by James Young
“Your personal opinions aside, I need to know if you can control yourself, Admiral King,” Secretary Knox seethed.
“Gentlemen, I’m not sure now is the time…” Kimmel attempted to interject soothingly, only to be cut off by King.
“Mr. Secretary, if you think I’m incapable of fighting this war perhaps you need to go ahead and send me back to the General Board,” Admiral King said lowly. “Especially if that job requires treating the people in there as equal allies who are bringing as much to the table as they’re taking off of it. I took an oath to uphold and defend the Constitution, not cater to the Queen of England.”
Secretary Knox took a visibly deep breath.
“We will discuss this further when we return to Washington,” he said, his voice heavy with emotion. “For now, I think Lieutenant Cobb has a boat to catch.”
Eric came to attention at the top of the gangway, saluting his seniors.
“Good luck, Lieutenant Cobb,” Secretary Knox replied, returning Eric’s salute.
“Thank you, sir,” Eric replied, then started making his way down to the launch.
I have a feeling I just saw something that’s not going to end well, he thought as he stepped into the small boat. The coxswain let him sit down, then began the small launch’s journey back towards shore.
Ewa Air Station, Hawaii
1800 Local (0000 Eastern)
30 September (1 October 1)
“So I hear the new admiral’s a real nutcracker,” Sam said as he worked the ratchet in his hand.
“Is this why you stay late, Sam?” his brother asked disgustedly. “So you can gossip while you’re helping to service a freakin’ engine?”
There was a muted guffaw as one of VMF-14’s enlisted mechanics struggled not to laugh. Master Sergeant Schwarz, VMF-14’s chief mechanic, looked up from the other side of the engine to fix the offender with a baleful glare. While Sam and David had been strenuous in their declarations that they were just there as handymen and observers, Schwarz was not about to let one of his young Marines abuse their hospitality. Sam had developed the distinct impression that the tall, wiry gray-haired master sergeant sometimes enforced discipline with a bit more than his sharp tongue and gaze that would make a gorgon proud. While he hadn’t brought the topic up with David in the three months the twins had been with the squadron, he doubted his brother had seen anything that would contradict that impression.
He reminds me of ol’ Deputy Guston who used to oversee the chain gang back home, Sam thought grimly. Nice man, polite to his peers and betters, but hell on wheels to those under him.
“No, I stay late so I learn how my airplane works,” Sam replied to David. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”
“Well, whether the man’s a nutcracker or not, he’s already got Colonel Benson hopping,” David said lowly, referring to Marine Aircraft Group Twenty-one’s commander. “It’s not like the man was a bump on the log in the first place.”
Sam double checked his handiwork then went on to the radial engine’s next cylinder head. Examining it closely, he raised an eyebrow and gestured for Master Sergeant Schwarz to take a look.
“This looked cracked to you, Master Sergeant?” he asked, reaching up to angle the shop light so the enlisted man could have a look. Schwarz leaned in close, squinting, then cursed.
“Yes, sir, it does. Guess we know why this aircraft was such a dog yesterday,” Schwarz said, his annoyance clear.
“Better to find the fault now rather than end up going for a swim later,” Sam replied.
“Attention on deck!” someone shouted, causing a rustling inside the hangar bay. Sam released the light as he stepped out from behind the engine to face the door, David close behind. Seeing the visitor, he felt the blood drain from his face as he snapped to attention.
Okay, Mom always used to say if you speak the devil’s name he shall appear, but this is absolutely ridiculous, Sam thought.
Striding into the hangar was a man who looked, to quote one of their squadronmates, “older than Moses.” Tall and broad shouldered, with an erect gait that made his stature seem even larger, Admiral Hank William Jensen was the newly minted Commander in Chief Pacific Fleet (CINCPACFLT), having been assigned when Admiral Kimmel had been tapped for CINCATLFLT. The senior officer’s wizened features and wispy hair made him look a full decade older than his sixty years, but looking into his dark brown, almost black eyes was enough to show that age had not affected the man’s mental abilities one bit. His dark, bushy eyebrows showed what color the few wisps of combed over white hair on his head had once been.
