ROCKS AND SHOALS

by M. L. Maki

  “Is this what you wanted to talk about? Tell me, Mr. Diggs, are you a member of her fan club?”

  Diggs, “It’s the question I’m asking you?”

  “Well, I’m a journalist. It’s my role to be a fair and neutral observer. I’m thinking your position is much more interesting.”

  “I do not speak for the senator. Also, I need this conversation to be off record.”

  “So far, we haven’t had a conversation.” He looks at Diggs, “So, what do you know about the medal fiasco for the women?”

  “That’s a Navy thing. Congress has nothing to say about a medal once it’s approved.”

  “Congress approves promotions.”

  “Up to flag rate, it’s a slate of proposed promotions. We can only approve all, or none.”

  “And Commander Hunt?”

  “We’ve not received her name.”

  “And if you did?”

  “There are ninety-six senators. It takes fifty-eight for approval. The senate is very conservative.” He takes a sip of his drink, “Do you think she should be promoted?”

  Hemingway smiles, “If a man had done what she’s done, would you recommend he get awarded and promoted?”

  Diggs smiles, “That’s the issue, isn’t it? Women should not be in combat. A society that sends it’s baby producers into combat cannot be far from collapse.”

  “Your opinion, or a biblical principle?”

  “It’s common sense. I’m sure the bible agrees. Any expert on how societies work would agree. Even savages keep their women safe, and only the men fight.”

  Hemingway laughs, “You don’t know much about native tribes. I have it on reliable authority that the women of a tribe are the most terrifying.”

  “But, what do you think?”

  Hemingway is silent until he has Digg’s undivided attention, “I watched for nine months while the Germans tried again and again to kill her. They tried everything: aerial ambushes, snipers, the SS, and they all failed. Leaders within the Navy have tried to destroy her career. They too have failed.

  “What I see before me is a civilian bureaucrat who wants to take a shot at destroying her. Whether or not she should be a warrior is not for me, or you, to say. She is who she is. She’s done a damn good job. I’ve heard expert fighter pilots say that none is her equal in the air. I know for a fact that Eisenhower respects her. I also know the nineteen ninety admirals respect her.

  “With all of that, what I think is irrelevant. I’m smart enough to stay out of her way. I would never bet against her. I’m doing quite well writing about her and her unit. If you are fishing for an ally, I suggest you try somewhere else. Thanks for the beer.”

  ADMIRAL LEE’S HOME

  Sam and Ashley are cooking dinner and talking about the day’s events. Ashley, “This whole mess was created by Knox and a handful of congressmen. He’s more likely to be fired then Swede or Thud are.”

  Lee comes in, “Hi, Babe.” He kisses Ashley and hugs Sam. “How are you, darlin’?”

  “Today was a roller coaster. Are the guys getting canned?”

  “No. They showed up in King’s office with letters of resignation. He told them their request was denied and dismissed them both. In short, they got away with it.”

  Sam shakes her head, “Will this hurt their careers? I wish they hadn’t done it.”

  Lee, “Darlin’, they both have the CMH. Nothing can hurt their careers. It would look even more idiotic than what did happen. You don’t give someone the CMH and fire them in the same day.”

  “Okay, what’s next on the agenda?”

  “Our wedding tomorrow afternoon. Then, dinner at the White House the next day.”

  “Why, Dad? Do they think it will make up for what they did to me and my people?”

  “The President wants you there. I guess, he thinks that it shows he supports you.”

  Sam, “Right. It lets him play 1, 2, 3, not it. Sorry, Dad. My train leaves for Tennessee that morning. Please send my apologies to the President and First Lady.”

  She looks him the eyes for a long moment. He nods, “I’ll let them know.”

  BOBLINGEN BOMBER FACTORY, BOBLINGEN, GERMANY

  1215, 23 October, 1942

  Lt. Peter ‘Moses’ Moskowitz is assembling wing sections on an Amerika bomber. His degree is in mechanical engineering. He knows aeronautics. This plane will fly, and will fly at an extreme altitude. An overseer, swinging a stick, walks up behind him, “Prisoner, I’m told you are American.”

  Eyes on his work, “I am.”

