“Let’s have a look at French Polynesia first,” said Volsky. “That is assuming we can slip away from these Japanese without any more dive bombers coming through the roof.”
“We should know more near dawn, sir. With Kirishima down they may lose their ardor for the chase. They already know their cruisers are no match for us, and I’m guessing that their other carrier divisions are much further east, near the Solomons. Nikolin says radio traffic is really heavy.”
“French Polynesia sounds much better to me,” said Volsky. “But Fedorov, if Dobrynin completes his maintenance, we could see changes in a matter of hours, assuming our little theory here proves to be true.”
“Possibly, sir.”
“And supposing we do move again, start shifting. It was very subtle last time. How will we know?”
“I think we’ll get enough clues—the radio traffic would suddenly disappear, we can look for changes in known weather patterns, even time of day. Remember when we shifted into the Med we went from night to day in just a few minutes time.”
The Admiral sighed. “Well now we get to choose which nightmare we end up living in, I suppose. If it was Dobrynin’s maintenance routine causing us to move, we can control that, yes? We can choose to stay put. The only thing is this: will the world still be empty if we shift again? Will we still be sailing from one dark radiation blighted shore to another?”
“Well, sir, we can’t really know. We’re changing the history each time we appear. We have no way to predict what we will find if we do displace forward in time again. But even if we do, I tend to think French Polynesia will not be on anyone’s target list.”
“I would hope not,” said Volsky sadly.
Fedorov completed his report as they walked, and then, seeing the Admiral was looking very tired, he suggested sleep. “Sir, it’s just after midnight. I can see to the last of the damage control work with Chief Byko. Why not get some rest.”
“I was considering that. In fact I think I will do so. Thank you, Mister Fedorov. But wake me if Dobrynin reports anything unusual.”
“He said it could be hours after the procedure before he might notice anything, sir, even a full day.”
“In that case I will sleep well, but don’t hesitate to wake me. And if you can get some rest yourself, that would also be good.”
“Thank you, sir.”
~ ~ ~
The night folded quietly about the ship, the seas rising a bit with the rain, though the storm was not severe. A little after 02:00 hours Fedorov was awakened by the deep drone of planes, high up, and called up to the bridge to find out what it was. Rodenko reported that there was a small flight of six planes coming up from the south, at high altitude, and on a heading that would take them to Port Moresby.
“Those will be American B-17 bombers, Rodenko. They probably took off from Cairns or Cooktown a few hours ago for a run up to Port Moresby. It obviously isn’t a serious raid, just harassment. I would not think they pose much of a threat. In fact, I don’t think they even know we are here.”
“We’ve been running dark all night,” said Rodenko.
“Then leave them alone. Take your next rest leave, and I’ll be back on the bridge soon. You can turn your station over to Kalinichev.”
Rodenko took the friendly advice and was glad that he did. It was to be the last chance for a little peace and quiet the ship would have for some time.
Events to the east were broiling up into a major air/sea battle, and far off in the Solomons, another Admiral was taking undo interest in these reports coming from Hara’s group. The name Mizuchi was discussed, and decisions were made—decisions that would pose the greatest challenge ever faced by the beleaguered Russian battlecruiser and its weary crew.
Chapter 21
The reports coming in from the Western operation were very strange. Staff spent hours sending coded messages trying to sort them all out before they brought them to Admiral Yamamoto, and now it was time to brief him in full. Yet Yamamoto had already learned the worst about the incident, and the name Mizuchi was uppermost in his mind as he gazed at the plotting table before the circle of men. The starched white uniforms were immaculate, the gold braided caps and cuff bands representing decades of seasoned naval experience, all gathered here on the eve of a decisive engagement.
Chief of Operations Captain Kimetake Kuroshima and late arrivals fresh off the cruiser Nagara had just entered the room: the Chief of Staff of the First Air Fleet, Rear Admiral Ryunosuke Kusaka and staff officers, Captain Tamotsu Oishi with Commander Minoru Genda. A raft of junior officers followed in their wake.
