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

by James Young

  The Americans were all on their knees, facing the destroyer's stern. Isoro felt the wind from the destroyer's passage blowing onto his back, but noted that a stiffening cross breeze was swirling the smoke drifting astern. Thunderheads were starting to form in the far distance. He also noted that the smoke from the Taiho's direction was starting to dissipate, indicating that vessel had finally succumbed to her wounds.

  The weather is starting to muddle things again. Maybe the Americans won't find us so easily after all, now that Taiho has finally sank.

  Bringing his eyes lower, Isoro was horrified to see a pair of dorsal fins threading along behind the Akigumo.

  Ensign Van Horn looked up as Isoro came back. The two men gripping him by his shoulders stiffened but allowed the motion. Gagged, the young man looked like he was trying to say something, but was stopped as Yuta's voice rang out over the destroyer's stern.

  "Gentlemen, the captain has directed that you are to be executed as enemies of His Majesty," Yuta stated simply. Even as the words were registering, the Yuta's katana was drawn in a flashing arc from its scabbard. Isoro saw that the sword looked like a true ancestral weapon, not the mass produced swords issued to Imperial officers upon their commissioning.

  I hope your ancestors are looking upon you with shame and anger right now.

  Van Horn looked at Yuta's blade, then back at Isoro, his eyes wide as he tried to scream something past the gag in his mouth. Yuta, giving one last glance at Isoro, gestured to the two men behind the young officer. For a brief moment, the American's eyes met Isoro's, then the man was bent over double and the sword was flashing downwards.

  For all of his faults, at least he is a decent swordsman, Isoro noted.

  The ace felt a strange sense of detachment as Ensign Van Horn's head rolled across the deck. Hoping it was only a trick of his mind, Isoro swore he saw the American's eyes blink once. Then one of the Akigumo’s sailors kicked his skull into the ocean. The young man's body followed shortly thereafter.

  The remaining executions only took a matter of minutes. Only one American, the pinky-less gunner, struggled. For his troubles, Yuta eviscerated the gunner rather than option for decapitation. Even gutted, the man attempted to loop his leg around that of one of his captors as they hurled him over the side.

  That is a man I hope none of us see in the afterlife. For he will truly walk through the entirety of Hell to challenge us all again.

  The last to die was Commander Jacobs, his lips moving in prayer. Unlike the others, his body was not immediately tossed over the side so that Yuta could wipe his blade on the dead man's uniform. That clean up done, he gestured and had Jacobs' body committed to the gathered sharks behind the vessel.

  "Damn fish are probably going to be ungrateful if we end up in the water later," Yuta observed haughtily, a slight sweat on his brow. Isoro did not respond, watching as the Akigumo's crew began to swab the blood off the deck.

  "You are displeased, Isoro," Yuta stated.

  "That was unnecessary," Isoro replied, barely restraining his anger.

  "So was pulling you out of the water," Yuta said ominously. "But we did it just the same."

  Isoro considered his classmate for a moment.

  "Tell me, is it because I question your actions that you equate rescuing me with murder," Isoro asked. "Or because you lack the opportunity for honorable combat and it bothers you a great deal?"

  Yuta's face paled, and Isoro saw him grip his sword handle tightly.

  "Come now, what's one more unarmed man to add to your tally?" Isoro asked, not even bothering to lower his voice. "What an amazing warrior your men must think you are."

  "Perhaps you should go below, Honda," Yuta replied. "We will notify you when we are about to rendezvous with the Akagi."

  I have pressed my luck far enough.

  Not bothering to bow, he turned to a nearby sailor.

  "Could you please show me to the wardroom?" he asked, noting several eyes upon him.

  "At once, sir," the sailor replied, bowing. As he walked forward, Isoro peered at the cloud of smoke from Shokaku.

  It appears to be lightening. And getting thinner. Is she putting her fires out? Will that matter?

  The size and ferocity of a fire that gave off that much smoke almost certainly meant Shokaku's flight deck had been severely burned and damaged. If the carrier could not fly aircraft, she was little more than a target.

  Still, a target that causes the Americans to split their fire has its purposes.

