Sea of Fire

Chapter 7

“A moment ago you stated you could speak only with Admiral Yamamoto,” said Ugaki. “Yet I am his Chief of Staff, and he has asked me to attend this meeting. If that is not acceptable to you, then we will graciously grant your wish to visit your ancestors.” He looked at Fukada, his eyes cold.

That is exactly what we are already doing, he thought, visiting our ancestors, but he said nothing, looking at Captain Harada.

“Under the circumstances,” said Harada, knowing he had to diffuse the obvious tension between the two men, “it was I who ordered Lieutenant Commander Fukada that our information should be revealed only to the Admiral, and to speak as he did to you earlier. I can see now that was a regrettable error, and I ask your pardon, Admiral Ugaki.” He offered a suitable head bow, which Ugaki returned, his pride assuaged for the moment.

“Good,” said Yamamoto. “Now that no one is going to slit their belly, I have decided to keep your heads on your shoulders for the time being as well. So let us get down to the matter at hand. That was a most interesting demonstration. I must tell you that rumors concerning these naval rockets have been buzzing about the fleet like bothersome flies. And now I see the reality with my own eyes. Alright. Explain. Where did you get these weapons? Were you sent here by our government?”

In a way, Captain Harada was grateful the Admiral had asked him more than one question. That way he could answer the easiest one and overlook the others.

“These weapons were delivered by the Japanese government, but Takami is unlike any other ship in your fleet. In fact, no one in the navy, not even here at the very highest level of command, knows of the existence of this ship, which is why we were most concerned about secrecy. As you have seen, these are very capable weapons, most deadly. They can do everything we have already told you, and at the ranges Lieutenant Commander Fukada mentioned earlier.”

There, everything he had just said was true. He had just not made it clear which Japanese government delivered the weapons, or said anything about his being a man from another time.

“A secret project,” said Yamamoto, “and one I knew nothing about? I suppose it would not be the first time information has been withheld from me. Yet someone had to issue orders, secure resources, for a ship of this size to be built. Frankly, that it could even exist without my knowledge is most troubling. Is there a shipyard hidden away somewhere that has been kept secret all these years? Who was behind the development of these weapons, the Army? Is that why they were withheld from Navy circles?”

Again, which question to answer? The Captain thought carefully. He was edging into waters here that he had once thought would not carry them where they wanted to go. He was making it seem as though they were men of this era, and his ship was a secret prototype—a lie that was like a beautiful woman’s body. It might hide for a time behind the satin folds of her kimono, but one day a determined man would lay her bare.

Fukada had suggested that only the real truth would give them the power they needed to really have some pull in this world. He had also argued the very same thing that was worrying Harada about his initial and carefully worded responses here—that the truth would eventually come out, and deception would only sow seeds of ill will and resentment. Yet Harada felt that beginnings were very delicate matters, and that if he could wade in slowly, reveal things over time, it might be a better course.

“The Army knows nothing of this either sir,” the Captain said at last. “No, this was not a development having anything to do with inter-service rivalry. Takami was commissioned into the Japanese Navy, but at a time and place unknown to you. The officers and crew aboard were all specially selected and trained.” Again, this was all true.

Yamamoto thought for a moment. This very ship, the Yamato, had been built under the highest level of secrecy. The shipyards and slipways were well screened from outside eyes; the workforce isolated and forced to live within a carefully watched construction zone. In spite of that, Yamamoto could not believe the ships were unknown to their enemies, even when they were under construction. It was simply impossible to hide a ship of such size and imposing power. And yet this Takami was something else entirely, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. It had but one small deck gun, and a launch deck for that interesting aircraft, also a nice little secret that astounded him when he saw the craft up close. Yet otherwise, that ship looked quite harmless, almost like a fleet tender or auxiliary. Something like that could have been easily built in secrecy, right under the noses of navy brass, who would scarcely give it a second thought.

“Then these weapons are prototypes? Is that why you were sent here to make this demonstration?”

“Sir, the weapons are well beyond prototypes. They are fully functional, and not merely test models.”

Yamamoto raised an eyebrow at that. He had been appointed head of technical development in Naval Aeronautics late in 1935, and the thought that a project such as this should have escaped his notice was most disturbing. He had always been a strong proponent of air power, and even openly voiced opposition to the building of ships like Yamato, even before the efficacy and effectiveness of Naval air power had been proven. He had been behind the development of Japan’s cutting edge Naval Aviation arm, and also planes like the Type 96 land based long range bomber, seeing in that range a powerful means of striking their principle enemy, the American Navy. Now, this very hour, he had witnessed the unveiling of a weapon that could render that air power absolutely useless.

“Why am I being informed now?”

“Because we believed that the existence of Takami would inevitably become known to you, in spite of every effort to maintain secrecy. You were the one man in the fleet we believed in, and one we thought would well consider what we will now propose.”

“When you say ‘we,’ who do you refer to?” asked Ugaki, still suspicious. “Some group within the government?”

