1943

Chapter 25

When Vice Admiral Lee heard what happened to two of his battleships he was quite upset. He had been all ready to ease into this new command, setting his flag on the newest arrival, BB-58, Indiana. He was excited at the prospect of having a square division with all four of the Navy’s newest fast battleships, the best in the fleet until they delivered the Iowa class ships.

“Don’t worry sir,” said the Captain, Aaron Stanton Merrill. “I got the assessment from Port Stanley. South Dakota took a hit, but it didn’t even penetrate her anti-torpedo bulwark. It was only minor damage and there was no effect to her speed or fighting ability. Halsey cut her loose to join us shortly. North Carolina will take another couple weeks, but she’ll be ready again soon, good as new. It’s just hull plating and some damage to interior compartments on her port side. In the meantime, we’ve got Indiana here, and Washington. That’s a pretty good one-two punch.”

Lee walked to the weather deck, taking in the sweet cool air after the rain. “I heard they put some hurt on the Jap battleships in that carrier group. Sent them packing.”

The pilots had claimed several hits, but the shock of seeing rockets taking down the lead elements of the strike was still raging through the fleet like a fire on the foredeck. Lee didn’t know what to make of it, but he wasn’t worried about it either. You don’t hurt a ship like the Indiana with a Ack-Ack rocket, no matter how good it was.

“Aye sir,” said Merrill. “The Japs took hits alright, but in some ways I wish the flyboys hadn’t chased them home. All that does is postpone the day when we get a crack at them. After all, they built the battleships to win this war, didn’t they? Look what the Japs went after when they hit Pearl—the battleships. It’s time we proved our worth out here.”

Merrill was a black shoe Captain to be sure. Some called him Merrill the marauder, but those closer to him simply used the nickname ‘Tip,’ which had been a family nickname for the males ever since his great-grandfather fought at the battle of Tippecanoe in 1811. It was no coincidence that the battle was fought in Indiana territory at that time. Merrill had put in a direct request for a posting to the ship named for his state when he learned it was to be commissioned, feeling lucky to be selected.

He had started on the Destroyer Aylwin in 1912, then Williamson in 1929, before moving up to the Heavy Cruiser Pensacola. He was thrilled when they gave him the Indiana, though Nimitz was eyeing him for a promotion to Vice Admiral and a full Cruiser Squadron. For now, with so many of the cruisers sustaining damage, particularly off Noumea when Hara raided the landing sites, Merrill would stay on his beloved battleship Indiana.

Lee had been cut loose by Halsey and ordered to steam into the waters between the New Hebrides and Fiji, just to make sure the Japanese weren’t trying to run any reinforcements or supplies to Nandi. They linked up with South Dakota there, then got orders to advance north to Efate to support the 8th Marine Regiment. The Japanese had put in reinforcements, with a full regiment of the 20th Division landing on the north shore of that island. Arriving on fast transports escorted by destroyers at night, they assembled quickly and then made a concerted advance on Port Havana, a small protected bay that had been taken by the Marines before they moved southeast to seize Port Vila. Now the Japanese would take it back to have a place to move in supplies, and that had to be stopped.

It was the last operation Hara’s 3rd Carrier Division covered before it turned for Rabaul, its overall mission accomplished. Now Halsey was well to the south, hovering off Noumea to be certain the Japanese could not do any further harm to MacArthur’s transports still offloading supplies there. So Lee was out in a fast surface action group, exhilarated to be running free, the spray high over the long swept bow of the ship, clearing skies, and the smell of the recent rain still fresh on the air. The three battleships were accompanied by the AA cruisers San Juan, San Diego, and the light cruisers Cleveland and Honolulu. A single destroyer, the Nicholson, was out on point, and on the morning of January 31st, it was approaching the small island of Mataso north of Efate, little more than a scrub covered hilly rise in the sea, less than two miles long. It was completely uninhabited, but Nicholson was going to put ashore a small team of coast watchers with a cache of supplies to watch Mataso Strait. Before they could do that, they had uninvited company.

Commander John Stuart Keating still had the ship, though this was going to be the first real action he had beyond picking up survivors off a torpedoed Norwegian merchant freighter in the Atlantic. His Gleaves/Benson Class destroyer had then been transferred to the Pacific, and the welcome it was about to receive was most unsettling. Executive Officer Lew Markham took the sighting report from the top watch, coming in through the hatch to the weather deck.

“Two tall pagoda style mainmasts at 330. Looks like heavy ships, and from the look of that bow wash they’re coming on fast.”

Nicholson was ten miles ahead of Lee’s main body, so Keating got off a sighting report right away—sighted, two heavy cruisers, bearing 330, my position, course 065, estimate 28 knots. They had the course and speed right, but not the ship class. The lead ship coming at them was the new super cruiser Amagi, racing through the clear morning swells as she maneuvered to take position ahead of the real heavyweight behind her, battleship Hiraga. The US pilots may have been correct when they claimed those hits on the Japanese heavies, but they were tougher ships than they realized.

While both Hiraga and Satsuma had taken hits, neither one had sustained any serious damage. At least four bombs struck each ship, but the Japanese had been pleased to see that the heavy deck armor had absorbed much of the impact. Older ships like the Kongo Class battlecruisers had no more than 60mm deck armor. The Nagato had two armored decks combining for about 140mm protection. Hiraga was a step up from that, with her two armored decks totaling 200mm. Only Yamato was better protected, with 226mm. So here were ships the US thought were damaged and sent home, instead relatively unscathed, undaunted, and looking for a fight. The Japanese had already spotted the US destroyer on their radar, and now Amagi opened up on it with her main guns.

