The Apostates (55 page)

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The reports from damage control were flooding in from all over the ship. Captain Inoguchi was being overwhelmed. One engine room was entire flooded, along with an adjacent boiler room. Power had been lost to the port-side, inboard propeller, which resulted in the speed reduction of the Musashi. Scores of the crew had been killed or wounded. Captain Inoguchi, himself, had sustained a slight head injury when he was knocked off his feet during a torpedo impact. With all these events happening the Musashi still struggled on, but the ship was being swarmed by aircraft and was taking direct hits from broadsides from all directions. Inoguchi debated in his head whether to strike his colors and save the lives of his crew. But, then he remembered why he was fighting on: he needed to give Admiral Kurita time to slip away with the rest of the Central Force.

“Captain Inoguchi, sir! Contact from
Admiral Kurita! He wishes to send his heartfelt thanks for your sacrifice here
today. He hopes that you will be able to take as many of the enemy with you as
possible. He had also informed me that he has dispatched the “divine wind” from
Luzon. He said you would know what he meant, sir,” the battered ensign
reported.

The Captain thanked him. Inoguchi knew exactly what Kurita had meant. It was the Special Attack Force: the Kamikaze. Inoguchi had feared that this force would be used in battle; suicide squadrons of young, indoctrinated pilots, which used their planes along with a high explosive to crash their planes into enemy ships. Inoguchi was saddened deeply by this turn of events, but he could not let these pilots die in vain. Inoguchi continued to order broadsides against the American ships, which damaged a destroyer, putting its forward turret out of action. After a few minutes, Captain Inoguchi received word that Japanese planes had been spotted approaching the battle, from Luzon. Above the battle taking place on the surface from the west appeared a formation of some thirty Japanese Zeros. The American fleet had not been expecting them. The formation split into two separate squadrons and one veered off to the north, the other squadron approached the American battle line of battleships and destroyers. The Zero’s roar could be heard from miles around. Inoguchi peered out the observation deck. He watched as the fifteen or so Zeros selected targets from among the American ships. The squadron was met with American anti-aircraft fire from the decks of the ships. Inoguchi observed the tracers and flak rounds ascend to the heavens, tearing through the wings and engine of a Zero fighter. The American aircraft that badgered the Musashi incessantly suddenly broke off their attack. Inoguchi figured that they must have been called for air cover for the ships. The Hellcats and Avengers sped off toward their exposed ships. The Musashi’s guns claimed another Hellcat as it turned to defend the battle line.

Inoguchi watched as another two Zeros were picked off by withering anti-aircraft fire. Five Zeros broke into a dive attack, each on targeted a separate ship in the American battle line. Three other Zeros were intercepted and destroyed by American fighters before they could start into an attack pattern. Of the five Zeros that broke into dives against American vessels, two more were shot down by anti-aircraft fire. One Zero aimed for the battleship New Jersey, but it’s pilot was shot dead before he could guide his plane to the target, and the plane hit the water just short of the New Jersey. The last Zero aimed at the U.S.S. Iowa herself. Inoguchi watched as the Zero increased speed, received several rounds from machine guns, began to smoke and caught fire, then slammed hard and fast into the Iowa. A massive fireball rose up from the bow of the Iowa. Inoguchi could not bring himself to cheer, as the strike had cost a young Japanese man his life. In roughly five minutes, all fifteen of the Japanese planes had been wiped out, scoring only one significant hit. Inoguchi witnessed what was left of the American air-wing break off and give chase to the other squadron of Kamikaze that was closing in on some other target. Soon the buzz of aircraft engines was a distant hum. They were no longer a factor in this fight.

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There was a raging inferno on the number one turret, nearest the bow of the ship. McCann raced to the observation deck and looked down helplessly.

“I want a fucking damage report, now! Send
fire control teams to the turret!” McCann had ordered. McCann was stunned. What
had he just witnessed? An entire squadron of Japanese fighters had just
commenced an organized suicide attack. Were the Japanese that desperate that
they would sacrifice perfectly suitable pilots and aircraft in such a gamble?
Clearly they were. It was such an alien concept to Captain McCann that it
reinforced his perception that the Japanese were inhuman. He comforted himself
with the knowledge that civilized Americans would never resort to such tactics.
He figured these differences were the reason why God was on the side of the
American cause.

