Return of Sky Ghost (2 page)

It went off the front rail clean, displaying its characteristic yellow plume of smoke. The fifteen-foot-long silver tube rose steadily, leveled off at exactly fifty-five feet and began its target run. Noonan watched the torpedo’s progress on his weapons management screen. The Main/AC computer behind him was buzzing about something, but he had no time to attend to it now.

The torpedo gained speed as it neared the huge ship. Noonan took over manual steering at 750 feet out and turned the weapon toward the control window of the monster sub. At 500 feet out, the torpedo’s impact motor clicked on, and suddenly the weapon and its substantial warhead were streaking up toward the sub’s eyelike control bridge at more than 300 knots.

Impact came three seconds later. The missile smashed through the window and exploded. A good hit!

But Noonan was already turning the TPB hard to starboard and booting all power. They had barely scratched the huge ship—and now it knew they were here.

He ordered a second air torpedo launched. Like the first, it rose in a cloud of yellow smoke, leveled off, and began looking for an impact point. Noonan steered its nose toward the end of the giant ship—maybe he could hit a crucial propulsion component and at least disable the behemoth.

But this was not to be. Just as the air torpedo’s impact motor was turning on, an antimissile missile shot out from the foredeck of the sub and in a burst of amazing speed, hit the torpedo and simply vaporized it.

Noonan was astounded at the gigantic ship’s lightning-quick defenses. This thing really did act like it was from another world!

Still, he ordered a third air torpedo launched. For this one, he would swing back around and try for a hit on the sub’s huge mouth, which was still expelling huge bombers at a rate of one every ten seconds.

The third torpedo went off the rail and made it to within 200 feet of the sub’s bow before another antimissile missile materialized from the foredeck and blew it up.

Noonan swung the TPB around a fourth time—he was running on pure adrenaline now. The engines were screaming, the chatter in the ship’s radio was deafening as his men shouted out targets and defenses on the side of the nearest mystery ship. They were within 500 feet now and the thing looked like a huge floating skyscraper lying on its side. By comparison, they were like a gnat trying to take down a buffalo—or more appropriately, a minnow trying to stop a whale. The dreamlike quality of the whole thing was the strangest of all. Noonan kept asking himself over and over:
Is this really happening?

Then he started picking up puffs of red smoke coming from the bottom two levels of the ship. Then the air around him literally began shaking.

“Disruption shells incoming!” his sea defense officer’s voice shouted in his headphone.

Those three words were enough to make anyone’s stomach turn. If a disruption shell made a direct hit, it would destroy the TPB in two seconds. Or even if a DS hit the water near the ship, its disruption waves could fry all the electronics onboard, blow up the engines, and leave them powerless and unarmed.

Three disruption shells went screaming over the TPB and landed about 1000 feet beyond. Their shock waves still shook the vessel from stem to stern, but no permanent damage resulted. It would have been prudent to withdraw.

But Noonan would have none of that—he was furious that such a huge ship would dare to destroy his own and hurt his men. He turned the TPB back toward the front of the sub and ordered another air torpedo be fired.

At that moment, all defensive fire from the big ship suddenly ceased. It was so quick, so strange, Noonan took it as a bad omen. Behind him the Main/AC had been buzzing wildly—only now did he turn around and hit its “reveal” function The Main/AC spit out a ticker tape that said just one thing:
initiate evasive action.

But it was too late for that. Noonan looked beyond the computer to the rear of the ship and saw another amazing and frightening sight. Another vessel, smaller than the aircraft-carrying subs, but just as terrifying and alien, had surfaced off his stern and was coming at full speed right at them!

Noonan initiated the Main/AC advice and began to twist the little patrol boat out of the way—but it was not soon enough. The sharp bow of the enemy vessel sliced right through the middle of the patrol boat, killing seven of his men instantly and tearing the little vessel in two.

The engines blew up a second later. The next thing he knew, Noonan was flying through the air, his hair on fire, the combat gloves burning right off his skin.

In his last conscious moment, he saw many things: His men in the water. His vessel in two pieces, smoking and sinking. The wake of the strange ship that had split them in half. And beyond, the big, bombed-up airplanes still flying out of the mouths of the huge submarines. And in that last blink, he saw a flag flying above both the huge aircraft carrier sub and the ship that had just destroyed his own.

