Turning Point (Kirov Series Book 22)

by John Schettler

  The second reason was the fact that his flight path was going to see the bombers thread a thirty mile wide needle between two Japanese air bases in the Celebes. Though the war was young, the B-17 pilots had come to fear and respect the Japanese Zeroes, and he hoped that by taking most of the approach leg in darkness, they might avoid being intercepted.

  The third reason was the mission itself, because the man who had been rattling everyone’s cages for his aircraft and pilots was the self styled lord high master of the Pacific, one General Douglas MacArthur. Leaving the Philippines just a bit earlier than he did in Fedorov’s history, the General and his family and staff had arrived on the north coast of the island after a long and very wet journey on PT boats, and was waiting at Del Monte Airfield for a ride to Darwin. Word was that he saw a single old plane there when he arrived, pronounced it as totally inadequate, and then bent ears all the way to Washington D.C. to wrangle the planes that were now in the air. He wanted Army planes, not Navy, and he wanted the best pilots available.

  I guess that’s me, thought Bostrom, inwardly pleased to have been counted in the hand full of men who would be sent out that day. Five B-17s were found, two for the recon mission, and three more that would divert to Del Monte to pick up his Highness, the General.

  “I hope Caruthers has his stuff wired tight tonight,” said Bostrom to his co-pilot, Captain Edward C. Teats. As he was coming up through the ranks, his mates called him “Eddie Tits,” but now that he had made Captain, he was Edward again, or just plain Captain.

  “Caruthers has been over his charts three times,” said the Captain. “He’ll get us there, so don’t worry. Beaton and Horn won’t have much to do, cause this mission is completely dark. So I had them get with Wheatley to learn a few things, just in case.”

  Beaton and Horn were the Radio Operators on the plane, and the mission was ordered to fly in complete radio silence. Wheatley was a Gunner, so the two Radio Operators were ordered to bone up on the .50 Cals, as enemy fighters could always be on the prowl. But it wasn’t Japanese fighters they would need to worry about that night, it was American made missiles, fired from a Japanese ship, and nothing Wheatley taught the other two men about those guns was going to matter. Life or death for Bostrom and his crew would come down to only one thing, how many missiles Takami fired.

  The electronic eyes of that SPY-1D radar had spotted the incoming flight of planes over 200 klicks out, about two hours from Del Monte at a few minutes before 22:00 hours. Now the crew of Takami were standing at their battle stations, and their missiles were already primed to change the history of these events in a way none of them ever expected.

  The sun set about two hours earlier at this latitude, but the skies were now lit by a fat gibbous moon. They had timed everything so the bombers would make their approach to Mindanao in darkness, and make landfall over Davao just after that moon was up. In a few minutes, Bostrom would take three planes and make a turn due north, to stay over the ocean for another hour and then come west again to Del Monte. That’s when those first two missiles went up, their white tails catching the pearly moonlight as they went.

  Bostrom turned, with nothing more than a quiet lantern signal flash to the other two planes in his flight, and the formation fanned out, separating into two groups as though they were flying evasive maneuvers. The other two planes would carry on, bearing right down on Davao, and running right into those first two missiles. As with Kirov, the result of the attack was mathematical. The missiles fired, two B-17s were hit, erupting in fire and smoke to make a violent descent into the sea. They went down about 30 kilometers south of the anchorage, and everyone on the bridge could see the fiery glow in the dark skies when they fell.

  “Two kills, but CIC reports the contact group has split, and there are still three planes veering off on a new heading.”

  “Show me,” said Harada, well aware that both Yamamoto and Ugaki were watching all this now, amazed at what they were seeing. After casting odd looks at Lieutenant Ryoko Otani where she sat at the bridge sensor watch, their attention had been transfixed by the missile launch. There, in the dark of night, this ship had seen, tracked, targeted and killed two American bombers, and they had seen them fall like stricken demons with their own eyes.

  “These last three appear to be diverting north,” said Otani. “They are either making a turn for home as well, or perhaps headed somewhere else.”

  “Then they are no longer inbound on our position?”

