by M. L. Maki
“I was not. They should put her in a short skirt and have her kiss boys for war bonds. It’s actually all she’s suited for.”
Small grins, “I completely agree.”
USS COLUMBIA, RICH PASSAGE, BREMERTON, WA
0720 PST, 9 October, 1942
Commander Shaun Hughes is on the starboard bridge wing enjoying the view of the green woods. Ahead, The Carl Vinson is already receiving tug boats to moor at Pier B in the Puget Sound Naval Ship Yard. Bremerton looks very different than before he left. The Enterprise is being fitted out at Pier 3. The Long Beach, her refit almost done, is at Pier 6. Several drydocks have Pearl Harbor battleships in them. Captain William Heard joins him, “You’ve been here before?”
“Yeah, I was stationed here for a few months. I worked on that.” He points at the Long Beach.
“What the hell? Where are the stacks?”
“Remember me telling you about nuclear power on the carrier? The Long Beach has the same kind of plant. No stacks needed.”
They can see a large cargo ship rigging LCACs aboard further up the Sinclair inlet. The Hammerhead crane is lowering a large box shaped object into the hull of the Long Beach, forward of the bridge and aft of the 6-inch Mount 2. Heard asks, “What’s that?”
Hughes, “It’s a Mark-41 vertical launcher for missiles. If they let us, I would ask for the same mount.”
“Why?”
“It holds ninety-six missiles in the space that we have forty. And, it can fire them all in less than two minutes.”
“I’m sold. What are the power requirements and weight?”
“Power demands are lower because there are fewer moving parts. The ninety-six-cell unit would weigh another twenty tons, or so, but all the weight would be low in the hull.”
“That’s a lot of weight. Run the numbers.”
“Already have. We would have to remove some ballast, but it’s doable. We would also have to upgrade our guidance radars, but that should be in the works.”
Heard, “Those the LCACs you came up with?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get you a tour, if you’d like.”
“That would be good after we’re settled in. Okay, the tugs are ready for us.
CONTROL CENTER, RAF KENLEY
1615 GMT, 9 October, 1942
Hunt walks into her office, “Cooper, would you send an inquiry to find out if they’re making new AIM-54 Phoenix missiles? The Germans are getting better.”
“Will do, Spike.”
“Thanks, Radar. Also, ask about the laser guided bomb program. It would make precision drops much easier.”
“On it.”
UNDERSECRETARY OF THE NAVY’S OFFICE
Vice Admiral Lee, Admiral King, Vice Admiral Reese, and the undersecretary review the awards package for Yankee. Lee, “Reese, why have you canceled the awards for all the female service members?”
Reese, “No woman can perform at the level of a man, and even if they can, issuing high medals to women would just diminish the value of the medals for the men.”
Lee, “Their records are on the page. Kills are kills. Commodore Hunt has the kills on her record. You’ve denied her promotion and given her a bronze star, while two of her subordinates, with inferior combat records, are getting the Medal of Honor. Eisenhower recommended her for the CMH, and I agreed. I also put her in for captain.”
The undersecretary slams his fist onto his desk, “Understand, Admiral, that as long as I sit at this desk, no woman will ever receive the Medal of Honor. I don’t care what they do. They won’t be promoted over commander, either. Frankly, I would like to demote all of them to lieutenant. Your women should be thankful we let them serve at all.”
Lee takes a deep breath, “You’re going to piss off their commands, and create an enormous amount of negative press during the bond tour.”
“I don’t care. I will not allow a woman to be honored like that. It’s unseemly. It would just go to their heads and every housewife in the country would be dreaming of being a war hero. It isn’t going to happen.”
Lee looks at King and stands, “Sir, my resignation will be on your desk today.”
The undersecretary, “Sit down! We’ll give her the Legion of Merit. Will that shut you up?”
Lee, “I’m giving the females the medals I have the authority to grant. Are you going to interfere with that?”
“No.”
“Very well, sir. Sir, you are wrong about this. These women are sacrificing everything for this country. They’re putting their lives on the line every single day. The world will know you are wrong. Your legacy will be tainted by your beliefs. I recognize that you don’t care right now, but it won’t be long before you do.”
The undersecretary scowls, “What do you mean?”
Lee, “Everyone knows what she’s done. The British are giving her a knighthood. Your pigheaded misogyny is hurting the war effort and might well destroy your career.”
“No. That won’t happen. We all know you feel she is your daughter. You are not shoving the ridiculous beliefs of female equality from your time down our throats. It’s wrong. You can’t see clearly, Lee. No one cares about what a woman does. Dismissed.”
ROOK 132, 200 FEET, APPROACHING BREST, OCCUPIED FRANCE
Lieutenant Commander Gloria ‘Hot Pants’ Hoolihan leads her flight of White Knights. “Okay, GQ, we’re ten miles out. Any radars?”
