Axis of Evil

Chapter Twenty-Three: Deathcloud Rising

HIMS Yamato

Hashirajima, Japan

18^th May 1941

In a very real sense, Admiral Chuichi Nagumo was Japan’s most successful commander of the war. While Kurita and Ozawa had been disgraced or killed in action, Nagumo could and did claim the victory of the Battle of Malaya, even though his ships had been driven off after a dual with Singapore’s main guns. After all, he had sunk three British ships.

Commander Sato watched as Nagumo issued his orders and felt his heart sink. Despite his work with the aircraft carriers between the wars, Nagumo had no… talent for carrier work. Unlike Genda or Yamamoto, Nagumo cared little for the flyers; he had wanted to use the carriers as battleships! Even though the carriers carried far more potent weapons in the form of their air wing, Nagumo had wanted to allow them to close with the enemy!

He shook his head. If the recovering Admiral Yamamoto had been able to convince the war cabinet to call off the strike until he had recovered, Sato would have felt a lot more confident. The fleet that Nagumo had assembled looked powerful, but against the British forces, it was almost nothing. Six months of desperate improvising had given the Japanese some countermeasures, but he knew they were not enough. The ships were protected against a single torpedo hit, but the British could just keep striking them… and of course the carrier decks could hardly be protected.

“You look pensive,” Nagumo observed. For a moment, the two men stood alone on the bridge. “Do you not feel that we will win?”

“We will take heavy losses for the Emperor,” Sato replied dully.

“So Yamamoto kept saying,” Nagumo said. He smiled. “That fool Kurita gave up our chance at a strategic victory, but we will not.” He waved a hand over the fleet. “Ten battleships, battlecruisers, cruisers, destroyers, submarines… and seven carriers. A force far greater than the one that Kurita had, and one that can absorb more damage.”

Sato sighed. Nagumo didn’t understand. The seven carriers were two fleet carriers, two conversions and three converted freighters. Even if they had all been fleet carriers, Sato knew that there was no way that they could put up enough fighters to stand off the British missiles.

“Kurita’s ships were older vessels, with inadequate armour,” Nagumo continued. That was true; the weaker armour on the Kongo and its sister ships had provided the British with a convenient target. “The Yamato and her comrades have had extra armour and torpedo protection loaded on.”

Sato bowed once. Nagumo might have been right, but he didn’t believe it. After all, the British had plenty more missiles to use.

Nagumo swept over to the radioman. “Transmit the signal,” he said. “The fleet is to begin sailing upon command.”

Sato took his station at the air control station, which was meant to transmit orders to the carrier planes. He suspected that he would have no time to use it before the missiles arrived. He scowled; if the British got lucky or smart, they would take out the tankers once the fleet was in the middle of the Pacific wastes, and strand them helplessly.

“We are about to embark upon a glorious adventure for His Majesty,” Nagumo said. “His Most Imperial Majesty expects that each and every one of you will do his duty.”

There was a long pause. Cheers rang through the massive ship. “Send the signal,” Nagumo ordered. “Take us out.”

The Japanese didn’t know that she was there, a massive SSN lurking just outside their main harbour. If they had known, they would have tried to sink her, but they didn’t even have the slightest idea that the ship was present. Some Japanese officers, aware of the true purpose of the fleet, might have suspected her presence, but they gave her no thought. If they were observed… well, they were observed.

“Some mighty big bastards in that force,” Captain Tyson observed. The Trafalgar had been watching the harbour for months, carefully noting what the Japanese were doing. “Anyone would think they were serious about going somewhere.”

“Canada, perhaps,” Lieutenant-Commander Davidson said. On the surface, the Japanese started to emit a hail of sound pulses, disrupting passive 1941 sonar. It was a nuisance, even for 2015 sonar, but active sonar could still pick out the ships. “They’ve certainly got enough supplies.”

“Those tankers might be empty,” Lieutenant Hawthorne said. “They can’t have much fuel left after the mess we made of the refineries before they took the Indies.”

