Lions at Dawn (Kirov Series Book 28)

by John Schettler

  The second question was more difficult—assuming we prevail against Kirov, shall we use the power remaining to us to further the aims of Japan in this war? A ‘No” vote will prompt us to withdraw from the theater and remain neutral, allowing this history to proceed without further interference. After asking permission to do so, Fukada had campaigned on every ship to try and persuade the crews to see that they must support Japan. He was very persuasive, but even so, the results were close.

  In the end, the measure passed by only five percentage points. The vote to withdraw and remain neutral was 47 percent, with 53% carrying the motion to give Japan a most unexpected offering, and a very powerful weapon of war. Those who opposed that choice were resigned to support the decision of the majority, slim as it may be. All had reservations, and most were still in the fog of disbelief, but they would muddle through just as so many others beset with this dilemma had done so before them. Yet the choice they made that day would count for much, in this world and those that might come after it.

  When the decision was finally announced, Admiral Kita convened a meeting of all senior officers to plan strategy. In addition to Harada and Fukada, there were Captains Shoji Yoshida off the Akagi, Ichiro Akino from Atago, Kenji Namura from Kirishima, Hiroji Asano from Kongo, Hideo Hironake from the escort destroyer Takao, Daishin Shima from the destroyer Kurama, and lastly, Arimoto Tachino off the fleet replenishment ship Omi. The first item on the agenda was whether or not they would operate autonomously, independent of the prevailing Japanese authority.

  “We are expected to escort that tanker out there to Yokohama,” said Harada. “Those were orders we received from Yamamoto himself.”

  The Admiral wanted to be very careful here. His instinct was not to concede his authority to the men of this era. “Concerning those orders,” he said flatly, “they are cancelled until we reach a decision here as to how we wish to proceed. It is my opinion that this task force should remain independent, particularly during any operation that involves direct conflict with the Russians.”

  “I will second that,” said Harada. “We told Yamamoto that we would answer to him, and do all in our power to serve. Yet when it came down to it, the presence of WWII era ships and planes in the engagement served more as a hindrance than anything else. They were just targets Karpov could hold hostage, ships and lives we felt compelled to defend.”

  “Should we then inform Admiral Yamamoto that you will not arrive at Yokohama as ordered?”

  “If I may, sir, I think I can handle that directly. But this raises the larger question of whether or not we should fully reveal ourselves to the men of this era. At present, there are only a very few officers of rank who know the truth concerning our identity. Many others have seen our ship, and seen us in combat. Knowledge of our advanced radars and weaponry are no longer a secret, even though it may remain a mystery largely spread by rumors. The fact is, the men of this era have already seen what Kirov can do, because that ship has been here for a very long time. We believe they may think of our missile technology as prototypes arising from a secret weapons program, and since Japan is already designing its own rocket weapons, that belief is given credence.”

  “It is not far from the truth,” said Kita. “All these weapons have their origins here, at least in terms of the accelerated development this war catalyzed.”

  “Quite true, sir. I should also say that our missiles have already aroused a great deal of curiosity. At the moment, knowledge of our real identity and origin is restricted to a very few high level officers, but rumors spread, and they can be very compelling. It appears that Admiral Nagano wants a sip of our tea, and we were considering how to handle that. The knowledge of our presence here could be as disturbing to people of this era as it was for us to find ourselves here.”

  “That is understandable,” said Kita. “We might be able to pick a fight with the Russians here on our own terms, but the decision was also made to support Japan. I won’t ask how any of you voted, but that will be a delicate matter. We’ll have to cooperate with these people, but I’m reluctant to be ruled by them. You deferred to Yamamoto’s authority, and I can understand why, Captain Harada. I’m just not sure I can do the same. I would prefer to meet these men on equal terms. Opinions?”

  The general consensus was that they would almost have to remain independent to properly use the power they had. “I have great respect for these men,” said Yoshida, “but as good as they were, I can’t see that they will understand how we should operate. Modern warfare is a whole different kind of organized violence. We can’t put ourselves in a position where they might order us to do something we know is not wise.”

