The Final Countdown, page 16
She looked at him steadily. “I think you’re forgetting something, Sam. Something you’d better think over very seriously.”
“What’s that?”
“Washington knew what yacht we were on, where we were, and when we’d be there. Everybody on that ship was killed today except us—and we were only lucky. I think they had you, and me, Sam, set up.”
He turned white.
Owens and Lasky walked rapidly along the corridor, followed closely by Lasky’s assigned aide, Corporal Kullman. “Have they found out anything yet?” Lasky asked Owens.
The commander shook his head. “Apparently he speaks only Japanese. No way he’s faking it His name is Simura. Jiro Simura. He’s repeated it carefully and slowly a number of times, but that’s all we have going for us. Our favorite Filipino, Jose Kajima, should be with him now. We’ll see what he gets.” He pointed ahead of them to where four powerful marines guarded a doorway. “That’s it Let’s find out for ourselves.”
They went through the cordon of guards into the main ward of sick bay, itself isolated from the rest of the medical area. Kajima was just rising to his feet, a sheaf of notes in one hand and a pen in the other. He nodded to Owens and Lasky. They studied the Japanese prisoner who wore ill-fitting fatigues to replace his flight gear stripped from him., Simura’s eyes were never still, moving constantly about the room, seeking a means of escape, always seeming to dull when he saw the husky marines standing guard in the ward.
Owens turned back to Kajima. “Anything?”
“Not much, sir.” Kajima tapped his notes. “His name, as you probably know by now, is Jiro Simura. I went over his flight gear, and he’s a chief petty officer. I learned a couple of other things. He’s one of their best, part of a group selected for a special mission. He won’t say anything about where he’s from or what mission they’re on. I don’t know if he’s too well briefed to maintain his silence or if he’s just too scared to talk.”
“Look at his eyes, lieutenant. He’s not that scared.”
“Yes, sir. Will you excuse me, Commander? I’m to report to the captain personally on anything I found out from the prisoner.”
“One last question. You think about using drugs on him?”
“Yes, sir, I’ve thought about it. But that’s not my decision, Commander.”
“No, it isn’t. Thanks. Go on topside.”
“Thank you, sir.”
They waited until Kajima was gone, and Owens turned to the guard leader. “Where are the other people, the man and woman, being held?”
“Sir, that door to your right. It’s a small isolation ward.”
“All right, let us in.”
“Yes, sir.” The door opened and a wild flurry erupted in the form of a dog wanting to play. Charlie shot out between the legs of Owens, yapping wildly. Lasky made a desperate lunge for the animal and tripped over the marine guard. Laurel came running after her dog and knocked Owens off balance, and the guards swung their attention to the hysterical scene—and gave Simura the opportunity he sought so desperately. The Japanese pilot leaped from his seat at the marine to his left and a powerful hand chopped into the marine’s throat. He stiffened, paralyzed. The automatic rifle was jerked from his hand, the butt came around to crack the marine across the side of the head, and the marine fell unconscious. A second guard threw himself at Simura but the desperate Japanese proved as agile on his feet as he had been in his airplane. He sidestepped the lunge, smashed the butt against the forehead of the guard. Another marine was already bringing his own weapon up to fire, but Simura had already found the safety catch of the weapon in his hands. The firing gun exploded with terrific sound in the closed-off room, and a short burst shredded the marine to bloody froth and physically hurled his body against a bulkhead. He crashed to the deck, dead before he stopped moving.
Kullman, unarmed, threw himself against the door leading out to the corridor. Sirmura fired wildly after him. At least one round caught Kullman in the shoulder, spinning him about helplessly. His bid to escape had failed. The partly-opened door beckoned to him mockingly.
Simura shouted in Japanese. They couldn’t understand his words but no one escaped his meaning. They froze in position as the gun barrel moved slowly from side to side. Laurel bit her knuckles to keep from crying out and panicking the Japanese pilot. Chapman stood by her, not moving. The Japanese was trembling, which meant he was probably more frightened than anyone else—and that made him all the more dangerous.
