Keep the story going, brilliant read, suspense pure. Really enjoying it. One of the first things I do in morning is check my mails for the latest episode.
Mat
Same for me. Morning coffee read!
Yep. Large pitcher latte*, muffin w/marmelade, latest 1275psi episode followed by Dilbert and then the morning paper.
* coffee consumption in this house is measured by pitchers and pots. That keeps the counting on one hand. Cups gets too laborious. [;)]
Its a pleasure fellow journey men.............
I too wonder every day, what will happen next.
1/12/42
The inner sanctum
Japans puppet cabinet
What comes to your mind, this sentence, the inner sanctum?
Polished timber. Ticking clocks. Whispers in marble halls. Polished, upright, stately men of intelligence, working, all of them, for Japans better good?
Or, is this closer to the reality?
Tribal loyalties, bitter rivalries, undermining, clawing, favor snatching men, with but one goal. The wielding of power, the gathering of it, the retaining of it?
Which of the two do you think is true?
Herbiesan awaits the table of men to settle. He knows them well, this circle of men. Knows them better than they know themselves.
Herbiesan has a regiment of men who quietly, keep him informed.
There, transport minister. A mistress, and another one pregnant. And a wife who suspects nothing………
And a man who’s bank balance grows every day with secret commissions from anxious ship owners keen to keep their precious ships in safe Korean waters.
Another million yen, and maybe then, he should act……….
Aircraft Minister. Hard to contain ones anger here. 800 HA 35 engines!. And of course, more ‘secret commissions’……….reason for those 800 engines.
Minister of finance. A loyal man. A good man. How else can he see those ‘secret accounts ‘
But banks are so easy to manipulate, especially in war.
A dozen men. 8 loyal. 3 waiting for the chance to enact treason. All corruptible.
All, in some way, in his grasp.
A single chair remains empty. They are waiting for its occupant.
Tojo, Minister for war, leans over.
“I understand, congratulations are due. Your Son has graduated I hear?”
Herbiesan nods. A flutter of mixed emotions flow through him. Pride. Anxiety. Anger. Exasperation.
“Yes Minister, he has. 24th in his class. He absolutely insists that he goes to the front.. My Minister for propaganda agrees. I suppose he is right. “ herbiesan smiles wryly. “We have not always seen eye to eye you know”
‘You have posted him to a quiet zone?”
‘No, I have let fate handle that. He’s going to a carrier, where fighter pilots are needed . I believe it’s the Zuiho”
The new man enters, and the table falls quiet.
Herbiesan calls the meeting to order “gentlemen, our new Industry Minister, Damiensan…………”
He is tall this man. Tall, thin. Tight moustache. There is no asian in him, not externally at least.
Confirmed as he speaks. The Japanese is good, the German accent unmistakable
His eyes are hard. Flint hard
Krupp steel hard
‘Never, ever, have I met such a group of ineffectual idiots…..you are fools, all of you. Every one. I will speak, you will listen. And we will fix this industrial mess….”
Little, if anything scares herbiesan. But there is no doubt the flash of fear shimming down his spine.
Medicine, essential medicine never tastes good……..
big seas, fast ships, life tastes better with salt
Hidaka has fallen ill.
I am not a medic, but yellow eyes, a swollen, hard belly, white stools, a fever, are not signs of a well man.
LCDR Korrii has admitted him, confined him to a cot well to the back of the sick bay.
Hidaka does not know it, but he is a sick man.
He is also a terrible patient, angry, frustrated , quarrelsome
Even now, at 0300 hours, he is causing trouble. Three other patients occupy the sickbay, if they need sleep for recovery, there is no chance of that.
From his isolated corner, Hidaka is croaking questions to Ogawa.
Has there been a weather briefing?. What is the flight plan?. Formation expected?. Who’s flying?
The zero pilot nods, nods, and is more than thankful when the claxons ring through out the ship, calling her to dawn action stations
Hidaka shall fret, but his birds are in good hands
But this knowledge barely helps.
He lies down, and for the thousandth time, curses the illness that has left him feeling so bloody weak, so helpless.
He dozes
He awakens, some time later, abruptly.
From his cot, several things are very, very evident.
Zuihos fans are screaming, and she vibrates, shudders.
Full power
Ears listening, he tries to determine what is happening.
Heavens, heavens………what in the hell is happening!?
Zuiho leans, leans. Turning under power………
He cannot handle it anymore.
He bellows. “Attendant!”
The sickbay assistant appears. ‘What in goddam hell is happening?, are we under attack?’
‘No sir, I have no idea”
‘Are we launching aircraft?”
‘I have no idea sir”
‘Then , for heavens sake, go AND FIND OUT!”
The man reappears five minutes later. On consideration, he has done very well indeed. Or maybe Kato anticipated the question.
