The flight deck leader stepped quickly to the front of his waiting plane and bowed. He made the signal that would only be given to the
Hayashi saluted crisply and slid the canopy shut tight, strapping himself quickly into this seat and breathing deeply. His left arm still pained him where a shell had grazed him before it killed his radio man in a the rear compartment. This time he would fly alone—just one wounded man in one wounded plane—the last and only strike plane aboard
The chocks were removed and the flag man waved him forward. As he began to rev up his engine tears glazed his eyes, as he knew in his heart of hearts that he would never return.
Today I am
The sky above was filling up with droning formations of dive bombers and torpedo planes. They were mostly circling high above the three carriers, but one group flew low, a squadron of 9 torpedo bombers roaring over the long flat deck of
Hayashi gunned his engine and his plane hurtled down the long flight deck and labored into the sky. Behind him the last three fighters of
Hayashi reached up to engage his microphone and spoke proudly. “It will be my honor, sir!” He opened his throttle and maneuvered his plane to the van. Behind him were wide formations of D3As, nine led by Sakamoto and nine more under Lt. Commander Ema. Just behind them there were eighteen more dive bombers led by Yamaguchi off the carrier
He breathed in deeply. It was a glorious morning, and a glorious way to die. He would join his brothers soon.
They saw the planes on radar at a few minutes before 06:00 hours at a range of 225 miles, Rodenko shouting out the contact in a clear voice. Battle stations sounded and men rushed to take up seats at the lightning fast computer stations, the milky green screens winking out data, lights flashing system readiness. Karpov was holding down the watch that morning, and Fedorov and Admiral Volsky were soon to the bridge, the latter somewhat winded, but finally awake after the long climb up to the citadel.
“Admiral on the Bridge!”
“As you were, gentlemen,” Volsky huffed, walking straight to Rodenko’s radar station for a look at the reading.
“A large contact sir. I’m reading over sixty discrete units, about 200 miles out now. They will be nearly an hour closing the range at their current speed.”
“Sixty planes? Someone wants to ruin our pleasure cruise for sure this time. Samsonov, what is our SAM inventory?”
“Thirty-five S-300s and thirty–seven Klinoks, sir.”
“Seventy-two missiles,” Volsky shook his head. “And after that we become a sitting duck, as the Americans might say, at least insofar as air strikes are concerned. Opinions?” His eyes moved from Karpov to Fedorov.
“This is probably the heart of the remaining strike aircraft off the two fleet carriers,” said Fedorov. “It will be a mixed strike composed of both dive bombers and torpedo bombers—only this time I think they will coordinate the strike to hit us with everything they have at one time.”
“We could have hit those carriers with a Moskit-II early this morning while they were arming and fueling. Was it so hard to assume they would mount this strike?” Karpov had a dejected look on his face. “We have been too reluctant to do what is necessary here, and now we pay the price. For that matter, we should have pounded those cruisers last night as well, then shaken them off and used a few SAMs to shoot down their seaplanes. Then we could have broken away and they would not know where we are.”
“But they know where we are headed,” said Fedorov. “The Torres Strait is the only channel east we can use, and we will have to slow to 10 knots there. It will undoubtedly be watched by planes out of Port Moresby as well. So it is just a matter of time before their search assets locate us. We can’t expend vital missile inventory shooting down seaplanes, not with combat strikes like this one heading our way.”
“Then we will have to break that formation up at range,” said Karpov. “Just as we did with those strike waves off the British carriers.”
“You recommend we engage at once with the S-300s?” Volsky raised a heavy eyebrow.
“I do, sir. We can start with one missile canister at 125 miles, a second barrage at 100 miles if necessary.” Each canister would house up to eight missiles, so Karpov was proposing they expend just under half their remaining S-300s in the initial attacks.
“It will be necessary,” said Fedorov. “We’ll shock them, and definitely hurt them, but they will not break off and run. They’ll press in the attack with every last plane.”
“I assume as much having seen the first two strikes,” said Karpov. “We can expend half our S-300’s and see what remains of their strike assets. Then at 40 miles out we can hit them with the Klinok system if their numbers remain high. Any that get through that will be grist for our Gatling guns, just as before.”
“A sound plan,” said Volsky. “Half our S-300s and then probably half our Klinok missiles as well. That means we can only play this game one more time! What else will those carriers have left, Fedorov?”
“This will be the heart of their strike planes, sir. Those two carriers could hold seventy-two planes each. We’ve already killed twenty of a possible 144. That leaves 124 planes, with fifty-four of them most likely being A6M2 fighters. That would leave seventy strike planes, and Rodenko says he has nearly that many contacts. They may have some fighters or torpedo planes in reserve, but not more than a dozen.”
“What about the third carrier?” Karpov asked.
“A light escort carrier,” said Fedorov. “They usually carried two groups, half fighter and the other half strike planes of one sort or another. No more than twenty-four planes in all. These may be their reserve.”
Volsky shook his head, remembering that first British plane he ordered shot down with an S-300. Then the ship’s silos and magazines had been full, glutted with reloads for the planned live fire exercises. Now every missile he fired brought them one step closer to a condition where even these old propeller planes, obsolete seventy years before
“We talked our way out of some real trouble a few weeks ago at Gibraltar,” he said. “Something tells me these men will not be so accommodating as Admiral Tovey, even if we did have someone aboard who could speak Japanese.”
“No, sir,” said Karpov. “I’m afraid we will have to let our missiles do the talking here.”
“It seems so. And what you have said about taking a more proactive stance in these matters has not gone unheard, Captain. You may be right, Karpov. We are measured against a foe here that will be implacable. The Americans had to burn and blast their way from one desolate island to the next in this war, and it ended with
