ROCKS AND SHOALS

by M. L. Maki

  Geller and Jargon talk as they are practicing. After the first round, Jargon announces, “The sailor or Marine with the highest score on uniform appearance and military precision as decided by us, will get the ride. No person gets more than one ride. The XO gets the tie breaker.”

  Spike nods, “Motivation. I like that.”

  OFFICER’S CLUB, PUGET SOUND NAVAL SHIPYARD, BREMERTON, WASHINGTON

  1200, 26 November, 1942

  Captain Heard, commanding officer of the light cruiser Columbia, sits at a table with his XO, Allister French, his Chief Engineer, Shawn Hughes, and Captain Tenzar, commanding officer of the Long Beach. Hughes, “So, Liz and her submarine captain got married?”

  Tenzar, “Yes. They’re honeymooning their way back. They’ll be home tomorrow.”

  Heard, “What happened to your XO, Ed?”

  Tenzar, “He was showing off for a girl and wrapped his car around a tree. He’ll be in the hospital for a month or more.”

  Heard smiles, “Bad judgement. Don’t you agree, CHENG?”

  Hughes, “I do, sir. It’s a guy thing that we believe we have to impress a girl. If you aren’t good enough being yourself, move along.”

  Tenzar gives Hughes a quizzical look, “And who is your girl, Shawn?”

  Hughes looks him in the eyes, “I have one in mind, but nothing has come of it. Anyway, we have a war to fight. That said, I’m enjoying a somewhat involuntary vow of chastity.”

  Tenzar, “Do we know her name?”

  Hughes, “Sir, everyone knows her name. Showing off in a car wouldn’t impress her, though Lord knows what will.”

  Heard, “The thing is, you need a new XO, and nuclear trained officers are not exactly thick on the ground.”

  Hughes looks between the two captains, understanding showing in his eyes, and his mouth drops open.”

  Tenzar, “Quite true.” He smiles, “Shawn, do you accept the post of XO?”

  “Yes, sir. Um, wow. Yes, sir.”

  Heard, “It’s been an honor to serve with you, Commander Hughes. I wish you fair winds and following seas.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll always value all you taught me. It’s been an honor, sir.”

  Tenzar, “Might I proffer some advice?”

  Hughes, “Yes, sir.”

  “That girl of yours, let her go and find someone who can be a good officer’s wife. That’s what you need. You’re going places, Commander. Find someone who can help you soar, instead of a wife who’s already flying.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  NAS PATUXENT RIVER

  1540, 26 November, 1942

  Spike lowers the canopy on her bird, “How are you doing back there?”

  Cooper, “Okay. I don’t know how to talk on the radio.”

  “I’ll do it for now. You’ll pick it up.”

  “Okay.

  “Now, we practice the show.” On radio, “Patuxent tower, Blue Angel flight, ready to taxi.”

  “Blue Angel flight, taxi to runway six and hold.”

  “Six and hold, Blue Angel.” She trips the brakes and they taxi, “Sterile cockpit until 10K. Alright?”

  “Roger, Spike,”

  Fat Albert follows them to runway six. They stop at the runway and wait as a C-56 lands. “Blue Angel, Patuxent. Clear for takeoff on runway six. Climb to angels 25 and proceed to Bongo.”

  “Clear, Angels 25, Blue Angel 1.” She trips the brakes and goes to full military.

  Cooper, “Oh shit!”

  “Sterile.” Spike eases back on the throttles as they climb. “Okay. 10K. You can talk now.”

  “My lord, that was fun.”

  “Yeah. Best carnival ride in the world. Keep in mind, we were just at full military. In zone five, we really go. At Bongo we’ll practice some maneuvers. Remember the grunt exercise you were taught.”

  “Okay. Got it.”

  “We’re supposed to have the training box to ourselves. Albert is orbiting to the north watching our backs. I need your eyes out looking for traffic. Okay, we’re turning north and going to zone five. Grunt.”

  Barely able to speak, Cooper grunts, “Clear.” She rolls and pushes the throttles past the gate to zone five afterburner. Cooper moans, “Fuck.”

  “Wings level. Grunt.” She pulls back on the stick and they shoot straight up. She kicks over the stick, and they roll, spiraling upward.

  “Mother fucker.”

