Sea of Death

Eleven

Bill Brown snapped awake from a sound sleep and, for a confusing moment, forgot where he was.

As an amplified pa announcement blared in the distance he reoriented himself. Groggily, he reached up and switched on the small overhead reading light that was mounted on the bulkhead above his head.

This illuminated the cramped stateroom that the Hawkbill’s XO had so graciously surrendered for his use during the refitting.

Before sitting up, the veteran took a moment to allow his thoughts to clear. The long flight from Florida had exhausted him, yet he had been too excited to sleep until he’d gotten a look at Alpha Base.

The spirited reunion with his ex-shipmates, his walk through of the Bokken, and Henry Walker’s fascinating briefing, at which time he’d met the other participants in the mission, had followed.

It had been Pete Frystak who had finally suggested that they try to get some shuteye. Brown had resisted at first, but had soon found himself yawning and struggling to keep his eyes open. The Hawkbill’s alert XO, noting his fatigued condition, had practically begged Brown to take his stateroom and get some rest.

A quick check of his watch showed Bill that he had been out agood four hours. This was much longer than he had planned to sleep, and he stiffly sat up, intending to get on with the work that lay before them.

Brown hadn’t slept on a submarine for well over twenty years. The tight spaces, the sounds, the rich scent of machine oil that permeated the air sure hadn’t changed, and he made his way over to the washbasin, with only his aching joints as evidence of the years’ passing.

He felt much better after brushing his teeth and shaving. He even had something of an appetite ashe pulled on his well-worn khaki trousers, tucked in his faded denim workshirt, and without bothering to put on socks, slipped into a pair of comfortable rubber-soled boat shoes. Only after he’d pocketed his corncob pipe, tobacco pouch, and lighter did he continue on to the nearby wardroom.

Seated there, sipping on a glass of milk, was a young officer who seemed to be totally immersed in the large chart spread out on the table before him.

Before Brown could introduce himself, aportly, crewcut newcomer wearing a stained apron entered the wardroom from the opposite hatchway. He carried a platter of sandwich fixings, which he placed on the table before walking over to personally greet Bill.

“Ah, you must be Commander Brown. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, sir. I’m Petty Officer First Class Howard Mallot, the chief cook and bottle washer around here.”

This introduction caught the attention of the seated officer, who looked up as Mallot continued.

“I understand from Vice Admiral Walker that you used to be his CO back in the days of the diesel-electrics.

Perhaps you knew my father, Chief Bomar Mallot. He was the head of the galley aboard the Pickerel.”

“The Pickerel was a fine submarine, Mr. Mallot.”

Brown couldn’t help but eye the platter of food.

“I toured her several times, though I don’t believe I ever met your father.”

Howard Mallot wasn’t the type who missed much, and he was aware that the white-haired veteran had missed dinner.

“Please help yourself to some chow, Commander.

I brought out some freshly sliced turkey, whole wheat bread, low-fat swiss cheese, and a variety of condiments.”

“Don’t mind if I do, Chief,” said Bill Brown.

“I’m famished!”

“How about some coffee?” asked Mallot.

Brown answered while bending over to prepare a sandwich.

“By all means. Chief. I take it black and Navy strong.”

As Mallot left to fulfill this request. Brown sat down beside the wardroom’s other occupant.

“Good evening, sir,” said the young officer softly.

“I’m Lieutenant Rich Laycob, the Hawkbill’s navigator.”

“Pleased to meet you. Lieutenant,” replied Brown, before taking a bite of his turkey sandwich.

The sub’s chief cook returned with a couple of mugs and a thermos of steaming coffee, and Bill Brown made certain to pass on his compliments.

“This turkey’s excellent, Mr. Mallot.”

“Thank-you, sir. Too bad you missed all the trimmings that went with it at dinner.”

Brown poured himself some coffee and responded.

“To tell you the truth, I was so beat I didn’t even know I missed a meal, until now.”

