Dasher shuddered as the first missiles erupted from her batteries. “Missiles launched,” Lieutenant Lewis said. “Impact in thirty seconds.”
The Shokaku was the finest Japanese carrier that had ever been produced; fast, powerful, and lethally effective. She had served in the battles near the Dutch East Indies, even though she had missed out on the real battle that had cost the Japanese four older carriers. With her sister ship, the Zuikaku, she carried a powerful combat force around – and the British hadn’t dared to tangle with her. It was a source of some pride to her Captain; the almighty British were too scared to go near his ship.
Captain Yokokawa Ichibei had only seconds to realise that his ship had been targeted and no time at all to react. The first missile slammed into the flight deck; the second into the conning tower. By fortunate chance, most of Shokaku’s aircraft were already in the air, but that didn’t save the ship. The Harpoon warhead detonated, tearing a mighty hole in the hull of the carrier, and then the Shokaku’s stockpile of bombs and torpedoes detonated. The carrier literally vanished in a tearing blast of light.
Commander Sato wasn’t looking at the carrier when it was destroyed. He was staring down at the future device, which was finally tracking a high concentration of radar emissions, miles away. They would be barely within carrier range – except the Japanese carriers had already been sunk. Only one hundred and fifty aircraft were in the air, not all armed for the task.
A strange… oily explosion billowed up as a tanker was hit. More followed as the entire transport fleet was destroyed, stranding the main fleet far from home.
“Admiral,” Sato muttered. Nagumo was staring at the burning Zuikaku. “Admiral?”
“I should have listened,” Nagumo muttered. Sato committed the dreadful crime of shaking the little admiral. “What?”
“Admiral, we can get to them,” Sato said. “We have to order the fighters in now!”
“Do so,” Nagumo said. He sounded dazed. “Do it now.”
“Five carriers and seven transport ships, just blown out of the water,” Lieutenant Lewis reported. “Japanese fleet coming about.”
“They’ll be able to follow the missile trails,” Turtledove said. “Are their fighters incoming?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Lieutenant Lewis said. “They’ll be on us in half an hour.”
Turtledove smiled. “I see no reason to wait,” he said. “Contact Dragon.” The Type-45 destroyer was the only one carrying the experimental weapon. “Order them to fire the Deathcloud.”
He chuckled. The MOD would probably end up giving it a more family-friendly name, but it would remain Deathcloud to the Royal Navy. He grinned as a new missile launched from the Dragon. The Japanese fliers would have no idea what was coming their way.
The Japanese prided themselves upon their coordination of fighter aircraft. For what the pilots knew would be their final mission, they formed up into a single large formation and headed along the missile trails. Remaining together, they had learnt, meant that the enemy would have to fight the entire force at once, rather than fighting one on one. The pilots only saw the missile when it was too close to avoid… and the handful of pilots who had the presence of mind to fire at it were too late.
Deathcloud detonated in the centre of the Japanese formation. Like a conventional FAE bomb, it blasted out a wave of burning fuel, which was far too hot for the wooden and metal aircraft to stand. Burning, their wings ablaze, the Japanese force fell out of the sky. None of them had any chance to abandon their planes; they all died bravely, unaware of what had killed them with ease.
“May God forgive us,” Lieutenant Lewis breathed. The fiery remains of the Japanese force fell towards the sea; there was a silence in the CIC. No one had ever seen a force simply swept out of existence, not even during the Battle of Malta.
“Send the signal,” Admiral Turtledove ordered. “Transmit it now, all frequencies.”
Commander Sato had seen the blast that had exterminated the aircraft. His first thought was that it had been one of the atomic bombs that Yamamoto had warned him about, but then he realised that it hadn’t been; the blast had been too small.
“Admiral,” a technician said. “We’re receiving a signal.”
“Let’s hear it.” Nagumo said. “Put it on the speakers.”
“Attention, Admiral Yamamoto,” a strange voice said. It spoke Japanese, but with a strange accent. It reminded Sato of Ambassador Yurina, even if the voice was clearly male. “Attention, Japanese fleet. Your carrier ships lie broken, your aircraft wiped from the sky. Without our help, you won’t ever make it back to Japan.
“What sort of sacrifice is it? We can destroy your entire fleet with ease, unless you surrender. You will be unable to make even a dent in us; we will not allow you to close with us. Your young men, the hope of Japan, will die here alone and forgotten about, save only by the fishes. Admiral; surrender, for the sake of your men.”
“No,” Nagumo said. His voice was curiously flat. “Increase speed,” he commanded. “We will sink that fleet!”
“They’re still coming,” Lieutenant Lewis reported. “They’ll be on us in only five hours at that rate.”
Turtledove shook his head. “I wanted the fleet intact,” he said. “May history forgive us for what we must do.”
He reached out once and held his fingers above the representation of a button on the main screen. It was big and red, marked FIRE. He pressed it. Dasher shuddered as a second salvo of rockets launched, coordinated with the other ships in the fleet. One hundred and fifty Harpoon missiles, lancing out at the Japanese fleet.
The explosion slammed against Yamato as the Harpoon detonated against the rear of the ship. Commander Sato cursed; the accursed missile had penetrated through the deck armour at the rear of the ship before detonating, blasting the rear of the mighty battleship clean off.
“Admiral?” He asked, and then swore. Nagumo lay on the deck, blood streaming from a head wound. One glance was enough to tell Sato that Nagumo was dying. He made his decision quickly. “All hands, abandon ship, I repeat…”
The second salvo of missiles arrived. As the largest ship still on the ocean, Yamato received the attention of three of them. Commander Sato died without realising what had hit him and the fleet.
“Admiral, that’s them all sunk,” Lieutenant Lewis reported. The display was empty, except for the wreckage drifting in the water. “They’re all gone.”
“So many young lives,” Turtledove breathed. “Inform Captain Rashad; his ship and Task Force 5 are to remain behind on SAR duties. Any prisoners are to be treated well.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Lewis said.
“And for the rest of the fleet, its time to return to Australia,” Turtledove said. “And, on the way, if we hit the Japanese bases in the Dutch East Indies, I dare say that they’ll be grateful.”
Chapter Twenty-Four: Nippon Down Under
HIMS Tintin
Nr Australia
20th May 1941
Private Fumihiko had lost all sense of timing, wishing with all his heart that the nightmare voyage would just end. HMIS Tintin, a captured large fishing boat, was one of thousands of ships, not all of them remotely seaworthy, that had been pressed into service. Fumihiko had once been proud to be part of the infantry group that would make first landfall on Australia, but as the long voyage wore on through the night, he had lost interest.