“Excuse me sir, the officers will certainly enjoy that bread for breakfast, and mushroom soup for lunch, but I also found this at the bottom of that basket, and thought I’d best bring it here at once.” He handed the Admiral a small wooden box, just a few inches square, and strangely carved. “I haven’t opened it, sir, seeing that it was meant for you.”
“Thank you, Mister Hawes. Good evening.”
The man nodded and was gone, and Admiral Knight, a bit near sighted, leaned in to study the small box more closely. Perhaps it held a ring, he thought, slowly working off the lid, which was fitted snugly in place. There, nestled in fine velvet, was a small silver object that seemed to capture and reflect all the light in that room. He looked at it closely, thinking how very odd it appeared, much like a teardrop of silver, he thought. Yes… A teardrop…
* * *
Lieutenant Commander Levin did not quite know what to make of it when he saw it, gleaming in a velvet lined cradle within that box. It was a most unusual thing indeed, but what would he do with it? His first thought was to have it welded to the ship’s wheel, an easy handle for the helmsman, but when the engineers tried, they could not succeed. No other metal would adhere to it, and the workman was astounded to find it was still completely cold when he dropped it into a bucket of water afterwards, as if his blow torch had been no more than a breath of icy air.
It was a most unusual thing, and now it would make this destroyer a most unusual ship, for DD-633, USS Knight, was indeed named for the Admiral who had first received that gift, long ago. She made her way through the Caribbean to the Panama Canal, passing through in early February, and then sailing on to Pearl Harbor. As if the ship was some kind of harbinger, that same week the great mountain that the island was made of began to rumble and glow. It was a little known episode of geologic history that was about to repeat itself, though it was happening just a few months earlier than it did in Fedorov’s history.
There had been elevated seismic activity on Hawaii for some months before, and it was clear to the listening scientists that Pele was awakening. Fissures began to open along the western rim of the volcano, which soon produced a strong flow of hot orange fire and lava. The fissure migrated towards the summit caldera, soon opening to new vent systems and cracking open a new fissure there that was a kilometer in length. Fountains of lava leapt up nearly a 100 meters, then grew to 150 meters at the height of the eruption. As it flowed down the long flanks of the mountain, it was soon apparent that it would threaten fresh water supplies and vital roads on the island.
So the Army Air Force decided to declare a quiet little war on Pele, the Mountain Goddess of Fire. The ribbons of fiery lava she expelled would soon cool and dry to become the thick black curls of her flowing hair. Her brother Gods of thunder, explosion and fire falls gathered around her there, and the Air Force began to literally bomb the advancing lava flows to attempt to divert them. All news of the eruption was also rigidly suppressed, because it was thought that if the Japanese knew about it, they might use the glowing summit of Mauna Loa as a kind of homing beacon to guide in attacking planes. The bombing effort was fruitless, for Pele’s powers were measureless compared to the might of those few old bombers that had risen to challenge her.
USS Knight made a brief port-of-call visit to Hilo on the Big Island that week, and the crew would look up by day to see the threatening pall of smoke veiling over the highland, about 24 miles to the southwest. They could see the ominous glow from the summit by night, and it left a disquieting feeling in them. At one point, at what would be the height of the eruptive sequence, Lieutenant Commander Levin was sitting at his desk with a cup of rapidly cooling coffee, looking over crew manifests and lists of supplies laid in. His cup was sitting on the desk, right next to the box he had received from Admiral Knight’s granddaughter. There came an uneasy tremor, a quavering in the stillness that rattled his favorite pen in its inkwell.
He looked up, hearing a distant rumble, a barely perceptible growl in the night. Pele was stirring again, he thought, thinking little more of it. This volcano had never been known to make large explosive eruptions. It had slowly built this entire chain of islands over many thousands of years, oozing out these steady flows of lava year after year. This one was no different, or so he thought, reaching for his coffee cup to take a last sip before it lost all warmth. To his great surprise, he started when he took that sip, for it was so hot that it nearly burned his lips. He could feel the steady heat emanating into the mug itself, which was now so warm that he had to set it down, this time well away from the box and its hidden talisman.
