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

by James Young

  "If only they had been twenty minutes earlier, we could have just launched our second strike at that position to get it off our decks," Kaku said, his fingers white as they pressed on the chart table.

  "I do not think that we will have that much extra time, Kaku-san," Vice Admiral Yamaguchi said.

  He stepped outside onto the bridge wing, the stiff breeze and Akagi’s maximum speed combining to nearly knock him off his feet. Bracing himself against the wind, Yamaguchi raised his binoculars and looked aft at the other two divisions. The Kido Butai's escort vessels were starting to assume protective positions for anti-aircraft defense, smoke belching from the destroyers' funnels as they moved to their respective places.

  The Taiho's radar saved us. We will have time to take some measures, to get some ordnance back into the magazines. Heaven help us if the strike had arrived unannounced.

  For an instant, his mind's eye saw the Soryu and Hiryu ablaze, caught with their hangars full of armed and fueled aircraft.

  I would have lost the war in five minutes.

  Yamaguchi pursed his lips.

  I still may lose it. But at least now I have a chance.

  Once more, the sound of running feet announced a message from the Akagi's radio room.

  "Sir, our fighters are engaging!"

  The blood drained from Isoro’s head as the Shiden came around in a tight turn. He could see tracers arcing behind him as the strange, gull-winged American fighter attempted to bring its long nose around to pull lead.

  Where…are…my…wingmen? Isoro wondered, cold prickles of fear creeping into his mind. His consciousness attempted to slip away, but Isoro bore down harder in his abdomen and legs to keep the blood in his head.

  This is how it–

  He never had time to finish the thought. The dark gray American fighter suddenly erupted in 20mm shell hits and staggering out of its turn. Even as Isoro lightened his touch on his own maneuver before the Shiden stalled, he saw another Shiden arc past the now blazing American.

  Thank you, friend.

  Isoro waggled his wings then leveled off and trying to gain speed while looking wildly around.

  The sky was chaos. One moment, Isoro and roughly twenty other fighters had been forming up to turn towards the incoming American raid. They'd been close enough to see Wildcats climbing towards them, light-colored fuel tanks falling away like rain drops. Then there'd been a frenzied cry of alarm followed by screaming as the new, more capable, American fighters had bounced the Japanese CAP.

  There!

  A gaggle of American bombers was heading for the Kido Butai. His companion waggled his wings and slid in to cover Isoro's tail as the latter turned towards the descending Americans. From a distance, the bombers looked like Wildcats. Then Isoro realized that they were still out of firing range and growing in size.

  Must be the new American torpedo bombers. The one they call the Avenger.

  Tightening his turn, Isoro aimed for the rearmost pair of the bombers, drawing lead with almost full deflection. As his finger squeezed the trigger, he noted several of the bombers' bulbous turrets swing towards him. Then the Shiden was shaking as his cannon spat a quick burst towards the light gray target. The tracers passed in front of the larger aircraft.

  Too much lead.

  The Japanese ace had just enough time to correct and fire again before he had to avoid a collision by rolling away. The Shiden's shuddering and several impacts told him he had not gotten away unscathed, the tail gunners managing to put several rounds into his fighter's belly and under surfaces. Seeing the tracers falling away behind him, Isoro started to pull up into a loop to assess the situation.

  That's not good.

  The Shiden was reacting sluggishly. Isoro turned to look back towards his tail. No sooner had his eyes fallen on his elevator than, with a loud snap, his port elevator tumbled away from his fighter. Reacting quickly, Isoro pushed the stick forward to get back to level flight. The Shiden once more reacted as if it was drunk, yawing towards a spin.

  Stupid tail gunners!

  Isoro’s pulse raced, and he swore he could hear the blood in this ears. A quick look around and the blossoming of flak near the American aircraft now receding to his starboard told him he was close to the Kido Butai's screen. Very gingerly moving his rudder, he brought the fighter's nose around towards the group of ships.

  If I go into there now, I will get shot down.

  It was only as he thought about getting shot down that Isoro realized his fighter was severely damaged. The Shiden's engine's pitch and sound was far rougher than it had been only a few moments before. The instrument panel told him that his flight was perhaps about to become abbreviated regardless of intent, as the radial's temperature was beginning to rise. Isoro cursed, then took his head back out of his cockpit to look around.

