The Apostates (21 page)

Burke could still make out the rumble of
masses of plane engines further back in the fleet formation. He looked in the
direction of the carriers and spotted faint dots in the sky, flying around each
other like a distant swarm of insects. He thought that it must be the American
aircraft in a dogfight with the Japanese. He was too far away to discern what
was taking place over the carriers. Burke would have to wait for news about the
outcome of the air battle.

“Burke! Would you look at that man—those
yellow bastards were sent to the bottom of the sea. How many do you think we
got?” Jones was congratulating himself, celebrating prematurely.

“Hard to say, but it ain’t over. See over
there. They’re trying to get the carriers,” Burke gestured toward the four
carriers in their battle group. Jones stood, transfixed, trying to make out
detail.

“Well...Shit. They won’t be able to do
nothing.” Jones was looking concerned. He put a hand up to shade his eyes.

“At any rate. We should probably stick
close because I have a feeling it ain’t over.” Burke scanned the skies. Nothing
else was said between the two among the apocalyptic carnage.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The American aviator maneuvered his
Hellcat in an attempt to train the elusive Zero in his gun sights. The Japanese
pilot was experienced but his wing-mates had been shot down, and he was alone.
The Zero was pulled into a climb, then, an abrupt dive. The American pilot
followed in the dive and steered his plane so that he was able to place his
sights well in front of the descending Zero, “leading the target”, then he
fired, sending several machine gun rounds through the sky. The Zero ran into
the rounds, which raked the fuselage and set the engine alight. It was the
American pilot’s second kill of the day.

The American doubled back to regroup with his two wingmen, but he found there was only one left. The two rejoined their squadron and the planes traveled into the direction of another wave of Japanese fighters. The fighters were trying to screen a wing of bombers and torpedo planes. The American Hellcats peeled off from their formations to single out enemy targets. The Japanese did the same, but they were outnumbered. The American followed a Zero that was pursuing a Hellcat in turn. The American opened fire, striking the Zero a couple times, but it was not lethal. The Zero then proceeded to open up on his query, however, the Zero’s rounds found their marks resulting in turning the Hellcat to flame and debris. The American tried to stay on his target but as he came out of a roll, he found a more enticing target: a group of unprotected Japanese bombers.

The American accelerated at top speed toward the bomber wing. He lined up a plane in his sights and let rounds rip. The American flew so close that he could see the first rounds strike, straight into the cockpit, reducing one pilot to a fine, red mist. Subsequent rounds impacted into the right wing engine, causing it to catch flame, sending the bomber into a death spiral. The American found another bomber in almost point blank range and sent fifty caliber rounds right down the core of the bomber that punched holes through the tail section. They were kill shots. The American pulled up at the last second to avoid running into the floundering bomber.

A trio of Zeros did not fail to notice the American Hellcat making dents in their bomber formation. The three Zeros pursued and fired numerous rounds toward the lone Hellcat. The American pilot felt rounds impact into his plane. One ricocheted off his cockpit canopy, causing a slight crack. The American cursed, as this attack forced him to disengage the bomber group and the rest flew onward unscathed. The American dove then flew low and close to the water. He was traveling back toward the American picket line, in an effort to lure his pursuers into an anti-aircraft barrage from ships.

The Zeros followed his lead, flying low and matching his trajectory. They fired more shots at the American’s Hellcat, this time striking something vital in the engine, a smoke trail formed out of the hole in the fuselage. Its engine sputtered, as his plane passed between two battleships in the picket-line at near weather deck altitude. The two ships were the Iowa and New Jersey. As the three Zeros passed through the battleship line, the Iowa and New Jersey trained in and fired all available sixty-four caliber guns at the three planes. A crossfire was created and the three planes were shredded and diced into a fiery wreckage, that tumbled on the surface of the ocean. The American’s Hellcat veered around, in an attempt to get closer to the Iowa, then his plane stalled and dropped onto the surface of the water with a huge splash. He popped open the canopy and inflated his life preserver, hoping that the Iowa had seen him.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

On the weather deck of the Iowa Private
Burke had witnessed the whole affair. He had his eye trained on the downed
pilot.

