“That would make 45 planes,” said Yamamoto, “half as many as the Americans are reported to have.”
“We have three more squadrons at Rabaul.”
“True, but have you tallied our losses? Those planes will be needed to fill out the squadrons on our carriers. I do not mean to sound like a defeatist, but we must be very cautious now. We were lucky there was not more damage done to our ships, but we must also rebuild our strike squadrons. Those planes are in very short supply. We have plenty of Zeroes at Truk, but very few strike planes in reserve.”
“There is a big group of D3As at Koepang on Timor. They were sent there to make sure the Allies could not reach Darwin from the Indian Ocean through the Timor Sea. We could transfer them to Combined Fleet.”
“That is a good start,” said Yamamoto, but Timor is nearly 2000 air miles from Rabaul.”
“I will handle the transfer,” said Ugaki. “They can move to Amboina first, then make the jump to New Guinea.”
“But we have not developed many airfields along the east coast of that island.”
“The field at Hollandia is sufficient, and then they can move to Lae.”
“Lae? Saburo Saki called that airstrip nothing more than a glorified mud hole. He told me the fighters there were losing planes to accidents on landing during training runs, which is why we ordered all those planes to Port Moresby, Buin, and Tulagi.”
“Correct, but we could simply send one of the carriers north to hover off Hollandia and pick up these planes.”
It was evident to both men that the logistics of rebuilding the shattered strike wings would now take some careful planning if the Kido Butai were to remain a potent force. All of Hara’s strike planes were in good shape, but those of Carrier Division 1 had been badly depleted. When the fires prevented Kaga from recovering her strike wave, she turned northwest with no more than six planes.
The grim reality that both men were now facing was the dwindling numbers of planes and carrier trained pilots. A third of the superb force Japan had opened the war with were now dead. Even the planes Ugaki was thinking to transfer from Timor were second line pilots, with very good morale but only modest combat experience. The great shock of this action had been the fact that the Americans had so quickly replaced their losses, clotting the skies with new planes and pilots at an alarming rate. Yamamoto knew that Japan could never hope to match the tremendous industrial production of the U.S.
As for Operation FS, the Army was in the Fiji Group for one reason, to build or control airfields that could insure control of the airspace around those islands. This had already failed, as Yamamoto clearly pointed out. The carriers the Admiral was so carefully husbanding now existed for only one purpose, to bring aircraft to a given place and control airspace, and to deny that to the enemy by attacking their carriers. It was all about the planes. None of the garrisons on any of the islands that had been seized mattered. It was all about the airfields those islands could provide.
“Get me hard numbers on planes remaining at sea,” said Yamamoto. “Then start looking for replacements. If necessary, we can recall the Ozawa group from Singapore, and the two light carriers we left at Sasebo. I will want your report before we reach Rabaul.”
Ugaki’s pencil would be very busy the next two days, and it was grim reckoning. As he tallied things up, he was slowly beginning to see the shadow that had darkened Yamamoto’s vision, and the reason for his caution. Hara was in good shape with 180 planes, but Carrier Division 1 had been reduced to 71. He looked all over the South Pacific, slowly finding and transferring planes to Navy command. There were those 32 D3As from Timor, 22 more in Saigon, 9 in Manila, 14 at Kobe with another 13 B5Ns. That was 90 more strike planes, enough to restore the Kido Butai to near full strength, but there was almost nothing left behind them. Another battle like the one just fought would leave the Navy woefully short of striking power, or so he now believed.
Here I am scrounging for planes, he thought bitterly, and all to replace aircraft that these strangers from another time boasted they would protect. Now where is that damn picket ship, he wondered? Yamamoto should not have detached that ship as he did. It was too far north to be of any use today. But it was just a single ship, and how many of those rockets remain? I will have to ask that question as well, as I am sure the Admiral will want to know.
He reached for his code book, still getting used to the new cyphers that had been instituted at the urging of the interlopers aboard Takami. Minutes later he had drafted a special message to the Chief of the Imperial Naval General Staff, Admiral Osami Nagano. He was the one man senior to Yamamoto, and the only man who could authorize what he was now requesting—the Shadow Fleet.
Part VI
Shadow Fleet
“The fiercest serpent may be overcome by a swarm of ants.”
Chapter 16
It had been building for some time, a product of forward looking realization that war was imminent. As early as 1938, it led Japanese naval planners to acquire ocean liners that had been quietly altered to place the large interior ballrooms and dining halls in locations that would serve perfectly as aircraft hangars. It prompted designers to build out barbettes on their 6-inch gun class cruisers, but make them large enough to quickly substitute an 8-inch turret instead. Among those in the know, it was simply called the shadow fleet.
The mammoth battleships Yamato and Musashi were actually among the first ships to emerge from that shadow, vessels which ended up being much larger and more formidable than US intelligence first thought when they learned they were under construction. There had actually been a plan for five such ships, but only those first two would ever sail as battleships. The third would be converted to the carrier Shinano, and the last two hulls were going to be cancelled. One was called “Warship 111,” and the last “Warship 797.” The keel for 111 was laid down and the hull partially completed, but neither would be built. Instead the steel allocated to get those two started would be used to build another ship using the plans for Shinano. The Battle of the Koro sea, and particularly the loss of both Zuikaku and Shokaku, had pushed that decision through.
That fourth ship would be called Shingen, after the famous Samurai leader Takeda Shingen from Kai Province. Known as the ‘Tiger of Kai,’ he had a fearsome reputation in old feudal Japan. Sometimes called “Taro” by his nickname, the builders took to calling the ship that as well. By any name, the ship was building out to be as fierce and rugged in design as Shinano, though it would not appear for some time.
But this was not the only shadow lurking in the shipyards of Japan. Things were not as grievous as Yamamoto made it seem. In 1940, when the arguments about the need and efficacy of more battleships and battlecruisers had reached their crescendo, it led to the cancellation of many ships slated for that category, particularly within the Amagi and Kii battlecruiser classes. The proponents of naval air power, Yamamoto a leading figure in that group, had seen they were laid to rest… but not buried.
Admiral Yamamoto had revealed this to Harada and Fukada before they departed for the Indian Ocean mission to secure Ceylon.
“We call it the shadow fleet, and phase one of this program was already activated in 1940, for many of our own carriers were converted from battlecruisers, seaplane tenders, and even fast tankers or ocean liners. All three ships in the Tosa Class were once battlecruisers, and now I must share yet another state secret with you. The Tosa Class battlecruisers were not the only hulls completed for new ships of that nature. Four hulls were laid down in our Amagi Class, and two hulls in the Kii Class. Only two of those six ships were ever commissioned as actual battlecruisers, our Amagi and Kagami, but the other hulls have been fitted out with propulsion systems, and all the interior spaces are completed—except they were not designed as battlecruisers, but carriers.”