Chapter 65
'Where was the Japanese fleet?'
That was a question consuming the minds of many an American planner. A question that, really, had a simple answer. At sea. Not the entirety of it, of course, yet a significant enough chunk for it going missing to be
very easily noticed. Even if the exact location eluded Allied forces. Japanese planners were, in their own right, not blind to what the Americans were doing with their own fleet. Splitting their carriers into two primary forces. One raiding in the Central Pacific and the other supporting the grinding campaign in the South Pacific.
The surprise of the Americans and Australians putting so much into reinforcing the Solomons had, in that regard, caught the Japanese off-guard.
Coupled with the continued resistance in the south of the Philippines and the losses at Pearl Harbor and Wake, and the Japanese Navy's carefully planned timetable was in complete ruin. So, with nothing else to do but forge ahead, a new plan had been put together. With the Kido Butai- sans
Kaga -back to operational capacity, it was perhaps inevitable. Certainly, it was in-character for Isoroku Yamamoto. A compulsive gambler and one who had no issue with throwing overcomplex plans out. In another time, this tendency would have seen the Kido Butai crippled off Midway. In this time, it would see the fleet preparing another attack on their American counterparts.
If, in this case, one that relied rather less on setting a trap and waiting for the Americans to take the bait.
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I am not at all prepared for this.
Kojiro Takeda had, more or less, gotten used to Zuikaku by this point. He still treated her with the respect one would expect of a
kami, at least most of the time. Sometimes it was hard when she acted every bit her apparent age. Yet, while he had gotten used to that, he was still a junior officer and not at all one expecting to be hauled before more senior officers. And most assuredly not Admiral Yamamoto himself.
Here he was, though, and he would have to accept the repercussions of that. He really should have expected it in all honesty. Keeping a secret like this? It was never going to last. And he had been the one who told Zuikaku to try talking to others in the first place. He shouldn't be surprised she had gone to her Captain or that she had ratted him out, as it were.
That was why he stood in a meeting with Yamamoto, alone save for Zuikaku and guards on the other side of the door. The meeting room was small, cramped, and entirely too
personal. The only light came from the ceiling and a small porthole. A metal table, bare of anything, sat at the center. Takeda stood at one end, Yamamoto on the other. Zuikaku stood to the side of the Admiral, well away from comforting the pilot.
He rather doubted she would do so anyway.
"Lieutenant Takeda," Yamamoto's deep voice tore away Takeda's musings. The great man, seeming both grander and shorter in person, stared at the young officer. "You have served our Emperor with distinction and downed many American planes. You are a fine pilot and officer."
Takeda shifted in place, resisting every urge to look away from Yamamoto's eyes and at Zuikaku. The first glance he had gotten of the
kami had been one of a guilty girl, who was wringing her hands as she realized what she had done. Imperial Japan...the Imperial Japanese Navy...did not pride itself on keeping secrets from superiors. Something of this magnitude?
It won't matter that I was worried about my sanity. I will still be expected to have reported it the moment I saw her. Even if it would have seen me thrown from service. At best.
"Why, then, did you keep this secret from your Captain?" Yamamoto continued, his voice giving away exactly nothing about what he felt. Nothing at all.
The younger officer fought down a flinch. Kept away the urge to look away from the silent judgement in the Admiral's eyes. And simply said, "I wasn't sure I hadn't lost my mind, sir."
"Even after seeing the American
kami in the harbor?" The Admiral continued, still giving nothing away.
Well, the man was a
legendary gambling addict. It would make sense he had the ability to hide what he was thinking or feeling. Takeda still felt inadequate. His own emotions and concerns were writ large on every inch of his face and he couldn't hope to hide it if he tried. So he didn't even try.
If he was going to be thrown out of the service by his ear, at least he would do it with honor.
"I could not be certain I wasn't seeing things there, either. The stress of the attack, of the Americans being prepared to fight back..." Takeda trailed off at the slight rise of an eyebrow on Yamamoto's face. "I apologize, Admiral. I should have reported the moment I first saw Zuikaku."
The old man cracked the barest
hint of a smile. As quick as it appeared, it was gone, as if a skittish animal. The man didn't smile often.
