Against the Tide Imperial: The Struggle for Ceylon (The Usurper's War: An Alternative World War II B by James Young (classic book list .txt) 📗

bombers. The range was already at 7,000 yards, the approaching aircraft having made good use of the lingering smoke from the earlier Sparviero attack. Jacob realized two of the Albacores had picked the Houston as a target, with his last minute turn foiling their best angle. Still, the biplanes bore in.

Brave men, he allowed grudgingly, the vessel’s 5-inch guns banging away at the slowly advancing British aircraft. He forced himself to turn and look around Houston, making sure the heavy cruiser wasn’t about to run into an accompanying destroyer or other vessel in the screen. The destroyer Phelps had cut inside the Houston’s turn and was steaming forward, smoke pouring from her stacks and fire shooting from her guns.

It was over in moments. Both Albacores managed to drop, but only one survived the storm of fire thrown at it by Houston, Phelps, and several other vessels in range. Jacob was alarmed by several shell splashes that surrounded the Houston as other vessels engaged their own assailants, but fortunately none hit the heavy cruiser. The Hudson was not as fortunate, and Jacob winced when he saw several 40mm shell impacts walk down the destroyer’s side.

Friendly fire is a problem with a formation this size. Then his mind turned back to the torpedoes, and he saw with relief that both tracks were going to miss the Houston.

“Ah hell, they hit the Nashville,” someone muttered. Jacob brought up his binoculars and looked to where a long column of water was falling back from the light cruiser’s bow.

“Dammit,” he muttered, drawing a sympathetic nod from Farmer.

The strike on the Nashville was the only success the British torpedo bombers could claim despite near total surprise. In return, only six Albacores managed to stagger away from the Allied force.

The Nashville was fortunate in where she caught the tin fish. The TORPEX warhead vented its fury on the light cruiser’s narrow bow, blasting a large hole in the structure. The forward bulkheads just managed to hold as the vessel’s bridge crew brought her to a slow stop, two destroyers circling nervously. The remainder of TF 25 began to turn once more into formation, the Repulse leading the way south towards the fleeing Axis fleet.

Jacob read the Massachusetts signal as the big vessel regained station behind the Repulse once the latter had dodged two torpedoes.

ALL VESSELS, CONTINUE TO PURSUE

“Well, I hope our flyboys manage to make that the last strike those carriers launch,” Jacob muttered.

“I do not think that there was much that returned,” Farmer observed. “But yes, hopefully your pilots will land a fortunate hit on our prey.”

Blue One

1130 Local (0430 Eastern)

Too long, Eric fumed. That strike took way too long to spot, way too long to launch, and now we’re going to be lucky if we catch this enemy formation.

The Yorktown and Enterprise had finally joined up with the two Atlantic Fleet carriers. In retrospect, the added efficiency in joining the four carriers under one loose screen had been more than outweighed by the clumsiness of trying to coordinate four different air groups’ Sunday Punch. On one hand, Eric was glad the lull had given Yorktown’s plane handlers a chance to look over his aircraft and repair where a 20mm shell had apparently clipped his rudder. On the other, a hasty repair was not worth the apparent gains the Axis force was making in its movement south.

About three more hours and they’ll be in range of long-range fighters from Mombasa, Eric calculated with disgust as he looked down at his plotting board. VB-11 was fifth in a string of dive bomber squadrons that stretched back for miles like a long daisy chain of woe. He could only imagine what would happen if British, German, or Italian fighters showed up.

If anyone had asked me, I’d think we would be better off with just heading for the target as we were ready like doctrine says. I don’t exactly know how we’re going to coordinate almost fifty dive bombers over the target anyway, but I hope we at least get the anti-aircraft fire reduced for the torpeckers.

“Sir, Ensign Stratmore is slipping back again,” Brown stated contemptuously. Eric looked over to his right and saw that the new Blue Two was, indeed, drifting back in the formation.

“I’ll cut the man some slack,” Eric said. “He hasn’t flown formation in at least a month.”

Brown snorted at that one. Ensign Stratmore, the new Blue Two, had been one of the spare / utility pilots carried by the Yorktown. Normally condemned to flying antisubmarine polls, the spare pilots were expected to man the additional aircraft carried lashed to the roof of the hangar deck in anticipation of losses. In order to keep these men somewhat proficient in their aircraft, they were often assigned antisubmarine patrol duties or messenger aircraft flights.

I also imagine knowing he’s stepped into a dead man’s spot probably isn’t helping any, Eric left unsaid.

“Smoke ahead,” Lieutenant Commander Brigante stated. “Looks like we’ve found our friends.”

Eric immediately raised his eyes and scanned the surrounding area. Somewhat mollified by the two flights of Corsair fighters he found circling over their heads, Eric looked back forward.

A whole lot easier to concentrate on the task at hand when I know that someone will at least occupy the enemy’s fighters, Eric thought as he listened to radio cross chatter between the squadron leaders and Commander Montgomery, Yorktown’s CAG.

“We’re going to keep pushing south,” Eric said over the intercom. “The torpeckers are taking on the battleships.”

“Without dive bombers to split the fire?” Brown asked.

“They’re taking the Atlantic dive bombers with them.”

Brown was silent, and Eric had the feeling the gunner wasn’t a fan of splitting the group. Waggling their wings, the Bonomme Richard and Independence’s air groups turned towards the smoke that had been sighted. Air Group Six and Eleven, for their part, set off further south, finally sighting the carriers just as Eric was beginning to be concerned regarding his fuel state.

“Two escort carriers,” Commander Montgomery stated. “We’ll take the far one, Enterprise and