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

by James Young

  "Good call, Constanza," he replied, reaching up and sliding the cockpit shut. The dark clouds in front of them continued to swell in the windscreen, and for a brief moment he was back aboard a different Dauntless entering a squall over another ocean. Shaking his head to force away the memory, Eric forced himself to relax.

  Just a storm. You've flown through squalls before. It's just a another…

  What happened when the Dauntless was still five miles away from entering the cloud swiftly disabused him of that notion. One moment he was in level flight. The next a giant's fist was shoving the dive bomber's nose down in a flat descent so sudden it made the entire airframe shudder and creak. The impact of his legs into his lap belt was so sharp and sudden he cried out involuntarily, even as his pilot instincts kicked in and he brought the nose up. It was only his conscious brain catching up that prevented him from advancing the throttle, as just as suddenly the Dauntless soared upwards from an updraft.

  Then the world was a cacophony of darkness, lightning flashes, and rain lashing at the dive bomber. Through the noise of their ten minute transit in the heart of the storm, as his arms and legs grew sore fighting the dive bomber through updrafts, Eric could hear Constanza screaming in terror from the rear seat, then gradually descending into helpless sobbing as the Dauntless nearly flipped over a half dozen times. In each instance, he managed to fight the updraft or downdraft just long enough to avoid an inevitable death plunge. It was only on the final iteration, as the plane hovered vibrating on the edge of a stall, that he briefly considered jettisoning the 1,000-lb. bomb that made its handling so much more precarious.

  I did not come this far to turn around and leave.

  His resolve wavered as the dive bomber hung vibrating on the edge of a stall. Fighting his fear, his bladder screaming for relief, Eric fought the dive bomber back to level.

  Don’t know if I can do that…wait, we’re coming out.

  Eric looked over the rainbow hue briefly wreathing his propeller as sunlight caught on moisture. Beyond he could see the Indian Ocean’s majesty, blue waters stretching off into the horizon. Pulse racing from adrenaline, any thoughts of fatigue gone, Eric felt a sense of awe even as Costanza continued to sob incoherently.

  What a time to be alive.

  "Constanza," Eric said, fighting the urge to yell at his gunner. He repeated the man’s name more firmly as the teenager continued to panic in the rear cockpit.

  Like calming a startled horse.

  To Eric's relief, the sobbing gradually stopped.

  "Yes sir," Constanza said, then yelped as the Dauntless bucked with turbulence again.

  "I need you to help me find the rest of the squadron," Eric stated, once more trying to keep his voice from being too severe. "Get out your binoculars and scan from nine to four, I'll take from nine to three."

  There was the sound of shuffling equipment in the rear cockpit, then a moment later Constanza attempting to shove his canopy forward. The gunner strained mightily in the Dauntless' rear cockpit, and Eric began to grow concerned until, with a large snap!, whatever was obstructing the canopy's passage gave and it slammed forward. Opening his own canopy, Eric was struck in the face by the warm moisture coming off of the Dauntless' nose and into the cockpit.

  Like a dog shaking itself off from the pond. Maybe I should have taken Secretary Knox's offer and stayed back home. Probably be married with a kid on the way by now.

  "Sir, I don't see anyone," Constanza said, his tone worried. "Are we the only ones left?"

  Wouldn't be the first time a storm ate an entire squadron, would it?

  Eric’s stomach churned as he considered the possibilities.

  Goddammit Charles, you better have gone back home if you're not coming out this side.

  "We'll give it five minutes," Eric said, setting course towards where he believed the rally point might be. Five minutes later, just as he was getting ready to give up hope and set off towards the Japanese carrier by himself, Eric spotted several dots descending from the heavens above.

  "Constanza!" he barked after several seconds of nothing from the rear cockpit.

  "Yes sir?" Constanza asked nervously as Eric put the Dauntless into a gentle turn.

  "Get your damn guns out!" Eric ordered. "Never, ever assume bogeys are friendly."

  "What bo…oh shit!" Constanza said. Eric gritted his teeth as he heard the twin machine guns being taken out of their stowage and hurriedly prepared for combat. Already Eric could tell the eight shapes were not Dauntless from the speed of their closure. With great relief, he quickly recognized the Hellcats' outline. The two flights of fighters zoomed over his Dauntless while waggling their wings.