Commander Levin never made any connection in his mind between that unaccountably hot coffee, over forty minutes old in his cup, and the box sitting there on the desk next to his mug. If he had, he might have opened that box, and seen the strange green glow emanating from that family heirloom.
The next day the ship left Hilo, bound for Pearl to take on the last of her scheduled ordnance allotment. As they rounded the northern tip of Hawaii, entering the Maui Channel, they came across a cargo ship, which winked at them requesting a recognition signal. Ships were understandably still very cautious in these waters, for one never knew if the Japanese might try to sneak in again and raise havoc.
“Mister Kent,” said Levin. “Haven’t we run up our recognition flags this morning?”
“The Watch Officer craned his neck to have a look, then gave the Lieutenant Commander a sheepish look. “No sir, the halyard is bare. Sorry sir. I’ll see to it immediately.”
The flags were run up, but they had a most unexpected effect on the other ship, which turned and steamed off at high speed, as though they had seen a ghost. Levin shook his head, never making the odd connection between the ship’s recognition flags and the messages they might spell out if interpreted separately.
The radio call sign for the USS Knight would speak ominously to her future fate. The letters were N.X.U.T, Nan, X-Ray, Uncle, Tare in WWII, and if run up together on a signal halyard they could spell out a fairly dark warning. “Your movements not understood… Not keeping visual watch… Stop carrying out your intentions, and watch for my signal… Keep clear of me….”
Even the ship’s hull number DD-633, would spell out a warning if run up on flags, which is what the flagmen sent up beneath those call letters. A young seaman on that cargo vessel, wet behind the ears and still learning his flags, called out the message he thought he was seeing to his section Chief.
“Sir,” he said. “Now it says: Keep clear, I am maneuvering with difficulty… Act at your discretion… steer away… steer away!”
And that was what the cargo ship did.
It would not be the first time the USS Knight would be thought of as a ghost ship. Three days later, outward bound from Pearl Harbor, she was first in a line of three destroyers. Another ship in her same class was second in the line, USS Gwin, and behind her came the older Somers Class destroyer USS Warrington. Seas were rough, and the riggings were alight with the eerie glow of Saint Elmo’s fire. A heavy squall blew in and then, for a moment, the watchman on Gwin saw a bolt of lightning strike well ahead, suffusing the entire scene with a phosphorescent glow. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the rain, and could see no sign of the Knight.
Word was sent to the bridge, and orders came to set the ship’s lamps to work to see if they would get back a response, but none came. Tense minutes passed, with no sign of the lead destroyer. Lieutenant Commander Higgins aboard Gwin was about to notify the Warrington of the trouble, when lo and behold, there was the other ship, so close in front of him that he had to issue a fast order for a speedy turn to avoid collision.
Every man of the watch got a grilling that day, and the incident was logged as nothing more than unsteady sea keeping in a storm. That night, Midshipman James Morgan on the Gwin would sulk after that rebuke, but swear to his mates that there had been absolutely no sign of the ship before it was seen so suddenly close off the bow.
“Damn storm wasn
’t that heavy,” he said to his mates. “Damn ship wasn’t there, I tell you. I would have seen it clear as day if it was. It wasn’t there…”
Chapter 27
With Kamchatka’s principle port and city secured, Karpov’s Plan 7 now shifted to Sakhalin Island. Initial objectives would be in the North, where there were considerable settlements along the coast of the Tartar Strait. The only problem was that the pack ice in February would prevent any landings there by sea, and the operation would have to be entirely entrusted to the Air Corps. The entire might of the Siberian Air Corps was amassed for this operation. Three of the five airships in Kamchatka were recalled, leaving only the cruisers Abakan and Angara there to patrol the sea approached to Petropavlovsk. The three bigger airships joined six others, three from Irkutsk and three more coming down with Karpov from Magadan.
