Sea of Fire

Chapter 4

Yamamoto did not quite know what to make of the request when he first received it through channels. General Imamura, presumed lost in that terrible disaster off Batavia, had been found and rescued at sea by a destroyer. That was good news, for the entire operation on Java had ground to a halt in the chaos that erupted from that volcano.

We make our plans, he thought. We prepare so carefully, assigning men to ships, building our task groups, and timing everything to achieve the desired outcome. Yet nature has humbled us all. The initial reports on the losses most likely sustained by the 2nd Division are quite alarming. I had counted on using that unit in the Solomons after Java was secured, but that will clearly not happen. And now it seems that the entire area near Batavia will be useless from an operational standpoint for months. The harbor is wrecked, the roads impassable, the airfields covered with ash that still hangs heavily over the entire span of Western Java.

This will make the capture of Surabaya more important than ever, so I suppose the General wishes to coordinate with the navy to determine how we can now move to reinforce troops already landed in that sector. My understanding is that the 5th Division has been taken from Singapore for that purpose, so it will need transport and the assignment of a covering force. General Nishimura at least salvaged one pearl from this clam. His renewed attack on Singapore finally delivered that city and its excellent port, yet it too is under heavy ashfall for the time being, and the city itself is choking with refugees. I’m afraid things will get very ugly there, and Singapore will be of no use to the navy either, and for quite some time.

That ash cloud extends for a wide area, and well out into the Indian Ocean. It was astounding to think I could have heard that eruption even here at Rabaul, over 5000 kilometers from the Sunda Straits. At least we can be thankful that operations in the Solomons will not be affected. After Nagumo successfully covered Operation R, I sent him west with Carrier Division 5 to support the Java Operation, but I will need him back here soon. So perhaps it is best that I meet with General Imamura, and determine what the situation is in the Java Sea. Yet he would be some time coming here, and I am scheduled to move on to Davao. So I will have him meet with me there, a good midpoint between Rabaul and the Java Sea where he was found.

He took a quiet sip of tea, thinking. There was still trouble in the north to consider. Yes, that was as unexpected as this sudden eruption in the south. When we received that ultimatum from the Siberians, no one took it seriously. After all, what could they do? Now it appears that the Siberians have been at war with us since the day of that attack on Pearl Harbor. That they could have sunk Hiryu as Nagumo returned home was most disturbing—not to mention the damage we sustained to both Kaga and Akagi. Thankfully, that was not serious, and both ships were scheduled for refit at this time in any case.

Naval Rockets…

We have heard reports from the Germans on these for some time, but never really paid them any coin. Now it appears we were remiss in that as well. Naval Intelligence Group now believes that the ship that has caused such havoc in the Atlantic for the Germans has moved into the Pacific. If that is so, they could only have come by the Northern Route, and before the ice set in. That must be the ship that is now operating with the Siberians. They used it to cover their operation against Kamchatka—another lapse of both intelligence and planning that I must now account for to the Emperor.

The Army is fuming that they were not supported, but look what happened to Mutsu and Chikuma when they tried to intervene against the enemy landing operation on Kamchatka. Those were good sturdy ships, but now both are wrecked to a point where we will not have them back again for over a year! Perhaps we should proceed with the plans to convert Mutsu into an aircraft carrier, or a hybrid. That might be easier than trying to restore an old battleship that was already obsolete when it sailed north to that encounter.

I will have Kurita meet us at Davao as well, and we will then discuss operations in both the north and south at the same time. We may be taking on more than we realize with the opening of all out hostilities on the northern front. Things should be relatively quiet, but when the ice abates, and it allows us to operate in the Sea of Okhotsk, there will have to be a reckoning with the Siberians. They used the northern port of Magadan as their primary base, and that must be taken, or smashed.

Then there is the loss of Joyaku Kazantochi, the land of volcanoes on Kamchatka. Let us hope none of the fiery mountains that live there, and on our Kurile outposts, ever have a mind to rage as this one did here. Now that the Siberians have been bold enough to take Kazantochi, we will certainly have to plan a counterattack. Our real power was in the northern Kuriles, at Karamushiro and Shumushu, but the port and base we lost to the north was very useful, and we cannot allow the enemy to control it. Beyond that, they have seized all the airfields we were building there, an insult the Army will have to account for, though they will most likely find a way to blame the Navy.

Plans are already in the making. Tojo has recalled Yamashita, and they are assembling a new Army in the Amur region with divisions pulled from Manchuria and Mongolia. Yet soon I will hear that the navy must provide sealift there as well, because there are simply no roads leading to the next likely place of contention, Northern Karafuto, the place the Siberians call Sakhalin.