  He pushed such thoughts from his head as he entered the Akigumo's small wardroom. The other rescued fighter pilots engaged in animated conversation. They all stopped and looked at him, and Isoro realized he didn't recognize a single one of them.

  Attrition is grinding us to dust.

  His still sodden flight gear and life jacket seemed to double in weight.

  "Lieutenant Honda, please join us," one of the sitting pilots stated reverently. Isoro nodded and started forward into the compartment. It was only he who realized each step felt as if it was leading to a last communal meal before the gallows.

  Blue One

  1035 Local (0105 Eastern)

  "For the love of God, hurry up and land you stupid motherfuckers!" Brown shouted from the Dauntless’ rear seat.

  While he was not as vocal (or blasphemous) in his anger as Brown was, Eric could feel his own pulse starting to throb in his temples.

  Man, I would hate to see what would be happening right now if we'd made this strike at extended range

  Eric put the dive bomber into a gentle turn, beginning yet another wide orbit around the Yorktown. His fuel situation wasn't horrid, but it certainly wasn't getting any better the longer they waited.

  "Sir, do you know why we're taking aboard the Bonhomme Richard's dive bombers?" Brown asked, his voice incredulous. Eric shrugged, then realized his gunner couldn't see the gesture.

  I'm more punch drunk than I thought.

  "I don't know what the hell the staff has planned," Eric said. "I just know that the fighters seem to all be heading for Independence and Bonhomme Richard while the dive bombers and torps are splitting between us and Enterprise."

  Probably didn't help this recovery cycle when the torpedo bombers have crash landings. They got the shit shot out of them.

  Brown and he had watched three additional Avengers land, get assessed, then be immediately shoved over the Yorktown's side alone. Judging from the signaling and chatter, at least one or two more had also fouled Enterprise’s deck. Litter crews moving to and fro had also seemed to cause some issues as far as handling went.

  "Wonder if the boys off the Atlantic carriers are going to get lost trying to move around Old Yorky?" Brown mused, using the Yorktown's nickname.

  "I imagine the Bonhomme Richard folks shouldn't be too confused," Eric replied. "She just looks like a bigger sister."

  "Like the ugly one you hope your buddy will date so you can actually talk to the cute one," Brown agreed, drawing a chuckle from Eric.

  "You're lucky I only have one sister, Brown," Eric replied. Thinking of Patricia made him once more examine the other Dauntlesses still in formation.

  Come on Charles, you don’t need to break my sister’s heart.

  "It's entirely possible Lieutenant headed for the Richard, sir," Brown stated, startling Eric.

  "That obvious?" Eric asked.

  "The plane always wobbles when you start trying to look at something," Brown replied easily. "Can't think of any other reason you'd be checking out Dauntlesses."

  "Well I still haven't seen Stratmore or Van Horn, so there's that," Eric noted.

  The silence over the intercom was deafening.

  Brown isn't usually this quiet. He needs to get out with i–

  "I didn't want to tell you until we got down, sir," Brown said finally. "But I'm pretty sure Ensign Van Horn would have had to ditch."

  Eric closed his eyes, feeling hot pain behind them.

  "Roger," he choked out.

 
"Wasn't your fault, sir," Brown said. "He started smoking during his dive. He pulled out, but if he made it more than five miles I'd be surprised."

  Eric swallowed to clear the lump in his throat.

  "Thanks Brown," he rasped.

  "Yes, sir," Brown replied. "I didn't see what happened to Ensign Stratmore. Got kind of busy shooting back at those assholes trying to kill us."

  Eric didn't reply, the hot tears finally starting to roll down his cheeks.

  That's one of my men definitely dead, one a Japanese prisoner.

  Once more Eric flashed back to Strange's Dauntless engulfed in flames.

  If the Japanese are even taking prisoners.

  It seemed as though their time in Australia had passed in the blink of an eye, but there had been several opportunities for the Yorktown's crew to talk to their counterparts who had survived the Dutch East Indies maelstrom. The men who had escaped and evaded back to Australia had talked about how the Japanese Army had treated men they'd captured. It had made Eric resolve to never be captured alive.

  It's not like we would have left those escorts in a sunny disposition either. I'm pretty sure at least two of those carriers are done for. Nothing smokes like that and survives.

