On Seas So Crimson

by James Young

  The Atlanta’s ordeal was mirrored by the majority of the screen. Of the four destroyers damaged by the IJN onslaught, the destroyers Cassin and Downes were the only two to be sunk. In the case of the Cassin, two hits were enough to break the destroyer’s back, leaving her to shudder to a stop and begin settling on an even keel. As for the Downes the result was not as pristine, but no less fatal, as a pair of bombs ignited her bunkerage while simultaneously knocking out her powerplant. Adrift and afire, the destroyer would last until nightfall before her depth charges exploded.

  The cruisers screening the Pacific Fleet’s BBs suffered a relatively higher loss. The Pensacola was the most fortunate, her uncannily accurate AA fire netting two of the nine dive bombers attacking her while damaging a third. This resulted in her collecting a single bomb hit abaft that necessitated the abandonment of one fire room and caused some minor flooding. While slowing her, the Pensacola still had more than enough speed to maintain her position with the battleline even without the engine room. She would be the luckiest of the six cruisers present. Astern of Pensacola, the Northampton and Minneapolis suffered four hits apiece, while the light cruisers Helena and Honolulu were struck by three bombs, and the unfortunate Raleigh by five.

  By far the oldest of all the vessels, the Raleigh was nowhere near strong enough to absorb five hits. Seemingly in an instant, the elderly cruiser burst into flames from stem to stern. Helena and Northampton, while not as vulnerable as the Raleigh, were also set ablaze as their hits found aviation stowage for their seaplanes. The Minneapolis and Honolulu, although not set ablaze, were both subject to severe flooding that their crews began the struggle to control. In a matter of moments, the sextuplet of defenders, as well as their anti-aircraft defenses, were removed from the Japanese torpedo bombers’ paths.

  That any of the screen survived given the dive bombers’ stunning accuracy was owed primarily to the presence of friction. Rather than following Fuchida’s orders, the leader of Kaga’s final chutai, determined to get a hit on a battleship, pressed on past the escort vessels. Disoriented by the heavy AA fire, the sudden loss of their squadron leader to a five-inch shell during the approach, and another chutai leader to a 1.1-inch shell that had missed its intended target, seven Soryu Val bombers followed the Kaga leader down on Arizona.

  Hearing the machine guns opening fire behind him, Greenman turned to see the string of Vals coming down from the Arizona’s bow. Unlike the sleeker Suisei’s, the fixed-gear Vals were armed with only a single bomb. As Greenman watched, the lead bomber stooped down like a hawk with extended talons, its dive brakes fixed underneath the wing. As the Arizona’s machine guns began to find the range, the Japanese pilot released his weapon and started to pull up. Feeling strangely detached, Greenman watched as the black orb descended towards him. As time dilated, he had time to realize that the fact the bomb wasn’t changing shape meant it was basically heading right towards him. As men screamed and ducked behind him, Captain Greenman had time for a final defiant thought.

  I hope I see you in Hell, Admiral.

  The bomb actually missed him by three feet astern. A high explosive type, it detonated on contact with the Arizona’s deck. The resulting explosion annihilated Greenman, the seaplane crew, and the ten sailors attempting to rig the craft for jettisoning over the side. The Kingfisher itself burst into flames as hot fragments first sliced open its full fuel tanks then ignited the pool of aviation fuel.

  On the flag bridge, Admiral Jensen turned to Vice Admiral Bowles as the Arizona shuddered from the hit.

  “How bad are we hit?!” he shouted. Bowles, unable to hear him, stepped forward to ask CINCPACFLT to repeat himself in the din. His face red with frustration, Jensen opened his mouth to shout again…

  The grizzled Marine gun captain in charge of the Arizona’s forward .50-caliber mount had hunted quail his entire life. Unlike most of his fellows, he switched from firing at the lead Val about halfway through that aircraft’s dive. Having missed with his initial burst, he held down the Browning’s butterfly triggers as he corrected his aim on the second bomber into the chute. The hapless Soryu pilot that was his target had just enough time to see sparks fly off his canopy, then had the whole world go black as his skull was shattered by the large .50-caliber bullets. Pilotless, the Val continued its last dive. One of the bridge lookouts had just enough time to scream a warning before the aircraft, its crew, and its payload slammed into the Arizona’s bridge just above the starboard wing.