Both Yamamoto and Ugaki knew there were many such factions within the government and in both services as well. There were those that favored one strategy or political alignment over another, and they often worked at cross purposes, battling each other for ascendancy.

“It would be wise for me to say that this comes from an authority that would best remain undisclosed.”

“What? More obfuscation?” Ugaki did not look happy with that.

“Respectfully, this course is best for the moment. Yet you have not heard our proposal.”

“Very well,” said Yamamoto. “I remain very uncomfortable with splinter groups operating in secrecy outside the normal channels of government. It was that sort of mentality that led to the unfortunate incident of February 26th. That said, I will at least hear what you have to say, as it is clear that this little incident has been very carefully arranged.”

“Sir,” Harada began, “the weapon we just demonstrated is very powerful. In sufficient numbers, it can be decisive. That ship, Takami, is at this moment capable of standing off and receiving an attack by three enemy carriers, alone, and completely defeating it, shooting down any plane that comes within range of our missiles. Beyond that, we have other weapons that can also be used against those same carriers, striking them at ranges well over the horizon, and either sinking them, or destroying their capacity to function as a viable ship in further combat.”

As he listened to this, Yamamoto recalled the meeting in Tokyo he had with Admiral Nagumo, when he reported on the incident in the North Pacific that had resulted in the loss of Hiryu. He could hear his own voice as he briefed Nagumo… “I trust you have also read the intelligence reports. We believe this is the same ship that has confounded the Germans in the Atlantic—the one that also sank their aircraft carrier. It has a rocket weapon of great range and accuracy.”

“I have seen it with my own eyes,” said Nagumo, “but I would not have believed it possible had that not been the case. Reading reports and listening to rumors is one thing, watching that weapon strike our ships quite another. I can understand why the lower ranks now whisper of Raiju and Mizuchi. The weapon is deadly, and terribly accurate. It must be piloted to strike us with such unfailing accuracy, and its speed was beyond belief. The gunners could not even take aim before it danced away, with maneuvers that would be impossible for any plane we have. Akagi was lucky that none of her planes were armed and fueled when the first attack came in. Hiryu was not so fortunate.”

And now I have also seen such a weapon with my own eyes, thought Yamamoto. We have suspected the Soviets had such weapons, and gave them to the Siberians, yet we never fully appreciated the danger. Hiryu, Mutsu and Chikuma were the result, and so this is an error I cannot make again.

“Go on,” he said, waiting quietly.

“Admiral sir, we have other capabilities that can prove decisive in any engagement, even if we were never to fire a single rocket. Lieutenant Commander Fukada spoke earlier of our new advanced radar. The range and accuracy of those systems are beyond anything you might expect, or even believe, but I can show you how this works at sea. We can stand off and use that aircraft, which we call a helicopter, to easily detect another enemy fleet. Beyond that, the equipment we have to listen for enemy submarines is so sensitive that it could hear that enemy fleet hundreds of miles away. We call this situational awareness. One cannot strike an enemy he does not know is there, but with our ship, no Japanese fleet could be approached or attacked without our knowledge of the enemy’s presence. And sir, what can be seen first at sea, can be attacked and destroyed first. This is a tenet of warfare that you will certainly appreciate.”

“I see… Then what is it you propose?”

“First off, I would like to invite you, and also Admiral Ugaki here, to come aboard Takami, and see the equipment I am speaking of first hand—all of it, the advanced radars, undersea listening systems, and the naval rockets. I would like to go to sea with you, and if necessary, demonstrate that everything I am saying here is true, and nothing has been exaggerated. Then, after you have had time to fully appreciate what this ship is, and what it can do, I would like to discuss how it might be used to bring this war to a speedy conclusion. For I believe that your own assessment of the situation, while it may seem very optimistic now, will soon bow to the reality that Japan is now facing a most dangerous and determined enemy. Without Takami, and the secrets beneath its deck, this war will likely look quite different a year from now. In the interest of our nation—its very survival as you now know it—I beg you to consider this proposal, which I will clarify further after you have both inspected my ship.”

Yamato smiled. He could sense a real determination in this man, and his confederate. A moment ago he was threatening their execution as spies, and now here they sit inviting me to tea on this unexpected addition to our fleet, and making proposals to end the war! My, how they wake from death and return to life.

On the one hand, I detested these hidden factions and their conniving political maneuvers… unless… Yes, unless they advocate a point of view that I myself believe beneficial to the nation. These men certainly present themselves as patriots. They do not seem at all like the cloak and dagger types, in spite of the evasive way in which they answered some of our questions. There is more to this situation than meets the eye here—much more. There is a shipload of answers sitting out there in the bay, and so, if proper security can be arranged, I am inclined to agree to this proposal. Ugaki will worry about the security, but they walked boldly into my tiger’s den here, and so I can do the same.

“Very well,” he said firmly. “I accept your invitation, Captain Harada.”

