“Mizuchi!” The nightmare he had endured and carried so silently within for all these months was there again, just as he had seen it before, the star in the sky that fell to the sea, the fiery silent death that would only be heard after it had already struck his ship, for the thing in the sky was now traveling far faster than the roar of its own engines.
Before Arima could say or do another thing, he saw it flash right over the tiny rise of Folo island, streaking right in towards the airstrip on Weno, and still his mind tried to tell him it was a fiery plane attempting a desperate landing there. Then it exploded, the fireball a great sphere right over the airfield, illuminating the squat shapes of the bombers lined up in a tight parking area. Secondary explosions bloomed up from the field, and Arima now realized those were the planes exploding, their wings scored by thousands of metal fragments, bursting aflame as the gasoline ignited.
“Mizuchi!” said Koumura again, and now there were more lights in the sky, the violet dawn faintly illuminating their ghostly passage.
“Battle stations!” Arima shouted at a watchstander and soon the bells were ringing all over the ship. The sound of crewmen rushing to their gun stations was heavy on the decks, and the main hatch to the bridge opened. There stood Admiral Matome Ugaki, frowning, the light from the fires over the airfield reflecting from his bald round head.
“What is happening?” he said sternly.
“We are under attack,” said Arima. “Captain Kumano believes it is the Siberian raider—look, naval rockets!”
“Mizuchi,” said Kumano, all that he had been able to speak since he first laid eyes on the light in the sky. Ugaki turned and looked, seeing the thin trails in the sky. Then a second explosion erupted right over the airfield. Men were running. He saw the AA guns turning, training up to face the lights in the sky, and only now could they hear the roar of the engine that brought those first two missiles to this place. How could this be?
The first guns began to fire from Musashi, triple 25mm Type 93 AA guns sending hot tracers into the sky at another fast moving rocket, this one low over the sea, its fierce light illuminating the still waters of the lagoon as it raced, smashing right into the carrier Zuiho.
Ugaki stared in horror as the terrible orange and yellow fire erupted from the ship. It had come in right on the water, right against the thin side armor of the carrier. He saw great pieces of the flight deck thrown up into the air and now a heavy black smoke poured out of the gaping wound, like the wrathful eruption of a volcano.
There was a moment of silence, even the AA guns stilled as all the men stared in awe at the scene. Then they saw two more lights in the sky, the amber dawn scored by their smoky tails, now glowing yellow as they came. Up they went and down they fell, and all Ugaki could think of was the secret Cherry Blossom project the navy was busy with, for surely these rockets must be piloted, and he now tried to comprehend the steely resolve of the men who were flying them, so terribly fast, riders of doom, thunder gods.
The guns were firing again, but in utter futility, and all through the anchorage tracers were streaking up into the sky from every ship, and some even directed search light upwards, their thin fingers probing the dawn like the reaching hand of a blind man. In came the first, low over the lagoon as before, only this time it would find one of the service fleet ships anchored close by the headlands of Weno island where it had been taking on fuel the previous day for delivery to Tulagi. The explosion and fire that erupted there was awesome, and now he knew that the rocket had struck the tanker full on. Kyokuku Maru was now a raging inferno, the fire and heat heralding the rising sun.
Then the last rocket fell from the sky, coming in low over the sea, as all the others had, only this time Ugaki could see that it was aimed right at Musashi. A second later it seemed to leap up, as if the pilot had frantically pulled back on his control stick to avoid crashing into the ship, but that was not the case. It was only the pre-programmed popup maneuver at the end of the terminal run of that Moskit-II, the last to be fired in Karpov’s attack.
The Siberian had hit all the key targets he discussed with Fedorov, two P-900s over the airfield exploding right over the parked aircraft and raking them with hot shrapnel and the concussive wave of shock and fire. Half the bombers were on fire now, the explosions from their fuel tanks still erupting when the ships were hit.
Zuiho had been next, a single Moskit-II lancing into her sides, smashing into the hangar deck and exploding with consuming fire. The hit had come in right amidships, between the two elevators fore and aft, and that ship would be put completely out of action again, with flames and heavy smoke. Then the tanker had been hit, the fires there so high and hot that they now illuminated the entire northeast end of the airfield. Karpov wanted the officers and staff of Combined Fleet to have a very good look at what he was doing, a nice little drama as he timed his attack, missile by missile.
Then the final blow struck Musashi, the missile hitting the ship right at the base of the conning tower with an impact so heavy that Ugaki was knocked off his feet. Arima reeled in the Captain’s chair, Komura barely kept his balance as he lunged for a nearby hand rail. The blast billowed up, the shock shattering one of the viewport windows, the smell of gasoline heavy with the fire that now rose along the high steel tower. Then the heavy smoke rolled up.
The tower walls had not been compromised, just as Fedorov had warned. Their 500mm steel was more than enough to stop that missile, but the fires would blacken them, and the smoke envelop them, obscuring all view of the lagoon in minutes. Alarms were ringing all over the ship, men were running to the scene, dragging the long fire hoses. Two watchstanders were helping Admiral Ugaki to his feet, and Arima saw a thin trail of blood from a bruise on his forehead.
He looked at Komura with new eyes now, looked with understanding that could only come with the heat and shock and fire of that missile. This was what had happened to his ship, only the cruiser had been hit much worse. Even though he did not yet know the extent of the damage, he knew that this single hit would not send Musashi to the scrap yards. But how many more rockets would come.
Now he felt the same feeling that must have yawned within Komura when his ship was attacked, a feeling of complete helplessness. The firing from the AA guns sputtered out, and he walked to the only clear viewports to try and see what was happening below. Komura was there, and the two men glanced at one another, saying nothing.
“Cease Fire,” said Karpov, arms folded as he stood over Grilikov, who was standing in for Samsonov on this watch, elated to be in charge of his first real combat operation. He had fired the two P-900s, and three Moskit-II missiles, marveling at how the single push of his finger on a small panel switch could send such terrible power out into the world.
“Well done, Mister Grilikov. You will make a fine combat officer at that station.”
Grilikov beamed at Karpov, very content with himself. He had been very nervous before it all began, afraid the Admiral would ask him to do something that Samsonov had not yet explained to him, but it was all so very simple in the end. The target would appear on his screen, a thing he still was utterly fascinated with, the glowing panel a complete mystery to him. But all he had to do was touch it, and then select the switches as Samsonov had shown him. Death and destruction would follow in short order.