On Seas So Crimson

by James Young

  The Kido Butai had launched more than enough aircraft to finish one carrier. Thirty-six fighters, forty-five dive bombers, and twenty-one Kates had left the three operational flight decks on their way towards the Hornet. Ten of the remaining fighters currently orbited overhead in response to the Tone scout’s final report that the Hornet was launching. Another nine fighters were currently winging their way towards the Zuikaku and Shokaku.

  We lost so many aircraft on the second strike, Yamaguchi thought. When adding in those aircraft damaged beyond easy repair aboard the carriers, the current strike that had left the Kido Butai’s decks was a maximum effort. While the reports strongly indicated that both the Lexington and Saratoga were sinking, the destruction of an air group’s worth of aircraft and their crews had been a stiff price to pay.

  “Sir, Tone reports four-engined aircraft in sight,” Rear Admiral Kusaka reported, handing him the note.

  That is another unpleasant surprise! Yamaguchi thought.

  “Inform the Tone that additional help is on the way and her priority is to defend the Shokaku,” Yamaguchi barked.

  The second message was hardly needed. Indeed, even as it was received, the heavy cruiser was gaining headway from the Zuikaku’s side, elevating her 8-inch guns to engage the big four-engined bombers with the IJN’s special anti-aircraft. Warned by Tone’s now operating radar, the Shokaku’s eight aircraft CAP had reached the big Boeing’s altitude. Awed by the B-17s’ size, the eight Zeroes bore in on the lead section of bombers in an attempt to save their ship.

  For their part, the B-17s were led by the commander of the 18th Bombardment Wing, Colonel Michael Dekeyzer. Launched on the Opana radar station’s reciprocal bearing, the aircraft had been hastily armed with a mixture of whatever weapons were on hand, including everything from 500-lb. general purpose bombs to three aircraft which carried six 2,000-lb. experimental bombs intended for use against fortifications. That the eighteen B-17s were the only shore-based attack aircraft capable of reaching the carriers was a sad testimony on the Hawaiian Air Force’s preparedness and equipment.

  Forming up into a long column, the Japanese fighters began their assault on the six three-plane vics. To respond to this attack, each B-17 carried up to ten machine guns, with the majority pointing towards the rear quadrant. Not realizing the potent firepower they were about to face, the Zeroes began their approach from this direction, finding themselves barely able to overhaul the B-17s in their climbing turns. Through dumb luck the B-17 gunners all opened fire more or less simultaneously. The resultant volume of tracers startled the Zeroes, while the immense size of the Boeings threw off the pilots’ range estimates. As a result, the Shokaku’s CAP only managed to damage the rearmost bomber, causing it to drift backward with two engines ablaze. In turn, the gunners turned one Zero into a flaming comet and severely damaged two more.

  The five surviving Zeroes quickly reassessed their course of action. Two of them, having watched their second chutai leader of the day be immolated, turned after the cripple. The remaining chutai grimly attempted to close with the remaining seventeen bombers once more, but were kept at a distance by the focused machine gun fire. Breaking off, the pilots decided to try one more pass, this time from ahead. Reaching maximum range, the two wingmen lobbed some rounds from their 20mm guns at the big Boeings then broke off lest they enter the storm of .50-caliber bullets again. The chutai leader, braver or more foolhardy than his wingmen, refused to break off. His fire cleared the flight deck of one B-17, but the chutai leader paid for his perfidy upon trying to pass through the bombers. Locked into a crossfire by several top turret gunners, the Zero amazingly did not burn as it cartwheeled downward with a thoroughly dead pilot.

  The CAP was broken just as it was time for the anti-aircraft gunners to begin. Almost as one, the entire ad hoc task force began firing. The Boeing’s high altitude saved them from the majority of the anti-aircraft fire, but two of the Tone’s 8-inch fragmentation shells burst directly below the leader of the last vic. In a bright flash and thunderous roar, the B-17 disappeared as hot steel. The bomber’s remnants slammed back into its two wingmen, the B-17s staggering in the air but continuing on their runs. Fourteen thousand feet underneath the large bombers, the helmsman of every vessel that had steerageway began their evasive maneuvers. In the case of the Shokaku, a barked command from her captain brought her bow around into an unwieldy circle as the B-17s attacked by vics.

