by James Young
Nice to be able to step outside and see what in the hell is going on without having to look through those damn portholes, Jason thought as he stepped out onto the deck, his binoculars around his neck. I trust Chief Roberts, but he’s still not an officer.
The enemy aircraft were still invisible to the naked eye, the report having been passed from Australia’s radar, but their likely targets were visible on the horizon. The ACDA Main Body had already repulsed four air attacks so far that day. The heaviest and by far the most deadly had come just one hour before, thirty-six twin-engined bombers storming into the outnumbered CAP and Beaufighters. Twenty of the bombers had managed to press into anti-aircraft range, with all but two of those surviving to release their weapons.
The Hermes, already damaged earlier, had taken another fish on the opposite side. The carrier was currently stopped and low in the water three miles to Houston’s starboard, a pair of destroyers close aboard.
She’s not going to survive another hit, simple as that, Jacob thought. I’m not even sure I’d bet on her surviving the two she’s taken.
Turning back to look north, Jacob could see a column of smoke coming from the battleship Revenge, a bare mile and a half away. The vessel had taken a torpedo hit and was still fighting the resultant fires, slowing the entire Main Body’s battle line to fifteen knots.
She’s going to have to go back to Surabaya, Jacob thought. As if reading his mind, the battleship hove to port away from the rapidly forming battle line, black smoke pumping from her funnel as she attempted to increase her speed. Two Commonwealth destroyers turned to help the battleship out, laying smoke to obscure the larger vessel’s movements. The battleship’s wallowing turn brought her back towards Houston, the large 15-inch turrets swinging out towards the approaching Japanese aircraft.
“Aircraft port beam!” a lookout screamed from somewhere forward. Lifting his binoculars to see where the enemy was, Jacob bit back a curse. Like predators sensing a wounded member of the herd, the approaching enemy formation was turning and starting to track towards the Revenge. Jacob watched as the six Sea Hurricanes and six Dutch Hawks that were airborne as CAP closed towards the approaching specks. Through his binoculars Jacob could tell that the approaching enemy aircraft were single-engined and heavily outnumbered the CAP.
“Sir, we’re moving to assist the Revenge,” Foncier called. Looking astern, Jacob could see the Houston’s repaired aft turret swinging out towards the approaching enemy aircraft, now rapidly growing. As he watched there were several falling comets, the explosions eliciting cheers from the Houston’s waiting gun crews.
Might want to make sure those are enemy aircraft before you start cheering, Jacob thought. He was suddenly nudged in the back by a hard object. Whirling, he was prepared to rip someone’s face off when he realized it was Chief Roberts holding out his pie plate helmet.
“Hard to make the men keep theirs on if you’re not wearing yours, Sir,” Chief Roberts said quietly. “More importantly, I’d hate to have to train up Commander Sloan…he’s sorta deaf.”
Jacob took the helmet, getting ready to retort, when the cruiser’s port 5-inch guns opened fire at the approaching enemy aircraft. Turning to look, Jacob saw the shells burst far short of the approaching enemy aircraft.
“What in the hell is Sloan doing?” Jacob asked. Turning he moved quickly into Battle Two, listening as the talkers counted down the range to the approaching Japanese aircraft.
Unbeknownst to Jacob, the aircraft he had seen falling out of the sky had indeed been Japanese. The combined first strike of the Hiyoand Zuiho, the approaching group had consisted of ten A6M Zeroes and twelve each Vals and Kates. For once the FDO aboard the Prince of Wales had managed to place the CAP in a superior position to use their heavier aircraft in a slashing dive attack, his task aided by the timely arrival of six American P-38 Lightnings. Striking with a ferocity all out of proportion to their numbers, the CAP had managed to destroy two of the Zeroes outright to get amongst the bombers. As a result, the strike was disjointed, the six remaining Vals and eight Kates attacked as a stream rather than one concentrated group.
“There was an error in range from the Australia, Sir,” Foncier said as Jacob came in. The 5-inch guns spoke again as one volley, then began firing as rapidly as the crews could reload. Turning, Jacob could see the enemy coming in a loose gaggle, the torpedo bombers descending almost to sea level.