Before Commander Keating could give another order, those rounds were already framing his ship with alarming accuracy for a first salvo. Then an explosion aft rocked the boat, and another round hit the side of the ship to penetrate deep within.

Keating didn’t know it yet, but the Nicholson had been dealt a near fatal blow. The guns were not those of a typical heavy cruiser at 8 inches, but the new 12.2-inch main battery of the Amagi Class. Nicholson’s boilers were hit, the white steam hissing out with a wail, scalding three men unlucky enough to be close at hand. That was going to see her speed fall off dramatically, leaving her to wallow in the sea and take whatever else the Japanese could throw at her, and with little chance of surviving the encounter. The rounds that struck aft had also wrecked her depth charge racks, and two of her four 127mm gun turrets were also out of action with the fires and smoke obscuring all.

Thankfully, Keating was not alone, but he knew he was in a very bad situation now. Behind him, the lead ship in Lee’s line was the Atlanta Class light AA cruiser San Juan. That ship was bristling with sixteen 127mm dual purpose guns, and many more lighter caliber AA weapons.

Captain James Maher saw the dark smoke rising into the clearing skies before he got the sighting report. A battle was underway before they knew one was coming. He gave the order all ahead flank, and came charging to the rescue, not really knowing what the Nicholson had encountered until the signalman came in with the report. He was some ten nautical miles from the enemy ships, barely able to make them out in the distance. But off to the northwest, the second Atlanta Class CLAA, San Diego, was also vectoring in on the action, and now he saw that ship was under fire, barely able to make out the tall sea spray of falling rounds.

Whatever was out there had to be big, with guns large enough to have the range to engage San Diego. Maher turned to his signalman and told him to notify Lee. “Tell him we confirm two large capital ships bearing 330, and they just blew the Nicholson to hell.”

Reports were coming in flurries. Captain Russell Berkey was on the San Diego, already in action from the northwest against the Amagi, and now both those ships were taking hits. But Amagi was in another weight class compared to the US cruisers. San Diego and San Juan displaced just under 8500 tons, with belt armor no more than 95mm at its thickest point, and only 32mm on the deck and turrets. The Amagi was rightfully classed as a light battlecruiser, displacing 12,000 tons, and armed with three triple 12.2-inch main gun turrets. She might even stand with the likes of the older British ships like Renown and Repulse, and certainly had more throw weight than those ships, even if the British battlecruisers had 15-inch guns.

Amagi was taking hits from the sheer volume of fire being pumped out by San Diego, which had lost one of her 127mm turrets, with a second damaged, but still had ten more of those gun tubes in action. But Amagi had twice the armor at 210mm, and she was shrugging off many of those hits. When San Diego got walloped, the heavier 12.2-inch shells were doing a great deal of harm, forcing Captain Perry to order a sharp turn to come about and attempt to break off. He realized he was tangling with something more than a heavy cruiser, and at that time, had no knowledge that a ship like the Amagi even existed. Few did, for this was the Shadow Fleet.

With Nicholson sinking, and San Diego beaten off, Amagi was about to turn its guns on the San Juan, when large caliber rounds began arcing in to stir up large dollops in the sea. Lee had given the order to his lead battleship, South Dakota, and she was firing by radar with her two forward main gun turrets. Lee was getting the reports from his lead ship, and now he wanted San Juan to turn and disengage.

“Whatever it is,” he said, “the cruisers have no business with it. Does Washington have the range yet?”

“Sir, they report no visual contact, but they do have radar.”

“Then tell them to use it and double team that enemy contact with South Dakota, we should be in range in a few minutes ourselves.”

Five US ships had now engaged Amagi, and all this time she had served to screen off the battleship Hiraga, which was following about a mile behind. It was South Dakota weighing in that set the battle off in a new direction. Her 16-inch guns had more than enough power to hurt the battlecruiser, and she did. A round struck aft where the 324mm triple torpedo tube was mounted, and set all three off in a massive explosion. The resulting damage and fire aft on Amagi had an immediate effect on her speed. She signaled Hiraga for a turn to port, intending to try and get out of range of those heavy guns, and this prompted Captain Tomaya on the Hiraga to come to 000 north to make room for Amagi to maneuver.

That was going to take Tomaya’s ship out of the action temporarily, the heavy smoke put off by Amagi serving to mask the enemy ships that were now moving into action. He could see the enemy on radar, but at this point, the Japanese used that system for long range spotting, and not fire control. Yet he was wise enough to know it was not a cruiser that had done this, and signaled to Admiral Kurita aboard Satsuma that he now believed two enemy battleships were bearing on the Mataso Strait. He was wrong. There were three enemy battleships, but his radar had not yet picked up the Indiana.

Kurita was now steering 045 towards the Amagi, and her nine 16-inch guns were already being trained on South Dakota, firing long range at the distant silhouette only now discernable on the horizon. Hiraga was making a loop to come about and rejoin the action, and the second battlecruiser, Kagami, was following Satsuma’s wake, about three miles behind.

The main event was now about to begin. Amagi had her way in the overture, sinking the US destroyer and beating up a pair of AA cruisers, but she was overmatched when South Dakota struck her that heavy blow. Now the battleships would square off against one another in the first such action of the war.