  It was only as his own bomber was about to release that Colonel Dekeyzer realized he had failed to direct the actions of the sixteen remaining bombers. His vic was pointed directly at the stationary Zuikaku, the easiest target on the ocean below. With a muttered curse he reached for the radio as his own aircraft released its ordnance over the Japanese carrier. The colonel might as well saved his breath, as by the time he got the command transmitted every B-17 had released its bombload.

  The crew of the Zuikaku could only watch and cower as over sixty bombs fell 12,000 feet down towards them. Some men instinctively attempted to run for cover as the weapons fell. Others, especially those few dive bomber and torpedo pilots who had had the misfortune to recover aboard before the Nautilus’s attack, threw themselves on the deck. Finally, desperately, some men dived overboard in the horrible moments that death floated down towards them.

  Every single man who chose the last act died in the water, as the Zuikaku was missed by over fifty bombs. Three hundred feet below the carrier, the combined explosions of these near misses severely shook the Nautilus, leading several men to conclude the vessel was under depth charge attack once more. Simultaneous with the dozen or more of these weapons that were close enough to smash in her hull plating, knocked her turbines and boilers off of their mountings, and annihilate the crew that had jumped in the water, the Zuikaku received eight bomb hits in the space of twenty seconds.

  The first five hits were 500-lb. general purpose or semi-armor piercing that served to complete the destruction of the Zuikaku’s wooden flight deck. As horrible as the physical destruction and human carnage wrought by these bombs were, they were relatively minor in light of the three hits interspersed within their impacts. Two of these hits were from 1,000lb. armor-piercing bombs, while the last was a 2,000-lb. anti-fortification weapon. All three found avgas storage or magazines as they cut through the carrier’s hull. To those on the vessels around her and the aircraft above, it seemed as if a volcano erupted from the Zuikaku’s hull from amidst the forest of the near-misses’ water columns.

  Aboard the Tone, the commander of the Fifth Carrier Division, Rear Admiral Chuichi Hara, had had more than enough. After a quick exchange of signals with the Shokaku, the carrier and heavy cruiser turned towards the northwest and Japan, continuing at the Shokaku’s top speed of twenty knots. The captain of the Akigumo, looking back at the flotsam and debris that had once been one of the two best carriers in the Japanese Navy, inquired if she should pick up survivors. Hara’s response was a short and direct negative. The response, while seemingly inhumane, was the correct one in the mind of the Azigumo’s captain. Smoke pouring from her stacks, the destroyer began accelerating from the spreading circle of burning oil, debris, and pitifully few shouting men that were all that remained of the once proud Zuikaku.

  IJNS Akagi

  1435 Local (1935 Eastern)

  “Sir, the Zuikaku has been sunk by Boeings,” RAdm. Kusaka said solemnly. “The Tone and her group are moving northeast at best speed.”

  Yamaguchi fought the urge to scream.

  “Were there any survivors?” the Kido Butai’s commander asked once he trusted his voice again.

  “Rear Admiral Hara did not feel the limited number of survivors justified the risk of additional vessels,” Kusaka replied.

  Yamaguchi thought for a moment, then nodded. RAdm. Hara was at the scene, which meant that he had obviously seen something that had prompted him to believe there were few, if any, men to pull out of the Pacific. While such a decision might seem coldhearted to a sentimentalist, in the hard ar
ithmetic of naval warfare, the lives of under a hundred men did not justify risking those of thousands. Especially when those thousands were aboard one of the six, no five fleet carriers in the IJN.

  “Any sighting of the American carrier’s strike?” Yamaguchi asked.

  “No, not yet, sir,” Kusaka returned.

  Yamaguchi looked at his watch and did the mental calculations in his mind. If the Hornet had received a report from her two dive bombers, she should have launched immediately. It was what he would have done. Motioning for Kusaka and Captain Kaku to join him, Yamaguchi moved towards the map of their area.

  Even without the Zuikaku as bait, it is unlikely that the Americans would have enough aircraft to strike at us, Yamaguchi thought. I have done all I can, it is in the pilots’ hands now.

  U.S.S. Nautilus

  1500 Central (2000 Eastern)

  “Chief, time to take her up,” Lt. Commander Freeman said, his voice hoarse from the bad air.

