Empire Rising (27 page)

“Head for
Bunker Hill
!” Harrow shouted to his Officer of the Deck.

Beresford looked ahead, quickly deciphering Harrow's plan. “Helm, come left to course three-five-zero.”

The Helm complied, and
Nimitz
steadied up on its new course, headed toward
Bunker Hill
. The Helmsman turned to the ship's Officer of the Deck, looking for a new Helm order.

Beresford replied calmly, “Steady as she goes.”

Lieutenant Commander Beresford had maneuvered the carrier perfectly. They would collide with the cruiser in a glancing blow just before the torpedo reached
Nimitz
. As
Nimitz
passed by
Bunker Hill
, the expanding wake would encapsulate the cruiser, and it was possible the torpedo would detonate on
Bunker Hill
instead of the carrier speeding away. Harrow had no idea if it would work. But it was a plan that offered hope.

Hell, it was his
only
plan.

Beresford took station next to the Helm, talking quietly to the nervous Helmsman as he maintained
Nimitz
on the ordered course, speeding toward the cruiser. Returning his attention to the torpedo chasing them, Harrow watched it slowly close on the carrier's stern. The torpedo was now centered in the carrier's wake, only two hundred yards behind. Harrow shifted his gaze from the torpedo chasing them to the cruiser they were about to ram. Counting down the seconds, Harrow braced himself for impact.

A screech of metal tore through the air as the starboard side of the carrier's bow collided with the cruiser.
Nimitz
listed slightly to port as the cruiser scraped down the starboard side of the carrier, sparks flying.
Nimitz
rolled back to even keel as
Bunker Hill
cleared the carrier's stern, and Harrow stared aft at the torpedo chasing them.
Bunker Hill
was now encapsulated within the carrier's wake, and the torpedo veered toward the cruiser, exploding a second later.

A two-hundred-foot-high plume of water jetted into the air, whipsawing
Bunker Hill
like a rubber toy, breaking the cruiser's keel, splitting the ship in half. The two halves of the cruiser started taking on water, the stern and bow tilting upward as
Nimitz
sped away with a new lease on life.

*   *   *

Nimitz
's six escorts had fallen far behind by now, struggling to keep up with the speedy aircraft carrier. There wasn't much Harrow could do for his escorts.
Nimitz
would remain at maximum speed. Now that they had successfully evaded the torpedo, he could return to base course and initiate flight operations, retrieving the air wings circling above. Due to losses sustained to date,
Nimitz
's and
George Washington
's air wings were about half-strength, with
Lincoln
's around eighty percent. It was going to be a crowded carrier. They were going to have to pack them in tight on the Hanger and Flight Decks.

Harrow was about to issue orders when the Tactical Action Officer's report blared across the Bridge speakers. “Torpedo in the water, bearing zero-four-zero relative!” Harrow looked up through the Bridge windows.

Forty degrees off the starboard bow, a light green trail had appeared in the water, streaking toward
Nimitz
. Before Beresford could order evasive maneuvers to the west, the TAO reported, “Torpedo in the water, bearing three-zero-zero relative!” Another light green streak appeared just off the port beam.

Two other Chinese submarines had joined the hunt for
Nimitz
, bracketing the carrier.

There was nowhere to turn. Reversing course wasn't an option, with the first submarine following behind. Turning to port or starboard wouldn't work either, with torpedoes closing from both sides. Harrow evaluated the options, eventually deciding to maintain course. Maybe, if
Nimitz
was able to increase speed, the carrier could thread the needle between the two torpedoes. But
Nimitz
was already at ahead flank. Harrow needed more speed, and the only option was increasing reactor power above the authorized limit. Harrow had done it successfully once. Perhaps he could do it again.

Harrow picked up the 23-MC, issuing orders to DC Central. “RO, Captain. Override reactor protection and increase shaft turns to one hundred twenty percent power.”

