Code Name: Infamy (Aviator Book 4) (21 page)

“And?”

“Well, sir, it indicates that a mission, code name Infamy, is still active.”

All three men looked at each other, and then Halsey leaned forward onto the chart, his eyes piercing the chief radioman. “Please tell me you know where it is coming from.”

“Yes, sir. That is even weirder. It triangulated to the top of Mount Fugi. And it was signed off, ‘Hiroshi sends,’ unusual for the Japanese.”

Halsey wasn’t listening anymore; a plan was materializing in his head. He picked up a phone and called for his staff to assemble in flag plot. Before they even could take their seats, he was barking orders.

“I want every ship in Sixth Fleet that has antisubmarine warfare capability headed to the tip of South America at flank speed. I want the entire Seventh Fleet headed south down the eastern coast of South America. We have a rogue Japanese submarine with nuclear weapons headed for America. All aviation assets that can hold depth bombs need to be headed south within the hour. We are going to drive that bastard into a vise and kill him. Gentlemen, this comes from the office of the president.”

There was a stunned silence as his staff stared back in disbelief. The war was over, and now this.

“Turn two!” Halsey uttered the old Navy term that meant Move your butt. “INTEL?”

“Aye, aye, Admiral.”

“Get word to Truk, I want some damn evidence I-403 was there.”

“Chief of Staff?”

“Aye, sir.”

“I want that damn duplicitous prime minister in my flag plot first thing tomorrow.”

18:23 Local, 15 August, 1945 (23:23 GMT, 15AUG)

I-403, Victoria Strait, Canada

Atsugi sat alone, his rage transformed into an emptiness that could not be filled. Even his thoughts were lost in a black hole of vengeance. Nothing but the mission would trigger synapses in his damaged brain. All else was gone—his family, his home, his humanity. A dark curtain had dropped behind the center stage of his mind, and the only thing illuminated was the plan. Infamy would take the stage and perform, and then the curtain would rise on the destruction of those who had destroyed everything he held dear.

“Lieutenant Commander Atsugi?” He did not stir or respond.

“Sir, you requested to know when the ship would be ready to proceed.”

Atsugi nodded but did not speak.

“It could take up to three days. The fire is out, but the damage was extensive.”

Atsugi gave a second nod, almost imperceptible as the on-stage monologue ran. The slight nod was enough to release the engineering officer, who fled immediately.

05:38 Local, 16 August, 1945 (05:38 GMT, 16AUG)

USS Suwannee, Strait of Gibraltar

Kid looked aft and watched as the Rock of Gibraltar slowly shrank. Rising behind it on the eastern horizon, the sun lit the low hanging clouds. Their edges were on fire, the centers dark. To the south were the lights of Tangier. From seven decks above the flight deck, the view was spectacular. He thought about all he had seen and done in just the few short years since he’d joined the Navy. Barely twenty-one, he wondered how he could ever return to normal life. Then he thought of Theresa and his son. Certainly he’d never be the same. He’d never be normal. But he would do everything he could to make sure they were.

Kid glanced down to the flight deck below. From bow to stern, it was covered with rows of Sherman tanks. The crew had struck the air wing below and loaded the tanks in less than twelve hours. They got just a glimpse of Italy and now were headed for Boston. Five days later and he would be on the American mainland. He couldn’t remember how long it had been.

08:01 Local, 17 August, 1945 (23:01 GMT, 16AUG)

USS Missouri, Tokyo Bay

A defeated man trying to save his homeland from further wrath, Prime Minister Suzuki shuffled into the flag plot. Halsey was furious, convinced he had been played for a fool. He got straight to the point and handed Suzuki the message. Bowing deeply, the Prime Minister hung his head in shame and then spoke without a translator.

“Can we retire to your quarters, Admiral?”

Halsey held out his hand, pointing the way. They settled around a chart that had Fuji in the center. Spike stood in the background, hoping to learn the route and re-fueling points. Suzuki spoke slowly.

“Hiroshi has dug in at the top of Fuji, hoping to guide Infamy from there.”

“Why Fuji?”

“Radio capabilities and symbolism.”

“Okay, what is I-403’s route?”

“Only Hiroshi and the crew know the route. I only learned of Infamy after it had been initiated. Hiroshi kept all details secret.”

“What is his troop strength on Fuji?”

“We believe company strength.”

“Fine, we’ll blow him off the top with a B-29 strike.”

Suzuki shifted uneasily in his chair. He was obviously very uncomfortable at the thought. “I’m afraid that would cause … severe complications.”

“So what?” snapped Halsey. Spike jumped into the conversation.

“Admiral, Mount Fuji is sacred. An open attack would fuel rebellion. And we need Hiroshi alive.”

Halsey fidgeted, tugging at his open collar. “Suggestion for a course of action?”

Spike took over the conversation and interrogation of Suzuki. He stepped forward and bowed deeply. “Prime Minister-San, the communication center on Fuji, is it known to the public?”

“Yes, public radio stations also use the mountain for a range of purposes.”

20:03 Local, 17 August, 1945 (01:03 GMT, 18AUG)

I-403, Victoria Strait, Canada

Atsugi and Wolf sat alone at the cold steel table in the wardroom. It had cleared quickly when they entered the space. Atsugi ate his rice ball methodically, as if he had become nothing more than a cold, mechanical being. After a few moments of silence, he glanced across to Wolf.

“We must read in key members of the crew,” he stated in a bland, matter-of -fact tone.

“Why?”

“So we do not end up like the communications petty officer.”

Wolf considered it and decided that without his Storm Troopers to keep the crew in line, it was a necessity at this point. “And Japan’s surrender?” he asked. “Do we tell them about that?”

“What surrender?” Atsugi said, his eyes clouding in what should have been shame.