  “Wings level. Grunt.” She pulls back into a dive and rolls upright. “Time for the loop. Grunt.” She pulls back on the stick, gracefully climbing into the loop. Hearing Cooper grunting, she smiles. She rolls out level, “Minimum turn. Grunt.” She snaps left and pulls the stick back into a sustained seven G turn.

  “Oh God!”

  “Wings level. How are you doing?”

  “I feel like I just ran a marathon. Now I understand why you have to be in such good shape.”

  She chuckles, “At no time did I exceed seven Gs. We routinely pull nine.”

  “Roger that, Spike.”

  “Can you do this?”

  Cooper laughs, “Can I? It was amazing. Terrifying, but amazing. Thank you for choosing me.”

  “No problem. Now, let’s see if we have the landing show sorted out.” On radio, “Patuxent tower, Blue Angel flight. Request to marshal.”

  PIER 6, PSNS, BREMERTON, WASHINGTON

  0800, 27 November, 1942

  Commander Shawn Hughes carries his bag from his car. It seemed exceedingly weird to be driving into the industrial area. It would never be allowed in the eighties. Two petty officers in blues run up and salute, “We have your bags, sir.”

  Hughes hands them over and goes on board the Long Beach. He sees that the three triple turrets and new masts are in place. She looks complete. Forward of the aft turret, they are installing a vertical launcher cell. There’s a five-inch gun on each side of the forward superstructure. Five-inch 54’s have replaced the old five-inch 38’s on the 01 level. The 54 is an auto-loading gun. The same as those on the Fife. The fiberglass weather protection has been replaced by light steel armor. He sees four CIWS guns on the corners of the fore and aft superstructure. It has the same SPS-48 and 49 radars, but the four big missile guidance radars have been replaced with six small units. Three each on the forward and aft superstructure. The painting is almost finished. On the aft service brow, sailors are loading supplies. He walks up the formal brow, salutes the flag, then salutes the watch, “Commander Hughes reporting as XO.”

  “Yes, sir. Welcome aboard. Do you wish the messenger to show you to your stateroom?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll find it. Where is the captain, and where can I get a hard hat?”

  The officer pulls a hat out of a wood box. It’s already painted with his name and ‘XO USS Long Beach, CGN-9.’ “The captain is ashore, sir.”

  “Thank you. Carry on.” He walks aft, past the torpedo launcher, and takes a ladder up to the 01 level. The 01-level boat deck is devoid of its usual complement of boats. Up another ladder and he steps through the door into the helicopter hanger. The hanger takes up the full beam of the ship, overhanging the weather deck below. The nonskid is installed and there’s a removable railing installed around the RAST system. The hanger, designed for two helicopters, is currently loaded with boxes and equipment. Beyond the flight deck, a crane lowers an eight-tube missile module into the Mark 41 missile launcher. He studies the rigging. To himself, “All is in order. Good.”

  He leaves the naval officers and civilians watching the evolution and goes forward through the hanger. Down two decks to the main deck, he continues forward on the port side, returning salutes and speaking briefly to each sailor he meets. When he gets to the forward launcher, he checks it out. It has twelve eight-cell modules. Three cells in the center are dedicated to a reloading crane, giving the launcher ninety-three missiles. “Wow. With both launchers, there are one hundred and eighty-six missiles. That’s a fuck ton of missiles. Cool.”

  He walks aft on the 01 level and up three d
ecks to the bridge. It’s similar to the Columbia. The brass is well polished. There’s an additional radar repeater. There are already chairs fitted labeled ‘CO’ and ‘XO.’ He smiles, then looks through the chart table to make sure it is stocked.

  Captain Tenzar walks in. Hughes looks up and offers his hand, “Reporting aboard, sir.”

  “Welcome, XO. As you can see, we’re getting there. Let’s go to my office.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tenzar’s office is attached to his in-port cabin on the main deck. Walking through the interior of the ship, Hughes spots his own stateroom and office. They sit down and a steward serves coffee and cookies. “Well, Hughes. What do you think of my baby?”

  “The learning curve is steep, sir. Those I have met in the crew seem squared away and mostly happy.”

  “Mostly?”

  “Sir, I’m sure you know, a bitching sailor is a happy sailor. When they stop bitching, that’s when things get scary.”

  Tenzar smiles, “Yeah, you’re right. You’ve worked a lot with Admiral Klindt and we have our ORSE coming up. What should we expect?”