Standing beside Jensen was a rear admiral that Sam immediately recognized.
Holy shit, that bastard Bowles really does look just like his old man, Sam thought, thinking of one of his squadron mates.
Vice Admiral Jacob Bowles Sr. was a man that looked like an older Clark Gable, but with green eyes and a full head of brown hair. As he stepped away from the Wildcat, Sam noted the submariner’s dolphins on the right side of the man’s uniform shortly before Admiral Jensen started to speak. Three more men, two captains and a full commander, accompanied the admiral.
“Who is the senior man here?” Jensen thundered.
There was a moment’s pause as all of the enlisted men looked at Sam and David, who in turn looked at each other.
“Sir, I am,” David said, stepping around Sam to stand beside him. “Captain David Cobb, VMF-14.”
“Why are you out of uniform, captain?” Jensen snapped, showing no sign of surprise at being presented with twin Marines.
“Begging the Admiral’s pardon, Marine regulations clearly stipulate that when conducting services personnel are allowed to wear coveralls as their duty uniform,” Sam replied evenly.
“That regulation only applies to enlisted personnel!” Admiral Bowles snapped. “Do not correct Admiral Jensen ever again.”
I see being an asshole is a family trait, Sam thought quietly.
“Yes , sir,” Sam replied. “Then, begging the admiral’s pardon, the regulation in question is not rank specific.”
Sam heard David’s sharp intake of breath and watched as Bowles face started to color. Before the admiral could unleash a tirade, the hangar door opened again.
“Captains Cobb, two ea…” Major Max Bowden started to bellow, then stopped as soon as he realized that the squadron had company. A short, stocky man with thinning blonde hair and blue eyes, Bowden had so far proven to be quite capable as a squadron leader. He was also the third commander VMF-14 had had since Vice Admiral Bowles had arrived in Hawaii.
Someone is trying to do his damndest to get their son a squadron commander slot early, Sam thought bitterly.
“Good evening Admiral Jensen!” he said loudly, immediately recognizing CINPACFLT. The reason for his extra volume was apparent a moment later as Colonel Benson walked in followed by a man in civilian clothes.
“Good evening, sir,” Benson said solemnly, coming to attention as he removed his cover. “Welcome to Ewa Air Station. I would have prepared a tour if I had known you were coming.”
He looks tired, Sam thought as he looked at the group commander. An older man with a shock of gray hair and blue eyes, Benson had been a Marine aviator long enough to have seen action in several of the Banana Wars throughout the Caribbean. At just a shade under six foot normally, Benson seemed to be bowing under the weight of command that had descended upon his narrow shoulders.
“That’s quite all right, Colonel,” Admiral Jensen said. “Captain Cobb was just informing me of the finer points of Marine regulations.”
There was a moment when both Benson and Bowden gave the Cobb brothers looks which clearly signified they doubted the junior officers’ sanity. Before either man could speak, the chaplain politely cleared his throat.
“Admiral Jensen, I hate to interrupt, but I have some urgent news for both Captains Cobb.”
“And you are?” Bowles thundered.
“Rear Admiral Bowles, I am Chaplain McHen
ry,” the man replied evenly. “Specifically, I am your staff chaplain. We met six weeks ago when you took over as Chief of Staff. I understand if you do not recognize me—while I saw your son at church last week, I had not seen you recently. It is a large congregation, of course.”
Whoa. Talk about soft answer turneth away wrath, Sam thought, watching as Bowles’ mouth worked a couple of times in shock. McHenry turned away from the man and backed to Admiral Jensen.
“I apologize Admiral, but I am covering for MAG-21’s chaplain,” McHenry continued. “I just received a telegram that I need to deliver to Captain Cobb. Both of them.”
Oh no…Sam thought.
“I think that the message…” Bowles began.
“Go ahead, chaplain,” Admiral Jensen said, cutting his chief of staff off. “As a matter of fact, why don’t you step outside with the two captains for a moment?”
“If you gentlemen will follow me?” McHenry said.
Feeling numb, Sam began following the chaplain out the door. There was never a good reason for a chaplain to come deliver a message.
