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

by James Young

  Yamaguchi grunted at that.

  “Cornered rats, my friend,” he replied. “You and I both know the Army will take no prisoners once they storm the island.”

  Kaku nodded, his face passive. Yamaguchi was aware his chief of staff believed such a course of action was proper given the extended supply lines.

  It is unfortunately he cannot see what it does to the enemy’s willingness to fight. None of the zealots can.

  “Do you still wish to hold back a second strike, sir?” Kaku asked, politely changing the topic.

  “Yes,” Yamaguchi snapped, then caught himself. “If Fuchida is correct, there is only the Illustrious to our south. I still want to have something to throw at Fletcher when he makes his appearance.”

  I can only imagine how complicated this would be if we also had to account for land attacks from Ceylon or suppress the island's garrison.

  Yamaguchi once more ran through the timing in his head.

  At least this way we can immediately begin preparing our second strike in anticipation of Fletcher being sighted or the need to hit the British again. Torpedoes and bombs do not care what flag a warship is flying, after all.

  Thinking of torpedoes made Yamaguchi consider another factor.

  “How many Sandaburo torpedoes do we have left?” he asked.

  “The first strike will have the last of the weapons,” Kaku replied.

  “I hope that damn American submarine captain hit a mine on the way home,” Yamaguchi snarled.

  “It is unfortunate our pilots were so zealous in going after the battleships as well as the carriers,” Kaku stated.

  “Fuchida-san said the Illustrious was still on the edge of a squall,” Yamaguchi replied, defending the Akagi’s CAG. “Warspite and Malaya are old, but I will take either of them being destroyed rather than a continued threat.”

  “I hope the weather gods do not smile as fortuitously on Illustrious today,” Kaku observed.

  “The weather gods can smile on whom they please at this point,” Yamaguchi replied. “Unless she’s underneath a hurricane, we will sink her with the first strike or the second."

  As if on cue, there was the sound of rain falling on the Akagi’s flight deck. Yamaguchi fought the urge to head up towards the bridge and look out at the squall

  If I go up to the bridge, the staff will feel the need to wake up. I need them fresh, if only for another hour.

  “Do not have the pilots man their planes until the rain stops,” Yamaguchi ordered. “Turn us back northward to buy us some time.”

  “Yes admiral,” Kaku said. “This will also give the searchers more time to find the Illustrious.”

  Yamaguchi could have kicked himself.

  I am tired and not thinking clearly.

  “I do not think Fletcher would be in range yet,” he said aloud. “However, better to be safe about it. Tell the staff good work for not becoming overly focused like their admiral did.”

  “Yes sir,” Kaku replied with a small bow. “Due to our losses, the staff believed it prudent to only use the seaplanes and maximize our strikes.”

  U.S.S. Houston

  0535 Local (1920 Eastern)

  Northern Indian Ocean

  10 August (9 August)

  I wish I was in Hawaii right now, Jacob thought as he completed his circuit of the Houston’s deck. Probably a wonderful afternoon to sit on the back porch with Jo and just read something from the library.

  He moved aside in the predawn gloom as one of the heavy cruiser’s damage control parties passed aft.

  “Morning captain,” the chief petty officer in charge greeted him.

  “Morning chief,” Jacob replied, then quickly added, “Carry on.”

  Wonder what they’re doing? He wondered briefly, then cleared the question from his mind. Damage control was not his job anymore, fighting the Houston was.

  If the XO and Lieutenant Haven have a plan, best to leave them to it.

  Haven, the Houston's damage control officer, had been one of the wardroom's replacements after the Dutch East Indies. Trained at the school only established in November '42 to take advantage of what the Royal Navy had shared, the young officer had relentlessly trained the heavy cruiser's damage control parties.

  Here's to hoping that man has no opportunity to put theory into practice.

  Jacob climbed the ladder to the bridge, took a deep breath, and stepped into the structure.

  “Captain on the bridge!”

  “At ease,” Jacob said. “What’s the latest from the Yorktown?”

