Code Name: Infamy (Aviator Book 4) (24 page)

“Where is our sub?”

“Bullhead, SS-332, is on station here,” Chief Stenstrum answered and then pointed to the circled number 332 just off Resolution Island. The sub was lying in wait. Spike took in the entire chart and then started asking direct questions.

“What does our enemy have besides the nukes?”

Chief Stenstrum picked up the INTEL report on the I-series submarines, hastily prepared before they left Yokosuka.

“Eight torpedo tubes all in the bow, they shoot the gyro stabilized—Type 93.”

“In English?”

“It’s a nasty fish that can be shot out of the forward tube but target behind them. It has a huge warhead, very effective, especially against small vessels.”

Spike was reading Stenstrum loud and clear … this could turn ugly. He thought for a while and then asked a final question.

“What can’t we control?”

Lieutenant Avery read from a list. “Ice, weather—”

“I-403,” stated Stenstrum.

“What do you mean, Chief?”

“Major, that’s probably the best sub commander they have. What if he doesn’t cooperate? There’s a lot of water out there to hide in.”

“Understood, however he is running out of time. And he knows we’re hunting him now.”

“Yes, sir. All the more reason not to underestimate him.”

CHAPTER 29

14:08 Local, 19 August, 1945 (19:08 GMT, 19AUG)

I-403, Foxe Basin

Captain Tsukuba looked at his watch and then checked the chart to get a fix on their position. They had been running south as fast as they could on battery power. He glanced at his watch again and then ordered the submarine to periscope depth. He took a long scan of the water and shoreline. No sign of anything human. Better yet the weather was moving in, a low ceiling had formed.

“Snorkel up,” he commanded. “Get the diesels on line at 100%. I want a detailed damage report on the hour.”

An hour later Tsukuba went over the damage report with his engineering officer. All batteries were back on line and charging, and the other damage was insignificant. Tsukuba nodded to his engineer, signifying a job well done. He bowed in return and went back to the engine room.

“Captain-San, sonar detects active sonar to our south. It is still distant.”

He nodded as if he had expected it and then waved his navigator to the chart table. Pointing to Cape Wilson, he ordered the navigator to get as close as he could to the Cape and give him an estimated arrival.

“Twenty-seven minutes to Cape Wilson, sir.”

The OOD was keeping watch through the periscope as the large sub began to heave. He reported heavy seas and worsening weather.

“Perfect, we shall hide on the bottom and let them pass.”

Atsugi stepped forward to protest. “But Captain-San, surely they will detect us.”

Tsukuba smiled and then spoke patiently. “We have an anechoic covering—a mixture of gum, asbestos, and other adhesives. It covers the top of our submarine. By sitting on the bottom, I assure you we won’t be detected.”

09:22 Local, 19 August, 1945 (19:22 GMT, 19AUG)

Naval Air Station Adak, Alaska

Pressure was building to a palpable level in the small space. Beads of sweat from closeness and stress began to appear on foreheads, the foul smell of failure mixed with the swirling smoke of cigarettes. Each man sensed it, as the clock taunted them from the wall.

“How long since last contact?” demanded Spike.

“Six hours, forty-six minutes,” Jeff replied immediately.

“Where is he?” Spike asked in frustration. There was no reply. Only silence. Spike was a man of action; he could not just sit and wait. He also knew they must drive the situation. They must become the stroke and set the pace.

“I want fifteen-minute SITREPs from all players to include position and status of equipment and arms, starting now.”

His staff sent out the requirements and then charted the responses using small arrows to depict the status of weapons and platforms. Each Corvette had two small arrows next to every plot as did the circling B-29s.

“All air assets up and ready for a fight, Spike,” Irish called from his corner.

“Corvettes and submarine up and ready,” added Avery.

Time between each hollow update stretched as I-403 remained undetected.

18:28 Local, 19 August, 1945 (23:28 GMT, 19AUG)

I-403, Foxe Basin

Relentless electronic pounding built to a crescendo as Corvette Alpha lashed at the bottom of the Foxe Basin hunting for I-403. There had been no need for sonar listening gear for over half an hour as the pulsing increased to an ear-splitting level. Silent beads of sweat dripped down ashen faces as each Japanese sailor’s breath synced with the rhythmic hammering. Hands covered ears, and all eyes looked up in anticipation of death floating down to them.

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.