  “You’re an officer.”

  “I am a prisoner.”

  “You were an officer.”

  He suppresses a sigh, “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you know how planes are made?”

  Dangerous ground, “Sir, I know some.”

  “Come with me.” He follows the overseer to an office that overlooks the work floor. An old man behind a desk looks him over. He slides a piece of paper and a pencil to him, “Calculate the cord and center of gravity.”

  Moses hesitates, then does so. It’s easy math. He slides the paper back.

  The man looks at his calculations, “What’s wrong with this design?”

  “The center of lift is too far aft. The aircraft would have to trim too much, inducing drag.”

  “Correct. You now work in my office drawing design changes.”

  Moses looks down, thinking, “Just how smart is this guy. Maybe I can introduce a flaw.” He looks up, “Yes, sir.”

  PRIVATE LOUNGE, THE WHITE HOUSE

  Roosevelt is on the phone, “I’m glad it was a smooth transition. I have full confidence in Commodore Carpenter.”

  Churchill, “Well, yes. This brings me to another matter. I understand that Commodore Hunt was passed over for promotion and denied orders. Franklin, my friend, if you do not value her service, we do. I’d be delighted to take her off your hands.”

  Roosevelt, “It’s a Navy and congressional issue. We’re still sorting it out.”

  “Well, sort it out soon. It’s making you look like an ungrateful fool. I would not have this come between us.”

  “Of course. I agree.”

  Churchill, “Are you aware that His Majesty wishes to elevate her to the peerage?”

  “I was not. As I said, we’ll sort it out.”

  CHAPEL, FORT HUMPHREYS, WASHINGTON, DC

  1400, 23 October, 1942

  Samantha, in full dress blues, stands beside Lee as Ashley’s sister walks up the aisle. She can sense Lee’s nervousness. Looking out over the chapel she sees Admiral Klindt and his wife, Julie; Admiral King and his wife, Mattie, and officers from Lee’s staff. Ashley’s family sits in a small cluster. Then Ashley, on her father’s arm, starts up the aisle. Her smile is only for Rick. Sam smiles.

  The navy chaplain proceeds with the ceremony and it goes off smoothly. “You may kiss your bride.” Lee lifts Ashley’s vail and kisses her gently. “I present Admiral and Mrs. Lee.”

  The officers form up. Sam walks down with the sister, then takes her place at the end, across from King. They draw their swords into an arch, and its King who delivers the welcome to the family swat.

  Sam rides with the Klindts to the reception at the officer’s club. Craig, “Samantha, I’m terribly sorry for how the Navy is treating you right now.”

  “I’m trying, unsuccessfully, to put it out of my mind. Actually, I never really expected more from our leadership.”

  “Well, I do. When senior leadership is discriminatory against any group, it hurts our whole organization.”

  “Well, you wanted me to be a trailblazer, sir. Did you think it would be easy?”

  Craig is quiet. Julie, his wife, says, “We did think it would be just.”

  Sam, “Julie, that isn’t how the world works. If I want it, I’m going to have to fight tooth and nail, and, be ten times better than any man at anything.”

  Craig, “That’s the thing. You already are ten times better. What happened was a flat-o
ut injustice. I did like what Swede and Thud did at the White House. It was amazing.”

  Sam, “I gave the medals to Gloria to give back to the guys. It was a sweet, ultimately useless gesture. I did appreciate it.”

  Craig, “Why Gloria?”

  “She’s Thud’s XO, and she’s in a relationship with Swede.”

  Julie, “Are you serious?”

  “They’re planning a quiet and very private wedding. They don’t want to tell the Navy. At least, not yet. The Navy would pull her from flight duty and order him to impregnate her immediately as proof that women shouldn’t serve.”

  Craig grimaces, “In light of the what’s already happened, I can’t say you’re wrong. I wish them the best and will protect their confidence.”

  “I know, sir.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “With Lee.”

  Julie, “You can stay the night with us, if you wish.”

  Sam, “They’re going to a place on the coast tonight. I’ll have the house to myself. What I need is a ride to the train station in the morning.”

  Julie, “You’re not going to the White House?”

  “No.”

