Chapter 39
Skywalker_T-65
Writer with too many ideas.
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- Plural/They/He/Her
Chapter 39
"Will this be remembered as a glorious day for Japan, or the day our country walked to our graves."
Those words were whispered so quietly, that Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto could be forgiven for thinking none heard them. Even if anyone had heard them, it wouldn't have mattered. Because Japanese discipline would allow no questions. Nagato's crew, furthermore, were far too loyal to their Admiral to do anything. Unlike other ships in the navy or other crews, the flagship of the Combined Fleet would not have such a problematic crew. That would never happen, not while Yamamoto was in command.
It mattered little, of course, since none of the crew heard. Save for one, and her status as a member of the 'crew' was questionable.
"Hmph." Arms crossed over her chest, Battleship Nagato stood at the back of her bridge. Her dark overcoat blended into the shadows, helped by her black as night hair. Not that anyone could see her, even if she were not hidden by shadows.
Right now, she was more concerned with what Admiral Yamamoto had so simply stated. As if it were an assured fact.
"You are not normally so reluctant, Admiral." Nagato's rich contralto echoed over her bridge. Her crimson gaze fell on the square-shouldered old man, as he stared out at the anchorage. "I wonder why..."
Did she expect an answer? Of course not. None could hear or see her. However, the question needed to be asked. Hesitation. Fear. Worry. None of those were words she would have used to describe Isoroku Yamamoto. To see it at all was...strange.
As if he had heard her words, Admiral Yamamoto let out the closest to a sigh that Nagato had ever seen from him. "Defeating the Americans. Only a madman believes it is possible to defeat them in detail and dictate terms."
A single elegant eyebrow rose up on Nagato's sharp-featured face. That sounded almost defeatist. Not from Yamamoto, surely?
Before she could do anything to voice those concerns, the old Admiral continued speaking. His words were quiet, yet firm and hard as steel. No matter the content of his speech, this was an Admiral of Japan. His spine was steel and his dedication strong.
"Six months. We shall have no more than six months, if we destroy their fleet, before the Americans will have rebuilt to challenge us. If we cannot secure our holdings before then, we shall fail." The Admiral, uniform shifting along his broad form, moved away from his position. His dark eyes looked right through Nagato. His lips were drawn into a thin, nearly invisible line as he spoke one final time. "There was no more time to wait. Had we waited, the Americans would have been impossible to attack. We had no choice."
Without one further word, the Admiral walked right past Nagato. Not one sign of noticing the tall battleship, her skirt rustling against her legs as she backed away from him. Leaving a silent bridge, either unaware of what he had said or unwilling to question their Admiral. Even Nagato was unsure. Equally, she was unsure what exactly she felt about it.
The Japanese people are superior. Our warships are the best in the world and our pilots are without equal. I may not believe that the age of the battleship, of the Big Seven, has passed. However, I know one fact. We shall not, cannot, lose. The Americans have forever underestimated our power. That will be their downfall.
Nodding her head sharply, Nagato pulled her overcoat close over her tightly wound body, and took her Admiral's position. There was no room for doubt, as she looked out at the anchorage. At her distant sister. At the weaker Fusō and Ise. At the big gun force of the Combined Fleet. All of whom looking up to her, as their respected leader.
There was no greater honor than to be the flagship of the Combined Fleet.
Admiral Yamamoto's plan will succeed. We will draw the Americans into the Kantai Kessen and destroy them. Then there shall be nothing to stop Japan from assuming her rightful place in the world.
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Far from Nagato, a much younger ship swayed as her hull plowed through waves. Green twintails blew back in the wind roaring over her flight deck. Equally green eyes were staring out at the preparation to launch planes with the eagerness that could only come from youth. She was the youngest carrier in this formation, and the one with the most to prove. To herself, to her sister, and to her seniors in the other Carrier Divisions.
Admittedly, more the former than the latter.
Just you watch, Shoukaku-nee. I'll sink those battleships!
