Motion was seen in the ruins of Anchorage. At first scores, and then hundreds of people could be seen running toward the shore, frantically waving their arms.
“What the hell is going on?” Oldendorf asked.
Dane had binoculars on the throng. “Those are civilians, sir. They want us to pick them up.”
Oldendorf shook his head grimly, “Can’t do it. We’ve stayed long enough.”
Dane was appalled at the answer. “Sir, those are the Americans the Japs have been torturing and using as slaves. Admiral, if you don’t save them, the Japs will likely kill them in retaliation for this disaster. Their commander, Colonel Yamasaki, is a real fanatic and he will want revenge for what we’ve done. He will have them all beheaded or shot, or maybe used for living bayonet practice.”
Oldendorf looked stunned. He nodded grimly and made his decision. “That will not happen on my watch. Get the destroyers in close and everyone launch boats. We’ll pick up every goddamned one of them.”
An hour later, a score of lifeboats had each made several trips to the shore, returning with as many civilians as they could find. Without exception, they were dressed in rags and showed signs of starvation. Multiple bruises were evidence of repeated beatings, and some looked maddened by their ordeal, especially the women. Many of them were nearly nude despite the worsening weather. Hundreds of helping hands lifted or carried them onto the warships and hardened sailors were moved to tears by what they saw. Finally, there was nobody else, only dead Japanese, although they could sense the angry survivors among the enemy invasion force glaring at them through the woods.
“Now it’s time,” Oldendorf said grimly. The sight and condition of the civilians had shaken him. “Let’s get the hell out of this place. But first, let’s lob a few shells into the woods and maybe we’ll get lucky and hit something Japanese.”
A few miles north and west of the fighting, the Shark remained submerged. As the morning brightened, Torelli could see smoke coming from the Anchorage area. He could also see a ship heading for him and racing at great speed.
He grinned. “Damn if it isn’t a Jap destroyer,” he announced after carefully checking his Jane’s. “And he’s running like a bat out of hell, which means we probably won the fight, and damned if we aren’t going to sink the fucker.”
“Want me to put that in the log, sir,” Crowley asked innocently. “I feel that using exact quotes are best for historical purposes.”
“Screw you, Mr. Crowley,” Torelli said amiably. “We will fire when she’s broadside to us. I don’t want any misses running toward any of our ships that might be coming out of the fight.”
He also added that, when the four torpedoes were fired from the Shark’s bow tubes, the boat should turn as quickly as possible so the stern torpedoes could be fired. Torelli had no confidence in his torpedoes and wanted to minimize the chance of a thoroughly pissed off Japanese destroyer commander running up the torpedoes’ wakes and depth-charging them. The Jap might be fleeing, but who knew how he might react if he thought he could sink an American sub.
They fired at a thousand yards. Four torpedoes streaked toward the destroyer and this time fate smiled on the men of the Shark. Two of them exploded against her hull, shattering her and breaking the destroyer in half. Both parts floated for a while and then slipped beneath the sea.
“No lifeboats,” Crowley said as he took his turn at the periscope, “and nobody swimming in the water. I guess that means no prisoners.”
Torelli recalled his conversations with Dane. “From what I hear, young Lieutenant, the sons of bitches would rather die than be taken prisoner.”
Crowley grinned. “Sounds good to me, Skipper.”
CHAPTER 11
The headlines on the San Francisco and Oakland newspapers said it all. The United States Navy had won a major victory over the Japanese and the nation was exultant. The string of agonizing defeats had ended and there would be more victories.
Amanda, Sandy, and Grace were not immune to the festive air as they walked down Funston Avenue near the Presidio in San Francisco on their way to the law offices of Goldman and Swartz. The articles following the headlines made for sparse reading, as it was obvious that the government wasn’t releasing much in the way of information. Nothing was said about which Japanese ships had been sunk, except to say that four were cruisers and five were destroyers. It was painfully evident that no Japanese carriers or battleships had been involved, which meant that the main Japanese battle fleet remained unscathed. Nor was anything said about what American ships were involved or where they’d been based, except to say that two battleships had done much of the work. The article also said that Japanese army shore installations had been pounded and destroyed, and that a large number of terribly mistreated American civilian refugees had been saved from Japanese clutches.
It was like a cloud lifting. The litany of defeats had come to a screeching halt. Now the United States would continue to strike back; at least, that was the prevailing hope and thought. There was, however, the nagging sense that the Japanese would seek revenge for the slaughter.
Even reading between the lines, it did not look like something Tim Dane would be involved in, and for that Amanda was thankful. Captain Harding had dropped by that morning with copies of their nursing credentials, which meant they could get a job, and gasoline ration coupons that would enable them to drive to San Diego in the ’38 Buick they’d purchased.
The law firm of Goldman and Swartz consisted of one person, Richard Goldman, Swartz having died several years earlier. The offices were on the second floor of a nondescript building that had a men’s clothing store on the first floor. Goldman was a small, frail man in his sixties and the women had asked for an appointment with him because Mack had suggested him.
“I’m sorry to hear of Mack’s passing,” Goldman said. “I’ve known him for a very long time, and yes, he did do some very questionable things when he was young and aggressive, but nothing that would have put him on the wrong side of the law. I think what you heard was his conscience speaking. He felt responsible when he made money while others lost theirs. Perhaps it was best that he wound up on a beach in Hawaii. Maybe I’ll go there myself someday.” He sighed. “Of course, I’d look like the devil in a bathing suit, so perhaps it’s best I don’t.”
Goldman took the envelope containing Mack’s will. “Alleged will” is how the lawyer phrased it.
“We have to prove its authenticity and, unfortunately, the only ones who witnessed it are the supposed heirs, you people, which is an obvious conflict of interest. You shouldn’t be witnessing something that will reward you; however, I don’t know what else you could have done. Also, we’ll have to prove that Mack is actually dead, and, since you are the witnesses as well as the heirs, the police might want to talk to you about the possibility that you killed him for his money. Again, however, since any alleged crime took place on the high seas, and likely out of anyone’s jurisdiction, that would be an uphill fight for the cops unless one of you wanted to confess, of course. If one of you would kindly implicate the others, I’ll get whoever confesses first a light sentence.”