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

by James Young

  The man has a point, especially with what we saw today.

  “We've taken a big bite out of what we've found, but I don't want to be sitting here with full flight decks only to have the rest then hit us. We stick with the original plan."

  "Aye aye, sir," Rear Admiral Fitch replied, his tone sorrowful.

  Does it make me yellow to be so concerned with not going for another swim that I agree with Fletcher?

  It had been weeks since he'd had a Hornet nightmare, but that didn’t mean the carrier’s loss didn’t haunt him. Eric imagined it was ten times worse having been in command when the Saratoga, Lexington, and Hornet had all been lost.

  Even if he was not technically commanding our task group, he was still the senior carrier officer when the Hornet went down.

  "Sir, Lieutenant Cobb," Captain Kiefer stated, stepping past the commander into the flag plot. He gestured for Eric to step forward, freezing the commander in place with another glare. "He's brought something I think you'll want to see."

  Well, if that doesn't put me on the spot.

  Eric shoved his nerves away.

  "Sir, compliments of VB-11," Eric said, walking to an open corner of the map and sliding the charred wood from Soryu onto the map.

  "What in the hell is that, Lieutenant Cobb?!" the commander asked from behind him.

  "It's a piece of a Japanese carrier's flight deck, sir," Eric responded levelly, not even bothering to look at the man. "It landed in my gunner's cockpit."

  "I imagine it nearly took his poor head off," Captain Kiefer observed.

  Oh shit.

  It was he first time he considered just how small the rear cockpit was in relation to the piece of debris' size.

  I need to buy Brown a beer when we get back to civilization. Hell, maybe even a whole night in the vice district.

  "How many carriers did you see hit, son?" Vice Admiral Fletcher asked.

  "Three sir," Eric replied. He quickly laid out what he had observed during his attack. Swallowing hard, he also recounted what Brown had seen during the egress. Finally, pointing out his plotting board, he estimated where he estimated the Japanese would be if they'd continued on their course.

  "I drew this circle of how far I thought the Hiryu-class ship I hit might get," Eric continued. "But I'm pretty sure that at least one Hiryu-class and what looked like two larger carriers were still functional."

  "Gentlemen, I'm returning to the bridge," Captain Kiefer stated. "I'll have my air officer provide you with how many functional aircraft we have remaining."

  "Thank you, Captain Kiefer," Vice Admiral Fletcher said. He turned once again to look at his flag map with Eric's information as Captain Kiefer left. A runner nearly ran into Yorktown's master in the hatchway, quickly ducking back to let the senior officer pass before handing a message flimsy to the glowering commander standing by the flag plot's aft bulkhead.

  "The Independence reports she's launching the first batch of returned fighters to bolster the CAP," the commander said. He brought the flimsy over to Vice Admiral Fletcher.

  "Thank you, Commander Babin," Fletcher replied, then read the message. His brow furrowed.

  "How many more fighters on the Bonhomme Richard?" he asked.

  "They report roughly twelve Corsairs and ten Hellcats are available right now," Babin replied. "In another two hours they'll probably have four and eight more, respectively, repaired or brought down from the spares."

  "Jesus," Fitch muttered.

  "Perils of weighting the strike force with them," Fletcher replied. "This just further reinforces what we've said about needing more fighters even if it means we cut some of the dive bombers."

  "I can only hope our opponents have the same problem," Fitch stated. "If not…"

  "Sir!" one of the talkers spoke up. "The Massachusetts reports a large raid bearing oh nine seven true, estimated range seventy miles!"

  "Well, looks like we have our answer on how many planes the enemy sent south," Fletcher said. "Scramble the emergency CAP. How many fighters do we have over Vice Admiral Godfrey's force?"

  "Eight sir," Commander Babin said, his face pale. "Eight more on the way."

  "How did that happen?!" Fletcher asked.

  "We withdrew sixteen to cover the carriers during landing operations, sir," Rear Admiral Fitch said. "The last thing we wanted to happen was us getting caught from another direction."

  Vice Admiral Fletcher looked at the map.

  "Let's hope those new anti-aircraft shells work," he said, his tone forlorn.

  Better the surface forces than us, Eric thought, then immediately regretted it.