Grin widening, aircraft carrier Zuikaku looked out at her sister. Shoukaku was dipping and diving through the same swells that battered Zuikaku, but the slightly older carrier showed no signs of caring. As she shouldn't. This was their moment to shine! Kaga and the others had China, Shoukaku and Zuikaku would have Pearl Harbor.
"Final orders have come through, sir."
Zuikaku turned away from the rolling seas, and focused on the voice behind her. After all, those were the exact words she had been waiting to hear. It was time!
"I see." Captain Ichibei, as expected of a high-ranking officer in the Imperial Japanese Navy, showed no outward emotion. Save, perhaps, for a slight upturn of his lips. "Have the aircrews begin launch immediately. The Americans must be hit before they have realized they are under attack."
"Proper surprise, sir?" Zuikaku's XO, whom she had not memorized the name of, had a higher upturn to his lips. A hint of eagerness in his voice.
Ichibei nodded, "Indeed. You appear to be eager."
"Begging your pardon, sir, but are you not?" The younger man didn't really seem to care about what he was saying. Oh, there as the proper deference to one higher in station than himself. But he was of the younger generation--the ones so eager to see Japanese might shown to the world. "All of the men are. The pilots are eager to show the gaijin just what they can do."
"It appears I am not, doesn't it?" The Captain's lips twitched, very slightly. While his voice lowered to avoid being overheard. "I am eager, as well, to see the Americans put in their proper place. However, I know it is possible many of these men may not return."
"They will die with honor, striking a great blow against our enemy!"
Ichibei was silent at those words, while- unseen by all -Zuikaku frowned. Deeply.
I--I--
On the one hand, she agreed with her XO. She could hardly contain her energy at the thought of finally entering battle. And with such a deadly enemy at that. Dealing a great defeat to the American giant. The only regret Zuikaku had about that was the fact she would not be facing an enemy carrier in battle, proving her superiority over them. A tragic waste of her talents.
On the other hand, she didn't know how to feel about the idea of losing her precious pilots. It was very un-Japanese of her, but she loathed the idea of seeing her young pilots not return. Any carrier felt that almost motherly attachment to their pilots, no matter their age or experience. Or so Zuikaku believed, from watching her seniors. Even her, brash and reckless and young and any other adjective one could throw at her...hated the idea of seeing her pilots die.
And this, of course, was a very real possibility.
"What am I doing?" Zuikaku shook her head, forcing those thoughts away. It wasn't befitting of her to worry about something like that. "We'll catch those Americans napping!"
Nodding fiercely, Zuikaku turned her attention away from her Captain and looked back out at her flight deck. As her long hull came out of a swell, the first of many A6M fighters took to the air from her bow. She could almost feel the pilot's excitement.
"Once airborne, all craft are to form up on their leaders. Primary target are American capital ships- carriers first, battleships second. Targets of opportunity as they arise."
Those words were not heard on her bridge, yet Zuikaku heard them as clear as day.
"Go...go and fight!" The young carrier shouted, waving her arm wildly at the planes taking off. Unknowingly mimicking the gestures of her myriad of crew, down on the flight deck. "Show the First Division what we can do!"
That, more than anything, was what Zuikaku wished to do. It was unfortunate for the Americans, but they would be the ones under the guns of her pilots. They shouldn't have done--done--
Well, they shouldn't have done whatever it was they did!
It's time to fight! No matter what they did, the Americans are our enemy and we will destroy them. Go get them, everyone! Show them the power of the Fifth Carrier Division!
With her grin, not once fading, Zuikaku continued to wave out at her departing strike aircraft. Across the swells from her hull, the same scene played out on Shoukaku. On Akagi and Kaga. Hiryuu and Souryuu. The entire Kido Butai, united for this mission. The start of a new war, and the dawning of a new age.
Zuikaku couldn't be prouder to be part of it.
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In hindsight, I should not be surprised.
