“Sir, 190 nautical miles. Just within range.”
“Two more P-900s please, as before. Assign one to each carrier. You may fire immediately.”
“Aye sir. Firing Missiles 8 and 7.”
Raijin the God of Lightning and Thunder would soon be beating his war drums, and right at his side would go Raiju, his demon friend, called “thunderbeast” by the Japanese, and depicted as a white and blue wolf surrounded by lightning. It was said that buildings and trees would be clawed by this demon in a storm, and now those claws were out to score the hard metal hulls of two dragons at sea. Hiryu, the Flying Dragon, would be the first to feel their bite.
The approaching missiles, with the long vapor trails, would again confound the Japanese, to the utter amazement of the officers and crew who saw them dancing above the sea in that final dizzying run to their targets. Zero fighters had tried to climb up after them before they dove for the sea, but when they did so, accelerating through Mach 1.5, the pilots were astounded to see them streak away. They were unearthly in their movement, a computer controlled dance no more than 20 meters above the ocean.
Every ship in the division opened up on them, but it was simply impossible for the gunners to track and aim at a target moving at that speed. One of the escorting destroyers had maneuvered just off the stern of Soryu, and when Commander Ogata saw the missile aiming for that ship, he ordered all ahead full, in a desperate effort to interpose his vessel and take the enemy lance upon himself.
Nagumo watched from the bridge of Soryu, the Blue Dragon, dumfounded to think these two planes could move and strike his ships again, but they did. He saw the first missile bolt into Hiryu, and the massive orange fireball that soon became a series of powerful explosions, one after another, as the planes in the stricken hanger deck began to blow up.
Yet his own ship was spared the same fate by the sacrifice of destroyer Arare, which had not hesitated a second to answer the question posed by Rooks’ Gambit. It raced in just as the missile was about to hit, taking the blow about 50 feet from her bow. Her Commander had instinctively employed the only tactic that could stand as a defense against such attacks. Tovey had used it with his own cruisers and destroyers, then the German fleet when Siegfried and Loki had been sacrificed in the same way. Now Arare would endure the agonizing death, for 400 kilograms of high explosives, thundering in at nearly Mach 2 on a missile weighing over two tons, was enough to literally break the destroyer in two.
Half of the carriers that had left Japan to make their daring attack at Pearl Harbor were now casualties of war, two stricken by an enemy they had not even seen. The damage to the Flying Dragon was much more serious than that inflicted on Akagi. The P-900 was a perfect carrier killer, easily penetrating the thin side armor of those ships, and exploding right in the interior spaces of the hanger deck. There it would detonate armed and fueled planes, and start raging fires that the Japanese damage control teams were often unable to suppress. In the case of Hiryu, the ship was so badly ravaged by all the secondary explosions that it would not survive. The fires would spread unchecked, eventually reaching her boiler spaces, until the loss of engineering capacity there saw the ship fall off to only 12 knots.
Nagumo was staggered by the loss, his eyes fearfully scanning the northern horizon for any sign of this amazing enemy weapon. This time, many who had seen the attack claimed it was clearly some kind of aerial torpedo, a rocket that made all the rumors and half formed intelligence concerning events in the Atlantic real. With great regret, he coded a message to Tokyo to inform them of the damage to all three carriers. At the same time, he ordered the 5th Carrier Division to abandon Akagi, and steam at their best practical speed for home waters, determined to salvage Japan’s two newest carriers unscathed.
No further attack came in that long hour after Hiryu was hit. The three destroyers remaining in the task force huddled around the stricken carrier, while Nagumo was now forced to make a most difficult decision.
“We must continue our launch at once,” Air Commander Shogo argued. “You have seen what has happened to Hiryu. If we are also hit with all these planes armed and fueled, then that will be our fate as well. It was only the bravery of Commander Ogata on Arare that now gives us this moment to attack. We must find the ship launching these weapons and destroy it.”