Hidaka takes the note from the Captain
‘Our tankers are under surface attack’
Kato
big seas, fast ships, life tastes better with salt
Tan does exactly that, bouncing down ladders, banging of walls. “make a hole!, make a hole!”
His heart beating, he races across the hanger. Below his feet he can hear his Forced draft blowers winding to full power, feel her vibration
The bridge is packed, a beehive of activity. Kato, rock like as they swirl about him
Tan awaits his turn, the communications officer is reporting, and Tan hears the news first hand
‘destroyers Shirayuki, Hatsuyuki are attempting to cover the tankers. Range is 20000 metres, enemy consists of one leander class cruiser, a un identified 4 funnel cruiser, 3 4 stacker destroyers.’
“position!’ Katos voice betrays strain.
‘340 miles due west sir!’
‘damnation!’
Kato turns to Tan. ‘To quote a well worn phrase……give me everything you have got!, everything! we must close the range!’
“Hie!”
The Charge is already in the controlling engine room, hands steady on the throttle
Eyes darting from gauge to gauge, face hard. He has heard.
They all have heard.
Their friends are dying
He leans into the voice tube , speaking to the other engine room. Tan glances at the gauges. He knows enough now to see what is happening
Port shaft, 294 RPM, 20 psi down on full head pressure.
Starboard, 290 RPM, full head of pressure.
‘OK Starboard, take her back ten psi, hold, let her build”
Starboard 292 rpm. 10 head pressure down. Superheat good……..
Port now 294, nearly five, and head pressure slowly coming back.
Around them, machinery screams
The Charge grins “Its all good Sir!.I’ll give you 30 knots if Kato holds a straight course!”
Okura circles
Returning from morning search, he needs to land
Zuiho runs as hard as she ever has due west.
15 knots of wind today………………..on her back
There is nothing for it. To recover, to launch the strike being armed below decks, the fleet MUST turn into the wind, and steam away from the tankers until the air ops are finished
Must
And with every minute, another mile will need to be covered.
Hidaka , trapped in his cot, grits his teeth, and hangs on
Twice, twice now, he has tried to rush the Medic, twice he has been defeated.
He does not need to get onto the deck, his imagination fills the picture
They must recover the morning search, then, if they can in time, launch a strike
He hangs on now, for Zuiho is turning, turning into the wind.
28 knots, and wheel hard over.
There is something magnificent about this. Something to experience.
She does not turn, she slides across, through the ocean, ramming, battering it aside with her ugly, ugly flank
The sea piles against this flank, sweeps up, under, boiling, boiling, a maelstrom of white angry crashing sea
Zuiho vibrates
No. That’s inadequate. She rattles, she shakes, a great crashing, bashing vibration that sends a million items dancing madly about in her. Thousands of said items attempt suicide, crashing to decks
Men curse, and lean against the list.
Zuiho is a an orchestra of noise, untamed, out of synch, every instrument playing her own tune
And above all this, the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of her props biting frantically at the sea.
‘Admidships!”
Okura banks hard, and almost control crashes onto the deck………he is down with in a minute
The mad dance begins again, back West, back west! The strike now can come onto the deck.
‘second message from Hatsuyuki sir!.range 16000 metres. Enemy light cruiser, identified as Adelaide, burning.
Tanker Erimo burning. Our course due west!”
Thirty minutes.
And the range is still too far. Too far. Too damn far!
big seas, fast ships, life tastes better with salt
At last!. Kato moves to the bridge wing, checks for clearance
‘Signal am coming about into wind!’
Carefully, he moves to the binnacle, takes his last sightings before giving the command to turn
It has been a long 40 minutes waiting for the birds to become ready
A lifetime of anxiety.
“Sir, a further signal from Hatsuyuki”
he pauses in the order. Something in the communication officers tone of voice holds the turn in his throat
“read it” he croaks
“ Enemy have broken action of. Regret loss of three tankers to enemy action. One enemy destroyer sunk by self, Adelaide burning. I must return to Truk”
Silence fills the bridge.
All three tankers sunk. 33000 tons of shipping. So many men. And their entire supply force sent to the bottom.
Intolerable
Kato feels sick. Anguish fills him. But he is Captain. They will look to him.
But there is no choice. Not now.
Quietly he gives the only order he can give.
“half ahead, revolutions 148. cancel the launch. Navigator, a course for Truk.
Suddenly this dark bridge is a prison he must escape.
‘I will be in my cabin”
Task force Hiyo: ‘lets poke em and see what happens’
Receive a punch fair in the mush…..that’s what happens.
big seas, fast ships, life tastes better with salt
Quietly, throughout Japan, a tidal wave of anguish is sweeping the nation.
A tidal wave called Damiensan
In hundreds of back streets, in basements, small workshops, larger shops, factories, sweat shops, even back yards, Japans light industry has churned away.
Its been chaotic.