  "Lieutenant Cobb, you look like you've seen a ghost," Rear Admiral Fitch said, concerned.

  Just how do I explain what Jo is to me?

  Eric mulled for a moment, then hedged his bet.

  "My friend's father is the Houston's captain," Eric said, realizing his tone and demeanor was that of a plebe caught in the middle of a mistake. Thankfully no one pressed the issue.

  "The Houston's a good ship," Fletcher said. "I haven't had much interaction with Captain Morton, but I'm sure she'll be fine and so will he."

  "Thank you, sir," Eric replied.

  There's plenty of other big targets out there for the Japanese to try and hit. What are the odds they'll decide to waste bombs on the Houston?

  U.S.S. Houston

  1115 Local (0145 Eastern)

  Here goes nothing, Jacob thought.

  The Houston was pushing through the gathering swells as TF 25 continued its rush southeast after the reported Japanese cripples. The wind from the cruiser’s passage blew in his face as he stood atop her pilot house. The binoculars around his neck felt as if they were three times their weight from the fear he was doing his best not to show.

  Why do air attacks always seem so much worse than a gunnery fight? he pondered, briefly glancing at Commander Farmer. The man stood with his own glasses to his eyes, looking towards the east over the port side. It was Farmer who had strenuously suggested that, in the face of the large carrier raid heading towards them, Jacob give heading and course directions from a position where his view upwards would be unimpeded.

  Part of me thinks he's fucking crazy. But I've also never been had to deal with this many dive bombers at once.

  During the fight for the Dutch East Indies, it had been land-based torpedo bombers that were the bane of the Allied surface vessels. Farmer had been quite adamant that handling attacks from small dive bombers was a different kettle of fish.

  "I don't think those thunderheads are going to make your combat air patrol's job any easier," Farmer observed grimly, then suddenly tensed. "And it seems like the game's afoot."

  "Sir, Massachusetts is ordering a heading change," the talker behind Jacob shouted. He looked across at the massive battleship, her bow wave and wake raised behind her as she began to accelerate.

  She's doing at least twenty-five knots. Almost as fast as Repulse while packing a much heavier right hook.

  "Understood," Jacob said, watching the flagship's signal mast.

  "Looks like the CAP has begun their work," Farmer said, pointing. Jacob glanced quickly over and felt his heart stop at the numerous dots now approaching, having just exited the thunderheads roughly thirty-five miles away. Farmer was correct in that someone had to be dying, as there were numerous plumes of smoke starting to fall from the sky.

  I just hope it's not that many of ours.

  Hope, or more correctly Ares, was not in the mood to succor the Houston's captain. With Vice Admiral Fletcher having so heavily weighed his strike's fighter escort, albeit with good effect, there had only been so many Hellcats and Wildcats to go around. The air staff had believed radar and good fighter direction would give them time to shift their forces to cover either TF 25 or TF 24. What they had not foreseen was the long time it would take to recover their strike and attempt to respot for CAP operations. Nor had they planned for the massive line of thunderstorms that played havoc with TF 25's radar se
ts.

  As a result, the first eight reinforcements for TF 25's CAP were still 20 miles away when the Kido Butai's riposte pierced the wall of squalls to the east. Having done so, it took ten minutes for Lieutenant Commander Takahashi Sadamu, Kaga's CAG, to corral some of his wayward charges. In that time, the escorting Shiden and Zeroes summarily dealt with the four Hellcats and equal number of Wildcats orbiting over TF 25, then moved on to engage the approaching eight Hellcats from the Bonhomme Richard. The melee that followed was pitched, but only conclusive in that it cleared the way for the Japanese strike force to descend upon TF 25.

  Surveying his prey, Sadamu quickly identified the Massachusetts, Indiana, and Repulse. Giving rapid orders over the radio, he assigned twelve Tenzan apiece to each of the large vessels, then ordered the remaining two chutai to concentrate on the Baltimore. That done, Sadamu then sent the Suisei to attack the Houston, Exeter, and Tallahassee before descending to lead the assault on Repulse.