Aboard Satsuma, Admiral Kurita was eager to get into action, though he was surprised to encounter such a strong enemy force here. He had been detached by Nagumo and ordered to move south to Efate and support the landing of the 79th Regiment of 20th Division. If enemy carriers were spotted by any of his float planes, he was to abort the mission and withdraw north towards Luganville, which was now the principle Japanese air base in the New Hebrides.

The Americans have been operating their battleships with the carriers, he thought. And so when the carriers withdrew, I assumed the battleships would have gone with them. But it now seems that the American Admiral Halsey has read Nagumo’s mind. This enemy surface action group can have but one purpose, to attack our beaches in the north of Efate, or to destroy any transports lingering in the bay off Port Havana. Amagi has given the enemy a good fight, but now she reports heavy shell damage, and flooding aft. What was Captain Tomaya on Hiraga doing all that time? I must get Satsuma into action immediately.

He could already see the long guns on the triple 16-inch turrets turning, elevating, ready to fire their next spotting salvos. The range was very long now, too far to expect a hit on the enemy, but at least he could announce his presence, a bold Samurai warrior coming on the scene, and drawing his sword. Up north, he had done nothing but watch helplessly as those incredible rocket weapons flew past his battleships, but there was no sign of that here. The strange AA cruiser, Takami, had been ordered to break off and steam to Yokohama, and that, too, was most unusual.

Seconds later the forward turrets fired, the smoke fuming out of the guns, the heavy shells chased by fire and smoke. This weather is only now beginning to clear, and it prevented our float planes from getting up earlier this morning, he thought. So we come like two men with canes, tapping our way forward. Yet our new radar has proved to be very useful….

“Sir, Hiraga now reports that Amagi is burning badly aft and is nearly dead in the water. She must have severe engine damage.”

It was much worse than that. The American cruisers, with 32 6-inch guns between them, had pummeled the ship from two directions in the intense gun duel. Amagi had lost her port side torpedo mount, but before the fires made it impossible, she fired her starboard tubes and put three long lance torpedoes in the water. One would strike the San Diego, causing so much hull damage and flooding that the ship could not be saved. But now it appeared that Amagi herself was going down at the stern. Her forward turrets were still firing, but she would not likely survive this encounter, having only the satisfaction of taking two enemy ships with her to the bottom of the sea, and damaging a third enough to force it to break off.

It was time for the battleships to settle the matter, but Kurita was beginning to surmise that he was at a considerable disadvantage here. His radar now showed three prominent contacts, all throwing large caliber rounds at his ships. Kagami was trailing him, with shorter range guns, so that ship would not get into action until he was already heavily engaged. Hiraga was coming about in a very wide loop, but temporarily out of the action as well. Satsuma was alone, and facing the wrath of what he believed to be three enemy battleships.

In fact, only two had directed their weapons against his ship, South Dakota and Indiana. The Washington had the range on the battlecruiser Kagami, and was directing its fire there. Kurita gave an order to put on all possible speed and come about in 15 degree increments, turning away north. All the while he directed his fire at the South Dakota, and as Kagami drew closer, it followed suit. Kurita’s ship had taken three heavy rounds, and one of his turrets was now reporting damage, its guns silent as the crews fought fires breaking out on the foredeck.

In the course of the engagement, Captain Glen Davis on the Washington had stayed right in the wake of South Dakota, and so when that ship turned to port, he followed it closely, the two ships steering first through 270, and then further through 250 southwest. Lee, however, was still steady on at 270 west, and about three miles north of Washington. It seemed that the Admiral was about to get himself into a private little war. The action was now at about 10 nautical miles, all of 20,000 plus yards, and Lee was firing by radar. Seeing what the other two battleships were doing, he gave the order to come to 245 and turned his broadside to the enemy.

This maneuver was going to see Satsuma slip off to the north, but both Kagami and now Hiraga were still in the fight, the latter having finally completed the extremely wide loop it made after breaking off from Amagi. They directed their guns on South Dakota, and Kagami scored a number of hits with her smaller 152mm guns that had little effect.

Lee’s aim was as true as his sharp shooting that day. As the other two battleships turned south, he could see that both enemy ships still in contact were doubling down on South Dakota. He directed Washington to take on the battlecruiser, and then went after the last enemy battleship, getting by his count, at least four good hits with his forward main guns. His own ship took several hits, but the damage was not serious.

Ten minutes later, Hiraga had followed Kurita north. It had been like two knights jousting, each one denting the other’s armor and drawing blood, but neither scoring a fatal blow. Lee had just encountered ships that never were, scratching his head as he tried to discern their identity. As he saw the enemy recede over the horizon, he had the strong feeling that this would not be the last time he would lead his battleships into harm’s way, and he was very correct in that assessment.

Chapter 26

Far to the north, at the distant home of the Japanese Combined Fleet, another dark knight was approaching the wide cobalt blue expanse of Chuuk Lagoon. Called Truk in the war, it was a small group of islands, the largest no more than five miles wide, and all surrounded by a ring of coral reefs extending nearly 40 miles across, in roughly the shape of an irregular triangle. Within it were some 820 square miles of lagoon surrounding eleven major islands. It was the calm center of the Japanese war in the Pacific, the eye of the storm. The protective reef had several breaks that permitted the safe passage of ships into the lagoon, where numerous anchorages presented themselves.