  "Sir! I've got three…no five Dauntlesses astern!"

  Eric turned and saw the aircraft behind him. As the small strike group joined up, he felt his spirits soar as he sighted Blue Two and Three. The pair of pilots were trailing Yellow section. As the group joined up with him, Eric realized he was the senior officer present and the clock was not on their side.

  "Constanza, signal all aircraft we're going to go find that carrier and then go home," Eric said. He heard Constanza grabbing his signal lamp, followed by clicking back and forth between Constanza and Yellow One's tail gunner.

  "Sir, Yellow One is ready to follow you," Constanza said as the Hellcats began flying a protective weave overhead. Eric brought his nose around to the southeast, hoping that he had guessed correctly which way the storm had blown them. Fifteen minutes later, he was not disappointed, as he could see the glittering hue of floating oil beneath them.

  Like a gutshot deer indeed. Well, time to go put Bambi's Mom out of her misery.

  "Sir, more Dauntlesses!" Constanza said, pointing off to their south.

  Dear Lord, please let Lieutenant Commander Brigante be among them, Eric thought, looking at the three approaching planes.

  Two minutes later, in a sure sign that maybe he should be on better terms with the chaplain, Eric watched as Red One swung around to take the formation lead. He also noted that only one of the other bombers was part of the original Red section.

  Hoping the Japanese can't call up any more divine weather. Or maybe I just need to accept God's not playing favorites today.

  I.J.N.S. Soryu

  1415 Local (0605 Eastern)

  "You there! Pilot! You need to put out that cigarette!"

  Isoro took a deep drag of the cigarette in question before turning around to see who was shouting at him from halfway down the Soryu's flight deck. Seeing a mere ensign striding towards him, he exhaled the smoke in his lungs like an angry dragon.

  This carrier smells like someone set fire to a meat shop, she's so low in the water I feel like I nearly ditched rather than landed, and I'm sitting here twiddling my thumbs while they refuel my fighter.

  Isoro took another defiant drag of the cigarette as he watched the man continuing to close.

  But yes, let's talk about how my one cigarette on an open flight deck may be the demise of us all.

  "Are you deaf, you idiot?" the ensign screamed, his face starting to color as he strode forward. Although Isoro was sure the man was probably only a couple of years younger than him, the junior officer's outraged demeanor and ill fitting helmet made the gap seem much larger.

  I am about to cuff you like we are back on the school yard.

  Isoro took yet another drag, then again exhaled upwards so the man would see it. The ensign, truly incensed, began moving even quicker.

  "I will kill you…" the man shouted , starting to break into a sprint down the Soryu's damaged deck. Isoro was aware of several men turning from the gun tubs at the spoken threat. He ignored them and continued to focus on the stouter, shorter man he was about to come to blows with. To his shock, the officer stopped, looking past him.

  "Ensign Tokugawa, I think that striking a superior officer would not improve your day," a wholly unfamiliar voice said from behind Isoro. "Even if you win, Vice Admiral Yamaguchi would have you flogged for removing Lieutenant
Honda's services during this battle."

  Isoro turned around to see another pilot, likewise outfitted in his flight suit and helmet, standing looking at the scene with a bemused expression. Face expressionless, Isoro took another drag of the cigarette, then turned to look at the ensign.

  "As for you, Lieutenant Honda, clearly you cannot smell the fuel fumes coming from below," the man observed, looking at the cigarette in Isoro's hands. "I know it's likely because of the charred flesh, but I assure you the fuel truck refueling our fighters has a very impressive leak."

  Isoro considered the man speaking, then the cigarette in his hands. He stubbed the latter out on his life jacket, then placed the unsmoked half in his pocket. Ensign Tokugawa, satisfied that the problem was solved, pointedly looked at the man next to Isoro before bowing and turning back towards Soryu's island.

  "Forgive me, I do not recognize you…" Isoro said.

  "Lieutenant Iyozoh Fujita," the man said, then added with a slight smile. "I am not surprised you do not know of me. The leader often does not see those who are giving chase."