The Reactor Officer acknowledged, and Harrow felt vibrations in the deck as the main engines began straining under the increased steam load.
Nimitz
surged forward as the carrier's four propellers churned the water, and Harrow watched his ship increase speed, first one knot and then another. Stepping close to the forward Bridge window, Harrow studied the trajectory of the incoming torpedoes. Both torpedoes were continuing in a straight line, and just when it looked like there was a chance the torpedoes would pass astern of the carrier, first one, then the other torpedo veered toward
Nimitz
. Both torpedoes had been wire-guided toward the carrier.

A few seconds later, the first torpedo hit
Nimitz
. An explosion on the starboard side of the ship rocked the carrier, and a geyser of water jetted a hundred feet above the ship, falling down upon the Island and Flight Deck like rain. A moment later, a second deafening explosion rocked
Nimitz
, this time on the port side.

The Flooding Alarm sounded, followed by emergency announcements, reporting flooding in both Engine Rooms. He could feel his ship begin to slow, and a glance at the ship's speed displayed on the Voyage Management System confirmed that
Nimitz
was coasting to a halt.

The aircraft carrier's fate was sealed.

Without propulsion, the ship no longer had its most important asset—speed. It would be a sitting duck, waiting to be finished off by however many torpedoes it took. And there would be no place for
Nimitz
's and
Lincoln
's air wings to land. There was a bitter taste in Harrow's mouth as he turned to his Officer of the Deck. “Order the air wings to land on one of the carriers to the south.”

Lieutenant Commander Beresford stared at Harrow in silence. The blood had already drained from Beresford's face and it seemed to pale even further after Harrow's order. Beresford stuttered as the words tumbled from his mouth. He started over, and Harrow soon realized the reason for his OOD's ashen features.

“Sir, the
Stennis
and
Vinson
have been sunk. CDC reported the loss of both carriers a half-hour ago.”

Harrow had been preoccupied, focused on saving his ship and hadn't taken the time to get an update on the other carriers. As he contemplated the fate of the six thousand men and women on each carrier, as well as the air wings that had nowhere to land, the TAO's voice boomed across the MC speakers again.

“Torpedoes in the water!”

Six more torpedo trails had appeared, three approaching from the port side of the ship and three from starboard. As the torpedoes raced toward
Nimitz
, Harrow realized there was nothing more he could do. He dwelt at first on the fate of his crew—the men and women who would not return home. But then his thoughts turned to the carriers they'd lost—
George Washington
, and now
Lincoln
,
Stennis
, and
Vinson
, with
Nimitz
soon joining their fate. Only now did Captain Alex Harrow appreciate the enormity of the Pacific Fleet's defeat.

 

42

NANJING, CHINA

THE PIT OF TEN THOUSAND CORPSES

A brisk morning breeze blew across the lower reaches of the Yangtze River, flowing up the eastern slope past Xiang Chenglei as he stood alone at the edge of a moat surrounding the Wall of Victims. To his left and right, rising from granite flagstones surrounding the memorial, bronze statues depicted the suffering: a man carrying dead and maimed relatives away; a dead mother sprawled on the ground, her baby suckling her breast; a family fleeing toward safety. In front of Xiang, one memory rose taller than the rest—a twenty-foot-high statue of a mother mourning, her face turned skyward as she held a dead child in her arms. Xiang dropped his eyes from the mother's face, and as he turned east toward the orange glow on the horizon, it was fitting his next thought was that of the rising sun.

Japan, the Empire of the Rising Sun, was guilty of atrocities difficult to comprehend. In December 1937, Nanjing—the capital of China at the time—fell to the Japanese Imperial Army. In the following six weeks, over 300,000 unarmed men, women, and children were slaughtered by Imperial soldiers; firing squads and beheadings were common. Mass graves were prevalent throughout the city, and beneath Xiang's feet lay the remains of ten thousand corpses. During the Second Sino-Japanese War, which raged from 1937 to 1945, the Japanese Imperial Army slaughtered 23 million ethnic Chinese.

