Against the Tide Imperial: The Struggle for Ceylon (The Usurper's War: An Alternative World War II Book 3)

by James Young

  “What were you thinking?” Sam asked.

  “It’s not nice to pry into a woman’s mind,” Beverly replied. “You’d think you’d know that with a sister.”

  “If you were trying to find a way to kill the mood, that was pretty close to a direct hit.”

  “Sorry,” Beverly said. “I didn’t mean to get cross with you.”

  “No, I was meaning mentioning my sister,” Sam quipped, drawing a playful slap from Beverly.

  “So, not to truly kill the mood by being practical, but did we use a rubber last night?”

  Sam pointed to a small trash can next to the bed.

  “Yes. I don’t think we need any more little Cobbs running around in nine months.”

  “The doctors figured it was my fault Max and I didn’t have kids,” Beverly said quietly. “So you may have wasted that one.”

  “It was more than one,” Sam said sheepishly. “I am really feeling like I took advantage of you last night, or was a very bad performer.”

  “Men,” Beverly said, rolling her eyes. “You assume I have some back catalog that I’m grading you against?”

  Sam squeezed her.

  “I was not thinking about anyone else but present company,” he said.

  “I was totally wondering if Clark Gable was as dreamy in a…ow!” Beverly started, stopped by Sam pinching her buttocks.

  “It’s not nice to tease, Beverly,” Sam said. “I—“

  He was momentarily thrown off his train of thought by a very firm grip and stroke around his manhood.

  “I have never teased a man in my life, Sam,” she said, grabbing the back of his head with her free left hand. With surprising strength, she pulled him in and brought his mouth to hers while still urging him to hardness. The two of them shared a sense of urgency as she rolled over, hooking her leg behind him and shifting him into alignment.

  “I don’t…” he started to say, feeling her warmth beckoning him.

  “I know, and I don’t care. In, now,” she breathed, bringing both of her legs around him. In a mutually satisfying movement, Sam followed her instructions.

  The sound of a key in the lock jerked Sam back to wakefulness. Both he and Beverly started to move, leading to them bumping their heads together.

  “Ow,” Beverly said, starting to giggle, then breaking into laughter. Sam, after a moment, followed suit.

  “Well glad to see you guys are awake,” Norah called down the hall. “Sam, your boss says you better ensure that lovely woman you’re with gets a new outfit so no one questions her morals at the hotel.”

  Clearly no finger wagging from that direction, Sam thought, surprised at Norah’s cheerful tone.

  “Are you two decent?” Norah asked from the direction of the living room..

  “Not at all,” Beverly called back cautiously, looking around for her clothes.

  “Nevermind, question answered,” Norah said laughingly. “There is a robe that will probably fit you in the closet, Beverly. Sam, you just might be out of luck.”

  Beverly got up out of the bed, briefly trying to wrap the sheet around her before simply laughing and standing in front of Sam in all of her nudity. He successfully fought the urge to wolf whistle, instead rolling over to sit on the edge of the bed behind her while Beverly searched for the robe in question. Sam ran a hand down her back, causing Beverly to shiver.

  “You stop that right now, Sam,” she whispered fiercely, finding the robe. She turned around as she put it on, giving Sam a mock disapproving look as he openly ogled her.

  “I’m going to go get our clothes. Then we are going to take Norah out to a nice breakfast.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Sam said. “Except I’ll buy you both breakfast.”

  “I hope you don’t think it’s too forward, but I’m thinking of asking Norah about openings up here at Bremerton hospital,” Beverly said. “I’d like to help deliver babies.”

  “Norah really likes it as a place to work,” Sam observed. “So I think you’d enjoy it.”

  “You don’t feel like I’m…” Beverly began.

  “You are a grown woman, and I enjoy your company,” Sam said, causing Beverly to raise an eyebrow and smirk. “More than that, thank you very much.”

  “But I’m pretty sure that didn’t hurt?” Beverly said, leaning in to kiss him.

  He slid his hands inside the robe, only to have them swatted away.

  “Breakfast.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” he replied.

  Beverly left the room and went down the hallway. Sam heard a murmured conversation then some laughter.