So… we finally get the one nightmare we had thought to avoid, a war on both our Pacific and Siberian fronts at the same time. It will require swift action, before the Americans can organize for offensive operations. We must deal with this Siberian threat, and complete the conquest of the barrier islands and the Solomons before I face the United States again at sea. Until both those sectors are well secured, I cannot contemplate any further offensive operations aimed at the Americans. The only question is this: what are they now contemplating? We have already seen a slow buildup underway at Fiji and Samoa, which was not unexpected. This makes the early occupation of the Solomons even more essential than Java from my perspective, and I will have to express that opinion to General Imamura. He will be expecting to focus all our energy to salvage the Java operation now, but there is really no threat from Australia, and we have time in our favor. I will need troops from his Army, so I must be very accommodating to any request he may make of the Navy. He already owes us a life, thanks to that destroyer plucking him out of the sea. Strange that the name of that ship was never reported to me.

Now… With Singapore fallen at last, the British have no real strategic reason to project power east of Java. They have fallen back on Colombo, and are more worried about losing Burma than anything else. Taking that was necessary, to cut the Burma Road and isolate the Chinese, though I have long thought that the Army was wasting itself in this quagmire that China has become for us. Now, with the disaster that has fallen on the 2nd Division, we will be scrimping for troops to use in South Seas operations for the foreseeable future. So I must bargain well with this General Imamura. Too much is riding on the Solomons campaign.

His mind dwelled on this for some time, circling the Pacific like a restless shark, swimming from one operational zone to the next. He was thankful that his navy remained one of the strongest in the world. Even though it had been weakened by the loss of Hiryu, and the damage and subsequent refits for Kaga and Akagi, he still had a most formidable carrier force, and the best trained naval aviation on the planet. Now was the time to fight, to employ every measure, every resource, to obtain the strongest possible strategic position before the end of 1942. Then, perhaps, if the enemy can be held at bay and convinced of the futility of fighting on, a negotiated peace might be obtained, though he had serious doubts about that prospect.

Now then… to this meeting with General Imamura. I will make arrangements to depart for Davao at once.

The plan they had devised to get their meeting with Yamamoto was going to work. As Lieutenant Commander Fukada had suggested, the General did not have to give his consent. They could simply say that because of the urgency of the moment, Yamamoto had requested this top level meeting to re-evaluate the situation around Java. They kept the General in private quarters, well isolated below decks, and gave the crew orders to stay clear. The last thing they wanted was for him to get restless and wander about. Thankfully, a leg wound sustained during his ordeal at sea saw to that. He was laid up in bed, under Doctor Hisakawa’s supervision, and all his meals were served there. The Captain paid him a visit to deliver the news, saying that they had been ordered to Davao on Mindanao to confer with Yamamoto.

To dissuade Imamura from coming up with any other ideas he might then fashion into an order, Captain Harada instructed his communications team to contact local Japanese commanders at Balikpapan, Makassar and Kendari. To do so he first had to relieve Ensign Shiota, realizing that a woman would never have such a position on a warship at sea in 1942. She understood his concerns, and he kept her as supervisor, coordinating all signals traffic and code work. The voices on any radio transmission, however, would have to be spoken by men.

Using call signs and codes provided by Imamura himself, they were able to establish a number of comm-links, and obtain status reports on the operations then underway. This allowed the General to arrive with his wits about him, as he was going to have to know these details with Yamamoto. Getting into the meeting itself was the next problem. Captain Harada wondered how they would arrange that.

“Don’t ask,” said Fukada. “We just go, the two of us. We’ll accompany the General, and no one will be the wiser.”

“That may get us to the meeting site, but I’m talking about the door that might end up between Yamamoto, Imamura and the two of us. I don’t think we’ll be offered chairs at that table.”

“Oh, yes we will,” said Fukada. “The instant we ease into the harbor, every head there will be fixed on us. We’re unlike anything they have ever seen at sea.”

“I’m not so sure they’ll be all that impressed,” said the Captain. “After all, we look a bit like a sleek fleet auxiliary ship, and with just that one visible deck gun forward. Sure, we’re much bigger than any destroyer of this era. Our displacement is three times that of a typical WWII destroyer. We’re in the heavy cruiser weight class here, but to them, it will seem like we wouldn’t get past the first round with one of their ships. We look like a seaplane tender. We look toothless.”

“Let’s count on curiosity first,” said Fukada. “They’ll certainly want to know who and what we are. There’s no Takami in the IJN fleet at this time.”

“Should we even use that name? Would it be easier if we just identified ourselves by hull number?”

“No,” said Fukada. “The IJN ditched simple hull number identification in favor of ship names long ago. I say we just call it like it is. We tell them were Destroyer Takami, or even Cruiser Takami if that feels better to you. Then they’ll want to know what’s going on. It may not get us a seat at Imamura’s meeting, but I’m willing to bet they’ll want to sit down with us afterwards.” Fukada had been thinking about this situation for some time, running through the possibilities in his mind.

“Damn,” said the Captain. “This whole thing still seems absolutely crazy. I still pinch myself every time I get up from the cot to see if I’m not dreaming. Kenji, you seem like you’ve warmed to it all in just these few days, but how in the world could this have happened to us?”

