by James Young
Bellingsley need not have worried about evading anti-aircraft fire. The bursting magnesium caught the Jintsu’s crew by surprise, the Beaufighter’s muffled engines barely audible over the cruiser’s own throbbing turbines. Before the gun crews could even begin to clear the white spots from their eyes, first George Three and then Four swept towards the cruiser from her starboard bow and port quarter.
Three’s aimpoint was the illuminated light cruiser’s superstructure, the pilot squeezing his trigger as his pipper passed over the ship’s forward armament. Beginning at the base of the structure, the sparkling impacts of ball rifle ammunition and bright flashes of twenty millimeter hits climbed the Jintsu’s bridge like a malevolent zipper of destruction. The storm of fire cleared the Jintsu’s bridge in seconds, decapitating Captain Kimura and mortally wounding the helmsman, a talker, and both junior officers of the deck. Rear Admiral Tanaka, just stepping onto the bridge proper to give the order to launch Jintsu’s aircraft, was stopped in his tracks by a .303 round to his abdomen and splinters that sliced open his arm. Crumpling to the ground, the Japanese flag officer found himself pinned under two bodies of his staff.
Captain Kimura’s last order had been for a hard turn to port in order to clear the flares. With the helmsman’s headless body still dragging the wheel to the left, the light cruiser heeled hard over, throwing unsuspecting crewmen off their feet and causing blood to begin sloshing across the bridge and out of the wings. Just as men were struggling back towards their feet and rushing towards the ominously silent bridge, George Four opened fire from the darkness. Thrown off by the cruiser’s turn, George Four’s fire only briefly connect with its target. The damage, on the other hand, was all out of proportion to the dozen 20mm shells and almost a hundred rounds of .303 ammo that struck Jintsu’s hull. First the cruiser’s aircraft burst into flames, then her starboard forward torpedo mount.
In the case of the former, the hapless Warrant Officer Matsuoka did not have enough time to register his danger before the Kawanishi E7K floatplane became the funeral pyre of both him and his observer. The five men servicing the aircraft had just begun shrieking in agony from their impromptu immolation when 20mm hits on the torpedo mount became several intense, torchlike jets of flame forward of their position. Burning with bright, white intensity, the fire from the twin 24-inch weapons bathed the light cruiser’s deck in a dancing, horrific light that was visible from every ship in the task force.
As the flaming light cruiser continued to heel to port, the remainder of the Japanese group belatedly realized she was out of control and that they were under attack. Commands rang out aboard a dozen bridges as anti-aircraft crews began firing wildly into the air, across the horizon, and, in least a couple of cases into their fellow vessels. In the port column, the Natsushio, Nachi, and Myoko surged ahead as their masters rang up all ahead flank. Aboard the Asagiri, the destroyer’s captain barked orders to turn to port, the signal lamp at the rear of her bridge passing this message to the Minegumo and Asagumo.
Dammit Two, where are you? Russell thought angrily as he watched the Japanese vessels scattering on his radar. Before he could click his radio to ask, their wingman answered the question for him.
“George Two, resuming attack run,” came an angry report. Looking, Russell could just barely see the Beaufighter’s rushing shadow passing through searchlight and tracer fire. A burst of gunfire suddenly came close to the attacking fighter’s wing, causing the Beau’s pilot to jerk as he released his payload. Both of the Beaufighter’s bombs missed long, exploding off the Jintsu’s port side.
Bloody hell! Russell thought. I doubt that was close enough to do anything other than shake her up.
“We’re going to have to give it a go,” Russell barked, as the last of their flares winked out. There was a series of small explosions on the Jintsu as Bellinsglsey brought them around, and from his perspective Russell could swear the cruiser was starting to slow to a stop.
“You don’t want me to try and get some of that larger trade we saw?” Bellingsly asked.
“No, let’s get the bird we’ve clipped!” Russell snapped. “Just make sure you put the damn bombs on her!”
