Hashimoto saw his lookouts straining, staring into the darkness to try to detect even the slightest hint of motion. If they saw anything, the I-58 would submerge immediately, even if that meant that some of the soldiers were lost.
Many of the larger American planes had radar and would, upon registering a contact, drop flares and use searchlights to pin a target. Then they would strafe with machine guns and drop depth charges to sink the target. Since the I-58 was in relatively shallow water, a sudden attack would be fatal, as he could not dive deeply to get away. Hashimoto had a submariner's dread of being submerged so close to the surface as to be visible to an enemy plane.
Hashimoto saw an army officer heading toward the conning tower. It was the commander of the army unit. What the hell did the man want?
"Captain, I wish to thank you for bringing us safely home."
Hashimoto wanted to tell the man to shut up and get the flick off his ship, but he forced himself to be polite. The officer wheeled and stepped briskly onto the last of the small craft. En route, the officer had told an interesting story. He claimed that he and his men had actually passed safely through the Russian lines on their way to the Pusan area. Most interesting if it was true. But then, the officer was quite young and most likely confused. The Russians were Japan's enemies, and not her allies.
Hashimoto ordered the hatches closed, and the I-58, free of its cargo, turned its nose toward the sea and safety.
"The last time," Hashimoto muttered, and a few heads turned at the sound of his voice. No one dared to ask what he was talking about.
Hashimoto gave the order to dive and went to his cramped cabin, where he sat down at his small desk and examined the piece of paper on which his radio operator had written his new orders. His hands shook slightly as he reread the orders. The I-58 was to proceed with all prudent haste to a position off southern Kyushu. There, American ships were gathering for the invasion. His orders concluded with the simple phrase that he was to attack and destroy any and all targets of opportunity, but with special emphasis on carriers and troop transports.
For the first time in weeks, Hashimoto smiled. The orders had told him he could return to base and get additional supplies if that was necessary. He had thought about it briefly, but decided against it. He was safest under the sea and not alongside a dock at some navy base that was subject to bombing. No, he would proceed directly to the waters off southern Kyushu. He had food and water for several weeks normal cruising and could extend that by cutting back on rations. He had a full complement of Type 95 torpedoes. He did not have any of the distracting kaiten on this trip and didn't want them.
Targets of opportunity, the orders said. The I-58 and her sisters were free to roam and kill as they wished. Instead of working as ferries, they were to be sharks, predators of the sea. It was glorious, as was the phrase targets of opportunity. It was a submariner's dream and he vowed to live it to the fullest.
Chapter 29
With more than a thousand men and many tons of their equipment jammed onto the attack transport USS Luce, Morrell found it more comfortable to be on the deck than below in their cramped sleeping quarters. In this he was joined by hundreds of others, who, after several days afloat, found the accumulated stenches from belowdecks a little difficult to take.
Several days of puking and sweating had turned the interior of the Luce into something of a putrid garbage dump. No lights were permitted on deck, not even cigarettes, and Paul wondered if Jap pilots could really see the ship from the glow of a bunch of cigarettes. Maybe they could, but it probably was an unnecessary precaution. Even solely with starlight, he could see the shapes of other ships in the convoy.
Another, more primal force drove the men to the decks. They approached ever closer to Japan each time the Luce's bow surged into the choppy November waves. They all knew that death might strike at them at any moment, just as it was striking at those who were going before them. Along with the so-far-unseen suicide planes, Japanese submarines were presumed to be nearby, and no one wanted to be inside a ship as it sank into the depths of the Pacific. They would much prefer to take their chances on the cold waters of the ocean, rather than a downward plunge in a seven-thousand-ton steel coffin. Most of the soldiers had decided that the risk of being struck by a kamikaze while on the decks of the Luce was the lesser of evils.
Paul shifted his aching buttocks on the cold metal of the deck. There was a chill in the November air, but it wasn't really cold yet. If only he had a pillow or a cushion to sit on, things would really be okay. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, which he opened to the photo of Debbie. He could barely see her face in the stiffly formal studio picture she'd sent him. The face that looked up at him really wasn't her. It didn't show her laughing, or flashing that silly grin he liked so much, and it didn't capture anything of her personality. It didn't smell at all like her, and it sure as hell didn't feel like her, and the portrait was from the shoulders up so it didn't show any of the slender but delightful body he liked to hold.
But it was the only thing he had to remember her by and it triggered rushes of memories that almost caused tears to well up in his eyes.
"Nice-looking girl, Paul. Gonna marry her?"
It was Captain Ruger. Paul laughed reluctantly, folded his wallet, and put it back in its waterproof pouch. At least he hoped it was waterproof. "I hope so. If I get back, that is." Then he corrected himself. "I mean, when I get back."
Ruger sat down beside him and watched as a couple of soldiers edged by them. Right now their biggest danger came from being stepped on, not from the Japanese.
"I just put my wife and kids' picture away too. It hurts a lot to look at it, but I had to at least one last time. I guess everyone on this slow ship to nowhere feels that same way."
They had spent their last days on Okinawa packing their gear for the journey and spending their empty nights trying to forget about it. In what some felt was a macabre salute to the departing soldiers, there'd been USO shows galore to lighten their emotional burden. Bob Hope did arrive and brought Jerry Colonna and Frances Langford with him. Danny Kaye was there and so was Kate Smith. In just a few days they got more entertainment than many could handle, although that didn't stop some GIs with a warped sense of humor from announcing that Glenn Miller would be appearing at a particular field. This resulted in several hundred men waiting patiently at the designated place for the arrival of a man who had been killed a year earlier over the English Channel.
Finally, they had been taken out to the attack transport Luce, where they had, once again, waited. When they did move out to sea, it was to join a vast convoy. Comments were made about being able to walk across the rows and rows of ships all the way to Japan without getting their feet wet.
During the daylight hours they saw the destroyers and other escort ships dipping in and out of the endless lines of transports and herding them like sheepdogs keeping the wolves away.
Then the convoy slowed and almost stopped. Word went through the ship that the invasion had started. This was quickly confirmed by the Luce's captain, who read an announcement to that effect to the soldiers and crew. On hearing it, a few men had cheered, while some others wept. The majority responded in grim, almost prayerful silence. Now any hopes they'd been harboring that they would not have to take part in the ordeal were dashed. Their turn to land on Japanese shores could come at any time.