  In some ways I think we should get Major Haynes to come along. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t be proper. Lonely is the commander.

  “Norah says it’s nonsense to go out to a diner, we might as well have breakfast with her,” Beverly said.

  “I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” Sam said, reaching to take the pants from Beverly’s hands. She pulled them back, smiling.

  “I just wanted to look one more time,” she said sadly.

  Oh shit, Sam thought, recognizing an imminent crying jag when he saw one. He swiftly wrapped Beverly in his arms as she started to sob, her tears hot against his chest.

  “Is everything all…oh, sorry!” Norah said, quickly ducking back out of the room. Beverly started giggling and sobbing at the same time, the juxtaposition triggering a bout of hiccups.

  “Sorry, Sam,” she said, sniffling. “It’s just…I’ve been walking through a haze for months. And just for a moment, when I was taking a picture of you in my head, I felt such guilt, then such joy, then…”

  “Then Norah walked in and saw more of me than she ever wanted to,” Sam bemoaned. Beverly looked up at him.

  “Well, I hope she enjoyed the view,” Beverly said lightly. “I certainly have.”

  Sam blushed.

  I hope she did not. That would be a little bit awkward flying with Major Haynes.

  “I don’t want to put you on the spot,” Beverly said. “But I’d like to stay in touch, wherever you go.”

  Sam hugged her tighter.

  “This wasn’t just some random fling,” he said. “If it’s possible, I’d like to stay in touch as well.”

  “Well, glad we got that settled,” Beverly said teasingly. “Although I think you’d be a hard man if you’d said you didn’t want to talk to me.”

  “I’d be a foolish man,” Sam replied. “I try to avoid doing foolish things in life.”

  “We better get out and eat breakfast before it gets cold,” Beverly said.

  “Yes,” Sam said. “Also, we don’t want to go walking around in the same clothes that we came here with too late in the day.”

  “Good point,” Beverly replied, letting him go. The two of them dressed quickly and efficiently, then went out to the kitchen where Norah was just finishing placing some bacon on a plate to the side.

  “Myla left a note saying she’d come here with a change of clothes for you, Beverly,” Norah said.

  “That was nice of her,” Beverly replied, her tone surprised.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “I’ll watch the eggs,” Beverly said, stepping to the pan. Norah wiped off her hands and went to open the door to the hallway. Standing there in his khakis with a grim look on his face was David. He held a garment box in his hands, and Sam saw a pale, puffy faced Sadie and fear-stricken Myla behind his brother.

  I don’t even need to know what he’s about to say.

  “When do we need to be dockside?” he asked.

  “Major Haynes said as soon as possible,” David replied. “To quote him, ‘That includes time for a shower and getting dressed.’”

  “Goddammit, he didn’t say anything to me,” Norah snapped.

  “He got the phone call from Bremerton just after you left, apparently,” Sam said. “Major Haynes did not sound happy at all.”

  “It’s been a rough couple of days for him,” Norah said with a grimace. Sam could see that
the woman was attempting to put a strong face forward, but her quivering lower lip told him that she was fighting to hold back tears. Turning to Beverly, he saw that Norah was not the only one nearly overcome with emotion.

  I hate seeing a woman cry, Sam thought angrily. He went and tenderly kissed Beverly on the forehead.

  “Oh dammit Sam,” she sobbed, dropping the spatula on the stove and embracing him. Sam hugged her fiercely back as they stepped out of Norah’s way.

  “I have to go,” he said. “I don’t want to go.”

  “I know,” Beverly said. “Sooner you go, sooner you can come back from wherever they’re sending you.”

  “Come in out of the hallway, David,” Norah said. “There’s plenty of eggs for Sadie and you as well.”

  David followed Norah’s direction as Sam let Beverly go. He grabbed his uniform and headed for the washroom. As he hung the garment up and started the shower, he had an epiphany that made him shake his head.

  Somewhere, some Japanese pilot is probably getting himself ready to face me as well. Well I hope I get a chance to make your widow cry, you son of a bitch.

