Rising Sun (43 page)

Toki made up his mind. Only fools chose death when life was at hand. They had killed themselves for no good reason. He stood and waved a handkerchief that he hoped was white enough. With the skill of a dancer, the destroyer was maneuvered beside him. A row of armed Americans stared down at him.

“I speak English,” he yelled. “I surrender.”

There was silence from the angry-looking Americans. “Why the fuck should we save you?” one of them finally asked.

“I am Admiral Nagumo’s chief aide,” he said, lying only slightly. Like most Japanese sailors, he had received no instructions regarding how to behave if he actually was taken prisoner since it was assumed he would choose death instead. Thus, there was no reason to discuss or plan for the unthinkable.

There was a quick conference and an officer leaned over. “First, you will remove all your clothes, and I mean everything. After you’ve stripped down, you will then climb up the ladder which we will lower to you. When you make it to the deck, you will lie on your belly with your legs spread apart. We will examine you and tie you up. Understand?”

Toki understood fully. He too had heard tales of Japanese soldiers trying to take Americans with them as they killed themselves. “I understand. But may I take my wallet? It has my identification and pictures of my family.”

He thought the American might have smiled for a flickering instant. “Bring your damned wallet,” was the response.

* * *

Once again Torelli felt the freight train pass over him, shaking his sub like it was a toy. Jesus, that Jap battleship was big. And fast. Worse, it was going to be moving away, which meant a stern shot and a quick one.

He ordered periscope depth and all bow tubes open. They would simply fire off all four torpedoes the first clear chance he got. He looked through the lens. The battleship was a mountain and moving rapidly. He didn’t bother to look for escorts; he just assumed they were there.

The shot was as good as it was going to get. “Fire one,” he ordered, then two and three and four. As soon as he heard the sound of the torpedoes leaving, he ordered an emergency dive.

“What now?” Crowley asked. His eyes were wide with tension and fear. They heard splashes and then depth charges exploded. They were close, but not close enough to do damage. It looked like the Japs were more interested in clearing out than in attacking him.

“We wait,” Torelli said.

They listened through the rumble of the depth charges. Finally, they heard a different sound. An explosion, but what? They all looked at each other. Had they actually managed to hit the monster? If so, what damage, if any. Maybe it was like shooting a rhinoceros with a peashooter? Probably the damn thing wouldn’t even notice.

* * *

Yamamoto felt the battleship quiver. He barely heard the explosion and saw nothing. The battleship’s massive superstructure blocked his view and insulated him from any sound.

“Torpedo,” announced a grim-faced aide a moment later. “No apparent damage, sir.”

Yamamoto nodded. It was what he expected. What else could go wrong this terrible day? He had been totally outwitted and outfought by an American Navy he had thought was, if not dead, then moribund and too frightened to take risks. Now all he could do was try and salvage something out of the burning wreckage that had once been the pride of the Imperial Japanese Navy. Four of his prized carriers were in sinking condition and were being abandoned. If they didn’t sink on their own, they would be torpedoed by their own ships, a totally inglorious and shameful end to their careers. Two other carriers were seriously damaged, burning furiously, and might also be lost. Worse, if there could possibly be a worse, the carriers lost were the largest and most powerful the Imperial Japanese Navy possessed. The only carriers remaining were the smaller ones now being categorized as escort carriers.

Nor did it matter that the American carrier they’d sought for so long, the
Saratoga
, had at least been very badly damaged. The few Japanese pilots who had survived the attack on her reported her burning and, in their opinion, likely to sink. Yamamoto was not so confident. The Americans were magicians at saving and repairing ships and, besides, what did it matter if the
Saratoga
was sunk? The Americans had many others under construction. They would join up with what was thought to be the
Essex
-class carrier that had accompanied the
Saratoga
and do so well before Japan could recover from today’s disaster.

