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    The Doomsday Squad
    The Doomsday Squad
    The Doomsday Squad
    Ebook263 pages2 hours

    The Doomsday Squad

    By Clark Howard

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    About this ebook

    A gritty, action-packed novel about a World War II suicide mission that goes sideways from a “superlative storyteller” (Publishers Weekly).

    In the midst of World War II, a Japanese submarine base must be destroyed. But someone needs to draw enemy fire while the goal is accomplished and the task would be a suicide mission. Only a certain kind of soldier can handle a job this risky. Now, six men have been chosen to serve as decoys, and a seventh has agreed to lead them. But none of them truly understands just what they are getting into—and will soon be desperate to get out of—in this harrowing tale by an author who has won or been nominated for more than half a dozen major awards.

    “The reader will find himself completely engrossed.” —Best Sellers
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMysteriousPress.com Open Road
    Release dateMay 26, 2020
    ISBN9781504060660
    The Doomsday Squad
    Author

    Clark Howard

    Clark Howard (1932-2016) Born in Ripley, Tennessee, Howard was one of the most honored mystery writers in America and was a longtime favorite of readers of Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, and numerous other publications. A professional writer for over 40 years, he wrote sixteen novels, six books of non-fiction, and published two collections of short stories, in addition to more than 200 uncollected short stories. Howard was honored with the Edgar Allan Poe award for best short story of 1981 from the Mystery Writers of America. In 2009, Howard won the Edward D. Hoch Memorial Golden Derringer Award for Lifetime Achievement from the Short Fiction Mystery Society.​  

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      Book preview

      The Doomsday Squad - Clark Howard

      Part One

      The Men

      Chapter 1

      The C-47 banked into its approach pattern and came in smoothly, its landing gear burning the dry Australian dirt off the runway and throwing it backward in short, bursting puffs.

      Stoner was the first one out after the big props halted. He dropped his duffel bag before him and hopped down after it, a tall, lean soldier wearing slightly wrinkled suntans. He was pale from his stay in the hospital, and the whiteness of his face was accentuated by the still angry scar which curved from his left eye to his ear.

      He left the shadow of the plane and walked in the warm September sunshine across a corner of the field and into a gray wooden building marked

      ARRIVALS

      . He took out a large manila envelope containing his orders and handed it to the PFC behind the counter.

      Where you in from? the clerk asked without looking up.

      Army General Hospital at Pearl Harbor, said Stoner.

      The clerk rolled a form into his typewriter and began copying information from Stoner’s orders.

      Name … Stoner, Leon … serial number 1172307 … rank Staff Sergeant … point of entry Melbourne … assigned to personal staff of Brigadier General H. L. Case— He looked up and whistled softly. Pretty easy duty, Sarge, he said. You must know somebody.

      Stoner turned toward the counter to allow the clerk a full look at the left side of his face. He stared flatly down at him for a moment and then nodded toward the typewriter.

      Just finish the paperwork, he said with quiet authority. I want to be on my way.

      The PFC swallowed air over a suddenly dry tongue and quickly resumed typing.

      Fifteen minutes later Stoner was a passenger in a jeep on the open highway, on a forty-mile drive to the field headquarters of General Case.

      An hour later, while Stoner and his driver were being checked in at the main gate, Stoner looked down into a valley at the vast field complex. It was completely blanketed by stiffly erected tents. From horizon to horizon, the terrain was a sea of khaki canvas. At intervals there were rows of tanks and mechanized artillery, lines of trucks and. jeeps, supply areas, ammo dumps, ordnance depots, and training fields. Stoner’s lips parted slightly in admiration of the panorama. MacArthur’s invasion force, he muttered. It won’t be long now.

      They passed through the gate and down into the vast tent city.

      Stoner got out at guard headquarters, left his duffel bag on the porch, and went into the day room. A buck sergeant wearing a sidearm was sitting at a desk reading a dog-eared magazine. Stoner told him that he wanted to check in.

      O.D. ain’t here right now, the guard sergeant said.

      Stoner nodded. I’ll walk around some.

      He stepped back outside and lighted a cigarette as he walked idly down the bare dirt street. The sun warmed his shoulders, and he felt sweat break out on the back of his neck.

      He reached the end of the street, where the tents stopped, and was about to turn when he heard a loud voice. He looked around the corner of the last tent on the street. Off to themselves in a cluster were several other tents surrounded by a barbed wire fence. Again he heard the loud voice. Then he saw an officer standing at the gate of the fence, arguing with someone inside. Curious, Stoner walked over.

