They all knew what he meant.
“It will come down to a choice then,” said the Admiral. “Which missiles do we use, our dwindling anti-ship weapons, or our air defense systems? Diminishing the strength of either inventory is not a happy prospect.”
“I suggest we wait,” said Fedorov. “Let’s see what they throw at us. Only then can we determine what weapon systems would be best. But I think we should conserve our anti-ship missiles at this point and use them only if absolutely necessary.”
Karpov expected this from Fedorov. The young ex-navigator was still cautious, and on one level he perceived that Fedorov was still very reluctant to target ships, planes, and men that had glowed in the soft light of his history books for so many years. Karpov had no such scruples, and looked at the matter solely from a military point of view. If the carriers were threat they could be dealt with, but he decided that they could just as easily handle an air strike as long as their air defense missile systems had ammunition.
“If each carrier has twenty-seven torpedo bombers,” he said. “That will be a big drain on our SAM inventory if they attack in force. I would hate to have to be forced to make that decision when we might use one or two missiles to forestall such an attack. We have only to locate these carriers, and if they are beyond our surface radar range at this juncture we should use the KA-40. That failing, then we can wait and receive the blow, and deal with it when it comes, but we both know that the best defense is a good offense.” He folded his arms having given the assessment that he felt was most tactically sound for the situation. The rest would be up to Volsky.
“I’m not surprised that you both have differing views on this,” said the Admiral, thinking. He took a long breath and then gave an order. “As we do not now know the location of the enemy carriers, we must wait. But I want better situational awareness. I want to know exactly what we are facing, because Fedorov here says we can no longer rely on his books. For that matter we don’t even know what year this is. Is it 1942? 1943? I think Captain Karpov’s suggestion on the use of the helicopter is prudent, and I want the KA-40 ready for immediate operations. Once we know what we’re dealing with I will make a final decision.”
“Very good, sir.” Fedorov gave the orders and the word was soon passed down to the helo bay to prepare for operations. Kirov had again been surprised just at the moment of her arrival in the dangerous and unfriendly waters of the Pacific region. They would not be surprised again.
The ship was going to war.
Chapter 8
Admiral Chuichi Hara received the news of an enemy surface ship with some surprise. He was steaming with Carrier Division Five, his flag aboard Shokaku, and her sleek sister ship Zuikaku was a thousand meters off his starboard beam. Zuiho was in the van, selected to participate in the next strike mission with her CII-3 Datai and 12 fresh torpedo planes commanded by Lt. Commander Kasi Matsua. Five destroyers formed a small fan ahead of the three carriers, a fairly light escort considering the value of these ships to the empire. His heavier ships were already seventy-five miles out in front, screening the approach to Darwin with orders to follow-up the air strikes with a good saturation bombardment—all save one. The heavy cruiser Tone had been left behind to ensure the safety of the carriers from any surface action. Hara had not expected any Allied naval activity in this sector, but was cautious nonetheless, and followed protocols. Now he was surprised to learn that a sizable ship had been spotted by one of the screening submarines, Torisu’s I-63.
What could be out there, he wondered? An Australian cruiser out of Darwin? The initial reports from the first strike wave aimed at Darwin came in soon after. They had spotted what looked to be a large cruiser class vessel steaming north. Strike leader Sakamoto had detached a single squadron of nine dive bombers to deal with it.
The reports were sketchy, but it now appeared that a hit had been scored and the ship was seen to be on fire, a thick column of char black smoke staining the clear blue sky. But Sakamoto’s men had paid a very high price, losing 8 of 9 planes to intense enemy anti-aircraft fire. Squadron leader Hayashi had been the only survivor, but this shame was mitigated by the fact that he had been the only plane to score a hit. The rest of Sakamoto’s planes had continued on to Darwin, being armed with incendiary and HE bombs, not suitable for naval action. Hayashi’s reports on the radio spoke of some new weapon engaging his planes, but made no sense. He was ordered home and told to land on Zuiho instead of his home ship, and ordered to brief the strike wave forming up there even now. It was a not so subtle indication of Hara’s opinion on the strike he had just led. There was nothing of his squadron left now on Zuikaku. He was an orphaned plane and pilot.
