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

by James Young

  Vice Admiral Yamaguchi continued to stare serenely out the Akagi’s bridge window as his staff sprang into action at the report.

  So it begins.

  “I do not think that it would be prudent for you to ever be alone in a room with The Gargoyle again,” Rear Admiral Kaku noted as he walked up behind him. “It appears, however, that his feint has flushed the prey.”

  “Vice Admiral Ozawa,” Yamaguchi stated, “is an Imperial officer loyal to the Emperor. He is performing his duty.”

  Kaku stiffened at the rebuke entailed by the dual emphasis on name and title. Vice Admiral Ozawa was known as “The Gargoyle” due to his large stature, less than handsome visage and, at least according to the Kido Butai staff, surly nature. All of these things were true, but Yamaguchi was well aware that the man was having to stand in and absorb British blows off Ceylon so that his force might see off the Far Eastern Fleet.

  I will give him due deference even if I am also tired of his squalling like a spanked child about Admiral Yamamoto’s orders..

  “Launch the strike,” he ordered simply. “I am sure you are going to tell me what the Tone’s aircraft has seen.”

  Kaku bowed, then turned and barked orders at the signal staff. Yamaguchi stepped out onto the bridge wing, the din of the decked park aircraft loud once he was through the hatch. The Akagi’s crew had spotted the aircraft on deck over the last hour and a half in anticipation of his moment.

  It is a risk you are taking, Tamon, Yamaguchi chided himself. But it beats the original plan. Rear Admirals Hara and Kaku had, as he directed, developed a new plan. The revision had required the approval of IJN Headquarters in Tokyo, with which communication had required several relays of seaplanes to avoid breaking radio silence. Vice Admiral Ozawa, as Rear Admiral Kaku had alluded to, had been less than pleased at being relegated to suppressing Ceylon's airfields rather than keeping them down once the Kido Butai passed through. This was, however, necessary to trigger the British into believing that the Japanese were going to immediately suppress Ceylon. Judging from the initial and continued reaction to Ozawa’s presence, the Ceylon garrison firmly believed his carriers to be the Kido Butai.

  His fighter pilots are feasting on the heavy bombers, from all accounts. This “radar” is indeed a war changer.

  He stared back at the Taiho, the large radar aerial prominent on her island. The purloined electronics were vastly superior to the primitive, native Japanese sets on Shokaku and Kirishima.

  Alas, it cuts both ways. The British will undoubtedly see this strike coming in time to scramble fighters off their carriers. Which is why we’re throwing everything possible in two waves.

  Unlike their Western counterparts, Japanese carrier strikes revolved around divisions of two vessels, not each carrier’s air group. In the case of the Akagi’s first strike, this meant that her dive bombers and fighters would join the Kaga’s torpedo bombers as one strike package. Roughly thirty minutes from now, once the aircraft were spotted, the Akagi’s torpedo bombers would then join the Kaga’s dive bombers and fighters. Each evolution would be mirrored by Soryu and Hiryu, while the Shokaku and Taiho were only contributing dive bombers and torpedo bombers to the first strike in order to maintain a CAP.

  If the CAP is necessary, of course we are doomed. The beauty of the plan was to catch Vice Admiral Cunningham’s carriers almost a full day before they were expecting to make contact with the “Kido Butai,” a.k.a. Ozawa’s feint. This in and of itself was also the culmination of several months of subterfuge. Officially, the Japanese Navy had never acknowledged the well-developed Royal Navy anchorage at Addu Atoll in the Maldives. When the British had been forced to cede Singapore to Japan way back in 1942, their staff had been thorough in destroying all mention of the base’s ability to sustain a large fleet such as Cunningham’s. Unfortunately, that hadn’t done anything about the paperwork back in the Admiralty in London.

  Of course, the Germans became privy to many ‘secrets’ after the Treaty of Kent. I am sure we have not been told all of them, even as those smiling racists call us friends.

  Unlike his counterparts in the Army, back when those idiots had been in charge, Yamaguchi had never been under any illusions as to how the Germans regarded Japan. Indeed, his preference would have been to figure out some way to make common cause with the United States after several years of residence there as an attaché and student.

