The Long Hard Road

Chapter Sixteen: Point of No Return

HMAS Canberra

Sea of Japan

18^th April 1942

Captain Mike Warburton couldn’t restrain his eagerness to finally get into the war. Like many officers and crewmen of the Royal Australian Navy – those who had survived the Japanese pre-emptive strike in 1940 – he had fiercely resented the decision to wait until the new improved Royal Australian Navy was ready before sending it into operations against the Japanese, even during Australia’s darkest hour. They’d watched the images of the Japanese invasion while they were working up the first submarines at the new/old naval base in Orkney.

He smiled openly as he contemplated his submarine. It was a world apart from the handful of cruisers and destroyers he’d served upon before the war, being more powerful and capable than any of those. It had been designed to be simple to build; the entire hull and its fittings – with the exception of some of the advanced technology – could be built at any yard in the world. The weapons were nothing like as capable as the ones the nuclear-powered submarines used, but they could be replaced with little effort by the Australian manufacturers.

“Captain, we have received the ‘go’ burst from fleet command,” his communications officer reported. The submarine could even pick up some transmissions underwater; no one in their right mind would surface so close to Japan. “They are ordering us to attack at will.”

“Splendid,” Warburton said. “Radar, conduct a scan.”

There was a long pause while a tiny radar antenna was extended, pulsing a radar signal out across the seas. The Canberra would have obtained a download from a satellite, but Warburton wanted to test his ship’s capability to operate on its own. After all, the British had lost their satellites for a long time – and see how that had affected their ability to make war.

“We have four transports and two warships, probably destroyers,” the radar officer reported. “They’re heading to China; three more ships heading away from China.”

Warburton grinned. “Move us into attack position,” he ordered. “Helm?”

The minutes ticked by as the Canberra glided forward under the water. The Japanese would have been wiser to sail in daylight; they might just have seen her under the water. In darkness, they didn’t stand a chance.

“Picking up some sonar,” the radar officer reported. “The coating seems to be absorbing it.”

“Good,” Warburton said. One aspect of the modern British submarines that had really awed him was the coating that worked to absorb some sonar signals. It wasn’t perfect – they’d had that point drummed into them time and time again – and enough signals could present submarine hunters with a contact, but no one expected the Japanese to get that lucky.

“Now sighting on the destroyers,” the weapons officer said. The display changed, revealing the enemy ships moving serenely to China.

“Slow boats to China,” Warburton said wryly. “Weapons locked?”

“Aye, sir,” the weapons officer said. “Barracudas one to four locked on the destroyers.”

“Fire,” Warburton ordered.

Canberra shuddered as she launched four torpedoes in quick succession. The sonar tracked the torpedoes as they ran free, heading for the Japanese ships. They never even saw them coming; the sheer force of the torpedoes, designed to punch their way through battleship armour, slammed into their hulls and exploded inside. The ships literally blew out of the water.

“They’re separating and increasing speed,” the radar officer reported. “They’re also turning on their decoy equipment.”

“Idiots,” Warburton muttered. The Japanese sonar decoy equipment only worked well if there was a large fleet moving in close formation. “Targets locked?”

“One barracuda apiece,” the weapons officer said. “Weapons locked.”

Warburton studied the display for a long moment. The temptation to play with the Japanese, to make them fear as Australia had feared, was almost overpowering. The ships could have been given a head start, over an hour’s worth, and they would not have been able to reach safety.

“Captain?” The weapons officer asked. “Weapons are locked on targets.”

“Fire,” Warburton ordered. Canberra shuddered again, spitting out the torpedoes in quick succession. “Impact reports?”

Canberra rocked wildly. “One of the ships must have been carrying ammunition,” the helm officer said. “It’s a good thing we were underwater.”

Warburton nodded. “And the others?”

“I think one of them is a Q-ship,” the radar officer said. “It’s coming about, despite being hit; I think the hull is stuffed with cork or something else. The others are sinking.”

Ridiculous, Warburton thought coldly. They think they can fight us?

“Yep, definitely a Q-ship,” the radar officer said. “They just lit up some sonar they shouldn’t have. Brave bastards.”

“Dead bastards,” Warburton snapped. “Lock weapons on target.”

“Weapons locked,” the weapons officer said. “Warhead; high explosive.”

“Good thinking,” Warburton said. “Fire!”

Canberra shuddered again, launching the high explosive torpedo. Warburton watched on the display as the torpedo struck, blasting a major hole in the side of the ship. Even with the cork – or whatever – helping it to float, the ship didn’t stand a chance and disintegrated, falling into the sea.

“Good work,” Warburton said. “Helm, set us on a course for the nest contacts.”

“Aye, sir,” the helm officer said. Canberra started to move again, heading away from the scene of the short encounter, leaving hundreds of Japanese floundering in the ocean, far from help.

“Communications, transmit a recording of the incident back to fleet command,” Warburton ordered. “Then inform them that we plan to continue the attacks until we run out of fuel or weapons.”

