by James Young
Janice is probably still asleep right now, he thought, looking at his watch. It’s not even daylight back in California.
Turning to look at the young mess attendant, Wallace took a deep breath.
“Biggs, do you drink?” Wallace asked.
“Yes, sir, I do,” Biggs replied evenly. Wallace knew that the man was very, very smart, even had a degree in biology or something like that.
A man with a degree, and he’s here cleaning up some mess that my officers left, Wallace thought. Tomorrow, he could be dying, and me along with him, yet he basically has to worship the ground I walk on: one, because I am master of this vessel, and two, because of the color of my skin. Wallace mentally shook his head. Well, dammit, I am master of this vessel, and this young man is going to have a spot of rum before I ask him to die for me.
“Well, then let’s have a shot of rum and toast to an end to this madness,” Wallace said.
“Would you care for a piece of advice?” Thomason asked Jacob as the two of them made their way aft towards the Houston’s stern. Unsurprisingly given their similar builds, the Commonwealth officer had fit into Jacob’s spare anti-flash uniform. Now, as the two of them moved about checking all of the stations and making sure the ship was ready for combat, Jacob wondered what the Commonwealth officer was up to.
“Certainly, if you’re willing to share,” Jacob replied.
“You may want to begin stripping this vessel as soon as we reach Surabaya,” Thomason stated diplomatically. “As in, everything that is not metal or directly related to her primary function should be immediately removed and placed into storage.”
Jacob turned and looked at his opposite number, opened his mouth, then shut it.
I never would have thought of that, but I guess two years of combat in the Mediterranean teaches you some things, Jacob thought. Dimly, he remembered reading that the Perth had fought three of her Italian opposite numbers to a standstill, crippling one enemy light cruiser and taking serious damage in return.
In other words, if Thomason is giving me advice on how to keep things from getting out of hand when we get hit, I should be listening, Jacob thought.
“Thank you,” Jacob said, his tone sincere. “I’ll tell Captain Wallace of your suggestion when we reach port.”
Thomason looked at him for a moment, and Jacob had the uncomfortable feeling that the man was wondering why he needed the captain’s approval.
I start taking an axe to the wardroom, the captain will skin me alive, Jacob thought. It’s his ship.
“Good, then let us continue,” Thomason said. “I’ve never been on one of your cruisers, and I have to say I’m slightly jealous of the construction. Do all of your bulkheads use armor plate?”
Pearl Harbor
0330 Local (0830 Eastern)
Two things simultaneously awoke Jo from a deep, peaceful sleep. The first thing was the sound of the air raid siren located outside her bedroom window breaking into its raucous song. The second, following shortly behind the first, was the sound of Patricia opening Jo’s bedroom door, her eyes so wide the whites were showing.
“What in the Hell is going on here?” she muttered, swinging her legs out from underneath the covers.
“I don’t know,” Patricia replied, her face drawn of all color. “I was coming to ask you and hoping you’d tell me it was all a drill.”
Jo looked at her and fought down the urge to laugh. It always amazed her that despite the fact that Patricia had four brothers in the service and had been in Hawaii for several months, she still hadn’t figured out certain things.
“The Navy never has drills on a Friday morning, nor do they do them in the dark,” Jo replied, her tone perturbed. “Plus, that is a civilian alarm, which means the city is sounding the sirens rather than the military.”
“Is that…” Patricia started to ask.
“That’s very, very bad,” Jo said, shrugging her nightgown over her head as she quickly strode to her wardrobe. Turning, she saw Patricia turning to avert her eyes.
“I’d suggest you go get dressed as well,” Jo said evenly, trying not to rattle Patricia. “Dress in something you’d wear to harvest back home.”
“Is that really necessary?” Patricia asked.
No, I just want you out of my room, Jo nearly snapped, then caught herself.
“Wish I could reassure you, Patricia, but I think this is not a drill,” Jo responded, putting on her brassiere. She grabbed a thick, denim shirt and work overalls. Turning back to the door, she saw Patricia still standing there in shock.
