John Schettler - Fallen Angels - 9 Days Falling, Volume II

“Still good light for a couple hours,” said Murray.

“We’ll need it. Pass the word. The gunners can’t rely on radar. I’ve got lookouts up on every weather deck and mast I could find—even up on the radar mounts themselves. We’ll have to do this the old fashioned way. Somehow they’ve managed to black out and foul up every radar set on the ship.”

“This just doesn’t add up, Admiral. How could the Russians be so far ahead of us? They couldn’t even produce the trucks they needed early in the war. How could they build ships that can do this, and then have the gall to stand there and deny any knowledge of them?”

“A lot of guff,” said Halsey. “Well I plan to have a real close look at these ships, personally. See that the Missouri is trimmed for action.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” Murray was only too happy to comply, then he looked over his shoulder.” Suppose they throw another big one our way, Bull. Then what?”

Halsey’s eyes were dark fire beneath those bristling grey brows. He gave the Captain a long look. “We’ll coordinate our attack with the air wing,” he said. “Bastards tried to sucker punch us there too, but we’ve got most everyone up now and they’re heading our way. Cowpens got hit, but the fleet carriers came through alright. Plenty of deck space there for further operations, though I’m ordering the flattops to move further south.”

Murray noted that Halsey had not answered his question, but said nothing more.

A thousandmiles away other men were working to answer that question. North Field on the Island of Tinian was a very busy place that day. The big silver B-29s of the Twentieth Air Force were being rolled out of their hard stands and rigged for battle. The Americans had taken the strategic island a little over a year ago, in July of 1944, and it meant the big superfortress bombers now had a place to roost in range of the Japanese homeland. North Field was originally Ushi Point, a Japanese runway for recon planes until 1500 Seabees showed up and expanded the operation in a vast quilt of new runways, tarmacs, and hard stations to house the planes.

To do the work they moved thousands of tons of coral and earth to complete what soon became the largest airfield in the world at that time, occupying the entire northern end of the island as if it had been branded into the ground there. It was now home to 265 B-29 bombers, which busied themselves in pounding Iwo Jima, Okinawa and then blackening the major cities of Japan in the last months of the war. The bombers were all set to continue with Operation Olympic, the planned invasion of Japan, but the Emperor came to his senses and capitulated just days ago.

But it wasn’t over. Word was that Halsey was still fighting out there, though few knew the details of what was happening. All they knew was what they were told. Tonight all leave was cancelled, and every man was to be in their quarters. Units in and around Runway A on the big airfield were rounded up and literally locked in Quonset huts, watched over by MPs and dour faced Master Chiefs. Something was up.

“What gives JS? What do you make of this? Why they have us all locked up in here?” A couple of Seabees were chewing the fat over the incident, wishing they would be out in time for chow and hoping there was something special on the menu to celebrate the war’s end. Something was on the menu, alright, but no one seemed to know what was going on. It had been a long time since any of them had seen any sign of the Japanese.

The last JS had seen of them was during an air raid seven months ago. They had three big towers set up, positioned at intervals from one side of the island to another. He was out on the airfield finishing up some grading operations when the sirens sounded, one tower warning another and passing the alert all across the island. Then he saw them, a couple Jap Zeros tipping their wings in the sun and diving in for a strafing run. He had never dug a hole so fast in his life, bare hands scraping at the rough hard packed earth he had just smoothed out with grey coral the last hour, trying to find some way to get low.

The Zero flashed right down the field, its machine guns rattling as it came, and JS saw the lines of shells chew into the earthen runway bed. They went right by him, to either side, a couple rounds within just a foot of his position. Then the planes were gone, and the blue fighters were after them. It was the last surprise raid the Japanese ever got away with on that island, and JS was proud of telling all his kids that story after the war, all nine of them. Yes, Johnny got busy after he came home from the war, and he told his pups that they all had come within a foot or two of not being born if that Jap pilot had aimed just a little better.

“You know as much as I do,” he said. “But if you want my money I’ll say it has to do with those new planes that came in for the 509th.”

Something more than fresh food was on the menu that day. JS had it right. A couple very special planes from the 509th Composite Air Group had been rolled out, and then moved to a secret hanger. A couple days ago one was renamed the Enola Gay . He had a look at it one morning and, the first thing he noticed was that there were no gun turrets, and the bomb bays looked all wrong, but otherwise it looked much like all the other planes in the 6th Bombardment Group, with that big Circled R on the tail. All last month they had been loading big fat “pumpkin bombs” into the plane for runs over Japan. He had no idea that they were ballistically identical to another bomb, and that the Enola Gay was preparing for a very special mission.

They renamed the plane the other day, which was another tip-off that something was up. JS had seen Alan Karl doing the new paint job, though it ticked off commander Robert Lewis to no end when he laid eyes on it. You don’t go messing with the nose art on someone’s plane! JS was Navy, a Seabee, but even he knew that much.

There was a special bomb loading pit that the Seabees had to build for the 509th. No one knew why, but no one cared either. They just got the job done and went about business as usual.

Johnny knew nothing more about it, but he would soon find out. That night the whole base was going to come alive like a swarm of bees, just as if it was another war day, with a big mission to fly. A couple hundred B-29s would take to the air and head north. One of them would be that very special plane, surrounded by so many similar targets that it would be a real crap shoot to get lucky and hit that plane. Odds were that Enola Gay would get through to the target and deliver her bomb…A very special bomb.

This was how they planned it.

BB-61, Iowa was now point man in the looming battle, her sleek prow cutting through the sea as she sped northeast. Captain Charles Wellborn had the scent and was hot for battle. The enemy had hit the cruiser St. Paul to his north, and though dead in the water, they had been able to report “three ships sighted, SSW our position, estimate speed thirty.” Iowa was just as fast, and on a good angle to intercept now. There was going to be a battle within the hour.

“The Big Stick” was ready—all nine of them, 50 caliber 16 inch guns among the best in the world. First of her class, Secretary of the navy Frank Knox called the Iowa “the greatest ship ever launched by the American nation.” That was true until Missouri , Wisconsin and New Jersey were launched as well, but as senior ship in the class, Iowa enjoyed a special status.

Iowa had stood a watch in the Atlantic, daring the German battleship Tirpitz to make a showing that never came. Then she was moved to the Pacific to run with men like Spruance, Halsey and Lee. In all that time the only damage she sustained were a pair of hits from Japanese shore batteries that she easily shrugged off. One seaman had a small cut on his face, but no other man aboard was injured.