by M. L. Maki
Sam smiles, “He’s drunk and pissed off and acting stupid. He’ll sleep it off.” She turns in his arms, “I love you, Jere.” She pulls his head down and kisses him softly.
He pulls back, “Does your dad, the admiral, know about us?”
“Not yet, love. Soon. Let’s go to bed.”
BRIDGE, PRE-COMMISSIONED YORKTOWN, HAMPTON ROADS, VIRGINIA
0630, 22 December, 1942
Captain Sean ‘Groovy’ Miller stands on the bridge watching the tugs disconnect, “Ahead one third.”
The Lee Helm, “Ahead one third, aye. Ahead one third, ordered and answered.”
“Very well, steady as she goes.”
“Steady as she goes, aye. She goes 156. Checking 145.”
Miller, “Lieutenant Parker, take us out. My standing orders are posted.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Miller walks off the bridge and down to engineering control. “Captain in control.”
Miller, ‘CHENG, how is the testing going?”
“Sir, we’re having issues with our feed pumps forward. They’re hunting. We’ve got the ship yard tech and our guys on it. Two plant has a vacuum leak in number 3 main engine. It’s usable, just something we need to chase down. We’re working our way through initial evaluations, sir. There’ll be more problems before we’re done.”
“Okay, keep me informed.” He leaves engineering control and wanders the ship, speaking with his sailors. He pauses near the aft lookout, “My ship. Holy shit. My ship. A year ago, I was commanding the Tomcatters.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, “Well, I don’t need to do everything, but what I need to do, I best get fucking right.”
The aft look out asks, “Sir?”
“What’s your name, Seaman?”
“Sally Donner, sir. From Sacramento, sir.”
“Glad to have you aboard, Seaman Donner.” He walks forward.
BUNGALOW 5, BEVERLEY HILLS HOTEL
0510, 22 December, 1942
Sam and Jere dress in flight suits. She grins, watching him, “I love you.”
He looks up, zipping the suit, “I love you, too.”
She can’t stop smiling, “Jere, just don’t accidently transmit our love over the radio, okay?”
“I won’t. I’m really looking forward to this.”
There’s a knock on the door, and Sam lets her yeoman, Cooper, in. He surveys Jere, “Okay, remember last night’s brief. You stand to the right of senior chief. I don’t normally say anything during the brief but the occasional ‘roger.’ Leave your helmet on. Salute officers. Got it, sir?”
Buford grins, “Yes. Thank you.”
They do a last sweep of the rooms and walk out, Cooper and Jere carrying the bags. The bell hop and a Marine are waiting with a luggage dolly. Sam tips the bell hop. Cooper puts the luggage on the dolly, “I’ll see you at the airfield, ma’am.”
Sam, “Thanks, Radar.”
“Did you eat breakfast? You have time.”
Laughing, Spike says, “Yes, oh master of the meals. We’ll eat.”
Cooper leaves with the bags and they go to the restaurant. Buford pulls out her chair. She grins, “Thank you.” Once he’s seated, she says, “So, medium carbs, lots of protein. Nothing spicy.”
Buford puzzled, “Why?”
Sam grins, “Some swear by peanut butter because it tastes the same coming back up.”
“Oh. I’ll be fine. I do air drops, remember? So, this is okay? You won’t get into trouble?”
“It’s fine. I’m just hoping you won’t get airsick.”
“Cooper was serious, I’m getting to ride through your air show.”
“Yep, he was. Cooper’s right. It gives us a chance to talk…privately.”
“Right.”
MINES FIELD, LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
They finish their breakfast and head to the airfield. Cooper’s already loaded their bags into Fat Albert. Inside the C-130, Cooper helps Buford into the G-suit and gear. “Does my helmet fit you?”
Buford, “Yeah, it’s good. Thank you, Cooper.”
“Remember, we all love her. Have fun. Now get over to the formation before major asshole shows up.” He slaps Buford on the arm, “Take care of her. Understand?”
“Yeah, and thanks, Chief.” He runs to the F-14 where Spike is doing her walk around with her plane captain. Inside the C-130, Cooper settles into the back of the Chevy for the flight to San Diego.
