The ocean floor is far from flat. Its undulating hills and valleys of varying sizes and depths generally reflect the land it surrounds. Japan, a hilly and mountainous collection of islands, is encircled by a submerged continuation of herself. Thus, a submarine lying in hiding on the ocean floor on the Japanese continental shelf was rarely a stable and level platform.

The I-58 was down at the bow and tilted slightly to starboard as she lay silently on the bottom. This made any normal function such as standing, walking, or sitting awkward at best. One couldn't even lie down properly under the circumstances, and this made sleeping difficult. Exhaustion on the sub was a common result.

But, hidden as they were in a submerged crevasse, they were safe from detection. Sonar probes couldn't find them. Commander Hashimoto again reviewed his successes and his failures. On the positive side of the ledger were the sinkings of two freighters and an American warship that might have been a light cruiser or a destroyer. Which it was he didn't know. It had attacked him so quickly while he was lining up another freighter that his only concern was to sink it quickly and get away. Identifying it was irrelevant.

On the negative side, three fairly undistinguished ships were all he had to show for a combat cruise in which he had hoped for fat pickings once he had penetrated the American destroyer screen. Despite his best efforts, it hadn't worked out that way. Even though hundreds of American transports and scores of carriers were in the area, the vastness of the North Pacific worked to hide them. Then, when he did find a group of potential targets, the wolfish and snarling destroyers were always present. He had attacked on occasion, but the counterattacks by the destroyers had forced him to hide, and the men of the I-58 did not press the attacks to their conclusions.

At least he had gotten rid of the kaiten. The last remaining suicide-torpedo pilot had ridden his chariot to glory and death the previous day. Whether he had hit the freighter they'd targeted, Hashimoto didn't know. He and the crew of the I-58 rather doubted it as there had been no explosions rumbling in the distant ocean. With profound sadness, he imagined the kaiten spiraling downward in the sea's darkness to oblivion. What a waste. He hoped the eager young fool had died quickly.

One other time, the I-58 had been forced to make an emergency descent when a pair of American destroyers had angrily charged on his periscope. He thought they'd been directed to him by an airplane that had seen the I-58's shape underneath the waves. At least his unloved executive officer had finally served a purpose, if not in life then in death. The man had been killed in an earlier depth charge attack when an explosion hurled him against a pipe, cracking his skull. Afterward, his body had been kept in cold storage. When the depth charges got too close for comfort, the cadaver was stuffed into a torpedo tube and released upward with some debris. It had convinced the destroyers that the I-58 had been killed and they had departed.

Hashimoto checked his position. He was fifty miles south of the island of Tanega-Shima, which itself was south of Kyushu. Tanega-Shima was not a safe haven as it had been occupied by the American 158th Regimental Combat Team since early November, several days before the main assault on Kyushu.

Hashimoto had intended to stay closer to Kyushu, but American destroyers and a lack of good targets had caused him to stalk his prey ever farther away from Japan proper.

Enough, he decided. They had rested here a sufficient length of time. "Periscope depth," he ordered, and the boat slowly rose toward the surface. As it left the mud of the undersea ravine, the I-58 stabilized and Hashimoto was able to stand and walk properly.

"Anything?" he asked the men whose ears and listening devices strained for the sound of the turning screws of a hostile ship.

Neither he nor the others detected any ominous noises. This did not necessarily mean they were safe. A destroyer could be lying silently on the surface and waiting for him to betray himself, or an American search plane with radar might detect his periscope as it lifted above the waves and drop bombs on his head. As a precaution, his ascent was slow and he would raise his periscope with great caution.

Finally, Hashimoto ordered up periscope and began a visual search. He swiveled in a full three-sixty and saw no sign of danger, or targets for that matter. Dammit, he cursed. Where were all the American ships?

Then he blinked. A smudge was on the horizon. Yes, the light was good and there was definitely something there, actually just below the horizon. He calculated distance and speed and concluded that it was a large ship. Perhaps it was the carrier that had been denied him. Incredibly, the ship seemed to be alone. Could the Americans be repeating the mistake that had cost them the Indianapolis? He found that hard to believe, but the evidence of his eyes was too compelling.

Then the grim truth hit him as he reworked his calculations. The distant ship was moving slightly away from him and at a speed in excess of thirty knots. The I-58 could do nine knots submerged and just over twenty on the surface. He would never catch her, and he wasn't even close to being in range for one of the dozen torpedoes he had remaining. While the torpedoes could speed toward an enemy at forty-five knots, their range was only two and a half miles. He wished for the larger torpedo that once flew from Japan's now sunken surface ships. Their range was more than twelve miles. Even with that, he conceded grudgingly, the attempt would have been futile as the target was more than twelve miles out.

"Ah," he said suddenly, and the others looked at him. "The target is turning," he announced with a tight smile, and there were gasps of surprise.

The target was zigzagging and one of her movements was bringing her closer to the I-58. But how close? he wondered. Would he be able to fire his torpedoes at her, or would she just tantalize him with her presence and then race away?

Hashimoto ordered down periscope and directed the sub's full submerged speed toward where he thought the target was headed. And then he waited. If fate was with him, the target ship would be drawn close. If not, then he would swallow his anger and seek another.

Half an hour later, he again looked through the periscope. The target was markedly closer and still moving at great speed. Perhaps that was why she was alone. She could move more swiftly than any escorts. Better, she truly was a great ship. The dazzle camouflage painting on her hull and upper works broke up her design so he could not determine what she was, although she lacked the boxy shape of a carrier. She was, however, simply the largest ship he had ever seen.

Then it dawned on him. The massive target drawing closer to him was an ocean liner, probably the Queen Mary or the Queen Elizabeth. The leviathans had sped across the Atlantic Ocean with passengers in peacetime and now carried soldiers, but he had never before seen one. He knew they'd made numerous solo Atlantic crossings without incident because they had almost twice the speed of a submarine and were much faster than most surface warships. Traveling in a convoy had been deemed much more of a danger than cruising alone. Yes, that's what it must be, and she was coming toward his position like a greyhound. Hashimoto plotted a new course to intercept her, one that presumed she would not change again. He feared that she would turn away before she came into range, but he had to make the effort. He peered through the periscope until his head ached but he couldn't stop looking. More minutes crawled by, and now the great ship was almost within range of the I-58's arsenal. The target was plotted and all four bow tubes were ready.