by James Young
Peeling off from where she had been leading her larger brethren, the Electra began pinging her sonar as she closed on the rapidly settling Ford. Receiving no returns, the Commonwealth DD continued easing forward slowly while settling a listening watch on her hydrophones. As a result, she was still two thousand yards distant when the Ford finally slipped beneath the waves, the survivors yelling for help from the visible ship. The Commonwealth crew were just readying nets and lines when these cries were cut short by a series of bright flashes and explosions from beneath the water, the Ford’s depth charges detonating as her wreck passed three hundred feet. Horrified, the Electra’s commander ordered the destroyer’s advance quickened. Despite this effort, the Elecra would haul only twenty of the Ford’s crew out of the waters.
There was one final act to the night’s drama. Despite the explosion of her torpedoes, the Jintsu’s executive officer had managed to maintain some semblance of stability with Hatsukaze and Minigumo’s aid. Unfortunately, what he did not have was the ability to repair his rudder or fully extinguish the fires that continued to threaten his magazines. Even worse, the executive officer had no clue of the science that had made the night air attack possible, but figured that it would not be prudent to risk any more of the Emperor’s ships when the sun rose in a few hours. Giving an order that disgusted him to his core, he instructed charges to be laid and the Emperor’s portrait to be transferred to the Minigumo. Ten minutes later, as he stood on the Minigumo’s stern with Hirohito’s picture clutched in his hands, the commander watched as the scuttling charges detonated the Jintsu’s secondary magazine and remaining torpedo warheads. Her hull utterly shattered, the light cruiser rolled over to starboard and sank into the South China Sea’s depths.
“Jesus Christ, is that clock broken?” Jacob asked, looking at Battle Two’s rear bulkhead as Houston began to slow from her pell mell retreat. Splinters had scored the metal around the device, and Jacob could not believe the time piece’s face was correct.
“Yes, Sir,” Chief Roberts said wearily. “It’s correct.”
I cannot believe that fight was less than forty minutes, Jacob thought, shaken. One hundred twenty-five men aboard this vessel alone are dead, nevermind how many went down with the Perth. Regaining his composure, he nodded.
“Understood Chief,” Jacob intoned solemnly.
The two men were interrupted by Teague.
“Sir, Captain Wallace for you!” the young sailor said. Jacob took the sound powered phone.
“Sir, Commander Morton,” Jacob said.
“XO, I can’t get a hold of Damage Central from here, and my last runner has not come back,” Captain Wallace said, his voice angry. “What’s our status?”
“Sir, No. 3 turret is locked in train and it will take a yard trip to get it to move again,” Jacob informed Houston’s captain. “The handling room is also burnt out, and the magazine has been flooded as a precaution. We’ve got flooding in both engine rooms, but at the moment the bilge pumps are keeping ahead of it. Lieutenant Commander Nye is still assessing the damage forward, but most of it appears to be flooding and nothing that will affect the ship’s ability to fight.”
There was a long silence.
“You go find Nye and tell him that he needs to get better communications going with this bridge,” Wallace snapped. “Rear Admiral Glassford is ordering a retirement—some Jap submarine just blew the Boise and Ford out of the water.”
Jacob felt his face pale.
“Aye-aye, Sir,” Jacob replied. “I’ll go find Commander Nye right now.”
“Report to me on the bridge when done,” Captain Wallace ordered, his tone only slightly more neutral. “We’ll discuss some changes to procedures.”
“Sir, do you need the division heads?” Jacob asked.
“No, I think you’re quite capable of passing along my guidance,” Captain Wallace said. “Get moving.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” Jacob said, then realized he was talking to a dead phone.
“Lieutenant Locher!” Jacob barked after a moment, looking around in the darkness.
“Sir,” Chief Roberts said quietly, gesturing for Jacob to step away from Teague.
“Yes, Chief?” Jacob snapped.
“Lieutenant Locher’s overboard,” Chief stated.
“What?!” Jacob asked, similarly dropping his voice.
“He jumped when we took the hit to Turret Three,” Chief Roberts said, continuing to make sure no one was present. “One of the runners saw him do it. I was going to inform you right when Captain Wallace called.”