“But sir,” said Ugaki, as Yamamoto expected he would. “Meaning no offense to these officers here, but if you are to board that ship, then a strong contingent of Naval Marines must accompany you. While these men seem accommodating, I do not have to remind you that they appear here under very unusual circumstances, and there has been more than one threat to your life.”

“Of course,” said Yamamoto. “Does the Captain have any objection to this?”

“Only one sir… The matter of secrecy. The fewer eyes, the fewer mouths to speak of what they have seen. You are both men of character and indisputable judgment. Your discretion in this matter could never be doubted. Yet a contingent of Naval Marines?”

“Yes, like those that accompanied you to Yamato,” said Ugaki, his tone hardening again.

“Gentlemen,” said Yamamoto. “I have long ago ceased to concern myself with my personal fate in regards to these foolish death threats. Karma is karma, and life is very short. But to satisfy the concerns of Admiral Ugaki, the forward turret of this battleship will be loaded and trained on your ship. I will board with Admiral Ugaki, however, should I fail to return within an allotted period of time….”

“I understand,” said Captain Harada. “Sir, as these are most unusual circumstances, as Admiral Ugaki correctly points out, I accept. Damage to our ship would be a tragedy, given its power to influence events here. Yet it will not be your guns that will keep you secure, but my word. I will personally guarantee the safety and security of your lives, swearing now on my honor and that of all my ancestors.”

“Then let us hope they rest peacefully,” said Ugaki.

The bargain was struck. Captain Harada could hardly believe they had been able to pull it off, but curiosity is one of the most powerful lures in history, and he knew that both these Admirals were now very eager to get answers to the unanswered questions in their minds. Yet when they do get them, he thought, will the shock be too much for them to believe? Right now we are no more than an unknown entity, a secret project with a very interesting bag of tricks. But what happens when these men see the touch screen radar and control sets on the bridge? When they see the video of themselves on that weather deck as captured by our helo operator, what then? A missile was one thing; our technology is quite another. HD video alone would be astounding to any man of this era.

One thing at a time. Now we move to phase two of our little plan. The crew will all be waiting in dress whites, and we’ll make a fine show of this visit. Then, after the magic, it’s the formal dinner in the officer’s mess, and the one conversation that might end this war before it goes any further.

It was as good a plan as they could have conceived, one that allowed them fidelity to their own nation and people, while also trying to mend fences and bring about peace with nations that would become firm allies in the decades ahead. But they would not be the only ones to make revelations during this visit, and things they would hear were going to set their course into dangerous waters, sooner than anyone thought.

Chapter 8

When Yamamoto saw the interior of DDG-180, he was dumbstruck. He had been piped aboard with all due ceremony, saluting the lines of officers and crewmen in starched white uniforms. With a good memory for faces, he found himself looking over the lines, thinking he would see men there he might have known, but they were as fresh and new as the ship itself. They were ushered inside a nearby hatch, and made their way down the corridors and up ladders to the heart of the main conning section. Yet it was not men with binoculars on high towers that kept the watch here, but the unseen eyes of high speed solid state digital electronics.

Takami was unlike any ship he had ever set foot on. The Combat Information Center was astonishing. There, in the velvety blue semi-darkness, officers sat in a long row before an array of lighted panels displaying colorful maps, with phosphorescent green radar fans tracking contacts all through the region. The Admiral clearly recognized the outline of the bay where they were anchored, realizing that these must be the advanced radars. Captain Harada even pointed out a contact on one screen, saying that was the battleship Yamato.

The Admiral stared in awe, watching the things the men were doing with what looked to be flat typewriters sitting before them. Yet he could not take his eyes from the colorful screens, seeing the men simply touch them with a fingertip to change the information being displayed. He had absolutely no reference point for them, and could not even begin to imagine what they were, and how they worked. His eyes strayed to Admiral Ugaki, seeing the perplexed look on the man’s face. They were seeing things that they simply could not understand, and the longer they were there, the disquiet that fell on them deepened.

Captain Harada perceived their mood, and gestured to a table and chairs that had been cleared for just this visit. “Admiral,” he said. “This is the room that receives signals sent from our radar equipment. It is displayed on these screens, analyzed, and tracked. If this ship were in combat, each and every enemy aircraft or ship would be shown on these screens, and to strike one, my officers need to simply touch the contact with a fingertip, or use another pointing device. That command would then launch a missile like the one we demonstrated, and it will unerringly find, track, and kill the designated target. This ship is capable of tracking and engaging, scores of contacts at any given time. In effect, we could easily destroy the entire air wing of an aircraft carrier, and well before the pilots of those planes could ever come into visual contact with us.”

Yamamoto sat in silence for a moment, then turned and simply asked one question. “Captain, where was this ship built?”

Harada looked at Fukada, who sat dutifully at his side, realizing this was a first moment of truth. “At the Mitsubishi Heavy Industries Naval Plant, Nagasaki.”

“Nagasaki shipyard? I know that facility well. Musashi was built there, but this ship… all these flashing lights, those strange displays you speak of—they could never have been built at that plant.”

