Code Name: Infamy (Aviator Book 4)

by Shanle, Leland

  No depth charges came, though, and soon the pounding began to recede. Eyes moved from the overhead to Tsukuba who was leaning against the chart table, arms crossed. He appeared to be bored. Without moving, he whispered his orders.

  “OOD ease us off the bottom and make turns for six knots. Navigator set a course of one six zero for the Hudson Strait. Engineer report.”

  “Sir, all systems are fully up and running. Repairs to batteries are complete.”

  Tsukuba nodded once in response and then leaned over the chart on the table as sonarmen plotted the threat. He studied the tactical situation and then whispered to his sonar team.

  “You are sure there are three abreast in a line?”

  All three men nodded in unison. The lead petty officer spoke quietly. “They make no attempt to hide, Captain-San. There have been no transient noises associated with a ship’s propulsion either before or after the enemy passed.”

  Tsukuba accepted the report and then turned to a Yeoman and ordered his dinner be delivered to the bridge.

  14:42 Local, 19 August, 1945 (00:42 GMT, 20AUG)

  Naval Air Station Adak, Alaska

  SITREPs had continuously been reported to no avail. At time 00:30 GMT, Spike ordered the bombers to put a grid of bombs on the decreasing area in front of the Corvettes. Irish had a phone in the crook of his neck waiting for a BDA report. His forehead involuntarily receded in surprise.

  “Nothing; no sign of him. That was a maximum effort, Spike. All of the bombers. We should have drawn blood.”

  Spike turned to the chief. “Talk to me, chief. You got a feel for this guy, what’s he up to?”

  Chief Stenstrum studied the tactical plot and slowly spoke with apprehension that turned to certainty by sentence end. “He has … ah … I think … No … I know! He hid and let them go by! He’s running for the Hudson Straight.”

  Avery protested immediately. “We put active sonar all over the area. That’s a 400-foot vessel! He can’t hide—”

  “Yes, sir, he could slip up one of these rivers or in one of these small bays.” Stenstrum pointed to the rugged west coast of the Foxe Basin.

  “He would risk being seen from the land—” Avery said.

  “I’ve been up there, Lieutenant, as a kid, fishing with my grandpa. There is nothing and nobody up there.”

  Spike stalked to the plot and slammed a fist on it. “Damn it, he slipped past us. Turn the Corvettes around!”

  CHAPTER 30

  19:42 Local, 19 August, 1945 (00:42 GMT, 20AUG)

  I-403, Foxe Basin

  Tsukuba set an empty bowl that had contained rice and cabbage onto the plot. It was the only food left in the ship’s stores, and he did not relish that it would likely be the last food he ate on this earth. A thought he kept to himself. He glanced over to Atsugi, who had also eaten on the ship’s bridge, and then called for his chief sonarman.

  “Captain-San, the depth bombing to the north has stopped.”

  “Can you chart a location?”

  “Yes, sir, a grid from Perry Bay to South Spicer Island, up to North Spicer.”

  “And the vessels that hunt us?”

  “By their sonar signature, I believe them to be Flower Class Corvettes—”

  “I am not interested in what you believe, only what you know.”

  Bowing deeply in disgrace, the chief sonarman then stood at attention and returned his commanding officer’s penetrating gaze. “They are Flower Class Corvettes: 925 tons, single screw, capable of a top speed of sixteen knots.”

  “Sensors?”

  “One SW1C or 2C radar and type 127DV sonar.”

  “Armament?”

  “The Flower Class Corvette has one Mark IX four-inch naval gun, two Mark II depth charge throwers with two rails and forty depth charges, as well as an assortment of machine guns. One more thing, Captain-San, the Corvettes have turned around.”

  “Very well, chief, continue to track them.”

  “Officer of the Deck, take us to periscope depth.”

  Tsukuba waited patiently for the ship to stabilize at periscope depth. “Deploy the radar detector. Periscope up.” He held onto the handles as the submarine began to heave and scanned the horizon quickly. Under the overcast it was becoming quite dark, and a heavy rain was falling.

  “Report.”

  “Captain-San, there are no radars detected.”