  Detonating instantly, the Val’s payload instantaneously killed or wounded every man on the bridge and half of those on the flag bridge. Admiral Jensen, having dived to the deck in the last moment, had a fragment lay open his back like a meat cleaver. Vice Admiral Bowles, having dived the other way, was miraculously only nicked by a splinter the size of a large coffee mug. Unfortunately for both men, as well as every other conscious casualty on the bridge, the Val’s misting fuel was simultaneously ignited and propelled by the explosion. As a preview of what many of the two men’s subordinates had prayed they would suffer for eternity, both Bowles and Jensen died hearing their own screams and smelling the flesh cooked off their bodies.

  The next Soryu Val in line, taking damage from several weapons, released his bomb while simultaneously pulling desperately back on the stick. As a result, the missile hit flat to the Arizona’s deck, causing the bomb to break apart as it impacted abreast the No. 2 turret. An unfortunate sailor was the only impediment to the weapon’s casing and contents before they hurtled harmlessly over the side. The remaining dive bombers, thrown off by the ferocity of the fire and shock at watching the lead aircraft crash into the bridge, missed close aboard the burning, turning battlewagon.

  Seemingly as suddenly as it had begun, the dive-bombing attack was over. The danger, however, was not. All eyes in the rear of the battleline focused on the AA cruiser Atlanta as the vessel, obviously slowing, continued her slow turn towards the battleship California. Desperately sounding her siren, the smaller vessel seemed to be screaming like a desperate maiden being dragged to a sacrifice as she hurtled towards the larger vessel. The battleship, already beginning her own turn to port to follow the Arizona, put her helm harder over. This forced every vessel astern of her to cut their corner similarly, the West Virginia and Colorado having to ring up all astern. In normal circumstances, this would have had little effect. Unfortunately, the circumstances weren’t normal. Even as crews throughout the fleet were dealing with the effects of the dive-bombing attack, sharp-eyed lookouts spotted the torpedo bombers on the final mile of their run.

  The forty-five Kates, long cigar-shaped torpedoes underneath their fuselages, had begun their attack as the dive bombers started to hit the screen. The torpedo bombers had split, twenty-four to port, twenty-one to starboard of the American battleships. Erroneously believing her to be the flagship, four chutai had initially concentrated on the California. However, as that vessel threw her helm hard over and was lost in the smoke behind the burning Atlanta, the Kates to starboard were forced to shift their aim to West Virginia and Colorado.

  Due to the dive bombers ferocity, all eyes had been on the diving, wheeling aircraft. By the time the American ships began belatedly shifting their fire, it was almost far too late. If not for the fact that the Kates had bore in to almost minimum range, there would have been hardly any time to engage the attacking planes before they dropped. Even with the shift, only two of the highly vulnerable torpedo bombers were destroyed before releasing their payloads and initiating climbing turns either away or over their intended prey.

  Believing that his task was to destroy as many battleships as he could rather than just damaging some of them, Fuchida had instructed his pilots the night before that they would only attack the front and rear of the expected American column. Thus, only the Pennsylvania, Arizona, Maryland, West Virginia, and Colorado had weapons launched at them. In the case of the former two vessels, no evasive action was taken, the Arizona’s executive officer realizing too late that the bridge was
a mass of flames while the Pennsylvania was following her flagship. In the case of the last three, evasive action was either too late or ineffective due to the low speed necessitated by the California’s emergency turn.

  Arizona had been targeted by a chutai from the Hiryu, led by Lieutenant Joichi Tomonaga, and two chutai from Kaga making the short run from starboard. The long months of training in the Kurile Islands paid off for all three groups. Tomonaga’s drop was textbook, all three bombers releasing as one. The six bombers from the Kaga were a bit more ragged, their fish staggered in entering the water. As a result, despite disparate numbers, the Arizona received two blows from starboard and three to port.

