Lt. Commander Shigeyuki Kuriyama took over the boat after that operation and on August 6 he was out on the fourth war patrol for Ro-33 when he happened across the Australian merchant ship Mamutu off Murray Island. The shallow waters and reefs in the area prompted her to surface and start a merry chase, using her 3 inch deck gun to hunt down the hapless 300 ton motor vessel, and she immediately scored two hits, one silencing the radio room and the second killing the ship’s Master. A half hour later Mamutu was listing in the water, easy prey, with many of her 108 passengers already in the sea. Kuriyama was merciless, ordering his boat to sail past the burning ship and machine gun the survivors, killing many passengers as he went by. It was the only notch in the sub’s belt after four long patrols, and the crew was eager to put their torpedoes to better use.
They got their chance in the early evening of August 26th, 1942 while they were hovering just off Pandora’s Passage. A coded message bearing the name Mizuchi had come in three hours earlier, and it ordered the boat to leave off its defensive patrol near Port Moresby and make haste for the Torres Strait. A big enemy ship was running the gauntlet of reefs and shoals there, and attempting to break out into the Coral Sea. Ro-33 was to assume a blocking position and wait for the beast, and she was in position well before the looming silhouette of Kirov was sighted by her commander, his eyes alight with the first opportunity to fire on an enemy warship in nearly six months.
Three days from now in the history Fedorov might have read in his Chronology of the War At Sea, Ro-33 was supposed to have been in the Gulf of Papua west of Port Moresby where she would spot the 3300 ton merchant ship Malaita escorted by the Australian destroyer Arunta. She would put a torpedo into the Malaita, but later be found ten miles southeast of Port Moresby by the Arunta and hit with Mark VII depth charges, sinking the boat and killing all of her 70 man crew. Yet fate had ordained that she would not make that appointment on the 29th. The Australians had lost Port Moresby and neither the Malaita nor the Arunta were anywhere near the area now. Instead Ro-33 was three days early to the grinning smile of death, where he waited for her on a ship the like of which Kuriyama had never seen. But with torpedoes that could fire at a very long range, he would not go down without a fight that evening.
Four Type 95 torpedoes were in the tubes before Tasarov found the sub, hovering silently, some 15,000 meters off the exit to the Pandora Passage. He had been just making ready to cease active sonar when his well trained ear caught a return that sounded much different from the echoes of rock and shoal he had been processing for the last hour. No…This was different, and it had a sinister edge to it. He immediately announced possible submarine, confidence high, and designated the contact Alpha One, feeding targeting information to Samsonov.
Karpov was quickly on alert, as the ship was still in the Pandora Passage making a slow ten knots and with no room to maneuver at the moment. He noted that the KA-40 had just completed its mine laying operations and was over the ship again, preparing to land.
“Comm Officer. Send to the KA-40. Belay the landing order and move to a position ahead of the ship to begin ASW operations, alert level 1.” Then he looked to Fedorov. “Will this sub need to be in close as the others we’ve encountered?”
Fedorov had been leaning over his old navigation station working with a junior officer there to make the final course adjustment to clear the passage. The word submarine jarred him as well, and he suddenly realized the danger they were in.
“No!” he said sharply. “They may very well have the Type 95 torpedo. It has tremendous range and this boat could fire at us the moment he sees us. The closer the better, of course, but there were instances where Japanese submarines fired from 12,000 meters.”
He was all too correct. Tasarov sat up suddenly, one hand on his headset, and called out another warning. “Con, I have torpedoes in the water! One, three, no, make that four torpedoes inbound at over 40 knots!”
“Samsonov, activate forward UDAV-2 system,” said Karpov sharply. “Fire a barrage at maximum range. Now!” Unable to maneuver the ship, Karpov was going to immediately use the powerful 300kg rockets to lay down a barrage of fire in the sea ahead of the ship as a defensive barrier. It was a good idea, the very same weapon they had used to blast away at the minefields in Bonifacio Strait, and again when they were fired on by the German U-Boat off Fornells Bay, Menorca in the Med, but it was ill timed. The explosive barrier had expended itself before the torpedoes reached the 3000 meter range mark, and they pressed on through the churning waters, all aimed for the exit of the Pandora Passage where Kirov lumbered forward at 10 knots.
