Rising Sun

didn’t she make it down to him? And what was so important about her journey to California that she couldn’t tell him?

* * *

Lieutenant Commander Lou Torelli’s new sub was a Salmon-class boat built in 1939. Named the U.S.S. Shark after a sub of the same name that had been lost earlier in the year, she carried a crew of ninety, and was larger and faster than his previous sub. She carried twenty-four torpedoes, which could be fired from eight tubes, with four each located at the bow and stern. The Shark had a three-inch gun on her deck and four machine guns to fight off enemy aircraft. Torelli, however, had no intention of being on the surface long enough so that enemy planes could either find or attack him. He’d learned that lesson transporting people from Hawaii to San Diego. He’d been lucky once. He would not count on luck again.

Like most smaller warships, the Shark had no radar, which many still considered unreliable anyhow. Until radar was perfected, most sailors preferred a wide-open eyeball to unproven technology. Torelli was reasonably confident that no Japanese ships or planes carried radar either, although there were rumors that the Japs did have knowledge of it and were building sets. It was yet another blow to Anglo-American egos. The Japanese were too primitive to understand radar, it had been thought. Another stupid miscalculation, he thought ruefully.

Even though fairly new, the Salmon-class subs were already being outclassed by newer categories of subs that were being built by the dozen. Soon, it was joked, subs would have to be outfitted with old tires on their hulls because there would be so many of them they’d be bumping into each other while underwater.

He had the dismal feeling that this patrol was his punishment for complaining about the quality of U.S. torpedoes. The powers in the navy’s Bureau of Ordnance in Washington had accused him and other sub captains of incompetence or cowardice and insisted there was nothing wrong with their damn torpedoes. It was a debate that now raged far above his pay grade.

Perhaps in order to get him out of the sight of BuOrd, his patrol area included the waters off the Cook Inlet and the Gulf of Alaska to its south. Rear Admiral Charles Lockwood had recently arrived from Australia to head up the submarine force in place of the ailing Admiral Thomas England. Torelli and other submariners felt that Lockwood was a stern fire-breather, but a man who would be sympathetic to the needs of submariners and would fight hard for them.

The Shark was at periscope depth and creeping along to keep any wake from the periscope to a minimum. The day was gray and bleak with pockets of fog obscuring their view. Torelli wished he did have radar. In the lousy weather, the Japs could be a few hundred yards away and nobody’d know. Of course, the Japs wouldn’t either, but he was not going to risk running on the surface just so he might be able to see a little better.

Torelli had turned the periscope over to his XO, Lieutenant Crowley, who was peering intently through it. “What do you make, Ron?” Torelli asked genially.

“Visitors for Anchorage, Skipper. I make two Jap heavy cruisers and six destroyers all escorting at least half a dozen transports.”

They’d spotted the enemy force a half hour earlier as gray shapes moving through the intermittent fog. The Japanese ships were well out of range and Torelli was torn between the need to try an attack and his duty to inform the brass of his discovery. He decided to do both. Catching up to the convoy was out of the question. They had too much of a head start. He would wait until they were out of sight, surface, and send off a message. After that there might be the opportunity to seek out and hit the Japs where it hurt. Right now, the Japanese commander was skillfully keeping his convoy against the shore with the warships protecting their port flank.

Torelli did not entirely agree with Crowley. “Not only am I better looking than you, my eyes are sharper, young Lieutenant. I make two heavy cruisers and one light along with five destroyers. No, change that. I see another light cruiser. If my math is correct, that makes nine of the fuckers heading straight for Anchorage.”

Crowley whistled softly. According to his latest copy of Jane’s, a Japanese heavy cruiser generally carried eight-inch guns. “Lord, Skipper, one of them would look great on our trophy rack, although we’d need a helluva big trophy rack.”

Torelli didn’t respond. He had some decisions to make. If he decided that the transports were the more valuable targets; he’d have to shoot his way past the cruisers and destroyers to get at the transports. He wondered what important materiel the transports carried to make them worthy of such a strong convoy. Planes, artillery, more troops, supplies, and all of the above came to mind, and there was no way he could close the distance in time. He swore. So much materiel would soon be landed to reinforce the invasion of Alaska before he could do anything about it.

As soon as he could he surfaced and sent a detailed message. He stayed on the surface to recharge his batteries. Torelli had the nagging feeling he was going to need them fully charged soon. Bad torpedoes or not, he wanted to strike back at the Japs.

A couple of hours later, he got the response. The Shark was to stay and observe, but not attack, at least for the time being. The message didn’t quite say it, but Torelli felt that something nasty was being planned for the Japanese. He fervently hoped he could help out.

* * *

Japanese ships on patrol off the American coast could not see through the persistent fog, and they could not get too close to the hostile shoreline when the gray shapes of American ships slipped out of Puget Sound and headed north a week earlier. Hugging the shore, they’d made it to Yakutat Bay, south of Anchorage, where Alaska became a finger of land running alongside the border with Canada. The bay was dominated by Mount Hood and Mount Hubbard, and, if the weather was right, they could see the mountains and glaciers farther up where Yakutat Bay changed its name to what the sailors of the American force thought was the wonderfully appropriately named Disenchantment Bay.

There was a town called Yakutat, but none of the crew showed any inclination for shore leave in such a dismal-looking place, even if liberty would be permitted.

Admiral Jesse Oldendorf had recently arrived from a command in the Atlantic. It was rumored that he would take over from Admiral Pye, who was under severe criticism for his handling of his part of the fleet after Pearl Harbor. The criticism might not be deserved, but scapegoats were needed, and Pye had pulled his ships back from reinforcing Wake Island. Wake had subsequently fallen after heroic fighting and Pye had been blamed for not making a strong enough effort to help. Cooler heads said Pye’s efforts would have been doomed, but Pye would still be sacrificed.

Oldendorf’s command consisted of two of Pye’s old battleships, the Mississippi and the Colorado, along with four destroyers. The admiral flew his flag in the Colorado, in part because her eight sixteen-inch guns mounted in four turrets were larger than the Mississippi’s twelve fourteen-inch guns. Bigger is always better, the admiral had said with a smile.

Their presence in Yakutat Bay was in the hope that the Japanese would do exactly what the Shark had reported, make a reinforcement run to Anchorage, and they had been waiting anxiously for several days. The two battleships, however old, were much more powerful than three Japanese cruisers and a handful of destroyers. Better, both the Colorado and Mississippi had recently been equipped with radar. The Japanese were supposed to be superior at night fighting, but how well could they fight in a fog? Truth be told, Oldendorf wanted very much to see the enemy face to face, but it would be just as nice, he thought, to be able to sneak up on the sons of bitches before they had a chance to react. “Never give a sucker an even break” was his motto, adopted after hearing the line in a movie.

In single file, with the two radar-equipped battleships leading, Oldendorf’s ships slipped out of Yakutat Bay and said farewell to the thoroughly disenchanting Disenchantment Bay. They headed north, again hugging the coastline.

Naval intelligence insisted that there were no other major Japanese warships in the area. All carrier and battleship units were well to the south, they said, and concentrated in two roughly equivalent forces, one off San Francisco and one off San Diego.