  I hope I sound way more rested than I actually am.

  He’d had a terrible night’s sleep, especially given the last signal from the Repulse.

  Not sure if I like the idea of being a forward picket, but we’ll see how that works out for us. When the Yorktown turned south into the wind, the Massachusetts, Repulse, Houston, and four destroyers were going to continue moving to the east. They’d join the Indiana, Exeter, and four more destroyers to reform TF 25. Ostensibly their mission was to be prepared to close with the suspected enemy carrier force and finish off what the air strike did not kill. However, Jacob strongly suspected their real purpose was to be so tempting a target that the Japanese split their own return strike.

  Bait. We’re about to be freakin’ bait.

  “The last signal from Yorktown is that she will be conducting launch operations in ten minutes,” Lieutenant Ness reported crisply. “The XO left strict instructions to go to General Quarters at that time, but no sooner.”

  Which is why Commander Sloan is probably one of the best XOs this vessel has ever had. Myself included.

  “Commander Sloan also left instructions to inform you we are ready in all respects for a surface action,” Lieutenant Ness stated. “Barring your countermanding orders, he has directed the main battery to load armor-piercing.”

  “Well, I think that will certainly work against carriers if the flyboys get lucky and cripple one,” Jacob said.

  Too bad our secondaries are loaded with those fancy new shells that were sent over from the Mauna Loa.

  The new ammunition’s mechanism was apparently secret, with a the manual on its use restricted to Jacob, Commander Sloan, and Lieutenant Commander Willoughby’s eyes only. Called the “variable time” fuse, the new shells apparently used radio signals to detonate in close proximity to attacking bombers rather than at a set altitude. Only available in 5-inch shells, it was supposed to make the Houston’s secondary guns more lethal.

  I’ll believe it when I see it. It also makes the shells quite useless against enemy surface vessels, so here’s to hoping we and everyone else have time to change out fuses if the enemy’s closer than we think.

  “Looks like there’s a fair bit of weather developing to our east,” Commander Farmer observed as she stepped onto the Houston’s bridge. The man’s voice was calm and he appeared back to his unflappable self on a quick examination. It was only when he met Jacob’s gaze that the façade flickered for a moment.

  “Indeed,” Jacob replied. “I hope the flyboys don’t get lost.”

  “Well, the American flyboys, that is,” Farmer replied grimly. “If it keeps the Japanese from finding us, that’s a bonus.”

  “Sir, signal from the Massachusetts,” the talker said. “Prepare to execute separation.”

  “I’m not familiar with how your aircraft carriers conduct operations, sir,” Farmer stated. “What exactly are you blokes doing?”

  “Usually its searchers first, then a strike at whatever they find,” Jacob replied. “But apparently your snoopers’ positions were considered accurate enough to swing at.”

  “I hope the staff aren’t wrong,” Farmer replied.

  “Sir, the Massachusetts is coming about,” the OOD reported, pointing. Jacob nodded, seeing the signal coming from the big battleship a few moments later.

  “That tears it then,” he said, then quickly issued orders to the helm. As the Houston’s own bow swung to the new heading, he spared a gl
ance towards the Yorktown.

  There are a bunch of young men getting ready to go die aboard that flight deck. That is madness. Give me broadsides any day of the week.

  “Sir! The Massachusetts reports a radar contact, bearing oh eight oh true, just at the edge of her scope.”

  Jacob turned to the talker even as he tried to do the geometry in his head.

  Good on the Massachusetts using a true bearing as we’re all turning in this formation.

  “That’s got to be a searcher,” Farmer observed. “Which means either they launched very early this morning…”

  “Or we’re even closer than we think,” Jacob replied, lips pressed in a thin line.

  I need to visualize this on a map.

  “Lieutenant Ness, you have the conn,” he barked after a moment. He quickly walked to the Houston’s tactical plot, Farmer close behind him. The group that had been maintaining the hasty bridge plot parted, and he looked down at the map.