“Who is it?” David asked as soon as they were standing outside the hangar.
“Your brother Eric is fine,” McHenry replied quickly. “However, he was shot down by the Germans on September 12.”
“What?!” Sam and David asked simultaneously. McHenry held up his hands.
“Easy, easy, let me finish then I will answer what questions I can,” McHenry said. He quickly told both Cobb twins what their brother had been up to for just a little more than a fortnight.
“That’s all the information I, or for that matter, anyone else here in Hawaii has,” McHenry finished. “I’m sure there is additional information, but the communiqué mentioned your brother hasn’t been fully debriefed and that the other information was classified.”
“Holy shit,” Sam breathed, then caught himself. “Sorry chaplain.”
“Captain Cobb, I think if I just found out my brother had been in Canada for a fortnight after nearly getting killed by the Germans I’d probably be using some blue language as well.”
“Has anyone informed our brother, Nick?” David asked.
“Rabbi Howe, the Submarine Force chaplain, was hoping to make arrangements after I informed him of the telegram. I received the news courtesy of a friend of mine who is on Admiral King’s staff,” McHenry replied. “He indicated that the Navy had only informed your mother your brother was ‘missing’ yesterday.”
“Oh Jesus,” David breathed. “Mom is going to be pissed at Eric.”
“In your brother’s defense, I suspect that he was either ordered not to contact your family or that someone held his mail,” McHenry replied evenly. “The poor young man is already more famous than he is probably going to like.”
“What do you mean, Chaplain?”
McHenry looked at both men.
“Neither one of you read the newspapers, do you?”
Sam and David both looked sheepish.
“No Chaplain,” Sam replied.
“The Germans are rather incensed and are demanding Lieutenant Cobb’s incarceration upon his return to the United States,” McHenry replied evenly. “Secretary Hull has pointed out that the German Navy did open fire on a neutral aircraft so they are hardly the wronged party.”
“You know, he always had a knack for finding trouble,” Sam muttered.
“This is a bit different than stealing peaches from Widow Fitzsimmons,” David drawled. Turning to look at his brother, Sam could see that David was obviously more upset than he was.
“Well he’s safe now, and he’s headed home,” Sam replied evenly. “I’m pretty sure he’ll have one hell of a story to tell Mom.”
Singapore
1700 Local (0500 Eastern)
4 October
I almost feel sorry for the man, Rear Admiral Tamon Yamaguchi thought as he stoically regarded the fuming Englishman in front of him. Of average height, with close set, almost catlike features and a stocky build, Yamaguchi had once been likened to a gregarious catamount by one of his Princeton classmates. Like that predator, he remained almost perfectly still except for his almond eyes that tracked the tall, lanky, and clearly agitated British officer in front of him. Almost casually, he dropped his hand to the officer’s sword on his left hip. He could see his superior, Vice Admiral Chuichi Nagumo, similarly tensing in front of him.
There are only three of them in this room, Yamaguchi thought. I would not think they were so foolish as to cause an incident, but I know what path I would take in this situation.
“I will tell you what is reasonable, Admiral Ciliax,” Lieutenant General Arthur Percival hissed through his two protruding front teeth. “Reasonable is that I be advised that your nation had no intention of taking possession of this colony, but rather intended to turn it over to this bunch of barb…gentlemen. Reasonable…”
“I demand that you would not speak of the Reich’s allies as if they are not standing here, General,” Admiral Otto Ciliax thundered, both his hands on Percival’s desk. “We are not, in any way, negotiating terms. The Treaty of Kent is clear, and the fact that you or your staff remain here is merely a formality and courtesy.”
Percival glowered at his German opposite number, his face reddening around his clipped moustache.
“I have three divisions of troops under my command…” the Englishman began, only to be cut off again by Ciliax.
“Field Marshal Kesselring has over three thousand aircraft poised like a dagger at England,” Ciliax said coldly, his accent growing thicker with emotion even as he casually waved. “How many women and children are you willing to kill with your pride?”
Percival opened his mouth then shut it again. Taking a deep, shuddering breath the man turned and looked at Vice Admiral Nagumo, then back at Ciliax.