Ten thousand crony deals, thousands of bribes, hundreds upon hundreds of un examined contracts.
Driven by money, and ironically, patriotism, Japans light industry has churned out the tools of war.
Many tools of war.
Far too many tools of war. In warehouses the weapons and armaments pile up.
On wharves they rot and rust.
While in the larger industrial areas, ‘the capitalists’ heavy factories struggle with resource and fuel shortages.
Damiensan sweeps through Japan, shutting down small factory after small factory.
He cuts production of thousands of items, he kills dozens of aircraft production lines, he halts shipyards by the batch lot.
He throws tens of thousands out of work…………….
And now, late at night, for the first time in many years, herbiesan has to wonder about the mood of his population.
He can feel the disquiet already on the streets. And dictators cannot have disquiet.
He looks at his home island command, and sees only 54th division, in Tokyo. It is all that remains available to him
54 th division. . And THAT division he knows, is under Yamamoto’s sway…………
big seas, fast ships, life tastes better with salt
There will be enough fuel to get to truk, although there will be little to spare. The destroyers will have to sup from the carriers at some stage.
A air of depression settles through the ship. Men are quiet, and avoid each others eyes.
This has been a defeat. Their first.
They have committed the unforgivable sin. They have let comrades down.
Kato will not be seen on the bridge all day.
Destroyer Hatsuyuki joins them near dusk. I am sure, if this was a british fleet, that she would have been met by cheers.
Almost alone, she has sunk a destroyer, crippled a light cruiser, hit another, fought well against great odds
Yes, the British would cheer her. After all, they have a wonderful knack of turning defeat into something sweeter.
But here, today, in this fleet, she is sent to the rear.
In disgrace
How can you accept defeat, and live?
big seas, fast ships, life tastes better with salt
There will be enough fuel to get to truk, although there will be little to spare. The destroyers will have to sup from the carriers at some stage.
A air of depression settles through the ship. Men are quiet, and avoid each others eyes.
This has been a defeat. Their first.
They have committed the unforgivable sin. They have let comrades down.
Kato will not be seen on the bridge all day.
Destroyer Hatsuyuki joins them near dusk. I am sure, if this was a british fleet, that she would have been met by cheers.
Almost alone, she has sunk a destroyer, crippled a light cruiser, hit another, fought well against great odds
Yes, the British would cheer her. After all, they have a wonderful knack of turning defeat into something sweeter.
But here, today, in this fleet, she is sent to the rear.
In disgrace
How can you accept defeat, and live?
"It takes three years to build a ship; it takes three centuries to build a tradition." (ABC)
Harry Erwin
"For a number to make sense in the game, someone has to calibrate it and program code. There are too many significant numbers that behave non-linearly to expect that. It's just a game. Enjoy it." herwin@btinternet.com
You have it exactly right, and it peeves me no end to encounter almost daily young sailors in my navy, that cannot tell you one single naval battle our fleet was in during WW2
End rant………
Yamamoto has a daily routine.
It revolves around intelligence reports, briefings, inspections. It is a busy one.
The principal problem, as he sees it,, is trying to define where the allied thrust will come. Almost by default, the Marshall islands seem to have become one such axis of advance.
But to what end?
Even if they all fell, with out a carrier fleet, where could it leap to?
No where.
No, if the allies are going to advance, it must come under a LBA umbrella.
And, as far as he can tell, there are only two routes. The solomons, Burma.
Let the damn Army worry about Burma……..
His mind contemplates the map. Last week, 24th flotilla sent a big sweep from Lunga south, chewed up a few enemy fighters.
The very next day, masses of unescorted B17’s retaliate.
Un escorted.
The B17. the B24. Nothing else worries him, except these fat barsteds.
He must find a way to kill them.
Alright then. Lets use the enemies aggression, lets lay a trap.
He pulls away from the map. Calls his staff. “get me Yamaguchi. Inform the carriers, raise steam”
3/12/42
Calm blue seas., a good stiff head wind
Once an hour, a Kate lifts slowly from Zuiho’s deck, joins the endless patrol on the boundary of the fleet. With each launch, another lands.
No accidents.
Ever so slowly, far too slowly, the rookies are gaining experience.
There is that, at least.
Private Mitchell sits quietly on the quarter deck of AP President Taylor.
The world, he thinks, is a very unfair place.
And, if this war ever, ever ended, he would never, ever go to sea again.
Twice now, he has been sunk. This last time, 12 hours adrift, clinging to wreckage, wondering whether the sharks really would come or not.
Not that there were many men to take.
A mere 30 of his regiment survive, and now, (and this was the suck part) they were headed back to the war, regiment dissolved, rolled into a strange new unit. 822 EAB. What in the world did that stand for?
And, instead of a bulldozer, all they have given him is some clothes, and a gun.
No, the world is not fair.
He stares at his surroundings, at the accompanying battleships.
