Turning Point (Kirov Series Book 22) Read online

  Chapter 23

  It was three days from the coast of Borneo north of Batavia to the port of Davao in the southern Philippines. That was good news insofar as their concerns about fuel had been uppermost in mind. There they saw a sight that put an end to any vestige of doubt in the minds of any who saw it, the mighty battleship Yamato, 72,000 tons of steel reality anchored well out in the bay, and surrounded by a gaggle of destroyers. Lieutenant Commander Fukada stared and stared, in awe of the ship, and the realization of what they were now planning to do. There, within that massive fortress at sea, the legendary Admiral Isokoru Yamamoto was waiting, if they could convince him to receive them.

  A medical team accompanied them to see to General Imamura’s comfort, along with Katsu Kimura and three Marines. They moved the General and the other man out by a route that would reveal as little as possible of the inner workings of the ship, and soon they were in a launch and scudding across the bay towards the imposing hulk of the great battleship.

  Yet, as Fukada had predicted, there was a good deal of curiosity directed their way as well. Men on the destroyers gawked and talked among themselves, wondering what this new ship was. While it’s design certainly made it seem like a warship, they had more guns on their small destroyers than this ship had. Perhaps it was a secret courier ship, they reasoned, or a ship devoted to command level operations at sea. Here it was delivering an Army General, Commander of the 16th Army in the current Java Campaign, so it must be important.

  Sergeant Kimura waited at the launch below, sending one Marine up the gangway with the officers and medical team. The General’s leg had healed enough to allow him to walk, and he asked the medics to remain below, as a matter of face. He would not greet the Admiral of the Fleet as walking wounded. He was, in fact, the senior officer in the Imperial Japanese Army for hundreds of miles in any direction, and he acted as if he expected everyone else around him to know that. It was no surprise, then, that they were greeted respectfully, piped aboard, and politely escorted up to the Admiral’s conference room in the main superstructure of the great battleship, a trip that delighted Fukada. They were all decked out in their dress whites, ghosts from a distant future, walking among legends of the past.

  Reaching the conference room, an aide invited the Captain and his First Officer to a table set with white linen and a stylish tea serving. Imamura was greeted with respectful bows, and ushered through a door on the far wall.

  “May I ask a moment of the Admiral’s time after this conference?” said Captain Harada. “We have urgent news that could not be transmitted by signal for reasons of security.”

  “Very well,” said the aide, a smallish, flat haired man with round wire eyeglasses. “I will make the request to the Chief of Staff, but cannot promise anything myself.”

  Some moments later, a man entered the room, dour faced and well decorated. Recognizing authority when they saw it, the two men immediately stood, bowing politely and saluting.

  “Rear Admiral Ugaki, Chief of Staff,” said the Aide.

  “Be seated, gentlemen,” said the man, his eyes hard, taking notice of their uniforms and insignia, and with a look that bordered on suspicion. He softened briefly, seating himself. “I am told General Imamura owes you a life. Your rescue operation was most fortunate, and you are to be commended.”

  “Thank you sir,” said Captain Harada.

  “You have news that needs to be conveyed to the Admiral?”

  “We do, sir. It concerns our ship, among other things, and it is imperative we speak with him privately.”

  “Privately? That will not be possible,” said Ugaki. “But you may speak with me here. What is this news you bring along with General Imamura?”

  Captain Harada’s concerns about being on the other side of a wall from Yamamoto were now realized. Here was a human firewall, the tough Chief of Staff of the Combined Fleet, who had decided to fly a final Kamikaze mission personally, to atone for the inability of his pilots in 1945, and he did so after he heard the Emperor’s order for all forces to lay down arms and surrender.

  Captain Harada was not familiar with the man, or the long naval history that saw him reach this position of authority, but Fukada was. He had taken it upon himself to study up the previous evening, knowing he would have to navigate the waters of the Combined Fleet Headquarters with its floating command center, the battleship Yamato.