Jacob recoiled and opened his mouth to yell at Chief Roberts. Regarding the man’s face and considering what he’d said, he stopped.
Panic is catching, Jacob thought. We were all so distracted by the casualties that we didn’t even notice, and it’s not like we would have stopped for him.
“Thank you, Chief,” Jacob said after a moment, then took a deep breath. “That was a good decision.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Chief Roberts replied. “I would suggest you inform the captain, and only the captain, when you see him next.”
“Agreed,” Jacob stated, his tone grim. “See that he’s listed with our casualties as ‘missing’ when you provide your report to the Surgeon.”
“Aye aye, Commander,” Chief Roberts replied.
With that, Jacob stepped out onto the Houston’s deck for his journey down to Damage Central.
Pearl Harbor
0900 Local (1400 Eastern)
4 April 1943
“Well Lieutenant Cobb, I don’t mean to be rude, but we need your bed,” Commander Rolland Sampson, USNR, drawled in an attempt at humor. “If these were normal times, I’d keep you here, as I am particularly worried about your shoulder blade. But you’re ambulatory, and that means you can convalesce at home.”
Lieutenant Eric Cobb, formerly of the carrier Hornet by way of the flattop Ranger, fought to keep his face neutral. Sampson’s expression was very apologetic, the man’s brown eyes sad underneath his dark brown hair.
That would work if ‘home’ wasn’t currently at the bottom of the North Pacific, Eric thought, his blue eyes narrowing. He had just been allowed to roll over onto his backside and sit up in his bed after the wounds he suffered during the Battle of Hawaii just over a week past. It was still painful to move due to the sixty stitches in his back and cracked scapula.
Unfortunately the bastard’s got a point, Eric thought, his gaze falling on the empty bed across from him. The grievously wounded sailor that had occupied the space had given up the ghost sometime the night before, slipping into death despite the doctors believing the Minneapolis man might make it.
“Sir, I’m going to need to make a phone call,” Eric stated, wincing as he sat up.
“Understood Lieutenant,” Sampson replied. “We will give you some medications for the pain. It is absolutely imperative that you do not drink while taking these.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” Eric said.
Although maybe sweet oblivion wouldn’t be so bad after all, he thought, then mentally shook the words away. I’m not a quitter.
“You’ll have to come back in four days so we can take the stitches out,” Sampson continued, gesturing for two orderlies to help Eric stand up. The younger officer was able to do so without help, but only after grunting involuntarily as the pain shot all across his back.
“You’re not going to be able to fly for at least six weeks,” Sampson continued. “I’m serious, Lieutenant Cobb.”
“Sir, I’m not even sure what squadron, if any, I’m assigned to,” Eric said disgustedly, then caught himself. “Sorry, Sir.”
Sampson gave Eric an understanding look.
“Lieutenant Cobb, I know that you’ve been through a lot,” Sampson said. “I think I’d be rather disgusted at your luck to this point myself. Hopefully you’ll be able to get some rest as you recover. You’ll need to go see the adjutant for your orders after Nurse Bowden gets you a sling.”
“Aye aye, Sir,”
Eric responded, walking gingerly towards the doors out of the ward, the orderlies close behind him.
Two hours later, Eric stood in fresh khakis with his right arm in a sling. Beside him, a rolling clothes rack held three garment bags with a new set of whites and three more sets of khakis enclosed within them. A short, attractive nurse stood holding the other side of the rack in order to keep it from rolling away with the strong breeze blustering in from the harbor. Looking across the choppy blue waters, the sun sparkling off the waves, Eric watched tugs gingerly moving the battleship Maryland towards the dry dock.
“She doesn’t look good, does she?” Nurse Bowden asked, her brown eyes narrowing as she studied the Maryland.
“No, no she really doesn’t,” Eric replied. He gave the woman a sideways glance as the wind moved her shoulder length brunette hair. The two of them waited a few more minutes in silence.