In the west, the Plaanu Pass allowed for two ship channels to the north and south of the large island group of Poto, Polle, and Tol. There was also a north pass, one in the south and one to the northeast of the main island, which was Weno, also called Moen, where the largest anchorage lay off its western shore. The principle airfield was also on that island, a busy field nearly 4000 feet long that had over 90 planes, nearly half of them A6M2 Zero fighters for defense and carrier fleet replenishment.

On this day, there were 14 warships in the anchorage, which included the main fleet headquarters aboard the battleship Musashi, the light carrier Zuiho, six destroyers, a patrol boat and five submarines. At other scattered anchorages, there were five AK cargo ships, the fleet oiler Notoro, troopship Hikawa Maru, three more fast APDs, a pair of smaller merchantmen and two heavy tankers, one loading to make a scheduled oil delivery to Rabaul.

There were two logistic supply routes leading to the Japanese possessions in the South. One went through Manila, and then into the Dutch East Indies, though ship soften delivered fuel to Momote it the Admiralty Islands and Rabaul as well. The second outer route ran past Iwo Jima, through the Marianas to the Carolines, where Truk sat like a castle at the center of a web of many scattered islands. In effect, Truk was the main defensive base supporting all the Japanese outposts seized in the Marianas, Marshall, and Gilbert Islands, and was the principle rallying point for the Combined Fleet carrier groups before they would sally forth through that coral reef castle wall and out onto the wide Pacific. It was Japan’s Pearl Harbor, and it was about to become the target of an attack every bit as surprising as the one Nagumo had led against the American base.

Kirov had been hastening south, slipping through the Marshall Islands where the Japanese had spotted a lone ship, sending the Shadow Fleet to investigate. Yet their planned intercept never happened. They were too far off the mark, reaching Tarawa when Kirov was still about 600 nautical miles to the north approaching Wotje. When Kirov moved south to Majuro, the Shadow Fleet, seeing nothing of the lone raider, had moved southeast of Naruru bound for the New Hebrides.

Karpov lingered in the Gilberts for some time, doing some reconnaissance of Jaluit and Tarawa, but seeing little of military interest there. The Japanese had not yet built these distant outposts up, and he did not want to waste valuable ammunition on nascent airfields, seaplanes, and coastal light artillery positions. So as the Shadow Fleet continued south, he turned west for the one place that certainly promised him some worthy targets—Truk.

The only island that had any air search assets that might have spotted him from that direction was Ponape, where six Emily flying boats were operating. He decided to navigate well north of that island, as Fedorov said he did not expect the Japanese to be searching much in that direction. So Kirov made a run past the island on the night of the 30th of January, intending to get into missile range by dawn. The sun would rise at 07:12, and the weather didn’t matter, only the range.

Karpov’s missile selection would determine that range, and he was discussing his options with Fedorov in a pre-dawn meeting on the bridge, eager for battle after the long journey south.

“Our longest range missile is the P-900,” he said. “That will have a 300-kilometer range and still hit hard with that 200kg warhead. The only problem is that we have only seven left, and one will be in the number ten silo, reserved for special warheads. The Moskit-II hits a little harder with a bigger warhead, and comes in much faster, but its range is only 120 kilometers. Obviously the closer we get, the better, as any reserve fuel adds to the fire damage that missile can inflict.”

“Use that and we’ll be well inside air strike radius of virtually any plane they have there,” Fedorov warned.

“Have you looked at the helo footage?” They had slipped in the KA-226 earlier that night with long range night vision cameras to have a look at the base.

“A lot of fighters,” said Fedorov. “Those won’t be a problem as I doubt they would use them in any strike role against a lone ship if they find us. But there were a couple dozen planes that matched the profile for the G4M light bomber, the planes the Allies called the Betty. They can carry bombs, and also the Type 91 Torpedo, and we won’t want to let any get close enough to make an attack run. It looks like they also have nine G3M Nells, another torpedo capable plane.”

“You certainly know your history,” said Karpov. “How can you tell them apart in that image?”

“Note the twin tail fins on this plane—those are the Nells. These others are the Betty, with a single fin.”

“Interesting. Well, I intend to catch them on the ground. That airstrip is only 200 feet wide, and we can time the warhead detonation at low altitude, right over those bombers. Anything else you see here that could pose a threat?”

“Just seaplanes. I wouldn’t worry about them. However, there may be strike aircraft on that light carrier. Yet if you want to hit the airfield, and the anchorage as well, how many missiles can we afford to use?”

“That is the question,” said Karpov. “We’ll make our approach well before sunrise, and the ship will run black. If they do have anything up that might spot us, I can easily knock it down. I want to be inside 120 klicks by 06:00. That way we can use any missile in inventory.”

“Why attack at dawn? Why attack in daylight at all. We could do this at night, and remain completely immune to the enemy air threat.”

“Mister Fedorov, we’re already immune. Don’t forget about those S-400s. I understand what you are saying, but I choose to attack at dawn for a reason. It’s what they would do—it’s what they already did at Pearl Harbor. They’ll understand it on that level, and then, when the time is right, I’ll show them the darkness is no impediment to the power I can wield. For the moment, I want them to think I may have limitations—that I may therefore be predictable in terms of warfighting rules that they use themselves. That increases the element of surprise later when I call upon it. Understand?”

Fedorov had no idea that Karpov ever ruminated on this level when he considered his operations. It was as if he was waging a kind of psychological warfare with his enemy, hoping to shock them, dupe them, and keep them constantly off balance.

