Knight's Move (Kirov Series Book 21)

by John Schettler

  Chapter 14

  The line held, and on the road north to Mandai, the Gurkhas advanced with the Maori Battalion, pushing the Japanese back, and leaving wrecked tanks in their wake. It was only the artillery fire that forced them to halt, then slowly fall back to British lines. Both sides were exhausted by the three days fighting, and ammunition was low, especially for the Japanese. Now Yamashita’s opening bravado, firing that powerful barrage to cow the British, came back to haunt him. He was shocked when his Quartermaster, Colonel Ikatani, reported the guns had perhaps an hour or two left, and would then go silent.

  The question now was what to do? He knew he could not simply withdraw, and yet his position on the island was precarious, with the bulk of his force to the west, and the British occupying the only roads that linked the causeway sector to those troops. Thus the Imperial Guards Division would remain unsupported, and Montgomery’s position standing firm at Bulim was now a major problem. He considered one more attack, the ‘Broken Jewel’ massed charge as before, but the casualties were already too high. If he preserved these troops, replacements would eventually bring his divisions back up to full strength. But how to explain this to Tojo and the Army General Staff? How to bear the shame of having to ask for additional support here?

  An idea occurred to him, and he looked at Nishimura with dark eyes. “This is what happens when orders are not obeyed,” he said accusingly.

  “What do you imply by such a remark?” Nishimura set down the teacup on the small wooden lap tray, the wan light a dull gleam on the sheen of perspiration on his balding head, his dark rimmed eyeglasses almost fogged over.

  “What I mean should be obvious enough,” said Yamashita. “Your premature attack expended not only your division, but also forced me to commit my last reserves before the situation in the west was clarified. I had to drop everything, leave my headquarters, and drive through that pig pen of a city on the north bank just to see what a shambles you have made of this operation!”

  Nishimura stood up abruptly, his knee spilling the tea tray and sending the cup falling, shattered on the cobbled stone pavement of Kranji where they were meeting. The broken glass was the end of their tryst, and the long moments of sulking and mutual consolation that the silence provided each of them. Now it was back to the old enmity, the resentment and annoyance with one another, the suspicion that each man was trying to secretly undermine the other, wishing him nothing more than ruin.

  “Do not attempt to blame me for the failure of your own troops.” Nishimura’s statement carried the unspoken rift between them, a wedge as wide and deep as the Kranji River inlet that now prevented those divisions from establishing communications.

  “My own troops?” Yamashita almost laughed, then darkened with anger. “They are all my own troops! Do not presume to think your precious Imperial Guards are sent here from the heavenly realms at your bidding. I command here!”

  “Then you must also shoulder the blame for this failure as a man. Only a coward would try to blame another. Where is your honor?”

  Yamashita’s hand went to the haft of his sword, and Nishimura’s to the butt of his service pistol on his hip holster, but both men froze in that moment of terrible hostility, simply glaring at one another.

  “Go!” said Yamashita. “Back to the front lines! Let us see how well you lead the next attack down that road. And do not come back if you should fail this time. Die on that road, Nishimura. Die there and go to smirk with your ancestors.”

  Nishimura spat to one side, but did not utter the curse that came to his mind. Then he turned his back and stormed out, his footfalls hard and sharp on the stone courtyard. That night he would send a secret message to Tojo and the General Staff, blaming Yamashita for interfering with his attack, and saying it was now impossible for his division to fight under Yamashita’s command. He now contemplated pulling the Guards Division back over the causeway, and all the supporting tanks, but knew he could not do this without losing face with his own men. They had fought hard to make that crossing. It was only the failure of Yamashita’s suicidal banzai charge across Tengah airfield that had so depleted his divisions that they could not support his victorious guards. This was how his message read.

  Back in Tokyo, Tojo received the message with mixed feelings. On the one hand, if Yamashita failed to take Singapore, the timetable for operations against the Dutch colonies, Sumatra, and Java, would now be in jeopardy. On the other hand, he had little love for Yamashita, and was secretly pleased on one level to see him fail. It would give him just the excuse he needed to get rid of the man, for he had watched his whirlwind advance down the Malay Peninsula with some consternation. What to do?

