On Seas So Crimson

by James Young

  An hour later, the captain and his admiral both slid down lines off the carrier’s stern. As a boat from the Montepelier plucked both men from the water, the Fletcher lined up on the carrier’s damaged port side. Setting her torpedoes for a deep run, the destroyer fired a full spread of five tin fish. To the gathered bystanders’ shock and anger, only two of the five weapons functioned in the gathering dusk. Despite settling somewhat faster, the Hornet gave no indications that the two blows were fatal. Realizing that there were no guarantees the destroyers would not need their torpedoes before his force reached Pearl Harbor, Admiral Fitch directed the Montpelier to sink the hulk with her broadsides. Firing rapidly at five thousand yards, the light cruiser reached her tenth salvo before causing an internal bulkhead to rupture. With the roar of rushing water, the Hornet rolled onto her beam ends and slipped beneath the waves.

  Despite being struck in the Battle of Hawaii’s final act, the Hornet was not the last vessel to succumb to the Pacific. The Arizona, her fires out of control due to a stray spark igniting the ruptured avgas storage, had been scuttled as night fell in order to avoid serving as a beacon for possible Japanese night bombers. Even later than her, the hard fighting West Virginia suddenly and dramatically gave up the ghost while under tow from the fleet tug Navajo. So rapid was the battleship’s demise that in the darkness the tug’s crew had no time to realize their charge had gone under. In a final, terrifying postscript to the Battle of Hawaii, the 1200-ton Navajo was dragged backward and partially underwater before her tow lines snapped. Shaken, the tug’s captain brought his vessel about to pull survivors from the still churning waters over the larger vessel’s grave.

  CHAPTER 11: DETRITUS

  Errors and defeats are more obviously illustrative of principles than successes are…Defeat cries aloud for explanation; whereas success, like charity, covers a multitude of sins.—Mahan: Naval Strategy, 1911

  Pensacola Naval Air Station

  0510 Eastern Time (0010 Hawaii)

  27 March 1943

  The pounding on his door roused Adam from his deep slumber. Cursing soundly, he got up from the bed he had just collapsed into two hours before. After sitting at alert the entire day waiting for non-existent German aircraft to start appearing in the Florida skies, he had spent the entire evening doing the necessary paperwork to transition from a peacetime to wartime squadron.

  The smartest thing Lieutenant Colonel King did was immediately ground all squadrons, Adam thought. Last thing we wanted to have happen was a Battle of Barking Creek between us and the Army. He grabbed the .45 pistol he kept in the nightstand and headed towards the door.

  “Who the Hell is making that bloody racket?” Connor asked in a whisper as Adam stepped into the main hallway. With a smile, Adam noted that the Commonwealth officer had also armed himself immediately after awakening.

  Probably the duty officer sent to tell me to round up my pilots, Adam thought.

  “Wait a damn minute!” Adam shouted, buttoning his uniform jacket.

  Errand boys get to wait while I get presentable, Adam thought. If there’s one thing that helps one’s subordinates keep their shit together, it’s seeing the old man with his shit together.

  “I hope Jerry’s not blood invading,” Connor observed, stepping into the main hallway while buttoning up his own jacket. Stopping, both men looked at each other and nearly burst into laughter.

  “Squadron Leader Michaelson would be proud,” Connor said, speaking of their former commander.

  “Well, he’d be proud if he wasn’t probably dead,” Adam replied with gallows humor. “But he was right about a proper uniform saying a lot about a man’s self-discipline, I guess.”

  The pounding continued, this time even more angry. Adam grabbed the door and swung it open against the chain, .45 ready to shoot through the space.

  “What in the…oh, hello Chaplain, sir,” Adam said, his voice showing his surprise at Lt. Colonel King and Chaplain (MAJ) Stephen Grimes standing together on his doorstep. The latter officer was a tall, blonde haired, blue eyed man who had looked more like a dockworker than a man of God.

  “Contrary to what you probably believe, Colonel Gatling is not looking to kill you with his bare hands,” King observed drily, looking down at the .45. “As a matter of fact, the task you now have before you will be suitable punishment for releasing your squadron on two day pass without informing me beforehand.”