Sam walks around her bird, “Looks good, Handy. Thanks. The major will be here any minute. Let’s get into formation for morning muster and brief.”
ADCS Geller stands next to Buford, “Remember what we taught you last night. Do not touch the ejection handle unless you want to leave. Do not say the word ‘eject’ unless you want to leave. Keep your head on a swivel looking out for traffic. When she calls ‘Grunt’, do the thing we taught you, or you’ll pass out. Don’t play with the other buttons. Handy will show you the button for the intercom. Spike will handle the radio. If you accidently transmit, Lord or Wright in the Albert will call ‘hot mic.’ Got it?”
“Roger, Chief.”
They go through the pre-brief and everyone loads up. ‘Handy’ Washington helps Buford up the steps and into the back seat. He straps him in, making sure it’s good and tight. “Okay, here’s the deal. Keep your hands on your knees, or holding the straps. Don’t touch anything. These are the ejection handles. You don’t want to eject by accident. Bad day. This is the radio. Don’t touch. This is the internal intercom. Spike will handle the radio. Okay? You stay on intercom and all will be good. Do not go on the radio. Then the whole world will know what’s going on. Bad. Very bad. Chief was very clear about that. Got it?”
Buford, bemused, “So, this is a conspiracy?”
Handy grins, “You bet. Good luck.” He moves over and straps Spike in, kissing his hand and touching her helmet. “Good luck, Spike.”
“Thanks, Handy.”
He climbs down, closes the steps, and walks into the C-130. In a few minutes, the ramp is up and the big cargo plane is on the runway and taking off. Spike follows. Soon they are airborne and she comes up on the big planes left wing, “Fat Albert, Blue Angel 1. Everything good over there?”
“Blue Angel 1, Fat Albert, all good here. See you at San Dog.”
“Roger, Albert.” She switches to intercom, “Okay, Jere. We can talk.”
“My God, that was amazing. I love you.”
Sam smiles, I love you, too. Are you intimidated to be in my world?”
“Yeah, but excited as hell, too. What are we going to do about the major?”
“Right now, nothing. He’s digging his own grave.”
“He sends that guy to your room, and we do nothing?”
“Jere, I can’t prove he meant any harm. Maybe he thought I needed to get laid. He’s stupid. I’m going to write a FITREP that should end his career. It’s what he deserves.”
“Okay. Can we talk relationship?”
“Yes.”
It pours out of him, “I love you, and I know you love me, but we haven’t talked about tomorrow. It’s eating at me that we need to keep it all secret. I know I’m not good enough for you. It’s not just our ranks, but the time thing, too. Hell, I don’t even know how old you are. And really, I don’t care. I love you. I want the world to know. Keeping it secret is hard. Really hard.”
“I know. This flight is secret because of the major. He’s an ass and can’t keep his mouth shut. The rest? I get it and I’m trying to figure it out.”
“Who are we hiding from?”
Sam, “Mostly Big Navy and the press. For reasons I do not understand, I’m some sort of a celebrity.”
“I don’t care about any of that. I love you, the person.”
“I know. Look. Being me is hard. Doing what I do is hard. Being in a relationship, any relationship seems impossible. I can’t fart without the Times running a story on it. I have so much responsibility. All the people in the show act as if I’m someone speci
al. I’m having trouble processing it.”
Jere, “Sam, really? You don’t know why? You know why. You’re trying to pretend that it wasn’t your ideas, that it wasn’t you who saved Britain. You saved Britain. It was your ideas. Your decisions. Your leadership. Your people did it, because of you. Sam, think. Why do you think the old farts in congress are against women rising above commander? It’s because of you. It’s because you, a woman, showed and proved that you could out think, out maneuver, and defeat the German Luftwaffe and the German Army combined. They’ve mandated that no woman could be promoted beyond commander because you have the temerity to show that a woman combat leader is as good as a male combat leader. It sticks in their craw.
“Honey, you do not have to prove yourself anymore. You’ve done that, and that’s the problem. But, it’s not your problem. So, Sam, get out there and show them who you are, and do not compromise. Understand?”
The silence in the cockpit goes on for a long time. “Sam, did you hear me?”