“No sir,” said Harada, looking the Admiral directly in the eye. “Not today. Not in the 1940s. The equipment and technology that you see here all around you is something that no industry in Japan could design or build today. The rockets we possess, with their advance capabilities, are also beyond the understanding of your engineers.”

“But the Russians have these things,” said Yamamoto. “They have given them to the Siberians, or so we have come to believe. They have even used these naval rockets against us in battle, which is why I gave you such wide latitude here when I saw that rocket fired from your ship. The men who died on the carrier Hiryu also bore witness to the power of these new weapons, as did Admiral Nagumo when the Kido Butai was attacked on its return leg from Pearl Harbor. We know the Russians have an advanced ship with these weapons, because it has bedeviled the Germans and Italians for months in the west. Now it is here, and then you come on the scene, in a ship no one has ever heard of. Was this advanced equipment, this ship, all obtained from the Russians?”

“No sir, the ship was engineered and built in Japan, as I have said. But if I may ask… You say a Russian ship attacked the Kido Butai?”

“That information is classified,” said Ugaki, casting a furtive glance at Yamamoto.

“Under the circumstances,” said the Admiral, “I believe we can safely divulge this to the Captain. Yes, our carriers, and aircraft, were hunted by these naval rockets, just as you described a moment ago. Hiryu was lost, and both Kaga and Akagi damaged before Nagumo was able to break off and evade further contact—though he reports we never saw the ship that fired these weapons.”

Harada looked at his First Officer, both men finding this story hard to swallow. Yet here they were, about to feed Yamamoto a lump of concrete truth that would sit in his gut from this moment on. Everything was topsy-turvy in this world now. Krakatoa had apparently erupted here just days ago, when that had clearly not happened in 1942. And now here was the Commanding Officer of the Combined Fleet telling him that a Russian ship had sunk the carrier Hiryu.

“Our carriers were struck by rockets?”

“Correct,” said Yamamoto. “So it is clear that our enemies have these weapons as well. To find we now have them is a great relief, yet I for one cannot imagine how this ship could ever have been built in the shipyards of Nagasaki, or anywhere else in Japan.”

“You say it was built there,” said Admiral Ugaki, “and then in the next breath you contradict yourself and tell us this technology is beyond our capability to engineer. Which is it? Why do I have the unsettling feeling that you are hiding the real truth concerning this ship? Yes, every man aboard here is clearly Japanese, but it has occurred to me that this ship could have also been built by the Russians, and that you and your entire crew could be infiltrators, intending only to come boldly into the tiger’s den like this, and with a motive or mission we have yet to discover.”

“Sir,” said Harada, “I do not think the Russians of this day would possess anything remotely like the technology and weapons we have shown you. Yes, the Russians are beginning to develop missile technology, but it could in no way compare with ours.”

“I beg to differ,” said Yamamoto. “Admiral Nagumo claimed that our planes were struck by rockets, just as you demonstrated. And only a few days ago, there was another engagement off Kamchatka in the Sea of Okhotsk. There we had two ships also struck by these naval rockets, and both so badly damaged that they will not be useful again for years, if ever.”

Again Harada looked quickly at Fukada, and the two men were now concerned. They knew that no Russian ship of this era would possess that kind of missile technology. Then Harada thought about that damn volcano, the impossible fact of his very own presence here, speaking with Isoroku Yamamoto. Earlier he had wondered about the disappearance of the Russian battlecruiser when the Demon Volcano erupted. They had all thought the Russians were lost at sea in that event, but now the possibility that they might have experienced the same fate as Takami bloomed darkly in the Captain’s mind. The Russians…. A ship with advanced missiles shooting down planes and sinking Japanese ships…. He needed more information.

“What makes you think it was a Russian ship that attacked your carriers?”

“Because we were forewarned,” said Yamamoto. “The Siberians made impossible demands of us, and when they were ignored, Siberia declared war the moment we struck the Americans at Pearl Harbor. This Vladimir Karpov is quite headstrong, quite brash, but he has apparently made good on his threats with the unexpected attack on our garrisons in Kazantochi.”

“Where did you say you were attacked?”

“Kazantochi. The Siberians once called it Kamchatka, and apparently that will be its name again now, until we take it back, as we certainly will. This is also highly classified, and no one in the homeland knows a word of it, but we have lost that entire peninsula to the Siberians, and nearly lost Mutsu and Chikuma trying to stop their surprise invasion. That was my fault. We should have heeded the warnings and been more vigilant. Soon we will move with much stronger forces and settle the matter. If the Siberians do have a ship in the north, then they most likely got it from the Russians. Their use of naval rockets in the Atlantic has now been well documented.”

That was all a lot to take in, and Yamamoto ended up stealing their thunder for a while as they considered it. At this point, neither Harada nor Fukada had any knowledge of how badly fractured the history was by 1942. They had no idea that the Soviet Union was divided, no knowledge of the Orenburg Federation, no idea that Japan had been sitting on Siberian soil for decades, and now controlled Vladivostok. Yet one thing Yamamoto had said struck Harada, and he asked about it.

