Rising Sun (13 page)

Dane opened his own beer. “How the hell would I know? I’m a lieutenant commander, the equivalent of a major to you army types, and there’s a million of us wandering around thinking we know what’s going on, and none of us do.”

It was midafternoon when they heard Sergeant Stecher’s voice calling for them from up on the hill. They stood as Stecher ran down to them, upset and out of breath.

“Commander, you just got a call from a Captain Merchant.”

Dane shook his head. He didn’t want the war to intrude. Besides, what would happen if he ignored it for a few more minutes?

“And you didn’t salute me, Sergeant,” he said with a smile.

Stecher blinked in surprise and then laughed. “I wasn’t aware I had to salute an officer in a baggy bathing suit.”

“True enough. So what’s so important?”

“Damn Japs just invaded Alaska.”

Ruby Oliver’s small, shabby restaurant in the gray and undistinguished city of Anchorage specialized in large servings of mediocre food fried in bacon grease, or whatever she could get that was close to it. Anchorage itself was on the flat, low ground at the end of Cook Inlet. It was as far inland as decent-sized ships could go. On a clear day, the mountains to the east glowered down on the small city.

Seating a mere twenty people, the restaurant was in a small one-story frame building with a good view of the channel that led from the Cook Inlet to Anchorage itself. Of course it was named Ruby’s and it provided enough income for her to be comfortable. What people were calling the Great Depression had pretty well left Alaska alone since nobody’d had that much money in the first place. Can’t lose what you never had, went the joke.

Ruby was forty, divorced, had badly dyed red hair, and was at least twenty pounds overweight, the result of a tendency to eat the leftover food, a practice she referred to as profit sharing. Even though the Depression had largely missed Alaska, she’d been hungry enough in past years to know that you didn’t let food go to waste.

The restaurant rarely served beef as it was too expensive to import, but fish and venison were regular staples brought in by local fishermen and hunters. Fruits were almost unknown and a few vegetables were homegrown during the very short growing season. That or she’d occasionally buy foodstuffs, if they weren’t too expensive, from ships plying their trade from the south. Oranges, she’d discovered, were as rare as hen’s teeth and out of her price range.

She had a clientele that wasn’t too particular about what they ate, especially if it was cooked in that bacon grease. They liked Ruby, who was gregarious and friendly. A few of the boys had tried to get her drunk enough to get into her pants, but she’d outlasted all of them, sometimes to her regret. Her ex-husband, now living somewhere in Oregon, had been a complete jerk who’d slapped her around when drunk, but, when sober and aroused, was a helluva lover. Sometimes she missed that part of her life, but not enough to go back to him.

Ruby was beginning to have money worries. When war with Japan had first commenced, there was hope that the military would find Anchorage, one of Alaska’s major ports and a bustling town of two thousand, indispensable. Elmendorf Army Air Force Base had been built and Fort Richardson reinforced, and she’d dreamed of all the new customers frequenting her restaurant. But then came Midway and the Air Force had shuttled its planes out, and Fort Richardson’s garrison was reduced to only a couple of hundred men.

This morning, she had a slight hangover thanks to several drinks taken alone in the back of the restaurant, and was serving coffee to her one customer when she thought she heard thunder. She looked out the window and saw a nice bright summer morning and no reason for thunder, but hell, this was Alaska, wasn’t it? In five minutes they could be hit with a blizzard, even though it was summer. Some people said Alaska’s weather was God’s idea of a joke.

She was about to comment to her customer, when the lawyer’s office across the street disintegrated and shock waves blew through her window and hurled her across a table and into the wall. Her customer landed on top of her and she realized to her horror that he had borne the brunt of the explosion and was a bloody, dead mess. Large wood splinters and shards of glass protruded from his back and head like an obscene porcupine.

She screamed and clawed to get out from under him, finally succeeding as more explosions rocked the area and their concussions knocked her around. The front door wouldn’t open so she ran out the back. Anchorage was in flames. Many of the buildings were wood frame like hers, and they were burning furiously.

