Yeremenko heard the first sharp bark of Japanese machine guns up ahead coming from a string of bunkers linked together by a trench line. He knew he had to take it quickly by storm, or he would get bogged down here and his men would be cut to pieces. This was where the missing artillery and naval gun support would be most keenly felt. If he could just get those MG bunkers.
“Come on!” he shouted, waving his arm to lead the attack. “With a hearty “urah!” the Marines were running up the hill, like ghosts in the fog. Another group was mustered to rush the bigger Japanese naval shore batteries on Cape Kokutan. Once the fog lifted the guns would be able to pound the Russian flotilla if they were not quickly silenced. The Marines charged bravely ahead, but the machine guns were taking a heavy toll.
The detachment on the cape pressed doggedly forward, but with the shore battery finally in sight they soon saw it was also defended by a full battalion of Japanese infantry. Yeremenko got the bad news, cursing under his breath. “You there!” he yelled at a passing radio man. “Give me that!”
The Colonel cranked up the radio and dialed to his designated band to try and contact the offshore flotilla. “Land Force to Dzerzhinski …Land Force to Kirov—Where are you? Come in Kirov. We need your gunnery support! Land force to Okhotsk. Ponomarev Where are your ships? We need you!”
A corporal ran up, his eyes wide as he reported. “Comrade Colonel! They are mounting a counterattack—and they have tanks!”
“Shit!” It was all Yeremenko could say. He handed the radio off and told the radioman to keep trying to raise the naval flotilla and get some fire support. Then he grabbed a Gunnery Sergeant and two reserve squads and ran to confront the Japanese. They were coming down from the higher ground, with clusters of riflemen behind twenty light tanks.
“RPGs!” Yeremenko shouted. “Get the AT Rifles deployed!” His Marines did not yet have heavy weapons support, and there was virtually no artillery landed yet, and only a few mortars. Yet the Russians fought bravely. Teams of two and three men would deploy the old Simonov PTRS Anti-Tank Rifles and light machine guns to begin putting ranged fire on the advancing tanks. Then Marines would rush to attack with RPG-43 AT grenades. Many were shot down by the chattering machine guns but, one by one, they were getting the tanks. Fifteen of the twenty had been put out of action, some stopped only by an AT rifle hit that broke their forward tracks and rendered them unable to move. The Japanese attack was repulsed, but at a great cost.
They had been ashore four hours, but now the Japanese were beginning to open up with shore batteries, and tall geysers of seawater were seen rising through the slowly lifting fog off the harbor. Yeremenko began calling for support from the four 130mm guns across the strait, and they began to put down desultory fire in reply. Damn, he thought, what’s holding up our artillery? We’re taking heavy casualties and the enemy is already massing for a second counterattack. Gnechko may have been correct.
They were coming. He heard the hoarse cries of Japanese infantry as they emerged from their trench line farther up the hill and began to charge. The situation was beginning to look desperate.
Then he heard the welcome sound of 130mm rounds come soaring in from behind him and took heart. He looked to see explosive rounds landing right on the enemy position, with pinpoint precision as if they had been fired from point blank range. Two, four, six, eight, the rounds came in a withering barrage that raked across the enemy trench line and struck the bunkers there. Then rounds fell right atop the Japanese shore battery, easily penetrating the concrete casemates and putting the guns out of action.
Kirov had answered the call.
~ ~ ~
It was a split decision. Karpov and the young Captain Ryakhin agreed that something should be done to further the interests of Russia after the war, and that the ships they commanded had the power to make the Americans and British take notice, and hear their demands. Doctor Zolkin had been completely opposed to the idea, urging the fleet officers to walk gently on the eggshells of history, as he put it, and the older Captain Yeltsin had enough reservations to agree with him. There were no other officers of sufficient rank in the flotilla to poll, and in the end Karpov had to exercise his authority as acting Fleet Commander to rule the day.
They lingered in the Sea of Okhotsk until Karpov had dispatched a stealthy KH-226 on a secret night mission to Vladivostok. The team of three Marines was able to get ashore unnoticed and make their way to the Naval Logistics building, even as Fedorov and Troyak had done so nearly three years earlier. The small raid would have dramatic repercussions, for after picking the lock, the letter the Marines left there would sit undisturbed for the next seventy-six years.