  “If that aircraft is coming directly from his carriers, they turned sometime in the last hour,” Jacob said after a few moments. “If he’s not on the outward leg, then we have serious problems.”

  “That or the Japanese are running a ridiculously short search arc,” Farmer noted.

  “Sir, the Independence is vectoring CAP towards the bogey,” the talker reported.

  Jacob noted it was slowly getting lighter outside the Houston’s bridge. Even so, he did not envy the fighters attempting to find and shoot down the Japanese search aircraft.

  Only good thing about that is we’re going to be hard to see before the fighters get to him. First thing he’ll see is wakes.

  “What is the Yorktown doing?” he asked.

  “Continuing to launch, sir,” the talker reported back after a moment. “No signals reported from her.”

  “Sir, the Massachusetts is signaling twenty-five knots,” Lieutenant Ness reported.

  “She’s rather fast for a large lady,” Farmer muttered.

  “We’ve got places to be, looks like,” Jacob remarked, feeling the Houston’s own engines starting to grow louder. The cruiser’s deck vibrated beneath his feet as she began gathering speed.

  We’re going to need a long refit after this cruise. While we haven’t taken any damage yet, we’ve been driving the old girl hard.

  It was a tense twenty minutes as the CAP began to head towards the still closing contact. The swirling colors of dawn were readily apparent as the pair of F6Fs off of the Independence finally found the Japanese aircraft. Less than two minutes after that, the Japanese aircraft was falling to the Indian Ocean…just as another contact was reported.

  “I think our opponents are going to figure out very fast that we’re here and what direction we are approaching,” Farmer said. “Search planes disappearing in a given area is a sure sign of enemy action.”

  Only if their staff is on the ball.

  The sound of several aircraft flying overhead was audible even over the Houston’s own engines. Jacob quickly walked out to the starboard bridge wing just in time to see the receding group of planes in the brightening sky.

  Godspeed men, he thought, once more cognizant that he was seeing pilots heading to their own executions. It was impossible to confirm in the poor light, but a look at the paint scheme led him to believe the aircraft were the Bonhomme Richard’s. Bringing his gaze down to sea level, Jacob realized he could now easily make out the other vessels of TF 25 in the gloom.

  “Going to be a long day, sir,” Farmer said, standing beside him.

  “Very long indeed,” Jacob replied.

  7

  The Neutrality of Electrons

  The art of war on land is an art of genius, of inspiration. In that of the sea there is nothing of genius or inspiration. The general of the sea has need of only one science, that of navigation. The one on land has need of them all."

  Napoleon Bonaparte

  Akagi Combat Air Patrol

  0710 Local (2140 Eastern)

  Northern Indian Ocean

  10 August (9 August)

  Isoro shook himself violently, fighting the fatigue that had once more caused his head to droop downwards. Taking one hand off the throttle, Isoro smacked his leg several times, attempting to get his blood flowing faster.

  This CAP has just begun, he thought angrily.

  Looking down, Isoro briefly considered the stimulant pills in his flight suit pocket before deciding against them.

  I will need them if enemy aircraft show up. They make me jittery anyway.

  Isoro took a deep breath as he brought the stick over into a gentle turn. The Kido Butai was laid out in its usual box formation ten thousand feet below him, both line of carriers slowly curving back to the east after spending a little over an hour steaming south into the wind.

  Part of me wishes I was flying with that strike.

  He looked down as he crossed over the , crossing over the Hiei and Kirishima. The two veteran battleships’ turrets were swinging back and forth as their gunnery officers conducted final checks.

  Then again, there cannot be that many enemy fighters left after yesterday.

  Allegedly the staff had changed the duty carrier roster from Hiryu and Soryu because the Second Division had more available strike aircraft after the previous day’s efforts. Isoro could believe it having seen how many of the First Division's dive and torpedo bombers had staggered back from the third strike.

  Even more frightening is how many would have been lost without the modifications to the fuel tanks and pilot armor. I wonder how Soryu and Hiryu’s fighter squadrons fared yesterday with the old Zeros.

