by James Young
One look and Adam knew why the Bowles was not receiving a court martial. Pictured on the front page of the magazine was one Captain Bowles embracing a tearful older woman. Two other officers, both of flag rank, looked on. The headline was in huge white letters with black borders. It read:
THE FACE OF OUR NEW WAR
‘Dead Hero’s Son Embraces Mother’
“Admiral King’s Chief of Staff called me personally to discuss this news story,” Lieutenant Colonel King stated. “You can imagine how well things went over when I told him young Captain Bowles was up for court martial.”
I imagine that was a very one-sided and profane conversation, Adam thought, feeling a twinge of genuine remorse for having judged his wing commander so harshly.
“I’m surprised they didn’t try to transfer him, sir,” Adam said, crestfallen.
“They did. You’re not the only one with markers, Major Haynes,” King observed. “I just used most of mine to ensure that Mr. Bowles didn’t suddenly find himself in a training command somewhere.”
King’s disdain was evident by how he spoke of the junior officer. Hearing it, Adam was amazed that King had used some of his own favors to keep Bowles within the squadron.
He has to know that this will not end well for Bowles, Adam thought.
“Thank you, sir,” Adam replied. “I will make every effort to ensure Captain Bowles receives numerous opportunities for professional development.”
I hope I didn’t sound too malevolent, Adam seethed.
“Before you go off and figure out some way to do the young captain in, Major Haynes,” King said, his tone indicating the seriousness of what was about to follow, “I suggest you consider a few things. One, understand that if Captain Bowles dies in any sort of ‘accident’, it will likely mean the end of your and my career, no questions asked.”
Adam nodded, hoping that the disappointment was not obvious on his face.
“Two, Bowles is reinstated as a flight leader immediately,” King continued. “In the story he is listed as a flight leader, and the last thing the Commandant wants is for it to hit the papers that our young lover boy has been demoted. Apparently Mrs. Bowles is a decent lady and doesn’t deserve to have that happen to her.”
Adam remained silent while he mulled over which flight he would have to give back to Bowles. Captain Kennedy hadn’t worked out that well as a flight leader, plus it was a different flight than Burke’s or the one Bowles had led prior to his emergency leave.
“Sir, I’ll be giving him Yellow Flight,” Adam stated.
“Good. Finally, you’ve got to give up two captains in order to fill out a couple of other squadrons that are being raised out of this last crop of trainees.”
“Walters and Seidel,” Adam said without hesitation.
“That was quick,” King stated, obviously surprised. “I take it you’re not pleased with either officer?”
“Sir, neither one of the two of them will ever be capable leaders while Bowles is in the squadron,” Adam responded. “ Not to mention that I busted them the same time as Bowles and can’t return him to flight leader status while not doing the same for them.”
King looked at Adam with a raised eyebrow.
“I don’t know Major, I think you’re actually starting to gain my confidence in you being a little bit more than a hired gun,” King observed dryly.
“Sir, you’re starting to restore my faith that there are truly warriors in the Corps,” Adam retorted.
King chuckled at that.
“I don’t know whether that was a compliment or an insult, but either way we both have work to do,” King said. “The orders detailing these changes will be at your office by this afternoon.”
“Thank you, sir,” Adam responded, coming to attention. “Permission to leave?”
King shook his head.
“There’s one more matter,” King stated. “Please, have a seat.”
Adam looked at his wing commander skeptically as he gingerly sat down. He’d apparently torqued his back worse than he had thought.
Guess a banged up head and fragments weren’t quite enough, Adam thought.
“First off, let me tell you that I think there’s likely a medal in your future,” King said. “Vice Admiral Thompson has endorsed you for a Silver Star, and each of your men for a Distinguished Flying Cross.”
I’m sensing another big “other shoe” directly overhead if that’s the opening gambit, Adam thought.
“Thank you, Sir,” he replied, hoping to conceal his desire just to get things over with.