“Look down the channel!” someone yelled, and she did. She could see the gray shapes of large ships approaching. Smaller boats were alongside them, and these were heading directly for Anchorage and Ruby Oliver. She’d seen enough pictures and newsreels to know that the smaller boats were landing craft and that the larger ones were doubtless Japanese transports and warships. A dozen or so Japanese planes flew overhead and inland, seeking targets. It was common knowledge that the Japs had already landed farther out on the Aleutians on Kiska and Attu, and now they were headed directly for her.

Ruby ran back into the restaurant, now also afire, grabbed her shotgun and a box of shells and began to run down the road toward Fort Richardson. As she did, a column of trucks roared by her, forcing her off the road. They were coming from the fort and were filled with grim-faced soldiers carrying their Springfield rifles and wearing the tin-pot helmets that were leftovers from the last war. She was surprised they’d responded so quickly, but realized that spotters farther up the channel must have radioed the information to the fort. She wondered why the hell the military hadn’t warned the city. At least some civilians could have fled before the shelling began and maybe saved some lives. Several bodies were visible, and other civilians were running away from the burning town.

As some of the trucks approached the town, Ruby found an undamaged two-story house with the door open. She entered and went upstairs so she could see. She soon wished she hadn’t. As the column entered Anchorage and approached the waterfront, shells from the Japanese ships exploded in and around the American soldiers who were trying to deploy. She watched in horror as some soldiers simply disintegrated from the explosions while others were sent hurling into the sky.

The Japanese landing craft disgorged scores of men. They raced down the street toward the stunned and confused remaining American soldiers. The fight was at short range and she cheered when some Japanese fell, but many more Americans lay still, and the remnants of the column were soon standing with their hands up. The battle for Anchorage had been lost in a matter of minutes.

The Japanese rounded up the survivors. Ruby estimated there were thirty all told, and a number of them were wounded. One, an officer, tried talking to a Japanese counterpart. The Japanese officer shouted something, and the American was rifle-butted to the ground and stabbed with bayonets by several soldiers while the Japanese officer looked on. The soldiers stopped stabbing him and he lay still in an enormous pool of blood. She thought she could hear the other prisoners moaning.

More landing craft unloaded several hundred Japanese; most of whom headed down the road to what was likely a now abandoned Fort Richardson. A number, however, surrounded the prisoners, shouting and pointing bayonets at them. Ruby had heard that the Japs treated their prisoners brutally and fearfully wondered just what they’d do. She knew most of them, if only by sight. Some had even eaten at her place.

An officer barked a command and a roar of laughter came from the Japanese surrounding the Americans. The Japanese pushed and prodded them with their bayonets toward the water and then into it. It might be late summer, but the water was very cold and Ruby could hear the screams coming from the prisoners as they were pushed into water that came up to their chests.

The Japanese soldiers fired in front of the prisoners and stabbed slow-moving Americans with their bayonets. The message was clear, swim or die.

Swimming only delayed the inevitable. Tears streamed down her face as a couple of GIs tried to return to shore and were shot. The wounded and nonswimmers had already disappeared under the waves, while others attempted to strike out for the opposite shore and the illusion of safety. When they were maybe a hundred yards out, the Japanese opened fire. It was little more than target practice. Splashes surrounded the dozen or so heads remaining, and soon there were none.

Ruby pulled herself to her feet. She was not going back to Anchorage. Doubtless there were civilians still there who would also become prisoners of the Japanese. She might not be killed because she was a civilian, but she’d also heard what they did to women.

Along with her sleeping quarters behind the kitchen of the restaurant, she had a cabin a couple of miles away and well into the woods. There, she’d get some decent gear, another weapon, and head farther into the forest. But where to go? South to Seward or Valdez was an easy choice, but were the Japs landing there as well? Maybe heading inland toward Fairbanks and the Canadian border was the best idea.

She left the house and walked into the nearby bushes where she heard strange noises. She stood with the shotgun ready. She lowered it when she looked into the frightened faces of a handful of very young and scared American soldiers who’d escaped the massacre.