In a curious twist, the Marine Team leader radioed Karpov and told him that when they went to place his letter in the jacket pocket of the naval officer’s coat they found there, it was already occupied by another note!
Karpov had a sudden realization, and a stab of emotion when he heard that. Fedorov, he thought. It had to be Fedorov’s note! The image of the industrious young officer he had once disdained and then came to like and respect so much brought a smile to his face. Then his features clouded over, and he dismissed the Marine with a well done and carry on.
In a strange twist on these events, when Volkov had leapt from the shadows just days earlier in 2021, he had seen only the note from Fedorov. Volkov could not have seen Karpov’s letter there before the Captain would ever have reason to dispatch it. Yet the instant Kirov and the other two ships were again swept through the centuries by the explosive Demon Volcano, all history had changed again, ever so subtly, but decisively. Both letters should have been there when Volkov opened that locker, but Time decided to deliver the mail on different days. It was, in fact, an alternate time line now, and Karpov had his hand on the tiller at a most decisive moment.
The Captain was steering east again, staring at the broken, cratered cone of the Demon Volcano on the northern tip of the Iturup/Urup Island group to his south and experiencing a strange moment that seemed like Déjà vu.
Nikolin had been monitoring radio traffic and reported something odd that morning. “It keeps fading in and out, sir. Very strange.”
“And you say it’s calling us?”
“Yes, sir—Kirov. I can read that very plainly. Kirov, where are you?”
“Well have you checked with Orlan and Golovko?”
“Yes sir. Neither ship has radioed. They’re maintaining radio silence as ordered.”
Karpov thought about that for a moment, and then went over to the plotting table where he had Fedorov’s book to check on something. Minutes later he was smiling. “Good ears, Mister Nikolin, but don’t worry about it. The Soviets are running an operation just north of us. There’s a border patrol ship named Kirov with a few old minesweepers and trawlers to occupy Sakhalin Island and the northern Kuriles. Have you heard the name Ponomarev?”
“Yes sir,” said Nikolin. “I did hear that name.”
“He was in charge of the Petropavlovsk Naval Defense Sector here in 1945, at least according to Fedorov’s book. He commanded the naval flotilla.”
“How ironic,” said Rodenko. “Kirov meets Kirov in the Kuriles.”
“Karpov grinned at him. Then consulted his book. “It looks like the Russians ran into more than they expected in this operation. They’re going to lose over 1500 men in this little invasion. That’s expensive for a useless hunk of rock.” He turned his head to one side and looked at Rodenko.
“Mister Rodenko. Tell the KA-226 to get over and scan that northernmost island. Have them feed radar returns to Samsonov. Use Infrared as well. I want them to pinpoint the main Japanese defense line.”
“You’re thinking of rendering assistance?”
“If we can’t help our boys out there then what’s it all for?” said Karpov. “Why do you think we have on these uniforms?”
Within the hour the KA-226 had reported back with a stream of digital data for Samsonov’s CIC station. The Captain ordered him to activate
Kirov’s 130mm deck guns, three twin batteries that could fire at enormous range with pinpoint accuracy. He looked at his watch—a little after 9:00 hrs.
“Let’s lend our Marines a hand, Samsonov. Open fire!”
It didn’t take long. Kirov’s guns were right on target, taking out numerous bunkers and disabling the enemy shore batteries at a critical moment. The barrage also broke the back of the second Japanese counterattack, buying the Russians much needed time to land more supplies and infantry. Soon Colonel Yeremenko would have his artillery and mortars ashore, and the situation would reach parity, then slowly tip his way. The war would be over in the next 24 hours.
Karpov turned to Rodenko. “Well we need not worry about our northern flank any longer. We’ll steer for the lower channels and get out into the Pacific. What do we have down south, Rodenko?” Karpov knew what he was going to say even before he spoke. “You’re going to tell me you have contacts on a large naval task force there. Yes?” the Captain said matter of factly.
“Why…Yes sir. It just came up on the Fregat system as surface returns. The KA- 226 picked it up earlier.”