  “Very well, snorkel up, shift ship’s power to the diesels. All ahead full.”

  20:57 Local, 19 August, 1945 (06:57 GMT, 20AUG)

  Naval Air Station Adak, Alaska

  Desperation crept further into the room with each passing hour. Uneaten sandwiches on white Navy porcelain sat on the chart table. Only the coffee had been disturbed. Spike looked at the plot under the china. Jeff had just updated it, placing an arc of I-403’s possible position from fifty miles northwest of Foxe Peninsula to twenty miles off of Cape Comfort.

  Irish asked from his corner: “Spike, he will be in the Foxe Channel in two and a half hours. Do you want a grid on it? We have all air assets overhead.”

  Spike turned to Avery. He shook his head. “If we put depth bombs in the channel, it will make our Corvettes covering the Hudson deaf. He could slip through and be in a position to launch within a day and a half.”

  “We could catch him,” Irish stated. Again Avery shook it off.

  “Those Corvettes are the same speed as I-403 …”

  “Then we will bomb it—”

  “We’ve dropped bombs all over Foxe Basin, and it hasn’t worked yet, Colonel!”

  Tempers were flaring. Spike could see his men’s nerves fraying at the edges. He had to calm everyone down.

  “Stand down, gents. All of you. Everyone eat something. That’s an order.”

  02:00 Local, 20 August, 1945 (07:00 GMT, 20AUG)

  I-403, Foxe Channel

  I-403 was pounded by rough seas as it steamed ahead at full speed. Fumes from the diesel engines filled the submarine, worse than normal due to the snorkel being covered periodically by the waves. Tsukuba held onto the night periscope and scanned the horizon every ten minutes. His radar technician had reported multiple airborne radars but noted none were running an intercept course. All were orbiting, and he knew their surface search capability would be degraded to the point of uselessness in the rough seas. Even in ideal conditions, being able to break out his snorkel and periscope would be unlikely. With the floating ice, impossible.

  Seeing his chief sonarman enter the bridge, Tsukuba turned over the watch to his OOD and moved carefully, holding on to a rail, over to the tactical plot. “Report, chief.”

  “Captain-San, we have detected active sonar to the south. Two separate systems bearing 192 degrees and 176 degrees.”

  Tsukuba drew a course line from their present position and then nodded to himself in cognition. Wolf and Atsugi looked on. Both men were showing signs of concern that their mission was in jeopardy of failure. Everything they had worked for gone, and, more importantly to each, their personal revenge would also be gone. Tsukuba looked upon both men with disinterest and spoke more to his crew than to them.

  “They cover the entrance to the Hudson Bay. They are no threat to us.”

  “Surely they will sortie and crush us in a vice between themselves and the northern force,” Wolf spat out.

  “We have slipped past them once. They will hold station—”

  “How can you be so sure, Captain?” Wolf pressed.

  “Because they know if we enter the Hudson Bay, we can launch within thirty-six hours. And because that is exactly what I would do.”

  “Perhaps they are not as astute as you?”

  “I would remind you, General, they have defeated both our countries. I should also think it obvious this is a coordinated operation.” Both men stared at each other with contempt. They shared the same mission, but that is where their collective loyalty ended.

  “Navigator,” Tsukuba said, “set course for Charles Island in the Hudson Straight, pass closel
y to the Foxe Peninsula to the north, and give the enemy a wide berth.”

  08:05 Local, 20 August, 1945 (17:05 GMT, 20 AUG)

  Naval Air Station Adak, Alaska

  Spike poured through dispatches from every source he could tap. SITREPs continued to come in with the same content: nothing. Only the location of the assets changed. He had watched the Corvettes’ methodical movement on the chart through the night. They now approached the narrowest point of the strait, east of Salisbury Island. Two hours prior, Spike had moved the B-29s over the Hudson Straight. The first wave of aviation assets from the south had arrived—Navy PB4Y-2 Privateers. Converted B-24 Liberators, they were modified to find and sink submarines. Because they were fast and had exceptional range, they had made it to the fight. Already loaded, they joined the B-29s over the Hudson Straight. All of his aviation assets were low on fuel as the PB4Ys had flown directly to the fight and his B-29s had been on station all night. To conserve fuel they had shut down two engines on each aircraft.

