“And if they could wipe out the fleet, they could defeat the attack before it had even begun,” Molotov said. “Will they agree?”
“Of course they will,” Stalin said. Before Molotov could find of a way to tactfully remind him of the dangers, he elaborated. “Comrade Apanasenko has far more firepower than they have, placed along the borders. Think of how we could destroy the Japanese redoubt, and still have time to prepare the defences of Vladivostok.”
Molotov smiled. Stalin was thinking like a strategist. “Their flimsy defences would not stand up to us for long,” he said. “Our tanks are so much better.”
Stalin nodded. The Japanese were making frantic efforts to create a fall-back position, on the off-chance that the British worked up their nerve to the point that they would dare to launch an invasion of the Japanese Home Islands. Even with some assistance from Russia, they hadn’t managed to create the strong nation they desired… and now that they had lost contact with their homelands, they had been crippled.
“You will inform the Japanese Ambassador of our requirements,” Stalin said. “In the meantime, we can prepare to defend Vladivostok, although only with what we have on hand.” He looked down at the reports on his desk. “You may leave.”
Molotov left. He knew – and he knew that Stalin knew – that the Soviet Union was in serious trouble. The Trotsky movement in Russia itself was gaining ground, particularly after the defeat in Iran, which they had taken care to inform the public about. Radio Moscow, of course, had gone on and on about how delighted the Iranians were about Soviet liberation from the Shah and how they were embracing communism… but no one was listening.
He shuddered as the guards patted him down. The rebellions in the Ukraine and Belarus, despite mass deportations, were still burning; the Ukrainian conscripts had had to be disarmed after several unpleasant incidents. Tens of thousands of them were now in gulags, sitting out the war until Stalin had finished with them. Thousands more had escaped back to the Ukraine… while the economy was in serious trouble.
He stepped out of the Kremlin and into his car. The driver took one look at his face and started the car back to the Foreign Ministry. Molotov ordered him to head to the Japanese Embassy, and then regretted it; they had to drive past the wreck of the Planning Division. Trotsky’s strike – all the underground claimed that he had led the strike personally – had decimated the planners who held the vast Soviet Union together; killing Stalin alone would have had a similar effect.
Scowling, Molotov stepped out of the car and into the grounds of the Japanese Embassy, passing through first NKVD guards, and then Japanese soldiers, both of whom insisted on inspecting him. Whatever happened, he was certain, as long as they didn’t lose their nerve, they would win in the end.
“Ah, Ambassador Hikada,” he said, as he was shown into the presence of the Ambassador. “I have a proposition to put to you.”
USS Enterprise
Sea of Japan
12th May 1942
Admiral William Hasley, known as Bill to his friends and his subordinates, stared through his binoculars as the American force entered Japanese waters. It wasn’t something he was pleased about – the exact situation of America’s relationship with Japan wasn’t clear – but he was confident that his force could chase off any Japanese fleet, if the remainder of the Japanese fleet dared to come out to fight.
“Keep the combat air patrol up anyway,” he ordered. The little radios that had been designed by the British and mass-produced by American factories were delights; he could coordinate entire carrier wings with ease. The six fleet carriers of the fleet could put up four hundred aircraft between them, each one a brand-new Hellcat fighter flown by a skilled pilot.
“Yes, Admiral,” the duty officer said. Enterprise launched a squadron of Hellcats even as the Admiral watched, a manoeuvre that had been practiced time and time again at Pearl Harbour, when the fleet was being prepared for departure. “Should we launch one of the AEW aircraft from Wasp?”
Hasley turned his binoculars to glare at the older carrier, USS Wasp. Unlike her six comrades, the older carrier wasn’t fit for fleet action – and Hasley firmly believed in the new carrier doctrine that his other self had pioneered – and instead she carried the 1st Marine Division, which wasn’t a real division any longer. Instead, it was a helicopter force, one capable of engaging any target from the air. He grinned suddenly; one of the aircraft carried a powerful radar that was far more capable than anything the Enterprise carried.
“I think that would be a good idea,” he said. “My complements to General Vandegrift and ask him to dispatch the helicopter.”
He didn’t speak to Major General Vandegrift personally. They didn’t get on. Instead, he studied the latest in orbital reconnaissance; if the Russians knew they were coming, they weren’t doing anything to get ready to meet them. He frowned; Vladivostok was not an easy place to attack under normal circumstances, which was why he wasn’t going to attack it directly, even with the large force under his command. Instead, they would land at Nakhodka, and then march to surround the city-port.
“Ah, Admiral,” Captain Thompson said. He waved a hand at the borrowed British radar system. “I think we have a problem.”
Hasley looked at the display and swore. “Is that a glitch?” He asked. “I never trusted those systems…”
“No, sir,” the radar operator said. “They’re real.”
For a long moment, Hasley’s mind refused to accept them; nearly a thousand aircraft heading from Japan, directly for the fleet. They couldn’t be real; no one in their right mind would launch a fleet like that, would they?”
“Sound battle stations,” he said. The alarms started to ring. “Get the planes off the decks, now!”
Flying officer Shinto wasn’t used to his aircraft. The modified Zero was a new design, supposed to be capable of matching the British aircraft. Shinto, who’d seen the British aircraft, knew better, but it was a honour to die for the Emperor – one that he’d been forbidden. As one of a handful of survivors from the Dutch East Indies, one of the most experienced pilots that Japan had left, Shinto had been forbidden to crash into any American ship.
Shinto clenched his teeth as he saw the American planes ahead of him. His mission was to keep them off the suicide units, which were loaded with explosive and too heavy to manoeuvre well, and to fight as long as he could. He pulled a lever, dropping the extra fuel tank – hopefully landing on top of an American ship – and swooped around into the battle.
An American plane appeared in his sights and he fired. It wiggled away before he could confirm he’d hit it, but he was certain that he had. The sight of another American plane going for a kamikaze unit caught his attention, and he swooped down on top of it, firing a long burst into its tail. He blinked; it was still flying!
“What in the name of…”
It wasn’t a thought he was destined to complete. The Hellcat he’d fired upon had better armour than any Japanese aircraft. It flipped around and spiralled towards the ground in a controlled dive… and one of its wingmen fired directly into Shinto’s aircraft. His last thought was puzzlement; how could he die so easily?
The radar operator had given up trying to track the battle, but it was very clear what the Japanese were trying to do. They swarmed down on the American ships, targeting the battleships and the carriers, trying to crash into them. The explosions that marked their deaths proved that they were carrying high explosive loads.