Commander Mitsuo Fuchida banked his big Nakajima bomber, a burst of black flak flashing in front of him. All around, similar puffs of black smoke filled the air. Tracers from the ground joined them, as well as fire from the fleet in the harbor. None of the ships were underway, true, and some still had clear signs of peacetime on their hulls. Awnings spread out, and men ducking around in dress uniforms so painfully white it stood out even from this altitude.
Yet, Fuchida could not deny it was very obvious the Americans had known they were coming. Not from where, not from when, but that they had been coming. Surprise had been lost before he reached this harbor, though perhaps not before he had launched. Certainly the Americans weren't completely prepared or their ships would be moving.
"Partial surprise, then," Fuchida's words were soft and lost in the drone of the Sakae engine before him. They were mostly to keep his mind sharp, as he winged over to get a better view of the battlefield.
"Fighters, sir! American fighters!"
Fuchida's attention was diverted from his maneuver, his head spinning on a swivel. Dark eyes narrowed in concentration, as sunlight glinted off glass canopies. The distinctive long-nosed American P-40s. Stumpy P-36s. Both desperately attempting to climb, ruined and burning airfields behind them. Only a handful of the fighters had struggled into the air...
...but a handful could still be deadly.
Clicking his tongue, the Japanese Commander continued his turn and moved away from the American fighters. "Get a message to the fighter groups. Divert forces to the Americans, while focusing on the airfields to prevent more getting in the air. Forget about strafing the ships."
"Hai!"
With a slight shake of his head, Fuchida sighed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw A6Ms diving down on the American craft. No matter how better prepared the Americans may have been, they could not defeat veteran pilots in the best fighter in the world. He had supreme confidence in the escorts. The Americans would not get through, and his attack craft would continue their offensive. As such, he finished his turn and turned his attention back to the attackers.
"Fools..." promptly muttering under his breath, when a wing of three Nakajima bombers zeroed in on Carrier Row. Not a single American carrier was present, and the only vessel larger than a cruiser was the target ship Utah. The identification card placed in Fuchida's cockpit told him that much. "What a waste."
Eyes shifting, Fuchida looked down on the largest sources of flak fire. USS Arizona was distinctive, even among the standardized American warships, due to her triple-gunned turrets and tripod masts. That warship, and the West Virginia before her, were proving the most troublesome targets. Even as he watched, an Aichi dive bomber spiraled from the sky from a near-miss of a flak shell. The canopy stained red with blood.
Damn them. The Americans knew we were here, and their warships are more heavily armed than we had anticipated. What is the meaning of this?
There was no answer forthcoming, as Fuchida felt his own bomber shake from a near miss. The sound of shrapnel pinging off the fuselage beams and slicing through the wings forced him away from idle thoughts. Frantically, the young officer sat up in his seat, scanning over his bomber. And darkly cursing under his breath at what he saw.
"That was entirely too close." Grimacing, he looked away from the holes in his wings- though thankfully no dark fuel leaking, nor smoke from the engine -and towards the seating behind him. "Report!"
"I'm okay, sir! No damage visible!" The bombardier was the first to reply.
Followed shortly by a pained groan from the radioman/backgunner, "A piece of shrapnel hit my leg, Commander."
"Can you still fight?"
"I can. My arms are unhurt."
Nodding sharply, Fuchida settled back in his seat and set up for his own bombing run. The rush and howl of wind through the holed wings of his Nakajima barely registered, all his attention focused on maintaining a level flight. His eyes shifted between the controls in his hand, the dark form of battleships beneath him, and the identification card beside his cockpit window. Which ship to target...
"Arizona, West Virginia, California, Pennslyvania..." Biting his lip, Fuchida banked- ever so softly -and oriented on the battleship furthest back in the American formation. Smoke was rising from her stacks, and not the smoke of fire or flak. The smoke of a ship beginning to come to life.
He could use this to his advantage. Sufficiently damaged, she could block other American warships from leaving the harbor. A great success, that would render them unable to maneuver or evade the second wave!
"Nevada then."
