On Seas So Crimson

by James Young

  Today is just full of surprises, Tamon thought to himself, feeling numb even as Kondo and Ugaki began to replace his epaulettes. Looking across the compartment, he saw that not everyone was as enthusiastic as the Combined Fleet’s senior officers. Indeed, Rear Admiral Ryunosuke Kusaka, the Kido Butai’s chief of staff, looked as if he had just had a full lemon shoved into his mouth.

  I may need to think about staff changes, Yamaguchi thought grimly. Kusaka has always been far too cautious, and I am sure he has some belief that this job should be his. He had no more time to consider things as the compartment’s occupants came one by one to congratulate the Imperial Japanese Navy’s newest Vice Admiral.

  “Now, let us continue,” Admiral Yamamoto said once everyone had shaken Yamaguchi’s hand.

  “With the six carriers reinforced by Hiyo and Junyo’s air groups, I will likely sink three battleships if I face them at sea…” Yamaguchi began.

  “That is a very optimistic estimate,” Kondo interrupted him. “This will be much different than attacking these same vessels in harbor!”

  “I will launch over three hundred aircraft,” Yamaguchi replied simply. “Since I no longer have to worry about attempting to destroy battleships with level attacks, all of my torpedo bombers will be available to attack.”

  “Yes, and they will likely cause grave damage. But to sink three battleships?” Kondo replied. Yamaguchi was about to respond when Admiral Yamamoto cleared his throat.

  “Captain Sugiura, now would be as good a time as any to give your briefing,” Admiral Yamamoto said, gesturing towards a tall, slender officer standing in the back of the room. Yamaguchi had never met the man, but was familiar with his work as one of the IJN’s foremost torpedo experts. The officer bowed slightly towards Admiral Yamamoto, clearly nervous.

  “Honored superiors,” Sugiura began, his voice trembling “superior,” “I was sent to Germany along with Vice Admiral Nagumo. As per the Treaty of Kent, the Royal Navy was forced to share technical data with the Kriegsmarine. One of the projects that the British was working on was a new explosive substance for their torpedoes which was far superior to anything either the Germans or our mission had seen.”

  There was the noise of chairs moving along the deck as most of the Japanese officers shifted. The IJN, as a force that expected to be outnumbered in any war it fought, had long believed itself the foremost experts in all aspects of torpedo warfare.

  “The British called this experimental warhead material TORPEX in all of their documents,” Sugiura continued. “Our navy has determined to call it Sandaburo, and it is roughly one and a half times as powerful as the compound we currently use.”

  “How soon can we begin producing this material?” Vice Admiral Kondo asked. “Can you fit it to our destroyer and cruiser torpedoes?”

  “The explosive is complicated,” Admiral Yamamoto answered for the junior officer. “In our initial experiments, we have discovered that if the production is not conducted with the proper materials the results are not favorable.”

  That explains why there have been several torpedo bomber crashes as of late, Yamaguchi thought to himself. There had been rumors of possible sabotage or shoddy production.

  “The Ordnance Bureau, at Admiral Yamamoto’s direction, have focused our production on aerial warheads until we were confident in our ability to produce safe weapons,” Sugiura continued. “The loss of a torpedo bomber, while unfortunate, is nothing compared with damage to a cruiser or destroyer.”

  “How many warheads?” Yamaguchi asked.

  “We expect to have three hundred and fifty aerial torpedo warheads available by March,” Sugiura replied.

  A collective gasp rippled across the compartment.

  “Even with the new warheads, things will be extremely difficult for my operation,” Yamaguchi stated. “Have the Germans given us a date they intend to attack?”

  “March 26th,” Yamamoto replied.

  So we have a date for war, Yamaguchi thought. His stomach clenched like an angry man’s fist as he turned to the map.

  “The Kido Butai will be ready by then,” Yamaguchi said tersely. “We will do our part to preserve the Empire.”

  Pearl Harbor

  0600 Local (1100 Eastern)

  9 November

  Captain William Greenman, USN had a major problem. Tall, with narrow features, and aristocratic bearing, slightly graying brown hair, and dark brown eyes, the new Pacific Fleet G-2 had the sinking suspicion that his predecessor had been handed a blessing in disguise.