  I.J.N.S. Akagi

  0852 Local (2122 Eastern)

  Straits of Malacca

  2 August (1 August)

  First in line were the fleet’s minesweepers. The vessels had already passed down the straits at least a dozen times in the last twenty-four hours, their crews meticulously sweeping the ocean with binoculars. Now the ten vessels steamed in line abreast twenty-five miles ahead of the Kido Butai with the simple intent of sacrificing their hulls rather than having a stray mine hit a carrier’s.

  Behind the minesweepers were a swirling contingent of anti-submarine vessels. Too slow, old, or poorly equipped to maintain station with the fleet, the submarine chasers, auxiliaries and, in one case, a captured Dutch gunboat all churned the waters through which the Imperial Japanese Navy’s main body would go. Having already sank one unfortunate Dutch vessel three days before, the force hoped to duplicate its success if any Allied vessels were lurking in wait.

  Finally, there were the Kido Butai’s own destroyers. Each vessel’s commander was well aware that the Zuikaku’s loss had begun with an American submarine landing several critical torpedo hits. Although objectively the price of doing business in an enemy’s home territory, subjectively each destroyer captain involved had felt a great sense of shame and personal responsibility. For this reason, each of the men had whipped their crews into a frenzy of hyper-awareness, with all hands possible on deck searching for a tell-tale torpedo track of possible periscope sighting.

  Standing on the Akagi’s flag bridge, Vice Admiral Yamaguchi looked on at the frenzied activity with grim satisfaction.

  Some fleet commander may be willing to trade a submarine for a carrier, he thought. But I am not sure that the submarine commander feels the same way. Attacking the Kido Butai in the current circumstances would be almost certain suicide given the likelihood such an action would be responded to immediately with a storm of depth charges.

  “Sir, the staff is ready,” his aide, Lieutenant Commander Honoka Kuki said from the compartment’s rear. Yamaguchi nodded in acknowledgment.

  They can wait a few more moments, Yamaguchi determined, feeling the morning sun starting to become warm on his face. This is a moment I have anticipated for far too long to leave it so quickly. The strait’s narrowness made the Kido Butai seem even more powerful, the battleships Kirishima and Hiei leading both carrier columns. As smoke poured from both battleships’ funnels, Yamaguchi reflected on the fact their sister ship Kongo lay on the ocean floor a few hundred miles to the southeast, while the Haruna was still being repaired in Singapore’s drydock.

  I hope the Germans are right, and the Americans’ Pacific Fleet cannot sortie for another month due to a lack of oilers. Otherwise, Admiral Yamamoto is going to be most upset. Although the Shinano had just finished working up and could ostensibly sail forth with the rest of the battleline, the Kirishima and Hiei represented over twenty percent of the IJN’s available battleships.

  I told Admiral Yamamoto that I intend to bring the Allied carriers to battle even if I have to chase them across the Indian Ocean to do it, Yamaguchi thought. If the Americans attempt to retake Wake or, even worse, launch an attack against the Marshalls, we might as well be on the other side of the moon.

  Shaking his head to force those concerns from his mind, Vice Admiral Yamaguchi turned to go back inside the Akagi’s island. The newly promoted Rear Admiral Tomeo Kaku, former captain of the Hiryu, called the gathered group to attention. Yamaguchi waved them down as he regarded the large map of the Indian Ocean. Wooden pieces represented the Kido Butai, the yet to depart transport fleet, Vice Admiral Ozawa’s carrier force and, finally, known Allied and Axis dispositions.

  The Italians have surprisingly moved south with three of their battleships and two of the British escort carriers, he noted. They may serve a useful purpose of exhausting the enemy if well handled.

  “Who is in command of that force?” he asked, pointing at the vessels as he sat down at the head of the map.

  Rear Admiral Kaku briefly consulted his notes.

  “An Italian admiral named Iachino, sir,” Kaku replied.

  I do not recognize the name, Yamaguchi thought.

  “It would be most helpful if we could coordinate our efforts with him,” Yamaguchi stated.

  “It is unlikely he will leave the radius of land-based air support,” Rear Admiral Kaku observed after once again consulting his notes. “Especially versus a superior enemy force.”