If they had been homing torpedoes, the ship would have be dealt a mortal blow then and there. But these were torpedoes that ran where they were pointed, with a unique kerosene-oxygen fuel that made them very reliable and gave them tremendous range. They did tend to wander, left or right, but no more than 270 yards at maximum range. Kuriyama had fired all four of his forward tubes to account for wander, and was hopeful that at least one of his lances would strike home with its big 406 kilogram warhead, all of 893 pounds.
He was not disappointed.
While the two torpedoes on the outermost portion of his fan of four were both well wide, the center two were running true. The left torpedo had the misfortune to scud against a submerged rock, and the collision sent it wildly off to one side, and well away from the target before it struck the Ashmore Reef and exploded. The last came in on Kirov’s port side, and in spite of a quick 5 point turn intended to evade it, the torpedo was close enough to the hull and exploded amidships, the powerful concussion rolling the ship heavily.
Lights winked on the main bridge, and then went to red briefly until the emergency battery backup systems kicked in and the electronics sputtered to life again. The sudden loss of power to the CIC meant Samsonov could not select the next weapon Karpov wanted to call for, the lethal Shkval super-cavitating torpedo that had made a quick end of the Submarine Talisman in the Med as they neared Gibraltar.
But the KA-40 already had dipping sonar in the water ahead of them, and had enough data from the ship’s telemetry before they began to prosecute to get a good bearing on the hidden enemy’s position. It fired back an airborne ASW active/passive acoustic homing torpedo, the APR-5, with a warhead much smaller than the type 95 at only 76 kilograms. It was quick to the target with its solid-fuel pump-jet propulsion engine, and minutes later it found Ro-33 while the crews in the forward torpedo room were rushing to seal the hatches on another round of fresh Type 95s.
Kuriyama was allowed that brief moment of elation when he saw the high water spout of the explosion on the side of the oncoming ship. Then he felt his submarine shake violently when the APR-5 struck it right on the nose, exploding and setting off all four of the fresh Type 95’s there as well. The front of the sub was virtually ripped apart, and every man aboard quickly met the fate they evaded at the hands of the destroyer Arunta, only three days early.
Mother Time was balancing her books.
* * *
Kirov had almost avoided the hit. The torpedo actually was triggered by a small stabilizing fin extending perpendicular from the hull called the ‘UK-134-6’ system, designed to minimize roll and create a more stable missile firing platform. The reinforced metal work there actually helped the ship, though they lost the entire port side stabilizing fin. As it was the warhead did not strike the ship full on, but detonated near the hull at her widest point abeam, where the 100mm anti-torpedo bulwark had been built to provide some protection and help deflect and absorb the explosive power of the torpedo. Behind the bulwark was a void filled with seawater, another 50mm armor plate and then the inner hull. The 406kg warhead was powerful enough to blast through them all, ripping an eight foot gash in the ship and sending a cascade of seawater into two interior compartments.
Flood control alarms sounded all over the ship as water tight doors were automatically shut and crewmen scrambled to seal all hatches. Damage control parties were on the move at once in a wel
l drilled routine that the men never once thought they would have to practice in reality. Yet reality had a hard bite at times, and Kirov was wounded, a hit far worse than the bomb that had grazed her, and even more threatening than the incredible damage inflicted by Hayashi’s headlong dive with his D3A1. Damage below the waterline was the bane of every sea captain for centuries. Two things could kill a ship faster than anything else: fire above was one of them, but water below was feared even more.
Directly above the area hit was the Korall–BN2 module that was integrated with the Combat Information System to control the P-900 cruise missiles Karpov had just used against Kirishima. It was hit by fragments of metal and put off line. A small boat mounted on the weather deck also suffered slight damage, but the threat was deeper in the bowels of the ship, where water had forced its way to a point two bulkheads away from the reactor core. The crews fought to get pumps active at once while Byko was coolly directing their efforts. In time they managed to pump most of the water that had penetrated beyond the outermost compartments, but those two sections were fully flooded, and it would take divers in the water with metal hull sealers to close the compartment from the outside before they could hope to use the pumps again on that area.
