Robert Conroy - Rising Sun

“So let me guess, he’s taking you along with him.”

Tim nodded solemnly. “Yes, and some other personnel, including Merchant. Seems he wants at least some of his regular staff with him, and that makes sense. Who knows, maybe he’ll want me to translate surrender terms to Yamamoto.”

“That’s not funny and it doesn’t make sense,” she said, wiping away a tear. “Jesus, Tim, how many battles have you been in? Haven’t you done enough?”

“I can think of a lot of guys who’ve done a lot more, so no, I haven’t done enough. I’m not being noble and I’m scared to death for the both of us, but the curse of the military is that you can’t let down your comrades, your buddies.”

Which was why Amanda knew she couldn’t leave San Diego when others remained behind. “When will you be leaving?”

“Two or three days. Why?”

She stood and pulled him to his feet. “Then we’ll have to act quickly, won’t we?”

“This, Skipper, is a torpedo.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I would never have known.”

Crowley ignored Torelli. “And this is a torpedo without its clothes.”

He lifted off the metal sheath covering the warhead. “And this is the part of the torpedo that we are to never ever touch or change under penalty of death or something worse.”

Torelli looked at the torpedo’s innards. There it was, the mechanism that was supposed to guide the weapon under the hull of an enemy ship and, in response to the enemy ship’s magnetic field, detonate the torpedo, thus breaking the back of a supposedly doomed vessel. Problem was, it frequently didn’t work even though the bastards at BuOrd said it did and that any problems were caused by submariners who were too stupid to follow instructions.

The same problems continued even if the electronic widget was disconnected and the torpedo used as an old-fashioned impact weapon. All too frequently that didn’t work either, as they’d found out in highly unauthorized tests against Japanese merchant shipping. The damned torpedoes just weren’t dependable and couldn’t be counted on. Using the torpedo as originally configured often resulted in the fish disappearing. The consensus was that the torpedo was running low, but why? When used as an impact weapon, they’d literally heard the torpedo clanging against the hull of an enemy ship, but without a resulting explosion.

Crowley pointed to the impact trigger. “Based on my highly unscientific knowledge of engineering I think I see the problem.”

Torelli grunted. Crowley had a degree in engineering. “I know all about problems, young Lieutenant. What’s the solution?”

“I think the trigger mechanism is too weak and needs to be strengthened. I can’t prove it without seeing a torpedo that’s failed after hitting, and there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of that happening out here, but I think the trigger mechanism is too fragile and probably collapses instead of causing a detonation. If we strengthen it, we might correct the problem.”

“We could also get court-martialed,” Torelli said.

Crowley glared at him. “We’d have to survive in order for that to happen, and what do you think our chances of that would be when we’re told to stop staring at Jap ships and begin trying to kill them?”

Torelli eyeballed the offending mechanism, looked up and smiled grimly. “At any rate and assuming our survival, I’ll bet we could arrive back at San Diego without any altered torpedoes left, couldn’t we?”

AMANDA LAY NAKED ON THE BED AND LOOKED UP AT THE ceiling and the bare light bulb that was, mercifully, off. The only light in the room was from a night light in the bathroom. She was covered with sweat and, for the first time in her young life, she was sexually satisfied, at least for the moment.

She was also married.

After their conversation in the park, they’d found a pliant justice of the peace who owed FBI Agent Harris a favor for something or other, and then got a county clerk friend of the JP to ram through a marriage license. They had the feeling that such goings-on weren’t all that rare with so many tens of thousands of servicemen and women in the San Diego area, and many in various stages of shipping out, coming back, or just plain wanting to live in the moment. She wondered if the justice thought she was pregnant and decided she didn’t give a damn what the silly little man thought.

The justice had married them the evening before. Maybe some navy regulations had been bent or broken, but Nimitz said he’d take care of them, and that Tim had little more than a day to get the hell back. Grace and Merchant had been maid of honor and best man. It had been pleasant and swift. As a girl growing up, Amanda, like all her friends, had dreamed of a big church wedding with her starring as a beautiful bride wearing a flowing white dress. A dozen bridesmaids in matching dresses would accompany her, and hundreds of her and her parents’ friends and relatives would dine at an elegantly catered reception that most people couldn’t afford while an expensive band played on. She’d even decided that Lester Lanin’s high society band would be just perfect. She would be appropriately thankful that her father was a well-to-do doctor and then go on a honeymoon to Europe with her Prince Charming.

Funny how war changes perspectives and values, she thought. She recalled a sermon in which the minister said something about “when I was a child I thought as a child, but now I am an adult so I think like an adult.” Fairy-tale weddings might have a time and a place, but now the world was at war and fairy-tale weddings were no longer that important. And who wanted to honeymoon in Europe with Hitler in charge?

Instead, it was far more important for both of them to pledge themselves to each other, and who cared whether it was in a small office in California or in a magnificent European cathedral? And who cared whether the honeymoon was on the French Riviera or one night in a small apartment in San Diego? She and Tim were married.

The apartment was Merchant’s. He was roughing it in Tim’s bachelor officer’s quarters for the duration. Amanda was certain that Grace would find some way to provide him with a level of solace, although probably in a parked car.

She giggled softly and Tim stirred. He’d been a very gentle lover. The first time they’d been tentative and a little awkward, but there had been no pain. The second time was much, much better as they learned so much about each other. The third was an explosion of exuberant passion that left them gasping, shocked and delighted. Neither was concerned about the possibility that she might get pregnant. Without quite saying it, both of them hoped it would happen. If something happened to Tim, at least there would be another Great Dane to carry on.

He was staring at her. “You are so beautiful, my dear Amanda.”

“And so are you, my dear Tim.” She followed up the statement by caressing his chest while his hands moved across her breasts and down to her still-moist thighs. She let her own hands travel downward and found that her new best friend was also awakening.

One more time, she thought a few moments later as he entered her. One more time and he’ll have to go back to the damn war. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and drew him deeper, deeper, deeper. Damn, damn, damn, she thought in tandem to his stroking inside her.

Steve Farris and Sandy had their meeting. From the beginning it was awkward. Sandy was pleased that Steve had not been maimed, and he said that she looked great, but it became clear that whatever spark there had been before he had gone to Alaska had been extinguished. There was nothing either one had done or said; rather, they simply realized that they had little in common. After a polite conversation, they parted. Sandy went back to work, while a slightly disconsolate Steve wondered what was going on.