  Had the weapons not been equipped with the Sandaburo warheads, the Arizona’s torpedo protection system would have limited the damage to moderate rather than devastating. With the warheads, however, the four combined weapons that struck aft of the ship’s main mast knocked out her power, ignited a bunkerage fire, and most tellingly, partially severed one of her screws. Spinning wildly, the Arizona’s prop shaft began ripping a massive hole in the vessel’s stern like an auger wielded by a crazed child. Feeling the vibration and aware of what was happening, the battleship’s executive officer ordered all stop. Even as he did so, reports reached him of the final weapon having hit forward and ruptured the battleship’s aviation fuel stowage.

  The Pennsylvania received her blows at the same time as her sister ship. Six Japanese torpedoes, two starboard, four to port, found the battlewagon’s flank. Two of these ignited her bunkerage, the flames immediately complicating damage control efforts even as the ship lost half her power. The next two hit far astern, severing the battleship’s rudder and destroying her steering room. The last two, launched by separate chutai, detonated just ahead of the forward magazine, sending hot fragments lancing into the black powder bags used to propel the vessel’s seaplanes. Unlike the main magazines, the catapult powder magazine was not well equipped to flood and required the manual opening of the necessary valves. As the powder began to conflagrate, the magazine’s crew chief began to race for the valves to flood the space. As fast as the man was, the flames were faster. With a roar, first the half-ton of black powder, then the Pennsylvania’s forward magazines exploded before thousands of horrified eyes.

  Even as the Pennsylvania was exploding, the Maryland was being struck. Somewhat obscured in smoke that affected the IJN pilot’s accuracy, the vessel suffered only two hits, both forward on either side. Far more fortunate than the Pennsylvania, the hits were sufficiently spread out that the TPS kept fragments out of the forward magazine spaces. Still, heavily damaged and with flooding starting to take hold, the Maryland hove out of the battleline and began to slow.

  The Colorado was not so fortunate as her sister. Having managed to conduct more of a turn, the namesake of her class took all four of the torpedoes within the last two hundred feet of her hull on the starboard side. Her TPS perforated, the “Buckin’ Bronco” shuddered like her namesake, then began rolling sickeningly towards the four massive wounds. Losing power, with water pouring into her side, the Colorado shuddered and began to slow. Feeling the ship’s sickening slope, the vessel’s damage control officer began turning the necessary valves to counterflood even as the order came down from the bridge. As more water poured into the opened spaces, it began to slosh from starboard to port with the battleship’s residual motion. Gaining momentum, the hundreds, then thousands of tons of water began to batter at watertight doors, seals, and bulkheads with steady momentum.

  For West Virginia, the damage was nearly as severe as that handed out to Colorado, as three torpedoes, two portside and one starboard, hit her abaft. With the extensive damage, thankfully at least on opposite sides, the battleship’s crew was at least given a chance to begin damage control measures even as the ship lost ability to steer. Due to the stringent measures and stern discipline of her master, Captain Bennion, every man aboard the Wee Vee knew their task and immediately set to fighting to save their ship. However, even as the vessel began counterflooding, it was apparent she was in extremis.

  Aboard the Arizona, fragments from the Pennsylvania’s fiery demise swept across the vessel’s stern. Men who had begun coming onto deck to escape the torrents of seawater pouring in below were crushed or slashed by the storm of metal from their sister ship’s demise. The steel remnants of turrets, armor, and all the metal that went into making a fighting also cut down the men starting to deal with the bridge fires while simultaneously igniting new ones. In a matter of moments, the Arizona was beset by over two dozen fires topside, with precious few experienced men to fight them.

  Exacerbating matters, the torpedo strikes forward had ruptured the battleship’s aviation fuel storage. Runnels of gasoline, passing through the gaps in hatches caused by the torqueing of the vessel’s hull due to the torpedo hits or along the wiring strung to maintain her electrical system, began to congregate in several of the vessel’s forward compartments. As these found natural pathways from deck to deck, the vapor from the evaporating gasoline began to fill spaces.

