by James Young
“Most of my kills don’t see it coming,” Adam said simply. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I have some discipline to administer. When Lieutenant Colonel King gets in, do please tell him that I hope to make an office call this afternoon after our first flight.”
With that, Adam turned and left. As he hit the door, he started whistling.
This is going to be a good day, he thought. The first one I’ve had in a long time.
Ten minutes later, Adam strode into the squadron administrative area. He was utterly unsurprised to find the place empty other than the duty corporal and two runners. Before any of the trio could call the squadron to attention, Adam waved them to silence and indicated they were to sit back down. Looking down the Quonset building, he saw that the light was on in his office.
“Who is here?” he asked simply.
“Captain Bowles, sir,” the corporal replied, sweat starting to bead on his forehead. Looking the skinny man up and down, Adam had to wonder if he was truly old enough to be a Marine, much less an NCO.
Guess some people just look younger than their years, Adam thought.
“Corporal Banks, you will go outside and stand guard with your runners,” Adam said. “You will not let anyone enter the squadron area until such time as I tell you differently. Is that understood?”
“Y-y-yes, sir,” Banks said after a moment.
“Let me guess: You heard from Captain Bowles that I’m no longer the squadron commander?” Adam asked with a smile.
“Yes, sir,” Banks replied.
“Well, he was misinformed,” Adam snarled with a smile. “Amendment to my last order—if an ambulance shows up, you may want to let them pass. That is all.”
“Yes, sir,” Banks replied. Gesturing for his runners to follow, he immediately moved outside the door.
Adam could hear the sound of drawers opening and closing, and the sound of broken glass as if someone had been careless with something. Taking a long, shuddering breath, he threw open the door to his office.
“Somewhat presumptuous, aren’t we, Captain Bowles?” Adam asked, catching the junior officer in the act of tossing the second of his two picture frames into a crate.
“Jesus Christ, you just don’t leave, do you?” Bowles asked snidely. “I think Colonel…”
It was the last words the captain got out of his mouth. Springing like a tiger, Adam cleared the desk and tackled the younger man into the wall behind him. Bowles breath exploded with an oof, the exhalation preventing him from screaming when Adam’s knee came shortly and violently up into his groin. As the man doubled over and retched, Adam swung both his clenched hands down into his kidneys. Crumpling to the ground, the sound Bowles made as he tried to scream past a mouthful of vomit was strangely pleasing. While the junior officer was trying to figure out how to breathe again, Adam kicked him hard in the stomach twice.
“You’re right, this isn’t England,” Adam observed as the younger man curled up into a fetal position, sobbing. Adam kicked him again in the abdomen, and was rewarded by the smell of urine wafting up as the blow caused Bowles to wet himself.
“You see, if this was England, I would finish beating you into the hospital,” Adam continued conversationally. “Watched a squadron commander do that very thing to a belligerent Flight Lieutenant during the fifth week. Things were a little grim then.”
“You…you cannot do this to me,” Bowles gasped.
“Oh, I think you’re confused,” Adam said. As Bowles looked at him and started to say something, Adam swept his foot forward and kicked the man dead in the face. The crunch of bone and sharp squeal of agony told Adam he’d most likely broken the man’s nose.
Maybe a reminder every time you go to shave will be good for you, Adam thought uncharitably.
“You see, funny thing about being a, what was it?” Adam said, adopting a thoughtful pose. “Oh, that’s right, a mercenary, is that I’m a little rough around the edges, Bowles. So, if you bring this matter up to Lieutenant Colonel King, I’ll swear you threw the first punch. I doubt, given that Colonel Gatling is probably cleaning out his desk right now, that the new air wing commander is going to ask many questions.”
Bowles looked up at Adam in shock, pain, and fear as what the squadron commander said sunk in.
“That’s right, you stupid fuck, I can call in favors just like you can,” Adam snarled. “Except I’m not going to play your game. This will be the last time we have a discussion like this, or so help me I won’t try to have you transferred, I’ll kill you.”
