by James Young
“Roger Two,” Wolford replied, then switched to intercom. “Let’s see what we’ve got down here,” he said to Bellingsley.
U.S.S. Houston
1025 Local (2225 Eastern)
27 April (26 April)
Houston’s senior wardroom was once more the location for a council of war, each department head and present to find out their new mission. The compartment’s walls bore grim testimony to her hasty repairs, a new coat of paint not really hiding the fact a shell had exploded in the space at South China Sea. If one took a deep breath, it was hard to miss the slight odor of burnt paint from the fire that had been started by a Nachi 8-inch shell.
Barely enough time to get refueled at Surabaya, Jacob thought, looking over the grim faces. Not that that place doesn’t seem like it is under siege.
“Gentlemen, we have been ordered to rendezvous with the remainder of the ACDA strike force north of Kangean Island in the Flores Sea,” Captain Wallace stated. “Yesterday the Japanese established a beach head at Balikpapan despite air attacks from our allies.”
Hard to get a good air strike off when you’re constantly having to defend your own harbor, Jacob thought. Especially since the damn Japs seem to have figured out a way to blind the freakin’ radar. Apparently the British had a name, “Window,” for what the Japanese had dropped.
Odd name for something that prevents you from seeing rather than helping you see, Jacob thought. No matter, just hope they don’t figure out how to use that shit at sea.
“As you can see, we have the Australia, Phoenix, and two Dutch destroyers with us,” Wallace said, referring to the Isaac Sweers and Banckert that were to port and starboard respectively. “Unfortunately, those fighters overhead are going to have to go home in about thirty minutes, and no more can be spared from attempting to attack in the north.”
Jacob hoped his fear wasn’t quite obvious on his face.
“The Japanese also landed in West Borneo near Brunei and Sarawak,” Commander Sloan began. “With the establishment of enemy airfields in the Philippines, we will be unable to interfere with these landings using surface assets.”
Jacob winced inwardly at that last statement. While the Commonwealth divisions were fighting tenaciously in Sumatra, the combined Allied Air Forces were being slowly ground to pieces by the Japanese aircraft. Even the Allies’ best fighters, the Spitfire, was having difficulty with Zero, while the extended range of Japanese bombers necessitated that all surface ships could not move into a region of contested airspace. Only the near suicidal-bravery of the Dutch, Australian, and Commonwealth pilots kept the Java Sea from becoming a Japanese lake.
“Admiral Phillips’ intent is to force the Makassar Straits this afternoon with the destroyers and cruisers of our command in order to compel the enemy to commit his covering force,” Captain Wallace continued. “At that point he will bring forward his own battleships to seek an engagement under cover of darkness. I will be followed by Commander Morton,” Wallace concluded.
Jacob stood up, straightening his tie as he strode to the briefing chart. Taking the pointer from his captain, he rested it on a point about twenty-four miles north of Balikpapan.
“Yesterday, Australian aircraft attacked a force of warships to include one aircraft carrier,” Jacob said. “Reports are still unclear, but apparently one of the Aussies hit the carrier with a bomb, then another one put his bomber into it with a full load.”
Proves that our opponents don’t have a monopoly on suicidal crazies, he thought, looking the shocked faces of his fellow officers. Of course, person has to be half crazy to be an aviator anyway.
“Dutch and Commonwealth aircraft have been attempting to attack this group as well as the transports arrayed off Balikpapan since dawn,” Jacob continued, remembering what he’d been hurriedly told by the Asiatic Fleet staff. “There are no reports on their success.”
Moving the pointer a little bit further south, Jacob moved on to the next portion of his briefing.
“What the returning aircraft have reported is that there are several large warships, possibly to include two battleships, located here, about eighty miles east of Adang,” Jacob said. “Further north are five to eight destroyers protecting around twenty transports just off of Balikpapan, while somewhere out there is apparently another Japanese carrier,”
There were several murmurs that went around the room. The ACDA command had only one flattop left after the Furious’s untimely demise. The old Hermes was not expected to put the fear of God in anyone, and if the Japanese had brought the carriers which had decimated the Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor forward, the ACDA was as good as dead.