Still, when he spoke again, his voice was marginally softer, "So you should have, though I can understand why you would not. I have sometimes felt as if Nagato was staring over my shoulder, yet I would certainly never claim to have seen her. Now that I have seen Zuikaku-" here, he looked at the
kami who had the grace to blush and tug down on her entirely-too-short skirt. Yamamoto simply raised his eyebrow again and shook his head. "I do find myself wondering if I should be ordering her, or Yamato for that matter, to dress more befitting a warship of the Imperial Navy. I suppose it is too much to hope that the pride of our fleet would dress like a proper lady..."
Takeda wisely kept his mouth shut on that subject. He hardly knew what Nagato or...Yamato?
He had never heard of such a ship nor did he claim to know what her, or the more famous Nagato, actually looked like. If Zuikaku was any indication...then again, the
American kami had been dressed formally, from what little he saw? Maybe it was just Zuikaku's relative youth that had her dress like she did. Who knew.
All of this is very mysterious.
"In any event, I am reassigning you to my staff, for the moment." Yamamoto continued, not even reacting to Takeda's flash of disappointment.
No pilot liked being taken off the frontline, especially with this war on and Japan having need of every trained aviator they could get. They were running out of veteran pilots at a truly alarming rate and the replenishment pipeline was slow, at best. They desperately needed everyone at the front to stem the American tide before it truly got going.
"If that is what you require of me. I will serve as the Admiral and Emperor request." Takeda was still far from dumb enough to say such a thing aloud, though. Certainly not to
this man.
"Hmph." Yamamoto was neither dumb nor blind, as it turned out. "You'd rather remain flying. Am I wrong?"
Takeda looked away, fighting the urge to sigh. "No pilot likes being taken from his plane. I am not so arrogant to think I am our best pilot-
there are certainly arrogant enough men to make that claim -but I still feel I am more use in my
Reisen than on any staff." He didn't turn back, or sigh, as he continued, "I will do as ordered, of course. Though I don't know what use I would actually be to you, Admiral."
Frowning deeply, Takeda let his eyes flick to Zuikaku. The little girl seemed to be on the verge of exploding from holding in whatever she wanted to say. That or she was terrified of what the Admiral would say if she opened her mouth at that moment. One or the other. Takeda felt a wave of fondness for the girl. She truly was like a younger sister.
"I was simply lucky enough to be the first to see Zuikaku for what she is. I rather doubt there is anything special about me, beyond that." Takeda couldn't stop the soft sigh. "I have certainly never believed myself that special."
Silence returned to the meeting room at that point. Though it wasn't a brooding kind of silence. It was a thoughtful one. The Admiral tapped a finger idly upon the table while his other hand rested upon the dull metal chair beside him. The hand that Takeda endeavored not to look at. That old wound was famous, and he wasn't--he couldn't--
He refused to stare. Even if the Admiral didn't care about it being seen in this room.
Fortunately for Takeda, the Admiral gave a deep sigh and what- on any other man -would be a rueful shake of the head. On the Admiral, it was just a slight jerking motion. "So, it is. Very well, then. You may remain aboard
Zuikaku as you wish. However." Yamamoto held up one finger and gave a sharp stare. "You will remain my liaison with Zuikaku, herself. Should anything be relevant to the war effort, you will tell me without hesitation. You will converse with her about how the American
kami may have come into being. I..."
Yamamoto looked...honestly confused. It was a strange look on such a famous man.
"Sir?" Takeda took a chance, stiffening into rigid attention when the man looked his way. "Apologies, sir. I won't interrupt again."
A soft chuckle was all the Admiral did in response, before saying, "You should relax, Lieutenant. I will not throw you overboard if you ask a question."
Takeda blinked, "I...if you are sure? I would never want to insult you, sir."
"Quite." Yamamoto walked around the table and looked at Takeda, who stared back warily. The old Admiral simply looked between him and Zuikaku, before waving a hand between the two. "The Emperor wishes to know why the Americans can bring out their ship
kami and we cannot. Find out, if you are able. I will be doing much the same. As will all our Captains and other officers."
Stepping past Takeda and moving to leave the meeting room, Yamamoto looked back one last time. His eyes narrowed slightly.