  "Well, looks like the CAP wasn't quite strong enough," Farmer observed grimly. The task force had quickly shifted into its circular anti-aircraft formation as the Japanese began screaming in towards them. Jacob watched with professional detachment as the wave seemed to shift like a swarm of bees.

  The single-engine jobs definitely seem to be a lot more nimble than the land ones, Jacob thought, watching as the Japanese swung wide. Then it was bedlam as the outer screen opened fire.

  "Port twenty degrees," Jacob called calmly, seeing the Massachusetts starting to come about. The Houston's anti-aircraft guns began to fire as Japanese dive bombers turned towards their target. Jacob felt the deck starting to lean to starboard as the bow was swung around to the left. Looking up, he saw three of the Japanese bombers clearly angling for the Houston as the others chose their target.

  "Increase rudder to forty-five degrees!" Jacob barked, hearing the talker relaying the command. The Houston heeled even further over, and Jacob risked a quick glance along the heavy cruiser's path. The Hudson was heading on a collision course, but Jacob could see the destroyer's bow already starting to come around.

  We should clear the…

  "Sir look out!" someone screamed. The next instant Jacob was getting tackled as suddenly 20mm shells were exploding all around open platform. The two offending Shiden fighters roared past, the sounds of men screaming from just below telling him that there were casualties among the anti-aircraft guns.

  Jacob had barely processed that before there was the sound of another aircraft engine just above the Houston's mast, followed immediately by an explosion right off her starboard side. The near miss shook the cruiser violently, and was followed immediately by another just astern.

  "Missed us, you f–" a talker began to shout.

  The man was cut off as the final Suisei's bomb struck the Houston just aft of her forward stack. Passing inboard of the starboard catapult, the 1,000-lb. bomb easily penetrated the heavy cruiser's thin deck armor, its fuze finally activating just above the forward boiler room. The resultant explosion immediately killed every man in the compartment beneath, either through storm of fragments or flesh stripping effects of superheated steam. The Houston's starboard catapult was blasted from its mountings as the cruiser's hull moved buckled upwards and whipped from the blast's effects.

  Atop the pilot house, the vertical shearing movement bounced Jacob's head hard off the deck with a hollow thunk. Seeing stars, Jacob dimly heard and felt the passage of splinters all around him, accompanied by screams of wounded from below as scalding steam billowed upwards from the cruiser's hull. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, Jacob registered the sounds of fire and smells of burning flesh as the Houston continued to vibrate hard from the impact. The rising wails to aft were abruptly stopped, with various crewmen starting to cry out in alarm.

  "Man overboard!"

  "Oh Jesus, he jumped!"

  This is starting to become a goddamn trend.

  Jacob’s hands shook as he tried to stand. It was only then that he belatedly realized something had his legs pinned. He quickly slithered out from under the dead weight, looking down to see the decapitated body of one of Houston's lookouts. Scanning the pilot house roof, Jacob saw that Commander Farmer was calmly speaking into a sound powered telephone, the Houston's movements indicating she was still under control.

  Have to fight the ship, Jacob!

  With that, he shook off the momentary fear that was causing his hands to tremble.

  "Tell the OOD to get me a damage report!" Jacob called to Farmer, hoping the man heard him over the bedlam of the cruiser’s guns. The British officer waved acknowledgment, then repeated the order into the phone.

  Dammit, we’re really ablaze.

  Pushing hard on the corpse’s shoulders in front of him, Jacob struggled from under the dead lookout. His trousers were soaked in the young man’s blood, the coppery smell mixing with the stench of burning oil and gunpowder in a noxious mixture. As he got to one knee, the roar of engines made him turn to port.

  Oh shit.

  A trio of bombers was approaching from port, their rising suns standing out starkly against their dark green fuselages. The Houston's guns knocked pieces off one of the dark green bombers as they passed in front of the heavy cruiser. Turning back to port, Jacob saw no more Japanese aircraft coming. He whirled back to starboard just in time to to see one of the trio burst into flames and fall into the water before it could release its torpedo.

  "What the hell happened to the Massachusetts?!" he asked Farmer, seeing the battleship wreathed in fire. A second later that Jacob realized it was the BB's own guns that were the source of most of the flame, but not all of it. Unfortunately, the vigorous AA only clipped the chutai leader after the Japanese pilot and his wingman released their ordnance towards the battleship's port side.