“I just don’t know sir. That eruption may have had something to do with it. That’s all I can say. Sergeant Kimura had the best line on it. We’re here. I can’t argue with what my eyes, ears, and nose tell me. Those ships we passed off Balikpapan were all vintage 1940s IJN warships. Believe me, to an old modeler like me, it was a real feast. I still can’t believe it myself, but I’ve accepted it as real, and dangerously so. We’ve got to use our heads now. Our presence here is very significant.”

“No question about that,” said Harada. “But do you realize what we’re considering here? We’re talking about intervening in history, am I right? No man can see the far ends of his choices, but if this ship gets entangled with this war, things are going to turn out much different. They would have to be different.”

“They already are sir…” Fukada let that hang.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been hanging out with Ensign Shiota.”

“Ah, I always thought you had eyes for her.” The Captain smiled.

“It’s not that,” said the XO dismissively. “I wanted to see how that SITREP you wanted was coming along. Well get this… The Japanese are fighting with Siberia up north. We’ve intercepted three messages that alluded to that.”

“The Russians?”

“The Siberians. That is what is strange about that traffic. From what I could gather, there was some kind of attack on Kamchatka recently.”

“Kamchatka, did we ever hold that during this war?”

“No, just the northern Kuriles, but this traffic clearly talked about Japanese units being withdrawn from a place called Kazantochi.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of it.”

“Me neither, but there’s more. We picked up traffic indicating additional naval support was to be sent to Urajio. That one I looked up—it’s Vladivostok, an old name from the 1800s.”

“Vladivostok. You’re saying the Japanese are sending ships there?”

“Three destroyers and a cruiser were ordered there yesterday, and the odd thing about it was that it seemed as though the place was already Japanese occupied territory.”

“Well that doesn’t make any sense,” said Harada, “but considering I’m sitting in the Celebes Sea in 1942, I guess I shouldn’t be picky. What else have you turned up?”

“BBC radio broadcasts. Shiota got an earful last night—a big offensive underway in Russia.”

“That I can understand.”

“Except from what she could gather, the Germans were in Moscow, and the Russians were trying to push them out. Well, I went down to the ship’s library. Come to find out, the Germans never set foot in Moscow. They got close, but the Russians held them off, yet not according to these news broadcasts. And here’s another thing. There’s been a mention of a man named Sergei Kirov running things over there.”

“Some Russian General?”

“The title was General Secretary—of the Communist Party!”

“Wasn’t that Stalin?”

“Right. He held the office until 1952, but there’s been no mention of him at all. It’s all this Kirov fellow. Whatever’s going on here, things appear to be quite different. The history is already twisted—just like that damn volcano was never supposed to erupt this year. I looked that up too. It was supposed to happen in 1883. Something is really strange in all of this.”

“That’s one hell of an understatement.” Harada looked very troubled. “This can’t be happening XO. It just can’t be happening.”

“We better get past that sir, and quickly. It is happening, just like Kimura said. We’re here, and right in the middle of the Miso soup. The only question we should be asking ourselves now is what we’re going to do about it.”

Chapter 5

It was three days from the coast of Borneo north of Batavia to the port of Davao in the southern Philippines. That was good news insofar as their concerns about fuel had been uppermost in mind. There they saw a sight that put an end to any vestige of doubt in the minds of any who saw it, the mighty battleship Yamato, 72,000 tons of steel reality anchored well out in the bay, and surrounded by a gaggle of destroyers. Lieutenant Commander Fukada stared and stared, in awe of the ship, and the realization of what they were now planning to do. There, within that massive fortress at sea, the legendary Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto was waiting, if they could convince him to receive them.

A medical team accompanied them to see to General Imamura’s comfort, along with Katsu Kimura and three Marines. They moved the General and the other man out by a route that would reveal as little as possible of the inner workings of the ship, and soon they were in a launch and scudding across the bay towards the imposing hulk of the great battleship.

Yet, as Fukada had predicted, there was a good deal of curiosity directed their way as well. Men on the destroyers gawked and talked among themselves, wondering what this new ship was. While it’s design certainly made it seem like a warship, they had more guns on their small destroyers than this ship had. Perhaps it was a secret courier ship, they reasoned, or a ship devoted to command level operations at sea. Here it was delivering an Army General, Commander of the 16th Army in the current Java Campaign, so it must be important.

Sergeant Kimura waited at the launch below, sending one Marine up the gangway with the officers and medical team. The General’s leg had healed enough to allow him to walk, and he asked the medics to remain below, as a matter of face. He would not greet the Admiral of the Fleet as walking wounded. He was, in fact, the senior officer in the Imperial Japanese Army for hundreds of miles in any direction, and he acted as if he expected everyone else around him to know that. It was no surprise, then, that they were greeted respectfully, piped aboard, and politely escorted up to the Admiral’s conference room in the main superstructure of the great battleship, a trip that delighted Fukada. They were all decked out in their dress whites, ghosts from a distant future, walking among legends of the past.

Reaching the conference room, an aide invited the Captain and his First Officer to a table set with white linen and a stylish tea serving. Imamura was greeted with respectful bows, and ushered through a door on the far wall.

“May I ask a moment of the Admiral’s time after this conference?” said Captain Harada. “We have urgent news that could not be transmitted by signal for reasons of security.”