HIMS Musashi

Hashirajima, Japan

20^th April 1942

The hammer had fallen, just as he had known it would. Admiral Yamamoto studied the reports of the attacks on Japanese shipping and knew the truth. From the Dutch East Indies to the holy waters of Japan herself, ships had been swept from the sea with ease. He’d always known that the enemy possessed vast capabilities in undersea warfare, but now… now only a couple of transports had survived crossing the ocean over the last two days.

The map was an intimidating one, even for someone who’d witnessed naval combat first hand. Of seventy transports, freighters and converted ships transporting soldiers, resources and weapons around the empire, only two had survived. Ships in dock, of course, hadn’t been attacked… until they’d ventured out of dock. He was mortally certain that one of the accused nuclear submarines lurked outside Hashirajima, waiting for the Musashi or one of the few remaining capital ships to poke their noses outside the anchorage.

“Now what do we do?” He asked himself. There was an answer, the same one that had occurred to him before, but it was proving hard to arrange it. He was certain if he could meet with the Emperor, he could have convinced Hirohito to end the war… before Japan starved. However, in order to ‘protect the Emperor’s person,’ two battalions of the army were dug in around the Royal Palace, backed up by the forces assembling for the defence of Japan.

“Bastards,” he scowled. The British and their Australian lapdogs hadn’t followed the strategy of waiting patiently for the Japanese to starve. Instead, they had launched brutal and powerful attacks all along the Dutch East Indies and the Solomon islands, including Truk, one of the most important naval bases in the Japanese Empire. A major British force – as opposed to the Australians who were fighting most of the war in the Indies – had landed and after a short brutal battle taken the base, although not in working condition. The Dutch East Indies had lost most of their defenders to attacks from the air; the bunkers that the original history had recommended building had been blown open by bunker-buster bombs, each one so big it required an entire aircraft to carry it.

He shook his head. The writing was on the wall for anyone with eyes to see it. Japan imported much of her food and all of her oil… and they no longer had the ability to transport it around. At the rate that ships were being lost, Yamamoto estimated that the entire merchant marine would be sunk within two weeks at most, and then Japan would starve. Already, there were signs that all was not right, but without the massive bombing campaign that had struck at Japan during the first history.

Yamamoto shuddered. The images from that history had been shocking, but the news of the Deathcloud had been worse… and the news of the firebombs deployed against Japanese troops in jungle environments had been worst of all. If those weapons were deployed against Japanese cities, their wooden and paper construction would burn rapidly… and exterminate large sections of the population.

The war was over and Japan had lost, but did the Army realise that? No! Yamamoto clenched his fist in frustration; the Army believed in the final battle, in which Japanese military might and will would sweep the British from the seas. They pointed to the future history, in which a typhoon had devastated the Allied positions in 1945 after Japan had surrendered, as proof that surrender was out of the question.

Yamamoto chuckled bitterly. There was no way that Japan was going to survive until 1945. If they made it to 1943 without either revolution or collapse he would be astonished. Without the firebombing campaign, the Army could still claim that Japan was winning… but the truth was slowly leaking its way out, spurred on by the thousands of deaths from the two major sea battles. The Army spoke of a final redoubt in China – and had moved thousands of key personnel over to Korea and China – but with the new submarine campaign, they would no longer be able to supply their new colony. The industry they’d moved over the winter would have to be enough… and Yamamoto knew that it wouldn’t be enough.

“But how do we end this war?” He asked, and knew the only answer was impossible. There was no way of contacting the Emperor; the Army had been reluctant to risk civil war by attacking the Navy, but at the same time they kept him a prisoner onboard Musashi, perhaps hoping that the British would end his life for them. Or, perhaps, they thought he could still be useful.

“Fat chance,” Yamamoto said. Ambassador Yurina Sato, a Japanese woman from the future and his lover, had introduced him to the phase. The limits of his abilities had been made very clear when he ordered nine destroyers to escort a convoy to China; the entire force, destroyers and transports, had been sunk. Even the Russians were being attacked; he knew that their Far East Fleet had lost two ships to British submarines.

He looked up at a different map, the location of naval forces around Japan. He knew that he had enough battalions of naval infantry to defend the anchorage, should the British – or the Army – come for it, but not enough to break into the Royal Palace. The Army held all the reins of power – and Yamamoto knew that there was no way of winning the war.

We’re going to lose everything, he thought grimly.

Ambassador Yurina Sato had never cared for the Sailor Moon look, choosing to believe the American who had claimed that the look – and some of the truly disgusting pornography that had come out of Japan – was a symptom of a deep-rooted cultural decline. Yurina had never understood it; what possible pleasure could someone get from watching a rape – even if the woman had agreed to be raped on film – or from animal-human hybrid sex. And that was just the beginning of films and pictures that were darker than anything else and banned in many counties.