  Soon he was handed yet another communication, this time from Yamashita himself. It noted that as the navy failed to prevent the arrival of carrier borne aircraft, the 3rd Air Group had also failed to prevent timely British reinforcements. Given the condition of his divisions at the end of a long six weeks of fighting, and the present depleted state of his munitions and supplies, a siege of Singapore was not practical, nor advisable, and any further attack would have to be delayed.

  The Tiger of Malaya, thought Tojo, smiling. Listen to him growl now! It was the Navy’s fault, and then the fault of the Air Force. Next he will tell me it was Nishimura’s fault for disobeying his orders. Yes, Tojo already knew everything that had happened. He had many eyes and ears among the staff officers in every command of the Army.

  Yet given Homma’s difficulties in the Philippines, he thought, Yamashita’s position is not anywhere near as grave. Manila is a port we simply must have, and the enemy has retreated to the Bataan Peninsula, stubbornly refusing to surrender.

  Yet Singapore is but a bauble for the Emperor to faun over. We do not need it. We already have the airfields in Malaya, and all I need to do is transfer sufficient force to crush the remaining enemy air power. Without air support, the British will find out that trying to hold on to their ‘Jewel of the East’ may burn their own hand. They will have to find a way to keep that entire garrison supplied, not to mention nearly half a million civilians who will need food and fresh water. What to do?

  For now, I think it best to suggest Yamashita pause his attack, in honor of the 11th of February, and make one last effort to secure the enemy’s surrender. If they remain adamant, then I might recall the toothless tiger and send him up to the Siberian front. In fact, I could simply turn over command of the 25th Army to Tsuji and Nishimura. That would gall the tiger, would it not?

  He considered that, realizing this news now arriving from the far north would be the perfect cover for such a move. My, who would have expected the Siberians to attempt what they were now doing—and on this day, of all days, the founding of our Empire? Their ultimatum was an insult, and their attack upon our ships at sea gives me every pretext to renew operations in that sector. Now they have the temerity to actually cross the treaty line in Kamchatka, and land troops on North Karafuto Island. They think they will soon be changing its name again, to Sakhalin Island. Well, something must be done about them. The Emperor will surely ask me about all of this at our next meeting. But what to do?

  Should I recall Yamashita and tell him that because of his outstanding performance, he is now given the honor of punishing the Siberians. Yes, that is how I will shine that apple before I hand it to him, but when he takes the first bite, he will know the rotten truth. He will know how I am shaming him, sending him off to the land of ice and snow in the dead of winter, and with Nishimura given command of his old army.

  Yes, he thought, that is exactly what I will do.

  * * *

  Karpov’s “Plan 7” was as audacious and daring as it was impudent. Japan had sat in the “occupied territories for 30 years, with a strong military presence on the roads leading north, as far away as Outer Mongolia. They had stopped at the narrow mountain pass that edged around lake Baikal to the major Siberian city of the east, Irkutsk. There the line was held for decades, with troops on both sides patrolling the
passes, and the cold rugged shoreline of Lake Baikal.

  Yet on the 11th of February, as Yamashita drank his bitter cup of tea on the Island of Singapore, the night sky was lit up with the brazen fire of artillery firing over Lake Baikal. The guns rumbled through the pre-dawn hours, falling on Japanese border stations, guard posts and lakeside patrol boat ramps built over the years. With war declared weeks ago, Karpov had taken his battlecruiser up to the icy waters of Magadan, and then seemed to vanish into silence. The Japanese paid him no mind, being busy with their great ‘Southern Offensive,’ until those guns opened a new front in their war, as surprising as it was unexpected.