Below deck in the number one turret, the
fire burned. Private Burke laid, barely conscious. His ears rang with a high
pitch sound. The heat was unbearable. He could barely move his left arm. He
opened his eyes: they stung from the smoke and fumes. He looked to his action
station, but, it was on fire, and he could see a shaft of sun peering through a hole
that had been ripped in the top of the turret. Burke looked at his left
shoulder. There was a dagger of sharp metal sticking out from his uniform.

“Fuck,” he thought to himself. A fire blazed down below, and he could see flames down on the conveyor deck,

“Jones!” he thought. He pulled himself to his feet with his right arm and staggered over to the stairwell that lead down to the conveyor and magazine store. He descended slowly but surely, his vision blurred, and his ears bled. He reached the conveyor deck and looked around, while the heat was quickly becoming too much, and he could feel his skin burn. At last, he caught a glimpse of his friend: Private Jones. He was in two pieces. His legs were being consumed by the fire on one side of the deck and a path of spilled entrails led back to the top half of his body. Burke could tell by the expression on the Jones’ face that he had expired. Burke realized that the explosive force of the bomb blast had been directed down into the decks below. The men down here did not have a chance.

Burke pulled himself back up the stairwell to escape the fire’s heat. He inhaled much smoke and fumes, and he felt himself get weaker. He hacked and could not breath. He felt faint and collapsed on the top of the stairwell. So this is how it would end for him. Burke hoped he would suffocate before he burned. He let go of the railing and slumped down against the wall. He thought about California and camping trips to the Sierra Nevada mountains; the fresh air of the forest. He thought about his parents, and how proud they were that he had enlisted. Most of all thoughts of Nurse Sanchez filled his head. That night at Ebbitt Grill in Washington D.C.: it was probably the one happy thought he retained out of this sorry war. He regretted not winning the war for her. It was getting dark now, and the roar of the flame was getting faint; he barely heard it anymore. He was ready for the darkness to consume him, so he submitted to its embrace.

“Here’s one, I think he’s still alive.
Help me here! Help me get ‘em!” Burke heard a voice cry, and it postponed the
encroaching darkness. He felt the sensation of grasping arms. He was being
carried, up and out of the fire. He felt the sensation of sunlight on his face.
Burke could not stay awake—he slipped away.

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Captain Inoguchi felt the Musashi rocked by successive impacts from enemy broadsides. The observation screen had been shattered by a small caliber shell, which had impacted above the bridge superstructure. Inoguchi had been wounded by flying glass fragments. One had struck his face and blood pour into his left eye, causing him to squint. The Musashi had taken a spread of torpedoes launched by an American cruiser, multiple engines had been flooded and the Musashi limped along at six knots. Inoguchi still ordered the guns to blaze away. It traded broadsides at point blank with the New Jersey, raking its hull with high-velocity shells, causing breaches. The New Jersey had responded by sending shells screaming into the Musashi’s number one turret, destroying its hydraulic lift equipment, rendering the gun useless. From the other side, another barrage was fired from the Iowa’s aft turret. The well-placed shot blew apart more of the number one turret and destroyed a secondary battery, close to the bridge. The resulting explosion sprayed the now exposed bridge with pieces of shrapnel like a giant shotgun. The shrapnel tore into bridge personnel, and Captain Inoguchi took a piece to the gut. He keeled over in his command chair with excruciating pain shooting through his body.

“Captain! The captain has been hit!” an
ensign rushed over to Captain Inoguchi. He helped support Inoguchi to sit
upright. Inoguchi still stirred. The ensign looked down at the wound. He shook
his head in disbelief. Inoguchi struggled to focus his eyes and look around the
bridge: so many dead. Of the officers left alive the highest ranking was a
Lieutenant-commander, by the name of Himatomo. Captain Inoguchi gestured for
the man to approach him.

“Lieutenant-commander Himatomo, please take my officer’s sword and present it to the Emperor with my apologies, that is if you make it back to Japan. Also, please, if you can get this letter to my wife! I hereby relinquish command of the Musashi to you. I advise that you strike the colors and abandon ship, as oppose to fighting on. However, the decision is now yours,” Inoguchi stated. He coughed, and winced in pain as he spoke.

