Then blackness.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
A BITTER VICTORY
Nightmares and visions.
Captain Kane said, “Very well!” just before the S-55’s conning tower exploded. The Mizukaze rammed the boat with a shriek of metal. Pierced by bayonets, Reynolds plummeted over the gunwale. The foghorns of giant Japanese warships groaned in a thick mist. Sailors opened fire on Japanese soldiers flailing in the water. Destroyers and a submarine disintegrated in his crosshairs. Screaming Japanese sailors floundered in a burning oil slick.
And he was drowning as the conning tower flooded—
Charlie awoke with an anguished cry. His blurry vision cleared as he gulped ice water from a mug placed against his lips.
Then lay back on his sweat-soaked bunk and groaned. “I’m alive.” He opened his eyes again. “I’m alive, right?”
Rusty wrung a cold, wet cloth and put it on his friend’s forehead. “You think this is Heaven? Yeah, you’re alive. You had me worried all over again.”
“What happened?”
“You caught something on that island. It knocked you flat.”
&nbs
p; “I still feel like shit,” Charlie said. “What did I catch?”
“Some tropical disease. You’re lucky it wasn’t malaria. And lucky for me, it isn’t catching.”
“What about Braddock?”
At that moment, the sailor knocked on the doorframe and entered. “How’s the asshole doing today, Doc?”
“Speak of the devil,” Rusty laughed.
Charlie smirked. “So you came to check on me.”
His face reddening, Braddock thrust his hands in his pockets. “Just seeing what it is … in case I might have caught it…”
“Thank you for your concern,” Charlie said with as much gravity as he could muster. “I’m touched. How’s the arm?”
The big sailor stormed off. “Ah, to hell with you, sir!”
“The little things,” Rusty said, still chuckling.
“Where are we?”
“About 1,500 miles east of Saipan, heading to Pearl. We’ll be back at the base in less than a week. You’ve been knocked out for four days.”
“What’s the boat’s condition?”
“We took a lot of damage from that Hellcat. We never did get into the battle and started home for repairs. The next day, Fifth Fleet counterattacked with aircraft and did some damage. The Japs ran turned tail after that.”
“Some kantai kessen that turned out to be.”
“It sure was!” Rusty exploded. “The brass is bragging their flyboys pretty much wiped out the Jap naval air arm. I wouldn’t believe it if we didn’t see it for ourselves. Plus Albacore and Cavalla sank two carriers!”
“Wow,” Charlie said. “Those lucky dogs. Good for them.”
“Don’t worry, hero. The war isn’t over yet. You’ll get another crack at the Japs.”
“If the captain lets me.”
“I don’t know,” Rusty said. “He’s playing it close to the chest. Quiet as a lamb. Getting shot up by one of our own planes really shook him up.”
“Give me some more of that water, please.”
The intelligence officer filled the mug from a pitcher and handed it to him. Charlie drained it in two gulps.
“Thanks.” He groaned as he made it to his feet. “Now I’d like to get some chow and coffee. Alone, if you don’t mind. I’ve got some thinking to do.”
In the wardroom, Charlie ate everything Waldron brought out for him, replenishing consumed calories. His body trembled with fatigue. He still wasn’t well. He toughed it out and went topside.
The Pacific sprawled to the horizon, calm under balmy skies. The lookouts asked him how he was doing. He answered with a thumbs up. He attached a line to a bucket, tossed it overboard, and hauled it up for a sponge bath.
For four days, he’d been in and out of consciousness and plagued by fever dreams. Pale and thin, he sat dripping on the deck just breathing, happy to know he was still alive and on his way back to Pearl.
Now he had to think.
He’d gone against Captain Saunders’ orders and dived the boat. The captain might appreciate it or want his head. No way of telling with that man. Saunders had failed a deep personal goal. The last time that happened, he’d looked for somebody to blame. Charlie and Rusty had taken the fall.
The fact was the captain had proven himself one of the great submarine aces, but the war had ground him down. He’d wanted to go out with glory, which required one final successful patrol. But he was no longer the man who’d put 39,000 tons of Japanese shipping on the bottom.
And war gave you what it gave you regardless of personal crusades.
Cooper shouldn’t have allowed him to lead men into combat again. And Saunders shouldn’t have asked for it. Charlie couldn’t blame him for wanting it, though. If he were in the captain’s shoes, he might want the same thing.
Regardless, when he saw that plane diving toward the Sandtiger, Charlie had to take action to save the boat. If Saunders wanted to court-martial him, so be it.
He returned to his cabin, put on his rumpled service khakis, and went to the captain’s stateroom.
“Come in, Mr. Harrison,” Saunders said.
Charlie entered the small room and found the captain at his desk. The man had been working on his patrol report. Charlie wondered what Saunders was writing. The backgammon game had been put away.
“Just letting you know I’m recovered and able to return to duty, Captain.”
“Very well.”
“Rusty filled me in on what I missed. It’s too bad we didn’t get our chance.”