“Thank you, Jere. It reminds me of another moment when I understood something. There was a moment in Britain where I didn’t know what to do. Someone very wise told me to stop being the sparrow and be the hawk. Thank you.”
“Damn it, Sam, I want to support you. You are way more important than I am. I’m not cutting myself down. You just are. I love you, and I want deep in my soul to help you.”
Sam, “Thank you, Jere. I love you, so much.” She takes a deep breath and scans her instruments, “We’ve thirty minutes to San Dog. Jere, I feel crazy. It’s a feeling I’ve not had before. It scares me. Really scares me. I’m not sure how we’ll be able to do this, but we have help. Lots of help. That’s why you’re in my back seat and we can have this conversation.”
“Yeah. I thought your guys would be pissed, but they’ve been great. Damn it, I want to shout our love to the stars. I want to write it across the sky.”
“I do, too. Please understand why we can’t right now.”
“I don’t.”
“We’ve only so much fuel in the smoke generator. If we wrote our names across the sky, we wouldn’t have any for the show.” Sam chuckles.
“Can we go public? Will it hurt your career?”
“It probably will. I need to think. You’ll be with me for the next few stops, so we can talk.” She scans her instruments and the skies. “Jere, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the way it is.”
“It’s okay, Sam. I love you.”
“Thank you. Any traffic?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Okay, cowboy, let’s put you through the paces and see how you handle it while I’m putting on a show.”
“Okay. I’m ready. It can’t be worse than jumping out of an airplane at altitude.”
Sam grins, “We’ll see. First, point to point rolls.” She puts the ’14 into a precise point to point roll, doing three revolutions. Then she breaks to a Cuban Eight and goes into an Immelmann. “How you doing back there?”
“My God, that was fun. What’s next?”
“Good. Now listen carefully. I’ll be rolling into a minimum turn and we’ll be pulling a sustained seven Gs. Your blood tries to pool into our feet. You have to grunt, keeping yourself breathing and keeping the blood in your brain. Otherwise, you’ll pass out.”
He tightens up and grunts. “I got it. Let’s go.”
“Here we go.” She rolls right and pulls a consistent seven G turn. Buford grunts and manages to not pass out. She levels the bird out, “How was that?”
“I’m good. Now I know why he tightened the straps so tight.”
“Now, it’s negative Gs. You’ll feel weightless if I do this right.”
“Oh, my God!”
Sam pulls out of the dive and levels off. “I’ll be doing a bunch of maneuvers at San Diego using those basic movements. It’ll last about thirty minutes. Think you can remember to do your grunts and watch for traffic?”
“I’m a SEAL. I can do this.”
Sam laughs, “Okay, cowboy.”
“You know that isn’t my call sign. I thought it would be, but it isn’t.”
“I know Romeo.” She chuckles. “I guess that makes me your Juliet. I hope our love isn’t star-crossed.”
“Me, too.”
“We’re approaching San Diego. Eyes out. I have Lindbergh Field in sight. Time for a sterile cockpit.”
“Roger. No traffic.”
“Just call it if you see something.” On radio, “Lindbergh Field, Blue Angel 1. Approaching from the north west. Request status.”
“Blue Angel 1, Lindbergh. Traffic is secured from Lindbergh and North Island. The field is yours.”
“Roger, Blue Angel 1 out.” On intercom, “Here we go. Speed. Altitude. Smoke on.” They flash by show center and climb out to the south. She goes through the entire show without a hitch. After they are down and taxiing into position, she asks, “How are you doing?”
“Oh, my God. That was so fun. I love you. That was…I lack words.”
Sam grins, “I know. Now comes the ground show. Do you remember what you’re supposed to do?”
“I do. Un-ass the bird after you and join the ranks right next to the senior chief.”
“Yep. Leave your helmet on and make it look sharp.”
The ground show goes smoothly and she steps to the microphone. The crowd in front of her is filled with military. She spots Swede, Thud, and Gloria and smiles. Her speech today is focused on military service. Then she releases her people and jumps off the platform to hug Gloria.
Major Pettigrew asks, “Who is this, Commander?”
Sam turns, “Major, did you forget something? This is Commander Houlihan.”