“Gentlemen,” Captain Wallace said sharply, “we do not have time to give voice to our doubts. We have been waiting for this day for almost a month now, and I for one am ready to give these damn Japs another beating. Anyone who feels differently just let me know, and we’ll be sure to put you off at the next port.”
Captain Wallace’s glare and tone had the desired effect, making the wardroom so quiet that a pin could have dropped.
“We will be accompanying the destroyers and light cruisers north in order to give them some needed backup,” Jacob said. “Upon gaining contact with the enemy fleet, we will attempt to fight our way through to the transports or until we sight enemy heavy units. At that point we will come around and sail south until we are met by the advancing Main Body under Admiral Phillips. I will be followed by Captain Wallace.”
Captain Wallace strode to the chart with a purpose, his face set in a hard line. He did not even bother looking at the chart as he turned to face the gathered officers and NCOs.
“Gentlemen, this vessel will be performing the mission for which she was designed in less than six hours,” Wallace said, his eyes meeting those of every other individual in the room. “Remain calm, do your jobs, and we will succeed in kicking the Japanese asses for finally coming out from under their damn rocks. Dismissed to your departments, all except for the XO and Guns,” Captain Wallace said firmly.
The wardroom quickly cleared, leaving Jacob and Commander Sloan alone with their captain. Jacob looked around at the room, taking a moment’s pleasure in the amount of excess equipment that had been removed at his direction.
We would have burned like a candle if I hadn’t had that talk with the Perth’s XO the night the war started, Jacob thought. I’d totally strip the paint off the bulkheads if I could be sure the metal wouldn’t rust in this humidity.
“Just a couple of things I want to make sure you know as well as me, but aren’t for popular consumption,” Captain Wallace began once the room was empty.
Jacob and Sloan looked at each other briefly.
News withheld from the wardroom is never good news, Jacob thought, seeing a mirrored expression on Sloan’s face.
“The Japs got the Hermes with a fish just before our briefing started,” Captain Wallace said grimly. “It cost them, badly, but she’s out of the upcoming fight.”
Jacob hoped the shock did not show on his face. The Hermes had been shipping a full complement of Sea Hurricanes that had been expected to keep a near constant cover over the battle squadrons. It was not a good sign that she had been hit by a torpedo, especially if she was damaged bad enough to be out of the upcoming battle.
“The Main Body has been repelling air attacks throughout the morning,” Captain Wallace continued. “So far Hermes is the only major casualty. We can expect air attacks ourselves within the next hour as we close with Admiral Phillips.”
“I only hope our guys are giving the Japanese as much hell as they’re giving us,” Jacob muttered.
“Judging from the reports the Aussies’ gave us, I think that’s a fair bet,” Captain Wallace said.
Balikpapan Beachhead
1115 Local (2315 Eastern)
Isoro knew things were going to be bad when he saw the merchantmen explode from roughly twenty miles away. From the shape and size of the explosive cloud, he knew that the vessel had been a fully loa
ded ammunition ship.
While simultaneously assaulting both sides of Borneo was impressive in its daring, he thought, it may prove to be ultimately costly.
It was all supposed to have been so simple. With the seizure of airfields in the vicinity of Davao, Philippines, the IJNAF had been at the extreme limits of fighter range to Balikpapan. In order to add a large margin of error, the Ryujo, Hiyo, and Zuiho had been intended to act as emergency landing stations for the land-based Zeroes and Shidens. Unfortunately, judging from the condition that Isoro had seen the Ryujo in a few moments before as she limped underneath is aircraft, nothing was landing on her deck…if she made it home.
I could have stayed aboard my damn carrier rather than coming out here to some dusty hell hole, Isoro thought bitterly. A dusty hell hole where the damn food is doing terrible things to my intestines.
As if triggered by his thoughts, his stomach gurgled and shot through with sharp pains. Grimacing, he summoned all his determination to avoid fouling himself, scrunching his sphincter tightly. Closing his eyes, he felt the sweat break out on his forehead.
