Code Name: Infamy (Aviator Book 4)

by Shanle, Leland

  Kid’s eyes opened wide. “How long, sir?”

  “It’s going to take weeks. Plenty of time for you to get some rest.”

  22:00 Local, 1 August, 1945 (13:00 GMT, 1AUG)

  Tokyo Bay

  I-403 slipped under the dark water of Tokyo Bay, stabilizing at snorkel depth as the crew lit off her diesels and revved them to full speed. In the navigation quarters, Atsugi, Wolf, and the ship’s captain were being briefed by the navigator.

  “Five days until the Aleutian Islands, Captain-san.”

  Atsugi nodded and dismissively waved him away. Nervously the navigator looked to his captain, who subtly nodded. The navigator bowed deeply and backed out of the room. Inside Captain Tsukuba’s safe were handwritten orders from Admiral Hiroshi, giving Atsugi de facto command of the ship.

  Atsugi had changed, hardened. He was no longer a naval officer doing his duty. He was a man hell bent on revenge.

  07:52 Local, 5 August, 1945 (22:52 GMT, 4AUG)

  Naha Air Field, Okinawa

  A sudden flame lit up the inside of the dark tent as Spike touched his Zippo to the communiqué. Made of flash paper, it consumed itself before hitting the sandy floor, leaving only a chemical smell hanging in the air as proof it had ever existed.

  “Letter from home?” asked a sarcastic Irish with a wink to Hass-man.

  “Something like that.” Spike smiled and then nodded at the tent opening. “Let’s go for a walk, boys.”

  In silence, they walked through the tent city and then down a narrow path to the ocean. Waves crashed against the volcanic rock as the tide rushed in. Spike squatted near the surf’s edge and spoke softly. “Little Boy drops tomorrow on Hiroshima.”

  “Why Hiroshima?” asked Irish.

  “It has been untouched by the war.”

  Irish raised an eyebrow.

  Spike shrugged. “They want to show the full effect of the weapon.”

  “So we go tomorrow?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t think the Japanese will surrender. One destroyed city is a rumor, an embellishment. Two is reality.”

  Hass-man looked up. “Two?”

  Spike nodded. “We launch after the second drop.”

  Hass-man looked out over the ocean and then turned back to Spike. “What if they don’t surrender? Even after two?”

  “We’re screwed.”

  “Good to know you’ve got a positive outlook,” Irish said.

  “Come on, it’ll be fun!” Spike stood and slapped him on the back. Hass-man shook his head.

  “You’ve got a warped sense of fun, Spike.”

  “Remember enjoying wine from my vineyard on my veranda with my new wife?” Irish asked.

  “I do, indeed,” Spike said.

  “Now that was fun. I’d like to do some more of that.”

  “As your best man,” Spike said with a smile, “I’m planning on spending some time on that veranda myself.”

  CHAPTER 23

  14:12 Local, 6 August, 1945 (05:12 GMT, 6AUG)

  Prime Ministry, Japan

  Still in disbelief, Prime Minister Suzuki went through the stack of black and white photos for the second time. He set them down on the desk and waved his aide to the door of his office.

  “Let him in.”

  Admiral Hiroshi bowed as he entered. Suzuki pointed him to a chair, handed him the photographs, and waited as Hiroshi paged through them. If he was shocked by the level of destruction, he did not show it.

  “Hiroshima is gone, Admiral.”

  “I can see that, Prime Minister. Infamy has launched. New York will be next.”

  “The whispers of unconditional surrender have turned into a chorus.”

  “Sir, they are in the Aleutians and will soon be in range. You must buy us more time.”

  “I will try, Admiral, but I can guarantee nothing. This war was a mistake from the beginning and is now on our shores. Our cities lay in ruins. Our people incinerated by the hundreds of thousands. Surrender may be the only answer.”

  “Three weeks. It’s all I ask.”

  13:09 Local, 9 August, 1945 (04:09 GMT, 9AUG)

  Naha Air Field, Okinawa

  Irish entered the stifling tent and waited for his eyes to adjust. Once he could recognize Spike, he nodded to the door. Both men walked out without saying a word.