“The plan, like all plans before it, has been altered due to action by the enemy,” said Yamamoto beginning the meeting. “Tonight we decide whether or not we can adequately cover a counter operation aimed at Guadalcanal. Kuroshima has worked out the details.” The Admiral looked at his God of Operations, obviously intending him to take the floor.
“The enemy attack at Guadalcanal was not unexpected, but the timing achieved the element of surprise in light of our present operations,” said Kuroshima. “It has been necessary to maneuver both arms of our planned Operation FS to an earlier closing point now aimed at Guadalcanal. The difficulty is that our invasion elements are now widely dispersed. Our bombardment group, with three battleships and supporting units, is presently with the first wave troops of the 3rd Division poised off New Georgia and ready to strike south to support our counter invasion at Guadalcanal. But second wave troops are still well out into the Coral Sea, and moving northeast. The need to mass both carrier divisions will leave these troops exposed. The two carrier strike groups assigned to this operation are now converging on Guadalcanal, leaving only an escort of five destroyers with the second wave convoy.” He gestured to a table map where small wooden models indicated the positions of principle task forces involved in the operation. “We expect a battle with the American carriers somewhere near Guadalcanal within twenty-four hours.”
“It is my belief that the Americans will be northeast of the Solomons,” said Genda, one of the Fleet’s most experienced air planning officers.
“The General Staff concurs,” said Kuroshima. “Yet our worry is that the two arms of our carrier forces might be engaged separately by the combined American force, and defeated in detail. It is therefore necessary to closely coordinate our air strikes, so that both our carrier divisions function as a combined unit. This will require close coordination with all air staff officers, who will report to Genda in eight hours to finalize our strike once we have pinpointed the enemy’s location.”
“With four fleet carriers we should outnumber the enemy,” said Yamamoto.
“Correct, sir, but the aircraft ratio will not be great. The American carriers can support over eighty aircraft each. If there are three carriers present that will give them at least 240 planes against the 280 aircraft our four fleet carriers can bring to the battle.”
“Yet our experience and skill further multiplies our numbers,” said Air Fleet Chief Kusaka.
Genda spoke again. “It will be very simple,” he said. “Whoever strikes first will prevail. We are already initiating an aggressive search to locate their main body.”
“What about Hara’s group?” asked Yamamoto, and the question prompted an uncomfortable silence around the table.
Kuroshima was the bringer of bad news. “Sir, Admiral Hara’s carriers are still attempting to transit the Torres Strait at this time. It seems the operation against the British battlecruiser has become more complicated than expected.”
“Complicated?” There was a flash of anger in Yamamoto’s eyes. “Yes, I call the loss of over seventy percent of Hara’s strike aircraft a complication indeed. Zuikaku and Shokaku are now little more than cruise ships on a sightseeing voyage. Now we have further news. Hara informs me that the battleship Kirishima has run aground in the Torres Strait, though I suspect there is more to the story than we have been told.”
Kuroshima knew the worst, that the battleship
had been hit multiple times by some lethal new rocketry, and that her guts had been ripped apart by a massive explosion as she attempted to follow the enemy ship through the narrow waters of the Torres Strait. Now she wallowed like a beached whale, waiting to die on the coral shoals and reefs north of Cape York. But he said nothing of this to Yamamoto. The Admiral’s anger was well justified, and he did not wish to bring shame into the equation as well. Yamamoto continued.
“This enemy ship has moved into the Coral Sea and is now headed southeast. It is said to be using some very unusual weapons, naval rockets, and with these it savaged Hara’s strike wing, kept Iwabuchi’s covering force at bay, and has outrun them all to now threaten the troop convoy out of Rabaul… Kuroshima?” It was clear that Yamamoto now wanted an explanation, and the recommendation of his Chief of Operations.