Decision made, Fuchida once more leveled his bomber. He did not even need to send word to his bombardier, as he winged over the form of the oldest American battleship in the harbor. She was clearly making every effort to leave. The fire from her lighter weapons was intense, as a gentle wake began to form at her stern.
That would not be allowed to continue, past the point the Japanese wished her to reach.
"Five seconds." Fuchida spoke, just loud enough to be heard.
"Five seconds!"
As those words were repeated, the bomber gently flew above the battleship Nevada. Like a petal on the wind, Fuchida guided it along the proper flight path. Behind him, the bomb rested in its cradle beneath the fuselage. Converted from a shell taken off Nagato, it was the heaviest weapon the Japanese had. Designed explicitly to pierce the armor of a battleship.
"Now!"
And as the dull thump of the bomb releasing echoed in his ears, Fuchida turned his bomber away. Flak burst all around, while the burly Nakajima bomber banked away in a graceful turn, free of its burden. A burden that fell down through the air, whistling while it did. The bomb's fins stabilized the flight path...guiding it directly at the thin deck of Nevada.
Men standing on that deck would see nothing more than a black dot, rapidly falling towards them. Those that saw it at all, and were not running about carrying ammunition for the limited air defenses. Or firing whatever weapon they had to hand, be it a pistol or a BAR, up at the diving Japanese planes. In this situation, they could be forgiven for missing a single black dot. Perhaps, one man saw it. His pointing finger, mouth opened in a silent scream, would become one of the most famous pictures of the battle- taken by a photographer on Nevada's bridge-wing.
The photo would be burned into the memory of those there that day, as the bomb cut through the battleship's relatively thin armor. Even against the oldest battleship in the fleet, even against relatively thin armor, the shell from Nagato did not penetrate completely. It detonated against the last deck armor in the ship, blowing it into splinters that would kill many men. More importantly, however, the bomb ignited a fire in the five-inch shell magazines.
Did I hit her?
As Fuchida craned his neck back to look at Nevada, he would be greeted by a plume of fire and a dull roar. Men and wood flew away from the battleship, as her entire hull shook from the impact. Her bow began sinking in the water, men frantically jumping overboard to escape the fire.
"We hit her, Commander!"
Fuchida absently nodded, looking at the slowing battleship. He could not see if what he had done was a fatal wound. The fire obscured everything. But...the explosion had not seemed to be the main magazine. Had it?
He would never know the answer to that question, as an American fighter dove out of the sun. Bullets riddled the cockpit. Without even a sound of protest, Mitsuo Fuchida died as his plane nosed over, trailing smoke and debris.
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Sub-Lieutenant Kojiro Takeda cursed, watching the Nakajima bomber crash into the ground near an American airfield. He had been just a matter of seconds too late to save it. And if he had seen the insignia correctly, that had been Commander Fuchida's bomber.
I will be forever shamed for this failure.
Gritting his teeth, the young Japanese pilot nosed over and pursued the American who had killed the Commander. A P-40, already attempting to dive away. Takeda had been chasing this gaijin pilot for minutes now. Every time he lined up a shot, the American managed to twist out of the way. Every time Takeda thought he had him, the man avoided his bullets.
"This is no ordinary pilot." Pushing down his anger, Takeda focused his energies on lining up a shot. His finger depressed the firing stud...
And his cannon shells flew wide, the American turning into a corkscrew towards the ground.
"Damn it!"
Growling now, Takeda pulled his Reisen into the same maneuver as the lumbering American. A P-40 could never outturn an A6M, no matter who was at the controls. The Japanese pilot knew this, and the American likely realized it as well. He was making no attempt to turn, using his heavier plane and stronger engine to zoom away in dives.
As much as he hated it...Takeda had to acknowledge the man knew the strengths of his plane and how to use them.
I must shoot him down. This man is dangerous.
Gunning his engine as hard as it could go, the Sub-Lieutenant focused all his strength on pulling behind the American. The Reisen responded to each movement wonderfully, dancing among the clouds of flak. American gunners didn't care whom they were shooting at. That made it all the more dangerous.