And somehow, they don’t give much comfort either.
Tan sits in the corner of the Wardroom, drinking tea.
It’s a rowdy place, this room. Nothing as he imagined it could be, would be.
No stiffness in here, or even much formality. Just men determined to escape, if but briefly, the stress of responsibilities, of ranks.
Cards dominate this room. Fortunes won, lost. Poker is the game.
Conversation, argument, dominates the card games
The topic.
The war?
No
Women?
Well, sometimes…
Food?
Quite often.
Sport……….
Nearly always………
Its hard for him to grasp, this obsession with meaningless competition, while the greatest one unfolds around them.
Tan knows a little of America’s industry, he once investigated new steam engines for the Tokyo line, for the express service to Hiroshima.
And he cannot get this thought out of his mind. A football field.
A single Japanese player, and on the opposing side, 30 players……………..
big seas, fast ships, life tastes better with salt
Zuiho continues west. Tomorrow, all being well, Truk
Kato has re appeared on the bridge, quiet, as imperious as ever.
He watches his officers with a hard eye, as if a perfect performance could some how atone for this week.
It is just after midday when Hidaka comes to the bridge on some routine matter.
He has a lot of things to catch up since being set free from the sick bay
Kato tilts his head. “a word Hidaka?’’
Wary, he stands beside Kato, and for a few minutes they stand silently watching the sea slide by
Above them, a kate bellows, lumbers with the oh so familiar rumble above their heads, gracefully flies away ahead of them.
‘Our new pilots , their progress?’
‘Slow, I am afraid. They are doing well, considering.”
Kato, surprisingly, smiles. “yes, no crashes on deck, so far”
He turns to Hidaka.. “remember your first trap?. I think I almost wet myself”
An opening? A approach of friendship? I will take it
‘I think I actually did sir…”
Zuiho keeps sliding along.
“The Captains brief levity disappears. “The problem Hidaka, is that we had time to polish our skills. I doubt The Americans will give us the same courtesy”
‘Do you think they will ever give up?
‘No, no I don’t, not unless we turn the seas to blood.” The eyes , hard, grey, fathomless, seek Hidaka out “ And if it takes that, we will have to pay a pretty price. It is not one I am afraid to pay.”
He sighs. What comes next is hard, and full of emotion, passion. “I need everyone on this ship to believe that we are dead men already, and to fight as if we are. In that, we may just find life”
Evening, Stokers mess.
The roughest of the rough. The crudest of the crude. Stinking, smelly men, uncultured, hard.
That is what you would hear about them.
But really, think about it. Zuiho’s mess can fit into some of our (here in Australia) homes. The recreation area, which (when it is not filled with tables for meals) is not much bigger than a bathroom.
Every square inch is packed with humanity, hammocks, benches, lockers, plus all the pipes, hatches, equipment that reside here.
65 men share this mess (one of two stokers messes).
Cheek to jowel.
And they get on better than well.
You want a Para gram of politeness, of manners?
Japanese are the polite people . Here they are better than that. It is the only way to stay sane.
Meal time is finished. The cards are coming out. The small games as well.
The day labour is over, with truk tomorrow, maybe a chance to rest.
The tannoy bursts into life. It is Tokyo rose.
She is met with the usual laughter and cat calls.
“A major naval battle of Perth, many transports sunk by the cruiser Kashima , proving that the seas remain a Japanese lake, with no where safe for foolish allied sailors’
More cheers, more laughter.
The war is a year old. Japanese sailors have learnt what ‘a major naval battle” really is, when Tokyo rose tells it.
Okura is standing under his bomber, critically eying the engine cowling. There is a hint of oil staining several rivets, a stain not there yesterday.
His crew Chief touches it, tastes it. “CPP oil. Variable pitch seal, I think. Your bird is broken sir, at least 8 hours”
“alright then”
Hidaka sidles up
“A problem?’
“Broken bird, one day”
Hidaka nods. Not a real issue, with Truk tomorrow. “I have another, ummm, problem, you might be interested in”
Okura waits. Strange that Hidaka would come to him with a problem
“I will come straight to it. A new posting is enroute. His name is PO herbiesan. Fighter pilot, rookie. Our beloved dictators son……………”
Father!. A chance, perhaps………..
Hidaka takes his shoulder. Holds it firmly. “so, you see, a real problem for ……..us”
big seas, fast ships, life tastes better with salt
Certain things dominate a ships life, her routines. Over the years, technology has lessoned many of them. But this is late 42, and this a steam ship.
Food is always on the mens minds. You and I, we can (and how blessed we are) can at any time leave what we are doing, go to the refrigerator or cupboard, and grab something to eat.
You don’t really think about it.
At sea, things are very different. Meal hours are such to such. Miss, you go hungry.
Typically meals will be served at midday, 1800 hours (or after dusk action stations), and from after dawn action stations.