  Alas, while not as overt as the Germans, it is clear the Americans have their own problems with us, as we do with them. Which is why we must inflict so great a defeat here in the Indian Ocean that both Great Britain and the United States turn to focus on our friends in Berlin.

  “Sir, the Hiryu and Soryu report that they are launching,” Rear Admiral Kaku stated. Yamaguchi signaled his understanding.

  “Has the Taiho picked up any contacts?” he asked.

  “No sir,” Kaku replied.

  The first Shiden rolled down the Akagi’s deck. Rear Admiral Yamaguchi was pleasantly surprised at how cooperative the weather had been. Most of the cloud cover being thin and intermittent, and the wind was conveniently blowing out of southwest. This allowed the carriers to continue closing the range as they launched, rather than having to come about.

  I have no desire to engage in a surface action with Cunningham.

  Yamaguchi cast his eyes towards the Kirishima and Hiei. I need him to go away, not strive for total annihilation. He looked at his watch as the Akagi’s strike continued to launch.

  In a little over three hours, I will have either won a great victory or doomed our nation, the Kido Butai's commander thought. Now I wait.

  U.S.S. Plunger

  2036 Local (0236 Eastern)

  Pearl Harbor

  8 August (9 August)

  It was rare for a submarine to risk entry into Pearl Harbor during the night. However, as if the battered vessel herself had wanted to prove Nick and Chief McLaughlin’s point, the Plunger had suffered a catastrophic failure in her forward engine room roughly two days out of Midway.

  I wonder if they can smell burnt oil ashore, Nick wondered idly as the submarine eased up to the pier. Because that stench will be all over us until we get our clothes laundered.

  “Well, looks like we’re not going to be totally neglected,” Commander Emerson sneered, gesturing towards the dock.

  You, sir, have been damn near insufferable.

  It did not help that, upon further evaluation, the folks on Midway had agreed Plunger needed to have a refit, if not a full dry dock period, before going back out against the Japanese. The Fulton’s divers had found further dings in the submarine’s hull forward. These had been invisible unless one swam completely underneath the submarine, evidence of a couple of ash cans exploding lower than the keel.

  Given the late hour and it being dark, I can understand if no one had met us at all. Not like there’s a war on or anything.

  “I’m going below to grab the log, XO,” Commander Emerson stated. “I will meet you on the dock momentarily.”

  Nick nodded, hoping against hope that Commander Emerson would retrieve his log before the Plunger put down her gangway. It was not to be, and Nick greeted Rear Admiral Graham as the senior officer stepped onto Plunger’s deck.

  “Welcome aboard, sir,” Nick said as the bosun’s pipe sounded. Graham wrinkled his nose as the wind shifted.

  “Smells like you gentlemen had some trouble,” the senior officer said, returning Nick’s salute then extending his hand. Nick shook if just as Commander Emerson returned to the bridge.

  “Nothing a little yard time won’t fix, admiral,” Commander Emerson said breathlessly. He handed over the Plunger’s log.

  I don’t know why Graham started the custom of the log being turned over. Other than the morbid rumor he wants there to be some permanent record of past events if the ship gets lost on patrol.

  The Pearl submarines had been relatively lucky, having lost only three boats since the war had started. Allegedly the Asiatic Fleet, by contrast, h
ad lost seven vessels to all causes.

  Just because three of their losses were old ‘Sugar’-boats doesn’t make that any less scary. It had been confirmed that several acquaintances and classmates had been aboard the lost subs.

  “Lieutenant Cobb, if you could go to my car and retrieve my briefcase,” Rear Admiral Graham said. Nick looked at the man in surprise, then at his aide. Coming to attention, he saluted and moved smartly off the Plunger’s gangplank towards Graham’s vehicle.

  That was a little strange, he thought, walking up to the Packard. Why wouldn’t he send his aide?

  As the got closer, the door opened and a familiar figure stepped out of the vehicle.

  “Agnes,” he said, starting to run forward before his lover held her finger up to her lips.

  “I am not here if you ever want to see me alive again,” Agnes replied, her tone and smile belying the seriousness of her statement. “There are many, many officers’ wives who have asked to meet the boats at the dock.”