The Captain went to Rodenko’s station, looking over his shoulder, smiling when he saw the clear blips indicating unknown surface contacts to the south.
“They’re about 150 miles off the Island of Honshu, due east of Amori / Misawa. Note those secondary returns there, sir. Those are aircraft. This must be a carrier task force.”
“How very interesting,” said Karpov. “Seventy six years from now our ship was facing Captain Tanner and his carrier battlegroup in almost this exact same location. Now here we face the same situation, only things are different this time. We appeared to be overmatched by the American Navy in 2021, yet I dealt with them easily enough. Now we are but three ships, and look at the number of radar returns there! It seems we are outnumbered again. Yet appearances can be deceiving,” he smiled.
“What are we going to do, sir? Those ships are definitely heading our way.”
“They’ll most likely have air reconnaissance up shortly. Probably wondering what happened to that damn submarine, and those impudent little destroyers that wanted to order us off.” He turned to his communications officer. “Mister Nikolin, get Yeltsin on the Orlan on the radio for me, and notify Captain Ryakhin on Admiral Golovko that he is to assume Air Alert Two and stand by.”
“Aye, sir,” signaling as ordered.
Yeltsin was on the line a few moments later and Karpov picked up the handset. “Good morning, Captain. I trust your radar officer has already reported on the contacts to the south.”
“A sizable fleet,” said Yeltsin. “We read twenty-four discrete surface contacts. And what were you shooting at to the north a while back?”
“Just clearing our throat, Captain. We’ll be doing a little talking soon. I’m sending up our KA-226 with long range cameras to get some footage of that task force to the south. I’ll have it fed directly to your ship as well. Take a good long look when you see it, and don’t think those ships are a welcoming committee. They’ll be coming for us, Yeltsin. Understand? They think they’ve won this war single handedly and now they own it all. The arrogance, the insults, the duplicity—all the crap that Captain Tanner handed me has its root and stem right here. It will grow like a bad weed, and nothing will change for the next seventy-five years unless we make it so.”
Karpov was aiming to convince Yeltsin that his decision to intervene was a correct one. If he went into battle here, he wanted to make certain that his officers were all behind him, and Yeltzin had wavered with Zolkin’s soft line. He had to tighten things down before the situation began to escalate, as he knew it surely would.
“Very well.” Yeltsin’s voice came back. “But think this through carefully, Karpov.”
“Count on that, Captain. Just as I’ll be counting on your support as well. You will soon see with your own eyes what I’ve been talking about. Those ships will most likely attack us before day’s end. In that event, I hope I can count on both you and your ship to do your duty. You may not want this little war, but you are a man of war. If our actions here can prevent a holocaust in the future, I say so be it. Whether I take action or not, it looks like things are going to start to change in short order. But this time we’ll be calling the shots—not the Americans.”
There was a long pause, and Karpov listened through the static, his eyes moving this way and that as if he sought to see the other man’s face in the wash of noise.
“Don’t worry Captain. We’ll do what we must.”
The question of what they should do was behind them now. Zolkin’s voice was not strong enough in the argument to really matter. Now it was a question of what they must do.
And it was about to begin.
Chapter 35
BB Missouri — CnC Flag, U.S. 3rd Fleet
120 Miles East of Honshu Island, Japan
“Say LTC…This might not mean anything, but we haven’t heard from Razorback for three days now, and TF.92 is also late reporting in. What’s up with the Browns?”
Lt. Commander Bob Harper leaned over his desk, inclining his head to the Ensign on his right, Tim Gates. “The Browns?”
“Yes, sir,” said Gates with a smile. “That’s LTC Brown on Razorback up in the Kuriles, and then there’s Rear Admiral Brown up there with TF.92. They related?”
Harper frowned. “Who knows if they’re related, Gates. What’s your problem?”
“Well they haven’t reported in, sir, and the Russians just declared war on Japan a few days ago. You figure they mixed it up with the Russkies up north?”
“The Russians are our allies, Gates. Get that through your thick skull. Besides, this war declaration of theirs was just theater. It’s a land grab before we finish this thing up, that’ s all.”
“Well they haven’t reported in, sir—the Browns.”
