Initiative (The Red Gambit Series Book 6) Read online

  “And, for the record, I’m doing what I think is right, regardless of what the press might judge now or in twenty years’ time.”

  “Amen to that, Major. Boys, I see we’ve a chance to stop this war here and now… I mean the nip part obviously. I also believe the shrinks and generals when they say it’ll affect the Commies too…has to.”

  Loveless moved upwards, to make sure he could get his point over with his eyes and face as well as his mouth.

  “We put the nips to bed with this bomb and that has to send a message to the Commies… don’t fuck with us, Uncle Joe, we’ve got something that’s badass as hell and we’re not afraid to use it.”

  A number of nods showed his message was hitting home. Again, a message that had been heard before, but not under these circumstances, in this time frame, on this aircraft, nearing the coast of Japan.

  “Think of the lives we’ll save then. Our boys have bled dry over in Europe, and have done well. Just think… we now, the few of us, could save them in their thousands, save European civilians in their millions.”

  He sensed a new resolve amongst his comrades and chucked in a moment of humour to end his ‘presentation’.

  “Anyways… what you bastards worried about? I’m the poor bastard who has to drop it.”

  Not a laughing matter, but tension releases itself in strange ways sometimes, and they all laughed.

  “Navigator, time to point Alpha.”

  “Skipper, point Alpha, twenty-six minutes on this course.”

  “Roger that.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “OK Guys, let’s get this done by the numbers.”

  Crail checked his watch automatically.

  It was 0729.

  ‘Miss Merlene’ flew on to her date with destiny.

  Centerboard One was almost there.

  0755 hrs, Wednesday, 29th May 1946, Point Alpha, over Kyūshū Island, Japan.

  “Course 018, prepare to execute, on my mark… three…two…one…mark.”

  Crail dropped the right wing and adjusted the B-29s course as the mission moved over point Alpha and turned for the bomb run to Kokura.

  In the nose, Loveless checked and re-checked the aerial photographs of the Kokura Arsenal, specifically the configuration of the northeast corner, his precise target for dropping L-9.

  The rest of the crew applied themselves, making sure that their particular area of responsibility was right up to the mark, ensuring that they did their bit to the absolute best of their ability.

  The last weather report had talked of a slight worsening of conditions, but nothing that would cause an abort.

  Loveless was calling the shots now.

  His calm voice delivered the adjustments required, and the pilots acted, bringing the B-29 into the correct approach.

  The navigator supplied his information in a steady matter of fact tone, suggesting nothing of the inner tension he felt… they all felt…

  The intercom came to life.

  “Navigator, Pilot…two minutes to release point.”

  Crail acknowledged and gave Nelleson the nod.

  The bomb bay doors were opened, illuminating the Little Boy with natural light.

  Jeppson took the opportunity to re-examine L-9 before he made the required report, and saw nothing untoward, other than the wounded tail plane.

  “Pilot, Bomb Bay, doors fully open… weapon is ready.”

  “Roger, Bomb bay.”

  Crail looked Parsons, his eyes seeking a required response.

  “Major, the mission is a go, Release is authorised.”

  He nodded at the naval officer, the final hurdle overcome in a few words.

  “Pilot, Bomb-aimer, release authorised.”

  The process was left until the last moments to ensure that every opportunity for a safe and accurate launch was available.

  Crail had rehearsed this moment.

  “Pilot, crew, stand by for release… we are about to drop our bomb, and show the world that war has no place in our future. Good luck to us all. Pilot out.”

  The thought settled in the collective minds as the final seconds ticked away, and then individual brains made their own minds up concerning what was about to pass.

  Crail… just hold steady, Marlene baby, nice and steady…

  Hanebury… get it done, Lovey, and get it done right…

  Parsons… Please God, let this be righteous…

  Burnett… They have it coming…

  Nelleson… Sweet lord, what am I part of here…

  Fletcher… Don’t fuck with America!...

  Jones… Kill to stop the killing… are we right… really right?...

  Loveless………………………………. that’s it!

