Pacific Storm

Chapter 13

Hayashi and his plane struck the ship about seventy-five meters from the stern, smashing right down onto the armored roof of the aft auxiliary command citadel. The “battle bridge,” as it was sometimes called, this facility had been used by Admiral Volsky to regain control of the ship during the ‘Karpov incident’ in the North Atlantic. It served as an auxiliary command center for the ship in the event the main bridge was damaged or otherwise out of action. It had control stations for every vital ship system, including a combat information center, helm station, communications, radar and sonar, and it was also protected by an armored shell of 200mm Kevlar coated hardened steel armor, just as the main bridge. That was the only thing that prevented the plane from plunging right into the guts of the ship at that point.

The armored roof buckled, then collapsed under the intense kinetic impact of a plane weighing over 5,600 pounds, and the immolated D3A ravaged into the citadel, her bomb then exploding in what was essentially an armored box with 200mm reinforced steel for walls and flooring. Nothing in the box survived, the equipment, computers, ship’s stations, were all completely destroyed, but the box itself held as designed, and the explosion was prevented from doing further damage below decks. The facility was not in use at the time, but three duty officers there were killed instantly.

The explosion was largely directed upwards through the already penetrated roof, and seared fragments of the D3A and the exploding bomb, became a rain of shrapnel that shot up like grapeshot and caught the spinning panels of the Fregat-3D radar system, severing control wires, smashing sensors and immediately darkening the ship’s primary long range defense radar.

Kirov groaned with the hit, but it was not to be a fatal blow. That said, a fire started in the blackened battle bridge, and fire was the nemesis of every ship at sea since the Greeks had first used it as a weapon in ancient times. Damage control parties scrambled to the scene and the ship shuddered, still at high speed until Volsky gave the order to slow to twenty knots.

On the Tin Man HD display they could see that the Fregat system was no longer rotating, and one of the fire control radars for the Klinok system silos mounted under the aft deck was a blackened wreck as well. It had been on the roof of the aft citadel.

It wasn’t long before Byko had an overall assessment. The fires would be contained within an hour, but the battle bridge was a total loss, destroyed beyond their capacity to ever repair. Three men were dead, seventeen injured. All things considered, it was good news. If Hayashi had struck another fifty meters forward he would have blasted right into the rear of the main tower, where two hidden steam vents stood in for what was once a smokestack on older warships. With no armor to speak of there, his plane would have plummeted deep into the ship, perhaps not stopping until it struck the armored shell that surrounded the ship’s reactor core.

“We’ll need time, sir.” Byko pleaded on the intercom. “There were two other near misses, one very near the reactor core amidships. Thank God they didn’t hit us, but I would advise we put divers down for a quick assessment. You can’t continue to run at this high speed. These fires are serious.”

“Tell him we have reduced to twenty knots and will slow to one third if he cannot contain the fires. When the divers are ready, have him call the bridge.” Volsky folded his arms, a worried expression on his heavy features.

“Gentlemen,” he said gravely, “that was nearly the end of us. It was well fought, Karpov, particularly considering the situation with our missile inventories. Yet we have long known of the determination and reckless bravery of the Japanese. This attack was a perfect example. They were willing to die to a man to get this one single hit, and God help us if we ever forget it in these waters again.”

“The Japanese Navy was perhaps the most skilled fighting navy in the world at this moment, sir, said Fedorov. Their equipment was not the best, but their knowhow and tactics were second to none, and no one will ever question their bravery. I believe we have just taken the first ever kamikaze attack of the war. That did not happen until much later in the war in the old history.”

Historically the Tokubetsu Kogekitai units had not even been formed yet. The first attacks were not made until October of 1944 when Masafumi Arima, even now aboard the carrier Shokaku, led an attack much like this one against an American carrier task force. One of the planes struck the USS Franklin, a large Essex class carrier, and Arima was immediately elevated to the status of a demigod by the war propagandists. The Special Attack Unit was formed that month. Shortly thereafter the cruiser Australia was hit, and a few smaller ships, but the first official attack by the special Kamikaze unit itself hit the USS St. Lo, a light escort carrier in the Battle of Leyte Gulf.

“Well now they have the idea a few years early,” said Volsky. “Who knows what they will do to the course of the war? What does Byko say about our radar?”

“The Fregat system is off line, sir. We won’t know how bad the damage is for some hours, at least until they put the fire out and can get men up on the aft mast. The smoke there is too thick now. We lost the Klinok aft fire control radar as well, so it may be wise to move any missiles in those aft silos to the forward deck.”

“Have Martinov see to it,” said Volsky, squinting out the window and frowning at the smoke and fire aft. “That will be sending up a charcoal marker into the sky to designate our position for miles in every direction. Where were those pursuing ships, Rodenko?”