If you have the afternoon watch, (gutz middles), you will find yourself lining up for the special serving at 1130 hours, and you need to be on watch at 1150.
Not much time.
Breakfast often will be missed, sleep taking piority.
It’s the hunger watch is the middle watch.
But above food, on these steam ships, water dominates all. Charge spends hours a day thinking about it, monitoring it, watching it, hoarding it.
There are showers on Zuiho…………salt water ones that is.
Fresh water showers are for alongside, if you are lucky.
Washing is done from basins.
Scrub under the saltwater, and then rinse with a precious basin of water splashed over the body.
Water wasters onboard ships are always punished the same way. They will get to conduct a watch in the boiler room, somewhere on the top plates painting some obscure piece of kit.
You seldom see them twice………….
Water is life, and Charge hoards it.
Today, one hour out from Truk, he is busy with engineering reports for South east command, sharing space in damage control with Lurch and the Chippee.
The phone rings. It is the CPO Buffer. The request is a common one.
‘can you spare enough water for a upper deck scrub down?”
The answer is usually NO!
‘Kato is going to call for a muster I believe, and the flight deck is looking horrid”
Charge considers. Many things. Kato. The buffer (whom he does not like that much).
But they are at 80% fresh, 65% feed today
Truk in an hour
“No problem buffer, I will give you 30 minutes worth”
‘Lurch, go and set it up will you”
And so the buffer scrubs down. And freshers goes to 40%
And, as these things go, 15 minutes after finishing, the entire task force turns south, raises revolutions, and leaves Truk fading behind.
Yamaguchi questions his captain
‘Where will we meet Hiyo task force?”
‘here sir, east of Kavieg, tankers are waiting.”
‘Good”
“and then sir?”
“South, destination Lunga”
big seas, fast ships, life tastes better with salt
They appear gradually out of the early morning sea mist, as familiar and majaestic as ever.
Kato observes Akagi and Kaga through his glasses, critically examining the beasts.
He has known these great ships for many years now, flown as a juniour from their decks. Now he sees the great flanks stained with rust, the paint fading, the green growth clinging to the waterline.
A hard year it has been for Japans carriers. And a harder one to come. But for now, how assuring to see them again, to see those familiar ugly shapes steaming yet again towards the enemy.
It is not hard to understand the shock the British must have felt when the Hood went down, if you imagined these ships gone.
Kato's XO calls out to him. " Yamaguchi sends his greetings Sir!, and asks that we assume position 1000 yards on his left flank> captain Hara requires 30% CAP, 'when we are ready"
Kato scowls. When we are ready. Captain Hara and his bloody pretensions. You are not fleet admiral yet my friend. Not yet
"very well. Inform Tan to prepare for fuelling, if I am not very much mistaken, those are KB's tankers ahead"
Yamaguchi too views the world through his glasses. Critical eyes observe the fighters coming up onto the decks of Zuiho and Shoho.
They seem efficient enough.............. "How many fighters does that add to us again Hara?'
'seventy two sir, but Hiyo's and Shohos are very green"
Yamaguchi mulls for a minute, balancing the up coming mission to his now expanded capabilities.
"The trick, I think, will be co ordinating with 24th Flottilla. I truly hope they have it together. As for the baby carriers, I am not keen to mix our airgroups.. I will stick with the plan."
He turns to Hara. "any objections?"
It is not a question. It is not a search for any last flaws in the battle plan. It is a challenge . Do you captain Hara, wish to defy me again, or question me. Do you really think you still want my job?
Hara's voice remains calm. Only the most astute fellow officers on this bridge would be aware of the battle raging about them.
'if you are happy that half the CAP you assign to protect us can barely get of a deck safely, then no sir, I do not"
Yamaguchi turns away, raises his glasses again to the fleet tankers coming rapidly into view
"They will be sufficient. I doubt we will see a single enemy plane. This plan of Yamamotos has merit. I intend to give it every chance. Now, please signal Hiyo, and lets get those thirsty buggars fuelled"
Thirsty buggars
Yamaguchi is very close to the mark. Task force Hiyo is literally running on dregs, barely a ship in the fleet is not deep in the red, and far too many roll dangerously with every swell.
The fleet carriers have 5 tankers with them today, with the loss of Hiyo's three, these five are now incredibly valuable. if the crews onboard knew of japans true fuel state, then they would have classified them as priceless.
Today, in the empire, there are few places with so much fuel available for the fleet to use
refuelling commences, destroyers first, the cruisers next. Zuiho will take four hours to take her requirements, she has been down to her ready use tanks, and just one small storage tank. Hiyo, who has ben feeding destroyers sips of fuel since kwaljien, will take even longer to fuel.
It will be a long day, even with the seas so calm.
Nevertheless, this so un appreciated manouvre, the transferring of tens of thousands of tons of fuel with out a drop spilt, is completed by dusk.