  “If I may, sir,” he said quietly. “Meaning no disrespect, we have been sent with this information for the ears of Admiral Yamamoto only.”

  “Sent? On that ship?” Ugaki folded his arms, eyes narrowing with that look of suspicion. “Are you aware of the fact that the name you have given for your ship does not presently exist on the registry of commissioned ships in this navy? For that matter, that ship is not familiar to me at all. It is most unusual. And now you tell me you were sent here with this important information? Explain! Are you Kempeitai? Tokkeitai? Who sent you here?”

  Captain Harada gave his First Officer a disparaging look. He had not expected this story from Fukada, and his instinct was that it would come to no good. It implicitly took the line that they were men of this day and time, on some nefarious operation, and with a ship that had been held in secret, even from the highest officers in the Navy. It did not seem like it would wash, then again, he could think of no alternative to what Fukada was saying. They simply could not come out with the truth, and tell this man they were time travelers from the future, here by accident, and with information vital to the outcome of this war—at least not right at the outset. They had barely been able to convince themselves that was what was happening here, but convincing this man, or a no-nonsense realist like Yamamoto, now seemed an impossible task, and something that would be ludicrous to even attempt. But what else could they do?

  That was perhaps the reason Fukada took this approach, he thought. We can’t tell them who we really are yet, because we would simply not be believed, at least not in a situation like this conference. It was going to take a little shock and awe, as the Americans of their own time might put things. If they could demonstrate the amazing technical superiority their ship represented, then they might get their first hold on these men. But even then, could they move them in any meaningful way? This whole scenario seemed a dangerous and fruitless thing to him now. They should have fled for any open sea they could find, and stayed as far from the men of this era as possible. They should have sailed for South America, beached their ship, and set the destroyer on fire. Yet that was a sea journey of over 11,000 miles, impossible unless they found fuel along the way.

  He had considered that, after the long discussion that set them on this course. Hide the ship somewhere, beach it, then burn it to the ground to prevent any of its secrets from ever being discovered here. That was the safe course, one that might prevent them from influencing this history, but they had not seriously discussed that. It would have meant the entire crew would be marooned, and that they would live out their lives here, very special and knowing men and women, yet they would all have to be sworn to keep the secret they buried with the ship, and for the rest of their lives.

  Yet they had never gone that deep. The meeting to decide things had bounced from concerns over fuel, a matter of self preservation if they were to keep the ship operational, and then to which side they might be on, with opinions and feelings running deep on both halves of that question. Clearly Fukada seemed to think and feel that they could not abandon Japan now, or ever return home again if they did. They would be strangers in this strange land, outcasts from their own nation and people, no matter which course they took. Every road left them pariahs. Now where was Fukada going with this?

  “Sir… It is correct that our ship does not appear on any active duty register. The reason for this will be disclosed to Admiral Yamamoto, but to no one else. Those are our orders, and respectfully, they come from an authority beyond that which is vested in this Headquarters.”

  In Fukada’s mind, it was now an all or nothing play t
o get this audience with Yamamoto. They could not allow themselves to run aground on the outer shoals of his staff here. That they had come this close, and so easily, was already a great windfall. Here was the Chief of Staff of the Combined Fleet, a most powerful man, but they needed to get to his boss, and as quickly as possible.

  “Beyond this headquarters…” Ugaki smiled. “Then Nagano sent you?” This was the Chief of the Imperial Japanese Navy General Staff, and the one man now senior to Yamamoto himself.

  “Sir, you press me for details that I cannot now give. This is understandable, but our instructions were very specific, and our oath prevents us from any other option. If you will grant us this brief meeting with the Admiral, all will be made clear.”

  “I see… and if I refuse this audience?”

  “Then we will have failed to carry out our orders, and would have no option other than seppuku.”

