“And heading toward the Luzon Strait — where he can aid the Americans. What else is he doing out here?”
“Comrade Captain, why isn’t he running down the Ryukyu chain where he would be safer?”
“I think to stay outside our naval aviation and avoid fishing militia snoopers. He can transit open water to a position east of Luzon and then come into the strait undetected. We are fortunate to be here. Luck is on our side. How far is he from Japan?”
They checked the chart screen: 400 miles to Kyushu and over 300 to the nearest Ryukyu island… well outside the 200-mile safe zone. The two officers continued their conference, mindful of the tactical situation that required a decision in minutes, not hours. Shen made the case to attack.
“He’s not 10 miles outside the limit; he’s over 100 miles outside. Two hundred from the mainland. Our orders are clear; what is he doing out here anyway but aiding the Americans?”
“What do you propose, Comrade Captain?”
Keeping his voice at a whisper so the watchstanders could not hear them, Shen answered.
“Put one fish into his bow, port side at the turn of his bilge. Make sure of success, and then run southeast. Leave the oiler and escort, and if he runs us down, we’ll engage with him. I don’t want to duel with him after he’s alerted and with helicopters to help him. Want all of them to aid the wounded carrier, and we’ve sent the message the People commanded us to send. So, compute a new firing solution for two weapons, and we’ll expend one, then look. See to it.”
“Aye, aye, Comrade Captain!”
The First Officer issued orders in a low tone, and Shen’s control room watchstanders went about their tasks. All was ready, and Shen knew they would be witness to history. Fate had given him this opportunity, and he had to take it.
“Shoot tube one!”
The vessel seemed to convulse as pressurized air ejected the 1.5 ton weapon from the torpedo room forward. Keeping silent, the planesmen shared broad smiles and fist pumps.
“Tube one away, wire control!”
“Very well,” Shen said as he lowered the scope and radio mast, holding course and creeping closer. With seven minutes to impact, he had to be patient. The sonar display showed no signs that the Japanese were alerted by the torpedoes in the water. With one minute to go and no change in sonar transients, he raised the scope. The carrier was pulling ahead of the tanker, and, at the same time, sonar reported the change. The carrier was cavitating as it charged away, now alerted to danger. It obscured the destroyer to starboard.
“Ten seconds to impact,” the Tactical Officer said to all in the control room. Shen remained motionless on the scope.
“Impact!” his lieutenant reported, but all on watch stared at their captain. He looked as if he had seen a ghost.
Shen saw with horror that the ship was lifted up on a huge bubble and flowering geyser of water, soon followed by a flash of fire and flame that obscured all but the aft quarter of the great vessel.
“Oh… my…”
“Captain, what is it?” the First Officer asked.
“Oh, no!” Shen muttered loud enough for this crew to hear. All were transfixed.
What happened? was the question that went through everyone’s mind. Seconds later, they heard the muffled boom of an explosion, and a cheer went up. Shen remained on the periscope, panic building inside. When he did not move, his First Officer spoke up.
“Comrade Captain, orders to the helm! The Japanese will counterattack!”
The sounds of the thunderous explosions were heard inside the hull, and Shen stepped back from the scope in horror.
Aboard the Japanese Ship Hōshō, Japan’s newest helicopter carrier, Captain 1st Rank Takei Hideo was overseeing the refueling on the starboard bridge wing when the report came up from combat.
“Torpedo inbound! Port side, 2,000 yards!”
All were shocked at the report and, by instinct, looked to their captain. Takei swung into action and rushed to the port side of the bridge.
“Emergency breakaway! Sound battle stations! All ahead flank!”
Five short blasts thrummed from the ship’s horn above the bridge, and, in seconds, the fueling hoses were withdrawn back to the replenishment vessel kingposts as Hōshō began her surge forward. Her crew had little choice but to sever the tensioning lines when the angle and distance became too great, and the male end of one hose fell into the turbulent water between the ships.
Almost 800 sailors aboard Hōshō, grumbling at the no notice drill, were horrified to hear a call on the ship’s PA system.
“Torpedo inbound port side, brace for shock! This is not a drill!”
Fear and confusion gripped the ship. Who is shooting? An American thinking we are Chinese? Unprepared and fearful sailors wondered out loud to each other as they ran through the passageways amid the increased whine of the LM2500’s at a flank bell. How can this be happening?
Takei saw a faint wake curl in from port. “Left full rudder!” he shouted, not knowing it was the last order to the helm Hōshō would ever receive.
Takei and the bridge watchstanders were lifted into the air and slammed into the angle-iron and piping above them before they were dropped back to the deck in broken and bloody heaps. They lay there dazed for a second, and one held his forehead to stop the bleeding. Takei grimaced at pain in his leg and arm and, with the wind knocked out of him, struggled to breathe. Then a massive explosion up forward blew out most of the bulletproof bridge windows as the great ship bucked again, and thunderous overpressure shoved the crew against bulkheads throughout the ship. Takei felt a blast of heat as he was thrown against the bulkhead and bounced into the lee helm console. Screams and cries came from those still conscious as black smoke poured through the windows and shot along the overhead.
Takei pulled himself up. At once, he felt the starboard list and heard the agonized moans of those around him. Outside, he could hear the crackling of flames and saw only roiling black smoke. The list increased, and through the smoke, he saw the flight deck edge stop forward of the superstructure.
His bow was gone.
“Abandon ship!” he bellowed and grabbed a sound-powered phone. “This is Captain First Rank Takei. Abandon ship!” He shouted to the mate, who was bleeding from his scalp as he struggled to his feet. “Abandon ship! Alert the crew!” The mate reached up to grab the microphone.
Through the open bridge door he saw blue seawater and noted the inclinometer was past 20 degrees — and still increasing. To his left, he saw the port deck edge and the sky through the smoke. We have only minutes left, he thought.
The helmsman, a girl of maybe 20, sat on deck crying next to the chart table. With both legs broken she was immobile, and the others were too wounded to help themselves, much less anyone else. “I don’t want to die!” she cried, fighting hysteria. Takei wanted to scold her, but then felt pity on the girl who probably would die today, too young.
“Be brave, Leading Seaman!” Takei said in an effort to break through her fear and human wish to live.
The slant of the deck increased, and Takei ordered those who could to scramble to the bridge wing and go over the side. Outside, he heard lifeboat canisters inflate with a pop and a whoosh, and shouts of sailors exhorting one another as they abandoned ship. Save yourselves, honorable Hōshō crew.
The helmsman was inconsolable as she propped herself against the table leg, and Takei sensed Hōshō was beginning a roll from which it would not recover. He could crab down to the bridge wing hatch and save himself, but holding on to the console, he knew he would not. He would die here, and as he sensed more and more of his body weight transfer from his feet to his hip, he braced against the helm. Hōshō, my ship!