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

by James Young

  Jacob watched as Massachusetts continued her turn to starboard, away from Houston. Oil trailed in the battleship's wake, and Jacob could see her starting to list to port from the two torpedo hits. Smoke poured from her superstructure as her guns gradually fell silent, the Japanese strike fleeing east.

  That Jap bastard didn't even flinch.

  Looking down, Jacob saw his hands were shaking once more. Clasping them, he turned to look over the rest of the formation. The Indiana was also burning, but did not appear to have taken any severe damage. Repulse, on the other hand, was burning profusely forward and noticeably down by the stern.

  We did not come out of this well. Looks like Vice Admiral Fletcher's bait plan worked all too well.

  "Sir, the XO is asking for us to come about and cut speed!"

  The replacement talker's words yanked Jacob out of his bitter thoughts.

  "Slow her to one third ahead," Jacob ordered. "Then signal the Hudson or any other available DD to please help us by maintaining an anti-submarine watch."

  "Aye aye, sir," the talker replied.

  We're no longer venting steam. She's still handling okay, so I'm going to assume that we still have steerage.

  "Commander Farmer, I think it's time we returned to the bridge," Jacob said, stepping aside as a casualty detail began taking the dead off the top of the pilot house.

  "Yes, sir, that's probably a good plan," Farmer replied, his voice pained. Jacob looked closer and saw the man's left arm was quite obviously broken.

  "You need to see the surgeon," Jacob stated.

  "I'll be all right sir," Farmer replied. "I think you've got far worse casualties to worry about."

  "Wasn't a request, Commander," Jacob stated firmly. "Get to the sick bay. I don't want to see you back without a sling."

  Farmer briefly looked as if he wanted to argue, then gave a curt nod.

  "Thank you, Commander," Jacob stated. "For your actions during the fight as well."

  This time the nod was one of respect.

  "You fought a fine ship, sir," Farmer replied, then headed for the ladder. Jacob watched as the man very gingerly made his way down into the superstructure. A few moments later he followed and stepped onto Houston's bridge, only to nearly slip in a pool of blood.

  "Sorry sir," Lieutenant Ness said apologetically, then looked around for some means to clean up the mess.

  "We've got it, sir," a petty officer called out, stepping onto the bridge with a bucket. Jacob watched as the man began covering the spot with it. As the adrenaline wore off, Jacob became more aware of his own injuries.

  My head is fucking killing me. I will never have to be talked into a steel helmet again.

  "Have the department heads provide me with a casualty report," Jacob ordered. "I need to speak with Lieutenant Haven."

  "Sir, Lieutenant Haven is dead," Ensign O'Rourke, the Houston's assistant damage control officer, reported from the port bridge hatch. The man's chest was heaving from exertion. "The XO respectfully requests that we come to a halt so that we can shore up bulkheads, otherwise we may lose the forward engine room due to progressive flooding from the hit forward."

  I don't have to like it, but I'm going to have to do it.

  "Hoist the Mike flag," Jacob ordered, referring to the signal that would inform surrounding ships the Houston was adrift but not disabled. "Helm, full stop."

  As the crew began carrying out his orders, Jacob reached for his binoculars.

  "Goddammit," he said, feeling a sharp pain that caused him to release them. Looking down, Jacob saw that the left binocular tube had been gouged open by either a fragment or a passing shell. The tube was empty of everything but a few stubborn shards.

  "Sir, you're bleeding," Lieutenant Ness the man said, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Jacob gave his thanks and took it, pulling the binoculars over his head and depositing them atop the rubbish bin in the bridge corner. By the time he turned around, Ness was handing over his own binoculars.

  "No, you need those," Jacob stated, then turned to the still waiting Ensign O'Rourke. The officer's face looked a little less ruddy as he was regaining his breath.

  "Okay, how bad are we hit?" Jacob asked, listening to the sound of crackling flames and shouts for hoses.

  "Sir, I don't know the full extent," O'Rourke said. "But there's no passage down the deck due to the blaze, the bulkhead between fireroom number and engine room number one is seeping fuel oil and water."

  "What happened to Lieutenant Haven?" Jacob asked.

