John Schettler - 9 Days Falling, Volume I

“Aye, sir,” signaling as ordered.

Yeltsin was on the line a few moments later and Karpov picked up the handset. “Good morning, Captain. I trust your radar officer has already reported on the contacts to the south.”

“A sizable fleet,” said Yeltsin. “We read twenty-four discrete surface contacts. And what were you shooting at to the north a while back?”

“Just clearing our throat, Captain. We’ll be doing a little talking soon. I’m sending up our KA-226 with long range cameras to get some footage of that task force to the south. I’ll have it fed directly to your ship as well. Take a good long look when you see it, and don’t think those ships are a welcoming committee. They’ll be coming for us , Yeltsin. Understand? They think they’ve won this war single handedly and now they own it all. The arrogance, the insults, the duplicity—all the crap that Captain Tanner handed me has its root and stem right here. It will grow like a bad weed, and nothing will change for the next seventy-five years unless we make it so.”

Karpov was aiming to convince Yeltsin that his decision to intervene was a correct one. If he went into battle here, he wanted to make certain that his officers were all behind him, and Yeltzin had wavered with Zolkin’s soft line. He had to tighten things down before the situation began to escalate, as he knew it surely would.

“Very well.” Yeltsin’s voice came back. “But think this through carefully, Karpov.”

“Count on that, Captain. Just as I’ll be counting on your support as well. You will soon see with your own eyes what I’ve been talking about. Those ships will most likely attack us before day’s end. In that event, I hope I can count on both you and your ship to do your duty. You may not want this little war, but you are a man of war. If our actions here can prevent a holocaust in the future, I say so be it. Whether I take action or not, it looks like things are going to start to change in short order. But this time we’ll be calling the shots—not the Americans.”

There was a long pause, and Karpov listened through the static, his eyes moving this way and that as if he sought to see the other man’s face in the wash of noise.

“Don’t worry Captain. We’ll do what we must.”

The question of what they should do was behind them now. Zolkin’s voice was not strong enough in the argument to really matter. Now it was a question of what they must do.

And it was about to begin.

BB Missouri — CnC Flag, U.S. 3rd Fleet

120 Miles East of Honshu Island, Japan

“SayLTC…This might not mean anything, but we haven’t heard from Razorback for three days now, and TF.92 is also late reporting in. What’s up with the Browns?”

Lt. Commander Bob Harper leaned over his desk, inclining his head to the Ensign on his right, Tim Gates. “The Browns?”

“Yes, sir,” said Gates with a smile. “That’s LTC Brown on Razorback up in the Kuriles, and then there’s Rear Admiral Brown up there with TF.92. They related?”

Harper frowned. “Who knows if they’re related, Gates. What’s your problem?”

“Well they haven’t reported in, sir, and the Russians just declared war on Japan a few days ago. You figure they mixed it up with the Russkies up north?”

“The Russians are our allies , Gates. Get that through your thick skull. Besides, this war declaration of theirs was just theater. It’s a land grab before we finish this thing up, that’ s all.”

“Well they haven’t reported in, sir—the Browns.”

“Then get on the goddamned radio and find out about it. They probably just ran into some bad weather up there. Don’t worry about security protocols anymore, Gates, Japan is finished. We’re just picking over the carcass for table scraps now. Word is they’ll surrender any time now, if they haven’t already done so. Get down to the radio room and see about it.”

Japan was indeed finished. The relentless advance of the United States Navy had pushed them from one island to the next, an unstoppable juggernaut displaying more sheer naval power than the world had ever seen before or since. Now that Okinawa had been taken, American carrier task forces ranged freely throughout the waters surrounding the Japanese home islands mounting raids on harbors, rail yards, and offshore shipping as they prodded the fallen beast to accede to their terms and surrender. Word was that the distinguished and long serving Admiral Yamamoto himself was now attempting to persuade the Emperor that it was futile to continue resistance.

As part of the ongoing effort to isolate the islands and sweep the seas around them clean, American submarines were patrolling at many locations, including off the Kuriles in cooperation with US TF.92 under rear Admiral John “Babe” Brown, comprising the cruisers Richmond and Concord , with twelve destroyers. They had been shelling Japanese installations in the Kuriles for the last several days, bombarding Matsuwa Island, Kurabu Cape and Suribachi Bay. The destroyers had swept the Sea of Okhotsk and rounded up ten small Japanese trawlers that had been ferrying supplies out to the small garrisons on the islands.

When Gates set off to find out about the operations he drew a blank. He went down to the radio room and had messages sent using normal channels, but nothing came back. Just when he was ready to forget about the whole thing, an SOS came in. Brown’s TF.92 ran into something alright, but was it wasn’t bad weather. With the message in hand he ran back to his post, eager for his ‘I told ya so’ with the Lieutenant Commander.”

“See here,” he handed the message over to Harper, eyebrows raised. “Japs must still be putting up a fight!”

Harper took the report, reading it aloud quietly. “ TF.92 reports surface action twelve miles North-Northeast of Kunashir Island — STOP — Cruiser Richmond heavily damaged. — STOP — Two destroyers sunk and men in the water- STOP — This is an S.O.S…”

Harper looked at Gates, clearly bemused. “Son-of-a-bitch, Gates. Looks like you were on to something. Anything on that sub?”

“Razorback? No, sir. She still hasn’t reported in.”

“Well this is news. Richmond and Concord are a pair of old rust-buckets. They’re both Omaha class light cruisers, commissioned in the 1920s. That said, what could the Japs have up there that would bother them?”

“Could be those damn Kamikaze attacks again, sir.”

“Possibly… Word is they’re still going after our ships when they can find them. That’s why Halsey gave the order today. He told the Squadron Flight leaders to shoot down any snoopers approaching fleet units—not vindictively, but in a friendly sort of way. Gotta love that man.”

In her last desperate death throes the Japanese had tried everything to stop the American advance, even resorting to strange new piloted rocket planes that were deliberately aimed at US shipping. In spite of the imminent surrender order, at that very moment, the last of the Japanese Kamikaze pilots were taking off from airfields near Tokyo, and among them was the Commander of the decimated Japanese 5th Air Fleet, Vice Admiral Matome Ugaki. He could not abide the talk of surrender, even coming from Admiral Yamamoto, for whom he once served as Chief Of Staff.

In another writing of that history, Ukagi would have been flying, in a separate plane, escorting Admiral Yamamoto when they were both ambushed and shot down on 18 April 1943 over Bougainville in the Solomon Islands. Yamato perished, Ugaki survived, yet not this time around. Kirov had so altered the history that their personal fates remained entwined, and Yamamoto lived out the war. Ukagi had been mustering the last of Japan’s dwindling air power to mount a massive attack with hundreds of aircraft on suicide missions in the defense of Kyushu. It was to be called “Operation Ketsu-Go,” the “decisive moment,” but when Yamamoto heard of it he issued orders to forbid what he called the senseless waste of yet more lives. After the venerable Admiral advocated surrender instead, Ugaki was so disheartened that he joined the last Kamikaze strike sortied from Japanese soil in the war. It was said he died holding a ceremonial short sword given to him by Admiral Yamamoto.