  “Bomb away!”

  Everyone on ‘Miss Merlene’ understood that as the B-29, suddenly nine thousand seven hundred pounds lighter, rose instantly.

  The procedure now called for a hi-speed turn, placing the rear towards the epicentre of the burst.

  Hanebury, the man who would now have a direct view of L-9’s act of immolation, already had the goggles on, an item that he had strict orders to wear to protect his eyes.

  A timer, initiated the instant L-9 fell away, came to life fifteen seconds later.

  The timer did its job, and the altimeters were made ready to activate the device, once the barometer had told them it was at its designated height.

  The barometer was simple but considered insufficiently accurate to initiate the device by itself.

  At six thousand, seven hundred and seventy-two feet, the barometer membrane curved sufficiently to complete the circuit, fully arming the altimeters.

  They registered the rapidly decreasing height.

  At one thousand, nine hundred and two feet, they permitted an electrical impulse to ignite the three Mk15M1 Naval gun primers.

  Fifty-eight seconds from the moment the bomb left ‘Miss Merlene’, those primers ignited the cordite charges, which in turn propelled a modest sized uranium projectile into another, smaller piece of uranium.

  A total of one hundred and forty-one pounds of enriched uranium collided at nearly one thousand feet per second.

  Catastrophically so.

  The reaction took place in a micro-second.

  Its effects would be felt for a thousand years.

  At first, there was light.

  A pure light, all-powerful, and a clear pre-cursor to something truly horrible.

  Then there was fire.

  A huge ball rolling upwards and outwards.

  The pressure wave was tangible, and those on the observation bird watched in awe as it rammed through the air, seemingly carrying all before it.

  Thousands of people died in an instant, blast and fire claiming lives without effort.

  The wave bumped ‘Miss Merlene’, and Crail and Nelleson gripped their controls with firmer hands until it passed.

  “Pilot, tail. Check in.”

  There was silence.

  “Pilot, tail, check in, you okay, Art?”

  The voice that came back quite clearly belonged to Art Hanebury, and it equally clearly carried the true horror he had just witnessed.

  His procedures had required him to report successful ignition and, although the sound and shockwave had done the job for him, Crail was a stickler.

  Normally Hanebury would have been on the ball, but this was not normal, and his eyes had been assailed by a vision of hell that had never been seen before.

  “Tail, Pilot, ignition confirmed… sorry JP… I mean, Major… I mean… my God…”

  Crail thumbed his mike.

  “Yeah I know, Art, we all know… horrible thing… worse than we could have imagined… but it had to be done.”

  Hanebury pursed his lips unobserved and lashed out at the metal surrounding him, splitting his hand in a bloody thwack.

  He bit back the pain.

  “Roger that, JP. I know… but that’s…,” again unseen, he nodded towards the huge mushroom cloud
that rose above the destroyed city of Kokura, “… that’s just so awful.”

  Loveless seized on the slight pause.

  “Then we must all pray that it’s the last time atomics are dropped on any one.”

  More than one brain continued the thought.

  ‘… and maybe they are right… if it’s that horrible then we might just’ve ended war as we know it!’

  The thought sat comfortably and eased many minds.

  Crail consulted with Parsons, who issued the order.

  “Pilot, radio operator. Send Dante, repeat, send Dante. Confirm.”

  “Radio, pilot, send Dante. Over.”

  “Roger. Out.”

  As Staff Sergeant Jones sent the mission success code word, ‘Miss Merlene’ flew on, leaving behind death on a biblical scale.

  0827 hrs, Wednesday, 29th May 1946, Kanoya Airfield, Kyūshū, Japan.

  Reactions differed.

  Some men screamed.

  Some men wept silently.

  Some took oaths of vengeance.

  A single Aichi aircraft had been airborne nearby, and the two shocked crewmen had born witness to the moment when L-9 had destroyed Kokura.

  News would have been patchy and slowly distributed, had the aircrew not witnessed the attack, and reported it within minutes.

