Against the Tide Imperial: The Struggle for Ceylon (The Usurper's War: An Alternative World War II Book 3)

by James Young

  “Sir?” Rear Admiral Hara asked from beside him. Vice Admiral Yamaguchi turned to regard the man.

  “Walk with me,” Yamaguchi stated. He gave both their aides a stern look that clearly indicated the invitation did not extend to them.

  “I wager you cautioned against even starting a plan that did not take into account our opponents’ use of this new invention ‘radar,’ didn’t you?” Yamaguchi asked once they were halfway to Akagi’s bow.

  “Hai,” Hara replied, clearly uncomfortable.

  “Then why did Kaku ignore you?” Yamaguchi pressed.

  “He believed, with proper timing, that we could stay outside of the enemy’s range, then close to launch a dusk strike on Ceylon,” Hara stated.

  Yamaguchi turned to him, eyes wide.

  “Where did he expect our pilots to land?” Yamaguchi asked, his voice rising. Hara looked at him in some shock.

  “Sir, our pilots are qualified to land at night.”

  While factual, surely I am not the only one who can see the debacle that would become, Yamaguchi thought, clenching his fists.

  “Yes, and if I wanted to kill one out of every ten of them, it’d be much more efficient to just go belowdecks with a pistol right now,” he spat, then extended his finger. “You and Kaku-san will figure out a plan that has us striking at midday, not dusk. I do not care if we have to nearly empty the destroyers’ fuel tanks rushing in at high speed.”

  Hara gave a short neck bow.

  “Also, I will state this now,” Vice Admiral Yamaguchi said, suddenly having an epiphany. “If we sight enemy ships while we are attacking Ceylon, we will launch on them immediately.”

  Hara nodded again, his face clearly showing his disapproval.

  “Our primary targets are carriers,” Yamaguchi explained. “If we only hole their flight decks on the first strike, we can still surely launch another before they repair from that one.”

  “But sir, what of the battleships reported to be with Fletcher’s force?” Hara asked.

  “Even with the Sandaburo warheads that were sunk en route to Singapore, I am confident we have more than enough weapons to destroy the carriers," Yamaguchi stated. "The battleships are not going to steam over two hundred miles and attack us once we damage their carriers and remove their air cover."

  Rear Admiral Hara looked as if he was considering disagreeing with his commander, but reconsidered.

  Sandaburo warheads had been manufactured based on a chemical formula shared by the German Kriegsmarine with the Imperial Japanese Navy. The Germans, in turn, had obtained it from the British as part of the Treaty of Kent.

  “I will inform the staff of your orders, sir,” Hara said stiffly, coming to attention and saluting.

  Yamaguchi returned the salute, watching as the man moved back to the Akagi’s island. He turned back forward to see a pair of minesweepers making a depth charge attack on a suspected contact two miles off of the Haruna’s port bow. The Kido Butai’s own destroyers were not participating, the vessels’ captains adhering to their orders to save ordnance for the battle group’s journey into the Indian Ocean.

  If only we could put the Sandaburo explosives on our depth charges, Yamaguchi mused. I am sure the Americans would truly be so grateful that their allies had given us the means to enhance our ordnance then. Whether something had been lost in the multiple transfers, the Germans had not shared the full formula, or a combination thereof, the Japanese ordnance factories had been unable to manufacture enough of the explosives for torpedoes and anti-submarine weapons. The maru which had been blasted into oblivion on the way to Singapore had been carrying almost two months’ worth of production.

  Stupid American submarines, Yamaguchi seethed. What kind of idiot attacks a cargo ship escorted by three destroyers?

  Looking out into the Strait of Malacca, the Japanese Vice Admiral took a deep breath and shook his head.

  The same kind of idiot who attacks an entire task force by himself, that’s who, he thought, recalling how the Zuikaku had been lost. Which is why those minesweepers are probably busy murdering whales and fish.

  Twelve hours after the Kido Butai had passed through the Straits of Malacca, in the evening’s darkness, the Strait’s waters bubbled and frothed. In the center of the maelstrom of bubbles and expelled water, a dark shape pierced the ocean’s surface. In the gloom of the darkened, cloudy sky, the hull of the H.M.C.S. Torbay was barely visible despite the glistening water pouring from the hull.