Sakamoto was too eager, thought Hara. I would’ve just reported the ship and continued on to Darwin. Doesn’t he remember that I have torpedo bombers waiting here? Angry at the loss of the 8 planes and pilots, he turned and gave the order that everyone on the bridge expected.
“Signal Zuiho. Lieutenant Matsua’s CII-3 Daitai is to be spotted for immediate air strike against this naval target. Arm with torpedoes. We will keep our planes in the nest for the moment. Matsua’s twelve torpedo bombers should be sufficient to handle a single ship, particularly if it is just an Australian cruiser. But tell them to be ready for heavy flak. This may be an AA defense cruiser.”
~ ~ ~
Lt. Commander Matsua received the news with much excitement and was soon up on the flight deck, pulling on his leather flight gloves and adjusting his goggles and ear flaps. He surveyed the planes already spotted on deck, six from 1st Squadron with the first planes of 2nd squadron already on the elevators. It would be another ten or fifteen minutes before the remaining planes were ready, their pre-flight checks completed and communications with the air bridge underway for takeoff. In the meantime, he watched the slow approach of a plane, which he soon recognized as a D3A1 dive bomber. It was trailing a thin wake of light smoke, and he presumed it was from Sakamoto’s group, a wayward flyer with engine trouble who had been sent home.
He watched as the plane lined up for landing, looking somewhat shaky as it came in, touching down with a bump and then finally hooking up with a secondary retaining line and skidding to a loud stop, its engine spinning fitfully in the light wind. There were no other dive bombers assigned to Zuiho, his CII-1 Squadron was all for air defense operations with twelve A6M2 Fighters. A smaller ship, Zuiho could carry no more than thirty planes. Why didn’t this plane land on its own mother ship?
Flight crews ran to maneuver the plane off the main flight deck to keep it clear for Matsua’s torpedo bombers. Yet as the pilot of the D3A1 slid back his canopy, he could immediately see that something was wrong. He squinted, then noted the plane number and realized it was Squadron Leader Hayashi, an old friend, his face ashen as he eased himself out of the pilot’s seat. There was no movement from the rear of the canopy where the radio man should be, and Matsua had a sudden strange feeling of dread as he watched the flight crews ladder up the plane and climb to assist Hayashi. He rushed to the scene, waiting below as the men brought the pilot down. One man called up to the still open canopy for the second crewman serving as radio operator and gunner, but Hayashi tugged at his sleeve, shaking his head. Matsua could see blood on Hayashi’s flight jacket.
“Hayashi! What happened? How were you hit? Did you come all the way from Darwin?”
Hayashi looked at him, his eyes distant and glazed over with pain. Then he recognized Matsua, and forced a wan smile.
“Matsua…No, we never made it to Darwin. There was an enemy cruiser about a hundred and twenty kilometers off the coast and Sakamoto sent my squadron after it.”
“Yes! Rumors say you scored a hit!” Matsua looked over his shoulder thinking to see the remainder of Hayashi’s squadron coming in for their recovery. “Where are the others?”
Hayashi looked down, his eyes dark with fear and his spirits dampened with shame. “No others,” he said quietly.
“No others?”
Hayashi l
ooked at him, his face almost pleading as he spoke. “I have never seen such a defense,” he quavered. “My men pressed home the attack…Two scored near misses. A third put his bomb right off the enemy’s bow and they ran right over it. Then something came up at us…” He covered his eyes, then composed himself and stared at Matsua, clearly shaken. “It was like we were flying through hell itself, a rain of metal… steel serpents that hissed in at our planes like demons! My men were cut to pieces. I released my bomb and veered away, and when I looked over my shoulder to see the hit on the enemy ship, all the others were gone. I saw the last two go into the sea…”
Matsua waited, allowing his friend the time he needed now. He was buntaicho, Squadron Leader. Sakamoto had chosen him to make the attack, and he was now responsible for the result. The hit he scored was commendable, but in the balance he would come to the briefing room when he eventually returned to his ship and find eight empty chairs where his men should be seated, their cheeks red with energy, faces alight as they readied for battle. He put his hand on Hayashi’ s shoulder.
