Onodera heard the news of the Hachijojima eruption submerged at a depth of 6,000 feet at a spot in the ocean about thirty miles northwest of Torishima. The message came by phone from the Yoshino at the surface, and because of noise he had difficulty understanding it. He was able to hear that the eruption had already claimed many victims among the island’s population of 12,000. And even as he received the message from the Yoshino 6,000 feet above, he felt a shock strike the Kermadic. The ascent that followed was a hazardous one, and when the derrick from the Yoshino had finally secured the Kermadic, Onodera saw that the surface of the sea was covered with pumice stone.
“Koshu blew, they say,” said one of the deck crew. “Some fishing boats got damaged a little. Imagine something like that erupting!”
“It looks as though we ought to get out of here as quick as we can,” said Onodera, wiping off his face with a towel. “Something’s stirring down there.”
“As soon as the recovery’s finished, we’re leaving,” said the crewman.
Onodera was in the communication room drinking a cup of coffee when, the Kermadic secured, the Yoshino got under way, this time on a different course. Sailing northeast, it cut through the waves at full steam, leaving the dangerous sea area behind it.
“What’s the Hachijo situation?” the technician who had been down with Onodera asked a radioman.
“They say that the Mount Nishi eruption killed two hundred people. And because they’re afraid of a still bigger eruption, Defense Force and private ships both are being sent there to take the people off.”
“The whole population?”
“Yes. It’ll amount to twelve thousand in all. The whole island. They can’t carry a thing with them. There are signs of eruptions on the other Izu Islands, too, and I understand that the people are being evacuated to Shizuoka.”
“A Sea Defense Force anti-submarine patrol plane has landed in our area,” said another operator. “It’s going to take off right away. Then it’s going to land beside us and pick up the data we’ve gathered, they say. They want us to guide them.”
The communication officer sent a message to the bridge, and the captain instructed the radar room. The plane was soon picked up on the radar screen, and the communication room directed it to the Yoshino’s position.
“Mr. Onodera,” said the operator in contact with the plane, “there’s someone named Kataoka on the patrol plane. He says that he wants you to go back with them.”
“Kataoka?” said Onodera, who was about to step out of the communication room.
Two or three crewmen ran past the door outside. Overhead the sound of motors was drawing closer. When Onodera stepped out upon the deck, the wind had grown stronger and the waves were covered with whitecaps. The four-motored flying boat began to make its descent extremely close to the ship.
Wearing a raincoat against the spray from the rough sea, Onodera got into a motor-driven rubber boat. It dipped so on the crossing that he had to cling to it to keep from being thrown out. He was covered with sweat by the time he climbed up into the plane. Once the documents had been transferred in a waterproof bag, the PS-1 began its takeoff run immediately. To Onodera it seemed as though it did no more than skip through two or three waves before the noise of the sea striking its hull was heard no more. Before he realized it, they were circling above the Yoshino.
On his way to the front of the plane along a rather narrow passageway packed with equipment, Onodera passed the radio room. There he saw Kataoka looking over the shoulder of a crewman. When he tapped him on the shoulder, Kataoka turned.
“Oh, hello,” he said, nothing more, and then he went back to peering at the instruments the crewman was manning.
“That’s what it is, all right,” the crewman muttered. “A big sub. In the four-thousand-ton class . . . probably bigger.”
“If it’s four thousand tons, it has to be a nuclear submarine,” said Kataoka, his voice dry and harsh. “It’s following the Yoshino, I suppose. At 850 yards . . . very close.”
“A submarine? Couldn’t it be the Uzushio?” Onodera asked. “It’s working with Plan D now, isn’t it?”
“The Uzushio? It’s by the Izu Peninsula now,” said Kataoka. “Besides, it’s too small. It’s no more than 1,850 tons.”
“I wonder what he’s up to,” said the crewman, twisting his head. “Is he spying on us?”
“He might be. It would be good to let the Yoshino know. Tell them it would be best to use only passive sonar and not tip their hand to the sub,” said Kataoka.
“It looks as though there are a lot of countries interested in what we’re doing,” Onodera muttered.
“Off to port—volcanic smoke!” cried a voice over the speaker.
They rushed to the observation window. Blown by a strong west wind, clusters of white cloud seemed to dot the dark blue surface of the sea below. Farther ahead, like the genie of the lamp in the Arabian Nights, dark brown volcanic smoke poured up from a small spot in the sea and then swelled into a spreading cloud which climbed steadily higher into the sky until it had soared into a great column towering over even the cumulus clouds. The patrol plane was at 15,000 feet, and even here the air seemed to tremble slightly at each explosion that echoed from below. When Onodera peered intently downward, he could see red flame flickering in the midst of the smoke. Ash and pumice stone rained down, lashing the sea on the east side of the volcano, as though a curtain of gauze were hung there. And in the midst of the swelling column of swirling brown smoke darted flashes of lightning. Small tidal waves slowly spread outward in concentric circles.
“Is that Smith Reef?” asked Onodera.
“No. Aogashima,” answered Kataoka. “Today’s the second big eruption. And with that, almost the whole island went.”
“Were there people on it?”
“About 270, I guess. Almost all of them died, they say. Some of them might have escaped in fishing boats, but it’s not certain.”
“What? They just let everybody die like that?”
“There were almost no ships in the area. According to the report of a passenger plane, the first eruption came just ten minutes after the island sent a message by wireless saying that there were signs of volcanic activity,” Kataoka explained, not a trace of emotion in his voice. “Unlike Jogashima, Aogashima is very much out of the way.”
How often was this to recur in time to come? Onodera wondered, feeling a chill gathering in his stomach. But on a scale thousands of times, millions of times as great as that of Aogashima.
“The entire Fuji volcanic belt is spouting fire,” said Kataoka, frowning and indicating the sea below with his chin. “There’ve been chain eruptions there before now, but never to this degree. Oh-oh! Look—over there’s the smoke from Hachijo.”
The plane continued to climb, tipping its huge wings. Beyond the tip of the right one, more volcanic smoke was rising. And to the north of Jogashima there was still more.
“And over there?” asked Onodera, feeling his voice catch in his throat.
“Miyakejima. About two hours ago a series of eruptions began, running from Akabakyo to Oyama. The birds knew it. This year they didn’t come back, apparently.”
“I see,” said Onodera softly, his tone as flat as Kataoka’s now.
The PS-1 had reached an altitude of 25,000 feet and was still climbing. As they went farther north, the clouds began to thin out and the sea to glow with the clear beauty that it showed in winter in this latitude. The Izu Islands, stretching from north to south, lay scattered upon a dark blue ocean, filling Onodera’s field of vision from the observation window from one end to another. From each of the five islands a plume of black smoke rose high up into the clear sky. Caught by the west wind, the murky columns trailed off to the east. It was as though a line of great battleships was steaming grandly toward the north.
But the smoke was not from gallant warships. The column of islands had been shattered by a terrible destructive force thrusting its way upward from beneath the sea. Thrashing about in its death throes, it was on the verge of going under.
Onodera instinctively shut his eyes. And when he opened them again, clouds had covered the ill-omened scene, and in front of him was Mount Fuji rising like a white phantom against the dark blue of the sky.
“Niigata—in the Tomiyama region—an earthquake,” the speaker announced. “Medium intensity, its magnitude 7.0. Its epicenter forty miles north of Niigata. Depth thirty miles. A survey ship reported unusual elevation of the Yamato Rise.”
“Now it’s the Japan Sea coast, eh?” muttered Kataoka, glancing up at the speaker. “We’re getting hit from both sides.”