"Hold still..."
Depressing the firing stud once more, Takeda smirked as sparks flew from the tail of the P-40. Pieces of the plane tumbled away, as it shook mightily.
And yet, the plane continued to fly, as it dove between the two battleships docked in front of it. Without a choice, Takeda pulled away and up, unwilling to give chase. The Reisen gained its greatest strengths by having one major flaw. Lack of armor. Flying between the guns of those ships would be suicide, even if the Americans were unwilling to fire at their own ships.
As it would turn out, he didn't need to. The American had pulled an insane move...pulling his fighter right up after he cleared the battleships, flying head on at Takeda.
Oh, he is brave. This American is honorable.
Despite himself, Takeda felt a surge of energy run through his system. This American, for all the frustration he gave, was one who understood an honorable battle. He could never outturn the A6M so he would attack head-first. Bravery. It seemed so strange to come from a gaijn pilot, after so long in China.
Takeda grinned at the thought, as he closed with the American.
Unbeknownst to him, the same expression was crossing the face of the American flyer. A man named Donald Locklear, who was determined to avenge the losses the fleet had suffered. To get back at the damn Japs who had attacked his home.
And all around the two men, the battle continued to rage unabated...
This one was difficult.
As one can probably tell, the Japanese perspective was...interesting to work. I, however, had decided on this route when I first started the story. I feel it is more impactful to have the characters be recognizably themselves than to completely change their character. Little E has an excuse to be nothing like Big E. Bismarck was influenced by Schreiber before she was even finished fitting out.
Nagato? No. She'll be much the same, just more eager and Imperialistic.
Zuikaku has her core personality. Very eager to prove herself and show she is the best.
In both cases, I took their lines from the wiki. Moreso Nagato than Zuikaku for direct line lifting, but all the same, these are their actual characters. The core of them at least. Some differences, but the same core.
And this can be very dark if one lets it be. Taking their actual lines, and giving it a much different context. Context is everything.
Hopefully that worked as intended. I think it took the most time of anything to do properly, if I'm being honest here.
(also, to those who notice: Yes, I stole the airplane protag of Battlestations Midway. I couldn't help it
)((also, also: Ichibei is not an OC or time traveler. He is, at least from Wiki, the Captain of ZuiZui at the time))
Finally:
This is an interesting thing, IMO. The Japanese, once they knew there was no choice but to attack, sortied their fleet well-in-advance OTL. This was both to get the fleet across the Pacific, and to do it before the Americans had time to do anything themselves. There was a slim chance until the last second that things might not have come to a war, but it was not a real possibility. So why do the Japanese attack early here?
Well, I hinted in the chapter on this one. The Japanese knew that the Americans were making preparations for potential attacks. Rapidly stepping up the fortification of Pearl, and the carriers consistently going out in ways that didn't seem like routine patrols or exercises. Why is this important?
Simple really. If the Americans are preparing for an attack, they may be preparing to attack first. Or they may know the Japanese are planning to attack. Or, even if neither of those are the case, they may be trying to get the place ready on its own. Regardless of the reason...if the Japanese waited too long, their window of opportunity would be gone. As such, they attacked at the absolute earliest chance they could get...ie, one week before OTL!Pearl. That was the logic I was operating on.
Well, I hinted in the chapter on this one. The Japanese knew that the Americans were making preparations for potential attacks. Rapidly stepping up the fortification of Pearl, and the carriers consistently going out in ways that didn't seem like routine patrols or exercises. Why is this important?
Simple really. If the Americans are preparing for an attack, they may be preparing to attack first. Or they may know the Japanese are planning to attack. Or, even if neither of those are the case, they may be trying to get the place ready on its own. Regardless of the reason...if the Japanese waited too long, their window of opportunity would be gone. As such, they attacked at the absolute earliest chance they could get...ie, one week before OTL!Pearl. That was the logic I was operating on.