Code Name: Infamy (Aviator Book 4) (27 page)

TBM-3L Avenger, overhead Button Islands

Lieutenant Junior Grade Paul “Cue-ball” Bement circled over his station at the edge of the Hudson Strait. It was apparent that this mission had gone very wrong. SOS signals and fire on the horizon told him everything he needed to know. One squadron aircraft was at the northern end of the Strait and the other overhead the Corvettes looking for survivors. With only nine functional Avengers, they had been cycling three at a time. Most of the fighters were on alert waiting for an airborne threat to be declared. Only four at a time were airborne in a line stretching east to west. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, a blast radio transmission to the entire air wing added to the night.

“Ninety-nine all School Boys. This is Red Crown. Target is 57:00N, 67:00W. Proceed at maximum possible speed and destroy.”

Cue-ball quickly plotted the position and then turned toward it as he pushed the prop pitch and throttle to maximum. He keyed his intercom system and spoke to the other two men in his crew. “We are forty-eight minutes out. Let mother know.” His radio operator passed the information to Red Crown on the Suwannee.

Lieutenant Kid Brennan, the furthest west Hellcat, turned to Ungave Bay and transmitted that he was ten or fifteen minutes behind Cue-ball.

CHAPTER 34

04:23 Local, 21 August, 1945 (09:23 GMT, 21AUG)

Ungave Bay

A lone F6F-5N Hellcat thundered across the Torngat Mountains fifty miles south of Cape Chidley. Kid Brennan powered up his AN/APS 6 radar as he crossed the shoreline of the eastern edge of Ungave Bay and keyed his microphone.

“Cue? Kid on Strike frequency, how copy?”

“Loud and clear, shipmate, say posit?”

“I’m going feet wet over Baie Keglo.”

“Roger that, Kid, you are one hundred in trail of me.”

Kid reached down and switched on his external fuel tank. He was in the habit of transferring it last so that he could be instantly at combat weight by jettisoning it. He did not feel the thump of it pressurizing and recycled the toggle. As he raced toward the target LAT/LONG, he tried all his tricks to get the fuel to transfer, but it would not. Finally he jettisoned the tank. He tapped his fuel gauge, realizing he was now on a one-way mission, and radioed the ship’s controller.

“Red Crown, this is Night Stalker one, fuel critical.”

Adak

Spike was half seated on a desk drinking hot coffee that a Filipino Messman had brought in from the chow hall along with more food. Its rich aroma was a welcome change from the dank smoke. He took a long sip after blowing on the hot liquid.

“SITREP?”

Irish jerked a phone away from his left ear. “We’ve got two of Suwannee’s aircraft closing on the target now, an Avenger and Hellcat. The Avenger can take out the sub when it surfaces, and if anything gets off, the Hellcat is a night fighter and can shoot it down.”

“Time on target?”

“Twenty-eight minutes for the Avenger; the Hellcat is fifteen behind that.”

Jeff was working a time line and barked without being asked, “Too late! Tell them to go faster!”

Overhead, Ungave Bay

After receiving the signal “Buster” from Red Crown, both aviators knew they were running out of time. Kid pushed the throttle of his R-2800 past the detent into the emergency range and glanced at his fuel gauge. He radioed Cue-ball.

“Hey, Cue, if I need to chase anyone, it better be a short one. Try to get them before they launch.”

“Roger that, Kid.”

I-403, Ungave Bay

Atsugi was in his flight gear, pre-flighting his Seiran fighter for its last glorious flight. After he was finished, he got his wingman, and the two of them walked over to where Wolf was doing a final prep on the Detroit bomb. He and a technician were leaning into the back cockpit. After flipping two switches he let the technician bolt an access plate back in place.

I-403 had been shaking at top speed since they turned south into the Bay. Atsugi looked at his watch and could see time was close. He spoke to Wolf. “I would think now is the time to brief us on the detonation procedures, General?”

Wolf’s paranoia was not unfounded, as both men knew. He had given few details about the nuclear devices. He smiled a devious smile and responded, “They are armed now, Atsugi. I have set the weapons up for maximum yield, an air-burst at two thousand meters. Once you climb above that altitude, the barometric system will activate. Passing back down through two thousand meters will detonate the device. An accelerometer will start a timer once off the catapult as a backup. Do not wait too long to climb above two thousand meters.”

Both pilots understood the intent of the design. It was going to explode at some point, no matter what happened. Atsugi fought to hide his anger over the insult. Wolf sensed it and attempted to ease the slight.

“Tomorrow we will both avenge the fiery deaths of our families with the blood of millions of Americans. There can be no greater honor than to avenge family and country in a single blow.”

A Japanese aircraft mechanic bowed next to Atsugi. “Commander-San, your fluids are heated and returned to the engine.”

Atsugi nodded, still staring at Wolf. Finally, without a word, he turned and walked to his aircraft. He heard the ballast tanks of the submarine blow; it was time. His destiny was upon him.

TBM-3L Avenger, Ungave Bay

Cue-ball’s throttle was pushed all the way forward, causing his TBM-3L Avenger to vibrate in protest. It was already past its 240-knot red-line speed. In the belly of the Avenger his radar/radio operator keyed the intercom.

“Sir, I’ve got a pop-up target bearing two seven eight degrees for sixty-three nautical miles.”

“Okay. Radio Red Crown that we are prosecuting target, on top in sixteen minutes.”

I-403, Ungave Bay

I-403 breached the surface beneath stars powered by the same energy that Wolf had harnessed to destroy New York and Detroit. The round hangar door slowly opened, and mechanics pushed the Seiran out of the cylindrical hangar and onto the catapult. Atsugi immediately started the Aichi AE1P Atsuta 30 engine. Its temperatures already in the green, he watched as the men assembled his aircraft.