“Main battery preparing to engage torpedo bombers,” Wedgewood said, his voice several octaves higher and breaking. Jacob’s eyes met Roberts, the NCO already on the way to talk to the young man.
Captain Wallace’s original intent had been to try and draw off some of the approaching enemy planes by presenting his ship as a nearby target. The ruse was unsuccessful, the surviving Japanese pilots suffering an extreme case of target fixation as they began rushing in towards the Revenge. Seeing that his ruse was not going to work, Captain Wallace barked for the wheel to be put hard to port, bringing the Houston around in a sharp turn towards the enemy aircraft.
Just as the heavy cruiser was heeling over, the nine eight-inch guns roared out their first salvo. Six miles away nine perfectly spaced geysers rose up like an instant waterfall in front of the charging Japanese torpedo planes. The approaching eight aircraft continued to advance, the pilots arcing undeterred through the falling salt water. A few moments later the Revenge tried her luck through the smoke screen laid by her consorts, the geysers from the 15-inch shells far more impressive but just as useless.
Bastards are approaching too fast, Jacob thought. He had been aboard a ship under mock air attack several years before during his time at BuPers. A pilot that had been observing the attack had explained the intricacies of aerial torpedo dropping to Jacob. As the Houston continued to come around in her tight turn, the vessel’s 1.1-inch pom-poms began engaging the enemy aircraft as they hurtled across the ship’s path from starboard to port. As Jacob watched, one of the enemy aircraft shed a wing, rolling and cartwheeling into the ocean.
Then the aircraft were past to port, the range fouled by the passing Phoenix as the light cruiser inexplicably crossed between Houston and the approaching Japanese strike.
Fucking idiot, Jacob thought, his opinion obviously shared by several others in Battle Two judging from the angry cries. The light cruiser made up for her interference by winging one of the enemy aircraft as they passed overhead.
“Dive bombers!” a lookout shouted from the crow’s nest above him. Looking up, Jacob felt his heart stop.
Two Vals were diving directly at the Houston, their approach almost unnoticed except by a solitary 1.1-inch crew that had tracked the bombers the entire way in. Belatedly the numerous machine guns located around the cruiser’s deck opened up also, but it was far, far too late.
Jacob stood transfixed as both bombers released their weapons, the black dots separating from between the bombers’ fixed landing gear and growing larger. The Japanese pilots fired their cowl-mounted machine guns as they pulled up, the bullets impacting forward of Battle Two amongst a 5-inch gun crew. Jacob watched as the falling bombs seemed to elongate, instinctively realizing that this meant they were going to miss.
It wasn’t by much, both bombs landing close enough on Houston’s starboard side to jolt the heavy cruiser and spring a couple of leaks in her engine room. The sound of metal on metal and screams told Jacob that the fragments had struck several of the exposed men manning the ship’s machine guns and secondary mounts.
Dammit, can we go one engagement without the surgeon getting work? Jacob thought crazily. Suddenly he realized he smelled gasoline, and looked forward to see aviation fuel leaking onto the deck from one of the Houston’s seaplanes.
“Damage control to the catapults!” Jacob barked back into Battle Two. “Get those damn planes overboard!”
He turned to see both Vals weaving away out of range, one of them smoking slightly with its rear gunner blazing away at the Houston despite being far out of range.
Go a
head and waste your ammo, you stupid SOB, Jacob thought. Turning away from the fly by shooting, Jacob looked back towards the Revenge.
The old battleship was heeled over in a turn to starboard, coming around slowly to comb the approaching torpedo tracks. Versus the pilots of the Kido Butai, she would have been meat. Against the less well-trained pilots attacking her, the evasive turn, heavy fire, and the smoke screens were just enough for her to narrowly avoid the weapons launched at her.
The turn was not enough to avoid the attention of the four Vals that survived to push over on her. Three of the bombs missed at varying ranges, the closest two hundred yards off of the battleship’s starboard bow. The fourth, and last bomb, landed on Revenge’s ‘X’ turret, blasting the battleship’s seaplane into flaming junk while expending its fury without penetrating the turret’s roof. Looking back at the flaming battleship, the Val’s tail gunner believed that the bomb hit had been a fatal one.