The wild chain of events was not yet ended. The blast of gunfire had terrified the dog, all this time cowering beneath the table. Now Charlie sensed the fear in Laurel, identified the source as the Japanese, and burst from under the table, barking and snarling. Simura whipped around, bringing the rifle to bear. Laurel’s scream jerked his aim off and the single shot fired at the dog missed. The newly-terrified Charlie let out a high-pitched yelp and scrambled through the still-open door. Simura cursed and kicked the door closed. He spun around, the rifle now very ready. He motioned his prisoners to back up against the opposite bulkhead. Under the menacing stare of the gun were Owens, Lasky, Laurel, Chapman, and one marine. One dead guard lay on the floor and Kullman lay prone in a slowly spreading pool of blood. Another marine groaned, just returning to consciousness from the blow dealt him before by Simura. The Japanese motioned for the marine guard still on his feet to drag the other marine across the room with him. He barked out orders in Japanese, ever more frustrated.
“Nobody do anything but slow,” Owens said, spreading his arms from his body. “Do what I’m doing and show him the palms of your hands. Do it slow and easy, slow and easy. Don’t panic him, let him ease off. That’s it, arms wide, palms up.”
They stared back and forth at one another, all of them frightened, confused, and not knowing what to do.
Standoff.
16
Dan Thurman picked up the call on the bridge. He listened with his eyes wider, then narrowing. “Stand by,” he said into the phone and looked up at Captain Yelland. “Sir, they’ve got themselves a situation down in sick bay. The Japanese prisoner got his hands on a weapon and—”
“I’ll take .the call here,” Yelland broke in. “Who’s on?”
“Major Stevens, sir.”
Yelland switched lines on his control panel. “Stevens, the captain here. Spell it out short and sweet.”
“Sir, all hell’s broken out in sick bay. I’m not sure how it happened but that Japanese pilot grabbed an M-16. He’s killed one of my men and hurt a couple more. He’s holding Owens, Lasky, and the two civilians we picked up prisoner, as well as several marines. At least two of diem are wounded. We’ve sealed off the area, so he can’t go anywhere.”
“What about the people he has with him?”
“He hasn’t hurt them, sir. I think it’s clear he’s using them to reach us, but no one in the room speaks Japanese, and—”
Yelland looked up at Thurman. “Get Kajima down there as fast as you can,” he ordered. Then, back into his mike. “Major, we’ve got an interpreter on the way down. Lieutenant Kajima. He’s already spoken with
the Japanese pilot, so they can pick up again.” Thurman was signaling frantically. “Hold one, Major,” Yelland said and looked up at his executive officer.
“Captain, it’s Owens. In that room with the Japanese. He’s on the phone.”
“Patch it onto my console.”
“You’re patched, Captain.”
“Owens, Yelland here. What’s the situation?”
“The Japanese got me to understand he wanted me to use this phone. To get to someone in authority. It’s sticky, sir. We need someone who can talk to him.” “Kajima’s on the way. He just left the bridge.” “Captain, it’s better if Kajima stays the hell out of this room and talks on the phone.”
“All right, I’ll get him back here.” Yelland motioned to Thurman, who nodded and immediately went to the carrier’s speaker system, recalling Kajima to the bridge. “He’ll be here in a few moments, Dick,” Yelland said to Owens. “Can you keep that man calm for a while?” .
“Yes, sir, but I’d better not talk too long or he’s liable to panic on us.”
Yelland heard feet pounding. “Kajima’s coming in now. Stand by. Thurman, put all this on the box. And Owens, you listening?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do it slow, boy, do it slow. Point to the squawk box switch in your room and tap the phone. That’ll tell him the two are connected. When he hears voices, he’ll understand.”
“Hold one. …”
Owens held up the phone as Simura held the rifle unerringly on him. With one hand Owens pointed to a speaker box and a switch underneath, nodding to the box and tapping the phone. Then he waited. Simura grasped his message and nodded. Moving carefully, Owens activated the speaker. They heard Yelland’s voice from the box.
“… and try to find out what he wants. Owens, that box alive yet?”