“There are, however, some concerns,” King continued. “There is the little matter of you using profanity over an open channel. Although you were in the heat of the moment, you will never use that word again over an open radio while you’re a member of this wing. Do I make myself clear?”
We’ll see how well proper language holds up when the bullets begin to fly past your head, Adam thought.
“Second, there is the little matter of what led to you cursing at your section leader,” King continued briskly. “First lieutenant Butler stated that you were apparently in the midst of strafing the submarine again even though it was clearly sinking. Is this true?”
I might need to get Butler a new home, Adam thought, carefully considering his answer.
“Sir, the submarine had not surrendered,” he stated after a long pause.
“That’s not what I asked, Major,” King replied, green eyes hard. “But your answer speaks volumes. Did it ever occur to you, in your blood lust, that live Germans might be more use to us than dead ones? Or that if we start making it impossible for people to abandon ship then the Germans might do the same to us?”
There were several clicks on the clock before Adam realized that the questions were not rhetorical.
“Sir, I will not pretend to be inclined to show the Germans any mercy,” Adam said. “I’ve watched those Kraut bastards shoot my friends in parachutes, and I think what they did to London speaks for itself.”
King pressed his lips into a thin line.
“I see,” King replied evenly. “So you are saying that you are unrepentant?”
“Sir, if you order me to take every possible measure to make sure I don’t harm any more Germans than I absolutely need to, then I will of course follow orders,” Adam stated. “But other than that, no, I don’t regret for an instant attempting to kill them.”
“Major Haynes, I realize we’re at war,” King started slowly. “I also realize that you’ve not only seen the elephant, you keep running up to give it hugs. That, however, does not excuse war crimes. Yes, I am telling you that for future reference you will no longer kill men who are attempting to abandon ship or are jumping out of their aircraft. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Adam replied, once again making his face blank. He watched as King searched his visage for any signs of duplicity. Either being satisfied or, more likely, realizing Adam was not going to openly defy him, King relaxed.
“Enough of that,” he said. “What are your plans for today, Major Haynes?”
“Classroom instruction, sir,” Adam replied. “I’ll be giving a class on air-to-air gunnery, followed by aircraft recognition. Need to make sure the men understand the difference between a Spitfire and a 109.”
King raised an eyebrow.
“Expecting a visit from a German aircraft carrier?” he asked, his tone only half-joking.
“Understand there were a lot of folks in Hawaii not expecting a Japanese one to come calling,” Adam said. “I certainly wasn’t expecting to be strafing a submarine either.”
“Point taken,” King allowed with a slight smile. “I’ll probably drop in.”
“Always welcome, sir,” Adam said easily.
IJNS. Akagi
1454 Local Time (0054 Eastern)
11 April (10 April)
Vice Admiral Tamon Yamaguchi looked out across Kure’s harbor as the damaged I.J.N.S. Shokaku was eased towards the installation’s dry dock.
Listing and down by the bow, the IJN flattop’s wounds were both clearly visible and very severe.
It’s a wonder she made it back, Yamaguchi mused. Which is better than we can say about her sister. With his narrow, almost feline face set in a scowl and almond eyes narrow, Yamaguchi looked like he was ready to spring at some unseen enemy as he watched the tugs do their work.
“You are certain that you sunk the second Yorktown carrier?” Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto, commander of Japan’s Combined Fleet, asked from beside him. A distinguished, athletic man with a permanently shaven head, Yamamoto stood in a plain, navy blue uniform. The senior officer’s maimed left hand clutched his hat as the two men stood on the carrier’s bridge.
“Yes,” Vice Admiral Yamaguchi replied. “One of Chikuma’s aircraft reported that the crew was abandoning ship when it turned back towards the task group.”
Yamamoto pursed his lips, bringing his binoculars up so he could study the ravaged Shokaku more closely.
“It will be at least six months before she returns to action, sir,” Yamaguchi stated.
“I have told the repair yard they have four,” Admiral Yamamoto asserted firmly. “The Taiho will be ready in September, at which point you will again have six carriers.”
