very low data transmission rate so bell-ringer messages were usually single letters that either triggered pre-set plans or ordered the submarine to periscope depth to receive a more detailed transmission. But, to snort, he had to run at periscope depth anyway so he had ordered the communications mast raised. There had to be other transmissions out there, just had to be.
“What about other people’s transmissions? Any intercepts of note?”
Yitzchak shook his head. “Routine stuff, nothing more. Most front-line units are in Hell, I suppose that leaves the air pretty quiet here.”
Not the ASW units. Ben-Shoshan thought. They had relatively little role in Hell and nobody flew there if there wasn’t a good reason for them to do so. The place was murder on airframes and engines. Routine missions and training were carried out here on Earth where the air was clean and the skies blue. “Keep a full communications watch out. I want to know the moment we hear anything directed to us. Or related to us.”
“Very good, Captain.” Yitzchak paused then continued. “Running at periscope depth like this, we can’t hear much. The receiver head is too close to the water. If we surfaced, we might be able to pick up more.”
“That would allow us to charge batteries faster as well.” Engineering liked that idea.
The idea of surfacing in unfamiliar surroundings without guaranteed security was anathema to Ben-Shoshan. Nevertheless, he had to know what was going on. And, once his batteries were fully-charged he had a lot more options open to him. “Very well, bring her to the surface. Engineering, I want those batteries charges as fast as the generators can do it. Communications, I need information as soon as possible. Get it.”
Oh, I will, thought Yitzchak. Once I can get outside and get my tinfoil hat off, you’ll get your orders Captain Ben-Shoshan
B-25J “Heavenly Body”, Mediterranean
There were a startling number of B-25s operational, two whole groups of them in fact. Most were B-25Js, some with a solid nose packed with machine guns, others with glazed noses. Once they had all been civilian-owned and had been stripped of their guns. Now, they were back in the Air Force and their guns were once more in place. Heavenly Body actually had working turrets above her fuselage and in her tail. She’d been lovingly cared-for and painstakingly restored. Although most people didn’t know it, quite a few of them had seen her in one of the many films she had appeared in.
The museum salvage aircraft were vanishing from the order of battle now that new production was slowly coming on line to replace them. Not the B-25s though, they were docile, easy to fly and easy to maintain. That was why they had survived in the Air Force long after most other aircraft of their generation had been retired. They couldn’t operate in Hell very easily, the atmosphere in Hell was bad on jets, it was really rough on piston-engined aircraft. But, as multi-crewed trainers here on earth, they filled in for other aircraft that had more urgent operational requirements.
Captain Samuel Tyson was the only experienced crewman on board. Everybody else, engineers, radiomen, gunners and navigators, were trainees. His radioman, well, actually radiowoman, was on her first flight after finishing the 90-day accelerated training course. The rest of his crew were hardly more experienced, yet to Tyson this was a positive thing. There was an immense sense of satisfaction in taking a group of raw trainees and turing them into competent crew members. Also, one good thing about this, as a training bird, Heavenly Body had a full set of modern communications equipment. Only one old radio was left, that had been part of her original equipment fit from her service in the Second World War. It had been left on board purely for nostalgic reasons and, in Tyson’s eyes, it was supremely ironic that the radio message he had just been handed had come over that ancient valve radio.
“Listen up, boys and girls. We’ve just had a message from Naples. That renegade sub the ASW boys have been hunting? Well, she’s turned up, long way to the west of where everybody thought. The surveillance people got her snorting and their latest information is that she’s running on the surface. Her position is some sixty miles from us and we are by far the closest asset available. P-3s and surface ships are closing in but the P-3s are at least an hour out while the surface ships won’t be on scene for four or five. We can be there in ten minutes and our orders are to do it and be as obnoxious as possible. Fred, you got the data, plot the course.”