Bowles looked up at Adam as if he was staring at Satan himself. Adam didn’t give him time to mentally recover.
“So, you decide if you want to die,” Adam gritted through his teeth. “But whatever you are going to make, you’re going to get the fuck out of my office and go clean yourself up now.”
Bowles staggered to his feet as the phone rang. Adam disdainfully turned his back on the man as he picked up the phone.
“Fighting Twenty-One, Major Haynes, sir,” Adam said.
“Major Haynes, not sure if giving you thanks is exactly appropriate in this situation,” Lieutenant Colonel King said. “Either way, Major Anthony has told me you wish to have an office call in a couple of hours to discuss your command. I’ll do you better than that—when are you taking off?”
Hearing the scuffling of feet, Adam turned to see Bowles leaving the office.
“Sir, I think that a 1000 take off time was the original plan,” Adam replied.
“Very good,” Lieutenant Colonel King replied. “I’ll be there with Captain Michaels as my wingman. I understand you have some friends across post who you like to fly with?”
“Yes sir, I do,” Adam replied. “They were going to meet us out over the water at 1030.”
“Well then, I’ve always wanted to see those new Commonwealth fighters in flight. King out.”
Looks like what Major General Geiger said about Lieutenant Colonel King taking this job a bit more seriously was dead on, Adam thought as the other officer hung up the phone. Thank God.
U.S.S. Houston
Sulu Sea
2130 Local (0830 Eastern)
27 March (26 March)
“Gentlemen, you may consider this a war briefing. None of the information discussed herein is to leave this room, nor is it for the general consumption of the crew until such time as we find ourselves at war. Do I make myself clear?” Captain Wallace stated, his face somber.
The officers gathered in the wardroom gave an affirmative, sitting gathered around a map of the Dutch East Indies spread across the main dining table.
Hell of a Saturday night party, Jacob thought to himself. Most of the officers, especially the younger ensigns and lieutenant (j.g.)s, looked excited and expectant, as if they were getting ready to partake in a football game.
At least I’m glad to see I guessed right on what Vice Admiral Hart intended to do as soon as the balloon went up, Jacob thought grimly. Houston, in company with the cruisers Marblehead and Boise, had sortied from her berth at Cavite just after sundown to minimize the number of Japanese or U.S. Army eyes that could see her departure. After joining with their destroyer screen, the cruisers had initially headed north, then swung back south. Two hours after leaving Manila, they made a rendezvous with two Commonwealth cruisers, the Exeter and Perth, and continued their journey towards Java.
Glad to have the liaison officers aboard, Jacob thought, looking at the man in a Royal Australian Navy uniform standing at the table’s head. Commander Thomason, the Perth’s executive officer, had brought three bottles of rum for “medicinal purposes” when he’d come over to the Houston.
“Thank you, Captain Wallace,” the Australian said, his accent less pronounced than some of his countrymen’s. Tall and gangly, Damien Thomason’s gaunt frame and face made Jacob seem positively gluttonous. Despite being clearly tailored, the Australian’s uniform hung off his shoulders like a sack as he brought up his map pointer with a wan smile.
“Gent
lemen, over the next half hour, I will explain the situation in the Pacific as Vice Admiral Phillips’ staff sees it. Please hold all questions and comments to the end.”
With that, Thomason took a long pull from the glass of water at his left hand, then brought the pointer to the tip of the Malay peninsula.
“As you all know, this is the former colony of Singapore, turned over to our yellow friends when Jerry realized that Berlin is very far away from Asia. As near as we can tell, none of the base’s facilities were rendered unserviceable.” The look of disgust and anger on Thomason’s face had an almost physical aura as he relayed that bit of intelligence.
Even several months on, I still can’t believe that shit, Jacob thought disgustedly. At least the Commonwealth officers seem just as angry.
“The Japanese, overjoyed at having a wonderful naval base handed to them,” Thomason continued wryly, “have moved several elements of their fleet into the harbor. As of last week, there were two battleships, six cruisers, and at least two dozen destroyers.”