“I last noted them about twenty-seven nautical miles behind us, sir. I am trying to switch to the active phased array systems now in place of the Fregat, but some of my panels are yellow lighted, and not responding.”

“Most likely the aft panel that was on the citadel there,” said Karpov. “I doubt it survived that hit.”

“Most likely, sir,” Rodenko agreed. “That will leave us with panels forward and to both sides of the ship, and it will only give us a 120 decree arc of coverage to port and starboard. Without that aft panel and the Fregat system, we now have a hole directly aft where we are relatively blind on radar.”

“We still have the Voskhod-2 Top Mast radar,” said Karpov. “It’s not a fully integrated 3D system, but it has excellent range and we can still use it and route signals to the CIC.”

The Voskhod or ‘Dawn’ radar system had once been a main 3D defense system, but the new Voskhod-2 had handed over that task to the updated Fregat system and was now used primarily for long range weather forecasting and general surveillance. Then Fedorov had another idea. “We also have the KA-40, sir. We can mount an Oko panel and get good returns that way.”

“Fedorov,” said Volsky. “How long before that pursuit force might get in range to cause us any concern?”

“All they need to do is get inside 30,000 yards to start lobbing shells our way again, sir. That would be a little under fifteen nautical miles out. So they only need to cut twelve miles off our lead. At our present speed of twenty knots, they will do that in about ninety minutes. They can probably see our position now with the smoke column, and I have little doubt that they are heading this way.”

“Ninety minutes,” Volsky mused. “Considering the damage we have already sustained, I will take no chances with these ships. Mr. Karpov, the instant that pursuit force puts rounds within a thousand meters of this ship, use your best judgment and hurt them. Hurt them badly. We cannot have this madman in a battleship on our heels at the moment. Understood?”

“You can rely on me, sir,” said Karpov, and every man on the bridge knew it was no boast.

For the Japanese the price of Hayashi’s second hit was higher than any expected. Of the 67 planes that formed up over Hara’s carriers that morning, only seven would return to land on the forsaken decks of Zuikaku and Shokaku. For Zuiho, not a single plane would return. Sakamoto and Ema were among the survivors. Two more planes would ditch close to Iwabuchi’s pursuit force and he would send his destroyers to the scene of the attack to look for pilots. Only twelve were found still alive. The Japanese had lost sixty planes and forty-six precious pilots, a hard and stinging blow.

When Admiral Hara finally got the news from a haggard Sakamoto on the bridge of Shokaku, his face was grim and set. His carrier task force was now little more than a fast scouting unit. He still had eighteen B3N2 torpedo bombers that had been held back, yet all his D3A dive bombers were gone, save the seven that barely survived the attack.

“Hayashi had it right,” said Sakamoto, his face grim and downcast. “This is a demon from hell! Mizuchi is not half a word for what this ship did to our squadrons. I lost half my planes before we ever set eyes on the target! The range and accuracy of these rockets is astounding! It was as if they had eyes—yes, Admiral—they were not merely fired with the hope of striking us. It was a certainty! In the second wave every single rocket fired was able to find one of my planes. A sane man would have called off the attack after that first barrage, but I do not have the luxury of such sanity in the heat of battle, and with orders to strike our enemies.”

“You did all that any man could,” said Hara. “Look what Hayashi did! Two hits, and one he strikes with his own life in the bargain. Such bravery will be remembered.”

“Shall we spot the remaining planes for another strike, sir?” Sakamoto said bravely.

“No, Sakamoto. It is yours to suggest this. Honor demands it. But I will be the one sane man here today and refuse to send the last of my pilots to their doom against this ship. If what you say is true it would be foolish. We hit them with over sixty planes just now. What good will an attack with our last eighteen torpedo bombers and these seven surviving D3As do? The British have trumped us today. This new anti-aircraft rocket system you describe is truly formidable. I must immediately inform Admiral Yamamoto. If the Americans have these weapons as well, then our string of victories could reverse itself very quickly. A single ship with these weapons can render our entire naval strategy based on aircraft carriers obsolete overnight.”

“Yet our primary mission was accomplished successfully,” said Sakamoto. “We have troops at Darwin and will have that in hand soon enough.”

“Indeed, but we were to take the Fifth Carrier Division through the Torres Strait, along with Mutsu and Nagato of the bombardment group. Yamamoto will be expecting us in the Coral Sea in a few days, but what use will we be to him now?”

“The pilots, sir. We must do everything possible to rescue the pilots. Many died when those rockets came in at us, but a good number may be in the water still, and alive if we can get to them before the sharks. The Navy can always get us more planes.”

“Destroyers are racing to the scene even now,” said Hara.

Sakamoto shrugged. “How do we fight this demon if our planes cannot get through, Admiral?” He had a vacant, empty look in his eyes.

