The night was dark; the Japanese islands hardly broken by a glimmer of light. Captain Mike Warburton admired the Japanese discipline; even Australia hadn’t been able to maintain such a curtain of darkness when faced with the threat of invasion. It seemed so safe and tranquil.
“Captain, we can see the light,” Lieutenant Arnstain muttered. The New Zealander pointed a long finger out at the island; a single dull light shone from a fishing boat.
“Take us in,” Warburton ordered. He shuddered; the orders had been unusually specific and detailed. They had been given a guarantee of safe conduct, and the Japanese had very little left to chase them anyway, but he was nervous. No submariner liked being on the surface so close to the enemy islands.
The fishing boat grew closer and closer. He picked up his night-vision equipment and checked the boat; only seven people were on the tiny ship. He blinked; the craft was truly tiny, more like a pleasure boat than anything else. He knew that the Japanese had attempted to spread out their fishing industry as much as possible, but he would never have dared to use such a boat on choppy seas.
“Flash the light,” he muttered, and Arnstain obeyed, sending a flickering pulse of light across the water. The fishing boat didn’t move, but its passengers crowded to the edge, peering out at them. “That’s them?”
Arnstain held up a picture as the two boats came very close, close enough for them to make out faces. “That’s that ambassador,” he said. The Japanese woman was pretty, he supposed; it was just her eyes that were strange. They gleamed in the dark, like a cat’s eyes. “And that’s the admiral.”
Warburton studied the little Japanese man as the fishing boat bumped alongside the submarine. He was tiny, but there was an unquestionable air of… discipline around him, and an air of despair. One of his hands wasn’t right; it had been wounded way back in the past.
“Yamamoto?” He called into the darkness. He was amused to see the expressions of flickering anger on some of the Japanese sailors. “Are you ready for the trip?”
“Yes, thank you,” Yamamoto said. He didn’t seem to mind the implied insult. “Shall we come onboard?”
“Make ready the plank,” Warburton ordered. Yamamoto could have hopped onto the submarine, but he wanted to be certain that there were no accidents. The plank was duly attached to the fishing boat; Yamamoto stepped across very sprightly for his age. Ambassador Yurina followed him, taking his hand as he held it out for her.
“Those two are a couple, or I’ll eat my hat,” Arnstain muttered.
Warburton ignored him. “Welcome onboard the Canberra,” he said, opening the main hatch. “If you’ll follow me, we’ll submerge and make our way back to the Ark Royal.”
“That would be very kind,” Yamamoto said. Ambassador Yurina was starting to shiver, so Warburton waved them both into the hatch and into the main hull. Arnstain recovered the plank and followed them down into the hull.
“We’re going to be running at full speed,” Warburton said. If it had been up to him, no Japanese would have ever set foot on his ship, but Admiral Turtledove had been very specific. Canberra would host the Japanese Admiral for his trip, and that was all there was to it. “I would suggest that you took a seat and stayed out of the way.”
He ignored it as the two Japanese spoke rapidly in Japanese, holding hands. He realised with sudden amusement that Yamamoto was trying to reassure her, whatever was going on, it was important.
Perhaps they’re finally going to surrender, he thought. They’d hunted Japanese shipping ruthlessly, using satellites and GPS systems to hunt down any ship, wherever it was hidden. They hadn’t stood a chance; they’d simply been swept from the seas. Any reasonable government would be trying to surrender by now.
“Perhaps you could tell us what’s happening?” He asked, as Canberra slid under the waves and headed for the position of the fleet. “We’re very curious.”
Oddly, it was Ambassador Yurina that answered. “We can’t tell you, Captain,” she said. “This is far too important to risk raising false hopes.”
HMS Ark Royal II
Pacific Ocean
5th May 1942
Admiral Turtledove didn’t like politics. Politics had seen his career and his reputation rise and fall, politics had led to risking Australia to win the war, and politics had led to their inability to bring the war to a close. It couldn’t be long before the Japanese started to starve in large numbers – in fact, there were indications that they were already beginning to starve – and finding a solution was imperative.
He gazed up at the map. The Australian forces had snatched most of the Dutch East Indies, only sealing off a handful of fortresses and leaving them to starve, and they were pushing into the Japanese-held islands in the Pacific. It had been a great day when they’d finally made contact with Singapore again, completing the conquest, but what was left to do? They could take Formosa – or Taiwan, as half of his maps still showed it – but past then?
He scowled. He knew that Prime Minister Menzies and most of the Australian cabinet were not in a merciful mode. If Australia had nuclear weapons, they would have used them by now. Instead, they wanted to starve the Japanese out and force them to eat crow, whatever the civilian death toll. They wanted revenge; he knew that some of the Cabinet were already demanding bombing raids and FAE bombs, which would be devastating. Others, however, suggested just leaving them to starve, as they would die quicker if there were more mouths to feed.
He grinned. Hanover had pressed him for a solution, but the truth was that there was none… until they’d picked up some radio transmissions from Japan on the international emergency frequency, from 2015. Opinion had been sharply divided, but they’d risked a reply, and had discovered that the transmissions were coming from the former Ambassador of 2015. Once they’d realised that Yamamoto wanted to discuss a surrender, he’d been quick to arrange a meeting.
“Admiral, the Canberra is surfacing,” his assistant said. “Admiral Yamamoto is coming onboard.”
Turtledove pulled on his cap and nodded politely to Menzies. The Prime Minister had insisted on coming; he now followed Turtledove onto the flight deck. Only fifteen ships of the fleet had come with them, but enough of them were armed and ready to make the Japanese pay for any treachery. He shrugged. They were supposed to be outside kamikaze range anyway.
“Admiral… arriving,” the officer of the deck said, as Yamamoto climbed up the ramp. It hung down from Ark Royal’s hull, allowing him to board without scrambling up a ladder, which might have been tricky with his damaged hand. Turtledove studied him thoughtfully; he wasn’t an impressive as he’d expected, but his eyes glittered with intelligence.
“Welcome onboard the Ark Royal,” he said, shaking Yamamoto’s hand. “Perhaps now we can resolve our differences.”
Admiral Yamamoto wasn’t certain what he’d expected to see when he boarded the future carrier. It wasn’t as big as he’d expected, but the flight deck was loaded with some of the small oddly shaped jets that had wrecked havoc with his forces. Several other ships could be seen, escorting the Ark Royal, and presumably covering it from any attack.
“Please come right this way,” the British Admiral said. He seemed… less cocky than a British Admiral from Contemporary Britain, less convinced of his own omnipotence. Yamamoto followed him into a briefing room and knew that he’d been right to want to surrender; the ship’s very nature spoke of power and wealth.