  Adam mentally winced at the man’s tone.

  When King says “more suitable punishment,” why does my mind have a vision of a governor selling a convicted killer to cannibals so he can save on Old Sparky’s electric bill? Adam thought.

  “Thankfully for you, Major Haynes, I refuse to be one of those panic mongers that feels the Germans have either the naval assets or the desire to reach all of the way across the Atlantic and attack Pensacola,” Lieutenant Colonel King continued. The man was about ot continue when he was interrupted by the chaplain.

  “Sir, there are travel arrangements Captain Bowles must make,” Major Grimes intoned quietly.

  “Bowles?! What the fuck? He couldn’t get help from Daddy so he turned to a higher power?!” Adam exploded, turning to the chaplain.

  “’Daddy’, or as we professional Marines prefer when referring to flag officers, ‘Vice Admiral Bowles,’” King began, his tone firm, “will not need the chaplain’s intercession to speak with a higher power, Major. The man was killed in action in Hawaii this morning.”

  “Hawaii?!” Adam asked, truly stunned.

  “The Japanese have attacked the Pacific Fleet,” Lieutenant Colonel King replied. “No official word on how bad the damage overall is, but from what Rear Admiral Whitaker has been told by Washington we are out at least the Arizona.”

  “Shit,” Adam said. “Sir, how do we know about Vice Admiral Bowles’ death already?”

  “Because apparently Admiral Jensen, Commander In Chief, Pacific Fleet, was on the flag bridge with his entire staff when some Japanese dive bomber tried to fly through one of the portholes,” King replied evenly.

  Adam mentally winced. He certainly didn’t agree with political animals, but no one deserved to die burning to a crisp after being doused with avgas. He heard Connor’s intake of breath and realized his friend was seeing the same image, except with first-hand knowledge of the sight, sound, and smell.

  “Let me guess my punishment, sir—I get to find Captain Bowles and break the news to him as his commanding officer?” Adam asked, letting an expression of displeasure come across his face.

  King favored Adam with a slight smile that did not reach his eyes.

  “Yes, Major Haynes, that’s correct,” Lieutenant Colonel King said. “You will take the chaplain and you will find Captain Bowles in the next twenty-four hours.”

  “Roger, sir,” Adam said. “Captain Bowles is at his quarters or the officer’s club because I took away his pass privileges since I restricted him to post over the next three days.”

  “What?!” King asked, just barely keeping his voice down.

  “Bastard wants to be a squadron commander, he can do what his squadron commander is doing over the next three days, which is figuring out how to get ready for war,” Adam replied flatly. “I needed policies typed up and mimeographed, I figured he could do the dirty work until his nose goes down far enough for an oxygen mask to fit it.”

  “Yes, we’ll just pretend that he “walked into a door” as someone was opening it, not got his ass kicked by his squadron commander like the scuttlebutt says,” Lieutenant Colonel King said, clearly unimpressed. Looking at his watch, King turned to Chaplain Grimes.

  “I trust that you’ll keep Major Haynes from killing his subordinate, chaplain?” King said.

  “Yes, sir,” Chaplain Grimes replied.

  “Then I’ll leave you to it,” King said. All three officers came to attention and saluted King, who returned the gesture then headed back to his car. The young lance corporal driving started up the vehicle then got out to open his wing
commander’s door.

  “Well, guess we’re going for a drive,” Adam said. “Bowles lives on the other side of Pensacola.

  “That’s fine with me,” Chaplain Grimes replied. “Provided you both put away your pistols.”

  Forty-five minutes later the three officers found themselves standing in front of a single-story, white ranch home. The house was dark, but Bowles’s vehicle was parked out in front. Killing the engine and the headlights, Adam hopped out and waited for the chaplain to make his way around the vehicle.

  This is something I didn’t expect to be doing as a squadron commander, Adam thought.

  “Probably best if I wait by the car,” Connor said quietly.

  “Yes, that might be a good idea,” Major Grimes said apologetically. The Commonwealth officer leaned back against the sedan’s side, and Adam fougth the urge not to smile as he realized the man had a hidden pistol underneath his uniform jacket. Turning around and squaring his shoulders, Adam marched up towards the door, Grimes having to move quickly to keep up despite being much taller. Just as Adam started to reach up to use the knocker, he distinctly heard a female voice shouting something incoherent from the far corner of the house.