“With battleships,” said Hara, an air of finality in his tone. “Only a battleship has the armor to close with this monster and grapple with it. We will see what Iwabuchi can do. He is right on this ship’s wake, and we will detach Tone and three destroyers, and send them after this enemy ship as well. The battleships from the bombardment group will rendezvous with us soon and we will have them for more than adequate escort.”

“Sir, there were two shotai of D3As at Kendari training there. They could fly out to reinforce us, and we can also get fighters from Amboina and arm them with bombs. Rabaul will also have a couple of dive bomber squadrons they can transfer to us if need be.”

“They are not carrier trained, Sakamoto.”

“Yes sir, but we can put men in them who are trained. All they have to do is land on our carriers.”

Hara nodded. “Here we are trying to scrape up enough planes and pilots to make at least one of our carriers operational again.” He was deeply distressed. “It is even more likely that we will be recalled to Kure when they hear what has happened this morning.”

“I will apologize—”

“You will do nothing of the kind,” Hara cut in sharply. “The responsibility is mine. I will do my duty with whatever we have, and I must return Mutsu and Nagato to Combined Fleet as well. In the meantime, let us hope Lieutenant Hayashi’s bravery has slowed this demon down.” He turned to a signalman. “Get a message to Captain Iwabuchi aboard Kirishima. Tell him I am sending him another heavy cruiser. The honor now falls to him. He must find and kill this ship as soon as possible!”

He gave Sakamoto one last look, pointing. “Get those dive bombers from Kendari,” and he said nothing more.

When the message came in Captain Sanji Iwabuchi smiled for the first time in many days. He had little to be joyful about. The air strike had been a complete disaster, but ahead on the horizon he could see a column of thick black smoke, and it seemed that it was growing ever larger, ever nearer as Kirishima pressed on, her old engines straining to keep up the speed.

They had slowed down slightly, but were still making 28 knots, and he could see that the lead the enemy had managed to open in the long overnight chase was not so fat after all.

“Koshino!” he said, elated as he called for his gunnery officer.

“Sir?” Kimitake Koshino was at his side with a hasty bow.

“I trust the guns are ready.”

“Yes, sir. Everything is in order.”

“Good, because from the look of that smoke we will be up on this enemy ship in little time. Sound battle stations. Signal Captain Kiyota aboard Nachi. His cruisers are to fall off and join us as one group for this action. We will not have the destroyers, as they have been sent to look for downed pilots to return to Hara’s carriers. He is sending us Tone in their place.”

“That will be more than enough, sir.” Koshino considered the addition of Tone, with eight more 8 inch guns and more than enough speed to run this enemy down. She could easily reach 36 knots.

“Ono!” Iwabuchi called for his Executive Officer, and Ono was quickly at his side. “Study that smoke. How long before we sight that ship and get in firing range?”

“Ah, it looks like Hara’s planes have done us a real favor, sir. The ship was gradually slipping away, but our seaplanes now report it has slowed considerably. We are closing the range now. I make it no more than two hours and we should be able to engage.”

“Excellent!” said Iwabuchi. “A fine morning as well. Soon we will see what has been giving Hara’s pilots their nightmares, neh? They are calling this ship Mizuchi, the sea dragon, and from our rescue operations it is killing planes and pilots like flies. Yet we will have something more to say about it in due course. We are going to attack at high speed, all our heavy ships in line abreast, and we will not break off until this ship is sunk, is that understood?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good, then. We’ve had this Mizuchi by the tail all night. Now we will see if this ship really breathes fire as Kiyota’s claims. Soon we will be breathing fire ourselves. Where will this engagement be fought?”

Ono walked to the map table and placed a thin finger there. “About here, sir. A hundred miles west of the Torres Strait.”

Chapter 14

It was a long hour fighting the fires aft before Chief Byko reported they had the matter under control. Three more men were injured in the fight, scalded in spite of their heavy gloves and damage control aprons. They had rigged the external pumps to bring in long jets of seawater, and the fire teams bravely held a line just forward of Kirov’s second 152mm battery, and the vital ammunition magazines beneath it.

On the old Kirov, the place struck by Hayashi’s plane had once been a series of small towers where the Volna ‘Top Dome’ and the 3R95 ‘Cross Sword’ fire control radars had been installed. In the major refit that produced the new ship, these older radars had been removed, replaced with alternate systems located forward, and the small towers had been re-metaled into a squarish structure that became the aft battle bridge. It was a spitting image of the main bridge, which had been moved well above and behind the old forward bridge, high on the main mast.

The equipment destroyed in the aft citadel would remove their primary backup should any damage ever occur on the main bridge, but the ship could still function efficiently without it. The fact that the facility was completely redundant, with its own unique cabling, wire and power leads, limited the damage to the rest of the ship’s power and electronic systems.

Byko did have one concern while the fires were still being fought. The Vodopad torpedo launchers had been located directly beneath the aft citadel, just below the main deck level, where long, sleek weapons were also stored in underdeck magazines. Were it not for the second barrier of the aft citadel floor, another 200mm thick reinforced armor plate, Hayashi’s plane might have plunged right on through to those magazines and set off an even greater explosion.