“Yes, sir, but get Kajima on fast, sir. We need Japanese here and now.”
“You’ve got it,” Yelland said. A moment later Kajima’s voice came over the box in Japanese.
Relief swept Simura’s face. He listened for a moment, then looked at Owens and touched his lips. Owens nodded. Simura had wanted to know if his voice would be picked up by the speaker system; it could, and that would help. Simura shouted a question.
Immediately Kajima’s voice responded. The prisoners relaxed a touch more. So long as those two were talking there was hope. Simura rattled off a long sentence, harsh and demanding.
Yelland’s voice came over the speaker. “What is it, Lieutenant?”
“He wants access to a radio, sir,” Kajima responded. In the sick bay they could hear both sides of the conversation.
“Does he say why?” Yelland asked.
Kajima and Simura talked rapidly and then Kajima spoke again to Yelland. “He won’t explain, sir. He just demands the radio.”
The silence on the bridge carried into sick bay. Simura’s expression left no doubt he would settle only for what he wanted. Lasky motioned to the Japanese pilot, touched his lips, and pointed to the speaker box on the bulkhead. Simura nodded.
Lasky raised his voice so it would carry to the microphone on the bulkhead set. “This is Lasky!” His voice earned both anger and sarcasm. “Have you all lost your minds up there on the bridge? He wants that damn radio so he can warn his superior officers about us!”
Chapman took it all in with mixed emotions. So that Japanese couldn’t be a fake… . But whoever he was, why would he have to warn his superiors about
this insane ship, unless his superiors also knew nothing about it? Chapman groaned inwardly. It was too much for his aching head. But he felt a smile tug at his lips. It was too ironic. That Japanese wanted to warn his superiors about this ship—which was exactly what he, Chapman, also wanted desperately to do.
Simura shouted again to the speaker box, and Kajima’s voice answered in Japanese and then he used English as he spoke with Yelland. “Captain, he says if we don’t let him get to a radio so he can talk to his superior, he’ll kill everyone in that room with him.”
The silence almost drove Lasky mad as the men on the bridge tried to come to a decision. Lasky turned to Owens. “Jesus, I wish they’d make up their minds. Letting him have that radio could be the best way out of this mess. It just might stop the Japanese attack before it ever gets started”
They heard him on the bridge. Dan Thurman looked at the captain. “Sir, is there a chance they’d believe him?”
“There’s no chance at all if things remain the way they are,” Yelland replied. “Mister Kajima, tell our friend down there we agree to his demands.”
Kajima spoke carefully into the microphone. In sick bay, they were already coming down from the edge of imminent death. They understood Yelland before Simura had the chance to hear Kajima.
They heard Yelland’s voice on the box talking to the marine commander in the corridor. “Major Stevens, do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Clear that corridor at once. No one is to interfere with the Japanese pilot. No one. Those are my orders, understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right Kajima, tell the Japanese we’re clearing the way for him to get to a radio. In the meantime, have Kaufman set up one of those radios he modified to talk on the wavelengths they’re using now. We want to be certain that pilot talks to someone who can hear him.”
In sick bay, Lasky smiled at Owens. “Here’s your chance to twist time, commander. Just be careful the tail of that tiger you’re holding isn’t too much to handle.”
Owens didn’t reply. He turned his gaze back to Si-mura. The Japanese pilot motioned with the rifle for the hostages to precede him. Then he stopped, shouted into the speaker box. Kajima’s voice came back at once.
“He wants you all to walk forward, in pairs, just ahead of him. You’re to walk side by side and link arms. At the first sign of trying to overpower him, he’ll kill everyone he can.”
Owens glanced up at the box. “Tell him we understand and we’ll do exactly as he wants.”