  Shit, Adam thought. Bowles has company, and from the sounds of it she’s enjoying herself.

  “What’s going on?” Major Grimes asked, looking at Adam.

  “Uh, nothing Chaplain,” Adam replied, quickly knocking loud enough to wake the dead. Bowles’ neighbors obviously owned a dog, as the animal started howling at the top of its lungs. The timeless chorus of man’s best friend was taken up by several other animals, leading to lights beginning to snap on in several houses.

  Well, if the Germans were going to bomb Pensacola tonight, some navigator is thanking me for lighting up his target, Adam thought, embarrassed. There was a rustle on the other side of the door, followed by a shape moving in front of the windows.

  “What do you want?!” Bowles inquired angrily from the other side of the door.

  “Captain Bowles, this is Major Haynes,” Adam said flatly. “Open the door, please.”

  There was a few moments’ pause, then the sound of a key turning in the lock on the other side. The door opened to reveal Bowles standing in an undershirt and a pair of shorts.

  “Well, if it’s not the international flying team of losers, sir,” Bowles slurred, whiskey rolling off his breath like a morning fog. The splint on his nose was slightly askew as he regarded Adam and Major Grimes. “I recognize Melting Wax back by the car, but I haven’t met the third member of your group. Is he one of the Frenchmen you flew with? Or was it Polacks?”

  Adam had to resist the urge to give Bowles a straight right to the jaw to help sober him up. Fortunately, Major Grimes had been around many arrogant young officers in his short tenure at Pensacola.

  “Good evening, Captain Bowles,” Grimes said.

  Bowles’s façade crumbled like castle walls confronted by modern battleship guns. He backed up from Grimes as if the chaplain was the Ghost of Christmas Past, stumbling over his dress shoes and falling on his back.

  “Oh God, no,” he shouted, knowing in an instant why the chaplain was standing there. “No!” he continued to shriek.

  Adam heard the sound of footfalls coming up the sidewalk as the same time as naked feet came rushing from the back of Bowles house. Moments later, Adam, Connor and Grimes found themselves looking at a tall, curvy, and attractive blonde in a hastily fastened robe. The woman looked down at Bowles, then up at the three of them. Realizing with a start that she had not fully fastened her robe, the woman cinched the belt tighter.

  The boy at least has good taste, Adam thought, hearing Grimes’ sharp intake of breath. Although Chaplain Grimes is probably about to lose his shit.

  “Mrs. Burke, what in the hell are you doing here?!” the chaplain shouted angrily. Adam’s head whipped to the chaplain, then back to the woman.

  “Burke?! As in Captain Todd Burke?” he asked darkly, then turned back to where Bowles was sitting on the ground, rocking himself with his head in his hands. The woman gave out a strangled cry, then turned and rushed back into the bedroom.

  I could strangle you, you son-of-a-bitch, Adam thought, flexing his hands.

  “He just found out his father died, mate,” Connor said quietly, reading Adam’s body language. “You can strangle him later.”

  I wish I was back to the days of simply flying for survival, Adam thought darkly. This delivering bad news, figuring out how to deal with one officer screwing another officer’s wife, and policy letter shit is for the birds.

  “Come lad, no need to carry on like this,” Connor said amiably. “What would you mother think if she saw you carrying on like this?”

  Bowles recovered enough to gain his feet, then turned to look at the three officers, tears filling his eyes.

  “My mother. Oh God, has anyone told her?” Bowles sobbed.

  “No son, you are one of the first to know. The Pacific Fleet hasn’t informed any of the wives in San Diego yet,” Grimes responded, barely able to maintain his role as a sympathetic counselor in the face of obvious adultery. Adam could see the man’s facial muscles struggling, with his knuckles white on the Bible.

  You know, do chaplains go to Hell if they kill a sinner with God’s word? he wondered idly as Bowles managed to gain control of himself.

  “How?” he asked, looking at the chaplain. “He was in Hawaii, not out in the Philippines.”