By the time the fires were finally out, and Byko could get men up on the pyramid of the aft mast, the pursuing enemy had slowly made up half the long lead Kirov had built up with its small two knot speed advantage overnight. The ship was just over the horizon, her main mast perhaps not even visible to the enemy yet. Byko reported he had divers ready, but Volsky was concerned and wanted to increase speed as soon as possible. He decided to postpone the undersea hull inspection, and ordered a small increase to 25 knots.

It was either that or they would soon have a gunfight on their hands, and he was again hoping that speed could be used instead of vital missiles. The Torres Strait was just under a hundred miles east, and Fedorov advised that they would have to be cautious in those reef-infested waters where the main sea channels were very shallow. Speed now, caution later, thought Volsky. Then he relinquished command to Fedorov and went below to check on the men. After a hit like the one they had just experienced, he thought it best to see to his human assets as well. Morale was also a vital part of his ship’s fighting quality, and he wanted to take the measure of the crew and give them heart.

The infirmary was a natural first stop, and the Admiral was disheartened to see the long line of men waiting for Doctor Zolkin’s attention. They all smiled, saluting crisply when they saw him, at least those with good right arms. A few looked fairly well bruised, but their injuries were not serious. Volsky spent time with each man, walking the line and thanking them for their service, promising them better days ahead. When he finally reached the sick bay he peered inside to see Zolkin attending to a man prone on his surgery table, his face masked, intent on his work. The blood stains on his jersey were evident, and for a brief moment their eyes met, though no words were exchanged.

The Admiral moved on, heading aft until he finally neared the section where the damaged battle bridge would have been. He was a deck below the aft citadel, but the ladder up opened to clear sky now. And he could see all the way up through the open hatch into to the citadel and noted the gaping hole in the armored roof. 200 millimeters of armor, almost eight inches of hardened steel, had once seemed a safe and sturdy barrier to him, but when he saw the sharp edges of the twisted metal, blackened with fire and soot, he realized just how vulnerable the ship was to any weapon their enemies could deploy against him.

He spent some time with Byko there, asking about any possible secondary damage until he was satisfied that the ship could still function without any major system failures.

“I’m sorry to have to put you and your men to work this early,” said Volsky. “And I’m afraid it may be a long day, Byko.”

“Just my job, sir,” said Byko. “But you will have to excuse the condition of the ship aft of this point. I still have hose lays from here to the helo bays, and men with acetylene torches are still cutting metal.”

Surgery on the men, thought Volsky, and surgery on the ship. Thankfully neither the crew nor the ship had been dealt a fatal blow.

“What about those turbines, Chief? We may need more speed soon.”

“That minor leak I reported earlier is well repaired, sir. We’ve taken a few hard blows, what with those near misses and the helo explosion, not to mention the missile misfire. We’ll need some metal work aft if we can ever make a friendly port again, and a good paint job.”

Volsky smiled. “Come to the officer’s dining room tonight. I’ve a good cigar to share with you, Byko. You’ve earned it.”

The Admiral clasped him on the shoulder, and then turned to head forward again, looking for the nearest ladder down. He wanted to check with Dobrynin next, and see how the reactor was faring, and he soon found him leaning over his monitors, squinting at the dials and gauges there.

“I trust all is well here, Dobrynin?”

“Sir,” the Chief Engineer saluted. “No problems to speak of. Considering the work we’ve given them on this outing, the reactors have been fairly stable.”

“What about those odd sounds you reported earlier?”

“Those were quite strange, sir,” said Dobrynin, scratching his head. “It seemed there was a neutron flux in the core. I could almost hear it, if that makes any sense. You get to know every sound these systems can possibly make in time, and I could hear a distinctive difference.”

Volsky nodded. “Any idea what may have caused it?”

“Nothing comes to mind, sir. At first I thought the core could have been affected by radiation from those other nuclear detonations, but it’s too well shielded, sir. No. Whatever caused it was an event inside the reactor itself.”

“When was the last time you heard anything odd?”

“Well, sir…” Dobrynin seemed to be fishing for his thought. “I believed I heard something two days ago, but it was very subtle, not at all like those earlier events, and the flux readings in the core were barely disturbed. I would have reported it, but it settled down, then came and went for a while. I thought I was hearing something, then when I would listen it was gone.”

Volsky raised an eyebrow at that, thinking of how Rodenko’s radar systems had obtained contacts, then lost them before the signal finally firmed up and they knew they had shifted in time again. The reactors, he thought. Maybe it wasn’t the accident, or even the detonation of that warhead in the Atlantic. Perhaps this odd time displacement is being created by something going on in our own reactors!

“I understand you have been concerned about cooling problems?”