“Right then,” Bellingsley seethed, and Russell felt his stomach dropped as the Beaufighter’s nose dropped. Having no job now that they were in their attack run, Russell could look around the sea below. He watched as the wakes that had been following the staggering light cruiser into her turn suddenly began scattering, their weapons continuing to fire at phantoms. Suddenly the sea was lit brightly again as George Three dispensed its flares near the burning light cruiser. Russell realized there were three destroyers near the larger vessel.
Too late to get cold feet now, Russell admonished himself. Just hope Bellingsley doesn’t screw this up.
Russell need not have worried, as his pilot was determined to get a hit even if it killed them both. Cutting diagonally across the Jintsu from starboard bow to port quarter, Bellingsley made a textbook drop. George One’s first 500-lb. bomb passed through Jintsu’s starboard lifeboat, reducing the craft to kindling on its way to piercing the cruiser’s lightly armored deck. Equipped with a delay fuse, the bomb slammed all the way to the vessel’s forward fire room in a storm of fragments and spall before exploding. The blast killed every Japanese sailor in the compartment, opened the Jintsu’s machinery spaces to flooding, and began a fierce bunkerage fire that further illuminated the light cruiser for all to see.
Bellingsley’s second weapon was far more damaging. Hitting the light cruiser near her stern, the weapon began to pass out of the starboard side before detonating. This had a mining effect on the Jintsu’s hull, shaking and torquing the keel as if the light cruiser had been grabbed by a giant monster. Moreover, the explosion separated the starboard shaft, sending the propeller spinning into the inky blackness of the South China Sea. With a sound like a load of pipes rattling in the back of a lorry on a rutted road, the Jintsu began to vibrate as she continued to turn to port. Her harried executive officer, having already ordered a reduction in speed, screamed for the engine room crew to stop the vessel.
“Good show Bellingsley, good show!” Russell shouted, looking back over the Beaufighter’s tail. He was about to give another exhortation when a sudden series of bright flashes appeared in the night sky above and to George One’s right side. A lurid orange streamer of flame blossomed from a point where the sky was somewhat darker, revealing a diving George Three as the Beaufighter attempted to finish Jintsu off. Before Russell could even begin to order George Three to retreat, multiple Japanese gunners focused on the flaming comet, catching the ablaze Beaufighter in a spider web of tracers. Even as the two bombs dropped from the twin-engined fighter’s wings, Russell could already see the stub-nosed aircraft starting to fall off on one collapsing wing. George Three continued staggering to the side, then slammed into the South China Sea at over two hundred knots, the resultant plume tinted orange before returning to darkness.
Bloody hell! Russell thought, watching as the two bombs landed close board the rapidly slowing Jintsu.
“George one, George One, this is Geor…” George Four began, before the squadron frequency was suddenly filled with a loud trumpet blaring.
“What the fuck?” Bellingsley snapped, his shoulders visibly tightening as the sound blared into his headphones. A moment later, there was a pause in the music filled by an accented voice screaming insults in badly accented English.
“We’re being jammed!” Russell shouted over the Beaufighter’s roaring engines. Reaching over, he switched the radio frequency on the fighter’s set.
“…say again, break off George Flight!” Spence’s voice roared in Russell’s headphones. “Slattern! Slattern! Slattern!”
Shit! The Navy’s almost in range! Russell thought. “Slattern” was the agreed upon phrase indicating Australian aircraft needed to clear the area lest they find themselves on the wrong end of friendly ships’ gunfire. While some had theorized the aircraft could operate at the same t
ime, Russell was firmly in the camp that getting hit by fragments from a friendly hit or, even worse, an actual shell did not sound like a good plan.
Would have liked to put at least one set of bombs on those big bastards we saw, Russell thought. Then again, a 500 pounder might just bounce off their hide.
“What do we do?” Bellingsley asked, just as the Beaufighter was buffeted by a strong updraft. A few moments later rain began hammering against the observation dome over Russell’s head.
“Back to Brunei,” Russell said, his voice shaken as George Three’s fate fully registered. “Jettison our bombs.”
Deveraux had a wife and family back in Suffolk, he thought. I don’t even know how we notify them. Hell, I don’t even know if the Usurper’s goons will deliver the news.
