Thor's Anvil (Kirov Series Book 26)

by John Schettler

  When Somerville got the news that he had lost her, he lowered his head, rubbing his brow. His defense had been rash, ill-managed, and now he had lost two ships Britain depended on greatly for her continued survival. He was learning the hard lesson that the American Admirals Fletcher and Halsey had been taught when it came to carrier duels with the Japanese. If you locked horns with the Imperial Japanese Navy, be ready to suffer losses. They were just too good at this deadly art of war, and not to be ever taken lightly. He knew nothing of Ed Wicker at that moment, but stripes on his cuff meant that he would certainly shoulder all the blame for his lapse.

  Meanwhile, Takami had been monitoring the complex situation on her SPY-1D radars. Otani spoke up, a warning in her tone. “Sir, that skunk I reported on a minute ago is getting close, and they’re three big mothers behind it, cruising at 20 knots.”

  It was Somerville’s screening force, the light cruiser Caledon with destroyers Fortune, Vampire and Vendetta. The bigger ships following were Vice Admiral Willis with his battleships on close cover for Indomitable. The sea around them was already erupting with water splashes from the guns of the heavy cruiser Tone.

  “Our escort is on the job, said Harada. Bring us about and steer 180. We’ll open the range. Monitor the situation and if Tone needs assistance, we’ll go to our deck gun.”

  Tone would not need assistance. Her ten 8-inch guns were more than a match for Caledon, and the three destroyers broke off to the west, running towards distant Ceylon. The battleships could never get close enough, for Tone was a very fast ship.

  “Sir,” said Shiota. “From the signal traffic I’m hearing, I think we got that carrier—Illustrious,”

  Fukada smiled, rubbing his hands together. “Two down and one to go,” he said.

  “Do we have a fix on that last British carrier?” asked Harada.

  “No sir,” said Otani. “When we broke south away from those destroyers we lost the contact. Predictive plot still has them on the board, but that is not reliable information if they’ve turned. My best guess is that they’re at 350, probably 40 nautical miles out from our position—over a hundred miles from our carriers. Their second DD screen just slipped over the horizon and went yellow. The only firm red contact I have now is that cruiser at 250.”

  “Probably Cornwall or Dorsetshire,” said Fukada.

  “Bring us about,” said the Captain. “We’ll chase that ship off if it has any ideas about trying to support that carrier. Feed Hara your best guess as to the carrier’s position based on that predictive plot. It’ll take them time to arm and spot for a strike, so factor that in.”

  By 10:15 the brief, but violent engagement had ended, and the surviving planes had been recovered. Somerville was by no means out of the hot water, and now he called a conference of Wells, and the ship’s Captain Troubridge.

  “Our own speed is falling off,” he said. That splinter damage to the boilers yesterday was bound to make itself known. Pressure is off and we’re down to 22 knots. At this rate, I don’t think we’ll get around Ceylon. Our only chance might be to turn north now, and make for Trinco. From there we go on to Madras, and hopefully under cover of the planes the RAF moved there. It was a footrace, gentlemen, and they won it. Illustrious paid the price.”

  “If we turn now we might slip away,” said Troubridge.

  “Mister Wells?”

  “Agreed sir. If we could get up to speed I’d say press on, but under the circumstances, better to head north. We might open the range enough to cause them difficulties, but I would expect at least one more air strike today, and possibly two.”

  “Then make it so, Captain, and signal Vice Admiral Willis, and all close supporting units to break off north. Any ship farther out is to carry on and attempt to reach Addu. We’ve been given a good hard beating here, and one I’ll not soon forget. Let’s just hope we can save this last carrier.”

  “Don’t forget Hermes, sir,” said Wells. “She’s still at Trinco.”

  “And with twelve planes,” said Somerville. “Well, we’ve got less than two dozen here. Are the fighters on deck?”

  “Eight Martlets and a pair of Seafires ready.”