  The Japanese communications were badly damaged and not every station received word or orders, but Kanoya was an important base, and efforts to restore her links were constant.

  And so it was that word of the attack reached the pilots of the Kogekitai, the Tokkôtai Special Attack Squadrons, and the men of the 301st Fighter Squadron, part of the 343rd Naval Air Group, all based at Kanoya, Kyūshū.

  With clarity of thought, Chief Petty Officer Kenzo Nobunaga worked out that he and Ashara had failed to stop the aircraft responsible, the Yankee silver machines that had evaded their attacks had to be the ones who had destroyed Kokura.

  He was sure of it.

  Ashara was in the hospital, such as it was after many air attacks, being fussed over as befitted a naval air ace of his standing.

  He had sustained a minor wound in the air battle, but his attempts to pass it off had fallen on stony ground, and unequivocal orders were given.

  Nobunaga’s aircraft was receiving attention, the defensive fire having damaged his ailerons.

  He suddenly filled with a resolve to act, one he concealed with an outward calm as he surveyed the Intelligence Officer’s maps, whilst the IO himself wailed inconsolably in the next room, believing his family slain in the awful attack.

  Nobunaga studied the return routes of Yankee aircraft, seeking some pattern that would allow him to act.

  He found none.

  The tracks were drawn, reflecting previous missions and interceptions on the bomber’s return.

  He closed his eyes and beseeched his ancestors to intercede, to give him sign, some clue, a way of understanding the plethora of lines that confused the map in front of him.

  “Mount Tara, Kenzo.”

  He opened his eyes and stiffened immediately.

  Captain Sunyo stood before him.

  “Sir?”

  “There’s a report they were seen from the observation post on Mount Tara, likely heading to Okinawa.”

  Nobunaga looked again and, in his mind, most of the lines fell away, leaving only two, one that ran over Mount Tara and another to the east, both of which headed towards Okinawa.

  He nodded, acknowledging the precious gifts his ancestors had granted him.

  “With your permission, Captain.”

  The Air Group commander nodded sorrowfully.

  “You will not return, Nobunaga.”

  “Hai.”

  He bent his waist into a deep formal bow, acknowledging his superior’s unspoken permission, agreeing with his summation, and in deep respect for the veteran pilot.

  Chief Petty Officer Nobunaga strode from the IO’s office and headed towards Ashara’s silent Ki-87.

  Four minutes later, the Nakajima rose into the morning, heading towards the Uji Islands.

  0902 hrs, Wednesday, 28th May 1946, above the Hayatonoseto Strait, Uji Island Group, Japan.

  They had all long since settled down, with no open expressions of their feelings and fears, the standard intercom banter flowing, albeit not as barbed and punchy as normal.

  The return flight pattern took them through the Hayatonoseto Straits, between Uji and Ujimukae Islands.

  A handful of ancient Japanese craft rose up in challenge, and none of them got close as the escort fell upon them and sent every single one into the sea below, the majority of the aircraft prescribing fiery trails, as unprotected aviation spirit tanks discharged their contents, fuelling the smallest blaze and ensuring an awful end to both aircraft and pilot.

  Jubilant Mustang pilots filled the airwaves with their celebrations.

  Relaxed bomber crews exchanged jibes and banter.

  Nobunaga dived.

  Hanebury yawned, oblivious to the approaching killer.

  Nobunaga made a slight adjustment to starboard.

  It was enough.

  Hanebury yelled, “Fighter attacking! Turn to port, turn to port!”, and thumbed his firing triggers.

  Nobunaga yelled “Banzai! Banzai! Banzai!”, and lined up on the centre point of the B-29.

  Bullets from the other Superfortress rattled his tail section, knocking pieces off, but none prevented his inexorable rendezvous.

  Hanebury shifted his aim as ‘Miss Merlene’ swung rapidly in line with his warning.

  The Ki-87 drove in hard, even as Mustangs desperately tried to get a deflection shot in before the bombers made shooting impossible.

  Hanebury’s bullets struck the cowling, the wing root, the tail plane, and the cockpit, missing anything of importance.