“Some regrets can’t be changed,” Saunders said. “We have to find a way to live with them. You would do well to remember that as you collect your own.”
“Sir, about what happened when the plane came—”
“There’s no need to speak of it, Mr. Harrison. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Return to your duty.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Charlie left the room a little shaken. Captain Saunders hadn’t threatened court-martial, but he hadn’t absolved him either.
He couldn’t do anything about it.
Return to your duty, the man had said. Aye, aye.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
FINAL RECKONING
Old Glory waving from the shears, Sandtiger dieseled into the Pearl Harbor channel mouth. Relying on his near-photographic memory, Nixon called out bearings to navigate the channel. Dressed in white hats and dungarees, off-duty crewmen stood in neat rows on the deck. Pirates cleaned up to return to civilization.
Captain Saunders conned the boat to the Submarine Base and warped her alongside one of the piers. The Navy band struck up, “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” A small crowd cheered the submarine’s arrival.
“All stop!” Charlie bawled. “Take in the mooring lines!”
Sailors on the pier hurled heaving lines onto the deck. Line handlers grabbed the ropes and pulled them in to attach them to cleats.
The captain dismissed the ship’s company. The crew tramped down the gangplank to greet family and receive their mail. They accepted fresh Hawaiian fruit and ice cream cones. Charlie caught sight of John Braddock in the mob. The sailor turned and sketched a rough salute before winking and heading off to his liberty.
The gestures promised trouble but also respect.
“I’m off like a taxi dancer’s dress,” Percy said. “See you at the O-Club.”
“Hell of a banjo player,” Rusty said as the officer left grinning at the prospect of weeks of vice ahead of him. “I’ll give him that.”
Charlie nodded, preoccupied at the thought of facing the music. “He’s a good officer. If you can get him on the boat.”
“First round’s on me at the Club. See you there?”
“Yeah, Rusty.”
“However it turns out, the crew knows what you did, and so do I. So will Cooper. He’s smart enough to read between the lines. Worst case, you might land a cushy job in San Francisco. Be near that girl you should be focusing on instead of that sexy nurse.”
Charlie sighed. “Whatever the punch is, I’ll roll with it.”
“This war’s going to be over soon regardless of what happens. The Japs are near to being licked. We’ll be bombing Tokyo soon.”
“Then peace.”
“Then peace,” Rusty echoed. “Are you ready for it?”
Charlie wasn’t sure. His friend’s description of taking a desk job in San Francisco sounded appealing but also made him nervous.
He didn’t want to think about the future. Right now, he needed rest. Each new patrol, it seemed, depleted him more deeply than the last. At the same time, he already missed the sea.
He thought about Jonas Cotten, still fighting on Saipan and searching for his lost comrade. Rusty had contacted the Alamo Scouts and let them know he was still on the island. The Scouts said they’d handle it. They took care of their own.
Charlie hoped Cotten found his man and would allow himself to go home to his family. That he’d learned how to rest without being dead.
> Captain Saunders called to him. “The jeep is here, Mr. Harrison. I’m going to submit my report to the squadron commander. You should come along.”
He’d expected this. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Charlie gave his weep list to Nixon to hand off to the engineering and repair officer. Then he climbed into the jeep next to Saunders. The driver sped off across the jetty and into the base. Drab buildings amid palm groves.
He glanced at the captain’s profile, but the man’s taciturn expression told him nothing. For the past six days, Saunders had performed his duties professionally but otherwise kept to himself. Charlie hadn’t been able to read his intentions. Right now, the captain held Charlie’s life in his hand.
The jeep rolled to a stop at the headquarters building. When they reached Cooper’s office, Saunders said, “Wait here.”
For an hour, Charlie stewed while the captain talked to the squadron commander. He hadn’t thought about smoking since he’d returned to Sandtiger but now wished he had a cigarette.
The captain emerged from Cooper’s office. Charlie rose to his feet.
Saunders extended his hand. “Good luck to you, son.”
Charlie shook it. “Thank you, Captain.”
Cooper called out, “Come on in here, Harrison.”
Charlie entered and stood at attention. “Reporting as ordered, Captain.”
“At ease. Grab a chair.”
“Aye, sir.” Charlie sat and waited, sweat already crawling down his back.
“Mindanao wasn’t enough for you, was that it? You had to take part in a commando operation on Saipan!”
Charlie swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Sometimes, I can’t tell if you’re brave or foolhardy, Harrison. Just like Gil Moreau. Either way, the results speak for themselves. Every action you took on this patrol was above and beyond the call of duty.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Now, he thought, is when the other shoe drops.
“I’ve spoken with Captain Saunders, who told me quite a story. If it didn’t come from his mouth, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
Charlie’s heart sank. “Yes, sir.”
“Needless to say, this was Howard’s last patrol,” the captain squadron commander said. “He deserved his last shot, but he’s a dog that’s been in too many fights. He highly recommended you take command on Sandtiger’s next patrol. I heartily agree. You earned it. Sandtiger is yours.”
Contact!: a novel of the Pacific War Page 15