These nine airships could combine to lift a five battalion brigade, Karpov’s veteran Air Guard units, and this force was deemed sufficient to seize the initial objectives. They wanted Okha, which offered a modest port in warmer months. Further south on the east coast, particularly between the towns of Paromay and Val, the Japanese had been surveying for oil, which led Karpov to believe Ivan Volkov had given them information on where they could find it.
Karpov and Fedorov also knew exactly where the most productive wells would be found and developed, and so this region was a big part of the strategic plan for North Sakhalin, yet it, too, could not be reached by sea in February.
“I have given some thought to using ice breakers,” said Karpov.
“Far too slow,” said Fedorov. “The sea ice can extend out 200 miles from Sakhalin. If they are spotted trying to plow their way towards that northern coast, the Japanese could bring down enough air power to destroy the invasion flotilla.”
“I can stop them with Kirov’s SAM umbrella.”
“Possibly, but that won’t prevent them from trying, and they won’t give up easily. They’ll take their losses, endure the shock of facing our SAMs, then simply shift more planes from Japan and try again. Do not underestimate them. Your sea transport assets are few in number, and very valuable. You caught them napping with that surprise landing on Kamchatka, and you could only do this because the waters remain ice free year round in the landing zone you choose. But now they will be on alert. You moved almost two divisions to take Kamchatka, but you don’t have that kind of muscle now for Sakhalin. As you have said, everything has to go by air. Attempt to get through that ice, and you are courting disaster. Should even a few planes get through, could you afford to lose a transport, or even two or three such ships?”
“Your point is well made,” said Karpov. “Given the situation as it is, we will simply have to rely on our airlift capability. So this will be an operation lifting one brigade at a time, and Kirov will stand off in the ice free zone in the Sea of Okhotsk, and serve for A.E.W. picket duty, and air defense. Once we establish a lodgment in the north, we can move down the coastal roads and seize the oil development region, and then Lazarev at the narrowest segment of the Tartary Strait on the west coast. My plan will then be to build up forces and supplies in the Amur region, for a planned drive down that river to Komsomolsk, Amursk and eventually Khabarovsk.”
“That’s a long way to go in winter.”
“375 miles,” said Karpov. “The Japanese are not well established in Khabarovskiy Province. There is nothing there, and the river is the only way to move in the warmer months. So this buildup will not be opposed on the ground. Once established, we’ll move as we did in Kamchatka, along the frozen rivers with ski troops and sleds, and by air. Once we do take Khabarovsk, we will have cut the Trans-Siberian rail there, effectively isolating all the Japanese garrisons in Amurskaya Province along that rail line.”
“They’ll still have the line running from Vladivostok, through Harbin to Chita.”
“True, but we will have at least isolated the entire Amur River bend with that move.”
“Yes,” said Fedorov. “It is a bold move, but also very risky, a little like posting a knight in the center of the board in the opening game.”
“Exactly,” said Karpov. “And from Khabarovsk it is then only another 400 miles to Vladivostok. So what do you think of my plan?”
“I think its virtues could also spell its downfall,” said Fedorov. “You will carry off the seizure of Northern Sakhalin easily enough, and possibly secure Lazarev as an access point to the mainland. But then we will have to wait until the ice breaks to use that as a logistical port receiving supplies by sea from Magadan, and it will certainly come under regular Japanese air attack. As for the drive along the Amur River, if it can be done swiftly, while the ground and river remains frozen, then you may get your division to Khabarovsk. When the thaw comes, anything you have in the open will get bogged down. I hope you have plenty of small boats. That’s miserable terrain out there, just ask Troyak.”
“We’ll get down river before the thaw,” said Karpov confidently.
“Yes? Then what will your troops find waiting for them at Khabarovsk? That’s what concerns me. The Japanese will use the rail infrastructure from Vladivostok and Harbin to move forces there. In fact, I believe Harbin will be the key to their defensive operations. It will be the center of the wheel, and from there, road and rail connections branch out to all the major towns along the Amur River. This will be a much more difficult campaign than you may realize. You could be facing several divisions when you arrive, outnumbered two or three to one. Unless you have well established river transport, your forces will have to be supplied by air. And remember, Japanese airpower will go after any river traffic, and certainly challenge your Zeppelin fleet as well. Khabarovsk is well inland. Kirov would have to hover right off the coast in the Tartary Strait to project any SAM defense, and even then, only S-300 missiles have the range to matter, and we have only 61 aboard.”