  “Good, leave them there. If we launch, they’ll just come up on the enemy radar and let them know exactly where we are. So we skulk off north, and hope for the best. We’ll scramble the fighters if the enemy tries to hit us again. As for the battleships, we can’t wait for them, as much as I might want their added firepower for defense. Let’s see if we can work up more steam and run like the wind. In the meantime, keep your fingers crossed, and hold tight to those rabbit’s feet.”

  * * *

  Hara now considered his own options. He had sunk a second carrier, but the other was reported some thirty or forty miles further on, yet that contact was now over 90 minutes old. His forward scout group with Tone and Takami was following a British heavy cruiser to the west, and that was now their only solid contact. The day was young, and he could get planes up to look for the enemy again, which is what he decided to do. Until he knew more, he would continue due west towards Koggala. He had not yet used his dive bombers, knowing the enemy had armored flight decks like Taiho. Now he began to consider using those planes to strike the British bases. He could always spot torpedo planes on one of the other carriers in the event he found the British fleet again.

  Using information provided by Takami, he sent another scouting group northwest, looking to find his enemy running down near the coast of Ceylon. By 11:10 he had found a heavy cruiser, still running southwest as before, but there was no sign of the carrier. Or any other ships. Where might they be, lost in this low marine layer? Might they have turned north?

  By noon, with no further word, he was beginning to think his quarry had turned to run for Trincomalee. We must have hurt them very badly yesterday. Today they did not even dare to draw their sword. Suzuya fell as she ran down the enemy, but after that, we have not seen a single enemy plane.

  An hour ago, they should have been within easy strike range, but now that begins to change. I will ignore the ships fleeing west. My mission was to attack Colombo. Ozawa still has three heavy cruisers, and four destroyers. I will order them to look for the enemy to the north. For now, it is time to get the dive bombers on deck and prepare to hit the enemy port. In another hour we will be close enough, and the planes can fly right over the island

  At 1:30 the planes were up and on their way. Somerville on Indomitable was just able to see them on their long range radar, but he was unwilling to launch fighters unless he knew the enemy had found him out. The last of his fighters were on deck, engines running, ready for takeoff, but he held them tight, waiting.

  “Sir,” came a message from the radar crews. “We’ve lost contact with those enemy planes. They must have moved to the northwest. There’s nothing on the scope heading our way now.”

  Somerville nodded.

  “Get yourself to the radio room,” he said. “Have them send out a coded warning to Colombo. The Japanese are coming.”

  Somerville looked at Wells, a look on his face like a man who had just received a severe dressing down. “Mister Wells,” he said. “We got very lucky just now, and must never forget it. You and I might have shared the dubious distinction of having been the only two officers in the Royal Navy to ride a sinking ship down twice in the same battle. They’re going to hit Colombo next. Thank God for low clouds when you need them.”

  “Will we make for Trinco, sir?”

  “Too close,” said Somerville. We’d better run all the way up to Madras. Number 67 Squadron has Hurricanes at Alipore, and 146 Squadron has more at Dum Dum. I’ll see about getting them moved to Madras.”

  “We be in a bit of a box, sir,” said Wells.

  “Yes, I know that, but the Japanese can’t stay here forever. Their fleet will have to withdraw to Singapore, and then we’ll slip out to sea.”

  “Will they come for Ceylon sir?”

  “Very likely, but I’m afraid we won’t be able to do
a thing about that. It will come down to the fight on the ground there now. At our first opportunity, I’m taking the fleet to Addu; perhaps all the way west to Madagascar. We’ll need considerable reinforcements if we have any hope of showing our faces in the Bay of Bengal again soon. God only knows where we’ll find them. I’ve a lot to answer for here, and had I sat with you earlier, and listened to your good advice, things might be a good deal better. As it stands, this whole sad affair can be laid at my feet, and I’ll spend a good long time writing my report.”

  Hara hit Colombo the following day, then swung around the Island and bombed China Bay at Trinco on the 27th. That was to be the main landing site, and so he committed all his fighters to a decisive battle with the Hurricanes of the British 30th Squadron and a few Fulmars of F.A.A. 261 Squadron. Even a section of old Blenheim Bombers from 11th Squadron got into the act and tried to bomb Taiho, albeit unsuccessfully.