“It’s ‘Man’ back here. Some search radar from the coast. Nothing aerial.”
“Sorry. Descending. Burners on.” She waggles her wings and descends to a hundred feet.
Man, “Destroyer at 055.”
“Got it.” She skids left and squirts some twenty mike, then pickles off a 1000-pound retarded bomb. The rounds shatter the bridge windows on the destroyer and the bomb hits just forward of the bridge. As she pulls her bird out, the bomb detonates. She can see the destroyer breaking up in her rear-view mirror. “Back on course.”
ENS Steve ‘Man’ Ulhe, whose substituting for Lt. Byron ‘GQ’ Standley, says, “Okay, I can see the pens. We have some ack-ack.”
“I’ll fly like a ninja.”
“I’ve set the bombs for auto release.” They fly directly over their target, the submarine pens. They can feel the remaining three 1000-pound bombs release.
“G’s.” She rolls the jet right and pulling a minimum distance turn. The other five F/A-14s drop their bombs right on target.
They hear, “SAM launch. SAM launch, 095.”
Gloria inverts her bird and on radio, “Invert. Counter measures. NOE.” Chaff and flares shoot skyward as she dives close to the ground, then she comes upright and level, the jet screaming just above the trees. The rest of her flight follow her lead as they head out to sea.
One of her element leaders, Ensign Von ‘NO-NO’ Nix on radio, “NO-NO is hit. Still flying.”
Man, “Rook flight 2, feet wet.”
CHAPTER 3
SUBMARINE PENS, BREST, OCCUPIED FRANCE
1824, 9 October, 1942 (1724 GMT)
German sailors look up as the overhead rumbles with the explosions. It’s loud, but not deafening. Fine dust sifts from the concrete ceiling. They shrug and go back to work. None of the pens are damaged.
CONTROL CENTER, RAF KENLEY
Hunt sits in her chair doing paperwork and listening to the chatter as the first raids against the sub pens clear the coast. “No-No, Knock, you have holes through your right elevator and right vertical stabilizer. How’s your right engine?” Ensign Nick ‘Knock’ Shaddock is RIO for Ensign Edward ‘Flower’ Potts.
No-No’s RIO, Ensign Heather ‘Robot’ Kohlman, “It’s fine.”
The remaining flights of Tomcatters, Knights, and Redcocks call feet wet. Today they’ve hit Bremen, Hamburg, and Keil in Germany, and Brest, La Rochelle, and St-Nazaire in France. Hunt gets up, “I’ll be in my office.” She walks out and to her office. Walking through, she closes the door on her bedroom. She sits down, staring out the window. “I need to fly. I can’t keep sending
those guys out and not fly myself. It’s not right. I’m safe here, and they’re out there. How can I live with that?”
There’s a knock on her door and Cooper puts his head in, “There’s tea and mail on your desk. The letters on top are secure. The award package for the San Fran and the SEALs is on your desk. I’ve gone over them. They just need your signature.”
She gets up and follows him back into her office, “Thanks, Radar.”
“Are you wanting to eat dinner here? You have your SEAL moping around.”
“He’s not my SEAL.”
Cooper grabs a chair and sits, “Then what is he?”
Keeping her back to Cooper, she pours tea for both of them, giving herself time. She turns and hands him a cup. “I don’t know.”
“Boss, I need to know the minefield here. If you like him, that’s cool. I can carve you out some time.”
She takes a sip of tea and meets his gaze.
Cooper, “If he’s a pest and you need me to send him packing, I can make that happen. But, Spike, he took a bullet for you. So, what is he?”
“Cooper, he says he loves me. Honest to God loves me. The real kind. I don’t know what to do.”
“Do you love him back?”
“It isn’t that simple.”
“Bull shit, ma’am. It’s exactly that simple. Your job, your career has nothing to do with your heart. Set all that aside. Do you love him?”
“That’s the thing, I can’t set it aside. I don’t know how.”
“You’re having dinner with him. I’m setting it up. Your bed is big enough for two, if it goes that way.”
“Cooper!”
“Spike, you should get laid.” He smiles and stands, “Dinner is at six-thirty. Wear a nice dress. Not your uniform. I’ll set it up.” He walks out.
She stares after Cooper for a moment, the picks up the official mail. They’re about the four devices on the Beaver, approval for the modifications to the Livermore, and about a coming ORSE for the San Francisco. Then she sees a letter from her grandmother.
Dear Samantha,
I so hope this letter finds you well. The news out of England is frankly terrifying. The reporters came back. Your grandfather was polite and didn’t shoot any of them. There’s a universal prayer for your safety and the safety of your people. I was told by a neighbor who served in the Great War that what you and your people have done is unprecedented.
Our whole community is praying for your safety. Yes, I’m deathly afraid. I understand, though, that you must follow your calling.
We are well here. Your uncle David is chomping at the bit to get out there. He wants to fight, but we want him to finish high school first. Could you please write to him about the value of completing his education?”