  Inside the Nakajima, fuel vapours started to make Nobunaga’s eyes sting, and the narcotic effect of the leaking spirit started to numb his mind.

  ‘No matter, Tennouheika Banzai!’

  Hanebury fired a last burst as the heavy Nakajima fighter closed, two rounds of which smashed into the engine, two in Nobunaga’s left leg and knee, and one that merely clipped a gauge on the way through the instrument panel and into the Japanese CPO’s chest.

  There was an instant fiery ignition, but Nobunaga’s pain was momentary.

  Ki-87 Number 343-A-05 struck ‘Miss Merlene’ amidships, although Hanebury’s burst had altered the suicide aircraft’s path sufficiently that the heavy engine clipped the underneath of the Superfortress, its propeller chewing up the aluminium skin and into the airframe beneath, before its momentum carried it out and below the fuselage and on a descent to the Hayatonoseto Strait below.

  The port wing momentarily slapped the underside before fluttering away like a shiny Sycamore seed.

  The Ki-87’s fuselage and right wing explored the damaged skin and penetrated inside, tossing a modest amount of burning fuel forward and into the crew compartment.

  The weight of the aircraft hammered into the airframe and, although much lessened by the absence of the engine, was sufficient to create havoc with ‘Miss Merlene’s’ integrity and ability to stay airborne.

  Apart from Hanebury’s earlier shout, there had been no warning, and so Crail and Nelleson were taken unawares as the controls first lightened with the impact and then went very tight, all in the briefest of moments.

  Something was wrong, big time.

  “Crew, call in. What’s happened?”

  As he sought information, Crail was already taking ‘Miss Merlene’ lower, suspecting that the pressurised rear position might have been compromised.

  Hanebury was first, and his voice betrayed the urgency of the situation as much as the heavy controls.

  “He crashed into us, just rammed us.”

  Crail inwardly had two opposed thoughts.

  Firstly, if Hanebury’s intercom still worked then it can’t be too bad.

  Secondly, if an aircraft had crashed into them, then
it had to be bad.

  “Pilot, radar, report.”

  Nothing.

  “Pilot, radar…Pick… Al… come in?”

  There was no reply and Crail acted swiftly.

  “Art, I need a sitrep. Get up there and have a look.”

  “Roger.”

  Arthur Hanebury quickly grabbed at a portable oxygen cylinder and made his way towards the pressurised compartment door.

  As he moved forward from his tail gunner’s post, Crail and Nelleson struggled to level the ailing B-29 out, the starboard side inexplicably and constantly fighting to rise.

  Smoke and fumes greeted Arthur Hanebury as he opened up his pressurised door. He grabbed one of the fire extinguishers by his hatch and moved towards the radar operator’s position.

  The bomb bay emergency exit door, that should have protected their compartment, was open and bent by the force of impact.

  The first thing he really noted was the hole, wide enough for him to spread his arms and still fall out, a tall enough for him to stand in, almost perpendicular to the damaged floor.

  The remains of a man lay amongst the carnage, destroyed by the passage of metal through the crew space, and then swiftly flash burnt as the brief fire swelled and virtually died.

  There was no sign of the second man, the one whose position lay at the point of impact.

  Using the extinguisher to knock down the last few flames, he became aware of the noise created by the wind rushing through the compartment. The passing air stream created a Venturi effect and was sucking loose matter out of the hole.

  Papers momentarily hung in the air and then rushed out into the atmosphere.

  Hanebury plugged his intercom in and drew a deep breath before speaking.

  “Tail, pilot.”

  Crail responded, anxiously awaiting the news.

  “JP, all depressurised here. I don’t think the Nip hit us square, just a glancing blow. We’ve a big hole in the starboard size, six foot across easy, and just as high, with damage to the air frame extending beyond and above that… can’t see below impact point yet, over.”

  “Roger, Any more? How are the boys, over?”

  “Both gone, JP. They’d no chance. No fire present… knocked out the little bit that remained… checking for further damage, over.”