“Just a minor malfunction on some feed water valves. I had it corrected in a few hours, sir.”

“Have you kept regular log entries on these variations?”

“Of course, sir. And we have a digital record of the entire system performance readouts being logged in real time and stored to memory.”

“I see…” Volsky rubbed his chin, thinking. “Dobrynin…Could you have a look at that data for me? Take particular notice of anything odd, anything that might have accounted for this vibration or sound you report—this flux business. See if you can chart it out for me.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll have the men run a full readout report and we’ll go over it with a fine toothed comb.”

“Good man,” said Volsky. “And if we have to make speed soon, any potential problems you can foresee?”

“None, sir. You can go to full battle speed, that is if Byko says the turbines have no problems. I can give you all the power you need.”

“Very well, Dobrynin. Carry on.”

The Admiral would make one last call before returning to the bridge, to Martinov in the weapons bay, hoping to see if there were any old missiles still stored away in the corners of his main magazine. But what he found out in that conversation set him immediately on a heading to the bridge, a quiet anger simmering in his chest.

They watched the steady approach of the pursuing enemies using the long range weather radar to plot their position. In the first hour the hunters made up all of eight nautical miles on them, closing the range to thirty-five kilometers. Over the next hour they could clearly see the enemy ships darkening the distant horizon behind them, though the increase in speed to 25 knots only allowed them to gain three nautical miles.

Rodenko estimated the range at just under thirty kilometers, 30,000 meters, still a long shot, even for a battleship. It seemed like the enemy may not be gaining on them for a while, but thirty minutes later a lookout spotted a bright flash from the center of the pursuing silhouettes behind them, and seconds later they heard a distant rumble of thunder. Kirishima had fired her challenge, though the rounds came in very short. Karpov reached for his field glasses and peered back at the enemy ships.

“I can put them on HD video for you,” said Fedorov. “The aft Tin Man was very near that explosion, but it sustained only minor damage. A shrapnel fragment just grazed the lens cap, but it held.”

He tuned in the display, and they looked to see the clear silhouettes of three ships, one much wider abeam and with a tall pagoda main mast; two smaller, the cruisers that had tried to close with them earlier.

“I’ll say one thing for the men of this era,” said Karpov, “they are damn persistent.”

They waited some time but no further rounds were fired. Iwabuchi had merely announced his presence, as if to taunt them with the fact that they had run all night at their best speed and failed to shake him off. Karpov watched the ships, a look of disdain on his face, shaking his head.

“If I thought this might be our final battle I would sink those ships in five minutes,” he said to Fedorov.

“That’s the catch,” said Fedorov. “We have only twenty-five anti-ship missiles, and who knows how many more situations we will have ahead of us. Each time we have displaced to the past we have been marooned there for at least twelve days. This is only day three this time. I think we began shifting in and out of this timeframe three days ago, though it took a while for us to manifest here this time around.”

“So you think we may disappear again in another nine days?”

“It’s a possibility. Who can say? The Admiral made a good point in our discussion about this earlier. A rock skips only so far on the water. It must settle somewhere. Did you notice how subtle these last two shifts were? We vanished at St. Helena like a whisper in fog, then appeared here before we really perceived it. There were no odd effects like the earlier displacements, and none of that strange static or color in the sea.”

“What does this mean, Fedorov?”

“I cannot say. Only it seems to me that the energy of our movement in time is dissipating, weakening.”

“And what if there isn’t enough left to take us somewhere else in nine days. What then?”

Fedorov just looked at him. “Well, Captain, then we’ll stay right where we are, won’t we. And in that case I can assure you that this will definitely not be the last time we have to call the crew to battle stations.”

They saw another bright flash in the image on the HD display, and heard the rumble of thunder again, as if a bad storm were riding their wake. This time the rounds fell a little closer, a spread of two closely spaced water plumes falling about 2000 meters behind them.

“I may have to do something about this soon,” said Karpov.

“That was only one turret firing,” said Fedorov. “I think they are just clearing their throats, Captain. But it may be wise to prevent them from getting any closer.” He turned to the helmsman.

“Ahead thirty and five points to starboard.”

“Aye, sir. Starboard five and speed thirty.”

He looked at his navigation map on the Plexiglas. “We should reach the Torres Strait in three hours or so. That’s about 600 kilometers west of Port Moresby. They’ll have planes there, but I would not expect a strike until we are through the strait and well into the Coral Sea. We’ll have to sail well east of Daru, here,” he pointed to the belly of New Guinea, just above the tip of the Cape York Peninsula where it jutted at that great island. “Then we turn south into the Coral Sea. At that point we’ll be in range of anything they have operating out of Port Moresby.”

Nikolin seemed to perk up, fiddling with his radio set and adjusting the gain and reception. Fedorov caught his sudden energy out of the corner of his eye and turned his head.