  In these actions, Takami had operated with Kurita’s battleships, out looking for any further sign of the enemy fleet south of Ceylon. No enemy ships were found. Ozawa looked for the British up north, but never found them, and was fortunate in that. His three heavy cruisers would not have had a good time with Vice Admiral Willis and his three battleships. The fight over Trincomalee was costly, with the Japanese losing another 12 planes, but they had established air superiority by nightfall. Satisfied that he had command of the sea and sky, Hara ordered the invasion task force to proceed.

  One day later, on the night of the 28th of September, the Japanese landed the 11th Regiment, 5th Division, on the beaches near Trincomalee. Churchill’s worst nightmare had come true, and the battle for Ceylon would now begin on the ground. 98th Indian Regiment of the 34th Division had been posted there, with a battalion of the British 16th regiment to stiffen the ranks. As in so many confrontations with the rugged Japanese infantry before, they were no match for the seasoned veterans of the 5th Division.

  Trincomalee fell on the 1st of October, but there had only been enough shipping to lift this first regiment along with supplies adequate for the first two weeks. Hara departed for Singapore, where he planned to then refuel and escort the 21st Regiment to Ceylon for the landing at Colombo. In that interval, a chastened and disheartened Somerville slipped out of Madras and made a run for the Indian Ocean, but not before the three old battleships under Admiral Willis paid a visit to Trinco, protesting the Japanese occupation there with their 15-inch guns. No effort could be made to try and defend Colombo from any subsequent Japanese landing, and no further troops were available to send there.

  In spite of his greatest fears coming to life with this Japanese invasion, Churchill was persuaded to use that same interval to pull out anything he could. A bird in hand was worth two in the bush, and Madagascar would be that bird. Indomitable lingered briefly, while the remainder of the 16th Brigade, with 99th and 100th Indian, and 21st East African were moved by sea at night. Three days after the last men got off, the Japanese 21st Regiment arrived to claim their pearl of great price.

  Part IV

  The Mission

  “A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history.”

  — Mahatma Ghandi

  Chapter 10

  Karpov had every reason to be restless with the situation that had developed on Sakhalin Island. His 32nd Siberian Division had been successfully landed, seizing the small port of Okha in the north, and the nascent oil fields in that region. They then pushed south along the western coast, while his air mobile units lifted by airship landed small groups ahead of the main advance to cut the rail line the Japanese had built and impede any enemy effort to move troops north. The Magadan Marine Regiment was able to slip into the Tatar Strait and seize the vital ferry site of Lazarev, which was now his logistical link to the mainland. Other irregular forces were operating there, fast moving cavalry units, small militias, and native tribal groups loosely allied with his cause.

  North of that area, the 40th Siberian Division had been landed on the coast at Toron and Chumikan, and it was to have pushed up the sandy and winding course of the Uda River to the Zeya River, but with no roads to speak of, only one regiment had made the long and arduous journey, establishing a series of frontier outposts behind it, and then returning to the coast. It was now evident to Karpov that getting inland from that wild and undeveloped coast would be a logistical nightmare. His airships were largely carrying the burden of moving supplies, but threats posed by the appearance of new German airships was cause for some alarm, and he was now being forced to keep at least three airships at Ilanskiy.

  While Fedorov was off on his AWOL mission to that place, Karpov’s anxiety was very high. He fretted, paced, was constantly on the radio to his brother self, asking for news and berating Tyrenkov to bring the fugitive to justice one way or another. They had searched high and low for any sign of Irkutsk, with no results. Tyrenkov’s intelligence network kept an ear on the ground for any news of where it may have gone. It was suspected that the airship, and Fedorov with it, may have fled to Soviet Russia, but all his operatives there could produce no evidence that had happened. Not one among them had any idea that Fedorov was, at that moment, literally right beneath their feet in the very heart and center of Karpov’s web of security—Ilanskiy—only he was hidden by the shadowy cloak of 34 years of time, there but not there, like an unseen wraith or spirit haunting that railway inn.