“American pilot in the water! He needs
rescue!” Burke yelled to other personnel on deck, who relayed the rescue call
up to the bridge.

Burke watched as the pilot floated and bobbed aimlessly. He felt the Iowa turn to port, shifting direction. The Iowa crept closer to the American. A lifeboat was lowered down the side of the hull and put out to sea. The vessel had a small outboard motor, which zipped over to retrieve the downed pilot. The personnel snagged him out of the sea and hauled him aboard. He was shivering from the frigid water. The boat returned to the port side of the Iowa, and it was hoisted back to the weather deck.

Private Burke ran over to the rescue party and helped with the stretcher that supported the American. He grabbed one side of the stretcher and faced the pilot. The man had brown hair and eyes, had the everyman look of Middle American, Germanic stock.

“Hey, airman, I saw the whole thing! Hell
of a maneuverer. They fell for your trap.” Burke attempted to offer
encouragement to the injured and cold pilot.

“Thank you, sailor. Hell, it was like a
turkey shoot back home on the farm. I’d be meat without your ship right now. I
just hope I’m not out of action for long,” the American pilot said.

“Agreed. Hey, what’s your name, sir? I’d like to know for when I tell that story!” Burke inquired.

“Schrubb. John H.P. Schrubb. Probably not the last time you’ll hear that name! Good hunting, sailor!” With that, John H.P. Schrubb was whisked away on the stretcher to the infirmary. Burke had heard of the Schrubb name before, somewhere. Then it came to him. He remembered reading about some bootlegging operations during Prohibition. Burke placed it: the Schrubb family had been prominent mobsters on the Eastern Seaboard. Apparently since the end of Prohibition they had moved into legitimate business ventures and politics.

“Well, shit. That’s one way to get the
vote, become a decorated war hero,” Burke thought to himself. Burke figured
that Schrubb had indeed been telling the truth; he had not heard the last of
the name.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Captain McCann had learned that during the air battle, a modest force of Japanese bombers and torpedo planes had slipped through both the anti-aircraft screen and the American fighters sent to intercept them. These bombers and several fighters had launched strikes hastily against two American carriers the U.S.S. Wasp and the U.S.S. Bunker Hill. But the attack failed to make any hits. The surviving Japanese fighters and bombers broke off the attack and headed for Japanese bases on Guam. Most of these numbers were shot down when American Hellcats intercepted them while trying to land. The Japanese attacked with over three
hundred aircraft, but only about thirty had made it back to their carriers; a
loss of more that ninety percent.

The bridge staff of the Iowa began celebrating when they had heard the outcome of the battle. Only ten American planes had been lost in the first stages of the battle. Captain McCann was elated. His battleship picket had dropped roughly one-third of the enemy attack craft alone. It was a formidable barrage, and partially due to the fact that Japan had run out of experienced pilots over the course of the war, and so they had been fielding pilots with very little training. McCann recognized this much when he witnessed the Japanese attack wings flying overhead like flocks of geese.

McCann received orders from Admiral
Spruance that the picket line was to move out in pursuit of the Japanese fleet.
A submarine screen had already been deployed to locate and attack the Japanese
fleet in advance of an American air counter attack.

“Full steam ahead—all ships in the battle line. Send the order,” McCann had commanded. The order was spread down the line and the ships moved out. Fresh scout planes had been launched for long range reconnaissance. Behind McCann’s battle line, followed the massive American capital ships, the carriers, and logistics craft. Overhead squadrons of fighters formed aerial pickets, which swept the perimeter of the formation.

It was now almost dark, and the fleet had
been moving for several hours in pursuit of the Japanese fleet when the news
hit the bridge of the Iowa. Captain McCann was informed that the Japanese fleet
had been spotted, roughly two hundred and seventy miles to the west. The order
was given by American Admiral Spruance for a massive attack wave of over two
hundred American aircraft to be launched to attack the fleeing Japanese fleet.
Captain McCann thought it was time for retribution against the
enemy. He would soon get his wish.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Toshihira Inoguchi had followed the
developments of the battle with anticipation and heartbreak. His surface ships
had been excluded from the battle entirely, and the Japanese aircraft were left on their own and paid the price: ninety percent losses.
It was the disaster that Inoguchi had foretold. Now Inoguchi was anticipating that the Americans would not simply
allow the fleet to limp away.