“Well, there’s more if you’re still hungry,” said Mallot, who addressed his next remarks to both seated figures.

“You know, I just returned from a tour of that Chinese-made pigboat, and whoever designed that galley sure didn’t give much thought to the cooks. There’s hardly any workspace, and the equipment is positively ancient.”

“Did she have any food left on board?” asked Rich Laycob.

“The only item in the pantry that wasn’t spoiled was rice, and plenty of it,” answered Mallot.

“I counted ten fifty-pound sacks.”

“I seriously doubt if even our hungriest chow-hounds would go through that much during this mission,” observed the navigator.

Mallot nodded in agreement.

“Captain Slaughter wants me to take along only what we need for this cruise. Even with this trip’s short duration, it’s still going to be a challenge. So I plan a full dress rehearsal meal in three more days.”

“What’s on the menu?” questioned Brown ashe polished off the rest of his sandwich.

Mallot smiled.

“I’ve decided this cruise should have a Japanese theme.”

“Just count me out when it comes to the sushi,” said Brown, who looked up as the Hawkbill’s commanding officer strode into the wardroom.

Chris Slaughter addressed his initial remarks to the chef.

“Chief, it looks like the gang over on the Bokken could use some more mid-rats. Can you handle it?”

“I’ll get on it at once, sir,” returned Mallot, who made it a point to readdress the veteran subman before leaving.

“See you later. Commander Brown.”

Mallot exited, and Slaughter poured himself some coffee and remained standing.

“Sounds like you’ve got quite a cook there,” said Bill Brown between sips from his own mug.

“He’s one of the best in the fleet.” Slaughter patted his stomach.

“In fact, his food’s so good the only battle this crew’s been involved in is the battle of the bulge.”

“If this bay we’re being sent to is as tight as it appears, then I’m afraid that’s going to change real quick. Captain,” countered the somber-faced navigator.

“I’ve been going over these charts, and there certainly doesn’t seem to be much room in there for us to work in.”

With mugs in hand. Bill Brown and Chris Slaughter gathered around the seated navigator, who pointed to the mushroom-shaped bay visible on the topmost chart and continued.

“The inlet itself is less than a quarter-mile wide.

The channel there appears deep enough, though that’s where the first hydrophones will be positioned.”

“And the CAPTORS?” quizzed Slaughter.

Rich Laycob pointed to the bay’s center.

“The mines will probably be moored here, in a half-moon pattern designed to protect the inner shoreline.”

Bill Brown used the scarred stem of his pipe to highlight the inlet, and he casually expressed his opinion.

“I wouldn’t be surprised to find some mines blocking the entrance to the bay itself, along with a few other surprises like an old-fashioned sub net.”

“I don’t know about the sub net,” said Slaughter.

“But as long as the Bokken’s signature is locked within the mine-field’s computerized memory, I don’t feel the CAPTORs are our main concern. That is delivering the SEAL team safely. Lieutenant Laycob, how would you handle the dropoff?”

The navigator took his time answering.

“Because of the limited depth of the bay, our best bet is to drop them off just after dusk, approximately five hundred yards offshore. That will give them at least ten hours of darkness to row to land, do their dirty work, and return to the dropoff point for pickup.”

Once more Bill Brown utilized the stem of his pipe as a pointer.

“It looks like there’s a river running into the eastern part of the bay. Encountering that fresh water could play havoc with our trim and cause an unnecessary breach. So how about using the western portion as our dropoff point? Besides, the beach there appears to have cover extending all the way down to the waterline.”

“Looks good to me,” said Slaughter.

“If this chart’s accurate, the SEALs should only have a hike of a mile or so before they reach the first security perimeter. Meanwhile, we’re going to be experiencing the hardest part of this whole operation, which will be waiting for the SEALs to return.”

“Time does have a strange way of slowing down in those situations,” observed Bill Brown.

