by James Young
Once more, Jacob turned and checked the Allied line. Hobart and Dorsetshire were not alone in their damage, it appeared. Prince of Wales’s A turret looked like it had been hit, but the four guns were finally elevated and trained out towards their target. Further aft, the battleship looked like she had taken a couple more hits in her belt, but without anything significant being struck. Beyond her, only the unfortunate Dorsetshire was clearly showing damage within the fast battle line.
Beyond the last Commonwealth cruiser, however, was the nautical equivalent of Dante’s Inferno as the two light forces were engaging one another. From those forces that had originally been with Admiral Phillips, Jacob could see the De Ruyter down by the bow, her forward turrets silent, while the destroyer Vendetta was smoking heavily amidships and coming to a stop. As Jacob watched, the destroyer took another two hits forward, one on her superstructure the other at the extreme limit of her bow. Just beyond her, the U.S.S. Parker was curving out of line, siren shrieking and a breakdown flag running up from her signal bridge.
Swinging his glasses to look at the steadily advancing Japanese line, Jacob saw that there was at least one vessel, a light cruiser by the looks of it, burning heavily and in obvious distress. Another destroyer was circling aimlessly, the sea alive with shells from the Allied vessels closing. As he watched, one of the other light cruisers was lost in a forest of 15” shells, and his mind quickly counted that there were only seven splashes.
Lucky bastard, he thought, realizing that the eighth shell had been a dud. There seems to be something wrong with everyone’s ordnance today.
“Holy shit, look at that big Jap bastard burn!” someone screamed. Jacob turned his glasses back, seeing that the ‘big Jap bastard’ in question was the third Kongo in line. The vessel was indeed hard hit, fire, smoke, and steam pouring from her amidships. For an instant, Jacob found himself hoping for a repeat explosion, but as the cloud turned noticeably lighter in color he could see that it was not a magazine that was afire.
Must be an engine room, he thought.
Jacob’s guess was correct in many ways. The hit vessels was the Haruna, and she had been trading fire with the Prince of Wales. In the end, as Jacob had noted, the Japanese vessel did not have heavy enough guns to penetrate her target’s belt or turrets at long range, In contrast, the Prince of Wales’s 14-inch guns were doing an excellent job piercing IJN armor at the extended range.
Fortunately for Haruna’s crew, the lesson was not delivered with as much dispatch as it had been for Kongo. Whereas Renown’s shell had been the equivalent of a bullet to the brain, Prince of Wales’ hit in Haruna’s forward starboard engine room was buckshot across the legs. Bursting against one of the vessel’s turbines, the shell instantly laid most of the black gang out, carving many of them into unrecognizable detritus of war. The disintegrating turbine and blast opened the space to the sea while simultaneously opening leaks in the adjacent fire room’s bulkhead.
Aboard the Mutsu, Vice Admiral Kondo had seen enough. With the Haruna’s crippling, his force was now heavily outgunned as well as outnumbered. Looking towards the west, he could see that the sun was rapidly setting and would be down within two hours, putting the Japanese Navy back in its preferred environment. Realizing that the geometry of the situation was against his forces, he realized that he needed a diversion. Turning to his signals officer, he gave his commands.
“Sir, the battleships are turning away,” Foncier reported. Enemy cruisers turning in towards us!”
“What in the Hell are they doing?” Jacob asked no one in particular. He had thought his eyes were telling him something crazy, but now he saw that insanity wasn’t residing in his head.
“That’s awfully nice of the Japanese admiral to ask his boys to cover his retreat against three battleships and a bunch of heavy cruisers,” Chief Roberts drily remarked.
“If he wants to sacrifice his vessels, so much the better.”
A bright flash astern caught Jacob’s eye, and he turned to see the horrible sight of an unidentified Allied vessel exploding, the ship’s forward magazines detonating as fire reached them.
“What vessel was that?” Jacob asked.
“The Express, Sir.”