  “Seppuku? I would be most happy to stand as kaishakunin in that instance, and even lend you my Tanto blade if you so desire. If that is the line you draw now between us, then write your death poem, Lieutenant Commander. That is another thing I find distasteful. That uniform… those insignia. You come here on a strange ship, flying the Japanese naval ensign, and yet you are clearly not regular navy.”

  “No sir, we are not regular navy.”

  “And you speak out of place, with your Captain sitting there like a deaf mute.”

  Captain Harada was dumbstruck. Fukada’s subterfuge had left him in a most awkward position. He either had to play along, reinforcing the stack of lies his Executive Officer was laying on the table, or what? He could think of nothing else to say here. But Ugaki’s last statement prodded him, and he knew he had to speak. He turned now to Fukada, trying to muster the thunder of real anger.

  “Lieutenant Commander… That will be enough!”

  At that moment the door to the conference room opened, and there stood the legend himself, Isokoru Yamamoto, his face unmistakable to them both, broad head, soft thoughtful eyes that had a great hidden depth to them, and a aura of calm surrounding his placid features.

  “Admiral Ugaki,” he said quietly. “Please show these two officers in. I wish to speak with them.”

  Ugaki raised both eyebrows, looking from Yamamoto to Fukada, clearly surprised. “Very well,” he huffed, his eyes firmly on Fukada as he stood, quite abruptly, his arm extended to the door where the Admiral waited. Now General Imamura emerged, a satisfied look on his face, and his eyes also found Fukada as the two officers stood, instinctively saluting Yamamoto, who returned with a subtle gesture toward the open door.

  Admiral Ugaki was clearly not happy, but cautious about saying anything further in front of Yamamoto. Then he thought the better of that, and spoke up.

  “Admiral, may I join you?”

  “In a moment,” said Yamamoto. “Please be so kind as to escort General Imamura to the officer’s dining room. Then come back here and join us.”

  Ugaki hesitated briefly, then made a polite bow, and his arm gestured towards the door, showing General Imamura the way. He had not failed to notice the look the General gave the Lieutenant Commander, an almost conspiratorial glance. That was what he suspected here, with this strange ship, and two equally strange men in dress white uniforms with insignia that were clearly not regular navy.

  The Captain had four bars and a star, when he should have four bars, with the last forming a circle, and then three stars on his shoulder boards. Who were these men? Were they Kempeitai as he had suggested, the secret police, or Tokkeitai, the equally shadowy group within the IJN? Were they sent here by Nagano, or someone higher in the civilian authority? As he escorted the General out, he could not help wishing he could see that impudent Lieutenant Commander slitting his belly as he proposed. Now he resolved to get the General to the officers dining room, and then return here as soon as possible to get to the bottom of this. Were these men searched? Did they pass a security check before they were sent up here?

  Yamamoto waited for Ugaki and Imamura to leave, then gestured to the open door to his stateroom. “Gentlemen,” he said. “General Imamura was most insistent that I speak with you. Please come in.”

  Now Fukada smiled inwardly, for he had gone to Imamura’s quarters on the ship the previous night to secure the General’s support for just this reason. He figured that Imamura would be granted immediate access to Yamamoto, and if he could persuade him to make the request, it might get them through any red tape to see the Admiral.

  “General,” he had said, “We have saved you from a certain death, and now I ask a favor of you. We have orders to speak with Admiral Yamamoto, but, the navy being what it is, we are likely to be tied up with a member of the headquarters staff. Can you help us?”

  “Certainly,” Imamura had told him. “I owe you a great debt, and I would be happy to make the request on your behalf.”

  How they came to that understanding, Fukada would keep to himself for some time. Yet it had worked. The General had made good his promise, and there they were at long last, face to face with the Admiral himself.

  Now, thought Fukada, what do we really tell him here that will make any difference? The Captain wasn’t prepared for the line I took with Ugaki. It took him a while, but he finally realized it was all or nothing here. Let’s hope he understands what we must now do. Let’s hope all of us understand the gravity of this situation. We’re here, just like Sergeant Kimura put it. We’re here, and we’re going to matter, because, by God, I intend to make certain of that.