“But I’m sure we’ll have our hands full. Don’t forget, those hydrophones are going to pick us up the moment we penetrate that inlet. They’re going to have a hell of a time figuring out where we disappeared to and why we never made it to the pier.”

“That’s why it’s imperative that those SEALs get in and out of there in the shortest amount of time possible,” added Slaughter.

Bill Brown sat back and looked up at Slaughter.

“Having Dr. Kromer along should help.”

The Hawkbill’s CO returned his glance.

“That woman sure is something special to volunteer for an operation such as this one.”

“Scuttlebutt has it that Henry Walker conned her into it,” said Brown.

Slaughter grinned slyly.

“It seems that the admiral didn’t do a bad job enlisting your services cither.”

This remark caused a broad smile to light up the veteran’s tanned face. He took along sip of coffee before voicing himself.

“Even when Henry was my diving officer on the Cubera, he had an irresistible way of asking for something. It was as if he took it for granted that his request would be met, and he only posed the question as a mere formality.”

“Earlier today, when the admiral explained this mission’s command structure, he asked you if it was okay to have me as the sole CO of the Bokken. Was this one of those questions that he already had the answer to?” questioned Slaughter.

“Hell, yes!” replied Bill Brown.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, and Henry damn well knows it. And besides, I’m getting too old to assume full responsibility for a complex operation like this one. I’m going along merely as a consultant, to oversee operations and to provide input only when I deem it necessary to the successful completion of this mission.”

“As far as I’m concerned, Commander Brown,” said Slaughter, “you’ll still bethe senior officer aboard.”

“That’s all well and fine, my friend,” replied the veteran submariner.

“But don’t forget that as of today, in the eyes of the world, you’re officially a civilian.

So why not start out by calling me Bill?”

“Bill, it is,” repeated Slaughter, who liked the honest chemistry that was developing between them.

Brown felt likewise and, after polishing off his coffee, turned his attention back to the top chart.

“In all likelihood, it’s going to be hell to pay to get out of that bay with our feet dry. But we’ll face that problem as it comes. Right now, we’ve got to focus on getting that commando team safely ashore, so they can blow that biological warfare lab to kingdom come. Because the one thing you can bet the farm on is that the maniac responsible for all this isn’t going to stop with just Kadena and Sasebo.

Yokosuka and our Tokyo bases will be next. And then it will be on to Guam, Honolulu, and, before you know it, the US mainland itself!”

Dr. Yukio Ishii pulled up to the entrance of the dormitory at nine a.m. sharp. He’d no sooner put the solar-powered golf cart into neutral, than the front door to the building swung open, and Yoko Noguchi emerged into the sunlight and headed straight down the brick walkway that led to the road.

This was the first time he had seen the young scientist without her laboratory garb on, and he was most impressed with the naturalness of her beauty.

She had a schoolgirl innocence, that was emphasized by her short bangs, big dark eyes, and knee-length, white silk skirt. Ishii waved in greeting, but did not bother to get out of the cart as she continued down the walkway toward him.

“Climb in,” he instructed as she reached the road.

She scooted into the cart beside him, and Ishii added.

“What an absolutely gorgeous morning it is for me to give you that tour I promised. I hope you slept well. Miss Noguchi.”

“I’m afraid it was another late night at the lab, sir,” Yoko replied while Ishii put the cart into gear and started driving them forward.

Ishii looked concerned.

“Any problems?”

“Nothing serious. I just lost track of the time while initiating some aerosol experiments.”

“It appears that destiny has brought you to the right place to lose track of time, my dear,” returned Ishii.

“Except instead of misplacing hours, I lose entire years to my work!”

Ishii turned the cart onto an asphalt roadway that led them away from the massive industrial complex beside which the dormitory was located. A series of scrub-filled foothills stretched before them now.

They appeared to be unoccupied except for dozens of tall, wildly spinning windmills. These structures were of the most modern construction, complete with pivoting, airplane-style propellers that efficiently caught the wind no matter which direction it was blowing from.