"If we cannot do the same, we will lose this war. The Americans can drown us under, should they be so inclined." He looked at Zuikaku when he said his next words, deathly seriously, "Should they possess an advantage in ship
kami as well...I am afraid we are all doomed."
He swept from the room, leaving a very confused and worried pair behind him.
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Sometime later, Isoroku Yamamoto sat down with a heavy sigh. His body was feeling every single one of its years. The last year had not been an easy one. His grand plan in attacking the Americans at their Hawaiian base had...proven to be both more and less successful than he could have hoped. On the one hand, the strike had certainly crippled their battleship forces. On the other, it had seen the savaging of the Japanese air arm and- albeit at Wake -loss of
Kaga.
Were it just that, he would likely still have written it off as an overall success. The Americans were limited to their carrier arm and they were less experienced than his own fleet in how to use it. Or so it should have been. He had no idea who on the American side was responsible for the shocking effectiveness of their tactics, yet the American fleet was proving the equal of the Japanese one. Perhaps the pilots were less experienced or skilled, but the tactics they used were tailored exactly to counter his own.
How? He didn't know.
And that does not even touch on the kami. Utah, was it?
Descriptions of the weapons the woman used would indicate such. Yamamoto was torn between wonderment and cursing in equal measure the pilots who wasted ordinance on such a useless target and the woman herself.
"You must rest, Isoroku."
Yamamoto looked up at the soft voice. He could hardly be surprised that Yamato would show herself now. Nor that she would speak so informally.
I have never been one to be held up by formality with women. He felt a slight spark of amusement at that. His wife would have choice words over his choice of feminine company, he was sure.
Still, he focused less on his dalliances with the geisha and more on the woman who had appeared before him. On one hand, he reflected, at least her skirt was slightly longer than Zuikaku's. "Ah. Yamato. I see you have the same sense of...fashion...as Zuikaku."
The woman, Yamato, looked down and flushed a little. The light dusting of pink on her cheeks speaking to her embarrassment, "I apologize, Isoroku. This is...how I have always been? I have no choice in how I appear."
Her clipped and formal diction made Yamamoto wonder if it was something to do with her relative youth, having so little service to speak of. Or, perhaps, it was because of her position in the Combined Fleet? Hmm.
"So, it seems. We will be looking at a proper jacket and skirt, should that be possible." Yamamoto knew that, were Yamato to walk out showing that much leg- and the slits at her hips! -that men would not focus on their duties in favor of staring.
Kami or not. "If you are here now, I presume there is a reason to it? And why you refer to me so informally?"
With the dusting of pink on her cheeks remaining firmly in place, Yamato brought a hand to her mouth and coughed lightly. To cover her cheeks as much as anything, it seemed. "Would you prefer that I refer to you as Admiral, then? I assumed---"
"There is no need for that here, not in my personal quarters." Yamamoto held up his hand, as he sat up more properly in his chair and gave the battleship's
kami a flat stare. "Though, in the future, I would prefer that you allow me my privacy. I understand this entire ship is your domain, however, this room is
mine."
"Of course, Isoroku. My sincere apologies," Yamato was so painfully formal that it almost hurt to watch. The very embodiment of
Yamato Nadeshiko.
Not, he supposed, surprising. Were any
kami to embody that, it would certainly be her. Though he was not fooled. He could see the steel beneath the woman. In the way she moved, her limbs carrying a
weight that no mortal woman had. A grace that a geisha would murder for. The way her hair, tied back behind what looked like bridgewings, swayed from side to side. He must remember that this woman was still the spirit of the battleship.
No matter how sweet the smile on her pale face was.
Ignoring the way her eyes were filled with warmth and compassion.
She could likely break him in half with a twitch of her arms. He could only imagine the power she possessed.
I am becoming far too accepting of the idea of these kami. Yamamoto reflected, as he leaned back in his chair once more. Yamato had somehow conspired to place a teacup, steaming away, before him. He wondered when she had found time to brew that. Or how. "I see you are making yourself at home, Yamato. Or, should I say, making yourself felt upon your home?"
Her smile was still soft, even as it widened. "This is my hull; you should be aware. Anything aboard is subject to my will."