  As its hatch clanged open, the Torbay’s crew rushed towards their deck gun. With her air so fouled that many of the crew had lost consciousness, the submarine’s commander was unable to even countenance attempting to flee underwater. Having waited until long after the screws of the various light craft clearing the strait had passed, the Torbay was going to go down fighting on the surface if the need arose. But first, she would transmit the news of the massive, dangerous monster that had passed overhead.

  Several long, tense minutes later, her message having been transmitted three times as the submarine made her way southward under diesel power while charging her batteries, the vessel’s commander finally breathed a long, shuddering sigh of relief. Regardless of what happened, Torbay had achieved her mission. The lack of similar transmissions from her sister ship, H.M.C.S. Truculent, led the Torbay’s crew to consider their fellow sailors’ likely fate.

  “Set course for Darwin,” Torbay’s skipper said. “I don’t think Ceylon would be a good place to visit anytime soon for any of Her Majesty’s Ships.”

  U.S.S. Plunger

  1000 Local (1600 Eastern)

  Midway Island

  4 August

  “Sir, I’m not saying that I necessarily think what you did was wrong,” Chief Petty Officer McClaughlin said as he leaned against the Plunger’s bridge railing. “I just think telling Rear Admiral Graham we could head back out without a refit wasn’t a good idea.”

  Nick took a deep breath and watched a gooney bird come in for an awkward landing. The sea fowl made one of the ass over tea kettle touchdowns it was known for, then quickly got back to its feet like nothing had happened.

  “Out with it, XO,” Commander Emerson said.

  “Sir, I’m in agreement with Chief,” Nick said simply. He gestured towards the Plunger’s stern. “Our hull may not technically be holed back there, but the divers mentioned we’ve clearly got some buckles and spots where she’s going to start leaking soon–”

  “That’s old age,” Emerson snapped.

  “Sir, that’s getting the shit depth charged out of us at least three times since the war began,” Chief replied, his tone rising. “Yes, she’s an older boat, but it’s hardly like this is a Sugar boat or the damn Nautilus.”

  He looked sheepishly over at Nick.

  “Sorry sir,” he said.

  “No problem, Chief,” Nick replied. “The old lady gave us good service.”

  Commander Emerson fumed while Chief McLaughlin and Nick finished their exchange. More worrisome, the Plunger’s commander seemed to be considering his next words carefully. For such an outspoken man, that meant what was coming next was probably going to be a doozy.

  “Lieutenant Cobb, has it occurred to you that a long time in the yard may lead to your reassignment to Stateside construction?” Emerson asked.

  That wasn’t what I expected him to say.

  “Given your past achievements, it may even lead to you being assigned to a War Bond tour.”

  Nick could almost feel Chief McLaughlin’s eyes upon him. Both the Chief and Commander Emerson were well aware that Nick had just barely managed to get out of Pearl in front of reassignment orders straight from the Navy Department. Given the Navy’s string of losses in both the Atlantic and Pacific, the service’s image was taking quite a beating. It was apparent that some individuals wanted a feel good story to sell to the nation. Whereas the Nautilus’s former CO, Commander Jason Freeman, had been reassigned as U.S.S. Herring’s master and was thus unavailable, there were plenty
of lieutenants available for reassignment to Plunger.

  That confirms part of the reason we rushed out of Pearl last time was to keep me out ahead of the public relations posse. Which is kind of a shitty thing to do to the crew at large, but there it is.

  “Sir, while the thought of getting stuck at Mare Island exhorting a bunch of construction workers to do their utmost does strike me as a fate worse than death,” Nick said drily, “I’d rather do that than actually kill the crew.”

  Commander Emerson’s face colored.

  Might have pressed a little too hard on that one, Nick realized. But it needed to be said.

  “Sir, if the Fulton could fix us, I’d be all for it,” Chief McLaughlin said, gesturing to where the submarine tender lay anchored. There were already four submarines tied up alongside the large vessel, with two of the pigboats taking on torpedoes as the Plunger’s command team had their huddle.

  Emerson’s lips pursed until they were almost white, and a vein throbbed in his neck.