  His radio crackled, jerking him out of his his distraction. Looking around, Isoro sheepishly realized his chutai had flown ten miles further south than he’d planned.

  Dammit, maybe I should take some of those pills… he had time to think before his blood ran cold.

  “Attention! Attention! Many enemy aircraft inbound, two eight oh true!”

  As the Akagi repeated the warning, Isoro brought his Shiden’s nose around and started to climb. Once the fighter was trimmed and rising, he snapped his oxygen mask closed and ensured that he had a good flow. Belatedly, he remembered the pills. Once more, he reconsidered whether he needed them, then laughed at his stupidity. It was quick work unsnapping his mask, gulping down the two pills, then resnapping.

  Well I guess we have found the Americans.

  Isoro looked left and right for other chutai to join up on. Below, the Kido Butai began turning once more into the wind, black smoke pouring from funnels as the vessels accelerated.

  They're coming from the slightly northwest. At least the carriers can both open the distance and launch reinforcements.

  Roughly ten thousand feet below and twenty-five miles away from Isoro, Vice Admiral Yamaguchi was looking at the map in front of him as the Kido Butai’s staff reacted with near panic.

  “One at a time!” Rear Admiral Kaku roared at the staff. His shout brought a momentary calm to the Akagi’s flag spaces.

  “First, what was the response from the Kirishima regarding her search aircraft?” Kaku asked.

  “They cannot raise three of their scouts,” a harried commander replied, the man’s skin almost pale. “They simply believed the aircraft were maintaining radio silence.”

  If we survive the next hour, we must figure out a way to make sure that never happens again. Or a way for the aircraft to know that it is being detected by radar.

  He dimly recalled their German allies mentioning some sort of countermeasure device aboard their submarines, but pushed the thought away as unimportant at the moment.

  “How long until the Second and Third divisions can launch?” Yamaguchi asked, still looking out the bridge windows.

  “The Second Division reports they will be able to launch as soon as we finish coming back into the wind,” Kaku replied, turning from the staff. “Third Division had not warmed up their aircraft and will need more time.”

  That is not a suff
icient time!

  “Have all carriers launch what aircraft they have available." Yamaguchi ordered. "They will land and recover after the American strike. Fighters will augment the combat air patrol as they launch."

  “Sir?” Kaku asked, his eyes wide.

  “Fletcher has launched an attack against us from two flight decks,” Yamaguchi said, his face saturnine as he regarded his chief of staff. “Wildcats lack range to escort, so our CAP will have an advantage if they launch now. We cannot get Shokaku or Taiho's strike aircraft warmed up and launched in time, so we must take this first attack."

  "Understood," Kaku said, then quickly bowed. "Sorry Vice Admiral." With that, the Chief of Staff turned and began issuing Yamaguchi's orders over the din of Akagi starting to launch her emergency CAP.

  I need to know where Fletcher is, right now, Yamaguchi realized.

  "Have the Second Division set aside two chutai of Zeroes and one of torpedo bombers to follow the American strike home after they strike," Yamaguchi said.

  "Yes sir," Kaku replied.

  They will also likely die getting me the information we need. At least coming in behind a returning strike they will be harder to sort out as hostile.

  A runner burst into the compartment just as Kaku was beginning to issue Yamaguchi's orders.

  "Haruna #3 reported it was under attack before going off the air," the breathless ensign reported.

  "Where, you idiot?!" Kaku exploded. Yamaguchi walked the ensign's face fall briefly, then brighten as he remembered the sheet of paper in his hand. Before he could respond, a commander snatched the paper from him and cuffed him on the head, shouting at the man to learn to report properly before striding over to the map.

  "Listen to me, you fools," Kaku barked at the two men he'd been speaking with. Yamaguchi ignored his chief of staff, moving to consult the chart as the commander hurriedly plotted the position report.

  Well at least one thing is going correctly.

  The crew of Haruna #3, almost certainly dead, had provided a very important last service for the Emperor.