“Well, you can stand there until some Jap soldier shows up, or you can do what I said,” Jo snapped, causing Patricia to recoil, then start to flush in the gibbous moonlight streaming through Jo’s window.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be short, but those sirens can mean only one thing: We are under or about to be under attack,” Jo said. “Now, I know you prefer mythology to world events, but the only people who can reach us out here are the Japanese. Given that there are a significant number of Japanese on the island, there could be a Fifth Column already committing sabotage or paratroopers landing. Either way, I want to get as far away from Pearl Harbor as possible.”
“Shouldn’t we hear gunfire if the Japanese are invading?” Patricia asked, her voice somewhat skeptical.
“Should, unless they got the drop on us,” Jo replied , her tone impatient. “Or we may have captured some of them early or seen them as they are a little ways out to sea. Tell ya what—if I’m right, you can ask the Jap raping you.”
Patricia glared at her.
“There’s no need to be melodramatic, Jo,” Patricia replied sarcastically. Jo shrugged as she began putting on her boots. Patricia, waiting for an answer, realized she wasn’t going to get one. Shaking her head, the Alabaman headed back towards her room.
I don’t know if she’s getting dressed or not, but I’m leaving in about ten minutes, Jo thought. She went to the footlocker at the foot of her bed and popped it open. Pulling out the rack of clothes to reveal a false bottom, Jo reached in and pulled out the .38 caliber revolver and box of ammunition. As she started to load the gun, she realized her hands were shaking.
The door opened again behind her, and Jo immediately revaluated her roommate. Patricia stood before her in a set of coveralls, and was cradling a pump shotgun. The taller woman had a bandolier of shells around her shoulder, and there was a large revolver in a shoulder holster under her left arm.
“Where in the Hell did you get those?!” Jo asked, shocked.
“Why don’t you ask the Jap you’re convinced is going to rape me?” Patricia asked harshly.
Lord save me from the Cobb family, Jo thought. Their tempers are going to be the death of me.
“Okay, I’m sorry, but you were being annoying,” Jo replied, going into her closet and grabbing a canvas sea bag. Unlike the usual issue model, Jo had sewn two straps onto the front of the sack.
“Come with me to the kitchen, we’ve got to take some food,” Jo said, turning to find Patricia standing with her hand to her mouth.
“Oh my God, my brothers!” Patricia said.
“Your brothers will be fine,” Jo said gently. “We’ve got to get the Hell out of here. Just out of curiosity, can you actually shoot those guns?”
Patricia gave a snort of derision.
“I’m from the South, with four brothers and a very protective father,” Patricia drawled. “I demanded to be taught to shoot at age five.”
Jo looked at the pistol.
“That thing is as large as your forearm,” she observed.
“It’s a Webley,” Patricia replied simply. “Kicks like a mule, but it makes one hell of a hole in whatever you shoot.”
“That works for me,” Jo said as they reached the kitchen. Patricia started to reach for the light, and Jo stopped her.
“Let’s not attract any more attention than we need to,” Jo said. “Just grab cans.”
Pearl Harbor
0400 Lo
cal (0900 Eastern)
Well I guess we know how much everyone listened to Admiral Jensen’s new directives on readiness, Captain Greenman thought angrily.
“Just how many of the damn escorts are ready to sail?!” Admiral Jensen was roaring.
“Sir, we will have four to eight cruisers and twelve destroyers ready to sail within two hours,” the nervous looking captain from the Operations cell reported. Greenman, looking at Admiral Jensen’s face, could tell that the answer was far from satisfactory.
You’re talking to a man who joined the fleet when flogging was a recent memory, captain, Greenman thought, feeling sorry for the sandy blonde officer. Don’t let some other idiot’s inability to perform be the reason you’re stuck on some oil barge next week.