  The scene before him blossomed into total bedlam as the American strike caught the Third Division at last.

  I of course assume that there will be someone left to search for me, Isoro thought with great despair.

  Isoro's pessimism was not quite well-deserved. By dint of their faster cruising speed, the Bonhomme Richard's air group and the accompanying Independence's torpedo squadron had arrived a few minutes earlier than the Yorktown and Enterprise's strike. Thus, the former had been severely disrupted by the Kido Butai's CAP before the additional escorting Wildcats had decisively tilted the numbers in USN's favor.

  Still, the Bonhomme Richard's CAG had died at the front of his SB2Cs, dispatched by a Shiden off Akagi. The knock on effect of his loss was that all twenty-five of the SB2Cs that made it to push over initially concentrated on the Taiho rather than dividing their attacks and the anti-aircraft fire. From the Japanese perspective, the Helldivers resembled a falling tidal wave of light gray aircraft. The voluminous Japanese anti-aircraft fire claimed another three SB2Cs on the way down before they could release. Four more more fell into the ocean as they began their pullout.

  In return for the high butcher's bill, the Bonhomme Richard's dive bombing squadrons put only two bombs onto the Taiho. Like her British counterparts, the Japanese carrier was built with an armored, enclosed flight deck to mitigate the damage from just such an assault. This made the first bomb's point of impact all that more ironic, as the weapon pierced through the new radar aerial atop the island, penetrated into the structure, then completed the annihilation of the Kido Butai's most potent sensor by detonating in the radar flat. The resultant fragments and explosions rippled through the flag and navigational bridges, decapitating the vessel's captain and cleaving the helmsman in two.

  The second 1,000-lb. bomb hit after three successive near misses holed the large carrier's starboard side. Like the trio of weapons before it, the big half-ton warhead was off the point of aim, piercing the starboard flight deck edge at an angle. This delayed the weapon's detonation while simultaneously clipping an aviation fuel line that had not been drained. In a horrible, roiling instant, Taiho's forward hangar deck became a cauldron fed by spraying aviation gas. The resulting fireball ignited several of the fully fueled aircraft that had been intended for a strike on Fletcher's carrier force once that group was found. While the weapons aboard the Suisei's and Tenzan's had been stricken below thanks to the warning provided by the Taiho's now defunct radar, the intense cauldron almost immediately began warping the carrier's forward flight deck.

  Even with the resultant major fires, the Taiho's damage was not fatal in and of itself. It was what the two bombs facilitated that wrecked the IJN's newest vessel. Even as the big carrier was continuing sharply into the tight turn initiated by a dead man, the Bonhomme Richard and Independence's Avengers were beginning their run through fire and flame. Belatedly sighted by gunners who had been tracking Helldivers through their weapons' deliveries, the large Grumman aircraft set up on the Taiho's bows in a classic anvil attack pattern.

  If the SB2C's had paid a butcher's bill, the torpedo bombers went through the equivalent of buying an entire stockyard. The Independence's
squadron, their numbers depleted by Isoro and Hiroyoshi Nishizawa, began their attack from Taiho's starboard side with eight TBFs. Bonhomme Richard's squadron struck from port with eighteen more Grummans. Of these, only thirteen would survive to begin their egress back towards Task Force 24.

  With her bridge destroyed, it was only through dumb fate that Taiho turned into the Bonhomme Richard's squadron. The twelve weapons dropped resulted in zero hits with two of the weapons bracketing the carrier by less than thirty feet on either side. In avoiding the more lethal threat, however, the Taiho turned her entire length to the five Avengers that managed to drop from starboard. Independence's squadron commander, in an act of professional bravery he did not survive to reap the fruits of, had ordered the magnetic pistols removed from the weapons. The late lieutenant commander had then doubled down by having the torpedoes depths set five feet shallower than the targeting directives called for.