  Nick stopped short and took the proffered briefcase. Agnes smiled at the pained expression on his face as he maintained professional decorum. Looking forward, Nick saw Rear Admiral Graham’s driver struggling to hide a smile.

  “You know, there’s a word for this,” he said crossly.

  “Yes, it is patience,” Agnes said with a lilt. “I’m not planning on dying in the next two hours or so, and it appears neither are you.”

  “No, no I am not,” Nick replied. “Although let’s not tempt the fates.”

  “I would not dream of tempting fate with you, Nicholas Cobb,” Agnes replied. “Now, hurry back, and without a, how you say, ‘shit eating grin.’”

  I will never tire of hearing her saying American aphorisms in a Portuguese accent. It was a long story how Agnes had ended up in Hawaii as the admiral’s secretary. Nick was well aware of the chain of consequences that had led to him ending up with her, and Death’s recurring presence in both their lives suddenly gave him a sense of urgency.

  I need to make an honest woman of her. The thought was almost as quick as his steps back to the gathered officers. If these were ordinary times I’d want Mom and Dad to meet her first, to meet her folks, and do all the things we’re supposed to. But this ain’t ordinary times.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant Cobb,” Rear Admiral Graham said as Nick returned. “I expect you to be with Commander Emerson in two days when he gives me his report. Until then, I’ve already informed him that the Plunger crew is to be given a week’s liberty while we figure out what to do with the sub, and with you.”

  Another reason for Agnes and I to find a priest. Because they won’t let her go back to the Mainland with me unless she’s a spouse.

  “Aye aye, sir,” Nick replied.

  “You have all done amazing work,” Rear Admiral Graham said. “The Plunger has been a Stirling example of how one conducts a submarine war. It will be unfortunate if we have to send you back to Mare Island for repair, but I don’t think I’m going to get you into drydock with all the other damaged ships.”

  “Understood, sir,” Commander Emerson said. “Is there any possibility of us falling in on a new vessel?”

  Nick did not miss the look that crossed Rear Admiral Graham’s face as he seemed to ponder Emerson’s question.

  That man just decided the skipper needs some time on the beach. Which now almost certainly means I’m about to be out of Hawaii.

  Nick’s hands began to go clammy. Over Emerson’s shoulder, Chief McClaughlin shook his head, then mouthed an apology.

  I’m sorry too, Chief. But sorry beats being dead any day of the week. Even if it means that I’ll be stuck stateside while my brothers are trying to win a war.

  Akagi Fighter Chutai #2

  1312 Local (0312 Eastern)

  Indian Ocean

  9 August

  The rain pounding against his canopy matched the rapid pace of Isoro Honda’s heart.

  The weather was so beautiful when we left, he thought, fighting against the Shiden trying to throw itself about in the squall’s moderate updrafts. Now I can’t even see my hand in front of my face and there’s dozens of aircraft all around me.

  Isoro fought the urge to look around, focusing steadily on his instruments. His radio remained silent, and part of him wondered whether the troublesome device had just ceased working or the strike’s discipline was actually holding that well.

  We should have heard something from the Tone’s search plane at least. It would have been nice if the bastard had told us about the developing front.

  Isoro gritted his teeth at the search plane’s delinquency. The weather was going to certainly make it harder to acquire the British vessels. Even worse, it would be next to impossible to detect the CAP that would almost certainly be at altitude, if not higher than the Japanese strike group when it came out of the clouds. If the intelligence reports were true, the Kido Butai’s blow would likely face variants of the Spitfire, Hurricane, and some of the Americans’ Grumman Wildcats. Isoro counted all of the types among his twenty-eight confirmed kills. Ergo, like most fighter pilots, he was not concerned about the opposition…provided he saw them.

  This is madness. We should be almost over–

  Like a curtain suddenly ripped apart, the clouds parted before the Akagi’s nine Shiden…to reveal a sky full of enemy aircraft slashing in towards them. Isoro immediately pulled back on his stick as the two groups passed through each other so rapidly no one had time for shooting. The violent sound of aircraft colliding behind him told him some had not even had time to react before they and their opponents were smashed into oblivion.

