“Or maybe it’s a sea serpent that we’ve snagged,” joked his brother.
“A whale could very well be responsible for this entire mess,” observed the sen do “Since this fog veils even our strobe lights, the only way that we’re going to be able to recover the rest of the net is by tracking it down with the radio-direction finder. Join me in the wheelhouse, Nephews, and we’ll get on with this task.”
The wheelhouse was located on the ship’s foredeck.
A short flight of steps took them up into an equipment-packed compartment dominated by a wraparound window.
“Yukio, switch on the radar,” instructed the sen do “Toshi, have you ever used a radio-direction finder before?”
“Not in a fog like this one,” replied the wide-eyed teenager.
“Well, stick close then, and I’ll give you a quick lesson.”
The sen do led his nephew over to a large console where he switched on a green-tinted monitor screen.
After inputting a series of commands on the computer keyboard, the elder looked as the screen beeped a single time before going unceremoniously silent.
“That’s certainly strange,” he thoughtfully observed.
“We appear to have lost our data link with the rest of the net.”
“But how can that be. Uncle?” asked Toshi.
“Aren’t those direction-finders on the net battery powered?
They couldn’t have all failed to transmit at the same time.”
“Uncle, what do you make of this?” interrupted Yukio.
The sen do was quick to join him beside the radar screen, as Yukio added.
“There seems to be another vessel out there.”
“I’ll say,” reflected the surprised sen do “That return that you’re getting shows an immense ship, over four hundred feet long, floating in waters less than a half mile off our stern.”
“So that’s what snagged our net,” supposed Ioshi.
“Switch on the foghorn and activate our running lights,” ordered the sen do “It’s time to see for ourselves just what it is besides squid that the Hari Maru has managed to catch this morning.”
Yukio’s stomach tightened as he studied the radar screen. Then he looked up and peered out the window.
From this vantage point, he could see several crew members gathered on the foredeck. Their lower torsos were completely hidden by the swirling fog, and Yukio could only pray that the Hari Maru wouldn’t be the victim of a collision.
His uncle readily engaged the throttle and expertly steered the trawler in a broad, circular turn. With the foghorn mournfully crying out in steady warning, they cut through calm seas, blind to that which lay before them.
“The contact lies dead ahead of us, Uncle!” warned Yukio, whose eyes had returned to the radar screen.
“Approximate range is 10,000 yards.”
“Yukio, I want you to climb up on the flying bridge and activate the spotlight,” ordered the sen do “But Uncle, who will monitor the radar screen?” countered Yukio.
“Don’t worry, lad. Our spotlight will illuminate any traffic out there, regardless of this damn fog.”
Though he was all set to argue otherwise, Yukio held his tongue, and after meeting his brother’s concerned gaze, proceeded outside to the exposed bridge. A gust of cool, damp air greeted him as he began climbing the ladder that would take him up to the ship’s flying bridge. This compact, elevated platform was supported on a base of four steel poles. During normal daytime conditions, a lookout would be stationed there to scan the surrounding ocean for signs of feeding squid. Yukio regularly volunteered for such duty, though in this instance, he sincerely wished that his uncle had chosen another in his place.
Try as he could, Yukio couldn’t shake a feeling of unease as he climbed onto the flying bridge and peered down below. Except for the ship’s red and green running lights, the main deck was all but invisible, effectively veiled by the thick, ghostly mist. Adding to the eerie atmosphere was the persistent, lonely cry of the foghorn, and the muted chugging whine of their diesel engine.
His uncle had yet to cut back the throttle. This meant that the danger of a collision increased with every second. With this fear in mind, he reached up and pulled off the spotlight’s canvas cover. As he turned on the spotlight, there was a loud clicking noise. Yukio swung the swivel base so that the powerful beam of light was focused on the waters immediately ahead of them.
As he expected, the fog veiled even the ocean’s surface.
A supertanker could be out there and they’d never know it, and Yukio angrily cursed their predicament.
Visions of slithering sea serpents formed in his mind’s eye. Such terrors of the deep had been well documented in these parts for centuries past. He had actually seen grown men shake in horror upon describing their terrifying experiences in the Mano Umi. And here they were today, foolishly challenging the fates, in the sea where the devil stalked.
Yukio’s pulse quickened as he spotted a brief flash of greenish light in the distance. Several more quick flashes followed, and Yukio wondered if they could be from a group of flying neon squid.
As he slightly angled the spotlight upwards a bone chilling fetid breeze hit him full in the face. Fighting back the urge to retch, Yukio watched as the flashing green lights intensified, until it almost appeared as if a miniature electrical storm was occurring in the seas before them. Seriously doubting that such a phenomenon could be caused by squid, he looked on in wonder as the fog slowly began to part.
Never would Yukio forget the immense, black skinned object that his spotlight next illuminated. At first he thought that it was a whale. But then he spotted the distinctive conning tower of a surfaced submarine.
It lay dead in the water, with seaweed hanging from its sail-mounted hydroplanes. Strangely enough, it had no running lights on, and its deck was vacant of sailors. Puzzled by this fact, Yukio excitedly called down, to share this amazing discovery with the others.
3
Commander Thomas Moore stood outside the USS Iwo Jima’s infirmary — where the captain’s mast was taking place-still dressed in the uniform of a petty officer first class. He had been outfitted in this manner for three long weeks, and no one on board knew his real rank, except the ship’s commanding officer.
A freckle-faced seaman, whom Moore readily recognized, walked stiffly down the passageway escorted by a pair of burly marines. Barely nineteen years old, the youngster noted Moore’s presence beside the hatchway and spoke out with a high-pitched, strained voice.
“I’m scared to death. Chief. What are they gonna do to me?”
Moore looked the youngster straight in the eye and replied directly.
“Just tell the truth, son. And don’t be afraid to take your punishment like a man.”
This proved to be the extent of their conversation, as the marines quickly led the terrified enlisted man into the infirmary. A captain’s mast was never a pleasant experience. While at sea, this was how justice was handed out for a variety of infractions ranging from consistent tardiness, to petty theft and assault. As an investigator with the Naval Investigative Service, Thomas Moore knew very well that this afternoon’s session signaled the end of yet another successful mission on his part. Once again, he had gone undercover, this time to expose a group of illegal drug users aboard the amphibious assault ship.
This had been his first extended stay on a “gator freighter,” and Moore was ready to be airlifted to a more comfortable location. Originally built over three decades ago, the USS Two Jima was the first assault ship exclusively designed to carry helicopters. Six hundred feet long, and displacing over 18,000 tons, it currently held in addition to its crew of 684, an entire Marine battalion landing team, their weapons, equipment, a reinforced squadron of transport helicopters, and various support personnel. Thus space was at a minimum, with normal creature comforts sorely lacking.