The far lighter tankers turn north, and japans hammer turns south.
6 fleet carriers, 4 light carriers, 6 cruisers and 30 destroyers sail south , 180 miles east of the solomon chain.
Yamamotos plan is simple. (for a change) In two days time his carriers will be north of Lunga
24th Flottilla , reinforced by 25ths fighters, would move en mass to lunga. All six fleet carriers would fly as many fighters over lunga as well, while the CVLs protected the fleet.
The heavy bomber menace would be dealt with.
(postings will be irregular until end of month.thanks son for using all of the download limit)
big seas, fast ships, life tastes better with salt
1630 hours
It has been a long day, one of those days full of niggling defects and operations.
Zuiho has completed another boiler swing, another set of soot blows. A set of bottom blows, and now has just re connected to 4 boilers.
Although to the Charge and most of the crew do not know it, The great fleet is now east of Munda. But they can tell that action is in the air, CAP is heavy, and four boiler steaming always promises something.
The phone rings, “could Charge come to controlling engine room please?’
Damnation.
His stomach is growling, lunch was forgotten today.
Hopefully this can be dealt with before dusk action stations……….
Dinner is missed.
‘Are you sure charge?” Tan frowns at the small book in his hand. It is the Chief of the watches book.
No Chief runs this book, just the on watch able seamen responsible for the Evaporator outputs, the potable water tank usage.
You will see these men all hours of every day , moving swiftly through the ship, dropping dip taps into sounding tubes, frowning, phoning the engine room and speaking foreign language- ;”swing to make up”, or, “twenty minutes to 143 please, then to 148”
They move mostly unnoticed through the ship, until they make a mistake: and flood a mess deck a foot deep in water or worse.
‘No mistake sir” Tan is learning, but he has so far to go. But at least he listens…… “we are losing water. I thought the swings accounted for going backwards, but now I am certain”
Tan folds the small book, hands it back to him. “and your minimum feed level usually chief?’
“If we were steady steaming, 60 % , but if battle is looming……..”
Tan grins “Oh, one only has to look out side to gather that, or get under Kato’s feet –did you know his look can freeze you at 30 paces!”
‘yes, I am avoiding the bridge at the moment”
‘You are not the only one”
“ I need at least 65% sir……..and as you can see, we are at 50’
“alright. I will inform the XO, we all stink some more neh?. In the meantime, we had better find our missing water…..”
Find our missing water.
So much easier to say than do.
‘All spaces…….we are losing the feed battle. Search for leaks, check all glands, double check all systems’
Feed pipes. Condensate pipes. Drains, miles upon miles of drains ,mostly hidden in the bilges.
A single hole a mere millimeter in size can lose 100’s of litres per hour.
The search begins.
Damiensan stands before herbiesan
“Sir, we have stabilized the industrial situation”
‘Completely?’
‘No, far from it. But we are gaining again . Please go easy on fuel for a while, and I can solve the problems. Fuel is the key at the moment, you need more fuel……..
extract from shattering the sword, a cantona production
These were the wasted months.
For the Allies, it seemed impossible that the Japanese had not run riot since the disasters of the Marshall battles.
One british carrier, and four CVE’s to combat the might of combined fleet. And what had happened?
Very little.
But they suspected. Could it be that Japan was short of fuel?
Was that holding them back?
Partially, yes.
But something else was holding the fleet back. A conviction that the war was won.
Why risk the fleet with peace so near?
The war is a year old.
Tomorrow, the allies are going to shatter that illusion forever…………
big seas, fast ships, life tastes better with salt
nah, speed limited access in a multiple computer family, i post when I can get on at the moment!
(But battle is coming!.........)
8/12/42
112th regimental HQ
For Hosho, the war is good.
The division is rebuilt, and in reserve 40 miles from Rangoon.
There are huts, -proper buildings.
There is a good steady supply route. Only twice in the last month have the enemy been seen, contrails high in the sky.
In contrast, hardly a day goes by with out the snarl and whine of the KI 43’s passing overhead.
On several occasions a week, they accompany the deeper throb of the bombers heading north.
Hosho attends daily briefs. At this HQ, quiet quick affairs. Half the time only half the officers attend . many are “detached on course, on training, on supply runs”
Meaning they are whoring it up in the city an hours drive away……….
For a while there, it seemed that the allies might have been gaining in “the battle of the airfields” –bombing the fields to the north every night. Extra engineers had turned the tide Japans way again
This week, however, there had been some interesting news from the front.
The remains of the trapped Burma Division had burst out of the jungle north of Malanady , cutting the road to Mirityinka.
Hosho listens to the brief, and wonders at the grit of the men still surviving.
The briefing officer finishes “they have been getting supplies by air. A huge effort by any measure……”
A huge effort, yes.
But you had to admire the determination to survive, to get home, .
Worthy of Bushido.