“Where you boys headed?” she asked, her voice surprisingly calm.

They looked at each other. They hadn’t thought that far. They’d run like they were on fire when the shells cut their unit to pieces. One, a PFC, shrugged. “Don’t know. Sure as hell can’t go back to the barracks. The Japs’ll be sacked out in our bunks pretty damn soon.”

Ruby slung the shotgun over her shoulder. “Then you’d better come with me.”

CHAPTER 7

WITH A FEW BEERS AND A FINE STEAK COOKED MEDIUM RARE causing an overfull belly, Dane drove cautiously back to his quarters, fearful that he’d doze off and get into an accident. A couple of cups of coffee had helped, but he still felt fuzzy when he finally made it back to the base. He’d planned to shower and change, but a message told him to get his ass to Spruance’s offices right now.

When Dane arrived, it was clear that a number of others on the admiral’s staff had also been off base and were still arriving. Like Dane, some even in civvies. Thus, it was early evening before Spruance let Merchant begin. He stood in front of a large map of Alaska and the western states and started with the obvious. The Japanese had landed troops at Anchorage and did not appear to be planning to leave. It was an invasion, not a raid.

“They were first spotted by military personnel on the Kenai Peninsula along with a number of civilians who promptly contacted everyone they could by ham radio or by telephone. Just for the record, most telephones in the area are still working, so we’re getting a lot of good intelligence.”

Merchant continued. “The spotters said there were half a dozen Jap battleships, which is clearly an exaggeration. Cooler heads and some ex-navy types said there were two cruisers and four destroyers followed by a dozen or so transports. There were planes, so we have to assume at least one carrier, although probably a small one. We estimate they landed approximately five thousand soldiers and we think most of them came from their existing garrisons on Attu and Kiska, which we believe were heavily reinforced just recently. It is also likely Attu and Kiska have been abandoned.”

“So what are their plans?” asked a clearly annoyed and impatient Spruance. Merchant had used the words “think” and “likely” too often. The admiral wanted something more precise. The damned Japs had just invaded the mainland of North America and were again showing how impotent the United States Army and Navy were.

Merchant was unfazed. “Sir, they don’t have enough men to conquer Alaska, much less threaten the United States, although people in Alaska and the West Coast are starting to panic over the possibility. Even if they do heavily reinforce their men on the ground, they might be able to take some nearby towns, but Alaska is so vast it’d still be an enormous undertaking and a logistical nightmare to maintain. Hell, it’s almost six hundred miles from Anchorage to Juneau and much of it is truly miserable going. In my opinion, Admiral, they took Anchorage because they could, and because they could rub our noses in it, and maybe because they think it’ll goad us into doing something stupid.”

“Which is not going to happen,” snapped Spruance. “But you will tell me what we can do.”

“Which isn’t much,” Merchant said and earned a glare from the normally even-tempered Nimitz, who had just entered. Dane stifled a smile. Merchant wasn’t afraid of the brass, which was good. Too many intelligence officers fed their superiors what they thought their superiors wanted to hear, rather than the unvarnished and sometimes painful truth. On the other hand, Nimitz, for all his apparently easygoing personality, was reputed to be a solid tactician and a proponent of attacking. Doing nothing had to be killing him, Dane thought.

Merchant continued. “The problem is distance. I assume we have some submarines heading for Cook Inlet to try to make life miserable for the Japs, and I also assume that any surface ships have been told to stay clear.”

“True,” said Nimitz. “We had two old destroyers patrolling Cook Inlet and they were lucky enough to neither see nor be seen. If they had spotted the Japs, they might have gotten off a slightly earlier warning, but it wouldn’t have mattered, and they likely would have been sunk for their efforts.”