  “I think I can explain this to Yamamoto,” said Harada. “When we were sent north to go after Kirov, he placed us nominally under command of Admiral Kurita. Yet when it came down to the action, I found myself having to call the shots. Kurita didn’t like it, but he cooperated with us. I think he resents that, particularly since we could not accomplish our mission and were forced to withdraw. He took that shame upon himself, and bears us no good will. We must remember the pride these men carry, the dedication they have, and the loyalty. They will all give their lives for Japan, and their sense of honor and commitment here runs bone deep. You know how many of them took their own lives when Japan was defeated.”

  “It is that defeat we hope to prevent,” said Fukada.

  Captain Yoshida took note of that, even as he had when he first engaged the Chinese fleet. War started with flags and honor, national pride, and music, but it always ended in the same thing—death and destruction. His planes were not made of canvass and steel any longer, or even aluminum, but now became artful contoured compositions of carbon nanotube reinforced epoxy. However they were made, their intention was simple in the end—find and kill the enemy before they did the same to you. That was the order of the day they were taking on, and it gave him no joy to think he would be killing the ancestors of the men who stood by Japan for well over half a century. He had secretly voted to remain neutral here, but now he steeled himself for the fight ahead. How to prevent the inevitable defeat of Japan in this war?

  “Yet that is a high mountain,” said Kita. “These men started this war with the order to climb mount Niitaka, and that’s what we have in front of us now. Kirov is our first order of business. After that, are there any opinions on strategy?”

  Captain Asano off the Kongo spoke next, a trim professional officer, 35 years of age, short yet ‘squared away’ as some in the navy might say, and meticulous in his presentation and manner. “Most of us know this history well,” he said, “even though we are told it has already been twisted out of shape. We know that it was the overwhelming production capacity of the Americans that made the outcome of this war inevitable.”

  “Yes,” said Harada. “Yamamoto knows that as well. He knew it before Pearl Harbor. After sinking five of the six U.S. fleet carriers in the first year of the war, the Americans have already reached parity with the arrival of three new Essex Class carriers. We all know that is the ship that wins this war for them, allowing them to defeat our navy and dominate the seas. Japan has attempted to redress that with a secret naval building program Yamamoto calls the Shadow Fleet. It is more extensive than it was in the history we know, and there will be ships here that were never built—hybrid designs born of fast conversions from cruiser and battlecruiser hulls. Even so, those Essex Class carriers will just keep coming, one after another.”

  “Unless we stop them,” said Fukada.

  Admiral Kita turned to regard him. “You’ve been rather eager here, Lieutenant Commander. No harm in that. War is no easy game, but how do you propose we operate to stop them?”

  “We know the approximate delivery dates for each ship they have in the pipeline, and there are many things we can do to disrupt that chain. First off, we can take out the locks at the Panama Canal. That will make the transfer of new ships to the Pacific more difficult. Yet even that is only a halfway measure in my mind. I
think we should go right to the source of the problem—the American shipyards.”

  That raised a few eyebrows before Captain Namura off the Kirishima spoke. “There were over thirty shipyards on the east coast, and an equal number on the west coast,” he said. “They also had shipyards along the Gulf Coast and Great Lakes, another twenty there. That’s just too many targets to have any chance of making a dent in their production.”

  “We don’t need to hit them all,” said Fukada. “We only need to worry about the biggest yards: Newport News, Bethlehem’s Fore River Shipyard, and the Brooklyn Navy Yard, and perhaps the yard at Philadelphia. They built all their carriers in those four yards. A lot of the others you mention just built liberty ships, landing craft, smaller vessels like destroyers, but the bigger yards could build anything, including their new battleship designs. The Iowa class was built at Brooklyn, Philadelphia and Norfolk Virginia. All these targets are in the same general area, and our F-35’s could hit those sites from well out in the Atlantic. If we take out the yards I’ve mentioned, it will seriously hinder their production of major ship classes like the carriers and battleships.”