Even more repulsive was that the atrocities weren't simply the result of out-of-control army units. Murder and rape of civilians was endorsed by the Japanese High Command, even sanctioned and encouraged by Japan's supreme leader. Emperor Hirohito's “Three Alls” edict, promulgated in 1942, directed the Japanese Imperial Army to “kill all, burn all, and loot all.” After the war, the Japanese people and their emperor refused to acknowledge the magnitude of their cruelty, choosing to minimize what had occurred. Perhaps a sincere apology after the war would have assuaged, to some degree, the resentment harbored by the Chinese people; provide some measure of comfort to mitigate the hate.

Comfort and Hate. As a child, the word
comfort
—even the concept—was forbidden in Xiang's home. His mother loved him, he knew, but she would never comfort him. She wouldn't speak the word or even allow it to be uttered in her presence. It was not until Xiang became a young man that he learned the gut-wrenching reason for his mother's aversion to the word. Although Japanese atrocities during the war knew no bounds, many attractive Chinese women were spared; they had their uses. As the Japanese Army occupied eastern China, Comfort Houses stocked with women of every Asian ethnicity were established to satiate the physical desires of the Imperial solders. One of those young women was Xiang's mother.

Only fifteen years old, Lijuan was raped day and night for months. Serving up to thirty men each day, Xiang's mother came to truly understand the Japanese meaning of the word
comfort
. After a year of sexual slavery, she was discarded in a back alley in Nanjing, gaunt and listless, her body and mind broken. She was one of the lucky ones. Only twenty-five percent of comfort women survived, with the vast majority of those unable to bear children due to the injuries inflicted and venereal diseases contracted.

Japan had never formally apologized for the atrocities committed against the Chinese people, and some government leaders even asserted the Nanjing massacre had never occurred. Halfhearted attempts had been proffered by various government officials, but true
dogenza
had never been performed. That, however, would be rectified, and the emperor of Japan would soon bow before Xiang, his forehead touching the ground at the feet of China's supreme leader.

A movement at the edge of the memorial caught Xiang's attention. Striding across the gray granite slabs, Huan Zhixin approached, flanked by two members of the Cadre Department in their black suits.

Huan stopped next to him. “Everything is ready, General Secretary. Your helicopter awaits.”

Xiang's eyes lingered on the bronze statue of the mother holding her dead child. After a long moment, he turned away, joining Huan as they moved toward the waiting aircraft.

*   *   *

The rhythmic beat of the Harbin Z-15's twin engines filled Xiang's ears as the helicopter sped northeast toward the coastal city of Yancheng. Xiang peered through the window as the outskirts of Yancheng appeared through a break in the clouds. A moment later, he caught his first glimpse of the Nanjing Army Group, comprised of the 1st, 13th, and 31st Armies, which would spearhead the assault on Japan. The 130,000 men were assembled in formation on the parade field below, bleeding over into the adjoining grassland. The mass of men in their green camouflage uniforms stretched to the horizon, the red pendants at the head of each unit fluttering in the breeze.

Xiang had traveled the 120 kilometers from Nanjing in silence, collecting his thoughts. The North Sea Fleet, held in reserve up to now, had been augmented with twenty-four Yuan class diesel submarines and what remained of the East and South Sea Fleets. Xiang knew Admiral Tsou had stood before his men yesterday, inspiring them to serve the people. This morning, it would be Xiang's turn to stand before the Army, explaining why he had been forced to make this decision. Explaining why many of them would not return home.

The helicopter landed gently on the black tarmac. An escort was waiting, headed by General Zhang Anguo, who would command the three army groups leading the assault. The stocky General with short-cropped, silver hair saluted as Xiang stepped out of the helicopter. Xiang returned his salute, then extended his hand.

Zhang's grip was firm and strong as he greeted his president. “The men are assembled for your review. Loudspeakers have been placed throughout the formation so every man can hear your words.” Xiang nodded his appreciation, walking between Huan and General Zhang toward the platform. Like Xiang, Zhang and Huan were quiet, all three men lost in their own thoughts.

Xiang ascended the ceremonial podium and stopped behind a wooden lectern near the front, while Huan and General Zhang took their seats in a single row at the back. Xiang placed his hands along the lectern's edges, feeling the strength of the purple-brown zitan wood. He hesitated before he began, searching for the strength that had suddenly become elusive. The strength to send even more men to their death.