  “I heard there was another big boom over Japan. We go tonight?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “A little birdie told me. Tonight?”

  Spike shook his head no. His brow was creased with worry.

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t say, Irish. When it’s time, I’ll let you know.”

  Irish watched him walk toward the beach. He sensed—he knew—something was terribly wrong. He caught up to Spike near the surf.

  “Talk to me, Spike, what’s going on?”

  Spike looked out over the ocean and then glanced around them to ensure no one was within earshot. “I had an asset, a very well-placed human asset.” He looked back over the water. “He has gone silent.”

  18:21 Local, 8 August, 1945I-403, (04:21 GMT, 9AUG)

  Bering Strait

  Inside the crowded navigation room, Atsugi unsealed a tube containing the charts for the rest of the route. He unrolled them on the chart table and weighted the corners with plotters and erasers. The navigator’s eyes involuntarily widened when he saw the entire route on the small-scale map. He glanced over to I-403’s commanding officer. Captain Tsukuba’s mouth was set in a grim line, a single vein throbbing at his temple.

  “No one has ever transited the Northern Passage, Atsugi; are we to risk this mission by being explorers?”

  “It is not of your concern,” barked Wolf.

  “It is my concern if I’m to reach a target … a target which I do not even know—”

  “The Northwest Passage was successfully navigated in 1937 by the Hudson Bay Company,” Atsugi said.

  “And the ice, Lieutenant Commander Atsugi?”

  “At times, no doubt, we will have to submerge. However, the majority, perhaps the entire route, will be navigable on the surface.”

  Wolf could stand no more and spoke coldly. “Lieutenant Commander Atsugi, a word in private?”

  Atsugi nodded to Tsukuba and the captain, and the navigator left the space, sealing a hatch behind them.

  “Atsugi, security must be maintained—”

  “Do not presume to lecture me on an Imperial warship, General. This is a vessel of Japan.”

  “And this is my project, my weapons—”

  “I thought they were Germany’s and the Third Reich’s? Do not let your ego interfere with our mission.” He emphasized the word “our” and followed Tsukuba out, leaving Wolf alone in the chart room.

  16:33 Local, 14 August, 1945 (07:33 GMT, 14AUG)

  Imperial Palace, Japan

  Lieutenant Masahiro Hiroshi, aide and nephew of Admiral Hiroshi, slipped quietly into the office of the Imperial Guard. His written orders from Prime Minister Suzuki opened all doors and gates to him. His accomplice, a young army captain, slipped him two recordings. He put the records into his briefcase and pulled out identical-looking replacements.

  “Put these in their place.”

  “What is on them?”

  “A call to arms.” Looking around cautiously, the captain spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “The emperor will be at the summer palace, hiding from the shame. I fear his circle of cowards will just have him record another—”

  “When have they scheduled the release?”

  “Tomorrow evening.”

  “Admiral Hiroshi will take care of the cowards as our recording plays.”

  Bowing uneasily the captain looked around again as Hiroshi started for the door.

  18:45 Local, 14 August, 1945 (09:45 GMT, 14AUG)

  Prime Ministry, Japan

  Prime Minister Suzuki paced the floor of his office as Admiral Hiroshi sat quie
tly waiting for an answer. Suzuki had grown very uncomfortable with the conspiracy. In the privacy of his own head, he still raged at the warmongers. He had always told them it would come to this but had been dismissed as old and weak. At many junctures, he had advised suing for peace. But now … now, there were so many more complications.

  “No harm can come to the emperor!”

  “I have no intention of harming him. I need him. I will control him just as the War Counsel does now.”

  “They will fight you.”

  “And we will fight them!” Hiroshi snapped. “They will be labeled traitors, and these will be exhibit A.” He pulled the recordings of the emperor’s surrender speech from his briefcase and waved them in front of the prime minister. Suzuki looked down, deep in thought. For minutes, he said nothing. Finally he looked up and held Hiroshi’s gaze. He spoke slowly.