  To be honest, maybe it’s time you took a rest also.

  “I will inform Captain Davis that, in the opinion of my XO and Chief of the Boat, the Plunger is materially defective,” Commander Emerson bit out. “I am sure we will receive subsequent orders to return to Pearl Harbor for repairs.”

  “Sir, I–” Nick began.

  “Both of you are dismissed,” Emerson cut him off. “Please allow me time to receive our follow on orders before informing any members of the crew or the wardroom.”

  Both Nick and Chief McClaughlin came to attention and saluted. Commander Emerson returned the salute crisply, at which point Nick and Chief McLaughlin both made their way down to the Plunger’s deck, then off the boat.

  It was a tense ten minutes as they walked, Nick returning the salutes of other submarine crewmen and passing Marines. Even though scuttlebutt had it that the Japanese Fleet was away in the Indian Ocean, the reinforced USMC battalion that garrisoned Midway seemed to be in a state of constant preparation and anticipation. The roar of a flight of Wildcats passing overhead at medium altitude caused Nick to spare a thought to Sam and David.

  Looks like I might be joining those idiots in Seattle soon.

  “Sir, permission to speak in confidence,” Chief McLaughlin nearly hissed.

  “Yes, I think he’s dangerously close to a crack up also,” Nick said without preamble.

  Chief McLaughlin nodded, exhaling heavily in relief.

  “Thank you, sir, for backing me up. I understand how much you do not want to be trapped back on the mainland.”

  “I want to be lying on the bottom of the ocean even less,” Nick stated. “Despite the protestations I occasionally may make.”

  “Do you think that they’ll actually send you back now?” Chief McLaughlin asked.

  “If Rear Admiral Graham has his way? No. Commanding officers can claim needs of the service to a point, and I think Vice Admiral Halsey will back him up.”

  Chief McLaughlin nodded at that statement as the men reached the water’s edge.

  “How soon do you think it will be until Vice Admiral Halsey’s replacement arrives?”

  “To be frank, Chief, I thought his replacement would already be at Pearl,” Nick stated. “Vice Admiral Halsey doesn’t strike me as the type of man who needs to be manning a desk. While he’s not Commander Emerson aggressive, Vice Admiral Halsey’s an attacker.”

  “Interesting that we haven’t been attacking, then,” Chief McLaughlin said.

  Nick shrugged.

  “We started to attack and the Japanese sent the California and those two escort carriers to the bottom,” Nick observed. “There’s also that rumor that something big is about to happen in the Indian Ocean, plus the damn German submarines continue to cause all sorts of problems off the East Coast and near the Canal Zone.”

  Nick looked out over the Pacific and took a deep breath.

  “For all we know, someone is attacking,” he stated. “Just not us at the moment.”

  U.S.S. Houston

  0545 Local (2245 Eastern)

  100 Miles Northeast of Mogadishu

  5 August (4 August)

  I think we’re about to rouse some folks from a misplaced sense of security, Jacob thought, gazing astern as the Houston made a lazy turn to starboard in the predawn darkness. Especially if they weren’t, for instance, expecting surface ships to come a callin’.

  Task Force 25, as the new surface group was now called, was a much stronger force than the one that had terrorized the Mozambique Channel. In addition to the heavy cruiser’s normal companions, the large, hulking shapes of the U.S.S. Massachusetts and U.S.S. Indiana now loomed astern of the H.M.C.S. Repulse. Although both battleships’ crews were just slightly less green than a bed of kelp, their eighteen 16-inch guns more than tripled TF 25’s available firepower.

  Certainly makes a potential encounter with what the Italians allegedly have in Mogadishu a little more even. The two new cruisers that came up with them will also help. The Baltimore was a heavy cruiser like Houston, while the Tallahassee was a “light” cruiser that displaced over 2,000-tons more than Jacob’s vessel.

  “I must say, sir, Vice Admiral Fletcher has surprised me somewhat with his aggression,” Commander Farmer observed.

  Jacob detected a slight sense of nervousness in the man’s voice, and the British officer busily scanned the skies to the west.