      Are you out of your mind, soldier? the officer was asking as Stoner approached. He was a major, short and stocky, with a thin blond mustache. I am Major Paxton and I happen to be the Officer of the Day, he said. This compound is part of the area I have to inspect.

      Better inspect it from outside then, a voice drawled from beyond the gate, less you want to get shot.

      The major stared incredulously through the gate at the rail-thin young man who sat on an upturned ammunition box cradling a Thompson submachine gun.

      What’s your name, soldier? the major demanded.

      Holliday, the soldier drawled. Private Grant T. Holliday.

      Well look here, Private Holliday, you can’t threaten a staff officer in this manner—

      You see that sign up there? Holliday raised the muzzle of the Thompson and pointed it above the major’s head.

      Paxton looked up. Attached to the crossbeam of the entry, directly over his head, was crudely lettered:

      COMPOUND D

      RESERVED FOR THE

      DOOMSDAY SQUAD ONLY

      EVERYBODY ELSE STAY OUT.

      WE MEAN IT. WE DON’T

      GIVE A DAMN ANYMORE!

      This is absurd, Paxton bristled.

      Get moving, Holliday ordered.

      Paxton saw Stoner standing nearby. Sergeant, he barked, disarm this man and place him under arrest!

      Stoner looked through the fence at Holliday and the sub gun. He turned back to the major and for a long moment stared at him flatly.

      Did you hear me, Sergeant? I ordered you to disarm that man!

      Stoner shook his head in disgust and walked away. The major, his mouth open, watched him go. Behind the fence, Holliday began to laugh. Major Paxton’s face drained of color. By the time Stoner got back to the end of the tent street, he could hear the major shouting at Holliday again.

      I’m going to have you locked up for this, soldier, he threatened. I’m going to have you shipped back to the States and put in Leavenworth for the next twenty goddamn years!

      Stoner shook his head again and kept walking. He decided to pick up his duffel bag and go find his quarters. He could check in tomorrow, when there would be a different Officer of the Day on duty.

      What in the hell, he wondered idly, was the Doomsday Squad?

      Chapter 2

      Captain Cleveland Hearn was standing before the field desk of Brigadier General Harvey Case, listening, along with Case and his executive officer, Colonel Jewel, to Major Paxton’s complaint.

      I am the Officer of the Day, Paxton pointed out for the third time. "The Officer of the Day! I have every right to enter that area. He turned pompously to Hearn. I don’t know what kind of men you’ve got in that squad of yours, Captain—"

      Doomed men, Major, just like the name implies, Hearn told him. Walking dead men. Isn’t that right, General?

      General Case did not reply, but he studied the young captain who stood before him, wondering whether the war had finally caught up with him. It was obvious that Hearn had been drinking already, though it wasn’t even noon yet.

      The general drummed his fingers on a gold samurai sword mounted on the front edge of his desk top. Colonel, he said to his exec, will you and Major Paxton excuse us, please. I’d like a word with Captain Hearn.

      The two staff officers left the big field tent. As soon as they were gone, Hearn stepped over to a camp chair and sat down heavily.

      Goddamn it, Cleve, the general said impatiently.

      I know, I know, Hearn said. He sighed and rested his head back, closing his eyes.

      Do you start drinking at breakfast now?

      It depends on the occasion, Hearn said without opening his eyes. Today I was drinking to birthdays. All the birthdays I’ll never have, General. I’m thirty-one years old, and I was going to have a drink to every birthday I should live to celebrate but won’t. I only got up to thirty-six. I would have been about to forty-five by now if you hadn’t sent that little bastard Paxton to get me. He massaged his temple with the fingertips of both hands. I wonder, he said idly, why Holliday didn’t shoot him.

      What the hell is getting into those men of yours, Cleve? the general asked. He opened his center desk drawer and took out a sheaf of paper slips. This is the sixth complaint I’ve had on them this week. Everything from failing to salute an officer to suspicion of theft. What’s the story?

      Well, like the sign on the fence says, General, they just don’t give a damn anymore. Hearn raised his head and opened his eyes. Would you, if you were going on a suicide mission?

      Suicide mission, hell! Case grunted. That’s a ridiculous term and you know it, Cleve.