“This is our little wind farm,” observed Ishii proudly.

“When I first came to Takara, I noticed that the constantly blowing trade winds were funneled through this valley. These windmills are responsible for a fifth of the electricity we use here.”

He turned onto a road that ran parallel to the foothills, and Yoko spotted a series of massive electrical pylons and accompanying cables. These stretched all the way into the surrounding mountains.

“What other power sources do you rely on?” she asked.

Ishii was anticipating such a question and eagerly answered it.

“Solar energy provides us with another fifth of our total power requirement, while the rest is produced by hydroelectrical means. In this way we can keep our import of costly, pollution-causing fossil fuels to a bare minimum.”

“That’s most impressive, sir,” observed the young scientist, whose curiosity was still not satisfied.

“May I ask though where this hydroelectrical power source originates? I didn’t think Takara Island had any major rivers.”

“It doesn’t,” returned Ishii, who liked her probing intellect.

“We have developed away to tap the very energy that courses through the seas. Much as we did with these windmills, we have strategically placed several specially designed turbines in the waters off Takara’s northern coast. A strong, constant current cuts the Ryukyu chain here, and it’s this surge that spins our turbines and provides the power that satisfies the majority of our energy requirements.”

“Ingenious,” reflected Yoko, who was equally impressed with what she next viewed.

What appeared to be over a dozen, large, rectangularly shaped ponds were cut into the floor of the valley. As they passed by the first of these miniature lakes, several individuals could be seen patrolling the gently sloping shoreline, with wide, pole-mounted nets in hand.

Not bothering to wait for the question he knew would soon be voiced, Ishii continued his role as tour guide.

“This is aportion of our aqua-farm. Miss Noguchi. In these ponds we raise such delectables as prawns, lobsters, oysters, and catfish. Sizable growths of kelp and seaweed are also grown here. We have cordoned off portions of the adjoining sea in order to raise species that need more space to feed-salmon, tuna, and even shark, whose flesh I find particularly satisfying.”

“So this is where that delicious lobster I had for dinner two nights ago came from,” said Yoko.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Our lobster crop this year was excellent, and we have already begun exporting a sizable number to the mainland.”

Ishii made this comment while steering the cart onto a dirt road that led back toward the bay. The bulk of the industrial complex could be seen to the left, while a double-wide, chainlink security fence stretched along the right side of the road, a thick forest of trees beyond it.

From Yoke’s vantage point, a freighter docked at the facilities main pier could be seen. Several trucks were lined up beside this ship, which was unloading its cargo by means of a conveyor belt.

“It appears that the folks in mineral extraction will be busy tonight,” said Ishii ashe guided the cart onto the concrete pavement that followed the bay back to the complex.

“That ship’s hold is filled with hundreds of tons of newly excavated nodules, picked off the floor of the Pacific at a depth of some ten thousand feet. Our preliminary analysis shows it to be rich in manganese.”

“My father always said that the greatest mineral treasures of all lay untouched on the bottom of the sea,” said Yoko.

Ishii was quick to respond to this comment.

“I understand from your personnel dossier that your father was a geologist. Too bad he didn’t live long enough to see the day when his prophetic observation would come true.”

“There’s so much here that my father would have been fascinated with.” Yoko turned to face her silver-haired escort.

“When I first considered applying to work here, one of my father’s ex-colleagues mentioned that your wife was one of the first female geologists to graduate from Tokyo University.”

“That was many, many years ago, my dear,” reflected Ishii dreamily.

“Is your wife still alive?” Yoko asked, as innocently as possible.

Ishii’s tone turned bitter.

“My wife was one of the thousands of unfortunate souls burned to death when the American atomic bomb fell on Nagasaki on August 9, 1945.”