  “First, sir, we should expect Captain Warren or Captain Rickover to conduct it. Both are no nonsense officers.”

  NAS PATUXENT RIVER

  1427, 27 November, 1942

  Commander Hunt has figured her maneuvers for the air show. This flight is all about the landing. She’s just finished a sightseeing tour for her backseat passenger. “How are you doing back there, Sass?”

  AD2(AW) Lori ‘Sass’ Givens, the latest winner in the uniform and drill contest, says, “Over the moon, ma’am. This is so cool!”

  “I know it is. I need a sterile cockpit now. Time to make the cut. Grunt.” Spike rolls her plane ninety degrees and pulls a seven G turn. She lines up on the runway two miles away. In moments, she flares and kisses it in. Fat Albert landed right before her. It’s ramp lowers and the Marines and ground crew march out. Her yellow shirt directs her into position and she opens the canopy. When her bird is stopped, the crew salute. The yellow shirt crisply directs chocking the tires and safety tagging the gun. She quickly goes through the engine shut down as Washington opens the steps and climbs up to assist her.

  Spike climbs down the ladder as Washington assists Sass. When her feet are on the ground, she does a precise about face and her crew salute again. She returns the salute. Her squadron is in front of a crowd of actual base workers.

  Chief Geller, playing the mayor, says, “Commander, welcome to Shaggy, Oklahoma, USA.”

  Spike, “Hand salute.” Her squadron and the Marines salute the mayor. Doing precise facing movements, she walks to Bobby, offering her hand. “We are honored to be in Shaggy, sir.” Then she steps to the microphone, “Speech, talk, talk, talk.” She steps back, about faces, and says, “Blue Angels, carry on.” They salute and with precise movements, break formation. The sailors set up boundaries around the two planes and perform the post flight. The Marines crisply set up the posting of the guard.

  Spike turns to Bobby, “What do you think?”

  Bobby grins, “It’s all a dog and pony show, Spike. Damn if we don’t make it look good.”

  Major Pettigrew approaches, “I agree. Very good. New York is tomorrow at ten a.m.”

  Spike smiles, “Major?” Pettigrew looks confused, then salutes. She returns it, “Thank you, Major.”

  A civilian in a suit approaches Spike, bows, and hands her a letter. She opens it. It’s an invitation to the White House for dinner. She hands the invitation back to the man, “Please give the President and Mrs. Roosevelt my regards, but I am unable to attend.”

  Stunned, Pettigrew says, “Commander, you cannot turn down an invitation to the White House. It’s not done.”

  Spike turns to him, “The request is personal, not professional. I’m not going.”

  “But, why? It would be great publicity.”

  “Major, no one there is buying bonds. This is not negotiable.” She turns to the Presidents aide, “Sorry, sir, but no.”

  “They will wish to know why, Commander.”

  Spike is silent for a moment, “Tell them the visit is incompatible with my current schedule. That, and as a commander, I’m unworthy of the honor. Good day, sir.” She turns back to her people, “Ensign Lord, please make sure everything is in order and the birds are clean, then grant liberty to all hands. Sergeant, make sure your men have their gear squared away and all equipment in readiness, then grant your men liberty. Tomorrow, we go to New York. Bright and early, people.” She turns back to Pettigrew, “I need to pack and do a few things. Good day, Major.” She walks back through the hanger and gets into her Packard.

  CHAPTER 24

  OVAL OFFICE, WHITE HOUSE

  Franklin Roosevelt sets down the phone, “She refused again. What does it mean ‘a commander isn’t worthy of the honor’?”

  Eleanor smiles, “Good for her, Franklin. Stop asking.”

  Admiral Leahy has a sour expression, “She’s protesting her treatment. An officer should accept what comes and do their duty.”

  Eleanor, “Admiral, professionally she has. After all, she hasn’t filed a complaint. She hasn’t run to the newspapers. This was a personal invitation and she has the right to decline. As much as I would like to see her, I agree with her.”

  Roosevelt, “There was the Hemingway article.”

  Leahy, “In fairness, it was the Army and Navy public relations people who invited the press. She did not accept an interview and did not comment or approve the article. Hemingway reported on what he saw and heard, and he had the right to do so.”

  Roosevelt, “I see. What about her relationship with Swedenborg?”