  Whether Captain Layton was fired or simply reassigned, Fortune certainly gave him a golden ticket, Greenman thought, feeling acid starting to rise in his throat.

  “What do you mean, the Japanese changed their code, Lieutenant Commander Crewe?” Greenman asked archly, looking at the lieutenant commander standing in front of him. The short, overweight officer gave him an unimpressed look that bordered on belligerency, and Greenman fought the urge to scream at the man.

  I may have to see about getting Commander Rochefort back here, no matter what our new chief of staff’s opinion of him was, Greenman thought angrily. His replacement is an idiot.

  “Around 0100 hours there was a transmission that read ‘a tiger slinks silently through the grass.’ It was repeated three times, then next thing we know, we’re looking at gibberish,” Crewe said with a shrug. “There were a couple of out stations that asked for a repeat of the signal, but they were ignored.”

  Admiral Jensen is going to hit the fucking roof when I tell him this, Greenman thought, suddenly feeling as if his collar was two sizes too small. One of the reasons that Layton and Rochefort had been transferred was CINCPACFLT felt the two men were far too confident in their abilities. The lesson Greenman had taken from that experience was to add some shadow of doubt in his statements, but still rely on the information coming from the broken Japanese codes.

  “Do we still have the ability to tell what operators are signaling?” Greenman asked. “I mean, if we have the same signal techniques, that’s at least something.”

  “Still trying to determine that, sir,” Crewe replied, running a hand through his thinning brown hair.

  “I suggest you try harder, Lieutenant Commander,” Greenman snapped. “Admiral Jensen has requested a briefing at 0900 on what the Japanese are up to now that they have Singapore and Burma.”

  Crewe looked as if he wanted to say something, then thought better of it.

  I need to get in touch with ONI, Greenman thought. Maybe the boys in Washington have some idea on what in the hell the Japanese are doing, as I certainly don’t. The captain glanced up at the clock.

  “This is going to be an utter disaster,” Greenman muttered to himself.

  Five and a half hours later, there was concrete proof that Greenman at least understood his own navy’s chain of command even if his window into the IJN’s had just become opaque.

  “Sir, we don’t know why the Japanese changed their…” he began again, before once more being cut off by Admiral Jensen slamming his hand on the desk.

  “It is readily apparent, Captain, that you would not know where your feet were if they weren’t attached,” CINCPACFLT said. The man’s volume had barely raised above normal, but there was no doubt as to the intense anger the four-star admiral was feeling.

  “Perhaps we should have General Short’s intelligence officer come and brief us,” Vice Admiral Bowles observed airily. “Even if it’s wrong, it will be nice to have someone actually give us information and stand by it.”

  I have spent the last hour and a half giving you information, Greenman thought. The fact you are more concerned with stabbing your son’s squadron commanders in the back than reading the packets I give you…

  “Sir, I only give you the information I can verify,” Greenman replied, a little heat coming into his voice. “It is a fact that the Japanese have moved three battleships and two light carriers south to Singapore. It is a fact that their air groups have begun flying shuttle mission
s between Formosa to Singapore and Vichy French bases in Indochina.”

  “So what does all that mean, Captain? A bunch of slant eyes burning fuel doesn’t tell me anything about what the threats here may be,” Jensen barked.

  “Sir, it tells me that the Japanese are practicing reinforcing Singapore in preparation to seize the East Indies,” Greenman stated, fighting to keep his voice calm. “They know President Roosevelt will reenact sanctions if they formally occupy Indochina again, so they are making sure pilots know the way from Taiwan to their new bases.”

  “So are you telling me that the Japanese are not going to try and strike here?” Admiral Jensen asked.

  “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think we could sail all the way across the Pacific in one go and successfully strike a fleet at sea,” Greenman replied evenly. “There is no reason to believe that the Japanese are able to do so.”

  “Layton and Rochefort believed that this ‘First Air Fleet’ was formed for just that reason,” Vice Admiral Bowles retorted. “Are you saying that they were wrong?”