  “Still we do not have time—”

  “The Americans are out of weapons.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “These weapons are very technologically intensive. If they had more they would have hit military targets. Hiroshima and Nagasaki were destroyed to scare the weak into capitulation.”

  “Are our weapons as powerful?”

  “Theoretically, they are more powerful.”

  Suzuki’s face flushed beet red with fury. “Theoretically? Are you telling me they have not been tested?”

  Hiroshi cleared his throat and continued, mustering all the confidence he could. “In the lab, yes. The final yield experiment will take place over New York City.”

  “And if it fails?”

  “It won’t. Prime Minister, this is our last opportunity to save Japan as we know it. Without this weapon, we face total defeat.”

  Prime Minister Kantaro Suzuki turned and looked out the window. On the horizon, the sun set over Japan as it always had and always would. But what kind of Japan? What would it look like? Who would rule it? He squared his shoulders and turned. He had made the most important decision of his long life.

  “Leave me a recording. I, too, shall have evidence of betrayal. We wouldn’t want you to be the only divine hero of Japan, would we?”

  18:55 Local, 15 August, 1945 (09:55 GMT, 15AUG)

  Naha Air Field, Okinawa

  A red sun hung low over the island of Okinawa. Major Mark Hass watched from the cockpit of his P-61 Black Widow as it set, announcing the fate of Imperial Japan just as surely as if he’d heard it from the emperor’s own lips. But the emperor hadn’t surrendered yet, and as Spike’s metallic voice came over the intercom, Hass-man wondered if he’d see the sun rise tomorrow.

  “Okay, boys. It’s time. Let’s roll.” Hass-man hesitated and then keyed the ICS in response.

  “You sure this is going to work?”

  “Not at all,” quipped Spike.

  “Damn it, Spike!” Irish shouted from the gunner’s seat.

  “Okay, okay. Listen up, lads. We have a very large ace in the hole. We’ve got someone on the inside. That’s all I can say.”

  At that, Hass-man pushed the throttles up on the big engines and launched into the sun. Silhouetted by the red orb, he turned north to the darkening sky, trying to clear his dry throat.

  CHAPTER 24

  19:12 Local, 15 August, 1945 (10:12 GMT, 15AUG)

  Summer Palace, Japan

  Lieutenant Masahiro Hiroshi’s company of elite warriors seemed to vaporize in the hail of gunfire as they approached the gates of the Imperial Palace. He had not even had a chance to present the orders from the prime minister, claiming to be reinforcements for the Emperor’s Guard. The men who survived the first round of gunfire had fought ferociously, but they were heavily outnumbered and were pushed back into the edge of a wood. Masahiro could see the Imperial Guard flanking his unit. It would be over soon.

  He looked down at his blood-soaked uniform and then ordered his sergeant to fight to the death so that he could go back and warn the admiral. Slipping into the dark woods, he did not look back. He knew his orders would be followed. His mission had failed. He had not gotten close to penetrating the palace. Now he must warn his uncle.

  Pressing a fist into the wound in his abdomen, Masahiro stumbled through the darkness. Branches tore at his face, but he did not try to protect himself. Seeing light ahead, he made his way toward it. Emerging from the forest, he quickly scanned for telephone lines. There was a single line leading to a small building. He kicked in the flimsy door, startling awake an old man in a police uniform.

  “Where is the telephone?” he demanded weakly. Surprised at seeing an Imperial Navy officer bleeding in his office, the old man did not speak but merely pointed to the telephone sitting on the desk. Masahiro ordered the operator to put his call through to Naval Headquarters with the highest priority. He slumped into a chair and waited. Finally he heard his uncle’s voice.

  “We were betrayed. I have failed you.” There was a long pause on the line.

  “This is not the time for seppuku, nephew.”

  “I shall not need a sword, uncle.”

  Admiral Hiroshi heard the weakness of his nephew’s voice over the hissing line and understood. “You have honored yourself and our family.”

  Hiroshi heard the receiver of the phone hit the floor. Sadness washed over him, not for his plan, but for his nephew. He hung up the receiver slowly. Calmly he walked over to his radio, switching it on as he checked his watch. It was precisely 21:00. He squeezed his eyes shut and hung his head in shame as he listened to the emperor surrender. When he opened his eyes, they were filled with fury.