  Leahy, “I spoke to Admiral Lee. He assured me the report is in error. She was on leave with her close friends and they chose to visit the Swedenborg’s. She’s single. The date in England was more of a national thank you than an actual date. She has no romantic relationship with the British flyer, Johnson.”

  Roosevelt, “What’s Lee’s connection to her?”

  Leahy smiles, “Lee considers her his adopted daughter. I understand she stays at his home when she’s in town.”

  Roosevelt, “Where do we stand on promoting her?”

  Leahy, “Admiral King has assigned Vice Admiral Ren to the promotion board. He’s on board for her promotion.”

  Roosevelt, “So, it comes down to the Senate. Russell is immovable.”

  Eleanor, “Russell is one vote. I’m still canvassing the wives, dear.”

  Roosevelt, “And, we’ll continue to wine and dine the senators. We must find the votes.”

  Leahy, “None of the females now serving, have been promoted beyond Commander. This is about more than Commander Hunt.”

  Eleanor, “Now that might be newsworthy.”

  Roosevelt, “Oh God, dear. We’ll work congress and sort this out. Thank you, Admiral.”

  BLUE ANGEL 1, 2000 FEET SOUTH OF FLOYD BENNET FIELD, NEW YORK

  0940, 28 November, 1942

  Spike slowly descends over the lower bay, “Blue Angel 1, Bennet Field, the airspace is yours. All other traffic is diverted.”

  “Bennet, Blue Angel 1, roger.” On intercom, “Okay, here we go, Cooper. Speed. Angels. Smoke on.” They flash down runway 6 at 100 feet, just under the speed of sound. “Grunt.” She climbs out vertical, spinning the jet. Then she rolls into a Cuban 8. “Grunt.” Flying back down the runway, she starts a loop 200 feet above the ground. “Speed. Angels.” Cooper takes quick breaths and bears down, grunting.

  Spike, “Show center. Speed. Grunt.” She rolls left int a seven G minimum distance turn. She completes the turn and rolls her wing level. “Speed. Climbing out.” She climbs in a gentle left turn, “Burners on. And off. Speed. Angels.” At one hundred feet, she passes perpendicular to the runway at just under the speed of sound. “Configuring for slow pass.”

  Cooper, “Climb. Traffic at four o’clock.”

  Spike rolls level, “Grunt.” She goes to zone five and puts
the’14 on its tail.

  They hear, “Buckboard 277, divert. Divert. This is closed airspace.” Buckboard 277, a new USAAF C-130, “Oh, yeah. Bennet. Buckboard diverting. Sorry.”

  Spike, “Thank you, Radar.” She gently curves back into line, wings forward, flaps and slats down, landing gear out. “Speed. Angels.” The F-14 slowly flies down show center. Then, she rolls to the right three hundred and sixty degrees in eight precise forty-five degree moves, keeping her bird precisely level. They circle around, “Dirty loop. Gear down. Speed Angels.” Then, “Speed. Angels. 200 feet. Level. Cleaning up.” She turns the bird, “Okay, photo pass. Speed. Angels.” She rolls sixty degrees left toward the crowd, fast enough for the wings to stay swept back. “Smoke off.”

  Spike flies clear and Hook, in Fat Albert, requests to land. Spike, “Bennet Field, Blue Angel 1 requests to land and taxi to show center.”

  “Blue Angel, Bennet, you are cleared to land and taxi. You are behind Fat Albert.”

  Spike kisses the landing and taxies to show center. When her bird is completely stopped, the ramp on Fat Albert lowers and the Marines and ground crew silently perform the rehearsed drill. She finishes the shut-down check list, and when her people are in position, she stands in the cockpit and waves. The crowd responds with waves and cheers. She and Cooper climb out of the plane and continue the drill with her crew. She marches to her squadron and they salute her. After she returns the salute, she about faces and goes up the stairs to the stage.

  She offers her hand to Mayor Fiorello La Guardia. He takes it in both of his hands, “Commander. Commander that was astounding. We, all of us, we are so very impressed.” Then he turns to the microphone, “New York! Please give a warm welcome to the hero of Great Britain. The scourge of the Luftwaffe. The Dragon Lady herself, Commander Samantha Hunt.”

  Spike turns to the crowd and waves. The tarmac is filled with people; men, women, and children. Many are in uniform. They look up at her in adoration and awe. The silence is broken by a child, “Hello, Dragon Lady!” The tension breaks, a laugh ripples through the crowd.