      Is it? Hearn asked levelly. Six men going out. Predicted casualties from Intelligence: six men. Six from six leaves none. Estimated life expectancy of each man: eight minutes. If that isn’t a suicide mission, I’d like to know what is.

      Those are just figures, Cleve. Guesses. Crystal ball stuff. You know how Intelligence works.

      I know they’re damn close to accurate ninety percent of the time.

      That still leaves a ten percent margin, Case said easily. You and I had less than that on New Guinea and we made it back.

      Forty thousand men went in on New Guinea, Hearn reminded him. There’ll only be six going in on Plunger Rock.

      The general parted his lips to speak, but seemed to think better of it and checked his words. He looked over at the field table next to his desk. There among the rolled maps and charts and diagrams was his copy of a bound volume that hundreds of men had worked months putting together. Seven inches thick, containing more than two thousand pages, labeled simply Leyte, the book contained complete plans for the invasion of the Philippines.

      Case knew without even checking exactly which page contained the damnable paragraph: the paragraph which predicted, for the first time in the war, a one hundred percent fatality rate in a single assault on a given objective.

      One hundred percent, Case thought. Six out of six. His own people during the preliminary planning had rated the objective as a two-one-three mission: two killed, one wounded, three unharmed. But that figure, arrived at without benefit of G-2’s classified information, had come nowhere near covering all the theoretical and factual problems that Intelligence had developed.

      By the time the G-2 prediction was made, the Plunger Rock mission on Tanju Island had been planned and approved. Five volunteers had already been accepted, and Case had assigned one of his best line officers, Captain Cleveland Hearn, to lead them.

      Now, Case thought solemnly, it was too late to do anything about it. He was obligated: to the Division, to the Fleet, and, most importantly, to MacArthur. To try and change any phase of the Leyte Gulf invasion plan at this stage was unthinkable.

      Case reached down and opened the bottom drawer of his field desk. He took out a leather flask and two canteen cups.

      As long as you’re going to drink, you might as well drink something good, he said. He poured a double shot into each cup and pushed one across the desk to Hearn. How the hell did those men of yours find out about the Intelligence estimate, anyway? That’s supposed to be classified information.

      Hearn shrugged. One of them’s been sleeping with a WAC typist from G-2. She told him about it before she found out he was one of the volunteers.

      Case sighed and shook his head. A WAC typist, he said incredulously, almost to himself.

      Hearn leaned forward anxiously. What are you going to do about Holliday?

      You know the answer to that as well as I do, Cleve, the general replied.

      He threatened an officer, Hearn reminded him. Threatened an officer with a submachine gun. He should be arrested and court-martialed.

      That’s what he deserves, all right, Case agreed. And that’s exactly what he’d get if he weren’t a member of the Plunger Rock team.

      "But since he is, we’ll just overlook the incident and leave him right where he is, correct?"

      Correct, the general confirmed.

      Tell me something, General, said Hearn. What would you have done if Holliday had shot Paxton? Shot and killed him?

      I would have hanged him, naturally, said Case. There would have been no choice in the matter. He sipped briefly at his drink. Of course, if that had happened, it would have been unfortunate for the rest of your team.

      The rest of us? Hearn frowned. Why?

      Because you’d be going on the Plunger Rock mission with one less man. You’d be cutting down your odds.

      You mean you’d send us in anyway? Hearn asked angrily. You’d send us in short-handed?

      Case got up and walked behind the field table. He bent forward slightly and placed both palms on the thick invasion book.

      Cleve, he said quietly, I’d send you in there alone if I had to, or even go myself if it came down to that. He looked at the big book under his hands. Do you have any idea what’s riding on this campaign, Captain? Do you have any conception at all of what this is all about? I don’t mean just Plunger Rock, which is your part of it, or even Tanju itself, which is mine; I mean the overall invasion, the whole show. He flipped open the book and scanned one of its pages. Can you imagine, for instance, a hundred and ninety-three thousand troops swarming ashore in simultaneous landings from here to Luzon? His fingers moved to another page. Can you visualize more than twelve hundred planes bombing and strafing every enemy encampment in the western Pacific? He thumbed quickly through to a third page. Can you picture a hundred and sixty-six ships storming the Japanese fleet in Leyte Gulf? He slammed the book shut and straightened up. Two and a half years ago the Japanese drove MacArthur out of the Philippines, Cleve. You know what he promised when he left. Well, he’s ready to keep that promise. He’s going back to Bataan. And we’re part of the force that’s going to help him get there. It’s as simple as that.

