He had no choice but to order them to fly southwest in the hope of somehow finding the Western Task Force under Admiral Yamashiro where they could land on Hiryu and Soryu. This they did, eventually finding that task force south of San Cristobal and east of Rennell Island, but the haggard formations of Nagumo’s precious strike planes arrived at a most inopportune time.
Yamashiro had been unable to get any radio communications through to either Nagumo or Combined Fleet Operations in the Kondo Bombardment group. The radio waves eventually cleared up, but unlike Nagumo, the urgency to strike at once was not as great for him. The Americans did not know where his ships were. For all they knew, Nagumo’s force represented the only real threat to their operations. He therefore held his strike wave on deck—until the airwaves suddenly cleared a little after 06:00 hrs that morning and he heard the urgent calls coming from Nagumo’s planes as they desperately tried to locate his carriers.
Realizing that he now had to receive some fifty planes in a recovery operation, he hastily began launching everything he had to make room on the already crowded decks of his two fleet carriers. Nagumo’s planes arrived short of fuel, and many had to be given immediate priority to land. If he had kept his third carrier in hand, the light escort carrier Ryuho, he could have started bringing Nagumo’s planes in there, but the Dragon Phoenix was well to the north by now, coordinating with the Hara Group for a strike on a mysterious ship that appeared to be threatening the second wave transport fleet where troops of the 3rd division were still riding at sea.
Yamashiro had only Hiryu and Soryu available, but he managed to juggle his operations and get most of his planes in the air, ordering some below decks, still fully armed, so as to make room on the decks for the recovery. It was a matter of controlled chaos for a good long while, and by the time his strike wave was finally headed northeast to look for the Americans, the enemy had already learned of his location as well.
The American carriers moved boldly west, like a boxer side stepping in the ring and slipping into a corner. Their superior damage control had enabled them to clear their decks, recover most of their planes and turn them around into another strike wave while Yamashiro was struggling with his own recovery/launch operation further south. Yamashiro’s planes flew to the last reported positions of the US fleet and began search operations, but the lucky American strike wave led by Lieutenant Commander Wade McClusky off the Enterprise found and followed one last straggler from the Nagumo group, and it ended up leading them right to Yamashiro’s carriers.
The resulting air strike was catastrophic. The Americans dove on the enemy while Lieutenant Commander John Waldron’s Torpedo 8 off the Hornet came in on the deck. Yamashiro looked out to see yet more planes coming at him for recovery before he realized what was happening, and then controlled chaos became utter chaos. The American planes found their primary targets and rained hell upon them. Bombs penetrated the flight deck of both Hiryu and Soryu, some deep enough to smash the armed remainder of his strike planes that had been taken below. The resulting explosions were ripping his carriers to pieces, and then the torpedoes came.
By 07:00 hours both Hiryu and Soryu were gone, and he had transferred his flag to the cruiser Chokai, shaken and much distressed. He was now commander of little more than a screening force with two cruisers and four destroyers. His planes would eventually find and strike the Americans, hitting the Hornet hard enough to put her at the bottom of the sea and also damaging both Enterprise and Saratoga, but when they concluded their strike there was now nowhere they could go. No friendly flight deck could receive them in the Western Group.
In an astounding feat of flying and carrier management, some twenty planes were told to look for Nagumo’s last remaining light carrier Ryujo, the Prancing Dragon as it retired to the north. There Nagumo managed to juggle operations and launch planes from Ryujo, and then receive the valuable strike planes from Yamashiro’s savaged carriers. He would refuel them and then send them up again while he recovered the fighters as their fuel ran out, and on it went as the last of Nagumo’s force hastily retired towards Rabaul. The planes from Hiryu and Soryu that could not take part in this flying circus were forced to ditch near Guadalcanal and, though they were total losses, their precious pilots would make it ashore there to fight again another day.