Adak

Irish stood straight up, knocking a stack of files onto the floor. Spike and everyone else waited anxiously for the report.

“We got him! Time on target sixteen minutes.”

Spike slapped down a report on the Seiran.

“Not good enough! Build time of the Seiran is fourteen minutes, thirty seconds.” He looked over at Hans, who had spent the tense hours quietly observing, clearly out of his expertise area.

“Hans, how much time will the arming process buy us?”

“None. Wolf will have armed it in the hangar before they surfaced.”

TBM-3L Avenger, Ungave Bay

Irish relayed through Red Crown the required TOT. Cue-ball’s radioman passed the info.

“Sir, we need to make up a minute and a half on our TOT.”

Bement pushed the nose over into a shallow descent using the altitude to increase his speed. He watched as it went well past the red-line.

“I hope this baby holds together!”

I-403, Ungave Bay

Captain Tsukuba stood on the sail bridge watching the Seiran being assembled. The OOD came up from below.

“Sir, an aircraft is approaching from the east.”

“Time over head?”

“Ten minutes, Captain-San. Shall I prepare for crash dive?”

“No, our duty is to launch these fighters. Rig the anti-aircraft guns.”

A klaxon sounded, sending sailors rushing out onto the deck of I-403. They tore off the waterproof covers from the three-barreled 25-millimeter guns and prepared them to fight off the diving Avenger.

All five of I-403’s guns pivoted to the east and pointed to the surface. Cue-ball had traded all his altitude for airspeed and was running in at wave-top level. Eight minutes passed in a blink as Cue-ball sweetened up the attack solution. A gunner on 403 panicked when he heard the howling R-2600 engine approaching and let loose a burst of triple A. Thinking they had missed the order, all the others opened fire just as Cue-ball initiated a pop-up attack by pulling his avenger into a steep climb.

Atsugi watched as the triple A flew out over the surface. He gave a wind-up signal to the catapult officer as his crewman signaled a thumbs up. Pushing the power to full throttle he quickly checked to see that his flaps were set for takeoff.

Cue-ball’s Avenger topped out at four thousand feet. He rolled it onto its back and pulled four Gs back to the surface toward I-403. Toggling open his bomb bay, he selected his Mk-84 one-thousand-pound bomb and switched on the master arm switch.

Atsugi went to full power, and the Seiran strained against the hold back on the catapult. The catapult officer was waiting for the air pressure to build to the peak level for launch.

Cue-ball flipped on his one million candle power search light at two thousand feet above the submarine. Steadying the piper on the submarine, he could clearly see the Seiran on the bow catapult. He pressed the target to make sure he would get a kill.

Atsugi saluted the catapult officer again and signaled him to launch. He complied and fired the mechanism. Wolf shook his fist at the blinding light from the Avenger and cursed the cosmos for yet another failure, then smiled his last when he saw the Seiran launch with a jolt.

Cue-ball pickled his bomb and, to his horror, watched the Seiran launch as he pulled off target. Guns and cannon spit uncoordinated fire at the Avenger as it flashed over 403. Its bomb fell true, impacting just below the waterline. Immediately a secondary explosion of fuel ripped the 403 in half, rising out of the water in the middle with the force of the explosions.

Kid saw the fireball and radioed it back to Red Crown and then contacted Cue-ball. On the deck, Cue-ball had turned south to give chase to the fleeing Seiran. He closed the bomb bay doors and bent the throttle forward, but the nimble fighter was already out running him.

Adak

Irish held up a hand to shush Spike so he could hear.

“Damn it, Irish, Talk to me!”

Irish ignored his plea and listened intently to the phone.

“Roger that, Red Crown; kill him!”

He cuffed the phone and responded to Spike. “403 is a confirmed kill; one Seiran got off the cat.” He got up and went over to the chart where he plotted two blue arrows and one red arrow in a row. “The red is the Seiran. An Avenger and a Hellcat are in hot pursuit. But we’ve got a problem; two, actually.”

“Well, do tell, Irish.”

“Avenger can’t catch him, and the Hellcat’s running out of gas. He doesn’t know if he has enough fuel to catch him.”

“Please tell me that is one of your sick jokes.”

“I’m all out of sick jokes today,” Irish said.

Spike said nothing. It was out of his control. He looked up at Jonesy who was staring at him in anticipation. “Prepare the order to abandon New York, but do not release it.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

F6F-5N Hellcat, Ungave Bay

Kid tapped on his fuel gauge and then simply chose to ignore it. He was closing fast on the fight.

“Cue, what’s your posit?”

“Do you see the burning oil slick?”

“Tally on that, good job.”

“Not good enough. I’m due south of it chasing a Jap fighter due south of me. I had my spotlight on him but lost visual.”

“Okay, Cue, I’m 380 indicated. I’ll be there in a few.”

“Hurry, he’s getting away.”

CHAPTER 35

00:22 Local, 21 August, 1945 (10:22 GMT, 21AUG)

NAS Adak

A telephone rang incessantly in the background. Irish signed off the phone he was on and answered the other. His eyebrows rose in surprise, and he held out the phone.

“White House.”

“Tell them I have nothing more to report.”

Irish looked at Spike in disbelief, but Spike signaled him to hang up. Irish put the phone to his ear and said that the submarine was sunk and that they were in pursuit of an airborne Seiran and had nothing else to report. He then hung up on the president of the United States.

Spike smiled at Irish and then commented, “I really don’t have time right now.”