      That’s very impressive, General, said Hearn, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re executing five of your own men.

      "You talk as if I hand-picked them, Cleve. They did volunteer, you know."

      Not to commit suicide, Hearn said.

      It’s still their mission, General Case told him flatly.

      You could scratch their part of it, Hearn said, his voice almost a plea. All you’re using them for is to attract the enemy’s attention and draw fire while your raider group slips onto the island. You could let the raiders go in without a decoy. They’ve done it before, they’re experts at it—

      If it were an ordinary mission, I’d agree with you, said Case. "But it isn’t. It’s part of the most spectacular combined operation ever attempted. MacArthur’s taking on the Japanese army and the Japanese fleet. I’ve got to use every ace in the deck to ensure that it’s a success—"

      All right! Hearn stormed suddenly. But for God’s sake be fair about it! They didn’t know it was a suicide mission when they volunteered. Can’t you relieve them as a group and draw numbers or something for five men to replace them?

      Can’t be done, Case said firmly. In order to substitute personnel on a special mission that’s already approved, we’d have to go all the way to Supreme Headquarters. There isn’t time for that before October nineteenth—

      October nineteenth? Hearn’s jaw dropped.

      That’s it, the general said. You’ll hit Plunger on the morning of the twentieth. That’s still classified, incidentally, so keep it to yourself.

      Hearn sat back in the chair and his shoulders slumped wearily. He wet his lips and stared into space.

      Unless you want out, the general said. You personally, I mean. You’re not a volunteer, you know. I can replace you with another officer. There are several West Pointers around, career men, who would like nothing better than a crack at the Medal of Honor, whatever the odds.

      Hearn looked up at the general and shook his head.

      "Thanks anyway, General, but I’d be afraid that for the rest of my life I’d dream about the five men you didn’t get replaced. He stood up and put the canteen cup, its whisky untouched, back on the general’s desk. Why don’t you pour this back in your flask and save it, he said quietly. You can drink it on Plunger Rock while you watch them bury my men and me."

      Case did not try to stop Hearn as he turned and walked out of the tent. He just picked up Hearn’s canteen cup and poured the whisky back into the flask.

      Son of a bitch of a war! he thought, and hurled the empty cup across the tent.

      Chapter 3

      Still carrying his duffel bag, Stoner entered the squad tent that served as field headquarters for General Case. There were several portable desks in the tent, but all but one was vacant and that was occupied by a lieutenant colonel. Thinking he was in the wrong tent, Stoner turned to leave.

      Are you Stoner? the colonel asked.

      Yessir.

      Come on in. Toss your gear anywhere. I’m Colonel Jewel, the general’s exec.

      Stoner put his duffel bag in the corner and removed his garrison cap. I was looking for a sergeant major or somebody to report to, sir, he said.

      There is no sergeant major, Jewel told him. There’s just me. And now you. The general doesn’t like a lot of people hovering around him all the time. He bobbed his head toward the desk opposite his. Sit down.

      Stoner sat.

      You just get here?

      Yessir. I stopped to sign in with the O.D. but he wasn’t there. I’ll have to catch him later.

      Jewel studied him closely. How do you feel, Stoner? Physically, I mean. Wounds all healed?

      Yessir. I have to check into the post hospital here to get certified back to duty, but I don’t think I’ll have any trouble.

      I’m sure you won’t, Jewel said. That’s just a formality, from what I hear. They check your blood and urine and that sort of thing. Takes three days, I think. You’ll be able to lie in the solarium most of the time. He smiled. You look as if you could use some of this Australian sun; you’re a little pale.

      Yessir.

      Jewel leaned back in his chair. You’ve been wounded twice, haven’t you, Stoner?

      Yessir.

      Tell me about it.

      Stoner shrugged. Nothing to tell, Colonel. I was just in two wrong places at two wrong times.

      You’re too modest, Sergeant, he said. Reaching behind him, Jewel pulled a manila folder from a file cabinet drawer. Spreading it open before him, he began reading aloud.

      "At Rendova you were in a specially trained attack force and served as runner for Major Lewis Rankin. You, the major and sixteen other men were cut off from the main attack force and trapped by the Japanese on an isolated beach. You and the major were both wounded, the major seriously. The sixteen other men were killed. For the last four hours before you were rescued, you were in a ditch, defending your position by crawling from one end to the other and holding off the enemy in both directions. All this time you were half blinded with blood from a head wound. You were

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