  He had plenty of time to think about what he'd tell the task force's intelligence officer over the next fifteen minutes. Just as Eric's bladder was convincing him he might wish to consider using the relief tube again, the Yorktown signaled for him to begin his approach.

  "Are we literally the last dive bomber up here?" Brown asked.

  "It would appear that way," Eric noted in disbelief. "Guess we shouldn't have let that Helldiver off of Bonhomme Richard cut in front of us."

  "Kinda says something when the replacements for ol' 'Slow But Deadly' can't wait in line properly," Brown noted with disgust.

  "I'm just glad he didn't foul the deck," Eric noted as he descended astern of the Yorktown. He could see smoke pouring from the plane guard destroyer's stack as the tin can attempted to keep up.

  Hmm. Fletcher's probably not such an idiot as we all thought given how much fuel all the escorts must be using.

  The Dauntless shuddered slightly as he dropped the gear, the controls getting mushy for a second.

  "Hey sir, we're streaming something," Brown said from the tail gunner slot. "Looks like hydraulic fluid."

  Well that's just peachy.

  Eric gritted his teeth and dropped the SBD's tail hook.

  I hope whatever just came loose to start that leak isn’t so bad the controls fail.

  Ignoring the problem, he glanced forward and watched the LSO's paddles. After what looked like a few moments hesitation, the lieutenant on the paddles began signaling that he was slightly high. Making the correction, Eric settled down into a comfortable approach and dropped his hook.

  "Shit," Brown said behind him. "Sir, we got smoke."

  Eric didn't even both looking back, still focusing on the LSO.

  We're landing. I don't care if we turn into a flaming comet.

  Once more it looked like the LSO was considering waving them off, but reconsidered at the last moment. With a plume of white behind his aircraft, Eric dropped the hook and took the cut signal, thudding down hard onto Yorktown's deck as his controls became slightly mushy. The impact slammed him hard against his restraints, knocking the breath from his lungs as the arrester hook did its job. Quickly chopping the throttle and cutting off fuel to his now heavily smoking engine, Eric began unstrapping himself from the SBD.

  What in the hell caught fire?

  Looking up, Eric saw the men rushing forward with fire extinguishers and unrolling the hose from the island. The men in different jerseys began clambering up the bomber's side to assist him in getting out.

  "Sir, you injured?!" a corpsman asked, already looking Eric over.

  "No corpsman, I am not," Eric said quickly. "Just getting my damn map."

  "Fuck the map, sir, we have to get you off the deck!" a chief shouted from the wing. Eric shook his head vehemently.

  "I've got information on that map," he snapped, the mapboard free. Something snagged on his flight gloves, and he looked down to see a jagged slash down the board's underside. Taking a further look around his cockpit from the standing position, he noticed a couple other holes in the floor.

  Holy shit, I guess we did get nicked up by something. Eric started to move off when his head snapped back. Cursing, he realized that he had not disconnected his helmet's leads. Water from the firefighting crew sprayed in his face as he reached back for the wire, giving it a sharp tug that caused it to come loose from the dive bomber. Hopping down off the bomber, Eric saw that Brown was already by the island, looking back at him with some anxiety. The gunner seemed to be holding an oversized plot board as Eric started to rush over towards him.

  Not dying today.

  Despite his adrenaline surge, Eric was surprised he was unable to run at anything approaching full speed. His legs were like rubber from the long time in the cockpit, his breath seeming to come raggedly.

  Wait, that’s no plot board. Holy shit, that’s a piece of wood!

  The charred edges and red paint barely visible towards the item’s bottom half was an indicator of where the material had come from. Brown started to grin, then winced in pain as he pushed the wood towards Eric.

  "When they ask you if you got a hit, you give them this, sir!" the gunner said proudly, voice shaking with emotion. Eric’s eyes once again burned he grabbed the wood carefully with his gloved hands, then set it on top of his plotting board.

  "Thank you, Brown," he bit out.

  "You're welcome, sir," Brown replied, then looked behind Eric. "Well shit."

  Eric turned around just in time to see the work party shoving his damaged and still smoldering plane over the side.

