Ruger eyed Paul coldly. "You gonna be okay? You've got a right to be upset, but I don't need my second-in-command collapsing on me."

"I won't collapse," Paul said grimly. "This never happened to me, not even when I was in Germany. Of course, the war was almost over so even the krauts were concentrating on staying alive. I had a couple of guys hurt, but it was mainly their own fault. What the hell did Haskins do to get killed like that?"

"He was born," Ruger said, and grasped Paul's shoulder. "Look at the bright side. We took the hill. Only thing, there's another hill right after this, and another one after that."

Paul stood and slung his carbine over his shoulder. "Yeah, and this is supposed to be the gentle part of the terrain around here. What the hell are we gonna do when the ground gets really difficult? You and I both know that there'll be more than one sniper on the next one."

They both turned toward the north. Hill after hill grimly rose in serrated splendor, like so many sword blades waiting to slash them. They were not hills, Paul realized, they were weapons in the Japanese arsenal, and every one of them would have to be disarmed.

Chapter 34

It had been Comdr. Mochitsura Hashimoto's fond hope that the submarine I-58 would be able to sneak out and around the flank of the American invasion fleet, then attack transports and carriers through what had to be its more vulnerable rear. After all, wouldn't the eyes, ears, and guns of the Americans be pointed toward Japan and not back in the direction from which they'd come? He admitted to himself that this might be a futile wish, but it was the course he would pursue.

First, the Imperial Navy's submarine command had changed their minds and radioed that he should indeed carry the disliked kaiten human torpedoes on his sub when he attacked the American fleet. He had complied without protest. If ever the kaiten were going to prove themselves useful, this would be the time.

This necessitated a delay while he sailed to the hidden supply facility and had the four human-piloted torpedoes attached to the deck of the I-58. His sub could have carried six of the strange things, but the specially adapted torpedoes were in short supply. There were more than enough human volunteers to ride them to their doom, but the American raids had severely affected Japan's ability to manufacture the weapons.

Along with torpedoes, Hashimoto thought ruefully, everything else was in short supply. When he asked for supplies, all he received was a litany of unavailable items, including fuel. He was able to top off his tanks, but a harried supply officer informed him that there were no more fuel reserves. So, this would likely be his last cruise. If that proved to be the case, he could end his part in this dreadful war and return home with honor satisfied.

What really dashed his hope for a rearward assault was even more significant than the delays required for the installation of the kaiten. The utter vastness of the American fleet precluded any attempt to flank it. His executive officer had bitterly surmised that it would be necessary to sail to Australia to find the American flank. As with many a bitter jest, it held a nugget of truth. The numbers of enemy warships off the coast of Kyushu defied counting. There were more American battleships and carriers off Kyushu than the Japanese navy had ever dreamed of having in their fleet, and they were accompanied by vast hordes of smaller cruisers and destroyers. Truly, the American ability to manufacture weapons had tragically been underestimated by the Japanese government. Even though he would fight bravely, Hashimoto knew that his efforts, even if successful beyond his dreams, would be meaningless when compared with the size of the American fleet.

He hoped that his fellow submariners would have the same type of success that he planned on for the I-58. Cumulatively, perhaps they could affect the outcome of the war. Hashimoto had no delusions regarding the ultimate end to the conflict: Japan was doomed to lose. All he could do was what he'd been ordered to, and that was to help cause so much damage to the Americans that they would negotiate a better peace for Japan. It seemed foolish to him. An earlier peace might have found the Americans in a more forgiving mood. Now they would truly be vindictive.

The I-58 approached the American armada frontally, but submerged and with great stealth. Although Hashimoto's main concern was detection by American sonar, he felt that he still had some advantages. For one thing, the sheer volume of shipping made for inconsistent and cluttered sonar readings as hundreds of ships' screws churned the water and, he hoped, sent confusing information to the sonar operators.

Sonar was a devilish weapon. Ultrasonic waves were radiated out by the sending ship and, when they bounced off an object in the water, announced to the world that a submarine might be calling. At first it was thought that sonar would spell the end of submarine warfare. It had not. Sonar, like radar, was a good but imperfect weapon, with many ways it could be fooled by a cunning submariner, and Hashimoto counted on these imperfections to help him.

The volcanic continental shelf that surrounded Japan extended well out into the Pacific and was as hilly and rugged as the islands it surrounded. This meant that the I-58 could skulk about on the ocean bottom and hide among the irregularities in the ocean floor when her captain felt she might be threatened by surface enemies. A submarine lying inert on the bottom was invisible to sonar.

Periodically, however, the I-58 had come to periscope depth to refresh her air through the snorkel, and to see whether she had made it past the defending American warships through the simple expedient of having them wash over the I-58 as they closed in on Kyushu.

But this had not yet happened. Each time the I-58's periscope had poked above the waves, Hashimoto had seen long rows of destroyers and other antisubmarine craft several miles in the distance. This portion of the American fleet showed no indication that it would be closing on Kyushu anytime soon, and any attempt to penetrate the lines of destroyers would be suicidal.

Commander Hashimoto had no doubts that he would probably soon die for Japan, but he wanted his sacrifice to be worthwhile. He had four of the precious kaiten and twenty-four standard Type 95 torpedoes ready to be fired. His orders had been specific- he was to only attack carriers and transports. Other ships were to be left alone.

While he recognized the order as militarily essential, it was also irksome. Although depressed by what he saw as the inevitable outcome of the war, Hashimoto still had a warrior's lust to kill other warships, and while he definitely considered a carrier a warship, he did not extend that title to the fat and sluggish transports. He would have liked nothing more than to loose a spread of torpedoes at the several destroyers currently in his vision. He would sink them as he had the American cruiser Indianapolis. The Indianapolis had gone down with great loss of life, a fact that saddened him deeply.

He ordered down periscope and stepped away. It was almost dawn and it was no longer difficult to see the enemy ships. He did not dare have the periscope visible for more than a few seconds at a time in the daylight lest some eagle-eyed American lookout see its small ripples running contrary to the wind and the sea.

Lt. Sakuo Yokochi, his second-in-command, looked at him in dismay. "Still nothing, Captain?"

Hashimoto wanted to snap at the man for his foolish question, but merely glared at him until Yokochi turned away. It was so frustrating. There had to be a way through the wall of defenders. The American destroyers were like bees protecting the precious honey in a hive.