  Nautilus’s fight for survival had been almost won when the B-17s had dropped their bombs on the Zuikaku. The numerous detonations had shaken loose some of the shoring that the crew had managed to plug leaks in the submarine’s hull with. Unfortunately, one of these leaks had begun to empty into the aft battery room, with the expected results for the air supply.

  Here’s to hoping Lt. Commander Freeman was right about there being nothing over our heads, Nick thought worriedly. Coupled with the sounds of Zuikaku’s demise, the high-speed screws exiting the area were indicative something had gone wrong aboard one of their targets.

  Too bad it appears we didn’t get the other bastard, Nick thought angrily. Still, as fast as those screws moved off, something spooked those enemy ships bad enough we became an afterthought.

  “I couldn’t agree more, sir,” Chief Pound responded as the control room crew immediately began preparing to surface.

  “Blow negative,” Lt. Commander Freeman ordered. “Ten degrees up angle.”

  “Ten degrees up angle, aye aye,” the planesman responded, making the necessary adjustments.

  Lt. Commander Freeman was turning to give another order when the submarine suddenly lurched then twisted sideways, listing ten degrees to starboard. Loose items and unwary crew went with the roll, slamming into metal bulkheads.

  “What in the hell?!” Jason asked.

  “Sir, it would appear that we have damaged dive planes,” Chief responded laconically. Despite the tilt, the submarine continued to rise. Always a slow vessel to surface, with the extra water aboard Nautilus did not set any speed records on this occasion. Four long minutes after giving the order, Lt. Commander Freeman was finally able to lead the way out of the conning tower.

  Holy shit, Nick thought, the odor of burning fuel the first thing that hit his nostrils as he followed Lt. Commander Freeman up into the air. Gagging, he managed to take in a breath. Once he had control of his breathing, he felt his stomach drop out at horrible scene before him. An oil slick at least a quarter mile in radius lay to Nautilus’s starboard, portions of it still afire. Intermingled amongst the oil was the sundry parts and instruments that made up a man of war. Most horribly, however, was what remained of Zuikaku’s complement. Not fifty yards away and upwind of the submarine, shapes that were clearly recognizable as human burned in their lifejackets.

  “Holy fuck,” Ensign Workman said. With that, he turned and lost his stomach over the side of the conning tower. Nick grabbed the young officer’s belt to keep him from leaning too far over.

  “Raft astern!” one of the lookouts croaked out, then lost his lunch over the side as well. Nick turned from where he had a hold of Workman’s belt. Approximately one hundred yards behind the Nautilus, a flat piece of wood roughly ten feet by eight feet floated in the muck. Looking closer, Nick could see six men sharing the piece of debris. Covered in oil, the men looked strangely pathetic; their white eyes showing out like those of an actor wearing blackface.

  “Sorry about that, sir,” Workman gasped. “The smell got to me.”

  Lt. Commander Freeman looked at the young officer.

  “Ensign Workman, the only reason I didn’t lose it is that I’m the captain,” Freeman replied. Walking to the voice tube, he swallowed heavily once more.

  “We have potential prisoners topside. Have a party form on the stern,” Nautilus’s captain gasped out.

  “Aircraft to starboard!” a lookout shouted.

  “Shit!” Nick muttered as he turned to look towards starboard. Seeing the group of forty aircraft approaching from the northeast, Nick realized that they were all dead.

  “Get those damn machine guns up here!” Lt. Commander Freeman shouted down the hatch.

  No way we’ll get armed in time, Nick thought. No fucking way. God help us if this was their carrier that just blew up. As he studied the approaching forms, Nick suddenly felt the weight of the world slip from his shoulders.

  “They’re friendly!” he shouted, recognizing the squat shape of the Dauntlesses and Wildcats.

  “Break out the flag,” Jason ordered, wiping his mouth. “Let’s make sure the recognition is mutual.”

  The order was quickly relayed below. A few moments later the Stars and Stripes were handed up the conning tower. One of the lookouts quickly shimmied up one of the broken periscopes and attached the flag.

  The submarine had obviously been sighted by the group of aircraft, as two of them broke off and began to approach. The rest of the group began a gentle circle at long range, the formation stepped up into the sun. Nick studied the approaching aircraft carefully, trying to figure out what ship they were from.