47th sentai too has had a easy war.
But tomorrow will be different.
The charges Son supervises the refueling of his Tojo, his body aching from the long, long flight.
Lunga airfield this evening is a busy, busy place.
All around him the beat of the navy fighters taxiing into positions for tomorrows mission, rows upon row of wings reflecting the setting sun.
Above the snarl of more engines, KI 43’s circling, awaiting to land.
His ground crew is smiling.
The crew chief offers him a stick of dried beef. ‘It has been many weeks since we have seen such strength……….we were thinking we were about to be abandoned”
The fighter pilot looks around, and eagle eyes note the damaged buildings, the many obvious bomb holes filled hurriedly in, and seemingly everywhere, the shattered hulks of wrecked fighters.
‘It was bad?’
The chief nods. “Yes, it was bad. Those big barsted……..they are so beautiful you know…….but they carry so many bombs!’
“It seems to be the way ney?, the more beautiful a thing is, the more deadly it can be……”
‘And how so?’
The Chief stops, laughs……”You obviously have met few women in your life.”
Hidaka briefs the pilots.
The ready room is a stinking, sweating hot bath of a room this evening, and every face shines .
Not all with the heat.
“Gentlemen, this is Lunga, last stop on the Empire line. The situation is this.
Nearly every day, some dozen to up to 50 plus B17s trundle up to here, and bomb, totally impervious to our small resistance.
Occasionally, he precedes with a sweep of a new fighter, twin engines –the P38.
We don’t think much of this plane –but it does have a good range..
Tomorrow, the heavy carriers will fly a CAP trap over the base, in addition to extra fighters.
We will fly max CAP over the fleet.
Any questions?’
Silence.
And why not?. It is easy enough. We are looking for a fight. And can there be anything wrong with that?
Especially for a fighter pilot.
And no bloody bombers to protect.
“Good, now details……….”
Details
The metrological brief……..tomorrow, 3/10ths cloud, early mist. Some sea mist to 1000 feet.. Thunderstorms in the afternoon
The technological brief ; numbers of aircraft available, pilot allocation, spotting order.
The signal brief –tomorrows ID code, special signal traffic
(And for Heavens sake !, if you approach the wrong carrier, do not be surprised if the gunners shoot you down! –not everyone knows your hair brained approaches Diogawa!)
The flight brief –(from Hidaka) - heights, formations, sectors over the fleet assigned to. The position of the sun. Exhortations to turn aircraft around as quickly as possible after expending ammunition.
And a new note.
‘If you see a bomber diving on any ship, any ship, and you have no ammunition left…….ram it. One life to save a thousand. It is our duty
First launch is 0400 hours”
And together, as one, he leads the call. “banzia!’
“have you found the leak yet chief/”
Charge shakes his head in exasperation. ‘ Actually, yes. One small drain line up forward, LP main. Fixed it 6 hours ago. We are still going backwards, 50%, fresh 30%”
Tan frowns “Do you think?’
Charge Scratches the back of his neck. He is dirty, stained, and literally dripping with sweat. ‘I think it’s the air heater 1 A boiler, every sign points that way. Pinhole leaks are as common as crud with Kampons this many hours in.”
Tan sighs. ‘well, we cannot go to the captain with this today, flying stations in 5 hours. “
‘We grin and bare it?”
‘Every ugly inch of it chief, every ugly inch”
Zuiho prepares for battle.
That ever present noise of the ship that accompanies them, day after day, hour after hour, changes subtly.
To the fans, the swish of the seas flowing past, the beat of the screws, the ventilation fans, new, more exciting sounds.
The ting, ting of the flight deck lifts, bearing each fighter aloft.
The ting , ting, of the ammunition lifts, bringing the chains of shining shells, cannon and machine from below.
The clunk, clunk, of the ammunition hoists for the 4.7 AA guns coming up.
The sounds of a hundred watertight doors clanging shut, dogging down
And now above all, the whining straining scream of the blowers, coming to full forcing rate, as Zuiho comes up to battle speed one.
Yamamoto is sitting cross legged on the porch of his HQ, eyes shut, deep in meditation, when the messenger comes.
The Midshipman is flushed, breathless.
In deep need of serenity…….
One eye of Yamamoto opens..
The message is blurted.
“Maloeloap is under bombardment…….and reports many boats and landing craft approaching”
Silence
Yamamoto grunts
“thankyou”
And resumes meditation.
After all, what can be done about it now?”
big seas, fast ships, life tastes better with salt
Twice now Mitchell has been in invasions.
Both times as part of the defense. Both times part of a successful defense.
Alone amongst all the men scrambling into the assault craft, he alone knows what can really happen, what probably will.
And yet, he climbs down the rope ladder, determined as any, to do his duty, to do his part.
Landing craft, heaving, swaying under his feet. Khaki bodies, pale, wet already, crammed into the heaving boat.