“Captain, I am not worthy,” Himatomo
replied.

“Neither am I, which is why I now retire
to my quarters. Ensign, please help me. Good luck to you all! It’s been a
pleasure.” With that Inoguchi struggled to his feet, supported by the ensign,
and he exited the bridge as his remaining officers gave a salute. The Musashi was
rocked by another torpedo strike. Immediate Himatomo began preparations to
abandon ship, sending a general announcement to evacuate and lower the lifeboats.

Inoguchi was brought to his quarters. The
ensign helped him to his desk chair. When Inoguchi was settled into it, he
dismissed the ensign, telling him to save himself. The ensign gave one last
salute and he was gone. Inoguchi peered down at his gut wound, it was streaming
blood, and he imagined he would die of septic shock, but, he surmised the ship
sinking would kill him first. He reached clumsily over to his desk, and he found
two framed pictures, which had been knocked over during the naval battle. One
was of his wife, Mariko, the other was the fire-damaged photograph of his father. He
clutched the picture of his wife, then, kissed it. Mariko had been the light in
his life and he was happy that she and his son would be safe. He placed the
photograph upon his desk.

Inoguchi gazed upon the portrait of his
father. He thought about how he had surpassed his father’s naval career, but
the difference was that his father died peacefully, and was able to enjoy the
prosperity his victory had brought Japan. Inoguchi, on the other hand was going
down with his ship. He actually was thankful that he would not live to witness
the horror to come. He could only hope that the Emperor and the High Command
would surrender soon, so that they would spare the Japanese people the horror
of invasion.

Inoguchi lost balance in his chair. He felt the sensation of the aft section of the ship being lifted into the air. He meditated on the Musashi’s actions today. He found it to have been a gallant effort: to go down fighting in such an honorable way made him proud. Surely, his war-like Christian God was pleased by his actions today? He made a prayer to the God of War, hoping to be accepted into Paradise. His quarters flooded with water. Then, before Inoguchi could finish his prayer, the invading water engulfed the room completely, leading him to his watery grave.

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Captain McCann walked along the weather
deck of the Iowa with Rear Admiral Badger, they approached the number one
turret that lay in ruins. Both men look upon the destroyed battery. Badger was
a tall, brisk man, who had considerable pockmarking on his cheeks, with deep-set
eyes. He faced McCann and spoke,

“That was some damned fine sailing from you
McCann—damned fine. I hear murmurs among Halsey’s staff. There’s talk of
awarding you the Bronze Star. Damned Japs almost turned back the invasion at Leyte
Beach, and you stopped them! It’s a shame the rest of those cowards didn’t stay
behind for the fight.”

“Yes, we stopped them but with a great cost. The escort Carrier, St. Lo, was hit by suicide flyers. We couldn’t save it,” McCann lamented.

“Yes, we did pay a hefty price: losing the St. Lo, and numerous cruisers. To think those barbaric people would resort to suicide tactics instead of fighting like men. I’ll tell you this, those goddamned, yellow monkeys don’t belong on God’s green earth,” Badger exclaimed.

“Any news of the pursuit of Admiral
Ozawa’s Northern Force? I was disappointed that the Iowa was not able to join
the hunt for those aircraft carriers,” McCann asked.

“Well, we sank the fucking flagship of the Jap navy: the Zuikaka, or however, you say it. Took a couple of other carriers out as well. We have no way of knowing if Ozawa got away. At any rate, the Japs’ll have to capitulate soon. Once the Philippines garrison falls, we head straight for the Home Islands,” Badger explained.

“Somehow, I don’t think this war is over
yet. Not by a long shot. So, any idea where the Iowa will be sent from here?”
McCann asked with concern.

“Welp, clearly with all this damage you’re
no good in a fight. We’ll be sending you back to San Francisco for dry dock.
Please get your crew ready for the journey. You’re scheduled to leave after
whatever funeral services you have arranged for your dead,” Badger informed the
captain.

“Thank you, sir,” the Captain was
gracious.

“I’ll be on my way now, I have a meeting
with the Admiralty. Once again, damned fine display today.” He slapped McCann
on the back and was off with his detail. McCann took one last look at the
destroyed turret, then, turned back toward the bridge, to prepare for the
journey home.