“Yet to do so we will have to abandon Hiryu,” said Nagumo, “With the destroyers taking on her surviving crew, we will be completely exposed if we launch now. And supposing we do get all our planes off? The danger still exists. If we are struck, and unable to recover planes, then we lose them all, every plane, every pilot. We become nothing more than an empty shell.” He looked to Fuchida now, knowing he would appreciate the value of those planes and pilots.
“Kaga has already suffered that fate, and now Akagi and Hiryu. We managed to save 48 pilots, but some of those were on Hiryu, and who knows how many remain alive. I have 126 trained pilots aboard this ship. If we lose Soryu, as Admiral Nagumo fears, then we lose them all. Two thirds of the Kido Butai will have been effectively destroyed. Even if Akagi and Kaga return to safe waters, they, too, will be empty shells. And yet… How can we not at least strike at our enemy? If we do nothing, we may lose all. Better that these men die in battle. That was what they trained for, and it would at least be an honorable death.”
“Agreed,” said Shogo. “We must order the strike to proceed. Hiryu already had twelve planes up before it was hit. We must continue the launch immediately. We are losing daylight in another hour!”
Nagumo hesitated, thinking, until he realized there was really no option. What else could he do? To turn away now was not only a supreme loss of face, but it would also offer no guarantee that Soryu could escape harm. Fuchida, more than any other man here, knew the value of the men that would fly this strike, but they simply had to go. There was no other choice.
“Soryu will turn into the wind again and proceed to launch with all possible speed. All destroyers will move to a position off our starboard side and provide close escort. They will take a lesson from the bravery of Commander Ogata.”
The fire in Shogo’s eyes was far better than the shame he might see there had the Admiral decided otherwise. Now Fuchida saluted stiffly, and smiled. He was soon off at a run, heading for the flight deck to join and lead the strike.
Aboard Kirov, Rodenko reported the close clustering of four contacts, all moving at 30 knots, and the slow appearance of additional airborne contacts. They could visually see the launch proceeding on the super enhanced radar screens.
“They persist,” said Karpov with a shake of his head.
“It is clear that one of the destroyers was hit by our second P-900,” said Fedorov. “Now look at them, they are quick studies. Those three remaining escorts are in close to form a missile shield for the carrier.”
“You know how we corrected that problem earlier,” said Karpov. “We need to re-program some of our missiles for plunging descent instead of a low level attack over the water. At the moment, they approach like torpedo bombers, and we must convert them to dive bombers. That will frustrate this defense based on the sacrifice of screening ships. I could simply fire a barrage salvo, but the range is still almost 200 nautical miles, and the only missile we have that can go that distance is the P-900. Fedorov?”
“Well sir, We have only seven more P-900s, and one of them is in silo number 10, so let us presume we might wish to withhold that missile. That limits your salvo now to six, and effectively expends all our longer range missile strike capability. If we turn right at them, and make our best speed, it would be another hour before we get inside 120 nautical miles for the Moskit-IIs to fire. In that interval, we can expect that strike wave forming up will find us and attack.”
“How many planes?”
“Depending on what ship that is, somewhere between 60 and 80 aircraft.”
Now it was Karpov’s turn to ponder the difficult decision. Should he expend the precious P-900s, or close the range to bring his best ship kill
ers into the battle? While he had every confidence that the ship could meet and defeat the enemy strike wave, that would come at a cost. He remembered how he fought those earlier battles against the Japanese. The ship had only 72 SAMs when the first really big strike wave came in at them, 67 planes strong. They got all but seven, but one plane got through, and came right down on the ship in a deadly kamikaze dive. It struck the battle bridge, and that was the only thing that saved them, the 200mm roof and deck of that armored box was enough to take the hit, but had that plane struck them anywhere else…
Something always gets through in an attack of this size, thought Karpov, but we have to be letter perfect. We’ve got to stop them all. I have more than twice as many SAMs as we had when I first defended the ship against a major air strike like this. Between the S-300s and Klinoks I have 188 missiles that can fire at ranges from 45 to 150 nautical miles. Suppose it takes 60 to 80 here, as Fedorov suggests. That is more firepower than I wanted to expend…
He looked at his watch, seeing it was 17:40. The sun was already low, and then an idea came to him. “Mister Fedorov,” he said. “When will that sun set?”
