Kirov III-Pacific Storm (Kirov Series) by John Schettler

*
     
    Lt. Commander Matsua received the news with much excitement
and was soon up on the flight deck, pulling on his leather flight gloves and
adjusting his goggles and ear flaps. He surveyed the planes already spotted on
deck, six from 1st Squadron with the first planes of 2nd squadron already on
the elevators. It would be another ten or fifteen minutes before the remaining
planes were ready, their pre-flight checks completed and communications with
the air bridge underway for takeoff. In the meantime, he watched the slow
approach of a plane, which he soon recognized as a D3A1 dive bomber. It was
trailing a thin wake of light smoke, and he presumed it was from Sakamoto’s
group, a wayward flyer with engine trouble who had been sent home.
    He watched as the plane lined up for
landing, looking somewhat shaky as it came in, touching down with a bump and
then finally hooking up with a secondary retaining line and skidding to a loud
stop, its engine spinning fitfully in the light wind. There were no other dive
bombers assigned to Zuiho , his CII-1 Squadron was all for air defense
operations with twelve A6M2 Fighters.  A smaller ship, Zuiho could
carry no more than thirty planes. Why didn’t this plane land on its own mother
ship?
    Flight crews ran to maneuver the plane
off the main flight deck to keep it clear for Matsua’s torpedo bombers. Yet as
the pilot of the D3A1 slid back his canopy, he could immediately see that
something was wrong. He squinted, then noted the plane number and realized it was
Squadron Leader Hayashi, an old friend, his face ashen as he eased himself out
of the pilot’s seat. There was no movement from the rear of the canopy where
the radio man should be, and Matsua had a sudden strange feeling of dread as he
watched the flight crews ladder up the plane and climb to assist Hayashi. He
rushed to the scene, waiting below as the men brought the pilot down. One man
called up to the still open canopy for the second crewman serving as radio
operator and gunner, but Hayashi tugged at his sleeve, shaking his head. Matsua
could see blood on Hayashi’s flight jacket.
    “Hayashi! What happened? How were you
hit? Did you come all the way from Darwin?”
    Hayashi looked at him, his eyes
distant and glazed over with pain. Then he recognized Matsua, and forced a wan
smile.
    “Matsua…No, we never made it to
Darwin. There was an enemy cruiser about a hundred and twenty kilometers off
the coast and Sakamoto sent my squadron after it.”
    “Yes! Rumors say you scored a hit!”
Matsua looked over his shoulder thinking to see the remainder of Hayashi’s
squadron coming in for their recovery. “Where are the others?”
    Hayashi looked down, his eyes dark
with fear and his spirits dampened with shame. “No others,” he said quietly.
    “No others?”
    Hayashi looked at him, his face almost
pleading as he spoke. “I have never seen such a defense,” he quavered. “My men
pressed home the attack…Two scored near misses. A third put his bomb right off
the enemy’s bow and they ran right over it. Then something came up at us...” He
covered his eyes, then composed himself and stared at Matsua, clearly shaken.
“It was like we were flying through hell itself, a rain of metal… steel
serpents that hissed in at our planes like demons! My men were cut to pieces. I
released my bomb and veered away, and when I looked over my shoulder to see the
hit on the enemy ship, all the others were gone. I saw the last two go into the
sea…”
    Matsua waited, allowing his friend the
time he needed now. He was buntaicho , Squadron
Leader. Sakamoto had chosen him to make the attack, and he was now responsible
for the result. The hit he scored was commendable, but in the balance he would
come to the briefing room when he eventually returned to his ship and find
eight empty chairs where his men should be seated, their cheeks red with
energy, faces alight as they readied for battle. He put his hand on Hayashi’ s
shoulder.
    “We