Please take care, Darling.
Margaret Hunt
The next letter she picks up is from Shawn Hughes. She looks at it for a moment, then sets it aside. Then she hears the strike group landing. She walks out, gets into her jeep and heads for the flight line. A few minutes later she pulls up behind Gloria’s hard shelter. When she gets inside, Gloria is climbing down from her jet. Man, already down, says, “Hey boss. We hammered them hard.”
“Good. How did it go, Gloria?”
“They had infrared guided SAMs. No radar. We’ll need to deal with that.”
Spike, “Your plan to invert, pickle, then NOE was a good one. Please disseminate it.”
“Will do.”
“Gloria, can I see you in my room in a few minutes?”
“Sure, Hon.”
Spike walk out of the hard shelter and sees No-No and Robot. “What happened?”
They salute and she returns it. No-No, “The SAM launched right below us. I pickled chaff and flares, but it was too fucking close. I tried to wrench it over to mask our exhaust. I think I might have saved our engines. It was hairy as shit, Spike.”
“Any injuries?”
Robot, “Our pride.”
“I can’t tell you how many times I brought my bird back with holes. It happens. Just learn the lesson and move on.”
No-No, “Roger that, Spike.”
She continues her walk, meeting each of the flyers and talking with them.
COMMODORE’S BEDROOM, RAF KENLEY
1730, 9 October, 1942
Sam holds up her blue dress. Gloria knocks and walks in, “What’s up?”
“I need you to make me pretty.”
“Sam, you’re already beautiful. What’s happening?”
“I’m going on a date with a SEAL.”
Gloria, “God, I hope it’s not Triage.”
She looks at Gloria, “No. He’s goners for Sandra. It’s Jeremiah Buford.”
“Good. He’s good looking and solid. This won’t work.” She grabs the dress and puts it away. I’ll be back.” A few minutes later, she walks in with an elegant black dress. “This will work way better.”
Sam, “But, I’m taller than you. Won’t it be too short?”
“Let’s get your make-up on. It’s long enough. It’s below my knees. I promise your ass won’t hang out.” Gloria gets to work. “There, perfect. Make-up, hair, and now the dress. Your black pumps will work.”
Gloria puts the dress over Sam’s head and smooths it down. “Right. Good.” She steps back and surveys her work. “You look delicious. I’m so good.” She laughs at the look on Sam’s face. “Well, I am.”
“Thank you, Gloria.”
“No probs, girlfriend. Now I’m dying to ask. Is it serious?”
“He all but proposed to me in Scotland. I…I was a little too ragged to hear him. I gave him the worst possible answer ever.”
“Oh, Sam. Never tell a man ‘maybe.’ Do you love him?”
“Gloria, how can I love anyone?”
“Get off the fucking cross. I’m out there, too, and I have Swede. Sam, if you can’t trust your own heart, trust mine. Any man who will take a bullet for you is a keeper. Now, hotel, or bringing him back here?”
“Cooper arranged a room and dinner at the Savoy. Gloria, not on a first date.”
“You can and you will. When you come back tomorrow, I want you to have that ‘well fucked’ look on your face. Am I clear?”
Sam brushes away a tear, “I don’t know.”
“Trust me, Sam. You need it. To miss-quote Robin Williams, ‘You are in more dire need of sex than any white woman in history.’ Now, don’t fuck up my work.” She grabs a tissue and fixes Sam’s eyes. “There, all better.”
“Thank you, Gloria.” She hugs her friend.
Gloria hands her the keys to her sports car, “Here, it’s better you drive something nice.”
“Thank you.” They walk out to her office. Buford, gussied up in a black suit and string tie, and Cooper are waiting. They stare and Cooper recovers first, “Have a good night, boss.”
“Thanks, Radar,” she leaves the office. Buford finally moves, following her. Outside, she goes to the driver’s side of Gloria’s car and gets in. Buford gets in on the left side and realizes there’s no steering wheel in front of him. She smiles at his confusion, “I’m a fighter pilot. Didn’t think I was going to let you drive, did you?”
“It did cross my mind. Mostly, I forgot about the backwards Brit thing.”
She fires it up and pulls out, “You look really nice.”
“Thank you. You look…stunning.”
“Thank you, kind sir.” She drives them off base and turns toward London. “Where did you scare up the suit?”
“Your yeoman. I’ve no idea who it belongs to.”
“Well, it works.”
“Where are we going?”
“The Savoy. It’s one of the best hotels in London.”
He smiles, “Straight to a hotel?”
She glances at him, “They have one of the best restaurants in London, as well.”
“Okay, sorry.” He looks out at the devastation of south London, “God. We’re damn lucky we made it.”
“Yes.”
“Look, after you went into the sub, Triage and I talked. He knows how I feel about you.”
“Soon, everyone will know we went on a date. I can’t poop without the crew knowing.”