  Isoro found himself smiling as well.

  "I believe Warrant Officer Nishizawa holds that distinction," Isoro replied. "Especially after this morning."

  "Glad to see someone had a decent flight then," Fujita replied, his face clouding. "The new American fighters were a very unpleasant surprise."

  "Yes, yes they were," Isoro replied. "I ended up taking a swim."

  I am just glad I did not face them in a Zero, he left in his thoughts.

  "At least your carrier did not get hit," Fujita observed. "While I am glad that Soryu is still nominally functional, I can only hope those worsening storms between us and the Americans will keep them at bay."

  "The torpedo pilots claim to have sunk a battleship and severely damaged the Repulse," Isoro replied. "Maybe that has given the Americans pause."

  Fujita looked astern.

  "We can only hope so," the other pilot replied. "I don't know how bad the casualties were aboard Akagi, but it appeared the Kaga air group got very shot up attacking the surface vessels before I returned here."

  Isoro shrugged.

  "I was busy getting into dry clothes," he said. "Then I was told I was to fly a chutai of Shinden over here. Last I saw the Soryu, I did not think she would be conducting flight operations anytime soon."

  Fujita pursed his lips and was silent for several seconds. Isoro could see the man struggling to hold in his emotions.

  "I am told the damage control measures were arduous and we were quite fortunate our executive officer hoarded wood for the flight deck," Fujita stated. "The fires were intense but we managed to get them out. It was the casualties that were problematic."

  I'd imagine a hundred or so burn victims would indeed be a problem.

  He glanced to the newly repaired portion of the flight deck. He was about to speak when the carrier's after elevator began cycling.

  "We shall see which one of us gets to take off first," Fujita said with a smile.

  "I would expect that the hangar crew would take care of their own first," Isoro replied. "Especially since they're more familiar with your Zeroes."

  "Perhaps," Fujita said. "Unless their mothers taught them to take care of guests first and foremost."

  Isoro laughed at that.

  "That is a very fair observation," he replied, then grew pensive as he looked up at the sky. "I will be honest, I do miss the Zero's range. We'll be back here almost twice as many times as you will."

  "I am sure that you'll be sent back to the Akagi after this," Fujita said somberly. "Quite frankly, I am surprised that you were sent to reinforce us at all."

  "Vice Admiral Yamaguchi is doing his utmost to save every carrier he can," Isoro said. "You are in far better shape than the Shokaku. She burned for hours and her flight deck is completely gone."

  Fujita visibly shuddered at that report.

  "The stench aboard her must be terrible," the pilot noted. "Any word on casualties?"

  "I understand many of the air group's support personnel are dead," Isoro replied. "I overheard that as Rear Admiral Kaku was taking my report."

  "Your report?" Fujita asked.

  "I was asked about the new American fighters," Isoro replied with a shrug. Looking over as the elevator rose, he smiled. "It looks like your hangar crews have manners after all."

  Fujita glanced over and smiled himself as the plane handlers shoved the third Shiden in Isoro's scratch chutai astern off the elevator.

  "Well, you've hardly been down long enough for the engine to get cold, so looks like you'll be taking off shortly," Fujita stated, envy dripping off every word.

  Isoro scoffed.

  "The less the engines are run, the better," he said. "They can be very temperamental."

  Fujita shook his head.

  "But look at how fast you are and how well they accelerate," he said, gesturing as Isoro's fighter was brought up on the center elevator followed by the final member of his chutai being brought up astern. "Even with temperamental engines, it is a major improvement over the Zero."

  "Be careful talking about your lover that way," Isoro said, looking around in mock horror. "She'll abandon you when you least expect it."

  Fujita rolled his eyes.

  "My lover has a salty face when the only thing she can do is outturn enemy fighters," Fujita stated, then nodded his head at the plane handler gesturing towards Isoro. "But it appears your lover's manservant wishes to get the door."

  "May neither of us score anymore today," Isoro solemnly, looking up at the partially cloudy sky.

  "Indeed," Fujita said. "Hopefully the cruiser plane those lucky bastards from Hiryu shot down will allow us to get away."

