He allowed himself a moment of pathetic pride. When the best that Japan could claim was the destruction of a submarine in the East Indies, the Combined Fleet had sunk very low indeed. The wreckage of the submarine had been sunk deep below the ocean, despite the best efforts of divers and salvage teams. He scowled; he lacked any information on British production, but the Germans had indicated that the British were building more submarines… enough to overcome their concerns about losing more.
“Of course, we won’t reach Canada,” he said. “The British will have studied the Battle of the Indian Ocean as much as we have, and they won’t repeat their mistakes. The entire fleet will be sunk after making a brave show of defiance.”
“And there’s nothing to do?” Yurina asked. “You could surrender…”
He lashed out suddenly, brokenly, knocking her to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said, as she lat there gasping. “I can’t just… surrender the fleet. No Japanese warrior would surrender…”
“Your fleet will be destroyed,” Yurina snapped. She didn’t seem too worried by the blow; he admired her strength and fortitude. An ugly red mark covered part of her face. “They’ll all die!”
“I know,” Yamamoto said. “I know that, but there’s no other choice at all. I cannot surrender and I cannot go against the orders of the Emperor.”
“The Emperor might no longer be his own man,” Yurina said grimly.
“I cannot assume that as a basis for disobeying orders,” Yamamoto said, honestly shocked. “No one would dare to hide orders from the Emperor, or change them.”
“I hope you’re right,” Yurina said. If she’d told the truth, the Japan of 2015 was far less respectful of the Emperor – he even had a female successor – than that of 1941. The traditionalists had had fits when the Germans had managed to somehow acquire more information; the horrifying news had played a part in the militarists domination of the decision-making process.
“I’m certain of it,” he assured her, hoping that he wasn’t lying. He reached out and kissed her bruise. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Going to kiss it away?” She asked, holding him. For an instant, her composure broke. “You’re sweet.”
Commander Sato knew, without false modesty, that he was no match for Yamamoto’s former right-hand man, Minoru Genda. He’d known that Genda was a far better strategist than Sato himself, while his skills were more tactical than strategic. Still, Genda had recommended seeking battle with the British fleet… and Genda had killed himself with the shame of the defeat.
The problem was nightmarish, even challenging Genda’s faith in victory before it had killed him. The Japanese had almost no counters to the advanced weapons that had devastated Admiral Kurita’s fleet, and what technology they did have was partly negated by the British technology. Their sole advantages were numbers and battleship armour, and neither were as much help as he had hoped. Yes, reports suggested that stronger armour could deflect a missile, and the Japanese had started to armour up their new ships, but he was grimly certain that the British would have expanded their own weapons as well.
He stared down at the shipping table. One concession that Admiral Yamamoto had forced out of the army was combining the army’s supply fleet with the navy’s supply fleet, therefore increasing the amount of tonnage that could be used to convoy men and supplies across the empire to the bases in the Dutch East Indies. The army’s commander, General Homma, wanted six full strength combat divisions; Sato knew that that was utter nonsense. At best, four combat divisions could be moved across the Timor Strait and the Torres Strait, directly into the zone that the Australians had to know where the invasion force would land.
“If we’re lucky, we can move the other divisions afterwards,” he said, and knew that they would not be lucky. Even with the tricks the Germans had sent them, they would give the game away the moment they sailed; the British radar coverage was hellish.
“The Japanese solider can carry any burden,” Colonel Shindo snapped. The army colonel, a militarist down to his boots, had wanted to march right across the centre of Australia, a suicide trip for the army. Sato had talked him out of it, wishing that General Homma had seen fit to send someone more… adaptable.
“The Japanese soldier will have to live off the land,” Sato said. He tapped the map at the north of Australia. “They will seal this crossing, Colonel, and cut the men off. That’s why the priority is to get ashore, which is why we are not attacking Darwin directly.”
“If we engage the Australians directly…”
“We’ll lose time and the battle,” Sato said. Colonel Shindo gripped his sword; Sato prepared to fight. Pitched battles between army and navy were becoming more common. “The Japanese fighter has more soul than his counterpart, but he is also on the end of a long supply line that can be cut at several different points – and they will throw everything they have into cutting that line.”
He held Colonel Shindo’s eyes, pleading for him to understand. “You might take Darwin in a pitched battle, Colonel, but you would burn up a lot of your own ammunition, supplies and tanks – if we can get any ashore – in the process, and then they would destroy you on the ground. The priority is to get ashore in strength, and then prepare the march around the continent.”
Colonel Shindo glared at him. “If we do that, we will give them time to build up and redeploy against us,” he snapped.
Sato scowled. The hell of it was that Colonel Shindo was right; it would give the Australians and their British masters time to get ready. “We would face that in any case,” he said, and knew that he was right. “The army would have to defeat theirs in a pitched battle… and then take Australia and force Britain out of the war.”
He turned back to the navy’s plans. As Yamamoto had said, they were glorified suicide plans… and it was his job to make them… less suicidal. The plan was simple; the Combined Fleet would head for Canada and draw off the British ships, which would hunt the Japanese across the ocean. When the British got into firing range of their missiles… the partly rebuilt Combined Fleet would be blown out of the water.
“Perhaps we could charge at them,” he mused, before dismissing the idea.
“You navy men are cowards,” Colonel Shindo said. It was a common view among the army rank and file, who hadn’t been told about the defeat. It would have only upset them. “Why don’t you seek a glorious decisive battle?”
Now it was Sato who clutched his sword. “Because we would lose,” he said. Ignoring the army man, he studied the map; there were vast tracts of sea for the combined fleet to hide themselves in. If the fleet headed for Canada, making certain that the British knew that it was there, and then changed course, they might manage to stay under the British horizon. He picked up the German information and nodded; without the hell-spawned AWACS aircraft, the British were more limited in their radar.
“You could at least die gloriously,” Colonel Shindo sneered.
Sato ignored him, wondering if the rumours that the army had dreamt up the plan to get rid of the navy were true. The Combined Fleet had been seriously reduced in prestige, and it needed a victory. He looked up at the map again; one trick that he could pull would be to send some submarines down to the path that the British ships would have to follow to return, and then leave them without any engines at all. If the submarines were lucky, they might get just one clean shot…