“Something on the radio, Mister Nikolin?”

“A lot of traffic all the sudden, sir. I’m getting ship to ship, air to ground, and a lot of Morse code in the middle of it all. It sounds like something big is going on.”

Fedorov frowned, looking at Karpov. “Most likely the other half of the operation we’ve stumbled upon here,” he said glumly.

“This one isn’t in any of your history books?”

“I’m afraid not, Captain. But I can make some fairly good guesses about what is going on. This operation against Darwin is nothing more than a side show. The main event is further east, and if the Japanese are trying to isolate Australia, as I think they are, then they are aiming for one or two places of strategic importance: the lower Solomons, Espiritu Santo on Vanuatu, or New Caledonia. To attack any of those locations they will need a lot of aircraft carriers in the Coral Sea, probably two divisions, at least four fleet carriers if they have them, and I’m inclined to believe that they do if they were able to assign two fleet carriers and a light escort carrier to the Darwin operation. They know we are here, but it’s a very big ocean out there. It would be my guess that Yamamoto is leading the main attack, and that his Kido Butai is already in the Eastern Coral Sea, perhaps about here.” He fingered a location on the map roughly equidistant from the northern tip of New Caledonia and Vanatu Island.

“Frankly, I would take Espiritu Santo first, and build an airstrip that can work in tandem with the field on Guadalcanal. From there the Japanese could strike at either Noumea on New Caledonia or Fiji by using land based aircraft.”

“And the Americans?”

“That’s the real unknown for the moment. We don’t really know whether they got hit at Pearl Harbor, and we don’t know how things have gone since. It’s obvious they lost the Battle of the Coral Sea, as the Japanese have Port Moresby. You killed Wasp in the Atlantic, so that will leave them Enterprise, Lexington, Yorktown, Saratoga, and Hornet. They may have lost one or more of these by this point in the war, but we do not know. Their intelligence was fairly good. They had broken the Japanese naval code before Midway was supposed to have been fought in May of this year. It could be that they are well aware of the Japanese plan and preparing to make a counter thrust of their own.”

“So what may lie east if we keep sailing this direction?”

“Perhaps one of the largest air/sea battles in history,” said Fedorov, his eyes alight. “There will be at least four fleet carriers on the Japanese side, and three or four on the American side, each with over seventy planes, and we would be presumed hostile by either side if we get mixed up in it. If the Midway battle wasn’t fought earlier, then it will be fought here, now, in the Coral Sea, and the outcome will decide the war in the Pacific theater for years to come.”

“I see,” said Karpov, a gleam in his eye as well. “Our missile inventory is wearing thin, but I must remind you that we still have weapons aboard this ship that can also prove decisive. We have the power to decide the outcome of this campaign as well, Fedorov. Don’t forget that.”

Fedorov said nothing more.

Chapter 15

“Admiral on the bridge!”

The first watch called out the return of Admiral Volsky, and the men saw him make a perfunctory salute as he strode quietly towards the aft briefing room. “Mister Karpov,” he said curtly.

Karpov turned and saw it was clear that Volsky wanted to speak with him in private. His heart leapt, and he immediately knew what this must be about, but he steeled himself, and followed the Admiral to the briefing room. Volsky shut the hatch, folding his arms.

“Do you recall a conversation we had in the sick bay some weeks ago when I gave you a direct order that none of the nuclear warheads were to be mounted on missiles?”

“You’ve spoken with Martinov,” said Karpov.

“I have.”

“Sir, it must have been obvious to you that I countermanded that order when I fired that MOS-III.”

“Disobeyed that order, Karpov. Don’t mince words here.”

“Very well, I will not argue the point, and yes, I ordered Martinov to mount two warheads, one on the MOS-III and one on a P-900 cruise missile. I think I have given you reason enough as to why I did this. I do not say I am correct to have disregarded your order, but there it is.”

“Damn right,” said Volsky, clearly upset. “Yes, I was well aware of this transgression, at least insofar as the MOS-III was concerned, but so were you, Karpov. And all these weeks the second warhead has been sitting on missile number 10 in the P-900 bays, and you said nothing!”

Karpov breathed deeply, his chin raising, then clenched his jaw, silent for a time. He looked down. “It would be just like me to say I assumed that you discovered the warhead earlier, and had it removed,” he began in a low voice. “But that would be a bowl of lozh, just another lie from the man I was back then, and it would seem so right to me to serve it up to you. I would have seasoned it with reasons and arguments and justifications. But I will not lie to you now, Admiral. I remembered what I had done when we began using the P-900 missiles in the Med. I wondered if the warhead was still there, but did nothing more about it. It’s been in the back of my mind, and I must say that I haven’t given up the thought of what we might do with it. I was just hinting about it with Fedorov. He seems to think we could run afoul of a large air/sea battle in the Coral Sea, with many more ships and planes to contend with than we have missiles for. I’m sorry, sir. I should have brought the matter up with you.”