  Spitfires. Isoro’s mind belatedly recognized the trademark elliptical wing of the enemy aircraft as the fight spilled out into the clear sky. Checking quickly to make sure Warrant Officer Oda and Petty Officer Takahashi had survived the literal merger, Isoro finished his Immelmann turn then immediately stood on the rudder to turn towards a pair of grey British aircraft. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Kido Butai’s strike aircraft spilling out into the daylight, olive green fuselage paint glistening from their transition through the storm.

  Also Grummans.

  The familiar stocky shapes were flashing towards the torpedo bombers, but Isoro had no time for them with the Spitfires much closer. He chose his prey, a pair of British fighters fixated on the chutai of dive bombers they’d chosen. The Shiden closed quicker than Isoro had expected from the Spitfires he’d fought in the Dutch East Indies, but he adjusted all the same.

  The trail fighter saw him at the last moment, its wings starting to come up in an evasive maneuver before Isoro squeezed his trigger. The British fighter staggered, then burst into flames as the four 20mm cannon pierced its fuel tank.

  Realizing the danger, the British leader broke right in a tight turn. Isoro continued past, rolling his fighter to the left to cover Oda as the latter cut across the Spitfire’s turn to fire a snap shot. The burst scored several hits, the Spitfire’s nose losing a piece of the engine cowling and streaming glycol as its pilot desperately dived away.

  “Leader look out!” Isoro’s radio crackled with Takahashi’s desperate warning. He didn’t attempt to see what the man was calling about, throwing his Shiden into a snap roll. There were several impact sounds from behind him in the fuselage, and he saw a dark gray Grumman hurtle past his tail, wingman behind him.

  That fighter looked…strange.

  Instead of attempting to get around to pursue the Grumman, Isoro leveled his wings and advanced his throttle while looking for more prey. He saw that Oda had disappeared somewhere and the radio net was total chaos. Anti-aircraft fire bursts were roughly twenty miles to the south, meaning that the Kido Butai’s first strike had found something.

  In a manner that had become far too familiar in the last six months, the skies immediately around them had suddenly become devoid of aircraft. Isoro signaled for Takahashi to follow him and began climbing towards the flak.

  Indeed the first strike had found somet
hing: prey.

  Vice Admiral Cunningham had sortied north from Addu Atoll with the H.M.C.S. Ark Royal, Eagle, Illustrious, and Victorious as the centerpiece of his fleet. Unlike their American and Japanese counterparts, the Royal Navy had anticipated combat in close proximity to both land bases and opposing surface vessels rather than the open expanses of the Pacific Ocean. Therefore, the Fleet Air Arm had made design tradeoffs for their carriers and doctrine that resulted in smaller air groups.

  The detection and destruction of Tone No. 4 had cued Vice Admiral Cunningham that his force had been detected. Unfortunately, his staff had believed the lone aircraft and another of its fellows detected on radar to be launched from one of Japan’s many seaplane-carrying submarines. It was only when the first Kido Butai wave was detected at just under two hundred miles that the four carriers had realized their danger.

  Despite excellent radar placement, the clouds and thirty-six Kido Butai fighters had mostly served to neutralize the CAP. With the exception of a pair of Tenzan and a solitary Suisei dive bomber, Commander Fuchida found himself directing the entire Kido Butai’s strike at the Victorious and Eagle as the Ark Royal and Illustrious disappeared into the squall line.

  The two British carriers were escorted by the Prince of Wales, heavy cruiser Frobisher, light cruiser Emerald, and seven destroyers. Fuchida, quickly assessing the situation, allocated his forty-seven dive bombers and fifty-five torpedo bombers among the thirteen vessels. As the British formation opened to allow the capital ships room to maneuver, first the heavy, then medium, then finally, desperately, light AA guns blazed aways at the Japanese force.

  In ten minutes it was over. In accordance with their doctrine, the dive bombers went in slightly ahead of the torpedo bombers to reduce enemy fire. Having just transitioned to the Suisei from the slower Val, the Kido Butai’s timing was slightly off. Several bombers nearly collided as they pushed over, pilots from separate squadrons screaming at other even as British tracer fire and shell bursts reached up towards them. The dense flak claimed six of the dive bombers before they released, with another eight or so being damaged enough to affect their drops.