“Oh shit,” an older petty officer muttered from behind Jacob. “She’s done for.” Jacob brought up his binoculars, focusing on the burning area. A quick glance showed the turret still operational, the crew starting to bring it back into train.
“She’s all right,” Jacob observed. “Going to need a new paint job on her stern turrets, but she’s not that badly hurt.”
“Sir, the aviation department’s reporting the port SOC has also been holed,” Foncier reported.
“Instruct them to jettison both aircraft,” Jacob replied disgustedly.
“Roger,” Foncier replied, gesturing for the information to be passed to the aviation department.
The Houston began to slow in order to match speed with the Revenge, weaving back and forth to avoid steaming too far away from the battleship. Astern, the Phoenix and the two Dutch destroyers resumed their journey to join the Main Body.
“Sir, Captain Wallace requests your presence on the bridge,” Wedgewood reported. Jacob noted that his voice sounded somewhat deeper and shook his head.
I don’t care what Roberts says, I’m not having a damn fifteen-year-old as my talker, Jacob thought as he walked out of Battle Two to make his way forward. Moving quickly, he found himself at the bridge a couple of minutes later, just as the aviation division was pushing the damaged SOC over the cruiser’s starboard side.
Captain Wallace was standing on the starboard wing of the signal bridge looking back as the biplane tumbled into the sea. From the look on his face Jacob could tell he was not pleased.
“XO, I am told you gave authorization to jettison that aircraft,” Captain Wallace said lowly as he walked up.
Oh shit, Jacob thought.
“Yes Sir, I did,” he replied just as lowly.
“While I appreciate your initiative and understand the logic given the fine example on our larger brethren,” Captain Wallace said, gesturing at the Revenge, “please give me some warning next time.”
Next time I’ll let the bastard catch on fire, how’s that sound? Jacob thought.
“Aye-aye, sir,” he replied.
“We’ve been given new orders by Admiral Phillips,” Captain Wallace said. “Apparently our opponents didn’t pay attention to that part about not splitting one’s forces when facing a superior enemy.” With the last, he handed Jacob a flimsy. Reading it quickly, Jacob looked up in surprise.
“This has to be a feint,” he said. “They’re trying to draw forces off to the other end of the Java Sea.”
“I thought the same thing until I saw the transports,” Captain Wallace replied. “The Dutch have sent another couple of aircraft to confirm, but it appears that they’re trying to flank our forces on Sumatra while our back is turned up here.”
“What are our orders?”
“We’re being joined by the Phoenix, Exeter, and Australia,” Captain Wallace said. “Those two Dutch destroyers and three Dutch cruisers will join us as soon as we get the Revenge back to harbor. We are still going to Balikpapan, the Main Body is going back to Sumatra.”
If that’s what’s happening to battleships, we cruisers don’t stand a chance, he thought fatalistically.
“Sir, signal from the Exeter,” a lookout called. Both Jacob and Captain Wallace turned and look aft to where the Commonwealth cruiser was rapidly approaching at her full speed. The signal was in mid-sentence when they began being able to read it.
…GLASSFORD SENDS: REQUEST YOU HEAVE TO SO THAT I MAY BOARD MY FLAGSHIP. GREATLY ENJOYING THE REFRESHMENTS HERE, BUT NEED A CREW THAT SPEAKS PROPER ENGLISH.
Both Captain Wallace and Jacob started laughing, quickly followed by the signalman.
“Acknowledge the signal,” Captain Wallace replied. “Tell the Exeter that we’re pleased to have her in our ‘little coterie’ again.”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” the signalman replied, then began transmitting the message.
Same old dancers, same old tune, Jacob thought. Hopefully we’ll hurt them a lot more than last time.
Pearl Harbor
0845 Local (1415 Eastern)
27 April
“Danny, how in the hell are you?” Vice Admiral William F. Halsey asked as he strode into Rear Admiral Graham’s office.
You know, maybe Vice Admiral Pye’s death was a blessing in disguise, Nick thought as he sprung to his feet. Halsey’s an aviator but he’s already visited this office more times than his last two predecessors combined.