  “That would be prudent, given what the Germans accomplished against the Americans during their engagement,” Rear Admiral Chuichi Hara, commander of the Kido Butai’s Fifth Division, stated. A large man, Hara dominated his corner of the map opposite of Yamaguchi with both his physical presence and almost palpable mental resolve.

  “Unfortunately, hiding underneath an umbrella of land-based airpower does us no good,” Yamaguchi said. “Remove his vessels, please.”

  Several staff officers complied with Yamaguchi’s directive as he and his division commanders continued to regard the Allied force on the mapboard.

  “So, what do we expect Fletcher to do next?” he asked the gathered group.

  “Sir, intelligence believes that Fletcher should have struck Mombasa by now,” Kaku replied. “It has not happened as far as we know.”

  “Perhaps events in New York have caused a pause in operations?” Hara mused.

  “Unlikely,” Kaku stated.

  “Also unimportant,” Yamaguchi stated, waving as if brushing away a fly. “First let us discuss Ceylon.”

  The staff attendants shifted around the map to be better prepared to move the wooden blocks representing the Kido Butai. As they did so, Yamaguchi regarded the ten miniature aircraft blocks present on Ceylon. Carved to represent the types that intelligence believed were present, Yamaguchi noted a pair of four-engined, another duo of twin-engined, a single flying boat, and three single-engined miniatures.

  “The enemy has recently reinforced Ceylon with additional aircraft via convoy,” Kaku began. “As you can see, there are an expected eight squadrons totaling roughly one hundred aircraft.”

  The officer moved the three single-engined aircraft to the east of Ceylon.

  “Our intelligence indicates these are two squadrons of Hurricanes, one of Spitfires,” Kaku stated. “The Hurricanes are recent models, but still inferior to both the Shiden and Zero fighters. The Spitfires may be able to match either.”

  Several of the gathered aviators stiffened at that, but Kaku ignored them. There were far too many dead pilots and shattered aircraft dotting the Dutch East Indies to merit stroking proud men’s egos. The Spitfire, as well as the cursed Whirlwind and American Lightning, had all come as an unpleasant surprise during the last campaign.

  “The twin-engined aircraft are the type the British call the Mosquito, while the four-engined aircraft are two squadrons of their heavy bombers the
y call the Lancaster.”

  Kaku paused again as the staff officers moved the Lancasters several hundred miles out into the Indian Ocean, then the Mosquitoes a lesser distance.

  “From captured documents, interrogation, and examination of enemy capabilities, we believe this is how far these aircraft can reach out into the Indian Ocean,” Kaku stated. “Thankfully, they cannot operate in daylight against us, and will likely be ineffective at night.”

  Yamaguchi looked up at that, eyes narrowing.

  “Based on what?” he asked sharply, causing Kaku to stare at him, mouth open.

  “I do not understand, Vice–”

  “The British nearly sank one of Ozawa’s vessels and consistently harassed our ships during night operations throughout the Indies,” Yamaguchi snapped. “They also managed to hit Ozawa’s fleet at night during the Battle of Ceylon. So why do you think they cannot strike us at night?”

  The steady thrum of Akagi’s turbines was the only sound in the compartment for several long seconds.

  Time to make my point clear, Yamaguchi thought, feeling rage welling from within him.

  “We will not win this war by ignoring our enemies’ capabilities and inconvenient facts,” he barked, standing up. “You will prepare another briefing in the next hour which actually reflects what we have learned the last three months. If you are too stupid to do so, I will have you relieved and sent to a post more befitting someone of your lack of imagination. Am I clear?”

  Kaku had come to rigid attention. The man’s face colored as the Kido Butai’s commander finished, his dark eyes focused on the bulkhead in front of him.

  “Yes, Vice Admiral!” he responded.

  “Rear Admiral Hara, a word please,” Yamaguchi said, striding for the exit out of the briefing room and onto the flight deck. There was the scraping of chairs as the staff came to attention while he walked out onto the flagship’s teak deck.

  Well at least the pilots are getting some rest, Yamaguchi thought. The structure was cleared of aircraft, the prevailing winds blowing at a ninety degree angle to the Akagi’s current path of travel. Far above, gaggles of land-based interceptors, both Army and Navy, kept a watchful eye over the departing Kido Butai.