It went slowly, carefully, until Chapman’s self-control snapped. He was a proud man and if he knew any enemy in his life it would be called humiliation. He had been shot up by a Japanese fighter plane, forced to dive into the ocean to save his life, watched his best friend die, had been yanked from the sea, pushed and prodded and patronized and held prisoner first by these Americans, and now by this Japanese pilot, and it was all too much. The frustration of not knowing what was happening to him, of being totally baffled by events that prodded and poked at him, had brought him to search his soul tor a way out. Whatever was his emotional conflict, it finally rejected the logical thinking that had so long dictated every action, and with a sudden howl of rage, Chapman hurled himself bodily at the Japanese pilot The marine major waiting outside heard and judged the moment and burst through the door into the room. He was too late. Jiro Simura was tough, wiry, young, fast, and explosively tense. He sensed Chapman’s move and in what was almost a gesture of contempt, slammed the rifle butt into the senator’s ribs, bringing forth a howl of pain and a body crumpled on the deck. In a single swift movement Simura acknowledged the danger of holding so many hostages. One hand shot out to grip fiercely the long hair of Laurel, and the other brought the muzzle of the M-16 directly behind her ear. He shouted loudly at the speaker box on the wall, then waited, his finger tensed on the trigger.
On the bridge, Kajima turned to Captain Yelland. “Someone made a grab for the Japanese. He knocked him down and now he’s got his rifle up against the woman’s head. He says, he’ll kill her at the first sign of another trick.”
“Tell him it wasn’t any trick. Quickly. We knew nothing of that damned fool there. We guarantee him access to the radio.”
Kajima spoke in rapid phrases. Simura eyed the speaker suspiciously, waiting.
Yelland squeezed his transmit button. “Major Stevens! Pull your men back and order them not to interfere with that Japanese!” He looked at Kajima. “Talk to Simura. Give him my word as the captain of this ship. Release the girl and we’ll escort him to the radio room.”
Another rapid exchange in Japanese. “Captain, he doesn’t believe me and he doesn’t believe you.”
A voice carried from the speakers into’ the bridge. They turned to look at the speakers. It was from sick bay. “This is Lasky! For Christ’s sake, get him, to me that damned radio! If he gets to his superior, it can save thousands of lives—including his own fleet, if he can get them to call off the attack in the morning! Answer me, damn you!”
They listened to Matthew Yelland’s calm response. “We read you loud and clear, Mr. Lasky. The Japanese doesn’t trust us and we’re trying to get him to the radio room. What do you suggest?^
In the room charged with tension, Lasky turned to
Owens, but continued to talk loudly enough for the microphone to carry his words to the bridge. “I’m talking to Owens. This is his specialty. Do you all understand me? He’s the historian on the attack tomorrow morning. Owens, damn you, you speak up so Kajima can hear you. Give him time to translate for Simura. Tell him things that are impossible for any of us to know. Do you understand? His carriers, the battle fleet, his superiors, the plans for the strike! Tell it to Kajima and he’ll translate it for the pilot and then he’s got to trust us long enough to get to that radio and send his message. Do it—nowl”
Again Yelland’s calm voice came to them. “He’s right, Mister Owens. Those are my orders. Proceed at once.”
Dick Owens moved forward slightly, just enough to separate himself from the group, but not so much as to panic Simura into a sudden killing. Owens looked at Simura with a solemn, steady gaze. “All right, Kajima. I’ll give it to you in phrases, and pause long enough for you to translate.”
“Yes, sir,” came the answer.
Owens’s eyes bored into the Japanese. He began a strange litany that widened the eyes of Simura and finally brought him to gasp in stark disbelief at what he was hearing.
“On the morning of November tenth, the lead units of the Nagumo Force sailed from Kure naval base on Honshu. The Imperial Fleet sortied from Kure, and met other units at Hitokappu Wan on Etorofu. This force took to the open sea on November twenty-sixth.”
They watched Simura as Kajima translated and his voice carried through the sick bay ward. The Japanese literally turned pale before their eyes. Owens went on like the voice of God.
“The force of twenty-three vessels, to which Jiro Simura is assigned as a carrier pilot, is under the command of Vice-Admiral Chuicni Nagumo. There are twenty-three warships and support vessels in this force. You are part of the First Air Fleet.”
Simura could have been struck with a thunderbolt as he listened with mouth agape.
“The First Carrier Division is made up of Akagi and Kaga.