“Very well,” said the aide, a smallish, flat haired man with round wire eyeglasses. “I will make the request to the Chief of Staff, but cannot promise anything myself.”

Some moments later, a man entered the room, dour faced and well decorated. Recognizing authority when they saw it, the two men immediately stood, bowing politely and saluting.

“Rear Admiral Ugaki, Chief of Staff,” said the Aide.

“Be seated, gentlemen,” said the man, his eyes hard, taking notice of their uniforms and insignia, and with a look that bordered on suspicion. He softened briefly, seating himself. “I am told General Imamura owes you a life. Your rescue operation was most fortunate, and you are to be commended.”

“Thank you sir,” said Captain Harada.

“You have news that needs to be conveyed to the Admiral?”

“We do, sir. It concerns our ship, among other things, and it is imperative we speak with him privately.”

“Privately? That will not be possible,” said Ugaki. “But you may speak with me here. What is this news you bring along with General Imamura?”

Captain Harada’s concerns about being on the other side of a wall from Yamamoto were now realized. Here was a human firewall, the tough Chief of Staff of the Combined Fleet, who had decided to fly a final Kamikaze mission personally, to atone for the inability of his pilots in 1945, and he did so after he heard the Emperor’s order for all forces to lay down arms and surrender.

Captain Harada was not familiar with the man, or the long naval history that saw him reach this position of authority, but Fukada was. He had taken it upon himself to study up the previous evening, knowing he would have to navigate the waters of the Combined Fleet Headquarters with its floating command center, the battleship Yamato.

“If I may, sir,” he said quietly. “Meaning no disrespect, we have been sent with this information for the ears of Admiral Yamamoto only.”

“Sent? On that ship?” Ugaki folded his arms, eyes narrowing with that look of suspicion. “Are you aware of the fact that the name you have given for your ship does not presently exist on the registry of commissioned ships in this navy? For that matter, that ship is not familiar to me at all. It is most unusual. And now you tell me you were sent here with this important information? Explain! Are you Kempeitai? Tokkeitai? Who sent you here?”

Captain Harada gave his First Officer a disparaging look. He had not expected this story from Fukada, and his instinct was that it would come to no good. It implicitly took the line that they were men of this day and time, on some nefarious operation, and with a ship that had been held in secret, even from the highest officers in the Navy. It did not seem like it would wash, then again, he could think of no alternative to what Fukada was saying. They simply could not come out with the truth, and tell this man they were time travelers from the future, here by accident, and with information vital to the outcome of this war—at least not right at the outset. They had barely been able to convince themselves that was what was happening here, but convincing this man, or a no-nonsense realist like Yamamoto, now seemed an impossible task, and something that would be ludicrous to even attempt. But what else could they do?

That was perhaps the reason Fukada took this approach, he thought. We can’t tell them who we really are yet, because we would simply not be believed, at least not in a situation like this conference. It was going to take a little shock and awe, as the Americans of their own time might put things. If they could demonstrate the amazing technical superiority their ship represented, then they might get their first hold on these men. But even then, could they move them in any meaningful way? This whole scenario seemed a dangerous and fruitless thing to him now. They should have fled for any open sea they could find, and stayed as far from the men of this era as possible. They should have sailed for South America, beached their ship, and set the destroyer on fire. Yet that was a sea journey of over 11,000 miles, impossible unless they found fuel along the way.

He had considered that, after the long discussion that set them on this course. Hide the ship somewhere, beach it, then burn it to the ground to prevent any of its secrets from ever being discovered here. That was the safe course, one that might prevent them from influencing this history, but they had not seriously discussed that. It would have meant the entire crew would be marooned, and that they would live out their lives here, very special and knowing men and women, yet they would all have to be sworn to keep the secret they buried with the ship, and for the rest of their lives.

Yet they had never gone that deep. The meeting to decide things had bounced from concerns over fuel, a matter of self-preservation if they were to keep the ship operational, and then to which side they might be on, with opinions and feelings running deep on both halves of that question. Clearly Fukada seemed to think and feel that they could not abandon Japan now, or ever return home again if they did. They would be strangers in this strange land, outcasts from their own nation and people, no matter which course they took. Every road left them pariahs. Now where was Fukada going with this?

“Sir… It is correct that our ship does not appear on any active duty register. The reason for this will be disclosed to Admiral Yamamoto, but to no one else. Those are our orders, and respectfully, they come from an authority beyond that which is vested in this Headquarters.”

In Fukada’s mind, it was now an all or nothing play to get this audience with Yamamoto. They could not allow themselves to run aground on the outer shoals of his staff here. That they had come this close, and so easily, was already a great windfall. Here was the Chief of Staff of the Combined Fleet, a most powerful man, but they needed to get to his boss, and as quickly as possible.

“Beyond this headquarters…” Ugaki smiled. “Then Nagano sent you?” This was the Chief of the Imperial Japanese Navy General Staff, and the one man now senior to Yamamoto himself.