  They get to the reception, “You’re on leave. Your time is yours. Julie, can you give her a ride to the station?”

  “Sure, dear.” She smiles at Sam, “I will enjoy getting to know you better.”

  “Thank you. The train leaves Union Station at 0820.”

  They walk into the reception. Once they’re inside, Admiral King makes a bee line to Samantha. Craig, “Admiral King, may I introduce you to Commander Samantha Hunt, Dame Grand Cross of the Order of the Bath, Distinguished Service Order, mentioned in dispatches, and ignored by us.”

  “Admiral, she received the Legion of Merit.”

  Craig, “Yes, sir, and a demotion, and denied the honors we gave the men who served under her, and an assignment that makes a mockery of her talents.”

  King, “That’s enough, Klindt.”

  “No, sir. I’m just getting started.”

  King takes Samantha’s arm and draws her away. “I’m growing weary of this.” He stops and looks at her. Really looks at her. “Are you going to threaten to resign, too?”

  “No, sir. You would accept mine, and I still have important work to do.”

  “I would not. I understand you’re refusing a visit to the White House.”

  “Yes, sir. My train leaves first thing in the morning.”

  “Trains leave all the time.”

  Samantha remains silent.

  “Why are you refusing to see the President.”

  “Sir, I’m accepting being disrespected and undermined because I do not expect anything else from my leadership. However, I would just as soon escape Washington and get back to a combat assignment. I feel safer knowing who my enemies are.”

  Stunned, he looks at her for a long moment. She quietly returns his gaze. Finally, he says, “Well, that will happen soon enough.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  King, “I appreciate your candor.” He walks away.

  FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, DC

  1623, 23 October, 1942

  An agent walks into Director Hoover’s office, “Sir, we have a report on Commander Hunt. It seems she’s staying at Admiral Lee’s house. Also, sir, she’s skipping dinner at the White House tomorrow and taking the eighty-twenty train to Tennessee.”

  Hoover glowers, “He considers her his daughter. That information is to be expected. Do not pursue any information on Commander Hunt at this time.”

  “Why, sir?” She has to be disgruntled by how she’s being treated.”

  “No doubt. Understand, she’s a hero in the eyes of the populace. We don’t need it getting out that we’re spying on her. It could destroy us on the Hill. That, and the last time we sent an agent to Tennessee, he was run off with a shotgun.”

  “Sir, why didn’t we pursue charges there?”

  “You’re not thinking. We’d have to admit he was an agent, or try for charges in a local court. No court in the south would find against the commander’s family. Not to mention our guy was trespassing. Drop any tail on her, and leave her be. When she falls, it will be her own doing.”

  “Yes, sir. Another thing, Mr. Quincy Diggs bought a ticket on the same train. He’s…”

  “I know who he is. Senator Russell is at the center of the effort to deny her promotion. That damn fool is trying to play spy. Put an agent on the train to make sure he doesn’t follow her off. It wouldn’t do to have a senate chief of staff get shot by Grandpa Hunt. The agent is to leave her alone.”

  “Yes, sir. Do we continue to watch Admiral Ren, Admiral Lee, Admiral Klindt, and Captain Richardson?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  CHAPTER 14

  WASP INDUCTION CENTER, LOVE ARMY AIRFIELD, DALLAS, TEXAS

  1052, 14 October, 1942

  Abigail steps off a C-47 carrying her bag. A US Army sergeant yells, “All WASP’s over here. Come on. We don’t have all fucking day. Form up like you fucking know something.” Abigail and twelve other women line up. The sergeant looks down at his clipboard. He asks each of them their names. He gets to Abigail, “Name.”

  “Abigail Case.”

  “That’s quite the accent. Where are you from?”

  “Australia.”

  “Okay. Ladies, walk with me.” He leads them to a truck and loads them in the back. They’re driven to the infirmary where they receive physicals and are put in a room while they wait to be interviewed.

  When it’s her turn, Abigail goes into an office. An Army Air Force lieutenant says, “Sit. Name. Aviation background.”

  “Abigail Case. I’ve had a private license for ten years. I’ve flown several biplanes for the air show circuit. I’ve also flown the C-47. I’ve been introduced to the F-14 Tomcat, but I haven’t flown one yet.”