It was going to be another long night.
When the news came up to the Bridge Fedorov knew they had again been very lucky. “Had it struck us full on amidships the damage could have been fatal,” he said.
“We’re listing a few degrees to port,” said Karpov. “It’s very slight, but I can sense it. We won’t be able to make anything much over this speed until we seal that hull breach. So if that battleship and its hound dog cruisers behind us get close again, I’m afraid we’re going to have to get serious, in spite of our missile inventories.”
The power stabilized, and the mains came back on, the quiet hum of the equipment reassuring. Then they heard a distant explosion, deep and powerful immediately followed by another as if a Thunder God had struck a great kettle drum in anger. Fedorov’s eyes were drawn to the Tin Man video feed where they could see the shadowy silhouette of the Japanese battleship against the sun. It seemed shrouded in mist. Then he saw a huge column of water rise up near one side of the ship and he immediately realized that the enemy must be in the mined Prince of Wales Channel, the narrow 800 meter wide segment where the KA-40 had laid her eggs, the six MDM-3 anti-shipping mines.
“I think that battleship struck one of our mines!” he said, somewhat relieved. He was wrong. Kirishima had run afoul of two of the powerful MDM-3s, both on the starboard side of the ship, and the combined weight of their explosive power was all of 3000 kilograms, over 6600 pounds! The hull shock factor of the twin explosions was tremendous. The shock effect to the ship itself was enough to shake it so violently that the engines and boilers were detached from their iron moorings and thrown against the bulkheads of their compartments. The crew were flung madly about, hundreds stunned an unconscious, limbs broken, necks snapped, skulls fractured. It was as if the hand of God had simply reached down and smashed a fist against the side of the great ship, bashing a hole in her side in spite of the heavy armor, and sending in the cobalt blue and aqua green waters of the sea.
Kirishima was dying a very painful death, as if a sleek and powerful shark had been seized upon and slammed down on the hardest of rocks. On the bridge the supply officer Kobayashi was dead, his spine broken when he was thrown against the edge of an open hatch. Secondary battery commander Ikeda would not get a chance to test his gunnery skills if Kirishima could have ever managed to get within 18,000 yards. Main gunnery officer Koshino was below in the damaged forward turret trying to get it operational again, unconscious but alive. XO Koro Ono had been out on the weather bridge and was thrown completely off the ship.
But amazingly, one man survived unscathed, bruised, shocked, but alive and livid with rage. Captain Sanji Iwabuchi struggled back up onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath. He could feel the heavy list of the ship, and when his mind cleared he instinctively called the name Yoshino, his flood control officer. He had seen no rockets this time. What had happened? His dazed mind would not function properly, but his instincts told him the ship had been dealt a fatal blow.
Thankfully not every man aboard was incapacitated, and small parties of white coated junior officers were making their way to the bridge. The ship was clearly sinking, but she had little more than seven meters of water beneath her at that moment and not far to go. She settled quickly, her hard metal hull scudding against the bottom and then rolled heavily to starboard, her tall pagoda main mast tilted crazily beyond thirty degrees. With a horrid grinding of metal on stone, Kirishima came to rest in the shallow reefs just south of the main channel, and there she would lie for a good long while. With most of her port side weather deck and superstructure still well above the water line. She would never meet with the US battleships Washington and North Carolina in the equally dangerous waters off Guadalcanal, and never founder and sink to the bottom of Iron Bottom Sound on the day she was appointed to die, November 15, 1942.
When Iwabuchi finally realized what had happened he reluctantly gave the order to abandon ship. Two of his cruisers had tried to find passages farther north, leaving the main channel to Kirishima. The last cruiser, the Tone, had finally caught up and joined his task force that evening. She was two kilometers behind the big battleship, ready to enter the channel, but now her captain ordered all stop, amazed at the spectacle of the battleship keeling over just ahead.