“You’ve been reading up on this,” Davidson said wryly. “Do you know whose in command?”

“Yamato was Yamamoto’s flagship during this time period,” Hawthorne said thoughtfully. “That might be him onboard now in command, one of the best admirals in the war.”

“We could sink it now,” Davidson said. “Sir, we could bring most of the bastards down with a few torpedoes, or launch a Tomahawk attack from…”

“Admiral Turtledove’s orders were clear,” Tyson said. “We observe only, no attacks unless they see us and open fire.” He nodded grimly at the helm. “Follow them, slowly,” he commanded. “Exec, send a contact report to Australia. The fleet has to sortie soon.”

“Aye, sir,” Davidson said.

HMS Dasher

Nr Australia

18^th May 1941

HMS Dasher had been in construction, along with three others, before the Transition. The MOD had taken the ships over as soon as the Navy remembered that they existed, but then had taken the decision to halt construction until resources could be allocated. In the month between the Transition and the decision to commission them as Royal Navy ships, the Battle of the Indian Ocean had been fought and won, and hard-won information and experience had been worked into the new ships.

Admiral Turtledove smiled as he strode onto the bridge. The Dasher – named for a ship that had taken part in the original timeline’s version of World War Two – was perhaps the single most powerful naval unit in the world. While it lacked an air complement, its missiles and torpedoes were modified for additional power, even against battleship armour.

“Report,” he snapped, as he saluted Captain Patel. The young commander saluted back, waving a hand towards the big display. “Have they left Hashirajima?”

“Yes, Admiral,” Captain Patel said. The tall dark-skinned officer gave off an air of competence. “Almost the entire Japanese battleline, except two old battleships that probably can’t keep up.”

“Designate them for missile attacks later,” Turtledove ordered. “Bring the fleet to moving stations; inform them that we’ll depart in thirty minutes. FLASH signal to London and Canberra, inform the Australians that phase one of the plan will begin in thirty minutes.”

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Lewis said. “Sir, what about the Japanese invasion fleet?”

Turtledove scowled. “What about it?” He asked. Privately, he was impressed, but Lewis wasn’t cleared for the entirety of the plan. “It’s not like they stand a chance, is it?”

“Dasher is ready to depart,” Captain Patel reported. “The ship is fully at your command.”

Turtledove smiled. “Tell me,” he said. “How long will it be until we can begin shooting at them?”

He saw Patel and Lewis exchange glances. His obsession with destroying the remains of the Japanese fleet was well known. “At their present course and speed, seven days,” Lewis said finally. “They’re heading… well, not quite towards us, but more towards Latin America than Canada.”

“Odd,” Turtledove said. “Still, there’s no reason why they cannot change course, after all. Is the fleet ready?”

There was a short pause. “The fleet reports that it’s ready,” Lewis said. “Australian Sonar Command reports three possible submarines, hanging back along our probable course.”

Turtledove smiled grimly. He could hardly question the bravery of the Japanese submariners; hell, he would have liked to have been so brave himself. It was just stupid, though; the Japanese had only managed to torpedo a handful of Contemporary merchant ships, their attempts to take a shot at his ships had failed utterly.

“Ignore them,” he said. “Inform the ASW ships; the Japanese are not to be fired upon unless they move into attack positions.”

“Aye, sir,” Lewis said. His voice betrayed his bafflement. “Sir, the fleet is ready.”

Turtledove looked down at the display. Forty-one ships; Royal Navy, converted freighters, even some new construction. Five carriers; two real carriers and three converted oil tankers. It was the largest force that the Royal Navy had deployed since Suez, and for a far better cause.

“Order the fleet to set sail,” he said. “Take us out.”

When a ship is moving along the coastline, it is easy to tell that the ship is moving; the land glides past at a rate of knots. In the empty ocean, there is very little sign that the fleet was not alone in the world, not even birds and islands can be seen. The only excitement was on the second day, when a shoal of whales swam past.