From the looks of it, the British destroyer wasn’t about to be alone. There were at least four or five vessels on each side that were in dire straits. One Japanese vessel was stopped and burning heavily yet still surrounded by shell splashes. The range between the two light forces, with their combined closing speeds, had swiftly drifted to under twenty thousand yards with expected results for increased lethality.
I wonder when those boys are going to admit they’ve had enough? Jacob thought. Some small part of him had to admire the Japanese destroyermen’s aggressiveness even as he hoped and prayed for every rapidly maneuvering vessel to get blown out of the water. Jacob was not about to question the bravery of any man who was willing to charge into the face of guns large enough to sink his vessel with a single shot.
That’s a lot of ground to cover to get into torpedo range, he mused. As if reading his mind, the Japanese forces began to turn away from attempting to catch Admiral Phillips’ vessels. Jacob was about to continue watching their battle when Houston’s guns began speaking again.
Sloan must’ve finished computing the new closure rate, Jacob thought. Spinning his glasses around, he was suddenly shocked.
“Those bastards are turning straight in!” he remarked. The Japanese heavy cruisers were turning directly into the Allied broadsides, permitting their T to get capped by the extended Allied line. The move was tantamount to suicide, even with the reduced profile presented by being practically head on. Beginning to make smoke, the Japanese cruisers charged in a staggered line, Suzuya still leading. The Houston’s shells landed to starboard of the heavy cruiser, on in range but off in direction.
She’s not chasing salvoes anymore, Jacob observed. Sloan will hit her next time we fire. Ahead, the Hobart fired another salvo, her six-inch guns finally able to contribute. Tracking the vessel’s shots, Jacob could see that she was also firing at the lead Japanese cruiser, a flash indicating that she had hit even as her guns fired again.
Glad we’ve got dye in our shells, or I’d be a tad bit pissed off that she’s firing at our target. Houston shuddered with another broadside, the nine guns at a noticeably lower elevation. Glancing at the advancing Japanese, Jacob guessed the range at roughly 18,000 yards.
That’s a long, hot way to go to torpedo range. As if to reinforce that thought, one of Houston’s shells slammed into the heavy cruiser’s massive superstructure, again finding the cruiser’s director just as the space was being remanned. This time Houston’s shell burst in the midst of the sensitive equipment instead of clearing the director’s crew, starting a major fire among the electrical wiring. Whereas the last hit had been relatively temporary, the second shell effectively destroyed Suzuya’s main director until the vessel returned to harbor.
“Another hit on that bastard!” someone observed. “The Prince is shooting her butt off!”
The comment was quite apparent, the Haruna’s pagoda structure clearly trailing a thick stream of smoke. Still slowing, with her two healthy sisters starting to open the distance, the Haruna was beginning to get into dire straits with her continued flooding and the Prince of Wales sharpshooting. Even as her own guns raggedly answered, it was clear that unless something drastic occurred the Japanese battleship would not be long for this earth.
“Torpedoes astern!” a lookout shouted.
Submarines! Just what we need! Jacob thought.
Jacob could be understood for being wrong about the origin of the Japanese torpedoes, as no Western weapon could have made the sixteen thousand yard trip from the light forces melee even on slow setting. While the geometry was all wrong for the long-range shots fired by the Oi, Naka, and four of their DDs, the Allies had helped the situation by turning to pursue the three Kongos. Admiral Ozawa had not specifically ordered his screen commander, the newl
y returned Rear Admiral Tanaka, to fire torpedoes as he was withdrawing, but the still healing admiral had determined to take the chance. Launching from a shallowly converging course, the barrage of sixty-five torpedoes were a wild throw of the dice, caused by a sense of desperation.
Jacob saw one of the deadly weapons broach two hundred yards from Houston’s starboard quarter, the cigar-shaped cylinder seemingly incredibly long. Even as he saw it go back underneath the water, he realized that the weapons were almost wakeless. From their approach angle of forty-five degrees off the stern and at the range that they had been sighted, there was nothing that could be done. Having been firmly in the Allied camp for the majority of the battle, Lady Luck abruptly changed sides and struck against those who had seemed to have her favor, the Renown and Prince of Wales. Three of the large 24-inch torpedoes hit the former, while one hit the latter astern.