  21:01 Local, 15 August, 1945 (12:01 GMT, 15AUG)

  Pacific Ocean

  In the cover of darkness, the Black Widow slipped low across the Pacific Ocean. Hass-man’s face was lit a soft red hue from the instrument panel as he precisely manipulated the flight controls. He leaned his face into the oxygen mask dangling from his leather flight helmet so its microphone could pick up his voice. “Spike, I know you like messing with Irish’s mind, not that it takes much.”

  “Easy boy!’ Irish called from the rear seat.

  “But please tell me there is more to this plan.”

  Spike laughed out loud into the ICS. “Yes, there is a tad more to it. Select the AM frequency, gents.”

  Each man toggled their radio panel so they could receive the AM radio band in their headsets. A soft Japanese voice carried out to them over the sea.

  “Gentlemen, you are hearing the unconditional surrender of Japan. That voice is the emperor.”

  “Oh, Spike? Irish here in the back. Do you speak Japanese?”

  “Fluently?”

  “Yes. With my butt at risk, I’d prefer fluently.”

  “Nope.”

  “Spike!”

  17:31 Local, 15 August, 1945 (12:31 GMT, 15AUG)

  USS Suwannee, Mediterranean Sea

  Ready six was packed with aviators watching an actual new release movie from Hollywood. Suwannee’s skipper had traded ice cream to a destroyer’s commanding officer for it, his crew had picked it up in Australia. Suddenly there was a loud banging on the door, startling all hands. It swung open, and the ship’s XO, escorted by two large marines carrying a red cruise box, marched in. Stutz called attention on deck as the squadron duty officer fought to turn the movie off. Kid reached over and selected the switch to off and whispered into the ensign’s ear to turn on the lights.

  “Gentlemen,” the XO’s voice boomed out, “compliments of the Skipper.” He nodded to the cruise box, and the marines set it on the deck and then opened it ceremoniously. They pulled out a case of rum and set it on the deck. Every aviator in the room watched, attention riveted on the XO.

  “The commanding officer of USS Suwannee orders that no one fall overboard. The rum is yours, gentlemen. As of thirty minutes ago, Imperial Japan surrendered unconditionally.”

  Erupting into a cheer that could be heard bow to stern, the aviators tore into the rum. Kid and Stutz stared at each other, both men stunned into silence.
Three years they had flown together, fought together, lived together as brothers in arms and friends—a short period in their lives, an eternity in experience. Kid reached into the case and pulled out a bottle. He opened it, took a long pull and handed it to Stutz, who took a drink and tipped the bottle toward Kid in salute.

  “Congratulations. We survived.”

  22:00 Local, 15 August, 1945 (13:00 GMT, 15AUG)

  Pacific Ocean

  After listening to the speech, Spike had Stoney open the sealed envelope that contained a route and precise time line to fly. Destination: Yokosuka Naval District, Tokyo, Japan. Hass-man flew up the mouth of Tokyo Bay and turned toward Yokosuka. Stoney had the radar tilted down so the green outline of the shore was very apparent on the screen. At 24:00, Stoney tuned a frequency from the navigation kit Spike had provided. The ADF needle swung to the nose of the aircraft, pointing the way to the air field at Yokosuka.

  “There should be an airfield on the nose, Boss. We are five minutes out.” Runway lights suddenly came on in the distance, and Hass-man dropped the landing gear and flaps, slowing to approach speed. “Stay on course; there are a lot of hills.”

  “Roger that, Stoney. Man, this is creepy.” Dreading it, Hass-man landed on an enemy airfield in the enemy’s capital. Turning off the runway, he taxied very slowly toward a lit ramp. Bringing the Black Widow to a stop, he couldn’t bring himself to shut her down. The R-2800-65 engines churned at idle in an otherwise silent night. No bombers flew overhead, no triple-A spit in defiance, no sirens wailed. The engines coughed and then went silent.