Land of the Rising Suns

FEBRUARY 2, 1937

NORTH PACIFIC OCEAN

10:43AM

ABOARD THE FOOD SUPPLY SHIP MAMIYA MARU

Captain Hoshino Masatsugu sat on his desk in his quarters, fumbling uselessly with a pencil. Another routine resupply mission to that giant insult of an island, Midway. They weren't resupplying it, of course, just picking up some assorted goods and dropping off an ill sailor. Why the Americans worked with them, he couldn't guess. Politics, maybe, but he was still a beginner in that field. Perhaps that's why he was stuck in this glorified restaurant, ordering around chefs and what amounted to stablehands. Perhaps he'd be moved to China soon, at least he could make some sort of name for himself there.

He shook his head, sighing. It wasn't a good habit to hate the lot your superiors gave you, even one as demeaning as this. When he joined the navy all those years ago, he dreamt of those gargantuan dreadnaughts, or even aircraft carriers. Nonetheless, he fulfilled a vital role, and did it to the best of his ability. That train of thought broke with a crash as the door swung open, revealing a soaking radioman, his black uniform disheveled. He bowed quickly, attempting to straighten his appearance. Before he could even get a word out, the radioman started.

"I beg your forgiveness, sir, but this is urgent! All contact has been lost with the I-156, and other ships in the area are reporting loss of contact with multiple others as well!"

It took him a moment to process, as he sat stoically, looking through the young man. Contact lost? His mind tried to sooth him, saying that perhaps a storm or some such anomaly was interfering with signals, but he knew that none was forecasted. The Americans were still reeling from their stockbroker's mistakes, could they really bring themselves to do this now?

"How many are lost?", is all he could bring himself to ask.

"Just about all that were between us and Midway, sir. Military or no, we've been unable to contact merchants or the Hikawa Maru. Foreign ships that we've been able to contact are reporting the same, sir. Americans, too"

Foreign ships? He had to be misunderstanding, truly. Maybe he was misremembering the weather, and some tsunami or whatnot had ripped up a few boats. He could do something in that situation, at least.

"Has there been any reports of harsh waves, storms or anything?"

The radioman shook his head, a sort of forlorn look on his face.

"No, sir. Merchant vessels would've radioed it in before it got to that point. It's as if they just disappeared"

No storms, no known attacks, and it hit all the ships in that area? Either piracy had gained some sort of masterful tactical awareness, or he was mad. Still, the radioman stood, waiting for answers.

"Radio all ships in the area to commence a rescue operation, you're dismissed"

With a small bow and heavy footsteps, the radioman left, shutting the door. Forcing himself up, he marveled at his composure. Maybe this would be his big break, he hoped.

FEBRUARY 2, 1937

NORTH PACIFIC OCEAN

2:27PM

ABOARD THE FOOD SUPPLY SHIP MAMIYA MARU

Nothing. Not even a dark cloud, nor a bit of wood floating past greeted them as they made their way along. Hoshino couldn't pinpoint why he was so worried. No signs of attack, nor any tsunamis waiting to rip him apart like a Mongol. He shrugged, guessing that was the reason. After all, he'd been trained for both. Ships vanishing out of nowhere, with no previously reported troubles? It read like some folk story, of devious oni recounted by sailors to pass the time. But that's the situation he found himself in, for lack of other information.

His Kaigun-chūsa, subordinate commander Hitori Tada, hung over the phone, his face only briefly betraying his dread. Again and again, he'd heard the same negative transmissions. He'd prayed to the Buddha that he'd at least find one lifeboat, something to say he helped. He was a military man, sure, but he wasn't ruthless. Imperial General Headquarters had little to say besides what they'd already known, so it seemed he'd be the first to respond.

As if to spite him for his hatred of safe boredom, Hitori finally picked up something new. He tried to confirm, seemingly getting the same response back. Setting aside the phone, he looked worriedly at his captain, needing a bit of beckoning to get anything out.

"Aircraft, sir. Several light ones, heading our way."

"Probably just doing the same thing we are, no need to be worried."

Hitori shook his head, straightening himself, before continuing.

"They attempted to engage a flying boat, sir. The crew couldn't get a good visual, either, due to cloud cover. Only that they were heading this direction."

They both had good reason to be worried. Despite managing to fly planes off ships, the navy hadn't seen fit to provide them with any defenses against aerial threats. He never thought he'd ever need it. Still, there was no way he could outrun them if they were gunning for him.

"Sound general quarters, and arm the men. Get the deck guns uncovered, and their crew ready."

He'd picked Hitori for a reason. They thought alike, which eased some of his doubts.

"The Type 3's aren't made to fight aircraft, sir. All we have are high explosive and armor piercing, nothing with a fuse."

Or worsened them. Putting a firm hand on his shoulder, he attempted to give any viable reason for his orders, realistically only for himself.

"They don't know that, all they'll see is a barrage of shells flying towards them, they don't have to hit anything. We have a few machine guns, don't we? Have the men position them somewhere where they can hit them when they come past. Relay it."

Hitori nodded with a quick hai, doing as instructed. An annoying wail soon picked up, and the old deck groaned as over 200 pairs of heavy feet beat upon it. It almost convinced him it would do something. He wasn't very frightened, but he couldn't keep dismay from creeping up. Who could even be doing this? It's not like some ingrate Chinese warlord scraped together enough money for a fleet to just randomly attack people, and just about all the Westerners' ships were reporting the same confusion he was.

He'd only been in combat once, shooting at some Korean bandits stealing from a harbor a decade or so ago, when he was just a cadet. But firing a beat up Arisaka once or twice into the night wouldn't prepare you for being strafed or bombed. If only he had more time, he could run, go get an escort equipped to fight. Speaking of time...

"Hitori, exactly how long do we have until the planes arrive?"

"About 7 minutes, sir"

He groaned angrily to himself, having forgotten to ask before. Maybe politics wasn't the only reason he wasn't on some flagship.

"I need you on the wheel. If anything important comes through, the radioman will just run it back up. Put us on a different course, about 5 degrees north of our current heading. Turn her a few degrees back and forth intermittently."

He was actually facing combat. Not slapping a peasant or petty criminal, running a drill. Someone was coming to kill him and his command, but he was going to make sure they'd have a hard time of it. He tried to steel himself, gripping the shark-skinned handle of his dirk defensively. He thought it odd how one could simultaneously be scared, yet so in control of their thoughts.

He hoped his prayers to Hachiman-sama hadn't been weak or in vain. It felt like he was going up against an army with a wooden sword, when he was no Musashi. Peering out through the windows, he enviously watched a chain of men passing the long, heavy 140mm shells up from below decks to their stations. Sure, they might die, but he'd have just as good a chance of living as them, most likely. He'd go down with the ship, or end his life if this ended in a different sort of failure. At least they could shoot at them.

"Hitori?", he asked, swallowing his pride.

"Yes, sir?"

"You were in combat once, before your time in the navy, correct?"

"In Manchukuo, sir. I was an advisor on one of the gunboats we lent them. It was just rebels and rivers there"

Of course it was. He believed in freeing Asia from the Westerners, sure, but no one could deny the Chinese weren't the best at fighting.

"How did you deal with the....restlessness...before combat?"

"You just wait it out, you can't do anything but prepare or run. And running isn't an option for us"

He grunted with a slight nod. Nothing is as simple as it sounds in combat, it seems. He wondered if they could just be shoo'd off, like an annoying fly. Maybe they didn't even have ordinance to drop on them, given that they tried to shoot down a plane. No way they could dogfight with a big torpedo slung under them. They'd just riddle the deck once or twice, then go home, hopefully.

Hopefully.