“Sir, you press me for details that I cannot now give. This is understandable, but our instructions were very specific, and our oath prevents us from any other option. If you will grant us this brief meeting with the Admiral, all will be made clear.”

“I see… and if I refuse this audience?”

“Then we will have failed to carry out our orders, and would have no option other than seppuku.”

“Seppuku? I would be most happy to stand as kaishakunin in that instance, and even lend you my Tanto blade if you so desire. If that is the line you draw now between us, then write your death poem, Lieutenant Commander. That is another thing I find distasteful. That uniform… those insignia. You come here on a strange ship, flying the Japanese naval ensign, and yet you are clearly not regular navy.”

“No sir, we are not regular navy.”

“And you speak out of place, with your Captain sitting there like a deaf mute.”

Captain Harada was dumbstruck. Fukada’s subterfuge had left him in a most awkward position. He either had to play along, reinforcing the stack of lies his Executive Officer was laying on the table, or what? He could think of nothing else to say here. But Ugaki’s last statement prodded him, and he knew he had to speak. He turned now to Fukada, trying to muster the thunder of real anger.

“Lieutenant Commander… That will be enough!”

At that moment the door to the conference room opened, and there stood the legend himself, Isoroku Yamamoto, his face unmistakable to them both, broad head, soft thoughtful eyes that had a great hidden depth to them, and an aura of calm surrounding his placid features.

“Admiral Ugaki,” he said quietly. “Please show these two officers in. I wish to speak with them.”

Ugaki raised both eyebrows, looking from Yamamoto to Fukada, clearly surprised. “Very well,” he huffed, his eyes firmly on Fukada as he stood, quite abruptly, his arm extended to the door where the Admiral waited. Now General Imamura emerged, a satisfied look on his face, and his eyes also found Fukada as the two officers stood, instinctively saluting Yamamoto, who returned with a subtle gesture toward the open door.

Admiral Ugaki was clearly not happy, but cautious about saying anything further in front of Yamamoto. Then he thought the better of that, and spoke up.

“Admiral, may I join you?”

“In a moment,” said Yamamoto. “Please be so kind as to escort General Imamura to the officer’s dining room. Then come back here and join us.”

Ugaki hesitated briefly, then made a polite bow, and his arm gestured towards the door, showing General Imamura the way. He had not failed to notice the look the General gave the Lieutenant Commander, an almost conspiratorial glance. That was what he suspected here, with this strange ship, and two equally strange men in dress white uniforms with insignia that were clearly not regular navy.

The Captain had four bars and a star, when he should have four bars, with the last forming a circle, and then three stars on his shoulder boards. Who were these men? Were they Kempeitai as he had suggested, the secret police, or Tokkeitai, the equally shadowy group within the IJN? Were they sent here by Nagano, or someone higher in the civilian authority? As he escorted the General out, he could not help wishing he could see that impudent Lieutenant Commander slitting his belly as he proposed. Now he resolved to get the General to the officers dining room, and then return here as soon as possible to get to the bottom of this. Were these men searched? Did they pass a security check before they were sent up here?

Yamamoto waited for Ugaki and Imamura to leave, then gestured to the open door to his stateroom. “Gentlemen,” he said. “General Imamura was most insistent that I speak with you. Please come in.”

Now Fukada smiled inwardly, for he had gone to Imamura’s quarters on the ship the previous night to secure the General’s support for just this reason. He figured that Imamura would be granted immediate access to Yamamoto, and if he could persuade him to make the request, it might get them through any red tape to see the Admiral.

“General,” he had said, “We have saved you from a certain death, and now I ask a favor of you. We have orders to speak with Admiral Yamamoto, but, the navy being what it is, we are likely to be tied up with a member of the headquarters staff. Can you help us?”

“Certainly,” Imamura had told him. “I owe you a great debt, and I would be happy to make the request on your behalf.”

How they came to that understanding, Fukada would keep to himself for some time. Yet it had worked. The General had made good his promise, and there they were at long last, face to face with the Admiral himself.

Now, thought Fukada, what do we really tell him here that will make any difference? The Captain wasn’t prepared for the line I took with Ugaki. It took him a while, but he finally realized it was all or nothing here. Let’s hope he understands what we must do now. Let’s hope all of us understand the gravity of this situation. We’re here, just like Sergeant Kimura put it. We’re here, and we’re going to matter, because, by all Gods and Devils, I intend to make certain of that.

He smiled, realizing the challenge before him, but warming to the prospect of all it might bring, of everything he might change with the ship sitting out there, looking like a fast seaplane tender, but something very much more.

With that ship, there would be no disaster at Midway. No. With what I can find out and know about the outcome of this war, every mistake and misstep could be avoided. And the Americans… I always liked them back at home base, and they make damn good equipment. But realizing they have been sitting there for the last 80 years only because of the destruction and humiliation of our nation is too much to leave alone now. It was something to be borne, inwardly, silently, hidden away, because there was nothing we could really do about it. It was all in the past, an old ancestral shame that we all preferred to forget, though for me it has always been a part of my shadow. But now that’s exactly where I am, right in the middle of this damn war, and with a ship that can change everything.

