“Fedorov,” said Volsky. “How long before that pursuit force might get in range to cause us any concern?”
“All they need to do is get inside 30,000 yards to start lobbing shells our way again, sir. That would be a little under fifteen nautical miles out. So they only need to cut twelve miles off our lead. At our present speed of twenty knots, they will do that in about ninety minutes. They can probably see our position now with the smoke column, and I have little doubt that they are heading this way.”
“Ninety minutes,” Volsky mused. “Considering the damage we have already sustained, I will take no chances with these ships. Mr. Karpov, the instant that pursuit force puts rounds within a thousand meters of this ship, use your best judgment and hurt them. Hurt them badly. We cannot have this madman in a battleship on our heels at the moment. Understood?”
“You can rely on me, sir,” said Karpov, and every man on the bridge knew it was no boast.
* * *
For the Japanese the price of Hayashi’s second hit was higher than any expected. Of the 67 planes that formed up over Hara’s carriers that morning, only seven would return to land on the forsaken decks of Zuikaku and Shokaku. For Zuiho, not a single plane would return. Sakamoto and Ema were among the survivors. Two more planes would ditch close to Iwabuchi’s pursuit force and he would send his destroyers to the scene of the attack to look for pilots. Only twelve were found still alive. The Japanese had lost sixty planes and forty-six precious pilots, a hard and stinging blow.
When Admiral Hara finally got the news from a haggard Sakamoto on the bridge of Shokaku, his face was grim and set. His carrier task force was now little more than a fast scouting unit. He still had eighteen B3N2 torpedo bombers that had been held back, yet all his D3A dive bombers were gone, save the seven that barely survived the attack.
“Hayashi had it right,” said Sakamoto, his face grim and downcast. “This is a demon from hell! Mizuchi is not half a word for what this ship did to our squadrons. I lost half my planes before we ever set eyes on the target! The range and accuracy of these rockets is astounding! It was as if they had eyes—yes, Admiral—they were not merely fired with the hope of striking us. It was a certainty! In the second wave every single rocket fired was able to find one of my planes. A sane man would have called off the attack after that first barrage, but I do not have the luxury of such sanity in the heat of battle, and with orders to strike our enemies.”
“You did all that any man could,” said Hara. “Look what Hayashi did! Two hits, and one he strikes with his own life in the bargain. Such bravery will be remembered.”
“Shall we spot the remaining planes for another strike, sir?” Sakamoto said bravely.
“No, Sakamoto. It is yours to suggest this. Honor demands it. But I will be the one sane man here today and refuse to send the last of my pilots to their doom against this ship. If what you say is true it would be foolish. We hit them with over sixty planes just now. What good will an attack with our last eighteen torpedo bombers and these seven surviving D3As do? The British have trumped us today. This new anti-aircraft rocket system you describe is truly formidable. I must immediately inform Admiral Yamamoto. If the Americans have these weapons as well, then our string of victories could reverse itself very quickly. A single ship with these weapons can render our entire naval strategy based on aircraft carriers obsolete overnight.”
“Yet our primary mission was accomplished successfully,” said Sakamoto. “We have troops at Darwin and will have that in hand soon enough.”
“Indeed, but we were to take the Fifth Carrier Division through the Torres Strait, along with Mutsu and Nagato of the bombardment group. Yamamoto will be expecting us in the Coral Sea in a few days, but what use will we be to him now?”
“The pilots, sir. We must do everything possible to rescue the pilots. Many died when those rockets came in at us, but a good number may be in the water still, and alive if we can get to them before the sharks. The Navy can always get us more planes.”
“Destroyers are racing to the scene even now,” said Hara.
Sakamoto shrugged. “How do we fight this demon if our planes cannot get through, Admiral?” He had a vacant, empty look in his eyes.
“With battleships,” said Hara, an air of finality in his tone. “Only a battleship has the armor to close with this monster and grapple with it. We will see what Iwabuchi can do. He is right on this ship’s wake, and we will detach Tone and three destroyers, and send them after this enemy ship as well. The battleships from the bombardment group will rendezvous with us soon and we will have them for more than adequate escort.”
“Sir, there were two shotai of D3As at Kendari training there. They could fly out to reinforce us, and we can also get fighters from Amboina and arm them with bombs. Rabaul will also have a couple of dive bomber squadrons they can transfer to us if need be.”
“They are not carrier trained, Sakamoto.”
“Yes sir, but we can put men in them who are trained. All they have to do is land on our carriers.”
Hara nodded. “Here we are trying to scrape up enough planes and pilots to make at least one of our carriers operational again.” He was deeply distressed. “It is even more likely that we will be recalled to Kure when they hear what has happened this morning.”
“I will apologize—”
“You will do nothing of the kind,” Hara cut in sharply. “The responsibility is mine. I will do my duty with whatever we have, and I must return Mutsu and Nagato to Combined Fleet as well. In the meantime, let us hope Lieutenant Hayashi’s bravery has slowed this demon down.” He turned to a signalman. “Get a message to Captain Iwabuchi aboard Kirishima. Tell him I am sending him another heavy cruiser. The honor now falls to him. He must find and kill this ship as soon as possible!”