Yamamoto’s face was ashen as he listen to the reports. The entire operation had come flying apart. The odd radio interference had prevented close coordination of the two pincers and the Americans had done exactly what the Japanese feared they would, defeating each horn in detail. He had lost Akagi, Hiryu, Soryu, and Kaga was making a pathetic twelve knots as she limped back to Rabaul. Her damage was severe enough that she would be many months in repair, and effectively lost to the fleet for the remainder of the year.
Then he heard the result of Admiral Hara’s strike, and his mood darkened further. Lt. Commander Sakamoto was alive, though many more planes and pilots from Zuikaku, Shokaku, and Ryuho had been killed. His force was now spent, and could be of no further service to the action around Guadalcanal.
Yamamoto shook his head sullenly. “Four decks sit there, almost empty considering Zuiho has also lost all her planes, and here we learn of Yamashiro’s planes having to ditch off Guadalcanal. This is a disaster. We had nine carriers to the enemy’s three! We could have smashed the Americans if we had only coordinated our strikes more carefully.”
“This odd radio interference, sir,” Operations Chief Kuroshima explained, an almost pleading look on his face now. “It could be another example of advanced jamming capabilities developed by the enemy. This ship we have been chasing, this Mizuchi, has also been a most unsettling affair.”
“Most unsettling? That ship has passed through our entire operation like a bullet! Well, Kuroshima, what about it? Did Hara’s planes sink it this time?”
“We have very strange reports, sir. Sakamoto says the ship seemed to simply disappear as the strike planes were making their final attack.”
“Disappear?”
“The reports are very confused, sir. None of the pilots reported hits this time, but the ship was masked by smoke, or so some of the reports read this way. Then it could not be found minutes later. I was of the opinion that it had been hit and sunk, sir, possibly by one of our submarines, but—”
“But we had no submarine in that area, yes?”
“Correct, sir. Then we received this last report from a seaplane off the cruiser Tone. Captain Iwabuchi has his flag there now, and he reports that this Mizuchi has been spotted again, about forty miles east of the position where Sakamoto’s planes made their attack. The odd thing is this, sir. They made that sighting at 12:20 hours, just ten minutes ago. We’ve only just received the report.” He held out the decrypted paper like another excuse.
Yamamoto frowned. “The distraction of this ship has proved fatal. It has unhinged our entire operation, from Darwin to the Coral Sea. Thank God Yamashita’s troops made good their pledge and at least took Darwin. That is our only consolation in this whole sad affair. We lost three fleet carriers today, and Kaga is a complete wreck as well. Hara’s group has no teeth either. Do you realize that we now have virtually no naval air power we can use here, and that is likely to be the case for months! I wanted a decisive engagement, but who could expect this? Operation FS must be immediately canceled. Kondo cannot hope to take those transports to Guadalcanal now. It will be all we can do to safely get the men of the Nagoya Division to friendly ports. The American carriers have been hit, but they do not sink!”
“We do report one carrier has been abandoned and scuttled, sir. The Hornet.”
“Yet they still have two carriers operational, not to mention control of the airfield at Lunga. Now we will have to operate at night, running fast cruiser forces south through the Solomons to land troops in the dark, like shadows skulking ashore before the dawn chases us north again. This is disgraceful.”
There was a long silence in the room before Kuroshima spoke again. “And this enemy shi
p, sir? This Mizuchi? Captain Iwabuchi has asked permission to take the cruiser escorts from Hara’s group and hunt this sea dragon down again.”
Yamamoto’s eyes were like frozen fire. “Where is this ship?” he asked, his voice low, with a dangerous edge.
“It is now reported heading southeast, sir, and on a course that could still threaten the second wave troop convoy in the Coral Sea.”
Yamamoto gave him a hard look. “Then we turn to join the hunt as well,” he said. “Plot an intercept course at once, and tell Captain Iwabuchi he may proceed. Let his hounds flush this bird out and we will do the rest. It will be a long voyage north to Japan after this is over.”
“I will personally apologize to the Emperor, sir. It is all my responsibility.” Kuroshima lowered his head, the shame apparent, his shoulders slouching.
