Richard P. Henrick
Sea of Death
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Steven Kram and Chris Godsick of the William Morris Agency, and Captain Michael T. Sherman, U.S. Navy, for their guidance and inspiration.
The author would also like to acknowledge the invaluable assistance of Karen Launsby, head librarian of the Incarnate Word Hospital, St. Louis, Missouri, who helped unravel the mysteries of Bacillus anthracis.
Epigraph
“The Japanese people forever renounce war as a sovereign right of the nation…. In order to accomplish this aim, land, sea, and air forces, as well as other war potential, will never be maintained. The right of belligerency of the state will not be recognized.”
“But my heart’s leaning was for death, and night, and blood.”
One
A single narrow footpath led down to the beach. In the gathering darkness. Airman First Class Vie Taylor initiated his patrol with a minimum of enthusiasm. As far ashe was concerned, he had already done his day’s work for Uncle Sam, in the form of his regular, nine-hour duty stint. This current assignment was beyond the call of duty. Yet since he lacked the nerve to express his displeasure directly to Sergeant Hawkins, there was nothing he could do about it but count the hours left until his relief arrived.
The sound of crashing surf came from nearby, and the tall, muscular Texan looked toward the sea. The ocean was unusually calm. Lit by the last glow of twilight, this portion of the East China Sea had a mirrorlike sheen to it. The deep green of the water was interspersed with a set of evenly spaced, frothing-white breakers. Its call was almost hypnotic, and Taylor inhaled a deep breath of clean air, ripe with the scent of nutrient-filled waters.
Above the sea’s surface, the heavens were ablaze, their fiery hues enriched by slashes of deep blue, indigo, and violet. The evening star twinkled like a jewel, while a sharply outlined, scythe-shaped crescent moon took form close by. Though this was certainly no Texas sunset, Taylor enjoyed it nonetheless.
Until the gut-wrenching, roaring whine of jet engines diverted his attention. He turned away from the sea, in time to see the entire eastern horizon seem to fill with the massive form of the B-52 Stratofortress that had just taken off from the nearby air base. This awe-inspiring sight thrilled the young airman, who breathlessly watched as the sleek bomber flew overhead, all the while steadily gaining altitude.
He looked on as the aircraft’s landing gear retracted, then followed the B-52 as it disappeared into the last remnants of the sunset. While wondering what mission the plane’s crew had been sent off on, he scanned the southern portion of the adjoining beach. Dark clumps of uprooted kelp littered the sand, along with a variety of driftwood and the usual flotsam and jetsam.
A good mile distant, the lights of the village of Kadena beckoned. Ashe visualized that collection of ramshackle structures, he spotted an intruder headed his way on foot.
Taylor’s gut tightened ashe loudly shouted.
“Halt and identify yourself!”
The figure kept approaching, oblivious to his challenge, and Taylor nervously unstrapped his M-16.
“I said halt and identify yourself!” he repeated.
Again his command met with no response, and Taylor proceeded to ram a 5.56mm cartridge into his rifle’s chamber. He was in the process of drawing a bead on the intruder when the stranger spoke out in a high-pitched voice.
“Don’t shoot, Taylorsan! It’s me, Etsumi!”
With this revelation, Taylor instantly lowered the barrel of his rifle and exhaled along breath of relief. A wide grin turned the corners of his mouth ashe got his first clear view of this unexpected visitor.
She was dressed in a tight, black miniskirt and skimpy halter top. This simple outfit amply displayed her large, perfectly formed breasts and shapely legs.
Taylor found it hard to believe that he had known this gorgeous creature barely a week now. They’d met at Mama San’s, a smoke-filled, dimly lit bar less than a quarter of a mile from the base’s main gate. Over an ice-cold brew they had become instant friends. Less than two hours later, they were lovers as well.
As she continued her approach, Taylor admiringly appraised her doll-like face. Her long, dark hair was cut in bangs that framed a pair of big, dark eyes set above highly etched cheekbones, a small nose, and a delicate mouth.
“Well, just look what the tide washed in,” greeted Taylor, whose tone turned serious.
“Now what in the hell are you doing out here, Little Bit? You know I’m on duty and this beach is strictly off limits.”
Etsumi looked like a small girl as she reached the tall Texan’s side and responded warily.
“I’m sorry, Taylorsan.
But I was feeling so lonely, and I just had to come out here to see you again.”
Taylor’s tone remained firm.
“You know the rules, Little Bit. No hanky-panky while I’m doing my thing for Uncle Sam. So scat, before Sergeant Hawkins finds us together and busts me but good.”
Disappointment etched Etsumi’s face as she flirtatiously batted her eyes, took a cautious step forward, and softly cooed.
“And I so wanted to feel you deep inside of me. Will your precious Uncle Sam at least allow me a single kiss after I walked all the way from Kadena?”
Not waiting for an answer, Etsumi sensuously rubbed her body up against Taylor’s and gently cupped his crotch.
“Jesus, Little Bit! Can’t you at least wait until my shift’s over?”
the Texan vainly protested. He was fighting a losing battle to restrain his rising desire.
Etsumi responded by guiding his free hand to her heaving breast and smothering him with a series of deep, passionate kisses.
Five hundred yards off the beachside security perimeter, a periscope broke the water’s surface. Without a moment’s hesitation, the oblong viewing lens turned due eastward and initiated a quick survey of the relatively small portion of Okinawa’s western shoreline visible in the distance.
Sixty-five feet below, from the equipment-packed control room of the diesel-powered, Romeoclass submarine Katana, Captain Satsugai Okura stood intently draped over the vessel’s main attack scope. With the practiced case of a veteran, the Katana’s commanding officer scanned the wide beach, whose sandy surface was littered with long ribbons of glistening kelp. A breakwater lay to the south, formed from a series of massive boulders. While beyond the barbed wire-tipped, chainlink security fence that stretched the length of the beach flickered the lights of a distant town.
Okura concentrated on the breakwater, paying particular attention to the spot where it intersected the beach. He increased the lens’s magnification tenfold and expertly fine-tuned the focus. Shortly thereafter, he spotted a single M-16 rifle propped up against one of the boulders. His pulse quickened, and lighting the urge to share this discovery with the rest of the crew, he excitedly scanned the adjoining beach.
Lying naked on the sand, less than ten feet away from the abandoned M-16, were a pair of copulating lovers. Okura grinned, then watched the two go at it for a full minute before backing away from the periscope and snapping shut its folding arms.
“Down scope!” he ordered.
The cylinder slid back down into its storage well with a hiss, and Okura turned forward to face the Katana’s helm. Here two alert planesmen were seated before their airplanelike steering columns. Standing immediately beside them, monitoring the complex of main-vent levers and air-induction valves was the bearded figure of Chief Mikio, the sub’s diving officer.