He gave Sakamoto one last look, pointing. “Get those dive bombers from Kendari,” and he said nothing more.
* * *
When the message came in Captain Sanji Iwabuchi smiled for the first time in many days. He had little to be joyful about. The air strike had been a complete disaster, but ahead on the horizon he could see a column of thick black smoke, and it seemed that it was growing ever larger, ever nearer as Kirishima pressed on, her old engines straining to keep up the speed.
They had slowed down slightly, but were still making 28 knots, and he could see that the lead the enemy had managed to open in the long overnight chase was not so fat after all.
“Koshino!” he said, elated as he called for his gunnery officer.
“Sir?” Kimitake Koshino was at his side with a hasty bow.
“I trust the guns are ready.”
“Yes, sir. Everything is in order.”
“Good, because from the look of that smoke we will be up on this enemy ship in little time. Sound battle stations. Signal Captain Kiyota aboard Nachi. His cruisers are to fall off and join us as one group for this action. We will not have the destroyers, as they have been sent to look for downed pilots to return to Hara’s carriers. He is sending us Tone in their place.”
“That will be more than enough, sir.” Koshino considered the addition of Tone, with eight more 8 inch guns and more than enough speed to run this enemy down. She could easily reach 36 knots.
“Ono!” Iwabuchi called for his Executive Officer, and Ono was quickly at his side. “Study that smoke. How long before we sight that ship and get in firing range?”
“Ah, it looks like Hara’s planes have done us a real favor, sir. The ship was gradually slipping away, but our seaplanes now report it has slowed considerably. We are closing the range now. I make it no more than two hours and we should be able to engage.”
“Excellent!” said Iwabuchi. “A fine morning as well. Soon we will see what has been giving Hara’s pilots their nightmares, neh? They are calling this ship Mizuchi, the sea dragon, and from our rescue operations it is killing planes and pilots like flies. Yet we will have something more to say about it in due course. We are going to attack at high speed, a
ll our heavy ships in line abreast, and we will not break off until this ship is sunk, is that understood?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Good, then. We’ve had this Mizuchi by the tail all night. Now we will see if this ship really breathes fire as Kiyota’s claims. Soon we will be breathing fire ourselves. Where will this engagement be fought?”
Ono walked to the map table and placed a thin finger there. “About here, sir. A hundred miles west of the Torres Strait.”
Chapter 14
It was a long hour fighting the fires aft before Chief Byko reported they had the matter under control. Three more men were injured in the fight, scalded in spite of their heavy gloves and damage control aprons. They had rigged the external pumps to bring in long jets of seawater, and the fire teams bravely held a line just forward of Kirov’s second 152mm battery, and the vital ammunition magazines beneath it.
On the old Kirov, the place struck by Hayashi’s plane had once been a series of small towers where the Volna ‘Top Dome’ and the 3R95 ‘Cross Sword’ fire control radars had been installed. In the major refit that produced the new ship, these older radars had been removed, replaced with alternate systems located forward, and the small towers had been re-metaled into a squarish structure that became the aft battle bridge. It was a spitting image of the main bridge, which had been moved well above and behind the old forward bridge, high on the main mast.
The equipment destroyed in the aft citadel would remove their primary backup should any damage ever occur on the main bridge, but the ship could still function efficiently without it. The fact that the facility was completely redundant, with its own unique cabling, wire and power leads, limited the damage to the rest of the ship’s power and electronic systems.
Byko did have one concern while the fires were still being fought. The Vodopad torpedo launchers had been located directly beneath the aft citadel, just below the main deck level, where long, sleek weapons were also stored in underdeck magazines. Were it not for the second barrier of the aft citadel floor, another 200mm thick reinforced armor plate, Hayashi’s plane might have plunged right on through to those magazines and set off an even greater explosion.
By the time the fires were finally out, and Byko could get men up on the pyramid of the aft mast, the pursuing enemy had slowly made up half the long lead Kirov had built up with its small two knot speed advantage overnight. The ship was just over the horizon, her main mast perhaps not even visible to the enemy yet. Byko reported he had divers ready, but Volsky was concerned and wanted to increase speed as soon as possible. He decided to postpone the undersea hull inspection, and ordered a small increase to 25 knots.
It was either that or they would soon have a gunfight on their hands, and he was again hoping that speed could be used instead of vital missiles. The Torres Strait was just under a hundred miles east, and Fedorov advised that they would have to be cautious in those reef-infested waters where the main sea channels were very shallow. Speed now, caution later, thought Volsky. Then he relinquished command to Fedorov and went below to check on the men. After a hit like the one they had just experienced, he thought it best to see to his human assets as well. Morale was also a vital part of his ship’s fighting quality, and he wanted to take the measure of the crew and give them heart.
The infirmary was a natural first stop, and the Admiral was disheartened to see the long line of men waiting for Doctor Zolkin’s attention. They all smiled, saluting crisply when they saw him, at least those with good right arms. A few looked fairly well bruised, but their injuries were not serious. Volsky spent time with each man, walking the line and thanking them for their service, promising them better days ahead. When he finally reached the sick bay he peered inside to see Zolkin attending to a man prone on his surgery table, his face masked, intent on his work. The blood stains on his jersey were evident, and for a brief moment their eyes met, though no words were exchanged.