“Doing well, sir, doing well,” Graham replied, coming from around his desk to take his boss’s preoffered hand. “What brings you down to my lovely sweatshop?”
Looking at Halsey, Nick suddenly realized that the man’s smile was not meeting his eyes.
“I was in the area and thought I’d stop by,” Vice Admiral Halsey said. “Lieutenant Cobb, why don’t you excuse us for a moment?”
That was not a request, Nick thought.
“Aye aye, Sir,” he said, leaving the two admirals and Captain Donze inside Graham’s office.
Stepping outside, Nick passed by the desk of Agnes Nunes, Admiral Graham’s secretary. An olive-skinned, dark-haired woman, Nick had heard Agnes originally hailed from New Mexico by way of Portugal. Although he had entered the office ignorant of secretaries doing anything but dictation, Nick had quickly come to realize the folly of that assumption.
Who knew that the office executioner wears a dress? Nick thought.
“I was wondering how long it was going to take you to make your exit,” Agnes observed in her contralto voice.
“Not soon enough,” Nick replied with a smile. Agnes gave a slight laugh at that, covering her mouth with her hand.
Hmm, no rings, Nick said.
“You remind me of my fiancée,” Agnes replied with a smile.
Which apparently doesn’t mean a damn thing, Nick thought bitterly.
“Well hopefully he knows when to run for the hills himself,” Nick replied evenly, hoping his regret didn’t show in his voice. ““When two large bulls are in a rather small pen, it’s best for the smaller farm animals to leave, quickly.”
A sad look passed briefly over Agnes’ face.
“His name was William Clayton,” Agnes said. “He was XO of the S-27.”
Nick paled.
“Oh Jesus, I’m sorry,” he replied.
The S-27 had been one of the “Sugar” boats, the S-class that had been designed to defend the coastal waters of the United States and her possessions, not range the entire Pacific like the current “fleet” submarines. As such, she had been assigned to guard the Panama Canal zone, where she had been sunk on December 23rd the previous year by the U.S.S. Anderson.
That explains why she gives everyone the cold shoulder, Nick thought, repressing the urge to shudder. Horrible accident, and all because the DD’s signal officer had looked at the wrong day’s recognition signals.
“No need to apologize, Lieutenant Cobb,” Agnes said after a moment. “You’re not the idiot who sank her.”
True, Nick thought. Or else I’d be wearing stripes and living in Kansas. Initially the Panama Canal Z
one’s commander had resisted court-martialing the Anderson’s commander. Rumor had it that Admiral King himself had put a kibosh to that course of action.
Man’s lucky he wasn’t shot, from what I understand of Admiral King from Eric, Nick thought.
“No, but I am the idiot who just made you think of him,” Nick replied. Agnes cocked her head and gave Nick a speculative look.
“Yes, yes you did,” she replied.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you end up working for Rear Admiral Graham?” Nick asked, glancing warily at the door. Agnes chuckled.
“You are very funny, Nick,” she said, shaking her head. “For all their stars, they are still just men, men who put their pants on the same way you do.”
“Yeah, except both of them have a lieutenant to help them,” Nick replied with little mirth.
“He likes you, you know,” Agnes said. “Says you remind him of how he was back when he was a young officer.”
Nick turned and looked at the woman with a quizzical look on his face.
“And how’s that?” he asked.
“Like a man running around with his hair on fire who can’t seem to figure out why he smells smoke everywhere he goes,” Agnes said, her smile broadening as she dropped the other shoe.
Their banter was interrupted by Captain Donze coming out of the room, his face stricken.
“Agnes, no one is to disturb Rear Admiral Graham for the next hour. No one,” Donze said severely.
“Yes Captain Donze,” Agnes said, raising an eyebrow.
“If anyone has a problem with that, they can come see me,” Donze continued. “Cobb, follow me to my office.”
Nick had never seen Captain Donze look so shaken. He followed the senior officer into his room, closing the door behind him at Donze’s hurried gesture. The captain stared out the window for a moment, taking a couple of deep breaths.