And whether Captain Harada knows it or not, that is what we must do now, even if it means I have to take matters here into my own hands.

Chapter 6

“Gentlemen,” said Yamamoto, taking a place behind his work desk. “Please be seated. General Imamura speaks highly of you, and it was fortunate that you and your ship came across him. As to your ship…” He paused, looking at them both as if he were trying to see some clue or sign that revealed who they really might be, for they were certainly not officers in his Imperial Japanese Navy, nor was that ship like any he had ever seen before. He knew every ship in his fleet, and its design was most unusual.

“I am told by the General that you are the senior officers aboard the Takami. You are undoubtedly aware that there is no ship by that name in the navy, and even though you pose as officers here, uniforms and all, nothing will convince me you are who you claim to be. The question now is why? Explain yourselves.” He folded his hands, waiting.

Fukada looked at the Captain, seeing him hesitate, wondering what they could say. They had determined to come here, but had not really sorted out exactly how they would convince the Admiral of their story. Fukada made one suggestion, yet the thought of actually carrying it out set the Captain’s heart thumping.

“Sir, I know that our appearance, and that of our ship, may raise these questions, but I am afraid I have no easy answer for you. In fact, we have not yet determined what really happened to us. We had just transited the Sunda Strait, enroute to Singapore, when we heard that enormous roar—the volcano. To answer you directly, we realize our ship will not be familiar to you.”

“Then you admit you are not regular Japanese Navy? Yet you pose as such. You even fly the naval ensign of our nation. What shall I do now, have you and your crew hauled off as spies? Is that what you are, and why you are here on that vessel? You think you can just blithely sail about in our midst like this and not be found out? I should have you executed! Now who are you?”

The Admiral allowed just the right touch of anger in his voice, though his curiosity about these men and their ship was very great. He had spent some time studying the vessel closely from the port hole of his stateroom. It was very curious, its mainmast angled back and bristling with odd antennae. The single deck gun forward was most unusual, but he could see no other weapons. When he learned from General Imamura that the ship’s Captain and Executive Officer were waiting right outside his door, and asking to speak with him, he decided he simply had to get to the bottom of this little mystery.

“Sir,” said the Captain. “I am Captain Takechi Harada, and this is my Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander Kenji Fukada. We may not look the part, but we are indeed commissioned officers in the Japanese Navy, only not the force you now command.”

“Not the force I command? Whatever do you mean… Captain? If you were going to pose as such, you might have taken the time to see to the details of the insignia you put on that uniform! I take a very dim view of a man who has not earned the stripes he wears. Too many others have sacrificed their lives and honor to wear that uniform.”

“Sir, I have been in the service of our nation, in the navy, for ten years, and I assure you, I have earned the position I now hold. Yet we must explain something now that may be difficult for you to understand, or even comprehend. I was not sure how we could do so, or even if it was wise for us to request this meeting, but we find ourselves here, and… we are Japanese, every member of my crew, and sworn to the defense of our nation.”

“If I may, sir,” said Fukada. “We knew these would be your first questions, Admiral, and rightfully so. We will give answer, but I must ask you to please grant us the benefit of every doubt as we proceed. To answer you, our actions will speak louder than words. Yes. It is understandable that you would think we are imposters, or that our ship also flies that ensign to deceive. But I assure you, as my Captain has said, we are Japanese, and honorable men, sworn to the service of our nation just as you are. Allow us to prove this to you.”

“Prove it?”

“Yes sir. If you will grant us your forbearance, then all will be made clear.” He glanced at the Captain, an expectant look in his eyes, and Yamamoto thought he perceived a silent accord pass between the two men. They were in different bodies, but clearly of one mind, and though his suspicion darkened somewhat with this observation, the accusation he had just leveled at these men was a very serious one. This was, in fact, a life or death situation for them now, for if it were proved that they were imposters, they would certainly meet with swift and unfriendly justice.

“Admiral,” said the Captain. “Is there a weather deck convenient where we can have a view of our ship? We have something aboard that will be of great interest to you—something that can be seen and immediately understood, where a thousand words might fail to convey the meaning.”

Yamamoto frowned. “You seem to be spending a good many words here, and end up saying nothing. Yet given the consequences of your actions, which I hope you both understand, I will indulge you. He called for his orderly. “Lieutenant Saito. Summon the Marine Guard, and then escort these men to the upper weather deck off the main bridge. I will join them in a moment.”

The Captain and First Officer knew implicitly that they had just been granted a great boon, but they also knew that their lives may now depend on the outcome. Earlier, they had gone round and round as to how they might convince Yamamoto to give them a fair hearing. The notion of simply telling him what they themselves still saw as an impossible truth, seemed fruitless. They would be taken for lunatics if they were to say they had come here from a far off future, on a ship built in the Japan of the 21st Century. Yet, Fukada had come up with the only solution that might work—seeing was believing. They had stared at Mogami class cruisers, seen Imamura in the flesh, the very image of the man in every photograph they could find in their ship’s library data. Without some similar shock to the senses, they could never get this man to believe their story, or have any credibility.