Still, in her Japan, she’d worn a neat jacket and a miniskirt, allowing men to look at her legs. It short-circuited their thinking processes; many Japanese men were unable to admit that a woman might be able to think for herself. As long as she was beautiful and decorative, they would let her do whatever she liked… and Yurina had taken full advantage of them.

She shook her head as she walked back up the gangplank, ignored by all. It wasn’t quite as bad as being in Afghanistan, where she’d had to wear a Burka and keep back from the men in public, but it wasn’t what she was used to. It was something of a relief – once she’d become powerful enough, she’d no longer had to use her body as a weapon – but it was irritating. Apart from Yamamoto, no man in Japan took her even remotely seriously, and she had never cared for wearing the traditional woman’s dress.

The gunmetal-grey corridors of the battleship almost seemed like home to her, after spending so long aboard, and she half-hoped that the British wouldn’t destroy it. Her lover, Admiral Yamamoto, had never been able to understand it – it was not as if the British had run out of weapons to deploy against the huge ship. A nuclear warhead would have melted it like ice in the sun, if all else failed, and she knew that she was always at risk while she was onboard the ship.

“The Lady Yurina,” the guard announced, opening the hatch to the stateroom. The crew of the Musashi were kind to her; they knew that she was the admiral’s woman and possessed influence, if not power. It was typical of Imperial Japan; women only possessed power through their bodies and minds.

“Welcome back,” Yamamoto said. He spoke in English, to keep their conversation private. Only a handful of the crew could speak English. “What did you think of the town?”

Yurina shook off her outfit, relieved to be back in privacy. Her underclothes would have allowed her to walk unnoticed in a 2015 city. “They know that something’s very wrong with the war,” Yurina said.

Yamamoto nodded sadly. The anchorage had given birth to an entire race of seafarers, many of whom had married and lived near the naval port. The loss of thousands of lives could hardly be concealed; he himself had refused to take part in the war.

“They asked me and your escort where their young men were,” Yurina said. She didn’t want to manipulate Yamamoto any more; she just wanted him to understand. “They were pleading with me to find them for them and send them home and…”

She broke off. Yamamoto, not always comfortable with intimacy, reached out and gently hugged her. “We have to end the war,” he said. She looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. “We have to end it now.”

She watched as Yamamoto paced the cabin. “We have to convince the Emperor to end the war,” he said. “It worked in your timeline, and it will work again.” Yurina privately doubted it, but held her tongue. “The problem is that he’s under the control of the army.”

“And they won’t let you in,” Yurina said. She wiped her eyes and drew on all her experience in the diplomatic service. “Can’t you take the naval infantry and force your way in.”

“They want to disarm that force or put it under their control,” Yamamoto said grimly. “They keep going on and on about a united command for the defence of the home islands, and they want to take the force away from me.”

Yurina would have laughed if it hadn’t been so serious; no other nation would have worked its way into the political situation facing them. Instead of removing Yamamoto, the only remaining Admiral of any status, they had been content to leave him in power, running the navy – but without the ability to impede their plans for a glorious victory when the British invaded.

She pulled her mind back to the task at hand. “Can the force punch through to the Palace?” She asked. “Could a coup – a counter-coup – succeed?”

Yamamoto shook his head. She knew that it was a mark of his desperation that he was even considering a solution like that. “We can’t,” he said. “We would be outnumbered and seriously outgunned; they would even have tanks. If we had air cover, we might be able to get around it, but the Army controls the air force.”

Yurina shuddered. She’d seen some of the preparations to fight when the invasion finally took place; thousands of kamikaze speedboats and aircraft were being prepared, and weapons were being distributed freely. When the British came, they were determined to fight to the death…

When the British came…

A thought struck her. It was perfect. It might just work. “Darling,” she said, “there might be a solution.”

She outlined it. Yamamoto stared at her. “Are you serious?” He demanded. “You would suggest asking foreign troops to settle a Japanese internal affair?”

“Is that better or worse than them settling it by turning Japan into a mass grave?” Yurina asked dryly. “Look – they have to be worried to death about Japan; they have to know the cost of an invasion. Their choice would be between bombing us into submission or using nuclear weapons; either way, there would be very little left of Japan.”

Yamamoto nodded slowly. “Would they go for it?” He asked. “What’s in it for them?”

“I believe that they would,” Yurina said thoughtfully. “As I said, they have to be looking for a solution; I’m surprised that we haven’t had peace feelers already.”

“The diplomats are under army control,” Yamamoto said. “They might have offered a halt in place and we wouldn’t have heard about it.” He closed his eyes in thought. “The Emperor might get hurt – or killed.”

Yurina held in the sigh that threatened to burst from her lips. She didn’t think that the Emperor was a living god. “The precision weapons would ensure that no harm would come to him,” she said, and hoped that she was telling the truth. The British would understand that the Emperor had to live, wouldn’t they? “What else can we do?”

Yamamoto chuckled harshly. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing, but to gamble Japan’s fate on one toss of the die.”