Renown’s builders had never intended for the vessel to be subject to one, much less three, of the Long Lance’s warheads. The first torpedo hit one of the old lady’s port engine rooms, sending the crew into oblivion before most of them had a chance to know what happened. The vessel was still whipsawing from that hit when the second hit her stern just forward of the rudder. The blast destroyed Renown’s steering and knocking one of her props askew with tremendous vibration. Finally, just as the vessel’s commander was giving orders for the vessel to be brought to a halt, the third torpedo did it for him, opening her second engine room to the sea. With the loss of power went any chance for Renown’s survival, and the battlecruiser quickly started an alarming list to starboard. Before the startled eyes of the entire battlegroup, the old battlecruiser shuddered to a stop and continued to settle.
The Prince of Wales had been slightly luckier than her cohort. While her underwater protection had not been designed with Long Lances in mind, the system was still fairly sound unless hit in a few vulnerable spots. Directly abaft the #1 port engine room was not such a location, the torpedo’s warhead hitting the thickest part of the battleship’s sub-waterline armor . While necessitating the abandonment of the engine room with subsequent loss of speed, the vessel was not in any danger of sinking.
Seeing the Allied fleet turning away in an attempt to clear the torpedo water, the Japanese light forces chose their opportunity to lay smoke and reverse course back towards their own battle line. Believing that he was turning away from a submarine ambush, Vice Admiral Crutchley was in no mood to give chase, radioing this fact to Admiral Phillips who heartily concurred. With his own light forces in disarray, and a few Type 93s having been sighted by his own lookouts, Admiral Phillips was determined to wait until nightfall when he felt that he would have an advantage.
As the heavier vessels continued their retreat, the Allied light forces began to clear the battlefield, their Japanese counterparts firing a few desultory torpedoes at crippled vessels as they left. One such weapon found the Vendetta, the drifting destroyer’s back broken by the weapon. Her demise somehow missed in the milling confusion, the vessel’s crew would be subject to shark attacks and exposure over the next four days until they drifted ashore on Java.
The losses were far heavier for the Japanese. The light cruiser Sendai, having suffered a direct hit from the Malaya, was burning so fiercely for several minutes it seemed no more Allied attention would be necessary. However, as she was approached by the John Paul Jones, Pillsbury, and Edsall, the forward turret fired two rapid shots at the latter. This was enough for the Americans, and three 21-inch torpedoes made the light cruiser’s demise much more rapid. Their good humor already weakened by the stresses of the last few days and various damages suffered in the present fight, the American destroyers decided it was far more important to search for Renown’s survivors than help men who clearly did not know when to surrender.
While not as damaged as the Sendai, the destroyer Shigure found herself barely able to make fifteen knots. This was completely insufficient for escape purposes, as the Dutch squadron fell upon the destroyer with great fury. Angry at the loss of their comrades, the threat to their homes, and their allies open contempt for them, the Dutchmen quickly smothered the Japanese destroyer. True to their national heritage, the Japanese did not surrender, the destroyer firing her final shots even as she sank stern first beneath the waves. Their bloodlust up, the Piet Hein and Van Ghent steamed through the wreckage, their hulls and screws depleting the number of Shigure survivors even further and simultaneously adding more blood to attract the Indies underwater denizens. Even worse, on their second pass through, the two Dutch destroyers dropped several depth charges apiece. In the end, no member of Shigure’s complement would see their homeland again.
As Shigure was suffering her fate, the Renown’s battered hull finally gave out. With very little warning, the battlecruiser lurched then began to capsize. Her complement, the majority of which had already been ordered topside, quickly found themselves in the water. As the vessel continued over, her massive wounds were exposed for a brief moment to the sky. Pouring oil, the Renown briefly resembled a bleeding, injured whale before plunging her bow under and disappearing with a deep rumble.
Standing aboard Houston, Jacob saw the several attending destroyers moving in to begin picking up the Renown’s survivors.