“You’ve certainly thought this through,” he said. “You want to wear down your enemy—outwit him, and best him by turning his own assumptions against him at a moment of your choosing.”

“Precisely,” said Karpov. “For one day it won’t be a small island lagoon I stand off with Kirov at the edge of battle. One day I will take this ship into the home waters of Japan, and with utter impunity. The lessons I teach here today will be remembered.”

Fedorov narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps,” he said. “But you may find the Japanese of this era to be more stalwart and unmovable than you realize. You talk of these shadowy tactics, but understand that these are the men who saw their empire burning to the ground all around them, quite literally, and still fought on. The US sent B-29 bombers in a single massive night raid on Tokyo. Each plane was capable of delivering 20,000 pounds of bombs—9,000 kilograms, and they were dropping napalm bomblets, jellied gasoline and white phosphorus. Each plane delivered more than the weight of every missile we have, and there were over 330 planes sent. They saw the heart of Tokyo reduced to ashes in a single conflagration that killed at least a hundred thousand people overnight. And that figure may be low. The population density of Tokyo was over 100,000 per square mile, and nearly sixteen square miles burned that night. And still they fought on. They would not surrender. This was six months before Hiroshima. They say that the walls of flame were so high that whole neighborhoods were cut off, tens of thousands trapped in the streets, with nowhere to flee…”

Karpov let him finish, realizing what he was trying to convey.

“And here you stand discussing how you’ll spring a night attack on them one day when they think you need daylight to do so as they might, and you think of this as some kind of winning strategy? You need to realize who these people are. Admiral, know thy enemy.”

“Very dramatic, Fedorov, but you forget that I can trump all those B-29s on any day I choose, and with a single missile. In fact, I was considering the use of just one missile here—the number ten silo on the P-900 system. After all, this is the headquarters of the Combined Fleet, is it not? Imagine the shock value of learning I just vaporized it, all their little ships and planes, and yes, even the mighty Musashi. Then again, I may have bigger fish to fry with those missiles, quite literally, if Japan continues to oppose me. So I choose to take things… incrementally. Don’t worry, we’ll make this a conventional attack, but we’ll also make it one they’ll not forget.”

Fedorov sighed. He had tried to get Karpov to see things in another light, and he may have communicated something. Yet he could never quite be sure of that. Karpov was Karpov, a convoluted maze of a man, now redoubled back on himself with that doppelganger ‘brother’ of his out there. He had little doubt that the other version of this man was growing, slowly blooming into the same dark black rose that the Siberian had become.

“As to the threat of enemy reprisals,” said Karpov, “as I said, we will hit their airfield first… I think a pair of P-900s should do the job, with high fragmentation warheads. Then we deal with the warships. There weren’t many reported, but this big battleship must certainly be targeted.”

“Musashi,” said Fedorov. “Remember, we’re talking about 400mm side armor on that ship. Even a Moskit-II will break on it like a bottle of champagne.”

“We’ll go in top down,” said Karpov with a smile.

“Then you’re looking at 230mm deck armor, and 250 to 650 on the main gun turrets. The Americans put a 230kg bomb on one, and it didn’t even penetrate the turret roof. That’s as big as any warhead we’ll throw at that ship.”

“Yet we’ll shake up the command network,” Karpov came back. “We might even hit the bridge.”

“500mm on the conning tower,” said Fedorov. “Oh, they’ll know they’ve been hit, but you would have to put ten missiles on that ship if you want to take it off the roster. It took the Americans 17 direct bomb hits, some 1000 pounds, and then 18 torpedo hits before that ship sank.”

“We don’t need to do that,” said Karpov. “They don’t use it for combat operations anyway. Am I correct in that?”

“True.”

“Then all I want to do is shock them. It serves the purpose of a gaudy armored tower, nothing more. I simply want to knock heavily at the gate and show them how vulnerable they are.”

“That would be like insulting a man instead of really hitting him. You might do better to target these…” Fedorov pointed to one of the still images captured by the recon photos. “Those have to be tankers. Remember the fascination the Japanese had with battleships at Pearl Harbor. They overlooked the oil tank farm, though they did a little better on that score this time through. Hit those tankers and you do some harm.”

“Musashi is a political target,” said Karpov. “We’ll also put a missile on this aircraft carrier, and now that you mention it, the tankers do seem like a good choice as well. I want to let them know that they are completely powerless to stop me. In fact, it’s a shame that there aren’t more aircraft carriers here.”

“Yes,” said Fedorov glibly. “That was what the Japanese said on December 7th.”

An hour before dawn, Kirov had crept to within the 120-kilometer range mark of Truk. Fedorov had been correct. Their approach from the northwest was unseen, as most search assets had been assigned patrol arcs to the east and southeast, towards areas known to be frequented by American carriers. Aboard Musashi, Rear Admiral Kaoru Arima was at his station on the bridge early that morning, though it would be just one more day where he would sit and review reports, conduct station inspections, and dream about the day he might take his ship out onto the open sea again, and actually face the enemy in battle.

He had served on the Kongo as a Lieutenant, and held positions as a gunnery instructor and Naval College Staff officer before receiving his first command on the cruiser Kumano. In October of 1940 they gave him the battleship Hiei, but just before the war broke out with the United States, he moved to the Musashi as its XO in September of 1941. When he was made Captain of that ship nearly a year later, he swelled with pride, even though he realized it would be an administrative post, idling in the anchorage of Truk Lagoon, staring endlessly out at the islands clustered about the ship, never doing anything of consequence.