  “No sir.”

  “Then leave them be. Our missiles are for clear and present threats. Let’s keep watching to confirm the new contact headings.”

  Now the Captain turned to Yamamoto. “Admiral, he said. “It appears that those first two missiles have effectively broken up this attack. Frankly, I don’t think they would have hit anything trying to bomb this anchorage at night like this, but now we have made certain of that.”

  “Sir,” said Fukada, “what about those last three planes?”

  “Not a threat,” said Harada quickly.

  “Not a threat to us, but suppose they have other targets, other missions? We should take them down as well.”

  The Captain did not like what his first officer had just done, and he made a mental note to let him know it later, when the Admirals had departed. For now, he just looked Fukada in the eye and reiterated his order.

  “Continue to track the contacts, confirm headings, and if there is no threat vector on this anchorage, then stand the CIC down. We have a dinner reservation to keep with our visitors.”

  So it was that 1st Lieutenant Bostrom, flying B-17 number 41-2477, the San Antonio Rose II, was going to make his appointment at Del Monte, and take aboard a weary General MacArthur that night, telling him a story that would certainly sound quite fantastic about B-17s being struck by white tailed lightning from below. They had just made their turn to divert when they saw something coming up at them. Seconds later they saw and heard the explosions that took down the two recon bombers, and they were the first Americans to endure that first moment of shock, and yet live to tell about it. Pilots Bostrom and Teats, Navigator Caruthers, the two Radio Operators Beaton and Horn, Gunner Wheatley and Engineers Haddow and Palmer were all going to live that hour as well.

  But when Lieutenant Commander Fukada consulted the ship’s library after dinner, their lives would again be on the chopping blocks of Time.

  Part X

  Fool’s Paradise

  “Fools rush in where Angels fear to tread.”

  ― Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism, 1709

  Chapter 28

  The first minutes passed politely, with the officers sitting down at the table and the orderly serving water and tea. But Admiral Yamamoto made good on his promise and immediately returned to the question Ugaki had pressed on him.

  “Captain, that was again a most impressive demonstration, most impressive. With such rocket weaponry at your disposal, I can see why this ship has only one small deck gun, no bigger than many we put on our destroyers.”

  “Yes sir, but that deck gun can range out over 50 kilometers.”

  “50,000 meters? How is that possible for such a small gun. It cannot be more than a 5-inch barrel, and our best secondary batteries on Yamato can only range 27,000 meters.”

  “If you wish a demonstration of that deck gun’s range, I would be happy to arrange it.”

  “50 kilometers would be well over any horizon,” said Ugaki. “How would you even see the target?”

  “With our helicopters. They could send information back to our deck gun and I assure you, we would hit any target we fire at, even at that range. Beyond that, we have a weapon that can fire four times as far, a new type of naval gun that can send a fast projectile out 200 kilometers.”

  It was clear that Ugaki would never believe that, as he shrugged somewhat disdainfully at the statement. “Now you begin to sound like a fool,” he said. “And I have no patience for fools, be advised.”

  Yamamoto gave him a sidel
ong glance, knowing his mood, but still quietly demanding civility here. Ugaki had seen the look many times before, and he folded his arms, unhappy with this entire situation, but tolerating it as best he could.

  “This is a most unusual ship,” said Yamamoto, “but you will never convince me it was made in the shipyards of Nagasaki. The equipment I have seen here is beyond our capabilities. You said as much yourself. If we could build such a gun, it would surely be on Yamato, a ship that received the very best weapons and armor we could give it. So then the question remains—where was this ship built? You have denied it came from the Russians, but I remain unconvinced. There is something more to all of this that you have not told us.”

  “Sir, I have told you the truth all along. This ship was built in Japan, by Japanese engineers, and right there at Nagasaki as I stated. On the other hand, I have also told you that the equipment you saw below was beyond anything present day engineers in Japan could design. As Admiral Ugaki kindly points out, this is a contradiction, so now I will clear the matter up. I have told you where our ship was built, but I did not say when it was built. Therein lies the answer, though it will likely be as difficult for you to accept it as it was for us to grasp the reality of where we now find ourselves. This ship was not built in this era, not in the 1940s. The plant that designed Takami at Nagasaki will not even exist until well after the war, decades in the future.” There, he had said it, and now he waited for Yamamoto’s reaction.