We were lucky. If that Jap cruiser could shoot, we just might be swimming right now also, Jacob thought. Jesus, it’s like you can die any moment out here. With that thought, he went inside and began to start directing damage control actions.
The next sixty minutes, like all times when a person was extremely busy, passed quickly. Jacob made a quick tour through the vessel’s compartments, stopping to talk and surreptitiously inspect several of the damage control parties as he went. Finding everything in order, he returned to Battle Two just as the tropical sunset was commencing in all of its beauty. From his position Jacob could just see the sun beneath the cloud cover as the red orb headed for the sea. As per usual, sunset proceeded quickly, Sol seeming to plunge itself into the sea. Feeling the Houston starting to come around, he caught a glimpse of the Exeter lit up by the red sun, the white field of her battle ensign almost blood red. Jacob suddenly felt a chill, as if the colors were a portent. Laughing at himself, he stepped back into Battle Two.
“Sir, the captain requests you forward,” Lieutenant Foncier said, nearly running into him in the hatchway.
Jacob nodded his assent and turned slowly around, his stitched wound having apparently reopened itself during his trip around the ship.
Strange, I didn’t feel that a few minutes ago, he thought. Adrenaline is a wonderful thing until it wears out.
Gingerly coming down to the main deck, Jacob made his way painfully forward. As he passed through the anti-aircraft positions he could see the ship’s chaplain, Lieutenant Commander Cody Mulcahy, providing last rites over a sheet shrouded body. Taking off his helmet as he passed, Jacob gave a slight nod to the chaplain. The man, his face drawn and pale, nodded back then continued his work.
Upon reaching the bridge, Jacob moved slowly out to the starboard wing. Lieutenant Commander Sloan and Lieutenant Connor were also present, the engineering officer soaking wet from the waist down. Jacob didn’t have time to ask Connor how he got wet, the captain starting as soon as he came out onto the deck.
“XO, you look like you’ve seen better days,” Captain Wallace said, all three officers noting Jacob’s ginger movements.
“Sorry sir, leg wound opened back up,” Jacob said. “I’ll get doc to look at it if I’ve got the time.”
“XO, you need to make the time,” Wallace replied, his voice clearly conveying it wasn’t a suggestion.
“Aye-aye, Sir,” Jacob replied, grimacing.
“Gentlemen, we’ll go around the horn quickly,” Wallace began, turning to Sloan. “Guns, damn good shooting. How many shells do we have left?”
“About a hundred per gun, sir,” Sloan said. “Turret No. 1 is shooting the new rounds we got from BuOrd off the President Jackson. We didn’t have a problem at long
-range, but the rate of fire will be a little slower at shorter range given their heavier weight.
“Noted,” Captain Wallace said wearily. “Is that all, guns?”
“Yes, Sir,” Sloan said slowly. Wallace gestured for Lieutenant Connor to go next.
“Sir, we’ve plugged the leaks from the near misses,” Connor reported. “The firing shook some fittings loose, but we’ll be able to give you full speed without any problems.”
“Good enough, Lieutenant Connor,” Wallace said. “Gentlemen, you are dismissed.”
Both men came to attention and saluted. Wallace returned the gesture, then waited for them to go inside the bridge.
“Commander Morton, I have recommended to Admiral Hart that you be returned Stateside,” Captain Wallace said.
Jacob could not have been more shocked if Wallace had started speaking Japanese.
“Sir?” he asked tremulously.
“Relax XO,” Wallace said, looking as if he was having trouble focusing his thoughts. “I suggested Admiral Hart promote you and place you in command of new construction. Your work out here has been exemplary.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jacob said, going from shock to pride.
“Your actions over the last six months have been exemplary for someone in your position,” Wallace continued. “I hope that you have another chance to excel in a couple of hours.”
I hope I survive it! Jacob thought.
“Now let’s get back to work,” Wallace said. Jacob came to attention and saluted, the gesture returned by his captain.
“It has been an honor serving with you, sir,” Jacob said.