“That Russian you mentioned a moment ago—what was his name again?”

“Vladimir Karpov, and he is Siberian, the head of the Free Siberian State in fact.”

Harada looked at Fukada, a question evident on his face. “Pinch me again,” he said under his breath, “but wasn’t that the name of the Russian Captain who tangled with the American 7th Fleet?”

“Yes sir—Karpov. I can show you the SITREP we received on that engagement before the Russian flotilla went missing.”

“Very interesting….” Harada needed to think, needed time to digest this, but he could see that Ugaki was watching them closely, a look of suspicion and impatience on his face. At that moment, a junior officer came up, saluting, and leaned in to say something to the Captain.

“How far out?” said Harada.

“Sir, we have them inbound at 180 kilometers, and about 35 minutes out at their present speed.”

“Very well, come to air alert one, and sound action stations.”

Out of the blue, he thought. This whole insane scenario is exactly that. Now what in God’s name is out there?

“Admiral, would there be any friendly aircraft inbound to Davao at the present time? I have just been informed of an airborne contact approaching from the south.”

“From the South?” Yamamoto looked at his Chief of Staff.

“We have a squadron at Ambon,” said Ugaki, “but it has only just arrived and has been awaiting delivery of aviation fuel.”

The alarm sounded and new screens lit up all around them, with the radar plot and contacts clearly indicated on the map. Fukada pointed to one screen close enough for the Admirals to see, and noted the projected course line indicating the heading of the inbound contacts.

“They must be American bombers flying from Darwin,” said Ugaki. “They struck here last week as well, which is why I advised against this meeting here. If Imamura wanted to speak with you, he should have come to Rabaul. Perhaps the Americans learned of our presence here—of Yamato’s arrival, which may have been reported by enemy coast watchers still operating from these islands. This was risky, and now we see the cost.”

“Everything we do in this war will entail risk,” said Yamamoto quietly. “But if this Captain makes good on his boast, we should be in no danger. Yes?” He looked at Captain Harada, who realized that the challenge had been thrown to him now, and with each minute those contacts were drawing ever nearer.

“Sir, please excuse me and First Officer Fukada for a moment while we attempt to confirm this contact information.” He waved Fukada to his side and the two men stood off, conversing quietly.

“Unexpected visitors,” said Fukada. “Looks like we’ll have to get serious in taking a side here sooner than we thought. If those are American bombers, then you can’t let them get through.”

“Yes, but we haven’t confirmed that. What if they are Japanese planes?”

“You’ve already heard Ugaki on that, and if they are American bombers, they would probably be B-17s. I did some reading and found they had a squadron based at Del Monte Airfield here on Mindanao with B-17s. They evacuated to Batchelor Field near Darwin, and began bombing Japanese shipping near Davao, sometimes even landing there at Del Monte until we finally took that field.”

Harada had a pained expression on his face, and Fukada gave him a long look. “What’s the matter?”

“We’re about to cross a real bridge here if we engage.”

“What else can you do Captain? If you let those planes come in, and we just sit here and do nothing, then we’ll look weak, and everything we’ve said to these men will go out the window. It’s a matter of face. Beyond that, if one of those planes gets lucky….”

Harada nodded, taking a long breath. “Very well,” he said. The decision was his, and that was why the Captain’s stripes were on his uniform. This was what he got paid for, but the thought that he was now going to use American made radars and missiles to shoot down American bombers was still unsettling. He realized that if he engaged, the course they were on would pull them inexorably into this war as an active combatant on the side of Japan. There were still so many unanswered questions here….

“Karpov,” he said quickly, on eye on the contact radar track. “Could that be the Russian Captain?”

“It might be a coincidence,” said Fukada. “But what was all that about the Free Siberian State? That’s the same stuff Ensign Shiota has been hearing on the radio broadcast intercepts. She even monitored news out of Japan, and the Admiral was correct in what he said. As far as the homeland is concerned, they’re getting a much different story than the one we just heard, but there has been news about open hostilities between Siberia and Japan. I couldn’t make any sense of it, but then again, nothing that has happened in the last week has made any sense.”

“Hiryu sunk….” Harada’s eyes darkened. “And by naval rocket attack. We know damn well the Russians of this era would have nothing in 1942 that could do that. Did you catch what Yamamoto said? He claimed there was a Russian ship in the Atlantic too, with confirmed use of rocket tech. What is this all about?”

“I haven’t any idea,” said Fukada.

“What if it’s that damn Russian battlecruiser?”

“You mean Kirov?”