“Then get on the goddamned radio and find out about it. They probably just ran into some bad weather up there. Don’t worry about security protocols anymore, Gates, Japan is finished. We’re just picking over the carcass for table scraps now. Word is they’ll surrender any time now, if they haven’t already done so. Get down to the radio room and see about it.”
Japan was indeed finished. The relentless advance of the United States Navy had pushed them from one island to the next, an unstoppable juggernaut displaying more sheer naval power than the world had ever seen before or since. Now that Okinawa had been taken, American carrier task forces ranged freely throughout the waters surrounding the Japanese home islands mounting raids on harbors, rail yards, and offshore shipping as they prodded the fallen beast to accede to their terms and surrender. Word was that the distinguished and long serving Admiral Yamamoto himself was now attempting to persuade the Emperor that it was futile to continue resistance.
As part of the ongoing effort to isolate the islands and sweep the seas around them clean, American submarines were patrolling at many locations, including off the Kuriles in cooperation with US TF.92 under rear Admiral John “Babe” Brown, comprising the cruisers Richmond and Concord, with twelve destroyers. They had been shelling Japanese installations in the Kuriles for the last several days, bombarding Matsuwa Island, Kurabu Cape and Suribachi Bay. The destroyers had swept the Sea of Okhotsk and rounded up ten small Japanese trawlers that had been ferrying supplies out to the small garrisons on the islands.
When Gates set off to find out about the operations he drew a blank. He went down to the radio room and had messages sent using normal channels, but nothing came back. Just when he was ready to forget about the whole thing, an SOS came in. Brown’s TF.92 ran into something alright, but was it wasn’t bad weather. With the message in hand he ran back to his post, eager for his ‘I told ya so’ with the Lieutenant Commander.”
“See here,” he handed the message over to Harper, eyebrows raised. “Japs must still be putting up a fight!”
Harper took the report, reading it aloud quietly. “TF.92 reports surface action twelve mile
s North-Northeast of Kunashir Island — STOP — Cruiser Richmond heavily damaged. — STOP — Two destroyers sunk and men in the water- STOP — This is an S.O.S…”
Harper looked at Gates, clearly bemused. “Son-of-a-bitch, Gates. Looks like you were on to something. Anything on that sub?”
“Razorback? No, sir. She still hasn’t reported in.”
“Well this is news. Richmond and Concord are a pair of old rust-buckets. They’re both Omaha class light cruisers, commissioned in the 1920s. That said, what could the Japs have up there that would bother them?”
“Could be those damn Kamikaze attacks again, sir.”
“Possibly… Word is they’re still going after our ships when they can find them. That’s why Halsey gave the order today. He told the Squadron Flight leaders to shoot down any snoopers approaching fleet units—not vindictively, but in a friendly sort of way. Gotta love that man.”
In her last desperate death throes the Japanese had tried everything to stop the American advance, even resorting to strange new piloted rocket planes that were deliberately aimed at US shipping. In spite of the imminent surrender order, at that very moment, the last of the Japanese Kamikaze pilots were taking off from airfields near Tokyo, and among them was the Commander of the decimated Japanese 5th Air Fleet, Vice Admiral Matome Ugaki. He could not abide the talk of surrender, even coming from Admiral Yamamoto, for whom he once served as Chief Of Staff.
In another writing of that history, Ukagi would have been flying, in a separate plane, escorting Admiral Yamamoto when they were both ambushed and shot down on 18 April 1943 over Bougainville in the Solomon Islands. Yamato perished, Ugaki survived, yet not this time around. Kirov had so altered the history that their personal fates remained entwined, and Yamamoto lived out the war. Ukagi had been mustering the last of Japan’s dwindling air power to mount a massive attack with hundreds of aircraft on suicide missions in the defense of Kyushu. It was to be called “Operation Ketsu-Go,” the “decisive moment,” but when Yamamoto heard of it he issued orders to forbid what he called the senseless waste of yet more lives. After the venerable Admiral advocated surrender instead, Ugaki was so disheartened that he joined the last Kamikaze strike sortied from Japanese soil in the war. It was said he died holding a ceremonial short sword given to him by Admiral Yamamoto.
9 Days Falling, Volume I k-5 Page 33