A moment of constrained silence followed as the cart passed by the main pier. Yoko saw that two other vessels, a submarine and a sleek patrol boat, were also docked here. She was surprised when Ishii failed to turn left onto the road that would have taken them back to the laboratory. Instead they continued on beside the sparkling waters of the bay.

A gull cried out harshly overhead, and Yoko looked up into a clear blue sky. Now that they were closer to the water, the air temperature had dropped several degrees, and she was thankful for the light sweater she’d decided to wear. Deciding against asking anymore personal questions, she sat back to enjoy the tour that was turning out to be much more extensive than she had expected.

Some sort of park was visible up ahead. Ishii slowed down the cart as they approached this immaculately manicured field of grass on which a dozen youngsters were doing kendo exercises. An eagle-eyed instructor led the children, orchestrating the movements of their bamboo swords with his out stretched hand.

“Are you familiar with the way of the sword, my dear?” asked Ishii.

“As a child, I used to have my own bokken,” replied Yoko.

“But now my favorite martial-art is judo,” Ishii continued, while slowing the cart to a virtual crawl.

“Perhaps when you get completely settled in, you’ll join me in the gymnasium on Saturday mornings, when a few of us get together to practice. As you may very well know, there’s much more to the ancient sport of kendo than merely striking two swords together.”

“I’d enjoy that,” said Yoko, who really wasn’t certain what he was referring to.

On the far side of the practice field was an airstrip, complete with a small tower and a quonset hut. Ishii remained silent until the cart was parked beside the closed doors of the metal hangar, then spoke out in a cool, composed voice.

“Several days ago, you asked me why it was necessary for us to develop anew, deadlier strain of anthrax toxin. I’d like to take this opportunity to inform you that Ishii Industries has taken this step not only to formulate a proper vaccine, but also to investigate the theoretical use of such toxins in the future defense of the Japanese mainland.”

This off-the-wall remark caught Yoko by complete surprise, and she hesitated a moment before responding.

“Do you have a Ministry of Defense grant to initiate such experiments?” she questioned.

Ishii laughed.

“The Ministry of Defense, that’s a misnomer if I ever heard one! No, Miss Noguchi, we have taken this initiative on our own.”

“But the government?” countered the young scientist.“How can you even think of proceeding with such a dangerous experiment without their support and approval?”

Ishii remained cool, and in complete control.

“It’s evident that you’re young and innocent, my dear.

But the idealistic days of childhood and university life are over. It’s my duty to welcome you to the world as it really is. In all honesty, what do you know about this government you speak of? Just because it’s there, do you allow it to take control of your destiny as if it were some omnipotent force unable to err?”

Having no answer to this, Yoko could only wait for her new employer to continue.

“I hate to bethe one to disillusion you, my dear, but the current government of Japan is nothing but a weak, corrupt lackey of our military occupiers, the United States of America. To prove this point, one only has to look at our current national energy policy.

This shortsighted program relies almost exclusively on oil from the Persian Gulf to run the country’s industrial machine. Yet what happens when this source is interrupted, as it was in the winter of nineteen ninety? Faced with a potential loss of over eighty percent of our petroleum reserves, Japan was forced — against its will — to practically write out a blank check to the US treasury. And did our government learn from this costly mistake and change its policy, focus its attention on alternative power sources such as those that run this island? On the contrary. Because the weak-willed fools who run our nation are still afraid of any innovation that could upset their precious status quo or anger our old friend. Uncle Sam.

“It was no different in the days that preceded World War II, my dear. At that time our energy-starved nation faced a similar dilemma. Yet instead of dealing directly with the problem and finding alternatives, the government did nothing. It was this inaction that allowed the militants to assume power.

And from then on, Japan’s doom was sealed.”

“But we are a democracy now,” dared Yoko.

“Our government is but a reflection of the will of the people. And if they’re not satisfied, they’ll vote out the incumbents and elect new officials who will carryout their desires.”

“That would be so if our citizens had the vision to know what was really in their best interests,” returned Ishii.