14:10 Local, 18 August, 1945 (05:10 GMT, 18AUG)

Yokosuka Naval District

Spike and Irish were briefing two Marine Corps officers: Colonel Sean ‘Thumper” McDonald, Commander of Marine Air Group 11, and Lieutenant Colonel Jim Russell CO of the 2nd Battalion of the 29th, 6th Marine Division. Irish had known Thumper for years from American Airlines and a secret mission called Project 7 Alpha that they both were a part of. In fact, that’s how he’d met Russell, too. Irish had flown supplies into Russell’s raider unit in Burma and China during the dark days of WWII. He had run into both men on Okinawa.

“Sorry to drag you gents back into this, but I need people I can trust.” Spike had read both in on Infamy, and now each had a pale, sickly look. Then Irish went over the tactical picture and got down to the nuts and bolts of the plan.

“We need Admiral Hiroshi alive. We believe he’ll be in the bunker, so we need to leave it intact. Thumper, we need two one-thousand pound fragmentation bombs to land simultaneously on top of Fuji at sunrise; that will take out most of the troops but not penetrate the bunker. Jim, your boys are then to take the summit.”

Spike interjected. “We’ll release a press report that the radio station’s power plant exploded. That’s why we need a smaller explosion and why we need the bombs to hit simultaneously. We’ll also release a second press report stating that the Marines are going to put a replacement station on the back side of Fugi. That should take care of sacred politics.”

Irish jumped in again. “Jim, your guys have to be in position by daylight tomorrow; it’s a long climb.”

Russell interrupted. “Why not a night raid, take them by surprise?” Thumper jumped in, too. “Why only two bombs?”

“We can’t let the Japanese populace watch a fire fight on Fuji without causing a nationalistic and religious firestorm.” Spike answered. “And we need just one explosion. If you release them simultaneously, we will get that. Any more questions?”

Thumper looked at Russell and gave him a wink. Both stood and left without further questions.

17:03 Local, 18 August, 1945 (22:03 GMT, 18AUG)

I-403, Victoria Strait, Canada

Atsugi selected the key crew members and had them meet in the officers’ wardroom: Captain Tsukuba and his navigator, the weapons officer, the engineering officer, and the boat’s chief all sat in the cramped space. The weapons officer wept uncontrollably when he heard Hiroshima had been annihilated. He had sent his family there for safety. After the sobering brief, the men were onboard with Infamy. They looked at each other and knew—they alone would avenge Japan. They then moved on to the current situation.

“We have a hard deadline of 1 September for launch; I cannot detail why,” Atsugi said. “However, it is absolutely imperative we strike on that day at the latest.”

Captain Tsukuba stood to address the group. “We have lost many days, not only to the fire, but also we have been forced by ice to stay submerged more than we planned. I-403 will be underway within the hour. I need a nav-plot and engineering report based on that time.”

07:10 Local, 19 August, 1945 (22:10 GMT, 18AUG)

Yokosuka Air Field

Spike enjoyed a Japanese pastry as he stood on the ramp and watched the F4-U Corsairs taxi to the runway. When they cleared the ramp, he noticed their external fuel tanks had been left behind. Once lined up on the runway, he could see why. All four Corsairs carried two one-thousand-pound bombs. Spike couldn’t suppress a smile; Thumper was going to ensure that the Japanese company of marines was blown off Fuji before Russell’s boys summited. He was looking out for his fellow Marines, not politics.

He turned back to the flight line and gazed over the tanks. No point in taking extra fuel if you don’t need it, he thought. Spike watched as the fuel truck driver recorded the amount of fuel he had pumped into the Corsairs on a fuel chit.

“Damn it!’ Spike yelled as he dropped the pastry to the concrete and sprinted toward the sub pens.

07:48 Local, 19 August, 1945 (22:48 GMT, 18AUG)

Mount Fugi

Lieutenant Colonel Russell and his Command Master Sergeant Mike Paillou hugged the volcanic terrain along with two companies of marines. Paillou had equipped his men with ammunition, water, and one ration. The message was clear—we are taking this summit in one decisive attack. They had struggled up the mountain all night as quietly as they could. Now they waited for the Corsairs as it got brighter and brighter. Paillou slithered up next to Russell. “I can’t believe we haven’t been seen,” he whispered.

Russell nodded and pointed to the east. Four gull-winged shapes floated out of the rising sun silently in a tight formation, engines at idle. They watched as not two but eight specs separated from the fighters simultaneously.

“Get your asses in a crack!’ Paillou yelled to his Marines. They all desperately tried to become one with the mountain as the near-synchronized thunderclap of eight-thousand-pound bombs tried to knock them off the mountain top.

Russell and Paillou were on their feet in an instant. “Take the hill!”

Two companies of Marines summited Fuji in seconds; Tommy guns and BAR fully automatic rifles blazed in the swirling dust of the explosions. They ran into a scene from hell. A small outpost, most of the Japanese troops had been in tents tightly compacted in the compound, and Thumper’s bombs had ripped them to pieces. Few of the body parts were even recognizable. Without pause, Russell’s Marines added to the carnage; guns mocked their deaths as they chattered out more to the few survivors.

“I want a grenade in every spider hole!’ demanded Paillou.

They cooked off in muffled reports as they turned hiding spots to blenders. A few rounds replied in defiance from the small bunker. The shooters were, in turn, smothered in lead. Two concussion grenades went down the entry. When they burst into the bunker, the inhabitants quickly met with the grinder.

“Find that admiral, now!’ ordered Russell.

“Down here, sir; it’s too late.”

Russell and Paillou went down a narrow set of steps deeper in the bunker. At the bottom was a small set of rooms. Hiroshi was in one of them, toppled sideways on the floor, a Samurai sword sticking out of his stomach.

CHAPTER 26