Anything aboard. Hmm. I have wondered how far they can influence the world around them.
"It would appear so," Yamamoto smiled slightly, himself, as he reached for the tea. If he couldn't trust the spirit of his own flagship, then who could he ever hope to trust?
As soon as the tea reached his lips, his smile widened. The brew was some of the finest he had ever tasted. He could say it was better than tea in the Home Islands, even. If the way he saw Yamato staring at him was any indication, she was hoping he felt that way. Like a child, he supposed. Understandable considering the age of her hull. Even younger than Zuikaku, herself a child in many ways.
"This is excellent tea, Yamato. Better than any teashop or hotel in the Home Islands." He meant the words as a compliment. He frowned deeply when Yamato flinched as if struck. Her smile shifting to something more brittle and hard-edged.
She twiddled the strange umbrella in her hands and gave that brittle, fake, smile. "I see. Well. The crew do enjoy considering me a hotel, Isoroku, so I suppose that only makes sense. I will endeavor to fill their expectations."
Even her cadence had slipped into something less formal. Hmm. A soft spot. A chink in her armor.
"And I shall avoid calling you such a thing, my dear." Yamamoto sipped the tea again, genuinely enjoying it. Yamato lost a little of the edge in her smile or the tenseness in her form, as she moved to stand beside him.
The two of them stayed like that until the Admiral finished his tea. The soft rolling motion of the ship was quite easy to miss, her sheer size negating most of the natural roll of a ship. He was
also not going to mention that. Women could be sensitive about the silliest things and no evidence had arisen to say the
kami were any different.
"If you are here now, I assume it is about my plan." Yamamoto sat the cup down and steepled his fingers instead. He stared at Yamato, who had snapped to attention in a way that most sailors would be envious of. "And your reaction confirms it. Do you have doubts, Yamato?"
Twiddling her umbrella once more, Yamato shook her head. Her nervous tick refused to go away, even as she spoke, "I don't...I have no doubts of your plans, Isoroku. I simply wonder if the Americans are drawing us..."
"Into a trap?" The old Admiral bit out a sharp laugh at the way Yamato flushed again. Honestly. "I can assure you
that is not the case. They have no knowledge of our fleet movements and are still splitting their own carriers. I see no reason to believe they are preparing to entrap us."
In all honesty, I doubt they are capable of it. Our submarines would know. And, in spite of the effectiveness of their carriers, I doubt they are anywhere near as capable as we are. Yamamoto was firmly confident in his own fleet. And dismissive of the American one.
Add in his gambling tendencies and his plan made perfect sense.
"We will be the one springing our own trap. The Americans have no idea where we are or what we are planning. We will take advantage of them tying themselves to the islands and attack when they least expect it." Yamamoto moved the teacup aside, revealing the map on his table. A map of the Solomons, where a sea of blue ever so slowly crept north.
He knew that the blow would have to fall here. The other American carriers were maddeningly elusive, but these two...these two were focused on their campaign up the islands. He still didn't know exactly where they were, as of yet, but he had a far better idea. And sometimes, that was all that one needed. No success could come without risks. Yet the reward was potentially great. Destroying two American carriers in one fell swoop? Rolling up the Solomons while they were reeling from the blow?
It would probably not win the war.
It would buy time to build the defensive wall that the Americans would break against. Even as they outbuilt anything Japan could hope to build.
"I trust you, Isoroku." Yamato nodded along. Her words not matched by the way she bit the edge of her lip.
Yamamoto didn't mind. He was a gambler through and through. This was another in a war filled with gambles. He saw no reason to believe he would fail now. He had yet to do so, after all, save for Wake and that had been because Nagumo had left behind two depleted carriers without support.
He would not make that mistake again. Yamamoto was sure of that.
We will sink those carriers and push the Americans back. They have no idea of our plans and no way to prepare.
AN: Good enough point to end this. At least if we want any chance of doing two chapters this month 
Not entirely sure how well this turned out. Difficult characters to write. Especially since Yamato cannot be the same as her KC counterpart, even if there are certain similarities. Hopefully worked well enough. We'll see.
Anyhoo, staying in the Pacific for a bit, as you can tell. We'll move back to Schreiber once this mini-arc is done.