  “Sir, everyone looks at data differently,” Greenman said. “Captain Layton…”

  “That was a yes or no question, Captain,” Bowles interrupted.

  “Yes, sir,” Greenman bit out sharply. “I think that the First Air Fleet has been formed for strictly administrative purposes. Given what we know of the IJN’s structure and customs, the placement of a junior admiral such as Yamaguchi in charge of it would be indicative of it being a minor command.”

  “Nagumo was in command of it before Yamaguchi, according to your packets,” Bowles challenged.

  Well maybe he did read what we put out, Greenman thought.

  “Sir, Vice Admiral Nagumo was sent to Germany,” he replied evenly. “I don’t think admirals in good esteem are sent several thousand miles away from any available fleet.”

  Admiral Jensen’s eyes narrowed at that, and Greenman remembered the man had been assigned to Great Lakes Training Command before his ascension to CINCPACFLT.

  “Sir, the men are getting tired of our alert schedule,” Vice Admiral Bowles noted. “I’ve also got Secretary Knox asking very pointed questions about our fuel and parts expenses.”

  “So in your opinion, Captain Greenman, are the Japanese going to attack soon?” Admiral Jensen asked directly.

  “Sir, I don’t think the Japanese will be attacking in the next sixty days,” Greenman replied.

  “Based on what?!” Bowles asked derisively. “Your crystal ball?!”

  “No sir, based on the calendar,” Greenman snapped back. “Japan is not going to go to war with us without Germany, and the Krauts aren’t going to attack the Russians in November.”

  Admiral Jensen held up his hand before Bowles could respond.

  “Vice Admiral Bowles, we will reduce our readiness for the next month,” Jensen said. “Furthermore, we will send Pye’s division and escorts back to the West Coast for refit, effective next week.”

  Greenman was sure the burning sensation he felt as Jensen’s gaze swiveled back to him was all in his head.

  “You had better be correct, Captain Greenman,” Jensen said ominously. “A lot of men are going to die if you are not.”

  CHAPTER 4: GIVING THANKS

  The American people will not relish the idea of any American citizen growing rich and fat in an emergency of blood and slaughter and human suffering.—President Franklin D. Roosevelt

  Honolulu, Hawaii

  1400 Local (1900 Eastern)

  25 November 1942

  “You should have seen the look on his face,” Sam said, laughing as he leaned back from the table. “Bastard never saw it coming!”

  My brothers are nuts, Patricia thought to herself as she regarded the dining room table. They’ve barely been here for fifteen minutes and Sam’s already acting like he knows everyone.

  “Glad I was able to find those eaves,” she heard Jo state behind her in the kitchen. Usually able to sit four, Jo had produced two eaves that allowed the furniture to seat eight place settings. The three Cobb brothers sat on one side of the table, with Sam nearest the head, David next to him, an empty place for Sadie next, then Nick nearest the foot. All three siblings were in their dress uniforms, something that had surprised Patricia when the trio had appeared on her doorstep.

  Who knew that CINCPACFLT had the power to tell people what to wear while on liberty? she thought. Guess that’s the downside of living on what’s basically an outpost.

  “Sam, language!” David said, even as his own face was split in a wide grin. Sam shook his head, then scrunched his face up as if he was going to cry.

  “’B-b-but my Daddy just got out here and everything!’” he mock whined, changing his usual drawl to mimic Bowles flat Northeastern accent. “‘Don’t you know I’m the Chief of Staff’s son?’”

  The guests on the other side of the table were all relatively unknown to Patricia. To the left of the table head sat a Navy lieutenant (j.g.) that appeared far too old to hold that rank. Patricia had heard her brothers talking about “mustangs” before, but had never actually met one before Peter Byrnes. Next to him, a Navy commander that Jo apparently knew from her father’s time in Newport News was also smiling at Sam’s impression.

  Jo kept calling him Uncle K, Patricia thought.

  “Sorry Commander Hertling,” David said, giving Sam a look that basically screamed for his twin to be quiet.