  With that, the two men bowed to one another. Isoro saw his wingmen, Warrant Officer Okamoto and Petty Officer Takahashi already going through their pre-flight routine. Moving at a rapid walk that was just short of a run, Isoro clambered up into this own Shiden. He quickly ran through an abbreviated preflight, then looked down Soryu's flight deck for the signal to launch. As the carrier's bow made the slight adjustment to port to come fully into the wind, Isoro considered the visibly patched portions of her deck.

  They flew off what remained of the air group and several fighters have already landed and taken off today. Why am I sitting here nervous my fighter might fall through the planks?

  Isoro glanced at the smoke plume wafting back from the carrier's bow to help the helm align fully into the wind. Seeing it align down the center of the deck, Isoro shook off his feeling of foreboding.

  That's as good a wind as we're going to get.

  The Shiden shook with the Soryu’s hull vibrations as the flattop increased her speed. Judging the wind over the flight deck to be sufficient, the carrier's air officer hoisted the white flag with a black ball. In a carefully choreographed dance, the flight crews removed the chock blocks beneath all three fighters. This was followed by the island hoisting a plain white flag that granted Isoro permission to launch.

  At long last.

  Isoro released his brakes and advanced his throttle to the limit.

  Thank goodness for that strong wind out of the east. Otherwise this might be a very difficult launch given Soryu’s condition.

  Even with the wind, Isoro could tell the heavy Shiden was going to use all of the Soryu’s flight deck. It was when he was three quarters of the way there that he saw activity out of the corner of his eye in the gun galleries, with men pointing upwards and barrels starting to elevate. He glanced upwards and nearly peed himself at the glint of sunlight off cockpit glass.

  What in the…helldivers!

  Wisely Isoro did not panic, continuing his normal take off even as the carrier began to change her helm over. He swore that the Shiden didn’t take off so much as Soryu's deck heeled over just beneath his fighter. With Isoro out of the way, the guns all along the flight deck began opening up in a ripple of fire as Soryu began turning to port.

  Where did they
come from?

  Isoro again glanced upwards. He immediately regretted that decision, as it seemed like a long snake of SBDs was falling from a sky just darkening with flak. Concentrating on operating his landing gear switches, Isoro briefly sensed a shadow passing across his rear view mirror as first one, then two waterspouts erupted just off the Soryu's starboard side before a third bomb hit the carrier forward on her flight deck.

  "Chikusho!" Isoro cursed as debris arced past this fighter. With his gear up and airspeed well above stalling, he slammed the Shiden into a turn. The maneuver saved his life as the fourth dive bomber turned and attempted to draw a bead on his Shiden as it pulled out of its dive. Behind the SBD, the American's 1,000-lb. bomb obliterated Okamoto's fighter in a brilliant orange fireball.

  You son of a whore!

  Isoro felt the Shiden's controls start to vibrate as he approached stall speed. The offending SBD, realizing that discretion was the better part of valor, turned away. Isoro leveled off as he headed south to clear the Agano's anti-aircraft fire, making continued glances upwards to see if any more Americans were diving on the Soryu.

  Where in the Hell did they come from?

  A quick glance around revealed smoke trails across the sky at altitude and a final section of Dauntlesses pulling out of their attacks. Behind them, the Soryu convulsed from at least two more blasts.

  She's done for.

  Isoro’s eyes burned with unshed tears of frustration, rage, and mourning. Gritting his teeth, he began a gentle turn around to the west.

  Now to find that bastard who dared to attack a samurai.

  Isoro's assessment was more or less correct. The American air strike, taking advantage of the scattered clouds over the Soryu and her escorts, had stalked to the carrier's north. Detaching from the dive bombers, the Bonhomme Richard's fighters had bounced six of the Zeroes on CAP to clear a path for the Yorktown's strike group. Due to those fighters notoriously finicky radios, the only warning the rest of the CAP had that Americans were about was the descending comets from the two dying chutai. Just like their American counterparts attempting to cover TF 25 earlier that day, the remaining three Zeroes and same number of Shiden were too busy fighting for their lives to either warn the surface vessels or interfere with the Dauntlesses.