  “So you are suggesting we move to the Atlantic? Another Pearl Harbor, only this time against ships that have yet to be built?” Kita did not know what to think of that at this moment, but he was entertaining all opinions here.

  “We could do this,” said Fukada. “We take out the Panama Canal, then proceed south and round the cape into the Atlantic. They couldn’t do a thing to stop us, and we could carry out the strikes I mentioned with little difficulty. All their existing carriers would then be here in the Pacific, and fair game when we return. In effect, we turn off the pipeline at the source; then return here to finish the job. In a matter of three months, we can decide this war.”

  “Very optimistic,” said Kita. “And what about their Atomic Bomb program? If we stop their carrier production wouldn’t they resort to that expedient sooner, or just accelerate their B-29 program?”

  “Sir, we know where that program is being developed, and we can strike Alamogordo from the Pacific easily enough, or from anywhere within the Gulf of Mexico. There are places where we can get within 1000 kilometers.”

  “The combat radius of the F-35B is just over 800 Kilometers,” said Kita, his eyes fixed on Fukada as he sized the man up. He had known him as an enterprising and dedicated officer, but was seeing more in the man here than he did in his own day. There was an edge to the Lieutenant Commander that almost seemed as though he had a bone to pick here. It was more than loyalty to Japan, an honorable trait. There was a shadow over his eagerness for this war.

  We can use the Osprey’s for mid-air refueling,” said Fukada, and Kita noted that the man had obviously been doing a great deal of thinking about all of this. “As for the B-29s,” said Fukada, “without their carrier power, Japan can stop them from taking the islands they used for their strategic bombing program. We can stop them from putting B-29s on Tinian, or anywhere else close enough to hit Japan, and we can stop them from delivering the bomb that ravaged our homeland. But first things first—we must stop their production of Essex Class carriers.”

  Fukada was seeing things at the strategic root. While many of the others had entertained thoughts of intervening in the campaign now underway, Fukada advocated taking the war to the trunk of the tree, not simply trimming off its branches.

  Admiral Kita took a long breath. “What do the rest of you think of Fukada’s proposal?”

  “He makes a strong argument.” It was Captain Daishin Tachino, the master of the Navy’s fleet replenishment ship Omi. The Mashu Class AOR was a very valuable fleet asset, commissioned in 2005. In addition to providing fuel oil and aviation fuel, it had a large helideck and hangar to receive helicopters as big as the MH-53E Sea Dragon, which it could use to make deliveries to other ships in the task force. It had ample munitions stores and food supplies, and it also served as a hospital ship. At 25,000 tons full load, it was one of the largest AOR class ships in the world in its day, and capable of 24 knots to keep pace with a fast moving surface action group.

  “My job is logistics and support. We’ve come a long way to get here, and there is fuel in Omi’s belly to take us back to home waters easily enough. I can top off your tanks here… perhaps twice. Now I just tabbed up some numbers that might sober things down here, no offense intended to the Lieutenant Commander. From our present position, it’s roughly 7,000 nautical miles to the Panama Canal. Swing down to Cape Horn and that journey extends to a little over 11,000 nautical miles. The carriers and Takami have fairly long legs and can just barely make that. But the other destroyers have less than half that range. So they’ll use their first refill just getting to that point. From there, it’s another 7,000 nautical miles to your targets on the east coast, which also requires another replenishment operation to get there. We can make it, but that will be all. I can’t get the fleet back to the Pacific, so this would be a one way trip.”

  “Is there a way north?”

  “Yes, but its January, a little cold up there.” Tachino tapped his pad again. “Figure 3,400 nautical miles to the Bering Strait, then if we can take the proverbial Northwest Passage and make it into the Baffin Bay, it would be a little over 8,000 total distance from here. But that passage without icebreaker support would be dangerous. This isn’t 2021. The waters here are cold, and the ice is thick and very prevalent compared to our time. That route also precludes any strike on the Panama Canal, but I’d say it’s a moot point. I think the northern route is closed until spring.”