Just a few months ago, in November of 1942, the do-nothing Captain was promoted to a do-nothing Rear Admiral, but at least the journey here to Truk had been somewhat exciting. The ship had conducted AA gunnery trials, and even completed exercises involving those massive main gun turrets, each one weighing more than a typical Japanese destroyer.

He was staring at them that morning, the sun not yet up, and just the faintest hint of pre-dawn glow in the sky. They had tested those massive guns in conjunction with their new radar set, but Arima found the results unsatisfactory. A pity that they will probably never fire another round in this war, he thought. There they sit, all that steel, silent castles on my foredeck, each one armed with the largest naval guns ever designed.

Things could be worse, he thought. The ship could be back in home waters at Hashirajima, watching all the cruisers and destroyers come and go, and longing for the sea. It was only Yamamoto’s decision to make Yamato a real fighting ship that allowed Musashi to venture this far from home waters. She was a shadow of her older brother, taking on the duty Yamato once had, serving as the floating headquarters of the fleet. I should be proud, he thought, and indeed, I certainly am. This ship is now the official flagship of his majesty, Emperor Hirohito, and his aspect is ever watching me in my stateroom where all the other Admirals and staff officers come and go.

As he was thinking all this, in walked the tall stalwart figure of Captain Keizo Komura, the former commander of the ill-fated cruiser Chikuma. Most of the other senior staff officers were either still sleeping, or busy with breakfast in the officer’s mess, but Komura was always up early like this, often seen pacing the long forward deck of the ship, restless and ill at ease.

He has good reason to feel so glum, thought Arima. His ship was one of the first to be given the honor of attacking the shadowy enemy raider in the north, Mizuchi. He had sortied with the battleship Mutsu and a pack of destroyers to sail up the western shore of Kamchatka and destroy the enemy landing sites, but he never got there. Both Mutsu and Chikuma were attacked by a terrible new weapon, the breath of the fire sea demon, Mizuchi.

He had asked Komura about it once, but them man just stared at him with that sallow face and dark narrowed eyes, and so he never mentioned the incident to him again. Now Komura stalked about the ship in the early hours, as if he were a prisoner here. Perhaps he was. He had lost his ship, failed in his mission, and had been summarily consigned to this post, ostensibly as a promotion, though everyone knew that he would probably never be given another combat command again, and now he had to endure the additional insult when the decision was made to suspend repair operations on Chikuma, and scrap the ship to provide steel for other carrier conversion projects. He would forever be known as the last Captain of the heavy cruiser Chikuma, consumed by fire and flame in the cold waters of the north.

Now it was Arima’s turn to learn what Komura already carried in his gut. Something was burning in the purple sky off his starboard bow, rising up and up, like a shooting star returning to the heavens from whence it came. And then it began to fall again.

Chapter 27

Komura saw it too, his eyes riveted to the scene, widening with the horror of the memories he guarded silently within. Admiral Arima looked at him, seeing the distant glow in the sky reflected from his dark eyes, then stared at it again. What was it, a plane on fire? None of the seaplanes were scheduled to depart before 06:00 hours that morning. Could it be an enemy plane? Nothing had been reported the previous day, though now he realized the waters north and east of the lagoon had not been searched for three days now.

Then he remembered that report he had received, that of a lone ship probing about the edge of the Marshalls like a restless shark. The Shadow Tleet had actually been dispatched to look for it off Tarawa, but found nothing. These thoughts passed in an instant in his mind, his eyes still moving back and forth from Captain Komura to that bright object in the sky, descending, descending, glowing more fiercely as it approached. Then the taut still figure of Komura was suddenly animated. He whirled about, eyes wide.

“Battle stations!” He shouted. “Mizuchi!”

Shocked by that word, Arima was on his feet. “What are you saying?” he said, but Komura was pointing with a stiff arm.

“Mizuchi!” The nightmare he had endured and carried so silently within for all these months was there again, just as he had seen it before, the star in the sky that fell to the sea, the fiery silent death that would only be heard after it had already struck his ship, for the thing in the sky was now traveling far faster than the roar of its own engines.

Before Arima could say or do another thing, he saw it flash right over the tiny rise of Folo island, streaking right in towards the airstrip on Weno, and still his mind tried to tell him it was a fiery plane attempting a desperate landing there. Then it exploded, the fireball a great sphere right over the airfield, illuminating the squat shapes of the bombers lined up in a tight parking area. Secondary explosions bloomed up from the field, and Arima now realized those were the planes exploding, their wings scored by thousands of metal fragments, bursting aflame as the gasoline ignited.

“Mizuchi!” said Koumura again, and now there were more lights in the sky, the violet dawn faintly illuminating their ghostly passage.

“Battle stations!” Arima shouted at a watchstander and soon the bells were ringing all over the ship. The sound of crewmen rushing to their gun stations was heavy on the decks, and the main hatch to the bridge opened. There stood Admiral Matome Ugaki, frowning, the light from the fires over the airfield reflecting from his bald round head.

“What is happening?” he said sternly.

“We are under attack,” said Arima. “Captain Kumano believes it is the Siberian raider—look, naval rockets!”