There is nothing to do except stare at the back of the man in front, to hang on, to pray.
Impressions crash into him. The great hulk of 4 battleships spewing fire and thunder.
Maleolap , or whatever they call it, wreathed in smoke, shattered palm trees.
The growl of the diesel propelling them inexorably towards the shore.
And now, the sound of guns, the chatter of machine guns, the crump of mortars, and terrifyingly, the whip of lead cracking past.
There is little comfort in “the ones you hear have already passed”
At 1800 hours, the first marine regiment, 822 EAB, and Mitchell, hit the beaches.
Twice now, the Japanese have tried to take an atoll in the face of dug in defenders fighting to the death. Twice they have failed, and died.
Can the Americans succeed third time around?
And who are you, mere man?
You are born, you grow. You play, you laugh, you cry
You go to school, you learn
Your journey follows the path of the generations before you.
Life, love.
But your path takes you here today, to this muddy field.
You, mere man, prepare to climb into your machine.
Does your journey end today, here, 20000 feet in the great blue above?
If it does. It does.
Would you, could you, imagine yourself anywhere else?
Impossible.
This is where you are meant to be.
The KI 44 is already running, vibrating, growling. You climb easily up its wing, using the rope supplied.
The crew chief assists you, as you sling your leg over and in, lifting yourself with your arms, and you settle in.
Chief passes you your flight board, your sword.
And the mind turns to the work at hand, body and mind as one.
Throttle, flaps, trim, gauges, goggles, straps.
You touch the throttle, eager to go, eager to go.
Around you, Lunga thunders as over a hundred engines come to life.
They stream past you now, three and four abreast at a time, tails rising into the air, and the ground crews wave hysterically, go!, go!, revenge us for the misery of these months. Our turn to inflict pain.
For what can stand against such gathered might.?
You grin, and fierce exhultation grips you. Your turn, you kick the throttle, kick the rudder, swing the stick. Glance left, glance right, wing men with you.
All grinning.
Throttle savagely forward, dust streaming aft, tail rising, ground rushing, bouncing, lightness, flying, gear up!, gear up!, flaps set, and climb, and climb , into the big blue.
And lunga falls below, fading, merging into the green, into the blue, into the curve of the world below.
Fighter pilot. Ruler of all you see…..
Other planes are up here, circling, circling, and you drive your Tojo higher , higher past the circling navy fighters, up to where it is clear, and clean, and OH so cold……..
The enemy come
Arrogant barsteds
As usual
36 strong, stacked neatly as always.
Big.
Beautiful
Deadly
And you so want to smash them………
You fly briefly, parallel, a thousand feet above them, watching, watching, gathering, and as the navy zeros begin to peel in, you attack.
Hard stick over, engine screaming, wings vertical, , the bombers float, float, rush , rush, grow, you rush, sweep in from the side, a difficult , difficult approach………but you are good enough for this……….
Guns hammer, the noise unheard, tracer reaching, reaching, the bombers wings flashing mere feet above as you race underneath, kicking your fighter down and away, pulling up now, up and hard in, other fighters with you,…….lots and lots of fighters with you………..
Japan swarms over the raid.
But the bombers, with greater guns, heavier, harder hitting GREATER REACHING guns…….fight back.
Just two fall
Four more will not get home
But such a trail of shattered fighters they will leave behind…………
You land
Ammunition expended
Your fighter is holed, but you are uninjured.
But Lunga is not
You cannot look the ground crew in the eye.
The bombers, despite this greatest of effort, have gotten through.
Yamaguichi reads the figures.
26 fighters lost .
26!
For a mere handful of bombers killed.
Hara reads the report to.
“How, do you think, we will stop them?”
He feels hollow. Gutted. I did my best Yamamoto , we did our best. But this war is beyond Bushido……….
“I do not know” the Admiral wearily answers. “ But I do know we cannot sustain this.
Bring the fleet about, we must return to Truk”
Author notes:
The war is a year old, and Cantona fights on, and on.
I followed just one strategy, normal conquest , KILL HIS CARRIERS
To my surprise, I have. But cantona is a superb opponent, playing fair, and we follow pretty well IRL “feel” to the game.
I have managed to muck up the economy, but its recovering (but I am scared to send Damiensan a turn cause he will whip me some more).
I have lost one capital ship so far, but over 3000 a/c to his 2600.
Fuel is my biggest issue.
Scene one, is bloody tuff, and I count myself incredibly lucky to be in this position
I thank everyone who has followed this first year, and I hope we can enjoy another one.
I am planning a huge full carrier sweep to Tarawa in jan 43, with the intention to smash all these bloody outposts cantona has seized.
I think IRL that’s what japan would do.
Again, thanks for following the little ship that certainly has. ( I must sit down and re read and see what her score is so far!)
big seas, fast ships, life tastes better with salt