  “What if we head West?” Fukada suggested. “We can go to Yamamoto and request tanker support and refuel at Japanese controlled bases from here to Ceylon.” Fukada was unwilling to allow something as mundane as logistics to hamper his vision. Yet those very same numbers, and the issue of fuel, had largely decided which side Takami would have to throw in with when it first appeared. Now the constraints of fuel and endurance at sea were going to determine the reach of these operations.

  “Yamamoto?” Admiral Kita nodded his head. “It seems that whether we want a free hand here or not, we still remain tethered to the Imperial Japanese Navy. We’ll have to cooperate with these men one way or another.”

  “Yet it could also help solve this problem,” said Harada. “We might hit the Panama Canal using our own assets, but the only way I see us going around the Cape of Good Hope is by pairing down the task force to use fewer ships, and those with the best range. How far is it from Ceylon to the US East Coast?”

  Captain Tachino pulled up the data in a few seconds. “About 11,000 nautical miles. Assuming we can use IJN fuel as far as Ceylon, and I can fill my gut with fresh fuel oil there as well, then I can get us to New York and back to Ceylon. Alternatively, I can get us from the target zone and down around the Horn into the South Pacific again, but we’ll be bone dry, and in the middle of nowhere.”

  “Those seas will be in the U.S. sphere of influence,” said Kita.

  “We can defend ourselves,” said Fukada.

  “True, but the tankers Yamamoto would have to send would need major support to reach us,” Tachino cautioned.

  “Gentlemen,” said Kita, “we’re getting ahead of ourselves with all of this. Our first mission is to find and kill this Russian ship.”

  “It was just off Truk two days ago,” said Harada. “We might head southwest to find what we need now, more tanker support from our friends, before we tangle with our enemies. Something tells me they may be closer than we think.”

  Part IX

  St. Michael’s Cave

  “This cave seems to have been formed by the violent concussion that rent “the Rock” mid-way between Signal Station and rock gun battery, near Middle Hill, evident marks of the disturbance being found. Turning to the long celebrated and far-famed cave of St. Michael, we find traces of the disturbance… probably formed by the same violent force of upheaval, as the axes of fracture of all are nearly in line. Wishing to solve certain doubts, and the
truth of certain rumors respecting this cave, I determined upon a careful exploration…”

  —Lt. Alexander B. Brown, Geology of Gibraltar

  Chapter 25

  It was an ancient network of limestone caves, its entrance perched 300 meters above the sea. Created by the slow seepage of seawater through the porous rock, the acidic conditions gradually wore away the stone, opening small cracks along the fault lines and widening them to deep passages that opened onto vast caverns. The numerous stalactites and stalagmites formed by the steady drip of this water were built over thousands of years, pale white teeth in places, and in others, deeply riven formations colored in ochre and amber hues.

  Ages ago, prehistoric human left the traces of their rudimentary tools and bowls in the cave, and drew the images of their most desired prey in elegantly rustic depictions of herding animals like the Ibex. Those drawings were thought to be over 20,000 years old, spanning twice the length of any fragment of recorded human history. Yet some believe the caves were far older, for the discovery of two non-human skulls dated them to 40,000 years—Neanderthal skulls, the primate that failed to survive into modern times.

  The ancient Greeks and Romans knew the place, for it was mentioned in Homer’s writings. Later, it was given a name because of its resemblance to a similar cave grotto found in Italy, a place where the Archangel Michael was said to have appeared. To the men who had delved into the towering rock above the cave, it was simply called “Old Saint Michael’s,” though the British had tried to change the name to “St. George’s Cave” in the 18th Century. That hubris failed to take root, and by the time of Queen Victoria, the cave became widely known as a place of magical beauty, its twisting pillars of stone serving as a background for ceremonial events like weddings, concerts and even a gala dance party at times.