“We have been ordered to find this ship and sink it,” he said firmly. “We will avenge you, Hayashi. By all Gods and Kami, we will make certain your men died with honor. I swear it, my friend. I will put my Thunder Fish in this ship’s belly! Or die trying.”
Hayashi just looked at him, a longing in his eyes, as if he knew at that very moment that he would never see Matsua again, and perhaps never see many of the pilots who were gathering on deck now, their planes near ready, some up on the wings and climbing into the cockpits, eager for battle. He clenched his jaw, and nodded.
“Good luck, Matsua. Now I must go and make my report. For now…Sayonara…”
“Not so formal, Hayashi,” Matsua clasped his friend’s shoulder with a smile. “Tonight we will drink on it, neh? Mata-ne, my friend. Ja-ne. See you soon.”
~ ~ ~
Aboard the Battleship Kirishima, Captain Sanji Iwabuchi was scanning the far horizon with his field glasses, well aware that eagle eyed watchmen were doing the same, well above him on the tall pagoda main mast of the stately ship. But he was eager to find this enemy, and bring it under his heel.
Iwabuchi was a hard man, steely in battle, and often cruel, impatient and abusive to subordinates. He was short tempered and too quick to find fault, and he was clearly unhappy with the sudden change of orders he had just received. His guns had all been primed and loaded with HE and incendiaries for the planned bombardment of Darwin. Now he would have to unload his eight big 14 inch guns and reload with heavy armor piercing rounds, but the propellant charge bags were all wrong as well, and getting them out of the breeches safely would take time. He summoned his gunnery officer, Commander Kimitake Koshino and asked him how long the procedure would take.
“We have been ordered to find this enemy cruiser that has been giving Hara’s pilots fits. It is somewhere ahead, and if this ship is not ready for action heads will roll, Koshino!”
“Please excuse me, Captain,” Koshino said politely. “Incendiary rounds use only three powder bags instead of the usual four. We will have to remove all three to get at the shell, then remove it before we reload the new armor piercing round and four more powder bags. Getting the shells and bags into the guns is very fast, sir. Getting them back out is another matter. It could take twenty minutes for all eight guns.”
“Too long!” Iwabuchi’s face indicated his displeasure. “Murajima is out ahead in the float plane looking for this ship now, and if he spots it I want to be ready for battle.”
“Well, sir…” Koshino hesitated, then spoke his mind. “There is one way to speed things along. It could reduce our reload time to just three or four minutes. We need only fire the guns. That will remove the unwanted rounds and powder bags in short order. Then it is only a matter of normal reloading.”
Iwabuchi’s face reddened. He struck the table with his fist, glaring at his gunnery officer. “Very well, Koshino. Fire the guns then, and be quick about it! Notify the cruiser escorts that we will fire ranging salvoes so as not to look like complete fools, neh? Then get those armor piercing rounds in fast, and consider how long it will take you to pay for the rounds and powder we must waste because of your incompetence!”
Koshino knew better than to say anything now. He merely lowered his head, then saluted and rushed off to give his gunnery crews their orders. Moments later they saw the forward turret rotate away from the escorting cruiser squadron and fire. The sound was deafening, and Iwabuchi shouted after it, venting his own anger with the brilliant orange fire from the muzzles.
If this ship is nigh at hand, he thought, then let them hear the roar of our guns, like thunder on the horizon. It is one thing to bat aside Hara’s mosquitoes, but it will be quite another to escape the anger of my guns, neh? He turned to his signalman and gave another order. “Send the cruisers on ahead as a forward sweeping unit. The destroyers will remain with us for the time being.”
Cruiser Division Five had been assigned to his covering force, three fast heavy cruisers, the Haguro, Myoko, and Nachi, all sleek hounds with a strong bite in their ten 8 inch guns.