Thomason turned to look at the gathered group as he let the size of that force sink in.
“I say last week because as of the twentieth, all of our operatives went silent,” Thomason continued grimly.
Which means they’re all guests of the Japanese, who now know everything that you think you know, Jacob thought. I hope most of them died quick, as the boys down from the Shanghai gunships say the Japanese have interesting ways of making people talk.
“We expect the Japanese to strike within forty-eight hours,” Thomason said. “Their initial objective will be to make initial landings on the east coast of Sumatra, hopping across from Singapore. Once there, under the cover of their own air power, they will make the jump to Java, then down the East Indies towards Australia.”
“Why wouldn’t they land on Sumatra and Borneo simultaneously?” Lieutenant Adam Connor, Engineering officer, asked.
Thomason gave Connor the same look that a schoolmaster might give a child who had asked a particularly stupid question. Immediately, Jacob felt his hackles starting to rise.
We’re not part of a navy that got its boss killed, Commander, Jacob seethed.
“Hold all questions until the end,” Captain Wallace snapped. “Sorry for the interruption, please continue.”
“To meet the Japanese ships, Vice Admiral Phillips is bringing the Revenge and Ramilles, with air cover from the Hermes and Furious, north from Sydney to the East Indies,” Thomason said.
With us, that makes a total of two carriers, three battleships, the Repulse, and ten cruisers, Jacob thought. The Japanese must have something else up their sleeve other than the group in Singapore.
“Submarines have reported that the Japanese Main Body is coming south from Formosa and the Home Islands,” Thomason said as if he had read Jacob’s mind. “To answer the young lieutenant’s question, we doubt without these reinforcements the Japanese have the ability to make simultaneous attacks across the East Indies. There is also that little matter of what forces they intend to use to attack the Philippines.”
There was a collective intake of breath at that statement. Jacob knew several officers shared his detestation with Admiral Hart’s decision to leave the Philippines to their fate.
“With the work we have done establishing communications,” Thomason said, “we believe that our combined force should be able to inflict unacceptable casualties on the Japanese. Now I will be happy to take questions.”
“How certain is your intelligence on their amphibious capabilities?” Jacob asked conversationally. To his surprise, Thomason bristled at the question.
“I think both Her Majesty’s Navy and yours would be very hard pressed to cover multiple amphibious operations,” the Australian snapped. “Surely you don’t think the Japanese are better at amphibious operations than we are?”
Hate to admit it, but the asshole might have a point, Jacob thought. He was about to respond when the compartment’s hatch suddenly swung open.
“Excuse me, sir, but there is a priority message from Cavite in the encoding room,” an ensign, whose name temporarily escaped Jacob, stated in a rush. “We are double checking our coding, but I thought you would want to see it immediately.”
Captain Wallace gave the young officer a baleful gaze as he stood.
“I trust that this will be worth interrupting a briefing, Ensign Moorstein,” Wallace said archly. He turned to look at Jacob, and Houston’s XO realized his commander was also angry with him.
I guess the Old Man is not happy with the way I questioned our guest, Jacob thought, realizing that he was in for a serious ass-chewing later.
“Commander Morton, I trust that I can leave you to supervise the proceedings?” Wallace asked, his tone indicating his displeasure even more than his look.
“Aye aye, sir,” Jacob returned, coming to attention when he did so. With a start, he realized the Captain was apparently of the opinion that Jacob had violated one of the Wallace’s golden rules: You may disagree with a peer in private, but never in public and in front of subordinate officers.
All of the officers stood until the captain left, then turned to look at Jacob.
“Please, Commander Thomason, continue,” Jacob said, his tone indicating that the matter was past on his end. The look Thomason gave him indicated that he would not be so forgiving, something that Jacob mentally kicked himself for.
“Our plan, as the Japanese come down from Singapore, is to contest their landings on Sumatra. The waters here are quite restricted, so this will be mainly cruiser and destroyer work. We do not expect them to commit their heavy units into these waters as that will put them at undue risk.” Thomason paused, as if expecting Jacob to interject.