  “Alright, Irish, what’s the plan?”

  “We are going to rain hell on that Jap sub in one hour. We’ve established a grid centered on Big Island at the narrowest point of the Strait. When 403’s plot is centered in the grid we will drop. He cannot escape.”

  Spike looked at Stenstrum. He could tell the man was not convinced.

  “Lieutenant Avery?”

  “Sir, we are slowing the Corvettes to seal the western end of the Hudson Strait. There is only one way out now and the Bullhead is lying in wait. I will sortie the two covering Hudson Bay as a follow-up—”

  “I wouldn’t do that, sir.” Avery glared at his chief.

  Spike spoke, heading off the confrontation. “Why?”

  “Major, we haven’t even drawn blood yet. This guy is a four-hundred-foot ghost. We are reacting to him. In fact, we are reacting to where we think he might be. He is more wily than we are giving him credit for.”

  “What makes you say that?” demanded Avery.

  “Simple. He is still alive, and we have no idea where he actually is.”

  Spike stared at Chief Stenstrum for a long count. He met his stare and held it with conviction.

  “Leave the Corvettes to cover the Bay,” Spike said finally. “Irish, get on with it.”

  CHAPTER 31

  13:07 Local, 20 August, 1945 (18:07 GMT, 20AUG)

  I-403, Hudson Strait

  I-403 set down gently on a submerged ledge just east of Charles Island in the Hudson Strait. The ship listed to port as it came to rest. Wolf and Atsugi came through the hatch to the bridge together. Tsukuba looked at the two with annoyance.

  “Why are we stopping? The Labrador Sea, and safety, is less than half a day’s cruise!” Wolf demanded.

  “Two reasons: our batteries are depleted and—”

  Before he could finish his sentence a cacophony of violence and sound erupted through the hull. A drum corps was pounding out a rhythm from hundreds of drums at distances both near and far. Forty-two bombers dropped depth bombs into the strait just to the east of Charles Island. Tsukuba had slowed to half speed hours prior but had his navigator continue a plot as if still at full speed. That plot was abeam Big Island, the narrowest part of the strait. The Americans assumed he was there.

  For twenty-two minutes Tsukuba leaned against the railing around the tactical plot, arms crossed with an amused look on his face as the drums rolled. Terrified darting eyes looked to the booms and back to him, as if he could make them stop, and then, suddenly, they did. Uncrossing his arms, Tsukuba leaned onto the tactical plot and casually commented: “And that was the other reason.”

  08:49 Local, 20 August, 1945 (18:49 GMT, 20AUG)

  Naval Air Station Adak, Alaska

  The phone to his ear, Irish went rigid as he listened. Slowly he set it down and then took a small towel and wiped the sweat off of his face. He didn’t need to say a word when he looked up to the eager faces that were all trained on him. He just shook his head. Everyone looked down in silence except Spike.

  “Gentlemen, we cannot fail! Is that clear?”

  Silence filled the room. Then Jonesy’s soft voice could be heard from the doorway. “My family is in New York.”

  Spike threw a file to the floor and stalked to the tactical plot. He took it all in and made a decision. “This is not working. Flush our sub. Tell him to go get 403.”

  13:52 Local, 20 August, 1945 (18:52 GMT, 20AUG)

  SS-332, Hudson Strait

  Red light bathed the crew as they ran through the combat checklist one more time. The Chief of the boat reported to the OOD who reported to the Skipper.

  “We are at battle stations.”

  “Very well, Mister Taggert. I have the con.”

  A third class radioman stepped onto the bridge and approached the commanding officer with a message. “Skipper, a message from ASW Command Adak.”

  “Read it, Sparks.”

  The young man cleared his throat and read aloud. “Go get him. God Speed.”

  13:59 20 August, 1945 (18:59 GMT, 20AUG)

  I-403, Hudson Strait

  Tsukuba checked his watch and then the plot one more time. Wolf and Atsugi had finally left his bridge, he hoped for the duration. Their interference had become quite tedious.