  "He was with the damage control party in the compartment the bomb exploded in," O'Rourke said. "We still have sound powered telephone communication with Battle Two and the black gang are receiving the bridge's telegraph inputs."

  Jacob winced.

  I don't even want to know what the casualty report already looks like. But so far it seems like we can still talk and still fight if we have to.

  "Go aft to Battle Two and tell Commander Sloan his priority is that fire," Jacob said. "We don't need to be a signpost in case there's another wave of Japanese."

  "Aye aye, sir," O'Rourke responded, turning and quickly making his way down to the main deck.

  Jacob turned to Lieutenant Ness. "OOD, you have the conn, I'm going to radio to figure out what in the hell is going on with the rest of the task force."

  "Yes sir," Ness replied. The deck below their feet vibrated, and Jacob looked out to see the main battery first elevating, then the turrets rotating.

  Yes, indeed, we can fight her if it comes to that.

  Once more, he looked to the Massachusetts, now stopped with her list visibly increasing.

  Which might be better than that big lady is doing.

  I.J.N.S. Akagi

  1245 Local (0315 Eastern)

  "Sir, the strike will be returning in twenty minutes," Rear Admiral Kaku said.

  Vice Admiral Yamaguchi turned from watching the destroyer Akigumo transfer pilots via breeches buoy across to the Kido Butai's flagship.

  Lucky men, every one of them. Even luckier that Fletcher nor a submarine interrupted us mid-transfer.

  The breeches buoy required both ships to steam in a straight line, in parallel, while the occupants were passed between the vessels. A submarine or strike would have meant an immediate and likely fatal separation between the two ships. Watching the Akigumo bob next to the Akagi, Yamaguchi hoped the men involved had iron stomachs.

  "Have someone go wake Commander Fuchida," Yamaguchi stated wearily.

  "Already done, sir," Kaku stated solemnly.

  He too knows how badly Fuchida's strike was mauled

  A wave of nausea passed over Yamaguchi as he thought about the casualty report.

  Three quarters of the Shidens lost due to fuel exhaustion. Half the Suiseis. Half the Tenzans.

  Yamaguchi would have admired his British counterpart's masterful trap had it not all but emasculated his force's striking power. Instead, he struggled to control his rage lest it lead to him doing something foolish.

  It is most fortunate for that man, whomever he may be, that the Americans are bearing down on me. I would love nothing more than to take the aircraft remaining from my strike at Fletcher to truly end the Royal Navy's presence in the Indian Ocean.

  His temples started to throw to throb as he considered his current impotence.

  "Sir, Vice Admiral Ozawa has responded to our message," Kaku stated. "He cannot come south more than 100 miles. The damnable army is behind on their timelines, as the British are resisting almost fanatically."

  Gee, perhaps our treatment of prisoners in the Dutch East Indies has something to do with that? Or maybe the fact those Army barbarians raped almost every woman under sixty in the Chinese quarter of Singapore, so the natives on Ceylon have no idea what to expect?

  Allegedly Admiral Yamamoto had personally told the Imperial Army General Staff that the Navy would leave their troops to rot on Ceylon if similar atrocities took place. While that might have been apocryp
hal, Yamaguchi doubted the British had received the memo.

  "Then we will fight Fletcher as best we can with what we have remaining," Yamaguchi said, hoping his words conveyed more confidence than fatalism.

  "Hai," Kaku responded.

  Regardless, we will die like samurai. If only we had a report from the strike against Fletcher's surface vessels. Commander Sadamu's last transmission had been that he was initiating an attack and that the escorting fighters had eliminated the CAP over the battleships. The ominous silence led Yamaguchi to believe that Hiryu would need a new commander air group.

  "Sir!" one of the staff officers shouted, rushing in. "The Shokaku! Her fires are out!"

  "What?" Yamaguchi asked, looking at Kaku. The two men both rushed outside to look towards the Akagi's stern. In the distance, they could see that the report was mostly correct. Defying all odds, the Shokaku continued to stream only a slight bit of white smoke rather than the dark stream that had been pouring from her almost non-stop for several hours. Yamaguchi brought up his binoculars to further assess the carrier’s damage.