  All along that front, Siberian troops were now on the move. Swarthy Tartar and Cossack Cavalry had crossed the Amur river in many places, emerging from hidden assembly areas in the thick, impenetrable forest of the taiga. Their first mission was to reinforce the work of Partisan cadres, who had placed explosives and obstacles all along the thin steel lifeline of the Trans-Siberian rail, effectively denying its use to the enemy as a means of moving troops and supplies. Then they moved out in small battalion sized formations, sweeping like a shadowy tide into Japanese controlled Primorskiy-Amur Province. They would be scouts and marauders, using lightning quick hit and run tactics to strike at border stations, garrisons, rail depots, key bridges.

  Elsewhere, two of Karpov’s three divisions were on the move. The 92nd had made the long, hazardous journey from Magadan through ice floes and heavy fogs to land on the western shores of Kamchatka. The 32nd would soon make the same journey by airship to land on the northern tip of Sakhalin Island. Their intention was to establish a Siberian military presence in both places, and then move inexorably south to reclaim the territory that had been lost to them decades ago.

  The scale and scope of the attack was completely unanticipated by the Japanese. On the massive Kamchatka Peninsula, a “Treaty Line” had been drawn at the 54th parallel, but Japanese occupation stayed well south of that on the 53rd, with their main operations base at the largest town, Petropavlovsk. They had renamed the place Joyaku Kazantochi, the land of volcanoes. There the tall brooding cones dominated the mountainous landscape to the north of Avacha Bay, which was the best sheltered anchorage and port in the region.

  The previous month, the 4th Independent Mixed Brigade had been moved from duty in the southern Kuriles to beef up the garrison there. It consisted of five battalions of infantry, with an engineer battalion that was working on improving roads in the area, and establishing a secondary airstrip well inland at Nachiki, about 130 kilometers to the west of the port. There was only one good road that wound its way through the mountains and valleys to the west, eventually reaching the tundra and marshland near Apacha and Lenino, and then continuing on to Bolsheretsk near the western coast.

  Here the land was flat and open, and the coast offered several good landing sites that were now frozen solid. Trying to make the journey by sea all the way to Petropavlovsk on the east coast would not be possible. To do so, the convoy would have to pass through the real bastion of Japanese power in the region the fortified islands of Shumushu and Paramushir just off the southern tip of the peninsula. The risk of detection was almost certain, and the risk of attack from enemy aircraft, surface ships or submarines was deemed too high to contemplate such a move.

  So instead the plan was to land just north of what is now called Ust-Bolsheretsk, and then move along that one good road east, a little over 100 miles to secure the port of Petropavlovsk. All the airfields north of the southern tip would be along that road, and once secured, Karpov would also have a port directly on the Pacific.

  Karpov planned to move the entire 92nd division, but his initial assault would be made by the Special Marine Landing Group. He had also assigned three airships carrying troops of his 22nd Airmobile force, and recruited three battalions of mountain cavalry from the local Koryak natives in Kamchatka’s wild north.

  All that artillery near lake Baikal was meant primarily as a feint and a distraction so Karpov could get his Marines ashore, and move the transports north again to Magadan, where the 92nd infantry waited. With surprise complete, those initial landings went off without opposition. The defensive eyes of Kirov’s radar saw no threats on the horizon, and above, a division of three airships hovered over the landing zone for additional cover.

  The planners knew they would easily get those Marines ashore, and now they began to move out, soon to be followed by the 92nd Division, which was comprised of three Ski Brigades. Local partisan groups, the Koryak Cavalry and Karpov’s Airmobile units would be the advance scouting forces, preparing the way for the overland troop movement. Initially, they would make good time on the flat western reaches, but at Apacha, the ground would begin to rise into the rugged mountains that ran down the spine of Kamchatka, and the going would be slower.

  While Karpov could lay claim to all the turf his men now occupied, it mattered very little to the Japanese as long as they held the key eastern port at Kazantochi, and the big islands off that southern tip that anchored the Kuriles to the peninsula. They stood like Singapore had in Yamashita’s campaign, fortified islands at the end of that long peninsula. It was there that their real power base was established.

  Known as the Kita Chishima Fortress Region, Shumshu Island had a seaplane base, and three other airfields defended by nine fortified areas and the 73rd Brigade of the 91st Infantry Division, including three tank companies of the 11th Regiment. There were numerous bunkers at all likely invasion sites, and underground facilities well protected from bombardment or attack.