“Right now,” Merchant continued, “Alaska cannot be reached by either road or rail. As you’re aware, we’re building a so-called highway to Alaska, but it won’t be ready for some months and will likely close down during the winter if it’s not through to Fairbanks. All supplies for the engineers working on the road coming down from the north have to come in by ship and I presume that lifeline has just been cut. I’ve been told by General Bruckner, who commands Alaska, that the army wants to pull those men out since they are so exposed and they aren’t combat troops in the first place. Many of them are Negroes and there is serious doubt as to how well they will fight. I assume we’ll try to speed up its construction from the south, but there’s only so much you can do. As to rail, there ain’t none. Also, the handful of planes we had at Fairbanks got shot up pretty badly by Jap carrier planes.”

Spruance shook his head. “Damn place is larger than Texas and might as well be on the moon.”

“Sir, the army’s admitted that they have a true Hobson’s choice regarding the troops they now have in Alaska. Even if the road-building troops up there are poorly trained, they are still soldiers and should be able to help in the defense of Fairbanks and Ladd Field. However, we must have that road through Canada, so the army doesn’t want them to stop road-building. Also, the Alaska National Guard has fewer than three thousand men and they are scattered all over the territory.”

“So that leaves air,” Spruance said, uncomfortably acknowledging that the Japanese controlled the seas. He had a good idea what was going to be said next.

Merchant smiled grimly. “That’s right, sir, and we have little to work with right now. We have plenty of planes, but they don’t have the range to make it to Anchorage or Fairbanks and back. Hell, some of them couldn’t even get there in the first place, much less return. Even if we based our planes on Canadian soil, at Vancouver for instance, it’s more than thirteen hundred miles from Vancouver to Anchorage, and those are crow-fly miles that would require a lot of flying over the ocean and maybe running into Jap carrier planes on the way. If we take the overland route, we’d add several hundred more miles each way. The air force has B17, B24, and B25 bombers that could make it from Vancouver to Anchorage, but couldn’t make it back. They’d need a place to land and refuel. There’s a small base near Fairbanks called Ladd Field, but it’s not adequate and needs a lot of improvement. Besides, the Japs just bombed it.”

“Suggestions?” said Nimitz.

Merchant jabbed his pointer at the map. “Juneau. It’s six hundred miles from Anchorage to Juneau, and eight hundred from Vancouver to Anchorage. It’d be tight, but the planes should make it. Unfortunately, it’s going to take time to prepare a proper base. I don’t know if Vancouver has an airport that can handle planes as large as our bombers.”

Nimitz shook his head. “Of course, the navy has no planes that can make it, either.”

“No, sir,” Merchant said, “Maybe in a year or two, but not today.”

Dane raised his hand and earned a quick glare from Nimitz. “What, Commander? You’ve got an idea?”

“Yes, sir, or at least it’d be a stopgap until we get things rolling at Vancouver. A PBY can fly two thousand miles and carry a ton of bombs and doesn’t need an airfield. I suggest we stage them out of the waters of Puget Sound, fly up to Anchorage via the overland route, and bomb the place. We might not accomplish all that much with just a few tons of bombs, but they’ll know we’re alive and kicking.”

“It’s a great idea,” Merchant said. “In a way it’d be like Doolittle hitting Tokyo. Not much damage, but we sure as hell got their attention. We don’t even have to wait for an airfield to be developed. The Catalinas can land in the water off Juneau, or anywhere else for that matter, refuel, take off, and be on their way.”

Everyone seemed pleased that they could soon be striking back. “Hopefully, our people in Alaska can pinpoint some good targets for us.” Nimitz said. Then his mood turned dark. “The PBYs are large, slow targets. We might get in one or two raids before the Japs figure that out and either land their own planes at Anchorage or station a carrier nearby and slaughter our boys.”

“But it’s a lot better than doing nothing,” Spruance added softly. “We have to strike back. We’re all sick and tired of being kicked.”

“May I ask one more question?” Dane inquired, and Spruance nodded. “Sir, who is commanding the Japs in Alaska?”

Spruance laughed, recalling Dane’s background. “Think you might know him?”

“Yes, sir, I did meet some army officers.”

“His name is Yasuyo Yamasaki and he’s a colonel,” Spruance answered.