“Mizuchi,” said Kumano, all that he had been able to speak since he first laid eyes on the light in the sky. Ugaki turned and looked, seeing the thin trails in the sky. Then a second explosion erupted right over the airfield. Men were running. He saw the AA guns turning, training up to face the lights in the sky, and only now could they hear the roar of the engine that brought those first two missiles to this place. How could this be?

The first guns began to fire from Musashi, triple 25mm Type 93 AA guns sending hot tracers into the sky at another fast moving rocket, this one low over the sea, its fierce light illuminating the still waters of the lagoon as it raced, smashing right into the carrier Zuiho.

Ugaki stared in horror as the terrible orange and yellow fire erupted from the ship. It had come in right on the water, right against the thin side armor of the carrier. He saw great pieces of the flight deck thrown up into the air and now a heavy black smoke poured out of the gaping wound, like the wrathful eruption of a volcano.

There was a moment of silence, even the AA guns stilled as all the men stared in awe at the scene. Then they saw two more lights in the sky, the amber dawn scored by their smoky tails, now glowing yellow as they came. Up they went and down they fell, and all Ugaki could think of was the secret Cherry Blossom project the navy was busy with, for surely these rockets must be piloted, and he now tried to comprehend the steely resolve of the men who were flying them, so terribly fast, riders of doom, thunder gods.

The guns were firing again, but in utter futility, and all through the anchorage tracers were streaking up into the sky from every ship, and some even directed search light upwards, their thin fingers probing the dawn like the reaching hand of a blind man. In came the first, low over the lagoon as before, only this time it would find one of the service fleet ships anchored close by the headlands of Weno island where it had been taking on fuel the previous day for delivery to Tulagi. The explosion and fire that erupted there was awesome, and now he knew that the rocket had struck the tanker full on. Kyokuku Maru was now a raging inferno, the fire and heat heralding the rising sun.

Then the last rocket fell from the sky, coming in low over the sea, as all the others had, only this time Ugaki could see that it was aimed right at Musashi. A second later it seemed to leap up, as if the pilot had frantically pulled back on his control stick to avoid crashing into the ship, but that was not the case. It was only the pre-programmed popup maneuver at the end of the terminal run of that Moskit-II, the last to be fired in Karpov’s attack.

The Siberian had hit all the key targets he discussed with Fedorov, two P-900s over the airfield exploding right over the parked aircraft and raking them with hot shrapnel and the concussive wave of shock and fire. Half the bombers were on fire now, the explosions from their fuel tanks still erupting when the ships were hit.

Zuiho had been next, a single Moskit-II lancing into her sides, smashing into the hangar deck and exploding with consuming fire. The hit had come in right amidships, between the two elevators fore and aft, and that ship would be put completely out of action again, with flames and heavy smoke. Then the tanker had been hit, the fires there so high and hot that they now illuminated the entire northeast end of the airfield. Karpov wanted the officers and staff of Combined Fleet to have a very good look at what he was doing, a nice little drama as he timed his attack, missile by missile.

Then the final blow struck Musashi, the missile hitting the ship right at the base of the conning tower with an impact so heavy that Ugaki was knocked off his feet. Arima reeled in the Captain’s chair, Komura barely kept his balance as he lunged for a nearby hand rail. The blast billowed up, the shock shattering one of the viewport windows, the smell of gasoline heavy with the fire that now rose along the high steel tower. Then the heavy smoke rolled up.

The tower walls had not been compromised, just as Fedorov had warned. Their 500mm steel was more than enough to stop that missile, but the fires would blacken them, and the smoke envelop them, obscuring all view of the lagoon in minutes. Alarms were ringing all over the ship, men were running to the scene, dragging the long fire hoses. Two watchstanders were helping Admiral Ugaki to his feet, and Arima saw a thin trail of blood from a bruise on his forehead.

He looked at Komura with new eyes now, looked with understanding that could only come with the heat and shock and fire of that missile. This was what had happened to his ship, only the cruiser had been hit much worse. Even though he did not yet know the extent of the damage, he knew that this single hit would not send Musashi to the scrap yards. But how many more rockets would come.

Now he felt the same feeling that must have yawned within Komura when his ship was attacked, a feeling of complete helplessness. The firing from the AA guns sputtered out, and he walked to the only clear viewports to try and see what was happening below. Komura was there, and the two men glanced at one another, saying nothing.

“Cease Fire,” said Karpov, arms folded as he stood over Grilikov, who was standing in for Samsonov on this watch, elated to be in charge of his first real combat operation. He had fired the two P-900s, and three Moskit-II missiles, marveling at how the single push of his finger on a small panel switch could send such terrible power out into the world.

“Well done, Mister Grilikov. You will make a fine combat officer at that station.”

Grilikov beamed at Karpov, very content with himself. He had been very nervous before it all began, afraid the Admiral would ask him to do something that Samsonov had not yet explained to him, but it was all so very simple in the end. The target would appear on his screen, a thing he still was utterly fascinated with, the glowing panel a complete mystery to him. But all he had to do was touch it, and then select the switches as Samsonov had shown him. Death and destruction would follow in short order.

“I think that will be sufficient,” Karpov said to Fedorov. “In fact, I do not think we will even need to send up the KA-226 for battle damage assessment. Mister Nikolin…”

“Sir?’

“I want you to closely monitor Japanese fleet radio traffic for the next two hours. Record everything and send it down for translation. I think we’ll be able to ascertain the impact of this strike easily enough from that transcript. I want it on my stateroom desk by 20:00 hours this evening. Now then… What do you think of this little demonstration, Mister Fedorov? We’ve shot our arrows into the eye of the storm. Was it worth the five missiles we expended?”