  Rather than a court-martial, the man's act led to Taiho suffering three major wounds. First the carrier's No. 1 engine room was struck, with the blast and fragments also damaging a fuel pump. Scarcely had her hull stopped shaking from that strike when two more torpedoes struck Fire Room and Engine Room No. 4. The whipsaw from the dual blows knocked out several of the carrier's circuits and a dynamo, with the resultant electrical cascades killing two dozen men at their post. More ominously, the rolling brownout cut power to both the firefighting apparatus and the carrier's pumps. Burning, listing, and leaderless, the Taiho began coasting to a stop as the Bonhomme Richard and Independence's air crews fled for their lives.

  Blue One

  Northern Indian Ocean

  0800 Local (2230 Eastern)

  "Holy shit, look at that bitch burn!" a shocked voice said over the VB-11 radio net.

  "Cut the damn chatter!" Lieutenant Commander Brigante barked. "Red Section, fo…"

  VB-11's squadron commander was cut off by the strident notes of a trumpet and the muffled sounds of anti-aircraft guns. Indistinguishable yelling and banging on metal shortly followed, as an unknown Japanese transmitter continued to jam the VB-11 net.

  Well that's as annoying as it is effective.

  The sky was suddenly alive with flak bursts, the crack! and smell of acrid smoke taking him briefly back to a different sky half a world away. Biting his tongue and shaking his head, Eric forced the memories of his former squadron's leader's death from his mind as he began seeking targets.

  Damn Atlantic boys concentrated on the same carrier. That’s not helpful when there are at least two more here than we were briefed about.

  Looking forward, Eric saw Brigante furiously waggling his wings. A moment later, a red flare shot out to port from the tailgunner, followed a moment later by a green one to starboard.

  Well, glad I paid attention during the briefing.

  The signal was for section leaders to hunt their own carriers. With the Japanese interference a constant din in his ears, Eric looked for a target. VS-11 was pushing over on the closest carrier even as VT-11 was arrowing in on the same ship far below.

  Have to put as many holes in flight decks as we can.These are the same bastards that hurt the Hornet. I don't feel like going through survivor's reissue again.

  "We're going after the next two carriers," Eric said over the intercom. "Scouting Eleven's got that one in hand."

  "Why in the hell are Enterprise's air group going after the battleships?!" Brown asked incredulously. Eric turned and saw that his gunner was right, some of Enterprise's air group was attacking the two Kongo-class vessels that were close at hand rather than going for the two additional Japanese carriers a little over ten miles away.

  Those battleships aren't going to fly back and hit us! We could hit at least one more flattop!

  "Don't know, but keep your eye out for fighters!" Eric said, seeing several dark shapes rising from below. Their Dauntless was shaking from the roaring engine, and he briefly scanned his instruments as the flak continued to burst all around them. He watched as a section of Wildcats turned towards the approaching Japanese fighters, then cursed as White Three disappeared in a puff of all too familiar brown smoke.

  Then finally, finally, his section was at the pushover point. Their target circled tightly beneath them, her flight deck edges aflame as the guns attempted to simultaneously engage Eric, the remnants of Yellow flight now sliding in behind him, and a group of six Avengers attempting to hit the carrier.

  Soryu or Hiryu, I believe.

  For a brief moment he tried to remember the distinguishing features that might tell him which carrier it was, then realized this was utterly unimportant. Extending his dive flaps, pulling back his throttle, and doing one last check to make sure his weapon was actually armed, Eric Melville Cobb began his date with destiny.

  Oh shit, he thought, pressing his eyes to the bombsight. The carrier's deck was suddenly large, the red rising sun symbol bright against the yellow deck. As he watched, an aircraft rolled down the long wooden expanse, a fighter by the looks of it. Despite the sudden bile in his throat, Eric didn't flinch, imparting very gentle changes to the rudder to adjust for the carrier's turn. Time slowed, the tracers from the 25mm AAA floating by as he flashed through 10,000 feet…then 8,000 feet…then 7,000 feet.

  "Goddammit!" he heard Brown shout, then the chatter of the twin guns. With a roaring sound, a gray Japanese fighter flashed in front of the Dauntless, Eric briefly noting its ailerons as the Japanese pilot skidded to avoid flying in front of the SBD's twin machine guns. Putting the Zero from his mind, Eric added a little more rudder, anticipating where the Japanese flattop was going to be in a few moments when he pressed the release.