“Yes, the same ship commanded by this Captain Karpov. I heard he was running his mouth for a good long while before they came to blows with the Americans. The word was that he and the American Captain Tanner had a little chat before the missiles went hot. Then that volcano erupts, and the Russians just flat out disappear. I got hold of some intel on that after it happened. The Americans slipped in a sub to look for the Russian flotilla, but there wasn’t a sign. They just flat out vanished, no wreckage of any kind, and nothing on the seabed. Frankly, nobody on the American side believed they were sunk, and so they started snooping up north for them in the Sea of Okhotsk. The Russians had a deep sea submersible operating up there. Some hotshot picked it up on a satellite.”

“Well did they ever find the Russian flotilla?”

“No. There was not a sign or whisper of them after that eruption. Now look at us here, about to take dinner and tea with Admiral Yamamoto…”

“Alright,” said Fukada. “Suppose the same thing did happen to the Russians. Let’s suppose that’s Kirov up north beating up on our fleet. If they showed up here, who knows when, they certainly decided who’s side they were going to be on easily enough. They were our enemy in 2021, and it looks like that holds true here as well. If that’s the case, then what are we going to do about it? You still want to sail off to Argentina and try to play this out being a neutral? Yamamoto just said they were getting ready to send a much stronger force up north. If that is Kirov, you know damn well what will happen next. You were just bragging about our capabilities to the Admirals. Well, we both know that Russian battlecruiser is one tough ship. This is going to get ugly, and hell, for that matter, those contacts will be on us inside thirty minutes.”

Harada nodded gravely. “They’ve seen the dazzle here in the CIC. I was about to explain the rest when this business concerning the Russians came up and threw me off my stride. Yet I don’t see any way around it now.”

While the Captain was away, Ugaki took the time to voice his own concerns with Yamamoto. “Who are these men?” he said emphatically. “They are certainly not in the naval intelligence network. They seemed to know nothing of what has transpired these last weeks. Then they appear here out of nowhere. Well, who sent them? Why do they insist on this meeting, and what is the real motive behind all this glitter they have shown us?”

“This is all very strange,” said Yamamoto, “particularly this command center. Have you ever seen anything remotely like this equipment?”

“Never, but it could all be theater. Yes, we saw them shoot down that target plane, but I find their other claims hard to believe. How could they have all these advanced radars and weapons without the navy knowing it? And that assertion that this ship was built in the shipyards of Nagasaki is certainly a lie. You and I both know that much.”

“A real mystery here,” said Yamamoto. “And I have the persistent feeling that they are holding something back. We have not yet heard their whole story.”

“But we have certainly heard them boast. If that radar is real, and there are airborne contacts headed this way, then they are undoubtedly American bombers. How convenient that this should happen now, while we are both here on this ship, away from Yamato. Admiral—this could be a trap!”

Chapter 9

Captain Harada could feel the tension in the room when he returned with Fukada. Ugaki was looking at him with dark eyed suspicion again, and he did not fail to notice the man’s hand had strayed to the hilt of the samurai sword at his waist. It was clear he still remained unconvinced, but here was a moment of truth, a well-timed crisis that was bringing everything to the edge of a very precipitous cliff. He knew he could not hesitate here, not show weakness, and that in coming to Davao, requesting this audience, he had cast the fate of his ship and crew to the winds of this war.

And there could no longer be a question as to which side they were on. Lieutenant Otani’s warnings about the monsters inside many of these men were well taken, but they had come to this man, Yamamoto, knowing the caliber of his character. Were they foolish to think his power and prestige alone could set the war onto a new course that might avoid the years of bitter fighting, and the millions of deaths yet to come?

One thing was certain—if he could not impress Yamamoto that Takami was a war winner, then this whole mission was fruitless, and they would have done better to beach the ship and burn it, as he had mused earlier when this question first came up. He could sense the urgency in Fukada, and knew his First Officer had already made his own choice, and now he was urging him to do the same. The pressure was mounting, and he also couldn’t forget that Yamato was out there, with a forward turret trained their way, effectively holding the entire ship quite literally at gunpoint to serve Admiral Ugaki’s suspicions. Yet once I engage here….

Another long minute passed, and then he nodded to Fukada, moving back towards the Admirals where they were closely watching him, their attention sometimes pulled to the dazzling screens and displays of instrument panels lit up by rows of lights.

“Gentlemen,” he said, a hollow feeling in his heart that he tried to mask. “If Admiral Ugaki is correct, and these are American bombers, then Takami will now defend the fleet.”

“Mister Honjo!”

“Sir!”

“Designate inbound track as hostile and stand up the SM-2s. I will be on the bridge.”

“Aye sir, designating contact as Tango 1 and hostile. Standing up Standard Missile 2 system on forward cells.”

Now Harada looked at the two Admirals. “We are locking our targeting radars on those inbound contacts. We could conduct this engagement here, but I think you would have a much better view of things on the main bridge. First Officer Fukada will lead the way. I will be with you shortly.”

Yamamoto stood, and the Admirals followed Fukada to the nearby hatch, with Ugaki taking a last look over his shoulder, finding the Captain as he stooped over one of the stations, his finger pointing at the strange colored display.