The sound of cannon fire made him snap his eyes open, reacting instinctively with a climbing turn to starboard. In the end, the move saved his life, as tracers whipped just underneath his fighter. The pain in his bowels forgotten, Isoro quickly rolled his fighter inverted to look through the top of his cockpit to see who his assailant was. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flaming comet descending towards the ocean, apparently one of the aircraft from another chutai. Another blurry shape hurtled just barely underneath him, the enemy aircraft unable to match his roll.
Hurricane, Isoro thought to himself, having studied identification cards during their five day wait. Continuing his roll, he pursued the rapidly diving enemy fighter, ensuring that he still had both of his own wingmen behind him. As he watched, his Number 3, Sawato, turned after his prey’s wingman, cutting the approaching Hurricane off with a burst from his own cannon.
Seeing his tail was clear, Isoro turned back forward, pulling hard on the stick to begin a tight turn. Gradually his nose continued to come around, the enemy fighter starting to disappear as he gained enough lead. Realizing that he could not escape the Shiden in a dive, the enemy pilot attempted to reverse his turn, the worst thing he could do as it made the Hurricane hang as a perfect target for a moment. That moment was all Isoro needed, as he mashed down the triggers for his guns. With a bright flash and gush of flame, the Hurricane’s fuselage tank burst from the impact of the heavy cannon shells.
Zooming past the doomed fighter, Isoro saw the pilot imprisoned in a sea of flame, frantically trying to get his cockpit open. Forgetting his victim, Isoro whipped his head around to make sure he did not have another enemy fighter on his own tail. Scanning around, he saw a kaleidoscope of chaos all around him, the skies having gone from empty to suddenly full of enemy aircraft.
Damn you all, Isoro thought, again feeling his stomach clench as he looked for targets. Seeing another enemy fighter, this one apparently one of the more nimble Spitfires, on the tail of a Zero above him, Isoro put his aircraft in a sharp climb. Wishing for the umpteenth time that he and his fellow pilots had reliable radios, Isoro watched helplessly as the Spitfire’s wings sparked with its eight machine guns, blasting the hapless Zero out of the sky.
Just as Isoro was about to fire in revenge, the Spitfire’s wing flew off, another Zero catching the enemy fighter with a fast overhead run. Turning in his seat, Isoro saw the Zero execute a fast wingover, another Spitfire trying to turn onto the fighter’s tail. Realizing that he had been seen, the Spitfire attempted to disengage. Unfortuantely for the Allied pilot, his Zeroopponent was an apparent maestro at maneuvering his aircraft. As Isoro came around to cover, the Zero pilot dispatched the enemy aircraft with a burst of cannon and machine guns that shattered the Spitfire’s tail, sending it spinning out of the sky.
As he joined up on the other Zero, Isoro recognized the aircraft as belonging to one of the Tinian pilots.
It’s that man named Nishizawa, Isoro thought, looking around for his own wingmen. Sawato joined up on his port wing as Nishizawa flew off to rejoin his own chutai.
Where is Yoshida? Isoro asked.
There were suddenly puffs of anti-aircraft fire below and to his starboard side. As he looked, Isoro suddenly saw several objects heading towards the Ryujo at low altitude and slow speed. Pushing his nose down, he saw Yoshida slide into position on his port side.
Bastard, Isoro thought to himself, then turned his head back around. As he rapidly began to overtake the aircraft below, he suddenly had to rub his eyes as he believed that he had to be seeing things from his childhood.
Biplanes?! These idiots are using BIPLANES?! he thought to himself, watching as eight enemy became seven with a stream of tracers from Ryujo’s escorts.
“Enemy bombers above us!” Yoshida shouted. Looking upwards, Isoro saw that Sakai and several other Zeroes were moving to intercept a gaggle of large aircraft that were moving in at high altitude towards the beach head. From a distance Isoro recognized the four-engined aircraft as American Flying Fortresses and felt his stomach clench in fear. Those aircraft had already grown legendary with the telling of the Zuikaku’s demise by the Shokaku’s crew.
‘Crane killers’, Isoro thought to himself, then turned back to focus on his targets. Leveling off just above the ocean, Isoro suddenly realized how much of an advantage in overtake speed he had. Skidding desperately, he realized that he was moving too fast to get his guns on target. Where a neophyte would have pulled up, Isoro realized that would expose his belly to the seven tail gunners who even now were blazing away at him.