So they had devised this simple plan. Stand there on the deck of Yamato and show the Admiral something that even his mighty ship could not do. Both men were wired with small transmitters, which could be activated by merely pinching the gold pip on their collar. They both stood up, facing Yamamoto, and making a respectful bow, Futsurei, that they then extended even further, beyond the normal 45 degrees to Saikeirei. The former was expected with anyone in rank or authority above you, the latter reserved for rare and special occasions, for it conveyed profound respect or the deepest regret.

Then they were escorted out, under guard, and the adrenaline rose in each man’s chest as they walked the stairway up. This had better work, thought Fukada as they went. If it doesn’t, we won’t be able to bow our way off this ship. Everything depends on this… everything….

Yamamoto frowned, shaking his head when the door to his stateroom was closed. The effrontery of these men! Yet his curiosity had the better of him. They were very strange, and he knew his Chief of Staff had sat with them briefly, and come to some conclusion about them, so their request to adjourn to a weather deck allowed him the opportunity to consult with Ugaki. There came a quiet knock on the door, and the Chief of Staff was shown in.

“Well,” he said, “what is it they had to speak with you about?”

“I do not know that just yet,” said Yamamoto. “It is clear that they were not regular navy, and that ship isn’t ours either. And yet they are obviously Japanese.”

“That means nothing,” said Ugaki. “You and I both have many enemies, and as many Japanese among them as Americans or British.”

“Only too true,” said Yamamoto. “Your thoughts on this?”

“They may be Kempeitai, or Tokkeitai practicing their little security dance of Kikosaku. Then again, they might have been sent here by Nagano, or someone higher in the civilian authority.”

“Why?” asked Yamamoto. “Surely not to spy on us. If the Tokkeitai wanted to do that, they would be very sly about it. They would not come here on a ship like that, and dressed as they were. It would only invite the very questions I asked of them, and the rebuke I gave them in no uncertain terms.”

“Have you sent them to the brig?”

“Not yet. They were escorted under guard to the upper weather deck off the bridge. Kindly accompany me there.”

“What for?”

“That remains to be seen. They said they had something on their ship I would be very interested in—something they wish to show me. If nothing else, they have piqued my curiosity. They both know their fate will be decided by what happens next, and surely they knew that when they came here. It was clear to me that, whatever they want to reveal, it was pre-arranged by the two of them.”

“Pre-arranged? What if they have some mischief in mind?” said Ugaki. “Remember, there have been death threats. That is why Yonai secured this position for you as head of Combined Fleet when you lost your position as Vice Navy Minister—to get you out of the country and avoid assassination. Frankly, I took one look at these men and began to feel they were up to something here. They would not answer my questions, saying they were sworn to speak only to you, and the junior officer said he would have to commit seppuku if they failed to do so. Imagine that. The gall of the man! I was most eager to lend him my sword, and said as much. They may be operatives of the secret police, and in that case your life may be in danger now. I was even reluctant to see them enter your stateroom alone as you permitted. Something is very shady with these two. To begin with, where did they get that ship?”

“They have not answered that question just yet.”

“Then let us remove a few of their fingernails and find out before we put the sword to them.”

“Not just yet,” said Yamamoto, holding up a hand. “Then we begin to act like the Tokkeitai ourselves. I will indulge them briefly here. If this thing they wish to show me does not answer our questions, then I will deal with them, rest assured.”

“What could they show you? Perhaps they merely want to get you out onto the open deck and into an exposed position. What if there is a marksman out there on that ship waiting to assassinate you?”

“Then he will have to be a very good shot,” said Yamamoto with a chuckle. “We are anchored over 2000 meters from their ship. They are way over on the far side of the bay.”

“I still don’t like it…” Ugaki fumed.

“Do not worry about those death threats. Come. Let us go up and see the final act of this little drama. They will either be dining with us this evening in the officer’s hall, or eating their last meal on the cold metal deck of the brig.”

The way up did not take long, and soon Yamamoto and Ugaki emerged from the side hatch in the high conning tower of the bridge. Lieutenant Commander Fukada could see the stern aspect in their faces, and knew that this was the moment of truth. Yet he knew they had to enter the Tiger’s den one way or another here, and now he only hoped the demonstration they had arranged would be enough to impress these men. They made another respectful bow, and then asked if they might proceed.

“Please do so,” said Ugaki. “We have things of importance to attend to.”

The Captain nodded, pinched off his collar and spoke quietly, as if to himself. Then he turned to the Japanese officers and gestured to his ship across the bay.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “I invite you to witness a brief demonstration. Please watch closely…”

A moment later, Ugaki squinted at the distant ship. Then moved to the nearby stationary binoculars, his face lost and only his bald head visible above the lens cups. He thought he saw something rise slowly off the aft deck, hovering briefly over the ship, and then rising swiftly up, gaining altitude and coming their way. As it approached, they heard a quiet thrum, and Fukada turned to Yamamoto.