“Another unpleasant surprise, sir. We have not been able to determine what this ship could be, or how it came to be involved with the Darwin operation in the first place.”
“That is of no concern now,” said Yamamoto. “The ship is in the Coral Sea. What should we do about it?”
“Sir, we have already detached Captain Furuichi and the Light Carrier Ryuho to reinforce Hara’s 5th Carrier Division.”
Yamamoto smiled, shaking his head. “Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? A light carrier sent to reinforce the entire 5th Fleet Carrier Division? That will put four carriers in the Coral Sea and they won’t be able to muster fifty strike planes between them! Plenty of fighters, yes, but what good are they against naval targets? Hara is of the opinion that this ship must be engaged by heavier units, and I have come round to that opinion as well. He was hoping Iwabuchi would catch it before it passed through the Torres Strait. But apparently that will not happen now. Furthermore, we also lost a submarine, Ro–33, another victim of this unexpected enemy ship.”
Clearly the Admiral had already been briefed, thought Kuroshima, the heat rising on the back of his neck “But Hara reports they have hit this ship,” he put in, trying to salvage the situation.
“Yes,” said Yamamoto, “and it has hit them as well. We have lost the cruiser Haguro, seventy percent of Hara’s strike planes, a submarine, and now a battleship is sitting on a reef in the Torres Strait like a big fat goose waiting for American B-17’s to pay a visit! This is disgraceful.”
All the officers lowered their heads, but Kiroshima spoke again, a new plan in mind. “Sir,” he said. “Given that most of the second wave transports are still in the Coral Sea, and considering the fact that we appear to have no capital ships in Hara’s task force capable of engaging this enemy ship on even terms, I suggest this is a job where armor and guns may do what Hara’s planes have failed to accomplish.
One way to move things along was to agree with your commanding officer, he reasoned. “Perhaps we should detached one or two battleships and send them west to cover the transports and intercept this British ship, whatever it may be. We could send Hiei, sir. She can make 30 knots. Fuso is too slow.”
Yamamoto thought for a moment. “What about this ship? We have the necessary speed, and we certainly have the guns. Hara’s report indicated they had difficulty closing the range against this enemy ship. The fourteen inch guns on Kirishima proved inadequate to the task. Our guns can fire at much greater range, and with better accuracy.”
“But sir, this is Combined Fleet Headquarters. This ship is irreplaceable.”
“Oh? It has already been replaced, Kuroshima. Combined Fleet Headquarters has been moved to Musashi at Truk, as you know all too well.”
“But sir, this ship is a symbol of Japan’s prestige and power. It cannot be risked in battle.”
“Listen to yourself! Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds? We render this ship powerless in one stroke with that mindset. I took this ship to sea with the intention of using her. Yes, I have heard what she has been called, gentlemen, but I will tell you now that this is no longer Hotel Yamato. This is a fighting ship and I believe we have exactly that in front of us now, a naval surface action. That appears to be the only solution to this British interloper. It is time the Imperial Japanese Navy taught the British a lesson once and for all.”
It was clear that Kuroshima was uncomfortable with the notion of his commanding officer sailing into the danger of major surface engagement, but he was in no position to contradict Yamamoto under the present circumstances. He expressed his concerns, and now proffered a brief bow acceding to the Admiral’s wishes.
“In that event, sir, I would suggest an escort of several cruisers and at least three destroyers, all with the speed to form a scouting force and screen for Yamato. And perhaps we should send Hiei as well.”
“That will leave only Fuso to support the planned landing on Guadalcanal. No. If this ship cannot engage and sink a British battlecruiser then we had no business building it. Yamato will be sufficient, but yes, we will detach cruisers Yura, Nagara and Jintsu, along with three destroyers. It will be my intention to move west at once, and I wish to be well south of Milne Bay by dawn.”
“That will mean running at high speed all night, sir.”
“Yes, it will. See that the orders are given. Now…Where will Hara and Furuichi be at dawn tomorrow?”