Kirishima was very fast as well, particularly for a vintage old ship as she was. Her hull was laid down at Mitsubishi Zosen Kaisha’s ship yard on the 17th of March of the year 1912! Venerable indeed. Her design was not entirely the work of Japanese shipbuilders either. Sir George Thurston of the British shipbuilding firm of Vickers-Armstrong had designed both the plans and the guns for this ship, which was built largely in response to the British Navy’s escalation in the commissioning of the armored cruiser HMS Invincible. That ship had eight 12 inch guns and a speed of 26 knots, more formidable than anything in the Japanese navy at the time. So Japan secured plans for a ship that was bigger and faster than Invincible, and the Kongo Class battleships were the happy result.
Kirishima was one of four built, and her eight 14 inch guns, now firing off the last of the troublesome incendiary rounds, would trump Invincible’s 12 inchers, her speed besting that ship as well. Kirishima could run at all of thirty knots if pressed to the task. She was called an armored cruiser when words were bandied about in the naval treaty negotiations, but she was rightfully a battleship at over 40,000 tons fully loaded, and she looked the part, her pagoda style superstructure rising tall and proud above the big threatening gun turrets. She would be overshadowed by many other battleships in time, some exceeding 70,000 tons like Yamato, and there would be many who still called her an up-armored battlecruiser, but she was to prove herself a tough ship before she met her fate. And fate had a peculiar way of placing her in the thick of action, or so it would seem to one given the hindsight of history.
Now she cruised with the last two ships in Iwabuchi’s task force posted on either side, the destroyers Minizuki and Fumizuki, there to discourage any enterprising American submarine commander who might be in the area. A big ship like Kirishima was an inviting and very tempting target for a stealthy submarine captain. In fact, his ship was supposed to have been found by an American submarine, the Nautilus, while Kirishima was escorting Nagumo’s carriers during the operation against Midway that had now been canceled—though Iwabuchi knew nothing of that unlived history. Nautilus would have fired a Mark 14 steam torpedo at the old battleship, eager for a kill, but from a range of over 4000 meters it would miss by a wide margin.
The insult would be answered with a salvo from Kirishima’s forward batteries when the periscope of the Nautilus was sighted, but to no avail. Hunting submarines was work for a destroyer, and the escort Arashi would have been detached to take up the hunt while Kirishima sailed off in a huff. It was once to be a most fateful incident that would cost Japan more than anyone then alive could realize. Arashi was not able to find and sink the Nautilus, and eventually gave up the hunt and turned to rejoin the Japanese carrier force, the fast Kido Butai mobile group that was hoping to savage the American fleet. It was the wake of this very destroyer that would have been spotted by the American commander Wade McClus
key, Jr. in his SBD ‘Dauntless’ dive-bomber, and it would lead the U.S. formation directly to the heart of the Japanese carrier fleet. The rest was all part of the ‘Miracle At Midway’ that would crush the Japanese fleet and mark a decisive turning point in the war….But it never happened.
The battle of Midway was never fought. Instead Kirishima found itself here, leading the leftmost arm of a two pronged attack to the south aimed at isolating Australia, Operation FS. But the ship’s magnetic charm would hold true yet again. It would not be an American submarine that would set the strange chain of events in motion this time, but a ghostly sea demon that had appeared from thin air, to pose the greatest challenge any sea captain of that era could ever face—the battlecruiser Kirov.
Chapter 9
Matsua’s torpedo bombers soon discovered the ship that had put fear into the eyes and soul of Lt. Commander Hayashi. There were twelve planes sent to make this attack, two light squadrons of B5N2s, the plane the Allies would call the “Kate.” The ship was just where Hayashi had reported it, and Matsua wasted no time sending his men in for the attack. Number one squadron would swoop in from the port side with six planes, and he would lead number two squadron to the starboard side with the remaining six. Together they would smash this ship with their Type 91, ‘Thunder Fish’ torpedoes.
The Type 91 was a formidable weapon, having moved through several evolutions in its development to make it a reliable workhorse for the B5N squadrons. They had put three into the USS Lexington three months ago, sending that carrier to the bottom of the Coral Sea. Now they were ready for more. The growl of the planes was exhilarating as they swooped to their low elevation approaches, deploying air brakes to slow the planes down to no more than 160-180kph so they could safely launch their weapons.
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