Chapter 620: Who Could It Be?

As the Japanese Combined Fleet retreated to the home islands to rest and refit, the entire fleet seemed to be shrouded in a dark cloud. Everyone seemed to be suppressing their frustration, and the sound of sobbing could be heard in every corner.

They had abandoned 40,000 marines and their army comrades, scurrying away from the waters near the Hawaiian Islands where they had fought for half a month. Aside from the carrier fleet’s heavy aircraft losses, only a few warships were damaged.

For the Japanese soldiers, who had been raised on the spirit of Bushido since childhood, they felt their despicable flight was an extremely irresponsible act, a betrayal of the Great Japanese Empire. As a result, no one held their head high. Some even privately felt that Yamamoto should commit seppuku for his foolish decision.

A few officers knew that Yamamoto’s decision was the right choice. Most of them were lower-ranking officers who had not found favor, and many were true technical experts. Only they understood just how weak the Japanese fleet truly was, and only they understood the hint of helplessness in Yamamoto’s retreat. The Combined Fleet was the sole elite force of the Japanese Navy. This fleet had not had any rest since the war began and had no replacement forces. In the end, this powerful maritime force was dragged down the same road of no return as the Nazi panzer divisions by the naval blitzkrieg of the Pacific theater.

It seemed as though they were constantly marching towards victory, just as the German panzer divisions in another timeline drew ever closer to Moscow. That beautiful vision of victory makes it easy to forget many things, such as the fact that troops need rest and replenishment…

Standing on his bridge, Yamamoto Isoroku suddenly remembered a brief combat intelligence report from the Army Ministry. It stated that Germany had given up the opportunity to attack the Soviet Union and had organized a defensive line along the Dnieper River. At the time, the officers of the Army Ministry were still mocking the Germans for being as timid as mice, not even daring to attack when they had the advantage.

Only now did he understand why the German army had stopped at the Dnieper. Just as Japan faced the distant East Coast of America, Germany was too far from Moscow. The Germans were unwilling to waste their precious armored forces, so they chose to stop halfway and wait for the Soviets to make another blunder. The Japanese, on the other hand, only realized their own offensive was weakening when it was too late, and only then did they think of passively preserving their strength. The difference was like heaven and earth.

“This German Führer… is truly a fellow with unique and correct strategic vision,” Yamamoto sighed with a hint of sourness. “Why isn’t a talent like this from our Great Japanese Empire? If we had more people like him, our situation wouldn’t be so passive now, would it?”

One wonders what Akado, far away in the Wolf’s Lair reviewing an analysis report on Germany’s future economic situation, would think if he knew of Yamamoto’s assessment. Would he give a cold laugh, pat the Japanese Fleet Admiral on the shoulder, and tell him that if he were in Japan, the country would probably lose even faster and more miserably?

Just as Yamamoto was suddenly thinking of this distant and seemingly unrelated figure, Akado, a few nautical miles behind the flagship Nagato, in the air officer’s quarters on the aircraft carrier Akagi, an incensed Sato was cursing Yamamoto’s retreat order. As a frontline air force pilot, his words carried some weight.

“We air force pilots are not afraid to die! We did not retreat, so on what grounds does he order us to withdraw? On what grounds does he make us run away with our tails between our legs? And he calls himself a Marshal. Has he lost every shred of shame a soldier of the Great Japanese Empire should have? If he truly had any so-called self-respect, he should commit seppuku right now!” Several of his subordinates stood listening to his tirade, none of them raising their heads.

Everyone was well aware of the situation at the time. If they had launched another attack on the American warships, most of the pilots and planes would not have returned. After all, the Americans were fighting with increasing ferocity and had land-based aircraft for cover and reinforcement. The Japanese planes were at an absolute numerical disadvantage. If the battle had continued, the entire First Air Fleet would have been wiped out in the waters near Oahu.

Just when everyone was prepared to die, it was Marshal Yamamoto Isoroku who had pulled them back from the brink of hell. To say they weren’t the slightest bit grateful would be a lie. It was just that most of the officers were now cursing Yamamoto for not daring to give his life for the country, so as junior soldiers, they didn’t dare to speak out of turn. But their basic judgment led them to keep their mouths shut and not join the fanatics in slandering their commander-in-chief.

“Silence!” From outside the door, General Nagumo Chuichi stood with his hands behind his back, his gaze severe as he looked at his prized subordinate. On any other day, for any other matter, he would never have reprimanded this warrior who was willing to sacrifice himself for the Empire. But now he had to speak, to say a word of justice for his own superior.

Although Nagumo had also wanted to die a glorious death at Oahu, after he calmed down, he came to understand Yamamoto’s helpless state of mind. While fighting the American fleet to mutual destruction at Oahu might have seemed more tragic and heroic, for Japan, which lacked the ability to regenerate its strength, it was tantamount to suicide.