“We have to get the conservationists moving into action sooner in this timeline,” Turtledove observed, relaxing for the first time since the war began. “Think how many species we could save.”

“The Indian tigers would be glad of it,” Patel observed. He’d been disturbed by news from his family; their return to India had been distressing. “All the princes hunting them down.”

Turtledove had shrugged as the days slipped by almost unnoticed. He spent most of the day brooding in his cabin; he’d been blamed for the Battle of the Indian Ocean, despite having won the battle. He knew that the Board of Inquiry had suppressed the report, and with good reason, and it boiled away inside.

Not given to self-introspection, Turtledove flumed angrily. The Royal Navy hadn’t fought a major sea battle since 1941; who would have thought that the Japanese would have been crazy enough to continue on into the teeth of the task force’s superior firepower? Even the awards and medals piled on the navy didn’t take away the sting of the armchair admirals questioning his decisions.

Even worse was the news from Australia. The Japanese had landed, as he’d expected. The war wasn’t going well, even for them. Turtledove had ordered that news kept from the crew; enough crewmen were questioning the decision to continue after the Japanese fleet already.

They think we’re on a wild goose chase, Turtledove said. He knew that that wasn’t true; Trafalgar continued to send regular updates. The Japanese were moving southeast, heading on a dogleg towards the United States. Absently, he wondered if they meant to strike at Pearl Harbour, but then dismissed the thought. The Japanese hadn’t moved anything into position to strike at the Philippines, and they would hardly want to risk the Americans tearing their interior lines to shreds.

We need the new submarines, he thought. The British shipyards had begun producing dozens of diesel-powered submarines, most of which would be transferred to Australia and Canada. Their navies would crew the new ships, and Japan would starve. Days passed and he kept repeating that to himself. Japan will starve.

“Admiral to the Combat Information Centre, Admiral to the Combat Information Centre,” the loudspeaker bellowed. Turtledove jumped up from his bed, where he’d been dozing, and grabbed his cap. There was only one matter that it could be; the fleet had been detected.

“Admiral, we’re about to enter the range of the Japanese fleet,” Lieutenant Lewis reported, as Turtledove strode into the CIC. “The Captain wants you to issue orders.”

Turtledove looked down at the display. The Japanese fleet had been sighted by a drone launched from Ark Royal, which was now hovering high over the fleet. They didn’t seem aware of the British ships. They’d left any Japanese submarine behind long since, and whatever primitive radar detection systems the Japanese had would be unable to detect them at extreme range.

“Any sign that they’ve seen us?” He asked, studying the display. The only real danger was the Japanese launching a massive air strike and swarming them under by force of numbers.

“No,” Lieutenant Lewis said. He hesitated. “Hang on, sir, they’re launching aircraft.”

Turtledove blinked. “What the hell?”

“It looks like a standard CAP formation,” Lieutenant Lewis said. “Sir, they’re not launching a strike, but they must have had a sniff of us.”

“How?” Turtledove said. “They can’t have seen the drone?”

“It’s supposed to be very difficult to see, even on radar,” Lieutenant Lewis said. “Perhaps they just caught a glimpse, or maybe the drone’s radars confused theirs, which also shouldn’t be possible.” He scowled. “Sir, they’re also launching recon seaplanes.”

“Bring the fleet to general quarters,” Turtledove snapped. “We’ll ask any survivors afterwards.”

The device proclaimed itself to be a ‘Sierra-Foxtrot Emissions Detector, capable of detecting even low-level active sensors.’ Commander Sato, who’d been ordered to learn about the new technology, wondered where the hell the Germans had gotten it before they’d shipped it to Japan across the Soviet Union. According to the manual, the device was designed to save energy on radars by tracking other radars… and was coy about the uses to which the device might be put. Sato, who had spent time chasing Chinese smugglers, expected that its real purpose was to watch for other radars, ones attached to navy drones.