  Her deck is a ruin. But she continues to sail, thankfully.

  "If the American torpedoes worked…" Kaku began.

  "If the American torpedoes worked, Shokaku would have died with her sister at Hawaii," Yamaguchi cut him off. "Let us hope they never fix those problems."

  "Sir, you asked to see me?" a familiar, if much frailer, voice said from the compartment's hatch.

  Yamaguchi turned to look at the Akagi’s CAG, fighting to keep a frown off of his face.

  Fuchida must rest if we survive this. I should have stuck with my original thought there was no way he should be flying today.

  The Akagi's CAG had insisted he should fly to coordinate the Kido Butai’s strike. The man was pale from blood loss, an evasive maneuver and flak having reopened his wounds. He had required an emergency transfusion upon landing on the Akagi and been confined to the sick bay until summoned.

  "Yes," Yamaguchi said. "Someone find Commander Fuchida a chair."

  The staff sprang to his orders, and Fuchida sunk into the furniture without protest.

  The fact Fuchida is willing to accept a chair tells me just how badly hurt he is.

  "Sir, when will we launch our strike against the American carriers?" Fuchida asked, his voice just loud enough for Yamaguchi to hear.

  "You will not be leading it, Commander," Yamaguchi stated, his tone brooking no argument. "We will assess what damage we've done to their battleships first."

  Fuchida looked like he wanted to argue, but lacked sufficient energy.

  "The strike group is in sight!"

  Kaku and Yamaguchi looked at one another, then moved as one to the bridge wing once more. Both men braced themselves as the Akagi began to turn into the wind.

  Captain Aoki is apparently trying to minimize the carrier's predictability, Yamaguchi thought, struggling to retain his footing as the Akagi heeled over. He reflexively glanced to where the Akigumo had been and was relieved to see the destroyer had already begun transitioning to a station on the outside of the Kido Butai's screen.

  The destroyers will have to refuel. Especially with the screen spread…shit.

  "Rear Admiral Kaku, what vessels did we leave with the Soryu?" Yamaguchi asked, narrowing his eyes as he quickly swiveled around the screen.

  "The Agano, Chikuma, and four destroyers," Kaku stated. The Chikuma is preparing to launch her next search to try and find the American carriers."

  Yamaguchi nodded, then brought up his binoculars.

  "Well, looks like some of the squadrons are coming back sooner than others," he stated. Kaku murmured his agreement, also scanning the returning group.

  It was only after fifteen minutes passed that Yamaguchi’s pulse began to race. As the first Tenzan lined up "into the slot," he turned to Kaku. His chief of staff's face reflected the worry that was almost surely on his own.

  "Where is the rest of the strike force?" he asked. "Did Soryu recover some aircraft?"

  "We will find out immediately," Kaku said, his voice strained. He strode into the bridge, shouting as Yamaguchi turned back to watch the torpedo bomber, slightly weaving, line up on the Akagi's deck lights.

  He's too low.

  The shouts from other observers on Akagi's island told Yamaguchi several others shared in his assessment. As the landing officer began screaming below, the Tenzan pilot made a radical correction and just barely slammed his bomber down onto the Akagi's deck. The bomber's arrester hook caught, but the engine continued to roar before it was belatedly cut.

  By the gods…

  The torpedo’s rear cockpit was shattered, with the savaged remains of the tail gunner still holding what was left of the rear gun. The observer was nowhere to be found, but the bloodstained fuselage and peppered empennage didn’t bode well for his survival either.

  "What is the matter with that idiot?!" Kaku asked, then cursed as he too realized what had happened to the aircraft. As the crews rushed forward, the pilot ripped his seat belt off and stood up, screaming and flinging his helmet at the Akagi's bridge. The first crew chief to reach him attempted to render assistance and collected a blow to the head for his troubles. The crazed man continued to scream expletives, his eyes wild as he began ripping off his life jacket, then threw his navigational chart at another member of the deck crew.

  "He's gone mad," Kaku noted. Clearly that opinion was shared by several others, as a contingent of crew rushed towards the pilot and tackled him. It took five or six men to finally drag the inconsolate man down, the sound of his screams drowned out as the next Tenzan roared low over the Akagi's deck.