  “You’ll fly the F-1 here. Who introduced you?”

  “Commodore Hunt, sir.”

  “You know Hunt?”

  “Yes, sir. She and Houlihan, Jackson, and Swedenborg. They had dinner at my home in Australia.”

  “I need you to sign an agreement that you’ll not seek an assignment with the Navy.”

  “If I don’t?”

  “If you don’t, I’ll throw you out of the program.”

  Abigail smiles, “Excellent. Please throw me out, Lieutenant.”

  “Damn, another one. Go to the barracks. We’ll process you out. Keep in mind, missy, you’re on your own for finding your way back to Australia.”

  She grins at him, “Thank you, sir, and g’day.” She picks up her file and leaves. Carrying her bag to the barracks she’s assigned to, she takes a piece of paper out of her pocket and reads it, “Chilton, Texas. That’s the address he gave me.”

  TRAIN TO EAST TENNESSEE

  0842, 24 October, 1942

  Samantha sits alone in her row. She’s wearing her aviation greens with her updated ribbon stack, wings, and SWO. As the train surges forward, she takes out a book and settles in. An older man in a high-quality business suit sits down across from her. She glances up and goes back to her book.

  “Hello, I’m, um…Quincy Douglas.” He offers his hand.

  She looks up and shakes his hand, “Commander Hunt.”

  “The famous woman aviatrix?”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “They talk about you in the Movietone News.”

  “Do they.”

  “Yes. You’re famous. You must be proud to be so famous. It must be amazing to win all those victories in the sky.”

  “Not really.” She puts her book aside, “What do you do, Mr. Douglas?”

  “I, um, sell milk jugs.”

  “I see.” Sam smiles, “Which size sells the best, the fifteen gallon, or the twenty?”

  “The larger one. There are best sellers.”

  “Mr. Douglas, a twenty-gallon milk jug would weigh about one hundred and sixty pounds, filled. What do you really do?”
She gives him a hard look.

  “I, um…”

  “I saw you at the White House. You’re not press, so you’re government. You’re too incompetent to be FBI. What do you do, and why are you following me?”

  Two seats away, Special Agent Peterson smiles at her last comment.

  Diggs licks his lips, then looks away. Then, “I’m the chief of staff for Senator Russell.”

  “Good. That answers my first question. Now, the second. Why are you following me?”

  Inside, Diggs trembles, thinking, “How the fuck does she know?”

  Sam smiles, “I’m a trained observer. That’s how I know.”

  His eyes open wide, “Damn. How did you know that I…?”

  Sam smiles again, “You haven’t given me your name, or what you want?”

  Finally, he says, “Quincy Diggs, Commander. I wanted to talk to you about your promotion. I thought this would be a good way to find out how you felt about the situation.”

  She stares at him, “By lying to me? I see.” She nods, “Senator Russell, what state is he from?”

  “Georgia.” He breaks eye contact, his heart pounding.

  Sam remains silent until he looks at her again, “I see, and is he fighting for, or against my promotion?”

  “Um. Why do you like killing people.”

  “What a dumb ass question. I hate killing people. Unfortunately, I’m very good at it. You haven’t answered my question.”

  “Um…I need to go…go to the bathroom.” He stands and stumbles forward to the toilet. Sweat beads on his forehead. In the bathroom he looks in the mirror. “That bitch. That fucking bitch. That fucking whore. I’ll teach her.” He takes a leak and washes his hands, then steps out.

  A man stands in his way. Diggs moves to walk by him and the man grabs his arm. “Quincy Diggs?”

  Diggs snarls, “Yes.”

  The man shows a badge, “Special Agent Peterson, FBI. You’re getting off at the next stop.”

  “Why? And take your hand off me.”

  “You’re making a fool of yourself and the bureau has more important things to do than deal with you.”

  “You’re following her?”

  Peterson smiles, “No. I was following you.”

  Diggs blanches, “Why?”

  The train slows to a stop. “This is your stop, sir.” He escorts Diggs to the door and helps him into the platform. Peterson watches him until the train pulls out, then goes back to his seat for a nap.