The Admiral moved on, heading aft until he finally neared the section where the damaged battle bridge would have been. He was a deck below the aft citadel, but the ladder up opened to clear sky now. And he could see all the way up through the open hatch into to the citadel and noted the gaping hole in the armored roof. 200 millimeters of armor, almost eight inches of hardened steel, had once seemed a safe and sturdy barrier to him, but when he saw the sharp edges of the twisted metal, blackened with fire and soot, he realized just how vulnerable the ship was to any weapon their enemies could deploy against him.
He spent some time with Byko there, asking about any possible secondary damage until he was satisfied that the ship could still function without any major system failures.
“I’m sorry to have to put you and your men to work this early,” said Volsky. “And I’m afraid it may be a long day, Byko.”
“Just my job, sir,” said Byko. “But you will have to excuse the condition of the ship aft of this point. I still have hose lays from here to the helo bays, and men with acetylene torches are still cutting metal.”
Surgery on the men, thought Volsky, and surgery on the ship. Thankfully neither the crew nor the ship had been dealt a fatal blow.
“What about those turbines, Chief? We may need more speed soon.”
“That minor leak I reported earlier is well repaired, sir. We’ve taken a few hard blows, what with those near misses and the helo explosion, not to mention the missile misfire. We’ll need some metal work aft if we can ever make a friendly port again, and a good paint job.”
Volsky smiled. “Come to the officer’s dining room tonight. I’ve a good cigar to share with you, Byko. You’ve earned it.”
The Admiral clasped him on the shoulder, and then turned to head forward again, looking for the nearest ladder down. He wanted to check with Dobrynin next, and see how the reactor was faring, and he soon found him leaning over his monitors, squinting at the dials and gauges there.
“I trust all is well here, Dobrynin?”
“Sir,” the Chief Engineer saluted. “No problems to speak of. Considering the work we’ve given them on this outing, the reactors have been fairly stable.”
“What about those odd sounds you reported earlier?”
“Those were quite strange, sir,” said Dobrynin, scratching his head. “It seemed there was a neutron flux in the core. I could almost hear it, if that makes any sense. You get to know every sound these systems can possibly make in time, and I could hear a distinctive difference.”
Volsky nodded. “Any idea what may have caused it?”
“Nothing comes to mind, sir. At first I thought the core could have been affected by radiation from those other nuclear detonations, but it’s too well shielded, sir. No. Whatever caused it was an event inside the reactor itself.”
“When was the last time you heard anything odd?”
“Well, sir…” Dobrynin seemed to be fishing for his thought. “I believed I heard something two days ago, but it was very subtle, not at all like those earlier events, and the flux readings in the core were barely disturbed. I would have reported it, but it settled down, then came and went for a while. I thought I was hearing something, then when I would listen it was gone.”
Volsky raised an eyebrow at that, thinking of how Rodenko’s radar systems had obtained contacts, then lost them before the signal finally firmed up and they knew they had shifted in time again. The reactors, he thought. Maybe it wasn’t the accident, or even the detonation of that warhead in the Atlantic. Perhaps this odd time displacement is being created by something going on in our own reactors!
“I understand you have been concerned about cooling problems?”
“Just a minor malfunction on some feed water valves. I had it corrected in a few hours, sir.”
“Have you kept regular log entries on these variations?”
“Of course, sir. And we have a digital record of the entire system performance readouts being logged in real time and stored to memory.”
“I see…” Volsky rubbed his chin, thinking. “Dobryni
n…Could you have a look at that data for me? Take particular notice of anything odd, anything that might have accounted for this vibration or sound you report—this flux business. See if you can chart it out for me.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll have the men run a full readout report and we’ll go over it with a fine toothed comb.”
“Good man,” said Volsky. “And if we have to make speed soon, any potential problems you can foresee?”
“None, sir. You can go to full battle speed, that is if Byko says the turbines have no problems. I can give you all the power you need.”
“Very well, Dobrynin. Carry on.”
The Admiral would make one last call before returning to the bridge, to Martinov in the weapons bay, hoping to see if there were any old missiles still stored away in the corners of his main magazine. But what he found out in that conversation set him immediately on a heading to the bridge, a quiet anger simmering in his chest.
* * *
They watched the steady approach of the pursuing enemies using the long range weather radar to plot their position. In the first hour the hunters made up all of eight nautical miles on them, closing the range to thirty-five kilometers. Over the next hour they could clearly see the enemy ships darkening the distant horizon behind them, though the increase in speed to 25 knots only allowed them to gain three nautical miles.
Rodenko estimated the range at just under thirty kilometers, 30,000 meters, still a long shot, even for a battleship. It seemed like the enemy may not be gaining on them for a while, but thirty minutes later a lookout spotted a bright flash from the center of the pursuing silhouettes behind them, and seconds later they heard a distant rumble of thunder. Kirishima had fired her challenge, though the rounds came in very short. Karpov reached for his field glasses and peered back at the enemy ships.
Kirov III-Pacific Storm (Kirov Series) Page 14