“Admiral, I never met him, but some of the people I knew in Japan said he had a reputation. Sir, he’s a fanatic. He’s cold, hard, and cruel, and one of those who will fight to the last man.”

* * *

Amanda was so weak she could barely stand up, much less work the sails or stand at the wheel. With food and water at dangerously low levels, they’d cut down to what they hoped was subsistence levels. Now she wondered if they’d gone too far. There was only a little left, and they were wondering if they should finish everything in one almost literal gulp that would build up their strength, however temporarily. Of course, when it was gone, it was gone and they would go back to dying slowly. No, it was decided, they would stretch it out. Every day they still lived was a triumph.

There had been no more rogue waves or storms. Instead, just the opposite. Too much of their time was spent floating in the calm seas and praying for a wind to take them to safety.

Nor had it rained. They’d seen cloudbursts in the distance dumping tantalizing loads of water into an ocean that didn’t need it. Once, a storm had been close enough for them to see the raindrops lashing the waves. They’d tried to steer the cat toward it, but the cloudburst ended as quickly as it had begun, leaving them with the feeling that they and their puny efforts were being mocked by the gods.

“I’m a Christian,” Sandy had said weakly. “I don’t believe in plural gods. At least not until recently. Get us to safety and I’ll believe anything.”

They’d managed to catch a few fish. They’d devoured them raw and gotten diarrhea that had left them weaker and sicker than before they’d eaten. Their joints hurt, their teeth were beginning to feel loose, and their gums were painful, sure signs of developing scurvy. Soon they would be unable to work the catamaran. Soon they would die.

Far, far worse was the horrible feeling that they were lost. They’d done their best to keep on course, but their navigational skills weren’t up to Mack’s and they had zero confidence that they knew precisely where they were going. That they were headed east and north was the best they could conclude. Assuming they could keep sailing, sooner or later they would hit the Americas. They could only hope and pray that they were still alive when it happened.

“I think I was falling in love with him,” Grace announced a couple of days after Mack’s death.

“We’ll have a memorial service for him when we reach California,” Amanda said, rubbing her aching jaw and wishing she had an orange or a lime. And that’s assuming we reach California, she thought.

When they left Hawaii they knew that the amount of time necessary to make the trip was impossible to estimate. Still, they had the feeling that they should have bumped into something as immense as North America by now. They were well north of the equator and should be on track, but they couldn’t be certain. They knew by the stars that they were headed in the right general direction, but that didn’t tell them how near or far landfall might be. In a few days, their reduced rations would run out, and a few days after that they’d be dead with no one to know what had happened to them.

They’d begun keeping journals in case the catamaran was found drifting at some time in the future with their desiccated, mummified corpses on board. Or maybe they wouldn’t be on board. Maybe their bodies would tumble into the ocean and be devoured by the fish. They wondered how long the last to die would want to spend staring at the bodies of her friends before she heaved them overboard. How long would the last one survive before going mad or killing herself? And what about cannibalism? Would the last one have the strength to devour the flesh of the others? They all said no, but nobody could truly rule it out.

Amanda wondered how long her parents and sisters in Annapolis would grieve for her, especially since they didn’t know that she was out in the ocean in the first place. Someday, when Hawaii was again free of the Japanese, her family might hire someone to look for her. She’d left messages in her apartment and “mailed” some letters to her family that might not be delivered for years, but that was it. All three of them wondered if they had done something truly foolish and tragic by setting out from Hawaii in the first place. At least starvation in Hawaii might mean a marked grave, Grace remarked bitterly.

Sandy was the one who first noticed the difference. The swells were higher, but that was nothing new. The size of the waves differed all the time. If it meant a storm was coming, however, it might mean that their end might be sooner than they thought. They all doubted that they had the strength left in their frail bodies to fight a storm. In that area alone had they been fortunate. With the exception of the rogue wave, the seas had not been at all treacherous.

“Quiet,” Sandy said. They did as they were told. “Do you hear it?”