“I hope being this late will not reflect badly on my brothers’ next fitness report,” Eric said, annoyed. In addition to being head nurse for the casualty ward, Beverly Bowden was married to one Major Max Bowden, the commander of Marine Fighter Squadron (VMF) Fourteen.
“Well your sister-in-law probably had to take them the car over at Ewa,” Beverly replied quickly. “That’s okay, I needed some time from inside the ward anyway.”
Eric nodded at that last statement.
“I can only imagine how hard it is for all of you every day,” Eric replied. “Just how bad is the bed situation?”
“Now that they’ve plucked everyone they’re going to out of the water, we’re over three hundred beds short,” Beverly replied lowly after glancing around. Eric looked at her, stunned.
“My god,” he said. “How many dead?”
“I haven’t been shown the full casualty figures.” Beverly’s voice was strained as she continued. “Arizona, Saratoga, and Pennsylvania went down with over half their crews. Colorado was not much better. That’s over three thousand men right there. We’ve put two hundred more in coffins since the 27th ourselves.”
Eric wished he hadn’t asked as he watched Beverly become more agitated as she continued talking. Before he could say something, a familiar voice behind him stopped the conversation.
“Lieutenant Cobb!” Ensign Charles Read said, genuine joy in his slightly twangy voice. Turning, Eric was similarly overjoyed to see the tall, lanky Missourian also in suspiciously fresh-looking khakis. To Eric’s surprise, the man’s dark hair was buzzed in a very severe crew cut. Read’s right arm was also in a sling, an injury suffered when his SBD Dauntless had been gunned out of the sky by Japanese fighters.
In some ways, I wish I had taken your bird from you when mine went down, Eric thought. At least then I might have been able to defend myself. Then again, Dauntless versus fighters probably wouldn’t have gone well even if you’d seen them.
Like Eric, Read was accompanied by a nurse dragging a clothing rack. To the senior officer’s bemusement, the sandy blonde woman was even shorter than the dimunitive Nurse Bowden. Her blue eyes met Eric’s with an easy smile, the grin making her oval features and aquiline nose even more attractive.
“Is this the famous Lieutenant Cobb I’ve been hearing about for the last two days?” she asked, her voice a high alto.
“I’m sorry, miss, but you have me at a disadvantage,” Eric drawled, giving Read a speculative look. “It appears many women talk about me in Hawaii, so I may be mistaken in assuming it is Ensign Read who has spoken of me.”
Eric saw the woman’s smile waver a little bit, and realized what he said could have been misconstrued.
“Jennifer, he’s on pain meds,” Beverly said with a laugh of his own. “What he means is that his sister is out here, as well as his three brothers. Two of them fly with Max.”
“Oh, your poor mother,” Jennifer replied, genuinely shocked.
“Well she didn’t have all of us at once,” Eric replied dryly, drawing a laugh from everyone. Jennifer blushed slightly.
“No, I mean to have all of you here at risk,” Jennifer said quickly, looking sheepish. Eric noted that Beverly stiffened at the other nurse’s statement, then quickly relaxed. “Oh, and as Beverly said, I’m Jennifer, Jennifer Zempel.”
Eric nodded towards Jennifer and instantly regretted it, pain shooting up his back and neck as he moved.
“My apologies,” he bit out.
“No, mine,” Jennifer said quickly, dropping her hand and stepping towards him concerned.
“He’s got stitches in his back,” Beverly explained. Eric noted that she surreptitiously checked to make sure he hadn’t ripped any of them.
“Perils of doing business,” Eric gritted out. A car horn honked behind him, as a battered Packard sedan pulled up to the building. To Eric’s surprise, it was not neither Sam nor David Cobb that hopped out from the passenger seat, but his youngest brother, Nicholas “Nick” Cobb.
“What, you were expecting a gorilla with mug that sorta looks like yours?” Nick asked, noting the surprise on Eric’s face as he moved around to open the door. Unlike any of his three brothers, Nick was rail thin and clearly under six feet in his whites. While his build hid a wirty strength and athleticism that had served him well for several years, it was pretty clear the Cobb gene pool had been all out of “monster juice” by the time it got to Nick.