  Why is she turning to give them a broader…shit, nevermind, Jacob thought as another trio of Japanese aircraft flashed past the battleship’s bow towards Houston. They anviled her.

  Jacob's guess was more or less right. Like their American counterparts several hours before, the Japanese torpedo pilots had drawn the most dangerous task of their attack. Resolute, and well-disciplined, they pressed into the cauldron of fire that surrounded the three Allied capital ships in the finest tradition of bushido.

  Unfortunately, much like their ideological forebears had found at Shiroyama, bushido did not make up for a marked difference in technology. The simultaneous attacks of the Suisei initially managed to distract and divide the Allied anti-aircraft fire. However, as the thirty-four Tenzan covered the final thousands of yards to their drop point, gunners aboard multiple vessels switched to engage the far more dangerous threat.

  Twenty-nine of the torpedo bombers made it past the outer screen and a lone Hellcat that managed to evade the escorts long enough to splash two Japanese attackers. Another four bombers cartwheeled or plunged into the Indian Ocean's depths before they could release. Two chutai broke from the intense fire, either launching their weapons far out of range or diverting to attack the Exeter.

  It was the assault of the remaining bombers that Jacob witnessed. The Massachusetts had suffered significant damage before the torpedo bombers had managed to trap her with their attacks on two axes. However, a jammed No. 3 turret, cleared her auxiliary bridge, and a hangar fire were hardly fatal. What they did do was distract the “Big Mamie’s” captain, which in turn led to his misjudgment of the attackers’ speed and timing. Although faster and vastly nimbler than her older compatriots that had fought at the Battle of Hawaii, the mistake meant Massachusetts could not avoid intersecting with three torpedoes.

  The first of these weapons, dropped at comparatively long range as the battleship heeled away, came in at an awkward angle. Rather than detonating against the vessel's armor, the sandaburo warhead exploded prematurely from the sheer water pressure exerted by a 36,000-ton battleship moving at twenty-seven knots. Other than shaking the Massachusetts' black gang, the weapon had no effect.

  The two Tenzan
s from starboard, on the other hand, had far better luck. Led by Lieutenant Tomonaga off Hiryu, the duo braved the Big Mamie's prolific fire to almost point blank range. His aircraft burning, blood pulsing from a massive chest wound, Tomonaga dropped his weapon barely a football field's length outside of minimum range. A moment later, Tomonaga's wingman followed suit, then was immediately blotted out of the sky by a VT shell from the Massachusett's secondary battery. Another shell from the barrage ignited Tomonaga's fuel tanks and simultaneously killed his tail gunner. Surrounded in flames and screaming his loyalty to the Emperor, Tomonaga continued on to crash into Big Mamie's superstructure in a bright gout of flame.

  Other than immediately killing twenty-five of the battleship's crew, the suicide crash had little impact on the big vessel's fighting ability. On the other hand, the two torpedoes that impacted a little over a minute proceeded to maim the vessel in a horrific way. Tomonaga's weapon, running deep, hit just forward of the juncture of the engine rooms one and two. Normally, the weapon's 660-lb. warhead would have been well-contained by the battleship's torpedo defense system. Unfortunately for the Americans, the sandaburo explosive was one and a half times more powerful than its high-explosive counterpart. The influx of fragments and water was not immediately fatal for all of engine room 1’s occupants, but sufficient for the survivors to begin heading for the escape trunks.

  Most of the crew had just began this journey when the second torpedo hit barely ten feet aft of the first. In a demonstration of effectiveness that would have upset every American torpedo bomber pilot, the second warhead also performed exactly as designed. With the anti-torpedo bulkheads already weakened, almost the entire explosive force scythed across engine room number two in a bow wave of spall and gases. What men the metal and heated air did not rend or dismember, the Indian Ocean drowned. More importantly, in a fury of arcing electricity, smoke, and screams, much of the Massachusett's electrical power was knocked out due to the explosive vibrations. In the chaos and the darkness, the survivors of engine room #1 heard the screech of plating being torn back from water pressure as the battleship continued forward.