“Sir, the Captain has asked me to explain this brief demonstration. That is a small target craft. We call it a drone, and I have given instructions that it should be flown closer to Yamato so you may observe it more closely.”

Yamamoto, looked at him, unimpressed. “You called me up here to see the launch of a target plane? Any ship in this task force could do as much.”

“Sir, this drone is unmanned. There is no pilot. It is being operated remotely by a technician on our ship. If you happened to notice, it rose directly up from our aft deck, unassisted by any catapult as with the launch of a seaplane. In a moment you will see that we can bring this craft to a complete halt, and hover in place.”

True to Fukada’s word, the small craft approached to a point where they could see the whirling props, four of them, all pointed upwards. Yamamoto could see that it had no wings or tail at all, and was unlike any aircraft he had ever seen. He raised an eyebrow, curious, yet the object seemed almost like a toy in his estimation. It drew closer, hovered in place, which he found quite interesting, and then, on an order from the Captain, it slowly began to climb, a bright strobe light now flashing to easily mark its position in the blue sky. It moved swiftly, angling out over the center of the bay, which was five to seven kilometers wide at this point, framed off by two islands near the city.

They had decided to fly it out over the bay to the south and then shoot it down with a RIM-66H from the Vertical Launch System.

“Please watch the forward deck of Takami closely sir.” Fukada pointed, and the Captain gave the order quietly, heard clearly by Senior Lieutenant Hideo Honjo back on the ship. Seconds later, they heard what sounded, and looked, like an explosion on the forward deck of the distant ship. Then something arced up with a fiery yellow tail and a trail of white smoke, the audible roar heard ever louder as it streaked into the sky. The target drone was hastening south out to sea, but the missile tracked it unerringly, homing in and catching it with lightning quick speed. Then came the explosion, and Ugaki’s head was out from behind the stationary binoculars. He watched, gawking, as the last vestige of the missile strike slowly dissipated.

The noise sent many of the crew out onto the decks, and some even rushed to man AA guns, until Admiral Yamamoto turned and growled at Ugaki.

“I gave no order that this ship was to come to battle stations. Tell those men to stand down at once!”

Ugaki nodded, shouting down at a Lieutenant near one of the Type 96 25mm AA guns. Then Fukada turned to explain.

“Sir, what we have demonstrated here is the use of a controlled guided missile, or rocket. Our ship is equipped with these weapons for air defense, and they are capable of seeking out and finding an enemy aircraft at ranges as close as you just witnessed, or as far away as ninety nautical miles for this version.”

Yamamoto looked at him. “Did you say ninety miles?”

“Yes sir, nautical miles. That would be roughly 166 kilometers, and we also have extended range variants that can hit targets much farther out than that, and with the same precision and accuracy as you just witnessed.”

“It can hit something that far away? Impossible. How would you even see the target to aim such a rocket?”

“Our ship will see it sir, with its highly sophisticated radars, and once launched, the rocket itself has its own radar to find and home in on its assigned target.”

“Not possible,” said Ugaki. “Ninety nautical miles?”

“Most defensive fire missions might occur inside that range,” said Fukada, but yes sir, the rocket has that range. Now then, we have one last thing to show you, and then perhaps we can return to the Admiral’s stateroom and answer any further questions you may have.”

The last thing they had decided to demonstrate was the SH-60K helicopter, which now launched off the aft deck of the Takami, the distinctive thrum of its rotors pounding the air as it climbed up.

“With your permission sir, the Captain will instruct that aircraft to approach for closer view.”

“You mean to shoot this down as well?” said Ugaki.

“No sir, that is a most valuable craft. We call it the Seahawk, and it is used for a number of purposes. It can complete air ferry operations from ship to ship, and land or take off from any open deck space. It could even land on that big forward gun turret there. Furthermore, it carries special buoys that can be dropped into the sea to listen for enemy submarines, and when it hears one, it can launch torpedoes to seek out that sub and destroy it, just as you saw our rocket take down that target drone. It is also capable of carrying smaller missiles that can defend it from other aircraft, or strike targets on land, but at a much shorter range than the missile we just demonstrated. We use it to carry Naval Marines, conduct search and rescue, or other special operations as may be required and ordered by the Captain.”

The helicopter approached, and to their amazement, it came to a complete standstill and hovered. Yamamoto had seen such a craft before, the rudimentary Kayaba Ka-1 autogyro being developed for the army as a potential artillery spotter. Yet it was nothing compared to this craft, which now hovered noisily off the side of the great battleship, its downwash flaying the sea beneath it. They could clearly see the pilot, who saluted smartly, and then the craft angled away, back towards the Takami. They watched it in silence until it hovered briefly above the ship, and then landed.

Yamamoto gave Ugaki a look, then turned to the two men, the anger and annoyance long gone from him now. “Gentlemen,” he said. “Please accompany Rear Admiral Ugaki and I to my stateroom. It seems we have much more to discuss here than your uniforms.”

“It would be our pleasure sir,” said Captain Harada, “and we thank you for your forbearance.”