Volsky looked at him for some time, then he nodded. “Very well… I am going to tell you I did not have that warhead removed, as insane as that now sounds. It’s still there, Captain, on the number ten missile, so have a care if we have to use cruise missiles again. The system has been reset to require two keys before it is used, however. I have one around my neck, and Fedorov has the other.”

“As it should be, sir.”

“Yes, as it should be, the commanding officer and his Starpom make any decision as to the deployment of tactical nuclear weapons. But we are in a combat zone now, and the hole in the roof of the aft battle bridge has made that painfully apparent, not to mention the line of men waiting for Doctor Zolkin. I have already suffered combat injuries myself, and spent a good deal of time with Zolkin in the sick bay. So it has occurred to me that it is entirely possible that we may be hit again before we find safe waters, and also possible that key officers might die. You understand?”

“I do, sir.”

“In that event the normal protocols of rank will still apply. Should I be killed in action, Fedorov will immediately advance from Starpom to Captain of the ship, and you will immediately advance to Starpom as his Executive Officer. In fact, those are your presumed ranks whenever I am not on the bridge. The two of you performed ably in the Med, your cooperation was exemplary. You asked me to give you a chance and I did so. I will not say that I have been in any way disappointed with your performance, but I wonder, Karpov…Is there any remnant of that old man still alive in you?” He gave his Captain a searching look.

Karpov met his gaze, unflinching. “A man may never purge himself entirely of his bad habits and faults, Admiral, or fully atone for his sins. But if he is a man, he can control himself and do what is right. This you have taught me well enough.”

“No, Karpov,” Volsky poked a fat finger on the other man’s shoulder. “That you learned on your own.” He smiled, obvious absolution in his eyes now.

“I tell you this because it may happen, by one circumstance or another, that you find a missile key around your neck again one day. Then you will have to decide what you have learned or failed to learn, particularly if I am no longer here to weigh in on the matter with this substantial belly of mine.”

Karpov smiled, relieved by the tack the Admiral had taken. What could have been another bitter argument, a scolding, retribution and the revisiting of that dark old stench of shame, had instead become something more akin to a discussion a father might have with a son, and one he had every hope for. Karpov appreciated Volsky more than ever now, and realized why he was so loved by the men.

“I would hope to find the courage to be half the man you are, sir, if I ever do find that key around my neck again.”

“Yes…” said Volsky. “If God dies, then we see how the angels fare. In some sense that is true for all of us now in this God forsaken world.” And he said nothing more. The distant rumble of thunder told them that they were being fired on again. Volsky opened the hatch, and the two men stepped out onto the bridge in time to see four tall geysers rise from the sea, directly abreast of the ship, though a thousand meters off their port side.

“Port fifteen,” said Fedorov turning the ship towards the enemy rounds. He looked over his shoulder at Karpov and Volsky. “I believe they have finally found the range, Admiral.”

Volsky nodded. “It is time we do something about it then,” and he looked at one of his archangels, Michael with his gleaming sword. “Mister Karpov…”

Captain Iwabuchi saw the first missile easily enough. He had been watching through his field glasses, eying the tall silhouette of the enemy ship ahead, still far away, but a real and tangible thing now, not the stuff of legends and lore. Mizuchi was a battleship, of that much he was certain. And as powerful as they were, any ship might die. He had every mind to kill this one, and avenge the loss of Haguro, not to mention Hara’s planes and pilots.

His pursuit squadron had closed to about 28,000 yards, still a long shot for his guns, but within their effective range. Nachi was 500 meters off his starboard side, and Myoko an equal distance off his port side, the three ships in line abreast, now charging at Kirishima’s top speed. He had assembled his war demons on the bridge with him: gunnery officer Koshino, and secondary battery commander Ikeda. Supply officer Kobayashi was on the battle bridge, marking off rounds fired. Flood control officer Kyshichi Yoshino was also standing by the voice tubes in the event the ship took any serious hit requiring his attention. His Executive Officer, Koro Ono, was standing by the helmsman, ready to maneuver the ship.

Then they saw the first rocket, and Iwabuchi finally knew what Captain Kiyota aboard Nachi had been talking about. He had called it Raiju, the thunder beast that falls from the sky, the lightning wolf that haunted children’s dreams back in the homeland on stormy nights. A good name for it, he thought, what speed!

Then the missile came at his ship like an arrow, his eyes widening as it roared in to strike his forward turret dead on, exploding in a massive brilliant orange and black fireball. The ship rocked with the blow, metal shrapnel flaying the tall pagoda superstructure, and shattering one window on the bridge. It was as if the gods had hurled metal brimstone at his ship, and when the main explosion finally cleared he could see that the forward turret had been jarred half off its barbette, one gun canted upward by the concussion. The turret itself had a large blackened indentation there by the twisted gun barrel, the place where the hard tip of the warhead must have struck.