He turns pink and salutes. “Sorry, ma’am.”
Sam, “Major, our transportation?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He walks off.
Sam hugs Swede and Thud. “It’s so good to see you.”
Moments later, they are all in vehicles heading into town to the theater. Buford rides with Swede and Gloria. She turns in her seat, “Jeremiah, you are aware that Sam and I are best friends.”
“I am. I also know you two are married.”
“I see. Are you talking fling or marriage?”
Buford makes eye contact with Gloria, “Forever marriage. We haven’t talked about it much, but it’s what I want.”
Gloria smiles, “She can be a difficult person to love. For her, duty always comes first.”
“I understand and respect that. I’m not much different. I don’t just want to be with her, I want her to be happy. I’m content to hang in the shadows as she shines. It’s hard not being able to go public, though.”
Swede, “That could hurt her career.”
Buford, “More than the Navy has already fucked her over?”
Swede chuckles, “A fair point. We all want what’s best for her. But, yeah, I’m inclined to agree with you.”
“She let me fly in her back seat today.”
Gloria laughs, “Wow. Then it’s true love. Jeremiah, we’re happy for you. Please forgive the vetting we just put you through.”
Jere smiles, “Nothing to forgive.”
Gloria, “Do you know who her adopted dad is?”
“Yeah, Admiral Lee. She talked to him last night. I need to figure out a way to ask him permission. I want to do this right.”
Swede, “Good. You should ask Grandpa Hunt, too.”
Jere, “I know. I would rather do that face to face. It’s hard to be patient.”
CHAPTER 31
GM PROVING GROUNDS OUTSIDE DETROIT, MICHIGAN
1415, 22 December, 1942
Lieutenant Commander James Maki, with Admiral Klindt, some US Army generals, and a Marine general, watches his prototype tank run through the course. She’s a beauty. From the side, the front of the tank is at a steep slant. The driver’s hatch is centered on the flat behind the glacis. Behind that hatch is the nearly hull wide turret. The front of the turret is slanted at the sam
e angle as the glacis, the gun rising out with visible pintles. The sides of the turret are faceted, with an ammo bustle attached at the back. The gun barrel is long, extending well beyond the front of the tank. The hull is raised a few inches in the rear to accommodate the engine’s radiators. The tracks on each side have four horizontal volute suspensions and eight road wheels. The drive sprocket is in the rear and the idler wheel and track tops are covered by a mud guard.
Klindt, “There are no side skirts?”
Maki, “Sir, we need to see the action of the suspension first. Also, we need to know how badly it grabs up mud.”
General George Patton asks, “Does the prototype have armor?”
Make, “Yes, sir. Now that we have the Tiger tank to compare it with, we’re still doing a lot of tests. The production model may have a few changes.”
General Omar Bradley asks, “You came by the angle through testing?”
Maki, “Yes, sir. That angle will deflect any Army gun in our inventory fired directly at it. There is a lip, so no deflected round can hit the join of the turret or the driver’s hatch.”
Patton, “What is the armor?”
Maki, “Two inches of HY-120 steel, a minimum four-inch air gap, one inch of 120, six inches of matrix, and two-inches of 120. The matrix is granite stones in packed course ground talc. A direct hit on the armor without the angle stops the 125mm Tiger gun. With the slope, it more than triples the armors effectiveness.”
Bradley, “What do you mean by a minimum four-inch gap?”
Maki, “The primary function of the slope is to cause deflections. It also increases armor thickness, but with an increase in weight. We decided the inner plates and matrix should be more vertical to reduce weight and better manage the interior volume of the tank.”
Marine Commandant, General Alexander Vandegrift asks, “Why granite and talc?”
Maki, “Sir, both are cheap, easy to acquire, and non-toxic. The talc is a ‘one’ on the hardness scale and the granite is an ‘eight.’ When a penetrator hits it, the displaced granite crushes the talc and the movement absorbs energy. It’s like trying to punch sand. There may be better materials, but they’re too expensive or toxic to the crew.”
Bradley, “Breathing talc can’t be great.”
Maki, “Better than asbestos, lead, or other metals, sir.”