“No, Kuroshima,” said Yamamoto. “I will apologize to the Emperor—for the sinking of the Akagi, and all the rest. The responsibility lies with me.” The Akagi had always been a much loved and favorite ship for the Emperor. “But before I do so I will finish off this Mizuchi once and for all…Or die trying.”
“Sakamoto had another name for this ship, sir. How strange that his men lost contact with it in the middle of a fight like that, only to find it a mere forty miles away over six hours later! He called it Kumuri Kage, the Shadow Dancer. Everything we have learned about this ship is most unsettling, sir. It has endured two major air strikes and yet survived. That last attack by Hara’s group threw everything he had at the ship—over ninety planes! It has sunk a cruiser, killed a submarine, beached a battleship and still it eludes our grasp.”
Yamamoto gave Kuroshima a last sullen look, a strange uncertainty in his eyes now, chased by sudden determination. Then he gestured with his hand. “That will be all.”
Nothing more was said.
Part IX
Decisions
“Choices are made in brief seconds and paid for
in the time that remains.”
― Paolo Giordano, The Solitude of Prime Numbers
Chapter 25
Doctor Zolkin looked at Voloshin, trying to understand what the man was saying, and mustering as much sympathy as he could. The Able Seaman had come to him soon after the last attack, shivering with fear. It would not be the first time a man at sea faced the terrors of naval combat and came away shattered by its horror. Yet the story Voloshin told him had a nightmarish edge to it, a surreal quality that Zolkin found unbelievable.
True to the conventions of vranyo, the Russian game where one man’s stretching of the truth was quietly received by another without objection or complaint, he listened attentively as the man told his tale. He had seen something pass through the ship, a shadow at first, then what looked like a plane. He had been right in its path, servicing the missiles beneath the long forward deck, turning to see it coming for him with no hope of escape. Then the face of a man, his features frozen in a strange agonizing scream. He said he could actually see the face of the pilot as the shadow came hurtling for him, passing right through him, the leering face, the wailing sound, like an angel of death itself.
He had fallen to the deck, terrified, shaken badly, and even now he was still struggling to suppress involuntary shivers, so great was the man’s fear.
“Now, now, Voloshin,” said the Doctor. “This business has every man aboard on edge, yes? That plane that came in on the ship a while back has sent twenty other men in here to see me as well. You must remember that this is the first real look at combat for this crew, and you are no exception. It is very harrowing, most frightening. You must allow yourself that fear and yet still manage to do your duty. Even the Admiral has come to see me about it. Yes, Admiral Volsky himself! You know he was hit by those planes that found us in the Med, yes? Well take an example from him. Now he is up on the bridge, as a good fighting admiral should be when his ship is in danger. And you, Voloshin, you are a good fighting Seaman of the battlecruiser Kirov. What you have seen is frightening, to be sure. But you must put it aside, and find a way to remain stalwart.”
Voloshin nodded, still shivering.
“But I have a prescription for you first.” Zolkin was writing now on a small pad of paper. “This is going to tell the ship’s quartermaster to admit you to the junior officer’s mess hall. I want you to go there right now and have a nice long meal. The food is much better than the men’s mess below decks, so take every advantage. There is nothing like a good meal to give a man back his strength, eh? After that I want you to take two of these pills.” He held up a small medicine container, shaking it to rattle the pills inside.
“Take only two, yes? Then go to this cabin, number 147 on the third deck, and go to sleep. I will check on you in four hours.”
“Third deck, sir?”
“Yes, the officers quarters. Don’t worry, I’m writing it all down here. If anyone asks what you are doing there say you have been sent on my orders. I am a Captain of the Second Rank, did you not know? And you have heard of ‘Doctor’s orders,’ so follow these well. Two pills—only two—and cabin 147. Have a good long sleep. I will check on you later, and see how you feel then. But first, go and eat.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“Good then. On your way. I hear they have very good food on the menu today. Don’t let anyone bother you. Just hand the kitchen master that note, and eat well.”