Having understood everything, Nagumo’s feelings turned to admiration for his superior. He resolutely ordered his fleet to follow Yamamoto westward, without a trace of resentment. From an official standpoint, since someone was willing to take the blame for the First Air Fleet’s retreat, Nagumo was also willing to preserve his fleet as the main force for a future counter-attack.

“General, I cannot understand why we had to retreat from Oahu!” Sato’s younger brother served on the carrier Kaga, also a fighter pilot. In the final sortie, his brother’s Zero had been shot down by the Americans, which was why he was so distraught.

“Sato-kun, I understand your feelings very well, and I also know what this retreat means. But we must understand the Marshal’s difficult position. His decision, after all, saved the entire First Air Fleet…” Nagumo Chuichi tried to reason with him for a few sentences, then fell silent. In Sato’s eyes, any retreat was shameful; he would rather have stayed at Oahu to avenge his brother.

The Japanese Army Air Force had provided 30 ME-109C fighters to support the ground troops on Kauai. Twenty of them were license-built Japanese copies using original engines imported from Germany years ago. Because there were no follow-up parts for this batch of planes, they were sent to Kauai as a last resort. Once these planes were gone, the Japanese soldiers on the Hawaiian Islands would have no air support at all. They would have to hold their ground on their own until the Combined Fleet returned in full strength.

Nagumo returned to his cabin. Just as he was about to take off his jacket and rest on his bed for a while, there was a knock on the door. He had no choice but to put his jacket back on, tidy his appearance, and open the door. It was a telegram from the radio room, from the flagship Nagato. It said that Marshal Yamamoto Isoroku would be arriving on the Akagi by boat in a dozen minutes and asked Nagumo to prepare to receive him.

When Nagumo saw the dejected Yamamoto Isoroku on the deck of the Akagi, he almost didn’t recognize the rapidly aged man. A few months ago, he had been full of vigor, pointing out the strategic landscape with him. Now, he was just a little old man on the verge of death.

“Nagumo-kun, the one thing I didn’t want to happen has happened. Our detached squadron in the waters near Australia has been attacked by enemy submarines,” Yamamoto said listlessly. “The battleship Yamashiro was hit by four torpedoes and has tragically sunk. Our bombardment operation against the northern region of Australia has also had to be temporarily canceled.”

Nagumo had thought Yamamoto had come to reprimand him for his hesitation to retreat, which had led to the loss of so many carrier aircraft. Now it seemed Yamamoto was in no state to blame him. While relieved, Nagumo was also shocked by the sinking of the Yamashiro.

“The Yamashiro… sank? A battleship, one of the Great Japanese Empire’s most powerful, sunk by just four torpedoes? That’s impossible. Could the telegram be mistaken? Marshal…” Nagumo’s first thought was that the intelligence was wrong, but he soon saw the telegrams Yamamoto handed him.

Among them was a distress signal and message from the cruiser Maya, as well as a classified notice from the Navy Ministry. It seemed the Yamashiro had truly sunk; there was no possibility of it being false. Nagumo looked up from the telegrams at Yamamoto Isoroku. “A mighty battleship, tens of thousands of tons, sunk so easily by a few torpedoes?”

Yamamoto gave a bitter smile and shook his head. Weren’t American battleships sunk just as easily by torpedoes and bombs dropped from Japanese planes? Moreover, his concern was not just the single battleship Yamashiro, but the terrifying event it represented.

Recently, Japanese shipping losses near Australia had been abnormal. Anyone could see that these were not normal loss figures. In that vast sea area, a fleet was definitely slaughtering the Japanese Navy’s transport ships and warships. But no one dared to put this matter on paper, because the Japanese Navy could not turn back to deal with such a small but surprisingly effective enemy.

It’s submarines! Yamamoto Isoroku knew it in his heart. There had to be a submarine force stationed in the eastern region of Australia. But he could do nothing about it right now. Either the army had to advance and take their base, or he had to pretend he didn’t know. If he split his forces to deal with these submarines, he would give the Americans the opportunity for a decisive battle. At this moment, the Japanese Combined Fleet’s main enemy was the American fleet near Oahu, not this disruptive submarine force.

Counting the days, the submarine force that Germany had dispatched should have reached Australia by now. The image of the German Führer, whom he had never met, once again appeared uneasily in Yamamoto’s mind. But he wasn’t certain that all of this was the Germans’ doing. After all, American submarines had also caused Japan a lot of trouble.

“Who could it be?” Yamamoto muttered under his breath, under Nagumo’s puzzled gaze.

Published: 2025-09-11T02:06:38.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2026-01-25T17:53:09.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c620-who-it-138631076

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