“Captain Loftman, I want you to personally make a note of all ships that are not ready to sail within two hours as I directed less than forty-eight hours ago,” Jensen seethed. “You let every single captain in this fleet know I don’t want to hear any more bullshit about how they were preparing for Saturday inspections or gave too many of their crews liberty. I sent out a war warning, and any vessel who is not prepared to sail when these battleships cast off will have a new captain when we return.”
The ominous threat caused a brief work stoppage in the Arizona’s flag plot.
“Yes, sir,” Captain Loftman replied.
“You may also inform the squadron and division commanders they may expect letters of reprimand as well when we return,” Jensen continued in the same menacing tone. “I will not be lied to by my officers.”
Well actually you probably will, Greenman thought, then shook his head with a smile. I just don’t see it happening nearly as often as it might have before.
“Something funny, Captain Greenman?” Vice Admiral Bowles asked, his tone acidic. The PACFLT Chief of Staff was looking around the flag plot at the officers bustling to and fro.
Oh shit, Greenman thought, gripping the documents in his hands much tighter.
“No, sir,” Greenman replied. He felt almost every officer in the room turn to look at him.
“Well how about you brief the intelligence situation and maybe we can all share in your joke?” Bowles said, his voice making it clear that he was not asking a question.
“Yes sir,” Greenman replied, his voice rasping as his mouth went dry. He moved to a map of the Pacific that was hanging from the starboard bulkhead. He searched for a map pointer.
“Not so funny when you’re the rabbit, is it?” Admiral Jensen observed uncharitably. “Don’t worry about a damn pointer, I think we’re all familiar with our theater. Tell me where the Jap fleet is.”
“Yes, sir,” Greenman said, fighting to keep his voice level. “The last report we received from Washington was confident that the Japanese fleet, minus the battleships Fuso and Yamashiro, departed the Sea of Japan four days ago headed south and east…”
“South and east?!” Admiral Jensen asked. “Thanks, that’s helpful Captain. Are you sure some of them weren’t heading north as well?”
“My apologies, sir,” Greenman said, feeling sweat starting to form in his armpits. “Washington believes the carriers are headed to the Marshalls with two of the Kongo class as their escorts, while the Main Body is heading south to strike the Dutch East Indies and Philippines.”
“What is Washington basing this on?” Admiral Jensen asked.
“Sir, ONI didn’t see fit to tell us what the source of this information was,” Captain Greenman replied, speaking of the Office of Naval Intelligence. As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted the statement.
“Did it ever occur to you to ask?” Admiral Jensen snapped, his nostrils flaring.
“Yes, sir,” Captain Greenman replied. With a start, he realized he was unconsciously coming to a position of attention and stopped himself.
I will not let this bastard intimidate me, he thought fiercely.
“Rather than make Admiral Jensen keep asking you questions, cut to the chase: Who told you no?” Vice Admiral Bowles snapped.
Greenman turned to look at the Chief of Staff.
“Sir, I was told the head of ONI himself,” Greenman said evenly.
“Well this would have been nice to know before the war starts,” Admiral Jensen roared. “Think maybe I might have had a word with Admiral King about ONI’s lack of support?”
“No, sir,” Greenman said.
“I mean, I might want to know the reliability of a source before I make my dispositions based upon it,” CINCPACFLT continued, his tone mocking. “If it came from some Chink laundry man whose cousin told him some Jap ships passed him while out fishing, I’m going to be suspicious. On the other hand, if it was a freighter captain bound for Vladivostok, that’s a whole different matter.”
“Sir, I…” Greenman began.
“Nevermind, Captain Greenman,” Bowles snapped before he finished. “Let’s make the rather presumptuous assumption that ONI knows what in the Hell they’re talking about and we don’t have six Jap carriers rounding Diamond Head when the sun comes up.”
“Sir, I would certainly hope they’re sighted before then,” Greenman replied, his tone hot.
Shit, he thought, seeing Jensen’s face briefly register shock then switch back to even more intense anger. Before the senior officer could immolate him, he was saved by Captain Loftman.
“Sir, message from Admiral Pye,” Loftman said.