“Then I will be damned if me or my staff will stay here to help some Jap,” Percival spat. “For men who talk of the white race’s superiority you seem to be awfully willing to do the slant eyes’ dirty work.”
Yamaguchi felt a rush of blood to his face even as he tried to keep his features impassive.
“Perhaps now would be a good time to tell you that Vice Admiral Nagumo will be the Kriegsmarine’s outside representative for inspecting the Royal Navy’s indemnity payments for the loss of the Scharnhorst, Gneisenau, and damage to the Bismarck and Tirpitz?”
Percival’s eyes narrowed.
“What the devil are you talking about?” he snapped.
“I am sure you will find out soon enough,” Ciliax replied icily. “I believe you were taking your leave?”
Yamaguchi was as perplexed as General Percival. Even as he watched the British officer and his staff storm out of Singapore’s command post, he found his mind alive with questions.
What outside representative? How is Nagumo-san going to inspect warships in Europe? Yamaguchi thought, confused.
“Gentlemen, I am sorry that you had to deal with…that,” Ciliax said stiffly.
“His attitude is typical,” Vice Admiral Nagumo replied, his English somewhat slow and stilting. “All of the West has long considered us inferior.”
Ciliax gave a thin grimace at that.
“Despite that idiot’s claims, the Fuhrer does not share that view,” Ciliax replied, as a gradually building hum could be heard. “Indeed…who is flying those aircraft?”
The headquarters windows were vibrating with the roar of piston engines by the time that Ciliax finished his question.
“Admiral Yamamoto thought it best if we prepared some additional persuasion,” Yamaguchi replied, his face still blank other than a slight narrowing of the eyes. “Just in case General Percival misunderstood our relative positions.”
Ten thousand feet over Rear Admiral Yamaguchi’s head, Sub-Lieutenant Isoro Honda gave his Zero some gentle right rudder to follow the maneuvers of Lieutenant Commander Shigeru Itaya, Akagi’s fighter squadron commander. Looking back at the two other aircraft in his chutai, the IJN’s typical three
-plane formation, Isoro allowed himself to feel a small degree of pride. Their configuration was perfect, Warrant Officers Watanabe and Yoshida moving as if they were extensions of his own aircraft. The nimble, responsive Zeroes were weaving four thousand feet over the assembled strike aircraft of the Kido Butai, the Imperial Japanese Navy’s strike force of six heavy carriers.
I only hope the British are stupid enough to start a fight, Isoro thought with grim satisfaction. It will be nice to face worthy opponents again after three years of killing Chinese. The Chinese had been like schoolchildren armed with rocks set upon by a horde of samurai, and the eight kills he had scored felt almost shameful given the Zero’s superiority.
Not that the Russians were much better, Isoro thought bitterly. Perhaps if the Army had actually managed to slow the Russians down then we might have gotten to test our mettle against them some more. Or maybe if we had been given a chance to fight those foreign mercenaries down in the south…
Shaking himself out of his reverie, Isoro sighed as he continued to scan the skies around his aircraft. Several wingmen had often made fun of him for his tendency to always move his body in the cockpit, nicknaming him “Sea Snake” due to the undulations of his long, gangly frame. His nickname had taken on a decidedly different connotation when he started being the first to spot, then kill hostile aircraft. He turned back forward just in time to see a red and green flare arcing out from the lead torpedo bomber below.
No trade for us today, Isoro thought, shaking his head in disappointment. It would appear that the British are going to accept the Germans giving us Singapore after all. There had been rumors in the ready room that the Germans had not only ceded Japan Singapore but Malaya as well. If so, it was a gesture of goodwill that had Isoro reconsidering his view of Japan’s alliances.
“Akagi fighters will land ashore,” his headphones crackled with Lieutenant Commander Itaya’s voice. “All others will return to carriers.”
Well, well, looks like Lieutenant Commander Itaya wants to be the first to see Japan’s latest colony, Isoro thought. Hopefully the women will be friendlier than the Chinese were…or at least the Army dogs won’t have time to make them hate us.