  “Well, I don’t pretend to be able to read Vice Admiral Fletcher’s mind,” Jacob observed. “But I do think the possibility of an Italian Fleet gathering behind us finally became something he just couldn’t ignore.”

  Farmer gave a curt nod.

  “I must say, however, that Vice Admiral Cunningham would have appreciated knowing of Fletcher’s intent to raid Mogadishu before the rest of the fleet departed for the Maldives. Especially with the Japanese sighted entering the Indian Ocean a week ago.”

  Well, maybe Vice Admiral Cunningham shouldn’t have explicitly questioned Vice Admiral Fletcher’s courage, Jacob thought. Especially since it’s the damn Prince of Wales’ short legs that have him concerned half the time. It was not hard to see the differences in British and American design philosophies with regards to their capital vessels and expected range. Having an Empire the sun never set on meant the Prince of Wales’ designers had assumed all Royal Navy vessels would be within easy distance of a friendly port. The Indian Ocean’s vastness and South Africa’s recalcitrance had shown that assumption’s inherent errors. The range problem had been further exacerbated by several crew practices with regards to not using certain fuel tanks.

  I don’t care how worried they are about seawater getting into the boilers, you can’t just opt not to use thirty percent of your battleship’s fuel.

  “I think it’s precisely that carrier battle that has Vice Admiral Fletcher deciding it’s time to get the Italians out of Mogadishu,” Jacob replied. “With Victorious, Ark Royal, and Eagle, he has three carriers to the four the Japanese are expected to bring, plus the aircraft on Ceylon. I think the odds are much better than even.”

  Further discussion was cut off by furious signaling from the Massachusetts.

  “Looks like our friends are on radar,” Jacob noted. “Now here’s to hoping the Italian or German in question isn’t blind.”

  Farmer looked at the rapidly lightening sky above their head.

  “I think it would have to be almost a divine curse, like something out of the Old Testament, to miss a fleet this size,” the British officer said grimly.

  Very true, with three capital ships in this task force. But had to put something sufficiently large to be able to take care of itself if it came to that out here. Besides, if the enemy’s swinging at us, they’re going to miss the carriers.

  One hundred miles to the northeast, the U.S.S. Yorktown and Enterprise lurked with their escorts. Unbeknownst to Commander Farmer or any other British officer, the new carriers Bonhomme Richard and Independence were roughly sixty miles to that group’s south and movin
g at high speed to join up.

  Interesting how Second Fleet snuck half their strength all the way down the Atlantic, then around the Cape of Good Hope without anyone noticing, Jacob thought. Even if Vice Admiral Fletcher's been explicitly ordered not to subject those forces to 'undue risk.'

  “I almost feel sorry for the poor bastards when that spotting report arrives,” Jacob observed. “Going to have to make some hard decisions at that point.”

  The general intent was for the search aircraft’s report to flush anything in Mogadishu out into the open water for TF 25 to deal with. This was preferable to aircraft attempting to put torpedoes into vessels moored in a harbor with torpedo nets up and arrayed.

  Assuming we can find the enemy once he puts to sea. That’s not always as easy as the flyboys make it sound. Or, for that matter, that what’s in the harbor is what the intelligence types think.

  “Well, we’ve got the right commander for the job,” Commander Farmer said. “Vice Admiral Godfrey will chase the Italians all the way to Mombasa or Port Said depending on which way they go.”

  Jacob nodded his agreement even as he tried not to think what had happened to the last Commonwealth admiral that chased an Axis fleet.

  Admiral Phillips died with his spurs on at least.

  "I must say, while the added tonnage was a bit of a surprise, your new South Dakota vessels have certainly made nice gifts for Admiral Godfrey," Farmer observed.

  Jacob kept his face passive as the British officer's biting tone. Vice Admiral Godfrey had been expecting a routine tanking operation after departing Madagascar's vicinity. Instead, a significant portion of the United States Navy’s Atlantic Fleet had shown up at the rendezvous point.

  Then again, Rear Admiral Lee did defer to Gordon's experience and place his vessel's under the man's command, Jacob thought. That probably helped smooth the waters.

  "Here's to hoping we get a chance to see who did a better job packing a battleship into treaty tonnage," Jacob replied. "