His picket line was screening Admiral
Ozawa’s carrier, the Taihō. Ozawa seemed unscathed by the report of such
massive losses. Inoguchi estimated that the fleet carriers retained about three
hundred carrier aircraft for the remainder of the campaign, and they wouldn’t
have the support of the island-based aircraft. The situation was grim for
Inoguchi.

Inoguchi sat in his quarters, brooding,
with a lit cigarette that he let burn. He was drinking old sake and crunching
numbers in his head. His thoughts swerved back to religion. It seemed he now
understood who his God favored, and it certainly wasn’t the Shintoists.
Inoguchi also knew better than to let religious beliefs drive his strategic
decisions, but something about these events urged Inoguchi to break down and
submit completely to the Lord.

Inoguchi dashed his cigarette and made his way to the bridge of the Musashi. He looked out the observation bay window. In the distance, he could make out the misty profile of the Taihō. There was a light rain and a thick mist on the sea—overcast in the sky. Inoguchi took stock of the sight.

“Captain Inoguchi! The Taihō is
reporting enemy submarine contact! Torpedoes in the water, sir! She is
requesting immediate support!” an ensign on the bridge shouted.

Inoguchi rushed to the Conn, “Get us alongside the Taihō!”

The situation around the Taihō was grave: the American submarine had launched six torpedoes toward the vessel. Four of the torpedoes veered off the mark and hit nothing. A Japanese pilot on patrol caught site of the wake trail of one of the incoming torpedoes. He followed it, and flew low over the torpedo, interfering with its course, causing the torpedo to detonate prematurely. But one torpedo continued unabated, and found its mark, plowing into the hull of the carrier. The ensuing explosion did not cause grave damage, but unknown to the crew, gasoline fumes were escaping from the now sealed compartment.

The Musashi closed with the submarine, which had submerged in an attempt to escape. Inoguchi ordered the release of depth charges, which sank into the water like unwanted cargo thrown overboard and exploded, sending lethal shock waves through the water. The pressure of the waves, slammed into the hull of the American submarine, causing rivets to pop and metal walls to buckle. Ocean water came rushing in and consigned the vessel to the bottom of the ocean.

Initially, the Taihō was in good working order and resumed the journey, but soon the crew was complaining of gas fumes throughout the ship. The inexperience of the crew was on display when the damage control team opened all outlets in the ventilation system in an effort to “air out the ship”. Admiral Ozawa and staff were transferred to another ship because the fumes now permeated the entire ship. All it took was one spark from an electrical generator on the hangar deck and the accumulated fumes ignited to flame. The resulting explosion tore through ammunition stores and refueling aircraft, causing a chain reaction that crippled the ship and tore bodies apart. The Taihō’s bow began to slip under the waves, slowly submitting to sea, thousands were lost.

Inoguchi received the news and didn’t take
it well. The entire mission had turned into a fiasco, and the retreat was
developing into a situation worse than the attack. Inoguchi ordered the picket
line to rally around the remaining carriers, but before the Musashi could get
there, reports of another American submarine attack on the carrier Shōkaku
poured in. This attack was much more devastating than the last and did not rely
on an inexperienced crew to do the damage. All torpedoes had struck home,
causing the Shōkaku to roll over in the water, and slip under. Nearly a
thousand men had perished; of those, three hundred were experienced pilots.

Inoguchi surmised that the Americans
probably had an inbound air counterattack by this time as well. The sub attack
had put two of their carriers out of action and the Americans were coming to
claim the rest. There was nothing left to do now but steam back to safe waters
and hope the vast distance between fleets was enough to save what was left the once mighty fleet.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Private Burke entered the mess hall. After the events of the day he had worked up quite an appetite. He stepped up to the serving counter and grabbed a tray, but as usual, his appetite took a dive once he gazed upon what was on offer. The item of the day was a withered, dried beef and scallop potatoes that had been re-hydrated before serving. However, Burke preferred a full stomach to starvation, so he loaded his tray.