  The much bigger island of Paramushir had two more airfields in the north close to Shumushu, where the channel between the two islands provided all the good naval anchorages. There was also Suribachi Airfield along the southeast coast, and the Musashi Naval Base and airfield at Karabu Zaki on the southern tip of the island. Here was the 74th Brigade of the 91st Division, with numerous fortified positions and AA installations.

  The campaign had many objectives. Karpov wanted to make good on the threats he had leveled earlier, re-occupy lost ground, secure that port and anchorage at Petropavlovsk, and all those vital airfields on the peninsula. If further developed, he hoped they would be a strong lure for the Americans, outflanking any Japanese move in to the Aleutians, threatening the Kuriles, and providing bases from which US Bombers could even strike Japan.

  The first convoy loomed out of the ice fog like frozen grey shadows. Anadyr Class icebreakers Saratov and Krasin led the way, with 500 Marines on each ship to make the first landings. Behind them came the small convoy of Siberian “Timber Ships,” Komoles, Sevzaples, Klara Cetkin, and Maxim Gorky. Next came the old refrigerator ships, Rion, Mironych, Krasny Partisan, and Krestyanin. Above them hovered three airships, Novosibirsk, Abakan and Andarva, and Kirov watched over the whole flock, with a pair of destroyers riding shotgun on either side of the convoy.

  Of course, none of these grandiose scenarios ever entered the minds of the Japanese. The north had been theirs for so long that it seemed an endemic part of their empire, never to be lost again. Even as this first bold move was made in the game, with Karpov’s Knights leaping from Magadan to the distant forgotten reaches of Kamchatka, the Japanese still never clearly saw or believed the attack was anything more than a nuisance. They would soon learn otherwise, or as Karpov would put things, they would soon learn who they were now dealing with.

  Chapter 15

  When word came of the landings the Japanese did not quite know what to make of it. A small security detachment at the Lenino airfield, about 80 kilometers east of the landing operation on the coast, radioed to report it was under attack. The Lieutenant who took the report thought it was just another instance of partisan activity. The vast up country region of Kamchatka was never securely held outside of Petropavlovsk. Disgruntled partisans would occasionally raid hamlets around the new Japanese airfields under development in the west. All the Japanese usually had to do was send up a shotai of planes from the southern or
eastern fields, and a few strafing runs would be enough to settle the matter. Then, one plane would land at the air strip to refuel, while the other two waited above for their turn.

  If the outpost garrison was lucky, the pilots would bring them rice wine or saké, and sometimes a call might come in just because the garrison wanted a visit like this. But Lenino, now called Suyako by the Japanese, would never call back. Then a second message came in that raised an eyebrow. A large airship had been spotted just east of Apacha, another 45 kilometers east of Suyako, the gateway to the road east through the mountain valleys.

  “Airship?” said the Lieutenant. “What kind of plane is it?”

  “Not a plane, sir. A giant airship. And there is something else in the sky—a very strange aircraft. It has no wings! It is low over the road about two kilometers east.”

  “Then go and see what it is doing.” The Lieutenant shook his head, thinking the outpost security company had more than enough saké as things stood.

  Karpov’s opening moves were Knight’s Moves, the daring attack of his 22nd Air Mobile Battalion aboard Airship Division 3. He was posting two companies to guard the road as it wound inland, following the winding course of the Platnikova River. With those lead elements, was a most unusual aircraft spotted by the Japanese at Apacha, a KA-40 off the deck of Kirov carrying Sergeant Kandemir Troyak and a pathfinder squad of Marines. The outpost at Apacha would never call back again either.

  The weather was heavy, with a thick overcast and frigid temperatures in the mountains. This precluded any aerial reconnaissance that day, which would allow the little invasion to get a secure footing on the coast, and begin moving inland on the only road available. The odd reports eventually found their way to the desk of Brigadier Kenji Ozawa of the 4th Independent Mixed Brigade at Petropavlovsk, and he pursed his lips, thinking.