I’m not sure I think those two vessels should be division mates, Yamaguchi thought. Although at this point, I do not believe I am being asked my opinion.
“We will hopefully have enough pilots to man all of them,” Yamaguchi stated. He was about to continue, then stopped as Yamamoto gave him an appraising look.
“Inoue-san openly wondered if perhaps your concern for your pilots is a means of masking a loss of heart,” Yamamoto intoned solemnly.
Yamaguchi fought to keep his face calm.
“Perhaps Inoue-san should worry more about how two squadrons of fighters and some shore guns managed to repulse his initial attack,” Yamaguchi said, his calm voice completely belying his white-hot rage. “I wish to conserve my strength for the Decisive Battle, not use my sword to cut my neighbor’s underbrush.”
Yamamoto regarded his subordinate for a few moments, then began speaking.
“I was not quite as blunt as you, Yamaguchi-san, but I conveyed those same feelings.”
Yamaguchi allowed himself a brief smile as Yamamoto continued.
“Our submarines reported sinking two American carriers and a battleship, and there were several subsequent sightings of the force heading back towards Pearl Harbor. Inoue-san expects to conduct his final assault by tomorrow.”
The two men were interrupted by one of Yamamoto’s staff officers.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” the young commander said, bowing to both admirals. He handed Yamamoto a message flimsy. The senior officer looked down at the paper, his face growing progressively more grave as he read it. Finishing, he turned to the commander.
“When was this message received?” Yamamoto asked, his voice strained.
“Four hours ago, sir,” the commander replied.
“Dispatch orders for Vice Admiral Fukudome to scuttle the Shoho,” Yamamoto barked. “Where is Vice Admiral Ozawa’s report?”
“We have been attempting to contact Vice Admiral Ozawa for the last twelve hours…” the commander began. Yamamoto opened his mouth, then closed it, his view speculative.
“What was his last position relative the reported location of the British carriers?” Yamamoto asked.
“Three hundred miles northeast as of last night,” the commander replied.
Yamamoto turned and looked at Yamaguchi.
“Vice Admiral Fukudome was attacked last night in the darkness by British single-engined aircraft,” Yamamoto said. “The Commonwealth seems to have been practicing a great number of night maneuvers based on what happened to Tanaka-san and now Fukodome.”
I would practice night maneuvers too if my front-line torpedo aircraft was a biplane, Yamaguchi thought.
“Where is Ozawa-san?” Yamaguchi asked, bewildered.
“I dispatched Vice Admiral Ozawa with Ryujo, Junyo, and Hiyo to Singapore a week before you departed for Oahu,” Yamamoto replied. “His orders were to raid Darwin, then head south and strike at Perth. Simultaneously, Fukodome was to depart Madagascar and be in position to strike the Royal Navy base at Ceylon with Shoho and Zuiho.”
Yamaguchi’s eyes widened.
No wonder Inoue was asking for help from two of my carriers, Yamaguchi thought. We appear to have stripped all other areas of not only carriers, but aircraft to man them.
“My assumption, of course, was that the Army would not be taken by complete surprise in Singapore,” Yamamoto muttered, furthering Yamaguchi’s look of surprise.
“Sir, I am not sure I follow?” the latter stated.
“The Army was prepared to launch a predawn strike against the Dutch on the first day of the war,” Yamamoto said. “Apparently those jackals have been so wonderful to the local populace that they lit signal fires to help guide British night bombers to the airfields.”
Yamaguchi winced and grunted, not needing to know much more.
“The Army refuses to answer how many aircraft they lost, but they have stated that the invasion of Sumatra must be postponed until the Philippines operations are complete,” Yamamoto said.
“What did the Army do to prevent the British from having their path lit again?” Yamaguchi inquired.
Yamamoto gave him a grim look.
“The same thing the Army always has done: Kill lots of people who had nothing to do with it in an attempt to cover up their incompetence,” Yamamoto spat disgustedly.
“What of Nagumo-san’s aircraft?” Yamaguchi asked, his face puzzled.