“I have considered all that, but remember, my men lived in this region for generations. They can live off the land if need be. I have no illusions about what we will be facing, but this is the only strategic move worth the name. We will make small moves first. This winter offensive attack only aims to secure one primary sector—north Sakhalin. That’s where we play out Knight to King Bishop three. Come spring, we will see how the board looks, and plan our moves accordingly. But we must eventually take Khabarovsk. Only then can we open that file and strike south to Vladivostok. I know it will take time. I do not expect this all to happen in just a few months. In the meantime, I have already seized a port and airfields in Kamchatka, and I plan on using these to make an offer to the Americans.”
“I agree that those airfields could be useful,” said Fedorov, “but to a limited extent. Weather conditions in Kamchatka will prohibit large scale air operations there. The waters off Petropavlovsk are the foggiest in the world. Furthermore, the real bastion of Japanese power remains on Shumushu and Paramushir Islands. They’ll move fighters there, and right astride the routes any American bombers will have to take to reach Hokkaido. So, while you have Petropavlovsk, your campaign in Kamchatka must now transition to an attack on those islands. The northern Kuriles will become some of the most strategic islands in the war. And also consider Attu Island in the Western Aleutians. The Japanese took that in June of 1942, and I have no doubt they will try to do so again.”
“A lot of gloom and doom, Fedorov.”
“You wanted my best assessment of the situation, and I am giving it to you. Remember, in chess we are not the only one who gets to make a move. The Japanese will have counter operations to everything we do. And now, with this campaign in the north already under way, the Pacific war looks to be an entirely different game. But this is a war, Captain, as you have pressed upon me on more than one occasion, not a chess game. Everything we do must be carefully planned, because as you have seen on Kamchatka, we pay for it in blood.”
“Yes,” said Karpov, smiling. “It is war, to be certain. I gave them an ultimatum, and they ignored me. So now I will give them a wa
r on two fronts. They will now have to expend resources, men, ships, planes supplies, that they never had to use in the history we know. The Americans will not fail to notice that. Mark my words, they will soon come to appreciate what we do here a great deal.”
* * *
The Japanese would also come to appreciate it, only not in the way Karpov hoped. It would soon be clear that they intended to contest his opening war moves with the same ferocity and tenacity that they applied elsewhere. In some ways, Karpov’s war was premature. His opening was playing out to an optimistic beginning, but only because his enemy had been caught off guard. Fedorov’s cautious warnings would soon become apparent to the Siberians, as the Japanese now met to plan their countermoves.
The grim faced Chief of the General Staff, Hajime Sujiyama, flew to Harbin to meet and brief the man Tojo had selected to lead operations in the north, General Tomoyuki Yamashita. Unhappy with his reassignment, Yamashita stewed in Harbin for some time, thinking he had been shamed and cast off to a do nothing outpost for his failure to take Singapore. The fact that the recalcitrant General Nishimura had been given command in his place galled him, as Tojo intended.
“Do not look so glum,” said Sujiyama. “Forget Singapore, it was nothing. We do not even need it to continue operations as planned in the south. It will be isolated and become nothing more than a millstone around the necks of the British. The city is swarming with refugees. They will have a million hungry mouths to feed, and our air power will eventually win the day. Yet now, these new developments in the north are most troubling. Your campaign in Malaya was a masterful affair. Believe me, it was noticed, even by the emperor.”
“Yet I will never live down the shame of failing to deliver the city.”
“Nonsense. The Emperor has the same mind in this matter as I have just related. In fact, he has ordered Nishimura to consolidate his position, and the air force will pound the place while supplies are moved south. Nishimura was forbidden to attack it again directly, so now he is the one sitting in the humid jungle down there with nothing to do.”
Knight's Move (Kirov Series Book 21) Page 23