“In about forty minutes sir, at 18:18.”
“Excellent. Ready the KA-226. I want it armed with air to air missiles.”
“Sir? You want to engage the strike wave with a single helicopter?”
Karpov just looked at him, a look that spoke volumes without vocalizing any admonishment there in front of the men. Fedorov read it well enough, and decided to keep to his bargain and follow protocols. “Mister Nikolin,” he said. “Order the Helo Bay to make ready on the KA-226 for immediate launch—full air defense loadout with the best missiles we have.”
Karpov said nothing, but was pleased Fedorov had withheld any further objection before seconding his order. He knew he owed the man an explanation, and drifted over, his eyes on Rodenko’s radar screen. “The ship will come about and assume a heading of 350 degrees,” he said. “All ahead full!”
The helm responded smartly, and Kirov surged ahead to her full battle speed of 32 knots. Now Karpov looked at Fedorov. “The KA-226 will launch and maneuver here,” he said pointing to the Navigation Plexiglas board that denoted the position of all these contacts. “I want it well east of our new heading. Those enemy planes are losing daylight. It will take them at least forty minutes to get out here, and as they come, I want the KA-226 to engage them with a few missiles.”
“Saving our SAMs?” asked Fedorov. “It will only be a pin prick, sir. The strike will not be impeded.”
“Perhaps, but it may be diverted. Those planes will not be using radar, correct? They will rely on visual sightings. So I want the helo to lay a nice prominent trail back to its position with those missile fires. The vapor trails should glow nicely as the sun goes down. In the meantime, the ship will rig for black, and we will run northwest. If they take the bait, there will be no further action tonight. I want to see what the Japanese government does with my midnight ultimatum before I proceed here.”
Fedorov raised his eyebrows, nodding his head. “A clever ploy,” he said. “It just might work.”
And it did work. Nagumo’s strike wave was formed up and on its way north at that very moment. With Kirov still 200 nautical miles out, that was about an hour’s flying time at normal cruising speeds. That meant the planes would not really get into visual sighting range until 18:40, in that long gloaming hour after sunset. In that fading ocher light, they would see a pair of R-75 air-to-air missiles coming right at them at about two o’clock. Originally developed for high performance fighters as the R-73, this missile was adapted for use on helicopters to give then some long range air defense. The KA-226 could carry them, and they would range out 50 kilometers and move at Mach 2.5.
Two planes would die that evening, one an escorting Zero and the second a D3A Val dive bomber. The contrails clearly marked the direction of the attack, which prompted the entire strike wave to turn and follow it, thinking to find the ship that fired the weapons. The military version of the KA-226 was just fast enough to disappear into the light cloud cover, all running lights off. When the planes reached their expected target area, they found nothing but empty sea, for Kirov had also raced away to the northeast and was now well over their horizon, which was considerably shortened with the setting sun.
The frustrated strike wave was ordered home, as it would be difficult enough to conduct a night landing on Soryu. They had hoped to find their enemy, and get retribution for the loss of Hiryu, which was now so badly burned that Nagumo ordered one of his three destroyers back to put four torpedoes into her side.
Flying Dragon slipped beneath the waves at 21:30 that night, never to rise again. Virtually alone on the wide Pacific now, the Admiral ordered his Blue Dragon to turn away south, and run at 34 knots after the recovery. No man on that bridge said a word, though rumors were now already circulating. Some said that all this misfortune was the work of the Ayakashi, spirits and ghosts that were seen to appear above the water. It was said they were the souls of those who died at sea, intent on dragging the living in passing ships to their watery death to join them. Some said the Ayakashi would take the form of a sea serpent, others that they were only spirits that haunted that thin boundary between water and air.