  “Decades? What are you saying?”

  “To be completely blunt about it, Takami was laid down in the year 2018, and commissioned into the Japanese Maritime Self Defense Force in the year 2021.” He waited, saying nothing more.

  Ugaki looked at Yamamoto, and when the latter simply laughed, Ugaki shook his head. “It seems you have already had your fill of that saké sitting there, and before you even offer it to your guests! More nonsense and evasion! So many words, yet nothing ever said. Such insubordination, and with the Admiral of the Combined Fleet sitting here before you!”

  “Sir,” said Harada, “I know what I have said sounds like utter nonsense. We thought the very same thing just days ago when we transited the Sunda Strait. Takami was on a simple escort run from Singapore to Darwin. Then, all of a sudden, we found ourselves caught up in that terrible volcanic eruption. We sailed north, hoping to escape the ashfall, and that was when we came across General Imamura adrift at sea. It took us some time before we could believe he was the man he claimed to be—General Hitoshi Imamura, Commander of the Japanese 16th Army. You see, in our day, no such Army even exists, and we could see no reason why a Japanese Army officer would be where we found him. His uniform was archaic, even as you looked at our uniforms and insignia and knew something was amiss.”

  “You persist in this?” Now Admiral Ugaki had a hand on the hilt of his sword yet again.

  “Do not be so quick to draw that blade,” Harada pointed. “Hear me out. You can believe it, or laugh it away when I have finished, but at least have the courtesy to listen. No man or woman aboard this ship thought we would ever find ourselves in a situation like this. Yes, I said woman, just like Lieutenant Ryuko Otani there at sensor watch. Women have served in the Japanese Navy for years, and she is a fine officer. As for this ship, no nation on this earth could build it, or even begin to understand or manufacture any of the equipment you have seen us demonstrate here. I just killed men and planes out there, and at night, firing a weapon guided by radar alone and at a range exceeding 30,000 kilometers. That capability will not exist on this planet for decades, in spite of what you have told me about the Russian ship you believe is operating in the North.”

  Now he lowered his voice, still working through his own thoughts in his mind, less certain, but no less determined to have his say. “Concerning that, there was another incident in our time, the year 2021, and just days before this happened to us in the Sunda Straits. A volcano in the Kuriles erupted violently, and at that time, a Russian battlecruiser was leading a small flotilla very near that location. Those ships vanished, and we believed they may have been sunk. Yet now, after what has happened to Takami, I wonder… yes…. Because the Captain of that ship was a man well known to many of us in the Navy. We often sortied in the Sea of Japan when the Russian Navy would joust with us out of Vladivostok. His name was Vladimir Karpov…”

  Yamamoto sat there, astounded, listening out of politeness but unable to accept what this man was saying. And yet, this Captain was possessed with sincere urgency, with an almost desperate need to be believed. What Kami has taken this man’s soul, he thought? And the other one, the First Officer, he is thinking much more than he is speaking, yet between them there is a strained rope that tethers them together in this. They believe this story! As much as Ugaki was correct that this was insubordinate effrontery, here these men stand, and knowing Yamato has three 18-inch guns trained on this ship, yet this is what they tell me here. It is simply the most outrageous thing I have ever heard, but yet both these men believe it. I can see that on every line of their faces.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if to chase the weariness of the hour. On the other hand, look what this ship just did, he thought. I saw those planes fall with my own eyes. I saw officers below simply touching those panes of glass and lighting them up with maps and strange lines and symbols. Clearly this technology is equally outrageous in what it can accomplish. Is it real or theater as Ugaki suspects?