  Circling twelve miles away with four Zeroes in attendance, Commander Fuchida watched through binoculars as the black smoke cloud began to clear over the Pennsylvania’s grave. Turning, he saw that the Colorado was clearly finished, with the Arizona and West Virginia severely damaged. Despite being down by the bow, it was clear that the Maryland would likely survive. His heart pounding in his chest at the success they had achieved, the Kido Butai’s strike leader brought his glasses up and searched the horizon. With a start, he saw two unmistakable silhouette’s, their flat shape indicating their type if not their class. Cursing quietly, he began signaling back to Akagi:

  SECOND STRIKE MUST EXPEDITE. CARRIERS MOVING AWAY. RECOMMEND THIRD STRIKE.

  Akagi

  0900 Local (1300 Eastern)

  “Sir, with all due respect, we cannot risk a third strike!” Rear Admiral Kusaka said, his voice desperate. “I know we have won a great victory with an opportunity to do even more, but the enemy will surely be looking for us now.”

  Below him, the Akagi’s deck crew labored to switch armament on the chutai of Kate aircraft that had just landed from anti-submarine patrol. Having launched almost every flyable airframe on his flight decks and all his reconnaissance aircraft, Yamaguchi did not have aircraft readily available to keep a constant anti-submarine patrol operating until Tone and Chikuma’s aircraft returned.

  Perhaps Kusaka is correct and I am relying far too much on luck, Yamaguchi thought. As the Americans say, Dame Fortune is a fickle woman. As he looked down on the flight deck, he saw something that made him realize he might not be the only one relying far too much on the fair lady’s good graces.

  “Captain Hasegawa, a word with you please?” he said calmly, motioning for Akagi’s captain to come and join him.

  “Yes, sir,” Hasegawa said, coming over from the other side of the bridge. Yamaguchi saw Kusaka’s eyes tracking the man like the main gun battery of a battleship. I will have to watch those two. Hasegawa may not realize the enemy he has made, and he is far too good of a man to suffer from the hand of a fool.

  Leaning in so that his hand was not visible to the rest of the bridge crew, Yamaguchi pointed down to where the deck crews had neatly stacked several high-explosive bombs that had originally been destined for the second strike.

  “I think that those weapons can find a far more secure home than our flight deck, don’t you?” Yamaguchi asked. “I would hate to have the glorious victory we are currently experiencing reversed by a damaged aircraft splashing into those.”

  Hasegawa, his face tight with embarrassment, nodded.

  “I will see to it personally,” he stated. Giving a short bow, he exited the aircraft carrier’s bridge.

  Yamaguchi turned to where the crew was still readying the Kate.

  A submarine would be most unfortunate at this time, he thought to himself.

  “Sir, so that we may plan, what is the primary target for the third strike?�
� Admiral Kusaka asked, appearing next to him at the window. Below them, Hasegawa exploded out of the island like a miniature typhoon, administering a vicious physical beating to the unwitting deck officer in charge seemingly without breaking stride. From his perch on the bridge, Yamaguchi would not have bet on the man making it out of the infirmary for at least two weeks.

  Discipline is not something to be taken lightly, he thought bemusedly to himself. Hasegawa does his job well.

  “We will reattack the battleships,” Yamaguchi stated. “The new warheads have worked, and we have a chance to cripple most of the American fleet.”

  “Helmsman, port thirty degrees,” the Akagi’s officer of the deck barked.

  “Aye aye, sir,” the helmsman responded. Yamaguchi, looking out the bridge window, watched as the carrier’s bow slowly came around to their left. The Kido Butai was steaming in a near continuous box along a southeast to northwest line as they waited for the first wave to return. Rather than run the risk of collision, Yamaguchi had directed that the force would make purposefully shallow turns at each end of their evolution.

  Two hundred feet below the carriers, the Nautilus moved forward like a sleek, silent metal sea monster.

  “That’s twice, sir,” Nick intoned, the sound of the Kido Butai thundering over audible even without headphones. “Total time was roughly one hour.”

  Lt. Commander Freeman nodded, his face set with a smile. The first time the Kido Butai had closed into range, the Nautilus had been horribly positioned to have a shot on any of the various vessels. Now, with their latest turn and the Nautilus’s slow, steady creeping forward, the next time the ships came back the submarine should be well placed to shoot at something.