  “The Japanese caught the fleet just outside of harbor. Your father was killed instantly aboard the Arizona,” Adam lied smoothly, meeting the chaplain’s eyes.

  Yes, it would serve him right to tell him his Dad likely died screaming like a banshee, Adam thought. But payback for finding him diddling another man’s wife can wait until he returns from San Diego.

  “Captain Bowles I will return back here at 0900 to take you onto post for you to have orders cut,” Adam said. “Have your bags packed for your stay in San Diego when I return.”

  “T-thank you, sir,” Bowles responded, his voice despondent.

  Stepping back, Adam motioned for Connor and Grimes to move back towards the car, then shut Bowles front door. Several neighbors were looking at him quizzically, but a hard glare sent the handful of curious individuals back inside their houses. Grimes looked as if he wanted to say something about Adam’s actions, but a small shake of the head from Connor convinced Grimes to hold his counsel until they were back in the vehicle.

  “He’s in no condition to drive Mrs. Burke back to post, Major Haynes,” Major Grimes intoned as soon as the doors were closed. Adam started the car and shifted it into gear.

  “I realize that, Chaplain,” Adam said, his face set in a snarl. “Personally, I’m hoping he gives her the car to drive home, goes back in the back room, and blows his brains out. Failing that, I will give Mrs. Burke a ride back to post, and she can explain to her husband where she was.”

  Grimes was taken aback by the vehemence of Adam’s response. Turning to Connor, he could see the same look of disgust on the British officer’s face.

  “What do you intend to do about this situation once Captain Bowles returns?” Grimes asked, changing tack.

  Adam shrugged as they pulled off from the house.

  “I don’t know. This is definitely outside of my area of expertise,” Adam said, exasperated. “I’ve never had to deal with something like this before.”

  “Yes, generally we and the Poles were a little bit too busy trying to kill Germans to screw our mates’ wives,” Connor remarked, barely keeping an edge on his own temper.

  “Might I make a suggestion?” Grimes asked.

  “Certainly, chaplain,” Adam replied.

  “Do not sit on this in an attempt to save your squadron, Major Haynes,” Grimes said, his tone righteous. “As terrible as this is, it must be brought out into the open and dealt with. Otherwise, once word gets out, as it surely will, your men will assume you are another in a long list of politically-minded officers attem
pting to protect Captain Bowles’s career.”

  “What is there left to protect? His Daddy’s dead,” Adam responded. “From what I’ve seen, he’s not going to get very far on merit alone.”

  “The son of a dead war hero, killed in action in the first battle of the war? Whose death, I am sure, will take on a tragic circumstance since it is so early in the conflict,” Grimes said mockingly. “Trust me on this, Major Haynes, Captain Bowles has far more political power now than you realize. If you do not bring this to light now, before he has time to be lionized in the press and by the Marine Corps, you will not have a chance to punish him later.”

  Adam thought about what the chaplain was saying, then realized the man was probably right.

  “Thank you, chaplain,” he said. “Hopefully, this will be the last time I need your help.”

  Grimes chuckled at that one.

  “We’re at war, Major Haynes,” the former pastor said. “If this is the last time you’ll need my help, it will be because one of us is dead.”

  U.S.S. Houston

  Surabaya, Dutch East Indies

  0530 Local (1530 Eastern)

  28 March (27 March Eastern)

  Jacob stood at the back of the Houston’s flag plot, listening as rain and wind lashed the heavy cruiser’s side.

  War’s been on for over a day now and here we sit, still in harbor because of rain, Jacob thought. Well at least it has screwed up the Japanese time table too. At least, as far as we are concerned. Those poor bastards in the Philippines probably feel differently.

  “Yesterday, the submarine Sailfish sighted a large enemy surface group entering Cam Ranh Bay,” Rear Admiral William Glassford stated, scanning the gathered officers. A tall man with dark hair, lined face, and piercing eyes, Glassford was Vice Admiral Hart’s tactical commander at sea and an aggressive one at that. “The commander estimated the force consisted of four enemy cruisers and six destroyers. It is my belief that this force will attempt to interfere with our reinforcement of Borneo.”