Good food and sleep, a couple of aspirin with just a little tranquilizer in the mix. That was the prescription for Voloshin, and Zolkin sighed after he left, wondering how the rest of the crew was holding up. There was a knock on his door and he was pleased to see Admiral Volsky step into the sick bay, removing his cap with a smile.
“Are you hungry and sleepy too?” asked Zolkin, and he told the Admiral what had just transpired.
“The men have been under a lot of strain,” said Volsky. “I have been making the rounds below decks again, but I thought I would talk to you briefly. No, I am fine. I got several hours sleep last night before this latest attack.
“And the ship?”
“Still here,” said the Admiral, at least we think it is. Voloshin was not imagining things, Dmitri. One of those planes went right through the ship.”
“We were struck again? I did not feel any impact. I heard nothing.”
“Correct. It went through us, but something was happening at the time. The ship was moving to another time. This is what Fedorov thinks. He says that if we are as much as a second or two out of sync, then they cannot touch us. But it is frightening how we still see the shadows of the other time for a few brief moments when we shift. We are here, but yet not here. It is all very disturbing and completely mind boggling at the same time. But we were lucky we did move, or Voloshin would not be alive now. Perhaps the ship itself would have been struck a fatal blow. Where did he say this happened?”
“He was down tending to the missiles, under the forward deck, very near the gun mount there.
“A very bad place for a plane to strike us.”
“Udachi,” said Zolkin. “Our luck is still good. But how could this have happened. We have moved again in time?”
“Do you remember what you said during one of the meetings in here while we were in the Med, Dmitri?”
“You mean about the atomic weapons?”
“No, not that—about Dobrynin and the nuclear reactors. Fedorov was talking about this confounding time displacement, and trying to link it to a strange flux in the reactor core. You said something that stuck with me ever since. You asked if we had considered telling Dobrynin to fiddle with the reactors a bit more.”
“Yes, you were all wondering what to do about Gibraltar, so I suggested you just have Dobrynin crank up the reactor and send us somewhere else. I was joking, of course. Just trying to lighten the mood of the discussion.”
“Well,” said Volsky with a broad smile. “We took your advice, Doctor! Fedorov and I conspired a bit and we found out something very odd. Dobrynin was running a maintenance routine on th
e reactor core, and every time he did it the ship ended up moving some hours later. Moving in time, mind you. So Fedorov and I decided to conduct a little experiment. We had Dobrynin run the procedure, and sure enough, the ship moved again!”
Zolkin was truly surprised now. His fanciful suggestion had been right on the mark. “You mean this is no longer 1942? We are somewhere else?”
“Not exactly, Dmitri. We did move, but the interval was somewhat short lived this time. That’s what Fedorov is calling these time shifts—intervals.”
Zolkin nodded, his eyes bright behind his dark spectacles, charcoal brows bobbing as he spoke. “A bright young man.”
“Truly,” said Volsky. “He has worked very efficiently with Karpov, and I must also say that my little experiment with the Captain has worked out to much good as well. He’s saved the ship on more than one occasion. A truly exceptional performance as a tactical combat officer. If I had listened to him, and struck at the enemy carriers as he advised, you would not have men in here talking about planes flying through them. Together the two of them have kept us all alive. I’m afraid I’m starting to feel like a big fat suitcase on a badly filled airliner. There’s not much room for me on the bridge now. Those two have the matter well in hand.”
“It’s good they both have performed so well,” said Zolkin. “Particularly what you say about Karpov. I must tell you that I had my misgivings about the man when you first returned him to duty.”
“Don’t worry yourself about it, Dmitri. I don’t think he will try anything like he did in the Atlantic. We seem to have reached an understanding. The men have also seen him in the middle of it all up there.” He pointed to the ceiling, fingering the main bridge somewhere above them. “They have come to respect Karpov in a way they never did before.”
Kirov III-Pacific Storm (Kirov Series) Page 23
