Kirov III: Pacific Storm

All that night Hara’s Kido Butai carrier force ran east, skirting the northern coast of Melville Island where Charlie One and Strangler had seen the action involving Kirov. But by now the two Aborigine scouts were far to the south, well away from the thickening squads of Japanese naval infantry from the Kure 26th SNLF that were now landing on the island in force.

In the pre-dawn hours of August 26, 1942 the planned invasion of Port Darwin was well underway. The heavy Bombardment Group centered on the two big battleships Admiral Hara had wrangled away from Yamamoto were now pounding the coastal shore batteries and inland positions where remnants of a small Australian defense force that had been evacuated from Port Moresby now held forth. Mutsu and Nagato fired salvo after salvo, their big 16 inch guns blasting the shore and sending huge columns of smoke into the grey dawn. Closer in, the light cruiser Tama and destroyers Onami, Kiyonami, and Okinami used their smaller guns to good effect as well.

Just before sunrise, the transport fleet began to disembark wave after wave of troops from the 21st Infantry Regiment, the Shimada Regiment from Yamashita’s 5th Division, the very same tigers that had so baffled the British forces defending in Malaya. It was all he would need. The Darwin garrison was no more than battalion strength, and would be overcome by persistent Japanese attacks within a few days.

Hara was so pleased with the work done by his battleship bombardment force, that he canceled a planned second air strike on Darwin and thought instead of his pursuit force further east. He turned to E-I flight leader Masafumi Arima aboard Shokaku where he set his flag, and asked for an update.

“Where is Iwabuchi and the pursuit force?”

“Sir? About 250 miles northeast of our position. The cruisers managed to shadow this enemy ship all night, but Kirishima slowly fell behind, even running at her very best speed, sir. The British have edged away, but Captain Kiyota aboard Nachi now reports Iwabuchi is just over twenty miles behind in the chase.”

“Amazing,” said Hara. “For that old battleship to stay so close at high speed like that is quite a feat. We must now think about slowing this British ship down, even if we have to disappoint Iwabuchi by sinking it. Prepare a major air strike this time. Sakamoto should have never sent only 9 planes with incendiaries yesterday, and I was equally remiss by sending only twelve torpedo bombers off Zuiho.”

That had been the one thing to darken Hara’s mood the previous day, for no report was ever received back from Matsua’s B5N2s. They waited well into the night, with Zuiho bravely running ahead of the storm to make for a safer recovery operation, but not a single plane returned. Now they were all presumed lost, the whole of Zuiho’s strike element. All she had left was Hidaka’s twelve A6M2 fighters and Hayashi with his sole surviving dive bomber, the hapless leader of that first ill-fated strike on this enemy ship. Hara had been taught a strong lesson. He would not repeat the mistake. This time he would use his more experienced pilots off the two fleet carriers, with the correct ordinance, and this time he would strike in force.

“Twenty planes gone,” he muttered. “At least we managed to fish half the pilots out of the sea. The Navy can give us more planes easily enough, but finding skilled men to fly them is another matter. Well, Captain, spot a good mixed strike wave this time. Use our squadrons as well as anything you need from Zuikaku. I want to avenge the men and planes we so foolishly lost yesterday. Let us attack this ship properly today, and put it on the bottom of the Arafura Sea.”

“Aye, sir! Seaplanes from Iwabuchi’s ship and the cruisers will have a good fix on the target. Who should I task to lead this attack, sir?”

“Sakamoto, who else? Let him use all of Ema’s dive bombers, and Yamaguchi’s as well. Assign Ichihara from our torpedo bombers, and Subota from Zuikaku—9 planes each. I do not think we will need many escort fighters, but send one squadron. Use Zuiho’s planes for top cover escort. We’ll keep our fighters for Combat Air Patrol over the fleet. I want a good coordinated strike.” He held up a finger, admonishing.

“Very good, sir. Sakamoto will handle the matter this time.”

“Oh yes,” Hara put in one last note. “Hayashi is still on Zuiho. Tell him he can join the attack as well, if his plane can still fly. It will do him some good. He’s most likely brooding at the edge of seppuku by now. Let’s give him the honor of riding in the van—one more chance to set things right, neh? Who knows, he might even get us another hit!”

~ ~ ~

Hayashi was indeed in a dark and somber mood. He sat in the flight briefing room aboard Zuiho, alone, staring at the empty chairs. His last goodbye to his old friend Matsua was indeed final, and now he was responsible not only for the death of his own men, but for the lives of Matsua’s men as well. The shame was too much to bear. He sat with his hands on his head, a miserable and forsaken man, on a forsaken ship.

What good was a carrier with no planes, no fire to breathe at the enemy? The ship had once been a sub- tender, and in his mind she was good for little else now that her only strike squadron was gone. It was all his fault, he knew. If he had completed his mission as first assigned then all these men and planes would still be here, and tonight he might drink with Matsua, as in old times, better times before the war.

Above he could hear sounds of activity as flight service crews seemed to be readying the last twelve fighters aboard for some action. Then a mechanic from the flight deck came rushing into the room his face red with excitement.

“Lieutenant Hayashi? There you are. Your plane is ready, sir!”

Hayashi did not move, then slowly turned, his eyes dark and sullen. “What are you talking about?”

“Your D3, sir. I’ve been working on it all night! I replaced the struts that were damaged from spare parts, and patched up both wings, sir. There is still a dent in the forward prop blade, but I have hammered it as smooth as I could. The engine will run a little rough, but I replaced all the oil and hydraulic fluid, and two damaged lines. They have already mounted your bomb, sir. The plane is on the elevator now!”

“Bomb?”

“Haven’t you heard, Lieutenant? You have been ordered to take off with Lieutenant Commander Hidaka’s fighters and lead in Sakamoto’s strike wave.”

At this Hayashi was suddenly focused. “Ordered to take off? By who?”

“We just got a signal from Shokaku, sir. You should come up on deck! They have spotted a big strike to go and kill this British ship that took down our brothers. Zuikaku’s planes are mustering on deck as well. You are the only strike plane left aboard Zuiho, and the Lucky Phoenix will fly with you today, Lieutenant. I was sent to find you. Takeoff in ten minutes, sir.”

Hayashi swallowed hard, surprised and honored to hear this news. His mood lifted considerably and he stood up, sniffing the sweet warm air and standing taller. The mechanic smiled. “I’ll see you on deck, sir!”

Hayashi nodded, looking around him now for his gloves and not finding them. No matter. If his plane would fly, then he would fly as well. Those orders could have only come from one man, he knew, Admiral Hara himself. He started for the door, then stopped, turning once more to look at the rows of empty chairs. Then he bowed silently, saluted, and rushed for the flight deck, listening to the drone of engines as the first fighters began to take off.

By the time he reached the upper deck he could see that his plane was already spotted and ready, with a subsection of three A6M2s, right behind it. A young fighter pilot came to greet him with a bow. “Lieutenant Hayashi? I am Yoshimi Minami, shotai leader assigned to you as escort. I have the honor to fly with you in the vanguard, sir.” He smiled, eyes bright with youth and fire beneath his flight bonnet. Then he gestured, pointing the way.

Hayashi nodded and then strode boldly across the white striped flight deck to mount his plane. The engine was already started and a mechanic jumped down, saluting as Hayashi climbed.

“I’m sorry sir,” the man shouted. “But we have no radio man to send with you.”

“Not necessary,” said Hayashi, and everyone who heard him knew why. Hayashi had been given a rare and special honor. He would be privileged to relive the past, and this time he was determined to acquit himself and redeem not only his own soiled honor, but that of all the men of his own squadron who had died, and those of Matsua’s squadron as well.