George Flight had left chaos in their wake. The Jintsu, having completed almost a complete circle and forced the IJN’s port column to avoid her, was ablaze and stopped with the Hayashio, Hatsukaze, Asagiri, Minigumo, and Asagumo beginning to close with her to render aid or scattered in her general vicinity. The Kurashio, Yukikaze, Tokitsukaze, and Amatsukaze, having steered to starboard away from the crippled flagship, were continuing almost due east at top speed, their gunners intermittently shooting at shadows as they put distance between themselves and the battered Jintsu. Forming a third group, he Natsushio, Nachi, and Myoko, had also initially continued east at top speed, but were beginning to loop back around to the north to rejoin the rest of the Japanese group.
None of the Japanese vessels realized that something far more malevolent than George Flight was bearing down on them.
U.S.S. Houston
South China Sea
0145 Local (1145 Eastern)
“Bridge is asking the lookouts if they see anything again,” stated the young sailor at the rear of Battle Two.
Commander Jacob Morton, the Houston’s executive officer, found himself wanting to reach through the talker tube and strangle Rear Admiral Glassford himself. A tall, wiry man with a shock of white hair underneath the “pie plate” steel helmet and flash hood he was wearing, Jacob peered out into the rain squalls and new moon darkness himself.
We don’t have that gee whiz system the Australia and Boise do, Admiral, he thought disgustedly, rubbing his blue eyes in a vain attempt to clear some of the rain from his face. Maybe you should have made one of them your flag? New moon and no reference points, we’re lucky we haven’t had a collision ourselves.
The ACDA Striking Force, as the group of destroyers and cruisers were known, was in a long, snakelike column in part to minimize the likelihood of just such a merger. It was only in a grudging acknowledgment that, yes, the Japanese Navy did have submarines that the old “four piper” destroyers Peary and Whipple were one thousand yards to the column’s port. To starboard, the the two elderly destroyers’ sister ships John D. Ford and Pope maintained their anti-submarine watch at an equal distance. Between each duo, the H.M.A.S. Vendetta led H.M.A.S. Australia, U.S.S. Boise, the Houston, H.M.C.S. Exeter, H.M.A.S. Perth, H.M.C.S. Electra, H.M.C.S. Jupiter, and H.M.C.S. Encounter through the murk.
“Lookouts are reporting they saw some flares briefly but then the squall covered them,” the talker reported. “Now there’s just a fire on the horizon, nothing else so far.”
I imagine the lookouts aren’t much happier about being constantly questioned than we are hearing about it, Jacob thought. He glanced over at the makeshift plot, squinting as he stared at the map.
“At least this time we know we’re not going after a wild goose chase,” someone muttered in the darkness. There was a low murmur as the offending sailor was quickly and abruptly shushed by one of the petty officers, but Jacob found himself agreeing with the man’s sentiment.
No, unlike a couple days ago, sounds like someone has actually seen something rather than some Dutchman being scared by what was apparently a submarine, Jacob thought. The ACDA had been rushing north towards Sumatra when that particular error was discovered. The ships had almost been back to Surabaya when they had received the report of Japanese forces being sighted west of Brunei in the South China Sea.
“Sir, Australia reports multiple contacts, range twelve thousand yards, bearing three two oh to oh eight oh” the Talk Between Ships, or TBS, talker said excitedly. “Requesting permission to fire.”
In an instant, Battle-2 became more still than a closed funeral parlor. Every man could hear the dull throb of Houston’s turbines as she pushed forward through the South China Sea and the sound of the aft turret starting to orient towards the reported contacts off the column’s port side..
“Admiral Glassford is telling them to stand by, wait for positive visual identification,” the talker continued.
What in the hell is he doing up there? We know there are no friendly vessels out here! Jacob wondered in alarm. That last point had been made quite clear shortly before nightfall by the ACDA staff. As a sudden rainfall began to roar across Houston’s decks, Jacob felt his stomach start to clench.
Aboard the Japanese destroyer Yukikaze, one lookout turned away from the spectacle that was the burning and exploding Jintsu drawing rapidly astern. As the destroyer began turning to starboard to lead her three fellows back towards the stricken flagship, the junior rating brought his night glasses back up to cover his assigned sector to port. Still shaking from the excitement of the air attack, the young man took a deep breath…and realized he was staring at phosphorent wakes even if he could not see the ships causing them in the dark. Feeling his bladder and bowels loosen in fear, the lookout took a precious moment straining to identify the vessels. It was only after a few moments he realized that there was no way they could be Japanese.