His thoughts returned to the doomed pilots. At least four hundred of them had been lost and that toll was likely to go higher. Four hundred highly trained carrier pilots could not be replaced. At the current rate of pilot graduation, any damaged carriers were likely to be repaired and ready long before the pilots were trained according to traditional standards. Thus, those standards would have to be relaxed, which meant that new Japanese carrier pilots would be lambs to the slaughter. Nor could the even larger number of planes lost be replaced in the foreseeable future.

Yamamoto accepted that the defeat was his responsibility. All decisions had been his. He would go to Tokyo and personally apologize to the emperor for his failure to bring victory to Japan. It wouldn’t matter that this was just as he had forecast that summer before the attack on Pearl Harbor. He had accepted command of the fleet and the blame was his. He would offer his resignation to the emperor and the prime minister. He didn’t think they would take it, although he now wished they would. He would let them change his mind about resigning, of course, and do his utmost to save the empire, but he would also try to convince Tojo and Hirohito of the need to negotiate a peace with the Americans. The British could be ignored, but not the Americans. The war in the Pacific would largely be a naval war and the Imperial Japanese Navy would be overwhelmed by the U.S. Navy if it went on much longer.

In order to do this, he thought, the Americans would first send forces to reestablish a forward base at Pearl Harbor, which would also rescue the Hawaiians from their near starvation. The blockade of Australia would be lifted and Japanese garrisons in the Solomons would have to be abandoned. Japan would have to pull back or be destroyed. It was his duty to convince the government of this inevitable fate.

Captain Miyazato Shotoku commanded the
Yamato
. He now approached the admiral with eyes down. He was clearly shaken and seemed almost afraid to speak.

“What is the news?” Yamamoto asked softly. From the man’s expression, it could not be good.

Shotoku took a deep breath and swallowed. What he had to say was painful in the extreme. “We were struck by one American torpedo. It has jammed our rudder. We are stopping so we can send down a diver to determine whether it can be repaired. Otherwise, we can only steam in very large circles. We are not optimistic about the outcome. It is very likely that we will not have the tools and equipment to effect the repairs. I believe it can only be done in drydock.”

Yamamoto sucked in his breath. It was almost the same thing that had happened to the German superbattleship, the
Bismarck
, in May of 1941. Unable to retreat and doomed to steam in circles, she had been surrounded by British ships and blown to pieces. Would the same happen to the
Yamato
, the pride of Japan? It was unthinkable. At least he’d had the dubious pleasure of watching as the Yamato’s mighty 18.1-inch guns fired over the horizon at San Diego. But would that be the ignominious end of her military career? Not if he could help it.

“The
Kongo
will take the
Yamato
in tow if quick repairs cannot be made,” Yamamoto said to Captain Shotoku. “We cannot sit here and wait. The Americans will be here shortly.”

Shotoku nodded and left. Orders would be made for the battleship
Kongo
to tow the larger
Yamato
out of danger. The two ships’ rate of speed would be slow and they would be vulnerable until they were out of range of American land-based planes. In the meantime, Yamamoto gave instructions that he and his staff would transfer to another ship, the destroyer
Umikaze
, which was close by. At less than one tenth the size of the
Yamato
, he and his staff would be cramped, but they would get away to fight another day.

But the crew of the
Yamato
would not be so fortunate. He had no illusions. It was extremely likely that the American planes and ships would find and attack the two battleships with overwhelming force. The gambler in him estimated the two battleships’ chances of survival as one in fifty.

Many of the
Yamato
’s crew would not look at him and those who did showed faces full of dismay, disappointment, shock, and anger. Japan had been defeated. How could that be? Yamamoto had no answer. All he knew was that the men of the
Yamato
would likely all die within the next few hours unless a miracle occurred, and he did not believe in miracles. He accepted their anger at him as his due. He had failed.

* * *

The floatplanes reported that the navy fighters and bombers had ceased their attacks on the two Japanese battleships. One, the
Kongo
, was reported to be down at the bow and barely making headway, while the other, the monster
Yamato
, still steamed slowly. The
Kongo
had been towing the
Yamato
, but they had separated.