  “I really don’t like the way those two are approaching,” Workman muttered. The two aircraft had descended to roughly five hundred feet three miles away and were now turning towards the submarine in line abreast.

  “Steady gentlemen,” Lt. Commander Freeman warned, seeing the two sailors tensing at their machine guns. “If there’s going to be friendly fire, we’re not going to start it.”

  The two aircraft were accelerating and descending in what was definitely starting to resemble a strafing run. Nick could hear the sound of the racing engines as the two bombers started to gain speed. Feeling the urge to dive behind cover, he looked over at Lt. Commander Freeman.

  “Come on you guys, tell me you’re not going to be stupid,” the Nautilus’s captain said resignedly, his hands clasped behind his back.

  It was over in moments. Screaming low towards the Nautilus, the Avengers began pulling up one hundred yards short of the submarine. A small black object flew from the rear cockpit of each bomber, one overshooting the submarine, the other landing on her forward deck. Nick and the two crewmen ducked as the bombers hurtled over, waggling their wings as they pulled up to rejoin their fellows. Freeman didn’t even flinch, looking at the small message bag lying next to the ruin that was the forward deck gun. After the bag was retrieved and brought to him, Lt. Commander Freeman quickly barked for a signal lamp and handed the message to Nick. The younger officer looked down at the message.

  GLAD TO SEE THE SILENT SERVICE ADMIRING ITS HANDIWORK. SIGHTING REPORT STATED THERE WERE TWO CARRIERS AND OTHER VESSELS. ASSUME YOU HAVE SUNK ONE, LOOKING FOR OTHER.—COMMANDER RING, CHAG.

  “It would appear that our yellow friends are about to meet their opposite numbers,” Jason remarked with a grin. Turning to the sailor who had just brought up a portable signaling lamp, he began composing his message. Nodding, the sailor quickly sent the Nautilus’s reply:

  APPARENTLY CARRIER ALLERGIC TO FISH. SISTER SHIP, SHOKAKU CLASS, LAST HEARD HEADING WEST ABOUT THIRTY MINUTES AGO. BELIEVE SHE MAY HAVE SAME ALLERGY. GOOD HUNTING—LCDR FREEMAN, CO U.S.S. NAUTILUS.

  The lead Avenger waggled its wings after the second sending of the message. Climbing up towards its fellows, the big torpedo bomber led the way off to the northwest.

  “I hope they get that bastard,” Workman seethed. Freeman nodded as the bridge crew watched the two dive bombers fly off.

  Is Eric up the
re? Nick wondered, his mouth suddenly dry. The thought of his brother flying off into danger scared him more than the past three hours had. The Japanese had already nearly killed him. He doubted that the Cobb family luck would hold up through another serious test.

  “Swimmers, port bow!” one of the lookouts shouted. All hands turned to look, seeing the men that the lookout was speaking of. There was a group of about twenty, all of them linked together around a portion of Zuikaku’s flight deck.

  “We’ll aid them after we get that other group,” Freeman barked, gesturing towards the first six survivors they had sighted. “Boarding party forward!”

  The crew of the Nautilus sprung to carry out the orders of their commander. Motivated by the ancient law of the sea, Lt. Commander Freeman was preparing to help the survivors in any way that he could. In five minutes, Chief Pound had several men standing on the submarine’s bow armed with pistols, a trio of Tommy guns, and a couple of boathooks. With a crisp order from Freeman, the Nautilus began moving forward toward the raft.

  Seeing the submarine edging towards them, the six men began frantically kicking and beating the water, trying to drive their raft away from the vessel.

  “Stupid bastards must think we’re going to hurt them,” Workman muttered.

  “No, I don’t think that’s it at all,” Freeman said quietly, his face growing hard. The Nautilus’s commander turned towards the sailor manning one of the anti-aircraft machine guns.

  “Stand ready,” Freeman ordered crisply.

  Nick turned to look at his captain in horror, misunderstanding his order. As a result he missed one of the Japanese survivors, a pilot, pulling out his pistol. He did hear the shot, however, and turned just in time to see one of the sailors at the bow crumple with a bullet in his abdomen.