The flag was white with a huge red ball in the middle.

The Rising Sun symbol—the emblem of the Armed Forces of Japan.

Two hundred and fifty-five miles to the southeast, a B-17/52 superheavy bomber was about twenty minutes away from landing.

The crew of the gigantic aircraft, forty-four men in all, were strapping down equipment, securing weapons, and stowing away all loose gear.

The airplane was a cross between a B-17 Flying Fortress and a B-52 bomber. The nose and fuselage were reminiscent of the famous Fortress; the swept-back wings and high tail came from the ’52. The monstrous airplane had sixteen engines; six of them were now shut down for the landing approach. There was a total of twenty-six gun stations up and down the fuselage, each one bearing a triple- .50 caliber machine gun. Each of these weapons now had to be locked down and their ammunition belts secured.

The giant bomber was heading for Hickam Field, the sprawling if sleepy air base located on southern Oahu, near Honolulu. The airplane was on a training mission. More than half the crew were making their first flight. The primary flight crew were all veterans of the recently completed fighting in Europe. Now they and their much-patched slightly battered airplane would spend a six-week tour of duty in the friendly environs of Hawaii.

Or at least that’s what was supposed to happen.

The plane was now fifteen miles out from Hickam. The navigation section was bringing up a TV image of the air base; they would be putting down on Runway 5-Left a six-mile-long asphalt strip built to handle the Air Corps’s largest bombers like the B-17/52. The radio section had made contact with the base; the skies were clear; there was no air traffic in the area. The B-17/52 was cleared to come straight in, which was good. Just to turn the huge bomber in a ninety-degree bank could take more than fifteen minutes and an avalanche of new navigation plots. For an airplane as massive as the B-17/52, a straight-ahead landing was definitely preferred.

At ten miles out, two more engines were shut down; now the aircraft was flying on eight, the minimum required for safe landing. The nonessential crewmembers—the gunners, the oilers, the radio engineers—were strapped in, preparing for touchdown. At the moment, the major concern of the plane’s four pilots was one of postflight maintenance. As it was Sunday morning, they wondered if a large enough ground crew would be on hand to service the big plane once it was down.

They were five minutes out when the lead pilot called Hickam for final landing clearance, a mere formality. But instead of granting the OK the tower personnel sent a rather odd message: “Hang on …” the shaky voice told them. “And prepare to go around.”

Now this was a problem because the huge bomber was already descending, losing altitude from its cruising height of 65,000 feet. It was so big, that to be waved off now would be a major operation. The plane would have to restart its eight dormant engines, halt its descent, and claw for some altitude. A new flight plot would have to be calculated and a long, slow turn initiated.

Why then wouldn’t Hickam air control give them the OK?

Just on a whim, the lead pilot punched the “Situation Inquiry” button on his Main/AC computer. Why, he was asking the battle management machine, couldn’t they land at Hickam?

The answer that came back was as puzzling as it was startling.

It read: “Impending Enemy Action.”

A moment later the pilot’s situation awareness display began blinking. The air defense computer was suddenly going berserk. The TV screen popped on and instantly the bomber’s pilots were staring mouths agape at a huge airborne force heading for the same field they were—but from the opposite direction!

There were at least fifty airplanes in all, flying in ten chevrons of five each. These airplanes were enormous, bigger than the B-17/52 itself. They were about to make landfall over Keahi Point. They were heading northeast, toward Hickam Field and the huge Navy base nearby. The place called Pearl Harbor.

The American bomber’s pilots began evasive action as directed by the Main/AC. At the same moment, Hickam Field air control told the B-17/52 to abort its landing, do a slow turn, and go into a holding pattern at 35,000 feet.

The pilots complied, hastily restarting the eight turned-off engines and yanking back on the control column to get some height. The second pilot called back to the crew compartment and ordered the gunners back to their stations immediately. The gunnery officer unsealed the recently stowed ammunition feeds. Confused and more than a little anxious, the plane’s gunners dashed to their triple-.50s.