Such as the one hanging overhead, he thought, staring upwards. The Japanese hadn’t even had a hint the drone was present until it activated its radars and began to probe the task force. It wasn’t as helpful as he’d hoped; the drone was well out of range of anti-aircraft guns and there were still no traces of radar from the British ships he was certain were around in the vicinity.

“Launch recon fighters,” Admiral Nagumo ordered, as the Zeros kept on permanent standby launched from the carriers. “Prepare for a shipping strike, using the new tactics.”

Sato bowed. The new tactics were kamikaze; attempting to slam an aircraft into a British ship. Given how untrained the new pilots were, he suspected that that would be the best that they could do… unless…

“Incoming,” a watchman shouted. Sato looked up to see the streaks of light and the sky and knew that time had run out for the Imperial Japanese Navy.

The Japanese fleet had no secrets from the drone. It floated overhead; calmly dissecting the Japanese ships and transmitting the information back to the fleet. It noted the launch of the Japanese reconnaissance planes calmly; it would be at least half an hour before they could find the British ships, even if they flew directly towards them. With the search pattern they were beginning, they would take hours to locate the British.

That was what old fashioned carrier warfare was about, Turtledove thought absently. The two sides sneak around trying to locate the others first… and he who sees the other first wins – normally.

“Designate the first salvo of Harpoons,” he ordered. Not only had the missiles been modified with extra explosive and penetration power, but the fleet now carried more of them, even if they couldn’t all be used at once. “Launch CAP, launch AEW aircraft.”

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Lewis said. The RAF had modified a Gulfstream transport for AWACS-style duties, and loaded it onboard one of the converted oil tankers. The scream of aircraft engines echoed through the hull. “CAP launched.”

Turtledove smiled as probing radars began to illuminate the miles of empty water. “Launch Harpoons,” he commanded. “First round; designate enemy carriers and tankers.”

Dasher shuddered as the first missiles erupted from her batteries. “Missiles launched,” Lieutenant Lewis said. “Impact in thirty seconds.”

The Shokaku was the finest Japanese carrier that had ever been produced; fast, powerful, and lethally effective. She had served in the battles near the Dutch East Indies, even though she had missed out on the real battle that had cost the Japanese four older carriers. With her sister ship, the Zuikaku, she carried a powerful combat force around – and the British hadn’t dared to tangle with her. It was a source of some pride to her Captain; the almighty British were too scared to go near his ship.

Captain Yokokawa Ichibei had only seconds to realise that his ship had been targeted and no time at all to react. The first missile slammed into the flight deck; the second into the conning tower. By fortunate chance, most of Shokaku’s aircraft were already in the air, but that didn’t save the ship. The Harpoon warhead detonated, tearing a mighty hole in the hull of the carrier, and then the Shokaku’s stockpile of bombs and torpedoes detonated. The carrier literally vanished in a tearing blast of light.

Commander Sato wasn’t looking at the carrier when it was destroyed. He was staring down at the future device, which was finally tracking a high concentration of radar emissions, miles away. They would be barely within carrier range – except the Japanese carriers had already been sunk. Only one hundred and fifty aircraft were in the air, not all armed for the task.

A strange… oily explosion billowed up as a tanker was hit. More followed as the entire transport fleet was destroyed, stranding the main fleet far from home.

“Admiral,” Sato muttered. Nagumo was staring at the burning Zuikaku. “Admiral?”

“I should have listened,” Nagumo muttered. Sato committed the dreadful crime of shaking the little admiral. “What?”

“Admiral, we can get to them,” Sato said. “We have to order the fighters in now!”

“Do so,” Nagumo said. He sounded dazed. “Do it now.”

“Five carriers and seven transport ships, just blown out of the water,” Lieutenant Lewis reported. “Japanese fleet coming about.”

“They’ll be able to follow the missile trails,” Turtledove said. “Are their fighters incoming?”

“Yes, Admiral,” Lieutenant Lewis said. “They’ll be on us in half an hour.”

Turtledove smiled. “I see no reason to wait,” he said. “Contact Dragon.” The Type-45 destroyer was the only one carrying the experimental weapon. “Order them to fire the Deathcloud.”

