Another key was marked sat. photo. Tanaka selected it, and a photograph from the overhead Galaxy satellite flashed up, the photo showing the earth, the whirling cloud taking up half the area shown, the typhoon developing into a violent storm. Their own mission would be, he decided, unaffected by the approach of the typhoon. It would only move into the vicinity of the Home Islands if it kept moving along its present course, and its speed would not put it near Japan for another three days. Even if it were to continue on its present course at its current speed, Winged Serpent would be long submerged at sea. At 200 meters keel depth, the most violent typhoon would not be felt — the ship would be rock steady, only feeling the waves above when the ship ascended to mast-broach depth. But while the typhoon might not impact their mission physically it might set it back tactically. Communications during the storm would be unreliable — only a dry antenna mast could receive radio communications. The incoming surface group would have free passage, since even Nagasaki torpedoes could not hear through the interference of the high-sea state. Tanaka pushed aside such thoughts. He had to focus on getting Winged Serpent to sea. “Mr. Kami,” Tanaka said, taking his binoculars from the deck officer, “are you ready to get underway?”
“Yes, Captain, request permission to get underway.”
“Very good, then. Deck.
Take us out and take the Curtain of Flames alongside.”
“Yes sir.” Kami, a short husky officer originally from Kobe, took up the headset and boom microphone from the control panel that ran along the forward lip of the surface control space, there some ten meters above the top of the hull.
“Control room, surface navigation space, report motor status.” The control panel indicator light lit up, the yellow lamp showing the control room’s voice circuit energized. “Surface nav, control, AC motor breaker shut, motor energized.”
“Very good, control. Shift motor control to the surface control space.”
“Aye, surface nav, motor control is released to surface nav.”
“Very good, control.” Kami hit a selector toggle on the control panel, tying his headset with the deck crew. “On deck forward, cast off all forward lines.” Kami watched as the deck crew hurried to let go of the lines holding the bow to the pier. The current drove the bow outward from the concrete pier, the brackish slip water opening up. “On deck aft, cast off all stern lines.” The deck crew scurried to toss off the lines to the men on the pier until the last line was off and the ship was free. “Lookout, the flag, please.” Behind the surface control space, the lookout hoisted the banner of the rising sun high atop a steel flagpole, the flag flapping loudly in the wind.
Finally, Tanaka thought, the ship was underway. A rare sense’of contentment invaded his habitual bitterness. If there was one happiness left to him, it was this— taking his ship away from the landbound, petty and officious men of the base to the freedom of the sea, where there was only the crew, the ship, the sea and the enemy. He must write that into haiku, he thought. It would make a fine poem. “Control, surface nav,” Kami announced, “I have remote control of the motor, ordering dead slow ahead.” Kami grabbed the throttle lever and gently moved it forward until the motor tachometer read ten revolutions per minute. He looked aft to make sure the wake was making froth astern of the pumpjet propulsor, that the motor was rotating the turbine in the correct direction. The ship began to inch ahead, the pier beginning to slide slowly away. “Control, surface nav, I have remote control of the X-tail and am maneuvering into the channel.” Kami took the throttle lever back to stop, the ship continuing to glide into the channel, then as the fin became even with the end of the pier he rotated the X-tail rudder-control wheel clockwise to right fifteen effective degrees of rudder. Slowly the ship turned into the channel.
Kami added power again, driving the pumpjet back up to 30 rpm to push the ship into the channel, then pulled the throttle back to stop and zeroed the rudder.
The ship glided to a halt in the channel. Far ahead Tanaka could see the twin shapes of the fins of the Two and Three-class ships steaming to sea lashed together.
The water of the channel foamed peacefully against the hull, the Winged Serpent motionless in the seaway.
Tanaka looked toward the west, where the sun was setting over the ridge and felt himself move into a new era in his life, realizing that his hours of contemplation on the ridge were over. The feeling was a deep certainty.