Seems like a valid assumption to me, Jacob thought. Bringing a battleship to a fight in those waters seems like a good way to end up with her at the bottom of the sea thanks to lucky torpedoes.
“The Dutch have mined most of the beaches off of Sumatra, which will give us extra time to meet the Japanese amphibious group,” Thomason continued. “Dutch and Commonwealth fighter units have moved forward to Palembang to provide aerial cover for our operations. They will be supported by Australian fighter squadrons, some of whom I believe you’ve already become acquainted with.”
Jacob’s eyes narrowed at that statement as a mournful chuckle made its way around the room.
“No one can argue that you guys aren’t committed,” Jacob said.
“Her Majesty’s forces have been committed since 1939,” Thomason noted caustically, causing a sharp intake of breath around the table.
Yes, well, hopefully your luck will begin to change, Jacob thought as he locked eyes with Thomason.
“Has Vice Admiral Phillips’ staff identified what forces will be used to counter the landing?”
“Upon identification of the Japanese beaches, the Dutch have stated they will commit their light cruisers and destroyers in a night raid,” Thomason replied, his tone somewhat softer. “ACDA Command has decided that two heavy cruisers will provide distant cover for this raid if the enemy landing force is heavier than we expect. If the raid is successful, it will hopefully draw the Japanese heavy units in earlier than they intended, and we can fight them in the Java Sea.”
Jacob was about to open his mouth to ask a question when the hatch opened. Captain Wallace passed through the hatch, his face grim. As soon as he closed the door, General Quarters began to ring throughout the ship.
“Gentlemen, as of 2100, Vice Admiral Hart has ordered this vessel and all Asiatic Fleet units to adopt war footing,” Captain Wallace said solemnly. “The Navy Department issued ordered that all American vessels are to engage any unidentified vessel or aircraft they encounter and to expect attack from the same. Commander Thomason, I am afraid we cannot put you back aboard the Perth. The rest of you have posts you need to report to, immediately. ”
Captain Wallace could not have stunned the gathered group of men more if he had come back and stated that Martia
ns had just sunk the Perth. After a moment of disbelief, the men all stood and burst for the hatchway past their captain, headed for their stations. In moments, the room was empty save for Wallace, Thomason, and Jacob.
“Allow me to be the first to say for the Commonwealth that we are glad to have you gentlemen as formal allies,” Thomason said, coming to attention and saluting. “I am sure the Nazis and Japanese are going to regret this day.”
“Let us hope so,” Captain Wallace said. Until such time as we are able to put you back aboard Perth, I am sure that Commander Morton will be happy to show you his hospitality.”
Jacob was slightly startled, but then realized that Captain Wallace was giving him a chance to redress his earlier sins. Looking at Thomason, he extended his hand.
“I hope that this is the start of a long and fruitful alliance,” Jacob said calmly. Thomason gripped his hand, nodding.
“Commander Morton, I trust that you will be able to find Commander Thomason a set of anti-flash gear?” Wallace asked.
“Aye aye, sir,” Jacob returned. “Commander, if you would follow me,” Jacob stated, heading for the wardroom’s exit.
As the two officers left, Captain Wallace turned and looked at the “medicinal” rum that Thomason had brought over with him. Like his executive officer, he was a non-drinker, a rarity in and of itself among Navy officers. He had not touched the stuff for over fifteen years, ever since his wife had threatened to leave him after a particularly rowdy night among the bars.
“Sir, is it okay for me to clean up?” a soft, young voice came from behind him. It was Mess Attendant 2nd Class Harold Biggs, the only black member of the crew. Hailing from Chicago, Biggs had joined the Houston in late 1939 and had been with the vessel ever since.
Wallace looked at the expansive wardroom, with its fine china service and piano in the corner. The elegant wood furniture, adornments, and plush carpeting made the vessel feel more like an upscale hotel than a man of war. For a brief moment, Wallace’s mind turned back to the last night with his wife before he had left San Diego.