  He smiled, realizing the challenge before him, but warming to the prospect of all it might bring, of everything he might change with the ship sitting out there, looking like a fast seaplane tender, but something very much more.

  With that ship, there would be no disaster at Midway. No. With what I can find out and know about the outcome of this war, every mistake and misstep could be avoided. And the Americans… I always liked them back at home base, and they make damn good equipment. But realizing they have been sitting there for the last 80 years only because of the destruction and humiliation of our nation is too much to leave alone now. It was something to be borne, inwardly, silently, hidden away, because there was nothing we could really do about it. It was all in the past, an old ancestral shame that we all preferred to forget, though for me it has always been a part of my shadow. But now that’s exactly where I am, right in the middle of this damn war, and with a ship that can change everything.

  And whether Captain Harada knows it or not, that is what we must do now, even if it means I have to take matters here into my own hands.

  Chapter 24

  “Gentlemen,” said Yamamoto, taking a place behind his work desk. “Please be seated. General Imamura speaks highly of you, and it was fortunate that you and your ship came across him. As to your ship…” He paused, looking at them both as if he were trying to see some clue or sign that revealed who they really might be, for they were certainly not officers in his Imperial Japanese Navy, nor was that ship like any he had ever seen before. He knew every ship in his fleet, and it’s design was most unusual.

  “I am told by the General that you are the senior officers aboard the Takami. You are undoubtedly aware that there is no ship by that name in the navy, and even though you pose as officers here, uniforms and all, nothing will convince me you are who you claim to be. The question now is why? Explain yourselves.” He folded his hands, waiting.

  Fukada looked at the Captain, seeing him hesitate, wondering what they could say. They had determined to come here, but had not really sorted out exactly how they would convince the Admiral of their story. Fukada made one suggestion, yet the thought of actually carrying it out set the Captain’s heart thumping.

  “Sir, I know that our appearance, and that of our ship, may raise these questions, but I am afraid I have no easy answer for you. In fact, we have not yet determined what really happened to us. We had just transited the Sunda Strait, en route to Singapore, when we heard that enormous roar—the
volcano. To answer you directly, we realize our ship will not be familiar to you.”

  “Then you admit you are not regular Japanese Navy? Yet you pose as such. You even fly the naval ensign of our nation. What shall I do now, have you and your crew hauled off as spies? Is that what you are, and why you are here on that vessel? You think you can just blithely sail about in our midst like this and not be found out? I should have you executed! Now who are you?”

  The Admiral allowed just the right touch of anger in his voice, though his curiosity about these men and their ship was very great. He had spent some time studying the vessel closely from the port hole of his stateroom. It was very curious, its mainmast angled back and bristling with odd antennae. The single deck gun forward was most unusual, but he could see no other weapons. When he learned from General Imamura that the ship’s Captain and Executive Officer were waiting right outside his door, and asking to speak with him, he decided he simply had to get to the bottom of this little mystery.

  “Sir,” said the Captain. “I am Captain Takechi Harada, and this is my Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander Kenji Fukada. We may not look the part, but we are indeed commissioned officers in the Japanese Navy, only not the force you now command.”

  “Not the force I command? Whatever do you mean… Captain? If you were going to pose as such, you might have taken the time to see to the details of the insignia you put on that uniform! I take a very dim view of a man who has not earned the stripes he wears. Too many others have sacrificed their lives and honor to wear that uniform.”

  “Sir, I have been in the service of our nation, in the navy, for ten years, and I assure you, I have earned the position I now hold. Yet we must explain something now that may be difficult for you to understand, or even comprehend. I was not sure how we could do so, or even if it was wise for us to request this meeting, but we find ourselves here, and… we are Japanese, every member of my crew, and sworn to the defense of our nation.”