Kuroshima shifted, then set his mind to the plotting table, extending a wand and gently pushing two carrier models as he spoke.
“Sir, assuming Hara has no problem transiting the Strait, he should be north of Cooktown and 170 miles west of the enemy. Approximately here. As for the Ryuho group, it will be about 175 miles southeast, approaching the enemy’s present course head on. Both carrier forces will be within easy strike range.”
“And where do you anticipate we could be at that time?”
“About here, sir. A hundred and fifty miles due east of where we expect the enemy given their present course and speed.”
“A little too far for even our guns.” Yamamoto smiled.
Genda spoke up now. “Sir, Hara should coordinate an air strike at dawn.”
“And lose the remainder of his aircraft?”
“That may not happen this time,” Genda suggested. “That ship was hit before and it can be hit again. Hara must buy us the time we need to close and engage with Yamato.”
“My thinking exactly,” said Yamamoto. “And once we have dealt with this ship we will be in a perfect position to cover and support the second wave troops in the Coral Sea. Do I hear any objection?”
No man at the table spoke further.
~ ~ ~
The rain slowly abated as Kirov slipped southeast, resolving to a fine humid mist in time, and drifting patches of fog hugging the quieting seas. The principle officers took advantage of the calm for much needed sleep, all except Nikolin, who had spent the night dozing at his radio station, in and out of sleep as he monitored the increasing radio traffic. He could not decipher some of the code words used, but it was clear to him that ships and planes were talking to one another, calling to one another in the night, and he imagined men up in search planes now, their eyes darkly scanning the grey horizon, looking for enemy ships, perhaps looking for Kirov as well, with bad intent.
A little before three in the morning he got a message from engineering. Dobrynin was reporting his maintenance procedure was completed without complications.
“Very well,” he said. “I will inform the senior officers at the next shift.” Then he forgot about the matter, settling into his chair again and quietly dozing off.
Two hours later a bleary eyed Karpov came slouching onto the bridge, and a watchman saluted.
“Captain on the bridge,” he said, sticking to protocols.
“As you were,” said Karpov, then he yawned heavily, moving slowly to Kalinichev. “Anything to report?”
“Without the Fregat system our range is limited,” said Kalinichev. “But I did get a return on a surface contact with our Top Mast radar at 02:00 hours, sir. I keyed its position, course and speed, and the predictive plot algorithm would have it here, sir,
a little beyond the range of that antenna now.”
Moments later Fedorov appeared, and yet another captain was announced on the bridge. He joined Karpov, near the radar station as other senior officers were slowly appearing to relieve the night shift. Rodenko was back, and Tasarov shuffled in to take up his post at sonar. The burly Samsonov was an early riser. He had just come from the mess hall and a good breakfast, and now was well settled into his station at the CIC.
“That predictive plot will probably be the carrier group that attacked us earlier,” said Fedorov.
“We could go have a look with the KA-40. It proved invaluable yesterday. It may be wise to get an Oko panel up and have a look around this morning.”
“I agree,” said Fedorov. “See to it, will you Captain?”
“Sir,” Karpov tapped off a three finger salute and went to rustle Nikolin from his daydreaming and have him send the order down to the helo bay. Nikolin blinked, chasing the sleep from his eyes, and then remembered the message from Dobrynin.
“I’m to tell you that Chief Dobrynin has completed his maintenance operation, sir,” he said.
“Yes, yes,” Karpov waved a hand. “Good enough. Just get that order out for the KA-40, Mister Nikolin.”
Twenty minutes later the Helo was up, its twin rotors beating fitfully as it increased power with a roar and gained elevation. With every foot it rose, the range of its radar increased in a slowly expanding arc. At 05:10 hours it was high up over the ship, its Oko panel deployed and beginning to feed telemetry to Rodenko’s station.
Rodenko settled in, his eyes focusing on the screen as he toggled switches to receive the data stream. What he saw was most disheartening.
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