No matter what they were called, they carried with them the yawning danger of the unknown. The fleet had been hunted by the boat ghosts, by the oily serpent Ikuchi, which could only be appeased by receiving a tribute of coins. Some crewmen actually tossed coins overboard that night, whispering a silent prayer that the beast leave them in peace. But down on the lower deck of Soryu, as the maintenance crews worked to service the last of the recovered aircraft, one man spoke another name—Mizuchi—a legendary sea dragon. The pilot heard it, feeling very strange after that, and sleeping fitfully all that night.
He was not a believer when it came to ghosts and demons, but for some reason, this beast continued to plague him. He looked around him in the dark, wishing he was back aboard his own ship, Zuikaku, the Auspicious Crane. He had been out after the American carriers at Pearl Harbor, one of the men in on the battle that sunk the Lexington. But when his plane straggled home, the only carrier he could find was Soryu. His Val was damaged enough to keep him there for many days, and by the time it was finally repaired, his 5th Carrier Division had been detached for the Wake Island operation.
So there he was, marooned on the Blue Dragon, and spending a sleepless night fearing yet another dragon that was said to haunt the oceans and even rivers where the wary feared to go—Mizuchi. He could not shake the harrowing feeling that he knew what was out there on the edge of the night, silently stalking them in the darkness. Yet he chided himself, trying to chase his fear with the cold logic of reason.
All that night, he had strange dreams, of a dark ship, with tall battlements, bristling with dragon horns, its long white wake the tail of a sea beast, its claws a sharp death that could streak through the air like fiery demons. Lieutenant Commander Hayashi did not know why he was so troubled that night, but he could not shake the feeling that he had seen this hidden enemy once before, in a dream, in a nightmare, in another life….
He had seen it, yes, in another life, for he was the same man who had sacrificed his life for honor and vengeance, making his plane a human guided missile, and striking Kirov to destroy the aft battle bridge. And now Fate rustled the willow fronds of his recollection like a darksome wind, and whispered in a dry voice to him, speaking a single word.
Remember…
Part VII
Aftermath
“All was deadly still. There was no call and no echo of a song. Sorrow seemed to be in the air. 'Victory after all I suppose!' said Bilbo, feeling his aching head. 'Well it seems a very gloomy business.' ”
—J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
Chapter 19
That night Nagumo changed his heading, taking the Blue Dragon due south at 32 Knots for some time before signaling Carrier Division 5 off Wake Island to rendezvous
. Some inner sense warned him of grave danger, the presence of that unseen wolf that had been stalking his fold. Akagi followed as best she could, her speed off to no more than 18 knots, and with orders now to proceed to the big Japanese naval base at Truk, some 1100 miles to the south. The Home Islands were still 2000 miles away, and so Nagumo looked for the best friendly anchorage he could find for that precious ship.
As for Kirov, Karpov lingered north, deciding to wait for the stroke of midnight for news from his intelligence unit at Vladivostok. The Japanese destroyer flotilla, and all the garrison troops there, had not made a move. By this time, after recalling his helicopters to refuel, the Japanese had slipped away. Akagi was already 300 nautical miles to the south, and the faster carriers were linking up and turning for home, now over 420 miles away.
“We won’t catch them now,” said Fedorov. “Those carriers are very fast. You might get south and find Akagi.”
Karpov considered that, then decided to wait. He had received the news from Tyrenkov via a secret code message sent to Nikolin. The words there struck him: Plan 7. It was a special protocol he had set in place in the event of another attack by Volkov on Ilanskiy. Now it appeared that exactly that was underway, which set his mind to wondering what Volkov could possibly be up to. He was suddenly anxious, pacing on the bridge as he waited for more news, but no word came.
“Something amiss?” Fedorov was at his side, and Karpov gave him a strange look, then simply waved him to the plot room, shutting the door when they had entered.
“Trouble at home,” he said at last. “A place you will be well familiar with—Ilanskiy.”
Tide Of Fortune (Kirov Series Book 20) Page 16
