He shook his head. If the recovering Admiral Yamamoto had been able to convince the war cabinet to call off the strike until he had recovered, Sato would have felt a lot more confident. The fleet that Nagumo had assembled looked powerful, but against the British forces, it was almost nothing. Six months of desperate improvising had given the Japanese some countermeasures, but he knew they were not enough. The ships were protected against a single torpedo hit, but the British could just keep striking them… and of course the carrier decks could hardly be protected.
“You look pensive,” Nagumo observed. For a moment, the two men stood alone on the bridge. “Do you not feel that we will win?”
“We will take heavy losses for the Emperor,” Sato replied dully.
“So Yamamoto kept saying,” Nagumo said. He smiled. “That fool Kurita gave up our chance at a strategic victory, but we will not.” He waved a hand over the fleet. “Ten battleships, battlecruisers, cruisers, destroyers, submarines… and seven carriers. A force far greater than the one that Kurita had, and one that can absorb more damage.”
Sato sighed. Nagumo didn’t understand. The seven carriers were two fleet carriers, two conversions and three converted freighters. Even if they had all been fleet carriers, Sato knew that there was no way that they could put up enough fighters to stand off the British missiles.
“Kurita’s ships were older vessels, with inadequate armour,” Nagumo continued. That was true; the weaker armour on the Kongo and its sister ships had provided the British with a convenient target. “The Yamato and her comrades have had extra armour and torpedo protection loaded on.”
Sato bowed once. Nagumo might have been right, but he didn’t believe it. After all, the British had plenty more missiles to use.
Nagumo swept over to the radioman. “Transmit the signal,” he said. “The fleet is to begin sailing upon command.”
Sato took his station at the air control station, which was meant to transmit orders to the carrier planes. He suspected that he would have no time to use it before the missiles arrived. He scowled; if the British got lucky or smart, they would take out the tankers once the fleet was in the middle of the Pacific wastes, and strand them helplessly.
“We are about to embark upon a glorious adventure for His Majesty,” Nagumo said. “His Most Imperial Majesty expects that each and every one of you will do his duty.”
There was a long pause. Cheers rang through the massive ship. “Send the signal,” Nagumo ordered. “Take us out.”
The Japanese didn’t know that she was there, a massive SSN lurking just outside their main harbour. If they had known, they would have tried to sink her, but they didn’t even have the slightest idea that the ship was present. Some Japanese officers, aware of the true purpose of the fleet, might have suspected her presence, but they gave her no thought. If they were observed… well, they were observed.
“Some mighty big bastards in that force,” Captain Tyson observed. The Trafalgar had been watching the harbour for months, carefully noting what the Japanese were doing. “Anyone would think they were serious about going somewhere.”
“Canada, perhaps,” Lieutenant-Commander Davidson said. On the surface, the Japanese started to emit a hail of sound pulses, disrupting passive 1941 sonar. It was a nuisance, even for 2015 sonar, but active sonar could still pick out the ships. “They’ve certainly got enough supplies.”
“Those tankers might be empty,” Lieutenant Hawthorne said. “They can’t have much fuel left after the mess we made of the refineries before they took the Indies.”
“You’ve been reading up on this,” Davidson said wryly. “Do you know whose in command?”
“Yamato was Yamamoto’s flagship during this time period,” Hawthorne said thoughtfully. “That might be him onboard now in command, one of the best admirals in the war.”
“We could sink it now,” Davidson said. “Sir, we could bring most of the bastards down with a few torpedoes, or launch a Tomahawk attack from…”
“Admiral Turtledove’s orders were clear,” Tyson said. “We observe only, no attacks unless they see us and open fire.” He nodded grimly at the helm. “Follow them, slowly,” he commanded. “Exec, send a contact report to Australia. The fleet has to sortie soon.”
“Aye, sir,” Davidson said.
HMS Dasher
Nr Australia
18th May 1941
HMS Dasher had been in construction, along with three others, before the Transition. The MOD had taken the ships over as soon as the Navy remembered that they existed, but then had taken the decision to halt construction until resources could be allocated. In the month between the Transition and the decision to commission them as Royal Navy ships, the Battle of the Indian Ocean had been fought and won, and hard-won information and experience had been worked into the new ships.
Admiral Turtledove smiled as he strode onto the bridge. The Dasher – named for a ship that had taken part in the original timeline’s version of World War Two – was perhaps the single most powerful naval unit in the world. While it lacked an air complement, its missiles and torpedoes were modified for additional power, even against battleship armour.
“Report,” he snapped, as he saluted Captain Patel. The young commander saluted back, waving a hand towards the big display. “Have they left Hashirajima?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Captain Patel said. The tall dark-skinned officer gave off an air of competence. “Almost the entire Japanese battleline, except two old battleships that probably can’t keep up.”
“Designate them for missile attacks later,” Turtledove ordered. “Bring the fleet to moving stations; inform them that we’ll depart in thirty minutes. FLASH signal to London and Canberra, inform the Australians that phase one of the plan will begin in thirty minutes.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Lewis said. “Sir, what about the Japanese invasion fleet?”
Turtledove scowled. “What about it?” He asked. Privately, he was impressed, but Lewis wasn’t cleared for the entirety of the plan. “It’s not like they stand a chance, is it?”
“Dasher is ready to depart,” Captain Patel reported. “The ship is fully at your command.”
Turtledove smiled. “Tell me,” he said. “How long will it be until we can begin shooting at them?”
He saw Patel and Lewis exchange glances. His obsession with destroying the remains of the Japanese fleet was well known. “At their present course and speed, seven days,” Lewis said finally. “They’re heading… well, not quite towards us, but more towards Latin America than Canada.”
“Odd,” Turtledove said. “Still, there’s no reason why they cannot change course, after all. Is the fleet ready?”
There was a short pause. “The fleet reports that it’s ready,” Lewis said. “Australian Sonar Command reports three possible submarines, hanging back along our probable course.”
Turtledove smiled grimly. He could hardly question the bravery of the Japanese submariners; hell, he would have liked to have been so brave himself. It was just stupid, though; the Japanese had only managed to torpedo a handful of Contemporary merchant ships, their attempts to take a shot at his ships had failed utterly.