Tyson thought for a second. Fred Williams had an old-fashioned navigator’s position in the glazed nose. One of the things about Hell was that the absence of GPS had brought back a return to old-fashioned navigation techniques. And so, a new generation of navigators was being trained to use such unheard-of technical developments like maps and compasses. “And Fred, get the. 30 in the nose ready. Trudy, swing your top turret forward, lock it so we can have it and the four fuselage. 50s ready to fire in a concentrated pattern. Jim, Stan and Eggy, get your waist and tail. 50s ready to spray her as we go past. If she stays on the surface, we’ll make multiple passes until she changes her mind. Damn, I wish we had some bombs on board. Fred, where’s that course?”
“Two-seven-seven Boss. Estimated time of arrival eight minutes if we really push it.”
“Consider it pushed.” Tyson firewalled the throttles and put the nose down. The old B-25 surged forward in response. Above and behind him, he heard the mid-upper turret swing forward. Trudy laFonteyn was training to be a gunner on an AC-130 only there weren’t enough of them to use as trainers. Not yet anyway. But, Tyson guessed she’d be doing the best she could with the twin. 50s she did have. Heavenly Body shook slightly as her airspeed crept up to 275 knots, the fastest she had been flown for many, many years. It occurred to Tyson that the old lady was about to fire her guns in anger for the first time in her long life.
Sail, INS Tekuma, Mediterranean
Lieutenant Midyan Yitzchak looked carefully around the observation deck built into the sail. Both the enlisted men on the sail had their eyes glued to the powerful binoculars mounted on either side of the platform. They were scanning for any sign of ships or aircraft, their attention fixed on the horizon, not on the officer who shared the deck with them. Yitzchak took a deep breath and unobtrusively slipped his tinfoil cap off. His mind open and exposed, he closed his eyes and waited for a message from his Heavenly Master.
“Aircraft, aircraft!” One of the lookouts yelled the warning.
The words snapped Yitzchak out of his trance. Frantically, he crammed his tinfoil hat back on his head and slammed his hand on the communication speaker. “Aircraft approaching.”
“Where? What type? How far? Get a hold on yourself Lieutenant.”
“Twin-engined propeller job. Green. Five miles out, bearing oh-nine-three.”
Yitzchak took a deep breath and relayed the information. Then, he took the binoculars and looked more closely at the aircraft. “It’s American, Captain, I think its an old warbird, a B-25. It’s coming straight at us.”
Yitzchak heard Ben-Shoshan give a sight of relief. “Good, now we’ll find out what’s going on. Give him a wave as we pass overhead. Then get below and see if you can raise him on the radio.”
B-25J “Heavenly Body”, Mediterranean
“Here we go. She’s still on the surface. Why she hasn’t dived is beyond me.”
“Subs don’t crash dive any more. Usually they get down and stay down. Her crew might not know how to get down fast. Or they may believe they have a better chance on the surface.” Lieutenant James Purdue was the co- pilot and was also training on the B-25 because all the more suitable aircraft had more important things to do. As the only Navy man on the Air Force B-25, he felt obliged to pose as the expert on all things naval. Which he wasn’t, but at least he tried.
“Gunners, ready, firing… Now.” Tyson squeezed the firing button for the four. 50s mounted on the fuselage sides and head the guns starting to hammer. The top-turret guns and the. 30 in the nose followed a split second later, adding their share to the hail of bullets that stirred up a white fountain just aft of the submarine’s stern. He lifted the nose slightly and walked the long burst along the submarine’s hull, dropping the nose again as the tracers tore into the bridge structure. He was able to hold the fire there for only a second or so before he had to climb out. As Heavenly Body climbed away, Tyson started to pull her around, hearing the waist and tail guns adding their contribution to the mayhem that had just been unleashed below.
“Payback for the Liberty.” Perdue’s voice had a grim satisfaction in it.
“Don’t worry about that crap now.” Tyson snapped the words out. He was flying an aircraft more than sixty years old and he had no real idea when the wings were going to come off. He still wanted to get the nose around quickly enough for another pass at the submarine below. It was just a matter of whether the old aircraft could take the strain.
Sail, INS Tekuma, Mediterranean
Yitzchak was the only man on Tekuma not surprised by the strafing pass. He had watched the B-25 make its run towards the submarine and realized what the pilot was going to do. So, he had made certain he was well-