“Just because Mom apparently stunted your growth is no reason to compare poor Sam and David to King Kong,” Beverly said with a laugh.
“I go with the theory that Mom would have murdered Dad in his sleep if she’d had another baby the size of Mr. Bowling Ball over there,” Nick said, thumbing towards his brother.
“I see you intend to take full advantage of my injured state,” Eric bit out.
“Oh this is going to be more fun than when Sam got that hernia in eighth grade,” Nick said. “Especially since you don’t have a twin to set up a cruel trap for me.”
Jennifer looked from Eric to Nick, gaze lingering on the younger Cobb.
Ydidn’t get our size but you sure got an extra helping of handsome, Eric thought, suppressing a wry grin.
“Are you two always like this?” Jennifer asked wryly.
“Only when they’re worried about each other and don’t want to show it,” a female voice chimed in as Sadie Cobb, Eric’s sister-in-law, stepped from the other side of the car.
What in the Hell is going on here? Eric thought.
“Where are Sam and David?” Eric asked, turning to look at Beverly. The nurse simply smiled thinly, then gave Eric a very gingerly delivered hug.
“I’ll let your brother tell you,” she whispered in Eric’s ear. “They were fine when I last saw them.”
The hairs on the back of Eric’s neck rose up as Nurse Bowden stepped away. He saw that her eyes were glistening, and she quickly turned away from Eric.
“Come Jennifer, I think we’ve got work to do,” Beverly declared
“I’ll write,” Jennifer said cheerfully, giving Charles a hug. She turned to Eric.
“It was nice finally meeting the famous Lieutenant Cobb,” she said with a smile and a wave. With that, the short, friendly nurse turned to follow Nurse Bowden back towards the hospital’s front doors.
“Kind of shocked to see you in khakis already,” Nick commented, looking his brother up and down.
“Yes, I’m just as amazed as you are,” Eric said. “I don’t see it happening with whites though.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised, Sir,” Charles intoned. Eric turned to look at the man.
“Why is that, Ensign Read?” Eric asked.
“Because they’ve taken all the deceased men’s uniforms they could find from ships that made it back and put them with whatever clothes they had on hand,” Nick muttered, fixing Read with a hard look as he grabbed the last of Eric’s clothes.
Eric stopped dead in his tracks.
“What?” he asked.
“Yes Sir, we’re both likely wearing some dead man’s clothing,” Read said, his voice full of gallows humor.
“I was waiting on a taxi to take me to the BOQ, Ma’am,” Charles replied, speaking of the Bachelor Officer’s Quarters.
“Nonsense,” Sadie snapped. “There’s room at our house.”
Nick and Eric both looked at their sister-in-law with a stunned expression.
“Oh don’t give me that look, either of you,” Sadie said. “That is, providing Ensign Read can sleep on a sofa bed. You know if he goes to the Bachelor’s Quarters his survivor leave’s going to end up with him on duty a lot.”
Nick and Eric both shrugged, knowing their sister-in-law had a point.
“You signed out to the BOQ’s, Read?” Eric asked.
“No Sir, they just told me to sign out as “survivor’s leave” and to pay attention for a general recall,” Read replied evenly.
“All right, looks like you’re coming with us,” Eric replied.
Five minutes later, after he had slowly and excruciatingly eased into the back seat behind Sadie, Eric finally had a chance to follow Beverly’s advice.
“Okay, where are those two lugs and why does Beverly look like she saw a ghost?” Eric asked as Sadie shifted gears.
“This goes no further than this car,” Nick said, looking pointedly at Read. “Sam and David are aboard the Long Island and shipped out last night.”
“What?!” Eric asked, jerking upright and instantly regretting it. “I thought they were getting sent back to the mainland?!”
Sadie laughed bitterly at that, drawing a sorrowful look from Nick.
“Apparently Captain Browning, Vice Admiral Halsey’s Chief of Staff, pointedly asked why the only Marines who ‘actually killed something’ were being sent away from where the action was,” Nick explained. “I met him when they gave me my Navy Cross. He’s an asshole.”
Strangely, I can’t argue with his logic, Eric thought. Even if it puts my brothers at risk.