  "I want the senior surviving officer to report to me immediately," Yamaguchi ordered. "I also want a report on how many aircraft the Soryu recovered. I will be in my flag cabin."

  As he turned to walk away, Yamaguchi hoped no one realized how close he was to vomiting. Nodding to the orderly outside his hatch, he stepped through it and closed the entry behind him. Only then did he allow his knees to buckle as he dropped to the deck.

  We are lost.

  Bile rose in his throat as he considered what had apparently happened, his doubt frantic. It was only through the greatest effort that he prevented himself from vomiting as he stood, then staggered to his desk. Dropping into his chair, Yamaguchi put his face into his hands. For several long minutes, he gave into his despair, shoulders shaking as he drew quaking breaths.

  The victor of Hawaii. Undone by his arrogance and stupidity.

  Even as he berated himself, Yamaguchi realized he was being an idiot.

  Think how to get out of the trap, Tamon. Nothing else is important.

  Once more, Yamaguchi considered what factors were involved. His pilots had savaged the Royal Navy. The majority of his force could continue to steam at high speed. Even with his four carriers untouched, Fletcher's air groups had not come through the morning unscathed. Ozawa was to his north, and as humiliating as it was, the Kido Butai would have to flee towards him.

  I will likely lose the Soryu, but I do not need to sacrifice cruisers with her. Especially given the Vinson bill and what is coming.

  Yamaguchi’s thoughts turned to the shipyards he had seen during his assignment to the United States.

  It is fortunate indeed the Germans forced the British to provide fleet assets in the Atlantic. If we had to fight the USN solely by ourselves, we would drown in an overwhelming tide.

  The knock on the hatch broke him out of those dour ruminations. Taking a moment to compose himself, Yamaguchi sat up straighter at his desk.

  "Enter!" he barked.

  That the strike's senior survivor was a lieutenant whom he did not recognize nearly sent Yamaguchi back into a tailspin of despair. The young man looked shell shocked, as if he had watched his comrades eaten by some great monster. Nearly staggering as he came forward, the lieutenant regained his equilibrium, came to attention, and saluted.

  "Lieutenant Minase reporting, sir," the man said. Kaku w
alked in behind the young officer just in time for Minase to mutter a curse, turn, and suddenly vomit on the chief of staff's shoes. The rear admiral looked at the man in shock, even as the lieutenant stepped back in horror and bowed while muttering apologies.

  "You idiot!" Kaku began.

  "It's all right Lieutenant Minase," Yamaguchi said, standing up and motioning for his chief of staff to back away. "Orderly, have the surgeon get some sake for this man."

  Ten minutes later, as sailors scrubbed where Minase had lost his lunch and the surgeon was handing him a second glass of sake, Yamaguchi gently prodded him to start talking. After a few moments, the dive bomber pilot started his account.

  "The escorts cleared the enemy fighters," Minase said, shaking. "It appeared that it would be like Hawaii all over again."

  Yamaguchi saw tears starting to form in the man's eyes.

  "We went in first, to clear the way for the Tenzans…"

  As Minase recounted the attack on the Allied fleet, Yamaguchi began to make mental notes.

  I wish there was some way we could have sent a camera.

  The Kido Butai had correspondents, but most of them had gone to document the first strike on the British. Seeing the attack unfold would have told him a great deal about the American defenses.

  "Thank you, lieutenant," Yamaguchi said when Minase was done. The junior officer nodded, finished his sake, then bowed. Yamaguchi watched him go, then waited until the orderlies and his flag lieutenant left also, the latter closing the hatch behind him.

  "Order the Chikuma to detach from the Soryu," Yamaguchi ordered.

  "Sir?" Kaku asked, aghast.

  "She cannot keep up with the rest of the force," Yamaguchi stated. "I cannot launch another strike, not in the face of those defenses."

  "Sir, we can…"

  "We can what, Kaku?" Yamaguchi snapped. "Throw more pilots we can't replace into a cauldron? This battle is over, and we must save what we can."