paper that changed that impression. According to the reports, he felt that this dispute would take longer than expected, and if the imperial government played its cards properly under the Emperor’s wise leadership, Japan could emerge stronger from this mess than before.
Aritomo pondered for some time on the military and strategic implications while leafing through the rest of the paper, finding nothing of interest, then folded it neatly on his thighs. The rocking of the train had something reassuring. He hadn’t slept much last night, for he wanted to enjoy the last evening with the family, and had talked to parents and sisters until late at night, and had waken up early in the morning so he wouldn’t miss the train.
Aritomo closed his eyes and decided to go to sleep.
* * *
Fortunately, the journey was uneventful. Among the missing events he was able to avoid unpleasant and exhausting conversations with fellow travelers, the feeling of hunger and a sore back. Aritomo was very fortunate, as far as his fellow travelers was concerned, could easily satisfy himself with his mother’s supplies and, moreover, knew why he had spent the money on a second-class ticket. As the train finally arrived at Yokosuka Station in the evening, the young man was maybe tired and a bit tense, but all in all in good shape.
From the station, a bus drove regularly to the Naval Arsenal, the base where Aritomo had to report on time the next morning. Yokosuka was a big city with a glorious history dating back to 1063. Here was the first modern shipyard in Japan. Here was one of the central naval bases of Nippon Kaigun, the navy of the Empire of Greater Japan, whose proud member Aritomo had been since the age of 17.
Just this one mission, his superiors had told him, and the promotion to Kaigun Daii, full lieutenant, was imminent. Aritomo’s ambition was not excessive. He didn’t dream of the admiral’s staff, only of his own command. And he would already achieve this with the rank of a lieutenant, because the division of the fleet in which he was employed offered ideal conditions for a career. Lieutenants had already been appointed commanding officers, and Aritomo himself would now serve as first officer. There were not many who could claim that at such a young age.
It was quite possible in Japan’s small but ever growing submarine fleet.
His papers were thoroughly examined when he got off the bus, and that although the officer on watch was a familiar comrade of his; he exchanged a few kind words with him. It was already dark, when Aritomo had finally reached his quarters, a small room only sparsely lit by a gas lamp, spartanly furnished.
Despite the long trip, he felt a certain restlessness that wouldn’t let him sleep. He stowed his luggage as far as it was necessary in view of his imminent departure. As a second lieutenant, he enjoyed the privilege of sharing a room with just one comrade, and at the moment the second bed was empty. A room for himself, that was something that irritated him. He had none at home, he had not enjoyed any during training, and he would serve on a submarine that barely gave him his own berth. Aritomo wasn’t used to privacy. It made him restless.
He therefore decided to give his mind some rest by taking a walk in the calmness of the evening. As he stepped outside, he unconsciously steered his steps toward the harbor, where Navy ships were moored. He marched past the mighty units, ignoring them until he came to that guarded area where the small submarine fleet of the Empire was to be found. His face was known, yet his papers were re-examined thoroughly. Then he was let into the locked district, which was so well guarded because Aritomo’s boat was stationed here.
He wandered the black shadows of the small Holland boats that still formed the backbone of the tiny fleet and where he had served at the beginning of his career. He liked to think back to that time, despite the very cramped conditions aboard the units, and the fact that these American designs were constantly struggling with all sorts of technical issues that severely affected their operational readiness and range. Aritomo had in the end served as helmsman on one of those cramped, thick-bellied boats, one of only eight crew members, and it had been a torture. But the need to build a submarine force hadn’t been ignored by the Admiralty, and so they turned to the British – who built the Holland licensee – and looked around for improvements.
Aritomo’s eyes fell on the very peripheral construction hall, half on land, half in the water. It was particularly secure, with additional guards, and he wouldn’t gain access at this time, though he would be the first officer in the vehicle to wait for its maiden voyage tomorrow morning.
A big secret, but not one that would be kept as such for a long time. Aritomo felt a deep satisfaction that he was allowed to participate in this historic moment. If everything went well, he would make his nation and his parents proud, and if he increased his experience as a submarine officer by doing so, his own command was just a formality. His goal to train new officers at the Naval Academy would sooner or later be realized. He liked to teach and he liked to learn. A career as an instructor, in addition to his own command, was the central goal of his ambitions.
It looked good.
Everything in his life had developed wonderfully.
“Can’t sleep?”
Aritomo turned to see Yuto Sarukazaki in the twilight. The Ittoheiso was the oldest member of his crew, the highest non-commissioned officer and at the same time the chief engineer of their boat. At almost forty, he was a formidable figure. Aritomo liked the pragmatic and effective man, and he liked to listen to his advice. This put him in sharp contrast to the captain and joint superior, Lieutenant Inugami, who insisted that the sharp line between officers and the rest couldn’t be transgressed by informal behavior and exaggerated camaraderie. Why did he insist on such things in the oppressive narrowness of a submarine? Here, where a cordial cooperation between all soldiers was necessary, one didn’t want to get on someone’s nerves quickly. Aritomo didn’t understand. For him, submarine people were a special kind, for which some of the very rigid rules prevailing in the Navy didn’t apply. Locked in a metal can, threatened by a particularly cruel death, this shared destiny – the real and the potential – should make a different kind of personal connection possible.
Inugami had probably never really gotten used to this idea. But the difficult superior would remain an episode, something to endure on a path that would take Aritomo past it.
“I’m not tired yet,” Aritomo replied, tilting his head toward the factory floor. “I can’t wait.”
“I understand you well. But it doesn’t seem like everything will go as planned tomorrow.”
Aritomo looked up. “What happened?”
Sarukazaki had a cigarette in his hand, its red glow well visible in the darkness.
“While you were on vacation, plans have changed. I don’t know any details; so far only Inugami has been informed. But he looked so happy and pleased that an important announcement must be imminent.”
Sarukazaki apparently wanted to add something, but then thought better of it and said nothing. Anyway, Aritomo guessed what he had meant to say – anything that pleased his stern commander didn’t necessarily have to be positive for the rest of the crew. Inugami was far more ambitious than his first officer and ready to give anything to position himself in the right light. Aritomo knew that some of the crew members called him “Lieutenant Taisho” behind his back, hinting to the man’s clear aim to rise to Admiralty rank as quickly and effectively as possible.
Aritomo always pretended he didn’t hear those remarks. He didn’t like the man, but to obey was his duty. After all, Inugami was only a year older, and therefore it wasn’t so natural for him to beat Aritomo if he didn’t quite do what the commander had asked him to. With the