He chuckled. The MOD would probably end up giving it a more family-friendly name, but it would remain Deathcloud to the Royal Navy. He grinned as a new missile launched from the Dragon. The Japanese fliers would have no idea what was coming their way.

The Japanese prided themselves upon their coordination of fighter aircraft. For what the pilots knew would be their final mission, they formed up into a single large formation and headed along the missile trails. Remaining together, they had learnt, meant that the enemy would have to fight the entire force at once, rather than fighting one on one. The pilots only saw the missile when it was too close to avoid… and the handful of pilots who had the presence of mind to fire at it were too late.

Deathcloud detonated in the centre of the Japanese formation. Like a conventional FAE bomb, it blasted out a wave of burning fuel, which was far too hot for the wooden and metal aircraft to stand. Burning, their wings ablaze, the Japanese force fell out of the sky. None of them had any chance to abandon their planes; they all died bravely, unaware of what had killed them with ease.

“May God forgive us,” Lieutenant Lewis breathed. The fiery remains of the Japanese force fell towards the sea; there was a silence in the CIC. No one had ever seen a force simply swept out of existence, not even during the Battle of Malta.

“Send the signal,” Admiral Turtledove ordered. “Transmit it now, all frequencies.”

Commander Sato had seen the blast that had exterminated the aircraft. His first thought was that it had been one of the atomic bombs that Yamamoto had warned him about, but then he realised that it hadn’t been; the blast had been too small.

“Admiral,” a technician said. “We’re receiving a signal.”

“Let’s hear it.” Nagumo said. “Put it on the speakers.”

“Attention, Admiral Yamamoto,” a strange voice said. It spoke Japanese, but with a strange accent. It reminded Sato of Ambassador Yurina, even if the voice was clearly male. “Attention, Japanese fleet. Your carrier ships lie broken, your aircraft wiped from the sky. Without our help, you won’t ever make it back to Japan.

“What sort of sacrifice is it? We can destroy your entire fleet with ease, unless you surrender. You will be unable to make even a dent in us; we will not allow you to close with us. Your young men, the hope of Japan, will die here alone and forgotten about, save only by the fishes. Admiral; surrender, for the sake of your men.”

“No,” Nagumo said. His voice was curiously flat. “Increase speed,” he commanded. “We will sink that fleet!”

“They’re still coming,” Lieutenant Lewis reported. “They’ll be on us in only five hours at that rate.”

Turtledove shook his head. “I wanted the fleet intact,” he said. “May history forgive us for what we must do.”

He reached out once and held his fingers above the representation of a button on the main screen. It was big and red, marked FIRE. He pressed it. Dasher shuddered as a second salvo of rockets launched, coordinated with the other ships in the fleet. One hundred and fifty Harpoon missiles, lancing out at the Japanese fleet.

The explosion slammed against Yamato as the Harpoon detonated against the rear of the ship. Commander Sato cursed; the accursed missile had penetrated through the deck armour at the rear of the ship before detonating, blasting the rear of the mighty battleship clean off.

“Admiral?” He asked, and then swore. Nagumo lay on the deck, blood streaming from a head wound. One glance was enough to tell Sato that Nagumo was dying. He made his decision quickly. “All hands, abandon ship, I repeat…”

The second salvo of missiles arrived. As the largest ship still on the ocean, Yamato received the attention of three of them. Commander Sato died without realising what had hit him and the fleet.

“Admiral, that’s them all sunk,” Lieutenant Lewis reported. The display was empty, except for the wreckage drifting in the water. “They’re all gone.”

“So many young lives,” Turtledove breathed. “Inform Captain Rashad; his ship and Task Force 5 are to remain behind on SAR duties. Any prisoners are to be treated well.”

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Lewis said.

“And for the rest of the fleet, its time to return to Australia,” Turtledove said. “And, on the way, if we hit the Japanese bases in the Dutch East Indies, I dare say that they’ll be grateful.”