“We will revisit this, Captain Greenman,” Jensen snapped, then turned to Loftman. “What is it?”
“California will be ready to move in twenty more minutes, Colorado, Pennsylvania, Nevada thirty, and the rest of the battleforce within the hour. Destroyer Divisions One and Two are the only ones prepared to sortie at full strength with the battleline, the remainder of the vessels will be straggling to catch up.”
“Understood,” Admiral Jensen snapped, then turned to Bowles. “I am serious, Admiral Bowles. Every single one of them, relieved as soon as we return. I don’t care if you have to brevet promote or transfer captains from the staff to make it happen, and I give even less of a damn how much BuPers screams about it.”
“Yes, sir,” Bowles replied.
“Admiral Fletcher?” Jensen asked, looking once more at the chart.
“Lexington and Saratoga are currently moving up the channel,” Captain Loftman replied. Jensen turned and looked at him, the shock plain on his face.
“What?!” CINCPACFLT asked.
“Sir, apparently Admiral Fletcher ordered all of his ships to be on one hours notice, not two,” Captain Loftman replied. “Given that he threatened to see to it that any vessel that was not ready would have its entire wardroom shoved over the side while they were in dry dock, he seems to have gotten better results than the rest of the fleet.”
Looks like Fletcher is taking this a whole lot more seriously than everyone else has, Greenman thought.
“Fletcher is a good man,” Jensen observed. “Hopefully Hornet will get here soon so I can have at least four of my five carriers.”
“Sir, as per your order Admiral Fitch began maintaining radio silence once he was two hundred miles out of San Diego,” Captain Loftman replied. “Best guess based on the plan he sent us is that the Hornet is four hundred and fifty miles away.”
“Halsey?” Jensen asked.
“Sir, Vice Admiral Halsey confirmed receipt of the war warning,” Loftman replied, looking at his notes. “He respectfully asks what your orders are given the directive from Secretary Knox.”
“Fucking Limeys,” Bowles spat. “I still can’t believe they got the Lexington’s aircraft.”
Well the President had to figure out some way around that restriction on Lend Lease, Greenman thought, this time keeping his face impassive. If Congress didn’t intend for the restrictions to already include already produced aircraft, they should have said so. Greenman was politically agnostic, but even he had to admit that the incoming Congress’ restrictions on aiding the Commonwealth were somewhat self-defeating.
The fact that the Lexington’s air wing was now flying obsolescent aircraft so that the Commonwealth’s carriers could field at least three air groups that didn’t include biplanes was an unfortunate byproduct.
Should still be more than enough to beat anything that the Japs have, Greenman thought. Even the Zero that no one knows anything about, other than that crazy Army general over in China.
“Well once the damn Brits figure out how to use them, that will give us another carrier,” Jensen replied. “I was informed by Admiral Kimmel that the Wasp may be heading our way soon once the two Brit carriers in the Atlantic work up with the new planes as well. I’ll take two carriers for the price of one being slightly behind for another month.”
Bowles’ expression communicated what he thought about Jensen’s calculus.
“So, Greenman, what are the carriers going to do once they get to the Marshalls?” Jensen asked, turning back to the intelligence officer. “How about you give me your opinion this time, rather than just regurgitating what some idiot in Washington thinks?”
“Sir, the enemy carriers are likely in the Marshalls to support a strike on Wake,” Greenman replied evenly. “Once that is done, your opposite number will probably keep them in the Marshalls in anticipation of this fleet’s attack.”
Vice Admiral Jensen smiled thinly.
“I suppose that is one drawback of having the same warplan for twenty years, isn’t it?” the man observed. “At least we’re not those poor bastards in the Philippines. Can you believe they were talking about us sending two battleships out there when the New Mexico’s returned from the Atlantic?”
“I’m sure Vice Admiral Hart would have appreciated the help, sir,” Greenman allowed. “He’s about to have a lot on his plate.”
“Better him than me,” Jensen replied with a shake of his head. “Maybe he can do me a favor and pick off a couple of their battleships before he dies.”