“Enemy ships to starboard!” he turned and screamed, the binoculars slipping from his wet hands.
Unlike the Allied fleet, there was no hesitation nor confusion engendered by the report. Yukikaze’s captain, as demonstrated by his decision to immediately surge away from the flares laid down by No. 625 squadron, was a man of decisive action. Shouting orders at the top of his lungs, he quickly began barking orders for his torpedo officer to begin sighting on the enemy ships and the main battery to load starshell.
“Guns, fire!” Captain Fitzpatrick, Australia’s snapped. “I will not be rammed by some Japanese vessel because some damn Yank cannot pull his head out of his arse!”
The Australian heavy’s cruiser’s firing gong rang out in the darkness a moment before her eight 8-inch guns opened the Battle of the South China Sea.
The Australia’s broadside flashed and rumbled across the darkness. Jacob jumped, just as startled as the rest of the Battle-Two crew. Eight glowing orbs shot out in the darkness to merge with something in a shower of sparks and at three distinct explosions. Moments later, starshells burst behind the targeted vessel, the high intensity flares descending like beautiful, oversized snowflakes. Bringing up his binoculars, Jacob sighted at least three vessels suddenly scuttling in the illumination.
“Australia confirms identification as Japanese vessels,” Seaman First Class Teague, Battle Two’s senior talker, stated rapidly.
“Guns is looking for targets!” his companion, Seaman Second Class Rodney Bass added.
“All vessels are given permission to fire,” Teague stated. “Van destroyers have been instructed to turn to starboard to clear the firing angles!”
Jacob was about to respond when the Houston’s 5-inch guns began barking starshells out at the enemy vessels.
“All right people, one at a time!” Jacob barked, making all of the talkers pause for a moment. Twelve thousand yards distant, the Houston’s starshells added to the bright illumination. The Boise fired again, the hits from her salvo leading to her switching to shooting as soon as her main guns could be reloaded.
“Roger,” Jacob shouted, watching as the light cruiser’s outline repeatedly strobed in front of him.
I hope Boise’s gunnery officer knows what he’s doing, Jacob thought. A few moments later, Houston’s aft turret cea
sed searching and the heavy cruiser’s firing gong began to buzz.
As one of those misfortunes of war, Jacob’s desires were not being met. Both the Boise and Australia, firing with the aid of range finding radar, had straddled with their first salvos, then hit with the second. Unfortunately, the two cruisers were both engaging the hapless Yukikaze. Boise followed the Australia as the latter turned to starboard to unmask her stern turrets. As a result the unfortunate Japanese destroyer was subject to the full attention of twenty-three 6 and 8-inch guns.
The effects on the light-skinned Yukikaze were devastating. As a destroyer, she was never designed to stand and trade gunfire with a light and heavy cruiser. Even as her torpedoes were disgorged into the water at the bright flashpoints that were Boise’s guns, Australia’s second salvo had blasted a a hole in the waterline as it detonated just below the anchor. Belatedly, the destroyer’s 5-inch guns began attempting to respond, belching out a single salvo before Australia’s second 8-inch hit carried away the Yukikaze’s gun director. In addition to shredding the DD’s gunnery officer, the fragments from the impact also killed the sharp eyed lookouts who had initially spotted the Allied column, and shoved splinters through the roof of the destroyer’s bridge.
The Yukikaze’s captain had just enough time to realize his right arm was as cleanly as if a butcher had cleaved it when Boise found the range with three, then four, then five more hits in the space of sixty seconds. The hail of explosions finished massacring the bridge crew, knocked out the destroyer’s entire main battery, and exploded her boilers in a gout of steam and screaming men. Beginning to slow from her thirty-four knot advance, ablaze across her forward half, in under three minutes Yukikaze ceased serving any purpose other than as a coffin for her crew and superfluous target to the Boise and Australia’s energetic gun crews.