“You won’t need that transcript to know what happened,” said Fedorov. “I’d bet the P-900s probably took out fifteen or twenty bombers, and shut down that main airstrip, but only for a few hours. They’ll be operational shortly after dawn and have everything they can fly up looking for us.”

Karpov wasn’t concerned about that. He had already come about, and was heading northeast at 28 knots, with the ship at air alert two. He had determined that he would save his S-400s if any enemy planes found the ship, and just use the much more plentiful Klinoks to shoot them down.

“As for the ships,” said Fedorov, “The tanker you hit will be a total loss, and there will be severe fires at the mooring site. That was the most severe blow. You probably consumed ten to twelve thousand tons of fuel with that hit, in addition to taking out a very valuable fleet support asset. The other tanker was out in the main anchorage.”

“We’ll leave it there,” said Karpov. “I won’t waste a missile on an empty ship, but if I catch one at sea I’ll certainly sink such a ship.”

“The carrier is mission killed, which is to say I don’t think we’ll see any of its strike planes launched, to get after us. We’ll know more about that damage from Nikolin’s intercepts. As for Musashi, you’ve already heard me out on that score. You shook them up, and it was rather dramatic to put the last shot on that ship.”

“Oh, that wasn’t the last shot,” said Karpov. “And I’m sure this won’t seem anywhere as traumatic as the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, but I made my point. I just taught them something here—that I can go anywhere I please, even into the heart of their fleet web here to strike its very center. I intend to fire my next shot off in a signal to that headquarters, acknowledging that it was my ship that inflicted this damage and repeating my demands concerning Vladivostok.”

“That will be ignored,” said Fedorov. “In fact, I think if you had emptied the forward deck and blasted every ship in the anchorage, they would still ignore such a demand. Remember what I said about Tokyo.”

“They can ignore me at their own peril then,” said Karpov. “This was meant as a demonstration of our capability, nothing more. Now we look for some real targets. I want to find their carriers, and I will tell them that I now intend to find and sink every aircraft carrier they have. They will freeze the blood in their veins. They already have their hands full with everything the Americans can throw at them. To have Kirov here, hunting them like an unseen shark, will be most unnerving.”

“But it won’t stop them. It won’t prevent them from operating either,” said Fedorov. “When pressed heavily, the Japanese respond by attacking.”

“And I will respond by destroying anything that come near me. This will be a very good hunting ground in the days ahead. I should have taken the war here long ago, but I had to see that we established a firm hold on Northern Sakhalin. Now we have three full divisions there, and they won’t push us off. It’s also interesting that we’ve not seen or heard anything more of this guided missile destroyer. I had hoped it might be at anchor here.”

“That would have certainly spoiled your show,” said Fedorov.

“Perhaps, but I wonder where the Takami is now?”

“The last we were able to discern was that it was with Kurita again. Nikolin says there was a fleet engagement off Efate in the New Hebrides yesterday—a surface action, with no carriers involved.”

“Most likely because the Americans are still fussing about at Noumea. Yet that was a very bold operation, was it not?”

“It was,” said Fedorov. “I don’t think the Japanese expected that so soon. The Americans took losses in those recent carrier duels. In fact, I’d say they were bested again, but they did manage to hold the ground, or rather the sea around the New Hebrides. That was as much due to the need for the Japanese to replenish as anything else, but I’m a little concerned over some of the message traffic we intercepted.”

“How so?”

“It was all in code, but it wasn’t difficult to figure out when they were referring to a carrier. The thing is this: there were far too many references to carriers in that traffic. They appear to have been operating two carrier divisions, and we were able to ID most of the ships in the main body under Admiral Hara. Yet there was another division east of the New Hebrides, and we haven’t been able to determine its composition.”

“Where might it be now?” asked Karpov.

“We’re pretty sure Hara withdrew to Rabaul. So I would guess that other group might be heading for Truk. If we had held off a bit, we might have caught them here.”

“Then we’ll catch them at sea instead,” said Karpov. “Better to sink them in the deep blue than in a shallow lagoon where they might be able to refloat them again.”

“I suppose so,” said Fedorov, “but what I’m getting at is that there seems to be too many Japanese carriers in operation now. I’ve been keeping a close tab on their losses. We had at least six references to carrier capable ships in that eastern group. That’s too many. They’ve got more ships than they should be able to put to sea, and that is a gap in our intelligence that needs to be filled.”

“So we’ll have a look south and east of Truk,” said Karpov.

“There was one code phrase that was translated, and it caught my attention—Kage Kantai—shadow fleet. We also intercepted the phrase Shadō Butai.”

“Shadow fleet? Interesting. What do you make of that?”

“It could be a reference to a secret building program that resulted in the conversion of several ships to carriers. That’s well documented in the history. In fact, you just hit one of those ships. The Zuiho was commissioned as a fast oiler and submarine tender, the Takasaki. Its sister ship was the same—tender Tsurugisaki, which became the light carrier Shoho. The Japanese had a hidden program where they planned to convert fleet auxiliary ships to carriers. Perhaps these unidentified ships could be part of that, though I should be able to track most of these conversions down.”

“You forget this history is quite different now,” said Karpov. “We just wrote another chapter here with this attack on Truk. In any case, that group must be out there somewhere. Let’s see if we can find it.”