Now fires fed by excess jet fuel broke out on the forward deck all around the turret, and he knew the heat there must have killed every man inside. One shot, one hit, but with what? This was no anti-aircraft rocket! This was a demon from the blackest of all hells set loose on him. Raiju was not word enough for it. His face reddened, anger surging.

“Return fire!” he yelled, watching the guns of the number two turret train and then belch their own fire and brimstone at the distant enemy ship, their concussion helping to snuff out fires on the forward deck, so great was the blast wave of the guns.

Spotters on the high main mast of the pagoda watched the rounds hit, slightly long, their blue dyed waterspouts churning into the sea about 500 meters off the port side of the enemy ship. It seemed a feeble response given the impact and shock they had just sustained. Lookouts were already shouting orders through voice tubes to the fire control men below, and the turret was re-training to correct even as the heavy shells were being hoisted and shoved into the breech, followed by four powder bags required for the range.

Then Iwabuchi saw the dark shadow of the enemy ship wink at him, almost like signal lamps, one, two, three. Seconds later he heard the whine of incoming shells, amazed to see two rounds fall not twenty meters off his port side. Then the main pagoda mast was struck hard by one, then a second explosion, more windows shattering on the bridge. The last two rounds were near misses to starboard.

“Those were small caliber rounds!” shouted Ikeda, surprised at their range and accuracy. He had not expected that his own secondary batteries would come into play in the engagement until they closed well inside 18,000 meters, but it did not seem as though they were gaining on the ship any longer. In fact, when Kirishima’s main battery fired again, the spotters clearly called the rounds short. The enemy ship was again slipping away.

Wink, wink, wink. More rounds were loping into the sea, this time one hitting the main mast above the bridge and taking down a watch station, and another striking well below, where it started a small fire. A third round hit close off the port side scudding against the main belt where it did little harm to the thick eleven inch armor there.

The Captain was enraged. It was as if the other ship had stepped up and delivered a hard fist to his nose with that first blow, and now followed it with the insult of these lighter slaps in the face. He considered ordering his cruisers to go to full speed and close the range on this beast, but realized they would only be peppered by these long range secondary batteries for at least an hour while they struggled to get in close, just as Captain Kiyota had reported. The accuracy of the enemy’s weapons was uncanny! Every round they fired had been pointedly targeted at his own ship, a certain message that they knew where the real threat in his task force was.

Frustrated and angry, he clenched his fist, ordering his last forward battery to fire again. It was more for honor’s sake than anything else. The rounds were falling short again. This Mizuchi was slowly pulling away. It had lingered to see if he would dare engage, and delivered one hard blow to test the mettle of its pursuers. Iwabuchi reluctantly gave the order to cease fire.

“Twenty-eight knots,” he said darkly, listening to his old engines straining. How much longer could they keep the boilers fired up like this and run at high speed? The heavy cruiser Tone was rushing to join him, and he would soon have three fast cruisers again. Tone could make 36 knots and she also had six seaplanes for scouting and shadowing. He knew that the enemy would not be able to slip away, not today.

What ship was this? Certainly not the Renown as he first thought. There had been no fire from any large caliber gun, only these jabbing pricks by what seemed no more than a six inch round. But that rocket weapon was truly fearsome. This ship had real power, he knew. He could not catch this beast, but by all gods and kami he would not give up the chase. He would follow in the wake of this demon if it took every last drop of fuel, and if he ever did close the range he would kill it quickly and mercilessly…or he would kill himself trying.

“That got their attention,” said Fedorov. “I think they are falling off in speed a bit.”

“Confirmed,” said Rodenko. “I would estimate the battleship is now at 28 knots.” Kirov had gone to full battle speed earlier, and now had a four knot advantage on the enemy.

“Any sign those cruisers are getting curious?”

“No, sir. They are matching the speed of the battleship at the moment. But my readings aft are not precise. I’ve been using targeting radars of secondary systems, and I also painted the ship with a laser.”

“Looks like they put the fire out quickly enough,” said Fedorov, “but the last few salvos were only from one turret. We may have knocked that forward turret out, at least for the time being. This ship has four twin turrets, so half its firepower is out of the battle as long as they have to pursue us like this. It doesn’t seem like they’re giving up the chase either. The man may have a real bone to pick, Captain. I think we are safely out of range now, and I suggest we cease fire.”

“Very well,” said Karpov. “Secure the 152mm gun systems, Samsonov. I won’t waste any more missiles on this ship for the moment either. The cupboard is starting to look rather empty.”

“We’ll run full out for the Torres Strait, but when we get there we’ll have to slow down considerably to navigate those shoals and reefs properly. We may be in action again sooner than you think.”

It was more than an obvious conclusion, for the unknown history ahead was to send many more surprises their way before night would fall.