“What aircraft?” Yamamoto asked with a barked laugh. “As directed, he shifted his aircraft north through Siam and Indochina. Those he did not redeploy flew aboard the Chiyoda and Chitose the first day of the war and were used to surprise the Americans at Clark Field.”
I wondered how we managed to catch them unawares after they attacked Formosa, Yamaguchi thought. He’d heard of the great attack that had crippled the Americans’ air support but not the details.
“How long until the Army believes the Americans are defeated?” Yamaguchi asked. “I understand the Army reached Manila this morning.”
“Probably another week and a half unless there is naval interference,” Yamamoto replied. “Kondo-san planned his attacks well, and Ozawa’s attacks seem to have made the enemy cautious even if they did catch Fukodome.”
Yamaguchi thought for a moment, mentally recalling a map of the Philippines in his head.
“If we are needed for the Southern Operation, we can sail the Second Division by the end of the week,” Yamaguchi said quietly.
Yamamoto looked pensive for several minutes. Finally, he spoke.
“No, you are right—as Fukodome just showed us, if I stretch our forces too thin I risk losing your carriers in penny packets,” Yamamoto said. “We will take some of your pilots, but leave their ships—I will need them whole for the Decisive Battle.”
“How soon do you think that the Americans will attempt to advance again?” Yamaguchi asked.
“I would like to think that they will sue for peace if we complete the Southern Advance quickly enough,” Yamamoto answered. “Unfortunately, we both know from our time there that the Americans are a proud people. You stung them practically in their lair but, at the moment, they are likely telling themselves it was a fluke at the moment.”
“If not for our allies, we would have struck them far harder back in 1941,” Yamaguchi stated bitterly. Yamamoto turned to look at him.
“True, but it is best not to question a great gift,” Yamamoto said. “If we had not gone north, the Army would still be in charge of the nation and we’d be pouring material into China that can be better used building and repairing our ships.”
Yamamoto had started to gesture towards the Shokaku with the last, but had caught himself.
“I think the fuel oil is more important,” the junior a
dmiral replied. Yamamoto nodded sagely at that.
“A full year’s worth is more than we would have ever been able to save on our own,” he said. “We would never have been able to pull of so many simultaneous operations if not for the oil the Germans gave us. We have Singapore in almost pristine condition and were gifted another year to train your force. I think that the gods smiled on us.”
Yamaguchi could see his superior’s point.
“But still, we could have caught our enemy asleep and unprepared rather than alert and full of fight,” Yamaguchi replied.
“When attacking a sleeping giant, one must ensure that the first stroke is fatal,” Yamamoto said. “You handled your force with great aggression and skill, your losses the due that Fate requires for great gambles. There is no other commander that I would rather have had in your place.”
Yamaguchi drew himself erect, a great feeling of pride filling him. Disguised in language designed to save face, Yamamoto was saying he was happy Yamaguchi had been commanding the Kido Butai rather than Nagumo. It was extremely high praise from the usually taciturn commander.
“Remember you estimated that you would lose two carriers, Yamaguchi,” Yamamoto said. “I will gladly take one in exchange for three carriers and four battleships.”
Yes, but even at that exchange rate we will have no navy in three years, while both of us know the Americans will have an ever larger fleet on the seas, Yamaguchi thought to himself. My victory was great, but the next one we have must be even greater.
“Hopefully our German friends will continue to keep some of the Americans’ strength tied down in the Atlantic,” Yamamoto said.
“How many of my pilots will you need?” Yamaguchi asked.
“I will consult with the staff,” Yamamoto said. “We will take all of the orphans from Shokaku and Zuikaku to fill the ranks, then have Fuchida-san pick once the rest once they have returned from their three day passes. Hopefully by that point we will have bases in the Philippines for them.”
U.S.S. Shark
0100 Local (1230 Eastern)
13 April (12 April)
“Lieutenant Commander, General MacArthur would like a word,” a dry voice stated from conning tower’s hatch.