  * * *

  When Mironov came down those stairs he had only one thing on his mind—escape. A fledgling revolutionary, he had already been arrested and imprisoned by the Okhrana for allegedly distributing propaganda materials. This very journey was an attempt to get as far from Tsarist authority as he possibly could, a journey east on the Trans-Siberian Rail. He had decided to visit relatives in Irkutsk, but after that, he had it in his mind to head west and south, to the Caucasus, a place he had heard much about as a boy, Vladikavkaz. It was a small town in the foothills of the mountains west of Grozny and south of the Terek River. There he would help organize the Bolshevik cells of the Russian Social Democratic Labor Party and work as a journalist.

  In truth, his revolutionary spirit had been born much earlier, when he left the small boarding school of his youth and moved on to the Industrial Institute at nearby Kazan, in 1901. Then a lad of just 16 years, he experienced that flowering of his young self that comes to many at that age, becoming more independent and often questioning authority, while at the same time, sewing a few wild oats, as young men sometimes do. There he lived in a student hostel, rent-free, as a gift from one of the Society Board Members who approved his studies at the institute. That man’s wife ran the hostel, though young Sergei repaid that kindness by having an affair with her, the boy of 16 then summarily leaving the hostel to board in the town with two friends at the end of that year when he learned the woman was pregnant. She closed the hostel shortly thereafter, and later gave birth to Sergei’s illegitimate baby girl.

  More than one young man has found himself in that sort of embarrassing situation, and more than one young man ended up doing what Sergei did after that—leaving the place and abandoning both the mother and child, never seeing them again.

  Once he was reprimanded by a teacher for refusing to write an essay on scripture he did not believe in. Once, while touring a local factory, he had the temerity to directly question the owner’s right to a life of wealth, comfort, and security obtained on the backs of the workers who labored so hard beneath him. And so, from rebellious student questioning the established faith, to a young man questioning the existing social and economic structure of the world he was growing up in, Sergei Mironovich Kostrikov would soon find more than one place his feelings about these things could be expressed.

  Two years later, in 1903, the students at the institute began to organize protests when one of their ranks was arrested by authorities and mysteriously died while in custody. Sergei fell in with the protestors, and was much influenced by the general anti-Tsarist
sentiment simmering in the country. He graduated from the institute in Kazan in 1904, then went to Tomsk in Siberia to seek entry into the Tomsk Technological Institute for higher education. He was there when the Tsar’s police fired on citizens in St. Petersburg on January 22, 1905.

  That incident became known as the Bloody Sunday Massacre, and did much to raise the temperature of the slowly simmering revolution. Sergei joined a sub-committee at the school to help organize a street protest to the event, which was widely reviled throughout Russia. The following month was just two days old when Kirov was arrested for the first time, taken into custody with a group of other students who were planning a further protest.

  Young Sergei Kirov refused to cooperate with interrogators, or to implicate any other student he knew. He was eventually released in April, and went right on with his revolutionary activities, distributing fliers, meeting with worker groups, fomenting a strike among railway workers near Tomsk. By May of that year, Japan’s Admiral Togo inflicted a disastrous defeat on the Russian Navy in the Strait of Tsushima, which caused national uproar. Workers on the Trans-Siberian rail line staged strikes and walkouts all along the line, and the lad who would become Sergei Kirov was right in the middle of it all. So he was no stranger to that fabled rail line, and knew all the ins and outs of traveling there.

  In 1906, with martial law declared when Kirov was 20 years old, he was arrested again in a Tsarist crackdown on all these revolutionary activities. They claimed he was running an illegal printing press, though it was never found. Instead they cited him for spreading hostilities between classes, and he was sentenced to 16 months in prison in Tomsk. He had only been released in June, 1908, when he started his journey east on that same rail line. For the next 18 months, almost nothing is known of his whereabouts, except that he eventually turned up in Irkutsk. No one knew of that fateful meeting he had at Ilanskiy with a man named Fedorov, or of the stairway at Ilanskiy where his curiosity saw him climb those stairs at a most opportune time.