  "Three thousand!" Brown shouted.

  So soon? Shit…gotta…no, I'm going to be on target any second now.

  Eric's patience was rewarded as Brown sang out two thousand feet. The large rising sun was suddenly in the middle of his sight picture, and he pressed the bomb release. Waiting…waiting…and he felt the bomb separate from the end of its trapeze, safely on its path.

  "Seventeen hundred!" Brown screamed, terror in his voice even as Eric hauled back hard on the stick.

  The Dauntless creaked, the engine screaming as he fed it throttle. Eric's vision dimmed, his eyes briefly registering the aft end of the flight deck, then suddenly the blue water frighteningly close as their bomber leveled off. Then the Dauntless was being pelted by debris, chunks of wood and metal slamming into his wings and fuselage as Brown let off a wild scream and long machine gun burst back towards the Japanese carrier.

  I hope that I got a hit. More pressing problems though!

  As if summoned, the angry Japanese fighter that had overshot began a run in from his starboard front. Eric skidded the Dauntless and mashed his own trigger as the Japanese pilot fired simultaneously. Sparks flew from the front of the fuselage as the 7.7mm machine guns started to walk backwards, but a spray of glass told Eric his own machine guns had gone right through the Zero's canopy. The gray fighter seemed to barely clear the Dauntless before splashing astern.

  "Sir! Sir! You're supposed to drop the bombs, I'm supposed to do the shooting!" Brown shouted, his voice several octaves higher than normal.

  Eric laughed as he quickly began heading through the Japanese task group, trumpets interspersed with screaming still sounding in his headphones. There was one more burning carrier, a Shokaku-class if his eyes didn't deceive him. Looking around, he saw only one other Dauntless with him, and it was not either of his wingmen.

  Oh God, I hope I didn't lose them both.

  "Did we hit her?" Eric asked.

  "Did we…sir, you nearly fucking landed on that bitch," Brown replied, his voice incredulous. "Once again, I've got a piece of a damn ship back here with me and the guns."

  I've got to stop doing that.

  Suddenly he was nauseous, the adrenaline starting to ebb as he winged his way northwest towards the rendezvous point. His head on constant swivel, Eric put the Dauntless into a shallow right turn and craned his neck around.
He counted three columns of smoke, two larger than the one over the carrier he had attacked.

  Guess Enterprise's gang got some licks in after all. There's still three carriers left, though, and they're going to be pissed about what just happened.

  Looking at his fuel gauge, then doing one more scan for threats, Eric did a gentle circle orbit back towards the Japanese task force as Brown banged around with something in the rear cockpit. After a few minutes, his gunner looked out and saw which way they were heading.

  "Sir, if you don't mind me asking," Brown began, "what the fuck are we doing?"

  "Taking a quick note," Eric replied, jotting down some things on his plotting board. Satisfied, he reversed the Dauntless' course, still checking behind and above him for any enemy fighters.

  "I'm also checking to see what happened to Two and Three," Eric continued. "But I'm not going to hang around the scene of the crime until the cops arrive because the rest of the bank robbers stopped to take a piss."

  "That sounds good to me, sir!"

  U.S.S. Houston

  0900 Local (2330 Eastern)

  Northern Indian Ocean

  10 August (9 August)

  "Massachusetts reports many contacts, bearing one six oh true, range seven oh miles."

  "Here's to hoping those are friendly, or we're about to have a very bad day," Jacob observed, glancing at the plot before him. "Let me know when they're down to twenty miles."

  "Aye aye, sir," the talker replied.

  "Now, explain Rear Admiral Vian's plan again?" Jacob said, looking over at Commander Farmer. The British officer looked down at the scribbled notes he'd just made from the very long signal passed via semaphore lamp from H.M.C.S. Repulse.

  "Rear Admiral Vian employed aircraft fitted with long-range tanks to keep tabs on the Japanese task force," Commander Farmer said. "That’s why your blokes were able to launch before dawn."

  "Understood," Jacob said. "But you lost me when you started talking about unicorns."