  "Guess we’ll never know what started the fire,” Eric said, disgusted.

  "Last Dauntless pilot, report to the flag bridge," the 1MC crackled. "I say again, last Dauntless pilot, report to the flag bridge."

  Well shit.

  He was about to say something when someone nearly tackled him from behind with a whoop.

  "You son-of-a-bitch!" Charles bellowed, letting him go after a second. "I thought you were dead!"

  Eric didn't know whether to belt his future brother-in-law or hug him. He settled for a hard embrace back.

  "Hell of a way to talk about your future mother-in-law," he muttered, shoving Charles forcefully back and giving him a once over. "I am so fucking glad to see you.”

  Charles laughed at that.

  “Sweet Jesus, Charles, you know Patricia would have killed whichever one of us made it back, right?"

  The younger officer laughed at that one.

  "Yeah, well, the day is young," Charles replied. "But I heard you have an appointment with the old man, so best get going."

  “You need to tell me what the hell happened to you when I get done here.”

  “You know where our ready room is.”

  With that, Eric turned and headed up the Yorktown's island

  Thank God.

  Relief gave him some of his energy back as he moved up the stairs. He passed two men in flight suits he did not recognize as he entered the structure. Both looked at him, then down at the object in his hands with confused looks on their faces. Eric nodded at both of them but kept moving through the narrow passageway, noting that one was a lieutenant commander.

  Wonder if he's a torpedo or dive bomber pilot? Must be off the Bonhomme Richard, as I know all of Enterprise's squadron commanders.

  Eric put the man out of his mind as he passed the Yorktown's conning tower. Captain Kiefer was calmly giving orders to the helmsman as the carrier turned out of the wind. Seeing Eric in the hatchway, Captain Kiefer turned over the conn to the officer of the deck and headed over.

  "What in the hell do you have there?" Kiefer asked, gesturing towards Eric's hands.

  "Piece of a Japanese carrier, sir," Eric replied with a grin. "Appears I may hav
e been a little low pulling out from my drop."

  Kiefer's eyes widened as he looked at Eric's hands.

  "Well, guess we better get upstairs to see Vice Admiral Fletcher then," Yorktown's skipper replied. "There's been some dispute as to just how many carriers got hit. Lieutenant Commander Fairborn from Bonhomme Richard swears we got four."

  "Three, sir," Eric said. "My gunner and I saw three. How many did Commander Montgomery say we got?"

  Captain Kiefer looked left and right, then leaned in.

  "Commander Montgomery didn't make it," Kiefer said. "He was last seen leaving the carriers with two Japanese fighters on his tail."

  Shit, Eric thought, feeling as if a ton of bricks had landed on him.

  "I was heading back up to the main bridge," Captain Kiefer said, not giving Eric a chance to think about the information. "I'll walk with you to the flag plot." Eric followed his captain up the Yorktown's island towards flag country, looking up to see a glowering commander was waiting outside the hatch. The man looked ready to say something to Eric, but stopped at the hard glare Captain Kiefer gave him. For his pat, Eric looked right at the superior officer as if daring him to say something.

  Yes, I know I didn't come right here like I was some nugget at your beck and call I just got through watching my friends die and killing Japanese. What have you done this morning, asshole?

  "Sir, I still don't think the Japs know where we are," a voice was saying from inside the compartment.

  "I know Aubrey," a second man Eric recognized as Vice Admiral Fletcher's replied. "But we're going to concentrate on getting the fighters turned around before I even think about a second strike. Even if the aviators are right and they bagged four carriers, that apparently leaves two."

  Well, that must be Rear Admiral Fitch. Always fun to walk into a room full of stars fresh off the flight deck.

  "Even so, most of their strike went south to hit the British," Rear Admiral Fitch pressed. "They'll have to recover that strike before they can hit us. Given the range at which they had to hit the British, that's going to be awhile. We can bag them, sir."

  There was a long silence.

  "You know what our orders are, Aubrey," Fletcher said. "I know you want me to turn a blind eye to them, but there's a lot of war left to fight. Half the Japanese fleet must be out here given what happened to Vice Admiral Cunningham and Ceylon.”