Harada had passed a moment with his CIC crew, and with Hedeo Honjo. “I won’t hide the fact from you all that we think those are most likely American B-17s inbound out there, so this is a difficult situation here. We came here to try and convince these men we could matter enough in this war to set it onto another course, but here it is. We’re still trying to make up our minds on all of this, but the war has found us, and it’s twenty minutes out and heading our way. If I let those planes come in and they bomb this harbor….”

No one said anything.

“Well, we can’t allow that just now. They’ll have to be stopped, and I don’t think a polite radio chat would do the trick. I know I’m asking you all to make a choice here, and if any man feels this is the wrong decision, you may stand down and nothing will be said about it. It will be treated as a matter of conscience and there will be no negative consequences. You all know who that was sitting there a moment ago, but beyond that, this can also be considered a matter of self-defense. Now… I’m going to let this contact get fairly close so the Admirals can see what happens when we fire. Those planes will be lucky to hit the broad side of a barn here, but if they do, a 300 pound bomb would not make us feel very good.”

That brought a few smiles, a small measure of humor relieving the tension. “So we’ll take them just outside 30 klicks. Very well… Carry on, and Lieutenant Honjo will handle any crew replacement necessary for this engagement. I will be on the bridge.”

Known as the “Shield of the Fleet,” the AN/SPY-1D radar resembled an elongated octagonal panel, 12 feet wide, and flush to the conning section of the ship. It was a ‘Phased Array’ system that had panels on every side of the ship for a constant 360 degree surveillance of the air and sea around the ship. It was keyed in to the VLS missile launchers, so if Lieutenant Honjo had an order, he could have a missile in the air ten seconds after first contact. It could perform detection, tracking, target illumination for over 100 active contacts, and could also be used in the terminal phase of missile approach for target guidance. That help would not be needed that day.

The SM-2 missiles being fired were not out after a stealthy 4th or 5th generation strike aircraft, or a sleek sea-skimming missile. The targets were going to be lumbering B-17s, completely unaware of what was about to happen to them. With his conscience heavy, Captain Harada decided to fire a two missile salvo first, and then see what the reaction was on the target side. Yet even as he sent the order to the CIC to fire, he knew he was likely killing fifteen or twenty men.

Strangely, the same quick equation ran through his mind that had plagued both Volsky and Fedorov. Who were those men out there? They were here, sailing in the waters of their ancestors, but those men were also someone’s grandfather, or even great grandfather. Did any of them end up surviving this war? Who dies with them when they go down in a flaming wreck this hour? How many men or women that might have been alive in his time would never be born, and how far forward did that go in time? He realized that he was striking down multiple generations now, unseen faces, each with a long life line and personal history that could now be obliterated.

The order was given; the shrill alarm sounded. The hatch opened on the forward deck and the hot yellow flame erupted, directed upwards as the missiles appeared in a wash of fire and white smoke. Up they went, out after the men and planes of the 19th Bombardment Group that morning, one of the oldest outfits in the US Air Force.

Yet First Officer Fukada had not spent enough time in the ship’s library that day, and the five planes approaching Davao had a dual mission. They weren’t coming to bomb, but to simply photograph it. Two would make a moonlit recon run, and the other three would divert north to Del Monte, still in Allied hands as it was 200 kilometers away, on the north coast of the island. The Japanese eventually took that field, but they did not have it yet in this history, and those three planes were out to make a very special rendezvous.

1st Lieutenant Frank P. Bostrom was one of the men out there that day, and yes, he would have a son if he survived this mission. Someone very important had been belly-aching and throwing his weight around, and a directive went out that the best planes available to the US Army Air Force, and its most competent pilots, were to be mustered for a special mission. Unfortunately, the battered old B-17s of the 19th Bombardment Group were barely flying, but three newer planes had just been transferred in, and Bostrom had one of them.

A man of 34 years, the 1st Lieutenant had jet black hair, but with a flash of premature grey at the temples that made him look just a little older when he was wearing his hat, and his darker hair could not be seen. He was a bit on edge that day, and for three good reasons. The first was the coffee, nearly eight full cups he had slogged down in preparation for this flight. It was going to be a long run out to Mindanao, some 1500 miles, and he needed to be fresh and alert at all times, particularly since it would be a night landing on an old, muddy field, lit by little more than a few flares.

The second reason was the fact that his flight path was going to see the bombers thread a thirty mile wide needle between two Japanese air bases in the Celebes. Though the war was young, the B-17 pilots had come to fear and respect the Japanese Zeroes, and he hoped that by taking most of the approach leg in darkness, they might avoid being intercepted.

The third reason was the mission itself, because the man who had been rattling everyone’s cages for his aircraft and pilots was the self-styled lord high master of the Pacific, one General Douglas MacArthur. Leaving the Philippines just a bit earlier than he did in Fedorov’s history, the General and his family and staff had arrived on the north coast of the island after a long and very wet journey on PT boats, and was waiting at Del Monte Airfield for a ride to Darwin. Word was that he saw a single old plane there when he arrived, pronounced it as totally inadequate, and then bent ears all the way to Washington D.C. to wrangle the planes that were now in the air. He wanted Army planes, not Navy, and he wanted the best pilots available.