Meanwhile the bomber climbed to the prescribed altitude of 35,000 feet and went into a long, looping circuit high above Hickam field.

From this height, they were about to witness a devastating action that would go down in history.

The approaching bomber force split in two just after making landfall.

Half the number turned slightly east, their noses pointed toward Hickam Field. The remainder continued northeast, toward Pearl Harbor.

There were thirty-four U.S. Navy ships at anchor in Pearl this Sunday morning. Eight destroyers, five frigates, four battle cruisers, plus numerous patrol vessels and rocket boats. Biggest of all though were the five megacarriers. They were the USS
Detroit,
USS
Boston,
USS
Cleveland,
USS
Las Vegas,
and USS
Chicago.

Each carrier was nearly a mile long and half a mile wide. Their immense decks contained twelve separate launching and landing zones each, complete with twenty steam catapults, rocket-assist rails, and massive arrays of arresting cables. The ship’s company for each megacarrier topped 25,000 men, not counting the pilots and air crews for the aircraft on board. Each ship weighed more than 200,000 tons. Their displacement was nearly sixty-five feet.

The
Cleveland
was the only megacarrier permanently assigned to Pearl Harbor. The other four had transitioned from the Atlantic six weeks before, after the European War had ended. Their crews were in need of hard-earned rest; the ships themselves in need of major refurbishment. Pearl Harbor—with its proximity to some of the world’s most beautiful beaches and its vast ship repair yards—offered both.

Each megacarrier had its full complement of aircraft on board this dreadful morning. More than 250 Navy bombers—fourteen-engined B-332 Privateers mostly—were aboard each ship, along with five complete air wings of Navy fighters, a mix of F-J14Y Sea Furys and F-9F-265 SuperPanthers.

Many of these airplanes were up on the decks of the carriers; but like the ships themselves, they were in the midst of major reconditioning. None of them were ready for action.

There would be no air raid sirens. No alert Klaxons, no warning at all about what was to fall on Pearl Harbor. The attacking bomber force came out of the west, thirty airplanes now aligned into two long lines of fifteen each. They swept over the anchored giants, one massive bomb under each wing. These bombs, it would be later determined, were a variation of the DG-42, a German-produced super-blockbusting weapon containing nearly 200 tons of high explosive. Three such weapons had obliterated Paris about a year before, beginning the last brutal phase of the European War. Though the Germans eventually lost the war, the designs for their huge bomb, as well as some bombs themselves, had been floating on the black market for months. Now they were hanging from the wings of the attacking airplanes.

The first two planes peeled off and came in low and slow. Their target was the
Las Vegas,
docked in the first repair slip of the Pearl Harbor facility. The lead airplane let loose its pair of bombs and with a great scream of jet engines, turned wide and began climbing again. Both bombs hit the
Vegas
midships—but neither one exploded. They passed right through the carrier’s hull, traveled the width of the ship, and exited the other side. More than 100 men were killed by the pair of tumbling bombs, but their warheads did not explode.

The second bomber came in and did a bombing run that duplicated the first. Two massive bombs fell from its wings as the bomber turned left and began to climb. The first bomb hit the water 100 feet from the side of the
Vegas
and sank. The second bomb went right through the deck however and detonated.

The explosion was so bright dozens of people within a mile of the blast were blinded permanently. It was so loud, it deafened hundreds more. The great ship was literally picked up out of the water and slammed back down again, creating a massive blow-back wave. A gigantic plume of fire, in the characteristic shape of a flower, rose high above the ship, petals of flame spilling out for miles around. Once this firestorm dissipated, there was nothing left. The ship had been utterly blown apart, along with all the dock works and the repair facility. All that was left was a massive crater, half of it now filling with tons of seawater.

In a flash, 28,761 people had been killed and three times as many wounded.

Just like that, the USS
Las Vegas
simply ceased to exist.

Meanwhile two more bombers were heading for the
Cleveland.
As with the previous attack, the first two bombs from the lead airplane were massive duds. One went through the deck of the megacarrier, the other simply bounced off. The second plane’s weapons did not malfunction however. Both went through the
Cleveland
’s hull, traveled deep inside, and detonated.