Kirov III: Pacific Storm

The message was tapped out at once, quickly received by Hama’s carriers, but it was not necessary. The sharp eyes of a Japanese squadron leader had already seen the ship, and he was eager to attack.

~ ~ ~

Lt. Tamotsu Ema was glad to be airborne again, riding his favorite warhorse into action at long last. He was leader for the EII-2 squadron of the carrier Zuikaku, flying his lucky plane, number 235. His formation was well up, at 15,000 feet, cruising at 240kph with twenty-seven planes spread over three full squadrons of nine planes each. Lt. Akira Sakamoto led 1st Squadron, on his left, and Lt. Hayashi had 3rd Squadron on his right. He was privileged to assume the role of buntaicho and lead in second squadron, in the center position, the place of honor that Lt. Sakamoto had been kind enough to grant him as a reward for scoring the first hit on the Americans three months ago.

It seemed such a long time since that first wild clash with the Americans in the Coral Sea and he was eager to get back in the fight. Admiral Hara’s 5th Carrier Division, comprised of Shokaku (White Crane) and her sister ship Zuikaku (Lucky Crane), and Zuiho (Lucky Phoenix) now occupied a prominent place in the Combined Fleet. They were first to find and blood the enemy carrier groups in the Coral Sea, sinking the USS Lexington two months ago during Operation MO and insuring the successful landing that had secured Port Moresby. Ema’s Aichi D3A1 dive bombers had scored three hits on the big flattop, smashing her flight deck and igniting a raging fire when the aviation fuel ignited below decks. Lt. Commander Matsua’s torpedo Bombers off Zuiho had finished her off.

Now the sky was clear and bright ahead, though behind them came the burgeoning white clouds of a thunder storm, grey-white fists rising on the far horizon, where the carriers were laying in wait and running before the rising wind. Today they would be Jinrai Butai—the Thunder Gods at the edge of a storm, and they would bring their anger to their enemies and herald the imminent invasion that would soon follow on their heels.

Ema looked down, noting something off his right wingtip, a strange shadow on the sea below that soon glinted in the bright sunlight—a ship! He thumbed his short range radio, calling the hikotaicho formation leader and reporting the contact.

“Lieutenant Sakamoto. Ship below at three o’clock. It looks like a big cruiser!” Even as he reported he wondered if the Australians had somehow learned of the operation and sortied a screen of fast cruisers to look for signs of the attack. If so, they would soon find more than they bargained for.

“Shall we attack?” he asked his hikotaicho again.

“Hold formation,” Sakamoto returned. “I will send Hayashi on the right. His squadron is in better position to make the attack. Hayashi, are you reading this? Get down there and give them hell!”

A moment later Ema looked and saw Hayashi peel off, the planes of his 3rd Squadron following in three neat shotai, the three plane units that would make up each squadron of nine. The drone of their engines filled the air and got his blood up for action, and now he wished he had been posted on the right, and that it was his planes diving on the enemy from above. Naval combat was what he and his men had trained for, and lived for. Yes, they would strike Darwin and soften the enemy up for the invasion, but sinking a cruiser would be so much more satisfying.

He smiled, hearing the cheers of the nine pilots as they dove to the attack, and sighed. Who knows what is good or bad, he thought. He would press on at altitude with Sakamoto’s group and pound Darwin to dust instead. After all, none of the planes had armor piercing bombs at the moment. They really should not be making this attack on a ship with incendiaries, but the cruiser could not pass unchallenged.

Above them he saw the A6M2 Rei-sen fighters streak ahead on top cover, the vanguard of the formation, clearing the way for his dive bombers. Far to his left he could see the planes off Shokaku, another formation of twenty-seven Aichi D3A1 dive bombers with many fighters in escort. The torpedo bombers were not deemed necessary on this ground attack mission, and were still waiting aboard the carriers. He looked at his comrades diving, expecting to see the smoky white puffs of flak at any moment as they closed for the kill, but what he saw instead would haunt him for the rest of his days.

~ ~ ~

The sound seemed to be coming from all around them now, faint and far away at times, and then ominously close, wavering in the still air above the Timor Sea. They had been steaming north for thirty minutes in an utterly calm sea until a watchman on the bridge reported seeing something on his starboard quarter. Rodenko thought he saw something as well on radar at that same moment, and then his screen seemed to crackle with interference.

Volsky was in his chair, Fedorov at the navigation station where he kept his history reference materials, and there came a sudden vibration, increasing as the sound around them wavered in and out.

“Something is happening,” said Fedorov, eyes wide as he looked to the condition of the sea, but all seemed calm.

Admiral Volsky had a grim expression on his face, brows lowered, eyes intense as he listened. “What is that sound?”

It was a long distended drone, quavering in and out, and multiplied ten and twenty times in a welter of dissonance. Behind it all was a low rumble, deeper, more pronounced, and with a more steady rhythm.

“Mister Fedorov, call engineering and see if we have any problems there.”

“Aye, sir.” Fedorov made the call. “Dobrynin says he heard something earlier, sir, and he still has some odd flux readings, but the reactor is stable.” Even as he finished he was distracted when he saw something in the sky above them, strange shadows moving in the vibrating air. Then he caught the wink of sunlight on metal in the sky and turned quickly to Rodenko. “Any signal data?”

“I have nothing on radar.” Rodenko spoke up over the growling noise, a confused look on his face. His systems were now unreadable.

“Look!” Fedorov pointed.

All eyes followed his arm, but Volsky could see only shadows, high overhead, as if a flight of storm clouds had joined in formation and were moving impossibly fast on a windless day. The droning sound settled on a lower, more sustained note that was now clear and recognizable. It was the sound of aircraft engines—propeller planes, and it had a powerful and dangerous overtone.

“God almighty,” said Fedorov. “We’ve shifted again, and right into the middle of a strike wave. Look!”

Now when he pointed the others could see the shadows slowly dissipate and become silver crosses in the sky above and well off their starboard side. They suddenly sharpened, as though a camera lens had focused, and now they were clearly silver-white planes with bright red meatballs painted on each wing, and prominent unretracted landing gear.

“Battle Stations! Alert one! Those are Japanese dive bombers—right on top of us!”

~ ~ ~

Karpov heard the second alarm, and was now rushing to the bridge, making his way through the long corridors and up ladders to the command level deck and the armored citadel.

“What is happening, Captain?” the men asked as he passed. “More fighting?”

“Spakoyna. Nye Boytyes” he said, “Stay calm. Don’t be frightened. Just man your post as always. Admiral Volsky is on the bridge, and we will handle matters.”

He pressed on, but caught a matoc seaman mutter that at least the Admiral was not locked up in sick bay this time, and his eyes darkened. They have every right to feel as they do, he realized. One day I may win back their respect again, but he gave it no more thought.

As he worked his way to the upper deck heard the loud drone that had spooked the crew and set them on edge. What was it? By the time he reached the bridge he could hear the low thrum of distant engines and then a long wailing scream of something coming at the ship from above. He burst through the hatch, sealing it behind him quickly, and seeing Fedorov and Volsky gaping out through the forward view panes. What was happening?

The sudden geyser of seawater exploding up off the port side told him all he needed to know. The shock of the abrupt appearance of planes right on top of the ship had stunned the bridge crew, but Admiral Volsky was suddenly animated, turning quickly to Samsonov.

“Engage all airborne targets,” he said gruffly. “Weapons free!”