  “I think you can call me Keith while we’re here,” the tall, broad shouldered man said, his blue eyes twinkling. “I’m not a fan of Vice Admiral Bowles, and glad to see the scuttlebutt about his son getting a surprise reassignment to Pensacola was true.”

  “Patricia, can you grab these potatoes?” Nancy Hertling asked, causing Patricia to jump. Like her husband, Nancy was tall with salt and pepper hair. There the resemblance ended, as Mrs. Hertling’s build was willowy to her husband’s athletic.

  “Certainly Nancy,” Patricia replied, grabbing a pair of oven mitts from the hooks on the wall. She had to shake her head at the kitchen’s navy blue with pewter trim color scheme.

  Those colors just might drive me crazy, Patricia thought. Makes the place seem claustrophobic.

  “Is Sam sewing discord again?” Jo asked. “I think he’s still annoyed that you couldn’t make your mother’s famous corn pudding.”

  “That takes too much time and groceries,” Patricia said as she grabbed the bowl of potatoes.

  “I’ve never even heard of corn pudding before today,” Nancy observed with a shake of her head.

  “We fellow ‘Yankees’ apparently don’t know what we’re missing,” Jo observed, her tone clearly indicating she’d be completely okay going to her grave without checking that particular box.

  “You truly don’t,” Patricia said teasingly as she headed back out into the dining room. She was careful to hold the potatoes away from her body so as to avoid getting any flour on her dark green dress, the movement as natural to her as breathing after years helping her mother.

  “From what my friend in the G-1 tells me, Vice Admiral Bowles was just as surprised as his son was,” Commander Hertling was saying. “It appears that Admiral Jensen felt his Chief of Staff was too, shall we say, distracted by his son being here.”

  “Well when VMF-21 gets three squadron commanders because those men dared to correct your precious baby boy…” Sam began.

  “What?!” Nick said, incredulously.

  “Yeah, it was…” David started to say, before being interrupted by a knock on the door just as Patricia sat the covered bowl of potatoes down.

  “I’ll get it,” she said, waving David back to his seat.

  “It’s probably Sadie,” David protested.

  “I don’t care if it’s Santa Claus, you know better,” Patricia replied with a smile. “Don’t want my new sister-in-law thinking I was raised without manners.”

  Oh mother is going to be powerfully angry when she finds out you guys eloped, Patricia thought. I may have just m
oved down her priority of wrath by at least a couple slots.

  Opening the door, Patricia found herself facing a brown haired woman who was only a couple inches shorter than her. Dressed in a dark blue dress that matched her eyes and with her light brown hair falling off her shoulders in curls, Joanna Sadie Cobb (nee Leonard) looked like she had just come from a salon rather than riding herd on a bunch of fifth graders.

  “Hello Patricia,” the woman said in her soft contralto. “May I come in?”

  “Of course!” Patricia said, embracing the other woman in a hug as she stepped through the foyer. “We are always open for family.”

  Sadie chuckled quietly at that as she hugged Patricia back.

  “It still takes some getting used to realizing I just inherited a sister,” Sadie replied lowly, her Minnesota accent making the words sound strange to Patricia’s ears.

  “Us only daughters have to stick together,” Patricia quipped as she released her sister-in-law. “Let me get your purse, you timed it almost perfectly.”

  “Well Mr. Archibald had some last minute remarks for us teachers over the holiday,” Sadie said. “All of which can be summed up in ‘don’t be stupid.’”

  “Oh?” Patricia asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “He’s an old-fashioned principal,” Sadie replied with a shrug after handing her coat over. “I’m lucky I’m even still employed, as he seems to be the type who thinks married women should be at home, not working.”

  “How old is he again?” Patricia asked as they walked from the foyer into the dining room.

  “Pushing seventy, although you wouldn’t know it from the way he rides herd on the kids,” Sadie replied. There was the scraping of chairs as the men came to their feet, David stepping forward to embrace her with a kiss.

  “Glad you made it, Sadie,” Jo said, walking in with a plate full of sliced ham and pineapples. Nancy was right behind her with a big dish full of stuffing, and Patricia noted the creamed spinach had already made its way from the kitchen.