  The death of those American planes was certainly reality. Could this preposterous story also be true? Could that be the real explanation for Nagumo’s shameful lapse in losing Hiryu. Our men call this ship up north Mizuchi, a monster from the spirit realm, and now here I sit, swallowed and in the belly of yet another Sea Dragon. These men now claim that they appeared here by accident. This ship was not some hidden project kept secret from the Navy. Assuming, for the briefest moment, that their claim is true, what is it they think to accomplish in coming to me this way? And now they have made yet another astounding statement, that this Vladimir Karpov is another Kami from some distant world, and not a man of our time.

  “Vladimir Karpov,” he said. “You are telling me that this man is not….”

  “He is not a man of this era sir. Yes. If this is the man I think it is, then he has come from our time, the 21st Century, and so has his ship. He was commander of the Russian battlecruiser Kirov in 2021, a guided missile cruiser, and perhaps the most powerful in the world. It has missiles, just like those you have seen us use against aircraft, and even more powerful rockets used to attack other ships. I am willing to bet that aside from that ship, there have been no other confirmed useage of these rockets anywhere else.”

  Yes, thought Yamamoto, that would explain quite a few things. But who could swallow such broth and still pretend he is a sane man sitting at his table for lunch? In spite of that, how do I explain the presence of this ship here now, these weapons and radars? I am left with the distinct feeling that we will learn that these weapons are not really being manufactured by the Russians, just as this man says. If they had them, why didn’t they use them to defend Moscow? Why would they be on this single ship, and nowhere else… Yes… nowhere else. There has not been a single report of these rockets being used anywhere else, only with this mysterious Russian ship from the Atlantic…. Until this moment… Until a ship crewed by these officers and men, all Japanese, sail so boldly into my compass rose with this ridiculous story, and yet with power and a military capability that is simply astounding.

  Ugaki wants to draw his sword and take this man’s head. Perhaps he should, but what good would that do? Suppose instead I join this Kabuki theater, and play my part. They are tapping out the rhythm, and so now, I will join the dance.

  “Very well,” he said slowly. “Admiral Ugaki, if you squeeze the hilt of that sword any further you will shatter it. Kindly rest at ease. These men have certainly told us things no sane man could ever believe, though I do not think they mean any disrespect in so doing. After all these hours with
them, I still do not know who they are, or where they have come from, but one thing I do know is this—they have power at their disposal that exceeds anything we have ever seen. And if they are loyal to our nation, then that power can make our fleet invulnerable to enemy air attack. Isn’t that what you claim?”

  “For a time,” said Harada. “Like all other things in life, the power we possess is not unlimited. Our defensive capabilities can certainly shield any fleet we sail with, and keep it from harm, even if the enemy knows exactly where we are. Takami can detect and stop any air attack… until our missiles run out.”

  “Run out? Then you cannot obtain any more from the designers of this ship?”

  “No sir, none of the men and women who designed and built Takami have even been born yet, and our missiles cannot be reproduced, reverse engineered, or manufactured anywhere on the earth at this time. Once they are gone, we will have our radars as a valuable asset for fleet intelligence, but the missile shield will be expended. This is yet one more reason that argues to the truth of what I have told you. The designers are 80 years away, and quite frankly, since we do not even know how we come to find ourselves here, I must also admit that we have no idea how we might return to our own time. At the moment, we are marooned here, and needing fuel, we reasoned that we would have to make our presence known to the most reasonable man in the fleet. This is why we came to you, sir. You alone will know how this ship might best serve our nation now.”

  “I see…” Yamamoto just looked at Harada, and at his First Officer. “You might have told me this ship was a highly secret project, and created by a small splinter group nested within the military. You might have said the ship was built for some other purpose, perhaps as a seaplane tender, and then secretly modified to receive and use these new weapons. That I would be unaware of such a development would be improbable, but still within the realm of possibility. But you did not tell me that at all. Instead you simply hand me the impossible, an explanation that no man could ever believe, and one that prompts an otherwise proper and courteous officer like Admiral Ugaki to call you a fool, because he clearly thinks that is what you make us both out to be. Well, I am not a fool, and I do not think you are one either. Who would do such a thing, build such a ship, crew it with uniformed men, and come to me with such a story? Why would they do this?”