“I will transfer my flag to Tone,” said Iwabuchi angrily to a nearby officer. “See that the Emperor’s portrait is handled properly and notify me when it is safely aboard a life boat. I will follow.”
The venerable battleship would block the channel completely, and now he knew that the enemy was likely to slip away into the gathering shadows to the east. But I will follow, Mizuchi, he said to himself, a cold anger in his gut. Yes, I will follow….
Part VII
The Long Night
“Not the torturer will scare me,
nor the body’s final fall,
nor the barrels of death’s rifles,
nor the shadows on the wall,
nor the night when to the ground
the last dim star of pain is hurled,
but the blind indifference
of a merciless, unfeeling world.
—Roger Waters
Chapter 19
Kirov moved slowly south into the gathering darkness, the sun blazoning gold behind her, and the threat of distant storm clouds fisting up over the shadowy green folds of Papua New Guinea to the north. They moved south for an hour, then slowed to five knots so Byko could get divers in the water with acetylene torches and hull sealing plates.
This was a new innovation the Russians had developed in 2018, designed specifically for waterborne ship hulls. It was a series of panels that could be placed on the exterior hull to cover a gash or hole. They had elastic sealing edges to eliminate caulking and pre-drilled joining holes with rivets that could be mounted at specific points along the existing hull and then secured by durable welds. The panels were four feet by eight feet, and the wound in Kirov’s hull required three to create a patch that was eight feet high by twelve feet wide. Once in place Byko could then activate pumps to void the flooded compartments of seawater, and then men could get inside that area to further reinforce the breach from within. That work would take considerably longer, but at least the ship could get underway with the exterior patch in place.
It took the divers over an hour to cut away jagged metal with underwater torches and prepare the area for the seal, and then another ninety minutes before the panels were in place. They had the KA-40 up behind the ship watching for signs of further activity from the Torres Straits, but the obvious presence of mines in the channels there had forced the Japanese to wait for destroyers to come up from Hara’s carrier force to sweep the area before capital ships could be risked again in the restricted waters. The lesson of Kirishima’s fate
was evident for all to see, though Iwabuchi steamed aboard the cruiser Tone, angry at the delay. There were also a thousand men aboard Kirishima, in no danger of sinking further, but marooned on a derelict ship that would be an easy target for allied B-17s out of Cairns or Townsville. Hara’s A6M2 fighters were up at dusk over the stranded battleship, until darkness lessened the threat.
In the meantime, the crew of Kirov used the time feverishly to complete hull repairs and make the ship seaworthy for higher speeds. They were making the last of the welds on the hull patch when Rodenko reported he had something more than storm clouds on his radar at 21:20 hours, a signal out of the east that appeared to be a small formation of planes.
“Those will have to be out of Port Moresby,” said Fedorov. “Most likely Japanese bombers, or perhaps seaplanes out on a search pattern.”
They were, indeed, a squadron of G3M2 twin engine “Nell” bombers that had been sent to look for the enemy ship near dusk and mark its position. There were twelve in all, and they were flying a widely spaced search fan out of Port Moresby to the west, grouped in four shotai of three planes each. Only one of the three had been mounted with torpedoes, however, so the threat was not as great as it first appeared on radar.
Third shotai was lucky, or unlucky enough to be on a search vector that took them directly toward Kirov, and Fedorov could see that the other planes were on headings intended to cover areas north and south of their position. They considered whether or not to engage at long range, but realized that would simply reveal their position. So they waited, hoping that the enemy planes might not find them, but they were soon disappointed. Three planes began to descend in altitude, obviously getting down to make a possible torpedo run, and Karpov, with a free hand insofar as tactical defense of the ship was concerned, decided it would be best take them out with missiles from the Klinok system. The aft silos were void now but they still had nineteen missiles in the forward deck silos. He used three, downing all three planes at a range of ten miles.
Kirov III-Pacific Storm (Kirov Series) Page 18