“Unfortunately, most of them can’t see beyond their next bowl of rice.”

The elder sighed and beckoned Yoko to follow him on foot.

“Come, my dear. Enough of this rather heavy talk. Now I want to show you the one material object that’s closer to this old man’s heart than anything else on the face of this planet.”

Yoko was amazed at how quickly Ishii changed the direction of their conversation. It was almost as if he’d planned this outing just to test her political preferences. Fascinated by his own peculiar beliefs, she followed him over to the closed doors of the hangar.

“In my mind, nothing symbolizes the true inventive soul of the Japanese people like the aircraft that awaits us inside,” said Ishii ashe swung back one of the massive doors and walked inside to activate the lights.

The fluorescent tubes snapped on overhead, illuminating a single, light gray airplane with bright red rising-sun decals on its wings and both sides of its fuselage. A yellow stripe encircled the aft part of the freshly painted metal fuselage, another stripe brightened the base of the vertical stabilizer. Only when Ishii went on to explain this aircraft’s history, did Yoko realize how incredibly preserved it was.

“My dear, this is my pride and joy, a Type 0, Model-21 fighter escort, originally built by Mitsubishi in nineteen forty-three. She’s one of ten thousand five hundred eighty of such aircraft designed for Japan by the master aeronautical engineer Jiro Horikoshi.”

They reached the Zero’s side, and Yoko carefully touched the smooth, flush-riveted fuselage asher host continued.

“Sadly enough, today only a handful of such aircraft remain in existence. As a pilot, I can personally attest to her marvelous handling qualities. Designed around lightness, simplicity, and case of maintenance, the Zero could out maneuver any plane the enemy had, even the highly vaunted English Spitfire.”

“She’s certainly agood-looking piece of machinery,” Yoko commented.

“She’s much more than that, my dear,” replied Ishii with rising emotion.

“The Zero was built with a minimum of government interference. Aircraft such as this are poignant reminders thatone must not neglect to consider the private sector when it comes to the defense of our ancestral homeland.

“Much like Jiro Horikoshi, I want to make a contribution to the security of Japan. As we get to know each other better, you’ll see that my vision is a relatively simple one. All that I really desire is a country free from foreign occupation. Under the divine leadership of our holy Emperor, we will expand our sphere of influence to include our rightful colonies in Southeast Asia, China, Korea, and Indonesia.

Only then can we truly flourish and successfully compete with such economic giants as the rapidly emerging European Economic Community.”

“In all honesty, I don’t think today’s Japan is doing that badly,” said Yoko.

“If you ask me, your plan for the future hints at the reawakening of militarism, but that’s something the people won’t stand for.”

“The people,” repeated Ishii with disgust.

“What do they know of the realities of geopolitical power?

But that’s irrelevant at the moment,” he added in a softer tone.

“You are a member of our family now.

And all I ask of you is to keep an open mind. Attend our lecture, exercise, and meditation sessions, and don’t be afraid to express your own opinions when challenged. In other words, dare to grow with us in consciousness, my dear, and the Way will lead you homeward like along-lost pilgrim.”

“No one ever accused me of having a closed mind before,” said Yoko.

“I didn’t think so,” replied the grinning elder.

“You’re much too intelligent for that. You are also a welcome breath of fresh air around here. I’m relying on you to give me a better understanding of the modern generation that comprises mainstream Japan, so never be afraid to speak your mind around me. And in such amanner we can continue to learn from each other, and to become fuller individuals as we do.”

Ishii projected an almost fatherly warmth ashe beckoned toward the open doors of the hangar and added.

“I don’t know about you, but all this talking and fresh air has done wonders for my appetite.

Please do me the honor of joining me for brunch in my private diningroom and perhaps you’ll share with me what it’s like to be a university student in modern-day Japan.”

“I’d enjoy that,” responded Yoko, allowing the elder to gently take her by the arm and guide her out into the welcoming sunlight.