Kirov III-Pacific Storm (Kirov Series) (17 page)

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.

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
hikotaicho,
strike leader, and Hayashi swelled with
newfound pride.

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
Zuiho
that day.

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.

Sayonara
, he thought to all he loved back
home—to mother, father, elder sister, and all he had ever known.
Sayonara
,
Matsua, and to all my brothers waiting for their chance at another life. I now
have mine, and I will spend it gladly to avenge your deaths, and strike this
demon like a Thunder God.

Today I am
Jinrai
Butai
!

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
Zuiho
just before Hayashi
took off. The last of them tipped its wings back and forth, and Hayashi knew it
was Lt. Subota off his mother ship
Zuikaku
. Then he heard
Reijiro
Otuka’s
gritty voice over
his short range headset. He was radio man aboard
Subota’s
plane.

“Come on up, Hayashi. Everyone is
waiting for you!”

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
Zuiho’s
escort
followed in his wake, soon climbing with him and taking up positions to either
side, with one behind and above, a princely escort of three A6M2
Rei-sen
fighters. Then he heard another voice in his
headset as he reached altitude, joined by nine more fighters off
Zuiho
.

“Lieutenant Hayashi!”
It was Sakamoto, the strike commander
and veteran of so many successful battles.
“Steer 67 degrees northeast. You
may lead us in!”

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
Shokaku
. The wave would finish up with nine B5N2 torpedo bombers
under Subota, and another nine led by Ichihara from
Shokaku
. There were
all of fifty-four strike planes behind him now, this time all the dive bombers
properly armed with armor piercing bombs, the B5Ns prominently carrying their
long
Koku
Gyorai
‘
Thunderfish
,’ the type 91 torpedoes. He was plane
number 55, the chosen swallow in the lead, with an escort of all twelve of
Hidaka’s fighters off
Zuiho
, their white wings bright in the sun.

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.”