American pilots confirmed that the
Yamato
was moving in a wide circle to starboard. Skillful ship handling had enabled the
Yamato
to lengthen the distance between herself and both the coast of California and the approaching American carrier. At the rate she was moving, however, it would take an eternity for her to make it to safety.

The United States Navy in the Pacific was again down to one aircraft carrier, the
Essex
, and she was just about out of ordnance. Her bombs had been used up and so too had her pilots. A couple of planes had crashed while trying to land on the
Essex
, which caused Admiral Spruance, now on the battleship
Washington
, to call a halt to the attacks. The
Essex
would be resupplied and her pilots rested before she resumed the fight.

Thus, the older battleships and Admiral Jesse Oldendorff entered the field of battle. The
Colorado
and
Mississippi
had been augmented by the
Pennsylvania
, a survivor of the attack on Pearl Harbor. The admiral now flew his flag on the
Pennsylvania
, which he considered appropriate when he thought of her history and her resurrection from Pearl Harbor. Admiral Nimitz’s foresight in moving his squadron from Puget Sound to join with the
Pennsylvania
at San Francisco caused Oldendorff to smile. He wanted nothing more than to strike back with his battleships before they were sent to a museum. The defeat of the Japanese squadron off Anchorage, while satisfying, had not been enough. He and the ships’ crews all wanted a shot at the enemy, battleship to battleship. It didn’t matter if the
Kongo
and
Yamato
were damaged; he wanted his ships’ guns in at the kill.

“Greene, how far can an eighteen-inch gun fire?”

Commander Mickey Greene rubbed his still-raw jaw. It was a hell of a question and nobody really knew the answer. Nobody had ever seen an eighteen-inch gun and had no idea of its range or velocity. A really good gun of that size had been considered an impossibility. Once again, the Japanese had been underestimated.

“I’ve got to guess at least twenty-five miles, sir, maybe closer to thirty.”

The admiral turned to the rest of his staff. “All of which means we’ll be within range of her guns before we can hit her. Assuming, of course, that the monster has any guns left that can fire after all the punishment she’s been taking.”

Greene swallowed. Of course the
Yamato
would have weapons left. No matter how many times the ship had been hit by bombs and torpedoes, she was still afloat and moving and had to be presumed dangerous.

Oldendorff gave the orders. “We will concentrate on finishing off the
Kongo
. The
Mississippi
and
Colorado
will go to port and we will go to starboard. She’ll be between us and we’ll bracket her quickly.”

It almost wasn’t necessary. The American ships opened fire on the badly damaged
Kongo
at just under twenty miles. Colored dye showed which splashes came from which ship and within only a few minutes, the battleships’ fourteen- and sixteen-inch shells began smashing what was left of the
Kongo
. Several explosions ripped through the Japanese battleship and she began to list to port. There was no return fire and no sign of lifeboats being lowered. Nor were any Japanese sailors jumping from the doomed vessel into the ocean. If there were any living souls on the
Kongo
, they had determined to go down with her.

Or maybe their officers wouldn’t let them run, Greene thought. The Japanese were all nuts, so their sailors would likely obey such an order and die at their stations. He saluted their bravery, but not their common sense. Why the hell would anybody want to die when they could live? At first he had wanted to die when he saw the mess the fires had made of his face, but that went away. Yeah, he would be scarred and they would remind him of his ordeal every day, but most of the worst had faded and he would live a reasonably normal life.

The
Yamato
was nearly forty miles away from the destruction of the
Kongo
. Even though over the horizon, smoke from the numerous fires slowly destroying her was plainly visible. Vectored in by the pall and the guidance of the floatplanes, the three battleships again began their dance. At twenty miles, they opened fire. Again the brightly colored splashes guided the shells until they too smashed into what had been the massive symbol of Japanese might.

There was no response and the American ships continued to move in closer until they were firing at only a few miles, point-blank range. The three American ships formed a line so their shells wouldn’t hit each other, and prepared to launch torpedoes.