Against the Tide Imperial: The Struggle for Ceylon (The Usurper's War: An Alternative World War II B James Young (read out loud books .TXT) 📖

"Listen to me, you fools," Kaku barked at the two men he'd been speaking with. Yamaguchi ignored his chief of staff, moving to consult the chart as the commander hurriedly plotted the position report.

Well at least one thing is going correctly.

The crew of Haruna #3, almost certainly dead, had provided a very important last service for the Emperor.

"If only they had been twenty minutes earlier, we could have just launched our second strike at that position to get it off our decks," Kaku said, his fingers white as they pressed on the chart table.

"I do not think that we will have that much extra time, Kaku-san," Vice Admiral Yamaguchi said.

He stepped outside onto the bridge wing, the stiff breeze and Akagi’s maximum speed combining to nearly knock him off his feet. Bracing himself against the wind, Yamaguchi raised his binoculars and looked aft at the other two divisions. The Kido Butai's escort vessels were starting to assume protective positions for anti-aircraft defense, smoke belching from the destroyers' funnels as they moved to their respective places.

The Taiho's radar saved us. We will have time to take some measures, to get some ordnance back into the magazines. Heaven help us if the strike had arrived unannounced.

For an instant, his mind's eye saw the Soryu and Hiryu ablaze, caught with their hangars full of armed and fueled aircraft.

I would have lost the war in five minutes.

Yamaguchi pursed his lips.

I still may lose it. But at least now I have a chance.

Once more, the sound of running feet announced a message from the Akagi's radio room.

"Sir, our fighters are engaging!"

The blood drained from Isoro’s head as the Shiden came around in a tight turn. He could see tracers arcing behind him as the strange, gull-winged American fighter attempted to bring its long nose around to pull lead.

Where…are…my…wingmen? Isoro wondered, cold prickles of fear creeping into his mind. His consciousness attempted to slip away, but Isoro bore down harder in his abdomen and legs to keep the blood in his head.

This is how it–

He never had time to finish the thought. The dark gray American fighter suddenly erupted in 20mm shell hits and staggering out of its turn. Even as Isoro lightened his touch on his own maneuver before the Shiden stalled, he saw another Shiden arc past the now blazing American.

Thank you, friend.

Isoro waggled his wings then leveled off and trying to gain speed while looking wildly around.

The sky was chaos. One moment, Isoro and roughly twenty other fighters had been forming up to turn towards the incoming American raid. They'd been close enough to see Wildcats climbing towards them, light-colored fuel tanks falling away like rain drops. Then there'd been a frenzied cry of alarm followed by screaming as the new, more capable, American fighters had bounced the Japanese CAP.

There!

A gaggle of American bombers was heading for the Kido Butai. His companion waggled his wings and slid in to cover Isoro's tail as the latter turned towards the descending Americans. From a distance, the bombers looked like Wildcats. Then Isoro realized that they were still out of firing range and growing in size.

Must be the new American torpedo bombers. The one they call the Avenger.

Tightening his turn, Isoro aimed for the rearmost pair of the bombers, drawing lead with almost full deflection. As his finger squeezed the trigger, he noted several of the bombers' bulbous turrets swing towards him. Then the Shiden was shaking as his cannon spat a quick burst towards the light gray target. The tracers passed in front of the larger aircraft.

Too much lead.

The Japanese ace had just enough time to correct and fire again before he had to avoid a collision by rolling away. The Shiden's shuddering and several impacts told him he had not gotten away unscathed, the tail gunners managing to put several rounds into his fighter's belly and under surfaces. Seeing the tracers falling away behind him, Isoro started to pull up into a loop to assess the situation.

That's not good.

The Shiden was reacting sluggishly. Isoro turned to look back towards his tail. No sooner had his eyes fallen on his elevator than, with a loud snap, his port elevator tumbled away from his fighter. Reacting quickly, Isoro pushed the stick forward to get back to level flight. The Shiden once more reacted as if it was drunk, yawing towards a spin.

Stupid tail gunners!

Isoro’s pulse raced, and he swore he could hear the blood in this ears. A quick look around and the blossoming of flak near the American aircraft now receding to his starboard told him he was close to the Kido Butai's screen. Very gingerly moving his rudder, he brought the fighter's nose around towards the group of ships.

If I go into there now, I will get shot down.

It was only as he thought about getting shot down that Isoro realized his fighter was severely damaged. The Shiden's engine's pitch and sound was far rougher than it had been only a few moments before. The instrument panel told him that his flight was perhaps about to become abbreviated regardless of intent, as the radial's temperature was beginning to rise. Isoro cursed, then took his head back out of his cockpit to look around.

The scene before him blossomed into total bedlam as the American strike caught the Third Division at last.

I of course assume that there will be someone left to search for me, Isoro thought with great despair.

Isoro's pessimism was not quite well-deserved. By dint of their faster cruising speed, the Bonhomme Richard's air group and the accompanying Independence's torpedo squadron had arrived a few minutes earlier than the Yorktown and Enterprise's strike. Thus, the former had been severely disrupted by the Kido Butai's CAP before the additional escorting Wildcats had decisively tilted the numbers in USN's favor.

Still, the Bonhomme Richard's CAG had died at the front of his SB2Cs, dispatched by a Shiden off Akagi. The knock on effect of his loss was