  “Officer of the deck, take us to the surface, deploy the snorkel, and charge our batteries.”

  Two hours later, I-403 was underway on battery power on a course set for Cape Hopes Advance. Atsugi joined Tsukuba on the bridge and motioned to the tactical plot. Both men proceeded to it.

  “Captain-San, I mean no disrespect. I merely ask what the plan for escape is. The Allies are very close, and more assets will be brought to bear. Should we not run for the open sea?”

  Tsukuba smiled at the younger man and then tapped on the Corvette’s position at the western entrance to the Hudson Strait. “They had slowed; their sonar was still active and yet very distant. Now they are closing on us again, since we are submerged and running slower. The two that guarded Hudson Bay have not joined them.”

  “I do not understand the significance, Captain-San.”

  “They slowed, confident the bombers would destroy us. They have sealed all options behind us, and now they drive us to our fate.”

  “A waiting force?”

  “What is the best weapon against a submarine, Lieutenant Commander?”

  Atsugi didn’t hesitate. He met Tsukuba’s eyes. “Another submarine.”

  Tsukuba nodded.

  23:32 Local, 20 August, 1945 (04:32 GMT, 21AUG)

  I-403, Cape of Hopes Advance

  Once darkness returned under the overcast sky, I-403 returned to snorkel depth and ran at full speed to the Cape of Hopes Advance. It was at the tip of a narrow peninsula that jutted out into the Strait, and Tsukuba knew that its position would force the southern Corvette to pass close to it.

  “Officer of the deck, put us on the ledge off of the Cape. Make us almost neutrally buoyant. I want to be able to come off the bottom with a very small blow.”

  He checked the tactical plot again and spoke with the sonar chief who informed him the Corvettes were closing at flank speed. He gathered the rest of his key crew members at the plot table.

  “We will have only one chance so our execution must be exact. As the enemy ships pass overhead, we will rise into the southern Corvette’s wake. It is a dead zone for sonar. The night will be at its darkest. We will rise to snorkel depth, and we will maintain position.” Tsukuba studied the chart of the entire area and made a strategic decision when he heard the pounding of the Corvettes’ sonar approaching. He could see the fear return to the men’s faces.

  “Our coating will hide us. Prepare to rise in the wake of the closest ship.”

  Building slowly to a peak octave, the sonar’s intensity fell off abruptly, and then they heard the churning of the ship’s propeller.

  “Bring us up to five meters, all ahead two thirds. Get us into his wake. All ahead full. Take us up to periscope depth.”


  I-403 rose into the wake of RCS Brandon, and in the dark of the short night, deployed the snorkel. With his diesel engines, Tsukuba knew he could keep up with the little ship. He also knew that they were deaf with active sonar. He scanned the night sky with the periscope and then had it brought down.

  For the first time, Atsugi noticed the captain’s face betrayed worry. “A problem, Captain-San?”

  “The weather is no longer to our advantage; the night has cleared.”

  His men looked at him with alarm.

  “It does not matter as long as we stay in the wake. Darkness will hide our snorkel.”

  23:55 Local, 20 August, 1945 (04:55 GMT, 21AUG)

  USS Suwannee, Labrador Sea

  All hands knew something big was happening when the tanks were pushed over the side. Suwannee had been at flank speed for almost a week, and now the air wing pilots were going to find out why. The commander, Air Group Forty, briefed the pilots personally, and once the words “nuclear weapons” were spoken aloud, a heavy, ominous feeling swept the room. When it became apparent the Suwannee might be the last line of defense, even the pilot’s poker face melted, betraying open alarm. After all they’d been through … after all they’d seen … after all they’d survived, now this.

  Each crew received their individual stations and then walked in silence to the flight deck. It was pitching wildly in the rough seas when Kid launched. He saw a looming fog bank in front of him and was almost upon it before he realized it was an iceberg. Yanking his Hellcat’s nose up at six Gs, he hopped over the obstacle and quickly radioed a warning to the aircraft behind him. Then he prayed he’d survive the night.