His fighter suddenly lurched as an anti-aircraft shell exploded near his tail. Realizing he was in as much danger from friendly fire as the enemy, pushed his throttle up against the firewall and remained low and fast, leaving the enemy planes to the destroyers and Ryujo’s own guns. Climbing and looking back, the Japanese ace watched as the five remaining biplanes pressed their attack.
There’s no way they’ll make it, Isoro thought.
Two of the biplanes inexplicably survived the gauntlet, smoke pouring from their engines as they aimed their weapons at the nearer of Ryujo’s two escorting destroyers. One aircraft crashed immediately after release, a crewman’s body visible as it hurtled above the spray. The second managed to stagger into a turn before being intersected by five different streams of tracers, the canvas wings bursting into flames before the aircraft lurched into the drink. The pair of dropped torpedoes spurred the destroyer to add on more speed and turn to avoid them, masking some of her guns. This gave a flight of four more biplanes that Isoro had somehow not seen an almost free pass.
These are brave men, Isoro thought grudgingly, even as he circled around to see if more aircraft were inbound. The lead biplane suddenly detonated in a huge cloud of black smoke as a 25mm round found its torpedo The last two biplanes released at the same time, taking into account the creeping Ryujo’s last clumsy attempt to evade. In the next moment, tracers from the carrier’s guns smote both aircraft from the sky, following the burning carcasses down into the flames.
It took only moments for the final act of the combat. With a sickening feeling in his stomach, Isoro watched both torpedo wakes arrow directly towards the Ryujo’s side. The first weapon was off a bit in speed, passing just ahead of the carrier’s bow. The second weapon was perfect, hitting the carrier amidships with a waterspout that towered over her still smoking flight deck. With a visible vibration, the carrier began to coast to a stop and start to list.
Dammit! Isoro pulled back on the stick, continuing to climb away from the torpedoed warship. Jumping, he looked at his fuel gauge, realizing that the few minutes combat had used up the last of his reserves. If he intended to return to the Philippines, he had to depart now. If not, he needed to find the Zuiho or Hiyo. Looking around, he saw that the closest enemy aircraft were the rapidly receding Flying Fortresses. Searching, he saw that they had attacked the
merchantmen near the beach. Amazingly, the bombers had missed, the water still disturbed by their dropped weapons.
Perhaps luck is on our side, Isoro thought. With that thought, he resolved to remain in the area. In order for the attack to be successful sacrifices had to be made, and that included landing on a carrier far from his own bed, such as it was.
Not that this is much of a sacrifice, he thought, his stomach rumbling again with a vengeance. Indeed, I desperately need to visit the head.
Seeing the Hiyocoming into the wind, he started to head for the small carrier.
Houston
1345 Local (0145 Eastern)
“Enemy aircraft, bearing three five zero, range twenty-five thousand yards,” Seaman Apprentice Oliver Wedgewood, Battle Two’s new talker, stated in his high, reedy voice. A Boise survivor, Wedgewood had bounced around several departments before catching the eye of Chief Petty Officer Roberts, the NCOIC of Battle Two. A smart, intelligent lad, Wedgewood had an uncanny memory and the ability to recall information hours, if not days, after he had first heard it.
I’ll be damned if he’s actually nineteen years old, or whatever bullshit it says on his record, Jacob thought. Oh well, if he’s old enough to have faked his records, he’s old enough to face the consequences.
“The ship is ready for air action in all respects,” Roberts said from the other talker station. The Peary sailor they had inherited to man the second station was busy vomiting in the head, the stress having finally gotten to him.
They really should have given those poor bastards survival leave, Jacob thought.
“All right men, looks like we’re just in time to meet the next enemy airstrike,” Jacob said laconically. “Lieutenant Foncier, you have the station, I’m going out to watch the festivities.”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” Lieutenant Paul Foncier drawled from just behind Battle Two’s helmsman. The large, broad-shouldered Cajun was also a Boise survivor, his younger brother having been killed aboard the cruiser New Orleans at Hawaiian Islands. The man had earned Jacob’s impeccable trust during their journey up from Sydney.