I guess that’s me, thought Bostrom, inwardly pleased to have been counted in the handful of men who would be sent out that day. Five B-17s were found, two for the recon mission, and three more that would divert to Del Monte to pick up his Highness, the General.

“I hope Caruthers has his stuff wired tight tonight,” said Bostrom to his co-pilot, Captain Edward C. Teats. As he was coming up through the ranks, his mates called him “Eddie Tits,” but now that he had made Captain, he was Edward again, or just plain Captain.

“Caruthers has been over his charts three times,” said the Captain. “He’ll get us there, so don’t worry. Beaton and Horn won’t have much to do, cause this mission is completely dark. So I had them get with Wheatley to learn a few things, just in case.”

Beaton and Horn were the Radio Operators on the plane, and the mission was ordered to fly in complete radio silence. Wheatley was a Gunner, so the two Radio Operators were ordered to bone up on the .50 Cals, as enemy fighters could always be on the prowl. But it wasn’t Japanese fighters they would need to worry about that night, it was American made missiles, fired from a Japanese ship, and nothing Wheatley taught the other two men about those guns was going to matter. Life or death for Bostrom and his crew would come down to only one thing, how many missiles Takami fired.

The electronic eyes of that SPY-1D radar had spotted the incoming flight of planes over 200 klicks out, about two hours from Del Monte at a few minutes before 22:00 hours. Now the crew of Takami were standing at their battle stations, and their missiles were already primed to change the history of these events in a way none of them ever expected.

The sun set about two hours earlier at this latitude, but the skies were now lit by a fat gibbous moon. They had timed everything so the bombers would make their approach to Mindanao in darkness, and make landfall over Davao just after that moon was up. In a few minutes, Bostrom would take three planes and make a turn due north, to stay over the ocean for another hour and then come west again to Del Monte. That’s when those first two missiles went up, their white tails catching the pearly moonlight as they went.

Bostrom turned, with nothing more than a quiet lantern signal flash to the other two planes in his flight, and the formation fanned out, separating into two groups as though they were flying evasive maneuvers. The other two planes would carry on, bearing right down on Davao, and running right into those first two missiles. As with Kirov, the result of the attack was mathematical. The missiles fired, two B-17s were hit, erupting in fire and smoke to make a violent descent into the sea. They went down about 30 kilometers south of the anchorage, and everyone on the bridge could see the fiery glow in the dark skies when they fell.

“Two kills, but CIC reports the contact group has split, and there are still three planes veering off on a new heading.”

“Show me,” said Harada, well aware that both Yamamoto and Ugaki were watching all this now, amazed at what they were seeing. After casting odd looks at Lieutenant Ryoko Otani where she sat at the bridge sensor watch, their attention had been transfixed by the missile launch. There, in the dark of night, this ship had seen, tracked, targeted and killed two American bombers, and they had seen them fall like stricken demons with their own eyes.

“These last three appear to be diverting north,” said Otani. “They are either making a turn for home as well, or perhaps headed somewhere else.”

“Then they are no longer inbound on our position?”

“No sir.”

“Then leave them be. Our missiles are for clear and present threats. Let’s keep watching to confirm the new contact headings.”

Now the Captain turned to Yamamoto. “Admiral, he said. “It appears that those first two missiles have effectively broken up this attack. Frankly, I don’t think they would have hit anything trying to bomb this anchorage at night like this, but now we have made certain of that.”

“Sir,” said Fukada, “what about those last three planes?”

“Not a threat,” said Harada quickly.

“Not a threat to us, but suppose they have other targets, other missions? We should take them down as well.”

The Captain did not like what his first officer had just done, and he made a mental note to let him know it later, when the Admirals had departed. For now, he just looked Fukada in the eye and reiterated his order.

“Continue to track the contacts, confirm headings, and if there is no threat vector on this anchorage, then stand the CIC down. We have a dinner reservation to keep with our visitors.”

So it was that 1st Lieutenant Bostrom, flying B-17 number 41-2477, the San Antonio Rose II, was going to make his appointment at Del Monte, and take aboard a weary General MacArthur that night, telling him a story that would certainly sound quite fantastic about B-17s being struck by white tailed lightning from below. They had just made their turn to divert when they saw something coming up at them. Seconds later they saw and heard the explosions that took down the two recon bombers, and they were the first Americans to endure that first moment of shock, and yet live to tell about it. Pilots Bostrom and Teats, Navigator Caruthers, the two Radio Operators Beaton and Horn, Gunner Wheatley and Engineers Haddow and Palmer were all going to live that hour as well.

But when Lieutenant Commander Fukada consulted the ship’s library after dinner, their lives would again be on the chopping blocks of Time.